All through the day which came after the night that witnessed the
surprise of Myra, the waif, by Tom Terror and his Thugs, six Wolves
watched with the fatal cord in their hands for the return of the boy
lyncher.
But he did not come. Back in the cavern proper, with that ghastly
colouring which comes to the faces of the dying, the white Thug reclined
on the rude cot. His wound had been roughly but well dressed, and the
gentle hands of the girl of mystery had moistened his lips with water.
All at once the fair girl started, for an Indian had leaped to the cot,
and was talking in low tones to the wounded Thug.
Her heart seemed to stand still. She felt that Harry was coming, that he
was about to walk in the death-trap which cunning had prepared for him.
How she strained her ears to catch a sentence, a word of the Indian’s
communication. As well she might have listened for the sound of a zephyr!
But she saw the giant’s eyes flash while his hireling talked; she caught
the quick nod of approval that he gave, and saw the Thug bound toward the
entrance again.
“Why don’t Dan come back?” murmured the cut-throat. “I recollect how he
left shortly after he saw the mole on the gal’s face. The time has come!”
she heard him say as if the words gave him a sort of wolfish pleasure.
“Thar’s to be a good deal of dyin’ with boots on in the old Cut-throat.
Whar’s the gal?”
“Here, Captain Tom,” answered Myra, and the next moment she stood before
the robber of the gulch, from whom a few hours since she would have fled
with a shriek.
“So hyar ye ar’!” he said. “I’m goin’, never to come back. I’ll never
pull my boots off ag’in. Stay hyar till somebody comes; it won’t be me;
it won’t be Deadly Dan. But, somebody will come an’ take you away. You’re
the biggest bonanza in Colorado, ef you ar’ but a mite. One o’ these days
you’ll be a gold queen. Dan got on the wrong trail, an’ now he’s run away
from the right one. Run off an’ left the work for my boys with the cords.
I told ’im to give you the strings last night, but I’m kinder glad thet
Rosebud interfered an’ saved yer life.”
The old fellow dropped Myra’s hand, and started toward the mouth of the
cave where two bronzed faces waited for him; but the girl bounded forward.
“You haven’t disclosed anything!” she cried. “What you have said makes
me curious. Whose child am I? Captain Tom, will you not lift the veil of
mystery that has hung before me so long? Who is the boy?”
“The boy?” and Tom Terror grated his teeth. “Oh, the young ’un what has
carried on court in Cut-throat for six mouths?”
“Yes, yes!”
“He’s nobody in partic’lar. You’re the mystery, gal. Thar!”
The thought of the terrible scenes that might soon populate the chasm
rushed upon the girl’s mind faster than she could speak. They came like
the pictures of some mighty panorama, and when in one she saw Harry, the
avenger, struck down by the man he had sworn to hang, she reeled away
with a cry of horror.
When she recovered, the cavern was still. The fire burning brightly on
the stone floor told her that she was the only tenant of the cave. The
silence was oppressive.
“Can I not see something from the rock?” she exclaimed. “It would kill
me to remain here while the last dread encounter was taking place in
Cut-throat. I will go!”
The waif of the gap hurried from the cave, and a few moments later
she was gliding through the shadows of the ravine with which she was
thoroughly acquainted.
The girl sprung back with a startling cry; the thunderous report of
firearms had broken the silence and the flash almost blinded her.
Again and again the shots sent her warm blood like lava through her
heart; she heard oaths, cries, the wild struggling of enemies in deadly
combat.
They had met!
But who were the white men whose voices assailed her ears?
Ah! Tom Terror and his Thugs had encountered Maverick Joe and his
Vigilantes; not the boy lyncher.
The Vigilantes had conquered; their voices told her this, and she wanted
to send down to them her approval of their success.
But something checked her. Those men hated the boy lyncher. They had even
hunted him, and she--she could not admire such men.
Myra turned from the rock, but the next instant she found herself face to
face with a figure that brought a cry to her lips.
“Here you are, my beauty! By Jove! they’ve been settling matters down in
the gulch. I thought you were gone when I found the cave empty; but here
you are, the girl to make the gold queen of the Eastern coast.”
The waif saw the glitter of the man’s eyes.
“Are you certain about your own neck, Deadly Dan?”
The villain stopped and dropped the hand that he held; then his revolver
leaped upward, but the report which followed quickly upon the question,
caused it to fall as suddenly.
“Draw again and I’ll spoil your face!” said the deadly marksman. “I have
just closed one session of court, and now I will open the last one I
shall ever hold in Cut-throat. Stand where you are! This time Red Crest
and I will see that the noose is properly adjusted. Jennie--Myra--go on
into the cave; there’s somebody there who wants to see you.”
The girl sprung forward with a parting look at Deadly Dan.
That villain bit his lips; the prize for which he had trailed and shot
for ten years was gliding from his grasp.
He was doomed to the rope once more.
“Why did I come back to Cut-throat? War thet what ye asked me, Maverick?”
asked Tom Terror, as he looked down into the Vigilante’s face from the
saddle to which several of the red survivors of the gulch battle had
helped him, bleeding from a fresh wound. “I see no harm in tellin’ the
why an’ wherefore now. A big bonanza brought me back. Deadly Dan knows
more about it than I do; but I know that a million or more is tremblin’
in the balances on the Atlantic Coast. He sent me back to find an’ to
kill; but he thought he’d better come, too. Ha! ha! I’m afeared he’ll
never tech the rocks, for it turned out to be a gal.”
Captain Harry started at the man’s words.
“A girl!” he ejaculated.
“Yes; your sweetheart. Did you think it war you?” and the wounded man
smiled grimly. “Last night Rosebud found an’ recognized her.”
“And did his work?”
“No; he ran off. But, mebbe he’s back by this time. He’d rather see her
the gold queen of the cities than use his knife, for she’s purtier’n all
creation.”
The Vigilantes looked at the boy.
“We can’t talk here,” Harry said. “Are you ready, Tom?”
“My boots ar’ on. Therefore, Tom Terror ar’ ready.”
Red Crest leaped forward at a sign from the boy, and the strong noose
fell over the Tiger’s drooping head.
But vain, almost, was that long-delayed vengeance, for when the death
noose tightened around Tom’s short stretch of throat, the soul of the
ruffian had gone to be judged.
“Now for Myra!” cried the boy.
A scene totally unexpected greeted the eyes of the girl waif when she
re-entered the cavern.
Stretched on the cot drawn close to the fire lay the body of a man whose
face was haggard in the extreme. His eyes beaming with expectation,
glittered intensely as the fair one appeared.
“I know it!” he exclaimed. “Ef I hev lost one big bonanza, I’ve found
another; an’ one, too, all in one share. Jennie! Jennie! come an’ tell me
thet the long-lost claim hes come back to Old Jack!”
The girl did not hesitate, and the next moment her gentle face was
pressed to the rough cheek of the old driver.
“I know it would come,” said Maverick Joe, feelingly. “Old Jack has found
the big bonanza. Captain Tom would have hired him to hunt down his own
child, ef Rosebud hadn’t interfered.”
It was a scene from which the rough Vigilantes withdrew, and when the
last one had departed, they left the twain there with lip glued to lip.
When the party returned to the cavern they found Jennie--Myra no longer,
that being the name by which Captain Harry knew her--seated beside the
cot holding the dead hand of Bonanza Jack, her father.
His tale had been told; she knew all, and she told Harry that with his
last breath he had thanked fortune for preserving his life until he had
found his child.
Here we must put aside the pen; but not until we have informed the reader
that Maverick Joe, now a veritable gold-bug, has just arrived from the
West to witness a wedding ceremony, and to give the blushing bride away.
And if somewhere in the fashionable assembly the interesting face of a
young Indian is seen, we may be sure that he is the gallant Red Crest of
our canyon romance.
THE END.
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PUBLISHED BY
JAMES JACKSON.