Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 32 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

5 ann tL EL eC gee ee gener TT EL LEG LE ED —_— eee A LET LL LLL = - i a eee eee eee a nn a L2 te The stern-faced lawyer and his savage-eyed stallion were not forty rods distant, and were sweeping down upon him, like the terrible hur- - Yricane, With a horrible curse, the ruffian chief cast his burden upon the earth, and then again sped on, only too glad of the hope of escaping with his life. The sheltering trees were now only a short distance further on. Away—on, and still he heard the fierce hoof-strokes, closer behind him than before. A single swift glance apprised him .of all. Knowing Hurricane Nell would be safe for the present, Cecil was impelled to chase the ruffian down, and finish up his career, with a blow from his knife, Awful curses broke in torrents from Woolf’s lips, and he threw almost superhuman strength into his limbs, and tore madly on, ‘‘Halt!” challenged Cecil, drawing a pistol, and cocking it. ‘‘ No!—curse ye!” came back savagely. Past the Grover mansion they flew, and as they did, not three yards intervened between them. Aubrey Lee, Lotta and Mrs. Grover were standing on the porch, watching with great in terest. Suddenly the clerk drew a pistol, and fired. “T’ll end the ruffian’s race!” he replied, in answer to Lotta’s shriek. Had the ladies but known it, that self-same bullet whistled by, not an inch in front of Ce- cil’s forehead! He turned in his saddle, and as he shook his fist toward the evil-faced clerk, he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Grover, and a deathly pallor overshadowed his own visage. ‘My God!” he gasped, reeling as if intoxi- cated, “can it be possible?” At this instant Hurricane dashed into the wood, and before he was scarcely aware of it, a low-hanging limb swept the stallion’s back, and Cecil fell, heavily upon the ground. Noth- ing daunted, however, he regained his feet, and glanced around for a glimpse of Cap’n Bob. He had disappeared, but far on ahead, the sounds of his flying footsteps could be dis- tinctly heard. Quickly Cecil bounded away, in hot pursuit. Here, there, everywhere he darted, but to no avail. At the end of an hour he found that he was only wasting time. The outlaw had succeeded in outwitting him, and had made good his escape. Slowly he returned to where he had left the ion, mounted him once more, and turned his head out toward the prairie, where he ex- pected to rejoin Hurricane Nell and Cap. Wood- chuck, Soon he came upon the old ranger, down upon his hands and knees, in the tall prairie grass, and searching about, curiously. *‘ Where is she—Hurricane Nell?” asked Ce- ceil, as he rode up. *'Gone!” muttered Cap., resuming his work, by carefully parting the grass, as he searched with his keen eyes for some concealed object. ‘* Gone!” echoed Cecil—“ gone! How? when? where?” ‘“ Why, ye see,” replied the ranger, “w’en I round her, I cut her bonds, an’ then she sprung ter her feet, an’ was off like crooked lightnin’, greased wi’ Goat Gruel, as ef all ther Pole- kats on ther conternent, from hyar ter ther ‘equater, were arter her.” “Where? which way did she go? tell me, quickly !” ‘‘Went rite up ter ther settlement, thar, boyee; mounted her hoss, in ther face o’ all them ’ar roughs, an’ rid off, rapidly, ter ther north.” Cecil groaned. ‘*Gone—gone, again,” he muttered, uncon sciously, ‘‘ and before I could tell her—tell her of my love!” Beadle,s Half:Dime Library. struck down, clus "bout here, I -heerd et fall, an’ ar’ cur’ous ter kno’ w'at et means.” Burnett at once dismounted, and. a vigorous search was instituted, resulting in the discovery of the shaft by Cecil. It was a long arrow, and rolled around it was a sheet of paper, covered with lead-pencil writing. ' ‘‘Hum!” muttered the young lawyer, de- taching the document; “let’s see what it means.” He unfolded and straightened it out upon his knee; then, with Cap. Woodchuck looking over his shoulder, scanned the coarsely written lines: ‘LUKE Ricr’s Rancn, July 3, 18—. ‘Mr. CeEcIL BURNETT: ‘‘ When you receive this note an’ confession, the writer’ll be dead. I got knifed down at Woolf’s Rendezvous, last night, in a brawl, an’ am fast pegging out. But, as I promise ye, I’ll make a clean breast o’ it, afore I turn up my toes. ‘““Wal, ter begin with: Years ago, in a pretty New England village —it’s a city, now— lived a beautiful maiden named Cecilia Bur- nett, an’ she war as modest, purty peece 0’ pork as ever ye sot yer hyes upon. Wal, thes gal hed. two lovyers; an’ I, a wuthless, rovin’ sorter coon, was one of ’em, The other was a protiigate son of a rich mill-owner in ther town, “Wal, of course she married him, an’ he turned out ter be quite a feller, arter all. "Bout a year arter they war married I got drunk as a beast, an’ went down to see ’em, one night. Things went purty strate till I kinder insulted his wife, w’en he flew at me wi’ a knife, an’ give me a gouge, the scar of which I bear to-day. Thet riled all the hell in my carkass, an’ I swore ter have a terrible re- venge, sure pop. “So one night, I up an’ breaks inter their house, w’ile they war away to town, an’ hed left their baby in care of a servant gal; an’ I steels the lad away. “‘Hevin’ no home o’ my own, I took him over ter Philadelphy, an’ give ’im inter charge o’ a chum, Tim Morris, by name. Then I dug out fur parts unknown. ‘** Wal, Tim used to write to me, an’ I to him, an’ as he war a good sorter coon, he give ye an eddication, an’ I paid ’im fur et. Ye war natterally smart, an’ made a strike onter ther bar—not ther whisky un, but the lawyer ‘‘Erw’ile ago, Tim writ me he war goin’ ter turn up his toes, so I writ back thet he c’u’d send ye out ter me, an’ I’d tell ye who yer dad an’ mam war. Wal, ye cum, arter Tim died, an’ I’ve heerd since thet he left ye a heap o’ money. Wal, I’m glad o’ thet. I told ye I’d tell ye all on ther 8th o’ August. Thet war ther dayI stole ye. But since I’ve got knifed, [ ken’t keep ye waitin’ no longer. Yer p entses names ar’ Cecilia an’ Felix. Grover. They live b’low Dwight’s settle—” Here the writing stopped, and the confession was ended. CHAPTER XIII. THE BURNED FACE, THREE days passed. Cap. Woodchuck and Cecil still lingered at Dwight’s. The former was anxiously awaiting Cap’n Bob’s return, while the young lawyer was patiently waiting for an answer from Mrs. Grover, to whom he had sent the documentary confession of poor, sinning Luke Rice, Also he was eagerly watching for a chance to’see Hurricane Nell, as Cap. had thrown out »| a hint that she might put in an appearance at And, much to his satisfaction, the masked ranger perceived that Bob Woolf was among the gang. He, Hardy Scooter, Long Neck Pete, and two of his worst pals from Cherry Valley, named respectively Pill-Box and Guzzler, mon- opolized one table in the rear of the gambling- saloon, and took to draw poker, excessively. By and by Cap. Woodchuck sauntered in, and, spying out Cap’n. Bob, brought along a stool, and seated himself at a narrow corner of the table. ‘* What d’ye want here?” demanded the chief, gruffily, though there was less of the bully in his behavior than usual. ‘ Git out!” ‘Holy Polekats!” ejaculated the ranger, feigning great surprise, “‘ ye ’hain’t no objec- tions ag’in my seein’ ye play draw poker, hev ye?” “Yes, I hev; I don’t wan’ ye ’round, so get out, afore I lift ye!” “*[Pll shin when I git reddy, Bob Woolf, an’ not afore, so go’n wi’ yer game.” After eying the ranger’s herculean form for a moment the chief turned and began shuffling the cards. | Cap. watched the course of the game for up- ward of an hour; then, inserting one finger in a little pocket in his shirt, he brought out a piece of paper, and presented it to Cap’n Bob, coolly. The ruffian glanced at the writing, then grew strangely pale. It was in a large, ram- bling hand, and the paper read as follows: * T’ll giv’ ye jest five—no, ten hours ter leave —cl’ar out, and nevyar sho’ yer he’d in thes ranch ergin. Ef ye, or enny o’ yer crew’s hyar at daylight, why yer ha’r b’longs ter Grinnin’ Moon. Remember! * Yers, dootifully, x,” “Man, devil—or what the deuce are ye, ennyhow?” gasped the outlaw. ‘““D’ye wanter know, purtic’lar bad, eh?” asked the ranger, with a low, meaning laugh. ‘‘ Wal’f ye do, then, I g’ess I'll hev ter gratify ye, fur onc’t; see’f ye reckognyze thes ’ere bu- tiful counternance!” With a swift, dextrous movement, he tore the skin mask away, and turned his face to- ward the ruffians, in the full light of the can- dle. It was a horrible sight. From the roots of the hair above the fore head, to the end of the chin, was one awful fiery, livid scar, which only the blaze of fire could have produced. In places deep spots told where roasted flesh had dropped from the ghastly visage, and as for a nose he had none at all. It had been burned entirely off ! The five ruffians recoiled with a shudder. Accustomed as they were to disgusting and ghastly sights, the scarred face before them was too horrible to gaze upon, ‘‘Haw! haw!” leered the ranger, with a grin that rendered his visage positively hideous, ‘don’t admire et, much, eh? Thort ye would- n’t. Wal, then I'll put et ter sleep!” Whereupon he replaced his mask. “Don’t wonder I keep et outer sight, do ye? Why, Holy Polekats and Goat Gruel! ef er photygraffer’d ever git a peep at thet phiz, he’d nevyar sleep easy, till he hed my pictur’.” “For God s sake, who are you?” again gasped Cap’n Bob, his face as white as the ceiling overhead, and his knees knocking together with fear. ‘*Who ar’ I? Wal, Bob Woolf, Z am the man who; five years ago, lay ter bed, down wi’ the small-pox. Iam the feller ye tried ter burn up, in thet prairie, but failed to, an’ only made a botch job over; an’ last, but not least, I'm Bill Allen, the Kansas Spotter!” With yells of genuine terror, the five guilty wretches leaped from their seats, at the gam- ing-table, and fled pell-mell from the saloon, as ‘Wal, Buster, nevyar ye mind. luv, et pres- | almost any moment. On the third evening succeeding the events | | ent, but clime down hyar an’ s’arch fur the | ; | arrer,” | | described in the previous chapter, a large posse | wlesa"Gd ae | of men had come in to the tavern, for the scle | When morning dawned over Dwight’s settle- ** The arrow?” : _ment, neither Cap’n Bob nor a, single man of “Yas.- Jes’ arter ther gal escaped, an Injin | and soul-inspiring purpose of having a spree— nissanedtices Prom tee band, linger Bisosd the a downright drunk. if the Black Imp himself was after them: sumwhar round hyar fired an arrer, an’ et = ee ee EOMIEHDOO - a oe ss ——— — = a — —_ _— SS