Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 385 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

——_> 2: — < = ~ — ae eee -~ ' 2) Se eee Nein FES fi 5 a EO, Le OMY, TR SRee RSS OT a= Ae “Meg—though he did know they were brother your grandtf -Ordered me! ‘born. 1 did strike, and most gloriously. Your father T shot dead ‘place it in the fire. escape and sister—but this avowed relationship was new to him, though the name was not, ‘ Yos.” continued the Man with the Scar, or Ctrecerson, ‘such is the fact; and now to ex- plain my hatred of your parents. My wife, the inother of Meg and Jude, was a quadroon be- longing to your grandfather. You would not regard her as a lofty bride to whom to aspire, but I was a Gregerson, of Black Run, and ‘ather and your father ordered me never to dare come near the mansion again. Ay, and your father menaced me with the whip when I did come again. ‘‘ Even that had no effect. I was as obstin- ate and fierce as the Gregersons always were, and I saw the quadroun girl often in spite of opposition. We were married, too, after a form which may, or may not, have been legal; I don’t know. ‘¢ Jude was our first child, but, thanks to the “kind heart of your grandmother, who eee the girl, affairs were managed so that nobody but herself was the wiser. I took the boy away and placed him with another branch of my family, ‘¢ When Meg was born, all went wrong, One evening I was at home—a bleak winter even- ing—when my wife tottered through the door- way, placed her baby, then but a few hours old, in my arms, and fell dying to the floor. “She lived long enough to tell me that your father—your father, mind you, boy—had dis- covered all and driven her out into the night to perish. They said at the Halli—curse them!— that she had wandered away in delirium, but { knew whom to believe, and over my wife’s -grave I swore to avenge her. ‘¢ Notice how grandly fate worked in my be- half! “A year later your father’s first wife died, ‘and he married agains but, lo! this time he had to marry secretly. our mother, boy, was not -of so grand a family as your father, and as his father was still alive, the son married secretly. This gave me opportunity for revenge, and [did not fail to seize the chance. ‘‘OQne year more. passed, and then you were Then I knew my time had come tostrike, near his lordly mansion, and then { stole your mother’s marriage-certificate, and -all other proofs that she was the legal wife, ‘‘Perhaps you know the result. When she went to your grandfather, with you, boy, in her -arms, to ask for her rights, she was driven out as my wife had been driven out before. Ha! ha!” The dying man laughed in a husky, blood- ee way, but Dick Turpin tersely, tensely paid: ** Go on!” ‘‘'There is little more to tell, but I hounded the remaining years of your mother’s life, never telling her who I was, but often showing myself _and grinding her heart in ways I cannot repeat now—I am too weak, I think she had a sus- icion that I killed her husband, but 1 don’t ow. ‘¢Of course she could not prove her marriage, and she lived a miserable life until death came to her relief... Here was further revenge for me, You know, boy, how I have haunted your own life, doing what I could to ruin you, and I have -only one thing more to tell to show how I have -avenged my quadroon wife. What is the hour?” The mayor looked at his watch. ‘‘Ten minutes to nine.” “ All’s safe, then. Boy, I have told you through the late years that I still had the cer- tificate of your mother’s marriage—it was that which led you to join the road-agent band, in order to see me and get it. Well, that certificate I this morning gave to my son Peter, alias Jude Peterson, directing him, at just eight o’clock, to efore this time it is in ashes, and you can never prove your mother’s marriage!” “Villain!” Dick Turpin exclaimed. ‘* Bah! you see from one side only. Ido not forget my slave wife, who was driven out into the storm to perish. Ah! Ulo, I have avenged you well, and—” These were the last words on, his lips. Blood gushed from his mouth, and in a few moments more the Man with the Scar, otherwise Monk -Gregerson, was dead. The mayor had been an interested listener to this story, and he now turned toward Dick with a light in his eyes far from hostile. The two men held a somewhat lengthy conversation, and then Dick agreed to go back to Leadville. There was no charge against him now except his road exploits, and as the mayor nromised to help compromise the matter, it was thought best to have it so, since the ex-road-agent could not by his own efforts. ; Leadville was reached in due time, and Dick and the mayor went at once to Jude Peterson’s room. If he had destroyed the marriage-cer- tificate, some confession might be wrested from What they saw when the door was opened surprised them. Jude Peterson lay dead on the floor, his face to the bare boards, while one fast-stiffening Saas 7 Ys Hy. B15 Ay ee Se em er EE hand held outstretched toward a blazing fire a folded paper which was yellow with age. Dick Turpin caught it, nervously looked at its contents, and then held it toward the mayor with a joyful face. The lost certificate was recovered. Physicians said that Jude had died of heart- disease, but it was a strange chance, akin to a direct act of Providence, which struck him down just as he was about to thrust the paper into the fire. From there they went to the hospital, and Dick was not greatly surprised to see Robert Bradstreet. being cared for by happy-faced Sibylla. The sheriff had improved wonderfully since the turn of his fever, less than a week be- fore, and he looked bright-eyed and manly as he held out his hand to Turpin. The latter accepted it with a suspicious quiver of his lips. ‘Sir Lion of Leadville,” the sheriff quickly said, ‘‘you and I have been enemies, but now that I know what you have done to protect Sibylla, my wife, [am your firm friend hence- forth. There is much that I don’t know, but perhaps you will explain a part when I’ve pre- vailed on the Governor to pardon you. ‘There’s nothing serious against you here. You did not kill Abe Knowlton, for the very good reason that my own accidentally-discharged revolver did the work. I’ve created a reaction in your favor here, and when [ getup Ill see what more I can do.” ‘*T thank you very much, but you said there were things you wished to know. What?” ‘* First of all, how does it happen that you look exactly like me?” Dick Turpin hesitated, and then silently placed the recovered marriage-certificatein Bradstreet’s hand. The latter glanced over it, and his face was filled with great surprise. When he had read to the end he looked up quickly. ‘‘What’s this?’ he cried. ‘‘ The marriage- certificate of Wayne Bradstreet and Luero Hen- dricks? Why, Wayne Bradstreet was my fa- ther!” ‘“‘And mine, too!” Dick Turpin answered. “T have known it for years, though I never had the proof until to-day. My realname is Richard Bradstreet, and I am your half-brother, which accounts for our resemblance. You are the son of our father’s first marriage; I, of his second. This marriage was kept secret at first because my mother was a poor girl, and of a humble family; and when Wayne Bradstreet died, this very important paper was not to be found to prove her a legal wife.” cm no more!” the sheriff interrupted. ‘‘ After all this, the resemblance is enough to convince me. By my life! it sounds odd enough to call Dick Turpin, of Leadville, my brother, but the false pride of the Bradstreets has poor circulation in my veins, Brother, your hand!” Their hands met, but Dick had ‘too much to say to indulge in fraternal words then. ‘ But,” he said, ‘‘ why are you here when you have broad aeres in Kentucky which are all your own?” Robert's face clouded. ‘¢ T can’t explain, at present,” he replied. “T can. You thought you had killed Monk Gregerson in a duel! Don't start, Rob, for itll ageravate your illness. Well, you did not kill onk. I have always known why you fled from Kentucky, and supposed that Monk was dead, but recent events show that, while I did not know him to be Monk, I have long known that particular Gregerson. You did not kill him, for he did not die until this morning.” ‘Then, ve exiled myself in vain,” Robert ex- claimed. ‘‘Monk Gregerson picked a quarrel with me; we fought; I thought I had killed him; T fled to Batesville, Arkansas, met and marrie Sibylla, under the name of Rob Edwards, and lived there until a Kentucky officer appeared. ‘‘The chances are that ‘te was not after me, but I thought he was and fled West. Then I read in a paper that my wife and children had been accidentally drowned in the White river. I was fool enough to believe it, and that ac- counts for our long separation. The clouds are clearing away now, and I hope all will soon be bright.” ‘* Amen!” Dick Turpin fervently replied. Nothing is more fickle than the opinion of the general public, and when, 9 fortnight later, it was known that Dick Turpin had been pardoned by the Governor, on condition that he would leave Colorado, those who bad been the road- agent’s bitterest enemies accepted the verdict philosophically. ' Robbery was the only crime chargeable to him, and robbers were common in Colorado. The Leadville Lion began to look forward to a happier future once more. Of his enemies, the Man with the Scar and Jude Peterson were dead; Sam Tobin was released by Old Man Hicks after terms had been made by which he was to leave the State. and much the same terms were made with the men locked in the cellar, at Sibylla’s last refuge. _Meg was surrendered for trial in San Fran- cisco for murdering her husband, but somehow obtained poison, swallowed it and died. Of course she had no claim on Sheriff Bradstreet. rpin, the Lion of Leadvil ——— OO] SKOM—G—(— 0000000 0 CC LOL Je. Boy that he was in the old days when he weoed her at Black Run, he bad finally Jearned her true character, and, instead of marrying her, had dropped her acquaintance. For this she had tried to kill him at the time and afterward, with Jude, her brother, whom the sLeriff had never seen, hud tried to work the scheme which was foiled by Dick Tur- pin’s knowledge of her California exjc)icnee, Neither she nor Jude had known orything about the Man with the Sear until he came to them at Leadville, and neither suspected that bo was their father uatil the night befere Juce’s death. All the Gregersons were unscrupulous and re- vengeful, and those who remembered Monk’s quadroon wife all agreed that she was not turned out of docrs at all, but went while mentally de- ranged. The Man with the Scar had small cause for his hatred, but only death extinguished it. Robert Bradstreet made immediate prepara- tion to return to the old home with Sibylla and the children. He fully recognized Dick Turrin as his brother, and would have taken him and Kit along, but neither would agree to it. They were married in Leadville, their horses again summoned, and, accompanied by the ex- sheriff they rede away. A mile beyond the city they paused. Here Robert was to turn ack, ‘* You must certainly let me hear from you often, Richard,” the elder brother said. ‘‘Rest assured, you shall, and I hope to so live that you will not be ashamed to keep up the cor- respondence. The old, dark life is past, and I hope to live an honest life henceforth. I shall have earnest help!” He laid his broad hand on Red Kit’s arm, and she smiled into his face with unbounded trust and love, ‘* It is for you to teach me,” she replied. ‘* We will teach each other,” Dick answered, ea the light of love shall show us both tke road, se you both be happy!” Robert fervently said: ‘‘T, for one, shall live as in paradise,” Kit de- clared. ‘“‘And you will be the gracious queen,” Dick added. There they said good-by, and as the young couple rode away the sun fell full upon Turpin’s manly form and happy face; and it turned Red Kit’s hair a deeper hue, bringing into strong re- lief the unutterable happiness which was in her great, tender eyes and on her perfect face. And so they rode into the West. Six months later Robert Bradstreet, living in the old Kentucky home with Sibylla and the children, received a letter from which we make this extract: ‘We have received definite news of Bowie Ren and the Legrands, and I need searcely say that Ben and Lois are married. They are living in Washington Yerritory—whether happily or not, I don’t know. It seems that they went to this remote place, dreading my anger! What folly! I fvel not ene particle of resentment; on the contrarv, I bless the day thy turned traitors, It brought the peace and happiness of a life. ‘* Robert, words cannot express how happy Iam. No man ever had a better wife than Kit. She has recovered much of her old gayety, bet retains the loving ways and thoughtfulness which trouble de- veloped so sudcenly in her character. We are both wy. girs eerie happy. “Tam doing well herein business. Montana is a oe country, but it is bound to grow, and I expect be rich some day. Since [left Leadville no man can say I have done a dishonorable ect. Iunde:stand that Duke Hallock and his wife are in Michigan, ““‘Tam glad, Robert, to hear that_all is well with you, and assure you I shall visit Kentucky somo time, as you request. IT have asked Kit if she has a message to send, and, after reacing what 1 haya written, she says: ‘Tell them again we are both Nery very happy!’ And truer words were never spoken, “Of course I am known here as Richard Frac- street, but for this time, I will sign myself, ** Dick TURPIN, or LEADVILLE.”” So ended_the letter, and so ends this record. Now that Dick rides Brutus peacefully over Montana hills, there is but a recollection in bis life of the old, wild days when he was the Lion of Leadville. THE END, THE Dime Dialogues No. 32 Containing eighteen Minor Dramas, Extravaganzas, Yurlesques, Farces, Dress and Humorous Pieces, for the Amateur Stage, Parlors. Schools and Exhibitions, All original and by favorite authors, professcrs, teachers and amateurs, For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, post-paid, on receipt of price—ten cents. BEADLE AND ADAMS, PvusuisHers, 98 William Street, New York. a gy! NIGDOOKS. (E A ~ » . —