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Pulp Fiction, 1896 · page 4 of 16

Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 1005 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 1005 — page 4: Pulp Fiction, 1896

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ir? dina ho - 24> F Ye ® ¥) = - —- “~ ~~ - ‘ *> =, A +. a4 2 4 - _ cd aT = « " “ % , » a > sare < a ae 1 Stee ig | — ~ Rie POE. xe 4 > ~~ “ oe Liage=s "7 . oe Fa - ves . ' _ eo ** laws still covering the passengers with their guns. One of their number laid a hand on Dick as he passed, and went with him, while the others backed away from the door, their revolvers still to the front, and sprang to the ground. Captain Joaquin sounded a whistle. His men backed away from the train with him, their Winchesters and re- volvers ready for instant service. When they had withdrawn to the dis- tance of several yards, the captain - shouted to the engineer to go ahead, but 42 the conductor swung his arm and coun- termanded the order. He and the trainmen had been held up in a group by themselves while the rob- bers were doing their work. “What's the matter with you?” cried the Red Rover. That, by the way, was a name by which the outlaw was fully as well known as by his appellation of Captain Joaquin. — “That express-car is the matter,” was the answer. “ You can’t expect me to risk the lives of my passengers by start- ing before I see whether it is fit to run or not.” “It will hang together until you get to the next station, if you are careful, wand that is all you want. Go ahead!” to the engineer. “If you don’t, we will rid- dle you with bullets and start your train ourselves and run you straight to Satan!” That settled it. The moment they - turned their guns upon the engineer he blew the signal to go ahead, and pulled the throttle. Finding that the express-car was on its trucks all right, and that it would run, he pulled the throttle again, and there was nothing for the conduccor and train- men to do but jump aboard. The band of outlaws gave them a part- ing cheer, swinging their ‘hats until the train rounded the next bend and passed out of sight. j The dead, we have forgotten to men- tion, had been thrown into the express- car, The wounded outlaws were hurriedly cared for while the horses were brought. Scarce ten minutes had been occupied, all together, and in two or three min- utes after the departure of the train the robbers were wending their way into the mountains, It had been ore of Captain Joeatin’s most daring raids, and at the same time one of his most successful; certainly it had prought him more-than the had counted upon. And, besides, Deadwood Dick—whom he had feared if he feared any man—was his prisoner! That was, after all, his biggest haul, - and he breathed easier. He had known for some time, or had, with good reason, believed that the prince of detectives was on his trail, and _ his vigilance thus had been severely - aw AS a ‘te taxed. Now he had this terrible outlaw and crook-hunter corralled; glory enough for one year! _ “ Well, Deadwood Dick, I have got you at last,” he remarked, as they rode along. “Yes, so it appears. You have been looking for me, then?” ' “ Well, we have been looking for you, yes.” | ; “And what do you intend to do with me, now that you have got me? On your word that you would give me a fair show, that was I placed these handcuffs on my wrists, rae as ¢. promised to do, by the way. Here, - as you See.” “Yes, and I have not ‘tried ‘thers yet, Deadwood Dick, I r., Branded. Jim, just see if this fellow’s irons are safe.” One of the men rode forward and tried them. “He can’t git out of them ’ar things, cap’n,” he reported. “ All right. It seems you put them on to stay, Deadwood Dick. You have the key to them, of course.” “In my vest pocket.” “All right. Just relieve him of Jim.” “ You bet, boss! We don’t want him springin’ no tricks on us, hey?” The outlaw thrust his fingers into Dick’s pocket and brought forth a small key, handing it to Captain Joaquin. “ Not much of a'trick I could spring on you, my good fellow,” observed Dick. “ If you tried it, you would find that you ‘could not unlock the bracelets to save your life, even with the key in your fin- gers.” “Ther doose I couldn’t!” “Not if they were on your own wrists, no.” “ All the same, I will retain the key,” assured the Red Rover. “ And what kind of a fair show do you intend to give me?” again demanded the prisoner. “ What kind of a show do you want?” “ Just a chance for my life, that is all.” “You picked off two or three of our men, though,” one complained. “And you killed about as many of ours, sO that account ought to stand squared,” argued Bristol. “ Well, call it square,” rejoined Captain Joaquin. “I said I would give you a show, and I will. How would you like to become one of us?” it, CHAPTER IV. REJECTING A PROPOSAL. Dick Bristol smiled grimly. He knew that Captain Joaquin was no fool, and also that the outlaw did not take him to be one. Was this the chance for his life the road-raider intended to give him? It looked so; Dick could plainly see the string attached to the gift. He did» not respond immediately. “You don’t answer,” urged the Red Rover. ‘“ What is the use? Were I to accept, all in good faith, you would not trust me,” “Why not?” ‘“ Because I am Deadwood Dick, the Dead-Set Detective and Rogue-Runner. i Captain Joaquin smiled in his turn. He and his men had now removed their masks. “That is a good enough reason, cer- tainly,” he said,. “ And that is the only show you intend to give me?” “What else can I do? I will give you an equal share with the rest of my men of the plunder we have taken to-day, according to the rate I divide with them, and make you one of us. I can't do any more than that.’ “There is no use our trying to fool each other, Captain Joaquin.” “Then you don’t: believe that I will do what I say?” “Yes, I believe you will ag that, if I say I will accept the proposition.” “Then what is the matter with your accepting it? You would make a fine lieutenant for me, now that: poor Hoxey is dead—thanks to that express-messen- ger. ’ “I had rather deal. openly with you then underhanded, Red Rover,’ was Dick’s response, — e, the nerve to follow where I led, on the | “What do you mean?” . a “Just what you know—that I am first, < last and all the time agajnst birds of your “of ee feather, and that were I to accept your offer it would be only to do you a trick at the first opportunity.” A murmur of admiration ran through the company of cut-throats. “That being the case, I must recall the offer, that’s all. I have no way of convincing you that I meant it in good ~~ faith.” eee st : “ No, you would find it impossible to eh do that.” a “Well, I have given you the show I aI ny os "Tek sae — ~~ we a « ee ES ae > v, - " Ay . promised.” “ And it was about what I expected, at your hands. You ‘have got me; you mean to do away with me. Well, I do not blame you for that.” mt “Thunder! but you are a brave cuss, _ Dick istol! What a team you and I would make, if we could only ‘have con- fidence in each other and work together! But, that is out of the question.’ Entirely out of the question.” “Then, what can you propose?” “ Let me go, and I pledge you my word not to move against. you for a period of yon days, you to observe the same armis- | ce, “And after that?” “War to the knife again! ” | i ‘“T hope you do not take me fora fool.” “Not at all, save only that all villains — are fools in that they go wrong instead © of right.” y ‘Have a care, Bristol! Some word of — yours may cost your life without a mo- ment’s notice. I am not the man to — brook many such insults, I give you warning.” eee ‘Neither are you a coward, Red Rover. ‘* You would not shoot me down handcuffed oe rt as I am.” ee Again a murmur ran through the band.» € | “You have nothing more to propose?’*» “No; I considered that proposition a. BS sort of even exchange; that was all.” ~ | “An exchange? Where does the ex- change come in, I would like to know? I ie do not see that I would be getting any- thing out of it.” = ‘4 “It would be giving me my life for =~ >. yours. I could have picked you off easily. | when you entered that car after me, but i Saggy spared you.’ ia ee “Ha! ha! Lucky for you you didn’t do — ws an that; you would have been a dead man Sa 4 the same instant.” “ts ne “And you would have been jaat as 4 fat dead, for I seldom miss my mark when: tr I take a bead on a man.” sen) an “Then why didn’t you shoot me? Come, now, why didn’t you?” ae is Because I knew it would cost. ‘the | oder lives of the others in the car, who hadn't a : >, < D, 4 « + { i "yf: c hb . +s ae pAR first occasion. It would have been much — easier to have shot you than it was. take those two fellows who already had the drop on the car.” Tas “Well, that cuts no ice with me, ipa you didn’t spare me for any love ron ve why I should spare you, that I can se * Nor i" “Then What are you kicking about?” uy “All [ am asking is ‘a fair change. - When I put on these handcuffs 1 hs ad your word that I would get that.” “And I have given it and you > refused it. I can do nothing more than that. It has been war to the knife | en | tween us, as you expressed it, and I hay ‘won. the fight. I would be a fool to ve : up the advantage gained.” it ; : “Just as you have a mind to look a Fay Pa 2 « * «dca ree ae b + .~ es » - ‘ - ? - “hy * . a4 ‘ ; aa re) vd ¥ ® . 7 . * . plage : ad 4 -~ § * p af €« : q . “4 . > ee Sad wk. ke hard + - »