l

.\; 1’,

 

 

 

 

guns, two Companies of infantry, mounted
. air, and three troops of cavalry, and they air;
 in camp, waiting to move on time for the
pass which all of a hundred redskins are
. guarding.
, "Captain Lomax understands the situa-
 tion exactly, sir, and says there will be no
‘ ‘_ mistake.”
~ ‘ LUCII was the terse and encouraw' l" x
of Ben Brand. bu a “part
~ The command got ready to move, while
Buffalo Bill rode on ahead to report the situa-
tion at once to (‘olonel Miles.

(‘liAl’TElt XLI.
1m: viviiiciciiun \VARNINH.

 , 11‘ will be well now to explain what Buf-

‘. fllo Bill had not made known to Colonel

g  Miles. or to Major Aubrey—«that is, what he

had discovered upon the (‘olorado lichr, or

 wh he was on the trail between Fort Flag

v, « an \‘VW, and thus had discovered the
  presence of the Indians there, in force.

 _ The reader will recall that Buffalo Bill,

1, after passing through the cavern and then

down the narrow canyon into which he en-

:ff vtered, came to a warning that could be in-

' ' tended for no other than himself.

He argued at once that there was good

{reason for his not going further, from the

_ stand olnt of the one who gave him the
warn ng, but from his own view of the mat-

; tor the warning not to go on was just why he
should do so.

Again he thought that the Specter Horse-
woman, whom he and Kit Kirby had followed
to the cavern, was the one who had warned
him, in spite of saving his life, and his broth-
cr scout’s, a short while before, by making
the cavalry horse fast with her white lasso.

Having done this, she had doubtless sped
on to escape detection, expecting them to
follow, and had stuck up her warning, while
she wentvon to some point from which she

_ could command a view of the soldiers on the
i  ‘ cliff, and knew what they intended to do.

If she had seen them ride away, the scout
argued, she would not expect him to follow,
supposin she had seen him go with the sol.
diers,‘an therefore that he would be safe in
pursuing the trail.

Having made up his mind to do so, he
turned to his left down the canyon, riding
slowly, and his eyes searching every rock
and bush ahead.

The warning had said “ turn to the right;”

i but that was not the direction he wished to
, go, and Was the very reason why he wanted

1
l

l
E
i
l
x
l

to go the forbidden way.
. V To the right would lead him to the trail
; ‘ ,‘they had taken to the river, while to the left
g would doubtless lead “him in trailing the
 - mystery he was risking his life, he well
.; . knew, in an effort to solve. »
3 ~ But Buffalo Bill was a man of undauntcd
,i ' nerve and indomitable will, and having made
i up his mind to accomplish an object that was
"’ fifflifiCWOl‘tlly, nothing but death could check
3. in.
: He had decided to know who that S 'ectcr
. Woman on the White Horse was, an thus
‘ solvelier motive for sweeping through th
slam late 1, heat from 
try a ,v. v. “‘  ’-

tthe Indians were

too; but then, her good deeds had been de‘

stroyed by the shot at Major Randolph Court-

. ., hey, if she had been the one who fired it.

' Buffalo Bill had also made up his mind
that llerbert Alvey had not .killed Lieutenant
Varnuin, and he was going to get at the
truth of that, too.

The most damning evidence against the
scout in his mind, was the fact that he had
made his escape, takin r an advantage of an
officer who had been his riend, for the one who
had freed him, he, Alvey, hiust have known
was not Major Dick Aubrey, but one playing
his part, as the only means of rescuing him.

With these resolves iegistered in his own
heart for solution, Buffalo Bill went on his
way, ready for anything he might have to
encounter.

The canyon he was following gradually
widened, and became more fertile, until he
Was riding over a soft meadowland, under

V the shelter of a lofty cliff.

1. Before him the cliff juttcd out to a point,

 ‘ I he noticed, sleping down in a wooded ridge
‘ , to ‘a sudden break, some ten feet high,

’  only.

' “That rock stands like a statue on that
'5 -. "point," he muttered, referring to a small
I innaclc that rose some six feet from the
7‘ Base of the point and upon its very edge.

. As he drew nearer he thought he saw the

column of rock looking more and more like

/a statue.

' He halted for a moment, but rode on, mut-

terin :

“What will the imagination not do, for I

‘ ‘ ‘ V ' ' i A ' . . .....-M r;
W. a.” .‘1-mw-_www-u_m undo—v ..
. , . w “ ' a.

i
l'

.  , . distinctly saw it move!

‘ , “It louks more and more like a man,
' and— By Heaven! it is a man!" and Buf-

 3, mm Bin swung his rifle around for use and

' covered the supposed pinnacle of rock, just
i '  as it wheeled, discovered him, and also threw
‘ ~ a rifle to shoulder!
, But neither man drew trigger; both held
 their rifles leveled, ready to fire, and thus
they stood for full half a minute.
The scout was the first to speak, but kept
;. his rifle at his shoulder while he spoke:
A “Pard, we are both pale-faces, and there
I is no reason for war beLWeen us, so let us get
"1 better acquainted.”
, Instantly the rifle of the stranger was
lOWered, and, leaning gracefully upon it,
who looked fixedly at Buffalo Bill as he re
" upended:
., "Yeas/e are both pale-faces, but I have
 found, out here, those of my own race to be
" as treacherous and cruel as the redskins.
 _, “ Who are you ‘l”
CHAPTER XLII.

' THE Fuhi'i‘ivi; HERMIT.

. BUFFALO Bun. had been intently regard-
ing the man, with admiration and curioSity
comminglcd.

' He was, in figure, above the average
alldgbt. with massive chest and shoulders,
strong limbs, and the appearance of being a
giant in strength. .

is hair was worn long, was curling. and
Rim ray, While his face was coyered With a
“full and beautiful beard, and hair and beard
' «Were well cared f01'. _
' Dressed in buckskin, from moccasms t_o
flap, his attire was well made and fitted his
6 form perfectly. '
110 had, besides his rifle, two revolvers
ad a long knife, while a canteen hung to
his belt. I _ . h
'M Bufialo Bill looked into his face .0
“W that it was sun-bronzed, determined in
Spressiou yet attractive, and that'hc must
homily fifty years of age. "

than i... i '  - a
bad ocular demonstration. to his own good.

in answer to his question Buffalo Bill
smiled, and in his pleasant way answered:

"That is just the question I intended to
ask you, but as you fired first I will answer
you :—1 am chief of scouts at Fort Flag.”

" Your name, please.”

1. “ Its William F1. Cody, scout, guide and In—
( iaii— ig itcr, ltll( called 1) ' i ' '
Buffalo Bill. 3 n 3 conilades

:“ Is the introduction sufficient?”

l he man started, visibly, as the scout
pronounced his nickname, and gazed at him
more attentively.

This Buffalo Bill noticed; but with the
same 'calm manner the stranger answered:

“ 3 es, the introduction is sufficient, and I
am glad to again meet Buffalo Bill."

“ That means that we have met before?”

6‘ '08.!)

“ \Vhen and where ?"

“It matters not when or where, now, but,
zvhatyarc you (icing in this uninhabited coun-

ry?’

“ You are here?” .

“ True; still the country is unknown to
pale-faces, and few rcdskins even, dare ven-
ture here, so why have you?”

“ I am ghost-hunting.”

“Indeed? Rather a ghastly undertaking,
I should say. " -

“ Still I am trailing a specter.”

“ Do spectcrs leave trails?”

“ There's the trouble; the one I follow
does not, and yet has left signs enough to
guide me thus far."

“ And now you are at fault?” .

“Yes, as to who the specter is, or—what
you are.” '

“ Ah! I failed to return the courtesy of in—
troducing myself.

“ Few know me, but those who do call me
the Fugitive Hermit of the Colorado.” ‘

“ I have heard of you."

“ Doubtless; but I will be as explicit in
my introduction as you were.

“ They called me a Hermit because I
sought to live. alone out here on the Colorado,
and supposed I was a fugitive from justice
because I did seek a home here alone.”

“ But, do you really live here alone?”

“ N 0 man can say to the contrary; but, to
my story: a

“ I am so called at the few posts I go to
twice a year for supplies, and they have
also, from the reports of Indians who have
sought to kill me, called me the thite
Slayer of the Colorado.”

“ In reality, what are you?”

“A mere atom of humanity, preferring to
live alone herein this grand wilderness amid
the mightic’st scenes of nature.”

“ Do you know I came into this country
to seek you?”

“ You said that you were ghost-hunting.
I certainly am a very human ghost.”

“ True, but I am ghost-hunting as well as
Hermit-hunting, for I came here to seek
you."

“ What is your business with me?" and
the question was asked in an almost kindly
tone, which the scout could but observe.

“ Do ou know Major Randolph Courtney
off the ritisli Army?”

Buffalo Bill had s rung the question, as it

mereth note the c act.

 -. -M‘W'fllhfi' Fugitive Hen;
tmere‘ly'answered: , ~ . ‘ . ,
“ I do not, I never heard the name.”

“ Well, he was searching for you, hoping
to find in you some one whom he was most
anxious to find.

“ Ile‘supposcd he was on the track of his
man, in Mexico; lost the trail there, but
picked it up again at Santa Fe.

“At Fort Apache he met a scout of the
name of Frencliy Hamblin, who said that
you must be the man hunted for.”

“ I know the scout you named, for I have
met him several times, and once he was my
escort a lbng way on my trail.”

“ Well, he was guiding the English offi-
cer and his servant out here to find you,
but they were attacked by Indians, and I
happened upon the scene in time to save the
brave Englishman; the others were already
dead.

“ I had heard of you, so undertook to look
for you, when, several nights ago, thirty
miles from here, in our camp, Major Court-
ney was shot. I'started with him to the
fort, met a command on the trail and turned
him over to their care, while I returned.

“ Whether he is fatally wounded or not I
do not know; but, strange to say, he was
shot with an arrow like this one, which I
found in my trail with this warning paper
wrapped around it. - .

"Do you know anything about this ar-
row?” 'and Buffalo Bill held it up for the
Fugitive Hermit to see, and awaited his re-
ply with the most intense interest, for what
might not that answer divulge?

(T o be continued—commmwed in 1V0. 652.)

#
General Miles’s Escape.

IN a recent finterview, fellingpf his ex-
periences in his Indian Campaigns, Gen-
eral Miles relates this one of many instan-
ces of escape from death: .

“My narrowest escape? It was at the
time of the capture of the Indian .chlef,
Lame Deer. It was almost in the midst of
a charge. I rode up to where he was
standing, and we shook hands. Suddenly
he drew back his hand, and seizmg his
rifle stepped back a little, leveled it di-
rectly at my head and fired. meg to his
excitement, doubtless, he missed, and I
was unhurt. But a brave soldier boy, a
little to one side and back of me, was in-
stantly killed, I do not think that the In-
dian chief premeditated this act. He doubt-
less thought that, having becn captured, he
was sure to be killed, that he was surely
bound for the happy hunting grounds and
he might as well take a white chief With
him. Yet I, or rather my Indian scout,‘had
told him that he would not be harmed if he
surrendered then and there. He did not
trust us, for he would not have .kept .1118
word with me if he had given it in Similar
circumstances. The man who cannot be
trusted never trusts. Lame Deer was after-

' - killed.” _
“Rid gives also this view of the Indian na-
ture, in its savage or unchanged state:

“\Vhen you are fighting Indians, you
know exactly what to expect. If you do pot
whip them, they will kill you surely. you
cannot make terms if you surrender. They
pay no attention to the rules of war observed
by civilized warriors who Will not use p015-
oncd arrows or pOISODCd exploswe bullets.
The Indians torture and mutilate prisoners.
They will even violate a flag of truce. I
came near being killed. under a flag of truce
once when I was holding a conference With
Sitting Bull. The plan was discovered in

 

time by some of our folks and frustrated.”

\

REMEMBER ME.
BY MTTIE DYEB. BBITTS.

We know not the changes life may bring,
We see not the way before,

But oft to the Past our thoughts will cling,

And the dear old days are a sacred thing,
As in dreams We live them o’er. ‘

We see the faces we once hold dear,
tVe clasp the hands so warm.
The tones which thrilled us again we hear,
And friends long vanished once more are near,
In old, familiar form.

’Tis surely a blessing that this is so,
Far deeper would be the pain '
Of parting so oft. if we did not know,
That it still is ours wherever we go,

In fancy to meet again.

So it for the future our lots be cast
“’here stranger faces we see.
When you muse alone on the bright days past
Remember a love which will always last—
Dear Jenny, remember me.

The- Docmr’s Plot;

The Ex-Army Officer’s Ruse.

BY J. D. BURTON.

CHAPTER XXXVI—CONTINUED.

CRAYTON did not go directly to the old
house on the Manchester road. It was near
evening when he made his appearance there,
two hours after he had seen the banker and
his sister aboard the train for the Westmore-
land village.

The doctor met him in a sulkily defiant
mood. He had expected some overture be
fore this time—some attempt to make terms
and to insure his silence, and, more than
ever, he had fixed himself in his resolve to
maintain the stand he had taken, to hurl all
the forcesvif his malignity against the fair,
proud woman whose unconcealed scorn had
made of him a bitter enemy.

Dr. Craven Dallas was eminently mer-
cenary, but there was a venom in his cold-
blooded composition which could at times
reach beyond his covetous impulses. In
his passion of that night he had failed
to comprehend Crayton’s declaration, which
might have made clear to him his own mis-
ta e. ‘

He was in his laboratory when the re-
porter let himself in with his usual lack of
observing formalities. Dr. Dallas met him
with no very well-pleased expression, but
the reporter was there, and not to be re-
buffed.

“A rather bad habit that of leaving your
front door unlocked,” he said, coolly help-
ing himself to a chair.

“Of course you are delighted to have me
drop in unannounced, at any time, but you
might chance to have some more unwelcome
visitors. You have been very successful for
a considerable time, Doctor Dallas; but mal-
practice and extortion through blackmail,
and instigation to assault and robbery,-
mlght‘sneo'ced in. bringing you-into even
more disagreeable quarters than these.
“What a confounded odor you keep here,
by the way, and hot enough to give a fellow
a foretaste of what. he may expect at the end
of that path which sports good intentions in
place of an asphaltum pavement.”

“ It might be made a short step between
places,” the doctor answered, grimly, with a
glance at his charcoal furnace and a. mixture
bubbling in a vessel over if.

Vle reporter made known his business
shortly, with no useless superfluity of
words.

“You don’t deserve anything better for
your interference in the case than a trial on
the charge of attempting to extort money
unlawfully, but of course you know your-
self secure so far as a complaint from them
is concerned. _

“ I have been authorized to ascertain what
price will secure the silence of that mis~
chievous tongue of yours.

“You know me,,Doctor Dallas, and you
know I could easily bring testimony to bear
which might end by lodging you at the
State’s expense for a respectable term of
years.

“Take my advice and name a reason-
able price, and wash your hands of all
things pertaining to the affair from this time
out." ,

“No argument and no offer of yours
could induce me,” the doctor answered, as
coolly. “ If~ you want any result to offer
in way of interviewing, Mr. Crayton, take
this: that I mean to reassert my right to
command the actions of my ward, when she
is brought to light; that she shall inherit the
fortune which is hers by right, and that the
Richland pride shall be brought to a lower
level.

“ You have something to learn yet if you
have never realized that there is sometimes
more satisfaction than money gained in a
grand stake of revenge.” \

“You are apt to find a small obstacle in
the way of your ;estimable purpose, how-
ever. The fact is, you have most egregious-
ly deluded yourself, Doctor Dallas. You
will find a difficulty in assuming any rights
of guardianship to Miss Wilde, since she
is at present nnder her own father‘s protec-
tion. ‘

“Acute as you deserve to be rated, my
dear doctor, I really cannot comprehend how
you so blindly exchanged the identities of
the brothers Bernham. Captain Bernham is
fully qualified to hold his own against even
you, I imagine.” - '

Rage as he might, Dr. Dallas found him-
self overreachcd, and the end was "that he
took up with Crayton’s oficr, his good faith
being assured by the close knowledge of cer-
tain transactions of his which the reporter
held, together with a self-conviction that
Captain Leigh Bernham was not the person
he might wish to provoke to further anger or
action.

It was not in the doctor’s nature to ac-
cepta defeat quietly, and the bitter disap‘
pointment of this one must have blinded
him.

He went back to his mixture over the
charcoal furnace as the reporter left him. A
shelf near was filled with bottles of various
aims and shapes. The supposition is that he
topk'down the wrong one and added to his
compound. *

Crayton, just descending the steps, felt
them rock under his feet, andheard a dull
explosion. Mrs. Gerrit, in theopposite wing,
was momentarily stunned.

The reporter, rushing in to burst op an the
door of the laborator , was met and driven
back by a sheet of me. Out of the way

i

 

as it was, and its timbers inflammable as tin-

der, the old house on the Manchester road
was a holocaust which still could never
suffice for the misery bred within its
walls. ' ~

From the still smoking ashes was taken a
shapelcss mass which was given a burial in
that same crowded, shadowed churchyard
where Matthew Gregory had been laid.

CHAPTER XXXVII.
as IT was.

THE last of the dreary November days
had worn away. December followed them,
and the new year was ushered in.

Mellow lights glowed in the parlor of the
 mansion up among the \Vestmoreland

i s. »‘

There have been changes there since the
eventful night .of Wilma’s coming in from
her walk to the doctor’s house—an eventful
night, and one when the saddening element
held its supremacy, for Miss Erle, holding
fast to her nephew’s hand, had passed from
a light slumber into a sleep which knows no
waking, and at the same time, in the little
bare cottage in the village, the anxiety which
had awakened in the hearts of the watchers
there was deepening, with how good cause
they afterward knew.

No need ever of the self-sacrifice decided
in the heart of each of those widely differ-
ent, noble men—each prepared to lay down
his own best happiness to insure peace to her.
No more weary burden very soon for Rose;
no further need of the marble-like mask, no
more‘ennui and weariness; no more homage
of the fashionable world for Mrs. Richland,
noted and quoted for fifteen years!

During those sad days of waiting there
was no jealousy and no distrust; no discord
of enmity between those two, the husband
of those few bright happy weeks; of her
young life, and the husband of these later
years. When all was over, as it was in a
brief four days’ time, those two found con-
solation and comfort each in the other.

Miss Erle was laid to rest beside her kin-
dred, in a quiet spot there among her native
hills, followed by the villagers, who, failing
to appreciate all she had been to them infilife,
came to a recognition of the full measure of
their losswith her death.

Another funeral. cortege at a later date, an
imposing procession, went out from the
W'estern avenue mansion, where the marble
remains of that dearly loved wife of two
husbands had been conveyed.

A white tapering shaft in the Allegheny
cemetery marks her grave, and the world is
none the wiser for the painful drama of her
life. ‘

It is Ethel who sits in the parlor of the old
house up in NVestmoreland, this evening of
the early new year. Miss Erle’s will, which
was never changed, had left the bulk of her
property to Ethel. Besides, there had been
some charity bequests, and Erle would not
hear to the renunciation which Ethel urged.

The holise in the city was unbearable with
a' sorrowful reminder at every turn; and it
was Ethel herself who proposed returning
here.

Captain Bernha and Wilma were here as
well, ‘at Mr. Rich and's urgent solicitation.
Their mutual grief had-resulted in knitting
those four more' closely than the brightest
prosperous friendships ever ceiild have done.

Erle had gone back to Hethcrlands, and
despite his sincere mourning for his aunt, he
was lighter-hearted on his journey than he
had been for weeks before. The ,cause of
it had come about most unexpectedly to
himself.

He had gone into Ethel‘s presence, one
day, as the holidays were dawning close at
hand, not shrinking from the duty which
prompted him, but with a depression which
revealed to himself how futile had been his
effort to return to the full ardor of his wan-
dering devotion to the allegiance where, in
all honor, it should belong. The trousseau
had arrived and been packed away from
sight, in those darker days, and no reference
made to their previous plans, until Erle
broke the subject, a trifle abruptly, on that
occasion.

“It has come to a time when I must speak
to you regarding our marriage, Ethel,” he
had said. “ I leave it entirely to your de~
cision if any change shall occur in our plans.
It seems ill-advised to be speaking of this so
soon after the sorrow which has come to us
both, but ours has been a quiet, long-stand-
ing betrothal, and I think it is your brother's
wish that there shall be little as possible de-
viation from our first argangement. It is
my desire as well; and if you also agree, we
will still be married plainly and privately,
upon New Year’s Day.” ‘

There was a troubled light in the soft,
hazel eyes, as Ethel heard him, but the pure
fair face was quiet in its resolve.

“There must be a change in our plans,
Erle—one of which I have been wishing yet
dreading to speak to you. ‘,1 scarcely know
how to tell you, even now. ’This great grief
of Gertrude’s death, and the knowledge of
all she had borne, has shocked me to a com-
prehension of the great wrong I might have
done us both. I do not love you with the
love 1 should hope to bear my husband,
Erle; I know now that I never can.
would be doifig a great wrong to marry
you at all. oward is needing me, too,
and my duty, the gratitude and love I owe
him in return for long years of watchful ten-
derness, is to devote myself to him from this
time forth.”

Erle made a remonstrance, pleaded strong-
ly even while his heart beat quick at thought
of regained freedom; but Ethel remained
firm.

And so, at last, he had accepted his dis-
missal at her hands, and gone back to Heth-
erlands. '

He had spoken no word to Wilma. She
was so deeply under the cloud yet, of the
overwhelming sorrow which had come upon
her; her first duty was owing yet to the
father, who for so long a time had been be
reft of wife and child.

He could be content, he thought, with this
measure of light-hearteduess which had-come
to him~contented itolwait a fitting time to
tell his love again to Wilma.

Ethel, sitting alone, the firelight playing
oyer the somber mourning dress she wears,
the glow from the chandelier lighting the
bright hair and the pearl like face, is think-
ing sadly but not gloomily of the many
changes. '

There will be still another one when spring’
opens. They have made all calculations for
a transAtlantic journey—her brother, Cap-
tain- Bernham, Wilma and herself. Her
brother's failing health is the first. object
prompting the move, and it will be better
for all of them to be removed from the asso-
ciations of these familiar scenes.

She is recalling some vague reminiscence
of that other European tour, her brother’s

 

wedding-tour, when she was a very little

child, as the door opens and she looks up
and rises with a slight cry as, with a quick
step, there advances to meet her—Justin
Lenoir.

She has thought him gone to his new field
of action before this, and his sudden appear-
ance is a surprise from which she does not
recover at once.

There is something which is not embarrass-
ment, but an eager excitement kept down as
he holds her hand for a moment and utters
those commonplaces which people always
use in greeting.

She remarks her surprise and wonder, and
he answers her. His book has delayed him.
It is just out now, and he has his first assur-
ance of its success. She has always been
sure that it would succeed, and says so now,
and it is a truth that he finds as much de~
light in her simple faith as with the favora-
ble reviews with which the critics have seen
fit to receive it.

“ I shall be ready to go within another
week,” he said; “and this encouragement I
have met has resulted in placing me better
even than I hoped for in the new work I am
to take up. I should have gone without sce-
ing you again except for a recent chance
meeting with Mr. Hetherville.”

(That chance meeting had cost Erle more
trouble and maneuvering than either of them
was ever to know.)

“Oh, Ethel, Ethel! I know that you are
free of your own accord, and I dare plead
for myself what your heart withheld from
him. I have loved you since we first met,
up in the mountains, and I never could school
myself to be reconciled at thought of losing
you. It is asking much now and offering so
little except my love, but if you can trust to
that I shall be the most blessed of men; I
shall strive to gain much for your sake as I
never could have striven alone for my own
advancement.”

Ethel, finding her hand clasped in his
again, saying not a word, did not resist when
he drew her blushing, happy face down to
his shoulder.

“My darling, my darling!" he repeated,
accepting all that the concession from her
meant. “My only love, and you were my
love at first sight. Did you know that,
Ethel? Tell me, my own, when did you
know first that you could care like this for
me?" -

“When I met you first, pale and'worn by
over-work, last summer among the moun-
tains,” she answered, truthfully.

Mr. Richland was less surprised than
Ethel had expected he would be when the
announcement of this result was made known
to him.

The old pride, which had always been his
worst fault, had been humbled, In its place
had come a softer, better sentiment, which
shone pre-eminently bright at what might
have been a little lingering concealed disap-
pointment to him even now.

But he had had his lesson, bitterly hard,
and he was not lacking in approval of Ethel’s
choice.

The marriage was fixed to take place in
early spring, and the time between seeming-
ly flew away upon lightning Wings.

absence from his new situation, which he re-
tained at his own and Ethel’s desire, notwith-
standing Mr. Richland’s urgent representa-
tion that such a course was unnecessary,
since Ethel and Ethel’s husband should share
equally of his bounty, but the young peOple
were firm in declining his generosity.

“Justin has his own way to work out,”
Ethel said, with a glance which showed how
entire her belief was that he would make it.
“ You must not spoil his chances by depriv-
ing him of a chief incentive, Howan .”

Their plans had been changed {only
this far, that Ethel should return with her
husband after a brief two months, leaving
the remainder of the tourist party to their
own time and their own pleasure, and the
other side of the ocean.

It was to be a very quiet marriage. An
invitation was dispatched to Erle to be pres-
ent upon the occasion, and abalf—dozen hours
after thcletter containing it had been mailed
he came in upon them unexpectedly—al-
most.”

“ You see the power of attraction was too
strong for me,” he declared laughingly; and
then heard with real pleasure the tidings he
had crossed on the way.

Later the same day he succeeded in finding
Wilma alone, and before she could even sus-
pect his intention he had caught the slender
little form close in his arms, his rippling
golden beard swept across her dusky hair,
and his bold, blue eyes looking dowu upon
her caused her own shy, soft, dark ones to

“You shall never, never go,” he answered
her, “ never until you have promised to be
my own loved, cherished wife. I don’t ex-
act‘ any promise of your loving me.” he
laughed. “I am very sure of that already.
Guileless little heart, it could not conceal the
truth from me. I have your father’s con-'
sent, Wilma. My own little love! Can you
and will you be happy with me ‘2"

“ Dear Erle, so happy that I am frighten-
ed.”

There was a double wedding of course.
Crayton was there and ate of the cake, and
drank the health of the two young pairs,
and was the wild, reckless Bohemian even
under his forced good behavior of the day.

He is that still—one of those talented
men of good impulses and bad habits, who,
with versatile ability, will never achieve a
point in life.

As such, let us leave him, for there are sure
to come darker hours and worse reckless-
ness before he is done with life in the true
Bohgmiau way.

' THE END.

[liphin Maynem Reid’s Works

Beadle’s Dime Library.

8 Thre Headless Horseman; A Strange Story of
exas.
12 The Death-Shot; or, Tracked to Death.
55 The Scalp Hunters. A Romance of the Plains.
66 The Specter Barquc. . A Tale of the Pacific.
74 ThIeEEaptain or the Rifles; or, The Queen of the
es.

 

 

200 The Rifle Rangers; or, Adventures in Mexico.
208 The White Chief. A Romance of Northern Mex-

' ico.
213 The War Trail; or, The Hunt of the Wild Horse.
218 The Wild Huntress or, The Squatter’s Ven-
geance.
228 The Maroon. A Tale of Voodoo and Obeah.
234 The Hunteris Feast.
267 The White Squaw.
Emma’s Dunc LIBRARY is for sale by all News-
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BEADLE AND ADAMS. Publishers.

 

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