Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 296 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

~- OS Ce 2 _ Apollo Bill, the Trail Tornado. ——— me” Apollo Bill, THE TRAIL TORNADO; OR, Rowdy Kate from Right Bower. A Story of the Mines. BY EDWARD L. WHEELER, AUTHOR OF *‘ DEADWOOD DICK,” NOVELS, “* ROSE- BUD ROB,” NOVELS, ETC., ETC. ———s CHAPTER I. THE WORK OF A WOLF! lr was a cosey little home, even though in mid prairie. You have, perhaps, read of an oasis in the desert. It was not a desert that surrounded this cosey little home, for broad and fertile prai- ries stretched away toward the setting sun, while a range of_rugged hills loomed up to the eastward. There was a snug little frame farm-house, painted white and set down within a fringe of elm-trees; there were barns, and other out- build to match; in.front.of the house beau- tiful of flowers were in full bloom; while acres of nodding corn and grain were to be seen not far away, with other large tracts of ground in the vic ne ; eee were peacefully ng. It Woas cosey little Taoite indeed, and every- thing about the place seemed to argue that the greatest e and harmony existed between those who dwelt there, while thrift and industry were Visible at every point. It is a bright sunny morning in the latter rt of May when we look down upon this ome. The sun had just risen above the east- ern horizon, and webs of dew yet hung upon the rass. Birds were making song in the elms; the low of cows upon the prairie, came in on the morning breeze. In the rear porch of the dwelling, overlook- ing the fields of grain, stood a woman, busied at churning with one of the old-fashioned dash churns. he was young and tidily dressed, and not handsome, as critics would declare, yet in her modest demeanor—in the soft quiet of her brown eyes, and the pleasant expression upon her round face, there was much to interest and attract. In the doorway.of the porch were gyn two little girls, each holding home-made doll- babies and singing to them. Two children more alike in every respect, it would have been hard to find. There was no particular differ- ence in their size: each had sunny flaxen hair, blue eyes, and were very much alike in coun- fsnance;—in fact, seen in two different places, they would have been pronounced one and the same. Their attire was exactly alike, too, and both seemed blest with a sunny nature. Yet, strange as it might seem, these little ones bore no relation to each other whatever. Just within the porch, near the industrious woman at the churn, sat an a lady, in @ comfortable easy rocker, engaged at knitting, while slie fondly gazed at the little seven-year- olds. She was a motherly-looking woman whose face bore but few of the marks of time, but whose hair was white with the frosts of ad- vanced years. “The dear little on Mary,” she said turning to the maiden at the churn—‘‘ how well I can remember when I was a little though it was so many years ago. from Bill yet, Mary?” ‘‘None, Mrs. Blake. irl, even Oo news , I saw Tom Tabor, a little while ago, on his way home from the Post, but he did not know anything how contest came out. The votes were not all counted when he came away.” ‘Well, that is some consolation at least. I am so afraid my dear, brave will get into trouble. I can well wish he never run for sheriff, although I doubt not he will make a good one.” ; ‘‘Of course he will! Master Bill is very pop- ular all over the county, except with those of the ruffianly sort, and they’re not of much ac- count.” e’ ‘“ But'very powerful. They have had pretty much their own way since Owl-Eye- has been sheriff, and I suppose will stick by him, while they will be very ug,” toward Bill, I am afraid.” ‘* Don’t worry on that score, aunty. Your son is brave enough to face the lot of them, sin- gle-handed, and they know it.” sheep, cattle and horses. ee **Yes! yes! William is a good, brave boy, and Ihave great confidence in him. Poor fellow! married so young and had to part with his wife inside of one year. It would have driven most young men reckless. Do you know, Mary, I do not believe my son will ever marry again?” “Perhaps not,” said Mary, turning her face toward.the glowing sun, to hide an expression something akin to regret... ‘‘I suppose he is quite happy with you and his child. ‘‘Yes, and do you know I believe he loves vont Clifford’s child nearly the same as his own ‘It would seem so to the observer, but the palhesS affection goes to little Nell,” Mary re- spo ; At this juncture Mary was called to attend to some household du pats 6 for the time being. ‘*T fancy Mary has different ho son’s Pmt HY came Mrs. Blake mused to herself. ‘ Well; Mary is a good, honest girl, has been-a mother to the children since she came, and I don’t know as William could do any. better, were he inclined to again choose a partner for life. But laws! I don’t believe he will ever ve different ide~s. A poor about my And Mary did farmer’s daughter though she was, she had a true and tender heart, and if she admired brave Bill Blake, and aspired to some day become his wife, it was one of her own secrets: She went down to the clear, cool spring at the roots of one of the elms awhile later, for a»pail of water, and while there took a photograph from her bosom. It was that of a handsome, manly face of a person of some five and twenty years—a clear- cut Anglo-Saxon face, expressing courage, firm- ness, and power to love or hate. The head was set off with a broad-rim slouch hat, tipped gracefully back; the hair was worn long, down upon the shoulders. He sported a graceful mustache, curling at the ends; a nar- row goatee ornamented his chin; his hunting- shirt, open at the throat, was of buckskin; and taken all in all, one would travel many a mile in the wild West before encountering a finer specimen of hardy, sturdy manhood, And Mary Monk gazed upon the picture with eyes glistening with pride and enthusiasm. ‘‘He gave it to me,” she murmured, “and told me always to keep itasa kee from him. If hedid not have some little care for me, why did he give it, and why is he always so kind and considerate to me? Ah! perhaps it is because I care for his children.” Afternoon came, but with it came not William Blake, home from the Post, where he had gone the previous day to election—he being run on one party ticket, against one Owl-Eye alias Ben Boghart, a notorious rough, who ha had one term of the office. Mother Blake satin her old cushioned chair, and rocked | tiently to and fro, for she was greatly w ia over her son’s ncn-return. “IT wouldn’t proxxy aunty,” said, by wey of comforting, h she had some mis- ngs herself. ‘‘Probably Mr, Bill has been etained on account of ness connected with the election, and will be home by dark.” But night drew on apace, Bill Blake did not return. ‘‘Where is my papa, dma?’ little Nell began to ask, while little Maude seemed equally concerned, ** Alas! I do not know, child,” Mother Blake had to answer. ‘‘I feel as if some evil had befallen him.” ‘“‘T will:go for the cows myself, and tell the herd-boys to ’tend to the other chores,” Mary said, “‘and if Mr. Blake has not returned by that time, I will ride over to the Post, and see what is the cause of his delay.” ‘‘ Bless you child—I wish you would,” And so Mary set bravely out upon the prairie toward the grazing-fields to tell the herdsmen what to do, at the same time carrying one of the little flaxen-haired girls with her. ‘Tt will be dark before I can get back, I fear,” she mused, ‘‘ but then, I ought not to be afraid of the dark. A woman can afford to do much for those loves. But I do: wonder what has. become of Mr. Bill? It looks as if something was amiss—his not returning. Oh, I hope no ill has befallen him!” Mary had not been gone over an hour, and night was settling her somber mantle over hill ddale, when a band of horsemen dashed down from the eastern mountains, and drew rein in a lly, or arroyo in the prairie, not over a housand yards from the Blake ho They were a rough-looking gang, mostly past ‘crowd, with extremely lar , and the conversation. the middle age, and of the class familiarly denominated as ‘‘ toughs” on the frontier. They were, for the main part, men whom some cir- cumstance had made reckless and unruly, and in whose soured, imbittered natures there was little that was good. ) All were armed with belt weapons and rifles, and were dressed in the commonest and dirtiest kind of garments. As soon as they came to a haltone of the ane - and who appeared as though he might have once seen better days, rose in his oa and looked his companions over. ** Boyees,” he said, ina voice deep and hoarse in its intonation—* boyees, I et you alt know sumthin’ why I ordered ye here,” There was a general. shaking of heads in the wat yon vident it was that these border roughs had followed the ed man thither, without understanding what was to ha , ‘ “Waal,” continued the er, “‘I wull téll ye. Ye all know what happened yesterday. One o’ the best sheriffs this county bas ever known—being myself—was, at yesterday’s elec- tion, defea in favor of a young ei ort and swell-head, Bill Blake by name. Ye all know what sort of a devil this Blake is—ye know.he.hain’t no more respect for us fellers than he has for acoyote, an’ would jest as lief shute us as he woulda coyote. Anuther thing, I opine ye’ve all kind of ijjeer thet et warn on fair count that he office.” A murmur of assent broke from the listeners. This man Owl-Eye was a man after their own ttern, and they were not unmindful of the act that, during his administration, he had protected them rather than arvested them for various crimes. And Bill Blake was not the lad to do that; quite the contrary; so they gave another unani- mous nt expressive of their sympathy with Owl-Kye. ‘* Yes, I see you’re with me,” the defeated can- didate went on; ‘‘an’ I opine ye war all present at the Post yesterday when I called Blake a liar an’ he mopped up all ther mud in the street wi’ me, arter which I swore ter hev vengeance. That’s jest what brings me heer now. Over ander is the hum o’ Blake an’ his family. har’s no one thar now but two women an’ a couple o’ kids. My purpose around heer to night is to make that place luk so sick that our new sheriff won’t know et when he comes home. Ef you’re with me ye can bet yer services will be appreciated!” Later that evening, by at least three hours, a horseman was galloping over the prairie east- ward bound. He held the bridle-reins loosel in hand, for the fine animal he bes f) seemed to be familiar with the route over which they dashed through the darkness. A man of superb form was the rider, and clad in usual citizen’s clothing, with the exception of a tastefully-embroi bunting-shirt of buck- skin and a slouch “prairie” hat. His face and neral appearance were the same as that in ary Monk’s picture, and this was William Blake, the new y-clected sheriff, As he rode his gaze was fixed constantly to the eastwarc, where the horizon was lit up with a vivid, fiery glow, and his face was eager and anxious in its expression. “Tt is a fire!” he said, ‘‘but God knows I hope it is not my little home. Iam: inclined to think it is still further to the eastward, but [ may be mistaken.” Urging his hors into .a swifter gallop they dashed along, each seeming the most anxious to reach the destination before them. Nearer and nearer the Seproeched it as the miles flew by, and the light now grew gradu- ally less, until finally but a faint tinge was visible upon the horizon. | Then the moon came up, and the glow disap- ed altogether. Fin ly Blake reached a h swell of land in the vicinity of his home, and his eagle eyes swept the scene before him only to confirm his worst fears. Where once had stood his cosey house and out- buildings, was nothing now but a mass of smol- dering ruins, : | With a hoarse cry of agony he drove his spurs into the horse’s flanks, and ne intervening dis- tance was quickly covered, and hatless and wild-eyed, Bill Blake stood where once had been the ontranen to his pretty home. He saw the live bed of glowing coals; he saw fallen timbers and indestructible articles lying here and there; he saw a few of his berders standing silently, tearfully by; but it was all in was rung. in fer. the Eomichboo cS | | | i. Ee -