Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 245 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

—_—_-———_—_----- ————S on ° for safety, but, chancing to observe the bar- keeper’s revolver, he resolved to improve the chance to get at Barranca Bill. The new danger had drawn the latter’s eyes away for a moment, and Abe soon obtained so perfect a bead that William Lincoln seemed fated to cross the range in spite of all. One pair of eyes saw Neal’s purpose, however, and Bad Lung, creeping forward, let fall his ten-pin on the fellow’s head with such force that he dropped again behind the bar. ** All down but nine-ee!” the Celestial ob- served, in a gentle monotone. “Set ’em up ag’in!” exultantly added Gentle John, who had seen the final act. ‘* You’ve cVared that alley, my cherub!” ‘*Now, then, what are you going to do?” de- manded Hecate, in the imperious tone of one who feels herself mistress of the situation. ‘*That’s all for you to say, marm,” replied Bill, coolly. ‘ You’ve got a rooster in this chicken-coop that I want—he’s on ice behind the counter—and if you deliver him over with his front legs tied, all well and good. Other- wise, we burn your coop if we can raise the matches to do it.” A shout from the miners showed that they were ready for the work. Hecate’s discipline had thus far saved her den, but all Comet Camp would rejoice to see it burn. The Lambs scowled defiance and then looked at their mistress, but she saw her scepter and kingdom hanging by a thread. ‘This is a riot,” she repeated, in a less arro- gant tone. | ** Tt’s justice on a frolic, marm, but we don’t war on you. Wewantonly one man. Go be- hind the counter, G-ntle John, and land our fish.” The man addressed went over the bar like an acrobat, there was a brief struggle, and then Abe Neal was pitched head-first into the charmed circle. He struck, and Barranca Bill planted his foot on his breast. ‘*Here’s the stake for which we play,” he said, ‘‘and if the rest of you keep out you'll be in copaition to eat your breakfast with a The Lambs, however, were no longer in an amiable mood. Neal was a favorite among them, and it was plain to see that even Hecate could no longer keep them back. ** Down, all!” suddenly cried Bill, Then his two revolvers spoke as one and the lights in the further room went out with a crash, plunging the whole scene into utter dark- ness, Fortunately for the miners, they heard and obeyed bis order, and as they dropped a shower of lead whistled harmlessly over them. F ‘‘ Forward!” shouted Bill, springing to his eet. Again he was promptly obeyed, but as they plas’ along they brought up hard and solidly against the wall. Brief as had been the delay, it had been enough for the Lambs to hurry ee the opening and close the way behind them. ‘* Dash down the door!” ordered Bill. “* Hold!” The order rung out almost above them, and then, as the room was again filled with light, cast from a reflector, the face of Hecate was seen at a small opening in the wall. — Some of the miners fingered their weapons anxiously, tut even the roughest of them hada sort of admiration for the bravery of the wo- man who thus dared their anger. ‘‘Barranca Bill, where are you?’ she con- tinued. **T was here a minute ago, and—yes; I’m still ov deck.” ‘Why should we have trouble? Do you see your man?” . Bill glanced at Abe Neal who lay on the floor with a bullet tbrough his side, the accidental gift of one of his own friends, and he bad the appearance of a man nearly done with life. “ Yos,” said Bill, slowly. “You said you wanted no more than him. Then why did you shoot out my lights? You ted my boarders. Come, sir, I am a lone woman, and you say you don’t make war on such. I want to be let alone, and have my house let alone. I keep a quiet place and no one can prove to the contrary. ill you take your men and go away?” There was a mixture of sense and hypocrisy in what she said, and as it was hardly in keep- ing with his position as a mine superintendent to lead a crowd of house-burners, yielded to her argument. ‘Count mein with the peace-makers, marm,” he said. ‘‘ To-morrow morning I'll pay for all the glass I’ve broken, and as we are both of an amiable nature I don’t see why we can’t picket our horses on the same prairie. In five minutes my crowd shall be gone, but you may keep our fallen Lamb who has been so hardly used. He needs good nursing now or he won’t frolic in your fold many days. Good-night!” ecate was not reluctant to have the call thus abruptly terminated, and she watched in grim silence as the invaders left as they had come. “J ain’t no mutineer,” said Gentle John, a arranca Bill _ Barranca Bill, the Revolver Champion. mournfully, as they walked away, ‘‘ but I have a presentiment we’d hev did better ef we'd burned ther durned ranch.” “‘The temptation was on me,” acknowledged Bill, “‘but I am not yet sure Helen Neville is not there.” ‘‘Her disappearance is ther remarkablest thing on record, an’ it hits me hard, so that I can sca’cely sleep o’ nights. She was an on- common fine female,” ‘Me likee her muchee,” added Bad Lung, gently. In that crowd the Chinaman had bis say, and no one molested him as he trotted home with his ten-pin under his arm. CHAPTER XXVIIL THE YOUNG SURGEON. WITHIN hislittlecabin at Ramrod Bar, Honest George Storm still lay on his bed, but he had im- proved noticeably since we last saw him. ‘That thar young doctor from Alligator Flat has did it all,” he explained to each visitor. ‘**He’s a bull team on a rampage, Doctor Mon- day is, an’ he has jest raised my deck fore an’ aft an’ put chain-shot through ev’ry knave in ther pack. Why, ole man, his medicine makes my knees an’ chin meet, it are so powerful, an’ when it are a-workin’ I feel as though somebody was diggin’ an artesian well right through me. An’ with his scalpin’-knife—wal, ye orter see’d him go further wownd. He jabbed ther steel in ez cool ez I would skin a mountain goat!” Evidently the doctor knew bis business, and between him and a good constitution Honest George was rapidly recovering. As he comes striding into the cabin, the morning when we reintroduce Honest George, let us look at him. Twenty-four years of age, he had a good form, a bold, frank, intelligent face and a manner at once energetic and free from affectation. A graduate of an Eastern medical college, he had grown impatient at slow progress in his native State and removed to Nevada, and thus it was that Honest Gecsge came to have g@ pood a surgeon as Lewis Mundee—or Monday, as the miners made it, by transferring the accent from the last to the first syllable, ** Well, what’s the good word this morning?’ he asked, even while his keen eyes read a}! that could be told, ““Thar’s piles on ’em, doctor, far I'm almost myself.” **So you are, George. as a new dollar. “Walk?” “To draw it mild, I'll allow you to sit up for an hour or so. I’ve ordered a chair down from Boggs’s Hotel, and you shall now take your first step toward full recovery. Ina week I'll have you going the rounds of the town.” It was an encouraging assertion, but Honest George’s face grew dark. “Then ther hour is comin’ fur my work,” he uttered. ‘s be eo ‘Ter see aul Pindar: ter avenge uare Rob; ter t’ar ther cowardly assassin fn pices!" Honest George fair] M hissed the words, ‘‘Now, hold on right here,” expostulated Mundee. ‘ Don’t you let your thoug ts run in that channel. You will undo all I’ve done if you go to tearing about the country. You don’t know where Paul Pindar is—” ‘*Don’t 1? You bet I do. He an’ Barranca Billare one. Ther idol o’ Comet Camp is ther man that shot my brother like a dog, an’ I’ll pay bim in his own coin.” ** But your strength—” Honest George held up his great, muscular arm. ‘“That’s me!” he cried, running one finger along the knotted sinews, “I put my muskle ag’in’ that o’ any man in Nevada, an’ it’ll all be thar when I see Barranca Bill. Don’t ye argy Doctor M« nday, fur you an’ me are goo friends, an’ you’re a hull team with yer tools o’ trade. When you get your work in, fever, chills, rheumatism, ja’nders an’ alimony git out on ther jump; but don’t you meddle atween me an’ Barranca Bill, him!” The wounded giant lowered his brawny arm, but as it Jay on his breast, the muscle arising like a hillock, it was plain William Lincoln would find he had no Abe Neal with whom to deal when Honest George struek his trail. Docter Mundee wisely let the matter drop. **Thar’s another job fur ye, ductor,” said George, anon. ‘‘ Another? Where?’ “Ef you'll look from ther door, you'll see a leetle but nestled on ther side o’ ther mountain, a quarter o’ a mile up—” ‘*T’ve noticed it already.” “Wal, thar lives Daddy Gray, an’ ther old rat has sent down word ter hey ye call next time you’re here. I reckon he wants you ter give him alift. He’s lost his head.” ‘* Lost his head?” echoed Mundee, ‘““It amounts ter that; he’s lost his mem’ry. He is as good an ole chap as lives in Nevada—a patriarch, somebody called him; that means honest an’ squar’, don’t it?—but he’s no idee whatever o’ ther past. It are all gone up ter You’re looking bright Take up your bed and walk!” I’ve sworn ter fetch “itis that dog of mine. 21 ther time he struck Ramrod Bar; he don’t even know his name.” “ A case of softening of the brain, J suppose.” ‘* No, it ain’t, for he’s as keen as a brier when pushed to it.” “Some injury to his brain, then—the depres- sion of a bone, caused by a heavy blow or some- thing of the kind.” ‘* No sear is visible.” “‘Has he been examined by asurgeon?” con- tinued Mundee, ail his professional zeal aroused. a " Well, Pll go up and see Daddy Gray. Per- haps I can help him to find his head,” said the surgeon, cheerfully, Doctor Mundee was not the only person who wished to see Daddy Gray that day, for, at an early hour, a rap brought him to the outer door and he recognized in the applicant the old wo- man who had so nearly perished at the hands of the lynchers at Comet Camp. He had seen but little of the affair, and, with his kindly nature, bad been inclined to think. her more sinned against than sinning. Hecate, leaning on her staff, bowed low. ‘*This is Daddy Gray, I believe.” ‘Such is my name, madam,” he answered, with great politeness. ‘' Will you walk in?” It was an unnecessary question, for the Witch had journeyed all the way from Comet Camp to see him, but she was pleased to have the inter- view open so well. She entered and glanced keenly about the room, but there was nothing of interest there, The hut was divided into two rooms, and the outer one was merely a kitchen, *« T’'m afraid you will find my accommodations poor,” said Gray, apologetically, ‘‘ but it is sel- dom any one but myself comes here.” ‘‘ Have your old friends deserted you?” { ‘Hither that or I have deserted them,” he said, witha faint smile, ‘‘ I’m a good deal mixed up on that point and can’t give youany definite answer,” ‘Some one was telling me you had old ac- uaintances at Comet Camp,” Hecate careless!y observed, ‘They did? Well, that is queer; I don’t know a solitary person at the Camp.” ne hy, Cephas Brown is an old friend, isn’t: he? The Witch was looking keenly at her host, and she sawacloud cross his face; but there was no sign of the gleam of intelligence she had. hoped to see. “That is just what is worrying me,” said Daddy, confidentially. ‘“I lay awake nights ® trying to solve the riddle. Mr. Brown’s face is very familiar; it is as though I saw a picture of George Washington and recognized it, but IL couldn’t tell where it was made,” “Perhaps you saw Cephas Brown in New Orleans?” ‘* New Orleans? I don’t think I was ever there; the name don’t sound at all familiar, Is he from New Orleans?” “Yes. Come, old mar, it seems to me you might remember what you know about Brown if you put your mind to it.” ‘My mind? Why, I haven’t any,” said the aged man, with a simplicity which enraged. ecate, Down on the floor came the end of her staff in the fashion by which she cowed the Lambs of the Weeping Willows. “Go and get one, then, you old— Ha! what was that.” She broke off in her fierce retort, and some sort of a cry came from the inner room. | A deeper cloud flickered over Daddy’s face, “That? Oh! that was—it was— Well, I didn’t hear anything, but I reckon it was my dog, marm,” “T thought ‘twas a child. But about this. Brown. ou think he was once your friend?” ““My friend? Ob! Lord, no—begging your pardon, marm. But I don’t think he was ever my friend. {don’t feel that way toward him, Something tells me I ought to bate him, and yet. I don’t know why. You see, my head—” ‘* Hark! that sound again, as it from the other room? Itsounded to me like—” Daddy Gray’s face was full of consternation and alarm, and as he put out his hands the shook with unusual violence, v ‘‘Ha! ha!” he laughed, in a cracked voice, He is a cute rascal; he. is, marm, for sure; and he can imitate a human being inits ways right well, When I whip him and he whines, you would almost swear a child M9 crying. Ah! there he goes again, soft and ow— Daddy was speaking very glibly, but his gaze wandered from Hecate to the door of the inner room in a manner which plainly showed he was ill at ease, ‘Open the door and let him out!” snapped the woman. ‘I hate sach a whining and moaning, Throw him in the water-pail and drown him, The old man’s bands went up again. ‘T couldn’t think of it, marm, for Skip is my only pet. But you were speaking of—of— Oh}! I remember; it was about Cephas Brown. We ou see, that name nae okay my memory, and eel that I once knew him, and that I ought to ee COMDICLIOOL<SeoLt