THE PULLMAN PIRATE
(Copyright, 1910, by the Author.)

I.

      "Pshaw," said Williebill, "that one about the Christmas tree's a sissy story. Why don't you tell a story with a tack in it?"

      "As for instance?" suggested Angelimp.

      "Like this. One dark terrible night, when the good car 'Red Revenge' was plying between Pittsburg and Chicago, the passengers were startled by a fearsome cry which seemed to pierce the darkness like a knife cutting into the quivering vitals of a — of a ——"

      "Nickel library," jeered the Angelimp. "Volume 27, page 16."

      "The shriek came from the lips of Lady Somersault, in lower 12, the fair young daughter of the earl of Snooksborough. Before she had time to repeat the cry, a huge hand, black, hairy and horrible, thrust a gag between her pearly teeth and she heard no more. Just then — suddenly — I mean, while this was happening ——"

      "The continuation of this interesting story will be found in next week's issue — for sale by all newsdealers," giggled Gableoff.

      "Anyway, the rest of the passengers awoke to find themselves bound hand and foot, as well as tightly gagged. Only a single 'Ha! Ha!' broke the silence of the night. 'Ha! Ha!' said the voice again, and it was the voice of Bwana Gumbo, formerly the death-dealing despot of the jungle, and now the Pullman Pirate.

      "At that moment there was a pounding upon the front door of the car and a nose was pressed against the glass.

      "'Get along. Everybody's in bed,' said the Pullman Pirate.

      "'But these are tomorrow's sporting extras, with a full account of the fight.'

      "'Come along in quick,' said the Pullman Pirate.

      "So the train boy came in, and after giving one paper to the Pirate he went to each berth, turned on the electric light, pinned a paper up before the eyes of the gagged and bound occupants and collected payment from the purses under the piliows. When he came to lower 7, he found the man had broken the gag from his mouth. 'Here you,' said the man, 'this paper is printed horribly. Those red lead-lines are something fierce. I wish you'd send my card to the publisher.'

      "So the train boy took a card out of the mail's card case and read:

"'THE DOUBLE DYED RED
INK CO. Represented by ——.'

      "But at that instant a huge, hairy hand fell upon the back of his neck. 'Ha! Ha!' said the voice of the jungle. 'Talking to the prisoners, hey? Come to my cabin.'"

(Continued.)

THE PULLMAN PIRATE
(Copyright, 1910, by the Author.)

II

      The Pullman Pirate bore the terrified train boy to the smoking compartment and said, "Hey, you! I appoint you my lieutenant and if you refuse to disobey me, your ears, your fingers, your legs and your head shall be forfeit. I desire to write a proclamation to the prisoners. Bring me a bottle of bright red blood."

      The train boy ran out into the coach and presently there came a blood-curdling groan. Immediately after the train boy returned with a pop bottle filled to the neck with a horrible red fluid. "Ha! ha!" said the Pullman Pirate.

      While the Pirate was writing the proclamation to the prisoners, the train boy leaned over to see it, and his elbow touched the Pirate's side. Instantly the black man gave a jump into the air, with a weird, wild scream of pain and laughter. The train boy fell upon his knees and the Pullman Pirate showed his saw-edged teeth in a horrible smile. "Don't you know I'm ticklish?" he said.

      "Ticklish?" gasped the train boy. "Is that all?"

      "All? As if it wasn't enough! It's a terrible thing to be ticklish. Now go out and get me a skullful of blood. I need a drink to quiet my nerves."

      The train boy went out, and presently there was a grievous wail from the coach and the boy returned with a glassful of rich-red, blood-warm fluid, which the Pirate tossed off at a gulp. "Now bring me a bucketful. I want to wash my face," said the black man.

      "Ah, where can I get so much?" protested the train boy.

      "Try lower nine. There's a juicy one in there," said the Pirate.

      "The fat woman?" asked the train boy. "I did try her and she's too squishy. She's just like a rubber tire, and when you stick her you can't find the puncture."

      The Pullman Pirate pushed the cold muzzle of a revolver down the train boy's throat. "If I were you, I'd try her," he said.

      "Oh, very well," said the train boy. He was gone rather longer than before, but presently there came the usual sound of an expiring soul, and the train boy tottered in with a bucket full to the brim.

      "Now, slave," said the Pullman Pirate, "lend me your aid and we will rob the passengers, and any who cannot connect with a hundred simoleons, at least, will have his head sawed off on his own window. But first, give me the money you have taken for your papers."

      "No," said the train boy. "That money's mine, and besides, you owe me blood money for what I have brought you."

      The Pullman Pirate gave a roar like a lion, and, lifting up a brace of guns, he cried, "Your money before I say 'Three!' or I blow you off the map of the world."

      The train boy burst into a gale of merry laughter. "Stop that," cried the Pullman Pirate, wriggling. "One!"

      "Ho, ho, ho! He, he, he! Huh, huh, huh! Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the train boy.

      "Stop it, I say," said the Pullman Pirate, as he squirmmed like an angleworm. "Two!"

      The train boy doubled up with laughter and the Pullman Pirate opened his mouth to say "Three," when the train boy suddenly pointed his finger at the Pirate's ribs and said "Ksksks!"

      With a shriek of ticklish agony, the Pullman Pirate dropped his guns and backed into a corner. "Who are you?" he cried.

      The train boy picked up the guns with one hand and removed his wig with the other, revealing a shock of bright auburn hair. "I am Roughhouse Reddy, the boy detective," he cried. "You, Bwana Gumbo, are my prisoner. Your victims have long since been released of their bonds and are sleeping quietly. The shrieks you heard coming from the berths were my shrieks. The blood I brought you is compounded of the red ink samples of the salesman in lower seven and warm water from the other end of the car. In my three visits to the coach I have wooed and won the hand of the Lady Somersault. And as for you — you, Bwana Gumbo — you shall be tickled to death with r-r-r-rooster feathers."