Beadle's Dime Library No. 147 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

Se —— vs 4 _ a 5 ; i Pi of : Ps 7 a , if Oss” ee aes ar esi SEB ASR E MALDEN Sy ate PE TS rs -— eo. ee 12 the Child of the Regiment, who had found her father, but to feel that death must claim him from her, unless Gold Spur kept his promise to her, and how that was to be done she could see no possible way. Acting, however, under his advice, she had entered the guard-room during the afternoon prior to the night of the escape, and drawing a 1 or eget where the moody prisoner sat, said uietly: ‘Father, there is one here who would serve you, if you will promise to do as he says.” _ © What service can mortal man render me now, my child?” was the despondent rejoinder. ‘Give you your\liberty.” The sergeant started and gazed fixedly into ‘the face of his daughter, who said: ‘*T mean it, father.” ‘*The colonel commandant alone can pardon ‘me, child, and I feel that he will not, for my seeming offense is too flagrant, and all points so thoroughly to my guilt as a deserter.” **Tt is not the colonel; he can or will do noth- ang; the one I speak of is a man who intends to rescue you.” ‘No, I am sentenced to die; so let it be, as life certainly has not been bright to me.” “Tn the t, no, perhaps; but in the future it will be different.” ‘‘ How can it be, with this stigma upon me that has brought me where I am?” he asked, bitterly. ‘** You have me to love now, father, and I will not see you die.” “But must I fly like a guilty man from death? Rather let me, with my last words, protest my innocence, and then die like a brave man. “You will be cared for, Sibyl], for my com- rades, from the colonel down, will be as fathers to you.” ** No, no, I have found you to love you, and I will not lose you; you must go from here, fa- ‘** No, I will meet my fate.” ‘Oh, father! why will you remain to die, when you can escape and live?” she cried. ‘** Death were preferable to life with this stain upon me; I will remain and meet my fate, Sibyl.” e@ arose and paced the room nervously for awhile, and then, without another word, left room. For a short while only he was alone with his bitter me are and then the door opened, and incame The Gentleman from Texas, his face wearing that fearless, confident look that seemed never to desert it. Bebind him came Sibyl, looking nervous and anxi and she said, in a voice that trembled: “Father, The Gentleman from Texas has come to see you.” two men looked into each other’s eyes, and the eeprent asked in a peculiar way: “* Somewhere before, sir, we have met?” “Worry not your mind with fancied resem- blances to others you have met, Sergeant Syl- vester, but listen to me,” was the pleasant re- ply, and drawing his stool up in front of the condemned man, he continued: “ sore daughter tells me you refuse to leave a) ‘Why should I?” “ You are not guilty of the charges against **Ha! you believe this?” ** T know it.” **Who are you?” and the sergeant bent his oe more earnestly upon the face of his vis- r. “It matters not that I am other than I say, one who believes in your innocence, and am de- termined you shall prove it.” * Alas! how can I?’ was the dejected re- nse, ** Not when you are food for worms, I admit; but if you are free, and can go away from here, in time you may be able to prove your inno- ¢ | could only do so at the sacrifice of an- **So I believed; but circumstances may aid you, and I say go.” an No, no, I cannot.” **T say yes; here you will die like a dog for a crime you are at heart innocent of, no matter how circumstantial evidence may point to your guilt: away from here you can clear yourself, n some way, or at least find a home far from here for your daughter, who will gladly come to you, and for her sake, and the hope of rub- ‘ bing the tarnish from your own name, I say 0 “You argue well, sir; but how am I to leave?” said Sylvester, his face brightening, as though with some sudden hope. ** Now you are reasonable, and I will tell you my plan; Lam to play prisoner in your stead; Saft have a number of visitors, for your ughter and myself will arrange that, and I will drop in and out often, and at last remain, while you, in my clothing will leave and de- part from the on, after nightfall.” ua sir, but look at us.” ** You are about my size and build, and—” ‘* My beard will betray me.” —— = o Aete ee pleads the face of the know longer —————_—$<_$—<— off, for therein lies not your gtrength or honor.” ** And you, sir?” ** Will play prisoner as well as you do.” ‘* And the result?” ‘*T will be set free.” **No, no, you will get into trouble.” ‘*i':ust me for that; if I do, ’ll get out, as I have thousands of times before.” ‘*IT cannot think of allowing you to be pun- ished in my stead, for serving me.” ‘*T tell you I will have no trouble, and l| pledge you that if I do you can return and give yourself up.” ‘*So be it, I will go.” ** Now you are sensible,” and Gold Spur turn- ed away, while, weeping with joy Sibyl threw herself into her father’s arms. And out and in the daughter and the Texan went during the afternoon, with other visitors, until at last the exchange of clothing was quick- ly made, the long beard of the sergeant was cut off, and the false beard of Gold Spur put on, and the latter grasped the hand of his strange friend in farewell. Accompanied by bis daughter, who, with some pleasantry occupied the sentinel, the trooper passed out of the guard-house, and still believed, in the darkness, to be The Gentleman from Texas, left the garrison and was soon upon the broad prairies a free man. CHAPTER XXIII. IN THE LASSO’S COIL. WHueENn the dark outlime of the garrison, with its twinkling lights, was behind him, and the rolling prairie in his front, Sergeant Maurice Sylvester paused to think, and his eyes were turned back upon the scene from whence he had just emerged. | ‘“Who is that strange man, and why has he thus saved my life?’ be muttered, thinking more of the one who had so nobly aided him than of his own freedom seemingly. ‘‘T feel that we have met before, yet where and when? ‘These questions I cannot answer, but I must solve the mystery some day. ‘Now Iam free, and I will go at once to— Oh Heaven! why has he brought this sorrow upon me, this shame, beneath which I so nearly ~ died? “ But I will goto him, and I will make him prove that I meant not to be as vile as he is. ‘*Yes, I will do this for Sibyl’s, my child’s sake, for how noble she is not to turn against me, when she came to me, but to find that I was accused of crime so base. ‘* But will he do aught to aid me in this?” He drew rein, for his horse had been slowly moving along, as he asked this question. ‘* No, for he has been the one to wreck my life, and he will not help me to free myself of the charge upon me: but he shall, if not, I will, for my child’s sake, confess the secret I would not reveal to the court-martial, and which would have cleared me, but which I kept locked in my heart to save him. “But now my child, my beautiful Sibyl and I will act, if he will do nothing.” ee Gold Spur, the Gentleman from Texas. y ga | ** What! you have then cast aside the brass buttons, and come to join me, have you?’ said the man, with a sudden flash of fiendish triumph in his eyes. | ‘‘The uniform, in the eyes of my comrades I disgraced, and you it was, as in the past, that brought sorrow and shame upon me,” bitterly said the sergeant. ‘* In Satan’s name, what have I done?’ 4* You sent for me.” ‘“*Yes, I knew you were out with that cavalry scouting-party, and I summoned you with a signal which [ knew you dared not disobey.” ‘‘And I went to you, but you remained away until [ was caught in bad company by my comrades, and believed to be—” ‘What?’ ‘* As vile as you have become; a renegade to your own race,” was the unhesitating rejoinder. ‘* Ha! ha! ha! and how hard that must have been for your virtuous ears to listen to, to be called a renegade. ‘* Well, I remember, that before I had time to talk with you, we attacked the train, and would have had it too, had not in some way, your accursed comrades gotten wind of our in- tention, and foiled us. “*Tsaw iw in the charge, but had no time to speak with you, and found that you had es- caped, sO Was now on my way to the fort to see ou. ** What, you would have dared go there?” ‘Why not?’ “You know what men call you?” ‘* Yes; but my life is in danger at all times; I wanted to see you, and I intended to visit the fort in some disguise.” ‘* And are you here alone?” ‘‘ Yes, for my red devils are back in their secluded haunts.” ‘* And what wished you with me, Moline?” ** To aid me.” ** Taid you?” said the sergeant with scorn. “Yes, why not?” “You knew that I had cut loose from the past, and was leading an honorable life; why not let me continue so?” he said bitterly. ‘‘ Because it is to my interest to have it otherwise; I sent one to summon you with the call of the league, the whip-o-will.” ‘‘ Alas! I recognized it but too well, and [ obeyed it, but would to God, 1 had not done so.” “Bah! I dare roe to disobey it; but listen, for I need your aid. ‘*T lay yonder in those bushes, for I saw you — and little dreamed who I was catching, when [ threw my lariat over your shoulders: but, having you again in my power, I intend to use you,” ‘** No, I will not aid you in one wrong act.” “We shall see; first, you must return to the rrison,” ‘‘T return to the garrison? Why, man, I am an outlaw, for I escaped from there last night under sentence of death, asa deserter and rene- gade, for having been found with your vile band,” said the sergeant savagely. _ Instead of one look of pity, the painted rene- As though having made up his mind just what | gade burst into a hearty laugh, and at last he would do, he set off at a swift canter across the prairie, and held his course in the direction of the Republican. He was well mounted and _ thoroughly equipped, for The Gentleman from Texas had been most thorough in all he had done for the sergeant, and being a man who understood prai- rie-craft, he knew well how to find bis way. At his first halt, an hour bef re daylight, he picketed his horse out to feed on the rich grass, on the edge of a small clump of timber, an lay down to rest: but nosleep would come to his eyelids, and rising, he paced to and fro, his thoughts busy. After he thought his horse had had ample rest, for the sun was far up above the horizon, he mounted and held on his way once more, and soon reached the river, where he again halted and partook of a slight breakfast, which Sibyl had prepared for him. As he was about to mount again, there came a sudden whirring sound in the air, and a dark coil settled over his shoulders, and he was jerked to the ground, Ere he could release his arms, or draw @ wea- pon, he beheld a tall form bending over him and a pistol was leveled at his head, while a tall form and painted face looked down upon him. His captor was the same one who had led the attack upon the emigrant train, and who, in spite of his painted face and costume of an [n- dian chief, was without doubt a white man, for he said in perfect English: “Well, my gallant Mexican, I have you prisoner.” The prisoner turned his eyes searchingly upon aker, and, in spite of the dis- guise recognized him, for he cried out: “Good God! it is you! the very one I seek.” “Maurice Sylvester, upon my soul I did not ou; where is your , your uniform, and why are you in this attire of a Mexican?” ‘*T have a uniform in that saddle roll, but no have I aright to wear it, Moline, and this ‘*Bah! what care you for your beard; cut it ' suit hasserved me well, for it has saved my life.” said: ‘Well, this is good; you, Maurice Sylvester, bave at last done that which is acrime; ha! ha! ha! it is too to be believed. ‘So you, like myself, are an outlaw?” “ Yes, I am a fugitive, to save my life.” ‘‘ Give me your band on it.” “No, I will not toucb your hand,” ‘‘You fear the red stains upon it? well, so be it, I have not forgotten that your hand brought death—” ‘‘No! no! no! do not recall that act, Moline, for well you knew that—” cried the t in a tone of anguish, which was interrupted with: ‘J know nothing but that you did the deed; but tell me, where were you going when my lariat checked you?” “To seek you.” ‘Ha! to join me, now that the brand of out- law is upon you?” ‘To seek you, and ask you to resume that brand; to let me say from you, who and what you are, and that I was not a deserter, not a renegade, only sought to ng Par ‘“‘T shall do nothing of the kind, sir: you are here, and here you shall remain as one of the band that wars upon cur own race.” ‘*Ob God!” and the sergeant staggered back against a tree, as though about to fall; but suddenly recovering himself he uttered a wild ery and sprung upon the man before him, with a determination to kill him, blazing in his dark eyes. CHAPTER XXIV. WORSE ey ete Sogicn THE man upon whom the ad so suddenly ones and seemingly with the frenzy of d ir and Tatred was strangely like him in form, for they were of the same size, though the renegade seemed to be possessed of greater quickness of actien, and tougher sinew, caused by the hardy life he led. Though taken by surprise by the unexpected act, he met the attack with a nerve and cour- COME qs) ICO (E(0)