Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 570 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

i/ _ young couple, and the ) have lai ad Camille, the Card Queen. 9 man he had killed, and led him toward the There a young miner took him to the stable for him, as Kingdon said: ‘‘The horse belongs to me and is a good one, for I am the beir of that gentleman.” Then he turned to Isabel, who, in her great joy sprung into his arms, The stentorian voice of Judge Dal was then heard, calling out: ‘*Oh yes! oh yes! oh yes! Come one, come all to witness the marriage of our great citizen, Donald King, to the beautiful Angel of Sports’ Paradise,” A shout answered these words, and the miners rushed to their former stand to witness the cere- mony. - Oh, Donald! have them move the body from sight, for it seems like an ill-omen to have it near us when we are married,” pleaded Isabel, and a number of miners hearing her hastily bore the stranger’s body out of sight, **Come, parson, we are ready for you now,” coolly said Kingdon, while he whispered to the trembling girl at his side not to give way to nervousness, ‘This seems so terrible, Donald, for a mar- riage to follow a death,” she said. ut an impatient gesture from Kingdon, which the parson saw, caused that melancholy looking personage to at once begin the cere- ony. In a bold voice Kingdon answered the ques- tions Parson Prim asked him, while Isabel’s re- sponses were hardly audible, But, amid a silence that_was painful, for the voice of the preacher alone broke it, the cere- mony was performed that made Isabel Drew the wife of aman whose heart was as black with guilt as her own was free from all guile, After the ceremony was over congratulations, rude, rough but honest, were showered upon the best of wishes for future ‘happiness were drank with a will. ach was the courtship and marriage of Isa- ‘bel Drew, born in refinement, reared in luxury and yet left alone in the world to become the wife of a man, who had confessed himself a fugitive from justice, and who was to remain with his young wife a dweller in a wild com- munity. Days passed away and then a letter came from Mrs. Jane Drew, and it was to the effect that regretting the death of ber cousin David, she regretted equally as much that be bad never been confidential toward her, and who his agents or lawyers were she had not the remot- est idea, She would try to discover, however, and in the mean time she could not understand why Isabel preferred to remain in that wild land of the West. At this news Kent Kingdon bit his lips with ‘vexation. What if the law7zers of David Drew could not be found? What if the money in the bank could not be discovered? ln such case he had married a girl who had really nothing. He had bound himself to one whom he could not shake off, He at once decided to make another effort to” find the mines of David Drew and Dan Ken- edy. So he found an excuse to go and look at some siining property offered for sale, and departed alone, Straight to the cabin of David Drew he went, and for several days be remained there, search- ing diligently for any hidden gold and for the min But his search was unavailing, and cursing his ill fortune he returned to Sports’ Paradise to find that another letter bad come from Isabel’s aunt and it told how utterly impossible it was to find out any clew whatever to the attorneys of David Drew. The letter ended as follows: “T really do not believe your father ever gent more money East than you received, and what you d by here in bank, some fifteen hundred dollars, is about all your inheritanc®, So you had better return and enter upon some kind of work for you know my means are not large, Isabel; an my son Frank’s wild escapades draw heavily upon “What on earth you are doing among miners and such beings as you meet there I cannot under- stand; but if you theet some miner, young or old, who has found a fortune, you had better marry »* bim, for your prett ou a husband.” pretty face will readily secure Y Such was the unfeeling letter of Mrs. Drew, and Isabel shed bitter tear as Be. recalled how utterly alone she was in the world, for already | that looked down upon the mining-camps, and she was inning to discover that her husband | to one side was the miners’ burying-ground. was not all that her husband painted him. Pointing to a large cross, unpainted and rude- He would keep up his gambling, and she soon | ly hewn, but at the head of a grave, the driver discovered that he was known as the Card | asked: ri ‘* Does yer see that monimint, pard?” ** The cross?” ing. He seldom went to bed before two o’clock, ** Jist so,” and was wont to rise at noon, so that she saw little of him. it Cy Then she had been awakened several times at ‘¢ Well, the man as lies under it was kilt by night by shots, and a female servant who acted | Donald King.” as tee maid told her that she heard King had ‘* Killed by him?’ killed a man over a game of cards. ‘‘ Yes, and over a game of cards, This happened several times, and r Isabel “Tt was a fair fight, I guess; but Donald dared not ask him of the truth of the girl’s re- | was too quick on the shoot for my pard, an port, for he had flown into a temper with her | drop him, : when she had done so upon hearing of his hay- ‘Joe was a favorite with all, and so we de- ing. taken a life one night. | cided one afternoon that it was best for Donald ne Sunday afternoon, some six months after nae leave Camp. her marriage, she rode up to the burying-ground ‘‘He were not so easy to persuade as we of Sports’ Paradise accompanied by Kingdon. thought, for it cost another hfe, afore be was The peculiarity of the burying-ground of | our way o’ thinking, and the grave yonder to Sports’ Paradise was that not one-fourth of the | the right was the second one he called to king- number lying there had died a natural death, dom come.” , 5 Three-fourths had been slain in combat, or ‘* Two graves thus far upon his trail I find,” ‘died with their boots on,’ as the miners ex- | muttered the youth. pressed it, and, as appreciation of this fact, to ** Well, Donald King concluded to go when the head-board of each who had so passed in bis | we argyfied with him. checks, was fastened the occupant’s boots, Stopping their horses ata lot of five graves Kingdon said: ** Tsabel, you know whose grave that is?” ** Yes, Donald, it is the grave of the stranger whom you killed on the day of our marriage,” she said, sadly. ‘‘ Yes, Isabel, and the others who lie by his side, five in number, are gentlemen whose life- checks I was forced to call in,” was the grim re- ply of the Card King. sabel turned pale with dread of this, for the words of her husband told her that the midnight shots she had heard, awaking her from sleep, had each one registered a human life called out of. eg by the hand of the man who called er wife, ‘* And the trail that he took?” ‘‘ He went alone across country to strike the lower stage trail to the mining-camps in the val- ley below.” A look of disappointment swept over the face of the youth, and he asked quickly: ** When do you return?” ‘* To-morrow.” ” ao you go anywhere near the other stage trail? ‘‘ 1] goes to the station, where I strikes it.” “T}] return with you,” was the reply, and the next morning when the stage rolled out of the mining-camp the youth was on the box with the loquacious driver. The station where the youth got off was tho one where months ago Kingdon had sold his horse to the agent and met Isabel Drew, the day he had taken Doc Dunning’s coach on to Sports’ Paradise. ; Making inquiries of the station boss, the youth discovered that a man answering to the descrip- tion of Kent Kingdon bad sold his horse there and then gorie on by stage to the walley mining- CHAPTER XV. A STRANGE YOUTH ON THE TRAIL, ‘*-You are quite a young one to be comin’ to these wild parts, bain’t yer?” The question was addressed to a youth of ap- pores eighteen, who sat upon the box of an | verland stage, which was penetrating the fast- | camps. ). ness of a range of mountains one pleasant after- “Tid you learn his name, sir?” asked the noon. youth. ‘Yes. and he’s made it famous along this line, you can bet,” was the reply. ‘‘ Ah! in what way?” The station agent then told all he knew about Donald King, und how he had proven himself a hero in the attack of the road-agents on the stage-coach. ‘“Do you see that grave up yonder on the slope young pard?”’ he asked. te es » | The one who spoke was tbe driver of the coach, and he looked with considerable interest vpon the youth, who was a handsome, sad-faced fellow with the look of one who was utterly fearless, “Tl am young, yes, but I am going to the mining-camps to seek one whom Lam most anx- ious to find,” was the answer. ‘‘ Father, maybe?” sé No ” “ Brother?” “Well, that’s his coma for a road-agent ‘‘No, but one whom I am most anxious to | occupies that dirt-cabin who tried to stop him discover.” alone on the trail one day, and got left,” ‘¢ Graves. graves mark the path of tbat man, wherever I follow him,” muttered the youth, and the agent continued: ‘* As you go on, Kit Curley, whose coach will be in soon, will show you where the Overland toll-gatherers buried the two men whom the Card King kilt.” “The Card King?” ** ‘Yas, for that’s what they calls him now,” “And why?” “Well, because he always plays a winning game of cards, and you bet nobody wants to accuse him of cheating, for it isn’t healthy to do SO, as some down in Sports’ Paradise has found out.” ‘‘ He has killed men there too?” ‘Well, he has, and Kit Curley can tell you, “ Give me his handle and maybe I can help ou.” es His name is Kent Kingdon.” ** Never heard o’ him.” ** You know the camps well?” ‘Every one o’ them up in these parts.” ** And you know of no such man?” **T doesn’t,” y He might go under another name,” “That may be, ’specially if he’s run away from the law. ‘* What kind o’ fellow is he?” ‘‘A tall man, with broad shoulders, splen- didly formed and remarkably strong, carrying himself like a soldier, ‘‘He always dressed well, was a dead shot, a good card-player, rode like an Indian and bad a face handsome as a Woman’s.” for he knows him well.” . “Dark hair and eyes?” ‘¢ And he’s in Sports’ Paradise now?” ‘“‘ Yes, and wonderfully fine eyes.” “You bet, young fellow, he’s there large as ‘There was a man in these parts some months | life and twice as natural; but there sounds the ago who was the very pictur’ o’ the one you | stage horn,” and to the ears of the youth came describe, young pard.” the sound of a bugle s notes, ; “A young man?” Soon after the stage came in sightand Kit “ Yas, hardly over twenty-five, I should say.” | Curley sprung from the box as he drew rein be- ** ‘What was his name?”. : fore the station. ** He called himself Donald King.” “One passenger for yer, Kit, and he’s a hand- The youth started, and then muttered to him- | some boy to be in these parts.” self; ‘“‘ What’s yer name, young fellow?” ‘* Donald King—King-don—a syllable of each Pog name is Kent King, was the hesitating name, reply. | ‘Tt must be he, for who else would be like ‘I guess you’re lying, young perd; but it bim,” don’t matter what’s yer bandle in these parts,’ Then aloud he asked: so let me introduce you to the bors driver on the ** Ts he not in the camps now?” | line, Kit Curley, and you goes with him through radise. 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