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the figure of a woman, with long, dark hair
floating in waves about her shoulders as she
sped away.

Reginald was released from the horrible
charm, and. with an indescribable feeling of
dread, he turned and fled front the spot.

Meg Semper gazed after the female figure,
and if she had had teeth, they would have
been pulverized in the fierce working of the
mouth, as she muttered:

“ 13y Satani I thought the girl was safe at
home. llow‘d she get on my heels so quick,
eh? She said last night she'd prevent my do-
ing it. if she could. She watches me close.
(mly for the 'curst Talisman I'd had his life.
And I will have his life—if he's in the house,
or on the street, or anywhere. It’s my oath!

hit now there‘s only two left. Ila! h—al
only two more! And when they're gone, then
~-ha! ha! ha! he must die, anyhow! Noth-
ing can save him.” ’

And with this, she recovered her basket
and moved away.

This oecurretu-e, this miraculous escape
from a death that seemed inevitable, increas-
ed the fog of mystery which hazcd and per-
plexed the young man’s mind.

Why was the bag so persistent in her re-
solve to take his: life? He had neVer done
her injury—never saw her until the night
previous. Ay, and through what interven-
tion had he been preserved on these two ocs
casions, when the fiend, with murder in her
eyes and a deadly blade in her hand. was so
near accomplishing her dire purpose?

Thus trained the thoughts and questionsin
his mind as he slackcncd his gait to a slow,
meditative walk.

0n neither occasion had be seen the Talis-
man; so oblivious had his senses been to all
save the shudderng realization of a pending
doom and sight of the hideous being who
would mete out that doom.

“Hello, Rex! Ilow d’you do?"

Reginald looked up. He stood before the
identical gambling-saloon in which he had
spent several hoursthe night before.

Two acquaintances stood near the steps;
one of these had saluted him.

Ile hesitated. Then, fired by a reckless re-
solve. hc hurried past the two men, merely
nodding, and entered the establishment.

The general saloon was closed—being only
thrown open to votaries of the “l‘lgyptian
King” at night—but to a partially private
room he continued on, and soon stood amid a
blaze of light reflected from prism hung
chandeliers, for the room was kept darkened
to screen the interior from prying eyes on the
opposite side of the street.

Seated at a large table in the center of the
saloon were a few flashily-attired “bloods,”
who simultaneously greeted him.

“Who is playing?" asked Reginald,
bluntly.

“Cards?” interrogated the superinten-
dent.

“Yes, cards.”

And he added, to the others:

“Who plays? Come, gentlemen, I have
money to lose, or, perhaps, luck to win.”

“ \Vho will playf—somc one?” urged the
superintendent.

His challenge met no answer. No one
there cared to venture a 'game with him; he
was too well known as an adept.

Reginald tossed doWn the pack of cards
that had been handed him, and withdrew to
one of the curtained alcoves that lined the
side (of the room.

He had scarce sought this retirement,
when the door again opened and a stranger
appeared.

An old man of about sixty, with a frosty
mustache, that. drooped in twirls, and heavy
whiskers of a like color; of sallow com-
plexion, and wearing green spectacles. His
garments were tight pants, buckle—gaiters,
loose vest, gray frock coat with tight-fitting
sleeves, that gave his arms a very thin ap-
pearance. His hat was a very large, broad-
brimmed, black slouch, which, as he held it
in his hand, and seemed to bend with the
weight of years, touched his ankles.

“Day, gentlemen,” said this personage.
“Are you playing?”

“Hey, old mustachios!" bawled a young
sprig, whose brain was tipsy in the contents
of his stomach; “I say (hic!) you ain’t goin’
to play?" .

For which the superintendent tapped him
on the shoulder, and said:

“ Hold your tongue, or I’ll kick you down-
stairs!"

Then he addressed the new—comer:

“ How will you play, sir? You are a stran—
ger here. I see.”

"' Yes," in a peculiar. bland voice, a
stranger, but my ‘papers’ are not fresh. Two
at cards, if you please."

“Yes, sir. Who plays? Two at cards.
lVill any play?”

The curtains of the nearest alcove were
thrust aside, and Reginald Darnley an
swercd:

" I playi"

The old man’s eyes gleamed strangely be-
hind the spectacles as Reginald presented
himself.

Both parties were soon seated at the game.

“ \Vine!” called the young man after gath-
ering in the first stakes.

An eager group intently watched the
players.

Reginald’s aptness to trick an opponent
was well known. The young man's antago-
nist was a stranger. \Vonld the latter soon
see with whom he had to deal, and back out?

They smiled as Reginald swept in his first
winnings; they smiled again when the second
stake followed the first.

They played for five dollars.
was raised to ten; then to twenty.

“ Do that again, sir, and I’ll throw up my
hand,” remarked the old man, in his low,
mild voice.

Reginald hit his lip. He had been detected
in a favorite pieCc of cheatery.

“ Ah, youngr man, you play exceedingly
well. You have won two hundred dollars
from tne. But I am not discouraged. Shall
we double?"

“Triple, if you like!” was the warm an-
swer.

The wine and the game gradually con-
sumed Reginald in excitement. .

The old man was cool and calm as an
autumn breeze, with its slight crispness and
easy vibration.

The lookcrs~on increased. Finally, there
was no other game in progress in the room.

‘6

Soon this

 

CHAPTER V.
IN THE SNARE.
I will know the worst and leave the
wind
To drift or drown the venture on the wave.”

“ Oh, what a. weight is in these shadesl”
——Wonnswonrr{.

H Well,

11‘ was the morn of the day succeeding the
night of storm.

In the suburbs of the city. nestling in a
vernal grove that echoed with the euro] of
birdling vocalists, was a cottage, whose
Gothic: windows pccpcd from beneath a
purple screen of Wisteria.

Surrounding the house was an extensive
garden, whose varied hues of bloom were
glistening in the crystal damp of the recent
rain.

It was the residence of Lacy Bernard, a
retired merchant, who sought the fairy re-
treat to pass his wintering years in
quiesude, with a fond Wife and beautiful
child. This child was Cecilia—a blonde of
houri-like fonn, hair of shimmering gold,
face to vie the beauty of the bright, “ pro-
verbial rose,” and deep blue eyes that.
danced like the ripple of a lake beneath a
silver moon. '

At the moment, Cecilia was walking in the
miniature Iiden of her home, arm in arm with
a tall, handsome young man, whose complex-
ion and manner at once betrayedthat he was
a Northerner:

Their conversation was of the flowers——
what language more beautiful?——and his
many gallant speeches seemed of tuore than
passing import, for, anon, the checks of his
fair companion crimsoned at his words, like
timid clouds that hover near the half-open
portals of Aurora.

“Miss Bernard, you must feel ineffably
happy in your lovely surroundings."

“ Perhaps,” she returned, absently. “You
know one’s inward self is not always happy,
no matter what the surroundings.” '

“Then you are not happy?”

“\Vhy do you ask? You have changed
the subject of our conversation rather
abruptly.”

“ Your words imply that there is a some-
thing within you not to be rested by the
gorgeous picture that here abounds. There
is a cloud; you cannot deny it. “rould I
had the power to dispel that cloud.”

Looking up into his face, she detected
him in a fixed, ardent gaze upon the golden
tresses at his shoulder. Quickly averting
her eyes, she said:

“ You draw too abrupt an inference.”

The evasive words Were lost upon him.

“Your hand trembles on my arm—Ce-
cilia.”

“ Trembles—”

“ch. Iamsatisfied now. Come—I have
fixed my resolve: listen—” '

“Let us return to the house, Mr. \Va'ld-
ron.”

“ And disappoint the birds that sing now,
for your special pleasure? How ungeuerous
that would be! Here is a seat. Sit down; I
eg.’

She yielded to his request, though seeming
anxious to avoid what was pending. She
knew what was eager to escape his lips,
knew that he would whisper words of love
and devotion; the quick perception of a cul-
tivated mind had discovered this. ,

“Miss Bernard——(‘ecilia,” he Said, present-
ly, “ it’s now over six months since I became
a visitor at your father’s house. During that
time. I have learned to love you. It is of
that love I would speak.”

“Your love, Mr. \Valdron‘?" with a slight
start, and voice not so even as it might have
been. '

“ Yes,” he interrupted, fervently. “ Now,
will you not let me' plead this love? My
every hope is centered—”

“ Hush!” her voice low, and manner that
of one ill at ease—“do not speak of this, Mr.
\Valdron—do not.”

“ Nay, listen, while 1 tell you how dear;
you are to me; while I tell you what life
will be to me without you—-——”

“No, no, no; ceasc. I cannot—I have no
right to listen!”

Their gaze was one; their eyes volumcd
that sweet, subtle power which links hearts
in a bond of mutual affection.

But there was an unrest in her glance;
something marred the pleasure of her
thoughts.

Then, yielding to the warmth that swelled
each fiber of her system, she pillowed her
head upon his breast.

“Let me know my fate, darling. But why
should I ask?—I‘see you are already mine—-
speak; am I right?"

“l—I do love——oh! no, no; what am I
saying? ,I must not love you.” -

“Must not! In Heaven’s nameI—have I
asked too late for that which I so fondly
hoped to call my own? ['nsay those words,
Cecilia.”

“ No—no; I must not love—and yet——”

“Ah, yet?”

“ I do love you, for my heart will have it

I"

y—d
ya

so.

IIer words were quick, short-breathed; the
luster of her eyes was dimmed; there was a
sob in her voice, which only a painful effort
could restrain.

In a passionate impulse, he drew her un-
resisting form closer to him, and felt the fair
frame quiver in his embrace.

Quickly, however, she disengaged herself,
as if ashamed of the part she had acted, and
started to her feet.

“I forgot myself!” she exclaimed, in con-
fusion. “Let us retire to the house at
once.”

“No, not forgotten yourself, but told me
that I have won your heart. I am not fully
answered yet. Your band now, (‘ecrlia—
will you give it, also?"

“ Do not press this subject, Mr. 'Waldron.
Come; please return to the house.”

“ Will you not give me a definite answer?“
he persisted. mildly.

“ You are cruel. I have begng you to
desist.”

As they retraCed their steps along the.
gravel path. he asked:

“ Why do you evade me in this, Cecilia?"

“ Because it is my duty.”

“Duty? \Vhy, if your heart is given, do
you refuse the answer which I believe is just-
ly due? \Vill you tell me this?”

“ No.” The reply Was low, but firm.

“ \Vill you not confide in me? Tell me
why, how you love, and will not plight a
lover’s troth.” .

“ l have nothing to confide, Mr. “’aldrou."

“But you love me?"

“Yes,” was the soft. impulsive answer,
and the weight on his arm grew heavier.

A thrill of joy passed over him; but it was
doomed to an abrupt dispellment, for she
added:

“It must end there. Iam wrong in ad-
mitting it, and you must forget it. I can
never be your wife."

For a second he was dumb.

“ Love me as you do!" he exclaimed; “and
cannot, will not be my wife? In the name
of Heavenl—what mystery is this?"

“Mr. W'aldron—cease—show mercy. Do
not rend my heart by continuing this conver-
sation."

“But, tell me what you mean. Will you

 

not give me a hope?"

“ I cannot! I cannot!”

lie was silent. How strange it seemed to
him, that he could possess the fair girl‘s love,
hear her, in unmistakable syllables. declare a
reciprocation of his affection, yet hear of an
impediment to their marriage.

What mysterious power limited the heart
and action to attest a love, while it com-
pelled the lips to utter impossibility of holy
unison.

When they reached the steps leading to
the vine-clad porch, she would have retained
his arm; but be halted.

“ Cecilia, I must bid you good-day ”

“ So soon?”-—quickly, and surprised.

“I have already stayed too long. Pleas-
ant dreams by day and night, until we meet
again,” though his voice was broken, dis-
pirited.

She must have seen how keen his disap-
pointment; she must have felt anxious, for
she detained him, to say, while she looked
yearningly 11p into his face:

“ IIarry, we part friends. do We not?
You will come again—soon? Oh! if; you.
did but know how terrible it is for me to
learn your love, to return that love, yet be
unable to bestow my haudl—you are not
angry ‘I” '

“ I cannot so far forget that I am a gentle-
man, Cecilia.”

An emotion worked within his breast as he
listened to her words—so full of love and yet
so wounding. Ilis lips moved, as if to plead
anew the cause which seemed hopeless; he
would have clasped her to him. But, with a
mighty cfl'ort, he refrained.

Another parting word, a bow that was dis-
taut, even icy, and he departed.

A few steps, and he looked back. She
stood where he had left her, her face buried
in her hands, and a lowsobbing reached his
cars.

Should he return? Irresolute,'he paused;
the next instant he passed on, out at the rose-
twined gate.

Cecilia stood, for a long time, solitary and
weeping.

From the interchange of loving words, the
soft sigh, the fond caress, the magnet touch
of lip to lip—from these we know that her
heart was given to Henry Waldron. Given
wholly? \Yait.

then the tear-dimmed eyes had partially
regained their former luster, and the heaving
bosom was schooled to cease its throbbing,
she glanced toward the gate, half-expecting
to see him lingering there, waiting for a sign,
a murmured “ come," that would recall him.
But he was gone.

Slowly, sadly she turned from the spot and
entered the house. .

Alone in the privacy of her room, the an-
guish of a fettered spirit asserted itself.

She advanced to a small casket on a table
near her bedside, and drew forth two da-
guerreotypes. As she gazed upon them, her
sobbing grew more violent. ,

“ Oh, God!” she moaned, “tell me my
own heart. Tell me~tell me, which of
these do I love best?” They fell from her
hand, and, sinking back upon her bed, she
buried her face in the downy pillow, as if
to shut from her vision that which caused
her misery.

The two pictures were Henry Waldron
and Reginald Darnley—the latter her affl-
anced; though she knew not the true char
acter of the man to whom her hand was
pledged. .

Her heart leaned equally toward each—~she
loved both \Valdron and Darnley in that
depth of Heaven-wrought passion alone con-
sonant with the fervor of a pure, guileless
woman. And this her misery: knowing that
she loved one as the other—perhaps Darnlcy
a little less than when she had given him a
lover’s promise. '

At the dinner-hour, Lacy Bernard and his
wife missed the sunny presence of their
child.

A servant was dispatched upstairs, who
returned with the information that Cecilia
felt unwell.

Mrs. Bernard sought her daughter. She
saw that the rosy tinge was gone from her
cheeks, knew she was not well. ‘

Ceciliawould not speak her secret.

A mother’s caresses were not sufficient
medicine for a torn and aching heart, such
as hers; it was a yearning for— she could not
say what—perhaps a liberation from her
vows to Reginald Darnley‘! And how could
even that benefit her? The (choice would be
to be made again.

She knew their love was great, she knew
she loved both in the same throbbing of her
heart. Even the sweet commune of prayer
served but to increase her knowledge of the
wrong spirit which ruled her, despite her
efforts to decide and be at. rest.

The gentle whisper of her mother's voice
seemed a mockery; the birds that caroled in
the foliage near the house seemed to sing the
louder, as if rejoiced at her unhappiness; not
a perfumed breeze rufiled the curtains at her
window but what contained a murmur of de-
rision. . '

The day wore on.

A new choir joined in the melody that had
enlivened the golden day; enchanting vespers
arose from the green depths of the garden
bower without, as evening gradually drew
its mantle on the skies. , .

Alone, lying there upon her bed, half-
asleep, yet awake to the surrounding changes
and the cadent air of approaching night, Ce-
cilia remained.

Beyond a far woodland, rich with the ver-
durous canopies of summer growth, the sun
shimmeer its parting rays upon the cottage
home, when Cecilia aroused from her wake-
ful dreams.

Her features were calmer; but a glance at
her mirror told how marked were the effects
of that day’s agony.

. Mechanically she arranged her toilet; the
tea—bell was tinkling in the lower.hall.

There was arap at her door. A note was
hangied her. Tearing open the envelope, she
rea :

“ DEAR CEctLIAz—

“ I'nlooked for circumstances have arisen.
which compel me to leave town atouce.
am so busied, I have. not time to call upon
you. But I would see you before] go. If
you can—come. Follow the bearer of this
note, who will conduct you to me. I am not
at. home. REGINALD."

This was strange! How unlike Reginald’s
way of wording a note did this onéseem; but
the handwriting was certainly his. Then she
read it. again.

“I must go. I must see him,” she mur-
mured. after a. spell of thought; and address-
ing the servant: “Tell the bearer of the note
I will come directly."

Love is strong. Despite the singularity of
the request. and the fact of its being worded
so unlike those she had received from him,

 

often, there was a charm in the name of the

man she loved, which prompted her to grant
the writer’s wish.

I‘Iastily throwing a shawl over her shoul-
ders, and snatching up her hat, she descend-
ed to the hall.

The man she saw was Nemil.

He was Well-dreSSed; deported himself
with all the politeness of his rough, wild
nature.

“Did you bring the note ‘2” she asked, the
African’s visage causing her a feeling of dis-
trust.

“Yes,” he answered, briefly.
Darnley sent me. Go?”

She hesitated.

“ Go?” repeated Nemil.

“ Yes; lead on. Is it far?”

“ Not far.”

Mr. and Mrs. Bernard were at tea, and, un-
noticed, the two left the house.

‘ Twilight was deepening ; already dark
shadows were settling in the streets.

She scanned her conductor‘s face. er-
haps its fierce mold forced suspicions in her
mind. “'hy should Reginald employ such
a person, when there were familiar servants
at his house? But the note said he was not
at home—she had momentarily forgotten
this.

“ How much further ‘3” she questioned, as
they hurried through several remote streets,
and night was upon them.

“ Not far,” was the blunt answer.

Her heart fluttered. \Vhere could he be
leading her? '

“ Turn back! Turn back!” whispered a
voice within her.

She slackened her steps — would have
paused, irrcsolutc.

"Come on. ’Most there,” paid the Afri-
can.

A few more blocks were gone over; still
that inward voice cried:

“ Turn back! Turn back!"

It was now fully dark. The street-lamps
were casting their first faint glimmer on the
pavements.

Cecilia stopped short. AconvictiOn that
all was not right now fixed upon her.

“ See,” urged emil; “only one square
more. There’s the house.”

She saw a large, gloomy structure looming
up in the darkness ahead.

Again her thought of Reginald conquered
her doubts.

“ He's waiting there,” added Nemil, per-
suasively; but his eyes were aglow with a
fiendish light.

She started forward with her guide; and
again came the whispering voice:

“ Turn back! Turn back!” ‘
The mysterious warning was in vain. The
house was reached. ‘
“Enter!” he said, as some one sWung open
the door. in answer to his pull at the bell.
She obeyed, and found herself in a large
hall, where evidences of wealth glittered on
every side.

Nemil stepped quickly in after her, and as
he shut and locked the door, he placed his
back against it, while a low, guttural, savage
laugh issued from his thick lips.

Before Cecilia, her radiant charms dazzli
in their show, stood Orle Delogs "  " ‘ ‘
orbs ,of the beauty flashed a fire 6 ' . ' ’
contemplated her entrapped rival.

(To be continued—commenced in No. 597.)
The King-Pm Sport;
on,

The Missing Miner’s Double
Claimants.

“ Reginald

 
 

 
   

 

ng.
1;.

 

 

 

BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR.

CHAPTER XII.
TEX-STRIKE TOM nor-mar sunrmsnn.

THEIR nerve entirely wasted, both knaves
begged for mercy most sincerely, and though
Ten-Strike Tom made no immediate conces'
sion, it need hardly be said that he had no
real intention of punishing the rascals with
such severity.

“ Well, I’ll not waste good cartridges on
such worthless game,” he said, presently,
pushing the two men closer to the heels of
the burro, then taking up some of the slack
in the trail-rope thus obtained, and with it
forming a double-hitch around the donkey‘s‘
tail, close up. .

_ “ Keep your lips buttoned, now. my
whelps, unless you want to call out all the
hoodlums of Leadville. If they should see
two necks, with as many nooses ready fitted
——-up a tree you’d surely go!”

Leading the burro, Ten-Strike Tom moved
onward once more. avoiding such streets as
were more numerously lighted up. yet strik-
in g for a populous portion of the town when
daylight reigned.

When satisfied with the position won, he
called a halt, securely hitching the burro to
a post, then passng all over in final inspec-
tion before addressing those crestfallen
knaves:

“You can wait here in silence, whelps,
until something turns up, or. if you reckon
that will bring sweeter good luck, just lift
your voices in a melancholy howl for aid and
comfort in distress!

“Maybe I’ll drop around this way in the
morning, to see how you’ve been enjoying
yourselves. but don’t look for me until you
see me coming. Now—pleasant dreams, my
blessed twins!” »

Without further 100k at or care for the
discomfited rascals, Ten~Strike Tom turned
away, striding briskly along through the
night, making no halt until he had gained
the hotel where he had engaged a room for
the term of his stay in Leadville.

Passing through 'the office and up to his
chamber without speaking or being spoken
to. the King-Pin Sport sunk down on the
edge of his narrow bed, hands supporting
chin as he stared-with unsceing eyes at his
dimly burning lamp.

Thus for a few minutes, then rousing with
a start, giving himself a shake like one striv-
ing to cast off unwelcome thoughts before
seeking repose under the blankets.

If this was his hope, Thomas Gayworthy
made anything but a success of it, for he lay
for at least an hour therein the dark, run-
ning over in his too busy brain the events of
the night; the coming of those two claim-
ants, each one vowing that he had the sole
right to the name of H. K. Jones; the squab-
ble which followed, cut short by the reeling
entrance of the bleeding stranger; his vain
hunt for the slayer, his search of that stifled
ing corpse, and the finding of that bit of
soiled paper, where water and blood com-
bined had obliterated nearly everything.

 

He saw again these incomplete words:

.a slow grinwidened his mouth
f oblige but cleanly hand to’

“ —son Bar—," and mentally wondered if
they stood for “ Anson Barbour,” or if those
other two initials had aught to do with the
living (or dead) H. K. Jones?” I

Finally, falling,r to solve the perplexing
puzzle to anything like his own satisfacttrm,
Thomos Gayworthy resolutely banished all
such annoying thoughts, and presently fell
into a sound and healthy slumber. .

Although he had lost the biggest portion
of the night, so far as sleep was concerned,
Ten-Strike Tom was afoot bright and early
in the morning, and only pausing in night
attire long enough to give that red-dyed
scrap of paper a. searching inspection in
faint hopes of making some mpre complete
discovery by the light of day, he clothed him-
self and took a precautionary look at his pis-
tols before leaving his chamber.

“ Begins to look as though this search for
a missing man was going to merge into some-
thing heap morc exciting,” he grimly mut—
tered to himself while thus engaged. “\Vas
that poor fellow II. K. Jones. or was it H. K.
Jones who riddled lfim with lead ?”

That was one of the fresh points which had
sprung up so unexpectedly in the path he had
entered purely for friendship‘s sake. and Ten-
Strike Tom felt that he would be making an
important point in the game he was playing
if he could satisfactorily solve that doubt.

“From the few words he let fall before
crossing the range, either one might be cor-
rect: now—how to find out, for dead sure?"
It was yet too early for regular breakfast
at the hotel, and the King-Pin Sport left that
building, turning down arrison avenue and
making the best of his way to asmall but.
fairly neat restaurant, or chop—house, where
he had in times gone by more than once se-
cured a quickly-served broil, such as he now
ordered. . ‘

While waiting to be served, as well as serv-
ing his appetite, Gayworthy let his brain
work busily on, and when through with his
steak, he had at least a portion of his pro-
gramme marked out for the morning.
Walking at his best pace, it. did not take
very long to carry the handsome Sport over
the distance lying between the chop-house
and the establishment run by Pop-eyed
Moses.

There was little stir and no bustle at all
visible about that building when those keen
eyes first caught sight of the Good Luck
Saloon, but Ten-Strike Tom had disc0unted
this in advance.

It would take rather more than one “ corpse
for breakfast ” to materially disturb the
mining-camp routine, and. after all, Lead.
ville was but little more than that, though
on so large a scale. ~

Thomas Gayworthy slackened pace as his
foremost foot struck the Good Luck thresh-
old, for his keen glance told him that no
human body cumbered that lunch-counter.

Pop-eyed Moses was the sole occupant of
his place, looking a trifle more sleepy than’

'usual as he waited for his day-clerk to come

from breakfast to relieve him on duty back
of the bar. .

But the saloon-keeper was wide enough .
awake to instantly recognize this visitor, and

tended by the King-Pin Sport. , .

“Not any, hanks,”ne atived Gayworthy,
as Moses reached toward; decanters. “ I’m
wearing the blue ribbon,"‘now, pardner. until
I’ve cleared up a bit of a job I’ve undertaken
for a particular friend. And—what has be-
come of the corpus, Mo'ses?” _ ,

“A friend done come and tuck it fer better
keering, ye see," slowly explained the saloon-
keeper, one hand rising to rub his chin as
though its owner hardly knew how his in-
formation vvould be received.

“ What friend; '2 Do you know him,
Moses?"

Ten-Strike Tom spoke quietly enough, but
there was an unusually brilliant gleam in his
jetty eyes as he put the question, for—surely
one portion of that perplexing puzzle was
about to be solved!

Unless that friend was also playing a
part!

There was just time enough for_ this dis-
agreeable suspicion to find birth before the
slow-speaking MOSes made reply, but then
the doubt vanished as quickly.

“_ Know him like a book, boss! He’s
called Jason Dogood. S‘ort o’ miner, when
he wants a stake, an’ mostly prospector when
he kin ’ford it.” '

“ Straight goods, is he?”

“ Straight as a string with a weight on both
ends—yes! I‘d go my last dollar on Jason
Dogood, fer—”

“Stiddy, thar! Talk of 9. angel, nn’ you’ll
smell sulphire, Moses 0’ the bug-out peepers!”
came a shrill, peculiar voice from the front
of the Good Luck, and then the broad, burly
figure of a genial-eyed, rough-clad man dark-
ened the entrance

“ Which right thar he be, now!” ejaculated
Pop—eyed Moses, with considerably more ani-
mation than he was accustomed to exhibit so
early in the. morning. "Come in, Dogood!
Hyar’s a gent what— You say it, boss, fer
m clappcr‘s gittin’ too mighty tired!"

As he spoke, Pop—eyed Moses waved his
hands to serve as introduction, but this cere-
mony was hardly necessary.

The new-comer promptly advanced, ex-
tending a hand with a frank smile to back it
up as he spoke: , .

“ I know Ten-Strike Tom, even if he don’t
know me, so~put it right thar, fer ninety
days, sir! I’m Jase Dogood, an’ I try my
level not to clean disgrace the last name-—

veg") v

Dogood, and particularly so just now. For
—-Moses tells me you found a friend of yours
here, last night?”

That smile faded away, and a troubled
frown took its place.

“ Not so much a friend, sir, as the son of a
friend,” he made reply, all trace of levity
leaving his tones. “ Moses told me what you
did, or what you tried to do. ruther, an’ that’s
one reason why I come back this mornin‘; to
git onto your trail, to thankee fer the lad’s
mother.” ‘

“ I need no thanks. sir, but—may I ask
the name of your young friend?" gravely in-
quired the King~Pin SpOrt.

“ Why not? I never bed so mighty much
truck with him, butI knowed his folks right
smart, an’ his mother—oh, yes! ‘ The lad was
called Corse Payson. an’ his mother—Widder
Payson, now—she keeps a reel scrumptious
boardin’-house in Denver, whar I’ve— Eh ‘2”

For Ten-Strike Torn gave an abrupt start
and a halfssmothered exclamation at that last
name, and though he spoke evenly enough,
there was an unusual glow in his dark'eyes

number of that boarding-house
How well he remembered it, then! In a
secret pocket right; above his heart meted a

 

neatly folded letter, signed “Fanny Bar-

 

 

 

 

 

 



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