Beadle's Dime Library No. 384 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

— ap ied ache a Ot SS he AS me ca Se Se = ue. Sh tye , | —_— G8 mses ~ #7 eA ~ ' aso 4 rests ee S...Ss 12 understand that it isn’t a paying thing to try any games on me, **] know how you received your wound, and | if you are not inclined to be reasonable I'll make ' the strangers appear against you and have you sent up the river.” | “ Wot do yer want ter know?’ ‘** Who put up the job?” **Red Murphy.” 2 - And what had Malachi Everest to do with it? ‘* Nothing as I knows on; I lied to the cove when he tried to pump me and give him the fu’st name that came handy.” * What was Murphy after?” **The coves’ money. He said they were min- | sters from the West, and had lashings of gold.” Phenix was rather inclined to believe that this was the truth, but he affected to think the fellow was lying, and promptly told him so; but the man protested it was the truth, and at last Phenix, somewhat in doubt, departed. | **T must bring my Western friends and Mal- | achi Everest face to face,” he _ soliloquized. | “Then, if they recognize that he is Mr, Smith- ! t ‘ers, I will have something to go upon, but if | they don’t, I am all at sea.” CHAPTER XVI. THE THIEVES’ DEN. Ir was no easy matter for any detective offi- cer to secure an “interview” with such a man | as Malachi Everest, for as Joe Phenix explained | to Talbot: **This master scoundrel has bis spies and his | detective police just the same as a European king, and it is fully as difficult to get at him. ‘His head-quarters are in a so-called English ele and chop-house up-town, on one of the cross- streets off of Broadway, but that is only a blind, for the place is a house of call for thieves and depends entirely upon their patronage. ‘From the landlord behind the bar down to the pot-boy who carries around the beer, there isn’t a soul connected with the place who isn’t crooked in some way.” ‘*T thought we had some pretty tough dens | out West in the shadows of the Rocky Moun- | tains, but from your description, | am inclined | to think that here in New York you can dis- count anything in that line,” Talbot remarked. ‘**Oh, yes, there isn’t the least doubt about that. ‘The dens on the outskirts of civilization may be a little rougher, but when it comes to downright deviltry, a big, overgrown city is | the place to find it; but you will see from the | description of this dive, that it isn’t an easy mat- | ter for any police spy to get into it without ex- | citing suspicion, ‘*1f we had any good grounds to go upon, so that we could get a warrant for Everest’s ar- rest, we might make a raid and pull the whole place, then we might be able to capture the oe demon, if the affair was properly man- aged, ‘But, as it is, my idea is to pee vou and this man together, so that you will have a chance to see if you can identify him, ‘‘Tf he was the old man who had inquired the | way to Murphy’s Gulch, also this fresh young Mr. Smithers from the country, we will be able to make a case against him. | “The difficult thing is to find a spy cunning enough to penetrate into the den and ascertain if the master spider is at home.” ‘* Boss, I’m jest the man w’ot kin do that job,” Bowers exclaimed, ‘* I have roughed it consider- able in my time, and my eddication has been so complete that I kin drink with any tinker in the country in his own language. ‘* Let the ole original Joe Bowers sail in and show ’em a trick or two. “Tf this Everest cuss is the same feller w’ot | was out West, he don’t know me from a side of | sole leather, for we never happened to run across one another. ‘Oh, I tell you, I kin do the job up brown! and it will be kinder of a relief to me to get into some old clothes ag’in, and for to get b'il- ing full so I kin lay down in the mud and howl for joy!” ‘** It is a dangerous mission,” Phenix observed, who did not exactly know what to make of the veteran, ‘‘ By going into this den in disguise to worm out the secrets of the outlaws who con- pregete there, you really take your life in your and,’ “Wot do you s’pose I keer for that?’ ex- claimed the veteran, snapping bis fingers in su- preme contempt. ‘Wot is my life worth, anyway? I don’t be- lieve thar’s an insurance company in the world w’ot would be willing to go ten dollars onto it. ‘* You need not be afraid of Joe’s ability to rform the task,” Talbot observed. ‘' Ive snown him for some years now, and I never knew him to get into a scrape so bad that he couldn’t wriggle out of it.” “Cert, and that’s the kind of a mule-driver I am!” Bowers asserted, with considerable dig- nity. Pon, thar ain’t any discount on me; I’m the Injun Dick, Detective. clean, white article, and no mistake—I’m all wool, and a yard wide!” And so it was settled that Bowers should un- dertake the difficult task of entering the thieves’ den for the ne of saiesicgien, if the su- preme rascal, Malachi Everest, could be got at. Bowers had truly said that it would be a re- lief to him to get his old clothes on again, and it was so, Respectability did not sit well upon the shoul- ders of the natural-born bummer. As he expressed it: ‘*T hain’t been on a fu’st-class tear since I left the mountains, and my soul yearns to try the bug-juice of this hyer degenerate East, and see if it kin git away with me as quick as the un- | adulterated liquid lightning that we children of the sun p’ison ourselves with in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains.” As a full fledged tramp, then, seedy clothes, shoes down at the heel, stale beer and bad to- bacco smell, all complete to the light, the vet- eran one night about nine o’clock made his entree into the house of call of the thieves, which was tolerably well filled with ruffians of various grades, from the petty sneak-thief to the first-class bank robber who would scorn to trouble himself with any job that was not like- ly to pan out big money, two or three thousand at the least. It was a very quiet and decorous assemblage; ‘‘But that ain’t neither here nor thar. . ’ve come in to wet my whistle, and that’s my busi- ness jest now; and as I am flush with money as a goldfinch *—and as proof of the assertion he slapped a handful of coin, both silver and gold down upon the counter with a ring that caused every one in the room to prick up their ears like so many hungry wolves—‘‘I should be glad to stand a ‘shout’ for the company. ‘* Do you understand what that means, mates? I'll go bail you don’t, unless some of you coves have ‘done time’ in Australia. ‘*I’m a-standing treat, and you kin all call for yer liquor as soon as you like and hang the ie anya he crowd were nothing loth to accept the proffered drink, and the sight of the money at once mollified the host. ** Don’t talk so loud, man,” he cautioned. ‘** We are all friends here, in course, but it’s jest as well to keep a still tongue in spine head when you are in a public place, for there’s no telling who may be ‘round,” and the host cast an inquis- itive look over the throng, who were now busily engaged in disposing of the drink which they had so unexpectedly procured at the stranger’s expense. he landlord was tolerably well acquainted with every man in the room, but there was al- _ ways danger of a traitor in the camp, and so he the room was fitted up after the English fash- | ion; a small bar, almost hidden away in a nook, behind which the owner of the place, a burly, beef fed Englishman, presided, and scattered around the apartment were a dozen small tables, around which the customers of the house sat. Everything was plain, and the stranger hap- | a secret sign which ie to drop inte the place would hardly have een apt to surmise that he was in the presence of some of the most notorious rascals that could be scared up in the country. All the men were tolerably well dressed; some of them, the High Toby men of the pro- fession, were quite Phe Re at got up, ex- pensive clothes, and costly jewelry. But if the stranger who chanced to drop into the place was a man gifted with a good pair of eyes and blessed with the faculty of putting two and two together, he would surely have | | | noticed that there was something odd about the | frequenters of this ale-house. The customers sat in groups about the little tables, almost all of them indulging in liquid | stimulants, or else blowing a cloud from either pipes or cigars, with pipes decidedly in the ma- jority, and some few were playing cards or dominoes, but all seemed to be more or less un- der restraint. judged it best to caution the liberal stranger. ‘*Say,” said Bowers, in a cautious undertone, ‘**T’m ole business, I am; I’m jest from Philama- link, and if the old man is ripe for business, 1 reckon I kin put him up to a good thing.” ‘*The old man?’ and the ale-house-keeper looked askance at Bowers. “Yes, I’m all right,” and the bummer made henix had taught him, The face of the host brightened. ; “ You’re lucky,” he said; ‘‘ the old man is up- stairs.” CHAPTER XVII. BOWERS’S LITTLE GAME, ‘Ono, you don’t say so!” the veteran ex- claimed in delight. ‘* Well, now, you can jest bet yer bottom dollar that Iam as tickled for to hear that as though I had come in for a for- tin’. **Say, old man, we'll have to take a leetle h’ist of something on the strength of that—give it a name now, do, and make me feel proud.” ‘*T never drink behind the bar,” responded the jolly host, with a grin. ‘*Oh, don’t you? of course not, without you’re axed” and Bowers winked significantly. ‘* Well, me noble dook, you have got for to As they conversed, all conversation being | wet your whistle this time, and at my expense, carried on in subdued whispers, each group had their eyes upon their neighbors, as though the feared that what they said might be overheard, and were determined that it snould not be if they could prevent it. The advent of Bowers created a decided sen- sation, and all present surveyed him with anxious eyes. The bummer came rolling into the place, tol- erably well primed with liquor, but not half so drunk as he pretended to be. The burly host surveyed him with a slight look of disgust; he was not anxious for custom- ers of his kidney, for he took the new-comer to be a tramp on a begging expedition. ‘You've come to the wrong shop, my man!” he exclaimed, before Bowers could open his outh. ‘‘ We sell liquor here I want you to under- stand and we don’t give it away; so you had better move your trotters out of here as soon as you're able.” ‘“*Oh, come now, bully rook!” cried Bowers, supporting himself on the edge of the counter and grinning at the landlord until his mouth seemed to extend from ear toear; ‘‘ whoaxed you for adrink? I’m a gentleman, I am, and don’t you forget it.” ‘*] believe you, my boy!” exclaimed the Eng- lishman, in derision. ‘* Yow’re areg’lar howlin’ swell, you are, and no mistake.” ‘Say! do you carry your photograph ‘round with you to give to your friends, so that they kin look at your lovely mug when you ain’t to the fore?” **-You kin jest bet all your wealth on that, me noble dook!” Bowers answered, readily. ‘* M hotos are pretty well distributed all over this road and bloomin’ country. I reckon there ain’t a rogue’s gallery in the land w’ot hasn’t got one, ho. ho, ho!” The assembled crooks exchanged glances at this rather personal allusion; the remark struck home, for there was hardly a man in the room | whose portrait did not grace some police head- quarters. ‘*Oh, yes, I’m well known, you can gamble on that, too,” Bowers continued. ‘* There’s hardly a police captain in any big city in the country who ain’t as well acquainted wi'h me as though flush again too, too, and as I’m kinder thirsty myself—I am al- lers at this time o’ night—I reckon I'll jest j’ine ou. ‘* Wot ‘ticular p’ison do you most hanker ar- ter—a leetle good brandy, eh?” The face of the Englishman assumed a rud- dier hue. “T have got a prime article here and no mis- take,” he admitted. ‘‘And if you are anxious to wet your whistle, I s’pose it will answer as well as any tipple you kin scare up in town. ** But oon on’t want to ring the gang in on this racket. ‘* The blarsted stuff is worth Melee dollars a gallon, you know, and it would be a sheer waste to throw it away on these beggarly duffers with no souls above their beer.” “Right you are, me covey! Though I am rolling in wealth I don’t see as thar is any call for me to chuck my ducats away,” Bowers ob- served. ** And it might be some time afcre you are so ’ the landlord suggested. “Don’t you worry your royal nibs "bout that,” Bowers replied, with a mystericus wink. ‘*Tve got onto the biggest thing that bas been struck by any cracksman in this hyer country for a year, and that’s why I want to see the old man. ; ‘‘The job is too big for me to handle, you know, and thar ain’t the least blooming bit of use for me to tackle it. ‘‘T should only make a slump-up, and thea all the fat would be in the fire.” ‘* And that would be a shame,” the landlord observed. “Oh, yes, thar ain’t any mistake "bout that,” Bowers replied. ‘*But if I put the boss on the scent he'll be able to do the job up prime.” ‘*You can depend upon that!” the host has- tened to assert, ‘ Is there much money in the racket?” “Bont ten thousand dollars,” whispered the | veteran in the ear of the other, | A low whistle of astonishment came from the lips of the Jandlord. ‘‘That isa }i~ thing,” he remarked. _ ‘‘ And as easy to git almost as turning your hand over—it’s a bank with an old-fashioned I was his own brother, and some of them are so | safe—a country bank, that { got on when | was mighty affectionate that when;they once get hold ; off for a little trip for the good of my health— on me ac Sere to let me go. ‘* They der hunger for my society, you see, and my pocket. — ‘“* As easy a crib to crack as I ever see’d 1n all my born days, and [ reckon I’ve seen some EGomichbooks (¢ Cc mi! )