Beadle's Dime Library No. 411: The White Crook — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

~—= sionary. ‘Settlement and civilization have brought changes.” ‘That is true. The white men of the North have bemmed in the Apache, and have taught him that killing is a game at which two can lay. It is not now the weak and coward! Maxisan with whom he has to deal, and he is liable to be caught and corraled when he gets his Injun up. There are now two kinds of Apaches. One is the tame kind, such as are seen loafing about the settlements, greasy, filthy and in every way worthless, with no ambition but to steal, drin whisky and pick the parasites from their nasty bodies.’ , ‘‘They have been ruined by rum,” observed the missionary. ‘¢ Not by rum exactly,” answered Hark Sarpy. ‘‘Tt is whisky that has done the work, That is the great and only civilizer, and men like Zeke Stebbins have done better than they meant to do. Whisky civilizes the Apache when nothing else will, and when he is well civilized he goes under the ground. Does it ruin him? Well, he is ruined for the wolf and catamount business.” ‘Your sentiments are atrocious,” exclaimed Cronkhite. ‘**Say, Misther Crankeye,” interposed the man behind the bar, ‘“‘air yez wan av thim Quakers that was sint out to play the peace policy game wid the Injuns?” ‘* A Quaker?” angrily replied the missionary. ** No, indeed! My religion is touched with no . such heresy. I despise the Quakers!”’ ‘* Well, Misther Crankeye, thar’s wuss folks than the Quakers. They don’t steal, annyhow, and some others do.” ‘* My mission, sir, is to touch the better part of those free and noble aborigines who have not been ruined by rum.” “‘That is the other kind of Apaches that I spoke of,” resumed Hark Sarpy. ‘ They have not been civilized out of the wolf and catamount condition. Some of them allow.themselves to be corraled on Government reservations, where they eat the food the white men give them, until they are ready to strike the white men to pay for it. The others are still wild in the hills, thinking of nothing but. murder and plunder, and preparing to creep up and spring upon their victims as the catamount does. ‘“You are surely prejudiced against those poor people,” protested Cronkhite. ‘* Prejudiced? Well, I ought to be! I have ood cause to be prejudiced. Have you a wy stranger?” ‘*T have a wife and children in Michigan.” ‘* Keep them there. Don’t bring them here. IT had a wife and three children. I have now one child. Where are the others? Ask the Apaches! I had made a pleasant home for them in the Territory. One day I went hunting, and when I got back my home was in ashes. My wife’s body was in the ashes—what was left of it. God only knows what she had suf- fered before the Angel of Death came to re- lieve her. At the foot of a tree against which its brains had been dashed out, was her inno- cent babe, horribly mutilated. My oldest daugh- ter had — ned to be in the woods, and thus escaped with her life. My other bright-eyed darling, where is she? Ever since I have sought her, but have not found her.” Hark Sarpy bowed his head, and his dark face grew darker, but there were no tears in his eyes. The time for tears had long since passed, ‘*That is really very sad, Mr. Sarpy,” said the missionary, “*‘and | am truly sorry for you. I suppose your story ought to be a warning to me, but I must do my duty as it is pointed out to me. I would be glad to have your good wishes.” ‘‘T wish you so well,” answered Hark, “ that T hope you may never have a chance of doing what you speak of doing. If you should try to touch one of those wild Apaches in what you call his better part, it would be the last thin you would be likely to touch on this earth.’ ; ‘‘T must hope that you will be mistaken, I ‘perceive that you hate those people.” ‘‘ Hate them? Hate is a weak werd, but I suppose it will have to do. I am Hark the Hater, I am!” CHAPTER IIT, A QUEER DUEL, WHEN Hark Sarpy had said his say the mis sionary from Michigan quieted down and re- sumed his seat against the wall. There he fell into a brown study, apparently trying to digest the hard facts t had been given him. ~ Zeke Stebbins, who had been restless and un- easy during the pe goo conversation, bright- ened up when it was ended, and endeavored to infuse a livelier tone into the proceedin “Come, now,” said he; ‘‘ we don’t need to bother about the ’Paches. Let's p’ison ourselves with some of Pat Byrne’s tanglefoot. What’ll ye have, young gen’lemen? Mr. Crankeye, will you take another drop o’ suthin’ fur the stum- mick’s sake?” 4 ; . The man from Michigan did not seem to heed - the invitation. ’ Py t ts IS &, 7 % * > xii) P 4 4 = i ’ Ts AatG ert de ewe ‘oe tad. > * et f ¥ “@ yan t - fhe White Crook, o.1 - a we) CR ae My sie i t Le , « P am Km o 1 ‘**Pears like he’s gone under a cloud,” mutter- ed Stebbins. ‘‘Come, Mr. Sarpy, what?ll you take to drink?” ** Nothing with you,” was the calm but de- cided answer. ** What's that? do you mean, sir?” ‘**T mean that I would never drink with you or with any person of your stripe, and no more would any white man who knows you as I do,” Zeke Stebbins flared up hotly, as there could scarcely be a greater insult at that time and place than the words to which he had just been forced to listen. ‘* You've got to take that back!” he roared. ** What do you know ag’inst me? You war ac- cusin’ me jest now of p’isonin’ the red-skins,” ‘*Oh, that’s nothing,” rejoined Sarpy. ‘I make no doubt that you have killed more of them than I have, though I can’t give you credit for meaning it. But, that is not worth speaking of. The worst fact about you, Zeke Stebbins, is that you have been for years and are yeta spy of the Apaches, and the chances are that you are here now for the purpose of putting them on the track of murder and plunder.” ‘* It’s a lie!” shouted Stebbins, as he grabbed his rifle. Hark Sarpy did not raise his Winchester; but his right hand dropped on the butt of.a revolver in his belt, and there was a wicked gleam in his eyes, as if he meant to use it. Before a weapon could be used the two young men stepped between the foes with the intention ot keeping them apart. The missionary from Michigan jumped up and ran toward them with his long arms out- stretched. **Do no murder!” he cried. ‘In the name of the God of Peace, let us have peace!” His style of interposition was so ludicrous that it caused a diversion, but it was Paddy Byrne who settled the matter aftera fashion of his own. : He jumped over the counter and laid a hand upon the shoulder of each of the combatants. ‘*Div yez want to foight?’ said he, his Irish coming out strong in his excitement. ‘‘ Thin yez shall foight; but it’ll have to be done to suit me, as this is me own house, or Oi’ll take a hand in, mesilf. Dll give yez a fair foight if yez moind me. Will yez do that now?” ‘Give mea fair chance at him—that’s all I ask,” answered Zeke Stebbins. Hark Sarpy merely smiled and nodded. ‘*Listen to me, thin. Thar’s a dure at the front, and thar’s a dure at the back. I put yez here, back to back, each wid his rifle in his hand. At the word ‘Go!’ yez’ll start fur wan dure and the ither, and whin yez git outside the circus ‘ll begin. iv yez understand?” | “ brig ‘* understood,” and were placed back to ack, ‘** Air yez ready, thin?” called out Pat. They were ready. ‘* Then go, ye divils!” At the word the two men started off in oppo- site directions, each with his rifle in his hand, Sarpy heading for the front door, and Stebbins for the back door. Mr. Cronkhite dropped upon his knees, utter- ing incoherent exclamations that might be in- tended for prayer. Paddy Byrne and the two young men followed Hark Sarpy. He got out at the front door with amazin swiftness, cocked his rifle as he passed aroun the corner of the shanty, and looked for his foe. He saw him, but not as he might have ex- pected to see him. The Indian-trader’s horse had been tethered Won't drink withme? What at the back door, and Stebbins had mounted | young men moun him instantly, and was then galloping down the valley. The remaining duelist fired a shot in the air and grounded his rifle. The shot hastened the flight of the fugitive, and Paddy Byrne and the two young men burst into roars of laughter. ‘*T ax yer pardon, Misther Sarpy,” said the Irishman, ‘“‘ but I knew it w’u’d turn out that wey I knew whar his hoss wur, and that he’d be bound to shkip out. I didn’t want any blood- sheddin’ in my place, ye see.” ‘* It is just as well,” answered Hark. ‘‘I was not anxious to kill the wretch. He deserves killing, but his time has not come yet.” ** Will yez step in, thin, and take a drink wid me, be token av forgiveness?” | This invitation was accepted, and the four men went into the shanty, where the missionary from Michigan declared that the peaceful issue of the difficulty was in direct answer to his prayers. | e was so elated by this idea that he was will- ing to drink at the expense of the proprietor, and was not at all inclined to stint himself in his allowance of tanglefoot. When they had absorbed their poison, Hark Sarpy seemed to pay more attention than pre- viously to the two young men, though he h no means Overlooked them. | | Sarpy?’ inquired | by ly,” gogsemed Stepney. suit of brown corduroy, the coat of which was plentifully supplied with pockets. His trowsers were partly covered by high boots, and a broad felt hat covered his brown hair and shaded his brown eyes. His tanned face was shaven, with the excep- tion of a mustache, and his build and action spoke of health and vigor and agility. The other was younger and shorter than he, and generally smaller, and was a light blonde, © with an unshaven down on his face, and an ex- -— ———————— pression of good humor and alertness, ; 1 He was dressed in a suit of jeans that was 2 nearly as tough and durable as the other’s cord- UrOy with the inevitable high boots and felé at . Neither had the appearance of being armed, oe yet there was at least a belt of cartridges, with EAS the necessary revolver under the butternut coat of each. or Hark Sarpy turned to the taller and elder of ~~ the two, a ‘‘ Where haveI seen you before?’ heasked. _ ‘“It seems to me that I ought to know you, ~ but [ can’t call your name,” ‘*My name is Mark Stepney,” answered the young man. ‘** Thank you; but the name tells me nothing. © Where have I seen you?” . ‘‘Tf you have happened to strike Colonel Powell’s surveying party, it islikely that youn | ran across me there.” pt ‘You were with him? Then you will do te tie to. I suppose that is your bay horse outside and that is your rifle in the corner. Have you quit the rae % i ee ‘We are laid off for a while, and Iam on my way to San Carlos. I st~pped in here and rs. met my friend Mr.—this is Jack Bunn, Mr, ~ 7 5 : , ’ - ~ § “4 & ot Pa¢ “ = ip . > ¥ . <. A => : “ ; ee, a Sarpy.” a ‘*Andrew Jackson Bunn, et your, service,” announced the younger man withasmile. ‘‘And what may you be doing here, Mr. Bunn?” inquired Hark. nee “Doing? Why, I belong here. Iam a tele- graph operator.’ Se ae ‘* That is a risky business in these parts.” My BD pas “Tam afraid it is,and I amafraidthatmy — station, about two miles from here, on the crest © | of the ridge yonder, is a pretty risky sortofa place. But I’ve got three of the boys there just now, who quit their stations on account of the Indian scare, and they all happened to drop in on = “Well, Mr. Bunn, you" may be safe there for a day or two, perhaps three days, asthere are no wild Apaches in these ager yet, but it) won’t do to stay there long. . Stepney, are you going on to San Carlos?’ perpen ‘Not just fow. I am going to hive with Jack Bunn and his friends for a little while.” ‘T may see you shortly, then. This mistaken g man from Michigan had better get in to Sar Carlos as soon as aa qte and save that attrac tive scalp of his. Pat Byrne will Ae him the direction. Are you going to stick it out, Pat?” = ‘* Oi don’t belave Oi wull, scr. Oi’m goin’ to loight out o’ this as soon a4 Oi kin git a teain to kerry me shtuff.” Bee c “That is right. 1 em afraid that there is no foolishness about thia .care.” tS aa ‘““Are you going dov7 to San Carlos, Mr. ark Stepney. ae “I? No, indeed! J have work to do that —_ will keep me away from all settlements for a while. Good-by, ana good-luck to youaM!” — 4 | 3* oo , > - gar ae a hee r a a CHAPTER IV. at THN LONE TELEGRAPH STATION, Bee WHEN Hark Sarpy had gone away thetwo | their horses and rode up the valley, leaving Ephrain Cronkhite withthe a ales hee Ck dy oe aa ‘That is a strange man who has just left © us,” said Stepney. ; iT -Fpheek ‘Yes, and a tough one,” assented Jack Bunn. © ‘* No doubt he has good cause to be tough; but; his toughness don’t prevent him from Bei a, gentleman. I almost wish he had Killed that + sneak who wanted to fight him and ranaway. | — You may be sure that the fellow is just what Sarpy declared him to be, a friend of the Apaches and a spy.” Wg ide ‘I must admit that his looks were not inhis favor, and I judge him to be the sort that will bear watching. What is the matter, Mark? Has your horse dropped a shoe?” SAL p=) ‘This is a rough trail. Whereis yourden?® — ‘* Not much further. The boys will be gladta see us, I guess, as they hated to have me go away this morning. The fact is that they are __ pretty badly scared, and no wonder i! * - < m = fs . are so many reports flying about. don’t be- lieve half of them, myself, and have got so used = to false alarms that they don’t worry me much. © — The new hands, though, make no bones of quit- ting their stations and running in for safety : when a scare is started near them.” PG ‘That must break up the service pretty bad=""* By it does; but that don’t matfer much, as They were worth looking at, and the wonder | there is little to du in these out stations at anv “."=s was how they happened to be there. One was a tall and fine-looking young man, | enough, and the boys go well up in his twenties, dressed in a complete is over.” al * < J) os & . time. The through line ei a works well k when the scare +s "7. ‘ - . | * ~y<h . = i“. © com icbooks.