Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 48 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

Dick Darling. Even while she was ing, came a low, thundering sound, which soon resolved itself in- to the regular hoof-beats of a horse at speed, and the three old nuns started and began to listen. The sound came from the plain below them, but the horseman was yet invisible, being hid by an angle of the tower. “Tt is the mail-rider,” said Sister U hurriedly turning to bustle down the tower steps. ‘The bishop promised to send Reverend Mother some papers from Los Yanquis, and I e t a letter from my brother.” she spoke, she hurried away with Sister Agatha, leaving Sister Catherine and the little novice alone by the walls. Sister Catherine cast a glance at the sun, whose lower limb was just about to touch the Sierra Nevada. Then she entered the bell-tower, saying: nee ‘Call me the moment he vanishes, Chiquita, and I will toll.” ) La Chiquita (the little pet) as she was affec- tionately called, bowed her head gravely, and moved out into the embrasure of the battlement, where she stood like a solemn, beautiful white statue, looking out over the plain. Perhaps it was because her eyes were used to looking down, according to the rule of her order or that the sun dazzled them, that she did not watch the great luminary as closely as she — to have done to time the Angelus. that as it may, she allowed them to sink down on the plains beneath the wall, and stood there, with one finger at her lip, the other hand on the battlement, looking down. And thus it was that, standing there with downcast eyes, the noise of horse-hoofs grew louder, and a trim, handsome young cavalier in bright-blue uniform, galloped into view, and glanced up at the convent, just as he under the novice’s feet. And somehow or other—there is a strange fatality in chance—as the beautiful girl looked down, Dick Darling looked up, and she saw his fresh, handsome young face, framed in curlin chestnut hair, and then La Chiquita < rin | back, blushing scarlet. For careless, light-hearted Dick, thinking no harm, but seeing a beautiful face, removed his hat as ee by, and waved it toward her, as if in salute. He even checked his horse to a slow canter, for the novice, in spite of her alarm, had some- how not shrunk out of sight entirely, and until he turned the angle of the castle and disappear- ed, Dick’s eyes remained as if riveted on the graceful form of La Chiquita, Crimson still, and trembling from head to foot, the young novice remained as if spell- bound, watching the vanishing of the horseman. Then, as he disa , she utter- ed a long, quivering sigh, and covered her face with her hands. She raised it again with a start to look at the sun. The sun had disappeared too, and she knew not how long. ' With a low sob of inexpressible humiliation and grief,the poor little novice, who knew not her own f , and she had done a deadly sin, ‘rushed from the battlement, and flung herself on her knees on the stone rampart by the bell-tower door. “Ring, ring, Sister,” she , rather than said he oh, Holy Mother of Heaven, pardon my And as the convent bell tolled out the solemn summons of the Angelus, poor little Francesca sobbed as if her heart would break, and began to pray fervently for strength to resist tempta- tion, and for pardon for the heinous sin she just committed, in looking at a man. And yet she had not done anything very ter- rible to eur notion. Meantime, Dick Darling, haunted by a beati- fic vision of a sweet, serious face, with great, solemn eyes, that reminded him of an an- gel’s, pulled up his horse to a walk, and ap- roached the convent gate, just as the Angelus lled out. ing a small pac of letters from his mail-bag, he uttered a loud, cheery call at the gate, e ting an answer, in his innocence. Sisters Gravis and Agatha, who had got within twenty feet of the said gate when the bell be- ee to ring, , both ground their teeth when they eard Dick’s call. They wanted letters and news, and did not dare to stir to get them. The Angelus had sounded, and like every one else in the convent, the two nuns were on their knees, gabbling away Paternosters and Aves, rg time. ick gave a second halloo; and then could wait no longer. With a scientific jerk, he sent the package flying over the gate, and gallo off. The letters fell between Ursula and Agatha, in the midst of the third Ave. CHAPTER VIL. THE BOY RIDER. THE busy little town of Carson City was hum- ming like a hive of bees in the early morning as the Express Rider a out of the place and took the old Hastings Trail for his return trip to Dolores Station. He had made three hun- dred miles inside of twenty-four hours on thirty horses, taken a six hours’ sleep, and was now in the saddle again, ready to repeat the feat. i No man but one hardened by constant prac- tice could have performed such a ride, but Dick was young and strong, in constant training, and rode like a centaur. The pony expressmen were used to it, and did such things as a part of their regular life. Away through the mists of early dawn went the mail-rider, erect in his saddle, while the ac- tive mustang stretched away beneath him like an antelope. The mail-bags, simply strapped to the saddle behind and before, so as to remain firm without a symptom of flapping, were care- fully balanced before he set out, so as to dis- tribute the weight evenly. Dick’s saddle was of that plain, serviceable pattern known as the McClellan tree, which combines the best points of Mexican, Comanche, and hussar saddle in one. Without flaps, and resting on a thick felt saddle-cloth, it could be tossed on and girthed tight in half a minute, the time allowed for changing horses at stations. Dick was a figure to look at as he galloped away, trim, neat and erect, sitting down deep in the very center of his saddle, his 4 hie - ing easily down, with a careless grace that te of long practice.» and easy in appearance as in his seat, one may observe that he never stirs from his place for the quarter of an inch. The upper part of his body sways regularly to the motion of the horse, but from the waist to the knee his thighs seem glued to the saddle. The bright, awe boot hangs ira: plumb with the oulder, and the toe hangs down ever so little, resting in the hooded stirrup without effort. One hand held close to the belt-plate divides the reins, which are hardly stretched, feeling the ere tes —— ' oe —_— ; the ri = arm oosely by the side, hove over the pistol that stands at the right hip, re for in- stant use. Man and horse, as they gallop along, seem parts of the same animal, and down the long valley they pass at the rate of twenty miles an hour. Before them is a yellow plain, baked to the hardness of a brick in the long summer of the West. Far ahead, at the other side of this plain, lie the rolling foot-hills that form the outskirts of the Second Humboldt Range and the Interior Bush Range, toward which Dick is galloping. No canter or hand-gallop does the Pony Ex- pressman keep. From the start he has been at full jump, and when the wiry little mustang — inclined to slacken its pace, he shakes the ridle. Away goes the horse, as fresh as ever, and at the same wild . Acattle-herder lounging on his horse in the neighborhood of a ee troop of oxen, who are plucking away at the dried-up grass, hears the light patter of hoofs and looks p The oxen start and stare at the rapid figure that —_ past like a flash, the blue rider, erect and lithe, swaying to and fro with every stride, the sorrel mustang with bushy mane and tail, black with sweat as he tears along. A moment later cattle and vaquero are left behind, as the mail-rider scours away over the hard plain, through a field of stunted wild oats, where the trail stretches onward, straight as an arrow, broad and plain, to the east. Now, with a rapid rhythmic rumble of the earth, as the galloping hoofs strike the hard soil in beats, the rider flashes h the field, and dashes up a gentle slope on the other side. On the top of the swell he pauses for a moment at a slow canter, till his horse clears its nostrils with a vigorous snort, then shakes the bridle, and touches the flank of the steed ly with the spur. They have come five miles n minutes, and the horse begins to feel tired, but the rest of the road is down hill, and far away in the distance Dick sees the white walls of the next station, where they are watch- ing for him, with a fresh horse in waiting. 5 Away goes the mail-rider, after that touch of . the spur, with a magnificent burst of that covers a mile within two minutes and a half. When the horse begins to slacken his pace, the other spur gives a sharp reminder, and another mile is covered under its impetus. The mustang, black with sweat a little time before, is now white with foam, and begins to pant heavily. . But the station is now too plain in sight to al- low of more mercy. For about a quarter of a mile further Dick allows his steed its own way, till it utters a heavy snort, then he presses in both spurs with a decided dig, and shoots away with renewed speed. Now he can distinguish the thatched roof of the station and some moving figures. Once more presses in the spurs, and the hard-driven horse gives a grunt of di and switches his tail as the pressure compels him to exert him- self more than ever. Away at a long-stretching laboring gallop but almost as fast as ever, every few undred yards the — drawing blood, for the same speed must be kept up. e mail-rider is racing against time. Now he can see men and horses at the station and even count their numbers, besides distin- guishing the color of the horses and ‘ ** Aha,” he says to himself, “ they bring out old Gray Eagle very often, but the old horse is there, every time!” Then he shakes the bridle, stands up in the stirrups to ease the horse, calls to him coaxing- ly, and pats his neck. For a few strides the animal freshens up, and then relaxes again. They are now a mile from the station. ‘‘ Come then,” says Dick, as hesits down again; ‘*it’s rough on you, I admit, but business is business, old horse. So sail along now.” Then he plunges in the spurs and keeps them there, while the poor horse, gathering vigor alike from the pain and the sight of the station puts forth all its strength for a last burst, and comes tearing into the station laboring fearful- ly, with Dick’s spurs going at each : By saving the animal at first, he had screwed it up to go ten miles in twenty-nine minutes, and and has gained one minute on time! - As the reeking horse stops of its own accord at the post, Dick leaps off as light as a boy, for he is yet fresh in the morning. The two station men rush at the exhausted mustang, strip off the saddle in a moment, and fling it on the back of a dapple gray horse sturdy in frame, who stands ready to go the next stage. “The old gray looks well, Dick,” observes one. “* He’s been getting rumbumptious in the stable on his corn. Kicked J udy yesterday, and cut her haunch open. e is, all ready. Guess he’ll take yer on time.” . rs Hope so,” says Dick, briefly. ‘Give a leg, im.” Jim seizes the left leg that he crooks for the es , and tosses him up into the saddle. icke Darling is as careful of extra exertion for himself as his horses. The mail-rider settles himself down, gathers up the horse’s reins, gives a ae ee and Gray le starts like a thunderbolt, cking as he goes and ing his head. He is known as the est and most vicious horse on the route. Dick Darling sits loose and easy in his saddle, not attempting to check the horse’s antics. He knows that from long habit, the brute would go straight, and cares for nothing else. He gathers up the reins a little to keep his head up and stop the kicking, and away goes Gray Eagle like an arrow from a bow toward the moun The next station is at the foet of the range. Dick Darling, careering onward at a speed of twenty miles an hour, seems as as when he started, while the sturdy vigorous horse ee him for the first few miles enjoys the wor Mile after mile vanishes, each well within its prescribed limit of three minutes, and still the old horse stretches along, with one ear laid back, the other cocked forward, while he swi his head from side to side in play. Old Gray Bagle has traversed that track too many.times not to know every step. | Upright and gently swaying to the stride, the mai-ri er sits in his saddle, his eyes roaming over the landscape, vaguely dreaming of pres- ent, past, and future, for he has almost forgot- ten what he is about. And across his brain, as he rides along, comes stronger and clearer the vision of a Sea of dark serious eyes and a Madonna face, the vision of the beautiful nun whom he saw on the ramparts of the Nyn’s Mission of Santa Clara. COMMIE NOC KS, (EC)