Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 420 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

\ » *-¢ 4 : aes ections, Eva Taleott became very res 14 _— good, though there may be a doubt on that int; but it was a long distance from the Shropshire habitation to a telegraph line, and before he could determine what it would be best to do in regard to the dispatch, something oc- curred that upset the arrangements of all the pe»ple under that roof. Eva Talcott, however, could not question the words or intentions of the man who had saved her life, and upon whom she must depend for all the assistance she could hope to get in her time of trouble. Believing that she had done all that it was | but was forced to confess to an uneasy feeling | possible to do under the circumstances, she > sa de followed ‘* Aunt Eliza” up the Jadder- ike s airs that led to the room which she was to occupy. _ This was a mere garret, furnished only with a rude bedstead, a husk mattress and a scanty supply of bed-clothing. and if would bave been very hot and stuffy, but for an opening at the end that let the air in freely. The Old River Sport. .- me No matter how great her uneasiness and anx- iety might be, in her present scarcity of apparel it was clearly impossible for her to make a move in any direction, and all she could do was to ‘‘stay put” and endeavor to make the best of adverse circumstances, She was naturally anxious, among other mat- ters, to know whether the promised message had been sent to her mother; but there was no way of finding that out until Mark Hannafin should | see fit to give her the information, and he was understood to be away just then. She hoped that he was absent on ber errand, _of doubt on that point. | She worried helplessly over these matters, occasionally dropping into a doze; but her sleep- ing moments were more painful than her waking thoughts, and finally she arose and went to the opening at the end of the loft, to look out and breathe the night air. Mrs. Shropshire directed her guest to take off | her wet clothing giving her a coarse garment to wear in the mean time. In removing her dress Eva was careful to | tion which they wished to keep from the ears of secure the pocketbovk which it containe!, and she fancied that her hostess cast a wolfish lock at that article. “All you’ve got to do now, my dear,” sad the old woman, ‘‘is jest to lay down and rest while I ary your things and fix ‘em. while [ll bring you up suthin’ to eat: but I reckon you need a gocd sleep more’n anythin’ Linda Shrovshire hal silently followed her mother and the guest up to te loft, and she stood there in the doorway of the garret room, her hands crossed before her, and her big brown eyes wide open as she stared at the fair stran- r. The old woman perceived her there, and her eyes snapped with sudden anger. W’ot you doin’ thar, Lindy?” sho flercely de- manded. ‘‘ Nobody teid vou to come up yer. cain’t have you standin’ ‘round and botherin’ | the lady. GiSout, now! Git!” With a cry that was like a wail the girl turn- ed and fled. It was evident to Eva thet Linda was nota pet in her own family; but she said nothing, as she was not alle just then to take anybody’s rt—not even her own. “Aunt Eliza” bundled up her guest’s wet clothing and carried it away, after a parting in- junction to keep quiet and go to sleep. Eva was willing enough to obey this injunc- tion, but feared tha* she would not be able to. As for going to bed and keeping quiet, there was nothing else for her tod»; but she was op- pressed by so many painful thoughts—grief for the mysterious loss of her brothers, anxiety con- cerning her mother and doubt and perplexity about her own position—that it cid not seem possible for her to lose her senses in sleep, Nature, however, has her rights, and is bound | cality? Is it horse-stealing, or are thev mean to assert them. The young lady was so completely overcome nervous exhaustion, as well as by fatigue, that she could not have withstood the pressure if she had desired to. With a prayer on her lips she fell aslecp, and she sept long and soundly. It was dark when she awcke, and then she was aroused by Mrs. Shropshire, who brought some super and a light, the light being a cup of grease with a lighted wick swimming in it. The supper was of poor quality, both in ma- terial and in cookery, being nothing but bacon and corn bread, with a mixture that could never pass for coffee among civilized people; but Eva had awoke with an appetite, an’ just then that homely food was as acceptable to her as the choice viands of the Rowena. “T reckon you'll do now,” said the old woman | course it must be a lawful marriage, or you as she watched the disappearance of the victuals. | miss the fortune. Indeed there was quite a changein Eva, Her sleep had refreshed her, and her supper invigorated her, and she felt so strong and we'l, so sound of body and so clear of mind, that she | to take a lively interest in her own irs. ‘“‘Has Mr. Hannafin sent off my dispatch, Mrs. Shropshire?” she asked. * Don’t know nothin’ "bout no dispatches,” rrunted the old woman. “ That youn’ man gone off some’eres, and mebbe thut’s wot he’s gone arter.” “T hone so, indeed, but I would be glad to know. When canI have my clothes?” “Yon won't need ’em afore mornin’, and they'll be ready then. You've eat a food sup- per, my dear, nnd all you've got to do is to lay right down and take things easy.” Having settled this point to her own satisfac- tion, the old woman went away, carrying off the light as well as the dishes, CHAPTER XVI. EVA TALCOTT’S PERIL. Lert in darkness and solitude to her own re- . but he could not belp admit. ing that ‘ ims Eliza” had spoxen the truth, * . - é - : 2 ME? foote Ged . ; WS yy z ’ = ' the Shropshires, as the house, but came aroum Arter a | | she seems to be strangely out of place here? ‘‘Leave those people alone, Eile, and don’t | with ber, Sile, and she has a fine fortune of her She had been there but a little while when she heard the voices of men approaching the bouse, and secon recognized the speakers as Mark Han- nafin and his friend Silas Birch. They were evidently carrying on a conyersa- did not go into the to the end, stopping d.rectly under the opening at which the young lady was stationed. iva wanted to call to Hannafin and ask him if he had sent her message; but modesty at frst forbade the attempt, and after a while she bad | ir | suspicion that had lately been growing in ber a yet stronger reason for keeping silence. Though the two men spclce in low tones, the | night was so still, and she listened so intently, that she could hear nearly every word that was eaid., ing what may nse saa toaman when be gets: mixed up wich such a geng.” ‘* I wish you would stay, Sile, and I am sorry to see you so set against it.” ‘*] would be afraid of getting into a serious scrape if I staid bere, and I have got to be a little careful of myseif, for the sake of some- body I know. So I shall getaway from here in the morning. I presume that you don’t care to have me carry the message which Miss Tal- cott asked you to send to her nother.” ‘‘ Well, Silas, I can’t say that Iam worrying about that dispatch. You know that there’s no telegraph office anywhere within reach of here, and perhaps it is not necessary that her mother should know where she is just now.” ‘You will send the message some time, though?” ‘*When the cows come home. I wish I had nothing to worry me more than that does.” ‘‘Let us go and turn in, then, 1 want to get a good sleep before JI “light out.” The two men went away, unconscious of the unseen auditor who had listened to them from above, What she had heard bad overwhelmed Eva Talcott with consternation. It had seemed to her that her weight of trouble was as much as she could bear; but these revelations piled on a fresh and heavy load that threatened to break her down. When Mark Hannafin declared his purpose of making her his wife—of course hy foul means, if fair means would not werk—he confirmed a breast, and she set herself resolutely against it, determined that it would be a long day befcre he should carry that design into executicn. The old saying held good, that *‘ anybody can ‘This is a queer den that you have brought | lead a horse to water, but nobody can make us to, Mark,” Birch was s’y-re, ‘‘end it’s a queer lot of beasts that inhabitit. I don’t like the loo'ss of things here a biv.” ‘*lt is the only place we could come to, answered Eannafin. ‘* That won’t do, and you lmow it won't. richt have got away on that stern-wheel boat if we had tried; but you mace a point of coming to this place, as you had friends here. Tough lot of friends, these are.” ‘* Better than no friends, though.” ‘“T doubt it, Inany respectavle town they would be locked up es vagranis, because they can show no visible means cof support. How do they get their living? Not by farming, as anybody can see with half an eye. They have the look of scoundrels who would killa man to rob him of half a doilar—all except the girl, and 39 What's the matter with her, Mar!:?” ‘Nothing, asfaras I know. Her folks say that she hasn’t got good sense; but perhaps that is because she won't fall in with their ways.” ‘What aretheir ways? Ways of crookedness, I'd bet high. What is their special line of ras- enough to come down to shcep-stcelin«!’ bother your head about them,” ‘*T mean to leave them alone 2s soon as I can, end I assure you that Il would never h~ve stirred astep from the river-bank wiih them, if it hacn’t been for your sake. What are you going to do with the young lady, Mark?” ‘*T am going to marry her, of course.” ‘* That is easier said than done.” ‘It is bound to be done, though, and that is why I brought her bere, T am modly in love own, too,” ‘The fine fortune mav excuse the love craze, if you are sure of getting it. It isa very gooc scheme, Mart, if it can’be made to work, and J | suppose you know what you mean to do, Of How do you expect to per- | suacde the young lady to consent to that?” ‘*l can’t say exactly. It will depend some- whet on circumstances, I have the road rough- ly blazed out, but haven't brought my plen cown to a fine point yet. I have gone in to win, Sile, and mean to play the game for all it is worth,” * And you don’t mean to let anything stand in your light, if you can shove it aside. That is straight business, Mark. Since you have put her brother out of the way, I supnese you think you have the game in ycur own hands.” Merk Hannafin hastened to resent this im- putation. ‘What do you mean,” he demanded, ‘‘b saving that I put her brother out of the way?” “Don't give me anything soft, my bey. I am not fond of spoon victuals. Do you fancy that I don’t know how you played the game? I was rather deep in it, myself, as I teld you how to play it. That is all right, Mark, ond I only hope that yo you through. out.” “Why so?” ‘“You won't need me, now that you are amo your friends, and I don’t like the style of your friends a bit.” “They won’t hurt you,” protested Hannafin. ** But something may. There is no tell- may have grit enough to carry For my part, 1 am going to slide We Lim drink.” When it wes charged and substantially ad- mitted that J{annatfin had “* put her brother out of the way,” she was greatly shocked, though she had rot been without a suspicion on that score, But it was reserved for his last statement to crush her—he had not sent the message to her mother, and had no intention of so doing. Eva crept back to her rude bed, and seated herself there, pressing her hards to ber Ecad in a resolute cffort to ind a way through the mass of fears and apprehensions that crowded upon er. She found herself in the power of a gang which was too Cisreputalle and dangerous tor even such a man.as Silas Birch to mix with, and the only person there wh«m she ceuld call a friend was one whore intentions wit: regard to a she knew to be absolutely selfish and cruel, Eer brother was lost, the victim of that man, and she had been unable with hcr bes* cficrts to inform her agonized mother cf her safety. Truly she was desclate irceed, and her con- dition was most pitiable: but, though the pres- ent was,bad enough, the future promised to Le worse, . , W! at should she do? What could she dot She was startled by a light step in the reom, and looking up, sbe saw dimly in the darkness a form prensa her; but it was a woran’s form, and she need have no fear of a woman. A voice came from the form, and, as it was not the veice of ** Aunt Eliza,” it must te Linda who had come to visit her, and that fact tirilled her with a new hope. The words of the girl, cold and strange and full of malice, crushcd that hope instantly. ‘*Skeered you, did 1? Well, it ain't no won- der that sech as me should skeer sech as you. I don’t know whether I ort to kill you er not.” This was a most ominous and unlocked-for speech, especially from sucha source. Was the girl crazy? or what had prempted her to step in there with such a murderous remark? Slight of build and mild of countenance, she did not seem to be fitted by nature for desperate deeds; yet she was one of the Shropshire family, and bad blood makes a tad breed. Eva Ta'icott, to whom these thoughts pre- sented themrelves quickly, chose to ecnsider the case one of barr less msanity, end hed sufficient resence of mind to treat it caimly and seusi- aly. ‘Is that you, Liuda dear?” she quietly asked. * Why should you wont to kill me? Iam sure that 1 have never dene you any berm. Come and sit down here with me, and let us talk about it. I am very lonesome, and am so glad you have come.” Linda Shropshire was disermed by this kind- ness and calmness. Her evil intentions. if she reelly had any, melted awey. She seated her- self on the ber’, and Eva was sure that she heard suppressed soliy. ‘Tell me all about it,” softly entreated the young lady. ‘‘ What is the matter, my dear? I ope I have not caused you any trouble.” ‘* He said that he was goin’ to marry you,” sobbed the girl. : Eva’s quick thought comprehened the trouble at once. Linda was fond of Mark Hannafin, and had learned his intentions with regard to herself. She hastened to set herself right in that quarter, Eomicbooks i 4 < a. ain : 5 a A A A RN — [ee a le j : =