Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 443 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

-_ . ae im. * < id > rt eae foo abouts, who, mounted upon a clean-limbed bay horse, was riding like the wind over a stretch of level prairie, to the northward, where, percep- tible to vision, a long, low range of foot-hills be- gan, that eventually rolled up, and on, until they resolved themselves into a mighty moun- tain range. There was little grass upon the undulating . { plain over which a fire had lately swept; conse- -* quently the hoof-strokes of the horse left a plain trail behind. The afternoon was over half spent—a luridly hot September afternoon, with little air stirring “= conteract the scorching rays upon the barren plain. Yet, neither horse nor rider appeared to mind the heat, for, to all appearances, they were fly- ing for life and liberty. Away back to the southward, perhaps five miles distant, a cloud of dust marked the location of a party of pursuers—in which there was nothing so strange, except for one thing; for many an exciting chase had taken place over that very plain before that day. | The exception concerned the fugitive, and the burden he carried, as he sped on, on, sparing not the spur, to reach the range of foot-hills. Although so young therider possessed a strong healthy figure, characterized by agility of mo- tion and natural grace of carriage. He sat in his saddle with perfect ease, showing that he was an equestrian by nature born. Everything in person and act seemed to indi- cate the presence of remarkable nerve force and decision of character, His face, round and plump as a school-girl’s was decidedly handsome, flushed as it now was, and devoid of beard. His mouth was firm, but pleasing, his eyes of a brilliant brown hue, and very magnetic and expressive. is hair rolled back in a wavy mass over @ finely shaped head, and fell in soft cascades down upon his shoulder. His attire was a ¢oarse but serviceable coat and pants, the la tucked into a pair of top- boots: a blue flainel shirt, with broad collar thrown open at the throat, and a jaunty, wide- rim slouch hat.. A belt around his waist, contained a pair of revolvers, while a Winchester repeating-rifle as strapped to his back. “The most peculiar thing about the young fugi- ; tive was the burden he bore. That burden was a woman! She lay across the saddle in front, her head and shoulders supported by his left arm, while his right hand was used in guiding the sure- i nod horse. : 5 Ere It was not a young woman, but an _ elder! e lady, very plainly a —a lady of five-and- fifty, perhaps, upon whose thin, wan face the eS h ar of trouble boldly traced many a care- ine. She was not insensible, although her eyes were partly closed as they sped on, and it was _ evident that the bounds of the horse caused her - much pain, . Dick Bristol—for that was the name of the young knight of the saddl azed down at the deathly face every few seconds, with an expres- sion of deepest sorrow and anxiety. \ Who was th’s poor, pale creature whom he was so nobly ta'ying to bear beyond the reach of pursuers? Was she aught to him? *_ One gazing at the two faces could not easily discover any resemblance between them. The young fugitive soon set all doubts at rest on this score, however, for, after looking back over his shoulder, he said: “They’re out of sight in an arroyo, now. If T can only get over the range, mother, I am in hopes we can find a spot where you can gain a rest of a few minutes’ duration, at least.” ‘No, no, my child!” was the faint response of the woman. ‘Do not stop on my account. ge on, Richard—keep on, until you are safe!” ‘Tt is not that, mother dear. 1 am safe any- where. Itis you Ifearfor. You are not able ye to bear up under this fearful journey—you are in too poor health, We must find a place to rest soon.” ‘‘ Yes, we will find a place of rest soon,” was the still faint answer. “It is but a matter of time when we will all be at rest.” - And she closed her eyes with a long-drawn sigh. \ Dick Bristol’s eyes became blinded with tears 2. & do as he gazed down at her; but he bit his lips to St keep back words which, had they been uttered, yo ag would have completely broken him down. ae flecked bay. ‘Do your best, old boy, now, if Fi va e * ‘ } ’ S® % a: ‘ ; : " ~. On, Fleetwood, on!” he said, to the foam-- y Deadwood Dick Jr. Away and onward they sped, and at last be- = to ascend the gradual incline of the foot- 1ills. Dick Bristol kept an anxious watch of the rear as well as the front, and a knitting of his brows showed that the prospect was not to bis ‘*They’re gaining—there's no use of denying that,” he mused, ‘and have been for the last half-hour. They are now less than three miles away,and are hot after me, The sun is yet two hours high, and if something don’t turn up in my favor, they will run me down before dark- ness arrives. I am afraid mother won’t hold out much longer, either.” At last he reached the brow of a hill, and a cry of surprise and joy burst from his lips. Before him lay outspread a panorama of ex- ceeding loveliness, as compared with the barren expanse over which he had been riding for the last several hours, hard pushed by most bitter and merciless enemies. ° Before and below him, running at right angles with the course he was pursuing, lay a beauti- ful valley, green with verdure, and decked here and there with buds of variegated flowers, while a silvery serpentine stream ran through this lovely lane of nature. The valley was not over half a mile in width, but ran for milesto the eastward and westward, and had every indication of being faultlessly adapted for grazing and agricultural purposes, being untimbered, except for here and there a broad-branching cottonwood tree. A mile and a half tothe eastward was a large cabin, and outbuildings, which proved that the valley had already been selected as a home by some wide-awake party. Dick Bristol drew rein for a then rode down the valley. “Tf I go tothe ranch yonder, there’s where T’ll be sought for first!” re mused. ‘‘T’ll take the western course, and I may be able to outwit the hell-hounds yet!” When he had reached the valley-bottom, he headed Fleetwood to the left and gave him the brief moment, spurs, For perhaps a mile they sped on, until they reached a little turn in the valley, where grew a couple of huge cottonwood trees. It was at this point that a groan from his mother caused Dick Bristol to suddenly draw rein. Mrs. Bristol’s eyes were closed, and she was breathing in quick respirations. ‘Mother! oh! mother, speak to me!” Dick cried, slipping from the saddle with her in his arms, and laying ber upon a soft bed of grass ‘neath one of the trees. ‘ Oh! mother, are you worse? Has this hard riding overtaxed your strength?” Mrs. Bristol slowly opened her eyes and gazed up into his handsome face, a world of motherly ection expressed in that one steady look. ** No, my child, I am not worse—I am better. Ab! so much better, and Iam so thankful! It will soon be over, and then, my poor boy, I will be at rest, never to suffer any more. Oh! you ought not to weep, Richard—you ought to be lad, with me, when you remember how much oe: passed through, and what I have suf- ‘*Oh! mother! mother! way God, it cannot be that you are ag 1 sobbed Dick, as he knelt is tears i beside her, his ng upon her pallid, up- turned face. A sweet smile of contentment lit up her eyes and wreathed her li “* Yes, my child t om dying, so far as this world is concerned, but dying only to live again where there is no sin, no trouble. I have been laying for this hour to come, my son, and I am_ gilad the heur is here. Life has been but a torture in late years, and, now that God will release me from all my earthly trouble, I long to go. Of course I have to leave you behind, my precious boy, but I trust, for your poor mother’s sake, you will live sucha good and me war life that we may meet each other before the throne of ‘‘ Do not weep then, my son, for that is wrong. We are bidden not to mourn the loss of those we love. Weep not, but listen to me, for these lips of mine will soon be closed forever. “ You know something of our family matters, but notall. You know that I am your mother —vyou are satisfied of that?” his was asked thterrogasively. ‘‘'Yes, mother, | am sure, My very heart tells me that!” Dick replied, between sobs. “‘ And you have always believed Budd Bristol, the man-demon, to be your father?” ‘‘T never knew to the contrary, mother. But when, three years ago, he drove me from home, “. ~ and took up a very large and industrious, hospitable, and took to drinking. It was Budd Bristol, as I afterward learned, wh ed. to drink, who encouraged the habit until it be- came a passion—as it soon ing proved of no avail. money we had accumulated, and finally, as I in the dead of winter, when you and helpless in bed—then, I had a suspicion tha he was not my father—a suspicion that has grown upon me, ever since.” “ And, it was right. Your name is Bristol, but you are not Budd Bristol’s son, Listen. must tell you all before I go, or I would not rest easy in my grave. “Years ago, | married Byron Bristol—your father—and we came West, and settled in lowa, where we took up. land, and by the time you were born, we had a nice farm of three hundred and sixty acres, and were surrounded by many comforts our less economical neighbors deprived themselves of. Finally, Budd ristol came to live with us, and persuaded Byron to move fur- ther west, take up a large ranch, and rent out the Iowa property, Budd offering to supply half the money for the new venture. ‘Well, we left Iowa, and went to Nebraska, ranch, and prospered, But, although my husband was hard-workin he was too big-hearted_ an who lured him He drank up what learned, mortgaged our Iowa home for all he could poops was a fraudulent transaction ar- range by Budd—and that went for drink, too. ‘“From the once noble end honorable man he was, he drifted down to the level of a sot, and worse. tions to me—for Budd tried to reform my hu§- band, as I at that time sup very time, he was secretly pushing him onward le He grew jealous of his brother's attea- , tho’ at the struction—and Budd also often gave me money, to supply the necessaries for the house. ‘Things went from bad to worse, and Byron got so low that the worst bums of the town, that ad sprung up on a portion of our estate, be- came my husband’s companions. i “Byron came to me, and tried to get me to mortgage the estate—that is, to sign off with him, so he could mortgage his half. ; ‘Owing to the fact that the ranch, which was large, and well stocked, had tripled in value, by & _ town being located on it, and again quadrupled, by the survey of a railroad through it, Byron could easily have mortgaged our half of it for twenty-five thousand dollars. ‘¢ Of course I would not sign off. ‘‘Pinally, my husband could get no money OF credit from anysource. Thecourt had declared him incompetent to manage his affairs, and I was given charge of our part of the estate. Byron became so frenzied for the want of liquor, — that, one night, he swore if we did not give him © money to git it with he’d murder some one for © their money. ‘The next morning, a citizen was found mur- — dered and the body plundered, and of course the crime was laid to Byron. He heard of it, came © to me, and swore he was innocent; begged for | money to fly from the wrath of Committee which was organizing without mre e ‘He pleaded so piteously that I was much affected, for I had not yet lost all my affection | for him. I bad no ready money at hand, so f went to Budd Bristol and begged a loan. He consented to give it to me, providing I would: sign a paper to the effect that, at Byron Bristol's’ death, I would either marry him, or forfeit all richt and title to my husband’s estate.” | ‘And you did this?” ‘Yes, I loved and pitied Byron, and could not let him fall a victim to lynch law. I signed | the paper, and Budd Bristol gave me five thou-- sand dollars. lin turn gave it to my husband, | and he fled, and I never saw him afterward.” ‘* Well?” : | year afterward, when you were but five years old, I read of Byron’s death in an Omaha) paper, and the description was so accurate that no doubt was left in my mind but what he was really dead. After dg of mourning, ] mar-— ried Budd Bristol. He had always treated me’ with great kindness, and besides, I felt obliged | to honor my promise. ‘But I soon found I had married a demoD, and the past twelve years of my life have beet replete with misery. I need not tell you what have suffered. Since he drove you away, three years ago, he has beaten and abused me like © dog, and when, a short week ago, I learn where to find you, I fled to you, to die, Before I left him the wretch gave me my death-blow by stabbing me in the breast, because I refused to sign over the pro rty to him, asI have always refused to do. never told you, because the wound did not bleed externally, and I did not oo com cS: did. All my plead- 4 the oe > 2. | :