Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 239 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

ot fe ae ote me ewer 6 = + ee ee ment and borror, no less from the fact that Lionel Lacrosse was reported as an assassin, ‘than from the tragic death of Captain War- rington, Had not the latter publicly struck Lionel in the face, none present would have entertained the thought for a moment that the young planter could commit such a crime. For a moment after the shriek of Winnie Warrington, all stood open-mouthed, gazing at the messenger, who, turning, bounded back to the scene of the tragedy. ; Then, out upon the veranda, staggered Win- mie, her face ghastly, her palms pressed upon her temples, her fingers clutched in the meshes of her golden hair; while her eyes, starting from their sockats, were glassy and unnatural, On, over the flower-besprinkled Jawn, through the twilight beneath the oaks, follow- ed by her cousin Baldwin Brown, went poor Winnie Warrington; until, at length, she caught sight of Lionel held fast by men with whom he had never deigned to associate. As the young girl advanced and saw the outstretched form of her father, whom she now knew to be dead, lost to her forever, she paused for an instant, and then went tottering forward; as if her limbs had lost their strength. One long agonizing look she gave at the dead, and then at Licnel, who stood trembling at the sight of the horrified maiden whom he loved better than his own life, His very strong and ungovernable emotion was another proof of his guilt; and Winnie shivered with aversion, giving him but one glance-—a look that doubled bis despair. And yet, that look was born of ber realizing his dread position; for she was still unable to believe him guilty. Then she sprung, with a wild cry—the only sound that bad left her lips since she staggered from the ranch—to the side of her murdered father, and kneeling upon the sward, sunk for- ward upon bis breast. The guests from the ranch had, by this time, reached them; and Baldy Brown, cried out, in a voice of anguish: ‘‘ For Heaven’s sake, for Winnie’s sake, and your own, Lionel Lacrosse, explain this bor- rible mystery! Can it be that your whole nature has been changed by the unjust treat- ment you received from my uncle, and that you lay in wait, and sbot him like a dog?” “T am no murderer, no assassin,” said the young planter in a hoarse and unnatural! voice, ‘“‘T admit that there is sufficient evidence against me to convict me of this terrible crime, but, for all that, I did not do it. Had I in- tended to resent the blow that was given me, I would have done 80 at the time it was given. However, nothing that I can say will convince you of my innocence, I shot at a water-snake in the creek, The assassin must have been concealed, and pulled trigger at the same in- stant, for the report was doubly loud; and, at the moment after firing, I heard a horritie out- ery. I then turned and saw Captain Warring- ton, of whose presence I had been up to that time unconscious, fall to the earth. ‘‘] knew tbat he had been wounded in some way, and, stepping forward, I found that he was dead. ‘Tt would be natural to suppose that, bad I done the deed, I would have fled at once; but I know it to be useless to advance any reasoning in my own favor. Iam a victim of circum- stantial evidence. ‘But hear we, gentlemen: I would sooner have cut off my right arm than have harmed one hair of Captain Warrington’s bead!” ‘That will do!’ broke cut one of the men who was holding Lionel. “You mn tell a good story, but itis not a very plausible one. It cannot avail you. Your time bas come to die, We cannot allow any cowardly assassins in our midst. What say you, neighbors?’ “* Hang him!” * String bim up!” “Run him up a limb!” ‘* Choke the coward with his own lariat!” ‘Give ther cuss a jig on nothin’!” Such cries now filled the air, and one of tho rancberos ran for a rope. Blackbird, in bis covert, could with difficulty repress a cry, of exultation. Tbe dastardly ruffian and murderer believed that bis bellish plans would ail come to a fa- vorable ending. As soon as the excitement had a little sub- Sided, Baldy Brown cried out: ‘Gentlemen, I beg of you to refrain from The Terrible Trio. violence. Lionel Lacrosse is a gentleman, and bas never been known to do a dishonest or mean act in bis life. ‘*I, for one, believe that be has spoken the truth, and that the real assassin is at large. Give Lionel the benefit of the doubt. Deliver bim over to the authorities at San Antonio, and let him have a fair trial. I ask, 1 demand this!’ ‘“ We don’t care a cuss what you ask or de- mand,” was the reply of the first speaker. ‘‘ Lacrosse has laid for the captain and sbot him. There is no gettin’ around that fact. He has got to swing, if the boys say so!” A yell of approbation rung out on all sides, and Baldy felt that he could do nothing to pre- vent the lynching of his friend. In the midst of Winnie’s deep grief and an- guish, the stricken girl now raised ber head and glanced at Lionel with a Jook that changed the young man’s whole bearing. Straighten- ing bis form, he exclaimed: ** Neighbors all, and you most of all, Miss Warrington, a dastardly murder has been com- mitted, and all the evidence points toward my- self as the assassin. For all that, I swear that Iam innocent, You propose to hang me with- out judge or jury, but the time has come for me to have my say. You shall not hang me; do you bear me? The real assassin has blasted my life, and I swear that I wil! live to track him down, if it takes years to do so!” Before the listeners fully understood the gist of the young man’s words, Lionel Lacrosse, by a Herculean effort, wrencbed himself free, snatched his revolver from the ranchero who bad taken it from him, caught up another that lay near, and cocking both weapons, yelled, as he backed toward a thicket near them: “Throw up your bands, all of you! I am no murderer, but a desperate nan whom you would murder. Farewell, Baldy Brown! Take care of Winnie Warrington. When next you see Lionel Lacrosse, there shali be no stain, or suspicion of such, upon his name!” With these words the young ranchero vanished; those who had been so eager to lynch him being dumfounded at the sudden change in his manner and actions. And new Bird Blackwell cowered, trembling with a terrible dread and abject terror, as Lionel rushed past his hiding-place, and up the Salado. In five minutes more the young planter was galloping like a leaf before the gale, up the stream, cnd toward his home, knowing well that he would be pursued by maddened men, insanely eager for bis blood. And he was right. He had not proceeded twenty paces after disappearing from view, when the rancberos, with yells of rage, rushed toward the ranch for their horses, sprung upon them, and sped on in pursuit of young Lacrosse, resolved to capture and bang him to the first tree they afterward should reach. CHAPTER V. THE APACHE RAID. ALTHOUGH Major Lacrosse, the father of Lionel, had been pressed by Baldwin Brown to attend the shooting-matcbh, he complained of not feeling very well, and decided to remain at home; but, bad he known the terrible and fatal consequences to himself originating from this decision, he would have mounted his fastest horse, and galloped madly after his son. It cannot be disputed that there are times when one should, to avoid dangers, know of the future, and this was a time when Law- rence Lacrosse should have been warned of the approach of those who knew no mercy. Lionel balted bis borse at the edge of the timber at the bend, turned in his saddle, and waved his sombrero in adieu to bis father. The latter returned the salute, with every show of pleasure in bis face. The face of the major beamed with happy content and satisfaction, as be sat slowly puff- ing at his pipe. Everytbing was prosperous with the old gen- tleman. A contented, happy old age seemed insured to him. In his thin, Lut still handsome face, bis bright and piercing eyes still showed much of the fire and dash that had won him rank and distinction in the war with Mexico. As he sat thus on the vine-covered veranda, clothed in a neat suit of black, at times glanc- ing over the slow-waving field of rustling corn, with its background of timber, he pre- sented, with his surroundings, a goodly picture a rr SSS —EE a = —E aa _ . ~_ a to look upon; for it represented a quiet com- fort, plenty, and a happy old age, framed in Nature’s brigbtest colors, which almost screened from view all signs of the handiwork of man. A good specimen of the old-time Southern gentleman was Major Lawrence Lacrosse, and the scene around bim was most truly Southern in all its characteristics. Here and there were little negroes, basking in the sun, half naked, or chasing each other in their thoughtless glee, all as happy as the day was long. The old cook, Aunt Huldy, issuing ber man- dates in a peremptory manner, with her arms akimbo and her many-colored kerchief upon her head, loomed high above ber assistants in the kitchen, now busy preparing dinner. The negro men, some repairing corrals, some mending tools and horse equipments, others hoeing corn, all taken together, made up a scene that was calculated to produce the con- tent that was visible in the face of the pro- prietor. And the old man sat thus, gradually becom- ing listless from continuous smoking, his face at times, being turned down the creek, ag though he greatly missed and longed for the presence of his son. Then, after a while, Aunt Huldy seized the dinner-horn—a veritable horn from the head of a four-year-old steer, and which, in the olden time, had been used as a bugle by the Texas Rangers—and blew a rousing blast; her fat cheeks swelling out nearly to bursting, in ber effort to reach the ears of the field-hands. This greatly amused the picaninnies, who rolled on the ground in their mirth, but scampered rapidly away as the queen of the kitchen wad- dled toward them in her indignation, crying out: “Dog-gone yer no’count small trash! Yer better hush, er yer’J1 get clean bones fur ter gnaw, fer Aunt Huldy ain’t gwine ter ‘low no sass ’roun’ byer,” The dinner over, then followed another smoke for the old major, who next proceeded to take a siesta in his hammock, which was stretched in the cool passage. It was pear sunset when the old gentleman awoke, little dreaming that his loved son was, at this very moment, clutched and held by a mob of half-drunken rancheros, who proposed. to hang him like a dog for a crime he had not committed. But little would it matter to the major in what condition bis son was when that news reached Lacrosse Ranch, and, as if ‘coming eveuts were casting their shadows before,” the old man, as he resumed his pipe and chair, seemed, in comparison to his previous appear- ance before his nap, to be greatly depressed. His eyes were now fixed absently upon the trunk of a huge oak, opposite his position, in a dreamy way, bis disengaged hand being pressed upon his brow. Why is it, one may well ask, that a dozen men with their families, may settle on the same stream on the border, all within the distance of a day’s ride, and eleven of them may prosper in their new homes, while the twelfth sees his darlings mutilated and scalped before his eyes, as he himself is bound helpless to a tree within the beat of his blazing home, and in turn tor- tured by the war-painted fiends, who leave on their trail the smoking ruins of desolated bomes, and corpses mutilated beyond recognition? Thus it is, gentle reader, and we may well wonder at the injustice of these tragic happon- ings. But, to our tale, The songs of the negroes at their work went on,and were in consonance with the evening air, and Major Lacrosse still puffed listlessly at his pipe, glancing down the Salado more frequent- ly, now that he looked for the speedy return of Lionel. And thus we leave him, and inspect the creek bottom to the northwest, for the danger, ia re- gard to which we have hinted most plainly, lurks in that direction. A quarter of an hour, and the lower disk of the sun would seem to rest upon the western horizon; when, a rifle-shot from the upper corral, but within the sbades of the timber, two score of paint-daubed Apaches, mounted upon their half-wild steeds, advanced in single order along a winding cattle-trail, and dows the stream toward Lacrosse Ranch. Their black, bloodtbirsty eyes glittered sweoping and suspicious glances on every side, seeming to pierce each dense thicket in searob of lurking foe; their left hands clutched readg (E(e) ooo) MIG cS ‘. i. OO