Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 28 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

ya ——- _ —— guess the odds against which you would have cope. There were fifteen desperaté men on my trail when I left Helena, by a bad, fear- less man, whose whole life has been devoted to crime, These human bloodhounds will let nothing eo them—nothing / My death and the death of my children, yonder, is of vital importance to a certain person, and there is a matter of amillion of dollars eo on my decease.”’ e old hunter gave vent to a prolonged whistle, while he fire “A mi ? Phew! that’s a heap. gal. Reckon et ‘d take a fellar an eternity ter cotc beaver enuff ter amount to_a milyun. hat is yer story, marm? Ye needn’t be afeard ter confidy in old Zeke Ransom, ’ca’sé he'll never go back on yer seekerts.”’ : ‘I might tell you,” said the woman, musingly— ‘* perhaps I will, presently; but, first, I must write— write that which will explain all, should my life be taken, and I feel that it be, and thatsoon. Have you ink and paper, sir?”’ ‘Ink an’ paper? Phew! I guess not, my lady. Them’s luxuries we old Nor’-western cusses don’t boast of, I calkylate. I’ve gota chunk of plumbago, hayr, though, an’ yander in the chimbley jamb ar sum white wrappin’ paper w’at cum around sum tobaccy I got at Gocum, Reckon that’s about my stock o’ stashunary.” ‘Very well. I will try and make those articles an- swer my requirements.” Ransom procured the paper and lead, and then for more than an hour his strange guest busied herself in writing upon the coarse sheet. Finally she concluded, and tied the result of her la- bor BP into a little roll. ‘This is my full history, so far as concerns any living ett a @ she said, staring thoughtfully into the fire. “I have written it, that in the event of your death and mine, the world may know at whose door to lay our murder. Now, where can I put it, so that if we die, sir, some one else will find it.”’ Old Zeke took the confessio», and weighed it in his horny palm—then scratched his white old head, studiously. ** Reckon thar ain’t much danger o’ our turnin’ up our toes, marm; but, still, ef you say so, I'll go an’ put it inter my boy Luke’s cache o’ pelts, back in the wood, by the mountain, Most likely he’ll be ’round to look after ’em, toward spring, an’ll find yer docky ment,” ‘“Good. That will be just the plan. Go, sir, at once, for something seems to tell me that my ene- mies are drawing near, and their coming means death to us, [ feel assured!’’ In compliance with her wish Old Zeke seized a shovel, and thrusting the ayer into his pocket, left the cabin, going out into the wild, wintry day. There was not sufficient snow Lg he earth to cover the prairie, but, enough to the stinging air with frosty particles. The clouds that skurried across the heavens were dark and grim; thesun had not shown its face for nearly a week, dorng which time the disagreeable weather had prevailed. After an hour’s absence Old Zeke returned to the cabin, He found his strange guest sitting before the fire, her twin babies now clasped to her breast. Dainty little bits of humanity they were, yet stout and healthy, and the very image of their mother. “Twins?” queried Old Zeke, seating himself near to the fire, and rubbing his horny p briskly, to restore circulation, ‘*Yes—a boy and a man, kissing them fondly. -“ How old ar’ they a 1 months?” ‘ | “‘ Wighteen, bade of Poor little darlings! Cast boon The world so early in life, and homeless and g:arly friendless! Would to God they had died when Arst born; it would have been a mercy to them—to me,” t ““Reckon you hain’t got no husband, marm?”’ per- sisted the hunter, as he filled and lit his pipe. * Husband ? Ah, God help me, I have;—no! not a husband, but a human brute—a demon in the guise of a man, who married me to attain his own devilish aims; then, when tired of me, cast me out upon the world, and set his associate fiends after me, to ac- complish the death of me and my poor innocent sabes. “* Husband / no! God spare the mark. He is all that is infernal—devilish. He isa rich man; a mil- lion dollars would not cover the value of his posses- sions. And his family name ranks among the high- est in his State. He married me, secretly, prom ng to make me the mistress of his house; but he prov to be false, fickle, and brutal. He cursed me; he swore that these children—his children and mine— should never inherit a cent of his estates, which rightfully belong to them; he tried to murder me aud them, but failed, after which he set his blood- hounds upon my track. ‘*‘My family were peo common ee ok ef but between them and the family of my husband always existed a deadly feud that only death can ex- tirpate; and no sooner did my father learn of my marriage into the house of his most bitter wagers than he drove me from under the roof of my b —bade me go forever out of his sivht, and his curse owithme. Thusit was thatI was cast out upon e world by those that were once dear to me.” Old Zeke gave vent to a grunt, expressive of sym- pathy for the young mother, and anger toward her persecutors, ‘*So you sot sail on your own hook, eh?” “Yes. Ihadsome money and many valuable gifts he had given me; and so I was able to flee from my enemies. But, this did not satisfy my husband; he wished me dead, and my children dead, so that he tle to ked away at the roaring, crackling fire. of sponds, m rl,’’ replied the young wo- Beadle’s feet in alarm. Se would again be free to many and therefore he set his assassins me. God only knows how I havé tried and struggled to elude them, but all to no pur- pose—all to no purpose. They are still in hot pur- suit, and something tells me that they are near, oh! so near. ** But I reckon they ain't, though, or else. my eye- , ar’ or ok me,” cad the old me . shuttling to e door, and g Ss over the dun, wintry samy Wy casthioe ther ain't nothin’ in sight— es har is, by all the hides an’ ha’rs on a mule’s back.”’ “ What!” exclaimed the woman, leaping to her “Is it they—my enemies, ney ?”” “No, marm; et be only a drove 0’ deer, what my optics ar’ restin’ on.”’ “Thank heaven! I was sure you had espied my enemies,”’ **No, marm. I don’t calkylate you'll see ‘en to- day. few’d like to cross Twenty-Mile Stretch wi’ the d blowin’ like forty bufflers, an’ sich a stingin’ temper’ture, too. But I must hev one o’ them deer, fer sartin, fer larder ar’ gittin’ ray- ther low, an’ deer ain’t so plentiful this*’winter as they mie be. Jes’ ye stay hayr an’ mind the cabin, while I take my Punch-’em-Judy an’ lay fer them ‘ar venisons.”’ The game in question, a drove of deer some eight or ten in number, were coming in toward the moun- tain, in a course that would take them north of the cabin, But, their gait was lagging, and as they were still some distance out, old Zeke reasoned that he could waylay them in time to get a shot. Therefore he took down a favorite rifle from the cabin-wall, tightened his belt, and opening the door stepped out into the chill, blustering day. Alas! it was a fatal step; he had not gone ten om from the door when a score of horsemen rode astily out from behind the cabin, where they had been concealed. Some were half-breed Indians, but the larger share were rough, sinister-looking fellows, well mounted and armed, The leader was a large, powerfully- built man of border type, perfect in muscular and physieet development, and evil of countenance, with urning, blood-shot eyes, low, retreating forehead and sensual mouth, while his straggling hair an beard were wildly ery and disheveled. He, too was well mounted, clad in buck-skin, and loaded down with a small arsenal of weapons. So swiftly and silently did the cavalcade emerge from their temporary hi -place, that Old Zeke was in entire ignorance of danger, until a terri- fied shriek from his strange prolegee apprised him. ** Back—back! oh! God, too late /"’ Wildly, on the breath of the cutting wind these words came to his hearing. He wheeled about to learn their meaning; then the crack of half a dozen rifles rung out, and, pierced with as many bullets, the brave old hunter dropped in his tracks, his life- blood crimsoning the snow. At the same instant a revolver-shot from the ter- rible leader laid the doomed mother a lifeless corpse in the doorway of that lone wilderness cabin. ' CHAPTER IL. THE CONTEST, Sunpay in Deadwood—the great gala and business- day of the magic city. he main street running through the gulch bot- tom, stretched out a mile and a half in len before you, closely lined ofeach side with shanties, some of them two-story frames, and respectably finished; while the hillsides aboye are covered with tents an cabins mips mixed, Not less than five thousand men are concentrated in that long main street, and if in this greet surging mass of humanity there a white s or rere collar, it is not ble; if there is a pair of polished boots or shoes they are not to be seen; everything is rough, roaring and ready. ’ It is a su first-class mining town at its *‘ boiling point,” We will force our way up through the surging crowd, “‘ taking notes’’ as we proceed. Here is a man mounted upon an inverted dry- ee: box, holding a densely- ed crowd of a eee or age ie kx him, =o he rattles = ina ashing, easy style, innumerable so and witt parodies to the accompaniment of an old ban é, while an assistant drives a flo trade with the audience, his stock being ‘beetle pizen,” and, as these pestiferous insects are very troublesome in the s, taking the place of the tuneful musketo, the article finds ready sale. Further on an auctioneer is trying in vain to talk into some valuation a worn-out and superannuated pony. A little further, and we hear the strains of a concert of fiddles issuing from a large, barn-like edifice, the whole front of which is open to the street. A glance within shows a bar thirty feet long, from beliind which all kinds of liquid decoc- tions are dispensed at fifty cents a drink, the drink- ers tendering in pee tickets previously pur- chased, each of which entitles the holder to “one dance with the gals,’’ a ae of whom are present. The fiddlers are mounted upon a rostrum at the rear end, while a space twenty-feet square immedi- ately in front of them is reserved for dancing pur- poses; and in this reserved spot dainty slippers and stoga boots unite in giving variations to everything attempted in the Terpsichorean line by the ‘‘ orches- tra.”” Some of the “gals,” to secure om of mo- tion, doubtless, are blooming either in tights or bloomers, with shorter skirts than even Amelia Bloomer, herself, would have approved of. The next general rendezvous is the gambling-hell —a liquor-bar on one side, and all the rest of the s taken up by faro-banks, monte-tables, and other schemes on the part of those who do not work to plunder those who do. Such dens are ever crowd- Half-Dime Library. ——— eee A constant stream of gold is flowing in at the ed. weigher’s stand, at the end of the bar; while the stack of ‘chips’? which are being handled, and the iles.of buck-skin purses on deposit, at the card-ta- es—immediately around which the intensely-inter- ested votaries are as closely packed as if welded to- peter. sprely illustrate the old saying, that ‘‘ the ool and his money are soon parted.’ The Sabbath-day in Deadwood is the golden har- vest of the week for everybody who has om to The street outside is jammed with humanity and the groceries, clothing-stores, and all other busi- ness houses are crowded with customers. _ The miners have * come in to lay in ee, : To a structure on the main street of this wild cit of gold, we would conduct the reader who is to fol- low the guidance of our pen through this strange, eventful drama in real life. The‘ the name of the place, asis announced by a huge ban- ner-sign hung out over the sidewalk, and as we ap- proach, we can readily guess its vocation, from the shouts of laughter and clinking of glasses. It is a saloon;. reported to be the finest in Deadwood. Inside, is indeed luxurious, compared with the other dens. The floor .is carpeted with matting, the chairs are cushioned richly, and the tables ele- gantly carved and furnished. The walls are literally a panorama of costly mirrors; cluster chandeliers hang from the elaborately frescoed ceiling; the half- breed waiters are in uniform and numbered; the bar has a choice stock of liquors, if a choice stock was a possible thing in Deadwood. / Old Jack Fergueson, from Virginia City, kept. the lace, and a place controlled by this veteran of * the ar’’ was as orderly as it was possible to keep a *‘ranch ”’ in a mining town. The habitues of the Tabernacle were, for the most part, men who minded their own b ess, but, oc- casionally, there was a spree, and no help for it. Extra attractions were not infrequently offered as an inducement for pilgrims to visit this “ howtell. On the Sunday of which we write the place was crowded to witness a wrestling match etween a oung Denver athlete, named Drayton, and a “ pro- essional named St. Elmo. St. Elmo was a Be age but iron-framed fellow of four-and-twenty, h tremendous muscular pow- ers, and apparent fierce temper. His adversary Walt Drayton, or Wrestlihg Walt, as he was calle by one and all, was barely twenty, if, indeed, he had attained that age, and possessed of a finely molded form, muscular and symmetrical in limb and body. Practice and exercise, in addition to careful atten- tion to food and sleep, had put the young athlete in- to a physical condition which any man in Deadwood might justly have envied. His face was smooth, frank and pleasant--in a word, handsome. His eyes were brown, like his hair, which was clipped close to the skull. ot ’ Both men were attired in tights, and mingled free- ly with the vast audience, for the contest was not to begin for an hour; and an hour is an interminable space of time to a thirsty, anxious assemblage. arious were the comments passed upon the wrestlers, as they sauntered separately about, by the rude, uncouth miners, and the men-about-town. One old fellow in particular passed his opinion rather freely upon the merits of the twain, and as no one disputed his declaration he was king cock of the walk. i stature he was about of medium hight, as straight as an arrow, and the very embodiment of iron solidity and muscle. He was clad from his stoga boots to the very chin in buck-skin, old and greasy, pees, having seen years of service, and in the belt about his waist was a small arsenal of revolvers and knives. Little of his face, except the straight nose and the black, magnetic eyes, could be seen on account of his tremendous red beard, and the shock of tangled matted hair that grew down low onto his forehead. As if to add to his already comical appearance, a battered, mud-splashed ‘ p — hat surmounted his head, or rather was tipped to the very furthest limits, on one side, And this individual paraded himself eon nl ly about, without care for whom he jostled, or whose corns he encroached se **Ker-whoop!” he yelled, ae in the center of a little crowd near the wrestlers’ platform; “ hayr I am! Right hayr’s the snortin’ pawin’, trottin’, squaw- kin’ stallion o’ Pertater Gulch. JZ cum frum Pertater Gulch, pilgrims, J do, bet yerdirty shirt on thet! Pm a rattler, lam—a ginnywine —, an’ thet’s wh they call me Old Rattlesnake. Now fur instance, I illustrate!” And the eccentric miner gave astrange, peculiar laugh, while at the same time he emitted from down in we a a wg ire o er ne death-rattle of a dy person : ing of the most oizonous of a ye the rattlesnake. Thar, now, ain’t thet snakyfied, my pilgrim bruth- ern? 7 allus vattle when I feel inclined ter — off sumbody’s ear, or take a hand at den ? oop ‘em up, Eliza Jane! Hayr’s ther hoss thet can show is pe igree, an’ trot a mile in less time n’ it takes fer old Jack Fergueson ter pour out a lass 0’ tarant- ler juice. Walk up, now, any © ye f colts thet wants ter pace a mile wi’ me, in three quarters 0’ & ont!” ae erie ye’’ Vetter take a leetle exercise wi’ one o’ them ’ar,old man!” remarked a bystander, indi- cating Drayton and St. Elmo. ‘*’ “est you orter be able ter chaw an ear off’m them; eh?” “Whoa! Eliza Jane. What dye meee paces I trot wi’ them geldings? Kin lize my paces wi’ them—me, ther t fr stallion frum Per- tater Gulch? Waal, a ster c’u d rastle wi enny 0’ ther boys; but, these old j’ints ain't as young as they uster be; still hayr’s w’at kin trot a mule in two hours an forty minnits, an’ w’en ye cum ter JOO E€o mice cS Tabernacle ’’ is- (é(@)