Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 197 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

<= —- horse, and followed by the men who had ac- companied him to Rocky Gien Station, rode off to the encampment of his train, some half- dozen miles distant, Hardly had they disappeared from sight when there came the rapid clatter of hoofs, and out of the timber, some hundred yards away, came a horseman at full speed. ‘It is Jockey Jack coming back,” cried a Judge Cunter, referring to the Pony Rider who | rode between Rocky Glen Station and the point seventy-five miles beyond, and who had darted away with Little Grit’s bag, as soon as Firefly had come in with Helen Hewlett mounted upon him. ‘Tt are Jockey Jack for sure,” said Bony Boh, and all glanced anxiously upon the com- ing horse and rider. Another instant and the animal with a loud neigh halted at the door of the tavern, and all crowded around the rider, who sat bolt upright in his saddle. “Great God! he is dead!” The cry came from Judge Hunter, and in amazement all recognized the truth of his words, for strapped in bis saddle and held up by stout sticks upon either side, that were firm- ly fastened around him, was Jockey Jack the Pony Express Rider, with a bullet in his brain. Here are a piece of paper with writin’; some o’ you as has better eyes fer readin’, spit out what is writ on it,” and Trumps took from the man’s breast, where it was pinned, a card on which was written a line in a bold hand. Taking it, Little Grit read aloud: ** Death lies in wait on the Overland. Your turn next, Little Grit the Wild Rider.” A bush fell upon the crowd, and it was brok- en by the ene who had just read this fearful threat against him, and he said: “Judge, if you will let Hook bring round F,ash, Ill ride poor Jockey Jack's run and let them know along this line why he did not bring the Express.” ** But you start Lack on your ride to-morrow night, Little Grit.” a True, judge; and I shall ba back to ride it.” ‘*A hundred and fifty miles by dark to-mor- row right, my boy, and then your own run? it is impossible.” ‘“‘] shall make it, judge; please order Flash,” was the firm reply, and the judge, who was station agent, reluctantly obeyed. Ten minutes after, Little Grit sprung upon the back of his splendid bay, that, like Firefly, was ridden without a briale, and a rousing cheer greeted the daring Wild Rider as he sped away like the wind, regardless of the threat against his life. CHAPTER VII. THE RESCUE. Wate poor Jockey Jack was receiving a de- cent burial, at the hands of his friends at Rocky Glen Station, Little Grit was flying along the moonlit trail, the ciatter of the iron- shod hoofs of his horse the only sound that broke the deathlike stillness that rested upon the seenes through which he flitted like a phan- tom rider. Mile after mile was cast behind by the swift and tireless Flasb, who ran with neck stretched out and at a pace that few horses could equal, while his master sat like a statue in bis small saddle, his eyes peering into the misty distance ahead, to spy out any danger that might be lurking in his pathway. At length Flash swept over the ridge of a low bill, that marked fifteen miles from Rocky Glen, and before him a short distance, lay the lonely cabin of the stock-tender, where Little Grit expected to change horses for the next ride, a dash across prairie-land of six leagues. | Why, Benton is up late to-night; doubtless having a game of cards with somebody that has dropped in,” said Little Grit, as a light in the cabin-window caught his eye. The next minute he dashed up to the low stoekade to find the half-score of horses kept Little Grit the Wild Rider. ee a + eee ———— there for the Pony Riders, standing hitched outside, while angry voices were heard within. As he came to a halt, a loud cry was heard within, and then came iu piercing tones: ‘* Jockey Jack, help me! save me!” ‘Jockey Jack are dead, gal, an’ yer yells in vain.” This last was said in a gruff voice, and the one who called for help Little Grit knew to be the stock-tender’s daughter, a pretty girl of eighteen. In an instant he had dismounted, and revol- ver in hand, was advancing to the cabin en- trance, when he again beard in the same rude tones: ‘‘T knows yer has gold dust heur, gal, so give it, or yer’!) suffer as did yer daddy.” **T tell you I know not of any gold here, and my father would have given it up, rather than be murdered; oh! what shall I do?” With the last word Little Grit stepped into the room, and a thrilling scene met bis gaze, for two rough-looking men held in their grasp Bessie Benton, the pretty daughter of the stock- tender, and in front of her stood a burly ruf- fian with a rope end in his hand, and which was passed over a beam in the cabio, and around the girl’s neck. To the same beam, swinging to and fro, and with blackeved anJd ghastly face, hung the form of a man, whom the youth recognized as Dan Benton, the stock-tender, while ransacking some boxes and chests in the humble cabin, were four more of the band, whom Little Grit knew to be outlaws. “We has kilt Jockey Jack, gal, strung yer father up, an’ up you'll go, ef yer don’t tell us whar ther gold dust are hid, for we is goin’ ter work ther whole line o’ trail now,” and the apparent leader of the outlaws gave the rope a pull, until it tightened painfully around the neck of the maiden. But it was the last act of his life, for, re- gardless of consequences, Little Grit drew trigger and the man sprung into the air with a shriek, and fell upon the floor a corpse. But quickly followed two more shots, and down went one of the men who were holding Bessie Benton, while the other let go his hold and clipped his bands to his head with a howl of rage and pain. *““Come, Bessie, here!” shouted Little Gric, and in the dense smoke the girl saw a slender form glide to her side, and though the other outlaws now fired at random from their corner, she felt herself borne to the door, and the next instant was out in the pure air. **Quick, Bessie, spring on the best horse of your lot and ride like the wind and warn them at Rocky Glen,” cried Little Grit, as he forced the maiden through the stockade gate and out among the horses. ‘“‘And you, Little Grit?” asked the young girl. “Tl go on Jockey Jack’s run; quick, for those devils are coming,” and he almost threw Bessie upon the nearest horse, and cutting loose the halter gave her the end. *‘Hold on thar! we is coming,” came in stern tones from the cabin, and the door, which Little Grit hed clesed behind bim, was thrown open, and out dashed four outlaws. ‘*Go, for God’s sake, Bessie!” shouted the Wild Rider. ‘*I will not leave you in danger, Little Grit,” was the determined response, “Tam going, now!” and the youth struck her horse a violent blow, just as several shots came from the outlaws, and startled the fright- ened animals fastened to the fence. Away darted the horse with Bessie, and with a shot in response, Little Grit threw him- self upon the back of Flash, and with a defiant shout darted away. ‘‘Tt’s the Wild Rider! foller him, pards,” yelled an outlaw. ‘No, let him go, for he’s a-ridin’ toward ther river; come, cotch ther gal, or she’ll rouse ’em at Rocky Glen,” replied another, and two men rushed out and mounting in hot haste rode after Bessie Benton. ---- Instantly Little Grit halted, and gazing back watched the chase for an instant, and tben said in a joyous tone: ‘* As luck would have it, I mounted her upon a fleet horse, for she is dropping them; now, Flash, old feliow, there is double work ahead of you, buc I cannot spare you; come, show your mettle.” As if understanding the words of his young master, Flash darted off like a bird, and once more the Wild Rider was dashing along the moonli$ trail, baving lost just five minutes at Dan Benton’s stockade; but ere he had gone a dozen rods, he halted and turved back, saying firmly : “Tul risk it !” CHAPTER VIIL THE PHANTOM RIDER. Wen Little Grit struck the horse, upon which Bessie Benton was mounted, she was compelled to goand leave the brave youth, whether she card to or not, and realizing that he knew best what she should do, and that he was fully capable of taking care of himself, she urg<d the animal on rapidjy up the trail leading to Rocky Glen. But she had not gone far before she dis- covered that she was pursued, and at once she felt anxiety for her yersonal safety, as she knew how cruel had been ber foes, and the hanging form of her father was before her eyes, in all its horrid ghastliness. Encouraging her horse to greater speed she soon felt assured that she was mistress of the situation, as he ran along easi’y and gained steadily, although her jursuers were pressing their steeds with whip, spur and shouts. As if seeing how utterly useless the chase was the two men gave it up, but yet Bessie Benton continued her rapid flight until she came to a narrow canyon, where she lessened the speed of her horse for an instant, and then, with a startled cry came to a sudden halt, while with staring eyes she gazed before her upon an object that stood in ber path. Just where a few mconbeams struggled through the foliage, and fell into the canyon were a borse and rider, or phantoms. A snow-white steed, standing as motionless as though carved in marble, and a rider that was clad in a gauzy material sat in her saddle, for it was a woman, and seemed gezing intent- ly at the maiden who had invaded the dark re- treat. ‘Tt is the Phantom Rider! the Spirit of the Canyon!” cried Bessie in dismay, and in ter- ror she turned to fly, and, as if also startled at the strange apparition her horse sped away at fearful speed, and, unguided by his rider, turned into a trail running along the ridge of the hill. As she gained the path, where the few strag- gling trees did not obstruct the view, Bessie Benton glanced over her shoulder with a shud- der, to see if she was followed, and a cold chill seemed creeping over her heart, as she bebeld the Spirit of the Canyon coming rapidly on in ~ chase. ‘‘Fly! oh fly! good horse,” she cried anx- iously, and the long end of the halter serving as a whip, she lashed the flying animal savage- ly, and smarting with yain he increased his speed, and bounded along at a pace that was dangerous in the extreme, considering the na- ture of the trail. ‘She is gaining upon me, and yet I cannot hear the hoof-falls,” said Bessie, and she strained her ears to catch the sound; but her own horse made such a loud clatter as his iron shoes struck the loose rccks and flinty ground, that it seemed to drown all other noise, and she felt that it was her imagination only that caused her to think that the- white steed be- hind her was gliding silently along rather than running. At last, unable to stand this suspense any longer, she suddenly drew hard on the halter and brought her horse to a stand-still. Then, nervously, eagerly she listened, (Ej 900) <€om cS Sf TH Wie we ee eee eee