Beadle's Half Dime Library, Vol. 1, No. 2 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

EE He would make the best of his way out of the canon and return to his camp, trusting that matters would some all right in due course of time, And so he blindly rushed upon his doom! Suddenly Mat Mole crouched down beside a rock, half-raising his rifle. But after a keen glance at the suspicious =— he arose and advanced. “A body—that then accounts for the shot and yell I heard,”’ he muttered, as he stooped over the mangled heap, ‘ As I live, *tis the Eagle!” he added, in surprise, catching up the left hand and looking at it closely. ‘‘The middle finger missing, and here is my name, as I pricked it the day we took that oath to be brothers forever.”’ ; : Mat Mole was so deeply interested in this discovery that he did not hear the faint rustling sound as the bushes parted behind him, nor the stealthy step as a wild-looking figure stealthily glided nearer and near- er, an expression of horrible exultation resting upon the haggard features and glowing in the large, sunk- en eyes, Then a hoarse, snarling.-cry sounded in his ears, and he was forced to the ground, while iron fingers seemed fairly tearing his throat out. In vain his struggles—though more than ordinarily strong, the outlaw was now in the hands of one beside whom he was a very infant. “‘ At last—at last! I’ve got ye at last, Zene Kal- loch!” snarled the giant, er hea J his captive over upon his back, and glaring into his face. ** Look at me—do ye know me? Hev I changed so much? It’s your work, then—you made me what I am—an’ now you've got to pay for it, Zenas Kalloch!”’ “I ain’t Zenas Kalloch. There's some mistake,” faltered the outlaw, as his throat was released. **Don’t lie—don't lie to me. I know ye—an’ you know me, too; I kin see it in your eyes. An’ now I’ve got ye d’y’ know what I’m goin’ to do, Zene Kal- loch? I’m goin’ to kill ye—not allto onc’t. No—no! that’d be too great a blessin’ for sech as you. I’ve got to pay ye fer all—fer her—fer Mary, fer her mother, who died o’ a broken heart over her child's i —fer myself—fer everythin’. It’s a big debt, but it’s got to be paid, es far es your or’nary life kin per See—this is the way I’m goin’ to pay it—by nches!”’ CHAPTER XVIII. RETRIBUTION. Hasten as Campbell and John Warren might, fully an hour was occupied in traversing the ledge to the gee where the scout’s too fatal aim had killed Eagle while nobly keeping his pledge. Campbell drew back, a finger upon his lips. “Be cautious—she is there, and seems to be either sleeping or in a faint. If awakened suddenly, like as not she will rush over the ledge before she knows it, thinking you are an enemy, Creep past me, and stand at hen can catch her if she springs up.” John Warren obeyed, and then called the maiden by name. She did not answer, but lay still and mo- tionless as though dead. A wild fear assailing him, he stepped forward and grasped her arm. ith a low cry of terror, the girl awoke, and vee des- perately to free herself. Only for Campbell's pre- cautions another tragedy would have occurred. As it was, Ada soon recognized her uncle, and sunk sob- bing upon his breast, nor could she answer his ques- tions for some minutes, She had been sorely over- tasked, since the bursting of the pouderee, and when she saw her guide and protector hurled over the ledge to death, she fell back in a deathlike swoon. From that she fortunately sunk into a heavy sleep, else, in her half-distracted condition, she would have fled from the terrible spot, only to fall a victim to her agitation along that perilous trail. “Wait until we get up to the level ground,” impa- tiently said saw! ell, checking the emigrant in incoherent questions. ‘ We are in danger here, and f discovered good-by to our lives as well as the more of regaining your ag ge @ young scout lent Ada what assistance she reper with a quiet respect that was very grate- A wild yell came from below—one of agony the most intense, followed by a burst of devilish laugh- ter. The men interchanged glances. The same thought could be read in their ore. They believed the shriek came frora the lips of Frank Maynard. **We can do him no good now,” muttered Cam bell, gloomily. ‘‘*Twould beall over before we could return, Basides, he isa man; and we havea helpless woman here to save. We must push on. As Ada could scarcely move one foot before an- other, the emigrant raised her in his strong arms, and the party progressed more rapidly, Thus placed more at ease, Ada briefly told her story, de- scribing as well as she was able, the man who had parted her from Minnie. ‘It’s Mat Mole—the man who has followed you so far,’ said Campbell. ‘There is one comfort in it, though. Her life is safe in his hands. So cheer up, old man. Your daughter shall be restored to you, if mortal man can do it,” An hour later they safely entered the corral. While Warren was busy attending to Ada, Camp- bell briefly told what had Occurred , and asked for volunteers to return to the canon, to rescue Frank Maynard, or if dead, to give his body Christian burial n and take what vengeance they could upon his mur- derers. As one man the emigrants stepped forward, weaken the but Campbell did not deem it prudent train much, so he only selactel three men. These he believed would be enough, since his object was to avoid, rather than court, a collision. Campbell, led the way round by the upper end of the canon, followi ost directly upon the foot- of the doomed outlaw. ey had not followed the canon for more than a few hundred yards before they were interrupted by Yellowstone J ack, faint cries and screams from ahead, There could be no mist this. It was the complaints of some one who was being subjected to torture. Though expressing intense agony, the voice seemed that of one well-nigh exhausted, , “‘There’s the devil’s own work going on there,” muttered Campbell, hoarsely. “ k to your wea- ens, but don’t burn powder until I give the word,” ded the scout, ashe resumed his progress. A few more minutes sufficed to carry them to the point from whence the torture could first be seen, and the entire party abruptly halted, fairly sicken- ing with horror and disgust. The naked body of a human being was suspended by the feet to a pine tree, his hands bound firmly to the trunk, so that he was held motionless, head downward. Before him stood a wild, blood-stained figure, flourishing a keen knife, with which he was literally flaying the aera Had nt alive, by inches atatime! Long strips of skin swayed to and fro as the bared muscles quivered with the torture. The victim was a mass of blood from head to foot. His voice was faint and weak, Evidently his race was well-nigh run. “ eep under cover,’’ Campbell whispered, to his men, I believe I know both those men, If so, our young friend may be safe yet.” ° Drawing a revolver, the scout coe rapidly yet noiselessly forward, keeping behind the madman, who was too busily engaged in his long deferred ven- eance to take heed of aught else, and then Camp- ell dealt him a quick, heavy stroke upon the back of his head with the brass-bound revolver-butt that felled him like an ox in the shambles, ** Come up» lads, and help me loose this poor de- vil, though I don’t suppose you'll fee much sympa- thy for him when you know it’s Mat Mele, the same one who has brought all your trouble upon you.” The moaning wretch was gently lowered to the bloodstained ground, and then Campbell added: ** Dose him; if possible, I want him to answer me fad a ae the not Sern hg fon how, while oO see oung Ma 8 ght.” Vase bell found k in a sort of stupor. The horrible cries and sounds from without, unable as he was to learn their cause or purport, had thrown him back not a little. Fearing lest Mole should die too soon, the scout returned to question him. But the outlaw was already insensible to pain, and a few minutes later drew his final breath. Campbell had learned what a sad error he had made in shooting the Eagle for an enemy, and buried his mangled corpse in a deep cleft, covering it with boughs, rocks and earth. In another spot the out- law was buried. Then a rude litter was made, and Maynard placed upon it. The giant, who seemed now another per- son, since the outlaw’s death, was unbound, and though watched, quietly walked beside the rest. The wounded man was safely conveyed to the cor- ral, where he was greeted as one risen from the dead. But he still remained buried in that deep, heavy stupor that looked like death. CHAPTER XIX. YELLOWSTONE JACK IS ASTONISHED. Ir was with a sensation of unutterable horror that Yellowstone Jack felt himself drag into the Boil- ing i ghen | by the weird woman, but the catastrophe could not be avoided, struggle as he might. And then he felt the bony fingers of the hag clutching and tearing at his flesh like the claws of some infu- riated animal. A dim, peculiar light—like the “shadow of a light *"—then slowly dawned upon him. A strangely sweet sound came indistinctly to his ears, drowning the painful ringing inthem, Wild visions seemed to float before him, alluring, tantalizing. But when he strove to them, he found his bs powerless. A spell seemed upon him. And yet he could move his eyes, he could breathe; the atmosphere was warm, there was a peculiar odor perceptible. What did it allmean? Could this be the “ other world?” Was he dead? If not, then where was he? No, Yellowstone Jack was not dead, though for some time he was in great doubts upon this point. But then as his brain grew clearer, the unearthly sweet sound changed to the voice of some one - ing a plaintive air at no ew distance, and he could see that he was beneath the ground, his feet still lying in the water. “Some more spook business, I reckon,” the scout muttered uneasily, feeling at his belt; then as he found his knife still in its sheath, he gained more confidence. “Black Harris whipped one on ‘em wi’ a knife, an’I reckon I’m es good a man es he is; anyway, I'll make it es lively es I kin for ’em, ef they think to play off any o’ thar tricks on me.” The now ceased, and Yellowstone could just ish two voices, as though in conver- sation. Drawing his knife, he crept forward as si- lently as possible. His progress was almost imme- diately checked by whaf seemed to be a rock-wall. The voices appeared to pass through this. Yet, as he carefully felt of the obstruction, he found it ually retreated upon either hand, like an enor- mous column. Followin - the ts hand curve, the trapper found the light s ily increasing in brilliancy; then he abruptly paused, with difficulty checking an ex tion of wond ering surprise. And truly ’twas a strange scene tha inet kia gaze. A rude, gourd-shell lamp was ded in the air, casting a flickering, uncertain light around. The floor here, that been gradually rising ever since Yellowstone Jack left the water's , was eleva- ted nearly to the hight of his head. e walls were hung with skins, furs, articles of Indian dress and use, various kinds of Fa, such as bows and ar- rows, hatchets, knives and even rifles. Seated u —or “s ” as the superstitious trapper devout y believed—conve together. Though widely-dif- th beautiful—in that flick- fering t they were ering light ~ one in ci broidered and feather-worked. na pile of furs, were two human bein 15 tartlingly so. Blonde and brune; the vilized costume, though sadly worn and frayed, the other in Indian ogg beaded, em- last, Yellow- stone Jack had seen before. She it was who sent him the warning note. ‘““You sigh,’ suddenly said the drune,in a clear, musical voice that strangely thrilled the listening trapper. ““And can you? Just th morning ! murdered—!"’ ou wonder—after what I have told what has occurred since yesterday The storm—the frightful runawa rescue from what seemed certain death—then and was “Do not weep,” soothingly uttered the other, ca- ress the so t, brown “At least your life iss ocks of her companion. “And for what? Better had you let that fearful woman kill me at once—what have I to live for now? Nothing—all are dead—all murdered! here—’ And I am “With one friend, at least, lady. Mother has had spells—at their worst when the moon is full—but I can do anything with her. Now that I have claimed ou as a friend, she will never lift finger against you. Ve will try and make you happy until you can be restored to your friends,” ‘I have none—they are all dead—murdered!” **Perhaps not. cou They were stro rage. They inay have defeated in numbers and the Indians. I asked mother to learn what was the result when she went forth this morning. She should have returned before this. Perha Yellowstone Jac and s assured of her bein did not follow him. ‘ back tremblingly. I can see her.” saw the girl move toward him, He was not yet fully mortal flesh and blood. She stead he heard a faint, creak- ing noise; a a ee wp e+ figure re- ap seemingly exc about something. peared re’s a man eee ew who treated you so rudely,” lessly, yet distinctl the very one pered, breath- “Brindle Joe, rh bet a mule!”’ thought Yellow- stone, and his courage rose wonderfully. kin git out, so kinIl. Ef they're spooks, then they know I’m here, an’ if they ain’t, I reckon I'm man enough to han'le two gal-critters.”’ Reasoning thus, the trapper — t ward, confronting the women. but the darkest one quicki inted a feathered shaft ruder, held up his open hands in token of amity. viel | “Ef she boldly for- shrunk back clutched a bow an at the heart of the in- Yellowstone Jack did not flinch, though he on’t mean either on ye no harm, leddies—'f I'd ’a’ hed my way, I wouldn't ‘a’ come in a’ tall. Fact is, l was brung hyar mightily “Who are you—what do you want rune. “I’m a man—leastwise I try to be one. Folks call b ‘Inst my will.”’ ” demanded the me Yallerstone Jack, though my old man an’ woman they called me John Henery Andrew Jackson Har- vey. I want out.” As to t’other question, that’s easier answered. At this moment there came a dull, thumping sound from the wall behind Yellowstone ack, and quickly, he started back with a low cry, involuntari- ly drawing his knif A shado upon the e. sere brushed him and sunk down of skins, with a faint moan. It was that of the weird woman, who had dragged the trap- per into the spri ng. ‘*Mother!” cried the dark maiden, kneeling be- de her. ‘“* Peace, child—you candomenogood. The shades are gone now, and I can see things should you cry out and start I not say I was going to rest— se? dying—there! Wh back like that? Di to peace and everlasting re hand that sends me to ** Peace, God that it is so. And you clearly. I am lessed be the at last!” “ ome Shing are bleeding—what could—” te—I am beyond your aid, and I thank stranger,’’ she add feebly beckoning to Yellowstone, ‘“come nearer. know you now longer mad. there is no one else. or an honest trapper, believe I can trust you—I must— for I am no ‘‘Hold my hand, Kittie, pet—I am sinking fast. I can feel a cropping, dropping here—in that tells me my tears—why do you weep at my they me, too. I would no utes are numbered. ood fortune like to leave you Dry your your And weeping. And listen—I have much I would like to tell spe before I home.”’ * ou sw stren’th,” ventured Yellowstone, produci leathern flask of whisky, some cured at the train. The d that he ‘*Thanks—I may needit. Now, Kittie er a little o’ this it ‘ll give you a small pro- listen.”’ woman in a faint, husky voice thus told the story of her life; a sad, mournful tale of sin and suffering. The reader will not require its repetition here, since portions of it have already been recorded. She was the sister of Bob Harris, the wife of Jethro Cowles, the woman who ran away with or Zenas Kalloch, as he was y named. Mole— of her og A he sold her to Neepaughwheese, the mutilated tled her brain. Shortly after arn Ren ad repro with w u for his sake, he struck her a brutal blow that unset. she fled from the Indians, taking with her a captive called Kittie, who, ¥ called h re several years, her mother, w had never known other kindred. “No, you are not my child, Kittie, tho ou as though “*T do not ever loved woman add (E(@) (E JOO cs Oo, in- h I have ou were,” the dying y know who you are, (E(0)