Beadle's Dime Library No. 317 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

ma " a ——-. -- - ~ ~~ " — — “Why, you ‘’tarnal critter!” he spluttered, his face as red as that of an angry turkey-cock, his bony bands closing and unclosing after a most disagreeably suggestive manner; ‘‘ ’tain’t but a minnit ago you swore you knowed the gent from A to Ampersand! That you nussed him when a kid, an’ teached him all be knowed! An’ now—I like a liar, but you suit me too mighty well, you do!” Uncle Faller glanced quickly from one face to the other. looking more like a hang-dog than ever: but for all that, his bands silently turned to fists, and there was something in his bearing that said he would, like a cornered rat, fight hard if crowded too close in a corner. **T don’t know him,” he muttered, licking his puffy lips, his voice assuming that mechanical whine which seems a part and portion of our beggars and tramps when they wish to excite either charity or compassion. ‘‘I thought I did, but my ole eyes went back onto me. [I’m gittin’ old, gents, an’ they do say ’at blindness sorter runs in the fambly. No, I thunk I did, but I fin’ I didn’t, gents.” ‘Thought you recognized an old friend in me? Well, that could hardly be,” quietly ut- tered Frank Lightfoot, his keen biue eyes still fixed upon the flushed countenance of the rag- ged bummer. ‘‘I fail to recall either your name or your features, and I seldom forget a face once seen.” ‘Which it’s a bloomin’ pity that critter wouldn’t foller the ’zample of!” sniffed the dis- gusted Barnacle, ‘‘ The matter with him is that he reckernizes too durned many faces that he never see’d afore!” **T thought I knowed him, but I didn’t.” me- chanically repeated the bummer, glancing cau- tiously from side to side as though searching for some loophole of escape. “It’s a gifton which [ rather pride myself,” complacently added Lightfoot, seemingly un- conscious of the unpleasant feelings his presence was exciting. ‘“* It has served me more than one good turn, to say nothing of the cause of justice, when I was in her employ. For in- stance; when I was a deputy sheriff, down country a bit, I arrested a man for committing a dastardly crime. The only clew I had to his identity was a momentary glimpse of his face by the blue flicker of a match, in the middle of a dark night. It was six months afterward be- fore I struck the broken trail, but I ran him to earth and clapped the‘irons around his wrists, teady to swear that he was the criminal.” The worthy Barnacle glanced suspiciously from one to the other. He noted that steady gaze, he even fancied he could detect a hidden meaning in that cold, stern voice. He saw that the bloated faceof Uncle Fuller turned from an unhealthy red to a dirty gray, still more dis- agreeable to coutemplate, and his suspicions found a partial vent in words: “Which o’ eourse that thief wasn’t this crit- ter? He’s got too many high ’lations an’ rich *quaintances fer that /” he uttered with sarcas- tic emphasis, bringing one band down on the shoulder of his recent friend with a heavy slap that caused the bummer to wince, ‘“Durn it all!” whined the tramp, with a venomous glance upward from the corner of bis bloodshot eye. ‘‘ Didn’t I say I never see’d the gent afore? Didn’t he say toe same thing?” “Of course this gentleman could not be the vile scoundrel to whom I made reference,” cool- Iv added Frank Lightfoot, as Aristabulus turn- ed doubtingly toward him once more. “TI turned the criminal over to the proper authori- ties, but be contrived to make his escape before trial. I took an oath to bring him back, if he ever crossed my trail again, and though I have long since resigned my office as deputy, that vow still holds good. So you see, gentlemen, it is lucky that Mr. Fuller is not the thief.” Though Frank Lightfoot was but a recent ar- rival at Independence City, there was. some- thing in his manner and presence that iaspired confidence in those with whom he came in con- tact, and the uncomfortable suspicions of the worthy Barnacle were dissipated quite as rapid- ly as they had found birth. Turning toward Uncle Faller, be extended a hand, sayingin a cordial tone: : “Putt it thar, mate, ef you don’s hold a grudge when they ain’t no ’fense tended on t’other side, Mebbe I was a little too quick on trigger, but I does bate a lie, wusser!” “The best of us are liable to make mistakes,” laughingly observed Lightfoot as the two grimy paws came together and closed in what was, on one side at least, a hearty grip. ‘Though not an old friend of Mr. Fuller, Iam quite willing to be considered a new one, if he will do me that honor.” } “Which 0’ course he will, an’ mighty glad o’ the chaince, too!” et, cried the Barnacle, j rking the hand of the bummer for- ward and clapping it into the outstretched member of the other, bhisown brawny paws en- circling both, and materially contributing to the vigorous pump-handle motion. “ Mr. Ligbt- foot, Uncle Fuller—Uncle Fuller, Mr, Frank Lightfoot” — Say lt ' When this indispensable Americanism was | LT a eee 'as his _ ee 6 Frank Lightfoot, the Miner Detective. —EE — recover his tingling hand, Frank Lightfoot blandly completed the formula with: ‘*Since it is Independence Day, gentlemen, suppose we celebrate a little? I suppose a man can find something at one or another of these booths, outside of which he can struggle with- out absolutely committing suicide?’ ‘**Tain’t much to brag on, but ary one ’1l do, I reckon,” chuckled the Barnacle, with alacrity leading the way to one of the rude stands which lined the celebration-grounds, Uncle Fuller was less alert, and actually seemed on the point of parting company with the others, when Lightfoot cast a winning glance into his face that served all the ends of a positive command, In silence he followed, but is lowered eyes rested on the ‘ pistol- pocket” of the Barnacle, they began to sparkle afresh. Just peeping forth from the tatters was the suggestive cork and neck of a pint bottle, and as Uncle Fuller quickened his step, he could catch a glimpse of the reddish liquor contained therein. And while the Barnacle was busily chatting with Lightfoot over their liquor, one grimy aw stole toward that tempting object. Slow- y, deftly the flask was withdrawn from its hiding-place, and then swiftly transferred to another on an entirely different person. Then, with an air of suddenly-awakened curiosity, Uncle Fuller moved away from the booth to- ward tbe blackened, besmirched pavilion. A stealthy glance backward showed him the twain still engaged in conversation, and he slipped behind the nearest cover, walking rap- idly away, only pausing when at a safe distance from observation. This was near the foot of the steep ridge which bounded one side of the place selected by the patriotic citizcns as a celebration-ground. Half-reclining beneath the shade and shelter of a clump of stunted saplings, Uncle Fuller gave vent to his pent-up feelings after no very agree- able manner. Forbidding as an evil nature, unbridled pas- sions and long dissipation had made features none too regular or bandsome at the outset, the disreputeble-looking tramp was now absolutely repulsive. His face was flushed and contorted with a sullen rage. His eyes glowed redly. His snaggy teeth were ground and grated to- sea ob as an infuriated boar champs its tushes. is hands closed and thumped the ground be- fore him, then opened to dig his stumpy fingers deep into the soil, tearing and rending at it as though it was the throat of a hated and feared enemy lying wholly at his mercy. ** Ef it on’y jest was bim, an’ I wasn’t sech a bloody coward!” he grated with a hissing curse, that might well bave blistered lips less familiar with blasphemy. ‘‘ What ugly luck turns him up here, jest when I kin see the sun a-shinin’ on abend? hat makes him put a finger in my pie? Look out, you bloodhoun’! I won’t always run! An’ef I ever do turn—salt won’t save ye, onless you kerry eyes in your back!” A sudden motion brought his hand in contact with the bottle which be had so deftly stolen from Aristabulus Boythorn, and the savage scowl changed to a grin of low cunning and de- light as he drew it forth from its hiding-place, pea’ out the cork and applied the mouth to is nostrils. ‘* The dirty, onmannerly critter!” he ejaculat- ed, rolling up his bleared eyes in virtuous indig- nation as he loudly smacked his lips. ‘ To tote sech dew o’ heaven ’round in his pocket, an’ then coax a feller critter an’a gentleman to p’izen hisself with sech sp’iled coffin-warnish like them wampvrres dish out back yender! It’s bigh treason—no less! Good Lawd!” as his eyes closed in ecstasy, one hand grasping the half- emptied flask while the other rubbed his stom- ach. ‘*Ef I on’y hed a neck like a telegraph pole, an’ this bottle was a hogshead!” Though reluctantly, Uncle Fuller lowered the flask, producing an empty bottle from his pock- et into which he carefully nate to empty the remnant of liquor. hen the last drop was drained, he smelled long and hungrily at the flask, then hurled it spitefully against the rocks, chuckling aloud as the frail glass parted into a thousand splinters. ‘You'll never tell the tale, and Jet me alone fer keeping the stingy critter from gittin’ cluss enough to smell my breath afore the fragrance isall gone to never-come-back! To tote sech honey-dew, an’ never say a word about it! Sech a critter ain’t fit to live with hogs—no he ain't !” 7 But this just indignation did not last long. The truly generous liquor he had swallowed be- gan to have its effect on the bummer, and his thoughts took a more placid turn, though the slimy trail of the evil serpent was over all, ‘‘Ef they was only the one! Ef they wasn’t two on em! Whar’d the other come from? Durn that!” with a savage scowl,. snarled. “ The p’int is, which is which? They wasn’t only the ore Bill Courtright, then; now they’s two! Both on ‘em black-eyed—both the same age, shape, face an’ all! Thar’s a big bonanza in the right one fer me—but how to tell’em one from other? How kin | know I’m puttin’ my finger onto the same Bill Courtrigbt I knowed back fairly disposed of, and each man permitted to yender? How kinI be sure I ain’t lettin’ out ‘missin _ — a Se - ad eee the hull secrut to an inemy who’sstrong enough to fight me ’way from the trough when feedin’ time comes? That’s the p’int that sticks through the hide!” As though in hopes his stolen liquor would sharpen his wits or drive away the bewildering fog that had so suddenly obscured the attrac- tive prospect his cunning greed had discovered, Uncle Fuller took one more drink. If not the idea he sought for, it apparently gave him an- other, for with astart he uttered a grating oath, glaring balf-menacingly, half - ferociously around him as he huskily muttered: ‘‘’Nother snag ahead or I’m a-howlin’ liar! What brung that cussed bloodhoun’ here? What’s he want, playin’ prospector, makin’ a gentleman own up the truth was a lie? Ef he’s on the same trail—ef he’s struck the lead to my bonanza—ef he’s huntin’ fer Bill Courtright. too! His soliloquy abruptly ceased and he crouched lower beneath the busbes as the sound of voices and approaching footsteps were heard. He recognized the tones of the Barnacle, and as they seemed to come to a halt, he cautiously parted the bushes sufficiently to give him a peep at them. Aristabulus Boythorn and Frank Lightfoot were together, now looking back toward a rapidly-approaching figure, which the spy at first mistook for that of Frederick Lyon. He was not long in ciscovering his error, however, since he was near enough to catch every sylla- ble nttered by the party. ‘Mr. Lightfoot, I was in search of you.” ‘At your service, Mr. Burgess,” bowed the young man. ‘‘MayI ask after Miss Burgess? She sustained no serious injury?’ ‘‘Not even the slightest blister, thanks to you, my dear sir,” and the usually cold, re- served mine owner grasped and wrung the hands of the young man with generous fervor. ‘* But she could not rest until I sought you out and offered my aid to ber generous rescuer. You are scorched, I see. Permit me to attend to your injuries. You need not besitate,” with a short laugh; ‘for time was when I practiced Pt rer though I long since took in my shin- e.’ Though these words were uttered with ap- parent lightness, it needed not a very close ob- server to note the frown, the hardness which settled over the face of the mine-owner as he ceased, And lying low in his covert, Uncle Fuller clapped both hands over his mouth in the desperate effort to smother the yell of triumph which rose in bis throat. Frank Lightfoot laughed softly as he held up his shapely hands for inspection. There were a few red spots, several small blisters, but plainly nothing worth making a fuss over. ‘*Could I trust such a critical case into any hands witbout first demanding sight of a di- ploma as guarantee that the necessary skill was rot lacking? My dear sir,” with sudden earn- estness, bis fine, generous countenance flushing, his bright blue eyes growing sober as be spoke, ‘‘were I seriously scorched, the tidings you have brought would make my hurts well again, I feared for Miss Burgess, not myself.” He ceased wrapped for he could not avoid noticing the sir of cold reserve, if nut positive displeasure, vith which the mine-owner re- ceived his enthusiasm. And after a few more remarks, they parted, Jeter Burgess hastenin back to his home and daughter, while Lightfoo and Aristabulus moved past the covert where the bummer lay smothering his exultation as best be could until all were beyond earshot. Then he rose, and grinning all cver his face, muttered: xy ‘*That settles it! I’m out o’ the wilderness at last, an’ ef I don’t tetch the fu’st o’ that blessed bonanza afore another day rolls by, kick me fer a football! “To thiok! He here too! I knowed Id see‘d bim afore, an’ when he spoke o’ the pill-bags, it placed him like a mice! He was thar—he was the doctor who made the ’zamination: an’ ef Bill Courtright tries to kick over the traces, mebbe I kin bring in the medicine-man to good ‘vantage.” A sudden suspicion cut bis soliloquy short once more, and he sat; staring with lack-luster eyes at vacancy while his grimy paw slowly and dubiously rubbed his bristling chin. If Frederick Lyon was the man once known as William Courtright—if Jeter Burgess was indeed the doctor whose evidence at the inquest in the Blackhawk region, years ago, had done so much to fasten the brand of Cain on the brother—why were they both here, living in amity, in partnership? Was it only a caprice of fortune? Or—and the plotting tramp grated his teeth flercely—had they come to an understanding, in which, for some valuable consideration, the doctor passed a damp sponge across the past record? ** Let him look a little out, ef that’s the game he’s playing! I hain’t tuck all this trouble~ spent all this time an’ thinkin’ bow to git at the bonanzi~to hev another snout in the trough now that it’s comin’ nigh feedin’-time! Keep off, doc, onless you're proof ag’in’ the drugs you used to ban’le! An’ es fer you, Bill Courtright; they’s only Gomichbooks- co