Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 257 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

+ ) eyes. = “> >, ~v <s. ; 4 eee TT Sete eat ao? ~ =; . - "ae 2 7 ow Se An amused smile playing around his lips, Clay Benedict watched the affair without tak- ing further part in it; but when the victory was finally achieved, and the panting miners arose and left the tough citizen lying on the ground, he said: ‘‘ An ugly animal to handle, old friend, even with empty bands, What would have happened ‘ad I not murdered the poor devil?—I believe ose were the terms you used?” With a sheepish grin the veteran tenderly lingered his nose, upon which the full force of that stunning blow had fallen, and his tones were somewhat crestfallen as he renlied: “The fool was in my boots, I reckon. But who'd ’a’ thunk a pesk blow-hard like him hed so much git-up-an’ git? I tuck him fer a gas- bag, but I’m blamed ef he didn’t turn outa hull factory o’ gun-cotton! My head feels as though a mule hed kicked me west-eend-an’- crooked!” The moment his assailants rose and left him, Budd Painter anvegey. tested the strength of his bonds; but quickly realizing that escape after that fashion was impracticable, his mad rage appeared to as suddenly die away, and bis -yoice was low and even as he called out to Ralph Burnham: “Say you, old man, ef you ain’t too mon- sstrous busy, mebbe you wouldn’t mind lendin’ ‘me your ear-holes a bit?” ‘“Sartin,” was the prompt response, as the ‘veteran stepped over to where he lay. ‘* Any- thin’ [ kin do for ye—” ‘‘Reckon you’ve done fer me, pritty chuck up, as it is,’ with a short, hard laugh that bore slight trace of mirth in its echoes. ‘* Trussed up like a pi’zen ’sassinator on the death-trap, an’ ‘a bull hive o’ bumbly-bees swarmin’ in my «cabeza! Done fer? Waal, I should re-mark !” “That’s your own fault, not ours,” sharply replied the veteran. ‘‘You would have it, An '— ‘*Oh, I ain’t kickin’ so much about whar I is, as how I come ye so. Both dogs cain’t whip, when a couple come together, an’ it shows a ‘poor cross when the one licked howls over bis misfortin, You’d never hear a whimper from me, ef I'd bin downed in clean, straight-haired fashion; but to turn loose a mule-battery onto a pore cuss when he wasn’t lookin’, an’ then hev a hull rijiment pile onto him, when he was knocked blind—now I ax ye, is that the pure, *white article?” Burnham was a trifle staggered by this ap- ‘peal, so thoroughly agreeing with his own sen- timents, but under the circumstances he did not care to admit as much. “Them as won’t listen to ca’m reason gine- rally has to do the other thing, an’ putt up with wuss fare. You would stick your nose in whar it wasn’t wanted—” ‘* Didn’t I go fer to pull it out ag’in—say ?”’ “To run an’ tell your mates of the diskivery you'd tumbled onto—which was jest what we scouldn’t ’low.” ‘* But I tole ye I hedn’t got no mates—that I never hed none, but was jest travelin’ the ken- try on my shape—” "Ralph Burnbam impatiently raised his hand and cut short the voluble speech. “You did say that, an’ once tellin’ is good as a thousan’ fer all it comes to. You was lyin’ then, an’ you hain’t got over it yit. White men don’t run loose in these parts withouf they got plenty o’ good backin’. You come on foot, ou don’t kerry no b, nur nogun. You was fresh as new milk when you fust stepped down here, We ain’t quite idjits, ef we do look like it, an’ kin putt one, two, three together as well as though we’d taught school ever sence we was fust weaned, ‘You ain’t travelin’ alone, nur yit on foot- back, You see some sign that sot ye to think- in’, an’ you follered it to this pocket. You made a big diskivery, but it’d bin money into your weasel-skin ef you’d stuck closer to your mates an’ never fazed your cabeza ’bout what ain’t no business 0’ yourn. ‘* But you would do it, an’ when a white offer was made to ye, you kicked it into the fire. Ef you got your hoofs scorched a bit in the flare- up, don’t lay it up agi’n’ us, but set it down to the right a’count: your own bull-cussed- ness!” “ll set it down in big enough print, don’t you borry no trouble on that score, old feller,” dryly uttered Painter, with a slow emphatic nod of his shaggy head and wicked glitter in his ‘Some day Pll use you fer a sponge to wipe it out with, too. But let that go fer jest now. I called yer t0 answer me a easy ques- tion; will ye do it?” “That depends onto its natur’,” was the grave reply “Who was it that keeled me over?” “You wouldn’t know him, if I was to tell ye name,” * Durn the name—jest show me his face, ef he ain't too big a coward to show up before a straight-haired man!” was the impetuous re- sponse, and the tough citizen glared savagely around him, his yellow teeth showing through wats Seay ; ith a careless step, Clay Benedict parted from Bertha, to whom he hed been talking in — ee rc LL > ~ “ a quiet, interested tones, and paused before the prisoner, looking down on him with a smile. ‘* Would you really like to know who wasted good powder and lead on such a_ worthless rascal as Budd Painter, Esquire? If so, turn those gentle orbs in this direction.” ~ Death-Trap Diggings. The Hard Man from ’Way Back gazed steadi- | ly into the handsome, scornful countenance for several seconds, as though desirous of impress- ing each and every feature upon his memory beyond the possibility of mistake, before he spoke: ate You don’t look so much like a fool, but fer all that, a fool ye nust be, or you wouldn’t never show up afore me, a’ter what you done!” ‘‘TIndeed!” sneered the young man. “‘ May I ask why so?” ‘* Beca’se I’ve marked ye—got ye down so fine into my mem’ry-box that I'd know ye ef I see you in Heaven or t’other place, a thousan’ year from now, an’ we never crossin’ each other’s track from this to that! Beca’se [swear to get even with you fer that coward shot when I wasn’t lookin’ at ye, but facin’ odds hefty enough, good Lord knows, without a sneakin’ cur takin’ a side-winder at me from kiver of a woman! Beca’se I’m a man what never fergits good or evil, an’ who makes it a sacred pint o’ honor to pay back all debts in the same coin, with doubie twice over by way o’ interest!” Slowly and deliberately he spoke, each word Fei Sie out clear and distinct and carrying with it the conviction of deadly earnestness. bold though he undoubtedly recklessness—Clay Benedict felt a little thrill of uneasiness as he met that fixed gaze and | detail, listened to that hard, emotionless tone. But only for a moment. ceased speaking, the effect of his words vanished with the echoes. ‘‘ Barking dogs seldom bite, I’ve heard say,” | | | | After a hasty consultation together with his men, the veteran selected two men, and takin their rifles, they left the lake-basin by way o the lower pass. The remainder of the gold-diggers plied their tools with renewed energy, as though trying to make amends for the time they bad lost through the coming of this unwelcome visitor. Over them all seemed to hang a cloud, and many were the glances they cast up at the rock walls, as though expecting to behold other in- truders on their precious domain, now that the golden secret was no Jonger their sole property. It was nearly night 2 bet Ralph Burnham re- turned from his scout, but there was light enough to show his anxious mates that he bore no ee tidings. ““Thar’s a good sized gang in the neighbor- hood,” he said, moodily. ‘*‘ Whether white or red, I couldn’t make out, but it ain’t hard to guess which, lookin’ at that p’izen critter!” CHAPTER IV. A HOT-BLOODED LOVER. To outward seeming, all was going on as usual within the litile valley of gold. At the cus- tomary hour, the diggers knocked off work, and washed themselves up for their evening meal, repared for them by the busy hands of Bertha urnham and Martha Keeble, wife of the hunter of that day. This duly wrestled with and conquered, they lit their pipes, and drawing And | a little apart from the women, discussed the was—bold even to | situation in low, anxious tones. Ralph Burnbam gave his report more in Several miles away from the valley, he had crossed the trail of a body of horsemen. As Budd Painter | That the animals had been mounted, he felt satisfied from the nature of the trail; but the soil was such that he could only guess at their number. It was too late for him to follow up he said, carelessly, turning on bis heel. “Te | his discovery at the time, but he had learned sufficient to strengthen his belief that Budd it interesting for you when you present your Painter had allies in the neighborhood, who ou prove to be an exception, [ll try to make little account.” The bearded lips parted, but Ralph Burnham md ra between, and checked the prisoner. ** Makin’ threats like them ain’t goin’ to do you no good, my man, nur yit git you out o’ this hobble.” “Look here, you!” cried Painter, with sud- den energy, lifting himself toa sitting posture, despite his bonds, his eyes glittering with a red light, his tones hoarse and strained with the powerful emotions he vainly strove to hold in check: ** You come nigher to bein’ a white man then ary other ve see’d sence steppin’ into this in- farnal trap. 1 got jest one thing to ax of ye. Set my han’s free fer bafe an hour. Let meu an’ give me leave to use myself fer that len’t o’ time, an’ [ll be your nigger as long as you ax fer pay. I'll work fer you night an’day. I won't ax any sheer 0’ what I dig. Ill live on one meal a day—I’ll be satisfied with the bones your dog yender gits through with. Ill let you use my mel a er a foot-mop, an’ never kick, Only turn me loose long enough to whisper a little love-song into the ear o’ that high-toned cuss that jest Teft me—it’s all I ax!” Swiftly came the words, so hot and venomous that they seemed to blister the lips they crossed, and tbe prisoner shook and trembled in every fiber, such was his eagerness to gain his point. Clay Benedict wheeled as he heard the words, and cried: ‘Take the fool at his word, Burnham. Turn him loose, since he’s spoiling fora lesson. You can’t find an easier or surer method of getting rid of bim forever.” “I don’t ax no weepons—jest my naked han’s!” grated Painter, flakes of froth tinging his shaggy beard, ‘*‘ Let bim use what he likes; Tll resk the odds! Only turn me loose!” “Cut the thongs, some of you fellows,” quiet- ly uttered Benedict, ‘Give him the tools, and then stand clear.” ‘* Hold!” cried Burnham, as this order was about to be obeyed. ‘ I’m boss, here, I reckon, an’ while I be, it’s my say-so that wants to be listened to. Let them ropes alone. An’ you, lad,” turning wag! upoti Benedict, ‘* want to go kinder slow. ou broke orders once, an’ the next time it won’t come offaseasy, The goin’ to be no fightin’ here, ’thout J do it!” ‘Just as you say,” with a careless shrug of the shoulders. ‘‘[ only thought tolift you easy over the fence, by rubbing that fellow out after his own liking, Since you _won’t have it, take your Own way with him. I’m dune.” “But J ain’t!” snarled Painter, savagely, the great veins swelling on his temples, ‘‘ Sooner or late you an’ me must come together, an’ the reckonin’ won’t be any the lighter fer bein’ putt off—mind that.” Benedict vouchsafed no reply, but picked up his tools and set to work beside one of the rockers, Painter glared at bim for a few moments, then flung himself back with a muttered curse, sul- lenly refusing to answer the questions with which Burnham pelted bim. Not a word more would he utter, and despair- ing of extracting the desired information, Burn- ham had him carried to the scanty shade cast by one of the wagons, and there left. ain’t | rr enn would be tolerably certain to wonder at his prolonged absence, and sooner or later investi- gate its meaning. In hopes of finding the tough citizen in a more pliable humor, Ralph Burnham left his men, and visited the fellow, bearing a little bundle of prepared lint and cloth for bandages. e had already sati:fied himself that Painter was not seriously injured by the bullet sped by Clay Benedict, whose iron nerve and marvelcus skill had served to merely “crease” the Hard Man from ’Way Back, sending the leaden mis- sile tearing its way through the scalp just above the temples, drawing blood profusely, and pro- — ducing a brief insensibility, without causing a! permanent ill effects. | he veteran tenderly washed and bandaged the injury, hoping thus to soften the dogg will of his captive; but his was labor spent in vain. Not a word would Budd Painter speak in response to his questions, though he made no re- sistance to the ministering veteran, nor did a muscle of bis hard-set countenance alter during the inquisitorial process, though the gold-digger watched bim closely, in hopes of reading there the truth or falsity of the conclusions he had drawn concerning mth tS Of all the company, Cla his inward emotions, blandly refusing to take any part in the consultation which followed the _ return of the scouts, ‘Whatever course you decide upon I'll agree - i to, and do my best to back up; butdon’task fle plotting is me to suggest anything, for su altogetber out of my line,” he said, withdraw- ing from the circle of light cast out by the little camp fire, and lazily stretching himself along the sun-warmed sand. But for all that, his senses were never more fully upcn the alert, and his eyes glitte brightly through the peer closed lids, while ~ big lithe limbs were silently drawn up and pipe cast aside, as his watchful gaze was at last % rewarded as he had so ardently hoped, Bertha Burnham left the little tent, and slow-— ly moved away toward the upper end of the valley, with the listless steps of one who bas no — certain destination in view. the case. The air was close and sultry. The heat of the sun still hovered above tb sands and gravel of the golden valley, and unrelieved by the usual night breeze, seemed to parch the throat and fever the blood. From above came the sullen roaring of the water that dashed and swirled through the In fact, such was chute which had been cut for its accommodation, » and the sound itself seemed cooling, soothing, The dark eyes of Clay Benedict glittered viv- rock bar- attracting the young woman almost sciously. idly as be saw her move toward t rier, for he readily divined the attraction, and could he have formed her course, he could have more perfecly suited himself, she divined his presence. A faint cry escaped her lips.as his hand touch- ed her arm, and she shrunk away a trifle before (ECO NMUCG S) JOO y Benedict alone had shown no uneasiness, whatever may have been — cob With an iron will he held bimself in check — until Bertha was fairly clear of the camp, then — glided softly after her, gaining her side before — =<, = ~ 4 a ( = ¢. , ~~ 2 a tay wo Yes 3