Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 545 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

ee > ee) Oe = (os ae ae oN - 4 r ha Kt ere —<— vy A i ae —— = = 7 oe -— “re » er oe . the night before. : ee * a ~ Then the Man from High Notch offered Uncle | hyer things hav’ sot me plum)’ Peter his hand and they separated. Hustler Harry was amazed because his advent in the saloon had created no more excitement, He had expected that the crowd would stil] be thirsting for his blood, and would stand ready to attempt to complete the unfinished work of He had come prepared to face them and defend himself. But, although many curious glances were turned toward the Mun from High Notch, not a band was lifted against him. There were many within that room who only waited a cer- tain signal to hurl themselves at Hustler Harry’s throat; but that signal was not given. The silence of his enemies did not render Hustler Harry less keenly on the alert, for he well knew that he might be suddenly attacked, He did not forget that not only was he charged with murder, but some one had declared that he was the chief of the Brothers of the Red Heart, a strange, secret organization, The gamblers were already fleecing their vic- tims, and one of the faro Jay-outs was doing a thriving business, Hustler Harry approached the crowd which was gathered in front of the faro-table, and obtaining a favorable position, watched the game for a short time, Finally he tried his luck and won five suc- cessive bets on the queen of hearts. With a light laugh, he gathered up his winnings and turned away. He did not with a vaile stop, and said in a low tone: “T wish to speak with you, sir.” The cigar came out of Hustler Harry’s mouth in an instant, and bowing, he replied: ‘7 am at your service, madam,” ‘There are too many to hear us if we remain here,” she said. ‘Over there is an unused table where we can talk without attracting at- tention.” She pointed toward the table, but seemed-re- luctant about leading the way. Harry noticed this, and did not hesitate to advance through the crowd. She followed. When the table was reached, they sat down at opposite sides, There was a look of wonder on the cowboy’s face, and he gazed searchingly and inquiringly at his vailed companion. hrough two holes cut in the heavy vail the woman’s eyes glowed like burning stars, For several seconds she gazed at Hustler Harry without speaking. Finally, she said: ‘¢‘ At last we meet, Philip Barret!” ; The look of surprise on the cowboy’s face grew deeper. It seemed that he had recognized easy familiar in the woman’s appearance or Oo o far before he came face to face female. She motioned him to in Be w, hoarse voice.. Slowly he shook his head: ‘‘Ther hull blamed town’s gone plum’ daft,” he muttered, still staring at the woman. ‘“ It’s thet, or else I look tollerable like I was sumbud- dy else, an’ more’n one at thet.” The female made a swift gesture of impa- tience. ‘Tt is useless for you to deny your identity,” she declared. ‘‘ I know you.” ‘+ Jest w’at ther detective sed,” and Harry shook his head im a puzzled way. ‘‘ He called me Jack Tackaloo, or suthin’ of thet sort. Sed I was a murderer—” *¢ And you are!” hisséd the vailed woman—‘“‘ a vile, cowardly murderer! One who struck down an old man—killed him while trying to obtain his hidden wealth!” The Man from High Notch stared at the ex- cited speaker in blank amazement, He seemed to dcubt that he bad heard aright, ‘* Wal, [ll be dashed!” It did not seem possible that he was feigning surprise, yet his words and manner seemed to arouse the female to perfect fury, ‘You cannot deceive me!” she declared, as she leaned toward him and gazed straight into his blue eyes. ‘‘ You slew my father, Philip Barret, and I will have your life for the das- tardly act!” A revolver gleamed in her hand, but Hustler Harry’s self-possession had uot entirely deserted him. Swift as thought, he reached across the table, and the falling hammer of the bright weapon found a soft cushion of flesh. A mo- ment later it was wrested from her grasp. ‘“*T beg yer pardon, leddy, but you forced me ter be rude, [ll sw’ar as how I’d never dun it ef I hadn’t been ’bleeged ter. It was git ther pop or swaller lead, an’ I went fer ther pop. PIL give ye my word thet ef I kan’t convince ye of yer mistake, you shell hav’ ther little gun back, an’ Pil five ye a chance ter fill me full of blue pills. ’at more kin ye ax fer?” There was a look of sincere regret on his bon- est face and a troubled light in his blue eyes. His voice was soft and low, despite bis illiterate words. The vailed female sunk back in her chair panting and trembling. For some time she could not speak. She seemed utterly exhausted by the excitement of the moment. ‘“*T allus reckoned as how I knew my own handle,” added the cowboy. ‘ But last night a feller called me Jack Tackasloo, an’ sed I was a red-handed murderer. Ter-night I’m called suthin’ else, but I’m still a murderer, These j _ , at el See am eee NN —— NN SS ee —— canna REET ER a TS ed Dot eas eae > 2S ae, aE * “FS adrift an’ ’m *pout reddy to say as how I don’t know who I am my own blessed self, Ef 1 ever break loose frum ther main herd ag’in, I'll bell myself or be branded so durned deep as thar jest can’t be no mistake—I jest will now!” He appeared in dead earnest. The smile ey usually marked his face had entirely van- ished. The female looked at him as if she was a trifle puzzled. Could it be that she had made a mis- take? ‘‘ Do you deny that you are Philip Barret?” ‘Don’t deny anything,” admitted the cow- boy. ‘I did think as how I knew myself, but I guess I don’t no more, On ther range I was called Hustling Harry, an’ my other name was Hanson; but ‘twouldn’t s’prise me er bit ef I turned out ter be sumbuddy else.” ‘* You are not.a cowboy. ¢ Jest w’at t’other feller sed!” ‘‘-You are Philip Barret, an adventurer, and the chief of a band of robbers,” Hustler Harry caught bis breath, as he leaned toward her, saying earnestly: ‘‘ You can’t mean thet! ’Nuther chap se’d I was the chief of ther Brothers of the Red Heart, I’m gittin’ all tangled up. Ef sum one was ter say thet he knew I was Ole Nick hisself, I w’u’dn’t more’n hafe dare ter call him a prevar- icator.” ‘‘Do you deny that you murdered Andrew Foscolo?” demanded the vailed Girl Avenger. The question seemed to stir Hustler Harry’s blood, In deep, earnest tones he replied: ‘¢1’m reddy ter take a solemn oath I never done it—” ‘* And lie!” came from beneath the vail. ‘* As God hears me, it is ther truth!” solemnly declared the Man from High Notch. ‘‘ Whoever this Andrew Foscolo was, he didn’t cum ter death by my han’s.” Again was Ruth Foscolo puzzled. Hustler Harry’s blue eyes met hers frankly, without a visible sign of guilt in their clear eat Was it possible that she was deceived by a wonderful resemblance? No, it could not be, Those were Philip Burret’s eyes, his face, his voice. Barret had appeared like a polished gentleman, Hust- ler Harry pretended to be a cowboy, but Ruth fancied that at times be did not act his part per- fectly. He did not always catch the true dialect of the plains when he spoke. ‘‘ A person who would do such a dastardly deed would not hesitate to perjure his soul by a false oath,” she exclaimed. ‘‘ 1 cannot take your word, for lam convinced that you are my fa- ther’s murderer!” She ceased to speak as her eyes fell upon cae left wrist. A low cry burst from her ips. ‘There is proof!” she cried, as she pointed toward the heart-shaped birthmark, ‘ That mark was on the wrist of Philip Barret, and I saw it at the very moment he struck my poor father senseless at my feet!” CHAPTER XV. THE STORY OF A TRAGEDY. HustTLer HARRY seemed stricken with amaze- ment. His face bad turned white even througb the coat of bronze caused by exposure to all kinds of weather. Fora moment he appeared too startled to speak, The vailed girl leaned toward bim, her bosom heaving like a storm-swept lake. He heard her short, panting breathing, and saw the unnatural ge of her dark eyes. At that moment Hustler arry was like one fascinated and _ spell- bound, and had the Girl Avenger struck at his life, he would not have raised a hand to protect himself. Ruth Foscolo had sworn beside her murdered parent to avenge his death, even though at that moment she felt sure that when she struck at the heart of the murderer, she would be taking the life of the only man she had ever loved, ex- cept her father. She had learned to love him. He had told her that she was dearer than life to him. Times unnumbered had she listened to lovin words from his lips. And he—black-heart wretch!—had proved to be a snake in the grass, Hustler Harry’s heart beat with strange emo- tions as he gazed into those dark eyes, now glow- ing with a deadly determination. Often had he seen in their liquid depths a look of soulful love, in strange contrast with the vengeful light to be seen there now. Her voice, too, seemed changed. Was this Ruth, the gentle creature of the past? He asked himself the question, and longed to tear away that baffling vail that he might look upon her features, But he restrained the im- pulse, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with what seemed to be unassumed amazement, “*Thet thar mark? Shadder of sin! W'at kind of a fix won’t thet git me inter next? Feller sed larst night as how it proved I was Jack Tackaloo, Now it proves I’m sum other galoot what’s wussen Tackaloo! I’m gittin’ tangled more’n more. I don’t jest know who Iam, an’ ef I turn out ter oe ther one or ther tother, I’m er mighty low animile.” The girl made a gesture of impatience. ‘“‘ Why continue this farce?’ she demanded. > - . Pane t, . Py . ad aoa ” ae ———_ ” ** €: ” > *s o- . Hustler Harry, the Cowboy Sp rt. (E(o) tar" ‘ok "¥ « ‘By pretending to be a cowboy, instead of com- ing out in your true character, you are but proving yourself a pitiable coward as well asa murderer. Nothing can disguise you from my eyes.’ wThe Man from High ‘Notch gazed at her im silence for several moments. He appeared to be revolving in bis mind the words he would use when he spoke, After a time he leaned toward her again, saying deliberately in a low tone: ‘© ) wish I c’w’d convince ye thet I speak ther truth w’en I sw’ar thet thar’s sum mistake "bout this hyer bizness, Sumw/’are in ther woodpile thar’s er galoot hid w’at looks like me. He’s ther varmint w’at’s kicked up all this dust. He’s ther wild steer w’at’s cut up ther divil— beggin’ pardon fer ther word—an’ now he's layin’ low w’ile ther hull deal’s saddled orf onter me, That’s jest ther long an’ short of it. But [’ll tell ye now thet I’m goin’ ter pull ther crit- ter out 0’ his heel an’ ring him in at ther final round-up. I'll prove to yer sackersfaction thet I bad no han’ in this hyer dirty work w’at I’m cused of.” ‘When you wipe that crimson heart from your wrist you may convince me that you are not the murderer of my poor father, Not till then. All your talk is useless. You but make me hate and despise you the more.” It seemed that her words cut Hustier Harry a trifle. He shrunk back a little, and his face looked set and drawn. She noticed this, and an exclamation of satisfaction came from beneath the vail. ‘You show your guilt! Your face betrays you! Hard and roe though your black heart is, you cannot think of that terrible deed with- out quailing.” ‘¢ You mistake my feelin’s,” was Harry’s quiet assertion. ‘‘I bhain’t built of iron or ice, an’ w’en I heer er feemale a-callin’ of me sech hard things, I jest naturally feel kinder quare round ther stummic., But I'd like fer ter ax ye ’bout this hyer murder w’at I’m ’cused of, Tell me bout it, an’ by ther power of John Dean! ill do wat I kin to help ye hunt ther dirty mur- derer down. Imean it; an’ w’en Hustler Harr gits onter er critter’s trail, it might jest ez well pull up an’ not try fer to ’skape ther rope. If you'll give me ther points, Pll ’gree ter j'ine ye in ther hunt fer this galoot w’at ye’r’ arter.” A low laugh of derisive scorn came from the girl’s lips. ‘¢ You still hope to pull the wool over my eyes in that way,” she said, with infinite contempt. ‘The trick is too shallow, You know the story as wellasI. You came to the door of a poor old hermit- a man who lived alone with his daughter and his faithful old negro servant, You were sick of a fever. The old man took you in, and the daughter nursed you through a long illness. How did you repay them for their kindness? When health and strength came back you had won the girl’s heart and made her promise to marry you. But you were false, false !” Sbe paused a moment, panting and pressing her bands to her bosom, The memory of those days filled her with a nameless feeling of min- gled joy and pain. She saw that his eyes were fastened upon her, and with a sudden effort she flune off the feeling of weakness that had so nearly overcome her, Rapidly and brokenly she continued: ‘‘OQne day you rode away from the cottage door. In some may you had learned that An- drew Foscolo was the possessor of a large amount of gold, which was hidden somewhere around the cabin, When you returned, a band of mask- ed men were with you. You wore a mask over your own face, but nothing could conceal your identity from the eyes of the girl whom you had taught to love you. She called you by name and you became enraged. The servant was bound, and you sought by threats to cause An- drew Foscolo to reveal the spot where his wealth was hidden. You failed. He recognized you, and sprung to tear the mask from your face, You struck him on the temple with a heavy re- volver, and an hour later he breathed his last in my arms. At the very moment you struck that dastardly blow, I saw the crimson heart on your arm!” ; ; She paused an instant, her blazing eyes gazing fairly into his blue orbs. He seemed fascinated by her tale, for he did not stir save to motion her to proceed. ‘t Have you not heard enough?” asked Ruth, scornfully. ‘‘ Do you delight to hear the story of your own baseness?” . e did not reply and she continued: “When you found that my poor father was unconscious, you ordered your bruta] followers to whip the old negro servant until he told where the gold was hidden. Black Joe could not tell, for he did not know. So he was beaten until he became unconscious, Finally, in baffled fury, you rode away, first setting fire to the buildings. I alone dragged my senseless father and the half-murdered negro from the burning house, While the red flames devoured our home my father breathed his last in my, arms.” Again she paused a moment as if overcome by the memory. Hustler Harry’s eyes were fasten- ed upon her and his teeth were hard set. He dared not venture to speak just then. miicboo' pn i... (Lee ay - 7