Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 1061 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

y ‘ avay mit himself. cum mit me. Tem tam reat-skins vos here vile you pees schleepin’, und dakes ’Ustin, dem horses und mulars all avay do der bararar. Cum.” Pete dragged the astonished and frightened Irishman through the woods, stopping in the dark shades to whisper caution and give him a Buckskin | Sam. me yell it’s afther ther red devils they’ll be! Whoop! it’s famous wid ther Rangérs this ride will make me! MHurrooh fur Buckskin Sam an’ Mick McFillinny—ther Rio Grande Rangers! Hurrooh!” The truly ludicrous ride of Mick, was thus kept up, the whisky meanwhile being fast drink, which, owing to the circumstances in | transferred from the bottle to hisstomach. His which he found himself placed, was no small quantity, and fired up his nerves, sending a thousand conflicting thoughts in a wild stam- pede through his brain, Dragging Mick through the bush towafd the opening, Pete explained matters on the run. mustang vot you gut. He vas all dot vas save frum dem tam Injuns; und you goes like der tyvel und dells dot Puckskin Sam, und der udder poys dey cumes here lightnin’ quick und goes mit der drail. You haf ter goes mit der noots, or dem reat-skins dake off yer scalp.” Noticing a hesitancy in Mick to undertake the enterprise, Pete thrust the whisky bottle into his willing bands, saying: ‘*Dare, Mick, pe a goot poy, und rite quick- ly, und ven you gits tired, vy you dakes sum- ding strong to prace you upe, vot you say, ole poy? goot?”’ ‘¢Troth, I will that. I'll go to the end o’ Taxas fur the b’ys’ horses. Me sculp’s on me head now, thunk God, an’ I hopes it'll sthick; although thar is a power o’ misery under it, an’ I’m not in dape luv wid this worruld. ‘Sure, I w’u'd wish me hair to go wid me, an’ I’m not wantin’ to be sint to me long home be red hathens me curse on thim fur st’alin’ the hosses o’ the b’ys! Where in t’undher’s Aus- tin? Sure the scalpers w’u’d not be wantin’ a nagur.” **Tam id, I dells you dem reat-skins vos got him! Dey dakes him do cook upe de mulars, I dinks.” ‘‘Powers o’ pewther, vat’ll we be doin’ fur br’akfast the mornin’?”’ ‘Got in Himmul! ve vants no preakfast af dem Injuns cums pack! Cum, quick! dare vas your hoss! Let dot rope trag; then you no cums pack ve can find dot drail easy,” and Pete assisted Mick into the saddle. “* You petter keeps on de edge ter woots und you pees all riut. Hare vas ein goot plack snake vhip, giv dot hoss blitzen on de roat, so he goes like von tear.” ‘* Where’s me gun? find mesilf wid.” ‘Ef you sees dot Injuns, make dot hoss run You got goot pocket-pis- Sure I’ve nuthin’ to da- tol mit you.” Pete gave the mustang a kick, and at the same time Mick brought the whip around the animal’s hams, who sprung wildly around the margin of the opening, held by the lariat hitched to the swivel-headed picket-pin. Then Pete dashed into the bushes before Mick came around to the starting-place. It was now quite dark, and the Irishman alternately taking a swig from the bottle on the run and lashing his horse to greater speed, was too muddled to notice that the animal was going full leap around in a circle. ‘‘Hurrooh fur the king 0’ Ballyschlaven! Ould Ireland foriver, bad luck to the red, nagurs, it’s Mick McFillinny don’t care a rush fur thim! Take a dhrink, Mick! sure, it’s the best haf o’ Pate’s whisky I hav ag’in, an’ he'll be mad as a hathen’whin he finds the other bothle is wather entirely!” Away at breakneck speed went the Irish- man, wild with drink ard yelling like a mad- man, while his horse, knowing something was wrong with his master, was terrified at his forced circusing. It was but a short time after Mick had started en his singular journey when Pete and Austin, disguised as Indians, sprung from the bushes with wild yells and fired half a dozen shots at the almost flying man and mustang. Then secreting themselves they roiled on the gromd in a frenzy of mirth, as Mick every moment went dashing past, putting their imi- tation Indian yells to shame by his wild, un- earthly: ‘‘Hurrooh fur ther King o’ Bally- schlaven! Hurrooh tur Beckskin Sam! Whar the divil are ye, me b’ys? sure yees xre wanted at ther Springs! Be ther fa’ries o’ Killarney but thay war afthey ww.) sculp ontirely, so they war, an’ it’s not out ov danger ye rre yet, Mick, me b’ye, an’ av it warn’t fur the Dore ;man’s cour- _ age bow wad ye iver hev made the grand race ‘vid the murtherin’ spalpeens? Sure, it must he nigh to the b’ys that I am, an’ ef they hear *'You sees, Mick, you shoost must ride dot, wild hurrah sounded fainter and fainter, and at last he fell forward, his arms claspedaround the neck of his horse, which now slowed up, and gradually came to a stand-still. Then Mick McFillinny, the descendant of the | last king ef Ballyschlaven, very ungracefully slid to mother earth and repose; while Pete and Austin fairly made night hideous as they rolled upon the grass of the opening, in an ecstasy of mirth. CHAPTER X. A JEALOUS FIEND—THE TALKING LEAF. MaApDAM CANDELERIO’S fandango, situated in the mesquite chaparral about one mile from the Main Plaza of San Antonio, was _ in full biast; and as brilliantly lighted as could be expected from tallow-dips and tin reflectors. A coffee-stand and monte-bank were drawing their share of attention in one end of the build- ing, while the hard, trampled dirt floor was filled with gay senoritas, and a sprinkling of American, French and German girls. ‘The men who were dancing were all white frontiers men, stage-drivers, herders and sporting-men of the Alamo City, a mixed crowd all armed with Colt’s revolvers and bowie-knives, and in their shirt-sleeves. Between dances, as no beverage was sold on the premises stronger than vino dulce for the girls, flasks were produced and passed here and there, amid boisterous clamor, @brough which the silvery laughter from the Mexican senoritas rung in a musical manner. Notice- able among the men was one wiio from his muscular frame, and symmetrical figure, would be picked out from any crowd as an object worthy of attention. He is clad in a red shirt, flowing collar, black pants tucked with high- legged boots, a very wide-brimmed sombrero, and is armed as the others. This is “‘Overland Jim,” the stage-driver; who calls Santa Fe his home, but takes a run occasionally down to San Antonio,.to see his pards of the ribbons, Sam Scott, Jim Dodson, Jim Harding and others. He is evidently on ‘‘a regular jamboree,” as he calls it, in luose harness, and hand in hand with an American girl, frail and fair, who sticks to him through every dance. Overland Jim, since his arrival in town had been keeping company with Mariana Coyen, and those who know the latter prophesy trouble in camp. Many of the men are bantering Jim at the easy manner in which he changes calico; but none dream of the consequences yet to come. In the midst of the merriment a.white -robed figure glides through the doorway, and then, for a moment halts. It is Mariana Coyen, the heroine of the San Antonio bull-fight. As she appeared then, risking her life to ease the last mv.nents of the gored torredor, there was a look upon her face almost heavenly; but now she appears a fiend incarnate. Her features are pale as death, her lips are drawn up, showing her pearly teeth grating together like those of a mai- dened wolf, while her eyes are glowing with a wild fire, as they glare around until they fall upon Overland Jim and his partner. Then, like a phantom of death she glides forward, One moment Overland Jim is bending over the American girl, his arms about ber neck; the next, Mariana, with, flashing eyes and gleaming stiletto, sprung like a panther through the crowd. Her graceful bounds bring her immediately behind Jim and his partner. QE OOO Ee eee eee, eee ——— ee | | | TE dancer, a horrible shriek of terror and agony comes from the pallid lips, and the girl falls into the arms of Overland Jim, a corpse, With pale faces, in bushed horror the other girls huddle in groups, and shrink away from the blood-spattered spot. The ghastly deed was done so quickly, and so paralyzed each and every beholder, that be fore the assembly could realize what had hap- pened, Mariana, with a fiendish laugh, had glided out again, througb the door, and disap- peared in the dense mesquite chaparral. This is no fancy sketch of what might hap- pen, but a truthful record of what really did occur at Madam Cundelerio’s fandango, as hundreds of people now living in San Antonio can testify. Mariana, who risked her life to ease the last moments of one, and took the life of another, in a cowardly, murderous manner, escaped all punishment for the latter brutal deed, save a brief imprisonment, Fair daughters of Mexico! In your jealous rage what will you not do to him or her who comes between you and the object of your regards? In love orin hate who can surpass you? Meandering through the bunches of nopal, or prickly pear, on the Mexican side of the Rio Grade, above Eagle Pass, are a party of horsemen, In their midst is a beautifus female who although careworn with grief and despair, we recognize as Lena Castro. Those who guard her—so brutal and debased In mien —are for the most part, the same bandits we saw at the old Mission below San Antonio, though a few more of the same character have been added to their ranks, All the men are more or less drunk; and a bottle of mescal is being passed frequently from one to the other—they are celebrating their safe arrival with their captive upon Mexican soil. . | What care they for those of their number who now lie festering, stark and stiff, beneath the shadows of the Mission, torn by wolver and pecked by buzzards? They are so intent upon their plans for the future, when the heavy reward for her who is now being taken to their patron shall be distributed, that they do not observe that a man dressed in Mexican garb is watching them from a rise on their right. To be sure, he is somewhat screened by the brush, but were they on Texas soil they would certainly be more watcbful, and the spy would be seen. It is evident he understands their condition or he would not be so careless, He keeps his post until the cavalcade almost disappears from view. Then, gazing up at the sup and raising his band toward the same, he gradually allows it to drop in a line with the party of bandits. This observation made, he draws a knife and cuts out the form of an arrow from the bark of a tree near him, the front directly toward the course pursued by those he is avi- dently intending to follow at some ‘future time, Then, with a peculiar, long, swinging gait, he starts toward the Bravo, on the back trail of the bandits. He reaches the Rio Grande, plunges i». and swimming to the opposite shore, disappears in a dense thicket. He is gone but a short time, when the under- brush parts, and our red friend Warlula, in all his war paint and weapons, mounted .upon his mustang, bursts info view and speeds away from the Bravo toward the Nueces, We know now that the Mexican spy and Warlula are one and the same, and that he has, so far, been faithful to his white brother, ** Buckskin Sam.” The hot sun pours down on the parched, cracked sward of the prairies to the south of the Rio Nueces, Warlula, the Tonkaway is coming as fast as his fagged mustang can bear him, toward the river of nuts, and it is plaim to see that his animal, although short-bodied, With the quickness of, thought, Mariana and compactly built, has been taxed beyond raises her left hand, and gathers the tong, thick hair of her rival in her fingers, giving a violent twitch backward and downward, draw- ing the head of her victim over until the white throat lay bare betore her. Then vhe right hand of Mariana Coyen is raised in the air, her stiletto :litters an instant | in the poor girl’s fate, and then drops on its murderous way. cross and through the fair, white throat it cuts its cruel way, a spurt his endurance, and can serve bis red master but a short time longer. Covered with foam, discolored with blood from lacerated jaws, and scratches of the thorny chaparral, leit far be- hind, and panting painfu}ly, still be is urged on by word and guirt over the hot, dry plaiu, As they near the green line which marks the bottom-timber of the Nueces river, the mus- tang gives a low whinny of pleasure ai the scent of water; and the eyes of the Indian. of hot, red vlood flies over the muslin of the | brighten, for the throats of both are paré¢hed 5) Comicboo co