Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 114 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

! His im, laa and black, lolls from his gaping mout is face—now crimson!—now purple!—now black with suffocation!—ridged with veins that seem distended almost to bursting !—isdistorved by a grimace of agony and _ horror rivaling the dread visage of the fabled Goorgon of old, the . sight of which froze the beholder to stone! And oh! the ghastly spectacle of those oyes, bursting from their sockets! Sickening !—appalled!—we tear our shuddering vision from the fascinating horror] It is over at last! Tho limbs no longer toss! Even that spasmodic quiver has left them! They lie stilt and rigid in never-waking death! Tho survivor rises to his feet, and, while his broad breast liftsand falls in dcep respiration beneath his folded arms, gazes gloomily down upon his ghastly work. Now for the first time his stern lips relax their iron set. “There liesa man—a fiend rather!—whose murderous soul is steeped in the blood of half a dozen butchered victims! No fault of his that he did not add another to the accursed list by this villainous assault upon se, laying in am- bush and striking me from behind! Surely his punishment is just! ** But I must learn the cause of this attempt onmy life. These wretches were the hands, not the head, of that damnable plot.” And he turned toward his other assailant, who now squat, staring, his face livid, hiseyes dis- tended, his teeth chattering, every fiber of his body quivering with fear—fascinated—awed— not daring to move, lest he might attract to | he his quailing person the wrath of that grim avenger! Cringing to the earth beneath the stern eye of the man in whose attempted assassination he had just taken so inefficient a part, and with peers! tears in his eyes, Mickey Flannigan sniveled his piteous plea, ‘*Och, Musther Poike!—pVase, yer honor!— doan’t make me luck loike yan omadhaun!— saints detind us! Aw, surr!—for the swate love o’ God!—you’ll not do it! ‘** Aw, surr! ye’ll spare me!—I know ye will! Take counsel o’ yer betther falin’s! Blessed be God! yerthat generous an’ that hoigh-spirited ye’d not demane yerself to be wantin’ the blood $i wan ye’d despoise as the ground undher yer ate! ‘*Spa-ur me the loife, i honor, that’s no good to yerself’, atall, at all; an’, be the sowl o’ me body it’s full an’ free confission ll be mak- in’ o’ the damon that timpted me an’ Mose Fin- ley till the murdherous dade!” ‘* Who tempted you?” ‘Sure, wasn’t it Mose that came to me, an’— ‘D’ye moind,’ says he, ‘ tha-ur’s twinty dollarsin the job fur yez, av ye’re at all handy,’ says he.” ** And you would murder a man for twenty dollars?—wretch /”. thundered the Gentleman from Pike, with astamp of furious indignation, and a black menace of the brows and lightning gleam of the eyes that gave him the terrible as- pect of an angry god. “ Holy Mother d:find us !” fairly yelled the luckless wight who had precipitated upon him- self this avalanche of wrath. ‘* Aw, yer honor! —de-ar, swate Musther Poike!—aw, surr!—in- dade, surr!—be all tbe saints! an’ be all the sacrimints! I did not know that it was yerseif, yer honor, whin I engaged—bad luck tll the day! Phat will I say to yez?’ And the pitiful) knave fairly sobbed with ex- cess of terror. ‘‘Bah!” sneered the Gentleman from Pike. pe Why am I angered by such a paltry—ani- mal !’ Seeing the storm past, Mickey recovered suf- ficienily to mutter to himself: ‘*Divil snap the unlucky tongue o’ me! I could pull it out be the roots, I’m that vexed wid it! Phat for was I afther telling him that, I dunno?” “Go on!” commanded the Gentleman from Pike. *‘ What did yonder dead dog tell you of his employer?” ‘An’ ye’ll not be afther taking vingence on me, yer honor, av I'll tell yez? Be gorra! It’s a clane brist—” - ‘‘ What, hound! do you think I would make terms with such a villainous wretch as you? I promise you nothing! Go on; or I will find means to loosen your tongue!” ‘*Yis, yer honor! yis! Faith, Pll not cross yes by so much asabreath! Ye see, yer honor, Mose came to me an’ says he: **Cun ye stand at me back loike a thrue man, Mickey Flannigan!’ say he, “*Waith [ can,” says I. ‘**Tt’s a matther av twinty dollars to yez, man, av yer at all dy,’ says he. “<Tt is? says I. ‘¢*No less,’ says he. ‘* Sure, twinty dollars is twinty dollars, these haird toimes,’ says I. ‘ Phat will I do fur it? ‘¢* There’s manny a poor devil that ’ud be bet- ter off, av he’d only consint to it, when he was a Ne av his misery he-ar, an’ well stairted a betther worruld,’ says Mose, wid a wink. “** Borra doubt,’ said I. “"Waould yes seruple, Mickey, I dunno,” says he ‘to sind a conthrary wan to glory, av his friends thought it advisable, an’ for his rael 00 ar Phat’s that ye’re talkin’ about, Andy? says I, crossin’ meself, f ““¢ Twinty dollars!’ says he, puttin’ his finger ferninst his nose. ***Tt's a hangin’ matther,’ says L ** Twinty dollars!’ says he. ‘“¢ The Vigilantes is hereabout,’ says I. *“** Twinty dollars!’ says he. ‘¢¢PWaith! it’s dead broke I am,’ says I. ** Twinty dollars! says he. *** An’ niver a morsel to ate, nor a sup to dhrink this four-an’-twinty hours,’ says I. “** Twinty dollars!’ says he. ‘**Go away, man!’ saysI, ‘Do yez take me fur a murdherer?—howly saints defind us!’ ““* Twinty dollars! says he. ***Ton’t timpt me,’ says I. “* Twinty dollars!’ says he. *** Whinu will we doit? says I. ‘**Now ye're talkin’? says he. ‘The first chance we git.’ ‘**Wha-ur? says I. ‘Not in the camp? ‘** Divil a taste, me b’y! says he. ‘I knowa thrick worth two av that, anny day.’ ‘** Wha-ur thin? says L. ni : Among the crags,’ says he. ‘Wha-ur ilse? $° ne nobody will be afther spying us? says I. ‘““«Thrue fur you, man de-ar,’ says he. ‘ Divil a sowl!’ ‘** Who is it? says I. «111 point ’um out to yez fast enough,’ says ‘«¢ An’, be me sowl, yer honor! that’s ivery worrud he towld me. Faith! I had no more idee it was yersilf—” ‘‘But your employer?” interrupted the Gen- tleman from Pike impatiently. *(’'m coming to that, surr. Faith! he-ur’s the Lord’s blissed truth, just!” CHAPTER XXVIIL BY THE HAIR OF HIS HEAD. ‘* WELL, surr,” ecb Micky, I axed ’um— *Who’s wantin’ it? says I. ‘** Be this an’ be that! but it’s inquisitive ye are, Mickey Flannigan,’ says he. ‘ But I don’t moind tellin’ yez, beings as ye’re an owld fri’nd.’ ‘** Who is it, thin, alana?’ says I. ** Would yez belave it? says he—a_ wo- man!’ ‘** A woman? says I. bottom av all divilment!’ * * It’s no lie ye're tellin’, says he. “* But phat woman in the woide worruld is this? says L. ““*Arrah, thin, ye divil’s limb! Will yez niver have done vexin’ me wid yer questions? says he. n ‘Sure, they’ro at the e’ll not be tellin’ me? says L. “““Divil a taste!’ says be. * Faith! that’s mz sacret. This much ye know, an’ that’s enough fur yees—her name is Misthress 7’winty Dol- lars!’ says he. ** An’ sorra word more, yer honor, do I know about the matther, at all, at all.” ** A despicable tool, ready to the hand of any cy aie rain!’ was the muttered comment on Mickey Flannigan’s account of his temptation and fall. Then paying no further heed to him, the Gen- tleman from Pike turned ou his heel, and, passiug the dead body of the would-be assassin without so much as a glance, walked to the very verge of the precipice, where he stood and gazed down into the gloomy depths of the canyon with its bed of jagged rocks a thousand feet below! Even the giddy hight from which he gazed could not phase his clear, strong brain. ‘‘There is where they would have cast me,” he mused—‘‘ nay, where she would have hurled me, to liea broken and mangled thing !—food for wolves and vultures!” Out of the very brow of the cliff and over- pausing the awful abyss, its roots struck deep into a fissure in the rock, grew a4 young pine whose bole was perhaps less than a foot in diameter. Carleton examined it, then pushed it—at first with his foot; afterward with his shoulder, with all his might. It stood almost as firm as tha rock from which it grew. “That will answer my purpose,” he mused. ‘* Now for a slight lesson to as cowardly a ras- cal as ever lent himself to the schemes of abler villainy.” And he returned to Mickey Flannigan who, not daring to move from his crouching posture, had watched this strange procedure with eyes distending wider and wider with undefined bor- ror. What mysterious peril threatened him? ‘Aw! Master Poike, surr, phat are ye goin’ to do, I dunno? I’ve towld yer honor ivery thing thruly—be me sowl, I have!” cried Mickey Flannigan, in terror and despair. “Stand up!” commanded Carleton, sternly, “¥is, surrl yist” ¢ried Mickey, trying to placate the man he feared by prompt obedience. Oh, surr! phat ave you goin’ to do wid me?” Paying no heed to his anxious inquiry, Carle- ton looked the man over critically. Let us follow his example. Mickey Flannigan was rather small in stature and slight of build, standing not more than five feet four, and weighing perbaps a hundred and thirty-five pounds. Beginning at the top, he was thatched with an abundant shock of coarse, straight hair, a compromise between red and yellow. Next, his face was thickly covered with great brown freckles, interspersed with gray patches aa looked as if the outer skin had peeled off. In matters of dress, Mickey was not “‘ proud,” a ‘‘fakir” cap; a red flunnel shirt, patched ‘wid any thing at all that came handy ;” brown breeches, sustained by a bit of rcpe tied about the waist, and stogie boots, as rough as burr- oak and as hard as horn, comprising his notions of a comfortable and serviceable toilet. By the way, where the mountain clay was rubbed off one could yet detect traces of lime on those ancient boots; for, ‘‘in the States” Mickey had carried the ‘‘ bricks an’ morthar to the top av a foive-shtory house, d’ye moind whoile the man above—bad luck to ’um!—di all the work!” ‘*And such a creature as this might have hurled me to my death!” mused the Gentleman from Pike, with rising indignation, as hegazed at the trembling wretch. ‘‘Turn your back to me!” he commanded, sharply. In an agony of fear at not being permitted to see the unknown danger that threatened him, Mickey began to pant: **Oh, surr,—oh, surr!—” A gleam of lightning shot into Carleton’s eyes; he took a age step forward, and put his band on the butt of a pistol. Plainly, he was not accustomed to repeating his commands, “'Yis, surr!—yis, surr!” And Mickey went round the. quickest he had ever done in his life. ** Cross your hands behind your back!” “Vis, surr!—yis, surr!’—complying » with nervous rip With his bowie-knife the Gentleman from Pike cut the rope that bound Mickey’s breeches * the waist, and with it proceeded to bind his ands, . Then came a bellowing wail of agonized error, ‘*Och, Musther Poike!—de-ar, swate Musther Poike !—it’s not hangin’ me to yon three ye’d be doin’? Aw, surr! phat will I say to yez? Och, murdther! that iver I lived to see this day! Shcot me, surr!—kill me inthoiiely, be-ar, an this blissed spot !—but doan’t lave me hangin’ to the three, surr, a thousand fate from’ the ground!—doan’t do that wicked thing, surr! Phat av the rope would break!—oh, wha-ur would I go? Spare me this, surr, an’ the blissed Lord will reward yez!” Heedless, unmoved, impl-cable as a Nemesis, the Gentieman from Pike proceeded calmly with his work. When it was done, his hand fell upon Miekey’s shoulder with an iron grip, and his stern, cold voice commanded :— ‘* March!” Mickey felt that hand whirl him round, then urge him toward the brink of the precipice ? One stare at the yawning abyss!—one glance around, as if for succor or escape!—one look into the face of his iron judge!—and with a yell of d ir that made the rocks around ring again, his knees that long had smote t gether now refasing utterly their support, he fell to the ground, appealing, in a wild jumble of invoca- tion, to all of the saints for protection, his most piteous prayers had failed to move the mercy of this implacable avenger. : As coldly indifferent as if a buman being were not being tortured almost to frenzy under his hand, the Gentleman trom Pike transferred bis grip from Mickey’s shoulder to his shock of coarse hair, and, without a word, began to drag him toward the brow of the cliff. Here was the terrible element in this man’s iron nature—that, having decided to act, he moved forward in the direct line of his p , never wavering, never pausing, but taking each successive step with the steady precision and ir- resistibility of an insensate machine. Shriek after shriek rent the air from Mickey Flannigan’s now foaming lips; but planting his feet firmly and throwing his left arm about the trunk of the pine which we have deseribec, the Gentleman from Pike coolly swung the quiver- ing, frantic wretch clear of the cliff, and held him suspended over that sheer descent—that eet gulf!—of a thousand feet of intangible ! While being dragged over the ground, Mickey had struggled like a maniac. | Now he became suddenly still. . ) A awful hush had fallen upon voice and Only an involuntary shudder now and they ran through his frame, , } His teeta were CSG (0)