Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1892-09-25

his hands on his wepins; but afore they
could draw we heard quiet voice from the
stove: 'Say your prayers Joe Hawkins;
for you're dead manp Joe turned round,
end looked like grsbbin' at his iron;
but 1t weren't no manner of use.
Eom Scott was standing up, covering him
with his Derringer; a smile on his white
face, but the very devil shining in his eye.
qt'Rin't that the old country has used me
ever-well, he says, but no man shall insult
1t Gfore me, and live For q second his
6nger frightened around the trigger, an
then he gave laugh, an threw the pistol
on the floor. No. he says, 4 can't shoot
n hGlf-drunk man. Take your dirty life,
Joe, an use it better nor you have done.
BE swung contenptuously round, and relit
his half-smoked pipe from the stove; while
Alabama skunk out O. the bar, with the
laughs of the Britishers ringing in his ears
] saw his face as he passed me, and on it 1
HIw murder sirs-murder, as plain as ever
I seed anything in nv life.
81 stared in the bar after the row and
watched Tom Scott as he shook hands with
she men about 1t seemed kinder queer to
Ene to see him smilin' and cheerful-like; tor
I knew Joe's blood-thirsty mind, and that
the Englshman had small chance of ever
seeing the morning. He lived in an out-ot-
the-way sort of place, you see, clean off the
trail, and had to pass through the Flytrap
Gulch to get to it. This here gulch was q
Ensrshy, gloomy place, lonely enough during
che 6ay even; Tor it were always a creepy
sort O. thing to see the great eight and ten
foot leaves swapping up If aught touched
them; but at night there was never soul
near. Some parts of the marsh, too, were
Boft and deep, and body thrown in would
be gone by morning. l could see Alabama
Tna ir,'r ba iaay of ha
Elytrap in the darkest part of the gulch,
with scowl on his lace and a revolver in
his hand; l could see it, sirs, as plain as
with my two eyes.
bout midnight Simpson shuts up his
bar, so out we had 10 go. Tom Scott started
Of for his three-mile walk at a slashing
pace. Just dropped him a hint as he
passed me- for 1 kinder liked the chap.
Keep your Derringer there or about it, I
SAYS, for you might chance to need it, He
looked round at me with his quiet smile,
and then l lost sigh: OF him in the gloom
! never thought to see him again. He'd
hardly gone afore Simpson comes up TO me
and saws, There'll be old hell in the Flv-
trap Grlch tonight, JEFF; the boys say that
Hawkins started half an hour ago to wait
for Scott and shoot him On sight
calc'late the coroner'u be wanted to-
morrow
"NYhat passed in the gulch that night? 1t
was q question as were asked pretty free
next morning. A hait-breed was in Fergu-
pon's store after daybreak, and he said as
he'd CHANGED to be near the gulch bout in
the morning. 1t warn't easy to bet at his
story, he seemed so uncommon scared; but
be told us al last. as he'd heard the fearfulest
screams in the stiffness of the night. There
weren't no Shots he said, but scream after
scream, kinder mufilled, like a man with q
BeraDe over his head, an in immortal pain.
Abner Brandon and me, and q few more,
was in the store at the time; so we mounted
and rode out to SCOTS house, passing
through the gulch on the way. There
weren't nothing partic'lar to be seen there
no blood nor marks OF fight, nor nothing;
Snd when we gets up to Scott's house, out
he comes to meet us as fresh as lark.
'Hullo, JeffP says he, no need for the
pistols after ALL Come in an have cock
hail, boys Did We see or hear nothing as
ye come home last night?' SAYS L No,
says he; all was quiet enough. An owl
kinder moaning in the Flytrap Gulch-that
was all Come, jump of and have glass
thank We, says Abner. So off we gets,
and Tom Scott rode into the settlement
with US when we went back.
AN ALFRED commotion was on in Main
street as we rode into ii. The 'Merican
party seemed to have gone clean crazed-
Alabama Joe was gone, not q darned par
tcle of him left. Since he went out into
the guloh nary eye had seen him. As we
got off our horses there was a considerable
crowd in front Of Simpsons, and some ugly
looks at Tom Scott, 1 can tell you. There
was q clickin' of pistols, and saw as how
Scott had his hand in his bosom, too. There
weren't a single English face about Stand
aside, JEFF Adams, says Zebb Humphrey,
rs great scoundrel as ever lived, you hain't
got no hand in this game. Say, boys
are We, free Americans, to be murdered by
this sort O. Scum2' 1t wss the quickest