Beadle's Dime Library, Vol. III, No. 29 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

t Beadle’s Dime Library. a a Save a couple of young “‘bloods”’ on their way to | ed into the carriage, and gathering up the reins, some place of nightly carousal, no one app y Gor stole forth and crept down the treats Was it a shadow that he saw gliding along in the gloom on the opposite side of the street? n he turned a corner and ran with all his might. Stopping suddenly, he was sure he heard the muffled footsteps of some one running in the road; but they stopped as soon as he did. Cecil sought a business street, in the hope of es- caring amid the crowd, Turning, after he had pase under a gaslight, he beheld only a few paces ‘hind him, the mam against whom he had run on the steamboat. Then hope forsook him, and chilled and benumbed witb fear, he gave up the struggle. He went to the bank and destroyed the letter and t then started wearily homeward. As he near the house, he felt that he was no lon- ger followed; but he expressed no suepaee at it; it only showed how secure his enemies felt, and how nee would be any further attempt to escape. he let himself in with a night-key, Mrs. Mc- Pherson appeared at the head of the stairs witha lamp in her hand, and a startled expression on her “Oh! be it you, Mr. Beaumont?’ she exclaimed, i ent ‘There's a letter left for you nae mair than twa minutes gone. It be lying on the ta- ble.” Cecil said something about er changed his mind with to his projec journey, and passed on into room, For a long time he sat without opening his letter, dz to touch it, knowing that it contained his doom, en, with desperate energy, he broke the seal. It read: ““My MaGnantuovs Frrenp:—By the time you re- «ive this epistle, you will have made up your mind that m atitude will brook no further delay in the lope it has long cherished, of an opportunity to express to you the obligations I am under, for those services in the past which you so generously ignore. Believe me, sir, Iam too much indebted to you to allow myself to be cheated of the satisfaction of making such poor acknowledgment as lies in my yower. ITreceive my friends at 149 River street, and know that you will not deny me the pleasure of giving you sar tert of honor beneath my humble roof, at half ten o’clock this evening.’ No ture—there was need of none. Cecil Beau- mont opped his livid face into his hands and aloud. CHAPTER IV, TIGER DICK. On the afternoon of the day when Cecil Beaumont first saw the Kentuckian whose appearance had so y affected him—half an hour before they met on the crossing—Fred Powell drove up to the portman and alighted, leaving Florence Goldthorp n the carriage. Fred had scarcely entered the building when a of wind whirled a piece of paper under the horse’s feet. The spirited animal uttered a cry of affright, and after a plunge or two, set off at a break-neck pace down the street. Pale with alarm, yet with a presence of mind un- usual in one of her sex, Florence grasped the reins and tried to check his course; but in her feeble hands he was wholly unmanageable, Vehicles prudently drew aside to the curbstone. Well-meaning persons, whose zeal exceeded their wisdom, vied with each other in giving utterance to a chorus of halloos that would have done credit toa war-party of Comanches. A fat man in his shirt- sleeves ran out into the middle of the street, wildly swinging a straw hat and shouting ‘‘ Whoa!” at the top of his voice, until the horse got within half a dozen rods of him, when he beat a hasty retreat to the security of the sidewalk, exciting a ghastly sort of amusement, even in the face of the awful danger. One man seemed possessed of the presence of mind, nerve and address to do something besides augment the general confusion. He quietly stepped into the street, and caught the horse, in passing, by the bit. He was a oy’ thrown from his feet, but succeeded in stopping the runaway. A barefooted urchin, proud to be in some way as- sociated with the hero of the oecasion, restored his hat. He quietly drew his handkerchief about it, to remove the dirt, placed it on his head, and then re- ceived his gold-headed cane from another youn American (of foreign descent) whose toilet consiste of brimless straw hat, shirt, trowsers (that had suf- ene abrasion in the usual places) and one suspen- Meanwhile the customary crowd had gathered around the carriage. “Help the lady out,” said a corpulent gentleman, who wore a toinanae and English gai and had a wrt ee face and a head as smooth asa billiard-ball. “Who's hurt?” cried a reporter, coming up out of breath, eager for an item. ““May I assist you to alight, madam?” politely asked spruce counter-jumper with waxed mus- tache and perfumed hair. But, turning from these, Florence leaned out of the earns e, and extending her hand to her pre- server, ay “Oh, sir! I cannot express my titude for your noble . You have probably saved my life. I h< Pe. yeu ane no i ” r “Not in the least, madam,” replied her rescuer, lifting his hat with courtly grace, as if nothing un- usual had happened, and accepting her hand. His sudden smile disclosed a row of even, white teeth, in almost startling contrast with his raven mustache. Florence started slightly. The peculi- arity of his smile was surprising, yet not unpleasant. But the open admiration of his gaze was so undis- ised thatit brought a tinge of embarrassment to cheeks. At this point Fred came up, pale with concern for the safety of his companion. When he noted the look of the stranger and its effect upon Florence, a flash of resentment came into his eye and a haughti- ness into his mien. ‘Believe me, sir,” he said, ‘I have a deep sense of indebtedness to you for what youhave done. Ac- cept my card, and if I can ever requite the service, command me, with the assurance that it will bea pleasure to do my utmost.” _He thrust his card into the hand of the other, leap- dashed out of the crowd. The stranger received the card mechanically; star- ed a moment in surprise after the retreating carriage ; and then, as an angry frown depressed the center of the straight line formed by his brows, turned on his heel, to hide his chagrin, biting his lip and crushing the card in his palm. “ There’s ro _ for you,” laughed a man who rided himself on his democratic ideas. ‘To judge rom his air, we might think that the young buck was apologizing to our friend here for having inad- vertently spattered mud on his boots, instead of thanking him for the life, perhaps, of a young lady.” “How would you like to have a gay young cava- lier, with such a killing mustache, make eyes at your ladylove in the open street, hey ?’’ asked another ob- serving individual, at whose humor the crowd laugh- ed then dispersed. . These words reached the ears of the stran fore he gained the sidewalk, and he ground with inward rage, “The ae puppy |” he muttered, between his teeth. “I suppose he resented the way I looked at the girl. By heavens! she’s a beauty! Such eyes, an dsuch an air—she gave me her hand with the grace of a queen!" Florence was surprised at the brusque manner in which her lover had treated her preserver. ** Fred,” she said, *‘ couldn’t you have shown that gentleman a little more courtesy? You were hardly civil. And I wished to learn his name, so that papa could thank him, too,”’ “T thought that the debt was in part canceled by the insolent stare with which he regarded you,” re- plied Fred, the indignant flash still in his eyes. Florence had forgotten her momentary embarrass- ment. She crimsoned slightly at this reminder, *“ Who is he?’ she asked. “ Did you ever see him before?” r **He has been pointed out to me," replied Fred, reddening in turn, for some reason or other. “ What is hisname? Do you know?” “I believe he goes under the oes gt of ‘ Tiger Dick,’ or something of that kind; but I never heard his real name,’ replied Fred, still more embarrassed. ***Tiger Dick!'” repeated Florence, in surprise. ha how can he have got such a strange name as ‘He is not a man of very high repute, I believe, A gambler or something of sort. That class of a pride themselves in sounding titles."’ Florence relapsed into silence, with a meditative look in her eyes. She was thinking of the vikings and the sturdy old knights of chivalry, who in many points failed to conform to out modern code of mor- als. She men pronounced the stranger a fine- looking man, and questionable mode of life threw around him a spice of romance. She thought him a Dick Turpin, who, while he might fleece the rich and oppressive, was all of gentleness to the beautiful. How nearly cor- rect was her estimate of the character of Tiger Dick will appear in the course of our story. Meanwhile the Tiger pursued his walk, far from be- ing in the best of humors. ; t was while seeking a restaurant where he was in the habit of taking his meals, that he came upon Cecil and May, after their drive on the avenue. At sight of Cecil, a gleam of malicious satisfaction came | is eyes. “Aces all, by Jove!” he muttered. “Just what | I've been figuring for. Truly the devil helps hisown.”’ | He saw touch her companion’s arm. Cecil turned to look. Then the r lifted his hat and smiled, with all the devil of his nature in his eyes. With a thrill of triumph he saw Cecil's face assume | a livid hue, saw him reel beneath the shock f ter- ror, saw him snatch the reins from May’s hands and fly by as if a by all the flends. ‘**Hah! center shot, that!’ chuckled the Tiger, caressing his mustache with immense satisfaction. ‘*Struck him all in a heap, by Jove! Ha! ha! me noble juke! nv more of your ——— . Yougaveme the slip anager enough in New York; butif you hold over me this time, why, you're welcome to rake the board—that’s all!” He reached the restaurant, and ate his supper with a gusto, ‘ Those dro Prince are not bad sauce,"’ he meditated. all his spirit, I wonder? he would have let daylight through me, sooner than throw up his hand like that. But he has never held of terror wrung from the brow of the “Where's up his head since that game when the little joker iu ne lupso unexpected] —only once, confound him! but then it was a spiteful fling.” Tiger Dick ran his fingers through his hair, until they touched a livid scar on the side of his head, as broad as his finger and a couple of inches in length. “Oh, well,’”’ he said, lightly, ‘‘I’'m not the cuss to whine over that. He playe his highest trump and is welcome to the trick. But now it’s my turn. Every dog has his day, and luck is bound to turn some time.”’ From the restaurant, Tiger Dick went to No. 149 River street. Avoiding the front entrance, ne passed in at a side door, and having traversed a narrow hall, found himself in a little room at the back. It was furnished with a table (on which were decanters and beg gee ml two or three chairs, and a couch spread te) with a -robe. The walls were decora with pictures illustrative of scenes in the life of a ‘‘ sport.” Over the couch was a pair of crossed foils, and from the nail which supported them hung a pair of box- ing-gloves. iger Dick pulled a bell-cord, and in response to his summons. appeared a boy, in his shirt-sleeves, and with as white apron tied about his waist. ‘*Has Jim come in yet?’ asked the Tiger. “ No—not since supper,” was the reply. ‘“Well, when he puts inana rance, send him here. And, Tommy, tell McFarland and O'Toole to aaa ‘aia eared. ‘Ti Dick drew writi he isa ; er Di w ng materials before ote and wrote: “Go home and await my summons, If you persist in flight, you will be denounced and put under ar- rest on the arrival of the train at the first station. You have been under surveillance for more than a week. My emissaries are ever at your elbow.” He wrote a second note like the above, making suitable changes so that it would apply to a steam- | r be- | teeth | of kindness to the suffering, and | cks! in the good old days | a | boat. He had scarcely finished when in came two | Men whose appearance sufficiently indicated their disreputable character. ‘Well, gents,” said the Tiger, “I've got a little _ business for you to-night. You both know the sport that calls himself Cecil: Beaumont—a bank cashier?” | The men nodded assent. “ Well, I want you, Mae, to go to the levee—there’s one of the Diamond Jo line down to-night—and you, O'Toole, to the depot; and if our bird tries to take wing, and I’m not on hand, give him this note, just before the boat (or train, as the case may be) leaves. But if I am around, mind you do nothing. Now, look sharp, and report again at midnight.” The men received each his note and withdrew. A few minutes later the door opened to give ad- mittance toa young man who rejoicéd in the sug- gestive name of Shadow Jim. He was slight in build, _ and his life of dissipation found its index in blood- shot eyes and sallow cheeks. He was at present dressed so as to be least likely to attract attention, | “So-long! me noble juke!” said the Tiger, greet- ing him pleasantly. ‘ What's the word?” | “He's at home,” replied Jim, sitting astride a chair with his arms apm Mae the back. ““Good! And how does he look?” “Asif he had the devil for a bedfellow,” was the expressive reply. he Tiger laughed. eo ** Shadow, smile, do!’ he said, pushing a decanter _ across the table. __ Jim smiled literally, with a beaming radiance, as he poured out the liquor; and then, holding ee _ tween his eye and the light, said, as if apologizing _ his conscience, or, perhaps, his stomach: | on pe partook, why not If It’s as harmless | as adove!” | | He shut his eyes as the liquor glided down his | throat, and then placed the glass on the table, with | & little men of enjoyment, looking at it fondly, al- most sad eg | Tiger Dick watched him with an amused smile, and | then burst into a laugh, | _ “By Jove, Shadow,” he said, “it’s better than _ drinking oneself, to see you get outside of a glass of benzine. If I could coax so much bliss out of the fire- water, I'd ask no greater favor of Heaven. ‘But this ain't business,’’ he added, briskly. “I came face to face with our gosling this afternoon, I know that he will try to sli rs, and perongh my have sent McFarland and O'Toole tothe train and boat, to clip his wings. This is in case he gets the start of me; but Imean to be on hand myself to meet him. Do I make a good Gorgon?” er Dick smiled his pecuber smile, the white teeth glittering like crue renee his eyes gleaming malicious triumph from beneath his straight brows, | which, when depressed in the center, gave him an a centr not unlike the popular representation of “the gentleman in black.” | “I think that Dr. Faustus would haye flown to the | devil for protection, had you appeared on the stage with that look,” was the flattering assurance of Shadow Jim. ‘Smile again, my infant,’’ said the Tiger, not ill pleased. “T'll not break in upon your little heaven | with the pay affairs of this mundane sphere, but wait until you return to earth.” Jim set his glass down on the table and looked at the Tiger expectantly. | *You must shadow this dainty cashier, Jim, and if he is likely to escape, give him this love-letter. I] / am not much afraid that he will disregard my other _missives, if it is necessary to give them to him; but | I want the trap tight, and we can’t take too many recautions. IfI scare him home, do you get there a ew ‘minutes before him and leave the letter. And now to business, I may take a look in on him my- self, as the shadows deepen, just to give him a smile of Spee ae eat you know.” And, with a laugh, he arose and led the way to the open air. He stopped to lock the door, and when he turned about, Jim had disappeared like a veritable shadow. The reader has seen that the bi did look in up- on Cecil, and what was the effect; also the maneu- vering at the depot and at the steamboat. We may add that Shadow Jim purmpesny let Cecil know that he was followed, to highten the effect, and that Cecil's seeing McFarland cn the street, after he had vainly tried to shake off Shadow Jim, was an acci- dent, favorable, however, to the plotters, When the Tiger had played his part, he returned to River street, elated at his success, to await the coming of Cecil Beaumont, of whose compliance with his demand he had no doubts. CHAPTER V. THE TIGER SPORTS WITH HIS PREY. Tue cool irony of the letter which summoned Cecil Beaumont to No 149 River street, struck a chill of despair to his soul. The Tiger, like his ferocious namesake, was playing with his prey before devour- | | | if it. Vith a shudder, Cecil heard the clock strike ten. Its monotonous throb sounded like a knell. “It is destiny,” he said, with a superstitious thrill that was a legacy from his early life. ‘There’s no use fighting ag nst it. I feel it drawing me down, down to perdition!” He drew the om from his pocket, with a wild desperation, and for a moment he was nearer suicide than men often are, and yet escape. But he turned shuddering away. “No,” he muttered, “that is not my ap inted death. I cannot escape that wars even if Lhad the courage. No, no; Imust drag the galling chain of my bondage to the bitter end. But, curse him!’’ he added, his eyes glowing like coals, ‘‘we go down together! He escaped once; he shall not do so a second time.” He looked sane to the loading of the weapon and placed it in his pocket. Then he drew from the sachel, which he had previously packed, a set of false whiskers and a wig, to which was attached a pair of spectacles. With these he effectually dis- guised himself, and then quietly left the house. “It wouldn't do for Cecil Beaumont, a bank cash- ier, to be seen entering a gambling-den,”* he mutter- ed, with a bitter laugh. “I must play the game out to the last. Who knows what may turn up. Wh | did not this fool balance our account at once? He evidently means to use me for something. I'll wax. MIECLOOOLKS (E (0) —) =» : > 5 ()