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26THE ST. PAUL GEOB3, SUNDAY, N(Whi the Boys of St. Paul are Reading.‘Who are you, my brother, that makes this charge against a holy man?” asked the stranger.“I am Jesse James,” was the startling reply.“My God! do you mean it?”• I do.”“I thought you were a peddler.”“If my Misguise is so good as to deceive your ferret eyes, Detective Com-megys, I am content with it,” said Jesse James.“I cannot believe it,” said the man. Reddy” McShane stopped in the most thrilling part of the relation of “Jesse James Lone Hand, or the Reckless Riders Red Run,” to eject some tobacco juice which encumbered his utterance and prevented him from remarking:“Hully Gee, what feller dat Jesse James wuz.”That is what he managed to remark later to Jimmy the Turk,” who sat beside him in an alley back of Newspaper Row. before his omniverous eyes drew his fancy back to the story of the red shir ted gatling gun. the hero and subject of the Inspiriting narrative.Is he dead?” asked Jimmy.“Naw, he ain’t dead yet, he’s goin’ to kill him ’dtho.”Read me about him, Red, I can’t read.”Red bestowed upon him a look of the utmost commisseration.Ain’t you never read ’bout Jesse James, nor ol’ King Brady, ner Nic Carfter, ner Dimant Dick, ner Fred Fearnot? Why, Jimmy, w’re ye bei all der time?”Well, dis yer Jesse James wuz de biggest guy in de worl’. He cud shoot better ’n any man an’ ride better an’ ev’ry ting, fte goes out one bamy mornin’ to cop all de money in Missuri, an he meets dis yer plain clothes guy playin' de preacher act. He pipes 'im off for a fly cop right away en sticks im up. Dat w’ere I ’m at now.Jimmy, yer don’t wanter read nuth-ing but Jesse James ■when ye learns how,” he continued warningly. Then he continued after a little with this blood curdling bit:A La Victor Hugo._ I suppose that you will bind me to my saddle and set your horse loose.” “Yes, and write a line to your men to tell who I am?”“Yes.”“And they will put me to death?” “No.”“What will they do with me?”Bury you, doubtless.”Bury me?” asked the detective in a surprised tone.Yes, the dead should all be buried.” But I will not be dead?”“Oh, yes you will.”Do you intend to kill me, Jesse James?”The man’s voice was strong and determined.Not an atom of fear had come upon his face, alhough he knew the deadly peril he was in.“I will kill you myself, throw your body across the horse, and take him back to the road that leads to my retreat. There I will set him free, and he will know where to go.”The band of newsies who gathered about Reddy as he detailed the exploits of this bloody-minded hero contributed only a small portion of the enormous appetites which daily, throughout the land, devour millions of these booklets and crave constantly for more. In out-of-the-way corners, in shelterless garrets, on the streets and often in the well furnished rooms of homes where there are better and more interesting books, these exciting concoctions hold breathless readers from the opening to the closing sentences. No Dearth of Copy.And to supply this demand which increases with every generation of younglovers of wild adventure and hairbreadth escapes,” the copy mills of sensational writers grind a steady grist. One among the most notable of these stories of adventure reeling off at a single sitting, a story of incidents in which are sacrificed a dozen lives, where villains are thwarted or succeed, and poverty of vast value changes hands at the magicians’ touch. Out of this trade the more popular writers make a yearly earning of $15,000 and interest more readers than the classic authors whose works have braved the centuries.Each author as well as the series he evolves, has his clan of admirers, who, in open battle or clamorous debate, uphold his claim to being the only real author in boydom. These series, each dealing with entirely the adventures of a single hero, run through folio after folio until the chief character has become the target of more hair-raising advents and the receptacle of more wisdom than would come to a man in 900 years of ordinary existence, inspired by Jesse James.Jesse James and his gang have run through different raids each extending over several months of nerve destroyi uvci otrvcrieii ui nci v c uca u jI ing adventure; the Liberty boys have * survived ninety-two campaigns of ter-ninety-two campaigns rifle slaughter and Old King Brady and Young King Brady are in tneir 192nd mystifying case in which one or I the other faces certain death and is all . but killed. This is to say nothing of 1 Fred Fearnot,” Diamond Dick,” “Dick 1 Merrivale” and a score of others well [ known 10 the youthful red reader.Jesse James had a faculty of doing things quickly as well as fatally.“He did not hesitate for a glance to see the result of his work.“His look was upon the man whoA Thrilling Moment in the Life of Our Hero.was yet alive, and his revolver covered him before the smoke had come from the weapon he held in his hand. ‘Hands up, sir, or you get the same!’At this stern order and the deadly act of the man who was in. front of him, the second officer was taken completely by surprise.A look of horror had come into his face.G’way an leave me be. Jesse James has just copped de guy dat was after him,” said a red eyed messenger boy who, curled up in a seat, was comfortably pursuing his way through an exciting episode, when the writer sat down beside him.He must be in a bad way,” ventured the writer.Dis officer, ah, he’s a goner. Don’t yer know Jesse James never missed a man in his life?”How did he come out?”I guess he got killed. Ye see it was like this,” reading:With the words the brave officer who had determined to act, desperate as the situation was, dropped his hands as though to draw a weapon from his belt.It was his last act.Jesse James’ finger touched the trig-Drinking at the Fountain of Knowledgeger of the revolver and the man fell dead from his saddle.Jesse James did not immediately dismount.He seemed fearful that the shots might have been heard by someone near. .“Who that some one was he did not know', of course.But he was determined to face what might come, drawn by the shot, whoever they might be.So he waited. .Another boy of different family, if not quality, was deep in the story of The Bradys and the Seven Skulls: or the clew that was found in the barn.” These stories are noted for their subtleties, which always contain the index to the story. The boy was on the opening chapter. The writer, following the page, encountered this:Leaving him in charge he climbed the high wooden steps to the top of the bank, following the young man, who had announced his intention of solving the mystery. ‘You will miss your train,’ he said. ‘That makes no difference,' was the reply.They hurried on across the road and down a side street. ‘But how will you get to New York?’ ‘Any old way, or not at all. It’s up to me to find out what these shots mean.’ ‘Why so?’“ ‘I am a detective.’Do the Bradys all happen about like that?” he asked, forgetting formalities.I should say. You see they’re always on deck. Everybody knows them and is afraid of them. Like this:”“The detective threw back the lapel of his coat. — ‘My name is Brady,’ he added. Young King Brady?’ cried the broker. ‘The same.’A little farther along Young King Brady, selected because he was younger and better able to stand it, one may suppose, meets with a terrible adventure. He falls into the hands of his enemy and is thus treated: ‘Some stone fallen out of the bank into the water,’ muttered the sentinel, and he continued his lonely walk. Now, the sentinel was mistaken. “It was no stone.What made the splash was Young King Brady in the bag.”Didn’t that kill him?” was asked. You bet it didn’t. Look here:” Why Young King Brady did not lose his life that night was all owing to bass.If it had not been that Black Bob Bowen loved bass, and was out in his boat fishing for them just at the time the bag containing the detective was thrown from the bluff at Fort Wadsworth, Young King Brady’s finish would have come then and there.” How did the Bradys come out?” The boy turned without a qualm to the end of the book and read:“‘Ghosts! Ghosts! are you all ghosts?’ he yelled. ‘Help! Help! Help!’“Not*a -word from the Bradys; not a word from Maggie Crane.There they stood like statues, with their pointing fingers extended, Harry’s and Maggie’s at Dick Wells, who was struggling to free himself from the armor, Old King Brady’s at the seven skulls. '‘“Help! Help! Oh, help! Save me!’ the murderer screamed.“ ‘The job is done,’ thought Old King Brady. ‘We don’t want the neighbors here.’ ‘Confess, Wells,’ he said aloud. ‘Confess that you are James Redmond and Harry Harper, that you murderedHe Loves Geography Because the Atlas Makes a Shield.Douglas James and tried to murder my boy who stands there.’“And Old King Brady never got a confession easier.“Dick Wells, in his terror of the seven skulls, just blurted out all.”In every part of the city these pocket libraries are encountered, well thumbed and dog-eared from much secret reading and quick hiding. They form many a boy’s sole idea of life and the possibilities of fame.Dose fellers wuz de boys fer yer wite ally,”-commented one urchin. W’y day wud as life as not spit in Pierpont Morgan’s eye.”f
Newspaper Details
The Saint Paul Globe
Saint Paul, Minnesota, US
Sun, Nov 16, 1902
Page 20
Full Page
Clipped by
Joplin P.
MO, USA 03 Aug 2024
Other Publications Near Saint Paul, Minnesota
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