Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 424 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

vob-tailed centipede! and Pll stick you so full of prickly-pear prickles that you can’t sneeze! I’m Cibuta John, the Prickly Pear from Cactus Glains!” _ Such was the generous and whole-souled invi- tation that was extended one evening to the bully of the town of Ante-Bar; and the man who held out such alluring inducements in con- nection with his vehement and urgent request, is worthy of description. He was of medium hight, with a supple, ath- letic figure, broad shouldered and straight. His dead was of splendid shape, modeled in bold lines, and poised with an easy and unconscious a hs and grace. is face wasa bold patrician-like and hand- some one, the features being clear-cut and regular. His eyes were black and bright, his complexion was dark, a wealth of dark-brown hair rested upon his shoulders, and a gracefully curving mustache shaded his mouth. He was, perhaps, thirty years of age; certain- ly not more. He was attired in a rich, full Mexican cos- tume, and wore a cre 5 sombrero upon his head, while attached to his heels were a pair of hand- some silver spurs. At first glance, any one would have taken him to be a Mexican gentleman. No Mexican was he, however. He was an American, born and bred—a genu- Ine son of old ‘* Kaintuck.” Why, then, his Mexican attire? Because, for several years just previously to the time we write of, he had been a sojourner in that land. He was ju t from the town of Cibuta, in the Sonora country, where he had received the euphonious appellation he bore— ** Cibuta ” John, His title fitted him well, and the latter portion of it especially so. He had, on one occasion, single-handed and alone, in fair fight, whipped four of the worst characters of the town—veri- table “ Greaser” gorillas; and from that mo- ment he was called the *‘ cactus espinoso of the “ano cactus.” Or, as the Americans rendered it—the * prickly pear of the cactus plains,” His fame had spread for miles and miles around, and he was alike feared and respected. It had not, however, preceded him to the town of Ante-Bar, which lies many miles distant from Cibuta, in a northeasterly direction, This man’s Christian name was—a very popu- lar one—Jones; simply Jones. Nota very strik- ing name for the hero of a story, we will admit; but the veracious historian must not deviate from grim facts, and the grim fact in this in- stance is, the man’s name was simply John ones, The “ other feller,” he of the red hair, big ears, etc., needs no description. The verbatim exclamation with which this chapter opens, portrays him perfectly. We may add, however, that he was almost a giant in size, big of bone and strong of arm and half-filled with whisky and chock-full o a e was the terror of the town, And, strange tosay, his name, too, was Jones. Not only that, but it was John Jones, There y hangs a tale. Throughout this story we will distinguish them, onefrom the other, by i aR adjective p efixes to their names—*‘ Cibuta” John and ‘Giant” John; for ‘‘Giant” the bully was called. This, the first scene of the romance, is laid in the -office at Ante-Bar. e stage-coach had arrived a short time be- fore, and the postmaster had just distributed the mail. The moment he had so done, and had opened his window to the B iv the first man there had been Giant John Jones, Giant John had been a citizen of the town about two vests, and in all that time had never once missed being the first man at the post-office § wer every mail-lay the moment it was opened, aN aver in all that time though had he received a letter, postal-card, paper, or anything else. Judge of the surprise then when on this par- ticular evening a letter, a dainty, white-envel- oped missive, had been put into his ungainly paw. Even he himself had seemed tly astonish- ed, and had acted as though he hardly knew what to do with it. There it was, however, a letter; and, for him! And he had strutted away from the window ‘with as pompous an air as though he owned the whole world and a little more. The next man at the window had been ** Cibuta” John Jones. EK — Cibuta John. 2S 7? ‘ ot er ee “‘TIlave you a letter for John Jones?” he had asked, And the postmaster had answered: ‘** [ had sich a letter a moment ago, But it was called for, my dear sir, an’ so, I am sorry to say, it is gone.” Here we must digress again for a moment, to introduce the postmaster. He is worthy of our notice. Imagine a tall, thin-faced, white-haired oid man, with a long, white beard, and you will see him, in your mind’s eye, exactly as he was, and is. His name is Daniel Derrick; better known as ‘*‘ Uncle Dan.” Uncle Dan has a hobby, end that hobby is poetry. Poetry, to him, is food and drink. It is everything. His whole soul runs to poetry, and his poetry and he are together running to seed, Not to say that he does not still court the gentle muse, for he does; but his ardor is not as it was in the elysian days of his youth. Far and near, Uncle Dan is known as the ‘* Poet o’ Ante-Bar.” ** Poet,” however, he can not, with strict re. gard for truth and ied set dh be called. He is, to the true poet, what a common fiddler is to an expert violinist. He is a rbymester; nothing more, Uncle Dan hasarhyme for every occasion. He seldom speaks except inrhyme. Ask him a question, and he will answer you ina jingle of verse; iambic, trochaic, anapeestic, or dactylic— in measure of a go-as-you-please sort. en- ever he has an odd moment, he can be found writing; and some of his effusions bave actually found their way into print. So much for ** Uncle” Daniel Derrick. Cibuta John had been not a little oe to find himself answered in rhyme. It had sur- prised him more, however, to learn that a letter addressed to him had been called for. Let us mention, right here, that Cibuta John had just arrived im town. He had come in the stage-coach mentioned as having arrived a few minutes before. ‘* Will you please tell me who it was who called for the letter?” he had asked, And again had Uncle Dan answered in rhyme, pointing the man out as he did so, as follows: ‘* D’ye see that big man over thar, i’ stogy boots an’ fire-red ha'r— Ther one wi’ no hat on? Wal, he’s th’ one who called fer it, His name’s John Jones; ter him it fit. We call him ‘ Giant’ John.” ‘Did you notice the post-mark?” Cibuta John had next asked, The bye! had been: ‘* Sich trifles seldom miss my eye; It was from Tiptonville, K———-y.” “Then, by heavens! it’s mine!” and Cibuta John had at once strode over to where Giant Sir * ho had said politely, ‘‘is your name John Jones?” ‘* Yes, sir; it are!” the bully had answered. “* And you have just received a letter?” Ae 1% “Well, sir, as my name, too, is John Jones, and as I expected to find a letter here for me, it is quite a“. that the one you received is mine. Will you allow me to look at it?” ‘“* No, sir; nary a look!” “Sir! you are unreasonable!” “* Not a bit, I ain’t! this heur burg, an’ this heur letter says ‘John Jones, Town of Ante-Bar;’ tharfore, it must be mine! Yowre no citizen heur!” ‘*True, [am not; but I am here now, and I expected to find a letter awaiting me on my ar- rival. The postmaster tells me this letter is from Tiptonville, Kentucky. There is where I expect one from, and now I demand to see ‘You kin demand, an’ keep on demandin’; but you won’t see it!” the giant bully had cried. And he crushed the letter in his hand and thrust it into hispocket. ‘‘Come! Git out o’ my way, you Mexican cuss with a Yankee name!” And as he spoke he gave Cibuta John an angry push aside, and strode toward the door, Then it was that Cibuta John, white with rage, had clutched the giant by the arm and whirled him around, exclaiming: **Come! you red-haired, big-eared,” etc., ete. The bully fairly howled with rage! He turn- ed green! He, the bully—the king-bee of the town, to be insulted thus! It was too much! ‘*T don’t keer a Fourth o’ July continental!” he cried, ‘‘ whether you’re Cibeauty John, Ci- beauty J ake, or Cibeauty Jim; or what kind of a ‘beauty’ ye are; ye can’t skeer me! Vm ee ohn o’ Ante-Bar, J am, an’ don’t you fur- it it en And I don’t care if you are a giant, you’ve - i seeeieimermmmmmmmmmmmme apes ee Sa ‘to? Can’ta man Iam the John Jones o’ | got to fork over that letter! It is mine, and you’ve got to give it up! Come! you loud- mouthed, slab-sided, lantern-jawed, crooked- backed son of a Texan tarantula, you! Just sashay yourself out here into the highway, and we'll dance a Portuguese polka in six-eight time! Iam, usually, one of the most peaceable fellows you ever saw, but when a great, big, anima and ungainly mountain of ignorance like you pare me a push, said mountain of ig- norance got to fight! Now, if you won come out, Pll get down to business right here | I'll polish up the floor with you till. you can’t stand on it! Comeout! Docome! Iam fairly aching to pitch into iy and I want plenty of room! I also want that letter, and I’m going to have it, too!” “Wal, I'd like ter see ye git it! You're mighty fly with your tongue, but you can’t skeer Giant John fer a cent! Why! you cussed Mexican-dressed dude! ef I went out inter th’ road wi’ you, thar wouldn’t beenough of you left ter hold an inquest over! ‘You don’t know me! I’m th’ boss o’ this heur town, J am, an’ don’t you furgit it!” ‘** That suits me all the better! I always like to begin right at the top of the pile! Come now, hand over my letter, come out and fight, or else take a ‘ licking’ right here!” ‘*I tell ye th’ letter ain’t yourn, an’ I ’peal to th’ crowd! Say, feller-citizens, don’t it stand ter reason that this heur letter are mine? I have lived heur fer two years or more, an’ every- body knows John Jones o’ Ante-Bar.” ot a man in the crowd dared to raise his voice against the giant. His prowess was too well known. ‘‘Tt certainly looks ez ef it hed orter be yourn,” said one Jem Patterson, “seein’ ez it are th’ Jirst one that ever kem fer ye, fer ye’ve watched ther mail purty faithful fer two years,” “ And,” said Cibuta John, ‘‘ does it not stand just as much to reason that the letter is mine? I came here expecting to find one, and the post- master tells me this one is from the very place I expected mine to come from. Besides, if this galoot has never before received a letter, the chances are that this one is not his. All I askis to see the letter, and then if it proves not to be mine, I will shut right up and treat the crowd. Is that not fair enough? ‘‘ Yes,” some one ventured to say, “ that’s fair! Giant John can’t object to that!” ‘“* But Giant John does object to it, Bill Twick- er,” the bully retorted; ‘‘an’ he won’t show it terno man! What’s this heur town a-comin’ it a letter ’thout havin’ ter show it ter any jackanapes as wants ter see it? This heur dockyment is in my name, an’ no other man kin have it! That's flat! Git out o’ my way, ye half-breed Greaser! I’m _ goin’ home!” And once more he gave Cibuta John a push aside. That push capped the climax. The fun began in earnest. CHAPTER II. A WHIPPED ‘‘ TERROR,” ‘““Ou! you cross-eyed son of a ring-tailed chim 1” Cibuta John cried. ‘You will have it, will you?” And, clutching the os by the neck, he swung him around and wafted him out through the open door with an ease that was ek or, did he let go his hold till he had landed his man clear out into the middle of the road. ** Now! "Ae hump-backed son of a whisky still! ae got to fight! If you don’t, I'll o you y the slack of your breeches and the back of your neck, run you into the creek!” The creek mentioned was a lively and deep one, only a short distance away. The bully needed no further invitation. His Dutch, or Irish, or whatever blood he could lay claim to, was rit eas i ‘“‘He, the bully of Ante-Bar, to be insulted, mauled around, and generally mussed-up thus! He could not—would not stand it! The taunting cries of his fellow-citizens ring. ing in his ears only served to anger him the more, %: -by, John!” Bill Twicker had crted, as Cibuta snatched the giant out of the room, ** Don’t stay long!” Jem Patterson had added. And a dozen other exclamations had greeted his ears. ‘* Look out fer yerself!” he cried, “‘ I’m a-comin’ fer ye!” And he came. his ponderous arms around, and made a rush for Cibuta John, evidently expect- ing to an him wholly at one fell swoop. rg he had never made a greater mistake in S 1116, cS "comicboo Comel .- : ow | . b | @ ¥ | | | | e met