Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 197 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

20 —a prolonged yell thaf caused the rocky hills to eeno and ring again until a thousand demons seemed to have o awakened from their slum- bers, then— The waneeens. flush died owt of his face, and that burning glow faded to a glassy stare at vacancy, while the giant figure tottered and swayed like a stormetossed pine; his bony fin- —— gers clutched first at his breast, from which the | red blood was steadily flowing, then wandered up to his throat, tearing at it like one who is suffocating. ‘* What's the matter?’ he gasped, buskily. ‘‘ I cain’t see—I cain’t breathe—I’m feelin’ fainty —Lord God! I’m dyin’!” One gurgling groan, and the giant form col- | lapsed, falling like an overthrown tree, then lying without sense or motion. Horror-stricken, Pet Flamsteed knelt there, covering her eyes to shut out the haunting, dis- torted face, unheeding if she heard the cries of Dasbiag Della. The fair gambler had not recovered from the blow which Jasper Quigley dealt ber, until just as Barnacle Bill was in the acs of leaping upon the villain. She called once to Pet Flamsteed to release her, but then, as that strange scene progressed, she remained spellbound until the giant fell. Again and again she called to the cowering woman to hasten and cut ber bonds, but with- out result until she cried: ‘* He may not be dead—there may yet remain a chance of preserving bis life if you will only set me at liberty—-” Pet Flamsteed sprung to her feet at this and hastened to the side of the blonde siren, tearing at her bonds with unsteady, trembling fingers. ‘*Take the knife—over yonder it lies,” bur- riedly cried Dashing Della, nodding to where the weapon had fallen when the revolver of Jasper Quigley felled ber senseless. oving like one in a dream, the little woman obeyed, and then Dashing Della leaped to her | feet, rushing over to where the giant lay and kneeling beside him. It needed only the one glance to convince her that there was no earthly aid for Barnacle Bill. | From a hole directly above the heart welled the | red blood, now slowly and sluggishly, as though conscious that its duties were forever at an end. She put her hand upon the blood-saturated garment, bent her. ear to the broad chest, held the polished knife-blade to his lips; but alike | without reviving hope. ‘‘The poor fellow is dead!” she said, arising, her face white, her blanched lips quivering with strong emotion. ‘‘ And we killed him!” gasped Pet Flamsteed, her voice broken with sobs. ‘Only for us he would be alive and well! We murdered bin, if ever man was murdered!” ** Not you—yeour hands are clear,” said Dash- ing Della, seeking to console the sorrowin woman. ‘‘ You pleaded for him—you begge me to spare him and to set him af liberty, when he could have held his own against a score of such cowardly dogs as Jasper Quigley— Ha!” she exclaimed, the color flushing back into her face at the sound of that name. What of him? Where is he—Jasper Quigley ?”’ ‘*T do not know—do not care,” despondently replied the little woman, still kneeling beside the body of Barnacle Bill. ‘‘ He is gone—that is enough for me. Do not breathe his vile name in the presence of the hero whom he so foully ssa No! whom we murdered, you and 1? ‘ For one moment Dashing Della stood irreso- lute, at a loss what to do. She saw that Pet Flamsteed was hysterical from all that she had been called on to undergo, and rapidly growing worse instead of better. At all hazards she must be aroused from that state, and grasping her arms with gentle force, the blonde siren lifted the little woman to her feet, giving her a mn shake to arrest her attention as she oke, ‘‘He is dead, and nothing you can door say will restore him to life. And while you are making yourself sick with this unavailing grief, your bitterest enemy may be eseaping to do you still further injury. Would you give him a chance to spread that foul charge all over the land—to bring it before your proud father?” The right chord was struck at last, and Pet Flamsteed, by a desperate effort, rallied her energies, ‘‘He is dead—he went over there,” with a Sha Searing geance toward the yawning canyon. ‘ft heard his death-cry—I heard his fall—Mer- ciful Father! I shall hear it while I live!” she shuddered, covering her face. Dashing Della hastened to the edge of the canyon and peered over the escarpment. Fora few moments the gloomy depths baffled her, but then a wild cry escaped her lips. As she looked breathiessly into the dizzy depths, she taught the sound of a footstep behind her, and turning quickly, saw Pet Flam- steed, startled by her exclamation, coming toward her. ; Rising swiftly, she grasped the little woman by the arm, as though she would prevent her from looking over, but if such was her inten- Le ee ee — eee ee EEE eee ee ee i— eS SS Revolver Rob, the Red-Handed. —E $$ LT tion, it was quickly abandoned. Instead, she contented herself with keeping a firm grasp oa Pet’s arm, lest she should grow dizzy trom looking down the abyss. ‘* Look!” she muttered, pointing to a tree- top not quite half-way down the further side of the canyon. ‘* There he is—he fell into that tree, and it kept him from being instantly dashed to atoms!” Pet Flamsteed saw this, and she saw more— saw the same thing which had drawn that horri- fied cry from the paling lips of the blonde siren. Hurled with tremendous power and force by the giant, Jasper Quigley would have struc the further side of the canyon wall, only for the bushy top of a pine tree, whose thick branches broke and arrested his fall. But the tree had taken root in a small crevice in the rock-wall, where its roots were cramped and stunted. The heavy shock of the falling body had sbaken their frail hold, and now the weight of his carcass was slowly but surely tearing the roots from the crevice, for even as they looked, the two startled women saw small fragments of frost-eaten rock and particles of earth falling away and rattling down tho wall to the ragged rocks with which the bottom of the canyon was lined. And they even fancied that they could see the tree-top bending over, inch by inch, slowly but terribly sure. Keenly as they might look, neither could detect the least sign of life in the body which was all doubled up ina heap, as though all the bones had been broken by the fall. ‘* Though he deserved neither pity por mercy while living, I am thankful for that,” whispered Dashing Della, reading aright the look in the dark eyes which turned for a moment to hers. ‘Tt would be truly borrible were he condemned to see and feel—to see the death slowly creeping toward him, yet he unable to do aught to either avert or delay it!” ‘‘Tt may be that he is still living—that he is not dead, but only stunned,” murmured Pet Flamsteed, averting her gaze from the horribly fascinating spectacle. ‘ Dead or alive it is our duty to save him from another fall, if it lies in O wer. ur ” Dashing Della looked at the speaker curiously, as though unable to comprehend such magna- nimity toward one who had done all that lay in his power to torture and ruin her, but there was nothing of the hypocrite in those dark eyes = hich met her blue orbs so clearly, and she re- rlied: ne Even were we certain that he lives—were he your dearest friend instead of bitterest en- emy, we are powerless to aid him in any way. No mortal power can preserve bim from falling | to those rocks below, but there is something we can and must do.” ‘‘ What is it?’ asked the little woman, quickly. “ Anything is better than staying here in idle- ness and watching for his fall—and I can not keep my eyesaway! It is like what they tell of the fascinating powers of the rattlesnake!” ‘‘T comprehend your feelings, for I experience the same,” said Dashing Della, drawing Pet away from the verge of the abyss, fearing that she would be tempted to fling herself over. ‘* Now listen, and I will tell you what your words reminded me of. You can not blame me for listening when that villain spoke so loudly and coarsely. I could not help hearing what he threatened you with, and though I do not fully comprehend, I feel sure that he has some paper or something that it is very essential does not fall into otber hands—at least hands of those who may not prove tobe your true friends, Am | I not right?” ‘‘- Yes,” was the unhesitating reply. “I can raise my hand toward heaven and call the angels to bear witness that lam more sinned against than sinning, but if that man spoke the truth, then. he has or had in his possession seeming proof that might doom me to the gallows!” ‘‘T inferred as much from his speech,” was the quiet response, ‘‘ but it needed not your as- sertion to convince me of your innocence of such crime. Still, there may be others harder to convince, and so we must be the first to find what may be concealed about his person.” ‘* But how can we get down—” ‘“‘asily enough,” was the ready reply. ‘‘I have been here before, and know of a pass by which we can reach the bottom, less than a mile below here. Over yonder is where he left his horse—I caught a glimpse of it while bound to that rock. It is a rough road, and you are wearied, You wust ride.” Dashing Della waited for no reply, but burried | Pet past the spot where poor Barnacle Bill lay. weltering in his blood, only pausing when the hidden horse of Jasper Quigley wus reached. Almost lifting the little woman into the saddle, the fair gambler led the way ata rapid pace, soon reaching the narrow, winding trail which led down to the bottom of tbe canyon. It was a lonely, dreary looking place, dark from its depth, still darker owing to the vines and evergreen shrubbery with which the rock- walls were clothed. Along the center rana small stream, and in the shallow pools could be seen the trout as they flashed to and fro, dis- turbed by the unwonted presence of human be- ings. ee pocser in the unconscious man’s undershirt, and ] a The way was rough and devious, but the two women pressed on as fast as the natural difficul- ties would admit, though Pet Flamsteed grew still more faint and sick at heart as they neared the spot wherethey would find all that remained of Jasper Quigley—for surely the tree had given way beneath his weight, long ere this? Suddenly Dashing Della checked the horse, at whose bead she was walking, pointing ahead and upward as she ejaculated: ‘* Look! be is still there—the tree still holds firm !” Following the direction of the indicating finger, Pet Flamsteed saw the tree-top and its ghastly burden—but only for an instant—then the tree suddenly yielded, its top bending, the body slipping off and shooting down—down! With a gasping cry, Pet felt ber senses flee- ing, and only for the quick grasp of Della, she must have fallen to the rock. With a strength that seemed lent by the emergency, Dashing Della bore her to the little stream hard by. CHAPTER XV. DOWN IN THE CANYON, DASHING DELLA drew a long breath of relief as she saw that it was but a simple faint on the Ae of Pet Flamsteed, and gently laying her ight form down on the ground by the margin of the little stream, arose and turned toward the spot where Jasper Quigley had taken, that last frightful plunge down to the waiting rocks. ‘* If 1 can do the work, without troubling her, poor child, so much the better,” muttered the air gambler, hurrying forward. ‘ It must be a horrible sight to gaze upon, and her strength has already been overtasked.” In tru:h it was a sickening object to gaze upon, though the reality proved not to be as terrible as Dashing Della bad fancied it, for once more fate had intervened to save Jasper Quigley from what seemed certain annibilation. Instead of falling upon the bare, ragged rocks, as the two women believed inevitable, | the yielding of the pine tree being at right- angles with the trend of the canyon wall, it cast the helpless rascal in a gentle cui ve toward the further wall, where a dense mass of tangled vines and stunted shrubbery in a great measure broke the force of bis fall. Still, if not the shapeless mass of quivering blood and bones which Dashing Della alone ex- pected to see, Jasper Quigley bad not wholly escaped the reward he so pedis deserved. His tattered rags were stained with red blood. His arms and legs were doubled and twisted into awkward positions, impossible to be as- sumed where the bones remained sound, A\ll- in-all, a more woeful object could hardly be conceived, With a white, stern-set look around her mouth, and a burning light in her blue eyes that was not easy of interpretation, Dashing Della bent over the mangled remains for a mo- ment then started back with a sharp exclama- tion that was almost an imprecation, her pale face flushing hotly, her eyes glowing as though filled with living fire. ‘*Not dead—still living! Does the devil still guard its own?” A low moan that would havo escaped a less keen or more distant ear—a slight quivering of the remains that was different from the simple muscular agitation which was to be expected; that was all, but Dashing Della knew that they indicated life, that Jasper Quigley was still liv- _ing, though this might be the last fluttering of his soul. : For a brief space the fair gambler recoiled, gazing at the shattered body with sbucdering | aversion, but this did not last long. She was little troubled with nerves, as the sex under- | stands the term, and once more she became the cool-witted, clear-brained woman of business. *‘ Bah!” she muttered in a tone of contempt | for her momentary weakness, “ don’t be a fool _at this stage of the game! Dead or alive that body must be searched, and Iam better able to | do it than that poor child.” | A faint, wheezing moan escaped the lips of | Jasper Quigley as Dashing Della dragged him | out of the mass of vines and brush, where she could get at his pockets, but he gave no other evidence of life, and with remarkable compo- sure, the fair gambler proceeded to search for the paper on which so much depended. For a few moments this was unsuccessful, but then, as she drew a smal]l package from a secret astily ran ber eyes over the blood-soaked and blurred writing therein, a joyful cry escaped her lips. So far, at least, the story told by Jasper Quigley was true; be was in possession of a paper signed by Martin Luther Wesley, de- nouncing his wife, Florence, as bis murderer, And this was the document which Dashing Della held. Her eyes flashed with hot indignation as she read these terrible words, and it was clear enough that the poor little woman had one friend whose belief is her innocence could not be easily shaken, let the proof against ber be never so strong. “The act of a madman—or else a forgery, eomicbooks base 4 the fc ing & _nevel ence. villai rend