Beadle's Dime Library, Vol. III, No. 29 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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far enough away to venture into the presence of men. Hechose a large city, as the place where he would be least likely to attract notice. Here he pro- cured a hat and coat at a second-hand clothier’s with the money given him by Florence at parting. While he was making the purchase, the merchant whispered to a little girl who was playing at the door. She went into the back part of the house, and presently a villainous-looking fellow came lounging in, and glanced furtively at I"red. With his heart in his mouth, Fred left the store. It was night; but he had not walked half a dozen blocks before he discovered that he was followed. Then began a series of maneuvers similar to those with which Cecil Beaumont had sought to shake off the emissaries of Tiger Dick. : With life as the stake we are all cunning. After vain endeavors to elude the man, who was doggin his footsteps, Fred drew him to a deserted part o the city; then started on a run and darted around a corner. Instantly he turned and crouched down in the shadow, at the very angle of the building. He had in his pocket the pistol with which Florence had tried to shoot the roustabout. As his pursuer came to the corner, Fred leaped upon him and dealt him a blow with the butt of the pistol that felled him in- sensible to the ground. Fred looked up, and on the building within reach of his hand was a poster, giving a description of him and offering a reward for his apprehension. Shuddering he fled away and out of the city. Two days later, footsore with weary marches and sick from expbsure and insufficient food, he crept into a little hamlet and waited at the railway sta- tion for the train bound for the far West, in whose trackless wilderness he hoped to bury himself be- yond the vengeance of his fellow-men. While he sat in the waiting-room, two men saun- tered along the platform and stopped opposite the open window, ‘Five hundred dollars reward!’’ exclaimed one. Bg but that 'u'd set us up in business in fine style!’ XY Sich plums don’t drop inter a feller’s mouth jest fur the hankerin’ arter 'em, not by a long shot!”’ replied the other. “-Twon't do no hurt to try fur it,”’ said the first speaker. ‘I’m goin’ ter look at every stranger until I kin see el’ar through him.” ; Fred waited for no more; but stepping out of the depot on the other side, and keeping the buildin between him and the men whom he had overheard, he gained a clump of trees and ran as hard as he could for half an hour. Then he stopped and lis- tened. He was alone, with no sound but the sighing of the wind through the tree-tops. Breathing more freely after his narrow escape, he again took up his weary march. Onward puxovgh the night he staggered, battling the reckless de- spondency that prompted him to seek food and rest, even at the risk of being captured and taken back. When the first streak of morning tinted the eastghe sunk almost lifeless into a clump of undergrowth, and was soonina slumber. But even there he was not free; for his sleep was haunted by horrible dreams. The sun was an hour high, when two villainous- looking men might have been seen following the trail of Fred Powell. They were the men whom he had seen at the railway station, and none. other than our old friends, McFarland and O’Toole. ase say, "Toole, don’t you think we've ‘Sptonie this ame about long enough? We can drop him off the ooks anywhere out here, and nobody but the crows will know what became of him.” _ “Faith, ’'ve thramped to me heart’s contint, me jewel! If ye say quits, whoi quits it is.” “That settles the matter. We'll make crow-bait of him inside o’ twenty-four hours. Then, Mr, Tiger Dick, old hoss, git ready the beer-money, for we’re a-comin’!” — ee an hour afterward, they came upon Fred sleeping. : “fist! warned McFarland; ‘‘he’s taking a snooze.”’ _ He parted the bushes and looked in upon him, It was a sad spectacle that met the rufflan, Mc- Farland’s, eye; ons that should have moved his heart to pity, but it did not. With his head on a knoll of turf and his pale, emaciated face half cover- ed by his hat, lay Fred, in the sleep of exhaustion. His breathing was heavy and unnatural. Ever and anon he started, and a look of pain or terror crossed his face. Then he would half spring up, clutchin with his hands and giving utterance to some halt- articulate exclamation. A piteous scene, surely; but McFarland had sold his services for money, an he would not now be diverted from the accomplish- ment of his work, “Shall we prod him as he sleeps?”’ he asked of his companion in crime, shrinking with a superstitious dread from such a deed. ‘Sure, what difference will it make wi’ him, I dun- no?” asked O’Toole. be him yourself,’ said McFarland, stepping ide, As he did so, he tripped on a twig, and the snap- Eek sound awoke the sleeper. Like a startled stag & leaped to his feet; then stood a moment in be- Wilderment. His sudden movement startled the would-be murderers, and they leaped back. The next instant, Fred broke and ran with all his might. ‘‘ After him, or he’ll git away!’’ cried McFarland. ‘‘ Howly Moses! Shoot the divil!"’ yelled O'Toole. McFarland acted upon the suggestion and fired. red swerved from his course, clutched at a tree and then turned at bay. In an instant his pistol covered O'Toole, who was aiming at him. There was a double report. ; ‘Oh, swate Virgin, I’m shot!" yelled O'Toole, sink- a Ae the ground, his face livid with cowardly fear. cFarland leaped behind a tree, showing the craven in his trembling knees and chattering teeth. But his fears were groundless. Fred Powell stag- gered a step forward, and then fell upon his face. Murdther the divil, he’s give me my lasht sick- ness,’ moaned O’Toole, in a fainting voice. McFarland drew his knife, and leaped upon the Fis eeate Fred. But it was needless. He lay upon side, with his head resting on his arm as in slum- ber. But the eyes were glazed that looked from the half-closed lids, and his blood dyed the green sward red with its crimson tide. é Branded as a felon; outlawed, with a price on his Tiger Dick, The Faro King. head; hunted to earth like a wild beast; at last fall ing beneath the murderous hand of his foes; what ee en the vengeance of Cecil Beaumont have craved? PART II—WHEN ROGUES FALL OUT. CHAPTER I. A NEW HAND IN THE GAME. THEY were a sad household at Mr. Powell’s the morning following Fred’s peril and escape. The banker had been brought home insensible, and now lay on a bed of torture, mental and physical. In her darkened room May, having given way to a paroxysm of wild grief, now lay in a lethargy of despair and exhaustion, Charley Brewster called early to see if he could be of any service to the stricken household. He sent a bouquet of flowers to May’s room, and then went to her father. Mr. Powell listened to the story of his son's rescue with tears in his eyes. ‘*God bless the noble girl!’’ he said. “She de- serves a happier fate.”’ Then Charley went to the inquest, which was ap- pointed at nine. Nothing is so remarkable as the usual scant loss of life in a Western “ free fight,’’ where revolvers and bowie-knives are in every man’s hand. Of all en- gaged in the melee at Dead Man’s Bluff only one was tatally wounded, and he an honest laboring-man who stood in the outskirts of the crowd, taking no active paw in the fray. As is usually the case, he left a arge family, made destitute, by his death, of all means of support. Some two or three scores bore off remembrances of their participation, ranging from a black eye to a nose bitten off, and from a rod with a bowie-knife to a bullet-shattered shoul- er. But they Pe ae regarded it as allina lifetime, and patiently nursed their hurts for another set-to. Half a dozen of the ringleaders were arrest- ed and lodged in jail, and the rest went about their usual vocations. That afternoon Cecil Beaumont was buried; a re- ward for the apprehension of Frederick Powell was osted all over the reer t the perinees gave a oe ER tg account of the affair, with sensation- al headlines, in which “the lovely and accomplished Miss Goldthorp ” was spoken of as a Joan of Arc; the newsboys bawled excitedly and honest people read calmly, and the world jogged on very much as before, for those not immediate y interested. The injury to policeman Croghan proving only slight, Tiger Dick was let off with a trifling fine. That evening a note was placed in his hand. He read it; looked puzzled; reread it, and burst into a prolonged guffaw. 4 3 e- ha! ha! ho! ho! ho! Oh, he’ll do to travel, é will!” Then he read the letter again, carefully noting the plan of action sketched out, i ‘‘Ha! ha! ha! A game is never done until the last hand is played. By Jove! this is the nicest lay yet. I thought they had the deadwood on us, when I saw the coroner sitting on that carcass; but the Prince is like Samson—his death was the ten-strike cf his worthless life. He! he! he! We've got ’em, body and breeches, this time, and no mistake.” Then he touched a bell, and sent for Shadow Jim apd the rest of his crew, and was in counsel with them for a long time. Several days now passed, without any incident worthy of note. Florence recovered so as not to be confined to her bed; but she went about the house sad-eyed and dejected. As for May, she seemed brokenhearted, and lay upon her pillow as wan as a broken lily. Mr, Powell managed to drag himself to his place of business, and with the help of Mr. Car- rington finally got things in running order again. Then he went home utterly prostrated. All the time Charley Brewster was of invaluable service, and smoothed over many a rough spot by his thoughtful- ness and consideration. One evening a stranger canye to town, and having secured ba de in an unpretentious quarter, began to lounge about like a man who had nothing particu- lar on his hands. He gave direction to the conver- sation in an aimless way; here and there asking a question. As he was a good listener, he picked up quite a deal of information about all the parties con- cerned in the late stirring events. He went to ‘The Jungle,” and while risk small sums in the game, wate ed the Tiger furtively. Ti- ger Dick noticed that he was a stranger; but seeing nothing unusual about him, gave him no further thought. He then made the acquaintance of Mrs, McPher- son, and representing himself as an old friend of Mr. Beaumont, drew from that unsuspecting lady all she knew about her deceased boarder. Mrs. McPherson was very partisan; and as he seemed such a pleasant spoken gentleman, and so warmly interested in eve- rything that concerned Cecil, she confided to him the fant er point of view) heartless treatment Cecil pad received at the hands of Florence Goldthorp; his distress of mind, as indicated by his ravings; his murder by her lover, his rival; her attempt to se- cure Fred fiom arrest; her rescue of him from the mob; and finally her connivance at his escape, to which act the wealth and position of her uncle gave immunity. From Mrs. McPherson the unknown went. to Flor- ence’s uncle. That gentleman was annoyed beyond expression at the public scandal in which his niece bait involved herself. He at first refused point- blank to permit an interview; but when assured that it would involve no further publicity, and that her knowledge mi nm materially aid the ends of justice, he fina elded, Having eaeeegel himself of all that Florence knew and suspected in the matter, he next addressed himself to Charley Brewster. They soon arrived at a perfect understanding. There was a look of satis- faction, blended with sorrow, on Charley’s face, as the interview drew to a close. » ‘““At least we can remove the a from his name, I never believed him guilty. -If he had only stayed his hand in that fatal encounter, how happily _ quaintance of Billy Saunderson. 23 all would have resulted! And to think that his life should be wrecked by such a villain! The death of Cecil Beaumont is but a poor atonement for the mis- chief he wrought. But may I tell his father? It will be a relief to him to know that his son is not the knave he thinks him.”’ **Not yet,’ objected the unknown. “There are others to be looked after. 1t will be time enough to tell him when my plans are fully matured.” **But Miss Goldthorp—your o ep do not ex- tend to her? She never believed him guilty.”’ “Wait until to-morrow. I have little doubt but that I am on the right track, but I must see with my own eyes. You say that he is not mutilated beyond recognition ?”’ “No. Any one who knew Cecil Beaumont would recognize the corpse, though the features are terri- bly mangled, I cannot see how Fred could have the heart to treat him so, after he was dead. He must have been insane.” “There are few men who could stand under the wrong that was heaped upon him without relishing a taste of revenge. Knowing oneself innocent, i would be hard to be made an outcast, while the real villain was treated asasaint. But this Billy Saunder- son—I must shadow him, From what you tell me, I more than suspect that he has had some kind of a hand in this matter. I have had a great deal of ex- erience with criminals, and it strikes me that there S an understanding between him and Tiger Dick. He didn’t get Mr, Powell intoxicated on those two particular occasions for nothing.” ‘‘ By Jove!” cried Brewster with a sudden thought. “it was between Beaumont and Saunderson that Mr, Powell, senior, was led to think that Fred was sunk to the depths of dissipation. Can there have been a concerted plot between Beaumont, Saunder- son, and Tiger Dick?”’ ‘‘T can’t tell yet. If he isthe man I believe him to be, he is equal to it. He would stop at nothing, and bet prove himself fertile in resource, to effect his ends,”’ That evenin the stranger, who passed by the name of Mr. raper, of New York, made the ac- He proved himself a oly. do ,’ and “ cottoned ” to the ‘‘ decoy duck” from the first. They soon grew confidential over their wine, and Mr. Draper swore that he had never met a man so after his own heart as Mr. Saunder- son. Billy, with his blood aglow with the liquor he meats drank, stretched his hand across the table and said: “Put it there, pard, You're just.my cut to aT.” Mr. Draper grasped the hand of his new acquain- tance, and they swore eternal friendship on the spot. The New York “sharp” then told of his exploits in the great metropolis. Judging from his talk he had been up to a little devilment of every sort. Not to be behind him, Billy told all the “dodges” that had exercised his peculiar Genius, and more, too, eking out fact with fiction. employment as “ decoy duck” by Tiger Dick was too notable an event in his career to be omitted, and chief among his ex- pois in this character was the drugging of Fred owell’s wine, and inducing him to enter Tiger Dick's den. Billy had just sense enough to say nothing about the key, seeing that that event was so recent, and so much had flowed from it, At twelve Mr. Draper took a reluctant leave of Mr. Saunderson, and went to meet Charley Brewster, the chief of police and detective Smith, according tu previous appointment. They went directly to the cemetery, where two men were soon at work disin- terring the body of Cecil Beaumont. Without t the coffin from the grave, the lid was removed and a dark lantern turned upon the face of the dead, As Charley had said, Cecil Beau- mont was plainly recognizable, despite the mutila- tion of the features. When Mr. Draper first looked upon the dead he gave a violent start and turned pale. Then he took e lantern in his own hand, and stooping down, lifted the hair from the left temple with trembling ers. Among the roots a scar was discernible. a phen shld gS it bi he!” oe br pane and then che himself, got up out of the grave and inti- mated that he was satisfied. $ There was a strange look upon his face, which Charley Brewster conceived to yi a blending of re- gret, bewilderment and uncertainty,@hough what Se give rise to these emotions he could not im- ne. . Draper rode back to the city in perfect silence. What was the nature of his thoughts Charley could not divine. face was perfectly impassible, When they parted, he took Charley’s hand and said: Mr. Brewster, you may rest assured of these facts. On the two occasions when Mr. Powell was intoxicated, it was under the influence of drugs. He gambled when his brain was on fire with this influ- ence, and only then. J am morally certain, although the absolute proof is not yet at my command, that he did not commit the forgery alleged against him, nor had he anything to do with the robbery of the bank, Miss Goldthorp has proved herself a woman of good sense. You may repeat to her what I have ust told you as soon as you like, Onl enjoin upon er the importance of perfect secrecy in the matter for the abe ez I allow you to tell her, for the satis- faction it may be to her to know that she is uot alone in ee epsscaces in Mr. Powell,” you eve that is Bequmonits?” this is all a plot of Cecil ere’s the way it looks to me: Billy Saunderson confesses himself to be ie in the at ae of ‘de- pag duck’ for Tiger Dick, He drugs Mr. Powell, and induces him to gamble at te Dick's table. A lucky accident sends Mr. Powell senior to Beaumont. He takes advantage of it to blast the character of the son, On the evening of the robbery, Saunderson again Mr. Powell. What would be easier than to steal } rec Then, when the father is wavering, the forgery is brought upon the carpet, and es ‘Mr. Draper, your solution is the correct one—I’ll warer my life on it!” ell, good-by. I’m going to look for Frederick Pow and get his story." But if you find him, will it not be your duty to give him up, for the murder of Cecil?” asked Brew- ster, with sudden pallor. The look of perplexity returned to Mr. Draper’s ace. ; “Leave me to take care of that,” he said. ‘By Gomicboo € cs (El)