Beadle's Dime Novels No. 316: Hurricane Bill — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

50 HURRICANE BILL. ary one 0’ you to interfere, no matter what T may say or do. I'm workin’ fer the good o’ your daugbter, old man, but I won't stand no foolin’. The fust critter as throws as much as a straw in my way, down goes his apple cart !” “Hyar’s one to back ye, pard,” quietly uttered Mustang Sam. , “No one will interfere—but make haste! Think what she—my poor Carmela !—think what sbe must be suffering now, if it be as you suspect,” groaned the almost distracted futher, “T do think, old man—I only wish I didn’t think so much, fer we all need cl’ar brains now, ef we ever did afore,” said Hurricane Bill, leading the way to the pavilion. The wounded man was found lying with several others, upon the blood-stained floor of the pavilion, groaning with agony, a lance-tbrust with several minor wounds marking his’ body. It was the second vaquero whom Mustang Sam had overthrown in the contest of knife os. lasso. It was evident that his race was well nigh run, and Hurricane’s pride re- volted from threatening a’ dying man; but then, as be remem- bered Carmela, he steeled his nerves. | \ “ Look here, my man,” he said in the sufferer’s own tongue, as he held a revolver before the Mexican’s eyes while he cocked it significantly. ‘“ Do you want to live long enough to mutter a prayer, or would you rather be tied up to tiis post for me to split bullets on as I did with the knife this morning ?? - 3 The wounded man averted his eyes with a shudder of ter- ror. A Mexican who will face cold steel in an enemy’s hand without flinching, will, in nine cases out of ten, show the © white feather at sight of a pistol. Hurricane Bill had counted the chances closely. f “What have I—a dying man—done, senor?” gasped the vaquero, huskily. ‘“ Not so fast—I am to ask the questions and you are to answer them, friend. But first, let me tell you what will be the result if you refuse. You know how I can shoot; very well. I will have you tied up to a post, then Pl pick off your fingers one by one. If this isn’t enough, I'll break your bones one by one with bullets—but there. You understand comicbooks.conn