Transcriber's Note:
The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.
Midnight Jack
OR
THE ROAD-AGENT.
CHAPTER I.
“Linchpin lost!—wheel off!—broke down!”
In a dark little valley, lying nearly midway between Fort Sully andDeadwood, and not far from the Cheyenne River, a gin trader, or smuggler,had met with an accident. He inaugurated a hunt for a piece of timber,which he hoped to transform into a drag to serve in lieu of thewheel.
Armed with an axe, Timon was not long in finding the desired stick,and when with the aid of straps and chains he had secured it to his satisfaction,the last streak of day left the valley, and the pale light of the starstook its place.
Then, with a self congratulatory pull at the demijohn, Timon hitchedup the mules again, tossed the useless wood into the wagon, and sprung tohis accustomed place.
The swearing, the cracks of the villainous whip over the heads of thepatient beasts, and their desperate efforts to pull the vehicle, made up ascene never witnessed before by the hills that surrounded the littlevalley.
“Git ep! you stubborn Injun-coloured brutes!”
But Timon cursed, struck and pleaded in vain. The heavy drag obstructedprogress, and though the faithful mules pulled with all theirstrength, they could not draw the wagon over ten feet at an effort.
“Thirty miles from a bushel of gold, an' bu'sted!” roared the smugglerin despair, springing from the box.
“Bless me, if I don't lighten the load! they do that when a ship's introuble at sea, an' the ship Timon Moss jest now is in a fearful strait.Saltpeter an' soda! the thing is reasonable. I can fix up a story betweenhyar an' Deadwood. Fell in with Midnight Jack or the Sioux, either onewill do, but the Midnight Jack story will look more likely.”
Ten whisky-kegs, with a single exception full to the bung, formed theprincipal part of the load; then there were sundry boxes and packages,consigned to the citizens of Deadwood, among them the legs of a billiard-table,and the nucleus of a library which some “eastern chap” was goingto start in the mining-town.
“Can't throw any of the licker overboard!” said the smuggler, withsettled emphasis. “But thar's them confounded books—thar goes!” and2for the next ten minutes the lightening of the cargo went on: But thewhisky was not touched, and the only articles that remained in the wagonbeside it were consigned to the gamblers and other sporting men ofDeadwood.
“Two hundred pounds lighter, my long-eared pards!” ejaculated Timon,over whos