- -m‘ "of ' ( poll— . "cu .m A I The scared 00k came into her eyes. Her face blanched as she slowly repeated the concluding words. “ Please explain,” she said. sent? Is she away from home?” “ We do not know where she is,” said Bert, as 'rl gave a wild start of pain, and a. “ Is mother ab- gently as sadly. “Be brave, Effie—if I may call you audibly now by the name my soul has long been calling you— ’ The look of anguish, of entreaty, of tenderest sympathy which took possession of the noble face beside her went straight to the maiden’s heart. “ Oh, Bert—for I gladly res 0nd to the en— dearment you offer me, 1 n it so!” and the girl‘s tears flowed like rain—“I see that some- thing horrible has happened! Where, in Heav- en’s name, is my mother?” “ \Ve do not know where she is, Effie,” he an— swered, in a hesitating tone, as he rode nearer and took her hand. "No use to keep you in ignorance of the dreadful truth. I know you will be brave, darling Eme,”and his eyes glowed with the infinite devotion of a grand, pure heart. “ I know that you will feel with me that she is not beyond the reach of the Great Hand whose mercies are ever around us. We have not seen your mother—neither your father nor I—since she reached Nevada more than a week 0. We only know that she has been abduct— by parties unknown from the stage in which she was journeyin from Elko to Huntington, at a spot called Brad ey's Woods, and that not the least trace of her whereabouts has since been discovered.” A moan of terrible anguish came from the lips of the terrified and appalled hearer. She reeled as if about to fall from her saddle. “ You——you have no idea who her abductor is, Bert?” she faltered. “ Oh, yes: a well—defined idea of his identity,” answered our hero. “ Everything points to Bishop Ruddle as the author of this outrage. The real name of this man is Norman Daggett. ” “ Daggett?” echoed Effie. “I remember the name well. It is that of a man who was aclerk, many years ago—l know not how many—in a store where my father was, I think, a bookkeep~ er. A man of the worst character, if I am not mistaken, who passed quite a long time in prison.” “ Yes, that’s the man,” pursued Bert. “ He has turned up here as a bishop of the Mormon Church and has accumulated a large fortune. You may judge what he really is by the conduct of his son. As to the motives which have influ- sneed him in these proceedings, they are only too apparent. Norman Daggett was an unsuc- cessful suitor many years ago for the hand of your mother, and had also laid up a feeling of revenge against your father for certain testi- mopy he was required to give against this crime ina .” “ I have an inkling of all those early troubles,” said Efi‘ie. “ And so that man is here and dan— gerously active and Violent?” “ Yes, Efiie. There can be no doubt that Nor- man Daggett, otherwise Bishop Ruddle, has seized your mother and is holding her in a cruel captivity at no great distance. But where?" “1 Perhaps at his own house,” suggested the gir . - “ No. Your father and I, with a hundred men, searched every nook and corner of his house at a very early hour this morning, while the bishop looked on niockingly. It is almost needless to add that we did not find the least suggestion of a captive.” “ He may have some secret cellar you did not explore, Bert.” 0 “ That is true, and it is our intention to give his premises a still closer overhauling as soon as we can get around to it.” At this instant Conn drew rein again, scan- ning the flanks of the dragon. . “ There’s deep hole just ahead of us," he an— nounced, " so that we shall be obliged to take to the bank for the next mile or two, as the bed of the stream is broken and rocky. But I think we may now let the horses have the drink they- ’vebeen so long trying to reach. They’re well cooled off with this easy jaunt in the brook and under the shade.” “ Quite right, Conn,” returned Bert. “ My horse is warm yet, but a drop will not hurt him, as we shall keep moving.” CHAPTER XXXVI. ANOTHER SUSPICIOUS ENCOUNTER. THE horses hgving quenched their thirst, Conn led the way up the bank, still keeping in the shade afforded by the trees lining the creek. Here all drew rein a moment and listendl. Not a sound disturbed the silence. “We are too far from the road to hear the pursuers," said Conn, “ at least five or six miles, as Snow Creek takes a considerable turn to the eastward before it empties into Franklin Lake, while the road trends constantly to the west- ward. But it’s clear enough that the pursuers have no suspicion of the course we have taken, or we should hear them buzzing behind us, and might even expect to see them coming across the plains on our rightto intercept us. Thus far, Mr. Tabor, we have certame been fav— oredl” “ True, Conn, and you may be sure that we shall not forget that we owe this safety to your su gestions” onn flushed warmly at this acknowledgment of his services. “ I only hope our good luck will continue,” he said, as he resumed rogress, " and indeed why shouldn’t it? The eserted mill is not only about the last place in which they would think of looking for us, but they would naturally adopt the theory that we are all taking the shortest cut possible for the Gentile camp.” “ All of which is perfectly argued," comment- ed Bert. “ So far, we could not have done bet- ter. One great essential we have secured is to give the horses—especially miner—the breathing spell of which they had such absolute need. Should the enemy show up again, it’s reasonable to think that we would be able to hold our own until some further point in our favor is deVel- 0 ed.” pEffie drew a long breath of relief. Her eyes were still moist with tears, which would come, despite all the strength she derived from Bert, and all the natural hopefulness and elasticity of her spirits, but she could not wholly des air of her mother’s eventual safety. ow her whole being cried out to Bert for consolation and supportat that moment, is al- ready plainly apparent, and it is not too much to say that he more than responded to the cher- ished ideal which for weeks had been her con- stant companion. As discreet as sensible, Conn kept several rods ahead of the lovers—as we may unhesitatingly call them—so as to afford them an opportunity of exchanging their explanations and sentiments without being bothered with him. After a long and somewhat monotonous ride, varied with occasional returns to the stream, and numerous halts to listen for any sounds of pursuit that might have arisen, the boy guide once more drew rein. “ Just ahead of us,” he reported, “ the SiiOw Creek is crossed by the road which runs from the Humboldt Range to the Goshute Mountains, by way of Sprucemont. It is very little used, and there is no especial danger of being seen here, but I think we had better cross singly, keeping to the creek, or rather that I had bet- ter cross alone, and so warn you if there is any one approaching from either direction.“ “ f course, Conn,” aSSented Bert. Entering the stream anew, Conn continued to follow it until he had crossed the road, which of course had no bridge. l Everythin being as it should be, Conn beck- I oned to the overs, and they hastened to join } him. “ As you see,” said Conn, as he again took the lead, “ we are now plunging into an almost pathlcss wilderness—a growth of young pines, in fact,” and he waved his hand over his sur- roundings. “ For miles hereabouts, these used to be as fine a forest as you will find anywhere in the Rockies. \Vhat We see around us now is a mere growth, which is all the way from six to eight years old.” “ ou had a hand, I suppose Conn, in taking 'off the original forest?” queried Bert. “ Yes, sir—to the extent of driving teams and otherwise waiting on the lumbermen.” “ How far is it from here to the deserted mill, Conn?” asked Effie. “Not far from three miles, miss. Just here we are pretty well hemmed in by this new growth, but further on—within a mile, I think —we shall reach a district where the forest has been ravaged repeatedly by fire, and we shall then be able to get along more readily.” “ I see you are leaving the creek, Conn,” re— marked our hero. “ Yes, sir. i am cutting) across. the angle formed by the creek and its ranch, so as to get to the mill as soon as possible.” In two or three places the guide leaped to the ground, and cut and broke branches, so as to render the path more open, and once he was obliged to retrace his steps a few rods. This was not owing to any lapse in his memory, but simply to the marvelous growth of the new for- est. “ There!” Conn at length ejaculated, with an involuntary sigh of relief. “ The worst is now over. We have reached the burnt district to which I referred.” The lovers looked around in wonder, as they continued to press forward. A vast sea of stum s, little and great, all charred and blacken , some of them nearly level with the ground, and others twenty or thirty feet in hight, had presented itself in the line of their advance, and offered a succession of fire-swept aisles for their passage. “ What a scene of desolation and destruction!” murmured Effie, interested, despite her great sorrow, in the novelty of her surroundings. “ I never saw anything like it!” “ We are near the deserted mill now,” at length announced Conn, when a lar e tract of the burnt forest had been left behin the trav- elers. “ W e shall be able to see it, I think, when we reach the crest of the divide just ahead of us.” “ It’s not to be wondered at that no one ever comes here,” said Effie to Burt, in a low vmce filled with a sentiment akin to awe. “IVhat a solitude it is!” Preoccupied,curious and expectant, the party had nearly reached the divide mentioned, when Conn slipped to the ground excitedly and took refuge behind a group of young pines, motioning his companions to do likewise. “ Great heavens!” he breathed, with out— stretched hand. “ Do you see that man who is riding toward the deserted mill? “ He is Bishop Ruddle!” CHAPTER XXXVII. A STARTLING ARRIVAL. IN the parlor of his elegant residence sat Bishop Ruddle, with an eager and expectant air, and also with the air of being somewhat ill at ease. The intensity' and frequency of his glances along the roa from a front window attested that something had gone wrong. " Stran e that he does not come,” he ejacu- lated. “ here can he be?” Suddenly there was a clatter of hoofs, and his son, Smith Ruddle, came galloping up to the door, and hastily dismounted and entered. “ Alone?” was the bishop’s wondering greet— mg. "As you see, father. I’ve had the girl, but lost her! The strangest thing!” He gave a hurried sketch of his meeting with Effie Hatton, and of the manner in which she had made her escape. “ Sorry,” commented the father. “ But I expected it. I’ve been deeply depressed all day, although I can hard! tell you why I” “ Well, the pendulum ’I soon swing in the other direction,”declared Smith. “ As a roof, take this fact: I hear from Brottle that Colo- nel Hatton has gone into the Diamond Valle ' to look for his wife, and that he will come bac to-night on the stage!” " Indeed. Well, it does seem then,” returned the bishop, almost petulantly, “ as if we might make sure of him at last!” “ Oh, I’ll have him this time,” assured Smith, as his eyes glowed savagely. “ I’ll not only make my arrangements to nab him, but I’ll take good care to do it in such a way that no human being except ourselves will know what has become of him l” “ Good,” muttered the bishop, vengefully. “ And now, Smith, a hint as to what is to be done with him. You see that we cannot use this place again as a jug. It’s well we removed Mrs! Hatton as we did. If she had been here this mornin , she would have certainly been found, and t on whata fuss! what scandal!" “ Your idea is to take the colonel to some new and sure place? Where?" “ VVe’ll take him to Deadhill for a day or two —until we have got the information we want— and then to his final hole! I am anxious to make an end of this whole matter—in a word," and his e es blazed fitfully, “ to complete the revenge w ich has so long been the supreme joy of my life!” “ To Deadhill it is, then!” returned Smith. “ And if I get hold of the girl, as I still hope to do. I will take her there also.” “ In any case, I shall take the mother there in the course of the day or evening. Pity we can’t get the whole family together there! I’d like to have them all in our hands and at our mercy, and lay down the facts to them 1” “ It would be glorious, sure enough,” declared Smith, as a darker glow mantled his face. “ We’ll try to realize the hope. I shall be busy as a bee, of course, during the next few hours, but I‘ll expect to meet you at Deadhill, with the colonel in hand, b nine in the evening, if I do not send you word, to the contrary.” “ All ri ht, Smith.” said the bishop, as he arose. “ hat hour will just suit me.” Smith made another suggestion or two, and then took his departure as hurriedly as he had come. At the moment of his retreat, Teecomo could have been seen to glide away from one of the open windows of the parlor, or rather from the dense shrubbery beneath it, in which hiding- place he had listened to every word exchanged between the father and son. The bishop had taken barely a dozen turns in his parlor, with a cloudy and thoughtful brow, when Shawgun, his hostler, made his appear- ance from the stable, leading a spirited saddle- horse which his employer had just ordered for a ride. “ I’ll be out in a moment, Shaw un,” said the bisho , steppping to the open win ow. “ I you please, sir, I am coming to the door to exchan e a word with you,” returned the hostler, as e proceeded to secure the horse to a hitching-post. “ See me,” repeated the bishop, with an air of anno ance. “ What about!" “ I ell, sir, I thought I’d quit, if you have no objections,” announced Shawgun, as he advanc- ed toward the window. The bishop was angry, as was shown by the flush that ran over his face. Something like a reproach arose to his lips, but he suppressed it. Instead, he asked: “ How much do I owe you!” “ Sixty-five dollars, sir.” The bishop counted out the money, and passed it to Shaw run, who secured it in his pocket- book. but did not offer to retire. “ \Vell, what else ?” asked Ruddle. “ You Will remember that you agreed to pa me extra for certain midnight drives, raseah- “ Oh, there is nothing very special, sir,” re- turned the hostler, with a curious smile, " but I thou ht I’d be out of the way of the crash l" “ he crash 5’” “ Yes, sir. If I’m any judge, your bark’s on a leeshore, and bound to touch bottom within the next twenty-four hours. There are too many spies hereabouts, too much going and coming. I could s ak of certain proceedings— but I won’t. t’s enough that ’m out of the mud- dle. ’ And Shawgun retired toward the stable with— out another word. “ Now, what does that rascal mean?” mutter- ed the bishop, looking after him. He mused upon the problem a few minutes, or until a carriage—his own, with Jerry on the box—came rolling up to the door, and he saw Bullion Red and his pals looking out of the iii— terior of the vehicle at him. CHAPTER XXXVIII. VARIOUS CLASHING INTERESTS ADJUSTED. IT is safe to say that the bishop was never more astonished at anything in his life than at this return of the outlaws he had so particularly favored. As he sunk helplessly into a chair, they all came bursting in upon him, with Jerry, or “ Capitain Lightning,” at their head. “ hat does this mean, Jerry?” asked the bishop, with a shudder of horror at seeing his satin-Covered furniture and his velvet carpet invaded by this sort of presence. “ It means, sir,” answered Jerry, “ that there’s no getting through. All the roads and passes are blockaded. More than fifty men to the east’ard are trying to earn that five thousand dollars reward. The telegraph has been on the jump all night —and all day for that matter.” These several sentences, which were uttered with panting breath and terrified mien, were like so many dagger-thrusts for the listener. “ In shmt, sir,” resumed Jerry, as he sunk into a chair, while the three outlaws stood crowding around master and man, “ I was obliged to take the back track, and it was only by having such good horses, and by reaching a quarter where the telegraph is out of the game, that I’ve been able to avoid capture.” " And only by hard knocks, too,” amended Bullion Red, as he shoved his swollen fist under the bishop’s nose as evidence. “ We pulled through twice by downright battle, leavmg our would-be captors in a shattered condition by the wayside.” , _ The bishop staggered to his feet. His frown was something awful to look upon. “ And now the question is, sir,” continued Jerry, “ what’s to be done? There are of course a score of howling pursuers at no great distance behind us. Some of them will certainly turn up here in the— course :of the day or night. These men cannot remain here, bishop.” H Here ?” The bishop’s voice was almost a shriek. The idea of such a trio of outlaws being caught in the episcopal palace! “ f course you won’t turn us out to die, old pard 2’” suggested Bullion Red, as he sidled into the very chair from which the bishop had arisen. “ Heavens !” exclaimed Ruddle. as hesuddenly averted his nose. " The fellow’s reeking with whisky!” ' “ Reeking’s no name for ’ it,” said Jerry, as if emboldened by the bisho ’8 independent discovery to tell the truth. “ T ese chaps have been swilling ever since we started. All the supplies you gave them, and which were intend- ed to last a week or two, have been entirely de- molished. Bullion Red swore he’d have one good time more, let come what would come.” “ Yes, old pard, and he’s had it,” roared Bull- ion Red, as he drew an uncorked bottle from his pocket and began flourishing it in wild jubilance, scattering showers of the bishop’s best port over his best carpet. “ And now for the conclusion of the whole matter.” He turned on his heel, at the same time aris- ing from his chair, and thrust his face within six inches of the bishop’s. “ Of course you’d be sorry to have us arrested here, Norman,” he resumed, “ and so we’ll con— tinue into the mountains; but you’ll have to pay us handsome.” “ Pay you?” gasped Ruddle. “ Yes, old pard ! You’ve given us three thousand dollars, a good share of which has already been spent in bribing the enemy, but money’s nothing to you, and so we make hold to ask you for ten thousand dollars more. Is it not so, pards?” “ It certainly is!” answered both of the gels of Bullion Red, as their leader thus sought t eir opinions. “ And we’ll stay here till we get it, Norman,” assured Horrucks, as he resumed his seat, while his two pals, in obedience to a wave of his hand planted themselves upon the satin-covered sofa. The bishop lost all patience. “ You won’t get another cent, you villains,” he cried, becoming as white as a sheet. “ Then there’ll be a high old row here,” roared Horrucks. “ Barn 1” He hurled his bottle at a full—length mirror opposite the position he had taken and shivered it into a thousand fragments. Then the three ruffians drew their revolvers and began firing at other mirrors, at the choice statuary, and at the costly clocks. “ Seize them!” yelled the bishop, dancing about excitedly. “ Kill them, Jerry!” Instead of complying, Captain Lightning got to cover as promptly as possible. “ Ho, ho! That’s easier said than done!” cried Horrucks. “ Suppose you try it yourself, old pard? Come here!” “ One moment, Horrucks!" gasped the bishop, who was hardly able to articulate. “ Stop shooting! Sit down! I’ll let you have five thou- sand dollars more with which to make your way in any desired direction. I will also give you a pair of fresh horses and the carriage in which you have just come.” ‘ ‘ Bravo 1” roared Horrucks. “ And what’s still more to the point,” declar- ed the bishop, hurriedly, “ I’ll have Jerry drive you immediately to a place where you can re— main hidden till night, or later.” “ Bravo!” commented Horrucks again, as he restored his revolver to his cket and motioned to his als to do likewise. ‘ ’ow you begin to talk, 0 d pard. It’s a bar ain l” “ Not quite,” amend Captain Lightning, with a peculiar smile, and one which struck the bishop as disfavorably as if it had been the hiss of a rattlesnake. “ This affair will not be con— cluded until I have had a few words to say to Miss Millsie, the bishop’s daughter, who is now at the door and who has been brave enough to look in upon us, even while the bullets were fly— ing.” “ Miss Millsie!” cried Ruddle. mean, Jerry?” “ Oh, leave him to me, papa,” said Millsie, presenting herself at the hall-door, as calm as ever, and looking really radiant in her faultless summer attire. “ I will find out what he means. Come here, Jerry.” The cozichman took his way to the hall, and Millsie closed with a firm hand the door between him and her father. “ To the point now, Jerry," she said. “ Well, miss,”declared Jerry, with a profound inclination, ‘ you know that I have long loved and admired you. True, I have been your father’s coachman, and have done a great deal of his dirty work. but I’ve not yet been forced to change my name, nor have I had such an as— sociate as Bullion Red. Now, Millsie, as much “ What do you tics, falsehoods, and other dirty work. sir!” . “True. Shawguii. Here‘s a fift extra.” “That’ll do, bishop,” said the ostler, as he I pocketed the gift. “It’s more than I expected. i l have not failed to notice, during the few: months I have been in your pay, that you re- ; gard rascals of every description as about the cheapest drug in the market! Good-morning, sir!” i “ One moment, Shawgun. “'ill you mention 3 your reason for leavmg f” i as I love you. I would gladly make way for any of your high ideals, if they could be realized in ; flesh and blood, for 1 am really devoted to you. So entirely devoted. that I would like you to authorize me to be your protector, not only from the Bullion Reds, but also from your own father and brother. YOur goon sense must tell you that fhrg/‘ll soon be in trouble. and that you and I. if you will marry me. can reign here in splendor and happiness, you as the heiress of your father, in whose favor his will is already made, and I as your devoted. admiring and protecting bus— of dreaming is past. cut and dried by the course of events, and I moment you choos: to call in a justice of the peace to perform the necessary ceremony.” “ A thousand thanks!” cried Jerry, as be ex— changed a kiss of unalloyed satisfaction with the bride so strangely secured. “United, we me to do all I can for your father and brother, but do not ask me to ruin myself with them.” “ You know I’ll not do that, J erry," said the girl, as she opened the door with quite as firm a hand as she had displayed in closing it. “ Papa, here is Jerry, who is quite at your service, and who now presents himself to you in the charac— ter of my betrothed husband. If you have no objections, and your affairs are not too pressing, we shall be lad to be married this evening at nine o’clockfiiy Justice Norton.” (To be continued—commenced in No. 261.) The Fair Champion of Durango. BY H. S. KELLER. “DON’T want none 0’ yer mone , stranger. Any man what hails from Pole- at has my heart, gizzard an’ pu’ss-strings.” “ But you seem to be in needy circum- stances—” “Seems? Yes, seems. ‘It seems alone me inky cloak, good Mother Xceti'y an’ so 4th.’ Now, ye can’t allers tell how fas" a mar’ can trot by measurin’ hur rider’s pants-band; no, ye can’t. Now, f’r instunce, ye wouldn’t take me fur a millinery rollin’ in pansies an’ gold galory, would ye? Now, say.” The other gazed anxiously at the little sawed— off and pounded-down specimen seated upon his cobbler’s bench, busy with a wax-end and awl. millionaire. Have you any wealth?” dealer’s trap, I can foretell futur’ ewents an’ cast a. Ul‘Son’i nurr’scope an’ read faces. Now —no: won’t read yerdustiny. Ye’ll git'thar 'sun’ ’nuff. Don’t be ’larmed. Yer futur’ ’ll be white an’ cl’ar. Ye come frum Pole-Cat. I had a fr’end thar once: ’r’aps ye knowed him," said the comical little co‘bbler, turning a look of inquiry up at the handsome face before him, “Who and what is he?” “Shoemaker, cobbler an’ gen’ral worker in anti ue leather same as I be— ’ “ y Jove! I now see where the strange re- semblanCe lies, You are the perfect image of Jim Pod ers—” V V “ Jim odgers—holy Moses! I say—l say, duz ye know Jim ?” interrupted the little man, springing up, scattering his tools about him, and grasping the slim white hands with his brimming with tears. C “J ipn was the best and Whitest man in Pole- at— “ That settles it, stranger. I knowed ye wuz good afore ye said that; an’now, when a man praises my twin brother I knows he’s true stuff. Ye’re a stranger in Durango. Ye eat pot-luck wi’ me to-night. Kit.” “ Coming, papa,” responded a voice clear as a tinkling bell. A narrow door at the rear of the little shop opened and a dainty form sprung “ Quit kissin’ ’fore strangers,” said the cob- bler gently unclasping the sweet girl’s arms from about his neck. , Then for the first time the girl noticed the handsome young man who stood there casting glances full of admiration upon her. In an in— stant all the bonhommish air and kittenish de- meanor vanished, leaving a very prim little maiden who stood there gazing down at the floor demurely. “Stranger, this is my darter, Kit. She’s a perfect leetle cat—” “ Don’t, papa.” “Fur junipin’ an’ skippin’ an’ rompin”bout; but ye oughter see hur nuss a pore heathen Chinerman—” “ Now, pa a.” “ An’ 9 8 went an’ ho! a niggerman what got his arm smashed. ay, that wuz a pictur’ fur a book or ’ile-paintin. Thar she sot wi’ that black, crushed arm while the doctor chap did it up. Ye’d ha’ cried to see the look 0’ erarnal gratytude that come over the pore black man’s face. Arter his arm wuz ,all done up he axed her if he mought kiss hur apron hem. What did she do? She laid hur hand upon his black forehead; he kissed them white fingers. an’ it didn’t leave no stain nuther. But ’nuff 0’ this taffy. Kit, hussle ’bout an’ try’n’ find sum- thin’ fit to eat. The gent’s goin’ to eat supper wi’ us to—night.” As Kit turned and left she cast an admiring glance back toward the stranger, who returned it with interest. “ So Jim Podger’s is your brother?” asked the stranger. “ He’s more’n that: he’s my twin. ’Less ye ever had a twin ye don‘t know what the mean— in’ o’itis. Ye hain’t goin’? Want ye to stop to su r—” “ Oh, I’il return presently. Only going down to the Ex ress office. I can assure you I will return— eavens! Have I come away out to this strange country only to meet my fate in the person of a cobbler’s daughter? By Jove! 1 was in luck when I stepped into Podgers’s place to have my shoe stitched. Now, if that pack- age has only arrived," uttered the young man in an undertone as he approached the Express Office. Ha pily the package was there. it an home. " Well, I’m back, you see,” he said as be en— tered. “Glad on it. Supper’s ready. Jist step this He secured retraced his steps to the cobbler’s modest through the narrow door. “ Do you not lock your front door when you retire from the shop?” “Psliaw! N0 ’un would come bar to steal. No’un wants ole shoes an’ wax—ends an‘ sich. ‘ Now sit right down thar in that cheer; Kit’ll bring in the grub now.” Another door—evidently leading into a kitch- en—opened and the charming maiden entered with a tray. The stranger’s mouth fairly wa— , tered as be surveyed the nice brown griddle— ;‘ cakes, broiled ham, fried potatoes and steaming, fragrant coffee placed before him. And the beautiful girl who flitted about the table, here, i there, everywhere, to see that each portion of ; her goodly fare was given proper attention. “By the way, if your place is so secure from the intrusion of burglars, would you be so kind as to care for my package until I call for it.’ It is of much value. If it should fall into hands not meant for, I would be ruined,” said the stranger, lifting the small package from the ta 9 “ Kit’ll see to it. I’d like to see any ’un who’d ; dare take it ’way frnm bur,” bravely uttered . Podgers. “ Then, my dear girl, will you be so kind as to 1 take care of this? It is my sole fortune which I 1 place in your possession—as you have now, al- ready. my heart,”a(lded the young man, for her 1» ears alone. She started and drew back her hand. Her face was surmounted with a vivid blush, and . Eer eyes gazed curiously upon the face before er. “ Take it, Kit; what ye hesitatin’ fur?" asked ‘ her father, as the irl drew back. He had not hear the last few words that the stranger whispered. “ Vl'ell, I will take care of your package,” simply said the girl. 1 She tucked it into her dress-front and began sie, and reap all possible harvests. Depend upon l way,” said the little man, leading the way, l l l l l l l i can control all possible tempests, my dear Mill- 3 l l l i l i ! ! “Well, I certainly wouldn’t take you for a f sticky, waxy ones, he raised a pair of mild eyes I, i said Kit, entering the shop. band. Shall such be our destiny, Millsie? Will i to clear away the dishes after the men had dis— you marry me?” ! “ I will, Jerry,” replied the bishop’s daughter, 3 without a single instant’s hesitation. “ The day , young stranger‘s visit. ap ared into the shop. odgers derived a deal of pleasure from the As the eVening waned It’s time for us both to i talk flagged, and finally the young man took accept our destinies, as we find them actually 1 his departure. "Kit, come here. I’ve got a sort 0’ presenti- will gladly become your one legal wife at any ment—" “You’ve always got a presentinient, papa," “What is it now, ra '?” “ The young man’s in danger. I feel it in my bones. You an’ I must help him. I see him now, strugglin’ in the grasp of his enemies— Kit, Kit, whar ye’ goin’?” cried Podgers, us the girl fiitted through the front door and disap- peared into the darkness. Podgers hastened after her as rapidly as his short legs would permit. Ahead in the distance, her long hair trailing behind glinted in the rays of light falling from the saloons. Then her form disappeared. Spat! spat! spat! rung out the spiteful echo of a pistol. “Hurs, by dern! I can recognize its woice,” gasped Podgers, as he puffed on in the direction of the sound. There, under the struggling rays , of a lamp-lighted window was Kit kneeling by the side of the young man. In the street were two prostrate forms, and a third was crawling awa into the darkness. “ Val, I’ll be derned!” “ Don’t stop for exclamations, papa. This young stranger’s life is in danger. You must carry him back to the shop,” exclaimed Kit, ex- citedly, as she tore open the young man’s vest and placed her hand over his heart. The saloon—door opened and a dozen rough fel- lows came out. “ \Vhat‘s up?” “ A fr’end wuz foot-padded; that’s all. Gents, will one o’ye help me git him to my home :" re- sponded Podgers. “ Certain; up wi’ him, boys.” The stranger was lifted up and carefully car- I'led up to Podgers’s cabin. The little cobbler thanked them for their assistance. after which they went back to see to the dead men. It was a week’s time before the stranger was able to tell his story, It was short, and was as ollows: _ His father died and left a will in care of his “Yes, 1 am a mind‘reader. I can pick out i lawyer. The latter proved unfaithful, and sold the and what’s m game up 'next in the fam‘ ‘g his honor to some rival claimants—cousins of the young man. The will was taken from New York, and the rightful heir had been searching for it. Finally he found and secured it. At Pole—Cat his life was in danger from the fact of his possessing the will. Hired Scoundrels had waylaid and all but murdered him. But the will was in the care of little Podgers, the cob~ bler. “'hen the young man came to Durango I he left the valuable document with the cobbler and had it sent or. by Express» The hired murderers, paid by 9118‘ iN’llslllS i‘lllfii’if‘d him ‘9 Durango. “ “ And now,” said the young man in closing, you have saved my life and fortune. Mr. Podgers, you are true and brave as is vour bro- ther. As for you, my dear girl, I—I do not know how to repay you for your bravery.” “ Don’t try,” said Kit, blushing and turning away. The young man mended rapidly and was soon quite his own self. , i When he went East with his precious docu- ment to prove his title and ownership to the vast property, Kit went with him as his wife. The Podgers twins also went: to say that the two little big men were favorites in the rich man’s family would only be to weakly express the truth. ' — Science and Industry. THE best remedy for burns is now said to con- sist in letting the contents of a seltzer siphon trickle over the injured part. THE pottery works at Steubenville, 0., have just sold $40,000 of its were to a Chicago tea house to be used as premiums. Two bright New Jersey young women, dissat- isfied with the money they made teaching, in- vested 350 in poultry. The first year their profits were $1,000, the second $3,000. FARMERS in \Viltshire, England, have been obliged by hard times to reduce the wages of their laborers from one to two shillings a week. so that now eight shillings a week is the usual wage. THE Angora Tgoat seems to be raised in great perfection in exas. The hair is brilliantly white, and very long and silky. They also pos— sess the art down there of dressing these skins in a manner to make them as useful for rugs as they are agreeable to look at. A SWISS watchmaker has invented an electric illuminator for watch—dials. A small electric lamp is fitted in the watch—case where it will light up the dial, when. by touching the case with the charm, connection is made through the chain with a small battery carried in the waist- coat pocket. KANGAROO leather has become 50 decidedly popular for shoes that 6,000 skins are received and tanned in Newark alone each week. But that means most of the skins used, for they are sent all over the world from the Jersey tan« neries. One result is that kangaroo hunters in Australia are making money. They get seventy cents a pound for skins,and some of them clear from $2,000 to $5,000 a year. THE Government of New Zealand is driven to extremes in order to do battle against the rabbits. Nearly two thousand stoats and weasels have been exported from England and liberated on the sheep ranges, and still the demand continues. A cargo of over six hundred are now on their way. The price given in England is four shil— lings for each weasel and six shillings for steam, and when the animals are sold in the colony tbc shillings become guineas. AN English builder of theaters has invented a panic lock for theater doors. It is contained in a panel which occupies a large surface on the l i with a regular key. 1 has been fitted throughout With the new lock. The Mysterious Boarder. inside of the door, and any one coming in con— tact with the door must press the puncl. Upon which the door opens instantly. It is impossible for the doors of a building fitted with this lock to be fastened so that egress is prevented, but from the outside no entrance is possible exr'ept Terry‘s theater in London J UST PUBLISHED: Dime Dialogues No. 35. L‘olloquies, scenic dizilOgues. minor dramas. dress and costume pieces, in farce, burlesque and comedy, moral. sentimental and temperance. for schools. ex- hibitions and the amateur stage. CoxTENTs. In the lWrong House. For two males and two fe~ ma vs. The Sham of It All. For three females and mu- male. The Surcst Proof. For several males and one fe' male. Too Much for Jones and Smith. Naughty Boy Blue. children. Only a Working Girl. males. How He (lot Even with His Enemy. For two males. )lrs. Bigson‘s Victory. For one male and one fe- male. For two males. For Mother Home and several For four females and two For three females and two malrs. The Mugwump Sisters. For a numiwr of females. Dolly Madison’s Method. For two males and one female. )Iiss Lighthead in the Country. one female. For one male and The Cruel King. For seven little boys, , The Best Profession of All. Shoddy and Wool, For five males and six females. For four little girls and one grown person. Florence Elton‘s Mistake. female. The Bewitched MUSIC-BOX. For t“ o males. For sale by all newsdealers, or sent post—paid to any address on receipt of price. TEN (‘EXTs BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers. 0‘4 William