Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 379 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

~ ~s * —— y « i! —o ¥ : ‘the light whar his feller-critters kin see his dirty face an’ say he wouldn’t ’a’ done the same thing or bu’st a ‘spender tryin’? I want to see him step out afore the rest right here, an’ say as much. An’ then I want to go off an’ die fer bein’ in the same fashion as sech a whelp—I «lo fer a shameful fact, gentlemen!” “Talk’s cheap, but that won’t bring Dan Bennison back to life again!” muttered one of his friends. ‘*T had to do it—I had to kill him, even as ‘he killed me, long years ago!” uttered that pe- culiar, shrill, yet not musica] voice now that the insane frenzy had partially died out, Frank Spartan had been watching the effect of the rude argument used by the Terror, un- ‘til he spoke of looking for a lous -lost brother. Then it seemed to him as though a wondrous revelation had burst upon his mental vision! And with pale, trembling, working features he turned to stare at the stranger. He thrilled from head to foot as he looked, striving to realize what sort of face that might ibe were the matted hair cut away, the dirt and grime washed off, the cheeks filled out and the light of reason restored to those sunken eyes. And that thrill grew into a feeling but little short of awe as he fancied—was it only fancy?—he could trace there a likeness, faint, , but still a likeness, to Amelia Moskau! What if if should be so? Whatif this poor creature was indeed the long lost Franz Moskau? It was barely possible, and for the moment for- getting the danger which threatened more and more strongly with the passing of each instant, he bent forward and breathed the name of Franz Moskau in the ear af the wild-looking creature. Only to step back with a sinking at his heart, for not a trace of emotion or of recognition «ame into those sunken eyes. It was then that the slayer of Ugly Dan amoved forward until he could look out upon the crowd that thirsted for his blood, and slowly, wacantly uttered those words. Frank Spartan put out a band to push him ‘back, but then paused. It was a forlorn hope, but still, it might be of service. Surely even a wmob would not lynch a lunatic! ** An oye for an eye—a life fora life!” uttered ‘the stranger, seeming to waken under the say- age glare fixed upon him by those who were crouching to leap at his throat, ‘‘ He murdered ‘me by inches! He tortured me for ages and ages, before he murdered me outright! He took out my poor, aching brain and filled my skull with mingled fire and ice! Did any of you ever have your brain taken from you by a cruel, merciless enemy? Do you know how unutter- ably horrible it is to feel that you are not like other men—to know that you are still living even while dead, long ago? Do you know what frightful agony it is to be doomed to wander through the wide world over until you find the devil—there he lies!” with a sudden intensity that sent a cold chill through many veins, as he pointed.one trembling finger at the corpse lying on the floor. Frank Spartan caught the maniac by the arm as he seemed on the point of leaping upon the _ desperado in which he seemed to recognize his destroyer. ‘“You hear, gentlemen?” he cried, his eyes glowing; his voice clear and ringing. ‘‘ You ow now why this poor creature killed Ugly vito You can see that his poor brain is unset- “Gone!” moaned the madman, clasping his head with his claw-like fingers, utter woe writ- ten on his haggard features. “Lost! A man without a brain! Pity me, good people! Pity me and tell me where that devil hid my brain! See!” and despite the grip of the young man he propped to his knees in the archway, clasping his hands, tears sffeaming from his sunken eyes. **T kneel to you, even as I used to kneel to the ood God above before I was robbed of my raint Tell me where I can find it and so die in peace! It is so hard to live on like this! I am 30 weary of my cruel sentence! Give me back - my brain, and let me die!” voice died away in a choking scb. His head drooped, his hands crossing over his hollow chest, and hot tears eee to the sanded floor, sparkling like gems in the lamplight. His were not the only eyes that dimmed and filled with moisture, rarely seen when men are facing each other with deadly weapons drawn to take life. His own sight dim and blurred, Frank Spar- tan felt that the worst was passed, that the poor creature was out of danger, so fur as lynch law was concerned. But then a harsh, choking voice broke the silence: “Too durned thin! That trick’s saved its last murderer while I’m nigh enough to strike a lick fer a fri’nd like Ugly Dan!” Better for him and for his hopes of vengeance had he acted before speaking. His savage words put Jonathan on his guard, and as the fellow flung up his pistol-hand for a shot at the kneeling slayer, the Holy Terror leaped forward and knocked the weapon up just as it exploded, _ then gras Aheaving him into the air above his head, holding y, the fellow by hip and throat, — Howling Jonathan. = — —— — — ee him thus ‘a moment before hurling him head- | long through the open door, grating fiercely: ve Go an tell ne we're eater wou bloody cur! And almost before his actions could be realiz- ed, the red-haired cyclone leaped back to where he had dropped his pistols, snatching them up and facing the startled crowd with face inflam- ed, eyes aglow, voice full of stern resolution. ‘That was a dirty cur, an’ if I’d hed plenty o’ time to waste, I reckon Id ’a’ disgraced my bringin’ up by takin’ off his mangy hide fer to — coyotes with! But time I didn’t hev, fer want to reason with all the rest 0’ you bloody hounds that itch to murder a crazy man fer act- ing the part of a white man! I want to see ye step out, one by one, or all in a heap together. I kin wipe the floor up with two dozen of the breed, an’ take a nap while I’m doin’ of it!) [’m talkin’ to the critters that want to hang a crazy man, mind ye, not to the decent part o’ the | Them I invite to step for’ard an’ do | crowd, themselves white by standin’ by the right!” Frank Spartan saw that this characteristic spoeen was not without its effect on a portion of the crowd, and quickly added: ‘And I’m backing what Howling John says, gentlemen! You may be able to ride us both, but not without some tall bucking! And wh should you try it? We don’t ask that you whol- ly clear this poor devil of murder. e only ask that you give him a fair chance—that you let the matter rest until morning, when we will all be cooler-brained than we are at present. Then, if it be proven that he is not a lunatic, and so irresponsible for his actions, I will be the last man to stand between him and the punish- ment due his crime. But if you try to rush him into eternity without giving him a chance for his stake, Pll be too cold to take any further in- terest in the matter.” ‘* Me, too!” chimed in the Howler, with a touch of his wonted humor. ‘ An’ ef you don’t hev to send outside o’ Good Leather fer hands enough to do the up-haulin’ of that critter, then me an’ my pard’ll lose our appetite heap sooner then we ever did afo’ in a circus! Aan’ it’s Howlin’ Jonathan Hebrew, the Terror from Headwaters that slings this bit of a sarmon at ye, honeys!” “To you, my friends and old pards, I appeal,” added Spartan, following up the charge without giving the other side a chance to make a count- er-point. ‘* You know me, and know that I try my level best to act white as [know how. You know that I would not defend an assassin; and, when I swear to you that I believe this poor devil is really crany, and therefore not account- able for what he does, you will give me credit for honesty at least.” ‘* Glory to the ram!” howled Jonathan, as sev- eral of the men stepped forward with empty hands at this appeal. ‘‘ Step up to the mourners’ bench, all ye who hope to be saved, fer in a minnit more ’m going fer to git in a weavin’ way that Ill fresco these ale with gore an’ brains an’ tangled-up ha’r tell you cain’t rest fer the night-mar’ it'll give ye!” Frank Spartan frowned darkly, despite this acquisition to his allies, as he saw by far the greater portion of the crowd closing together as though for concerted action. He saw that those who had followed the lead of Perry Blair were uniting with the friends of Ugly Dan, and this told him an effort would almost surely be made to repay*him for the stinging defiance with which he had so recently cowed them one and all. Only for that wild hope born of the words ut- tered by the Terror in grim mockery, Frank Spartan would have greeted this fact with a certain degree of fierce satisfaction, The life he had led for months past made him just fit for a death-grapple where the odds were all against him, And if he could have known that_this oor devil was not the long missing Franz Mos- cau, he would have made no further effort to stave off the collision which must come sooner or later. But that hope, faint and chimerical though he could not help telling himself it was, gave him strength to smother the fierce temptation. He thought of the old blind man. He thought of Amelia, and thinking of her brought the mem- ory of the vow she had made when he pressed her to marry him. ‘‘Not while father lives, if Franz is dead. Not until we find him if living, or his grave if he is dead, as I sadly fear, my good friend! I love you, but my duty comes first. Bring me my poor brother, and then—it shall be as you will, my love!” Those were her words, uttered brokenly and with tears that told how difficult she found it to give them utterance; but this very fact lent them double strength of purpose. Sbe would never break that vow. If this should prove to be the long-lost son and brother! If he could take him to them, even though his poor brain was shattered by the frigh*ful sufferings which he must have under- gone before he could have become such an utter wreck, would she not listen to him _ then? ha he not receive his reward for all he had one? All this passed through his brain with wonder- ful papidlty, and he warmly greeted the recruits to the good cause. ‘*T thank you, my friends,” he hastily mutter- | ed, still watching the movements of the enemy, i ee ee for now the lines which divided the crowd were being rapidly drawn plain and distinct, Howling Jonathan enthusiastically welcoming each fresh ‘*mourner” as they came forward. ‘It is net a murderer I ask you to aid me in defending, but a poor madman who has but taken a just and holy vengeance on a merciless devil’ Look: at him, all of you!” he cried with thrilling: ar- der, as he lifted the poor wreck to his feet and held him facing those scowling faces. ‘*Ts that the face—are those the eyes of sober reason? Are not they signs of long and horrible torture? Ay! I tell you to your teeth, you men who stand up for yonder lump of carrion! I tell you that he richly deserved his fate, even though it had been a thousand-fold more bitter! I say that this poor wretch was fully justified in killing him as he did! Now make the most of that, you bulldogs!” “If had to all him!” mechanically repeated the stranger. ‘‘He took away my brain and cursed me to wander the wide world over with- out rest until I could discover the place where he hid it. It was cruel—so cruel! ay you never suffer as that devil doomed me to suffer! May you never know what frightful agony it is to be aman without a brain! To cry and pray aloud for death to come to you as the sweetest boon mortal man can receive! To only one devil in human shape would I decree such a monstrous doom—and he is dead! I killed him! But I had to doit! I had to do it!” His voice sunk away into an incoherent whis- per, his sunken eyes resting on the body lying there in its gore. He could see nothing else, and if any further proof was wanted as to his insan- ity, it might have been found in the fact that never once did he notice the threatening attitude of his enemies, never once show fear or interest in their ugly mutterings, their growing threats. The Howler had listened intently to this wild speech, his gray eyes ag | riveted on the face of the stranger, and now he turned once more toward the opposing party, his voice hard and resolute, though his words were couched in his peculiar phraseology. ‘“You hear what the critter says, gents, an’ ef you ain’t clean blind idjits, you know that he’s crazier then a bed-bug in a desarted cabin. But I ain’t keerin’ a copper dam! I ain’t crazy myself, but ef you’re dead sot on lynchin’ a crazy critter, Vl play I was the best I kin. ‘*1 take all the ’sponsibility onto my own self fer what that pore critter done. Ef he hedn’t wiped that blot off o’ the face of the airth, ’'d ’a’ done it myself. That makes me jest as guilty as you take him to be. An’ J’m your mutton— with wool a yard long and horns fit to blow down the walls o’ Jericho! Come an’ see me! Do come, durn ye!” Frank Spartan stepped forward and tapped the cavorting Terror on the shoulder, saying shar ° ile we will fight if we can’t get alon without it, we are not begging a raw, my friend. Save gor breath to back your licks when the crowding comes, if come it does.” J gstihs laughed a little sheepishly, as he re- sponded: ‘*T jest wanted to get ’em piled onto me, boss, so’s you could sashay right out o’ the door to a safe spot—you know whar!” ‘*We are going out, all the same,” and at a gesture of his hand his friends closed around the madman, two men holding fast to bis arms, the remainder with weapons drawnand faces tellin plainer than open words how firmly they intend- ed to carry out their orders. Frank Spartan glanced keenly at the enemy, then said coldly: “You heard my words, but that there may be no excuse for a misunderstanding, I repeat them. We are going out of that door, peace- ably if we can, but going out! If we find the way clear, so much the better; if not, then we'll eat a road through or die making our teeth meet in the flesh! Now you’ve got it, straight as a string! Ready, lads! don’t shoot unless you have to, but then shoot to kill!” “Who talks about shooting in my place?” cried a cold, stern voice, CHAPTER XIV. SCORE ONE FOR ICEBERG DAVE. Across the threshold of The Mint earned Ice- berg Dave, pausing and glancing from one party to the other, as though to read the actual facts of the case in their faces. His hands hung easily at his sides, empty of weapons, nor were any such visible to the eye, though all who knew the cool sport of Good Leather at all, knew that when the occasion for arms arose, the proprietor of The Mint would be amply supplied from some source, ‘‘Who talks of shooting in my place?” he again demanded, his tones even and smooth, but plainly meaning business of the strictest. sort. ‘¢T do the shooting for this establishment, I want you to understand.” Not the faintest show of angry bluster. The tones smooth and easy, though so clear-cut and distinct, The white face calm and immobile as com Ebooks — - — a Seo a