Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 197 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

—- 10 ee ee + —_—— dred miles in fifty hours, and ridden thirty- five horses in doing so.”’* “Come, we have no time to discuss the powers of endurance of boys; let us be off,” said the Kid Glove Sport, evidently annoyed at the praise bestowed upon the daring youth, and he rode on, followed by his squadron, while Lieutenant Harold Trask and his party struck off on another trail, which Trumps, who acted as guide, thought best for them to take. “ God grant they be successful.” The soft, sweet voice, caused Judge Hunter to turn quickly, and he beheld by his side Helen Hewlett, who, from her window in the tavern, bad heard all that passed, and seeing the rescue party ride away, came out and joined her host. ‘So I say, Miss Hewlett, for Bessie Benton is as lovely in face and form as you are, and | know possesses a noble character,” replied the blunt judge, and his outspoken compliment, though not intended to flatter, brought the rich color to Helen’s lips, while she replied: “Then I pity her from my inmost heart, in the power of those wretches, who I heard her father say would have hanged her, had it not been for—for the young man you call Little Grit, and who so nobly served me.” “Yes, they are a bad set of men, and their boy leader shows no mercy to men or women, I have heard, and know, Miss Hewlett, and I fear yonder men go to her rescue in vain, and will have to leave her to another to bring back,” ‘‘ And that other is—” “The Wild Rider.” “Then why did he not go with them to- day?’ ‘‘ Because his duty called him to make the ride, Jockey Jack being dead and Tiny Tim sick abed; but at the other end of the line he will report the affairs, and the agent will send other riders here, as Little Grit told me he in- tended to lay off for a couple of weeks, and egad, he deserves to.” **T should think so; but when will he return, judge?’ ‘To-morrow at ten he is due, miss.” ‘* And will he make the marvelous run?” ‘He will, or die in his saddle, for / know the boy.” “Then tell me, please, who he is?” “Little Grit, the Wild Rider, is all I can tell you, Miss Hewlett,” and the judge turned away, leaving Helen with a look of disappoint- ment upon her fair face. CHAPTER XVI. THE PHANTOMS. MovuntTep on his favorite, Firefly, the fleet- est of his stable of twenty horses, for Little Grit owned the animals he rode, the Wild Ri- der went along like the wind. First down into the lowlands he went, then over a ridge of foot-hills, and out upon the prairie; past the tree at the head of the Red Ravine, where a human body and the horses be had killed still lay unburied, and serving for food for wolves and vultures, and then on to the spot where he had rescued Helen Hewlett, and where another body and another steed lay dead as a feast for wild beasts. “The fellow had not the heart to bury his own friend,” muttered the youth, as he turned his face away from the sickening sight of hun- gry coyotes feeding upon a human being. But not once did he slacken his speed, until he ran into the station where he changed horses. But no animal stood at the stockade gate ‘awaiting him, and the stock-tender was not visible. “ Ho, Bart, where are you?” cried the youth. *** Hon. W. F. Cody, Buffalo Bill, when a boy, and riding Pony Express, once, under a pressure of circumstances, rode the run of two riders without rest—from Red Buttes to Three Crossing, and thence on to Rocky Ridge; then immediately back again to Buttes—a distance of 324 miles, over a wild country, in thirty hours, and using twenty-four horses.—Tue AvuTHOR, _—— ee ee we Little Grit, the Wild Rider. mounting, he drew his revolver and entering the stockade, slowly approached the cabin, the door of which was ajar. As he was about to thrust the door open aud enter, a sudden impulse caused him to stop, and removing his sombrero, he placed it on the muzzle of his revolver and held it around the | post, as though he were peeping in. But no answer came to hiscry, and dis- | Instantly there came a ringing report and | the hat fell to the ground, pierced by a bullet, | while with a groan, Wild Rider sprung back to the corner of the but. The feigned groan of agony, did the work, for out of the cabin darted a humen form, to _ fall dead with a bullet in his heart. ‘‘Tt is Hank Hawkins; now I'll see what devil’s work he has been at,” muttered Wild | Rider, as he recognized the man whom the | night before he had rescued Helen Hewlett from, : Cautiously entering the cabin, the youth saw Bart the stock-tender, and an old, gray- haired man lying dead by the hearth, and knew that Hank Hawkins had killed him to rob him, and then driven the pony horses off to the hills. Springing upon Firefly he followed the trail of the animals for half a mile and found them hitched in a small growth of timber. ‘‘He thought he had it all his own way; but he should have been more particular to find out if my head was under that hat. ‘Come, Arrow, we must be off, and you will have to make up half an hour of lost time,” and throwing his saddle and express sachels upon a thoroughbred-looking bay, Wild Rider drove Firefly and the other horses back to the stockade, ‘“Now to bury poor old Bart,” he said, and he set to work with pick and spade, and quickly made a grave back of thecavern and in it deposited the body of the old stock-tender. “Guess you'll make prime eating for coyotes,” he muttered, as he threw the body of the out- law outside of the stockade, and fastening the gate, sprung upon Arrow, who shot away as though he had been sent from a bow. Urging the red bay hard, Little Grit arrived at the next station only a quarter of an hour behind time, and to his delight learned from the stock-tender that the bandits had not paid him a visit. ‘You are lucky, Bond, for they have hit the line hard below Rocky Glen, run Barney off, slain Mustang Pete, captured Bessie Ben- ton, and nearly killed her father, while they shot poor Jockey Jack on the run, and I buried Bart at the back station,” he saidto the man, who held a fiery mare in readiness for him. ‘‘Guess your time will come next, Little Grit, for you is awful venturesome,” said Bond the stock-tender. ‘‘Somehow I don’t think so, Bond; lll not say die as long as I can show my claws. ‘Good-by, and keep a bright look-out.” “T will, Little Grit; but hain’t yer a leetle stiff, an’ lookin’ bad?” ‘‘T should think so, for I’ve done treble work; but Ill be back on time, if the lamp of life holds out to burn. Come, Sathaness!” The last was said to the really vicious mare, who bounded away with an angry snort, and at a speed that threatened to make up the twenty minutes lost. Bond stood watching Little Grit until he disappeared from sight, and then muttered: “He are rightly named, for he area Wild | Rider fer a fact; but ther end o’ his road will come yet, I’m thinking, though I hopes not, as he are a better man than ary boy lever see afore; I wonder ef he’il be back on time? Tm thinkin’ not, an’ I’m bettin’ myself thet leetle drop o’ rum I has le/t in ther bottle, thet he don’t make it; ef he does, I'll jist pour it out on ther ground, fer be don’t drink, an’ ef he don’t make it, Vll drink ther last drop: thet’s ther way I has o’ bettin’ ag’in’ myself,” and Bond, the stock-tender, went in and looked to his arms, for he was a cautious man, But no bandits paid him a visit that night, SE TS EE lS a ae —_——— and the next morning, after his lonely break- fast, he led Arrow out to the stockade, and then went into the cabin and brought out his old clock and a bottle. “Thar’s ther time as ther sun sets an’ rises by, an’ heur are a drink o’ rum in this bottle thet are wuth a pound o’ yaller gold-dust ter me. ‘Let me see; ther boy hes jist five minutes ter come in an’ be on time; but I won’t be mean, so will give bim another minute, ‘““Tbhen comes my drink, an’ it are a good one too, cl’ar four fingers in a tin cup; but Pll suck it out o’ ther bottle fer it are swater.” A while he was silent and then said aloud, while his eyes glanced at the bottle longingly, and his fingers moved nervously, as though anxious to clutch it with loving embrace: ‘‘It are four minutes gone; only one and one-half minute now; yas, only one minute now—holy Sierras! but thar he comes!” The man sprung to his feet, and. turning his eyes up the trail saw the roan mare coming on at full speed for the station, and upon her back was the Wild Rider, but he was not riding, as was bis wont, upright and free, but crouching in his seat, and seemed holding to the mane of the fairly flying animal. ‘Hold hard, Leetle Grit! heur yer is, or I are a liar, an’ my rum hes ter be drunk up by ther ’arth; but what in ’tarnal thunder are ther matter with yer, boy?” ‘‘7T’m dead beat, Bond; l’ve had a hard run of it; there, let me down easy, and help me on Firefly,” said the youth, in almost a whis- per. “You is nigh played, Leetle Grit, fer yer face looks ten years older than usual, an’ yer is stiff as though yer had rheumatiz, while yer eyes seems ollin’ ag’in’ ther back part o’ yer head; let me run in with ther bags, boy, an’ you stay heur an’ rest.” “No; I must go myself, thank you, Bond.” ‘Then take this wee drop o’ mount’in-dew, pararer tanglefoot, miner’s benzine, or what ever yer call it, fer I has lost it, havin’ bet ag’in’ myself thet yer wouldn’t make ther run, but yer has, an’ half a minute to spare. “Take it, boy, an’ it'll ile yer j’ints, fetch yer eyes in place ag’in, warm ther cockles on yer heart, an’ fill yer full o’ glory, fer it are prime mater’al, from Judge Hunter’s stock.” “T will drink it, Bond, and thank you, for I need it; there, I feel better, and there is some left for you; now help me on, an’ Firefly, go easy at first, or you'll shake me in pieces.” The next instant the Wild Rider was again mounted, and speeding along swiftly, Firefly hurling the miles behind him until a word from the Wild Rider brought him to a sudden halt. And no wonder; for in the road ahead of him, just under the tree at the head of the Red Ravine, were a horse and rider, who, even in the glare of day, looked like spectral forms from another world. CHAPTER XVII. TAE COMPACT, THE first act of the Wild Rider, after bring- ing his horse to a halt, was to draw his revol- ver, and then take a close survey of the phan- tom-like horse and rider in his pathway. “Tt is the one they call the Spirit of the Canyon, and a woman; come, Firefly, let us have a closer look atthe pair,” muttered Little Grit, who was greatly strengthened by the liquor he had been given by Bond. The horse slowly moved forward, and yet like statues, the white horse and its rider re- mained, until Littlé.Grit had approached with in thirty feet, still bolding his revolver in his hand. Then the white steed faced him, and the rider said in a clear, musical tone: ‘Put up your weapon, for [mean yeu no harm.” ‘*T do not fear you; only you are uncomfort- ably near the ravine, which might cenceal a company of cavalry,” replied Wild Rider. “Then [ will come to you, and I trust you, as I wish you to trust me; see, I show no arms,” JOO e€om € “SEO >. ~