“Hull!!!” Ill“, ,,um:nnmnmnmnml I'lllllllmu" nullll'lllwulll" l from you the sad story of my boy lover’s death 1 upon the field of battle. " Suddenly a party of Confederate cavalry dashed up to the house, haying tracked you there, believing you to lhe a spy and With mten— tion to ban on as suc . . “ Those 53a bitter, cruel days, Buffalo Bill, and you knew your life would have been the forfeit, and you were determined to die brave- ly, weapons in hand. “ Do you remember then that I saved you? That I told the commanding officer, .whom I knew well a falsehood, without the quiver of a muscle or blush of shame? . “ Do you recall that I told him you were a Confederate soldier, wearing the blue uniform because you had escaped from prison in the North, and you had come by my home to bring me the letters and trinkets sent by my boy lov- er who had died by your side? - “They believed me, Buffalo Bill, and you were spared, and three days after you returned safely into your lines, telling me before you de- parted that I had saved you from the death of a sPY. and bidding me, did I ever need aid, to send or come to on. _ ‘ “ I do need aid now, for the war ended With ' my father and brothers dead, and my mother and myself, almost ruined in fortune,‘ were forced to seek a new home with a relative in Kansas. . “ One whom I knew when in my girlhood, one whom I never loved went to the bad, became a guerrilla, warring u 11 North and South alike, and when 1 came to 'ansas, outlawed as he was in his State, he followed me, urging that I should become his wife, vile as I beheve hnn to be. “He holds secrets of our family, and so had the power to force me into an engagement With him, and now he threatens to come here ten days hence, and, accompanied by a minister, force me to become his wife. = “ I and those about me are powerless to pre- vent him, for he dares us to do our worst, and he has the power to make us cringe before him; but this morning my little cousin, Brad- ford Buckner, said to me, and his words fell like rophecy upon me: . “ Cousin Belle, Bufialo Bill could save you if he was here!’ “ I started, fairly trembled at the words of the boy, and rushing to my room, I am writing this letter to you. “ Your name has come to me often as a scout of the border, and I have longed to see you again; but ou are little Brad’s hero, and his words caus me to remember your pledge, and now I ask you to save me from the fate that I am to be forced to meet. “ To be truthful with you, Buffalo Bill, I love another, the elder brother of my boy soldier lov- er and so like him, and so noble; but he is far from me now, and, with the power of a family secret over me, this man, this outlaw—Captain Kent Kennard—is going toforce me to marry him. “ Save me, Buffalo Bill, for I believe little Bradford’s words are prophetic and that you can do so. “ Waiting, hoping, before utterly despairing, I am Your friend, “ BELLE BRADFORD.” The foregoing letter, kind reader, was handed to me by a scout nearl twenty years ago. At the time I was aptain of Scouts to the army, and our force was stationed upon the far frontier, where we had hard work to keep the red-men in check, and the lives of us all were in daily deadly peril. I had just been ordered on a special duty, scouting service alone, and upon which much do nded, and I dared not disobey orders. I): would consume perhaps a month of my time, and this letter demanded instant atten- tion, fog the limit wag tax: day; from lathe writ- ' itw some is nce e _, m vuv'fienceith beenwritten.‘ tb‘p 9m 8.5111i esdought the courier who had brought it, and 1 ;:,Jack, was this letter given to you personal- Y “ Yes, and by the purtiest gal I ever seen, Bill, fer she hed great big blue eyes, and a mouth that looked like a red rose full 0’ pearls, so rosy was her lips and so white her teeth.” “ Jack, I fear you fell in love With the lady,” I answered, amused at his description. “ I’m clean gone, Bill, clean gone; but she looked so sad, and was so dreadful in earnest she offered me one hundred dollars to carry the letter. “ But I wouldn’t take her money, Bill, but told her I were comin right here to your camp, which were a lie, for I wasn’t, you know, being guidin’ on the lower trails and I told her as how I’d give it to you myself, and I has kept my word.” “ You are a noble fell0w, Jack, and you will not lose by your good act; but tell me, do you know anything about the oung lady?” “Not much, Bill, for t ey is strangers from the South. I has heerd, and lives on a half ranch. half farm, down in Kansas, I believe, with a brother of the girl’s mother.” “ Do you know anything about Captain Kent Kennard, Jack?” “Bill, that’s the strangeness of it, for I has heerd that Cap’n Kent, as they calls him, has been seen visitin’ the Buckner Ranch, whar the girl lives.” “ He is a bad citizen, I believe, Jack?” “ Bad citizen, Bill? Now you do draw it mild! “ Why, thet Kent Kennard are the wu’st man in Kansas, to my thinkin’, though he pertends honest. “ He hes a ranch that, and as I said pertends ter be a good man; but of he hain’t one o’ ther Kansas Red Owls in secret, I’ll eat my spurs.” “ And the Red Owls are a bad lot, Jack?” “ They is kin to Satan. every one of ’em, Bill; but the band is so secret in all its doings nobody knows if they is white or black, Injun or Chi- nee, only they makes themselves felt all the time, and I suspects Kent Kennard o’ bein’ a Red Owl. “ Anyhow, he takes occasion to tarn a man’s toes up when he goes to town now and then, is a doubly sart’in dead shot, can outride a Texas saddle strapped on, knows how to toss a knife to center, and to use it at close range, and is just as hadsome as a pictur’. “ That’s the man, Bill, and don’t deceive yerself that he hain’t no terror, fer he is, and with deviltry to sell.” “ Jack, what are you doing now?” “ Guiding trains, trappin’ when pelts is prime, and scoutin’ a leetle, Bill.” “ I wish to offer you service, Jack.” “ Call me, Bill, and I tarns up with a full hand. “I’m yours ter throw to ther crows, ef yer says it.” “ Jack. I wish you to consider yourself in my service, at a scout’s y, and your first duty will be to take a letter ack to the lady who gave you this one for me, Miss Belle Bradford.” “I’ll do it Bill.” I told J ac to be ready to start at dawn, and to come to my camp that night for the letter, after which I went to my tent and wrote a re- sponse to the earnest appeal I had received from one who had indeed saved my life in war days, little girl though she was. In my response I told her that stern duty, such as hedged in the soldier and the scout, forced me away; but into the hands of those who were my Prairie Pards, men whom I could trust as my right hand would my left. I gave the duty of saving her from the fate she dread- ed, and it would be their duty to see that Cap- tliafii; Kent Kennard would no longer shadow her 9 This letter sent, I rode Over to the camp of those to whom I intrusted the carrying out of my wishes, well knowing, without asking them, what would be their response. Had it been an official duty I could have ordered, and they would have obeyed: but with an outside affairI could but ask. and yet I knew the gallant men but too well to dread refusal. Most of them have gone across the Dark y! (, _‘,\ -0 A . — 1' - ,9", 'v fil- River, and others no longer follow the red trails over prairie, mountain and valley; but true as steel, their work was well done, and, rest they in their graves, or dwell they in camp, or in city, may Heaven bless them, my noble Pards of the Plains. _ With this introduction, I give their work on the red trails in this romance of The Dead Shot Nine. 9 CHAPTER II. THE MEETING or THE NINE. A BIVOUAC of bordermen, in a lovely valley, meets the eye of the reader. . A camp pleasantly situatcd upon the sloping hillside, that terminates upon the bank of a clear, swift] -fiowing stream. Not the w ite tents of the soldiers, seen in the distance on the hill-top are visible here, but in- stead the pointed tepee of the red-skin, with its skin walls oddly painted with various hiero- glyphics that an Indian alone could master with his untutered hand. ' Two fires are glowing bright, and about them are the scouts, sitting, aWaiting their evening meal, which is being prepared by two negroes, dressed in half uniform, half buckskin, and seemingly enjoying their free-and-easy life upon the plains. Their kitchen utensils are few, a skillet, a frying-pan, an oven or two, some coffee-pots, and tin plates, cups and rude knives, forks and spoons of iron. In the background stands a large wagon, with four mules lariated out near, and into this stout vehicle the entire outfit 0f the scouts’ camp can be placed when on the march, for little do these bold prairie rovers care for the comforts which soldiers so much enjoy. Upon a meadow not far away half a hundred homes are feeding, and wiry, splendid animals they are, showing speed in their build and pos- sessing endurance equal to their riders. Texan and Mexican saddles and bridles hang upon the trees near, some of them glistening with fancy ornaments, and heavy wit odd ac- couterments, while resting upon logs and leaning against trees are the repeating-rifles of this bor- der band of heroes. The men who make up the humanity of this outfit are some three-score in number, and su- perb specimens they are of manhood in all its ph sical beauty. 'lYo a man, almost, they wear their hair long, falling upon their broad shoulders, their forms are wiry, muscular and powerful, their move- ments quick and decided, and their faces are as bgown as exposure to the elements can make t em. Their general attire consists of flannel hunt- ing-shirts, buckskin leggings, a slouch hat with huge brim, and a hunting-jacket of some kind, though several are dressed in amore picturesque costume, some of them being a mixture of uni- form, buckskin and the Mexican garb. In each case they are armed With a pair of re— volvers and a bome—knife, while their trusty rifle is not far away, and the heels of all are adorned with spurs. A picturesque, wild-looking, daring set of men they are, relying u n themselves because they know their strengt , ready to do and dare any- thing against enormous odds, true as steel to friend and foe, men who have been reared upon the wild frontier, who have taken life and faced death in its worst forms, who know the prairies as one knows his own home, and who, ni ht or day, can follow trails that a red-skin WO (1 fal- ter at. Such is the camp of the army scouts into which I would have the reader accompany me, followmg upon the trail of a horseman who rides slowl up the valley, the form of horse and rider distinctly revealed in the light of the setting sun. A man of almost giant form, with great broad shoulders, a fine head well-poised, an ath- ieucmmre,md is face '- ' in its calm power of expression and resolute cour- age. A dark mustache. the ends worn long and droo ing, but half hides the determined mouth, and is eyes are piercing and restless. His hair is black and worn very long, hang- ing below his shoulders. At his back is slung a repeating-rifle, about his waist is a belt-of—arms and his dress is a mixture of army blue and buckskin, while he wears cavalry boots, gold spurs, and has a gold cord about his black sombrero. The horse seems well suited to the man, bein a gaunt, long-bodied, powerful animal, deck out with a Mexican saddle and bridle with sil- ver enough on them to tempt a road-agent’s hon- ‘ Boys, there comes Wild Bill 1* “Now we’ll know if it’s a move or remain here in camp,” cried a voice in the bivouac, as the horseman was seen approaching. And he raised his hat as the scouts greeted him with a yell of welcome. Dismounting, he knotted his reins so that his horse could feed and advanced with the quick, firm step of a soldier to the nearest camp-fire, around which the scouts all gathered. “ Well, Bill, what’s up, for you are just down from head-quarters, ain’t you?” said one. “Yes, pards: I’m just from camp, for you know Buffalo Bill sent for me this afternoon, gig there’s a little work on hand,” said Wild 1 . “ I thought there was music to be sung when the courier said Buffalo Bill wanted you right awav.” “Yes; but it is not an army trick we are to take now, for the general has sent Buffalo Bill off on a few weeks’ trip of reconnoitering to find out just what is the best move to make. and you are to remain in cam , all except eight pards whom I need to go wit me on a secret service expedition.” ” We'll all go to the war You bet! you bet! We‘ll all go to the war!" half a dozen voices in chorus. i o, pards; I can only take eight of you, and you, Tom Sun, I leave in command of the out- fit, with Bony Ernest as second, for, Texas Jack, you go with me, as do you also, Frank Powell, for, if I’m not mistaken, we‘ll need a surgeon,” and Wild Bill addressed two of the party whose appearance was striking in the ex- treme. Texas Jack+ was a sunny-faced Texan, who had fought for the Bonnie Blue Flag during the war, and afterward drifted into the northern frontier. A man of reckless courage, the activity of a cat and strength of a giant, added to which was his deadly aim with the revolver, and perfect knowledge of trailing, he was one to dread as a foe and seek as a friend. The other, Frank Powell,$ was a man with a history, and a remarkable one. for he had been an army surgeon, and gave it up for the wild, free life of the scouts, being the “Medicine Man "' of the border outfit. A man of desperate pluck, with few equals and no superior in strength and endurance, a face strangely handsome, which his long, black, waving hair and black eyes made almost weird— like, he had the refined manner of a city-bred gentleman, and the gentleness of a Woman, While his voice was low-toned and full of bar- mony. He was attired in an undress uniform, which fitted his superb form well, top cavalry boots. with Mexican spurs. a black sombrero encircled by a gold cord, and his belt of arms were silver- mounted and of the very best. “ Night Hawk George, and you, Broncho sun. ‘6 *J. B. Hikok. killed at Deadwood by an assassin some years ago—THE AUTHOR, t J. B Omohundro died at Leadville, Colorado, a few years since—THE AUTHOR. it Doctor Frank Powell. late surgeon of the U. S- Army. and who has won fame as a plainsman, known on the border through his many exploits, as “White Beaver." “ Fancy Frank," “ The Music D_oclor." “ The Dnad Shot Doctor,“ etc. Now Medi- cmepbief of the Winnebago lndians. and practicing medicine in La Crosse, Wisconsin, of which city he is mayor.—- THE AUTHOR. Billy,* I wish to go with me,” said Wild Bill, and lancing slowly over the faces in front of him, econtinued: "And you, Dandy Dick also you, Bravo Buck, Dashin Dan and Fighting Frank,+ I wishto owit me.” , “Par Bill, you has jist got the Nine Dead Shots 0' this lay-out,” said one of the scouts, lancing over the nine men ranged alongside of ild Bill, and with Frank North at the other end, tall, straight as an arrow, eagle-eyed, de- termined-faced. and presenting the contrast by having short hair. The were a splendid set of men, that Dead Shot inc, and certainly the pick of the three- score of noble fellows in the border bivouac. “I meant to ick out the dead shots, Nick, and I have got t em, unless some one backs out when he knows the work to be done is secret, and may be desperate. “ What say you, pards, does any man of you eight wish to step out of line?” The silence that followed was an impressive answer to the question of W'in Bill, and with a grim smile he said: “ I thank you, boys; I knew you well when I picked you out. “ Now let us have supper, and then take the trail, for we have no time to lose.” An hour after the Dead Shot Nine rode out of camp, thoroughly armed, splendidly mount- ed, and equipped to fulfill for me the ledge that I made to Belle Bradford, the brave u — crii girl who had saved me from being hanged as a Union spy. Without a word, or a question, my allant comrades followed their leader, Wild ill, to whom I had told my wishes and intrusted the fulfillment of my pledge. CHAPTER III. THE OATH OF THE DEAD SHOT NINE. HAVING had a consultation with General Carr, as to just what duty he wished me to go upon, I rode out of the head-quarters camp just as the full moon was rising above the prairie horizon. It was a dangerous mission that l was bound upon, and alone, my thoughts wandered strangely to the past and anticipations of the future, While I wondered if my fair friend, Belle Bradford, would be content to have others kee my pledge in my stead. y trail lay southward for a while, and then crossing a rairie stream branched off toward the great orthwest into which the white man had seldom ventured. I had intrusted to Wild Bill the kee ing of my pledge, and I knew that it would be well done, and felt that he was then moving south- ward with his gallant comrades. But suddenly my horse gave a low snort, and I knew that others were abroad on the plains, as the animal never played me false. A short distance ahead was the tree-fringed bank of the stream, and within its shadows there certainly lurked some one or something to cause my horse to give that , and his ears were pricked up as he slowly went on his way. My rifle was ready for use, as were also my revolvers, and I was not to be caught 01! my guard, though I did not like the idea of a shot from ambush. The moon shone with rare beauty, and I was relieved ’ st the sk with marvelous dis- tinctness well knew; ut'my duty called me on, and on I must go. As I rode forward my horse grew more and more uneasy, and I was thinking of approach- ing the stream at another point, to reconnoiter, when there approached, ruling out of the sha- dows of the trees. several horsemen. . Instantly my horse gave aloud neigh of re- cocnition,andlknewwhoit wasthatlhad to meet. his dark eyes and one who looked as though he ht use well the rifle at his back, or revolver is belt. ' He was dressed in buckskin l gings, mocca— sins, hunting-shirt of flannel, an wore a light— colored slouch hat with the tail of a wolf serv- ing in the place of a plume, while he also rode With the ease of one perfectly at home in the sad- dle. “ We have made a long circuit, Brad, and it will be after nightfall before we reach the ranch; but if you are certain you saw the Red Owls in the timber I do not regret it, for I would not fall into their clutches for the world,” said the maiden. “ Cousin Belle, I saw distinctly the Red Owls’ masks worn by the Ranger band, and there were seven of them. . “ You had stopped to tie up your hair, and I rode slowly on over the hill and saw them in the timber, though I do not think they saw me, and I at once rode back and told you, and it is best that we came round the way we did to avoid them,” answered the boy. , “ By all means, Brad, and it was lucky ou discovered them; but do you believe that nt Kennard belongs to that des rado band of Red le Rangers, Brad, as t at scout I sent with a letter to Buffalo Bill said .1” “ I don’t know, cousin Belle; but I think that Ca taiu Kennard is bad enough to belong to anyt ing), and I’d rather kill him than see you marry im, as uncle says you must.” “ Ah me, my brave little cousin, I fear that it must be, unless it can be pr0veu that Kent Ken- nard is a Red Owl,” sighed the maiden. “ But you believe Buffalo Bill will save you?” “ Yes, if he can ' but the letter that Jack brought me last 11 t said that duty called him away, yet be we send his Pards of the Plains to my aid, and to trust them as I would him— so If. “ Their plan will be to do the steps of Ken- nard and get a clew to wor on, and then cap- ture him and his band, if he is indeed captain of the Red Owls.” “ And they will come soon, cousin?” “ If they are not here in three days, Brad, I must marry Kent Kennard, for I see not how it can be prevented.” “ Just tell him you will not.” “ Uh, Brad, you do not understand all, for that man has it in his power to force me, through my love for others, into becoming his wife. ’ “ And Captain Ralph Reynolds, cousin!" “ He cannot suffer more than I do, Brad; but it is not in his power to save me, for his duties keep him in Texas.” “ Let me kill Kent Kennard, cousin Belle, for I am but a boy and they would not‘ hug me,” said the boy, earnestly. “ No! no! you must not talk so, Bradford Buckner, for do you think I would allow you to gain your young life with the blood of a human in i “ o, I must rely upon Buffalo Bill. and if he fails me, then my lot in life will indeed be an unhappy one.” and the tears came into the beau- tiful eyes, just as her horse gave a start and pilunbgp ahead, as did also the animal ridden by e y. Glancing back, young Brad Buckner saw a horseman coming in a gallop behind them, and, in rapidly overtaking them. ‘ There comes the devil, ” growled the boy. “What do youmean, Brad cried Belle Brad- ford. rein' in her horse. “ It’s K Kennard !" “Oh!"and the maiden’s fa'ce grew spiteof the rosy hue that exercise had her with. “Let non-ids fast cox.” “ No, Bradford, for I dare not do so. “ Iwil] godow and lethim come up,” and in pale, in flushed Onatwo three the .m. .s w“;. 4. -o‘ \ {twain . . . of Kansas, than which no more desperate band of desperadoes existed on the border. f‘ Men, you know gour duty now, and will yogdlo it to the sacri cc of life?” said Wild Bill, ste y. _ He was seated at the right of the line, and I was a few paces away, and glanced along the faces of the men as he asked the question. Instant] , as if moved by one thought, their right han s went to their revolver-butts, the wgfons were drawn out and held above their h s, and in a deep chorus, from every lip, came the words: “ To the death! we swear!” I knew well the men that uttered the oath meant it in all that it might imply, and I felt that my being called away by duty was the means of raising up friends to Belle Bradford who could serVe her far better than I. With a warm grasp of the hand of each, I rode on my way alone, while Wild Bill led the Dead Shot Nine on the trail to Kansas to save a lovely girl from the power of a villain. As I rode along I felt content, for I well knew that, had Ithe entire force of the border to pick from, I could not have found nine braver men, more reckless riders, dead shots, or big-hearted, brave fellows, than were those who were wind- ing over the moonlit prairie in response to the appeal made to me by a young girl. CHAPTER IV. KIDNAPPING A LADY-LOVE. ONE pleasant afternoon toward the hour of sunset, two persons were riding slowly over a Kansas prairie, evidently with the intention of resting their horses, which had been hard-driv- en the few miles passed. Both were well mounted upon fiery mustangs, wiry in build, and displaying speed and bottom in 628i? facfiiond e0 t eri erswas ayoun ' 10f rha s nineteen, dressed in a dark-gigafiidinghabirt, which fitted her form to perfection. She wore a soft sombrero encircled by a sil- ver cord and with a black plume in it, pinned in its place by a pair of small gold cavalry sa- bers crossed. Gauntlet gloves shielded her small, shapely hands, and under the right saddle-horn was a holster out of which protruded the silver-mount- ed butt of a revolver. The face of the maiden was one to see and love, for it was exquisitely beautiful. her eyes being dark—blue, large, intensely expressive and shaded by the longest of lashes. Her mouth was full-lipped, and frank and fearless, while her hair was of a reddish-golden hue, and so luxuriant that it could scarcely be confined about her haughtily-poised head. Her form was the perfection of graceful sym- metry, and she rode with the grace and aban- don seen only in Southern women reared in the saddle. Her companion was a lad of fourteen. with sun-browned, fearless face, a look of mischief in * Night Hawk GeOrge—Doctor George Powell— now a practicing physician in the Far West. Then a famous scout and guide. Broncho Billy, Doctor William Powell, also metamorphosed from a plainsman into a physician. These two are broth- ers of Doctor Frank Powell. who will be known in this romance as " White l3eaver."— THE AUTHOR. 1' All four were well-known bordermen years ago. the three first named having been killed in battle, and the lattlr, Fizhting Frank. being Major Frank North, of the U. S. Army, and who commanded a regiment of Pawnee Indians for years, organizing th-m from the tribe that made him their white chief. Than Frank North no truer braver man ever lived. and his name and deeds will ever live in song and story of the plains. He died a few months ago from the effects of old wounds—TH: AUTHOR. i. run if ‘-_. , x -.‘ «i». av. <3: :~ 7“ dashin » u ': i: oftho, in Who . i-,‘§§(§ . .’ beforeme,andtheyhadheodedmeo, m» ' n; A, “We, W‘ 7 ' "' mytrail,to me assumucethatth 1- ; boldly. 1 . keepforme epledgelhadmade. 1. ‘, ‘Thehoflem. I was a leasant meefingggind, as Wild Bill “ Ahadnot them the duty ore them. I took you w .,those I'saw‘ from my pocket the letter from Belle Bradford the Red Owls.” v ‘ andreadit aloud. _. , “That is your vivid imagination, Brad; my Then I told them of my-mission into the ho ”wasthela mpouseoftheman.’ depths of the red-man’s country and that duty He was ce ' y an’ Motive-looking per— forced me to o, and that I reli u n them to sonage, dressed with a seemingly out of “save the ma] en from the power 0 Kent Ken- lace on the border, for he wore a black velvet nard, the alleged chief of the Red Owl Rangers ket, a snow flannel shirt, the collar tinned over a blue 3' scarf, and his white corduroy mm stuck in the elegant cavalry He had gauntlet gloves upon his hands, a - sombrero sat jauntil upon his head, anfig spurs, weapons, sadd and'bridle were of the richest manufacture and silver-mounted. His face was a study for an artist, whether he desired a model for Sin, or one for Honor, for devilt and virtue were most strangely blended in 's countenance. His lips expressed daring to reckleess, vice and cunning. while his eyes were full of teach ing sadness in repose, and of burning defiance in excitement. As a man about town, a soldier, a plains- man, he would attract attention ranging be- tween admiration and fear. “ Do you ride our wa , Captain Kennard?” asked Belle Bradford, co d1 , as the man rode up to her side. “Yes, for I was going to the ranch to see you,” was the answer. “ I was in hopes I would escape any atten- tion on your part, Captain Kennard, until the day appointed for—” 5 she paused he added, with a smile: “ The sacrifice you would say; for it seems to almost break your heart to become my wife.” “ I do not love you, sir.” “But I love you, Belle Bradford, and as I am aware that ou are trying to escape m‘e, I will not await t e day appointed for our mar- ' e, but will take you into my keeping now, so t at there will be no getting out of it on your “ What do you mean, sir?” asked Belle Brad— ford, quivering with anger and dread. “ Simply that you cannot escape if I hold you safe, and I shall keep you a prisoner up to the time you become in wife. “ After you are rs. Kennard you can return to your uncle’s ranch and live, but not before, so you must come with me, and allow that boy to go home alone, and tell that you are in my care , now. “ I‘ll kill you first, Kent Kennard,” cried Brad Buckner. and the brave boy brought his revol- ver at a level and pulled the trigger. But the ca snapped, and the man laughed, while he reac ed forward and grasped the rein of the maiden‘s bridle, at the same time re— marking: “ Your weapons are not loaded, Brad. nor are yours, my fair Belle, for an ally of mine saw to that before you left the ranch, else that boy would have killed me.” “ I will kill on yet, you wicked man.” cried Brad, his eyes lling with tears. ' “ Silence, boy! and go your way back to the ranch. ere I hold you. too. ' “ Say to Major Buckner that I hold his niece my prisoner until our wedding-day, when she can return. “ Now be off, before I attempt to do you harm l” And the eyes of Kent Kennard fairly blazed with anger. “ Go, Bradford, my dear little cousin, for you :8? do nothing to save me, and I must meet my a e. “ Go, and tell uncle Dick and mother all. “ Good-b .” And as the boy rode near she rasped his hand, and bending from her saddle, issed him. The boy could utter no word; his heart was full. his face writhing with sufi'erin and anger, for he saw that his weapons had been tam- pered with, so with a groan he wheeled his horse and dashed away like an arrow across the rai- rie, leaving Belle Bradford in the power 0 her kidnapper. (To be continued.) u" ‘o I ‘ in“ “‘ THE YOUNG PLANS LAHNT. t6 . H I! WILL WARD“. I‘m twenty—one to-day. alasl And be hood's hours have fled: No more '1] pla " I spy ” or " tag " Behind the sc col-house shed. No more, alas. to school I'll go! And frolic on the green, ‘ Nor chase the yellow butterfly With youthful ardor keen. No more I‘ll swim in hours forbid, Nor catch the frog so spry, Nor step upon the bumblebee And jump just six feet. high! No more I'll place the crooked pin Where some one on it sits And get ke t in when schodl is out And catc particular fits! No more I’ll go bare-footed, now, With a stone-bruise on my heel; Nor fallout of a cherry tree And my proboscis peel! All these dear joys, alas, have fled! Gone are the houis of play: Heuceforth the stern world lies ahead, I’m twenty—one to-dayl Gamin Bub, THE BOWERY BADGER; on, Slippery Set. Scooping a. BY JO PIERCE, [OF THE NEW YORK DETECTIVE FORCE.] CHAPTER X. REMARKABLE FREIGHT. A WAGON was rattling through one of the nar- row streets of Boston in that famous region known as “ The 00% ”—the Boston parallel for Baxter street and vicinity. The hour was somewhat after dark, and The Cove wasas quiet as it ever is. Business was nded, .and the night—owls of the din streets had not yet come forth to pollute t e sidewalks with their presence. The wagon before mentioned was drawn by a heap of bones covered with a white hide. Peo- ple of a facetious turn of mind called this draw— er a horse. In the wagon was a box, and on this box were two men who looked as though they had been kept on the same fare as the horse, and no bet- used The wagon reached the N. Y, & N. E. depot, and then, striking Atlantic avenue, rolled north- ward for some distance, turned to the left and finally drew up ate house on Richmond street. Two other men came out,,and the four then carried the box into the house and deposited it in a large, poorly-furnished room. The —men left, while the others looked attentive y at the box. “ Wonder of he’s alive!” said one. “ Probably. Jung knows his business, for he’s shipped many a man in ' He’s not going to slop over at this late day. ’ ‘ “ ll be hangedif I should covetthe ride.” “You would kick if you had a coach-and- four. Let us open the cage and see what we have. Get a hammer.” “ Here it is.” - I “All right; now forthc .” ‘ The speaker attacked the cover-.0! the box. drewnailsand pried oflbmdaandina short ._ a few moments more a horseman alongside time it was removed, but no boywasyot visible. 0'. ' = “id P i , ' r= .. - i a. _ wage-mo " ‘ '~. 13‘11' *P") if ‘g .. I was: : u ' ' and removed the bondage. , . “ How are you, 130 Gaunnob ' n th htoluhrlcatothuri, ore , " : .’ thethon gladfurterseeyer. _ . . “Don’tbein”arush. Thoucordsu‘otostay “How kin I feed myselff’the prisms} de- manded, in assumed ‘ . , “You can’t. You won’t need any food to- night, and after that—well, we’ll see if you are ' h in the morning.” " 1 ha! ha!” . The second man in a hoarse laugh at. this Significant h, at the Bowery boy looked at him see ly. “ You laugh like a boss, you do!” he said. “ Don’t ye slin on too much style thou , fur I’m outer all t er p’ints in this game. upré, Jung & Co. tele me ther hull rims, an’ I know I’m ter be tooken ter ther harbor an’ drownded, ef ye kin find water enough. W’ot on’t? Folks hes h’en drownded afore. ain’t they! W’ot are ye snortin’ at, yer freckledJaced ape? ’Sides, w’ot ef I am ter be drownded! Is that any rea- son why I should ’buse m stomach while ther lamp holds out ter burn? at fur Joseph! Trot out yer breadstufl's, you chaps, and let me fill up my treasury department.” “ Well, you’re a cool one,” declared the leader of the men, “ and it shall be as you say. Bring a 00d supper, Trott.” he man went away growling, while the leader released his prisoner. As he did so, he noticed the boy’s muscular development, and thought best to draw a revolver and caution him not to attempt resistance or escape. “ Go ’way!” Gamin Bob retorted. “ D’ye 8’ I’d cut stick afore gittin’my grub? N ixy! 0t fur J oseph! A still, small voice wi’in me is a-cryin’ from ther desert wilderness 0’ my stum- Jack for quail on toast, an’ ther voice shows mighty good jedgment. Slide in here, Mr. Trott, an’ you’ll cachinnate fur ter obsarve how I’ll slaughter venison an’ Winnipeg b’ar. Can’t er git me a del’cate roast from a rhinoceros’s rn, Mr. Gallop?” 1‘ , The last words came indistinctly, as the hun- gry-lad attacked the food, and he said no more until he had won a notable victory and cleaned 03 all Trott brou ht. VHe then turneg and waved his hand to the er. “ For which let us be duly grateful. W’ot temporal appellation shall I harness up w’en I a’dress ye by name?” “ Call me Brown.” “ “Isl. Brown, le’s go out an’ do ther town.” (‘ Eb?” “ Le’s go out wi’ our little hatchet, an’ paint Boston red, like as G. I‘Vashington did.” “ You for et that you’re a prisoner.” “ You ain t, be you?” ‘4 No. 7, “ Wal, you kin be my sponsor, as ’twere, an’ pilot me round whar ther Pilgrim Fathers land- ed an’ hung a witch in 1473. Brown, I banker ter see them Pilgrims! Whar is tber tree? W'altz out ther witch! Lemme ’zamine ther rope!” “ Boy. you talk too much l” “ Recollect that my jaws hev been inter hock ever sence this mornin’ afore sun-up. Give ’em a Show now. Say. w’ot’s this box?” _The young detective’s keen eyes had caught Slght of a_ small box at one side, which was made of tin. or covered with some substance which looked like it. He moved toward the box. butSBrown sprung up as though suddenly alarmed. “ Hold on! Don’t touch that!” . “ \Vhy not?” ' “ I say, let it alone! Isn’t that enough?" “I s’poseso. but I can’t see why you are so darned pertic’lar’bout an ole box. Lemme kick it once, jest furJuck !” .He moved forward again, but Brewn caught gig a); the arm in unmistakable alarm and flung c . 1“ Walyho'must iimia' iiyride.” ‘ » .Iald'“1’m_ man’- warn} 7“ ‘ l” ‘ ipo J ., M w... and“...