Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 257 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

Death-Trap Diggings. — <= =. se =a — ~~ A Se ge tae ous — a a al tat ete an ll aa —— — te --—— —— > =. Pe “ - — + — = — - ES ea EE —— ain, ae aR ae —diee e eeet meres Se —— te — _ _~ - x I; ze: a LL A ——— ~ 7m < "a . . . ? : _ q ~ eee With a panther-like quickness he left the saloon, not by way of the door, but leaping feet foremost through the window in the side of the building, alighting safe in a crouching posi- tion, pistols in hand, hardly scratched by the shattered glass, so dexterously had he kicked out the sash before him, A little contrary to his expectations, Budd Painter did not find any of the roughs awaiting his coming, though their voices and heavy trampling were distinct enough. One and all they were running at full speed toward the scene of the explosion, for the time being for- aoe all about the desperado who had so umiliated them. The Hard Man from ’Way Back gave a snort of disgust as he put up his tools and followed after the mob. **Tt’s the wu’st town I ever struck. Nota durned bit o’ fun to be hed with even a army, You cain’t rub it in fur enough to strike grit, an’ e€ you do happen to run acrost one as says he’ll give ve a turn, it’s only ’ca’se he knows he’s got fri’nds nigh to run him off afore light- nin’ could scoreh a grain o’ powder, like that Dick Damper—durn the bumbly-bees!” he mut- tered, pressing one hand to hisscarred fore- head, the old, troubled look filling his eyes. **] know his name, an’ [ know his face; but I ¢ain't place him. I know he played dirt onto me somebow, sometime, somewhar, but the more { try fer to see through the tangle the wusser the buzzin’ gits in my ole cabeza, untel it *pears like ’m od clean crazy. Be I crazy, as folks says? I know I[ wasn't al’ays this way. I know thar’s times when I kin see an’ ’mem- ber as plain as the best; but it don’t last, Them cussed bumbly-bees git to workin’ an’ swarmin’, an’ then thar comes a sort 0’ snap, an’ my brain is like it was chuck-full o’ water, a-roarin’ like mad! An’ then—what comes next I cain’t tell! Purty nigh al’ays I wake up in a new kentry frum the one I ’member last, an’ thar’s never nobody kin say how 1 come thar; not even my own self!” is mutterings ceased, for he was now close to where the tremendous explosion had taken lace. He stared around him with a vacant air, All the fire and force so recently exhibited by bim,in the face of such heavy odds, had faded away. It was as he said—he lived a double life. So mes he did not try to recall the past, so long as thing occurred to make him attempt to pierce the mists with which that past was shrouded, Budd Painter seemed as sane and shrewd as the best of those with whom chance threw him, But a word, a chance expression, a sound, even, was often sufficient to throw his shattered mind off its balance, and then he was indeed a madman. He was among the crowd that flocked to the spot where the hanging corpse of Dick Damper was found, though he did not get close enough to recogniza the carcass until Colonel Carey had taken his departure, unseen, unheard by him; but the instant he caught sight of the agony distorted countenance, a wild cry es- ca his lips. ‘It’s Dick Damper! I know him—I’ve see’d him afore—he’s a pen sarpent! Ef I could only place him—ef I could only tell who an’ what he was in them black days! But them pesky bumbly-bees won’t let me! They keep a- singin’ an’ a-buzzin’ an’ tellin’ me this, that an’ the other; but it’s all a twisted tangle, an’ I cain’t tell the bead from the tail. ‘Who killed him? Who cheated me out o’ my git-even?” and the poor wretch stared wild- ly around bim, pistols drawn, the crowd falling back and leaving bim in a cleared sp°ce by him- self. ‘‘Show me the man; show me— ’s all han’s take a snorter. Sling ’em out, Johnny; sling ’em—” His words died away in a vacant laugh, that only too clearly betrayed his unsettled brain; mm § not a hand was lifted to stay his steps, as he staggered away from the spot where one a m4 enemies bad so strangely come by his eath, There was one white scared face in the crowd through which Budd Painter unsteadily made his way, and ashe passed by, its owner hurried to where Joseph Jeffreys stood, as yet ignorant of what was ing beneath the death-tree, and witb lips close to his ear, whispered: ‘* Hell’s bu’sted loose, I reckon, cap’n, fer ef 1 ain’t see’d Budd Painter or bis ghost, I’m a howlin’ liar!” “You're sure? There’s no mistake?’ demand- ed Jeffreys. “ He by so cluss that I could ’a’ tetched him with ary hand, boss. Ef I hedn’t thunk ynebbe it was bis ghost, Id ’a’ run my knife atwixt his ribs—but I didn’t dast to!” The speaker was a short, heavily-built ruffian, known as Breachy Bull, in all. probability gain- ing the title from his ugly, truculent disposition, and he had been one of the party uncer com- mand of Jeff Archer when the massacre of Golden Valley took place. It chanced that he had seen nor heard anything of the doings of Budd Painter in town that night, and when so unexpectedly brought face to face with a man whom he, in common with his fellows, had re- garded as dead for years, the shock was quite sufficient to shatter his boasted nerve, and send the cold chills racing along his spina! column. “It’s no ghost—worse luck!” grated Jeffreys. ‘Shell I pick up some o’ the boys an’ knife him. boss?” ‘Get what boys you can trust, but don’t waste time and so lose sight of him,” was the hasty reply. ‘‘ Dog him, but don’t kill him un- iess you have to. Take him prisoner and leave him in a safe place under guard, while you come back and tell me, Take bim alive, you under- stand? He must squeal before he croaks for good, Git— good work, good pay!” That was sufficient, and Breachy Bull hasten- ed away to find his fellows. Budd Painter staggered away from the scene of the explosion, his poor brain in a whirl, scarce conscious of what he was doing or whither he was going. Hereturned to town, and entered the first Saloon he came to which had not been closed by its startled owner to hasten to see what had occurred. As the owner complied with his muttered re- uest for a drink, he asked him what had caused the explosion. Painter glared sullenly into bis face for a moment, then flung glass and all at his head, turning and leaving the saloon with- outa word, almost running into the arms of three men who had followed hard on his tracks. Half-blinded by the light of the saloon which he had er left, Painter failed to recognize Breachy Bull or his mates, but a savage oath burst from his lips as he flung out his strong arm and brushed them from the path as though only feeble children, ‘* Ef ye don’t like the taste o’ it, jest pile in, durn ye!” he growled, hand on revolver. But the blunt challenge was not accepted. It was not their purpose to kill him, as long as they saw a chance to effect his capture, and a to one side, they suffered him to pass along. In swift succession the Hard Man from "Way Back visited nearly a dozen saloons, drinking at each, but not stopping long in either. It wasa strange mood for him, and one into which he seldom fell, but for the time it held full posses- sion, Gradually theré came a change, though the poison he had swallowed so freely, did not seem to affect him in the least. He turned away from the town, unconscious of the fact of bis being dogged by Seney ene- mies, and slowly left the town behind him, rounding the point of rocks, and then climbing up adry gulch where the bowlders lay thick and massive, It was the one-time race into which Clay Benedict had hurled Vernon Curtis. Since that terrible night no water bad passed through the chute, save what dropped from the clouds. At one time there had been some talk of rebuilding the dam and draining the little lake, in search of gold, but the influence of Col- onel Carey and his partner defeated the scheme and all was left as it had been found in the first days of Death-Trap Diggings, udd Painter reached the top of the chute, and sat down on the end of the destroyed dam, supporting his elbows on his knecs, his chin resting on his joined palms as he stared mood- ily down upon the lake, glimmering beneath the bright light of the moon. Great drops stood out on his bullet-scarred brow, and an occasional fit of trembling shook his strong frame, ‘* It’s the same, an’ yit it’s deffrunt!” he mut- tered, his voice sounding bollow and unnatural. ‘¢T kin ‘member it fer a breath, but afore I kin ketch onto its foll meaniu’, that infarnal buzzin’ comes back into my pore ole cabeza, an’ it’s gone ag’in like a shadder. ‘*T kin hear the water—that was thar, though it come in a bigger heap, an’ made more row then this. Then thar was shootin’—or did that come fust? I don’t know—I cain’t tell—it’s all black—black as hell itself!” ; With a bitter groan, his face sunk into his hands, their fingers gripping his head as though he feared bis skull would barst asunder without that support. He was doing bitter battle with the terrible past. He was struggling to find a lost memery, and words are powerless to tell how frightfully he suffered as he groped in the bitter black mists. Like sleuth-hounds the three men had follow- ed him, their coarse natures rather rejoicing than otherwise, as they saw him take the trail leading to the ruined dam. If they ever thought of that night of murder, three years old, it was to smile and chuckle at the cunning which marked their plans, the thoroughness of its ex- ecution. Naught of remorse or repentance were they capable of feeling. Slowly, silently they stole closer to the bowed form of their intended victim, For a few min- utes they hesitated to make the assault, fearing that a struggle so close to the waterfall might end in their tumbling over the end of the old dam. But as the shaggy head sunk still lower, and Budd Painter gave no signs of altering his position, Breachy Bull touched his mates as a signal, and stripping off bis flannel shirt, he twisted it into a sort of bag, then leaped for- ward, casting the heavy garment over the bowed head, jerking heavily upon it. Taken completely by surprise, Budd Painter was able to make but a comparatively feeble resistance against the three strong men who piled on top of him, grappling with desperate Se his limbs, his throat, et he did fight, and it was not wholly with. out marks of his prowess that the ruffians at length arose, the victors, the Hard Man from ’Way Back lying on his back, his limbs bound with strong cords, his blue eyes glaring the defiance and hatred his gagged lips were unable to utter. ** Drag the p’izen cuss back ’mongst the rocks, an’ keep good watch over him,” said Breachy Bull, shaking bimself as he donned bis sbirti again. ‘I’m off to Jet the boss know how the ole thing panned out,” His mates obeyed, and he set off for town ta report. ite cae CHAPTER VIIT. TANGLED IN THE MESHES, BREACHY BULL lost little time after once: separatin from his comrades, but hastened at once to the scene of the explosion, where he found Joseph Jeffreys still busied with his inves-_ tigations, but all these were forgotten when he: beheld bis emissary returning, and in a quick, impatient whisper he demanded: “What luck? Curse it, speak up!” ‘*Got him tight as wax,” was the prompt re- ly, in the same guarded tone, You bhaven’t missed him? ** Jest come to et you know an’ ax what we is to do with the. p’izen critter.” “Where is be? How did you manage— Never mind,” bastily checking the torrent of qnestions which were on the point of pouring from his lips: “ show me the place, and I'll de- cide after taking a square look at the fellow.” By this time, the crowd attracted by the ex-~ plosion, had greatly diminished, the Sioa ma- jority baving returned to the town proper, where they could discuss the calamity as well as. the mysterious death of Dick Damper, each man over a glass of his favorite ‘‘ wet,” with a great- er degree of comfort than was to be found there. under the moonlight. Thanks to this fact, it was not so difficult for Jeffreys to steal away without being noticed particularly, and he was soon following the lead. of Breachy Bull around the point of rocks, up the steep to the point where Budd Painter lay bound whose cocked revolvers were kept close to his temples, so great was their fear of the fs mous se “g desperado, the Hard Man from ’Way ack, Jeffreys knelt beside the prisoner, and his. keen eyes carefully inspected the face on which the clear rays of the moon fell almost perpen- dicularly. His trows contracted as be gazed. One instant he felt convinced that this was in- deed the man whom they had doomed to death, three years ago; the next, he doubted, It was the same men, yet with a difference that could. not be overlooked. *“So much the worse for you, then!” he mut- tered, with a short, hard laugh, as he rose to his feet, giving the bound. man a thrust with the toe of his boot that drew a glare of deadly hatred upon bim from those bloodshot eyes, ‘“'You’'ll kick the bucket for your cursed im- pudence in Set like another fellow, and I don’t reckon there’ll be many tears shed over the ie a blur der it be!” ‘‘] kin sw’ar to him, boss,” eagerly muttered Breachy Bull, who shrewdly calculated that his pay would be in RY oe Nasi to the importance of his capture. ‘He’s that dirty cuss, Budd Painter, easy enough. that |” ‘You are vue to take longer chances than I am, then,” was the carelessreply. ‘ We'll let. the colonel decide whether or no he’s the origi- nal Jacobs. But how to get bim down to the (ffice without being seen, or rou-ing suspicion: that’s v hat bothers me.” 3 ‘* Me’n’ the boys kin do it, boss,” said Breachy Bull, confidently. ‘Jest say whar vou vant him tuck, an’ we'll see he gits thar right eend up’ards, without a timber sprung cr a bolt loosened,” ‘‘ Have your own way, my good fellow. But don’t run too many chances, or give him too much play. There's the devil sticking out of his eyes bigger a a woodechuck, and you all know what was.” ‘* Don’t re borry no trouble, boss; he’ll come through all right, or you kin use me fer a scrub- brush to clean out hog-pens witb,” grinned the sturdy : uffian. ‘“‘Remember this,” impressively added Jeff- revs, turning back to add the cauticn. “If he is Budd Painter, he has got friends in Death- Trap Diggings, and if they spot him in limbo, there'll be steel drawn and powder burned, sure! I'll keep an eye on you, and if there’s any trouble willtake a handin. Atall risks, be must squeal before he croaks.” Jeffreys turned and descended to the level leaving his tools to do the rest. “Now lads,” said Bull, “this is the pro- pen We got to git this overgrowed cuss own to the cap’n’s office, with a bull hide. It’d lil take my davy on COME JOOKS and and fcot, guarded by two men. udd Painter’s reputation is—or | —- com