Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 57 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

———S —— t—™ ao" —_ — then they began to sink so rapidly that their breath was taken away. Down! down! down, through an atmosphere damp and thieck—down, second after second without ces- sation, but seemingly faster and faster—into the —— a very bowels of the earth, as it were, and yet still on | and downward. When they struck, Nolie was unconcious, and a dead weight in PP will, (bs arms, who, by a won- derful exertion of will, had kept his senses. Instead of eeing dashed to jelly upon a hard, rocky bottom as the road-agent had expected, they were plunge into a deep, round lakelet or well of water, which fully broke the force of their fall, and thereby saved their lives. As soon as they rose to the surface after their watery bath, Floyd struck out blindly through the | dense darkness, in search of footing. Nolie was still a dead weight upon him, and he was nearly exhaust- ed when he finally succeeded in finding a low, sandy shore, and getting out of the dark, bubbling water. It was a great relief, and he could but thank God that the result of his leap for life had been no worse. What the future had in store for them in this dark pit he had no idea; but it was his intention to find him furiously mad. i } Deadwood Dick’s Eagles. the two duelists and the clashing of their knives; every one stood watching with intense interest, for a great deal depended upon the issue. Should Big Hank go under, Flood Bar’s greatest nuisance would be disposed of; at the same time if Deadwood Dick were to fall, the Hills would be rid- ded of a scourge greater than death itself. These were the two opinions, and more were there who sided with the bully than with the road-agent. The contest was waged with unabated fierceness. Big Hank had received several ugly cuts, which made Dick was bleeding freely from his adversary’s attempt at carving, yet he was ap- parently not the least angered. That same reckless coolness and composure were his, in battle or out; he feared neither man nor devil: he fought with ease and composure; even there was a faint smile rest- _ing upon his countenance and emanating from his i out as soon as possible, If the chances of escaping | were as ill-favored as the place was ill-smelling, his hope of life was indeed slender. And the sluggish- ness of the waters suggested the thought to him that this strange mountain lake had no outlet. Laying Nolie upon the sand, he proceeded to wring the water from her garments, and then from his own; after which he took a tin case from his pocket and produced some matches which the water had not spoiled, By feeling around along the shore he soon was suc- cessful in gathering an armful of fagots, which he ited, and fanned into a bright blaze, that lit up e surrounding scene with wonderful distinctness, and he was able to discover something about their situation. ‘ The lake was considerably larger than he had anticipated, probably covering something like twenty acres of bottom, e abyss, according to this must be the narrowest at its commencement above, grow- ing a great deal wider as it descended. As well as Floyd could determine, the lake had an outlet some- where under the shelving cliffs upon the panei shore, and a great bubbling in the center of the lake showed the existence of a large spring beneath the surface. A narrow shore ran nearly all around the water basin, but otherwise this singular body of water was walled in by giant mountain sides t no human power could scale, After making these observations, Floyd gathered more pine fagots, of which there was a plenty that had tumbled down into the abyss, and replenished the fire, after which he set to work at restoring Nolie to consciousness. By the application of water, and liquor from his canteen, he soon had her in full possession of her senses and speech, and they stood at the fire to dry their pemmen while a st expression was wrought n their two faces, both of which were handsome in their different t y ‘*We’re in the Devil’s Hole!’ exclaimed Nolie, with a frightened look in her eyes. ‘‘How did we ever get here, alive?”’ . = falling into the lake, we saved ourselves,” Floyd repli “Do you or Big John and his men know aught of the place?”’ ‘“*No more than it is said to be bottomless.” “*Which was but a conjecture, as you see that we have found a bottom. But the next thing is to find a way out of the place.”’ “ es. But, may be there is no way out. What en? ‘‘ Well, then we shall probably be compelled to rane: our home here for the rest of our natural ves.” ‘*But, what would we live on? We should starve for want of food.” “Not if we could manage to subsist upon fish, which abound in great plenty in this remarkable mountain lake. e have enough wood here to last for years, so that I think we could manage to get along somehow. But, before preparing for a life- long stay, we must discover if there is no way to es- cape. To bape Robinson Crusoe in the bowels of the ae is not any part of my calculation if we can get out. ‘* Deadwood Dick is with you!” and the audience gazed breathlessly on as they beheld the road-agent spring upon the stage, a revolver in either grasp— the same der inay resistless Deadwood Dick, whose fame and deeds had been heralded throughout the land—handsome, dare-devil Prince of the , who never hesita to face death in defense of a wo- man. Straight upon the stage he sp with the eyes of nearly all Flood Bar turned ag as he caught Big Hank Hagen by the throat. Help! help” the bully bellowed, rel grasp upon cille, and rng upon the road- agent; ‘ , pards? Roll up—pitch in, an’ we'll d thes ‘ere cuss inter ashes. But though their leader thus appealed, not one of the ruffian’s crowd moved; they s as if riveted in their tracks, with too little assurance and faith in their own prowess to attack the man who perhaps of all men was the most feared by these denizens of the Black Hills. Not a move they made, nor did the ‘honest’ element of Flood Bar, for they were se- cretly rejoiced that Big Hank had at last found his master, for the two men were now fighting desperate- ly with knives—fighting for life and death. A breathless silence crept within the great pavi- lion; nota breath scarcely or a sound save that of | ’ D A E his te ] dark magnetic eyes. Among the spectators who had just arrived, were Old Buzzard and Squirrel Sam, watching the contest with great enthusiasm, for both were enemies of the bullying Hagen, who had in different ways taken pains to cross them. The old scout and hunter, however, was the most affected by the sight, for a grin continuously lit up his grotesque countenance, and occasionally he would give vent to his feelings by a yell of delight in such moments, for instance, as when Dick would ** tantalize’ » vein of his adversary. Squirrel Sam, no matter what were his feelings, never spoke, but occasionally a smile of exultation would linger about his mustached mouth. ‘*Great arithmetical ham-bo—I mean great Je- hosephat!”’ roared Buzzard, dancing delightedly abqut, as the road-agent parried the brute blows and ” in some extra fine thrusts. ‘‘Old Moses who in per rues did vegetate! at him, Dickey, ye dasted skun Putin yer work, ye little disease o° destruc- tion! Make ther pilgrim bite ther end off’m hes own constitoochin. Actooally see’d a feller up in Monta- na, onc’t, gents, w’at ked swaller hisself, turn inside out, an’ then outside in erg’in,’’ Clash! clash! went the knives of theduelists. The blood from their wounds stood in little pools upon the stage, or ran its way across and disappeared ina chance crack. Blood soaked their garments and spotted their faces, and still they battled on, each de- termined to kill the other. Of the two, Big Hank was the weaker, for it was perceptible to all that his strength weg, and resolution were giving out; but Deadwood Dick did not seem to be weakened by his terrible loss of blood; he was, as it were, made of steel—no give outin him. How long would both hold out? How long could it last? “Hoop! yip! hooray!’ shouted Old Buzzard, prancing around within the limits of a table-top, on which he was perched; “ game is thet same Dickey, gentlemen—game cl’ar ter ther eend o’ his fingers an’ toes; yes si7v-ee/ He’s a great cavortin’ lamb frum ther old buckin’ flock, J tell ros ginnywine skewrupshus galoot, w'at kin teetotally diskount any hyena ye evyer see’d. Three cheers fer Dick Harris, gentlemen, off ye don’t object!” And these miners of Flood Bar evidently did not object, for, immediately after the old man’s pro- posal, the pavilion rung with a great triple chorus of cheers. “Thet’s ther style o’ ticket ter vote, gentlemen!”’ continued the irrepressible scout—“ ther very same ticket, you bet yer brass jewelry. Great deceptive ham-bo—I mean Jehosephat, yes! My name is Buz- zard, feller-citizens, an’ Mr, Sg Sr cee Baltimore Brewster Buzzard from Bumble-bee county, Gopher State, an’ reddy am I ter sw’ar by ther star-bangled spanner on Deadwood Dick.”’ In the meantime Deadwood Dick was bringing matters to a close. . The burly bully, Big Hank, was fast growing weaker, and it was only the matter of a few mo- ments, ere he must succumb. ick could, as it were, have slain him enough, but this was not his intention. He wanted to merely cow the wretch, and make him docile. few more blows, then Big Hank s ered back, threw u hands and sunk upon the floor. He was done for. His wounds, none of which were ager! serious, had overcome his ferocity, and e was aware of his defeat. ‘*Enough!” he gasped, and then fainted outright, amid uproarious cheers for Deadwood Dick from the crowd. Which the young read-agent received without visible manifestation, as he restored his knife to its sheath, and turning, assisted the now almost un- conscious Miss Desmond to her feet, and con- ducted her behind the scenes. The crowd yelled for him, but he came not; they continued to yell, which had the effect of bringing out Mr. Miles, one of the proprietors of the Inter-Ocean, who respectfully announced that Deadwood Dick had already taken his departure. CHAPTER VI. ELIJAH SWAIN, HISTORIAN, ETC. Yes, Deadwood Dick was gone, and these of Flood Bar had to content themselves knowledge. But when the men got together, on the following day, and discussed and rediscussed mat- rs, it was made a universal decision that if the yung road-agent bravo ever showed his face in Bar again, he should not be suffered to escape. And with this object in view, a party of the “‘ good and honest”’ men of the Bar formed themselves into a band of vigilantes, swearing death to Deadwood Dick and his men. On the following day a crowd of loafers were ounging about the tent of Old Buzzard, listening to the old eccentric’s yarns concerning his exploits in le th the 5 the past, and smoking up more poor tobacco thas would stock an ordinary tobacco loft. While they were thus lounging, and watching the blue-shirted miners of the Bar at their work in the broiling spring sun, they were interrupted by 4 comical-looking individual who had approached, and was endeavoring to attract their attention, by gesti- culations with a blue cotton umbrella. He was of medium stature, with a face hid behing a mass of bricky-red hair and beard, his nose and leaming eyes being all that was visible of flesh about his countenance. He was clothed in Coreen breeches and vest, and a long faded swallow-t coat, while his feet were incased in heavy brogans, and a battered plug hat ornamented his red unkempt locks. His make-up was generally conducive to laughter, while the redness of the end of his organ of scent was more than assurance of good health; it “soe ‘** bummer.”’ “Waal, waal! Jehosephat an’ ther ham-bone 0 old Joner! What d'ye want?” demanded Buzzard, a grim suggestion of fun lurking amidst the stain of terbaccy ’ juice in the corners of his mouth. “ W’at for d’ye stand thar a-wiggling o’ thet umbreller at us, an’ never saying anything. Be ye a g’ost,a hog- goblin, or an automater’ Or be ye tongue-tied, or rot dumb? For ther Lord’s sake do say sumthin’ ter yreak ther mernotonous state o’ ther sittywation Sing, orate, grunt, or ask us ter come an’ see ef eb looks damp an’ liable ter rain water ter drink, ‘“‘An’ ef et don’t rain water, they keep an excel lent substitute in ther shape o’ prime old mountain dew, a couple o’ doors above here.” “Vas, Idon’t mind ef Ido treat, boys,’ was the drawling response in a tone that was purely Yankee. ‘* But, first, let me interdooce ter yeou afew items o’ my business heer, fer ye must see I’m a business inclined man. My name, sirs, ar’ Elijer Swain, 0” Swainville, Swain county, Maine. I have graduated in five colleges of the State, an’ hev branched out into life as a historian and biographer. I have writ- ten several histories of the United States, an’ of al ther prominent men o’ ther days, none of which her et been put upon the market because I ordered them er be withheld. I will contract to write up any oO” yer biographies, gentlemen, at five cents a line, an’ not write less than ten thousand lines; an’ if your life hes been uneventful, I'll add a few terrible ad- ventures and hairbreadth escapes for a slight ad- vance on the price of the biogre phy, an’ ed ge want ter be killed off at ther end, I shall be glad to ac commodate ye, hev appropriate funeral ceremonies, and a thirty-eight foot marble shaft erected at yer he’d.. Anything in my line ter-day, gentlemen?” ‘‘Guess not,’ replied Buzzard, with a wink at the crowd. “Reckon my history wouldn't sell ve well. Great deplorable ham-bone, no! I’m too we known, I tell ye! Whar kin ye perambulate, frum ther north pole ter ther south—frum ther east pole ter ther west, whar ye will not run across ther name an’ fame of Old Avalanche, ther at Injun Anni- hilator—ther great boreal disease o’ annihilation and extinckshun—ther terrific an’ original eppydemic 0 these lattytudes an’ longytoads! for Av he am I, feller cittyzens, an’ no mistake—ther notorious, no-eared ilence of ther Nor’-west. No! no! guess e kan’t rite my hist’ry ter-day, fer et’s faithfully scribed on ther mem’ry 0’ every feller w’at’s seen = read 0’ me, *twixt heer an’ ther line o’ ther equa- or.”’ ‘Wal, et ar’ foo bad. i sw’ar!’ commented Elijah, dolefully, “ but one disappointment hedn’t orter dis- courage one strong-minded man like me, nohow. Ken’t I make yer biographical records, gentlemen, ter-day ?’’ But these men of Flood Bar shook their heads. They had no desire to become famous, and have their lives carried by history before the eyes of fu- ture generations. “Well, there’s no use o’ goin’ around wi’ one business w’at won't pay, an’ tharfore I combined another with mine. er government, gents, in virtue o’ sum obligations w'ich we hed gether, appointed me U. 8. Coroner. I received the ap a as an honor fer ther fee my biographies one the rising generation. arfore, gentlemen, do ye know uv any new cases o’ suisancide or murder, or any defunct bodies I can sit on, and mehr derive my commission from the govern- men ““Guess ye’re bound ter be disappointed in thet line, too, Elijer,’’ replied the Annihilator, facetiously. ain’t seen nary a corpuss around loose fer a month o’ Sundays. ‘Spect ef ye — in ther reer eend of Deadwood Dick, tho’, that ye'd be liable ter find suthin’ ter set on, ef it weren't no more’n a dead coyote.”’ . “*Oh! I don’t include the animal kind,” said Elijah, stifiy. ‘‘I deal only with defunct corpses 0’ co)- lateral humans.’ And then he turned and walked out upon the bar, where a hundred or more men were busily e ed with pan and shovel. A laugh of derision followed him, for so green and awkward appeared he, that the risibilities of a saint might have Sane aroused at sight of him. ‘IT tell you what!” said Jim Belmont, to Old Buzzard—now, by his own confession, the veritable Old Avalanche—as the eccentric individual] trampe away, “thet feller is either c an idiot, or iz some sharper in e. I am inclined to the latter theory, for that is all bosh about his being a biogra- her and so forth. I'll bet he can’t his A, B, Son 9 99 “Oh! t marrow o’ ther bone w’at old Joner swallered, thet’s nothin’, Jimsy—absolutely ne more’n a pizmire in an ocean o* merlasses. Once know’d a feller w’at got rich takin’ ther foty °” Soo Injines—fact, by gracious. An’ soon old Stick- in-the-Mud l’arnt the art, an’ lastly, they tuk ther artist’s picter as he war performin’ jimnasticks up OOo) EGomic S