Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 188 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

——— ee ee reo ~ as —— = , Se — —_—— = - = —~ —~. ~~ see = - ete ee ew eee. SS a —— ee —a en ~*~ wen What is the news from the gold coast? _ April ; | proof of their death to the undersigned will be lib- ” 12 a rr The matches had flashed up suddenly and re- vealed for a second the ates hs surroundings. All at once exclamations of horror rung tan the white men’s throats, and both started back as the matches were dashed to the floor, At the same time a dozen dark figures, re- vealed by the lucifers, sprung at Beverly and Wildcat, like wolves at the stag enticed into their trap. They had walked deliberately into the very jaws of death, for the yells that filled the cav- ern were the yells of the bloodthirsty Sioux. ‘Pll take my reg’lar dose right hyar!” said Wildcat drawing his knife. CHAPTER XITI. BEN SIMON’S ‘‘INJUN TRIGGER.” ‘*T BELIEVE it would be worth my life to show my face in the camp now. Why, only last night the young bucks were plotting against me, and, in all human probability, [ would not be here if the Crows had not made the attack when they did.” Ben Simon and Hardinge were looking down upon the Sioux village from an elevated plateau and the latter was the speaker. We left the twain on their way to Red Cloud’s camp to procure new weapons with which to contend with Ned Temple and his Indian allies. Captain Hardinge’s hesitation was natural. ‘Tue attack of the Crows had preserved his life, and he knew, too, that the man at his side had plotted with the young bucks. ‘““You are safe down there, Ben, but I am not,” he went on. ‘‘ You can get the guns and horses. Double pay will reward you.” ‘*1ll try it, cap’n,” was theanswer. ‘* What if the Sioux say thet I desarted ’em last night? Er, what ef Red Cloud hez come back, and sw’ars thet 1 carried Stargold off?’ ‘* He isn’t back yet. For Heaven’s sake, Ben, o down and get our equipment. I am impa- ient to go back to the trail we struck this morning.” Ben Simon left his companion and was soon gliding toward the Indian camp in_ which m iny signs of life could be seen from the pla- tean. Hardinge watched him until he could no longer be seen, and then prepared to await his return. The day was waning again, and the familiar forms of the Indian lodges faded gradually from the deserter’s view. Several hours passed away without bringing the traitor scout back. At last the captain’s impatience could be sup- pressed no longer. ‘*T was a foo] to trust him,” he cried. ‘“‘ He betrayed Beverly and plotted with the Indians against me. One is compelled to put up with strange bedfellows sometimes, and I had to ac- cept him. But never mind; V’ll cut loose from, you, and that ina manner which will deprive the world of your further services. I play for igh stakes—the girl Cyrille, and a ——. t does that advertisement say?” He answered his last question by drawing an old paper from an inner pocket. Unfolding it he found a notice at the top of an obscure col- pes it made his eyes glisten for it read as fol- ows: **WanteD—Proof that David Monterey and his family perished in the massacre of Travis's train, h, 1868. Any person furnishing positive erally rewarded. * Hatcu & Darst, Attorneys, ‘ ‘*San Francisco, Cal.” ** Proof? that is just what I want the lawyers to have,” exclaimed Hardinge. ‘‘ Dudley and I played the wrong card that day, sure. We wanted the baby; but now we know that there’s | no bonanza in her. I know all about this ad- vertisement. After Cyrille, the bonanza goes to the next of kin, which is me. Curse the Crows! If thev had kept their part of the bar- gain, I wouldn’t ba here, nor with my regiment either; bnt ’d have my fingersZon the stakes. So you want proofs, my shrewd lawyers! Well, that’s just what l’m hunting for now.” When Hardinge returned the paper to his nocket, a smile of victory wreathed his lips; but the next moment it disappeared. He had turned his eyes toward the Sioux camp again; but Ben Simon was not .n0 sight. ** He’s up to some tree chery again,” grat-d the captain. ‘“‘More plo.s, and new villainy. Curse him! [1] cut loose from him, now. Ill go down and help myself.” He left the pis a, and the camp from which he had lately shrunk with a shudder, he entered boldly, but on all fours, like the scout. | | —— --—— — me me ee ee ee A rifle and a horse; these were what the plot- ter craved. He crept toward the corral and saw the gaunt figure of the guard as he stood erect, en- tirely unsuspicious, and at his ease. Hardinge had seen a good deal of frontier life; he had on several occasions entered hostile camps with the army scouts, on horse-stealing | expeditions. Therefore, he knew how to ap- proach the sentry. The crawl! of the mountain-cat was not more noiseless than the deserter’s. All at once he sprung at the guard from be- hind, and, throwing his arms around his neck, he drew him back before he could utter a sound. Then the knife made short work of the brave, and the pick of horses was at his disposal. Captain Hardinge was not long choosing, and having stood the guard against the tree of his sentry post, he sprung upon the horse and galloped away. He had secured a rifle by his carne deed ; the guard’s weapon was now his . Ow, Ben Simon, keep your distance!” be cried. ‘‘ We’ve dissolved partnership. I am able to take care of muvee! now, and the proof, too. Iam confident that you have deserted me. Treason and desertion are your twin character- istics. Only keep away from me. I shall ask no more.” Meanwhile, where was Ben Simon? Hardinge had not misjudged the scout. He had visited the corral only a few minutes before the deserter and helped himself to one horse—not two—and that at the connivance of the guard. He had already obtained a rifle in the camp. No blood bad been shed by him. He could not live without betraying some- body: and as he guided his horse past the foot of the plateau where he had left Hardinge, he looked up to smile grimJy, and to laugh at his | latest trick. | | ee ee a ee ee ee ee *Thar’s a gold mine in thet girl fur him,” muttered Ben. ‘‘ He wants to share with me; but I might ez well hev the bull vein. I wouldn’t make the hifalutin’ bonanza king that he would, for I’d be Ben Simon in the parlors, ez I am in the mountains; but I’d make ray 9 hum ’round ’Frisco an’ New York. I guess [’ll prospect a little on my own account an’ see what’s in the lead. The gal’sa gold mine; I know it! Cap’n Hardinge wouldn’t desart the sarvice an’ run the risk ov bein’ caught an’ shot onless he saw money enough ahead to keep his hide whole.” Such were the traitor-scout’s thoughts as he galloped past the plateau, leaving, as he thought, a duped man behind. For two hours during that night he stopped and slept in the Sioux saddle that he occupied ; then on again. Daylight found him in a rough mountain —a gulch whose bed was a rocky road. e flushes of dawn were slowly dissipating the shadows. ‘‘Thunder! somebody’s behind me,” exclaim- ed Ben, and with a hasty glance over his shoul- der he hugged the darkest wall and held his hat over his steed’s nostrils. Yes, some one was behind him; and a few moments later a horseman rode by. Ben’s heart almost stood still, and his eyes seemed ready to fly from his head when he recognized Hardinge. ‘‘He isn’t sech a blamed fool, arter all,” growled the scout. ‘‘He sailed in on his own hook, an’ got hoss an’ gun somewhar. Now he’s cut loose from me, an’ thinks he’s playin’ hob. Wal, he is—in a horn!” As Hardinge, unsuspicious of the scout’s presence, rode on, Ben’s rifle slowly approached his shoulder. It was cocked and finger touched the trigger. ‘*By George! Ill never git a better chance,” muttered the traitor ‘‘He’s huntin’ on his own hook, so am I; an’ he might circumvent me ef I let this opportunity slip. I’ve got a bead on his head now, an’ the least techin’ ov the trigger— Almighty Jupiter!” Well might the scout thus exclaim, for a loud report had broken the ravine’s stillness, and the Seno ahead had fallen forward on his horse’s neck. ‘*T didn’t mean toshoot. The trigger war one I never saw till last night,” said Ben whiter than usual. ‘‘ Confound it! thet’s the second man I’ve wiped out, in my time foolin’ with strange triggers. Wal, I kin hunt on my own hook now, can’t I? Mebbe, arter all, it war a lucky shot. I’Jl go and see.” He galloped toward his victim, but the sound of his approach caused Hardinge’s steed to prick up his ears and start off. The scout urged his horse on, but the animal Ned Temple, the Border Boy. ee | | —_- «ee ere ahead began to increase his gait until he seemed to fly over the ground. Hardinge still hung on. ‘*Cuss ’im!” growled Simon. when we git out ov the gulch.” But on the rolling lands, upon which the two horses debouched, the race soon became a one- sided affair. Hardinge had the best horse, and with head erect and mane streaming in the morning wind, he bounded away guided, if guided at all, by a dead hand. . Ben Simon gave up the chase, and spirnging upon the saddle, watched his victim disappear far away. ‘The hoss couldn’t shake ’im,” he murmured. “Well, good-by, cap’n! [ll find the gold mine an’ toast my old feet in the best parlor in Cali- forny. I didn’t intend to tech the trigger; but I never beg a dead man’s pardon. It isn’t Ben Simon’s style.” me Then he dropped back to his natural position on horseback, and looked as if he was already toasting his feet ina bonanza king’s parlor. CHAPTER XIV. A WOLF’S LOVE-MAKING. * **Sran’ up to the we an’ take yer swill, pard} The odds ar’ ag’in’ us. tried it in this place five ear ano an’ came off second best. Ef this ar’ to be es ildcat’s last dose ov Injun, it shell be the biggest one he ever took!”’ nk Beverly did not hear more than one-half of these words. The Indians were already struggling with Wildcat in the gloom of the cave, and he dis- tinctly heard the disgusting thud of the outlaw’s bowie as it struck bone and muscle. He was also attacked, but by a single Sioux whom he had the good fortune to hurl from him. ‘So far, so good!” he thought. ‘They are over- matching Wildcat. I have been forgotten. Why can I not escape?” The thought sent a thrill of hopethrough Beverly’s breast. ‘¢T)] catch *im Wildcat was still battling with the Sioux who con- , tinually uttered loud cries, some of pain, others of e and encouragement for their comrades, pe! Beverl took firm hold on him. He pecuane he knew where the entrance was, but during his brief struggle with the Indian he had turned around several es and this, with the gloom, would likely bother him, ‘‘ Ah! fortune surely favors me,” he exclaimed when he found the sounds of Wildcat’s death-tussle growing fainter. ‘It has led meto the entrance. I will see the stars soon!”’ But, Beverly was doomed to disappointment. He went on and on with his hands in front of him, but no mountain air fanned his face, no stars greeted his vision. He did not know that he was threading the same unknown corridor down which Cyrille hastened the previous night. ‘““Where am I?” he cried, not a little bewildered. ‘‘T must be traversing some way that leads into the bowels of Bald Top, ins of to the outer air.” He stood in gloom that seemed palpable, and the stillness around him was the stillness of death. The battle in the cave must have terminated, for he heard it not, although he listened with all his might. Could it be possible that he was too far away to hear the noise of the struggle? *“T dare ncv go back. I will go on; this corridor must lead to daylight. Ahead safety lies; back death, Fortune, having favored me thus far, will not desert me now.” He went on again, holding his hands before him. All at once they struck a hard surface like a wall of granite, and Beverly came to a halt. ‘*T am at the end of the corridor,” he said. “‘I no further. Were the Sioux to follow I wo ave to die here, and that like a dog, in sight of the richest bone he ever scented.”’ For a moment the major’s situation overwhelmed him completely; if one could have seen his face at that moment, one would have started at the expres- sion of rage and despair that covered it. ** Must o back? Hark! fwhat was that? Come on, mountain wolves! I am here—here to die like a soldier and a man.” With a revolver in each hand, and braced by the wall that had barred his further progress, the soldier tried to pierce the darkness and discern the figures of his foes. A sound like, a footstep had surely startled him; it told him that some one was near. ‘‘-You need not keep back. I am here,” be said, audibly, for he was burning with impatience. “I ran from you a few minutes ago; but now I am here to die, but not alone!” phe ‘ast word had scarcely left Beverly’s lips, when he felt the impress of a hand on hisarm. He turned like a person stung by a viper. ‘““You are white,’ said a voice that instantly drove his heart into his throat. ‘‘ You are not Thornton Hardinge, for your voice is not his. That is all I want to know. You are my friend, for I fled from the Sioux wolves last night, and the dark rooms of this wonderful cave haveehid me, Ah! I did not ex- pect to find a friend,here.”’ “T am your friend!” cried Beverly, grasping 4 hand in the dark. ‘I will stand between you an the fiends of Sioux land. Fear not; no harm shall reach you while Major Frank Beverly lives.” . A light cry of mingled amazement and disappoint ment greeted the mention of his name, “Major Beverly, what brought you into this coun- > -GOomichoo \ sprung away as the thought — <Si€O a ee nee