Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 348 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

i mf ing Lorne’s wealth, his ‘blunt honesty,’ as he termed it, bis manly strength of character, .etc., as recommendations; but in vain. Occasionally there was another c .‘ler—young Belton, or *‘ Fireheels,” as he wus termed by most settlers and Indians, He always received a kind welcome from Bell, although her father had lat«!y treated the youth with marked coldness. As Belton was approaching one < y for the urpose of paying him another visit, he met Mr. Danton, who, contrary to his habit, scarce- ly replied to his greeting. ** Are you going to my house?” he inquired. ‘Yes, sir; | was going thar,” answered the «6 young hunter. Th ave to tell you, then, that I would pre- ‘fer that you discontinue your visits.” Belton stared at the speaker in surprise. ‘‘It may seem rude for me to say this,” con- tinued Danton, ‘‘ but I have a good reason.” ‘*Ef you'll speak more plainly, ll thank you,” said Fireheels, “Well, then, I understand that you have boasted to some of your companions that you were going to marry an heiress—that she was ‘dead in love’ with you, and that you expect- ed to make more money that way than you could by twenty years’ trapping and hunting. Of course, the heiress you alluded to was my daughter!” Belton’s eyes flashed fire. ‘““Whar did you hear such a base lie, sir? Some one, I see, has been plotting against me.” ‘*‘T heard it from a person in whom I have confidence enough to know that he would not lie.” ‘* Who is the coon, and whar kin I find him?’ said Fireheels. ‘It matters not. rels.” With these words, Mr. Danton turned on his heel, moving toward his factory. Belton stood for some moments looking after him like one dazed. Then he also turned and walked away. ‘¢ Ef I could only find the varmint who has spoiled the sweetest part of my life, which has been since I’ve got to going to Mr. Danton’s, and seeing the most beautiful gal that ever lived—ef I could find the rascal, l’d drag bim before the I wish to breed no quar- man that’s just spoken to me, and make him. own that it was a falsehood he had told.” | Thus muttered Belton to himself as he burried on and entered a lonely valley a few miles from the settlement. As he was about to cross the valley to climb up the other side of it, he heard a girl’s voice, rising from behind a rock, a few yards in ad- vance of him. ‘‘Goaway! Lona does not want the white ‘man’s money. She hasa beart which is better than money, even if her skin is red.” ‘* But,” came the voice of a man, * Fireheels has shot and wounded one of your tribe. They should be glad to bave their revenge.” ‘* Revenge is sweet to the red-man,” was the answer, ‘‘ but Fireheels never shot one of our tribe. It was the Indian of another tribe, who wanted to join us, that he shot—and then only because the Indian was going to shoot him.” ‘* But all the red-men should be of one mind. So long as it was an Indian he wounded, what difference does it make to which tribe he be- longed?” ** Lona has heard enough; she will go. The white man’s money shall never tempt her to plot with her tribe against Fireheels.” Belton now saw the girl move rapidly away up the valley and disappear in the shrubbery beyond. At the same moment, from behind the rock emerged Luke Lorne, looking angry and dis- gee he young hunter stole up toward him, so lightly that he did not see him until he raised his eyes, } He started and turned pale, but, in a moment, he recovered his composure. “Well?” he said, a little haugbtily, as Belton stood gazing straight into his face, ‘‘ What do you want?” ‘*T overheard, by chance, what was said. ‘You’ve been plotting against me, Luke Lorne.” ‘* Well, suppose I have. You are a nuisance to the country, going about shooting Indians, and, in that way, exciting the ill-will of the savages against the white settlers!” “‘T never yet shot a savage whose hand was not first raised against me. You know that, well enough ” ‘‘T cannot stop to band words with you,” ic the other, “‘my ime is too precious.” hev a question to oe to you before you go,” said the hunter, as @ brought the butt of Fireheels; or, Old Skinflint, the Death-Shadow. his rifle to the ground. ‘‘I hev to ask you ef it was you who told that lie against me to Mr. Danton.” ‘What do you mean?’ Belton explained in a few words. ** Tt was no lie,” was the answer, ‘“‘ I can read you like a book, and I know you have said something of that sort.” **] never said it. lt is not in me to talk that way. You own then you are the varmint who told the falsehood.” “IT told him, but I don’t think it was a false- hood. Keep your distance,” added Lorne, pull- ing a revolver from his pocket, as Belton stepped toward bim. ith one dextrous blow of his rifle, the hun- ter knocked the pistol from the speaker’s grasp, and laid an iron hand on his collar. ** You will go to Mr. Danton, and own to him that what you said was an infarnal lie, or Vil thrash you.” ‘*Never!” answered Lorne, gruffly, as he struck the other in the face. The two closed in a struggle. Both were equally strong, but Firebeels was the more active of the two. All at once he dexterously twisted his ad- versary across his hip and flung him headlong to the ground, Lorne had already been severely pummeled by the other youth, and now, his skull striking a stone, he lay fora moment stunned. At length he arose, but showed nq disposition to renew the combat. ‘IT will yet be even with you for this,” he said, as he picked up bis revolver and moved off. Belton watched him scornfully as he left the valley, and then turning, walked away. CHAPTER IIL. A DARK DEED. On the afternoon of the day following the quarrel between Belton and Lorne, Miss Danton went out fora walk. The bright, clear weather and the charming scenery tempted her to go further than usual. Finally she found herself in the valley where the bunter and Lorne had had their dispute. She sat down on a mossy rock to rest, when her attention was attracted hy a sound behind her, which she at once knew to be that of a rattlesnake. She arose, but the snake was coiled ready to dart upon her, and she feared to move. There she stood, her eyes meeting the bright little orbs of the creature, as, with head erect, it gazed steadily upon her. The next moment it would have sprung upon her, but for a rifle which rung not far off, sending a bullet through its head and killing it almost instantly. The clear voice of Fireheels was now heard from the upper edge of the valley. ‘‘A plum-center shot, and it certainly was never more necessary than now!” He advanced and looked at the snake, while Bell thanked bim for the timely rescue. ‘* | happened to be passing and saw your situ- ation, miss,” said Belton, ‘*and I’m glad chance brought me this way.” = a have not called on us lately,” said ell, ‘““Well, no; I hev been pretty busy hunting lately,” said the youth, coloring, as he remem- pop her father’s words to bim on the previous ay. ‘*Tll not say anything to her about it,” he thought. Soon after sundown, Bell, bidding him good- day and bestowing upon him a smiling glance aoe her large black eyes, moved off home- ward, He stood watching ber until she entered a piece of woods a hundred yards ahead, when all at once he burried after her. Mr. Danton, learning from Bell’s aunt that the young girl was gone out for a walk, con- cluded to go to meet her on ber return. He walked some distance when, just at dusk, gazing ahead of him, he saw Fireheels appar- ently looking at something in a hollow. He hurried to the side of the youth, and a cry of horror escaped him at the spectacle which met his gaze. In the hollow, lying upon her back, was the dead body of a female, wh had evidently been throttled, as there were finger-marks upon the throat, ‘*Good God! it is my daughter!” cried Mr. Danton. For a moment he stood like one transfixed azing with grief and horror upon the dead orm. ‘* What does this mean?” he then said fiercely, ! 3 shaking Belton by the shoulder. ‘‘ Answer me, will you?” **God knows I would if I could,” the youth replied. ‘‘It seems to me like adream. Only half an hour ago she was alive and well.” “Who killed her?’ continued Mr. Danton, confronting the other and looking him straight in the face. ‘‘Come, perhaps you will not be so ready to answer me now,” Belton’s cheeks, which had already lost some of their ruddy color, became yet paler. “‘T do not know.” “In my opinion, you know more about this affair than you pretend!” said Danton, hoarse y. A look of horror was blended with the ex- pression of grief on the face of the youth. ‘““] think I understand you, sir,” he cried; ‘*but as true as thar is a God above us, you wrong me. So far from hurting that sweet al, l’'d have risked my own life in her de- ense!”’ ‘‘How happens it that I find you, and you alone, by ber body?’ Belton commenced by explaining about the serpent. ‘*T saw her reach the woods; then I noticed a form skulking about in the shadow, asef watch- ing her. As well as I could make out, when I got nearer, it seemed to be a woman. Thinking that one of her own sex could mean her no harm, I turned and kept upon my way, which was in a direction from the woods. I bad not gone far, and had got behind a knoll, which bid them from my sight, when I thought I heard a scream from that way. I burried to the woods as fast as I could go, and when [I got thar I came upon this,” added Belton, shuddering as he pointed to the body. ‘Your story seems improbable,” said Mr. Danton. ‘‘My daughter could not have been killed in this way by a woman.” ‘‘No—no woman would hev been likely to do it,” answered Belton. Mr. Danton looked darkly at the speaker; then he seized him by the collar, and, at the same time drew a pistol from his pocket. ‘‘Come, sir, you are pot going to escape me. You shall go with me before Mr. Bole, the jus- Lice.” ‘* Hands off, sir, bands off,” said Belton, more in sorrow than in anger. ‘‘And there is no need of your drawing your pistol. The sight of that sweet one, in that condition,” he added, in | a voice of anguish, ‘‘ has taken the spunk clean out of me. But I am willing to go, of my own accord, with you to the justice, and tell him all I know, which is what I hev just told you.” ‘*Come, then, come at once!” Belton, like one walking in a dream, followed Mr. Danton to the settlement. They went before the justice of the place—a hard-featured man named John Bole, who had been elected to bis present position through Lorne’s influence. To him Belton and Mr. Danton told their story. The merchant then drew Mr. Bole to one side, and whispered to him, when the latter with- drew fora few minutes, to soon return with several stout, armed men. ‘You will be put under arrest, Frank Belton, while the inquest is going on,” said the justice, “TI hope that some new light may then be thrown upon the affair, which will clear you from suspicion.” ‘* And is it possible,” said Fireheels, seeming to commune with himself rather than to ad. dress the men before bim, ‘“‘that thar kin be any suspicion of my having killed that sweet, baby-faced gal?’ He was led off to a stone building, which serving the purpose of a temporary jail, s out at the further extremity of the settlement. The room in which he was confined was in the upper part of the edifice, and had but two small ay across which were fixed strong, iron ars. An hour later an inquest was held over the remains of the murdered girl, but no new facts were brought to light. Lorne, who acted as foreman of the jury, wound up with the following remarks: **T will not say that Mr, Belton perpetrated this foul crime, but I will say, and in this all the gentlemen of the jury agree with me, that he alone being found near the body, coupled with his own statement that he was with the young lady just before the tragedy, give strong grounds for suspecting that he and none other | was the assassin |” ‘* And yit he has the name of bein’ sech an honest chap,” said one of the members. ** Honest enough he doubtless is,” said Lorne.