The Banner Weekly: 'The Captain's Enemy' — page 1: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HIS NUMBER! IN T Ba oe Dunbar Again! THE SPLENDID SERIAL: “THE CAPTAIN’S SNEaDAt S<SSE a tur 4 ww, TMM nil | : — . omy —_— @) O-™> Ds a ™~, it } \ in LUE | anus ao fe = C > x | cre «<; \ Mh \\itu —_ a i Wm: _ at LMM _ en — ‘ww | NN il — @ Wi “Wau A , Mi y y iliac it E. F. Beadle, William Adams, ! t PUBLISHERS. WHEN REST COMES. BY EBEN E. REXFORD. Some day at sunset you will go And look away toward the hill, And one dark spot upon the snow With sudden tears a tea will fill. And what you see will be the sod They heaped between my face and God, But, oh, my friend. you need not weep, To think of me beneath the mold ; I shall be wrapped in sweetest slee Safe from the winter’s storm an At peace with all the world will be The heart of him you cannot see. cold ‘ Death seems to mea night of rest Before the endless morning breaks, And surely, surely that is best For the tired heart before it wakes To Life we cannot comprehend Until our earthly sorrows end. So weep not for the friend you miss, Asleep upon the stormy hill, Perbaps your friendly farewell kiss Will li rin his memory still: And if it does, his dreams will be The sweeter for the memory. The Captain's Enemy ; The Evil Genius of it all, A Romance of the Old East and the Wild West. BY DR. NOEL DUNBAR. AUTHOR OF “TRAMP SHADOWER,” “ DUKE DESPARD,” ** THE POINTING FINGER, ” ETC. CHAPTER I. THE SOLDIER ASSASSIN, ‘You vill do t’e vork, mine fr’ent?” ‘Yes, I will kill him, Jew, tor I hate him, and will thus have revenge, and get paid for it, too; but I must have one thousand dollars blood- mouey,.”’ ‘‘lt vas mooch moneys for only killa mans: but I was pay you.” ‘*Then I will do the work.” ‘* You hates him, you vas say joost now?” “ Yes, | hate him, because he had me punish- ed,” and the speaker uttered the words in a low, savage tone, aybe you vas not goot soldier mans?” ‘*] was wrong, | admit: but he punished me and I never forgive an injury. ‘Vell, here vas five ent le dollars, and | gif you ve palance v’en you vas kill him.” ‘*Good! Ill do it to-morrow night, when I am off duty, and he will return from the settile- mo | then, so | can ambush him at Dead Man’s ass * Vell, I vill have t’e monish ready, and be regdy to go wmineself mit t’e train that starts to-morrow night.” ** 'W bat have you against Captain Dudley Del- mont, Jew?’ “That vas no pizziness of yours, soldier-mans, I vants him dead, and pays you to kill him. Come to mine camp v’en t’e vork vas done,” and the Jew turned away from the one with whom he had been it part the death of a human being, and walked rapidly toward his own quar- ters. The scene was a frontier fort in Nebraska, and the speakers were a Jew trader and a sol- dier, wearing a sergeant’s stripes upon his arm. The former hada cunning, evil face, almost hidden by bushy bair and whiskers, and walked with a shuffling gait, while he stooped, as though from carrying a pack, A few weeks before be had come in a wagon train to the fort, and the goods that he brought were really of the best quality and sold for a low price, so that he had done a good business; but the trader seemed to have other motives in coming to the fort than selling his goods, for he soon picked out his man, the sergeant, as one upon whom he could rely to become an assassin if well paid for the red work. The conversation held with Sergeant Bain- bridge, and which opens this story, proves that he had not mistaken his man, The next evening, just after nightfall,a horse- man was riding s slowly along tarough a wild canyon, and upon a trail that led from the set- tlement to the fort, His head was bowed, as though in deep thought, and his horse was left to follow the trai! at his will. Suddenly a flash burst forth from among a clump of rocks, and, as the horse sprung for- ward in alarm, the rider fell heavily to the ground. An hour after the steed dashed up to the stockade wall of the fort, neighing wildly, and was recognized by the sentinel as belonging to Captain Dudley Delmont, one of the most popu- lar young officers inthe army, A lantern showed that there was a red stain upon the saddle-horn,and the frightened actions of the horse also went to prove that a tragedy had occurred, The alarm was sounded, and ten minutes after a search party went out to find what had hap- pened, They returned at dawn, just as a train was pulling out from tbe fort, eastward bound. ‘Vas be dead?’ asked the Jew,as the party bore a body by. ‘“Yes, shot through the head,” a scout re- marked. ‘*Goot-by, mine fri’nt; I must hurry on after the trains. Goot-by, and here vas your monisb, You vas do your work vell,” and the Jew grasped the band of the soldier-assassin and rode on after the train, **T have my revenge and one thousand dollars as balm to my conscience—ah! some one calls me—I am wanted. ‘““Great God! can I be suspected?’ and great beads of sweat broke out upon the forehead of the assassin. ‘You are ordered, Sergeant Bainbridge, to geta guard and stand watch over the body of poor Captain Delmcut,” announced a corporal coming up to where the sergeant stood near the stockade gate, ‘* All right, Corporal Felter,” was the reply, followed by the muttered w ords: ‘‘My God! that /, above all others, should have been selec ted for this duty! But [ dare not disobey.” Ten minutes after he entered the quarters where lay the body, just as an officer turned to- ward him hastily, as though to bar his way. But the eyes of the sergeant had fallen upon the body, and while a cry of anguish broke from his lips he fell heavily upon the floor, his senses stunned by some fearful shock. i] : al Mi i) tt POLI eee wee Bey, | de NWSG bs AN tht rT ni tere eee x. Tn Nl i oT 97 Ss i 3 , ? aL a f ; 7 / MW fp , rae, j ; , si Hi}, ’ CHAPTER II, TOO LATE, A HORSEMAN was riding slowly along a country reeds leading among the hills and valleys of Virginia. It was near the sunset hour, and the deep shadows of approaching night were already stealing over the valley. The scene was a beautiful one, for here and there vale and hillside were dotted with houses, almost baronial in their look of solid comfort. and around each were thousands of acres be- longing to the “* lords of the manor.” At the head of the valley, beautifully sitnat- ed, stood a& mansion of imposing size, and, with its towers and wings looking castle-like in its grandeur. No other bouse was within a couple of miles of it, and its encircling acres were encompassed by thousands, which composed ‘‘the farm ” of the estate. But upon this grand old house rested an air of desolation and solitude, while the broad driveé- way, leading from the massive stone gateway in the valley, was weed-grown, showing that it bad been long untrod. Passing this arclted entrance to the deserted estate, the horseman said aloud: ‘Grand old Echolands is still without a mas- ter, I see. One of these days I may purchase it and dwell there, for its heir may not return withiy the time allowed by the will, and then it will be for sale. ‘* Come, good horse, we must hasten on, for darkness will catch us before we reach the Re- treat, and what a surprise it will be to father and Beatrice, who little expect me!” Having turned from the main valley road ir- to one that branched off over the hill; the borse- man had nearly reached the summit and was winding slowly along under a cliff, when, sud- denly, from over his head, there burst forth the sound of singing. He came to a halt instantly, while half a bun- dred voices, male and female, poured forth a melody, which, in that wild place and at that hour, sounded weird and strange, seeming like an angel chorus from the clouds, coming as it did from over his head. Through the woods upon the ridge rolled the voices, the sound floating out over the valley, and the horseman sat like one entranced as the words fell upon his ears: ‘* Nearer my God to Thee, Nearer to Theet’’ Until the last words of the beautiful hymn died away the horseman sat motionless in his saddle, Then he said: ‘* Of course from the little burying-ground on the ridge yonder, One of our neighbors has passed away. Whocanit be, I] wonder? I will go there, for perhaps my father and sister are in attendance.’ So saying, he rode on and, turning from the road into a weed-grown path that led along the ridge, he came in sight of a strange scene, It was a spot hallowed with the graves of the dwellers in the neighborhood who had gone to their last resting-place, and thither were gather- ed half a hundred people, standing around an open grave, while, in the deathlike stillness that perv aded the scene the voice of the clergy- man reading the burial service alone was heard, The horseman dismounted, bitched his horse and walked noiselessly toward the spot. A few on the outskirts of the crowd saw him, started back and left a way open. With uncovered head he advanced tosuddenly behold a slender form, clad in deep black, cling- : — _ Cee ; b> COPYRIGHTED I888, By BEADLE AND ADAMS. Se — 2 PUBLISHED ‘EVERY SATURDAY. Cc ‘ ye —EE — auetneetiiieiiV«#d?wie —_— SS n ae = T oA || | SS TMlllianl| att Ait { il il i i ue | —_~-- ** Brother, put them away, to the arm of a tall man and sobbing piti- | through his shut teeth, and, in the moment of excitement, he seemed to forget the effect of bis coming upon his sister and stepped forward, just as the clergymau uttered the last words of the service. ** Beatrice! weeping girl. There was a chorus of exclamations from all who now beheld him, and then one loud, piercing cry from the maiden, who reeled and fell into the open graveere any strong arm could pre- vent. A cry of horror came from every one at this, and one old woman gasped forth: am, help her! what an omen of coming evil!’ But, the horseman had already sprung for- ward and stepping down into the grave, raised his sister in his strong arms and bore her to a grassv knoll near by. ‘*Stand back, please, for she isin a deathlike swoon!” he said calmly and the crowd fell back, all but a physician and two ladies who came to render aid, It was a long time beforethe eyes of the voung girl opened with returning consciousness, and then the hcrseman stepped out of her sight, not wishing to give her another shock, ‘* Doctor, have I been ill?’ she asked faintly, recognizing the pbysician. ‘* You fainted, Miss Beatrice, but you are all right now,” ‘‘Ah! was it my brother who came before me, or his ghost?” she asked in a startled kind of way. ‘*[t was your brother, Miss Beatrice, for he is not dead, as we all supposed.” ‘* No. Beatrice, lam here in flesh and blood, and, had | known that I was supposed to be dead, never would I have startled you as I did. ‘‘ But, poor father! he bas passed away,” and the young man clasped bis arm about his sister, as she bent her head upon bis breast and sobbed like a child, Slowly the crowd departed, and the sister and brother were left standing apart while a couple of men filled up the grave, by which stood the clergymanand a tall man with astern, saddened face—the same to whose arm the maiden had been clinging when her brother approached. ‘This is a remarkable circumstance, Mr. Moore, and a sad one,”’ said the clergyman, ad- dressing the tall ge ntleman, whose pale face showed that he had been deeply affected by what had occurred, ‘* It is, indeed, sir,and I wonder not that Miss Delmont was sco overcome, as [ was really star- tled, as though an apparition from the grave had appeared before me.”’ ‘* And all of us were, as we had no reason to doubt the story of Captain Delmont’s death, as reported. ‘*But I rejoice that he lives,and his egister does not have to nourn for father and brother both. ‘* Now I will say good-evening, for I suppose you will drive home with your friends?” ‘Yes, Miss Delmont was to have gone to her aunt’s, but with her brother here now sbe will doubtless return to The Retreat,” and bowing to the clergyman, as the grave was now filled in, Aubrey Moore walked toward the spot where the brother and sister stood, talking in a low tone. At his approach the maiden looked up, her pale face slightly flushed, and she said: ‘Brother, let me present to you Mr, Aubrey Sister!” and he confronted the eit i i. —_—- = : ut ~ ly. secretary = “My God! it is Beatrice, my sister! Can it ‘lt am glad to welcome you home, Captain be my rather that is dead?” Delmont, and back to life, as it were, for we all He spoke the words half aloud, and they came | deemed you dead, and your .oming unnerved us nu ail it . ial | ayy K Hi HMA us ry MAN i : | shi J T ; ’ aA HH" i Mi — ft vp Mi oe Ht NLU Tt Mi i INIT NTN = for, oh! I Still them so !’’ PUBLICATION OFFIC E + { 98 William Street, New York ee —— i i ia . th ie i bi) i Ny sy a | Hi at hi i ij Mt va _ )) He Hin a iT un Ml i‘ : 5$ at i My mn HT Une in ni HW Ha i re ae Sl Uf] nn ) ee, — ee Moore, whom you have heard of as father’s | comrade that Dudley Delmont had been thrown all,’ said Aubrey Moore in a voice that was strangely soft and winning. ‘Tl am glad to meet you, Mr. Moore, for I have learned of your goodness to my father and sister since you have been a dweller at The Re- treat, drive home, alas! most desolate, now that our father is dead,” and Captain Delmont drew his sister’s band in hisand led the way to the family carriage, which stood waiting at the gate. The negro footman rode the young soldier’s horse, while Captain Delmont entered the car- riage ‘with his sister and Aubrey Moore, and the vehicle rolled swiftly homeward to The Retreat Plantation. CHAPTER ITT. THE RED DIAMONDS, In the grand library, with its walls covered with timeworn books, sat thr e persons, the evening following the funeral of the old master of The Retreat, Those three were Captuin Dudley Delmont—a gallant officer in a cavalry regiment stationed on the far frontier—a handsome, noble-faced man of twenty-five, with a splendid form and courteous manners that had come down to bim from several generations of courtly ancestors. His face was bronzed by exposure and heavily bearded, while bis hair was worn somewhat long, falling upon his collar in wavy masses. He was dressed in a fatigue uniform, and wore it with the easy grace of one who had been reared a soldier. Aubrey Moore-sat at the desk of the dead master, and held in his hand some papers. His face was a study,in that no one could read it. and yet it was a face once seen never forgotten, with its stern lips, sad eyes and per- fect features. He was dressed in deep black, and when he ke it wasin a subdued voice, ‘str angely mu- sical in tone, The third person in the library was Beatrice Delmont, the daughter of the dead master of The Retreat. the sister of the young soldier: and a most beautiful girl she was, too, With the exception of Echolands, the desert- ed estate at the head of the valley, The Retreat was the grandest home in that section of Vir- ginia, and Commodore Delmont—for he had been a naval officer—had been known to possess great wealth. As Beatrice was away at boarding-school, and his son was in the army, Commodore Delmont had secured the services of a sec retary, to get his affairs in ‘*‘ ship-shape condition,’ as he ex- pressed it, so that should he die suddenly , noth- ing would be left undone, and his heirs could en- joy what he bad left them. his secretary was Aubrey Moore,a young man who bad been recommended to bim by his agents in Norfolk as in every way worthy of the trust. And so be had proven himself the year that he had been an inmate of The Retreat, for from the first he commanded the respect and admira- tion of the commodore, Several months before the death of Commo- dore Delmont, his daughter had graduated ina Northern school and returned bome, and she, too, had become deeply interested in the secre- tary, and rumor had it she would one day mar- ry him, One day a bitter blow fell upon the dwellers in The Retreat, for news came from an army But come; night is upon us and we must- from bis horse and killed, The letter was dated at a frontier settlement, and written weeks before, so that all the com- modore could do was to write to his correspon- dent to give him all the particulars that he could upon the subject of his son’s untimely death. Before an answer Came Commodore Delmont sickened and died, and the appearance of the supposed dead soldier at the grave of his father may well bave caused a surprise and been a shock to his sister, who felt that she was all alone in the world, with Aubrey Moore the only friend to comfort ber in her double affliction, ‘* Before | ask you of my father's death,” said Dudley, as the three sat in the library that night, ‘* I deem it my duty to explain how it wus that I was supposed to be dead. **T was in the habit of visiting a brother of- ficer, who, with his company. was quartered in a valley settlement, some twenty miles from the ost, as a protection against Indian raids, ortimer Bainbridge was as near to me as a brother could have been, and, strange to say, we were strikingly alike, and often were taken for each other. ‘*T had gone on a visit to Captain Bainbridge, when, as | entered the settlement, my horse fell heavily, from stepping into a hole, and threw me against a rock. ‘* It was believed that | was dead, and I was carried to the quarters of my friend, who must have at once have written to father, telling him the particulars, as you say, Mr. Moore, the let- ter was signed Mortimer Bainbridge.” ‘* Yes, such was the signature; here is the let- ete! and Dudley Delmont took the letter and said: ** Yes, it is poor Mort’s writing. But, to go on with my story: Captain Bainbridge left word that my body should be brought to the fort, and, mounting my horse, started to report to. the colonel, as he believed, my death. ‘“ Alas! he never reached there, for some cow: ardly assassin shot him on the way, whether from some personal motive of revenge, or mis- taking him for me, I know not, “His body was carried to the fort, for my horse had returned there, and so he was believed to be me, until his brother, a sergeant in the regiment, and a wild fellow, was ordered to ruard the body, and upon entering my quarters recognized in the dead man his own br other. ‘** The shock caused him to swoon, for he was deeply attached to his brother, who had done much to redeem him from his wild ways. ‘*In the mean time the surgeon at the settle- ment had not ceased working to bring* me around, and, though [ had been thought killed outright, and lay motionless and insensible for hours, | at last showed signs of life, and the next day was pronounced to be quite out of danger. ‘‘ Tt was a sad blow to me to hear of my poor friend’s death, by the band of an assassin, and, feeling a good deal shaken up by my fall, I de- termined to come home on leave for a few weeks, I was delayed in coming, and, not knowing that Bainbridge had written to father, | supposed nothing was known of my ac cident, and hence was not prepared for the shock my coming gave you, sweet sister. ‘* But now, tell me of our dear father’s death, for a bitter blow, indeed, itis to me.” Beatrice was too full of grief to speak, and looked appealingly toward Aubrey Moore, who said: ‘* Perhaps I can tell you better, Captain Del- mont, than can your sister, for I was with your father day and night, and he honored me by trusting in my hands the carrying out of his last wishes,’ al 7 = ———\ ks. —— oe 900 — aN