Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 221 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

| ne { ‘ bash er whisky. An’, tee, et ce < ~~ SE trent % x Sugar-Coated Sam. _ 7 : ‘ : . 4 There were a score andone, all told, and of the lot not one of the Red Beards! All citizens were they who had succumbed. Some were dead, some were fatally wounded, and others were merely disabled. Among the latter was Bessie Burt, who had been stunned by a blow, but now arose fully re- covered from the sbock and otherwise unin- jured. As no attempt was made to intercept her she gladly hastened away from the sickening scene, toward her own cabin shanty. But a few steps had she gone, however, ere she stumbled and nearly fell over the figure of Bumblebee Bob, which lay upon the ground in the shadow of a shanty, where he must have crawled from the scene of the affray. A groan from the man apprised her that he was not dead, and she accordingly paused and bent over him, scarcely knowing what else to do, The eyes opened, and she discovered for the first time that they were not a man’s orbs, but those of a woman. The lips which were nearly covered by beard then parted, and Bumblebee Bob spoke: ** Ah! a friendly face. lam glad. I am badly wounded, and unless [I have immediate care I’m done for. Will you assist me to a place of safety?” ’ Who are you?” Bessie asked a little deubt- ful what to do. ‘‘T am Bumblebee Bob. I am friendly to the cause of Deadwood Dick, as, 1 trust, you are, also.” ‘You are a woman in male disguise!” Bessie asserted. The wounded person gave a start. **T supposed my disguise was impenetrable,” was the reply. ‘‘ But | know you will not bring me harm—your face is too good to belong to a cruel or heartless person. [am a woman— Iam Calamity Jane, the wife of Deadwoed Dick.” ‘‘ Why are you here in disguise, then?” ‘‘ Because my husband bade me remain be- hind, while he went forth to seek usa heme; but, knowing his peculiarities ef running into yeril, I could not resist the temptation to secret- y follow him, and be near to him. I would not like to have him know I am here, however, for I promised him I would,remain where he left me, If you will take me to your home, and give me what assistance you can, you shall be properly rewarded.” ‘© T will, of course, and will do all I can for you,” Bessie said, assisting her to arise, and supporting her as best she could. ‘* I would be crucl indeed to turn you over to the authorities in your present condition.” And so, by slow stages, they walked toward the shanty of Miss Burt, the darkness screening them from observation. The shanty was finally reached. Originally it was a tent, but now board sides took the place of canvas ones, enly the tep of the latter material being retained. Entering, and securing the door behind them, Miss Burt assisted Calamity to a rude bed, in a rear apartment and then procured a lantern and lit it. “T shall have to keep you shut up for the present,” she said, ‘‘as I can keep you from curious eyes here... Should my enemy, Com- modore Burt, find out that you were here, ho would immediately herald the news far and near, and I fear that I would be judged harshly for taking you in. But, don’t worry about it, Pa 1 don’t apprehend that any one will be the wiser for your presence here.” Among the losers by the conflict, the bull- whacker, Shakespeare, came in for special men- tion. A flying bullet had cleanly shaven his nose from bis face, and done the job as neatly as a surgeon’s knife could have done. Many a man of even weaker or stronger con- stitution, would have taken to his bed with such a mishap, but not so with the poet. Although wincing with pain he salted the wound to stop the flow of blood, and then ban- daged it sorrowfully up, the cut to his pride ap- parently being harder than the actual pain from the wound, ‘Tork about yer martyrs o’ anshent times, ilgrims, or yer soldiers who fell on the fields o 3ull Run—et ain’t no sarcumstanee,” he eb- served, with a tear in either eye, ‘* When a mortal’s proboscis is gone, gents, I tell ye he’s lost one o’ ther component parts o’ man. Thet aire nose o’ mine war’n’t no great guns fur beauty, but I tell ye et war some on smell, an’ war a connoisseur at jedgin’ ther qualities o’ gud teh when a { storm war brewin’, or thar war Injuns near. Alas! now et is gone!” ‘** All of which came of your shoving it into other people’s business, no douht,” Commodore Burt said, as he came forward to inspect the dead and wounded. ‘‘ However, it may allay some of the regret at your loss, when you see the man you were working for swinging in mid- ait” ‘‘Nary atime, you Mormon skunk, Plenty o’ time will I hev ter grow another proboscis, ere you see Deadwood Dick performin’ on tight rope.” ‘‘T reckon ye don’t lie about thet, Bill,” a miner said. Dick has as many lives as a cat.” ‘* But I say he has run to the end of bis trail!” Burt declared, ‘‘for instead of having escaped, as you all supposed, I have him safely lodged in the jail.” This news was recsived with a shout ef ap- proval by all except the poet. There was a grim, dissatisfied look upon his bandaged phiz. ‘‘T was in hopes ther b’yeo war off,” he mut- tered to himseif, ‘‘ tho’ he an’ I war nevyar on ther best o’ terms.” ‘* Some say he is too ‘ chic,’ Ther famuss Deadwood Dick, But I allows he knows his little biz, An’ ca’se he wears gud clothes, An’ hez nevyer lost his nose, My conferdence in Dicky et has riz,” ‘‘Hurrah! If we’ve got him, why not make sure of him, while we have got him!” one miner cried. ‘‘Et ain’t good policy to keep bad eggs long, or they’re apt to create an un- healthy smell. The s:me wi’ Deadwood Dick, Ef we keep him long, like as not he'll make it unhealthy for us.” ‘*Them’s my ideas,” another man volunteered. ‘Hit the iron while it is hot.” ‘Then, if all are willing, I have noobjections to finishing the job: at once,” Burt declared, secretly exultant. ‘‘We’ve fairly got our hand in to business, to-night, and needn’t bea at all bashful. Come! all who wish to attend this pic-nic, forward march!” With cries of approval, the main body of the citizens followed him toward the jail, which was further up the street; but, as they ap- proached the shanty it took but a glance for them to see, in the lurid light of their torches, that they had been cheated out ef their con- templated vengeance. Leaning up against the cabin, rigid and stiff, was one of the guards—dead! A knife in his breast told how he had gone off. The other guard was nowhere to be seen, bus in the open doorway of the cabin lay the body of a man, from which the head was missing] At first, it was thought that this was the other guard, but when all eyes perceived that the headless trunk was clad in the faultless raiment of the late President of the Stgar- Coated Mining and Milling Company, opinions were of course changed. Here was Sugar-Coated Sam, alias Deadwood Dick, minus his head which was nowhere to be found! What did it mean? Who had wrought this silent and summary vengeance? CHAPTER VIL TREATING OF THE GHOSTLY. TE excitement which the tragedy and mys- tery raised in Grim Guich was unprecedented in its history. Men rushed here and there; wo- men wept and wrung their hands in terror, The body of the beheaded prisoner was buried, the next morning, as also were the remains of the other dead of the town, and then the people looked each other in the face, and mentally asked “what next?’ What new phase of ex- citement was destined for the little mining city. But, after a seven days’ wonder, the excite- ment died out, somewhat, and Grim Gulch set- tled back into her monotonous routine of min- ing existence, with only now and then a fight or a drunk to create any unusual stir. Commodore Burt had gradually come to be regarded as mayor, which was exceedingly to his liking. Whena dispute er quarrel of any kind occurred, he was looked to to proneunce such justice as the case required. Then, too, the majority of the citizens had agreed that it was fair that Mrs. Singleton, as she called herself, should come into possession of Sugar-Coated Sam’s interests in the mining company bearing bis titl, and accordingly. she ‘Pye heerd allowed as Deadwoed | hands, ee es “ had appointed Commodore Burt as receiver for her, of all profits of said interest. hich placed everything in the Mormon’s hands, and which was quite according to his prearranged determination, In the mean time, at the home of Bessie Burt, Calamity Jane lay upon the bed where she had been placed, lingering, as it were between life and death. She had been shot in five places, during the conflict, and two bullets had passed in close proximity to the left lung. These were the most serious of the five wounds, and were not necessarily fatal, had she been in experienced ut, though careful and tender in nursing, Bessie could do nothing further than to wash the wounds or bandage them, and pre- pare sueh little dishes as the sick girl required. She begged leave to call in some person who had a knowledge of surgery, but Calamity re- fused, fearing that the populace would learn who she was, and rise against her, as Deadwood Dick’s wife. Thus the days dragged by—some of them, ex- ceedingly painful days to her—others restful and mere bearable, when she would be quite light-spirited. ‘‘No wee of trying to help me,” she would say, whenever Bessio would mention calling in aid. “IT knew I was cone for, when them two bitin? bullets hit me, an’I allow a surgeon would only shorten my days, if he were to ge probin’ areund for the cold lead, No! no! let me be—I’mi right as I am, and one of these days ’ll be better off. Have you heard anythjng new concerning Deadwood Dick?” Of course Bessio had heard of the death of Deadwood Dick, but she had kept the knowl edge ef his tragic fate from Calamity, knowing how the terrible news must distress and fur- ther prostrate her; hence Bessie bad answered her that he was free—as indeed, he was, of the cares of this life, ifso be that he was really dead, - One day, however, about a week and a half after the tragedy, when Bessie entered the sick room, she found Calamity leoking very whiis and tearful, as she lay back upon the pillows ‘Are you feeling worse, dear?” Bessie asked, approaching the bedside. ‘*Oh} so much worse,” was the sad answer, accompanied by a reproachful look, “I have just sustained a shock which I could better have withstood, at first, when stronger, had you told me the worst.” ‘You know, then—” Bessie faltered, in mixed amxicty and relief. “That Deadwood Dick is dead—yes. Why did yeu not tell me this, at first?’ ‘‘ Because I wished to spare you the pain, un til you got better.” “You were considerate, true, but I could have borne the blow better, at first. 1 shall never be any better, in this world—I am wel} satisfied of that. Do you believe my husband is really dead?” ‘*} have no reason to believe otherwise, Mra, Harris, but all that I know about the matter, & what others have heard said. But, how did you learn ef his death?” ‘IT everheard a customer of yours in the next reom say ‘since Deadwood Dick was planted,’ and knew by that. Tell me al!—evcry- thimg concerning what has happened. I am brave, now, and would rather kuow the worst, than not.” Se Bessie was forced to relate such circum- stances ef Dick’s death as had come to her hear- ing. Calamity heard her through, her face scarcely changing in expression; nor did she grow hys- terical at the dread recital, as some womer would have done. | ‘‘It is terrible, if true,” she said, in a sad tone, when Bessie concluded. : ‘But something tells me it was not my hus- band’s headless body that was found. Oh! that I could know the truth! If I only had a liftle more strength—” : ‘*But you haven’t, and you must remam quiet,” Beasie said, firmly. ‘It would be rash for you to attempt to leave your bed.” ‘“T suppose so. Oh! this is bitter, ’ Calamity moaned, burying her face in the pillow, and sobbing. That afternoon, however, she cheered up, visibly, and called Bessie to her bedside, ‘‘T feel better,” she said, ‘‘and think I shalf get well, after all. At least, while there is life there is hope. You have never told me of you~ self, Bessie? Have you parents living? Every rson has a life bistory—tell me yours.” ‘““T have no parents living,” essie replied sorrewfnlly. “My. mother dicd when I was g Eomicbooks (E ° ! ; * Y ' ‘ (E(0) a ee LN aan a tere eee —