Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 375 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

a ‘Bye aM s* Fal = ‘Vl swear to follow quietly. ov a fool at odd times. and was a work of nature, aided b reached the present end of their journey. 20 eee ‘*Don’t you do it, little one; don’t you do it. He is breaking out in a new place, and it’s fun to watch him, and wonder what it means; but ask no questions. When the time comes he will show his hand. If you try to see it sooner he will call it foul and may begin to shoot. No, 1 would let Royal George have his own way. Only—he puz- zles me ” Iien Hurley sat back a little from the rest, biting at a straw, and scarcely seeming to listen. He could guess very easily why he had been been taken in, and felt no call to ask questions. The game had been running against him so steadily from the start that it was hardly worth while to bother about the cues. All this was no concern of his. He had been scooped in the net because he had followed his destiny—in the shape of Elena, To be sure, at times, he felt a mad, unreason- ing hate for the man known as Mordaunt Mortimer; but it was useless to speculate on who that man was, or why he had offered to aid Mrs. Ormsby in her search. All that made no Gifference—until they got out again. It was something of a surprise when Royal George turned to him. * You've followed ther pasteboards long ernuf ter know thet a man never gits a streak ov real, hog luck expcept when he ain't a lookin’ fur it. It war that way when I took yer in. J wouldn’t ’a’ knowed yer frum a side ov sole-leather tucked round a pine stump; but fu’st Ned the Nailer, an’ then Gentle Joe, give me a p’int, till 1 got it all down fine. Ez yer may remark, I’m the best natured cut-throat yer ever see’d; an’ ef er give me fair play yer won't furgit it. ou’ve a brother out hyar, in these rezions, an’ I want yer ter soothe his dyin’ bed, an’ tell him ‘bout mother, home, an’ friends, so ez he kin hev a comfortable send-off, Ef yer wants ter see Jess alive, I’m consentin’ to ther interview.” “What's that you say?” inquired the handsome sharp. ‘‘ Wasn’t it enough that you had me corraled here; but you had to talse in poor Jess?” ‘*So Joss 2s yer brother. Thankee, I didn’t know it afore; but now I’m sure. ov it, an’ll be governed accordin’. D’ yer want ter see him?” Can I?” ‘Of course. ‘‘[ dunno. He needs yer bad ernuf; but I can’t say ez I keer ter reesk it. Ef I say yes, what yer got ter say back ag’in?” ‘‘Nothing. Jess wouldn’t thank me _ to come with fettered hands. I knew he was in this region somewhere; but I didn’t ex- pect to find him here. All I'll promise is that—as you have treated him so I will treat ou.” ‘* Not another word, pard. Dot that right. down an’ hold her thar. Thet’s all I ask; er ’most all. An’ I won't say not ter run away; but I will say, ef yer do I'll git yer beth ag’in sure, an’ level ther hull thing up accordin’. Whena tough like me sez that, ou kin bet yer pile he don’t break his word. Kim, now, L'll take yer to him. He’s bin mighty sickly, but that don’t count. When he gits ’round all right—as git he will—we’ll talk it all up. Till that time I want yer hyar.” ‘‘And here you will find me. 0.2) Lead on. “ Hiyar goes; an’ you women folks kin talk it all up too while we're gone. An’ ’Lena, gee thet yer don't give yerself too much away. You're a mighty purty lectle lady, but yer hes a tendency ter be purty much Sabbe?”’ Royal George seemed to put perfect con- fidence in his prisoner, He stalked ahead of him without once looking backward, and the half dozen men they passed scarcely glanced at the two. The mountain retreat was of some extent, art, that, under other circumstances, would have ex- cited the admiration of the gambler. Now hhe was too busy with his own thoughts and anxieties to give it more than a passing thought. The chief carried a torch, and by its flaring light Hurley followed through a low, narrow passage, that several times widened out into small rooms. A _ light ‘ahead at last told him that they had about Jess Iiurley was there, and in no apparent danger cf immec:ate death, L['e looked up > . a : . ' . mi a koyal George, the Three in One. at the two, and recognized his brother with- | out much emotion, in spite of the fact that | he was totally unprepared for the meeting. ‘‘(iot you too, have they? What's the | meaning of all this? Blame me if I know— and confound meif I caremuch. It’s rough on you though, for I’ll swear that you're not mixed in any of my affairs. Perhaps they just brought you here to give me a hand- shake before I start over the range, and then theyll turn you loose, If so, I’m much obliged.” He turned an odd look on the chief, who ' stood in the background watching the meet- ing without much sign of curiosity. | ‘‘Not a bit ov it,” was his answer. ‘‘I | brought him ter nurse yer through—we ain’t time ter do it, an’ I want you bad. Him an’ me kin settle accounts on our own bill ov lading. I’ve got an item ag’in’ him, but that’ll keep.” ‘‘Don’t worry yerself about nursing; I’m not hurt as bad as 1 look. Give me plenty of grub and a sprinkle of water now and then and I can paddle my own canoe into clear water. But I’m glad ter see Hank, and ef you'll leave us alone tergether ther time won’t pass so slow. Come, now, you seem to be a jolly sort of an old crab—what is it? If you mean biz, now’s as good atime as any to gct down to bed-rock.”’ ‘‘Sorry ter keep yer in suspense, but I can’t go ahead till I git ther rest ov ther menagery hyar, an’ I’m beginnin’ ter be— afeard they won’t come. About ter-mor- | rer ll be time ernuf. Ef they don’t show then I'll throw ’round ther keards an’ see | what sort of a hand I kin deal yer. Mebbe | yer didn’t know a man by ther name of Hi | Stanley arter all?” Hurley gave a start at the name. His wound had weakened him more than he was willing to confess, and his nerves were not under their usual good subjection. “That's ernuf. Don't say a word—ef yer | mean ter lie about it. I see yer did. Mebbe | yer kin tell his darter a thing er two she’s | a-dyin’ ter know about; but I won’t ax yer | no more. leave that till ther time kims, too, Mebbe I'd better get Gentle Joe ’round ag’in ter | ‘that the old man knew what he was going mri tell ther sto1 h ch oa 9? e mention of Lipscombe’s name moved | the man more than the name of the other. His white face flushed somewhat, and a frown came to his forehead. CHAPTER XXY, HEN HURLEY TELLS HIS STORY. ‘“T pon’r know whether you ever met Tom Barton or not, and as he’s dead it don't make much difference.” Hen Hurley looked full into the face of the outlaw as he thus began, and paused as if to give time for agreement or disagree- ment. He might as well have been looking at a wooden man. ‘* Barton wasan old friend of mine. before he went West, and when he came back all broke up he hunted me up just as naturally as though it hadn't been five years since he sailed out of New York city. ‘lie had seen some rough times and been in with a queer crowd, though he did not tell me that until afterward. ‘*T saw that he was near the jumping-off place, and did what | could for the poor fel- low. He had been mixed up in some harder things than I ever took a hand in; but for all that I couldn’t go back on him. ‘“They didn’t seem to worry him much as a general thing, but it wasn’t long till I dropped to it that there was one affair that he wasn't easy aboutin his mind, though it was along time before he would fairly mention it. ‘‘One night I was sitting by his bedside and he spoke up: ‘«* Yank,’ he said, ‘if you ever have a chance at Archie Divine go for him for all you're worth.’ ‘**Who’s Archie Divine? How shall I know him, and what has he been doing?’ I asked. ‘**T forgot,’ he answered. ‘ You won't be making a fool of yourself wandering out West; and if you did you would hardly palin with such cattle. I did; and this is what it brought me to,’”’ ‘“‘He held up his thin, white hands as heespoke, and gave a dismal, churchyard cough. ‘* After a little, he went on, as though he had been telling me the full rights of the If it’s all ther same ter you, well | story, and had only stopped to catch his breath, ‘«¢ Well, the gang had made up their mind for, and that they were going to head him off. He was a stranger in camp, and it wasn’t likely there would be much fuss over | it if one man was missing. The camp could ‘‘I've no great love for Gentle Joe, and | really have spared a dozen, and before we he’s as bad as they make ’em, but I'll stick to | got through with them it did. ther truth if it breaks me all up. the old man, or the story as I heard it. When I get clear of this, if I ever do, I'll settle with him on my own account; but [swear I won't | put up a job on him tosave my neck or break his.” ‘What is that you are talking about?” in- terposed Henry Hurley. StanJey, and what has Jess, here, got to do with him? If you want any points on the old man, come to me.”’ ‘* You!” “Yes, to me. odd for a man ’way back east trying to give you points on what is happening under your nose; but I happen to be posted, and | can tell all I know without going back on any one that I need care about. posted me is dead, and the rest of the gang As far asI | know, Joe Lipscombe had nothing to do with | ‘““Who was Hi'| | point was to fix it so as to give him a chance | for the blame, if there was any going, after You may think it a little | The pard that | ‘©*Of course we looked around to see if there was no other way; and there wasn't. One or two of the men were sent him but he | wouldn't sell worth a cent; and we couldn’t even get him to admit that he was just coin- ing money out of the mine *«« There was a gambier there that went by the name of Gentle Joe, who had been hang- ing around camp for some time, and the we got through with the stock operation,’” ‘Then Lipscombe did have something to do with it?” . ‘‘Not a bit of it, for he left camp a week before the racket came off, and as he was in no end of a mess where he went to, it would- n't have been hard to have proved an alii, if such a thing had been needed. ‘© «The next thing to try, when he skipped didn’t treat him so well that he need care | the camp, was the wandering stranger dodge. how hard the story cuts into any of them.” ‘‘Tt's a bargain!” said the outlaw sudden- ly, and interrupting Jess, who was about to speak. ‘‘Ef you kin cl’arit up, I'll hold yer both safe till after I git this Ormsby matter finished an’ then turn yerup. Jess wouldn't be ready ter travel afore that anyhow, Gim- me yer hand.” ‘* And if I don’t?” ‘You kin guess ’thout my tellin’ oy yer.” ‘‘T am not bargaining for myself, but Lam for Jess and the lady in whose company you found me, anyhow, but I want your word for it. Then Ill be ready to spin you the story, such as it is, and see if you don’t say it’s worth the money.” For answer Royal George held out his hand, which was taken by the other in a formal grip. Then the two sat down to- gether, and Hen Hurley began his strange story of a crime, and what he knew of its actors and its causes. I suppose she is safe enough | ‘the hardest part of the thing to manage, for A couple of bums had come to town that day and then gone on, Somehow they must have changed their minds about camping out up the divide, for they were seen along the edge of the camp about sundown, and they were never scen again, though I reckon they were bunted for as industriously as the popula- tion knew how, That night the thing was done.’ : ‘‘ When be got that far he stopped with a shiver. I didn’t care about knowing such secrets, and I didn’t say a word, rather hop- ing that he wouldn't go on. But he did. W hen a man starts 10 tell such stories, there's | nothing short of a stroke of lightning wii stop him. «Tt don’t matter what became of there two tramps: I didn’t know and didn't asl. I saw enough of the old man Stanley affair. He had a little girl, you see, and that was nobody wanted to meddle ,with her, !t brings bas juck to have anything to do with es Sao