Old Shadow Shot — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

THE SONG he supposed I would go on and leave the boy to be cared for by him!’’ muttered the rufian, with a smile. ‘I want the blood of that man who stepped between me and the lad.” The eyes of Captain Rough flashed madly as the words fell from his hips. He wanted to encounter Shadow-Shot. All at once the report of a rifle startled the captain, and he felt his horse sinking to the ground. With a loud ery Rough leaped from the saddle and raised his rifle; but before he could throw it to his shoulder a tall, un- gainly figure sprang into his path, and a pistol was thrust in his face. “Shadow-Shot, at your sarvice!” cried a rough voice. “The very man you want to see, accordin’ to yer talk. Now, cap’n, we'll compare accounts, an’ mebbe we'll squar’ ‘em afore we're through !” Captain Rough looked into the flashing eyes of the tall ranger, and his face grew white. ?? CHAPTER VI: THE SONG IN PERIL. “Ve EBBE as how I don’t know how to sarve yel” =~ “What are you going to do with me?” ‘Not let you go, of course. Now, I can’t say that I hev any partic’lar ill feelin’ ag’in’ ye; but you hev got me into an onpleasant predicament. Didn’t ye keep on singin’ ontil them woodrangers flopped down upon us, an’ cut right an’ left until Zim Paddock is the only survivor of Cap'n Rough’s train? An’ didn’t ye try to drive a bullet through my skull a while back? I ought to love ye fur these two leetle kindnesses, oughtn’t I, young ‘un? ’Pon my honour! I ought to adopt ye; but I guess I'l not take that re- sponsibility at present.” There was a savage leer in the eyes that overlooked a face begrimed with forest dust and blood—an admixture hideously repul- Sive. “Have ye any money about yer?” the man suddenly asked. “Not a cent.” “Do you ever expect io get any—I mean, hain't you got a rich father, or uncle, or some kind o’ kin who is goin’ to do well by you one o’ these days?” The eyes of the boy dilated at the singular question, and became riveted with an expres- sion of wonder upon Paddcck. “What makes you think I have?’ he asked. “That is buckin’ one question ag’in’ IN PERIL, il another,” Paddock cried, chagrined. “I’m not obleeged to answer, am 1? Well, I’ve got two eyes in my head. I’ve had ’em thar fur forty-two year. I kin see some things when it ’tain’t too dark. Yer hands war white as the skin on your breast when I first saw you with Cap’n Rough. They’ve been browned by the climate whar we've been. Now come out an’ say fur honest, boy, if you hevn’t got a prospect fur money ahead.” “I do not know!” was Nat's reply. “I am sure that I am no blood kin to Captain Rough.” “So war all of us,’’ Paddock said, with a smile, “ Many’s the time I’ve told the boys, Jack Gustin in partic’lar, that you war no more his boy than mine. Whar did you come from ?” The curiosity of the man who stood before Nightingale Nat in the midst of a forest, with a coil of rope in his hand, was of the most intense kind. “Zimri Paddock, what are you going to do with me?” the boy suddenly demanded, totally ignoring the ruffian’s eagerness. “That depends on your own actions!” was the rejoinder. “You mean to hang me here in the woods with that rope?’ “Not exactly a hangin’ !” laughed the vil- lain. “I hain’t got time to parley here. Oan’t you hear a strange noise over your left shoulder? The scent of my own blood is the cause of them sounds. Say, talk to me. Whar did you come from when Cap’n Rough took you up? That’s what I want to know!” “T lived in a city then.” ‘Just as I imagined. Go on!” “My father made fireworks in a little sho A: “Stop!” thundered Paddock. “I don’t = a lie—no fixed-up story here, my young ark !” Nat’s face flushed with indignation. “Tt is not a lie, sir!” he cried. “You would not say that the second time if I stood free on this spot.” Paddock laughed brutishly, and showed his discoloured teeth. “Yer hands say thet you never helped make fireworks,” he said, eyeing the youth. ‘ Now tell the truth, or, by the eyes of me! PU settle the matter between us right here.” “Why should I lie, Zimri Paddock? Oap- tain Rough took me from the shop with the consent of the man who called me his son.” “He wasn’t your father, though?” the man cried, with a joyful start. “T don’t know; but I—I think not.” “Ah! think not!” was the ferocious cry. “'That’s your way of beatin’ around the bush. Well, gold or no gold, I'll bring matters to (20) a crisis.” : = COMMicooolk<s