University of Virginia Library

32. XXXII.
RED HAND: A TALE OF REVENGE.

Chapter I.

—F. W. Shuckers.

“Go forth, Clarence Stanley! Hence to
the bleak world, dog! You have repaid
my generosity with the blackest ingratitude.
You have forged my name on a five thousand
dollar check—have repeatedly robbed
my money-drawer—have perpetrated a long
series of high-handed villainies, and now
to-night, because, forsooth, I'll not give you
more money to spend on your dissolute
companions you break a chair over my
aged head. Away! You are a young
man of small moral principle. Don't ever
speak to me again!”

These harsh words fell from the lips of
Horace Blinker, one of the merchant princes
of New York city. He spoke to Clarence

Stanley, his adopted son and a beautiful
youth of nineteen summers. In vain did
Clarence plead his poverty, his tender age
and inexperience; in vain did he fasten
those lustrous blue eyes of his appealingly
and tearfully upon Mr. Blinker, and tell
him he would make the pecuniary matter
all right in the fall, and that he merely shattered
a chair over his head by way of a
joke. The stony-hearted man was remorseless,
and that night Clarence Stanley became
a wanderer in the wide, wide world!
As he went forth he uttered these words:
“H. Blinker, beware! A Red Hand is
around, my fine feller!”

Chapter II.

—H. W. Faxon.

—Anon.

—President Buchanan's instructions to the Collector
of Toledo.

—George N. True.

—C. R. Dennett.

Seventeen years have become ingulfed

in the vast and moist ocean of eternity
since the scene depicted in the last chapter
occurred. We are in Mexico. Come with
me to the Scarlet Banditti's cave. It is
night. A tempest is raging tempestuously
without, but within we find a scene of dazzling
magnificence. The cave is spacious.
Chandeliers of solid gold hang up suspended
round the gorgeously furnished
room, and the marble floor is star-studded
with flashing diamonds. It must have cost
between two hundred dollars to fit this cave
up. It embraced all of the modern improvements.
At the head of the cave lifesize
photographs (by Ryder) of the bandits,
and framed in gilt, were hung up suspended.
The bandits were seated around a marble
table, which was sculped regardless of expense,
and were drinking gin and molasses
out of golden goblets. When they got out
of gin fresh supplies were brought in by
slaves from a two-horse wagon outside,
which had been captured that day, after a
desperate and bloody struggle, by the bandits,
on the plains of Buena Vista.

At the head of the table sat the Chief.

His features were swarthy but elegant. He
was splendidly dressed in new clothes, and
had that voluptuous, dreamy air of grandeur
about him which would at once rivet the
gaze of folks generally. In answer to a
highly enthusiastic call he arose and delivered
an able and eloquent speech. We
regret that our space does not permit us to
give this truly great speech in full—we can
merely give a synopsis of the distinguished
speaker's remarks: “Comrades! listen to
your chief. You all know my position on
Lecompton. Where I stand in regard to
low tolls on the Ohio Canal is equally clear
to you, and so with the Central American
question. I believe I understand my little
Biz. I decline defining my position on the
Horse Railroad until after the Spring Election.
Whichever way I says I don't say so
myself unless I says so also. Comrades!
be virtuous and you'll be happy.” The
Chief sat down amidst great applause, and
was immediately presented with an elegant
gold-headed cane by his comrades, as a
slight testimonial of their respect.

Chapter III.

—Bone.

—N. T. Nash.

—Brown.

Two hours later. Return we again to
the Banditti's Cave. Revelry still holds
high carnival among the able and efficient
bandits. A knock is heard at the door.
From his throne at the head of the table
the Chief cries, “Come in!” and an old
man, haggard, white haired, and sadly bent,
enters the cave.

“Messieurs,” he tremblingly ejaculates,
“for seventeen years I have not tasted of
food!”

“Well,” says a kind-hearted bandit, “if
that's so I expect you must be rather faint.
We'll get you up a warm meal immediately,
stranger.”

“Hold!” whispered the Chief in tones
of thunder, and rushing slowly to the spot;
“this is about played out. Behold in me

Red Hand, the Bandit Chief, once Clarence
Stanley, whom you cruelly turned into a
cold world seventeen years ago this very
night! Old man, prepare to go up!”
Saying which the Chief drew a sharp carving
knife and cut off Mr. Blinker's ears.
He then scalped Mr. B., and cut all of his
toes off. The old man struggled to extricate
himself from his unpleasant situation,
but was unsuccessful.

“My goodness,” he piteously exclaimed,
“I must say you are pretty rough. It
seems to me—.”

This is all of this intensely interesting
tale that will be published in the Plain
Dealer. The remainder of it may be
found in the great moral family paper,
“The Windy Flash,” published in New
York, by Stimpkins. The Windy Flash
circulates 4,000,000 copies weekly.

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