Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 545 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

Sy ha al = ad mT 0S i tr . ba yy: | # — e = ee ed] 7 Hustler Harry, the Cowboy Sport. ih - ay count of the blackness of her abundant hair and the midnight shade or her eyes, which looked as if they could gleam with the fierce intensity of bitter hatred, or glow with the melting tender- ness of a powerful love, She was dressed in stout, serviceable gar- ments, about which there was nothing to attract attention, save the peculiar clasp at her throat. A tiny silver dagger driven straight through the center of a crimson heart—truly a peculiar ornament. The sun was sinking behind the western peaks, and its last rays fell upon the strange couple as they stood near the little cabin built upon the mountain-spur. At their feet the de- scent was almost perpendicular. Far down at the mouth of a narrow cut hich led away into the hills, planted against the base of a steep bluff, was a rude cabin, The stage trail, which ran through the cut, passed the cabin and led onward into the mining-camp close at hand. Cimarron City was the name which had been given the place. There was the usual collection of rough slab shanties, among which were a hotel and several saloons, but the place was far from a city. Its hopeful mhabitants, however, like those of many another young mining strike, were confident that the time was not far distant when they cculd lay undisputed claim to the title. The girl was gazing down toward the camp in an abstracted manner, The old negro watched her closely until she spoke, first giving her ei a little shake, as if to throw off the strange spell which had crept over her. “1 feel sure that [ shall yet find him down there. When we came off the trail, and entire- ly at fault, something caused me to stop here and occupy this deserted cabin—something told me that he would come, I feel confident that I am not wasting my time. He will come |” Her voice, which was naturally low and musi- cal sounded firm and decisive, and the last words were spoken with great intensity. The glow in the darky’s eyes grew deeper as he looked upon her bard-set face, ‘*Bress de Lawd!” he said, earnestly. ‘' Yo’ ain’t losin’ yer faif, am yo’, Missy Ruth? I ’clare ter goodness I des ’gun ter fink you's gittin’ *scouraged, yo’ looked ser sad an’ down-at-the- mouf-like.” oun ‘“T was thinking, Joe—thinking of my poor father, who fell by. that dastard’s band.” ‘Ton’ yo’ fink ob dat!” urged the negro, a look of horror coming over his face, *‘ Ole Massa Foscolo—my pore ole massa! makes me squirmish roun’ dis yar reegon ter fink ob him layin’ dere all w’1te an’ dead.” The darky pressed both hands over his heart, and looked the emotion that he could not express in words. The girl’s face seemed to grow still whiter, and ber voice sounded harder tan before when she apoke again: ‘* His work!—the work of a treacherous fiend! We nursed him back to life, and, like the deadly, deceitful serpent that he is, he turned and stung the hand thatfed him. And to think that I was ever deveived by his winning ways and soft smile!” * An’ I took de low-down, no-’:ount critter fer agen’leman! Huah! It d’es make dis ole nig wis’ he nebber was bo’n—it do now! He was allus edgin’ roun’ wif his sof’ words an’ his fine ways. An’ den de mis’ble sarpint killed dat pore ole man—dat pore ole man!” With a sudden change from rage to sadness, he wiped his eyes with tbe back of his hand and half turned away, winking rapidly as the rays of the setting sun fell upon his face. The girl continued to gaze down toward the epha Pa her face losing none of that firm, determined look despite the expression of un- utterable sadness which came over it. After a time she turned toward the negro, *“ Joe,” she said, ‘J want you to go down thera into the camp. Keep your wits about you and your eyes wide open. Whatever you hear or see I wish you to report tome, Perhaps you will find him there. If you do, be sure that he does not see you. Do you understand?” “ Sart'in suah, missy. Yo’ des let ole Black Joe ‘lone fer ’standir’ straight. [Pll be keerful, don’ yo’ fear fo’ dat. I kno’ w’at dat sarpint am, an’ I don’ keer fo’ ter hab’im see ole Joo - nosin’? roun’—’deed I don’t!” “Well, hasten. You know the trail, and it will not bother you to return in the darkness, It will be dark there by the time that you reach the camp, but that will be the better for you, as you will be less liable to be seen.” ‘‘-Yo’s right, but yo’ mus’ take keer ob ye’self wile I’m down dere. Ill be bac’ soon’s I kin look roun’.” ; : With some reluctance Black Joe left his _mis- tress and began to descend the narrow, difficult trail. She watched him as he went down, a softer look upon her face and a tenderer light in her eyes. ‘A faibhful old friend,” she murmured; ‘“‘ the only true friend I have in all this wide world. Heaven protect him!” Despite his age, stil active. His hair was gray, but his limbs show- ed none of the faltering weakness that would | ally that sound grew naturally be expected of bim. SS Sr esses nee ee a mountain; indeed, it would have been impossible for it to have done so on account of the precipi- tous bluff below the crag upon which the cabin was built, It ran along the side for a short dis- tance, then began a gradual descent. Thirty minutes bad passed before the old dar- ky reached the foot of the descent. The sun had disappeared behind the westeru range anda dusky gloom lay heavily in the little pocket, Lights were beginning to twinkle in Cimarron, Black Joe entered the camp and stole softly along the main street, as he had done once or twice before. He peered keenly to the right and left, keeping a sharp lookout for his quarry. Finally he halted before the Silver Palace, a combined hotel and saloon. The lamp within the big red globe above door had been lighted, and through the open doorway the darkey could catch a glimpse of two brilliantly-lighted rooms, Horace Kelnot, one of Cimarron’s most. influ- ential citizens, was the proprietor of the Silver Palace. Kelnot had not long been a resident of the stirring little camp, but, for some reason, on purchasing the Silver Palace had at once sprung into popularity. He was a tall, hand- some dark-bearded man, of commanding appear- ance and faultless physique. He was univer- sally feared and respected by the rougher ele- ment of the camp, for oace or twice he had been compelled to demonstrate the fact that he was a ‘bad man to crowd,” The rapidity with which he could ‘‘ draw” was simply amaz- ing, and this qualification had led the toughs to dub him ‘*‘ Handy Horace.” The Silver Palace had been popular before Kelnot became the proprietor, and it had be- come still more so since he began to manage it, The sports of Cimarron all patronized the place, and it was plainly apparent that Handy Horace was reaping a golden harvest. Black Joe decided to enter the place. Passing through the open doorway, he found himself in along room wiih a bar at oneend, Beyond was a mass of carl tables, with here and there a faro stand. At the further end of the room was a curtained stage, plainly showing that Kelnot provided a variety entertainment for his customers. It being yet early in the evening, there were but few in the saloon. The barkeeper was drumming idly on the polished bar, and at two or three of the deal tables were seated some of the elegant sports of the camp, waiting for their ‘‘ pigeons” to make an appearance, Some of them were whiling away the time with light games of various kinds, ‘* Hello, Snowball!” cried the barkeeper, as he espied Black Joe, who paused in the door- way. ‘‘Come in, you chunk of alabaster. Have you called for your bitters?’ The darky grinned and shook his bead, “Dis chick don’ took med’cine,” he declared. **Des com’ in ter look roun’ de place. Don’ know but I shall buy dis yar hen-coop. Be yo’ de proprietah?” he barkeeper laughed a little. He had seen the negro once or twice before, and being at Jeisure, determined to have some spurt at his expense. **Oh, don’t be bashful, Uncle ’Rastus,” he smiled. ‘‘It isn’t often wee are honored by a call from a gentleman of color. What will you have?” Joe came in slowly, still grinning and appear- ing ill-at-ease. The little man behind the bar did not dream that the negro was drawn there by any other motive than that of idle curiosity; he did not dream that that swift glance around the room was one of close scrutiny rather than of timidity. Yet such was the case, ‘*'Your humble servant, uncle,” bowed the barkeeper. ‘‘I am ready to do anything to ac- commodate you. Command me,” **Now I don’ keer fer ter comman’ nobody, chile,” grinned Joe; ‘tan’ don’ want no bitters. But Tse mighty tired, an’ I'd des like ter sot down in one ob dese yer’ cheers an’ res’ er w’ile.” Tbe man bebind the bar hesitated. He bad hoped to bave a little sport with the old negro, but he hardly cared to have the darky loafing around the place, But at that moment che negro did look nearly exhausted, and as there were no customers present just then, he nodded his assent. “Certainly, Uncle ’Rastus; if you are tired, sit right down and rest your old bones,” Joe was profuse with his thanks, and hastened to avail himself of the barkeeper’s liberality. He placed his chair in a position that brought him facing the door. -Then he sat down and tilted it back against the wall. In that position he was able to inspect every one who entered, _“*Dere,” he observed, with a siga of satisfac- tion, “ disam watIcallscumfut.” — Then the barkeeper attempted to question the darky concerning the maiden «with whom Joe. had often been seen, but the négro’s lips were sealed in regard to his mistress, Finally the barkeeper turned away and busied himself about something. Joe sat with his eyes fastened upon the door. For a long time no Black Joe was still spry and , one entered, and only the low voices of the gam- blers at the card-tables could be heard. Gradu- fainter and blended into a faraway murmur, From that it sunk to what The trail did not descend directly down the appeared to be absolute silence. Black Joe was asleep. He dreamed. At first his visions were pleas- ant, then before bis eyes seemed to rise the body of a white-haired old man, who lay dead—mur- | dered by a dastardly blow. Then he saw the murderer, a smiling, handsome devil, who ap- preached with an evil purpose gleaming in his blue eyes, Suddenly this smiling demon caught Black Joe by the throat and— ‘* Wake up hayer, ye black imp o’ Satan!” Harshly the voice sounded in his ear, and he awoke to find an iron hand on his throat and revolver pressed against his forehead, CHAPTER II. THE MAN FROM HIGH NOTCH. ‘‘ DE bressed Lawd!” Gasping, his eyes rolling in terror at the rude awakening, Black Joe managed. to faintly utter those words. At that instant he felt sure that the dreadful being who had slain his old master had him by the throat; he felt sure his minutes were numbered, and instead of struggling to es- cape, he closed his eyes and began to pray. ‘‘ None o’ thet, ye chunk o’ blackness!” growl- ed the same unpleasant voice, while the grasp on his throat relaxed a little, allowing him to breathe more freely. ‘Don’t shet yer eyes an’ flop off ther hooks, Wake up hyer, an’ let me see ther color o’ yer peepers.” Surely that was not his voice? This man’s words were harsh and unpleasant; he had al- ways spoken in a smooth, pleasant tone. Black Joe ventured to open his eyes, aid although they rested upon a repulsive, bewhiskered, almost brutal-looking face, he uttered a cry of relief. ‘« Bress goodness!” he muttered; ‘' tain’t him!” “Wat's thet ye say?’ growled the gigantic fellow who bad him by the throat. ‘ Are ye throwin’ out ’sinewvations *bout me? P’r’aps ye don’t know who I am, Ole Mahogerny?” The darky could not reply in words, but he meade a motion toward the band at his throat. The other divined his meaning, and relaxed bis hold, drawing back a little with that revolver still held close to Joe’s head. ‘‘Deed I don’ know ye, boss,” declared the frightened negro, as soon as he could speak, ‘Wat hab I ebber dun dat yo’ grabs me by der froat an’ chokes de breff clean outer me?” The big man laughed. ‘* No uso fer ye ter try thet, Ole Mahogerny! Ireckon ye know w’at I’m arter. I want thet thar likker w’at ve stole frum me w’en I war snoozin’ over by ther trail ter ther cabin whar yé’r’ stoppin’.” Black Joe looked amazed, ‘“H'o) goodness, boss, I nebber dun it!” he de- clared, as he gazed at a number of rough fellows who were standing around, ‘‘I nebber stole nuffin’, gen’lemen, an’ dat’s des de trufe.” ‘‘ Now w’at’s ther use ter lie?” growled the big fellow. ‘I war layin’ over thar snoozin’ wen yer kem down. bad er quart bottle plum’ full w’en I laid down an’ not er durned drap wen L’woke. Yer ther black imp 0’ mid- night w’at stole it.” ‘tlhe Joe gazed around hopelessly at the grinning faces on every hand, Evidently the crowd was enjoying his discomfort. % se reddy ter took my oaf, boss—” ‘‘ Hang yer oaths!” was the snarling response. ‘¢ Wat | want’s ther tanglefoot, an’ ye’ve got ter pan it out.” * But I des ain’t got it, boss, an’ I’se hones’ trufe. I nebber see’d ye w’en down frum de cabin—’deed I nebber\” Joe’s voice trembled, and his appearance was tellin’ de IT com’ ‘\one to awaken sympathy, but not one of the throng stepped forward as his friend, They iow ‘tied big. overgrown giant too well to med- dle with bis affairs, and many of them were his most obedient servants, ready to dance at his bidding. The bartender looked the indignation which he hesitated about expressing. Even he did not care to make an enemy of the acknow!l- edged ‘* Chief of Cimarron,” : ‘It’s whisky or yer skulp,” growled the big brute. ‘‘ Ye’ve got ter make that quart 0’ lik- ker good or [ll blow ther bull ruff o’ yer cranium off, Cum, pan out!” ; The darky did not speak, although it was evi- dent that he wished to, He trembled visibly, and his eyes rolled in their sockets. It wasa sight to elicit sympathy instead of mirth, but the crowd seemed to think it very funny, for vey roared with coarse laughter. he barkeeper was heard to mutter a sup- pressed oath as He turned away, unwilling to witness the scene longer. “Cum, ye thievin’ im ,” continued Joe’s tor- mentor, ‘“ef ye hev drunk ther whisky, jist or- der ernuther quart o’ ther barkeep’ hyer. Ef ye'll do thet, I'll let ye off wi’out punishin’ ye as ye desarve.” : So that was bis game! The chief of the camp was dead broke and in want of liquor. His fertile brain bad devised a scheme to compel the darky to furnish the poison which his appetite craved. The story of the robbery was a clumsy lie invented to serve his purpose. “Are ye goin’ ter do it?” howled the tough. “Ef ye don’t Ill tunnel yer cabeza shore’s mer name’s Hick’ry Bill, ther ia bag 0’ Cimarron!” ‘¢ Wal, I guess not, William 3 \ EoOmiic \ m oy 7 . * . a e* k ; = (oe) et. —, ™ ° + —