A Resolute Rascal

By an Omaha express firm I had been furnished with means to ferret out a horse thief, by whose operations said firm had lost some ten animals. Being persuaded by information too tedious to detail, that the purloiner had gone to Silver Creek, on the Pacific Railroad, I proceeded to that unknown settlement, and immediately commenced operations. The man and his habits were so familiar to me from repeated description, that I felt certain of identifying him in some of the many [fair] establishments of the place; or, failing in them, in one of the multitudinous fire-water dispensaries.

One night I visited all the gambling banks unsuccessfully. The next I proceeded to inspect the drinking places. The first one was a large frame house, which I entered, and, while drinking, quickly scrutinized every face and incident.

In the middle of the room, upon a huge barrel, stood a red-faced, broad shouldered Irishman, in one hand a bottle, in the other a glass; on the floor, close to the barrel’s base, crouched an ill looking mastiff, who eyed around savagely. At the bar was a tall man waiting the replenishing of his flask. His hat concealed half his face, and a scarlet handkerchief wound around his neck buried in its greasy folds a mass of matted, gipsy-like hair. I caught him glancing furtively at me when entering, then saw him turn his back; so I kept my eye brisk for any suspicious incident.

Suddenly, the Irishman, who all along had been alternately singing in his native dialect and absorbing spirits, fell headlong upon the dog, whizzing the glass and bottle across the floor with a crash. Simultaneously with his fall out went the light. The reeling man had clutched and wrenched the fixture from the ceiling. Now it was confusion with a vengeance. The different card-playing [groups],… Read More