VOL, 42—No. 38.

.

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3@<

 

 

 

his watch was just as close as though the parties he
was trailing had been seated at the several windows.

It was a part of his game to make it appear that
he had dropped off the trail, hoping that by so doing
he would draw the people from their hide-and-seek
play, and throw them off their guard; and as the re-
sult proved, his plan resulted as he had desired.

He was upon the watch, having been lying around
for some hours, when he saw a woman, about ten
o’clock, approach the house.

The detective had secured an excellent position
directly opposite the Hammond house, from which
he could closely watch anything that occurred in its
vicinity.

The woman’s movements were cautious and fur-
tive, showing at once that she was upon some secret
mission, and upon reaching the house she passed
and repassed several times before ascending the
stoop.

It as while watching the woman that a sudden
idea flashed across the detective’s mind, and it came
to him that he had been fooled. The discovery, how-
ever, offered a way to the solution of the mystery at-
tending Miss Herndon’s visitor. Our hero had sup-
posed she was Mrs. Hammond, and it was a discoy-
ery to the contrary that opened up so many singular
suggestions to him.

In answer to her summons a woman opened the
door. It was not opened at once, and our detective
observed that signals were first exchanged from
within and without; and he observed further that
the <oree who opened the door was Kate Ham-
mond,

“Heavens!” exclaimed Van. “If Kate Hammond
was in that house all the time, who in thunder is the
woman who has just entered, and who so greatly re-
sembles her?”

Half an hour passed. Van laid low, and all the
eo revolving the remarkable discovery in his
mind.

A.remaykable theory was spread before his mind,
and he began to penetrate the mystery that had pre-
viously been so impenetrable. He began to see how
it was possible that he was trailing Kate Hammond
in one city, while at the very moment the woman
was carrying out a tragic game in another.

“Well, [ wish some one would kick mefor a fool!”
was the sentence the detective passed upon himself.

Van remained on his watch through the whole
night, and in the early dawn saw a woman issue
from the house, He took her measure—that is, a
mental summary of her appearance—and darted
away across lots, making a wide detour, which
brought him around on the main avenue just at the
moment she took a down-town ¢ar.

Van had changed his appearance so that he looked
like a mechanic going to his business, and as there
were several men on the car of the same character
as he had assumed, his disguise was perfect.

The woman whom Van had followed had hardly
seated herself in the car, when our hero planted him-
self directly opposite. He scanned her face, and
found it a guide-map out of many difficulties.

The woman bore a strong resemblance to Kate
Hammond, but the resemblance was not sufficient to
cause any one to mistake the difference between the
two women.

They were evidently sisters, of about the same
height and build, with the same colored hair and
eyes, but beyond that not enough alike to be deemed
twins. The general similarity of appearance was
sufficient, under certain circumstances, to have de-
ceived a person who was not on the outlook for such
a possibility.

Our readers will remember that upon the day when
Van was “piping” Mrs. Hammond, that lady was
vailed, and the vail permitted the trick which our

hero concluded had been played upon him. |

Again, our readers will remember that Mrs. Ham-
mond, upon the occasion referred to, entered a
house in West street, from which she again came
forth after a few moments’ stay; and just here is
where the detective struck his solution of the mys-
tery. Kate Hammond had known he was upon her
track; she had determined by a cunning trick to
throw him off. She had entered the house vailed;
her sister had come forth from the same house
vailed. Van had been nicely “fooled.” He had fol-
lowed the counterfeit Kate Hammond, while the real
Kate had time to pay the mysterious visit to Miss
Herndon.

This was the discovery the detective had made.
He had piped down to a certainty the fact that Kate
Hammond had been the mysterious visitor at the
house of Mrs. Pease. Remarkable results were to
follow his solution of the mystery.

CHAPTER XXVI.
STARTLING REVELATION.

Van determined to keep upon the woman’s track,
being satisfied that she was a confederate of the
gang of counterfeiters and abductors.

The woman upon reaching the ferry, passed off the
boat and pursued a course that led her away from
the house in West street. The detective followed,
and saw her enter a house in a down town street, and
there he made some singular discoveries. 5

The woman did not go boldly up the stoop and try

the bell, but passed through the same little hide-and- |

seek business she had practiced when seeking an en-
trance to the Hammond house.

 

 

 

She signaled before ringing the bell, and it was a |}

man who admitted her—a man in his shirt sleeves.
Van caught but a momentary glance of him, but that
one glance was sufficient to show that the man, even |
at that early hour, had been at work.

“Eureka !’’ eried the detective, as the significance
of the above incident flashed across his mind.

The house the woman had entered was the only
dwelling-house on the street.
all sides by factories and store-houses of every de-

his head knowingly. “It vos none of mine business,
only I tought I would tole you, ’cause I see some
dings.”

‘Well, what did you see?”

“Vell, I vos like to dell you, but may be you vould
not believe what I vould say.”

“T reckon you’ve been dreamin’ something John.”

“No, I vosnot dreamin’; dat vos all right dat you
say so. It vos none of mine business, but de udder
night, only a little vile after dat lady vos screamin’
murder so down mit your house, a boliceman goes
by, and ef he vos come a leetle sooner dere he vould
haf heard it. I only vos dell you like a friendt, dat
vos all!” ;

It was a hard matter for the detective to restrain
himself from a betrayal of his agitation upon hearing
the Dutchman’s startling revelation.

A ery of murder! the cry coming from a “lady,”
and arising from the house into which the woman
had gone whom he had trailed direct from the home
of the Hammonds!

What was to come?

[TO BE CONTINUED. ]

[THIS STORY WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED IN BOOK-FORM ]

MAGGIE,
THE CHARITY CHILD.

By FRANCIS S. SMITH,

Author of “Bertha, the Sewing-Machine Girl,”
“Little Sunshine,” ‘‘Daisy Burns,” etc., etc.

[‘*MAGGIE, THE CHARITY CHILD” was commenced in No.

22, Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents. ]

“4.

CHAPTER XXXIV.—(CONTINUED.)

Sairey Rockhart was taken so completely by sur-
prise, that she was totally deprived of the power of
speech, and her usual presence of mind quite forsook
her. She turned white and red by turns, then looked
vacantly around like one in a dream, then shook
violently from head to foot, as though suddenly
seized by an ague fit, and finally dropped her arms
listlessly by her sides, and sullenly allowed the officer
to lead her into the parlor. She was entirely un-
nerved, and seemed at once to give up all hope of
escaping the penalty due her crimes.

Notso McNab. The suddenness of the movement,
itis true, unnerved him at first, but his cunning,
effrontery, and great self-command returned almost
immediately, and walking boldly forward, he ex-
claimed, in a tone of haughty indignation:

“Tf there is any law in the laud, you will have to
answer for this outrage, both of you! You say you
hold a warrant for my arrest, sir,’ he continued,
turning to the detective; “have the kindness to let
me see it.”

“Oh, come, doctor,” returned the detective, with
easy familiarity, ‘‘that style of thing won’t do with
me, you know. You know I’ve got the warrant well
enough, but for form’s sake, I'll show it to you.
There it is, and now the best thing you can do is to
prepare yourself instanter to go with us.”

“As good citizens, we will obey the law,” replied
MeNab, with a well assumed air of injured innocence,
after he had glanced at the warrant, ‘but I warn
you that you must take the consequences. A citizen’s
liberty is not to be imperiled with impunity.”

“Oh, humbug!’ exclaimed the detective, impa-
tiently, ‘“‘such flimsy nonsense makes me sick. Get
ready at once, or I will take you as you are!”

“T suppose you will allow my housekeeper and my-
self to have a few words in private,” said McNab,
appealingly.

“Sorry to say I can’t do it,” replied Keen; “if you
have anything to do around the house, I will leave
your companion in the custody of Mr. Seymour and
accompany you, after which she can take her turn.
But you must be quick, for [have no time to throw
away.” ;

Ta this treating me considerately?” ejaculated
McNab, indignantly; “isa man of my standing in
society and acknowledged respectability to be used
like a common felon? I protest against such out-
rageous conduct, and I call upon Mr. Seymour, whose
character for philanthropy and honorable dealing is
at stake, to interfere in my behalf.”

“Pshaw!’’ exclaimed the officer, now out of
patience, “I did want to get along without saying
anything to set you back, doctor, but you force me
into giving you a little piece of gratuitous informa-
tion in spite of myself. Assoon as I had succeeded
in forcing a confession from Catharine McCormick, I
remembered that it was you who went bail for Jack
Rook, who was pulled on a charge of highway rob-

| berye I also remembered that almost immediately

| Tom Soggy knew something of the missing man.
| don’t know whether you are aware of the fact or not,
It was surrounded on |

scription—buildings that were teeming with life and |

night.

}
|
activity in the day-time, but which were deserted at
}
|
!

The detective walked away and took a position |

from whence he could watch the premises until busi-
ness commenced in the great warehouses.

At the usual hour, one after another of the factories
and stores were opened, and the usual activities of
the day commenced.

No one, during the time the detective had been
upon the watch, had come from or gone into the
house he was “piping;” but about eight o’clock the
blinds were opened, a woman came forth and went
to the nearest store, and the premises assumed the
appearance of the humble abode of a respectable
mechanic’s family.

A thousand people might pass and regard the place
every hour of the day, and would not have noted
the slightest thing to attract attention or arouse sus-
picion. Even the detective would never have
thought of suspecting anything wrong had it not
been for what he had witnessed in the earlier hours
of the morning.

It was a suggestive circumstance, when he saw a
woman corae from the house of a noted counter-
feiter in the early hours of the morning, and go di-
rect to the warehouse environed dwelling we have
described. It was also asuggestive circumstance
that she should not have entered that house until
several signals had been interchanged, and it was a
still more remarkable circumstance that the man
who had admitted her at such an early hour had
come fresh from some sort of labor.

Hither one of the incidents detailed would have
been a basis for a suspicion to a detective, but all of
them combined carried a world of suggestion.

The detective watched the woman as she passed
on to the Dutch grocery near by and made her pur-
chases, and after following her back to the house he
returned to the grocery.

The latter place was one of many of those down-
town places planted right in the midst of surround-
ing factories, where groceries are but a modicum of
the articles kept for sale.

Beer and sandwiches, mangy-looking pies, saus-
ages, and the like, are the principal edibles therein
dispensed.

The detective, having been on an all-night cruise,
was glad to find a little nourishment even of the
German grocery sort, and sitting down to a table, he
called for beer and sandwiches.

It was an hour inthe morning when little trade
was doing, as the mechanics who were the principal
patrons of the place were all busy, and only an oc-
casional man dropped in for his beer.

The detective had been seated but a fow moments,
when a man, whom he judged correctly to be the
proprietor of the place, sat down near him.

It will be remembered that Van had gotten him-
self up as a working man, and the disguise proved a
fortunate one. °

The German addressed the latter in a familiar man-
ner, as though he were acquainted with him. As the
detective was ‘‘on the lay’ for a little gossip he en-
couraged his new friend.

After the exchange of a few commonplace re-
marks, the German reached over the table, winked
and oe a very wise and shrewd look to illumi-
nate his fat face, as he said, in alow tone:

“Mine friendt, I vos nefer gif you avay, but it vos
better dat you dod’t make dose strange noises down
dein your house!” s

Any man but an old head like our hero would, in
the surprise of the moment, have spoiled this little
opening ‘to a confidence. Van, however, as quick as
lightning, took in the situation. He saw that the
Deutcher had mistaken him for oné of the men dwel-
ling in the house he at that very moment had under
surveillance.

The Dutchman’s mistake was a_ very common-
lace and natural one, having as he did so many dif-
erent men going in and out of the place.

The detective knew just exactly how to play back
on his new friend.

The fact was Van had read the Dutchman through
and through; the latter’s manner when under the
pene eye of a man of Van’s experience was an open
book.

- The Dutchman was pretending to know something
in order to find out just what he did not know. He
was coming a game peculiar to men of his trade;
what is called by sensible people the ‘‘smart Alec”
‘business. |

“| reckon there was no noise down in our house
last night,’ returned Van

“Oh, dot vos all right! I did not say last night,

after Jack’s discharge from custody, Mr. Wrexham
was missing. Putting this and that together, the
conclusion was inevitable that Jack and his friend
I

but Jack Rook has cut his lucky and left youto settle
his bail bond, so I couldn’t find him, butI did find
Tom Soggy last night, and had a long and very

interesting interview with him. The gist of the;

matter, in a few words, is, that Tom is now under
lock and key, a witness for the State. He has made

| a clean breast of the whole matter, and is prepared

i
|
|
}

|

| to tell all he knows upon the stand.

Having explain-
ed all which, I hope we shall hear no further talk
about respectability and all that sort of blather, and
that you will settle your affairs here with as little
delay as possible.”

For a moment the firmness of McNab was greatly
shaken, but arguing to himself that nothing could be
gained by an open confession while a point might
still be made by a persistent show of innocence, he
determined not to throw a chance away.

“If a respectable man’s character is to be sworn
nee by ruffians and highwaymen,”’ he began—
sj 2

He stopped short here as though he had been sud-
denly stricken dumb, and with open mouth, and hair

standing on end, he stood staring through the open |

door at some object in the entry-way. Simulta-
neously the eyes of all were turned in the same di-
rection, and there, with hair disheveled, haggard face,
and eyes staring wildly, stood Maggie, with her gaze
fixed upon Mr. Seymour. Only for an instant—a
single instant—she stootl thus, and then, with a
shriek, wild, clear, and piercing, she ejaculated ‘“‘Mr.
Seymour!” and rushing, with a bound, to his side,
she fell fainting in the old gentleman’s outstretched
arms. Her action brought McNab to’ bis senses, and
he sought to effect his escape in the confusion of the
moment. With one desperate spring he cleared the
door-sill, and rushing through the entry, gained the
door, and sped like an arrow out into the yard. Had
he taken to the open street the detective would never
have doubted his ability to capture his prisoner ; but,
with his quick understanding of such matters, he
perceived at once that McNab’s object was to reach
some secret passage, known only to himself, from
whence he might emerge, and, by a series of turnings
and twistings, evade pursuit.

“Lay the girl upon the sofa!” he shouted, in a tone
of alarm, to Mr. Seymour, ‘‘and look out for the fe-
male prisoner while I pursue McNab. By Heaven,
he shall never escape me.”

Drawing his revolver, he rushed with the speed of
lightning after the flying doctor, and catching sight
of him as he was about to scale a fence, be cried
out:

“Lam a dead shot, McNab! Stop, or I'll fire !”

But McNab heeded not the threat. It was his only
chance of escape, and he determined to take it. He
had got one leg over the fence and the other was
about to follow, when a sharp report broke upon the
air, and the next moment the guilty doctor came
tumbling headlong to the ground. The ball had
entered his body just above the left hip.

“T hope I haven’t killed you, doctor,” said the de-
tective, as he approached his prostrate prisoner,
“but I warned you and you have brought it upon
yourself.”

“Curse you!” growled the suffering wretch, as he
looked upat the officer, and grated his teethin hisim-
potent rage, ‘may misfortune dog your footsteps,
and may disease wither and blast you! You have
wounded me mortally !”

“T hope not,’’ replied the detective; ‘but as I said
before, it’s no fault of mine if I have.”

Summoning assistance, the detective had the
wounded man carried into the house and put to bed,
after which he called in a surgeon to examine his
wound. An examination proved that he was very
dangerously, if not fatally injured, and as it was
found impossible to remove him, the detective placed
the house in charge of the authorities, and then pro-
curing a carriage, he started with his female prisoner
for the Tombs in New York.

By this time Maggie was fully restored to conscious-
ness, and Mr. Seymour, who looked upon her almost
as having risen from the dead, was about to lead ber
to his carriage, when he was suminoned to the bed-
side of the wounded man, who stated that he had
something of importance to communicate to him.

“T know I cannot live long,’ moaned the guilty
wretch, when the old gentleman had seated himself
near his pillow, “and hardened as I have been, [ feel
in this, my last hour, that there is life beyond the
grave. I cannot hope to escape fully the penalty of
my many crimes, but I dare not pass the dread and
mysterious portals of the tomb without performing
one act of jnstice. You will find Mrs. Dockett’s ad-
dress upon a card in yonder secretary. Send for her

instantly, and then leaye me to, gather strength.
When she arrives let her as well as the girl Maggie
approach my bedside, and I will say that which is

 

| mine friendt, of course,” and the Dutchman shook

res

important to them both.”

 

Mr. Seymour hastened to obey the wishes of the!

dying man, andin ashort time Mrs. Dockett made
her appearance, surprised beyond measure, and not
a little frightened at the turn things had taken, for
she knew not how the confession which MeNab was
about to make might implicate her, and she would
have fled had she not been forcibly detained by the
officers at the request of Mr. Seymour.

“Let you three—Mr. Seymour, Maggie and Mrs.
Dockett—place yourselves around my bed, so that I
may have you all within the range of my vision with
out exertion,” said the dying man when they were
all present.

His desire was complied with, and then fixing his
eyes upon Mrs. Dockett, McNab said, slowly and de-
liberately :

“Your name is Harriet Martin, and not Dockett;
your husband’s name was Thomas Martin; your only
child was a girl, and her name was Margaret Martin.
My proper name isjnot MeNab, but Balker—Israel
Balker.”

An exclamation of mingled surprise and affright
burst from the lips of the woman, and she would
have fled from the room when her enemy declared
himself, had she not been prevented.

“Do not fear,” continued the dying man, “I shall
say nothing which can injure you now. My only de-
sire is to perform an act of justice. Fifteen years
ago you and your husband wronged me foully, and I
swore a terrible oath that I would have my revenge
if I could ever tind the opportunity. I have partly
kept that oath, but my revenge has not been so com-
plete as I had intended to make it. You quarreled
with your husband, and he fied to this country with
his infant daughter, taking with him a sum of money
which you had received as the price of my betrayal.
That money was his destruction, for with it, led on
by me, he purchased his death in the shape of alcohol.
I pretended to overlook the injury which he had done
me, and thus gained his confidence and friendship.
Well, he died of delirium tremens at last, and his

daughter—a little, timid thing—was left alone in the |

world. I transferred my hate from the father to her,
and determined to ruin her whenever I could safely
do so. At length I metyou, and as you did not recog-
nize me, I kept the fact that your child was living,
from you, and actually made you an accomplice. in
plotting her ruin.”

The dying man paused for breath, and Mrs. Dockett,
with the perspiration standing in large drops upon
her brow, and her bosom heaving wildly, bent over
him, and in a tone of fearful earnestnéss, ejaculated:

“Town that I have wronged you, Balker—deeply
wronged you—but, oh, do not deceive me now! Are
you telling the truth?”

“Assurely as this tongue will soon be mute in
death,” returned MeNab, with a look which left no
doubt of his sincerity, ‘“‘so surely do I speak truly!”

“And this girl, Maggie, then?” almost shrieked the
wretched woman, pointing toward the object of her
remark, who, pale and trembling, was clinging for
support to the arm of Mr. Seymour

“Is your daughter,” groaned McNab.

The shock was a terrible one to the wretched
woman, for sinking in a chair, as though her limbs

had suddenly been deprived of all power, she buried |

her face in her handkerchief, and for some moments

struggled with her internal agony.

“A few words more,” feebly articulated McNab,
“and I shall have said all that [ desire to say. Inthe
right-hand drawer of yonder secretary will be found
a set of papers which I have worked night and day,
for many weeks past, to obtain. They are valuable
to Maggie, and will save Gilbert Farmer a world of
trouble, for they contain all the evidence necessary
to prove the girl’s right to a property in Nottingham-
shire, England, amounting to at least fifty thousand
pounds, bequeathed to her by her uncle, John Martin,
recently deceased.”

The dying man lay for some moments without
speaking or stirring, and then suddenly clutching
the bed-clothes convulsively, while his countenance
was horribly distorted by acute pain, he said with an
utterance so feeble that his words were scarcely
audible:

“Oh, the pain and terror of approaching dissolu-
tion! I feel that my desperate life is fast drawing to
a close, and terribly dark and dreary is the prospect
which lies beyond! Pray forme, Maggie! Oh, pray
for me, for you are pure and good, and your prayers
will be accepted. Oh, had I lent my energies to the
accomplishment of good instead of evil, I should not
now have felt the dark despair which fills my soul!
Pray forme! Pray forme! I dare not pray for my-
self. The world is receding fram my view! My
blood grows stagnant, and I am suf—suf—suffocating!
Air—air—air—for the love of Heaven! It grows
dark, too—dark—dark—dark! Bring lights—lights—
I—I ” The death rattle sounded in his throat,
and with a convulsive shudder the guilty man
expired.

Maggie had dropped on her kneesin earnest prayer
at the bedside, and the others present were so deeply
absorbed in the contemplation of the dying man,
that Mrs. Dockett (or Mrs. Martin, rather), was
entirely forgotten, till Mr. Seymour, in his desire to
bring the painful scene to a conclusion, touched her
on the shoulder as she sat with her head bowed down,
and said:

“Wretched woman, arise, andembracethat daughter
whom you would have sacrificed! Lift up your heart
in thanksgiving to the Most High that your most
unnatural crime was prevented, and resolve hence-
torth to retrieve your past errors.”

She did not answer him. She did not stir, even,
when Maggie approached, knelt beside her, and ex-
claimed, with tearful eyes:

‘Yes, mother, lookup! AlJlis forgiven, all is for-
gotten, and henceforward we willlive foreach other!”

Still the woman stirred not. Maggie placed her
hand upon her mother’s forehead—it was clammy
with the sweat of death and cold as marble.

“She is dead!” shrieked Maggie, in a tone of terror.

Mrs. Martin's clothes were jioimediately loosened
and restoratives applied, but ull in vain. She had
been dead for some minutes, her death having been
saused by asudden attack of heart disease, super-
induced by great mental excitement.

CHAPTER XXXY.
THE DEAD ALIVE.

Israel Balker, alias Dr. McNab, left the world with-
out having alluded to the share which he took in the
matter of Edward Wrexham’s disappearance; but
after the affidavit of Catharine McCormick, and the
confession which the detective, Keen, succeeded in
drawing from the villain, Tom Soggy, the silence of
the first-mentioned individual was of but small im-
portance. Charles Hollister was liberated at once,
and a most joyful hour was that which marked his
reunion with his friends. But while they rejoiced at
his restoration to society with a character rendered
brighter, if possible, by the severe ordeal through
which he had passed, a feeling of gloom oppressed
them as they reflected upon the fate of poor Wrex-
ham. Soggy’s information concerning him extended,
of course, only up to the time when they left him on
board the ship. Whether be recovered from their
maltreatment which he had received at their hands,
or whether he died from his injuries and was buried
at sea, of course the ruffian had no means of knowing.
The missing man’s friends naturally looked at the
darkest side of the picture. They did not expect
ever to see him again, for they doubted much whether
the villains had ever placed him on shipboard. The
idea generally entertained by them was that the two
ruffians had murdered him outright, and sunk his
body in the river, and that Soggy, to escape a charge
of murder, had coined a story to suit himself. They
made up their minds, however, to await patiently the
arrival of the shipin which he was said to have sailed,
confident that every doubt with regard to the matter
would then be set at rest at once and forever.

Maggie, after her rescue and the fearful scene
which followed it (by the way, we forgot to state
that she escaped from the room in which McNab had
confined her, by forcing the lock from the door with
a poker), proceeded immediately homeward, carrying
with her a heart more desolate than ever, and conse-
quently she was not present in the Seymour mansion
when Hoilister returned there after his discharge.
The young man did not regret this. On the contrary,
it was with a feeling of relief that he noticed her
absence as he entered the parlor to receive the con-
egratulations of Mr. and Mrs. Seymour, for, as the
unhappy prisoner’s recollection of the sunshine only
aggravates the darkness of his rayless dungeon, so
did her bright presence, by recalling more vividly
the blissful past, only render deeper the gloom in his
heart.

“Tt needs only the presence of Edward Wrexham
now to render our happiness complete,” said Mr.
Seymour, after their greetings were over, ‘but I am
afraid we shall never see him again on this side of the
grave, poor fellow !”

“Let us hope for the best, sir,’ returned Charles.
“For my own part, the more I reflect upon the matter,
the more [ am inclined to think that he may yet be
in safety. Asfaras I can understand, McNab had
nothing particular against either Wrexham or myself.
His only desire was to get possession of Maggie’s
property, thus revenging himself upon both mother
and daughter. This he could have done, had his
plans operated as he supposed they would, by putting
us out of the way fora little while, and looking at
the matter in this light, there seems to me a strong
probability that the ruffian Soggy stuck closely to the
truth in making his confession, tor the most harden-
ed of wretches will hesitate to shed blood when they
can compass their desires without it.

“There would seem to be some show of reason in
your argument,” responded Mr. Seymour, “and I
pray Heaven your conclusion may be a truthful
one.”

A pause of some moments followed the old gentle-
man’s last remark, during which Hollister seemed in
deep and painful thought. At length, he said, re-
garding his old patron with a look of deep anxiety
the while:

“There was one incident connected with my short
stay in prison, Mr. Seymour, which has given me no
little concern, and more especially does the recollec-
tion of it cling to me because I cannot help regarding
it as one. of the links in the mysterious chain which
seems to cling around my somewhat singular history.
Of my early life I can remember nothing, and some-
thing tells ime that you are in the possession of much

 

 

E ; | naturedly, as Dick, with a broad grin, left the room,
nothing was heard but her deep breathing as she |

;} upon you suddenly—so I made my way in at the

just in time to meet the captain preparing to ascend.

| arose to take his leave, and asked Hollister’s com-

 

.
which it would interest me to know. May I not, now}
that I have reached man’s estate, ask you to enlight-
en me?”

Mr. and Mrs. Seymour exchanged significant glances,
and the former evaded the direct question, by asking
the nature of the prison incident to which Hollister
had alluded.

The young man narrated circumstantially all that
had transpired in his eell from the time that Col.
Morgan had been thrust into it till he had been
carried out a stiffened corpse, and ended by again
earnestly beseeching Mr. Seymour to lift the vail
which lay between him and his earlier history.

The old gentleman seemed greatly shocked at Hol-
lister’s recital, and it was some moments before he
ventured to reply to the youth’s last question. When
he did so it was with a look of extreme pain and an
evident desire to bring the conversation to a con-
clusion as speedily as possible.

“T will not attempt to deny, Charles,” he said, “‘that
I could, if I were so disposed, give you much in-
formatiun concerning yourself which would be both
pleasing and painful to you, but it is notiny province
to do so. The task must devolve upon one who is
dear to both of us—my brother Henry. I wrote
immediately after your arrest, detailing the circum-
stances and requesting him to come here with all
speed. He will without question reach here in a few
days and you must await his coming for the revela-
tion which you so much desire to hear.”

Hollister was about to reply when a hurried foot-
step was heard ascending the stairs leading from the
basement, and the next moment the negro, Dick
Blinker, came rushing into the room with eyes start-
ing from his head and his features distorted out of
all shape by intense fear.

“Oh, Mas’r Seymour,” he gasped, “de Lor’ bress us
an’ hab marcy on us all! Mas’r Wrexham’s ghost am
right behine’ me!”

As he finished speaking, he ventured to cast a}
glance behind him, and then instantly threw him-
self flat upon his face and began to kick and groan
lustily.

The cause of this fright was almost instantly made
manifest, for right upon his heels followed Edward
Wrexham, with a good humored smile lighting up his
merry face.

The surprise of his friends upon so suddenly be-
holding him alive and unharmed, was as great as
their joy, and a scene of the most extravagant rejoic-
ing followed his appearance among them. It was
some time, however, before Dick Blinker could be
induced to rise from his prostrate position, and look
the supposed apparition full in the face. Like most
of his race, Dick was exceedingly superstitious, and
having, after much cogitation, settled it in his own
mind that Wrexham was dead, he was certain that he
saw his ghost and nothing else.

“Hi, golly, Mas’r Wrexham,” he said, whenat length
satisfied that he was addressing real flesh and blood,
“vou nearly frightened dis nigger to def! De nex’
time you go ’way an’ get murdered, I hope you'll
make you’ ’pearance to somebody else ’sides Dick
Blinker, for I'm ’posed to keepin’ comp’ny wid
ghosts !””

“Well, I will, Dick!” exclaimed Wrexham, good-

and then turning to his friends, he continued, “I
thought I would surprise you alla little by coming

 

basement and came upon our friend Dick rather sud- |
denly, just as he was leaving the kitchen. So, friend
Hollister,” he continued, as he held forth his hand |
toward Charles, “‘you have been subjected to rather |
a severe trial on my account, eh?’

“Oh, then you have heard about it, have you?’ re-
turned Hollister, as he took the proffered hand and
shook it cordially.

“Yes,” responded Wrexham, ‘the first person I met
upon calling at the hotel was our triend Gilbert Far-
mer, and he gave me a detailed account of every-
thing which has transpired during my absence.”

“And how did you manage to escape making the
full voyage?” asked Mr. Seymour, with great curi-
ee ~~‘*eome give us an account of your adven-
ures.

“Well, returned Wrexham, ‘‘I was unconsious from
the time the villains knocked me down on the wharf
till t found myself lying upon the floor in the fore-
castle of the ship. It was some time before I could
recall my scattered senses, and just as I managed to
do so I was summoned by the mate to come on deck.
I at once related the story of my wrongs and desired
to see the captain, but the mate merely laughed at
me and said that ‘that yarn would do for the marines,
but I couldn’t pull the wool over his eyes.’ He then
ordered me on deck, and picked up a stout piece of
rope with which to enforce obedience. I confess to
a somewhat violent temper when aroused, and be-
ing greatly incensed at the treatment I was receiv-
ing, I immediately knocked the fellow down, sprang
upon deck and darted down the companion-ladder,

Supposing me to be ina state of mutiny, and perhaps
intending mischief to himself, the captain sprang to
a table, picked up a loaded revolver, and would,
without doubt, have blown out my brains on the
spot, but for the fact that he recognized in me an old
acquaintance. He turned out to be a gentleman
whom I once employed to take charge of a yacht of
mine, and to instruct me in the art of sailing her. He
made out my identity before I did his, and I was not
a little surprised when instead of using his pistol
against me, he directed it toward the mate who had
by this time armed himself with a handspike, and
was about descending the companion-ladder to attack
me. The mate was as much surprised as I was when
the captain threatened to shoot himif he struck a
blow, and ordered him on deck again. He was still
smarting under the blow which I had administered,
and did not seem much inclined to obey at first, but
the captain’s look of stern resolve cowed him even-
tually, and he went off muttering his dissatisfaction.
After he was gone, the captain called me by name,
and made himself known to me—a circumstance
which, I can assure you, afforded me a great relief,
inasmuch as [ had made up my mind that I was to
receive nothing but rough usage. The captain at
once attended to my hurts, loaned mea suit of his
clothes, and pressed me very hard to go the voyage
with him as passenger—an invitation which, as we
already upon blue water, I should have accepted,
but for the fact that I knew my friends would natu-
rally be anxious about me. I sailed with him two
days, and then he transferred me to a homeward.
bound vessel, and I arrived here without accident
last night. I have already telegraphed to my mother
and my friends the Hendersons, to assure them of
my safe return, and now I feel ashappy and contented
as possible.’

Along conversation, concerning the events with
which the reader is already acquainted, followed
Wrexham’s brief narrative, at the end of which he

pany for a short walk. The invitation was readily
accepted by the young man, and they started off to-
gether.

They walked along for some time in silence, and at
length Wrexham said, with a smile:

“T wanted your company for a short time, for a
particular reason, Mr. Hollister. I have just got out
of one difficulty, and now I want you to help me out
of another.”

Hollister could not divine his meaning, but he an-
swered readily :

“Tf I can do so, I will, of course.”

“Well, continued Wrexham, in the same playful
tone in which he had at first spoken, ‘‘my present
difficulty is celibacy. Ido confess to youitis grow-
ing very tiresome to me, and I want to get out of it.
Will you act a8 my groomsman ?’

“With pleasure,’ replied Hollister, smiling at the
blunt candor of his companion. ‘‘When is the interest-
ing event to take place? I need not ask you who the
chosen one is ; unless you fellin love on shipboard, |
you of course look upon the lady whose ‘counterfeit
presentment’ has caused me so much trouble, as your
affianced.”’

“The event will take place,” responded Wrexham,
‘Just as soon as [ can bring it about, and the sooner
it is, the better it will suit me. The thing was all
settled between Hattie and myself some weeks ago,
and she is sure to be my wife, if we both live, as Iam
sure to be a happy man when I can call her by that
name. I never could love any one else as I love Hat-
tie, for it seems to me that we were made for each
other. I am not so tickle as you seem to suppose me.
I never even professed to feel affection for any other
woman than Hattie but once, and then I discovered
that what I took for love was only friendship, after
all. By the way, Hollister—excuse me for being
plain with you—it is a mystery to me how you can
help loving Maggie Martin. Uponmy word, it seems
as though nature had designed you especially for
each other.”

“Tt is a mystery to me, also,” said Hollister, in a
tone of mingled sorrow and reproach, “how you ean
help loving her. Perhaps itis none of my business,
but do you think you did right in transferring your
affections so suddenly from her to Miss Henderson ?
Does not such conduct lay you open to the charge of
fickleness, not to give it a stronger term 2?”

“My dear fellow,’ exclaimed Wrexham, earnestly,
“T see you are laboring under a wrong impression
with regard tome! It is true that I once imagined I
loved Maggie, but she herself was the first to unde-
ceive me. It was not until she had convinced me
that our proper relation was that of brother and sis-
ter, that I thought of bestowing my affections else-
where, and it was not until I had convinced myself
by close observation that you had no very deep-
seated affection for Hattie Henderson that I allowed
myself to fall head over ears in love with her. The
fact is, I had set you down in my mind as a man who
was proof against the tender passion, but I now be-
gin to think that I may have been mistaken in your
character.”

“Is it true that you were not engaged to Maggie?’
exclaimed Hollister, whose heart fluttered strangely
with a new hope.

“Yes,” replied Wrexham, decisively. ‘‘and more
than thatis true. Itis true that when I proposed
marriage, she told me candidly that she had not that
love for me which would warrant her in becoming
my wife, and it is true that she tacitly admitted her
love for you, although she supposed you had pledged
yourself to another.”

“Do ldream!” exclaimed Hollister, in a sort of
rapt ecstasy, “if so, may Inever awaken to reality !”

 

driving a stake into the ground tied him to it.

“Life itself is but a dream,” responded Wrexham,
gayly ; ‘in one sense, we are all dreamers, but as far
as we can be awake to external things we are awake
now. I tell youagain that Maggie loves you—deeply,
devotedly, lastingly—that she is at this moment pin-
ing her life away because she imagines—and with
good reason, too, I must say—that her love is not
reciprocated. I tell you that the sweetest music
which her ears could drink in would be the brief
ere ‘Llove you, Maggie!’ flowing from your

ips.”’

‘ Tf this indeed be so,” exclaimed Hollister, almost
delirious with joy, ‘then life is bright again and all
that I have suffered is as nothing compared with the
great joy which one look from her willgiveme! Oh,
my friend, you have raised me from an abyss of woe
to the very pinnacle of ecstasy, and Heaven grant
that future events may keep me there, for should I
fall from the dizzy height I am prostrate forever. I
could not lose the hope within me, now, and liye!”

“You need not lose it,” returned Wrexham, confi-
dently, ‘‘for what I tell you is as true as truth itself,
and I will prove it so.”

For the remainder of the day the young men re-
mained in each other’s company, and when the hour
for parting arrived Hollister took his way home and
to bed, to dream of Maggie and happiness.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Sa ee oS cele ili te et

A Famous Scout’s Close Call.

Vic Smith, or Yellowstone Vie, is a famous charae-
ter in the northern territories, and though he is less
than thirty-five years of age, his experience as a
Government scout has given him a wider knowledge
of the country along the Missouri and Yellowstone
Rivers, the Big and Little Horn, and Powder, Mussel-
shell, and Tongue Rivers than any man in Montana
or Dakota. I spent a day in Vic’s company last
summer, and he told me an event in his life that was
as remarkable as it was interesting.

He was born in Milwaukee, and ran away from
home at the age of thirteen. When seventeen he was
sarrying mail between Fort Abercrombie, on Devil’s
Lake, and Grand Forks. The city of Grand Forks
was then only a wolfstation. Thatis, there was only
a shed for travelers to put up at and for men who
poisoned wolves for aliving during the Winter. They
received bounty money for each tail and sold the

pelts, and they did quite well during the fall and
winter.

It was in the fall when the frosts were heavy and
biting cold that a rich prospector named Brown ar-
rived at the wolf station, and told the men that he
was looking for land. He intimated that he had
$5,000 upon him, and was anxious to have it laid away
in some secure place for the several days he would
remain incamp. The men were all supposed to be
honest, and the traveler had no fear.

In the camp was a dissolute man named Robinson,
who had been lounging about for a month and making
himself generally obnoxious to the other men.
Brown had been in camp three days when Robinson
took leave of the men with the remark that he was
going up to the fort, which was 120 miles distant and
a three days’ ride.

Vie was out a day and a half from Fort Aber-
crombie with his mail, and was riding along at an
easy canter when Robinson rode up.

“Hallo, Vic,” he said, ‘‘that’s a nice horse you're
riding.” Vic answered that it was, but thought Rob-
inson’s was a much better one. Then the latter pro-
posed a trade, and to hurry up a bargain offered Vie
a premium of $50. It was accepted at once, and as
they were parting Robinson handed him a pistol,
which he told him to put in his saddle pouch. Vice
was very happy when he pulled up at the next ‘dog
station’ about sundown, and set to work preparing
his supper of bacon and bread.

He had just finished his repast when half a dozen
wolf men came up to the door. They did not speak,
and after waiting some time for them to make some
remark Vic told them if they wanted any supper they
could come in and cook it for themselves.

“There’s a lot. of bacon and flour, so help your-
selves,” he said.

They looked at each other and then roared with
laughter.

“You've got considerable gall, youngster,” they
said, and then one stepped in and took him outof the
shanty. They bound him hand and foot, and aaa

is
done, they went in and prepared their supper.

Vie was young, though spirited, and he begged
that they would not leave him in that position all
night, for he would freeze. They would hold no con-
versation with him, but turned in and slept until
morning. When day broke they arose and found Vie
numb and apparently lifeless. His limbs were swol-
len to twice their size from the hemp which had been
tied so tightly about them. He was in a frightful
condition, and his long black, glossy hair was turned
to white; not a black hair could be seen. One old
man in the party took compassion on him and loesen-
ed his hands. A consultation was held and it was
decided to hang him at once.

“Where did you get your horse?” they asked.

He told them, but they did not believe his story.
Then it just dawned upon him that the horse he got
from Robinson was not his property. He was cor-
rect in his surmises.. Brown, the rich prospector,
left camp the day after Robinson did, and the latter,
knowing that Brown intended passing along the
trail next day, lay in wait and murdered him for the
$5,000 which Robinson knew was in his possession.
A traveler, passing soon after, noticed the body and
informed the wolf men at the station. They started
out immediately to find the murderer, and seeing Vie
with Brown’s horse, supposed they had the right
man.

Vic pleaded with tears in his eyes and asked them
to go up to the fort and ask the officers there whether
he had not left there only two days since.

They did not wish to go to the trouble, but the old
man said they should give him that little show for
his life, and the others acquiesced. They decided to
take him within six miles of the fort and wait there
while one man went up and inquired what time Vie
had left. This was done, and Vie’s life was spared.
But what really saved him was the absence of trees
where he had been taken, for had there been one
about his execution would have taken place that
night.

Since that time Vic Smith has been the terror of
vigilance committees in the territory. He has no
respect for any of them, and would go miles to see a
member lassoed. For the past two years he has been
employed by the Marquis de Mores, the cattle baron
of Dakota, and Theodore Roosevelt, of New York,
who give him $20 for every bear he steers them
against.

 

atti, -ditinaien
a> + Ee~—

A BIG BEAR IN THE CATSKILLS.

Lewis Dunham, who lives at Westkill, ‘Greene
County, N. Y., on looking over his sheep recently,
found that several of them had been killed and partly
eaten up. Dunham inferred that a big bear had been
eating his mutton. He therefore seta large steel trap,
with heavy clog and chain attached to it, hunter
fashion in the field. :

When he went to look for the trap, next morning,
the bear had been there and had taken the trap away
with him. The trail was easily followed, and Dun-
ham, with dog and gun, soon caught up to him. It
was a very large bear and ready for a fight, notwith-
standing that the trap still clung to him. As the bear
had a fine coat of fur Dunham decided not to shoot
him in any portion of the body except the head, so as
not to injure the skin. Edging around until he got
in front—the animal meanwhile growling and slap-
ping the trap with great force on the rocks—Dunham
fired. . The ball went through the head of the bear,
and another shot following finished the job.

Bruin was found to measure seven feet from the
end of his tail to the tip of his nose. It is the largest
bear ever killedin the Catskill Mountains in many
years.

(oe ae ai
THE COMING OF THE CIRCUS.

“Oh, the drums were heard and the piccolo note, as
the circus uptown paraded, and the shorn-off mule
and the whiskered goat and the elephant umber
shaded. I followed it calmly at early morn, my work
and my labors spurning, and I harked to the sound
of arusty horn with a wild and unhallowed yearn-
ing. Few and short were the tunes they played, and
they paused not at all to monkey, so I slowly followed
the route they made at the heels of the lop-eared
donkey. I bought up a seat at the show that night,
and looked at the limber woman who tied herself in
a knot so tight she seemed more like hemp than hu-
man. And I eagerly looked at the wondrous bloke
who swallowed some cotton blazing, and blew from
his nostrils a cloud of smoke till I thought he was
sheol raising’ And I watched the clown as he ran
and rolled and stood in a dozen poses, and worked
off a string of jokes so old, they came from the time
of Moses.”

a

A POOR GEOGRAPHER.

House-hunter (to agent’s clerk)—“‘But this house
faces due north. Mr. Smart told me it had a southern
exposure.” ‘

Clerk—‘‘Did he? Well, I am sure he thought he
was telling the truth. He’s not the man to deceive
anybody. You see he is a patriot; that’s what he is.
He knows no north and no south, and, between you
and me, I suspect he’s a trifle shaky on east and
west.