I“- Fine Wild West Story: “'GO-WON-GO!” In This Number! P—--—-—~-‘.—- .. 1 ill" llllllllllllllllIllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllluml, llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll“' llllllllllllllllll|llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll l | l lllllllll lllllllllllllllllllllllll' 11“ququ .l l 5:21 '6’ Vol. IX. .-_...—..____..‘ -.._. - .-,.._... Publication Office. 98 William 8L, New York. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY. Copyrighted l89l, By Beadle and Adams. No. 443 -m---.___.-..—. VOICES. BY EBEN E. REXF‘ORI). Whene‘er I hear the organ’s mighty voice It seems to lift my soul, on if on wings To hi her heights, and say to it, “ Rejoide 1" Ant I forget earth‘s low and sordid things. And when i hear the sea make dolorous moan To rocks whose hearts must feel its mighty pain I think of joys and sorrows I have known, , Of what has been, but cannot be again. When children‘s voices echo in the streets 1 think of anch a and of all pure things, And aspiration in my bosom beats With the mute eloquence of fettered wings. Then, out of space I hear a voice that seems An echo wandering since time began, So low, so sweet, that he who listens dreams (if Rest and Heaven—the voice of (End to man. [All Rights of llramatization Reservcdd Go-Won—Go, THE RED-SKIN RIDER; OR, The Moonlight Marauders. A Romance of Living Heroes of To- Day, and Companion Story to “ Red Butterfly.” BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM. CHAPTER I. THE MAD MINER. “ MAD, or feigning madness, Miner Dun Dar- win,if you do not low me to the gold-mine I know you hold the secret of, I swear that to-morrow’s sun shall set upon your grave. So make your decisionl" “ The mine? Yes, it is rich with gold, so rich —Tho sunset! Yes, it is beautiful, so beautiful—— The Grave? Yes, it is dark, so dark!” ‘i“'9urse youl will you betray your secret, or ( 0 And the speaker leveled his revolver full in the face of the one he addressed. It was a strange scene—a robber-camp, night, and in a canyon of the huge Rocky Range. The outlaws were the border bandits, well known as the lied Buzzards of the Overland, and their chief, he who made the deadly threat, was a man of soldiorly appearance, strikin ly handsome as regarded fine features. but with a lurking devil in his eyes that only needed arous- ing to make him a fiend. {is form was tall, athletic and graceful, and he was attired in deep black, wore his hair long and shaded by a sombrero that sat jauntily on his head. When attired for his lawless work he donned a red mask made to represent the head and beak of a buzzard; hence the name the road agents had won along the frontier. His retreat looked like a soldier camp, for he and his men lived in small “ A "tents; his horses Were staked in line, ready for instant use; every saddle and bridle was'in place and military dis- cipline ruled with an iron hand. The one whom he addressed sat at the rustic tablein his tent. He was, in person, of majestic mien, and wore a bandage about his head as though from a wound. His hair and board were tinged with gray, though he was by no means an old man. Some great sorrow had brought the silver threads among his dark locks. ll is face was noble in expreSsion, yet peculiar— ly sad, and in his eyes dwelta strangely-nervous, wandering look that showed lack of concentra- tion of thought. The revolver thrust into his face did not cause the demented miner to move a muscle of his features. He simply placed his elbows u on the table and leant his chin upon his ban 3, n0w seen to be manacled, gazing straight into the muzzle of the revolver held in the firm hand of the Red Buzzard chief. “ Will you give. up your secret, or die, Yan- kee Dan l" again demanded Quantrel, sav- agely. “ The secret is locked here. I do not remem— ber. All is dark here—no light—no memory ” and he touched his forehead in a weary, pathetic wa '. ‘PYou licl you are feigning insanity. I will kill you i” yelled (,luantrel. And he seemed abOut to carr ' out his terrible threat, when suddenly wild yells without were heard, the trampling of hoofs and cracking of rifles and revolvers following. “ My God! that is Buffalo Bill’s war—whoopl The Scout’s League arc upon my camp!” cried (,luantrel, as he dashcd from the tent, leaving the mad mincr alone. The scene that met his razs was a startling one, for, by the glimmer of‘a dozen camp—fires aided by the flashes of rifles and revolvers, he saw that his camp was full of foes. The retreat, in a canyon, with lofty walls of rock on either side, had been invaded from both entrance and exit. Where he had deemed himself wholly safe, Where he had believed no mortal man could find his hiding-place, he had been tracked by the Scouts7 League, the. bold band of Buckskin Trailers from Fort Venture, long miles away. The chief, fearless though a hardened villain, He saw before him, lighting back his followers, indiffer— ent to death and great odds, men whose names stood like one dazed for a full minute. had become historical. The names fell from his lips one by one, as tlufiigh he was calling the roll: I “ Buffalo Bill, Night Hawk Powell, IVild Bill, Jack Crawford, Bony Ernest, Broncho Bill, Texas Jack, 'l‘om Sun and Parson of Miner’s Roost there is that young Indian Rider, Red Butterfly, also, with the Fort Scouts!” cried the outlaw chi f to escape is the thing now l" ' He had stood in the shelter of his tent calmly The scouts had thrown dry brush upon the fires, and the canyon was now watching the scene. lighted up with a red glare. The keen eyes of the chief took in the situa- tion, and he heard his men shouting: “ Quantrel!” “ Chief!” “ Chiefl” But, Quantrel knew that all was lost,_so did not leap to the front, but dashed into his own tent adjoining that of the mad miner. seized from a small chest 9. pair of leather saddle-bags, rushed to where his own and other horses were that infernal Patrol yes, and, by Heaven! 9 . “ To fight these thunderbolts is useless; how staked in the shadow of the canyon cliffs, quick- I 1y severed the ropes of all of. them, threw him— self upon the back of a splendid black, and stampeding the already frightened animals with a wild yell, rushed down upon the fighting band of soldiers who had come up the canyon. He knew better than to attempt to drive over the scouts, few in number though they were. who had so nearly forced their way to his tent. The outlaws, fi hting back the soldiers from cover, gave a Wild cheer as they heard their chief’s cry, and the soldiers broke momentarily under the stampede of the terror - stricken horses. “Mount, men, and follow me!” shouted the chief. A few obeyed, flinging themselves upon the horses as they went by. And away these few dashed down the canyon, while behind them now rushed the viatorious scouts, led by an Indian boy upon a pony that seemed fairly to fly over the rough trail. “ My God! we are lost!” cried one of the Buz« zards, as he saw that a body of soldiers held the narrow pass around the cliff. And death seemed before them, for the can- yon ended abruptly in a cliff overhanging a rock-torn torrent many feet below. In vain did the outlaws strive to check the maddened steeds they bestrode, but no human power could check that wild stampede. Before them was the precipice. Upon their right, guarding the narrow shelf, the only pass, were the soldiers, behind them came the Scouts’ League, Red Butterfly, the Indian Rider of the Overland, in the advance. CHAPTER II. IQUANTREL’S vow. QUANTREL had planned his escape well. He had taken in the situation, that the soldiers had come by the rocky shelf around the cliff, and, once riding over them, he could gain the fastnesses where no man could follow at night. He had stampeded his horses, had driven over the soldiers like an avalanche, but, when tri- umph was seemingly before him, beheld that the cliff shelf of rock was guarded. There stood a line of soldiers that could not be ridden down—a phalanx that could not be taken, while the Buzzards’ horses, mad with terror, were dashing headlong to the de- destruction of themselves and their riders. A volley from the soldiers maddened the animals the more, and another moment would tell the story. It did do so! The cavalcade dashed over the precipice into the rock-broken torrent far be- ow! 1 For none—horse or horseman—was there an atom of hope for escape. _ ' But Quantrel had thought with the rapidity of lightning. He was not a man to die when there was a straw of hope to clin to. That straw, frail though it was, he behel and grasp- at. edHe was on the side furthest from the soldiers, nearest the rocky wall of the narrow canyon cleft. The wall was covered with a growth of scrub trees and vines, clinging in the crevices of the rocks. This was his chance and he took it. He dropped from his horse, sprung to the side of the canyon, and while the eyes of the horrified soldiers were upon the cavalcade dash- ing over to death, he climbed upward to the shelter of a clinging pine and there sat in hiding —treinbling, almost unnerved, but safe. The cold sweat of terror dropped from his face and hands, and every nerve in his body quivered, for never before in life had he looked death so squarely in the face. His escape against such odds it was that un— strung every nerve and sinew, and he could hardly hold on to the tree that sheltered him. He heard the wild shrieks of his Buzzards, the neighing or agony cries of the doomed horses, the plunge into the torrent, the crushing and crunching of bones and flesh upon the ragged rocks below: and, though it was night, he seem- ed to see it all and closcd his eyes to shut out the si ht—yet still he saw. he soldiers stood like men paralyzed, and tho pursuing scouts drew rein ere they reached that awful brink. The outlaw band had been driven to its doom, a terrible doom indeed, and the Death Trackers made the canyon echo with their shouts. \Vithin a few feet of him, the quivering out- law captain saw the invincible chief of the Scouts’ League—Buffalo Bill, and almost at his side paused the mysterious Red-Skin Rider of the Over] nd, a youth who seemingly bore a charmed life. But, in a moment, the Red Rider put spurs to his horse and flew back up the canyon, the others following, and only the soldiers remained to guard the pass. Oh, would they never go? If daylight came and they still remained they would discover the Buzzard in his hiding—place, and again the tremors of a deadly fear came over the lone outlaw—not so much the fear of death itself, but, because to die then meant the end of all his plans of revenge, his hope of a life of lux— ury, with riches untold at his command, in a land where he was not known. Soon up the valley came the clear notes of a bugle sounding a recall, at which the blue-coats from the fort broke into a cheer, and then away they went‘ up the canyon. As the last one disappeared from sight the outlaw chief could hardly restrain himself from uttering a wild shout of joy. But he did keep his lips close—sealed, and slip- ping down from his perch, ran like a deer around the shelf trail, until he found a break in the wall of the cliff into which he darted. He did not stop there, but went on, on, up in- to the higher fastnesses of the big hills until he dropped down from sheer fatigue. Slumber came to him almost at once, and it was long before he awoke. Then he sprung to his feet with a start. The sun had traveled two-thirds its daily run, and it was some minutes before the hunted man could collect his thoughts. . I * - I/ \l i if dd “ By Heaven! there is that young Indian Rider, Red Butterfly, with the Port Scouts!” cried the outlaw chief. I Then came to him the scene of the night in all its horrors. “ Yes, the Red Buzzards are wiped out utter- ly, and 1, Kit Quantrel, their chief, am dead I" broke in a hoarse voice from the outlaw’s lips as he stood there in his hiding—place upon the moun- tain-top. "Yes, I am dead, and I am so set down by Buffalo Bill and his scouts, for did they not see me die? “ They all think they did. Every man of them, the Indian Rider and all, would take oath to it upon the Bible that they saw Quantrel leap to his doom ! “ So be it, and so it pleases me. Kit Qualtrel is dead, yes, but I am left to avenge him!” And the outlaw laughed grimly at his own con- ceit of avenging himself. Without food, or blanket, or horse, and alone —-with only a revolver in his belt, he was in a sad plight in tlmse lonely wilds. He had lost the saddle-bags he had taken from the tent, for they had gone over the precipice with the horse he rode; but in that supreme mo- ment he had not thought of the small fortune they held. Life remained! That was enough. But he was not wholly penniless and helpless, for he took from beneath his hunting-jacket a belt of buckskin which seemed heavy. “ This is my fortune now. A paltry few hun- dreds in gold, and my life, to start anew with: “ What better foundation need I have? “Now to see if those human coyotes have left a morsel of food, or stray horse, or blanket, or anything behind save graves or the unburied corses of my Buzzards.” He made his way along the ridge for several miles, wcnding his steps as though he knew the ground, and at last came to a point that looked down upon his camp. All was desolation there, and a few coyotes clawing at some new-made graves told him that the foe had gone. i xUp in the canyon he beheld, to his joy, a horse feeding, saddled and bridled! “Some isoldier’s horse that escaped him,” he said gleefully, and he made his way down into the canyon, captured the horse, found a haver- sack of provisions, n carbine and blankets strap- ped to the saddle and cried aloud: “ I’m in luck once more! this horse is the fore- runner of a new fortune! “ These are the graves of my brave men, and above them I vow to avenge myself upon those who have robbed me of men and gold and life—— ha-hal of life I" And mounting, as the shadows began to deep- en into twilight, the outlaw chief started upon his trail for new life and vengeance! CHAPTER III. BACK FRoM THE PAST. IN an elegant home of the great City of New York, dwelt a woman whose beauty of face and form, whose accomplishments and riches made her a belle even in the metropolis so crowded with beautiful women. She was dressing for a grand ball at the Academy of Music,where her name was upon the list of “Lady Managers,” and upon er lovely face rested a. look of half-anger, half- worry. The cause was that her superb dress had not come home complete from the modiste’s, and her maid had been dispatched at once in the madam’s coupé to fetch it. The home of the modiste was far away, and an hour must elapse ere the maid could return, if not longer, and madam had given herself just so long to make her toilet and not be late. _ Her home was in the upper part of the—city, with extensive grounds about it for the metrop- olis, where land was valued by the square inch, and her suite of rooms overlooked the Hudson River. It was a perfect moonlight night, and with her wrapper thrown on while waiting, the lady had walked to the window and stood gazing out up- on the scene that was so beautiful under a full May moon. Up to the shore where her grounds touched the river, ran a sail-boat, and a man sprung out and advanced toward the mansion. The lady was surprised, and watched his movements with interest. He ascended the steps to the front door, and she waited for the servant to soon come with a message for her, as her husband was to meet her in the city, where she was to stop for him at his club on her way to the ball. A low knock came at the door, and in answer to her res onse to enter, she beheld a tall form, with heaVily-bearded face and the air of a gen- tleman. - It was the one whom she had seen land from the sail-boat. A n exclamation of fear and indignation sprung to her lips, and she said: “ Sir, who are you that you dare intrude here into my presence?” “ Don’t get dramatic, Lucitas, at sight of your brother, so long parted from you,” was the an- swer, and turning the key in the door, he threw himself into any easy-chair. The woman gave a start, and exclaimed: “ No, you are no brother of mine, Frank Courtney, for—” “ ’Shl don’t breathe my name so loud, for do you not know that there is a market price on my head, or rather neck?” “I know that you are a fugitive from justice ay, from the gallows— God for ive me, but I had almost hoped that you were ead.” “ No such luck—for you, sister minel No, I am alive and enjoying perfect health, but my pocket just now is about empty, so I came to you to get money.” “ Frank Courtney, ou forfeited all claim up- on me when you dis onored your name, years ago. “ Fool that I was, 1 sacrificed myself to please you—yes, and my parents. “ I was literally sold to the man whose name i hear and who knew that he bought me, for I told him I did not love him and never could learn to do so, and yet he took me upon those terms. “ My poor, misguided parents are dead now, and you, my wicked brother, wear the brand of Cain upon your brow. I helped you, gave you gold, and hoped to redeem you from your sinful life; but in vain, for you only went the more rapidly to your ruin, and I behaved and hoped you would never cross my path again. “ Yet now you reappear, and come to ask for money.” The woman spoke in a low, earnest tone that showed how deeply she was moved by the pres- ence of the man before her, in whose veins flow- ed her kindred blood. He was not touched by her words, but in- stead, laughed in a sneei‘ing way as he replied: “I did not expect to worry on again nor dis- grace you with my presence, ucita, for I have beenndoing well, financially, in a land far from this. “I am glad to hear this at least, for I wish you no harm, Frank, that you well know.” “ But, sister mine, financial reverses overtook me. I lost all my earnings except enough to live on until I could grow a full beard and ven- ture here to see you. ’ “ You gambled your money away.” “ Oh, no; I got my money in a more exciting way than winnin at the card-table, for I won it on the Overland rails and in the gold-mines by a ‘Stand and Deliver’ game that raked me in the Shekels in quantity.” “A highwayman—you?” “ IVe call gentlemen of m profession out on the frontier, road-agents—to l-takers—not high- waymen.” “But robbers and murderers all the same.” “ Oh, yes, certainly; that is one of the little peculiarities of the profession, you know.” “And so you dishonor your name by being all that is so Wicked and detestable?” “ Oh, no, for I am not knou n as Frank Court- ney, Lucita, but as Kit Quanti‘el, chief of the Red Buzzards of the Overland, of whom you may have heard.” “ Alas, yes: and of him only that which is most sinful and cruel.” “I killed a man who, when dying, told me his name was Kit Quantrel, and left me his heir, though unwillingly, I admit. " I liked his name and adopted it, and so no one knows that I am Frank Courtiie , any more than they know you, Mrs. Baxter illin ham, as the sister of Frank Courtney,:the{forger,,card— sharp and murderer, alias Kit Quantrel, chief of the Red Buzzards. “ But my enemies wiped out my band of fol- lOivers completely,land as they supposed ,:had also killed their chief, so Kit Quantrel being to all intents and purposes dead, I shall adopt an- other name now. “ But, to the point of my story: I came here for gold, Lucita.” “ You will get none from me, sir.” “ 'Won’t I?” “ You will not; and more: I wish to know how you gained entrance to my home?” “ “'ell, to be frank with you, sister mine, you discharged a trusted servant some weeks ago for drunkenness. It was I who drugged him, and so led him astray. But you got another butler, who is in my pay, so he let me in to-night, and he goes with me when I go, of course. “Now eed money, and if you will give me what I ask, never again will I come to you more, and I will never cross your path in life, I prom- ise you. “ I have a scheme on hand to kidnap a West- ern miner, now in an asylum, and if I do, then I believe 1 shall come in possession of a gold-mine that will make me a millionaire over and over again—a veritable bonanza kin . “ But I have not fift dollars now to my name, and it will take t ousands to carry out my plot, so I must have the money. This is the ‘ , A l ‘r‘ F'-’ ' amt-.54: .