Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 241 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

26 ee ee - ner of his escape, and how he and Mark Boyd hastened to the ranch, only to see the outlaw riding away. Lieutenant Boyd rose from bis seat, and took up the thread of evidence where Genteel Guy left off, detailing the brief chase, and how it ended in his defeat. He produced the bit of paper which had been pinned to his breast, while he lay stunned by that fall from bis horse, and read it aloud. That it had been written by the prisoner, he was prepared to swear, And the signature attached, was that of Windy eas, Other evidence followed, so directly implicat- ing the prisoner, that even his bull-dog courage began to fail him. He was proved a thief, one of Spitfire Saul’s band of Rustlers, and the death of at least one human being was fixed up- on bim. When the evidence was all in, the case was given to the jury. Without hesitation, they pronounced him guilty. The judge rose again, and addressed the pri- soner: ‘* Prisoner at the bar, you have had a fair and thorough trial, according to the laws which govern the Rangers. You are convicted of theft, robbery, and murder. Before I pro- nounce sentence upon you, is there anything you can urge in your own defense, or reasons to are why I should deal with you more leniently than your crimes so richly deserve?” ‘* Nothin’ more then that the charges is alla lie, or fit onto other shoulders than mine,” said the accused, with desperate calmness, ‘‘I don’t deny but that I’ve rid with the gang of Spit- fire Saul, but it was as a spy ag’in’’em, not as one o’ bis cutthroats. Take me to the fort, an’ [ll prove that I’m a scout an’ spy, lawfully a’pinted fer jest the work I’ve been doin’. Hang me, an’ you'll hev to answer fer it, to your bet- ters. I give ye plain warnin’.” “We will risk that. You have been proven guilty, and—” “Stop a bit, boss,” and there was an expres- sion of satanic malignity upon the face of the prisoner. ‘ You're ’gaged to a young lady named Ora Ainsley. Kill me, an’ you worse then kill her. The same fer Lucille Debonay. Let me go free, or give me time to prove [’'m what Isay, an’ I'll give the hull thing away. Refuse—waal you kin take what follers!” A sharp whistle from one of the guards stationed out in the prairie grass, interrupted the words with which the judge was about to reply to this speech, and asall eyes were turned in that direction, a horseman was seen riding swiftly toward the timber island, his right hand rising and falling as he swung his rawhide quirt savagely. Even at that distance it could be seen that his korse was covered with foam and sweat, reeling and staggering as it came on, Acry burst from the band as they saw the or animal throw up its head, then plunge eavily forward, heart-broken by its terrible race against time. They saw the rider shoot over its head, alighting upon bis feet, rebound- ing as though made of rubber, then dash straight on to the motte, ‘It’s Feather-foot!” exclaimed Mark Boyd, his eyes glittering vividly, as ke left his seat and bastened toward the edge of the timber. ‘He must bring important tidines, to kill his horse and race after that fashion!” As the runner came closer, it could be seen that he wore the garb of a partially civilized Indian. His form was about the medium bight, but round and admirably proportioned, and he ran with the low, level motion of a true race- horse. ‘‘ What is it, Feather-foot?’ demanded Boyd, as the Indian slackened his pace on nearing them. The red lips parted to reply, but instead came a guttural exclamation of wonder, as the keen black eyes glanced past them, and caught sight of the dark, scarred visage of the prisoner, who was looking toward bim. ‘You ketch ’im—durn rascal? How do it?” bluntly demanded the runner, as be pressed past the lieutenant, and entered the timber island, sd only when within arm’s-length of indy Jess. ‘‘One, two—heap time you fool Rangers, ole boy; dis time you git ketch, plenty tight, eh?’ laughed Feather-foot. ‘‘ Moe tell you so, lon time ’go, bus you say dis way: ‘ Durn bull heac Rangers no ketch Talk-talk—no got git-up ‘ough! Freeze up tight to bottom, day ketch me—you bet!’ What say now ?” ‘‘Do you know this fellow?” demanded Boyd, sharply. ‘Know disman? Bet you, me squeal mighty loud to snicker,” laughed Feather-toot, with a comical attempt to master the slang he had heard among the Rangers. ** Whois he? What's his name?’ “Talk-talk, sometimes; nudder time, call bim H 5 bl *‘Did you ever know bim as Windy Jess?” “Dat name right /” exclaimed the Indian, bis black eyes glittering as he nodded bis head vig- erously. ‘‘ Me know it mean plenty pow-wow, allesame. He’long King Saul. Big man dere.’ As he ang the prisoner was watching bim olosely. He saw a trim-built form, handsome ! Ae. se > ; - > a i. Oo : , . bon t oe 7 —— + oe features, long, straight hair, cut square across the forehead, reaching almost to the eyes. face grew paler, as he saw that further denial was Vain. ‘‘If that copper-colored devil isn’t a ghost, he’s one of the very men you’re bunting for!” he cried, boarsely. ‘‘ He is the image of a red-skin called Feather-foot, one of Spitfire Saul’s gang, who’s taken more scalps than—” ‘‘ Heap lie dat !” interposed Feather-foot, bis eyes flashing. ‘‘Meride’iong King Saul—dat so. Me scout, spy, fo’ Ranger men. You ‘long dat time, when all say Feather-foot go up flume. Me tumble, yes. Me lay plenty still, like dead dog. Den when you ride’way plenty far, git up, do so /” applying bis thumb to bis nose and swiftly twirling his fingers. ‘‘ Fool you dat time, chuck up! Find out all want; mark all face down here,” tapping bis hair-bidden fore- head. ‘*‘Know you now, Talk-talk; bumby you be sizzle-burn!” pointing downward with one Spitfire Saul, King of the Rustle His | | | TS. ae ee ee ee eee oe ‘‘T knew you’d come to the trough for your fodder!” cried Windy Jess, triumphantly. ‘‘Swear to let me go free, when the work done, and I’ll guide you tothe hidden rendez vous of Spitfire Saul, and help you wipe out the thins gem I owe ’em one, for spoiling all my ans. ‘‘Walk away with that rope, men!” sternl cried the lieutenant. ‘‘ Take a double hitch of the end around a tree, and leave him to scare the crows, and serve as warning to birds of bis feather. Lively! Then to horse, and ride hard!” Windy Jess, who had been s0 confident that his end wus fairly won at last, stared in open- mouthed amazement at the speaker, even think- ing him only trying to frighten bim, when the men at the rope jerked bim off his feet and ran him nearly up to the limb over which the lasso had been cast. He writhed and kicked, seeking to burst the stout thongs with which his hands finger, leering into the face of the captive, with | were tied behind his back, a horrible gurgling ) | sound escaping his lips, until the tight-closing ‘‘Did you know that we had captured this | lasso anne i! choked cff all wind. The loose y a diabolical grin on his copper colored features. rascal, that you came in so hot, Feather-foot?’ | end was swift asked Genteel Guy. secured to a branch above the reach of wolves, and then, without another “No, Kill hoss so git here heap soon. Big | glance at the dying outlaw, the Rangers leaped news—King Saul off on raid; come dis way— mos’ ketch Feather-foot when sleep soun’. Dodge um, den, but dat make behind Rustlers. Ride like fun, but mebbe too late. You see fire, las’ night?” **No—where? Which way from here?” Feather-foot pointed in the direction of the Debonay ranch, and the faces of the two lovers turned ghastly pale, ‘“You are sure ? You think that devil bas struck the ranch?” gasped Gentvel Guy, his words coming thick and hoarse, Before the Indian could reply two guards came hurriedly in, bearing between them a bleeding form, barely conscious, A cry of angry despair broke from the lovers, as they recognized the poor fellow, one of the Debonay vaqueros. e raised his head as they rushed to his side, and ~ Fitt e ole hell to pay at ranch! Spitfire Saul —clean sweep—las’ night. Hol’ me up—l’m chokin—chokin’—” A gush of blood filled his throat and smother- ed his further speech. A gurgling groan, then his head fell back. CHAPTER XX. KING SAUL SWEEPS THE BOARD. LIEUTENANT Boyp and Genteel Guy stood as though stunned by this terrible revelation, glar- ing down upon the face of the poor fellow who had lived just long enough to carry them the startling tidings, then died at their feet without a struggle. For an instant after that husky, suffocating voice died away, all was silence the most pro- found. Neither Mark nor Guy seemed capable of speech or motion, while the Rangers, all of whom knew just how matters stood with the young men, and the ladies of the Debonay ranch, looked the sympathy which none of them cared just then to openly express. Then came a sbort, hard laugh, at the notes of which Genteel Guy started and shrunk, as though from a blow, and Windy Jess cried out: ‘““You wouldn’t listen to me, or I’d have pba the news to you more considerately than that!’ His face white, his eyes glowing redly, Matk Boyd tarned upon the speaker, who involunta- rily made a movement as though to guard him- self against a blow, only to be checked by the rope around histhroat and the stout bonds on his limbs. “You knew of this raid, then?’ demanded the lieutenant. “T knew it was coming, but I didn’t expect it quite so soon, I thought I’d be in time to warn old Debonay, and so I would if King Saul had stuck to his original plans. He must have taken alarm at my desertion, and so crowded the funeral.” Windy Jess spoke without any attempt at subterfuge, now, and spoke the simple truth. He had been so completely recognized as an outlaw, that he knew he could not hope to lie out of the hangman’s noose, but a fresh hope i Tas across his busy brain, as the vaquero alea, ‘‘We'’re losing precious time,” huskily mut- tered Genteel Guy, touching his comrade in sorrow on the arm. ‘Sound boot and saddle, or I take the road alone.” ‘‘ Better bear me through,” quickly interposed Windy Jess. ‘‘ You won’t lose anything by it, in the end. It’s too late for you to save the ranch, or to head Spitfire Saul off in that di- rection. Long ere this, he’s out of your reach, and you may go into mourning for your dainty darlings—” { i | | into their saddles and thundered away over the prairie after their chief and Genteel Guy, who were now farin advance, riding as only men ride who have their all at stake. On, without pause for breath or speech, ply- ing spurs until they shone red in the scorching rays of thesun. On, until the space-devouring horses shone with sweat and were profusely flecked with foam flakes. On, in a steadily lengthening string as the fastest animals sped ahead, but always with those two men riding in front, side by side, each one feeling the same bitter pangs, each one white as a corpse, with hard-set jaws, their eyes blazing as though their hearts were on fire. It was a longand killing ride, but not once was rein drawn by Ranger, until the site of the Debonay ranch was brougbt into full view, as they rose a swell in the przirie. Only the site. And a low groan escaped the lips of the two men riding in advance, as the turned to meet each other’s eyes, as thoug seeking sympathy. For only a faint mist of smoke hung around the place where bad stood the rancho and its outbuildings, its stables and corrals. The tidings brought by the dyin cowboy had been only too true. Spitfire Sau had indeed been there, and made a clean sweep! With desperate calmness, Mark Loyd drew rein and permitted his well-nigh ext austed horse to take breath. ‘(We're killing our nags, and just when we necd them most we'll find ourselves afvot,” he muttered, turning in his saddle and making a signal that caused his men to check thir speed, though still advancing. The hotter headed cowboy only flashed one indignant glance into his hard-set face, then plied his spurs anew, never drawing rein until he leaped from the saddle beside the ruins of the Debonay ranch, A frightful scene of ruin and desolation. Truly, Spitfire Saul had swept the board clean! The heaps of smoking ruins, with only por- tions of the adobe walls of the rancho standing, Yonder a couple of bloody corpses, riddled with bullets and gashed with knives, as though the sturdy cowboys had fought long and desper- ately against overwhelming odds. Still beyond, the body of a man doubled over one of the low water-troughs, a crooked trail of b ood showing how far he had dragged himself in his burning thirst to gain the cooling element, only to perish as it)touched his parched lips. All borror, all ruin, bloodshed and death! No, not all. As Mark Boyd and the Rangers came riding up, a hoarse, strained voice uttered a ery, and from behind a pile of brush near the stock well, a human form arose and staggered forward. Covered with blood, long bair thickly matted with the crimson dye and dirt, it re- uired more than a first giance to recognize ucien Debonay, but then Mark Boyd reached his side, and caught the failing form in his arms, showering eager questions upon him, even while ministering to his wants, pouring ore’ down his throat until the youth pushed the fl aside. “Spitfire Saul—his work —ten thousand curses rest upon his head!” grated the youth, his bloodstnived face convulsed with rage as he pronounced the name. Without a word from their leader, the Rangers had turned their jaded horses loose, and scattered over the premises, reading the plenti- ful sign, allowing nothing to escape their keen and practiced scrutiny. They saw that the attack had not been made in as great force as they had anticipated, from tbe clean swee which had been made. The stock had been col- lected and started off together, heading to the southwest, as though making for the nearest The outlaw abruptly checked himself, seeing | ford on the Rio Grande. that he had suffered his nimble tongue to carry him too far. Lieutenant Boyd turned on his heel and made a swift gesture. The clear, sharp notes of a bugle rung through the timber island and far over the prairie, sounding boot and saddle, . \ . 7%) - < .% \ 2 . os ‘ <“ “ Ps ° 2% Bs hain ) See et a> = we oS Eats While they were thus engaged, Mark Boyd, with Genteel Guy standing moodily nigh, was drawing the terrible story from the half-dis- tracted youth. Grief, rage, and his wounds, with the loss of blood, had nearly turned his brain, for the time being, and it wae no easy IOOKS . m (E (E(e) “Fs