Beadle's Dime Library No. 317 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

~- Frank Lightfoot, the Miner Detective. —_ -— + Frank Lightfoot, with a mocking bow. ‘ Af- ter all, l’m not so sure but what you might pass for a gentleman in a crowd, provided you were to keep your mouth shut and your hands to your own pockets!” The crowd of citizens who had feverishly watched the departure and return of the boat, to have their intensely wrougbt-up feelings still further hightened by this sudden and unex- ected arrest, watched and listened with breath- ess interest. Frederick Lyon was a “big man,” in Inde- * dendence City, and one whose bare word was generally as good as anotber man’s sacred ledfe, It was no easy matter to believe him in the wrong, but here be was going plainly against the evidence of their own eyesight, for there was not one among the entire party but was ready and willing to swear tbat the villain who dealt Jeter Burgess that dastard blow and attempted to carry off Mora Burgess on the white horse, was dressed in scarlet, after the fashion popularly attributed to the foul fiend; and was he not lying there in the bottom of the boat, dead? But interested though they were, and vainly puzz'ing their brains to divine the clew by which Frederick Lyon was to find bis way out of the labyrinth; tei 3 as they respected and honored him, it was beyond human power to entirely smother the laugh that leaped to their lips as Frank Lightfoot uttered that subd- limely mocking speech. The face of the mine-owner flushed hotly at the subdued chuckles, then turned white as polished marble, His voice betrayed no emo- tion as he resumed: ‘¢We found you two in the water together, you living, be dead, What is to assure us that when the plunge was taken you did not wear that scarlet suit? Whocan prove to us that you did not change clothes with him while we were searching for you, in order to throw dust in our eyes and thus cheat justice?” There was no longer any laughing amidst the crowd; instead, low mutterings and ex- clamations. ‘‘Durned ef it moughten’t, now!” uttered one old miner, his gray head nodding vehemently to lend emphasis to his opinion. ‘ ’T'wouldn’t be no curiouser nor his comin’ through that hell o’ waters with a bull bone in his karkidge!” ‘‘ Jest like a sick kitten mought like a full- growed grizzly!’ cried Aristabulus Boythorn, pushing a little closer to the prisoner, his honest countenance filled with disgust. ‘It mought be possible, but afore you git the ole man to swaller any sech guff, some o’ you that takes it in like motber’s milk hes got to make the tum’le an’ do the lightnin’ change act while turnin’ somersets down the flume! Talk is cheap, but I never saw the man smart enough fer to git drunk on wind, no matter how stiddy he stuck to biz!” Frank Lightfoot listened quietly until the veteran bad had his say, then he addressed Frederick Lyon. ; ‘‘Tam ready to believe that you are acting from a sober conviction of right, Mr. Lyon. For that reason alone I have quietly submitted to this disgrace, bave listened to your hard words and harsh suspicions, instead of replying to them with my fists, as I felt so strongly tempted. But you bave gone as far as even you can go, without having to answer for your words and actions.” ‘* After you have answered to the crime with which you stand charged.” ‘‘By whom?” was the swift demand. ‘‘By me, as a citizen of this town, as a man who bas taken a solemn pledge to maintain the law as far as lies in my power, let who will be the suff-rers,” was the cold response, Frank Lightfoot bowed coldly. “Tt is the abuse, not the use of law against which 'm kicking. No one but an ass or a madman would even dream of suspecting me with such acrime, much less making the charge, when here are two-score good men who can swear that they saw mo shoot the horse—my own, by the way, and a particular pet—and then save Miss Burgess from falling into the canyon. ‘With changing characters, rather,” was the swift interposition, ‘‘ You bad an abundance of time. You might easily have changed clothes with him, in order to throw us off the right scent.” “True: I might have swallowed the river and then walked down to meet you dry-shod—but I didn’t’,) laughed the Miner Detective, ‘‘ Sup- pose some of you gentlemen peel that fellow, and make sure it is not—Frederick Lyon, for instance!” ‘*Durned ef I don’t, honey,” cried Aristabu- jus, jumping icto the boat and dragging forth the scarlet-clad figure, depositing it on the sands in the clear moonlight where all could witness the operation. Frank Lightfoot pointed to the scarlet gar- ment, which fitted the unknown like a second skin. saying sarcastically: “ You all can see that the garb is a misfit! It would be no difficult job to remove and don that again, in the mildly flowing waters—now wouldn’t it?” : As he spoke, an expressive gesture ealled at- tention to the difference in size which existed between himself and the corpse. The latter was half a bead sborter, and of a thick, stocky build. The scarlet garb fitted him tightly, and even the most prejudiced could no longer be- lieve that Frank Lightfoot had ever worn the suit, much less performed that suggested double change while battling for life with the mad waters. But Frederick Lyon quickly uttered: “For all that, be might have been your ally —your tool hired to commit the outrage.” ‘If so, why did I shoot the horse?” as swiftly interjected the accused, ‘I alone was in a position to cut him off, and that only by taking terribly long chances. If my tool or my part- ner, and acting according to my instructions, why did I not hold my hand and let him get safely away?” At that moment Aristabulus Boythorn suc- ceeded in cutting the scarlet mask from the face of the corpse, and holding the body par- tially erect, be suffered the moonlight to fall fairly athwart the countenance, With therest, Frederick Lyon bent forward to view the face. For a few moments all was silence; then a mur- mur arose. Not ono of all those ees recog- nized the face of the dead man. ® was an ab- solute stronger. Frederick Lyon, his face cold and bard-set, turned again toward his priscner, saying: ‘This is no positive proof in yuur favor, and as the chief officer of this town, 1 am compelled to hold you a prisoner until the matter can be thorougbly investigated. For your own sake I trust you will submit with a good grace. If not— You will ballast me with lead—just so,” laughed the accused; but there was little of mirth in either his face or his tones, while his big blue eyes gazed steadily into the black orbs of the man whom he now knew to be a bitter enemy. Though he dad only the moonlight to guide him, Frank Lightfoot fancied he suw a red flash sweep across the face of the mine-owner at this ointed speech, and though the words had fallen rom his Jips more as a taunt than aught else, he now felt that bis shot had not gone wide of the truth. Yet he could think of no reason why the wealthy mine-owner should hate him so bit- terly. ‘‘If you attempt to escape, and can be stop- ped in no other manner, rest assured I will fire upon you,” was the cold reply. ‘““Tnank you for nothing, my dear sir! Now listen to me,” with sudden earnestness. ‘I will neither flee nor will you keep me in confinement this night. I can prove that nut five minutes before the fellow lying yonder attempted to steal away Miss Burgess, I was talking to her and her father, dressed in this suit you now see on me. She can bear evidence, if she—” ‘*She does!” came a clear, ringing voice; and then Mora Burgess appeared, togetber with her father, rapidly advancing. The crowd parted and permitted them to pass through. And before the burning gaze of Frederick Lyon, the maiden grasped the ironed hands of the young athlete, bowed her fair head, and before he could divine or prevent the action, pressed her warm red lips to them! Tben proud, defiant, she confronted them all, her voice ringing out clear and distinct: ‘*For shame, ye men who call yourselves honest and true! This gentleman saved my life almost at the expense of his own, and this is the manner in which you reward bim. Ironed like acriminal. For shame, I say!” Her indignant glance seemed to rest longest on the face of Frederick Lvon, and doffing his hat with a low bow, he said: “If we have erred, Miss Burgess, it was through our desire to avenge your wrongs. If you are positive this person was not the one who so shamefully abused you, we—” A motion of her white hand cut his speech short. “This gentleman,” emphasizing the title, “risked his life in my behalf. I plainly recog- nized him coming to my rescue when I hung there— Oh, it was awful, horrible!” Her voice grew choked and, bowing her head, she covered her eyes with her hands, Jeter Burgess stepped quickly to her side, passing a supporting arm around her waist, saying: “*T will answer for Mr. Lightfoot, with my life, if needs be! He was with us only a few minutes before that rascal came dashing up from the opposite direction. It would be an utter impossibility for him to have assumed such a disguise in that brief space of time. And then, I am almost sure I recognized bis face and form eS oa my child as she hung over the canyon-wall. I was too qeen’y agitated, on her account, but I can almost take my oath to that effect.” ‘Miss Burgess’s word is all-sufficient,” said Lyon, removing the handcuffs. “I owe you my sincere apology for allowing my feelings to carry mea little too far before due investiga- tion, Mr. Lightfoot. and I humbly beg pardon for placing you under arrest,” he said, in slow, measured tones, ‘*May you ever be as eager to bring crimi- 11 nals to justice, Mr. Frederick Lyon,” replied the young man, turning away without further ceremony. There was only one pair of eyes in all the crowd that noticed the start which the mine- owner gave at that speech, or marked the deep frown with which he watched the Miner Detec- tive offer his arm to Mora Burgess, as tbe trio slowly walked away from the spot, ‘‘ Hit right whar he lives, that did!” mut- tered Uncle Fuller, beneath his breath, as be covertly watched the twain. ‘‘ Nur it wasn’t no stray shot, nuther—wuss luck! The pesky *tective is struck the scent which leads up to my bonanza, but he’ll never reach the otber eend o’ the lead—not ef I kin stop him with lead or stee]!” Two hours later Frank Lightfoot was alone in bis room at toe hotel. He sat on the foot of his bed, bis chin supported on his hands, mood- ily staring at vacancy, bis face lined and bag- gard, his eyes red as though after a protracted debaucb. ‘*Sball I probe deeper? Shall I put it to the test?” he muttered boarsely, starting and star- ing around him fiercely at the unnatural sound of his own voice, As he divined the truth, be resumed his po- sition, but now there was a stern decision in his eyes. “IT must! With my hand on the pulseless bosom of the dead, I solemnly swore to never know rest—never suffer aught else to take pre- cedence in my life—to bend every energy of mind and body to bring the vile criminal to jus- tice! The dead heard my vow, and recorded it. It must be kept—it shall be kept, though I bave to tear my fovlish heart out and crush it in the dust beneath my own feet! ‘Love? What have sucb as I to do with that soft, silly passion? Little as I have seen and felt of it. | know it has weakened my hand and brain. Once, 1 would have struck swift and sure—now—her face rises up before me and bids me forget my oath! Bids me perjure my- self to the dead, by bolding my hand and per- mitting the blood-stained Senion to live on and enjoy his wealth, gotten who knows how?” Rising, be strode swiftly, silently, to and fro, his strong bands clinching and opening ner- vously, his face filled with strong and terrible emotions. Now and then his convulsed features would soften and grow milder, and in one of those brief intervals he muttered: **Mora, my love, my queen! Ask me for anything but that! Ask me to lay my heart in the dust beneath your feet, and it shall be done, but do not ask me to prove false to the dead— to the man who wore out bis own life in seek- ing to avenge the murdered—who died with that prayer on his lips—who took the solemn pledge from me, even while growing cold in death! ‘* Never !”—his eyes glowing redly once more, his voice coming with grating vehemence ~ through his tight y clinched teeth. ‘* Despite the daughter, I will hang him if he proves to be the one I suspect. If you are realty William Courtright, Jeter Burgess, you are doomed to the gallows!” And at that same moment Uncle Fuller, in a drunken sleep, was dreaming of bis bonanza; but Ais William Courtright wasa very different person. Which one of the twain was right? CHAPTER X. ARISTABULUS BREAKS THE SLATE. THE ‘glorious Fourth” had come and gone; Independence City had duly celebrated her emancipation; and if everything did not ‘go off” precisely in accordance with the pro- gramme as laid down beforehand, the occasion was one which would not soon be forgotten by the majority of those who participated therein. After the rescue of Frank Lightfoot from the canyon, and his disappearance in company with Jeter Burgess and his daughter, the night was too far advanced for the citizens to think of re- turning to their interrupted fire fight, and by mutual consent, the celebration grounds were deserted for tre town. A respectable few went bome and sought their couches, but the majority ‘‘ made a night of it,” bad liquor ‘‘ flowing free as water,” for no man who had eitber credit or money in his pocket spared them on such a glorious occasion. Among those who spent neither, might be named the ragged, dirty, hard-favored tramp, Uncle Fuller, but he was always foremost among those who lined the bar, and it would be no easy task to pick out a man in the entire cit who “surrounded” more beavy drinks while the unusual barvest lasted. But when the day began to dawn, the inevit- able reaction came, and Uncle Fuller saw that his liquid greed was making bim almost too rominent, and to avoid any pi! geseyr om feelin e beat a retreat, baving almost as much as be could stand up under. Seeking a retired spot just outside of town, be lay down and fellintoa drunken slumber that lasted until near noon, when he awoke, feeling almost as miserable as he looked. It was a decided case of ‘“‘hot coppers to cool,” and the tramp looked longingly toward the town as he struggled to a sitting posture, IOOKS GOMNGE (E(o)