Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 971 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

- 3 r= 5 ett ey cag Se: es “There was nothing the matter with his head when I left him there for dead at the time when that awful deed was done,” said the seeming Chinee. “I am glad it is so. I may be able to restore his mind by the hypnotic proc- ess. I made no false statement when I announced my success in that line in my talk to the people.” “What is to be done with him now?” asked Turner. “Till tell you, but it is to be a mys- tery to you as much as it will be to every — * od | where first discovered. one else when it is discovered.” “ Certainly.” “We will cut off the matted hair and long beard, give him a clean shave and trim and comb his hair, and place him where we found him.” _ “ Jee-roo-sa-lamm! ”’ astonished Job. “What is the matter?” asked the doc- tor. “What a sensation thar will be in Paradise in the morning.” “ Yes, I have no doubt there will be something like it, and your worthy may- or will probably think that I have had a hand in it, and that will set the ball to rolling.” “And say, while I think about it, wouldn’t it be well for me to go to my cabin and tell Gil Rogers all about it— he is hiding there—and bring him here so he will be on hand if needed? He is clear grit, is Gil, and he kin hide here as well as there.” “Yes; do that, by all means.” ejaculated the CHAPTER XVII. MAKING THE BIG HAUL. Turner went quietly out, and the doc- tor and his servant undertook at once the work the doctor had suggested. With a pair of scissors the man’s tan- gled hair and beard were quickly cut off, and when the beard had been trimmed down close, a razor was applied and the work completed, _ Ryan Whitley had nothing to say until it was finally all done, and the man had been washed and combed, when he gazed at him sadly, musing: “Poor Andy! poor Andy! That you Should have come to this! But, you shall be avenged! I swear it!” _ Yes, the score shall be settled with interest,” said Deadwood Dick, grimly. “ But I must apply a restorative,” said Ryan. « He took a vial and dropped some drops ‘rom it upon a spoon, and adding a lit- ri water, poured it between his brother's ips. ‘ “ There,” he said, “ he will be all right now. We shall have time to take him | back where we found him, before he comes to, and he will probably sleep right on till morning, and wake up nat- urally.” Putting out the light, they opened the door and carried the poor fellow forth, and in due time he had been deposited His coat had been replaced upon him, of.course, and | when they left him they pulled something | up around his head so that he would not take cold, On returning to the cabin, they found Job Turner and Gil Rogers there await- | ing them. i} - 1% on Z ‘a 4 7 *. ‘g / J An earnest consultation followed. Bright and early in the morning there arose a great shout in the camp. Doughy Baker, one of the earliest risers in Paradise, added his voice to the clamor, and ran for the mayor's | cabin. There he pounded on the door with ° ‘ ’ : » 4 - > ts ah * 4 er. a\ =f > ors e4 “*”% rl bet she . , —~ - ‘Baker. hands dam quickee! ”’ a even more vim than on the occasion of the murder of David Hamilton, calling upon the mayor to come out with all haste, and declaring that another mur- der had been done. “ Murder!” he cried. ‘ Murder! other murder in the camp, mayor!” This would have been enough—more than enough—but in the direction of the Jolly Polly another wild series of cries were going on. The denizens of the place, as they made their appearance, had their atten- tion divided, some running in the direc- tion of the méeyor’s cabin, and others hastening toward the Jolly Polly. In front of the saloon stood Ky-Ky, yelling at the height of his voice, and madly clawing at his face to feel his beard. It was plain that he missed some- thing, and it was evident that it puzzled him. That beard, as we have said be- fore, had been the poor fellow’s pride. There he stood, shaven and shorn, his pale face wearing an expression impos- sible to describe. It seemed one of com- mingled horror and bewilderment. “ Look at Ky-Ky!” some one shouted, ‘What has happened to him?” cried another. “Ther lightnin’ must ’a’ struck him last night,” a third. And so ran the comments, while the crowd laughed heartily, but in a few moments, with a yell wilder than ever, Ky-Ky made a dash for the mayor’s cabin, ; There was another crowd, as said, and just as Ky-Ky came tearing up, the mayor opened the door to step out, hay- ing dressed in about as much haste as on the previous morning. . “What the deuce—” So he started to demand, but at that instant he caught sight of Ky-Ky. At the sight his mouth dropped open, his tongue cleaved, his face blanched, and his eyes seemed ready to start from their sockets. . _ The crowd looked from one to an- other, the fool of the camp uttering cries and indicating with his hands what had happened, and the mayor trying his best to recover his equilibrium. “Who has done this thing? ”’ the may- or, managed to thunder, finally. ‘“* Who could play such a trick on the fool as this?” 5. “But the murder!” urged Doughy “T tell.-ye Hot-Head Smith has been murdered, Mayor Eastwood! He is a-layin’ in his cabin dead, same as poor Mr. Hamilton was!” “What’s that yer say?” cried a man in the crowd, for the first time getting the import of what Doughy wanted to tell the mayor. Paradise? Mayor, never mind this hyer fool, but let’s ’tend to what’s more ’port- ant.” “ Great heavens! it can’t be true!” the mayor exclaimed. He turned away from Ky-Ky, but the camp fool caught hold of him and clung to him, uttering his dumb complain. “Get away, fool!” the mayor cried, shaking the poor fellow off and giving him a blow and a kick. ‘‘ There is some- thing else to see here besides hearing you whine.” “Yes, you are right there is, sir!” Out in front of the mayor stepped Dr. Huxley Pettibone, with a pistol at the mayor’s head. “ Allee samee you bettee!” chimed in the Chinese servant, standing behind his master and presenting a brace of guns, one on either side. “ Bettle thlow up An- “Bet your life ye better had!” cried s Deadwood Dick, Jr.’s, Oath. y : . “a ¥ \ IS FS Sey cr ae Sle SENS “é rf me af a a * Not another murder in. i” Pet x i , ; ut ,i fe 15 Gil Rogers, presenting another gun on one side simultaneously with Job ‘l'urn- er, who brought one to bear upon the other side. “We mean grim old busi- ness, Pete Eastwood, and you are ther doughnut we mean ter fry!” “ Wh—wh—what is the meaning— ”’ “It means that you are under arrest for the murder of David Hamilton, one thing,’ said Ryan Whitley, severely. “It’s a lie!” screamed the mayor. “Allee samee tlue,’ chipped in Chop Wong. “ Boys, I call on you—” “Let any man attempt to interfere here, and [ will put a bullet through this man so quick he will never know what struck him,” cried the doctor. “Do ye mean ter say that he killed Dave Hamilton?” one man asked. “Just what I do mean to say, and I call upon all honest men in this camp to hear what I have to offer.’’ “It is. a lie! a lie!” screamed the mayor, as white as death, and with per- spiration standing out on his face. “I say it is a black lie, and I defy any man to prove it!” He struggled, but Gil Rogers and Job Turner held him fast, while the Chinee bound his hands. “We will prove it fast enough to sat- isfy you,” averred Whitley. | Ky-Ky had gathered himself up, and was walking away whimpering, but the doctor asked some one to detain him as a witness. “A witness?” the crowd ejaculated. “What kind of a witness kin a fool be?” “I intend to show you,” responded the doctor. “ That man is my brother.’ Eastwood uttered a cry, and stared at the doctor. “Who are you, then?” he demanded, — the inquiry that sprung to his lips. “My name, sir, is Ryan Whitley, ‘brother to: Andrew Whitley, whom you tried to murder at the time of the Cot- tonwood Meadows massacre. Ah! that strikes you to the marrow, I find.”’ In fact, the mayor reeled, and seemed as if he would fall, but Rogers and Turn- er caught him. : “Ther Cottonwood Meadows massa- ere?” cried the crowd. “Yes, the same.” “It is a lie—it is a lie!” “ Bring that poor brother of mine here,” ordered Whitley. “I have already the proof of what I assert. I will satisfy you.” The “camp fool” had been caught, and was now led forward, passive enough, having lapsed again into his. usual state of nothingness, so to speak. Ryan Whitley seized him and tore away the sieeve from his left arm, ex- posing to sight the marks we have twice mentioned, and pointing to the letters . there seen, he said: “By this mark I know that this man is my brother, and by it, also, I know that he was the sole survivor of the Cot- tonwood Meadows massacre. This gen- tleman here,’ indicating his Chinee servant, “saved him from the burning at that time, and he will vouch for it!” ‘ . CHAPTER XVIII. RETRIBUTION AND CONCLUSION. The crowd was silent, overawed. , The “czar” of the camp a prisoner? It was enough to stagger them. ' Paradise was utterly overcome, and her denizens looked from one to an- other wondering what was coming next. Having exposed his brother’s arm, Ryan Whitley removed the goggles he had been wearing, replaced his false g im 4 ® " . \ * =? = 4 4 P oe 4. 6547 Sh aa CO Oe