Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 205 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

ceteertesqeeqeenennetenpntinocetsigaes=—anags ‘¢ Gents—pilgrims—galoots in general, I want ter ask ye, do I luk like a cuss who would tell a lie?’ he began, in oratorical tones. ‘‘Do I luk ary a bit less than a second George Washing- ton?” A silence among the crowd was his answer. They had not yet got an inkling of what he was driving at, an! preferred to keep mum. ‘* Brethren,” the brick-bearded bullwhacker continued, after a pause, ‘‘ et doeth me dolorous to note thet ye hev yet received no inspiration from the honest reflection of my countenance, But sech is fate. Bear et in mind ever hence, beauties benign, thet a man who kin juggle down a quart o’ Death Notch petroleum wi’out ary a bumblebee in et, is an honest man. Moreover, feller-citizens, never look adversely upon one o’ yer sex because he is han’sum’, Et aire a phenomena pecooliar tew the male race vo’ whites. I was once jest as humbly as ary pplond present, but alas! [I’ve hed trouble, ’yees—dire trouble, and my benign and saint- ly resignation ter ther inevitable hes added luster and glorious angelic beauty to my phy- siognomy, despite all efforts of mine to the vontrary. But, lm no saint, pilgrims; not a golden ha’r ner ther sprout uv a wing is thar about me. No sir-ee! I’m a warrior, 1 am—on ther war-path, yearnin’ fer gore! Shell I tell vou why, my disciples? Ay! I will, tho’ et thall wring tears from this heart o’ mine as ‘Arge as watermelons, ‘* Ter beginwyi’, picter yexself a pleasant home of a well-ter-de merchant—who never took over seven drinks a day—in which war a wife anda sunny-haired child. Ther devil cums inter thet house, in ther figger of aman. His oily tongue tenipts ther wife; she attempts ter flee with her tenipter, but her child clings ter her skirts an’ begs her not ter go. In a passion the wo- man smites her own flesh an’ blood to the floor, uud flies with ther devil. The child is found by ther fond father, in a dying condishun, aw’ with her departin’ breath, he sw’ars fer ven- geance. Years pass, but at last it draweth near. Pards, hyar before ye stands thet mer- chant;-do ye wonder he yearns fer bug-juice ter satiate his thirst fer revenge?’ ‘*Go’r a’mighty, no!” declared Shakespeare. ‘** Bilin’ full cl’ar ter my larnyx would [ be, ef I'd been thru sech trouble.” ‘*On course ye would, an’ ef [ war ter assert ter ye thet, after years of search I’ve trailed my faithless wife hyar ter this very house, ou’d all be willin’ ter lend a helpin’ hand ter 00st her up ter a limb o’ ther furst convenient tree, wouldn’t ye?” ‘* Ef evyer fabled monster Did perch upon er roost— Then we're ther very pilgrims W’at’ll lend our hands—to boost!’’ quoth the post, with a caper. ‘‘ For lordy sake, man, ef thar’s ary show fer a neck-tie party, issue yer invitations to us, ter oncet.” ‘‘Then know thet ther murderess is in this hyar house, in the guise of a Mrs. Morris, an’ I her desarted husband seek revenge,” the stran- ger cried, fiercely. ‘‘ Hurrah! let’s give her the rope wi’out parley.” ‘* Stop!” a voice cried; “‘ don’t dare to disturb that innocent woman. See! this man is an im- postor!” and while speaking, Calamity Jane bounded forward from the hall where she had been listening, and tore a false beard from the ‘* honest ”’ man’s face. And there, exposed to the had cleverly deceived stood Mormon! aze of those he arrol Carner, the CHAPTER XI. THE POET PLOTS. For a moment after bis strange unmasking, Carrol Carner stood confronting the Girl Sport, almost speechless with rage; then he drew a knife and rushed fiercely at her, but stopped when he perceived that she held a cocked “ six ” in band, ‘* Slack up yer lokermotive, ef ye please!” she ordered, peremptorily, ‘‘or I shall perforate you. Didn’t ’spect I see’d you leave the tavern, did ye, and that I tumbled ter yer leetle game the minute I see’d you?” ‘‘Everlasting curses seizo you!” the baffled schemer hissed. ‘If you put up that pistol Pl kill you!” ‘Tt would be rather kind of me to give you that advantage, but I can’t hardly see ther point!” Calamity returned, dryly. ‘* And, I al- iow thet, fer yer own personal safety, et would be your likeliest move to make yourself scarce aout this burg. In other words, I’ll give you five minutes to git! If I see enough of your — — Deadwood Dick’s Doom. 18 blow you higher than dynamite blowed Hell Gate.” ‘“ But I protest!—Gentlemen, I appeal to you for protection!” the scoundrel cried, turning to the rough-shod audience he had just been ad- dressing. ‘* Will you see me thus bulldozed by this young tigress in breeches?” ‘“T allow ye’ll hev ter fight yer own battle, ilgrim!” poetical Shakespeare asserted, with a Ecoad grin. ‘‘ Ye war superfine at pullin’ sheepskin over our eyes an’ we opine ye'll hef ter rest on yer own oars—you bet! Ef the gal sez git, I allow thet is about the healthiest thing you kin do.” ‘* Yes, you bet, and you’ll need to be expedi- tious in order to get out of range of my pop-gun in the four minutes that yet remain,’ Calamity added, glancing at her watch. ‘‘Come! be moving, or you’re a cadaver, sure! And recol- lect, if [ ever catch you in this town hereafter, I shall pop you over without ceremony.” Carner gazed at her a few seconds with a face that was livid with rage, and then turned and strode to the door. ‘* Remember!” he cried, turning and shaking his elinched fist at her; then he hurried forth into the pouring rain. Calamity followed him to the door, and kept her revolver leveled at him until he had left the basin, then she returned to the bar-room, from whence she went to her own apartment, up- stairs. The poet bullwhacker was a shrewder man than many gave him credit for being. While out- wardly blatant aud boastful, he was capable of putting this and that together and forming some pretty correct conclusions, Among others he had.lately conceived a little money-making plan of*his own, from things that had come to his notice. In the first place, he had by figuring and guessing concluded that the girl, Virgie Verner —or more correctly Myrtle Morris—was of more pecuniary value than ordinary girls, for the reason that she was wanted by two parties— first by Carrol Carner, who had offered five hundred dollars reward for her, and secondly by Mrs. Morris. How much could be extorted from her the bullwhacker bad no idea, but he had conceived an idea that she would be glad to pay still more handsomely. n the second place, he had formed another idea that he could find the girl. He had twice gotten a glimpse of Old Scavenger, the Mad Dwarf—he had seen the terrible face of the Avenger at the tavern window ‘the night of Piute Dave’s death, and knew the Dwarf had been the one who had fired the fatal bullet simultaneous with the report of Calamity Jane’s weapon. Something argued to him that Virgie was in Scavenger’s power. Thus ooneluding,the poet formed a determina- tion to obtain possession of the girl, himself, if possible, and surrender her to the one who would pay the most for her, On the day following, which was a pleasant, sunny one, he left the town, and spent his*time in the mountains and forests that surrounded Death Notch, on every hand. His object in this was to obtain a glimpse of the Dwarf. One glimpse was all he wanted— he could then strike the maniac’s trail and follow it, no matter where it led—for not many years before the bullwhacker had been a scout upon the plains, and bad acquired great skill in picking and following trails. “Ter solve this hyar enigma Must I see his nibs contig’ me, Then may Satan all unrig me An’ b’ars an’ wildcats dig me, Ef I do not find ther pigmy!”’ he said, smiting his brow. It was well along in the day ere he caughta glimpse of Old Scavenger descending a moun- tain path. The Dwarf had a haunch of a re- cently killed deer upon bis shoulder, and was evidently making for his camp. No sooner did he spy him, than the poet secreted himself hastily in a clump of chaparral, and waited to learn which course the maniac would take after reaching the gulch. **Oh! now I’ve struck a lead; His trail VU quickly read; I'll next thing git him treed, An’ waltz off wi’ ther gal—indeed!’’ was the poetical thought of the bullwhacker. Scavenger continued to descend the rugged ath, until he reached the guich bottom, whon 1e paused and glared around him, as if toassure himself that no one was in the vicinity, His eyes gleamed with a wild unnatural fire, and altogether he was a horrible obj»ct to see. That he was utterly insane no one could anatomy after that, to get a decent aim at, I'll | doubt, who beheld him. -_ Lay — i After a moment’: survey of his surroundin he turned and strode up the western course o the guich, which led into the heart of the wood- ed mountains, Allowing him to get fairly out of sight, the bullwhacker then emerged from concealment, and took up the trail, and followed it, step for step. Pipe I shouldn’t find ther gal, TH be mad- der’n ther hornet who out o’ spite bit off his own ear,” he soliloquized. ‘I allow, however, thet ’'m on ther right trail.” The Dwarf led him a long walk ere the desti- nation came into view, and caution required the trailer to stop. The Avenger’s camp was in the gulch bottom in a little forest glade. A rude camp-lodge of boughs had been constructed for shelter. ear this, upon a log, sat none other than Virgie Ver- ner—or Myrtle Morris, the Mormon’s bride and victim. She was not free however. A strong small- linked chain was locked about her waist, and then fastened to the strong limb of a tree over- head which shaded the spot where she sat. From his position which was several rods dis- tant from the camp, Shakespeare could not hear anything thet was said by either the fair prisoner or her captor, but he saw the Dwarf shake his fist at the former, as he laid down bis haunch of meat, ‘““The cussed leetle skunk is ugly ter her, I opine,” the poet grunted, disapprovingly. ‘* Wonder ef thadn’t better pop him over, and done with it? Guess, however, et would be best ter tackle him when he’s asleep, and secure him in the real flesh an’ blood. Ef I war ter put ’im ina cage, 1 expect [ could hire bim out ter Barnum, as a curiosity.” It was getting dark, and not being particular: ly desirous of shedding human blood, the poe’ ecided to postpone action until the Dwart slept. in the mean time, Scavenger buil( a fire, ond slicing off some meat from the haurel, with hi: keen knife, spitted it upon a stick, and proceed, ed to roast it. When he had a sufficient quan- tity prepared, he laid several pieces upon a chip, and handed the food to Myrtle, who hac been watching him, with a grave, anxious face, ‘*There! eat, you girl! that will bring t}» roses back to your cheek, for me to kiss away | he said with a horrible grin. Myrtle pushed the meat away, in disgust, “7 do not want anything to eat, you human beast!’ she gasped, in borror. ‘“ All I want of you is to release me, and let me go my way.” ‘Ob! bo! that would be kinder nic: , wouldn’t it?” be grunted. ‘‘ But, you’re in too much of a hurry, my rosebud, | wouldn’t send you off at night, You must wait till morning!” ‘Ah! then, will you release me? Oh! please say that you will?’ the young woman said, Plena’. ** Ye#! yes! I'll release you—to be sure I will —from every earthly care, trial and tempta tion, Dll send you where Deadwood Dick sent my child—oh, yes I will! Pll cut yer pretty chroat, an’ ye'll die easy, an’ go straight to Jordan’s golden shores, on ther broad route!” Myrtle uttered ascream, as she comprehended his purpose. “Oh! surely—surely you will not harm me sir? Only promise me that you won’t! What have I ever done that you should wish to kill me? : ‘‘ Nothing! nothing at all! but I have sworn to kill every white hellion I could get a bold of, and I shall fulfill my oath. To-morrow, just at sunrise, you shall die, and there will be another notch upon Red Hatchet’s tally-pole, put there by me. Ha! ha! ha!” And he laughed Jike a demon incarnate, as he was. Poor Myrtle! What else could she do more appropriate than indulge in a good hearty ery#—which she did, It did nct affect the Avenger, however, for he ate ravenously of raw meat, after which he smoked his pipe, and rolled himself up in his blanket near the fire, preparatory to going to sleep. Myrtle’s chain was of considerable length, so that she could enter the hut and recline upon a bed of boughs which had been provided for ber. Outside the camp, the bullwhacker poet waited impatiencly for the midnight bour to arrive, having decided that it would be his best time to act, ' It came, at last, and he stole stealthily for- ward, with cat-like tread, into the glade, a ' cocked revolver in his hand ready for use in case necessity compelled him to fight for his COMLEDOOKS: