Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 289 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

— ~~. all — _—_—_—_——_—_—— ‘Western cities; buf he had never tasted any- thing like that Madeira. It was mellow and fruity beyond anything that he had supposed to be possible in wine, He expressed bis surprise and delight by looks, rather than by words, ‘Yes, that is what you may call wine,” said the old man, answering his luok. ‘ft must be very old,” observed Fred. Old? Well, I should say so. Does your mem- ory bappen to reach back to the time of Lafitte. young man?” ‘The buccaneer of Baritaria Bay? Scarcely.” ‘**Tbat wine reaches back to his time, though. It was one of his prizes.” Fred’s astonishment was increased after sup- per, when he glanced over the books in the room, They were all scientific works, mostly treat- ing of beasts, birds, fishes and plants, and they ‘showed the marks of constant use. Who could those two people be, who lived there like hermits, in that jog cabin in the midst of a swamp, and apparently in poverty and iso- lation, zs were deeply read in science, and could set before a transient guest wine that was easily worth ten dollars a bottle? Of course they were cranks. There could be no other answer to the conundrum. ‘‘And so Leon Delarosse is home again, and has brought to the old plantation a fine new nephew,” said the o'd man, musingly, as he smoked his pipe and gezed at the embers on the hearth, No one interrupted his train of thought, and he went on: ‘* Well, there are many fools in this world, and many sorts of fools. L son Delarosse is one of the well-meaning kind. He means well, but, oh! what a pile of sense he lacks! Because be thinks he has no kin in the world but one, be has to go to France and find a nephew, the only son of hisdead brother—the brother who hated and despised him. That is too good a thing to be kept in such a corner of the world as this is, It ought to be published everywhere. Have you seen that nephew, Mr. Henning?’ Flush Fred explained how he had made the Geanerotaner of Leon Delarosse and his nephew aul, In response to the old man’s request he de- ‘scribed the appearance of the nephew and his wn impressions concerning him. “Just so,” said the old man. ‘ Just what smight have been expected. Fools are bound to do the work of fools, and nothing else. But it is none of my business. Do you think you could bave the patience to worry through a few games of cards with an old man, Mr. Henning?’ Fred bad the patience and thee:rds, and both ‘were at the service of his queer host. Gat of deference to the old man, who was a ‘reai curiosity in his eyes, he played so as to lose occasionally, and the other’s delight when he won was quite amusing. “ You see that I haven’t forgotten how to play,” he said. ‘“‘I am rusty, butthe old knowl- edge sticks to me yet. Ah! I used to bea rare hand at play in the old days when dollars and doubloons were all one to me,” Fred Henning wondered what those old days were, but was unwilling to offend the host by dnguisitiveness. _ Lbey were immersed in their game when the hound suddenly jumped up with a growl, and ‘then made the walls of the cabin’ fairly shake with bis thunderous bark. San! Stiner rushed to a rack and took down a rifl+; and the old man rose hastily and groped for a carbine, Fiush Fred was astonished. He wondered what was the matter, but was content to wait and see, The barking of the dog was stilled by Saul; but he continued to growl heavily as voices outsi !e could be indistinctly heard, “They mean business this time, dad,” re- amarked Saul. ** Are they robbers?” asked Fred. ‘*T reckon they are, and I reckon some of ’em will get hurt.” Fred drew his revolver, and made sure that it was in good working order. Suddenly a heavy blow struck the door, as if the end of a battering ram had been forced against it, Sul put his hand on the stout oaken bars. ‘What are you going to do?’ demanded the oldman | ‘J don’t mean to let em spoil my new door,” answered 8 ul. He removed the bar hastily, and at the next blow the door flew wide open. Instantly the old man Opened fire with bis ‘carbine, and Saul with his rifle, and Fred Hen- ning, stepping forward between them, dis- charg’d chamber after chamber of his revolver through the open door. There was nothing to fire at, apparently, but a clump of darkness. It was a moving clump, though, and the shots told upon it so that it broke up and scattered, with shouts, yells and screams, and ‘there was no effective answer to the firing from within. 2 By the time Fred Henning had emptied the y ' «24 : 7 : 7 pe ’ beng, *, * 4 - + _ a) | “eA EAL Rit. Te a ; a oe 4 ae. 9 Le eal S %) : f 4 Weseia’? ~ s ee Se ee te - oe six chambers of his revolver it was evident that the assailants had been put to flight. Saul Stiner made a sign to the dog, which had lain crouched near the door, and with a savage growl Satan sprung out into the dark- ness, The next moment there wasa cry of agony, and nothing more was heard. While Fred Henning was recharging his re- volver, and the old man was attending to bis carbine, Saul was lighting a lantern, and when it was ready he led the way outside. On the ground in front of the door were et th splotches of blood, showing that at east one of the marauders had been badly burt there, “ The searchers followed the trail of bloed, which led around the corner of the cabin toward the western end of the little island. At a little distance from the door they found the body of a burly negro, who was quite dead. An examination showed that two bullets had struck him, and his lacerated throat told the rest of the story. Attempting to drag himself away after his companions, Satan had caught him and pulled Flush Fred’s Full Hand. | | | 5 ‘* There is the house, Mr. Henning,” said one. ‘‘ Won’t you step in with me, Saul, and rest a little?” ‘*No, sir. I can’t go in there.” * Why not?’ ‘* Dad bas some kind of a prejudice against it, and [ mustn’t worry bim.” ‘* But it will make a long tramp for you, if you go straight back home.” ‘‘That don’t bother me a bit.” ‘*] wish I could make you some sort of a pre- sent, Saul.” ‘* But you can’t, Mr. Henning. You got me out of a scrape at Natchez, and you fought for us last night, and that ought to satisfy you. Geuthy; Me Henning, and may good luck go with you and stick to you!” ‘Remember me kindly to ycur father, Saul, and take care of yourself.” Leon Delarosse got up and looked earnestly at Fred Henning as he entered the gate. ete he put on his glasses and took another ook. Then he threw away his cigar, and ran down the steps with almost youthful agility to meet | the new-comer. him down, and his death-cry was what bad been | heard in the cabin. The hound was howling at the end of the island, and Saul ran there with the lantern. ‘*There they go!” said he. ‘‘They came ina boat.” Fred looked in the direction pointed out to him, but saw nothing, though he heard the rapid dipping of oars in the distance, He did not exactly throw himself into the arms of Flush Fred, but reached out both bis hands to bim, and greeted him most beartily. Fred was impressed by the evident genuine- ness of the old gentleman’s hospitable welcome, and responded to it in bis most genial manner. Mr. Satsrous led bim up on the veranda, when some vigorous stamping and yelling | brought a colored servant, to whom lavish The marauders bad been badly burt, and | frightened even worse than they were burt, Nothing remained to be done out there, and the two men returned with the bound to the. cabin, where Saul barred the door, and bis father proposed to renew the game, as if noth- ing unusual had happened, ** Somebody has lost a stout field hand,” re- marked Henning. The old man shook his head, ‘* Perhaps he was lost a long time ago,” said Saul. “There are niggers in the Louisiana swamps who ran away long ago, and their own- ers have given them up.” ‘*Do you suppose they were all niggers who attacked you to-night?” ‘Very likely there were white men among them,” ** Are you often troubled in this way?” ‘* Not often; but we have been bothered some, The scamps have a notion that we keep money bere. We look like it, now, don’t we? ‘‘That must make an unpleasant life for you here,” “ Well, it is one kind of a life, Ireckon we had better go to bed, dad, as Mr. Henniag will want to take an early start in the morning.” CHAPTER VI. FLUSH FRED AT GRAVELLY BAYOU. GRAVELLY Bayou, the bome and plantation of Leon Delarosse, took its name from a small body of water, too sluggish to be called a stream, which formed part of its southern boundary, and had its origin in the main bayou that stretched north and south for a consider- able distance. There was a tradition that a bank of gravel had once been age aa nobody could imagine how it got there. If so, it had long since disappeared, There was another tradition that a certain Major Gravelly had been the original settler there, and had given his name to the bayou. However that may be, Gravelly Bayou was a beautiful and a valuable pe well kept up, well stocked, and well worked by an effi- cient force of slaves headed by an excellent overseer. . The house was Only two stories in hight, but was roomy and spacious, and all around it was a broad veranda, which could be closed in on two sides by falling blinds of canes, The grounds were beautifully laid out, with an abundance of flowering plants and shrubs, and semi-tropical fruits were there in abund- ance, and the Virginia creeper, evidently a special favorite, hung its scarlet blossoms over the house and everywhere, At a little distance from the house were neat orders were hastily given. A table was speedily brought forth, followed by mint, sugar, bottles and glasses, with a sup- | | ply of cigars, and the two men seated then- selves in easy-chairs, while Mr. Delarosse pro- ceeded to perform the duties of hospitality by mixing juleps, ‘* | suppose you would think I was exaggerat- ing,” said be, ‘Sif 1 should tell you bow giad I really am to see you. I[t is not only because it is you, but because almost any company would be acceptable to me in my loneliness. hen I was sure that it was you, | was so rejoiced that I almost jumped out of my boots.” Fred Henning sipped his julep, praised its coolness, and fragrance and flavor, and won- dered a little at the old gentleman’s extrava- gant expressions, “Ob, it is exactly so,” declared Mr. Dela- _rosse, ‘‘and I could say much more if I would, | 1 have been dying to see somebody, and there js | | | | | | ' ' | whitewashed negro quarters, and all the out- | buildings spoke of thrift, anda broad field of | promising sugar-cane stretched away toward the east. Indeed, taken altogether, Gravelly Bayou was a lovely residence and a profitable plantation, the owner of which might well be an object of envy. Yet the present proprietor, on the veranda, smoking a cigar after a late breakfast, appeared to be lonely and dispirited, | nobody I would rather see than you,” Fred looked over the lovely grounds, and | across to the shining water of the bayou, and doubtless thought that a reasonable man ought be able to enjoy life in that Paradise, ‘‘Ts it possible that you are so lonely here?” he asked, : ‘* Lonely is no name for it, Mr. Henning. I am positively being bored to death. The fact — is that l have been out in the big vorld formore than three years, traveling bere and there, and visiting all the big cities and show places in this country and Europe, It is only natural that when | get back to the solitude of Gravelly Bayou I should find the change a great one, and fora time quite depressing. I could stand it better if 1 had company to cheer me up; but few le care to visit a Jone old man,” ‘‘But you have your nephew here, I sup- pose?’ suggested Fred. ‘‘He ought to be com- pany fcr you, and to bring company to the house.” Mr. Delarosse shook bis head sadly, and a frown gathered on his brow. : ‘You are right about that, my friend,” said — he. “‘A young man like Paul ought to be com- pany for his old uncle, and ought to attract company to such a house as this, where he can entertain them as he pleases. But the serious fact is that he is not company for me, and that he brings no company here, chiefly because he is generally away from home.” Fred Henning mildly expressed his surprise_— at this state of affairs, ‘*[t is just so,” continued the eld gentleman, “When I brought him here he was bighly pleased witb the place, or pretended to be, and seemed to take such a lively interest in the plantation that 1 thought he was going to be a fine helper for me, as well as a pleesant com- panion. But after awbile be began to grow dis- contented and restless, and then be insisted upon going away, to New Orleans, I believe. He said that he needed clothes, though 1 am sure he had plenty. “IT supplied Lim with money, and he was pbout tuo weeksaway. When he came back he brought no new clothes to speak of, though he as he sat alone had spent al) bis money. ‘He moped around here for a while, but took no interest in anything. 1 had got a bil- While he was gazing sadly and somewhat liard table for him, and had hoped that he wistfully into vacancy, bis vision fell on two would visit among the neighbors; but it was men who were walking toward the house. no pleasure to him to play billiards with such He could easily see that one of them was well | an old fellow as 1 am, and the neighborhood dressed and apparently a stranger, and the knew notbing of Puul Delarosse, other was without doubt one of the poor whites or swamp suckers of the neighborhood. They halted at the gate that led into the grounds immediately attached to the house. ‘“He had not been home a week when he | wanted to gooff again, and away he went, with very little ceremony. He did not tell me when he would return, and has not had the polivenesa. in > ‘S, a Gomicboo —" . a