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' The Mad Trapper pulled the latch-string,

. cabin.

_ ‘ derman, as his eyes fell upon two forms—two
2 human forms—seated before the fire-place.

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' : pipe in 'one hand, while the other held a slip of
. ‘ Paper-

) ' out on a social drunk?”

. spoke to the two men, but they stirred not. He

v in a low, husky tone.
; work of that fiend incarnate, Molock.”

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, ' peat-ed on'the water, moving toward her. ' . She

'soon made it out tobethe headofaman
j swimming—a man with heavy black whiskers
, and a face of corpse—like pallor, lighted by
f sunken eyes, of unnatural brilliancy.
. first instinct was to fly; but his voice detained

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and all gone-to the lake. I do wonder where
I could find old Zédekiah Dee, the, trapper?”

“ Here I be, right here my young kid,” was
the response of, a familiar voice behind him, ,
and the Mad Trapper stepped from a covert
of bushes and. confronted the youth. .

“ By George, trapper, I am monstrous glad
to see you!” exclaimed Tom; “ how’s times?”

“. Magnumbonum, Thomas Idaho,” was the
trapper’s response; “ most confoundedly lively,
Idaho—skittish as a blind boss in fly-time, or
a nigger in a hornet’s nest. How’s your pulse
been a-throbbin’. since the night of that little
affair, Thomas?”

“Two hundred to the minute.”

“ Livin’ purty fast then, arn’t ye? Crowd-
ing three years into one. Well, so jogs the
world along, Tom, my gay young vagabond.”

“ This is a fast age, trapper; but it does
seem to me that it’s looking dull around your
cabin.” . -

“ I’ve been sayin’ so fur sometime. I left
early this mornin’, and when I hove to in that
bush two minutes ago, something struck me
under the scalp as being wrong. I don't know
why I think so, Tom, but I am goin’ to see
about it. Won’t you go down?”

“ I will, certainly.” ,

The two descended the hind, crossed the
valley and approached the cabin. At the door
they paused and listened. All was still within.

opened the door and cautiously entered the

“Jews an’ Gentiles! Lord of Israel, pre-
sarve me!” burst from the lips of the old bor-

Both were white men. They were seated
upon chairs, or rather tied there, with their
faces turned toward the fire. Their hands
hung idly over their knees. Their chins rested
upon their breasts. One of them held an empty

“Asleep, are they, Zed?” said Tom; “been
The trapper shook his head, gravely, then he

laid his hand upon one’s shoulder and shook
him, or tried to, for the man was stark and
stiff! ‘

“ They’re both dead, Tom,” the trapper said,
“This is the hellish

“Do you know them, friend trapper?”

“They’re friends,” responded Zed, in a ra—
ther evasive manner; “but, read that, Tom,”
he continued, taking the slip of paper from the
dead man’s hand and passing it to the youth.

“ Vengeance is mine!” he read aloud.

“ Is that all?”

“That’s all; but it’s a miserable scrawl.”

“It’s Molock’s work. Poor boys! they’re
gone under forever. They’re done toilin’ here,
and their death will be a terrible blowto—to
me. They’ve been away upto Virginia City
for several days, and jist got home yesterday.
Curses on that Molockl'. - I will hunt him and
his Ingins as I would a deer.” ~

Tom removed the hats from the heads ofrthe
two lifeless men, and gazed upon their ghast-
ly faces. Instantly he recognized them as the

two strangers he and, Jack-.Hill had played- "r

with at the “ Ophir Exchange ”—-the very
same men who had won his diamond ring, and
whom Hill had declared were detectives. But,
of these facts he said nothing to the trapper.

“ Miss Powell, your brother is the victim of
a terrible mistake.”

“ A mistake? What mistake?

“You have heard of innocent men being
convicted on circumstantial evidence?”

" InnocentL—Frederick innocent? What do
you mean?” "

“ Men supposed to be dead have reappeared,
alive and we'll.” ‘

“Oh, sir! pray explain yourself.
are you hinting?”

“ Prepare your mind for a great joy. I re
peat, your brother is the victim of a fatal mis
take. ”

“ What do .you say? Frederick innocent,
and—and—” ‘ '

,“ Cecil Beaumont is not dead!”

ay sat as still as death for a moment, and
then she said, in a dying voice:

“ You are mistaken. They buried him
more than a week ago.”

“That was the mistake. It was not Bean'-
mont.” ' ' ’ '

‘ Again she sat still, this time panting with a
wild excitement. She sat and looked at the
speaker trying to receive his words into her
mind and digest their meaning.

“ How do you know?” she asked, presently.

“ I have seen him within the hour.”

“Take me to him! Where is he? Why did
he not come with you?” ' .

She arose and put her hand on the arm of
the stranger, gazing into his face with fevered
impatience. ' '

“ He has suflered. He is much changed.
You would scarcely knew him.”

“Is he ill? . What has happened? 0h, sir,
take me to him. immediately.”

“He is as pale and thin and ghastly as I
am, ” pursued the stranger, looking at her
sadly.

Now she rose onntiptoe and peered into his
face. A cadence in his voice had set her heart
to throbbing wildly. The next instant he tore
the false whiskers from his face, threw  arm
about her, and put his hand over her mouth.
It wasjust in time to check the cry that arose
to her lips, as she fainted in his-arms. V ,

a “ Poor thing! poor thing!” muttered Cecil
Beaumont, as he laid her down on the grass.
“How I have wronged her! She loved me—
she loves me still, as few women are capable
of loving; and I, fiend that I am, trample
her heart ruthlessly under foot!” .

Then with the glitter of insanity glowing in
his eyes, he went on: , , 5 ,

“Ah! how sad itis to be in the hands ofso
cruel a fate! Everything that I ever IOved—
everything that ever loved me—has‘! fallen
under the curse!"

With a quivering sob May Powell came back
to life again; and then, with a sound like the
cooing of 'a (love, she nestled in his arms, cling-
ing about his neck, unconscious that her clothes
were being saturated by the water that still
dripped from, his garments, only weeping and
laughing andkissing him, with little caressing
hugs, and'repeatinglovcr and-overragain, as if
she would never tire of the sound:

: “. Cecil! Cecil! Cecil! Cecil!”

And Cecil Beaumont held her in bis‘arms ‘
and wept over her like a child. His only

thought was:

At what

wronged her!

tiny!” , ,' -, ', .- ,
,Itseemed asif'shelwould have sat there for—

ever, ,withoutaword of explanation, filled, sa—»

Ah! what a cruel, cruel des-

 

 

The old borderman was grievously afflicted
with the death of his friends. Tears trickled
down his sunburn'ed cheeks from eyes ' that'
seemed to have been wrung dry by long years
of isolation from'aught that would stiria 'feil-
ing of tenderness in the human heart. I, ' I

With the assistance ofvTom, the dead. were
prepared for burial. ‘ » E g V

Under a stately pine in the valley, _,twd
graves were dug; 'and’ in the gatheflng'twi—‘
light of a glorious summer evening the. two
men were put away to their final rest. _

And all the while the Mad Trapper was sor-
rowful and silent. He spoke of the men in no'
way whatever, nor did. Tom question him, for
he saw that the old man’s lips were sealed
concerning the ,th0 dead friends.

Darkness had fallen are the two returnedto
the cabin. Wolves had begun their mournful
howling away off in the mountains. The'tow-
ering hills came out in bold relief against the
blue, starry sky, and the somber pines rustled
their drapery like the shrouds of the dead.

(To be continued—commenced in No. 284.)

Tiger“ Dick:
THE CASHInR’s CRIME.

A TA“ 0? IAI’S IATE All! WOMAN'S HIT".
BY PHILIP S. WARNE.

 

 

 

CHAPTER XI. '
ran'nnn ALIVI.

Tar: balmy days went by with healing on
their wings for May Powell; and though her
heart was left crushed and sore, her body gra-
dually yielded to the influences of nature and
recovered from the shock that had prostrated
her. One evening she passed, in wan and
sad-eyed convalescence, down the garden path
to Honeysuckle Bower. Looking out on the
placid river, she thought of the evening when
Cecil had come to her, and then, as she thought,
had gone out to that cruel death at the hands
of her brother.

She could scarcely realize it even now, that
Cecil was dead—that he lay cold and still in
his far-away grave, and that Fred, who had
protected her kitten from the cruelty of his
playfellows, and had wept with her when she
broke her doll—she could _ scarcely realize that
Fred had thrust him from the bluff into the
terrible waters, and now fled a branded out-
cast.

As she thought and wept, a dark object ap~

Her
her, though her heart palpitated with appre-

“ Do not fear, lady,” he said, in a reassuring
“ You are Miss Powell, are you not?”

“ Yes, sir,” she replied, still trembling.

“ I come to you‘with'wbrd of your brother.
Can I see you where we will not be over-

He spoke in a guarded tone, glancing about

There was something :familiar in the voice
that May could not explain. But he was from
her brother; that explained his strange man-
ner of coming.

“You can speak to me here, sir. We are
alone. Where isFrederick? Is he well? And
has he escaped so that they cannot follow
him?”

The man stopped at a little distance from

and make your yery nobility of soul subserve

 

her, as if to reassure her, and said:

tisfied with the knowledge that he lived—with
his arms enfolding hen—With his bread breast
for her heart to beat against. But he broke
thespcll. _. _ ’j .
“'May,” he said, “ I have come back to you, ,'

but notto the w6rld.” . . . ..
_ She Started back, and gazed at him, with
open~eyed wonder. a r 
“Not to thewofld?” she repeated. “What
do you mean?" ‘ ‘ I f‘.  " '
'_ “I cannot explain to you‘now, but‘the
world must not know for a few days that I am
not dead. I have a task to perform., If it
were known that I lived—,that I am in town
-——I should be frustrated—my life might yet

-be in jeepardy.” .

“ Cecil, who is your enemy? Is it that ter»
rible manie-that—l-thate—Tiger Dick?- Has he
been trying to kill you?- Oh! what a wretch!
I knew that he Was a murderer, that day when
I saw him smile.” ‘ ‘ V '

“ Yes, heis at the bottom of it all,",assented
Cecil, gladly jumping at 4 any solution that
would satisfy her curiosity.

“ Then why not apply to the police imme-
diately, and have him arrested?”

“ I cannot meet him in that way, May.
See; here is the mark of his last bullet.” I

He opened his shirt and showed where a
bullet, shot at him from one side, had ranged
across his breast, leaving a blue line. She ut-
tered a tremulous cry.

“ 0h, Cecil! what can we do for it?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “ It is not injur—
ious; but it was a narrow escape. May, can-
not you hide me for two or three days? I do
not know where else to go for security.”

“ Cecil, where?” she asked.

“ I do not know. There must be room in
that big house.”

He looked wistfully at the house as he spoke.

May thought a moment, and then the color
came into her cheeks.

“Your life depends upon it; every consider-
ation must give way before that,” she said,
more in apology to herself than to him.

“ Yes, my life may depend upon it, ” he re-
plied, detecting the struggle in her breast be-
tween conventional propriety and conscious
purity of purpose.

“I know of but one place where you will
be secure fmm prying eyes,” she said, looking
straight into. his face; “but though my con-
duct will provoke curiosity the while, it will
receive no, explanation until you are.out of
danger. Stay here, until I see if the way is
clear to get you into the house.” .

Then she was gone; and Cecil Beaumont,
his nature purged of some of. its baseness in
the fiery crucible through which he had passed, '
standing in the shadows that seemed sanctified
by her recent presence, bared his head with a
reverence for womanhood that, his rational
moments had never known. , V ‘ ‘

“May,” he said, in whispered apostrophe, ,
“in your devotion I see the treasure [have
carelessly thrown aside; .in your love'I recog-
nize a pearl cast before swine! Your love for
me blinded you to a fact as patent as day; and
now, for love of me,‘ you lay ’at my feet a
woman’s dearest'treasure—f )X‘ my sake, freely,
unhesitatingly you infill? the risk of ,compro—
mising yourself in the eyes of the herd who,
seeing only through the discolored medium of
their own vile natures, discern in fine gold only
dross. And ll—I socept it! As if that was
not enough, I betray you while accepting it,

the gratification of the basest of passions—re-
venge! . .
“Ah! what a requital! What adevil I
am! ButI must go on-it is decreed! Oh!
the cruel destiny! These hands, how they
reek with the blood of my Childhood’s play-
fellowl—how they drip and drip with the

 

blood of her whom I had enshrined in my
heart of hearts! They will never be clean
again, till bathed in the blood of the fiend
whOSe baleful wings, through all these years,
have hovered between me and the sunlight of
heaven!”

A frenzy was upon him; and he paced the
bower like a caged lion, with blazing eyes,
white, quivering nostrils, and fever-parched
lips.

A step sounded on the walk, and instantly
he was calm. .

“Come!” said May, and gave him her
hand.

Cautiously they approached the house. She
led him in at a side door, up a dark staircase,
through a corridor, to a room which, from its
appointments, he recognized as her boudoir.
From this she opened a door that ushered him
into her bedchamber.

“Here, Cecil, you will be safe,” she said.
“ Do not go near enough to the window to be
seen from the lawn, and I will keep watch in
the outer room so that no one can get to you.
I will have my meals served in the boudoir,
and share them with you. There are some of
Fred’s—poor Fred’s garments, so that you can
change your wet clothes immediately.”

He stood, as if overpowered, with bowed
head and swimming eyes. Then he bent over
her hand, and while tears fell upon it with his
kisses, he said: -

“God bless you, May, and help me!
little deserving of this I am!”

“Hush, Cecil!” she whispered; “I would
yield my life for you, if need were!”

A moment she laid her cheek to his, touch—
ing her lips, with her heart in them, to his
neck; and then 'she pushed him gently into the
room and closed the door. v

Long she walked the floor of her boudoir in
fevered excitement.

“ He is alive! he is alive!” she whispered to
herself, her face almost luminous with its ra—
diance of love and joy and gratitude. Then
the thought that he was the wreck of his for-
mer self wrung her heart with a twinge of
anguish; but she banished it as ungrateful, af~
ter the great mercy of Heaven in sparing his
life; and with hands reverently folded on her
bosom, she raised her streaming eyes and
whispered: “Oh, God! I thank thee! He is
alive!” '

But her enfeebled frame succumbed at last;
and she lay white and still on the sofa, and
with her hands before her eyes to shut out
everything else from her consciousness, thought
of him with her whole soul.

How

 

The clock was on the stroke of twelve, when
Mr. Powell raised, his head from the table,
where it had been resting on his arms in pain-
ful meditation. Wearin he arose; and as he
stood, a man prematurely old through grief,
one could see how fearfully the events ‘of the
past few weeks had told upon him.

A drunkard, a gambler, a forger, a robber,
a murderer !—and now, to crown the catalogue
of infamy, he hadbeguiled from her home the
woman he professed to love, and sunk her too
in the quagmire of his shame! That was the
thought that wrung the father’s heart and

. . l , ., turned his black hairs gray.
“,How ,I have wronged herb—how I have. I

But hark! as if in mockery of his grief
comes along, wild laugh of derision. It rises
weird. and spectral, and dies away in a blood-
curdling rattle, He starts and listens. that
is it? Again it rises. And now he rushes to
the doorand up the stairs, and without knock-
ing, bursts into May’s boudoir.

She is standing in the middle of the room,
as white as any ghost. She raises her hand in
a~gesture that holds him on the threshold.
A‘gainthat hideouslangh rings through the
house, coming unmistakably from her bed«
chamber, and .COVering her face with her
hands, she stands shuddering from head to
foot. ~ , . -
“What in Heaven’s name is it, May?” asks
her frightened father, taking her by the arm
and shaking her, to rouse her out of the stupor
that has fallen upon her.

She looks up at him, with such a look of
woe as he has never before beheld.

“Father,” she says, “it is Cecil!”

“Cecil?”

He gases at her as if he thought she had
taken leave of her senses. '

“He is alive, father, and has come back.”

Leaving her, he strides to the bedroom door
and throws it open. Cecil Beaumontis sitting
upright in bed, just preparing to give utter-
ance to another of those insane laughs. At
sight of Mr. Powell a look, of terror. comes into
his face, and he reaches one hand under his
pillow. But May darts in past her father.

“ Cecil! Cecil! it is papa!”

Instantly he is calm.

“Ah! Mr. Powell? Pardon me, sir; pardon
me. I did not recognize you at first. But
this is a sad afiliction that has fallen upon you,
sir. Let 'me offer you my heartfelt condo-
lence.”

“Excuse us a moment, Cecil,” says May,
with a woman’s ready wit; and pushing her
father back, she closes the door again.

Then her strength fails, and she sinks to the
floor, writhing in anguish of spirit, and moans
and sobs as if her heart would break.

“ Oh! he will die! he will die!
come back to us only to die after all!”

With his brain in a whirl, the father lifts
her in his arms and carries her to the sofa.
She clings about his neck and hides her face
in his breast, with an abandon of grief that
frightens him into silence and inactivity,
while his mind labors to grasp the staggering
fact that his eyes have beheld Cecil Beaumont
in the flesh. He masters it, at last, and then,
like the rolling of a weight from his heart,
comes the consciousness:

“FREDERICK 18 nor a moans-ans!”
With feverish eagerness he begins to ques-

Hehas

tion his daughter as to how Cecil Beaumont

came into his present position. His earnest-

ness forces her out of her grief, and she an-
swers him, at first wildly, then more coher-
ently.

“ We must bring relief to him immediately,

May,” he says, rising.

“ But, papa, how can you, without betray-

ing him? He said that his life might depend
upon it.”

“ That was only an insane fancy. At any

rate, no danger can reach him here; and he
'will die, if neglected.”

So it was announced to the world that Cecil
Beaumont yet lived.

 

CH AFTER XII.
AN AWFUL PnRIL. .
TIGER DICK and Shadow Jim walked brisk-

ly for two or three blocks, and then entered a
pawnbroker-shop. When they reappeared, it
was on the next parrallel street, and their own
pals wuuld not have known them, so complete-
ly were they disguised.

They proceeded directly to the stables where
Pat Donuvan‘s hack was kept, While they
were waiting for a couple of saddle-horses,
the) priesed usnong the animals as they stood
in tuu stalls, commenting upon them with a

 

 

manifest knowledge of horse-flesh that en-
gaged the attention of the hostlers, while
Shadow Jim surreptitiously took the throat-
latch from a halter in an empty stall.

The Tiger, who appeared in the character of
an English sporting gentleman, took a sudden
fancy to a lithe-limbed hound that had been
kept about the stable, and before he left the
premises had paid .the money that made him
the happy possessor of the animal.

At Grigg’s Hollow the object of this sudden
fancy and purchase transpired. The throat-
latch was held to the nose of the intelligent an~

imal, and then he was set upon the track of _

Pat Donavan’s hack. We have seen that they
came up with the object of their pursuit just
after the consummation of the mockery of a
marriage.

When Cecil Beaumont leaped through the
window, Tiger Dick let the insensible form of
Florence Goldthorp down on the floor, and
sprung to the door of the hut.

“ Stop him, Jim! Shoot him down!
devil has killed her!” he cried.

But Shadow Jim lay insensible at the cor-
ner of the house, while Cecil Beaumont was al—
ready in the act of mounting. As he swung
into the saddle, Tiger Dick’s pistol was dis-
charged, the bullet grazing his breast. With
a wild laugh the maniac dug his heels into the
flanks of his horse and sped away into the
darkness.

Leaving Shadow Jim to take care of him-
self, the Tiger sprung back into the house with
an oath of disappointment and rage. A glance
of his experienced eye~practiced in the wild
life of the Rocky Mountains—told him that
the wound received by Florence was of a very
trivial character. Her fainting and the blood
trickling over his sleeve had at first deceived
him. She had been with her back directly to-
ward Cecil when he fired, and the bullet, strik-
ing the steel of her corset frame, had grazed
her side, merely abrading the skin along one
of the ribs.

She was soon restored to consciousness, and
grasped the Tiger’s hand in gratitude.

“ Oh, sir,” she said, “from how horrible a
fate you have preserved me!”

“ Madam, say no more,” said the Tiger, with
easy suavity; for he could play the gentleman,
when it served his turn. “ I am only too hap-
py to have been in time to render you assist-
ance.”

“Your coming was most opportune, sir,”
she said, shuddering at the recollection of her
recent peril. “He is a wicked man, who ab-
ducted me and was forcing me into a marri-
age with him, through the instrumentality of
this villain here, whom he called a minis-
ter.”

She turned, but the late officiating clergy-
man had stepped from the room.

“Hold on here, sport! We‘ll have further
use for you,” said the Tiger, leveling his pis-
tol at the cabman, who was on the point of
imitating the example of the divine. .

The appeal, so forcibly urged, was heeded;
and offering Florence his arm, the Tiger placed
her in the carriage with the grace of an ac-
complished gentleman, and followed her.

Shadow Jim,-~wh0 by this time had regain—
ed his scattered wits, mounted his horse; and
with a quiet intimation to the cabman that it
would be quite a pleasant diversion to blow
the top of his heap off, if he didn’t “give ’em

The

a square deal," instructed him to crack up his.

horses. .

A little way up the-road they came upon
the hound, which, upon seeing the light in the
but, they had tied to a tree, lest he should be—
tray their approach to the occupants.

Some distance further on they turned into a
cross-road, and, after a drive of four or five
miles, came to a country tavern, where the Ti-
ger procured for Florence that refreshment of
which she stood so sadly in need, through ex—
citement and loss of sleep.

“As I_ presume you do not wish to be the
subject of gossip, I will remain silent about
the peculiar circumstances in which Imet you,
and, to save appearances, represent you as my
sister, if agreeable to you. ”

“Thank you, sir. You are very consider-
ate,” replied Florence; and by this little piece
of adroit maneuvering the Tiger had silenced
her. As for ,the cabman, Dick, threatened to
blow his brains out at the first symptom of in-
discretion, and taking him in the room with,
himself and Shadow Jim, made him submit to
be securely bound, while they slept.

At ten o’clock the next morning they set out
again, but went so slo wly and made so long a
stop in the middle of the afternoon, that it
was well along in the night when they passed
within a mile of the cave.

The cabman, plied with drugged liquor, had
lain in a drunken stupor since sunset; so there
was no one the wiser, when the hack was driv-
en oif the road among the trees and secured.
No one but Shadow Jim saw Tiger Dick lift
an insensible form from the carriage, and
place it on the back of the horse that had been
led since Jim had taken the place of the stu-
pefied driver. Then supporting it in his arms,
though the greater portion of the weight was
borne by the animal, Tiger Dick walked be—
side the horse, while Shadow Jim led him, and
in this way they reached the vicinity of the"
cave. But before they drew too near, the Ti-
ger lifted the limp form from the back of the
horse, and carried it the rest of the way on
foot. '

Then Jim went back alone and drove the
back four or five miles back again, over the
track that they had come. Here he dragged
the driver from his position, and pitched him
into a brook that ran beside the road, but drew
him out again in time to prevent suffocation.
Two or three repetitions of this process com-
pletely restored the follow to consciousness.
Then Jim advised him to get up into his seat
and “light out! and, if you don’t want to git
plugged, you’d better not look round till, you
git to town! And, harkee! my chicken, if you
ever go to yarning it about what you’ve seen
in the last forty-eight hours, you’ll go to king-
dom-come a-sizzlin’, you kin bet your bottom
dollar! Tell ’em that you don’t know anything
about the other hoss, but that a red-eyed stok-
er from the bottomless pit, a-breathin’ fire an’
brimstone, requested you to take charge 0’ this
plug! Now, git !” ' _

Not a little impressed by the somewhat pe-
culiar speech of Shadow Jim, the cabman
showed no reluctance to act upon the gentle
hint conveyed in his words, and drove off with
the horse tied to the back of the vehicle.

When Florence Goldthorp first met Tiger
Dick, on the day of the runaway, she had in-
vested him with that halo of chivalry which
romance has thrown about the character of
Dick Turpin, and of other noted outlaws sin :6
his time. The correctness of her estimate of
his character was now to be tested.

When she recovered from the effects of the
drug which he had administered, she found
herself lying on a Shakedown of grass covered
with a blanket. The chamber was evidently a
cave lighted by a torch of resinous wood stuck
in the rocky wall. Tiger Dick sat on a stone,
beside a larger one, whose flat surface served
as a table. Before him were food and wine,

 

 

evidently taken from the hamper which had
been in the Carriage.

“ Ah! my dear, awake?” he said, seeing her
move. -

Florence sprung to her feet, and looked
around and at him. There was a maudlin smile
on his. face. His disguise had been removed,
and she recognized him.

“What is the meaning of this, sir? Where
are we? And why have you not taken me
home?” she asked, with the dignity of a queen,
yet with blanched cheeks and heart in her
mouth.

“ One ques’ion at (hie!) a time, my dear,”
replied the Tiger, smiling beamingly upon her.
“In the firs’ place, it means ’at we’ve put
(hic!) up f’r th’ night in a hotel where th’
(hie!) ’commodations ’re ver’ lim’ted—ver’
lim’ted! S-secon’ly (hic!) we’re here—yes’m,
we’re (hie!) ’ere! W’y didn’ I take ye home?
(hic!) My dear, thereby hangsa tale—a (hic!)
long talH ver’ long (hie!) tale!”

He closed one eye and smiled at her with a
horrible grimace, as his body swayed un-
steadin toward her.

“To begin with,” he pursued, “that glor’s
(hic!) beauty, tha’s made such havoc with 3’
man’ (hic!) ’arts, has foun’ ’nother victim in
this, your faith—(hic!)—f’l slave! This vul-
n’r’ble bos’m was not proof (hic!) ’gains’ th’
arrows ’at dart (t’ic!) f’m y’r starry eyes!—
tha’s it; f’m y’r star’ (hic!) eyes! Miss
Gol’thorp, I love you!—love you, (1’ I s—
(hic!)—say?—I ’dore you! I wor‘sh’p th’
groun’ b’neath y’r f—(hic!)—-feet? Oh! my
lovel’ (hic!) one! fly—fiy to th’ pr’tecsh’n (hie!)
these arms! Le’ m’ clasp you t’ (hic!) this
throbbing heart!”

He got upon his feet and reeled toward her
with extended arms, his villainous face dis-
torted by a smile that sent the blood in an
icy current to her heart. If she had felt ter-
ror when in the power of Cecil Beaumont, she
now experienced a shuddering, sickening agony
of disgust, such as would be inspired by con-
tact with a loathsome serpent.

With a cry she evaded him, and darted into
one of the dark galleries that led from the
cave. Blindly she groped on, not knowing
whither, only seeking to escape the drunken
demon who woke the echoes of the horrible
place with his hideous laughter. Reeling,
stumbling over unevennesses in the floor; fall-
ing, bruising and lacerating her hands and
knees on the jagged rocks; up and on, to
bring up violently against some angle in the pas-
sage; on again, ever pursued by that fiendish
laughter, that seemed caught up by a thousand
tongues; until the walls of her prison suddenly
converged, and she could go no further! Then,
in her agony and terror, she beat with her
feeble hands the impassable barriers of stone,
and cried aloud to that God who sometimes
seems so deaf to our appeals! Then she
thought of her helplessness, should he follow
her; and shuddering at the thought of meeting
him in so confined a place, and with ahorrible,
creeping sensation of his arms closing about
her, she staggered back, to find him standing
at the entrance of the gallery, awaiting her
return.

“Ha! ha! ha! Was you flying f’m y’r own
true love? (hic!) Flor’nce, y’r treat’n’ me
shameful’—-(hic !) —shameful’ !’ ’

He spoke with a sudden assumption of drun-
ken indignation that was horribly ludicrous.
Florence was impressed by it, even in that
terrible moment. She tried to spring by him,
but he caught her as she passed. The impetus
threw him from his feet, and he fell, dragging
her to the ground with him. She struggled
to her feet again; but he clung to the skirt of
her dress, and arose to his knees.

There, was a leer of triumph in his eyes, and
on his lips oaths, half-angry, half-amused, al-
together devilish, as he began to draw her
toward him. She struggled Wildly, mutely,
impotently, in his iron grasp. Slowly, yet
with fatal certainty, he was dragging her
within his reach.

Suddenly, in a frenzy of desperation, she
sprung upon him, and grasping him by the
shoulders, thrust his head against the rocky
wall with stunning force. Then, as his grasp
relaxed, she tore her dress from his hands and
darted away. .

She felt a sudden conviction that the gallery
nearest the rock table would lead her to safety.
Snatching the torch as she passed, and catch-
ing up a pistol that lay on the table, to defend
herself, should this passage terminate like the
other, she sprung toward the opening.

But there was a sound of rushing feet—a
dark form started forth from the gloom, con-
fronting her—thinking of Shadow Jim, she
fired, and for the third time within a little
over forty-eight hours, swooned dead away!
The torch dropped from her nerveless grasp
and went out in Cimmerian darkness.

(To be continued—commenced in N0. 271.)

 

 

TEXAS—ITS CHARACTERISTICS—AS we are
now about to enter what was a few years ago
the wilds of the southern coast of Texas, it
may be well to give the reader some idea of
the general characteristics of this great south-
ern empire. The soil of Texas is as varied as
its surface and clirn e, and for the most part
extremely fertile. he extensive prairies on
the southern coast are famous for the mesquet
grass, on which millions of'head of cattle roam
and multiply from year to year, without the
necessity of looking after them, except to
mark and brand. The great staple is cotton,
which thrives all over the State, and is of very
superior quality in the Gulf districts. Sugar
is profitably cultivated in the level regions.
Tobacco is raised with ease, and, if properly
cultivated and cured, of quality but little in-
ferior to that of Cuba. All the grains and
grasses of the North are found here, with many
varieties of tropical and other fruits and vege—
tation. The live oak, in many varieties,
abounds in the forests, besides the palmetto,
cedar, pine, hickory, walnut, ash, pecan, mul-
berry, elm, sycamore and cypress. Texas also
abounds in mineral wealth, as might be sup-
posed from her proximity to the rich mining
districts of Mexico. Gold and silver is sup-
posed to be buried in large quantities in her
soil. Indeed, the latter metal has been found
at San Salvador and upon the Bidas River.
Coal has also been discovered about two hun-
dred miles from the coast in a belt extending
south-west from Trinity River to the Rio
Grande. Iron is found in many parts of the
State, and copperas, lime, agate, jasper, and
red and white sandstone. An immense gyp—
sum bed, the largest yet discovered on the
continent, traverses the north-west portion of
the State. There is also an abundance of
mineral springs in different parts of the coun-
try. I must not omit to mention the fact that
the coast of Texas abounds in excellent oys
ters, equal in size, but not quite so luscious as
those of the Chesapeake. I partook of some
very fine, “on the shell,” at Galveston, and
was assured that I will find them still better on
the coast near Rockport and Fulton. A coun-
try without good oysters cau have no attrac-
tions to compensate for their absence in the
estimation of a Marylander.