Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 257 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

& eee closely, critically, then nodded, with a good- natured smile, ‘*T reckon you mean it, too, from the looks. A tough sprout afore the frost tetched ye, an’ some good timmer left yit in the ole trunk, V’ll warrant. But I didn’t come here to talk fight—” ‘‘What did you come for, then?’ demanded Burnham. “To ax ef ye didn’t want tohireahan’? I kin wrastle pick or shovel with the best in the outfit, an’ when you sets me to ’tendin’ the cradle I’m jest more’n to bum—as why shouldn’t I be? The oldest in the fambly, an’ nineteen young-uns trompin’ onto each other’s heels, An’ not one in the caboodle that knowed enough to rock the cradle but me /” ‘*Our party is complete without you,” bluntly said the veteran. ‘‘i wouldn’t give you work- ing-room if your hands was as nimble as your e. ‘All right, my covey; I ain’t goin’ to crowd ye. Reckon I kin make livin’ wages on my own hook, an’ wrastle fer chuck enough to keep goin’, to boot. Got ary ole mud-grubber you want to ’spose of?” ‘* What ye reckon you’re goin’ to do?” “Go to work an’ make a good hafe day out 0’ a quarter.” Work? Where, and at what?” *‘ Pickin’ yaller plums out o’ this big dump- 7” “On our claim?” “'Whar’s your stakes, an’ whar’s your notices? When did ye git ’em recorded?” demanded the ph Burnbam tapped him on the shoulder then pointed to the rock-walls which inclosed the little valley. ‘You kin see the line-marks afore your face. Here’s jest nine two-legged corner-posts, with more to back ’em, ef needed. As fer the pepers, we jest rammed them into our tools fer safe k »,an’ when any one wants to read ‘em we'll furnish the light fer him to see the letters and figgers by—you onderstand?” and he tapped the butt of a revolver. *“You ain’t durned hogs enough fer to want to keep the hull pot to yourselves?” indignantly exclaimed the stranger. “Tt’s a pot that we cleaned out an’ set to boilin’ our own selves, stranger, an’ it’d be a monstrous impedent critter that would deny our at to me our own brewin’,” Hard Man from ’Way Back gave a sniff of utter disgust as he turned away from Ralph Burnbam and took a hasty scrutiny of the faces around him. Dark and lowering, not a friendly eye among the entire lot. “T take it all back, fer ef this ain’t Brustle- ville, then I never smelt a pork corral in my life. Don’t reckon I’m hankerin’ a’ter oom, BS your soup, ole gent; an’ as fer takin’ up my bed an’ with ye, it makes me begin to feel hop) y an’ crawly an’ want to scratch, jest to o’ the idee. So-long, critters! Be good to yourselves, an’ do your own gruntin’ fer lack of a straight-haired white man todo it for ye—I’m off to hunt up a sniff o’ fresh air.” _ Witha short, reckless laugh, he turned on his heel and started across the little valley, as though intending to take his departure by way of the pass at the lower end, but the heavy band of the veteran gold-digger fell upon his shoulder and checked his progress. ‘* Wait a bit, eur? said Burnham, as the man wheeled to confront him with a uick flash- ing in his eyes. ‘‘ You've bin doin’ the heft o’ the talkin’, an’ now I want to chip in fer a wee bit. Whar’s your mates?” ‘* Never none. When the arkycheck tuck . asquar’ look at me, he jest turned ’round an’ broke the molds, fer he knowed the univarse wasn't big enough fer to hold two of a kind.” '« “ Showed stud-hoss sense, too!” dryly com- mented Burnham. ‘‘ But who did you come Mer bade Gan eg polly, Td say i F n rung up politely, I'd say i was none o’ your durn business, Sense I was, why I don’t mind tellin’ 5¢ that I hain’t got no pardners that Im pa da a lone han’ all by my onesome self; that 1 come here ’ca’seI didn’t go some’rs else; an’ that I’m goin’ away ag’in be- ca’se I.don’t stop here no longer. Fer furder information apply next do’!” ‘*So much the better, Ef you hain’t got no fri’nds they won’t be oneasy ’bout your stoppin’ out late.” “x What yo mean by that?” sharply demanded the nee. ‘* Sorry © do anythin’ that looks like crowdin’, but that yagn o’ yours sounds mighty fishy, an’ we've go rauch at stake to run any onneces- sary resks. ‘eckon you'll hev to call yourself our prisoner” ““Who saysss0?” sharply demanded the stran- er, ‘* T do,” washe cool response of the veteran. “You can’t prove it!” Sharp and clear-cut came the words, full of defiance as though the reckless fellow valued naught the heayy cdds arrayed against him, and his glittering, eyes roved swiftly over the scowling faces of the gold-diggers. Burnham raised er, emphasizing each - word as it fell from }s vee Death-Trap Diggings. ‘“Look ye, my good fellow; business is busi- ness, You come in here without an invite, an’ whar your good sense mought ’a’ told ye you wouldn’t be welcome. You tried to bluff us on a bobtail flush. You’re old enough to know that all bets lay in a game o’ this sort, an’ you cain’t pull down when you’re called, without ye go’ the longest pole—” ‘* Ef it was only hafe as long’s your clapper, I’d rake the ’simmons, sure,” bluntly interrupted the other. “Spit out what ye got to say, an’ don’t chew on it all day.” ‘‘ Short an’ sweet, ef you like it best that way. You’re our prisoner fer a few days. In two weeks, or tharabout, you kin travel jest as uick an’ fur as ye like; but ontel then, you on’t stir out o’ this pocket on your own legs.” ‘Who's to hinder me, ef I takea notion?” — Ralph Burnham waved his hand toward his mates. ‘“ Nine men—two wimmen—a boy an’ a bull- dog—not countin’ in the mules,” coolly uttered the stranger, his keen eyes taking inall ata sweeping glance. ‘Plenty to bluff a greenhorn on, stranger, but a monstrous weak hand to play agin a straight-haired man with sand in his craw. Go borry a rijiment or two o’ men, afore ye sling talk o’ that caliber into the grinders of a tough citizen from "Way Back!” ‘*Empty words won’t buy good whisky, stran- ger, an’ thar’s no use in wastin’ more breath about it,” impatiently cried the veteran. “I don’t want to hurt you, an’ I promise to turn you loose at the end of two weeks from now.” ‘¢ You’re too durned kind!” grinned the Hard Man from ’Way Back, ‘‘I wouldn’t putt you to that much trouble fer the world an’ all its lations!” “Come; talk enough. Will you hand over your tools, or must we take ’em? One or the other, an’ that in a hurry!” ‘* All right—business it is, then,” promptly re- torted the tough citizen, but without any fur- ther sign of obeying the stern commands of the gold-digger. “IT come here, a white man, spectin’ fer to meet white men. I made you a fa’r offer to jine in an’ work on sheers or fer wages, but you wouldn’t hev neither the one nur the t’other. I didn’t kick at that, fer in this kentry a man is a right to pick his own comp’ny ef he wants to, ou hinted that my room was better than my partnership. I ain’t a hog, even ef I do happen to run my nose in among ’em once ina while. I said I'd travel—” Po a I said you shouldn’t!” cried Burnham, otly. > Then one of us lied, an’ it ain’t me!” cried the Hard Man from oa Back, and as the words escaped his lips he leaped swiftly back- ward, bringing the gold-diggers all in front of him, whipping forth a brace of revolvers, cock- ing and bringing them to a level with a rapid- ity that was marvelous. ** Hold hard, you!” he grated, his eyes glit- tering like coals of fire in the dark, as the as- tonished diggers mechanically felt for their weapons. ‘I'll slap it to the fust man as pulls — an’ I never wasted a blue pill in my ife, ‘*Go slow, lads!” cried Burnham. ‘‘ He can’t get away, and I won’t have any bloodshed. I'll unce the first man to fire. And you, fool! down with your weapons!” He turned sharply upon the stranger, but that worthy only laughed mockingly as he held his pistols at a level. ; Don't you wish I would, ole coon? Heap 0’ fun’, ain’t it? Reckoned you had a mighty soft snap, didn’t a But that’s the time you got fooled bad. Budd Painter’s my name, an’ I’m a full-blowed painter by natur’. Never was sad- dled an’ bridled, much less rid by mortal man. I’m a Bad Man from "Way Back o’ all civiliza- tion, an’ kin lick the hull outfit, one down ‘nother come on—or durned ef I ain’t_man enough to scramble ye all up ina heap! Ef ye don’t believe it, jump in.” The beau ideal of a reckless desperado, Budd Painter confronted the gold: diggers, his fingers on trigger, ready to pour out a leaden hailstorm of death if crowded. One man against nine, but the odds did not appear so overwhelming after all. Then—a pistol exploded and the defiant head jerked abruptly back, his hands flew up, his fingers contracting spasmodically on the trig- gers as he fell in a quivering neee his bullets wasting themselves on the rock wa i beyond, CHAPTER IIL. MUSIC IN THE AIR. TAKEN completely by surprise, for a brief space, Ralph Burnham stood like one petrified, staring at the quivering form of Budd Painter. Indeed, his first fancy was that the Hard Man from "Way Back was attempting another of his smart moves in the bold game he was playing; but this suspicion died away almost ere it foun birth, for he saw the red blood running down over the cheek of the fallen man. The hot blood flashed back into his own cheek, and an ugly light came into his eyes as he turned to the left where stood the tents, and from which direction he now knew that first shot had come. Before the shrinking figure of Bertha Burn. ’ ——EEEEE ham, stood the tall, handsome shape of Clay Benedict, justin the act of replacing a revolvex | in bis belt. Hot with anger, and in hoarse tones, the vet- eran cried: — ae ot did it, young feller, after all my warn: in’s? >: I fancied it time to break the deadlock— ‘*T said he shouldn’t be hurt—that I wouldn’t hev no bloody doin’s while I hed life an’ stren’th ; enough to kick ag’inst it. I swore I’d mount } the man as did him hurt, an’by the Lord! I'll keep my word ef you was ten times my mate!” Ralph Burnham, his eyes flashing with hot in- dignation, strode toward the tent, his huge fists doubled tightly, clearly bent on mischief, but Clay Benedict gave no signs of meeting the at- tack in similar spirit. Instead, an amused smile curled his mustached lips as he folded his arms and stood his ground before the enraged gold-digger ‘““Fatber!” and Bertha Burnham glided be- tween the two men, her plump, shapely arms outspread as a barrier. ‘‘ You will not—you ext not! mee my sata Se feared that madman wou ill you, an egged Cla interfere. Dear father—” sags Rate The arms were twined about his neck, and further speech was stopped by a little storm of kisses from the rosy lips. The sourest and most confirmed misanthrope could not long have resisted such sweet argu- ment, and the hot, unreasoning rage of the vet- eran cooled off with amazing rapidity. ‘* Well, if you done it, honey-bird—but all the same, I’d jest as lieve an’ a little ruther it’d bin me that ketched the dose; fer my word was passed, an’—it’s a durned shame, anyhow!” with a sudden outburst. His smile vanishing and his voice growing grave, Clay Benedict spoke as be stepped for- ward: **] ask your pardon for acting against your commands, old friend, but I could hardly do otherwise, as you must acknowledge when you come to view the matter in cool blood.” ‘Nine men ag’inst one, an’ that one knocked over by a side shot when he wasn’t lookin’!’’ muttered Burnham, in a tone of utter dis- ust. ‘* Better him than one or two of our mess,” quickly interposed Benedict. ‘‘ He had you covered, and he meant shoot, all over, Why wait until he began burning powder?” ‘* But you didn’t need to butcher him—” ‘Nor did I,” with a cold laugh, as the speak- er turned on his heel. ‘‘Since you are so cursed pipet ice you can nurse the rascal back to life, and then set yourself up as a tar- get for him to practice on, until his or your wounded honor Is heaJed.” The old man’s lips parted to give a hot an- swer, but bis speech was cut short by an excla- mation of astonishment from one of the dig- gers, who had reached the side of the fallen man, aud who started back from his hasty ex- amination of the injury, as the supposed corpse gave unmistakable signs of life by raising to a sitting posture. One trembling hand mechanically sought bis head, while he made no effort to recover the weapons which had dropped from his grasp as he fell before that sudden shot. There was a dull, vacant look in his bloodshot eyes as they . roved slowly and uncertainly around him, which told how far he was from fully realizing what had really occurred to him. sige) Burnham sprung forward and kicked the pistols further avy, grasping the fellow fellow by the shoulaer as he spoke to his ee up th ., ick up those popguns, some 0’ you—” mA Hard Man es "Way Back, an’ I kin lick—” feebly muttered the tough citizen, stag- gering to his feet with the assistance of the veteran, whose left hand took the huge knife from its scabbard and flung it to one of the men. An unsteady lurch of the injured man caused him to feel this action, and as he caught a glimpse of the steel as it flashed through the bright sunlight, he seemed to divine the situation and recover his powers all at once, for with an oath he twisted away from the grasp on his shoulder, and striking out with a massive fist, sent the stalwart veteran staggering a dozen feet away. ‘© Han’s off, an’ no tricks on travelers, ef you please!” he cried, swiftly brushing the blood from over his eyes and glaring hog aed around him, as bis hands fumbled at his belt, ‘I’m A Hard Man from ’Way Back—Painter b name, an’ painter by natur’! I kin eat a sath through a rijiment—” A volley of furious curses streamed from his lips as his fingers failed to close upon the wea- Sa he sought, then the gold-diggers piled upon m. . Desperately he struggled against the over- whelming odds, and more than one sturdy fel- low went headlong to the ground before his a age te strokes, marked for more than one ay, sin nless thou h ed me were, ces it was not for several minu at he succum bound hand and foot, " (ECO AMUCE JOOKS > “wey, ie -