Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 618 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

| {manded, with a grin. ' -_—_—-—- -—e ‘¢ You had an idea they had taken a skip?” ‘“Yes, Old Zeb is a sly old shark, and yet an unmitigated coward. He covets the dollar, mightily, and as his son Cap has some sugar, nothin’ is more probable than that the old man should covet some of that. In case tat Moore and King made it an object to old Zeb to assist them, he’d be just the man to doit, for he has about as many scru- ples to deter him, as a tiger would have. ‘Will you guide us to the cabin in the hills?” the Bull dog asked. ‘‘ If ye will, [1 pay you well.” ‘Tf you will wait a few minutes, my son will be here, an’ hell go with ye. He’s more used to night skylarkin’, than I am, an’ ain’t afeard of nothin‘!” So they waited. Bob Parsons soon put in an appearance. He was a typical Tennesseean—long, lank and lean, and yet quick of movement. He was introduced to the Bull-dog and Pepper, and then his father said: ‘‘ Well, Bob, these fellers want a guide. D'ye want ter make a little pin-money?” ‘‘ What’s the tariff?” Bob asked. ‘“T’ll give you ten dollars!” the Bull-dog announced. ‘‘ Huh! that’s a lot o’ money. wanter go?” ‘To the cabin of old Zeb King.” Mr. Parsons, Jr., shrugged his ; shoulders, “Ten dollars wouldn’t be much temptation fer me to enter that den,” he declared. ‘‘There’s a tough gang holds out there, and ef ye know when yer hide is safe, you ‘ll steer clear 0’ there!” ‘‘You don’t need go no nearer the place than to point it out to us,” Clincher said. ‘‘For that service I will pay you what I of- fered you.’ ‘‘ Well, under the circumstances, I reckon [ will take the job. Ill go for the hosses,” Bob soon came with the horses, and the trio at once mounted. ** Now be careful an’ keep shady, son,” the elder Parsons cautioned. ‘‘Et won’t do fer you to be caught prowlin’ around, ye know.” ‘I know that, dad. I’ll keep to cover as much as I can,” was the reply. ‘‘I’ll be back all right, you can bet.” Where d’ye . CHAPTER XIV. THE LAND OF SILENCE, THE moon had not yet risen when the trio left the planter's house. The stars were out in myriads, wel and served to dispel utter darkness from this land of silence and solitude. Bob Parsons took the lead—the man from Butte and Peter Pepper close at his-heels. The way lay across a rolling stretch of country, unfenced, and for the most part un- cultivated. In many places it was marsby, and much of the time the riders were obliged to follow their guide in single file, At length they began to ascend a range of hills studded with timber that fire had blasted—towering pines and spectral beeches, the former looking like giants of some ante- diluvian period, and the latter like white-clad en hovering about them. The hilly country was not exactly what could be called mountainous, but was rugged and rocky, and scant of vegetation except the gaunt sentinels—the trees. It was indeed a land of silence, for no sounds Were to’be heard, barring the horses’ feet as they crunched over rock and gravel. Not 2 night-bird’s ery, nor even the hoot of an’ owl broke the Monotony. ‘«] wouldn't live in these parts ef they’d ve me ther best farm around here,” the Via dog averred. «Why not, Bull-dogy wr. Pepper de- Ain't gittin’ skeart, be ye?” “Skeart! Well, no. kt would take more ONY _ country than’s layin’ loose ‘round hyer to skeer me, an’ don’t ye fergit that/ But et’s sO infernally quiet an ‘lonesome. Why, even in the wu’st solitudes o’ the West ther’s allus su’thin’ stirrin’, ter make a feller remember the world is still alive an’ kickin’. Out thar a feller is likely to run across a wolf, a red- skin, a b’ar, or now an’ then a rattlesnake. But heer, thar’s nothin’! Even the bushes don’t move, but stand still as if petrified, an’ the moon acts like it had gone on a strike. Darn me, ef this ain’t a d: indy place | for spooks ter hold their political caucusses! ‘**' These hills are what Tennesseans call the Land o’ Silence,” Bob Parsons observed, looking back over his shoulder. ‘‘ Since the fire over here a few years ago, no bird, fowl, insect or animal has been know n to abide around this immeget locality.’ ‘‘Bully fer them!” ejaculated Clincher, with empnasis. ‘‘ They’ve at least got hoss sense,” They toiled on and upward, At last they came to a tiny rivulet, where the horses were allowed to slake their thirst. ‘* By cracky! that is at least one cheerin sight, » the Bull-dog remarked. ‘‘I didn’t know but even the water had taken a march,” ‘*Oh, you'll find it better further on,” Bob said. “Lordy! I hope so. I shall jest git off my hoss and how] ef things git any wuss.” ‘‘Reckon this wouldn’t be much of a place fer shinin’ boots!" the boot artist suggested. ‘If we should run across some 0’ Zeb King’s men, you ‘d find plenty o’ polishin’ to attend to.’ An hour more of toilsome climbing brought them into a live forest of beech and he mlocks and the Bull-dog drew a breath of unmistak- able relief. ‘* Ah! this is more like it,” he said. fur we got to go yet?” ‘‘Not far. Look to your weepons, and be ready to use ’em, if we should be surprised. The chaps who hang out here are hard citi- zens, and ain’t very pertic’ler to havin’ stran- gers nosin’ around, and they don’t know no more about the rules of ettiket than a nigger knows about dickshunary.”’ *'That’s good. I’m neverso much at hum in the front parlor as when I can set my re- volvers barkin’ out opery music, and howlin the chorus!” the Bull- dog asseverated., ‘* How are you fixed for we eapons, both of you?” Parsons demanded, with evident un- easiness. ‘*Pve got two revoly ers as will give a chap the palpitation o’ the heart the minute he sees ‘em!” Clincher announced, ‘* And you, Pepper? “| haven’t any, ‘*That’s bad. ’ ‘* How Well, here, take one of mine. lve got my Winchester rifle, and that’s good for fourteen shots in case of a fight. I’ve also one revolver. Now, re- member; if we're attacked, shoot, and shoot to lay out your man. If you don’ t, we'll git laid out ourselves. These fellers up here are very devils when it comes to a fight.” ‘To you think we'll really hev ter fight ’em?” It was the Bull-dog who asked this. “That depends,” Parsons replied. ‘Tf old Zeb has shet up shop for a time, we pro- bably wor’t have any trouble, If he ain't, and he knows that detectives are prowlin’ around, look out! most likely you were spot- ted the minute you Janded in Rockwood. In that case, communication has reached the gang ere this, and we are liable to run into a hornets’ nest at any moment!’’” ‘That’s purty good logic!” the Bull-dog admitted, ‘“Well, go ahead. If there’s ter be music, I kin how! a solo in ther real Butte a style uv art.” his conversation had taken place at the edge of the forest, where a brief halt had been made. The forest was deng¢ and Deadwood Dick J r. _in Cincinnati, 11 eee aos | “Think vou can find your way?” the Bull-dog asked, anxiously. ‘*Oh! yes. T’ve been’ in these woods be- fore. But, we shall have to dismount, and leave our horses, here.” All dismounted, and the horses were tied to the trees. ‘* S'pose we come back, an’ find the hosses gone?”,suggested Peter. ‘‘ Should we have to frog it back to your dad’s?” “ Reckon we would, sonny.” Peter had no relish for a mishap of this. sort, but he said nothing more. Presumably he wished himself back in Porkopolis with his blacking kit under his atm. They now advanced into the forest, whick was gruesomely lonely and silent. Bob Parsons picked his way with the skill of an experienced woodsman, and Clincher and Pete kept close behind him, for neither was willing to get lost in that dismal local- ity. After atramp of half an hour, they came to the edge of a glade, or clearing into which | the just rising moon now cast a faint light. Here the trio halted. ‘‘Ther’s Zeb’s cabin,” Parsons whispered, pointing to a dimly-visible, long structure of logs, set down in the center of the clearing, a space covering, mayhap, ten acres. No light was ‘visible about the place, nor, was there any perceptible sign of life. 4s Yes s, thet’s Zeb’s,” Parsons continued, ‘an’ they say there’s been more blood spilt. in that den than in any other shebang | in the State. There’s another buildin’, further on. That’s his illicit whisky still. I reckon there ain’t no one tew home!” ‘*Don’t look like!” Clincher replied. ‘‘Howsomedever, theré’s no sayin’, You can’t tell how fur a kangaroo kin jump by the length of his tail. Y ou two remuin here, til 1 come back. I’m goin’ ter reconnoiter. Se ‘*Be careful!” Parsons cautioned. ‘““1’m takin’ the chances,” was the reply. ‘Don’t fret yourselves ‘til ye heer this canine howl; then you’ll know the Butte City Brass: Band has begun to toot!” CHAPTER XV. TO THE RESCUE. THE opening in which Zeb King’s cabin was located was so overgrown with bushes: and weeds that the Bull-dog foresaw a safe cover to the cabin. If there was an ambush in the grim old cabin, he would be able to approach near, if not quite to the structure, without discovery. With the stealth of a cat the man from Montana crept forward, pausing now and then to listen. In the edge of the timber Parsons and Pete were also on the alert, half expecting to soon hear sounds of a fracas in the direction of the: cabin, But they were agreeably disappointed, for in less than an hour the Bull-dog came back. ‘Well, w hat’s ther news?” both Parsons and Pete asked in a breath. ‘*Not much.” was the grim answer. “‘ The shebang is locked up, and the lock is on the outside o’ the door.”’ ‘“‘T was afraid of that, They’ve skedad- dled, jest as my old man prophesied,” Par- sons declared. **1’m not so sure o’ that. I can read signs ekal ter any Injun, an’ I found tracks about. the door as weren 't made more’ na couple o” hours ago, an’ I’ll sw’ar to et,’ ‘* Hum! Which way did they lead?” ‘* Off yander,” and he indicated the dtrec- ‘tion with his forefinger. Parsons reflected. ‘‘That’s in the direction of the distille he said, ‘‘ There is a bare possibility t old Zeb may be there, engaged in singing his still, but I doubt it; Even if he is, it. therefore dark, the branches meeting in a ain't likely he’d leave the captives in the cab~ confused Mass, overhead. in without a guard.” m ee? ei a -, * : ’ poe . re a , : : . 7 ( a | 7 —— al a 9 4 % _* ee