Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 570 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

J ' 5. te ™ ~~ _— =" tA 6 Camille, the Card Queen. It was before noon that he entered the wild mountain canyon where the map showed the cabin to be situated. No other habitation was near, and as he ap- proached a small cabin built at the head of the canyon upon a slope, and under the shelter of overhanging rocks, he was startled by the hoarse barking of a dog. Riding up to the cabin he found the door open, and a huge dog was standing in the door- way. The bark he gave, however, was one of wel- come, rather than anger, and as Kingdon dis- mounted, he came whining to his side, ‘* What isit, old fellow?’ Kingdon said, ina kindly voicc, and he hastily followed the dog into the cabin, Tuere were two rooms within, one used for sleeping, and in it were two beds, the other asa kitchen and sitting-room, and they were by no meuns uncomfortable. Upon one bed Jay a human form, It was of a man passed the meridian of life, with long gray hair and beard anda face that was greatly emaciated. The form was very thin, and the whole indi- oT was that the man was dying, or perhaps dead, » Kingdon hastily approached and bent over 1m. ‘ Then he saw that he was breathing; but the sunken eyes were closed, and that the poor sufferer could not last long was evident. ‘** My friend, wake up and speak to me,” said Kingdon, softly. The eyes slowly opened, and the lips moved, yet no sound came from them, ‘** You are David Drew, are you not?” There was a movement of the head, as though to answer in the affirmative, but there came no word from the lips. Going to his waiting horse, Kingdon took from his saddle a flask of ‘brandy. It was full, showing that he had not tasted it himself. Placing a small! quantity in a tin cup of fresh water, from the brook near by, be went back ae or cabin and gave it to the dying man to ink, The eyes looked the thanks the lips could not utter, and a wan smile passed over the face. For a moment it seemed as though the dying man would revive and speak; but though the struggle was a hard one, the effort was useless, and the eyes again closed, the breathing became shorter, and the minutes passed slowly by. Not daring to leave the side of the man who was hovering upon the brink of death, fearing that he migbt yet speak to him and betray some secret be longed to know, Kingdon allowed his horse to remain all siddled as he was, and xe close to the bedside. hus the hours passed away, and night came on. About midnight there was a sound of hoarse breathing from the lips of David Drew, and soon aiter the eyes opened and were fixed upon the face of Kent Kingdon, It was a beseeching, longing look, and the lips quivered nervously. But it was the last look upon the earth David Drew ever gave, as a moment after the eyes closed forever under the seal of death that was set upon them. CHAPTER IX. TOLD BY LYING LIPS. For some moments did Kent Kingdon stand regarding the dead man, and a look of cruel dis- appointment wus upon his face, ‘*T should have been sooner, for then he would have told me all ‘* But now, Kennedy’s lips are sealed, as well as David Drew’s,” and I may not be able to dis- cover all that I should know, ** But a search to-morrow may reveal all, ** Now I will seek the rest I need.” Going out of the cabin he unsaddled his patient horse and staked him out to feed, and then threw several large logs upon the fire to give a bright light in the cabin, for the spot was a eka one, the scene calculated to impress one exply. Making up a bed of blankets in the other room he sought rest; but his dreams were dis- tursbed, aud the howling of the dog, who seemed to know. that his rnaster was dead, was certainly not calculated to soothe the stumbers of a man ‘ whose conscience held the secrets that were in the brain and heart of Kent Kingdon, Rising early he found that it had come on'to storm and the day was scarcely less gloomy than the night. But he went forth to dig a grave and selected a pretty spot near a lofty tree upon the banks of the brook. The body was then wrapped in furs and placed in the grave, and into the smooth bark of the tree Kingdon cut with skillful hand the name and date of death of the dead man. Then he made a thorough search of the cabin, hoping to find gold. And gold he did find, but only a few hundreds worth of the precious dust tied up in a bag. If there was more, if there were papers of value he could not find them; but he had taken watch and ring from the body before he buried it, and these he knew would be proof of the fact that David Drew was dead, for the letter writ- ten to Isabel he cared not to show. That night the storm increased in fury, and the rain descended in torrents until after dawn, and Kent Kingdon bitterly cursed the elements, as he knew'that any trace of a trail to the gold mine would be washed out, so as to be beyond the finding of a man who had no idea of its locality, ’ ‘* Isabel will know the name of tbe lawyers, so I will not worry,” he said after awhile. ‘*T will try and find the mine, not only Drew’s, but Kennedy’s and if I cannot, the money in the banks will be a handsome sum. **['ll marry the girl, and then pretend to find this letter, so that she can go East and see-the attorneys and get the money. ‘With what I yot from the miner Kennedy, have found here and the ten thousand in the stage coach treasure-box I[ have hidden awa near the Overland Trail, I will not he so bad off, and what Drew has left in the banks for his daughter will make me rich,so I will not se ;’ be said in his grim way of musing alou The search the next day for the mines was fruitless, He could find no ‘trace of a trail leading from the cabin in any direction, and he was forced to give up the bunt, Closing the cabin securely be mounted his horse and started upon the trail back to Sports’ Paradise, On the way he went to where he had hidden the treasure-bags taken from the coach, and these he carried with him, timing his arrival at the Flush Hotel so as to reach there late at a, Pr ndlord Dalrymple was just retiring, and said quickly: ‘* Glad to see you back, pard, ** Any news for the girl!” ‘sé Yes.” ‘* Indeed I am glad. for her sake, as she is the sweetest girl I ever saw.” ‘*T found her father working in the moun- tains, and I'll take her to him to-morrow; but I am awful tired, so will go to my room,” and he made his way there, hiding his gold beneath his blankets and traps. The next day he sought Isabel and after her warm greeting of him said: ‘* Miss Isabel, are you ready for a trip into the mountains!” ‘* Yes, indeed, for your face tells me you have news for me,” she replied eagerly. **T have; but I will only say how that I have found the dwelling place of your father, and I will take you there. ‘*We will start at dawn to-morrow, so as to go there in one day.” The maiden was rejoiced and thanked bim ver and over again, and, bright and early the €cttowing morning was ready to start, - Kingdon took a pack-horse along with them, to carry what they would need, as they said they would doubtless be away for some days, and they started off together just as the east was growing crimson under the approach of the sun. The ride was a long one, and a hard one; but Isabel was hopeful of soon seeing ber father, and said over and over again that she felt no fatigue. She was anxious to know all about her father, and huw Kingdon had discovered him; but he said that he would only tell her all when they drew near the cabin, Late io the afternoon he halted and said: ‘* Miss Isabel, I will now tell you just bow I found your father, and it was by the merest ac- cident, as you will see, “TI went to a mining-camp where, just before my arrival, there had been a fight, and @ man was fatally wounded, “T knew the man, and his name was Dan Kennedy, and he told me that he was on bis way to the East to find a young lady and fetch her back with him. ** He said that be bad a partner in the moun- tains, and that it was his daughter that he was going after; for his comrade was & very sick man.” ‘‘Did you say that his name was Dan Ken- nedy, Mr, King?” asked Isabel. sé Yes,” ‘‘ My father’s mining-partner was named Dam Kennedy.” ‘“You are right, for he was the man, and your father wa; very ill, for be told me that he was goihg to Ogdensburg, New York State, to seek you, and fetch ycu to your father, who, I regret to say, was dying.” A groan came from the tightly-closed lips of the maiden, and she seemed unable to speak, but looked at the man as though beseeching him to tell her more. ‘“T regret to say,” continued Kingdon, “‘ that. before Kennedy could tell me) much more he died; but he told me how to find the cabin in the mountains, and thither I went, as soon as I had decently buried the old miner.” ‘‘ And my father?” ‘‘T found him, as Kennedy had said, dying.” Isabel Drew bowed her head in silence, while: her form quivered with emotion. ‘““T would suffer any sorrow, Miss Isabel, rather than inflict suffering upon you, and—” ‘* My father is dead?” she gasped. Yes,” ‘*T feared it; but tell me all” ‘*T found him dying, and almost gone; but I revived him with a little brandy, and told bim how I had met Kennedy and that you were then at Sports’ Paradise. ‘Wor awhile I thought he would rally, and that I could go and fetch you to him; but the improvement was but momentary, and he was on y able to ask me to fetch you to his grave, and to give into your hands his belongings, while I must tell you that his attorneys, whose names he did not tell me, held for you certain money, as you were his heiress. ‘‘T stood by his bedside, Miss Isabel, until he died, and with his last breath he bade me be as a brother to you, and I so pledged myself to be. ‘*Tbus he died, with my hand clasping his, and the next day I buried him near his cabin. ‘‘ Locking up his little home, and leaving his dog inside, for I left food for him, I at once re- turned to tell you all and to fetch you to the spot where he had so long dwelt. ‘* See, bere are his watch and ring each bear- ing his name, and all else that he left is in the cabin and belongs to you.” She beld ont ber band in silence, and too much overcome to speak, rode on with Kent Kingdon to the home of her dead father. CHAPTER X. : THE PLEDGE. THE sun was yet an hour high when Kent Kingdon and his fair companion came in sight of the canyon, in the upper end_of which was the home of the dead miners Drew and Ken- ney, For years had Isabel Drew been separated from her father, in fact she bad not seen him since she was a young girl. Then, too, his letters had been few and far be- tween, and hence her love for him was not as deep as though they had been constantly to- ether, 5 . Dear to her he was, and she had looked for- ward to their being happy in their own home together in the future, for she knew, from his letters that be was prospering. : Finisbing school, and alarmed regarding his health, she bad boldly taken the long, and dan- gerous trip to the frontier to hunt bim up. But she had come too late, and bad to mourn him dead. Her cousin, Jane Drew whom she called ‘* Auntie,” as she was a woman of middle age, she did not particularly like, and, excepting a few school friends she had no dear ties and felt utterly alone in the world. Under such circumstances it was not to be wondered at that she clung to Kent Kingdon as the one nearest and dearest to ber, She had been struck with his splendid ap- pearance when he bad raised his hat to her, that day of their meeting at the stage station. ie had afterward proven himeelf such a hero was so different from the beaux whom she bad met, was so kind to her, gentle as a woman, brave as a lion, that she had found herself fall- ing desperately in love with him. Then being thrown together as they were his having heard, as he said, the last words 0 her dying father, made him still dearer to ber and when she dismounted at the cabin and he her to the grave, above which was the inscription. ~’ & : ae rs —_— “ose — 9000ksS.cOoOm |