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But just as he spoke, in came Inspector
Burke with his detectives, just returned from
their unsuccessful raid after the Cracksman
King.

The Inspector was a far keener—eyed man
than his subordinates, and he saw at a glance
that the visitor was no ordinary man, and so
when he learned that the other had come upon
important business he invited him at once into
his private office. .

The Inspector was not in a good—humor, for
the unaccountable escape of the Cracksmaii
King, after he had thought the game was in
the trap, annoyed him greatly, but he con-
cealed the feeling as well as possible and settled
down at his official desk, prepared to listen
with due attention to his visitor.

The Lightweight sat down in the chair indi-
cated by the ofilcer and immediately proceeded
to business.

He related the understanding which had
grown up between himself and the wealthy
merchant, Franklyn Bookingham, and how he
had undertaken the task of hunting down the
secret enemy who had for so long a time an-
no 'ed the opulent New Yorker.

The Inspector leaned back in ,his chair and
shook his head as if in doubt.

“ Well, I wish you all the luck in the world,”
he said, “and I don’t wish to discourage you a
particle, but did Mr. Bookingham inform you
that he had employed the best detectives in the
country for years, both public and private,
spending money as freely as though it was only
water, and yet nothing tangible at all came of
it?"

“Oh, yes, he fully posted me in regard to
the affair in all its details,” Hugh Strong re-

lied.

p And then he added with a quiet smile:

“ I suppose it seems monstrous to you to see
a man like myself, without any experience in
this peculiar line, undertake to successfully ac-
complish the task which has baffled the best
men in the business.”

“\Vell, I must candidly admit that as far
as I can see there doesn’t appear to be much
show for you,” the Inspector re lied.

“ I can try, you know, and if fail, there will
be no harm done.”

“ That’s true enough.”

“Now this fire up -town in Forty-second
street. the last blow aimed at Mr. Bookinghani,
as he believes, although it may be that it was
accidental,” Hugh observed.

“Yes, it looks that way to me. I think it
was accidental.

“The Dutchman and his boy try to get out
of it, of course, but there isn’t much doubt in
my mind that the fire arose from a piece of
gross carelessness on their part.

“They left the lamp burning near the coal—
oil barrels, probably were careless in regard to
filling it and trimming the wick, the oil in it
ran low and the lamp exploded, and that is
the whole thing in a nutshell.”

“Mr. Bookingham doesn’t think so, though,”
the Lightweight observed.

“ No: but he has got to be really a monomani-
ac on the subject of this secret enemy,” replied
the Inspector.

“ You see, I know the old gentleman like a
book. I worked on this case for him over a
year; devoted almost my entire time to it, and
when I got through I wasn’t any wiser than
when I began.

“Of course, the old gentleman is a perfect
brick and paid me like a prince, and I wouldn’t
like to say to him that he has ot a bee in his
bonnet on this subject, but really think he
has.”

“ But you do not doubt that there has been
some enemy, who remaining in the background,
has been trying his best to damage Mr. Book-
ingham?” .

“Oh, yes; there isn’t the least doubt about
that, for thesc disasters have been too severe
and too frequent to be the result of accident
alone, and then some of them could not possibly
have been the result of accident.”

“ My own idea exactly.”

“But what I meant to say was thatas Mr.
Bookingham has got the idea into his head that
he has a secret enemy who for years has been
trying to do him all the damage he possibly
could, he has fallen into the belief that every

7 stroke of misfortune that comes to him is the
work of this foe, when in reality some of the
ill-luck is due to accident alone.”

“ I understand,” the Lightwei ht remarked.

“ But in the case of this fire r. Bookingham
is right in believing that an incendiary has
been at wor .” ,

“That is a bold statement, unless you have
proof to back it up,” the Ins ctor observed.

“ I have,” Hugh responde¢ , quietly.

The officer looked astonished.

“ The deuce on say!” he exclaimed.

“ Well, I had a talk with the insurance men,
who have been looking into the matter, and they
told me that in their opinion there wasn’t any
doubt that.the fire was accidental.”

“ I regret that I am obligedto differ with such
experts, but I have been informed by a person
who was an eye-witness to the fact that just be—
fore the fire a certain man, who is known to be
a rascal of the first water, entered the house by
wa of the back gate, the look of which he
pic ed, then went into the house. remained there
a few minutes,and just before the fire broke out
departed in hot haste.”

“ That certainly does look suspicious,” the In-
spector commented.

“ Have you any objection to putting me in
possession of the name of the man?”

“Certainly not. The object of my Visit was
to put you in possession of all the facts. He is
called John Buddock—Black Bud by his associ-
ates.”

The official was surprised by the unexpected
information.

“ Well, upon my word!” he exclaimed, “ that
is about the last name I expected to hear, but I
guess you know what you are talking about in
the matter, for l have been on the track of the

fellow to-night, but he has been shrewd enough‘

to outwit me. although I will be hanged if I un-
derstand how he did it, for I thought I had him
dead to rights.

“ Now the point in this matter is, one of my
men got on the track of Black Bud in a sporting
crib up-town in the neighborhood of the street
where the fire took place, and the time when my
spv struck the trail was just about an hour af-
ter the burning of the house.”

“That does seem to confirm my story, and in
my mind there isn’t the least doubt that what I
have said is true, for my informant I believe
to be perfectly trustworthy.”

The Inspector was silent for a few moments,
revolving the matter over in his mind.

In the beginning when his visitor had announc-
ed that he had undertaken the task which had
bafiled the shrewdest and most experienced men
in the detective line, both police and private, he
was disposed to repeat the old adage that “ fools
rush in where angels fear to tread," but now

this disclosure had been made it was apparent

that the amateur had succeeded in gaining a
clew such as no man who had worked on the job
had ever succeeded in picking up.

“ If Black Bud was the man who started the
fire it was plain, of course, that he merely acted
for some one else in the matter, for he personally
had nothing to gain by the destruction of the

old house,” the Inspector remarked at last.

“ That’s my idea; and when we get at his em~
ployer we will not be far from the merchant’s

secret enemy.”

“ True enough, but the first thing is to get at
Buddock, and that will be no easy job let me
I thought I had him foul to—ni ht,
but he slipped through my fingers, thong it

tell you.

looked as if he was as safe as a rat in a trap.”

Then the Inspector told the story of the de-
scent of the detectives upon the shanty castle of

Daddy Blazes.

“ I don’t see how Buddock managed to get
out of the house.” the official said in conclusion,
“ and the more I think of the matter the great-
er becomes my belief that Black Bud did not
get out of the house, but was concealed some-
where in the shanty at the very time that we en-

tered it.

“This Daddy Blazes is a shrewd old hound.
He has been doing crooked work for years, but
the police have never been able to get a pull on
him.”

" He may trip some time though. Suppose I
try my luck with him,” Hugh remarked.

“ Have you a warrant for Buddock so that I
will have power to take my man if I run foulof
him?"

“ Yes, here it is,” and the Inspector took the
legal document from his pocket and gave it to
the other.

Then he explained exactly how the den of
Daddy Blazes was situated and how to get at it.
“You ought to have assistance though,” he
said in conclusion. “ No single man can take a
prisoner out of that neighborhood. To try it
would sure cost the man his life.”

“ Oh, I will not take any big risks: life is too
precious,” the Lightweight responded with a
smile as he took his departui e.

(To be continued—commenced in N0. 175.)

 

 

’lije Slate's Vicissitudes.

BY JOHN H. WthSON.

IL—The 50;; the River.

As I sadly wendid my way homeward that
book lay on my chest as hevy as a tooinstone.

0, why had I been so foolish? l mite have
knone fruui the ’Square’s manner thet there was
sum speshul reezon why i shood prase it. I
mite have knone frum the intrust displade by
Missus Lemon that the book was an ob'ekt of
family solisitood. Unhappy man that am, I
never sho myseli as big a fool as when I try to
konvinse uthers of my sooperiority. Trooly a
trodden wurm is better than a krush kritick!
0, wood I were an ostrich that I mite stik my
bed in a sand-bank!

For a weak I remaned seclooded from the
gaze of men, passing most of my time in the
solitood of my own chamber.

\Vhen I vencherd to wak abroad I was aware
that I was egstremly pail: my looking-glass
wood have told me this if everybody else hadn’t.
They seamed to take a delite in asking aboutmy
helth, as if I hetl bin threw a spell of sikness.
Altho this wurreyed me it was after awl a
caws of joy. Shood Anjelina beer of it she wood
kno I was greeving for her and praps her hart
wood be tucht.

As a sollis for my thots I komposed sum vur—
ses to her, whitch I took grate delite in repeet-
ing to the evening ski.

At last I cood stand it no lon ger. I wood
see her: I wood kno my doom! On my bended
nees I wood go before her, and from her I wood
lern my fucher fait. I wood ask her parden for
the foolish wurds I had in a moment of week—
ness thortlessly spoken: and O, jenerus girl that
I new her to be, she wood shurely forgive me.
The idee took posseshun of awl my fakulty.
It aloud me no rest day or nite. 1t persood me
like a fantuni. In the silent midnite watchez
I have awoke, skreeming to Anjelina for for—
giveness.

Planely, I thot, shood this continoo my reezon
must give way.

Then a happy thot came ore me; an inspira-
shun lited up in darkened mind. I rememburd
that Sally Ann utton wurkt for ’Square Lemon
as the famly servent.

I new her bruthers, Sam and Joe, and I wood
trust one of them with a messije, asking an in-
tervoo.

The idee pleezd me so I cood skarse restrane
myself and went at wonce in hunt of the Button
boys. I found them wurking in one of the
’Square’s fields, andto my grate joy lernd that
they were wurkin for the ’ uare. I felt
shure then that I had bin Pro enshtu di-

rekted. * —

“ Sam,” sed I, “ wood you do me a favor?”

“ Sertmly, Mister Slate, with the gratest
plezure,” sed he, tuching his cap. ‘
It isn’t often that peepel tuch their caps to
me when I speck to them and I felt flaterd. I
that that preps my pailnesswas the caws of it.
There was a very purseptibel smile on his fase,
but Sam is always good-nacherd. -
“ I understand the ’Square has taken a stand
agin you!” sed Sam, again tuching his cap and
kamly smiling. “ I hoap it aint becaws of An-
- g”

He sed this in a way that maid me think he
was asking a kweschun, but I paid no attenshuu
to it.

“ I want you to take this missive to Anje—
lina,” sed I, speeking as unkonsernd as I cood.
“No one is to see it, you understand! I will
pa you well to deliver it propperly.”

IV then slipt a dime into his hand and wakt
awav.
I had taken but a few steps when a lite laff
smoat on my eer. I ternd sudenly around and
to my hawrer and astonishment saw both Sam
and Joe reeding my letter and chukling to them-
selves.

I was so serprised I cood skarsely speek. That
these thik—braned clod—hoppers shood thus rooth-
lessly tare from my hart its preshus sekrits;
shood thus gaze with laflter on the burning
wurds I had ritten, was madening.

“ Villins!" I shouted, rushing toard them with
the enerjy of despare. “ How dare you tamper
with my letters?”

They saw me cuming. but when I rusht upon
them, with fire in my ize and flame in my voise,
they only lafft the louder.

“ You only askt me to kerry it,” sed Sam;
“you didn’t say anything about the reedin’,”
and then he lafft agen.

He is abigger man than I am or I think 1
shood have thrasht him. As it was, 1 glaird at
him with the malignit of a feend, then hawtily
ternd on my heal and eft them.

I was konsiderbly disterbd by this okkur-
rence. As I thot on it them Button boys groo
abslutely haitful to me, and when, too ours
later, Sam rusht suddenly into the river lane,
up and down whitch I was pasing, in a very
frenzy of impashense, 1 lost awl kontrol of my-
self. If looks cood have nockt a man down he
wood sertinly have straitway fallen.

“ What do you want now?”sed I, glairing at

 

1m.
I thot probably be had cum to demand anuther
dime.
“ Heur’s a noat from Anjyl” he sed, without
apeering to notis my distrakted manner.
As he handed it to me I kno I trembled vilent—
1y. The purspirashun dropt from my marbel
four-bed like rane-drops from a tin watter—
spout.
I hastily toar the envellup asunder and red
the kontents.
It ran as follos:
“DEAR MISTER SLATE:—
“ It will be impossible for me to mete you this even-
ing in the bak arbur, as you rekwest, but if you will
cum to the old bore-landing, within an our from
now, I will try to be there.
“Yours, ANJELINA LEION."
Tli'e sudenness and soopremeness of this unex-'
pekted hap iness neerly upset my reezon. If it
hadn’t bin or the fakt that I am a man of un—
ushually strong intellkt I think I shood have
swooned ded away. As it was, I graspt a tree
for support. and, after studdying my brane a
little, rote a fluent and thrilling anser.
This I ternd to deliVer to Sam and was feel-
ing in the bottom of my pockits for anuther
dime, when, to my grate surprize, I diskovercd
that he had left me and was faring akrost the
feeld like a lunatik. _
Thinking over this sinse I have cum to the
konklushun that he must have thot from my
akshuns I was krazy and that the greater the
astense whitch separated us the safer he wood

His infrunce was parshelly korrect. I was
krazy, but kraz with joy, and at that instant
wood not have armed a snaik. If he had askt
it I bleeve I wood have forgiven him for reeding
my letter.

laist the neat karefully in my boozum, next
my art and, with pulse: wildly booting set out
for the old bote— land

lade there when a boy and menny a time sinse
ad I rowed Anjelina up and down the river’s
shining kurrent.

I reecht it in a short time and, as I expekted,
found myself aloan. The old bote, with its
familyur red and white stripes, was in its
plase and I set down on its eje to awate her

oming.

I wated, it seamd, for ours, but I suppoze ten
minits wood be neerer the egsakt figger and
was then rewarded by her apeerance.

Anjelina always affekts the latest fashuns
and she now had a little pug dawg in her arms.
This was bad, for I never cood endoor dawgs.
She also had her little bruther with her and
this was wurse. Dawgs kan’t tell tails and lit-
tle bruthers sumtimes kaii.

I was rising to greet her when she sudenly
eksclamed:

“ Oh, you deer, SWeet thing!”

On heering these blessid wurds I was about
to rush forward and embrase her when I dis-
koverd that she was tawking to the dawg.

“ Oh, air you heer?” she sed, lifting her luv-
ly ibrows, as if in serprize.

I anserd that I was—rather koldly, I ex-
pekt, for I felt hert.

“Oh, Mister Slate,” she sed, with an en-
thoosiazm whitch agen kompletely one my
hart, “ I do so want to take a ro on the river.
Isn’t this wether just too luvly for ennything?
I was a-saying to maw to-day that the sent of
the woodlands at this time of the yeer remind-
ed me so inutch of sum of the luvl historik
vails I have red about. And the re ekshun of
the trees in the watter, with their branchez
streching out ever so far, reminds me of the
mitcy jiants that youst to wak the erth. Did
you ever reed ‘ J ak, the J iant Killer’?”

I tolld her that I had. Just then I wood
have konfest to having merderd my own
muther, I do beleeve.

IVhile she was tawking in this entransing
manner, and looking every minit luvlier than
ever, I pusht the bote into the watter and we
four seeted ourselves. I menshun the dawg as
one of the number, becaws Anjelina treeted it
so like a person.

In anuther instent we were gliding jently,
almost impurseptibly, down the streem.

Thro awl this my hart had bin panting with-
in me. Not a wurd had been sed about that
offie book, nor about her father’s rath, nor about
my deep kontrishun. She reely akted as if she
had no nolleje of sutch things.

I cood stand it no longger. Drawing fourth
the vurses I had laitly kompozed I fell upon my
nees at her feet. Holding them in my rite
hand—I refur to the vurses—I plaist my left
hand on my brest and resited:

“ A \VALE.

“ O. maden, with thine ize, whitch shine
Like raze of Sol, on isikels.
If rliou‘li konseiit but to be mine,
We‘ll ride thro life on bisikels!

“ I have bin rash, Ihave bin vane,
In making of my kritisizms:
Forgive me, if I gave you pane
With those, my foolish wittisizuis.
“ My sole lives in thy litest thot,
As beez live in the atmosphere;
Like them the sweetest flour 1 sought,
And I, like John on Patmos, fear

“ To lose the heaven I fantly see,
And. losing it, to lose my awl;
For life, Without that heaven to me
Wood be one dark, funerial pall.

“ O fairest, deerest, cum to me!
O, cum and be my philemon,
Then I will be your Eli-jee
And you will then be my Lemon.”

P. S. I don’t liketo spell my name as I was
forst to spell it here, and I am not shure whe-
ther philemon is a nitingail or not, but think it

sober prone, when that little rather wikedly
clapt his hands, and that nasty little pug dawg
doutless thinking he had been “81kt ” onto
sumthing, jumpt sudenl from Anjelina’s lap,
and running around be ‘nd me, grabd me by
the seetof my anse.

I herd an o e ripping sound, like taring the
bark off of a fence—rale, and new at wonce that
m Sunday panse was rooined.

Ithot it unkind of Anjelina just then to
think more of the dawg than she did of me,
but she jum t toard me vishusly and skreemd
for me to let er preshus dawg alone.

Sakes alive! wasn’t herting the daw . It
was the dawg that was herting me. I tride to
get away from the little broot, but he hung to
me a grate deel closer than my linen did just
then. ' I struk at him, I will admit, and seeing
this the little bruther set up an offle howl and
Anjelina darted past me to the dawg’s rescoo.

In my then stait I didn’t want her to get be—
hind me, so I ternd quikly around and in so
doing upset the bots. ,

 

Dld Songs.

BY J. J. E.

 

 

WHERE are the old songs we heard so often
“ when you and I were b0 s?” What has be—
come of “ Home, Sweet ome,” “Auld Lan
Sync,” “ Allan Percy,” “ ’Tis but a Little Fad
Flower,” ‘ ‘ Sweet Afton,” “ Then You’ll Remem-
ber Me,” “ Lorena,” “ Ben Bolt,” “ Belle Bran-
don,” “ Thy name was Once a Ma ic Spell,”
“ Annie Laurie,” “ I Cannot Dance gI‘o—night,”
“ Coming Through the Rye,” “ Drink to Me
Only With Thine Eyes,” “ O, Wert Thou in
the Cauld Blast” and half a hundred more?
Now and then some paid warbler of the stage
sings one of them. but the singing is merely me-
chanical; does not come from the heart or go to
the heart—is flat, stale and unprofitable. For
popular purposes the old songs are defunct.
Gone with the hopes, and the joys and the roses,
Nursed in the early dawn’s smi 6;

Gone like the bullrushes round little Moses,
On the old banks of the Nile:~

Gone with the Janes and the Anus and Elizas,
Down the back hallway of time.

How the J anes, Anns and Elizas used to sing
them to us, youngsters then — oldsters now!
And where be the fair singers who so delighted
the audience of one, leaning over the piano or
sitting entranced on the sofa! “ Quiring to the
young-eyed cherubim” or crooning lullabies to
grandchildren. The old songs have been thrust
out of fashion by Italian and French importa-
tions: operatic gems from “ Pinafore. “ Pirates
of Penzance” and “ Mikado ;” alleged “ sacred
melodies ” introduced b Messrs. Moody and
Sankey and Rev. Samue Jones, and an infinite
variety of vocal trash which “ our best society,”
in the plenitude of its Wisdom and taste, has
seen fit to indorse—and young gentlemen with
hair parted in the middle and young ladies radi—
ant with paint and powder have throned in the
“ musicales " of Madame Grundy.

Some of these old songs, thus driven into hope-
less oblivion, have a istory attached which
lends them an additional charm—at least to
their old friends. For the sake of old friends
we will venture a s imen.

The last days of bert Burns were, as every-
body knows, so wretched that it is painful even
to think of them. The pangs of mortal illnem,
the joint result of disappointment and dissipa-
tion, were aggravated by poverty which touched
the verge of pauperism; and he and his large
famil ' were often indebted to the kindness of
nei h rs for the commonest comforts of life, as
wel as for the attention which the invalid re-
quired. Among these ministering angels was a
young lady, Miss Jessie Lowars, who especially
endeared herself to the poet, who smoothed the
gng pillow vexed by a dunning demand for

. One day, when he was able to walk a short
distance, he called at her house, and in course of
conversation told her that if she would play him
any tune of which she was fond, and for which
she desired new verses, he would tify her
wish to the best of his ability. Miss not
down at the piano and played Over aeveraltimes

 

I new the plase  Menny a time had I

 

is.
Iwasabouttokontinoom pheinmoro.

The robin came to the wren’s nest,
And keeklt in, and keekit in;

O weel’s me on your auld pow!
Wad ye bein. Wad ye be in?

Ye’se ne'er get leave to lie without.
And I within, and l within,

As lang as I hae an auld clout,
To row ye in, to row ye in.

In a few moments Burns handed her these ex-
uisite lines, which deserve the deathless fame
t ey have won: \

Oh, Wert thou in the cauld blast,
On onder lea, on yonder lea,
M ‘ p aidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee. I’d shelter thee;
Or did misfortune‘s bitter storms
Around thee blaw. around thee blaw,
Thv shield should be my bosom,
To share it a’. to share it a’.

Oh, were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
The desert were a paradise
If thou wert there. if thou Wert there:
Or were I monarch of the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi’ thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.
A few weeks later Burns was in his grave.
Many years later, when Jessie Lewars was a
gray-haired widow, the verses attracted the at—
tention of a young composer of rare genius, now
world—renowned— Felix Mendelssohn. Appreci-
ating their tender beauty and simple iathos,
and seeing that the air was unworthy of them,
he wrote a new accompaniment: that to which
they are now sun ~—when sung at all. So what
may almost be calTed the dying song of the prince
of song-writers was married to immortal music,
and Robert Burns, Jessie Lewarsaiid Felix Men-
delssohn are bound together in an indissoluble
union of sad, yet sweet associations.
Nor does the history stop here. Long after
Mendelssohn had joined Burns and Jessie Lew-
ars beyond the river, a Confederate officer, now
deceased, who was once a poet, artist and sol-
dier, and whose fortune it was to erect the first
and last fortifications on the soil of Virginia
during our civil war, wrote these lines to Men—
delssohii’s music:
When shadows o'er our pathway fall,
80 dark and drear. so dark and drear;
We know it is the Father’s hand—-
That He is near, that He is near.

Misfortune's bitter, blighting storm
Around may lower, around may lower;
Protected by His mighty arm
We‘ll rest secure, \ve’ll rest secure.

Oh. Father. guide our faltering steps.
So prone to stray. so prone to stray;
And should they press the wildest waste,
Oh. be our stay. oh, be our stay.
Should earth’s alluring joys beguile,
To lead us on. to lcad us on.
Oh. Father. dim them with Thy smile—
l‘hy will be done, Thy will be done.

Momebello,
THE MAGNIFICE NT:

on,

The Gold King of Colorado.

A Romance of Mining Life.

BY HON. W. F. CODY, (“BUFFALO BILL”)

CHAPTER XXX.
MAJOR nopoc’s nnsonvn.

 

IT was certainly a startling sur rise to Major
Modoc, when he bent over'the 'es of the two
men, whose steps he had d , to discover
thattheonewhomkohad , y evedtobe
Don W'llflflillomrmt that pemonage hymy

means: I

, Had the Mexican played him false in this
also and put him on a false scent, or had he
really believed those in the advance in the ride
from the town, to be Don Diaz, the Mexican
ranchero, and his servant?

This question the miner could not of course
answer, and he stood in deep meditation, gazing
down at the bodies.

The one he had supposed to be the Don was
tall, and certainly resembled him in a marked
degree, but it was not the ranchero, that was
certain.

What the motive of Andros had been, in be—
ing willing to fire upon the two men, and then
hurling him over the precipice, the miner could
not imagine, for the treacherous Mexican had
certainly decamped, and, though knowing that
those they had fired upon must be dead, he had
gone off without robbing their bodies, as it
would be sup such a wretch would do.

“ Well, it is not the Don that is certain; nor
is it his brother, the Padre anchon, though the
dead man resembles them, at least in form and
carria e.

“ Yet it can be but an accidental likeness, and
the Don has doubtless suspected me and started
this man and his attendant off, that I might be
deceived and follow them, while he coolly do
parted by another trail.

“ Now to see just What these bodies will pan
out, and the Miner Desperado bent over the
lfiody of the man who had so resembled Don

iaz. '

“ Ah! a servant’s rig under this caballero cos-
tume; this tells the secret of how the Don
sou ht to fool me, and did, not caring whether
I k' ed his servants or not,so that I did not dog
his trail.

“ Well, he has evidently started for the Mine
of Ill-Omen by another trail; but it will never
do for him to get there.

“ Fortunately I have two good horses here,
and I can press on rapidly, while he will hardly
travel fast, and once I reach Gold Dust CitEEe-
fore him, he will never marry the fair to

Kittredge.

“If he should get there ahead of me, I will
soon end his career, and then it will be time for
me to go to the Mission Hacienda and steal
awa the senorita.

“ can take her to Puebla, get her authority
to act for her in the mine she has inherited
from her father, and then she must become my
wife, when I will have all my own way.

“ Now to get away from here as soon as pos—
sible.” -

Examining the bodies of the dead the miner
found but little money upon them, but this was
quietly appropriated, along with the handsome
suit worn ‘y the impersonator of Don Diaz, and
which had cost him his life.

The supplies, blankets and arms of the vic-
tims were also tied up, and then the miner
strapped the bundle upon the saddle of one of
the horses, and mounting the other rode out of
the thicket.

He found the animals ood travelers, and
held on at a good pace unt' he had ut many a
mile between himself and the spot w ich had so
nearly proven fatal to him.

odoc was a thorough trailer, and few men
knew the country better than he did, so that he
was at little loss to find his way.

Shortly before dawn he came 'to a halt, seek-
ing a camping- lace in a sheltered spot, and ut-
terly worn out y his long ride and what he had

throng}? he was soon fast asleep while
is horses, sta ed out near, also were glad to lie
down to rest

The sun was high in the heavens when he
awoke, feeling refreshed, but very stiff, for he
had not esca unbruised in his fall. and his
face and ban 5 were badly scratched up by the
brambles, so that he looked as though he had
had an encounter with a wild-cat. '

After cooking and eatin his breakfast he
again mounted and presseg on his way the
hardy animals seeming not to be Wearied by
their long jaunt of the day and night before.

Thus the miner pushed on his way, resting his
horses by ridihfig them alternately, at times
walking. and mafia few hours only at night
and b day. ' of camping through the
entire ours of darkness

 

the air of an old Scotch song beginning thus:

came to a halt, for it was a couple of hours to

' sunset, and he had no desire to enter that wild

encampment in dayli ht.

As soon as it grew ark, however, be mounted

and pressed on.

The trail took him by the path that led up

to the cabin of the Gold King, and seeing lights

glimmering in the windows, he muttered:

“ The Magnificent is at home; but he shall

not thwart me in my urpose.”

As he turned into t e valley road that led up

to Gold Dust City, he said:

“ I wonder if Poker Saul has kept up the plot

of my being supposed to be lying seriously

wounded?

“ 1f Toddy Tom and Benzine Bob have been

given plenty to drink in the cabin, and have

not had to go down to the town to get it, I

guess all has gone well, and I ho it has, for I
on’t wish the men to know t at I deceived

them.

“ Well, here goes for the can on, and I hope

the bpys have gone to bed, for wish to see no

one.

Entering the canyon, the miner rode on his

way, passing cabins that were without a light,

which showed that the inmates had retired, and

others from which came the sound of voices in

rude converse and boisterous laughter.

One man passed him on foot and gazed hard

at him, but ncither spoke, and Major Modoc

reached his cabin unknown.

The sound of deep snoring reached his cars,

and he knocked at the door, when a deep voice

aslu (l:

“ W ho’s thari“

“ Ho, Poker Saul, let me in.”

There was a stir within, and then the door

opened and Poker Saul appeared.

“ Lor’ bless you, Cap, it are you,” he said.

“ Yes: get me something to drink and to eat,

for I are as hungry as a b’ar and will be in soon

as I put my critturs up,”said Modoc, using the

border dialect again, now that he was in camp.

" I’ll do it, and we’ll have a talk over things

in gin’ral."

Modoc unsaddled his horses, and putting the

saddles in the cabin led the animals away to

the corral near by.

Then he returned to the cabin and found that

Poker Saul had set out a black bottle and tin

cup, while he was cooking a steak and some cof-

fee for his chief.

“ It’s some 0’ Kernal Cadaver’s best, major,

so take anip for a ap tizer, and yer supper w1ll

soon be ready: but w ar has yer been 5”

“ First tell me,” said Modoc, as he dashed off

a drink of liquor. “ whether it is knewn that I

was not seriously wounded!"

“ It are.”

“ Did Toddy Tom or Benzine Bob give it

away?”

“ Nuther 0‘ them."

“ How did it become known!"

1 " Ther Gold King jist let tlicr cat out o‘ ther
ing;

“'{her (field King!“ cried Modoc, in surprise.

“ 'as.‘ -

And Poker Saul told the story of how the

Gold King had come to the camp and exposed

the cheat.

“ \Vhy didn’t you kill him, Saul ~.’” steme said

Modoc.

“ “'hy didn’t you kill him, Modoc, when he
,came artcr them papers thet day, and go!
cm W
Modoc vs inced, but asked other uestions, un—
til Poker Saul told him all that ad occurred
and how they tried to put the murder of Grin o
and the wounding of himsel f—Modoc—upon t e
Gold King, and all that followed.

“ And he got away with Cruel Kit?”

“ For sart’in.”

“ Saul, that man must die.”

S‘Yas’ .,l

“Ikin on well San to 't rich, if on-
mhe, my” . l. i gt 3*

“ do it.”'~ - ‘ 

“Iintmdtogitman'ied—"

“ Lordyl” —

I kin help yer; but, Saul, the Gold ing must
9 ,under, and thar is one other has got‘ ter
1e.

“ \Vho are thet ?”

‘ ‘ Have you heard of any stranger arriving in
the city

“ N0.”

“ No one to claim the Ill-Omen Mine?”

“ Not one.”

“ Well, thar'll be a feller along, and he’s got
to be done fer.”

“ As you says, Modoc.”

“ You help me, Saul, and I’ll make a rich
man of you.”

“ I’ll do it.”

“ Then to-niorrow we’ll begin to play our lee—
tledgame, and we’ll get rid o’ ther Gold King,
on —-

“ He are not here.”

“ Not at his cabin?”

“ No, he hev gone away somewhar.”

“ Whar?"

“ Dunno.”

‘ ‘ Don’t you know which trail he took?”

“ South.”

“ By Heaven! he ma have gone on my trail;
but he can do nothing, am confident, to thwart
my resolve to marry that girl,”and these words
the Chief of the Gold Wolves uttered aloud, but
the were not addressed to Poker Saul, who said
not ing more, but saw that Modoc was in
deadly earnest to carry out some bold plan he
had formed.

 

CHAPTER XXXI.
'rmi: GUARD or THE GOLD TRAIL.

“ SAUL, can I trust you ?” asked Major Modoc,
the morning after his return to his cabin, as the
two sat at breakfast.

“ You bet you kin, pard.”

“ I hope so, Saul.”

“ Hain’t I showed it?”

“ Yas, you hev.”

“ Waal, out with it, fer I sees yer hes some
game ter play, and I judges that yer holds
trump keerds. as yer rings low when yer hasn’t
got a good band.”

“ I kin make dust fer yer in one clip, Saul.”

“ I’m yer attached friend, pard Modoc.”

“ I dare not trusvothers. and besides, many
hands to receive make small perquisites.”

“ W'e kin git away with it all, pard.”

“ It may cause some killin’ ter be did.”

“ I hain’t ther man ter faint at sight 0’
blood.”

“ Now I have been down in New Mexico.”

6‘ IYas.”

“ guesses yer hain’t for ot them rs tber
Gold King called fer one dgy.” pal”

“ No, and got ’em too.”

“ He did: but I knOW’d about ther contents of

’em, and seen who they was directed to, so I
went ter New Mexico and made a leetle call on
ther gal.”
“ d Stranlger Kit’s darter, maybe?”
“ Yas, and found her ther same as a rison—
er in ther hands 0’ a rich ranchero, who intends
ter man- her if he hes his way.

“ She on’t like him, so I shall go in to win
ther gal, while be are now on ther Way here,
maybe With one, perhaps with two or more
pards, ter claim ther mines o’ Stranger Kit.”

“ They must be walu’ble.”

“ They is.”

“ I kinder lied thet idee, pard.”

“ As the guardian 0’ thet girl this ranchero
comes here ter take hold 0’ ther mines.”

“ He mustn’t hev them.”

“ By no means.”

“ e are coming now yer say?”

“ Yes, and_may be here to-night or to-mor-
row, as he Wlll be due then, if he came on slow-
ly, for  hev a mind thet he left arter I did,
and I didn’t let no grass grow under my horses
while comin’.”

f‘ You looks as though yer hed been in a row
we was.  .~. .

‘ a a in e o a tree an
scratched up.” p , d g“
‘ ‘ Yer wasn’t up in no balloon, were yer?”
“ No, I went over a cliff.”

“ I sees: or were lucky ter strike ther tree.”

 

At last he drew near'to Gold Dust City, and

 

 

 

 

“ I was: ut now to this ranchero.”

 

“ It is true, and there’s lots 0’ mom in it, so