Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 379 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

a or, | to live or die as heaven pleased. Yet through | ean bring us by him—yes?” it all his great love for his son prevailed. It has given him strength to come this far in search of him. It has given him strength to travel thousands of miles, living only by kind | charity, borne up only by the hope of one day | finding his lost son, or, at least, gaining positive knowledge of his—” ‘No, no!” tremblingly cried the blind man, tears in his sightless eyes, his trembling hands | outstretched, his wan face painfully working. “It is not that—it is alive he is, my poor boy! Tf he was not still alive, would [be so? No—I would die too! It would kill my sick heart so quick! The goot Got would not so cruel be as that—no!” ‘‘Take it to yourselves, gentlemen,” said Spartan, his voice low and far from steady. “Pry and put yourself in his place. And if you can aid him in any manner, [am sure you will doso. And now—can any one of you give any information regarding either Franz Moskau or Morris Grant?” “Listen ’Melie! Lose not a word, now!” gasped the blind man. But it was listening in vain, for not a word broke the silence. No one present appeared to have any information to give, And even Her- man Moskau could not hope longer. A long, heart-sick sigh parted his lips, and his white head bowed on the table beside which he sat, Frank Spartan impulsively dropped his silk hat onthe table close by that white head, and dropping into it a handful of gold, he cried: ‘“Gentlemen, not as mendicants, but in the name of humanity I appeal to you one and all! T have given you the pitiful story of this poor man. Fon know how helpless he is. You can see that but one hope in life remains with him— the hope that by searching the country through, he may chance upon some news of his lost son. ae to do that, he must have some money, an |e ‘“Not so much, goot people,” brokenly utter- ed Herman Moskau, lifting his tear-wet face, _ with a deprecatory wave of his thin hand. ‘“‘Only the small bit you may think the moosic is worth by you. It is not beggar we want to be—mzy child and me—no!” “Bf I was to give all that hes bin wu’th to me, even this fur, be durned ef I'd hey enongh dust left to git drunk on!” impulsively cried one rough day-laborer,|as he moved forward and i rig some coin into the hat. That was ‘‘a starter,” and quickly the crowd moved around, each man giving according to his means or his nature. Andnotone but what had a kindly word to say, until Perry Blair passed up, dropping a heavy contribution into the hat, then laughing in the face of Spartan as he said, with a meaning nod toward the blushing, down- cast face of the girl: . ‘‘Tt’s a rich snap, old fellow, andI envy you more on her—” He never finished the sneering insult, for swift as thought and sure as death the fist of Frank Spartan shot out, striking the gambler full be- tween the eyes with a force that sent him head- long clear of the floor until his head struck first, close up against the bar! There was an immediate scattering of the crowd, leaving alane clear between the two men. White as a corpse, his eyes glowing redly, his face for the moment looking more like a demon than aught human, Frank Spartan stood with revolver drawn, glaring at his fallen foe. Then, as he saw no effort on his part to arise, his aa MA be shot around the circle of startled faces, his voice hard and vicious; ‘‘ Take that cur away, or I'll stamp the very semblance of humanity out of his carcass! Take him away, ye who call him friend! Get him out of my sight, or worse will follow!” “4 Patios. let usrunaway! It is bad here!” asped Amelia, scared almost out of her senses y the unfortunate affair. She tugged at his arm, half-crying, but the oor old man was bewildered by the sudden out- break, and sat motionless, staring around with his sightless eyes. His already overtasked brain was not equal to the emergency, and forgetful of the answer already received, he muttered: ‘*Not yet, "Melie—it is a chance we must not lose—no! It is nefer a chance we can let go by, if we hope to find our poor boy.” He shook off her trembling grasp and rose to his feet, steadying himself against the table with one hand, the other clinging to his beloved in- strument. He spoke, his voice full of pitiful hope and longing: “My goot friends, I thank you much for listen so quiet to the moosic my violin maken, And now, if you will be so kind, it is a poor old Llind man who is looking this long time for a soot son that stop away from his home such a ead, weary time! It is my boy Franz—a fine } ‘tle lad, gentlemen! No—I am_ foolish grow- i1., gentlemen! That was long time ago, when his mother was living yet—when we happy was together! So long ago, that now my boy Franz was more tall grown as his father—me! A fine, tall, strong, soldier-looking man, my friends, With hairand eyes like those you see— *Melie, child, let the kind people see! So—but hair more bright and eyes more blue and sweet as these, gentlemen! That was my boy Franz! Howling Jonathan. Maybe you know where he is now?) Maybe you It is impossible to give even a shadow of the pathos contained in this trembling speech. It was not the words so much as the tones, the con- pecans 3 changing expression, now full of hope, now shrinking from the answer which he im- plored yet feared to receive. And not a little was owing to the sightless eyes, from which the tears were unconsciously flowing. To the shrinking, trembling figure of the fair young maiden. It was sufficient to quell any outbreak which might easily have followed that promptly avenged insult, for Perry Blair was a popular sport in Good Leather, and had a number of friends and adherents present. It was enough to still even the fierce rage which until then al- most turned Frank Spartan into a demon. He turned and gently touched the old man’s arm. ‘‘The glad time is not for to-night, father,” he said, gently. The blind man passed one thin hand across his brow, sighing softly as he sunk back into his chair, mechanically fingering the strings of his instrument as he spoke again: ** The goot Got he knows what is pest, and it is not Franz’s father who will say not! I thank you, kind people, for listen so goot to the blind man. And now—Melie?” ‘*'Ves, father.” ‘* ‘We will play for the kind people, sing for them.” Amelia, not daring to refuse, cast an appeal- ing glance toward Frank Spartan. At first he did not catch her glance, for he was coldly watching the removal of the still insensible gam- bler who had felt the fwll power of his good right arm. ‘ When he comes to, tell him that I am wait- ing for him, if he wants to get even,” he hur- riedly muttered as the men passed by. ‘‘ No need to tell him that!” was the hard re- tort, with a vicious snapping in the fellow’s eyes. ‘“* He'll take it for granted.”: “ll not disappoint him,” was the cool re- turn. A wailing chord caused him to turn toward the musician, and his white brow wrinkled a lit- tle as he saw Herman Moskau nodding toward Amelia, whose tearful, appealing glance spoke volumes to him, ‘Ts it not time to return to the hotel?” he yoo go quickly. ‘‘ You are not strong, and Amelia is not able to sing any more.” “T am strong enough ever, when it is to pay a debt, my dear friend,” returned the blind man, with a dignity that was almost pitiful. ‘Tt is only my moosic I can pay these kind peo- le for their gold that is to take us by our lost oy! Itis not all beggar we are—no!” here was something in the strong, sharp mo- tion he gave his bow that told Frank Spartan the blind man was hurt if not angry with him for this effort to draw him away, and he stood aside, grave and quiet, feeling that his proximi- ty would lend Amelia a little of the strength she so sadly needed just then. As though to remove his own sadness at this last disappomtment, the blind minstrel played a tune in striking contrast with the one which had introduced him to the habitues of Good Leather, quick and rollicking, sending a thrill to the heels of many a man present, and appar- oo extending its thrill far beyond those four walls, For, with a wild howl and a wilder whoop, a red-haired man leaped into the room, his blue eyes glaring around as though in search of the dancing. The Terror from Headwaters had arrived! The wild outburst startled the blind musician, and angry looks were turned upon the luckless intruder who was cutting their amusement short, but the Howler paid no attention to them, He seemed to take in the situation at a glance, and swaggered up to the table on which the well freighted hat still stood, dropping into it a gold piece with a flourish as he cried out heartily: ‘‘ Money makes the mar’ trot, an’ I reckon itll liven up your elbow jinta wee bit, too, daddy! Go on with the music! Give us a corer chune, full 0’ spice an’ kivered over y i You will with kyann! I’m Howlin’ Jonathan, a Holy Terror right from Headwaters, an’ my boots is ram-jammed chuck full o’ quicksilver to- night! Whooray fer whooree!” Frank Spartan had moved between Herman Moskau and this red-headed whirlwind, his hands tightly clinched and his eyes glowing dangerously, but apparently Howling Jonathan saw neither him nor his warlike actions. : He spun around on one boot-heel like a whirl- ing dervish, almost laying himself flat on his back, but deftly recovering himself and draw- ing his athletic figure proudly erect as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared stern defiance at each grinning face. ‘‘The critter as says I’m drunk, slaps my mother-in-law right on the gob, an’ he kin do it over ag’in ef he— Good Laid !” Meekly the blind minstrel was complying, striking into a fresh tune, even more “ quick and devilish” than the other. It seemed to strike Jonathan as with a galvanic shock, send- ing every member of his body going in wild —— tune to the music, his eyes closing, his tongue sticking out, his red face fairly glowing with ecstasy ! ‘* Good—Lawd!” he gasped, in explosive snorts. “‘Ef this ain’t heaven, then don’t never want to git thar! Talk bout the heaven- ly quire o’ musical angels! They cain’t tetch the old man with a forty-rod pole! He’s music b’iled down an’ concentrated ontel ef you was to squeedge the thousandth part of a cunce more into his hide, he’d bu’st wide open an’ float off to glory whar he must b’long by rights!” Not loud enough to disturb the sweet yet in- toxicating sounds, nor to awaken the wrath of the speil-beund crowd, did Howling Jonathan thus dehver himself. He seemed lost to all else, to hear nothing but those thrilling strains —see he certainly could not, for his eyes were closed as tight as facial muscles could seal them! But then he gave a subdued how] that startled the crowd as though a bomb had suddenly burst in their midst, and leaping over to where a tall, gaunt, dyspeptic-looking man was standing, he caught him about the middle and whirled him into the center of the floor with: ‘*Sech a clean waste o’ harmony an’ jig-juice is asin an’ a shame to human men! Dance, you critter! Dance ontel your toenails drap off with pure joy! Dance, you onregenerated galoots! That’s right,” as a few others caught the grim jest and acted upon it. ‘Glory to the ram! Honor your pardners heap big! Hug! Back an’ fo’th! Do-see-do! Hug some mo’! Ladies change!” flinging the thin man headlong into the dancing mass and grab- bing another luckless individual. ‘‘ Hug! Squeeze han’s! Slamanade all—to the bar! Treat your pardners— Gocd Laud! CHAPTER X. THE PRICE OF A SECRET. FRANK SPARTAN watched the scene, gravely, even gloomily. Now, as so many times before, he was asking himself how it was all to end. Considering the life he bad led ever since he could remember, and the hard, bitter lessons he had learned in his brief lifetime, it is not greatly to be wondered at that he should find it hard and wearing work to so completely change his course, as he had ever since the day when he first crossed the path of this fair-faced girl. Until then he had felt many a hot passion, but never once a feeling that deserved to be called love. He had admired women almost without number, and exerted his powers to the utmost in order to win them, but ever before, when the victory was won, the fruit began to lose its flavor and attractiveness. Always, until now. It was a startling revelation to himself, when he sat down one day and studied out the truth of the strange influence which this child of a blind beggar had over him, mind and body. It seemed to him, like all of his class, tinged with supersti- tion, something akin to witchcraft; and for weeks, and even months, Frank Spartan fought against it and against himself. Only to realize at last what that strangely-powerful, strangely- sweet witchcraft really consisted of. Tt was this struggle for the truth, this fight against his evil nature, this transposing all he had ever preached and practiced, that so wore the gambler down, making his nerves tense as piano wires, and almost as easily to be played upon. Outwardly he gave little evidence of the radical change, but it was there. He knew it, and it seemed to him that it must be printed on his face in letters large and plain enough for the dullest-witted to read aright. He knew that he could not follow, much less accompany, the blind man in his wearisome search for the missing Franz Moskau, without that fact attracting notice and drawing forth ecmment. For himself, he beheved, it mattered little; but when he thought of or Amelia, his hardest trials began afresh. e was known so widely, his apne had been so recklessly sown at large. There could be but one interpreta- tion, He was ever on the alert to catch a sneer, a smile, a word that could sting the maiden whom he loved so entirely. And though there were few men in all the land who valued life at a lower figure than Frank Spartan, who knew less the meaning of personal fear, who could look death in the face with calmer or steadier nerves, watching and waiting such as this, when kept up without relaxation for weeks and months at a time, must surely if slowly break down the best and truest of nerves. To Frank Spartan, even as to the poor blind eee that weary search bade fair to end in eath, The uproar started by the Howler was at its hight, when a man hastily entered the saloon, and gliding to the side of Frank Spartan, whis pered in his ear: + ; ‘Perry Blair’s on his feet again, pard, and swears to get even.” A reddish glow filled the black eyes anda tinge of color came into the pale face. His look was that of a man who has just heard most welcome news, and in this look the first feeling which stirred Frank Spartan was not misrepre- sented. Just then he needed something of the sort to act as a safety valve, and even Perry EGOmMmicbdooks