Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 28 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

— . ame «i OO rattlin’—oh! whoop ‘em up, Eliza Jane, I’m thar. Rattle? Guess I can. I got a-rattlin’, down in Per- tater Gulch so hard once, thet ther folks got skeert; thort an orful hail-starm warupon’em. Ag’in, once, over at Bozeman, I drew a great crowd around ther shanty whar I was stoppin’; they jest cum an’ fork- ed over their two bits, as natteral as life, fer they thort ‘twar a minstrel show, an’ thet I war playin’ on the bones. That's —_ an Xf - 5 acaran howsum- ever. Once, up at Spearfish I did sumthin’ that beat’s clockwork inter infinity. ‘* But I ain’t a-goin’ ter tell ye about ‘het, now. I’m jest *goin’ ter ax thet young feller wi’ the piraty mustash ef he wants ter chaw off my ear?”’ And, true to his word the old fellow waltzed across the floor to where St. Elmo was leaning idly against a card table, toying with a massive gold ring upon his fore-finger. Up close to the wrestler went the tmniner; then he em te and, in a half squatting posi- tion, peered up into the other's dark, Spanish face— a face, once seen, rarely to be forgotten. - Whoop ’em up, Eliza Jane!" roared the Rattler, giving his uliar warning, and flapping his great buck-skin-gloved hands up and down; “ hayr | am, sar, ther great stallion wi’ a Ah tem Fir great Thomas K. Cat frum Pertater Gulch, an’ ef ye don’t b’lieve it, just bite a hunk outen my ear; poke yer finger at me, an’ see me hump up my back; step on my toe an* heer me me-e-e-ow! Ferther Lord’s sake, do somethin’ ter releeve me o’ my agony!”’ St. Elmo gazed at his confronter in contempt, not deigning so much as a word, or a smile, at the amus- ing antics of the old fellow. ‘Cum! cum!” snorted he, t potag ae about, and giving creditable imitations of a horse’s whining, ‘ain't ye goin’ ter tread on my toe, or knock off m hat, or bite my ear, or tickle me in the ribs, or spit in my face, or—or—”’ * Get out!’ said the wrestler, angrily. ‘‘ What do you come here with your nonsense, for? What do you want with me?” “What do I want, pagrim? What wanteth this me-e-eowing Thomas K. Cat frum ther sacred pre- cincts 0’ Pertater Gulch? Why, sar, I want ter ’ras- tle wi’ ye—I want’er throw your heels over yer head so quick ye won’t have tinie to wink, That's Old Rattlesnake’s wants, bet tn ile.”’ “ And what you will be like y to want, for all me!”’ said the wrestler, turn away, as if ted with the proposition, “I did not come here to wrestle with all Deadwood,” **Oh! didn’t ye?” exclaimed the man from Potato Gulch, squinting one eye, and ejecting a stream of tobacco-juice after the athlete. ‘‘Oh! Eliza Jane whar ar’ ye. Hello! hayr’s the uther pest: ri see what’s ther size o’ Ais caliber; bet yer stakes he’s my goose, SO watch an’ see me cook ‘im.” At this juncture Wrestling Walt sauntered along, and ——— up to him pranced the “* Rattler-frum- Potato Gulch,” and — ee him on the shoulder. “I sayee, pilgrim, ’m ther greatest Thomas K. Cat in all Deadwood!’ was the initiatory declaratio that greeted the wrestler—‘‘ ther very greatest am —a reg’lar half-an’-half *tween Maltese an’ Cochin Chiny; an’ ef ye doubt my word, just step on my toe and hear me me-e-e-ow!” ‘“ Well, old man, who said you wasn’t?’’ demanded Drayton, la , good-humoredly, at the laugha- ble been we: the other. “I am’ sure no one dis- putes your word. * Wal, no; but ye leh I want it distinctly un- derstood who lam. Now I want ter ’rastle, side-holt, back-holt, frunt-holt, or enny uther holt—that’s me; an’ ef ye ain’t no objections, I'd select you as my gos 409 ' ‘*Pshaw! old man, you'd only get hurt; besides, I never wrestle, ‘less under rages that pays, and I don't judge by your hat that you’re overly well- stocked with money.” ‘“‘Ye don’t? Ye don’t think by ther old Rattle- snake’s hat that he’s full o’ ps? Whoop! ’em, Eliza Jane! Thar’s whar ye make a mistake uv ther caliber o’ yer fellermen. I can fight; I kin trot an hour in two miles ‘n’ forty minutes; I kin rattle, squeal, bite, kick, run, swear, chaw terbaccer, drink tarantier-ju'ce, an’ me-e-e-ow-ow-ow-w! an’ I kin show ther biggest nugget in this ‘ere ranch!”’ and to back his assertion, the eccentric individual from Po- tato Gulch held up to the gaze of all a nugget of pure, shining gold, about the size of a man’s fist. It was a wonderful sight, and, with cries of aston- ishment, a crowd instantly collected around him. “That ‘ar’! sr eliensiar wer Nate hantly, ** ar’ oO a specimen rims. e t a sarcum- onina ter what's left whar this cum from, Oh! Eliza; wilt thou say I ain’t got anny chips, now? Thet n t weighs twenty ounces, gentlemen, an’ ef ye don't b’leve et, why just step on this Maltese kitten’s tail, an’ hear ’im me-e-e-ow, me-e-e-ow!”’ ‘‘T say, old man, where did you get that nugget?” The speaker was a large-built, military-looking ‘personage, with bushy si e-whiskers and sinister cast of countenance, who had been attracted to the spot by the surprised cries of the others. % What's thet ter you?” demanded Old Rattle- snake, sharply. ‘‘ Wouldn't you like ter know, so’s you could go an’ pick up a few just like it? W i emup, Liza! °Tain’t every fool's ’s born fer luck, say, you wrestlin’ cuss, d’ye wanter scratch my back, neow?”’ “Yes; ll <aee to break yer neck, if you’ Very u meg nugget for stakes,’’ replied Wrest alt, q laug “Done. Ef you win, ther hunk is yours. Ef I win, I’m goin’ ter bite off yer nose, an’ then hev ther prive o’ me-e-e-owin’ like a kitten. Ar’ thet uar’?”’ er Perfectly! Cum along onto the stage,” replied the young wrestler, leading the way, a confident ex- pression upon his genial face. He anticipated an a Buftalo Ben. me, et eee ee re 4 posers over this eccentric individual from Po- cn. And the crowd cheered leudly as the two took their places upon the stand, or the contest. Old Rattlesnake had laid aside his belt and wea- ns, but still wore his greasy buck-skin suit, while restling Walt was attired in his tights, making the contrast somewhat startling. “Til bet the yt gy will get his neck broke!”’ cried the oye chap, once before referred to, as he took out a roll of bills from the pocket of his vel- agreeable !”’ nded a voice, in his rear, and a youth—for he was little else—step forward, oer to cover the officer’s wager. ‘li you e 9 * Hello!” the major stared. He had not expected to be taken up at his offer. ‘* Who are you, young man?”’ “That does not matter. Who or what I am does not matter, to oe If you wish to bet that the old iis neck galoot will get roke, I’m your huckleberry, to any tune in long meter.”’ ‘** Well! well!’ drawled the officer, pony his accoster, sharply. ‘* You've no lack of cheek, that’s positive! So you want to bet, do you? Well, plank ra — ere, give ‘em to this other wrestler to old—a hundred dollars, if you please.”’ **Git out!’’ cried the young man, contemptuously. ‘*T wouldn't trust my ducats in that galoot’s paws. ‘Sides, I wouldn’t bet short ov a thousand.” ‘Phew! The major was truly amazed. ‘‘ You haven’t got a thousand cents, I'll wager!” Out came the youth's right hand from the pocket of his buffalo-skin trowsers, and in it he clutched a roll of greenbacks, even larger than the officer's. *There’s my ducats, pilgrim; so if you’ve a notion o’ riskin’ a thousand, just lay it into the hands of old Jack Fergueson, here,’’ and he nodded to the grim, rough proprietor of the ‘‘ Tabernacle,’’ who stood h bys and had heard the proposal, Accordingly the required sum was deposited with the veteran, and then a si was given for the ing to begin, for Wrestling Walt had been waiting for the consummation of the bet. The youth who had thus put up his money against the major’s, was in many res remarkable, even among the more remarkable tide of civilization in this outlandish Black Hills metropolis. And this was largely owing to his attire, which would have attracted attention, anywhere. The coat and breeches, met at the knees by fringed leggings, were made of buffalo-skin, with furry side out; the vest was of red velvet; the moccasins ea his feet were skillfully wrought in fantastic de- signs with Indian bead-work; the broad-brim slouch hat upon his head was’stuck full of searlet feathers. In fact this youth was really handsome, the fea- tures being bold and regular, the eyes black and | e piercing, mouth expressively pleasant, yet withal rm and resolute set, and the hair golden, and hang- ing in long curls over his shoulders. fe was not generally known in Deadwood: yet a. few inquiring ones had ferreted out the fact that he was a wonderful pistol-shot, — up in the far north-west, somwhere near the British lines, and that his name was Buffalo Ben. The wrestling now began. ) The contestants clinched, side-hold, with arms about each other's waist, and then came the exhibi- tion of skill in the art of wrestling, if such manly sport can justly be classified among he arts. Back and forward weaved the two wrestlers, each using all the feints and attempts to trip, within their wer. | : mand it dawned upon the minds of the spec- tators, that Old Rattl e was no easy man to handle, for, though Wrestling Walt put forth his aster efforts, he could not get his adversary off his eet. : “Whoop ‘em up, ’Liza Jane!"’ the eccentric genius from Potato Gulch would roar, between breaths. ‘*Hayr’s the old Thomas K. Cat, yit, an’ ye ken’t throw him—”’ Alas! the words were hardly spoken, when the young wrestler discovered an unguarded point, and quickly seizing the opportunity, he raised the miner bodily in his muscular arms, and pitched him head- long from the stage, out among the audience. He went down with a thud, and lay for a moment like one dead; but the next instant be regained his feet, and shook himself like some great mastiff, “I’m satisfied!” he grunted, casting a glance around him; “I ain’t no hog that don’t know when he’s got enough—no sir-ee!”’ CHAPTER M1. OLD ENEMIES FACE TO FACE, ‘THERE; who won the bet?’ demanded Buffalo Ben, turning to Fergueson, simultaneously with the major. “I bet that the old galoot would not git his nec broke, and neither he did, so the chi . ips are ne. “The devil they are!"’ cried the or, endeavor- ing to elbow his adversary to one side. “ I won fairly; the cuss got floored, and that right handsomely, too, and the stakes are mine.” “T reckon they ain’t!’’ retorted the young man, grimly, apparently not in the least awed by the other's important bluster. “I won ’em, an’ win ’em’s keep ‘em’s, ‘round this ranch, ef I know myself,”’ ‘**Ourse you, waeroe contradict me?’’ roared the ma, ae ex pee th rage. ‘‘Get out of my path, or ’ ert ’ rom en, foiling is’ arina and gasing pe kis hamieing ) arms, an to confronter in expressed contempt ** What will you o? **Bravo! hurra for the boyee!"’ roared Old Rattle- ounce gold nuggit ag’in’ twenty mil dollars, fratior Waits oe “upt thet cr snake, admiring the youth’s pose. ‘* Whatlb ye do, igrim—chaw off ear, or step on his: tail, and ear him me-e-eow?”’ “This is what I'll dol’ cried the angered officer, aiming a heavy blow at the youth’s breast. “Take that, you contemptible cur, and let it teavh you a lesson not to interfere in others’ business.” But the clinched fist only cut the air, for Buffalo Ben leaped lightly to one side, and, then, with the quickness of a cat, he administered a slap scross the major’s mouth with the flat of his hand, that re- sounded loudly throughout the room. ‘“‘ Hurra! me-e-eow !"’ shouted the man from Potato Gulch, p about in wildest delight. ‘Oh! Eliza’ give him anuther, pilgrim—jest one more, fer yer uncle.”’ “I think that will answer all purposes,’’ replied Buffaio Ben, still on his toed aplving inclipabedi wt ik senna: aquechs team s ng tly at the young scou he walked away, muttering inandible'threata, ‘*Whoop-la! whoop ‘em up, ‘Liza Jane!’ sung the man from Potato Gulch; “ One game rooster licked, by thunder! Cock-a-doodle-doo-0-0-0-0!” hayr’s a case 0’ non-compismentus for ye. Me-e-eow. One brave sojer persuaded ter abandon pugilism—one + naman guvynormentalist etarnally glori- ‘** You slapped the wrong man across the speakin’- trumpet, then, me lad!” said Old Jack Feigueson, as he placed the stakes in the youth’s hands. “He sae 4 seem vanquished, now, but he’ll give you a dig in t e a yit, mark my word.” ** So? éll, I shall be on m guard,” was the care- less reply. ‘* Who is the swell, anyhow?” ‘That man is Major Fawdon. He stands high in favor in the army, and has influence that ain’t to be sneezed at,” ‘Waal, that don’t scare this fellow, not cne whit. ‘Long's he keeps on his side o’ the trail, all right; when he gits onter my side, I'll h’ist him off, bet yer gnipal i ain’t no rag fer army officers ter wipe their eet on,” ‘* Bully for you, boyee!”’ and admiration and en- campo joy pegnane oe the soreeen? : “Bully for you. glory in your s 0; don’t go bout wi’ yer optics A Be gps mind, or you'll come up missing!’ and then he wheeled and ambled back to his bar, to ense decoctions to the thirsty throng, leaving B o Ben standing staring thoughtfully at the floor. The wrestling match between Drayton and St. Elmo was now on the tapis, and the space in front of the platform was crowded full of excited humanity, who were eager to witness the sport. The two men, standing ether, were wonde eerepen in muscular physical strength, their forms were set off to advantage in the flesh- tights, exhibiting in. prominence the masterly curves and contours. . rim sez he wants ter ‘What prognosticating p bet twenty milyun dollars n’ this yere nuggit o’ ariferous stuff, that the feller w’at cafluxnunxed me won't win hes mare! by a gy sane, whar art dirty son-of-a-gurr wants ter peer milyun ag’in’ a to gold! Whar’s the inderv dual what wants bet?” howled the man from Potato Gulch, dancing around promiscuously, and eqpercaly endeavoring to.make himself a source of annoyance to everybody. ‘‘ Hayr! am, ther great Thomas K. Cat o’ ther Angel-Saxon breed—ther roe roarin’, snortin’ stallion wi’ a pedigree. And want ter bet sum oernery galoot jest one twenty- Wrast oin’ ter wai ig thet agg, yj tashed skunk like Lavy erru essuvyus. Oh! the ongainly ornery buzzard! He war afeard ter a hog o own caliber, war he? Hope ter thunder he'll git his ijees_jounced ’way inter the middle o’ next year, like I did! Oh! bruthern, I know—I’ve bin thar, bet yer false teeth; I’ve seen ther starry firmament—saw et but a few minutes ago, an’—” ° ‘“‘See here, are you going. to shut up, and make less noise?’ demanded old Jack Fergueson, coming from behind the bar witha loaded horse pistel in each hand. “I don’t want ter make an obi in ther columns o’ ther Pioneer, but shall have to, ef ye don’t put a stopper inter thet bread-trap 0’ ours.” ‘**Oh! Eliza!” groaned he from Potato Gulc an agony of spirit, as he squirted a stream of lm juice reflectively at a fly which had neighboring card-table—“ has et cum a poor cuss ar’ forbidden freedom o’ his s,-eaking facilities?” ; “Ye can talk ter a certain extent,’ retorted Fer- gueson, “but we positively do refuse to have too much gab!” “* Amem!”’ said the Rattlesnake, solemnly, and he turned his attention to the wrestlers, apparently re- signed to his lot. And the contest now _It was to be for the championship of the B Hills, the stakes betas s hundred a side, and a handsome belt, gold-mo and its clasp adorned with two diamond stars. It was a magnificent affair, and well worth a struggle to obtain. . The start was side-hold, St. Elmo having the ference of the right side. Back and forward stepped in their tremendous hug, feinting, tri parrying but neither gaining a point. Once Wrest- t came near going upon his knees, but he quickly saved himself, and received a storm of ap- — from the intensely interested assem t was doubtful how the tide was going to turn. St. Elmo was not nearly so cool as his adversary. He was more fierce of temper, and had less patience. It fretted him not to gain; it enraged him to lose. Then, too, his eyes were sometimes riveted u the spectators, as if to learn whom their sym Ebooks hted u a this. thet com (<0)