Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 302 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

- tee 4 . ' ‘ 4 +] Faro Saul, the Handsome Hercules. 15 o’ reason fer to obleedge a sweet scented cuss- tomer like you—I jes’ would !” The bruised and bleeding ruffian turned and glowered at the tantalizing speaker, bis eyes red as the blood that trickled down bis bearded face as he slowly muttered : *“* You’re the critter, then? You’re the one that butchered pee Jim, be ye?” ‘* We'll play I did, anyhow,” was the easy re- ply. ‘‘ It'd be a durned shame fer to sp’ile fan y stumblin’ over a little p’int like that! Yas, I’m the gory slayer, sart’in’!” ‘But I don’t want to make no mistake,” slowly, laboriously added the bleeding brute. “Ef you didn’t do it, say so. I want to kill the right man fu’st. After that, I'll settle with ou,if you want, Was you the man that killed im—that butchered my brother, the best man that ever trod on sole-leather—the whitest lad that ever picked trigger or played with a ten- inch bit o’ steel! as it you?” ‘* Sense you’re so durn perticklar, le’ssee. Ef a brother was all you say, I never tetched ide nur ha’r of him. Butef he wasa dirty, bairy, whisky-soaked bummer, fuller o’ sin an’ wicked- nese then a fice-dog is 0’ fleas; ef he was the livin’ photygraph o’ your own sweet self; ef he was a thief, a road-agept who hed to kiver bis face with a bit o’ rag afore he could muster up grit enough to look cross-eyed into the face of a white mian; ef he was that bit o’ car’on layin’ yender on the coolin’-board—then ] killed him ! An’ now, as the ’mortal Billyum Tweedle said: * What ye goin’ to do "bout it?” _ Crouching lower, bit by bit, glaring savagely into the face of the speaker, licking away the drops of warm blood as they trickled down through his matted beard, the very personifica- tion of sullen revenge, Tom Johnson listened to that careless yet terribly cutting speech. Asif unconsciously to bimself, one band crept u ward until if was hidden from view his bosom, Then, when Old Pap Weatherwax drawled forth that immortal quotation, balanc- ing himself on the tips of his toes with arms still folded across his chest and his head on one side, winking and blinking owlisbly, the ruffian uttered a wolfish snarl and flashed forth a long knife, leaping forward and making a slashing cut that, had it taken effect, would most assuredly have sent the ancient to another world. But for all his seeming carelessness, Pa Weatherwax was fully on the alert, and swift as thought his left arm shot out, and striking the wrist of the ruffian, brushed his armed hand to one side. Then came a sudden thud, and Tom Jobnson spun half-way round as a bard fist struck him on the jaw. Before he could re- cover himself Old Pap caught him in his arms, tipped him over and dropped him head-first on the floor. . With a shrill whoop, the ancient leaped high into the air, drawing up bis feet as though about to dash them, reinforced by his own weight, with terrible force upon the skull of the foiled bully, <A tbrill of borror ran through the spec- tators, and a cry broke from the lips of Milo Vincent, as be made an involuntary movement to arrest the old man; but with a mocking laugb, Pap Weatherwax alighted with feet spread just sufficiently to clear the apparently doomed man’s bead, . “Git up, you clumsy critter!” he cried, tap- ping the bloody lips of the fallen man as his face turned around, with one foot. “ Drunk, ain't ye? Cain’t stan’ up allalone by yourself? Fu’st you know, honey, you'll git hart ef you keep on them turrible gymnasty things—deed you jes’ will! You're gittin’ too old an’ clumsy fer sech limber tricks, an’ ef you're wise, you’ll leave ’em to soople-j'inted saplin’s like your Uncle Fuller. Gi’me your paw—whoop up, now—so gre it P ht the burl ffian b tooping, Pap caug e burly ruffian by one band and fairly lifted bim to his feet. Ina dazed manner he stared around him, bot that his thirst for revenge was not in the slightest degree lessened, was sufficiently plain from the torrent of busky oaths and curses which flowed from his lips. And catching a glimpse of the lamp ligbt reflected from the polished blade of his knife, he rushed forward and snatched it up, brushing the blood from his eyes as be glared madly around in search of bis hated enemy. “Stop him!” cried several of the party, whose sympathy plainly had been won by the cool daring and skill displayed by the one whom they were at first inclined to set down as more of a braggartthan an actor. ‘' Send therascal after his thieving brother! Lynch him! String bim up! **No, no!” as loudly cried another portion of the crowd, ‘The poor devil is crazy and not accountable for his actions! Let bim go; there’s no phe that he belongs to the gang!” “Take the knife from him, or else— ‘“Not on my a’count, gents!” quickly inter- posed Pap, with a cheerful grin that seemed to lit his countenance into nearly equal halves. ‘‘The ole man kin take keer o’ himself, a’most alays, Stop, you!” he cried sharply as Jobnson wheeled toward him at the sound of his hated voice. ‘Stop an’ think it over fu’st, ‘honey. Ef you should happen to git me mad, I’m mighty Yous you sup sorrer with a mighty « long spoon! I’m meek asa suckin’ lamb ontel then—when I’m a holy terror right from the ‘factory o’ cyclones an’ airthquakes! Git down onto your bunkers an’ beg fer your life, an’ V’ll let ye go witha blue ribbon ’round your neck as one 0’ the ‘lected! Ef you don’t—waal, ef you ain’t the durnedest hog I ever see!’ With a grating snarl, Tom Johnson rushed to close with his adversary, his left arm bowed to beat off any blow while he kept his armed hand behind him so that he could not be foiled after the same fashion as before. If he could once close, he knew he could drive his steel home with certainty. But in the old man he found “‘a mighty hard horse to curry,” as the profane hath it. A swift blow alighted on his elbow, driving his forearm against his face, and as he whirled his armed hand around, Pap ducked low and to one side, curling one foot around the infuriated bully’s legs, burling him headlong. Then, ac- tive as a cat, be leaped astride the fallen man, holding a revolver pressed against his temple as he grated: “You weuldn’t take a hint, an’ now you've got me madder’n two wet hens! Open. your music-hox an’ sing a song fer life, or durned ef I don’t let all the wind out o’ your bel'ers ef I hev to blow the bull top o’ your cabeza off! Sing durn ye!” Bruised, battered, balf-stunned though he was, Tom Johnson showed that he d the sullen grit of a bulldog. Lying Selglonsiy at the mercy of the man whom he had thrice at- tempted to kill, he stared with bloodshot eyes up into that grim, menacing countenance with- out flinching, without a trace of fear. And, ruffian though he was, as the excited crowd saw this, there was a growing sentiment in his fa- vor which found vent in increasing mutterings. Apparently neither Johnson nor Old Pap eatherwax heard these. The one struggled desperately to turn his adversary or cast him off, but in vain. The ancient clung to him like a veritable Old Man of the Mountains, one band gripping his collar, the other pressing a cocked revolver to his temple. “Tune up, ye gwine-to-becherrybim! Strike the key-note an’ sling out the music ef ye don’t want to go to never-come-back-ag’in by light- nin’ express! Ef life ain’t wu’th beggin’ fer when ye git up to your years in a pesky slough ’ o’ despond, it ain’t wu’th bevin’. Pipe up, or out goes your = pl “* Let up on him, old man!” cried Faro Saul, taking a step forward, but pausing abruptly as he found himself covered by the weapon of Milo Vincent, who said sharply: ‘* Hands off, everybody, and you in particu- lar, Saul Oberlin! It is man to man, and John- son began the row. Let him squeal, or take his medicine like a white man!” ‘“That’s the ticket! Fair play an’ no favor!” Faro Saul saw that the tide was against him, and though it was a bitter pill for him to swal- low, he knew that be must draw back or die. There was business of the purest sort in the eye and air of the handsome young foreman! “If he was responsible for his actions, I wouldn’t say a word,” he said, sullenly. ‘* But any one can see that he is crazed by the death of his brother. It will be murder!” “It would have been murder, had not the old man been too quick for the cowardly cur,” was the swift retort. ‘*The old man’s my friend, and no one can double-bank him while I’m here.” ‘* Let ’em fight it out!” cried the crowd, almost to a man. And Faro Saul, bowing to the majority, fell back, ‘‘Per the third an’ last time, honey, spiel /” cried Old Pap Weatherwax, boring duwn with his pistol until the muzzle left a re ring on the skin. ‘*Knuckle down or kick the slop- bucket clean over!” ‘*Shoot!” buskily snarled the defeated man, his eyes all ablaze. ‘‘ Kill me or Pll kill you!” ‘* That ain’t so easy did, as you’d ort to know by this,” grinned Pap, then suddenly altering his mocking tone to one stern and deadly: **Enough foolin’, You've hed three licks at me, an’ ef I was fool enough to let up onto ye, you’d try fer another right off the ban’le. Now you want tuo beg, afore | count ten, or you'll go to jine your brother in a hurry, Beg like the dirty whelp you be, an’ sw’ar that you'll never ag’in try to shoot a man in the back when he ain’t lookin’, an’ I'll let you free,” ‘*See you in ’tarnal blazes fu’st, an’ then I won't!” ‘ All right, honey; go fu’st an’ tell the boss to keep a bot corner fer me!” ferocious)v laughed the ancient, beginning to count. ‘ One, tio, three. four, five, sia, seven—may the Lord hev —eight—marcy onto—nine—your mis’:.ble soul, amen!—ten/” and as his revolver exploded sharply, Old Pap Weatkerwax leaped to his feet and clear of his antagonist. CHAPTER XII, _ ‘VICTORY, FOLLOWED BY DEFEAT. LITTLE by little the bulldog grit displayed by Tom Johnson was gaining for him the milder feelings of the crowd, nearly every one of whom had at first felt that banging was too ‘ e ty & mild a punishment for one who would act after such a dastardly fashion. And while there was no one who cared or dared to take a itive move in his behalf after that stern declaration backed by the ready pistol of Milo Vincent, half-uttered threats and mutterings of disappro- bation grew louder and more ominous as Old Pap Weatberwax pinned his enem floor, and with revolver clapped to his temple deliberately counted off the seconds, then, when the weapon exploded and the old man leaped to his feet with that sbrill, wild cry, it was echoed back by a still wilder chorus: ‘“‘Durn a man that’d plug a gritty cove like that!” “*Give him a dose o’ the same med’cine!” “They ain’t no room in Good Enough fer bis kidney!” The ancient wheeled upon the malcontents, ~ but it was only to laugh mockingly in their faces and enjoy their gaping wonder ss Tom Jobnson scrambled to his feet, alive, untouched by the bullet which all had believed was intend- ed for his brain. ‘““"Nother sit o’ fickness comin’ on, an’ this time I’m a durn fool right from the center o’ Looneyville! I knewed it was my bounden duty fer to slaughterity that howlin’ stag- beetle, but 1 hedn’t sense ’nough left fer to do it up brown. IJ was so nigh crazy with pure idioticussness that he looked to me too much like a white man fer that, an’ stead o’ makin’ a batter-puddin’ o’ bis cabeza, I jes’ drilled a worm-hole in the floor. But I know Ill be sorry fer doin’ of it as soon as I come back to my nat’ral state ag’in. The hairy cuss is got plenty o’ grit, but that’s bis only recommenda- tion fer marcy. MHe’s chuck-fuller o’ p’izen then a rattler in August! Double-distilled meanness sticks out o’ him all over a long! Ef he was a twin babby an’ hed the fu’st show at the grub, he’d bite the nipple off’m his mammy to keep his brother from gittin’ what hed left!” Unable at first to comprehend the actual facts of the case, the crowd stared in open- moutbed amazement as the man whom they all believed doomed beyond earthly hope of salva- tion, rose to his feet. They thought it but a spasmodic effort, soon to end in the heavy fall of a corpse; but the absence of blood puzzled them anew: and when they divined the truth— to the | when Old Pap uttered his querulous excuse, a. chorus of enthusiastic shouts and cries went up from the fickle crowd. At that moment they were ready to swear the battered old man was king-pin of heroes! ‘You do me proud, gents!” and Old Pap Weatherwax bowed low, grinning from ear to ear. ‘“*’Pears like the sit o’ fickness is workin’ off *thout doin’ much damidge, a’ter all! Ef you all’s agreed that I done right in lettin’ up on the pi’zen critter, mebbe I wasn’t sech a pesky fool asI thunk! But—” “On guard, pard! Look out for Johnson!” cried Vincent, in a sharp tone of wcrning. The ancient wheeled just as the beaten ruffian was on the point of leaping upon him, but his bold front caused the wretch to falter, stretch- — ing 2 hand out bebind bim, wling: ‘Gi’ me a pistil or a knife; somebody! Tl kill him! He killed pore Jim!” ** Now sharply empbasized Old Pap, his eyes ablaze, his voice ringing out clear as a bell. ‘‘ Look here, Tom Jobnson, You tried to murder me when my back was turned, an’ so doin’ you spiled my drink. I let you down as eas7 asl could, when 1 mought jest as well rubbed you : ; ' = bis ™ bh | I'll tear his heart out an’ eat it raw! am gwine to git mad all over!” clean off the rol!s, You tuck it so kindly that — you wanted to make ree, meat out Si | not once, but tw icet over. Three times I h you onder my heel, an’ as of’en like a durned — fool I let you go without smashin’ your p’izen head. But a body’s got to draw the line some- whar, an’ I draw it deep at three. Ef you try fer another, ‘* Ef you don’t kill me, lll kill you!” growled Johnson, ‘Good enough! I kin feel ’nother sit o’ fick- ness stealin’ over me, an’ this time it smells like a he-old butcher in a gory slaughter-house! Sense you won’t live, bow’ll you hev it? Nomi- nate your p’izen, an’ I'll see that you git all the dose you kin tote from here to the lower re- gions! Pard, may I ax the favor o’ you?” he added, turning to Milo Vincent. ‘“ And I'll serve as second for Johnson,” quick- — ly uttered Faro Saul, ners forward andlay- ou're gwine to githurt, bad!” sap iliedilitadlliiaspanaliesset ee ing a band on the arm of the battered bully, “Why, men, surely you'll not meet him ina Dee played you?” mut- duel, after all the dirt tered Vincent, half-disgu a ‘‘He will bev it,” was the hard response. __ “Tf I don’t settle him fer good an’ all rom nel af stab mein the back from kiver some time wher vis I ain’t lookin’. I tried all I knowed to make __ him keep his life in his pocket, but he won't listen to reason. e wants jes’ one more les- i? son. Bd Lewes “Look here,” and Vincent gras as he spoke deliberately. “I'll bave do with the affair unless ou Téom choo cS Old Pap by the arm and stared him fixedly in MO ANO 5 X «