Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 114 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

5 Pe meme RN ROUT ee The Gentleman from Pike. 21 His eyes were wide—staring—glassy. The man was frozen with horror! A moment before, the crags had shivered and shuddered with blood-curdlin haunted by a legion of shrieking fiends of de- spair; now, far down the canyon, the echoes waned fainter and fainter, as if the uncanny things bad taken their flight, back to the gloomy caverns of the abyss whicu prisoned them from the lizht of day! Then, when the stillness became almost tangi- ble, as if shuddering nature held her breath in the presence of an impending tragedy, Carle- ton’s voice, deep and solemn as that of some dread oracle, fell upon the dull ear of his now scarce conscious victim. CHAPTER XXIX. A DEADLY PERIL, ALTHOUGH she did not understand his words, there was sorething so reckless in the aspect of the Frisco Sharp that Lilian Amberleigt shrunk from him in terror. “IT want no outcry,” he said, shutting the door and putting his back against it. ‘Do you see this?” And he drew a bowie-knife from his belt and tried its edge on his thumb nail. The «ge gazed at the glittering steel as if fas- cinated, ‘One cry for help, and I will cu your tongue from your throat!” As he gazed at tho trembling girl with blood- shot eyes, he looked fully capable of carrying out his horrible turest, enough hquor to make him bere pe ak devilish, he advanced toward her, Lillie sprung to the other side of the table which stood in the middle of the room. “Stop! stop!” she cried. “Why have you come to molest me? I who never did you any- thing but good!” “I come at the instigation of a woman,” he replied, cynically. ‘‘ No man would ever cream of such fiend’s work, But a womans jealousy is equal to anything. ‘ Bury my rival beneath a mountain of shame!’ said this angelic creature; and I am here to carry out ber will. Come! re- sistance is useless. Prepare for your doom!” But the affrighted cir dodged back and forth about the table, as he tried to get to her. ‘*Oh! you cannot be so cruel!” she cried. “You are beside yourself. You do not remem- ber that it was I who saved your life.” ‘Yes, I remember all that. Did I not say that I was bringing hell to you and to myself? ‘“‘But you will not! h! you are not so wicked! Why should you wish to lend your- self to the revenge of that terrible woman? Have I not greater claim upon your mercy? Did I watch over you through the horrors of the plague for nothing? What can this wicked- ness profit—” **Hnough! enough! curse you!” And bays ir t» fury, he began to push the table toward the wall, so that it would no longer furnish her with a means of eluding his grasp. “‘Oh! Spare me!” cried the distracted girl. “Help! Help! Oh! Oh! O—o—oh !” Shrill rose her screams, as she felt his iron grip on her wrist. She threw herself upon her nees, and still pleaded with him in a torrent of wild words. With a savave oath ho pressed his hand over her mouth, stifling her cries, and lifted her in his arms, Then, after a moment of frenzied, ineffectual strugyle, she fuinted. Now she lay all helpless in his power! He placed her on tue rude settle which stood against the wall. She might have heen asleep—nay, dead!—she lay so white and still. With her face so like marble in its pallor, the wonderful perfectness of feature stood out like fine chiseling, until she resembled a beautiful piece of sculpture. ; Withal there was something infinitely piteous in that still face! The man stood and gazedupon her: and grad- ually the ferocity died out of his face, to give place to a great sadness and remorse, “Is it not enough,” said he, ‘ that my base treachery blighted the flower of his life? And she—so pure, so innocent, so beautiful!—must I do this hideous thing?” He shuddered at the thought. “‘Tam not all devil,” he pursued. ‘Only a fiend could tempt me to such hellish work. And yet I love her! Can I spare this spotless child, and lose her in consequence?” He stood perfectly still and silent after that uestion. In that moment all that was good in this man’s nature waabroden. face to face with all that was selfish and evil. Would the good angel win?” ‘Can I lose her I love?” he repeated. ‘No! no!—a thousand times, no/” Then this girl must be sacrificed?” Again he paused; and she who was so com- pee'y, in his power appealed to him only by er helplessness, her purity. The man trembled from head to foot. Great beads of icy sweat stood on bis forehead. His features worked spasmodically. He wrung his' ‘‘ By attempting my assassination, without those two!l—one glowering with sullen, hang-dog sounds, as if agony in his voice. - uneonscious He had drank just | a eee pmee me hands and struck them together in that fierce travail of the spirit. ‘Oh! I cannot look at her!” he cried, with ‘* That piteous {face would move a verv devil to mercy!” And striding to the table, he fiercely struck his hand down upon the candle, extiiguishing it and leaving the room in utter darkness. There was the sound of his footsteps recross- ing the floor, then a long silence, during which . nature seemed to wait, shuddering, breath- ess. At last the dead stillness of that darkened room was broken by a sound of sobbing, and a voice cried: “My God! Iecannot! Icannot! I cannot!” And there, with no eye to see him, the Frise Sharp was kneeling beside that still, unconscious form. A woman’s purity had won! Presently he arcse, stirred with a fever of ex- citement. **She must be satisfied with something less!” he cried. ‘* Even a jealous woman cannoé be utterly ruthless in ber hatred, 1 will separate them. He will suffer torture unspeakable never knowing what nanieless calamity has befallen her. She too will suffer, being torn from him. But not this thing!—not this damnable ini- quity !” He struck a match. The candle he had ut- terly demolished in extinguishing it. By the light of matches, then, he took a coverlet from an adjoining bed-chamber, andl wrapped the irl in it from head to foot, then lifted her in his srms and bore ber from the house and away in the darkness. A moment later ho r-appeared in the road- | Way on horseback with Lilian Amberleigh held before him. Then from up the gulch came a ce had thrilled more hearts than one wit stitious dread. The Frisco Sharp was a man of intelligence, yet thoroughly imbued with a gambler’s super- stitions, which prepared him, without exactly sharing the vulgar belief of the ignorant miners, to view this mystery with shuddering dre: d. He now found himself in the dilemma of hav- ing to face the Ghost of the Canyon, or to dash through the mining camp before that terrible cry brought the revelers from the saloons to throng the street along which he must ride. His choice of the latter alternative was in- stantaneous; and putting spurs to his horse, he swept down upon the camp. Then out from the darkness came that awful something, its coronet of serpents hissing and dashing forth their forked tongues, its eyes blaz- ing, its boar like tusks gleaming white in the gloom, and flecks of foam flying from its champing jaws, while its terrible voice filled the mountain pocket with shudderine echoes. Evidently it was in pursuit of the flying horse- man; but if it overtook him, what could save his innocent burden from its rage? Alas! she was beset on all sides! CHAPTER XXX. THE UNDELIVERED MESSAGE. “Michael Fliannigan!” said the Gentleman from Pike—and the mere employment of the proper form of his name, which Mickey could not remember having ever heard, save from the lips of a priest, was, in itself, terribly impress- ive—‘‘ Michael Flannigan, do you realize that only my will stands between you and an awful death? A momentago you hed it in) our heart to hurl me down! —down !—down |—to tle jegeed rocks ten tundred feet below! Now I have but to open my hand, and—” A pause, more terrible than putting the awful horror into words, ‘*M chael Flannigan, shall I open my hand? Shall 1 mete out to you what you designed for which super- ef But the tongue of the wretch was paralyzed; he could not reply. ‘‘ Listen, Michael Plannigan. dition will I spare your life.” Ah! was there a hope? A slight quiver, running through the frame of the man suspended between life and death, showed that he heard and understood, and how eagerly he grasped at this straw. “Swear to me— Stop! Oaths are nothing to such a wretch as you I will only charge you with my will, and then release you, without any promise—with nothing to bind you save your fears, which the recollection of this mo- ment, | feel assured, will never let sleep. ‘*Remember, then, this: ‘‘Tf ever you break the commands I now lay upon you,—living or dead, I will bunt you to the ends of the earth, drag you to this spot, tie you as I have tied you now, and drop vou from the base of this own!—down !—DOwN !— into the black hell that now yawns beneath ou!’ 5 : r A spasmodic quiver showed how deeply this terrible threat struck root into the superstitious nature of the helpless listener. ** Living or dead!” he had said; and Mickey nnigan believed that, living or dead, he would surely fulfill his vow. “* Now listen well to what I say. On one con- ce A TEER A ea cae ak Rn nn an nn ee ee eee ee eee ee eae ee ee ee eee sss ss ..60 889395: the slightest shadow of provocation, you have forfeited your life to me. I now hold that forfeit in my hand. Of my own free will, Ican claim it, or let it go. In the case of your vil- lainous accomplice, I took what belonged to me. He lies dead within reach of my hand! To you I give back that to which you have no right, except as coming from me. You will continue, as before, to walk among living men! But understan’—TI only lend you this lift, which is mine, of right, to do as I please with it—l lend it to you to useasI shalicomn and! From this time forth youare mine /—body and sul! Be ware that you do notbing to offend me; for when it pleases me, I shall take back what I now lend! ‘* Come! stand upon your feet!” When Mickey again stood on terra firma with his hands unt ound, he pulled the forelock of the scrrel top which bad stood him in such good stead during his awful peril, and said, somewhat tremulously: ** Musther Pcoike, I thank ye, surr, koindly fur the loife ye spared to me, whin, had ye been so moinded, ye cculd as ’asy heve fixed me loike Mose tla’ur—only worse!”—with a shudder, ‘*May God make it up to yz, surr, whin you stand i: nade! Manewhoile, to show yez that I appraciate the ginerous dade ye’ve done this cay, I')l tell yer henor the name o’ yer inimy, that yiz may guard eg’ n the futwe.” * Put I thougat hy did not know her?’ * Did I tell yez that, yer honor?” The “ruliug spirit” would crop out in- stinetively Aiready Mickey’s face took on the demure questioning peculiar to Lis nation under like cir- cun stances, ** Certainly you told me so,” replied Carleton, emused, in spite of the gravity of the situation, Ly this teucb of ix born nature, ‘* Well, yer honor, afther being so ginerous the day, eg pot grudge to furgive me that. I must ’a’ lcicd to yez, surr!” “Tthirk it probatle you did.” ‘*But, Mu:ther Poike—pl’aze, yer honor— ye’ll see that I’ve repinted, and am ¢oing bet- ther now. Faith! whoy ilse would I say any thing about it, but I'm m’aning to serve yer honor?” ‘True enough. Well, her name is—” ““Mistbress Sayford !” A shudder ran through the frame of the hei om from Pike, and he answered not a word. A moment later there came the sound of hur- rying feet; and a man, breathless with run- ning, burst into view around the angle of an adjacent crag. t a glance the new-comer took in the whole situation. ‘An’ is it yersilf, Musther Carleton?” he ask- ed, respectfully, yet gazing wonderingly trom the living to the ghastly dead. ‘ Sure, comin’ up the gully beyant, I beerd yells that woild I thought there was murdther doin,’ But, Howly Motler! phat’s all this, surr?” ‘* How do you do, ©’Cennor?” said the Gentle- man from Pike, extending his hand cordially. “You are just too Jate to witness an attempt at assassination.” rs ot surr? To murdther you ?” “Yes, “Mose Finley did it? Faith! ye’ve ch’ated the hangman, ver honor. It was too good fur ’um to die te the hand av a rae) gintleman, * An’ phat ere you dcin’ bear, Mickey Flan- nigan? Whoy do yez look to dewncast, matn? Had you a band in this divil’s worruki—ye muretherin’ Llaggerd! * Did he, incade, surr?’—turning to the Gen- tlen en from Pike. But the latter seemed absorbed in gloomy in- trospection, and heeced not, if be heard the qu: stion. Mickey was abovt to slink cff, when O'Con- nor’s band fell cetainingly on his shoulder. “Tell ne, maln—was jt you? Av’ it was your cowardly voice I heard—now I know it.” ‘Take yer hand cff me, O’Conncr!” said Mickey, sullenly. ‘Sure I’ve done nothin’ to the loikes of you. Let me go,] sev! It’s not in you to gainsay Musther Carleton’s own words,” ** An’ did he give yez ave to go?’ “Faith, he did.” ‘An’ do yez intend to lave ’um go, loike this, yer honor—seot free?” cried O'Connor, indig- nant and incredvicus. , ‘“‘Let him go,” said the Gentleman from ike ‘Well, apn Flannigen, Ill ray this:— tha-ur’s not another mabn that ginerous in all the Rocky Mountains! Ob! sheme fur yez, mahn, that ve’d iver consint to murdther wan that does only good to ivery body that cones bis way. Ill wager that ye’ve ’aten the bread that his money put into yer mouth, whin manny av us would ’a’ starved to death Jast winther, but fur him. Ob, mahn! ye’re a disgrace to yer koind! Ould Ireland, that bas cradled as brave min and thrue as iver died ben’ath the heel av the ,oPPressor, would disown the loikes av you! What a contrast was resented between Eomicbdooks (0) Cc