Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 812 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

o. “” °F oR TS = ~ W dian ae ws Ps ge ca or a - P a * > ¥ . ‘ - . © F “4 = ‘ . qe — u * ore err, + > = — ane _— = - — - — ’ = ~ | ~ « o L. - - Deadwood Dick, Jr.’s, Head-off. ** [think I’m helping you pretty well as it is,” | ‘Oh, I'll sing yeu a song that will tickle your heart, **That’s not it. I have just run up against my wife, and shedisowns me, I want proof that she is just who I declare her to be, See?” ‘““Ob!” that’s simple enough. She is the woman, of course; I know her wel). You want to, lay claim to her again, eh? All right; just call on me to identify tbe property for you. Ha! ba! ha!” Their talk ran on in that vein for some time, being livened by some drin't which they present- ly sent for, and when finally they parted com- pany it was with a good understanding between them... A more rascally pair of conspirators it might be hard to find any where. —_ --_ CHAPTER VI. TROUBLE IN THE SILVER, AFTER supper at the Union Hotel the fighting poet retired to his room, where, for a consider- able while he busied himself with writing. Any one looking in upon him casually might have thought he had his muse in harness and was exercising if around the Parnassian arena at a lively canter; but, such a supposition would have been erroneous, Mr, Tennison was not writing poetry, but let- ters. He wrote several, some of good length, and some were sealed and inclosed within other let- ters, all stamped and directed, When he had done, finally, he went down and out, and learning where the post-office was located, quietly dropped his letters in when no one was near to observe the action, That done, and the hour being still early, for a 2 i he wandered around to see the sights, he chief resort of Roundabout, of an even- ing, was the Silver Saloon, and as he passed it the fighting poet—so to call him, was drawn to enter upon hearing the strains of a lively polka. As he entered, he caught up tbe tails of his long coat and the step of the music at the same time, and away he went down the floor, fling- ing his heels like a frisky young colt just let out to play, greatly to the amusement of all beholders, his long hair beating measure upon his shoulders, ** Ho! hol! ho!” laughed one man, poic caper, wull yer!” ‘* Fe’s a dandy, ain’t he! Seo ther fling of his hoofs, will ye? Jest git onto ther grace of his step! ‘* Et’s a wonder he wouldn’t take a pardner wi’ nim, Hyer, Slickery Sal, you jest prance out thar an’ couple up wi’ him, an’ show us what ye kin do together, [ll bet he’ll fling ye!” The woman addressed, in no wise afflicted with over modesty, obeyed the directions promptly. Out she went to where the poet had the floor all to himself, and as he came around her way she flung berself into his arms and caught the step with him and away -they went, The other dancers had stopped to look at the lone t, and now they got out of the way to give the couple plenty of room. The woman claimed to be the best dancer in the camp, and was in great demand at every dance; she now set about proving her claim, having a partner who was her equal, Into it they went, seemingly with heart and soul, and by the time they ended Slickery Sal was doing some pretty tall kicking, to theamuse- ment of the crowd in general. When they stopped the crowd cheered, ** Next to poetry,” spoke the poet, making his bow, “is music and the dance. I move in harmony with the dulcet strains; my soul ex- pands and my muse disports herself wantonly to the rbythm of the air, “Away. away, cull care, away, Nor trouble me just now; I’m here for fun; ‘tis just begun; Let me dance like a ky loe cow.” ‘* Like a cow?” exclaimed his late partner. ** You ar’ the best dancer in this camp, and I’m what says so,” ‘*Not to speak flattery of myself,” rejoined the poet, ‘‘ I will say that I am good at anything but my main hold lies in poetry, Thanks, fair lady, for the pleasure of the dance, If you have enjoved it half as much as I, you are repaid,” ** Ob! that’s allright; didn’t look fer pay, you know.” ‘And by my bearl—when it grows—I fear me you would look in vain if you did, just now, I am what one might vulgarly term down at the heel. But, I'll rise on the wings of the sunrise, soon, for | am to be poet laureate on the Round- about Rustler. Vil put youin rbyme among my first efforts, Slickery Sal. ‘See ther hat will make tears of gladness, down roll; I will put you in rhyme in rhe bang-upest time, Tili your feelings you cannot control.” Ti e crowd cheered and laughed, enjoying this immensely, Just then, however, another actor appeared upon the scene, a bullwhacker with bleared eyes and tangled bair. This was one Knocker-out Jeems, so-called, the fellow who killed Stogy Stiver, as mentioned incidentally further back, And by the look in his eyes now he was Jooking for further gore, ‘*What’s that ye ar’ goin’ ter do?” he cried. ‘* Who is et ye ar’ goin’ ter do all that ’ar with? I want ye to know that I, mvself, Knocker-out Jeems, ther boss of this hyer cit, have got some- thin’ ter say to that. J had this byer gal booked fer that dance, an’—” “But, that was only an extra fling,” inter- posed the woman, Slickery Sal. “I baven’t forgotten you, Knocker-out.” ** You jest hold your jaw while J talk, ef you please,” cried the blusterer, ‘*‘ My bone ter pick is with this hyer long-haired scarecrow, an’ I’m goin’ ter bave it out wi’ him, you bet. When I have my gal booked fer a dance, you kin bet ’m goin’ ter have that ’ar dance or know ther rea- son—’ ** But, he didn’t dance with me; I up and danced with him,” the woman tried to make him understand, for sake «f peace. ‘* Never you mind; I know what I am about, I guess. I tell ye, Mister Man, ye have got ter take another kind o’ dance wi’ me, right hyer av’ now, an’ then we'll see how ’bout all that poltry stuff ye will write "bout anybody. Peel yer coat, now, fer I’m right up on my muscle ter fight fer my rigbts.” ‘*My dear, good sir,” cried the poet, abject- ly, ‘you are going to mara pleasant occasion, You are going to do something for which you will be sorry, I feel sure you will. Don’t let us have any hard feelings, If [ have done anything amiss I crave bumble pardon for it, and am will- ing to take water in the biggest kind of gulps rather than get into trouble, *°Tia dogs’ delight to bark and bite, For ‘tis their nature to; But ’tis a thing, you hear me sing, Men hadn’r ought to do.” ‘* Waugh! That’s all dishwater stuff, that is, You ar’ afeerd o’ me, that is whar all ther pain is— : ‘*T admit it, sir—I admit it; you are enough to frighten anybody. Please do not let us get into any difficulty here, now; it is out of place.” ‘* Not a bit et ain’t! Et’s jest in place, every time. You have ’sulted me ’fore all ther com- pany, takin’ my gal when it was my turn ter dance, an’ now ye kave got ter take me whether e want to or not,” ‘¢ Well, if I must I s’pose I must, that’s all. What shall it be—waltz, polka, or mazurka?” ** K’s goin’ ter be a double-time schotish, that what et’s goin’ ter be, an’ don’t ye fail ter ketch Come right in, now, an’ we'll onto et, either. Come right on, I tell git into swing fer et. er!” The buliwhacker was now advancing, his arms up and his big fists cutting the air. ‘' Really, sir, really, I had rather not; I have no desire—” ‘*T know ye ain’t no desire; that’s what’s ther matter; but I have, an’ that is all that’s re- uired,” ‘You do not know, sir, what you are about to do, My soul] runs more to poetry than to the fistic art, and you cause my, gentle muse to tremble at your coming. The pillar of song within me totters to its base—” ‘* Yas, an’so will you, in about one second. Put up—” They were up. He referred to the poet's fists, and as he spoke he let out a reminder from the shoulder as a hint that the poet must defend himself, The blow amounted to nothing, however, for it was brushed aside easily and the bullwhacker turned half around at the same time, when the poet gave him a gentle kick, ** Do not do that again,” he warned, ‘I do not care to have dirty fists thrust under my nose, My sensitive soul turns sick at the thought, You had better drop the matter, sir, before it is made worse. Exercise faith, Be- lieve that you are satisfied, and satisfied you are without further trouble, ‘* Who probes a sore increases pain, wets ahs s a makes more; ou try that trick on once again, Ill land you on the floor.” —— : The crowd whooped at that, too. The buliwhacker, however, bellowed 1n a loud ~ voice, and wheeling, made for bis tormentor Jike @ raging lion. He closed his eyes as he came, and with his arms working like the rods ona speeding locomo- tive, plunged forward blindly with the intention of doing desperate and terrible things. _ To his surprise, however, he kept right on plunging, for he did not failin with his victim at all, but collided with the wall, which was close at hand. : At which the laughter of the multitude enraged him the more, - He wheeled about with a snort. . There stood the poet, with arms folded, ap- parently just where he had seen him before, ‘¢-You should look where you are going, sir,” the poet warned, mildly. ‘* When you make «a charge like that you ought todo it with your eyes open,” “T’ll close your eyes, that’s what I'll do for yours!” the whacker howledin hisrage. ‘* You'll find in a minnit thet this ain’t no fun, even ef ye think etis now. Waugh!” ‘‘T have not thought it fun, sir; you seem to be enjoying it, however. Don’t let me spoil it for you.” ‘Spoil nothin’! Waugh! Waugh!” and in he plunged, but the next moment took a header in ‘the direction of the wall from which he had just advanced, beste The fist of the poet had met his proboscis with force, and he was sent over upon bis beam’s-ends, so to put it, and piled up in a heap on the floor after butting the wall with force enough to have broken his neck, The crowd hooted and cheered uproariously. ‘‘T told him to take care,” asseverated the poet, meekly, ‘* bnt he would haveit. I am not responsible, I hope. ‘“T have been called the fighting poet; Perhaps tnis man will come to know it,’ The big bully, growling like a tiger, was un- tangling himself, and the next moment, when bh + got upon his feet, he appeared with a revolve in hand and shoot in his eye. : CHAPTER VII, HOW THE TROUBLE ENDED, KNOWING the character of the man as they did, the crowd was immediately filled with con- cern for the safety of the fighting poet. _ A dozen different voices shouted warning t’ , him at the same time, and half as many made move forward to balk the enraged whacker in his mad intention, Quicker than these, however, was the action of tue poet himself, and as soon as the warn- ing had been sounded and the move for in- terference made, if was seen that neither was necessary. ‘¢ Whoap!” cried the poet, and his arms at ful. length presented a pair of glittering revolvers straight at Mr. Knocker-out Jeems’s bead, The bully stopped short, his eyes staring and his mouth open, the weapon in his hand only half raised, ‘* Took out where you drive,” the poet cau- tioned. ‘¢ Here’s a terrible snag just abead of ou.’ | ‘* Put up them weepins, blast ye!” the baffled ruffian cried, ‘¢ With pleasure, sir, when you have put up yours, lam always cocked and primed for just such emergencies as this, and you had bet- ter not try it on again with me or something: may drop. ‘*T am meek and I’m lowly in spirit and mien, I’m as mild as a zephyr of morn; | I’m a lamb, I'm a kit'en, when all is serene, But alive when you tread on my corn,” Again the crowd greeted his nonsense with applause, and the bullwhacker, seeing that he bad the worst of it, thrust his revolver back in- to his belt, ‘“That’s hoss sense,” cried the woman with whom the poet haddanced. ‘‘ Better let it drop,. Knocker-out, since it was my fault, anyhow, and not this man’s. He seems ter be boss of the ’casion.” ‘‘ Bf I let et drop now et’s only ’cause I bave ter do et,” the man growled. “Wise man tosee and own it,” the poet re- marked, ‘‘Some men can’t see when a thing is right before their eyes. Now, I’m willing to let it pass and be good friendsif youare. What do you say to that? ** Come, let us bury the hatchet down deep,, Ths war-club sink into the mud; Come, let us cover contention a hea g Nor thirst for each other’s b-ludd. . . ~ —— i ee ‘ B. “ - —_— ee ae _ = =