Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 1061 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

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The Jatter, ex- asperated beyond control, and having been perfectly stunned and bewildered with the jaw-breakers of Joe, jabbed spurs home, and with his hand on bis six-shooter, charged at him, his patience utterly exhausted. Away went both, while the whole crowd roared with laughter. ‘ : ** Lasso ther little cuss an’ lll s‘uff his grub- trap full o’ dirt!” yelled Big Fout. ‘‘ Doggone yer, Joe, chaW up yer words afore yer spit ’em at me! Cotch him, boys, an’ we'll gin hima puke ter git rid o’ his high-faluten dickshunary English, or whatever danged lingo it are. Weil! feed ther galoot on green persimmons arter this, an’ that’ll put his thro't full o’ kinlkrs. It’s scan’alus ter lissen, an’ nobuddy kan buck ag’in’ him.” Lhe Giant Scout shot out these words, half- angry, half-amused, while tightening his giri hb, the looseness of which had forced him to dis- mount, ‘* Boys!” exclaimed Fighting Ben as he sped over the prairie, Big Foot in pursuit, yelling like an Apache in a war-dance; ‘if if wasn't for the fun Joe makes, and once in a while a change from that to the bautering nonsense of Dutch Pete, and Mick, the trails would seem longer, our privations doubled, and we’d have a dull time generally, between fights, especially on a clear trail and easy riding speed.” “ You are right, Ben,” answered Sam. ‘‘ Joe is the life of every crowd he’s in; I never saw him wilt, I never knew him to loose his grip but once.” Deal us ont the story, Sam,” requested ‘Daring Bill’ “it will help pass the time; Big Foot has a long chase ahead.” “ Well, boys,” said Sam, “‘ the time I refer to was when we were coming out to Texas to- gether in 1859. Wewereon the fore-and-aft achooner Henry James, and bad a fair wind and weather until we struck the Gulf of Mexico. I had purchased, at the reeommenda- tion of the captain, before sailirg, some old Otard brandy, ana pickled limes, as a prevent- ive of seasickness. By partaking of homeo- pathic doses of the brandy, :nd nibbling on the limes, Joe kept his stomach in o der until we were south of Key West, when a most terrific gale struck us, tearing sails to ribbons, and breaking loose a quantity of barrels of beef and pork, which formed a part of our deck load. The wildest confusion prevailed, and we shipped seas over our decks at every plunge. The heavy barre's rolled from side to side, and stove the bulwarks; the sailors refusing to risk their lives in trying to lash them again. The sea ran mountaios high, the ec bins were flooded, and it seemed we were doomed, especially when it was found the .schooner was leakiug badly. “Joe had kept free from seasickness so far, having surreptitiously confiscated my brandy and limes; but this storm dished him, and he was the sickest boy I ever saw. I managed after lashing the women in the cabin, so they could not drown, as they were helplessly sick, to make Joe fast to the main rigging, so Le could nei.\ber move band or foot; tor be did not care whether he rolled overboard or not, It was a discouraging enough sight for a well boy, and not much chance ahead for us to roam the prairies which was our day and night dream. Some of the sailors were at the pumps, others throwing overboard the deck load, the schooner’s rail was under water, the heavens!’ ‘*T bad to lash myself by Joe’s side to keep from being washed over into the sea, and at times crawled into the cabin to see to the wo- men, whose protector was sick as death, lashed to the hatch bolt. We outrode the storm, however, and made the fustest trip between New York and Matagorda Bay that had ever been made under sail. Ask Joe some time if he was ever seasick, and you’ll get some rare En- glish out of him in the descriptive line. But I sce he’s up a tree where Big Foot can’t get at him, and is spouting Shakespeare at our boss trailer. Joe’s a brick, each and every time.” ‘Thanks, Sam, for the story. I have never been on salt water,” returned Daring Bill, ‘‘ and don’t want any in mine.” * During all of this talk, however, no time bad been lost. When the Rangers had reached the spot where Joe was corraled, a few laughing words were sufficient to put the two friends again in amity, and with scarcely a halt the Rangers moved on. » CHAPTER XIII. AN OUTLAW FASTNESS, A TWO story, rambling edifice, with walls of adobe, three feet thick, stands in the midst of 2 walled garden, somber, gloomy, overshad- owed with trees from which hung snakelike bignonias, orcbids and otber trailing vines, whose main stems come winding, twisting up from the dense shrubbery below, Around this house are the china-tree cypress and the towering, plumed head of the cocoa- paim, and beneath, the orange, lemon, lime, guavas, mangoes and many others not indi- genous to the soil, allin a tangled, unpruned state, a vegetable mob, each member striving to reach some spot where the sunlight would kiss its foliage, but the cypress and palm self- ishly appropriating the light and warmth of the god of day. The narrow windows of the casa are guard- ed by bars of iron, making it appear more like a prison than the habitation of a ranchero. Stil it had been such; and he who now owns it claims that as his profession. It does not differ from most Mexican haciendas, except that the shrubbery and trees surrounding it have been left for years uupruned, to spread and twine their shoots into @ tangled jungle, through which but few sunbeams ever find their way. : The bacicnda is situated within an extensive garden, around which are high adobe walls that cut off all intrusion, for upon the top of this wail tbe outer edges on each side have been built higher than the midjdle, and the cavity filed with earth the whoe length of the wall surrounding the gardens and hacienda. In this earth, long ago, prickly-pear was planted, which grew rank and thick, rendering it impassable without a systematic and lengthy assault, aided by ladders and tools. | The gardens now are rich in fruits and flowers, at some distance from the building, where there are no trees towering above them. Commodious stables and outbuildings are almost bidden within the luxuriant groves of orange, lemon, pomegranate and wide-spreading bananas, A passer by would not dream that the abode of man stood within the thorn-guarded groves did he not accidentally stumble against the adobe walls of the garden, for the roots of those trees next the wall have thrown seed and root to the other side, where the infant shoots have almost attained the same altitude as their parent stems. Were it not for the dreary prison-look of the buildings this would certain- ly be a quiet paradise, in which one weary of the selfishness and corruption of the hollow world might with a solitary pleasure, dream life away iu continually balmy air. Even the | patio, (court-yard.) is now but a narrow walk, | since creeping vine and spreading shrub bave burst up through the pavement, throwing-the soft stones aside to give them room to send up branch and foliage. A massive gate of iron, itself eaten with rust and shrouded in green, is captain was yelling, the crew swearing and | the only break in the great wall. the devil was to pay generally. I never sball forget that night. north-east gale, down toward the coast of Yu- eatan, Although I was not seasick, poor Joe wilced; there wasn’t any more nerve in him than in the deck swab, and between bis purg- ing spasms, when I would ask him how he felt, he would mutter, ‘Oh-h-b-h, Sam, take me back—to the Bowery—durn Texas—durn you. : ‘\ . ry b= te tw le % ‘f Bf oat ae a By the side of this entrance stands the lodge We drove before that | of the portero (porter) and there he sits puffing vigorously at his shuck cigarrito. A stvaw sombrer: shaies the full-bearded, repulsive, brutal features of the portero, and a shock of coarse, black bair rests upon his shoulders. His eyes wander nervously about, like those of a suddenly disturbed serpent, The high cheek-bones, form and hue of ‘ ,4 Po) es! \ 5H) Mb aid ee ; + ° ’ tain Vt . 5 ’ 4 ; ~ 5 Fé. e's) \ Pen ae = * r- - cru * ) - ‘ ‘ ‘ “ . * + 4 : ~ ~ 5 i¥ de > ee i * ’ ‘Te “* ects r - ~~ & = eg pre 7G oar hirer \ a skin show him to be a mestizo, having a mix- ture of Spanish, Mexican and Indian blood in his veins: A.brace of large holster pistols which carry a blue-whistler, (ounce ball,) and a deadly cuchillo, (long bladed knife,) are stuck in the folds of his red silken sash, while on the grass at his feet lies an escopeta. This hacienda, dear reader, was the birth- place of Jose Castro. In these gardens, in hig boybood days, he plucked the fruits and flow- ers, and scattered crumbs for sweet singing birds, while in the ancient old adobe porch sat Don Raphael Castro and Inez, his father and mother. Over the court-yard, in after years, clattered the hoofs of gallant steeds, ridden by himself and supposed friend Lorenzo Brogado, when sta:ting on some pleasure expedition for the entertainment of the latter, But now what achange! His father and mother murdered by him be had cherished and favored as a friend; bis young wife torn from his arms by the same friend; and by some strange fatality, his home is enjoyed and owned by this mur- derer, Lorenzo Brogado—next to Juan N, Cortina the most celebrated bandit of North ern Mexico, Suddenly the portero grasps his escopeta and springs to his feet, bending toward the gate in an attitude of listening. As the tinkle of spur-bells, and dull tramp of borses on the thick sward, strikes his ears, he bounds to the wall, next the gate; cocks bis gun, and runs the muzzle between the iron bars, Tie sounds, which tell of an approaching cavalcade, come nearer and nearer. The horsemen are within twenty paces of the gate, still screened from view by the wall, and the portero seems to grow pale, but at last musters courage to shout: ** Quien vive?” ‘Amigos! Caramba, Antonio, are you getting blind that you know not your com- paneros compadres? Are youturning coward- ly that you skulk around the wall? You're as rusty as your old gate, and must take to the chaparral again or you won’t be worth a cigar- rito-stub. Open to the fair lily of Texas, whoa henceforth is to be queen cf the old bacienda, Where is Don Brogado—at the rancho or on the plain?’ ‘*Don Lorenzo is at the casa, Senor Corlies. The walls are thick and to be still is to be secure. We have need to be watchful for those diablo Texans are bold bravos. They have tramped el camino to Monterey once and may do it again; if they did they would not pass us by.” Antonio laid down his gun, and with a ponderous key unlocked the gate, swinging it open, As the gate struck an iron socket, set ina post in the earth for the purpose of preventing too wide an opening, the dull clang of a bell sounded within the gloomy mansion, and the bandits rode within the patio, with Lena Castro in their midst. As the c:valcade filed up the courtyard the huge gate clanged bebind thena, and at the same time the front door of the casa opened, and a man stepped out to as- certain the character of those who were of so much importance as to have gained entrance into bis grounds. | Although he has greatly changed in years it is Lorenzo Brogado still. The cheeks once flushed with youth are now ghastly and fur- rowed by dissipation and perhaps by a guilty conscience. The same treacherous, snaky eyes are now glittering with pleasure, at the sight before him. He rests the ever ready gun, which he has brought full-cocked to the door, against. the wall of the porch, and steps down to wel- come his cut-throat gang, and gloat over the misery of his captive. “ Bueno hombre Corlies, you have won the doubloons. But where is the cursed Gringo, Buckskin? Surely he is carrion, or you’ll carry less gold in your matetos (saddle-bags). Where are the other men?” ‘** Don Brogado,” answered Corlies, ‘‘we are in luck to bring the girl. We earnad our gold dearly. | crossed the Bravo with less than one fourth of the men that I started — with, They are now rotting near San An- tonio de Bexar. The Texans are mucho diablo. They shoot fast and aim well, but we were too much for them. The coyotes have gnawed the bones of him yeu hate so much. We left Buck- skin—Don Samwell as they call him in Sam Antonio—with a hole in his head, near Mission 900ks aoe * | ; a i" f 4 e "> A haere +. . 2 oes ComIC a - 4 rs * f - \p “KM ARE Bg ‘ os 3) ee a