Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 597 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

Kennerley would save me, but her father was already a bankrupt, and so sought to catch me, for you had no money, I believe. ‘‘ T supposed that you had married her, and the fact of my name being in the marriage notice was a mistake, and I learned that her fatber had nothing. ‘* Now, as she loved you, and did not marry you, and did not become my wife either, Ill gamble heavily upon it that she is still unmar- ried, and, ri she must now be verging along toward forty, 1 shall make her my wife. ‘If she has married, why Ill make a widow of her and make her my wife anyhow, forIam no longer @ poor man now, and she does not know about my forgery, as I learned only lately that my uncle paid the note I forged his name to, and so saved the honor of our family, and no one knows, except yourself, that Gale Davenport is the Black Beaver Cap- tain Brandt.” ‘* T know, and do you think for one moment I will allow you to wed that lovely woman?” ** You know, yes, Dillon Dumont; but, as I said, you are at my mercy. ‘* Hold! let me tell you that I sent a man to inveigle your cowboys into a trap, and your home is now surrounded by a score of my Black Bravos, while you have only half a dozen peon slaves to depend upon, and half of these are wo- anen, ‘¢ But, bad as men say I am, Dillon Dumont, I am not one to kill an old friend mercilessly, so I have a proposition to make to you.” ** Well, sir.” ‘* You have won quite a name as a brave sol- dier and daring leader of rangers, so you must bean expert with the revolver, and so I chal- lenge you to meet me in mortal combat.” ‘*Gladly, when and where you will.” ‘‘ Well, [appear only by night, for my deeds are deeds of darkness, and in daytime no one ever sees a Black Bravo abroad, as you have doubtless heard.” ‘*T have heard so.” ** Well, by dawn we must hunt a hiding-place, so what we do must be done to-night.” “Yes,” “TItis brigbt moonlight, and we can adjourn to tha brook, down by the grave of your Mexi- can wife,” ‘*T am ready, I said.” ‘** 1 will bave to trust you, of course.” ‘In what way?” ‘*T will let you have a revolver, and, if you wanted, you might take me at a disadvantage.” ‘‘Tf [ was lost to all sense of honor it might be so.” . ‘*T said I would trust you, and I will. *“ But let me say that if you kill me, of course you are at liberty to go north and look up an old sweetheart. “*T will call my men, or at least one of them, and instruct him that he is to come to the grave in half an hour, and if he finds me there dead, he is to withdraw my Bravos and leave you un- molested.” “Tf I fall?” ‘‘ Why, in that event I shall claim your prop- erty as my own, and will go and marry our old sweetheart, Kate Kenunerley.” ‘< Villain! Heaven will nerve my arm to take your life, for you are a blot upon the earth!” ‘*It may be so, Dillon Dumont, but I take the chance, as you see.” ** You are in earnest?” ‘* Certainly.” : . I had no idea that you had that much honor eft.’ ‘*Oh, yes; so get your favorite pistol, and let us no longer delay.” The ranchero hastily buckled on his belt of arms, and said: ‘*T am ready.” ‘“‘Have you no desire to write some parting instructions?” “y No, for I believe I will be the one to kill ou, ‘** As you please; so let us go.” They left the room together, the Black Bravo again tucking up his hair under his hat, and re- suming his mask, As they reached the grounds, a short distance from the cabin, Brandt, the Black Bravo, took from his belt a small whistle, and gave one sbarp, shrill blast, Ip a short while a man was seen approaching, mounted, and leading a riderless horse. The horseman was dressed as his chief, in black, and wore a mask, He halted near, and saluted as a soldier might have done. The chief stepped toward him, said a few words in a low tone, and the man rode off at The Young Texan Detective. cs Se eee a canter, still leading the riderless horse, which was splendidly caparisoned. It was evidently the chief’s steed. The moon was at its full and sbone as bright as day almost, Down the path the two went, side by side, and neitber uttering a word. They descended the hill to the glen, and stood by the graves of the Mexican wife and her father, A stream of moonlight came through the trees just then and illumined the spot so that all was Lrigbtly visible. ‘* Step off the paces, please, Colonel Dumont,” said the Black Bravo, This the ranchero did, and the spots were marked at either end. ** We are to stand back to back, count togeth- er each step, and at five wheel and fire,” said the chief, ‘*That suits me, sir, and if your twinge of honor does not fail you, it will be as fair for me as for you.” ‘** You doubt me, I see; but I will play fair. ‘* Are you ready?” ‘* 7 am,” Colonel Dumont took his stand, facing the grave of his wife, and his five steps would bring him to it. The chief also took his position, and back to back the two stood, At the word ‘‘one” the Black Bravo and the ranchero stepped off to march the five fatal steps, and as they turned there came the sharp report of a rifle from the hillside, and Colonel Dumont sunk in his tracks. CHAPTER IV. THE RETURN. Across the moonlit prairie a horseman was riding, following no defined trail, yet going for- ward as unerringly as though in no doubt about his way. He was well mounted, though his horse seem- ed fatigued from a long ride, and his equipments were of the best, for the moon shone with un- clouded brilliancy and revealed all with distinct- ness, He was a youth of seventeen, perhaps, yet had the form and face of a man, so appeared older, and a fatigue uniform that he wore fitted his fine figure to perfection. A belt encircled his waist, and at his back swung a repeating rifle. It was about the hour of midnight, and he was heading toward a distant hill that rose above the surrounding prairie, and half around which ran a stream of water that glistened like silver in the moonlight. Suddenly he drew rein, for from the distant hill there flashed up a red flame. ‘‘Whatcan it mean?’ broke from the lips of the youth. But he was not left long in doubt, for again the red flame shot upward and did not disap- pear, ‘‘The cabin is on fire!” he fairly shouted, and he urged his horse into a rapid gallop. Then, here, there upon the wooded hill, shot be other flames, until balf a dozen were visi- e, “That is no accidental fire, but the work of red-skins or Mexican raiders,” he criec, as he urged his tired horse into a run, e was yet miles away, and he felt that his horse, though willing, after a hard ride of two days could not stand the pace he kept him at, ‘hen, too, he realized that the red’work of the raiders, or red-skins, was already accom- plished, and if tha ranchero, his cowboys and the servants could not whip off the enemy it would be madness for him to attempt to do so single-handed. The horseman was Edgar Dumont, the Young Texan, returning to his home after a year at the Military Academy in the North, | He had anticipated a delightful vacation with his father, hunting, fishing and enjoying the wild life he loved so well. He came in sight of Ranger’s Rest to find it in flames, Most men of his fearless nature would have dashed right on, reckless of consequences: but his early training had taught him with his cour- age, that caution also wins, and if the raiders had destroyed his home, then to dash in up- on them would be to sacrifice bis own life and thus prevent future work to avenge. So, after reaching within a mile of the ranch, he drew his horse down to a halt, moved his } repeating rifle around ready for use, saw that his revolvers were within easy grasp, and then rode on more cautiously, approaching not by the regular trail that he had crossed, but head- ing to the right to gain the cover of the timber ‘an orphan, 3 at another point, where he would not be likely to run upon a sentinel of the enemy. He saw that the main cabin, his home, the kitchen and servants’ quarters, the cowboys”’cab- ins and all bad Leen set on fire. The timber shielded them in part from his view, but he knew the location of each so well he was aware that not a building had been spared. W hat fate had been his father’s he could only guess, but he hoped that he was absent, and had thus escaped, for he felt sure that the raiders cp rk in large force to accomplish what they ad, Not a cowboy had he met, and the cattle wont to be upon the prairie were nowhere visible, and this also led him to think that ingen a: had called his father and the men away frem home. At length he reached the stream, rode across and was ip the timber on the sloping billside, No sound, save the crackling of the flames, came to his*ears. All was silent as the grave, so that he rode slowly around the base of the hill. He well knew that he must soon come upon @ spot sacred to him, for there, but a short dis- tance away, was his mother’s grave, The light from the still burning cabins gave a red glare through tie timber, but he was sure that the raiders had finished their work and gone, or else he would hear their voices, Soon he came to a halt and dismounted. His faithful horse stood awaiting, pantin , with his bard run, while his rider went forward, There before bim, just in the shadow, shielded from the moonlight by the trees, and from the red glare of the burning cabins by the bill, was his mother’s grave, But he halted quickly and an exclamation broke from his lips, as he beheld a dark form lying half across it, the head resting upon the mound, Then he sprung forward and dropped upon bis knees by the side of the form. For the moment the one beneath the sod was forgotten, while from the lips of Edgar Dumont, ¥¢ broke the ery in a tone of bitterest anguish: ‘“ My father! Yes, and murdered here |” The young Texan had returned to find himself omeless and alone in the world, CHAPTER V. ON THE TRACK, Ir was a long time before Edgar Dumont could regain his self-control. His personal danger and all else were forgot- ten, for he knelt by the side of his dead father, and there, within a few feet of him, was the grave of his mother, At last the youth gained control of himself and rose to his feet. He observed that his father had a wound in the back of his head. Had he been followed to the grave and slain . there? All his thoughts were in a chaos, and for some time he could not collect himself sufficiently to act. Then he fastened his horse and went on foot up the path to the top of the bill. His rifle was ready for use, and his face was set with a look of resolve that boded no good to any one whom he reight nieet, . ut he saw no one, and the large cabin was still burning brightly so as to shed a hghbt all around, The other cabins, the smaller ones, gave a glow about them that gave him a view of the entire summit of the hill. But not a human being was visible. From tree to tree he made his way until at last he stood near the cabin, as near as the heat would allow him to approach. The flower-garden his mother bad planted was destroyed, and that the house had been sacked, there was evidence upon every side, for broken furniture and many things tbat could not be carried off, lay about brokep and destroyed. From the cabin the youth made his way te the burning home of the servants, and there a sad sizht met his eyes, for there lay the bodies of the slain peons who had’ been so faithful to his parents and to him. A groan fell upon his ears, and he sprung to he the side of an old peon who lay against a tree which half supported him, ‘‘ Merida, speak tome! 1 am Senor Edgar.” He bent over the old man, whose eyes slowly opened, and the lips parting the words came ne with an effort: vid ‘‘You are the Senor Edgar, and you have Se grown to be such a man, een , is | — P ‘ a , M4 . ie - } . » ¥ 1. ae + 5 - air. ¢ ‘ i of ; | ' Wa ! 4 ’ ~ i ‘ ba 4 ! ; fs } ; @ (ey @) ) Ss 1 | ; ¥ a Phe mae = oo | ON | | * Be hw . t ~ s—