Beadle's Dime Library No. 170 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

—— ee ee oe _ long. A bullet planted in the perpendicular line is better than one upon the horizontal arm, even if not so near the center, whilc one equally close, but between the arms, is regarded as a poor shot. The best shot takes hide and tallow; the second and third the hind-quarters; fourth and fifth the fore-quarters, while the sixth gets the lead which has been shot into the tree. “Is that the boy you want to shoot ag’in’ me?” with a sniff of dis . “I kin lick ary man as tries to poke fun at me, ef he’s bigger’n the side of a house! Ill shoot you or ary other human critter; but a idgit—an’ him three halves drunk! Come an’ see me—” “ Put up or shet up—the boy kin shoot ye blind fer money. Beat him, then I'll low ye to whip me all ye kin spell able fer. Ef tn eave enough o’ me in one piece, then Vll show yer how we shoot whar I wes raised.” “They’s one chaince left open, boss,” inter- posed the manager. ‘‘ A quarter buys it, an’ then, ef the boy kin hit the tree, some o’ these gen’lemen ’ll give him a try.” Sweet William paid the money, and motioned Simple Simon to take the stand. A low laugh ran around the gathering as they noticed the awkward manner in which the “innocent” handled his patched and tinkered rifle, and sev- eral, with clumsy jocosity, hastened to hide be- hind the nearest corner. But if Simon saw this, he gave no sign. His whole attention seemed divided between the distant target and the attempt to stand firmly on his feet. The long and heavy weapon wabbled in a most won- derful manner, and when it exploded, a deri- sive yell came from the amused s tors. ‘* Ef he teched the tree, I’ll eat him, gun, rags an’ all!” grinned the delighted marksman. ‘* Yar’s my weasel skin, an’ every dollar in it sais thar’s a chunk o’ lead chuck upin the mid- dle o’ that cross, You feller! don’t call out that shot jist yet. Come an’ see me, gen’lemen. Yar’s vour chaince to make your fortin or git bu’sted! An’ two to one it’s a bu’st!” Some .of the scoffers were silenced by this bold challenge, but there were enough who were | only too ready to back their opinion, and Sweet William soon found the majority of his double eagles covered with a like amount. ‘Gen’Imen, I'll give ye a chaince. Your money’s lost, sure, but you kin hey it back ag’in ef the boy cain’t put three bullets through the same hole at the same distance, drunk as he is.” ‘* Better settle this fust. I’m bettin’ he didn’t hit the tree.” ‘* Which shows you don’t know good shootin’ when you see it. Look thar! Plum center, jist as I told ye "d Such was the chance Simple Simon’s bullet lay imbedded in the very center of the cross. Those who had nothing at stake applauded freely; the losers a. «ga mortification as best they m oThe boy was drunk or he’d ’a’ done better’n that. Why, gen’lemen, take him sober an’ he kin outshoot me/ I see him once; he throwed a musket ball up in the air an’ kep’ it up thar till sundown—he did so!” He hit it with his first shot an’ knocked it up co high that he was ready loaded when it come down ‘ithin range, an’ kep’ on that-a-way for two weeks at a stretch—” ‘“‘Ef the shootin’ was long’s your tongue he’d ’a’ starved to death afore it eended,” growled the defeated marksman. ‘You boy—he’s gone to look a’ter that race- hoss 0’ his’n but P ve ye some idee of the way he kin shoot,” and stooping, Sweet William picked up a small round pebble about the size of an egg then cocking a long, double-barreled yistol, * Ef I don’t splatter that, gen’lemen, Pu give ye yer beng | me kad As he concluded Sweet William tossed the pebble high into the air, and, as his weapon ex- ploded, the stone flew sharply to one s:de. But, with a skill that was fairly marvelous, the giant followed its descent, and once more was heard the whistling of the flattened bullet. ‘“'Tain’t a fa’r specimen o’ what he can do, gen’lemen,” said Sweet William, coolly, as the wondering crowd inspected the scarred pebble. “* He wouldn’t ’a’ let it tumble a-tall, but [’m kinder out o’ practice.” | “Ef he kin -beat you, he’s the devil sure sna an’ I’m goin’ to skin out o’ yere while in. A laugh followed this half-serious remark, and even those who had lest their money gradu- ally regained their good humor under the quaint sallies of the giant trapper as they cand from booth to booth, finally brin up where a number of young fellows had racing their horses. inent among the animals was a clean-limbed chestnut, whose points would have charmed a professional jockey. Both horse and rider were flushed with victory, but all the taunting banters of the fellow could not secure another match until Sweet William coolly ob- served: . ‘“‘A fa’r-looking plug, an’ mought git over a quarter in toler’ble time, but I’ve got a critter as kin double him ap at twicet the distance.” ‘‘Not fer money,” was the quick retort. ‘Fer all you kin show, at you putt up Vl kiver; but you’d better save out enough to / not t | | | ' fact. Whether by skill ora lucky | | ‘* He’s a leetle bigger’n your hoss.” ‘Sweet William, the Trapper Detective. git your bed an’ lodgin’ with—I speak as a tri’nd.” ‘You kiver that—never mind ‘bout me. Now, whar is the critter you’re goin’ to run in’ me?’ ‘*i0n’t make no difference. Money’s bo an’ | Tl run her for it if you fetch on a buligine. ieee a mile—round that blazed tree an’ back | here. ’ ‘You boy! fetch up Dilemmy!” shouted Sweet William, and in response Simple Simon pre through the crowd, mounted upon the ack of a huge-horned, bony Texan steer! A yell of amusement greeted them, but Sweet William was undeniably in earnest. **Money’s up—an’ yar’s your bull without the gine. Yar’s the critter kin give chain- lightin’ ten foot the start an’ beat it out a quar- ter. Bu’st or git bus’ted—an’ I’m bettin’ on 'Dilemmy. Whar’s the gambolier? Who’s the fust man what wants to make me rich? Ah, do come an’ see me, gen’lemen! Ten dollars Dilemmy licks the horse critter—the muley cow fer rocks!” But bets were hard to get, even with such odds in favor of the horse, for the recent lessons had not been forgotten, and many of those present regarded the strangely matched couple with something akin to superstition. Had not the stakes been already posted, the young man would probably have declined to run, rough fear of defeat, but even should he win, he would be an object of ridicule. But Sweet William would listen to no compromise, and in a few moments had his horned champion to the starting-point. _ The rules were simple. A blazed tree stood just a quarter of a mile distant, which the racers were to round, then return to the starting- point, the first one to complete the course to be adjudged the winner. The chosen judge gave the word, and the two animals bounded away amid loud yells and peals of laughter. For the first few moments, the horse drew abead, running low and level like a true bred racer, but then Dilemma settled to bis work as Simple Simon tickled his fla covering the ground with wonderfully long and rapid strides, regaining his distance inch by inch, and by the time one-half of the distance had been covered, his remarkable speed on remo the confi- dence expressed by Sweet William. The dust wrapped them in a cloud as the blazed tree was neared, nor could any tell which led until the turn was made. The horse wheeled first, but Dilemma was close at bis heels, and they came thundering down the back-stretch. It seemed anybody's race, until, jike the trump of doom, a terrific bellow came from — | a Dilemma, and the race was virtually over. The chestnut, terrified by the hot blast coming so close upon his haunches, went into the air, its rider lost his head, wrenching the bridle fiercely, almost overturning his animal. Straight on came Dilemma, running like a huge, horned grayhound, the winner of the race. White with anger the horseman came in, but there was no redress; even his personal friends adjudged him the loser. The rules said nothing against bellowing. The matter might not have ended here, onl for a truly startling event which just then too place. A loud yell was heard. A large crowd col- lected as by magic near the pavilion, from which some Man was ing. Then the yell grew clearer — words were audible— words that threatened death to Leo Friend! CHAPTER VIII. FANNING THE FLAMES, GERALD EVANS was the prime cause of this disturbance. As already stated, it was through him that Leo Friend: was arrested and brought to trial, but his connection with the matter went far back of this, as, in due time, will be shown. He had reasons sufficient for the part he was playing, but only one of them need be mentioned here. Gerald Evans wasa suitor for the hand of Belle Gladden, and, despite the fact of his forty and odd years—not that an n would have believed him over thirty, at the outside—he was deeply, madly in love, with a passion that knew no ds. m the first his attentions had been marked, and one by one the rural swains abandoned the unequal contest, until Evans and Friend alone were avowed contestants for the fair prize. First one and then the other was favorite with the speculating on-lookers. Few doubted that Leo was more agreeable to Bella, but nearly all knew that d had a ally in Anderson Gladden, and that the good: natured giant improved every opportunity of sounding the praises of Evans. One fact which made the ri more intense, and gave it a greater interest to the community at large was: Gerald Evans was a Mormon, and, next to Sidney Rigdon, Joseph Smith’s stanchest supporter. while Leo Friend was an obstinate unheliever. Thus the friends of the two were prety equally divided. From the first appearance of the Mormon —— 7 pioneers in Missouri, a dead set had beer made at Anderson Gladden, partly because he was rich, partly because he was very popular among the settlers, and could bring with him a strong and influential support: By working upon his superstition and love of gold, his conversion was readily effected, but Belle was not so pliable. Her heart had gone out to Leo Friend, the handsome, reckless sceffer, and Gerald was as- tute enough to see that as long as Leo remained upon the stage there was not the faintest chance re) —~ winning the heavy stake for which he played. It was through him that Martha Foster was enabled to prevent Leo from keeping his a pointment, though she did not suspect the teuly satanic plot which the Mormon agent had formed, and in which he was using her as the cat’s-paw. Imagine his astonishment, then, when she boldly testified to what he knew was a falsehood—that Leo Friend had left ter house. in ample time to have reached the scene of and* commit the murder of which he stood accused. He knew that’she loved the prisoner with every fiber of ber passionate, wayward heart; tben why had she sworn what the maid-servant spoken of could easily prove untrue? Wonder- ing then, he gave the signal which dispatched Hark Foster to school the sei vant what to say, or else remove her entirely. His heart was filled with gall when the jury announced their decision and the prisoner was remanded to jail to await the arrival of the new witness. He knew that the longer the delay, the more chance there was of the truth leakin out. Few men are lynched in cold blood; any a deed looks very serious after a night’s re- flection. Knowing this, Gerald Evans resolved to play his hand boldly, and to bring bis rival to the rope if it lay in buman power. His efforts for a while were confined to his more immediate friends and sympathizers, dwelling mainly upon the fact that Friend owed his reprieve almost wholly to Sweet William, whose actions of the st night had earned the bitter hatred of all ormon sympathizers. Determined and vindictive though his efforts were, it may well be doubted whether they would have resulted in any decisive action, only for a happy suggestion made by one of his rie we none other than Sidney Rigdon, the crafty. ° It Larkin’s wife was sober enough to under- stand what you wanted, and you could get her to come up here, one word from her would do more than we could, though we split our throats with virtuous indignation.” Like an inspiration Gerald Evans saw the value of this suggestion, if properly carried out. The game was not yet lost. Swift of foot, he soon reached the cabin where dwelt the widow of the murdered drover, As Rigdon had hinted, Eyans found her half-stupe- fied with liquor, one child sobbing in the cor- ner, a baby nuzzling at her hantet as she lay, half in bed, half ae a chair. For a moment Evans stood gnawing bis lip in — rage. To be baffled again; it was very itter. He tagl to the door and cast. a swift glance around. ere was not a living being in sight. Stepping back, he closed the door, pulling in the catch-string. The woman lifted her head slightly as he glided softly to her side, but fell forward again, too drunk to help herself. He shook ber by the shoulder, but an inarticulate murmur was the only answer. He rolled the baby to the further side of the bed, then caught up pail of water which stood in one corner, filling the long-hand- led —— and holding it bigh above his head, let the water fall in a stream full u the woman’s head and neck. With a stifled cry she ge to regain her feet, but with one hand he held her still, while the other pitilessly ad- administered the cold water cure. The effect was all he could have wished for, and five minutes later the woman was, if not perfectly sober, sufficiently so to understand all that was required of her. There was no per- suasion needed. A single motion of Gerald’s hand was enough. “Tell me what you want, and I will do it,” she said, in a full, mellow tone. Evans looked at her with awakened curiosity. Though a confirmed , Nell Larkin was still a beautiful woman, though of a ratber ] and sensual ry pe: In days ge by, she been a rising light upon the gic stage, and had already made her mark as Cleopa and similar creations, but love of liquor proved her bane, and after an unusually disgraceful failure, through intoxication, she abandoned the stage and married Don Larkin, then a wor- tby young planter. Of their after caieer it is unnecessary to speak at length. ough that Evans found in her a willing as well as able co- adjutor in his plot against the lifeof_his rival, and when he left the cabin it was with a fierce, deadly joy at his heart. He laughed at the de- scending sun and promised it a feast of blood ere it could bide itself behind the western hills. astening back to the pavilion, be sougbt out Belle Gladden, who, though ber heart, was bruised and aching, was too proud to hide from Gomicbooks G (E(0) = :