Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 295 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

oh he ee Fearless Phil; The King of Quartzville. BY EDWARD WILLETT, AUTHOR OF “‘THE TYPO DETECTIVE,” ‘ OZARK ALF,” ** FEATHERWEIGHT,” ETC., ETO, CHAPTER I. AN ATROCIOUS BARGAIN, ‘‘ Wri, I must say that you are a sweet- scented scoundrel.” ‘J suppose [ am. Some of my friends call me Frangipanni.” “You are the blooming flower of rascality, Bert Otis.” ‘‘A specimen of stephanotis, you may say. Blooming flower is good, though. Go on.” The two were seated near the remains of a camp-fire and the remains of the supper which they had cooked and eaten, and both were young, *‘ yet not alike in youth,” as Byron says. The younger could hardly be. more than twenty-one, and he had light bair, clear blue eyes, and a face that was full of the winning freshness of youth. The otber was probably ten years older, and was of tall and athletic build. His hair and eyes were intensely black, and so was his heavy rd, and the portion of his left cheek that was uncovered showed a deep red scar. Both were clad in rough but serviceable gar- ments, and were armed with the bestof modern weapons. The younger was named Albert Otis, and the elder was David Darke. What were they? Anything and everything. They considered themselves fitted for anything and capable of everything. Miners, prospectors, naturalists, bunters—they were daily expecting to ‘“‘ strike it rich” in something that would suit their , several capacities. As yet they had not suc- ceeded, Bert Otis, his back against a cottonwood, and his feet toward the fire, was smoking his pipe with the air of a persou who has not a care in the world. Darke, who had let his pipe go, out was looking at his young companion as he would search his inmost thoughts. ‘We will have to dissolve partnership right here and now, Bert Otis,” said the latter. ‘“ Why so?” ‘‘ Because you have proved yourself a coward and a villain.” ** Have I?’ * You tell moe that you have made a bargain with Pete Bolzer—Arkansas Pete I believe they call him, and I know him to be a rascal—to waylay a train and carry off a young lady, and hand her over to that wretch.” He ha Dave, I believe that is about the size of ib. ‘‘ Does not that prove you to be a villain and acoward?” , ‘‘T suppose it does; but that is not all, old man. I may show up pretty well as a villain and a coward; but as a liar] can give myself ; ints in each of those characters, and win every me, “What do you mean, young man!” “ Ananias was not a buckle rry to my ea simmon. If I had stood in the saadals of that obampion liar, a sudden and easy dea‘h would have been too good for me. Nothing sbort of burning at the stake would have filled the bill. Ob, 1 am a sweet-scented villain and coward; but as a liar I smell to heaven.” ‘* What do you mean?” demanded Darke, asa puzzled look crept over bis face. ‘* Just this, old man. When I made that bar- ag witb the gentleman from Arkansas, I lied bim Ike a dog—like a big brindle bulldog. I lied to him shamefully and without remorse, and I must confess that my conscience has not worried me even yet.” ‘Do you mean to say, then, you amazing fraud, that you do not intend to do the job?” ‘“Ob, no; I intend to do it, but perbaps not in the style that would suit my friend from Ar- kansas. He commissioned me to enlist a few rascals like myself to capture the train and carry off the girl.” “So you told me.” — ** Now I must find my rascals, and it strikes me, Dave, that you are egeat to any half- dozen ordinary scoundrels, If you will join the band, I may consider it comple You will be well paid.” “YT will, will 1? What will I get?” ‘‘ Woll, the gratitude of a lovely and | vable we ee = 00+ ee ee ee ee ete | ee eee ee we ee Fearless Phil. 2 oem ——_—— young woman, such as I understand this girl to be, might not add anything to your bank ac- count, if you had one, but—” ‘‘So you want to save the girl, not to destroy her?” eagerly exclaimed Darke, as his face brightened. ‘“T seem to be squinting that way.” David Darke reached out his hand to his friend, who leaned forward and took it, It was a firm avd hearty hand-grasp, and there was moisture in the eyes of the elder man. ‘‘T humbly beg your pardon,-my dear boy,” said he, ‘‘for baving allowed myself to doubt for a moment your character as a decent white man; but you described that scheme to me so moh y and in such dead earnest that you took me in.” ‘‘But I gave it to you solid, Dave. I am tackling the truth now, and the only botber arose from the fact that you didn’t wait for me to finish my story, but flew off the handle a little too suddenly.” ‘‘T understand you now, my boy, and you may consider me enlisted in the band of rascals and subject to your orders. But you should re- flect a bit, my boy. That Pete Bolger is a des- perate scoundrel, and is surrounded by scamps as desperate as himself. When he finds out that you have swindled him—and he must learn that fact—be will hunt you to the death. Ought you to put yourself in such peril?” ert Otis smiled as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe. ‘“@ome, now, Dave,” said he, ‘‘ that is a little too much. Would you caution yourself in that way? Did you = tage know me to be afraid of any man, or set of men?” ‘©Of course not.. You are brave to rashness, But then—” = ‘“‘ And I have you to back me up,” interrupted ert. “To an unlimited extent, my boy. I prom- ised your mother that I would look after you as if you were my own child, and I would stand by you against ail odds for her sake, if not for yourown. Butitis no light matter in this re- gion to provoke the enmity of Arkansas Pete.” “ All right, old man. e long ani the short of itisthis: I wouldn’t miss attending to that bit of business for a gold mine, and if Pete Bol- ger tries to worry me, so much the worse for the gentleman from Arkansaw.” Between these two the will of the younger usually prevailed in spite of the experience and sound judgment of the elder. But on this occa- sion David Darke was not yet satisfied. He thought he might strike a new vein. “ Have you everseen the girl, Bert?” be asked. ‘Never have.” ‘‘ Hoard her described, perhaps?” ‘Yes, after a fashion.” “Did you judge from that description that she was very pretty?” ‘Well, l suppered her to be at least good looking. But that has nothing to do with the matter, old chap.” ‘‘Perhaps it hasn’t. By the way, Bert, wh don’t Arkansas Pete do this job himself? He abundantly able to.” ‘He seems tv have a certain delicacy about appearing in the business.” | ‘Ho is the last man I should suspect of an sort of delicacy. No scruples of conscience, suppose?” ‘* Well, scarcely. What a fool I am, Dave! I have failed to give you the whole of Pete Bolger’s little game, After I and my rascals have captured the girl, he and his rascals are to fall upon us and recapture her. Thus the gentleman from Arkansas is to appear in the character of a hero.” “So now I understand the matter. It is settled, Bert. We will start at daylight.” “ Allright, old man. And now for a snooze. Here, Rip!” A tall and powerful dog of the mastiff breed trotted up, and looked in the young man’s face as if waiting for orders. ‘‘T¢ ig your turn to take the first watch to- night, old boy,” said Bert, ‘‘and you must get right down to business, as this is a skittish part of the country.” The dog appeared to understand bis orders, and doubtless hé did understand them. He trotted off to the horses, and came back wag- ing bis tail, as if to indicate that all was right fn that quarter. Then he took up @ position as sentry. The two men wrapped themselves in their blankets, and were soon alongs soundly. With the first signs of dawn they were awake and in a short time they had prepared and eaten their breakfast, and were riding away toward the north. ; ' as ee i ee me es ES SS SS ee eee | _. —-—- ——__ +--+ -—- + Sr OOOO -—(—— OC hCltC( rr 3 rr Ne es Oe ee LL LAL LEAL LL ELL LL A ed CHAPTER II. FEARLESS PHIL. Over a broad plain, and near the course of a small stream that was ligbtly fringed with cot- tonwoods, a small train was slowly moving westward. The train, outside of its attendants, consisted of but two covered wagons. The foremost wagon was aeevily lorded with housebold goods and provisions. ‘Lhe hindmost one, besides car- rying a supply of provender, was fitted up with sleeping accommodations for one person. That one person rode near the wagon, mount- ed ona fine bay mare. She might have been about twenty ro of age, and was a fresh, bright-faced blonde, with a wealth of golden hair that was prevented from flowing over her shoulders by one knot of ribbon, Although semew bat irregular as to her features, ber clear blue eyes and animated expression made her handsome, at times strikingly so. She was attired in a close fitting, serviceable dress, and sat ber horse splendidly. This was Mebel Vintrey, and she was on her way to join ber father, in charge of her uncle, John Hackett, who controlled the train. Near ber rode a beardless youth of eighteen, whose bronzed face told of much exposure to wind and weather on the plain. Yet he was by no means an ill-looking young fellow, and his eyes and mouth told of determination and daring. Howes plainly enough dressed, in corduroy: trowsers over which bis high boots were drawn, blue flannel shirt, and dark felt bat. A heavy blanket was strapped to his saddle, a belt of cartridges encircled his waist, a knife anda re- volver were visible, and a repeating rifle rested on the saddle before him. This was Phil Henning, who had been enlisted as one of the trainmen. aga’ the wish of Sam Spurl the guide, by John Hackett, who had taken a fancy to the lad. As he rode near Mabel Vintrey be was down- cast and silent, and there wasa bled look on his face. ‘‘ What is the matter with you, Philf”’ asked the girl. ‘‘ You have not a word to say for yourself today, and you look worried.” ‘* 1 am worried, Miss Mabel” ‘‘ What is it that troubies you?” “1 don’t want to frighten you; but I am afraid that there is something wrong.” ‘In what way, Phil?” ** We are out of our course. We left the reg- ular trail two days ago, and are getting further away from it every hour. I don’t know why this should be so,” ae “e you suppose the guide has made a mis- e ‘‘No, indeed. He knows well enough what he is about,” ‘‘Have you asked him why he does this!” ‘‘'Yes, but be will give me no reason. He dislikes me, and he knows that'I sus bim.” ‘*Perhaps you had better s to uncle Jobn.” “T will, I have been waiting, in hopes that the guide would take us k to the trail.” The otber two trainmen were riding near the wagons, and John Hackett was in advance. m Spurl was not visible any where. John Hackett was a bluff, hearty, middle-aged man, with grizzled hair and beard. He was con- sidered an cova fellow, not easily worried, though it was said of him that he was a ‘‘ tough subject to tackle when riled.” ‘Well, youngster, how goes it?” be cheerily asked, when Phil Henning rode upto him. “Tam afraid, Mr. Hackett,” replied Phil, “ that there is something wrong.” . “Something wrong? hat’s up now?” “T am sagivesy met that your guide intends treachery to the D. , What|—Sam Spurl—treachery? What do ou mean, bo me You ing: sir, that we left the regular trail two days ago, and now we are many miles to the north of it, That trail would have taken us direct to Quartaville, and on to Mr. Vintrey’s ranch, which is, I believe, some ten miles beyond Quartzville. Ican think of ne good reason for coming up here out of our course.” ‘‘Perbaps Sam is taking a short cut,” sug- gested John Hackett. ‘Has he explained it to you, sir?” “No; but [sup he knows his business.” “[ have no doubt of that; but does he mean fairly?” “Why shouldn’t hef We have no pinader worth ae and what could he gain by betray- ing us Caley jayiicel exeye) cS (E(@)