Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 41 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

4 Beadle’s Dime Library. - — “Yes, he is no common man. I believe that if I went to the end of the earth he would find me.” “If he comes to Corinne point him out to me and I’ll soon settle him for you,” the Danite observed, carelessly. ‘‘ I run that town, and there’s no ten or twenty men in it that dare to even crook their finger when John Clark takes the war-path.” “Good! then in Corinne I’ll hide, and if this man comes!” the stranger cried, eagerly. “He won’t trouble you but once,” the outlaw remarked. CHAPTER IV. AN UNEXPECTED GREETING, QuitE a lively place was the “city ” of Corinne now that the grading parties of the trans-continental railway had reached the neighborhood. And where the sons of toil congregate, thither, too, come the birds of prey—the liquor-dealers, the gamblers, the dance-house belles, rogues and rascals of every grade, every age and sex. Like a mushroom the city of Corinne had sprung into exis- tence almost in a night, No miracle Aladdin’s palace to the followers of the iron way across tae continent; a “city” of tents and shanties sprung a i and being every time the railroad army halted to take reath. First, the barren, treeless prairie covered with sage-brush and flecked with alkali; then the prospecting gang of graders, and, then, presto! a city of a thousand souls almost in a breath. Debatable ground was Corinne; first a little Mormon settle- ment, a scattered house here and there along the banks of the river; but with the sudden rise tothe dignity of a “city” of hotels, saloons, dance-houses, and gaming dens, interspersed with a few stores now and then, the vast rush of the outside barbari- ans—the ‘‘ Geatiles”—stifled the Mormon influence so that it amounted to very little, although the ‘‘ Saints ” strove hard to retain control over the motley denizens of the mushroom town. At the time of which we write, although numbering over a thousand souls, Corinne was atterly without any local govern- ment, although with that peculiar instinct, so natural to the Anglo-Saxon breast, the inhabitants had talked about organizing a regular government and electing the proper officers to run the thing; but as this had not yet been done, each inhabitant was a law unto himself. One could never have told though from the appearance of the town that the lively city was “running” itself, for there were few brawls, considering the number of rough and violent men congregated within the limits of the town, their passions unre- strained by the stern control of law’s powerful hand. But then, every man, nearly, carried arms, was ready to use them, too, and everybody knew it; a quarrel meant ‘ business,” and few of the roughs even were anxious for sudden death. Still the desperadoes would fight among themselves, would kill each other; there was “aman for breakfast” every now and then; but it was rarc that a peaceable citizen, minding his own business, was interfered with, and so, upon the whole, for so brisk a place, Corinne had reason to boast of the good order which generally prevailed within its limits. Built after the usual fashion of railway towns, nearly all of the buildings being strung along a single street, through the center of which the railway ran, it would not have taken a stran- ger long to “‘ do” the town. As we have said, every other house was either a hotel, a saloon, a dance-house or a gaming den, and sometimes all four collected together in one building, as was notably the case witha palatial establishment—palatial for the frontier—which displayed as its sign a turreted stone building with flags flying, and over it the inscription: Tue CASTLE OF DURANGO. Here, under one roof was a hotel, a saloon, a dance-house and a gambling hell. The Castle of Durango was, by a long chalk—to use the com- mon expression—far ahead of anything else in the city of Cor- inne. It was the best hotel in the town, kept the best liquors in its saloon, boasted the prettiest girls in its dance-house, and ran the squarest and largest game in its apartment sacred to the goddess Fortune. Michael Castana, a tall, broad-shouldered Mexican, of middle age, kept the place, assisted by a woman whom he called his sister, and whose fame extended far and wide. Katherine Castana—Kate of Durango, as she was generally termed—was no common girl. Tall and queenly in stature, superbly formed, with a figure that would have excited the admiration of the old-time sculptor who carved the Roman Venus; a face, pure Spanish in its type, and as fair as had ever sat upon the shoulders of a Castilian maid; eyes black as night and as lustrous as the sun-kissed waters of the arrowy Guadalquiver, Hispania’s fairest river; lips red as the cactus flower of the Mexican desert and formed after the arch of Cupid’s bow; hair soft as finest silk, and shining in its jetty black- ness like the wild cherry’s coat, gathered in a simple knot at the back of the head and held in place by a gold-handled dagger, the blade Toledo steel, that boasted the ice-brook’s temper, she was indeed a wondrous maid! And this superb creature, as fair as ever painter dreamed of, as perfect as ever sculptor wished for, was simply and purely a female gambler. Queen of Monte she was called, and over the carded table she presided in the gambling den situated in the right wing of “The Castle of Durango,” Great attraction was she, too, for many a dollar was risked in the saloon simply because the owner desi*ed to feast his eyes upon the beautiful face of the Monte Queen. Fair as Diana, the fabled goddess, was she; and as chaste, too, for no living man could boast of favors received from Durango Kate. A charming smile and a pleasant word for all—but no more, and so strong the influence of her proud way that the worst ruffian in the town hesitated to provoke ber wrath. ’'T was said, too, that the dagger in her hair was no child’s toy, but was a poisoned weapon, the merest scratch of which would bring certain death, and that she, if affronted, would not hesitate to use it. And now, having described this strange flower, who seems to bloom with grace and purity in this hotbed of vice, we will look in upon her at the hour of nine at night as she holds her court in the gambling saloon. The place is tull of people; ’tis the common resort of the men of the town after nightfall to hear the news and talk ovor past events. No oneis pressed to either play or drink; the place is as free to the looker-on as to the man who desires to spend money. Katherine, reclining in a richly-cushioned arm-chair, just back of the monte-table, over which an assistant was now presiding, was smoking a dainty cigarette, the one peculiar weakness of the Spanish-Mexican dame, and chatting with the frequenters of the saloon as they sauntered by. There was very little playing going on at present; gambling in earnest rarely commenced until after ten. The occupants of the room were conversing together and watching the new- comers, and as nearly every eye was fixed upon the door, the entrance of a man, peculiar both in face and dress, at once excited general attention. He was just a little above the medium hight, splendidly built, dressed in a full suit of buck-skin, wearing upon his feet the pointed moccasins of the Pawnee tribe, and upon his head the raccoon-cap of the hunter, the snout of the animal projecting down over the forehead, the bushy, barred tail dangling against the neck, behind; keen brown-black eyes, a bronzed, manly face, the chin boasting a full brown beard, the hair, dark brown in color, pushed back behind the ears and reaching clear to the shoulders, and we have the pen picture of the new-comer, Men in deer-skin were common enough in the town of Corinne, and yet the entrance of this man excited general amazement, Plenty of men in deer-skin, but no trapper, mule-driver or Indian guide who carried upon his person a small fortune in the shape of buttons made out of gold-pieces. Hundreds of dollars’ worth of the precious metal at least he carried upon his person in this peculiar way; and few in the city of Corinne who would not have recognized Gold Dan, the wildest dare-devil on the frontier, at a single glance. “Gold Dan, by hookey!” an old gaunt fellow cried, and the crowd took up the exclamation, much to the astonishment of the individual in question, who halted at the door, evidently com- pletely astonished by the reception. And the good folks of Corinne were aston- ished, too. Upon good authority Gold Dan had been reported slain in an Indian attack, a month before, on the Montana trail, yet here he was, looking about the same, except that he had let his hair and beard grow. ‘“‘Why, I heered you were dead, ole man!” one of the crowd exclaimed. ‘Oh, no; I’m alive,” was the careless reply, but it was plain from the way he looked around him that he felt ill at ease. “Dan, I want to speak to you!” exclaimed Kate, abruptly, and speaking as if he were an old acquaintance. “Certainly,” the man responded, and at once made his way to where the haughty beauty reclined in her chair. “You foolish fellow! don’t you know that it is as much as your life is worth to come here?” “No; why? What have I to fear?’ Gold Dan asked, appar. ently mystified, and yet endeavoring to look unconcerned. “ After running away with that Mormon’s wife—fly at once— ah! it is too late!” John Clark, with six or seven other. Mormons, at that instant sauntered into the room. cd! CHAPTER V. GOLD DAN’S MISDEED. “Too late! what do you mean?” and perceiving that her glance was fixed upon the door, he turned his head and looked in that direction. Clark and his companions had advanced to the bar, which was close by the door, and had called for drinks, without troub- ling themselves to look around the room. ; ‘‘Don’t you see the Duke of Corinne?” “‘ And who is it that rejoices in that highsounding appellation?” Dan asked, apparently in blissful ignorance, ‘“What is the matter with you?’ Kate cried in astonishment; ‘you know John Clark well enough!” “Oh, yes—certainly!” Dan responded, quite readily; ‘‘ but touching this Duke of Corinne that you spoke of—” ‘* Why, that’s John Clark!’ the girl returned, amazed. ‘‘ Don’t you remember?” ‘*Oh yes, of course, now that you speak of it,” the man con- fessed, with seeming indifference; ‘‘ but I’ve such a poor head to remember anything.” vn , ies, we > Gomichboo S Cc (0)