Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 525 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

2 eee eee and especially in the confines of civilization, for he was tall, straight as an arrow, with a slender, elegant form, broad shoulders and the air of one who knew his own power. His face was as clearly cut in every feature as though it were marble, the expression reso- lute, daring and fearless, while his eyes were as viercing as the bird’s from whom he had won his border cocoa ay of ** Night Hawk.” Neatly dressed in city attire, he yet wore his yaven black hair long, falling upon his shoul- ders, and his head was surmounted as be stood by the window, gazing out upon the thorough- fare, with a broad sombrero, encircled by a cord representing a miniature lariat. The man looked just what he was, the thorough plainsinan, and one gazing upon him as he stood there in his calm, easy pose, would have felt that he was a ‘‘ man with a history ’—one who had faced deadliest danger, had-seen comrades die by his side and had himself made graves in the world. George Powell was his name, and pure love of adventure had sent him to the Texas prairies, with his younger brother, William Powell, who will also figure in this story im“ scenes that tried true mén’s souls.” Business. of a private nature had called him East, and he had stopped over for a day in the great metropolis. For a long time he had stood in silent con- templation at the window, when suddenly he started, for, almost at his side, a voice broke forth in song. It was the voice of a woman, wbo had just entered an adjoining room, and every note welled through the closed door within his reach. A lover of music he listened like one en- tranced, while the sweet strains of ‘‘ Annie Laurie "fell from the lips of the singer. Suddenly the song wes hushed, and then came low, spoken words as if in self-communion, but which were almost inaudible to the man in the adjoining room. There camea knock on the hall door of ber room, and she was heard to exclaim: ‘‘Ha! itis his knock! He is here!” Then in a voice strangely cold for one that had seemed so sweetly beautiful a moment be- fore, she called ont: ‘* Come in!” The Texan heard the door open, and not wishing to be an eavesdropper, he was about to turn away, when the words of the one who en- tered caused him to hesitate. ‘*Ah, you are here, my sweet singing-bird? I heard your voice as I came along the hali, and it told me what I knew.” There was evident sarcasm in the voice, and ip was a man who spoke. ‘And what did you know, sir?” the woman asked, “That you dared not refuse to meet me here.” ‘* Dared not ?” and the tone was full of scorn. ‘* So I said, madam,” ‘¢T received your note, sir, asking me to come to this room at the hotel, t. meet you, as you had an important communication to make, ‘* As I had that to say to you, sir, which isa question of life and death, | came; but I shall not remain long.” In vain did the Texan try toleave the spot where he stood, and where every word reached him as distinctly as though be were in the same room with the speaker. A power that he seemed compelled to obey, chained him to the window, and he felt that be must hear more, ‘* A question of life and death?” repeated the man, and bis tone seemed to falter. ** Yes; but tell me why you wished to see me, for I had hoped that we had parted forever.” “*T wished to see youy Clio, to ask you to bury the past and to let me once more claim you as my wife.” *¢ Ts this all, sir?” “ Ali? It is everything to me, Clio.” “it is everything to me, sir, that we remain apart,” ‘** But, Clio, you ave my wife, and—” ** Your wife, sir, yes; but it was a marriage under false pretenses, so to speak. You sav my father and myself from death one day, bit, often have I régretted that you checked oar runaway horses in the Park and that we were mot both killed that fatefulday. It had gbeen far better so. whe “But your act won my admiration and m poor father’s deepest gratitude and regard. He lieved you a gentleman; aman of wealth, and when he was dying he asked me to become your wife. I did not love you, sir; but [knew you not as you are, and I consented. | | | | —_——_ —_- SS i SNe a eee ee a } / mir eee Yblack as the ace of spades, and an Indian who —— ee Brothers in Buckskin. rr SS —-+ — —_——_— —_ --—_— _--— —__—_. ‘* My father died, and his fortune was found to | At aslow pace the horsemen are going over be only on paper. the prairie, while ahead of them looms up a ‘*‘ Alas! he knew this, and believing you rich, | bold hill, covered wi. h heavy timber. he sought to save me from poverty as your ‘*There is our future home, Scraps,” said Will wife. But you, an adventurer, married me for | Powell, addressing the negro and pointiag to the the fortune I was supposed to be heiress to, and | distant bill. then you deserted me, after cruel abuse. ‘* Marsa Billy, yer knows, sab, that I bain’s ‘‘ Now, when I have the power to earn a for- | afeerd o’ no man as hops on two legs; but I tune, you come back to me and ask me to once | doesn’t like yer idee 0’ going to lib in a ote ruin more acknowledge you as my husband,” chuw’ch, suh, whar folks libed and died a hundred She had spoken with ringing scorn in her; year ago, and tha’r bones is still a-restin’,” voice, His manner was subdued, for he an- | Scraps returned, soberly. swered in a low tone: “We won't disturb their bones, Scraps,” ‘And will you not, Clio?” laughed Broncho Bill, who had won his name ** Never, sir.” from his superb mastery of the wild bronches of ‘‘ But you are my wife, and I can force you to | the plains, and the great number he had obey me,” be hotly replied. caught. An instant of intense silence followed, and ‘No, sah, but dey will disturb us,” quickly then came the reply, in quivering accents: answered the serving-man, ‘You can force me to obey you, sir? You ‘What, the bones, Scraps?’ asked Night coward! no power on earth can do that. I defy | Hawk George Powell. | you, and I bid you now leave me, ere I call the ‘No, sah, ther sperrits,” was the solemn re- officers of the law and hand you over to them | sponse. as—” ‘“'You don’t believe in spirits, do you, ‘‘As what?” he almost gasped, as she hesi- | Scraps?” tated. ‘Yas I do, Mars’ Night Hawk—l does, fer a ‘* As my father’s murderer !” ‘* Oh God !” broke from the lips of the man, ‘* Ah! you see that I know you as you are, T told you that it was a question of life and death I had to speak to you about, and now you know what that inyplies, ) ‘**Go your way, sir, and I will go mine; but ever dare tu cross the threshold of any place where I dwell—ever force your hateful presence upon me again, and I vow by thememory of my dead father I will hand you over tothe police as his murderer, ‘*(Jo, go! or I ring this bell upon which my hand now rests!” ‘*T will go, yes; but this is not our parting.” Then the door opened and closed, and a mo- ment after the Texun heard the woman leave the room. . He had heard that which deeply interested him, and he went to the office and looked over the register to see who were the occupants of Room No, 18, next to his own. He read there: “Wr. and Mrs. John Smith, Boston,”’ ‘* Who are these parties?” he asked the clerk. ‘¢‘T do not know, sir; they only had the room for the day, doubtless passing through the city, for they have gone, the lady just driving off in one carriage and the gentleman in another.” ‘¢ Well, I have nothing to do with them, so let them go,” mused George Powell, as he turned fact, sah, for I’ has seen ghosts in my time— raal ghosts, sah!” = The two brothers laughed; and Broncho Bill said: ‘¢ And you, Red Wolf, do you fear spirits?” The Indian whom he addressed, responded Guietly 3. °° = ’ ‘‘Great Spirit good; like Him. bad ; *fraid of him!” ‘¢‘ Well, the spirits we find there should all be good, for it is the ruin of an old Spanish Mission, where the priests dwelt,” Night Hawk Powell remarked, ‘“Wasn’t dey all kilt one time, sah, ’bout a thousand years ago?’ ‘‘There was a massacre there something over a bundred years ago, Scraps. The people about the Mission were driven in by the Comanches, some of Red Wolf's great grandfathers, I guess, and all were put to death, nearly a hundred in number,” ‘* A hundred ghosts? in evident terror. ‘* There are more ghosts than that, Scraps, for if had been a Mission for a long time ard many had been buried there, while they fought bravely and a great number of red-skins were killed and buried over in the timber near by.” “ Does yer think thar is two hundred ghosts, Mars’ Night Hawk?” asked Scraps, in a calcu- lating tone. ‘*) guess about that many.” ‘ And wimmen Was massacred too, sah?” ‘Yes, women, and children also.” , “Oh, Lordy! Priestises, wimmin’s, children’s and Injuns’ ghosts! Mars? Bill, spose you and Mars’ Night Hawk lets me go back ter ther set- tlement ontil you gits settled there.” The brothers laughed at the real fear of Scraps, who was as brave as a lion exce)bt when the supernatural was concerned, and Night Hawk 9 Evil Spirit Lordy!” cried Scraps, away. But. little did he know what the future had in store for him. CHAPTER II. A GHOST IN THE TRAIL. SEVERAL months after the incident in the New York hotel, when George Powell over- heard the secret of parties wholy unknown to him, he is seen riding across the prairies of Texas. But heis not alone, for others are with him, one, alike him in face, not so tall in form, yet wearing the same look of daring. It is William Powell, whose sobriquet of ‘‘ Broncho Bill” is far better known upon the plain than his own name. Compactly built, and quick as a flash in his movements, he also possesses wonderful strengt , while his fearless nature is the same as his bro- ther’s, But for the resolution and manly expression resting upon every feature, his face would be almost feminine in its beauty, while his hair, black and worn Jong is as fine as a Woman's, Both brothers are dressed in buckskin, hunt- ing-shirts, top-boots and wear sombreros en- circled by miniature lariats of silver cord. * They have slung at their backs repeating rifles of the largest pattern, and in the helt of each is a hunting-knife and pair of revolvers. Their saddles and trappings are of Mexican make and very handsome, while at each saddle- born bangs a lariat, There are two more of the party, one a negro, said: ‘‘ Scraps, we can’t spare you, and. Pil vouch for it that you will not see anything there to.be afraid of, in the gbost Ime at least, for Broncho and myself stayed there two nights once, while on a trail, and nothing disturbe.. ‘t It is the very place for us to camp, for it bas the name of being haunted, and, therefore, ‘'exans, Mexicans, and even red-skins give it 1 wide berth.” Just see how it is situated, too, upon that hill, which the river winds around, making it i: the shape of a horseshoe, and the only plaee to cross, on account of the bigh banks, isaf tho ford. ‘* Why, we could sit up in that old ruin and hold that ford against fifty men, with our repeat- ing rifles,” Broncho Bill declared, ‘ Make more ghosts,” suggested Scraps, ally added. vit As the party appreached nearer to the hill, they could realize more fully its strength as a4 abiding-place. io Tt was ® wooded hill, as I have said, rising-ous of the prairie like a giant sentinel, and heavily wooded. , A deep prairie stream struck it upon one side and its current changed thereby, it wound ammund the base of the hill to meet its waters again, and then suddenly branched off and went winding’ its waythrough the level plain i i making the spot almost a complete island. Just where the stream met was the ford, and there, in the olden time the dwellers in the has the appearance of a Comanche, and is at- invthe pigtuesque costume of that tribe of The ‘“‘ dark’,” not tombe outdone by the_red- skin, is rigged out almost as gorgeously in buek- skin, feathers and beads, presenting somewhat of a ludicrous appearance. All four are superbly mounted, and, trotting along behind the negro are half a dozen fine mustangs, bearing packs creer ee rn nn en ee - 4 ‘‘ Make heap graves,” the Indian chicf laconic-