Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 80 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

2 Rosebud Rob; Nugget Ned the Knight of the Gulch. BY ED. L. WHEELER, AUTHOR OF Nos. 1, 20, 26, 28, 32, 35, 39, 42, 45, 49, 53, 57, 61, 69, 73, 77 OF BEADLE’S HALF-DIME LIBRARY. [The Author Reserves all Dramatic Rights, | CHAPTER I. “rHE LITTLE BROWN JUG’’—A FEW OLD RESIDENTS IN THE OPENING SCENES. LocATIoN—Deadwood City—that bourne to which many sanguine souls have emigrated, only to return disappointed, to the place of their nativity, poorer and wiser in the wickedness of a wicked world. Time—half-past nine of a dark midsummer’s night, when the heavens were hooded in skurrying clouds, and the air was sultry and close. Place—‘' The Little Brown Jug,”’ a combination of ‘saloon, tavern and miner’s club-room, at the upper end of the main street in Deadwood gulch, kept by an individual who styled himself Kentucky Jake, though it was positively known that he had never been east of the Missouri. Scene—a matter of eight or ten men gathered saround, some seated and some standing—men gene- rally rough in appearance, curiosities in expression of countenance and cast of features, inasmuch as no “one resembled any other. First might be noticed for consideration, the cin- mamon-haired proprietor of the “Jug,” Kentucky Jeke. A six-footer was he in his stocking-feet, with a broad chest and brawny limbs, incased to the knees in top-boots, while a heavy beard swept to his belt. He sat behind the bar, upon a high stool, where he kept an eye upon the throng, and acted as cashier, while two boys served out the beverages below him. The burly individual, with the bald head, and ludi- crous cast of features—the chap who sits in a huge arm-chair with his heels elevated upon the deal- table, that’s Colonel Bill Stokes—*‘ the man who tuk ther medal fur beauty, at the Centennial;”’ a veteran of the Black Hills, and likewise, one of its pio- ‘neers. Those two individuals at yonder deal table—the -cood-natured looking Dutchman and the fop, with his hair parted in the middle, and oes affixed to the bridge of his nose—they are lights of the legal fraternity in Deadwood, respectively ** Judge” Jake ‘Schriner, and Adolphus Syringus Cole. Then, there are three rough, long-bearded, blear- eyed toughs, loafing upon a long settee, smoking their pipes, and watching, with close scrutiny, every arrival and departure—men with evil-expressioned zraces, and a superabundance of belt weapons, which lassed them among that lawless t who fight and shoot at pleasure. The names of these men were, respectively, Hayseed Jim, Holy Moses, and Popular Pe: », and each has won notoriety in Black Hills his- ‘tory. T.e man who is pacing up and down the room, ooking as fierce as a tiger out of his jungle, is the par.l and leader of the toughs, whose name is Hick- Hank, otherwise Captain Hickory. + is a wolfish-looking ruffian, with terrible blood- shot eyes, a dusky, villainous cast of countenance, and a heavy black mustache to-lend him an appear- anes of the brigandish, He is a large, powerful man, with limbs of iron, and a deep chest and enor- mous muscles. . He is dressed in the usual miner's blue shirt, buck- skin breeches, and knee-boots, while a broad-brim het slouched low upon his forehead. He seems entirely oblivious of the presence of wthers as he paces to and fro, a curse occasionally breaking from his lips. Ha! here is another we have missed—a personage beardless as a boy, sitting perched upon one end o the bar in lieu of a better seat, engaged in puffing a , and watching the ruffian as he paces up and down the room. This is a character almost as well known in the West as the eccentric Calamity Jane, whom she re- sembles only in the faultlessness of form, for her face is more prepossessing, her eyes bright, and her manner a trifle more cool, Her name is Baltimore Bess! Where she came from no one knows, nor is her history familiar to those among whom she mingles. it is enough that she dawned among them even as the sun rises in the morning, and after illustrating Aainly enough that she was proof against insult, sree, or persuasion, she had taken her stand as a “ citizen.’ Now, one more figure makes our tableau complete. This is the man of massive trunk and limb, who stands in a retired corner, half leaning upon his ri- fle, while he strokes his blonde mustache with one hand, at the same time watching those about him with an eagle glance from his blue eyes. Though not exactly a handgome man he is a braye one, and is well known as Persimmons Bill—a hero of as many daring exploits as those which have made Buffalo Bill famous. His hair is worn long, and, like the graceful mustache, is of a golden hue. Kentucky Jake is listening to a conversation car- ‘tied on between Colonel Bill and Judge Jacob, “hile he occasionally scratches his head as if tuck- ‘ing away a bit of valuable gossip in his large crani- = with its shock of cinnamon hair. “I tell ye w’at, jedge!’’ the colonel was saying, as he lic a fresh cigar, “my opinyoun o’ thet Munro Malvern ain’t none o’ the best, bar’in’ he »ain’t nev- er done me any purtickler harm. He allus ‘peared ter hev a sneakish expression in his eyes when a fel- ler luks squar’ inter ’em, an’ I don’t allow he’s got any great beauty to brag on. Fer instance: take sech a galoot as me, and you’ve got somebody ter ut before an artist or a fortygraffer wi’out blushin’ er ther model. I hain’t no brag, pilgrims, but then I do remark, an’ kin back et, thet I war awarded ther gold medal fer sweetness 0’ temper, modesty, an’ winsome beauty at ther late Centennial exasper- ation—no, Exposition. Barkeeper, fetch me a ‘ wid- ow’s tear,’if you please!”’ And the bald-headed veteran filliped a silver-piece up into Kentucky Jake's awaiting grasp. “Ho! ho! ho! you ish der vainest man ash vat I never saw, Colonel Villiam!”’ grunted Judge Jacob. “IT neter see but von man vat I t’ink more ash purty ash you—”’ _ “Spirit of old Methusalah!” the colonel gasped, jumping to his feet, and then dropping back again into his seat. ‘‘ Who is ther cavortin’ cuss? Show me thet posey, while I stare him out 0’ counte- nance!”’ “Vel, my dear Villiam, dot old sassenger pe Cap- tain Hickory Grim. Ha! ha! ha!” And all laughed loudly, as if there was some joke in the idea, ‘Yas! I don’t kyow but Grim aire ruther a pre- possessin’ pil im, boyees, but then et’s an insult ter rank his beauty wi’ mine!”’ the colonel replied. ‘He is not a lady’s man, while I am, purty much, I flatter myself. Such a frank, open countenance as mine would warp ther heart uv an anchorite—eh, Baltimore?” : Baltimore Bess took the ci surveyed Stokes from hea plied: ‘*T don’t know, Bill; I hardly think ye’d make a fust-class charmer, ner an angel, ner a heart-mash- er, fer all ye’ve got a | fist an’ a big heart. There are, undoubtedly, homelier men than you.” ‘Don’ vas send ’em ter Deadwood, den,” cried Judge Jacob, deprecatingly. “I vas get der night- shackass every go-to-ped fer seein’ so many on- healthy sights.” ‘Spirit uv old Methus’ler! that’s all right, Dutch; I'll get even with you in the sweet by-and-by. Ken- tuck! take keer ye don’t sell Jake another smell of tarant’ler on my a-c-c. Hello! what do you want?” the interrogation being addressed to Hickory Hank, who had paused in his walk directly before the col- onel, with arms folded across his massive chest. “What do I want?” he questioned, his terrible eyes gleaming wickedly. ‘‘ Well, I don’t know as et’s any o’ your bizness, ye galoot. I war jest ruminatin’ on yer beauty thet ye war puffin’ up!”” And with an impatient but sarcastic laugh, the ruffian turned away to resume his pacing to and fro. ‘Guess something’s pinchin’ somebody’s corns!” Baltimore Bess observed, as she puffed away at her cigar. “I say, Hank Hickory, what’s the matter with you ?” “Ten thousand devils! Is it any o’ your busi- ness what the matter is with me!” the rough de- manded, as he wheeled toward his interlocutor, with a savage snarl. “Jest ye keep your tongue still, girl, or I'll spoil that pretty dare-devil face for you!’ ‘‘Ha! ha! Oh! ye will, will ye, Hickory Hank? Bah! you’re a blowhard—a coward! Answer me a fair question—did that galoot ever come to Dead- wood as ever won a victory over Baltimore Bess?” ‘*No! no!’ shouted several bystanders who had dropped in. ‘*No, Bess, gal; nary a time!’’ added the colonel, rising and bowing graciously. ‘I acknowledge your supremacy humbly. You’re a brick and I’m the beauty, an’ thar’s no gettin’ around it.”’ “Haw! aw! yes; you z= von aga Pill Stokes, like ash vat my old shack-mule pe, so helb me!’ put in the judge, with a grin. “Put, shentlemons, Vy dis quarrel mit one and der oder? We war yust dis- cussin’ der affairs mit dot Munro Malvern, who owns der Big Bullion mine. You say, Mr. Stokes, vat Munro Malvern don’t owa dot mine, sir?” “Waal, now, I allow them war about my logikal remarks a bit rar the man of beauty assented, lighting a fresh ciga. , “‘an’ in my belief ther p’int o them war kerect.’ ‘‘Goot! Villiam, you dell us apout it, an’ I dell you vatI do. I treats you mit a ‘ vidow’s tear,’* der fer- ry virst time I draw mit my pank!” ‘*Ho! ho! your bank’s in your eye, you old Dutch sauer-kraut barrel; but I tell you ther same, as ’tain’t gittin’ late. Well, you see, this Munro Malvern, who cum among us an’ opened up the Big Bullion, come by the papers o’ ther lease in a manner thet warn't direct honest, I calkylate, an’ w’en he struck et rich everybody war sorry, because he ain’t no favorite heer in Deadwood. Now, hyar turns up a new customer—a y,ood-looker he ar’, too—who sez the mine’s his, and he’s going to have it, hit or miss. I'll bet he’s a gallus coon, ef he ain't much more’n a younres an’ ef he'll h’ist Munro Malvern out o’ ther ig Bullion, I'll give him this hayr right paw o’ mine to shake as long’s he’s got ther grip—that’s here, Colonel Bill Stokes, ther beauty o’ ther mines!”’ The miners gave a responding cheer, for the senti- ments of the veteran were exactly their own. Hickory Hank and his pals were the only ones who didn’t participate in the enthusiasm. “T'll bet my head thar'll a passel o’ ye galoots go ter Sulphur City afore Munro Malvern drops his 6 pin!’ the rough said, with a uliar laugh. ‘“‘He’s got more’n money enough ter buy substitutes fer a few sech as you.” “Then I suppose he classes you among his pur- *In Deadwood dictionary “a drink of whisky.” r from her mouth,and to foot before she re- Beadle’s HalfDime Library. ED chased friends, sir tough!”’ exclaimed a ringing voice and a new-comer stepped within the scene. You, i presume, are his counselor and legal adviser—or maybe his servant!”’ Hickory Hank growled, as he wheeled about to confront the mi pep on who stood regarding him with a keen, unflinching gaze. ‘“* Hey? aal, I reckon when the boss wants me I'm sen. around handy, younker, But, who’re you? What bizness is it of yours who Tam?” “In the second place, it isn’t the smallest part of my business to answer questions propounded by a tool of Munro Malvern!’ the new-comer replied, coolly, as he folded his arms and returned the ruf- fian’s stare. ‘I generally make it one of my points to find out as much as I want to know, without com- promising my individual secrets. ‘‘In the first place, which I have left for the last I think you'll find my autograph written in the hotel register at the Metropolitan Hotel; or, if your pedal extremities are too weak and weary to do the differ- ence between here and the Met, you may call me by the name of my original Black Hills baptism—Zose- bud Rob—*a man to suit all circumstances.’ Sorry I haven't a visiting card for you, ‘pon honor.” The speaker was an individual of an age just in the promise of dawning manhood, with a form that, though erect and slim, was closely knit and compact as iron, as was attested by the quickness in every move, and by the swell of the various muscles, His face was a handsome one, the skin being pure, and the features quite perfect. The eyes were brown and of a penetrating cast, and the hair of the same hue, while he wore a slight mustache, and “sides”’ along down in front of either ear. He was dressed in neatly fitting pants of some grayish stuff, and these were in turn met at the waist by a blue miner’s shirt, with broad collar, and a belt around the waist, bearing upon it in large gold letters the name— ‘*ROsSEBUD Ros.”’ A poe non slouched black hat was upon his head, and patent-leather boots upon his feet, the leathern leggings reaching above his knees. So much for the appearance o* the young stran- ger, as he stood coolly confronting a man acknowl- edged by all to be the worst desperado in the mines. “Say, Col’nel Bill!’’ uttered Baltimore Bess, in an undertone, as she pointed toward Rosebud Rob— “whar aire you now on beauty? Jest luk at that darlin’, will e—purty as ary posey thet a jack-mule ever stepped on.”’ ‘True enough, Bess, gal; he ar’ ruther a remark- able-lookin’ galoot, but then— Pshaw! whar’s yer eye fer beauty ef ye ain't gazin’ at yer unkle?”’ By this time Rosebud Rob had stared the ruffian out of countenance, and with a cool laugh sauntered toward the bar, against which he leaned, with a graceful pose, as he glanced about the room. ‘‘Hain'’t seen a chap in here by the cognominious appellation of Munro Malvern, have you, gentle- men?” he said, presently, as he lit a fresh cigar, ‘“‘Nary a time, stranger !’* the colonel made bold to answer. ‘I don’t allow thet Munro Malvern hes any desire ter pit inter ‘ther Jug, bein’s we ain't got no purtickler luv for him, in purtickler, ef I know et.” “Oh! is that so? Well, then add my affection in with yours, in that respect!’’ Rosebud Rob replied, with a laugh. , r Then you don’t luv ther owner of the Big Bullion mine?” “If you mean Munro Malvern, no/ No, athousand times, Perhaps if you were to tell him that Rosebud Rob, the Dandy, Sport, and Man to Suit all Circum- stances, hated him, he’d be surprised, as I dare sa he never heard of the above-mentioned individual. But he shall know me, ere long! ha!ha! Yes; he shall know me. Good-evening, gentlemen ; if I have disturbed you, pray pardon me,” and the Sport be- gan to move toward the door. j But he paused involuntarily, when Baltimore Bess slid down from her seat upon the bar. ‘Hold up, og she said, were J out a fair, faultless hand; “jest gripe thet paw before ye go, and count on Baltimore Bess as yours truly!” ‘‘What! a woman in these strange surroundings?” the Sport g , gazing sharply at the strange girl —‘* » woman in men’s garb?” ‘““Waal, now, you ch et squar’, pardner, thet f am jest about one o’ them ‘ar same, an’ no mistakes. ‘Spect ye calcylate a female ken’t wear breeches, an’ be a fust-class article, eh? Jest ax old Beauty, yon- der, an’ he'll give ye my pedigree, so fur as he knows.” “Yes, ye purty much bet we kin, stranger!’’ Colo- nel Bill made haste to say, as he rose and limped for- ward by the aid of his crooked cane, ‘ Thet ar’ Bal- timore Bess ain’t no flunk, ner no slouch, an’ don’t ye furget it. She ar’ made o’ stiff timber, an’ when e ketch her sleepin’ thru a sermon, jest let me w 97 “T am glad to know it, sir, and I thank you, miss for your proffered friendship. Believe me, | shall not forget you. For the present, however, au revoir!” And ina moment more the dandy was gone from the “ Jug.” ‘Oh! heaving! w’at han hawful swell!’ gasped Adolphus Syringus Cole, readjusting his eye-elasses back to the bridge of his nose. “Aw! Isa-ay, friend Jacob, was that all weally troo—no deuced sham?” “IT spects ash vot et vas all shenuine mitout ay counderfitts!” the judge replied, with &grim nod, - Wenner vat you t*inks?”’ ine, doubl red “ Thet he war a brick—a ginnywine, double-gearea, masheen-compressed, patent-polished brick. Thet’s my estimation, judge! oe “And mine is, that he’s ther purtiest galo Ov as stands above five feet, in these hayr mines!’ c-ied Baltimore Bess, slapping Stokes smartly on the shoulder. IvOO com € —y a STEGOIT le