Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 390 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

a ** Dance, I say!” ‘‘ [—I—can’t. How can I, when I don’t know how?” ‘Wal, dance anyhow. Dance a cow- dance, ef ye can’t do any better.” “But, Lcan’t/ Itis tmpossble! Ido not know how to move!” The lawyer was badly scared, but his ris- ing color indicated that he would not yield until he was actually forced to do so. ‘* Now, look heur, lawyer,” the man from Jimtown cried, ‘‘ you jest dance, er else [ll bore ye!” ‘* But, sir, the law! The lao!” “Dance! I say. Dance /” ‘But, the law! The law! The lao/ Have you no fear of the Law? Sir, VI— ‘“Whoop! Hol’ on, lawyer! Stop yer hosses right thar. J’m th’ law, th’ law, th’ law ; th’ court, th’ court, th’ cowrt; an’ th’ jury, th’ jury, th’ jury/ An’ don’t ye fergit, fergit, fergit it/” And as he spoke, the red giant advanced a step and thrust one of his revolvers squarely under Mr. Skynn’s nose, once more commanding him to dance. The lawyer danced. But, what dancing it was! It caused every one present to laugh heartily. It was merely a hopping around, first on one foot and then on the other. The lawyer had spoken truly when he said he could not dance. At the end of half a minute or so, he stopped. **Dance!” cried the winged giant, fiercely, and the poor lawyer began again. In about half a minute more, though, he stopped again. ‘* Dance!” cried his cruel taskmaster. ‘But, sir,” Mr. Skynn gasped, ‘‘I—I can’t. [’m tired. [’m—” ** Dance !” : Again the poor lawyer had to obey. There was no help for it, The revolvers in the hands of so reckless-looking a man were great persuaders. What poor Skynn suffered, no one but he himself knew. His breath came in quick, short gasps, the perspiration rolled down his face, and his feet almost refused to move. His dancing became the mere lifting of first one foot and then the other. And still the man from Jimtown cried ‘* Dance!” If the sight had been a ludicrous one at first, it was now pitiable to behold. That the victim was in agony, could be seen in his face. And still he was ordered to dance. At last, however, the end came. With a groan the poor lawyer fell to the floor in a swoon, ‘‘Haw, haw, haw!” the red giant roared. ‘*Thar’s one man out o’ time! Come, now, who’s next ?” No one volunteered, The man from Jimtown was bent upon running things with a high hand. And, he held just the cards to do it. He held the “drop” on the whole crowd, and meant to keep it. It must net be supposed that the men thus cornered were all cowards, for such they were not. The bravest men in the world may sometimes be placed at a disadvantage, and held powerless by a single man, It is only an occasional exceedingly cool, quick and daring individual that can turn the tables at such a time. Such a man was Cibuta John, and those in the saloon heartily desired him to put in an appearance, though they knew they need not look for him before the arrival of the evening stage. They all felt confident that he would clip the wings of this crowing Shanghai, and do it in particularly short meter, too, ‘*‘Come! Who'll dance next?” the man from Jimtown loudly bawled. ‘‘ Don’t all speak ter wunst, but give one another a fair chance. Come! Speak up, pow.” “‘Y wish Cibuta John war here,” Bill Twicker declared. ‘I think he'd do a step or two fer ye, stranger, an’ in a way thet would s’prise ye, too.” ‘‘T wish he wur,” responded the giant, fiercely, ‘‘fer he’s jest th’ man wan ter see. What is it ye call him—‘ Sky-blue’ John? No matter, though. You jest p’int him out ter me when he gits heur, an’ I'll gage ter eat him—hat, boots an’ all. I hate ter hear a man talked ‘bout as though he wur th’ wery king o’ th’ rustlers an’ couldn’t be downed nchow. You jest let me git at him The Giant Cupid. wunst, an’ I'll buckle his belt so tight fer him thet he can’t git his breath. Il) cause him ter think th’ last day has come. ‘Come, though, somebody dance! I guess you'd better take a turn at it, pardner,” and one of the giant’s revolvers was turned upon Bill T wicker. There was really no help for it, and Bill had to obey. He was the father of a family, and this big, overgrown bully looked ‘‘ shoot” all over. ‘‘ All right,” he exclaimed, with as good a grace as possible; ‘‘clear th’ floor an’ we'll begin.” ‘Th’ floor’s all cl’ar, so step right up an’ it down ter biz. Thar, that’s it. Ow ance!” And dance Bill did. He was a pretty good dancer, and he put it down in good style. But like the unfortunate lawyer who, by the way, had recovered and crawled to a chair, he was not allowed to stop when he wanted to. The moment he showed the least sign of flagging, the giant urged him on. ‘* Say, stranger,” he presently gasped, ‘‘ fer goodness’ sake let up on me an’ give some one else a chance. I’m no hog, an’ | don’t want all th’ fun.” ‘* You shet up an’ save yer wind!” the red giant retorted; ‘‘an’ jest keep on a-dancin’,” And keep on Bill did. The two cocked and leveled revolvers were powerful persuaders. At last, however, Bill gave out entirely, and fell panting into a chair. ‘“Haw! haw! haw!” the man from Jim- town fairly howled. ‘‘Oh! this heur is jest th’ best fun I ever had! Haw! haw! haw! Thar goes man number two/ Come, now; somebody else take th’ floor, an’ we’ll keep th’ ball a-rollin’. ‘* Oock-a-doodle-doo | ‘*Oh, I’m jest a reg’lar old snappin’ tarry- pin, J am, an’ I’m on th’ war-path ez big ez a hoss! ‘“Come! Mosey out heur, some o’ you galoots, an’ don’t keep me waitin’. This heur is th’ grand overture an’ prelude to th’ revenge I’m goin’ ter have fer th’ death o’ Giant John. ‘“Come, you two fellers back thar!” indi- cating Jeff Parsons and Tom Billings; ‘‘ you it out heur an’ let’s see what you kin a Jeff and Tom obeyed, but very reluctantly. This was gall and wormwood to the citizens of Ante-Bar. ‘*Now, jest pitch right in an’ do yer purti- est!” the man from Jimtown ordered, and the two began to dance. Jem Patterson had been a quiet observer of all that passed, and he had been waiting and watchine patiently for a chance to catch the giant off his guard and get a shot at him; and at last the chance came. Quick as thought Jem drew a revolver, but, quick as he was, the man from Jimtown was quicker. One of his revolvers barked spitefully, and a bullet tore its way through the fleshy part of Jem’s arm. ‘‘Haw, haw, haw!” the giant laughed. ‘*T’ve had me eye on you,” he cried, ‘‘ an’ was expectin’ that. ow d’ye feel now? Did T hit th’ bone? I didn’t mean ter do it, if [ did. I jest wanted ter sting ye a leetle.” That shot decided the day. The man from Jimtown held the best hand, and he knew how to play it, too. He had everything his own way, and de- clared that he had never had so much fun in his life. And still he kept the citizens dancing. Whenever a new-comer ventured to look into the saloon, about the first thing to meet his view was the giant and his revolvers; and the giant would promptly invite him to come in. The man would come, promptly. As fast as one dancer gave out, another was ordered to take his place, and so the man from Jimtown carried on his fun fcr three full hours. The afternoon drew toward its close, the stage came in and unloaded its passengers, the sun sunk behind the hills, and still the red giant continued to ery ‘‘ Dance!’ At last, however, he tired of his sport and ordered one short dance by all present as a wind-up. **Come!” he cried, BE hag up an’ at it now, an’ we’ll close th’ ball wi’ a grand old v3 ———— rn ——_— 7 bob-tail waltz. Come! All hands around! Whoop her up, lively!” And, glad for the charce to get the room into a general uproar, every one present did dance, and danced his hardest and loudest. *“Dance! Dance, ye beggars!” the giant cried. ‘‘Ye don’t sell likkur heur, but, great tom-cats how ye kin dance!” At this moment another voice cried: ‘‘Hello! Hello, citizens! What are you all doing?” All eyes turned toward the door. There stood—Ctbuta John. CHAPTER IV. THE ROOSTER STRIKES A SNAG. Yes, Cibuta John it was. He was a man who, once seen, was not likely to be forgotten. There he stood in the open door, his hands thrust carelessly into the pockets of his jacket, and his face wearing a smile of amusement as he took in the situation at a glance, He was a man of medium hight, broad- shouldered and straight, and was both sup- ple and athletic. His face was bola and handsome, the features clear-cut and regular, and his head was finely formed. His eyes were black and bright, his complexion was dark, a wealth of dark-brown hair rested upon his shoulders, and a heavy mustache shaded his mouth in a graceful curve. He appeared to be about thirty years of age. ein was attired in a neatly fitting business- suit of American cut, the coat being of the popular short, square-cut pattern, commonly called ‘‘ jacket.” On his head he wore «@ broad-brim Western hat of the finest felt, which was set slightly back, thus exposing his face to good advantage. His hands, as mentioned, were thrust into his coat pockets. When he made his presence known by ex- claiming: ‘‘ Hello! Hello, citizens! What are you all doing?” the dancing ceased at once, and all eyes turned toward him. ‘* Hallo, sport!” cried the man from Jim- town, before any one else could speak; ‘‘ how d’ye do?’ And he brought one of his revol- vers to bear upon the new-comer. ‘‘Come right in,” he added, ‘‘ an’ see th’ fun. Come right in,” ‘‘ Hello, Cupid!” Cibuta responded, as he advanced into the room, ‘‘ what are you do- ing?” The instant he called the winged giant ‘*Cupid,” everybody present roared with laughter. The name sounded immensely funny, when applied to such a being as the Shanghai Rooster. No one but their hero, one John, could have named him half’ so well. ‘Laugh, ye blamed ijjits, ye, laugh!’ the giant cried, his face turning more red than ever. ‘‘ May be ye’d all like ter dance some more.” ‘Well, Cupid, what ave you doing, any- how?” Cibuta John queried again. ‘‘ Have you set up a dancing-school here at Ante- ‘You jist look heur!” cried the giant, angrily. ‘‘ My name ain't Cupid!” ‘¢ Yes it is,” Cibuta declared, ‘‘ for I have just named you. I'll bet the name will stick to you as long as you live, too,” ¢ ‘Wal, it at my name, an’ I want ye ter understand it! My name is Jim Jones, th’ Shanghai Rooster from Jimtown Lode! <An’ don’t ye fergit it!” “Well, upid is a better name than Jim, my friend, and we'll call you ‘ Cupid’ Jones- Besides, a Cupid is supposed to wear wings, anyhow.” Again the crowd roared, and the man from Jimtown became fairly purple with . rage. sport was the lauded Cibuta John, and per- haps it would have made no difference to him if he had known it. He resolved to take the style out of the young and inde- . pendent stranger. ‘See heur!” he cried. much tongue!” ~ ‘““That is what they used to tell me when I went to school. It is my misfortune, Cupid. I can’t help it.” is ‘‘Gol-dast your pictur’! D'ye mean ter keep on callin’ me that?” ‘“‘You’ve got too ; } Of course he had no idea that this sportive Gomi “S (G 00) é com