s

 

one thing to take a little cuss like Pepper and
turn him over his knee; but I’ll bet he can’t do
nothen of the sort to me, big as he is. Pepper
ain’t able fur him: but I am.”

And as Roaring Jack was well known as the
best rough-and—tumble fighter in the county,
with a frame nearly as large as that of the
stranger, the rest of the cowboys shouted:

“ I’ll take it, too, l’ink!”

All this while the stranger had been holding
Pepper clutched in his iron grasp, from which
the little man could not escape. As the cow-
boys shouted their bets, he smiled and nodded
to Pink, and when the hubbub subsided a little,
said aloud:

“ Boys, let me say a wort .”

“ Spit it aout,” cried Roaring Jack. “ You’ve
got to the eend of your rope, young feller. You
ain’t got no Pepper this time.”

“ \Vhat I want to say is this,” proceeded the
stranger. “ I wouldn’t have done nothen if this
little teller hadn’t sot on me first. I don’t hear
no malice against him, and I’m willin’ to call it
square as far as he is concerned. But I ain’t a
shootin’ man. Up in New Hampshire there
ain’t a man in our parts able to stand up ag’in’
me. I’ve taught school in my time, and pretty
tough schools,too, where the boys run out every
teacher afore me. If this little feller will say
he won‘t try no more sass on me, and there‘s
any man in this crowd wants to take n) his
quarrel, I’m willin’ to fight that man. kin I
say more?"

The propos1tion seemed to meet the )‘eneral
approval, for Ringtail at once Went to epper,
and began to remonstrate With him.

“See hyar, Pepper, you ain’t able fur that
man, and he’s got ye fair. Ef he wants to kill
ye he kin do it, and you know it. Let up and
give the rest of the boys a chance. He can’t
clean aout this camp alone, and you’re standin’
in the way of better men.”

The appeal struck Pepper on a tender spot,
and he was, moreover, getting sorer and sorer
the longer he remained in the grasp of his merci-
less antagonist. With a scowl that told how the
concession cost him, he said, sullenly:

“I cave in. The man’s too much fur me.
Some of the rest of you handle him ef ye kin.”

The moment he had said that the big stranger
released him, remarking:

“ N0 boy in my school ever said I hit him
arter he gave in, and my name’s Sol Piper.”

Then he turned to Roaring Jack, and con-
tinued:

“ Now, sir, I’m ready fur you if you’ll take
off them pistols.”

Roaring Jack instantly took ofi‘ the pistols he
wore and threw them.on the grass, saying:

“ ater’s weepins. If I can’t whip any New
Hampshire man that ever stepped I’m gwine to
emigrate to the No’th.”

He took off his jacket at once, tightened his
belt, and advanced cautiously on his big oppo-
nent, crouching in the style of an old rough—
and-tumble fighter, hoping to get a waist hold,
throw the other, and proceed to gouge his eyes
out of his head.

Piper, on the other hand, step ed back as if he
saw that he had a really formi able antagonist
at last to dispose of.

He kept retreating for a few steps, and Roar<
ing Jack smiled with c0ntempt as he thought
that the big man was getting frightened.

Then came a short rush and a struggle that
lasted only a few seconds.

By the faint light of the fire the cowboys
could see that the two men were locked to-
gether, but that Piper had the best of the grip.

There was a great tramping of the turf, a few
grunts as both men exerted their strength to the
utmost; then Roaring Jack was turned upside
down and set on the top of his head on the bare
earth with a crash, after which he lay still
while the victor observed, as coolly as if he

 
  
 

     

      

do‘i‘ie nothing out of thipway: “4
it. .. 0W  .  ' v I --,
The  _,_"§.‘ht ‘ -
the swarthy fu  - , .
his knife gleaming in the firelight.

Piper was almost taken unawares, for the
Mexwan had kept in the bac ound till the

moment of his rush; but he caug t sight of the
glittering blade just in time.

An angry frown crossed his brow for the
first time since he had begim to fight, and he
wheeled round and sprung back out of the
Mexican’s way, his flesh escaping the slash of
the weapon, ut getting his rags torn still
more than they were when he entered the

cam .

Thgn he swooped down on Miguel like a
hawk on a chicken; caught his wrist with both
hands, gave a wrench, and then came a wild
shriek of pain from the Mexican.

CHAPTER III.
THE “ SOLID ’ MAN.

THE knife dropped from the nerveless hand of
the swarthy Miguel, and he stood there, nursin
a broken wrist, while the other cowboys stare
at the giant that had done such wonders among
them, as if he had dropped from the clouds.

As for Piper, he smiled as he looked round,
with the observation:

“ Wait], I thought you fellers had more grit.
Up in New Hampshire, the boys used to give me
a lively wrastle; but you fellers ain’t no good
to fight.”

The taunt had its effect; for two more cow-
boys threw off their pistols, and rushed at him
to ether, regardless of the compact.

‘ol Piper did not seem to be discomposed by
the attack; for he met them with an activity
and skill in fisticufi's they had not expected from
him. One blow, which no guard could resist,
so straight and strong did it come, took Ring—
tail between the eyes and laid him out on the
ground. stunned and stupid. His brother, still
less fortunate, met the grip of the giant, and
was tossed up in the air like a baby, caught as
he was coming down, and had his face forced
into the dirt, by one hand at the back of his
neck, while Piper continued to hammer the face
against the earth, till the yells of the cowboy
subsided into silence, and it was evident that he
had lost his senses.

Four of the eight men at the fire had been
thus put out of the way, with an expedition
that was marvelous; Pepper was not to be
counted; and there only remained Amos Whel-
pleyiiand Pistol Jim, who stood beside Curley

in .

Curley, on his part, laughed aloud, and cried
to VVhelpley, as the man seemed to be hesitat-
in -

g.

“ Come, sail in, Bones. You set the boys on
the stranger, and it’s only fair you should take
your gruel, as well as the rest.”

But Amos shook his head.

“No, thankee. I ain’t ot nothen ag’in’ the
gentleman, Curley. Let Pistol Jim try him.”

But Pistol Jim, who had been watching the
fight with a gravity that was marvelous, said:

“ I don"t fight that way, and I ain’t got noth-
en a ’in’ the man, bad enough to shoot him.
Let t em as likes to fight that-a-wa , take what
they git. Stranger, you’re a soli man for a
Yank; and hyar’s my hand on it.”

The slight frown that had marked the face of
the young stranger, during that fight, gave way
to an expression of entire peacefulness, as he
took the offered hand, and answered:

“ Stranger, you’re the first man in Texas,
I’ve met, that had manners—reel—good—man-
ners.”

Then he said to Carley:

“ I couldn’t do less t an win yer money for
ye, sir; and I hope there won’t be no hard feel~
in’s about this little muss.”

Curley laughed.

“ None on my part. I’m sure I’ve nothin
complain of. Even Pepper hasn’t a wor

 

to
to

sa .”

Little Pepper shook his head solemnly.

“ It takes a good man to beat me,” he said.
“ I don’t wonder the other fellers had no
chance.”‘

Then, one by one, the defeated cowboys got
up, from the ground as they recovered their
senses, Miguel alone staying in the background,
sullenly nursing his broken wrist.

They were a sorry-looking crowd; for they
had faces covered with blood, black eyes, and a

general air of dilapidation that showed how they
had fared.

Roaring Jack, when be stirred at last, could
not rise; for he had been thrown on his head in
such a way that his spine had been shocked,
and all the nerves aralyzed for the time.

He had to be ta en to the house and_put to
bed, while, as the cowboys resumed their seats
by the fire, there was a universal sentiment of
respect for Pi er, that found its expressmn in
the remark of istol Jim:

“Boys, this hyar gentleman is too ood a man
to let him go to any other camp. e. km whip
an man in Texas, and that’s my opimon.”

e per indorsed the sentiment.

“'IPhe galoot that kin whip me, has to be a
good ’un, boys. I wouldn’t have give in to any
other in the world, by gum! This one’s a terror
to Wildcats.”

Ringtail groaned assent.

“ I don’t want no more of him,” he declared.
“ I didn’t think no Yank had so much in him.”

Curley, who had been the quietest and most
civil of the lot, filled again the pipe which he had
taken from his mouth to watch the fight, and
observed dryly:

“ You gentlemen will please remember that
you bet against me, and that I won the bets.”

There was a grunt of assent, but Dandy Joe,
as he nodded gloomily, observed:

“ That ain’t no man. He’s a giant, come out-
en some museum, and it ain’t fa’r to set common
n-ien up to fight him.” I _

Then Piper spoke, for the first time smce he
had finished his fight. .

“ Look here, gentlemen,” he said; “ I came to
this part of the country to live in peace and
quiet, and learn to be a cowboy. I didn’t set
on nobody here till the rest of you set on me,
and I want to be friends with you. I come here
out of money and everything else, and I want
to get work. Can a man get a chance here to
earn his living?”

There was a silence at the question, and Cur-
ley was the first to answer, with the counter—
question to the stranger:

“ What do you want to do, and What have you
done all your life? You’re too heavy to ride one
of the ponies round here, and we haven’t got
any horse up to your wei ht.”

iper here interrupted m:

“ I don’t want to ride. I can walk as far as
any of you can ride. I never saw the horse I
couldn't tire out in a long day’s journey. I’m a
butcher by trade—that is, I’ve worked at that,
times; and I’ve worked ata heap of otherthings,

’7

“Did I understand you to say you had once
taught school?” asked Curley, who was the best
educated man on the ranch, and could not be-
lieve that a simple, innocent-looking man like
the tramp, who had come to them in such a sin-
gular way, could be in earnest in what he had
said.

Piper nodded.

“ Yes, I did, up in aour parts, in the taowii-
ship of Squanville, and a fine school I had, I kin
tell you, stranger. Afore I took it, the boys
used to drive the teachers out, and do jestabaout
as they pleased with ’em, but I altered all that.
It cost me two good ratans, ten cents apiece,
and I wore ’em to slithers afcre I got the boys
under, but I did it, and arter that they jest
knowed how to behave, I tell you. But the old
school didn’t work, arter all, or I’d not be
here.”

“ Why not?” asked Carley, who saw that he
had a character to deal with.

Pi r burst out laughing at the recollection.

“ Wankthe school war all right, and the boys
was all right, and] was all right; but the trus—
tees wam’t all right. Ye see, the trouble was, I
allers sot a good stmss on manners, as my ole
ladgtoldme. Bays she to me,saysshe,manyv
an man

 
   

 

ta.

b038-
sich ood trim that they allerssaid ‘ Good-morn-
in’, . Piper,’when I came in, and they’d b’en
taught the same, when any 'of the trustees come,
too. Waal, one day ole Deacon Brigsby come to
see us. He was an awful rough—talking feller,
and the b0 s knowed it, so they was watching
for him. Iyallers made it a rule that of any
boy could find me out in bad manners he ought-
er tell me right aout abaout it, so lon as he
did it in a civil way, and I allers apo ogized

lers so easyto apologize fur what ye’ve did,
when ye’re in the wrong; but I taught my boys
to do it, and I sot ’em a good example. And,
that morning, the deacon he was mighty grum-
py, and I reckon he’d had the rhoomatiz bad,
and it made him so he couldn’t take what come;
and while he was on the platform and my back
was turned, he got a spit-ball right in the eye
from one of the boys. The boy that did it
knowed what he was abaout, and the old deacon
never knowed who throwed it, but be up and
ripped aoutja reg’lar oath—on the platform,

gentlemen, mind that, naow! And the boys
they hollered:

“‘ Bad manners, bad manners! ’pologi'zc.’
’pologize."

“ And he got as red as a turkey-gobbler, and
there was a reg’lar ruction.”

“And what was the end of it?” asked Cur-

le .
3‘7‘ The end of it was the deacon told me I hadn’t
oughter be allowed to teach school at all, fur I
couldn’t keep the boys in order; and then I told
him that my boys knowed better’n he did, ’cause
they never heard no swearing nor bad manners
round my school. and ef he thought he could
handle the boys better’n I could, I’d leave him
in the school-house fur jest one hour, and he
might try.”

“ And did he stay?” asked Pistol Jim.

Sol broke out into a renewed laugh at the re—
collection.

“Stay! He jest tried it on fur ten minutes
and then come aout of that school a-kitin', the
boys all arter him, and I had to go in and
resk ' him. lVarn’t he mad,though? They sent
spit- alls arter him, and stuck pins in his chair,
and when his back was turned they writ With
chalk on it, and then the biggest boy wanted to
fight him, and the hull of ’em sot on him and
run him aout, jest as they had every teacher
they had afore that time.”

“ But what was the end of it all?” asked Cur—
ley, seeing that he had stopped.

The young man gave a quizzical smile as he
re lied:

“ Gentlemen, the end of the matter was that
the trustees said that the school had better be
broke up.”

“ But why?” asked Pepper, curiously.

Pi r laughed again.

“ aal, ye see, they said that the boys
couldn’t be managed without me; and it warn’t
the thing fur a hull board of trustees to let the
boys git the best of them. So they concluded to
shut up the school, till such time as the boys’
dads would make ’em behave, with any sort of
teacher; and that’s the way I come to give up
school. I never took much to it, that’s a. fact;
but it was fun, while the boys fit me hard.
Some of ’em was nigh as big as me, and a heap
of ’em older; but I was the boss, as they found
out.” >

“ And how old are you, then?” asked Curley.

“ I’m twenty-one, come next fifteenth of May,
and when I left school, I c’u’d teach readin’ and
writin’ and spellin’, as well as any man in
Squanville taownship. I never took much stock
in the languages; but I kin cipher in fractions,
as Well as the next man.”

“ And what did you do, after you left the
school?”

“ I went to butcherin’. I’ve done a heap of
things in my life, gentlemen; and, afore I get
through, I hope to do a heap more. D’ye think
there’s any chance for a man, in butcherin’, in
this part of the country?”

“ I think so; but you will have to see the head
man of the ranch,”said Curley. “ We are only
herders here. you know, and have no wer to
employ new hands. We would like to ave you
with us. for you seem to be a jolly fellow

 

enough.”

n.” -_..... ._.... r.

  

, y a time, “M boy,  do,
twhuever eptmrdon. agree-tum  -
. ‘ I“ “H  4-1:”; I; :3: ,  ..-.‘  :

when I’d b’en in fault. Gentlemen, it ain’t al-‘

I

. J' ,
., 1c ’
- you

“ That’s what I am, gentlemen. Gentle as a
kitten, as long as no one shows bad manners;
but when it’s a question of manners, ye know, I
I’m there every time.”

“ I should think so,” remarked Pistol Jim, in
a solemn and reflectiVe way. “ The fact is—
Ah, what did you say your name was?”

“ Pi r, sir, Solomon Piper, of Squapville,
New ampshire.”

“ Well, we’ll have to call you Sol, for short.
In Texas every man has his name, you know,
and your name shall be—— Let me see.”

Pistol Jim appeared to be pondering over the
best name to give the new-comer, and the rest
of the boys watched him eagerly; for Jim had a
genius for names, and they generally stuck.

“ Look hyar, gentlemen,”he said at last, “ this
man has come in and laid out every man in the
camp, slicker’n greased lightnin’. I propose we
call him Solid S01, and make him one of aour
boys, arter this. It’s allcrs well to have a
solid man on our side.”

CHAPTER IV.
THE RANCHERO.

FROM that moment the stranger was appar-
ently an accegfitgd member of the community of
the Mesquite iich, and the offers of accommo-
dation for the night, in his favor, werenumerous
and pressing.

The climate of Texas is warm, and the sleep-
ing arrangements of the simplest, consisting of
a saddle-blanket or two, with a saddle for a pil-
low and the sky fora bedroom ceiling; while, in
place of a mattress, a soft spot on the ground
offers all the luxury, for which a genuine cow-
boy sighs, when he visits a hotel in the East.

The method of sleeping in vogue on the Mes-
quite Ranch had the turther advantage that it
encouraged the habit of early rising, so condu-
cive to health and wealth.

Therefore, when the morning sun dawned on
the ranch, its first rays found all the cowboys
on the alert, ready to drive the cattle to water
and prevent the strayng of any strange animals
from the neighboring Rattlesnake Ranch, into
the territory sacred to their own herds.

With the rest, got up the young Hercules
who had created such a sensation at the ranch,
the night before. Now that the full light of
day was on him, he looked a tramp from top to
toe; for his clothes were the merest collection
of rags, and, practically, he was barefooted.

Nevertheless, he seemed to be quite cheerful
in his mind; for he was  “ Yankee
Doodle,” at the top of his voice, w en Curley
approached him, and said in an undertone:

h “ 831, if I were you, I wouldn‘t sing that,
ere. ‘ '

“And why not?” obked Sol, curiously, as he
wheeled round to stare at Curley.

The other looked a little embarrassed.

They were at some distance from the rest;
for the cowboys had taken their ponies and were
scattering to their duties, while the cook was
getting breakfast ready. .

“I’ll tell you why,”answered Curley, inacon—
strainpd sort of way. “ The boys don’t like the
son .
“ And why not?” asked 801, ain.

The young man flushed slight

“ Well, the fact is that we in exas don’t like
Yankees much ; and if you want to stay friends
with them, the less you say about Yankees the
better.” '

The New Hampshire youth seemed to be a lit-
tle puzzled at the explanation, and did not an-
swer for some moments.

At last he said:

“ Seems to me I thought the war was over,
and we was allfriends .”

 

 
  
 
 

 

 

     
 
 

'Curleynodded. N ._ , a low bellow, tossing its horns as it came.
“.‘Yes, that in:  101’ all that we don’t gtail, who wins ‘ ‘ g his ' ready
like thesong  ‘fléodle. and.  you are.  _ ‘ * his
wise,y0uwm v:  9- 0135M :--~' 'j‘ v lwas
lamented  g ~    ’ ,with
i. 1.x; .'  
, j  t... was!
', animal was an

answer to what ‘ ‘

city  ‘ ,
man meant well, for “had taken a fancy
the queer, independent follow from New Hamp-
shire, and he had seen the lowering looks that
greeted the strains of the familiar air, as Sol

it, in his high tenor voice.
Bufigural Romero, in es ' ial, was glowering at
the man who had bro on his wrist, the night
before, and (hirley knew that the Mexican was
not the man to let a grudge go long unsettled,
if he could get'a chance to stab another, un-
awares.

But any further conversation was stopped by
the tin horn of the cook, as he announced that
breakfast was ready, and set the long table of
rough boards, that stood on trestles, in front of
the ranch-house.

The cowboys who had been out, heard the
horn, and came galloping in; a. place being
reserved for Sol at which he did ample justice
to what was set fore him.

In the midst of the meal, Bones, who was
looking out over the prairie, said:

“ Thar comes the cunnel, boys. Naow, school—
master, ef you want a place as butcher, naow’s
your time.”

Sol, looking up, descried a horseman coming
over the level plain, the rays of the morning
sun gleaming on his dress, which seemed to glit-
ter, as if it was covered with gold.

Even at the distance at which the strange
horseman was, he could see that he wore the
most gorgeous of apparel.

“ Is that the boss? ’ he asked.

Curley nodded.

“ That is Colonel Bigbee, who owns the ranch,
and the big slaughter-house. He is coming to
take some cattle away, I guess, and you’re
in good time, if you want a job of butcher—

m If?

The young Hercules immediately arose from
his place, and began to smooth out his rusty
and wrinkled garments, but the task was use—
less. and he observed in a mournful manner:

“ ’Tain’t no use, boys. These things was
fresh, when they come from Squanville; but the
darned freight—keers takes the shine out of cloze,
do what ye will to save ’em.”

The strange horseman rode up to the table, and
called out:

‘ ‘ ’Morning, boys. Want a score of good
beasts, and another butcher to-day. Thar’s a
contract come in, and it’s got to be done in a
hurry.”

Curley was the man who answered him, for he
was the overseer of the place.

“ The cattle are all in good order, colonel,” he
said, “ and we’ve got a regular butcher from the
North, came in last night, who is looking for a
place. He might suit you.”

Then Sol had an opportunity to inspect the
Owner of the ranch more closely than before. A
typical Southerner in face and figure, he was
ta and lean; had a long face, grave in expres-
sion; keen gra eyes, tawny hair, and wore a
chin beard, wit its companion mustache, grown
long, giving an air of great dignity to the face.
The colonel was dressed in all the finery of a
Texan grandee, with a. fifty-dollar hat on his
head, very broad in the brim girt with a gold
cord, fashioned in the shape of a snake: the eyes
of the animal being formed of jewels, that glit-
tered in the sunshine.

His jacket was of green velveteen, as were his
open trowsers. buttoned down the sides with

old pieces, of ten dollars each, a hole having
n bored in the coin for the purpose.

He wore riding-boots of ye low leather, with
enormous spurs, either of glold or heavily gilt,
while, in the scarlet silk sas at his waist, lay a

air (1)f revolvers, with ivory butts and plated
3.

He rode in a saddle of the Mexican pattern,
incrusted with silver plates to such an extent
that the original tree was hidden, and his bridle
bit was of silver, while the reins were of silver 4
chains.

Alt ether, thisstrange horseman looked more
like a gure step from the stage than a man
of business, and 01 stared at him, open-mouth-
ed, as the colonel turned on him and scanned him
from head to foot.

“ Is this your man, Curley l” he asked.

  
 
 
       

The'  ’

.children, and Rosa, the eldest, started up in

u
9"; ’ ‘A

xvi . 1-v

“use.

The ranchero favored Sol with a still more
searching glance.

“ Where did you come from?” he asked.

Sol remembered Curley’s advice, and an—
swered: .

“ From the railroad, when they dumped me.
I allers heerd a lgreat deal of what a fine place
Texas was, and wanted to see fur myself what
’twas like. So I come from Nashville, the best
way I knowed haow, sometimeson the top of the
keers, when the men was good—natured; and
more often on the bottom, where the dust was
enough to choke a feller. I made a straight
ride all the way from Dallas to here, and I want
a job at butcherin’, ef I kin git it, boss.”

Bigbee listened to him till he had finished,
and then said, doubtfully:

“ Do you think you understand our Texas
long-horns? They are pretty hard to handle.
Did you ever throw a steer?”

Sol burst out laughing in the face of the
other, as he cried:

“ Tin-ow a steer! Why, man, I’m the only
boy in our parts that ever did throw a steer,
fair and square. I’ll bet ye—no, I won’t bet,
’cause I ain’t got the money, and ‘tain’t manners
to bet if ye ain’t got the stamps in yer pocket—
but I can beat any man in this camp at throwing
a steer, and I don’t bar none.”

The ranchero raised his eyebrows.

“ I reckon you talk too much,” was all the
rep] he made, to which Sol retorted:

“ ’in willin’ to try ag'in’any man ye’ve got,
and show ye if I’m talkin’ too much.”

The colonel turned to Miguel Romero.

“ Here, Miguel, rope me one of those steers
out yonder, and let’s see if this handy fellow
can do as well.”

Miguel hesitated, and the colonel noticed that
his arm was in a sling.

“Why, what’s the matter?” he asked. “ Got
hurt? Well, never mind, you. Curley, tell one
of the boys to rope a steer, and let’s see if this
man knows what we’re talking about.”

“ You go, Ringtail,” ordered Curley, and with
that Ringtail jumped on his pony and galloped
off to the nearest herd, from which be selected
a fine young steer, and drove it toward the fire,
swinging his lariat as he came like a whip.

Sol watched the proceeding with ill-disguised
contempt, and when the steer, which was young
and wild, came tearing toward the fire, he

said.

“Is that the way you throw steers, with a
boss and rope? Any fool kin do that if he kin
ride. What I mean is that I kin walk up to
that creetur and throw him, and that there
ain’t another man in your camp kin do it. I
don’t want no ropes to throw my steers, though
they’re handy to tie ’em afterward if they
kick.”

Bi bee laughed outright.

“ ou’re an amusing blower. Why, do you
mean to say you can walk up to a steer and
throw him without roping him first? Come,
let’s see you do it, and I’ll give you avplace.
That’s fair; isn’t it?”

“ Fair enough,” returned the young giant, his
face lighting up at the words.

Then he stalked straight toward the steer,
which by this time had got into considerable of
a. temper, and was pawing the earth and eying
the men on foot round the fire, as if he was
meditating a charge on them.

As soon as Sol stepped out in front of the
rest, however, the attention of the animal be—
came riveted on the new-comer, and he neg—
lected the rest.

The Hercules walked straight to the steer till
.he was within a few yards, when the animal
lowered its head and came tearing at him, with

 
 

“" (To be continued.)

 

The Secret Bank.

The True Story of tlie Gate. Children.

 

BY JACK CLERMONT.

 

“ BANKS break, taxes are high; I’ll none of
them "muttered grandfather Flint. “ I’ll make
aban in the back bedroom under the floor, and
then nobody’ll bother me about money, ha. ha,
ha l” and the old man rubbed his hands over the
idea of deceiving the people generally and the
tax—collector in particu ar.

Cruel old grandfather Flint lived in an old
house on the outskirts of a great city, with
two little granddaughters, aged nine and eleven

ears. ' 1

Poor little Rosa and Mabel had never known
what a. good meal or warm clothing meant.
They eagerly ate the few boiled tatoes and
stale bread given them and hud ed over the

r fire in their grandfather’s kitchen, long-
ing for the time to come when they would be
big enough to run away from their miserable
home, where they stood in such terror of the
old, miser.

“Children must not be made extravagant,”
said the old man, “and coal and food are too
costly to use prodigally. Just enough to keep
souli apd body together—that’s all we actually
nee .

Then he chuckled, thinkin of the gold and
greenbacks of which no one new.

No one knew! Ah, was he sure of that? Is
there no wind which blows the prized secret to
the thieves’ door in the great, wicked city?

One night, after little Rosa and Mabel had
crawled into their straw bed and snuggled
down under the old blanket and had gone
sweetly to sleep, there came a sound at the
window. so slight it never wakened them.
Then followed stealthy footsteps toward the
old miser’s room, and then came:

‘ ‘ Murder!”

That cry, sharp, quickly hushed, awoke the

bed.

“ What is it?” she 

“Blast the kids! ere the are awake!” ex—
claimed a gruff voice behin a dim lantern.
“ What’s to be done?”

“ Hush them up, too.”

“No on don’t! They’ve had hard enough
time. ’11 just take them along to old Mother
Ferris! Here, my duckies, get up quickly.
Your grandfather is very ill; you are to go
with us.”

“I tell you, Ben, you’ll get into a deuce of a
fix over those kids. You can only stop their
ton es In one way.”

“ ou’re. a brute, for which hanging is too
good. Come on, children; quick now l”

The frightened little girls followed without a
protest, and were hastily dragged along the
dark, wretched streets and alle 8 usually shun-
ned by respectable persons, an not frequented
by policemen.

It was two days before the murder was made
known, then the humane portion of those inter-
ested be an to be anxious to rescue the chil—
dren, or earn what had been done with them.

Vague rumors of the hidden wealth leaked
out and the detective force pricked up their
ears.

John Norris was one of the best among them,
and besides he had a little daughter of his own.

“I’ll find them all. Children. th'eves and
:heir spoils,” he declared, with grim etermina-

ion.

But the search was not an easy one, for the
gang had all left the city. and no doubt had
gone separate ways.

At last he struck the trail of old Mother
Ferris and one of the little girls. He followed it
to a distant city. Every child he passed was
under close surveillance.

 

“ Yes, colonel.”

 

 

 

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“ Ah, pretty dear, what are you crying about?”

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w. “on. no .t_ . 3". ,1.“ In

a

up and beheld a kindly-appearing, gray~haired
old gentleman near her.

“ I—oh I am so lonesome without Mabel, but
she’s coming after while, Aunty Ferris says.”

"Jennie, J enniel” called a voice coming near—
er. “You naughty child! Come with me at
once! Your aunt wants you."

“ Is your name Jennie?’

“ No, it is Rosa, or used to he,” replied the
child then hurried away to 'meet her attendant.

“ ice company for the little innocent! I
must not delay,” muttered the disguised detec-
tive.

The consternation of old Mother Ferris, in
her new home, when arrested for an accomplice
in murder and robbery, was very great; but
little Rosa was rescued from her vile clutches.
The cowardly old woman gave away her com-
panions in crime, and divul ed the secret place
where the most of the spells was hidden, and
also where poor little Mabel had been carried.

Real friends arose for the two little heiresses,
who, reunited, were never cold or hungry any
more, for their grandfather’s gold was placed
in a much better bank than the one of his own
constructing.

 

THE SAILQR_.’_S DAUGHTER

UY M. D. BRITTS.

 

 

Bessie stood at the window
Looking with eyes of blue
Out at the deep. wide ocean
Down where the foam-bells flew.
In came the white caps tossing
Over the sands in glee;
Bm Bessie sighed as she stood there,
Gazing out at the sea.

Low in the West her vision
Fell on a sullen cloud—

Hoarscly the wind sighed, swelling
Louder and yet more loud.

The autumn day waned sadly,
Lit with a lurid light;

And Bess was a sailor‘s daughter—
Father was out to-night!

She, since the dawn had waited
Hourly for his return.

Now that the day was ending
A lamp stood ready to burn

A welcome home, in tne window,
Bernie's love-greeting light.

But hark! the storm was rising!
What of the ship to-night?

Day quite gone, from the light-house
Upon the Point there st reamed
White and bright o’er the water
A silver path which gleamed
Only the clearer that round it
Such thick, deep shad0ws lay.
Yet Bessie stood at her window,
Just as she had all day,

Sending a swift prayer flying

Over the hissing foam—
“ Christ, watch over the sailors,

And bring my papa home!”

Down by the beach the billows
Beat with a sullen roar,

Fiercely the wind came slirirking,
Shaking the cottage door.

Bessie stayed at the window,

Saying of? and again,
“ Please bring papa home safely, 1

For the dear Lord‘s sake, Amen !”

Later and wilder the night grew;
And Bessie, tired and worn,

Dropped asleep at her window,
Nor wakened until the morn.

Hearken! A voice awake-s h- r!
“ BeSi-iel the day has come,

The ship is safe in the harbor.
And papa is here, at home 2”

“ I knew the good Lord would bring him!”

Wni~pereu the child. and then,

Folded her hands and murmured,
“Thank Thee. dear Christ, Amen!“

 

 

THE YANKEE PRIVATEER.

A New Naval Story of the Wu- of 1812.

 

BY COL. E. Z. G. JUDSON,
(NED BUNTLINE.)

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE TOWN cannon. AND rrs WORK.

CONVENED at a most sudden call—not know-
in g what emergency was at hand to make it neces-
sary, the Town Council met at as early an hour
as they could be got together.

Abijah Dart, who had told Deacon Doolittle
that he had a matter of the most vital impor—
tance for them to consider, was one of the first
in the council-chamber.

His face was pale, his e es sunken as if death
had a grasp upon his vita his expression sad
be 0nd description.

0t until every member was present, and
the good deacon in the chair, did he speak.

Then, rising, he said:

“ This day, by accident, I learned that which,
while it has blasted every hope of my young
life, it is necessary you. should know—that
steps may be taken to mete out punishment to
the guilty! In this town, perchance thinking
he is safe, because he is now a prisoner taken
in action, is a man who came here in disguise
—-dressed as an American soldier, professing to
be a sergeant recruiting men for our army now
on the Western lakes. In that disguise he
learned how we were prepared for defense,
where our forts and batteries were situated,
and got a knowledge which enabled the enemy
almost to succeed in the attempt to capture the

 

wn.

“All this and more I can prove. And now—
most painful of all—for it is what blights my
life, I must state that this spy, under the guise
of love. so worked upon the sympathy of one of
the fairest maidens of our town that. knowing
his character, actually after denouncing him to
his face as a spy, in her own father’s house,
this girl hid him from search and actually fur-
nished him a boat in which to escape to the
British fleet, in which he held a captain's
rank!”

A groan broke from the lips of Deacon Doov
little. Whiter and whiter had his face grown
while Abijah Dart was speaking, and now a
look of unutterahle agony came over‘his coun-
tenance.

“ Could my Sally Ann have done this?” he
moaned.

For he remembered the visit of Trefoil—his
sudden disappearance and the missing boat,
tandb it all seemed to come before him in a

as .

Abijah Dart b0wed his head forward upon
his hands and wept like a child under punish-
men .

“ What witnesses have
charges?” asked Simon
member of them all.

“  have Samuel Boggs, who saw this
spy upon hls knees before her of whom I have
spoken, covering her hands with kisses—who
saw his false beard cast off and heard her call
him a. spy—who saw him led ofl' to safety when
we were all on the search the night we recov-
ered Hurd’s boat and knew how he escaped. I
have not questioned him closely. I left that for

on.

“ And, though it is harder than death for me
to say it—let her be called. Oh, I would give
my life if she could deny what I have told you
——deny that he whom she knew and saved as a
spy, has been visited bcyaher time. after time, as
t e wounded prisoner, ptain Montrose of the
British frigate Galatea!” ‘

Again a groan broke from the wretched dea-

con.

“Ay, let her be sent forl” he cried. “She
will not tell a lie.
longer shall my roof shelter one who hasbrought
dishonor on my name—has darkened my de-
clining life! Though she hath been dearer to
me than life itself. the pride and joy of m

on to sustain" these
lossom—the coolest

 

asked a gentle voice, and the little girl looked

 

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And if all thisbe true—no .

  

 

 

 

 

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