Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 257 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

~ Death-Trap Diggings. “Durn the comfort!” growled the tough citi- zen, sullenly. ‘‘Ef you won't turn me loose to git even fer that coward shot, then I hain’t no use fer you. Skin out, an’ Je’ mo ’lone!” ‘‘ Have a little patience, old man, and I pro- mise to give you all the revenge you can get away with,” was the cold retort. ‘‘We will ull out of this hole in a few days, at the fur- thest, and then I’ll fight you bow and where ou elect. In the mean time, I'll see that you bare decent treatment, if you only prove your- self capable of appreciating generosity.” “You kin talk, but I hain’t got no use fer a pizen critter that cain’t or won’t do nothin’ else. Git out an’ le’ me sleep.” But Benedict would not accept the rebuff without a further effort to gain his ends, and smoothly resumed: “You will lose nothing by trusting to my ledge. Iwill try my best to get you set at berty to-morrow, if you will frankly tell me the truth in answer to the questions I have come here to ask you. Is ita bargain?” The Hard Man from ’Way Back hesitated for a few moments before answering, trying to twist bis head around sufficiently for to Took into the face of his visitor. Benedict divincd his wishes, and moved back to his former posi- tion, saying: ‘*Don t try that dirty trick again, or l’il have Mee gagged. Smother your blind, unreasoning tred, and try to realize the truth: that I am more friend than enemy, if you will meet mo half-way.” What is it you want o’ me?” “ Truthful answers to a few plain questions. How did you come here? Wasit blind chance, or had you a suspicion that gold was to be found in this place? How many mates had you? When did you leave them, and where may they be found now? In shori:: want to know all about you and yours.” tow ‘* An’ ef I tell you, you’!] 2-5 me free?’ “Tl do my best,” promptly, eagerly. ‘‘As I told you, it does not rest wholly with me to decide.” ‘* Then you kin peel out as soon as you gits a good ready. lll wait an’ make a barg’in with tue boss, fer I’m bettin’ big money that you’re tryin’ to play me fer a sucker.” he eyes of the young miner glittered an- grily, and he was on the point of utvering a hot reply, when his keen ears caught the sound of footsteps, and glancing in that direction, he saw that Ralph Burnham was approaching the little band congregated around the camp- re. Choking down the words that trembled on the point of his tongue, he arose and glided away among the shadows, Budd Painter was seated so that he could watch those by the fire, and as he recognized the veteran on coming into the circle of light, his eyes glittered, and a half-angry, half-ex- ultant sound escaped his lips. Burnham seemed a little surprised on notic- ing Paul Fisher among the party, and addressed him sharply: ‘*Wasn’t you sot to watch the prisoner, mate?” ‘‘ Which I was doin’, when Benedict come an’ tole me he’d take my place fer a bit, as he wanted to talk a little with the cantankerous critter,” was the prompt reply. His bold brow contracting a trifle, Burnham turned to the spot where the prisoner was sta- tioned, but before he could speak Painter ad- dressed him: ““The man spoke true, old codger, an’ ef you want to blame anybody, spit it out on the dirt cuss that owes me a shot.” bere is he now?” _ ““Gone—stole away like the p’izen sarpint he is, when ho ketched sight o’ you comin’ back. Feared you'd ketch him parleyin’ with me, I reckon.” . ‘“Why shouldn’t he talk with you, if he wants?” 4 ‘Look here, you,” said the Hard Man from *Way Back, oe the free portion of bis body forward and speaking with great earnestness, “T hain’t got no cause to love you, or anybody else in this outfit. a’ter the way l’ve bin treated; but of I’m down on you, I hate that dirty covvard ten thousand times more yit.” ‘That all may be,” was the stern response. ‘*But Benedict only shot you down to save the lives of whiter men. ou hed ought to be thankful that he only creased your thiek skull, ‘stead 0’ borin’ it clean through, as he could ’a’ done a monstrous sight easier.” “ An’ so I be,” laughed the tough citizen, with a grim ferocity that startled the old gold- digger. ‘'So turrible thankful that ef we two ever meet on a even footin’ ag’in, I’m thinkin’ he’ll never git over the dose o’ gratitude I’ve swore to ram-jam down bis thrapple!” *f reckon the lad’ll get a mouthful or two, while you’re makin’ a equar’ meal. He ain’t no slouch, when it comes to hot vittles o’ that sort. But it’s you an’ him for it.” “‘Mebbe you cain't see as fur through a knot- bole as you think, an’ mebbe you don’t know the beer critter as weel as you ‘low you do. Boss, told you [ hedn’t overly much cause fer to love you or yours; but hatin’ him so much wuss, I'll give yea little hint fer ye to chaw on to- nigh*, ‘That whelp come here an’ told me he’d see that I was sot free in the mornin’, ef I would treat him as a fri’nd, an’ tell him who-all was my mates, an’ whar be mougbt find ’m.” ‘‘ f made you the same offer in the fust place.” “‘ But not the same way /e done it,” earnestly replied the prisoner, “Thar was the devil in his eyes an’ in bis voice as he spoke, though ho tried hard enough to hide ’em over, an’ not let me smoke what he was tryin’ to git at. ‘*] don’t know whether you’ve given him any cause fer to hold a grudge ag’inst you all; but this I do know, an’ ’m ready to take my oath that you'll find I've hit the bull’s-cye plum’ center, too; that man isa cussed snake in the grass. He wants to find ont ef J hed any mates, so he kin sell you out to them. Watch him cluss, an’ you’ll sec that I’m right.” Ralph Burnham laughed, in quiet scorn. ‘*T don’t say you’re hatchin’ all this up, my man; but I reckon you've let your hatc ag’inst the lad p’izen your jedgment. Hot an’ rash the boy may be, but I’d lay my bead on his truth, an’ honor, an’ squar’ dealin’ with his fri’nds.” ‘Df that piller don’t give you the wust night- mare out o’ jail, then L don’t know my head from a hole in the ground—thbat’s all!” grunted the tough citizen, settling back into bis former nosition with an air of utter disgust. Ralph Burnham called Paul Fisher to resume his duty, then turned toward his tent. But before he roached this, he was met by Clay LBenodict, who spoke in a low, grave tone: ‘‘T have been looking for you, old friend. May I havo a fow moments’ conversation with you? I havo a confession to make before | can think of sleeping this night.” ‘*Sure, lad,” kindly returned the veteran. ‘*Tt does my old heart good to hear you talk in that tone so different from what you used a bit ago. Not that i’m blamin’ ye—” ‘* You have a right to blame me, old friend— none better, for 1 have wronged both you and yours, by my insane conduct this night,” gloom- ily said the young gold-digger, slowly moving away from the tents in company with the vet- ran, ‘** At first I could not bring myself to acknowl- edge es much, for then my brain was stillin a whirl and all confused by the terrible revelation Ber— your daughter made.” ‘‘T could kick myself from here to Californy fer not makin’ it all plainer to ye, lad, when the little gal told me,” muttered Burnham, in a tone of sincere regret. ‘‘I thought you onderstood it, an’ we didn’t want the folks to know too much, fer Berthy was kind o’ tetchy on the sub- jec’, an’ didn’t like the idee o’ bevin’ to make so many explanifications.” ‘‘] can understand that. I am not blaming either heror you. My conduct bas been such that [have no right to do so. Not that I am ashamed of baving fallen in love with her,” he quickly added. ‘‘ That is no disgrace to any man, and though I know now that she can never be anytbing closer to me than a friend, I can ape say that I would far rather bave her friendship than the best love of any other wo- man the sun shines on. But let that pass, for now. _‘*T sought you out to make full and free confes- sion, leaving you to say whether I have forever forfeited my old standing with you and yours. “Though she may have believed what she said, your daughter was mistaken in the ac- count she gave you. Whenshe to'd me she was already a wife, [ believe I went crazy, though I can now recall every word I said, every move | made in those terrible moments. “Tam not rok to justify myself to you, more than by telling the simple truth, but I do ask you to bear in mind my overpowering Jove for her—to remember how insanely I idolized your daughter. I would have died for her sake, and counted it a blessed boon. I felt that life, with her to sbareit, would be rore than heaven; without ber, worse than hell itself! ‘‘In my madness, I fancied she bad lured me on—hzd sought to make me love only to display her power—and I ey to avenge my wrongs. She did not slip and fall, nor did I tumble into the race while endeavoring to save her, “T caught ber in my arms and held her over the water, threatening to burl ber in, to death. Whetherin my madness I vould have carried my threats into execution I cannot say now, though I cannot bring myself to believe it, now my brain has had time to grow cooler; but I was making the threat when Vernon Curtis came to the rescue, and with a blow of bis fist, knocked me headlong into the race, at the same time tearing your daughter from my grasp.” He paused abruptly, bis voice so husky with powerful emotion as to prevent further utter- ance. Ralph Burnham took his band, pressing it warmly, bis voice grave as he spoke: You must ’a’ bin mad, lad, clean crazy; but it’s past now, an’ we won’t rake it up no more,” ‘There is more to tell,” said Benedict, recov- ering his powers of speech. “ When your daughter joined our hands in there, I refused to return the clasp, for in my blind folly 1 fancied she favored him above me—and why should she not? ‘*T can see the truth, now that I am calmer, and a part of the reparation I have set myself, is to go and frankly ask his pardon. Will you accompany me?” ‘Won't I?” ejaculated the honest old miner, his voice betraying the great satisfaction he felt. ‘‘I’d walk from here to the blessed moon an’ back ag’in without bite or sup, jest to fetch all things back ag’in as they was afore this pesky misonderstandin’ come up. Let’s go. He’s up on the dam,” Clay Benedict followed the eager old man, and in a few moments they stood face to face with Vernon Curtis, whose turn it was to guard tho waters. Hastily Ralph Burnham explained the cause of their visit, wishing to make the reconciliation as casy a task for Clay as lay in his paves and there, near the spot where one man had hurled the other to what seemed must be cerfain death, their hands were joined in a warm, firm rip. , Good lads, both o’ ye!” exclaimed Burn- ham, taking their bands into bis honest grip. ‘You cain’t neither o’ ye feel gladder that it’s all settled so nice, then 1 be—not a mite—fer I like ye both as though you was my own sons, an’ I’m only sorry I hain’t got two more little gals, jest like Berthy, so Lcould give ’em to you to make you happy forevermore.” Another hand-clasp, then the two men re- turned to camp, leeving Vernon Curtis to keep his lonely watch on the dam, CHAPTER VII. BIRDS OF A FEATHER, FATE had so decided it that Clay Benedict was to act as forager for the little company cf gold-diggers on the day which next tollowed the unwelcome vi-it of the Hard Man from ’'Way Back, and with the prospect of a long journey still before them, ere they could reach their destination, it was not deemed advisable to cease their efforts to procure fresh meat to eke out their failing stock of provisions, Many and earnest were the warnings given the hunter by honest old Ralph Burnham, and with a grave, chastened expression upon his pale countenance, Clay Benedict listened as to the speech of an oracle, then promised to bear it all in mind. ‘* Don’t let off your gun jest fer the fun o’ smellin’ powder, Jad, nur afore ye git a idee o’ who they mought be inside o’ ear-range,” he added earnestly, just before parting with the young man who, since bis frank and bumble confession of wrong-doing of the past ght was doubly dear to his honest old heart, ‘‘ We'd ruther live on wind puddin’ a day or two than to hev anythin’ happen to you, to say nothin’ o’ bevin’ a wheen 0’ cusses like that crooked stick over yender come swaggerin’ down onto us, to bother our work, an’ like’s not kick upa bloody rumpus.” Possible it was because of this warning that Clay Benedict suffered several good chances for killing game to pass unimproved that day. Whethor or no, such was the case, and had any curious eyes been watching his movements that morning, it wou'd bave been remarked that, in- stead of seeking game in the low lying and shel- tered valleys the bunter kept to the highest land i rocky points as though with the idea of extending bis scope of vision. The forenoon was well spent before he made any discovery that appeared to give him satis- faction. His eyes glittered, bis pele cheeks flushed, and his white teeth showed themselves beneath bis black mustacbe as be drew a small compass from his pocket and proceeded to take the direction of—not deer or elk or other quarry | for the bunter’s rifle, but a dim, uncertain line of blue smoke, slowly ascending through the al- most motionless atmosphere. Descending the peak, Clay Benedict lost sight of the smoke, but that caused bim scant uneasi- ness, for he knew that an occasional glance at his compass would set him aright and prevent his straying widely until he again sighted the —s signal in which he felt such a deep inter- est. His rapid pace slackened as he drew nearer to the spot from whence the smoke arose, and at length he was almost crawling along upon his stomach, taking advantage of every point of cover that presented itself, pausing frequently to peer out from beneath some bush or shrub, more than once backing fcr a considerable dis- | tance to take another course “hich struck him as being more favorable to his hopes, Caution enough to have satisfied Ralph Burn- bam, could that worthy have witnessed the maneuvers of his young mate, though the vet- eran might have felt like chiding the daring youngster for venturing still closer to what was undoubtedly the encampment of a party of white men, and thus endangering their precious secret of golden treasure. The camp was situated in a secluded tittle . rf valley, surrounded on all sides by rugged recks and gravelly steeps which were relieved only by i scattering patches of juniper and stunted fir with here and there a creeper or ashen sage. 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