Beadle's Dime Library No. 317 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

————————— Frank Lichtfoot, the Miner Detective. them what did the s’archin’, though; two some- thin's, to speak by the keerd. bey both hed bullet-holes through the top side of ’em; bullet- boles that the doc who ‘zamined them said was the cause o’ thar deaths. What he said an’ what your Uncle Fuller could tell *bout the quarrel he saw an’the soun’s he hearn that night, was plenty fer the jury to bring in a var- dic’ o’ guilty onto. Which they did, an’ said it was Bill Courtright what done the murder an’ the ars’nic a’terwards,” Uncle Fuller paused to catch bis breath and taste another glass of whisky—the same brand as that which he so deftly stole from tbe Barna- cle—as well as to take n sly glance into the face of the mine-owner. Nothing rewarded him there. Calm, marked only with a trace of weariness, that face told as little as would an image of marble. “ Aided, no doubt, by what you saw while watching the cabin, of course,” he said, care- lessly. ‘** Mebbe yes, mebbe no. Anyways. they was a-plenty fer the jedge to say Bill Courtright was a murderer twicet over; plenty fer to call out a big reward fer him, dead or ‘live. The hain't nobody called fer that reward, nur Bill Courtright ain’t never come to light sence, Mebbe he changed his name—mebbe he got rich as dirt—mebb~s he’s livin’ this werry day a big toad in the puddle, honored an’ respected— mebbe he ain’t so dura fur off as folks mought think, this werrv minnit!” As he spoke, Uncle Fuller leaned forward, bis eyes aglow, his shaggy head emphasizing witha nod each broken sentence. And Frederick Lyon lowered his eyes until they met the other’s, CHAPTER XIII. UNCLE FULLER SUPPOSES A CASE. UncLe FULLER was not a pleasant object to contemplate, just then, as he leaned across the table, his bloodshot eyes fixed upon the mine- owner with a meaning leer, his bruised face growing redder and more blotched as the gen- erons liquor began to take effect; and apparent- ly Frederick Lyon thought sometbing of this kind, for, after a brief encounter, bis eyes lifted again until they were lazily gazing at the ceil- ing through the widening rings of blue smoke that were softly breathed through bis lips. Uncle Fuller chuckled softly. He felt that the game was fairly in his own hands, and as the man whom be could have taken oath was William Courtright, bad taken matters so caimly, he forgot his old fear of violence, and fancied that all tbat remained to be done was to negotiate the price of his silence, ‘[t’s bin a ’tarnal long time sence the thing was did, an’ [ sup the p’izen critter long ago stopped skeerin’ at the thoughts o’ being pounc- ed onto an’ drug back to answer fer the deeds o’ that night; but you mebbe know what the good book says bout folks tryin’ fer to kiver sech doin’s from lawful sight forever, don’t ye?’ “*T bave beard the old saw quoted, certainly.” replied the mine-owner, stifling a yawn as he spoke; ‘‘ but I imagine the ancient adage lies uite as often as it speaks the truth. Now take ndependence City, for instance. Witbout flat- tering the town or ourselves, as citizens, I con- sider we are as moral and clean a camp as there is in all Colorado—tbat we have less than the usual percentage of crime and criminals: but for all that, I dare say there are a score of men biding here under assumed names, on whose shoulders the band of the law would fall pretty heavily if she only knew them as they really are, And I would hesitate a little before swearing that you, my very dear sir, was not one of those fugitives from justice! Of course, | mean no- thing personal; [ was only trying to show how recious little one knows of those with whom e is forced to associate in these wild Western mining-camps, At any moment you may be rubbing shoulders with an escaped murderer, while as for robbers and thieves, they are so lentiful that were a man—say Frank Light- foot, for instance—to clap you on the shoulder this instant, and say— My dear sir, be care- ful!’ To hide the confusion which he felt must be lainly imprinted on bis face, Uncle Faller hastily lifted a glass of whisky and drained its contents at a single gulp. But the powerful liquor went “‘the wrong way,” choking bim until be gasped for breath, turning purple in the face. His eyebrows arched in mock solicitude Frederick Lyon poured out another glass and held it before the choking tramp. ‘*Take asip of this, my dear sir, and it may clear your throat. I really trust it was nothing I said that so disturbed you? 1 could never for- ive myself should such be the case!” With a husky curse Uncle Fuller brushed bis hand away, for probably the first time in bis coreer as tramp and bummer refusing a free drink. A few moments of hasty gasping and wheezing, then be recovered sufficiently to con- tinue: ‘'Tain’t me we was talkin’ bout, but you—” **] beg pardon; William Courtright I believe mem’ry fer anythin’ that mought turn up to do | you called the escaped assassin,” coolly correct- ed the mine-owner. Uncle Fuller was rapidly recovering his former confidence, asd feeling as he did tbat he held this man wholly at bis mercy, no matter how fiercely he might chafe against the bonds, he cared but little for his own partial exposure, ‘* Jes’ so, boss; Bill Courtright she aire! Now vou want to open your two years while your Uncle Fuller s’poses a case.” ‘* Provided my Uncle Fuller makes the case as short as he can without destroying its symme- try,” said Lyon, bowing. ‘* Not that I mean to burry you, my dear sir, but really I never felt much interest in ancient relics. Pray go on.” ‘*S "pose all this happened jest as I bin tellin’ of ye. S’pose I kin take my davy that I crep’ up to the log shack that night ontel I ketched a good glimpse o’ the critter what done the murderin’ an’ the burnin’. S’pose I kep’ that part o’ the story to my own self when afore the crowner, fer fear some o’ the lunkheads mought take a notion your Uncle Fuller was too cluss to the place fer not to’ve hed a finger in the pie. S’pose I kep’ a snug corner in my mind an’ the ole man a benefit, hevin’a eye out fera stormy day in the futur’. S’pose the ole man one day found bisself, through no fault o’ his own, mind ye, in jail, whar be bed a long talk witha pore critter who was already feelin’ of the rope ’round his thrapple. S'pose that conwict afore he went out to dancea jig onto nothin’, told your Uncle Fuller of a sart’in bonanza what he, meanin’ the conwiet aforesaid, hed bin pursin’ up ’ginst he could git a good chaince to de- welop it to his own good. S'pose he tuck a sorter shine to your Uncle Fuller, an’ the night afore he hopped the twig, s’pose he giv the clew to his bonanza to the ole man, biddin’ bim work it fer all it was wu’th,” ** All of which may have been bighly interest- ing to you, my dear sir, but it is intolerably staleso far as I am concerned,” said Frederick Lyon, changing bis position of lazy comfort for one expressing moreimpatience, ‘If you have very many more items to suppose, you will con- fer a great favor by retaining the remainder until lam a little more at leisure; say to-mor- row evening.” ‘““Atween vow an’ which your Uncle Fuller mought easily fall down an’ stick a knife to the hilt atween bis shoulder-blades,” grinned the tramp, with a meaning leer. ‘* Now I’ve begun, reckon l’d better empty the hull budget.” ‘‘For poor patience’s sake, make haste, then!” ‘*Jes’as you say, boss. When be’s han’led right, they ain’t a more ’commodatin’ critter in seventeen States then your Uncle Fuller,” nod- ded the tramp, just moistening his bruised lips with whisky, evidently feeling that he had taken enough until bis precious bonanza was fairly located. at the secrut which that condemned conwict told the ole man was that Bill Court- right still lived; that be hed swapped his ole name fer anotber; that he was rich as mud, livin’ like a fightin’-cock ’mongst pac le who tuck lim fer little less then a ange 0 i uprigh tness?” ‘*A very important communication, if it can be depended on as truthful,” quietly commented the mine-owner. ‘Of course you lost no time in putting the officers of justice on the scent, as soon as you were lib—1l mean, as soon as your visit to the unfortunate victims of injustice was ended.” ‘“*As soon as I got out o’ jail,” grinned the tramp, with an cffensive leer. ‘* You an’ the ole man needn’t stan’ onto ceremony, I don’t reckon. But you’re mighty right I didn’t do no sech fool’ thing. I kep’ the secrut to my own self, an’ mavidged to work my way up to whar the condemned conwict said your Uncle Fuller’d find Bill Courtright-as-was.’ ‘Then he is still at hberty?”’ asked the mine- owner, his eyes glittering with more undis- guised excitement than he bad as yet showed ght an’ since the interview began. ‘‘ You can point bim out, if it was made worth your while? “Ef it wasn’t made better wu’th it to keep my tongue atween my lips, you jes’ bet the ole man could! §’ your Uncle Fuller man- idged to ketch onto the critter afore he knowed they was anytbin’ bu’sted wide open. S'pose I was to go to him an’ say: ‘ Bill Courtright, you sinner, look here: you’ve got more’n the law ‘lows one man, while your Uncle Fuller ain’t got oro enough fer to set up a lonesome drink to hisself. Butef be ain’t got money, he hes got one eend o’ your secrut, which is boun’ fer to do one o’ two things—it’ll either turn into ducats, or it'll turn into a rope with a slip-knot in one eend of it, jes’ the size o’ your thrapple!’ S’pose L was to tell the critter this; what do you reckon he’d hev to say then?” Uncle Fuller ceased aking and, with the partly-filled glass at bis lips, keenly watched the face of the mine-owner. The lazy, listless expression which had thus far marked the darkly handsome countenance was gone, and in its place came a hard, stern ct But the voice was as smooth and eveu as of old. ‘That depends on the nature of the beast. ——- — —enw ie ee If he isa weak fool, no doubt he would yield _ yee demands, if they were not too unreason- able. “Oh, I ain’t a hog,” grinned Uncle Fuller. “On the contrary, if he isa man of common sense—if he has true grit in his composition—be would probably— How long ago did you say the crime was committed?” “In 64.” muttered Unele Fuller, taken aback by the sudden transition. ‘Twenty years ego, more or less—an age in these days! But you say you know this es- caped criminal, this murderer? You are con- fident you can place your band upon bim when wanted?” ‘Jes’ as sure as I tetch you this minnit!” chuckled the tramp, placing one grimy paw upon the white hand of the mine-owner as it toyed with the stem of a glass before bim. Frederick Lyon deftly shook the hand off, then wiped his own with a snowy bandkerchief, which he crumpled up and tossed out of the open window. Though he did all this without any particular display, Unele Fu'ler turned fairly purple with rage and mortification, for even be could not mistake the sentiment which actuated the mine-owner, ‘You needn’t be so durn pa’ticular,” he growled, showing his teeth in an angry grin. ‘“‘Er the tetch o’ my paw did lenve a little smutch onto your ban’, it’s no more tben’ll wash off with a bit o’ soep an’ water; but they’s the grip waitin’ fer sech as you that won’t be got shet of so easy, J tell ye!” ‘“‘That of grim death?’ smiled the mine- owner. ‘‘If irresistible, it at least possesses the merit of being cleanly. But about this Wil- liam Courtright. You say you know where he is living at the present moment; that you can lace your band upon him at any moment. Am f to infer that he is a resident of this town, un- der an assumed name?” ‘*The Good Book never told a bigger truth than that same!” ‘*'You say be is very rich, respected, living a reputable life?” slowly edded the mineowner, his black eyes keenly watching the countenance of bis visitor. “The biggest toad in the puddle!” ‘‘Then you can mean but one man. That is Jeter Burgess?’ Uncle Fuller started half out of bis seat with surprise at these wholly unexpected words; but then he rallied. ‘* Jeter be durned! I don’t mean nothin’ o’ the sort, fer I know him from A to Ampersand, an’ kin prove his title cl’ar wbenever I like. But never mind mentionin’ names jest yit. Thecrit- ter ain’t gwine to git away onseen while you’n’ me’s talkin’ the matter over a bit,” grinned the tramp, with a meaning leer that made him look like some half-drunken satyr. ‘* Not Jeter Burgess! Yeta rich man, living in this place! Really,” and Frederick Lyon laughed shortly, ‘‘ were I at all of a suspicicus nature, I would be almost inclined to think you were hinting at me!” ‘“Tain’t Jeter, that’s flat; but I won’t go no furder with names,” said Uncle Fuller, sudden- ly growing sober again, Jeanivg across the table and marking bis sentences with) bis stumpy fore- finger. ‘‘The man isintown. He’srich, He’s ’spected by the bull community. He's Luilt up a good name an’ repetation. It'd come pesky bard onto him fer it to coms out that he wasa runpaway-murderer which the rope o’ the bang- man’d bin buntin’ these twenty year gone by. Rutber than that, I reckon he’d go down putty deep into his weasel-skin fer ducats, don’t you kinder reckon, boss?” “To bribe you to silence, you mean?” asked Lyon, coldly. “Say to play the wet sponge fer to wipe out the old a’count,” improved the tramp, witha grin. ‘‘ An’ mebbe to grease ihe ole man’s fin- gers so he’d drap the slate on a rock hard enough to break it all to thunder,” ‘In still plainer speech, you want money as payment for keeping this old crime a secret?” “ Waal, sorter that way, ef you want to come clean out o’ the bush. Not that I mean to be too hard onto the pore devil. Your Uncle Fuller ain't a hog, ef he do grunt some. He don’t banker a’ter the hull univarse. But then he’s growin’ kinder old; slippin’ down the shady side o’ life, to speak in poetry; an’ it’s time be was thinkin’ ’bout the Jatter eend o’ bis life-days —to make some kind o’ prowision fer old age. “We sot out to s’pose a case; le’s kerry it a little furder. S’pose you was the man I used to know as Bill Courtright. S'pose I come to you an’ told you all the ole man could onairth ef he was in the humor fer so doin’. to say he could take his ‘davy he see’d you that night when the two persons was killed an’ ars’nicked. S’pose be wanted money an’ com- fort more’n be keered fer jestice an’ sich-like, What would you say to all that? Jist s’posin’, of course.” ‘‘ Always supposing—possibly my first ques- tion would be bow much money you demanded as the price of silence,” ** Not so durn much, nur yit all into a heap,” was the hasty reply. ‘‘I couldn’t keep my grip onto a big pile, ef I was to git it in a Susan Jest set the ole man upin a tony saloon—stock IOOKS -—— S’pose he was - ’ com (ECO AMIE