Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 630 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

pe sadwood Dick Jr. in No-Man’s Land. gun is his own jaw-giver; it isa place of refuge for criminals and’scalawags who find the States too warm for them; and, as a whole, is just the region for a man to visit who wants to wake up some morning and find himself over the border in spirit-land, And yet, for all this, there are homes in No-Man’s Land, families of respectability, ; that forma pleasant society among them- i selves, exclusive of the rougher element; but these homes, as a rale, have a few re- peating-rifles in the house in case of emer- gency. The principal town in this neutral terri- tory is Beaver City, on the Beaver River. t ig much the same as all far-Western towns —rough-and-ready made, populated by a heterogeneous -class of mortals, and comprising about seven hundred souls, whose chief occupation is farming. The products of No-Man’s Land, whether it be agricultural products or stock, seldom get beyond its borders. A man takes up aclaim, and incase no other man comes along who wants the claim and is able to enforce his desire for posses- sion, the original claimant is ‘‘ solid.” Visitors from the States are not looked upon with any particular favor by the rough element, and consequently there are frequent “*scrimmages ” and loss of life. The expression which opens our story was uttered one wild, rainy night, in Tim Hale’s place in Beaver City. It may be well to add right here that a great many of the resorts of Beaver City are built of sod, especially the houses used as dwellings. To be sure there are a number of rough frame structures on Douglass avenue, the principal street of the town, but they are in the minority, and mostly used for business purposes, such as supply stores, saloons, gaming, and dance-houses. Tim Hale’s place was partly a dug-out in the hillside, and partly constructed of poles and sod. It consisted of one room, which comprised bar-room, parlor and sleeping-room, had a floor of unplained boards, a few improvised tables and stools, an apology for a bed, and « big cupboard wherein Tim kept his cook- ing utensils, with which he furnished his own “grub,” and the villainous whisky with which he served his customers. The night that opens our story was one of the worst known in No-Man’s Land, for years. The wind blew a very hurricane, and carried with it torrents of rain. It was in- tensely dark, and no one thought of being abroad, who could reasonably help it. Con- sequently, Tim Hale’s dug-out, had its usual complement of patrons, who were gathered around the fire-place, where a roaring fire ‘was blazing. They were the scum of Beaver City, these men, bad to the core, and ready, at a mo- ment’s notice, for any act of violence. There were Jim Oaks, Pete McCann, Jeff Oliver, Hank Hooper, Old Rocks, and Tom Heep, all known NB caver as the Big Six. They were likewise known to be thorough- bred desperadoes, and their acquaintance was little sought after by any of the reputa- ble citizens. : , Jim Oaks was the acknowledged leader of this gang—a big, six-foot ruffian, who made his brag that he had killed a dozen men, and . that his heart was as black as his beard. It ‘was he who had made the remark, which opens our story. ‘‘Yas, et be a tough night,” reiterated Tim Hale, who had just served a round of drinks and ‘‘chalked it down on the slate,” until the gang made a haul. ‘‘ Reckon thar ain’t mtieh doin’ round town, to night.” ‘Well, no, ’cept drinkin’ whisky,” Oaks replied, grimly. . ‘“’'Thar’s a party over at Thornton’s!” vol- unteered Jeff Oliver, a diminutive individual, red-bearded, and cross-eyed, who looked as if he had never had enough to eat, ‘“To blazes with Thornton and his party!” growled Oaks. ‘‘ Et don’t dous galoots any good. What I want to see is some feller with a fat pocket-book come along. Et’s been two weeks sence a stranger showed up heer in Beaver, as was wu’th pluckin’!” ‘* That’s so,” assented Tom Heep. ‘‘ Things begin to look desprit.” ‘‘Guess we'll have to make a descent on old Tom Thornton!” suggested Jeff Oliver. ‘Not much!” Oaks replied, in disgust. ‘* He’s got a lot o’ money, but he’s got a place fer keepin’ it, you can bet, whar no one will find it but himself. Heven’t we tried the racket, an’ failed?” ‘*Mebbe when the match comes off, to- morrow, he’ll have some dust about him, for there'll be a big crowd in town, an’ there’ll be some lively bettin’!” Hank Hooper sug- gested. _ ‘Pll bet my shirt the contest won’t come off at ail!’ Oaks grunted. ‘There’s not a man in the strip as kin hold a candle to Gol- conda, unless it’s me, and it’s no sure thing I shall enter the contest.” ‘“ Waal, I don’t keer a continental cuss where it comes from,” spoke up Tim Hale; ‘* but, one thing is flat! You-uns must raise me some dust purty quick, or you won't get no more whisky in this place.” “Oh! we won't, hey?’ sneered Oaks. ‘Waal, why not, Mister Hale?” ‘“’Cause there won’t be none to give ye. The bar’l is empty, now, an’ thar ain’t much in the jugs. That’s the how!” “Oh!” Oaks returned, apologetically. ‘‘T didn’t know that. Yes, boys, we must raise the wind to-morrow, somehow, fer et won’t do to be ’thout whisky this kind 0’ weather.” And thus the gang chinned away, as they sat before the leaping blaze on the hearth and drank Tim Hale’s ‘‘benzine” without paying for it. f all the occupants of the dug-out, but one had nothing to say. He maintained a stolid silence, and puffed away at his grimy clay pipe. He was Old Rocks—one of the ‘‘ charac- ters” of Beaver City. CHAPTER IL. THE ARRIVAL OF DICK, OxtpD Rocks, by birth, was a full-blooded Navajo Indian. N aturally treacherous, wily, and vicious, when sober, liquor had the ef- fect of making him lazy, indolent and peace- able. As long as he could get what whisky he wanted, he smoked his pipe in quiet, but shut off his ‘‘ booze” and there was nota more dangerous man in No-Man’s Land. He was a giant in size, a desperate fighter, and a crafty rascal in every respect; there- fore, as he was’ feared by the average citizen of Beaver City, he usually got what drink he wanted, and, as a rule, more than he wanted or could stand. Old Rocks had a family of two children —one a boy and the other a girl. Golconda, «the boy; was in reality a man. He was twenty-three years of age, lighter of complexion than his father, and possessed of a fine physique. In Beaver he was known as Golconda, the Gladiator, and right well he deserved»the title, for, as yet, the man had not appeared who could best him. He was a gréat wrestler, clever boxer, an unerring revolver and rifle-shot, and could wield the sword or throw the spear with the best. BA In fact, having begun his education when but a child, in. athi@tics, he was considered phenomenal. Old Rocks’s daughter, a maiden of eigh- teen, and lithe and agile as a fox, was named Singing Bird, | She possessed a petite, but well-rounded figure; a round, fair countenance of Anglo- Saxon cast, beautiful black eyes, nut-brown hair, rosy lips and cheeks, and pearly teeth that any woman would have envied. Moreover, her complexion was so remark- ably fair, and her features so unlike those of the Indian race, that many had doubts that she was the Navajo’s child. There was no way of verifying this sus- picion, however, for no one knew where the family came from when they located in Beaver, a year before our story, and no one had yet found out. Old Rocks and Golconda always seemed on the best of terms, and Singing Bird never betrayed any ill-feeling toward them. She and Goleonda furnished the family sustenance by their frequent hunting excur- sions, while Old Rocks hung about Tim Hale’s place and guzzled whisky. Work he would not. Finally, the winter which opens our story, approached, and a change came over (@ol- conda and Old Rocks. ' ‘Through some inconceivable..reason, both appeared to be desirous of getting rid of Singing Bird, and of leaving No-Man’s Land. What their idea was they refused to disclose, and finally the matter developed into a mys- Upon top of this came a startling an- nouncement that further increased this mys- tery. It was to the effect that, on a certain day, Golconda would hold a gladiatorial eon- test, and would meet all comers who wished to contest with him in his specialties. The entrance fee was to be: fifty. dollars, and the one grand capital prize was Singing Bird! That man who should succeed in defeating Golconda in each and every one of his gladi- atorial feats, should have Singing Bird, the prettiest maiden.in Beaver City. Attached to this announcement, which was printed on paper, and scattered the length and breadth of No-Man’s Land and into the borders of the States and Territories surrounding it, was a postscript by Singing Bird, by which she agreed to abide by her brother’s arrangements. , As may be supposed, these circulars CPN ated great excitement everywhere they, were distributed, and there promised to be a Jarge crowd present. ‘ A large tent, left in Englewood, Kansas, ° by -a stranded circus company, had been — hired and erected, and everything promised well for a day of excitement on the morrow —for the day following the one which opens our story was the one set for the contest. it And now, having made plain as far as / \ possible the nature of our story, We will re- b UN turn to Tim Hale’s resort. Jim Oaks proposed to be one of the gladi- ator’s contestants, and had already made his deposit of the nimble little fifty dollars.. if uffian though he was, and perfectly fear- * less, he yet feared Golconda, but, for the | sake of winning Singing Bird, he would. at- tempt almost any feat or deed of violence. Ta So would many aman in No-Man’s Land. | | | ‘‘D’ye know, Rocks, how many entries” P| ther’ are for to-morrow?” Oaks demanded, after a silence. ‘‘There’s none as I have heerd of, and I’ve heerd the sheriff say as { how Miss Morey told him that old Thornton : intended to have the Singing Bird. To get hy her he will hey to put a Jim-dandy in the field!” ’ ‘‘And yecan bet yer life that when he puts upaman, Tom Thornton is going to | enter one who will win him the 8!” “What?” asked Old Rocks, for the first ‘ | — ~ >, time speaking. ‘‘Thornton take girl? Thornton never get girl, never get girl, un- less he fight my son for hex.” Heep laughed. “Thornton won't fight,” he said, ‘‘ but he will have some one to help him, Just the same. I hev heerd he has sent for big ’Lige, but can’t vouch for the truth of et.” — ‘‘Thornton kin fight a little bit himself,” remarked Oaks, ‘‘A man who has been through the experience he has ought to be able to handle himself. Why, he threw Jim Lane, the sheriff, with hardly a struggle, ee ee (GO OKO) oO} _— Eo)