Beadle's Dime Library No. 51: Red Rob, The Boy Road-Agent — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

Red Rob, The Boy Road-Agent. of talking at once, save those fellows at the table. <A deep silence reigned; not a word was heard as they shuffled and dealt their cards, and glanced nervously around and at the coveted ‘‘ stakes.” The depleted exchequers of those stand- ing near made them the inactive spectators to those engaged, while they waited and watched their chances to be invited to step up and ‘‘ lubricate.” The most central object of the saloon, however, was a big, burly. desperado known as Missouri Moll, and who drove the stage running from Conejos south, to and fro, once a week. Up and down the fuil .ength of the hall this man strode, bantering certain ones out to fight and trying to provoke others into a quarrel. “Woof!” he suddenly exclaimed, shaking himself like a huge, bear, ‘‘l’m jist sp’ilin’ for a fight, and I'll face any- body or everybody here, I don’t keer a cuss which. Come, trot out some of yer big crowin’ cocks, if they want to bounce spurs with this ole chicken, Missouri Moll, the King of the Stage.” No one responded. to his urgent request, but hearing a man talking rather loud at the other end of the saloon, he waltzed up to him and said: ‘See here, Manuel Chicaloo, do you know what you are sayin’? Are you throwin’ out insinuations against Mis- souri Moll?” ‘‘I wasn’t sayin’ anything ’bout you, Missouri; I wasn’t even thinkin’ of you.” “ Ho-ho, there! the devil you say!” roared the bully; ‘then /’m beneath your notice, am I? See here, Chicaloo, you’ve got to fight me for that insult. You sha’n’t run over—” ** You misunderstood me, Missouri, you did indeed. I said——” ‘Oh! then I’m a fool, am I? Well, by thunder, I won't take ¢at,” and the much-injured Missouri Moll “ squared ” off and knocked Manuel Chicaloo down. At this same instant a shout, a pistol-shot and a groan came from the opposite end of the hall, and drew the atten- tion of our friends in that direction, A. brief scuffle ensued, during which a number of lamps and tables were overturned upon the floor, which was of the solid ground. “Thar!” roared Missouri Moll, as if half provoked, | ‘‘I’m wanted up thar. It beats the ole devil that I’ve got to be everywhere to keep peace among this quar’lin’ pack,” The desperado moved toward the opposite end of the hall, and the crowd swayed after him. For, a while a Babel-like murmur filled the room, then the hoarse yoice of the stage-driver was heard to shout: *‘ Cl’ar the way thar, ye varmints!” The crowd at once parted, and four men, carrying the lifeless body of a man, moved down the hall and out at the door. Anda thread of blood stretched the full length of the building out into the darkness. Major St. Kenelm shuddered, and a vague horror filled his breast. ‘That. poor feller war dead,” whispered Dakota Dan. ‘* He staked his life at cards, and lost all.” ‘“‘ My God, Dan! if this is life in New Mexico, I want none of it,” said St. Kenelm. ‘‘ Mississippi towns are noth- {ng compared with Conejos.” ‘Oh, this is all right, major,” responded the old ranger, sarcastically; ‘“‘this is a spot of our republican govern. ment—our galorious star-spangled American eagle. Judi- cious legislation brought “about this millinium. Give Con- gress time and it will annex ole Mexico and Purgatory next. Humph! this thing of a hen havin’ more chicks than she can cover, I don’t b’lieve in... What’s Congress and the law-makers know ’bout that man bein’ killed? What does the local authorities keer? Ah, major! I love my country —have fit and died for it, but I don’t like some things ’bout her internal machinery-—the way her laws are executed. Thar’s the Utah poligamists—a mere handful—that for years have defied our laws, our judges and ourcannon, And then, just think of that insane Ingin policy! Oh, Lord! it makes my very ha’r blush for man’s ignorance of the In- gin. ” ‘I am not an advocate of the humanitarian Indian policy, Dan, for the reason it is not a success,” replied St. Kenelm, ‘Iam inclined to think that a few such men as you, well armed and cquipped, would do more toward keeping the Indians under subjection than all the Quakers in America.” . “Thar, major!” exclaimed Dan, bringing his bony palm Pt ee hi 17 down upon his companion’s knee; “ you have hit it plumb- center!” By this time the house had been cleared of all evidences of the late murder, and general “ order ” restored. The gamblers had all resumed their seats at the tables, and business went on as before. Missouri Moll, with an air of relief, began his pacing up and down the hall, imploring any one to become a victim to his pugilistic wrath. . Several times his savage eyes rested upon our friends, but no direct challenge was given them. ‘‘ Who is that desperddo, Dan?” asked Major St. Kenelm, ‘‘ He’s a stage-driver they call Missouri Moll,” replied the old ranger. .‘‘He drives from Conejos to somewhar south and. back, once. a week, He’s a great bully, and every one of them kritters hangin’ round him would kiss his feet, that ’d kick ’em the next moment. If he’d whip every man here, they’d fight for him the next minute be- kase he’s Missouri Moll, the King of the Stage— Hullo thar!” At this. juncture the door was opened and a new-comer entered the room.” He was & young man—in fact a mere boy, whose timid, unsophisticated looks told that he was entirely out of place. The boy had a clear dark eye, it is true, and was really ‘‘ good-looking, but his ill-fitting suit of dark gray, his awkward movements, and his bashful, half-frightened looks, told that he was from the “ rural dis- tricts ” of the States. He had doubtless become fired with the spirit of Western life, had run away from home, and had called in at the ‘‘ Swill-Pail” to make observations, Dan and St. Kenelm saw that he was a stranger, and for a moment he became a focus upon which all eyes were cen- tered. And at length Missouri Moll espied him, and smack- ing his lips in high gusto, exclaimed: “A young one-—a tender morsel for my supper,” and prancing up to the boy, he slapped him upon the shoulder and, continued: , ‘‘How, are you, sonny? What’s your name? Whar did ye come from? Tired, ar’n’t your? A little somethin’ to take will help you, so come right up, bub, and take yer fust drink with gallant Missouri Moll, King of the Stage, of whom you’ve heard, I dare say—read about in yer Sunday-school books,” ‘‘T never drink, sir, thank you,” replied the youth, half terrified. ‘« You’ve no business in here, then,” replied the bully. ‘‘T know it; but I came in through mistake.” ’ Yes, yes, younker; 1 made that mistake, too, so come _ up and drink—you must.” ‘No, I will not,” the boy replied, firmly. | ‘But you shall, sir,” the driver said, fiercely; “I'M be teetotally cussed if I don’t pour it down your throat. Tl hold your nose, my babe, and pour it right down, and you'll thank me fur it, some day. I say, ole Slop-tub, behind the bar, thar, fill me up a mugof hot liquor. This boy must drink.” ‘* Major,” said Dakota Dan, in a low, solemn tone; “ that boy sha’n’t be imposed upon. Before that liquor goes down his throat, either that desperado or Dakota Dan will be dead. If I fall, major, I hope you'll git through the moun- tains safe.” Before St. Kenelm could reply, the old ranger rose, and with a deadly fire in his steel-gray eyes, advanced to the side of the trembling boy. CHAPTER XV. RED ROB’S RAID, Missourt Mott soon returned with the liquor, ‘Here, boy,” he said, ‘‘ drink this down and be a man.” ‘See here, ole hoss,” said Dakota Dan, interposing, “ if this boy wants to drink, I’ve nothin’ to say, but if he don't want to, you sha’n’t force it onto him.” — ““The roarin’ demon!” exclaimed the bully, in apparent astonishment, at the same time tossing glass, liquor and all over his shoulder behind him, regardless of whom they struck, ‘‘whal’s this? A man, ora mummy? What little, ole, dried-up institution are you that dares to put in a lip whar Missouri Moli, the King of the Stage, reigns supreme? Why, man, I shall grind, pulverize to dust and sprinkle over tunis floor your withered carcass.” ‘*} don’t know anything "bout your powers to grind up Eomichbooks G (@)