Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 205 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

14 “2 He soon reached the Dwarf's side without arousing him. Then, armed with a rope he sprung upon the unsuspecting Avenger, and se- cured his hands in almost a twinkling; then his feet: so that Scavenger was utter! y powerless to move by the time he had fully awakened to a sense of what was going on. ‘Curses on you!” he gasped, struggling to get ' free. “ Whoare you?—what do you mean?— what d’ye want?” ‘‘My name is William Henry Shakespeare, ther poet o’ ther West, an’ philosophical protec- tor of the wimmen’s rights,” the bullwhacker declared. ‘‘I’m goin’ ter bind yeter a tree fer wolf-fodder—then waltz off wi’ yer captive!” And he wasas goodas his word. Securely binding the Dwarf to atree, he then entered the tent, bound Myrtle hand and foot, and throw- ing her over kis shoulder, strode away out of the glade, followed by terrible curses from the lips of Old Scavenger, CHAPTER XII. OLD SCAVENGER’S SCALP. Not long after the departure of the bull- whacker, Old Scavenger had quite exhausted his vocabulary of epithets, and relapsed into a more quiet state. ‘“‘Curse the bullwhacker,” he hissed, ‘‘ he has robbed me of my vengeance, and tied me here at the mercy of the wild beasts, or any passer- by who might be of a disposition to torment me. Ho! who comes here?” In the early moonlight, he saw a man enter the glade, and stride directly toward him. Nearer he approached, and the Avenger was enabled to make him out as an Indian in full war paint. It was Dancing Plume the Apache. A shiver of dread and doubt went over the Dwarf’s figure, when he perceived it was not old Red Hatchet, as he had at first believed. What would the Indian do to him? Perhaps take advantage of his helplessness, and scalp and torture him! Not so demented was Scavenger as not to re- alize the doubtful comfort of such a proceeding. But, Dancing Plume was not that kind of a warrior. He was willing and not afraid to meet an enemy face toface, weapon to weapon. He had accidentally discovered the captive Dwarf, from the edge of the glade, and recog- nizing him as his rival in the suit for the hand of Siska, he resolved to take advantage of the opportunity thus afforded to come to a settle- ment, ‘“Wagh! what is the little poodle pale-face doing, in this shape?’ he demanded, pausing be- fore the Avenger, and surveying him, sternly. “ Why is he bound to a tree?” ‘*A cussed bullwhacker took me a prisoner when I was asleep, and left me in this condi- tion,” Old Scavenger replied. ‘‘ You’re good Injun—yonu will set me free.” ¥ ‘Dancing Plume will set the pale-face free, but he must draw his knife and fight for his scalp and his life,” the Apache chief responded, y: ‘*But, why? What have I ever done that you should wish to force me into a fight?’ venger demanded, in alarm, for, though of reat prowess, himself, he was aware that the paches are wonderfully accomplished in the use of the knife. ** Poodle pale-face is Dancing Plume’s rival!” the young warrior answered. ‘He holds a claim upon Siska, the mountain flower, and Dancing Plume also claims her. Therefore, the poodle pale-face must win her: by killing eee Plume, or lose her by losing bis own e. As he concluded speaking, the young war- ehief cut Scavenger’s bonds, and then stood on guard, his keen blade ready for use, “Draw your knife and strike,” he said, firm- ly. ‘‘It need not take long to find out who wins the mountain maiden!” Scavenger measured his opponent with his wild eyes, for a moment, and then shook his head, doubtingly. “The Indian is too skilled with the knife for the pale-face to hope to win. Therefore—Ill ie 4 d, even as he spoke, he dodged to one side, and ran for dear life. But in this be had counted without his host. His first leap had not taken him so far that he could miss a terrible blowin the back from Dancing Plume’s knife—a blow that promised to weaken him beyond the power of flizht. We will pass over the scene that f lowed as something too horrible to describe. Suffice to say, when he presented himself at -obailiivamdtemees es ee — Deadwood Dick’s Doom. the cabin of Red Hatchet, that evening, Danc- ing Plume wore dangling from his belt the reek- ing scalp of the Dwarf Avenger. CHAPTER XIII. TWO SENSATIONS. SEVERAL days passed, thereafter, without any incident worthy of mention. Mrs. Morris remained at the Poker House, in Death Notch, appara awaiting, from the Un- known, tidings of her lost daughter. Calamity kept her company most of the time, and did much to cheer and comfort her. Not a glimpse had been caught of Carrol Car- ner since his departure at the order of the girl sport, and it was hoped that he had cleared out for good. On the fourth morning after the night of Old Scavenger’s death, the town of Death Notch was ‘‘billed like a sareus,” as one miner re- marked, Posters, hand-printed, were stuck up in every conspicuous piace; and, what was more, they were the proclamations of two sep- arate parties, each having a different subject to unfold to the gaping assemblage that swarmed forth to read them. First and most important to the average citizen, was a poster concerning themselves, which read thus: i **NorIcn, “To the pale-face dogs who drove Red Hatchet and his tribe from the town of Sequoy, which the Government had given him, warning is given that unless they fly at once to their own pale-face coun- try, their scalps shall hang upon the lodge-pole of **Dancina Piumr, Chief of the Apaches.”’ The meaning was plain enough, but the rough men of Death Notch did not take any ‘stock’ in it. More than one threat had been thus hurled at them by Red Hatchet, but had not been ex- ecuted; what reason had they to believe that this one would be? The other poster was framed in language more familiar, and ran: ** NoTIcE! **'To every man, female an’ cherub wi’in ther classic precincts of Death Notch: ‘On ther morrow, at sunrise, I, William Henery Shakespeare, shall expose at public auction, from on top of Picter Rock, nigh yer town, ther following property, ter wit: ‘**One Purty Picce o’ Humanity, o’ ther femernine gender, aged about twenty; good sound teeth; travels ey good jog; sired by a Californy chap; warranted gentle and good lukin’. Found astray in ther mountings, an’ will be sold ter ther highest bidder, ter defray expenses of keepin’ an’ transper- tation, Dog-goned gud barg’in. *Purty as a new wax figger; Jes’ like a angel—but leetle bigger; Sweet as blazes—bet yer life— Chance fer pilgrims ter git a wife. “A big attendance is desired. “WriituiAM H. SHAKESPEARE, Auctioneer.”’ This created more of a sensation than Danc- ing Plume’s proclamation. alamity read it, and at once communicated the news to Mrs. Morris. ‘*Et’s your boss chance to git back yer gal!” ae sald. “The one who bids the most gets er!’ ** But, I can do wees I have but a hun- dred dollars with me, and it is more than prob- able that some ruffian would bid above that sum, to get my poor child in his power,” Mrs. Morris answered, in deep distress. ‘‘ Ol! dear, what can I do?” ‘* Well, we’ll see,” Calamity said, meditative- ly ‘‘There’s allus more than one way out of the woods, and we’ll work it, somehow. I don’t happen to be over-flush with ‘ bits,’ myself, or I might add a little to your pile. Tll go out and skirmish, and see what I can find, for we must be prepared to bid smart, to-morrow.” he went down stairs, and for a wonder found Poker Jack the only inmate of the bar-room. He was seated tipped back in an easy-chair, engaged in reading, but looked up with a nod. ‘Pleasant morning, Calamity!” he saluted, ‘Quite a sensetion stirred up again, eh? to break the monotony ?” ‘*So it seems, Jack. I allow I did you a squar’ deal, when you were in trouble, once, up in Deadwood, didn’t I?” ‘You bet ye did, Calamity, and I have always remembered it, because I’d been subject to a funeral expense, but for you.” ‘Well, Iwas handy to help you, and con- sidered you deserved it. And,‘now, if I was to ask a favor of you, what would you say?” “Pd grant it, in a minute, old friend. You have but to name it.” ‘Well, Ill tel] you what I want: I want —_— ee geen ~ ee ' aia dee ee ere ~—w: ania ge oe le aE Ee ceedihdeee tomen ‘ j money to bid off Mrs, Morris’s daughter, to- morrow !” Then she went on and explained the cireum- stances already known to the reader, Jack listened a few moments, scratched bis curly head. ‘** Well, L allow I can do a little toward rem- edying the difficulty,” he announced, ‘ Let the girl go fer what she will, Pll get her. Mrs. Morris can bid as high as her pile goes, and [ll take care of all above it.” CHAPTER XIV. DEATH NOTCH NO MORE—A CLOSING ACT. THE next morning dawned brightly, and by sunrise nearly every man, woman and child of Death Notch had forsaken the camp, for the scene of Shakespeare’s auction. Picture Rock was a high mass of rocks deposi- ted in the gulch a few hundred rods beyond the town. ‘The sides were almost perpendicular, up and down, rendering it inypossible to reach the top of the pile except by use of a rude stone staircase which Indians of past ages had hewn out—and these were so arranged that a person at the top could easily defend himself from the attack of a small regiment, The sides cf these rocks were covered by grotesque pictures of Indians, animals and rep- tiles, which had been chiseled there by rude and savage sculptors. Upon the top of the rock two blocks of stone answered the purpose of chairs, and on these the poet and his prisoner were seated. Poor Myrtle’s face was tear-stained and worse a sorrowtul expression, but it lighted up, and she gave a cry of joy when she saw the familiar face of her mother. ‘Oh! mamma! mamma!” she cried, putting forth her hands—‘‘ save me!” ‘Yes, my cbild!” Mrs. Morris cried, tears standing in her eyes. “Have courage, dear: est! When hesaw that his audience had gained about as large proportions as it was likely to, the bullwhacker arose, a pair of cocked revol. vers in his hands, ‘‘ Weller-citerzens!” he cried, ‘‘et does me Eb ter see ye allhere. Iknew you’d cum, ecause ye all wenter bid fer my pr.ze. She's mine; I ceptured Fer, an’ I’m goin’ ter sell ’er fer ther highest market price, an’ lll shute thei furst one who tries ter take her, afore I’m paid, Now, how much do I hear fer ther gal—how much fer her, jest as she is? Recollect—terms ar’ cash, on delivery o’ gcods.” ‘*'Two bits!” cried a miner. ‘Fifty dollars!” cried another. ‘One hundred!” shouted still another. ‘*'That’s et! keep the ball in motion boys?‘ the poet cried, with enthusiasm. ‘* Put all the vallue on her ye can, fer ye know I allus invite ther crowd to drink when ther state o’ my finan- ces will admit!” gs, give a hundred more!” Poker Jack said coolly. ‘‘Two—two hundred dollars I have—who’ll make it three?” ‘‘Five hundred—lI’ll give five hundred!” a voice cried—the voice of Carrol Carner, but, just where he stood among the crowd no one could see, ‘‘ Tl] make it a thousand!” Poker Jack cried. ‘““T’m going to have the girl, gentlemen; so the rest of you might as well give up.” “Twelve hundred! e’ll see who has the girl!” the voice of Carrol Carner again cried, and this time Calamity was on the watch and saw whence the voice emanated. The Mormon was rigged out with long black beard and hair, and accoutered with miner’s habiliments, and was also armed with a pick, shovel and pan. ‘‘Tf I keep my word, I'll have to go over and lug him,” she mused, ‘‘ Ill wait and see, first, Oa this turns out.” * T’)] raise it to fifteen hundred!” Poker Jack said, promptly, “‘ and I’ve got the ducats to pay it ‘* Look! look!” some one shouted, and all eyes were turned down the gulch. Coming toward them, mounted upon a flying horse, was the Unknown, yelling and waving his hat above his head. Behind him, not hardly out of rifle range, came a dark mass of horsemen, whose horrible screeches and rodding plumes proclaimed them to be Indians! In an instant all was consternation and con- fusion, and flight was made in every direction. No one thought of aught but their own safety, except Poker Jack. Even he was alarmed, but saw that action was necessary. Hesaw the bullwhacker desert and then | SOU ebooks: * ES, a ~—e* -- a —