Beadle's Dime Library No. 317 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

Le Frank Lightfoot, the Miner Detective. ee 9 The cedar was plainly giving way,and witha desperate nerve, he drew up his feet, using both them and his hands to thrust himself far out from the wall, then shooting down—down! CHAPTER VIL. SEAKCHING THE CANYON, So much time wus lost by the gaping revelers before they could fully comprehend that their aid was needed to succor human lives, that Jeter Burgess recovered from that stunning blow, and guided by the ringing sbout of Frank Lightfoot, he was one of the foremost in reach- ing the spot where the white horse lay stiffen- ing in death. His was one of the first faces that peered over the escarpment, but a horrible fear deprived him of the power of further mo- tion for a few seconds as he beheld the pale face of his beloved child, floating below him as though bovering in mid-air without substantial support. y that dim light their first glances failed to note the rope by which tbe pale-faced girl was depending, and on their faces was written tbe superstitious fancies which began to assail liquor- befogged brains, when Lightfoot repeated his impatient directions. Even then they lacked a leader, until Uncle Fuller grasped hold of the rope and howled: ** He-yo-reave an’ altogether, boys! Durned ef lain’t plum’ ’shamed 0’ sech a lazy outfit! He-yo—umph !” All the revelers needed was a word of proper guidance, and seeing the ragged bummer tug- ing lustily at the taut lasso, a dozen pair of Cote grasped it with such a will that the Ar- gonaut, bis powers no longer resisted, dropped to a sitting posture on the rocky soil witha force that extracted a loud grunt of mingled ere and disgust from his lips. Ten seconds ater the trembling bands of Jeter Burgess closed upon the arm of his fainting daughter, and then she was lifted over the escarp- ment and borne hastily back from danger. ‘*Onbiteh the rope!” cried Aristabulus Boy- thorn, who, finding no place for himself at the rope, was peering over the edge of the canyon wall, ‘“*They’s another—durned ef they is, now! Good-by, Jobn!” Hardened as were bis nerves by the life of hardships, peril and privation which he had led for many years, the honest Barnacle hastily averted his head and closed his eyes to shut out that frightful sight. But be could not close bis ears to the wild cry that rung out even above the roaring of the waters, or that sullen sound that told of a buman being plunging into the whirling pool, to meet almost certain death! **Good-by, boys!” was the manner in which Aristabulus interpreted that hardly articulate cry; but may it not have been ‘‘Good-by, Mora?” With their wits growing clearer with the pas- sage of each moment, the men at the rope soon realized what had occurred, and they hastily rushed to the escarpment, leaning far over and striving to pierce the dizzy depths with their eager gaze, By the twinkling of the stars, aided a little by the moon which was now well above the range of hills, they could just distinguish the water in the pool. nd some of the keener-eyed among their number declared that they could make out the widening waves which marked the spot where the man had plunged down to his death. ‘*T don’t reckon he ever knowed what burt bim, a’ter be hit the drink,” soberly muttered Aristabulus Boythorn. ‘Ef they was any wind left into him by the tum’le, that knocked it west-eend-an’-crooked in a burry, I warrant ye! The pore devil was goin’ head-over-ap tite the last I see’d o’ him, a good thousin’ pad a bour!” , ‘““Who was it? Howdid it happen? What does it all mean?’ A dozen voices asked these or similar ques- tions, but when they paused fora reply, there was none to give it. But from them all came signs of relief and pleasure as the tall form of Frederick Lyon dashed out of the darkness into the moonlight, rapidly approaching the cluster- ng forms near the fallen horse, for now they felS they would no longer lack a head to direct their movements, His face white, stern and hard-set, Frederick Lyon brushed aside those who thought to first catch his ear with the marvelous tale, and in another instant he was kneeling opposite his ier gazing anxiously into the pale face of e girl. A brief period of breathless suspense, then a glad ery escaped bis lips. “Sbe will live—she is not seriously injured!” A cheer went up from the excited crowd, but it was cuf prematurely short asthe recollec- tion of the man who had met his fate so recent- ly came back to them vividly. And once more they tried to solve the mystery which—to them —overhung the entire affair, Frederick Lyon helped Jeter Burgess to bear the still unconscious maiden further away from the spot, but his return was speedy. Stern and white-faced, he pointed down at the body of ya na horse, bis voice cold and hard as he spoke, Whe was the villain, you ask? Are there none Posy | our number who have ever seen that horse before? Who would ride it on such a gee f errand but its owner?” A breathless pause, then a miner spluttered: ‘* Ef it ain’t, then I don’t want a cent!” ** Find the owner of that horse, and you can lace your band on the dastard who dared to insult the flower of our city! Find him, dead or alive, and name your own reward, I make the offer on behalf of myself as well as my part- ner, Rapidly the mine-owner uttered these words and one at least among his bearers believed be held the right clew to the motive which prompted that offer of blood-money. Uncle Fuller, while keeping bimself modestly in the background, watched his intended prey closely. “Frank Lightfoot owned that critter,” said Aristabulus Boythorn, a certain doggedness in his tones and bard-favored countenance as he confronted the mine-owner. ‘‘ We all know that. An’ I know that a whiter boy never drawed the breath o° life then Frank!” Frederick Lyon, silently pointed toward the dead horre. ‘* Durn the odds!” replied the sturdy defender of the young athlete. ‘'*Twouldn’t be the fu’st time a hoss got stole to be used fer dirty work, Ef Frank hed any han’ in the job, it was to shoot the critter an’—” Just then, sobbing hysterically, Mora Bur- gess, hadi by the arm of her parent, came forward. ‘Save him—why do you stand here while—” She was unable to say what she wished, and turned an appealing glance up into her father’s face. He had only partially learned the truth from her broken ejaculations, but he hastened to add: “There was some one who risked his life to ame Bab hers, and she insists that he is still angivg over there by—” ** Not much he ain’t,” interposed Aristabulus. “I see him peter out jest as you got the gal up atop the rock. A house couldn’t ’a’ tumbled straighter nur yit made a cleaner bole into the drink—I’ll al’ays say that much for the pore critter!” ‘“‘Frank—dead! and for my sake!” gasped Mora, burying her head in the bosom of her parent, sobbing hysterically. ‘*She thinks it was Frank Lightfoot who res- cued her,” the mine-owner explained, hurriedly, ‘‘She’s got the two mixed up, then,” almost roughly cried Lyon, his black eyes glittering fiercely. ‘‘1t was Lightfoot who tried to carry her away, as bis borse here proves!” ‘*Not so—he saved—oh, father! help—I am falling!” The poor child was able to bear no more, Her senses failed her, and bearing her in his arms as though he felt not her weight, Jeter Burgess hastened away from the plateau which for the second time on that ill-starred day had so nearly been the death-scene of his only child. But Aristabulus Boythorn caught eagerly at her words, and lost no time in improving to the utmost the bint they had conveyed to bim. ** You hear that, all o’ ye?” he exclaimed with an air of triumph. ‘‘ You wouldn’t b’lieve me yvben I was ready to take my ’davy I see Frank hangin’ over the rock, like the little man he sart’inly is; but mebbe you'll take her say-so! Frank wasn’t the devil as toted her off, but he was the gintleman as shot down a mighty good hoss an’ then jumped over the ditch fer to save the dainty darlin’—’deed, he jes’ was, honey!” ** Le’s s’arch the kenyon!” shouted one of the crowd. ‘‘We kin do it with ropes an’ the boats, Whbooray! That’ll tell the tale, ef we find ’em !” It was a proposition which seemed to meet the views of the entire crowd, unless Frederick Lyon might be the exception. A dark frown crossed his face, but it vanished as quickly as it came, and only the watchful bummer noted and interpreted it aright. And as he hung back in the rear, the fellow chuckled guardedly to him- self, as he muttered: ‘“Bill’s tuck a tumble to the ’tective, an’ kinder skeers that he’s layin’ the pipes to ketch him fer that old bit o’ work down the lower kentry. An’ I knows another cove what won't weep his eyes out ef the cussed bloodhoun’ is gone up.” Frederick Lyon advanced to the edge of the canyon, and gazed down into the gloom, It seemed an impossibility that a mortal being could survive such a fall, to say nothing of the reception he would meet with by the whirling, boiling waters, when once fairly in their clutches. ‘‘As you think best, gentlemen,” he said Sarpy, turning away from the brink. “ It is barely possible we may be able to beat the waters down to the mouth, but if so, and our labors are to amount to anything, we must pro- ceed systematically.” * You’re boss—say we'll do it,” , ** Very well, I'll accept the command. Half a dozen of you run down and get horses, and ride to the boat-landing as fast as may be. Get into the boats and watch the riffles for any- thing floating down, If you catch a glimpse of what we want to do, an’ a body, secure it, no matter what the risk or trouble. That’s enough. Go!” He was obeyed on the instant, and then the mine-owner issued his further directions. A goodly quantity of light-weight rope was to be gathered up and taken to the point where the river deboucbed from the rocky hills, ‘*Of course we can’t paddle the boats up through the canyon, but by the aid of os pn with men on each side of the canyon to pull on them, we can warpup,I guess, Of course, if the body or bodies are not caught in some of the eddies, or lodged against some rock, we will be spared this trouble,’ The explanation was sufficiently clear for those wbo were more or less familiar with the locality, and the citizens flocked away to the town in quest of the ropes. Already those sent to patrol the river were mounted and gallo; ing away for the point indi- cated, and it was not long before the rest of the company were following on their heels, Though the river was fordable a short distance below the place where it left the hills for the pet ns, several rude bouts were kept there, nain- y for fishing purposes, and into the largest, stoutest of these, Frederick Lyon and three other men entered, Aristabulus Boythorn form- ing one of the number, opes were attached to the boat, and with plenty of volunteers manning these, the search of the canyon was begun. It was no child’s play, even with the tow- ropes attached and so carefully managed as to keep the boat in the center of jhe passage, for the current was swift, even there. ‘Wait ontel we git a little furder in, an’ then talk!” said one of the boatmen, dexterously us- ing the stout pole he carried to sheer the boat away from the foam-crested top of a jagged rock, rendered visible by the blazing fire crate which protruded above the prow. ‘‘ The fish we ketch this night won’t be live ones—you bear me!” ““Yit you ain’t werry dead, an’ you come through the race with plenty o’ wind into you, didn’t ye?” retorted the Barnacle. ‘**°Ca’se I was drunk—dead drunk,” was the frank reply. The incident was well known to all there pres- ent. While out on a prospecting tour, this man had fallen into the river and was swept through the canyon until thrown, more dead than alive, upon a oe some distance belowtown, Itseem- ed incredible, but was none the less true. Their progress was slow, owing partly to the tremendous current, partly to the fact that the party of men at the rope which led to the hill side of the river, had difficult ground to cross, there being at best but a narrow, shelving ledge for their foothold. One of their number led the way with a lantern, and thus they slowly ad- vanced. Frederick Lyon acted as steersman, while Aristabulus knelt in the prow, keeping a keen watch for omy Bevan bodies. The other men guarded the t from being hurled sideways upon the numerous rocks which parted the swirl- ing waters, their strong arms and stout poles be- ing called into requisition almost constantly. And after this fasbion they proceeded for near- ly an hour, when Aristabulus started to his feet with a yell of superstitious horror, dropping his pole and for a moment seeming actually on the point of leaping overboard, At the same instant the party on theleft bank let their rope slacken, and the boat turned a little sideways to the current. This turned the red light from the eyes of the rest in the boat, and they saw—what? The white face and body of a man, seemingly floating down the mad waters, but seated a ) the shoulders of one whose blood-red head bore two pointed borns—the head of Satan himself! CHAPTER VIII. THE WATERS GIVE UP THEIR DEAD. WHEN the treacherous point of rock crumbled beneath his toe—wheu the frail rooted cedar cracked and splintered beneath his weight— when he realized that long ere the form of the unconscious maiden could be drawn up to the level of the plateau, the noose removed and again lowered for him, he must be burled down- ward to meet what seemed certain destruction Frank Lightfoot saw his one faint hope a manfully grasped it while there was yet time. From what he saw in that one swift down- ward glance, he felt a bope that there might be a considerable depth of water in the pool-like stretch Srey below him, and making use of both hands and feet, be thrust himself as far out from the face of the cliff as circumstances would permit, for he knew that to strike pst an rojection in the canyon wall would insure h estruction, Brave far beyond the common, with nerves like steel in the face of any o ry peri Frank Lightfoot felt a thrill of horrible fear as the cedar sbrub gave way entirely, and it was to foil the wild yell of abject terror that rose in his throat that he uttered that last good-by—not to “‘ the boys” as the worthy Barnacle declared, but to Mora, the woman to whom his whole heart was given, despite the black cloud which hovered over her past. JOO cS eom (E (E(o)