yeceeed

ORIGINAL EDITION

This book must be returned when taken
from file

 
 
Issued Weekly. By Subscription $5 per year. September 19, 1900.
Entered as second-class matter at N. Y. post-office.

Gentleman Joe, the Bonanza King:

OR,

 

x

THE BELLE OF SILVER GULCH.

BY
BADGER, Jr.

NEW YORK
STREET & SMITH, PupLisHERS
238 WILLIAM STREET

 
  

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1897, by
STREET & SMITH, in the office of the Librarian
of Congress at Washington, D. C.

JNA
  

+ Gentleman Joe the Bonanza King:

,

THE BELLE OF SILVER GULCH.

et

By JOS. E. BADGER, JR.

 

CHAPTER I.
A BIBULOUS TOLL-TAKER.

“Evenin’, ma’am, an’ hopin’ I see ye! Shorely ’tain’t
ashy an’a skeer you’re takin’ at Woolly Wilson? An’
him so full o’ the milk o’ human kindness that he don’t

-sca’cely dast to take a joggly step fer fear o’ chokin’ up
ith butter 2?” :

“ Wiid-and-woolly,” this particular Wilson had been
dubbed, and, as a general thing, he took pride in living

upto that lawless standard; butit was no part of his
present plans to give premature fright to the young lady,
who had slackened her pace on noting hig presence on tne
bridge which spanned Roaring Fork, and over which she
must pass in order to reach home.

He was almost a giant in height and in bulk, clad in
flannel shirt, copper-riveted trousers of heavy brown
duck, and knee-boots of coarse cowhide. About his middle

was buckled a belt, thickly studded with cartridges, and ~

supporting a knife and a brace of heavy revolvers.

A maudlin grin spread over his whisky-inflamed feat:
ures, and as he jerked off his time-worn ‘felt hat to perfect
his clumsy bow, the faint breeze set his fire-red hair to
fluttering in time with his bristling beard.

Miss Sybil Ritchie’s hesitation lasted barely long enough
to be noticed by that bibulous colossus. She was nota
young lady given to magnifying each mole-hill into a
mountain, and while she could not recall that particular

 

cee

 
  
 
 
 
 

 
 
 

 
  
 
 
 
 
  

    
 

specimen, fate had thrown her into contact with many
“rough diamonds.”

True, few among them all had offered such an unprom:
ising exterior as this, but even should Woolly Wilson be
as evil as he looked, surely she had naught to fear from —
him in broad daylight, and so near to the bluff, honest
friends who had gallantly dubbed her ‘Belle of Silver
Gulch.”

With that thought tinging her smooth cheeks with color,
and lending her dark eyes a prouder gleam, Miss Ritchie
stepped upon the bridge and attempted to pass the stranger
by with a slight bow in recognition of his address.

Not until the young lady was nearly opposite, did Wil-
son change his attitude, but then he lurched forward, one
arm barring the way as his other hand clapped his hat
upon his head, an ugly chuckle parting his chapped lips.

“Whoa-up, Emma! You’ re mighty goodlookin’, but ye
cain’t bu’st the rules an’ reg’ lations made an’ pervided fer
—whoa-up, pritty !”

The maiden recoiled, her face paling, but not from fear

alone.

‘‘Let me pass, sir,” she said, a little sharply. “ You have
no right to stop me. I am going home, and if you
dare =

‘“‘Dare’s my name, an’ Do-it’s my natur’, honey-bird,”
interposed the wascal, brushing the back of a hand across
his bearded lips. “I’ve jest bin p’inted keeper o’ this yer
bridge, an’ you’re my fust huckleberry.. Mebbe they
hain’t so mighty much money into it, but Ido reckon
they’s plenty sweetness fer to make up the odds. So—pay
the toll, pr itty-all- over! Pay the toll, an’ then give thanks
you’re one 0’ the sex as kin pay, yit be richer then when
ye fust begun.”

Sybil Ritchie was anything but pale, now. Woolly Wil-
son had made his meaning only too clear, and as his hairy
paws reached out to wrap her little figure in a loving
embrace, she struck them down with a force which —
changed that maudlin grin to a scowl of growing anger.

“You brute!” she panted, recoiling still further, yet too

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER II.
WILD-AND-WOOLLY WILSON.
Sybil Ritchie murmured something ; even the ears of a

’ lover were not keen enough to catch her full meaning; but

before Gentleman Joe could ask for a repetition, the maiden
plucked up courage enough to catch his hand between hers,
rapidly speaking :

“Promise me you will let this ugly matter drop, Mr.
Gentry. Promise me you will not try to punish that
drunken ruffian further. You will?”

“Since you ask it, Miss Ritchie, yes,” bowed Gentry.
“T 1] not go out of my way to hunt the fellow up, but, if
he should cross my path, or try to get even for his
ducking, you will not pledge me to run away ?”

“No, but—I do hope you’ll never meet again.”
“So do I, for his sake.”

“T wasn’t thinking of him,” with her eyes drooping once
more. ‘“ You will come to the house, Mr. Gentry ?”

“Not now, Sybil,” with sudden gravity. “You surely
haven’t forgotten the agreement signed by Tyson and my- —

self? When those days have gone, I’ll come to the house,

and to you. Until then—good-by.”

With ‘a movement swift as it was graceful, Gentleman
Joe lifted her little hand to mest his lips as his head
bowed. His hot lips seemed to scorch the skin they
touched, and, with a faint ejaculation, the Belle of Silver
Gulch snatched her hand away, turning, and almost flee-
ing toward the little building which she called home.

Joseph Gentry stood motionless until Sybil reached the
threshold, lifting his hat almost in reverence as the maiden
turned to waft him a graceful gesture before entering the
building.

As her lithe, graceful figure vanished from view, the
young man turned away, his hands clasped behind his
back, his head bowed, a half-smile playing about the red
lips which still felt the touch of her hand.)

“Hard? Well, I should remark! If Tyson had been
with us, Icouldn’t have kept from clasping her to my
 

 

  

heart, pledge or no pledge! And he—wonder if he would
have stuck it out as well?”

It wasa little out of the common run, this pledge to
which allusion has been made by the Bonanza King, and
that it had been given at all, was proof sufficient that all
chivalry has not departed from this, our land.

Two men, both in love with the same maiden. One rich,
with mines and money galore; the other poor by com-
parison, and only recently working for his now rival in
love on a salary.

They lived in a section of our country where cold steel
or molded lead are the most convenient arbiters. Both
were strong and brave enough not to shrink from such an
arbitration. Each was deeply enough in love to make des-
perate fighting for the rich prize atreat. Yet a quiet,
peaceful understanding was arrived at, and that agree-
ment had been conveyed to Sybil Ritchie just one week
prior to her encounter with Wild-and-Woolly Wilson on
the Roaring Fork bridge, this bright and balmy Sabbath
day.

In a mutually signed note, Henry Tyson and Joseph
Gentry declared their love for Sybil Ritchie, begging her
to choose between them, and pledging themselves to leave
her judgment wholly unbiased during the space of two
weeks from date.

So far as Gentleman Joe was concerned, that pledge had

been sacredly kept, and this accidental meeting with Sybil _

had been the only one since his hand penned that agree-
ment. And, so far as he knew, Harry Tyson had been
equally as honorable.

“T’d give this good right hand to know what decision
she’ll give,” muttered the Bonanza King, as he moved
slowly along, then breaking into a low, soft laugh as he —
noted the broken skin on his knuckles, caused by that
sturdy stroke which marked the drunken toll-taker.

“Harry ’d say I was in big luck, if he only knew. And
yet—am I? Would Sybil have acted so shy, if Tyson had
stood in my shoes? Would she have trembled at his touch,
shrunk from his gaze, as she surely did from mine?”

A loverly thought, yet disagreeable enough,

  
proud to turn in actual flight. “How dare you insult me?”

“*Sultin’ of ye? Me? Wild-an’-Woolly Wilson ?”

““Tet me pass, sir, or I’ll have you punished for—stop !”

E Sybil tried to spring past the ruffian, but he was not too
drunk to foil that effort, and one red arm swept around
her waist, a coarse chuckle bubbling through his thick
lips.

yi No, ye don’t, ducky darlint ! Cain’t jump over the toll-
bar long’s your ‘uncle——”

With a panting cry of indignant rage, the maiden
clenched her little fist and struck him squarely in the face
with all the force she could summon; and that was no
trifle, girl though she was.

That hairy head flew back with a jerk, and Wilson lost
his grasp for the moment. Sybil sprang forward to escape,
but the ending was not to come thus.

Surprise, not pain, had caused that recoil, and instantly
rallying, Woolly Wilson sprang after his fleeing prize,
catching her before she could win clear of the bridge,
laughing harshly as he restrained her struggles, one arm
compassing her waist, his other hand forcing both wrists
together and holding her helpless.

His blood-shot eyes glowed wickedly as they peered 7nto
hers, and his whisky-laden breath fanned her paling
cheek, as he growled forth:

“Think ye did when ye didn’t, don’t ye? Try to jump
the bar an’ give the toll-taker the dirty shake, will ye?”

“Let me go! Release me, I say, or——”

“Stiddy my dainty little heifer! Quit yer kickin’ an’
lis’en to the law an’ gospel as writ down by Woolly Wil-
son. What does the law say? Ef a critter tries to cheat,
make ’em pay double over! An’ so—stiddy them lips, my
posey! I was jest a-funnin’ at fust, but now—hyar I come
ter the honey !”

Despite his greatly superior strength, Wilson found it
no easy task to control his captive, even while caught at
such sore disadvantage. Even yet Sybil Ritchie was too
proud to cry aloud for help, but she fought against further
insult as only a pure maiden can.

Still, there could have been but one ending had they
been left to themselves, for the ruffian was growing more

 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 

 

and more vicious as his worst passions came to the sur. |
face, and his brutal strength was more harshiy exerted as
Sybil’s physical powers began to fail her. _ oc

Neither girl nor rascal caught the souna of swift foot-
falls coming nearer the bridge, and that low, stern ery of —
hot rage passed unheard as a tall, athletic figure leaped
over the low stone wall, which guarded the approach to
the crossing.

“Miss Ritchie—you hound !”

“The devil !”

“Mr. Gentry—help !”

Woolly Wilson turned at that stern cry, and as he parti-
ally relaxed his grasp, Sybil uttered a tremulous, thankful
gasp, for she saw rescue at hand. :

One strong white hand caught the ruffian by the shaggy
beard, jerking his head back to receive a blow that cut to
the bone. The shock broke his grasp, and, as Sybil shrank
tremblingly away, Wilson, reeling back toward the rude
railing, tried to snatch a pistol from his belt, as he cursed
horribly.

“T’ll bloody murder ye fer that!” he snarled, but ere he
could do or say more, the young man was upon him, his
handsome face white as if carved from parian marble,
his gray-blue eyes glittering like polished mirrors of steel. —

“Go wash your mouth out, dog!” cried Gentry, sternly,
grasping the giant by leg and shoulders, heaving him over
the railing, then hurling him headlong to the dark waters
below.

It was all done with marvelous rapidity, and practiced
hand, though he might be with the gun, Wild-and-Woolly
Wilson had no time in which to draw, much less make
use of a weapon.

He gave a howling yell of angry terror, which was cut
short by his loud splash into the river, there flowing deep
and still, luckily for his bones, but no further attention
was paid him’by his conqueror just then.

The instant his grip left that evil carcass, Joseph Gentry __
turned toward Miss Ritchie, his strong face showing un- —__
usual agitation, as he asked : ces

\ “I hope—you’re not injured, Sybil?”

  
 

The maiden shook her head, a wan smile coming into
her pallid face, as her eyes met those of ‘‘Gentleman
Joe.” She was too deeply agitated for immediate speech,
but she impulsively caught his arm, moving toward the
end of the bridge, as though desirous only of escaping the
scene.

Without glance or thought toward the discomfited toll-
taker, Gentry yielded to her wishes, and a very few mo-
ments sufficed to carry them out of sight of the bridge, as
they left the main road for a path which afforded a shorter
route tothe maiden’s home, on the outskirts of Silver

 

Rs Gulch.
> oa Presently Gentleman Joe explained how he had chanced
Le to catch sight of Sybil and the ruftian on the bridge, and,

of course, had lost no time in coming to the rescue.

“T would have shot the dog, out of hand, only I feared—
I didn’t dare risk a bullet so close to your precious life,
Sybil,” strong emotion unsteadying his tones just then.

“He was drunk. He didn’t mean—oh, Mr. Gentry, I
tried so hard not to be frightened, but——”___

“TI know; I understand. If I could only have saved you
from that, as I would like to save you from everything
that is ugly and painful, and——”

Gentleman Joe cut himself short, like one who fears to
give too free expression to his feelings. Sybil flashed a
swift, shy glance upward froma corner of her eye, the
rich color coming back to her cheek the while; but she
asked no questions just then.

“You did save me, Mr. Gentry, from insult atleast. I
only wish I could find words to thank you for it,” she
murmured, her tones far from steady, and a little shiver
running through the hand that rested upon his strong arm.

“Don’t please. I’d rather you wouldn’t even try to
thank me—just now. There is yet a week to run, before
he day set for your final decision. If you can thank me,
then :

Again Joseph Gentry left his sentence incomplete, but
this time he was gazing ardently, imploringly upon that
blushing, downcast face, mutely begging its owner to com-
plete the speech for him, But Sybil said nothing, and her

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

 
 

 

  

steps quickened a bit as though she was growing eager to
end an interview, which was becoming embarrassing, if
not painful.

Gentleman Joe bit his lip sharply, for he gave this haste
an unfavorable interpretation, but her will was his law,
and he made no effort to delay their progress.

- “Ag for that fellow, Miss Ritchie I’ll take care that he
never annoys you again. I'll look him up as I go back,
and if he hasn’t broken his neck in falling, maybe he’ll be
sobered off enough to comprehend a little lecture on good
manners.”

“You mean—oh, Mr. Gentry!” said Sybil, with a quick
catch in her breath as her fingers closed upon his arm:
“He might—if he should—please don’t have any trouble
with the brute !”

“Ts it for his sake, or for mine, that you ask 1t, Sybil?”

“For yours, of course,” but with drooping eyes that re- —
fused to meet his ardent gaze. “If harm came to you,
through me, I’d never find forgiveness in this world.”

Gentleman Joe made a quick movement with his arms,
but it was to throw them behind his back, clasping his
fingers tightly. A faint smile came into his face as Svbil
gazed upward with astartled air, but his tones were al:
most cold, as he spoke:

“T am under bonds for a week longer, Miss Ritchie, but
I never knew until now how hard it can be made for an
honest man to keep his pledge. If Harry Tyson was with
us now, I’d ask him to let you——”

The maiden shrank away a bit, her embarrassment
deepening. She grasped atthe first pretext which pre-
sented itself, saying:

‘“'There’s the house. You’ll come in, Mr. Gentry ? Mother
will like to thank you for saving—for bringing me home.”

Gentleman Joe shook his head gravely, then said :

“{ wish I might, Miss Sybil, but you know the pledge;
for seven days longer that house is taboo to me. Good-by,
for those seven days. my good angel! When they are
gone, I’ll come to receive sentence from your sweet lips;
Heaven grant it may prove favorable to my hopes.”

 

 

  
  

Gentleman Joe could more than hold his own against
the world in general, else he never would have become
what he now was—the richest man of his years in all the
mining country.

It was only in love that he felt a faint heart, and that
because his love was so intense, so complete, so all ab-
sorbing. ®

The sight of those bruised knuckles turned his thoughts
partially toward the red-haired ruffian, and as his uncon:
scious steps had carried him toward the bridge, Gentle-
man Joe felt a growing curiosity as to the fate of that per-
sonage. S

Entering upon the bridge, he looked over the railing,
but the river flowed peacefully beneath, and he could see
nothing of Woolly Wilson.

“Struck out for shore, and took leg-bail, I reckon,” he
grimly commented, as he moved aleng over the bridge,
heading for the solitude of the hills, since he was hardly in
the mood for entering town and meeting friends just then.
“ He’ll never drown while a hangman exists.”

Busied with his own thoughts, Gentry paid no heed to
his wandering footsteps, nor took note of the passing min-
utes. He might have spent the remainder of the day in
that wild solitude, had his musings not been rudely broken
in upon by no less a personage than Wild-and-Woolly
Wilson himself.

“T say, pardner !”

Gentleman Joe gave a quick start as that coarse hail
met his ears, and a hand mechanically dropped to the butt
of a revolver, which, in common with nearly every male
citizen of Silver Gulch, he wore at his middle quite as
much for use as for ornament.

“Flag o’ truce, pardner,” added that voice, and, as he
caught sight of the speaker, Gentry saw an empty hand
lifted ina deprecatory gesture. “Fa’r play ’s a jewel,
critter, an’ ’tain’t no fa’r to sling lead when I’m jest
pitchin’ chin-talk at ye.”

Gentleman Joe instantly recognized the red-crowned
ruffian, and his firm jaws squared as he gazed coldly at’
the fellow. Evenif that fiery aureole had not betrayed
him, his still damp garments would have made his identity

 
 

    
 
         

perfectly clear.

“You, is it, you brute? Do you want another ducking
so soon 2” ,

‘‘Me, it is, nur I hain’t a-sp’ilin’ fer no more water in.
mine, nuther, thankin’ of ye fer bein’ so dug-gun perlite 4
as to do the axin’, boss,” said Wilson, with a painfully —
polite bow the while. ‘“Jestecome by chaince like, this 4
meetin’, an’ so I reckoned I’d ax ye who in blue blazes *
mought ye be, anyhow ?” ¢

ke The man who pitched you aio the drink for insulting }
a lady,” retorted Gentleman Joe, his eyes kindling at that
memory.

It was well for Woolly Wilson, perhaps, that Sybil had
exacted that promise, for, even as it was, those dangerous |
fists were clenching tightly. Still, if this big stranger §
should venture too far. t

“The good Lawd !” ejaculated Wilson, in real or affected
amazement at that abominable charge, spitting forth each |
-word as if it formed a mouthful in itself,

“Do you deny the charge, stranger ?”

“Do I—well, why wouldn’ tI, then? Insult alady? Me?
Wild-an’ -Woolly Wilson ? Insult—par dner, whar did ye
ketch ’em ?”

“T caught you, and that’s enough. I ought to have
broken your neck, iwstead of merely sending you fora
bath. I would have shot you, like the cur you surely are, — i
only——”

“Stiddy by jerks, an’ wait a bit, pardner,” interposed
Wilson, with another deprecatory wave of his hairy paw. —
“Perlite °’s the word, an’ perlite ’s my motter. Le’scome
at the p’inted fac’s by gradooal degrees, an’ thar’ll be
heap sight less resk o’ slippin’ a cog, an’ gittin’ the-«rig-
gin’ clean out o’ j’int. Now, ’twas you that give me this
yer smack on the mug, then? 2”

He gingerly touched his gashed cheek with a finger- tip,

. gravely gazing at Gentleman Joe the while.

“Tt’s the mark I put on stray swine, yes.”

“‘Meanin’ that I’m a hog? Jes’ so! Waal, that’s one
pint settled to the queen’s taste, You siugged me fer —
luck ?” a

©

 
  
 

 

 
  
 
 
 

 

“T punished you for insulting a lady, yes.”
“Jes’ so. Youslugge. me. An’ ’twas you as chunked
me clean over the fence into the drink, I reckon, pardner ?”

“JT surely did. I never met a knave who stood in greater
need of a bath.”

“Meanin’ I’m a hog, an’ a dirty hog at that? Don’t be:
bashful ‘bout speakin’ out your thoughts, pardner. I’m
jest tryin’ to come at the sober fac’s o’ the case, an’ my
feelin’s don’t count fer a cent. I hain’t nobody but Wild-
an’-Woolly Wilson, a pore lonesome horfant, who never
hed no mother nur father, an’ who lost both o’ them afore
I was hatched! Jest a pore, weenty, scrawny, crippled-
all-over horfant, ye mind! Jest a—an’ you done all them
things, boss ?”

“Shall I prove it by doing them over again, Mr. Wilson ?”
coldly asked Gentleman Joe, his temper beginning to give
way before that provoking drawl.

‘‘Keep yer linen on, stranger,” drawled the giant, with
asquint atthe afternoon sun. “The sun’s ’way up, an’
thar’s time enough fer to lick a dozen weenty scrubs like
me afore supper-time comes.”

“Tf you are really hankering after a thrashing, stranger,
all administer it, with all the pleasure in life,” retorted
Gentry.

**Dug-gun ef he don’t talk jest like he raally meant it,
too,” ejaculated Woolly Wilson, with a confidential nod
toward the glowing sun.

“Enough of this nonsense, you hound!” sternly cried
Gentry. “Isaid I wouldn’t go out of my way to seek a
quarrel with you, but since you have chipped in again, I’ll
finish the lesson I begun back yonder, unless you. make
your heels save your neck.”

“Flag o’ truce, pardner, an’ she’s still a-flyin’,” croaked
Wilson, lifting his empty hand once more. “Ef I’ve got
to take a-lickin’, jest let a critter know what he’s ketchin’
it fer, cain’t ye, boss?”

“T told you before—for insulting a lady.”

‘An’ that lady—now we’re gittin’ down to pay-rock.
That lady, sir, was jest which, an’ what, an’ who? Mebbe
she was your wife ?”

“That has nothing to do with the case.”

 
 

 

 

 

“Not your wife, then,” bowed Wilson, with grotesque —

politeness and gravity commingled. ‘‘Ef she was, you’d
be in sech a hurry to ’knowledge sech a gelorious critter,
that you’d trip clean over the tongue o’ ye. Mebbe she
was yer sister, then?” :

Gentleman Joe remained silent, gazing curiously at the
fellow. Despite his anger, he could not help feeling a cer-
tain amount of admiration for such sublime impudence ag
this.

“Not asister? Nur a aunt? ‘Course she wasn’t yer
mammy, nur yit yer granny ; age is clean ag’inst eyther o’
them ’lationships. That jest leaves a cousin; an’ still I’m
shootin’ wild, be I?”

“TI said she wasalady. That’s more than excuse enough
for punishing a drunken brute of your caliber. Now, out
of my path.”

“Stiddy, jest while ye take one more breath, stranger.
No ’lationship as comes inside 0’ the law? Then, dug-gun

my ole pelt ef I hain’t comin’ fer to git mad. °*Long’sI

reckoned you hed law onto your side, I c’u’d take it like
a new-weaned lamb, but now—I’m_ peelin’ my pelt,
stranger.”

With a quick movement, Wilson unbuckled his belt of 2

arms, taking care to keep his fingers well away from the

weapons it supported, lest Gentleman Joe draw to shoot a :

first. He gently swung the belt across to a flat-topped
rock which stood handy, then began rolling up his sleeves,
as he grimly sounded his defiance :

“Now, critter, ef ye’re a man, or anything like a man,
you’ll come an’ see me while my two peepers is onto ye.
I kin lick ye double times over, an’ never know I’d bin to
work, ef I didn’t happen to trample on some o’ the muss

ye’d made. Dump yer weepins, critter, an’ come see me —

while I’m in the mood.”

“ Are you really bent on getting thrashed ?” coolly asked
Gentry.

“Lick or be licked, an’ hyar’s the crowin’ cock when —
t’other’s counted out! Dump yer guns, or own up you’re |
a dung-hill what cain’t be made to fight a squar’ battle, —

Shed yer tools, an’ come at me, do.”

 

 

 

 

    
   
 
  
   
Gentleman Joe was not a common brawler, but no man
could stand such taunting words, backed up by such in-
sulting demonstrations. His temper broke bounds, and,
quickly disarming, he stepped forward without deigning
to remove even his closely fitting coat.

With a wild howl of savage exultation, Wilson rushed
forward to close at once, at the same instant shouting
viciously :

“Down him, lads! Now, we hev got him, dead to
rights.”

CHAPTER III.
A FRIEND IN NEED.

Warned by the curious instinct which all natural boxers
possess, Gentleman Joe was prepared for a headlong rush,
yet, holding all confidence in his own physical powers, he
was quite willing to read Woolly Wilson a lesson out of
his own book.

The red-bearded ruffian was larger and heavier, and
doubtless calculated on a comparatively easy victory in
case he could close at once; but he would not be the first
bully who had counted without his host, and Gentry was
just angry enough to feel like making his downfall as
complete as possible. :

For this reason he made no attempt to evade that bull-
like rush, and when he caught that savage call to other
enemies, it was too late to dodge or decline.

Swift as thought his fists met the red colossus, one-two,
slipping in through that clumsy guard, sending Wilson’s
head back with a jerk that surely must have imperiled
his neck, leaving the imprint of each knuckle upon that
puffy face.

But those huge paws closed upon him, an instant later,
and even as they did so, Gentleman Joe caught the sounds
of a wicked rush from his rear, and then the harsh cry :

“Down him, Woolly !”

With an eel-like twist of his lithe person, Gentleman
Joe pushed his head under one of the giant’s arms, press-

 
 

os

 

ing hard against his breast, as he slipped his own artas
across to secure a wrenching grip. Then, with an effort
that brought every ounce of his remarkable strength into

play, he twisted Wilson from his footing, turning him

Eh NYS Scab eee

half-over, then breaking holds, to let him fall heavily

upon head and shoulders.

Only a good wrestler could have turned the trick, but

that double cry had warned Gentleman Joe not to stand
On ceremony, and if the red-haired giant came off with a

broken neck, so much.the worse for him.
The young athlete was too well trained to lose his own
footing, but the desperate effort dimmed his sight for a

moment, and he could only indistinctly see more than one _

figure rushing toward him.
“ Back, ye hounds!” he cried, hoarsely, brushing a hand
across his eyes, as he sprang toward the rock on which he

had deposited his weapons. “Tf it’s blood ye want, you’ve
got to earn it.”

 

}
at

et esa

The enemy were close at hand, but only for the too-great

confidence in Woolly Wilson’s prowess they would have
_ been closer, and even go small a grace would never have
been given the Bonanza King.

Once in that mighty grip, and the rest would be easy
enough.

Instead, the giant was overthrown, and their victim
was already stooping to grasp the pistols with which odds
can be so swiftly equalized.

Gentleman Joe had time for no more than that brief de-
fiance. His fingers were closing upon a trusty gun, when
the loop of a lasso dropped over ‘his head, and a savage
jerk flung him backward to the rocks,

His empty hands gripped the rope, and he flung his legs
up and over, turning end for end, and springing to his
feet before a man could jump upon him. :

An instant more and he would have flung that choking
noose from about his neck, but-again came an ugly jerk,

and once again the athlete went down to avoid fhe risk of

a broken neck. :
‘Down him, lads!” repeated that hoarse voice, as the
rush followed. ‘Now, all in a heap, ye devils.”

 

 

 

 

 
 

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Gentleman Joe struggled to his knees before the shock
came—a shock that bore him -backward, with hot breaths
fanning his face, with murderous fingers tearing at. his
throat.

A red blur came over his eyes, and he could recognize
nothing for the moment; all he could do was to strike out
at random, feeling that he was fighting for life.

It was a wild, dlind, desperate struggle against odds
which Gentleman Joe had no time to compute, but he suc-
ceeded in gaining his feet once more, even though as yet
unable to entirely shake off those clinging arms.

A heavy blow fell upon his head, causing him to stagger
and grow still blinder, but not a sound escaped his lips.
Not once did he cry for mercy, or even for fair play. He
fought’ fiercely, just as he would fight to his latest gasp
should that be the end fate held in store.

Through the horrible confusion born of those cruel blows
and suffocating clutches, Gentleman Joe indistinctly
caught the sound of yet another human voice, even though
he was unable to distinguish the angry warning:

“Heigh, ye pesky thugs! Let up on that, or—hyar’s
plums to your puddin’, then.”

One or more pistols began to crack merrily, and cries of
angry consternation burst from the ruffians, who had so
nearly won that dastardly triumph.

Like one in a dream, Gentleman Joe caught all those
sounds, but before he could fairly interpret them, another
heavy blow fell upon his head, and all sight and sound
vanished in blackness.

His first sensation of returning life consisted in a strang-
ling, burning sensation, and dimly, indistinctly he recog-
nized the voice of a friend:

“Stiddy, boss. Went down yer Sunday throat, did she?”

“Miles—Crampton——.”

“Bet yer sweet life, boss. Jest Miles, an’ so—swaller
nother snort, an’ mebbe ’twill acht more nateral like, an’
sorter clean up that fainty feelin’ which——”

Gentleman Joe pushed aside the whisky-flask as it
touched his lips, struggling to arise, the battle-fever still
strong upon him.

“'Where—tbose dirty curs!” he gasped, hoarsely, dash-
  

   

 

  

ing a hana sharply across his eyes in the effort to clear hi
vision. ee
“They've skipped, boss,” hastily said Miles Crampton
calling another degree of force into play, as he restrain
the Bonanza King while clearing his confused understand.
ing. “I axed ’em would they stop, but the dug-gun crit
ters didn’t pear to feel that way—no, they just didnt
now.”
‘¢Gone—all gone ?” 2
“Nothin’ more’n a nasty smell left ahind, boss.”
That assurance seemed sufficient for the present, and
ceasing his efforts to regain his feet, Gentleman Jne lay
back, his lids closed, his muscles relaxing. ee
“You’re not—they didn’t cut ye, Gentry?” hastily de. ©
~manded his rescuer, strong agitation visible in hig tones
“T don’t see ary blood, nur I didn’t hear ary shot, ’¢e
them I let off, but—you hain’t ketched your last, pardner?
Gentleman Joe lifted his head, with a faint laugh of re. —
assurance. ee
“T don’t think—just tired a bit, Crampton.” oe
“Glory to the ram! That’s plenty good news fer to take —
the raw aidge off—an’I was mighty nigh b’ilin’ clean
over ‘ith mad to think them dirty whelps got clean off go
easy.” a
“Who were they, pardner ?”
-“Cain’t you tell, Gentry ?”
“Only one—Woolly Wilson he called himself. I didn’
see—they jumped me so sudden, and then—dusted, or pep
pered my eyes.”
Miles Crampton gave vent to a vigorous imprecation on
the dastards, but then fell to work with neckerchief an
whisky to clear those eyes. It was a painful remedy, but
proved quite effectual, and by the time it came to an end,
Gentleman Joe had rallied from his desperate struggle —
against odds.
Meanwhile explanations were exchanged, and Mile
Crampton told how a lucky chance brought him by tha
route from the Little Bonanza Mine, over which he wa
now superintendent. o
“Fust-off, I didn’t know ’twas you the whelps hed down

   
   
 
 
 
  

   

 

 

 
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

in a heap, boss, an’ so I jest let blaze to skeer, not to make
meat. An’ when it did come to me—waal, you was
cavortin’ all over in spots, like, an’ somehow I couldn’t
ketch the right combination—wuss luck.”

Crampton broke off with a doleful groan of self-disgust,
so hearty that it brought a low laugh to the lips of his em-
ployer, who was coolly taking account of his injuries.

“Never mind, old fellow,” Gentry said, soothingly. “I’m
not much the worse for wear, and I reckon I’ll recognize
my mark, if ever we come face to face with those knaves
again. I’m still in the ring, but—I’m not so very badly
disfigured, Crampton ?”

“Waal, you’ve got a weenty brand or two, an’ I’d be
lyin’ ef I was to go ag’inst it,” deliberately quoth Miles,
as he scanned that still handsome face. “ Nothin’ to cry
over, though, an’ nothin’ more’n you’ll outgrow afore the
week is hafe over. Not even a black eye, pardner.”

“T hadn’t ought to complain, then. How many were
there, Miles?”

“Four fer sure, mebbe five, possibly six, countin’ the
heads I see in the mux, boss. Ef Iwas to count the laigs
when it come to pullin’ out, I’d take my davy thar was a
clean score at the lowest figger.”

Gentleman Joe gave arueful glance over his garments,
as he rose to his feet. They had suffered worse than their
owner in that desperate struggle, and their glory had
surely departed.

Miles Crampton gave a subdued chuckle as he took note
of this, and as he flashed his keen eyes around, he spoke:

“Don’t ’pear like they’d ketched the shootin’ over town-
ways, boss, or I do reckon they’d be swarmin’ out this
away to see. ’Tain’t so mighty fur till sunset, an’ ef you
hain’t in too big a hurry, why——”

“T’d better lay low in the hills, you think ?”

“Waal, ’course all folks knows you hain’t the kind as
gits on a full bender, boss, but ef ary other galoot was to
be ketched out in sech a ornamented rig as that—
whew-ee !”

“Drunk and disorderly, eh?”
“That’s what.”
Gentleman Joe resumed his weapons, and after a glance
  

 

7

around as though in hopes of finding some clew thi

Crampton willingly bearing him company.

He was a sturdy, well-built fellow, this mine boss a
little shorter than his employer—who could almost brug |
the six-foot standard—but weighing fully as much, thankg

to his broader shoulders and thicker middle.

His age apparently was not far from forty years, al. |
though his thick crop of hair, and full beard, showed nota

line of silver amid their Indian-like blackness.

That beard covered his face almost entirely from View, |
now that his felt hat was pulled well over his forehead,
but his nose was well shaped, and his dark eyes were keen

which the identity of his dastardly assailants mighty
fixed, he moved slowly away into the rocky recesses, Miley

 

and well-placed in his head.
His garb was but little better than that usually worn by

the mine-workers over whom he had been placed inau.
thority by the Bonanza King, but his knife and revolvers

were the best money could purchase.

As the two men moved leisurely aniong the rocks, seek.

ing amore retired spot, Miles Crampton shot many odd, —

' curious glances at Gentleman Joe from the shade of hig
hat, and though Gentry paid no seeming attention to these,

they did not entirely escape his notice, as was quickly —

proven after a location sufficiently secluded was gained,

“Well, out with it, pardner,” Gentleman Joe said, blunt |
ly, as they came to a pause. “You’ve earned the right to —

ask questions, my friend.”

“T didn’t—waal, then, how come it so? Hf ‘tain't

., pushin’ in whar I hain’t no right fer to crowd, boss?”

“'Phe row, you mean, Miles?”
“That's what! It sorter gits me, an’ yit—mebbe ’tain't
so much git, a’ter all. Which means like this: whena

gang gits so _turribly down onto a feller as to pile all over —

him in a reckless heap, the way them imps was mountin’

of you, boss, they don’t gin’ally stop at punchin’ an’ |

pullin’ ha’r. They didn’t shoot, or I’d’a’ heard ’em. They

didn’t use steel, or you’d ’a’ ketched anyway some sign. ;

So?

There was a brief pause, during which Gentleman Joo 4

 

 

   
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

frowned darkly. He seemed in doubt just how much to
reveal, but then a sense of gratitude to this man, who had
surely proven himself a friend in need prevailed, and he
gave a brief but correct account of the little affair at the
bridge.

“T reckon Woolly Wilson, as he dubs himself, must
have had a few of his friends at hand when I dumped him
into the drink. He wanted to play even, no doubt, and
thought he’d best make a sure thing of it. But, thanks to
you, old friend, he slipped up on it, after all.”

**Ya-as,” drawled Crampton, with an odd shrug of his
shoulders.

CHAPTER IV.
UGLY SUSPICIONS.

In addition to that drawl and shrug, Miles Crampton’s
face wore an odd expression which brought a swift flush
to the face of his employer.

“What do you mean, Crampton?” Gentleman Joe de- .

manded, sharply.

“Waal, boss, I don’t reckon you’d thank me overly much,
ef I was to say jest what sort 0’ thought kem to me, then,”
hesitatingly said the burly mine-boss, shifting uneasily on
his feet the while.

“Why not? Out with it, friend.”

**Mebbe I’m way off my base, boss, but—sence you will
hev it that way—here goes! Ef I hed to bet one way or
tother, I’d lay my odds them imps was jest playin’
coyotes to ’nother man’s grizzly.”

Crampton’s face and eyes spoke far more plainly than
did his tongue just then, and Gentleman Joe sternly said :

“You mean more than you’re saying, Crampton; what
do you mean, then? J ask it as afriend, mind !”

“Waal, ef a critter don’t plum’ know, ‘why——

“You suspect ; what and whom ?”

“ Harry Tyson, no less.”

Miles Crampton blurted out the words in half-desper-
ation, but hisdark eyes met that glowing gaze without

”

 
   
   
    
  
   
  
   
 
   
   
 
    
   
    
    
  
  

 

flinching. ee
Joseph Gentry turned perceptibly paler, althoug
pression of incredulity crept over his countenance,
“You’re crazy, man! What could Harry Tyson ha
do with this nasty mix? Why should he—whatm

you lug in his name?”

“Not to stir up trouble utwixt ye, boss,” soberly rej
the foreman of the Little Bonanza; “I didn’t m
jest sort o’ crope out when I wasn’t thinkin’, but—
gun ef I’ll chaw my own words, though.” =

“You’ve said too much not to say more, Cramp:
Gentleman Joe added, with forced composure. “Whe
you know it or not, there’s that between Henry Ty;
me, which—well, let that part slide.”

“?Tain’t no secret, boss,” gravely spoke up the fo
“ An’ it’s no shame fer two men to hev a eye in the sap
p’int. An’ that’s why I hed to leak, dug-gun it all!” wit
sudden emphasis. “Ef I’m wrong, I'll ax his pardon,
billy-be-jo-hammered ef I don’t b’lieve that young Tysm
hes ben playin’ ye the dirtiest sort o’ dirt—so thar!
| Gentleman Joe sunk down upon a rock, and mo
toward another close at hand, speaking gravely:

“Sit down, Miles, and wait until you’ve cooled of
You’re throwing out slurs against a man whom I’ve loved
and trusted as I might an own brother. You've pro
yourself a friend, but—well, even you want to have th
papers to back up your hints. Understand ?” See

The foreman obeyed, taking his seat, and removing hi
hat to run a hand through his stiff, bristling crop of black
hair. His face wore a dogged look, but it betrayed noth
ing like open malice.

“Hf I’ve gone too fur, I kin step back, boss,” he said
low but resolute tones. ‘‘Ef I’m wrong in my thinkin’
never a critter on two laigs will be gladder to *knowledg

the corn. But—I said it once, an’ I’ say it over; ef Harr
Tyson hain’t hed a finger in this mix, then I’ve cle
got how to figger out what twa an’ a couple come
which is jest what.”

“Steady, pardner,” warningly cut in Gentleman Ja,
lifting a hand. “Slow and sure is a pretty good motto!
 

 

 

 

 

live up to. Now, just why do you suspect Harry Tyson of
playing in with this gang?”

“Waal, take that overgrowed critter you called Woolly
Wilson. He set onto ye, didn’t he? ’Twas at his say-so
that the rest piled in, I reckon?”

“Yes. He called out for them to slug me, just as he
made his rush,” admitted Gentry ; then added: ‘‘But that
isn’t implicating Tyson. I gave Wilson a blow, and then
dumped him into the wet. A man of his caliber always
tries to play even, and so—that’s about all the row
amounts to, I honestly believe.”

“T ketched a pritty good glimp’ o’ the big critter, as he
lit out in a hurry; fust to jump the game, he was, too.
Jest pulled foot fer all ho was wuth, when I opened fire.”

“A cur, as I branded him, first off.”

“ An’ bein’ acur o’ that breed, what sort 0’ use kina
*way-up gent like Harry Tyson hev fer Woolly Wilson?”

“What are you driving at, Crampton ?”

“ Pay-rock, boss, no less,” with a dogged nod of his head.
“That big critter, with his fire-top, hain’t one easy fer to
fergit when a body claps peepers onto him fer the fust
time; an’ I done that this very mornin’. I see him talkin’
to young Tyson, jest out o’ town, an’ from the way he was
sawin’ air ’ith his arms, I sorter hung back a bit on the
lookout, so to speak.”

“With Tyson? And you watched them ?”

“Sure! I tuck it they was a row brewin’, an’I waited
in hopes o’ seein’ the big galoot mop the airth ’ith the
dude. But he didn’t, wuss luck,” with an air of disgust.

“And thisis all the reason you have for thinking Mr.
Tyson was concerned in my racket, Crampton ?”

“Waal, that was this same mornin’, d’ye mind? An’
when they sorter ketched sight o’ me squintin’ thar way,
what made Tyson lock arms ’ith the big feller, an’ hurry
him off like he didn’t want fer to be saw 2”

“You are sure it was Tyson?”

‘You bet Ibe, boss! Don’tI hate the dug-gun critter |

a loud ’nough fer to spot him easy? An’ so——”

“ And so that hatred led you to suspect him unjustly, as
T honestly believe, Crampton,” cut in Gentleman Joe, with
@ breath of relief,
   

 

 

 

“Mind ye, boss, I hain’t settin’ up tobe youre
common smartness, but when it comes to spottin’ sneak) ~ «
—an’ young Tyson is a sneak, up an’ down, top an’ hi a

tom, inside an’ out, cl’ar through an’ back ag’in—[hq) _.
the aidge over ye, an’ I knows it.” os) crit
“What makes you dislike Tyson, Miles?” a
“What makes me mislike a pizen rattler, boss? Whi tee

fer do Iturn out o’ my way to dodge a loaded skunk
Why don’t I cotton to a nasty hop-toad? Beca’se iti)
natur’ tells me to go contrairy, 0’ course.” of sha
Despite himself, Gentleman Joe was impressed by tle, thr
strong earnestness displayed by his foreman. True, Cramp. .

ton had adduced nothing like positive proof to confirm)

his ugly suspicions, but he was a cool-headed and shrewi| ple
fellow, and prejudiced, though he admitted himeslt a es
was hardly one to go utterly astray. a wh

For some little time silence was maintained, Crampton E

seemingly well content to let his words work their pur
pose. Still, he was the first one to break that silence, and | ye
he did so with cool, yet blunt speech : oe
“Thar’s one sure way 0’ gittin’ at the bottom facts, bow, | 4,
which is to let me look up this yer Woolly critter, an’ | fic

corner him or his gang, whar they’ll hev to squeal or)
croak. I kin doit, ef you jest give me the say-so.” my PP

“You mean—ask him what he and Tyson was talking |
8 ca

about this morning?” hesitatingly asked Gentry. a
“Jest that, fer a starter, boss. Ef I ax that much, T°
find a way to pinch the big feller ontel he squeals all thi |
rest of it, be sure.” :
Gentleman Joe gave his head a toss, his shouldersa :
shake, like one casting aside all indecision. He spoke t6

coldly, yet resolutely : a
“You mean well, Crampton, but I prefer doing myom! 4,
work. If any questioning is to be done, I'll go to head f yy

quarters to put them.” : _
While Gentry was speaking, Crampton was watching
his face closely:. What he saw there brought a smile to his |
dark face, and once more his strong prejudice seemed) d
get the best of his cooler judgment. 4 ;
Ey

 
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**Do it, boss! Corner the sneak whar he cain’t slip ye,
then pinch him ontel he squeals the hull truth.”

“T haven’t said I would ask him anything, Miles.”

“But you low to doit, boss? You won’t let sech a slimy
critter play yeall over dirt, yit never once call him to
*count? Corner an’ pinch him, boss. The hull town’d
stand to yer back, ef so be it was to come to a pitch battle,
an’ I knows it, too.”

“So doI know it, Crampton,” gravely said Gentry, a
shade creeping over his unusually pale face, visible
through the growing twilight. “And for that very reason
I’m in honor bound to go slow. Just because Mr. Tyson
was talking toa brute this morning is no proof he was
playing in with him this afternoon.”

'“That’s Gentleman Joe all over,” muttered Crampton,
with a half-sigh. “A blind man could see whar you
ketched your name, boss. Ef it was put to vote in Silver
Gulch, never a soul an’ body thar but vhat’d stand to
your back, an’ never ax fer the rights or the wrongs of it.”

“IT know, and I’m almost sorry for it pardner,” with
increased gravity. “It makes my course ell the more dif-
ficult to choose. But let the matter drop for the present.
I haven’t thanked you for pulling me oat of the hole,
pardner, but——”

“Never mention it, boss. It cost me nothin’ but a few
ca’tridges, an’ they’re cheap. Only—ef it dsves come toa
row, jest throw in a odd lick fer yours truly.”

Gentleman Jo flushed a bit as he rose to hés feet, firmly
grasping the hands of the man who had so opportunély
putin an appearance. His eyes were a trifle thoister than
customary, as he gazed into that bearded face, and his
tones were a bit husky, as he spoke:

“Ido thank you, pardner, and I’ll do my best to play
even if the chance ever comes my way. As for the other
matter—well, I can’t talk of that, even to vou, old
friend.”

_ “Nur I don’t ax it, boss.”

“But this much I will say; I’ve got what 1 hold far
dearer than life at stake, but I’d rather lose it all as an
honest man than gain it through treachery and wzooked
dealing.” :
 

 

 

 

 

 

   

‘Ax Tyson how he’d answer that p ‘int, will you, t
* Are you going to town, or over to the ‘Bonanza, Mileg
asked Gentleman Joe, ignoring that blunt hint, _ Jo
“Waal, reckon Ill ‘jest mog over yan-ways, but] .
town afore the lights goes out, boss. -You’ll find me: Dall pry
the usual place, ef so be I’m wanted fer anythin’ p 'ti'lay! qu
grunted the foreman, slouching away toward the min a
leaving Gentleman Joe to pick his way back to the r08 i, q Ge
which crossed Roaring Fork at the bridge. oo
Neither man seemed to give a thought to the possibile
of another assault being made on the Bonanza King, ; ati es
certainly Joseph Gentry betrayed no such dread, ash py
moved leisurely along, his hands behind his back, bis hel | gr
bent in deep and far from agreeable thought.
In spite of his denial, ugly suspicions had entered hit ta
brain, and he could not argue them out, try how he migh, }j¢
What had Harry Tyson been talking over with Woolly! ww}
Wilson that morning? Surely not—bah! Crampton hal
permitted prejudice to carry him away. Would Tysm|
be plotting with a wretch, who, only a few hours late,
was to brutally insult the lady Tyson professed to love
better by far than his own life? .
“Tll never believe that unless I hear it from his. own
lips,” the Bonanza King muttered, with almost fierce ress bi
lution. “T’llask him, as man to man, and give him oy ge
reasons, if he’ll have it that way.” al
With such an intention, Gentleman Joe hastened to .
town and to his hotel, where he quickly replaced his in th
jured suit by another more befitting an appearance il; 4
public. This he contrived to do without attracting notice, s¢
thanks to the free and-easy methods on which Silver , fe
Gulch ran its hotels.
Leaving the building, ke made his way to the hostile: te
where Henry Tyson had a room, and finding the land w
at his station back of the bar which served a double pur!
pose, liquidating debts and thirst, he quietly asked for bit) Ji
rival in love, a 8

“Tyson, eh?” drawled the host, ely “Paid his bill fi
an’ pulled out yest’day, sir.”

i

 

 
   

“Left town, do you mean, Johnson?” asked Gentleman

,. Joe, amazed.

“So he ’lowed °t any rate, Mr. Gentry. Said he was

a gwine east fer a few days, but that he’d want his old

jal; quarters when he come back.”

“Yesterday—you’re sure he left yesterday?” persisted

ai, Gentry.

The landlord was positive, and showed his register as

| lity proof. Gentleman Joe gazed silently at the paid-off score,

then turned and left the room without further remark ;
but, as he entered the street, he gave freer vent to his
growing suspicions.

Left town—yesterday? Then, who was it Crampton saw
talking with Woolly Wilson this morning? Somebody has

ight, lied, but whichis it? Henry Tyson, or Miles Crampton,

 

 

 

‘) which is the liar?”

 

CHAPTER V.
A TEST PROPOSED.

It was far from an agreeable thought, no matter which
branch he might elect to believe, and Gentleman Joe be-
gan to wish he had let the matter drop where it had begun
at the Roaring Fork Bridge.

With far gloomier thoughts than he had carried there,
the Bonanza King left the hotel, turning toward his own
quarters. He felt no desire for company just then, and
several times crossed the street to avoid meeting friends
face to face.

“T’ve got to think it out. I’ve got to work out the
tangle, or I’ll be fit for nothing. There’s a lie out, but—
who set it afloat?”

It was habit rather than inclination that led Gentleman
Joe to the dining-room when his hotel was gained, but the
scent of cooked food awoke his appetite, and he made a
fairly hearty meal, in spite of his troubled thoughts.

One or two of his acquaintances spoke to him during the
meal, but, with all his geniality, Joseph Gentry knew
how to preserve his privacy when his fancy led that way,
and if his few bruises were noted, no remarks were made
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

to that effect. oe :
Leaving the dining-room, Gentleman Joe passed up)
his chamber, lying down upon his bed and giving himsii_
over to sober thought. =
He recalled that adventure on the bridge, and the wall
with Sybil Ritchie to her home, frowning a bit as he gay
a passing thought to her dissipated, disreputable stp ;
father, Elias Newland, or “Uncle ’Lias,” as that gent
man was better known in Silver Gulch. E
Through his busy brain passed the events whichsadld
up to the signing of that curious compact between himsi)
and Henry Tyson, and which he had kept to the veryli|
ter. How was it with his rival? =
“Tf he’d play me dirt in one thing, wouldn’t he ina)
other? What business could he have with that overgrom)
brute. when—why did he say he meant to leave town!” |
It was all a puzzle, and Gentleman Joe felt thathis
usually keen wits were growing thick as mud, the longs
he tried to solve the puzzle and bring order outof cn)
fusion.

ast

Even yet he could not believe Henry Tyson as black ay
Miles Crampton tried to paint him. He might haved
faults—who was entirely free of them ?—but surely he wa)
not evil minded enough to deliberately plot the death
disability of a rival in love? : 2

“Iq rather believe Crampton at the bottom of ital’)
declared the troubled mine-owner, striking the pillov
with his clenched hand. a

And yet how could that be? 2

Rough, blunt, every day Miles had proven his claim ti
friendship in more ways than one, even before that day.
Tf he hated Henry Tyson, he made no bones about avow!
ing that strong prejudice, and certainly was willing w
back up his words, with tongue, hand, or weapons. ;

What object could he have in falsely charging Tyson >
with skulking in partnership with Wild-and-Wool
Wilson ? «

“He believed what he said, but—I reckon he must batt)
made amistake in the man,” finally decided Gentlema
Joe, rising to a sitting posture on the edge of the bel,

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“Harry never did mix with such rag-tag-and-bobtail, and
he surely wouldn’t begin now, just when there’s’so much
at stake.”

It was still early in the evening when Gentleman Joe,
putting all ugly suspicions behind him, left the hotel to
make his usual rounds.

Like the generality of mining-camps, Silver Gulch knew
Sunday only as a business day, on which trade flourished
more briskly thanon any other two days of the week
combined.

With few exceptions, the mines ‘“‘shut down” on Satur-
day night, not to open again until Monday morning. Pay-
day meant money, and money meant drink and gambling.

Asa matter of course, where law had precious little to
say or do, games were plenty, and gaming-houses “ran
wide open,” with the Day of Rest for their busiest harvest-
time.

Gentleman Joe was neither a gambler nora drunkard,
although he could turn card or glass, on occasion; with the
best of the sports. He had all the money he knew what to
do with, thanks to his paying mimes, particularly the
Little Bonanza, and if he was accustomed to “go the
rounds” nearly every evening, ’twas mainly to kill time,
rather than because of a thirst for adventure, or a longing
for notoriety.

Only pausing at the hotel bar to light a fresh cigar, the
Bonanza King crossed the threshold, to almost immedi-
ately recognize a slouching shape just over the way.

“Crampton! Shall I—wait, and see first!”

Gentleman Joe banished that frown from his face with
those muttered words, then passed into the streét, giving
no sign of recognition as that waiting shape moved in the
same direction.

; “T say, boss |” came a low, guarded call a few moments
ater.

“Hello you, is it?” ejaculated the Bonanza King, turn-
ing sharply.

“Et I wasn’t changed at nuss, I reckon,” chuckled the
black-bearded foreman, ranging alongside. -“Reckoned
you’d come my way, ef T waited long”nough, boss.”

“You were watching for me, then, Crampton Pr

 
  

 

   
 
 
  
  
 
   
    
  
  
   
   
  
   
  
    
 
   
 
  
   
  
  
  
   

“Ef they’s a law ag’iust it, I’m heap sorry,
dut——” Se
“Don’t talk that way, pardner,” said Gentlem
reaching out a hand, which was met by a grip no les
dial. “After your chipping in on my side this aftern
you’ve won the right to make me wait for you instead
“I’m only sorry I didn’t earn it cleaner, boss,” gru
the foreman, with a touch of self-disgust in his to
“Then you didn’t—you hain’t looked up that pizend
I don’t reckon, sir?” : 3
A touch of suspicion came back to the Bon
and he evaded that eager question. fl
“If you mean Henry Tyson, I haven’t seen him asye,
Crampton. Why do you ask?” a
“Waal, I didn’t know. ’Peared like that was the quick
est way 0’ gittin’ at the bottom o’ the mux, an’ so—" |.
“v3 been doing considerable sober thinking since !]
you, Miles,” said Gentry, as his foreman hesitated in hiy
speech. ‘I can’t make up my mind that Tyson had amy
thing to do with this little racket, and so, for reasonsti
my own, I’ve pretty nigh concluded to drop it all, mgti
where it now stands.” 2 oy
There was a brief silence, during which Crampittl,,
seemed busily thinking in his turn, but then he blurtla,.
forth : —
‘“*Course ’tain’t any o’ my puddin’, boss, but J caitl,
help thinkin’ you’re makin’ a mighty big mistake init
tin’ things go so easy.”
“Meaning just what, Crampton ?” |
“You won’t fly off the handle ef I tell ye, then?”
“My memory isn’t that short, old fellow. You saved lt
from sore bones, if nothing worse, this day. Hven |
can’t heed, I’ll listen.” a
“Thank’ee fer so much, anyway,” grunted Crampidl,
wheeling around in front of the Bonanza King, catchitg
him by a button, and speaking more rapidly: “ It's a oper,
secret, sir, what’s gwine on atwixt young Tyson, J)
na’ a sartin lady which I hain’t needin’ to name more” ¢..
ticklarly. An’ so I say now, what I said once afore;
a-bloomin’ pity you’re so ready to give him 80 much

anza King,

    
| ger ’vantage then he’d ever think o’ givin’ yoti, ‘long of
vt the lady which——”

“! Gentleman Joe dropped a hand lightly over those
oil heavily bearded lips, a touch of sharpness in his own voice
as he said:

& = “Drop that, Crampton, if you please. I can’t discuss
It that lady, even with so true a friend as you have proven
it yourself.”

_ The foreman drew back with a shrug and a grunt.

_ “Ketch him bein’ so dug-gun ’siderate, will ye? Never
, a bit, now, or I’ll chaw gravel fer a-livin’. Dollars to red
" cents he’s puttin’ in his good licks whar they’ll count the
, most, while you’re hangin’ off, lettin’ him hev full swing.
- “AsIsaid afore, boss, ’tain’t none o’ my business, an’
,, mebbe I’m the impident fool you’re callin’ me in the mind
., 0’ ye, fer tryin’ to mix up into it a-tall. But this much I

will say, an’ say it hard: I’ll lay long odds Sneak Tyson

“put up that job onto ye this very day. What fer, mebbe
. you kin give as close a guess as I’ve done a’ready.”

; Gentleman Joe listened without an attempt to cut that

___ swift flow of words short, but a grave smile came into hig
F face while listening, and his answer was ready when Miles
* Crampton paused to catch breath.

“Who give ye that wind-puddin’ to chaw on, boss?” al-
ost rudely spluttered the minv-boss.
,_ had it direct from headquarters, Crampton. Although
couldn’t believe you were right in your guess, I thought
it best to dropin on Tyson for an explanation, but I
,tailed to find him at his hotel. When I asked for him,
jj Ohnson told me he had settled his bill, and pulled out
yon a short trip Kast; that he left town yesterday.”
~ Left town—then who—but I seed him chinnin’ with
‘that big critter, I tell ye!”
Lou surely must have been mistaken in the man,
;~rampton.”
_ “Mistaken nothin’ !” almost savagely retorted the fore-
an,

 
 

 

  
 
  
 

“Don’t I know the dude when I see him? Wouldnt:
know him jest by smell, ef I was blinder’n a mole iif
both eyes punched out?

“Didn’t I see him ’long ’ith that red-headed galoot, thy
very mornin’ asis? To be course I did, then!” ;

‘No doubt you thought ’twas Tyson, but——”

“ Twas him, his ghost, or his double, an’ [ll take »
davy ’twasn’t nayther one 0’ them two last, then!” dy
gedly asserted the foreman.

“ What I see, I see, an’ what I know, I know all ova
Him it was, an’ ef he says he’s left town afore this va
day, he’s a howlin’ liar from ’way back !” -
_ Evidently, Miles Crampton had solid grounds for hish
lief, and once more Gentleman Joe began to doubt hi
vival. Landlord Johnson certainly had been sincere ini
statement, and the fact that Henry Tyson had paid off hi
score and resigned his room there, lent color to his beli
that his former guest had indeed left town. a

Then, why had he given such an impression, if he w
still lingering in Silver Gulch?

“Mhar's a lie out somewhar, boss,” said Crampton, tm
wittingly repeating the Bonanza King’s own words of th
earlier evening.
“Dude Tyson says he’s skinned out; I say he’s righ

i
|

 
 
    
 
   
 

hyar, or hyarabouts. One of us two is a liar, an’ thari
jest the one shore way 0’ puttin’ the brand onto the rigi
critter.” —
“You mean ?” :
“Woolly Wilson kin tell which is right, boss.”
“Tf we can find him, you:'mean.”
Crampton flung out a hand with a short, dry chuckle -
“He's done found, Gentry, fur’s that goes. I hedn’t a
more’n got back to town, from the Little Bonanzy, whel
T ketched his holy yawp, back thar at Charley Jingle
Pot Luck.” ae
“Mixed in a row, you mean?” :
“Waal, not to say jest row, boss, but himan’ Uncle "Lia
was tryin’ to see which one could spout the most nois
an’ as 1 tuck a side-squint in the door, that red-heade

cuss was climbin’ mighty nigh the top-shelf, fur’s sou

ag
for

to1

bet

.

0

6

 
righ
phar!
righ

uckle :

muc
whe
ingle’

e ‘Lia
noise
ae

gout

of
;
‘|

 

 

goes. Not mad,you understand, but jest puttin’ on frillg
an’ scallops an’ fanfaron, fer all that’s out, he was.”

Gentleman Joe hesitated, trying to see his way clear.
As a matter of course, he wished to clear away this bit of
mystery, but would it be the part of wisdom to stir fur-
ther along this line? In case the truth should be extract-
ed from Woolly Wilson, and it was plainly proven that
Henry Tyson had aught to do with the dastardly assault
which had been made upon his rival in love, another row
must surely follow, and that might bring the name of Sybil
Ritchie to the surface.

Of all things he dreaded this, since his love for that
young lady fell little short of reverence. Yet, could he let
the matter drop? Would it be just to his rival, even? As
an honest man himself, did he not owe Tyson a fair chance
to clear himself from such an ugly suspicion ? :

Miles Crampton stood by in grim silence, but keenly
watching the face of his employer by the bright starlight.
His words and actions from first to last had betrayed his
powerful interest in the matter, but he was shrewd enough
to keep silence when silence could best serve his ends,

Then, however, he spoke coolly enough.

“Shell I fetch Woolly Wilson up to the rack, boss?”

 

CHAPTER VI.
CAPTURING A WITNESS.

Gentleman Joe gave astart at that question, and once
again that odd suspicion flashed across his busy brain.

Bending a bit closer, he gazed keenly into that dark face
for a few seconds before bluntly demanding :

“Don’t you reckon you're just a bit too anxious, Cramp-
ton?”

“Which ?”

“What makes you so mighty eager to bring on a row
between Tyson and me, pardner ?”

“Ef Tyson hes pulled out 0’ Silver Gulch a day gone by,
how kin I lug him into a row, boss?”

“But you swear you saw him only this morning.”

“An’ I sw’ar it over hard, too, An’ I’m jest axin’ your
  

 

 

 

 

 

 
  
  
      

leave fer to prové My say-so is true.” :
“That brings us ‘round to where we started, f
and you can prove Tyson mixed up in my little racket
the bridge, that means a row between him and me. Th
are you so mighty anxious to fetch that quarrel to a hea, A
Crampton ?” ee : =
While speaking, Gentleman Joe was doing his best vee
read the whole truth in that dimly visible face. The fow
man seemed to invite; rather than to flinch trom_ (TY
scrutiny, for he pushed back the flap of his hat, ie
meen that stern, almost suspicious gaze, then blunt ie
spoke : ca
“You're my boss, but you’re somethin’ better'n i
Mr. Gentry. I take your money, but I give you mybe, me
work fer it back ag’in. Thar’s somethin’ I give you: :
which money never bought, nur money never kin buyd) bi
me; an’ that is fr’indship.” See ;
“For which I thank you, old man,” said Gentry, cam:
estly. “Only——” ae
“Wait a bit longer, boss, an’ let me git through withm
gay-so. You axed me why I’m so sot on fetchin’ matter)
to a focus, an’ I say t’s beca’se o’ that same fri’ndship. 1 °
say that Dude Tyson hes bin playin’ you dirt all alo ES
an’ that while you’ve bin treatin’ him like a gentleman,
givin’ him a mighty sight freer swing then you axed fer
your own self.” Sy
“Tf you can.only prove this, Crampton?” hesitate
Gentry. i
“Bf I cain’t, I'll pay the price, an’ never do no kickin’. 9,
sir,” the foreman said, gravely. “I say I seed Dude Tysu,
talkin’ mighty s’picious like with that big critter, thi.)
very mornin’. I b’lieve- he hed somethin’ to do with ° 4

 
     
  
  

  
  
   
   

 

double-bankin’ o’ youa time later. Ef I’m right, thar)...
jest the one way to git at it all, an’ that is fer to comm,
Woolly Wilson, an’ pinch him till he squeals.” oe
“And if he should prove your suspicions unfounded!”
“Then I'll ax pardon o’ Tyson in public, an’ a bitter
dose then that, you .couldn’t hatch up ef you was to ral
the wide world over.” —
The earnest gravity with which Miles Crampton sp)

   
 
 
    
  
 
  

   
  
   

had already banished that odd suspicion, of which Gentle-
. man Joe was now heartily ashamed. It had had no sound
~ foundation at first, and his frankly avowed dislike for
Me Henry Tyson was excuse enough for Crampton’s eager
' wish to bring matters to a head.
ad, “T realy believe you are working for what you reckon
is the best, pardner,” he said, once more gripping that
: i willing hand. “Naturally enough, I hate to even suspect
hE Tyson of playing crooked, but——”
ik “Which is why I stick ‘out fer settlin’ the matter out o”
si hand, ye see, boss,” bluntly declared the foreman.
“T know, and I can’t say you’re in the wrong. If Wil-
bh son could be got at, without calling too many eyes our
at way, it might be best.”
ba “Say you'll back me up, boss, an’ I’ll ’gage to fetch the
ol, big critter up to his trough.”
yo! “ How ?” :
— Jest fetch him,” grimly chuckled the other. “Ef he
al: hain’t sloped out o’ Jingle’s, I’ll rake him in, you bet!”

“Without an open row, mind.”
my He'll never kick loud ’nough to call eyes our way, or
te! he’s better stuff then I’m creditin’ him with,” coolly as-
* ‘sured Crampton, locking arms with his employer and
00 moving off in the direction of the “Pot Luck,” a saloon
nal’ and gambling-room combined.
d fal Silver Gulch was of no vast extent, and it required but
_.afew minutes’ brisk walking to carry them to their desti-
ated nation.

.,. Slackening their pace as they passed, Crampton flung a
kin keen glance through the unscreened door-way, then gave
18 a grim chuckle of satisfaction as they passed on, to pause
thi when at a few yards distant.
h “He’s in thar, safe ’nough, boss. Now, mebbe you’d
ha! best sorter keep shady while I’m drawin’ the critter. Ef
mmf he was to glimpse you, he’d mebbe reckon pay-day was
» come, an’ kick up a row in the light, ruther then come up
1” to the cap’n’s office. See?”
fer 6“ All right. I’ll do as yousay. Only—don’t makea
rab row, if it can possibly be avoided, Crampton.”

_ “fell foller like a-suckin’ lamb, boss.”

p# Gentleman Joe, feeling just a little bit ashamed of work-
oo

oh

  

 

 
  
  

 

   
 

a
i

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

traced his steps to enter the saloon.

mechanically glanced downward at that hand, he say

 

 
 

   

s

eet
ing under cover hung back, while Crampton quietly re
: t
Wild-and-Woolly Wilson was lounging against the bar. a
his bruised face rendered no more beautiful by the tad 1
coming intoxication. ee
Just then he was patronizingly watching the grotesyy
gestures of a short, fat man, whose gray hairs seemed out
of place in that mocking assembly; but Crampton hal jo
nothing to do with “Uncle ’Lias” Newland just then, ant! a
stepping briskly to the bar, he struck the giant a soni
slap on the shoulder, holding forth his other hand, withthe pj
greeting : i
“Hellow, Woolly, whar’d you drap down from, eh?” —
The big fellow stared blankly at that dark face, hit

gc
pa

- mechanically yielded his hand, to be cordially shake| a
even as he growled forth : = be

“T don’t—who’re you, anyhow, critter?”
. *Augh, git out, Woolly!” grunted Crampton, in pal ts
disgust, at the same time slipping a hand through one am)
of the giant, and leading him toward the other end of th
bar, where fewer eyes would take note of their mov
ments. ‘Mebbe ye don’t know this, nuther?”

A hard substance poked him in the ribs, and, as Wilsa -

 
    
  
  
  

more than a forefinger poking him so significantly in th
side, dangerously close to his heart.

That hand covered, from all but his eyes, a wide-bor
derringer.

“Yelp, an’ I bore ye through,” swiftly whispered Cramp
ton, close to a startled ear. ‘Come outside with me, an th
you're all right; kick, an’ it’s your last.” §

Woolly Wilson could hardly have been all om
whatever his other failings might be, else he surely woul
have betrayed them both just then. ( h

He must have known that a trifle more pressure on tha '
hidden trigger meant sure death, but he hardly flinched’
certainly gave no sign which could draw curious eyeém
that direction.

“T didn’t know ye, fust off, pardner, but now——"

“IT reckoned I’d pull the winkers out 0’ yereyes™ >

ta

  

Sota N pein
ly *

e bar,
ash of

esque
d. out
| hai
and,
ound.
-D the
8

, but

 

 

socks,” chuckled the foreman, as he moved toward the
door-way, still with arms locked like friends of the first
class. “Bin aheap o’ time sence we hed a he-ole chin over
good old times, hain’t it, now ?”

“You bet! Was jest gwine to say, let’s drink over it,
pardner,” suggested Wilson, hanging back a bit, naturally
loth to leave the saloon and company, under such dis-
agreeable circumstances.

But Crampton was not to be foiled so easily, and sent
his derringer mugzle a bit deeper into the fat which cov-
ered those ribs.

“Business comes fust, Woolly, an’ thar’ll be plenty o’
time to nail a few shingles on Charley’s ruff, afore cock-
crow. Jest now I’m honin’ fer a chatter, an’ I never could
talk wellinacrowd. See?”

Without further remonstrance, the big fellow yielded to
his fate, and the two men left the saloon, arm in arm,

If their departure was noticed at all. doubtless they
were considered the best of friends, but Uncle ’Lias was
holding the laughing group spell-bound, and neither hand
nor word was lifted to save the entrapped giant.

‘“What sort o’ deal is this you’re givin’ me, stranger?”
growled Wilson, as they left the saloon behind them.

“Olean white, ef you’ll let it be that way, but red—red
as new blood ef you’re fool ’nough to try kickin’ ’over the
traces,” bluntly declared Crampton, after a quick glance
assured him that Gentleman Joe was taking up their trail.

“Ef you’re a law off’cer, or asher’f, I hain’t done ary

_ thing to call fer pinchin’,” grumbled Woolly, yet meekly

submitting to that grim guidance.

“T’m nyther one nur the other, pardnez, an’ ’long’s you
walk achalk-line, I hain’t gwine fer to break hide nur
ha’r. But—an’ that comes in the biggest an’ loudest let-

- ters they isin the shop. But—I’m takin’ you on a bit of

a stroll, with mebbe a bit of a talk at the furder end of it,
an’ ef I cain’t take you livin’, then I’ll take you dead.”

This coldly sanguinary speech seemed to paralyze the
giant’s tongue, for he said nothing more until Silver Gulch
was fairly left behind them, and a spot was reached which
seemed to fully meet Miles Crampton’s views.
| 7 s
:

 

 
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 

Pees

  
   
   
  
 
   
     
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  

Goming toa halt, but without for an instant rem
that pistol from contact with his captive’s ribs, the fop
man of the Little Bonanza cast a keen glance around they
then crooked a finger between his lips, giving vent ty,
clear, yet subdued whistle. te]
Almost instantly a response came from the gloom which. t
lay over the course they had just passed, and then atl G
figure became Visible. : ar
“All right, pardner,” said Gentleman Joe, ag fur,
warning of his approach. “I’m on deck.” agi
Woolly Wilson gave vent to an ejaculation of alam,
and shrunk back a bit, as he snarlingly cried:
tA-plant! ll never——* :
“Steady, or I’ll bore you through,” hoarsely warned
foremen, and the muzzle of his derringer lent emphasis|
his words. “Play white, an’ I’ll go your bail, I tell yw
Woolly.” =
“And T’lladd my assurance,” said Gentleman Joe,
ing near enough to be recognized by the giant. |
mean you no harm, Wilson, but——” eS
“Two on one looks that way, don’t it? You've Ketel ©
me foul, but ef you tink to play even fer what I done—
“Button up, Woolly,” bluntly interposed Crampim
deftly releasing the belt of arms which encircled th
giant’s middle, then stepping back out of his reach, wi
derringer on a line with his broad bosom. “Jest to key
you from playin’ the fool, pardner.” 2 &
“Don’t—it’s bloody murder!” koarsely gasped th
ruffian, shrinking, yet afraid to attempt flight lest thi
ugly muzzle sound his death-note. “I never meant ferti,
do any hurt, back yender.” .
“An’ Tm takin’ good keer you don’t dono hurtrigitP
hyar, eyther to us or to your own fool self, baby,” grimly yé
chuckled Crampton, dropping the belt of arms t f
ground behind himself. ‘‘We hain’t pickin’ up sech
less trifles as your life, so don’t think it that way.
want is a bit 0’ truth out o’ your head, an’ ef speakin’
comes to split the jaws 0’ ye, ’long of it’s bein’ sec
usual suckumstance, why, blame yer fetching-up, nott
“Go easy, Crampton,” said Gentleman Joe, to whom

 

=
 

ay
iif
oe

coarse jesting was far from agreeable. “Get down to
oving business, please.”

me ‘All right, an’ business goes, boss. Now, critter, to

hen, make it aclean an’ smooth send-off, I’m givin’ you the
t toa word of a white man to this much: ‘You know somethin’
which b’ longs tous by good rights. We'll ax you a few
vhich questions, an’ ef you answer ’em straight, an’, ’cordin’ to
a tal Gunter, ’thout no lyin’ or tricky work, we'll let you go
= free, sound as you come.’
the “7 don't know nothin’ to tell,” sullenly mumbled the
Bciant.
mn “Wuss luck you, then,” retorted his captor. “That’s
like one to begin with. You do know some.hin’. F'r in-
stance, you know the knuckles o’ this gent’s hand, an’
i fy you know jest how wet Roarin’ Fork is under the road-
is) bridge.
yo t, “Now, I’m gwine to let you know somethin’ more.
| Make your bow, baby! This gent is Mr. Gentry, better
B enawed as Gentleman Joe. An’ he wants to know—who
‘My in blazes sot you an’ your gang onto him this day ?”
“Didn’t nobody,” surlily growled Wilson. “Jest played
shal even fer his dumpin’ me in the drink, back yender.”
» ‘“Nolyin’, critter. What was you talkin’ over “ith Tyson

 

ton this morn ? yn
et ag know ary sech critter as them,” growled Wilson,
with STUMLY.
keep
the = CHAPTER VII.
_ FORCING A CONFESSION,
r fo,

“T like aliar, but you suit me too mighty well,” ex-
it _ploded Miles Crampton, in strong disgust. “ Didn’t I see
m mf 'ye with my own two eyes, thicker’n so many thieves ina
tight bag together? Wasn’t ye chawin’ wind as ‘fectionate
as ef ye’d jest got hitched into the bonds 0’—— Augh!
you make me tired, Woolly.”
_ Gentleman Joe was standing by waiting and watching.
1H He was well content to let Crampton take the manage-
tl ment into his own hands, since that seemed so agreeable
i to the black-bearded foreman, but now he put ina quiet

aa
lw

0

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     
  
   
 
   
   
   
   
   
 
    
   
   
 
  

word : ed
“Perhaps the gentleman failed to learn hig employer!
name, pardner, Change your tactics to guit, then.”
The big knave shifted uneasily, but that ready derrings
helped him resist the temptation to break away in igh
its owner dryly saying: Le
__ “You raally cain’t a’ford it, Woolly, onless ye b’long!
the cat fam’ly. I’d hate to be ketched firin’ ata mar)
your bigness, but I didn’t take all this trouble jest
nothin’.”
‘“Whar’s the use in talkin’, when ye won’t b’lieve yh)
Ido tell ye, then?” sulkily retorted the cornered despel
ado. ‘Gi’ me a show, or anythin’ like a fa’r show, an']),
down ye both, or pay a’cordin’.” E
“Augh, come away, baby! You couldn’t down asi
kitten, onless you ketched it sleepin’. Didn’t you try
down one man, an’ you with a hull gang at your back?)
‘Never tried, nur I don’t know ary thing "bout no gech!_
With a cat-like swiftness, Crampton moved forward ay
back, letting an open hand fall sharply across those sulk
lips. It could hardly be called a blow, although Wil
shrunk beneath it as though the hand had been closed ani
the stroke sent straight from the shoulder. “|
“Stiddy, you!” warned Crampton, his voice growiy
harder and even more business-like than before, “Tali
ye lyin’ wouldn’t go down, and I’m sayin’ that over ag’
Ef ye need plainer proof—hark ye!

“Ef I was to jest let drap a hint back town-ways, that) C
critter o’ your caliber, he’d dast to stop an’ try to ’sulii b
lady—that lady—back on the road-bridge this day, tha|
wouldn’t be pieces 0’ you ’nough left fer to go ’rouml)
*mongst the citizens—no they wouldn’t, now. — ==

“Hf I was to tell them what I’m tellin’ you, critta} %
that ‘twas the Belle o’ Silver Gulch that you tried—’ | *

“Enough, pardner,” coldly cut in Gentleman Joe, ont)
more. “No names from that quarter, if you pleas
You’ve said enough for Wilson to understand whatwen 4
trying to get at, I reckon.” oo :

“Wish I didn’t, then,” exploded the giant, with a gestit’ ;

of hot rage, rather than of shame, “Twas the fust time)

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|
ti

ever played it so low down, an’ ever sence I’ve bin tryin’
to kick my own self fer not tellin th’ whelp to do his
wust, fust off.”

“What whelp’s that, Woolly ?”

“Him as made me tackle the leddy, no less,” gloomily
muttered the big fellow, suddenly quieting down again.

“Struck color, or I never turned a shovel, boss,”
chuckled Crampton, in a hasty aside. “All ears open,
now, fer—whc was he, Woolly?) What was his name?”

The prisoner hesitated, like one who would draw back,
even now, if he could see but the smallest loop-hole through
which escape might be a possibility. Gentleman Joe saw
this, and coldly spoke out:

“Tell what you know, Wilson, if you really wish to win
clear. ° You can’t break away until we’re ready to let you
20:7

“Was his name Henry Tyson, critter?” eagerly de-
manded Crampton.

There was a brief hesitation, but when the reply came,
it seemed honest enough :

“T1l blow the hull thing, gents, ef you’ll play me white.
I didn’t fancy the job, bein’ ’twas a woman like, but yen’
devil ‘hed the double-cinch onto me, an’ when he socked
the spurs in, I jest hed to mosey his way—jest hed to.”

“Course you did, pore critter!” sarcastically chuckled
Crampton. “We’ve swallered so much, now git down to
business. ‘Who was the devil you’re chinnin’ about, any-
way ?”

“T don’t know the name he goes by down this way, but
—I hate to blow on him, gents,” declared Wilson, half in
peels half in pleading, as he once more cut his confession
short.

“Waal, of all the dug-gun burros I ever see,” exploded
Crampton, in strong disgust, but, before he could say or
do more, Gentleman Joe once again came to the front.

“Simmer, pardner. Leave him to me fora bit. And you,
Wilson, try. to bring common sense to your aid for a bit.
Will you answer me just one question ?”

“How kin I help myself, long’s you’ve got the bulge
onto me?”
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
   
       
  

  
   
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
    

‘The closer you bear that fact in mind, the fica
get along, Wilson. Now, would this bogs of yours risk;
neck to save you, if the gang got hold of you
“Him 2”
Only one word, but that contained scorn sufficien fo
volume, and Crampton instantly cut in with the words,
= Bigger fool you, then, fer reskin’ more’n your neck
the likes o’ a boss like that, Woolly.” }
“T hain’t done no harm, as I kin gee,” sulkily gro
the colossus. ¥
“Tell the boys that, will ye? No harm. An’ the]
you dast to bother on the bridge, no. less then theB
Silver Gulch.”

“Careful, Crampton.”

“Careful goes, boss, but nothin’ less’n talk wrt
bark on kin cut through sech a hide as Woolly tot
hisown. An’ soI say it all over ag’in, Woolly; bl
your boss, or over ye flop to the citizens fer pay. An'é
they once git wind 0’ your doin’s this day, salt coul
keep ye from sp’ilin’ afore day breaks.”

  
   
   
   
   
   
   
 
   
     
   
   
   
   
 
   
   
   

  

  

Woolly Wilson flinched uneasily before those blun
tences. He seemed to realize that either master o hi
must suffer, and when it came to so fine a pointas ‘hah
his choice was quickly made. Eth

“if I give the hull snap away, I kin go free, gents he b
asked, in tones that were almost meek. ;

“T said I'd go your bail, Woolly, an’ word's goods ash .
oath,” the Little Bonanza foreman hastened to say belo 6
Gentleman Joe could offer his assurance. }

“Vou say you was obleeged to act that-a-way; hows) |
an’ why fer was it?” - .

“Waal, you see, gents, I jest come down this way
chaince, so to sepak, an’ that pizen critter was ‘bouttl a

last pusson on airth I lowed to strike in these parts
I’d knowed he was hyar, bet your sweet socks I'd
’a” come a-tall.”
“Who's he, Woolly ?”
‘‘Dick Turner. Leastways that’s the name he used taf
by, up-country. Ef he’s changed it down hyar, I Me
wonder, but I cain’t say.”

  
    

“Never mind the name just now. He hired you to do

what?”

“To tackle the lady, jest as I done it on the bridge.”

You were hired to insult that lady, then?” sternly de-
 manded Gentleman Joe, in ominously calm tones.

' “ire nothin’,” in a tone of intense disgust. “He didn’t

*, hev to hire. He jest said what I was to do, an’ told me to
' godoit. Ididn’t dast to kick, nur to hang back, fer he

_, hed me foul, an’ swore he’d send.me up a tree ef I didn’t

~ come to Limerick. So—I tried todo my part, rough as it

come on a feller.”

“Olean up the drift as you go long, Woolly. He didn’t
make ye do all that, jest fer your own fin, I don’t
reckon?”

SS ‘Course not. He hed itall planned out, slick as you

_ keer fer, an’ that’s partly why I didn’t make a smarter
* "kick when this gent jumped into the mix; I was lookin’
, fer t’other boss, an’ I tuck him fer yen’ one, ontel ’twas
too late to holp myself.”

Now that he had made a beginning, Woolly Wilson
spoke glibly enough. In fact, the words tumbled over
each other in such haste as to obscure rather than make
his meaning clear.

“Say it ag’in, an’ say it lower, pardner,” gruffly warned.
the foreman. “You was lookin’ fer your boss, when my
boss chipped in, eh ?”

“That’s what! I’ll tell ye jest how he had it laid out,
gent, an’ this is gospel, ef I die for ’t.

“He never told me jest how he knowed it ’d come that

_ way, but said a lady ’d be crossin’ the road-bridge, over
rs yender, an’ that I was to be on the watch to ketch her
right thar. I was to play drunk, ef I wasn’t drunk
a’ready. I was to block her way, an’ make like I wanted
a kiss, or a hug, or some sech foolishness.”

“Be careful, sir,” sternly warned Gentleman Joe.
“ “It’s straight as a string, boss,” doggedly persisted the
giant. “I wasn’t to do her no hurt, jest to skeer her a bit,
| yeondertsand? An’ when she was skeered, ’course she’d
n set up a squeal, an’ then he was to come a-r’arin’ to save
her from me, d’ye mind? Jest play like ’twas a ginewine

 

 
rescue, by a plum’ up-an’-down hero—durn his hide
“The hero come, but ’twasn’t one o’ your ¢
grimly chuckled Crampton, cool enough to cat
humorous point of view. “But whar was your boss)
didn’t he show up on time?” L
Woolly Wilson gave a volley of curses, hot and fis:
“Beca’se he was too dug- -gun bad skeered at sight)
ginewine man, I reckon,” was his explanation, offers
soon as he could find breath for plain words. “Hel
he’d missed the combination, long o’ the lady gittin
sooner’n he'd counted on, but he lied—lied like a
dog on a cross-scent.”
“You told him so, of course, Woolly?” innocent
gested Crampton, but the bait was refused.
“Didn’t I say he never showed up? Or, ef he did@
was I thar to tell him the way I was thinkin’? Wag)
slammed into the wet? An’ didn’t I swaller more i ;
water then I’ll ever sweat out o’ me in ten year’ toc
Augh, the dirty dog! EfIhed him in my grip—efla
git a show to play even.’
The big fellow seemed fairly beside himself with wm
his huge fists clinched and flourishing, his strong te
clicking viciously together as he spat forth oath after cl)
Gentleman Joe stood by in silence for a brief space, tty
cut that savage display short, by speaking sharply: ©
“Hnough of that, Wilson. Save your curses for his en
What name did you give the fellow who forced you
play such a dastardly part?”
‘‘Dick Turner, boss.”

“Did he give that as his name when you met him hen :
“T didn’t stop to ax, sir,” mumbled the giant, witht
touch of diffidence entering both voice and manna
“When I ketched a glimp’ 0’ his mug, I jest turned ta
an’ struck out fer the hills.” E
“What cause had you for fearing him, Wilson?” |
“T hed mighty good cause, boss, ‘but that don’t consi ;
this yer mix 0’ yours. You kin ax, an’ keep on axin'
ye like, but that’s all the good it’ll do ye.” :
“Stiddy, Woolly. Don’t let yer tongue break yer neth\
now,” warningly interposed the foreman. “Ef the he

 
 

aaa

 

 

 

- wants to know, he’ll know, or you'll know why he don’t
| know. See?”

“Never mind, Crampton,” quietly spoke up Gentleman

Joe, in turn. “Iam not boring for his personal secrets.
All I want is proof as to who set up this dastardly job to-

day. If he doesn’t know the fellow’s name——”

“T know he was called Dick Turner, up-country, but ef
he’s changed that fer ‘nother, down hyar, I don’t know it.
Kin I say it plainer?”

“Ves. You can describe the fellow. Was he as tall as I
am ?”

“Not by a inch, mebbe two,” slowly spoke Wilson, run-
ning his eyes over the Bonanza King, then turning his
gaze upon Crampton. “Pritty much the same- bigness as
you, pardner, take it by-an’-large.”

“Yaller ha’r, an’ a snow-shed over his mouth o’ the
same color, wasn’t it?” asked Crampton, quickly.

“No, sir,” with greater promptness. “He hed brown
ha’r, an’ wore it cut pritty short on his cabeza. An’ his
mug was as clean an’ smooth as the face o’ the lady he sot
me to buckin’ up ag’ inst, too.”

Crampton gave vent to a short, dry chuckle, as he
looked toward his employer. Gentleman Joe turned pale
as death, and his eyes seemed to reflect the steely glitter
of the stars above.

Wittingly or not, Woolly Wilson had given a very good
description of Henry Tyson.

But Crampton was resolved to leave no room for pos-
sible doubt, and bluntly asked one more question :

“Was he the critter you was talkin’ to this mornin’, in
the aidge o’ the rocks, when you skipped out so quick at
seein’ me watchin’ ?”

CHAPTER VIII.

BETRAYING HIS EMPLOYER.

Woolly Wison gave a start and a stare, then blurted
forth :
“ Was that critter you, boss?”
with that ugly weapon, he gruffly answered :

“Yes, that was him, ef nothin’ shorter ’ll sarve yer {uy
An’ now, sence I’ve told ye the hull snap, T reckon Ii a0
go my own way, cain’t 1? You said——” ‘ho

“Bless ye, Woolly, I’ve hardly started to sayin’, yh j eR
cheerily retorted the mine-boss. 4

“T’ve told ye all I ‘lowed I would.”

“But not all you’re gwine to tell, pardner.” y

“He’s admitted enough—too much, ” gloomily muttey
Gentry, to whom this knowledge had come like a
blow at his heart.

“ About the job at the road-bridge, yes; but thar’s
ahind it, an sence we’ve sot out to git at the bottom
why stop hafe-way? Thar’s heap sight more a
pritty trick to win favor in a lady’s eyes, or I’m
my base. Wasn’t thar, Woolly?”

“Hf so, I don’t know it, ” came the uneasy mumble, | pec a

“Then I’ try to freshen your mem'ry, my boy,” bry up |
retorted his captor. “F’r instance, who set you an’ you com
gang onto the boss?”

Woolly Wilson plainly betrayed his uneasiness at her. Wo
ing this particular point pressed home, but Gentleman Jw ‘oth
had drawn slightly aside, and Miles Crampton plainly ms Nov
disinclined to show him mercy. -

By the bold yet adroit manner in which Crampton hail
drawn him out of the Pot Luck a captive, lhe must have bos
known this black-bearded fellow was dangerous wht
crossed. He handled that ugly derringer in an annoyingly
familiar manner, too. 2

Unarmed, confronted by two such adversaries,
could he do but yield to their arguments?

They were present, Dick Turner was absent. Then, 4
had he not deserted his tool, just when that tool stood
sorest need of help?

Very possibly some such reflections were working th
way through the brain of the knave during that b
silenee, for he suddenly blurtel forth: :

 
 

_| “Bf you’re dead bent on hevin’ it that way, how kin I
~holp myself?”

trap? “You jest cain’t, Woolly, an’ that’s what I’m tellin’ ye,”
Moti: grinned Crampton, promptly enough.

er
n]

~ “T hate to sell him out—fer time was when he acted
1 white as ary boss could act; but now—durn the odds! I’m
i keerin’ heap sight more ter my own pelt then fer his jest
now.”

’, yt ©“ Right ag’in, Woolly, an’ ef I hed the drillin’ of ye, Ido

1tte

heap

reckon Icould turn ye out pritty nigh white—’mongst

black people, that is. Butthat don’t count. Now, sing

_ your song, baby.” :
¢ “What comes fust, then?” with a return to his sulky

manner.
“Go back to whar I axed ye what passed atwixt the

3 mit eouple o’ ye, a’ter the job flashed in the pan, on the

fack
jest;

ay 0

~

RA PRN

 

bridge. You dodged the p’int, then, but you hinted a lie,
even ef you didn’t spitit out flat. You did meet your |

: boss, a’ter takin’ that bath, didn’t ye, now ?”

_ ‘Waal, yes,” admitted the rascal, all the more readily
because he recalled some of his earlier words. ‘“I owned

isk! up to that, didn’t I, when tellin’ how he s’plained how he
7 come to miss the combination ?”

“It’s pritty hard to keep track o’ jest all you do say,

| Woolly, fer you kin talk more an’ mean less then ary
_ other gent I’ve bucked up ag’inst these many a long day.

Now, was it all your doin’s, that double-bankin’ the boss,
yender ?”

“No. I hed my plenty, fust off, an’ so I owned up to the
_ boss when hemade mock at me lettin’ jest one man domp

~ meso slick.”

“Your boss is too dug-gun smart to let that one man git
a fa’r show at him, mind ye, Wilson,” grimly commented
Crampton. ‘‘But, keep on a-sayin’, critter. ’T wasn’t all
your trick, then?”
“No. Ididn’t want to mix up furder into it. I didn’t
want to do the fust, but he made me, cuss him.”
_“Cuss him goes, an’ right hearty, too. Thar was a tidy
little gang o’ ye, Woolly, fer I hed a squint at the outfit

ef _ afore thar heels kicked up sech a cloud o’ dust, cuttin’

 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
  

Se TE och es a eae

 

 

  
  

    
   
  
    
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
   
  
  

gravel. Did you fet¢h them ‘long to see how brave ah: ¢
bold you could shine tp toalonelady” = ~~ Bis?
“Whar’s the use in rubbin’ it in so deep, pardnay
sulkily asked the knave, with an uneasy glance tows!
Gentleman Joe, who appeared lost in his own moj nat:
thoughts just then. “I’ve owned up I’m sorry ferm, Pi
part in the game, nur I wouldn’t never ’a’ tuck it, one
fer that dug-gun boss. He hed me pinched, an’ I didi wan
dast even kick.” aoc
“You’ve said it plenty times to make it true, even ef) a
should be a lie, Woolly,” blandly retorte¢- Crampta| we
plainly enjoying his power just then. “ But chaffin’ hain
business, an’ business is what counts to-night. §o, what! eal
that gang come from, pardner ?” Bou
“You tell, fer I cain’t. I never laid eyes on ary oned Jv “
them up to the time when they jumped out o’ kiver oj) cut
your boss.” Pw
“Stiddy, Woolly.” E
“Tm givin’ it straight, sir,” earnestly declared the bigh
fellow. ‘“Idid see the boss—Dick Turner, ag I knovwell
him—right away a’ter I crawled up out o’ the drink; a}
as quick as he got over his cussin’ fit, he swore I’d gotto|
play even with the man as chuckled me over, or he'drm|!
me up a tree—too mighty quick.”
“ Meanin’ your boss, of course ?” ee

“Sure. I didn’t know nothin’ ’bout yours, thar,” with)
another half-awed glance toward Géntleman Joe, “An) #4
then, to cut it short, he said I was to watch fer the gent to)
come back, an’ manidge to ketch him whar he couldn't)
well git out of a fight, ef I wanted to crowd him.”

“Which you was jest hopin’ to do, in course?”

“Waal, I'd got his mark onto my face, an’ no man likes
to ketch the likes o’ that ’ithout playin’ to git even,” al
mitted Wilson, frankly. “TI said I felt good to lick him,
but the boss wasn’t willin ’to take the chances. Sohetdl} &'
me he hed a few bully boys who’d jest jump at a showti | ul
punch the gent, an’ I was to give ’em a show. See?” —

“T see. You was to play decoy, an ’the gang was to slig
him. For keeps, of course?” i

Very quietly Miles Crampton asked that question, but

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his cold, even tones were not easily mistaken, and Woolly
Wilson hastened to reply :

“No, jest punch him good, sir. I reckoned the boss
meant killin’, an’ I told him flat that I wouldn’t mix in ef
that was the game. Then he ’lowed a solid thumpin’! would
pritty nigh fill the bill, an’ so I——” —

“That is sufficient, Crampton,” abruptly cut in Gentle-
man Joe, rousing from his gloomy reverie and stepping

forward. “If further information is required, I’ll go di-

rect to headquarters for it.. Wilson?”

“Sir to you, boss.”

“Just one word of warning. Silver Gulchis mighty un-
healthy for rogues of your caliber. Pul out of this while

ou’re able.” :

“Kin I go, boss?” eagerly asked the colossus, only to be
cut short by Miles Crampton, with:

“Wait a bit longer, Woolly, an’ 1’ll see that you don’t
make no mistake in p’intin’ your nose.”

He drew apace or two aside, with a hand on his em-
ployer’s arm, speaking in a guarded whisper ;

“Leave him to me, boss. Mebbe, though, you’d better
take a look a’ter Uncle ’Lias. He’s fuller’n a tick at the
Pot Luck, an’ when he gits that way, he leaks at every
jint. Ax him how many evenin’s Dude Tyson hes spent
at his house this last week.”

Gentleman Joe gave a start, a little shiver running
through the arm which Crampton was grasping. He ral-
lied as.quickly, however, and shook off that hand almost
rudely.

“Doubtless you mean well, Crampton,” he said, in cold
tones that but imperfectly concealed his strong emotions,
, but I'd rather not hear anything more on that point just
now.”

“All right, boss,” with blunt good-nature. “I’m a dug-
gun fool, I know, fer stickin’ in my oar, but it’s not
through hate fer you,sir.”

* Don’t I know that, old friend ?”

Their right hands met ina firm grip, and if the star-
light had been brighter, an unusual moisture might have
been noted in those gray-blue eyes.

Gentleman Joe had received a severe blow that night,

 
   
 

Pip he A er ene : a i EB 2 i

 

 

 

 
  
  
   
 
  
  
   
   
   
   
     
 

and for almost the first time in his prosperous ]j
could fully appreciate the value of a_ stanch, re
friend, such as Miles Crampton was proving himself,

“That pays me off, Gentry,” said Crampton, witha
of huskiness in his own voice the while. “Pays m
an’ leaves me in your debt.”

Without saying more, Gentleman Joe dropped
friendly hand, and was on the point of turning away
the direction of town, when his mine-boss quickly adda
in louder tones: ao

“Tll jest see that Woolly, hyar, don’t make a wr
turn, boss, then I’ll git back to town. Ef so be you shouli!
happen to want me, or anythin’ should turn up whar|i
could lend a-holpin’ hand, why you'll find me at or prit
nigh the same old place. Sabe, boss?” af

“Tunderstand, yes. Make Wilson comprehend that hell’
be safer, the farther his legs carry him from Silver Guld,)
though.”
“His ef Wilson didn’t know that, ’thout warnin’,” grim

Le,

chuckled the big fellow. “Ef Dick Turner was to kno) in

. how I’ve sold him out—holy smoke an’ little angels!” {| ir

“Shet up, an’ give yer hoofs a chaince, critter,” grufly| a
warned the overseer, giving his charge a shove forwari, |

“Foller your nose, straight ahead, an’ don’t let it waggle’ a

ye to one side nur t’other, ef ye keer to reach the land?! b

safe livin’ an’ libe’ty! So mog!” aa

This much Gentleman Joe caught, as he slowly moved)
away in the direction of town, his hands gripped tightly! t
behind him, his head bowed until chin touched breast. | ¢§

He had fought long and fought hard against yielding!
a conviction of his rival’s treachery and double-dealing |
He had clung to hope, until hope became impossible | °
Now, he moved as though mentally stunned by the blow) |
which had been dealt him. :

As his passions were powerful, so his emotions we
strong. When once he gave his friendship, his heart we

  
  

with the gift, and he would far quicker fight that friend's a

battles than his own. ee
He had learned to both respect and love Henry Tyson _

before their affections settled upon the same shrine, and

 
 

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where most men would have felt hatred, Gentleman Joe
felt only grief and regret that both could not win that rare
rize.

: As he declared to Crampton, he had loved Tyson as a
brother, and as such he had treated him throughout their
rivalry in love. On his part, that compact had_ been
sacredly kept, and now that he was forced to think Tyson
less honorable, his grief was as deep as it was sincere.

“J wouldn’t have thought it of Harry. I could overlook
his attempt to put me out of the way, but Sybil—T'll not
believe it of him.” :

So his lips almost fiercely declared, but in his heart and
brain Gentleman Joe knew he did believe; how could he
avoid doing so? True, Woolly Wilson might have lied.
but there was Miles Crampton; he had seen Henry Tyson
talking with the giant, and they had beaten a hasty re-
treat on noticing his espial.

Then, too, why had Tyson avowed his intention of leav-
ing Silver Gulch for a trip east, since he was still linger-
ing in that vicinity? Why, unless to provide an alibi, in
advance?

Turn the matter how he might—and Gentleman Joe loy-
ally strove to cast a favorable light upon it all—all looked
black and forbidding. Not one ray of light could he find
to relieve the gloom. ;

Little by little, as he passed that confession in review
through. his brain, Gentleman Joe felt his grief gradually
giving place to outraged honor, and little by little a dan-
gerous anger crept into heart and brain.

Why not hunt up Henry Tyson, and plainly telling him
what he had learned, ask him to explain all, or pay the
full penalty ?”

While these dark and dangerous thoughts were occupy-
ing his mind, the Bonanza King entered town, and unwit-
tingy made his way toward the saloon out of which Miles
Crampton had forced Woolly Wilson.

Doubtless his steps were unconsciously guided by the
advice given him by Crampton, but Gentleman Joe was
taken wholly by surprise when he found himself in front
of the Pot Luck, brought back to consciousness by the
sound of a maudlin voice coming through the open door.

 
 

 

  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

 

 

 

 

 

“Her father!” he muttered, recognizing i S
once. : ;

 

CHAPTER IX. bi
WHEN WINE ENTERS, WIT DEPARTS, pou

lon
“TI tell you, gentlemen, it can be done, and he who . :
say I can’t accomplish the feat, needs a Little Bonann his
back his opinion, or the naked shaft into which to cra
while digesting his own words.”
That voice could only belong to “ Uncle ’Lias” New!
so smooth, so rotund and robust, yet so mellow in ew
note. Only Uncle ’Lias possessed such a “gift of gab,"a
he alone of all Silver Gulch could talk easier, swifter, bi
ter while drunk than sober.
“Dollars to cents the feat can be accomplished, gent
men. Thousands to unitsI can bring that to pass vhid
all ye skeptics declare impossible. Millions to—lend me
stake, some 0’ ye, an’ then come see your Uncle "Ling!
will ye?” \
‘“‘Take your word for it, Uncle ’Lias,” camea laughi
response, at sound of which Gentleman Joe frowned any
“That’s as good as your bond, and I’m not so mighty sux
I wouldn’t rather have it as collateral.”
‘Done and taken, then, and I call ye to bear witnes
gentlemen, all,” cried out Newland, as the Bonanza Kin
stepped toward the open door-way. ‘Money up, anil
where’s the bumper ?” ;
“T’m betting you’re the ‘bumper, Uncle ’Lias, but heres! ps
the glass.” - es
“And here’s the winner, d’ye mind, wow?” crowed the)
drunkard, with mingled triumph and excitement ringing! th
through his mellow voice. “Hold your breath, now, ail! w!
if I touch heel or toe, palm or finger, head or tail, why——" | In
Gentleman Joe paused for an instanton the thresholl, ge
taking in that scene at a single glance.
Uncle “Lias Newland was the center of attraction, de
generally happened whenever he “got in a weaving way,
to draw upon the vernacular. os

 

    
   
  
   
   
  
   
   
  
   
 

  

 
 

   

The laughing, jesting, mocking spectators formed a
ting in the saloon proper. In that ring was Uncle ’Lias,
and a gallon keg, which had doubtless once contained
strong waters.

The keg was lying uponits rounded side, and Uncle
*Lias was trying to sit upon it, with no part of his person
_ touching the floor to lend his unstable pedestal support,
_ long enough to lift a glass, filled to the brim with whisky,

* to his lips and drain it, without spilling a drop, or losing

his equilibrium.
___ Any strictly sober man would have found the act any-
_ thing but an easy one, and Uncle ’Lias was far from being
_ sober. Then, too, his short, dumpy shape rendered the
| feat still more difficult, and that more than one failure
_ had been his reward, that single glance showed Gentle-
- man Joe.

Sawdust covered his shoulders and powdered the gray
fringe of hair which bordered his shining skull. Damp

i@ blotches marked his soiled. garments, and another was

added as the keg rolled over, dumping Uncle ’Lias on his
head and shoulders, the strong whisky giving his rosy
face an aromatic bath.

Amid the burst of coarse laughter which greeted this
_ (from their point of view) ridiculous spectacle; rose the
' Sspluttering yet still mellow notes from the overthrown
' one’s threat:
‘No fair, gentlemen. Somebody kicked the throne over,

im “and so I was overthrown. Somebody—gi’ me nother

 

 

_ chance, fer I kin doit! I kin do it, an’ I'll bet, eh 2”
Gentleman Joe strode forward, his face stern as it was
pale, his blue-gray eyes glittering with strong resentment,
_ 8s his broad shoulders split that mocking ring, wedge-like,
_ Passing that awkwardly floundering figure on the floor,
the Bonanza King confronted the flashily garbed sport
whom he had spotted as the prime mover in that degrad-
ing amusement and whose foot he had marked as it slyly
gave the keg a kick, to make the drunkard’s defeat sure,
‘ “None but a cur would do it, John Bigley. Beg his par-
on, or——” :
“TI didn’t mean—’twas alla joke, Gentry,” stammered
the gambler, as he shrank perceptibly from that stern

  
 

 

 

 

 

   

 

ee a a ee ee ee ee eae
Goat oe ance goa ; Be etc ous i Nes
eee ean hil f Seka eras SE Ge aD eC RAG a cea Kia AS AAG ON

 

 

 

 

  
  
   
   
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
  
   
 
  

front.
“A joke? Allright; this is another joke, the
Bigley mechanically flung up his guard, but wij wh
swift sweep of his right arm Gentleman Joe beat if
then struck with his left, a straight, full-arm shoi,
Only the one blow was needed, for that lifted Jo
ley off his feet, hurling him endlong half- -across the sal
his heavy fall causing the glassware to ring and jiy
musically.
“Look tohim, some of you joke-hungry gentlene-
said the Bonanza King, coldly, without wasting a gla

E co
th
vat

in that direction. “If he feels a need of more, he dr

where I may be found.” te
Bending, to lend Uncle ’Lias a friendly hand, Gentle

J oe added : sn

“Will you oblige me with a few moments’ privatem@ p«

versation, Mr. Newland? Pray allow me; the fom i th
atrociously slippery just here.”
“Augh—ugh—uff!” grunted the fat Bacchus, as! ©
struggled to his feet through the aid of that strongaml 8st
““More good. whisky—wasted through—but I can com «de
gentlemen.” .
There were no more jesting or gibes, now. Even if sun
mary punishment had not overtaken John Bigley, ii
sight of Gentleman Joe in such a “ white heat” was sufi :
ent to chain all tongues for the moment. :
It was not often that Joseph Gentry “took the we
path,” but when he did take it, those who dared his weal
must stand prepared to pay the full penalty.
Gentleman Joe took Newland’s hat from where it res
on the bar, placing it upon the old man’s head. i
brushed him off a bit with his ’kerchief, but desisted
seeing how hopeless any such attempt ait renovation was ti
“Come, my dear sir,” he said, supporting the drunkari
as he moved toward the place of exit. “And you, geile a
men, better manners, or a sharper lesson at our na
meeting.” Bo
Without pausing to hear or answer the hasty ae
which were offered by more than one of the party, (Gentle
man Joe hurried his charge away from the scene of bi

«8a

oe

WwW

 

  

 
     
     
   
 

Pon nusual disgrace, heading for the building to
he Eich he hed, only few hours earlier, escorted Sybil
, Ritchie, who was forced to call this fallen wretch father.
5 -- That retreat was not altogether peaceful, however.

Bie Uncle ’Lias had yieldedwithout any actual resistance,
oon) go far as crossing the threshold was concerned, but as the
nel ool, fresh night air struck them both, it seemed to fill
the wine-bibber, with pugnacity, and he struck clumsily
at his protector, spluttering : :
md : Poe go, let a ae dug-gun ye, critter. I hain’t
ow drunk, an’ ef I was, who kin take keer 0’ Uncle ’Lias bet-
ter’n Uncle ’Lias, his own self?”
me Gentleman Joe adroitly caught the hand that meant to
 gmite him, and exercising just sufficient force to carry his
con point, he hurried Newland along through town, leaving
rj the cluster of buildings by the shortest, most direct route.
he veteran siruggled to free hiniself, but not for long.
;/ Contrary to the rule, the fresh night air was lessening in-
ar Stead of increasing his intoxication, and from ferocity, he
oi declined to maudlin affection. :
_  @en’tlem’n by name, gen’lem’n by natur’! Lick who

gum Says not! Le’ me ’brace—embrace son’law! Don’t I wish
ty 9 —why not?”
fic’ Gentleman Joe gave a soothing mutter, although that

_ slurred title caused a thrill to flash through his veins. If
wat it only might come true! Not because Elias Newland
rai «=» would shed a flood of glory on that union, hut—Sybil.

- Something of the same sort probably struck the old-—
este timer, for he vigorously strove to ‘‘brace up,” and did suc-

He ©6ceedinameasure. He was still drunk, but he managed to
d a regain fair control of his tongue, if not of his wits, by the
was,| time they were fairly clear of Silver Gulch proper.
karl =e yave a sudden lurch which partially freed himself,
nile} and brought Gentleman Joe to a halt by swinging that
nex rotund figure directly in his path.
ree “You requested the honor—the honor of a private, er,
ogi, conversation, sir,” pompously began Uncle ’Lias, an owl-
ntle’ ish look coming into his fat face as his chin drew back, his
is by brows leaned forward, one stumpy hand steadying himself
| by pressing heavily against Gentry’s breast. “I, sir, have
-& few, er, words to enunciate, which—which—you’re

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

es ae an
writing yourself down a dug-gun burro, young man Jea
you just are, now.” BT
“In what way, Mr. Newland?” quietly asked Gay “
“In letting that namby-pamby, Sukey-Jane duly?
you all over dirt, sir! In hanging back from yourbjltis
duty, while he—while Dude Tyson’s knocking off {uc
persimmon, so to speak, sir.” gy
Stern indignation became mixed with maudlin rel
and Uncle ’Lias grew yet more gentle as Gentlengiat
stood speechless. r 3
“You’re white, young man; and that’s whenwei! ,
tears—not to say tears, precisely, but deep and doleil,
grets, dear boy. I love you like—better’n a son, ji Pp
I’ve loved you from start to finish, and clean throwly
center. I thought to myself, thinks I, it’s beanie
a-coming, but here she am at last. No more diggimi ,
delving from dewy morn till dusty eve. No morenige.
ing for dollar-day-’nd-grub-yerself.  Josey’ll alterallipy
Josey’ll let the worn an’ weary old man sink peas
down to his grave, for hasn’t Uncle ’Lias given untolit
his greatest, richest, most precious treasure? Hasn't Utes
*Lias j’ined their han’s in one, an’ said be happy§,;
young ’uns?’” . 3
“If I thought—I wish I might hope that way, sit, thu
Gentleman Joe, for the moment forgetting that this qr
was born of bad whisky. .¢
“ What's the use of hope, if ’tisn’t backed up bylthir
and good works, sir?” sternly demanded the druthifeg
swaying slightly on his now widely separated Igor
‘‘What’s the use in being a gentleman, if so beingist} }
stroy not alone your own dear hopes, but the hopesiiNe
and all the while they’re playin’ ye dirt—pure dirt, Jo not
Uncle ’Lias broke off with a lugubrious sigh, wastithe
his head much as one might fancy a drunken owliil «
. while meditating over the blind folly of a younger relationt
Gentleman Joe flushed hotly, then turned pale as det?
The whispered advice given him by Miles Cratlllter,
flashed back to his memory, and he knew that, in his Mall
ent condition, Uncle *Lias both could and would be ego :

 
pumped. Only a question or two, and all doubts would be
/ cleared away for good or for evil.
Tt all seemed so easy, yet—how could he?
“Gentleman Joe,” he was called, and gentleman he was,
| by nature if not by training. He shrank from “ pumping
“| this drunkard. And yet—would Henry Tyson throw away
| ening ?
EieDou't : aw it, Josey?” mournfully added Uncle
Lias, whose glib tongue seldom got drunk, no matter the
"fate which overtook all other members. ‘‘Didn’t I see the
'’greement which you two fool boys signed 2”
“Did she—did Miss Sybil show it you, sir?”
“Tf she did, she did, if she didn’t, what matter? ’Nough
‘that I saw it, and Isaw more init than you saw, Josey 5
“ saw where you'd written yourself down an ass—which is
truth, if ’tis poetry.”
' “What do you mean, sir?”
es ~— “Mean?”. echoed Uncle "Lias, with mild indignation in
"face and in voice. “Mean’s no name for it, my poor,
‘ abused, bamboozled boy. Mean couldn’t touch the ugly
- facts of the case with a forty-foot pole.”
» Mr. Newland emphasized his words with a gesture s0
vigorous that only Gentry’s deft support kept him from
' measuring his length on the ground. And making his
' short arms do their duty as well as possible, Uncle ’Lias
* hugged his dear boy, as he sobbed in maudlin grief and
¢ drunken sympathy.
| Stronger grew that temptation, for, although reason told
* him whisky had much to do with those words, that same
i reason warned him that Uncle ’Lias surely must have
# some foundation on truth for his hints.
' Before Gentleman Joe could quite overcome his scruples,
' Newland drew back with sudden fierceness, his mellow
“notes turning almost harsh as he shook a fat fist before
that startled face :
» “Hain’t we good ’nough fer ye, critter? Didn’t we pan
-relall out clean color, every clatter? Wasn’t we high-toned
as dé} *nough fer the likes 0’ a Bonanzy King, sech a fool’ crit-
Cramili ters call ye, sence ye struck——_ Then why did Ye give us
, his Mall the dirty shake—s-a-y? Why'd ye quit off drappin’ in
| be eso fri’ndly, like? Why’d ye—why, dug-gun ye, sir?”

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

me . oe
nee ce Faas —

you really intend carrying out your part of it?”

   
    
    
   
    
   
   
   
     
 

“JT thought you understood the reason, Mr. Ne
said Gentry, speaking slowly, distinctly. “Hen
and I both love your step- daughter Sybil. Only
hope to win, and we joined in presenting our hope
pledging our honor not to approach or molest ‘Sybil
. the space of two weeks, to give her time——”

“Then what’s Tyson comin’ to see her every nig

 

CHAPTER X.
WORDS WITH THE BARK ON. —

Although in a measure prepared for some such sla
ment, Gentleman Joe recoiled, with a half- smothi :
ejaculation.

While loyally fighting against conviction that histin
had been playing him false, proofs had_ been piling
against Henry Tyson ata rapid rate. Still, it was a shot) ©
and he could not disguise the fact.

“You surely can’t—you mean he was there, befor

me to an agreement which——”

* Slow and easy, Josey!” interposed Uncle ‘Lias, wi
drunken gravity in face and voice. “There’s some peculiat
property in the air to-night, which sort o’—so to speaky
sleepy’s-up my wits. This agreement of which you speaky

“T pledged my word of honor to that effect, yes, < ;
“And you mean to live up to it, I ask?” :
“Of course I do.” fp
Newland gave a snort of disgust—no tees strong ta ;
can do that explosive sound full justice. t

“Holy smoke! what a softy you be, Gentry!” he eect
lated.

“May Task an explanation of your words, Mr, New)
land?” said Gentleman Joe, with forced calmness, “a r
course, Iam _ not taking offense at your language, te
pray explain your meanng, sir.’ .

“That’s -easy done—too easy, by glory! I mean a
this, and I’m ready to back up my offer, if yu ‘Ve BiH s

=

 

 
  
    
  
   

my wallet, and--—”

bot oS. ae word is just as good, sir, and I’ll take it for

» any reasonable amount,” impatiently cut in Gentry, eager

nj enough now to learn the worst that could be told. ‘“ What

are you hinting at, man?”

) “Tm betting, sir, not hinting,” was the dignified retort.
' “Tm offering odds, in thousands—any odds you care to
| name—that Hank Tyson is putting in his time, this holy

' minute, up at my house hugging my girl for all that’s

out.” :

‘at . Gentleman Joe shrank back, like one dealt a stunning

ered blow, but he rallied as quickly, clutching the drunkard by

   
  
 
    
   

ried :
uy . Goslow, Lias Newland. Not to speak of your daugh-
yck? ter—Heaven bless her !”
| _ * Who has a better right to speak of her, then? Didn’t
we 1 marry her poor, lone mother, when nothing but starva-
- tion, eh?”
vit “I'd give the Little Bonanza to have you sober, for just
lia} One minute by the watch,” almost groaned the sorely
k-| troubled mine-owner. “As it is, can you understand what
ak} you have just said? Don’t you know that Henry Tyson
| Pledged his sacred word of honor as a man that he’d live
"| up to that agreement with me?”
_ And don’t I just know that he’s bu’sted it clean to
thunder?” indignantly cried the fat man. ‘Don’t I know
mm that he’s been sneaking up there nearly every night since
_ that letter came? Didn’t that drive me from my happy—
cu} Once happy, I mean—fireside, to waller in the mire and
 Swill-troughs at Jingle’s and—well, I should remark !”
ew} Uncle ’Lias paused only long enough to catch a fresh
‘Of - breath, but Gentleman Joe let him maunder on as fancy
t—-| dictated. That confirmation of his worst doubts turned
him fairly sick.
ust! It was bad enough to have his faith in a friend shattered
ps0 rudely, but—how much worse to feel that Sybil was
hardly less guilty.
_ She had received that mutual pledge, and knew all.

i

 

 

pare cash enough in your clothes to lend me a stake; for

m arm and giving him a fierce shake, ashe gratingly -
rei

She knew that Henry Tyson was in honor bound iy
from visiting either her or her family, until the exuiet
of that period named. Then—why had she notijit
that day?
He could have borne up under the knowledge thjf@*P
loved his rival best; that Tyson was to win thes@®
prize; but the thought that she, whom he ¢0 woylel@
whom he Jeemed the purest of the pure, could y N°
low as to receive that favored lover's visits while#e!
Gentleman Joe gave a smothered curse as he staré
ward, almost upsetting Uncle ’Lias, whose very ai?
he had temporarily forgotten, until thus recalled
“T say—what’s bitin’ ye now, Josey?” splutted=
drunkard, saving himself from falling by clingin?™
perately to that athletic figure. “Whar ye gwineie’
a mighty rush, boy ?”
“Going?” echoed Gentleman Joe, then fiercelyalie
“Going to kill Tyson like a dog, if I catch him why’
of course.” 8
His voice was hardly lifted above the customary hore
but so full of savage hatred and fierce vengeance ip ax
that Uncle ’Lias was partially sobered by the shok® 7
announcement gave him. the
He clung tenaciously to Gentry, hastily speaking: ely;
“Don’t ye—mustn’t—what have J said, confouliigay,
fool’s loose clapper. I didn’t—don’t ye, I beg o’y,
His strong agitation served to partly calm the Bitigay
King, and, in more natural tones, Gertry spoke agiiigay
““You’ve merely opened my eyes against my wil ig’
Newland. Ihad ample warning before, but Ltelitiyiz
accept it. But now—if I find Henry Tyson has brliig w
sacred pledge—if I find him at your house this nigi-) 1
kill him, or he shall kill me.” Bb
‘Not—not there, I beg, sir,” quavered the silt ou
drunkard. “It would kill my wife. And Sybil ‘
never get over it, never.” _.
Gentleman Joe shivered at that asseveration, asililtfig
a heavy ague chill had claimed him. Sybil woul ™
survive his death—Tyson’s death. —
That was the most bitter thought of all, yetitsntl| J

   
    

 
  

give him back a portion of his usual coolness, and in
© quieter tones, he said : : :
oe fos sake, then, Mr. Newland, Pll not punish him
‘there. I'll give him a chance to defend himself if—come !”
| grasping an arm and forcing the fat man along at a rapid
pace. “I can’t think of that, but if I should find him
| there, P’——” :

] rece before since Silver Gulch first formed his ac-
| quaintance, had J oseph Gentry been so thoroughly upset
in temper, nerve, and brain, as just now. a
Elias Newland seemed awéd by his intense emotion,
partially suppressed, though that was, and for some little
I distance he meekly permitted that hurrying process, so

‘uncongenial to one of his habit and build.

Still, his mind was working, and as they came to the
** spot from whence the first fair glimpse coula be obtained
of his house, he planted his broad heels, and doggedly
ejaculated :

“T kick! I protest! I'll take neither part nor lot in this
'ghameful~oh, Josey, Josey, lad, how kin you ’buse the
pore, broke-down old man like unto this? How kin you,
Tax, over ag’in?”

The bewildering fumes of drink had once more gained
| the upperhand, and it was a weeping, whining toper who
' clung to the Bonanza King, just then, half-berating, half-
™ caressing his support.

, sll) Gentleman Joe stopped short, but it was not wholly be-
nani eause of that fat incubus. His keen eyes caught sight of a
n: | dark figure flitting between them and yonder brightly
ll, Mf lighted window, and his blood seemed to chill as he di-
sed “ vined the truth; surely that was Henry Tyson stealing
en bi away from his guilty rendezvous?
t-Il Unele ’Lias was not too drunk to catch sight of that
wall a ae and forgetful of his recent fears, he called
italee out, clearly :
-she@ “I say—that you, Tyson?”

| Anexclamation came from the shadows, and the dark
howg figure rapidly approached, sending an answer in advance:
nev ei that you, Mr. Newland? I was just going to look—
Dim and uncertain though the starlight was, recogni-

  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

ET

ved

|
I

 
  

 

  

 
 

tion appeared to be mutual, and as the dark sha
a bit, Gentleman Joe called out, in cold, stern to

« Answer to your name ’fore you run away, co

“T don’t—who are you that talks so mighty
way?” demanded the other, changing his m
coming nearer.

“Do you need a card, Henry Tyson?” sneeringly
Gentry, then swiftly striking a match with his ih
holding it near enough to light up his pale face
right hand drew a revolver. “I’m not ashamed to

my face, however it may be with you, sir.”

4 Ashamed—hold on, Gentry!” flinching visibl
flinging up an empty hand, as he caught sight
drawn weapon.

“Pull your gun and defend yourself, you lying cu

“T can’t—I’m not heeled,” came the swift respons
at the same time Uncle ‘Lias, who had stood in speech
amazement at those harsh words and significant adit
lurched heavily againt the Bonanza King, not o
stroying his aim, but almost upsetting his person.

“Don’t shoot, Josey! Don’t—dug-gun my cats!
I see sech a—what’s the matter, anyhow ?”

With an angry sweep of his free arm and hand, Get
man Joe brushed the toper aside, to sit down on the fit
ground with more force than grace, as a loose stone
under his foot.

“‘Good—Lawd !”

So exploding, Uncle ’Lias remained sitting, clasp
sorely shaken sides with his fat- hands, starmg be
edly from man to man as the rivals confronted each

Contrary to his expectations when Uncle ’Lias ga
awkward lurch, Henry Tyson made no attempt to im
the advantages thus given him, and just as swiftl
had come, the suspicion that the toper was playing!
false, and taking sides with his rival, fled frot
Gentry’ s brain.

Still standing with hands empty and visible by th
light, that dark figure added the assurance: :

“T’m not heeled, Gentry, and if you shoot: now
be rank murder.”

 
  
 
 
  
  
   
    
 
   
    
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
    
 
  

 
“That craven plea can’t save you, Henry Tyson,” sternly
id Gentleman Joe, quickly drawing a second revolver,
‘and holding them forth, butt first. “Take choice of my
al guns, and we’ll settle it, off-hand, you cur.”
| “Ydon’t—are you mad, man?”
“Not so mad but that I’m wholly responsible for my
words and actions, Mr. Tyson,” retorted Gentry, his voice
8 il growing colder and harder. :
soy “ What have I done, that you——”
| “Enough, and more than enough, you treacherous
al hound! Didn’t you swear to keep sacred—bah !” breaking
* off his accusation, with a short, hard laugh of intense bit-
-jterness. “If there was light enough, the brand of shame
ought to be seen upon your face, you whelp.”
“Stop right where you are, Mr. Gentry,” sternly inter-
osed his rival, stepping forward as though ready to elect
one of those still proffered weapons of death. “Since
y a you’re bent on a fight, I reckon I’ll have to accommodate

4 first, explain afterward.”

Vv) “There’s no explanation needed, sir. Take your choice,
; and then——”
nth

mv ., say, hold on!” spluttered Uncle ’Lias, scrambling to
linf ‘his feet with far greater haste than grace or dignity.
mé Something of the terrible truth seemed to penetrate his
_ | whisky-befogged wits, and to do him common justice, he
| Showed small care for his own safety as he lurched un-
: oy between the rivals, eatching at the pistols as he
cae,
se _-Hun’s fun, but when it comes to blowin’ holes clean
t ® through—it hain’t nothin’ more’n a joke, is it, critters?”
rov' Over his head flashed a swift interchange of glances,
asand Gentleman Joe was the first to catch at the hint his
, Dlundering speech offered.
et EOL course it’s a joke, Uncle ’Lias, and a mighty rich
ati ,aoke, too, if you hadn’t spoilt the climax, just so.”
sm “A jest, a right merry jest, by my faith, sir,” coolly
quoth Tyson, apparently quite willing to make that blind
tw perfect,
_, But ’tis spoiled, now, and we'll let it pass by for an-
ther season. Yonder’s your house, Uncle ’Lias, with a
bright light in the window for thee, Ireckon. Good-night,

 
and blessed be thy dreams !” -
‘Mrs. Newland has been expecting you fore sonelt
while, Uncle ’Lias, and ’twould be a pity to keep ha”
ing longer, just because we find your company som,
agreeable,” coolly added Tyson, as his mite. “Goods ,
See you again, when we’ve got more time to tarry, IP .
and trust.” 4
The toper shifted his gaze fron: face to face in ki
with those nimble tongues, but he appeared su E
that something worse than a joke was on the tapis, i
slowly asked Gentleman Joe: :
“Then it is a joke? You don’t mean to fight, Thi. .
“Fight?” echoed Gentry, with a low, mellow lag T
amused surprise, as he locked arms with his tiv
whose hand he slipped one of the pistols. “WithR.
Tyson? Why, my dear sir, I love him dearer thanl@ .
love a twin-brother, were I blessed with one!” .

CHAPTER XL

A CHALLENGE AND A BLOW.

V

So well did the rivals play their parts just theif,

one far less nearly drunken than was Elias Newlandy
well have been deceived ; yet that worthy veteran Wog -
nearly such a fool as his recent actions would ind for

and a touch of suspicion appeared to ine in | 9

numbed brain. t

-gen’lem’n,” he eee commented, ae his ¥ Vegi
planted feet saving him from another "humiliating a
fall. ‘“ Wouldn’t lie to old man like me. Wouldn't! fror
gray hairs sorrow to—couldn’t make it three, or evel P«
could ye, Josey ?” as]

The later words came in an eager, half- abashed wil h
and Uncle ’Lias curved a pudgy palm around ones 2.
his mouth—that nearest to Henry Tyson—as he [igi
eager question. p

Time had been when Elias Newland woe haves T

 

 
ey
od
De.

| wrecking him, mind and spirit, even asit surely was in
body. °
: with a hot flush of shame, which was not altogether on
‘the old man’s account, Gentleman Joe slipped some coin
Ti ‘into that unsteady palm, muttering quickly :
*“) “Say no more, Mr. Newland, but go home and get to
‘bed. You're not fit—the cool night air isn’t healthy for
“| gray hairs, remember.”
_ “Me, too, Uncle ’Lias,” said Tyson, handling his coin
| more openly. “I owe you so much, I reckon, or I will
when you promise not to repeat the silly bosh you heard
‘us get off, out here.”
| The toper mechanically received that second contribu-
tion, but left it exposed on his open palm while Tyson was
; speaking. Then he proudly rejected the bribe, sternly, al-
‘most tragically, saying:
_ “Take back your vile lucre, young fellow, for I’ll none
ofit. From Gentleman Joe to Gentleman ’Lias—that’s all
‘right. If ’tisnt all in the family, it ought to be! But you
_—if I knew ye less, I’d like ye more.” :
“That's all right, old fellow,” coolly laughed young
eles turning on his heel without further noticing man
b oney.
_ Gentleman Joe was willing enough to get out of range
| of that little building, under whose roof found shelter one
_ for love of whom all this hard feeling had found birth.
} Arm in arm, seemingly as friendly as the twin brothers
to whom the Bonanza King had likened themselves. the
| Tivals moved away under the stars, leaving Uncle ‘Lias to
oo upon his fat knees ; not to lift up his voice in prayer,
f . but to lower his eyes in search of a coin which had fallen
'U! from his scornfully rejecting palm.
ene —° ou pe he’ll hold his hush about it all, Gentry 2?”
, asked I'yson, in tones of d i
ins So oubt, as they lost sight of both
S10, _ it matters little to me, and ma S
pu sir,” came the cold retort, as ee ee his
P tm, though still keeping within easy reach of his rival in

ae What! surel
‘Btill further?”

y you’re not trying to carry that silly jest

 
 

 

 

 

“Tt'gs a jest which one or both of us will find cha

bitter earnest, and that before many more miny
bP)

hypocritical cur.

“Hard words, from man to man, Gentry, bui—

“You’re not a man, save in shape, Henry |
sternly cut in the Bonanza King, his hatred far too
for passing those moments in silence, even while
coolness enough to know that they were yet toon
Newlands for their deadly feud to be settled.

His rival gave a short, dry chuckle before 5
again.

“T’]] begin to think something like that my ow
I stand many more such flings, Gentry. What's {
ter with you, anyway? Are you drunk—so early
evening ?”

“What were you doing, back yonder?” almos
demanded his rival, passing that insolent insinu
without notice. ‘When I first sighted you, skulk
a sheep-killing, egg-sucking cur ?” 4

“ Because, if you’re not drunk, then you sure
be crazy. No less serious disease can even begin
your excuses for piling such vile insults on the h
gentleman who has frankly warned you he is noth
and for that reason unable to resent your words accom;
to their merits.” oe

For the first time since they came face to face, i
Tyson betrayed signs of growing heat, but Gentlem
never varied his even stride which was leading them!
safer fighting-ground, and his tones remained as
even as before.

“You have one.of my guns, Henry Tyson, and!
could comprehend the term, I’d pledge you my
honor both are loaded alike.”

“Use a man’s own gun to blow his brains ou
mocked Tyson, who, even yet, and, after all that

~ gaid, seemed unable to look upon the affair in a really® ¢:

ous light. “Mighty generous on your part, Jose)

what would I be were I to humor a crank that far
“None the less a dog, but a shade less cur.”
Henry Tyson stopped short, with a swift move

 
| his hands opening the pistol forced upon nim, causing the
He ejector to cast out every shell, then snapping the frame
ie, shut, to drop the weapon at the feet of his rival.

- “There’s your gun, Joe Gentry, if you think it’s worth
‘the picking up. And here am I—down me, if you dare.”
i He flung out his empty hands, laying his broad chest

‘open to a shot, if mad jealousy could force his rival to
that extremity. :
- Jt wasa daring action, unless, indeed, he calculated on
‘the native chivalry, which had earned for Gentleman Joe
" his title.
| For asingle breath his rival seemed taken all aback,
but he quickly rallied, speaking sharply, yet evenly :
ef “A theatrical trick, Tyson, but even that can’t save you
from paying the penalty due your infernal treachery. You
| squirm? Then you can feel through your thick hide? You
& liar, cheat, and craven cur.”
' Such words—to me?” hoarsely panted Tyson.
- “To you? Yes, and in taking time to utter them, I’m
‘giving you only too long a grace. I ought to have shot
1 you down at sight, but Pll give you a chance for your life,
' if you can pluck up courage enough to defend yourself.”
_ “nough—and more than enough, sir,” sternly spoke
@ Tyson, now seemingly in equal earnest. ‘“I’ll meet you
when, and where, and how you please, only——”
_ Ashort, mocking laugh cut his words short, and Gentle-
/ man Joe said :
_ “You're cursed with a mighty short memory, Hank
“Tyson, so I’ll give you asign which may remind you of
coll} that pledge.”
_| A swift stride forward, then his hand struck his rival
1 if/first on one cheel’, then on the other, with open fingers, —.
wo but with a force that caused their recipient to stagger, and
{sent a sharp spat-spat forth upon the night air.
t wi A leap backward to prepare for the assault which
had'surely must follow, but once more fierce disappointment
ally'came to Joseph Gentry.
seph| Instead of leaping at his throat, Henry Tyson clasped
r?” ‘his face with both hands, asthough hoping to cool that
_ fierce smart thus. And he hoarsely panted :

emé “Blows—from you, Gentry?” _

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

“My brand—the brand befitting a‘lying cur—yeg'
the Bonanza King, with deadly coolness in his toneg, |
it my friend can recognize you, even though you m
to save your precious hide by lying.” | pay
“You mean it? Name your friend, then, sir.” ish
“Why not settle it now, once for all?” —

   
 
 
  
   
   
 
 
     
  
 
   
  

“Simply because I have no fancy for being lynch) I
your murderer, Joseph Gentry. I’ll kill you for thi) WO
insult, but Newland saw us come this way in com!
and—name your friend, [ say, curse you.”

“ All right, since you need time in which to mustery_
courage. Miles Crampton will serve me.” el

“Good! He’ll find meat my hotel. Send him—buti@™
come in person, for I'll shoot you at sight, after this’ 7 -
Without waiting for retort or further taunts, Ha +Y
Tyson sprang away in the direction of town, quickly 2°
ishing from view under the deceptive starlight. | th
_ Gentleman Joe stooped to pick up»the discarded pi?”
_ then kept his eyes on the keen alert while deftlyre .
ing the weapon. vat
His almost child-like confidence in his one-time frie SY
had vanished, never to return, and in its place came ti é 7
est suspicions. Once he had deemed Henry Tyson they
of honor, but now he was ready to believe him a trea ®
ous assassin, even as he had already branded him lg.”
coward, traitor. —

“Liar once, liar ever!” his ugly thoughts ran, as) &
flashed his keen gaze about while putting the revolvay __
order. “Not heeled? He lied when he swore to that,@ —-.

: : fe i W1
now I’ve shown him he can’t lie out of giving me satisi A

tion; he’d be none too good to try a.crack at mei) rs
could find snug enough cover.” _

Bitter words with which to brand a former frient,, a
Gentleman Joe had been sorely tried that night, 1 Fh
harshly ag he had acted, hardly another man in Sim
Gulch but would have given the traitor even less! :

With both pistols loaded and convenient to hist) 4),
Gentry moved more leisurely forward, and while kel) |
his eyes fully on the alert, his brain was busy—fill 4,
busy for comfort. | hig
Tstr

che

i re
an
 

,

ilve

TAS}

ir t0

the scales had been rudely torn trom his vision, and he

" saw matters as they surely were, not as he had so fool-

ishly fancied them. It was aterribly bitter awakening,

too.
| He had given Sybil Ritchie his whole heart. He had

| worshiped her, rather than given her an ordinary love.
Pe had held her little lower than the angels of heaven,
8

d far more precious than they. Now——

' “Teould stand Tyson’s treachery, but her—how can i

believe it of Sybil?” he groaned, pausing in his tracks,

‘turning blind and dizzy for the moment.
There lay the deepest hurt of all. If she loved Henry

Tyson best, and had frankly told him her choice, he would
have grieved deep and long, but—being a man, with all

’ that word implies—he would have accepted the situation,

and made the best of it.

, But to find out that she had been meeting Tyson night ~
after night, according to the blunt assertion of her own

' step-father, thus accepting a share in his vile treachery—

that was worst of all.

Even now Gentleman Joe strove to crush back that de-

r grading fact; he fought hard to find even the shadow of
_ an excuse for her in his strong love; but in vain. Know-
' ing of their compact, she had permitted, if not -encour-

sk aged, Henry Tyson to violate that sacred pledge.

" | sole. He’s the one to punish, and punish him I will! I

ista

if} a)
_ or sleep again.

| spent many minutes in covering it, for with such bitter

“He made her do is, curses cover him from crown to

will give him a fair shake—but only as I woulda snarl-
ing wolf. I’ll kill him—I’ll kill him before I eat, drink,

Although the actual distance was ‘short, Gentleman Joe
thoughts for food, he lost al! count of time and place.

He registered that fierce vow, silently, but none the less
firmly, then roused himself to proceed more rapidly now

spi that he had fairly entered Silver Gulch.

| Those minutes had not been spent wholly in vain, for
they had served to restore outward calmness, and only
his unusually pale face could have betrayed the terrible
‘Struggle through which he had lately passed, when a
cheery voice hailed him with the words:

:

po

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Fellow, boss! T reckoned I knowed that trom
T fust ketched it into my ears, an’ so I come—it’s
Gentry.” .

“You, is it, Crampton?”

“Wer sure, an’ why wouldn’t it be me ?” chuck
foreman, dryly. “ D’ye reckon big critter done gulpel
- down, fer to hold his tank level? Nary time he ng
Woolly’ s pullin’ hot-foot fer safer quarters by this ae
don’t reckon he’ll let his boss ketch him up this sie eS
what’s gone cross- “Ways, boss ?”

Crampton, coming closer, saw that something guj
had gone wrong, and his jesting tone changed too
anxious solicitude. :

Gentleman Joe almost wildly made reply :

“Miles Crampton, are you a true friend of mine!”

“Try me, boss,” came the quick response.

The Bonanza King rested a hand on either shoul

bending forward to gaze keenly into that heavily beat
face. Crampton stood motionless as a statue while tl jj

scrutiny lasted, but quietly said :

“Bf you see ary inch that isn’t clean white, Mr. Ge
pull your knife an’ hack it off, fer ’tain’t none
breed.”

““T was a fool for doubting you, Miles, even for a sec
said his employer, drawing back, his hands droppi
his side. I didn’t really doubt you, of course, but l’y
my faith in—bah !” with an almost savage gesture, —

“Ef I kin sarve you, boss, all it needs is the sayin’. |
. “You can serve me, if you will, Can T want :
to carry a challenge for me.” |

“Fer fun, or fer fightin’, boss?”

ee Fighting—to the death, too.” =

“'Wishin’ you all good luck, sir. ’Course I’ll tote
it’s at your askin’, nur I won't even ax what's hi
ef you——”

“Henry Tyson, of course, pardner,” said Gentry, re
ing his outward composure, though with an evidente

“Glory to the ram! Then you’ve found him out, }
eagerly asked the foreman, making no attempt to di
his grim delight.

 
  
 
    
  
 
 
 
   
   
    

  

T’ve found him out, yes. lowe you thanks for part of
Crampton, but this is no time for delivering them. I
an sober business, and so that treacherous whelp shall
cover. This world is too little for both of us to live in
er this night.”

‘Then it’s clean, sure-’nough business, boss ?”

‘So gure that I'll kill him, or he’ll kill me before an-
other sun sets.”

—_————————

CHAPTER XII.
A STARTLING PROPOSITION.

The night had passed, and day was come again. Hour .

after hour of that day had Gentleman Joe sat through, im-

| patiently waiting for his message-bearer to return with
the report that all arrangements had been made for the

uel to the death.

Qutwardly the Bonanza King was calm; never. in his

life had he seemed more fully master of his strong pas-

‘gions and fiery temper. But inwardly he seemed on fire,

nt and his eyes glowed with a strange, reddish tinge, which

’ NY petrayed how hotly his brain was working. >

__ He had taken Miles Crampton directly to his hotel, and
nd in his chamber had written the formal challenge which
ig" the Little Bonanza foreman had agreed to present to
> ha Henry Tyson.

' Since that moment, Gentleman Joe had not crossed the
threshold of his room, but Crampton had come and gone
b YO} again. :

__ He had seen Tyson, he reported, at the other hotel. He
had delivered the challenge, and requested the name of
| Tyson’s second, but had been quietly told to call again
sent after day had dawned, when an explicit answer would be
ame; given him for his principal.

'_ “Mebbe the dug-gun sneak reckons he kin slip out 0’ it
by tellin’ his legs to save his neck,” grimly commented

wy

  
  
  
 
 
 

b)

ovel’

ffor, Crampton ; “but ef so, I'm bettin’ big odds he’ll slip up
oss = it. I’m gwine to camp out in front of that shebang,
gui! an’ ef he tries to skip—waal, he won’t, that’s all.”

Gentleman Joe was lying on his bed, waiting with what

 

 

  

  
patience he could muster, pale and stern, allready
signs of wear, so dark and bitter had been his Drool
throughout all those terribly long hours.

He caught the sound of heavy footsteps, at last, any
stinctively recognizing them, sprang to his feet, fli
wide the chamber-door, even before Miles Crampton
get to the head of the stairs.

“At last! Come in, man!” hoarsely muttered the}
anza King, making way for that burly figure to)
through the door. ‘“ You’ve seen him? He hasn't gi gi
me the slip?” :

“I’ve seed him, nur he hasn’t giv’ ye the slip? a
replied Crampton, pushing the door shut, and turning} },
key in the lock. E

With his worst dread set at rest, Gentry recoverel #,
outward composure, and signing Crampton to thd
ehair afforded by the little chamber, sunk upon the
of the bed, giving a glance at his watch.

+ Past two o’clock. Mr. Tyson seems inclined to take
the grace the law allows him, I should say.”

“Waal, yes, it do squint that-a-way, sir,” admit) },.
Crampton, still in that strangely subdued tone of voice,

“But he’ll not try to skulk out of meeting me, m
-He’ll not make it a street fight?” 4

“No, not ef you’ll come down to his tarms, Mr. Gen .
Ef them suits you, why——” E

“T told you to agree to any and everything, Cramp
All I want isa chance to meet him on equal footing. We
terms does he propose? Where, and when, and how? {
with it, pardner ?” :

“Thar’s time enough, sir, fer he set five o'clock fer iif
come off, though I stuck out fer a more reas’nable how

“May he spend those hours of grace in prayer, for ity
hardly have time—after I’ve come face to face with himy
coldly commented the younger man, that deadly sly
deepening in his eyes the while.

He signed Crampton to complete his report, but
mine boss seemed curiously reluctant to make all kn0ill go
and spoke slowly—too slowly to suit his impatient p
cipal,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
    
   

Odi L .
_) “Yes, I ketched the gent, safe enough, sir; but I found
nd! him in a turrible ugly humor. An’ on his both jaws was
ngt the mark of ——” :
col “My brand, pardner,” said Gentleman Joe, with a low,
‘almost musical laugh. “I was resolved you should recog-
Bi nize him, Crampton. Go on.”
Te “He'll w’ar the prent o’ them fingers more’n one day, I
8! reckon.”
| Not if you’ve done your duty, and stuck out for a fair
ul fight,” almost viciously interrupted Gentry. “He may
8 have the luck to down me, but—I’ll kill him.”
Rough and seasoned, though he was, Miles Crampton
d turned a shade paler and shivered perceptibly at those
© “last words. Until now he had known Joseph Gentry only
ell asa gentleman whose good nature had become proverbial,
‘and this deadly rancor was a revelation in his sight.
kee “That's pritty much the way he talked, sir, and it
_| didn’t sound so mighty much like bluffin’, nyther—wuss .
niWeluck,”
ce; “TT hope his spirit will last, pardner.”
mi “Ym afeared it will, boss.” . -
_ “Afraid?” echoed Gentry, with a frown.
ont §=6“ That’s what I said, sir, an’ ’ll prove it, ef you'll jest
low me to git through my tellin’, boss.”
pt’ = “Go on. Ill not interrupt you again, pardner.”
Wi “Waal, I found him, as I said, an’ Tyson seemed bent
? (on makin’ it a sure-’nough fight to the death. He said
_| that had passed atwixt you’n him that blood alone could
r 1) wipe out.”
oui Despite his recent promise, Gentry could not refrain
r he from giving a short, hard chuckle, then the words :”
hit! “The best of news. so far! Go on, Miles, please.”
git __ Mebbe yes, mebbe no, boss ” with increasing gravity in
face and in voice. “He said as how, bein’ the party what
it | was axed to fight, he hed the right to name the tarms, an’
noW conditions, an’ all. I’d hev bucked him right thar, only
pl you told me to ’gree to all he hed the cheek to ax.”
| “He was right, according to the code, pardner. You
granted his conditions, of course?”
“Thed to, in the end, dug-gun him fer a scrowdger!
‘That’s what tuck me so long; tryin’ to argy some sort 0’

 
 
 
   

 

 

 
 

  

    

sense into his fool’ cabeza, don’t yu see?”
“Go on, please,” frowningly nodded Gentry.
“Waal, he hed a lot to Bay ’bout smoothin’ it oy
best way it could be done, so’s no other names—jpi
on ?—wouldn’t be hauled into the mux. An’ as th
way o’ doin’ that, he writ down his tarms an’ contif
dug-gun the pizen critter.”
“You have them? Give me the paper, then, ani
read for myself,” impatiently cried the Bonanza Ki
With visible reluctance, Miles Crampton pro
sealed envelope, which Gentleman Joe quickly tor
extracting the inclosure, and swiftly running his
over the lines of writing.
It began quite formally, but divested of date ly
address, the contents read as follows:
“1 accept your challenge, subject fo the conti
now name. If you accept them, well and good;
give you all the satisfaction any sane man cana
you refuse to agree to these conditions, then it mu
street fight, and I plainly give you warning that, 8
I am concerned, ’twill be shooting on sight.
“My first and sole aim is to avoid drawing the nal
a certain lady into our quarrel. I can think of n
method than the one which I have the hous to pr :
as follows: i
“First, that each one of us write and sign a brief §
ment that death came from our own hands: th
is found acorpse has committed suicide. This
confession to be pinned to each principal’s breast
shot is fired.
“Second, that only four persons shall know a1
about to take place. The two principals, and one
named by each of us. The surviving principal, an
seconds, shall be bound by oath to leave the dead pr
lie just as he fell, and pledge their sacred word of hi
never to let drop word, sign, hint, or suspicion
manner in which that pr incipal came to his ending.
“Lastly, the principals are to stand facing each 0
not more than six feet distance. Each principal
handed one revolver, which shall contain a sing!

   
   
  
   
 
   
   
   
   
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
   
    
   
  
  
  
  

Rr eat
  

all have the bullet drawn, the powder carefully and
roughly picked out, then the bullet replaced and seated

  
   
   
   
  
   
 
 
 
  
    
   
 

signs.
fae tie loaded, the two pistols shall be placed on
eground, in plain view of the principals, who shall not
approached by either second until all is decided by lot.
hat lot shall be a tossed coin, he who tosses giving
val the privilege of calling head or tails. The win-
ris to choose one of the pistols from this mark, the
ser is to accept the other, and we each shall be bound
solemn oath not to examine the weapon which falls to oe
share. : =
me of the seconds shall give the word, ‘ready.’ The =
ipals shall lift their weapons, each placing the muzzle
‘his own gun to his own right temple, and, at the word
, each shall pull trigger.
‘Ifeither fails or hesitates to pull at the word, the other
Principal and his second shall be privileged to kill him as
ur.
These are the only conditions under which I will meet
ina regular duel, Mr. Gentry. If you accept them,
nify asmuch, and return your answer without delay
ur second. If you refuse, then prepare yourself to
tat sight, and mutual friends can cover up the cause
best lies in their power.”
fhe bold signature followed ; nothing more.
Tom first word to last, Gentleman Joesread this truly
tiling proposition, not a muscle altering, save those
ch controlled his swiftly moving eyes.
ith almost painful interest, Miles Crampton watched
employer as he read, and when those keen eyes
hed that signature, he burst forth, excitedly :
d you eversee sech dug-gun bloody cheek, boss?
the pizen critter told me what he was slingin’ at
€, lt tuck mighty nigh more’n I could do fer to hold my
loots off o’ him—so it did, now.”
There’s only one thing I regret about it, pardner,”
tly said Gentry, refolding the sheet and slipping it

4

 
 
 

    
     
   
     
 
   
 

        
   
into the envelope. “That is, Tyson won't go 9
world by-my hand.”

“But—ef you should ketch the wrong weep
almost tearfully objected his faithful friend.

“But Pl not. Ill kill the cur—just as surely asi
is shining down upon Silver Gulch,” coldly te pl
Gentleman Joe.

“Hf I kin give ye a sign to tell_—” ]

“Tf you did, I’d shoot you with the first cathe ¢
could find to burst a cap upon,” sternly declared hit
ployer, a fire in his eyes which made Crampton ji
though he was, shrink away in his chair. “Node
low, though I know you couldn’t find stomach fos
foul trick as that, come to the pinch.” t

“He wouldn’t be ’bove doin’ of it, dug-gm}
grumbled Miles, then reluctantly drawing a smalley
from his bosom, to add: ‘‘I was to show you hore!
writ out the ’fession 0’ suicide, boss, an’ ef you ‘wt
his tarms, you was to copy it, word fer word, 1
name.’

Glancing over the few lines, Gentleman Joe tot
and paper, rapidly copying the statement, then signiy
name below.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE PROPOSITION ACCEPTED.

This was quickly accomplished, for Gentleman Jj
a ready, if not an elegant, penman.

Pausing only long enough to compare the origina
his copy, Gentry passed the latter over to Miles Cra
for his examination and approval, quietly saying: j

“ *°Twould hardly do for me to show less trust it]
than that cur has, pardner. Just glance over tha
then you can tell him I’m willing to make almos
sort of sacrifice, rather than leave~him 4 loops
crawl through.”

The worthy foreman’s face was the picture of angt
gust as he gingerly took that sae of pape had it

 
adofanirritated rattlesnake, he could hardly have

a greater aversion.

raid it will bite, Miles?” smilingly asked his em-
ployer.

No but—I’m feelin’ meaner’n a one-legged nigger
ed robbin’ a buzzard-roost fer fat turkeys. Ef I

wld hey my way fer jest ten minutes by the clock.”

What would happen, pardner ?” :

{9 mighty much it’d take a full hour to jest begin the
ofit. But I know one thing as wouldn’t happen ;.a
ke you, boss, wouldn’t be knucklin’ down from start
h to sech a cussed critter as Dude Tyson—an’ that’s
hai ey

IiI stoop now, it’s only to conquer the more surely in
d, Crampton,” coldly retorted his employer. “Read

se lines, please, and compare them with the sample

Tyson gave you.”

Ihgrum and gloomy silence the mine-boss obeyed, and
ing the difference of handwriting and signature, the
papers were identical.

0 WHOM IT MAY CONCERN : /

For reasons which are perfectly satisfactory to myself,
ave come to the conclusion that life is no longer worth
living. To save possible trouble to innocent parties, I
tethis, and solemnly swear, on honor, that I alone am
less or to blame for my death. In still plainer words,
ll myself, ;

“ JosePH GENTRY alias GENTLEMAN JOE.”

{| While Miles Crampton was’ reading this statement,
tleman Joe quietly watched him, a faint smile begin-
‘Ting to curl his lips as he noted those changes of counte-

‘tance, :

' Youlook as though it hardly suited you, pardner,” he
, asthe other reached that signature. “Have I made
serious mistake in copying the screed, old man?” s

_ Not that,” grunted Crampton, dropping the paper on

le little washstand, which Gentleman Joe had utilized as

‘ a desk, “The words is all right, so fur’s them bein’ a
“py’s consarned, but—durn an’ double-durn the senter-

 
ment, says I.”

“Too skeptical, you mean, pardner ?”

“Too bloody, blame, blasted crazy,” exploded th
boss, his fist clenched and falling like a pile- driver 0
own knee. “Ary critter what ’d-perpose sech a cq
trick hain’t fit fer to live, an’ ary man as would f
with his humor, ought to be chucked into a ’sane’sy
afore he c’u’d let other people find out how ory mad
got to be..'

“Thar, sir, I’ve hed my say, on one p’int, anyw
clared Crampton, drawing along full breath, at the
time brushing a hand across his heated brows. “Ty
or lump it, Mr. Gentry, thar you hev the solid t
chunks as clean as I know how to hew it out.”

Gentleman Joe gave a low, mellow laugh, but th
a touch of something deeper and better than mirt
eyes and his voice as he reached out to clasp that
hand. g

“Tl not dispute your argument, pardner. Itisa
scheme, but even you, knowing the situation as youtl
must admit that this course is wiser than for Tyson at
me to settle it all by a street fight?”

“T ain’t ’mittin’ so much, nyther,” doggedly mutta
Miles. “Ef sech a row was to come off, who'd looka
furder or any deeper then it was a muss over keerds
hes Tyson paid what money he owed ye, boss?” __

“No, but that cuts no figure, Crampton. How di
learn of that debt? I surely never mentioned it.”

“Nur give it a second thought—don’t I know yop
with an odd mixture of admiration and reproof in his ta
and his eyes. “Tyson him own self let it leak out, nut!
‘don’t reckon I’m the only critter that ketched on. An'd
Tyson’s bin turrible anxious fer to git the pay rea
meet it, boss. An’ so—ef you two was to hev a falli
over the debt’s not bein’ paid, why—eh?” | :

‘Not a soul in Silver Gulch would believe that, Cramp}
ton, and you yourself know that without my telling

The Little Bonanza foreman gave a surly grow
persisted :

swouldn¢ be no bigger bouncer ’n what them pap

 
would it? An’ ef critters kin be found to swaller sech
truck as that, never fear they’ll belch at t’other.”
eman Joe frowned darkly, and for a few moments
ancereigned. Both men had ample food for thought,
1d both faces showed as much.
ry was the first to speak, which he did, with a half-

ish it wore a more reasonable look myself, Cramp-
t Tyson has taken his stand, and I'll never give
a chance to crawl out of meeting me—never !”.
f you’d only let him hev it last night, when you
hed him in the very act,” moodily muttered Miles.
f Ihad—and I tried my best to force him into a fight
would have left matters in a worse state, by far than
ey are now, or than they will be when this little job is
plished off.”
wish’t I could see jest how, boss?”
Gentleman Joe hesitated, but only for a second. H he
ust anv living mortal, it surely was the man now
e him. It was asore point to touch upon, but he
Crampton what explanation lay in his power to give.
ell, ’ll try and show you, pardner,” he forced him-
outter. “Iwas with Uncle ’Lias. Tyson had just
from—the house. We had hot words before the old
eman, and though he was pretty full at the time——”
oaded clean to the muzzle; don’t I know his sort?”
is misfortune, not his fault, pardner,” with a fleeting
own, “As I said, Uncle ’Lias was not too drunk to take
é, and seeing us go away in company, how could he
Ao the secret in case one of the couple came by his
He'd blaat it all out, jest on the chaince o’ ketchin’ a
“shot o’ whisky—dug-gun him!” sourly growled the fore-

in, Z

‘And that telling would bring another name into the

air, as a matter of course,” continued Gentleman Joe.

laybe I’m an idiot for taking it so much to heart, but
ather blow my brains out in sober earnest, than have

Tname offered to vulgar lips, like that.”

n’ you raally think you kin keep it ’way from ’em,

bogs 2”

 
“Tf I pull through this alive, yes. If it’s my lucky
draw the black bean—well, I'll have done my level hyp
and mortal man can do no more than that.” :

Miles Crampton scowled, surely not satisfied, althouj
he might be silenced. He scratched his head, rumplediit
dense beard, as though digging through that black thai
for fresh arguments against this suicidal agreement, —

“Did Tyson give you anything further to deliver orp
sent, Crampton?” asked his employer, with a glanceat}
watch.

“He give me too dug gun much, I’m thinkin’. 0
fool me, that I didn’t do what.I felt like; swat him in
jaw, ontel he couldn’t holp fightin’ me.”

“After which you would have had to fight me, pardne,

Very quietly Gentleman Joe uttered those words, but
did not call for a second glance at his pale, stern face,
convince Miles Crampton he meant each and every wi
of that coldly significant sentence. ;

“That’s all that made me hang-fire, boss,” he sigh
ruefully. “Ef I could make ye change yer mind, Du
Tyson’d ketch his pay, an’ thar couldn’t never no questi
o’ ary lady come up over it, nyther.”

“There might as to my manhood, though, old frien
with a fleeting smile, ashe shook his head in negati
“Drop that point, please, and if you have nothing furl
to deliver from Henry Tyson, take back this writing, a
tell him I accept his terms from start to finish.”

“Must I do that, boss?”

“You surely must, unless you’re holding something
reserve. Is that it, Crampton? Have you any grounds
thinking Tyson meditates another trick ?”

“JT wish I hed, but I hain’t. Ef ever the devil oh
looked out 0’ one man’s eyes, them was his this day.”

“May that spirit hold him to the mark. Now, the fi
and place, Crampton; you said the hour was five, but
omitted the other?”

“Fe never said, nur I didn’t ax. What fer?” withi
able emphasis. ‘How could I think you'd be see
durn—— Waal, I never once b’lieved you'd ’gree 08
pizen conditions, boss.”

 
Then you didn’t know me, pardner. I'd agree to con-
tions tenfold as stringent, if they insured our meeting,
ast to breast. Unless some cunning trickery hes back
fhis words, this meeting is guaranteed, and I ask noth-
ng better.” :
Waal, ef I must, I must I s’pose,” gloomily said
Crampton, rising to his feet. “I'll tell him—jest what,

“That Laccept his conditions from first to last. .That
1 not give him a loop-hole to crawl through. Say this,
sk where we are to meet, the name of his second, then
ome back here, where I’ll be waiting for you.”
‘Without another word Miles Crampton turned the key
nits wards, opened the door, and left the chamber.
entleman Joe watched him until his black head sunk ©
below the level of the stair-landing, then closed his door,
once more sinking down upon his bed, giving himself over
0 his far from agreeable thoughts.
here was but a single relieving gleam—the prospect of
geance upon the false friend who had so basely be-
rayed his trust.
He strove to fix his mind upon that, picturing in ad-
vance the retribution which must surely overtake Henry
on, but in vain.
“Ingpite of himself, his thoughts would revert to Sybil
Ritchie, and those thoughts were now as bitter as they
had once been sweet. :
e had loved her so completely, so wholly. His trust
had been so perfect, his confidence so implicit. He loved

her . felt that while life endured that passion must
xist, but——
_ “If she had only treated me rightly,” he mused, gloom-
ly, ashiver creeping over his frame as he lay upon the
} bed. “If she had only told me she loved Tyson best. But
| —why did she permit him to call on her, as Wncle ’Lias
declares she did in the face of our agreement?”
_ That was one of the keenest pangs, for, if true—and had
18 own eyes not borne witness? If true, it convicted
ybil as a sharer in Henry Tyson’s lack of good faith.
She couldn’t hinder his calling, if he was bent’ that
way, but why didn’t she let me know he was breaking our

 
compact? Why didn’t she give me at least a hint,
day, when I spoke of my reasons for not ente
home ?”
This was none the less exquisite torture, bec it

purely mental, and Gentleman Joe suffered enough d
those waiting hours to make amends for many agr
sin, had any such lay at his door. S

“She was weak, not wicked, poor girl,” he tried to cova:
that fault over with. “She feared to fetch about a Yow, |
reckon, but—it wasn’t right, and I can’t make it see
If she ‘loved. him best, why didn’t she say so? I'd
accepted it then, as I would now——

“That’s_a lie!” with sudden fierceness. “T could
yielded her to him, then, but now—I’d rather see
dead and in her coffin than fall a prey to that |
treacherous cur.”

“And so his bitter thoughts fled around the circle,
strove to fix them upon Tyson alone, but in vain; t
he might, they would revert to Sybil, and her weakne
even tacitly sharing that breach of faith.

It was with strong relief that Gentleman Joe at
caught the echo of footfalls, and, springing to the doo
flung it open, to actually laugh aloud as he sighted |
Crampton topping the stairs.

That laugh abruptly ceased, however, as he noted
dark and gloomy countenance, and with sudden tear
sharply demanded :

“Out with it, man! Has the cowardly cur skipped out!

CHAPTER XIV.

AT THE PLACE OF MEETING.

Miles Crampton shook his head in sullen negation, bit
it was not until they were inside the little chamber,
the door closed and secured behind them, that he
answer in words:

“No sech good luck as that, dug-gun the pizen cerita

“He hasn’t run away, then?” with a dang
in his eyes,

 
0, but I pritty nigh wish he hed. His stayin’ means
dy murder fer somebody, an’ I feel as ef thar was a
‘Aittin’ round the neck o’ me so soon.”
ntly Gentleman Joe’s manner changed. His voice
oft and low, and as his white hand warmly pressed
of his emissary, he said in kindliest tones:
‘ya been most inconsiderate, old friend, and had
ts only for myself. Ill find another second,
”

ain't I good ’nough, then?” almost snarled Cramp-

jerking his hand free, his dark eyes flashing hotly.

wre too good, old man,” said Gentry, with a smile

was more sad than merry. “I have no right to drag

‘ou deeper into such a nasty mix as this, and so——”

passionate gesture cut his words short, and Crampton
ily muttered :

on’t—you make me feel still more like I was holpin’

her the best an’ truest fri’nd a measly cuss like me

‘was giv’. But I’ll play, even ef it comes to that. Tl

Hank Tyson, jest so sure as luck turns ag’inst you,

Tl do it; ef—mebbe you'll kick, an’ say I cain’t an’
hain’t do even that, dug-gun ye, Gentry ?”
‘There was a touch of pathos in this almost savage
ch, but Gentleman Joe felt that it would not do for
im to yield to any such sentiment, just then, and he
shed cheerily as he lifted a warning hand.
n’t tell me anything like that, pardner, or I’ll feel
1duty hound to call my veto upon it. Still, if I’m dead,
an't well prevent you from playing, even should your
yrun that way. Can 1?”
“Now, boss, you don’t want to,” said Crampton, with
ud den change of both toneand manner. “The good Lawd
it) Shorely wouldn’t let sech a pizen cuss as him git on top
ai, ke that? You'll ketch the luck, an’ I knowit. EfI didn’t

_ leel that way, I’d hev. the hull town thar to clap a stopper

) the racket—I jest would, now.” .

No, you wouldn’t, pardner,” quietly retorted his prin-
ee. . That would brand me, even deeper than I branded
_ 1 know— an’ I’m wishin’ I didn’t,” almost groaned the
oreman, by far the most disturbed of the twain. “’Pears

 
like I’m gittin’ in all over my head an’ years, but—' §

“Drop all else, then, and get down to business, pan ;
You found Tyson, then?” 13

“Ves. He was waitin’, jest as he MNowed I'd find hin :

“You gave him my acceptance, of course. Allright
far. Now for the rest, whom did he name as hig secont} s Pp

“Oraig Lipscomb,” said Crampton, naming one of ie =U
best and most reputable of Silver Gulch’s citizens,

“Good !” commented Gentry, with a nod of satisfacting
“A better man couldn’t have been chosen, and nowhp
convinced Tyson means straight business. If he hadi
trick up his sleeves, Lipscomb is the last one he woul
have nominated for a part in the little play.” a

“Then you’re still *tarmined fer to let him hev his m
boss ?”

“As far as fate gives it him, yes,” quietly assar
Gentry. “With Lipscomb and you, the secret will ney
leak out, and her name will never be mixed up int
nasty affair. Now—the place?”

“He stuck out fer nigh the Needles, boss.” .

“Better yet, if possible. Really, our friend Tyson
looming up more brilliant than the full moon. Of cour
you agreed to that place, pardner ?”

“TI didn’t ’pear to hev nothin’ to say ’bout it, boss,”
mitted the foreman, with a half-sheepish grin. “Ty
jest said so an’ sech was to be the how, an’ as youd’ gi
him ful] swing, what could I do?”

“Let him twist his own rope, of course,” with a tou
of viciousness in his smile. “May that thought giveh
consolation when he has gone—whither he surely is going.

Miles Crampton seemed to catch a portion of thatcill
confidence, for his gloomy visage brightened perceptibly,
and it was in amore natural tone of voice that he 1
spoke:

“T reckon that ’bout tells it all, boss. An’ now-—il’
bit airly, o’ course, but I reckon it ’d be jest as well ef
was to be gittin’ thar. Mebbe Tyson means clean wh
bué I’d ruther know it of my own self, then through tak
his say-so.” ;

“You don’t appear to hold a very exalted opinion of w

 
nutual friend, old man,” smilingly said Gentleman Joe,
g to his feet. : :
Devil trust him! Idon’t, an’ hain’t a-gwine to, fur-
n I’m jest ’bleedged fer to do it, an’ that’s gospel
h, ef Ido say it.” :
“Well, I'll not waste time in seeking to convert you,
ardner, although I’m not afraid of his laying a trap for
,since he’s nominated so good a man as Lipscomb.
fill, it’s just as well to be upon the safe side, and I’d
ther be first on the ground.”
re’d be jest nasty ’nough fer to hint we was ’skeered
0 come airlier—dug-gun him fer a pizen sarpint,” growled
rampton, who apparently could see no good in their
nemy just then. .
Since an agreement had been reached on all important
ts, there was nothing further to detain the friends.
I' preparations were quickly made, and they left the
together, heading in the direction of the Gulch
oper, where the mines all were located.
eif seen in company, that fact would have given
tono comment; but Silver Gulch seemed almost like a
eserted village, by contrast with the prior day; then the
meets were full of life and movement, now they were
and almost devoid of human life, for the miners had
med to work after their brief holiday.
Gentleman Joe and his foreman left town in the direc-
on of the Little Bonanza mine, and only shifted their
se when fairly clear of the town. It was hardly prob-

|) able that any curious eyes were watching their move-

ents, but if so, this simple strategy would throw sus-
cion off the right. scent.

Gentleman Joe kept up his cheerful role until they were
It of sight of town, but then he fell ‘to thinking over mat-
1s, and his face once more grew dark and bitter.

Miles Crampton, too, seemed to feel in anything but a
ative mood, but his anxiety seemed wholly born of his
lendly fears for his master, judging from his many covert

| bances into that grave countenance.

Hence it came that very few words were spoken during
at trip to the Needles ; only one of the many curious
y “mations of rock to which that appellation has been

 
   

  

 
 

given. ce
This location was nearly three miles from the toy
Silver Guich, and fairly well within the line of roy
broken hills which surrounded that particular mini
region. S ; :
No road or trail of any description led near the Nee
and if for that reason alone, a better spot for a duel,
“suicide,” could hardly have been selected. =
As they drew near the Needles, both principal an
ond began to make keen use of their eyes, althqugh neith
of them could actually have suspected a trick or a tr
was being prepared for their coming. ae
“Tooks clean, an’ we’re fust on the grounds, 't a
rate,” said Miles Crampton, with grim satisfaction, —
kin give ’em the nose-up, ef we like, an’ that’s one
to score on our side.” : =
Gentleman Joe glanced at the dial of his watch,
said :
- “Not if they put in an appearance within an hour,
ner. It’s just four o’clock, and Tyson set the time fori
remember.” ee
“Waal, fust is fust, an’ I’m ruther it, then last,” s
bornly held the mine boss. ‘Set down, an’ I'll jestt
skoot ’round: the Needles, to make plum’ sure they hai
no gum game gwine on, will ye?” i
With a faint smile, Gentleman Joe complied. Past:
perience told him mere words availed little against Cran
ton’s stubbornness when once an idea entered his bra
That exploration took but a few minutes, and,
Crampton returned, his face wore a grimly satisfied
“They hain’t no dug-gun critter skulkin’ ’round hy
that I kin find out,” he reported, plumping himself do
in front of his employer. se
“Of course not, but I knew you wouldn’t be satis
eeu making a search,” quietly observed Gent
oe. :
“That’s all right, fer you, boss,” doggedly mum
Crampton. ‘‘You kin trust him, ef it fits yer notio
me—I wouldn’t trust the pizen dude fur’s I cou
them Needles ina minnit. But now——” -

    
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
  

 
  

 

 

  

 
  
 
  

  
 
 
 
 

   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
    

   

ll, what is it, pardner?” gently asked the Bonanza
ing, taking note of that sudden shadowing of his sec.
id's countenance.

Tain't a easy thing to spit out, an’ I’m doin’ my level
rto keep my thinker ’way from sech a black turn, boss,

 
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
   
   
   
    
 
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
   
  
       

“You mean my drawing the blank, pardner ?”

“Jest that, then. Ef you do—which I’m tryin’ to pray
n't come our way—ef you do, I say, i'll kill Tyson, too
quick fer skinnin’.”

“Td much rather you’d promise not, pardner,” said
ntleman Joe, with grave earnestness. “If fate snufts
out, let him go free. Only—try to show Miss Ritchie
w unworthy such a cur is of her—her acquaintance, will _
) ‘

~ won’t never live long ’nough fer to force it onto
t, boss.”

Mt least, promise me this: that you’ll not harm him
re to-day. If so, all the precautions we have taken will
of no avail, and the whole truth must come out. Prom-
meso much, old friend?” __

‘ll go that fur, boss, but—I’ll kill him, all the same.”
That’s between you and him, Crampton, of course.
ll, 'm not worrying over drawing the wrong gun; Ill
h him with my own hand. I feel it—I almost know

e

hard hopin’ °ll fetch the turn your way, boss, ‘be
hty sure I'll git ye thar,” declared Crampton, fer-
tly. “Still, ef luck should turn crooked, how ’bout
r business affairs?”

What matter?” returned Gentry, with a sudden frown.
ought to have prepared for that, I suppose, but I had
ghts only for him and—for him, I say.”

_ Ef I mought—thar’s your ‘lations, boss?” hesitated
mpton, plainly finding this a disagreeable duty, since
sidering it at all forced them to consider Gentry’s
th as well.

have none, to my knowledge, pardner,” replied
Geniry, with a faint smile. “Some there may be, of
, but so remote and far away that neither they nor
‘er knew or gave thought to the other. My papers are

  
   
 

   
     
  
  
  
  
    
 
  
   
    
 
  
   
    
  
 
   
  
 
 

in the safe at the express office. My other valuables a
in my trunk at the hotel. Here’s the key; keep it, on the
off-chance. If I should have to stay behind here, do what
you please with what you may discover.”

But Crampton almost roughly refused the proffered p
of iron. 2

“Put it back, sir, or I'll think you’re tryin’ to ‘gy
me,” he muttered, huskily. “Think I’m doin’ of all th
fer pay? Reckon I’m sech a low-down hog as to—put
back, I tell ye, critter.”

Gentleman Joe obeyed, his countenance betraying hoy
strongly he was affected by that rough refusal. Afterall
the world could not be so dreadfully evil, since such tr
friendship was possible.

Miles Crampton sprang to his feet, turning his bac
upon his employer, possibly because he felt ashamed
too moist eyes just then.

It is precisely these rude, unlettered men, who are mo
bashful and least inclined to display their real heart
even to the eyes of their closest friends.

Gentleman Joe knew that silence on his part would b
greater kindness than speech just then, and for a
space neither man stirred nor spoke a word. Then—

Crack, crack, crack! j :

Miles Crampton gave a spasmodic leap, flinging his army
up to clap both hands to his head as he staggered li
drunken man, hoarsely crying aloud:

“God! I’m killed ! I’m——”

Gentleman Joe leaped to his feet with a startled sh
but before he could do or say more, a noose dropped ove
his head, and he was jerked violently backward upon tht
rocks.

Ashe fell, he saw poor Miles Crampton pitch heavil
upon his face, and with savage thirst for vengeance he
struggled to rise. Only to fall again, losing all conscious
ness under a heavy stroke from behind.

    
    
CHAPTER XV.
GENTLEMAN JOE IN THE TOILS.

‘When the first glimmer of consciousness began to return
Joseph Gentry, he was lying at length upon a thin, hard
tof blankets, and all about him seemed buried in
night darkness.
ll occasionally happen, his brain was the first to
,and, before his powers of muscular motion re-
ed, he was striving to recall what had happened to
and whither he had been conveyed.
first his memory was but little better than an odd,
ed jumble of facts and fancies, but gradually the
rominent incidents of the past few hours started
clearer, unti]——
that curious paralysis of his muscular system kept
from springing up with acry of blended rage and
geance.
came back to him, now.
dered—that devil, Tyson. Shot—struck down—
at?”
one in a hideous nightmare, Gentleman Joe seemed
ear that hoarse cry, to see that staggering form, to be-
spoor friend falling on his face among the rocks,
ilikea mad dog. :
le strove to break that subtle spell which held his
as in chains, but vainly, and for a brief space a
urdling fear assailed him.
this his grave? Had he been buried for dead yet

lntunately for his brain perhaps that horrible fear
ofbrief duration. He could draw his breath freely
‘surely that was a faint glimmer of light coming
h—-what object was this covering his face?
he made his first voluntary motion and the touch
tongue told Gentleman Joe his head was lightly
edin a woolen blanket.

 
 

  
  
   
   
    
  
   
  
    
   
  
   
 
  
 
  
   
 
  

moment.
“What’ll you do if he’s croaked ?” aS
“No risk of that, old man,” pronounced a different yoics
which, despite the muffling folds of that blanket, seema
strangely familiar to the captive mine-owner, “It
drug that keeps him so quiet, of course.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no.” :
“Take a squint, if you don’t believe it, pardner,”
His sense of hearing certainly was unimpaired, an
Gentleman Joe even detected the light footfalls ag th
speakers seemed moving in his direction, :
He instinctively clenched his hands, as one will w
preparing to struggle for life or liberty, but that ac
told him his limbs were hampered, and that a st:
was beyond his power, for the time being at least, _
Swiftly another instinct awoke, and, closing his lids,
lay motionless, counterfeiting insensibility.
He felt those unseen persons pause by his side, and
a light touch lifted the blanket-folds from over his
and face, letting the reddish glow of a candle fall ac
his features. a
Gentleman Joe would have given considerable just th
for one fair glance at the men bending above his person,
he dared not part an eyelid, even the merest fraction.
do so would mean detection, and he would hardly be
another chance to solve that riddle; who were theo
of those voices. and why had they drugged him thus!
“Snoozing like a fresh-fed kid, isn’t he?” chuckled:
of the unknown, but then a third voice growlingly said
“ Like a corpse, rather! Curse you, man, what made
strike him so hard? If he croaks, I’ll—just think
will you.” o
Gentleman Joe required all his nerve, just then, to ma
tain his role of unconsciousness, for—that last voice sun
belonged to Henry Tyson. ;
Other words were spoken above him, but Gent:
caught their meaning. Some were angry, others dep
catory, but they passed him. by alike. He required ev
nerve, every wit to hold his fierce rage in subjection

which checked any further movement on his rai fee
unately the schemers moved away after a slight
and, as they did so, one careless foot -lragged the
j-end partially off that ghastly pale face, leaving an
g by which Gentleman Joe could use Lis sight, as
‘sense of hearing.
ided by their steps, he cautiously parted Ais lids far
ugh for a squint at their shapes; he could <listinguish
gmore just then. There was but one can¢le lighted,
s carried in front of the taller shape.
leman Joe made out three shapes, justas he had
wished three separate voices; and on*® of those
like one of those voices, almost surelx belonged
y Tyson, his treacherous rival.
as the prisoner reached this conclusion, more
hthe keen instinct of hatred than aught lse, how-
esaw the hand clasping that candle, tip *he taper
aprojecting point of rock, letting a fev drops of
lied wax fall, then standing the light utright on
provised rest.
ng of savage disappointment caught the Bonanza
g forhe counted surely on catching at least a glimpse
those faces as the light was shifted. Instead he saw
ack cloth masks, which fell to breast and soulder,
tually disguising the trio.
oucan go keep an eye out, Johnny,” curtly said he
evoiceof Henry Tyson. “If we want yous help,
nda yelp that way.”
er of the other twain silently passed beyexd the
reach of the candle-rays, and was lost te those
watching eyes from out the gloom. |
entleman Joe cared naught for him, however. His en-
tention was bestowed upon the mask whom h> felt |
si positive was Henry Tyson, and, with the thirst
vengeance growing fiercer each moment, he testee the
which had been applied to his limbs before on-
ess returned.
y were too strong to burst, too carefully applie¢ to
ipped off. He dared not use too great violence, 3st
struggles attract notice, and warn yonder mask¢ to
ter caution.
son—I know it’s Tyson,” his thoughts ran. “!

 
      
     
    
    
     
      
   

Tsay.”

  

voice, his walk, his build, his—show your face, you j
of Satan !”

How he longed to vent his fierce hatred and bitter dg.
fiance in words. But that longing was choked down bya
iron will. for he hoped to learn something of importa
through listening to their talk.

“We had him foul, without your striking so inferna
hard, man,” the shorter, heavier figure repeated, his de
half-muffled tones betraying a savage anger, mingled wi
apprehension. “Johnny roped him, I took care of Cra
ton, and you only had to make sure he didn’t pulla gun”
to do any wild shooting. Then—with that big cur to help |
as d 9 even that little—why slug him as you might am

ull ?

“That’s all right, Turner, but he’s a devil on ten whe
when he gets into full swing, and so I—well, I just hadt
tap him once.” a

‘Tap him,” echoed the other mask, bitterly. “If
skull isn’t cracked, then it’s tougher than any pine kn
ever met up with. If he croaks before—curse you for

  

  

  

  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
    
     
    

“Oh, come down the tree, Dick !”

“See that you don’t go up a tree—by the neck,
fellow.” 3

“Why would I, then?”

“Tf Gentleman Joe does croak, and——”

“Touch lightly, Dick Turner,” harshly cutin hism
lifting a hand with a half-menacing gesture by way
adding emphasis to his words. “If I hang for that, Tkn
who'll match me pulling hemp. Don’t you go to sling
out such nasty hints, or—well, better not.”

“That’s all right, pardner,” more placably said Tur
or Tyson, as Gentleman Joe felt almost positive
shorter, heavier mask was. ‘‘Of course we’re in the
together, and, if you sink, I’ll hardly swim. Still, Is
to it; with such a big pile at stake, you hadn’t ought
have to run the chanees, once we had the cinch fair
the fellow.” ss

“And I say it all over again; you're kicking up allt
bobbery for just nothing at all. I hit to stun, not ki
for the dope I gave the King, he’d have been bawling
ongsince.” =
fyou didn’t dope him too strong, though.”
Why, you’d scratch out something else to snarl over,
if course,” bluntly retorted the taller mask. ‘“ What’s
@me over you, Dick? You didn’t use to be like this, man!
Have you clean lost your nerve since drifting down here?
Up-country, I never had a stake like this to play for,
ner, and if you knew just how heavy it is——” :
mwilling enough to learn, though, Dick,” said hig
, with a short, dry laugh.
ndTli let you into the whole trick, just as soon as
ta square chance, Murgatroyd, though you’d ought
ve a tolerably fair idea as to its size already.”
“I know that the people in this section calls him the
bonanza King, but calling don’t always count. How much
¢pan out on a regular clean-up, Dick ?”
ore thousands than you ever saw hundreds before,
_And that’s why I’m so mighty nervous over the
ou gave him. If he should croak before we can work
ick, we’ve risked our necks for just worse than noth-
fall.”
ot while you. can sling such a beautiful pen, Dicky,
chuckled Tom Murgatroyd. ‘‘I say let the fool
, and trust the rest to flat forgery.”
ck Turner gave animpatient gesture at that blunt
eech, but Gentleman Joe, who was keeping keen watch
, hardly believed that movement meant aversion to
murder,
ndI say no,” harshly responded Turner, after a brief
e.
ell, pardner, of course I don’t claim to have the in-
tack,” deliberately spoke his mate. “For one thing,
laven’t been in these parts long enough to get fully used
€ropes. For another, you have kept your lips but-
uprather more closely than a trusty and trusting
er really ought.”
hat chance have we had for talkin’ it over, man?” —
ably cut in the shorter knave.
That's all right. I’m not kicking so much against that
fit, but when you come to prating about not doing

 
murder, and to climbing on a pedestal, to pose as modes
virtue, and such like—bah! You make me decidedly
weary, Dick Turner.”

“And you’re growing too cranky for any sort of Ue,
Murgatroyd,” came the angry retort. “If you’re not will
ing to follow my lead in this game, why don’t you jum
it at once?” s

“Because I don’t care to pull out once I’m in, Dicky,
with amore friendly tote. “Come, old man, you a
can’t afford to quarrel over a bone that we haven't eve,
begun to pick as yet.” a

“That’s all right. I’m not hunting a row, but when yo
talk about upsetting the plans I’ve taken so much trou
and risk to set in train, of course I’ll object; hard, too,”

“Tf I knew what your plans really were, pardner, Ii
know better in which direction to turn my heels, Dov
you think so, Dicky ?” a

“You know that they hang on his living long enought
pull the nuts out of the fire for us, anyway.” m

“T know you said we had to take him, dead oralive
- Turner.”

“Yes, but that was only if I failed to rope him,
east. I did rope him. “We had him foul before you
him that crack on the head. He’s alive, I recxon, a
stays so until I’ve pinched the fat out of the fello
that he shall keep on living, so far as we are concerned,”

“Have it that way, if you will. I’m ready to run 8
risk of an after-clap, if you are. Still, as you sald, whel
you rung me into the game, Gentleman Joe’s a mi
tough nut to crack, What if he cuts up rusty, and
refuses to come down ?” :

“Te shall yield, I swear he shall,” fiercely snarled
ner, giving another passionate gesture with his gl
right hand. » ae

“till, if he should hold firm?” persisted Murgatro

“T]] break his will, if Ihave to make him sufiel
thousand deaths. TI can do it, pardner, and T’ll show ye
the very trick ; but first let’s see if we can’t restore Gentl
man Joe to his senses.” _ =

 

ee!
    

i

  

eached toward the candle, but before he could sé:
it, a cold, stern voice rang forth:
pare yourself that trouble, Henry Tyson.”

CHAPTER XVI.
GENTLEMAN JOE’S DEFIANCE.

Joseph Gentry pronounced those words, Dick Turner

astart, his hand knocking over the candle, which

sextinguished as it fell to the floor of the cavern.

a brief space all. was silence, then Gentleman Joe

AgalD >

i inte you cur! I’veseen and heard more than

h to spot you, Henry Tyson, even in a more com-
sguise than that you wear.” .

wre crazy, man!” came a hoarse voice from out the

e darkness, but not altered sufficiently to deceive

keen ears.

as worse than crazy when I offered a dog the

o meet death like a man,” coldly retorted the pris-

“Iwas worse than crazy when I thought you had

ed up courage enough to give me the satisfaction

red, through your foul treachery. But I know you
ow.”

.coarse, derisive laugh came through the gloom.

Vhoam I, then, dear fellow ?”

Henry Tyson by name, cowardly thief, liar, traitor,

jin by nature.” —

n not——”

tleman Joe caught a sound which seemed to imply a

movement on the part of one or the other of his cap-

Tt was followed by a guarded whisper; only un-

y keen ears, and they sharpened by the emergency

have detected so much.

whisper it almost certainly had been, for when that

Tose again, it was preceded by a mocking laugh,

ag seemed content to let his denial rest where

Snort,

Night, Gentleman Joe, since your perceptions are

   
   
 
   
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
   
  
  
   
  
  

  
Te eae LOa LC ek a ee a ee ee
MeRVae ; aw t Vor 4 ;

 

.

go acute. A rose by any other name is said to smell ia >
as honeyfied, and I’ve traveled under so many different —

names in my time, that one more can’t break my back, §%
—Henry Tyson I’ll be, since you seem to insist upon that
particular combination of letters.”
“Henry Tyson you are. The world isn’t big enough to
produce two such utterly despicable scoundrels.”
“Thanks, my dear fellow!” mocked the mask, as he

scratched a match, by the flickering light of which he ~

stooped to look for the candle. “You have a rare turn for
compliments, I must admit.”

“And you have more chin than wit,” growlingly cut in
Murgatroyd, as the candle was lighted. “ Your stiff is not

*

so nigh croaking, but what he can sing to your pitch, is }

he?”
“Tll strike the key in good time, pardner, don’t you
worry,” said Dick Turner, moving toward their captive,

bearing the light. ‘‘Glad to see you’re feeling so mighty —
chipper, Joseph. A sound and hearty manis worth so

much more than a dying cripple.”

He held the light so as to cast its brighest rays upon the .
face of the prisoner, making no move toward interfering —
when Gentleman Joe exerted his utmost strength in anat ,

tempt to burst his bonds.

Tf he could only get free. If he could merely get one |

hand and arm at liberty.

That would be enough to punish this mocking demon, j
for death itself would be powerless to break his grip, once |

it was fairly fastened upon that lying throat.

- His utmost efforts were in vain, as that non-interference —

might have assured him they would be, had his brain not
been so nearly on fire with savage rage and hatred.
The bonds were strong enough to hold a giant, and had

ee ale

 

been far too carefully applied, to slip, or for a single knot hh

to give a fraction of an inch.

Gentleman Joe struggled until his strength was nearly 1

 

exhausted, but the only result was to cause the covering

blanket to slip off his person; nothing better than that.
“Don’t stop because you’re keeping us waiting, my de

fellow,” mocked Dick Turner. “It’s amusing enough

 
pusfrom dropping into a doze, and if you really en
the exercise——”
Qh, cheese it!” growlingly muttered Murgatroyd.
Quit chaffing, and get down to solid business, can’t you,
Toa”
ything to keep peace in the family,” cheerfully
ed the malicious knave, squatting down on his own
holding the candle so that fts rays fell athwart
gs face, yet did not interfere with his own eyesight.
eady for the question, Joseph ?”
mileman Joe made no reply in words, but his eyes
gleaming with a touch of the wild beast just then.
i he could only get free. If he might only answer this
jilassassin as his black deeds so richly deserved.
ence is said to give consent, the wide world over, so
at ye, Joseph; how many ducats are you willing to
for your life and liberty, dear friend ?”
Not one cent—to. such as you, Henry Tyson,” sternly
tdthe Bonanza King. “I’d see you countless fathoms
nthe lowest and hottest pit of Tophet, first.”
“ldare say we’ll meet there, or thereabouts, Gentry, in
ourse, but I’m beginning to fear you mistake the
aise character of this little play ; it’s a tragedy, not a
Mr. Gentry.” :
n't know that, you devil?” fiercely cried the pris-
his pale face working strongly. “What have you
ith poor Miles Crampton, Henry Tyson ?”
Turner gave a barely perceptible start, and flashed
ce toward Murgatroyd, who was standing close by.
orthy gave a slight nod, but his mate was not so
uly with his decision.
wentleman Joe spoke again, his voice less clear and
The emotion which he would have scorned to betray
own account, came to the surface as he spoke of his
88 foreman.
eard him cry out—I saw him fall before your shots.
have murdered him, as I believe and fear, I’ll play
with every devil concerned, though I spend all the
ilainder of my lifein bunting you down. I swear it,
ou, Cur Tyson, know how I can keep a pledge.”
K Turner rose to his feet, extending the candle

 
 

 

 

toward his comrade, coldly saying,

“Play candlestick for a bit, pardner, will you?”
“What now, mate?” E og
“You heard what Gentleman Joe just said? Well, I'm _
going to oe ae how highly I value his threats,” ae ; 4
urgatroyd took the candle, seemingly a bit xed

but hardly deeming it worth while nee one a
His comrade removed his gloves, stowing them away
in a pocket. Then he lifted his slouch hat, after whichhe
plucked off the cloth mask, tossing it to one side, as /
though of no further use to him. cg
“ Are you crazy, man?” sharply ejaculated Murgatroyd qa
as the other ruffian squarely faced the light, hatless, mask- |
less, a cold, sneering smile curling his lips. a
Gentleman Joe gave a start, although it could not be i
said he was taken by surprise at sight of that strong, 7
smoothly shaven face. He had been fully convinced he ©
who was called Dick Turner by the other mask was Henry ~
Tyson, and this unmasking only confirmed that belief. 7
Dim and uncertain though the light was amid those }
gloomy surroundings, far less keen eyes than those in the 4
service of the Bonanza King might have recognized that 7
strong, almost handsome visage, that close-cropped head, 1
those dark brown, nearly black, eyes, that red-lipped |
mouth, that strong chin, with its little cleft in the center, }
One and all belonged to Henry Tyson. >
“You think I’m a fool, do you, pardner?” he asked, ina _
curious, purring tone of voice. “Yet, only a few minutes ~
ago, you were almost cursing me because I wanted to deal }
gently with our rich friend here.” _
“ And now you’ve got to rub him out, or suffer your own |
self.” a
“That doesn’t follow of a necessity, pardner. If Gentle- ”
man Joe comes to Limerick on time I'll turn him loose, 7 |

just the same. Why not? He’d hunt down Dick Turner, |

just as quick as he’ll go for Hank Tyson.” |
“But I don’t see the use in——” Sas
“Keep all eyes open, and, perhaps, you will, pardner.
And now, Joseph Gentry, T’ll answer that question ot |
yours, face to face, without even the flimsy shield of @

  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
     

 
ackrag between. Yes, we killed Miles Crampton, simply
use we couldn’t well avoid it. He was a human bull-
and shooting was the safest method of disposing of
0 ” é

ool.
“His murder shall cost your lives—I swear it, you
evil!”

wearing breaks no bones, and you must get free be-

you can even begin to put your rash threats into ex-

And, by the way, don’t you think a little more
would serve yourends just as well, not to say

rr)”
Gentleman Joe readily comprehended that thinly vailed
ce, but he cared nothing for it. He had uttered his
nd his glowing eyes told how gladly he would carry
oath to consummation.

‘ve said my say, now do your worst, Henry Tyson.”

prefer doing my best, dear Joseph,” with a mocking

curling his lips once more. “I did my worst with
rampton. He couldn’t be bought or frightened off, so we
the next thing. Result: Miles is putin the hole, and

hole is so deep, so securely covered over that he’ll

rcome to light again until Gabriel toots his horn.”

h, call off, or get down to business, pardner!” impa-

said Tom Murgatroyd.
is business, old man, and you’ll soon recognize it.
uch, So far from wasting valuable time, and chewing
r nothing, ’m drawing a realistic picture from
Gentleman Joe will take warning, if he’s the wise
best friends think him.

ou hear, Mr. Gentry? The fate that overtook poor ~

jUrainpton will surely claim you, unless you grow a

iser than your speech so far has indicated. Will you

to our wishes, then ?”

, Without asking what they are,” coldly said the
manza King, “That the proposal comes through your

sreason enough for my flatly rejecting it.”

rave talk, but I’ve seen many a gallant crower have

i-feathers plucked out in my time. Better give way ~

lat you can’t resist, my dear fellow.”

ou have my answer: I’ll never treat with such a

h assassin as I know you to be, Henry Tyson.”

 
 

 

a

   
   
  
  
    
     
    
     
    
  
  
   
 
 
    

“Tf gentlemanly arguments fail, I’ll have to fall back on
harsher methods, Mr. Gentry,” coldly persisted the are
villain. “T most sincerely trust you will not force me t
such an extremity, but, if you are go foolish, I'll stick to.
it until I’ve gained my point.” ge

“You may murder me, even as you murdered poor
Crampton, but that’s the worst you can do, dog.” <

“So you say, but you’re still in your A B O’g, poor fel-
low,” in a tone of mock commiseration,

“In one word, you scoundrel, what end do you hope to —
gain?” asked Gentleman Joe, partly gainsaying himself, —
in hopes of cutting that disagreeable interview shorter.

“Thanks!” with a mock-polite bow. “As a starter, I
not only hope, but I fully intend, to gain your entire for-
tune; mines, mining shares, ready cash, and personal
property, of all description. I’d ask for more, but I hate
to give any gentleman a chance to grunt, while glancing
in my direction.”

“Ts that all?” dryly asked the prisoner, his lips curling,

“Well, that must answer, for a starter. After you have
completed the transfer, according to Gunter, we'll talk —
further,” calmly replied the audacious scoundrel.

His coolness was truly admirable, and had his hatred
been less intense for this demon, who had so coarsely
branded himself assassin, Gentleman Joe might even have —
felt a certain degree of admiration for him on that account. _

Instead, his forced composure gave way, and he sharply _
eried :

“Your villainy is only equaled by your impudence, you
murderous whelp of Satan.”

“Tt may be just as well if I warn you, once for all,
my dear fellow, that every foul epithet you apply to me
during our little negotiation, will call for a golden plaster —
when the final score is totted up.”

“ And once for all, you dog, hear this; I’ll die, but you~
- or yours shall never finger one dollar of my property.”

‘““What’s the use in bandying words with the bull
headed fool, pardner?” harsnly interposed Murgatroyd
“ Business, man !”

“I’ve reached the end, pardner. And you, Gentry.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  

listen: You'll make me a free gift of all your property,
and that before another sun sets.”

 

CHAPTER XVII.
GENTLEMAN JOE’S ORDEAL.

As though to give his coldly malignant words a chance
to thoroughly impress themselves upon Gentleman Joe’s
brain, Dick Turner, or Henry Tyson as the case might be,
turned abruptly away, taking the candle from Tom Murga-
troyd’s hand, leaving that worthy knave to bear him com-
pany or remain behind in the darkness, as he saw fit and
proper.

With a surly growl as of one more than tired of such
fantastics, the taller mask followed, leaving the Bonanza
King to himself and his reflections.

What the burden of those thoughts was, it hardly re-
_ quires the telling, but amid those dark and fierce brood-
_ ings, came an occasional more practical thought.
Thoroughly familiar with the country for miles around
§ §©6Silver Gulch, thanks to his mining experience, Gentleman
- Joe was no longer at a loss to divine whither he had been
orne by his treacherous rival. :

Almost half a score miles distant from the town wasa
ave ina rocky mount, or rugged ridge, which he himself
ad partially explored while on a little prospecting expedi-

ice; on in the days before the Little Bonanza had made-him a
al, © wealthy man.

, for he raw, dark, moldy smell had given Gentry his first

¥y clew, and now he was certain; he could catch the faint

splash of dropping water as it oozed slowly through those
umatic rocks.

Little chance of a rescue by outside interference. That
cavern was far off the line of travel, and that vicinity had
een far too carefully prospected in days gone by, for even
‘tender-foot” to think of striking another bonanza in
at quarter.
“No,” came his grim conclusion. “I’ve got only my
mself to count on. Well, I’d willingly croak, if I could
ly get a fair grip on that devil’s throat first.”

 
Gentleman Joe never gave thought to preserving his life
by yielding to the audacious proposal which his chief cap-
tor had hinted at, rather than detailed. If paying one —
poor dollar into that blood-stained hand would purchase —
his life, that transfer would never be made by him while ©
his brain remained clear.

The Bonanza King was not long left in darkness. The |
faint glimmer of light caught his gaze, and, as he watched,
he saw that a third mask was approaching ; doubtless — the 4
same who had been so unceremoniously dismissed by Dick |
Turner before the seemingly insensible captive was ex-
‘amined. y

“This way, J jobuny,” said the chief conspirator, lighting —
their steps by a burning candle. “I'll show you where to —
rig the purchase. And you, Tom, illuminate. Darn the
expense, say I. Give us light, and plenty of it, will you?”

“Tf you don’t make too much wind for their burning,
pardner,” retorted Murgatroyd, then busying himself by
lighting candles and fixing them upon rocky broiegaes
along the cavern walls.

Gentleman Joe said nothing, but watched their move-
ments. He could see that the fellow called Johnny bore
on his back a rude contrivance which bore some faint re-
semblance to a barber’s chair, in so far as having a seat,
back and head-rest were concerned.

It was formed of green wood, and had evidently been
shaped more for strength than ease or beauty.

Dick Turner seemed very particular about how ae
where this contrivance should be placed, and when the
precise spot was agreed upon, his own hands helped roll
heavy stones around its base, thus making the clumsy —
chair as secure on its pedestal as if deep rooted in earth. —

Before this was completed to his satisfaction, Turner
was approached by Murgatroyd, who seemed more than
a as to the benefit to be derived from so much

abor

“You don’t really think this fool-trick will work,
pardner?” he asked, bluntly.

“Tt can’t help but work, Tommy, and I’!l have you: on
your knees inside of the next ten hours, begging ny pé

 
don for having expressed such a silly doubt. Now—for
Gentle Joseph.” : 3
A sign from the arch-conspirator was sufficient, and
paying no attention to the hampered struggles of the Bon-
anza King, further than to see he did not break their
holds, the three knaves carried Gentleman Joe from the
pallet to that odd-looking pedestal. : :
Although he could hope to gain nothing by so doing,
Gentry never ceased his struggles, giving his captors all
the trouble possible, only giving way to actual violence.
Had he been granted even the limited use of his limbs,
that victory would never have been won, odds though
there were against him. :
- First he was forced into that seat, and while two strong
‘men held him in place, the third pair of hands swiftly
bound his body to the stout upright.
After this, the resi was comparatively easy. A strong
bond was passed about his throat,drawn so closely as to pre-
lude movement, yet giving him fair space for breathing.
Abroad belt was buckled around his forehead, pressing
is head firmly against that rough wood.
And even while persisting in his vain struggles, Gentle-
an Joe took note of one fact; that rest was planted di-
ectly beneath dripping points, and now that his entire
on was held motionless as though incased in a plaster
st, water was slowly, regularly dropping upon his un-
rotected crown; drop—drop—drop! —
Dick Turner drew back a couple of paces, rubbing his
nds together with an air of malignant glee ashe in-
ected the arrangement.
*Well, Tommy, what do you think of it now?”
“Ugh!” grunted Murgatroyd, in real or affected disgust.
t's wet, and cold, and nasty enough, no doubt, but if
call that a game of freeze-out, you'd better lay ina
's stock of grub and patience, both.”
sthat your opinon, Gentle Joseph?” asked the arch-
in, turning back to his helpless captive. “Hag your
education been as sadly neglected? Can’t you re-
some inkling of the peculiar torture called—ha! That
you, does it ?”
ebroke off with a fiercely exultant laugh, for he saw

 
- by those eyes that Gentleman Joe caught his diabolical]
meaning. :

“You may kill, but you’ll never conquer, you Satan’s Z

whelp.”

“That’s all right, Gentry. I give you credit for meaning
just what words your lips utter at present. You know
what has been in by-gone, dark ages, but you can’t realize
that those poor wretches were made of precisely the same

flesh and blood as yourself; that they were just as strong, —

just as brave, just as able to withstand torture, which

no doubt they proudly defied after this self-same fashion.
“It seems so silly, so ridiculous, doesn’t it? Only a ~

drop of water, falling from an insignificant height. A
weight which you would never notice, unless you were act-
ually waiting for it, with senses on the keen alert.

“Why, a man’s simply idiotic to think that such an an-
noyance can ever grow into actual torture. ’Twould hard-
ly amonut to an annoyance, only for the nasty crawling
down one’s neck—ugh !

“EKven that would be a pleasure, out in the warm sun-

shine. Here, where it is cool and damp and dark, ’tis

really nothing to complain of.

“Just one drop at a time, and the interval long enough
for one’s skull to grow cold and clammy before another
drop falls. Bah! Starvation would end me, long days
before such paltry means could begin to cause anything
worse than inconvenience—’tis so wet, so cool, you know.”

‘Blessed if I don’t believe you’re going off your nut,
pardner,” Murgatroyd bluntly ejaculated. “If I'd known

222

you were crazy

x

“Tis a lunacy that will bring money to thy pockets,
gentle doubter,” blandly bowed the villain, in mock polite-

ness.
“It surely ought to, if only as pay for having to stand so

much wind-pudding,” sulkily retorted the skeptical mask. —
“You may possibly know what you’re driving at, but

curst if { do.”
“For one thing, Doubting Thomas, I’m giving you a
wrinkle which you ought to cherish and be thankful for;

*twill come in play when you run up against a miserly

 
  

 

 

hunks, in your road-agenting. By its means you can open
safe or pocket, just as surely as——”

“You'll open his, then?” ;

“T gay now, what I said before: ere another sun sets,
Josepth Gentry will not only yield, but will just beg and
pray that we’ll accept his property to the last red cent, as
a gift in exchange for freedom—not of body, but from
those innocent little drops of water.”

“I can’t believe it.” =

“Can you, Gentle Joseph?” with a devilish sneer.

Gentleman Joe made no reply. Despite his reading, he
could not yet realize what a hideous fate was in store for
him, unless he gave way and consented to give that grin-
ning demon all he asked.

“Still stubborn, dear man? Well, our patent water-
clock is keeping score, and I’m content to wait a little
longer. As for you, when those tiny drops seem to in-
crease in size and weight—when you begin to thrill and
quiver and hold your breath as another drop is nearly due
—just sing out that common sense has come to your aid,
and we’ll be with you in a jiffy.”

Leaving the Bonanza King to his doom, Dick Turner
drew his mates away to a less damp portion of that rock-
chamber, spreading blankets from that pallet on which to
sit, producing a deck of cards, as though never a doubt or
qualm was troubling him just then.

Not so Tom Murgatroyd. A far more material ruffian,
he could not appreciate these more delicate touches, and
he had not the slightest faith in what Turnér, or Tyson,
facetiously called his “ water-cure.”

“Well, if you’re not clean crazy, Dick Turner,” he said, .
irritably, “it’s simply because you haven’t got any brains
to be upset.”

* What's biting you now, Tommy ?”

“You are wasting good time in worse than child’s play.
I say, get down to solid work before the citizens take the
alarm and come in a gang to rout us out.”

“Now, you’re talking foolish, old man. I’ve covered our
tracks so carefully that even a blood-hound couldn’t strike
a scent, much less follow us to this snug den. And as for
Gentry, I pledge you my word of honor, that long before

 
 

  

 

  

 
 

the sun sets this evening, he’ll be praying us for mercy,
and red-hot to sign over all his wealth, just to be set free
from those insignificant drops of water.’ a
“You talk as though you really meant it, by Jove!”
“And surely do mean it, every word, pardner. Maybe
you never took notice how just such slow drips can wear
a hole through solid rock ?”
“But—you don’t mean——
“T mean that just so surely those drops could, in the —
course of time, eat their way to Gentry%s skull, then bore
a hole through bone and all that lies beneath. Only, of
course, we’ll not have to wait that long.
“In an hour’s time, those drops will weigh a pound -
apiece. In ten, each one would seem heavier than a solid
ton.”

 
 
    
  
 
 
 
   
   
  
   
    
  
    
   
   

”

CHAPTER XVIII.
WOOLLY WILSON’S CHARGE.

While all this was transpiring in the main chamber of —
that damp, moisture-oozing cavern, another captive was
being guarded in a smaller if dryer portion of that same
underground retreat.

Like Joseph Gentry, this captive was lying upon a poor
bed, formed by a single blanket, doubled lengthways. —
Like the Bonanza King, his limbs were bound, as a further ©
precaution against possible escape. z

Seated at a little distance, revealed by the candle stuck
on abit of melted wax, dropped as a base for itself ona
point of rock, Woolly Wilson, the red-haired, red-bearded
colossus whom Gentleman Joe had so sternly warned out
of Silver Gulch, was resting elbows on knees, chin on
joined palms, lazily pulling away at a filthy wooden pipe.

His huge legs were doubled up, tailor-fashion, and he —
had a folded blanket as cushion for his haunches. Yet the
big fellow certainly did not feel overly proud of his com- —
forts, else his low grumblings were born of a chronie dis-
position to find fault with fate.

Never mind just what he said; Woolly Wilson believed
cpg itt eal: 3

 

 

in strong expressions, as well as in strong drink. The
first he had in limitless store, but the last—’twas an empty
and discarded flask which his gloomy gaze was resting
upon.

Pris blasphemous lamentations were cut short by a
quick, light step, and, as he turned his head, he caught
sight of a burly figure, a masked face, and instantly re-
cognizing his master, he spluttered :

“Ready, boss, ef ary thing’s wanted, fer Tm——’

“Tm not after your tongue, so keep it to yourself,
Woolly,” curtly interposed the mask, passing over to
where the captive lay, bending low as though to satisfy
himself those bonds had not been tampered with since his
last visit.

Neither captive nor captor spoke, during that brief ex-
amination, and, drawing back, the mask spoke again to
Woolly Wilson:

“Do you know what I’ve stationed you here for?”

“To kinder keep a eye onto that critter, I reckon, boss.”

“To gee that he don’t get away, yes. Do your duty, and
I'll pay you big money, in clean gold. Butif you fail—
well, I’ll pay you, all the same, but ’twili be in lead.”

“Hain’t I doin’ of my jewty, boss?” half-whined the —
colossus. “Ef be was a fat mouse, an’ me a hongry cat, I
couldn’t keep a-watchin’ of him no closeter’n I be.”

‘“*You’ve been swilling again, Woolly,” as his keen eyes
took note of that discarded flask. “What did I tell you
about getting drunk ?” :

“ Jest hardly ’nough fer to make a dew on the inside 0’
the glass, boss,” sulkily replied the giant, yet flinching as
though he half-expected a blow to follow those words.
“Jest one weenty swaller, an’ me witha tank that kin
hold a two-gallon keg.”

“You haven’t the mate to that flask, Wilson?”

“No, sir. You kin s’arch me ef you like.”

“Never mind. You know the penalty which awaits a slip
on your part. Don’t forget that. Now—Woolly ?” :

“T’m lookin’ at ye, boss.”
“Tf you should happen to hear any unusual racket out
yon way, just seal up your ears and play you didn’t. If

?

_ you’re wanted, I’ll send you the old call. Unless that

 

 
comes, stick to your post here. You sabe?”

“Pll do jest as you say, boss,” meekly mumbled the
big fellow.

Without further speech, the mask disappeared in the —
direction from whence he had come, and Woolly Wilson
resettled himself, loading up his too-ancient pipe for an-
other smoke.

Not until fully satisfied that his stern master was

neither lurking nigh, nor coming back, did Wilson permit — ,

his never-wearying tongue to disclose a portion of the dis:
gust his brain contained.

“Wuss then ary dog! Wuss then ary nigger. Cuss ye
ef ye do this, an’ double-cuss ye ef ye don’t do that.

“ An’ me aclean, sur e- ’nough white gen’lem’n, by glory! —
An’ me—cuss him, an’ cuss him hard. Who's he, to
splatter himself all over the likes o’ Wild-an 1"- Woolly
Wilson ?

“ Jest Dick Turner—no mor’en that.”

Spitting as emphasis to his disgust, the giant lit his
tobacco, then fell to puffing away until a cloud of rankest
smoke enwrapped his fire-hued head.

‘‘Why don’t you kick to some purpose, then, pardies ”

Woolly Wilson gave a start, but it was merely the cap-
tive speaking, as a moment's reflection showed him.

“Why don’t I—why don’t you button up, critter?” he
growled, harshly. “Want me to come over an’ squat on
that wind-trap 0’ yours, don’t ye?” a

“No, thanks!” dryly replied the bound one. “I was
simply going to show you how you might make ten times
the wages that*foul-mouthed tyrant said he’d pay you
with half the trouble and even less work.”

“You’re tryin’ fer to come a trick, you be, critter.”

“No, I’m only offering you a fortune, which——”

“Shet up, you!” savagely growled the giant. “I’m put
hyar by the boss to watch, not to chin with the likes 0’
you.

A faint sound had caught Wilson’s ears, making him
fancy that Dick Turner was lying lew to see if his hench-
man could be trusted ; but the big fellow was in error.

Having seen that his second captive was still safe, the

 
-

task went directly back to the other chamber, removing .
- his mask as no longer necessary, since he had shown his
face to Gentleman Joe. ;

Tom Murgatroyd and “Johnny” were stil) there, but
they had apparently wearied of card-playing, and were
now lying at ease, comfortably smoking their pipes, while
lazily watching the bound and helplessly hampered Bon-
anza King.

For more than two hours that subtle torture had lasted
now, and Joseph Gentry was beginning to appreciate that
graphic description so malignantly given him by Henry
Tyson, or Dick Turner, the man of many names.

Drip! Drip! Drip!

Those regularly falling drops had given him a headache,
which was steadily growing worse. Already that band
about his temples seemed contracting, and growing hotter ;
before long ’twould scorch and sear like an iron band,
fresh from the furnace.

Drip! Drip! Drip!

Ever falling upon the same spot, those cruel drops
seemed to have worn his hair away, to have beaten the
scalp toa boil. Each one sent; a thrill of growing agony
through his frame, from crown to sole. Each one seemed
_ heavier, keener, more full of poison | than any of those
which had come before.

Already he had to clench his jaws until it seemed as
_ though his teeth must splinter, to keep from giving groan

or curse. What, then, would his agony be, two hours from
now ?
Dick Turner paused beside his victim, giving a sinister
chuckle of unholy triumph, as he scanned that ghastly
pale visage.

“ Beginning to feel the pressure, are you, Gentle Joseph ?”
he sneered in brutal triumph. ‘“ Well, it’s too late to simply
_ regret having played the fool, but when you’re ready to

pay for your sport, just yelp aloud, and I'll be ready to —
talk further with you.”
He paused for answer or curse, but neither came.
‘ Gentleman Joe closed his lips tightly, the better to resist
temptation. He knew that if he gave way to his tongue,

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

   

he would find it all the harder to smother his tortures,
and, though he could die, he would not gratify hig enemy
by letting him hear, as well ag see, his torments.

“All right, J oseph the Foolish,” ‘said Turner, shrugging —
his shoulders, as he slouched off toward his mates in
crime. “J ust yelp when you want to dicker, will you?”

“You really reckon he will, pardner?” muttered Murga-
troyd, but in a far less skeptical tone than he had been
wont to use.

“Haven’t you seen enough to convince you that [knew _
what I was talking about?” coldly retorted Turner, sink- —
ing down near.by. “What were your eyes intended for,
pardner ?”

“For use, and I’ve been using them, too,” admitted the
taller rascal. “He’s suffering right smart, though he tries _
to keep it all under cover. He’s gritty, that much I'll BBY
for the fellow.”

“But grit can’t help him much longer, and then he'll
break down, all in a heap. When he does—well, we’ll reap
the rich harvest. = :

“Tt can be done, of course ?”.

“Why not? When a man of his caliber docs break |
down, it’s a break down all over, as I said. Hell promise
—he’ll do anything and every thing asked of him, just to
get away from those drops of water.

“The trick is working sooner than I counted on, though —
‘I knew it could not fail. Well, so much the better for us.
We'll finger his dust just that much the quicker.”

“Hush, he’s looking this way, pardner.” oo

“What matter?” with a careless laugh. “Let him listen; —
*twill help shorten the business when he comes to Limer-
ick. There’s only one proposition to be made, and that is
for him to sign over every dollar’s worth of his propery
after the fashion I’ve already studied out.”

“ And—after that?” slowly asked Murgatroyd, a few sec-
onds later.

An evil laugh parted those full, red lips, and if Dick
Turner was handsome then, ‘twas with the beauty of a
fallen angel.

“After that, do you ask, Thomas the slug-witted?” he

   
   
   
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 
   
said, in wicked diabolism. “Well, people have grown
accustomed to calling Joseph Gentry, the Bonanza King.

“*T would be a sore matter to alter all that to Bummer
Joe, don’t you reckon ?”

“What do you mean, pardner? Can’t you talk straight ?”

“Since Gentleman Joe has lived so long as fortune’s
favorite, don’t you reckon ’twould be a pity to doom him
to a long life of poverty ?”

‘‘Maybe you mean something, but you’re not saying it,
pardner.”

“Well, Pll try once more. I mean that this transfer of
property shall never be questioned—by Joseph Gentry.
Sabe that, Thomas?”

His looks, even more than his words, made his diaboli-
cal meaning perfectly clear, and silence reigned for a full
minute. Then Murgatroyd glanced toward that tortured
prisoner, with a touch of pity, if not of remorse in his face.

For the first time, Johnny spoke up, to utter:

“Waal, that sounds mighty tough, but I reckon it’s the
safest way, lookin’ at it all ’round, boss.”

“You may be right,” muttered Murgatroyd, still gazing
toward their helpless victim. ‘“ You are right, and I know
it, Turner, but——”

“Don’t stop short, if you’ve any more to say, dear
Thomas.”

‘“*T don’t know him so well as you do, but if what people
say is the truth, he’d make a mighty nasty enemy to have
on one’s trail.”

“He certainly would, and that’s why I say—death,”
coldly spoke Turner, sitting up, and drawing a slip of
paper from an inner pocket. “Gentleman Joe evidently
held the same idea, for here you see his death-warrant,
written and signed by his own hand.”

CHAPTER XIX.
THE TRICKSTER TRICKED.

Woolly Wilson gave a start anda shiver as that ugly
sound came to his waiting ears once again; the cry of a
human being in sore and bitter agony, intensified rather

 
'

than modified by passing through that damp and gloomy
vault.
“Ugh! Bossis gittin’ thar, I reckon, but—augh-rr-r !”
“Tt turns even your stomach, then?” huskily spoke the

cs

captive over whom the giant had been stationed as guard, |

“Think what it must be to that poor wretch, then.”

“Shet up, dug-gun ye!” growled Wilson, savagely,
“Don’t want to do nary thinkin’ ’bout it a-tall, T don’t.”

“Because you’re not all bad, not entirely devoid of
mercy? Why, then, will you persist in serving sucha
fiend for a master, when I offer you an independent for-
tune, just to——”

« Jest to slit my own thrapple, or ketch it the way yen’
pore critter is, dug- gun ye? Reckon I want that? Reckon
I don’t know you’re jest lyin’, anyhow.”

“But Pll take my solemn oath that——”

“ Oaths is cussin’, an’ I reckon I kin do my own, that-a-

way. Now ef you hed, say, the ding-bats hid in yer

clo’es, why that’d be some sort 0’ sense talkin’.”

“Can’t you keep me under your eye——”

“Hain’t I got ye thar, right now, critter?”

Again that wretched cry came floating to the rock- cell,
and once again it caused Woolly Wilson to shiver and
squirm on his-seat. The end must be coming fast, for the
cries came at briefer intervals.

“Who is he—poor devil!” huskily asked the prisoner,
clearly affected by that wail of irrepressible agony.
“What are they trying to do to him, man?”

‘Tryin’ to squeedge a fortin out o’ him, jest as they'll
mebbe be tryin’ fer to pinch you, next,” grimly retorted
the guard. “Ef I was to even let a hint drap to’rd the
boss, ’count 0’ what you’ve bin tryin’ to give me, he’d
hev you down thar, to jine in that crazy song—then
whar’d you be, eh?”

“And what share of the treasure would you ever finger, |

Wilson? I'll turn it all over to you, if you'll only let me
go free before——”

“Oh, hush! Don’t I know you’re jest tryin’ to cod the

ole man?” —
“But, I'll take any oath you please, only——”

 
 

 

  

“You'd lie, then sw’ar toit in course; who wouldn't,
in same fix? Now, ef you was to jest tell me whar the
stuff is hid out, an’ I was to ketch time fer to go take a
peek ef ’twas raally so, why—durn that yelper, says
Woolly Wilson.”

Wilder, sharper, more full of agony, if possible, came
that terrible sound from out the darkness.

The giant guard flung an apprehensive glance over his
shoulder, as though fearful of being caught in the act, then
slipped a hand under the folded blanket which afforded
him a seat, drawing forth a nearly emptied whisky flask.
He hastily swallowed that remnant, then tossed the bottle-
away toward the rear of the cell, with a grumbling curse
because its capacity had not been double.

‘“A- pore devil needs a hull bar’l, jest to keep from
shakin’ off his toenails with the shivers, in hyar! Ef ever
I git out o’ his grup—ketch me fallin’ into it ag’in, will

e gy,

“Tm trying to show you the way out, man,” persisted
the captive, his voice a mixture of fear, impatience, and
pleading. “I'll give you gold enough to make you rich
for the rest of your life. J’Il1——”

“Whar’d you ketch so mighty much? An’ you jesta
mine boss, so to speak?” incrédulously asked -the giant
guard.

“You don’t believe me? You’ve heard of the big stage
robbery, when Yellow Jack made such a haul? The last
before he was hunted down and his gang wiped out, toa
man.”

“You don’t—oh, git out, critter!”

“T swear I’m telling you truth, Wilson. Help me es-
cape, and I'll give you the whole amount, just as ’twas
buried by Yellow Jack when he found he couldn’t escape
as long as he clung to the treasure. I know right where
it is, and I can——”

“Stick a pin right thar, pardner,” interposed the guard.
“Le’ me hev time fer to think it over, will ye?”

He hung his head, apparently buried in thought. And
so he was, but hardly of a nature to carry joy to the heart
of a pining captive.

“Kin I fool the fool’ critter ?”

  
 

  

 

Such was the burden of his thoughts, and when he spoke ~
again, it was with that one end in view.

“Ef Iwas to try fer to set ye free, critter, an’ slip up
onto it, the boss’d giv’ me mighty sight wuss then he’g
dealin’ out to that mis’able cuss. Yit you ax me to trust
you, onsight, onseen, while you »

“I’m offering you all, what more can I do, Wilson ?”

“Gi’ me some sign that you’re playin’ me white, no
dirt, to be sure,” came the prompt response. “How fur’s
the stuff from hyar ?”

“You spoke true when you told me where I’m held,
then 2?”

“Gospel, pardner.”

“Then the treasure is hidden not more than two miles
- from this very spot.”

“So you say, but I’ve ketched men in turrible lies afore
this,” grunted Wilson, with a skeptical yawn and stretch,
“Now, ef I knowed jest whar that was, an’ how to find
the place, why thar’d be some sense. I could slip out, an‘
make sure fer my own self.”

“You would—you wouldn’t cheat me, Wilson?” hesi-
tated the captive, doubt and hope doing battle in his trem-
ulous voice.

“Try me an’ see, ef ’tain’t you that’s playin’ cheat,”
grufily retorted the colossus. ‘Better take a word o*
mine, then hev the boss pinch ye like he is yender pore
devil, don’t you reckon ?”

“Tf I trust—come closer, then,” with sudden decision
entering his tones. “Ill whisper—only for you, man.”

Rather more than half-drunk, Woolly Wilson never
hesitated, never gave a thought to another’s playing a
trick. Why should he? This captive was securely bound,
and unable to do harm, of course.

With greedy haste he bent over that prostrate figure,
turning his head sideways, to bring his keenest ear above
those lips. And then, with a motion swift and sure, and
hand clasping a rough fragment of rock flew back and
forward, striking the giant fairly back of the ear knock-
ing his body clear of the pallet, only a choking gasp com-
ing from his lips.

 

  
With an inarticulate snarl, rather than cry, the captive
raised partly up, holding his rude but effective weapon in
readiness to deal yet another blow in case of need.

That movement showed his partially bound condition,
and explained why he had maneuvered so long and so care-
fully to bring Woolly Wilson into his power, without too
plainly arousing his suspicions.

Quivering asa steer shivers when felled by the ax of
the butcher, the giant lay without sound, the candle re-
vealing another red besides his fiery hair.

“Thank Heaven!” huskily ejaculated the man who was
so gallantly fighting for freedom, as he dropped the stone,
using that hand to drag himself closer that insensible car-
cass.

He almost greedily snatched at the haft of the knife
which Woolly Wilson wore. How often and how iong-
ingly had his eyes dwelt upon that buck-horn haft.

Once out of its scabbard, that trusty blade was put to
good use, and only by clasping a hand over his lips could
the adventurer smother that glad yell of victory.

His limbs were free, now, and here lay weapons await-
ing his grip; it meant life and liberty to one who had al-
most given over to bitter, black despair.

Long confinement had stiffened his limbs and rendered
his blood sluggish in its movement. He had only partial
control of his powers, as yet, but he dared not pause to
chafe his limbs in order to quicken the circulation.

“Tf that devil should come back before—I’d kill him,
but the rest—how many are they ?”

That was a question he knew not how to answer, and
only pausing to buckle about him the belt of arms, which
he had so hastily torn from the body of his late guard, he
fell to work once more.

Using the confiscated knife to cut such portions from
the blanket as he needed, he hastily fashioned a gag,
which he secured in place as the first step toward perfect-
ing his escape.

Woolly Wilson was not dead ; his thick skull was proof
against a far heavier blow than that half-benumbed arm
could have dealt, just then. His insensibility might come

 
 

 

  
 

  

to anend at any moment, and a single cry for help from
his lips, almost surely would fetch an armed host in that
direction. :

So at least this man reasoned, and he took particular —
pains to make that gag effectual.

After that was accomplished, it was a comparatively
easy matter to bind the helpless giant, hand and foot, with
strips cut and torn from the blanket; less substantial than
the pliant ropes which he had so recently cheated, yet suf-
ficient for his purpose.

“They'll hold him long enough for me to win free—or
die trying,” was his grim comment, as he drew back, to
glance over his work. re .

Woolly Wilson was beginning to shiver, as with return-
ing consciousness, but the recent captive did not choose to
linger there merely to condole or to jeer; he was armed
with knife and two good revolvers, with a supply of cart-
ridges in the loops which covered his belt.

‘Enough to shoot a hole through an army,” he grimly
told himself, as he turned away from that helpless ruffian.

He left the candle where it was burning. He knew suffi-
cient concerning that retreat, to feel sure there was but
the one method of gaining that cell, and he was passing
along that, now.

“It’s creeping before walking,” his busy thoughts ran.
“T can find my way to the other chamber in the dark, and
a candle would only tell that malicious devil I’m coming
—after your heart’s blood, Dick Turner.”

Crawling it almost literally became, for the refugee sunk
upon all-fours, the more surely to guard against trip or
stumble in the dark, by which his deadly enemy might be
warned of his coming.

From time to time, at shorter intervals, that chilling ery
of torture had rung forth, and now the cries had grown so

frequent that no other guide was needed by the adven- —

turer; they surely came from the main portion of the
cavern, and he knew that he must pass directly through
that chamber, in order to leave the den at all.

With quickened pulse, but growing courage, he crept
forward, his eyes reflecting the first yellow rays of the

  
Cee oa ST

   
     

  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

burning candles which the arch-conspirator had provided
in such plenty. ce

Then he came to a pause, at the verge of that irregular
chamber, staring in angry amazement at the strange
scene thus revealed.

CHAPTER XX.
GENTLEMAN JOE’S WEDDING-GIFT.

At last those falling drops had conquered weak human:
ity, so far as grim endurance went. ° 2
Joseph Gentry was forced to shriek aloud under that
horrible torture, but as yet he had failed’ to give the word
or the sign which Dick Turner demanded; as he had
vowed, he might die, but he would never yield to that
villain’s demands.
“Give up, you fool!” the arch conspirator was saying
. ‘just now, as he stood before his helpless victim, a glow of
Satanic hatred showing upon his unmasked face. “An-
other hour of this work and you’ll be mad for life.”
“Never, Henry Tyson,” hoarsely panted Gentleman Joe, e -
“T’]] die—I am dying—but you’ll never—oh-oh !”
A tiny drop of water fell upon his skull, and he screamed
aloud in,the height of agony. A scream which was blended
with a savage cry, and the heavy explosion of a revolver.
Wrought to desperation by that horrible scene, the ad-
venturer covered that pitiless demon with his pistol, send-
ing a heavy ball crashing through that fiendishly hand-
some face.
Without cry or sound, Dick Turner spun around upon
his heels, then tossed his arms upward, even as his legs
failed to uphold his weight. 3
“Down ’em, lads!” yelled the avenger, as he sprang for-  - a
ward, firing rapidly as he came. “Kill ’em—don’t let one '
escape.”
Filled with consternation at the fall of their chief, both
a , Johnny and Tom Murgatroyd turned in hasty flight, with-
> e out firing a shot or even thinking of touching a weapon
- just then.

 
A yelp of pain came from one of the knaves, as the -
avenger rushediafter them, firing swiftly, but the wound —
only acted as a spur to their flight, and they gained the”
entrance fairly ahead of their enemy.

As he plunged from damp gloom into bright sunshine
and pure air, the avenger stopped short, covering his eyes
like one suddenly smitten with blindness.

Before he could grow accustomed to that glorious, if:
painful change, the two lesser villains had disappeared
from sight, though the white, weather-bleached _ stones in
front of the cavern-mouth, plainly told of at least one~
-wound.

From the den came another tortured wail, and, with a
start, the avenger whirled about, plunging again into
that dark, unlighted passage, making all haste back to the

main chamber, casting out empty shells and filling the :

cylinders with fresh cartr idges.

He had no means of knowing how many more knaven
there might be for him to encounter, but he took the
chances, without a second thought.

“T can’t leave him—so.”

He caught sight of that bound shape, and then his gaze
rested upon a silent, motionless figure lying in an awkward |
heap, just as Dick Turner had fallen at that first avenging
shot.

He was past offering resistance, for death had claimed —
him, even as he fancied his evil game was fairly won.

Using his knife, the rescuer quickly cut the bonds which
held Gentleman Joe to the torture-seat, lifting him in hig
strong arms, bearing him over to the little pile of blankets.

The poor fellow had swooned away, and nearly an hour
passed by before those anxious, tender ministrations pro-
duced the desired effect.

Then, as his heavy, swollen lids parted, and his blood-
shot eyes first caught sight of that kindly countenance
bending over him, the Bonanza King gave a hoarse, gasp-
ing cry of savage hatred :

“Curse you, Henry Tyson. P ]]——”

“Curse the false Henry Tyson, Gentry,” quietly inter-”

e

 
posed his rescuer. “Iam the real, and I saved you from
worse than death.”
* * * * * * *

And those words were proven true, although it was long
before the entire mystery was fairly cleared up, and
Gentleman Joe understood how bitterly he had wronged
his rival in love.

Henry Tyson had spoken the simple truth when he told
his landlord that he intended leaving Silver Gulch, ona
brief trip east. Hedid leave town, bound for another
point, where he more than hoped to gain the amount
which he was owing Joseph Gentry, his avowed rival for
the hand of Sybil Ritchie.

He had been surprised by masked men, who bound, gag-

_ ged, blindfolded him, then conveyed him to the cavern,
where he had been held a closely guarded prisoner ever
since.

While there, he had learned much to amaze him;
among other things that he had a “double,” so far as out-
ward semblance went, living in Silver Gulch, so cunningly
disguised that his identity could hardly be believed, even
‘when his corpse was brought forward as evidence.

For Dick Turner had been the false Henry Tyson, even
as he had played the part of Miles Crampton.

This point admitted, the rest was not so difficult to com-
prehend.

His money, as Henry Tyson, had purchased the aid of
drunken Uncle ’Lias, who had been playing a carefully
‘Tearned part that night. The arch-trickster had never vis-
ited Sybil, as Henry Tyson, and had only skulked near
the house that evening, long enough to deceive Gentry.

Bearing in mind ** ‘ouble role Dick Turner—the name
to which he probably pussessed the best right—was play-

ing, the reader will easily compr ehend_ the various moves.
he made from start to finish.

He had set Woolly Wilson to annoy Sybil Ritchie, act-
ually meaning to rescue her in his guise as Henry Tyson.
Instead, Gentleman Joe came upon the scene, and he had
adroitly altered his plans to suit.

Setting his tools on guard, he quickly changed his dis-

 
  

hen crie enced he 2 StS i
* : Thommen

TT erate pc

  
   
   
       
   
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

guise, hiding his features under the wig and full bearu —
which he wore as Miles Crampton, then made the mock —
rescue, which so won the gratitude of the Bonanza King.

Woolly Wilson’s capture and confession were but part
of the cunning plot, and when Miles Crampton pretended
to guide the subdued ruffian on his flight from Silver —
Gulch, it was merely an excuse to leave Gentleman Joe,
and reappear before him as Henry Tyson.

That pretended death-duel was all his scheming, aud his

pretended murder but a single incident in that intricate
plot.
With these hints, the reader can surely comprehend
how closely that audacious schemer had woven his web,and
by what anarrow chance it had been broken, together
with his thread of life.

2% * * * * * *

Gentleman Joe paid a visit to the Newland home before
the expiration of the time mentioned in that mutually
signed agreement, but Henry Tyson bore him company.

In brief, manly speech, Gentry told Sybil how dearly
they both loved her, and begged her to choose between
them, unless she loved another better.

It was hard, but the maiden could not refuse; she made
her selection, and Gentleman Joe left the house—alone.

As a gentleman he had sued, as aman _ he accepted the
fate which those agitated lips pronounced, and only him-
self ever knew how sorely his heart was wounded.

For a few days he went about his business, precisely as:
usual, but then Silver Gulch received a surprise which |
was also a shock; Joseph Gentry had sold all his minin
property (so it was believed, at first), and had bidden th
town adieu forever.

It was only on the very eve of his departure that even
Henry Tyson or Sybil Ritchie knew of his intention of
leaving Silver Gulch. He called upon them at Sybil’a —
home, and briefly stated that important business de-
manded his presence in another section. .

He gravely evaded their anxious queries, and accepted
their sincere regrets with quiet pleasure. Then he handed

 
      
Sybil a sealed envelope, requesting her to keep it intact,
until her wedding-day.

“Tf possible, I will be a guest,” he said, in answer to
Tyson’s urgent plea. “Still I may be prevented. If so,
this bit of paper must be my representative ; ’twill tell
you what I now say—God bless you both and grant that
vou may enjoy as long life and never-dying happiness as I
would measure out to you both, if my power was equal to
my wishes.”

With that, he left the house, and passed from their lives.

When the wedding-time came, Sybil Tyson broke that
seal, and drew forth the title-deeds to the Little Bonanza
Mine, recorded in their names: Henry Tyson, and his
wife, Sybil.

“God bless him, as he blessed us, my darling,” said
Tyson, in broken tones, to which Sybil responded :

“He will, surely, if heartfelt prayers can avail.”

And when Uncle ’Lias learned of that valuable wedding-
gift, he solemnly declared : ;

“TI always said Joe was a gentleman, and now I know
it.”

* * * * * * *
Being a man, with all that name implies, Joseph Gentry

neither committed suicide, took to hard drink, nor pined
away to a shadow through unrequited love.

He felt that he could not content himself to live in
the same town with Sybil. at least for the present. Hence
his selling out and going away. But even as he did so, he
promised himself that he would fight the good fight, and
when he could safely say that his love for Sybil was mod-
erated toa brother’s affection, he would return to Silver
Gulch and to them, if only for a brief visit.

It took time, and Gentleman Joe passed through many
another thrilling adventure before that victory was fairly
won; but gained it was, and the long-promised visit was
made.

Woolly Wilson effected his escape from the cavern be-
fore he was sent after, and promptly fled from that region.

Neither “Johnny” nor Tom Murgatroyd were caught,
and since the arch-villain had paid the full penalty, no

 
very ardent quest was made for them.

Uncle ’Lias could not be fully weaned from his bottle
but shame at the part he had played against his now step
son-in-law, not to mention Gentleman Joe, kept him fairly |
sober for a few months.

Then, as if to make amends for waste time, he “ went on
=o tare,” and wound up by breaking his foolish old neck on
his “ weaving way” homeward.

His poor wife a him sincerely, but if the tr
must be told, her after-life was both = and iat
for that dark night’s work.

And so we leave them.

[THE END. ]

 
62] 2] @]2@ BSB ESE VBeseaeesevwoev’sss

 

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140—Gentleman Joe’s Reckless Ruse.
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138—Gentleman Joe’s Week Off.
137—Gentleman Joe’s Prescription.
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THE LOG CABIN LIBRARY—Continued,

 

,
} No. 1385—Gentleman Joe’s Pan-Out.
é ‘¢ 1384—Gentleman Joe’s Puzzling Pledge. —
¢ ‘« 1883—Gentleman Joe’s Iron Hand.
¢ ‘« 132—Gentleman Joe’s Ride to Rescue.

‘« 131—Gentleman Joe After Railroad Raiders
¢ ‘* 180—Gentleman Joe’s Big Purchase.

‘« 129—Gentleman Joe’s Big Game.
¢ ‘ 128—Gentleman Joe’s Big Stake.

‘* 127—Gentleman Joe’s Bravery.
¢ ‘« 126—Gentleman Joe’s Donation.
‘*-125—Gentleman Joe’s Race for a Mine.
. ‘* 124—Gentleman Joe’s Tight Fit.
‘* 123—Gentleman Joe’s Decoy.
‘* 122—Gentleman Joe in Pocatello. :
‘* 121—Gentleman Joe’s Clean Sweep. ee
¢ ‘* 120—Gentleman Joe's Tenderfoot Pard. — ( :
‘* 119—Gentleman Joe Taking Toll. 4 Z
¢ ‘« 118—Gentleman Joe in San Francisco. :
‘* 117—Gentleman Joe in Kansas City. a
¢ ‘‘ 116—Gentleman Joe in St. Louis. :
** 115—Gentleman Joe in Pittsburgh.
¢ ‘* 114—Gentleman Joe in New York. ;
113—Gentleman Joe in Chicago. é
. ““ 112—Gentleman Joe’s Bowie Blade. '
:

 

 

 

 

 

  

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THE LOG CABIN LIBRARY—Continued,

 

4
¢
. 111—Gentleman Joe’s Round-Up.
110—Gentleman Joe’s Ranch Raiders. ¢
109—Gentleman Joe’s Own Brand.
108—Gentleman Joe’s Border Ballot. $
107—Gentleman Joe’s Jeopardy. é
106—Gentleman Joe’s Double Eagle. é
105—Gentleman Joe’s Lightning Shot.
104—-Gentleman Joe in Death Valley ¢
103—Gentleman Joe’s Nerve.
102—Gentleman Joe at Lucifer Lode. $
101—Gentleman Joe’s Leadville Lead.
100—Gentleman Joe’s Doom-Dispatch. ¢
99—Gentleman Joe’s Denver Duet.
98—The Safe Breakers’ Combination. ¢
97—Gentleman Joe’s Catch.
96—Gentleman Joe’s Garrison. ¢
95—Gentleman Joe at Gunnison.
94—Gentleman Joe’s Joker. $
93—Detective Manton Mayne. ¢
92—Gentleman Joe at Full Flush. ¢
91—0’Brien, the King of Sharpers,
90—Gentieman Joe's Moonlight Matinee. $
89—The Dalton Boys. é
88—Gentleman Joe’s Seven Spot.
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