Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 152 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

a 4) Black Bess, Will Wildfire’s Racer. 3 races. I’m told he’s playing the brag game on a new trotter.”’ ‘‘I’ve seen her,’ responded Luke. “A r slab-sided, crook-kneed specimen. She’s as _ black as the ace of spades. But color don’t win in a horse- race like it does in a game of faro. She ain’t got one point of a racer about her.”’ “Then if he can be led on to bet heavy on her speed— But do you know a good horse when you see one?” ‘*Me know a good horse?” ejaculated Luke, with astonishment. ‘Me, that was at every Derby for ten years, and that’s seen every blooded animal that’s got a pedigree worth a farthing? You bet I ain’t the chap to back my money against a cart horse for aracer. Just take my word for it, there ain’t an ounce of genuine blood in Black Bess.”’ ‘*Blood be fizzled!’ came a hoarse voice near them. ‘' The chap as says she can’t trot don’t know bean from a punkin, an’ I don’t keer if his name’s ing George! Don’t tell me!” It was with a start of guilty surprise that the two ronfederates looked around. There, before them, was the bloated face and ragged attire of old Jake, the surly old toper who had, an hour or two before, pushed himself on Will Wildfire and his friends. “You kin put this in your pipe,”’ continued the old chap. ‘Charley Lloyd has had her in \ 9 ge. and be ain’t wastin’ his time on no slouches. Black Bess can't trot then there ain’t no go ina locomotive, that’s all.”’ “Hallo! Jake; is that you?’ cried Mark. ‘‘ And drunk, as usual,”’ ; ‘‘Ain’t had but a brace o’ nips to-day, as I’m an honest old sinner.” ‘* But didn’t you swear off for the year? You told me yourself you did.” “So I did,’ rejoined Jake. ‘“ An’I kept it too right squar’ through. There ain’t no slidin’ round corners on a sw’ar-off with old Jake; now you bet!”’ ‘**Kept it? Why the year ain’t done yet.” “Tell you what it is,” said Jake, mysteriously. ‘There was a bit of a blunder in that bizness. I got d’ceived by Charley Lloyd’s clock; an’ that’s how it is I ain't guv up smiling.” ‘* Deceived by the clock, hey?’’ “Tt was half an hour past, you see. I calkerlated tosw’ar off at twelve o'clock, New Year night, an’ nick me if I didn’t do it at half past leven! So you see it were last year ’stead of this. 1 kept it, too, straight up, like a man, fur the rest of the year. ‘Tweren’t my fault if the blamed year pegged out so soon. A feller can’t be held sponsible for every- body else’s clocks.” His two auditors laughed heartily at Jake’s idea of honor. But the old fellow was as grave as a parson. ‘*Now don’t yer be swallerin’ any sich blarne ‘bout Black Bess,” he continued. “They ain’t a-goin’ to publish her fur the go that’sin her. But I've seen her paces, and I know a peg or two "bout hosses. Jist you see if she don’t make sweepstakes of the races. I wouldn’t lie ’bout her fur a cow, fur I don’t like Wildfire Will fur nothin’,”’ Mark Preston started at this admission, and looked significantly at Luke. ‘** You don’t like him, eh?’’ ‘Not fur a peanut. I’m a gemman, born and bred, Iam, if luck has gone ‘gin me, e's n a- puttin’ on airs, an’ I don’t ‘low no upstart to play that on me.”’ A meaning wink ed between the confederates. The thought struck them both that this old chap might be made use of. He was well known as a hanger-on about training stables, and bad the free entree to every locality about the race-course, ‘Black Bess can trot, then?’ asked Mark, quietly. ‘‘Tf she can't a bird can’t fly. Mebbe she ain’t got blood. But she’s got legs, and them’s better.” The conversation continued in a more confidential tone. The three men gradually closed up together near the fence, their voices f g, while a deep in- terest in the subject seemed to possess them. They rew so intensely interested, in fact, that they failed receive one circumstance of some importance. ut we must go back a short time in our story to rly understand this circumstance. _ we return again to the “ Bell” we will find old gray-haired hay | seated, with elbows on knees, and his chin on his two hands, on a broad stone by the road-side. Ona smaller stone near him sits a little chap who seems ® miniature copy of himself. His companion, in fact, is a wanes. A negro boy as black as charcoal, with a wonderfully ttened nose, and eyes that shine like diamonds in an ebony setting. But it needs no second look to see that the boy is no fool. There is a shrewd look upon his face, and a sharpness of expression which indicate that it would not be advisable to buy him for a ninny. " T tell you what,”’ said Pomp, with an air of great confidence in the boy, ** dar ain’t no use talkin’, but hoss bizness is jess alive with tricks. Cain’t tell me! It’s jess runnin’ over with ‘em. a4 “f allers s’posed de bess hosses beat,’ murmured the lad. “That "pends, that ‘pends,’’ replied the old man, shaking his grizzled head. ‘* Why, dar’s more tricks in a hoss-race than dar’s beans in coffee. Sometimes de hosses is doctored afore dey get on de track, and sometimes dey is jockeyed arterward, It’s allone way. It’s de ole betters dat gets it, an de greenhorns dat’s sold. Mought as well put yer nose in a rat-trap as yer money in arace if you don’t know de p’ints.” Ta ‘ Bet dar ain’t no jockeyin’ with Black Bess,’* said the boy, confidently. ‘‘Marse Will’s goin’ to pile money on her, an’ I's a-goin’ to pile her through. “You keep yer eyes skinned, Pete,” rejoined the pro old man, with a knowing shake of the head. ‘‘ You ain’t ’arned de tricks yet. When you’s rid as many races as I has, den you kin talk.” ‘*Dey can’t beat me stickin’ to a hoss, anyhow,” returned Pete. ‘*“You’re jess a little monkey at dat,’’ acknowl- edged Pomp, looking at the boy asif he took some of the credit to himself. ‘“ But dat ain’t all. If any ‘coon comes round you, on de race say, with @ hunk of candy, or a plate of nice clams, jess don’t you bite. Dat trick were tried on me once, and I got sick as a coon in de middle of de race.”’ ‘** Will you be dar?” asked Pete. **Me be dar!”’ cried the old fellow, with a chuck- ling laugh. ‘‘Me be dar! Why de race couldn’t come off widout Pomp. Dunno what it'll be when I’m done laid ? with rhewmatiz, or git took to de church-yard. Jess you seeif dey don’t miss de ole man 99 “Tm a-gwine to stick to you,”’ said Pete. ‘If dey gits de best of me, den it’s all right. But I's a no- aR when dey see old Pomp about, dat dey’ll sheer rs) , ‘Jess you bet on dat,’ laughed the old jockey. ‘Dar ain't a rascal dat I don’t know like a cat.knows amouse. Hang to old Pomp’'s coat-tails, Pete, an’ de rascals’ll keep cl’ar of you.” There was something contagious in the old fel- low’s laugh. It shook him from head to foot as if a small earthquake had broken loose within him. Pete caught the same disease, and laughed until he rolled off his stone helplessly on the ground. A half-hour afterward Pete was trudging along the Darby road, still breaking out into a gust of ee at intervals, as he thought of old Pomp’s un. ‘** Bet dey can’t beat de ole man,” he soliloquized. “Hello! who’s dat dar?” He hurried on, with a boy’s curiosity, to try and recognize the man who was strolling on some dis- tance in advance. It was not et acta he knew him as the drunk- en loafer, old Jake. With a sniff of contempt Pete held back, enjoying himself now with a climb over the fence, now with a long look at the distant scenery. But, turning a sharp bend of the road, he was sur- prised to discover Jake in close conference with two men, their talk seeming to be of a very confidential nature, ** By gum!”’ cried the boy, slapping his knee ener- getically “if dat ain’t de house whar I seen de nglish sport, Luke Lister, dar ain't no use talkin’! An’ who's dat oder chap? Oh! lawsee! It’s jess SS — —E — —_ — —— a “That does not matter, I certainly shall not take part in this race. You must get me out of it in some satisfactory way. Wouldn't I like an opportunity of thanking the gentleman to whom I owe this pleasant service!” “Iam glad it was not I,” laughed Will. I might not enjoy the kind of thanks you have in our eyes. ButI will see what I cando. How nice- y you are fixed here, Clara. I have not been to see you since you moved here, you remember.”’ “Of course I remember. Young ladies are not apt to forget such kind attentions. Here I have been —let me see—”’ ** Just one week to-morrow,” broke in Will, ‘“‘ You need not be trying to stretch it out into.a month!” ‘Do you know,” she exclaimed, with a sudden change of topic, ‘‘ Ihalf believe it was Pierce Brown- ing that entered Selim forthe race. It would be just like one of his gigantic jokes. I would make him “oak it himself, only I have some fear of Selim's “Pierce! Oh! no, it could not have been he.” “I would not trust him,’’ she replied, obstinately. ‘“ He is full of his tricks. But do comein. I want you to see the inside of the house.”’ She sprung quickly up, and led Will into the hall rapidly running over the advantages and charms o her new residence, as she pointed out its several at- tractions. An hour elapsed ere Will again appeared upon the porch, and, with a warm good-by fiom his fair host- ess, turned briskly up the street, followed by her eyes with a look that had in it more than interest. Evening was approaching when Will Wildfire found bimself riding rapidly along a country road. It was something over a mile beyond the * Bell,” leading out from the main turnpike half-way be- tween Paschalville and Darby, and running westward through a rolling and well-cultivated country. Just before him there rose, to the left of the road, the gables and chimneys of a somewhat extensive mansion, nearly hidden by a luxuriant growth of trees and bushes, but apparently a place of some im- portance. Will sprung from his horse and opened the gate weep | nto the grounds of this edifice, which was no other than Wildflower Hall, the handsome residence which he had inherited from a rich old uncle. He looked with some pride on the broad facade of the edifice, as he led his horse up to its front. “*T don’t wonder that Mark Preston made a fight for it,’ he muttered. ‘‘I think I would have fought myself, in his place; but hardly in his way.—Hey! Pete! where in the world are you?” Marse Mark Preston! It’s Pete’s old boss! M He was answered by the appearance of the little bones! won't he go for me if he kin cotch me? a boy whom we lately sawin close converse But Pete ain’t dat sort of a flea.”’ with old Pomp. The boy stood a moment indecisive. “T's "bout! I's allers "bout!" cried Pete, running ** Dar’s devilt hare "em, I bet on dat. An’ it’s | ‘hastily up. “Gimme de hoss, Marse Will.—Looks deviltry ‘g’in’ Marse Will, too. Dey’d eat him up | like as you’s been drivin’ him hard.”’ widout salt if he wasn’t too tough to swaller, dem ‘“*Breathing him a little, Pete. I shook him out two would. I's jess gwine to fine out what all dat | rather sharply along the level above the Bell,” talk’s "bout.”’ He tossed Pete the bridle, and turned toward the It needed but a second for Pete to leap the fence | porch of the mansion. into the ae ge field. Arrived there he snaked *‘ Jess wait a bit, Marse Will,” remarked Pete, with himself rapidly along behind its shelter. It was not | a cautious look around. ‘I's got some’at to tell many minutes before he reached the corner of Luke | you.” Lister’s garden-fence. Here he crouched down be- “To tell me?’ asked Will, with surprise. hind the close palings, and not ten feet away from “De little nig’s been scootin’ a bit,”’ replied the the conspirators, in full hearing of their every word. | boy, ina significant tone. ‘ Dar’s fun in de wind, you bet. Didn’t I cotch dem three coves a-lay in’ CHAPTER IIL ames? Jess you b’lieve it, dat’s all.” ** What three coves?” CLARA MORELAND VEXED, AND PETE SURPRISED. - way dar was Marse Mark Preston, Pete’s ole THERE was a narrow front yard and a neat porch | boss. Den dar was dat sportin’ cuss, Luke Lister. to the house by whose railing Will Wildfire had just | De oder was old Jake, dat low-down guzzler who re aa But out of the narrow space some taste- | loafsround de Bell.—Dar ain’t none of dem three ful had formed a very attractive flower-bed, | lubs oe much, Marse Will.”’ while a graceful vine twined up the pillars of the ‘“* Not the first two, anyhow,” rejoined Will. “As pores lending nature’s adornment to the work of | forold Jake, I have never harmed him, that I know art. In the porch sat a young lady of Prete beauty, and dressed with a rich taste that added doubly to her charms. She had a book in her hand, which she had been diligently reading, but which she flung hastily down on cate ing a glimpse of her visitor. **Do come in!’ she cried. ‘‘lam everso glad to see you! I was just thinking of you, and wishing you would come.” ** And you know what the old proverb says,’ smiled Will, as he opened the gate and entered. ‘*No, Idon’t. And I don’t believe in old proverbs or any such musty old-time nonsense. But I did want to see you.”’ ‘““And I wanted to see you,” replied Will, taking her hand, and gazing into her spot ling eyes. ‘‘ Now that you will let me see you, without that distracting vail, which you used to wear, and the distressing mpery which you used to spread around you.” e lady laughed, with the merriest and most mu- sical of laughter, as she motioned Will to a seat. ‘What a race I led you!” she a eee “And what a dreadful quandary poor a ildfire was in! But < erry of races, do you know that some busy friend has entered my name for next week's steeple- chase? I don’t know who it was: but I don’t thank him a bit. Asif I would ride in any such an affair!” “TI would bet on your winning if you did!” ex- claimed Will. ‘That is, if you rode as I have seen “T Only wish my friends would mind their own af- fairs,’ was her vexed reply. y y dar of | ‘* My Selim is entered | disdain. , “Him! Don’t you pend on him. Dat cuss’d sell his teeth fer *"nough whisky to soak his gums. He jess b’longs to the lass chap dat gubs him a drink.” “But what was it, Pete? Did you overhear them concocting some rascality ?”’ “I seed ‘em,’ began Pete mysteriously. ‘‘ Dey were standin’ in de fence corner concoctin’. Dat’s a good word, Marse Will; dey were concoctin’. An I come creepin’ ‘long and creepin’ ‘long, for all de world like a_ snake frew de grass. Fuss t‘ing you knowed dar I was, in de fence corner, and a-hearin’ ebery word dey said.” ‘I don't like that sort of business, Pete,” replied Will, turning away with an air of displeasure. ‘I want nothing done forme but what is done openly. Let me hear of no more spying.”’ “Like to know how yer goin’ to cotch snakes ‘thout scootin’?’’ answered Pete sturdily. ‘Tell you what, Marse Will, dar’s fun in de wind. You's got to keep your eye skinned.” ‘I want to hear no more about it,’ Will sternly re- joined. ‘Let them try the worst. A man that’s ready and able to defend himself like a man need not fear the schemes ofa brace of rascals. Let them show their hands, and I fancy they will find their match.—And hark to this, Pete. I will have no spying.” He turned on his hee] and entered the porch, leay- ing the boy surprised, to say the least. “Show der hands! muttered Pete, with a sniff of “Much dey'll show der hands. Ain't dat _ for the race, and I hardly see how to withdraw him. | sort of buttercups,dem chaps. Why dey’ll jess gob- need pushing. It is a ve will. And I want you to help me out of it.” * Why, of course,” rejoined Will, a little confused- ly. ‘‘Anything I can do, wish, and help you to push Selim. faven't I seen him teke you overa five-railed fence as though the brute had wings?” unpleasant position to be in, against my | ble him up like a big turkey’d gobble a worm, ef he foes on dat way. Pm kinder ‘shamed of Marse Vill—askin’ me to let upon’em! Jess you cotch I will ride with you if you | me at it, dat’s all! I's a-gwine to ride Black Bess at But he don’t | de races, and I ain't neber gwine to let dem ’coons doctor her. Nary time.” With a look of intense disgust at his master’s lack EORMIEG DOO KS **I fear ° (E@)