Beadle's Dime Library No. 317 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

o — with him in his leap, his manly face flushing with pleasure as be caught her murmured thanks. \ My chiid—give her fo me!” cried a hoarse, husky voice at his elbow, and then an almost fierce grasp wrenched away the strong arm which supported his trembling burden. The balf-frown faded away as the young man recognized the one who bandled him so rudely, and a smile came in its place as bis instinctive resistance came to an end. A quick glance showed him tbat there was no further danger to be apprebended from the fire. An of the imperiled women had escaped from the throne witbout any more serious injury than a few scratches and bruises received in their frantic stampede. The young man who was second to reach the side of the Goddess of Liberty bad succeeded in completely extinguish- ing the flames which remained after that one dexterous snatch, though not wholly without injury himself, and was now in the act of re- signing his fainting burden to the care of her father, Frederick Lyon. A score of men were tearing down the re- mains of the throne, though the fire had about spent its fury in licking up the hoarded finery which the good dames of Independence City had brought forth to do bonor to the occasion. “Tf you say so, certainly, Mr. Burgess,” the young man quickly uttered, though there was something in the slow unclosing of his scorched arms that told his was no unpleasant duty, vo disagreeable burden, just then. “But | am younger and stronger—wouldn’t it be best for me to bear Miss Burgess to the outer air? The crowd is so dense and—” ‘*You can help me force a way, if you will be so kind,” the mine-owner hurriedly respond- ed, but drawing the light figure tightly to his own breast. There was little work left for him to do but to follow in the wake of the young athlete, whose broad shoulders and muscular arms seemed to roll the excited crowd back and to either side as easily as the cutwater of a ship parts the still waters. And when the ciear ground was gained, the mice-owner was hasten- ing away, bis daugbter still in bis arm:, with- out a word of thanks or parting; but, terribly frightened as she had been, Mora Burgess was tco much a lady to permit such a breach of common politeness in one so dear to her as her sole remaining parent. ‘* Papa—this gentleman—surely you will not go away without at least thanking bim!” she whispered, hurriedly. ** Afterward—you first, Mora, darling! I must get you bome as soon as may be. I dare not stop bere to inspect your injuries, and the loss of a minute may mean all the difference between life and death to you, my only, mv chee one!” the strongly agitated mine-owner replied. o his intense amazement, Mora freed herself from his trembling grasp, and holding the scorched flag around her with one little band, extended the other to the young athlete who bad literally passed through fire for her sake. ‘‘T could not go away witLoat thanking Pac sir,” she said’in tones that trembled, more from excitement thar any injury she had received. ** You saved my life!” The young man removed his hat, bowing over the little band with a degree of respect that seemed little short of devotion, but when he drew himself erect there was a bright, laughing smile in his big blue eves, ‘* Hardly that, Miss Burgess, when there were so many good men and true within sight, For- tune favored me above them, by giving me a place in the front rank, and when the citizens rushed so impetuously to the rescue of their fairest, dearest treasures, I was carried along in advance of the rolling tide. Ana yet, lady, your kiod thanks make me very proud!” As she felt those mustached lJips brush her band—as she encountered that bright gaze and heard that mellow voice—Mora Bur- gess felt a strange thrill rushing over her, and with a little sfuddershe withdrew ber band and hid ber face on the broad bosom of her parent, who hastily uttered: ‘* Excuse us, Mr.—”’ “Lightfoot—Frank Lightfoot, at your ser- vice, sir.” “IT hope to sea you again, Mr, Lightfoot, when I ean better express our thanks for the great service you bave this day rendered us; but now—lI must look to this poor child!” Without giving the young man time to make any reply, the mine-owner, half-carryivg, balf- leading his daughter, hastened away to bis dwelling. Not until they were out of sight along the winding road which led to the flats below on which the mining-camp stood, did Frank Lightfoot remove his steady gaze. And when be did the bright smile was gone, a dark, moody frown having taken its place, As he turned, he came face to face with Frederick Lyon, pale, agitated as none in Inde- pendence City had ever before known bim, walking beside a litter on which reclined the motionless form of his child, the so recently radiant Goddess of Liberty. One of the bearers was the young man who had completed the — rr) S work so deftly begun by Frank Lightfoot. Heedless of his own burns, of the blood which the exertion drew from bis scorched and crack- ed skin as bis hands grasped the pole, of his singed head and still smoking garments, Lucien Varney gazed dimly down at the covered figure, for in that litter he felt that his future happiness or despair was lying. ‘‘ Not dead, surely?’ softly whispered Frank Lightfoot of one of the awe-stricken crowd, re- moving his hat and remaining uncovered until the litter passed by. * Not yit—I i a she feels fainty-like,” was the reply, given in the same subdued tones, ‘They don’t know how bad she’s hurt yit, but it must be orful, from his face!” with a covert nod toward the bowed form of the mine-owner. ‘* We'll hope for the best, until the worst stares usin the face,” more cheerfully uttered Light- foot. ‘It does not seem possible that sbe could be so seriously injured, the fire was so soon ex- tinguished.” The old fellow sbook his bead dubiously. Like many another, while lamenting, he preferred to believe the worst. Watching the slowly-moving litter, or rather watching the bowed figure of the mine-owner, was the ragged bummer, Uncle Fuller; watch- ing, just as he had watched the going of Jeter Burgess after his parting from Frank Lightfoot. And scratching bis head after a puzzled fashion, he was muttering: ‘Which is which? That’s the p’int. Let the old man once fa’rly tetch bottom, an’ his for- tin’s jest everlastin’ly made. Thar’s a bonanzer somewhar, ef I kin on’y work the vein jest right! Which is which? One on ’em I kin sw’ar is Bill Courtright, but they cain’t be two sich! EfIlon’y— Ouch!” A heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, making him break off suddenly with a grunting snort and craven crouching of his bloated form that is so habitual to the criminal who bas reason to think he “‘is wanted” by the minions of the law. Buta greatsigh of relief broke from bis trembling lips as he cast a glance over his shoulder and recognized the Barnacle, ‘* Left ag’in, ole pard!” ejaculated the ancient, apparently failing to read that start aright. Sonve blood’s quicker on the trigger’n ole bones, an’ it’s the fu’:t pole that gits the per- simmons, in these days. Sech a cbaince, too, ef on’y we’d bin long-legged an’ smart enough otherwise fer to’ve made the riffle! Lovely female gal in danger—bold hero comes snortiu’ *long—rescoo an’ red fire—tkanks an’ courtin’— a passon an’ a ring—wife an’ kids—but sech is life in the Far West!” With a dolorous sigh that was almost a groan the Barnacle cast bimself down upon the ground in the shade, listlessly watching the men at work tearing away the ruins of the throne over which so much consultation and pleasant schem- ing had been wasted. Uncle Fuller dropped to a position beside him, but in such a manner that bis face could be averted or hidden from view of his comrade without awakening suspi- cion. ‘‘The one chaince in a lifetime, an’ we let it slip through our fingers like the tail of a durned greased pig!” sniffed Aristabulus in tones of utter disgust, ‘‘ Jest a mite sprier—tbough we mought look a leetie bit smugger, prehaps, come to take a ca’m an’ onprejudyced look at our dry goods—an’ we mougbt ’a’ run our hulks into a snug baven fer the rest o’ our nat’'ral days on airth! But we wasn’t an’ we didn’t an’ we won't, while them two young sprigs was an’ did an’ will—you mark my preachin’, aay ‘““Who was they?’ listlessly asked Uncle Ful- ler, his mind following out the blind lead he had struck, and which he felt confident would eventually lead him toa long-wished for Lonar za, ‘‘Luce Varney was one. He’ssorter clark an’ head man in the office o’ Lyon & Burgess, down yender. Smart young feller, ef be bes sorter cut the ole man out—yas, he is!” ‘*An’ the other cove? I didnt git a fa’r squint at his face, but he han’led hisself mighty iert. ‘* Which I cain’t say so much ’bout him, fer the reason I don’t know the one hafe,” was the candid reply. ‘‘ He bain’t bin long in the city —with a’ big S—ye see. Come here sorter prospectin’, I reckon, though the good Lawd knows they ain’t much room fer worko’ that kin’ in these diggin’s no longer. Ef the payin’ ground wasn’t all tuck up, think you’d ketch the ole man e184 ’round here ’thout a color in his wardrobe? Not much! An’ yit, the lad don’t look like a tenderfoot nur yit a greenborn to waste his time this-a-way. He’s built from bed-rock up, an’ he’ll never hev to buy a rubber ring fer to cut bis wisdom teeth on, you hear me, honey !” ‘* Mebbe he’s on the ‘ cross’,” muttered Uncle Fuller. ‘*Mebbe you’re Queen Victory in disguise!” sniffed the Barnacle, contemptuously. ‘‘ That he’s pure white an’ the raal quill, a biind man could see without lookin’ twicet. He’s the wer- ry pictur’ of a man, clean down to the ground. est sech another as was one I needn’t name no clearder, a few vear gone by. ’T wasn’t then that you’d see ’Ristabulus Boythorn takin’ a Frank Lightfoot, the Miner Detective. —— eee eee eee a ———_— = —— 8 EEE i (eect ie — — back seat when it come to rescooin’ beauty— never once!” The veteran gave a deep sigh, then shook himself togetber with an impatient grunt. It was not often he allowed himself to indulge in such unprofitable reflections. He knew that he had ‘‘ served his time,” and if be had wasted bis golden opportunities only bimself was to blame. The past was past. ‘‘ Thar’s the young feller now!” he exclaim- ed, pointing out the tall, atbletic form of Frank Lightfoot, as that worthy passed along toward the marred pavilion, Uncle Fuller turned his bleared eyes listlessly in the direction indicated, and as chance would have it, just then Lightfoot partly turned his head, thus affording a fair three quarter view of bis face, A short snort of surprise escaped the bummer, and he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles as though to clear bis vision, then stared fixedly at the young man. ‘* Now, I will be durned!” he muttered, bis voice busky with excitement. ‘‘Air all the faces I ever knowed turnin’ up here like a foty- graph gallery was bu’sted wide open? Who next?” ‘‘ You know the critter, then? Mebbe it’s an- other ole-time pard o’ your’n?” sarcastically ut- tered the Barnacle, who was gradually comin to the conclusion that this new-found mate o his was a fraud of the very first water. Uncle Fuller started and stared at his com- panion for a moment, plainly unconscious of naving uttered bis thoughts in audible accents. He saw the curling lip and detected the sneer of the worthy Barnacle, and that was sufficient to restore his native impudence. ‘* Know him?” he echoed, lifting his eyebrows to the brim of his battered hat, as though in surprise that such_a query should be addressed tobim, ‘‘ Waal,I kinder guess yes! Knowed bim afore he could walk. Give him a gold-lined mug when he wasnamed, Teached the little crit- ter how to walk an’ say his ABC's. Tuck him ’crost my knee many a time fer playin’ bis tricky didoes onto your Uncle Fuller—’deed, yes ! Aristabulus deliberately rose to his feet, standing before the astonished Argonaut with doubled fists quivering in front of his face as he spoke with quiet resolution: “Look bere you! I tuck to you from the jump-off, not fer yer style nur yit your good looks, but beca’se you could stow away more an’ stingier bug-juice then even I could, an’ that without a wink or blink. Ive treated you like a gintleman ever sence; but a gintleman don’t belch out lies by the yard long, an’ that’s jest what I begin fer to believe you've bin doin’ ever sence we struck each other’s comp’ny.” ‘* Who’s hit you on the funny-bone?”’ growled the bummer. ‘You bev, ef Lain’t mistook. Sit still. Try to git up an’ T’il lend you one that'll put ye to sleep fer a week! Stop thar ontel I come back, ef you love your bide!” With a parting flourish of bis bony fist, Aris- tabulus turned on bis beel and called aloud to Frank Lightfoot. The young man glanced around, and catching sight of the uplifted hand, he came rapidly forward, curiosity written upon his face. Uncle Fuller started to scramble to bis feet, but the ready hand of the B: rnacle checked him when he would bave sbuffled away, wheel- ing bim around until be stood tace to face with the approaching man. ope it ain’t troublin’ of ye too much, Mr. Lightfoot,” said Aristabulus, with native polite- ness, as the young man Jooked curiously toward him; ‘but bere’s a critter that knowed ye when ye wasa kid—spanked you many a time as a boy, ’cordin’ to his say-so. That bein’ the case, I knowed it must be a he-ole pleasure fer you two to meet ag’in an’ talk over ole times. Mr. Frank Lightfoot, Uncle Fuller—Uncle Ful- ler, Mr. Frank Lightfoot!” Having successfully accomplished this feat of oliteness the Barnacle withdrew a pace, fold- ing his arms and watching the flushed face of bis drinking companion. Uncle Fuller, loth to flee, afraid to boldly face the dilemma into which his habit of boast- ing bad flung bim, stole a covert glance at the young man who was steadily regarding bim, but with little of pleasure or aught but scorn in his fine features. “Brace up, pard,” Jaughed Boythorn. ‘““‘Member how you used fer to spank him fer playin’ tricks onto bis Uncle Fuller!” There must be some mistake,” quietly ut- tered Lightfoot. “‘I am nearly positive we never met before thisdey. If 1 ever bad that. pleasure, this gentleman is at liberty to correct me. Mr. Fuller, please reply—did you and I ever meet before?” Slowly, reluctantly the bummer looked up, muttering: ‘** Never afore this day, as I knows on, sir.” CHAPTER IV. UNCLE FULLER'S LITTLE BONANZA. OveER the face of the Barnacle came an ex- pression of supreme disgust as he listened to this admission, JOO (E cS (E() | com