Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 426 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

— —_ The valley was many miles in length, fertile, and well populated, Agriculture was an art, almost, here, and everywhere were unmistakable evidences of thrift and pronnen ty. Through the valley, in a zig-zag course, ran a high- way, bordered with well-kept tence, and on either side of this thoroughfare, were large ficlds of ripen- ing grain, tasseling corn, and billowy meadows; then, too, there were stately farm-houses—those famous New York State farm-houses, after which so many Southern homes tale pattern, so white and neat, with their many wings and gables, porches and green blinds—and cotlazves, out-buildings, gi- gantic barns, granaries, and so forth. But it is not of these we would write, As the road wound in its serpentine course, through this smiling vale of Nature, it bordered a little lake, on its right, looking West—or, perhaps we should say, a pond, for the sheet of water did not cover more than a couple of hundred acres, It was surrounded by sloping grassy banks but for one thing, was a remarkably pretty lakelet. It was the dark color of the water that gaveit an ominous appearance. The water was almost black, to look at, and yet it was not of a sluggish or stagnant nature, for the beach was hard and pebbly, and there were no water-weeds to be found anywhere along the shores. Even the glinting rays of the depprting sun did not serve to dispel the somber appearance of the water, as a brisk breeze pushed the tiny waves with a mu- sical ripple against the emerald tinted border. This was known as the Dark Pond, and for genera- tions it had borne tnat name. The oldest inhabitants,of the locality averred that there was a legend connected with the pond, which ran something as follows: Once upon a time a tribe of Indians had dwelt upon the eastern borders of the pond, and had sub- sisted chiefly upon the fish, with whieh it was then plentifully supplied. In these days of their peace, a white man, accom- panied by a beautiful daughter, had settled upon the western shore, and set to work to “clear” him- self a farm. The Indians and the pale-face became friends, and the braves lent a helping hand toward building tne new-comer a cabin, So charming was the settler’s daughter, that the stalwart young braves grew to fairly worship her, and many were the pres*nts, in the rey of game, an | trophies, that found their way to settler Baker’s cabin. The most ardent of these copper-colored enthusi- rao was old chief Sesquemona, and his son, Light- ‘oot. The old chief had no less than four squaws, but he felt that Ruth Baker would bea decided ornament to his home. Lightfoot also loved her, in his humble way, and as a result, father and son quarreled, and Lightfoot was banished from the tribe. After Lightfoot’s departure, the old chieftain pro- sed to Ruth, and of course, was rejected. He hen asked Mr. Baker for his daughter, and was re- fused. In the dead of one Poe shortly afterward, he and. his braves made adescent upon the settler’s cabin. Baker was killed, and Ruth captured, and with her a prisoner, old Sesquemona started across the pond, in a canoe. He was not far out upon the water, when another canoe shot out from the shore. It was Lightfoot, in pursuit. Being young aud strong, he gained rapidly on hig rent, peWhen near enough, he manned his bow, and sent an arrow whizzing through the moonlight, Instead of striking Sesquemona, it pierced the brain of Ruth Baker. Furious with combined grief and anger, Lightfoot drew his bow once more, and sent an arrow quiver- ing through the body of his parent. He then peanged rom the canoe into the crystal waters of the pond, never to rise again, From that time forward the waters were dark and ominous in appearance, Tho last rays of sunlizht were lingering upon the Dark Pond, when a young man dashed down the country highway, on horseback, and drew roinata point where the water approached the road the nearest, Dismounting, he tied his horse to the fence, and pin vaulted over, and walked down to the water’s edge, Here he stood, for several minutes, gazing into the dark depths before him. He was a trim-bnilt young man of about twenty and dressed in a manner that indicated wealth, for he wore diamonds and gold jewelry. His face was handsome, though the whiteness of his skin gave him rather an effeminate appearance. His eyes were blue, his hair of the blonde type, and his teeth as white as the whitest pearls, He also sported a neat little flaxen mustache, that was most becoming. All in all, he was a person whose appearance would impress favorably, For fully five minutes he stood upon the grassy border, as if endeavoring to penetrate the dark water before him with his keen gaze. and litule There was a wild, unnatural look in his eyes,—a pained, sorrowful expression upon his forehead, That he was troubled about something was plainly evident, Not until the nearly last rays of sunlight had dis- appeared from the surface of Dark Pond did the ee me ne ee ns young man lift his gaze from the water and look toward the onposite side, whers a pretty little cot- taze stood only a few feet from the water’s edge. **Ah! Dolly Denning, you know but little what fate you have driven me to!’’ he cried aloud, elinch- ing his hand and raising 1t on high. ‘‘Oh! Dolly! Dolly! how could you be so cruel, when you knew how passionately and devotedly I loved you!”’ Then he cayered his eyes with his hands, and a tremor passed ‘ever him, caused by the intensity of his emotion. ‘**Oh! God, why was I ever born?” he went on on, “to suffer this torture—why, why was I ever born? I cannot live and see Dolly my own father’s wife—no! no! no/ Ill carry out my original plan, that brought me here. I will put an end to my misery, and when Frank Jamison’s lifeless body is found floating in Dark Pond—then, perhaps, Dolly will know how much | loved her. ‘*It is best [should do this. The Bible commands us not to commit murder, but I can’t help that. I could not live and know that Dolly was father’s wife—no, never! Jf I were to live, I would go crazy —I would kill them both, perhaps. Dead, I can harm no one, and they can live together, in peace and plenty, when I am forgotten, ‘*But, why stand here, like a driveling fool? I know what l’ve got to do, and I will doit. Iam not afraid to die, I’ve led a good life, so far, and death has no terrors for me!”’ It was evident that Frank Jamison had nerve, and that he had fixed purpose. He took off his coat, resolutely, and examined the contents of the pockets. He laid the coat on the grass, took off his vest and disposed of it in the same manner, and then sat down and took off his shoes. Rising, he raised his eyes heavenwar', where the sun still reflected myriads of colors; he uttered a silent prayer; then, with a firm step, he strode down the grassy slope toward the water, That he would have plunged recklessly into the dark, sullen pond, seemed evident, had not some- thing arrested his attention. The something was a voice, that uttered the sug- gestive inquiry: “Say, mister, where d’yer think you’ll be, when yer get thar?” The effect of the words upon Frank Jamison, were electrical, He wheeled about, with an exclamation, some- what vexed, and considerably scared. The object that his gaze rested upon was truly a refreshing one, for that locality. Seated upon the top board of the fence, near to where the horse was tied, was a boy of perhaps fifteen or sixteen years of age. In hight he had nearly attained the average of manhood, but so thin and lank was he that he appeared talier than he really was. In face he was not exactly homely, nor was he by any means handsome. is features were clearly-cut, his eyes brown and keen, and his hair of a like color, while there linger- ed about the corners of his larged-sized mouth an enpremeon of humor and good-nature. is attire consisted of but three articles, namely, an old felt hat, a ealico shirt, and a pair of pants much too large forhim, “Hal who are you /’* young Jamison sharply de- manded, ‘**Who am I?’ echoed the boy with a grin. ‘Why, I’m Samuel Slabsides, member of Congress, Who are you?” ‘*Nonsense! What are you doing around here?” “Oh! I’m jest takin’ a rest, while the old man’s restin’, an’ seein’ you here, I tho’t I'd see how the thing works, asI might want to try me hand at it, myself, one of these days.” ** What do you mean sir?” “Why susanside—susanside, 0’ course! Never see’d no one do thet act, an’ et struck me as how et would be wu’th lookin’ at. But, I say, mister, how "bout them togs, an’ shoes? Ef ye’r’ goin’ to shuffle off this mortal coil yer won’t have no more use fer ’em, nohow, an’ yer might give ’°em ter me, I’ma lone orphint, without any relashe, an’tho’ T ain’t stuck on me ‘shape, I'll bet a billion I’d look jest ripe in them clothes, Ef ye’r’ goin’ ter croak, Phe might as well leave ther trowsers behind too, fer it’s a pity ter break ther suit!” ‘You'll not get the clothes!’’ Frank Jamison de- clared angrily. ‘‘Get off that fence and go along about your business, or ’1—”’ “aah what?’’ sa 9 it ve you a great thrashing ‘“‘Ho! ho! Willyou?” ‘Ves, I will!’ “Bet you on that! Bet I can skip all around you, without yer ketchin’ me, jest like a lively flea. Oh! I'ma reg’lar daisy-bender, you bet!” **Confound you, get off that fence, and go along about your business,I say!” Frank cried, growing exasperated. ‘*Nary a go!”’ Sam replied saucily, “If you're goin’ ter drown yerself, I’m goin’ to see the fun, so goon wi’ the funeral, Wade right in and I'll see that yer shoes an’ togs is well taken care of.”’ Frank Jamison glared at his youthful tormentor a minute, as if he could annihilate him; then with some unintelligible exclamation, he sat down upon the grass, and began to put on his shoes. ‘* Hillo!”? ejaculated Sam, with a whistle of sur- prise. ‘* Changed yer mind, bev yer? Ain’t goin’ ter commit susanside jest because Dolly— Dolly—Dolly is goin’ ter marry yer old man? Now, that’s what I call good, every-day hoss sense. Ther idear of a feller kerflummigatin’, jest ‘cause a gal goes back on him, ain’t ’cordin’ ter scripter, ner Queensbury! Sam Slabsides, the Beggear-Boy Detective, KL LL ne mee | | | | —_——— ee ge Jewhittaker! I bet Dc. 7 would laff her socks off ef she knew ‘bout what yer was goin’ terdo!”’ Frank Jamison finished putting on his shoes, and donned his cvat and vest. ‘**See here, boy!’ he cried, turning on Sam Slab- sides, half-fiercely. ‘‘I s’pose vou g0 blab this matter to the first person you meet?”’ **Dunno "bout that, boss. Hain’t much on the tattle, I ain’t, but I would like ter ‘tell Dolly, jest fer ter see her laff. Ido jest like ter heer a ga) faff. Et puts me in mind of an Irish bagpipe playin’ the highland fling.”’ “If you ever mention a word of this to her I'll murder you!” Jamison declared, passionately. ‘You would, hey? Now, Jamey, old stockin’, you don’t know me—iai’s pat, When yer try to arose, skeer Sammy Slabsides out uv a year’s growth, that’s fetche Ae where yer make a mistake, I wasn’t up in Philamydelphy, ter be skeered by a coun earn nohow. I'm like er Zoologi- cal catil—ef ye rub.me skin wi’ silk plush or a feather duster, I'm jest as docile as a lamb. I'll even stand bein’ curried with a U. S. greenback. But when ye cum ter tryin’ ter soothe me wi’ a sharp-too'hed garden-rake, then ferbearance ceases ter be a virtue, and I kiek!”’ “Then, do [ understand that for a money consid- eration, you will hold your tongue?”’ ‘*Nixee! Couldn’t do that. y tongue and I aire solid pals, and I wouldn’t hold ’im, fer nothin’. Ef you have got more money than yer don’t know What ter do with, yer might slip meé a couple o’ milyun, an’ I won't say nothin’ "bout yer *temptin’ susanside tho’.”’ “If you will promise not to say anything about this matter, I'll give you ten dollars.” * Le0T. ‘+ Yes,” ‘*Phew! But, you’re a liberal snoozer! Now, do I resemble a ten dollar cigar-store Pompey? Do you see anything about the cut of my jib that reminds rou of a ten-dollar clothing store dummy? Do I ook as if ten dollars and I had allus bin strangers? Waal, mebbeI do, Hard times and adversity levels ther mightiest, Felix sez. But, howsumever, not- withstanding, ye make er colossal mistake when yer think ('d deprive myself uv red-ripe fun, jest fer a ten-dollar note!” **Confound it, what do you want, then?” “The earth, and a thousan’ shares o’ preferred stock in the atmosphere !”’ “You'll get it, too!” young Jamison gritted, springing over the fence. “I]l ride down to R and send a constable after you, to arrest you for vagrancy,”” “ All right. When he comes for me tell him I'll be over at Dolly’s! Oh! Dolly! Dolly! how could you be so cruel?” And then the young vagabond burst into a merry laugh, that fairly infuriated the would-be suicide. e untied prs | mounted his horse, with nervous agility, and spurred away down the road, in mad 1aste, While Sammy Slabsides gazed after him, his lips puckered up, as if he wanted to whistle, ** Well, Vii be hugged ef that feller ain’t as cranky as ye find ’em,”’ he soliloquized. ‘* He must hev the love complaint fearful, or else he’s off his base. Wonder ef he would really hey tried to drown him- self, ef I hadn’t come along? Kinder reckon he would, fer he ‘peared dead inearnest, An’ bis name is Frank Jamison, an’ he’s in love wi’ Dolly, an’ so’s his old man, an’ it "pears the old man is rather get- tin’ the best o’ the race—scoopin’ the sweepstakes!”"’ Here the boy glanced toward the west. where dark banks of clouds were rolling up, and then sprung down from the fence. ‘Goin’ to be a thunder-storm,” he commented ‘‘and a hard one too. Guess I better go rouse old Felix, an’ te lookin’ up some place fer shelter. The old man ain’t so strong as when we started out on the tramp, an’ et won’t do him no good ter get wet. Phew, but a good rain would do heaps of good ter my complexion !”’ And many e farmer, that evening, looked at the banks of clouds in the West, and echoed his words less the complexion. The ground was parched, and vegetation was fairly burning up, for want of rain. Noné had fallen, for weeks, and all nature seemed more or less affected by the drouth, -_-— CHAPTER II. A STRONG ASSERTION. Har a mile down the valley, from the Dark Pond, and ironting upon the highway, was a handsome and comnly’ residence, of modern construction. It was built upon a sloping sbrub-dotted lawn, which was, in turn, surrounded by a pretty iron fence. Everything about the place betrayed wealth and superior taste. he dwelling, the stone carriage barn and other outbuildings, were of tasty design; the grounds with their walks, drives, beds of exotie flowers, and shrubbery, all showed the care of an experienced ener, This was the home of Judge Lennox Jamison, and the new residence had only recently supersed- ed an old mansion, that had oceupied the site. Judge Jamison had been for a number of years, the judge of the Supreme Court of the circuit where he resided, and in addition to owning ‘ Larch- mont,” his handtome and extensive pages es- tate. was reputed to be worth somewhere in the neighborhood of half a million of money, _ He was 4 widower, having only one child, an ate tractive girl, now nearing her majority. _-o , | niGgpoeo (Ee) co