Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 379 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

“Marry her! And you?” he managed to gasp at length. ‘*Never borrow trouble on my account,” was the light retort. ‘* What wouldn’t I be willing to sacrifice for the good of as true a friend as you have proven to me? Even this—and if you are wise you will think twice before you throw the chance over your shoulder!” ‘‘ But how—you are crazy, girl!” ‘‘ There is method in my madness, then,” with another merry laugh. ‘‘I am giving you the best and most disinterested advice you ever re- ceived in the whole course of your life. You are an old bachelor. ‘Your pate is growing frosty—or would be, if you were not quite so sensitive on the score of white hairs! It is quite time you were settling down in life. Here is a charming young wife ready to your hand, and if you are not a much bigger fool than the world gives you credit for being, you will make all safe for Morris Grant by giving him a wife in the sister of his late—I am right?—partner, Franz Moskau!” As she uttered these words, the widow rose from her chair and came to his side, hurriedly uttering: ‘* Think of what I say, Joel, and don’t throw it over your shoulder through a silly scruple on my account. I have lived without you—lI can do so again. For your good, remember!” She touched his flushed brow with her hot lips, then turned and opening the secret door, vanished from view, leaving him utterly speech- less with surprise and wonder. : Surely this was remarkable advice for a wife to give her husband. CHAPTER IX. ‘OH, WHERE IS MY BOY TO-NIGHT?” THERE was another establishment in Good Leather which was built and run by the money of Colonel Joel Mallison, though very few had any knowledge of this fact, or even suspected that the colonel had aught to do with ‘** The Mint” save dropping an occasional double- eagle on one or another card, merely ‘to help along business” when he was showing some recent arrival ‘‘ the elephant.” Iceberg Dave Ingram was Ropularly supposed to be the sole proprietor of the gambling room and saloon attached, for it was while acting as manager of ‘*The Mint” on the principle of *‘neace if I have to have war,” that the white- faced sport was first introduced to the citizens of G Leather. Hetook such an interest in the matter, and seemed so bent on setting a pre- cedent that could be understood in only one way, that no one thought of asking if he had a part- ner in the enterprise, silent or otherwise, That 1 hana aa was written in lurid letters, and it did not take long for the community at large to aa rhe cto that order was the first law of The Mint, and that he who attempted to ‘kick up a ruction” within those four walls, must be prepared to “give and take” with Iceberg Dave. And almost as early they learn- ed that the chances were three to one that those who made the venture would take consid- erably more than they gave. Hence it came to pass that The Mint was a model establishment, judged by the rules of the ‘“‘ wild and woolly est. It was a paying enterprise, too, and hardly felt the lack of custom. Good ather was flourishing. Her mines were being rapidly de- veloped, fresh capital was constantly coming in for investment, wages were good and promptly paid. And men will gamble when they have a chance offered. The little ‘‘ breeze” occasioned by the advent of Howling Jonathan as a temporary substitute for the regular driver to the stage, with the pe- culiar events which followed, wrought no injury to The Mint, but just the contrary.. Men will talk, and when that is so, there will be widel different views taken of thesame subject. This was the case on the present occasion, and before darkness came over Good Leather, it was the general impression that ‘‘ something ” was bound to happen before another sun-rising. Just what, when, where, how, was not so gen- erally settled; but on one point the citizens were practically unanimous, The parties more im- mediately concerned were to be Colonel Joel Mallison and this red-haired nondescript from the beginning of navigation, Howling Jonathan. And there was something added about Frank Spartan, as well. And it was pretty well agreed upon that a fellow would be a natural born idiot if he even thought of going to sleep that night. And so, earlier than usual, there was a goodly company gathered in the spacious interi- or of The Mint that evening. The dealers, though as yet Iceberg Dave had not put in an appearance, cut little time to waste before open- ing their banks and setting the ball to rolling, And Headlight Harry behind the bar quickly found the position far from being @ sinecure, Those who cared more for cards than they did for drink and idle gossip, that put no money In their pockets, trusted implicitly to the pledge of their friends that they would he called at the st sign of “*businces,” kut thensx that cal) | Howling J onathan. _- came not, yet they started to their feet with | nearly every man in that region. They knew looks and exclamations of wondering interest. | Through the room floated a low, sweet, yet wailing sound, such as only one instrument can give utterance to, and then only under the ten- der, practiced hands of a master. From beyond the frail partition that separated the bar from the gambling-room proper, came this sound, And as the startled sports listened, that wail ‘rose and floated off into one of the tunes of re- cent days, which has brought tears to meny an | | eye and reopened many an old and ajmu.t mor- tal wound. Then—a voice as perfect in its way as the music, low and even mournful, yet clear and penetrating; mellow and sweet, yet full of power repressed, took up the first verse, accom- panied by the violin. And there was a sobbing, despairing wail in both as the refrain was re- | peated: ‘Oh, where is my boy to-night?” This was no ordinary camp music, nor these of the common run of saloon players and singers. It needed no cultured ear to decide that, and be- fore the first verse was sung, the dealers found their tables deserted and their occupation gone, for the time, being. - Roughs and toughs, gamblers and drunkards though there were in the crowd, a more orderly assemblage never listened to music or song. They gathered around, but all were silent, all were respectful, all were deeply interested— with possibly one exception. True to his life-quest, Herman Moskau, with | Amelia as his eyes, left My House soon after dark, and as the surest method of attracting attention and interest, be entered The Mint, and seating himself beside one of the little round tables in the saloon proper, uncovered his belov- ed violin, and, whispering to Amelia, drew bow across the strings. She stood ati his side, her face flushed with the modesty which all their weary wanderings in search of the missing boy had failed to destroy or even lessen, her hands nervously clasped be- fore her, her blue eyes downcast and vailed by their long lashes. Tremblingly at first, but then strong and true, showing natural as well | as trained pathos, her voice filled the saloon | as with its mournful melody. Itseemed more than , people, asong. lt was a prayer, all condensed in the last line. And as her voice died away, trembling, almost | wholly unnecessary, though I prefer makin that in the days gone by he had been a skeptie on the question of female morality. He had hardly known his own mother, and would have been better off had he known even less. He had no sister, no relative living, and until he met this fair-faced girl, he had locked / upon her sex as fit prey for men to capture and then cast aside as worse than useless. He knew that many of those now present must have heard him rail and scoff against the sex, and he could 105 help feeling that they would be very slow to give bim credit for honest motives in his conduct now. So knowing, it is not strange that he should search for such sign. The song was completed, and the blind man dropped his instrument with that old, pitiful look of blended hope and fear on his wan face. As he truly said, he had placed all his hopes on the love of music eventually bringing about the meeting with his lost son. Just how it was to be, he could not tell himself, but that was his hope and faith, ; ‘*Melie?” he muttered, plucking her sleeve with his trembling fingers. ‘‘’Melie, it is time to ask the goot people—no?” A strong hand touched his shoulder, and Frank Spartan said: ‘* Allow me, instead, Mr, Moskau.” He did not wait for permission, but moved to the front, facing the curious gathering, his face white and his eyes glowing vividly. ‘Gentlemen, please ar me your attention for a few moments. ask it as a personal favor, as well as in the interests of humanity.” ‘** Let her roll, pard,” promptly uttered a neat- ly dressed man of near middle age, but about whose every look and air clung the atmosphere of the gaming-tables. ‘‘ But if your speech falls flat, blame not your own eloquence, but give credit to the celestial strains which are still lin- gering in our ears!” The pale face flushed a little and the black eyes flashed with an almost menacing light, but rank Spartan held his feelings under control with a will of iron, and his voice showed nothing: of resentment as he added: ‘‘This is no ordinary case, gentlemen, and t beg you will listen as soberly and as earnestly am speaking to you. You see these good They are my friends, and a favor shown to them is a double favor shown to me, And—though I sincerely trust this addition a tb | sobbing, the violin in the hands of its master | at this point—any wrong done them, any slvr repeated the fee as plainly and even more yearningly. It was the perfection of art, for the musician felt all that he tried to express through that medium. Amelia cast a quick glance around over the interested faces while the violin was playing its part, instinctively searching for some sign which | might lead to the discovery of their lost relative. A low, half-glad, half-frightened ejaculation came to her lips as she recognized a familiar, loved countenance close at hand, ‘What is it, "Melie? Not—not our boy?” eagerly muttered the blind minstrel, in his pitiful hoping against hope making a sharp discord with his suddenly unnerved fingers. ‘* No, father. I was very foolish. I did but see the face of a good friend close by us,” faintly whispered the maiden, bending her lips close to the old man’s ear. ‘*Tt is not so many friends the poor and the blind have, that I can miss a guess very wide,” smiled the old man, turnin though guided by some subtle instinct in the his thin face as right direction. ‘It is the goot Mister Frank --no, ’Melie?” His handsome face flushed, Frank Spartan stepped forward and took the proffered hand, pressing it warmly, stooping low and hurriedly muttering some words, to which the blind man shook his white head in dissent, a pathetic tre- mor in his voice as he replied: “It is very kind that you wish to take the trouble, my goot sir, but it is better we cling by the old hope—yes! It is in my heart that feel the dear moosic will fetch us by our boy the most quick! you look at it, but not mine—no! was true—if I hat to think so mine self—it would break away down my little courage, sure! It is my hope; it is all that keeps my poor, sick heart from dying out; it keeps me from crazy going!” Eagerly the crowd listened, but not one spoke or made a stir sufficient to break the spell which seemed to have fallen over them with the first strain of music, the first sound of that sweet young voice. And they seemed to fairly hold their breath, those strong, rough, and in more cases than one, those crime-hardened men, as the violin once more awoke under the band of the blind master, and that pure voice took up the second It is much kind by the way And, if it verse. Frank a silently stepped back a pace, his hat in hand, his face grave and hard-set as his black eyes roved swiftly from face to face, as though looking for some sign of scorn or | scoffing. | It was a difficult position for any man to fill, and particularly hard for one like him, He was known so widely as a gambler and a sport, to cast out, any insult offered to either father ¢r ys will be resented by me at the point of the knife!” ‘**More interesting than I had an before. ‘I'm dealing, if you please, sir!” sharply ut- tered Spartan, a dangerous light filling his jetty eyes. Blair bowed again with mock humility. There was a little stir and a growing hum among the crowd, They knew that there was little love lest between the two professional sports, and be-. gan to scent music in the air from that quarter, “ Herman Moskau was listening eagerly, his sightless eyes turning from one to the other as the two men spoke, but his pathetic eagerness could no longer wait, and his trembling voice broke in: ‘“‘ Tt is not begging for money that we do this, my goot friends, for there is yet a little dollars by our pockets, to carry us on some more miles if it is not here the kind Lord our hearts will happy maken! Itis by hopes to find our poor boy—my son Franz, gentlemen!” is voice choked and Amelia bent over him bender ys unconsciously forming a picture that softened more hearts than one that as- sembly. ‘* They are looking for a son who disappeared from New Rush, several years ago, gen emen,” added Frank Spartan. ‘' He was the discoverer of the mine Plenty. -He had a partner named Morris Grant, who is believed to have played # villainous partin the sale of that mine, For both Franz Moskau and Morris Grant vanished, and all search for either has been in vain, from that day to this. ‘* The present owners of The Plenty, can show apparently clean title to the As erty. Accord- ing to their papers, Franz Moskau transferred his rights in the mine to his partner, and Morris Grant sold the claim for $75,000. So far, everything appears 2 a and aboveboard, But what has become of Franz Moskaut Why did he not answer the letters which cemeto him from home, telling of illness and death? Why has he never been heard from in any way?” ‘‘He was a good boy gentlemen,” muttered the blind minstrel. “H hearted, He would nefer be still so long, if it was well by him—no! his people, if some bad mans nefer keep him back away—that I know so sure as [ know there is a merciful Lord in the heafens yonder up!” ‘‘Double sorrow and trouble came upon this poor gentleman,” added Frank Spartan, his own voice growing unsteady. ‘‘ His wife died. He lost his eyesight. His property was taken from him, and he was turned out from his hcme idea of,” : bowed Perry Blair, the gambler who had spoken e was kind and full- He would come back by | EComicbooks Cc \