Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 467 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

ey 308 a i P eo, ot eae be G Ad + ~— a es a a — : . woe — =" * on - = oe oe es ae ‘Come! One and all! Everybody abe) | “Oh! yas, I see! I see, I I’ve got slathers of wealth, and I want to treat the waole house. I want to pay my footing, citizens, right at the start; for— “T’m a dude, a daisy dude, A sport of the very first water; Oh! I’m a beau, I'd have you know, And my—”’ But he came to a sudden stop again. “Whoop!” he cried. ‘*Hoid on, there, you Mister Big-man! Hold on! Don’t get your back up, for I don’t mean any offense, I assure you. So sung and so exclaimed the hero of our story, on entering The Den, the most popular salocn at Domino Divide. And now to deseribe him. He was of medium hight, and a splendid specimen of physical manhood, broad-shouldered and fair of face. as hair fell in a heavy mass upon his shoulders {fom under his fine ‘* slouch Ly hat, and a graceful mustache adorned his lip. He was clad in a suit of scal-brown velvet, and sported a frilled shirt, a stand-up collar, and patent-leather gaiters, He certainly looked the well-fixed sport he claimed to he. He wore kid gloves, and carried a cane—a cane that was but little thicker than a riding- whip, and almost as pliable. He was, perhaps, thirty years of age. He had just arrived at Domino Divide, and had entered The Den Saloon, singing as above quoted, at the same time toying with his mus- tache and twirling his dainty cane between his fingers, But the citizens did not seem to take to him over-kindly. Several of them reached for their weapons, and that was what caused the young sport to cease bis singing and give utterance to the first exclamations set forth above. At his invitation to drink, however, almost every weapon vanished, and the crowd surged eagerly forward. \Vhen the self-styled ‘‘dude” began to sing again, though, he was suddenly confronted by a veritable giant of a man, who, with cocked revolver in hand ordered him to “dry up” instantiv. 3 And then it was that the natty sport criet cut: ‘“YThoop! Hold on, there, you Mister Big- man!” etc., as quoted. The big fellow was over six feet tall in his rouzh cowhide boots, possessed extraordinary breadth of chest and shoulders, and was large of limb in proportion. He looked to be a veri- table Hercules, whom the average man would hositato about ** tackling.” Ilis villainous face was broad and bloated, and bespoke a coarse nature and a passion for drink, . His nose was large and highly colored, proba- bly a specimen of the art of The Den; while his eyes were small and biood-shot, and shone with an alcoholic gleam that added to his disagree- able appearance as a whole. He was clad in greasy and dirty buckskin, and was armed to the teeth. “So, ye don’t mean_no "fense, eh, Mister Dude?” he bawled. ‘‘ Wal, it’s almighty lucky fer yo that ye don’t!” “Tt is, eh?” ‘Yas, itis, eh! An’ I don’t want none o’ yer ff about it, nuther! I’m th’ Silver-tongued yclone o’ Domino, I am, an’ jest bear it in mind.” “ Well, Mister Silver-tongue,” said the velvet- elad sport, coolly, ‘‘ there is no occasion for you to excite yourself, not the least in the world; so put away your shooter and come and join us in a social drink.” “Yas, that’s th’ idee, Cy, old pard!” cried the crowd. ‘Don’t kick up no row!” “You galoots, jest keep your heads shut!” the ‘* cyclone ” soared. ‘This heur are my funeral, not yourn !” “But, my friend,” the cool sport added, ** we don’t want to have any unpleasantness, I am sure. You had better put that barker away, now, and step right up and crook your elbow with the crowd. I came here to find peace and rest, after many exciting scenes elsewhere, and I hope you won’t interfere. Was it my singing that offended you?” “Yas, it war!” the giant asseverated. “ An’ not only that, but ye’ve ’sulted me, an’ now ye want ter crawfish out o’ it! No ye don’t! I’m a@ roarin’? whirlwind, J am, ean’ ye’ve got ter tackle me afore this heur crowd does any drink- in’, D’ye hear me?” “Yes, I hear you, but I cannot see in what way I have ‘insulted’ you. Please explain. I never like to get into a row without the very pest of reasons for it. purty soon see somethin’, too. I said ye’ve ‘sulted me, an’ so.ye have! nerwated thet you’re a better man nor I be, Mister Dude; an’ by th’ great gosh ye’ve got ter rove it! D’ye ketch onter that ?” isco Dan, the Daisy Dude. a ) ——_— —— does: an’ yowll | squarely between the eyes, dropping him to the floor as cleverly asa butcher would fell an ox Ye’ve kinder insin- | with a sledge. The sport’s cane was a loaded one. ‘‘ Now, gentlemen,” the velvet sport said, un- concernedly, ‘‘ call for your poison. I guess we ‘‘ Well, yes, I believe I grip the drift of your | won’t have any further trouble,” meaning. loon?” **Naw, I ain’t.” Will you kindly inform me who is?” ‘Thar he is, abind th’ bar.” “Yes,” the man behind the bar added, “I am the proprietor heur sir.” The sport turned to the man behind the bar then, and esked: ‘Is my presence here distasteful to you, sir? ‘* No,” was the answer, ‘‘ it is not, sir,” **Do you object to my singing?” eNO, Sif,” ‘* And who is this gentleman?” indicating the giant ‘‘ cyclone.” ‘‘ His name is Red-eye Jim; or, at least, that’s all the name J know fer him.” ‘“Has ho anything to do with the manage- ment of this saloon?” ‘6 No, sir.” ‘‘Then why in the name of the seventeen wonders do you allow him to interfere with a stranger who comes here tending strictly to his own business?” The big bully had remained very quiet for a moment, but now he suddenly broke out again: ¢ * J] tell ye why he ’lowsit,” he bawled; ‘‘ it’s ’causs he can’t help it! I’m Red-eye Jim, th’ Silver-tongued Pralons o’ Domino, Jam, an I’m th’ king-pin o’ ther hull burgh! Th’ man that bucks ag’in’ me bucks ag’in’ somethin’ solid, an’ don’t ye fergit to remember it. I’m the boss o’ th’ hull town!” No one seemed to dispute the claim. ‘Well, even if you are all you claim to be,” said the sport in velvet, ‘‘ you have no right to interfere with me, and you had better take a drop on it.” And then turning tothe bartender, he added: ‘‘ Bortender, set them up for the house,” ‘Bartender, don’t you do it!” the giant or- qaered. ‘‘T tell you to set uf.the drinks for the house!” the sport repeated. iy Az I tell him not to!” cried Red-eye Jim. ‘Sorry, gent,” said the bartender, ‘ but I can’t set ’em up till this here little diffikilty are settled.” The sport turned from him in disgust. ‘‘ Well,” he said to the reigning terror, “‘ you do seem to rule this roost, and no mistake,” “You kin bet yer life I do.” “ And what is it you want of me?” “T want satterfaction, that’s what; an’ ’m bound ter have it, too, You've ’sulted me, an’ you've got ter suffer fer it, I want satterfac- tion!” ‘‘ Well, you’re in a fair way of getting it,” re- torted the sport, and a dangerous light began to burn in his eyes. “But,” he added, “if you must have a row with me, just wait till these gentlemen have had their drinks, and then Pll be at your service,” ‘“Nary a wait! I’ve said thet no likker kin be b’isted heur till I’ve settled wi’ you, an’ I mean it! Now yon jest git right down onto your knees an’ ax my pardon.” The crowd was all attention, and every man held his breath in suspense. They certainly ex- pected to see this “‘ daisy ” sport come to an un- timely end, there and then. ‘ He was armed to the teeth, too, as we have ym - while the sport did not carry a weapon in sight. If he was armed, his ‘‘ tools” were well con- cealed, The only thing the daisy sport had in hand was his dainty cane, and that he kept bending and twisting while he was talking. At the last words of the red-eyed bully the stranger’s eyes snapped fire, and he cried: “Why, you great, big, over-grown son of an octopus! hat do you take me for?’ And he glared straight into the bully’s eyes. This took the crowd completely aback, They fairly held their breath, now, in anxious silence. ‘Wal, blast your imperrence!” the ‘‘ Silver- tongued Cyclone” howled. ‘‘ Did ye hear that, citizens? Did ye hear what he called me? didn’t really mean ter plug ye, Mister Dude; but now, I’m a lunk-headed gorilla ef I don’t shoot th’—.” But he did not finish the sentence. Just as he was about taking aim, with every appearance that he meant ‘ shoot,” the “ dude’s” cane darted out like a flash of light, and_ the lit- tle round ball on the end of it took “ho belly Are you the proprietor of this sa- eee Each man called for what he liked best, and when all were supplied, one of their number turned to the sport and asked: * Pardner, what’s yer name?” ‘Well, citizens, my real name is Dan Dale, but of late my friends and acquaintances have taken to calling me ‘ Disco’ Dan.” ‘‘Good ernuif! Pards, heur’s to Disco Dan, th’ Daisy Dude o’ Domino Divide |” And the toast was drank, CHAPTER IL. FUN IN THE DEN, Domino Drvipe was as flourishing a mining- town, considering its tender age, as could be found in all the great Northwest. At the time of which we write it was perhaps two years old, and was in a thriving and pros- erous condition. Every citizen was well ‘‘ fixed” in the way of the popular circulating medium—*‘ tin,” and several saloons and gambling-dens were doing a rushing business, Foremost among these was The Den. It was a saloon and gambling-house combined, and was owned and managed by one Barry Barleycorn. Barry Barleycorn was a man who had evi- dently seen better days, and it was rumored that he had at one time owned one of the best and largest “‘ palaces” in San Francisco. Be that as it might, however, he was now simply what we have said of him—owner and proprietor of The Den, the most popular saloon at Domino Divide. Barleycorn was a man forty years of age, per- haps. and was fairly well educated: but he had roughed it for so long in the wilds of *up- country” that he had unconsciously fallen into usiug the broad dialect peculiar to the West. He had an assistant in the management of The Den, who “ran” the faro lay-out and looked after the gambling in general, while Barleycorn 2 op attended to serving the thirsty multi- tude. The assistant’s name was Karlo Kenton, or, at least, such was the “flag” under which he ‘‘ sailed: and he was considered a solid man— which is to say, he was a man of nerve, and when he was around the saloon he managed to meep things pretty orderly and quiet. e was a tall, dark fellow, and wore a hea mustache. He always dressed in black broad- cloth, his coat being long and buttoning high up, and he had won the not-very-appropriate name—‘‘ the Parson.” ‘‘ But the ‘‘ parson” was anything but a par- son, for a more profane sinner never crossed the ‘** Rockies ” than he. It was whispered around that the ‘“ parson,” and not Barleycorn, was proprietor of The Den; but this was strenuously denied by both, and as though to convince the worthy citizens of their error, a sign had lately been put up over the door of the saloon, which bore the words: “THE DEN, BaRRY BARLEYCORN, PRop’R.” So much in way of explanation. Just as the crowd had ‘‘ downed ” the toast to Disco Dan, Barleycorn’s assistant entered the saloon. . His practiced eye took in everything at a glance. To see the crowd around the bar was no un- usual sight: but to see Red-eye Jim, the bully and terror of the town lying stretched out upom the floor—that was something out of the usual order. ‘ Red-eye Jim was acknowledged to be the | est man in the Divide. He was a giant in size and strength, could fight like a tiger, and was never so happy as when in a row, and he actually culed the town, as he claimed to do. The citizens of Domino bad long since learned that it was better and cheaper to let Red-eye Jim have his own way than to oppose him. Kenton, the “‘ parson,” bad once undertaken to put him out of The Den, before he knew him as well as he did a little later on; and Red-eye literally ‘‘ cleaned out the ranch.” The “ cyclone” was a bad man, and there was no gainsaying the fact. Little wonder, then, that on this occasion the “ narson” stop short upon the threshold and exclaimed: | )