Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 478 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

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She was tired, nervous, and hungry, and her fears worked so like a gnawing canker upon her mind that the slightest sound became magnified iato a dreadful noise. The chirp of a cricket seemed like the scream of a savage; the foot- falls of ground-mice running around her were like the tramp of coyotes, and the sound of her horse cropping the grass, and the rustle of the foliage above her in a passing breeze, all con- spired to distress her. Once she thought she heard a taint moan, and her thoughts at once reverted to the outlaw—her late captor—whom Laramie Jos had killed, lying on the plain so near. She listened with bated breath for a repetition of the sound, but all was quiet. After a long mental struggle tired nature Reve way and she laid down and fell asleep. She slept soundly—so soundly, in fact, that when she awoke it was broad daylight. The sun was high in the heavens. She started up, . realizing at once that she had overslept herself, for she was to have started at sunrise for a place of a in case Laramie Joe did not re- turn; and he had not. What bothered the maiden now, as one often is who in sickness or mental troubles falls asleep in the darkness ‘and awakes in the day- light, was the time of day. She could not tell wet er it was late in the morning or early in the evening, There was no dew on the grass and the sun was shining warm. To satisfy her mind as to the points of the compass she cut a slender stick, and stepping out into the open plain she stuck one end of it in the ground, en she watched the shadow of the stick and noted the course it moved. This test, taken in connection with the increas- ing space between the sun and the horizon, con- vinced her that it was morning. So she made haste to depart for Deer Creek Ranch as directed by Laramie Joe, Catching her horse, which was grazing near, she bridled and saddled it, and then took up the lariat and se- cured it to the saddle. Then she went back into the grove to get her blankets, and while there she was startled with a genuine moan of human agony. She drew back, the blood running cold in her veins, She gazed around her in terror, her brain growing dizzy. Her eyes fell upon an object that almost paralyzed her very heart, It was the. wild, haggard face of a man lying in the bushes near, and she recog- nized the face as that of ber late outlaw captor whom Laramie Joe had shot and, as he sup- ~~? ° The maiden took a step backward and seemed on the eve of turning to flee, ‘*Zulima, for God’s sake, don’t leave me!” a muptonee man gasped, with apparent great effort. Zulima swaliowed the great lump in her throat. She breathed somewhat easier, yet she could not speak nor could she remov>» her eyes from that ghastly face. The wounded outlaw saw, that she was dumb with terror, and to relieve her he said: * Zulima, you need have no further. fears of me. Lamdyin’. I know [ have wronged you, but I hope you will not desert me. That des- rate boy’s pistol has done the work for me. h, ’m dyin’ in agony—don’t leave me—I can- not harm you, Zulima!” ** I can do you no good,J fear,” the girl found use of her voice to ri a “Only for my soul, Zulima,” he moaned: *I want you to pray for me, for [ve but a short ; time to live. Oh, I know it will be hard to pray for one that has wronged you as I have— ut that wrong brings me here a dying peni- tent. I know you area good Christian girl—I have heard you pray many times since we left Last Lick, and God seems to have answered your prayer. Ob, I know you will not refuse to pray for me—ask God’s mercy for a soul that ad mn? mee —' 5 =. -? .; 5 a —~ 7 Old Tom Rattler. ee a is so soon to leave my burnin’, achin’ breast. Zulima, I was raised better. My poor old mother—” Here the conscience-stricken man _ broke down. Zulima’s woman-heart was touched with pity, instead of revolting with indignation and scorn. outlaw and that he had endeavored to carry her away in captivity than which death would have been preferable. She thought of nothing tut a trembling, penitent spirit hovering on the shores of eternity, asking a dying favor—beg- ging a prayer—an appeal to the Great Master efore whom it was so soon to appear in judg- ment. Zulima advanced toward him. She saw that his clothes were incrusted and stiff with blood. The pallor of death was about his lips. His eyes wore that wild, glassy lcok, so evident of the presence of the grim monster. ‘*Can I not relieve your pain? bind up your wound?” asked the noble, forgiving girl. ‘* No, no,” he replied, with a feeble shake of his head ; Se oe no one on earth can help me, Zulima. d I do not want to die before my soul has been commended for mercy at God’s throne—come nearer me, Zulima—don’t fear me —I’m helpless as a child. Tell Laramie Joe I hold no grudge against him for this—he was 7 a was wrong—l’ve been wrong for years. Oh, that I had life and strength to unburden my soul! Id tell you all. How the past comes up before me—I have lived my life all over in the ast two hours, My boyhood days, the old ome, my parents, my brothers and sisters, my playmates, the old school-house and the old stone church—lI’ve seen them all, Zulima. And once I[ thought I heard my mother’s loving voice in pe edit gg buy 3 or us all— praying that we’d all come to her by way of Calvary and Cross. But, Zulima, [| am growin’ weaker. Will you pray for me? [I ask it as a dyin’ favor.” With streaming eyes Zulima went down upon her knees. The dying outlaw turned over on bis side and rested his elbow on the ground and his head on his hand, Zulima Randall was. a devout Christian girl, and with all the fervor of her young heart she lifted her voice to Heaven in behalf of the dying outlaw. Long and fervently she prayed. Low and sweet was her voice. Her slender form swayed to and fro, and her white face up- Bee toward Heaven wore the serenity of an angel. When she had pronounced the last word and turned her spearaing, exes upon the outlaw, she saw his head fall back, his jaws drop apart and his glassy eyes stare sightless toward heaven. He was dead. Zulima rose to her feet. A footstep sounded near. She turned quickly, and to her surprise and terror found herself confronted by a great, bearded, ruffianly-looking man, dressed in a half-savage garb, while from the bushes near appeared, like so many grinning demons, a oy or more painted and plumed Indian war- riors A cry burst from the maiden’s lips and she started back. A savage ninibly sprung forward and seized her by the arm, at the same time uttering a low, guttural ejaculation. Zulima shrunk from his grasp, a shriek escap- ing her lips. ‘Let go that gal’s arm, Wolfheart!” com- manded the white man, ina tone of authority. ** And the Ingin that dares to harm a hair o’ her head—to even touch her ag’in, ll git his noggin’ bu’sted wide open. White Bear has spoken, and the, pale-face squaw can go her way in peace,” ‘* White Bear does not mean what he says,” said a savage to the renegade chief, ‘*I do, red-skin,” replied the chief; ‘‘ the gal can go free.” : ‘* Oh, sir!” cried Zulima; ‘* you are very kind!” ‘*T should hope the Lord ’d strike me dead,” the white chief said, “if I didn’t have enough o' the honor o’ civilization and manhood left in me to defend you after that prayer. I heard it, gal, from beginnin’ to‘ Amen.’ That dead man there is an old, b’loved friend @ mine, and the woman that’d git down on her knees and pray for his soul deserves my protection. I’m no angel, gal, God knows, and the company I keep “ll tell you that; but I promise you that them red-skins sha’n’t harm you as long as Ican pull a trigger.” . Zulima breathed a prayer of thanks, She’saw now that her kindness of heart was bearing rich fruit—that her prayer for the dying had touch- She forgot that the man was an. ed a chord in the breast of the renegade and aroused his honor and manhood which, perhaps, had laid dormant for years,. But she saw that his words were received with ill-favor by his savage followers. A low grunt of disapproval passed from lip to lip, and a fierce, malignant scowl settled upon their faces. More than one hand had already sought the knife at its ewner’s girdle. Mutiny was threatened, but the chief himself was equal to the emergency, and grasp- ing his revolver he again said: ‘Miss, you can go now, and if you would find friends, go in yonder direction—ride fast, and you'll strike a creek a which you must follow until you reach a cattle-ranch. And as you go, I hope you'll not forget that there is one white outcast and outlaw among the many in the great West that has a spark of honor and manhood left—who respects innocence and virtue,” ‘Oh, thank you, sir, I shall never forget you and your kindness and mercy!” Zulima said, and then she turned to es A savage stepped in before her, saying: ** No, can’t go.” “Warrior, stand aside and let that white squaw pass,” commanded the chief, indignantly, Bir Saar 2 y: ; The Indian looked at his superior with a treacherous scowl, then drew his knife. ‘‘ Go on, miss,” the renegade said, ‘‘ and if he interferes again itll not be healthy for him.” Zulima turned and started around the Indian, but, quick as thought, the red-skin seized her by the arm, with a look of devilish malignance upon his face, and raised his knife to plunge it into her heart and thus settle the dispute; but the renegade was too quick for him—his pistol ciacked and the murderous arm fell, shattered, at its owner’s side. A scream of pain burst from the red-skin’s lips. With acry Zulima bounded away, and pass- ing out of the grove she ran to ter horse that was waitirg near, and nimbly leaping into the saddle galloped away, never daring to glance back toward the grove through fear of her eyes meeting some horrid scene. She heard seve- ral pistol-shots follow each other in rapid suc- cession as she rode away, and also savage yells that filled her breast with a vague fear for the safety of the man who had saved her life. But free of all dangers for the time being, and mounted upon her horse that had been re- freshed by a good feed of grass and rest, the meiden rode swiftly eastward, inwardly pray- ing that her trials and suffering were near an end. She rode forward for some time, and finally — entered a little depression in the plain that kept deepening until it grew into a canyon with wooded bluffs on either side. A little stream of water meandered through the canyon, gath- ering strength as it advanced from springs along the way. At one of these springs Zu- Inna finally dismounted, slaked her thirst, and then bathed her hands and face, She also watered her horse, then remounting continued on her way. She had ridden some distance, and had come to the happy conclusion that she was at last free from all dangers, but this proved a delusion,’ for suddenly she was star- tled by the clatter of boofs in the canyon be- hind her. ; Glancing back she saw a horse coming down the defile at a furious gait, his rider lying flat upon his back, and, seized with a new-born fear, the maiden lashed her pony to his utmost . The way was smooth and unbroken by bush, stone or gully, though winding and tortuous, and the girl had hoped to outdistance her pur- suer, as she believed the horseman to be; but she soon became convinced that he was eaining upon her. He came so close, in fact, that she could hear the panting of his horse, and pres- ently she discovered that the animals were run- ning side by side—neck and neck, As her pursuer spoke not, Zulima ventured to look around, when ascene of horror met her gaze. A cry burst from her lips, and she was compelled to grasp her pony’s mane to steady herself in the saddle, Lashed to his horse’s back with ropes, his face covered with crusted blood, and, to all appear- ances dead, was Laramie Joe the Boy Knight . of the Plain—was the sight that met her gaze and sent a convulsive shudder through her breast. Her very soul revolted at the awful sight, and she lashed her horse with all her strength in hopes of urging it away from the other, but despite her efforts, and that of her noble beast, the other horse kept close at her side with his silent rider—the lifeless Mazeppa on his back, “com ol Cc DO + me Pes Pe ne ’ yp - aR } / : »* “ Fg J ~ a, _f » : y A re - ) ‘s? fy on er ra ’ iad +’ “Pte - “eee N 7a NS