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One Copy, four months, 01.00
One Copy one year, . . . 3.00
Two Copies, one year, . 5.00

 

 

 

$.35,

“Gimme that money! I seen ye get it,” the leading

 

LARRY LOCKE,
THE MAN OF IRON;

 

Or, A FIGHT FOR FORTUNE.

A STORY OF LABOR AND CAPITAL.

BY CAPT. FRED. “'IIIT’I‘AKER,
AUTHUH HF “Jonx ARMSTRONG, MECHANIC,“ “ NORMAN CASE, ramrna,” mo, ETC.

(‘llAl’TEli I.
LARRY Lot‘KE.

“F: was a short boy for his age, thin in the
face and stunted. .

\Vhat clothes he had were too large for him,
and of shoes and stockings he was entirely in-
noccnt.

lie had a stick and a bundle. I

The stick was of green wood and had eVIdently
been cut in the woods that morning, while
the bundle was of the smallest size to be worthy
of the name.

In one hand he held a dry crust of bread, at
which he munched as he walked along, and he
had not been washed for some time, while his
short hair had been cut on the princxple of a
shin le roof. .

Tlize only sign about the boy that he might

0w into a man some day lay in his hands and

eet, which were big and bony. .

He did not seem, however, to be. in the least
unhappy about his forlorn condition, for the
afternoon was warm and the birds were Singing
in the fields. _

He walkrd along in the soft dusk b  Side
of the high-road, and when he hm fimshed
munching his crust he began to look out for a
brook to drink at, for all the world as a savage
might do, who' depended on nature (or his
meals. .

Not sighting a brook, he began to whistli- to
pass away the time as he trudged on, seeing be-
fore hint a low swell of ground, on the other
side of which tlvmted a cloud of smoke obscuriiu,r

- scttin sun.
thi’m-M‘LtfiV, ‘l.\' he trudged up the hill, he heard
the sinndi of wheels behind him, and looked

round to \ u- a curious Vehicle approaching.

To ,1 Now York city boy the, sight, would
llHVN lmt‘ll [in iltlvi'lly: IV” ll‘” ‘Vll‘lll‘t hHY In thp
road had never ~‘r «"1 '! Mn'lt‘m 'l’ifl ('m‘t W‘f'n‘“,

,- H! *ur'ront now on

anti sin-h “"‘n‘ the 1-1“ ll
prrmcliii:j_.r him.

  

 

 

Two horses, a ha and a roan; silver-plated
harness; a pale-ye low dogocart; a handsome
young gentleman, not more than eighteen years
of age, wrapped in a duster, drivmg; a smug
groom with folded arms, white—topped boots,
white breeches, silVer buttons, and a cockade in
his hat: such was the picture seen by the short
boy in the road, and one which so amazed him
that he stood staring at it, open—mouthed, tlll
it had almost passed him, when he seemed
to recollect himself and started forward, cry-

n :
‘g‘Hil mister! hi! Say!” . .
The handsome young fellow who was dnvmg

seemed to be also a Very good-natured gentle-
an.

mHe had been watching the sturdy figure of

the boy, as he came up, with a smile of some

interest, and now he actually pulled up and m-

quired: _ _ n

“ Well, ming t, what 18 it?

The boy turned to him a brown face, with
very keen dark eyes, and a firm, resolute-look-
ing mouth, saying in the coolest-manner:

‘ I want you to give me allft into Holesburg,

.8 l,, I
mll‘liferyoung man burst into a laugh, while the
smug groom at the buck of the dog-cart so far
forgot his usual severe (lliflltff that he turned
round with a scow‘l on t e ittle tramp and
called out angrily: _

“ (let out of that, 'e imperent young, rascal!
Shall I get off and g1Vo ’im a idmg, sxr?’

“ No, no. Jim; he‘s a character," answered
his young muster good naturc‘dly, and feelln‘g
in his pockets as he spoke. “See here; whats
your name!"

' — n \ , . _"
“ Lorry," replied the b0}, .11! 1mm ,1. 4!);
I

“Larry Locke,” in the
fashion.

“ And where did you come from 1”

“County pom-house,” said Larry, cool] .
“I’m a— oin’ to Holesburg to go inter the mil 5,
that’s w at I am, mister. Say, won’t ye give
us a lift? I’ve had lots of lifts.”

The young man laughed a in.

“Are you sure you’re cean, Larry? Got
an creepers about you?"

arry colored deeply, for the first time dur-
ing the interview exhibiting self-consciousness,
as he answered sullenly:

“ Reckon you’d have ’em, if on was me.”

The young man gathered up is rains, and his
countenance grew colder as he said:

“ Exactly, my young friend. Well, I am of
a philanthropic nature, or I shouldn’t have
talked to you all this time. But we must draw
the line somewhere, and I draw it at those
animals. Look here—”

He dived into his pocket and pulled out some
silver.

“I can’t give you a lift, Larry. but here’s
something to help you on the wayto Holes-
burg. And mind, don’t spend it all on pie,
but get a bit of soap and try to keep clean.
Good-by.”

He tossed Larrya whole handful of small
silver, with a careless generosity that showed
he had never known what it was to want;
money, touched his leader with the whip, and
bowled off, to the great relief of the English
groom, who had been intensely fidgety and
anxious during the whole interview, fearing
that his whimsical young master might take up
this dirty little tramp to ride beside him, James

same unabashed

s.
gsgfor Larry, that young person, with great
philosoph , picked up the money and began to
count it a end to himself in a way that showed
he understood the practical part of arithmetic,
which deals with hard cash.

“ One—two—three quarters—that’s seventy-
five—ten’s eighty-five—gollyl what a lot of
nickels! By gum! if he ain t give me a dollar
and five cents! That’s as good as a lift. Lem-
me see—what’ll I buy? Soap? Well, if ever
any one told me to buy soap afore! Reckon I
wi Iget a wash.”

He hunted among his rags and produced a
bit of red stuff that had once been part of a
cotton handkerchief. It was tied in a knot
round more money, and he opened it, revealing
three “nickels” and five pennies—his whole
store up to that time.

He did not stop to count the whole sum,
which to him seemed a vast fortune, but tied
up his windfall with the rest, and trudged on
to the top of the hill, from which he had a full
View of the town of Holesburg, with its per-
petual cloud of brown smoke hanging over it,
below his feet.

Larry Locke smiled with satisfaction as he
saw l,lll‘ town; but his expression changed very

 

scanning the vehicle. “I say, junior. u '~ 
get rich, I'm goin‘ to have Jest Silil: u turnon' a»:
yourn.” ‘7

“Larry, eh,’ ll’ll‘l’V A '13? i! " 'l H1" .\""»‘»l"~"

gentleman.

quickly when he beheld a party of three tramps
, voted by the, roadside, not very far off, wait-
l ing for him to come up.

 

 

 

tramp yelled.

CHAPTER 11.
RED MOLL.

THEY were thoroughbred tramps, all three.
Larry had tramped it too long not to know that
at the first glance.

Moreover, they were watching for him,
though a stranger would not- have noticed any-
thing peculiar in their demeanor. One lay on
his back, another sat up looking one way, the
third man glanced another; but Larry well
knew they were watching for him.

He had met them on the road from Bucks
county, and they knew him, too.

Nevertheless the philosophic boy never quick-
ened his pace: neither did he halt, but tramped
steadily on, keeping in the middle of the road,
till he was near them, when the recumbent
man sat up and called out in a wheedling tone:

“Hi! Larry! Larry!”

“ I’m in a hurry, I am,” returned the boy,
walking on, but keeping the corner of his eye
on them. “ Got an message to give?"

“ Yes,”responde the tramp. “What’s yer
hurry. Larry boy? Can’t ye stop and pass the
time of day with a pal, hey?”

By this time Larry was abreast of the last
man, and had a clear road before him, so he
called back as he began to trot away slowly:

“ Hain’t got no time! Got a ’p’intment with
the Guv’ner 0’ Pennsylvany at noon, I have.
Good—by!”

“ Stop l ye darned young scalawagl” the
tramp roared, ferociously, finding coaxing to
beuseless, and as he spoke he jumped up and
began to run after the boy, who instantly took
to his heels and fled like a deer.

Disguise was cast aside, for as he ran he heard
the three tramps cursing horribly and encourag-
ing each other.

‘ Hit him with a stone! cripple him!” roared
one of them; and with that a stone went whiz-
zing by the boy’s head with a force that must
have stunned or killed him had the blow taken
effect.

Larry never looked behind him, but he
watched the stone as it rolled ahead of him,
and on he ran, faster than ever.

Presently he passed it, picked it up as he
went, ran a few steps further and stopped, fac-
ing round.

The leading tramp was about twenty yards
off, roaring out curses to terrify him still fur-
ther, as he believed, while the other two had
been thrown out, and were trotting on with
open mouths, already distressed by the pace.

“ Gimme that money! I seen ye get it,” the
leading tramp yelled; and on he came, with his
arms outstretched to clutch the boy, who waited
till his enemy was within less than ten feet.

Then, with a force and precision amazing in
one so small—for he did not look over twelve
years old—~he cast the stone full in the tramp’s
face, taking him between the eyes with a crack
like that of a whip.

Not a sound came from the tramp, who stum~
bled and dropped in the road like a slaughti red
ox, when the boy, not waiting for further devcl-
opments, wheeled round and spvd away again.

 

 

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Not till he had gone near a quarter of a mile
did he slacken his pace, and then he looked back
and saw that the two tramps had raised their
friend and were carrying him to the roadside.

Then Larry Locke grinned, and said, aloud:

“Get my money, would ye? Well, I’d like
to see ye do it.”

Away he went again toward the distant city
of Holesburg at a dog-trot, which he seemed
able to keepup for an unlimited time, and never
halted till cottages began to mark the ontskirts
of civilization, when he slackened to a walk and
ceased to look back over his shoulder.

By this time people and vehicles were pass-
ing and repassing, and he felt pretty warm af-
ter his run; so he kept a bright lookout round
him, and presently s ied a irl about his own
size, who stood by t e roa side, with a switch
in her hand, watching a flock of six goats, and
eying him as he came on in a way that rather
seemed to invite a conversation.

She wasa freckle-faced girl, whose single gar-
ment was made of pink cotton, patched with
divers colors, leaving a pair of shinin brown
legs and arms bare, seamed with scratc es.

On her head she wore a most disre utable sun-
bonnet of blue cotton, and her hair £311 over her
eyes, so she had to shove it back to look at
him.

Larry noticed, however, that the hair was red
——very red, indeed—but singularly bright and
glittering in the sun, where it came out from
under the hood, and he thought to himself:

“That al’s as dirty as I be. lVonder what
she’dnsay if I was to tell her she ought to use
508 c

6 made no audible remark, but went on as
soberly as ever, till close to the little goat-herd,
who accosted him:

“Hello, boy l”

She said “hello!” in an indifferent sort of
we , which might mean anything in the world,
an Larry responded atfably:

“ Hello, gal! ’

The signal responded to, the ice seemed to be
broken, for the cat girl retorted:

“Hello yourse f! Say! what‘s your name?”

“Larry Locke.” anSWered the boy, halting.
“ What’s yours?"

The red-headed damsel gave her shoulders
a shake, and her head a toss, as she answered:

“Vt'ell, I declare! Ain’t you got no more
manners than to ax a lady’s name? I ain‘t goin’
to tell you.”

Larry grinned.

“ I know what it. is, anyhow.”

She turned up her nose at him.

“No, ye don’t. Now .’ “'hat is it?”

“It’s Sail,” decided Larry, at a venture.

“It ain't no sich thing," she retorted, putting
out her face and looking impudcnt. “ Sail. in—
deed! Jest as if I‘d be called S‘lll. My naun ’s
Taber, and don’t you forget it, mister; .llis»
Tuber.”

Then site tried to look ineilably tall, lint su-l

 

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curiously:
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“Bucks county,” responded Larry, frigidly.
" Say, do you line here, Moll?" ”

“ How’d you know my name was‘Moll? de-
manded Miss Taber, surprised. " Say, you re
a real nice boy, but; don’t you go to callin’ me
no Red Moll, or I’ll be mad at you.”

Larry eyed her from head to foot. He rather
liked her, for she looked strong and sturdy, like
himself; but his chief interest in her. lay n the
fact that he had always found girls tender—
hearted and willing to get him surreptitious
meals by way of the back door.

So he answered: . ”

“ I’d whip any feller callin’ you Red Moll.

“ Would ye?” asked the girl eagerly.

“Yes, would I,” retorted Larry. ‘_' You try
me some day. Say, Molly, do you live here?

Miss Taber pointed toward the smoke.

"Out a bit beyond here. I’m a bounder, I
am, to Mrs. Skelly.”

Larry nodded wisely.

“They was goin’ to make me a bounder, too,
they was, to a darned old cobbler. Me _on a
benclf, cobbiin’ shoes! N0, Sir. I jest skipped
in time. Say, Moll, do you know anything
’bout the steel-works here, wherethey takes
’prentices? I’m a-goin’ to be an iron man, I
am.”

Miss Taber nodded her head. ’

“Skelly works there. It’s in Skinner's.”

“ And where’s Skinner’s?" asked Larry.

“ Right by the river. You’ll know it_ by the
black stripe down the chimbley,” said Miss
Taber. “But sa —”

“ What’s the matter?”

“ Skelly’s a furnaceman and he wants a
helper—3

“ That suits me,” interrupted Larry. “ What
does he have to do?" .

“ Dump the ore and the coal into thetfurnace,
while the helper fills the barrers,” Miss Taber
ex lained.

arry grinned, delightedly.

“That’s me, to a dot! I used to have to
shovel all the coal there was in the county
house. Say, where does Skelly live ?” .

Molly Taber pointed down the road to a little
shanty up on some rocks, where a woman could
be seen hanging out some washing. .

“ That’s mother Skelly,” she .said, “ and Jim
will be home soon now. There goes the
whistles.” .

As she spoke, the hoarse howling of a hun-
dred steam whistles from the smoke that cano-

ied Holesburg announced the hour of Six, and

iss Molly added:

“ You come along, and I’ll show you the
way.” .

Larry, nothing 10th, waited till she had got
her goats together, when he followed her down
to the shanty, which he reached just as Mrs.
Skell came out, screaming:

“Manly, Molly! Ye lazy, red-headed trol
lope, and where have ye been all the time Wid
the oats?”

“ p the road a piece,” returned Molly, in .a
manner that showed she was not much afraid
of Mrs. Skelly, whose bark was much worse
than her bite. “ And I found this boy, ma’am,
who wants to help Mr. Skelly in the mill.”

Mrs. Skell looked at Larry critically.

“ Sure an he ain’t big enough, Molly. How
old are ye, bubby?” _ ~

“ Sixteen ma am,” answered Larry, c1v111y,
at which Mrs. Skelly threw up her hands in
surprise, ejaculating:

“ Holy Fathers! Sixteen? And what stunted
ye so, I d’no’?”

“ Reckon it was the hard work, ma’am ” said
Larry, simpl . “ It’s good on the muskle, but
it makes a fe or short. ’ _ _

Mrs. Skelly looked at him rather in a pitying
way, as she answered:

“Ah, me poor boy, it’s not the likes of you
should be coming here. The other b’yes ’ll kill
ye, so they will. ’

Larry gave her a quick glance and smile that
had a great deal of quiet confidence in it, as he
retorted: ‘

“ I kin take care of myself, ma’am, I reckon.
I come here to be a iron man, and 8. iron man
I’m goin’ to be.”

“ What’s that ye say?” asked another voice,
as the master of the house himself came trudg-
ing in from his work, black and grimy. “ You
want to be a iron man?"

“ Yes,” returned Larry, boldly, wheeling
round to confront Mr. Skelly, who only laughed
good naturedly as he answered:

“ Ah, go home to yer mummy! What’d the
likes of you do, shovelin’ ore?”

“If I can’t beat any boy of my age at it, I
don’t ax to come,” declared Larry, proudly.

Skelly laughed.

" Yer age? Sure ye ain’t twelve.”

“ I’m sixteen,” returned Larry, stoutly.

Mr. Skelly looked at him more closely, and
came up to feel him on the arms and shoulders,
after which he said:

“ Ma ’be ye are, maybe ye ain’t; but I know
this. he boss won’t let us take ’prentices if he
can help it, and the other b’yes ’ll kill ye. Can
ye foight, what’s-yer-name?”

“My name’s Larry Locke, and I can fight
like a streak,” returned Larry, at which Skelly
Seemed to be pleased, for he said to his wife as
he went into the shanty:

“Let him have a bite and a corner on the
floor, Bridget. He’ll get all he wants as soon
as Tom Trainor gets at him.”

 

CHAPTER III.
AT THE MILL.

THE rolling-mill of Skinner & Son was one
of the largest in the town of Holesburg, and was
distinguished by a peculiarly lofty chimney,
with a stripe of black bricks down one side
of it, while the legend, “BESSEMER STEEL
RAILS,” ran across the three hundred feet of
the mill itself, in letters that took in two stori:s
of windows.

Mr. Elisha Skinner, head of the firm, was a
heavy-built old man, with a. grim jaw a shaven
upper lip, and a long, white beard. He rarely
smiled, but still more rarely frowned. He had
a cold, collected way of doing things that served
him well in business, and a quiet, masterful air
that showed he was used to taking care of him-
self in the world.

Forty years before he had been a poor black-
smith and wheelwright, and it was by dint of
hard work, scheming and saving, that he had
risen to be the heaviest steel manufacturer in
Pennsylvania.

Mr. Skinner stood at the door of the little of-
fice, the next morning after Larry came to
Holesburg, looking into the big yard and talking
to the handsome young man who had thrown
the be his careless bounty at the roadside;
while t e gorgeous tandem stood near the steps,
a great Contrast, in its spick-and-span newness
and beauty, to the grimy surroundings.

The open, careless face of the young owner
was an equally strong contrast to the furrowed
countenance of the old ironmaster, but it was
evident, from the fond way in which the old
man looked at the young one, that they were
united bv endearing ties.

Paul Van Beaver was the only grandson and
heir-apparent of Elisha Skinner, and the living
link w ich connected the rich but plebeian
manufacturer with the aristocratic Patroons of
Beaverwyck. Left an orphan at an early agle,
he had been spoiled to his heart’s content y t e
two grandfathers with whom nature had pro-
vided him to replace his parents.

In his presence alone Elisha Skinner was
known to smile, and people said that he fairly
adored the boy, having had so much trouble
with his own son, who had gone away from
home years before, with a cloud on his name,
never mentioned since by the old man.

It was with a smile that he said, now:

“ Well, Paul, and so you got the check?”

“Yes, thank you, sir,” returned the young
man, brightly. ” Ever so much obliged to you,
I’m sure, sir. You’re too kind to me. I hardly
know what to do with so much money. I’m
afraid I shall throw it away.”

The old ironmaster looked at him in the kind-
] way he always affected, saying:

“ I don’t fear that, Paul. You'll never bring
disgrace on us all by any act of yours. Only
keep away from women. Don’t be run away

 

with by any idea that’s it’s a line thing to be
vicious.”

Paul colored slightlyl.

"I hope not, sir. y tastes don’t run that
way. 'I like liOl‘Ses and boats and fun. general-
ly, but I don’t care about girls: at all events,
not the kind you mean. By-thc-by, governor,
do on know I met the queerest boy in the
road: yesterday?”

“ Indeed!
grandfather. .

“ Well, I should say the cheekiest, perhaps,”
answered Paul. “ If he didn’t actuall hail me
as I passed him and wanted me to give him a
lift into Holesburg, as if I had been a farmer
driving to market.”

Mr. Skinner smiled slightly.

“I suppose he thought your horses needed
work. What did you tell him?” _

“ Oh, I threw him some change and told him
to buy some soap. Somehow I took an interest
in him. He was so dirty and so forlorn, and
yet didn’t seem to mind it a bit. I say, gover-
nor, I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”

" What is it?" asked Skinner.

As he spoke, his face grew colder and Paul
did not fail to notice it, for he said:

“Now don’t be crusty, governor. The boy
told me he was coming into Holesburg to try
and et work in an iron mill. I want to ask
you fins: will you give him a place?”

Mr. Skinner answered more orbiddingly than
he had yet spoken: _

“ My dear Paul, please attend to spending the
money. and leave me to attend to the making
of it. You don’t know what you ask. We don’t.
want boys in these mills. We want strong men
and good hands. I can’t afford to have boys
here, unless they are very remarkable ones.”

“ But this is a remarkable one.”

“ How? in what way?”

“ Well, for pluck, for one thing.”

“We don’t want pluck; we want muscle.
How old is this boy?”

“ About twelve I should say.”

“ That settles it, I can’t take him.”

Paul looked vexed as he said:

“ Well, one would think I asked a wonderful
favor. 1 tell you I’ve taken a fancy to this
bov.”

He had his back turned to the gate, and his
grandfather who was looking over his head,
interrupted him, pointing:

“ Is that the boy ?” -

Paul turned his head and exclaimed:

“ Why, sure enough; that’s the identical lit-
tle shaver. Now, governor, don’t be a brute to
him.”

As he spoke, up trudged Larry Locke, and
Paul reeted him with a smile:

“ by, Larry, is that you“? And. by Jove, if

on haven’t washed our face! That’s ri ht.

ow s eak out. This gentleman is the ss
here. hat do you want?"

Mr. Skinner looked vexed. If any one else had
spoken so, the manufacturer would have an~
ewered sharply, but he fairlyi .olized his grand-
son.

Moreover, Larry, with that straightforward
boldness which Paul had remarked in him, spoke
out at once to the magnate:

" ay, boss, I want a job to learn to be a pud-
dler.’

Mr. Skinner looked at him coldly.

“A puddler? You? Why, that needs a man.
You’re only a boy, sonny.” '

“ I’m pretty strong for my age,” averred
Larry. “ You jest try me.”

“ Yes, try him,” urged Paul, good-naturedly;
but his interference seemed to vex his grand-
father, who retorted:

“My dear Paul, will you mind your own af-
fairs? What’s your name, boy '4”

“ Larry Locke.”

“ Humphl Well, Larry, there’s only one
place I can give you—”

“ I know," interrupted Larry, unceremoni-
ously. “ Jim Skelly wants a helper.”

Mr. Skinner stared coldly at him.

“Shut up your head. You’re too cheeky by
half. If you want to be Skelly’s boy, you’ll
have to fight the biggest ’prentice in the mill.
We want strong boys, not midgets like you.”

Larry listened unconcemedly and replied:

“ That’s all right, boss. I’m sixteen, though
I ain’t very tall—”

“ I should say not,” interru ted the ironmas-
ter, with some contempt. “ ou sixteen? You
don’t look over twelve.”

Larry looked up at him quietly, and his voice
had a defiant ring in it as he answered:

“If you don’t b’lieve I’m sixteen, jest bring
on any feller my age, and you’ll see. I kin
take keer of myself.’

Paul Van Beaver burst out laughing.

“There’s grit for you, governor! Bring on
your ’prentice. I’ll bet you ten dollars Larry
whips him l”

Again a faint smile crossed Skinner’s face.
His grandson was the only person that had
power to call one forth.

“ All right,” he said. “Tell our man to go
in and pass the word for Tom rainor. If your
boy whips him, he shall have a place.”

Paul Van Beaver seemed to be delighted at
the idea. 7

“Anything for fun.” he replied. “ Here,
Jim, run in and tell Mr. Mathews to pass the
word for Tom Trainor, out in the yard. Mr.
Skinner wants him.”

Mr. James Boggs, of Northamptonshire, Eng-
land, groom, was standing at the head of Paul’s
leader, and he hesitated slightly, saying:

“ Can the boy hold Thunderbolt, sir?"

“ Certainly. Here, Larry, you go to thelead-
er’s head while Jim calls Trainor,” said Paul.

Larry nodded and went to Boggs, who said
to him sharply:

“ Now, then, mind your eye, and don’t go to
playin’ any tricks on the ’oss.”

“ All right, b0ss,” was the tranquil reply.
“ Keep yer shirt on. I kin take keer of myself
and the boss too.”

Mr. Boggs favored him with a scowl and de-
parted in high dudgeon while Larry stood by
Thunderbolt’s head, which he could just reach,
and observed to the magnate of the mill, with
infinite coolness:

“ Say, boss: is them bosses good goers?”

It was Paul who answered:

“ Pretty good, Larry. Why do you ask?
Would you like to take care of them?”

Larry shook his head.

“ No, sir. I’m aogoin’ to be a iron man, I

Why the queerest?” asked his

am. When 1 gets rich, I’ll drive my own team,
I will. Grooms ain’t no ’count. They don’t
make nothen but day’s w es.”

Mr. Skinner, for the first time, seemed to be
struck by the boy’s words; for he said to Paul,
not ungraciously:

“ Boy’s got the right spirit,
spirit. But then we want muscle.

“Muscle ” echoed Larry. “ That’s me, every
time, boss. ’

At the same moment out came Mr. James
Boggs, who reported:

“ Trainor’s a-comin’ sir.”

Then he went to Thunderbolt’s head and
shoved Larry away, saying:

“There, get out. Shoul n’t wonder if you’d
been jerkin’ his month while I was away.’

Larry curled his lip, retorting:

“ Oh, give us a rest! I know what a. boss is,
as well as the next man.”

Paul heard him, and said to his grandfather:

“ Isn’t he cheeky? It‘s positively refresh-

faul; right

“Iii” \
r. Skinner made a wry face.

“ I guess Tom will take the cheek out of him.
He’s a terror to the other ’prentices. Here he
comes.”

Out from the side‘door of the mill came a
big burly boy, with a sullen face, bullet head
an large ears. He came up in a slouching
way, eyed Larry'with a sniff of contempt,
wiped his nose on the back of his hand, and
said to Skinner:

“Did yer want me, boss?”

“Yes. This boy wants to come in as a
’prentice, and I’ve told him he can’t do it un-
less he whips you. Can you handle him ?"

Tom Trainor turned and lOoked at Larry
with an lilii“S(‘l'll)ql‘lf’ mixture if anger and
CJIIIGmli'. He stood nearly a head taller than
the little tramp.

 

“Handle him i)” he echoed.
the head ofl’ him, boss.
of this yard.
Git, 1 say!” .

Larry, in the mean time, had thrown his stick
and bundle aside, and was eying his antagonist
with perfect coolness.

“Say, hubby,” he retorted, tauntingly, “ take
off yer boots, and I’ll sweeten your coffee for

.Ou‘”

) Tom’s only anSWer was to rush at the short
boy and level a ferocious kick at him, which
Larry evaded by an active spring, while Paul
Van Beaver stepped out, crying:

“ Fair play there! If you want to kick, take
off your boots. He’s barefooted.”

So sayng he caught the big boy by the arm,
but Tom turned on him in a moment and

“1’” jest take

growled:
“ You leave me alone. I fight my own way.
I don’t take off no boots, I don’t.” '

“ No, no,” cried old Skinner,
beard; " that won’t do, 'l‘om.
says take ’em off, and so do I.”

For one moment it seemed as if the big ’pren
rice were going to strike Paul, for he glared at
hiiu like a wild beast; but then he seemed to
remember himself, for he began to kick off his
boots, growling:

“ All right, boss, if you say so.
up anyway.”

Then he turned’on Larry, and made for the
boy like a demon.

(To be continued.)

ulling his long
1‘. Van Beaver

I can eat him

 

CARRIE AND I.

BY H. H. JOHNSON.

 

 

It was evening, and the moonlight
Shed a mellow radiance ’rouiid,
And the summer zeph rs murmured
“Along the leaves wit i plaintive sound.
Far above, the bright stars twinkled
Like ten thousand angel eyes
Looking down on earth below them
As in joyous, mute surprise.

Side b side we two were sitting
On t e quaint old rustic seat,
And a brooklet’s limpid waters
Loved the shore just at our feet.
Not a word had either spoken
For the last half-hour or so,
But we sat in silence, thinkin
While we watched the broo let flow.

was wishing that the brooklet

Were the placid stream of life,
And that I could sail upon it

filth pace; Ciasz (Or my wife;
W ta ssu, appyvo e

I was thinking ours might‘be,
If my ntle, darling Carrie

Won (1 consent to sail with me!

But I feared to ask the question——
Trembled lest she’d answer “ nay .’ ”
And my bright and glowing vision
Like a dream be swept away.
Then I turned and gazed upon her
As she sat unconscious there,
And I envied the soft zephyr
Toying with her auburn hair.

Then my head drooped low and lower,
Till her ri lets swept my cheek,

And my thro bin heart was wishing
That m cowar tongue would speak.

Softly sto e my arm around her—
Pressed her close] to my side,

As] murmure l: “ .arrie, darling,
Dare you to me all confide?”

Not a word the maiden answered,
But my soul was filled with bliss.

When she turned her sweet lips upward,
And I ressed on them a kiss.

Still the right stars lowed and twinkled
In their 2121 re sea a ove,

And we called them eyes of angels
Smiling down upon our love.

‘ Roland Yorke, -

The CITY THOROUGHBRED ;

on,
The Night Hawks of New York.

 

A Tale of the Lawless.

 

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN,

AUTHOR or “ THE DEMON DETECTIVE,” “OVER-
LAND Krr," “BAT or THE BATTERY,"
“TALBOT or CINNABAB,” ETC.

CHAPTER XIV.
THREE TO ONE.

“AHA!” cried Bristol Bill, in triumph, “ this
time you shall not escape me!”

And, without pausing to draw a weapon, he
threw himself upon the young detective.

It was the desperado’s plan to close in with his
foe so as to prevent him from escaping by flight,
and while he kept him employed, his associates
could attack the detective from the rear.

It was an old game, and one which had been
worked successfully a hundred times before.

Many a man had been assailed after this fash-
ion and left bleeding and almost lifeless upon
the ground by just such ruflians as Bristol Bill
and his pals.

But though our hero appeared to be but
slightly built, yet be was one of those deceptive
men, being perfectly proportioned, who ap-
peared much smaller than he really was.

Roland Yorke Could hit out straight from the
shoulder as well as any professional boxer, as
he quickly proved to the men who assailed him.

Bristol Bill, rushing upon his prey with the fe-
rocity of a tiger, was met by a right hander,
skillfully delivered just between the eyes, and
with so much power in it that the desperado
went reeling backward like a drunken man.

Red Barry, who was prompt to follow the ex—
ample set by his chief in attacking the young
man, caught a smashing blow from the detec-
tive’s fist which landed on his nose, and, for the
moment, gave him the impression that a brick
house had fallen on him.

Sheeny Lew, more cautious than his fellows,
more expert also, for he was a pugiliSt by pro-
fession when not engaged in the pleasant occu-
pation of making free with other people’s prop-
erty, made a feint of closin with the detective,
and when Yorke sent one 0 his powerful right-
handers straight at his head, succwded in dodg-
ing the blow, then broke through the guard of
Yorke and closed in with him.

His success, though, was short-lived, for no
sooner had he grasped the detective than the
other, with an adroitness that fairly astounded
the pugilist, got an under-grip on him, and with
an exertion of stren th that not one judge out
of a thousand woul have deemed possible to
exist in such a slenderly-built man, “ threw”
Sheeny Lew, bringing him to the ground with
a force that made every bone in his body feel
sore.

The fallen man had accomplished his purpose
though, for, during the few seconds that he ha
contrived to occupy, Bristol Bill and Red Barry
were afforded an opportunity to recover from
the effects of the blows they had received.

And no sooner had the detective completed
Sheeny Lew’s downfall than the two were upon

im.

They closed in so quickly that Roland Yorke.
Eves not afforded any opportunity to use his

sts.

The three men struggled with each other like
so many angry serpents for a few moments and
then came to the ground. all in a heap.

By this time Sheeny Lew was on his feet and
drawing a stout club from his pocket—a peculiar
weapon made of ratan. loaded in one end with
a solid lump of lead, an English instrument,
commonly termed a 1ife-preserver—endeavored
to get a chance to hit the detective on the head
with it.

A single blow from the life-preserver, dealt
by Sheeny Lew ’s vi orous band, would, un-
doubtedly, have laid t e detective out as flat as
a mackerel.

But the c ~ntestants were twisting and turn-
in g so rapidly that the rufllan hesitated to strike

 

2 l

for fear of injuring one of his pals instead of '
Come, ’skeetci'. git out I
We don’t want no kids like you. 1

the detective

Then, too, a crowd had immediately gathered,
and although there u. ere quite a number of
roughs in the throng, who \\ ere well acquainted
with Bristol Bill and his party. and could be
depended upon to lend a hand, if requested so to
do, yet there were also strangers present, sailors,
mostly, more or less under the influence of
liquor, and all clamorous for “ fair play.”

" Three ag‘in’ one ain’t the cheese, nohow
you kin fix it,” one of the sailors declared, and
as he was a broad-shouldered fellow, about six
feet high and evidently gifted with great per-
sonal strength, besides being one of that class of
mariners commonly termed “ hard as a pine
knot,” his utterance had decided weight.

The moment he reached the scene of Conflict,
heading a party which consisted of half a
dozen jolly ack 'I‘ai's, who had evidently been
having a deuce of a time, at d ascertained what
the matter was, he interfered in the row.

“ You put up that joker of yourn!” he cried,
<ternly, to Sheeny Lew. and he shook a brawny
fist at the rough in a manner that plainly indi
car ed he intended to have the command obeyed.

“Don’t you dare to attempt to use that air
ive’pon or I‘ll knock you clean through the side
of a brick house!”

Ami as Sheeny Lew, with the experience born
vt long practice, looked at the man, the idea
iame into his head that the sailor would be
‘l'vtty apt to try the experiment, and if he did
int succeei would come mighty near to it.

‘ Fair play is a jewel the world over, and me
no my mates are going to have it, if we haVe

‘ lls'm out the hull gang of ye!" the sailorcon—
tinned.

The Cherry street roughs are desperate men.
but they knew full well the danger there was in
provoking a party of Jack Tars on a bit of a
spree.

The sailors always fought like demons when
their blood was up, and then too ever man of
them carried a sheath-knife, and w en hard
pressed they were not apt to hesitate to use the
weapon as many a man along shore could testify
to his cost.

“ Form a ring—stand back, all of you !” yelled
the big sailor in a stentorian voice. “ Let ’em
fight it out! I’ll put my money on the little
cuss,”even if he has got two big fellers ag’in’
him!

The keen-e ed sailor had calculated right] ;
despite the ds Roland Yorke was getting t e
hem; of the struggle.

In such a contest as this the two actin to-
gether could not employ their forces to goo ad-
vantage, and the detective had managed to ob-
tain a decided lead.

With his slender lefthand, which was, how-
ever, as strong as tho h made out of steel, he
had caught Red Barry ythe throat and choked
him until the eyes of that «worthy protruded
and he turned black in the fact.

With the other he successfully resisted Bris-
tol Bill's attempts to do him material harm, and
when Red Barry weakened, rendered incapable
for the time being of doing any damage, the de-
gefifive turned his entire attention to Bristol

1 .

Just at this moment the cry of police was
heard, and two stalwart officers, club in hand,
forCed their way through the throng.

“Help, help!’ Rolan Yorke cried, the mo—
ment he heard the shout raised that the police
were at hand.

“ I am a detective officer and have laid hold
of Bristol Bill!" ,

The announcement threw a damper over the
enthusiasm of the sailors, for these men seldom
have reason to look upon a policeman in the
light of a friend.

Sheeny Lew was quick to perceive and take
advantage of the turn of the 'de.

“ The cops are coming, boys will you let Bill
be taken?” he cried.

There was a wild yell and a sudden rush of
the crowd.

The detective's prisoner was torn from his
grasp, and at the same moment he received a
dozen different blows from as many different
men, and one of the licks, a vicious one on the
head, that he felt sure was inflicted by the “ lite-
preserver” of Sheeny Lew, was so severe that
for a moment he “saw stars.”

But by the time the police got to the spot he
was himself again, but the rufiians had tied,
with the exception of Red Barry, too weak to

escape.

“ What’s the row?” cried one of the police-
men, as Roland Yorke rose slowly to his feet.

“ A little tussle with Bristol Bill and his
gang, that’s all,” Yorke replied. “ I am a de-
tective ofiicer attached to the central office
aBng was sent out expressly to capture Bristo

i .

“ I found him all right, but his pals were with
him and they attempted to lay me out.

“ They would have succeeded, too, I think, if
some sailors hadn’t interfered so as to give me a
show for in money.

“Bristol ill managed to get away, but I’ve
got this fellow dead to ri hts.”

The police assisted the alien man to rise, and
great was their astonishment when they dis-
covered that the man whom the detective had
managed to overcome in this triangular fight
was the notorious Red Barry.

In wonder they looked upon the dandified
young man.

“’hat kind of a felIOW was he to be able to
overcome such a man as the desperado, and at
the same time “ stand off ” Bristol Bill!

This capture made a deal of talk in police
circles, and the authorities soon made up their
minds that they had at hold of a valuable man
when they admitted oland Yorke into the de-
tective force.

“ You look like a dandy, but you seem able to
hold your own against the best of them,” the
old superintendent remarked.

“Yes; Bristol Bill dubbed me the Genteel
Spotter, and I hope before I get through to
make the name worthy of remembrance,” the
young man replied.

 

CHAPTER XV.
: ON THE TRAIL.

ALTHOUGH the police authorities were glad
to get hold of Red Barry, et they regretted
the escape of Bristol Bill, for ill, in the thieves’
world, ranked as being equal to about a dozen
of the others.

Bristol Bill had the head to plan, while Red
Barry was but a stupid fellow, able only to
parry out the orders given him.

One was the master, the other on] a servant.

Red Barry was wanted on a coup e of serious
charges, and acting on the prinCiple of set a
thief to catch a thief, the authorities ofiered to
make it easy for him if he would give informa-
gplili that would lead to the trapping of Bristol

Bill was in the city, carefully concealed some-
where the police felt sure but all the private
and public detectives at the command of the
authorities were utterly at fault in regard to

1m.

He kept so discreetly in the background that
the closest search failed to find him.

Red Barry was true to his chief and laughed
at the offers made to him.

“ Maybe you may be able to send me up the
river, at you’ll never be able to keep me
there l” he declared, defiantly.

“ And'as' for Bristol Bill, if you want him so
bad, you had better put on your spectacles and
look for him.

“I’m qot giving away pals at this stage of
the game.” ' ‘

Finding that the ruifian could neither be
bribed or frightened into betraying his chief,
the superintendent of police gave the case en-
tirely into the hands of Roland Yorke.

“Go ahead! do the best you can, and I will
back you up with all the power at my com-
mand !” he said.

The detective gladly accepted the mission.

Meanwhile he had not been idle in the case of
the yoxmg girl who had come so timely to his
rescue in the old cellar.

He had met her according to appointment
and obtained from her all the particulars in

 

 

 

regard to the mysterious payment of the money
which the old woman received quarterly.

Armed with this information he had called
upon the Jew pawnbroker. .

Moses Cohenson was the name under which
the man did business, but the :detective had
learned by in uiry among the force attached to
the central 0 ' that it was more than suspect-
ed he had no claim to either name.

His reputation was decidedly bad.

Stolen goods had been traced to his place
time after time, and though he had been re-
peatedly cautioned that some day he would get
himself into Serious trouble if he did not 100k
more closely after his business, it did not do the
least good.

In fact, all the detectives were perfectly sure
that the pawnbroking was a mere blind to
cover his real business, which was that of a
" fence,” or receiver of stolengoods.

In ersou the pawnbroker Was a little, with-
811‘2id- coking, fox-like man, about fifty years
0 i .

A smooth-spoken, oily sort of a chap, with a
.qu~aky Voice, and a sneaky manner.

A man who never by any chance looked any-
..ody in the eye, and who always cringed and
crouched as though he was afraid some one was
going to strike him.

Another peculiar habit he had, too.

Whenever he talked with anybody he was
Ill ways rubbing his hands together, as if he
.vas washing them in invisible soap and water.

Slippery M.;ses was the name by which he
.v-sis generally known, and from long experi-

nce, all who were intimately acquainted wiih
him regarded the name as being particularly
ap ropriate.
oses’s establishment was situated on the
Bowery, as the second principal artery of great
Gotham is called, the great shopping street of
the middle class of the city.

A truly cosmopolitan street, where almost
everything under the sun can be bought, and
on whose ever crowded sidewalks the natives of
twenty difierent countries can be encountered,
and the effect of so many languages falling
upon the ears, as the crowd bustles onward, re-
calls to one’s memory the story of the Tower of
Babel.

The shop of the Jew was a very insignificant-
looking one.

There was a all show-window, wherein a
miscellaneous collection of articles was dis-
played, ranging from so-called diamond rings
down to a child s rattle.

Con icuously over the door swung the pa wn-
brokers sign, the same all over the world, no
matter the country, nor the language, the three
golden balls, the oldstime arms of the Floren~
tine house of the Medicis, who long years ago
in the land of sunny Italy lent money to their
brother nobles, took usury and security, and so
founded the numerous if not noble line of pawn-
brokers.

But in the cant slang of the day the three
balls signify that it is “ two to one you don’t
take out what on put in.”

“ Slippery oses ” was in the shop when the
detective entered.

It was a remarkable fact, and one often com-
mented upon both by Moses's customers and the

lice, that no one ever visited the shop and

ound the old man absent.

He seemed to be as much of a fixture as the
counter in the placc.

The old Jew had eyes like a hawk, yet he al-
ways wore a pair of old-fashioned, iron-bowed
spectacles, with light blue glasses.

Shrer men said it was to conceal the ex-
pression of his eyes.

When it came to difficult work the Jew could
control every muscle in his face with the skill
of a practiced actor, but he feared the eyes
would betray him and so he kept them guarded.

The pawnbroker was sitting upon a bi h
stool behind the counter, with an extreme y
dirty memorandum—book in his hand and the
stub of a pencil, busy in calculation.

When the young man entered he favored him
with a rapid glance, and the detective felt that
the pawnbroker was taking a mental inventory
of him and all his belongin 5.

“Are you Mr. Cohenson?’ Yorke asked.

The Jew put away the book and pencil, got
down from the stool and shambled up to the end
of the counter.

“ Yesh, yesh, dat is mine name, mine fr’end,”
he said, again surveying his visitor with a
glance so piercing that it seemed to go right
through him like a gimlet.

“ I’ve a little bit of business with you.”

“ Yesh, mine fr’end, yesh: vat ish it?" and the
old man commenced to wash his hands with the
invisible soap and water.

“ It is a little private matter,” the detective
explained.

An almost imperceptible look of mistrust
passed rapidly over the face of the pawnbroker.

Roland Yorke did not look at all like a cus-
tomer, either regular or irregular, and the Jew
did not know exactly what to make of it.

He had not come into the store to pawn any-
thing, that was evident, nor did he look like a
thief who had made a successful haul and had
come to the shop to dispose of his booty.

“Yesh, vesh, vat ish it, my tear?" smoothly
spoke the Jew.

“ Do you know an old lady called Mrs. Nancy
O’Neil i"

The Jew appeared to reflect profoundly for a
moment, an then said:

“”Yesh, yesh, I t’ink de name ish familiar to

“Well, I should say it ought to be, considering
that you have been doing business with her for
a dozen years or more.”

“ Yesh, yesh, is dat so?” and the pawnbroker
looked inquisitively at the other, as if to ask
what on earth the matter was to him.

“You know it is s ~; what is the use of beat—
ing around the bush?”

“Mine goot fr’end, I never beats around der
bush!" protested Slippery Moses.

“ ,I’ve come to see you about that little mat-
ter.

“Yesh, yesh.”

“ I represent a certain party who has a great
interest in the affair, and I want to find out
where the money comes from.”

“ Monish? Vat monish?” exclaimed the old
man with an expression of the utmost astonish-
ment upon his face, just as if he knew nothing
at all about the matter.

“ Oh, come, no nonsense I” cried the detective
decidedly. “ You know what I mean, well
enough. I refer to the money that you, for the
last sixteen or seventeen years, have paid quar-
terly to Max. Nancy O’Neil, always giving her
your check for the amount.

“ I want to trace that money on behalf of the
child for whom the money is sent.”

“ Ah, my tear fr’end you are a lawyer, then!”
said the wnbroker, nsinuatingly.

“ No, sir, I am not.”

“Vat then—vhy take you an interest in der
affair, hey 1”

“ I am a detective from the central oflice.”

The old man surveyed his visitor for a moment,
noted the fop ish manner of his dress—the
general “ dude ’ air which he wore, then smiled
and shook his head.

“ Oh, no, mine tear fr’end, you hate made
some mistake; I know all der detectives—I hafe
in New York live lon while. No, you are not
from der central 0 cc,” and the Jew shook
his head and washed his hands in the invisible
water more briskly than ever.

“ Moses. I am givin it to you as straight as
a ramrod,” Yorke rep ied.

‘ “ I am a new-comer on the force, but I’ve no
doubt I shall be able to make your acquaintance
in a business we. , before long.

“ My name is oland Yorke.”

“ Mine gootness, der Gentleman Spotter l”
cried Slippery Moses, in considera e astonish.
ment, which was not unmixed wit alarm.

CHAPTER XVI.
THE FRENCH COUNT.
THE detective laughed.
He had produced an impression as he had cal—
culated upon doing.
“ You have struck it right the first time,” the
detective said.

 

 

ls

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

. -.-.r,.._s.....W. . .. .h

_ i..._....._....... _... M AI-.-_ ....

 

 

 

 

  
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 
  
 
    

 

“ That is what I am called, I believe, and I

2011 igdebted to an old friend of yours for the
it e.

" A friend of mine?” and the Jews little, cun-

~ nipgyeyes glared suspiciously.

‘ es, Bristol Bill.

“ Bristol Bill,” the pawnbroker remarked, in
a vacant sort of way, just as if he had never
heard the name before.

“ Yes, you know him well enough; it’s no use
for you to affect ignorance. That sort of
thi is played out.

“ ritol ill isan old customer of yours.”

“ So helup me gootness!” protested the Jew,
“der name is strange to me. Mebbe I know
der mans, mebbe he ish a gustomer of mine, but
I hate so many fr‘ends whose names I do not
know, and den my memory is bad.”

“ Particularly when you don’t want to re—
member, eb?” and the detective smiled, for he
knew the pawnbroker was speaking falsely.

“ But never mind Bristol: I didn’t come here
to talk to you about Bill. I am not trving to
worm anything out of you about him. I’ve got
a rod in pickle for that gentleman, and I think
it will not be long before I get a chance to clap
the darbies on his wrists.”

“Der darbies3" said the Jew, in a tone of
question, just as if he had never heard the word
before.

“ The darbies, that is exactly what I said, and
of course you don’t know the meaning of it.
you are such an innocent chap. You never
heard it before, did you é”

“ I t’ink not,” and the pawnbroker endeavored
to appear as much like a greenhorn as possible.

“ ell, my honest friend, since you appear to
be so ignorant of the thieves’ language, the re
nowned and ancient argot, learn from me that
garbies means bracelets of steel, handcuffs, in

act. ’

“ Ah, yesh, I vill remember dat.”

“Yes, don‘t you forget it! But now to busi‘
ness. I represent the young girl on whose be—
half Mrs. O'Neil reCeives the money that she
gets from you quarrerly, and I want to find out
who that money comes from.

“If you can help me to procure this informa-
tion I shall be very much obliged to you, and I
give you my word I will try to return the favor
some time.

“ But if, on the contrary, you are disposed to
be ugly and do not feel like giving me a pointer,
then I shall do my best to get square with you
one of these days.

“ You see, Moses, I talk right open and above—
board. There’s nothing like coming to an un-
derstanding in these little matters.

“ Treat me right and you will find me a friend
who will stick by you if you ever get into a
tight place, but if you choose to act mean there
i~n’t a man on the force who will hunt you down
as peisistently as Roland Yorke l”

“ Mine gootness! I am der nicest mansin der
city!” the pawnbroker rotested. “ I vill tell
you vat you vant. Vy s ouldn’t I? It is no b’is-
ness of mine.”

“That is the way to talk, Moses, so go ahead,
and, as I said before, it will be decidedly to your
advantage to help me all you can in this mat-
ter,” replied the detective.

“ Oh. yesh, mine gootness! that ish der kind of
mans I am!” and the old Jew washed his hands
vigorously in the air.

“I vill tell you all I know, but so helup me
gracious! it ish not much.

“ Sliiist about seventeen years ago, a lady
came to me von night as I vash closing der shop

“ She vash shust a common kind of vomans,
not poor, nor not rich, to shudge from der
clothes she vore.

“ She vore a dark vail, so thick dat not von
lei-tie hit of her face could I see, but t’inks I to
niineselup from der vay you speak you are a
young vomans.

“ She swys to me, ‘ Moses Cohenson, dey say
tl'-t you are an honest man !’ I say, right quick,
‘ Mine gootness, you can bet all you hafe in der
vorlil oii (iar.’

"Then she explain herselup. She vants to
pay Mrs. inicy O’Neil so much by der year,
payable quarterly in advance, but she has a
reason vliy she does not vant to see der party.

“ She ask me. ‘Say I put der money in an
envelope and put it into your letter-box—’ you
see der slit in der door there?” and the pawn-
broker pointed to the store-door where there
was a slit for the reception of letters.

“ Behind der door there is a box for the let-
ters.” lie Jew explained.

“ ‘T'nree or four days before the money is
due I will put the money into your letter-box,
and when the old voman comes you gife her a
check for the money. Vill you do it and how
much you charge, eh?’

“ I see der game in a minute; der check vas a
check on me and on der old vonians too.

“ I hate alvays been ready to turn der honest
penny ever since I vns born. I told der la'ly,
‘ Oh, yesli! I vill do it for so much monish.’

“Very sheep, my fi"end, because I am an
honest mans and alvnys ready to oblige der
Vomuns.

“I liafc never see der lady from dat day to
dis. Der money has alvays comes as regular as
clockwork until dis quarter. Der time vas two
veeks ago, but dis time it ish nixy weeden,” said
the pawnbroker in conclusion, dropping readily
into the argot.

“ Honest, now, is this the truth that you
have told me?” questioned the detective, looking
the pawnbroker square in the eye.

The Jew lifted both hands in solemn assevera—
tion.

“ So helup me Father Abraham it ish!” he
cried. “ I vish I may die dis minute if it isn’t!
Oh, sir, I am a square mans vhen I am treated
like a gentlemans. .

“Vhy should I lie to you? it ish not to my
interest. So helup me gracious, I vill not lie
except in the vay of business! _

“I vant to be fr’ends vith you, mine goot
sir: I have heard der boys talk about you al—
ready. Iuto mine shop comes all sorts _of
1390le you know, but I can’t helup dat; it 15!:
b‘isncss.

“ Some day I may into trouble get. If a
mans spouts a watch here mit me, how can I
tell dat der ‘ticker’ was ‘ faked ’ from a. ‘suck—
er?’ How am I to know it vas stolen?

“ In some case like dat you vill speak a goot
word for me, mebbe?” and the pawnbroker
looked anxiously at the detective.

" Oh, yes; I will do what I can for yea.”

“I hafe told you all I know. so helup .me
gracious! I vould not know der vomans if I
met her der Sbi‘m‘t on, for I hnfe only seen her
dat time, seventeen years ago,” the pawnbroker
declared. _ _

“ Did the money ever fail to come in time be-
fore é” Roland Yorke asked, thoughtfully.-

“NeVer!” cried the Jew, emphatically.
“ ’Most always it ish in der box a vee ahead of
time." '

“ Looks as if it had stopped for good, doesn’t
it?”

The pawnbroker shrugged his shoulders.

“ Mebbe: perhaps der vomans ish dead.”

“ That would account for it. I’m. much
obliged to you for the information, and if it is
ever in my power to do you a favor you can
command me.”

Then amid the profuse thanks of the pawn-
broker Roland Yorke departed.

“ The trail runs up a tree,” he murmured, as
he proceeded up the Bowery. “If the money
has stopped I don’t see any way to get at the
mystery. If the remittance arrives, then when
the time draws near for the next payment] can
put a watch day and night on Mosess'prem-
iscs and follow the messenger who depOSits the
mone in the box. '

“ thhiiig can be done now, though, until the
money comes, and so until that event takes

ilnce I will deVote my attention to trapping
istol Bill.”

rFrom certain information that had reached
police head—quaiters it was surmised that the
whereabouts of Bristol Bill might be known to
some high toned gamblers who held forth‘nt an
elaborately fitted up “club room” on 'Ihirty-
first street, a few doors from Broadway. _

80, about eleven o’clock, the detective, in one
of the most complete disguises that mortal man

 

 

 

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ever assumed, made his appearance at the Fifth
Avenue Hotel, and from this central point
lounged up and d0wn Broadway, stopping in at
all the popular night resorts.

Roland Yorke on this occasion was disguised
as a Frenchman, and he looked the modern
Gaul to the life.

He had put on a black wig, the hair of which
curled in little crispy ringlets close to his head;
a jet-black mustache and imperial, both with

carefully waxed and pointed ends, completely

altering the whole expression of his features.

He had even taken the trouble to apply a
dye to his face and hands, so that his skin had
a decided olive tinge.

In his, scarf he wore a handsome diamond
pin; a solitaire diamond ring adorned the little
finger of his left hand; an elaborate watch-
chain shone upon his vestofront; his dress, from
hat to boots, was irreprOachable, and as he
promenaded up Broadway swinging a light
cane he looked for all the world like a distin-
guished foreigner, blessed with plenty of money,
and out for a night’s enjoyment.

The detective‘s game was a simple one.

He expected to attract the attention of some
of the well—dressed, agreeable “ gentlemen” who
acted as runners for the high-toned up—town
gambling-houses.

“Cappers-in” is the professional name for
them, and their business is to frequent first—
class hotels and drinking-houses, make the ac-
quaintance of well~dressed ~trangers, men who
were new to the city and who looked as if they
had money to lose, and induce them to visit the
temples devoted to the worship of the goddess,
Fortune. ‘

The bait was a tempting one, and inside of
half an hour from the time he made his ap-
petarance upon the street the detective got a

i e.

And the gentleman who singled him out as
being worthy of attention was the very man
whom Yorke desired to meet.

Hungry Joe he was popularly called, the chief
runner for the gambling-house in Thirty-first
street. .

(To be continued—commenced in No. 46.)

The HeroiniLiii the Gulch.

BY M. D. BRITTON.

 

 

“ Is that your daughter, Hardy?” I asked of
the landlord of the shanty hotel at the mouth
of Sulphur Gulch, as I sat smoking with him on
the rough front porch.

Hardy laughed, and looked at the small, neat
figure flitting about inside the windows.

“I’ve been asked that question afore n0w,
stran er,” said he. “ But she ain’t my daugh-
ter. i olly’s my wife.”

“ Why, indeed! You surprise me!” I said.
“She seems so young.”

“ IVal, she’s one o’ the kind as keeps their
youth long, stranger. She’s about twenty-
eight, Molly is. A matter 0’ six year younger’n

m .

“ She looks happy,” said I. “But she seems
very unsuited to this wild life.”

“Yes, sir, I believe the gal is happy here.
And as to the life—wal, now, you’d take her to
be one 0’ them finicky sort, What squeals at a
mouse, an’ jumps into a feather-bed when a
thunder-cloud comes up, n0w, wouldn’t you!”

“ IVell, yes, Hardy, she seems to be a timid,
clinging creature.” And I glanced at the
pretty face inside the house. Hardy laughed
a ain.

“ Right thar you miss it bad, stranger. My
Molly’s a modest, sensible gal, as ever lived in
your cities, an’ I’d jest like to see the teller
what would darst to dispute it! But, stranger,
little an’ modest as she is, thar ain’t a man in
the gulch braver nor cooler than that thar
same little woman!”

“ Then it strikes me, Hardy, you’ve got a
treasure worth more than all the gold you find
round here.” i.

Hardy’s face glowed with honest pride at my
remark.

“Thank ye, stranger,” said he. “ You’re
a—hittin’ the truth a squar’ lick when ye say
that, an’ no man knows it better’n Dan’l Hardy!
Yes, sir, she‘s a treasure in the house—mild,
good-natured and industr’ous. An’ outside,
why, sir, she kin break the wildest colt, an’
send the truest shot round hyar! An’ with the
lasso thar ain’t many can beat her! She can’t
play the forty-pianiier, nor sew flowers onto
silk, but—sir, she’s saVed my life, more’n once!
an’ last fall—”

Hardy threw back his head and laughed
heartin a moment. Then he went on:

“She was a whole vigilance committee, an’ a
police force into the bargain, all by herself, one
da ’ l"

‘3' Do tell me about it, Hardy! Have another
cigar, and tell me the story.”

"“ Thank ye, stranger; I don’t keer ef I do! I
mostly prefersa pipe but these hyar weeds is
prime. From New York, ain’t they 9”

“ Yes; New York is where I hail from.”

“ “'al. I hain’t never been thar, but I reckon
it’s a right smart village. What mou’t ye fol-
ler, when ye’re to hum, stranger?” '

“ Oh, I‘m a newspa er man.”

“Are ye, now? al, ’twould be funny ef
what I'm a—goin’ to tell ye was to get into print,
wouldn’t it!”

“ I’ll send you a copy, if it does, Hardy.”

“ Thank ye. That's clever of ye. Wal, l was
a-goin’ lo tell ye. You see, a couple of us, me
an’ my pard, we struck it big, last fall. Some
of ’em says it’s luck. My experience is that
luck is mostly owin’ to pluck. We’d persevered
when the whole gang give up, an’ we made
money in a lump. We had about twenty thou-
sand dollars, that we was goin’ to bank, over to
’Frisco. But it was in my house, in canvas
bags, yet, when some trip took me an’ Harper,
that’s my pard, out to the other edge 0’ the
gulch, an’ nobody was left at home but Molly
an’ her Chinee servant, a boy about fifteen, as
big a coward as ever walked, so he wa’n’t no
help to her. We never thought 0’ them var-
mints, what had bu’sted up, troublin’ the gold,
or we wouldn’t ’a’ left Molly. In fact, we didn’t
think they knew we had it yet. But they did.
An’ three 0’ the thievin’ sneaks, seein’ nobody
but a woman, an’ a little one at that, was about,
thought they’d git in and git the‘pile. wal,
they did git in, an’ was at my chist, a-pryin’
the lock, when Molly come into the room, an’
saw ’em. She’d heerd a noise, an’ snatched up
two revolvers as she slipped in from the bar-
room. The fust thing they knew, she was close
to ’em, and sez she:

“ ‘ Drop that!’ an’ the rascals looked around to
see cold steel ’intin’at ’em in each of her hands,
an’ her eyes s inin’ like beads.

“ They never thought of bein’ bothered, so they
had laid their shootin’-irons down, all but one
of ’em. He made a motion to grab his pistol,
but Molly yells, ‘ Stop it, or I’ll shoot!’ an’
seein’ he wasn’t mindin , she did shoot, stranger,
and hit him in the arm, but not so bad but that
he run, an’ he got away, becauseyshe couldn’t
manage three. But she warn’t ein’ to let the
other two et away. They star to run_ too, but
she ordere ’em to alt, and throw up their hands,
an‘, sir, they halted. They hadn’t a taste for
Kefer’s dose—Kefer’s the chap she shot, an’ a
bad one he is, too. Wal, sir, she ordered ’em
to march out into the yard, an’ they marched,
till they got to that tree, thar. ‘ Climb itl’ says
Mollv. ‘ I’ll be durned ef I do!’ sa 5 one of em.
‘Yofi know me!’ sa 3 she, ‘I’m oily Hardy,
an’ I kin shoot with oth hands. Climb, or I’ll
fire !’ Wal, sir, they shinned up the tree,’ both
of ’em, jest too quick! An’ thar she kep ’em,
strancer! Thar she stood, With them two re-
volvers p’inted up, an’ never stirred, fur three
mortal hours, till me an’ Harper come back,
An’ ef they wasn’t two sick-lookin’_ dogs, treed
up thar by one small woman, you kin have my
head for a football! ’ .

“ I should think so!” said I. “But where was
your servant? Couldn’t he help her!” ’

“ He ran to the kitchen-closet an’ hid his fool
self as soon as he found out the robbers was
tbar. An’ he never come out till we dragged
him out. But she'd saved our gold, all by herself,

without police or patrol, though her arms was
about give out when we got thar.”

“ And what did you do with the robbers?” I
asked.

Hard snickered, and said:

“ Wa ,thar’s whar the woman’s soft—hearted-
ness comes in. Me an’ Harper, an‘ some more
0’ the boys, was fur 'vin’ ’em a short shrift an’
a long ro e. But olly, she begged for ’em.
She said t ey hadn’t took nothin’, an’ ef they‘d

romise good behavior, we had to let ’em go.
al, they did promise, an’ we jest driv ’em
out 0’ camp with a warnin’ not to come back.
The knew she’d saved them as well as our gold,
an’ tell you they tuk off their hats to that
' woman afore they left.”

“ She is, indeed, a heroine,” said I.

“Wal, that’s what I think, stranger. But
she’s a mighty nice little piece 0’ woman’s flesh,
fur all that. Thar’s the supper-bell, stranger;
come in to supper, an’ try our mountain cookin’ !”

 

The Bride of londnnderry.

A ROMANCE OF THE TERRIBLE SIEGE.

 

BY ANTHONY P. MORRIS.

 

THE distressingly tragic scenes which marked
the period of the war of races at the accession
of William and Mary, contained many romances
which the pen of the historian of necessity has
ignored.

At the time of which we write, the tyrant,
James, deserted by his nearest relatives and
ablest captains, was an exile from the lost mon-
archies of England and Scotland; and we have
therein the extraordinary spectacle of the Eng-
lish king. supported by France, leading a lost
of Frenchmen against his own countrymen in
Ireland.

Sligo, Charleville and Mallmv had succumbed;
the main points of political and religious inter.
est were now at Enniskillen and Londonderry.

After the rout at Dromore, the latter village
was crammed with thousands augmented by the
influx from Lisburn and Antrim. The besieged
were in a fearful state of famine, almost de-
spairing.

Into the village we look when the feeble walls
were encompassed by the army under that most
savage Frenchman, General Rosen. And turn
we to the house of Giles Leach, the stalwart
fisherman, a widower whose daughter, Jane,
was the loveliest of all those heroic maidens who
figured so conspicuously among the brave band
on defenders during the assault from Windmill

ill.

Gaunt famine, deadly hunger, was abroad in
Londonderry then; houses and the cellars of
houses were filled with the corpses of those
whose sole ailment had been absolute starvation.

In the home of Giles Leach, on this night,
there was a loving couple—young Captain Will
Jarrett and his betrothed, the beautiful Jane
the pride of Londonderry.

The pair had been long mutually promised;
but stern Giles forbade the match because of a
feud which had been cherished through his
family against the Jarretts from the date when
the ancient town, once known as Derry, had
been pillaged and destroyed in the stiuggles of
the O’Neils and the O’Donnels against James I.
For it was said the Jarretts had borne a hand
in the slaughter of the Leaches then.

By stealth alone had the lovers been able to
meet of late.

Young Jarrett knew that the father was ab-
sent now at his post on the walls, among others
as stanch as he, and he had snatched a brief
spell to see and embrace the fair girl who loved
him with an unswerving devotion.

In the faces of these two lovers was manifest
the terrible suffering of hunger then over all
the inhabitants.

“Shall we never be saved? Oh, are we to
perish miserably thus, by one and by dozens, we
who, beside Enniskillen, are all who dare to pro-
claim for William and Mary 3” she murmured,
as he held her to him in arms once strong but
now weakened b the gnawing of the long fast.

“Alas, dear ane, have not one word of
promise to speak, only hope. Since the cow-
ardice of Kirke—and it must be cowardice—in
failing to reach us with those so sadly needed
provisions which he holds in his ships at the en
trance to Lough Foyle, it would seem, indeed,
that the speech of one of our tarnishing garrison
is to be fulfilled as a prophecy.”

“ And what was it he said, dear VVill'i”

With slow reluctance he answered:

“ First the beasts, then the prisoners, then
each other—but never a surrender!”

A shudder passed over both. It was meant
that thus only could the encompassed and
starving defenders survive much longer: by
eating—“first the beasts, then the prisoners,
then each other!”

Within sight lay the ships that might have
relieved this horrid want, loaded heavily with
meal, cheeses, beef, bacon and ardent spirits!

Hopeless to despairing were the people of
Londonderry, whom history was to immortal—
ize as noble fighters against famine, force of
superior numbers, and after being so nearly
betrayed by their own Governor, the treacher—
ous Lundy.

But brief only could be the meeting between
the loving pair. I

Captain Will was needed at his post, for
there was a rumor that Kirke was about to
make a desperate attempt for their relief. in
obedience to peremptory dispatches from En-

land.
g “Farewell, dear Jane,”he said, tenderly, and
with a last embrace. “ Let us continue our
trust in that God who has so far preserved our
lives, and who may yet grant happiness for you
and me.”

Closer she nestled to him, 10th to let him go.

“ Ah, the ill star that is over our love, dear
Will!”

“True, an ill star; and strange indeed that
your father, good in all else, should treasure
that unhappy feud between the Jarretts and
Leaches with which you and I have nothing
really to do. But take courage on that score;
I think it the least of our misfortunes at present.
If Heaven shall please to bring us out of this
ordeal, it may, too, yield fruition to our fondest
hopes—yours and mine, dear Jane. Hark! there
is a trumpet. Now, farewell!”

Almost abruptly he left her.

And scarcely had be gone, when into the
apartment came the crippled piper, Dan
O’Dean, whom Jane despised, not because of
his deformity, for which he was not to blame,
but because of his importunate love which had
anno ed her for years.

“ hist!” he said, glancing furtively about.
“A word with you, lass, a word, I say.”

Her head raised with repugnant defiance.

“ What do you want, Dan O’Dean?”

“ Oh, I’ve heard an’ seen all. An’ it’s while
your father’s awa in the fighting ranks that
you and the gay aptain W1 1 plot meetings, is
it? Do you now what I heard your father
say this very dayi—since it’s known be for-
bade that you an Captain Will should meet at

’1

a .

“ Well, what said be?”

“That if he thou ht the gay captain had
talked love to his chi d since the day he forbid
him the house, he’d make short work with him,
so he would—”

“ Short work! What do you mean!”

“ He’d kill him, sure.”

“But then you won’t tell, Dan?”-—stepping
forward and laying one hand on his arm plead-
in l .

I‘z‘ Oh, come now l”—grinning. “Won’t I,
thou h? Do you mind,it’s yourself to say whe-
ther’I shall or no.”

“ Me to sa l”

“Look: i ye’ll be my ,wife, all’s well an’
Captain Will is safe enough. Refuse me this
time, Jane Leach, an’ l’ll put your father on
his track, an’ well you know what a tiger he
is___”

“ Go!” she interrupted him. “Go, Dan
O’Dean. There is a Heaven above that will
prevent a conflict between my father and the

9

 

 

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man I love with my whole heart; and that same
Heaven will punish you, be sure.”

“I have my answers”

“ You have. Go.”

dMumbling curses as he went, O'Dean depart-
e . .

“'ithin the hour he had informed Giles
Leach of what was transpiring at his home
during his absence at the important post of duty
on the walls.

Within the same hour O’Dean was at one of
the gates, where the starving and famished sen-
try .had been quickly drugged by a flask of
spirits (flered him.

The gate was unlocked and unbarred.

For a second O‘Dean waved an im rovised
torch over his head, then extinguished it, bend-
ing as if to listen for some expected sound with-
out the wall.

f Ptresently his ear caught the tramp of muffled
ee .

“ Ha, ha!” he chuckled. “ What the bold
Lundy failed in, Dan O‘Dean will do without a
botch in it, faith. They’re comin’ in answer to
my Signal. When to morrow’s sun comes up, a
Sight there‘ll be. King James will rule the
town of Londonderry! Bad luck to the cause
0’ William and Mary forever, say I—”

“ And a ripe curse upon you, traitorous dog!”
rung a voice at the villain‘s elbow.

The fist of Captain 'Will, like a sledge of mail,
laid him low with the words. As he fell.
O'Dean‘s temple came in contact with the
grating, and he never afterward spoke a word,
for it was his death blow.

There were others at the back of the young
captain; with alacrity they jumped at the task
of refastening the gate.

None too soon!

Then, as their fire-locks blazed upon the creep-
ing foe. driving them back with howls of disap-
pointment, rage and pain. another cry rent the
air, the cry of a man angered beyond articulate
utterance.

"Make way here! Where is Will Jarrett—-~
Else man who would steal my child? Let me at

mi.

The towering form of Giles, the fisherman,
burst through the little throng of soldiers. He
was armed tnreateningly with naked sword and
skean.

“ So,” he snarled, confronting the young cap-
tain, “ you are a thief, as well as one of a
hated clan! Did I not swear that no Jarrett
should wed with a Leach of my blood? This
very night, while you thought me well out of
the way, you have poured words of accursed
honey into the ears of my sacred child—”

“ Peace, good Giles, and hear me——”

“I will hear nothin from you! Nor will I
take aught but your b ood. Defend yourseli !”

With sword and skean he hurled himself upon
the young captain almost ere the latter could
snatch forth a weapon.

But a dozen hands promptly griped the infu—
riate man.

"Hold back, here, you madman!” cried one.
“Have we not enough of trouble, facing the
invader at our walls, without bloodshed in our
midst?”

The burly fisherman was fairly wild in his an»
ger. He struggled hard, though impotently.
Then he ceased and stood with rigid muscles,
glaring at the man he hated so intensely for so
little cause.

“ You are all leagued against me!” he panted.
“You are determined to disgrace me! But it
shall not be. If I may not slay onder our “110
would rob me (If my child, at east I will not
live that he may gloat» upon 11‘ e in his triumph!"

Surely it was clear insanity that swayed the
brain of Giles Leach at that moment.

With a herculean effort he wrenched one arm
free from those who clutched him—the arm of
the hand that held his razor-edged knife—and
the next instant had plunged the bright blade
to the hilt in his Own breast!

A murmur of horror passed round as they re
coiled and permitted the lifeless body to fall
to the ground.

The beautiful orphan never knew the true
manner of her father‘s death; she was deceiVed
into believing that it happened during the storm-
ing of one of the gates, and that the wound was
from a pike in the hands of an adherent of
James.

Ever memorable was to be the next day for
Londonderry, when Kirke, despite the obstruc-
tions in Lough Foyle, despite the fierce cannon-
ade from the shores, succeeded in landing his
fleet at the quays, bringing, at last, food and
salvation for the emaciated garrison!

And memorable again the mom after that,
the first day of August, when, from parapet
and bastion, the army of King James was dis—
covered in full retreat, leaving the recent camp
in smoking ruins.

Brave Captain Will and beautiful Jane Leach
were early wedded after that long and terrible
siege. Their union was one of uninterrupted
devotion and happiness to life’s end; and their
offspring long maintained the romantic tra—
dition 0 this by scene in those troublous times,
when two fond hearts were so nearly severed
by the cruel circumstance of a family feud.

Casual Mention.

 

A WONDERFUL mineral is found only in Mis-
souri. It is called Adam’s cobite, and is so hard
that it will cut steel without losing its edge.

THE German emperor, who is over eighty-
six years old, is hale and vigorous, while the
empress, at seventy-two, is a confirmed invalid.

OF thirty-one marriages between American
girls and titled Germans, Consul Potter (at Cre-
feld) assures us that all but one have resulted in
abandonment, separation, divorce, or some other
disaster. —

AT the beginning of the seventeenth century,
brooches were invariably worn by men in their
hats. The upper classes had them of jewels set
in gold and silver, the lower classes of copper,
lead and sometimes even of pasteboard and
leather.

A GERMAN singing society in Pittsburg is
oing to give a potato feast to its members and
riends. Sixteen cooks will dish up potatoes in

every known style. Some of the eaters will
easily potato ten pounds of the fried article un-
der their vests.

A DEVILVFISH, weighing 4,000 pounds, has
been captured in Port Royal harbor, which,
years a u, was a favorite resort of these crca-
tures. 5Two of these animals were taken in
Fernandina, before the war, which measured
eighteen feet from tip to tip of their wings or
flippers.

THE Russian Minister of Instruction is being
petitio ed for the restoration of corporal pun-
ishmen in the schools of that country. The
reason for this is that, corporal unishment
bein forbidden, boys are confined or twenty-
fourfiiours on a bread and water diet and sub-
jected to other like severe and degrading pun-
ishments.

ACIDS should be used in moderation, especi-
ally the strong kinds. Because the juice of a
lemon may be an excellent cure for biliousness
or flatulence or other disease, it by no means
follows that school-girls can thrive upon its
daily use. In former days, when pale and slen—
der maidens were in fashion, it was not ver
uncommon for silly girls to try to reduce their
weight and ruddy hue by frequent sips of vin-
egar, and many a feeble woman, and many an
early death, has been the result of such tam-
pering.

A CHUBBY brown sparrow flew up from the
ground in Boston Common, carrying in its beak
a soda-biscuit. He flew but a few feet before
he dro ped the biscuit, when another sparrow
seized it and carried it a few feet further, and
so one after another carried it along until the
last sparrow dropped it plumb on a horse—car
track. Then away they all flew, as if their
object had been accomplished. Pretty soon
along came a car, and, passing over the crack-
er, ground it into crum s. Then down swooped
the whole flock of feathered philosophers and
made a good breakfast.

99
@
g

 

Pgwlar Poems.

'— "‘0‘. —

LOVE SONG.

 

BY FREDERICK IV. H. MYERS.

 

“ Oh never kiss me; stand apart;
M darling, come not near!
Be ear forever to my heart,
But be not over dear!”

And while she spake her check was flame,
Her look was soft and mild;

But when I kissed her, sne became
No stronger than a child.

Ah, love. what wilt thou then apart?
Thy home is thus and here:
Forever dearer to my heart,
And never over dear.

 

:o:
FACT!

 

 

The year is wearing old,
The. weather‘s growing cold,
And soon will hasten southward geese in flocks,
flocks, flocks;
And people weather-wise
Now gaze upon the skies,
And speak of the autumnal equinox, ’nox, ’nox.

And now the parlor stove,
Dumb witness of true love,
Exchanged and 1a: ifiul by kisses sweet, sweet, sweet,
Is to its place restored;
_ Once more in sweet accord,
Beside it youthful lovers soon will meet, meet, meet.

The winter‘s coal lay in,
And fill up every bin
Before the rise in prices has begun, ’gun, ’gun,
For when the weather’s cold,
The dealer groweth bold,
And adds a couple of dollars to the ton, ton, ton.

Again the season‘s come
When the married men go home,
And try to play the old familiar dodge, dodge, dodge,
‘y saying, " Yes, my dear,
a

’Tis very te, I fear,
But then We’ve had a. meeting of the lodge, lodge,
lodge.” —Somercz'lle Jwrnal,
:0:

 

 

MAKING LOVE IN THE CHOIR.

She sat on the steps of the organ loft
Just after the second hymn;

And through nave and choir to the cool gray spire
The sound rose faint and dim,

As they settled themselves in the church below
For the sermon that followed next,

And I seated myself at the alto’s Side
As the per son took his text.

I marked the tender flush of her cheek,
And the gleam of her golden hair,

The snowy kerchief round her neck,
And her throat all white and bare:

A throat so white that indeed it might
An anchorite entice;

And I faintly heard the pal-son’s word
As he preached of paradise.

 

M arm stole gently round her waist
{Intil her fingers met:

And the flittering blush of the tender flush
Of her cheek grew deeper yet.

Snowy and fair the. hand beneath,
And brown the palm above,

And the brown closed softly over the white
And the parson spoke of love.

Ah, who is wise, when deep blue eyes
Meet his and look coyly down?

Who would but drink, nor care to think
0f envy‘s jealous frown?

’Twas but to bend till I felt her breath
Grow warm on my cheek, and then

My lips just softly touched her own
As the parson said Amen. —Pu. k.

——-—202

UNR ES’I‘.

 

BY EDGAR L. \YAKEMAN.

Here in the years wherein I stand

I gaze across the fallow land;

Across the conquest and its cost;

Beyond the sought-for and the lost;

And look into thy eyes of joy.

Thou brown—faced, tunicked count' y boy!

Just thou and thine, with naught between,
Make up that sweetest old: n scene.

Oh, tender scene and sight and sound!
The farm-house, with its lilacs ’round;
The po py-lied, the locust trees,

The sii licidic hum of bees:

The well, with sturdy oakeii sweep;

The morning-glories half asleep.

The swallows gossiping; the croon

Of doves about the barn; the noon

When kine, breast deep. stand in the stream;
And thy world pauses in a pleasant dream!

Beyond the uplands; then the hills,
\\ here, interlacing, creep the rills;
Here forests. sentinels of peace;
There fields, with opulent increase;
Below the valley, stretching far
And dim to the horizon‘s bar.

My brown-faced lad, I look again
From out the lairs and lives of men.
I see the longing: in thy face

To grow beyond the commonplace;
I know the lands that ‘tween us lie,
And pity thee! For thou wert—I.

:0:
THE YOUNG I'IAN 0F TO-DAY.

 

 

 

Heis a daisy charmer,
The young man of to-day—
The fairest. freshest flower
Blooming ‘long life‘s way.
His trowsers they are sudden,
His jacket is so sliurt——-
The little boys all laugh at him
And call him “ such 8. sport."

The girls they all bewitch him,
He is so rarely done.—

Hc’s willing they shall catch him,
The creatures, every one.

His smile is quite seductive,
He loves to play at pool,

To see who for the drinks shall pay-
Oh, isn't he a fool?

His papa is a banker,
Does business down on “'all;
He furnishes the ducats
To carry on the ball.
The fellow he drinks lager,
Champagne and Rhine wine, too,
He dotes upon his ancestors’
Life-current blood so blue.

His life is very rosy,
What shall we do with him?
Perhaps his papa‘s ducats
“'on’t always be so gliiii.
The \ oung man of the present day,
Put him beneath a shade.
To serve as fitting hug-n—boo
For ev‘ry passing maid.

 

:0:——

GWIN E TEIR CHU’(‘I[.

 

BY WILL GRANGER.

 

Oah! hallclugah tew (le Lawd!
Oah! bress dat Holy Chile!

De ole chu‘ch hell am ringin‘
Dat He am got no guile.

Dat holy ole cliu'ch steepl‘,
P‘intin' up dar by (lat hill,
Am a-shoutin’ his glory
Wid soun’ dat's mighty still.

We‘b wuck’d hard all de woe-k
Ter get de bre‘d an‘ ham,

An’ now we‘s “ gwine ter c'nu'ch "
Ter prais’ dc heab‘nly Laiii’.

De Ole BOSS hab been good ter us,
An’ kee )t us in de row.

An’ pulle up all (le weeds (vb sin
De debil tried ter and.

He hab gib us lots ob rain,
An‘ made do melon big.

An’ liab holc bnc’ de cholera,
Dat‘s sur' ier kill dc pig.

Oah! glory ter drit hress'd Laird!
Dat makes Coons lat un' H\\!1‘I‘

An’ tells \vliur dc chickens roost
What’s got dc y'aller l'c. t.

Som’ da‘ we’ll gwi for cliii‘cli
Away up near do moon.

Whar chicken gro‘s ulrc’dy cooked,
An’ SO dose cm'ii an’ coon.

Oah! hall lugali “'1‘ d» Inc"?!
03.11! brcss dul Iloly Chile!
De ole chu‘cli Il"1{llll i'iiig'n‘
Dat He uni got no euile.
I writ/l Fwy":  Il'ickly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Published every Monday morning at nine o‘clock.

 

NEW YORK, OCTOBER 27, 1883.

 

BEADLE’s WEEKLY is sold by all NeWSdealers in
the United States and in the Canadian Dominion.
Parties unable to obtain it from a Newsdealer, or
those referring to have the aper sent direct by
mail, 30111 the publication 0 cc, are supphe at
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1h all orders for subscriptions be careful to give
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per is always stopped, promptly, at expiration Of
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number. _ .

TAKL NOTICE—411 sending money for subscription,
by mail, never inclose the currency except 111.8. re-
gistered letter. A Post Office Money Order is the
best form of a remittance. L0>SQS byOmall Will be
almost surely avoided if these directions are fol-
lowed. . .

EPA“ communications. subscriptions, and let-
ters on business should be addresse' to

BEADLE AND ADAMS. PUBLISHERS.

98 WILLIAM Sr. NEW YORK.

 

 

Take Notice.

 

Serials appearing in this WEEKLY will not
be republished in Library or book form. Back
numbers can be supplied by all Newsdealers, or
sent by mail, prepaid, from the publishers.

NEXT SERIAL!
Mr. Aiken’s Great Western Story-—

Gideon Goldlace,
The High Horse of' the Pacific.

Located in a region but little known, even now,
in the Eagle mountain range of western Texas
—where wild life is seen in its wildest and most
characteristic aspects. The man, Gideon, is an
original, decidedly, and very properly termed
the “High Horse of the Pacific ”—whence he
came. In him the red savage, the “ Greaser,”
the border tough, the scalawag bummer and
the sturdy miner, all find a master and a mys-
tery; and the story that is involved in his
presence there quickly deepens to one of rare
interest. The High Horse is a

 

 

Character that will “ Take ’9

and the readers of the romance of the moun-
tain mines will enjoy it immensely.

SOON T0 SUCCEED!

A Capital and Strikingly Original

Story of Double Endowment—
Of Combined Love and Detective Life——

A Most Charming Work!

 

The Wide Awake Papers.

A Table Discussion.

WE were all at the table when Fan came down,
looking very stylish, and slender, and trim, in
her white skirts and black silk jersey. Her
husband gave her a glance of approving ad-
miration and then remarked—apropos of the
silken waist evidently: “ George French was
telling me, the other day, about his wife buy-
ing a jersey; and he said the minute he saw it
he took a knife and cut it from top to bottom.”

“ I think I would like to be that man’s wife!”
remarked I, savagely.

“ Oh, no, you wouldn’t, Belle,” laughed Fan.
“ Without further proof, it is safe to assert that
George French is a lunatic, an idiot, or a brute;
and you would not like to be the wife of any
man who was not of sound mind and a gentle-

 

man.

“ By the way, Harry,” and she turned to her
husband, “ Mr. George French must be at a
dreadful loss as to how to get rid of his money.
Is he in the habit of cutting up new garments?
Or rhaps his wife has a personal fortune?”

arry laughed. “He‘s a queer fellow, and
was determined his wife should not wear a
jerse . That was all.”

“ ‘ hat was all,’ eh? He was determined his
wife should not wear a jersey, so he cut it up.
I should think he would be ashamed to tell of
it. But I said he was a lunatic, an idiot, or a
brute—you see I put the question .less mildly
than you—I wonder which it is? Pray, why
did he object to his wife wearing a jersey?"

“ Because they show the figure too much, he
says; and he does not intend to have people
criticising his wife.”

Fan’s lips curled in the most contemptuous

ay.

“ If Mrs. French has a very ugly figure, or
is deformed, she certainly ought not to Wear a
jersey or any close-fittin sacque or waist. If
she is ordinarily well-fas ioned a jerse cannot
show her figure to too good advantage. he tight,
untrimmed dress waist has been used to show
of! a good figure from time immemorial; and if
George French had good eyesight, and a modi-
cum Of common-sense, he would know that any
plain basque or long-seamed polonaise, made by
a good dressmaker, shows the figure as com-
pletely as a jersey. Bah! What an idiot he
must be! Just as if we don’t require, above all
accomplishments in dressmakers, as gentlemen
do of their tailors, that they shall not conceal
but reveal our figures, by perfectly-fitting gar-
ments. A dressmaker that knows her trade
will not have a wrinkle, nor a shadow of a. wrin-
kle, in the corsage or sleeves of the robes she
makes: but her customers will look—to use a
term that expresses the perfectness of fit—as if
they had ‘ been melted and poured into ’ their
dress waists.” ‘

“ In other words,” suggested cousin Jim,
“ women wish to show their figures?”

“ Certainly!” assented Fan, frankly. “ Every
woman should have, by birthright, a supple and
symmetrical figure. t is the one charm with-
out which none can be beautiful; and why
should women, who are not illshaped, strive to
conceal the symmetry of their figures and sug-
gest deformity to the observant eye? Besides,
the dress that clings to the form, and outlines
its curves, and reveals its straightness and flexi-
bleness, is the natural and proper dress for
women. All physicians and physiologists will
tell you that. And here is where the jersey
supplies a long-felt want. It can be made to fit
the figure exactly Without many seams, and
without any linings or whalebones; so that it is
at once perfect in fit and in pliability, its elas-
ticity making it delightfully comfortable, and
admitting of its yielding with every motion of
arm or body.”

“ Well, my dear,” laughed Harry, “ you de-
fend the jersey nobly; but don’t overexert
yourself for I imagine that no one here objects
to them.”

“I was simply proving that George French
is more than the ‘queer fellow’ you call him;

that he fully deserves all the epithets I applied
to him.” . .

“ You have certainly proved that his objec-
tions to jersevs are unreasonable,” admitted
cousin Jim, “ for I must say that I _don’t think
people criticise a woman any more in one kind
of a tight-fitting garment than in another; nor
half so much as when she happens to wear
something particularly peculiar as to color or
texture.” _ .,

“Of course not!” said Fan, disdainfully;
“for any creature of the male persuasxou Will
criticise a woman whether she wears a Jersey
or a waterproof !"

Jim was conscientious enough not to deny
this imputation against his sex. “But how
about George French being a ‘brute’!” he
asked. .

“ I agree with Fan about that!” said 1.. “Who
else but a brute would express his objections,
either reasonable or unreasonable, by destroy-
ing a newly-bought garment; lVould your
father, or mine, or would Harry, do you think,
deliberately destroy any garment his w1fe had
bought! You know that no gentleman would
do such a thing; that the commonest man who
had any selfrespect or good sense would not do
it!”

“Oh! I don’t pretend to think it was a gen-
tleinanly act,” said Jim, “but he may have
been in a passion. Perhaps she had bought the
jersey in defiance of his authority.”

“ ‘ In defiance of his authority,’ indeed !” ex-
claimed Fan, with wide-open eyes. “ ll ill you
tell me by what right a man assumes any au-
thority over his wife .4”

“\Vell,” said cousin Jim, a little sullenly,
dodging the question, “I don’t suppose you
acknowledge that your husband has any au-
thority over you.”

“Certainly not,” said Fan, gravely. “I am
not his slave. I love Harry better than any
one in the world, and because I loved him
so, and he so loved me, we agrged to live our
lives together and be companions in whatever of
good or ill life might bring us. But we lost
none of our individuality, nor renounced any,
in thus casting our lots together. we study to
do that which shall be of mutual pleasure, and
benefit, and honor, because we love each other.
We are willing to often give up personal whims
and to make self-sacrifices for the satisfaction or
help of the other, because we love each other.
But neither of us has any right to say to the
other you shall, or you shall not, do such and
such a thing. Harry has a perfect right to ex-

ress Opinions, so have I. And if he says ‘ Dear
Fan, 1 hate a green gown,’ and I say ‘ Harry, I
abominate those blue suits that are worn so
much this spring,’ the probability is that you
would never see me in a green dress nor him in
a blue suit; but if upon mature deliberation,
the green dress and blue suit were purchased,
neither of us would consider that because our
tastes and ideas differed we had any right to
fall to and destroy each other’s garments. How-
ever, if there was any cutting done you may he
sure I should cut the new coat as fast as he cut
the new dress—my ‘ rights ’ being in every way
equal with his. There! That is my idea of
thingsl”

“ And mine!” said I, emphatically. “ And I
know father and mother and auntie and uncle
think the same.”

The elderly folks smiled. “ I don’t believe,”
said uncle, with a quiet smile, “that we ever
avowed such principles in our lives; but I
reckon we’ve always lived them,” and he pat-
ted his wife’s hand, while my parents ex—
changed affectionate glances.

“ Of course you have!” said Fan, triumphant-
ly, “and so Will Jim if he marries a true wo-
man. Come, own up now, Jim, that you be-
lieve a marriage of love and equality isa higher
and truer union than any where there is a ty-
rant on one side and a slave on the other? That
you would be very sorry to have your brother
Harry like George French 1”

Jim laughed. “How can I remain unper-
suaded in the face of such notable instances of
happy marriages? And I certainly would be
sorry to have Harry, or to be myself, like
George French. I am sincerely sorry for the
woman who has thrown her life away on him.”

And so were we all. BELLE BRIGHT.

 

The Owl Papers.

Concerning Serenades.

NOTHING is more transporting than the ten-
der chords of music in the still hours of night
when all nature has sunk to rest and the dogs
have forgotten to bark. The sound-language
conveyed upon strains of harmony seems to
have more feeling and penetration, and strikes
the appetite of the ear quicker and better than
anything else, and we are not so apt to swear
when we are waked up in the middle of a dream
of lots of money.
The trained and educated noise of a serenade
at night is something delicious, and a serenade
is something to remember, if the performers
are sober and you happen to wake up.
Have you ever noticed how delicious it was
to be shaken awake by the persuasive strains of
an orchestra, and lie still to hear four or five
tunes and then get up, raise the window, and,
after your speech of thanks in a cold wind,
find that the serenading party had struck the
wrong house? Oh, what doublejointed words
can tell the happiness?
Of course you have noticed what an exas-
perating thing it is to your neighbors over the
way when you repeatedly hire a band at your
own ex use to unpremeditatedly come and
play in rout of your house, and make the (peo-
ple believe you are popular and have one
somethingto merit it. It lifts you up in their
imagination upon sharp spikes, as it were, and
hatches a jealousy which about fits you.
When your neighbor gets a serenade it is con-
solin to tell them the next morning that on
heard nothing of it, when you know you aid
awake to hear it and rage, and didn’t sleep the
balance of the night for thinking of it.
We can think of nothing more entrancin
and divine than for a young man to pay a bang
ten dollars, when his salary can’t stand up and
look over a pile of seven dollars, to give his
darlin Melvina a serenade in the whittled-
down hours of the hi ht, and the next time you
meet her you hear er give the credit of the
serenade to Blinkins, your abominable rival
oliteness not permitting you to explain, and
Blinkins not denying.
You can imagine over again how terrific it
was when you went to serenade your sweet-
heart whose father had forbidden you the
house, and who invited the band in very hand-
somer while you hung around on the ragged
outskirts of despair and heard the fine old time
they were having within! Oh, that was too
memorious to mention!
Ah, how we recollect one blissful night when
the cold was many feet deep in drifts, and the

 

' thermometer stood on its head, and we took our

accordeon and went, rather waded, to serenade
our adorable An elina! It was awful cold on
the intellect sitting on that fence. How that
old quinsied accordeon snorted out, “Come
where my love lies dreaming,” “ Sleep, Darling,
Sleep,” and “Good-night,” while we shivered
in our adoration, and saw the arlor-window
raise, and Angelina and Jinks e their heads
out while we slid down 0 the fence and
crawled away in the shadow! How utterly
utterless!

The sound of voices wrapped around instru-
mental music at night is just a little too good,
and the girl who hears William John’s voice
among them and does not wake and rise up on
a sudden without feeling to see if her ban s are
all right, does not deserve to be serenade , and
should never bedisturbed in the pauses of the
hi ht.

f course at some period of your life you have
taken a midnight stroll past the domestic domi-
cile of the demented damsel to whom you were
devoted, and heard another fellow with a band
serenading her. You have paused on the Oppo-
site corner and imbibed the musical festivities

 

of the occasion. You could plainly see Jones

outside b the flickering gaslight. You could
hear the elicate hands of Amaranthe clappin
together out of the second-story window, an
finding your system devastated you have gone
home to your sleepless sleep and your dream-
lessdreams and torn Jones all u into ribbon-
strings in your imagination, an then—called
upon your girl the next night and was glad
to say nothing about it.

You still remember the night you paid the
musicians all the money you had, after borrow-
ing a little, to serenade Josephine. Your heart
was filled with rapture and your pockets were
empty. There was a freezing wind that made

our bones rattle, but the idea of interspersing
her dreams with music warmed your spirits up,
and after the musicians were tired out, and
started to go, and she had not acknowledged
the compliment, the hired man came out and
said, ‘f She is away on a visit ;” then—but what
good would a dictionary full of words do?

Certainly no nicer compliment can be paid to
the young lady you love than to treat her to a
pleasant serenade, but when Slobbins took the
same notion and a band on the same night to
serenade my girl, the music was inharmonious.
The two principals clinched and the opposing
bands used their instruments in an unmelodious
way, not according to note, hammering each
other over the head, though Maria accepted
the serenade, such as it was, but cruelly dis-
carded us.

The strains of music at night under your win-
dow when all other sounds are hushed are
fraught with deep meaning, and if they happen
to emanate from cow—bells you can cousider
them as casus belli, and proceed to get out
your shot gun accordingly and unload it in the
right direction.

A young man should never take his guitar
and sing under his sweetheart’s window until
he has learned to sing, and is entirely free of
the cold in his nose. She would be likely to
yell “ Scat,” and sling a boot-jac—no, a bar of
stove-wood or a stick of soap; and he should
keep his eye on the corner of the house lest the
old man or some other bull—dog should emerge
and cause an emergency. The troubadours first
started the idea of serenading under young
ladies’ windows at night and the thing kept up
until bull-dogs and big brothers got too numer-
ous to mention to anybody the next day.

lVe swore off after the last serenade we
treated our last girl to when, the day after, she
said “she had heard a disturbance below, last
night.” \Ve discontinued the noise, and did not
allow her to annoy us further.

If you ever get a serenade the first thing is to
wake up, shake yourself or yell in your own
ear. Don’t swear. Get out of the wrong side
of the bed and run against the wall; start back
and fall over the bed and land on the floor;
knock over the rocking-chair and vourself : ram
your head out of the mirror an scratch the
wrong end of a match while you knock over
the water-pitcher; dress and go down-stairs and
invite the crowd in; seat them. Bring out
all the numerous kinds of wine you have in

our cellar und arrange it on your elegant side-
board: fetch forth your choicest luncheon: plug
a ox of imported Havanas, and make the
party feel at home. There is nothing like hos-
pitality seasoned with music. If you are not
prepared to do all this, on a sudden, I hardly
know what to advise you to do unless it would
be to get under the bed or slip out the back
way and roost in the woodshed, so as to be
able to say, the next day, that you were out, on
the exhilarating occasion. Ask them to come
again. They’ll do it, of course!

SOLOMON SHINGLE.

 

 

After the Trespassers.

THE possessors of large cattle-ranches on the
Government domain have been stampeded
within the last fortnight by the news that the
Secretary of the Interior means to have the At-
torney-General prosecute all who by false evi-
dence of other people have concentrated large
tracts of grazing-lands under one ownership to
the injury of the public under the general home-
stead and settlement laws. In Texas where the
public domain belongs to the State Government
these prosecutions do not apply, but they cover
most of the country besides, except where they
are Mexican grants, and even t ese in many
cases are believed to be fraudulent. In the In-
dian Territory also the Secretary of the In terior
has moved against persons who have been graz-
ing great herds of cattle by private contracts
with the Indian nations, who are not allowed to
deal in that way with American citizens, except
with the approval of the Department. There
are two classes of rogues figuring in these in-
stances, the first being the rogue who has made
the trespass on the public property, and the
other being the rogue who, seeing the first to
have a good thing, proposes to get after him
with the machinery of the Government to make
him divide, or to retain the second rogue to get
out of the trouble. ___

Carried of by a Bear.

AN Idaho paper tells of the ei htecn-month-
old baby of James Vaughan, of entile Valley,
that was playing around near its mother. All
at once she missed her little darling. She called
it, but no sound could be heard. She then
alarmed the neighbors, and seventeen of them
responded to her alarm and went in search of
the infant. They began tracing through the
fields and canyons for tracks of bear, and some
time in the afternoon discovered the tracks of
a huge bear that had passed up the can) on.
These they followed until dark, when they
marked the spot and returned to their
homes for the night, concluding that the
child must be dead, or perhaps eaten up. " At
daybreak,” says the paper, “ Mr. Ed Goslin and
others started on their search from the spot
left the night before, and at about 10 o’clock
A. M. found the baby curled up in a bunch of
weeds and grass in the bushes sound asleep with
its little tattered and torn dress thrown over
its head, while close beside the sleepin child
was the warm bed of what must have on a
very large bear, which had abandoned its cap-
tive on the approach of the men in search.
Wonderful to relate, yet the fact is vouched
for by truthful men who have seen the child,
that not a bruise or injur did it receive except
a slight scratch on its litt e bare foot, although
the child had been carried by the bear three or
four miles into the mountains over rough places
and through brush.”

Life in High Lands.

THE Virginia city (Neva) Enterprise says:—
“ We sometimes feel that we are pretty Well up
in the world here on the Comstock—particu-
larly in the winter—but we are only a little
over 7,000 feet above the level of the sea. This,
in some places, would be looked upon almost as
being down on the plain, yet many rsons
complain of the lightness of the atmosp ere in
this city. Even here the housewife finds some
difficulty in cooking meats and vegetables by
boiling. Water boils here at a temperature too
low to thoroughly cook some kinds of food.
There is, every year, complaint that the peas
brought from California are as hard as buck-
shot. The trouble is that the water does not
become sufi‘lciently hot to cook them. Here,
when either meat or vegetables are being
cooked by boiling, the vessel used should have a
close-fitting lid in order that the steam ma be
confined. There is, of course, no trouble 9. ut
roasting meats or anything else, fire being as
hot here as in any other part of the world.
While strangers complain much of the thinness
of our atmosphere, old settlers are not much
distressed, and children born and reared here
seem not to suffer inconveniences in any way.
They race up and down the sides of the moun-
tain at full speed withOut finding any difiiculty
in breathing. Their lungs are large enough to
take in all the air, light as it is, that they re-
quire. Nature provides lungs for almost every
altitude to those who are born and grow up on

 

A Battle of Snakes.

ON a bare spot in the wilderness, near Sey-
mour, Texas, lay coiled a great rattlesnake,
warming. Little dreaded he that a mortal en—
emy was on his trail; but the eyewitness we
quote saw the king of collars and of shadows, in
his bright, black garb, slowly ap roach. The
assailant was small—not thicker t an a thumb
nor longer than a yardstick. He glided along,
now raising his glittering head and darting fire
from his eyes. Stealthin he moved on the
trail toward the great rattlesnake. Between
them was a small og—an old fallen tree; just
beyond it lay the rattler. When the little war-
rior came to this log he raised nearly half his
body from the ground, standing on his tail, as
a fier stallion rears before he strikes a ower-
ful b ow with his fore hoofs. When it held
the spotted enemy it emitted a terrific hiss and
as a flash of lightning it sped to the side of the
rattlesnake. Now came a contest between sci-
ence and skill on one side and strength and
deadly venom on the other. The little snake,
with a skill and knowledge of his foe, did not
strike home at the first bound. The startled
rattler coiled and sounded the alarm. The as-
sailant spun round and round, with his fatal
little eyes darting balsful fire into the eyes of
his opponent, and as it completed each circle
sought a chance for a sure and deadly blow.
But the other made the inner and shorter whirl
with its head and neck to evade the same, and
to strike a crushing blow itself, with its great
fangs glittering; and all the while the rattles
played deadly music. Finally the rattler raised
and struck, out his fangs were dodged by the
expert assailant, and they hit the earth, while
the scienced little reptile as quickly closed and
struck its teeth into the back of the rattler’s
neck. And now the scene became terrible be-
yond description. The great snake turned and
twisted, with widely-distended mouth, emitting
a horrid noise as the tumult of the rattling and
the death-struggle increased. For a time the
rattler kept his coils as closely together as pos~
sible to prevent the next crushing move of its
antagonist and in a vain effort to twist and
shake off the little black enemy amid short
blows. But, with a skill that surpasses human
comprehension, the assailant kept his little
body clear of the poisonous fangs and kept its
hold firmly. In despair the rattler raised his
head as if summoning all his energies for a final
effort, and in the twinkling of an eye, as a whip-
lash twines around a trace, the king of snakes
had coiled around the rattler, and tightening
the grasp with a startling power, crushed the
monster in a second. When the breathless
head of the rattler had fallen to the earth, the
little victor slowly uncoiled himself, and, mak-
ing sure the victim was dead, loosened its hold,
and, having snuffed the air of victory, darted
ofi‘ to other fields of conquest.

 

Waterfalls Underground.

THE Chattanooga (Tenn) Times of late date
makes this proclamation of underground wou-
ders just discovered in that re ion:

“A party explored the Blowmg Springs Cave
for a few hundred feet last week, and returned
with a tale of marvelous discoveries and won-
derful experiences. Tuesday last a party was
organized by Mr. J. P. McMillin, of this City, to
continue the investigation. He was accom a-
nied by Mr. Mark Long, the welLknown ClVll
engineer. They were supplied with coal-oil
torches, pine-knots, lanterns, r0 5 and all
other e uipments, besides taking a ong leveling
rods an transits. Although the river is very
low, the water laves the mouth of the cave, and
the entrance was obtained only by crawling
through the water, when at once the scene
changed and they stood in an immense cham-
ber. The party entered at nine A. M. and re-
mained in until three P. M., and were walking
nearly the entire time. By actual measure-
ment they traversed a distance of 1,235 feet,
and from all appearances, the wonderful cave
extended to an indefinite length. Their ex-
plordtions met with the happiest results, and
the wonderful sights which met their aston-
ished gaze seem more like views in fairy land.

“They first entered a succession of large
chambers, from which huge stalactites hung
suspended in countless myriads and glistened
in the flickering lights like diamonds. About
two hundred feet from the month they encoun-
tered another cave, but it extended only a
short distance. Returning to the main cave
they proceeded further, and following a branch
to the right came upon a huge subterranean
lake. They were unable to proceed further in
that direction, and again returned to the main
cave and advanced. Ahead of them was heard
the roar of rus in waters, and they soon en-
countered s wa e all, its hight being twenty-
seven feet. A branch led to the left, and within
n short distance they beheld another waterfall,
the cliffs rising to a sheer hight of 150 feet.
The water came over with a roar like thunder.
the volume being fully tweve inches in diame-
ter. With the meager facilities at hand the
could not proceed any further in that direction,
and returning to the main channel a sin ad-
vanced. until their explorations were rougbt
to a sudden stop by a precipitous wall of solid
rock rising to a hight of fully 100 feet.

“They then stood in an immense chamber,
fully two hundred feet wide, almost circular
in shape; walls of solid stone rose on all sides,
and the roof spanned it as a dome. From the
center of the dome a stream of water poured,
falling in the center of the chamber. The
stream was fully twelve inches in diameter; it
was icy cold and clear as crystal. The part
stood almost speechless with admiration at this
sublime spectacle, but were barred from further
progress by precipitous walls.”

 

Focused Pacts.

 

LONDON contains 100,000 Jews and the finest
Hebrew library in the world.

P. D. ARMOUR, the Chicago s eculator, is
fifty-four years old and worth $10, , .

THE town of Chico, Cal., has nearly doubled
its population since the census of 1880 was taken.

THE government of the United States does
not own an acre of public land within the bor-
ders of Tennessee.

SEMIAHMOO, in Wuatcomb cOunty, Washing-
ton Territory, marks tbe extreme northwestern
corner of the United States.

THERE is a natural bridge in Arizona, which.
it is said, surpasses in size the natural bridge in
Virginia, which so many have read of and so
few have seen.

0F 91,997 insane paqple in the United States,
44 408 are males, and 7,589 are females; while
of 76,895 idiots, 45,300 are males, and only 31,—
586 are females.

TWO coal-miners trumped through Glasgow,
Mo, recently, and caused a commotion by
stumbling upon a fine vein of coal near the
river bank. The richness of Missouri’s mines
seems to be even greater than that of its mag-
nificent soil.

CREELSBUBG, Dak., had been in existence only
a little over three months when a prominent
resident hapéiened to taste some of the water of
the place an discovered that it was strongly sa-
line. Creolsburg now calls itself the Saratoga
of the West.

THE heat on the Colorado desert has been
greater this season than durin any revious
year for many years past, and t 9 so ering of
those whose duties compel them to make the
tedious trip frequently is almost overpowering.
Tremendous thunder-storms have been of fre-
quent occurrence.

LORDSBURG, New Mexico, is a frontier para-
dise. It has 500 inhabitants and 37 saloons, be-
sides a choice collection of dance-houses and
gambling-dens. Since July 3, 1882, fourteen
persons have died in the town, and the causes
of death may be classified as follows: Lynched,
1; murdered, 3; suicides, 6; smallpox, 3; doubt-

 

the spot.”

fu,1

Corresponqgiits’ Column.

[This column is open to all correspondents. In-
quiries answered as fully and as promptly as cli~
cumstances will permit. Contributions not entered
as “declined” may be considered accepted. No
MSS. returned unless stamps are inclosed.]

Declined: “The other Side;" “A Tough Tussle”
(Fight for Life); “Legend of Laonoonah;a. u 01d

Pete;".“Lulu’s Surrender;” “On the Island,” etc.;
“Caption No. 4;" “The Evergreen Seal;" “All for
Soap;” “A Summer's Drift;” “Therefore in

Eclipse;” "The Discarded Jack;” “With What In-
tent?" “ Look Ahead!" “ Keep the Channel Clear!"
“The White Stag," etc.; ‘ A Maiden‘s ‘ ht;"
“Not in Chains;” ‘ Marriage Ethics;" "The ’ cret
of Success.”
NED. We do not answer queries by letter.
BOSTON BOYS. No. 2 is the better specimen. No.
1 is good.
E. G. A.
available.”

IRA. Have great overstock of such “yarns,” so
must decline.

JOHN B. Many a novel is based upon the loves
and marriages of cousins.

A. W. B. Buffalo llill‘s home address is North
Platte, Neb. lie is now “on the road ” with his
troupe.

annonrn. The firm named failed, and we re
suine its business has passed into other handg—
Cannot now say about new issue of the series men-
tioned. Do not care for that kind of matter in this
paper.

W. R. A. Dewitt publishes the work.—As to the
use of [a and [6 (feminine and masculine prefixes),
they are not generic in the actual sense of sex, but
are governed by Sex or definition of word. Con-
sult any French grammar.

Fonnm AMATEUR. The crucible test usually de-
termines the value of the “pig,” but if a white
heat flux produces no coruscation in the receiver,
it is evident that quantity is wanting; not more heat
is required but more material.

OPERATOR. We should say the youn lady was
either weak of will, that she did not ismiss the
other *oung man, or that she loves him despite her
avowa s to you. Better let your engagement be in
abeyance for several months, and see what hap-
pens.

BABE. Whatever is best, that your friend should
try to do. Although your own experience may
have been for you a “good test of the value of de-
cision and independence.” yet circumstances so
alter cases that she might be injured by adopting
your methods and views. A woman can be too in-
dependent for her own happiness and prosperity, as
well as too weak and dependent.

Annuals HORSE. We do not know the formula of
Tobias’s Liniment. Probably it is analogous to this
—known as the “ magic lim‘ment ”: Two ounces each
Of oil spike, origanum, hemlock, wormwood, am-
monia, spirits of turpentine and gum camphor, four
ounces cocoanut or castor oil an one uart alcohol.
lFor family use leave out the spirits o tu ntino.)
This is a very valuable medicine for al sprains
and bruises in horses or cattle, so carefully pre-
serve it.

ALFRED. 1. We will not tell you how to address
the girl because we think it the hight of absurdity
fora boy of seventeen to begin a correspondence
with a girl of sixteen after a week’s ac uaintance.
Her arents would not approve of such oolishness
nor, ikely, would yours. 2. Of course you shoul
offer to carry the umbrella or parasol for the lady
with whom you are walking. It would be very rude
not to do so. 8. A ring on a gentleman's hand
means nothing in this country. In some fore
lands for a gentleman to wear a plain gold ring in-
dicates that he is a married man.

Cacsnan STRAWBERRY. We do not disap rove of
a boy of seventeen being good friends Wit 3. mar-
ried lady twice his age, for such an association
should result in teaching him to be easy, graceful,
attentive. and polite in feminine society, besides
stimulating him to a. more refined, sensible, and in-
telligent order of conversation than is ordinaril ac-
quired by overmuch association with girls 0 his
own age. A boy who can find charms in the conver-
sation, manner, and society of mature women is
sure to gain in manliness, elegance of speech and
manner, and general knowledge of people, places
and things.

DIGBY. 1 Eat soup with a. spoon. By no means
raise a soup-plate to your mout . It would bespeak
the worst possible bringing-up; or, rather, a lack of
any brin ug-up.-—2. Fish is eaten with a silver fork
held in t e right hand, and a bit of bread held in the
left.—3. Cheese may be held in the fingers, but is
quite properly eaten with a fork—4. It is not a mat-

Song very crude, and therefore “not

 

ter of etiquette but of conscience or of family habit
to say grace before a meal. When grace is said, the
hands should not be raised to the face, but the eyes
should be dropped to the plate, or may be closed. It
would be very bad manners to act indifi'erently while
grace is being said.

JnEs M. M. Under the circumstances there can
be no impropriety in our writing a note to the lady
though on only met er for four davs. You volun-
tarily o ered to do an errand for her which you
found it impossible to accomplish and you should
inform her of your failure as itel as possible.
Head your note with her name 11 f . followed by
the sentence “My dear madam,” and sign it wit
your full name preceded by some such courteous
phrase as “ Wit sincere regards," or “Yours with
great esteem.” 1t is not in good taste to sign your-
self an “obedient servant" in such a time, nor to
merely use the curt phrase “ Yours truly.”

“S'roxncnns'r.” We can recommend no better
treatment for any form of dyspepsia or indigestion
than the plentiful use of hot water as abeverage.
You should drink three coffeevcupfuls a day, one at
each meal (before partaking of any food); or, better
still, if you can so arrange it, is to drink the cupful
of hot water from thirty to twenty minutes before
eating. The water must be as hot as you can possi-
bly swallow it. Persevere in this treatment for
weeks, as persistency in it has cured many severe
and chronic cases of dyspe in, so we are credibly
informed. In the mean w ile confine your diet to
what is most readily assimilable,.and strictly avoid
coffee or spirits.

HARRY JENKINS. If you cannot attend the wed-
din to which you have been invited you should
sen a visiting-card bear-in your own and your
wife‘s name, as: " Mr. and rs. Hang Jenkins," to
the person or persons who issued t e invitation:
this card should be inclosed in- a small white eu-
velope addressed to the father and mother of the
bride (if the parents of the bride were the persons
who sent out the invitations) and in one a size larger
addressed to the host, only. This card should be
mailed to reach the host and hostess upon the day
of the wedding or a day or two previous. Do not
write “regrets " or any other word upon the card.
Yoriér meaning is quite clear when you send the
ca .

KING LEAR. Jonathan Swift was a British author
and clergyman—Dean of St. Patrick’s. He lived
from 1667 to 1745. He was called ‘the great Dean
Swift,” and his writings made him famous among
men of letters; but to women he was cruel, deceit-r
ml, and in every way contemptible. For manyyears
he made das‘perate love to two women; his corro-
s ndence th them became famous in literature.
e finally married one woman-privately—in 1716—
but continued his courtship of the other until the
latter’s death of a broken heart seven years later.
The woman he married also died of a broken heart,
after twelve years of m , during which she
gufigr allowed to remde at the Deanery with her
us . .

JACK AND Finn. During the Civil War,.2,859,132
men were enlisted in the Northern armies, and 000,-
000 men in the Southern armies. The Army of the
Potomac was commanded by Generals Irwin Mc-
Dowell, George B. McClellan, Ambrose E. Burnside,
Joseph Hooker, Geo. G. Meade, and U. S. Grant, re-
spectively; in the West the main Union arm was
under the command of Generals Henry W. Bullock,
Don Carlos Buell, William S. Rosecr U. S. Grant,
William T. Sherman, and George S. . In
Northern Virginia the Confederate armies were un-
der the command of Generals P. G. T. Beauregard,
Jose h E. Johnston, (and Gustavus W. Smith or a
few ya) and Robert E. Lee; in the West, under the
command of Generals Albert Sydney Johston P.
G. T. Beauregard, Braxton Bragg, Joseph E John-
ston, and John B. Hood.

J. J. We think the better way is for a newly-mar—
ried couple tobegin their wedded life in a. home of
their own: at least away from the relatives of either
party. Many a marriage that might have proved
peaceful and happy had the young people been
thrown enti upon their mutual love society, and
advice. away mm the intervention of others, has
been rendered a sorrowful series of misunderstand:
ings and recriminations, bathe livln with relatives.
If the wife goes home to 've with or parents she
must needs share her love and allegiance with the
whole famll , and if she to live with her hus-
band’s f she is Often misunde mis-
represented y those who in their fondue for him
can scarcely bear to let him believe his idol flawless.
In either case she has a hard time to fully satisfy
her husband‘s love, which in the early days of mar-
riage is always most jealous and exac ' . The
first year or two of wedded life, when two ifierent
personalities are learning to accustom themselves
each to the other‘s likes and needs, are the test
years of love and confidence; and our counsel to
young people is to spend them outside of either
parents home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
 
   

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“Asmmwa'r n ~ .

"MW".

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
 
   
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fireside Ballads.

BIG FOOT WALLACE ON THE
TRAIL

BY “BUCKSKIS SAM.”

 

\
s

 

“ Come, tighten up your girths, boys, fresh cap your
arms and mount;

Come, one and all—be keen as deer, for we’ve got
‘reds ’ to hunt!

We’ll find them too—you bet your scalps l—if they’re
this side the Red;

And I've got the crowd’ll make ’em wilt, I‘m willin‘
ter bet my head

Yes, 'I'll go my pile on you, boys; when I say ‘ Git up
an ’

g1 .
Thar ain't a man in ther hull crowd what’s goin’ ter
stay or quit.
We’ve got old Houston‘s orders ter head our mus-
tangs north,
And not slip a trail, nor lose a ‘ red,’ for every cent
We're worth.
Comaiich', ApaJli', an' Kioway hev had ther game
their own ;
And we-‘uns now ‘11 try our hand. if we has ter go it
one! ’

 

Far out upon the border, far from the abodes of
m 11'

If you DSI'ZIOIIOW me in thought, we‘ll meet the boys
again.

 

Silentév over the prairie these sons of the Lone Star

mtale.

Their mustangs wearied and flagging, for they
travel early and late;

On a warm trail of C-iiuanches, the Texans’ dead-
liest foe,

The kings of the wild Southwest, who ride as the cy—
clones blow —

Knights of these modern days, who carry the lance
as of old,

Guarding like life their hunting-grounds and moun-
rains of virgin gold—

Knights only in name, the fiercest fiends that dabble
in innocent blood—

What horrible tales could be told by the trails ’twixt
the Bravo and the flood !

But sudden our band of Rangers stand silent on the
p am,

For, coming, as ’twere from the setting sun, fast
plying both spur and rein,

Rode a single horseman, the giant Big Foot, hatless,
with flowing hair,

Shouting: “ Come on. boys! Los Comanches! I’ve
trailed them to their lair!”

With prick of spur, and snort of steed, then onward
sprung the band,

As toward the blood-lined setting sun, they sped
across the sand, , _

With eager eyes and hands that grasped their rifles
always ready: .

“ Remember what ye’re here for, boys,” says Big
Foot; " at them, steady 1"

Deep dashed the rowels, onward sprung threescore
of maddened steeds,

Far o'er the bank like an avalanche, and into the
camp of reeds.

Wild yells and shrieks of agony sprung from both
red and white,

And death and horror reigned supreme amid the
waning li ht;

Revolvers crac ,and bow-strings twang, the lance
and bowie flash,

And death-songs sound in weakening tones, as blood
flows from each gash.

The rallying cry, the shout of rag e, the wounded
horse‘s scream,

A horrid pandemonium beside that ri pling stream;

The Texan yell of triumph drownec the warrior’s
chant of doom.

As darkness spread across the plain, and all was
wrapped in gloom.

Baby Sam,

The Boy Giant of the Yellowstone;

on,
Old Spokane Joe’s Trust.

A Romance of “ Wonderland.”

 

 

 

BY OLL COOMES,

“HERCULES, 'rHR DUMB DE-
STROYER,” mo” ETC.

CHAPTER VI.
A Mvsrnnious DISAPPEARANCE.

“OH Lord! Oh Lord!” groaned Old Kit
Bandy, as he stood as if rooted to the earth,
his eyes fixed upon the panther that was drag-
ging the body of Wilma Rodman alongB the
narrow ledge, “ the poor gal’s dead, dead, aby
Sam!”

“But, Kit, her body shall not be mutilated
by that beast!” said Bab Sam, his face pale,
and his voice half choke with the grief surg-
ing up in his breast. Then he threw a cartridge
into his rifle, and raised it to his shoulder.

“ Be keerful, boy!” cried Old Kit; “ye’r’
narvous—the al may only be in a swoon and
you might hit er. Steady, boy, steady I”

But there was no need of these words of can-
tion, for the Boy Giant was calm, cool and de-
liberate, and glancing along the barrel of his
gun he took a careful aim and pressed the trig—
ger.

Simultaneous withi the crack of thawezipon
the anther dro ts prey, u tere a ow,
fiercg bowl of €318], lashed the rocks With its
tail, then rolled Ilifeless from the ledge and fell
with a thud on the rocks below. I

The death of the panther, however, did not
at all release the body of Wilma Badman from
peril, for it was now left partly hanging over
the ledge fifty feet above a bed of jagaged rocks,
while the rescuers could find no p ce where
they could scale the vertical hights. _

“ Horn 0’ Joshua!” exclaimed Old Kit, “ how
on earth did that critter ever git up thar, boy,
with the gal?” _ “

“Kit,” re lied the young mountaineer, _let
us run back along the cliff in the direction
whence the panther came and maybe we can
find an ascent. That beast surely reached that
ledge from this valley, and if so, it was done
not far from here.”

So they turned and ran back along the base
of the cliff, but to their bitter disappomtment
they were compelled to travel a long distance
before they found a break in the pe ndicular
hights, When they did however, aby Sam
flew up the acclivity, and then, at a 3 ed that
taxed Old Kit todeven keep in sight, 9 glided

k alon the 19 e. _
baBefore e was agware of it the young guide
was out of si ht of the old man, but a splash of
blood on the fedge before him brought him to a
stand. He waitegd till Bandy came up, then

' the bio an in : .
t£30k there! ’weywill find Wilma dead,”
and the youth’s whole frame now shook with
“391313;? assured Old Kit, looking around him,
“this is the very spot whar ye shot the panther
— it bledl” _

‘vftlilelie no, that cannot be, Kit, or where’s
Wilma’s boldfii”t, ”

“ a 1 s— _

“Billy; over the ledge?” exclaimed the dis-

0 . .
thcitfgngdg no reply, but advancing to the edge
of the cliff, shaded his eyes With his hand and
glanced steadily below for several moments.

“ By the born 0’ Joshua!” he suddenly ejacu-
lated, turning to Baby Sam: “ I see the carcass
0’ the painter, boy, but the gals body is not

w
thfirYou don’t tell me, Kit?” and a ray of hope
kindled in Baby Sam’s eyes; “ then shenmust be
alive. and has been spirited away by—

“ Or else she’s gotkiiip and deliberately walked

” ut in the 0 man.
“wiviafr such a thing’s too good to betrue,
Kit ” said Sam, “but let us hurry on, for if she
went away of her own accord, I know She-ls
bad! wounded and may yet fall from this ledge
' 79
an‘c‘lH: Plight. thar, Baby! that tells the tale,”
said the old man, pointing down to the imprint
of a nioccnsined foot in a thin layer of dust
that had sifted from the rocks above; the poor
gnl's in the clutches 0’ the red—skins .again; and
that tells me she‘s alive, for a red-skin wouldn t
spend much strength in tOtlD’ off a dead gal.
But let's hurry on, and maybe we can over-

AU'I‘HOR 0F

 

 

 

 

  

Jul“i,limiiunmhmmmm"

 

    

Illiumiiummnmmm

 

- r-
haul them afore they escape into the deep

woods.”

“ Kit,” observed Baby Sam, as they hurried
along the ledge, “ I see you’re a regular border-
man—an old ngin trailer.”

f‘ Yes, boy, if thar‘s a gal in the case,” re-
plied Kit, with a smile, “I'm hard to beat. I
allers war a pesky fool ’bout pretty gals, Sam-
uel, and it’s queer, too. You'd naterally think
that a man that ’d lived with Ellen Sabina
Bandy—that carried a scar for every day of
seventeen years’ married life—would be soured
on the hull female fraternity; but it ar’n’t so.
Old as I be, I’ll beta patch 0’ blue sky that some
sweet little baby-faced a1 0’ about sixteen
could jist lap me round lxgolittle finger like a
ribbon; that’s the kind 0’ a rmented ole fool I
be. I’ve sworn a billion times I’d never look on
womankind ag’in only with crucifyin’ daggers
in my eyes, but here am, ready to die for that
little gal Wilma, and that‘s some more 0’ the
kind 0‘ an ole fool I be!”

Baby Sam was in no mood for jesting, yet he
could not repress a smile at the whimsical
humor and grievances of the eccentric old
man.

The ledge they were following finally termi-
nated in a broad descent. running gradually
down into the deep, wooded valley, and the
trail, which was that of a single Indian. was
easil followed d0wn the slope and through the
woo 3. On reaching the valley it trended away
toward the Yellowstone Lake, and as that sheet
was not over a mile or two away the pursuers
felt exceedingly hopeful of overtaking the red-
skin before he reached it, for, as no footprints
but his own could be seen, it was quite evident
that, if he had the maiden an all, he was carry—
ing her. and thus inc'umbered could not long
keep up the speed with which he had evidently
started.

But they were entirely mistaken in the speed
and endurance of the Indian they were follow-
ing, for, ere they were scarcely aware of the
fact, they stood upon the shore of the Yellow-
stone Lake, at the very edge of whose waters
the trail ended. But glancing out over the wa-
ter, Old Kit exclaimed:

“ There they go, boy !—off yander!”

True enough, a canoe with two occupants was
gliding over the lake nearly a quarter of a mile
away. That one of the occupants—he who
plied the paddle—was an Indian, there was no
doubt, but the other one appeared to be reclin-
ing in the boat, and Kit and Sam could not
make sure it was Wilma, but from the fact that

 

“Now, Baby Sam, I’m goin’ to buck the tiger
in his den, and if I should go under, and you
should ever meet hereafter a fellow named Icha-
bod Flea, tell him his old ard, Kit Bandy,
Mountain Detective, died wit full harness on.”

With this request the old wood-tram p turned
and moved silently away through the darkness,
leavin the Boy Giant absorbed in deep and
painfu thoughts.

CHAPTER VII.
san INA BANDY.

AMER their surprise and capture on Wilma
Island, Sarah and Wilma were hurriedly taken
to the mainland and moved away at a rapid
speed by two large and fierce-looking savages.
When a mile or two from the lake the girls
heard the report of guns behind them and the
sound of a conflict. They knew what it meant,
yet they knew not the fate of their friends.

Not a moment’s rest was allowed them during
the day, but as soon as it grew dark the Indians
halted for the night, having first sought the im-
penetrable labyrinth of a dense thicket. To
preVent their escape, and yet permit the cap-
tives to rest, each one was closely wrapped in
the folds of a large blanket, which was securely
fastened with cords, evidently brought along
for the purpose, wound around and around her
from head to root, thereby making it impossible
to move hand or foot, and even making it diffi-
cult to breathe. And there, through all that
long night were they compelled to lie in those
Strait-jackets, suffering untold agonies of body
and mind.

Bright and early the next morning they were
released of their bonds, given some dried veni-
son and hard bread for breakfast, then the
tramp was resumed. But the captives’ strength
began to fail fast, and before noon it was all
they could do to move one foot after another,
and finally they sunk down with sheer exhaus-
tion. They were then lifted in the brawny
arms of their captors and carried from the val-
ley up a steep hillside around which they pro-
ceeded until they came to a ledge or terrace
continuing on around the hill. Here they
stopped, evidently with the intention of restin
their captives; and to make sure that they di
not get away or escape captivity by leapin
over the hights, they were again rolled an
wrapped in blankets as on the previous night.

Half-dead, the poor girls leaned their heads
against the rock at their back and wept in
silence, while the Indians, assured of their

 

“let Big Horn question the white squaw for she
cannot talk Sioux.”

“I’ll do so,” replied Big Horn, and with a
lofty step and lordly mien that were both ludi-
crous and comical, he strode over to where
Sarah sat, and squatting down before her, said:

“ Wal. little ’uu, this isn’t so nice as it might
be, is it?”

When he first approached her Sarah had
turned her face, not eigning to notice him, but
there was something so peculiar and sym athetic
in the man’s voice that she could not be p turn-
ing and looking him square in the face. As she
did so the expression of contempt on her face
vanished, and a faint ray of hope seemed to
kindle in her eyes, as she replied:

“ Yes, sir, this is dreadful.”

“Yes, indeedy!” Big Horn affirmed, “but be
of good heart—these Ingins can’t understand
much English.”

These last words left no doubt in the girl's
mind but that the renegade’s language was
fraught with a double meaning, and she could
but take courage from it, notwithstanding the
presence of the leering, savage faces gathered
around her.

“ Can you tell me, miss,” the renegade went
on, “whar your friend is that war captured
with you on the island?”

“ I cannot,” Sarah replied, but she briefly
narrated all that she knew of Wilma’s disap-
pearance. _

“ \V a1, gal, you be 0’ good cheer; thar’s heap
wusser things than bain’ an Ingin princess and
lordiu’ it over the heads and hearts 0’ a pack
0 _’

The renegade’s words were here cut short by
a sudden, sharp, shrill cry behind him. The
savages started with an exclamation of surprise,
and they turned and beheld a strange intruder
before them. It was a woman—a white wo-
man, too, who, without fear or warning, had
boldly entered their presence. She was a wo-
man past mid-life, rather tall and slender, with
a thin oval face, a prominent nose, and sharp
gray eye. She was dressed in a coarse brown
frock, a flaring sun—bonnet, and coarse cow-hide
shoes. On her left arm she carried a small,
time-worn reticule, and in her right hand an old,
faded umbrella.

Scarcely deigning to notice the red-skins this
woman, with her bonnet thrown back and her
eyes fixed upon the renegade with a triumphant
light flashing from their depths, made her wa
toward him, fairly screaming in a sharp, fa -
setto voice:

 

“ Yes, vile match 2” and she dealt Old Kit a. whack with her umbrella, “’tis she, your wronged wife.”

the trail running from the ledge had _ ended
there at the lake, and there being plain eVi-
deuce of the one that made the trail havmg em—
barked in a canoe from that point, there was
little doubt left in their minds but she was in
the craft.

“ By the horn 0’ Joshua! we’re at.the end 0’
our string, Baby Samuel,” Old Kit averred,
somewhat disheartened.

“ Why so, Kit?” .

“We’ve no boat to foller that red devil; we
can’t walk the water, and night’s comin’ on.
Isn’t that enough to break a man’s heart? Can
you see any hope for us?—any sunshine?”

“ We must not forgit, Kit,” suggested Baby
Sam, “ that there were two of the captive
maidens, and if Wilma’s in onder boat, Sarah
Marshall is still back somew ere in the wooded
valleys.”

“ Ay, lad, your head’s level; and we should
look for her while there is a chance.”

“Yes, at once!” and Sam led the way back
into the valley and began a careful search for
the trail of Sarah’s captors.

But darkness finally coming on put an end to
their search for that day, and with a feeling of
despondency they began lookin about for a
place to stop for the night. hile thus en-
gaged, they suddenly discovered the faint glow
of a li ht some‘thirty rods away, which they
concluded must be that of a camp-fire. W hether
of friend or foe they could not determine from
where they were, and so they moved cautiously
toward it, making a detour to the right so as to
avoid the opening between them and the light.

It required but a few minutes to reach a point
from whence they could command a full view
of the fire and all within its radius _of light.
As they had suspected, they found it to be
an Indian cam , and to their joyful surprise
they discovers Sarah Marshall there, though
she was bound hand and foot, and fastened to_a
tree, against which she was reclining. To their
bitter disappointment, however, they soon dis-
covered that there were eight or ten sava es in-
stead of the two who had started Wit the
captives from Wilma’s Island: and the only
consolation they could get out of their dis-
covery was that neither Scott Dresden, the out-
law, nor any of those with him at the island at
the time of the duel, was with the party.

The Boy Giant and Old Kit held a whispered
consultation. What to do they could scarcely
decide upon in the face of such great odds, but
finally the ingenious Old Bandy said:

“I’ve a suggestion to make, Bab ; them In-
gins are all Si—oxes, and not one of t em war on
the island at the time of our duel“ The two
that took the gals awa from the island are
both there, and I think t ey’ve acmdentall ,met
the others and camped together. Now. ve a
notion to take the hull by the horns. sail ri. ht
into that camp and make myself to ’home t1 1 a
chance is offered to liberate that gab

“It may cost you your life, Kit, if those In-
gins have heard of your conduct at Wilma s

7)
“with right, boy; I’ll be dyin’ in agal—orious
cause: so let’s retire away and arrange the pree-
- - ' :7
lmlliligiid‘gfsthe two moved back into the deeper
shadows. and when their plans had been laid
for the rescue of Sarah, Old Kit announced:

 

security, walked away as the maidens supposed
to rocure game for food.

bus several moments had assed, when a
slight, unnatural sound arreste the attention
of the girls and they raised their tearful eyes
and looked around them. To their horror they
beheld a huge panther crouching near, his eyes
fixed upon them and his tail lashing the rock,
as if in the very act of springing upon them.

A cry burst from Sarah’s lips and she sunk
down in a swoon. When she recovered her
senses she saw the two sava es standing over
her, but I’Vilma was gone! he told the red-
skins what had happened, when one of them
started in search of the missing girl, but the
report of a rifle around the ridge scared him
back, and taking Sarah they hurried away,
manifesting no little alarm.

They traveled on until nearly nightfall, when
they were met by a party of half a dozen Sioux
warriors coming into the valley from the direc-
tion of the Indian village. All went into camp
where they met, a fire was lighted, and a con-
sultation held. From the fierce looks, the fran-
tic gestures, and vehement speeches of each and
all, it was evident to the captive maiden that
they were greatly excited. The consultation
finally ended in two of the red-skins leaving
camp, but for what purpose Sarah could not
conjecture.

Being supplied with abundance of fresh deer—
meat, some of it was broiled and given the
captive who ate it with good relish. But while
the food gave strength to her body her mind
was sorely troubled. The unknown fate of her
friends at the island and of Wilma almost dis-
tracted her.

As the minutes wore away, and the shadows
of night deepened around them, the savages
bound her to a tree so that she could either Sit
or lie down at pleasure. A blanket was thrown
around her shoulders to protect her from the
chill air and another was arranged for her as a
bed. But. she had no desire for sleep—her
fears and suffering forbade it: she sat like one
half-unconscious, taking but little notice of
what was going on around, when suddenly,
she, as well as the savages, was startled by a
strange sound like the bleating of a mountam-

oat. -

Instantly the red~skins were all upon their
feet, not with the excitement of fear but de-
light. crying out: .

“Big om! Big Horn! white Siouxl”

Then out of the shadows of night into the
light emerged the author of this su den excite-
ment. He was a tall, angular-built fellow,
dressed and painted as an Indian, but his
features, as well as the white rin 5 around his
eyes and mouth, where the paint ad worn 01!,
told that he was a white man in dis uise. The
Indians hailed him with shouts an other de-
monstrations of joy, to which the ungainly and
comical-looking renegade replied:

“ Yoop-peel Good-evening, my red brothers!
Big Horn is rejoiced to meet you here. He is
tired, but happy as a coyote on the trail of
wounded deer. He has fit hard and traveled
far. But I see my brothers hev but one of the
pretty white squaws. Mahla, where is the other
one?”

“Don’t know, sure,” replied the Indian ad-
dressed as Mahla, speaking in his own language;

 

“ At last! at last, oh, please the Merciful
Master!”

“ Oh, Lord!” groaned the renegade, “ ’tis she
——my wife, Sabina Bandy!”

“Yes, vile wretch !” hissed the woman, and
she dealt Old Kit a whack over the head with
her umbrella, that rattled like an avalanche of
dry bones, “ ’tt’s she, your wronged and desert-
ed wife, your helpmeet—she whom ou wooed
and won in her girlish innocence on y to desart
-—fling aside like an old shoe—crucify, when the
freshness and bloom and sweetness of maiden-
hood had faded from her form and face. Oh,
ungrateful monster!” and she again gave vent
to her feelings in another rattling blow with the
umbrella, over the renegade’s head.

The Indians seemed to understand the situa—
tion and to enjoy the scene of domestic infe-
licity with infinite delight, and so made no at-
temg‘t7 to arrest the woman or check her fury.

“ omen—Sabina, have mercy!” pleaded
Old Kit Bandy, for he was the renegade.

“ I’ll have mercy!” retorted the wronged
wife, “ you iron-hearted monster—you soulless
wretchl I’ll show you how to desert a true and
loving mate and flee unto the mountains and
the tribes of the wilderness, you vagabone!
And oh, to think!” and she broke into a sob “ I
find you here—monster of fifty years—bi lin’
an’ cooin’—makin’ love to a baby-faced girl of
sixteen! Did ever a wronged wife behold such
heaven-high, world-wide unfaithfulness?”

“ Sabina, hear me,” said Old Kit, pleadingly:
“ I can prove by this gal herself that I said nothin’
’fectionate —nothin’ in any way that’d conflict
with ’i’ny marriage vow to love, cherish and

“ Oh, hush your palaver, Kit Bandy! I’ve
heard that same old, old strain billions of times
before! I would not believe you again—never !
You’re a multitudinous liar, a monumental
robber of woman’s aflection—a murderer of
woman’s ha piness, a Judas Iscariotic betrayer
of woman’s ove. Ingins”—and she turned to
the leering savages, “ noble red-men of the
forest, this man is my lawfully-wedded hus-
band—my buck—my brave. He left my wig-
wam without meat; the fire by which we’d
often smoked the pipe of peace and chatted
went out, and cold and hungry and lonesome I
went out, too—in search of the gallavantin’
scalawa . For many suns have I searched for
him, an now that my labors are ended with
reward, I feel happy, rejoiced, sublime.”

She addressed the Indians, much to their sur-
prise, in their own langua e, which fact seemed
to have at once won their riendship and savage
confidence.

After submitting meekly to his wife’s tirade
for several minutes, Kit Bandy arose and
walked to the fire, and squatting down before
it, plucked a brand from the blaze, then tossed
it back again in a kind of a mental abstraction.
This he had repeated the second time, when,
all of a sudden, a yell that seemed to come
from brazen lungs burst from the gloom of the
woods, and the next instant Baby Sam, the Boy
Giant, with a huge club in his hand, dashed into
the camp!

Before the red-skins could comprehend the
situation the young mountaineer was upon
them, dealing terrific blows ri hi: and left: and
amid the crunching blows of t e boy’s club, the

 

yells and howls of the savages, the “ping!”
"_pin !” of a tiny revolver in the hand of Sa-
bina andy rung out as the old woman danced
about the camp, apparently wild with excite-
ment. To still add to the confusion of the mo-
ment, all was suddenly plunged in darkness by
Old Kit Bandy scattering the fire with his feet
in every directio .

This act was followed by. yells of savage dis-
may, shouts from the li s of Old Bandy and
shrieks from Sabina and arah. But this lasted
for only a moment—in fact the entire conflict
lasted only a few brief seconds—then all be-
came qu1et, save the sound of hurrying foot-
steps and the deep groans of the wounded
Sioux.

A red-skin hastily raked a few red coals to-
gether and fanned them into a blaze, and its
light revealed to them a startling sight. Half
of their number lay prostrate on the earth,
while none had escaped without more or less
injury. The Boy Giant, Kit Bandy and his es—
timable spouse, and the captive, Sarah, were all
gone!

An examination of the dead warriors showed
them some had fallen under the boy’s club
others had been shot with a tiny bullet, and
one or two killed by knife-thrusts.

It quite readily occurred to the savages that
the Boy Giant had not wielded all these wea-
pons, and then it flashed through their savage
brains with the force of lightning that the
renegade. Big Horn, and his wife, had dealt
deadJ blows against them in the conflict!

( o be continued—commenced in No. 48.)

 

 

A PLEA,

BY MAY LESTER.

 

 

When the children come with their prattle
And disturb your thoughts, in your ease,
Or trouble you when you are busy
With their questions and cries of “ Please,”
Don't frown and thrust them back rudely:
To their words ive kind answers, and true;
You may give a c art for their future
Through the love in their bosoms for you.

Their souls long for something to cling to;
They turn toward you in fond trust;

Then don’t, though you’re tired and worried,
Forget, in your haste, to be just.

Rather, let some task go unheeded;
It will not be counted a sin—

Their welfare is better worth eflort
Than aught else you may hOpe to win.

Then hide not your love for your children;
But let them feel sure they are dear;
For them make your home bright and cheerful
And duty look pleasant and clear.
So live that when your life is ended,
Its memory ma lead them along;—
That thought of t 1e pure, earnest mother
May help them be noble and strong.

The Sea Desperado;

THE PIRATE LOVER.

A Romance of the early years of
the present century.

3

 

 

 

BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM,

AUTHOR or “SAILOR or FORTUNE,” “MAGIC
SHIP,” “MERLE, THE MUTINEER,” ETC.

 

CHAPTER XXX.
THE PLAYFUL’S RETURN.

IT was the day after the sailing of the brig-
of—war Playful in search of the pirate.

The townspeople were anxiously holping for
tidings, for a vessel had come in ear y in the
morning and reported a terrific battle raging
between two brigs some leagues down the
coast.

It could be none other than the Playful and
the Winged Witch all knew.

Had the British craft defeated the pirate?

Had the pirate defeated the British craft?

These questions were asked again and again,
but none could answer them.

That the pirate had fought hard there could
be no doubt. for all the morning tidings came
in that terrific firing which had been heard after
midnight far out at sea.

In the afternoon Helen Hayward went to the
Sea View Arbor, accompanied by her faithful
niaid, for she disliked to be alone.

Hardly had she taken a seat there, when a
vessel rounded a wooded point of the coast be-
low.

“ It is the brig!” cried Helen, eagerly.

“ Which brig, Miss Helen?” asked Lucy.

“Ah, yes; which one? for the British vessel
and the pirate are both brigs and strangely
alike,” said Helen, sadly.

“It is the Playful, Miss Helen, for now I see
her flag,” cried ucy.

“Yes, and alone; but see, she comes very
slowly, and she seems crippled.”

Watching the vessel as it drew nearer, the
two saw that her sails were riddled with shot-
holes, her masts and spars were wounded, and
her bulwarks resented gaping fissures where
an iron hail has passed through.

She had been in a fierce action, that was cer-
tain.

But upon her decks discipline held her crew,
for the men were at their posts of duty, oflicers
paced to and fro with easy tread, and all had
the appearance of having passed through no
fearful ordeal.

The pretty craft glided into the harbor, salut-
ed the fort, and dropped anchor off the town,
while half a dozen shore-boats rowed out to her
to lean What news there was.

no of these boats Helen recognized as her
father’s, and watching attentively, half an hour
after she saw the bugs cutter coming shore-
ward.

An awning was over the stern, and the men
pulled with slow and measured sweep.

Not for the town did the boat head, but for
the landing near the Hayward mansion.

What could it mean?

This question Helen asked Lucy over and
over again.

At last the cutter ran in to the shore, and
half a dozen seamen jumped out into the water
to their knees.

Then upon their shoulders was raised a litter
upon which rested a human form.

Up the hillside the men came bearin their
load, while before them Helen behel her
father and an ofiicer and man from the ship.

“ Oh, Lucy! I fear Lord Stanwix Sedge-
moor has been either killed or wounded, and
father is having him brought to the mansion.

“ Come, let us go.”

They left the arbor and hastened to the man-
sion, where Helen found her mother busy pre-
piaring a guest’s room for Lord Sedgemoor, Mr.

ayward having sent a messenger on ahead to
say that the oung oflicer had been twice se-
verely woun ed, and that he was bringing him
to the house where he could be well cared for.

Soon the party arrived, and Helen, from her
window. saw that the handsome young English-
man looked very white and haggard, as he lay
upon the stretcher with his eyes closed.

Into the room the seamen bore him, and then
he was tenderly lifted to the bed.

The men were then dismissed, to return to the
brig, their captain thanking them in a low tone;
but the surgeon of the Playful, and the servant
of Lord Stanwix remained with the wounded
commander at the mansion, upon which a bush
now fell.

Helen could stand the suspense no longer.
She must know if the Englishman was mor-
zallydwounded, and if the pirate had been cap-
ure .

Quietly she went down-stairs, and met her fa—
ther in the hall.

“ Oh, father! what has happened?” she asked.

He led her into the library and answered:

“ Helen, the Playful has returned.”

“I saw her enter the harbor, all torn and
zlcagred, as though she had been in a fearful hat-

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‘ She has.”

“ With the pirate?”

“ Yes.”

“ Father, please tell me all that has occurred,
for Lord Stanwix looked so white and-haggard,
as 1 saw them hear him beneath the wnidoW.”

“He was twice severely wounded, once With
a sword—thrust, and once with a pistol-shot.

" His surgeon pronounces the wounds danger-
ous, though not necessarily faial, and says that
he must haVe the utmost met and devoted
nursing, and on that account had him brought
here.” , .

" Oh! I am so sorry for him, Sir; but what of
the pirate?” and Helen asked the last question
as though she dreaded an answer.

“ To tell you all, my child, I must say that
the Playful sighted the Winged Witch in the
offing, and gave chase.

“ The pirate did not seek or_shun a battle, and
when fired upon, answered With a broadSide.

“The vessels, the guns and the crews were
most evenly matched, and the result was a
drawn battle, each Cl‘aft‘Si/V'lllglllg off and leav—
ing the al‘thu as though by common consent.

“The Playful lost Lieutenant \ ane and two
middics, and a score of men killed, and tWice as
many wounded while she suffered severely in
hull and rigging.”

“A fearful loss, father;
rate f" . ,

“ She suffered also severely iii killed and
wounded, though it is not known how many. ’

‘t Father. why are you so obtuse, or so neglect—
ful us not to tell me if that man was killed or
“ ounded 3"

“ You mean Captain Moi‘tef” asked Mr. Hay-
ward, with provtvking calmness, though Helen
could not believe that he would thus trifle With
her. ,

" Yes, of course, for who else could you think
I meant. father, when you know the precipice
upon which I stand waitingf” and Helen spoke
with considerable indignation in her tone. I

“Forgive me, my child, if I seemed remiss;
but, the fact is, I am all worked up by this af-
fair and the occurrences of the met. few days:
but, to answer your question, 0rd StanWix
said that his first wound was given him by the
pirate captain himself, who drove his sword
into his body. .

“As he fell, Lord StanWix fired upon Rupert
Mortimer, and says that he saw him stagger
back into the arms of his men, and, from their
giving up the battle as they did he hopes and
believes that be killed him.” I

" God grant that he did,” fervently said
Helen, and then she added:

“And now, father, knowing as I do that Lord
Stanwix went out to seek that man to save me
from the fee that threatened me, I beg you to
let me care for him as I would for a brother.”

Mr. Hayward was glad to hear this. for, like
his wife, he was an ambitious man, and it was,
in the hope of making a match between Helen
and the nobleman, that he had urged his coming
to his home.

So he said with eagerness:

"' You are a noble girl, Helen, and you shall
have your way, so make up your mind that Ru—
pert Mortimer will trouble you no more, and
devote yourself as a nurse to Lord Stanw1x.”

Happy at having something to occupy her,
and take her thoughts away from herself, Helen
devoied herself to her duty of caring for the
man who, she felt, lxad sought to kill Captain
Morte to save her from him.

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE WOUNDED CHIEF.

SOME days had come and gone since twattle
of the brigs. and the eXpiration of th I onth
given Helen Hayward was at hand.

As soon as the Playful had returned, report—
ing her battle with the \Vinged \Vitch, and that
she had left her crippled, or at least glad to
draw out of the fight, couriers had been dis-
patche-l up and down the coast to the seaports.
to warn cruisers of the vicinity of the pirate.
and small craft had also been sent on the same
nllS>l0U with the hoye of falling in with some
vessel of—war.

As on a former occasion a large barque had
been hastily armed with guns from the fort,
and manned by a volunleer crew, to go in pur—
suit, and strong hopes were held that the fa-
mous desperado of the sea would this time be
captured, as he was certainly in a crippled con-
dition.

But the days had gone by and no news came
of the capture of the Winged Witch, so that
people began to despair of hearing such glad
tidings. .

Still no news came of any other vessels havmg
been boarded by the pirate, and when. the
barque sent in chase Of her returned, bringing a
boat, spars and other debris picked up floating
near the scene of the battle, and reported hav-
ing seen nothing of the brig, it was hoped that
she had sunk with all on board, having been fa-
tally wounded by the Playful.

This hope was added to by finding bodies
along the beach that bore no wounds, and were
dressed in the semirsailor uniform of the Winged
“'itch.

As the time went by the belief that the brig
had gone down with all on board gained ground,
and a feeling of confidence again pervaded the
community.

Helen heard all of these rumors, told her by
her father, and smiled sadly, and hoped as she
would sit by the side of the wounded 7English
officer; but there seemed to be a presentiment
far down in her heart that Rupert Mortimer
was not dead, and that she would find him on
hand at the end of the month to claim the ful-
fillment of her pledge to him.

Could she have seen him, as he then lay upon
a bed of suffering, grim, stern, and determined
not to die, she would have. felt hope that Death
must claim him and thereby save her.

He had fought his vessel Well, and was steadi-
ly gaining a foothold upon the British brig,
when he came face to face with her com-
mander.

Springing forward he had driven his sword
into the breast of Lord Stanwix, and then, as
he was about to urge his men to follow him,
believing that now he was the victor, the
wounded Englishman had fired and Ca tain
Morte had fallen back into the arms 0 his
men.

Revengeful to the last, he had fired his last
shot at his foe, as he was being borne from the
deck, and saw that he had hit, and hoped that
he had killed his brave adversary. '

But, without their leader, the pirates were
anxious to retire from the battle, and Duval
had quickly given the orders to cast off the
grapnels.

The two vessels swung apart, and, crippled
as was the brig, Captain Morte ordered her to
be headed seaward as long as the Playful was
in sight, and then to be put away with all speed
for a secret retreat which he knew upon the
coast near by.

Before dawn the Winged Witch dropped an—
chor in a small basin, the existence of which
few who sailed alon the coast knew, and the
crew were set to wor repairing damages and
looking after the wounded.

In his cabin meanwhile, under the care of his
Spanish surgeon, a man as skilled in surge
and drugs as he was in villainy. lay the woun —
ed chief. and his men knew that his life hung
by a thread.

Thus days passed, and a change came for the
wounded pirate.

“ I am better, Duval; I will not die,” he said,
grimly, to his lieutenant.

“I am delighted to hear it, Captain Morte,
for I feared you had received your death-
wound,” answered his officer.

“ No, I will not die yet, I feel, though it will
be long before I am well. ‘

“ Now tell me of the brig.”

“ She is in the basin, sir, where you ordered
me to go just after you were wounded.”

“ And her wounds?"

“Were by no means as severe as yours, sir,
for she is all shipshapc once more.”

“That is good: and the crew?"

“ We buried fifteen prior fe110ws, sir, and
have as many more between decks with wounds
that keep them down.”

but what of the pi—

 

“ Not as bad as I feared; but that was a gal-
lant foe we fought, Duval.” .

“ He was indeed, sir, and he was an English-
man.”

“Yes, and had the captain not fallen he
would have given us more trouble, for he was a
desperate fellow, and as soon as I could I ended
him: butl was foolish to fight unarmed ves-
sel, and wish I had taken your adVice and run
for it.”

“ It cannot be helped now, sir, and you
must now devote yourself to getting well,
so do not worry or talk any more for the
present.”

“ One minute, Duval.”

“Yes, Captain Morte.”

“ W hat is the day of the month?”

“ The twentieth, sir.”

“ An! then 1 have little time to lose, and as I
cannot be on hand to keep an engagement,
Duval, you must do it for me.

“ I will sleep now, but tomorrow come to me
and I will tell you whatI wish you to do.”

“Anything that I can do, Captain Morte, I
will.”

“ I know that, Duval, and this mission I send
you on is one that is full of peril to you, and
which you must handle with gloves, for there
is a woman in the caSe,” and with a smile Cap-
tain Morte closed his eyes to rest, just as the
Spanish surgeon entered and said angrily: _

“ Captain Morte. there are ninety-nine
chances to one that you die, and here you are,
chatting away as though you were at a dinner-
party, and I must not have it any more.”

“ Bah, Sanchez, you will be hanged before I
die,” was the reply of the pirate captain, and
his surgeon winced under the remark.

 

CHAPTER XXXII.
THE PIRATES MESSENGER.

MR. HAYWARD had gone down to his office,
his wife was out on a usual round of visits
amongcertain cronies, and Helen sat alone in
the library engaged in reading, though, as her
exes often left the page before her and rested
u‘pon vacancy, it was Very evident that her
thoughts were not upon her book.

Lord Stanwix lay in his room under the care
of his servant, for Helen was wont to take
charge of the wounded man during the after—
noon, when he seemed to feel easier, and she
could read to him.

He was improving slowly, and the doctors
had said that without any unfavorable symp—
toms coming on his recovery was certain.

Presently a firm step resounded upon the
piazza, and the heavy brass knocker rung out a
summons to the front door.

Knowing that no servant was just then at
hand, Helen went to the door herself, thinking
that it must be some one from the brigof war,
or perhaps a neighbor.

She beheld instead a tall, uniformed man,
with a handsome face that bore in it much that
was attractive.

“ May I ask if MiSs Hayward is at home?" he
said, bowing low. and with a courtly grace that
showed the gentleman.

“ lam Miss Hayward, sir; will you walk in?”
answered Helen, wondering who he could be
and why he had asked for her instead of her
father or mother, as he appeared to be a naval
officer.

“ I am happy in meeting Miss Hayward, and
will introduce mySelf as Lieutenant Dunmore,
of the sea service."

Helen bowed and again invited her visitor to
enter, which he did.

“ Pardon my intrusion, Miss Hayward, but I
come to see you upon a personal matter that i
do not care to make known to others.

"' Are we alone?” he said, seating himself as
soon as Helen had done so.

“ We are, sir, and may I ask why I am hon-
ored with this visit!” and Helen began to feel a
trifle nervous.

” I would like to ask of you the terms of your
pledge given a pirate chief some time since?”

Helen had almost expected that it was some-
thing in reference to the pirate that her visitor
had come; but at his question she turned a
shade paler and asked eagerly:

“ ls that wretched man dead or alive, sir?”

“ To whom do yfu refer?”

“That sea robber, Rupert Mortimer, who is
known as Captain Morte. the pirate.”

“ Ah! it was to learn from you all that you
could tell me. of your pledge to him that I came
hither, Miss Hayward.”

“ Do you come as an officer of the navy, sir, ,

seeking to learn from me all that will aid you
to hunt down that man, or do you come from
Captain Morte himself?” asked Helen, sternly.

“ Before I answer your question, Miss Hay-
ward, I must ask that you promise me full
secrecy in all that I make known to you, and,
should it be necessary that I should meet any
one here, that you introduce me as Lieutenant
Dunmore, of the navy.”

“ This is a remarkable request, air, if you are
not that personage.”

“My name is Dunmore, Miss Hayward, and
I am a sailor.

“ I have come to see you upon a matter that
deeply interests you, and I beg that you prom-
ise to follow my advice where it does you no
harm.

“ Will you do so?”

“ Yes; for I wish this suspense ended, as I be-
gin to feel that you come from one who, Wick-
ed as it may seem, I had hoped was dead.”

“ You refer to Captain Morte?"

H I do.”

“ And it is his messenger that I am,” was the
low reply.

Helen started to her feet, her eyes flashing,
though she was deadly pale and trembled vio-
lently.

For a moment she seemed as though about to
bound from the room, but her strange visitor
said calmly:

“ Sit down, please, Miss Hayward, and hear
what I have to say.

“ It ma be better than you expect.”

She sun into her seat again and gasped:

“ He lives then '2”

“Yes; but he is sorely wounded.”

“ Will he recover?” and the question came in
a quick gasp].

“ Yes, I t ink so.”

“ Where is he?”

“With his vessel.”

“ Rumor had it that it was sunk.”

“You mean in the action with the brig-of—
war?”

H Yes.”

“She was crippled, lost heavily in her crew,
and her commander was severely wounded,
MISS Hayward; but the Winged Witch still
floats as dangerous and vicious as ever; but can
you tell me the name of her plucky foe, and
who her commander was, for she was a British
vessel 3” ,

“ Yes; it was his British majesty’s brig-of-
war Playful, Captain Lord Stanwix Sedge-
moor.”

“ Lord Stanwix Sedgemoor you said?” and
the man was upon his feet, his face white, his
form quivering.

Helen was amazed at his sudden and unex-
pected excitement, and answered:

“Yes, so I said, sir.”

“ Lord Stanwix Sedgemoor commanded that
brig?”

“ He did, sir.”

“ And his vessel is now in this port?”

“ It is.”

“May I ask if he was killed?” and the man
spoke almost in a whisper.

“ No, sir; but he was dangerously wounded;
had he not been, it is believed that Captain
Morte’s career would have been ended ere this.”

“Poor Stanwixl . I hope he may recover,”
seliid She visitor, as though speaking his thoughts
a on .

“ The surgeon says that there is every hope
for him, sir, and when I saw him half an hour
ago he was certainly looking better.”

“ You saw him half an hour ago?” asked the
man in amazement.

“ Yes, sir, for my father had him brought to
our h,(’iu_se, and his room is just across the hall-
way.

 

The visitor seemed almost shocked at this
news, to judge from his face, and took several
quick turns across the library and back, as
though he was pacing a quarter-deck. .

Suddenly stopping before Helen he said in a
low, earnest tone:

“ Miss Hayward, what you tell me surprises
me deeply, and in my heart I hope that Lord
Stanwix may recover.”

" You know him then?”

He started at the question, but said, after
some hesitation:

“I knew him long years ago; but let us speak
now of yourself, for, as I told you, I come as a
messenger from Captain Morte, the pirate.”

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.
A srnaw or HOPE.

WONDERING at the emotion shown by the via-
itor at the mention of the name of Lord Stan-
wix, Helen was recalled to her own wretched-
ness by his remark that he was a messenger
from Captain Morte.

“You said that Mr. Mortimer was severely
wounded?” she said, by way of bringing the sub-
ject at once to a climax.

“ Yes, and seriously.”

“ And he sent you to me :6”

“ He did.”

“ For what purpose 1'”

“ You made him a pledge a month ago?”

“ I did.”

“The time is up.”

it Yes.”

“ And he is unable to appear.” .

“ “'ell, sir, what is to be done about it?”
coldly asked Helen. _

" It will be months before he is himself again,
Miss Hay ward.”

“And must I suffer suspense all those months?”
she asked, wearil y. .

“ You pledged yourself, as I understand it, to
become the wife of Captain Morte, if he released
a vessel he had captured, her passengers and
crew, and touched not a single dollar’s worth of
valuables?"

“ I did, sir.”

“ You sacrificed yourself for them?”

“ I did, for it was very evident to me that
Captain Morte intended hanging one of the
part , whose daughter is my dearest friend.

“ or his sake, for her sake, and for all, when
I felt that they could go free on my pledge I
gave it.” .

“ And you intended to keep it?”

“ Of course, sir.”

“It was very noble of you.”

Helen made no reply, and the visitor con-
tinued:

“ My cuptain—”

“ Your captain, sir?”

“ Yes, for I am first officer of the Winged
Witch, Miss Hayward.” I

“Your appearance did not indicate, 511‘, that

on bad herded yourself with pirates,” said
Helen, with scorn.

The man flushed, and then answered:

“Circumstances beyond my control, Miss
Hayward, made an outlaw of me, and once in
the vertex of crime I have found it impossible
to reach the shore of an honorable life once
more.”

He spoke with a feeling that caused Helen to
pity him, and she said, with real sympathy in
her tone:

“ I feel sorry for you, sir; but let me under-
stand, please, what your captain dcsires of me?"

“ True, I should not keep you in suspense. so
kindly pardon me for it, and let me know if it
is your intention to still keep this pledge made
to Captain Morte?”

“ A‘suredly.”

“You are aware to what a life it will drag
you down?”

“ I am aware, sir, that in becoming a pirate’s
wife I could stoop to nothing worse,” was the
ringing response. . .

"And yet you prefer to become his Wife to
breaking your pledged word?”

“ Do not misunderstand me, sir.

“ I gave my pledged word, by all I held holy,
to sacrifice myself. _

“By that I saved others, and your captain
trusted me and gave me one mont before forc-
ing me to keep my pledge.

“Did I refuse, I well knew the terrible re-
venge he would wreak upon me and mine, es,
upon every one who was upon the vesse he
captured that day, so I am content to continue
being a sacrifice, rather than have follow what
I know would.

“ I had hoped that death might intervene to
save me, that Captain Morte might be cap-
tured; but such has not been the case, unfortu-
nately for me, and your chief still lives to claim
my pledge.”

“Perhaps when he comes to claim you he
may relent.”

“ No, it is not the nature of Rupert Mortimer
to give up agame he has once started to run
d0wn.”

“ You are right, Miss Hayward, and you have
my deepest sympathy, when I tell you that
Captain Morte. as we call him, sent me to you
to say that he held your pledge as still binding,
and that within three months’ time you would
see him, for he would come to claim its fulfill-
ment of you.”

“ When he does, sir, I shall not shrink from
keeping it, and so you can tell him," was the
cold reply.

With a look that said plainl she considered
the conversation at an end, He en uttered these
words and Duval Dunmore arose, bowed, and
moved toward the door.

There he turned, and said, earnestly;

“ Miss Hayward, I will tell Captain orte that
you have renewed your pledge to him: but let
me say to you, with my farewell, that you
must not give up hope that all will come well,
for the noble sacrifice you offer must never he
demanded of you.”

He turned quickly and departed, leaving
Helen with a germ of hope in her heart, for she
felt that he was no man to speak idle words,
and in his had been a hidden meaning at which
she clutched, as a drowning man might at a
straw.

(To be continued—commenced in No. 43.)

 

 

The Dirt-eaters.

“ You say the are dirtreaters?”

“ Yes, sir: an I mean it in its literal sense.
You know the French traveler, Macroix, who
explored the sources of the River Amazon,
found a tribe of Indians so infernally lazy that,
having eaten up all the four-footed animals in
their reach, including parrots and monkeys,
snakes and creeping things, were reduced to liv-
ing solely on bugs and insects. These Ottomacs
are fully as bad. The live upon mud balls when
the river is high and shing ceases. It is a sort of
unctuous clay of a peculiar kind, which he
finds upon banks of streams. It is soft to the
touch, like putty. In its natural state it is of a
yellowish gray color, but when hardened before
the fire it assumes a tinge of red owing to the
oxide of iron that it contains.”

“ Is it nourishing?”

“Not in the least. It merely fills up—pro-
duces a satiety and satisfies the pangs of hun-
ger. I have been told by chemists and medical
men who have analyzed the little balls into
which they roll it to store away that it con-
tained nothing nourishing, simply silex and
alumina, with three or four (per cent. of lime.
He calls these balls poya, an stores them up
into pyramids, just as cannon—balls are piled in
a fort. Each ball is three or four inches in diam-
eter. When bun , he takes aball and softens
it by wetting, an eats about a ound a day.
There is something in the dir -eating habit
which produces a sort of craving for it. I do
not think that the habit is confined exclusively
to the Ottomacs, but believe that it is generally
known among the Indians of the tropics. I
have heard of a poor class of whites living in
North Carolina who, when pressed by hunger,
eat the mud daubings that hide the chinks in
their cabins.”

 

Historic Bandits.

BY JOHN H. WHITSON.

 

 

Schinder-Hannes. the Robber of the
Rhine. I

IN the earlier years of the present century
the re ions of the Lower Rhine were vocal
with highly-wrought fictions of the wonderful
prowess and (1111 ing of this noted outlaw. Even
now the curious traveler, while inspecting feu-
dal castles and ivy-er wned battlements, may
beguile many a wear hour listening to these
marvalous traditionsas they fall from the lips

' of some village patriarch, who, sitting under

his favorite linden, discusses legend and lager
at the same time. ,

John Buckler, better known as Schinder Han-
nes. (Jack, the Flayer), was born in 1779, at
Muklen, on the right bank of the Rhine.

His father was of a wandering, restless dis-
position, and when Hannes was nine years
old, forsook his family and entered the Austrian
army. The strictness and discipline of a mili-
tary life not suiting him he soon after deserted
and fled to Prussxa, where his wife and son
joined him.

Here he seems to have made a determined
effort to lead a better life. He obtained a posi-
tion as forest—keeper, which he held for many
years, sending Hannes to the Lutheran schools,
and, for a time at least, conducting himself
as an upright citizen.

The peculiar bent of young Buckler’s mind
showed itself at an early age. When about
sixteen years old, being given some money by
a neighbor, with which to purchase smuggled
whisky, he sought a number of kindred spirits
and spent it in riot and excess. Not daring to
face the cm stquences of his not he ran away,
and, finding himself without money or shelter,
engaged in petty thieving—soon after stealing
a horse which he took to another part of the
country and sold.

This theft created so much excitement that
he became frightened, fearing suspicion would
be fixed upon him, and went to Barenback,
where .he hired as an assistant to the public
executioner.

Here he fell in with a dishonest butcher, who
gained his confidence, and discovering his apti-
tude for stealing, en aged him to steal sheep.
These Hannes woul bring to the butcher’s
yards by night, where they would be killed and
the following day exposed for sale in the public
market.

This was quite profitable. but it did not last
long. He was soon detected, arrested and sent
to prison, but managed to escape. Being hotly
pursued he fled to the Wild regions of the Beeb-
wald, where he fell in with the leaders of two
during bands of outlaws, Finck and Black
Peter.

The condition of the country just then was
especially favorable to the formation and exist—
ence of these and similar bands. The wars of
the French Revolution had raged for ears,
during which time the little States bor ering
on the Rhine were continually overrun by
French and German troops. The fields were
laid waste, business was sus ended, and many
of the smaller farmers an merchants were
ruined. Numbers of the poorer classes,-reduced
to starvation, became thieves and robbers for
the purpose of supplying their own necessities,
or, like the notorious band of Pickard, in Bel-
gium, to execute terrible vengeance upon their
oppressors.

Adoptin readily the wild life of the outlaws,
Schinder- annes soon beanie one of the most-
active and daring—leading, despite his youth,
many dangerous predatory expeditions.

In one of these e was surprised, and, after a
desperate fight, was captured, together with
one of his com anions, and sent to the prison in
Sarrebruck. n a few days, however, they
succeeded in breaking through the walls, and
esca . '
Continuing his lawlessness he was again tak-
en, in another part of the country, and confined
in a dungeon in the strong tower of Simmerm.

Even here his talent for jailvbreaking did not
desert him. Findinga broken knife in a dark
corner, where it had been overlooked by the
jailer, he succeeded, after much difi'iculty, in
removing a board from the dungeon-wall.

Creeping through the opening thus made into
an outer apartment, he wrenched the iron bars
from a grated window and leaped out from a
great hight in the darkness. He fell in his de-
scent, and a heavy stone which he had loosened
in his exertions fell after and upon him, wound-
in him frightfully in the leg.

Stunned by the fall, and faint from loss of
blood, be yet managed to crawl awa , and
reached a neighboring forest, where he lay for
two days without food or drink, half-delirious
with pain, and consumed by a burnin thirst.
On the third day be dragged himsel to the
house of an old associate, who received him
kindly and cared for him until he had recovered
sufilmently to escape from the country.

He then began the independent, daring and
successful career which at erward made him so

.noted.

Trusting implicitly in the genius for out~
lawry which burned in his breast, and believing
himselfa leader rather than a follower of men,
he again sought the wilds of the Hochwald,
where he soon gathered about him a large num-
ber of his old associates, and strengthening
them with recruits, marshaled a most formid—
able array of vagabonds,thieves and cut-throats
and was so uniformly succe ssful in his expedi-
tions that even Fian and Black Peter frequent-
ly came to him for aid and counsel, and at
len th yielded to him a tacit obedience.

e bad a passionate love for society of a
peculiar kind, and for the bustle of city life,
and although his retreats were almost inacces-
sible fastnesses, he yet visited, quite frequently,
the neighborin Cities and towns, appearing
openly and fear essly in the smaller and more
remote laces and entering the larger ones
boldly, n disguise. He IOVed especially to
haunt the many eating-houses, market-places
and gambling dens with which these abounded.

At one time be, for a considerable period,

assed himself off for a steady and reliable
merchant, visitin , in this disguise, the great
trading mart of nkfort.

This masquerading was not infrequentl at—
tended with great personal danger. In 1 1 he
had a narrow escape, in an affra with a part
of soldiers in the electorate of ayenoe, wit
whom he engaged in a drunken brawl. On an-
other occasion his cupidity asserted itself, and
he attempted to rob the house of a Jew, while
lounging about the narrow streets of Bayerthat
—whicb act came near costing him his life, for.
being detected in the attempt, he was pursued
by a party of chasseurs, who pressed him so
closely that he had to seek concealment ina hay-
loft connected with a farm-house.

The soldiers, suspecting he was concealed
somewhere on the premises, made a thorough
search. They even visited the loft where he
lay secreted. passing and repassing within a
few feet of him. He could plainl hear their
angry exclamations and the burned words of
command from the eader, but remained undis-
covered, and they soon after departed, to his
great relief.

In the hight of his power he formed the ac-
quaintance of Julia Blcesus, the dau hter of a
musician. She attached herself to h and ac-
companied him, in men’s attire, on many of his
dangerous expeditions.

Growing bolder and more audacious by im-
unity, and not finding sufficient booty on the
Ehway, his band occasionally attacked small
v' lages and even towns, forcing the houses in
the night, and when discovered, fighting their
way to Security.

In this manner they sacked, among others,
the residence of a gentleman named Rei l, at
Otzweiler. Schinder-Hannes, with anum r of
followers, ap ared suddenly in the vicinity,
about nightfa l, and going to the residence of a
miller, forced his wife to prepare supper for
them. Disposing of this, t ey waited quietly
until the s y grew dark, and surrounding ob
jects had almost wholly disappeared from view.

 

 

They then entered the village, and approaching
the residence of Reigel ra ped upon the door.
Upon its being opened chinder-Hanneo and
several of his men rushed in and threatened the
inmates with instant death if they made any
alarm. Not finding the money the supposed
to be concealed upon the premises, hey seized
Mrs. Reigel and endeavored to extort the in-
formation from her by threats. She began to
shriek, and at the same instant her husband and
Ion-m-law. attempting to escape by the window,
were shot by some of the outlaws upon the out-
side—the husband being killed. '

The report of fire-arms aroused the inhabi-
tants, who, sallying out in great numbers, made
a Vigorous onslaught upon the robbers. The
darkness and confusion favored the latter, how-
ever, and they escaped.

Schinder-Hannes seemed to consider the Jews
legitimate ob ects of lunder. This, no doubt,
was mainly no to t e fact that the people,
generally, regarded this despised and persecuted
race with particular averswn, and made vei'fir
little outcry when a descendant of Abraham
was the sufferer. And yet, strange as it may
seem, it afterward appeared that the greater
portion of his secret spies and informers were

ews.

At Merxheim, the reint-mcister, or magis-
trate, who was a Jew, pointed out to him the
residence of another Jew, named Boer, as a man
of Wealth, and as one who had rendered him—
self obnoxious to the peo 1e by his extortions.
The hint was not unnoticed? Schinder-Hannes’s
band attacked the house boldly at night, bein
unmolested by the watch, to whom they told
their mission, and who, after the robbers had
committed their outrage, allowed them to de-

rt.

Schinder Hannes, notwithstanding his law-
less and sanguinai y mode of life, was not with-
out- a spice of broad humor in his composition.
Once, while lying in ambuscade by the roadside
with only two companions, he saw a company of
about forty-five Jews returning from a fair at
Kreuznacht. As they drew near be challenged
them, and advancing, ordered his comrades to
search their persons. Finding onlyafew kreut—
zers, and seeing they had nothing worth taking,
in a fit of pleasantry he commanded them all to
take off their shoes and stockin s and cast them
promiscuously into one heap. his the terrified
Jews hastened to do. Then, leveling his weapon
at them, he ordered them, in a voice which re-
sembled the roar of an angry lion, to instantly
put them on again, and to be careful to put on
none but their own. -

“Quick! quick!" he added; “he is a dead
man who is the last to be fitted to his own, as
sure as my name is Schinder—Hannes!"

W'ell-nigh bereft of their senses, the Jews
threw themselves upon the heap by the road-
side, and began such a scrambling and quarrel-
ing that SchinderHannes lau hed outright, and
walked away, leaving them tfius enga ed.

The larger number of his depredations were
committed upon the left bank of the Rhine.
This classical stream was, in fact, his stanchest
friend, for, when pursued, he would cross it
hastily, and thus throw his ursuers off the
scent, or, embarking in boats eld in reserve,
would drop down with the current to a place of
safety.

He also preferred the spring and autumn for
his expeditions, and undertook the most of them
upon Saturday nights. Saturda being the
Jewish Sabbath, and the most 0 his spies be-
ing Jews, they did their work mainly on that
day, when, released from the cares of business
and labor, they could wander about at will
without suspicion or molestation.

But Schinder-Hannes’s power had reached its
maximum and began at length to wane, and
when peace was finally declared between
France and Austria, a determined and success-
ful attempt was made to extirpate his hated
and dreaded band. '

Detachments of soldiers ambushed him in his
expeditions, laid in wait for him by the road-
sides, and harassed him so sorely that he
scarcely dared venture from his hidingplaces.

Finally, secret agents tracked him to his dis-
tant lairs and then led the troops upon him.
His hand was dispersed and many of his fol-
lowers were slain, but he again escaped, and
for some time wandered from place to place,
seeking refuge and finding none.

Feeling the coils tightening, and forced to
leave each stopping-place almost upon the in-
stant of his arrival, he went to a distant re-
cruiting station and enlisted in the Austrian
service, hoping to be sent with his regiment
into Hungary.

He marched with the recruits to Limbourg,
and would probably have succeeded in his de-
sign had not a peasant recognized him during a
street plurade and denounced him to the popu-
lace. e was then delivered to the French
civil authorities, and taken, under a strong es-
cort, to Mayence, the object of intense curiosity
on the way. Here he was brought before a
judge of the criminal court, to whom he made
a partial confession, im licating his associates
and endeavoring to shie d himself as much as
pomible.

Sixtysseven of his companions in crime were
placed under arrest, in the course of a few
Weeks, but were not brought to trial until
about eight months afterward. Durin this in-
terval three of them died. The tri of the
sixty-five, including Schinder-Hannes, was be-
gun on the 24th of October, 1803, and is one of
the famous criminal trials of history. Fifty-
three indictments were found against him, one
hundred and thirty-two witnesses were exam-
ined for the prosecution, and two hundred and
two for the defense, and the trial occupied
twenty-eight days. The defense endeavored to
show, in mitigation of punishment, that while
Schinder-Hannes had been a robber and an out-
law he had alwa 3 been averse to cruelty and
the shedding of lood. In short, they attempt-
ed to establish for him the character of a
brigand~hero, or German Robin Hood. and
would perhaps have succeeded had it not been
for the testimony of one witness—the mother of
the miller of Merxheim. This woman t- stifled
that, having entered her house in the night, he
had applied a lighted candle to her body to ex-
tort money from her, and had slain in cold
blood her son, who had rushed to her assistance.

This aroused the waning fury of the popu-
lace, which was almost beginning to regard
him kindly, and this sentiment being doubtless
reflected upon the court, he was found guil
of the charges brought against him, and, wi
Einehteen of his companions, was sentenced to

eat .

Of the others, fifteen—among whom was
Schinder-Hanna’s father, old Buckler, the for-
est-keeper—were condemned to hard labor in
irons for various periods. Three more, one of
them a woman, to two years’ imprisonment;
Julia Blcesus to two years in the house of cor-
rection, and two other women to be expelled
from French territory.

Schinder-Hannes heard the sentence with
apparent indifference as to his own fate, but
expressed satisfaction at the lenient punishment
accorded his father and Julia. He had for him-
self feared the terrible agon of being broken
on the wheel, and expressed is jo on learning
that it had been abolished by the ranch laws.

On the day of execution he was visited by a
clergyman and poi-took of the sacrament.
When the final hour arrived he mounted the
scaffold with a firm tread, examined the uillo-
tine with minute attention and i u‘ if its
stroke was as sure and deadly as be ad under-
stood it to be.

When all was ready, he laid his head calmly
on the block and was instantl ushered into
eternity. His comrades follow in rapid suc-
cession, the execution of the entire twenty
occupying but twenty-six minutes of time.

The death of Schinder-Hannes and the de-
struction of his band gave immunity from rob-
bery for many ears to the regions bordering
on the Lower R ine.

 

“ PA,” asked little Johnny “what does the
teacher mean by saying that must have inher-
ited my bad temper?” “ She meant, Johnny,
that you are your mother’s own boy.”

 

  

 

 

 

 

  
       

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DOWN BY THE WILLOWS.

BY E. S. KELLER.

 

 

Down by the willows .
Where the waters glide,

My true love said he loved me,
And asked me be his bride.

Down by the willows
Where the wavelets plav.

I nestled clOSe beside my love
And said I‘d love for aye!

Down by the willows
We pliglitcd troth, I ween,

And Heaven seem-ad to smile on us
And o’er the treasur‘d scene.

Down by the willows.
Gray-haired and old, we stray
And listen to the rhythms
Of our bliss as yesterday.

 

 

Texas lack,

THE PRAIRIE RATTLER;

OR,

The Queen of the Wild Riders.

A Romance in the life of a real hero—John B.
Omahundrc—Texas Jack—and a tale of
the Southwest Border.
TOLD

BY HON. W. F. CODY (BUFFALO BILL),
AUTHOR OF “ DEATH TRAILER,” “ GOLD BULLET sroa'r,”
“mus KING,” “TEE pan'rox SPY." "DEADLY
EYE,” “ BORDER ROBIN noon,” " FANCY FRANK
OF COLORADO," “ WILD BILL, TnE WHIRL-
WIND OF THE WEsT,” ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER XLIX. -
THE WILD RIDERS.

ANY one approaching the sand-hills with Ca-
mila, and her escort of dashing horsemen, would
have at once solved the secret of the Wild Ri-
ders beigfi able to penetrate the Staked Plain,
be 0nd fear of pursuit.

e sand-hills Were a natural formation; that
is, for centuries the winds had added drifts to
them, and made them almost in the form of a
circle, some half-mile in diameter, with the in-
terior hollow.

Here at some time long years before had
been a matte, or timber island, but the trees
lwere stunted in their grow th by the soil and the

eat.

Around this clump of timber the winds had
drifted the sand, forming a. grand circular fort-
ress.

Within this bowl, with its wall of sand, the
Wild Riders had found a safe retreat, and dili-
gently ad they worked to improve it.

Wells had been dug here and there, and the
deeper soil placed as a top-soil upon the sand.

Rich loam had been hauled by wagons from
a long way off and placed here and there where
most needed, while trees, grass and even vege-
tables had been cultivated.

There was stabling, a species of dug-out in
the sand, for half a hundred horses, stacks of
hay, gathered upon the prairies and brought on
the backs of ponies to the retreat, while the
grazing-ground was amply sufiicient for or-
dinar uses.

In t e timber, sheltered by the dwarfed trees,
were a dozen tents in a row, and off to one side
were three others, two of them larger and bet
ter than the others.

To one passing on the plain within a few
hundred feet, he would have seen only a ridge
of sand—hills, which he cared little to toil over,
little dreaming that a camp was within.

But few ever dared penetrate the desert thus
far, and hence the Wild Riders were safe in
their retreat.

Toward the three tents standing by them-
selves the young leader of the Wild Riders, for
such was the ersonage who had so warmly
welcomed Camila, led the way.

Arriving there, be aided her to dismount
and conducted her to one of the larger tents,
saying: . .

“Camila, I am so happy in seeing you once
more in your old home, so rest yourself, and
Nana will have something soon prepared for
you to eat.” ,

The one spoken of as Nana then appeared,
coming from the smaller tent between the two
larger ones.

She was a handsome peon girl, and warmly
greeted Camila. who was her mistress, speaking
in a Spanish patois.

Retiring to her tent, accompanied by Nana,
Camila threw herself down upon a cot, for she
seemed very tired, while the peon girl laid out
for her other clothing and got water from the
spring for her bath. I

In the mean time the news of the Inaiden‘s
return had spread through the camp, which
numbered some forty men, all of them dark—
faced Mexicans, with a bold, reckless air.

Together they stood in groups, discussing the
return of the young Queen of the \Vild Riders,
whom they had given up as lost, aiid'wholly in
the dark as to what had happened to her, or
where she had been.

After a while Camila came from her tent,
looking refreshed, and she was met by Don
Rivas, the captain of the Wild Riders, who led
her to the awning beneath which they ate their
meals. . .

'I‘hev chatted away pleasantly together while
discussing the food, and afterward took seats
in easychairs before the tent of the young
chief.

" Now, Camila, I am aiixiousto have you tell
me of your adventures, for I am dying of curi—
osity to know how it is that you most mysteri-
onsly disappeared one day, and then returned
after some days‘ absence, while I was away, to
again almost immediately depart upon another
mvsterious jaunt?”

“‘ Ronaldo, since I last saw you, I have been
more than twice nearer death than I supposed
it possible for me to be and yet live,” said La-
mila, quietly, while a look of_ alarin came over
the fame of the chief, as he said quickly:

“ My poor girl, tell me all about It.”

“ You know that upon your last raid, as you
wished to make a visit to the lower settlements,
you asked me if I could return to the Desert
Island alone?"

“Yes, I remember, fand yo(;I”started alone,

earl to In re ret a terwar .
gr“ I Was suI¥prisged and captured by a band of
Comanches, who carried me to their chief in
the mountains, and he was none other than Iron
Arm the rene ado.”

“ hat houn .7" . .

“ Yes; but it seems he had sent his warriors
to capture one other, and he believed me to be
that one; but 1 will tell you all as It occurred,
and Camila told the story of how she had be—
lieved Iron Arm to be mad, and had fled from
him and her rescue at the cliff by Texas, Jack.

“ That splendid fellow saved on then?

“Yes, he and his Indian riend, a Tonk-
awa ."

“ ,shall not forget the debt I owe them, Ca-
mila: but pray go on with your story._

Then Camila told of her recapture With Texas
Jack, their rescue by tbe_T0nkaWa , and her
being carried to the hac1enda Of on Castro
Rivera as his dau hter.

Situated as shegwns, the Queen of the Wild
Riders, she dared not tell who she was. and so
made her escape at night and returned to her“
Desert Island to find Don Ronaldo away with

alf of his men.

h While riding on the Plain a day or two after,
she had come upon Texas Jack and the Tonk-
away, and had saved them from dying there,
while she, upon her return to. the retreat, was
set upon by a band of Man Tigers and cap.
tug: second rescue by Texas Jack and the
Tonka way she made known, and how once
again. when unconscious, she had been taken to
the hacienda of the Don as Rena Rivera.

Again she had made her escape, and what

 

  

 

llmuiuunuiilhnn. l 

l
l w
i I

followed on her trip to the Plain she also made
knOwn. .

"Now, Ronaldo, you know all, and I will
heair the story which you have to tell,” she
sai .

“ dy poor child, through what have you not
passe , and I owe it to that gallant Prairie Rat-
tler that on are not dead.

“Yes, have a story to tell, and it is one
that hinges strangely upon your own, for I dis-
covered, upon my return to the retreat, a band
of Man Tigers with a captive.

“ That captive I saw and believed to be you,
so I made a desperate charge upon them and
rescued the one that I thought Vi as yourself.”

“ I had no time to tarry, and dashed along at
full speed, until we were near the desert, and
then I discovered my mistake.

“ But I brought her on here for safety, as I
had too few men with me, and she became my
gu-st for a few days, until able to stand the
ride home, occupying your tent.

"That lady was the Donna Rena Rivera,
and, Camila, she is the living image of your-
self, as you must know, having seen her.

“ I asked her not to divulge the secret she
had discovered regarding me, and she pledged
oer word that she would not.”

" Nor would she tell me, even, Ronaldo,
t'Iough she certainly knew who I was.”

" Yes, for I spoke to her of you, and, sister
mine. as I love you so much, and found one not

ny sister, who was your image, my whole
war-t went out to her, and I confessed my
idolatry for her. ”:

" Ami her answer, brother?”

" She bade me hope.”

“ The Virgin be praised, my brother, for
Rena Rivera is an angel on earth,” was the
earnest response of the Wild Rider’s sister.

CHARTER L.
T H E c 0 M P A C 'r .

WHEN Texas Jack heard the ringing, musical
voice, as he stood at bay upon the Staked Plain,
he turned his bedimmed eyes upon the one who
had called out to him, and beheld none other
than Camila, the Queen of the Wild Riders.

“She still lives,” he muttered, as she came
tOWard him andha‘lted, crying:

“Well, Senor Rattler, you are again tempt-
ing and daring the dangers of the Staked Plain,
I see?‘

“I am, sefiorita, but it is from no desire of
mine on this occasion, as I was driven hither by
the Tigers, from whom I escaped, and my oor
friend, the Tonkaway, lies buried on the P ain,
for be had to succumb to the heat.”

“ The Tonkaway dead?”

“ Yes, sei‘iorita.”

“Poor fellow ; my men shall bury him,
and—”

“I have done that last service for him,
sefiorita.”

“ Come, senor, it is cruel of me to stand here
and talk to you, while you suffer.

“Here, take a draught of water from my
canteen, and mount one of my men‘s horses,
for he can follow slowly on your own—aid him
there, for do you not see he is too weak to
mount by himself?” called out Camila Rivas,
and two of the Wild Riders sprung to his side.

“ Now, senor, we will push on as rapidly as
you dare go, for you need attention I plainly
see,” and riding by his side Camila set the pace
at a gallop,.followed by her band of Wild Ri-
ders, while one of the men followed more 310w-
1y with Yellow Chief," who had also been re-
freshed by the contents of a canteen, which
every rider carried for his horse as well as for
himself.

Strengthened by the draught of water, and
cooled by the rapid motion, Texas J ack felt
more like himself, and gazed with amazement
upon the Desert Island, as the Riders called
their camp, when he rode Into 1t.

traight up to her brother’s tent rode Ca-
mila, accompanied by Jack, and Don Rona1do
gazed at them with surprise as they rode up.

“ Brother, this is Sefior Texas Jack, the one
who has saved my life more than once, and
whom I found almost dying upon the Plain in
In I allo awhile ago.

3' éefiOi? Jack, this is my brother, Don Ro-
naldo Rivas, Captain of the Wild Riders of the
Staked Plain.”

J ack was almost struck dumb at what he saw
and heard; but the young chief stepped to his
side and grasped his hand warmly.

“I am most happy to meet a gentleman of
whom I have heard so much.

“ Dismount, senor, and accept of what hos-
pitalities an humble camp can offer you.”

Jack returned the grasp of the hand, and re-
siionded: ~ _

“And I am happy to meet you, Senor Capi-
tan, of whom I have heard much that I now,
seeing you. believe to 11am: been untrue.”

" Thanks for those words, Sei'ior: but you look
ill, and we must nurse you back to your former
gallant self.” _ _

The chief gave Texas Jack a cot in his own
tent, and after he had partakvii of rest and food
he did indeed feel himself again, though he felt
sad at the fate of the poor Tonkaway.

That evening, when they were seated, the
chief, Camila and their guest, before the tent
of the voun.r captain, Jack told Of his capture
by tbe’Tigers and of the discovery he had made
of their plans. _

Instantly Don Rinaldo sprung to his feet,
while he cried: I '

" Thev intend to carry out this plot against
Don Rivera and his beautiful daughter, do
they ?" . _ n

“ Yes, senor, If I cannot prevent It. H

“ But vou can, for you shall lead the II Ild
Riders to the rescue.” '

“ Bravo. Senor Capitan, bravo! now WeWIll
clip the Tigers’ claws,” said Jick. With delight.

The voung captain paced to and fro a m0inent
in silence, and then halting in front of his guest,
he said in a low, distinct VOIce:

" Sefior Jack, you have dou‘itless beard hard
things said against the Wild Riders of the Staked
Plain .0" . ”

“ I have, sei'ior, I am sorry to say.

“You have heard it said of‘ them that we
raided the settlements, killed, pillaged, ran off
stock, and other terrible things? '

“ Yes. sefior.” . .

“ Now vou have been over the Texas prairies
from the'Rio Grande to the Brazos, and from
the Indian Territory, to New MeXlCOf”

“ ve ca tain.’

“ liii’im youpever yourself seen a Wild Rider
do the deeds of which we are accused?"

“ I have not, sir.”

“Nor any one else, for we are not robbers,
Sei'ior Jack; but I will tell you Just what we
“PIA glance is sufficient to show that we are
Mexicans, and I am the only one of the band
that is not wholly so. _

“ But mv mother was an American . lad ,
whom my‘fatherdmet while traveling in t e

nd marrie .
Stagesailn an ofiicer in the Mexican army, and
was detailed for secret service. _

“ That secret service was to hunt out In Texas,
where they had settled. all of the conspirators
against our Government, who keep our country
in a constant state of ferment. ,'

“There were just Sixty on my list to be
hunted down, and fifty—nine of that number I
have either executed, or sent to Mexwo as pris-
onsllss rught this Plain as a retreat, and you see

e a safe one.
W?‘ I‘Janvder our name, the Tigers, the outlaws of
the Chaparral have committed many deeds of
outlawrv: but we have done no act of wrong
against 'Texas or Texan, our .only'illega'l dee
being in hunting down Mexnvan conspirators
within the borders of a foreign government.

“The sixtieth man on my list you named

' ,' . s'nce. . .
aw‘rllilf: is an American, but hnls long; lived In

' . and been a disturbing e emen
nglligfer to John Mel'on, the King of the Man
Tigers. and known beyond the Rio Grande as

. a
J".‘."vl"{,\g:.l.tfifas one other whom I had to watch:
but invpggjgatinn has Satisfied the Government

that he was not guilty of the charges against

 

 

 

him, and the ban of exile upon him has been re-
moved.

“ That man is known here as Don Castro Ri—
vera, but his real name is Don Valdos Gomez.

“New Sei‘ior Jack, with the capture of the
Tiger King, my duties will be ended, and I re
turn to Mexico, so gladly will I aid you in cup
luring tue band of Man Tigers the night they
have set for the robbery of Don Rivera’s haci-
enda, and the marriage of the Donna Rena to
that villain, lron Arin, the renegade.

“ SO lay your plans of action, Senor, and com-
mand me and my Wild Ri-lers to aid you.”

CHAPTER LI.
TEXAS JACK‘S PLOT.

TRUE to his word, Mr. Mark Melton returned
to the hacienda of Don Rivera, and was de—
lighted to find that nothing had turned up of an
unpleasant nature to war the intended mar-
riage.

"I he Don greeted him almost cordially, and
Donna Rena was by no means cold in her man-
ner toward him.

Mr. Melton was not alone, however, for he
presented as his friend, Captain Elberon, an

\merican army officer, who had been his boy~
hood friend, and, learning of his intention to
get married, and was to depart through a dan-
gerous country with his bride, had Offered the
~91'Vlf‘9s‘ of himself and twenty-four soldiers as
an escort.

The Don thanked the good-looking captain,
issigned the soldiers to quarters in one wing of
the hacienda, where they would be shown every
attention, and, as they were supplied with all
they could eat and drink, the rather hard—look»
ing set of Uncle Sam’s warriors seemed happy.

The following evening was to be the one upon
which the wedding was to take place, and all
the preparations were upon a grand scale.

A dark-faced, stern looking priest had been
sent for, and when the hour approached for the
ceremony, he took his stand in the library, and
the bride and groom stepped up before him,
Rena dressed elegantly, yet looking very pale,
and seemingly nervous.

“ Is all ready?” asked the priest.

“Yes, holy padre,” cried Don Rivera, in a
loud voice, and then he continued, in the same
high key:

“ Let the servants of the hacienda enter to
witness the ceremony.”

There was a slight pause, and then, throu h
two doors there entered a party of men inbuc -
skin, and with revolvers in their hands.

At the head of one party was Texas Jack, and
leading the other was Don Ronaldo Rivas, the
captain of the Wild Riders.

“ Iron Arm, the renegade, you are my pris-
oner.

“ Move and you are a dead man!” cried Texas
J acu, springing to the side of Mark Melton and
covering him with his revolver.

“ Juan Meltos, the conspirator, you are a
prisoner of Mexico.

“ Surrender or die!” and Don Rivas was be
fore the pretended Captain Elberon, his revol-
ver pressed over his heart.

Neither of the two outlaw brothers dared
move, but the Tiger King shouted in a stento-
rian voice:

“ Ho, Tigers, to the rescue 1”

“You call in vain, Captain Elberon, for your
pretended soldiers are eve one in irons, and
those who are Mexicans Will accompany you
to Mexico, under the escort of the Wild Riders,
where your evil careers will be brought to a
just end.

“ As for you, Iron Arm, I will care for you
and the two Americans in the Tiger band, by
hanging you for your crimes," and Texas Jack
motioned to a Wild Rider, who quickly stepped
forward and slipped irons upon the wrists of
the renegade chief.

The Tiger King was also ironed, and then the
two Were led out of the library and placed with
their outlaw allies, who were a sorr -looking
set of villains at the way in which their intend-
ed raid of the hacienda had ended.

Freed of their unwelcome visitors, Don Ri-
vera and his guests passed a pleasant evening
together, and many laughed over the mistakes
that were made in taking Rena Rivera for Ca-
mila Rivas, and vice versa, for the fair young
hostess had insisted that they should dress ex-
actly alike on the occasion.

As for Texas J ark, he was perfectly delight-
ed at the success of his plot, which had been to
smuggle the Wild Riders into the hacienda be-
fore the arrival Of Mark Melton and his Tiger
allies; but the Texan often muttered to him-
self:

“Poor Tonkawayl I wish you still lived to
enjoy the triumph. ’

 

CHAPTER LII.
CONCLUSION

WHEN Don Rivera heard from the lips of
Captain Rivas that the ban of exile was re—
moved, and that he had been found “ not
guilty ” by his Government of the charges
against him. he was a happy man, for he knew
that he could ive in peace.

But he told the young captain that he would
not return to Mexwo to live, as he loved Texas
and the Americans, and would still dwell at his
hacienda. ' .

This idea seemed to please Captain Rivas,
who said that he was half an American himself,
and would gladly become a whole one, if the
Donna Rena would promise to be his wife.

This promise Rena gave, and preparations
were made for the \Vild Riders to depart with
their ‘risoners for Mexico, Texas Jack having
alrea v taken his, with an escort of COanys’
to deliver over to the commandant of the near-
est army post. 0 .

“You will leave your Sister With us. cap—
tain?” said the Don to the young Wild Rider
chief.

" “'ith pleasure, Don Rivera, and let me tell
you a secret about Camila.

" She is not really my sister.”

“ Indeed!” .

“ No, sir; and I can tell you more.

“You were forced to leave Mexico just at
the time your wife gave birth to a little daugh-
ter, as you supposed.

“ Your wife died, and neither she nor vour-
self knew that there were two children orn
little twin sisters, for the nurse. having no child
of her own, quietly stole one to adopt and bring

p“ That nurse afterward came to our family
to live, and brought her supposed child With

h r.

9“She died in our service, and confessed to
my mother what she had done, and thus Camila
was reared as my sister. .

“ Now that you are no longer an ex11e, I tell
you the secret of the startling resemblance be-
tween Camila and the Donna Rena, for they
are twin sistvrs. _ . _

“ As my mother was dead, Camila iDSIsted
upon coming with me, upon m secret serv1ce
into Texas, for she has never nown that she
was not in reality my own sister, and she is the
affianced of a young American soldier, a cousin
of my mother, and he is now ordered to the
Texas border, I see, With his company.”

It was with feelings of the deepest pleasure
that Don Rivera heard the story told him by
the young Mexican captain, and sending for
Rena and Camila, he made the secret known to
them, seemingly to their great joy. . '

That night the Wild Riders and their captives
started for the Rio Grande, Texas Jack arriv-
ing just in time to accompany them, at the
urgent request of Don Rivera, and having to
report that Iron Arm and the other prisoners
he had in charge, had been made short work of
by the commandant Of the fort. I

J ack was accompanied by Ebony, his negro
major dumo, for the ranchero had returned by
the ranch, and taken him with him asacom-
panion, telling him that he would have to take
the place Of Red Snake the Tonkaway.

“Me do my best, Miirse Jack: but me .don’t
scalp folkses, ’cause de Bible say it hain’t right,”
responded Ebony, but he was glad to get away
from his lonely life at the ranch, where he
slept all day and watched all night. _

After an absence of two months Don Rivera

 

 

.. \
.J

and Texas Jack returned, the latter accompa-
nied by Ebony, and the former by a peon slave.

They received a warm welcome from the'

hacienda household, and the next day Jack
undertook to go to the fort and guide back
captain Vincent, the lover of Camila.

In due time he returned with the young
officer, and some weeks after there was a grand
double wedding at the hacienda, for Rena
Rivera beCame the Senora Rivas, and Camila,
her twin sister, took the name of Mrs. Henr
Vincent, while, in spite of the numerous Ameri—
can ofiicers and Mexican dignitaries present,
the most honored guest of the occaswn was
Texas Jack, the Prairi~ Rattler.

THE END.

' Knocked Out by a Fish.

BY THE EX- REPORTER.

 

 

 

“YOU IOok like a likely hefter,” said an old
fisherman in oilskins, who was unloading a
doryful of mackerel, to a Insty young man in
knickerbockers and a white flannel shirt.

“ Yes,” replied the young man. “I’m called
pretty strong in the Skowhegan Athletic Club.”

“ Did you ever lift much fish ?” asked the old
fellow, threwing a huge netful of tinkers on
the dock and looking his companion over with
a critical eye.

“I never saw the fish I couldn’t lift.”

The fisherman thrust his hand into his ocket,
from which, after a violent struggle an much
invective, be hauled out a very flat, light
leather ocketbook that was closed with a strap
and a Iece of rope-yarn. He took out a clean
ten—dolar bill and said: “I’m going on 81
year old next muster-day, but I’ll bet ten dol-
dollars even you can’t lift fish that I can.”

“ Where’s your fish?” asked SkOWhegan.

“ Well, I’ll tell you. Here's a fish,” and he
oked among the mackerel, and pointed to a
arge, solid, skate-like fish in the bottom of the

dor . “ Let’s see, it’s about five foot up to the
doc . I’ll bet you the ten dollars you can’t
toss the fish up there.”

“I don’t want to take your money,” replied
the young man, magnanimously, as a number
of spectators drew around, “ but if you’ve got
half a dozen of the fish, string ’em all together
and give me something worth doing. I’ve lift-
ed five hundred pounds before breakfast.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard on you,” said the old
man, somewhat warmly. “You’re the man
that ate a piece of rubber hose for breakfast
and didn’t find out it wasn’t sausage till some-
body told you. “See that thumb-nail?” he
asked, holding up a curious-looking stub with
a horny growth upon it. “ Well, I sarved
’rrentice once to a box-maker, and used to put in
all the screws with that nail, and pull ’em out
when they broke off with my teeth. You know
me, and I’ll stick to it that you can’t heave the
fish up to the dock, and there’s the money.”

The SkoWhegan athlete, thus called upon,
deposited $10 With the Owner of the mackerel
canning shop, who had joined the party, and
went down the ladder into the boat, while the
old fisherman climbed upon the dock to watch
the feat.

“Stand back there l” shouted the fish-tosser,
rolling up his sleeve. “This fish might hit you.
old Inan, and knock some of the blow out of

on. ’
y “Heave away,” said the man in oilskins, tip—
ping a wink at the crowd in general.

The young man now stepped into the dory
and poked away the tinkers (small mackerel)
that were sliding about. Standing on the edge
of the boat, he stooped down, grasped the skate-
like fish, and lifted, raising it about a foot.
Then, uttering a yell, he staggered a moment
and fell with a resounding splash into the wa-
ter, nearly capsizing the boat in accomplishing
the feat, which was received with shouts of
laughter from the dock, the old fisherman fairly
dancing 8. horiipipe 0': the rail.

“What’s the matter with you?" he shouted,
as the unfortunate athlete scrambled into the
dory again, swearing like a pirate. “Trying
to upset theboat, are you i”

“ Who struck me? Some one gave me a knock
on the neck just as I was lifting.”

“Nonsense,” said some one in the crowd.
“ You wasn’t touched.”

“ I‘ll take my oath I felt something hit me.
If this is a skin game I want to know it."
Bracin himself firmly in the boat, he again
graspe the fish in both hands and raised it
three feet, and then fish, athlete and all went
Over backward among the tinkers. Man, fish,
oars and balers were mixed up for a moment.
At last the Skowhegan lifter made a. break for
the dock, and once upon it, sunk down on a pile
of boards. He was as whlte as a sheet, and
covered with scales from head to foot.

“ Send for the apothecary,” he gasped, as the
men crowded round.

“ Why, what’s the matter with you?”

“I’ve had a stroke,” Whispered the victim.
“The minute I stooped to lift I felt it arunnin’
all over me. It’s in our family, but I’ve got it
bad,” and here he rubbed his arms and legs.
“ It knocked me clean Ofi.’ my feet,” he added,
“and my limbs felt like sticks. Send—” But
here a roar of laughter broke from the men.
and one of them, seizing him by the arm, jerked
him to his feet.

“You re all right, my lad; only next time
don‘t go fooling around 01d Amos. He’s a hard
nut."

“ Here's ver money, sonny,” said the old man,
holding out the bill, “ you’ve earned it.

“ What do I mean?" he continued. “ Why,
jest this: you hav’n’t had a shock of paralysis.
You tried t-ew heft one of these torpeders.
They’ll knock a horse if you take ’cm right.”

The athlete looked vacantly ahead, took back
his money, and left amid the renewed laughter
of the crowd.

“He’ll have a yarn to tell the Skowhegan
folks,” said the perpetrator of the joke. “ but I
do hate to hear a man ‘blow,’ and thought I’d
take him down. Injured? No, sir-ee. He’ll
feel stiff for an hour or so, but it won’t harm
him. I‘ve been struck by ’em a hundred times,
and it’s no fun 1 can tell you. It’s just like
being struck by a mild stroke of lightning. I
don‘t generally touch ’em, but a man gave me
a dollar to fetch one in, so I kept it in the boat.
They’ll shock you right through the net. When
I was hauling in the tinker seine this morning,
I knew I had a shockfish from the jerking of
my arms. The shocks come right up the wet
cording, so that sometimes you can’t hang on
anyhow. I’ve seen a man who struck one with
an iron harpoon, thinking it a skate, knocked
down so quick he never knew what hit him.

“ You remember old Cephas Popp, that used
to do the chores round Bristol about ten years
ago? He lived on rum. He’d do anything for
it. “’9”, they put up a big job on him once.
He’d had the jim-jams, and he’d sworn off any

uantity of times, but always got back again.
file was jest getting over a spree when one of
the boys comes along with a shock-fish. The
old man had never seen one before, so ’Lish
walks up and says: ‘Ceph, Where can I get this
fish cleaned?’ ‘ hat’s it worth?’ says Ccph.
“Well, a couple Of shillin s, I reckon,’ says
’Lish. ‘ I’ll draw it myself, says the old man.
‘Go ahead,’ says ’Lish; and, going into his
cabin, old man Popp fetched out a big case-
knife and began, two or three of the bovs
gathering ’round. ‘ You ain‘t so steady as I‘ve
seen you, Ceph,’ says ’Lish coming out and
nearly bursting a-laughing, for as soon as the
old man touched the fish his arm shot out so
that the knife flew about three foot. He didn't
sa anything, but picked the knife 11 and
jabbe’d it in again. You’d have thoug t he
was making passes like a sleight of—hand chap:
his hands jerked this waynnd that, and tie
sweat rolled down off his face like rain. At
last he dropped her, and sat right down 0" the
grass, and says, "Lish, hand me that bromide
in there on the top-shelf, first bottle: I’ve got
’em ag’in.’ Well, he never heard the last of
that, and I never saw him drink after that.

“VVhat’s the use of the shocks? Why. I
reckon they kill fish with ’em or drive ’eiii ofi.”

The latter assumption is probably correct.

‘ o
if 'i:_.. ". cow-o-r FM

l
, The electric apparatus of the torpedo is it. d.»
,‘feiise and c»rtainly is a good one. The elec
, tric organs may be compared, to some extent,
to the voltaic pile, and consist of two series of
layers of hexagonal cells, the iiiti-I'Vening
spacesbetweeii the plates being filled with a
trembling, jelly-like substance, so that each
cell can be compaiwd to a Leyden jar. Each
torpedo carries about 480 of these batteries, the
whole being equal in power to about fifteen
Leyden jars. making about 3,500 square inches
charged to the highest degree. The upper side
of the fish is positive and the lower negative,
the shocks seemingly being entirely a? the Will
Of the strange elestrician.

A naturalist recently made some interesting
experiments, one of Vi hich was the application
of the telephone to a toipedo to see if the shock
gave an audible sound. Such proved to be the
caSe—a short, low croak accompanying mod-
erate excitement, the discharge lasting about
onefifteenth 0t asecond. When the fish was
greatLy excited the croak became a groan, sound—
Ing, it was said, like the tonalit of mi, and oc-
cupying four or five seconds. {Vhen the atten-
tion of scientific men was first called to the tor-
pedo,  Il'alsh, F. R. S., amused himself and
scientific London with one of these fishes, after
a series of experiments at the Isle of Re. The
performaIICes took the form of piscatoi'ial sé—
ances, and it brcame the rage to take a fish
shock. \Vondrous medicinal virtue was ascribed
to it, and the demand for torpedoes brought a
rich harvest to the fisherman. Their use in
medicme, however, was not new, as Discorides,
the physiolan of Antony and Cleopatra, is said
to have used it. Dr. ’alsh’s method was to
place a living torpedo upon a wet towel; from
a plate be suspended two pieces of brass wire
by means of silken cord, which served to in-
sulate them. Round the torpedo were eight
persons standing On insulating substances. One
end of the brass wire was supported by the wet
towel, the other end being placed in a basin
full of water. The first person had a finger of
one hand in this basin, and a finger of the other
hand in a second basin, also full of water. The
second person placed a finger of one hand in
this second basm, and a finger of the other hand
in a third basin. The third person did the same,
and so on until acomplete chain was established
between the eight persons and nine basins. Into
the ninth basin the end of the second brass wire
was plunged, while Dr. Walsh applied the other
end to the back of the torpedo, thus establishing
a complete conducting circle. At the moment
when the experimenter touched the torpedo the
eight actors in the experiment felt a sudden
shock, similar in all respects to that Communi—
cated by the shock of a Leyden jar, only less
intense. The torpedo was then placed on an in-
sulated supporter, and communicated to twenty
persons simi'arly placed from forty to fifty
shocks in a minute and a half. Each effort
made by the animal was accompanied by 'a dc-
DPEsSIOD of the eyes, which were slightly pro—
Jectmg in their natural state, and seemed to be
drawn within their orbits, while the other p11 ts
of the body remained immovable. If only one
of the two organs were touched, in place of a
strong and sudden shock only a slight sensation
was experienced—a numbness rather than a
shock. The same result followed with every
experiment tried. The animal was tried with
a non-conducting rod, and no shock followed;
glass or a rod covered with wax produced no
effect; touched with a metallic wire, a violent
shock followed.

Dr. Atwood, of Boston, in making experi—
ments with a powerful fish, was several times
completely floored, and when at a distance of
twelve feet he struck a fish with a harpoon the
shock was so powerful that he could not release
his hold.

Quite a number of electric fishes are known,
of which the South American gymnotus is unv
doubtedly the most powerful. It is said that
they are caught by driving wild mustangs into
the water, the fish exhausting their powers
upon them, often fatally. The torpedoes are
then captured by the natives. In all, nine
different species are known, three of the curi—
ous electricians belonging to the ray family.
One is a sword-fish, another a catfish, called in
the Nile country “the thunder-fish,” and the
third is the Tetraodon e/cch'icus, from Comoro.
The latter gives a faint shock, but strong
enough to probably form a protection from
various animals.

 

 

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on this pflgc at the rate offifty cents per line
nonpareil measurement.

 

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THE GIRL AT THE PICNIC.

BY JO KING.

 

 

I think she was the strangest girl ‘
That ever was swept in a picnic s whirl.

Indeed, I thought her wondrous strange
Whose mind went out on the strangest range.

When I asked her to go to the picnic wood
She said she hated to go, but could.

She yelled when a fly lit on her cheek,
And laughed when a girl fell in the creek.

She screamed when she saw a little worm,
And was calm when she saw a big snake squirm.

She howled when the cotfeepot o‘erturned,
And laughed when a girl got her fingers burned.

She gave a hal ha! when the boy‘s swing broke,
But screamed when an acorn fe 1 from an oak.

She tittered when Bilkins broke his leg,
And groaned when at quOits Jones broke a peg.

She shrieked when a gnat got in her eye,-
But when a young man got there she‘d szgh.

She was shocked at the sound of a bumblebee,
But was gay when a boy fell out of a tree.

She dreaded to feel a mosrluito’s bite,
But was closest up to see t ie fight.

An ant in the butter inadeher faint, ,‘ ‘ “
But she said a horse running off was ‘ quamt.‘

\Vhen some one would stumble she’d cry right out,
Yet giggle when one had an eye put out.

At a grasshoppers chirp she showed distress,
But snickered when some girl tore her dress.

She was frightened nearly to death by an owl,
And ha-ha—ed at the thunder’s growl.

She smiled when she saw it was going to rain,
But the o‘ertorned tumbler gave her pain.

She nearly went up when the pie was smashed,
But seemed serene when the lightning flashed.

She whooped as a bug came down a tree,
But a bolt of lightning filled her With glee.

At a toad her terror could not be quenched,
Yet “ he-heed ” to see every one was drenched.

When the icnic was squashed she laughed “ hi-yi!’ ’
When I to (1 hi rI loved herI thought she would die!

At home when I said “ Farewell” she was gay,
And when I left she swooned away.

P. S.—She was so tired and sleepy.

 

Around the Camp-Fire.

BY CAPTAIN BINGWOOD.

Eph Hawkins and the Cougar.

“HE ar’ 9. comikle—lookiu' pup, thet’s sartin.’
said Eph Hawkins, ttiug a short -1egged,
stout-looking cur minus one ear, upon the
back, “ but he ar wuss’u forked lightnin’ into
a ground scuffle, an’ es fur holdin’ on, why, a
lo ger-head mud-turkle ain’t a patchin’ to him.”

uch extraordinary praise, especiall coming
from “ Rough Eph,” as he was cal ed, who
made it a rule never to ak well of anything,
if he could (possibly avoi it, at once aroused at-
tention, an caused a score of eyes to turn with
interest upon the ungainly brute.

“ Well, 9 ain’t much fur han’some,” said Ned
Sanford with a grin.

“ No, he ain’t,’ replied Eph, sharply, “ but I
knows some two-legged animiles not very fur
about hyar as is in purty much the same fix.”

The stroke was a direct one, Ned being un-
usually homely, and a wild yell of laughter
told that it was appreciated.

“ But come, Ep , never mind Ned’s jokes; tell
us how the dog came to lose his ear,” said one
of the boys.

“How he lost his ear, eh? Well, he lost it
holpin’ his master outen a cussed tight place,
an’ I’ll tell yer how it wur. ,

“ Most uv you tellers knows what a grizzly
ar’, an’ what a painter ar’, but I doosen’t b’leeve
enny uv you knows much about a Mexikin tiger
—chougers the calls ’em; do ’66?”

“ Nary l” “ e’ve heard uv ’em l” “ They’re
wuss‘n ’izenl” were the various answers.

“ We 1,” continued Eph, “ they ar’ bad, au’
no mistake, eespecially when you’ve wowuded
’em jest enufi’ ter draw blood smartly an’ make
’em mad fur keeps.

“This hyar one as I’m speakin’ uv wur the
fust one I ever see, an’ I didn’t know how to
take the brute. I hev allers thought he sarved
me right fur bein’ over in ther durued Grosser
kentr .

“ on see, me an’ Crack, that’s the dog, bed
been meyanderin’ up ’bout the head uv the
Anchos; ter tell the truth, we war arter a
cussed yaller-belly what had suaked ofl’ my
saddle an’ out with it, an’ we wur layin’ off in
the bush waitin’ fur a si ht.

“ ’Twur a powerful thick piece 0’ timmer, big
trees an’ little trees an’ chapperell till you
couldn’t rest.

“We’d been in thar nigh a week, watchin’
round, when, one evenin’, jest es the sun was
gettin well down, I hear the all-firedest lot uv
squallin’, an’ yelpin’ au’ screechiu’ thet ever
wur.

“Crack war off a leetle way, an’ you‘d ’a’
died a-larfin’ to see him kim scootin’ back with
his tail down, scar’t half to death.

“ I know’d in a minit ’twuru’t a human crit-
ter, but what kind uv a varmint it war I
couldn’t guess nohow.

“ Arter a bit the thing begin ag’in, this time
closer’n ’twur before, au’ a heap louder.

“I ain’t easy scar’t, boyees, but I’ll own up
thet I felt kinder queer thet time.

“ You see, I hadn’t never heard uothin’ like it
afore, an’ I didn’t know but what it mou’t be
the devil hisself arter me.

 

 

“ You better b’leeve I treed in a hurry: an’ so

‘ did Crack, fur he got atween my legs an’ stood

thar growliu’ to hisself.

“The dog wur clean cowed.

“ I stood mighty quiet, listenin’ an’ watchin’
but I couldn’t see uer hear nothin’ fur a good
bit.

“ I reckon I must ’a’ waited half a hour, an’
wur beginnin’ to think the varmint hed cl’ared
out, when, all at onc’t, it bu’sted out ag’iu,
fort times wuss’n afore, au’ right plum over
my ead, in the limbs uv the tree ag’in’ which
I stood.

“ I’ve hearn tell uv big jumps and summer-
sets, an’ the like, but I reckin I jumped further
an’ turned more uv ’em, au’ faster’u any uv
them fellers what’s paid ter do it ever did.

“ Au’ I warn’t none too quick, nuther.

“ Es I went frum under ther tree I throwed
one eye up, an’ ketched a glimpse uv the cree-
ter jess es be war makin’ his spring.

“I see it war yaller, with whoppin’ big eyes,
an’ a powerful long tail, an’ thet wur about all,
till it landed, all uv a heap, on the ground on
the other side uv whar I lit.

“You see, the varmint hed lep’ too fur, an’
missed his mark.

“ I jist bed time ter get onto my feet, an’
throw the old rifle up, when it kim at me ag’in.

“ I pulled the trigger ’thout aim, fur I hadn’t
no time, heard ther thing fetch a squall, an’
then eend over eend I went into ther bresh, the
varmint on top, scratchin’ and bightin’ an’ t’ar-
in’ my very innards out—ennyhow I thorght

“Lordy, how the thin stunkl an’ all the
time it kept up thet cussed snarlin’, jest like a
bulldog as is worryin’ a cat.

“I begin ter think ther ji war up with Eph
Hawkins, an’ ’thout hardly nowin’ what fur,
I yelled out fur Crack ter pitch in.

“ I didn’t much reckin he’d take holt, but he
did, an’ I tell you he made thet varmint think
suthin’ had bu’sted.

“I hed long sence drapped the rifle, an’ war

tryin’ ter git my knife out, but the chouger
kep’ me too bizzy, an’ it took both hands ter
keep the thing’s teeth offen my weezin.
. “ But when Crack grupped the beast by ther
jaw, an’ throwed his heft back’ards onto it, it
et up on me a hit, an’ sorter turned his ’tention
to the pup.

“’Twur a bad move for the Mexikiu brute,
you kin bet, fur, afore he got through with

Crack, I lied my knife twistin’ about into his

a.

 

innards in a way that made him twist, I tell

on.

“But he wur game, an’ what’s wuss, he hed
his back up an’ wur bound to win—only he
didn’t.

“I can’t never tell how long the scrimmage
lasted. I thorght it wur a week, but it kim to
an eend at last.

“Crack he got too rambunksious, au’ pitched
in ’thout enn calkerlation, an’ naterally the
beast got him y the ear.

“ You ought to ’a’ heard that do holler. He
wur wuss’n the chouger fur noise, ut it warn’t
no use. The beast hilt on like grim death, an’
Crack sot back an’ tried ter pull loose.

“I wur nigh dead, but I sw’ar I had to larf to
see the pup.

“ ’Twur a lucky holt fur me, though.

‘ ‘ You see, when Crack pulled off on one side,
howlin’ an’ t‘arin’ up the airth with his claws,
he sorter twisted the chouger’s neck round, an’
give me a chance.

“ You kiu sw’ar I warn’t long a~usin’ it,
nuther. One wipe did the biziness, cl’ar to the
bone, fur I felt the edge grate ag’in’ it, an’ the
varmint rolled off, takin’ rack’s ear with him,
dead as a pine knot.

“I reckin I must ’a’ fainted like arter thet,
fur when I kim tu it war broad day, an’ sum
yaller-bellies wur bindin’ up the wownds. Ther’
war a heap uv ’em, I tell you, an’ bad ’uus, an’
I didn’t look through the hind sights ‘uv a rifle
fur nigh three months.

” Crack got well sooner ner I did, fur you see
he could lick the sore ear, au’ thar’s healin’ in a
dog’s tongue.”

“ Come, Eph,” said one of the boys, “ that
won‘t go down. How in Satan could he lick his
sore ear?”

The laugh evidently perplexed the old hunter,
but only a moment.

“ Ther deuce he couldn’t,” said Eph; “ didn’t
I see him lickin’ the piece thet the varmint tore
of I???

 

City life__8_ketches.

BY AGILE PENNE.

Bob, the Bootblack.

A MAN stood upon the corner of Mulberry
and Chatham streets one pleasant April evening.
He was apparently waiting for some one, for

.l

/ itth .

\I.
l/ \ ‘ /
\

’1

“You ought to ’a.’ heard that dog holler.

every now and then he glanced up and down
the street, and examined his watch.

The clock of City Hall indicated nine.

“ Why the deuce don’t be come?” murmured
the man to himself, impatiently. “ Is it a
‘plant,’ after all? He ought to know better
than to try such a game upon me.”

“ Black yer boots?" cried a shrill voice, close
to the man’s elbow.

The impatient waiter turned and beheld a lit-
tle fellow clad in a ragged arb. The box slung
upon his shoulder, and the Iilacking-brush in his
hand told his trade.

“ Shine ’em up nice for er—only five cents,
Cap,” continued the boy, who was a bright-look-
ing little imp, despite the dirt upon his face or
the tangled masses of curly brown hair that
overhung his forehead.

“No, not to-night,” said the man; “to-mor-
row, erhaps, I’ll give you a job."

“ here’ll I find you to—morrow, Mister
Burt?” asked the boy.

“ Hallo!” cried the man in surprise, “do you
know me?”

“ You bet!” emphatically replied the boy,
with a grin. “Why, Cap, we gutter-rats all
know Nic Burt, the cutest detective in New
York.”

The detective—for it was the celebrated Nicho-
las Burt, the detective ofi‘icer—smiled at the
com liment.

“ guess I’ll have to let you polish me up for
that,” he said, “ but hurry up, for I’m waiting
for a party.”

“ I‘m jest old lightning, Cap!” cried the boy,
unslingiug his box and setting to work upon the
muddy boots of the detective.

“ Do you live around here?” asked the ofiicer.

“Yes, here’s where I hang out,” replied the
boywolishing the boot industriously.

“ hat’s yer name?”

(I Bob.”

“ Bob what?”

“Well, Cap, you’ve got me!” said the boy,
pausing in his work and looking into the face of
the detective in a puzzled way. “ It’s Bob noth-
ing, or Bob anything, as far as I knows.”

“ Haven’t you any folks?”

“Nary one. I’m goin’ it alone, Cap,” said
Bob. cheerfully.

“ “’ell, but you have had a father or mother?”

“ Well, I s’pose so,” said the boy, rather doubt-
fully, “ but I never know’d anythin’ about ’em.
I was jest raised right out of the gutter. An
old moke tuck care on me till I was big enough
to look out for myself: then she kicked me out
into the street, an’ I started in bus‘uess on my
own hook. I sold papers furst, an’ roosted in
coal-boxes or in entryways, till one day I found
a dollar: then I shook the papers an’ went into
the blacking line. I does just bully, now. I
makes lots of stamps. IVhy, I git my plate of
hash, reg‘lar. bully hash, too. I goes to the Old

 

 

Bowery the-a-ter every Saturday night. I tell
yer, they jest howl down there, you t.”

“ But where do you sleep nights?” asked the
detective, feeling a slight degree of interest in
the “ street Ara .”

“ Oh, I’ve jest got a hunky roosting-place.
It’s in a cellar of an old shanty down here. It’s
a luney old barracks. ’Tain’t occupied much,
’cos the feller w’at used to live there is
gone to Sing Sing for the 00d of his health. I
gets into the cellar throng a hole in the side of
the house. Me an’ the rats had an awful fight
at the first of it, but I jest made it warm for
’em, you bet. There’s a lot of straw down
there; it makesa high old bunk.” And the boy’s
eyes sparkled as he described the home which to
him was a palace.

“ I say, Cap,” he said, abruptly, still rubbing
away on the boot, “w’at are you up to down
here? Are‘ you a—goin’ to nab some knack?”
(pick ocket.)

“ 0, not tonight,” replied the officer, with a
smile at the boys question. “I’m waiting to
meet a party here, that’s all. In search of a lit-
tle information.”

“ I’d like to see you ‘go ’ for somebdy,” said
the boy, with a grin.

“I’m afraid that you won’t be gratified,” re—
plied Burt, rather amused by the quaint conceit
of the bootblack.

“There you are, Cap!” said Bob, giving the
finishing touch to the boot. “ Jest you look at
the polish on the toes: them corns of yours are
bully things for to polish.”

“ There’s your five cents,” and the officer gave
him the coin.

“ I wouldn’t charge you a cent, Cap, but I’m
clean bu’sted ” said the boy, pocketing the coin.
“ You see, played ‘ policy’ this morning,
4-11 44; got the furst number from the furst
charcoal wagon I see’d arterI left my roost, an’
I ain’t hit ’em. An’ biz has been bad to-day—
money’s scarce, you bet.”

“ I’ll take the will for the deed.”

“ Say! you're a hunky boy you are!” said the
bootblack, with admiration visible on his face.
“ I’m jest goin’ for to get some poor man’s boned
turkey.”

“ What’s that?” asked the detective.

“ Hash! Jest look at me waltz OH on my eye-
brow.” And with this peculiar request, Bob,
the bootblack, departed.

“ A smart youngster,” muttered the officer.

Then a sha bily-dressed fellow, with a hang-
dog look, approached Burt.

275/

,L‘ \ A}.
x‘ (I I

 

“ Hope I hav’n’t kept you waiting?” the new-
comer said.

“ Not long,” the detective replied.

“If you will come with me to my rooms I’ll
give you the information about the child,’ the
shabbily-dressed fellow said.

So the detective followed the other.

Burt was conducted to a small wooden house,
a few blocks 11 the street. A rotten, tumble—
down-lookiug s anty it was.

The two entered a small room on the first
floor. 'llhe room was lighted by a single candle,
stuck in a bottle. . The windows were securely
fastened up by heavy wooden shutters, so that
no ray of light could penetrate either into or
from the room.

“Now,” said the ill—looking fellow—who was
known as Tim Hays—after they had entered
the room, “ sit down, Mr. Burt, and let me see
if I understand clearly what you want to know.”

The detective took a seat.

“ You want to know what has become of a
ch‘ildfwhose mother’s name was Kate Gorman ?”

‘ es.’

“ She was the wife of a sailor named Richard
Gorman. He was lost at sea, and six months
after his death she died in her lodgings at No.
80 Mulberry street, of grief or starvation, proba-
bly the latter. The child that she left was taken
care of by a woman named Deborah Gwin?”

“ Exactly,” said the detective.

“Well, now, myself and pardner know jest
where that child is, but we wants to know your
‘little game’ afore we plays our hand, au’ we
wants to know how much are you a-going to
come down for the information.”

“ It’s none of your business why I want to
know about the child,” said Burt, coolly; “ but,
tell me where the child is to be found and I will
pay liberally for the information.”

“ Then you won’t say why you want the kid?”

H No.”

“Then I’ll tell yer,” said the shabby-looking
fellow with a dry chuckle. “ ’Cos Richard Goro
man, the father, ain’t dead; ’cos he was ship-
wrecked an’ made a slave of; ’00s he’s now come
to New York rich, an’ he’s williu’ to pay hand-
some for his kid. You see I read the whole
thing in the pa ers t’other day—miraculous es-
cape of a New ork boy, etc., etc.”

“Then if you know as much as I do, our in-
terview is ended,” said the detective, coolly,
rising from his chair.

“Oh, no, it ain’t!” ejaculated Hays. “Jest
hold on a bit.” Then, with a sudden motion,
he threw himself upon the detective. Burt,
though taken by surprise, yet grappled lustily
with his assailant; but a second riiffian entered
the room and hastened to the assistance of the
first. He evidently had been watching at the
door.

The detective was quickly overpowered;
bound hand and foot, and laid upon the floor.

 

 

“Do ou remember me?” asked the second
ruflian, coking, with a malicious smile, into the
face of the hellpless man.

“ Yes, Jim ighe, the burglar,” answered the
detective, coolly, though be new full well that
he could expect no mercy from the man who
glowered over him.

“ The man who was sentenced for ten years
to Sin Sin prison on your evidence!” cried
the ru an, ercely. “ But, you see, Sing Sing
couldn’t hold me. I swore t at I’d have your
life for that job, and I’m going to keep in
worg; Can you guess what I’m going to do wit

ou.

“ Kill me, I suppose,” said the hel less detec-
tive, and he spoke calmly, althoug he knew
that death was nigh.

“Not exactly,” replied the bur lar, while a
fierce light shone in his eyes. “ ’ve been in
Sing Sing prison ten months, and every day of
that ten months I thought of you, and swore
that one day I would make you suffer what I
was then suffering—livm death. But, in your
case, the ten months Willie compressed into al-
most the same number of hours. Now, just
listen to your fate! I’m going to gag you, and
leave you here to die! You can’t stir—can’t
give an alarm; you will die in agony—die by
inches. The rats here are large, hungry fel-
lows. First, they’ll gallop over you; then they’ll
bite; and finally they’ll (at you!”

Then the two ruflians bound the gag in the
mouth of the detective, and, locking the door
behind them, left the helpless man to his fate—
left him to that death that it was agony even to
think of.

But the detective was a cool. brave man. He
had faced death often before, in the dangerous
vocation by which he earned his bread; but
then, it had been in the midst of strife—amid
angry men. Now it came in silence and in
gloom, for the flickering'candle but made the
darkness visible, as the old saying has it.

Then to the ears of the doomed man came a
sli ht, scratching noise.

he rats were coming!

Such was the though that assod through the
mind of the helpless man. he hair uxon his
head rose in horror at the thou ht. Col drops
of sweat trickled down his fore ead. In antici-
pation he died a thousand deaths.

The noise increased.

Vainly the detective strove to free himself.
The attempt was useless. He was in iron bonds.
He could move neither hand nor foot.

He wur wuss’n the chouger for noise, but it warn’t no use.”

The detective felt that his hour had come.
He closed his eyes to meet his death.

“ Well, Cap, you are in a fix!”

Astouished, Burt opened his eyes and beheld
Bob, the bootblack, bending over him. A board
displaced from the floor showed where the boy
had entered the apartment from the cellar.

Quickly Bob unbound the detective, and once
again he stood upon his feet, free.

“ Bob, you've saved my life!” he cried.

“ Jest so, boss,” responded Bob, gleefully.

“ How did you know that I was ere?”

“ Why, arter I left you, I saw Jim down the
street in a doorway, a—watching you; so I jest
kept my eye peeled, and follered arter you.
This here cellar is my roosting-place; an’ I knew
that through the holes in the floor I could
hear all that was said in this room. So I slid in
through the hole in the wall an’ jest listened.
I tell you Cap, they went for you lively. They
'est doub e—banked you, now. Why Cap, you

in flax either one on ’em with half a. show.
I’d bet my stamps on you ever time.”

“ Let us get out of this, Bob, ’ said the detec-
tive, with a half-shudder, as he looked around
the room that had so nearly proven his grave.

“Jest so, boss,” ejaculated Bob; “’tain’t a
lively crib here.”

“1 must think of some way to pay you for
this night’s work,” said Burt.

“ Let ’er slide!” responded Bob, with a grin.
“ Say, Ca , I heard all ’bout the kid you want
to . Sid that cove talk square?”

“ Yes,” answered the detective, wondering at
the uestion.

“ hl Hail Columbia!” and the bootblack ex-
ecuted a war~dance around the detective, much
to that gentleman’s astonishment.

“What the deuce is the matter with you?”
Burt asked.

“Why, I’ve found my old maul” Bob cried,
breathlessly. “I’m the kid that was brought
I‘llp by Deborah Gwin—Aunt Debby, from ole

irginia: that’s so, boss,” and Bob indulged in
another war—dance.

It was indeed the truth: Bob, the bootblack,
was the child of the sailor, Richard Gorman.

Washed and dressed in clean clothes, his like-
11655 to his father was great enough to convince
any one that he was indeed the long—lost child.

im Tighe, the escaped burglar, was some—
what astonished by being “ interviewed” by
detective Burt, some four and twenty hours
after he had left that ofiicer to be eaten up by
the rats in the old rookery in Mulberry street.
The result of that interview was, that the re-
doubtable Jim was sent back to Sing Sing to
serve out his ten years.

And as for the hero of our sketch, a few
months" schooling has done wonders, and few
would recognize in Richard Gorman, Junior,
the imp-like lad Who was once known as Bob,
the hootblark.

 

Some First-class lies.

A Bald-Headed Whopper.

“ WE had captured a. 100-barrel whale, and
after the head was split open I was detailed to
dip out the oil. It’s just like going into a big
bath—tub, and a man stands almost up to his
arm-pits in oil. I was wading about in the
monster’s head, when I was suddenly startled
by seeing the surface of the oil burst into a
b aze, caused, as I afterward learned, by one of
the crew accidentally dropping a box of burn-
ing matches. The only thing to do was to dive
under the oil, and I did it, with my sheath-
knife in my teeth. I turned my head after I
got underneath and made a desperate effort to
dig my way out with the knife. I managed to
dig a hole large enough to thrust my head
throu h, and then, by a mi hty efi’ort, escaped
into t a sea. It was a re ty tight squeeze, I
can tell you, and my b0 y was so warm that it
made the water hiss all around me. The cap-
tain of the vessel thought I had been burned to
death, and when I swam to the side of the ves-
sel he was so frightened that he told me there
was only one thing that prevented him from
turning gray in a n1 ht.”

“ IVhat was that?” asked the listener.

“ He was bald-headed,” said the nautical
u Cop.”

Catching Trout With a Tail.

A VENERABLE piscatorial prevaricator told a
correspondent of the Hartford Times how his
old mare caught trout: “ She snaked out some
good ones with her tail,” said he. “ Before we
wont fishin’ she had been in a patch whar th’
wuz some burrs, ’n’ a lot on ’em got fast in her
tail. The trout must ’a’ thought the burr wuz
a new kind 0’ food, for the jum ed for ’em
every time the old mare’s tai touc ed the wa—
ter. I dunno whether she understood the busi-
ness or not, but every time she felt a bite old
Daisy jest gave her tail a whisk to one side or
t’other and slung out a trout. It wuz done so
agick thely didn’t have no chance to let go.

neral ackson was kept pooty busy pickin’
up the trout pitched at him by me ’n’ the mare,
’n’ he got knocked over once. It was a. three-
pounder that old Daisy slung out, ’n’ took him
plumb on the shoulder ’n’ keeled him over. He

ot square, though, by slingin’ it up about ten
eet ’u’ lettin’ it drop kerchunk on a rock that
knocked the breath out of it. When we come
to count 11 that hour’s fishin’ we had sixty
trout, wei in’ over a hundred pounds, not
reckonin’ t e ones that old Daisy had slung over
to t’other side.”

An Accomplished Journalist.

As the west-bound train—relates the San
Francisco Post—was fpassing around “ Cape
Horn,” a large party 0 tourists sought the rear
platform of the observation car only to be dis-
appointed, and to loudly express their dissatis-
faction at the scenery. As the returned to
their seats to en'oy a. jolly goo; mble eu-
tircly oblivious o the indignant g ances of the
native passengers, a meek-looking, gentlovoiced
journalist from ’Frisco approached from the
other end of the car and volunteered to give
the tourists some valuable facts concerning the
country—and he did.

The next morning the journalist was in-
formed by the porter that a. committee of gen-
tlemen Wished to see him in the baggage-car.
As he entered the latter he found a dozen trav-
elers, all native, and to the manner born, waiting
to receive him, hat in hand. The spokesman
advanced and said:

“You are the party who was giving those
globe-trotters in t 9 rear sleeper some pointers
about the coast, I believe?”

“ I am, sir " said the quilldriver, modestly.

“ You told them, I understand,” continued
the chairman, “that Mount Shasta was 76,000
feet high ?”

“ The same.”

“ You divulged the well-known fact that
trains on this road were often detained four da
by herds of buffalo, and that they frequent y
have to use a Gatling gun on the cow-catcher to
prevent the locomotive being pushed off the
track by the grizzly bear!”

“Yes. sir.”

“ You further acquainted them with the cir-
cumstance that the Digger Indians live to the
average age of 204, and that the rarefaction of
the air on'the plains is such that an ordinary
pin looks like a telegraph pole at the distance of
fort -two miles?”

“ think I wedged that in,” responded the
newspaper man. ‘

“ And we are informed they all made a memo-
randum of your statement that at the Palace
Hotel an average of two waiters r day were
shot by guests for bringing them co (1 soup—eh !”

“ The did.”

“ An made them believe that yarnabout the
fallen redwood tree up at Mariposa—I mean the
hollow one into which the six-horse stage drives
and comes out of a. knot-hole 165 feet further
alon ?”

“ told them all about it.”

“ Just so! Just so!” said the committee-man,
grasping the patriot’s hand and producing a
well filled buckskin bag, “ and I am instructed
by this committee of your fellow-countrymen
to present you with this slight token of our ap-
preciation of the noble manner in which you

ave vindicated the honor of our native land.”

And as he left the car they gave him a cheer
that nearly shook the train off the rails.

 

 

 

 

Telephone Echoes.

 

THE latest definition of a jury is “a bod of
men organized for the purpose of deci ing
which side has the smartest lawyer.”

“ HOW shall we sto the reat evil of lying?”
asks a religious week y. “ on’t know; give it
upgo ,It’s a habit you ought never to have fallen
in .

“ YES,” said Tawmus, “ Mr. B rnesmonkey
is a most extraordinary fellow. e’ll do any-
thing for a new sensation. Why, the other
day he tried speaking the truth.”

A Qumu’s advice to his son on his wedding-
day—“When thee went a—courting I told thee
to keep thy eyes wide open; now that thee is
married I tell thee to keep them half-shut.”

ACCORDING to a Spanish proverb it takes four
persons to prepare a good salad. A spendthrift
for the oil, a miser or the vinegar, a lawyer
for the salt, and a madman to mix the whole.

THE daughter of a Texas cattle-kin has just
returned from Paris, where she says s e walked
through the Tooralooral, and visited a shottoe
where she saw the statue of Physic and Cath-
erine De Medicine.

A LADY in Toronto got to laughing over some
amusing incident and couldn’t stop. Finally a
doctor was called in, and he could not quiet her.
As a last resort some one had to tell her that her
back hair was coming down!

A LADY said her husb'nd will s’t on a barbed
wire fence all the afternoon to see a base—ball
match, and never move a muscle; but when‘he

oes to church he can’t sit in a. cushioned pew
or fifteen minutes without wriggling all over
the seat, and changing his position forty times.

“ WHATl ask me if I know Bill Wittleson?”
exclaimed a man, turning upon a questioner.
“ Know himl I‘m better acquainted with him
than his father is. Why, I shot a piece of his
nose ofl last week. See that place? That’s
where he got into me with a knife. Bill is one
of the most sociable fellows in the world. Know
him! well, I should snort.”

INQUIRING stranger to steamboat pilot-—
“ That is Black Mountain, is it?” Pilot—“ Yes,
sir; highest mountain about here.” Stranger—
“Any story or legend connected with that
mountain?” Pilot—“Yes, lots of ’em. One of
the most harrowing is about two lovers that
went up that side of the mountain and never

came down again.” Stranger—“Indeed! What ,

became of them?”

Pilot—“ They went down
on the other side.”

 

 

 

 

 

Everard " H

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

are.

 

 

 
  
   
  

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