Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 219 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

—_——— TE ER NE his hand grasping the haft of a huge bowie whose glittering blade pinned a buckskin bag of gold dust to the table, its keen point sunk full an inch into the board by the tremendous blow. His eyes were fixed in savage accusa- tion on aman who alsohad risen on the oppo- site side of the table, his face expressing the bewilderment of one suddenly sobered by a . powerful shock. The man was Tony Murray! ** Nailed !” shouted Bullwhacker Ben again, in a voice of thunder, ‘‘ That pouch belonged to Jim Kane! You see his totem+—J. K ” Then from the crowd rose a blood-curdling groan of horror and rage. ‘It’s rough on you, Tony,” reflected the Lit- tle Giant; ‘‘ but it leads the way to Iron Des- pard|” CHAPTER VI. TREACHERY—THE SUMMONS, Tr was true. The bowie had pierced the bag just between the two initials rudely traced upon it with India ink, Tony Murray saw them in utter amazement. He did not realize then that he was the victim of adiabolical plot. He did not know that the tools of the Little Giant—the figure-head of law and order in Hell Hole—had got him drunk, so that, while he was gambling with Bullwhacker Ben, the nimble-fingered Kid could filch his bag of gold-dust aud substitute this fatally marked one, ‘*Gents!” shouted Bullwhacker Ben, ‘‘ this is one of our men, at any rate! This byar is the vampire what drinks men’s blood! This hyvar—” But even his bull-like voice was drowned. “Down him! Down him! The VAMPIRE!” elled, Dan the Devil, No-likee-Jobn and Foxy in a breath, the Kid having quietly “ slid ” when his work was accomplished. He was a sj/villed laborer, and Jeft the *‘ cattle trampling” to his ruder colleagues, That menacing cry passed from lip to lip like fire in the prairie grass. Tony Miura saw that he would be torn to pieces before he could enter a protest. Even his voice, not to mention his words, would never be heard by his des- troyers. Pistols and bowie-knives were in every hand. Half a hundred passion-inflamed eyes pet upon him. A sudden, savage dash was iis only hope, and that of the slenderest. “* Back!” he yelled, and, drawing both revol- vers, fired directly into the crowd, and leaped forward, | Now the fiendish brutality of those murders stood him in good stead. The men were afraid of the supposed vampire, and scattered like sheep before his sudden onslaught. With a bound he burst through that cordon of death, and, turning and running backward continued to fire at his pursuers, who poured a perfect leaden hail after him. A glance over his shoulder, a leap into the air and he crashed through the window backward, carrying sash and glass, and rolled on the ground in the street. Blinded, stunned, bleeding from a score of wounds, the hunted man scrambled to his feet, tore free the hitching strap by which a horse was fastened before the saloon, and wasin the act of mounting when the mob rushed pell-mell through the door. Luckily one stumbled, and several others fell over him in a heap, forming a temporary blockade, which enabled Tony Mur- a gain the saddle, and dash away into the night. Then pandemonium reigned, until the voice of the Little Giant commanded attention. “Give me half a dozen men,” he declared, ‘ond I will never return without the murderer or his scalp.” Wild were the cheers; and all Hell Hole con- tended for the honor of being numbered in this expedition, But the captain of Vigilantes se- lected those whom he wished—Bullwhacker Ben, Dan the Devil, Foxy, No-likee-John and the Kid: —declaring that a greater number would be tn- _wieldy, and well-mounted, armed and pro- ~~ - visioned for several days, they, on the following morning, set out in pursuit. Three days later Bullwhacker Ben shouted exultantly: ‘‘ Boys, we’ve got him! Thar ain’t no outlet to this pocket.” And sure enough they came upon the fugitive far up in a narrow glen, kept in perpetual twi- light by the towering walls of granite and the evergreen pines. Gaunt with hunger and exposure, and wild- eyed wih the dread of death, Tony Murray re- alized that he was never to leave that g!en alive. But he resolved to make a desperate fight, sell- _ ing his life as dearly as possible. a an a eee ee es ee Despard, the Duelist. His horse, of no further use to carry him, he shot through the head, that its body might serve asa barrier. Lying behind this, he chal- lenged his pursuers, ‘Joe Smedley,” he cried, ‘I know you and your crowd. Some day the boys will find you out for the white-livered fraud that you are: and they’ll snatch you bald-headed! You think you’ve put up a neat thing on me; and maybe youll rub me out. But you’ve got to come here and fetch me, first: and I’ll do my purtiest to score my mark on some o’ you, while you're a-doin’ of it. Now you can open the ball as soon as you get ready.” “Serrender, and you will have a fair trial,” replied the Little Giant. ‘‘If you can tell the boys where you got that bag of Jim Kane’s, V'll be the first to let up on you.” “Too thin, cully! I know your leetle game!” ‘All right. I swore to fetch you or your scalp into town; and Dll do one or the other, as sure asmy name is Joe Smedley! I reckon a full hand of carbines will rake your pair of sixes. Don’t you think so?’ There was unanswerable logic in this menace, Without waiting for Murray’s reply, the Little Giant continued: ‘* Deploy, boys; and mind that you don’t spoil him for hanging.” With a growl of assent, the men began to climb the sides of the ravine, in which they were soon stopped by a perpendicular wall, but not before they bud gained an elevation from which they could fire over the body of the horse, There, out of range of Tony Murray’s revolvers, they opened fire, Crack! Crack! Crack! Their helpless victim groaned and writhed in agony. Then they went up to him fearlessly. Both arms were helpless. He could but glare at them, “Your time will come!” he said; but the Little Giant laughed, as he ordered him to be hanged to the nearest tree, With right good will the order was executed; and when an hour later, the Vigilantes rode from the glen, their chief carried a fresh scalp at his belt. Into Hell Hole they dashed through a cheer- ing, yelling crowd, swung from the saddle, and entered Billy Williams’s saloon, where the Little Giant threw the scalp upon the bar, saying: ‘‘There, gentlemen, is the report of your Com- mittee!” Shout upon shout rose, until the rafters rung again. There was a dash about this young cap- tain which touched a chord in the breasts of those rough fellows, From their midst he sought the solitude of the mountain road, to let the cool breeze that sweeps down the gulch fan his fevered temples, and to commune in the moonlight with his teeming thoughts, “Tt was a master-stroke!” he cried, within himself, exultantly. ‘‘ They are ready to see a vampire in any man who is boldly accused, And this fellow’s devilish temper will make him easy game for my net. Only | must not make a false cast. The first impression cost Ten- strike’s life; but it was worth it, It has been forgotten in this new sensation, but, trust me, Pil revive it! ‘* Now, who’s to be the next lucky man? He raked the board with a full hand of revolvers, last time; suppose we try him next on bowies? That points to Bullwhacker Ben, If he cuts his cursed heart out, allright; if he, too, gets worst- ed, it will be step two in our vampire game, ‘‘ By Heaven! lives are the chips that I play with, in this exhilarating game, But the beauty of it is, they cost me nothing.” But there came a startling interruption—a whizzing sound, a puff of wind on his cheek, and a dull, sodden thud in the trunk of a tree close beside him, To drop to the ground as if shot was the in- stinct of a man trained to meet all sorts of dan- ger. A serpentlike movement carried him to the other side of the tree; then the perfect stillness of the night was unbroken, save by an occasional yell from the direction of the camp. He knew what to look for, and where to find it—an arrow sticking in the tree-trunk, on a line with a man’s head. But a leaflike appen- dage to the shaft, close to its head, whichswung and twirled in the passing breeze, was an hour- long puzzle, while he waited, watching and lis- tening for a supposed foe, until the rotation of the earth solved! the riddle with a stray moon- beam, showing him a piece of buckskin traced with rude characters in vermilion. It was a bit of Indian symbol writing—the figure of a man holding what might be taken f. tt oe a for a revolver, a wigwam with a snake traced’ on it, and between them an arrow pointing toward the wigwam. By way of signature, as the Little Giant af- terward learn to this primitive missive—for message it evidently was, of some purport—was attached the button from a rattlesnake’s tail. Ata loss to guess its significance, yet, if must be confessed, made somewhat uneasy by the mystery, Joe Smedley made his way _ back to Hell Hole. Here he was lucky enough to find an interpreter in the first man consulted, per- haps the only one in the place who could have thrown any light on the matter. “Why, Cap,” said the Kid, “ that button is the totem of Washikitwa! But what in the deuce is she doing up this way; and what did she send you this thing for?” ‘‘But what does it all mean to begin with?’ was the natural interrogatory of the captain of Vigilantes. ‘‘ Well, let me see,” said the Kid, studying the inscription. ‘* That’s a medicine lodge hav- ing a snake on it—her wigwam, of course, Then this man with— Eh? A pipe? No. A toma- hawk? N—n—no. H’m!—what the devil is it? Oh] Here we have it—a revolver. There’s the curved butt, you see; this is the barrel, and these six dots show that itis a six-shooter—as plain as the nose on your face!” “* Ye—o—es, [ suppose so; but it’s confounded- ly far-fetched.” ‘Nevertheless, it indicates a white man, and, of course, you.” , “Good Lord, Gordon! do I look anything like that?” laughed the Little Giant, eying the rude character whimsically. ‘(Most noble captain, I’l] have to leave you to be your own aadtve—out of consideration for your feelings !” replied the Kid. ‘* Meanwhile, this arrow plainly conveys a summons to her lodge,” ‘** A summons!” ‘*Summons or invitation—it’s all the same te royalty, you know.” “‘But where will I find her?” ‘That I can’t say. But she must be some- where in this neighborhood—anywhere within ten miles. You'll have to hunt her up.” ‘‘But what in the deuce do J want with the old beldam? To the devil with Ler summons! If she wants to see me_.et her come where b am, ““Yos, that’s the white way of looking at it. To you and me she is nothing but a maunderin old hag; but with a red-skin, her hundred an at) years commands the reverence due t @ | god, while he is more afraid of her than the | average white man is of the devil—or than he would be if the old fellow were to suddenly ap- pete before him out of the ground. And per- aps it’s worth a white man’s while not to dis- regard that invitation.” ‘What will come of it if I do?” “Well, your friends will probably be hunting around for your scalp one of these days,” ‘‘But may there not be treachery back of this?” ‘*T don’t believe there is.” “Well, curse me if I don’t follow it up, any- way!” This resolve was scarcely taken, when the echoes of the gulch were awakened by a clatter of hoofs at a dead gallop. The rider, as he threw himself from the saddle and rushed into Billy Williams’s saloon, seemed half dead with fright. ‘* Boys,” he said, ‘‘ 1’m a dead man!” “Nonsense, Johnny! What are you tryin’ te git through ye?” ‘* Pve jest seen the devil!” This statement was. received in dead silence, the faces of the auditors lengthening perceptibly. The Skeleton Riders, the horrible death of Jim Kane, the disappearance of Tidy Tip, and, final- ly, the extermination of Tony Murray, whom every one firmly believed to have been a vam- pire—these tragic events, fresh in the minds of all, prepared them to receive any startling an- , nouncement, ‘‘Whar’d ye see him? What did he look like?: What did he do? How in Cain did you git away? Give usall the p’ints, Johnny. Spitit out, lively |” And the crowd gathered closer about the man who had cast himself upon a bench dejectedly, ‘Waal, ye seo, it was up by the Mission Ridge "—a place where the castellated rocks suggested the ruins of the old Californian mis- sions. ‘I was feelin’ a leetle shaky, I allow, what with Death Riders an’ vampires an’ sich, as every man hyar knows is mighty scaly critters to meet out alone nights. All of a sudden my hoss gives a shy that nigh set me on my head, an’ right up out o’ the ground riz the old’un GoOmicdooks