Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 241 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

6 eivilized regions, better fitted to the States than the desert, of fine material, well and tastefully made. Beneath his coat was a belt of weapons, one of which had done good ser- vice. His companion was equally well-garbed and armed; was of the same dark complexion, but there the resemblance between them ceased. Siender, almost frail in bod Y when contrasted with the man beside him, he looked more like a girl masquerading in male habiliments, than a youth just entering manhood, as the delicate mustaches which shaded his upper lip, would in- dicate. His eyes were very large and lustrous, and as Ora gazed into them, she involuntarily turned to look into those of her adopted sister, so re- markable was the resemblance. And not alone in that one respect, but in the shape of the face, in each separate feature, the likeness was won- derful. Change their garb, and with a little padding and filling out, this young man might easily bave been mistaken for the proud heiress of the Debonay estate. Almost beside himself with anxiety and fear for bis love, Genteel Guy dashed into the motte, drawing rein with a gasp of intense relief as he saw Lucille perfectly safe, chatting with the tall stranger, who turned swiftly, one hand seeking a weapon, as he heard the crashing of shrubbery. Lucille caught his arm with ber hand, hastily uttering: “Tt is a friend. Mr. Abbey, this gentle- man—” 4 “Fred Bloodgood, at your service,” bowed the stranger, as the maiden hesitated. ‘ This is my brother, Kirke.” “To both of whom I owe my life,” she ear- nestly added, with a little shudder, as she glanced toward the dead cow, ‘The pleasure of which isa far richer reward than the most ambitious man could ask,” quick- ly replied Bloodgood, bowing low to Lucille, as he ere forward and extended his band to Genteel Guy in acknowledgment of the intro- duction. The words could not be found fault with, but despite himself, Genteel Guy felt an almost un- coutrollable aversion as their hands met. What it was, be conld not explain then, but a moment later he gave a start and gazed fixedly into that dark, handsome face, a vague, troublesome memory awakened by the clear-cut profile which was brought to view as Bloodgood turned once more to Lucille Debonay. ‘If you more fortunate persons down there, have entirely forgotten the existence of such an humble personage as poor me, allow me to sug- gest that there are far more comfortable rest- ing-places than an inch-thick limb,” called out Ora, with a touch of petulant impatience. The brothers Blo ge started in surprise, for until now they had believed Lucille alone, but Genteel Guy, flushing hctly, rode beneath the limb to which the girl clung, and gently took her in his arms. “Careful—my poor ankle!” gasped Ora, turning pale as a sharp twinge reminded her anew of uci .wishap. Lucille assisted her to the ground, saying: ** We must get you back to the house as soon as possible. We can form a litter—” ‘*T can ride,” hastily interposed Ora, “I’m ays eipe and you shall not make me out one. If I had my horse, now!” ‘*T will have him bere in two minutes, if one of these gentlemen will kindly lend me a lasso, ea cut mine, when I heard the alarm, over ere. ‘With pleasure,” smiled Bloodgood. “If I only knew how to use it, I'd volunteer to aid ou. . “Yet you carry one that has evidently s-en service,” pointedly, almost rudely, com- mented Guy, as he detached the rope from its resting-place. “Tf bougbt it with the horse,” was the quiet response. ‘I supposed it was the fashion, here, but as for using it—” and he shrugged his shoul- ders, throwing out his hands after a very Frereby fashion. “You are a stranger in these parts, then?” asked Guy, liugering, he scarcely could have explained why. * A greenhorn, a tenderfoot, to use the ver- nacular,” with a laugh. ‘‘ Yes, 1 am new to the great West. I believed ita howling wilderness —a land of beathens, and [| find it inhabited by angels,” with a polite bow that took the edge off of the rather fulsome compliment. ‘Yet I could almost swear that I met you not many miles from this very spot, within the past year!” muttered Guy. “ Don’t—unless you are partial to perjury,” laughed Bloodgood, turning to Lucille once His brow deeply corrugated, an uneasy light in his big blue eyes, Genteel Guy fastened the lasso to his saddle-bow, leaped upon his horse and rode away. All the joy e bad anticipated from meeting with Lucille after that glance, those brief, but eloqnent words, was blasted. Sbe had eyes only for this black Hercules. “Her eyes had avoided bis, and the foolish fellow thought she was offended at him for the part he had played in that little drama. That she feit annoyed at having been placed under obliga- tions to him; that sbe felt ashamed of having appealed to him in her extremity. e bad other cause for thought, he declared himself a stranger in that region, | felt that the alarm would prove fata yet Genteel Guy felt positive that this was not their first meeting; that they bad met under peculiar circumstances within a year past, not far from that very spot. If so, and he was an honest man, why had the stranger lied about it? Fred Bloodgood seemed inclined to treat the matter as a joke, and lightly said to Lucille: ‘‘Mr. Abbey seemed inclined to suspect me of being some terrible criminal in disguise, from his questions. Has he any connections among those dreadful persons of whom we hear so much toward the rising sun—the Vigilantes? If so, perhaps I had better be making tracks. That is the term, I believe?’ Lucille smiled, more at his gestures than his words, but it was only faintly. ‘“‘Mr. Abbey is my father’s foreman, and if you remain long in these parts, you will under- stand that it is perfectly natural to look at strangers closely, until they cease to be such.” ‘Pardon me, 1 was only jesting. It is a fail- ing of mine, to which I yield too frequently, perhaps, Miss—” ae name is Debonay,” said Lucille, as he paul with a rising inflection that was almost a question. loodgood started, his black eyes ore. ‘* Not the daughter of Mr. Pierre Debonay?’ Lucille bowed, gazing at bim curicusly. ‘* You hear, Kirke?” cried Bloodgood, turning toward bis brother, who was standing beside Ora, engaged in animated conversation. fe Where now are your forebodings? Did I not oa i that we would come out all right in the en ‘It was kind Providence that led us astray,” said the*young man, bowing first to Lucille, then to Ora. ‘‘I was convinced of that, long before I heard the lady’s name.” ‘*You see, Miss Debonay,” said Bloodgood, turning once more to Lucille, who hardly knew what to make of these sudden changes and speeches of almost oppressive politeness. ‘‘ We —my brother and [—were on our way to pay a visit to Mr. Pierre Debonoy. We carefull heeded the instructions given us for our guid- ance, but somehow—perbaps because of our verd-ncy in prairie traveling—we strayed from the right road, and were becoming oe Saget y conscious of that fact, when we caught the dis- tant sound of firearms, Our first impulse—I frankly admit it—was to turn and ridé in the other direction! ‘We are not paladins, Kirke and I. Ever since crossing the Missouri, we have been treat- ed with marvelous tales of hostile Indians, of road-agents, of Vigilance Committees and of the ay and festive Rustlers, all of whom were cred- ited with an insatiable appetite for human blood —particularly that of verdant tenderfeet like ourselves. “But we rer overcame the temptation, and rode toward the sounds, which led us hither. The rest, you know.” He spoke so volubly that Lucille could scarcely follow his meaning, but after a moment, she said: “You are an old friend of my father, then?” **Not so,” was the quick response. ‘To the best of my knowledge, we never met. I havea little business with him: yes. For that reason, as well as for having been of a slight service to you, I am overjoyed at this meeting. It would not be so pleasant, lying out on the prairie. Remember, Kirke and I are poor, helpless ten- derfeet,” with a short laugh. Despite the fact of her owing him such a debt of gratitude, Lucille felt a strange sensation of growing distrust of this plausibly e pamaee stranger, and gave a little shiver as she turne to Ora. A swift flash came into his keen eyes as he noted this, but the bland smile never left his lips as he also joined the others, joining in the gay conversation which was being carried on, broken though it was by an occasional twinge say apn from the injured ankle. Shortly afterward, Genteel Guy returned with Ora’s horse and the side-saddle taken from the dead steed, which be put upon his own animal. , His brow was still stern as be looked at Fred Bloodgood, but he made no remark as he assisted Ora into the saddle, the tall stranger aiding Lucille, and stood in the edge of the timber watching them as they rode slowly away over the plain. ‘*I've seen him somewhere, and not as en honest man either—but where and when?” he muttered, leaning upon the muzzle of bis repeat- ing rifle. ‘‘ Ha!” heexclaimed, hiseyes glowing as he hastily raised the weapon to a level, but lowering it again es Lucille passed between him and Bloodgood, rendering the shot impracticable at that distance. ‘I know him now—the dog! He’s one of Spitfire Saul’s gang of bloody-minded cut- throats!” Spitfire Saul, King of the Rustlers. | This man: | Doc Strader, for even as he pulled trigger, he | | CHAPTER V. ‘‘OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY.” A SAVAGE curse hissed through the tight clinched teeth of Spitfire Saul, when he was forced to burn powder to prevent the escape of to his hopes. He knew that asecond guard was sta- tioned just without the door, but he likewise knew that either Doe Strader or himself must] die, for he saw that the half-stunned, bleeding | man, was drawivug a revolver even as he tore himself loose from that savage grasp, and rolled swiftly beyond reach of the chained des- | perado, One shot, and the deed was done. With a gaping bole in bis skull, through which the blood and brains oozed, poor Doc Strader lay before the closed door, quivering convulsively, yet wholly unconscious of pain, so sudden was his death. The next instant there came a Joud thumping on the door, from the outside, and then an ex- cited voice, demanding: ““ What’s oF in thar, Doc? What's the row?” Bruised and severely wrenched by tbe heavy fall which he bad not attempted to break in the least, so intent was he on striking down his guard, Spitfire Saul drew back and scrambled to bis feet with that ominous pounding ringing through his ears like the knell of doom. He clutebed the still-smoking revolver, even in that critical moment feeling a certain grim delight that he held at least five more lives in bis bands. **Doc!" and the sharp pounding on the door was renewed, while the voice without grew more anxious, ‘‘What’s the row? Durn it man! cain’t ye speak? Whoop ’er up, or Vil bu’st the door wide open!” Spitfire Saul glanced from the now motion- less corpse to the closed door, and a savage smile curled bis red lips. The heavy dcor was barred within, and locked from the outside, thus rendering it im- possible for either guard alone to open the bar- rier, without using some such force as that threatened by the outside guard. Was that for or against him? He could not te)lon the sour of the moment, and to gain a brief interval for thought, be burriedly uttered in the coarse, heavy voice of the dead: **P’izen cuss was breakin’ loose, an’ I hed to let him hev it! Wait a bitontel J kin see ef lic’s done fer!” **Open up an’ gimme a lock!” spluttered the outside guard. ‘ Thar’ll be little ole thunder to | pay, ef you’ve wiped bim out an’ sp’iled the ys’ fun! Openup,durn it! Thar's somebody comin’ pow—they’ve hearn the shootin’—” fe we Saul hardly heard the excited speech. He had turned and was looking at bis manacles, at the chain which held him to the rear wall. Only for that— Ha! Fearing that his eyesight had deceived him in that dim light, the King of the Rustlers bent forward until his face almost touched the wall, a savage delight flasbing from every feature as he saw that he was not deceived—that the huge iron staple was loosened in the wall, half drawn out by the tremendous shock whieh he had given it in lanching bimself upon Doc Strader. Thrusting the revolver into his bosom, be grasped the double chain near the staple, and threw all bisimmense power into a single effort, wresting the stwple from its fastenings. A low, vicious snarl curled his lips as he turned from the wall, thrusting the slack of the chain under and over the iron belt which en- circled bis waist. Could any one have seen King Saul ther, they would bave thought him anything but handsome, Instead, be was abso- lutely hideous. His eyes, bis white, pointed teeth, his whole appeararce was that of a wild beast, scenting a plentiful feast of blood, All this passed with the rapidity of thought, and the outside guard was still speaking when King Saul, the chain tucked up out of his way, took the pistol from his bosom, and leaped across the room toward the door, ‘* He’s got it bed, but he ain’t killed,” be cried, still imitating the voice of the man whom he had slain so remorselessly, ‘‘ Thar’s a-plenty left fer hangin’, ef the boys look sharp, Open up en’ let me slide. I hed to do it, Lut the boys may make it hot fer me—” King Saul never finished the sentence, for there was no need of carrying the deception further. Thoroughly unsuspicious of the terri- ble truth, the outside guard turned the massive key in the lock, and as Spitfire Saul tore down the heavy bar, the door swung open of its own accord, and the desperate outlaw sprung into the CpatOnG, his manac'ed hands uplifted, grasp- ing the barrel of the heavy revolver, a merci- less light flaming in his blue eyes. A short cry of horrified amazement from the luckless guard, then the pistol fell, driven with all the power of those strong arms. The brasgs- bound butt was driven clean to the trigger guard into the skull of the unfortunate, the barrel breaking from its festenings and alone remain- ing in the hand of King Saul, as the second rd fell in a quivering, ghastly heap at his. Ca) | ~ i eet. | ‘ That’s what’s the matter, you snarling, in of ‘ Le ‘ ¥ € e i 4% ate “th rek-s : _ hg