Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 545 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

t | For a moment the girl paused on the brink of the precipice, and gazed downward toward the spot where many twinkling lights marked the loca- tion of Cimarron City in the dark abyss below. ‘¢ Will to-night end the trail of vengeance?” she murmured, ‘* When he is punished for that terrible crime, I shall be ready for the last long sleep. What then shall I have to live for? He was my light, my life—and for gold he slew my oor old father! OnceI loved Philip Barret as did my own life! Oh, Philip! Philip! How I loved you!” Her voice broke ina half-sob. She stopped and piamped one foot sharply on the Tone: ‘“All that is past!” she cried. ‘‘l vowed I » would never think of itagain, I have tried to \crush the thoughts of love from my heart. Not that I love him still, but it makes me shudder when I think that { ever loved such a man—a murderer! I hate him now!—hate him with all the intensity of mysoul! My very life is cen- tered in this terrible hatred whichI feel. My time has come!” Without another word, she turned and began the descent, Black Joe following close behind her. Down the difficult trail she made her way ‘with a rapidity that was surprising under the circumstances, Something seemed to guide her feet. Behind her the negro came panting, stumbling and gasping. ‘* Fo’ de bressed Lawd, missy, am ye tryin’ ter run down dis year mounting?” he managed to mumble. ‘I ‘clare ter goodness you'll des fall an’ broke dat dar pritty neck ob yo’s—yo’ wull shuah!” She paid no heed to his words, On she went, and still Black Joe grumbled: ** Don’ like dis yer temp’in’ fate, I don’t. Ef yo’ don’ fall, ’se des plum’ shore ter. One ob us gwine ter» be er goner afore we gits down dar, Yo’ des mark ole Joe’s words.” But they reached the bottom of the descent in safety. As they did so Hustling Harry’s wild yells as he broke from the crowd in front of the Silver Palace came to their ears, They paused and listened and a moment later they heard two shots. ‘‘Reckun dey’re habbin’ sort ob a serynade ober dar,” observed Black Joe. ’Tain’t offen dat yo’ hears a chicken squak like dat yar, Mus’ des split his froat wide open.” Ruth was panting from the hurried descent, but she again started forward, saying briefly: ‘* Come!” Onward they went once more, the negro puff- ing like an over worked horse. hey had not advanced far before the hoof- strokes of a galloping horse came to their ears, They both paused a moment to listen, but little did Ruth Foseolo dream that the very person she sought had leaped upon that horse’s back and escaped from the crowd near the Silver Palace, They listened until the sound of the galloping horse was lost in the distance, as the animal went Hewat away through the cut that led out of the pocket, A few minutes later they paused near the Silver Palace. **Dat’s de place,” declared Joe. ‘‘In dar frough de do’ whar de red light am.” From her bosom Ruth drew forth a heavy vail and swiftly adjusted it over her face. Then she turned to Joe, ‘You remain outside,” she commanded, ‘‘If you were to go in with me it would only at- tract more attention. If I find him there, I may never come out alive. Should this happen, eer that my body is decently buried. Good-by, oe! At first the darky was determined not to al- low her to enter the place alone, but she insisted and he finally gavein. At the thought that she might not come forth alive Black Joe nearly broke down, It was a touching separation, As she passed in through the door she met a man who looked at her keenly. He came out, and catching a glimpse of the negro, uttered an exclamation, wheeled and went back, Within the saloon Ruth Foscolo paid no heed to the curious glances bestowed upon her, Un- heeding the surprise that her appearance caused she moved about among the throng, searching for the man whom she had sworn to slay. The saloon was well filled. A throng of thirsty individuals crowded around the bar, be- hind which the dispenser of “‘liquid refresh- ments” was showing his ability to ‘‘ please the public,” The cara tables were nearly all in use and two faro lay-outs were doing a good business, Here and there moved the vailed girl, gazin sharply into the faces of those present, And all the while the man who had met her at the door a her in view. hree times the girl went round the room but her search was unrewarded. She could not repress a sigh of strangely mingled regret and relief. ‘Pardon me, ma’am; war ye lookin’ fur sum- buddy?” - It was the man who had met her at the door that asked the question, She bowed, but did not speak, He approached a step nearer, saying ina low one. **T know who ye’r’ lookin’ fer.” Hustler Harry, the Sbe gazed at him sharply. ‘* Kem’ over hyer,” said the man. ye of him.” She followed him to an unused deal table. They both sat down, The man was nota very pleasaat-looking fel- low, and Ruth did not like his appearance as he fixed his small black eyes upon her. ‘¢ Ye’r’ huntin’ arter one w’at wears er red heart on his lef’? wrist,” asserted the man. Ruth made no motion of denial or affirma- ‘‘] kin tell ye whar he is,” continued the fel- low. “I follered him ter ther very spot whar he nowis. I war watchin’ fer er chance ter stick a knife in his back, but didn’t git it.” Ruth shuddered. ‘‘-You would murder him!” she gasped. As ther p’izen snake did my pore brother!” gritted the man. ‘‘Blood fer blood’s my motto.” “And this same red-handed fiend slew my father!” fiercely breathed the girl. *‘ He is mine! No other hand shall cut short his thread of life! I will pay you well to lead me to him.” The man hesitated. ‘* Waal,” he drawled, ‘I don’t know’s I keer how ther critter croaks so he aoes it, If you fix him, yell only save me ther job, Ill p’int ye ter him. Tll leave ther saloon now an’ you kin foller pritty soon. I'll meet yer out thar.” He arose and sauntered carelessly out of the saloon, When he passed through the door, he looked around for the negro, but Black Joe was not to be seen, “So much ther better,” muttered the fellow. “Ef I git this she critter out of ther way, I reckon ther boss ll pay me fur my trubble. I e’u'd doctor both ber and ther nig, but I don’t keer northin’ ’bout ther black one.” A few minutes later he was joined by Ruth, ““ Where is he?’ demanded the girl. ‘‘ Don’t attempt to deceive me, for if you do you will hear from this.” She displayed a small revolver. *¢ 1°}] show ther critter to ye fast ernuff,” was the man’s assertion, ‘* He’s down byer aways,” Together they passed down the street, Ruth keenly on the alert for treachery. They had Rone quite a distance and were passing along the arkest part of the street when the desperado suddenly tripped her, flinging himself upon her as she fell, and seizing her by the throat. An instant later the treacherous brute receiv- ed a terrible blow upon the head that stretched him senseless on the ground. “Hi, golly!” exclaimed the familiar voice of Black Joe. ‘' Reckun sich trash’s dat ar can’t pull de wool ober ole Joe’s eyes—no sar! I smell- ed de woodchuck at de fu’s’ ob de game,” As the negro helped his mistress to her feet, he added: ‘Ole Joe wucks in mighty handy don’ he oncet ina wile? I smelled dis coon’s game an’ drapped him wif erclub. Reckun he’ll hab a sore head in the mawnin.” *¢ Joe,” said Ruth, earnestly, ‘‘I believed you saved my life, This man is probably one whom Philip Barret hired to assassinate me.” The unconscious ruffian at their feet was ae Number Nine” of the Brothers of the Red CAAPTER XI. UNCLE PETER HODGE, ‘¢ Hey there, mister!” The startled stage-driver glanced around, half- ee ein to see a masked man with a cocked and leveled rifle, and bear the order, ‘‘ Hands up!” But he was agreeably disappointed, The man who had hailed was seated on a large stone by the roadside. He was dressed in a suit of ill-fitting gray, and at his feet on the ound was an old-fashioned “ 2p ben. al e held his battered old bell-crown beaver in his left hand, while he vigorously mopped his perspiring face with a large red bandanna hand- kerchief. As the driver espied this individual he stopped wiping his face, and swung his hand- kerchief toward the stage. ‘‘ Howld on there, mister!” cried the man on the rock. ‘*Can’t yeou give a feller a ride?” The stranger had a rather jolly-looking face, and was evidently a man of about fifty. His long hair was well mixed with gray. Dusty Snif, the driver, took a rapid survey of the strange individual, and with a sudden fit of good humor, drew up Py ‘‘ We hain’t runnin’ er free hearse this quar- ter,” declared Dusty Snif; ‘‘ but ef ye’ve got the rocks ter pay, w’y, ye kin ride.” ‘* Wal, neow, what do yeou think I am, any- way?’ demanded the stranger, with a good- natured grin. ‘Do I look like a dead corpse? I don’t want ter ride in no hearse, yit awhile. If that’s a hearse, I guess I kin fut it to the next age. Dusty Snif looked at the man curiously. Just then a nervous passenger thrust his head out of the window and demanded to know the trouble. Paying no attention to the question, the driver called out to the wayfarer: Whar’d ye cum frum, pard? I reckon ye’r’ a stran er in these hyer parts,” Wal, neow, yeou are kirect,” admitted the man by the rock, as he arose to his feet and ~ Cowboy Sport. e <p 8 4 | kicked out first one foot and then the other, im ‘“‘ T kin tell | the attempt toshake down bis short, tight-fitting pantaloons, ‘‘Pm frum Maine, the ole Pine Tree State, an’my name’s Hodge—Peter Hodge. Peer’aps yeou've heerd on ther Hodges?” ‘*Oan’t say thet I’ve ever hed that playshur. But, pardner, if ye want er ride, an’ kin pay yer way, climb up hyer side o’ me.” ‘Guess I kin . Pag if *t don’t cost more’n a quarter,” laugh eter Hodge, as he grasped his carpet-bag and made haste to mount to the driver's seat. ‘I’ve futted it’bout’s fur’s | want nr.” The driver cracked his wha" yelled at the horses, and away they went down the rocky orge. ‘“ By jinks!” exclaimed the man from Maine, as he pulled the old bell-crown hard down upon his head and planted his feet upon the carpet- bag. ‘* This is a whack better’n futtin’ it. How fur’ll yeou take me fer a quarter?” ‘““Cimarron’s ther next stop,” said Dusty Snif. ‘I reckon thar’s whar ye’r’ boun’ fer?” “T guess so,” admitted the Down-Kaster, doubtfully. ‘' Yeou see, I’m lookin’ fer my fu’st wife’s brother, who’s in bisness eout heer sum- where. [ve bin trampin’ all over this heathen Jand, an’ I hain't heerd a word ov him, But haow much bav’I got ter pay if I ride clean through to this heer village yeou speak ov?” The driver stated his price, and after some grumbling the man from Maine paid it, “Seems ter me yeou ax high for everythin eout heer,” said he, as he extracted a piece o money from the old stocking-foot which served him for a purse. ‘‘Guess yeou think folks are made ov munny, Couldn’t knock oif five cents, could ye?” Dusty Snif told him that such a thing would be literally impossible. With some reluctance the old fellow parted with the price of the ride. ““?Taters didn’t turn eout very well this year,” declared the Down-Easter, as he restored the peculiar purse to bis pocket, *‘ an’ aigs hav’ been *tarnal fi for a long time. My hens didn’t lay ‘nuff to pay for their Pe though they dun better’n Josh Bean’s did. My hens gin- erally do pritty well when aigs are ’way down, an’ when aigs are wu’th teow cents apiece, the obsternate creeters don’t lay for cold swill.” “What did ye say yer name war, pard?” asked the driver. j ‘‘ Hodge—Peter Hodge. Sum calls me Uncle Peter when [’'m ter bum, What's yourn?” “Joe Snifton, but I’m ginerally known as Dusty Snif.” ‘*Thet’s kind ov queer, I notiss bout every- buddy has nicknames eout heer, ’Tain’t best they go to twistin’ round the good ole name my mother give me. Peter was one ov the ’Postles, an’ the name suits me, though I don’t mind when I’m called Uncle Peter.” “Then Uncle Peter it shell be. Wat's yer fu'st, wife’s brother’s handle? P’r’aps I know im, “His what?” amazement, ‘* His handle—cognomen ?” ‘“Neow don’t ye git to pokin’ fun at me,” warned the Down-Easter, with a grim smile. ‘*T like fun, but it starts me jist a leetle bitch for a clean stranger to tread onto my corns the fu’st thing he duz.” Dusty Snif couid not np he a hoarse laugh as he explained that it was the man’s name that he inquired for. “ His name?” piped Uncle Peter, looking re- roachfully at the driver for a moment, then Acining in the laugh, ‘‘ Then why didn’t yeou | say so? Yeou folks out heer hav’ ther gosh dingdest way ov saying things! Makes me think ov Eph Stubbs’s boy Thack, Thack was an idjit, yeou know, an’ he’d call an ax a barn jest ’s soon ’s anything, Guess there was *bout’s much sense in that as in callin’ a man’s name a handle. Hey?’ Then the old man shook from head to foot with laughter, evidently thinking that he had more than got even with Dusty Snif. The driver began to enjoy the Down-Haster’s pecu- liar ways, and was really glad that he had given him a place on the box! : Onward rolled the stage, the driver handling the ribbons with a skill that told of long prac- tice. Uncle Peter watched him with admiring exclaimed Uncle Peter in es. we Guess yeou’ve driv’ hosses before,” observed the old man, ‘ Yeou handle the webbins’s if yeou was used to it.” “Waal, I'd orter be. I've been doin’ it fur ther last twenty y ars. But yer didn’t tell me thet feller’s name, “So I didn’t. His name’s Jinkins—Jonathan Jinkins. Do yeou know him?” , Dusty Snif shook his head. “J don’t seem ter ketch ther name,” he ad- mitted; ‘an’ I reckon I know ’most everybuddy. I don’t b’lieve thar’s a Jinkins in Cimarron. But p’r’aps he’s Gropes thet handle an’ tuck ernuther. He didn’t hev ter skip fur stealin’ bosses or stabbin’ a man or suthin’ o’ thet sort, did he?” : Uncle Peter glared at the driver and noowin? in a vain attempt to banish the look of good- humor that marked his face. “Young man,” he said, sternly (Dusty Snif mS 5 Goan Be ef ComIchbooks:con