Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 812 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

wo oor bunch of pica pi, you! till I shoot some Roles in you to Jet in some sense! And where’s that poet? I’m on the trailfor poets to-day, and I want him.” The first of Editor Sneed that was seen was the tube of a long rifle that came around the side of the door, and the editor followed it up, ‘“‘Here [ am, neighbor,” he said; ‘* what’s wanted? What's the meaning of all this abuse you have heaped upon me?” ** What’s the meaning of it! what’s the meaning of this!” ‘*The meaniog of what?” ‘This verse about my paper!” * Well, read it out.” ‘* And be laughed at for it! enough what it is,” **l am not aware that anything has been in- serted, sir, that calls for apology from us.” “You don’t! What do you call this, then? Just listen!” And he read a couple of verses the poet had made up in ridicule of the Rustler, The crowd laughed when he had done, but it was no laughing matter for Dubby, and he de- manded satisfaction or blood, then and there, He had come there for one or the other, and meant to have it, And while he was howling, over came the proprietor of the leading saloon of the rival camp. He, too, set up a wild protest, and before he kad done others had arrived. eee they demanded was the blood of that poet To this time that worthy had kept out of sight, but now he appeared, and with his cool and leisurely manver confronted the worthy deni- zens of the neighboring camp of Hustleville, “y What is it?’ he asked, ‘* What is the mat- ter?’ *‘Enough is the matter, that’s what et is,” cried Mayor Kreeps, he too having been pricked by one of the doggerel darts. ‘You complain of the verses I have written formy employer? What would you have me do? Should [ take pay from the Rustlers to write Le ps for the Hustlers? Put yourselvesin my place. ‘*That ain’t got nothin’ ter do with et,” cried Kreeps. ‘*‘ You done et, and we means ter git na atc if we have totake et out of your e, ‘* But, see the injustice, gentlemen. Had I been on the staff of the paper beyond the Choke, would I not have reversed things? Do not con- demn me; I wrote to suit the ideas of my mas- ter. “yan now you'll choke fer a fact, to satiafy us. “Can’t I beg off?’ the poet cried. ‘ Can’t you let me down easy? Can’t you find anything of consolation in what I have penned?” “We'll let ye down with a jerk an’ a run,” cried Mayor Kreeps. ‘ Find anything o’ conso- lation? blast ye! Do ye think lines like these hyer ar’ likely to console anybody? I want to know You know well *** So, our end ee to Mayor Kreeps, Who, when he doesn't Kreep he sleeps.’ ** What does that mean, anvhow?” And so they raved, one after another, each quoting something the poet had said about bim, while the Rustlers stood by laughing, ready to defend their poet to the last if need be, That was just where the poet had the best of it, too; he knew he wis safe; the men of Hustle- ville would not dare do him bodily harm. ~ “Good friends, good friends,” he cried at last, **oo home and keep the peace, and in our next Vil do you all proud, “I'll do the yas best I can, To say good things of every man.” ~ So, seeing they could do nothing, with that they had to be satisfied, and taking hold upon that promise as their excuse for letting up, they gave the poet a lease of life in which to redeem imself, This issue of the Rustler had made a bit, and the Hustlers were sore enough over it and they could not hide the fact, Said one man: **Et wouldn’t been so bad, but he rubbed et on a leetle thicker’n we could bear et, An’ then ther way he crowed up Roundabout made us oat ot all ther more. I hope he’ll do better next *e ‘* But, gradually their anger cooled, and after they had visited the saloons with some of the boys of Roundabout, they felt better, and began to enjoy tho thing in the right spirit, re was one jingle in the paper, however, that few if any could understand, even if it rr LO RR —- Deadwood Dick, Jr.’s, Head-off. bay meant that it should be understood in u . And that was this: “TO THE LOST HEAD. “Tell us whose head it was, now if you can, Te)l us who put it there, down in the pan. It isa mystery, vexing us sore; Who cut it off o’ him who the head wore? Vile were the plotters, viler the plot: Sure is their fat+ to be, like it or not; Vengeance is after them, hot on the trail; See how they quake with fear! See how they quail!” That was something that made the citizens of both camps wonder, and none was able to under- stand it in the full. True, they all knew it meant the head that had been found in the box of the new engine; but, what did the poet know further than that? There they were puzzled. It was along about stage time when Aaron Prestley and Edmund Murtagh came over to the city, and finding the poet on the piazza of the hotel they accosted him, “Say,” said Prestly, ‘‘ we have been reading your dashes in the Rustler, and they have taken well it seems; but, there is one nobody can understand. What were you trying to work off about that severed head?” ‘ Why, gentlemen, was it not plain enough?” ‘Tt is not plain at alls; nobody can get onto it, You hint at a plot and a murder, and all that,” ‘* Ah! now I see where you are puzzled. You have allowed nothing for poetic license, The poet, as you know, is allowed to revel in the realms of imagination, and so round up the measure of his verse, That was what I did, Nothing in it when you look at it in the right light.” ‘‘Then it was Just jingling nonsense, like all the rest?” **To besure. I hope you do not take me fora seer, who can read the stars, do you?” CHAPTER XIII. COMING OF THE DEPUTY. WHEN the stage came into Roundabout that evening it had aboard a passenger of some im- portance, as was speedily found, This was the night, by the way, on which the arrival of the great detective, Deadwood Dick, was looked for, provided be had been able to set out at once upon receipt of the sum- mons, And this being so, there was an unusually big crowd on hand. All of Roundabout and a goodly share of Hustleville were on hand to see the stage come ‘* Hillo!” cried the driver, as he drew up in bis usual artistic fashion in front of the Union Hotel, ‘* what has broke loose hyer? Been havin’ a hangin’-bee to-dsy?” ‘**Wull, no, not zackly,” somebody responded ; Ri ar’ hyer ter see ther stage come in, that’s all. ** An’ ye ar’ out in full force, I sh’u’d say.” y You bet.” ditt : ** Might tbink ye was lookin’ fer a prince, or somethin’ like that.” ‘‘ An’ so we ar’, too,” Mayor Gad- Zooks, rince of ther West.” “sé Ther who?” “Ther Prince of ther West; that is ter say, Deadwood Dick, Junior,” The passengers were alighting, and just as this was said a young man of somewhat striking presence was seen, He was well-dressed, and one who had a keen pair of eyes and who carried himself with something of a cool air. The driver jerked his thumb in the direction of this man, saying: ‘*T wouldn’t wonder a bit ef ye’ve got him,” The mayor stepped forward. ‘* Pardon, sir, but ar’? you Deadwood Dick?” “‘Thave not that honor,” wasthereply, ‘T am, however, Deadwood Dick's deputy, with letters of imtrocuction to the mayor of this camp and to the manager of the Grub-stake Mine ”’ “Then you ar’ the man we want ter see, | am mayor of this city,” “You call it acity, eh? Well,a city it is, then. I suppose this is your chief hotel.” ** Et ar’ no slouch, sir, Comerightin. This way, Manager Woodworth; hyer is our man— not Deadwood Dick himself, but his deputy.” The mayor led the way, the detective follow- ing him, and the whole crowd making effort to get at least one glimpse of the man who repre- sented the great detective. He was a curiosity to their eyes. ke u ‘* We ar’ expectin’ ther ** You kin register, of course,” said the mayor, when they gained the bar-room, ‘‘ but your stay here will be at our expense. We are men of blood, hyer, and we know how to do the right thing. Et mought be different. over at Hustle- ville; but we ar’ Rustilers byer,” ““T opine ther men ©’ Hustleville ar’ jest as white us you be,” chipped in the mayor of that camp, ‘** Rival camps, eh?’ observed the detective, with a smile, ; ‘*Not at all, sir,” spoke up Editor Sneed. “Our city is so far ahead that no chance for rivalry is possible. There is a good deal of envy from the other side, however.” ** Jealousy, eh?” ‘‘ That’s the word, sir.” “Tt is not so!” cried out Editor Dubby. ‘‘We stend at the bead, in real and true merit. We have a newspaper, the best citizens, the best of everything else, and a cemetery to boot, A camp that can’t show a cemetery, isn’t much of a camp, as any fair-minded man will say.” “An apology for a newspaper, you mean,” shouted Evitor Sneed. “It cannot approach the Rustler. And then, too, we have a fire- engine here, and a poet—a real live pe and & fighting poet at that! Sir, that little one-horse camp on the other side of the Choke is not to be compared with this growing city. Why, weare the acknowledged leader in every—” ‘* Not by a—” “There, there,” interrupted Manager Wood- worth, ‘‘let it drop. This gentleman does not want to hear any more of this; besid:s, we have more important business onhand, Let it drop,” ‘‘ Wise words wisely said,” spoke up Poet: Tennison, ‘*This is no time to fling dirt, good citizens, Sir,” advancing and extending his hand to the detective, ‘‘ let me welcome you here in a worthy way. Iam the poet of whom mention has been made, much to my blush. “We weleome you with heart and hand, We't! treat vou like a king, You'll find us here a kn'ghtly band; You hear me what I sing.’ The detective had given his band, evident'y not wanting to offend by refusing it, and the poet let it go as he ended. ‘* That was well done,” the detective declared, ‘* Citizens, have you got many more fellers cf this kind running at large here?” ‘* No; he is the only one,” said the mayor, ‘* Because [ was going to say, if you have any more like him you will soon require a lunatic asylum,” This was greeted with howls of laughter by the men of Hustlerville, and the poet struck an attitude expressive of supreme indignation, ‘*See my good intentions come to naught!” he cried, ‘“ Verily, and by my beard—when it grows—this is more than I can tamely standl What then willl do? IL will go quietly and sit down, ‘* Worl am struck silly and ulterly floored; My pins knocked from under me quite, I'll go hang my harp on the wiiler awhile, And keep still for the rest of the night.”’, And, while the room rung with laughter, be went quietly and took a seat, No one could imagine that there bad been an object in all this; that when the hand of the poet had clasped that of the detective a closely folded note head adhered to the latter’s palm. ‘*T didn’t mean to cffend you, sir,” the detec- tive made half-apology; ‘it was only in the way of a joke I said what I did.” The poet sadly shook his head, making no re- nse, ae Well, encugh of this,” spoke up the mine- manager, ‘' Register, sir, and have your sup- per, and then we will lay before bee the busi- ness for which you have been called,” ‘‘ Yes, I will Co so, sir; and while I am regis- tering you can read the Jetter I bear from Mr, Bristol—tbat is, Deadwood Dick.” As be spoke he drew a letter from his pocket and handed it to the mayor, The mayor was the only one who bad intro- duced hiniself asa person in autbority as yet,. and it was but natural the letter should go to him, Furthermore, it was addressed to the mayor, The detective turned at once to the register, then, and took up the pen, and the mayor pass- ed the letter over to Mr, Woodworth, saying: ‘Hyer, you can read better’n I can; you opem ther dockyment and let’s bear what ther great. Richard bas ter say. I reckon it’s all right, seein’ as he has sent a man in his place.” ‘'Yos, it is all right, of course,’ The manager took the letter and tore it open and as soon as he had drawn forth the sheet it contained, read aloud: < Vine i 1