Beadle's Dime Library No. 27 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

a re a i i i i es: | tall ee - 26 ——$_$__—__ > filing the air with its strong incense, Ernestine be- came the wife of Blackie. O’Shane rubbed his hands in delight as the newly- made husband kissed his fair young bride, and whis- pered in Elbert’s ears: “Isn't that illigant? UGedad! it’s worth a hundred dollars to me to see that smack, d’ye mind?” and he nudged Van Tromp in the side, facetiously. Blackie little thoursht as he kissed the fresh and dewy lips of his fair young bride—and for the mo- ment the image of Rosaline’s beautiful face floated before him—that the two girls were half-sisters. And the old lawyer who had trapped John Blaine so nicely in the past, never guessed that the cool and heartless adventurer, not only had two, but three wives, all at the same time, and not one of the women but believed that she alone possessed his whole heart. When Chocolate returned home on the evening that Blaine had been surprised by the police, Mary could no longer keep the secret, and to Chocolate she confided all her trouble, but made the girl prom- ise that she would not reveal it either to Stewart or to her own lover. She visited Blaine in the Tombs, but he kissed her forehead and forbade her ever to come and see him again, “Think that I am dead, and marry the man you love,” he said, as he bid her good-by: *T shall never trouble you, and you need never tell him that i area daughter of the felon, John Blaine. Tell im that both your parents died in Virginia.”’ But Mary was too honest a girl to deceive the man she loved. She was the daughter of a convict, and not fit to be his wife. The second she told him, the first she kept back = Stewart wondered what the terrible secret could Then came the news of Blaine’s escape; it leaked out in spite of the efforts of the prison officials to keep it secret. Chocolate jum for doy. She thought that now Mary would yield to Stewart’s wish. The little woman was getting impatient; she was putting off her own wedding in hopes that Mary would get ready to be married at the sameé time, but still the girl refused. Winter slowly passed away, and Mary remained obstinate, on it was plain to Chocolate that she was gradu y yiel . One evening in the early part of March, as the two girls sat chatting to- gether, Chocolate as usual trying to persuade Mary be happy, a middle-aged man, evidently a seaman by profession, knocked at the door and inquired for iss M Martin. Chocolate, who had answered the knock, invited him in and introduced him to = repare yourself, miss, for some bad news,” he gaid. ‘I'm second officer of the steamer Ontario. Your father, John Martin, sailed with us on our last voyage to Brazil, and on the way out, miss, we had very rough weather, and your father was sickly, suffering from an old wound, miss, and he caught cold in it, and—” the sailor hesitated in some little confusion. “Go on, sir,” Mary urged, rising in her excite- ment. “wen won't see him any more, miss,” he bl ut, in his honest, seamanlike way. Just a single gasp Mary gave, and then she sunk fainting into her chair. “Don't be frightened, sir; she’s only fainted!” Chocolate cried, springing to her friend’s assist- ance. “Lord, miss, I hope I haven't killed her!’’ the sailor cried. F “Oh, no, sir; she’s coming to, now," Chocolate said, in her brisk way. ‘*T was kinder rough about it, but I spun it out the best way I knew how. I was with him when he died, and he asked me as a last favor if I'd find out his danghter and tell her of his death, and give her this little parcel.” Then the gentleman took asmall sealed packet out of his pocket and laid it on the table. Chocolate thanked him and the sailor retreated. When Mary revived she examined the packet. It contained some two thousand dollars in bills, the contributions of Ernestine and Rosaline to give John Blaine a new start ina foreign land. A few lines, evidently penned by a feeble hand on a little scrap of paper, accompanied the bills: " aang. before you read this I shall be food for fishes. You can now marry the man you love. I send you what little fortuneI have. Forget me as soon as possible, JouHN BLAINE.” The second officer of the good steamship Ontario had little idea of the value of the packet he carried from the dying man to the girl in the tenement-house, or of the happiness which his news was the means of creating. Stewart pleaded no longer in vain, and Chocolate ymade Weathers supremely happy by throwing her arms around his neck, declaring that she loved him a great deal better than he did her, and that she was ready to get married whenever he pleased. Three girls, happy in the transports of love, and the fourth finding peace and rest, ministering to the poor and afflicted. The Virginian, Campbell, sleeps quietly in an un- marked grave, “‘life’s fitful fever’’ o’er; and the sailor’s son, wild, reckless, handsome, cold-hearted John Blaine, lies a hundred fathoms deep beneath the rolling wave. THE END. ‘duroy. Beadle’s Dime Library. Three-Fingered Jack, The Road-Agent of the Rockies; THE BOY MINER OF HARD LUCK. BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, Jr. CHAPTER I. A ROAD-AGENT IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. ‘“HALT, there! Move a finger and I'll fill you so full of holes that your carcass won’t hold wa- ter! The words rung out clear and distinet upon the morning air, rendered doubly significant by the sharp, metallic click-click, telling of one or more firearms being prepared for instant use. The traveler promptly obeyed, in so far that he halted abruptly, the clear, mellow whistle with which he was beguiling his way ceasing as suddenly, while his eyes turned instinctively to- ward the dense clump of bushes from whence had issued the startling mandate. And, though his bronzed cheek grew a thought paler, his right hand quickly closed upon the revolver butt at his Ke None of that—keep your hands free, or there’ll be a feast for the black vultures right where you stand now!” sharply added the same voice. ‘‘ Thank your feeling in a comfortable humor to-day, else a brace of bullets would have ordered your halt, instead of my sweet voice. You see—we are five to one—and that one a baby.” ‘*Baby or not—give me half a show and [ll fight the lot—but no! youskulk behind cover and shoot down honest men from behind—” ‘““Don’t they grow men bigger than that, where you came from?” and, grinning with the ace of a snarling coyote, the speaker emerged rom his covert. There was a strong contrast between the two, thus confronting each other. The traveler was a trifle below the medium hight of man, and seemed rather ‘ chunky ” in build, though that was in part the effect of his heavy, ill-fitting miner’s suit of woolen and cor- In the chaste language of the P. R., he was one who would ‘peel well.” His face though bronzed by sun and wind, was tinged with pink and white. This, added to the soft fu own—not unlike that upon a peach—shad- ing his upper lip and along his Ay ie gave him a schoolboyish air, not calculated to inspire awe in the breast of a rough ‘forty-niner,” or a knight of the road such as now confronted the lad. But there was an ee around the clear-cut, red lips, a s y glitter in the full blue eye that indicated more than appeared up- on the surface. The laughing outlaw was tall, rising six feet, of a gaunt, bony and angular build, yet appar- ently active and supple as a mountain lion. A livid scar transversed his face, which had cut into and distorted the vision of one eye. A straggling, wiry black beard and mustache, long locks of greasy hair, a torn and blood-stain- ed suit of Mexican garments, a belt fairly brist- ling with knives and revolvers, a straight-bladed, two-edged sword hanging naked at his hip, a long “ Kentuck rifle” in his hand—such was the ‘* outfit ” of the road-agent. “What do you want with me, anyhow?” sharply demanded the youth, his eyes Bowing at the taunt. “If you area thief, you've struc a blind lead here. I’m ‘shoal on the bar’— haven’t got dust enough to buy a square meal—” ‘We're after bigger game, baby—but you'll do to help pass away the time while waiting. As for gold—lI’ve slit many a man’s weasand for love—just to see the red blood gurgle and flow— I love it! It’s mother’s milk to me—dearer than all the red gold—” His wolfish face became inflamed, his little eyes glowed and snapped, and one hand clutched nervously at his throat. The young man start- ed, with a little cry. ‘ Three-Fingered Jack!” “ Ay! Manuel Garcia, or Three-Fingered Jack, as they call me,” said the outlaw, proudly, hold- ing up his mutilated hand. ‘‘ You have heard of me! ‘‘T have—and I would give a year of my life to stand face to face with you, equally armed and with none of your cowardly coyotes around to aid you!” cried the miner, with intense bitter- ness, as he sprung back a pace and half drew a revolver. But his desperate resolve was promptly frus- trated. A pair of sinewy arms were wound around him from behind, and a chuckling out- law held him helpless, clear of the ground, de- spite his furious struggles. Then Garcia ee ing ferociously, drew a knife and signed for his comrade to loosen his hold. ‘« Ts it worth while, Jack?” interrupted a third outlaw. ‘‘He is not worth the plucking, and there is no honor to be gained by a man’s killin ing a baby in knife-play.” ‘* You are 2 Cardoza—and I was a fool for minding his icks, Bring him under cover, Jim; we will settle what to do with him there.’ tron saint that we are © —— The captive was borne into the bushes, and there deposited in the center of the ring formed by the five outlaws. ance, and quietly submitted. trace of fear to be read in his clear eye, nor up- on his boyish face, though the conversation of the quintette was any thing but comforting, ‘* It’s been two days since I had a fresh drink,” muttered Three-Fingered Jack, playing thought- fully with his knife. ‘* And my bullet-pouch is clean wored out,” chimed in Mountain Jim, the renegade Kentuck- ian. ‘‘ His hide looks kinder tender, and—think it’ll answer, boys?” ‘Bah! he laughs at you—see!” interrupted the fourth, a little smoke-dried scoundrel, Sloman full title would fill a column, but who was known to ‘‘the family” as “ The Scorcher,” from an incident well known in Sonora. ‘‘ We must put our heads together and devise some- thing extra for this mighty—” i Jrop it all,” peremptorily cried Three-Fin- ers. ‘‘ We'll have our sport and turn it to profit, aswell, As for you, young sir—listen to me. The mutilated outlaw changed his position to one more_.easy, and while his keen eyes were peering at the young miner through his shaggy eyebrows, he lazily sliced the earth and moss witl, his knife. “T don’t know why I don’t slit your throat and be done with it—that’s more in my line, and mayhap I'll do it yet—I make no promises, un- less you choose to take the one chance which Tm going to offer you. Isuppose you’re what is called honest?” “Suppose what you please—but understand one thing. You learn nothing from me until I see what you are driving at. Play with your cards on the table, and maybe Pll take a hand San 1%, ‘¢ Knock the impudent cur in the head!” growl- ed Mountain Jim. : ‘‘ What’s your name?” continued Garcia, with- out noticing the ruffian. “‘ Little Volcano,” shortly replied the prisoner. ‘Good enough! Now listen. You have heard of us; you know what we are. Naturall enough we don’t like those whom the world ca honest men—they are fools and cowards, ever one. They either don’t know enough to be road- agents, or else they are afraid of the conse- quences. You don’t seem to be either. You would be an honor to our family—when you grow a little older—” “Thank you for nothing!” sneered the young miner. ‘If youhadn’t taken such care to tie my hands, ’d give you an answer that you couldn’t mistake.” With remarkable forbearance for him, Garcia laughed quietly. He had decided upon his course and was not to be driven from it. : If not resigned to his fate, | he realized the utter folly of attempting resist- | Yet there was no | “Don’t borrow trouble—we don’t pick up re-— cruits for our noble army so carelessly. ou couldn’t join us if you begged till all was blue, for youre an American and our master haste them as the devil does holy water. Lucky you fell into my hands instead of his!” ‘‘ Yes—report says you are a model of hu- manity!” and the blue eyes glowed with angr’ hatred as he recalled the horrible tales told of this blood-stained devil in human shape. ‘Let that pass. This iswhatI mean; I'll give you one chance for life, If you refuse it, say your prayers beforehand, You won’t have time after. ou understand?” “Clear as mud! I may understand better when you tell me the rest,” coldly replied Little Voleano. ‘‘T said you'd make a good road-agent, with ractice. If you make me lie, so much the worse or you. You see yonder trail? It leads to the town of Hard Luck. There are not many travel- ers along it, except by sta So much the bet- ter for you, since you must stop and go through the first ger who chances along, or else have your throat slit as you lie.” The four outlaws who had been listening rather impatiently to the somewhat prosy ex- atc of their comrade, here expressed their f _— at the novel entertainment promised em, “It'll be better’n a dog-fight, won’t it?” chuckled Mountain Jim, nudging Cardoza with meen it th grim only shows fight,” ad ‘‘ Yes—if the pilgrim only shows fight,” ad- ded that worth = : ‘* Well, which is it?’ demanded Three- er- ed Jack, as he turned toward the prisoner, ‘The knife or—?’ << s “Let me think—there’s no one in sight yet,” muttered Little Voleano, ina low, strained voice. ‘“-You know the consequences. I don’t care, myself, how you decide,” carelessly added Gar- cia. as he rolled over, and producing a deck of rate cards from his bootleg, the party were soon deeply interested in the beauties of monte. Little Volcand—as he had given his name— watched them moodil the least, a Ss ain e predicament into which he had fallen. Joaquin Murieta and his gang of cutthroats and footpads were then a power in the land, carrying matters with a high hand, writing their names in letters of blood through- out the Golden State, here to-day, there to-mor- Eboo enough. It was, to say com cS A f com»