- west 3° Watching the foul birds for some time, and noting their movements closely, Reckless Rolt finally said: “There’s something om the plain, Bugte, that attracts these buzzards, and whatever it is, has life about it. It’s something wounded.” “Why do you think so, lad?” asked Old Buge. “Weil; past watch the birds, They'll settle down and down nearly to the earth, then up they’ll go agaihas though frightened by what they are anxious to feast upon. There, see that.¥ g ‘Thar’s good logic in yeur views o’ the matter, Roll, but let's go down and settle the hull thing by seein’ what's thar.” *Bnuough said, Bugie. It may be a white friend, or a deer, or an Ingin lying there wounded. If it’s a friend, of course we'll help him, and if a deer or redskin put it out of its misery. You see I have no love for a red- akin, Bugie.’? “Yes, Mve seed it fur a long time,’’ replied Bugle, with a eluckle, “your love lies in the direction o’ the Lone Oaks.’ The twe at once descended into the valley, and began moving away dua the direction in which they knew the object of tie buzzards’ attention to be. he valtures:arose higher and higher as they advanced, and so they began feeliug thelr way with caution, for they knew not what danger lurked around, and when alow moan, as if from human lips, fell suddenly upon their ears, both came lo au abrupt hait. aud threw themselves upon the eartts in the tall grass. , “There's something wrong, Bugle, sure. But whether that groan was genuine, or some Ingin trickery, 1 can't say—there it is againi" ; “Some one’s in distress, Roil,’* said Olu Bugle, starting up. . “Yes, that was a genuine moan of agony, Bugfe, so iiere gocs.”? The youth sprang to his feet and strode rapidly away in the direction from wheuce the sound had emanated. “By Heaven!’ suddenly burst from his lips as he tumbled headlung:over the prostrate form of a manin the grass. In an iustant, however, he was on his fect again and had his eyes fixed upon the form which had tripped him. The man arose partly apon his hands and gazed about him like one in adeliriun. He was a white man, This, however, they could only fell by the color of his hands, for his fuce aud neck were clotted with blood. that had welled from a cut across the left temple... When his eyes fell upon our friends, avcry of joy burst from his lips. « “TRank Heaven tt is you, Reckless Roill’’ he said. “Yes, and who are you?’ returned the youth, The man attempted to smile ag he replied: 1 am Oscar Desmond, what's leit of me.'! “Oscar Desmond}! burst, from. Reckless Roll's, lips, ‘what in Heaven’s name is the matter? jHave you had trouble with the Indians?” , "No. was shot down .by one Abel Thorne, a man whomt supposed my dearest friend outside ofmy family,”’ “Your wound must-be attended to at once,’ said Reck- less Roll, ‘for L see the villain’s bullet has cut close.” “Yes,’? replied Desmond; ‘‘and if L had net turned my it pont as the yillain fired; I presume I would have been a i eas Sey eee enaen Reckless Roll, and young iat a away on his c ward the Lone Sen: 7 rare “May Heavengpeed him,’ said Desmond, “A noble youth that,’ added Old Bugle; ‘a leetle rash and hot-headed, but strong and brave as a lion." CHAPTER TT. IN THE ARMS OF THE DEAD. “Come, Dut, my good pony, a little faster; we may have & long road to truvel before we get back to the Lone Oaks. Come, away, Dot, away.’ The voice of Maggie Milbank was low, sweet and ca- ressing, as she’ thus addressed her snow-white pony, urg- dog it swiftly forward over the prairie {2 her search for Oscar Desmond: — ‘ . The pony was a clean-limbed, spirited animal, grace- ful asa deer, aud in speed almost ag swift. Maggie was an Shanuarc equestrienne, and she looked very beau- tifal as se sat with ease aud grace upon the pony’s back, her long hair streamiug iu the Wind, her face a Jittie flushed with excitement, and her dark eyes roaming in- cessautly Over the plain before her, as sie swept swiftly a deeper and deeper into the solitude of the great prairie. ; ; _ Zhe latter was covered witha dense growth of grass which in places reached to the pony’s Piees. This an dered the chauces of finding a human form on the prairie but oneinahuadred. Of this the maiden was not igno- rant. The thick grass prevented her from tracking Oscar's horse, and all she had to convince her that the missing man was north of the Lone Oaks was the simple fact of luis riderless horse having come from tliat direction. So she pushed rapidiy forward. If Oscar was onty wounded, and able to make himself seen above the prairie grags, she had some hope of fiuding him; otherwise, she had none, unless itarose from oné thing alone, She was well aware that if there was a lifeless body upon the plain, buzzards would be hovering avout it, even liad it been there but a single hour. Forthese winged’ bangueters she watched Closely, and’yct was in fear she would see them, Herstarp lookout for the missing man, however, did apo Parana aa Unluking after she was once fairly upon the plain, and, asa matser of course, hi Dug to Bertha! > 9 a se, lier mind went ‘If Oscar is dead, she mused, Will break her poo hearttt will’ kil hef, I Know; for, ol, “how dearly she loves him { ZT wonder if £ will ever love Roland so dearly!" aud Maggie blushed, and lier eyes sparkled, but she did not allow her emotions to disturb her train of thougut, which ram on thus: “Oh, flel what a simple and absurd thougiif; fr I do love Roll'as well now. Butthere is something sirange about Bertha’s words, She seems to Fear Abel Thorne, but I am in hopes her suspicions of him will prove incorrect:” vi @hus she niused as 8hé rode on andon, with her eyes constantly before her; buf her reflections were at length interrupted by her pony evinciug some uneasiness by pricking up his ears and sniffing the air like a hound, “What is it, Dot, my noble pel?” The maiden drew rein to ascertain the cause of her pony’s alarm. She had scarcely done so whien the dull sound of hoofed feet on the grass-muffied earth broke upon her ears, The sound came from behind her, and before she could turn her head @ horseman dashed up by her side, and — rein, reached out and seized her animal by the ts. “Waugh! catehed young squaw!" A low cry of terror burst from M tural ejaculation greeted her ea she saw that. the horseman Was a hideous, painted Pawnee Indian; and a giance at the war-paint on his face told ler thatthe threat- ened crisis had come—that the Indians were on the war- e's lips as this gnt- pain! Wher shé had fanty comprehended this terrible fact, a spirit of dutrepidity possessed hier, The beautiful face seemed tratisformed into ‘marble, with every lineament stamped with defiance. If she had been expecting this danger her fears might have got tiie better of her courage, but the sudden requirements of the moment would per- wt coe a : ASE pony, Indian,’ she said pad “have no autiority todetain menere) CUMS “sou * ‘Waugh?’ 6xelainied the Indian, with a fiendish leer: “me great chiei—me Pantherfoot—no fraid of witeeeanae —she mucit nice, tho’—heap purty—mus’ go with Pan- therfoot—inake happy the lodge of White Wolf"? “So yoli intend to Canty Me off @ prisoner, do you, Pan- therfoot?’ Maggie asked, looking straight into the eye of pend heat with a glance that caused the redskin to wince. She thought of the two pistols in her. pocket; but the savage Was Within arm’s reach of her, and his black, ser- pent eyes watched her hand as though he read the very thought in her mind, She knew it would be useless—in fact, it might destroy her only chance of escape—to at- tempt todraw the weapon, for before she could use it the savage might wrest the pistol from her. Her only Chance for escape Was to watch the savage and take him wheu off his guard.’ Maggie, witli all the horrors of an Indian captivity loom- pg up before her, hever Miunched, and for a moment it seemed ag though the savage would recoil before the gaze she fixed upon him. It was quite a minute before he replied to her question. “Yes,” he said, “me take you prisoner—no ‘hurt if go guiet—scalp if don't." “Demont! the fearless maiden retorted; “you, a great warrior, threaten to scaipafeeble girl! You are a cow- ard—a sneaking wolf!’ As she spoke, Maggie fixed her eyes upon the savage’s, at the same time’ stowly moving her hand toward her pocket. She supposed the savage had not observed the movement, for his eyes were fixed upon hers; but judge of her surprise when to her retort he replied; “The white’ squaw has a sharp tongue, but it cannot cut like the Knife she would like to take from her pocket.’? “You are mistaken there,” thought Maggie, “tor Ihave pe in my pocket that will cut deeper thana e. But the words of the savage had been sufiicient to con- vince -her that as cautious as were her movements the sbarp eye of the savage liad noted them. So she resolved to resort to a stratagem. “Your suspicion of danger, Pantherfoot,” she said, “shows that you are cowardly, and aga coward haga great fear of death, I would advise you to leave at once, if you wish to live, for yonder comes Reckless Roll, the Boy Ranger.’ ; The savage started, and had half-turnedhis head, when she saw the hand of the maiden glide quickly into her pocket. ~ Like a tiger lie turned upon her. The pistol was out; but before she conld use it the savage seized her around the waist, dragged her from the back of her pony and threw her in front.of him across his own beast. Then he dropped the reln and. locked both arms tightly around the slender form of the mainen, pinioning her arms at her side, Maggie struggled desperately, but not one word of fear escaped her lips. Instrength she soon. found that she was like an infant compared to the now. triumphant sav- age. She atill clung to the [little pistol; but the hand (hat held the weapon was. powerless. At length, howeyer, With an almost superhuman effort, she succeeded in re- ieasing her right arm and hand, . The next instaut there is sharp click; then the tiny tube of the pistol is pressed against the left breast of the savage. The trigger is pressed by the maiden’s finger, there is a& dull report, an unearthly scream. The bullet had pierced the redskin’s heart. Af the same instant a cry of pain was forced from Maggie's lips. Instead of the arms that encircled her form. relaxing their hold, they were drawn tighter by asudden contraction of the muscles, and for # moment the maiden was sure that the life was being crushed from her body. She attempted to free her- self, but,all in vain, ; : The pony became frightened and dashed away at a fu-. rious speed... Strong.as hoops of iron the legs of the chief became locked around the slender form of the beast, as his arms had become locked around the body of Maggie Milbank. ‘ ; Bolt upright sat the grim Pantherfoot, and Maggie be- gan Lo despair, for siie supposed he was only wounded, if hurt atall, But she nrauaged to geta glimpse of his face, then.a cry of horror came from her lips. Shesaw that his eyes were fixed, and glassy, and stariug. She saw that his face was ghastly, that he was stone dead. “Oh, Heaven!’ she cried, ‘‘deliver me from the arms of this lifeless savage!’ , Then she struggled to free herself, but the arms that held her toa pulseless breast were like bands of steel. Slice attempted to throw both herself, and the savage from the beast, bat his stiffened limbs could not be moved Irom the animal’s side,‘ She could not throw him backward, nor could she throw him forward, It was a fearful situation, that brave and beautiful girl in the arms of the dead chief, and both borne away with fearful rapidity over the plain by a terrified beast. i Scream after scream issued from the maiden’s lips. Nobly and bravely had she dared the living, but now her ‘sont sickened with horror at the touch of tle dead, *When she first discovered that he was lifeless, she ex- pected that the muscies would soon relax, but in this she was bitterly disappointed, Poor Maggie! er torture was great, and she was fast sinking underit. Ter heart was growing faint, and her brain dizzy. A mist was gathering over her eyes, but through it, looming up like & Colossai’ phantom, she saw a horseman approaching, E She rallied her strength and shrieked for help. Then. to her earacame a yoice—the voice of the ap- proaching horseman. “Cheer up, Miss Milbank; I will save you.” It was the voice of Abel Thorne. But on went the grim, stark lorseman with his fair, helpless burden, while on behind thundered Abel Thorne in swift pursuit, ou, onl (TO BE CONTINUED.) ' —_—_-> Bare-Back Bill; OR, THE FREAKS AND FORTUNES OF A Sk Ae VV See By John F. Cowan, Author of O’°CONNOR’S CHILD; CHARLEY GALE’S PLUCK; KANSAS KIT, etc. . {Bareback Bill” was commenced in No.4 Back numbers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States. CHAPTER XII. Bare-Back Bill and little Rhodie ran away from the noise of the canal across the fields as fasi as the darkness would permit them. In order to see life they were flying from every vestige ofit. Astle lights and sounds died away behind. them the darkness deepened and the very feeble glimmer of the stars barely sufficed to show them the fences they met. They were breathless and spoke but. little, and then mostly words of warning or direction, At last Riodie began to falter with weariness, though utter- ing no words of complaint, and Bill, with an innate deli- cacy, Of which his rough exterior gave little or no pro- mise, caught his strong arm around his companion’s waist aud helped him along. 4 “Keep up, Rhodie, old boy, we'll soon reach some farm- house and bunk in the bara or outskeds. If you’d come with j ine we'd have been having a good snooze on deck now. “Dm sorry you left the boats for me,! said Rliodie, self- reproachifully, but Bill stopped his mouth abruptly: “That's enougi.o’ that: eort o’ talk now. Let's hear no. more ofit, or yonand me’ll have.a shindy on our first startout, Iffellers is agoin’ to travel chums they must take things alike and not grumble. I come of my own will and I’m goin’ to see it through, by jingo.. Hurrah! there’s a farm-house, Rhodie, and lots o’ haystacks and outhouses aroundit. We'll gitcover there. Give me the banjo and let’s leg it, for it looks like a storm overhead, and the Wind's gettin’ scary andthe rain’s beginnin’ to spit. They started for the house, but as they approached the ferocious baying of several large dogs frightened them off, and they were forced to trudge along the m@ad in a rather footsore coudition. Dark clouds were ascending, and faint summer lightning glimmering out occasionally showed the minute objects of the surroundings, plain for an instant, then vanishing plhantom-like. This, where white-painted houses occurred in the distance, hada weird effect, which impressed Rhodie more strongly than it did Bill, Coming toa rough driving shed on the road side, they took such sorry shelter agit afforded from the drop- ping rain. Itwasonly intended for a shade from tle hot sun, and trickled through loose boards of the roof, and the glimmering ligitning shone through the vine-covered Sides, but it was’ better than no shelter at all, and they sat down on the little manger that they found at the back. “It's geiting chilly, isn’t it??? said Rhodie, with a shiver. “Don’t you feel cold, Bill ?"’ “Not a bit,’’ said the hardier Bill, ‘Here, you take my jacket.’ and conquered the reluctance of his companion by a threat of dis displeasure.. During this change Rhodie caught a glimpse through the vine-wreathed side of the shed ofa sight that made his blood rush back to his heart, and caused .a cry of. awe and-alarm to escape his lips, “Whiatis it, Rhodie?” whispered Bill, quickly. “I don’t Know. Ithink they were ghosis,’? was the tremulous whisper breathed in Bill’s ear. “Ghosts? Where??? whispered Bill. “Out.there af the back. Let us steal away.” “No, said Bill, “we will wait till it lightens. I don’t take much stock in ghosts. I’ve been too much in the dark along the towpath. There you are. Phew!’ Through the vine leaves the liglitning gleam revealed a vast number of objects, that seemed to shoot up from the earth like sheeted forms and sink into it again as the flash died out, The hearts of both the young wanderers beat rapidly, for Bill, in spite of his expressed disbelief in ghosts, was puzzled and mystified, aud any one even better educated might well, in the circumstances, be somewhat awed. “Let us steal away and run before they come again," said the trembling Rhodie, and though Bare-Back Bill was at heart inclined to follow his advice, still his natural hardihood and pride of courage restrained him from yield- ing to his companion’s trembling reqnest. “Ghosts can’t hurt us if they're only air or smoke,” ho said, philosophically. ‘“l’m goin’ to have another squint at them if I die forit. Here goes.’’ _ With hands that slightly trembled for all his determina- tion, lie gently parted the vines and waited breathlessly for the lightning flash. It came, and so did the white objects,"Bhooting aloft like sheeted figures and sinking into obilvion again. “Allright, Ruodie,’’ said Bill, assuringly. ‘It’s only a grave-yard, and your ghosts are the head-stones, and there's the church beliiud the trees.’? ; “Only & grave-yard!”? said Ruodte, in an awed whisper. “A grave-yard is such a dreadful place to stay. It makes me have such strange fancies, ‘Let us go.’ “No, Riodie. Nothing can hurt you here. Grave-stones can’t walk away from, the graves, and it’s goin’ to come down heavy in a little while. Let's stay where we are.’! “But it frightens me,” said the litle one, tremblingly. “Don't you look at it then. Lie right down in fhe trough with your face this way and lL cover you with the jacket. There now, you can sleep like atop, and I'll ‘Keep guard agin the ghosts, and see that the head-stones mind their own business stead o’ trottin’ round fright- euin’ fellers,?? ; “Thats not fair, Bill," began Rhodie, ag his_ self- sacrificing comrade tucked him iu his strange bed. * “Look a here, young man,’ was the crusty answer, “don’t you go a raisin’ my Ebenezer agin with your grum- blin’ objections or 1’11——" Under fear of the dire consequences implied by this un- finished threat, Rhodie as usual subsided, and Bill was leftin peace to his observations of the head-stones dancing in time to the lightning. He had no fear of them now that he knew what they were and hig eyes had been ac- customed to the strange sight; but his little companion, possessed of a more vivid imagination, cowered under the jacket in affright. ; “I can’t sleep, Bill,” ho said atlength. “I think I see the ghosts glidiug about, and that I hear footsteps close around us,?? “What a littie fool you are, Rhodie,” said Bill. “TI teil you the ghosts are stock-sione-still, cause they’re marble and the footsteps are the rain drops on the leaves. Situp aud 100K Straight at them likea man: That’ame. Let's Rhodie protested against this, but Bill was peremptory |, and ltl tell yon mine. Lran away with a circus onee— that’s where I learned bare-back riding and tumbling.” “And why did-.yeu leave it?—you would have made such a good performer,” said Rhodie, glad of the gossip to take his mind from the ghosts, ‘?Oause I was sma!! aud couldn't take my own patt, and they used me like adog. They wouldn't do it now, you bet. I’ve learned to handle my hands since I’ve beep on the canal, Where did you learn your banjo playin’, and dancin’, and ‘stumps,’ Rhodic?*? “Hushl”? cried Rhodie, in a frightened whisper, turn- ing his face away from the grave-yard but pointing toward a ' “What is it, now ?"? cried BI, somewhat testlly, for he looked upon his companion's fears ag aitogether things of the {magination. “Listen. Don’t you hear some strange sounds from among the tombstones? Like music?’? Bill did listen and did hear the sounds creeping across the chureh-yard—but very faintly and fitfully. Their na- ture was hard todetermine, and the pliilauthropic Willian) was again ita quandary, “By jimminy! you’ve got sliarp Ilsteners, Rhodie,” he said. ‘You haven't been used to rough sonuds so much ag Ihave, But the soundsisailright. It’s the wind on the telegraph wires out there, or (he creakin’ of the weather clerk a-top of tlic church steeple, that’s all.’ “No, it’s from the grave-yard, and it’s music,” suid Rho- die, With trembling positiveness. “Do you think [know music when 1 hear it?” “Well, you've got a better ear than mine, ff it ain’t so big, fuduow I do think you're about right. But it only shows that there’s some farm-house ’mong the trees be- hind the grave-yard, and the folks is having a jollification: Phew! by George! what's that?! “What—what!? said Rhodie, in a whisper of terror, clinging to his companion’s arm. *Nothin’—nothin' twas only a bush,’ cried Bill, deal- 1s lightly with the truth in cousideration of his conirade’s ears. But ft was no bush he had scen in the momentary illu- mination of the lightning, It wags a dark, shadowy form, human in outline, that passed across among the graves | with garments fiutrering in the storni-wind contrasting strongly in their darkness with the white shooting out- lines of the head-stones, ——— CHAPTER XIll. “Dy jimminy?”’ soliloquized Bill, “this beats circus act- in’? hollow. That’s a high old place for a promenade— that’s some cove of a gretve turn o’ mind got tlred o’ the shindig and’s takin’ an airin’.” “What is it, Bill??? asked Rhodic, alarmed by the other's muttering, “This is an awful place. Lt wasn'ta bush; was it, honest ?”? “Honest Lujin!’’ sald the truthful Bill; ‘a regar ont- and-out bush out bushwhaekin’ and that’s ehough ’bout it. Let’s get back to our talk to steady your nerves, for you're as skeary as @ flea.’’ “]’m not so strong as you are, nor so bold,” said Rho-’ die, apologetically. * “No, but you're a blamed sight better talker. So heave ahead and give an account of yourself. I told you how I got my ‘stumps’ and ridin’ tricks, now tell’s where you picked up your’n.”? “With the gipsies,’’ said Rhodie. “The gtpsies!”? exclaimed Bill, fa astonishment. “Why, were you ever with the gipsies ?" ; “Yes, for several years—for ever so long.*! “Were you a born one?) “No,” said Rhodie, pettishly. “Do I look like a gipsy?’ “Well, no, You're rather creamy-skinned for that. ‘The gipsies—least allo’ them I see—have hides like leather, But heave ahead. Now it’s interestin’.. Give’s it all to- gether without stoppages, How d’ye get there, whar did ye come from, whar did you go to, and all the rest of it?” “IT don't know,’’ said Rhodie, in a tone that showed perplexity; “I seem to remember a big house and white people in it that were yery good to me, and a dark night aud @ Wikl-looking woman running with me in her aris and kissing mie to kéep me from crying, and sle took m to & big busi where fires were burning all about, and there were dark men and women’ and dogs and horses, and I was frightened at the dogs aud the men but the women were good to me and put me in a wagon whiere I cried myself.asieep, and when I woke the trees and the fires were gone and it was bright daylight and we were driving along.a broad white road far, far away.’ Rhodie stopped for breath, and Bill broke out: “Well, old boy, for one that ‘don’t kKuow,’ I must say you've got a healthy memory. Wait a minute,’ he cried, suddenly, ‘that gassy fellow that we ornamented with tar. “Montcalm ?!! “That's the feller—he said you was an heir—now do you know, Rhodie, I kind o’ feel like backin’ lim on that, for gipsies don’t go to the trouble o’ stedlin’ nobody that’s worth nothin’. They're ‘on the make,’ they are, and heirs is good stock. But I ain’t with him on the gal ques- tion—you ain’t a gal, are you, Rhodle? “Me a girl?! said Rhodie, indignantly, “Don’t git riled. {knew ‘twantso, Go on with your yarn. How did you come to leave the ‘gyps’?’ “A man Came there and said I was his child, and the chief of the gipsies gave me to him for mouey when tie woman that stoleme was away from camp. She was always good to me, and wouldn't ’velet me be taken if she’d been there. Husii, didn’t you hear anything ?” “No, it’s ihe wind. You're as skittish as a colt,’ cried Bill, in the impatient, confident way he meant to be re-as- ee 1 oe Der ih “You k the rest!) gajd): ie. _“'T! ‘You how ait he rest, fou ®, 1odie. “That man and p woman you Into Lock ocks pretended to be my father and mother, aud Kept me locked up all the time. I didn’t like them—I was afraid of them. I got a chance, and ran away into the country. Moutcalin had a travel- ing show, and he saw me dancing for sometliing to eat (for the gipsles had taught me to play and dance and sing so I could perform at the fairs), aud lie took me into his show and used me bad and I ran away fron¥him, too, and met you., There, that’s all, Oh, Heaven! Ol, Bill—Biu, save mel’? The exclamation of the youngster was accompanied by other wild exclamatious, and ag Bare-Back Bill caught hold of his screaming companion, thiiking his affrignt was occasioned by imaginary fears, a biaze of lightning illuminated the inside of the shed, and showed hima wild- looking figure nar cone. aside the vines with one hand and clutching Rhodie’s arm with (he other. “Paws off, Beelzebub!’’ cried Bill, fiercely striking first right and left with his fists, but ineffectually, whereon he seized the banjo and dealt the intruder a sound and sounding blow on tlie head. ‘There, darn you, take note of that, will youl’ As Bill spoke he caught Rhodie by tle hand and dashed out of the shed on to the wet road, and flew with the speed of fear. A cry of rage or pain succeeded Bill’s blow aud they had not gone far when they heard liedvy foot- steps plashing along in pursuit, accompanied by faint, gasping cries forthem tostop. Tliey attributed the faint- hess to the wind and the gasping to {he running exertions of the pursuer, aud they held on as fast as they could, “Stop! stop! 1am a friend—a mother!’’ sounded the voice as wallingly as tle storm wind itself. “Not for. Joseph—too thin for Simon—don’t want no frieuds—hain’t got no mothers!” roared Bll as they hutried on. Arriving at.a field where numerous cocks of new-mown liay Were visible by the lightning gleams the fugitives quickly clainbered over the fence, and at tle suggestion of Bare-Back Bill, who had often before used the same expedient to obtain a night’s lodging, they burrowed into the centers of two adjaceut hay cocks, and being safe from storm and capture slept until morning. If they had known the anxieties and plots and machina- tions that were progressing in various parts on their account, for and against, it ig Jikely their dreams wonld have been even more restless than their suffocatingly- warm beds made them. : To indicate these is sufficient, for the young wanderers are the heroes of the story, tlie other characters but tlic machinery that works out their fortunes—important in their place, but secondary. : Judge Cornell and his lady in the depths of their anxiety could not patiently await the termination of Ar- mand Montcatm’s search, so hearing that the fugitives had gone toward New York, they caused placards to be posted in all the towns and villages along the route; in- serted advertisements of reward iu all the papers in that direction and telegraphed to the police of the big cities to Bot pis lookout for the young vagabonds, but so far essly. On the other hand the doubl¢e-dealing and double-char- actered Montcalm was negotiating with all parties with a view to his own emolument and the accomplishment of ae art ends.’ He liad more strings to his bow than a e. First: he longed to grasp the ten thousand dollars offered by Judge Cornell for the recovery of his supposed child. Second: he liad predetermined to steal that child again after her recovery aud carry fer to foreign lands ou speculation with his new gained capital. Third: Mother Minvs assertion that Bare-Back Bill, not he, was next of kin to her gin-loving croneship and should be heir to her hoarded treasure, set his cupidity on edge and raised in him a resolution tliat love of treasure and revenge sliould be satisfied at one stroke by tiie removal of the intrusive canal boy. Fourth: for further reward he entered into Secret compact with the gentleman in black, the victim of Bare-Back Bill's carriage feat, to perform the very same services which were to bring him money from other quarters, namely, the recovery of the ronaway Rhodie and the removal of the obnoxious Bill, [ might add a fitthly and sixthly, like the preacher of a many-heaaed sermon, but they will appear leas Lediously in due time. “Happy Armand Montcalm! Fortunate—thrice fortun- ate Joseph Tivers!? were the self-congratulating exclama- tions of the versatile bearer of both names as he parted from the Tea eAT in black, slapping his hand ona pocket well-filled with advauce money. ‘Wealth is flowing in upon thee. Thou art surrounded by the dramatic, and exciting incident thou hast ever sought, and all for thy beneflt— the greatest ‘benefit’ thou’st ever had, Ha! hal Let other less ambitious artists seek the sulky salary by servile struggles; thou goest for ‘full receipts,’ Aud yet the jocund Armand, with all his grasping con- fidence, Was put in doubt and puzziément by the compli- cations of the plot which centered areund him. The ob- jects of the parties to the action he was put on were so Similar, and the motives of the parties must be so differ- ent, that the acute Montcalm, to use a heathenisli expres- sion of his own, was “flabbergasted,” and took refuge,in soliloquy, thus; “Now, Reginald Nelson,’* he sald, ‘‘is the cast-off nephew of Judge Corneli—iord, how surprised he was to sce me at Mother Mint’s, and discover that I was her nephew and knew all about his business there—and_this cursed canal boy is the child of him and my cousin Catherine—I have talk when you can’t sleep. You tell me all your scrapes high relationseand Gertrude, or Rhodie, traveling with ‘ <«@ THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. @3e=— Bil, is the child of Judge Cornell. Then this Reginald Nelson would be the heir of Judge Cornell if this ohild Gertrude never turned up, and yet this most mysterious Reginald pays me to recover Gertrude, his rival in the heirship, and remove Bill, his own son, Then the old woman takes motey also for the »emoval—nice word—of her own grandchild and holds friendly compact with the wronger of her own daughter. I can’t understand it, it’s clean against human nature in every particular, A prize cconundrum—complicated as a Japanese puzzle. I give it up. What need I care? Hvery way, puzzle me as it may, itis tomy gain. Mi. Reginald little knows that lam en- gaged by his uncle, the judge, forthe same purpose that he pays me for, or that I will relieve them both of the girl again when I have pocketed their mouey, or that I have reasons of my own for removing Bare-Back Bill if he never gave mea cent forit. ‘Don’t injure the boy,’ he Said, ‘only remove him where he will not be likely to come back; put him on a school-ship, or on board a whaler, or something.’ Hal hal ‘zemove’ is ‘a good word, an excel- lent good word,’ and well adapted for use by conscientious people, but Armand Moutcalm has made both words and people his study and weighs them at their true value.’? During this he was bowling along ina Central train, and his thougiits bowled along as impatiently as the loco- motive, fOr his forced return for fuuds after the tar adven- lure had given the coveted runaways considerable time. In fact he wasina quandary what course to pursue, for his knowledge of the smartness of both youngsters put him in doubt whether, owing to (heir Knowledge of pur- suit, they would not desert the slow-going canal, and double on him. The interests at stake to the enterprising Armand were great, and in the multiplicity of schemes is perplexity. CHAPTER XIV. _*Rhodle, Rhodie, are you awake?’? cried Bill, as he crawled out of his strange couch in the haycock into the suuny morning that followed the storm, aud pushed with his foot agalust the nextrick. ‘Crawl out here, old fel- low, iv’s tine we were on our Jegs again.” There was neither answer by voice or crawling ont, and, with great anxiety lest his young friend might have been sinothered in his close quarters, Bill caught hold of the hay near the bottom and heaved the pile over, only to discover the empty nest where Rhodie had lain. “Gone,” he cried, looking around desperately, “And come again,’ cried a laughing voice, and Bill saw the missing Rhodie appear from behind the haypile from which he himself had lately crawled, but he saw some- thing more unexpected and Jess welcome, in the shape ofaman and two dogs, coming across the fleld toward them, “Hal you young thieves, I’ve caught you have 1?” roared the man, floundering over tlie stubble. “Answer your Own questions,’? bellowed Bill back at him, for he had taken in the situation at a glance, and his plans were formed with his usual quickness. The man was fat, and'stout aud slow of foof, 80 was the larger of the dogs (a very big one}; the other animal was comparatively sinalt and swift, aud would reach them in advance of the others. Bill caught Ruodie and hoisted him up the side of one of the hay-cocks, “Sit there,” he cried, ‘while this fellow and mehasa game o’ foller my leaders Don’t be alraid, I'll fix him. The smaller dog came dashing on, and when at ashort distance, Bill ran out ct sight behind the hay-rick, leaving Rhodie seated on top of itin full view of the approaching animal. “Now, old boy, Rhodie,*? cried Bill, ‘hold on like grim death, and I'ilshow you a daylight view of the dog-star.’? The brate sprang forward with a furious bark, and see- ing only Rhodie ou the hay-pile, madea bound. direct for him; but not quite reaching his intended victim, began to scramble up the yielding hay. In that instant the Philis- tine was upon .himin the shape of Bare-Back Bill, who seized the unsuspecting cantne by the tail, and with a clr- cling sweep, hurled him aloft as‘the Scotchman flings the heavy hammer. : “There’s some higt and lofty tumbling for you,’ roared Bill, ag the astonished dog went sprawling through the air, and falling into a neighboring feld, Jay there medi- tailng likely on life’s vicissitudes. ‘Flere comes the big one, Bill!’ exclaimed the fright- ened but admiring Rhodie, from his perch. Bill faced the enemy. There was only one in motion, and that was the massive mastiff The gouty farmer, petrified with amazement at the erial Night of his canine advance guard, stood as stiff and still as Lot’s wife, but ou—on went his heavy reserve, nearer and nearer to the boys. As the puffing quadrttped drew Close, Bill tried the same tactics and ran behind the rick, but that heavy timbered canine, either sensible of his own fatty unfitness for climb- ing, or appreciatiug the ridiculous figure his fellow ha cut through the atmosphere, declined the steep ascent an galloped solidly around the stack after Bill. Now, Bare-Back Bill was waiting impatiently for the plunge of the brute on the side of the hay pile, aud ca!cu- lating his’ chances of being abie to sling such a mass of dog flesh, little imagining that the enemy was coming a flank movement on him until the dog’s snout was within a few inches of the most yulnerable portion of his person. “Look out, Bill, he’s afier youl”? roared Rhodie from his point of observation, and but for the timely warning he ould have been Bare- Back Bill in truth as well as title. Around the stack weut Bill, and around the stack after him went the four-legged pursuer, made sprightly by the near view of his prey, until tleaffuir beca:ne monotonous, and the dog’s fatness began to teil against him, and the farmer Was approaching. ‘ “Oh, look a-herel’’? cried Bill, ‘this here’ll never do; I must get out of it somehow.?? With that he made aspurt and found himself close on the rear of the enemy, The appreciation of the chance was instantaneous, sO’ was the seizureofit. With a bound he alighted straddle legs on the ‘broad back of the mastiff, and cauglit him by the fat neck, on either side, to hinder him from turning to bife. With a howl the dog tried to back from under him and then darted forward in the endeayor to run away from him, but both efforts were vain. ; “Down with you, Rhodie, and mount behind,’ cried Bill, with alaugh, but the sensible animal he bestrode didn’t wait for double riding but darted off with his rider at a speed that surpassed auy time lie had made for many a year. : “Slide down and scoot it, Rhodie!’ cried Bill, and Rno- die did so, dashing off in tle wake of his rollicking com- panion and leaving the fat farmer standing iu amaze at the singular manner of his defeat, “Ti, yil Rhodie, old boy! How’s this for Mazeppa? Special cwr-ier with government dispatches! Three weeks in acircus, Hooray!’ cried Bill, triumphantly. But pride ever goes before a fail, and crossing a hidden furrow down fell the panting animal, and heels overhead went the rider among the stubble. The bewildered do freed from his load started. up and off. Rhodie thrummed a retreat upon the banjo, and the miserable mastiff showed his non-appreciation of music by increasing his pace as if there were a dozen tin paus at his tail, ; ; They had not a long time for laughter or congratulation for a reinforcement of farm hands appeared in the dis- tance, and the youngsters thought it wise to scud away. Having start they were soon beyond pursuit. “‘Rhodie,”? gaid Bill, as they sat downin the edge of a grove lo rest, ‘‘what do. you think came into my head when I was bunked in the hay stack last night?” Pi “f don’t know. What?! “That them music sounds we heard inthe grave-yard came from a gipsy camp in the woods at the back of the burying ground.” “ZT have thought.so too.’! “Maybe ‘twas your talkin’ ‘bout ‘gyps’ put itinto my head; but I kind o’ think I’m right.” . “So dol! “And that that customer that tried to levy war-tax on you was one o’ them. It must a’ been a woman, Rhodie, for don’t you remember she said she was a mothier.’? ‘Mother!’ exclaimed Rhodie, turning to Bill, as ifa new light had just dawned upon him. ‘Mother! Then it must have been Wild Kate, the woman that stole me at first. It washer, Bill. Imight have known her, but I was so frightened at the time. You're right in everything. It must have been a gipsy camp.” “Suppose we go back and see,”’ said Bill, “No. They would take me and sell me to him again, or some one else. I won’t go. I waatto be free. I ain't a doll or a monkey to sell about. If Iamito besold Wil sell myself, and ” “Run away with the money, eh, Rnodie?’ “Yea, or run away without it either.” “Well, but VIL settle this thing,’? said Bill. ‘I'll goon the scout alone, as they say in the Indian stories, and you lie snug till I come_back. I ain’t no heir, and they won't Want me to make money off. I ain't got any stamps nor good clothes to make them fallin love with me enough to cut my throat, or stow me otherways away. So Ill 0. “Not without me. I will go too!’? “All right. Let’s heave ahead,’ said Bill. ‘You know they needn’t see us. We'll take a sly peep and crawl.’? “You can’t crawl very near a gipsy 6amp, Bill,’? said Rhodie, with an unusual assertion of superior knowledge. out.?? “Oh the degs bedoggoned. IfFain’t 0. K. on the dog question, muzzle me.”? Rhodie laughed, for the words brought back the mem- ory of Lhe sprawling dog in the air, and the fransic beast with Billon its back. So they started back over part of their route of the night before, and soon savy the spire of the church seen in the lightning storm, They entered the churel-yard, foreven Rhodie’s fears of the supernatural were quelied by the light of day, and passed as unnoticeably as they could toward the wood at the back. Sometimes they dodged from stone to stone or shrub, Sometimes br | crept prone between the graves, and at length had the happiness to (if happiness it was) to arrive among the shrubbery at the boundary feuce of the grave-yard, A jabbering of many-voices was distinctly heard, and by parting the weeds and surubbery they saw a gipsy camp in allits rugged picturesqueuess. The siglit pleased Bill’s rollicky nature so much that he said to Rhodfe ina pleased, half audible tone: : eee aaah it is the gipsies.*’ : “Yes, itis the gipsies.’? “Right, my chickens! it is the gipsies,’’ said a rough, laughing.voice behindthem. ‘Take a nearer look at them. Both Bill and Rhodie started up at this unexpected sa- lute, but before they could act or speak each was seized by a couple ofstrong men and heaved over the picket fence 89 that Lhey lit upon their feet, and, with varied cries, the members of the camp gathered around them. But one woman, who bore an indescribable difference from the rest, and sat moping beneath a tree, looked up at the sound, and catohing a- glimpse of the two boys, jumped from her seat on the ground and rushed toward “Gerty, my child! she cried, frantically casting aside those who stood in her path, and about to grasp Bhodie. “No you don’t, crazy onel’’ cried Bill, springing in- stinctively to his comrade’s assistance. The woman stopped suddenly, stared from one to the other of the youngsters, and leaned ‘against a tree, gasping: P “You two together!—YOU TWo 1"! “What does she mean by that, Rhodie ? “T's Wild Kate,”? whispered Rhodie, ‘IT know. But whatis she talkin’ about’ What makes her look so? Why does she call you her child ?”? ‘T don’t know. She always did 80; but she’s erazy, and she seems to know you us well as she does me.” answered Bill; and the woman mutiered, with the va- cant iteration of maduess: ; “YOU TWO TOGETHER !? [TO BE CONTINUED. ] Mezzoni The Brigand. By Lieutenant Murray. {“Mezzoni the Brigand’’ was commenced in No. 3, Back aum- bers can be obtained. of any News Agent in the United states.J OHAPTER XVII. A HERO AND HEROINE. Oolonel Manlins Bray had suffered intolerable anxiety ‘f during the necessary delay between his retarm to Naples and the receipt of the funds to enable him to pay for the release of his daugtter from captivity. Though he had faith in the robber’s word, stillin his nervous and very natural anxiety he imagined all sorts of troubics as being the hourly experience of his chila, His astonishinent cannot be adequately described when he was awakened from sieep, ol that mprning before day- light, and beheld bothrhis daughter and Walter Hammond. They had come directly from the police station, in the Strada St. Carlo, where» the market man had jeft them. Walter had taken the prneoation to stop first at the police headquarters to.give information of their escape and to suggest the possibilify of pursnit, even within the city it- self, so bold were these brigands. The two fugitives presented a singular appearance when the colonel first looked upon them, and he rnobed his eyes again and again, scarcely believing that he was actual! awake. His daughter was In male attire, and so travel- stained and soiled as 10 be scarcely recognizable, while her companion, who: naturally had a heavy beard, had ‘been unshaven for weeks, looking. more like an escaped convict thanagentieman. Until this very moment the father had thought that Walter was gone to Ameri 2 also added greatly tothe mystery of the whole af air. However, here was his dear Marion, 80 long lost, alive and well, though haggard with fatigue. ; “Escaped and well; that js enough for the present,’’ said the excited father. “Now, Marion, your room has been kept for you, Just as you left it on’'that sad day; go and rest and refresh yonrself, and,’ continued the coto- nel, ‘“‘get rid of these shocking clothes."! “T intend to Keep these always,’’ she said; “they have indeed served me faithfully.” ‘So you shall, my dear, 80 you shall,"’ said the colonel, kissing her fondly. “But, father, we owe everything to Walter; it is the second time he has rescued me.’! : “At the risk of his own life, too,” said the old soldier, grasping Walter’s hand. f “How aboutéhat ransom, Colonel? asked the young American, smiling. “Itwas to be ready this very week, after a worid trouble.’ . 3 “We are in time to save that little sum,’’ said Walter. “Ample.” © “That ig some satisfaction,”’ he continued, “though, do me the justice to believe, tint the dread of your daugh- ter’s being in those villains’ hands forsolong a time, entirely unprotected, was what drove me to (he moun- tains.’ ; “T know it,’? sald the colonel, while Marion took Wal- ter’s hand and held it tenderly, : ‘i “But no more now. J will not ask you one single 7 guestion until you have slept and entirely recovered your- | selyes,’? ; ee father,’ said Marion, as he embraced her affectionate i “Good-night, Walter,’? she said, putting both of her hands in his, “Good-night, dear Marion,’ he said, looking fondly into her loving eyes. It was not until the expiration of NEE Seyi foar hours that the two fugitives awoke from~ jong and refreshing sleep, when it seemed almost i e for them to appease their ravenous appetites,” h ont fresh clothes changed them so entirely tha ag difficulé to believe them the same individuals who stood together before the colonel so lately. Murion, when she met Wal ter, clothed as she now was in her appropriate costume, blushed at the memory of the figure she must have pre- sented, far more than she had done when she was dressed in that robber’s suit. } Asto Walter, could this handsome and neatly-dresseé young fellow, now pressing her hand so fondly, be the rough-and-ready sailor who had so successfully fought thelr way down the mountainside, and eonducied the English girl in safety from Ner fearrat bondage to the bri- gauds? “Ifthey don’t hear or see you, the dogs will find you }, Marion Bray, notwithstanding the hardships she had endured, was the picture of health and beauty. Her - complexion tvas a little browned, but as Walter carefully noticed, the color was fresh and clear, and her expression bright and happy. P The colonel listened to the startling detail of his child’s escape from the banditti, the story sounding more like a romance than like facts, yet it was Jiteral. “These robbers have received a bitter lesson at your hands,’? he said to Walter. ; : And so it proved, for, as was afterward known, one of the first two pursuers, who had partaken of the sleeping draught, died of his wound before he reaclied the cave, while the fore-arm of the other was shattered and useiesa for life. Of the second two, who took up the pursuit, one was seriously wounded in the thigh aud lamed for life, while the other, Whom Marion saw throw up his hands and fall on his face, was shot through the heart. The bully of the gang, Vecchio, did not live to teti the story of his encounter with the young American. Three of the robbers thus lost their lives aud two were maimed for life. The severest clieck they had met with for years, and all through the cool courage of one man. “What was your most trying exigency?’ asked ,the colonel of Walter. ; “It was where, I presume, you would least think.’' he replied. “And that was??? “With the dog.’* “How sor’? “I had never used a knife upon a living thing, and it quite unnerved me for a moment.” * , “No wonder,” said the colonel. ; ‘‘] have been’ accustomed to thie use of » pistol, but not the knifet”” ‘ “Your training has served you well.” ‘ ‘ “Oh, father, it was horrible though to see those men fall when Walter fired,’ said Marion. “Tt was in self-defense, my child.” No secret was made of the deliverance of the English lady from the brigands’ cave, aud the papers made quite a hero and heroine of the two, giving to Walter Ham- mond the credit which was so jusily his dae, for the very trying and well-managed escape from the bauditti. " The English detective was one of the first to call upon Walter, after the announcement of his escape, seeking various aud minute information of him relating to the outlaws, and the cave they inhabited, besides freely ex- pressing his admiration of his bravery and skill. solicitation Walter wrote out some ininutes of localities and the topographical character of the mountain. ; “Did you ever see Mezzoni?’’ asked the detective. “Never.’! “T can find no one who has.’? “Nor I,”’ said Walter, ‘‘that is, E could get no descrip- tion of him.*? : ‘He’s a myth with nearly every one.’! “I begin to doubt if there be any Mezzoni.”* are “I do not,’’ said the detective. ‘The organization of those brigands is too complete to be the work of any of those common banditti, There is a mystery about the matter that I should like to see unraveled.'’ “Mezzoni did not come to the cave while I was there.” ‘You have taught them a bitter lesson." “T was too handy with the pistol to suit them,’? “No doubt of that.” ; “T have telegraplied to stop tite forwarding of those funds,?’ said Colonel Bray to the young » “and now I have a proposition to make to you.” “What isit, colonel?’? “Come with us to England.’ «I shall be delighted to do go.” _ “At once ?? “Yes,") replied Walter, “if the authoriffes have dgn with me: But youknow that they notified me to give them information of my proposed departure." “Yes, as a witness,”? “T presume 80,"? “Won't an affidavit answer f?’ ~ “JT will see.” ‘Ho! for merry England,’ said Marion, delighted. While this conversation was taking place, or rather at the moment ofits close, Walter recived a summons to the government office signed by the prefect, to which he at onee responded. Arrivingin the Strada St. Carlo, he was shown the body of & man who had been found mar- dered upon tha road just this side of Resina, and which he was able to recognize as the Market man who drove them to Naples. j This was a partof the brigands’ pitiful revenge. But beside that body lay another, which) had been found by the vine-dressers Of the hills. It was the mortal remains of Vecchio. Walter’s affidavit relating to these bodies was duly taken. : He could not but mark the different expressions of the two faces, as they lay there in death. That of the market man, though he doubtless suffered severe pain before the last breath, yet. looked calm and peaceful, almost child- like. Yecchio’s features, on the cont , Were distorted, an evident frown being noticeable on the brow, while the lower features were drawn and rigid. : The bullet from Walter’s reyolver had passed quite through his body, just below the heart. The market man had been stabbed in the back by a dirk, doubtless: the cowardly perpetrator of the deed coming up unobserved them. from behind. “Go way! How’d she know me? I neyer was agipsy,” . | At his | ap ae RA ate h } ene