Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 338 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

26 Jack Sand, the Boss of the Town. between them and their foes; and the struc- ture burned without its victim. Jack was carried to an isolated shanty, for a temporary stop, at least. ‘‘No one will think of looking for him here,” said the Fool, ‘‘And now for Injun Sid.” ‘*T shall have to ask you to go alone,” said the minister. ‘I have another to look after.” ‘‘Good-luck to you, then; and take care of yourself.” So they parted, hurriedly. Godolphin Averil had the satisfaction of seeing the dashing colonel rescue the woman he had hoped to save; and it must be con- fessed that he reflected with a momentary thrill of bitterness on the time he had lost in caring for Jack, Under such circumstances he could not bring himself to join his successful rival; so he turned about and went in the other direc- tion. . , He soon came upon a party of men who were on their way to rendezvous at the up- per end of the camp, in the neighborhood of the gallows-tree. This part of the camp was in comparative darkness, the conflagration being at the other end. Among the wavering shadows the men might flit and escape detection, unless one were on the lookout for them. Meanwhile the Fool had made his way to the gallows-tree, to rescue Injun Sid while he was waiting for the mustering of a suffi- cient force to justify an attack on the out- laws. But Blue-ruin Bob was before him, and was preparing his grand hanging, which was to include the dead as well as the living, when he was called off by the announcement of the widow’s escape. While he was away, the Fool stole in and bore off Injun Sid on his shoulder. He had only time to get him away in the protecting shadows of the trees, when he was joined by two parties coming from op- posite directions to the rendezvous. ‘‘Gentlemen!” he cried, delightedly, peer- ing among them to get some idea of their numbers, ‘‘ we are all right for a squelching of this thing at a blow. ‘They feel perfectly secure because there has been no opposition. We will open their eyes in a minute! It’s a pity that we haven't a rope ready for every one that we get our hands on!” ‘“‘Tlaven’t we, though? Well, I thought of that; and as in the hurry I forgot to let go of Blue-ruin Bob’s rope, it occurred to me that it would be very appropriate to give him and his crowd the full benefit of it, So here it is.” The speaker was the detective, Kennet; and he exhibited the coils of rope which he had produced in giving his testimony. “Its a pity we can't give you three cheers!” cried the Fool, taking his hand in congratulation. ‘We'll do that when Blue-ruin Bob is dangling at the end o’ one o’ them,” suggest- ed a bystander. “Hark!” said the Fool. 3 Even as he spoke the footsteps which had arrested his attention stopped, and a guarded voice was heard to give the challenge: ‘Halt! Who goes there?’ With a quick, gliding motion the Fool slipped away. ‘Hold, gentlemen!” he said, coming in be- tween the two parties, of which the soldiers formed one, ‘‘we are all friends. There are only two parties in Red Dump to-night: road-agents and rioters, and law and order men. Whom have we here? Mr. Bodie?” ‘‘That’s the name I ’’most always go to bed with, pardner.” ‘“‘T am glad to see you bringing such a good number to the support of our wounded alcalde,” said the Fool, significantly. ‘‘ As his representative, I thank you in his behalf,” Then he turned in the other direction. ‘* And here we have—” ‘* Colonel Rawlinson.” ‘May I ask you to join us, sir, in support of the constituted authority of the camp and for the suppression of riot?” “Tf you have men enough to make it worth while to attempt the arrest of the road-agents who robbed my ambulance, I shall be only too glad to lend you what assis- tance I can,” The Fool had drawn it pretty fine in not 9 specifying that the ‘‘ constituted authority to which he referred was lawfully consti- tuted. He now smiled to himself at the col- onel’s evasion. | fiendish malignity. Bob, showing his teeth with a grimace of ‘*He’s my meat!” ‘he general fight was interrupted by this unique duel. Men on either side paused to However, verbal quibbles were of no con- | witness the issue.. That a battle should be | decided by champions has always had a sequence, if only he carried his point. So he said: “We have a sufficient number to capture the whole party if we succeed in springing a surprise on them, which is my aim.” Here he interrupted himself hurriedly. “See! They are returning this way al- ready! Gentlemen, let us get into position!” charm for men. But Ned Gordon held to the practical aspect of the case. ‘* See that no one escapes!” he reiterated, As he spoke he seemed to stumble, Bob made a ferocious lunge at him. He caught the bowie on his own; but his Quickly, yet silently, they arranged for | hand and Bob’s went against his breast with the surprise. Blue-ruin Bob’s men observed no precau- / a dull thud. He made a lightning pass with his left tions in their movements, supposing that | hand, and sprung back to avoid Bob’s left. they held undisputed possession of the camp. Some of them had already entered the vari- ous saloons and demanded drink, after the arrogant manner of the cowboy who is *‘nainting a camp fire-red.” They calling to one another to come to the hang- ing. As we have seen, Blue-ruin Bob had dis- covered the escape of Injun Sid, Sam had tendered his prudent advice, and his ruffian- ly principal had flaunted his defiance, when the Fool gave the order: ‘*Charge, gentlemen! Down with the small fry; but leave Blue-ruin Bob and Sly Sam for hanging, if possible!” With a yell the men leaped to the charge, and pandemonium reigned! CHAPTER XXXII, A NEW MAN. . ‘“‘SuRROUND them, and bag the whole lot!” shouted the Fool. ‘‘Spare all who throw down their arms; but death to every man with a weapon in his hand!” His confident tone shook the courage of the outlaws. Blue-ruin Bob tried to counteract its ef- fects. ‘*Go fur ’em, my bully boys!” he yelled, himself setting the example by springing into the thick of the fight. ‘‘ Scatter the cow- ards as ye did awhile ago! But this time don't leave so many to come back at ye! Down ’em! down ’em! every mother’s son! No quarter, give or take!” Thus hailed on, his men fought desper- ately, But equal courage and superior num- bers told. The hour of panic was past. Under the leadership of Ned Gordon, no longer the Fool o’ Fiddler's Folly, but now the Hero of Red Dump, his men rushed to battle with confidence in themselves and enthusiasm for their commander. The outlaws saw the danger of being sur- rounded, and yielded ground to avoid it. In vain did Blue-ruin Bob call to them, alternately offering rewards and urging the unqualified ruin of defeat, now decrying their foes and now impeaching their own courage, ‘“‘Ho! air ye cowards? At ’em, I say! Remember, ye air fightin’ with halters about yer necks! Hasn't every last one of us play- ed at the game of ‘Throw up yer Hands?’ Which end o' the rope do ye want to be at? Charge, an’ down they go! The man who drops the Fool I'll make my second in com- mand! Go fur’im, boys! Whar’s yer pluck?” He himself sprung for Ned Gordon, with a torrent of blasphemy. The chambers of both his revolvers being empty, he threw them at his enemies, and plucking his bowie from the back of his neck and snatching another from the man who happened to be nearest to him, without stop- ping to see whether he was friend or foe, he cut and hewed right and left. ‘‘ Leave this gentleman to me!” cried Ned Gordon, imitating his example, by possessing himself of two bowies. ‘Hold on, Cap! That ain’t the kind o’ work you was cut out fur!” cried one of his men. ‘‘ Let me take a hand hyar. Bob's the devil, with a knife!” ‘*Look out that Sly Sam don’t get away!” replied Gordon. ‘‘ Stand back, everybody! This is my man! I'll show yeu that, if I haven't fought with the best of you, it isn’t because I didn’t know how!” And as he parried a savage slash of Blue- ruin Bob’s, the sparks flew from the griding edges of their weapons. ‘‘Don’t nobody touch him, boys!” cried | The spectators thought that he had received a stab in the breast, and yelled in concert— the one side with dismay and the other with _ triumph. But why does not Bob follow him up? came howling down the street, | See! he stands with an expression of mingled hate and terror on his repulsive countenance, like a baffled demon, His right arm has sunk to his side, the bowie dropping from his grasp. He struggles to lift it. it is powerless! He drops his other bowie, and clasps his palsied right arm. It will never serve his wicked will again. The muscle has been severed to the bone! Neither side realizes that the fight can be over so soon—that the terrible Blue-ruin Bob can be a conquered man without having drawn a drop of his opponent’s blood. But Bob himself knows it; and his master knows it, too! ‘‘Surrender!” he cries, his face lighted with an expression which no one who wit- nesses it ever forgets. It is not the look of one who intends to kill his man, but the confident determination to take him alive. Blue-ruin Bob, who has stood like one turned to stone, utters a sudden yell of ter- ror, as the vision of the gallows flits before his imagination—it is his helplessness that makes a coward of him—and turning, flees headlong, blindly! Ned Gordon springs after him, with a leap — which shows that he who has always been regarded as a non-combatant is in reality an athlete of the first order, and with a down- ward blow strikes him on the head with the end of his bowie-hilt. He drops like a felled ox! Then the spell is broken. With yells of terror the followers of the beaten champion turn to fly. With yells of triumph their pitiless foes spring after them. Sly Sam is the most active of the lot. Moreover, he has had the shrewdness to take advantage of the momentary suspen- sion of hostilities to edge his way to where he would have something of a start, if his principal happened to have found his match. Shots are sent after him; but, as if he bore a charmed life, he keeps on. He is outstripping his pursuers, when one who is his master in a foot-race as in other things ‘‘ takes a hand.” Ned Gordon shouts: ‘* Bodie, see that this ruffian does not re- vive and give us the slip!” Then he springs in pursuit of the one other man whom he especially desires to see swin from the bough that has so nearly igfopended him between heaven and earth. He has nothing in his hands; but a revol- ver with which, contrary to his wont, he has armed himself for this fight bobs up and down on his hip as he runs, like an athlete, — with lips compressed and clinched fists brought up to his shoulders, Sly Sam knows that the conformation of the gulch in which the camp is located is such that, if he abandons the street, which is only a part of the mountain-road, for the security of the darkness, he will only increase his chances of being ultimately taken; so he runs the risk of being overtaken by a pistol-ball, and keeps straight down the street. He glances over his shoulder and sees that the race is between him and Ned Gor- don, but that he is no match for his pursuer. Suddenly he stops and throws up his hand with a ebcked revolver in it, to take deadly aim at the man he cannot elude. But Gordon stops as abruptly; his hand <coim <S IOO (E co 3 i