Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 630 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

\ 4 Deadwood Dick Jr. in No-Man’s Land. ‘Well, sir, how much do you want to back the man’s opinion for?” ‘* Any amount you like!” ‘‘Make it another thousand, then, even _ money!” ‘‘Correct. Where will we find your stake- holder?” To the evident surprise of all, the man re- quired suddenly appeared. The door opened, and therein entered Jim Lane, the marshal, and—Golconda, the Gladiator. CHAPTER IV. THE BLIND MAN. AsovuTt a mile from Beaver begins a lon narrow gulch, which runs southward, unti it crosses the line into Texas. Thoughout all No-Man’s Land, there is scarcely a more undesirable place to travel, especially at night. On the night which opens our story, a man was slowly picking his way through this gulch, in the neighborhood of and to- ward Beaver City. He walked with two stout canes, and came from Texas-way. Aithough the distance is long, he had evidently succeeded in covering the most of it on foot, for his shoes were badly dilapi- dated, and his garments once of costly tex- ture were well worn and much the worse for the raging storm. This strange traveler in a comparatively unknown land, and who had threaded this Jabyrinthian passage for many a mile, was totally blind! His only guide was his sticks, anda few directions he had received on the way, at an occasional cabin. ‘*He was a man of about forty-five, with aonce muscular but, now, bent figure, and with a kindly expressioned face, what could be seen of it, from his broad-brim hat down to his immense long black beard. Something in his appearance indicated that he had seen better days, and was no ordinary tramp. The night was one of the worst ever known in that usually mild Jatitude—rain, sleet, then snow, and more freezing rain, as- sisted by a fierce, howling ‘‘ norther”—the traveler’s and rancher’s dread. Finally when within but two miles of Beaver City, where he began te catch the breeze that swept over the hills and meadows of buffalo grass, he sunk down a mass of rain-soaked, almost frozen, humanity. ‘My God! I can go no further!” he moan- ed. ‘‘ Must it come to this, that I must per- ish, without finding here what I came for— here in this wild country? They’re here— he’s here, and she’s here, but, oh! Good Master, I have not strength to reach the place, when I, old Scott Anderson, can place millions in her hands. And Pryer and the Injun know it—that the mortgage is due to- morrow at sunset. Oh! m God Gracious Creator, must I, a poor sightless human be- ing, perish here in this manner? Have mercy! Let me release Birdie, and then I will willingly die, Why did I leave that man who said he was a detective? I\ would not believe him then, but Iwas wrong. I left him, but he said, ‘ You remain here, and I'll find your daughter if your story is cor- rect.’ But even then I was disinclined to believe him. Oh! I want to get to Beaver City so bad, to make my will, so that if this man Bristol is true to his word, my child will know all and have the money!” The old man tried then to rise, but fell back prostrate. ‘*Yes, it’s death this time, sure. God have mercy on my soul! IJ was never a sin- ful man, and have borne my affliction like a true Christian. Thus I will die. Oh, my child, 1 shall never meet you, much less see you!” a then turned over, face to the earth, to e. ' But that was not destined to be his fate, There wasaslish-slash of horse’s feet in the slush; then a scared horse came to a halt where the blind man had sunk down. Ina moment a lithe, girlish figure, clad in semi- male attire, slipped from the saddle. ‘‘My God! is he dead?” she asked. She was strong, though by no means a tall or heavily built person, but with wondrous nerve ide effort she at last had the old man laid across her saddle, and then went on to- ward Beaver City with her wholly uncon- scious charge. The girl who had rescued him was the Singing Bird! CHAPTER V. THE BLIND MAN’S INQUIRIES. Tue Singing Bird and Golconda were ex- ert riders, hunters and trapppers, and what ittle time they spent out of the saddle was mostly spent in exercise that develope strength and agility. : Straight to her own sod-house in Beaver City she brought the stranger, who was stil! unconscious, and laid him out upon her own bed with as much apparent ease as if he had been a child. Then she went out and put away her horse in a queer extension of this old building, after which she returned to restore her for- lorn del if possible, to consciousness, Her bed stood near the fireplace, in which she soon hud a cheery fire; and, after divest- ing herself of her own rain-soaked garments for dry attire of her own sex, she proceeded to try to bring the old man to his senses. He was beginning to show signs of return- ing consciousness, as the heat of the fire thawed him out; a little whisky poured down his throat, and a little vial of ammonia beld to his nostrils, soon had the effect to arouse him from his lethargy. ‘‘ Where am I?” he demanded, staring about with his sightless eyes. ‘Oh, you're all safe,” Singing Bird re- plied. ‘‘I found you freezing to death in the snow. Who are you? Can you not see?” ‘‘No, [am blind. I am generally known, in Texas, as Anderson, the blind man. I have never given my real name to any one, since, by a flash of lightning, I became blinded.” ‘‘ And why not?” the Singing Bird asked. ‘* Because, being rich, there were pleuty who were eager to get hold of my money. But ’’— and here the old man emitted a strange laugh—‘‘ but I eluded them! I put away my money, and since have led the life of a blind vagrant, wandering here and there in search of my poor child who was stolen from me—me, a poor afflicted man-—for the sake of getting my money from me. Cruel, was it not?” **Indeed it was! Your real name is not what you are known by?” “No, Let me touch your face, to tell me what your character is, and then, per- haps, since you have saved my life, 1 will be able to tell you more of myself.” ‘* How so?” ‘* Because, though the blind cannot see, their touch tells much. If you will permit me, I can very nearly describe you after shak- ing hands with you and passing my hand over your face,” ‘*] don’t believe it. Here’s my hand. What do you make out of that?” The blind man with an effort sat up on the bed. ‘‘Give me the other land—your right one!” She gave it to him. He took it in his right, and with the index of his left, he traced a ‘“‘trail” over the palm. | ‘‘Hum!” he said, thoughtfully. ‘‘ What’s your name, my dear friend?” ‘Singing Bird.” ‘*That is red-skin. But you are white!” ‘‘ How do you know?” ‘That don’t matter. The blind have a power of divining things, possessed by none: others of the human race. Let me see. You are between seventeen and eighteen years of age.” ‘Yes. ‘*Dark-brown hair, and complexion very fair?” sé Yes.” ‘‘] thought so. You're no Injun. claims to be your father?” ‘Old Rocks, the Navajo. person who lays claim to me.” The blind man pondered a moment, as if trying to recall his past life. ‘You don’t know his Indian name?” he asked. “‘T think it is like—let me think—some- thing hke Wausauka, but I am not sure.” ‘Do you remember your early youth and where you first lived?” ‘“My first remembrance was among the Navajoes, when they were at war with the Comanches. Then I was but a child, per- haps four years old. Later we moved into the Indian Territory, where 1 was known ag the white squaw, and where I received a. fair education from the Government schools.” ‘‘But, you are no Injun!” “That is not for me to say, because I know nothing of my birth, except what I have told you.” ‘‘ Have you never seen a looking-glass?” Te: ‘* Would to God I could see one. member nothing of your mother?” ‘‘No, or of my father either, unless Olé Rocks is the man. They are the only arents I have ever known—Rocks and isle, who was killed and sealped. There the remembrance of my past ceases, Of the other part of my life, hardly remember, except we were among the Indians.” ‘*Do you remember what your mother, or your supposed mother was like?” ; ‘‘Injun!” Singing Bird said, laconically. ‘‘She was not my mother, and I often told her so, for I had not her nature. She was genuine Injun, and I don’t believe there is any Indian blood in my veins. I am white.” ‘*T believe it. You are white. I knew that the moment I touched your skin.” The blind man was silent for a few min- utes, as if trying to recall memory. ‘* Strange!” he said, at last. ‘‘ And yet—” He did not resume his train of reflections, but continued: ‘‘Is there such a man in this place as Thomas Thornton?” ‘‘ There 1s.” ‘‘ What is his business here—what does he do?” ‘Well, I can’t say as he has got much of a business, In fact, he don’t do anything, himself, except gamble. He always appears to have lots of money though.” The blind man shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh! yes, he’s got the money.” he said, ‘‘but the thing is, how did he git it? Curse him!” ‘‘T don’t know I’m sure how he got it.” ‘‘He robbed me of it, curse him, and I will have my revenge, even if | ama blind man,” Then, after a pause— ‘“‘Yes, Pryer robbed me. But, blind as I am, I will not allow him to beat me. shall know my girl directly; they can’t fool me. Give me more of that whisky. I will pay you well for it, when I get stronger.” ‘When 4 sick stranger comes to¢No- Man’s Land, we don’t make it a practice to charge for drinks, if he has the appearance of a gentleman.” The drink was produced, and soon the old man passed off into semi-sleep, yet muttering— aks ‘‘Singing Bird! My girl’s name was Bir- die. It cannot be possible it is the same.” Who He is the only You re- OM EDOOKS. tl A ig