Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 257 — page 29: what you’re looking at

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

<a -s oe i seen since that memorable day when he brought to her her busband. ‘¢ All efforts to discover him were in vain for nearly a year, but then they met once more. He was lying very low, from the effects of a terrible fight, and all believed he was surely dy- ing from his injuries, But his mind was clear, and then he told her the sad tale I have repeated to you, just now. Until then, she had been un- able to tell her husband more than that she was alone in the world—that her father and brother had been foully murdered, He had tried hard to solve the mystery, but until you were found, he had nothing to work ou. ‘From you the names of all the demons en- gaged in that black deed were learned, and tu his amazement, the husband discovered that one of them, or, at least, a man who bore the same name, was working for him, and without warn- ne to you, he had bim brought to the place where you lay, seemingly dying. ‘No sooner did you set eyes on the wretch, than you leaped upon him, knocking him down with a chair, and before you could be taken away, the murderer was fatally injured. ‘‘ His name was Teddy Moran, and when he was confronted on his death-bed by the woman whom he and his had so bitterly wronged, he made full confession and confirmed the story you bad told before him. *‘He said that the two leaders had altered their personal appearance and dropped the old names, assuming others; that they had returned to the Golden Valley, and at that time were prospering in all their undertakings. He told their assumed names, and then died. ‘* All this took time to say, for he was lying very low, and able to speak only at long inter- vals. Meantime, you were taken worse, after your fight with Moran, and though you event- ually recovered your strength, your mind was shattered, and you fled one night, without let- ting your friends know of your intention, — “They sought for you, but vainly. Then, when they abandoned all hopes of ever discov- ering you, they set out to avenge their dead on the assassins. ‘* They came here, and Jooked over the ground. They found their enemies rich, highly thought of, while they were unknown. To make an open accusation would be worse than useless. ‘‘ They resurrected the dead, and added trusty allies on whose courage and devotion they could implicitly depend, and trained them as the Specters of Death-Trap Diggings. Last night they began to work in earnest. They saved you from the duel with Dick Damper, by lassoing him and carrying him off, to serve an- other purpose. It was his hand that placed and fired the cartridges by which the dam was de- stroyed, and he merited a less manly death than frem a shot by your hand, ‘‘He was hang, when the mills of Cirey & Jeffreys were destroyed, by the Ghosts of Golden Valley, ‘* Budd Painter, are the mists clearing away?” “They're ’most gone! I kin ’member it all, now—all but the name an’ face o’ the dog that shot me!” muttered the Hard Man from ’Wa Back, passing a band across his eyes, “ Ef could only see him once more! Didn't I see him las’ night?’ 7 “You did,” was the prompt reply. You accused him of his crimes, and only for me he would have shot you like a dog. Isaved your life then, because I knew the story of your past—look, Budd Painter!” As she uttered the words, Madam Crimson rose erect and removed the blood-red mask from her face. The Hard Man from ’Way Back stared for a moment, then rose with a glad tk : ¥. 2 ‘‘T kin see it now!” the cloudsis gone! You're her—the little woman I saved from those blood- hounds!” ‘¢ Ay!” and she turned her face, toward the spot where the two men were bound. ‘I am the woman you saved from those foul assassins! Tam Bertha Burnham, Clay Benedict!” “That’s the name!” snarled Budd Painter, his sinewy fingers working convulsively, his eyes fairly ablaze. ‘‘That’s the name! Ef I could only clap eyes onto him jest this once!” Bertha Burnham—no longer Madam Crimson —waved one hand, and meat it a flood of light illumined the alcove in which Clay Bene- dict and Jeff Archer were confined. Budd Painter followed the direction of her leveled finger, and recognizing his enemy, uttered a how] of insane fury as he darted forward—onl to be repulsed by a stout iron grating whic even more swiftly descended from the ceiling. “Peace, good friend,” said Bertha, touching his arm, ‘ You shall drink deep of revenge, ow nor here.” ye moan, then the head of Clay ! Benedict droo — CHAPTER XII. THE DREAD DOOM FULFILLED. Far away from Death-Trap Diggings, in the heart of the dreary waste of rocks, the round- orbed moon was shining down upon a weird, gruesome spectacle, EE Through the hills ran a slender stream of water, now winding between high rock walls, now plunging over a ledge to a small mountain- pool below, out of which flashed the active trout for the unwary flies or moths. Onand on the miniature river rushed and tumbled and wound its way, until if poured in a thin sheet of shining silver over a crescent-shaped ledge and fell into a narrow, bigh-walled basin thirt feet below. Here the water spread out until it covered almost all of the small basin, eddying slowly round and round before finding exit at the lower end, where the rocks came still closer ta rising higher and more perpendicu- arly, To the right and left of the waterfall, the rocks rose in almost regular steps to the top of the walls on either hand, not unlike the seats inclosing an amphitheater. In the center of that mountain pool, four stout stakes had been implanted by the bands of man to be used for a terrible purpose. Across each stake was tied a shorter piece of timber, at right angles, thus forming of each a rude cross. And as the clear light of the full moon shines down upon the mountain pool, those crosses are all occupied—to each one is bound a human be- ing in the attitude first displayed by the Savior of mankind. Ranged along each side of the waterfall, are strange, weird shapes, dressed in white from top to toe, with one exception; a woman whose garb shines blood-red. “*Clay Benedict, Jefferson Archer, Breachy Bull and Conky Peters,” she is saying, ber stern, cold voice ringing out above the music of the falling waters, the spray of which floats around her prominent figure ina misty vail. ‘ The hour of your atonement bas at Jength arrived. ‘‘Three years ago, this very night, your crowning crime was committed. Three years ago to-night, you bade the waters overwhelm your innocent victims, that you might steal away their hard-earned gold. For three years you have eat 0 pe and enjoyed life after your own fashion, little thinking that the hand of fate was surely, if slowly, weaving the web in which you were doomed to fall, to pay the pen- alty of your dastardly deed. “ By water you killed, by water ye die !” She raised her red-gloved band, and a massive wooden gate descended between the rock walls at the further extremity of the little basin, closing all escape for the water until it should rise bigh enough to overleap the barrier. ‘You gave your poor victims no time for thought, no time for muttering a prayer to their God. Death came so suddenly through your means, that ney awoke from one sound slumber, only to be plunged into another whose waking comes not until the last trump sounds, ‘The avengers of that crime are more merci- ful. You are granted time sufficient to realize your peril. Time enough to pray, if your lips can shape the unfamiliar words. Time enough to repent, if your sins were not so many, so black, so unpardonable in the sight of man and heaven. ‘To you, Clay Benedict, is the greatest meed awarded, as to the blackest sinner of all. Your crimes require the longest time for repentance, and for that reason, among others, you will live to see your comrades in sin die one after the other. You can watch the water as it steals u their bodies, gs it closes their lips and shuts o the breath of life from their nostrils. And from that you can calculate how much longer you will have to live, when the last of your partners have died!” Her voice died away and she stood motionless with her ghostly attendants. ae the sound of the falling waters broke the stillness, Not a sound eseaped the lips of the death - doomed criminals, for their tongues were fast fettered. Ghastly pale were their faces and full of bor- ror that in itself was almost sufficient to kill, to atone for the cruel deed because of which they were now to die. But stern and pitiless the avengers watched them, watched the bright waters as they stole slowly, surely up the lower limbs, lapping round the thighs, encircling the waists, creeping up and up, all the more fright- ful from their advance being so silent, so in- sidious, Scill higher, until the little ripples touched the lips of Conky Peters and Breachy Bull. Past the lips urfil little bubbles broke from their wildly distended nostrils— Their brains almost crazed with horror, Clay Benedict and Jefferson Archer watched the last struggles for breath as the merciless waters eddied around the heads of their comrades: but they could not avert or close their eyes. The seemed to be looking upon their own end, and it held their gaze with a frightful fascination. ir crimes are expiated!” said the stern voice of Madam Crimson, as the faces of the les- ser scoundrels sunk beneath the waters, and only their shaggy hair floated on the surface. Your turn comes next, Jeff Archer! If you can recall any prayers, you have little time to waste.” Higher rose the waters. Inch by inch, so slowly to those who stood safely on the rock steps, so terribly fast to those who were cruci- fied alive, helpless to flee, only able to watch the 29 cruel element as it rose to forever end for them the battle of life, Up and up—higher and higher—and then Clay Benedict saw his fellow-sinner give up the ghost. “And now it is your turn, Clay Benedict!” cried Madam Crimson, tearing off her mask and flinging it aside, Seadctpnat the pale, beautiful countenance of Bertha Burnham, ‘In ten minutes more, your soul will stand before its. Maker, for final judgment. And there, ranged before you as your accusers, will be these wit- nesses, among others whom you have wronged.” The Specter Chief slowly removed his cowl, the moonlight falling upon the ghastly white countenance of Vernon Curtis, Another hood came off, and the gray hairs,. the rugged but comely face of Ralph Burnham confronted the borror-stricken condemned. And one after the otber the Ghosts of Golden Valley unmasked, to be in turn recognized by the last survivor of the Death-Trap Diggings massacre, as one of those whom he had so rutb- lessly doomed to death, three years before. Higher and oe ae rose the waters, silent and pitiless. Up and up. Now they encircle the throat of the nearly crazed wretch, reminding him of the touch of the hangman, Still bigher. They lap against his chin. They touch bis lips. They rise above them, and as his breath comes faster and faster, the cold water suddenly enters with the air, and suffocates bim. And thus the massacre of the Golden Valley was expiated! When the new day dawned there was naught to tell of the merciless scene of retribution which the rock-bound basin had so recent) witnessed. The doomed men were gone, wit the rude crosses, the flood-gate and the aven- gers. But far back in the hills might have been seen a pit-like grave, in which four bodies were lying, and around which balf a score white- robed shapes and one blood-red one were stand- j ing in the first rays of the rising sun, * Wiad One after another Madam Crimson removed her outward attire and flung them into the grave, ‘‘My work is done. 1 have no further need of these,” shesaid, ‘‘ And you, my husband, my ood and faitbful friends, can say the same, et the Ghosts of Golden Valley, now that their cruel murder is avenged, go to their eter- nal rest.” One by one the white cowls were dropped i | on the dead. And then followed the cunningly contrived masks which represented the mur- dered miners. Then the white uniform, bit by bit, until naught remained of the Ghosts of Golden Valley by which they could be recog- nized. The grave was filled in, and then the avengers left the spot forever. For nearly a month the strange vanishment of Colonel Claude mat and partner, =~ Joseph Jeffreys, remained a perplexing mys- : tery to all Death-Trap Diggings, and only for the dogged faithfulness of a few of their hired men, the mines would almost certainly haye been “jumped” on the chance of their never ss returning. But then, one day, a fine-lookin . Be and well-dressed young man entered town and ye the rumor quickly gained circulation that a new owner for the mines had put in an appear- ance. His name was registered at the hotel as Beamish Beaumont, from New York, and to those more nearly interested he showed the pipers aud title deeds which proclaimed him be successor of the firm of Carey & Jeffreys. _ ‘ He took ion and ingmediately began the work of rebuilding the “mills, displayin ‘ an energy and “ git-up”—® employ the mo expressive vernacular—that favorably im- ressed the citizens, who had feared Death-Trap iggings bad received its death-blow when the explosion occurred. nother surprise awaited the citizens, Jimmy Du Bree, who had taken charge of the Red Light when Madam Crimson was suddenly - called away on important business, the very ‘a a, om? ail = ' » oe eve that witnessed the departure of Carey & Jeffreys (in the company of the gallantcol- onel, venom-tongued rumor would have it) was taken into partnership by Beaumont, the gam- ing saloon being sold to an ambitious sport 3 from down-country. oe Budd Painter was installed as foremanofthe © works, and though occasionally his wild slogan — was heard in Death-Trap Diggings,it was never in connection with a spree of his own, butonly when some would-be big chief atenes toim- pose on another weaker than bimself. jee And when the mills were reopened, the stage brought a pale faced, lovely lady to Death-Trap Diggings, whom Beamish Beaumont met at the stage office and warmly embraced. % ‘“My wife, gentlemen!” he said, aon then added, softly: ‘‘ Bertha, these are your ri te for they have proved themselves friends of mine!” ee THE END, . i “ * ° ¥ a : a } o' wry: ; “at ECOmMmIicboo G