Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 114 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

i] 12 men, with great, piercing black eyes, and soft, silken hair, as jetty as a raven’s wing, and as fine and lustrous as floss. She sat cuddled up in the corner, with a lap-robe over her knees and a soft, fleecy affair about her neck, though if was midsummer, giving one the impression, not so much that she was cold, as that she was delicate and fragile—a thing that the winds must not blow upon too rudely. So exquisitely beautiful, so formed for pro- tection, she was just the sort of woman to cap- tivate great strong men and bend them to her veriest whim, ruling them with a rod of iron without their real’zing the fact. To those rude fellows of the mountains she was a revelation, a dream of enchantment, a creature from some other sphere. Moxy started and blushed every time she spoke to him, and could hardly find words with which to frame his stammering replies. ‘Waal, ye see, ma’am,” he said, in reply to her question, ‘‘thar’s a kind of a yarn back of it. The placo was called Hard Luck, at first; an’ doggoned hard luck the boys had thar, too, It was changed to Angel’s Find all along of Miss Lillie.” ** Miss Lillie? A mountain belle?” “A which, ma’am?—beggin’ yer pardon!” “The prettiest woman in the camp, I pre- sumo,” “The only woman, ma’am. <An’ purty! | Waal, I reckon she’s jist the prettiest leetle gal | you ever see—present company excepted, ma’am|!”’ | ‘*Oh, of course”"—laughingly. ‘But who is she? Miss Lillie what?” ‘“ Waal, now, 1 ailow you git me, ma’am. xi Ellie is about as fur asI ever got in that eal, ‘* How strange. Has she no surname?” — I reckon she has some’rs—in the States, rhaps.” “In the States! Do people leave their sur- names behind them when they come to this de- lightfully original country?’ “Waal, mostly, I reckon,” “Tm! Well, go on.” “Ye seo, ma’am, she lives along o’ the Gentle- man from Pike.” A A representative in your State legislature, I er. “No, ma’am; beggin’ your pardon, you don’t drop to me jist right. The Gentleman from Pike is a sharp from Pike’s Peak, ye onderstand —the solid man an’ head referee of Angel’s Find. Runs the only quartz crusher in the suring himself that the coach had indeed been halted by a knight of the road. ‘‘ This hyar be- gins to sound like old Californy times. The coun- try’s lookin’ up! Wedidn’t need nothin’ but a sample o’ these gents to make this hyar section an airthly parauise. But we’re bound to have all the modern improvements! Oh, we’ro comin’ along, bet yer boots!” And he rubbed his hands and chuckled in evi- dent enjoyment. The lady passenger looked surprised. ‘‘And it’sa matter for self-gratulation that we are to be robbed?” she asked. ‘* Why, ma’m, yo see,” explained Moxy, ‘‘if we was a pack o’ beggars with nary an ounce in our pockets, ib wouldn’t pay nobody to take to the road, But the old song—‘ halt! throw up yer hands!’—is a sign o’ prosperity ! -We ought to be thankful that we’re wo’th robbin’! ‘But hyar’s the gent to speak fur himself.” And, indeed, Moxy’s bit of Western philoso- phy_ was cut short by the appearance of the road-agent at the side of the coach. Some feminine whim drop her vail over her robber looked into the coach he saw only a little woman quite as effectually masked as himself, What the lady saw was a man of slender elegant build, with small hands and feet, and soft, wavy hair, dressed with a taste that would not bave shamed Broadway, and mounted upon a horse of perfect symmetry and costly hous- ings, When he Jifted his hat the gesture was full of grace, and when he spoke his voice was low and melodious and his articulation polished. ‘‘T beg your pardon,” he said. ‘I did not anticipate the presence of a lady. Allow me to reassure you, if I have awakened apprehensions by my unceremonious intrusion. But lbeg you to believe that I yield to none in my reverence for the sex that claims all our chivalry. And far from giving you just cause for alarm, I hope— But here the smooth flow of his apology was cut short by Moxy, who shouted: ‘Waal, blow me ef it ain’t the Frisco Sharp that I’ve been tellin’ ye: bout! Speak o’ the devil, an’ yell see his horns!” As for the lady, she had started forward in | her seat, witb a low ejaculation, and then sunk back, in seeming agitation. Perhaps her emotion was a woman’s natural timidity; perhaps it was something else. The words that sprung to ber lips were: “St. Auburn!” lace.” x And this Mrs. Lillie, I presume you mean. CHAPTER XVI. His wife?” GALLANT ROAD-AGENT. THE **But, boss,” pursued Moxy, ‘‘ how in Cain did you manage to give us the slip? You're want- ed up in Angel’s Find. The boys has got jest the neatest-fittin’ necktie you ever see, savin’ it up fur ye. Thar’s some new faces up thar; but thar’s enough o’ the old gang to give ye a rayal boom, ef so be you chip in.” “My Christian friend,” said the road-agent, in cool, measured tones, “ it’s notalways wise to tell all one may know. A wagging tongue often digs a pit which discreet silence might have beidg d over. [ll trouble you to alight trom the coach, Though the exigencies of an untoward fate compel me to levy a slight loan on you, it were unseemly that such a transaction should come under the eye of a lady.” ‘* La! bow tender yon are of women critters!” said Moxy. ‘Now, ef you’d only let me off along o’ my mother or sister. I reckon I cught to have one or t/other some’rs in this hyar great an’ glorious univarse. Consider her feéelin’s!” though he indulged in his joke, Moxy obey- ed promptly. Meanwhile, ben ath his careless exterior lurked a lynx-like vigilance, and the slightest negligence on the part of the Frisco Sharp, might have cost him his life; for Moxy was as loth to part with his gold-dust as the average man, if it could be helped. But the road-agent was not to be caught nap- ing. Nonchalant as he was, he never lost ints in a game through carelessness. ‘*March to the head of the horses,” he com- manded, Moxy complied. There, out of sight and hearing of the lady, he pursued: ** Waal, no, ma’am, not his wife.” *“‘ His sister, then?” ‘* N—n—o! not exactly.” **Oh!” said the ney. “Oh, it’s all right!” cried Moxy, hastily. “You'd only orter see her onc’t, an’ then you make no mistake.” | “‘ Well, go on with your story,” said the lady, as if not disposed to argue the pone Then followed the story of the Frisco Sharp and the darkest days of d Luck Camp, Moxy concluding: ; * Just about this time big Mose Finley got on his legs ag’in’. But he wa’n’t noways hand- some, you kin bet! An’ the way he hated the Frisco Sharp! I reckon he’d ’a’ bolted him, taller an’ hide, ef he’d dropped onto him! So_ he stirred the boys up—which the same they didn’t need much stirrin’!—an’ we went for the shanty whar Frisco had harbored. But thar wa’n’t nobody to home by Tom O’Connor. He bluffed us fer a rH an’ while we was a-sparrin’ with him at chin-music, up comes the Gentleman from Pike an’ Miss Lille. *** What’s all this row? says he. ** And Mose reeled it off fur him in short me- ter. Fur Mose was sassy, no matter how many times you downed him. ‘¢* We've come fur the Frisco Sharp,’ says be; ‘an’ this time we’re bound to fetch him, ur bu’st the traces!’ “*The Frisco Sharp is whar you won't see him ag’in in a burry,’ says the Gentleman from Pike, passin’ us, and goin’ into the shanty, leav- in’ the door open after him. ; ‘‘ An’ he didn’t tell no lie. Frisco had lit out; an’ we’ve never sot eyes on him from that day ‘*Hand your arms up to me, and if you think to this. Of course the Gent had rung in a cold | you seea chance for a snapshot at me during the deal on us; but even Mose wa’n’t ready to buck | operation, you are welcome to try your luck.” ag’in’ him; so the matter dropped. | _“*Thank’ee; I ain’t takin’ no chances,” said ‘After that, the fust thing we knew, Miss | Moxy, as he passed pistol and bowie knife over Lillie dropped on a big find half a mile futher up | to his captor. the pocket; an’ the boys has been in‘clover ever ** Now—with your leave!—for such a_ contri- since. So that’s how we come to call it Angel’s | bution to my depleted finances as your generos- Find.” ity may dictate,” said the road-agent politely. Just at this instant a clear, ringing voice | ‘‘Ya-as!” laughed Moxy. ‘Itdoes me proud sounded down the mountain gorge. | to drop my pile into the pot, so that a gent 0’ ‘Halt! Throw up your hands!” our delicate raisin’ needn’t soil his lily-white ‘“‘ By thunder!” cried Moxy, inamaze. ‘‘ Blow nds with work. Butif I ever git aholt 0’ one me ef that don’t sound like road-agent business! | eend of a rope while you're presidin’ at the Never heard of that lay on this road afore.” other, I hope you'll be as perlite as I am now, And as the coach came to @ standstill, he | an’ not squeal ef I put in my best. licks on the thrust his head out of the door, | home tug.” ; . Sure enough, there in the road satamanon “I never quarrel with fate,” said the Frisco horseback, bis face disguised by a black mask, ; Sharp, with a gambler’s sense of predestina- and a rifle held menacingly at the shoulder. tion. ‘‘ Oblige me by remaining where you are “Waal, | sw’ar!” exclaimed Moxy, upon as-' for a moment.” . “ The Gentleman from Pike. rompted the lady to | ace, so that when the | And he rode back to the side of the coach. In this scene there bad been a bit of by-play” which had escaped Moxy’s perception. At the sound of the road-agent’s voice the strange lady had started violently, with a suppressed ejacu- laticn which Moxy, in the surprise of recogniz- ing the Frisco Sharp, did not notice, nly the delicate ear of the outlaw caught the name; ‘* St. Auburn!” Whatever there was in it, it affected him powerfully, an agitation which Moxy’s adcaress served in. a measure to cover, until he had re- gained self-mastery. Left alone, the lad trembling violently. returned she sat proudly erect, evidently forces of her nature in arms, ** Again | beg your pardon, madam,” he said suavely, “‘for this unseemly interruption of your journey. But may 1 not know to whom I owe apology for which I despair of finding the grace?” lay back in her seat ut when the road-a oF the ‘You can have no interest in a stranger,” ’ said the lady, coldly. ‘And since you are pleased to treat me so courteously, the novelty of the adventure will more than compensate for any momentary embarrassment. So, no apolo- gy is necessary.” “ The graciousness, madam, with which you | seek to quiet my self-reproach only makes me feel my culpability the more keenly. To bave caused so fair a lady a moment’s distress is not easily atoned, And since in this wiid country fortune may at any moment favor me with an Opportunity to do you a service, you cannot ' bave the heart, surely, to deny me the knowl- edge to whom my hopes may look forward to making this slight recompense.” ** Sir, you are persistent.” ** Madam, it is the weasure of ny contrition” —with a low bow. ‘You seem to forget that you have not yet revealed yourself.” ‘“My only excuse is that I would hide my face, for very shame, from one against whom I bave trespassed beyond forgiveness. But, since your word is my law, behold one who places his pride beneath your feet.” And with movements of his own liar grace the Frisco Sharp deftly removed his mask, - Beautiful of feature as symmetrical in form, his humility of lock and attitude contrasting with the pride of the noble animal] he bestrode, Jules St. Auburn sat before the vailed lady, a culprit whose penitence might well move the hardest female heart, but beneath the long lash- es that drooped over his languid brown eyes glowed a aa curiosity. This man was like a volcano draped in peace- ful verdure. As for the lady, the sight of his face must have called up memori:s that moved her as pro-_ fuundly as bad those evoked by the sound of his voice; for she gripped her hand spasmodically in the folds of her dress, her bosom fluttered, ° and her vail was disturbed by agitated breath- ing. For a moment a dead silence fell between’ them, the Frisco Sharp waiting patiently. ' That silence was broken by the sudden clan of iron-bound hoofs which, inaudible inthe san which forn ed a portion of the road, rung out: with startling clearness when they struck a spot of bare rock, | The Frisco Sharp looked up and discovered a’ party of scme halt-dozen horsemen coming into sigbi round a bend at no‘great distance, ' Without any show of trepidation in look or voice, he suid: ; ‘“Pardon me, madam, if the necessity of abruptly terminating our interview pronipts me to uige you to the fulfillment, without turther delay, of your implied engegement.” ‘“T recognize no such implication, sir,” said the lady, baughtily. “'Ride on, and save your- self from the danger which threatens you. ‘Why do you bid me thus?” said the man, makng no effort to escape, but leaning forward in his sacdle, and bending aes the woman a look of hungr longing. ‘What interest have you in my safety? ; ‘“What, indeed?” replied the lady, coldly. ‘‘ Let us suppose a woman’s natural reluctance to witness , oodshed.” Still he lingered, though the riders were closing in upon him rapidly, and to be taken by them meant death. If he waited to see if the imminence of his peril would make the lady betray some token of nervousness, he waited in vain. She sat per- | fectly still, seemingly unmoved, ore What manner of woman was she—this dainty creature whom one would have expected to | Shrink from the crushing of an insect? A tall, imperious woman might be cruel; but she--she was scarcely more than a child in stature, and her delicate organism seemed formed only for love and softness. ‘**T hope to see you again uncer more ausp)- cious circumstances,” said the Frisco Se with perhaps a suspicion of tender regret in hi voice. Then, with a linger ng. look and some- thing like a sigh, he turned his horse and sped away. 4 rallying ery from Maxy, and the approach, at (C KS (E(0) ( (0) Lil .OO