Diamond Dick, Jr.'s Call Down; or, The King of the Silver Box — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

8 DIAMOND DICK LIBRARY. No. 175. éhis, mind you, with incriminating evidence right on him.”’ “That's the kind of talk I’m glad to listen to.”’ ‘Very well, then, I'll proceed.”’ Diving into his pocket, the cashier drew out a circular, and handed it to Bertie. ‘Read that.’’ Bertie did so and smiled as he handed the paper back. ‘“The green-goods game. ”’ “Old, isn’t it?” “Old as the hills.”’ ‘““Well, it was a new one on me.”’ ‘‘When a sucker bites, he pays in his good money and gets—sawdust.”’ ‘*Then this job, I think, is a variation, for I believe the Don intends trading his counterfeits for good United States money.”’ / ‘‘How did you happen to get hold of that circular?”’ ‘“‘Through a relative of mine who lives in the country.”’ ‘The Don sent it to him?”’ “That’s the supposition. ”’ “How d'ye know?” broke in Handsome Harry. ‘*See here, Harry,’’ said Bertie; ‘‘the circular is signed, O. R. Tego.’ Now, the Don’s real name is Felipe Ortego, and he’s taking long chances with such a clumsy dis- guise.’’ ‘*T see,’’ returned the Californian. Bertie turned to Evans. ‘‘And your relative came on here to take a block of the Don's bogus money ?”’ | ‘Yes, I’m sorry to say. Luckily he first called or me. I detected from his actions that he was up to something out of the common, and I pressed him so hard that he finally told me all about it. I persuaded him to go back home.”’ ‘‘He was to meet the Don and consummate the transac- tions?”’ ‘' Ves, %9 ““When?”’ ‘*To-morrow morning at eight o’clock.”’ ‘*Where?’’ ‘‘At the old Spitzer prospect hole. that is?” Bertie nodded. “The instant I clapped my eyes onto that circular I thought it would be a good chance for you to work a scheme.’”’ ‘‘What kind of a scheme, Evans?’’ ‘““You’re a pretty good hand at disguising yourself, aren't you?” - ‘*Rair.”’ ‘*Your. woman get-up was inimitable. I had an idea that you might rig yourself out as a granger and pass for Uncle Josh.”’ ‘“It’s a good idea,’’ said Bertie. ‘*Couldn’t be better!’ declared Handsome Harry. ‘‘T’ll meet the Don at the Spitzer prospect hole to- morrow, and he shall be taken care of, you may rest assured of that. By the way, Evans, has the Don discov- ered that you are not faithful to his interests?”’ “‘T don’t know. I haven’t seen him lately.”’ ‘*‘When you do see him, don’t let him bluff you. He can’t do you a particle of harm. There’s nothing else you wish to tell me, is there?’”’ “No 99 “‘Then, as Handsome Harry and I have quite a little to do, we will take our departure.’”’ Without further words Bertie and his old partner got up from their seats and left the house. Evans did not go with them. Standing at the window, he watched them disappear along the sidewalk. ‘““You’re a nice chap for a man of my calibre to tie to, an’t you, now? What do you think of yourself, Evans?” The cashier whirled about, only to find himself con- fronted by the King of the Silver Box, with two glistening revolvers in his hands. Ensconced behind one of the portieres, the gambler had heard all. Do you know where CHAPTER V. DIAMOND DICK, JR., AS A POPULIST. Old Deacon Spitzer was noted for two things—his love for prospecting and his love for whisky. He had roamed over the Cripple Creek country when it was nothing but a cow-pasture, with all its fabulous riches undreamed of. When the first strike was made the deacon rushed back to the gold fields and began prospecting; but, in the par- lance of the camp, he crooked his elbow too much for his material welfare, and, one fine morning, he did as he always declared he would do, and that is, died in a pros- pect hole. The deacon’s grave was the first one on the hill-side, | Five times they started to dig a place in which to lay his 'mortal remains, but each time the diggers turned up such rich ore that a location stake was straightway planted in place of the deacon, and the latter was moved on. The deacon was finally interred, and his melancholy monument remained in the old prospect hole where he had tried to strike it and had failed. - The deacon had looked for his galena on a hill-side. At the top of the hill was a whisky barrel—empty, of course, for the last act of the deacon’s lifé was to drain the final drop of liquor. | At eight o’clock one morning a peculiar-looking figure advanced toward the prospect hole. It was a man, but he looked as though he might be cousin-german to the missing link. He wore a derby of the diminutive variety worn several years ago, and it rested on his red shock of hair very much like a potato on a pumpkin. © He had whiskers under his chin that stuck out straight in front like the splints of a whisk broom. He wore a red shirt, and a ‘‘gallus’’ over one shoulder supported a pair of trousers that might have been in style some time ‘before the war. A cotton umbrella and an old-fashioned carpet-bag com- ! pleted his equipment. When he reached the prospect hole he stuck his um- brella in the ground, hung the carpet-bag on the handle, and placed both hands to his mouthin the form of a speaking-trum pet. “Hey! *he shouted. | Here’s J-o-s-h——’”’ . ‘Stop that bawling, you infernal idiot!’’ cried a loud voice. = momen later the Don appeared through a cieft in the rocks. ‘‘Jest wanted tew let yeou know I was ’round.”’ ‘‘Who are you?” ‘‘Yeou know! Don’t yeou git so doggoned cunnin’.”’ aa ‘don’t you get so confounded funny. Who are you?”’ ‘‘I’m a Poperlist, an’ I don’t b’leeve in the Guv’ment issuin’ bonds! Say! fork aout that money what can’t be told from the genooine, an’ don’t yeou git cute an’ try tew load me up with sawdust, ’cause I’m purty smart. I’m goin’ tew run fer taown-clerk next ’lection on a sixteen- tew-one ticket. If we make a deal, it’s got tew be ona sixteen-tew-one basis.”’ ‘What do you mean?”’ ‘‘I want sixteen bogus dollars fer every good one I give ye.”’ ‘“How much will you takeat that figure?’’ ‘A bar’) full.’’ At this moment the Don made a gesture that was under- stood by a man on top of the hill, for the barrel was started down the slope. . ‘You want a barrel, you say?’’ queried the Don, getting out of the way of the oncoming cask. 66 Yep. +7 ‘Well, there it is. The farmer turned. He caught a glimpse of the barrel, but too late to save himself, for the rolling cask swept him from his feet and hurled him backward upon the rocks. Diamond Dick, Jr.—for of course the reader has divined that the supposed farmer was none other than our young hero—had his head brought in violent contact with some ‘‘Hey, there, you! Here’s Josh! Take it!’ SCO COMICOOO >