Beadle's Dime Library No. 395 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

Me Y pay 2 — 2 Deadly Aim, a be - the Duke of Derringers. >? P ‘ 4 ~ es ? ~_* «@ > ‘ - ‘ \ 5 advanced. The prospect as presented by the cunning old lawyer was so brilliant that Rufus was intoxicated with it, and it was a fear of disarranging those visionary plans that made him shrink from wholly committing himself with Marcia. Silas Cramp believed himself wholly in the confidence of ‘Homulus Wellspring. e knew he had drawh up no will for him, nor did he for a moment believe one had been drawn at all, up to the hour when the sick man shattered all his brightest cy by that peculiar revelation as described in the opening chapter. Should the millionaire employ him to draw up a will, or should he die before making one, the course would be clear for the fraud, In Kyte Darley they possessed a jewel of skill with the pen. Time and again had they watched him dash off a perfect fac-simile of the million- aire’s signature, until he was so perfectly train- ed that he could not possibly fail when the test came, And so, when Romulus Wellspring was strick- en down in the Queen City, Silas Cramp lost no time in summoning his son and ally to the spot, to be ready for any emergency. Never once did he pate | what that emergency would really rove to be; and it was with perfect confidence in their ultimate success that Silas Cramp be- gan urging the sick man to set his house in order. ‘* Not that I roally think n an ticular danger, my dear sir,” he said, in his soft- est, most obsequious tone, ‘* But it is a duty you owe to yourself, to your daughter—to socie- you are in any par- ’ ty, I might say.” eo Homulus Wellspring only smiled or curs- ed him, according to the m which was up- permost at the timo, never once dropping a hint as to the scandalous truth. Thus matters stood with the characters who are destined to figure prominently in_ this on of crime and avarice, of truth and loy- alty. Together Rufus Cramp and Kyte Darley stood on the hurricane deck of the good packet Mis- sissippi Belle,” early on the morning following that consultation in tne dingy little office. They were watching for the appearance of Silas Cramp, who had promised to run down with word as to how the sick man was progressing. The boat was just ready to start. The hands were throwing off the huge cables that held her to the steep, rock-paved wharf. All but a single plank had been hauled in. The steam was “couguing from the ‘scape-pipes, the wheels were slowly revolving, when—” ‘* ‘Yonder he comes!” muttered Darley. ‘‘ Too late! We're off!” Silas Cramp was running when first seen, but as the boat barat to swing around, he paus- ed, waving his hand, smiling brightly. “It’s all right!” breathed Rufus, greatly re- lieved. ‘But how right? Dead, or still living?” softly breathed Darley. CHAPTER III. MISCHIEF BREWING. ** LOSING your nerve!” So clear and distinct the words sounded that Marmaduke Barringer actually started up in bed and glanced fiercely ¢bout his chamber, one of his pet weapons magically appearing in his hot grasp, ready to wipe out the vile insult in the gore of his traducer. A flush that was almost of shame crept over his handsome features as his head dropped back on the pillow, and the short laugh that parted his lips was purely mechanical. He was the sole occupant of his chamber. No one had spoken aloud. He was his own accuser, and the words that had seemed to ring upon his hearing, had simply flashed across his sleepless brain. Was the charge true? Was he indeed begin- ning to lose the matchless nerve which had long since rendered him noted among his class? Through which he had risen from the lowest strata to the “ top notch” of his peculiar circle? The hot flush was gone now, and Duke Bar- ringer lay quiet enough in his bed as he put these questions, as he forced himself to look the serious charge full in the face. Several hours had passed since he doffed his clothes and dropped upon the bed. All that time he had been wooing slumber, unsuccessful- ly, with his usual resolution not to be worsted, to force the drowsy god’s embraces, More than once before this he had found it impossible to 4 get asleep when reason told him his body needed rest, but he had abandoned the effort without a second thought. Why could he not do so now? Wa it because he was beginning to doubt him- se That was the disagreeable sticking point to which his busy brain ever returned. Had he been Coing anything to task bis brain after an unusual fashion? Let him think! It was broad daylight when he entered his chamber, but that was nothing out of the way. He was one of the human owls who labor while’ the rest of mankind slumber. He had been playing, a heavy game, too: but that was noth- ing unusual for him. He had suffered no heavy losses, had made no great gains, He had played A) with men whose every point he knew, whose game was perfectly familiar to him. Nothing in all this to drive sleep away from his eyes. Nothing particularly exciting had transpired the day before, unless— He had met her—Miss Portia Wellspring. ‘* What of it?” and this time the words were actually pronounced by the gambler’s red lips. ‘‘Am ta fool? AmIsucha r witling as to lose my nerve over a pretty face? Am I mad enough to fall in love with a star, and then lose my nerve because I can’t stretch out my hand and pluck the brilliant from its setting?” And even as he muttered thus indignantly, Duke Barringer flushed anew, for deep down in his heart of hearts he knew that he had been guilty of just such miserable folly. If not, whv did his thoughts turn so persist- ently toward the fair vision which had met his eager gaze that bright afternoon? What else caused her lovely countenance to rise so often between him and his cards that night? Why did he hear over and over again, as he lay there on his bed, vainly striving to lose his senses in sleep, her soft, musical notes as she thanked him for 2 and restoring a small package which she had inadvertently dropped? It was but an instant that they stood face to face, yet had his brain been a camera, it could not have taken a more accurate picture of her, to the slichtest details of her dress, away with him. uke Barringer, as he lay on his bed, forced | himself to look the matter squarely in the face, | pitilessly unmasking each a epee ys put for- ward by his wounded pride and self-love. to rouse, those who knew him best would tell you, but once fairly afoot, the Duke of Derrin- | gers never stopped by the wayside, but went | straight and sure as fate to the goal, bound to | win or to die trying. And so it was now. He | had never permitted himself to think of Portia | Wellspring as one who might be wooed and won. Until this hour, he had never acknowledged ere in his own heart that he had learned to love er. | | | Step by te reviewed the past, even to the day when he had rendered her that service in the long ago, striving honestly to point out the date on which that madly preposterous passion first sent out its feeble roots, but without suc- cess. ‘*Tt was not then, for I didn’t know who'she was at that time,” he muttered, frowning at his defeat. ‘* Not until the story spread over town and got into the papers. Even then I could not | have sworn that she was’ beautiful or the re- | verse.” Honestly he sought for the starting-point, but | in the end he was sure of but one thing—that he loved Portia Wellspring with the love of a life- | time, ! ‘It might as well be the moon!” he muttered, | in disgust at his supreme folly. This was his dogged conclusion after honestly weighing all the facts of the case from an impar- | tial standpoint, He knew Romulus Wellspring by sight and by | reputation. He knew that the millionaire was | proud and a bit of an aristocrat, despite his bluff manners and rough-and-ready air. He knew that, in all other respects a man of tbe world, | Wellspring never touched a card, even in sport never bet a dollar on a race, and that he scorned | good all so-called sporting men, ‘**The old money-bags would sooner send his darling after her kindred than see her mated | with a sport. Don’t you know that, Duke of | Fools and Prince of Idiots ?” muttered the gam- bler, in self-disgust, | True as Holy Writ, but Romulus Wellspring } was already old. He could not expect to live for many years longer. Then—then— ‘*His blood is in her veins, and she is even prouder than he. Even if she had no — no master but her own sweet will, she would never stoop to your level, King of the Long-Eared | Tribe!” Worse than all, Duke felt that this was sim- ple truth. Without understanding himself, he arrived at this conclusion. He was a gambler, who lived , by his wits, his skill, his trained nerves. He had shed blood on more than one occasion, as a matter of course. No man could reach his posi- tion at the top of the tree without having his | progress stubbornly disputed. He had ruined | more than one man in his time. He had doubt- | less caused much misery in happy homes, as every successful gambler necessarily must. But he had never done so maliciously. Proud of his natural talent for cards, he had carefully cultivated it until he found far more pleasure in plucking a hawk than a pigeon. If he had ruined men, it was in pitched battles where they would only too gladly have served him the same way, bad luck or fate so decided. After all, there were many worse men in the world than Duke Barringer, though he was, many who would less fitting mates for the proud heiress to the | Wellspring millions. Yet he told himself that this mad folly must stop right where he now found it. For her sake, as much as for his own. ‘*T might make her trouble, but what would that profit me? I would still be a gambler, be- yond the pale, Duke, my boy, you’ve got to : ‘ end, gambler | sionally paid the tables a visit. Rather a thug ve been far | I can get—” /on a pard like you, old fellow?’ briskly inter- ‘bunch the cards and start in on a new deal with a clean deck!” Hardly had the gentleman sport come to this conclusion, when he heard quick footsteps in the corridor without, then the sound of a key turn- ing in a lock, after which two men entered the room adjoining the one he occupied. There was nothing unusual in this, for he was only one guest of a large hotel, where men and women were constantly going and coming, but en a he believed he was firmly resolved to smother his wild passion, Duke was only human, and it was much more comfortable to idly lie and listen to the shuffling, indistinct sounds be- yond than to pursue his unpalatable self-exam- ination further, just then. o ‘* Shoe-string Johnny,” he murmured, remem- bering who occupied the room ad a his. **He must have struck a lead lately. He was playing a peg or two above his usual notch last night, if 1 recollect aright.” There were few professionals in active life with whom The Duke was not more or less inti- | mately acquainted, and he knew this John — Mack for a reckless, degraded hanger-on at the S eee dene whose peculiar nickname may be riefly explained. ; ye: | John Mack came of a wealtby, proud race, and when but a very young man was left a ~ large fortune, unluckily for himself. There was a4 gambling blood in his veins, and before the year sy was out, he had nota dollar left which he could call his own. He lived only for gambling, and as often as he could gather up a small stake, he Slow | risked it at the board. ow With all his faults, he had one redeemi te trait. He honestly tried to pay his debts, an ee whenever he chanced to make a considerable winning, he at once discharged these obligations . as far as possible, and at the same timeleave himself five or ten dollars with whichtoonce more tempt fortane. Of course, if he lost this small sum, he was forced to draw out of the | game until he could beg, borrow, or otherwise obtain another trifling stake. But if, on the contrary, he won, knowing that at the best he | had but a trifle to lose, he would press fortune — to the uttermost while it favored him, often leaving off far ‘‘ahead of the game.” Before oo the money could grow cold in his pockets, he would pay off his most pressing debts, returning to the tables to renew his ‘‘ shoe-string” game. Be It was this that gave him his unenviable title, _ and the very fact that a table can win buta © trifle from a player of that caliber at one time, while it may lose a large sum, makes gamblers —_ of that class the dregs of the profession. » ara Duke Barringer, now that he was nolonger se | courting the coy god, was almost falling asleep = when a coarse laugh from the otherroomcaused = his eyes to open, and when a name came tobis _— ears—the name of the fellow whom he had — flogged for insulting Portia Wellspring—his every sense was on the full alert. rear. ‘Rufus Cremp, eh?’ repeated the coarse voice, which Duke fancied he could recognize. ‘* Two to one there’s a woman in the case, then!” ‘*You’re right, and big money, too, if we — play our cards adroitly,” returned Shoe-string Jobnny, in a more guarded voice. ““There’sa good stake for a starter, and a glorious chance for a whipsaw before the game is called for ah . - ’ + err o 1 7 ‘‘ Both ends against the middle, eh?” ~) oe Ones like it,” laughed Mack, lightly. . — The biatus was readily filled by theimagina- — tion of the now interested listener onthe further —~ side of the thin partition, and that he was right, —_ the next words proved. ‘eae ‘Nothing so nasty as that, Tom,” bastily ut- tered Mack, with a little shiver in his to > ‘‘Tom Kearney, for a ducat!” murmured the Duke of Derringers, beneath his breath. oe He knew the fellow named by sight and repu- tation alone. Not a gambler, though he occa- ” - a * and desperado of the lowest class. A fellow | at who would steal out from some dark cornerto garrote an unsuspecting victim. Who would, — slit the throat of a woman ora child forafew dollars. But one whose low coming had thus far kept bim out of the clutches of thelaw, much to the disgust of the police who had watched __ him so long and longingly. ee ‘‘ A case off running off a shy damsel, then? persisted Kearney. 22 Duke listened breathlessly for the answer, but no audible one came to hisears. PerhapsShoe- string Johnny contented himself with nodding =| assent, for Kearney laughed again ashe said: ** An heiress, then, or that white-livered cur wouldn’t dare run the risk. He’s no good! I'd Me abe rather work for almost any other man,” ees | ‘Money talks, Tom, and when it passesinto” your pocket, you can’t tell whose hands itcame — from, by smell or feeling. Still, if you dont © want to go into the job, there’s no bones broke, ws - Ay Sy ee : whe , ow ‘“Go into it? Why not? Think I’d go back + posed the ruffian, the smack of his broad palm, —s_— as it crossed that of the gambler, beigg distinct- ly audible in the next room, ‘Count me mth): head and ears! An heiress, yousay? Not me ts heiress? Not old—” "ern 900 CS ~ i ae —-€OoO (E