64!" 15-1-5. f

l
l

.~-o'.‘5 -

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

— .- inau'edwr‘J-mv. .V.“,. .

 

 
    
  
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A
E,

 

 

THE OLD STORY.

BY JOE JOT, an.

 

 

No matter now how hard I strOve
To keep his nature single-sided,
That simple bo has fallen in love, .
And made a 001 o' himself—~as I did.

I told him of the unsmoothroad.
Love‘s doubtful fires so (11me lighted,
Of wild unrest and wea load:— ‘
He wants to prove it—Just as I did.

That to e from hence will not amount
To hafilof what my fond heart Sighted,
For now he will be no account, .
And think of little else—as I did.

I told him all the folly of _
(And in my logic much I prided),
And fallacies of childish love; _
But precepts he disdained—as I did.

I told him there was ample time. I .
That there were higher things beSide it
The which to lose would be a crime,
But he got hasty—just as I did.

I told him love at twenty-one
Is very apt to be short-sighted;

At thirty it has steadier tone; .
He thought so neither—Just as I did.

There‘s business and arts of trade
To turn his thoughts to, undivided, . _
(The same wise words his grandsue said)
And yet, he’s gone and done—as I did.

A simple girl has warped his mind
Out of the course which I provided,
And the scapegrace is surely blind
To do the very thing—that 1 did!

I said that puppy love was vain,
And thought with me he coincid :d—-
That youthful spoonies are not sane:
And now he proves it—just as I did.

I spoke of heart-aches. jealous fears,
When youthful faiths are once confided,

How smiles will number less than tears,
And yet he wouldn’t—just as I did.

The scamp, he thinks he knows it all,
And took advice but to deride it;

A young scrub‘s views are always small,
And so they go it—just as I did.

Our head but not our hearts are gray.
Dear wife, since first we were united,

Who knows but yet the rascal may ,
Have just the happy luck——that did":

 

Schamyl.

THE CAPTIVE PRINCE:

on,
The Cossack Envoy.
A Story of RuSsian Life and Adventure.

 

BY LAUNCE POYNTZ,

AUTHOR or “ LANCE AND LASSO,” “THE swonn-
HUNTERS,” “CAVALRY CUSTER,” ETC.

 

X.
ZISKA HOFFMAN NO MORE!

“THEN one saw the brothers Schamyl to-
gether, it seemed wonderful that their rela-
tionship had never been suspected before.
Prince Hamet Schamyl was taller than Ziska
and larger in every way, but their faces were
exactly alike. There were the same haughty
aquiline profile of the true Caucasian type, the
same dark curling hair, and both had the same
large dark eyes. Their figures were very simi-
lar, and both had the same easy aristocratic air
of superiority that marks the descendant of a
noble family accustomed from infancy to be
obeyed.

Between the two, and dressed much in the
same style, was the tall and stalwart figure of
the Grand Duke Michael Nicolaevitch, brother
to the Czar and Governor-General of the Can—
casian Provinces. He seemed to be 011 friendly
terms of comradeship with both his companions,
for they were all talking French together with
freedom. The escort behind them was com-
posed of the dark-coated Daghestani Cossacks,
with a number of glittering mail-clad Circas-
sians, among whom Mustapha recognized sev-
eral chiefs who had been stationed with their
men at the opposite side of the valley ready for
the contemplated attack.

Ziska Schamyl waved his hand to the old war—
rior as he rode up, and spoke to the Grand Duke.

“Your imperial highness has been hunting
Hadji Mustapha. for several years, I believe.
Yonder he stands.”

The Governor—General uttered a surprised ex—
clamation.

“Mon Dian! is it possible? Hadji Mustapha,
the insur ent chief who stirred upvall Daghestan
and the erek district to revolt? hy, I thought
him a strong young warrior.”

“Of his strength there is no doubt,” said Zis-
ka, quietly. “ If he isgra it is with plotting
surprises for the troops t at have barred him
from his old home.”

" .Morbleu! you are right,” laughed the Grand
Duke, in his ood-natured manner. “He has
given us near y as much trouble as my father
had with yours.”

“And when he has given his word, he will
keep it as strictly as my father kept faith with
your brother,” said Hamet Schamyl, gravely.
“ Will your imperial highness greet him first,
and do him honor? It is not every (lav his maj-
esty has such a chance to strengthen the domin—
ions of Russia.”

“ By all means,” said the Grand Duke, heart-
il '.

By this time they were close to the old man,
who sat on his horse like a statue. his face set
and stern. He was evidently undergoing a se-
vere mental struggle. Then the big Russian
prince advanced to him with a frank smile. All
the royal family of the Romanoffs for several
generations have been handsome portly men,
and Grand Duke Michael was no exception. He
had the same winning courtesy which men of
very high rank in Euro )e always cultivate, to
be used on occasion. aving been in supreme
command in the Caucasus for many years he
was well acquainted with the mountain dia-
lects, and at once addressed the old chief, say—

m :

‘g‘ Hadji Mustapha, you and yours have fought
the thite Czar for many years like brave men,
but when the sons of Scham l have made peace,
it is time for their father’s o (1 friend to make it
too. I am empowered to Offer you, as I offered
the Emir Schamyl before you. the favor and
pirotection of the Czar, if you will ma"e peace.

a will give you a house, servants and money,
if ou wish to remain at home—”

adji Mustapha waved his hand.

“ I have sworn,” he said. “ I cannot take
service with the Czar in Russian lands. I have
done all I can to please the sons of Schamyl, but
I must go where he went and die where he
died.”

“ Be it so,” said the prince, kindly. “ You
shall have your liberty on parole and the Czar
will pay you a pensmn of ten thousand roubles,
as loug as the hill tribes are kept quiet. Will
that do?”

“ It is the will of Allah,” said the old chief,
with a sigh. “ I have kept up the battle when
others would have made peace, and they have
rewarded me by deserting me at the last hour
of the day. I will make peace, and the Tcher-
kess may serve the Czar If they will. I am with
them no more.”

“ Then give me your hand and let us eat salt
upon the agreement,” said the Grand Duke.
“ After all what is a rascally Turk that he
should come between us? The Turks have used
the Tcherkess as a man uses his dogs. They
have fought for him and he has kicked and
starved them.”

“ It is_tr_ue,” said the old warrior. “Never-
theless, it is well that we heard the trumpet of
Schamyl to-day, for great would have been the
slaughter had a shot been fired instead.”

The Grand Duke laughed again.

“I believe it. But you see these yOImg
princes have more sense than you bad. You

 

would have made a battle and killed some men, ;
but vou are no stronger than Schamyl, and he ,
was glad to make peace at last. For every man
you could have killed to—day RusSIa has athouS-
and ready to take his place. It is enough. Let
us come.” _ I

“'ith the old warrior on his right hand and
followed by the two sons of Scham 'l, the Grand
Duke Michael rode back into the. usian camp
now filled with the light of mormng.

As they rode along they passed the camp of
regiment after regiment of cavalry, the men
cleaning their horses or at breakfast, everything
peaceful and quiet. They pmed through the
forest in the valley, on to the hard white road
that had gleamed through the darkness when
Ziska and the officer of the outpost rode off to
find the governor-general. It was the cat
military road from Alexandropol to 
Now that it was morning one could see, not five
miles away, the frowning towers and masswe
battlements of Alexandropol at the upper end
of the long valley, and turning round to the
other side the sun glinted back from far awa
on the gilded domes and minarets of Kai‘s. _t
was a long way off in the low country, but still
in plain view, dominated by the great isolated
hill of the Kara Dagh. The valley in which
they were seemed to open out toward Kai‘s,
and one could see the white road go Winding out
of the mountain gorges toward it, over a
country all s rinkled with white camps.

“You see, adji Mustapha," said the Grand
Duke, pointing, “your three or four thousand
men would have been a drop of water in the
sea. Yonder are the camps of a hundred bat-
talions of infantry.”

“Andrei Alexandrovitch, I owe you the
champagne," said a young officer of Cossacks
to his friend. “ You were right and I was
wrong. Schamyl did have two sons.”

“Champagne is good for a soldier, Vassili
Vassilitch," said his comrade, smiling. “ll'e
will drink it together to the health of his maj-
esty and the confusion of the Grand Turk, and
we will invite Peter Michaeloff and the Baron
Groganoff to help us, for if I do not mistake we
shall see no more champagne after to-day, and
in a week more many of us may not be alive to
drink it.”

“Agreed!” said his friend; and the two gay
youngsters were soon rmniing from tent to tent,
summoning their friends to a feast which Rus-
sians are always ready to share.

“ But you have not told us how you came to
know all this about Schamyl‘s sons,” said the
Baron Groganoff, at table, to Andrei Alexan-
drovitch.

“Simple enough. I was a page at court, as
you know, before I entered the guards—”

“ Yes, we know all that, and much good you
learned as a page," interrupted V assilitcli,
laughing.

“ “Iell, I learned how to play a better game of
billiards than you’ll play if you live a century,
and if 1 did have to leave it was only because
the Jews were after me. But, that‘s neither
here nor there. I learned a good many court
secrets while I was there and one of them was
that this Prince Hamet t at they call the Emir
Schamyl had abrother whom he had not seen
since they were infants.”

“Why not? The old Schamyl had full
liberty to enter the dominions of his majesty.”

“ He had; but I am inclined to think the old
chief was foxy to the last. He kept his word
with the Czar, and kept peace, but he would
got stay in Russia. You know he died at Me-

ma.

“ I know it, but what has that to do with the
two brothers? Don’t be so long telling yom'
stor , Andrei.”

“ It has a good deal to do with it," said Andrei,
in a tone of dignity. “ You know that the em—
peror insisted on retaining Schamyl‘s eldest son ‘
at court as a hostage. He and I were boys to-
gethcr, and they taught the young savage just
as if he had been one of noble Russian blood. I
must say, though, he did credit to his teachers
and learned all the languages as quick as I
could. As far as he was concerned the Czar

 

 

1 Of course, we thought nothing of it, except that

 

 

 

had his wish, for the young chief is too much
wedded to civilization and the gayetics of Mos—
cow to wish to go back to his mountains.”

“ Don‘t be too sure of that, Andrei," said Vas-
silitch. “These Tcherkess savages are strange
beings, and always liable to relapse. He looks
as much like a robber chief to-day, I’ll swear,
as he ever did.”

“Maybe so, but he knows which side hisbread
is buttered,” persisted Andrei. “A man does

 

not exchange a commission in the guards and a
palace on the Newsky Prospect for a dingv,
squalid hut in the mountains, when he can help
himself, any more than on and I are here to—
day because we like it. ran through all I had,
went into the guards, had to leave for poverty,
and here I am to—da . Voila! this prince has
no such bad luck. The Czar is his banker.”

“ But what about the brother?” asked Grogan—
off. “ What do you know of him?”

“Well, as I told you, Hamet and I were boys
together, and he told me once that he had a
brother whom he had never seen in his life. The
old emir, determined to have two strings to his
bow, had kept this second son away from Rus-
sia, but the Sultan of Turkey got hold of him.
Ali, boys, it’s a grand thing to be of political
importance. No sultans and czars will ever
quarrel over me. The sultan offered to have the
lad educated for a Turkish officer at the Paris
Polytecth ue, and he was sent there and to
Bonn and eidelberg, till they had crammed
himwith all sorts of learning. You know some
of those Turks, educated abroad, are quite
learned fellows, and this youngster had a
Christian Georgian mother, so he ought tobe
better off for brains than a common Mussul-
man. ‘

Vassilitch and the rest laughed.
not so devout asAndrei.

“ IVell, so they say that this second son proved
to have twice as much talent as the first, and
had traveled all over the world, even out to
America, when Hamet had never been permit—
ted to leave St. Pet-ersburg. “'hen the war
came on, of course every one expected to hear
of this one at Constantinople and in the Cauca- .
sus, but nobody expected that he would have !
Ellis "impudence to come to Russia. But he I

1 .

“ How do you know?” 

“ Heard it all from Dragonoflfsky‘s son, who i,
joined us last week; he told me. It seems this 
Ziska Schamyl did not even take the precaution
of hiding his first name, but called himself Ziska ,
Hoffman, American journalist, and came right i
to St. Petersburg; and old Dragonotfsky was
completely fooled, too, by him. He took him‘
for one of those "prying Yankee correspon— L
dents, and thought to give him a fright. So he '
had him arrested, pretended to believe him an
Austrian. and put a police spy over him, never
dreaming who he was. The spy stuck to him, =
and what does this Ziska do but carry off the
 Moscow into the midst of a lot of those

1 sts. How he got acquainted with them I
do not kiiOw, but he seems to have been sharp ;
Eggnin for anything, and to have joined their ‘

They were

 

v.

“Well, what else?" asked Groganofl". “ How
did he get here? .

“ That’s the queer part of the story, and the

only man who could have told us was shot at ' tai

Tiflis ” said Andrei. “It seems that he and,
the l\iliilists raised a regiment of Cossacks, and
started to create a rebellion in favor of the;
kas, and at the last moment he deserted the J
Nihilists and went over to the Czar‘s side. He !
only made one false move. He allowed thej
police spy to live, and the fellow was going to 3
tell all the secrets of the Nihilists to the Grand ;
Duke, when he was shot by a Circassian on the !
pretext of an old feud.” !
Groganotf laughed. "
“ I think I know more about that part of the L
story than you do, Andrei. I happened to be I
the ofhcer of the guard the day the spy was
shot. It was a great trick to stop the fellow’s ,
mouth, and the fellow who did it got off, too. 1
It was the Grand Duke Michael’s own orderly l
of the day. " l
“ W'liat!” 7 §
“Yes. I saw this Prince Hamct go in, and 1

, black masks, charged into camp, firing revolvers

soon after the spy came out, followed by the
Grand Duke's orderly, who called for his horse.

he had orders to take somewhere. T e spy
flood near the gate of the court-yard, looking
around him, and the orderly rode out past him
till he was fairly in the street. Then he sud-
denly turned round and shot down the poor
wretch as coolly as I’d shoot a hare. Next mo-
ment he was off full speed down the street, and
we never saw him again. There was no time to
telegraph. No one knew what it was all about.
They even thought it was the Grand Duke’s or-
ders at first, till he came out and ordered an m-
vesti tion. Nothing could be found out, but
we aIla knew who had ordered it very soon.”

6‘  g7)

“ Why, Prince Hamet, of course! These
mountaineers stick to each other like wax. The
Czar sent him here to pacify the tribes and make
friends with his brother. He saw that his
brother’s friends. the Nihilists, were likely to
be betrayed. Who knows? He may be a
Nihilist himself! At all events, he saved their
secret by killing the traitor, and the murderer
fled to the hills. Who is going to catch him for
shooting a spy?”

“And what brought the other one here to-
dav?”

“ \Vhy, common sense of course! He’s not
been at Paris and New York for nothing. Any
fool can see which is the winning side to be on
in this war, and he and his brother have done
well to make good terms with the Grand Duke.
I hear they are to be given high commands in
the army. Why not? They have pla 'ed their
cards well, and the sons of Schamy deserve
well of Russia."

THE END

 

 

Little Lightning.

BOY 1{OBBER.

THE

 

BY OLL coonns.‘

 

AN evening wind toyed with the feathery
robes of the greenwood trees, and wafted the
balsamic odors of the forest through the valley.

The Fairy’s Cascade sung musically under the
azclcas. as if to cheer up the spirit of the man
pacing to and fro under a stately pine near the
water‘s brink.

The man could not have been over five-and-
twenty, and was possessed of a handsome face,
whose features told of a brave, kind heart, and "
a gallant, dashing spirit in Captain Ben Marrow.

For all of an hour had he paced the shadows
by the little cascade, when all of a sudden the
form of a woman came from the distant shad-
ows and approached him. His face lit up with
a smile of recognition. He was there to meet
the woman by appointment.

“Good—evening, my dear Inez,” Ben Marrow
said, taking her little hand in his and imprint-
ing a passionate kiss upon it; “I have been
here an hour, and it seemed so very, very long.
I almost gave you up coming.”

“ I am sorry I kept you waiting, Ben,” she
replied, in a soft, musical voice.

A lovely creature was Ben Marrow’s sweet-
heart, lnez La Jose—a royal, Spanish beauty,
with her dark, lustrous eyes, raven tresses, and
form moulded with all the graces of woman-
hood. She was the idol of the mining camp of
Red Pine, and the daughter of a selfish and
cold-hearted father Who refused Ben Marrow
admittance to his cabin; and even forbade him I
speaking to Incz. But love is ingenious, and -
cannot be held in bonds, and often Inez and‘
Captain Ben met in secret by the Fairy‘s Cas- i
cade.

"Do you start cast tO-morrow, Ben?” Inch
asked, after the had conversed some time.

“Yes, Inez; can delay my departure no
longer: but I hope I will not be away long. I
Just as soon as we reach our destination and fit :
out our train, we will start back." ’

“Oh, do be careful, Ben!” the fair maiden
begged: "you know the Indians and robbers
are so bad now. Already two valuable trains
have been captlu'ed this summer, and the men I
all killed by the robbers under the notorious ‘
Boy Robber, Little Lightning.” 

"I shall look out for that young scourge, I
Inez: do not fear. I have crossed plains and 3
mountains too often to be trapped by Indians 1
or road—agents.” .

“ \Vill you have a very valuable train, Ben?”
Inez asked.

“Very, Inez,” replied Ben in a whis r.

“Do then, I pray,” she continued, “ very I
careful, for my sake. Life will be a blan
without you, Ben.”

“God bless you, darlin .” Ben exclaimed, |
folding her to his breast. “ hope your father
will think better of me when I come back,
and that he will consent to our marriage.”

“Then you will not forget me when you go
back to your old home and all its fascinations?”
she said smiling.

“ No, Inez, never; you alone shall ever claim
my love; and, as a seal to our betrothal, let me
place this upon our finger.”

He lifted her and and slipped a hoop of gold
upon her finger. She gazed upon the golden
band with a strange, w ild look of joy.

For some time neither 3 oke, their hearts
alone holding silent commul on.

“Where will you be, Ben, on the evening of
August the twentieth?” Inez finally asked.

“I do not know exactly, Inez; but why do
you ask?”

“It is my birthday, Ben,” she said. “It has 
always been customary for our people and ,
friends to celebrate that event; and as I am 1
superstitious enough to think that orood comes ‘:
out of celebrating one’s birthday, I hope you i
will not forget the twentieth and me.” '

“ Let me see: by the twentieth of August we 
will be well on our way back to Red Pine; but ‘
no difference, wherever we are, I shall not for— .
get to drink to your health. I will bring along
some fine wine for that purpose; and, as the
sun goes down on the evening of the twentieth, l,
I will drink to thee with my men.” ,

Having thus romised to satisfy the fair 1
beauty’s whim t e lovers arted. Inez saun- ,
tercd leisurel back to Red ine, while Captain
Marrow song t his own camp. ,

Two months went by. A wagon train was

 

 

 

 

, encampcd in a narrow, wooded pass of the’

Rocky Mountains leading toward Red Pine. It
was the train of Captain Ben Marrow who was 1
returning from Denver with his loads of mer- ‘
chandise and goods for the difi'erent mining
camps.

The horses had all been picketed out to grass, ',

: guards stationed up and down the pass, supper
; prepared and eaten. '

The sun was just going down when Captain!
Marrow said, as he produced a bottle of rich old 3
wine and a silver goblet from his camp chest:

" Boys, this is the evening of the twentieth of ,
August. It is Inez La Jose‘s birthday, and I 1'

. promised her we would drink to her health.”

“Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Brown Percv. “I'

, presume you’d cut your head off if she told you 1'
to ’ '

I“ Not so bad as that Br0wn,” replied the cap- :

n.

“ Well, I’ll bet Brown Percy ’d like to git the
chance to cut his throat for sich an angel as L
Inez La Jose,” facetiously responded old Joe
Pratte.

His comrades burst into a peal of laughter, ‘
and Ben Marrow raised the goblet to his lips. 3
But before he had tasted of the liquor the report
of a. rifle and the clatter of hoofs came down the
pass.

The next moment six mounted men, wearing ‘

and elling like demons as they came.
“ he robbers ! the robbers ! Little Light- 1
nmg is upon us!” cried Ben Marrow, dropping 3
the untasted wine to the earth and drawing
his revolvers.

The robbers charged directly into camp, with
the evident intention of taking the men off their :
guard and forcing them to fly without a battle.
But in this the road—agents had reckoned with—

. La Jose, the idol of Red Pine!

. 15' responded the spokesman.

out their host. Ben Marrow and his men were
old plainsmen, and stood their ground like
veterans. They opened a deadly fire upon the
robbers, and the conflict would soon have been
decided had not eight more robbers come to the
assistance of their friends from down the pass.

The odds were now against the train men, but
they fought desperately. Every man was a
crack pistol-shot, and the robbers tumbled from
their ' in a manner that attested the
fact.

The lainsmen had the advantage of beingon
foot. ey could dodge here and there behind
their wagons, and fire from cover upon the
mounted robbers. The latter, however, or those
that had not been already unhorsed by the
trainsmen’s bullets, dismounted and engaged the
ca tain and his men hand-to-hand.

uring the conflict Ben Marrow became sepa-
rated from his companions, and found himself
engaged with two of the road-agents. The re-
volvers of all three had been emptied, and they
fought hand—to—hand. Marrow was being close-
] ressed, when Little Lightning, himself,
(flashed from behind a point of rocks, and throw—
in himself from his horse, rushed forward, re-
vo ver in hand, shouting in a boyish tone:

“ Spare that maul—spare Ben Marrow,
men!" . _

Scarcer had the words fallen from his hps
ere two of Ben Marrow's friends, coming to
their captain’s rescue, shot Little Lightmng and
the two robbers dead in their tracks.

A wild, agonized cr y burst from the Boy Rob
ber‘s lips, as he sunk down, pressing his mask
close to his face.

The battle was over. Every robber had been
killed or wounded, though at a severe cost to Ben
Marrow. Over half his men had been killed or
wounded.

This was the first time that Little Lightning
had been defeated since he had become so no-
torious as a robber, and his death and the de-
struction of his band gave a general feeling of
relief throughout the country.

Every robber wore a mask of black velvet,
and as Ben Marrow passed the body of one of
them he saw the mask displaced, and, to his hor-
ror. a familiar face revealed. It was the face of
a miner of Red Pine—one who had been re-
garded as an honorable man, and who was a
member of the Vigilance Committee therc.

Ben Marrow was shocked by this discovery,
and at once made examination of the other
ghastly faces around him. Presently he came
to the body of Little Lightning.

The young robber lay with hand—a small,
white, delicate hand—pressed upon his mask. as
if his last thought and impulse had been to keep
his face concealed. Ben laid the limp, lifeless
hand aside, and raising the mask, gazed upon the
face of the Boy Robber. But at the same in-
stant a cry burst from his lips; he reeled and
clutched at his brow, and would have fallen had
a comrade not caught him.

“Ben what ails on?” his friend exclaimed.

“ Look, Percy! h, God! look at that face!”

Perc gazed upon the face of the Boy Rob-
ber. cr burst from his lips, for he saw that
the face 0 Little Lightning was that of Inez
She was the mys-
terious Boy Robber.

Of this there was no doubt in the mind of
Ben Marrow, for upon a finger of the small
white hand, that now lay lifeless and limp,
flashed the signet of their betrothal.

Inez’s love had only been a blind to draw the
wealth of Marrow’s train into the possession of
her followers; but the brave, handsome and
wicked woman paid the penalty of her decep-
tion with her life.

And so the day of her birth was the day of
her death: and the wine that was to have been
drank to her health by Ben Marrow and his
men, remained untouched; and as the sun of
August the tw'entieth went down, it shone for
the last time upon all that remained upon earth
of Inez La J osc.

 

John Smith’s Passengers.

BY JO“. E. BADGER, JR.

 

 

John Smith reined in his horses with a quick,
strong pull, staring fixedly ahead of him at the
spot where he had just caught a glimpse of a
dark figure as it plunged hastily into the bushes
with which the road was so thickly lined.

That portion of Kansas had not the best rcpt}
tation for law—abiding honesty on the part of its
floating population. Horse-stealing was com-
mon, big way robbery no very unusual occur—
rence, while more than one murder had been
committed that smnmer.

Knowing this, and knowing, too, that he car-
ried several hundred dollars u on his person,
the proceeds of a few cattle, ohn Smith felt
rather uncomfortable as he realized that the
weapons of more than one assassin might at that
moment be bearing upon his head.

Drawing a. revolver, he wrapped the reins
around his left hand, intending to run the gant-
let—when the dark figure crept out into the
road close beside him, with clasped hands up-
lifted, and a white face lighted by two great
appealing eyes.

“ Oh! sir, you do not look like a bad man!
Save me from them—do not let them overtake
me—the will murder me!”

John mith was young, and, under ordinary
circumstances, so bashful that a. girl of a dozen
years could render him miserably uncomfortable
for an hour with a single glance; but now, as he
saw that fair, pale face, and heard that sweet,
fear—shaken voice, somehow his whole nature
seemed to imdergo a change. Bending over the
sideboard, he clasped the lithe, graceful figure in
his strong hands, gently lifting the woman into
the wagon beside him.

“ No one shall hurt you while I live,” he said,
simply. “ Tell me where you wish to go, and I
will take vou there.”

“Any place—only away from here!” panted
the young woman. “They are hunting me—
they may come out upon us at any moment.

= For the love of heaven, kind sir, drive on!”

John Smith gave his horses their heads and
touched them up with the whip. As the wagon
bowled rapidly ahead, the young woman drew
a long breath, and then her rigid muscles
seemed to give way all at once. John was
peering down at her, and he saw the black eyes
close and the red lips grow white. Instinct
told him that his strange passenger was nearly
fainting, and to guard against her falling from
the high spring—seat, his left arm stole around
her and he drew her closer to his side, until the
little head rested just over his rapidly thump-
ing heart. He dared not risk a halt, and so did

I the best he knew how.

All too soon for him—for somehow John
found there was a peculiar, intoxicating pleas-
ure in thus being burdened—the young woman
recovered, and drew her thick, heavy vail over
her face. John wanted to speak, but he didn’t
know how to begin. There was a bus buzzing
in his brain, and he not more than h f-awake.

“Hold on one minute, stranger!”

The tone was loud and peremptory, and John
saw that three men had most effectually blocked
his way, standing in the road before his start-
led horses.

In such emergencics men think rapidly. Were
these men simple footpads, or were they the
enemies against whom his strange passenger
had claimed his protection?

ad he been alone, John would have tried

 a bold dash for life and his money, but just

now he could only think of the woman who

. was sitting so straight and so still by his side.

He could not risk the chance of a bullet’s

, striking her.

“\Vell. what’s wanted?" he asked, after a
moment's hesitation.

“ IVe want a ride, me an’ my mates,” prompt-
“You needn’t
be afeared. We ain’t thieves, ner we don’t
mean you no harm."

" So much the better for us both, then,” re-
plied John, with an assumed saii froid which
he was far from feeling. “Had been alone,

 

you might have got a sharper answer than
you counted on.”

The big man laughed as he climbed into the
wagon, followed by his companions.

“ You can ride if you like,” added John
making a virtue of necessity. “I am not go-
in much further on this road, though.”

e big man was standing close behind the
seat, and steadying himself with one hand upon
John’s shoulder. He bent his head and en-
deavored to penetrate the thick vail that covered
the woman’s face.

“Your wife, I reckon?” he asked.

John felt a little elbow dig into his side, and
promthly took the hint.

“ es, she is my wife. She’s been making a
visit to her mother’s, in town. She’s getting
over a bad spell of the smallpox.”

The big man drew his head back with a snort
of disgusted alarm. John felt alittle w press
his arm ap rovingly, and immediate y caught
himself  ' g that his story was indeed a true

one.

“ I didn‘t know,” said the big man, hurriedly.
“ She looked so much like a gal we was huntin’
—same size, same kind 0’ clo’es. Didn’t know
but you’d picked her up ’long the road. She
run away from home las’ night. She’s crazy.
You ain’t seen nothin’ of sech, I don’t guess,
stran rer?”

“ T at girl we met. I knowed there was
somethin’ wrong about her, she looked so wild 1”

John Smith could scarcely believe his ears.
The strange woman was speaking, but the voice
was high—pitched and unpleasant, with a strong
nasal twang. But once more the little hand
sent the blood thrilljn 'r through his veins, and as
promptly he took the int.

“How fur back?” eagerly demanded the big
man.

“ Good two miles beyond where we met you.
We spoke to her, but she dodged into the bushes
and hid. I thought there was something wrong,
but I dare not stop long, my wife was 50—”

There was no need of 1is finishing the sentence.
With a furious oath, the big man leaped out of
the “ agon, and with his two fellows, ran swiftly
back the way they came.

“ How can I thank you?” and it was the soft,
sweet voice that spoke now.

“ By not trying to thank me, and by lettin
me ta e you home. Mother and my sisters 
be glad to serve you all they can.”

“ You know nothing of ine—”

“ Only that you are in trouble, and that is
enough. IVe are poor farm-people, but we can
be good and true friends. know that fellow
lied when he said you were crazy. Lookl
Yonder is the light in our Window. We are
’most home now.”

An hour later the strange young woman was
seated in the midst of the Smith family, telling
her story. It was a long and painful one, but
all that is necessary here can be said in a few
words.

Years before, her father her only livin rela-
tive, married the sister of the big man, an from
that time on his career was downward. His
near friends were horse-thieves and counter—
feiters. A short time before he died, he took
his daughter from boarding—school, and hence
forward her life was one of persecution. Death
claimed her onl safe- ard, and to insure her
silence the brot er of er step—mother resolved
to marry her. She resisted, because she hated
him, and finally, when driven almost insane by
their cruel persecutions, she escaped, resolving
to expose the wicked gang. She was closely
pursued, and twice almost captured, but finally
eluded her pursuers in the thick undergrowth.
She saw that John Smith had an honest face,
and so claimed his protection.

thcn her story was told, she turned once
more to John, and in a trembling voice, thanked
him for his kindness and ready wit. John re—
ceived her advances with a strangely reserved
manner—so coldly, in fact, that Martha David-
son (for such was her name,) drew back, chilled
and hurt.

“ It is late, and time to go to bed,” said John,
in the same hard, unnatural manner. “ We
must get up early in the morning. Mother, you
willvsce after the lady. Tom, you come with
me.

Ten minutes later the lights were extin iished
and all was still. But in his chamber J 0 was
busil talking to his brother Tom.

“ ile she was telling her stor , I saw the
face of a man pressing against t ie window ”
John was saying. “It was the face of the big
man that rode with us. I know that he recog-
nized her. He will try to steal her awa before
morning. We know who and what t ey are,
and we must lay for ’em, Tom. You watch me,
portilclllyr'hen I say the word, shoot—and shoot to

The lad eagerly (promised obedience and John
knew that he coul rely upon him. Their re
arations were simple. An entrance co (1
efiected more easily by way of the front win-
dows; the brothers, armed with revolvers and
knives, took up their station in the front room,
and awaited the result.

The hours rolled by until the big clock struck
one. Then the sound of stealthy footsteps were
heard upon the porch without. The window
was raised, and the big man entered. He held
the window up for his two comrades to follow.
Then it was, when the three forms were out—
lined against the starlit sky, that John gave the
word. Crack—crack! followed by ells of ter—
ror and pain as two of the men fe writhing
to the floor. The third man started to flee,
but a bullet overtook him just as he sprlmg
from the porch, and he fell, crippled for life.
There was little more sleeping done that night
in the Smith house. John, after quieting the
women, watched his wounded prisoner until
day dawn, when Tom summoned a posse of
their neighbors, and the wretch, with his dead
comrades, was taken to town and lodged in jail.
He made a full confession, and the entire gang
was captured.

John Smith would not have to lie, now, if
any one were to ask hiniif Martha washis wife.

W AMONG the Norclties. of the season must
be mentioned the new FIRBSIDE LI-
BRARY—published by Beadle and Adams,
98 William street, N. Y.—Which presents, in
attractive guise, the Best Norcls of celebrated
American and Foreign Authors—each number
of,the Library a Complete Novel, and sold at
the astonishingly cheap price of ten cents for
single and twenty cents for double numbers.
The latest issues comprise:

Victor Hugo’s wonderful “ Toilers of the
Sea, ”——that has been reprinted in eleven lan-
guages, and has been read by millions of peo-
ple: '

Miss Braddon’s enchanting novel “ Lost
for Love,” and also her noted Romance of
Louisiana “The Octoroon,” from which
was drawn the great drama of that name.

J. S. Le Fanu‘s very much admired “ Uncle
Silas,” one of the most charming and popu—‘
lar stories of the last ten years.

Lovers of Good Fiction will find all tastes
gratified in the PIRESIDE LIBRARY,
and at rates that ought to send the attractive
series into every reading household in the
land.

Another equally admirable series, especially
appealing to the tastes of those who admire
romance strong and strange in incident and
character, is the new NEW YORK LI-
BRARY—published by Frank Starr & Co., 4 1
Platt street, New York. Its last issue is Cap-
tain Mayne Reid’s renowned “ Headless
Horseman,” finely illustrated with the de-
signs of the English edition, and all given in
one issue of the LIBRARY (extra double
number—twenty centsZ)—-more in quantity
and better in quality .1;a.n was ever before
given for such a price.

All newsdealers keep the numbers of the two
LIBRARIES, and all issues are supplied by
the publishers, post-paid, on receipt of price.

 

 

 

 



 

 
   
 
 
  

 

a. .. . .. . , ,
isthmus...» a:  .-