Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 257 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

18 from his eyes, and an expression of bewilder- pen that was almost stupid, came into his ace. Sbarp and clear came the voice of Madam Crimson: ‘‘ Jimmy Du Bree, please relieve the colonel of his pistol. No objections, my dear sir, This is my place, and 1 mean to see that the peace is maintained, if I havetofight forit. I entertain the utmost possible respect for you, as a gentle- man and a patron, but that gives you no license to sling lead around after such a careless fash- ion. For an instant the colonel seemed about to resist, as he heard the light footstep of the vel- vet sport approaching him from the rear; but something in those clear, metallic tones caused him to think better of it, and as Du Bree clasped the barrel of his weapon, he quietly released his hold on the butt. ‘‘ As a lady commands, I submit,” he said, his voice cold and unnatural, though in nothing else did he betray the powerful emotions whica raged within his bosom, ‘* And most wisely, my dear sir,” smoothly re- ae the gambler queen. ‘‘ It would tear my poor eart wide open were I obliged to lay so gallant a gentleman low in death; but business is busi- ness, and I will not have my place turned into a slaughter-house if I can help ib.” ‘‘T was wrong, and | apologizes to or As for this drunken or crazy scoundrel, I'll settle with him elsewhere.” Meanwhile the vacant look was growing more ronounced in the eyes of Budd Painter; and as olonel acey glared at him with hatred and scorn, a silly laugh parted bis lips. ‘What's the rumpus, anyhow?” he asked, his aze wan jering from one face to another, final- settling on the crimson mask concealing thea eatures of the gambler queen, ‘* The bumbly- bee nest is all broke loose into my head ag’in, but, ma’am, ef any ornery galoot bes dared to Bive you any trouble jest pint him out, an’ yar’s the coon will mount him wuss’n a stack o’ ontamed painters! I’m a tough citizen from *Way Back, an’-~” Madam Crimson came around the table and touched him on the shoulder, just as he was raising his voice to shout forth his wild har- angue. Instantly he ceased, and doffed his hat, standing mute and respectful before her, even in his madness recognizing and respecting the superior sex. ‘My good man, we know all that,” Madam Crimson said in a soothing tone, much as one might use toward a fretful child, ‘ You’re a chief and a mighty warrior, and when your voice is raised for war, common braves run and hide under the bed or down cellar. We admit all that to save further discussion. But at the same time, allow me to suggest that this estab- lishment belongs to me, and that J do all the ge necessary. You have had your little ing; now go home, if you have one, before an earthquake comes along and swallows you Up. tis a friend that whispers this in your ear ‘‘Ef somebody would only smoke out them durned bumbly-bees out o’ my cabeza!” mut- tered Painter, shaking bis head dolefully, but then prightentng up: ‘‘ Le’s irrigate, an’ call it squar’! All han’s promenade to the p’izen coun- ter—scoot !” . Just then a wild uproar came from without— voices erying for help, iron-shod hoofs tram- pling, wheels rattling—and a man burst through the door, staggering up to Colonel Carey. ‘The devil’s bu’sted loose, an’ little ole hell’s to pay, boss!” he gasped, reeling and then sink- ing in a heap, senseless. CHAPTER III. THE SPECTERS OF DEATH-TRAP DIGGINGS. “Hatt! Hands up, and empty!” Sharp and stern came the challenge, in ac- eed which plainly meant business, pure and simple. Through the gloom ahead of the rapidly roll- ing stage it came, and as by magic a number of ghostl Up) og, figures barred the way, em- phasizing the order by a liberal display of fire- arms, eac’. one of which the gallant driver, Muscovado Jack, could have taken bis solemn oath was covering his heart or brain. In con- sequence he, as any other man would have act- ed in his place and under similar circumstances, threw the weight of his body against the brake, put all the power of his muscular arms intoa jerk that brought the horses to their haunches, as he cried out excitedly: “‘ Hold up she aire! You needn’t waste pow- der on my a’count, fer I’m hired to drive, not fight a bull army!” So abruptly was the coach brought toa check, that the passengers inside, wholly unexpecting anything of the sort, were thrown from their seats and mixed up in a confused heap of arms, legs, bodies and curses, fighting and struggling between themselves, yelling, snarling and groaning, kicking and striking, making a little ndemonium of their own, and thus playing irectly into the hands of the bold road agents. For, while they were thus wasting their only rem ile eee een nnn ene nner ene —————————————E—— ee eee OE EOE EE Eee Death-Trap Diggings. ed resistance, the ghostly-looking crew sepa- rated and surrounded the coach, their pistols commanding the interior. Leaning forward from his saddle, one stern- voiced shape cried aloud to the struggling live- freight: ‘‘Quiet inside, if you please, gentlemen! wi yourselves, and listen to reason for a it!’ Like a douche of ice-cold water flung into the middle of a gang of fighting curs, that voice brought order out of confusion, and after a few moments of scrambling, the passengers began to realize what had occurred, ‘‘Road-agents, by the ’tarnal!” cried one, with a curse, ‘*Held up, by mighty!” ‘Don’t shoot—we surrender!” gasped still another, in tones of abject terror as his face fairly came in contact with the threatening muzzle which the white shape thrust into the coach. ‘“‘Durn ye!” came a half suffocated voice from the bottom of the vehicle. ** Quit scroudg- in’ tell I kin git my gun! Cut loose an’ sali- vate the p’izen—ouch! Thar goes a rib!” ‘*Resist, and you die!” sharply cried the white rider, his tones clear and incisive, ‘‘Sub- mit quietly, and you shall not suffer the slight- est injury at our hands. Step out, one by one, and bear my warning in mind, If a band touches a weapon, its owner dies like a dog! Lively, now!” Very human-like the words and tones, but the excited, bewildered pilgrims were in no condition just then for splitting straws, and to their very natural fears, were added others, as they caught a glimpse of their captors, In the shadows cast by the overhanging trees along the steep hillside, close to the base of which the stage road to Death-Trap Diggings wound, these wild night riders looked ghostly enough, robed in pure white from top to toe. In that gloom, they might readily be mistak- en for a squad of ghosts, out for a frolic with tiresome mortals. Animals and riders alike ssemed white as the undriven snow, their vestments loose and flow- ing, waviog in the night air at each motion, lending both a peculiarly spectral look. ‘Skin out, pilgrims!” cried the driver from his seat on the box. ‘*’Tain’t no use fer to kick ag’inst the pricks this time, fer durned ef they ain’t a clean thousand o’ the critters ’round the hearse, an’ each one hulds 4 dozen sixes in each paw! Durn it qll—peelout! I kin see the salt- eter kickin’ the lead out o’ the guns from ere!’ This adjuration was needless, for as the spec- tral rider unfastened the coach door and flung it back, the passengers descended in a hurry, each one careful to keep his hands elevated to the full extent of arms, At a sign from the white chief, several of his followers dismounted and each took charge of a pilgrim, leading him to the side of the road and standing close bebind him, with a cocked revol- ver touching his temple. Two of the white riders stood at the head of the leaders and held them in check, Another couple, one on each side of the wheelers, grasped their bits with one hand, while with the other they covered the driver on the box, He squirmed uneasily on his seat, but the weapos followed every motion, and there was an indignant ring to his voice as he finally broke forth: “Durn it all, mates, you’re rubbin’ it in too mighty hard! Jest turn them pepper-boxes t’other way, cain’t ye? I’m a noncomfighter, long’s I fill the box, an’ it’s ag’in’ the law fer to crowd a man that cain’t kick back!” Not a word was uttered in response to this in- jured protest, and still those black muzzles stared the driver fullin the eyes. Then, sullen, feeling deeply hurt, but fearing to say more, lest those burts should take on a more dangerous aspect, Muscovado Jack resigned himself to the inevitable and sat on his perch with uplifted paws, like patience on a monument. When the passengers, four in number, were out of the coach and ranged in line, facing him, the white chief made another sign, and hs fol- lowers quickly stripped their captives of all weapons, tossing them into the stage. The leader of the ghostly road-agents dis- mounted and stood before the unarmed men, seemingly scanning their faces as closely as the somew bat uncertain ligat would permit. A weird, uncanny object he appeared to their excited vision, and though more than one of their number would have faced an_ ordinary robber with boldness, they were hardly to blame if a superstitious tbrill crept along their spines and chilled their blood as they met that steady gaze. A pointed hood covered the head of the road- agent, descending to his shoulders, all around. In this were cut eye-holes, and a cross slit for breathing and speaking. A shapeless shirt cov- ered the body and reached below the hips, the sleeves alone being close-fitting, and they were met at the wrist by white gauntlet gloves. Bag- BY breeches were confined at the knees, but ung in loose folds several inches below those a a ae — 7 a _ chanes of escape by prompt action and concert- | joints. White stockings and canvas shoes com- pleted the ghostly garb, in all of which wes not visible the slightest spot of color. In a deep, hollow tone, the White Chief spoke: ms You are wondering what and who we are— A snort of mingled disgust and anger came from one of the passengers, and he bluntly cut the White Chief short: ‘*Mebbe the rest be, but J ain’t. You're pesky tramps that think you kin make a better livin’ skinnin’ honest men out o’ thar dust, but you’d ’a’ got more lead then gold from this ole coon ef them durned galoots hedn’t tumbled all over me at the sesd-off, so I couldn’t pull six nur bowie!” ‘** Neither one nor the other would have served you in this case,” coldly uttered the White Chief. ‘‘When you can bring down a wreath of vapor with a bullet, or slay a shadow by a knife stab, then you may fight against imma- terial spirits—” ‘*Sperrets be durned!” retorted the undaunted fellow, with a scornful sniff. ‘* Hell’s full o’ jest sech sperrits as you be, an’ ef you turn me loose with my sixes thar’ll be some more thar—bet your sweet life!” ‘Peace, fool!” sternly cried the other, his eyes seeming to shoot forth fire as he spoke, **Do not provoke a doom which may miss you, if wise. Weare not the robbers you think, nor have we qpeee you here for the purpose of plunder. e are not road-agents, in the com- mon acceptation of the term, for gold has little attraction for such as we—rengqvance is our ob- ject in walking the earth in buman guise, in- stead of peacefully slumbering in our graves,” “Oh, give us a rest!” growled the incorrigible miner, With uplifted hand the White Chief glided forward. The reckless fellow, swiftly duckin his head to avoid the pistol of his guard, leape half-way, bis bony fists shooting out direct for the head of his adversary. But the fierce blows never quite reached the mark, With marvelous dexterity his wrists were caugbt by the White Chief and held firm, despite his furious efforts to tear them free. Howling with impotent fury, the miver kicked out with his heavy horse-hide boots, but here, too, was he foiled. A quick twist, a flashing of the white-shod foot, and the fellow came to the ground with a force that fairly knocked the breath out of his body for the instant. ‘*Hool!” sternly cried the White Chief, his cold, even tones betraying no emotion other than that of lofty scorn. ‘‘ Will that satisfy you that resistance is useless?” The defeated miner slowly sat up, holding his head with both hands as he stared into the white mask, ‘‘Durned ef it don’t!” he uttered, in a tone of dogged frankness, ‘‘ Ef anybody’d whispered it afore I’d called ’em a howlin’ liar; but I ain’t got no business foolin’ round you! So fur, ’m what you call convinced. But durn the sperrit part—I cain’t swaller that, ef you sweeps up the hull United States with my karkidge fera broom!” ‘It is the truth. We are spirits—the ghosts of murdered men! Our assassins still walk the footstool, prospering in their evil courses, laugh- ing all thoughts of retribution to scorn as they flaunt on their blood-stained gold. But the handwriting is on the wall, and the bour of set- tlement is nigh when the wrong sball be made right, and the sinners punished according to the i Sa of their crimes!” Slowly, solemnly, in hollow accents came these words from the white cowl, his hands clasped together and uplifted toward heaven, And as his voice died away, a low groan came from his fellows. Mummery, perhaps, but to those men who stood with a cold muzzle pressed against their temples, there in the gloom of night, surrounded by such weird, unearthly looking objects, it sounded marvelously like the ‘* ye quill,” and es different from what it migbt in broad day- ight. Even the miner was impressed, and evinced as much, ‘‘Ef I hedn’t felt a grip sech as only a man kin give—an’ that man one out of a thousan’— durned ef I wouldn’t be willin’ to take my ’dav that you be ghosts, in good airnest—an’ lic seventeen kinds o’ stuffin’ out o’ the galoot as dared to say defrunt! But I cain’t go back 0’ my word, now!” ‘Stand up. Fall back to your place,” said the White Chief, in his former cold, even tones. Without a word the miner complied. Hebad shot his bolt and failed, He had met bis master, and was man enough to own as much. He would give no more trouble without cause. The White Chief tapped him on the shoulder. ‘‘ There is no need for me to look more closely into your face, nor toask yourname. Only an bonest man could show the boldness against odds. which you have exhibited. I apologize for the trouble and inconvenience we must Cause you.” ‘* Waal, I ber-durned!” gasped the rough fel- low, as the White Chief bowed low, then passed him by. ‘* You ain’t fergot nothin’, bev ye?” _ Weare not thieves. Your gold is safe, sc 900 - : fan ee (E Oh ttn =6T YD ae i