Beadle's Dime Library No. 317 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

= ' " ' of the national colors. ae ee ee had borrowed or stolen paint sufficient to paint that meek-eyed. animal after a most patriotic if not elegant fashion, with an American flag on each side, and smaller ones wherever the bony angles would permit. And around its scrawny tail, its neck, through each bullet-pierced ear, dangled streamers of red, white and blue. Not of ribbon. That was beyond the means of its gpg at > owner, and he scorned to steal what is fertile mind could originate just as well. ‘* Mebbe ’tain’t quite so scrumptious as some cthers is rigged out,” he said, bis shaggy head on ove side as he complacently squinted at the woebegone mule; ‘‘ but it’s all thar, you bet! Flannel shirt an’ overhauls, with a nose wipe I skun Tenpin Charley out of on’y las’ night! Ain't it gay? Go’way, boy! You want to fill a tesian well with mercury to tell how cold it is when ’Ristabulus Boythorn gits left!” “Mighty right! An’ cain’t he jes’ sling out the music, though?’ chuckled bis companion, grinning until it seemed as though his head would split asunder horizontally. ** Wait ovtil the pore critter gits his steam up, then you kin talk, I gi’n him four-fingers this mornin’ on bis sawdust, but I don’t reckon it’s got jestly ’stributed through his systum yet; pears to me thar was a false note in the last solo —somethin’ like a B flat whar it wanted to smack jest a leetle of a C sharp—don’t you reckon?’ **Out o’ practice, mebbe. They ain’t nothin’ like keepin’ up the lick when ye once gits start- ed,” grinned the greasy, ragged, bloated fellow who had given his name as Uncle Fuller. “ Let the percession move along, then, They ain’t nothin’ of the hog ’bout me ’cept appertite an’ I ain’t a bit proud, even ef I hev got the only preambulletin’ music-box they isin Inde- pendence City—with a he-ole § fer city)” The grinning bummer tugged at the rope halter; with a groan the asthmatic mule moved forward; Aristabulus Boythorn dropped to the rear and with an awl-armed gad deftly touched his ‘‘ music-box” near the root of its tail, with startling effects. One vicious lashing out of its heels, then the hybrid planted its feet firmly, elevated its tail, thrust out its bony neck, and began to bray loud enough to waken the Seven Sleepers! A yell of laughter from the bustling crowd greeted this exhibition. Aristabulus doffed bis battered hat and graciously acknowledged the compliment for both himself and mule, “That’s better, Uncle! I knowed the bug- uice’d git in its work ef we on’y giv’ it time, 0 on with the percession! It’s the Fo’th o’ July, Independence is a city with a big S, an’ we’re houn’ to do our part long’s the music-box don’t git out o’ wind an’ harmony! Gee-up, Yankee Doodle!” Thus through the crowd, pausing as often as Aristab ilus Boythorn saw fit to applv his armed gad, passing around the huge pavilion on which the principal part of the day’s programme was to he carried out. The citizens bad spared neither trouble nor expense in fitting up this structure, and it really did them credit, being ample in size and attrac- tively arranged, though a critic might have thought there was a trifle too profuse a display But since this was a double celebration—being quite as much in hon- or of Independence City as Independexce Day— that was a fault easily overlooked. The slender, straight trunks of pine saplings formed the upright timbers, planted firmly in the ground, braced carefully apart twenty feet above, then the tapering tops drawn together to form a roof, each Gothic arch being connect- ed with the others by riders which were hidden from view by massess of green foliage. The sides of the structure were covered in the same attractive fashion, leaving one end entirely open, the other being differently arranged. hite canvas was fastened from roof to foundation, forming a background for flags, mottoes and sentiments, the latter formed of evergreens, spangled with bright-hued moun- tain flowers, Against this backing was erected a high throne, draped with white crape, laces, silken flags and other finery to which every woman in town had etd been too proud and happy to contribute. brightly cushioned chair rested on the apex, with other seats ranged below it in graduated semicircles; thirteen seats besides the throne proper. Despite bis proud ownership of the only ** music-box ” in the city, Aristabulus Boythorn could not help casting an admiring glance to- ward this structure as they passed the open end, Yet there was a trace of mellancholy in bis face and tones as he addressed his com- panion: ‘“Tt’s a mighty big thing, Uncle; a mighty big thing, an’ I’m monstrous glad I’m here to take itallin; though ef right was right, an’ I hed all I should bev by rights, it’s the big toad in the puddle I’d be, ’stead o’ runnin’ this brass band on fo’ legs! Five year ago, whar was In- dependence City? In the ole man’s pocket! Five year ago to-day, and me the only buman critter ’ithin reachin’ distance o’ all this riches! An’ now—a pore. ole, rum-soaked Barnacle! Sich is life in the Far West!” Frank Lightfoot, the Miner De A elt LL TE LT | ——- Se ——————e tective. a 3 | : ‘* A ole residenter, I reckon?’ ventured Uncle | cluim L called the ‘Give Me Liberty or Give Me Fuller. ‘* Right you be, pard,” with a sudden return of his wonted cheerfulness. ‘‘ Old as they make ’em in these parts. Bless your ole socks, mate, I was one oO’ the ’riginal prospectors in the Blackhawk region—one o’ the fu’st to climb up the Pike an’ try to swaller the Peak! Whar Denver is, they was only sand an’ dornicks. Whar— But you ain’t a tenderfoot, your own self, an’ I reckon mebbe you was in the rush 0’ ‘*’Way back o’ that, pard,” was the proud re- ply, as the broken down bummer drew himself erect with a slight return of the fire of youth; **"49 was my year, an’ ef you see Denver bornd- ed, I bolped to hold the bottle fer Fr’isco afore she was weaned—ef you was a ’riginal Barna- cle, so was I one o’ the fu’st Argonauts!” ** Which I knowed it from the fu’st glimp’—I could smell it in your atmosphere! Putt it thar, mate—good boy!” The two veterans shook hands warmly, and then, at the invitation of Barnacle, the Ar- gonaut accompanied him to one of the many booths which the enterprising saloon-keepers had erected on the celebration grounds. ‘* Le’s take a set-down fer a bit, an’ give Yan- kee Doodle time to git in a fresh supply o’ wind,” suggested Uncle Fuller, wiping his bearded lips with a ragged sleeve as they turned away from the bar. ‘ Reckon you know ’most every body in town?” ‘City, ole man—city witha big S ef you don’t want to lose that skelp o’ yours!” frowned the Barnacle, sternly. ‘‘ You kin borry my *backy an’ bite off a chaw to give me while you freeze to the plug yourself—you kin take my flask an’ on’y give back the cork fer me to smell of—but you cain’t call my Independence anythin’ but a city with a big S, an’ git off ’thout a lickin’ after the fu’st warnin’!” Uncle Fuller meekly begged pardon, and arm in arm the two wrecks of the Golden Fever passed out of the crowd and sat down side by side beneath the shade of a scrubby tree. ‘* Your Independence, I b’lieve you said?” binted Uncle Fuller, as he produced a dirty sack of tobacco out of which the two worthies filled their pipes. ‘* Which I still bolds to, ef thar’s any vartue in diskivery,” gravely replied the Barnacle. ‘Five year ago to-day I struck the fu’st pick an’ washed the fu’st pan o’ dirt here, An’ four year ago to-day, I was wu’th my little five oughts with a countin’ figger tacked onto the left side o’ the goose-aigs!”’ Uncle Fuller slowly surveyed his companion from top to toe, then back again before speak- ng. ‘“Yit one wouldn’t think you was a million- hair, to look at your outfit, jest now! Proud, mebbe, o’ the times when you hed to rastle lively fer your cbuck, an’ bein’s this is a sort o’ annyvarsary, like, you hunted up your ole duds an’—” ‘*They wasn’t hard to find, mate,” with a ghastly grin the Barnacle interposed, ‘‘ Bed- kiver by night an’ wardrobe by day! No, I ain’t proud. The day fer that’s long past an’ gone, Ef I hed it to live over—it’d be the same ole thing, no doubt! I never yit hed a pocket that didn’t hev the biggest hole at the bottom! Waal, sich is life in the Far West!” ‘*Speckilated, mebbe? Went on Wall street, I reckon?” — ‘It went, an’ that’s enough,” rather shortly uttered the old prospector. ‘‘The cash went, but the mem’ry o’ them days didn’t all go with it, an’ when I turn toes up, Dll bev as fine a monnyment as ary king that ever trod the foot- stool!” There was no mistaking his meaning when one saw the proud, yet sorrowful, glance which the Barnacle cast around him over the bustling crowd, then down at the ‘‘city ” which, after a fasbion, he had founded. And then, after his rambling, discursive fasbion, he unfolded to his companion the-past history of Independence City. It was a story which bas had its counterpart time and again in the stravge history of the gold and silver States, and would not be par- ticularly referred to in this vonnection, but for the bearing which it had on some of the char- rites: in the story which I have set out to nar- rate. One of the original ‘‘ Barnacles ”—as all who “struck” Colorado in 58 are termed—Aris- tabulus Boythorn never “struck it rich” until he stumbled on the spot now before the reader. An old hand, he was not long in realizing the value of his discovery, and kept his secret to himself until be had filed bis claims, complied with all the laws of the then Territory, and nned out enough gold to give him a fair start in developing bis choice lead of quartz, Of course the tidings of the ** new discovery ” spread like wildfire, and equally of course the rush at once began. As the discoverer, Boy- thorn demanded the right to name the camp which sprung up ina night, and thus Indepen- dence was born. ‘It was on the Fo’th o’ July that I fu’st struck color, an’ bein’ a free-born ’Merican citi- zen, I give it the name I thought wasright. My how goes it?” et tt SS Death!’ They’ve cut an’ slashed at it ontel 1t hain’t got nothin’ left but the ‘ Liberty’ part now!” Fond of liquor and cards, Boytborn soon found himself in difficulties. He then sold bis mine outright to a couple of speculators, who at once set about developing it in good earnest, and with such success that, at that day, the Liberty mine. was one of the best producing in the State. On the contrary, Aristabulus went down-bill rapidly, until now he was little better than a wreck. Where he had been among the highest, he was now the lowest, A fell into an old shaft while drunk, one night, destroyed his left eye, and on bis recovery he was dubbed Bully Boy, partly from his proper name, and partiy be- cause one of those who purchased bis claim had presented him with an artificial eye shortly after bis accident. Aristabulus was very proud of this ornament, though his pleasure was so often marred by an irreverent addition to his sleney nickname: ‘‘ Bully Boy with the Glass ive!” Uncle Fuller was seemingly an interested list~ ener to the story of his companion. but a close observer would have seen that his bleared eyes were roving restlessly through the crowd as though searching for some particular person. And the same observer might kave noticed that it was not among the commoner grade of men that his gaze lingered longest, but when one well dressed came across his vision, the eager gaze never wavered until a fair view was ob- tained of the face attached. ‘*'You’ve sot up in business as a city, then?” he asked, as the Barnacle paused in his recital for lack of breath. ‘*Sart’in! ’Lected a mare an’ common scoun- drels an’ two p’lice jedges an’ some’ commoner truck, Oh, we went the bull bog this time, you bet! Independence City bhain’t no slouch when it comes to slingin’ on style, J tell ye!” ‘* Waal, I don’t want to say one word ag’in’ the city, nur yit throw a slur into the faces o’ the citizens, but ef they didn’t do themselves proud by ’lectin’ you to the fu’st seat o’ bonor, then they’ve played it mighty low down! An’ you the founder o’ the tow— city with a capital S!” Aristabulus cast a shy glance into the face of his companion, as though expectirg to see there. a sneer, but apparently Uncle Fuller meant every word he uttered, and then the old miner replied: ‘‘T ain’t fitted fer to be mare, an’ I wouldn’t ’a’ tuck the pomernation ef they'd made the cffer—which they didn’t.” ‘‘The more sbame them, then!” earnestly cried Uncle Fuller, as he knocked the asbes out of his pipe, only to stare at a neatly-dressed man who just then came intoview. ‘ Who’s that yender?” he muttered, his voice busky and strained. ‘* Him we was talkin’ ’bout—the mare—Fred- erick Lyon, Exquire,” calmly replied the Bar- nacle, but curiously eying his companion, won- dering at bis excitement, : brought his feelings under control, though there was a red light in his bleared eyes that lowed and glittered as he watched the man or whose coming he bad watched so long and impatiently. “Thought I knowed bim, but mebbe I was mistovk. Bin long in these parts, do you. reckon?” ‘Little better’n f’o’ year. He’s one o’ the men what bought me out,” was the dry re- ly. ‘Frederick Lyon!’ mused Unele Fuller, thoughtfully rubbing bis stubbly beard, still keenly watching his man as though be expected to see him vanish into thinair. ‘It don’t seem like the name, but it’s the same ole face—only a leetle older an’ fine-like. ‘Deed I could most adore it was my ole pard what I knowed down entry. asked Boythorn, ‘Ef beis your old pard, like enough he’]] be monstrous glad fer to see ye— mebbe ’ll take you bum to dinner!” ‘* Durned ef I don’t cbhaince it, anyhow!” ex- claimed Uncle Fuller, rising and striding for- ward, while Aristabulus watcbed bim with cu- riously mingled emotions. Knowing how proud, how exclusive Frederick Lyon was with all save those who could justly class themselves as bis equals in worldly eyes, he expected to see the ragged, filthy bummer with- ered by a single glance of proud contempt, Uncle Fuller. however, appeared to entertain. no such fear, for striding rapidly forward, he hung around until Frederick Lyon parted with the man to whom be was talking, then tbrust- ing himself directly in bis path, grinning broad- ly as the wealthy mine-owner abruptly halted to avoid coming in contact with the mass of magnons dirt. : ier vith doakeati’ rusting out one hand, clappin yon on the shoulder with the other, Uneke Fuller cried, in tones that even the distant Aristabulus caught: *“ Hellow! 0 ele) GOomic SS Uncle Fuller saw this, and with an effort, | ‘Why don’t ye go ax him?” sarcastically — Bill Courtright, you ole sinner, t <€om