Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 257 — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

i a i a ee ee “THE RED LIGHT.” Is a somewhat less brilliant guise, and under another name, this place had won a wide-spread Death-Trap Diggings. —— —-— rn \ oe ees ie sr ol ie. a | her mask, as though seeking to pierce the envi- | reputation as being one of the few gambling- | honses in the mining-regions where one could al- ways depend on meeting with a square game of | faro, though the builder and then owner, Jimmy Du Bree, bore the reputation of being an un- nsually lucky dealer, Two weeks before this eventful night word passed among the sports that Du Bree had sold out, and this was confirmed by the closing of ous covering, and read what lay beneath, ‘‘Make your game, gentlemen!” said Madam Crimson, in her peculiar voice, unmoved by, or unnoticing bis scrutiny. *Whoop-ee, hurroar!’ came a wild yeli at that juncture, drawing all eyes toward the front of the building, where was the well-ar- ranged bar. The outer door was flung violently open, and into the bar leaped a wild figure, slouched hat the saloon for repairs. No one appeared to_ know who the new owner was, and when ques- | his shoulders and | tioned, Jimmy only shrugged ) asked in turn for them to sling an easier one at him. Ove week of curiosity, then the * Red Light ” | was flung open to the public, with a grand free | lunch that ‘just laid ’way over anything Death-Trap Diggings ever saw in the way of nifty style,” as one enthusiastic bummer in- formed a pard who was unfortunate enough to miss the spread. But this was not the only fact which rendered the opeving of the Red Light an event of no lit- tle moment to the sporting class of the town. The new proprietor proved to be a woman, Still more, though probably not a man in or around the place but what had seen her, not one , | pushed back from face, bands on revolver-butts, es bloodshot eyes roved swiftly around the room, taking in the face of each individual at one sweep. Tm Buad Painter by name, an’ a full- blowed painter by natur’! I'm A Hard Man from ’Way Back—a tough citizen o’ the kentry on t’other side o’ civilization! I got iny tushes all filed up fer supper, when some p’izen coyotes stole away my meat! Wharisthey? Whar is Dick Damper? Trot him out from onder kiver, cuss ye, afore 1 ’flate my bellers, an’ blow the hull durned shebang to never-come-back: ag’ in !” Colonel Claude Carey turned abruptly in his seat as that wild voice burst out, and his hand. some countenance turned so white and ghastly that it seemed that of a corpse, rather than a stout, healthy mortal. His eyes were widely distended and staring at the Hard Man from among them all could say whether she was |’Way Back, as though at a vision just risen young or old, handsome or hideous in face, of | from the grave. their positive knowledge, though, as a matter of course, each man had formed his opinion, shaped by their devotion to or aversion for the gentle sex, By day no one ever saw the new proprietor, | to recognize her, at least; by night, or during her stay in the saloon, her face was closely cov- | ; | ) ered by a mask which reached to ber shoulders; | her hands were incased in gloves, only the tips of her fingers being left bare for the better han Jling of the pasteboards. And mask, gloves, dress—all were of the same rich crimson hus as the beacon-light which huug above the door and shone from the glass front of the building. Madam Crimson, as she had introduced her- self ina brief, business like speech, before tak- ing ber place behind the silver faro-box. Se came to Death-Trap Diggings to make a for- tune or lose one. She intended carrying on an orderly place, and to deal a square game, whether the tide ran in favor of or against the bank. As long as her funds held out, any and ail wagers would be accepted. ‘*One point more, gentlemen,” she added, with deliberate emphasis. ‘‘ While I am in the dealer’s chair, [am yours to command, as the servant of fortune, and hence a simple machine which concerns you only to see that it works smoothly and does not jamp the rails of honesty and fair dealing. Beyond this, who or what I am, is nobody’s business but my own. When I desire friends or acquaintances, I will select them for myself. If [ am intruded upon, against my will, the offenders shall see that I not only wear the means of protecting my pri- vacy, but that I know how to make good use of them.” As she spoke, Madam Crimson placed a revol- ver upon the table before ber. And it, handle, cylinder, barrel. and all, in color matched the hue of her dr-ss, red as fresh blood. On this evening she had just entered the sa- loon and seated herself at one of the two faro tables, the other being under charge of Jimmy Du Bree, fresh from his service as second in the duel which came to such a peculiar termination. Instantly the table was occupied on one side and both ends by players, the majority of them oem y) from the higher class of citizens, drawn, for the most part, to te saloon by curiosity to see more of the mysterious Madam Crimson. Wearing her mask, which not only concealed her face, but also her entire head, since it reached the shoulders behind, revealing through eyelets, a pair of dark, lustrous orbs that seemed filled with more than natural fire, Madam Crim- sou deliberately dealt the cards, paying losses or raking in winnings, using her voice only when it became imperative. On those few oec- casions, her tones sounded hollow and unnatural, 43 though purposely disguised, or else from the mufiling mask. Seated directly opposite her chair, was a tall, athletic man, richly, yet plainly dressed, his garinents bearing a fashionable stamp seldom seen ina mining camp. Diamonds glittered in Lis linen and on his white fingers. His face was remarkably bandsome in both complexion and features; clear-cut, without being sharp, firm without being stern; his face was adorned by a heavy pair of mustaches and long, wavy mutton- chop whiskers, his pointed, yet shapely chin being smooth shorn. Before him lay a large stock of colored chips, and at nearly every turn of the cards, he placed is bets, coolly and promptly, like an ex- perienced gambler, who for the time being had no more Derves than a machine, Whether he lost or won, it was the same, to all outward appearanca, Only when the deal had come to mo ag See > Madam Crimson was shuffling the car)s, before j°placing them in the box, were ne aye eee om the table and its painted ay-~ut. hen his dark eyes were riveted upon Se But the bot blood rushed back to his cheek: as a low, peculiar laugh greeted his ears, and turn- ing bis head, he beheld Madam Crimson lean- ing across the table, gazing at bim, ber eyes glittering like living coals, ‘*Pardon me, colonel,” she uttered, in low, soft tones, very different from those she used in the way of business, ‘* You are ill, I fear?” The man’s wonderful nerve reasserted itself, and his voice was natural and even as he replied: ~ ‘** It is nothing to cause alarm, lady; simply a little trouble of the beart.” ‘**' You should do something for it. I fear you have neglected it too long already,” came the soft answer, floating across the table, and those marvelous eyes gleamed brighter thanever. - Impulsively Colonel Carey leaned forward, his eyes aglow, his face warmly flushed, his musical yoice trembling with the earnestness of bis utterance. ‘* You can cure my heart-trouble, lady—and you only!” The crimson-masked face drew abruptly back as though the gambler-queen was startled out of her wonted composure by this unexpected countering, and if she intended making reply, it was cut short by the loud voice of Budd Painter, ‘Trot bim out, you! I got a morgidge on bis soul, body aw’ britches, an’ them as tries fer to run him off out o’ my grip is gettin’ monstrous onhealthy! Dick!—Dick!—” His hoarse voice faltered, his flushed counte- nance turned a dirty grey, and a troubled, hunted look came into his bloodshot eyes, One hand was lifted tremblingly to his forehead, across the upper portion of which-ran a purple scar, and he cast swift, covert glances around him, bursting into a forced, unnatural laugh as he noticed the startled, tage ety L hapadnng inter- changed by the occupants of the bar. ‘* Who said Dick?” he blustered, pulling the battered felt hat over the scar, and glaring from beneath its protecting shade, ‘* Damn Dick!—Dick Damper! Whar is he? Who said l ever knowed bim? Who hearn me ax fer him? They lie—lie like blue blaz*s, an’ I kin jest etar- nally lick the hind legs off o’ ary galoot as lets out sech a whisper! ‘* Devil brile ye fer sardines!” he snarled, with a sudden access of fury, gripping the butts of his pistols and glaring around upon the spectators. ‘‘ Who ye lookin’ at? Did ye never see a straight-ha’red white man afore? D’y’ know whol be? I’m a tough citizen from the kentry that was never yit diskivered! Jest one 0’ my sort was made, an’ then the molds was bu’sted *ea’se the ’terial run short! Ef I was to ’flate my bellers once, an’ give ye a benefit, you’d think—” ‘‘ A little less racket out there!” cried Madam Crimson, and as the Hard Man from ’Way Back whirled sharply in the direction of the stern voice, he saw the muzzle of a crimson re- volver covering him. ‘* A female woman, or I'm a liar!” he ejacu- nied, his wild eyes more widely distended than efore. “Woman or not, you must try to behave yourself while in this establishment, my good follow, unless you wish to go out at yonder door on other footing than your own,” coldly added Madam Crimson. An’ sarve me migbty right fer kickin’ up a rumpus 10 the presence of a lady, too,” prompt- ly cried the tough citizen, doffing bis battered hat and bowing low. “Ef I'd ’a’ knowed the was a female critter inside o’ earshot, I’d ’a’ bit off my sig fee an’ stitched up my kissers afore she could ketch a crooked word out o’ my grub- hole. An’ you durned gaupers!” turning with a black scowl upon the amused spectators by the bar. ‘‘ Fer two cents I’d lambaste the hull 1" kit an’ boodle fer not givin’ me the wink in time to keep me from makin’ a monkey show o’ myself afore the lady! But she axes f r law an’ order, which jest saves your bacon. ‘Johnny, ketch!” and he flipped a gold-piece across to the bar-keeper. ‘‘’Solve that in the wust tanglefoot you kin rake up, an’ pour tie p'izen down the tbrapples o’ these galoots, to Varn ’em better manners, while I go an’ tackle the ontamed tiger back yender.” Spitting on one horny palm, Budd Painter smoothed down his bushy locks, then, with a smirk and a smile, glided toward the faro table presided over by Madam Crimson. Unceremoniously crowding himself in be- tween two of the players, Budd Painter lugged forth a heavy bag of gold and thumped it down before him. Taking therefrom a few coins, be placed them on the queen. ‘‘ The fair sect ferever! An’ it’s a monstrous cold day when they goes back onto thar purty littly Buddy! Let her went, ma’am, ef you please,” and he beamed benignantly across the table at the blood-red mask. ‘‘I'm sorry fer the health o’ your bank, but business is busi- ness, an’ when I’ve bu’sted the mersheen, I'l] give ye all a chance fer to git even.” ‘Less wind, if you please,” coldly uttered the gambler queen, pausing in her dealing to pay the bet placed on the board by the tough citizen. ‘“* You are annoying the gentlemen who let their money talk for them.” Colonel Claude Carey, only a few feet re- moved from where Budd Puinter forced him- self, had betrayed decided uneasiness ever since that intrusion, bis dark eyes glittering and his handsome brows contracting as he neglected to place his chips with his wonted regularity, and now he leaned forward, saying: Shall I remove the fellow, Madam Crim- son?’ Quick as a flash the Hard Man from ’Way Back turned toward the speaker, his eyes filling once more with that wild, insane expression, bis bard-featured face working strangely. Mechanically one hand pressed the scarred brow, as though trying to drive away some troublesome memory. “‘Pve bearn that voice—I’ve see’d that face afore—but whar?” he muttered, his tones hoarse and strained, His handsome face pale as marble, but stern and bard-set, Colonel Carey returned bis stare without flinching. lustinctively the other players secured their chips or their gold, and hastily withdrew from the table, leaving the strongly contrasted men facing each other. Madam Crimson grasped her revolver, but maintained her seat, ber lustrous eyes rovin swiftly from one face to the other, as thou seeking to solve the mystery which evidently surrounded the twain. **T’ve see’d that face afore!” repeated, Puinter, his voice now sounding dull and monotenous, like one speaking in a dream or troubled night- mare, ‘‘ Somethin’ keeps whisperin’ in my ear to kill ye—to wipe ye off the face o’ the airth fer a p’izen sarpint o evil! WhenI look at ye it sets the bum yee nest a-swarmin’ ag’in in my brain, an’ Icain’t think straight, Say, you /” with a sudden outburst, his face hotly ushed, his eyes ee redly as he leaned to- ward the colonel. afore this night?” “In some lunatic asylum, I should judge, from your looks and actions. When did you escape?” sneered the colonel. The trembling hand dropped from the bullet- scarred brow, and a convulsive shudder ran over the frame of the tough citizen. His eyes flasbed with a terrible light as he started to his feet, and bis voice rung out boarsely: “IT know ye now! It comes back to me with that voice! You shot me down when I wasn’t lookin’! An’ then you set the water loose to drownd ’emali! I know—” A fierce oath burst from the lips of the colo- nel, and like lightning in its swiftness, bis right hand shot out from beneath bis coat, clasping a self-cocking revolver, the muzzle covering the broad, heaving chest of the madman. ‘** Rapid as Were his motions, those of the wo- man in red were equally swift, and a blow of her pistol knocked up the threatening muzzle just as the pointed hammer was falling, and instead of piercing the beart of Budd Painter, the bullet spent its force on the ceiling above his bead. ‘** Peace!” sternly cried Madam Crimson, and with a pistol in each hand she covered the two men. ‘* Peace, or I'll make war so bitter that there will be a double funeral to-morrow!” As she leaned across the table, her weapon almost touched Colonel Carey in the face, and, though he did not take his gaze from his antag- onist, there was something in ber voice that warned him to obey, under penalty of death. His right hand, still clasping the pistol from the muzzle of which curled a thread of blue vapor, remained where her fierce blow forced it, against his shoulder, pointing backward, A single motion would bring discharge it, but that motion he dared not make. Budd Painter never moved from his tracks but with the loud report, the wild look fled ee ‘Whar did we ever meet it to a level and GomiIrcbooks: sed fj a im (E(@) s