Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 467 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

’ 4, 10 did start—because that name is so nearly like my own. My name is Barton Barker.” ‘Indeed! Then it is httle wonder that you started, for I fancy it would not be agreeable to he to be claimed as a parent by two helpless rls. At this there was a general laugh. ‘6 You need have no fears, though,” the girl added, ‘‘ for this photograph is suflicient to set- tle the question of identity.” And as she spoke she advanced a step and held a photograph up before the ‘‘ saint’s”’ face. The “saint” had regained his composure to a certain degree, but not sufficiently to prevent another start at this new surprise. Again his face paled, and he faltered: ‘“{—I wish you would not direct your atten- tion to me singly; Iam not feeling well, and do not care to be bothered. I know nothing about any Barton Baker, as I told you. Please ad- cress the crowd in general.” ‘*Pardon me, sir; I will doso. I have no de- sire to make myself disagreeable to any one, I assure you.” And the girl turned again to the crowd. ‘Ts there any one here who ever heard of a man by the name I mentioned?” No answer was given. ‘‘Then,” the girl continued, ‘‘as you have never heard the name, please take this photo- eriph and see whether you ever saw the face.” The likeness was handed from hand to hand, bzb no one seemed to recognize the face, though every man in the room looked at it; at least every one save the ‘‘ saint.” He had already seen it, though, and— But, there was one other who did not look at it, and that was Barleycorn. He had his hands in water when the card came around in his direc- tion, and he allowed it to pass him unnoticed. That might have been as much from careless- ness as from design, however. ‘‘It is most discouraging,” the young lady said, when the photograph wasreturned to her. ‘for more than a year my sister and I have been continuing our search, and thus far with out success, “ T cannot tell why it was, but somehow I[ had hopes that here at Domino. Divide we would learn something concerning our father. ‘But, I must give you our simple story, as 1 set out to tell it, “Our father’s name, as I said, was Barton Baker, and he came out here about fifteen years ago, ay Previously, he had been a merchant; but an unfortunate stroke of business swept away his capital, and he came here with the hopes of making a fortune, ‘‘ He left our mother and us with sufficient to live upon, and hoped, so our mother often told us, that within five years at most he would be able to return with wealth enough to begin life anew. ‘But, five years passed, and he came not. And so passed five years more. ‘‘We heard from him at regular intervals, and time and again did our mother ask him to return; but he was determined not to do so un- til he could return with wealth. ‘‘“¢T came here for a certain purpose,’ he would reply, ‘and when I have accomplished that purpose, I will return.’ ‘‘He sent us money, and we were never in want; but at last our mother began to droop and fade, like a neglected flower. ‘¢' The last letter we ever received from father was full of good news. ‘“¢ At last! At last!’ he wrote, ‘I have found what I have been seeking. I have found gold, and gold in abundance! As soon as I can have my claim recorded and made secure, and can et my mine running, I will return to you.’ “ But the good news came too late. Our poor mother was broken down in health and spirits then. and a few months later she died. ‘‘Then I wrote to father, telling him of the gad event, but we never heard from him again. ‘‘ Whether he is living or dead, we do not know; but we fear that he isdead, From what our mother told us about him, and from the kindly letters he always wrote, we feel certain that only death would have kept him from going home to us in our sad hour of need. ‘We waited a whole year, and then we re- solved to brave all dangers and come here in search of him. ‘“We sold everything, and came; and for more than a year we have been wandering from camp to camp, seeking a clew. “We prt ourselves by singing and play- ing the violin, my sister doing the latter; and we are hoping against hope, almost, that our search may soon be rewarded, Disco Dan, the Daisy Dude. ‘“T am sorry, gentlemen, that my unfortunate fall this afternoon hindered us from reaching here in season tv entertain you this evening; but to-morrow evening we shall be pleased to do so. ‘‘We generally remain for a day or two in each camp, in order to learn of any intelligence our inquiry may bring; and if any one of you should chance to hear anything concerning the man we are in search of, 1 hope you will inform us at once.” As the lady ended her story she made a grace- ful bow, and then she turned to Ben Bantam, ready to accompany him to his humble abode. But the crowd was not quite ready to have the girls go. “ Ffold on jest a minnit, miss,” one rough- looking man said; and stepping up to the bar he laid his hat down on it, adding: ‘‘Thar! feller galoots, that ’ar hat calls fer somethin’ from every man in this heur room. An’ thar’s a starter!” And es he spoke, he dropped a piece of money into the hat, In an instant every man present moved to- ward that hat, and one and all present put in something. ‘Bully fer you!” cried the man whose hat it was: ‘‘bully fer you, 0!’ hat, every time! An’ bullier fer th’ crowd! But th’ builiest fer th’ two leetle gals! An’, miss,” presenting his hat to Edith; **th’ bullion is fer you an’ yer sister. Take it.” ‘* But, sir,” Edith protested, “‘we have done nothing to earn it.” ‘No matter, miss; it are yourn artyhow.” ‘*But if you insist upon my accepting it, we must certainly sing and play for you—one song at least—to give something in return.” Edith whispered to her blind sister, and she took her violin from its case, and then, tired as they certainly must have been, they sung and played. Their voices, full, rich, and mellow rose together in perfect harmony, one in alto and the other in air; and with the perfect notes of the violin the saloon was filled with such melody as it ne’er before had known, And the song the two girls sung was ‘‘ My Old Kentucky Home.” While the song was being rendered every one present seemed fairly to hold his breath, so still was the room; but when the girls’ voices died away, then the crowd broke forth in one wild discord of a prong Nor did the applause cease until the girls sig- nified that they would sing again. Another song wassung, which was as heartily applauded, and then Ben Bantam said: ‘No more to-night, boys, no more to-night; the ladies is too tired. "Wait till to-morrow evenin’. ‘“Come, miss, take this heur wealth ont o Jake’s old hat, an’ then Pll show ye over to my house.” The girl emptied the contents of the hat out upon a table, and then began to gather it up. But, strange as it may seem at first glance, she took no coin of larger denomination than one dollar, and when she was done, there still remained upon the table one “twenty,” one ‘* five,” three ‘‘ tens,” and one fifty-dollar gold coin. ‘Take ’em all! take ’em.all, miss!” exclaimed the man whose hat had collected them, ‘‘No,” said Edith, firmly, ‘‘I cannot accept them. I thank you, gentlemen; but we make it a rule never to accept a coin of greater value than one dollar. If those of you who gave these will take them back and oe, a dollar or less in place of each, that we will take, but not a larger sum.” Protestations were useless, for the girl re- mained firm; so each of the coins was taken up and a dollar put in its place; each save the “fifty,” and that found no claimant, ‘¢ And whose is this?” Edith asked, No one replied. *¢ Well,” she said, ‘‘ we cannot take it, gentle- men, so I will deliver it to the proprietor of this hall, and the owner may claim it when he will.” And she gave the coin to Barleycorn. Bessie, having put away her violin into its case, Edith took her hand, and then biddin good-night to their audience, the sisters set ou with Ben Bantam. Only « few moments had they been gone when Karlo Kenton entered, and the “ saint” called him aside at once. CHAPTER XI, DARK SCHEMES. “May I inquire your name?” asked Edith Baker, as she and Bessie followed Ben Bantam down the street toward his residence. “ : a EEE LLL —————————————————————————————— a a ‘‘ Sartain, miss, sartain!” Ben exclaimed, “* My name are Ben Bantam,” | ‘Can you tell me the name of the man whor I addressed so directly in the saloon?” ‘‘- Yes: his name are Barton Barker.” ‘Yes, so he said; but do you believe that ir his true name?” ‘Wal, as ter that, miss, I can’t say. It’s th’ only name I ever heard him called by, except ‘saint,’ which is a sort o’ nick-name th’ boys gave him.” ‘¢ And what sort of person is he?” ‘“My own private an’ candid opi of him, miss, is th.t he area bad one. e is boss of a mine heur at Domino, He isa terror when he gits bis war-paint on, en’ I reckon Vl have to keep my top eye open ter him, after th’ way Pve crossed him to-night. ‘But, say, miss, if your father war cut heur- abouts fer so long, an’ ye heard from him once in a while by letter, I] should think ye could find th’ place whar them ’ar letters war writ an’ post- a then git some news 0’ yer dad. How is 1t¢ “That is a question we are asked wherever we go, and I should have explained that point while telling my story in the saloon; but it slip- ped from my mind. ‘Our father’s letters were dated at different camps, but were always post-marked from San Francisco; and in writing to him we always ad- dressed him in care of Jameson & Smith, H street, San Francisco.” ‘‘ An’ didn’t ye go there to ask whar he was?” ‘‘ Certainly; we went there at once On arriv~ ing at San Francisco, but Jameson & Smith were not to be found. “The place on H—— street was a gamblin yalace, we discovered; but it had change 1ands.” ‘Wal, it’s ruther a strange state of affairs, anyhow!” Ben exclaimed. ** Yes, it is indeed.” Bessie, the blind girl, then spoke. “ Mr. Bantam,” she said, ‘‘do you think any harm will come to that gentleman who first took my part in the saloon, and wu was after- ward arrested?” ‘‘No,” Ben answered, ‘I reckon not. I don’t think thar’ll be any proof ag’in’ him.” ‘‘Then you do not believe he is a road-agent, as they accuse him of being, do you?” ‘* No, miss, I don’t. I believe he is an honest man, every inch.” ‘“‘ Who is this you speak of?” asked Edith. ‘¢ He is the gentleman who first protected me from the insults of that man who calls himself Barton Barker,” Bessie replied. ‘What is his name?” ‘‘ He says bis name is Dan Dale,” Ben Bantam explained, ‘‘ but he calls himself Disco Dan; an’ to that th’ boys heur have added—th’ Daisy Dude o’ Domino Divide. ‘I’m goin’ down to th’ cabin whar he is, afore I go ter roost, an’ see that he’s all right.” ‘‘But, why do they call him so odd a name?” queried Bessie. 7 ‘}°Cause he’s such a dandy sort o’ sport,” Ben replied. ‘+ But,” he udded, ** heur we be, ladies, so come right in.” . As he spoke, Ben opened the door of his cabin, or shanty, for real houses were seldom to he found in so young a town; and the two giils followed him in. Ben’s better-balf was there, a pleasant-faced woman of middle-age; and when Ben told her who his protegees were, she welcomed them heartily. She spread the table at once, and laid a sub- stantial repast, of which the girls partook un- sparingly. When that was over, and while Ben was out, he having gone to the cabin where Disco Dan and Red-eye Jim were confined, Mrs. Bantam assisted Edith in mending her clotbes where the bushes had torn them when she fell, and then she arranged a place for the girls te sleep. The Bantam mansion consisted of three rooms, all on one floor, two of them being quite small and the third a little larger. One of the small rooms was used for a kitchen, the other for a bedroom, and the larger one as the general living-room The regular bedroom was assigned to the sis- ters, and Mrs. Bantam made up a bed on the floor in the main room for her husband and her- self, By the time Ben returned, all these arrange- ments were completed, and soon after that Edith and Bessie retired. ‘‘ Where do I feel the air coming from?” asked Bessie, almost as soon as Edith had closed the door, ‘Tt comes from the window.”