Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 205 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

10 calggyete wudberwmecss Roe ‘< And if you refuse, I'l] kill your father, and torture you, afterward,” Scavenger said, with a diabolical grin. ‘‘Oh! father, I cannot!” Siska cried, cover- ing her eyes with Ler hands, to shut out ‘sight of the crazy cut-throat. ‘‘Id rather you would take your tomahawk, and kill me, yourself!” ‘Waugh! Siska is but a squaw, now—not like her brave self. Lay one finger upon the table in scorn, as becomes a fearless Indian girl, and tell yonder bloodthirsty pale-face devil to cut it off. Red Hatchet has spoken!” And this time the tones of the old warrior were proud and filled with stern rebuke. Fired by his coldness, Siska advauced to a rude table near by, and laying her left fore- finger upon the board, she turned fiercely to Scavenger, her eyes flashing fire, and said: ‘¢ There! monster, take your coveted prize!” ‘¢ Ho! ho! this is vengeance!” the madman cried, striding toward the table, his long ter- rible knife in hand. ‘‘ When I have cut that off, my thirst shall be satisfied, until a pale- face dog shall come within reach, to-morrow.” ‘He reached the table and caught hold of her wrist, and— Did not execute his hellish purpose! for at the instant he was about to s*:.cr tha member from the hand, a man boun led quickly into the room, and seizing the Dwarf by the leg and shirt collar, raised him by the strength of his arms above his head—then hurled him forward into the capacious fire-place, wherea hot fire was burning, for the mountain air was chill. The next instant the stranger had drawn a sword from a scabbard which hung at his hip, and stood on guard. It was none other than the Stranger in Black, who had come to the rescue of Calamity Jane, a few hours before, With a howl of rage the Dwarf scrambled from the fire-place, but not before the flames had severely scorched his hands and face and scorched some of the bair therefrom. ““You—you !” he gasped on gaining his feet, and perceiving who his assailant was. ‘¢-Ves, I!” the Unknown replied, in his deep thundering voice. ‘‘Once more we have met, and your little murderous game is foiled, Go} I give you yet until the 10th of September to live!” For a moment the Avenger gazed in almost speechless fury at the man in black—then with a howl, he fled from tho cabin. CHAPTER VIII. WHO KILLED PIUTE DAVE? WHEN the Dwarf was out of sight, the Un- known turned to Red Hatchet, and gazed at him a moment, silently.. ** You are like the rest of your red race—a demon!” he said, finally, with biting sarcasm. ‘“T’d be doing your chiid an act of mercy, you old snake, if 1 threw you into that fire, and al- lowed you to burn to a crisp!” ‘‘Oh! nof no!” Siska cried, pleadingly. “Don’t do that, sir. He is my father, and getting old. Please spare him for my sake.” ‘‘For your sake, then, be it, for I can but re- member that lam un: jer deep obligations to you,” the Unknown said, bowing. Siska looked surprised. ‘‘ The daughter of Red Hatchet is grateful to the dark stranger,” she said, ‘*‘ but does not un- derstand why he fee's under obligations to her.” ‘“‘Nor is there need that she should,” the Unknown replied. ‘‘In the mean time, be- ware of the mad Dwarf, and if he again offers to trouble you, shoot him on the spot!” With this parting injunction, the man of mystery turned, and strode from the cabin, out into the early gloaming of the night. Calamity Jane had overheard the conver- sation between Mrs. Morris and Carrol Car- ner, for it so chanced that her room adjoin- ed that of the Mormon schemer, and there being only a thin board partition, every ware that had been spoken came distinctly to “se ‘ * 4 Whib viebst Wik sic VY shaacdan, Aye Gakic. wate SSS me rr . Deadwood Dick’s Doom. Mormon villain,’ she said, ‘‘and I allow he’ll find his hands full.” She went down-stairs into the bar-room, to see if the California lady was there, but found that she was not. There was a big crowd of the miners and roughs present, however, among whom were Piute Dave, and the bull- whacker poet, Shakespeare. The latter had evidently been indulging ina goodly number of ‘bootlegs,’ for he was catering to the tastes of the crowd by some very queer antics in the terpsichorean line, ‘* Dance?” he roared, with an extra shuffle; ‘“why, galoots, ye nevyer see’d yer uncle wig: gle his number thirteen. I’m a reg’lar old bal- let, when I get a-goin’, on single bizness, an’ when ye guv me a feminine gal o’ good luks, why, old Chesterfield was nowhar wi’ his ideers o' exquizut grace. Jest tershow ye, fer instances, my festive royal old kids, hyar’s ther Calam frum Calamityville; she won’t mind tryin’ a mazzurkey wi’ me, I know.” And he waltzed toward where Calamity had paused, bent on forcing ber into a dance with him, But, just before he reached her, his eyes became glued upon a little instrument she held in her grasp, which mildly suggested trouble, did he advance further. So he halted: ‘““Why don’t you come on?” Calamity asked, dryly. ‘‘Surely you are not afraid of sucha little tool as this?’ ‘* But, great Jerusalem, you’d let me have, right in the buzzom—I seed et in yer eye.” ‘Well, I allow you’re a purty fair guesser, for I shall shoot you, kerslap, if you lay ope o’ yer greasy paws on me!” ‘But you'd git yanked, fer that.” ** Not while I kin handle a ‘ six’!” ‘Then ye calkylate you’re a shootist, do ye, right from Shootin’ville?”’ ‘*‘T do, that same. I presume I am most generally able to look out for number one.” ‘But ye can’t shoot—no siree, bobtail hoss! Thar ain’t no mortal thet kin shoot, compared wi’ yer uncle, ther playful poet ©’ ther plains, Why, w’u’d you believe et, gal, I’m ther furst patentee o’ revolvyers, am I, an’ I kin outshoot ary pilgrim from Carver, down to the days 0’ Davy Crockett.” ‘Pll bet ye can’t,” Calamity retorted. She these rude men she must surprise them by some extraordinary proceeding, and there is no accomplishment that tickles a Western man so muck as an exhibition of perfect marksman- ship. In this Calamity was not to be despised, for she had handled weapons too many years not to be well acquainted with their use. ‘“‘Tll bet you can’t knock the neck off a bot- tle, thirty yards off.” ‘‘Oh! Danyel in the lions’ den! what fool- ishness. Why, gal, For shutin’ cluss, I’ra noted— I’m ther ’ristocratic, bloated— Ther purty sugar- coated Pop-gun puller o’ ther West, " Why, I kin toss a likker glass inter ther air, an’ plunk a hoel through the bottom afore et cums down.” ** You can’t do it,” Calamity declared, pull- ing out her purse, “and I'll bet just a gold eagle ag’in’ it. Then, I'll tura around and bet that if you can do thet, [can take a revolver | and put the bullet down the tube o’ a narrow necked bottle, while it is in the air.” A cheer of enthusiasm came from the crowd at this assertion of the Girl Sport, while the poet looked rather nonp’ “se, as he surveyed his opponent, a heap more narve in ya then ye luk fer. Vil. ‘ jest bet ye a squar’ fifty gold-bar thet ye ken’t do nothin’ o’ the kind,” “Taken, first dose. Put up yer collateral. Poker Jack will hoid the stakes.” The bullwhacker was in earnest, and put up his ‘* three ouncer” in Jack’s hands, forthwith, while Calamity handed him five eagles, and ‘the bet was made. ot atv 4% ‘Well, dog my cats, et we kin do thet thar’s | saw that to gain the admiration and respect of | | git yer fifty, cuss my golden slippers ef I don’t treat ther bovees ter ther best ther house af- fords. Ob! I’m a liberal cuss,” ‘*So I perceive, and when you win a wager on my shootin’, you'll need to bet the other way!’ Calamity laughed. ‘* You yilgrims git to either side now, ond leave the center of the room clear for it’s whole length, so that nobody shall git hurt—it would be a great pity to harm so respectable an assemblage. I could never forgive myself were I to kill half a dozen of you. Nuw, then, you bullwhacker, procure an empty bottle, and stand half way down the room, to the right side, and when I give the word, toss the bottle up into the air, the neck towards me. I will take my position at the upper end of the room here, and if you toss the bottle as I order, Vl agree to put a bullet down the neck so that it will come out the bot- tom. Get ready now!” Her orders were promptly obeyed. The crowd moved to one side, and she and Shake- speare tcok their respective positions, ‘“Gentlemen, you want ter peel yer eyes now,” the bullwhacker said, feeling considera- ble uneasiness as to the result of his wager. ‘‘A gal o’ starling qualities this gal Caiam, may be, but et won’t do nary harm ter watch her very close, ye see. Ther’fore, peel yer eyes, and peel ’em good, an’ watch her leetle game—’ca’se fer me ter lose my ducats, b’yees, ’d be a beastly shame. Selah! Cum, gal, be yer ready?” ‘Not yet!” Calamity answered, taking her position. ‘* The light in the room is so bright that it dazzles my eyes. Will some one tie a handkerchief over one of my eyes—you, Poker Jack?” The host of the Poker House assented, and according to directions, effectually blindfolded the left eye of the eccentric girl dare-devil, **Now, then—one— two—three!” she cried, cocking and raising her revolver before she had uttered ‘‘ three.” The instant she uttered the momentous word, the bullwhacker tossed a long-necked bottle into the air, as directed, with a “ ki! yi!” The next instant there was a loud report—a smashing of glass—a yell of human pain. Down to the floor fell the bottle with the bottom knocked out; down to the floor fell ' Piute Dave, grasping at his side, from which a stream of blood was cozing, and dyeing the floor. Calamity had won her wager! And Piute Dave had lost his life. Had one bullet done it all? That was a question unanswerable by any present, as all eyes had been riveted upon the bottle as it whirled through the air. It had all occurred in an instant, and brought surprise to every one—even Calamity, whe heard the fall. ‘‘Tam killed—the cursed girl in breeches did it!” Piute Dave gasped, blood spurting from his mouth, as he spoke. “Kill her, some one —cut her heart out!” “ Back!” Calamity cried, tearing the hand- kerchief from before her eye, and leveling her re-cocked weapon at the crowd. ‘‘Thisisa lie! I did not shoot that man. Look at the bottle—there isa hole through it! You will at once see that 1 could not bave done both poe with one bullet.” ‘*'You lie—you lie!” Piute Dave yelled, rais- pes frantically upon his elbow, and attempting to draw his revolver, but the exertion was more than be was capable of, and he dropped back upon the floor—dead! For a moment thereafter the silence in the room was so intense that a pin-fall could have been heard. Then, Poker Jack eae o The gal is right, boys,” he said, decidedly. “She could not hev bored thet hole through the end of the bottle, an’ killed Dave too.” ‘A gal who’s clever enuff ter even chuck cold lead inter ther throat o’ a bottle when et was tumblin’ somersaults in mid- air, ar’ enuff | possessed ©’ ther devil ter do most anything, J ach. <- auto ad orcve yer brag, * ! allow.” an oid miner ceciaced. witk 2 ornst of : Shakespeare Criet, Wile & QTi4, ‘an’ whex I‘ disapproval, and this view ox tne matte: Gist CS | JOO com (E (E(@)