Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 609 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

aera ay 2 cee “Ugly ? Ugly es orriginal sin, thet’s all! Don’t rile *im, boyee!” ‘“* Ketch me /” laughed the youth, with a care- less shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘‘Pve seen this paragon of Yellow Dust—that’s all [ want! No serap, no funeral, if you please!” ‘*‘ Ye’re right, Keene-—an’ ye, too, kid,” inter- polated a husky voice, that of a short, stocky fellow just behind the two. “ Fight shy ov Major Menace!” “Orthodox Pete, the presiding genius of the stage!” exclaimed the youth, half-aloud, as he glanced quickly over his shoulder, ‘‘ Ya-as, Orthodox Pete, leetle sport,” was the response. ‘Ets jest as I told ye down ther Rocky Bar trail ter-day—et must be an old- timer ter do bizness ’ith ther major ’thout burn- in’ his fingers.” “ Thet’s ther straight goods, Pete,” asseverated Old Man Keene, turning until his elbows rested upon the railing of the bar, his sharp tones sinking almost to a whisperas his glittering black eyes shifted to the Jelu’s honestface, “I didn’t kalkilate ter say et n public, but et’s said an’ [’jl stick to et, Ireckon! Nuther uv us keer ter see a likely younker cleaned ov his pile or cut down in ther bloom ov his youth, eh?” ‘J don’t, fer sure! An’ sech a thing might happen, ef ther boyee warn’t warned! Whar e see one ov his imps, look out fer ther devil isself!” Old Man Keene turned pale; but into bis darkly-glittering orbs leaped an ominous light. “*T don’t jest ketch yer drift, Orthodox,” he enunciated, his hands slipping swiftly down upon the butts of his revolvers. ‘‘ Ef ye mean any- thing pussonal—” ‘‘ Thanks, awfully, ye dear ole geese!” broke in the mellow voice of the youth, just then, as he turned from a careless survey of the Monu- mental to face his companions, apparently un- conscious of the portending trouble between them, ‘‘ Thanks, awfully, l say! As if I had a pile, or carried a chip on my shoulder.” ‘‘ Steer cl’ar ov Major Menace an’ ther Monu- mental, anyway, my lad,” advised Orthodox, in steady tones, ‘‘Sech ’sociations es we find hyar aire none too good fer ther toughest ov 13. ‘* Good advice, thet /” Old Man Keene chimed in, with an ill-concealed sneer. ** Good enough, I reckon,” admitted the youth his midnight eyes meeting the crossed orbs of the Jehu with a steady glow. ‘‘Such advice as a father might give to a son, and therefore not to be despised. ‘‘But I must confess that Iam interested in this Major Menace. Whois he? What is he?” ‘‘ Ther devil’s imp—a stony-hearted gambler, ther owner ov ther Monumental,” returned Or- thodox, almost sharply. ‘“‘ Thet is es much es ther most ov us know ov him, Sum’ thar be who c’u'd tell more—ef they dared!” Old Man. Keene turned to the bar and called for a drink. There wasadark look upon his smooth face—a look that boded ill to the out- spoken Jebu, The youth gazed across the room at Major Menace. The gambler was standing at a table, the light above which shone full and clear upon his face. : A strange face—a face once seen not forgotten. The features were without fault; the eyes were a deep, dark-blue; hair and mustaches, jet-black and curling; but the skin was a dead-white bue; the smile upon the thin lips was a wolfish one; and below the left eye was a livid X-shapec scar, extending well down into the cheek, The major was well-dressed, and well-armed, too, though his weapons were kept out of sight except when in actual use, But, neither silk hat nor spotless linen, the tailor’s art nor the flash of diamonds, could mask his character; the fellow was a Villain, and there was an intangible something in his visage that at once betrayed the fact. ‘‘Major Menace! An odd cognomen, but well chosen,” mused the youth, ‘‘ Right, lad,” echoed Orthodox, catching the words. ‘ He’sa menace ter ther camp an’ every honest critter in it, An’ he’d ’a’ gone, long ago, but fer his standin’ hand-in-glove with ther Saints—blast ’em!” ‘¢The Mormons, eh?” ‘*A tool fer ’em, pard, es I hes reason ter know,’ was the guarded, yet dogged, reply. ‘© Ask ole Jim—” The Jehu paused; an expectant hush had eome over the crowd—a silence so intense as to render his last three words distinctly audible through- out the room, Just a breath—the keen, pistol-like crack of a whip; then— : @lang {" ‘ = — —$—$—$$$_————————_——— $e } ‘‘ Gee ha-aw! ye mis’abul pirate! Gee ha-aw! or I’ll lash yer measly carcass inter ribbons!” Again the vicious report of the whip rung out, followed this time by a howl of pain, and the swinging door of the Monumental was violently flung open, to admit a singular-looking object. A man—a short, fat, greasy-looking fellow, whose coarse hair and beard were of a tiery*red, shaggy and unkempt; whose nondescript garb hung in tatters. upon his bulky form, covered with clinging particles of earth and reddened in spots by the blood following the strokes of the cruel lash, A tramp—a genuine bum. A few paces behind him, each tugging away at a lariat noosed around the body of bis victim, each plying whip, came two stout fellows, from their dress miners. His blue eyes glowing luridly, his breath es- caping with a, bissing sound, the tramp came to a sudden halt near the centegy of the room, wheeling upon his tormentors with the fierce- ness of a tiger at bay. But he was’ powerless, The lariats held his arms, and bis tormentors circled warily about, pulling bim hither and thither at will, ‘‘ Rico Rube an’ Peet Brown—two ov ther camp’s tougbest,” muttered Orthodox, as the in- mates of the Monumental began to press for- ward. ‘* Mighty leetle show ther pore devil ’ill git fer his white alley!” A peculiar look had crept into the dark, hand- some face of the youth, For just a moment he seemed about to spring forward; then bis ex- pression changed, and he looked inquiringly into the crooked eyes of the Jehu. “Wait!” warned that worthy, with a covert glance over his shoulder at Old Man Keene. “ Bt’s a crooked move—mebbe they’ll flash their hand, by an’ by.” “ Stidd y, critter!” cried the larger of the ruf- fians, Rico Rube, just then, with a savage jerk at his lariat. ‘I kin tell ye yo aire not wanted hyar, an’ I reckon when ye git a leetle reason inter yer noddle ye won’t keer ter tarry. es’ slap yer berderned optics onter that notice ag’in’ ther wall over thar, an’ then say ef ye’ll scoot!” “Slap—nothin’!” panted the tramp, fairly bristling with rage. ‘‘ I’ve squatted in this hyar camp ov Yaller Dust ter stay, an’ et’s nary scoot, ye—” ‘‘Basy, my man!” interrupted Major Menace, softly yet warningly, moving forward at that juncture, ‘* And now, Rube, what’s the trouble?” ‘‘Trouble enough. major!” returned the des- perado, irascibly, ‘Ther critter’s a cussed bum —an’ ye know ther law ov Yaller Dust!” ‘«¢ The heathen Chinee, all bums and tin-horn sports must go,’” greeted the major, from the scrawling notice just beyond bim. ‘‘ But I’m eternally bu’sted ef I’m a Chinee, a bum or a tin-horn sport!” vigorously protested the captive, ‘Pm a thoroughbred red-shirt, with a record runnin’ back ter ther year ‘49, an I’m open ter swing.a pick or swap lead with any galoot yer camp kin scare up,” “Putty durned thin—thet!/” sneered Pete Brown, “Major, we caught ther cuss a-skulkin’ in ther bresh back ov our quarters, an’ et’s dollars ter doughnuts no square man w’u’d be found in sech a pa: arter nightfall!” At this announcement an ominous murmur ran through the Monumental. | “ Looks like a fw’st-class sneak-thief!” Old Man Keene remarked, and the words were ily indorsed by a score utterances of simi- lar purport. ‘‘Go slow, boys!” continued Major Menace with a deprecatory movement of his jeweled hand. ‘*Give the fellow all the show in the world. I reckon he'll quit the camp,” ‘¢7}] do nothin’ ov ther sort!” doggedly assev- erated the captive, glaring fiercely at the white- faced sport. ‘I kem ter stay, an’ I reckon I won’t move!” | ‘Suppose some of you go for Mayor Grim,” sugges the major, glancing over the crowd, ‘Hither he or Marshal Pepper should be able to drill a little horse-sense into this fellow’s noddle,” “ Speak ov ther Old Boy! Thar’s Red Pepper, now,” Peet Brown exclaimed, as a tall, lank individual with red hair and a long beard of like color strode into the room. ‘*Ho, Pepper! Ye’re jest in time! in voice, when Brown had finished, Hyer’s a case fer ye, an’ don’t ye fergit et!” and the desperado hastily narrated the event of the even- g, ‘ An’ ther critter sw’ars he won’t budge, eh?” exclaimed Marshal Pepper, in a shrill, rasping Bolly Darrit, the Veteran Detective. ee —$—$$— $< —_— a LLL, LLL LLL LLL I I — _ ES LT ‘‘Thet’s wot!” declared Rico Rube, grinning viciously. ‘‘ Mebbe he’d move, though, ef we suv bim a sample ov ther same medicine he’s bin a-takin’.” ‘We'll see,” grunted Pepper, squaring him- self before the captive. “Wot ye got to say fer yerself, critter?” ‘‘Nary scoot!” iterated the bum, sententiously. “Tn down on my luck just now, but lm square. I’ve hoofed et all ther way from 'Krisco, over ther line, an’ Pve made up my mind ter hang up in Yaller Dust jest es long es thar’s an ounce ov silver in her mines, Ye heur me! I’m Ole Bill Williams, I am, an’ I kin swing a pick with ther naixt one!” ‘‘Thet settles it!” Marshal Pepper said, as if thoroughly convinced. ‘Trot im down ther trail a hafe-mile, pards, tech im up a leetle, an’. turn ’im_ loose. f he moseys back ter Yaller Dust, he’l] git w’ot he oughter bev—a rope!” ‘Thet’s ther talk!” exclaimed Rico Rabe, tightening bis grip on the lariat. ‘* lang, critter!” At that instant the youth at the end of the bar threw off Orthodox Pete’s detaining hand, and sprung forward, his hands closing tightly around the butts of the serviceable-looking revolvers at his middle. “Hold!” he cried, balting between Rico Rube and the door. ‘‘Marshal Pepper, ye’re crowd- in’ things with a vengeance! I can tell ye Old Bill Williams is straight goods, an’ I reckon I ought to know!” For just an instant the marshal seemed as- toinded. Then into his bloodshot eyes crept a tiny flame. ‘Oh, he is, is he!” he sneered, blazes aire you?” “Tm called Little Lightning, an’ I can shoot as straight as I can talk!” was the significant reply. * An’ who in CHAPTER II, IN LIMBO. For a monient, the Marshal of Yellow Dust stared in open-mouthed wonder at the bold youth. In the expressive vernacular of the camp, ‘‘ he was knocked all ov a heap.” And the worst of it was, he was completely at a loss how to proceed. “Ther kid is fixed ter ketch ther drop on me, an’ I'll bet a horse he’s ole bizness with his tools!” was the thought-that flashed through the brain of Marshal Pepper. ‘‘ A bluff won’t work —T must try strategy.” “Two ter one on ther bantam!” exclaimed Orthodox Pete, his homely but bonest face aglow with satisfaction, ‘‘Oh, my! but he’s a screamer |” Nor was the Jehu alone in his outspoken ad- miration. After that first faint ripple of astonishment, however, all became silent, and every eye turn- ed to the youthful sport. A dasbing fellow he was, truly, of lithe yet muscular form, with a face dark from long exposure, yet clear and ruddy, smooth and firm, and eyes as black as midnight, hair of jetty hue, long and waving. ; His clothing was of buckskin, fringed and beaded but well worn. A repeating rifle hung at his prose. and in bis girdle rested a brace of heavy revolvers and a bowie. Ali in all, a personage at first glance effemin- ate, yet bold as a lion, with the wariness of a fox. “Some dare-devil young plainsman!” mut- tered Major Menace, his cold_blue eyes turning to the marsha]. ‘* And may I be dashed if Pep- per hasn’t put bis foot in it!” And that worthy, as has been noted, wa painfully aware of the fact. , A full minute passed, duritig which the red- bearded desperado succeeded in partially re- gaining bis equanimity; then the door was opened, and into the Monumental strode no less a personage than Grim—Gideon Grim—mayor of the camp. Ashort, stocky old man, dressed in ministerial but seedy black, and of girth approaching the Falstaffian, was ‘‘ his Honor,” and nis ponneres al beard, and long white bair, bis mild, specta- cled blue eyes and beaming face, lent him an ex- pression most benevolent. “Well not quarrel, Mars Red Pepper, curtly. ‘““Thar’s ther Siri an’ I ae on he kin look inter ther matter, an’ fix et up bout mght. What say?” “ If it suits Bill, itsuits me,” Little Lightning replied laconically. ; f That's ther talk!” cried the bum, with a broad grin. ‘**Lay on Macduff A fair show an’ no favor aire all Bill Williams axes!” younker,” exclaimed ee e ~~", ~~ Ya -