Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 838 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

a > *. y “yee, wea! oF a “never look for us on this trail. Sl F Sailor Sam himself, with a Winchester in his hands, perched on the crown of the bank, some twenty feet above. “T don’t know much about his shooting,” thought the boy, as he flitted by, ‘* but I hope it’s gilt-edged. He has the nerve, though, and just now I shouldn’t wonder if that was worth more than the other.” The crack of the Winchester put an end to his thoughts in that direction. He felt like stopping to take a hand in the fray Sam seemed about starting, but a glance at the white face near to his shoulder made him only grit his teeth and urge his steed on the harder. Yet, he looked backward, his revolver in his hand, and caught a glimpse of a mustang tumbling to Sam’s first shot; and while he looked, heard a second shot, and saw another flinch and swerve. “Good boy! He has them. If he can't shoot the pigeon he hits the buzzard, and that is doing the business up as well. [ll save my own shots ‘for close quarters. Samuel keeps on pumping lead; and I hope the chargers will continue to drop, The rattle of hoofs ceased in his rear, and when Clean Gritslooked around again he saw that pursuit for the present was indeed checked. Sailor Sam had finished his work, and was making long strides to the rear, ‘* Are we safe?” whispered Helen, at last, when Clean Grit slackened his speed and be- gan to look about him. ‘‘We’re safe, of course,” was the en- couraging answer; ‘‘but I’m not so sure about the poor road-agents. Seems as though they had been having a wintry time. We won’t wait to see, though. It looks as though this route might lead to the trail, and we'll just hustle on ahead. I wouldn’t weep a tear if we could strite some of the men from Pay Dirt. We'll nesd ’em bad before we get through.” CHAPTER XVI. THE PARDS ‘‘ GET THE HUSTLE ON.” CLEAN Grit had wonderful nerve, to be sure, but he had luck as well, without which he might have lost his life at a dozen differ- ent times during the brief period which had oe since he struck the camp of Pay irt, . Although he wasshrewd to trace out the lay of the land, and did not take his course altogether ata venture, luck had a great deal to do with his striking at last the very spot where he had stumbled across Sailor Sam in the darkness, and had himself been captured Though he had come to the spot originally in utter darkness he had no trouble in recog- nizing it, for the hoofmarks were there, and a little splotch of dried blood, where the head of the storekeeper had been resting when Clean Grit raised it. | ‘That hits us right where we live,” he exclaimed, pointing downward to the marks Which were so plain to his eyes, ‘“The wagon trail can’t be so far off now, and if I can’t find it, my mother’s darling ought to have a guardian appointed, and wear skirtiloons. Chirk up, Miss Helen, we are just as good as out of the woods,” ‘But, with all our friends scattered, and we here alone, what good will it do us if we find the trail?’ ‘““What good? Glory! That’s a question. If we can’t do any better we can strike back to Pay Dirt, and take a fresh start. By this time your dad has woke them up there, and I wouldn’t wonder if we met half the town coming to the rescue.” * But xf I understand you aright they will t will be the other one they will take to find traces of us, _ and we will miss them.” ** ‘Not so sure of that if there is any one in 4) ~Pay Dirt who knows what Sam was trying 4} to tell me when I stumbled across him. They ome will pee to think Kill has his suspicions try this route over again—if he Poker Pete’s Double Dodgre. hadn’t been wasting his time with you and me he would have been hyer or hyerabouts 15 anart, revealing the fact there was a double bottom to the coach, and in the cavity had before this—and Kill is the man they will | been placed a number of small, narrow boxes, rant to meet.” ‘‘And the man we wish to avoid,” said Helen, with a shiver. ‘‘Can we not goin some other direction?” ‘““We are doing very well as it is, and I wouldn’t lose my bearings on the chance of meeting a dozen Doctor Hanshaws, with a smart sprinkling of Drunken Davys, and Poker Petes thrown in. I think we are ahead of the procession, and we'll try and stay there.” Clean Grit had not forgotten his friends, by any means, but first of all he wanted to get Helen Ford off his hands. After that he could look for them at his leisure. He could understand that Helen was nerv- ous and weary, needing rest badly, but there was no time to waste, and without attempt- ing to further reassure her he turned down the gorge, and soon had the satisfaction of knowing he was on the right track. Before he expected it he found himself in the trail. The broncho had stood up nobly to its work, but after atime began to show symp- toms of leg-weariness. ‘To relieve him a lit- tle Clean Grit slid from the saddle, and walked by his side, leaving Helen to hold the reins. They were coming to the difficult portion of the road near to where the coach which carried Sailor Sam had been stopped, Suddenly, the boy laid his hand on the bridle. ‘“Whoa! And say it as softly as you know how. Strikes me I caught a glimpse of something in the distance. Come out of the trail and let me go on and investigate. There’s nothing to be lost just now by being a trifle over curefule It may be a rabbit, it may be a Red Owl, and it may be Captain Kill, himself. I want to know which before you go any further.” At the approach again,of what might be danger Helen grew, if possible, a little paler, but she shut her teeth hard, uttered no sound, and allowed the broncho to be led aside from the track. Leaving the young lady there, in comparative concealment, Clean Grit glided away, keeping an anxious eye on the spot where he thought he had seen a moving object. With their superior knowledge of the country it was possible enough the outlaws had cut in before him, but he wanted to know in what force they came before he de- cided what was the best for him to do. He had never been over the ground be- fore, but without the least hesitation he fol- lowed an ascending course, which was bring- ing him to the spot where were the ambush- ed Killers when the stage was stopped by their comrades below. There were sharp eyes on the lookout, but fortunately they were directed up and down the trail. Half a dozen of the Killers were there, and foremost among them Captain Kill was scrambling down the bank, toward the ruins of the coach which were to be seen below. “The treasure left Pay Dirt, that Pl swear to,” Clean Grit heard him saying. ‘There was a trick of some kind, that was sharp enough to fool the Red Owls as well as us, but we'll go them one better and win, after all. If the wretches have not been here—” He stopped speaking, and looked down upon the shattered fragments at his feet. Bad as was the wreck it had been impossible to take the whole coach apart. Part of it still retained its shape. Snatching up a wheel that had been torn from the axle, Captain Kill raised it high in air, and hurl- ed it down upon the still solid bottom of the coach, ‘*By heavens! He’s struck the secret!” thought Clean Grit, and he was not far wrong. With the crash the flooring was burst so carefully packed they filled the interior completely, ‘* Hooray! Hooray fur—’ Kill threw up bis finger, and it quieted the man as quickly as though it had been a steel tube with certain death within. ‘If it was not for the noise it would make [ would have struck you with something harder. Lay hold, but be silent,” There was load enough there for anumber of men, divided up as it was in awkward packages. They moved up. with out- stretched arms, Even the sentinel on the road forgot his duty and craned forward to see the treasure that at last was within their grasp. Now was Little Clean Grit’s opportunity, The odds against him were fearful, but he never hesitated. If he could not entirely baftie he knew he could delay, and yender a good account of himself in the doing of it. The range for pistol-shooting was a little long, but he still had five lives or limbs at his tinger ends, and he began to make his tally. Captain Kill was screened by the man who stood next to him or he would have fallen first of all, but the outlaw in front went down with an angry cry. Then fol- lowed shot after shot, as fast as thumb could work hammer, and finger press trigger. The reports sounded like a fire by file of a platoon of cavalry, and every bullet bad its billet. If they did not kill they crippled, and that, for the boy, was just as well. But, five shots were soon spent. Captain Kill, with bis left arm hangin shattered by his side, looked upward andl saw the young camp hustler leaning eagerly forward from his covert, uncertain whether to charge down to snatch at the arms of the sentinel who lay on the trail, or to take to flight. Ifthe outlaws were not altogether demoralized there were still enough standing totake terrible vengeance; and there was the safety of Helen as well as his own at stake, Kill threw up his band, and the muzzle of his revolver never wavered, Clean Grit saw the movement, and was fixed to the spot for an instant as though fascinated. He knew the deadly aim of the man, and thought his hour had come, | And then, along the trail came the sweep and swoop of beating hoofs, and Move-along Mike, bouncing a foot high at every stride, was on the ground, He never waited to draw in his steed, but as he reached the spot where the sentinel lay. he just rolled off his horse, and rose again with a revolver ready for Captain Kill. At the sound Kill bad held his shot. He knew the boy above was no longer danger- ous, and it was possible the fight for life would have to go on. As he raised his gun the coming warrior seemed taller than a man. As the pistol cracked, Mike was settling into his saddle from a bounce, and seemed smaller than a boy. The bullet went whistling just over his head. When he staggered to his feet he pulled trigger, and Kill went down, while with a loud cheer a dozen men of Pay Dirt came swooping down upon the scene! This time it was all over but the shouting. The Red Owls had been beaten off by the Killers, and Mike had as usual fallen on his feet. When he had lain for a time appa- rently dead, he had risen unmolested, cap- tured a steed belonging to one of the fallen Owls, and followed the trail left behind by the Killers as they went back to investigate the shattered coach. He had come up just in time to save his pard, and hold things in shape till the men + i 4 5 @ Yor et = : ‘i fy S) ’ To y( - 5 bwieil \ j : : ip Oke: , *) , | A a i'n f ri 8 u - . ’ aa Tle te, aN <<e e aes Oh