Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 257 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

the spot, one of which was deeply imbedded in a fleshless skull, Clay Benedict and his partner were among the first to hear this report, and the keen wit of the former suggested a plausible story of friends of his who had been missing for some time, and, under pretense of wishing to solve his fears, he gathered together the old_ band and hastened to the spot, engaging the Indian as guide, though this was only to avert all possible suspicion. Other adventurers followed closely, for it be- came winded, no one could explain just after what fashion, that the persons whose bones were the topic of conversation had made a rich strike in the hills before meeting their death, but Benedict and his men were on the ground first, and pretending to discover the rich leads of quartz, they each one staked out a claim, fol- lowing the veins as far as could be guessed, complying rigidly with the laws governing the Torettorys and having their claims duly re- corded, There was a great rush as soon as the tidings were verified, but Benedict and his partner had secured the cream of the new strike, they buy- ing the claims entered by the men who acted under their orders. In a few months a town sprung up on the level below the walled-in-lake, and one night, at a meeting called for that purpose, the town was given the name of Death-Trap Diggings, in com- eT of those who had met their death ere, An accusing conscience hindered either Bene- dict or Jeff Archer from disputing the ominous title, and so it became widely known in mining- circles. Believing it barel ible that Bertha Burn- ham had escaped wit life, and might seek to avenge the murder of her friends and relatives, should she ever succeed in reaching her hus- band—whom, it must be remembered, Clay Benedict had never heard called by name—both of the Sy ye be had changed their names, and changed their personal appearance as much as desea: before settling down in Death-Trap i , Ri tes, and much more, did Colonel Carey— no longer Clay Benedict—recall during the time he lay bowed over the table in his office on that eventful evening. All had gone most favorably with them until that night, The stamps and reducer were erected, the ore paying large profits. Besides their own ore, they worked that of other mines, and having a monopoly of the business, as there was not suflicient outside work to justify the erect of other mills, they were making money rapidly. wo weeks before a portion of the machinery broke down, and Jeff Archer, now known as Joseph Jeffreys, went East to purchase the ne- cessary parts, leaving his partner in charge. While he was absent, that strange women, Madam Crimson, arrived at Death-Trap Dig- gings, and bought out the gambling-establish- ment of Jimmy Du Bree, altering it to the Red Light. Pron the very first, Colonel Carey felt a strong interest in this woman, whose face nof a citizen of Death-Trap Diggings had ever gazed upon, and when her room was opened for business, he was a constant attendant, and played heavily, re the surest method of attracting her no- ce. Time and ce Sa had he asked himself what were his real feelings toward her, but without being able to answer the question to his satisfac- tion, One while, he believed he was deeply in love with her, despite the mystery with which she covered all her movements out of business hours. Again, he felt the gambler’s supersti- tion that she was “‘ bad Juck” to him, and that his only chance of counteracting this, was to avoid her presence as he would that of a poison- ous serpent. But as often as night returned, just so sure was he to be found at the table where Madam Crimson dealt faro. But now—that old superstition was revived, with redoubled force. e recalled how she had interfered to save the life of the man who called himself Budd Painter, and he began to believe that she was one, if not the principal, geen who was dealing him such swift, terri- le blows. He lifted his head from his arms, his blood- shot eyes flaming with sudden passion, as he brought his tightly clinched fist down on the _ table, his voice hoarse and barely recognizable, _ as he grated: ‘By Satan! I'll keep my appointment for to- morrow, and once in her presence, I'll tear that infernal mask from her face! T’ll see who and what she is! And if—if it 7s her, ’'ll make sure work of it this time!” gain he brought his closed fist down on the table before root th vie eae vert a force that caused the ; ga And like an echo, there came a sharp blow i ditactic, g him (0 start and glare widely diste tion with a sudden fear fn his a rats yes *yes, his face pale as that of corpse, His nerves were so terribly shaken, that for the mo of blood were u ny fancied the avengers a eee sence you played that dirt Death-Trap Diggings. 23 CHAPTER VII. HUNTING FOR A LOST MEMORY, CoLONEL CLAUDE CAREY was wrong, when he decided that Madam Crimson and Budd Painter were leagued together in a subtle plot against him, for, until she heard his voice and beheld the impetuous entrance into the Red Light of the Hard Man from ’Way Back, the gambler queen had not the slighest idea that such a personage graced Death-Trap Diggings with his company. Yet it cannot be denied that she interfered in the rough fellow’s behalf much more promptly than she would had her interest in the high- betting colonel been less intense, nor that she mentally resolved to keep the tough citizen un- der close watch and ward, until she could learn from him, all he knew or suspected concerning the past of the gallant colonel. But in the wild confusion which followed the coming of Muscovado Jack and his passengers, Madam Crimson lost sight’ of Budd Painter, who had left the Red Light with a vaguely de- fined purpose of finding Dick Damper, the man whom the unknown riders bad so curiously stolen away from him just when he felt most confident of slaking his thirst for vengeance, Dimly, vaguely, like one’s misty recollection of some blood-curdling dream, Budd Painter knew that in the days gone by he had been deeply injured, or made the victim of black treachery, by those who should have fought manfully in his defense instead. When and where the crime was committed, be could not say with certainty, but, still with that painful indistinctness, something told him if was not far from where Death-Trap Diggings now stood. It was astrange, pitiful search, that of this half-crazed man with a memory that only served to urge him on, without giving him any positive clew to the object. In bodily powers and reckless daring, he was all that the Hard Man from ’Way Back had ever been, and it was this utter disregard of consequences which had led him to interfere on behalf of the cowardly bummer whom he found Dick Damper so shamelessly abusing. Then, as he stood face to face with the bully, he knew he had at length found one of the bit- ter enemies for whom he had sought so long and earnestly. He even remembered the name of the man, but that wasall. The wrong in which he had taken part was still as misty as ever. And so it was when he met Colonel Carey, face to face. At first he could remember noth- ing save that this man had terribly wronged him inthe past. Then, like a revelation, the whole mystery was cleared up, and he uttered his fierce accusation. But it was only a mo- mentary gleam of light through the darkness, ee en eee eee eee ee and when the sharp report of the colonel’s pis: ’ tol rung in his ears, the cloud once more rolled over all, andthe miserable wretch forgot even the startling words which had just dropped from his lips. ; Stunned, bewildered, his brain more utterly befogged than ever before, Budd Painter left the Red Light, and slowly wandered through town, ignorant whither his footsteps led him, fighting against the dull buzzing of ‘‘ the bum- bly bees’ nest” in his poor brain. A reckless laugh came from a saloon which he was passing, and the sound attracted the atten- tion of the demented man. He recognized the dive where he bad met Dick Damper, and his eyes began to glow as he strode to the door and entered, glaring fiercely around in search of the man who had so strangely escaped him, less than an hour eb gg Dark and frowning looks met him, for many of those who had been enjoying the terror of the bummer when he inferfered to spoil sport, had returned to the saloon after their vain uest for their comrade. The sight of Budd Painter revived their suspicions that Dick Damper bad been stolen away by the friends of his antagonist, and meaning looks were inter changed which boded ill for the Hard Man from "Way Back. - Budd Painter caught these, and his hard feat- ures relaxed in a grin of grim delight as he faced his enemies, That sickening buzzing was gone now, and he only felt the reckless disregard of odds which had rendered his name so promi- nen among the “bad men” of the mining-cir- cles, ‘Hope T see ye, gents!” he cried, doffing bis hat and making an exaggerated obeisance to the Fang of roughs. ‘‘ Reckon ye don’t know who be, jedgin’ from the way you're smilin’ out 0’ the wrong side o’ your’tater-traps.” “ Nur we ain’t sp'ilin to know, I don’t reckon, trick onto Dick Damper,” growled’ one of the party, edging a hand toward a pistol. Swift as thought the hands of the Hard Man from ’Way Back came toa level,each one clasping a double-action revolver, fingers on trigger, his gleaming eyes glancing over the polished tubes of death, — **Tetch not, han’le not—onless you’re hanker- in’ fer a taste so durned knotty that you won't be able to git the kinks out o’ your systum from this time tell ole Gabriel toots his horn fer the last gittin’ up!” he cried, his weapons mov- ing steadily back and forth, so as to cover them allin turn. ‘‘ You hear my little song—an’ it’s your uncle Fuller that slings it at ye, honey! *T ain't so pizen tender-skinned as some critters I’ve run aginst, but when a two- legged burro hints that he don’t know me, nur don’t want to git acquainted, ['m bound fer ter interduce myself an’ make him a heap wiser then he was,ef it takes a hind leg an’ bu’sts things wide open! ** Budd Painter’s my name, an’ I’m all painter by natur’. I’ve got teeth like a alligator, an’ I make the bark fly forty feet from the ground when I sharpen my toe-nails. My tail is sixty feet in the cl’ar, an’ it’s got a double-bow knot fer every yard. When I stretch my jaws fer a gape, you kin see what I ett fer dinner last summer, an’ when they come shet together ag’in, it makes you think lightnin’ hes struck your meat-house! ‘‘Pm a Hard Man from ’Way Back—a tough citizen from a thousan’ miles t’other side o’ the jumpin-off place. They was jest one 0’ my sort turned out o’ the fact’ry, an’ then the boss molder bu’sted up the patterns ’ca’se he didn’t hev stuff enough left fer to make me a mate! ‘* Thar ye got my fotygraph, an’ ef it likes ee so well that any o’ ye wants my handwrite fer a specimint, jest gimme a wink, an’ Ill plaster it all over your hide so thick you'll never feel it when the skeeters or fleas pay ye a visit!” The beauideal of a reckless, dare devil des- perado he appeared then, facing a full dozen of hard characters, his blue eyes glowing, his mocking laugh ringing out his defiance. Thirsting for his blood, eager to wipe out the insult his contempt was covering them with, the roughs hesitated to attack him, great as the odds were in their favor. They saw that he would shoot at the first hostile motion—and shoot to kill!’ Each man felt that his might be the first life called for, and that dread held them in check. With a taunting laugh, Budd Painter glanced leisurely over their crouching, shrinking forms. ** A round dozen 0’ ye—a baker’s dozen count- in’ in the cripple abind the p’izen-counter—an’ not a durned one in the hull outfit got perlite- ness enough fer to come for’ard an’ skake the paw of a man who’s tuck all this trouble to in- terduce hisself! An’ this is what ye call Death- fhe Pon Si ain’tit? Better change its name to Coyoteville! Soapstone Holler ’d be better yit, fer durned ef thar’s grit enough in the bu fer to make a’skeeter wink, an’ the bollerin part comes out easy enough ef a man looks to’rds ye! . “Git out you! You ain’t men—you ain't even the shadder o’ men! Sbuck your duds an’ putt on dolly-vardens; do up your ha’r in kyurl papers; paint yer lips an’ powder yer noses ontel ye kiver up the rom-blossoms, an’ chaw aa aaa fer to kill the smell o’ forty-rod;: singe all that onderbresh off o’ yer mugs—but never ag’in try to putt on airs an” fool folks into thinkin’ you’re men, or durned ef I don’t up an’ whiddle out a shingle, an’ take ye acrost my checkered apron an’ give ye what Paddy give the drum! Ef I don’t, ’'m a howlin’ liar right from head-waters!” 2 Blunt as was this attempt at sarcasm, the roughs felt it most acutely, as was shown b their flushed faces, their glowing eyes and the twitching fingers; but steady as a rock, the Hard Man from ’Way Back beld them covered, his polished tools dwelling for an instant on each man as they passed from right to left and back again. Plainer even than his words, his looks showed bow ardentlv he longed for a col- lision with any or all of their number, and though they knew him well by reputation, they began to believe he must have his friends in waiting without, ready to “ pile in” at the first signal, and this unfounded fear still further cowed them. . ““Nur that don’t tetch the right spot, nuther!” ' exclaimed Budd Painter, in a tone of mock de- spair. ‘“Tll try it oncet ag’in, an’ then ef it don’t starch up your back-bones a little, ’m goin’ to part my ha’r in the middle an’ putt on Age: so no durn fool won’t ever think I ‘long to the same sect as you holler-boned snipes! * Johnny-with-the-sore-fingers,” turning the muzzle of one pistol toward the saloon-keeper to whom he had already given a severe lesson in revolver practice; “jest ornament your p’izen-counter with the ’sentials fer takin? a coffin-nail, Sling out your glasswar’ an’ acky-fortis. goin’ to drink a toast from the ole man.” ‘Who's to pay fer it?’ growled the burly ruffian. At that instant a tremendous report rent the air, causing the bottles and glasses to rattle and clatter, almost throwing the occupants of the saloon from their feet as the rickety build ae and shook as though on the point o alling. ; With wild yells of mingled alarm and won- der, the roughs made a break for the outer air, and though Budd Painter hesitated, it bate for an instant. Cowards though he bad prover the fellows, more than one among their numhe' would not hesitate long before taking a sn p- shot at him from cover of darkness. oat » JOO com (E “Ss These sweet-scented buzzards is — ~ 7* ' ae =< - °. ® *. -~ Ts - + 5 fienad 9 . com