Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 292 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

18 Moke Horner, the Boss Roustabout. for indeed it seemed something more than natu- ral. It was the face of Marcus Dingeon, thin and wan, seemingly floating without body against the dark background of the huge smoke- stack. Then—a pale-green hue suddenly flashed over the face, rendering it doubly terrifying to the conscience-stricken murderer below! The bruised and bloodied countenance of the Boss Roustabout was broadening ina homely grin, when he was amazed by the desperate action of Purty Paddy. He believed that the man had forgotten where he was, in the terror inspired by that aie dl face, and turning to flee from what he must have believed a super- natural avenger, bad plunged blindly into the mad Mississippi. He saw him take the plunge so awkwardly that in an instant all remem- brance of their quarrel and desperate struggle, together with his almost certain belief that Purty Paddy was one of the footpads who struck down Marcus Dingeon that night in the streets of New Orleans, vanished from his mind, and he only saw a fellow-being in danger of death. ** Man ovahbo’d!” he cried, leaping to the spot where Purty Paddy had stumbled over the edge, joining his hands together above his head, then cleaving the dark tide with scarcely an audible sound. Instantly the whole steamer was in a wild uproar, The captain and the mate shouted out their orders with a vigor that almost split their well seasoned throats, The roustabouts rushed here and there, tumbling over each other in their mad excitement. The pilots rung their bells and the engineers quickly checked the way of the Water Witch. For once the sports forgot their betting, and crowded tothe hurri- cane deck and along the guards, peering eager- ly for a glimpse of the two men who had so suddenly changed their scene of action, And on the deck above, was a man whom that wild yell of the Boss Roustabout had almost entirely unnerved, for he believed that it pointed at him—since the cry arose just as the lifeless body of poor Rose Enright clove the water at the stern of the boat. With hand on a revoiver, he crouched down in the shadow of the overturned yawl, trem- Bitng Ake a leaf, but with his eyes glowing redly and his white teeth clinched in savage despera- tion as he counted the lives he would demand for his own when the avengers of blood should pounce upon him! Swiftly and apparently without forethought as Moke Horner had acted, yet there was method in his madness. This was not the first time he had swum in the Mississippi when it was at -the flood, and when he struck the water, he dove deep, turning and swimming desperately with the current. His main en- deavor was to sink so far down as to be be- yond reach of those thundering paddle-wheels, one touch from which would crush him to a helpless mass of humanity. e could hear them roaring and crashin through the water above his head as he dart along like a fish, and even then he noticed the abrupt change in their speed, and knew that he would be assisted to the full powers of the t’s crew. Guided by the sounds of the paddle-wheels, Moke soon altered the posi ion of his body, and turning bis head upward, shot rapidly toward the surface, only to strike against an object which instinct told him was what he sought. Before it could elude him in the swirling, con- trary currents created by the passage of the boat—for below the surface and for some little distance bebind a boat, there exists a peculiar sort of undertow, turning, rolling over and over, whirling here and there in the most be- wildering angles, so that two objects which are side by side one instant, may the next be tossed yards and rods apart—Moke Horner grasped the body in his strong right hand, then struck out vigorously for the surface. With a panting gasp he broke through the foam-crested waves left by the wheels of the Water Witch, and his first thought was to look - around for the boat. <A little grunt of wonder broke from his lips as be beheld it nearly a hun- dred yards above him, and far to one side, “De good Lawd! what a dove dat was!” he spluttered as a white-cap struck bim in the face and seemingly poured about a quart of the muddy liquid down his capacious throat. “Make a catfish sick des to look—say, Irish— de bressed Lawd !” With the skill and adroitness of one who fully comprehended the peril of having a drowning man grapple with him, Moke Horner had kept the rl a he grasped below the surface, at arm’s length until now. In turning to iook after the Water Witch, he brought the person he had rescued from the depths between him and the red glare of the still blazing fire-crates, to discover that a wonderful transformation had taken place—instead of Purty Paddy, he asped the form of a woman! In bis utter amazement, Moke dropped his treasure trove even more eae than he had clutched it, making a swift dart backward through the water, his eves almost protruding Se their sockets. Surely this was witch- craft ' quest of somethin | supporting his burden. “* Mercy—spare me!” Barely articulate were the words as the poor creature feebly struggled in the water, her head going out of sight as she upiifted her hands, Superstitious though he was, this was too much for the honest negro, and with a swift dart be once more grasped the sinking woman and lifted her head clear of the surface. He saw that she had swooned or was dead, and for a moment the cold chill which shot down through bis Le ag arm, almost disabled him, and mechanically he glared around in which would aid him in A little above and to the rear of his present position, he saw a large log floating, and with a few strong strokes he gained it, With his left arm tbrown over the log, holding the fainting woman on his other, Moke cast a rapid glance around them, taking in the situation at a glance, He could see that the Water Witch had almost lost her way, keeping her paddle-wheels revolving with just sufficient ve ge to hold her own against the swift current. e could see that already the men, working under the cool guidance of the mate, bad climbed into the yawl which swung behind the steamer and were just lowering it into the water. He could note their actions quite distinctly by the lighted lantern which the mate held to direct them. He could see that the swirling currents had swept him far in toward the present bank, but which would be some little distance inland ata moderate stage of the water. He already knew that the Water Witch was keeping near the regular channel, in order toavoid danger from sunken snags or tree-stumps now hidden by the overflow, His glance toward the bank showed him the trees and bushes which seemed to be whirling, dancing past him up-stream, ee a few yards away, and he knew that it would be no very serious task to gain the sbore, even while in- cumbered ly the helpless creature who had so strangely been flung into his arms, The loud voice of the mate now rung oat, calling both his name and that of the missing Irishman, and Moke Horner was just on the point of answering, when a choking shout came: “ Howly vargin! I’m ’most gan! Save me, mate, dear l—quick, or the divil has Purty Paddy—augh !’ There was no mistaking the bitter extremity of the man who uttered that cry. Not the words alone, but every note of the strained voice told how nearly exhausted he was, An encouraging cheer came from the boat, and Moke closed his lips with a resolute mag- nanimity. An annoying enemy the Irishman had proven himself; a vile criminal, if not an actual murderer; but the gallant negro knew tbat he must sink forever should the boat first attempt to rescue him from the ete log. He could tell from the sound that Purty Paddy was far out near the middle of the river, hav- ing doubtless been caught up by a side current similar to that which, though in an opposite direction, had whirled the negro in toward shore, Moke saw the boat darting with all the yeast of oars and the current toward the spot from whence arose that despairing cry, the mate standing up in the bows, holding the bright fantate bigh over his head as he keenly swept the troubled surface with his eyes. He saw all this, but then he felt the form banging over his shoulder move, and caught the sounds: ‘““Do not—murder! Ob, Marcus—my hus- band!” ‘* Wank de good Lawd you wokted up, missy!” he exclaimed, making his voice as soft and genial as he might without letting the roar of the waters drown it entirely. ‘‘ Cheer up, an’ don’ gib way no mo’, honey! Dar’s de boat, an’ we got a pow’ful good ole log to hung on to while waitin’ fo? dem, Cheer up, missy, an’ we all yight mighty seon—we des is /” he poor woman stared wildly into Lis shin- ing black face as the reflection of the bright moon made it ea visible. She seemed dazed and unable to fully comprehend her present situation. She seemed to think herself still on the deck of the Water Witch, pleading with, even as she shrunk from, her cruel and merci- less husband. “‘ Don’t—don’t strike me, Marcus! I will go —I will leave you to win her—only—don’t mur- der me !” Dumfounded, Moke Horner stared at the poor creature, at a loss to comprehend her meaning. Murder? And Marcus? Not his Marcus, surely! A sobbing cry, and the half-crazed woman shrunk away, her frame trembling violently as though she felt that merciless hand smiting her down—down to death! And with that cry she flung up ber arms and would have slipped from the grasp of the thorougbly bewildered negro had he not made a vigorous effort to save ber. As it was, the log rolled over under the im- petus, and Moke felt himself carried under the surface. He grasped the woman firmly with one arm, then struck out desperately. Despite the struggling of the choking creature. he gain: ed the surface once more, casting a swift glance around in search of the log which had already served him such a good turn. It was far away, caught in a current that was steadily carrying it further out toward the middle of the river, and at once Moke Horner turned his whole attention to gaining the shore, fortunately now so near at hand, Yet it proved to be no easy task even for one of his prodigious strength and remarkable skill as a swimmer. The currents were so buffling, whirling in conflicting zigzags, now rushing at the crumbling bank as though about to over- whelm it at a single sweep, then whirling away, forming deep “sucks” and rounded “‘ boils,” Twice the negro reached out to grasp a pro- truding root, only to be whirled away beyond reach; but on the third attempt he succeeded. Making sure of his grasp, he balanced the form of the woman on his right hand, then cast her clear of the water and over the low bank. The desperate exertion thus put forth, broke away the root, but now that he was unincum- bered, it was a comparatively easy matter for the Buss Roustabout to gain the shore. And a minute later he was bending anxiously over the motionless form of Rose Enright, or, as she be- lieved herself, Rose Dingeon. He saw that she was alive, that her eyes were open, staring up into his face with a dazed and i Sg aden look, and with a glad chuckle, he spoke: / **Didn’t I tole ye so, missy? Yar we is, safe an’ soun’ on dry lan’! Ober dar’s de boat—I'll call *um—” With a desperate effort she rose to a sitting posture and grasped his arm, feebly muttering: ‘“No—no—do not! He will ecme! He will be angry that I am yet alive, and he will kill me! Ob, Marcus! my love—my husband! So dear, yet so cruel—so hard and merciless!” Never was poor mortal more thoroughly be- wildered than our sable athlete as he stood there staring at the strangely-rescued woman. If she had not been holding his arm so tightly it may even be thut Moke would have taken to his heels in superstitious dread, even though he did carry the all-potent rabbit-foot! His ludicrous amazement, coupled with the look of doubting fear which blended in his face, seemed to restore the woman to something like her normal condition of mind. ‘“‘T am not mad—indeed I am not!” she ut- terred, striving hard to control her voice, “TI am only a Pad miserable woman to whom death would be a merciful boon. Oh, if you had not risked your life to preserve mine! If you had only suffered me to go down to death then, when | felt nothing—when all was a bliss- ful blank! But now-—I dare not return to that boat! It would be worse than a thousand deaths to meet Aim face to face again!” ‘* De good Lawd!” It was all poor Moke could find to reply with, when the strange creature whom he rather more than half believed was some supernatural inhabitant of the muddy Mississippi, which bad assumed this shape the better to compass his eternal ruin, poured forth that—to him—in- comprehensible plaint. Then a loud, glad cheer from far below them, and still further ont on the river, told him that the Irishman had been rescued from a watery grave. This gave him sound footing once more, and he turned to the woman, hastily uttering: ‘*Dar’s de boat, an’ dey’s ketched de udder feller! I des gib a yell, an dey come oher heah fo’ us an’ take us back to deole Water Witch in a hurry—dey des will !” The woman increased the vigor of her grasp, rising up and staring wildly into his face as she gasped: ‘© Another, you say? There was another in the water? Then I may have been mistaken— he did not throw me overboard! I staggered and fell, as he uttered those cruel words, and his love revived—he leaped in after me, at the risk of his own life? Say that it was my husband and I will forever bless and pray for you!” “Deed I say dat, ef you want, missy, an’I . tek pow’ful vat’ he true, w’edder he lie or not!” declared Moke, now so completely eut of his element and so thoroughly bewildered that it would have puzzled him to say whetber he was standing on his feet or on his head, ‘*But you must opener by leaped into the water after me when I fell, did you not?” per- sisted Rose, equally befogged. “Dat 1 would, ef I knowed you was dar, missy,” eagerly replied the ebony athlete. “ But I didn’t. I jumped in to ketch a low-down white-trash Irisber dat tumbled ober, an’ when I hit you comin’ up, I finked it was bim— axin’ pardin fo’ makin’ sech a ’graceful ’stake as dem!—but de muddy water so shet my eye dat I: couldn’t see nuffin’, sca’cely.’ Rose shrunk back, covering ber eyes for a moment. Then, agsin grasping bis arm and ointing out to where the red light of the antern was still visible as the mate in the yawl ordered his men to row rapidly to and fro while he called aloud to the missing negro: ‘* Who was it they picked up out of the water, then?” ‘* Des dat Irisher, T reckon, missy.” ‘You are sure?” faintly hoping even against all hope. like 900ks.con . > A. ° Otc By, (E(@)