Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 295 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

= — a ee - a -~ ’ a oe ere Pry <4 ~ te xX — a ae Se ——— ee er oe ee . = ‘j - ' = “——_ IM a ; Jeoworrm + + ——— a known thief was the only witness. There is every reason to believe that the arrest_was the work of Arkansaw Pete,” OA ee aap ag W hy does he pursue us so?” “No doubt he has a ag, 2 against your father. Infact, Mr. Vintrey charged bim with the dirty work, and called him by a name which nobody there had beard before. It was Jim Boyce.” ‘‘ Jim Boyce!” exclaimed Mabel, starting up. ‘If that is the man, he surely hasa grudge against both of us.” “Mr. Hersey thoages, continued Phil, ‘and I believe your friends here will think so, too, that it will be best for you to stay where you are safe for a while, until—until— ething can be done.” “IT suppose you are right. Where is my father now?’ ‘*In the Quartzville jail.” o “We must get him out of there,” said Bert tis, “Of course we must,” responded David Darke. -----+--—- CHAPTER X. TWO INTERVIEWS, FRANK VINTREY found his imprisonment in Quartzville worse than monotonous, His anxiety concerning the fate of bis daugh- ter and the plottings of the man whom he be- lieved to be the cause of his trouble was ex- treme, and vearly drove him frantic, He was guarded like a man who had been convicted of murder, and upon whom tbe ‘‘death-watch '' is set. Two armed men were constantly in the room with him and a sentry was stationed at the outer door of the jail. [f he had any friends in that town they were afraid to show their sympathy, or even to go near him, He had endeavored to secure the services of a lawyer, but had been bluntly told by one of his guards that there was no lawyer in Qartzville mean enough to take the side of a cattle thief, Tois meunt that nobody dared to befriend bim., But he had a visitor before long—no other than Arkansaw Pete, the King of Quartaville, who turned the guards out of the room, closed the door, and quietly seated himself, ‘It is you, then, Jim Boyce!” exclaimed Vintrey. ‘“‘I thought so. I recognized you as s00n as I saw you in that bogus court-room.” ‘Between you and me,” replied bis visitor, ‘‘T don’t mind admitting that you were right; though Judge Toler would be bard on you il he knew that you bad called his court a bogus one,” “*T suppose, then, that you are working out ati old grudge. How long is this thing to /ast, and how far do you expect tocarry it? You know well enough that I never stole any cattle.” “Do I? The proof was pretty plain, and that seems to me to be a question for a judge and a jury. But [ think I[ have influence enough to get you out of the scrape, if you will agree to my terms,” ‘Your terms? What are your terms, then? Let me know the extent of your deviltry.” “J don’t think it deserves to be called devil. try. You are expecting your daughter on here from the East.” A look of horror came into Frank Viutrey’s face. “My daughter!” he exclaimed. have you to do with her?’ **Not as much now as I hope to have here- after. My proposition is that she shall become my wife.” “Your wife? Yours? Do you mean it?’ indignantiy demanded the ranchman. _“ Yes, honestly and fairly.” . “As if there was any honesty or fairness about you—you, who ought to be in the Ohio State prison.” “I suppose I would be there now, Frank Vintrey, if you had your will. You sent me there once,” “Yes, because you robbed me.” “That’s what the jury said. But I stayed only a little while in that State prison. When I get out I hunted up your daughter, whom I head always been fond of. [told ber that I had ‘* What Ce OFS 8 st OE fee Geet HE ERR ee ee He ee ee ee ee ee te te OO OOS OG a Fearless Phil. a heavy grudge against you, and offered to wipe it off the slate if she would marry me,” ‘* Really!” sneered Mr. Vintrey. ‘* Yes, I was disposed to be liberal. But she flew at me like a spitfire, called me a thief and a State prison bird, and all that sort of thing, and vowed that she would not even wipe her foot upon tha hand I offered her.” ‘‘So that gave you another grudge tosettle.” “ Just so. I was bound to get even with both of you, if the chanee ever came, and it has come. Istraggled out here as Pete Bolger, and got the name of Arkansaw Pete. [ don’t know why, as I never set foot in Arkansaw; but it hasserved me well. You see that [ am quite willing to give you the points of my game. I am now a rich man—rich and powerful—and I make you a fair offer to marry your daugh- ter and call it square on all old grudges.” “T would rather see her in her grave,” sternly replied Mr, Vintrey. ‘Very well, You can be mullsh about it if you want to, but that won’t pay. If you re- fuse to give her to me, I will bave to take her.” ‘You have already tried that,” exclaimed the ranchman. * What do you mean?” ‘* You tried it the other night when you at- tacked the camp where she was, at the bead of a gang of scoundrels disguised as Indians, and killed her uncle.” Arkansaw Pete turned pale, and stared bard at the speaker. ‘‘How do you know that?’ he demanded. ‘She can’t have got to your ranch so soon, nor could you heard from her, if she had got there. Who told you that story?’ ‘Tt is enough that I know it,” replied Mr. Vintrey, perceiving that be had scored a hit, and rightly judging that Arkansaw Pete had not yet succeeded in capturing Mabel. ‘‘ You missed your stroke that time, and you had bet- ter not try any more rascally games, as the day of reckoning is sure to come.” “You are talking foolishness, Frank Vin- trey,” said the other, who was again calm and cool, ** Don’t you know that I am the King of Quartzville?’ I run this town, and am mon- arch of all [ survey. You will be hung for cattle-stealing, if I say the word, or I can break up your business, and ruin you.” ‘And you propose to go straight ahead with your deviltry unless you marry my daughter?’ ‘‘Tbat is about the size of it.” “Do your worst, then! You shall never even look at her if I can help it.” “You will be sorry for this, Frank Vin- trey,” said the King of Quartzviile, as he rose togo. ‘*As you refuse a fair offer, I shall take my own way of getting what I want.” He called the guards, and went out, leaving the prisoner in a very uncomfortabie frame of mind, At about the same time, an event of some interest was taking place at the Gold Brick saloon. Dan Gilligan, the barkeeper, was alone and lonesome. It was two or three hours since be had seen a customer, and he had exhausted all his expedients for passing the time. “I’m gittin’ durned tired of this,” he mut- tered. ‘A feller might as well be in jail as shut up here; and it don’t look like goin’ straight, nohow, to stand in with sech a set as Arkansaw Pete and his gang. Though Iain’t crooked, I’m mixed up with a crooked crowd, Reckon the best thing for me will be to leak out and float away. Hello! here comes some- body at last.” A tall and swarthy man entered the shanty, acd stepped up to the bar. At the sight of him Dan Gilligan’s eyes opened wide, and a broad smile spread over his face. “ Blest if it ain’t Mr. Darke!” he exclaimed. The stranger also recognized the barkeeper, and beld out bis hand. “Why, Dan Gilligan! Iam glad to see you. I bad never thought of meeting you out here,” “Nor you, sir; but here we both are, and what'll you take?’ 7 | ee Fee Re ee +. tre ote -OnemOrens oem ee er ee eS eee ee ~ - —— — be eee ee “If you have any whisky that won’t kill on sight, I will sample it.” Both sampled the fluid, and Dan begged his visitor to sit down and have a chat, ‘It is all-filred lonesome here,” he said, ‘‘and I was just thinkin’ about quittim’ this place and floatin’ off. When any folks do come in, it is a bad crowd.” ‘‘T hope you haven’t gone wrong again, Dan,” remarked David Darke. ‘Not a bit of it, sir. When you got me out of that bad scrape at the East I promised you that I would never go crooked again, and I haye kept my word. But this place belongs to Arkansaw Pete, and the wust of his crowd come here, and it is bad enough to serve out drinks to that sort and know too much of their goia’s on.” ‘“T suppose you know considerable about their performances,” said Darke, musingly. ‘“By the way, Dan, you are just the man I want to help me in acertain matter, if I can get you.” ‘‘Help you, sir? J help you? If I can do that, it is the best news I have heard for many aday. You can depend on Dan Gilligan, Mr, Darke, to the last drop of blood in his body,” ‘But in this affair, Dan, you would bave to go dead against Arkansaw Peto,”’ ‘‘ All the better for that. He is a bard rock to run ag’inst; bat I am ready enough to break with him and his gang. What’s the biz, Mr. Darke?’ ‘‘In the first place there is something about a wagon train from the East, and a girl, and an attack by white men cisguised as Indians, Perhaps you bave beard of it,” ‘Heard of it? I know all aboutit. It was fixed up in this room, and they started from here.” ‘Dan, that girl is a particular friend of a particular friend of wine, and be and I helped to fight off those scoundrels,” ‘‘Thunderation! If ’d known that, wouldn’t I ha’ put a spider in their dumplin’? But they didn’t git her.”’ ‘‘No, and she is safe for the present. It is her father who is in trouble now, Arkansaw Pete bas had him arrested on a false charge of cattle-stealing and locked up in the Quartzville jail.” ‘“T know about that, too, Mr. Darke. Whea I heard that the girl’s father bad been locked up, I put this and that together, and ’twas easy to guess that ’twas on her account, Everybody knows that Mr, Vintrey is a square man, and the cuss who swore eg’inst him is meaner’n a coyote. Arkansaw Pete is up to such games, and that one disgusted me so that I am keen to quit. What are you goin’ to do about it, sir?’ “My friend and I have come here for the purpose of getting Mr. Vintrey out of that jail, and you can help us if you will.” ‘You can bet on me, Mr. Darke, and I am likely to be able to do as much as either of you,” ‘‘ When can you get off from here, Dan?” ‘Right now. Iam goin’ to leave this whisky- mill, and never see the inside of it again.” Dan Gilligan put on bis coat, took his revol- ver and cartridges, and stepped behind the bar, ‘Tt almost seems as if I ought to clean out the money drawer,” he remarked. ‘‘No, Dan, Don’t give anybody such a hold on you as that. Come on, if you are ready, I want you to show us where to bide our horses, and as you are going with us we’ll need another horse.” ‘All right, sir. There’s a splendid crittur here that a man named Sam Spurl left.” Dan locked the saloon on the outside, and put the key under the step, and on the un- painted door he scrawled these words: : “ This Bare is Shot Up.” CHAPTER XI. Ir was night, and late at night; but sleep and silence had vot extensively settled dowa | JOO ‘Eom C ‘S (E(0)