Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 730 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

€) collar, ‘*‘ What does this mean? sayin’ to my gal? hey no fellers snoopin’ roun’ heur an’ thet I’d spank ’em ef I ketcbed ’em, Young man, you’ll hev ter take yer bitters,” _ The next moment Jonas was bent over the old fellow’s knee and Daddy’s hand was doing its duty. Jonas squawked and kicked like a school-boy, but the old man continued deliberate- ly about his purpose till he was satisfied with the extent of the punishment. Then he picked up the dude’s hat and cane, placed them in bis hands and started him toward Coffin City. ‘‘ Arter this [ guess you'll steer cl’ar of my gal,” chuckled Daddy, as he watched Jonas’s retreating form, ‘One doset oughter be ernough,’ At a safe distance, the discomfited masher turned and shook his clinched fist at the one who had heaped such an indignity upon him. **Ob, how could you, Daddy!” laughed Liz. ** He was such jolly fun!” CHAPTER VI. TWO TENDERFEET, ONE day the stage brought two tenderfeet in- to Coffin City. One was a young man of about twenty-five, the other a boy of uncertain age, apparently not more than seventeen, and he looked younger than that, These two seemed to be strangers, and although they occasionally exchanged glances as if de- sirous of making each other’s acquaintance, neither ventured to address the other. Indeed, the boy was scarcely heard to uttera word to any of his fellow-passengers; but the young man conversed freely with several, making eager inquiries about Coffin City and its inhabti- nts. “* Poorty bad place fer tenderfeet, I’ve heern tell,” suddenly observed one rough-looking fel- low, who up to this point had seemed strangely moody and silent. ‘*Man’s got ter be able ter shoot at ther drop of ther hat thar. It’s er good plan ter lay mighty quiet an’ sing low in secha lace. I don’t reckon they’ll be arter straddjiu’ ed Lark, but you hed best keep yer eyes skinned, young man.” The speaker was attired in the mud-coated garments of a miner, and a mass of bushy red beard covered his face nearly to his eyes, fron et he probably derived the name of Red ark. , ‘* Many thanks,” smiled the older of the two tenderfeet. ‘“‘J am aware lI carry the stamp of the East upon my person, but I assure you I have knocked about in the West a bit of late, and I have learned the value of discretion.” At this the red-bearded miner only grunted, but several times the young man noti he was staring wonderingly and in a puzzled manner at the boy. Once he slowly shook his head, as if there was something about the lad’s appearance he could not understand, Coffin City was finally reached, and of the passengers who stopped there were the two tenderfeet and Red Lark. The young man scowled a little as he saw the red-bearded fellow following him into the hotel, and the scowl deepened when he observed the miner was keep- ing his eyes on the boy. ithin the hotel, the boy approached the register, wrote his name, paid his bill for three daysin advance, then asked to be shown toa room, His only piece of baggage was a small, closely-packed grip. ‘*Sbhown ter yer room!” gasped the long- haired clerk. ‘* Wal, I sw’ar! Wat d’yer take this howtel fer? Hyer’s yer tag hitched ter ther key ter yer room, an’ ther number is on ther tag. You goup ther stairs an’ find a number thet’ll fit thet number thar, unlock ther door, walk right in an’ make yerself ter home, Savvy? The boy nodded and started for the stairs. Then, as the second tenderfoot was signing his name, the clerk stared after the first, muttering contemptuously: “Showed ter his room! Wonder what he takes this howtel fer? Showed—ter—his—room ! Waugh!” — _ The name which the boy had written was ** Timothy Stiles,” and after it had added **Ciaremont, N. H.” The second tenderfoot signed as ‘* Leon Forest, Lawrence, Mass,” He did not ask to be shown to his room, but accepted a tagged key, and made for the stairs, not having uttered a word, Red Lark Jeaned over the dirt register and slowly spelled out the names just written. He was so long about this that the clerk became im- What are you a Sos * ‘** Hello, hello, heur!” exclaimed the voice of Daddy Duzenberry, as the old man suddenly appeared on the scene and clutched Jonas by the I’ve gi’n due notiss I w’u’dn’t Violet Vane’s Verdict, patient and asked him if he was going to stop there. At this the miner settled back and stared so hard at the pompous employee that the impatient individual was quite confused and muttered an apology about having business and being in a burry, The man of the red beard made no reply, but accepted the pen and wrote the title by which he was known, scrawling the name in letters which would have put Jobn Hancock to shame, It was nearly an hour after this that Leon Forest appeared before the register, and, by offering the clerk a good cigar, which was promptly accepted, sought to draw the autocrat into conversation about Coffin City. Although the clerk looked upon tenderfeet with unutter- able contempt, be finally thawed beneath the in- fluence of the cigar and deigned to answer some of the young man’s questions, Forest’s questions were asked in a rambling, off-hand mauwner, as if they came from the merest idle curiosity, but, in truth, there was a purpose behind it all. ‘* Yep, Coffin City’s great place,” assured the clerk, blowing out huge puffs of fragrant smoke, ‘*Boun’ ter boom. No rocket business, but it’s climbin’ all ther time, bet yer boots! Now, thar’s Deadwater Bar, she went up on er night—liter- ally whooped her up in no time. Ev’rybody went wild—people rushed—great boom, They ‘lowed Deadwater war boun’ ter rake ther rag off ther bush. Some of ther Coffin City galoots got ther fever an’ scooted off, head up an’ tail in ther air. But they kem back, you bet! Big boom—went bu’st, Thet’s ther bull of it. Hain’t nuthin’ thar now, Coffin City keeps crawlin’, but she'll git thar with botb feet,” This did not seem to greatly interest Forest, and be asked: ‘* 1 suppose you keep track of nearly every- body who comes to this place?” ‘Wal, now, w’at makes ye s’pose thet?” ‘*] judged from your appearance that you are a man of excellent memory and keen obser- vation,” ‘Wal, you didn’t git thet very fur out of ther way.” **] thought not.” ‘*You do know suthin’, pard, ef you are a tenderfut.” Leon Forest laughed. ‘* Many thanks, I wonder if you remember the name of Wallace Kenyon?” The clerk-wrinkled his forehead and seemed in deep thought for several moments, but he finally shook his head, ‘* Don’t seem ter ’member ary critter by thet handle,” he confessed. ‘* W’at fur lookin’ galoot wuz he?” ‘* A boy—nothing but a mere boy,” ‘* How long ergo wuz he hyer?”- ‘* Well, I cannot say as to that. Infact, Iam not positive he has been here at all, He was known to be in this part of the country, and I am trying toget trace of him.” RN gale more’n a y’ar ergo he wuz hyer, eh? If he was hereat all, it was some time within the past six montbs,” ‘*'Travelin’ erlone?” ** Yes, sir.” ** Tenderfut?” sé Yes.” ‘* Hain’t bin no kid hyer thet’ll answer thet description—’cept it’s thet one as kem same time you did on ther hearse ter-day, Kenyon warn’t ther’name he signed, but ye can’t tell much by sech leetle things as thet.” Forest shook his head. ‘* That is not the boy.” **T "low you hey seen this kid you are huntin’ arter?” sé 0,” , ‘No? Wal, then you mus’ be familiar with ther one as kem in ter-day?” _ ‘Wrong again. He was simply a fellow-pas- senger.” ‘* Then how in blazes do you know ’tain’t ther ope you are lookin’ arter?” Leon did not seem to like these questions of the clerk, so he attemptea to turn the conver- sation into a different channel; but there was one point on which the autocrat was determined to express an opinion. Leaning on the little counter, he winked one eye knowingly, observ- ing in a stage whisper: ‘Say, pard, I’low you are one of them thar detectives?” Forest laughed and shook bis head. ‘You are ’way off,” he declared. a detective.” The clerk looked cise pominted and doubtful, seeming uncertain whether to believe the state- ment or not, “ST am not y, . 4 | “That is straight,” Leon assured. ‘I do not care to have thé impression get out that I am a detective, for l am not,” ** Wal, I don’t usually make sech a wild shot, Ef you wuz one of them, I wus goin’ ter tell ye ter keep it mighty shy, fer thet kind hain’t loved in Coffin City. Ye see, thar are lots of galoots hyer thet hev lighted outer other places fer cer- tun reasons an’ 1t makes ’em mighty narvous fer er detective critter ter come nosin’ roun’,” ‘‘T understand. They need not have any alarm on my account. My only business is to look out for this boy known as Wallace Ken- yon, ‘* By smoke!” “¢ What is it?” **Tve just thunk! kid!” ‘Who? What?” ** Thar wuz er boy hyer ’bout two months ergo but be didn’t hang roun’ town much. He stopped down ther crick with an ole cuss they called Ole Luckless,” Leon instantly became highly interested. ‘* Naw we are getting at something!” he ex- claimed. ‘‘ What about the boby—what can you tell me? Where is he now?” ‘¢Gone ter Glory, I reckon, pard.” ‘* What! What do you mean by that?” ‘“Ef he wuz any relation of yourn, you'll hey ter putt on mournin’,” *¢ How is that?” ‘*Ole Luckless wuz killed—~murdered; boy wuz caught, then some of ther fellers went down thar an’ Jedge Lynch held a court.” ‘‘Great God! "You don’t mean to say the boy was hanged for murder?” ‘‘ Wal, pard, he hain’t bin seen roun’ this yere town sence then.” Leon seemed dazed. ‘Ts the search to end this way?’ he muttered. ‘*Great heavens! Are you sure the lad was hanged?” ‘Nop. Jedge Lynch don’t usually tell tales. All I kin say is thet he hain’t showed up in Cof- fin City sence ther night arter Ole Luckless wuz murdered. Thar are several galoots in this place as c’u’d tell ye more of it then I kin, but | reckon you'll find them dumb as clams,” ‘* Wallace Kenyon never committed a mur- der.” ‘‘ How do you know, pard? You say that you never saw the kid,” ‘‘ Tt makes no difference how I know; 1 know! If be was lynched, that was murder, and it shall not gO unavengea!” ‘*Husb up thet kind of talk, you fool!” ex- claimed the clerk, looking hastily around to see if any one had overbeard the hot-headed young man’s words. ‘' Ef you feel thet way, you don’t want to yoop her out in thet style, ur you'll wake up some mornin’ an’ find yerself dead. It’s mighty dangerous ter talk on a high key in Cof- fin City. Sing low an’ wait fer yer chance, [ tell you this, young feller, because I hev kinder tooken a likin’ ter ye, though | can’t say jest why I sb’u’d.” “Many thanks, I will not forget your kind intentions, Have another cigar?” The clerk accepted the cigar, and Leon walked slowly away, turning to ascend the stairs, When he was gone, another stranger in Coffin City came forward and examined the register, asking the name of the young man who had been talking with the clerk, Five minutes later, this person was rapping at the door of room Number 9. Leon Forest’s voice asked who was there, and the one who had rapped replied» ‘lam Violet Vane, and I have come to tell you something of Wallace Kenyon.” / I'll bet thet wuz ther very CHAPTER VII. VANE GIVES LEON SOME POINTS, INSTANTLY the door was opened, and into the room walked the Velvet Sport, Violet Vane. In every way a dandy, yet in no way effemi- nate, he was truly a handsome man, although upon his face rested a faint look of sadness, which might have been caused by some past sorrow, ‘*T trust you will pardon this unceremonious call,” said the man in velvet. “I happened to overhear some of your conversation with the clerk, and so I made bold to come up, thinking I might possibly be able to tell you something of interest concerning the boy for whom you are searching.” Leon closed the door. | ‘‘Tf you can tell me anything of Wallace Kenyon, you shall have my heartiest thanks for your trouble,” he asserted, placing a chair for his visitor, ¥ s = ° . . . 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