‘ W"! I[If-um .. “,ullflimml‘. ,. ‘ gull-u- um fllmml‘flnh Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by BEADLE AND ADAMS, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. will / turret a In “umuulu . E._F B WII Davsd Adams, eadle. l ham Adams.) Punmsnims. NEW YORK, DECEMBER 21, 1872. TERMS IN ADVANCE{ One copy, one year . . . One copy, four months, “.00 3.00. 5.00. No. 145?. we copies, one year . CW ’ r , )<""- //’z //// J. Vii / / / I "($1 1; Jul] " II}. I J liltidiiig’ é? \ s“ \ t It"! gyr- THE R0001; RIDER; THE SPIRIT OE THE SIERRA. A TALE or THE THREE PARKS. B if FREDERICK WHITTAKER, Author of “The Red Rajah,” “Knight of the Rubies,” “ Double-Death,” etc. CHAPTER I. THE COMRADES. IN the very heart of the Western Conti- nent lie the Rocky Mountains, dividing the land like a vast backbone, shooting out ribs of rock to either ocean. In the heart of the Rocky Mountains repose the Three Parks, the hunter’s Paradise. Now they are inclosed within the bounds of Colorado, but not many years ago they were in that undefined region known as the “ lrcat Vcht.” Then ,the white man was there only on sufi‘crance, and the red king of the soil showed him no mercy, if he found him away from the protection of some friendly tribe. Now the rule is revers- ed, and the red-man only stays on suffer- ance of the white. In those doubtful days, not long ago, when the Pacific Railroad was making its first slow approaches from San Francisco, derided by its foes as the enterprise of mad- men, and hampered at every step by want of mono , consequent on the just-ended war; an when the Indians, from the long absence of troops from their neighborhood, had become insolcnt and overbearing all over the plains and mountains, a small par- ty of white men were gathered around a little fire in the center of the lovely South Park. To the south—west towered the magnifi- cent slopes of Pike’s Peak, once the scene of a mining furore, but now deserted and silent. Its lofty summit, crested with snow, towered above the somber growth of pine and spruce that clothed its sides, through which the dark-gray volcanic rocks showed rugged and naked in the red light of the setting sun. All around the horizon the jaded peaks and spurs of the Sierra shut in the view, in- closing in their frame one of the loveliest valleys in the wide world. Lofty perpendic— ular clitfs,crestcd with pines, hung over smooth grassy knolls, studded with clumps of trees here and therc, with tiny pools scat- tered between the hollows, reflecting in their bosoms the far-reaching branches of live- oaks, two hundred feet in spread of sha- dow. Little copses, gay with flowering shrubs, clustered near some of the clumps of trees, I .t... whence the wild deer came fearlessly forth to drink at the pools, while the golden eagle soared from cliff to cliff, 10th to rest in his eyrie for the night. The party of white men were all young and well armed, while the remains of mili- tary dress on all, showed them to be sol- diers of the great disbanded armies, just let loose by the peace. ‘ They were three in number, two in blue, and one in gray. Frank, hearty soldiers as they were, the war over, they seemed to have fraternizcd, respecting each other’s valor. An additional reason for their companionship could have been gleaned from watching the faces of the three. There was a certain family likeness that denoted tl‘ at two of them were, at least, near relations, who had fought on opposite sides, and were now friends again. Confederate and Union, both were hand- some young fellows, neither more than twenty~eight, tall and slender, fair-haired and hazel-eyed, with the clear-cut aristocra- tic features that told of good blood and breeding. The third was a square, solid-looking German, with a blonde beard, whose breadth of shoulder denoted immense strength, while his sleepy blue eye betoken- ed also a placid temper. He was intent upon the proper broiling of a turkey leg, which he held over the tiny fire; and said nothing, while the other two talked. ' Close behind them was one of the enorm- ouslive-oaks, draped with mess, its branch- es drooping to the ground; and as the wind blew toward it, the smoke of their fire be- came completely lost in the branches before many feet. Under the tree one Could hear the occasional stamp of a horse, and the sound of munching provender. “ What’s the matter with Belcour this evening, Frank?” asked the young man in the gray coat. “He ought to have been in long ago, if he had any luck in shooting.” “ That’s just where it is, Jack,” answered his cousin, Frank Buford, of West Virgi- nia “ Gustave Belcour never will be a good shot. He’s too nervous and excitable for long distances, although I’ll admit he’s not so bad with a revolver, in a close fight, not more than ten feet off. Then his quick- ness does him good service. He hasn’t. shot a thing, you’ll see, and we shall have him back in a little while, with a long story of scarce game. “ I should call game pretty thick,” said the err-Confederate, dryly, looking round at the numerous deer and antelopes plainly visible in the valley at no great distance. “ A fellow has only to sit here, and let his supper come to him.” “ Belcour hasn't been here yet,” said Bu- ford, laughing. “ He’ll scatter them when he comes, you bet. Carl Brinkerhoff won’t be able to get another turkey to-morrow, once Belcour comes.” The quiet German made no reply in words. Broiling his bone, as he had been, his sleepy blue eye had nevertheless been roaming over the valley all the time. As Buford ended, he quietly laid down his ‘2 The strange girl answered not in words, but pointed up the pass. bone, and picked up a beautiful little sport- ing rifle that lay beside him. Without a word he threw up the muzzle, and glanced through the sights at an object ahead of him, several hundred yards oil". The crack of the little rifle was immediately followed by a confused struggle and flutter- ing of the dark object, as Brinkerhofi‘ turn- ed round, saying : “ You tellers vot don’t vant no turkey can go mitout. I be de shampion turkey-eater 'u do States.” He sat quietly down; and almost imme- diately a scrubby—looking dog, of the most undeniable our breed, a yellow dog with a thick tail, his hide sprinkled with dirty gray, came running out from the shelter of the great live-oak, and came up to the Ger- man. “ Yakop,” said Brinkcrhofl‘, gravely ad- dressing the dog, “you likes turkey, hein?" The dog gave a short “wuff” of assent, and wagged his tail, with his eyes fixed lov- ingly on the bone in his master’s hand. “ Nein, das ist nicht Team,” said Brinkcr- holi‘, shaking his head. “ You don’t. got no sense to-night, Yakop. I’ve shot a turkey, you ole fool, und if you vants any supper, you go get him—hem .9” Yakop seemed to understand every word, for he jumped up and took a long look all round, as if to discover the whereabouts of the turkey, and then turned inquiringly to his master. “ Ach, Gott l“ saidthc German. “ Yakop, you don’t got no sense to-night. Can’t you see vere I lay dc cun, mit dc par-rel bointed shtraight at hi1n~—hein, you ole fool? You go gets him, kvick, or-I take von shtick mit you. ’ » Yakop immediately ran to where the gun lay, and took a bee-line for the dead turkey, which he brought- back not ten minutes afterward, dragged triumphantly by the neck. But his tricks were not destined to be much more noticed at the time, for Jack Somers suddenly leaped up from his place, saying: “ By Jove, Frank, there he comes at last, and empty-handed as usual. But what’s the matter with him? He rides as if he was in a hurry." “ Indians, perhaps," said the Virginian, coolly. “ I’m not going to stir from here for any thing less than a whole tribe. Bel- cour’s a little scared, I guess, from his looks.” The German hunter said not a word, but picked up his rifle and threw open the breech, when he put in a new cartridge. It was his method of preparing to rccoive strhngcrs. Buford and Somers shaded their eyes with their hands, and looked up the Park. There, in the center of a cloud of golden mist, that half-filled the valley, the form of a horse and his rider could be seen, coming at a swinging gallop. CHAPTER II. THE SPIRIT OF THE SIERRA. THE tramp of a horse, with the sharp click that told of a shod hoof, disturbed the usually solemn silence of the passes of the- Sicrra. Presently, in the midst of those grand solitudes, a horseman made his zip-- pearance, coming down a dark canon, on a narrow ledge about half—way up its sides. Below him, far below, the hoarse murmur of the little stream, that had formed that deep cleft in the course of ages, only served to make the silence elsewhere more notice- able. The young man was of a face and form. likely to arrest attention even in a crowd, and in those wild fastnesses he looked doubly handsome. A little above the medium hight, and with a form of remarkable grace, the dark rich beauty of his face, the large black eyes, curling raven hair, and trim glossy mus- tache, gave token of his Southern race, and were set oil by a costume exceedingly rich and picturesque, but very unusual in those wild fastn’esses. _ The stranger’s dress was, in fact, more like that of an artist of the Latin Quarter of Paris, or a riding master of the Hippos drome, than that of the rough and ready mountain man. He wore a broad Spanish sombrero, a velvet coat, all slashed and braided, natty white corduroys, and high, gleaming thigh-boots of patent leather, with long, silver spurs, while his arms, a carbine and revolvers, were all silver—mounted and of exquisite finish. The housings and fur- niture of his black horse (a thoroughbred of exquisite beauty) were equally sumptuous. the saddle alone, with its silver studs and Mexican trappings, being worth over a hundred dollars. Such a gay cavalier had never before been seen in such a place. He rode slowly and cautiously along, fre- quently glancing downward into the bed of the stream, and then upward at the rocks around, and there was an expression of vcxation on his handsome face. As he went he soliloquizcd, in a low tone: “ Belcour, man amt,” he said, “what is the mattcrwith thee to—day, that thou hast shot nothing .9 The bighorns they laugh at thee, and thou hast not seen one since the morning. Why do they avoid me so? There is stupid Carl Brinkerhofl‘, who goes out with his our dog, and brings home game every time, and I can not get. so much as a single shot, except so far off, and they going so fast, that I miss them. And then there is Somcrs, who will be laughing at. me for coming in empty—handed, and I— ha! there he goes I" He ended abruptly. His discontented soliloquy was broken up by the sudden leap of one of those graceful mountain sheep, known as the “bighorn” from the huge curling ornaments of his frontlet. The animal came leaping down from the summit of the precipice on the opposite side of the canon, as if in a despe- rate hurry, or pursued, and lighted on a pinnacle of rock, about half-way down the side of the canon, not fifty feet from the young cavalier. There it stood poised for an instant, as if equally surprised and dismayed at the meeting with the hunter, and then, gather- ing itself for a great leap, came flying over the dark canon to light down almost in front of horse and rider. But, swift as the animal was. the aim of thcivoung man was as quick. His rifle was at his back, and he had no time to get it out, but a pistol leaped from the holster like a flash, and leaning over his horse’s side, with the rapid aim of instinct alone, he shot the animal through the heart at five feet distance. The bighorn reared itself up for a single instant like a goat, pawcd the air wildly, and fell back over the ledge into“ the stream below, stone dead, as Belcour joyfully ex- claimed: “ Shot at last, and well shot, too, Gus- tave! My friend, thou wilt make a hunter yet. Now, what will Somers say? The animal is dead, without doubt.” He seemed as much pleased as a child, and so he was, for Gustave Belcour, hand- some cavalier as he was, had been the butt of his companions all through their roam- ing expedition for his bad shooting. He was too nervous and impatient, for the marksman must be cool and phlcgmatic who hopes to be called a “ dead shot,” and Gustave had become almost disheartened at his own want of success, which was owing; merely to the absence of a teacher to. in. struct him. ' His chance shot elated him thereforeih proportion to his previous failures. The next minute, however, his countee nancc changed, as he looked down the prom cipice between him and his game. He saw that descent was an impossibility, and that the mountain torrent was rapidly sweeping the body away toward the lower ranges of the Sierra. “ Ah, pesto!” he exclaimed, angrily; “but I have no fortune to-day, and shall lose it all if I do not follow. Forward, Eclair, good horse, forward ! ch will follow while there is foothold left.” And he shook the rein, and trotted on down the narrow ledge, his: eyes fixed on the body of the quarry, swept along far be- low him, now lodging for a moment on a sharp rock, now hurried; on again with in- creased rapidity. Above him, at the instant he fired, a head, with the long, curving horns of the moun- tain sheep, was thrust forth for a moment over the precipice. It was instantly With- drawn, and a slight, graceful figure went bounding away over rugged slopes of rock, leaping over dark chasms: with wonderful daring and agility, and following the same direction as the hunter, unseen by him.