rm», .. -':'>|c" ,myyx  7. . r.

‘ SATURDAY % J

 

OURNAL

/\

7

 

 

appeared in the moonlight on the opposite
bank, following the broad trail of the horse's
track down to the water’s edge. It was an
easy shot for Tim, and he was sorely tempt-
ed to try it, as they stood huddled together,
apparently disputing whether to cross the
river or not. Tim counted the seven trail-
ers, but the tall form of the chief was
not there, and he concluded that they were
afraid to venture across without , orders.
After waiting a little longer, he heard a rus-
tle in the bushes, and the tall chief— made
his appearance, While a hush fell on the In-
dians. The chief was heard questioning
them, and the Whole band stood hesitating
for a while, till the chief suddenly dashed
into the water, and came swimming across
the river, followed by the rest.

“ Now, ye red divils, av I don’t make ye
howl, may I never fire another shot,” mot-
tered Double-Death, when they were fair? y
in the water.

He took out his pistols and laid them de-
liberately on the bank before him, rested
his ride on the root of a tree, and waited.
Tim was one of those cool hands who never
throw away a chance. A younger soldier
would have fired at the heads bobbing in
the current, and missed them in the moon-
light, probably frightening them back and
leaving them to follow him later. This
was not Tim’s programme. He had just
six shots and he meant to reserve them all
for close quarters and demoralizing his ene-
mies. The river was narrow and swift, and
he knew that the arms of the Indians would
certainly be wet and useless when they
reached the bank, while they were as clear-
ly ignorant of his presence, or they would
have never dared to cross. Very soon the
line of heads came nearer and nearer, being
swept down the current till it was evident
that they would land almost at his feet.
The scout waited till four dripping figures
rose out of the water, and stood waist deep,
panting with exertion. Then he fired right

.and left, with the aim that never missed,

and two of the Indians instantly dropped
into the river, and were swept away by the
current. The third, who was the tall chief,
as swiftly followed, and dived, thereby es-
caping a bullet from Tim’s pistol, but the
fourth got it somewhere in the body, and
fell struggling and howling into the water.
Tim picked up his other pistol, and fired at
the remaining heads in the water, but all
three ducked at the flash, and he had the
mortification of seeing the Indians climb up
the further bank un. .armed, before he could
reload his three weapons. When he had
done so, he started down the bank to inter-
cept the chief, if the latter should make
any attempt to land on his side. He saw
his head in the middle of the river, and
heard the roaring of some rapids a little
distance below. The chief seemed to think
discretion the better part of valor, for he
made the best of his way to the other side,
while Double-Death returned to his horse
and took him into the thickest part of the
woods. There, hidden in a dense thicket of
underwood that announced the former
presence of clearings, the bold scout passed
the night, and slept soundly till the pale
light of dawn woke him in the morning,
feeling convinced that he had effectually.
frightened his foes.

Then he awoke much refreshed, saddled
and fed his horse, ate some food, and started
on a tour of inspection down the river bank.
As he expected, there were no tracks. The
sudden occurrence of six shots in succes-
sion the evening before, when the Indians
had only tracked one man, had aroused
their superstition, and they began to whis-
per that it must be the dreaded warrior,
Double-Death, who was reputed to fire all
day long without loading.

As soon as Tim was satisfied that he was
alone on the south bank of the Mohawk, he
returned to his horse, and rode boldly away
through the country, following the old In-
dian paths, and passing almost within sight
of the block-house at Fort Plain, which he
did not visit, however. He was too anxious
to keep his coming and going a secret, and
too anxious also to get on with his journey.
There were many signs of Indian parties
around,camp-fircs and such like, but they
were all many days old, and Tim had re-
solved to push forward in spite of them. By
evening he had made sixty miles more, and
was in the very heart of the trackless wild-
erness, abandoned even by the Indians
themselves, who had clustered around the
lakes of the Genesee valley.

That night the scout ventured to make a
fire, very small, and of dry wood and punk,
that glowed fiercely without flaming. He
built it in the midst of a dry swamp, in a
hollow tree, and stablcd his horse under a
spreading hemlock, in warmth and peace.
Both man and horse required rest now, the
latter especially, for their journey had
been rapid, and where they were, was safety.

It was not till late the next day that Tim
started on his westward journey, and when
he did, he had completely metamorphosed
his appearance. Instead of the soberly
dressed ranger of Morgan’s Corps, he had
been transformed into an Indian on the
war-path, plumed and painted, with a gay
scarlet blanket hanging from his shoulders.
In this guise, he rode boldly into the Indian
country next day, careless of who saw him
at a distance, resolved to pass himself off as
the returning member of a war-party, who
had slain Double-Death and taken his
weapons. That afternoon he rode south-
west, till evening brought him in sight of
the extreme end of Lake Cayuga, the pres—
ent site of the town of Ithaca, then occu-
pied by an Indian village. Tim halted on
a hill that overlooked the rich alluvial flats
on which the village was built. He saw
cornfields, several square miles in extent,
fruitful orchards and neat frame houses,
with plenty of stock in the fields near the
hOUSES, and he thought it most prudent not
to venture into the village that night He
knew the tribe to be Cayugas, and he knew
moreover that if Everard was alive any-
where, it would probably be in the Seneca
country, where Cigeen Esther’s band he—
longed. So Mr. urphy retired into the
forest with great prudence, found a dry
swamp, his common place of refuge, and
dealt out to his horse thelast feed of cats in
the Back. Soon after dark,however, he stole
out on foot, went down to the cornfields
and plucked about thirty cars, with which
he stole back undiscovered to feast his
horse.

“After all,” soliloquized Tim that night
as he smoked a quiet pipe, keeping the
spark in the bowl carefully hidden under
his hat, for fear of its catching the eye of a
passing Indian, “ after all, ’tisn’t such a
hard job to hate an lnjun in cunnin’. Now

here’s Tim Murphy, all alone, in the middle
of their country, and sorra one 0’ them
knows where he is, this missed minute, or he
wouldn’t kapoa whole scalp long, I’m think-

in) n

, Death, with perfect coolness.

 

 

 

And with a quiet philosophy, born of his
coolness and self—reliance, Tim composed
himself to sleep, in the swamp, within less
than a mile of a village of Indians, all his
deadly enemies,

But no harm came to him. On the con-
trary, the rest and food had so invigorated
his horse, that the animal seemed as fresh
as when it left the Neilsons’, having been
unable to finish the bountiful supply of corn
given it by Tim. The borderer ate his last
mouthful of food, mounted his horse, and
then pursued his journey, down the plain

Indian road that led to Lake Seneca and the"

settlement of Sheshequin. -

He rode rapidly all day, expecting to be
met by plenty of Indians, but to his sur-
prise none of them seemed to be about.
Tim had adopted the distinctive marks cf the
Mohawk tribe,now that he was going among
the Senecas, as the former were allies, at
some distance from the latter, and he ran
less risk of detection by members of the
same tribe. He knew mereover that Brant,
with the Mohawks, was on the war-path
somewhere to the north of the Mohawk
river. The absence of all the Senecas seem-
ed to indicate that they too were away on
some expedition, and everything looked fa-
vorable to Tim’s plan.

He boldly followed the broad trail, that
led him through forest scenes of surpassing
beauty, now among stately rows of gigantic
oaks, then among groves of the sweet smell-
ing sugar-maples, or under the deep cool
shade of hickory and walnut tree, till at
last he emerged atthc edge of ‘a gentle
rounded slope, and beheld before him the
laughing valley of Sheshequin,golden with
ripe corn, and covered with orchards of
apple, pear, and peach, in rich profusion.

Through the midst of this smiling, un—
dulating plain, girdled :with primeval for-
ests, ran a winding path, trodden for cen-
turies; and into this path rode Double-
As he went
on he kept his eye fixed on the village
ahead, expecting to see a dozen warriors
start out on horseback or afoot to inspect
the stranger. But none were visible. The
sharp eyes of the children spied him first,
and they ran into the wigwams and houses
to call their mothers, but as Tim tranquilly
advanced, there seemed to be no warriors left.

He rode up into the very midst of the
village before he saw a male creature of
any kind, and then he was greeted by an
aged, white-haired chief, who was sitting
on the steps of one of the houses, smoking.

f The squaws Tim had not deigned to notice,
’ true to his assumed character.

The old Indian saluted Tim gravely.

“ My son is far out of the track,” he said.
“ The warriors of Sheshcquin are gone
with the brothers of my son’s tribe to hunt
the pale—faces, with Brant and the White
Chief of Cauglmawauga.* My son should
be with them, and not showing clean wea-
pons before women.”

Tim showed at his belt the scalps of five
Indians, and answered:

“ Black IVolf has been on the war-path,
and left his brothers behind. He has slain
the thieving Oneida that clings to the rebel,
and has scalped the white chief they call
Double-Death. Behold his weapons.”

And he held up the celebrated rifle that

' had gained him the name of Double-Death.

The old chief looked surprised.

“ No man has ever wounded Double-
Dcath before,” he said; “and are you the
man to take his scalp ?”

“ Here it is,” said Tim, coolly.

As he spoke he held up one of the scalps

of which he had cut the hair short, so as to ,

resemble that of a white man.

“ Let the Senecas and Mohawks go,” he
continued. “Black Wolf fights aloné, and
rides in the forest without help. Whendid
the warriors depart, and; which road took»
they?” . ‘   ‘ - ~

He was anxious to‘find out the destina-
tion of the expedition, but did not dare to
show his anxiety, for fear of exciting his
hearcr’s suspicions.

“ They went four days ago, and took the
northern track from Niagara to Caughna-
wauga,” said the old Indian.

“ Ah i then I should be too late to follow
them,” said Tim. He had found out the
reason of his unopposed march. The In-
dians were on the war-path on the north
bank of the Mohawk.

“ And the white prisoner of Queen She-
shequin,” he pursued, carelessly; “ where
is he f”

“ He is here,” replied the Indian,
“ with the Spy Queen.”

 

CHAPTER XV.
THE GLEN.

TIM was nonplussed. The Sp Queenl
If Queen Esther was here, be knew her
well enough to be certain he would be re-
cognized, in spite of his disguise.

‘ And did not Queen Sheshequin go
forth with her warriors to the north,” he
asked, “as well as to the south? Is she
grown too old to march ?”

“Not so,” said the Indian, gravely.
“Queen Sheshequin went before her war-
riors, with Black Eagle and twelve braves.
She went by the south road to Cherry Val-
ley, and thence to the field of the great bat-
tle last year. She went in the great Wagon
given her by the White Chief of Caughna-
wauga. My brother may have met her on
the road.”

Tim was too guarded to exhibit surprise,
but his heart gave a great leap at the news.

“ Ay, ay, I saw her,” he said, indifferent-
ly. “But she was well disguised, for I
knew her not. And the Spy Queen—where
is she ‘5’”

“Up Sheshequin Glen, with the young
white prisoner,” said the Indian, with some
little scorn. “ The Great Father is foolish
to trust his business to squaws, for she docs
nothing all day but walk with the young
stranger. But then we are civil to her, be-
cause without her the Great Father will
send us no more presents, and she‘has pro-
mised us many rifles and much rum.”

Tim could hardly restrain his eagerness
to be ofi‘, buthe was hearing too much
news not to endeavor to hear more. The
old Seneca was perfectly unsuspicious, and
seemed to have lost the usual Indian cau-
tion in the garrulity of age. The Spy
Queen was evidently an agent of the
British Government among the Indians,
and Tim formed the bold design of carry-
ing her off, the instant he heard of it. It
was only necessary to ascertain whether
Everard Barbour and the white prisoner
were the same person.

“ The white prisoner is the one taken by
Black Eagle near Pocono, is he not f” be
asked.

 

* Sir John Johnson. son of Sir William, the old
Indian agent. The Indian name of Johnstown was
Can rhnawauga. and the Johnsous Were accounted
chic 5 among the tribes.

'warspath he enters no house.

 

 

 

 

“ Ay,” said the Indian, readily. “ A
young boy from the camp of the rebel sol-
diers, not worth‘ “keeping. But the Spy
Queen seems to be fond of him, and dresses
him up as a chief of the Senecas.”

Tim had found out all he wanted to
know.

“ It is well i” he said, abruptly. “ The
way of Black Wolf is long and the night is
coming. He goes tothe lodges of his peo-
ple to the north. Farewell.”

“ Will not my brother rest at Sheshequin
for the night?” asked the old Indian, cour-
teously. “ \Vhite Raven has a house, and it

* is open to his Mohawk brothers.”

“ Black Wolf rides alone,” said Double-
Death, gravely. “When his foot is on the
He will but
gather a few ears of corn for the horse he
took from the pale~face chief, and then he
will ride homeward to the lodges of his
people.”

White Raven made no opposition when

, he heard this, for the Indians will sometimes

take whimsical vows, like the knights er-
rant of old, and their compeers respect them.
DoubleDeath galloped out of the village at
full speed, and plunged into the woods to-
ward the north, leaving the quiet hamlet to
relapse into the same quiet in which he had
found it. He kept on his way to the north,
the home of the Mohawk tribes, till he was
at a safe distance and the sun was growing
low in the West. Then he sought his old
place of concealment, a dry swamp, and
fastened his horse securely in the midst of a
natural stable, formed b two or three huge,
spreading spruce trees t at completely shel-
tered the animal. He had plucked a huge
bundle of corn on the way, as he had an-
nounced to I’Vhite Raven, and he threw
down the green cars before the horse, say-
in :

%Ate as much as ye like, ye haste, and
don’t let a word out of (yer head, av yer
don’t want yer hide tanne afoor ye’re did.
D’ye mind that now? Ye’ll have a good
tramp to-night, carrying double, av we have
any luck at all, so ate yer fill.”

ThenDouble-Death looked to his wea-
pons, and struck off through the woods to
the foot of the bold, rounded swells that
surrounded the valley of Sheshcquin. It
was his object to enter the glen from above,
.for he had a good idea of the way there,
having often heard it described by the In-
dians.

The warriors being away from the village
rendered his expedition all the more feasi—
ble, as the squaws seldom wandered far
from the lodges. In less than half an hour
he was at the foot of the ridge, which was
covered, like all the rest of the land, with a
heavy pall of forest. I

The climb was a fatiguing one, but the
view from the top was ample repayment, if
Tim had been romantically inclined2 He was
not, however, and all the glories of a fall
sunset over miles of dark forest, Open plain
and poetical lake Were wasted upon him.
The scout turned from it, and ran off
through the woods that croWned‘ the ridge,
till the trickling of waters ahead warned him
that he was approaching the glen.

In a few minutes more he came out of
the woods and stood on the brink of a tiny,

round pool, as black as jet,‘into which on .

one side ran a little stream, which left it on
the other. and disappeared in a cleft in the
earth. Tim had come upon the true begin-
ning of the lovely glen of Shesheqnin, and
stood at the source of all its wonders. - - ’

‘A crimson ray of the setting sun shone '

through an arch of the wood screen the

pool, and lighted up the dark cleft into

which the stream fell with a stifled roar,

casting up a shower of white spray " ainst.

the bare cliffs of blaCkTroek, mold , into

fantastic buttressesand‘towers, byjfthef‘arti, '
-' finer,

nature,  tool’s being water and

time.‘ * r - ._ ._ ,. . H i.
From where the berdcrer stood he could

see the stream, winding and leaping“ down“ ,

ward,hy successive‘stages, into the bowels
of the earth, the cliffs growing holder at
every leap. Tim. hesitated nomore, but
swung himself down into the first hollow, a
descent of not more than four feet, and
commenced the descent of the glen. It was
not difficult. The stratification of the lime-
stone and shale, of which the sides of the
glen were composed, was perfectly horizon-
tal, and the steps taken by the water gra-
dual and easy. At first not over ten feet
wide, the glen swelled out into a succession
of little chambers, contracting here and there
into narrow passages, as some harder rock
stood up in a sturdy column, denying a free
passage to the stream, which undermined it
and formed a shallow cavern, from the edge
of which depended a glittering curtain of
drops in a rainbow vail.

The borderer kept on down the stream,
thinking but little of the singular beauties
of the scene, for he was expecting every
moment to come upon Everard. He passed
in this manner through a succession of fan-
tastic and beautiful glcns, each more beauti—
ful than the other, tilla long, narrow, wind-
ing passage at last brought him out into the
large rocky amphitheater, in which stood
the house of Queen Esther.

When Tim entered this, the sun had set,
and night fallen on the stream and all the
surroundings. In that place, shut in by
lofty walls of rock, it was already too dark
to distinguish faces or figures, and Tim
could see that lights were burning in the
house, and that the inclosui-e round was.
empty. Without more delay the scout step-
ped softly forward, and found himself un-
der the windows of the house, looking into
the basement. The light came from one of
the windows opening on a gallery above,
that ran round the house Swiss fashion.
Tim first made sure that no one was down-
stairs. Doors and windows were alike wide
open in the careless freedom of security,
and the soft, moccasined tread of the scout
made no sound on the bare boards of the
floor. Tim made a complete exploration of
the four empty rooms that composed the
basement, before he proceeded up-stairs ;
and then he went round by the outside stair-
case. He expected every moment to hear

the alarmed scream of a squaw, and kept

his eyes warily Open in all directions. There
was no one on the gallery. So far, so good.
The light came from a Window at the other
end of the house, and he crept softly along
till he came opposite, before he ventured to
peep in.

When he did, he could hardly restrain an
exclamation of delight. _

There was his long-sought, favorite offi-
cer, Everard Barbour, alive and well, with-
in twelve feet of him. '

But whata changed being was Everard l

He was clothed in the full gala dress of
an Indian chief, but made of more splendid
materials than usual, for real jewels glitter-
ed on his bare arms and neck, and his leg-
gins and moccasins were of velvet. The
feather head-dress into which his fair hair

back.”

 

 

 

was woven was more splendid than any
thing Tim had ever seen, and the youth
wore a tomahawk and scalp~knife, both
heavily mounted with silver. But all this
was nothing to the dress of his companion,

a tiny lady, with long, golden hair, who had

one arm twined around Everard’s neck in
familiar fashion.

“Be the howly poker!” muttered Tim,
under his breath, as he surveyed her, “ she’s
a rale beauty, so she is.’ Och 1 Miss Marian,
sure an’ yer heart would ache this blissid
minute, could ye see Misther Everard—och,
the crather, av she isn’t kissin’him 3”

And, indeed, it was true. The little lady,
whose beauty seemed almost unearthly in
that wild place, Was actually kissing Eve-
rard. Tim Was puzzled at her looks and
dress. In form and fashion it resembled
that of the Indians, but it was cut with a
peculiar grace that showed the hand of a
foreign dressmaker, and made of expensive
silks and velvets. The borderer could not
understand who she could be.

“ Bedad, av that’s the Spy Queen,” he mut—
tered, “it’s not Tim Murphy that’ll be
takin’ away any sich purty crature to be
hung for a spy, l’avin’ the quistion of possi-
bility intirely. Hoigl.‘ l what’s the mat-
ther ?”

The little lady had jumped up, saying:

“I’ll run and get it immediately, pet,”
and so vanished out of the room.

“ Now’s the time,” thought Tim. He put
his head round the corner, and gave utter-
ance to the whisper:

“ Liftinant, I’m here—Tim Murphy. Run.
ye divil! Now’s yer time afore she comes

 

CHAPTER XVI.
A REVELATION.

ON a bright, lovely morning, rather more
than a year from the date of the battle of
Bemis’ Hights, John' Neilson rode out be-
side the lumbering carriage of the Countess
of Montouraine, where the countess herself
sat- with pretty Marian Neilson.
lady had succeeded in charming every one
in the house, even Mrs. Neilson, who had
been disposed to be stiff at first in her man~
ner. She effected that lad ’s conquest by
liberal praise of a wonderfu breakfast cake
that Mrs. Neilson was particularly proud of
manufacturing.

When the countess insisted on her putting
up a numberof these for a lunch on the
road, Mrs. Neilson was very much flattered,
and expressed her opinion..that the countess
was a sensible woman after-a1, “none of
your fine stuck‘up French , fallals, who
think themselves too good to eat plain
farmers’ fare.” ‘

Mrs. Neilson did put up an immense
package for lunch, and the countess accept-
ed them with profuse thanks. ‘

The carriage, witthohn Neilson riding
beside it, took the road as far as the desert-
ed house of John Barbour, which Marian

could no longer behold without a shudder,

and then turned off, across the'fields to
Burgoyne’s Olf ' lines. On the way the
countess pr Marian to tell her the
cause of her ler, andthe’poor girl hur-
riedly told her e outlines or herown and
Everard’s sad story. I ‘ . ,

“And now, madam,” she said, weeping,
“ I know not if he be dead oralive,’ and
oh! madam, I wish I,’kne'w for Certain. I
would 0 to him if he“ was in prison, indeed
I Woolf , and sharehisfcpri‘s3m {but I. fear
he has been murdered 'byjéfhb'sc cruel In-
dians, and I shall never. see‘liim again.”-

As she said these words, Ze’old countess
turned and regarded her with' a strange

‘ look; v 1

~“ You arevery fond of this young man?”

she asked, abruptly. .- j :   37

“ Madamwe are engaged to be married,”
said Marian, simply. ‘ -

The countesstobka pinch of snuff and
shook her head.

“ Hum 1” she ejaculated; “ the one does
not always follow the other, child. Docs

- your father approve of it ‘3”

“ Yes, madam, and mother, too,” said
Marian, eagerly.

“ And the young man,” said the countess,
abruptly. “ Has he a father?"

“ Yes, madam,” said Marian, in a low
tone. '

“ Indeed, and why is he not at home 1?”

“ I don’t know,” said Marian, a little con-
fused. _

“ Does he approve of the match?” asked
the countess, turning her sharp eyes on
Marian’s blushing face. “I mean the fa-
then”

“ N—n—no,” the girl unwillingly admit-
ted.

“ Why not?” .

“ He is a Tory,” said Marian, in a low
voice, “ and we are patriots. So is Everard,
poor dear, and he has left his father’s house
inlanger.”

“ So l” said the old lady, in a dry tone.
“ Is there no other reason ?”

Marian blushed deeper than ever, and a
look of resentment came over her features.

“There was one other reason,” she said,
very low. “ Mr. Barbour was very proud
of his family, and he thought us beneath
him.”

The countess took another pinch of snuff,
and turned to John Neilson, who was just
then riding up to the door.

“ This here placo, marm,” said John, “is
the place where one of our Ginerals was hit
in the leg, when them darned Hessians got
licked in the redoubt. He war carried off,
marm, by Major Armstrong and a young,
feller of this neighborhood—~”

And John stopped suddenly, as he re-
membered his wife’s injunction not to men-
tion Everard’s name before Marian.

“ What was the young man’s name, mon-
sieur ?” asked the countess.

“ Wal,” said John, awkwardly, “ his
name were—mind, Marian, I didn’t go fur
to hurt yer feelin’s, my gal, but the lady
axed me—his name were Everard Barbour,
marm. Yer see, there were some, spoonin’
atwixt him and my gal there, and she feels
mortal bad about it, marm, just now she

do, ’cause the poor young feller got sculped

by the Injuns of that darned old witch
Queen Esther down in Wyoming. The

poor little gal was down thur herself,marm,

and see’d all the horrors of the massacres,
she did, and kin tell yer all about the bloody
varniints, marm.”

The countess turned round to Marian.

“ And so you were at Wyoming,” she
said; “and how did you escape from dat
old witch, Queen Esther, as your father calls

‘ her ?”

“Nay, indeed she was kind to me, father,”
said Marian, half-apologetically. “ At least
I was not killed like so many others.”

“Aha!” said the countess. “ So do old
witch, Queen Esther, was not so bad to
you, after all.”

“ She were bad enough in all conscience,

 

The old '

 

 

 

marm,” said honest John, indignantly.
“ My gal seen herdwith her own eyes kill
sixteen men, and they standin’ tied in a
row. She tuk a a hatchet, and brained ’em
one after another, till she come to Tim
Murphy, the same feller as saved my gal,
and he bruk loose and run, with all the
painted devils'arter him, an’ the old she
divil cheerin’ ’em on. Oh! I’d like to get
my grip on her skinny old throat, so I
woulc .”

The old countess seemed to be amused at
the warmth of the farmer. ‘ ’

“Ah! monsieur,” she Said, placidlv, “I
‘do not know "moch about dese t’ings,
you know, but dey tellme dat dis Queen
-Esthaire have one grand cause for revenge
iagainst dc French and deir ally, de Ameri-
'cains. I nevair hear dat she cruel to de
Womans or childs.”

“ Nay, I’ll own that,” said John Neilson,
honest even to an enemy. “ She treated
my gal fust rate, and I take all that back
about throttlin’ her myself: but, I tell you,
she’d better not let Tim Murphy ketch her.
He got off safe, and slew’d a Injun as had
stole his rifle, as he calls Double-Death, and
he’s down on her, is Tim. He’s aIrisher,
to be sure, and them ain’t expected to do as
much as born Amerikins, but Tim’s a good
feller, and he reskied my gal like a good
feller, marm.”

“ Well, monsieur,” said the countess,
changing the subject; “ so dis is de' field of
de great battaillc ? And how far,- monsieur,
is it to Saratoga ‘3”

“ About two miles,” said John.

“And are dere any houses on de way
dere ‘2” asked the countess,~quietly.

“ Very few, marm. This here cross-road
runs into the Quaker Springs Road, back of

. Wilber’s Basin, and then yercome right in-
to the woods, and no houses till Cherry
Valley. They say that the Injunsfhas been
seen hangin’ round ’bout them'clearin’s, and
we don’t care to go very far that ways.”

“ Let us drive into dat rOad, monsieur ?”
said the countess, suddenly; “ and so come
home by de way we came.” . .

“ Sartinly, marm," said John, readily.
“ Here, fellers, this way.” _

And the carriage went bumping around
the stumps to the cross dirt-road he had
mentioned, which ran back of Burgoyne’s
old line through a dense wood, John ruling
by the carriage window and expatiating on
the battle of the previous year.

When they were in the thickest part of
the woods, the countess suddenly rose in
her seat, remarkably erect for an old lady,
and cried out: ”

“ Stop, mes enfants, stop!”

Instantly the postillions pulled up and
the two lackeys leaped down from the box
to the ground, as if awaiting orders to open
the door. John Neilson pulled up, a little
surprised at the halt in such a place, but he
came up to the window immediately when
the old lady beckoned to him. At the same
moment the two outriders crowded their
horses in, so as to press his animal close to
the wheels of the carriage.

“ Monsieur Neilson,” said the old count-
ess, in a clear, stern voice, very different
from what she had used, “ we will stop
here, and you will be dismount, if you
please. I want your daughter to go with
me, monsieur.” '

A dim idea crossed John’s brain that the
countess was crazy, but her next words dis-
pelled it, and brought a faint shriek from
Marian. ’ V

“ She is no longer your daughter, but
.minc, sure. And I am dc old witch, do she-
devil (lot you talk of but now, monsieur. I‘

am Catherine Montour, Queen Slieshequin, '
Queen of the Senecas, and you are my pria"

soner.”

. For one moment John Neilson was par-
alyzed. The next he turned round and
would have struck down his captors out-
side, when he found himself covered by the
muzzlcs of two hOrsc-pistols in the hands of
the two stolidolooking French-Canadian
outriders, while his bridle was firmly grasp-
ed by One of them.

“ Resistance is folly, mensieur,” said
Queen Esther. “I have a mind to show
on that I can be merciful as well as fierce.

akc him off his horse and do as I tolt
you.” ‘

The laSt words were addressed to the out-
riders, who seemed to understand them, for
they nodded. Poor John Neilson was
forced to hold out his hands, when a pair
of handcuffs were fitted on them, and he
was taken off his horse and into the thick

wood out of sight of his agonized daughteim

Poor Marian sat as if she had been turn-
ed to stone, helpless and resigned, too much
stunned to speak. ..

The false countess turned with a malig-

nant smile, and observed :
, “So we are met again, Marian Neilson.
I shall now take you where no American
expedition can follow you, into the heart of
our country. Let me see Double-Death
rescue you there. Keep up your spirits
there, girl. I am taking you to your lover.
But you will find him changed, or I mistake
’much. He has forgotten you, fool that you
are, and so you will have the less reluctance
to marry the chief I have chosen for you.
Your father will not be hurt. The men
have bound him to a tree and gagged him.
That is all. Here they come. Aliens 1”

And away rolled the clumsy coach on
the Quaker Springs Road, carrying Marian
a helpless prisoner.

(To be cmatinued—commenced in M). 127.)

MERCIIESS MATT;

on,
Red Thunderbolt’s Secret.

A TALE OF THE GIANT HALF-BREED'S “AUNT.
(STAR NOVEL, No. 99.)

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