Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 1090 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

| : | Jubilee Joe, the Chain-Lightning Detective. 9 easy as catching a hungry fish with fat pait. He just jumped at the pait and I landed him. He’s up-stairs, locked up!” ‘*Good! I could take my oath that the kid was playing ’possum under the table when I had that interview with Mark. I'll bet he heard every word we said.” ‘ Vot good villit do him? | He'll never get out of dis place alive,” chuckled the hag. Joe felt that he was in a tight place, and he said soto himself as he lay there listening at- tentively to Svery word uttered by the twain. ‘All right. leave him to your tender mercy, mother,” responded Smith. ‘* Don’t let him get away from you. He’s a shrewd little fox, and he knows too much.” ‘* He’s a stupid plockhead! else I couldn’t have scooped him in so easy, my tear,” assured ‘* Mo- ther” Hickley, triumphantly. Joe thought so, too; he fully coincided with the hag. ‘*She’s correct. I am a blockhead—but I ain’t dead yet, by a long shot!” ‘The girl is all right, isn’t she, mother?” ‘¢ Just like a daisy! Dve got her as safe as if she vas in the State Prison! You know petter than to ask me such a foolish question. Who ever gets out of ‘ Mother’ Hickley’s hands—eh?” ‘‘That’s so, that’s so,” mused Smith. ‘' No one escapes your clutches; I can vouch for that! But now, concerning this boy: It is necessary that he never sees daylight until our plan is per- fected in every respect.” ‘¢ He'll never see daylight, anyvay!” said the old beldame. ‘‘ I ton’t take chances, my tear— not I! V’at’s vun pootplack more or less in this great city? Oh no! his case is settled!” ‘*That’s what I call very kind!” ejaculated the listening gamin. ‘‘l’magone coon! I’m dead an’ buried, an’ I don’t know it!” The voices sunk to a whisper, and the light was extinguished. He heard the sound of footsteps descending the stairs, then all was silent again. The confer- ence had come to an end, and as far as he was concerned, it was settled that he was to be re- moved without peramony. Not a moment was to be lost, and he therefore decided to communicate with the fair captive again, He opened the door, and in a hushed voice told her all that he had overheard, and then be- gan a search for an outlet to the roof, While thus occupied he heard a slight noise in the hallway, as if some one had leaned against the wooden partition. In a few moments the sound was repeated. Some one was listening, and had probably overheard his conversation with Laura! Jubilee decided instantly to return to his room, and had barely reached it when he be- came aware that some one had cautiously opened his door and entered. The footfalls, although as light and soft as a cat’s when sneaking npn its prey, was heard by Joe’s sharp ears, and he crouched down and waited for the spring of the unknown assassin. Nor had he long to wait, for the unknown seemed to locate him in the gloom, and pounced forward to seize him. But Joe was prepared, and by a quick move- ment darted aside, allowing his assassin to fling his head against the brick wall when he fell par- tially stunned tothe floor. In a moment Joe was upon the prostrate form and his hand came in contact with an object carried in the grasp of the fallen intruder. it was a deadly object called a ‘‘ black jack” —or slung-shot. A ball of lead secured by leather thongs—a most dangerous missile for close quarters. Joe seized the missile and dealt several blows n+ random upon the revivine assassin. The l lows were effective, for the wretch sunk down and became limp and appa: ent!y lifeless. A hasty search revealed another match in Joe's pocket, and he quickly ignited it and gazed «this would-be slayer. It was the negro who Lad guided him to the room! _ ‘‘Have you fixed him?” cried a shrill voice from below. ‘Yes, ma’am!” responded Joe, in a subdued voice, as he ran to the doorway and replied to the hag’s query. ‘¢'Then come town-stairs at vonee!” Here was an incident totally unlooked-for, but Joe was equal to the emergency. The burnt cork in his pocket, was produced in a moment, and a rapid metamorphosis ensued, His features were quickly blackened, and the “borrowed” wig hastily pulled dow™ over his own hair. : ‘* Now I’m ready,” he whispered. . Then going toward Laura’s door he had just ee ee time to tell her that he was seeking an escape for her by impersonating the negro, and that he would soon return to her, when ‘‘ Mother” Hickley’s sharp command to come down-stairs at once admonished him to obey her, in order to disarm her suspicions. Slowly he descended the creaking stairs and saw the hag waiting his coming. The flickering lamp was in her trembling hand, He finally reached the last step and stood in her presence, ‘* Did you fix him—sure?” said the hag, half in anger and half-pleasantly. Before he could reply he received a stunning blow from behind, and as his senses !eft him he saw the evil face of Tom Smith bending over him. ‘‘ A very good scheme, but it won’t work, my boy!” snarled the man, and he raised Joe’s limp form in his arms, He bore the senseless figure into the yard, and the hag’s lamp served to show him a spot indi- cated by her bony finger. Smith removed a mass of rubbish, and discoy- ered an abandoned well-hole. He cast the body of Centennial Joe into the well, and quickly covered up the orifice with the rubbish. CHAPTER 1X1 [BY CAPTAIN MARK WILTON. ] A GHOST’S EVENING OUT. JUBILEE JOP’s first sensations after receiving the blow from Smith’s heavy hand, was of bein very wet, of having treacherous footing beneat him, and of being in a decidedly dazed condition as a whole, Some wet substance had found its way into his mouth, and he blew it out with vigor. “Julius K. Caesar! what sort o’ blamed diffi- kilty have I got inter now? I’m th’ unluckiest outang-orang fur scrapes that I ever knowed, Billy Butcher says a man that’s borneded to be hanged can’t be drownded, or by che Centennial rooster! I’d think I was gittin’ ther Atlantic na- tion inter my inner man, tor sure. What’ve I swallered, anyhow?! ’Tain’t thin enough for wa- ter, nor thick enough for pound-cake; and I’ll be jammed by a pile-driver ef it tastes good enough ter be Charlotte Russian!” By this time he had felt about somewhat, and he announced the result in a low tone for his private information. ‘* Pitch-dark all ’round; no top over me ‘cept- ing wacancy ; up ter my waist in mud; solid bot- tom "bout seven hundred feet b’low th’ sub- stratum o’ th’ ’arth—kin jest feelit. Wot’s all these stuns ’round me? Feels like a sewer. ll bet a broken T, D. pipe ’m in a well; feels like it, anyhow. It may be so, but ’tain’t well, by a mighty long-eared sight. .N ixy, Jubilee; you've been knocked horizontal an’ buried by old ‘Mother’ Hickle-hackle Hickley. Wish I had *bout twenty thousand insurance on my valuable corporal corporation, like Andy Allan has. Now ter elevate my statoo ter terrible firma!” Which, being interpreted, meant that) Joe in- tended to climb out of the well. He tried it and failed. The well was wide, the sides were smooth, aero might as well have tried to climb a rain- ow. It had become clear to him that he had been flung into the place, after being knocked sense- less, for no other purpose than to kill him, but his enemies had made at least one blunder. They had not bound him, and be was left free so far as movement in the well was concerned, His fall had been broken by the mud at the bot- tom of the pit, so it had served one good pur- pose if it was uncomfortable to stand in. He began to think earnestly. He could see no sky above him, from which he correctly argued that the well had been covered over. Then, from whence came the air he breathed? It was im- pure, but there was enough of it to keep life within him. ‘+ Stands to reason thar is some sort 0’ a hole, avenoo or bellus which s’p’lies th’ needful,” he muttered, ‘‘an’ ’m goin’ to find it. dim, fever-ha’nted idee that thar is a suller som’ers ’round here, I kin smell onions. My nose is sharper arter onions than a Centennial landlord is arter rent.” He forgot landlords and noses as his searching fingers found a hole in the side of the well. Be- ing close to the water’s edge, it had before es- caped his notice. ‘‘’ Most big enough for me to crawl inter, an’— yes: here’s a loose stone, sure’s my name is Ju- Uee. He pulled it away, and found an opening of | the heavily-breathing negro, z Ba seemed clear, but the spirit of mischief seized, considerable size beyond it. He resolved to ex- — - + i ' | ' a oe eee ——— I lore it; The longer he stayed in the well the ess he liked it, and he raised himself and crept into the passage beyond. ‘Quite cheerin’,” he soliloquized. ‘* Ther fur- der { go, ther more I git th’ delicate odor o’ on- ions. I think mon ther scent!” He advanced for twenty feet. In some places the passage was so low that he had to creep, while, further on, it became as high as his head, only to descend again, and was in all places curiously mixed with half-decayed timbers and boards. From this fact he reasoned that he was among the ruins of an old house, the cellar of which had been hastily and imperfectly filled. The passage ended abruptly in vacancy, and when he had investigated he decided that he had reached another cellar, this time one which was in use. “Pm goin’ in,” he said. “If th’ suller is holler, which same it ‘pears to be, I shall stan’ more show o’ bein’ reserrectionized, Here goes!” He, had swung himself down, and his feet touched the cellar bottom. He breathed a sigh of relief and bade a long adieu to the passage. He moved about, but nearly fell over various tubs and boxes, andit was a welcome sight when he saw a ray of light above, and evidently at the head of a stairway, Nothing could dampen his high spirits, but he very much preferred the outer world to skir- mishing around in such places as had of late been his quarters, “Pil go up an’make myself knowed, like a Prodigal Son—but, hold on; it might be th’ means 0’ gittin’ myself slain like a prodigal calf. Who knows wharI be? This ain’t ther Conti- nental Hotel, nur Independence Hall, nur no other fash’nable head-center, I’ve been in dif- fikilties enough for one leather-polisher—Pll go fast mighty slow now.” Acting on this wise idea, he crept up-stairs with the caution of a cat. He found that the light shone under a door as he suspected, and. the sound of voices reached his ears from beyond. What was said was not distinguishable, how- ever, so he cautiously pushed the door a little ajar. He closed it again with dangerous quickness, and his dirt-begrimed face grew the picture of astonishment, He had seen ‘‘ Mother” Hickley, Tom Smith, alias Andrew Allan, and the negro. He was back in the house of the female ‘* fence!” It was a discovery which would have alarmed any one less gifted with coolness than Jubilee Joe, but it merely created surprise in his mind. ‘*Tf "tain’t them, I'll eat red flannel] hash an’ run th’ risk o’ p’ison! They throwed me out, an’ lve got in ag’in unbenownst ter any o’ th’ an- gelical cherubims an’ cherubusters. Hello! w’ot’s that they sez?” ‘*Tt's no use to vork over him von pit,” said ‘* Mother” Hickley. ‘‘ His skull is cracked like von aig-shell, my tear.” ‘*Sball I get a doctor?” asked Smith, ‘Get a toctor? Vat you are talking apout? You suppose I let a toctor come here? Vere you see signs that [ vas crazy—say?” ‘* But it seems too bad to ieteven such a fellow die without medical aid.” The old woman laughed. ‘* Aid to die, you mean? Vell, v’ot if he toes tie? Ve put him aped, and he come out and fell down-stairs, didn’t he? V’ot ve do mit all that?” ‘* Just as yousay,” indifferently replied Smith. ‘* Well, 'm off. We can now all breathe freely, since that hound of a bootblack is done for. Gibbs will see you soon, and give further’ direc- tions. Hang on to the girl.” “Wy not put her out of the vay forever?” asked the woman, her eyes twinkling evilly. ‘‘Ask Gibbs. This is his part of the game, Good-night!” Tom sauntered out, and then the woman shook her bony fist after him, ‘‘Go your vay, my fine laddie, put ton’t carry your head apove your shoulders too high, I have a | vork for those who pay the pest, and if you fail to give me my due, there may be von too many in this game.” ‘‘That’s me,” muttered Joe, from the cellar stairs. ‘I’m one too many fer my good or theirs, an’ I'll be b’iled red as a Cape Cod lob- ster if I know which. Howsumnever, it is ther verdict o’ ther crowner’s jury, given in august session—or July, "Ll forgit which—that a feller about my size must be makin’ hisself skeerce here right lively. I'll make a bolt fer it.” The woman had turned and was bending over and Joe’s way | eee e ‘7 “ we 4 Comic 900 S - ra : com