Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 163 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

. ee Ln retiae fT “> | -_* ~ = | a | f @ Little Texas, the Young Mustanger. Pe “ _ “oy brother found you on the prairie where the weg uiators beat you down.” Iu God’s name, who. is your brother that has saved my lifer” Miles exclanaed, starting up and rexting his elbow upon the bed, while he fixed his hellow eyes upon the shrinking gir!. “Senor Juan de Rossevan,”’ she answered, fright- ened by the colonel’s bluff, excited manner of speech. “You are Spaniards, then,” the invalid said, ina solicer tone, and with an air of resignation; “ but I hie pe to Jehovah that Iam notin Spain.” The maiden smiled, and edvanciug tothe window, g@he drew back the curtain so the sick man could see ut, and said: ** You are in Texas, senor.” **in the San Saba valley?” "No, senor; you are many leagues from the San _ ** Well, where in the plague am 1?” persisted the | wemorseless, inconsistent sick man. * You are with those who have befriended you, #cy,or. More than this Iam not at liberty to tell yo'!,” the maiden answered. * {Jonsolation,” muttered the ungrateful man, lay- ie: bis head back upon the pillow and closing his eyo; then continuing in a mental strain: “ why ikem’, she at liberty totell me more? Canit be that eer ofors have befriended me, and that Iam in the giron hold of Biack Boniface?” it’s raust have given expression to his thoughts in w«1Cs or else the maiden divined them, for she con- taniwed: *'{ ossure you, senor, you will never have cause to wepcy being in iny Lroiher’s house and care.” “,’»: colonel started, and a pang of regret actually to-cheod his heart, for he supposed he had spoken aiv’ i and offended the fair creature at his side. “©, botheration,” he said, endeavoring to apol- ogizo, “ ou must not git mad at me, Miss de Rosse- vaa, for i’m an old rattlepate, and don’t know what zum saying. ** You have not offended me, I assure you, senor,”’ sho answered. "On! well, pardon me; but how long have I been here?’ he demanded, somewhat confused. “You came yesterday, or were brought rather,”’ #he responded. ‘You were very low, senor—you aad bled much.” “Yes, I must have been; but, oh, what will m ficnds—my children—my daughters do? They’ll yucurn me as dead. Oh! I must go back to my Sviends!’ '“ "he doctor was here an hour or so since,” the widen continued, ‘‘ and he said you must not leave for inany days yet. If you have friends far or near —~«vorin the San Saba—brother will send for them ®}.04 he comes.” * \y bere is your brother, miss?”’ “Tie is out riding, but will be here soon. Booking for him every minute,” the girl replied. Thus the two conversed for several minutes when #-« maiden finally excused herself and went out. ‘She old negress took her place by the colonel’s bed- side, She administered some medicine to him and then sut down and began crooning to herself like a, ¢at purring in the chimney-corner. The colonel tosed his eyes and gave way to his reflections. So farasthe people with whom he was lodging were aeantined. be ‘elt’ satisfied that they were true and honest friends; but, despite his resolute spit and eat physical powers, he was forced to admit that was ina critical condition, and that it would take days and perhaps weeks to recover his wonted efrength, for no one knew how near deatn’s door tiie colonel was beiter than the colonel did him- self, While reflecting upon his condition the sick man sui into a doze; and in this hialf-conscious state he boven to talk aloud over his situation, *“ A bad beginning in Texas,’ he muttered: ‘and #.cre's no telling when and where it will end. Oh, gy poor girls! if they were cnly here now. Ah! n’t the musical ring of litt.e Christie’s voice be a strengthening cordial, a balm of Gilead to my weak Lody aud mind? I shall send for one of them fo come and nurse me. Her presence will be better than medicine. Kind, gentie Edith, poor girl, will he beiter for the sick-room than light-hearted little @hyisiie. I shall send for Edith, and—” A cool, soft hand was laid upon his feverish prow. We slarted, opened his eyes and gazed around him. A stranger was standing by his bedside—a man whose face, magnificent form and brilliant attire wire suggestive cf a Spanish prince of the olden time. As tue eyes of the two men met, Miles ex- @elaimed: “Ab! you, sir, are Don Juan de Rossevan.,”’ ““¥ca, senor,’ was the reply of the young cava- Bop, c.d drawing up a chair he sat down by the eehonal’s bedside. I am CHAPTER V. DR. DOVER AND OLD MORALITV MEET. Ws left Dr. Dover in the depths of the night and &hk» eolitude of the preiie outridden by Christie Yd tes and her escort, Victor Ure; aud when met by the Boy Mustanger, Little Texas, and informed that ‘Black Boniface was the maiden’s escort, and ad- wieud to return to the San Saba, the doctor flew into * violent passion, and even when Little Texas had ?arnca and disappeared in pursuit of the outlaw and yisuiden, the man of pills and powders sat upon his ‘.ogen and swore and raved like-a madman. And ‘dia be was thus deporting himself, he was not .,gre of the approaeh of another horseman behind 4 myemel a hstisd voice called out: aT ee eee ———— — ee me wee CC Quick as a flash the doctor whirled in his saddle, drew his pistol and fired into the air in his excite- ment. ‘Halt! who comes there? Curse your picters, Ill prescribe—I'll dose your carcass if you come nigh me!”’ ‘‘ Easy, ole rantankerous!’’ was the cool nse; ‘“‘don’t stir your liver into sich a rage! e air smells o’ brimstone, now, with your sizzlin' profani- “You're an infernal scamp, and I—” ‘I'm not; my name is Morality, Old Morality,” in- ON oa the ranger. “Old Rascality!’’ hissed the doctor, scornfully; ‘*T believe you are Black Boniface’s rear-guard, an I've a plagued notion to shoot you!” ‘* Well, shootin’, my amiable ole snappin’-turtle, is a game at which two can play,”’ retorted Old Morali- ty, raising his revolver; ‘‘ and now, sir knight of the by liver, if you want to shoot, jist crack in, I’m ready.” ‘** Hold on, you cussed fool!” exclaimed the doctor, sliding from his saddle and taking refuge behind his horse; “‘ hold on, 'm not going to shoot you!” ‘Oh, you ar’n’t?’ exclaimed the old man, lower- ing his weapon. ‘* No, but, please the saints in glory, I'd like to.” Old Morality burst into a peal of laughter that rung out wild and enki, upon the night. “Old man,”’ he replied, ** if you have any desire to shoot with me, I'll give you your own distance, and try you a peg.” ‘*T don't want to shoot; I don’t want to waste lead on your carcass.”’ ‘You don’t want to talk so sas do you, ole puddin’-head?”’ the ranger replied; * A allers make ita rule to knock the stuffin’ out of barkin’ dogs.”’ “Oh, Judea!’ screamed the doctor, blind with his rage; “it'd do me good to dissect your carcass. Say, do you know whol am, man? I, sir, am Jedu- than Dover, M. D., late of Grassville, Tennessee.”’ ‘* And I, sir, as I said before, am Old Morality, late from a den of human tigers, from whom I rekap- tered these hosses,”’ ‘By the scales of justice!” exclaimed Dover, “I thought you were out of some animal’s den; but by your braying I supposed, all along, you were a spe- cimen of the genus jackass.”’ ‘*Come, now, doctor, you don’t want to fling meta- physics at me, but you want to talk square. We can't ford to be enemies, when we’re in need of friends so bad; besides, I don’t want to quarrel with as nice ole lady as you are.”’ ‘*Oh, ho!’ exclaimed the doctor, sarcastically. ‘I thought you’d tumble from your Pegasian steed of bombast and bluster,’’ and the old man ventured from his retreat behind his horse. ‘* Now,” he con- tinued, ‘if you've anything to say, come out like a white man and say it.” ‘* Wal, doctor, I'll admit I’ve taken a little advan- tage of you, but then, I'll make that all right,’ re- | plied Morality; “‘ now, the fact is there’s abundance of danger on this prairie, and you and me are not so numerous as to be divided in our forces. Now, Dr. Dover, honest bright, you can freeze to me—you can count on me till the cows come home.” “Then, sir,’ replied the doctor, climbing into his saddle, “if you are such an icicle—such a true friend, just put me on my way to camp. ay Wal, whar ye goin’? to Santa Fe? City of Mexico? or to California?” “No; Tm going to camp over on the San Saba ' yiver—up in Cedar Grove,’’ responded Dover. ‘Whew! ejaculated Old Morality; ‘“‘away up there?” ‘Yes, away—up—there.”’ **Where’ve you been?” “Trying to follow a man and girl that went south awhile ago; but I gwess I'll give it up.” ‘1 would if I was you, Doc, for I presume they’re ten miles from here by this time. If anybody can yee nea that little hurricane of a L.ttle Texas can o it. ‘* Then that w s Little Texas, was it?” * Yes, it war, Doc.”’ “Fie said so, but every man 1t've met to date in Texas is such a caustic liar that I s’posed they began to prectice when young, and so doubted the boy’s _ word at the time,” repled Dover.“ He also said the map. with our girl, Christie, was Black Boniface.” “Then it wus so, if Texas said 80, rest easy on that; andif any man in the South-west can catch that villain, the Boy Mustanger’s the lark.” ‘Then I can go back to camp with some peace of mind,’’ said Dover; “so 1 the way, Old Mor- a The old ranger turned his horse’s head northward and rode away, the doctor following him, though not without some doubt and uncertainty, for, since he had been deceived by one stranger, it was very | natural that he should suspect another; and as they rode aiong he kept his hand upon his revolver, and his eye ~pon the ranger. But despite his suspicions and reticence, Old Morality’s tongue ran incessantly and his odd expressions, his exciting stories an pees anecdotes, finally drove fears and oubts froni the doctor’s breast and drew him into his confidenve, making their ties, Doge iee a very pleasant one. In fact, the time p d so rapidly in the old ranger’s company that daylight'was upon them ere the doctor was aware that it was anywhere near morning; and the sun was scarcely an hour high when they rode into camp on the San Saba. he return of Dover so soon caused no little ex- citement incamp. No,one had a doubt, when he rode up, but that he had been to the colonel’s bed- _ side, and so all were very anxious to hear how their y th: howling blasts of desolativn, and the hiss- old friend wes. and they gathered about the doctor, i © go’) erdition! what ole p’izen irate can you . ¢? | | plying him with a cozen cuestions, ‘d ami sorry to soy, m1, drieuds,’’ Dover said, as he — dismounted, ‘‘ that I have not seen Colonel Miles, na do 1 know where he is.”’ ‘*Great heavens!’’ exclaimed a dozen men, in a breath. “Tt’s a gospel fact, men,” continued the doctor; “we were a set of blind fools. That man, Victor Ure, was none other under God’s heavens than Black Boniface, and he got away with Christie in spite of me!”’ The settlers were horrified by this Startling intelli- gence, and for awhile the greatest excitement pre- vailed. A new sorrow was added to the hearts of the little band; another cloud overshadowed its hopes and happiness. * Little Texas is after Boniface,”’ put in Old Mo- rality, reassuringly, when Dover had concluded his story, ‘‘and I tell you folks he is a little screamer from Yorktown. If thar’s anything on Texas sile that can throw dirt in Bonny’s face it’s that youn Sepa pr Thar’s not a man on these peraros tha can hold a candle to him throwin’ a lasso. Thunder! they say it’s a positive fact that he can ride a thun- derbolt or catch chained lightnin’ with a lasso, and I believe it—every word of it.”’ But whatever the old man believed the emigrants had little faith in, and, in the moment of their great sorrow, his ideas failed to impress them very favor- ably, or his words to inspire them with hope or con- fidence. | The doctor and Old Morality were provided with breakfast, after which they were given a tent and bed, and laid down to rest and obtain a few hours’ sleep for the night's journey and privations had weighed heavily upon the old men, While they were still asleep the camp was again thrown into some little excitement by the ee ance of a party, or cavalcade, on the plain below camp. As it drew nearer all saw that it was a coach, or covered carriage, drawn by four horses and followed by six or eight horsemen, Our friends were puzzled to know what it meant. A carriage of that description seemed entirely out of place upon that Texan prairie. It looked like a royal turnout. Polished weapons, caparisons and brilliant uniforms flashed in the sunlight. With no little curiosity and impatience the ap- proach of the party was awaited. In a few minutes the vehicle sped down the praé rie, turned into the woods and came to a halt on the margin of the camp. The vehicle was an ancient-looking and clumsy affair, upon whose panels was embossed in gold the coat-of-arms of some Spanish house of nobility. It was closed with curtains drawn, and as the driver, who was seated in a box on top, drew rein, a foot- = leaped to the ground and threw open one of the oors. The mounted escort, as well as the driver and foot- man, were men of Spanish blood, dressed in their national garb, armed with swords and pistols and mounted upon fine blooded horses; and as the foot man descended from the box these men drew their swords and held them before their faces. Then from the coach leaped a man who caused a a cry of surprise to escape the lips of the set- ers. It was the Spanish recluse, Don Juan de Rossevan under whose roof Colonel Israel Miles had foun shelter and kind treatment. He was dressed in pur- ple and gold, A long serape of fine blue cloth lined with crimson silk and embroidered with gold was around his shoulders, A broad-brimmed sombrero, banded with woven threads of silver and gold, was upon his head. A small sword with jeweled hilt hung at his girdle. Altogether this stranger pre- sented an array of princely wealth and royal blood. He was young—not over eight-and-twenty—tall and straight as an arrow. His hair, which was worn long, was black as the raven’s wing, as was, also, his heavy pointed mustache and chin whiskers. Blacker eyes were never set in human head, nor did an eagle ever flash a keener a from the clouds above than the eyes of Juan de Rossevan. Glancing around him the Spaniard removed a ogres» alove, and, with a wave of the band, saluted he emigrants. Raymond Byrd, as spokesman for the party, advanced and returned the stranger's salutation. ‘Pardon me, senor,” de Rossevan said, “ but is this not the camp of Colonel Israel Miles?” ‘Yes, sir, it is,’ responded Byrd, his heart flutter- ing with eager anticipation as he saw the stranger take a white envelope from his pocket and read the an Here, ypaid the visitor, “is a letter f ere,’’ sai e or, ‘is a letter from Colon Miles to his eo ge a Edith and Christie.” “ An exclamation of joy burst from the party, and Edith, who had been well-nigh prostrated with her sorrow, ran forward and received the letter from the handsome stranger. ‘Oh, it is his!” she exclaimed, as the recognized the handwriting upon the envelope. There were those in the party who were reserved in their feelings, for they could not help thinking of the deception of Victor Ure, and thought it possible that this man might be plotting to get Edith into hig power, “Then you, stranger,” said Byrd, “‘ have met the colonel ?”’ “J have, senor; he is a guest in my house. I took him there nearer dead than alive. He is slowly re. covering from wounds inflicted upon him by a party of horse-thieves whom he had the rash cour- age "3 attack. The letter will state the object of my t here.” My Dear Grats: You have no doubt wondered what kept me from camp, and perhaps mourned me as lost—dead. But thanks toa kind Providienon, and Don Juan Ce Kossevan, the ey agency. Spanish gentleman who bears this t© you,I am stil! | comicbooks (Ee) ee