Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 708 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

2 making a colander of those clouds overbead, and you—shall I use you to mop up the earth with, Lemuel Claybank?” ‘* De good Lawd!” ‘‘ Exactly! Then buckle down to work, else our supper-dishes will get washed before we have time to soil them, What's in the larder, Lem?” ] ‘*De lard, boss?” ‘“VYou’re two-thirds right, and that’s a vast improvement over your usual score, Lemuel. Trough I view such a prospect with the deepest melancholy, and would gladly give all my old boots could [only coax, trick or scare you into conseuting to a divorce from my bed, board and society, Claybank, I really velieve that with six months more of my training, you would grow actually wise. Not handsome, Lemuel! One has to draw the line somewhere, and—to be con- tinned!” Breaking off abruptly, Light-heart Lute sprung forward to examine several flat stones ae lying at no great distance, the arrangement of which had caught his keen glance, The smoke-blackened edges, and the layer of soft ashes within, told a story too plain for mis- taking: and even as he thrust a hand into the rude fireplace, Luther Larrimer cast a swift, suspicious glance around, like one who more a half-expects to sight unwelcome neigh- ors, The ashes were cold, and no trace of heat lingered in the stones, other than the warmth borrowed from the sun itself. No rain had fallen in that region for days back, and 8 aig Lute knew that the owner of the hands by which that fireplace had been coustructed, might be many a long league away at that moment, ‘Here’s your range, Lemuel!” he called out, cheerily, rising erect. ‘‘ There’s no sign out, so we'll call itan abandoned claim, and jump it accordingly. Skin your small deer, while I turn wood-gatherer for the nonce!” {t was growing dusky, the gathering storm cutting the twilight even sborter than usual. Light-heart Lute could ‘‘ rough it” with the best, when occasion demanded, but, in addition to being particularly hungry that evening, he was civilized enough to prefer a comfortable meal to an uncomfortable one. He fell to work, collecting material for the fire, unheeding if he saw the dubious glance which Lemuel Claybank cast in that direction, ever and anon, ‘‘ Wha’s dey any deah, small or t’udderwise?” the colored gentleman mumbled, as he unfasten- ed the furry trophies from bis belt. ‘‘ Is data deah?” giving a loving pat toa gaunt “ole bar’” before gently laying it across a handy rock, ‘‘ Is dem ‘small deahs?” giving a lofty sniff of contempt as hé viewed a brace of gray squirrels, ‘‘Wha’s dey ho’ns? Wha’s dey— Yaas, boss! I’m gittin’ dah, ie waar ” “That’s all right, Lemuel, but don’t burry too mighty fast, or your heart may go back on vom again. And that would be terrible—coming fore supper, too!” “ He’s crazy—jest plum’ luny! Dat’s what he is, now, fo’ suab!” muttered Lem, with a half- snort, half-sigh. ‘ Pokin’ fun at a poah debble ‘Jong o’ his ’farmities! Doan’ I know what I do know? An’ ef Lhain’t got de heart disease, wha’ fo’ all dat wind come belchin’ up my froat whenebber I bin eata hyarty meal? Eh? You? Dat’s what J want to know!” Smothered indignation’ did not hamper Lemuel’s hands, and by the time Light-heart Lute bad built upa oo pile of dry fagots, the squirrels and rabbits were ready for cook- ing. “Cut them up for a quick roast, Lem, old boy!” nodded Lute, busying himself over a handy knapsack arrangement which, of late, had been generously transferred from his own shoulders to those of bis recently acquired comrade, ‘‘ No time for artistic touches, if we want supper over long enough before tae rain falls to hunt upa hotel.” ‘‘ Ef I jes’ had some ob dat lard you was talk- in’ ’bout, boss!” “Why didn’t you send word you were lost and waiting for my finding, Lemuel? I’d have brought lard, and butter, and a fryingpan, and a coffee-pot, and— Of course J couldn’t_ tote ‘em all, but you—well, that’s different! We'll strike out for civilization in the morning, and if I don’t load you down to the gunwales, it'll be because my pocket isn’t deep enough, or my credit good at the junk-shop, Lem!” ** Yes, sah!” ‘* Heads I win, tails you lose! Good enough! I’m not nicknamed the Lad of Luck for naught! It’s my first brew, but [ll help you pray the rain off long enough to boil asecond quart of _ s- ) » » Sud. ered my ar < — ‘ eal PAY ae ere 4. wt x / i te ee _- - ee Light-heart Lute’s Legacy. coffee. Give me a corner of the range—so!” deftly placing the dingy tin cup where it would receive the full benefit of the fiercest flames, If Lem recalled the old story of turkey and buzzard, he said nothing. Although their ac- quaintance was so recent, he had already learn- ed to take a good many puzzling things for granted, Then, too, his gratitude was genuine, for he knew that, in all humau probability, Light-heart Lute had rescued bim from starvation, or a less protracted death under tke claws of the mountain wild beasts, Nearly a month-had passed by since Luther Larrimer left the busy little mining-town which had sprung up near the recently heralded “‘ rich strike,” and where bis former ‘‘ side pardner” and bosom friend, Poley A pplejohn, bad settled down with his pretty little bride. For long years past—though still so young himself—Light-heart Lute had been searching for what ke bad as yet failed to find: a father, who had vanished from sight and hearing long ago, Until now, he had never wanted for a genial, tried and true companion, Even now, a single word would have put that honest, faithful chum in barness, but Lute could not say it. , ‘‘ Nixey, old man! You've gota wife to look after, and I’ve got my freedom oncs more!” he said, laughingly. ‘*‘Makes me feel so mighty good to get shut of your apron-string, Poley, that I’m off for the hills, where I can yelp and howl and kick up my heels to my heart’s con- tent! So-long, pard! Dll be backin time to help name the baby!” It was during bis-seemingly aimless wander- ings on this cecasion that Light-heart Lute came across that bewildered, almost despairing wan- derer, who still bore signs of the privations which had brought him almost to death’s door before that fortunate meeting took place, He was anything but handsome, now. He had been fairly repulsive, then, 1n bis blind, igno- 1ant fight for lise agaiust such heavy odds, the poor fellow had caught something of the wild- beast-like look in his great eyes, his dusky face, his gaunt form. ) Still, he was a man and a brother, and Light- heart first filled his stomach before striving to lighten his brain, Then, when the r fellow began to realize that be had fallen into kindly hands, Larrimer was not long in learning his simple bistory. His tame was Lemuel Clayhank. He had drifted West—mainly by tbe Empty Freight and Brake-beam Line—with the vague hope of picking upa fortune: goldernor silvern, he vared ittle, just so it was enough. His latest employment was cooking for a party of prospectors, or explorers, but that had come to an abrupt termination, “ Dey jest kicked a bale o’ hay outen me, boss, an’ so I—I jest up an’ charged myse’f, so I did, now!” ‘* And, per consequence, ’'m charged with your keeping! Lemuel, bold up your feet, please! I begin to believe—fooled again!” with a slow shake of his head and a deepening of that puzzled expression in eyes und on face. No holes there to plug up, and—do you always eat as much, Lemuel?” ‘¢ When I kin git de whar with, boss!” ‘*That does settle it! Lem, ’m going to sac- rifice myself, and send you ona visit toa very dear friend of mine. Not for good, you know; merely untill can buy, beg, borrow or steal a train of pack-mules numerous enough to tote at least one week’s provisions for the pair of us! I hate todo it, Lemuel, for you come in migh handy packing the camp truck, but—fir-t know, you'll be picking my bones, and calling them ‘ole har’!’’ Light-heart Lute uttered this decision positive- ly enough, but he found it impossible to shake off this modern **‘ Man o’ the Sea,” and hence it came about that we find Lemuel still in his com- pany, _On these excursions, Larrimer always traveled lightly laden, preferring tashootsuch game as he cared to eat, living very well without bread-stuff so long as his supply of coffee lasted, But Lem had a coffee-tooth, as well, and it was mainly be- cause this all-important article of food was run- ning low, that Light-heart Lute turned his face toward home: the home of Poley Applejohn, for the adveuturer knew none other! Despite the threatening clouds and the low rumblings of distant thunder, the oddly assorted pair seemed to enjoy their rude meal by the dim glow of the camp-fire. Hunger is the Gadnest of sauces, and roasted game, hot from the spit, is not to be despised. —_— 1 \ ' ; f : 7 : pe es bat. Erte ~ fi the Pet > ; oe. o a! Sn ERR ERR Light-heart Lute preferred the squirrels, but, true to tradition, Lem felt there was nothing to equal ** Molly Cottontail,” ‘**Ceptin’ dey was two ob’em! Or ef ’twas a jack-yabbit! Big as a mule—an’ all mine!” sighed the hungry African, licking his fingers and then tackling the last quarter of the hare, “Which would you rather be, Lemuel: a pitcher of base-ball, or a head cook in a hash- foundery where the owner was too proud or too lazy to keep you whistling all the time you were at work?” ** Bofe, boss! All two bofe on ’em!” spluttered Clay bank, with an entbusiastic gesture, his great eyes rolling in fine ecstasy at the mere idea, “Pd fan’em out! Jes’ fan ’em all out! An’ den—Good Lawd! Den I'd be bongry ’nough fer to—oh, mamma! Wouldn’t I eat? Makes me crawl all ober jest to—dar she am, agin!” dropping the picked bone and clasping both bands over his stomach, his face turning an ashen gray. ‘* You kin laugh, boss, but ef dat doan’ mean heart disease, den what’s the mattah wid me? Eh? You? What's de mattah wid me? What makes dat flitter-flutter go? What sets enol frog to kickin’ up a ’sturbance right yar? 2 “Tvs Molly Cottontail trying to shake paws with her kindred gone before, Lem,” laughed Light-heart Lute, casting a glance upward at the lowering clouds while his nimble fingers were en- gaged in filling his short-stemmed pipe for an after-supper smoke, ‘‘ Watch your coffee, old fellow, or it’ll—ha!” A sepulchral groan came through the gloom and as Larrimer caught up a blazing brand an cast it toward the sound, the ruddy glow fora brief space lighted upa pale, ghastly-lookin face, the unearthly eyes in which seemed fix full upon the frightened negro, xs ** De debble !” gasped Lem, dropping upon his knees with clasped hands extended toward that strange vision. ‘‘Good Marse Debble—boss— doan’ take me dis time, an’ I’]] nebber lie ag’in— nebber nomoabh!” | CHAPTER II. RESCUED FROM THE GRAVE. “ SreaDY, there!” sharply cried Light-heart Lute, one swift leap carrying bim beyond the limited circle of hight, bis mgbht hand gripping a revolver. ‘I’ve got you lined, and V'll blow you through at the first crooked move!” The brand flickered, then the flame died out. That ghastly face was lost to sight, and with the spell partially broken, Lem rolled over and over, then scrambled to his feet and started in head- long flight from—what was it? ran plump against Larrimer, who uncere- moviously tripped him up, sternly growling: ‘‘ Lie still, you fool! Try to run away, and I’ll chase you with hot lead! Isay—you fellow, over yonder!” ‘Help! where am I?” Hoarse, husky, uncertain the accents, yet plainly those of one in suffering. But Light- heart Lute had passed through too many scenes of peril to take aught for granted, and only pausing long enough to distinctly utter: ‘Keep him covered, Lem, and riddle him at the first crooked move!” Then, with swift, noiseless steps, he glided ! around far enough to bring that spot between bimself and the merrily blazing camp-fire, He caught sight of a buman head feebly lift- ing—from the very earth, as it seemed! And though he strained bis eyes to the utmost, he failed to detect aught of a body to correspond! ‘* Don’t—Grace, my—” The bead sunk back, with a busky moan such as no well man could counterfeit, and after another keen glance around, Light-heart Lute sprung forw to find— A shallow grave and its occupant, who cer- tainly had been living when interred, whatever might be his condition just now. . Deathlike enough he looked now, With his face so ghastly pale despite the dirt and blood- marks visible by that indistinet light. ‘‘Marse Lute! O-h-h, boss!” came the quaver- ing cry from the darkness which enveloped the negro, Button up! Lay low—and watch !” sh ly cried Larrimer, then swiftly altering his position, Although he felt reasonably sure that no other person could be lurking vigb, Light-heart Lute was taking no wild chances. Living or dead, this buried stranger could better afford to wait a few minutes longer without the help he had | Re asked, than they\to blindly risk sharing the same fate which had overtaken him. With this thought uppermost, Lute quickly took a scout around, making sure no enemy was : | | : - 7 : v%« | 4 Z / . - an Ae >. . ee = i «= “