Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 545 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

Paae he : : ye? i {> ee ee en a. ? ae eT AG rr 4 ——$—$__— ‘‘Tf you will step over to one of these tables,” ventured the stranger. ‘‘ We can talk there without being overheard.” “Tf it’s private, pard, w'y sart’in.” Side by side they approached one of the ta- bles and sat down. The Man from High Notch was a trifle curious to know what the stranger wanted of him, but he was careful to conceal whatever surprise or curiosity he felt, The stranger was a rather pleasant-appearing in- dividual, with keen, ferret-like eyes. When they were seated, he said: ‘¢ Shall I order liquor, pard?” ‘‘ Not fer me,” smiled Harry. ‘‘I hope ye won’t think me oncivil, but I don’t tetch ther stuff.” The dark-eyed man looked surprised. “So you are reforming, are you?” be finally said. ‘* Rather a late day to begin—eh?” Just a bit of the pleasant look faded from Harry’s face, and was replaced by a light of what appeared to be genuine surprise. “Wat d’yer mean?” he demanded, looking sharply at the other. ‘Nothing at all, only what I said. Nearly all of us begin to reform at a rather late date,” But the suspicions of the Man from High Notch were aroused. Quietly he demanded: ‘‘ Wat d’yer want of me, pard? Ef ye’ve got any tork ter make, spit her out straight an’ lively. I hain’t ther man ter tromp roun’ er er buffler waller all day, ’thout never gittin’ ter ther p’int I’m steerin’ fer, an’ it natterally makes me tired ter see ary other er doin’ of it. Just make er clean break an’ let yer tongue loose. I’m Hustlin’ Harry, just kem down inter these hyer parts frum ther reeg’on of High Notcb. Am | ther stray Maverick ye’r’ lookin’ fer?” ‘‘T think you are,” was the calm reply, “though my man usually answers to the name of Jack Tackaloo.” The speaker’s right hard had crept below the level of the table, Hustling Harry noticed this, although he did not appear to do so. “Jack Tackaloo.” Did the Man from High Notch start when he heard that name, or did the keen-eyed stranger fancy it? “Then I reckon ye’r hoofin’ long ther wrong trail, pard,” observed Harry, calmly. ‘ Thet hain’t my handle nur never war.” The dark-eyed man laughed. “You play your part well, Jack; but, it’s no o. You are no more a cowboy than I am. And, whether you denv itor not, I can prove that you are Jack Tackaloo,” The Hustler showed his white, even teeth in a smile, which the stranger fancied contained more of menace than mirth. * Pard, it hain’t offen as my word’s doubted, an’ it has proved er mighty onhealthy thing fer er galoot ter ’sinervate as much as you hey; but ou may mean allright. Ef you kin prove thet bm this Jack W’at-d’-yer-call’im, I just nat- terally cave in thet I don’t know my own name. So thar, now!” ‘Then, here is my proof!” cried the keen-eyed man, He seized Harry’s left hand and turned it, un- til the wrist was aos gr And there, in plain view, about two inches from the base of the hand, was a small heart-shaped birth-mark, al- most crimson in color! , CHAPTER IV. A DISAPPEARANCE AND A BLOOD-STAIN, ‘‘Don’r move a hand toward a weapon, Jack Tackaloo!” hissed the stranger. ‘I have you covered under the table, aud will send a lead pill through you in an instant!” They gazed into each other’s eyes steadily, without flinching, a cold, determined stare on the part of the stranger, while the Hustler was equally cool, and apparently indifferent. ‘* Pard,” he smiled, ‘* I smoked yer leetle game afore ye made it known. I c’u’d ’a’ tole ye long %ore this thet you war gittin’ out a gun under kiver o' ther table. But, ye know two kin play at thet, an’, ef I do say it, I'll bet er bunch of long horns thet I had my gun out fu’st!” The stranger looked startled, but, as Harry’s right hand was below the level of the table, he was unabe to tell whether the cowboy spoke the truth or not. There was something in those smiling blue eyes, however, that told him Harry did not lie. It was truly a peculiar situation, and a cold chill crept over the keen-eyed stranger as he realized that he was covered by the weapon of a desperate man, Jack Tackaloo he knew was a smiling, soft-voiced wretch, who would not hesi- tate at any deed of violence, Neither of the men heeded the throng over by the bar, or the card-players at the tables near by. The keen-eyed man did not dare to take his eyes from the face of the smiling fellow who sat erage and, as for the Hustler from High- otch, he had no desire to look around, “Well, pard,” softly asked Harry, ‘‘ what’s ther next move?” oe wasaposer, At that instant the stranger not ready to make any move. Indeed, he felt disgusted with himself for not a the smiling cowboy of the yery geome at he a was playing. It was apparen as he de- clarad, Hustler Harry pod “smoked his little game” from the first. oS _ SS Cee ee ly. Tee eS a a. ae ~ eT TA. By way of saying something, the ferret-eyed man asked: i you still deny that you are Jack Tacka- 00! 9 ‘* Bet yer socks!” was the emphatic reply. ‘‘I don’t know just who this hyer Tackaloo is. He may be er millyonheir, but, ef he am, lll never lay claim ter his title, Fact is, if I war rollin’ in. yaller wealth, Ineverc’u'd give up ther range. Just one whiff of ther trail, one beller frum ther herd, one rattle of long horns sets my blood ter b’ilin’ an’ seethin’ like 1 war sot fair onto er red- hot furnace an’ er nigger fireman shovin’ pitch- pine an’ rosin fer all he war wu’th. I never c’u’d settle down an’ enjoy wealth, so don’t try ter make me out ther long-lost son of sum Jay Gould or Vanderbilt. *Twon’t go down.” ‘* You play your part well, Jack; but you can’t wack me,” was the stranger’s firm reply. ‘‘P’'m not after an heir, but I am looking fora red-handed murderer!” There seemed to be little feigning about the Hustler’s surprise then. Indeed, if he was feign- ing, be was a clever actor. ‘““A murderer!” he gasped. ‘‘ Wal, thet is somethin’ different. An’ so this hyer Jack Tackaloo’s er murderer?” ‘* No one should know it better than yourself,” was the response, Harry’s face suddenly became grave and earn- est, and when hespoke again, his voice was low, firm and impressive: ‘Yer may think I’m lyin’, pard—I more’n hafe ’spect ye will—but [m givin’ it to ye straight w’en I sw’ar thet I never beerd of this hyer Jack Tackaloo till you spoke his name yer- self, [ am not him any more’n you are. I don’t know w’at that thar mark on my arm may seem ter prove, but one thing’s sart’in, it don’t prove thet I’m ther man you want. I’m plain Harry Hanson, a cowboy frum_ ther range. Of late I’ve bad great luck at flippin’ steboards, an’ hev found more fun an’ skids in it than there is at cow-punchin’. After clearin’ out ther best men of High Notch, at their own ames, I just drapped dow hyer on ther outlook er fresh fields an’ more sport.” The nger shook bis head. ‘* No, I can’t believe your story,” he admitted. ‘*f know your face, and that heart-like birth- mark gives you dead away. You are the very man I have trailed from Missouri, and { am going to take you back there to answer for your crime, as sure as my name is Dan Shark.” ‘‘ Then ye’r’ a detective?” ‘“That’s my profession, and, without boasting, I can say that Old Shark, the Shadow, has never made a failure. I had you spotted, Jack, before you knifed one of Kansas City’s promi- nent citizens. You have led me a long dance, but I bave run you down at last!” Tbe man from High Notch was grave enough now. He studied the face of the detective close- ly, and seemed at a loss just what to say. It was indeed a pecular situation, for while the man was sure he had run down his quarry, he was far from having it secured. ‘““ Wy didn’t ye git ther dead drop onter me w’en yer had er chance?” asked Harry. ‘Ef I war yer game, w’at ’d yer give me er chance ter sock ye fer? Ye might ’a’ knowed thet I sh’u’d git ’spicious w’en ye called me over hyer, an’ begun ter beat round ther ring.” ** To be frank with you, Jack, I was not sure that you were the man I sought. I wanted a chance to hear you talk, and to see the mark upon yourarm., As Jack Tackaloo you wore a full brown beard; as Hustling Harry, the cow- boy sport, the beard has disappeared, and you have only a black mustache. Yet you are the man I want.” A look of annoyance rested on the face of the Man from High Notch. The persistence with which the detective called him Jack Tackaloo was aggravating. ‘‘ Pard,” said the cowboy, “‘ I’m not ther man ter be roped fer sumbuddy else. We hev both got holt on er gun under this hyer table, I'm not goin’ ter throw down my weppin an’ cave, so w’at yer goin’ ter do?” The situation had not improved since Harry asked a similar question a sbort time before. Dan Shark reahzed that he was in a delicate predicamert. There was but one thing which would serve him now; that was bluff. ‘‘T am going to take you, dead or alive!” was the detective’s firm reply. ‘*Thet’s a mighty sight easier said than done, Ef I tuck er notion I c’u’d bore ye under ther table. You can’t see my movements, an’ ef I liked Ic’u’d lift ther hammer of me gun, at ther same time pressin’ onter ther trigger ter keep it from clinkin’. Then all I’d bhever ter do ’d be ter let mer thumb slip, Ef it didn’t give ye yer last sickness, it would be a plum’ won- der!” Old Shark knew that the Hustler’s words were true, and a cold chill swept over him. Jack Tackaloo was an unscrupulous wretch, who wvuld hesitate at no crime, Knowing this, he more than half expected to hear the sd of the cowboy’s weapon, and feel the dead- ‘‘- You don’t dare to do it!” he declared, swift- ‘** You can’t shoot so quick that I will not give you back the dose.” — Hustler Harry, the Cowboy Svwort. ee ee ee egg eet eeeeeeeeenesinetnsineinens temas re i eS —— NN eee ———— Harry laughed. There was herbie ehillir g about that laugh, even though the Man from High Notch seemed amused. ‘*Ye’r’ wrong thar, partner. Ther instant I fired I sh’u’d spring up. Ef you answered ye might hit er leg, but nothin’ wuss, Ef ye tried ter git yer gun out from under ther table, Id fill ye full of ballast wile ye war doin’ of it. I reckon ye will ketch ther ijee by an’ by thet I’m er mighty hard nut ter crack.” The detective knew not what reply to make. For the time he was utterly nonplused, At tbis instant there was a sudden commotion near the bar. The Hustler’s eyes seemed to leave Old Sbark’s face for an instant, and the detective fancied his opportunity had come. Swiftly be jerked the band which held the re- volver from beneath the table. But, this was the very move that the Man from High Notch had been hoping for! How it was done Dan Shark could never tell, but Harry’s knees shot upward toward bis chin, and in an instant he kicked table and detective from him, at the same time going over backward himself, Ere he could make a move to prevent, Old Shark found himself sprawling upon the floor with the table upon him! The instant that the Hustler struck upon his back his revolver spoke. Four shots he fired while laying there, There was a crash of breaking glass, then darkness! The cowboy had shot ovt the lights! Swiftly then the Hustler rolled over and over in the darkness. He heard a rush of feet, a shot and a cry of pain. He had planned his move- ments before his startling act, and therefore arose cautiously to his feet. Carefully he moved, hoping to avoid the terrified ones who were rushing aimlessly here and there. {n this he was successful, A few moments later the lights were restored. A strangely excited and frightened crowd was revealed. Every one had sprung up from the card- table, and many bad drawn weapons. The Hustler, with ready revolver, glanced around for the detective, and discovered that he had disappeared. Hickery Bill had returned to the saloon, how- ever, and was standing near the overturned table and chairs, From out of the crowd one of the gamblers advanced, demanding sharply: ‘* What does this mean?” ‘YT reckon it means foul play,” growled the chief of the camp. ‘ Whar’s ther feller thet galoot war talkin’ with?” He pointed toward Harry. si Wal, now, William, you tell,” smiled the cowboy sport, as he advanced toward the bully. ‘As fer foul play, I reckon it was er leetle rough ter knock out ther ‘luminators in thet way, but I’m reddy ter fut ther bill ‘thout grumblin’.” ‘‘Thet’s allright, but thar’s been blood-lettin’. Look thar!” Bill pointed down toward the floor, where a small red stain was plainly visible. ‘¢Thar’s been foul murder dun!” he cried, ‘* FHlyer’s ther proof, an’ thar's ther murderer!” He turned his pointing finger from the red stain on tbe floor to the Man from High Notch, who stood within four feet of him. There was a moment of breathless silence; then, swift as thought, the Hustler leaped for- ward, striking out straight from the shoulder. The blow caught Bill fairly between the eyes, sending him to the floor. CHAPTER V. BREAKING A BRONCHO, ‘Ty Hustler Harry, ther Hard Nut ter Crack! Wen I git ter goin’, I’m wuss’en er wild steer on ther rampage. Turn out, ye com- mon critters, an’ give me room!” Thus the Man from High Notch expressed bis defiance as he faced the startled crowd, For ove brief instant the smile left bis face and was replaced by a hard, icy look, and his blue eyes glittered strangely. He had struck the bully of Cimarron City with his left band, for bis mght still held the revolver with which he had shot out the lights, For an instant dead silence followed his de- fiant words, Tben Bill scrambled to his feet, uttering a roar of rage. : ‘‘Whoop!” be bellowed. ‘I’m Hick’ry Bill, ther high cock o’ ther walk! I eat chain- lightnin’ spiced wi’ brimstone! I’m er holy terror on trucks, an’ don’t ce fergit it! Whar’s ther critter w’at struck Hick’ry Bill?” ‘“Yeneedn’t go fur in s’arch of him, William,” observed Harry, calmly. ‘‘Ef ye pick out er Maverick of erbout my size, ye won’t never hev any trubble fer ropin’ ther wrong critter.” Bill glared fiercely toward the ae show- ing his teeth in a savage snarl, ith one hand be gently rubbed the spot where Harry’s hand first bad struck. ‘‘]1 hey sackersfaction fer thet,” be declared. ‘* No man ever socked Hick’ry Bill atween ther Se i an’ hed ther chance ter brag o’ it much. tt up yer gun an’!’ll wollop ther bide offen Ee, . 7 With a light laugh, the Man from High Notch Geom icbooks.ce ee -. aw <i cD) \ > lee %