Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 424 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

~_ ee — Cibuta John met him more than half-way, and a blow from his iron-like fist laid the bully out flat upon his back in the twinkling of an eye. ‘* Come to time, Giant!” cried Bill Twicker. ‘‘ What be ye a-doin’ down there?” asked Jem Patterson. “Climb right up, Sally, an’ git in yer fine work,” some one else called out. And so it went. The crowd cheered and hooted like wild men, Giant John sprung up with a howl of rage and pain, and made another terrible onslaught. Again he went to the ground in a most in- glorious manner. ‘Come! you mighty chief, “te terror of the whole town!” cried Cibuta John. ‘*‘ Why don’t you stand up long enough to give mea little fun? J can’t get any enjoyment out of you this way, not a cent’s worth. Come. Do come! Dll make it pleasant for re I assure you.” How the crowd around did hoot and yell! To see the terror meet his match at last, was rare enjoyment indeed! The whole town turned out, and came rushing to the scene of action. ‘**Come, Giant John! scramble up an’ go in!” cried Bill Twicker. ‘‘Why, my little dorg Sancho heur, kin make a better showin’ in a tight than you are makin’.” Again the bully sprung up, but this time he did not pitch in with such ardor. He realized that he had met a tough cus- tomer. Getting himself into position, he approached cautiouatys his arms well in advance, and swing- ing his body in true pugilistic style of the brag- - gadocio sort, And as he advanced, he cried: ** So, you're up to a little science, be ye? Wal, Tll see what ye kin do this heur time. Look out now!” And he struck out. ‘** Yes, I’m looking out,” Cibuta John replied, as he parried the blow with ease. ‘* What is it ‘ou want me to look out for? For you? Well, I am looking out. Come, now; let’s see what you're going to do.” What he wanted to do, Giant John was trying hard to show by practical illustration; but somehow he couldn’t make it work. He did some fine sparring, and sent in some terrible blows; but his adversary never happened to be there when the blows arrived. ‘‘ Well, you are a healthy specimen to be called the bully of a town!” Cibuta John cried, tauntingly. ‘* You would make a good man to drive hogs to feed, you red-nosed porpus! But as a fighter you don’t amount to shucks, Come! Wake up!” And the Giant did wake up. Cibuta made a charge; he struck out with his left, followed it up quickly with his right, and Giant John turned a complete somerset and landed upon his back with a force that made him groan; he had reason to think a mule had kicked him. “ Are ye comin’ back this week?” Bill Twicker cried out. Again the crowd roared with laughter. ‘‘No.” said one Jeff Parsons; ‘‘ I guess he'll stay over Sunday!” ‘Shall we send yer clothes?’ asked Jem Pat- terson. Giant John sat up and glared foolishly around. ‘Did anybody see a mule kick me?” he asked. **Did a flash of lightnin’ cut th’ pigeon-wing around my head? or was it acan of diameter exploded? ‘‘ Have you had enough?” asked Cibuta John. * Bnough 0’ what?’ the bully inquired, look- ing around in his direction. ‘Enough fight. Enough Jeft-handed and right-duked proboscis lubricant. Come! don’t keep the audience waiting! Besides, I haven’t had any at pnt ‘‘ Much ’bliged to ye,” said Giant John, with 2 sickly grin, ‘‘ but I guess I won’t come, I’ve got enough. I don’t want no more,” ‘‘ Fully satisfied, are you?” “Yes I've got a stummickful. no more at all.” } : ‘‘Oh! come, Giant!” cried the irrepressible Bill Twicker, ‘‘ don’t give it up so! Wade in once more, jest fer luck.” ‘No sir-ee! No more wadin’ in fer me!” ‘ Jest one more round, Giant!” pleaded Jem I don't want ! I’m done! No more fer me this evenin’, if ye please!” And as the pully replied, he got upon his feet again and proceeded to straighten the kinks out of himself ‘Then ” said Cibuta, ‘‘ perhaps you have con- cluded to hand over that pther and let me see it. eee rr OT EE a s a] - © sane {t's 7 Lei eet eo ote Aan ee ly ean 4 > Fics sieges 2 a the ELS . . } . ' . 8 + - 7 “A. Gs . . F ° e m Cibuta John. 3 ‘Oh! thunder! I had forgot all about th’ let- ter, in th’ excitement of our little walk-around! Yes, I have concluded that it must belong ter you. Heer it air, a little rumpled up, but I guess th’ stuffin’ is all thar. I figgered it out ez fur ez ‘My dear John,’ an’as nobody ever calls me ‘dear,’ I guess it’s yourn.” And the bully passed the letter over to its rightful owner. ‘* Now, gentlemen,” said Cibuta John, “if you will step. back into the post-office with me for a moment, I will tell you whether this letter be- longs to me or not. If it does not, then I shall be most happy to return it to Mr. Giant John, and ask his pardon. I think however, there is no doubt about its being mine.” The crowd followed him back into the post- office. There Cibuta unfolded the letter, and immedi- ately said: ‘Yes, gentlemen, it is mine. I can easily prove it to you. Here are other letters from the same person, addressed to me at Cibuta. You can see at a glance that the writing is the same,” And as he spoke he drew from his pocket three or four other envelopes, all in the same hand-writing and all bearing the same post- mark, ** Are you satisfied?” he asked. “Yes,” some one answered, “it is clear that the letter is yours.” The crowd echoed their acquiescence in that opinion, and the postmaster remarked: ** Yes, feller-citizens, it seems cl’ar Th’ letter belongs ter this man heur. These older ones heur that bear his name, All are written jest about ther same. But, if he intends ter settle down An’ become a citizen o’ this town, I have got an idee in my mind To stop further trouble of this kind. An’ then, when a letter comes, I’ll know To which man I am ter let it go. Let one have ‘ John Jones’ writ tharon; ; The other one ‘ Cibuta John.’” “That isa good idea,” said Cibuta. ‘“ I will notify my correspondents at once, I certainly expect to settle down here, and remain for some time.” ‘*T guess there won’t be much trouble about your letters,” remarked Bill Twicker. ‘ Giant John never gets any.” The postmaster now called the attention of the crowd, and said: ‘* Heur, pards, is a letter from afar, Fer Daniel Derrick 0’ Ante-Bar. I think ’tis about that schoolmarm biz; But Pll open an’ see jest what it is.” Cibuta John was about to leave the post- office, but, hearing the word ‘‘ schoolmarm,” he stopped and turned back. ncle Dan opened the letter, and, perhaps la- menting the fact that it was not written in rhyme, read as follows: **Omana, NEB., t ** July 6, 18—. * Danie, Derrick, EsqQ., ** Chairman of Board of Fducaticn, ‘*Town of Ante-Bar:— ‘**DeaAR Sir:—I am en route to your town to accept the position. Having carefully studied the route and time-guides, I expect to reach there on the 16th. ‘Very truly yours, *OLara Sr. CLarE.”’ ‘Bully fer Clara!” shouted Bill Twicker. ‘* Forty years of age, wears blue spectacles, an’ carries & green umbrella! That’s her deeck tp. (ll bet my dorg Sancho ag’in’ a’ jack-rabb t! That’s yer shemale schoolmarm, out an’ out!” “Yes,” added Jem Patterson, ‘‘red ha’r, freckled face, an’ tall an’ angular, wi’ anangelic expression of countenance sour enough ter scare th’ kids o’ this town into fits, Isthat right, Bill?” ‘That's her, right to a dot!” cried Bill. ‘* An’ say, Jem, J eff Parsons heur orter slick up a bit, an’ maybe he kin ketch her fer a wife.” ‘‘ That's so, Jeff; ye must trot out that frilled shirt o’ yourn, sure!” Bill and Jem were both married, and each had a large family. Jeff Parsons groaned aloud at the prospect, “Oh! notany ferme! Not any fer me, if ye lease!” he exclaimed. “Heur’s Tom Billings, hough, he might—” ‘““No! not any fer me, neither! I don’t want one!” the man mentioned assured at once, ‘* Not any fer me !” : ‘When does th’ letter say she’ are a-comin’, Uncle Dan?” Bill Twicker asked, _... And the aged dispenser of externporameous poesy immediate'y replied: Th’ sixteenth, if I read aright; a, a’ that will be ter-morrer hight.” It don’t give us much time ter fix up for th —— + + _ — occasion, anyhow,” said Jem Patterson, ‘ You young fellers will have ter dust around lively.” ‘‘Thar’ll be no fixin’, ez fur ez J am concern ed,” Jeff Parsons declared. ‘‘No, nor wi’ me either,” decided Tom Bil- lings. Soveral others of the young men of the Bar echoed similar sentiments, Cibuta John, meanwhile, simply listened and smiled, ‘* Well,” said Bill Twicker, ‘‘I s’pose we fel- lers of th’ Eddication Board will heme ter do suthin’, eh?” ‘t Yes, I s’pose so,” supplemented Jem Patter- son. ‘Th’ school-marm are a-comin’ an’ we'll have ter welcome her.” Uncle Dan closed the debate by saying: ‘* We'll meet after supper at th’ store, An’ talk ther little matter o'er.” CHAPTER II. THE SILVER DAGGER. ANTE-BAR, at the time of which we write, was a town of perhaps five or six hundred in- habitants. And a lively little town it was, too. Of all the towns for miles and miles around, it stood at the head. It had passed bravely through its mushroom period of existence, and now seemed an assured and permanent success. Something tangible. ee ——— ee to exist. All around it, towns of the to-day-we are-here- but-to-morrow-we'’re-gone sort had sprung up, flourished for a brief season, and then passed quietly away—like a blade of grass, which springeth up in the morning and in the evening is cut down. But Ante-Bar had marched slowly ane BvCREMF onward to success from the very start. It was a town about seven years old, and its citizens had begun to feel the need of a school. The children of the town were alb running wild, and steps must be taken to bring them up in the way they should go, A meeting was called, and it was decided to build a school-house. Accordingly, one was built. Then a teacher was wanted, One was advertised for, and a dozen or so of applications came in. hen arose the question of which one to choose, Each of the applications seemed to represent an able teacher, and it was no easy matter to de- cide. Some of the citizens favored a man for the place; others, a woman. And so it stood. At last a Board of Education was elected, and the members thereof settled the question by a series of games of ‘** séven-up.” The choice fell to a lady applicant, Clara St. Clare, of Tiptonville, Ky. e most distant of all the contestants for the place, She was notified at once by Uncle Dan Der- rick, and in due time a reply came from her that she would come immediately. And now this letter from Omaha showed that she was on her way, and would no doubt arrive by the stage-coach next evening. Everybody wondered what she would look like when she arrived, and nearly everbody accepted Bill Twicker’s idea of her appearance as a pretty correct guess. So much in way of explanation. When Cibuta John left the post-office, he went at ouce to the principal hotel of the place, the ‘*{ ew-drop Inn.” He dropped in. And having done so, be called or supper and engaged a room. When he had satisfied the cravings of his in- ner man, he went forth to take a survey of the town, and at the same time enjoy a quiet smoke, It was a lovely evening, The full moon was about an hour high, and flooded the valley in wid the town lay, with its golden, mellow ight. The Dew-drop Inn was located at the north- ern end of the town, and on leaving it, Cibuta turned his steps up the creek, soon leaving the town behind him altogether, He was walking slowly and idly aloes dee ly buried in thought, when of a su den he caught the gleam of something bright before his eyes, and heard something strike the ground near his feet. Glancing down, ho beheld a tiny silver dagger sticking up in the sod directly in his path. He stooped and ag it up. ' Around its handlo was carefully wound a slip of paper. This he removed, and then discover- ed that there was writing upon it... Cibuta John was surprised. Where had the dagger come from? com Something that could be got hold of and realized = . / Sk: see es ae - ebDooks.com