Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 257 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

a . i . oo — — a ot i ; » r ia eS P~ . - rs _— « — ~ “ — tL 74 7 ae ‘aa’ a a2 tiently growled Archer, cutting his wildly ex- ultant speech short, “The boys will grow tired of waiting if ce waste any more time. Give the signal, an let the show end!” ‘‘Time enough,” more coolly returned Bene- dict. ‘* We’ll take a run around and make sure the boys are on guard and in readiness to do their part. It won’t take long; come!” Together they passed along to the mouth of the little valley, where they found two men | dressed as red-skins, impatiently wondering what caused the delay. “It will come now,” said Benedict. yourself in readiness to shoot down any and all | try to escape by this pass, | described, with arub of the pistol-barrel that | ersons who may coe : Death-Trap Diggings. was the night, he had a full cargo of bad whisky aboard. In soberness, his face would have seemed handsome, his eyes clear and intelligent. His garb was that of a miner, but the material of which it was constructed, was finer than cus- tomary, and marked him as a sort of dandy among his fellows. In bis right hand, he held a revolver, ivory handled and nickel-plated, the barrel of which he was rubbing up and down against the side of the other man’s face, occasionally varying the ** Hold | programme by saluting the richly-colored nose. ** Don’t I know him?’ chuckled the man last one will come alive, if the dam bursts all at | drew a groan of pain fron the trembling lips of once, but our plans there may hang fire, and the warning can do you no harm.” They passed on to the other trail, the sole re- maining one by means of which the valley could be left, and the Thug repeated his warn- ing. Then the two men descended into the val- ley, crossing it without raising an alarm, and soon regained their chosen position from which the signal flash was to be given. Benedict drew aside the slide of his dark lan- tern, and sent a stream of light over the valley holding it thus until he caught sight of a brie flash in answer from the top of the dam. ‘‘In two minutes!” he muttered, turning the lightof the lantern upon hisopen watch, ‘‘ Wake | up, ye poor devils, or forever after hold your ACR ! ? Swiftly the seconds stole along. Not a sound from the valley where the doomed miners were peacefully sleeping. * They’re lighting the fuses below the dam!” siid Archer, ‘“Prompt, to a second!” laughed Benedict, | away from a box‘tortle, | | ) his victim. ‘‘ Ain’t be Fightin’ Dandy from Slaughterville? Don’t he diet on raw beef an’ baby fingers? Ain’t he unhappy when a day passes by that don’t add a notch to his death- tally? Ain’t be jest b’ilin’ over with pure, ass- nick mad, right now? An’ wouldn’t he open his cave an’ slick me me down his fodder-hole, without greasin’, only he knows I’m a pore, helpless, lone orphant, the only support o’a wid- dered mother an’ a crippled dad? Course he jest would |” ‘‘ Ain’t he lively, gents?’ whined the poor devil, trying to hide his pain and terror behind anappeasing grin. “ Chuck full o’ fun—play- ful as a kitten—ouch !” A savage rake of the octagon barrel drew blood from the tingling ear, and as the cowering wretch flung up one hand to shield the member, the reddened muzzle was thrust into his face, while the ruffian cried: ‘*So mad he is, his breath ’uld pi’zen a rattler. An’ at me, which is a cripple an’ cain’t run Au’ you pesky crit- | closing his watch and shutting off the light. | ters grinnin’ thar like a bump on a log, lettin’ | him crow over me, an’ crowd me into a fight. | ‘* Now for the end of creation!” It came. A loud explosion—a barely percep- tible pause, two others that sounded as one— then the dam gave way, and with a frightful roar the waters flooded the valley !” —_-_--——_ -—--- emo ---—_—--— - _ -— PART II. CHAPTER I. THE PAINTER BARES HIS FANGS. *¢'You’RE the big shooter right from Shooter- ville, an’ you kin go off at hafe-cock, jest as easy as though your sn@pper was pulled back to the double click. You make a livin’ by sellin’ ‘the skelps you take, to stuff feather-beds with, an’ you run a dozen hash-factories with the noses an’ years you chaw off’m sech onfortinit cusses as happens to wink when you look at ’em crossways! That's the kind o’ cockle-bur you be. An’ I leaves it to the crowd ef his looks don’t show it?’ Harsh and disagreeable the voice, but in an- swer there came a chorus of affirmative laughs and exclamations, while one fellow yelled out: ‘‘?Ware hawk, old feller! The Man Chawer from ’way up Bitter Crick is raspin’ his teeth with his tongue, an’ fixin’ his two eyes onto them fly-floppers o’ yourn like he wanted a squar’ meal! Curry him down smooth an’ easy, or you're jest nat’ally gone—mind, J tell ye!” he interior of a rough-and-ready saloon, in a **red-hot’’ mining-camp, in the early portion of the evening. Smoky oil lamps were burning behind the rude bar, where stood a number of dingy bottles, still more dubious ~- looking tumblers, thick enough at the bottom and heavy enough to Serve as most dangerous missiles in a drunken row, Capable of breaking a skull without injury to themselves, . Other lamps stuck in brackets screwed or nail- ed to the walls, while still others ornamented a rude wooden cross, hanging horizontally from the raftered ceiling in the center of the room, serving as a chandelier, Behind the bar stood a burly, black-browed ruffian, leaning his massive, bare arms upon the counter; grinning broadly in recognition of his own wit—for from his hair-shaded lips came the speech last recorded. A dozen or more rough-looking men occupied the room, some seated at tables made from slabs, others lounging on foot, but the eyes of all turned upon two men who stood near the center of the room, One was tall, loose-jointed, awkward in move- ments, ragged and dirty in garb, while the weapons which hung from the belt which girded his waist, were battered and rusty. His face was thin and almost ludicrous in its ugliness. is nose was of enormous dimensions, bulbous at the end, and fairly blazing with carbuncles and rum-blossoms. ust now his homely features were distorted by a pitiful grin, one-third flattery, two-thirds terror, The other man was of a far different appear- ance. Standing about the medium hight of mankind, his shoulders were broad, without. be- ing clumsy; his chest full, his waist round and muscular; his actions quick and lithe as those of .# cat, though it was plain enough that, early as | LL W on’t ye let up, ye ontamed man eater! Cain’t I coax ye to take a drink an’ let me off this time—jest once?” ‘* Lord! sech a flow of sperrets—sech a play- ful gent as heis, with a tongue like a brass band, an’ soft as a woman!” gasped the bummer, shrinking back as the pistol-muzzle was thrust against his poor nose, wet, an’ call it squar’, charge it to me!” He turned an imploring look toward the ruf- fianly barkeeper, but that worthy grinned meaningly as he extended his hand, twirling bis stumpy fingers. ** When Slate’s all bu’sted, an’ only dust calls at this bar!” Pard, trot ’em out, an’ ‘* Come, let’s all hev a | I see the squivalent, ole knocker-out. | The trembling wretch went down into his | pocket as though confident a gold mine existed there, but then a blank Jook came into his face, and he strove to laugh, ‘*Durn my fergitful soul! I come away from hum an’ left my weasel-skin on the pianny in | the parlor! “Scuse me fer a minnit, gents, an’ Ill run back a’ter it. So-long!” ‘“‘Wait a bit, my dandy!” cried the ruffian, dexterously catching him by the nose, twisting that member with a force that drew tears from the bleared eyes, and wrung acry of pain from its owner, ‘‘ Ef ye crowd a worm too hard, it'll turn an’ try to git even, the best it knows how. I’m a peaceable man—the boys kin all tell ye as much, ef yeax’em. But fer all that I cain’t let a man spit in my face an’ try to rub it in. ‘ You bin crowdin’ me this last hafe-hour, an’ I stud an’ tuck it all like a angel, fer | knowed ou could chaw me all up to hoss feed, an’ not afe try, when once you got to goin’. willin’ to take that, but you cain’t add insult to ' ; ' ' I was | | injury without layin’ me in ship-shape fashion | for the crowner. out, or fight!” ‘*1’m dead broke, an’ he won't trust me wuth You axed us to drink; trot it a cent,” whined the poor wretch. ‘‘ Don’'t— take it away—l cain’t 9 Peng a coward clean through—fer the love o’ Heaven, somebody take him off!” a It was a soul-sickening, pitiable sight, to be- hold the bummer, trying to dodge the pistol | which was rubbing first one ear and then the other, until the blood streamed. down his neck —yet those ruffians laughed and shouted in glee, hugely enjoying the scene of brutality and mis- ery. among them all noticed the frail door spring open, or was aware Of the entrance of a man whose eyes flashed with a sudden fire as he caught sight of the profile of the mocking, threatening ruffian. Only an instant did he pause, then, with a panther-like bound, he reached the side of the Villain, and grasping the extended arm close to the band, jerked it back with terrible force, in such a manner that the hammer and barrel of the pistol were dashed full in the face of the owner, hurling him backward to the floor bleed- ing and senseless, A fierce yell broke from the lips of the new- comer, and a brace of revolvers filled his hands | as one foot was planted heavily upon the chest of the fallen roiat. ‘‘ Budd Painter’s my name, an’ I’m painter by natur’! I’m A Hard Man from ’Way Back, So wholly absorbed were they that not one | | a thousan’ miles the other side o’ all civilization! I kin lick a bully, an’ chaw up all bis ‘lations! Ef ye don’t think it, step out you—one, two, or hull outfit in a lump—it don’t make a diff o’ bitterance to me !” When the sudden assault was made and their bullying comrade went down like a log before that terrible blow from his own weapon, more than one of those present dropped their bands to their weapons, with scowls and oaths of anger; but when the bold fellow uttered bis name, a startling change came over them, and they shrunk back as though from a plague, ‘ A mocking laugh eatel the heavily-bearded ips. ‘* Cowed! by the ’tarnal! An’ only one man afore ye! Bid cies you be! Torturin’ a pore, crack-brained coward, an’ thinkin’ it heaps o’ fun; but when you see the face of a@ man, straight-haired an’ chuck-full o’ grit, ye wilt ai a dung-hill cock at the fu’st tetch o’ the gaffts!” ‘Who in blazes is you, kickin’ up a. row in my place?’ demanded the burly barkeeper, jerking out a revolver. ‘Aman, ye dirty p’izen-slinger!” grated the tough citizen as he ee swiltly aside and pulled trigger while in the air,, ‘‘A Hard Man from "Way. Back, durn ye!” The two reports were almost simultaneous, but the lead intended for the heart of the tough citizen tore harmlessly between his side and arm, striking one of the crowd in the leg and snapping the bone, bringing bim to the floor with a wild yell of agony. A bowling curse came from the saloon-keep- er’s lips, as bis pistol was knocked back against the bottles, and blood flew in crimson spray from his shattered fingers as he gave his hand an involuntary shake. Budd Painter reached the side wall in that mighty leap, whirling swiftly around and eoy- ering the excited crowd with his pistols, Sharp and clear his voice rung out: ‘*Who’s the next man that wants to be sent home happy? Don’t be bashful! Ax fer what ve want, ef you don’t see it on the counter! he boss is in, an’ it’s his business to wait on customers! Painter by name an’ painter by natur’—that’s me / ‘*I] never stick my paw into. another man’s pie, but when I smell a row goin’ on, I got to ev a piece or bu’st. Them that wants to trade, but who’s too bashful to speak out in a crowd, kin wink ef they’d ruther. 1 kerry a graveyard in each hand, an’ burial permits in each chamber. Holes dug to order, an’ war- ranted to give parfect satisfaction or no trade, * No objections to layin’ out corpusses; in fact, Z ruther like it.” The sOngnS shruvk back as though this bold whimsically worded challenge had taken a the starch out of their backbones, Fear was up- on every face, and many were the yearning glances cast stealthily toward the door. As one man they would have made a break for the outer air, ouly they feared to make the first move, lest the wild bravo should take itasa — “ signal to open his battery on them, Hardly a man present but what had heard of the tough citizen, whose many wild and des- rate exploits in the rougher mining-camps jad been greatly exaggerated in the re-telling, until his very name was sufficient to paralyze the courage of any common man. “Not a wink nur a sign?’ exclaimed the Hard Man from ’Way Back, his eyes widely staring in mock amazement, ‘‘ An’ I was told to strike this burg ef I wanted the red-hottest sort o’ fun, Whar they swore one hafe o’ the citz killed the other hafe fer breakfast, an’ the blowed thar own brains cut beca’se thar was nothin’ left over fer dinner, an’ they was chy, me © starvin’ to death! Yit a dozen o’ you big fellers knuckle down afore one man—an’ he a teenty little runt that bain’t got his lips fa’rly dry 0’ his mammy’s milk!” A groan came from the lips of the bully, as he feebly struggled to a sitting posture, facin tough citizen. his eyes, as he wiped away the blood, and then a wild howl burst from his lips, as the trem- bling bummer, all his terrors awakened, made a dive for the saloon door. ‘* He hit me?” grated the bully, staggering to | his feet, and fumbling for a pistol, in his be- | in the empty wilderment trying to find one scabbard. ‘Til chaw him up—” A startling change bad come over the mock- ing face of Budd Painter at the first sound of that hoarse voice, and as the bully staggered his feet, he leaned forward, his eyes glaring with a red glow, his hard features strangely working, seemingly oblivious to all else. Then, with a wild-beast-like snarl, he strode forward, and tore the belt of weapons from the a waist of the bully, flinging them on the floor ‘ * 4” ye behind him. He caught the astonished rough by the shoulders, and stared him full in ace. manded the ruffian, shrinking back from that fixed, savage glare. . “T know your voice—l know rowled Painter, in hoarse, barely nes, “I kin almost speak your name, It — C3 com Gomicoooks *, ¥ 4 F A dazed, bewildered look ~'% a <9 ‘‘ What the devil—who’re you ?” savagely de- . * en “ ‘ 2, your face!” ,~ ~~ ‘ i! - —_ ca 74 “7 : 7 cad . a a oe. - . 7 > Ae ie Gs ~— * A es -% i s. + 4 ~~ a 7 e