Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 367 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

4 agree to thrash the hull truth out o’ the p’izen critter afore a mad bull kin flick his fly-flapper twicet!” Lightly the speaker leaped from saddle to ground, his whip em through the air and its lash cutting a gash in the dry sod close to the ear of the prostrate wretch. Dough-ball Jimmy shivered and closed his eyes, but doggedly mut- tered: ‘“'You kin cut my heart out, but you can’t make me tell it only to Dan Brown o’ Denver'!. Take me to him, an’ you’ll never regret it. Kill me afore I kin tell him what I know, an’ he’ll—” Was it instinct that caused the poor devil to open his eyes and cast a swift glance off over the prairie? Did the fear of death sharpen his senses that he recognized the horseman who sat motionless just over the little swell in the plain, his torso and the back of his animal alone visi- ble? A wild, hysterical laugh burst from his bleed- ing lips as he leaped to his feet, glaring eager- ly, madly toward that rider. ‘¢Tt’s him—take me to him! It’s Dan Brown o’ Denver! Thank the good Lord fer all his marcies!” All eyes were turned instinctively toward the distant horseman, and a frown darkened the bronzed face of Bill Hampton. ““Durned ef the critter ain’t right, boys! ™hat’s Dan Brown!” ** Or his pard, Sol Scott,” interposed another. ‘“One’s somuch like both you cain’t tell t’?other from which!” ‘It’s Dan Brown, I tell ye!” howled Dough- ball Jimmy, in an ecstasy of mingled hopes and fears. ‘‘ Take me thar—call to him, some o’ you fellers! I cain’t—my thrapple’s all dried out! Call to him—ef you let him go off now, it'll be wuss then bloody murder! Call him!” ‘‘Dan Brown, Sol Scott nur the Old Boy his- self cain’t save you this bout, Jimmy,” grimly uttered Bill Hampton, giving the lasso an im- tient twitch as he rode slowly forward. “You've run the len’th o’ your rope, Jimmy. ‘We ketched you red-handed, so to speak, an’ they’s only the one sort o’ law fer critters o’ that kidney. That’s the rope!” “ He'll savemo! He'll give me my life for the news I kin tell him!” ‘Ef I thought as much, durned little life they would be left into ye by the time we git up to him!” growled Hampton, touching his horse with the spur, causing it to bound forward so suddenly that ‘Dough- all Jimmy was flung face downward to the ground. With a choking, muffled howl, he scrambled to his feet, then rushed forward, shouting as loud as the tight noose would permit, only to be surrounded by the cowbeys and lashed into ‘silence with their whips. | “The durned hot-head!” sno Bill Ham lfroz as hesaw the single horseman lift a rifle from its slings at his saddle-bow, bringing it to ificantly. ‘‘ Ef a level and covering them an Brown or Sol he slings lead this way, bein’ Scott won’t keep his hide hull! Hey! you blame’ fool critter?” he br at the top of his voice, raising his right hand with palm toward the bold horseman. ‘*We ain’t huntin’ lead from ‘the likes 0’ you!” The gesture, if not the pemeneny ne words, seemed to be recognized, for lowering his rifle, though still holding it in readiness, the horse- man rode rapidly toward them, sitting his irited animal with an ease and grace which ‘the cowboys, born riders themselves, were not ‘slow to recognize and admire. Tall, athletic, his superb figure admirably displayed by his action, the horseman dashed on, ‘his animal coming to an abrupt halt when one hundred yards distant, seemingly of its own free will. Any but a thorough rider would have been hurled from his seat, or atdeast soe: that abrupt stoppage, but not so thisman. He seemed part and parcel of the gallant steed, and again, the cowboys interchanged glances of ap- /proval. pee Close enough is heap better then too close, | pard!” cried Bill Hampton, with a significant gesture. ‘‘ Specially when you've got one finger on trigger. You didn’t leave your name ahind ye, I reckon?” “Dan Brown—save me!” hoarsely cried | Dough-ball Jimmy, desperately hurling himself penne | the circle of horsemen. ‘‘ Save me, or wuss ‘Il come to them as you—” A savage jerk on the rope choked him off, but apparently he had said enough to satisfy the abringer, for replacing his rifle in its slings, he held up his empty hand and advanced. A strong, handsome face, well matching the athletic figure; a face that would instinctively attract an honest man, even as it would repel a criminal. Dark blue eyes, bold and searching, mild and genial, according to the feelings that overned their owner at the moment. full, ooping pair of mustaches, with the rest of the manly face clean shaven. Rich brown hair, close trimmed. His garb was evidently designed for service, rather than looks, though it was neater than might have been expected on one who had evi- dently seen hard and steady work for many a 'day past. Stout boots, coming over the knees; al A Royal Flush. ——- Se ee trowsers of drab corduroy; a gray shirt of flan- | risoner, striving to read the truth there. Evem nel, laced in front with a silken cord; a loosely ; is penetration was at fault just then, so utterly knotted neckerchief beneath the broad collar; a | had the dread of death taken possession of the. felt hat with low crown and broad rim. About his waist was a cartridge-belt, well eee with ammunition both for the repeatin rifle that hung from his saddle-bow and passe« beneath one muscular thigh, and the brace of hea revolvers which, with a stout, service- able knife, were attached to the same belt. ** Dan Brown, I reckon?’ added Bill Hamp- ton, more as a yar than an assertion, how- ever, for though he had met both of the famous detectives quite frequently of late, even now he could not say which one of the twain sat before him, so strong was the resemblance since Sol Scott sacrificed his long blonde beard. Having regained his breath from that savage jerk, Dough-ball Jimmy again pressed forward, gasping hoarsely: **Thank the good Lord it’s you, boss! Save me from these—” Coldly the detective gazed at him, his face hard and pitiless, and as the poor devil broke off in a gasp of despair, he spoke icily: ‘*T have nothing to do with you. You are not of my game.” A yell of relief broke from the lipsof the cow- boys that drowned the despairing groan of their destined victim, and the manner in which their worst passions broke forth told how strong had been their expectation of losing their prey. ‘**Good as a fat three-year old!” ‘*Skip on to the timmer, an’ h’ist the hoss- thief up to heaven!” ‘* Whar’s the use in so much trouble?” cried another, with a wild, chilling laugh. ‘‘ Le’s have a pullin’ match! Five dollars on my cayuse! ho takes it up?’ ‘Durn the bettin’!” cried stillanother. ‘“‘ It’s fun we want, an’ a fa’r show fer all! Turn the critter loose an’ le’s all startin even. The best rope. takes the fust choke!” ‘Anythin’ to keep peace in the fambly,” laughed Bill Hampton, as he wheeled his horse and bent over to remove the noose from about the neck of their captive. But Dough-ball Jimmy evaded his grasp and made a desperate dash toward the detective, howling in desperation: ** Let ’em bloody murder me, an’ you'll regret it to F bind dyin’ day, Dan Brown! Ef you let ’em kill me, nothin’ won’t save your wife an’—” A startling change came over the detective as he caught these words, and with a swift motion he interposed between the captive and the cow- boys, his handsome face stern and commanding, a revolver filling his right hand. ‘* The durned critter is jin’ pard—” “It’s God’s truth, I tell ye!” gasped Dough- ball Jiramy, looking more like a madman than aught sane as he cowered behind the detective, desperately resisting the choking strain which Bill Hampton was putting on the lasso, ‘1 kin save ’em, but if they bloody murder me—” ““We ketched him red-handed, so to k, pard,” added Hampton, in a milder tone, flinch- ay hats so little from that ugly weapon. ‘“‘ He’s a hoss-thief, an’ hes bin runnin’ off stock fer years gone by. You ain’t the man to stan’ up fer the likes o’ him, I don’t reckon?” ‘* Until he has time to say just what he means by those words, I am, my good fellow,” was the cold reply. ‘* They’s a rope fer the likes o’ him, too, ef he’s so mighty hungry fer it!” growled one of the er by with an ugly scowl. ‘ ich he’ll git, rather then Dough-ball gits loose, mind that /” smile the detective glanced With a cold, ic around the circle, his blue eyes glittering with a dangerous light. He did not look like a man to be driven from a position once taken, by fear of a rope. ‘* Keep your linen on, gentlemen,” he said, his tones soft and even musical, as his lips curled in a smile that was more significant than loud threats. ‘‘If you ever heard of Sol Scott, you know he don’t bluff down any too easy. This poor devil says he has an important secret—” ‘* Not fer Sol Scott—Tll tell it only to Dan Brown 0’ Denver!” gasped Dough-ball Jimmy his terror rendering him doubly unwise. eT won’t trust it to cae ed else. You'd on’y cheat me out o’ my life! You wouldn’t stan’ atween me an’ the rope, like—” ‘You hear that, pard?” and Bill Hampton laughed sneeringly. ‘‘ It’s on’y a wild bluff the critter is tryin’ to save hisneck. He don’t know nothin’. It’s all guff.” **T do know!” howled the half-mad wretch, resisting the renewed pressure of the choking noose. ‘‘I know that the ’s death an’ wuss in the wind fer Dan Brown’s fambly! I’m the on’y man as kin tell the hull truth so’s they kin be saved! I sw’ar it by my life!” ‘Fact is the pesky critter hes gone clean off his nut, pard,” confidentially muttered Hamp- ton, to the detective. ‘‘He never was much more than a cowardly sneak, Dough-ball wasn’t. at tho very best, though he could sneak, an’ spy an! ruin off hoss-critters ekil to a Injun. eC But Sol Scott was paying no heed to his words, The detective was gazing keenly into the haggard and fear-drawn countenance of the miserable wretch. Coldly, sharply he spoke to Dough-ball Jimmy. * k here, my man. Try and calm your- self enough to weigh my words carefully. Are you speaking the truth? Do you know anything important concerning the family of Dan Brown? Easy! Don’t speak wildly, now.” ‘**Fore God I do, boss!” was the husky reply. ‘*Take me to him—let me see him, or when he comes to know you shet down on me, he’ll cuss you from then to forever! Jes’ let me see Dam rown 0’ Denver!” Sol Scott rose erect in hissaddle, his face hard. and stern-set. He faced the cowboys with the air of a master, and spoke clearly: “Pm going to give the rascal a show. Dan Brown, my pard, is over in yonder timber. You will take the fellow to him, and let him tell his story. If he’s hatching up lies, so much the worse for him!” As he spoke, Sol Scott fired one shotin the air, then emitted a long, shrill whistle that seemed to split the air for miles, ‘* Got to, you say?’ muttered Hampton, with an ugly frown. ‘‘That’s precisely what I said,” was the cold retort, as Sol Scott recocked his revolver. ‘If ou are agreeable, all right. If not—I’ll take be there myself. Make your choice, gentle- men!” CHAPTER III. DOUGH-BALL JIMMY THROWS UP HIS HAND. ONE man against half a score. But it did not look such heavy odds, after all, as the cowboys stared into the dark muzzles of the twin revolvers over which those steel-blue eyes were glancing. In those first few seconds all the marvelous tales they had heard conccrn- - ing the d rate prowess and unequaled nerve of Sol Scott flashed athwart their minds, and as Bill Hampton—even doughty Bill, a bit of @ chief and a fire-eater himself—visibly flinched from that bold front, his mates took no shame to themselves that they, too, shrunk back a. trifle. But even as they did so, it seemed to each one of the ten that one, if not both, of those grim muzzles kept pace with their movements— each man could have honestly taken oath that he in particular was hono by that deadly im. ‘‘I'm not trying to crowd you, gentlemen,” added Sol Scott, in his cold, even tones, betray- ing not a grea of anger or irritation, but: sounding all the more impressive for that very absence of hatred. ‘I would hate desperately to hurt any one of your number, for | believe you to be honest, square men; but all the samc, when I say you’ve got to take Dough-ball Jimmy over to yonder oat of trees, for an interview with my pard, Dan Brown, of Denver, I mean every syllable I mo ‘‘ Got to is mighty tough words to swaller, though!” muttered Bill Hampton, with a deepen- ing scowl as he fancied the detective was begin- ning to weaken. ‘“Not so tough chewing as a couple of bullets, thongh,” was the swift retort. ‘‘ As I said, take your choice. Guide the rascal to Dan Brown, or [ll do it.” ‘* An’ we ten to your one?” “ Just now you are, but Dan Brown is afoot by this time, and if you wait until he comes up —well, I reckon you'll fancy the ten has run up against a whole regiment!” laughed Sol Scott. ‘Bf you'd on’y axed it white-like, it would- bP] ‘“'That’s where you are, is it?” smiled Sol Scott. ‘‘ Allright. I’m notso squeamish. Mr. Hampton, will you stoop so low as to condesceud to be so kind as to permit this poor devil to pay his respects to Dan Brown, of Denver, under our highly honorable escort? Grant the hum- ble prayer of your meek servant, and we will ever pray, etc., and-so-forth!” This was an improvement with a vengeance, and Hampton frowned more blackly than ever, but that was all. The supreme coolness of this detective impressed him powerfully, and as he. now caught sight of a second horseman spurring ° rapidly from the timber, he made the best of a disagreeable matter. OT 7 reckon you kin see the p’int o’ your owa joke, pard, but—” = J est or sober earnest, just as you prefer, my good fellow.” ‘Tt ain’t hardly wu’th while spillin’ clean blood over a dirty cuss like Dough-ball Jimmy,” persisted Hampton, ignoring the polite interjec- tion. He’s a hoss-thief, ketched red-handed, an’ as sech sentenced to the rope. You cain’t save him ef you try. A few minnits one way or the other won’ tmake much difference. Ef you think he kin tell Dan Brown anythin’ wu’th while, why, so fur’s I’m consarned, the rope kin wait. But it’s on’y waitin’, you want to onderstand,” “So far as I am concerned, that is perfect] satisfactory,” replied Sol Scott, lightly. ‘‘It’s Dan Brown and you for it, now. And you,” turning to Dough-ball Jimmy, with a half-pity- ing, balf-stern expression on his handsome face, JOO Gomme “S iS co) | | | i .