lllllllllllll“

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

High Horse of the Pacific!” EQUAL T0 DICK TALBOT!

' f ‘ 35"?ch

 

 

 

(Jopvmonr, 1883, BY BEADLE AND ADAMS.

 

    
 
  
 

 



  

It!!!

"""HIIHHHIllIlltlllllllllllillllllll!

 

llllllllllllllllllll!Illllllllllllllllllllllllllllll ‘

mm!!!“minInmmnuimm

"in!

 

I r.
w. Beadle
dam

 

 

 

LARRY Lo

THE MAN OF IRON;

A FIGHT F

A STORY OF LABO

Or.

BY CAPT. FRED.
Ar'rnon OF “JOHN ARMSTRONG, MECHANIC,

(‘IIAPTER IV.

THE BOY OF IRON.

Adainm}l L'BLisniizas.
s.

cited himself. ' ‘
you going to let that kid get away With you?’

Larry’s face was visible.

\\
<3- 3

NEW YORK, NOVEMBER 3, 1883.

 

“ I’ve whipped him, boss. Kin I have the job 2” said Larry. breathlessly.

CKE,

OR FORTUNE.

R AND CAPITAL.
“'IIITTAKER,
" “ NHRMAN cAss, PRINTER,” mo, ETC.

“Give it to him, Tom. Are

boys were close to them now, and

The
It was very pale, but

 

ToM TRAINOR was a big, burly boy for his
age and an old rough and-tumble ‘tigliter, who
had long been the terror of all the prentices in
the mi”, of whom he was the oldest. .

He rushed at Larry with a perfect hurricane

 

 

of blows, expecting to beat him down by main
force. and for a moment it seemed as if he
would doit, for he drove the smaller boy back
and all round the yard,piling blow on blow,
while Larry was ducking and Jumping back,
unable to return a single crack. I

“Your bov Won’t get in, Paul,” said Mr.
Skinner, drvly. “Tom’s doing what he likes
with him. " .

Paul, who was watching them eagerly, re-
torted, with some heat: ,

“He ought to. There s 'twenty pounds; be-
tween them. But I don’t give it up yet. 1 our
bov’s too fat to last.” ” I

‘I‘ There they go. Your boy‘s down, said the
old mill owner, still more (lryly. “ You ll owe
me ten dollars, Paul.”

Indeed. both boys had gone down, Tom
'I‘rainoron top, in a cloud of dust, and they
could see that Tom was punching at his pros‘ rate
foe with all his might, while Larry‘s head was

0 ' , ‘
"1“Vll‘lli1ft \'ut,"aiiswcred Paul, in a low vow»,
“ilh'lllllg’llli‘m intently. “ Look at tli:it._’

RV sonic t'x-‘rtlon they (‘olild not sec In tho
confusion, Ifll‘l‘y liiid drawn up his _knncs:ind
nmnumid to throw ol‘l' his big antagonist, scrum

 

 

 

  
 
 
  
   

Mud up on M“ feet, and was .jlllllpllliz back
again, while THU) was following him more;
slowly. evidently wnnled by his seVere eXer- I
tions. but savage as eVi-r. “ '

“ He‘s i'\("l]lt”fl punishment so for. said Pnl,
“(ioVHl‘Ith I‘ll make the ten ti'ty tlrit my boy
wins.”

.. Donny- LTm] summon who was growmg ex—

blow yet.

desperate, effort, and sent a right-hand blow
with all his force at Larry.

genuine enthusiasm, as the boy ducked his
head, evaded the blow, and the next moment

dashed in to close.

of heads knocking toget er, and then Larry
broke away, while Tom staggered back With
the blood streaming from his nose and mouth.

and broken the hold of his enemy.

lslowlv advancing, till he got within reach,

not a bruise yet disfigured it, and his eyes
watched Tom as keenly as ever, while his lips
were firmly closed. .

Tom Trainor’s mouth was open and his face
was crimson, though neither had he received a

As he heard his employer’s taunt, he made a

“Good boy, Larry,” exclaimed Paul, with

Crack! crack!
They saw the boys gra ple, heard the sound

Larry had “bucked ” him with all his force,

“Make it a hundred, governor,” cried Paul,
delightedly. “ Yourboy’s whipped.”
“Not yet." said Skinner, sharply.

And he was right. ' I

Tom Trainor, through owr confidence in his
grapple, had received two severe blows, but he
was not by any means beaten. .

()n the l-outrury, the blows, coming from so
puny an antagonistl, Ihad sobered, steadied, and

ioi'ou rhlv ciii‘ar'ei im.
u He stopped ahlllOulellt to take breath, and
then advanced more slowly on 'Larry, who kept
up the s'flllll’ w ilchful. retreating game as be—
fore, in ticrcc smi'e on his boyish lace. He had
not littered :i sound since the fight began.

Tom was breathing heav1ly, but kept on

when he nimle a tiger spring, ejaculating:

He had clutched Larry by the collar with his
left hand, and aimed a blow with his right,
meant wickedly. ‘
Dowu went Larry’s head, escaping it, but he
Could not escape Tom’s grasp, and the next mo-
ment down went both boys in a heap, Tom up-
permost.
They lay on the ground, tugging and panting,
but Larry had caught the big boy’s wrist and
had fallen face downward, while Tom was tryv
ing to turn him over, and the lesser boy was
slowly working his way back out of the grip
that held him.
They saw him get up, first one knee, and then
the other; till, with a sudden wrench, he got
his head free, and they saw him turn it on
Tom’s arm.
Then came a savage cry of ain and fury
from the bigger boy, and 9 re axed his hold,
snarling:
“ Bite, will ye?”
The relaxation was momentary, but it was
enough for the tough, wiry boy underneath. in
a. moment he had wriggled back: got one
shoulder under Tom’s thigh and was lifting him
bodily.
Tom struggled savagel ,but he was power-
less, for his feet were ofl.’ t e ground, and Larry
had strength enough to lift him in the air.
Then both boys pitched forward a ain, and
they heard Trainor’s head strike t 6 hard
ground with a terrible thud.
A moment later, Larry wriggled out and
scrambled to his feet, ale and panting, but tri—
umphant, while Tom rainor lay still.
Larry looked down at him, and then flung !
himself on his foe like a little demon, clutched
him by the throat, and cried as he shook his
head:
“ Have ye had enough yet?”
Tom had been stunned, but the words woke
him, and he tried to clutch Larry, who had
both knees on his foe’s chest.
Instant] the short boy began to “buck” his
head into om’s face, savagely crying:
“D‘ye begl d’ye beg?”
“ Crack, crack. crack. crack!” went the hard ,
little head, and Tom, after a faint struggle, be- 1
n to roar:
“Enough! enoughl My God! d’ye want to
kill me? Enough!”
Larry rose up, panting, and went to old Mr.

 

of Larry and began to feel his arms and body,
muttering:

feel how hard he is.”
difficulty, muttering still:
—how much!”

Larry himself, calmly. He had recovered his
breath with surprising facility, and had resumed
his old impudent manner.

said so.
have the job you said, boss? I’ve whipped him.”

“ That‘s just what he is, a boy of iron. Only

Then he lifted Larry by the arms with some
“ He’ll weigh a hundred—and—and—twenty

“Hundred and twenty-seven, boss,” said

“ Poor~hcuse sciles
Doctor says I’ll never be tall. Kin I

Skinner looked over at Tom Trainor, who be-
gan to rise up and shamble slowly to the mi 1,
and the ironmaster nodded and said, in a
gloomy sort of way:

“ Yes, you’ve whipped him. Here, come into
the office and I’ll send you to the overseer."

Larry, as unconcernedly as ever, grinned
gratefully and winked at Paul, after which he
followed his new employer into the office, and
gazed at the huge, dark interior of the mill
through the glass door with a keen pleasure
that vented itself in the words:

“ Golly, mister! This beats the County House
all to fits, don’t it!”

Skinner, who had taken his seat at a desk,
wheeled his chair to say, with a cold stare:

One copy burnout)”, 01.00
TERMS ix ADVANC  Ono copy:ono you. . . . I.
oooplna, on- yur. . . I

 

Skinner, to whom he said, breathlessly:

“I’ve whipped him, boss. Kin I have the
ht)?”

Old Skinner, for the first time, showed glnu-
inc surprise.

There lay his head boy, the strongest in the
mill, undeniably whipped, whipped till he, lieg-

not more than twelve years old.

Paul Van Beaver, on his part, was so delighth
that he clapped his hands, crying:

“Fifty dollars, governor.
He hasn’t got a scratch. By heavens, he’s a
boy of iron.”

Skinner still kept staring at the boy as if he

 

" Now I've got 5'83”

ged for mercy, by a little shaVei‘ who looked 1

You owe it to me. ,

could not believe his eyes, and now he took hold ,

“Shut up your head. You’re too cheeky
by half. Take this paperto the overseer and
; he’ll put you on to help Skelly. Did you ever
I shovel coal?”
Larry grinned from ear to ear.
“Shovel coal? You bet your boots they sot

 

00
.00

   

 

“ I’m sure I beg your pardon, sir. I was not
aware he was a pet of yours.”

Mr. Skinner turned red.

“He’s no pet of mine, but if you knew all
about him, you’d say that you were the last
person to abuse him. There, that will do. I’m
busy.”

And the old man turned to his books, while
Paul, in some dudgeon, walked out of the of
fice, and went to his dog-cart to drive off.

He had got into the seat and was just turning
his horses out of the yard, when a voice ac-
costed him:

“Are these the Skinner Mills?”

Paul looked round and saw a big man, rather
roughly dressed, staring at him with a singu-
larl§vintent gaze, not at all unlike a scowl.

“ hy, yes,” he said. “These are the Skin—
ner iron mills. Whom do you want to see, my
man i”

The man eyed him and his
keenly before he answered:

“I reckon I can find, my man.
you’re Paul!”

“ I‘m usually called Mr. Van Beaver,” the
young man replied, haughtily.

The stranger laughed.

“ Yes, some folks might. I’m not that kind.
I‘ve got a right to call you Paul, and I’m going
to do it. Good—day.”

So saying. he strode past the dog-cart to the
office, and Paul, astounded and angry, saw him
open the door, saw Mr. Skinner start up and
turn round at the noise, and then saw him sink
back in his chair, pale as death and trembling
all over, as if much agitated.

dog-cart very

I suppose

 

me at that since I were ten year old. Doctor
said that’s what stunted me. Where’ll I find
the overseer, mister?"

“Go and find out,” said
“and look here, boy—”

“Sir!” said Larry. innocently, for he saw
there was something on the other‘s mind.

“Don’t at the other boys down on you,” said
Skinner, gowly, “or they may club together
to whip you, some time.”

Larry nodded his head with the same confl-
dent air that he had shown all along, and an-
swered, as he went into the mill:

“ I’ll take keer of myself, boss, and I‘ll stay
in the mill, too. You see if 1 don‘t.”

Then he disappeared, and Paul Van Beaver
obServed to his grandfather:

“He’s a trump. isn’t be! How he whipped
that great lout, Trainor, didn‘t be? What a
sullen, good for-nothing whelp that is, by the
by. isn‘t he, governor?"

Something in his words secuiwd to anger the
old man. for he retorted, sharply:

“ You’re talking of what you don’t fully un—

3 derstand, Paul. I don’t see any whclp about
him. He fought hard, but that little devil was
too much for him. That‘s all. I don’t like to
hear you call him a wlielp. Tom‘s a good hand,
and it‘s not your place to call him names."

Paul looked surprised at this rebuke of his
grandfather, who was usually so kind to him:

Skinner, roughly ;

In a moment the young man had leaped off
the box, run to the stranger, and pulled him
back, crying:

“ Who are you? How dare you?"

To his surprise and indignation the big man
turned round and clutched him by the shoul-
ders with the strength of a giant, vociferating:
“Is that our game? Aha! you’ll find your
uncle‘s got old of you ."’

CHAPTER V.

THE BLACK HAWK GANG.

IVHEN Mr. James Skelly, furnace-feeder,came
home that evening to the shanty on the rocks,
Larry Locke came with him, and Mr. Skelly
told his wife:
“’Tis a good boy, he is, and how c’u’d he
help bein’ good, wid the name of Larry? He‘ll
do as much as a man’s work, Bridget. Give
him a good supper. Where’s Molly wid the
goats?"
“Here I am,” replied the voice of Miss Taber
from the frying pan in the next room. "The

I

 
  
  

 

 

goats is milked long ago."

Mr. Skelly took his seat on the stone bench
outside the door and began to hum a tune with
a lordly air.

“ And it’s two hands we haVe now, Bridge,’
he said to his \vifc. “ Let the b’yo and the girl
wait on us. Sit ye down."

Then to Molly he called:

l

 

but he answered:

“Set the table and give us our supper.

 

 

 

 

 

  
    
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 
 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

l
II=.\'iiat’s the 1M- of liavin’ iii-1p. av ye don’t,

make llnni workf”

Miss Tiber lll‘iflt‘. no answer but to clatter
among the o s‘ncs for awhile, but in five min»
utes 111017.. sha- came into the outer room to an-
nounce:

“ Suppv-r’s ready, gentlemen 1“

She did it with a great air and a fiounce, but
after they were seated at the table she kept
making signals to Lurry which the boy did not
at first understand, till supper was over, when
he sli ipe 1 out and whispered:

“ I 'hlr is it, Moll!" .

Miss Taber pretended to be absorbedin her
dishwashing. tzll she heard Skelly and his Wife
go out to the stone bench, when she whispered
back: , ,

“ Say, did ye whip Tom Trainor bad.”

Larry shrugged his shoulders.

“ I got the place," was all he answered.

Miss Tuber nodded.

“ I heern tell 0" it. Say, i‘m real glad ye did
it. He called the Red Moll last week and hit
me a slap in the wont-ii."

“ Di 2 Mel“ said Larry, angrily. “ I’ve a mind
to ive him another for that."

Miss Taber Sllllil-ll as if She rather liked to
hear him say so.

“Yes,” she pursue i, slowly ringing out her
dishwlotli. “ Him and me used to be great
friends ons‘t, till he found out something about
hisself.”

“And what was that 2” asked Larry.

Molly shook her head mysteriously.

“Never mind. Me and him was in the ’sy-
lum together ons’t. Say, do you know who was
your father, Larry?"

Larry stared and hesitated, rather as if he
didn’t like the question, but at last said:

“ No, nor mother neither. Do you, Moll?”

Molly shook her head.

“ N ary bit. Reckon we ’sylum children gets
on as well’s them’s have dads and mums. W ell,
this Tom, he found out who was his dad, and
sauce that there’s been no bearin’ of him.”

“ And who is his dad 3" asked Larry, at which
Molly only shook her head still more mysteri-
ously, answering:

“ ever you mind. I know. Say, did you
have a good time at the works to-da l"

“ Pretty good,” returned Larry, indifferent.
1y. “ They had a muss up at the office.”

“What about?” asked Molly, curiously, so
curiously she dropped her dish-cloth. “ Oh my,
there’s a visitor coming.”

“That’s me,” said Larry, gallantly. “I’m
the visitor, Molly. I’d like to see any other fel-
ler comin’ arter you. I’d lam him.”

"But what was the muss?” asked she, affect-
ing not to notice him.

“I don’t rightly know, but the men had to
run in, to part some one fighting, and they do
say—

“ What, L‘irry?”

For he hesitated.

“ They do say it was Mr. Skinner’s son, had
come back from sea, and that he raised the
muss ” said Larry.

Molly seemed to be greatly excited at the
news for she ejaculated:

“ Mr. Skinner’s son? Not Mercellers?”

“ Reckon that was the name, Moll.”

Molly clasped her hands.

“ So he’s come back. Oh, the wretch.”

“ Why the wretch?” asked Larry, amazed.

Molly drew him close to whis r:

“ He‘s T om Trainer’s father. ”

Tne intelligence did not seem to disturb Lar-
ry, who merely answered:

“ Is be? And why did he go away f”

“ l d’no’,” said Molly, “ but I’ve heern Mrs.
Skelly say what she hearn tell.” ,

“ And what was that?”

“That the old man was awful mad, and
turned him out, ever so man years ago. 0
now he’s come back, has he? ell, you’ll ketch
it now, Larry.” »

“ Me? Why?” asked Larry.

“ ’Cause you whipped Tom. Oh, he’ll be even
with you, if he can. Now he knows he’s the
old man’s grandson by rights—”

“ Molly!” called Mrs. Skelly.

“Ma’am?” cried Moll , sweetly, while Larry
slipped out of the back oor.

“ Vhat are ya doin’ there, gabbin’ and talkin’
like an ould country mag ie, instead of attend-
in’ to yer work?” asked rs. Skelly. “G’wan
now! Where’s Larry? Where are ye, Larry?”

“ Here, ma’am.”

And Larry presented himself meekly and sud-
denly, adding:

“I was looking at the ’taters, ma’am, and
picking off bugs.’ ,

“ L‘ave the boy ’lone," grumbled Mr. Skelly,
who was smoking his pipe in a contented frame
of mind. “ Larry’s a good boy, Brid 6.”

“And who’s sayin’ he ain’t?" as ed ~M.rs.
Skelly, sharply. “ Sure and can’t I talk to me
own hire 1 man, av I pl’ase? Larry, boy, g’wan
down and take a look at the pig, boy. Av he’s
finished the ’taty peelin’s, put him in the shty
and shut the door on him. Sure the cr’ater
don’t know ye yet. And he’s a darlin’, so
he is.”

Larry went off toward the ig-sty to obey
orders, when he heard the soun of whispering
on the other side, and saw a head disappear
over the edge of the rock on which Skelly’s
shanty was built.

Something made him hesitate a moment be-
fore going on, and it was well he did, for the
next moment he heard a voice cry out in
guarded tones:

“ That’s the snoozer. Give it to him, boys!”

And then out sprung five boys, about his own
age, whom he knew well as ’prentices in the
mill, headed by Trainor, all carrying clubs, and
made for him.

In a moment he had turned to flee, and ran
like a deer ast Skelly‘s house, to the intense
surprise of ames, who hastily rose up crying:

“ Holy Fathers, what’s the matter?‘

“Give it to ’em both!” cried Trainor: and as
he spoke be aimed a blow at Skeliy’a head,
which the athletic furnacefreder parried with
his arm, and closed in with an inarticulate cry
of rage and pain, grap ling Tom and bringing
him to the ground, clu and all.

“(love it to him,” screamed Tom, and with
that his four friends began to beat Skelly with
their clubs, while the man, in his fury and des-
peration, choked Trainor, who roared aloud
and kicked out, trying to defend himself as be
best could.

Mrs. Skelly screamed at the top of her voice
and ran into the house to get a broom, with
which she laid about her as she knew best,
while Molly Taber screamed:

“Larry! Larry! Help!"

Larry heard the shriek as he ran, for he had
only gone to the end of the little garden-patch,
to pick up a club he remembered to have seen
there.

A moment later he came running silently
back, wielding the weapon, which was nothing
more than the handle of a long spade, from
which the blade had gone.

Before the assailants of Skelly could disable
the overmatched man, Larry was on them.

One sweeping blow of the tough hickory, a
crack like a pistol-shot, and one of the boys
sta gered back and dropped.

be others turned on him at once, leaving
Skelly, and drove Larry back with a shower of
blows which he could not wholly parry.

The enemy all carried base-ball clubs, and
seemed to be set on his destruction; for they
came on all together, and sent their blows in
showers, trying to surround him.

He had to leap back and to either side, strik-
ing whenever he could, but notable to beat
them off, till he felt a stunning sensation in his
head and staggered as one o the bats grazed
his skull.

In another minute he was beaten to his knees
and felt the blows everywhere, on head, shoul—
ders and back. while he was gyowing confused,
with the single idea left in his head that he
must fight till he was killed.

He struggled up and threw all his remaining
strength into a sweeping blow of his staff,
which struck something.

He heard the crack and saw some one fall,
then saw a man running toward him—a man
with a thick club.
3

 

“ (,l‘ wan. now, ye spzllpeens!" roared the man,
whose om; was covered with blood, and, as he
spoke, he struck one of Larry‘s assailants a
blow with his club that elicited a veil of am.

That blow set. led the contest. oth 0 Lar-
i‘y‘s foes turned to run, and Larry rushed
after them, sending wh:.t frrce he had left into
a last him; that took one in the back and
elicited unotller bowl. I

"Sutop! Shtop!“ shouted Skelly, catching
him by the arm. “ Don’t folly them. Don’t I
know who they are, bad luck to ‘em:"

Larry stoilped at the signal, and found that
he was nearly a hundred yards from the house.
The blood was flowing from his head, and had
cowl-ml his face and neck, while he began to
feel disz as he went slowly back.

" Ye [lid Well, Larry, boy," said the older
man, as they came to the house “ Begorra, av
\‘c hadn’t comeback when ye did, it’s kiit I‘d
Have been intirely. Here, Bridge, gcz’s some
water. Sure, we‘re worth a hundred dead men
vet "

I “But where’s Trainer?" murmured Larry,
stupidly. “ He was with them."

" Don‘t ye ax no questions," res ionded Jim,
curtly. “Brgorra, iney got all t ey wanted
tonight, so they did. "Twas the Black Hawk
(lung, they calls themSelves. Let them go.“

Larry stared round him in the twilight. and
law that all his late enemies were gone, while
he heard Molly Taber‘s voice, as it whispered
softly: . «snag-5

“ Larry, boy, you did that ele ant. Oh, my!
ain’t I glad you whipped ‘em a l! I said he‘d
try to get even with you, and he has. That's
’cause his dad came home to-day.’

CHAPTER VI.
THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN.

LARRY Locxu went to the mill next day as if
nothing had happened, though his head was
decorated with strips of plaster, while Jim
Skelly looked as if he had been at a prize fight;
but neither of them saw any sign of Tom
Trainor in the mill.

Four of the 'prentices were there, with their
heads tied up: and many were the jocuiar com-
ments passed by the men on the affair, which
had leaked out, magnified to the usual propor-
tions, before the day was over.

Larry found himself looked on with great curi-
osity by some of the men who were notorious
as fighters, and more than one managed to drop
in at Skelly’s cottage in the course of the week
to hear of the affair in full, while all voted
Larry “ a good boy," and czznfirmed the nick-
name, which he had already earned, of the
“Boy of Iron.”

But Tom Trainor did not make his appear-
ance at the works during the week, and it was
not till pay-day that any one saw him.

Then, to their great astonishment, they found
Tom “dressed up to kill," as they put it, in
the office at a desk, writing, or at least pre-
tending to write, while a new face was at the
pay—table; that of a big, sour-looking man,
with a stern expression, who seemed at first not
to be familiar with their names, for he wasa
long time paying off.

Old Mr S inner was in the office, and the
men noticed that he looked nervous and anx-
ions, watching the big man furtively, as if he
feared he might make mistakes.

For a time no one knew who the big man was,
till a little dispute occurred as to the payment
of one of the hands for extra time, when the
new paymaster turned round to say, audibly:

“ How is this, father?”

Then there was a murmur among the men.
They had heard the rumor that Marcellus Skin-
ner, the outcast son, had come back, but here
was confirmation of the report for which they
had not looked.

Mr. Skinner came forward: said a few words,
and put the matter straight, when the pay-roll
proceeded, till Jim Skelly’s name was called,
together with “ Larry L icke, helper.”

When they went up to the table the big man
eyed them narrowly for several seconds, but
said nothing beyond:

“Sign here. You can write, can’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Skelly, rather proudly, and
he signed his name with some difficulty.

The man at the table eyed him like a hawk
while he signed, and then said to Larry rou hly:

“ You can’t write. Make your mark Iiere.
You get three dollars.”

Larry looked back at him with interest, as he
replied:

“ Thankee, mister; I kin write.
the County House.”

“You look like a—” began the man with a
sneer, when he suddenly pulled up, like one put-
tingla great constraint on himself, and added
wit asmile:

“ You look like a smart boy. Sign here!”

Larry obeyed, and as he received his money
he saw that the new paymaster was eying him
{more keenly than he had eyed Skelly before

1m.

The boy returned the gaze with interest as he
tucked the money into his pocket, sayi ig,
placidly:

“Thankee kindly, sir. Reckon I will.”

“You will what?” asked the other in a low
tone. with a furtive scowl.

“Know you next time,” responded Larry, as
innocently as before, and then he went away
from the table with a smothered chuckle pre-
ceding him from the men who had heard him,
while the man at the table hit his lip, turned
very red, and muttered something to himself
between his clinched teeth which sounded very
like an oath, though he maintained his quiet de-
meanor and continued to pay off the men as be

I l’arned in

ore.

W'hen the last man had filed out of the gate
the new paymaster turned to Mr. Skinner with
rather a triumphant smile, observing:

“ You see, I told you I could get on and make
no mistakes, s1r. The cash is all right to a cent.
If I’ve learned nothing else in the world, I’ve
learned to look sharp after the pennies.”

Old Mr. Skinner looked approvingly at him
and answered slowly:

“ I told you, Marcellus, that I was quite will-
ing to give you a trial, and if I find that you
have truly reformed I shall make no distinction
between you and my other child; but you must
pardon me if I test you thoroughly. Emmeline,
your sister, never disobeyed me. She married
into an excellent family, and her son is my
pride and delight. You might have been my
partner, ears ago, had you conducted yourself
as a gent eman, even as an honest man, but you
preferred to have your own way and it has
brought you to eatin husks. But I am willing
to forgive all and he p you, even to help that
unfortunate bo whose stained birth he owes to
you, if you wil only behave as you have done
to-day, all the time. Your advancement de—
pends on yourself alone.”

Marcellus Skinner turned away his head from
his father to conceal a sneering expression that
had become habitual to him, but only said:

“ Thank you, sir. I’ll try to deserve your
trust. I hope you’ll think better of me before
very long.”

“I’m sure I hope so, Marcellus,” replied the
old man, coldly. “But you must admit that
the scene you made with Paul was not calcu-
lated to make me love you any more than na-
ture compels.

Marcel us, whose head was turned away still,
ground his teeth with an expression of bitter
rage at the name of Paul; but it was in tones of
great humility he said:

“ Ah, sir, don’t be too hard on me. I had not
seen you for fifteen years and more. I did not
know him and he took hold of me as if I had
been a fa on. What wonder that [was tem-
porarily irritated? But I‘ll do my best to make
it up. Sir.”

Old Skinner seemed to be somewhat mollified,
for he answered:

“ Well, I won’t remember it against you, but 4

do you remember this: Paul is my sole heir
now. As you behave in future will be your
share of what I leave. Good-day.
closing of the works. There’s Paul now."

Indeed they heard the clatter of wheels out- ,

side and saw through 'hc glass door the dog
cart draw up, while Paul‘s cheery cry rung out
through the glass:

“ llilioa, gthrnor here We are, all ready to
take you over to the race a.” _

The old ironnmstl-r‘s face lighted up with
pleasure, as it always did at the presence of his
faVorite grandSon, and he hurried out, crying
as be w cut:

“Here i am, Paul.
in alone, I guess." .

Marcellm Skinner had risen from his chair,
his face ashen gray and working with envy as
he saw the happy young man drive up, but he
said nothing till the dog cart drove off.

Then he looked all round the oifiw, and at
the deserted works, and saw that he \\ as alone
with Toni Trainor for the first time that day.

Then be stamped his foot on the floor and
burst out into a torrent of virulent curses, the
foam flx ing from his white lips as he raved. on
Paul. on his father. on all who had displaCed
him, while Tom, who was used to rough lan-
guage, turned round on his high stool and
looked on amazed.

“ Ay, he concluded. “ Going to the ram 5,
are ye, curse yo both! Ibu‘re to have all the
cream of life and l'm to drink the sour whey.
am I? Oh, curse ye bo h, fifteen faihonis under
the bottom of the lowest place of torment, curse
ye, curse ye!"

Exhausted by the violence of his rage, he sunk
into a chair and continued, in a low voice. as if
exhausted: ‘

“ Tom, come here!"

Tom, more than half frightened, came tohim,
and Marcdlus continued slowly:

“Tom. he says I did ye a wrong. and I gues-
it‘s true. You might have been Tom S .inner.
instead of Tom Nobody, if l‘d married your
mother, Maggie. Never mind: she’s dead now.
But mark my words. Tom: you‘re my son, as
true as that stuck—up Paul belonged to his dad,
that never earned a penny in his life, and now,
by heavens, I’ve come home, resolved to stand
anything and everything, so long as I get back
my rights at last. D’ye ye hear, Tommy? D’ye
hear?”

“Yes, father,” answered Tom, doubtfully.
for he was cowed by the vehement passion of
the other.

“ Ay, Tom, and mark’ee this: I’ll get ’em. Me
and you, Tommy, me and you. I’m the only
son, and he give me the grand bounce. His
son .' d’ye mind that?—his son! And he took
Em’s baby, a little, puny, squalling brat, to be
his heir. And he’s got a dog-cart and lives in
clover, while me and you has to slave away our
lives in this musty old hole, making money for
him to spend, the cussed young Snob. Oh, curse
‘em, curse ’em, curse ’em, Tom! I hope the
cursed dog cart’ll break down an‘ kill ’em both!
I hope— Confound it, boy, why don’t you
curse the upstart? Curse him well, Tom, curse
him!”

Nothing 10th, the boy obeyed, and for a good
minute father and son biasphemed with a viru-
lence perfectly Satanic, till Marcellus shook his
son‘s hand, sa ing:

“Thankee, hankee, Tom. It does me good
to hear ya swear like that. I’m easier now.
But I tell ye, Tom, me and you’s got to walk a
straight line, we have.”

“ You bet ” responded Tom, with a shiver of
disgust. “ e’s got eyes in the back of his
head I b’lieve, he has.’

“ I ever you mind that, Tommy,” said his
father, encouragingly. "I’ve done a deal
already, I have, and I was a fool I didn’t do it
lnn ago afore he got set on this upstart kid of
Em 5. I’ve got him to take me in again and
put you in the office instead of the works, and
thats a good deal. Now, Tommy, you listen
to me, for I’m going to do what I say. Me and
you has got to be humble as worms for ever so
long, till we get in with the old man. I’ll work
him, Tom; I’ll work him; and he won‘t know
how I do it. Our time will come after he’s
dead. Keep still. boy. We’ve both got our
grudges:to pay, Tom, and we’ll pay ’em, too,
when the old man’s dead—hey, Tom?”

Tom chuckled at the idea, but he said rather
hesiiatingly:

“But it will take a long time to work the
racket, father.”

“Never you mind that, Tom.” returned his
amiable parent. “ I’ve had In fling, and now
I’m going to make. money, hen I’ve got
back what I ought to have, Tom, and see you
a-riding in that cursed dog-cart he rides in now,
you shall have your fling, never fear. And now
let’s shut up.”

From that day father and son kept their reso-
lution and became models of quiet and submis-
sive department.

Tom remained in the office, while Marcellus
helped him on every possible occasion, and year
by year Marcellus acquired more and more in-
fluence over the old man.

Meantime, La Locke rose from place to
place in the«foun ry, till he had become head
of the “ cranemen,” who handled the huge
crucibles of molten steel, and was known as the
strongest man in the works.

Paul Van Beaver went away on a trip to
Europe, while Marcellus staid at work in the
foundr , and so matters went on for several
years till one day Marcellus said to his son, rub-
bing his hands, with an evil smile that meant a
good deal:

“ Tommy, our time’s coming close now. Tell
me the man you hate worst in the world.”

“ Larry Locke,” answered Tom, without a
moment’s hesitation.

Marcellus slapped him on the shoulder.

“ And my man’s that upstart Paul. Tommy,
boy, we’ve got ’em both. The old man’s going
to make a new will.”

(To be continued—cmnmenced in No. 50.)

Don‘t get out. I can get

 

 

Marm Speggejs Bundle.
BY MAJOR HAMILTON.

JIM POWELL had been down the valley to the
settlement one sultry August afternoon, and
now his rugged little bronco was toiling moun-
tainward and homeward again with the light
buck-board and Jim behind, all three hot and
dusty, when Marm Spencer ran from her cabin—
door toward the narrow trail and called upon
the traveler to stop.

Jim promptly drew rein and waited.

‘“ Be ye from the Fort?” queried Mann, shad-
ing her face with an apron thrown over her
head, and blinking a little through the blinding
dust and heat.

“ Yes,” replied Jim, laconically.

2:,Didn’t the railroad-man give ye nothin’ for
us.

“ Nary,” again responded the mountaineer.

“ Now that air’s strange. My man was ’spect-
in’ a ckage, an’ as he’s workln’ over the range
I kin er thought I’d git some one to fetch it up
for me. ’S only a little bundle, but must be
kerried keerful. Be ye goin’ down again soon?”

“ Tomorrer."

“Then you jes’ ask for Tom. I reckon it’ll
be thar then, an’ leave it here as ye come up.
Don’t throw it round, tho’, fer it’s tender.”

Jim nodded, shook his reins and rode on. That
night, in his own solitary cabin far up the
mountain-side, as he sat silently smoking be-
fore the flickering fire that cast strange shadows
about the little room and throu h the two win-
dows into the mouth of his “ rift” just with-
out, Marm Spencer’s errand came again to his
mind. and he wondered a little over it.

“Must be kinder tender with it the old gal
said,” he mused, as he took his pipe from is
teeth; “ maybe it’s a new bonnet!” and he
laughed silently.

The Colorado sun, although often an early
riser, was not y’et above the distant eastern
horizon when upon the following morning Pow-
ell’s bronco, refreshed and inspirited after a
night’s rest and feed, rattled his hoofs down the

 

See to the '

stony mountan road, whirling the bending
; buck board after him. As they passed Marm

Snencer’s the thin, blue smoke was just begin-
:.ing to curl above her rude chimney, and seven
miles beyond, the valley bottom yet glistenel
xx ith the morning dew when Jim cluttered into
‘ Fort Cuambers. and passing the post rode down
' to the river-side where stood the railroad sta

| tion.

 

lie was after some drills which had failed to
arrive the day before; but which he found now
awaiting him. As he tied them beneath the
seat the station-master s oke to him:

"Powell, here’s a pac age came by express
for Hall Gulch Mines. It‘s directed to Smart,
the superintendent, and I presume its money
to pay the hands. He asked me to send it u
promptly when it came by any one whom
could trust. “'iil you take it! You pass the
office, or near it, and can leave it there.”

Jim hesitated.

“ This yere‘s a crooked country to .be carry-
in‘ money in ef it’s yer own. let alone another
man‘s. Suppose some one robs me i”

The station-agent laughed.

" l'li chance that. You are too well known
in these mountains, and you’re heeled too,” and
he touched the revolver that hung at Powell’s
in .

I‘J‘Besidesj' he continual , “who knows that
you have 'he money: Oh, you must take it, for
the superintendent wants it at once, and I won‘t
,zct another good chance to Send in to—day.
Jonie in here and [‘ll giVe it to you," and be en-
lcl‘OlI his office, folio ' ed by the mountaineer.

Neither saw the face of one who looked quick-
y around the corner of the building, near
viiich they had stood, and then moved rapidly
lown the road toward the town.

“ Here,” and the station-agent handed Jim a
mail but compact package sealed with much
tax and tied with many strings, “tuck it in
our shirt.”

The of her did so. and then said:

“ B}: the way, Marni Spencer wanted me to
:sk fora bundle here. Something to be han-
dled keerfully. she said, and I romised to
bring it up. Got anything for her?’

“Marni Spencer? No, but I have for Tom.
Is that her husband?”

“ Yes. I‘ll take it.”

The agent turned to a shelf in the back of the
room and carefully took from it a small tin can

wrapped in rags.

“ ere, I’m glad to be rid of the thing.
You‘ll have to handle it ‘ keerfully,’ as she told
you, for it’s nitro-glycerine!”

“ Condemn her!’ muttered Jim; but he took
the can.

“ Don‘t drive too fast, Powell, till you‘re rid
of that package,” shouted the station-agent, as
Jim, having lashed the can beneath the seat,
gathered his reins to start; “better lose a little
time than to strike a stone too hard.”

“ All right,” responded the other, and began
his homeward journey.

It was not more than ten o’clock when Powell
left the railroad for the mountains, but so can-
tious had he been that at high noon he had cov-
ered only about six miles, and was slowly
ciimbin one of the steepest bills that the road
followe . On either hand the great pines cast
grateful shadows, the soft murmurs of the
woodland wind sounded low in their tufted
branches far overhead, and the silence of nature
was conducive to meditation and even to sleep,
when the traveler was suddenly aroused by a
voice almost at his elbow.

“ Km I ride?"

A tired, ragged woman, clothed as mountain
women often were, in along, loose dress and a
straw sun-bonnet was looking up at him. The
face was pinched and Wan and even pitiful in
its expression. -

“ Get in,” said Powell, slowly, and reached
his hand down to help her.

As he did so a sudden thought of danger,
unkn0wn, unexplainable, flashed across his
brain; he heard a branch break behind him,
his bronco moved a step, and the next instant
half turning, he felt himself seized from behind
by a pair of brawny arms binding his own
hands to his side, while the woman, springing
forward, thrust her hand quickly within his
bosom and seized the money package!

All this in an instant, in the flash of an eye,
and yet the man was not totally unprepared.
With an effort as sudden as it was unexpected
he shot his head forward and struck the woman
fair] in the face, knocking her backward into
the ust without the coveted money; then, by
a concentration of his strength he struggled to
his feet and threw himself half, sideways upon
his unknown assailant, bending him across the
seat, while he shouted aha ly to his horse.

Instantly the animal, trained to obey, sprung
into agallop, and then man to man a fearful
stru e began within the narrow limits of that
boun in wagon.

Powclf was of great strength and tremendous
energy, but he had been seized at a terrible dis-
advantage. Bending himself, he sought to hurl
hisama ant over his head or to so turn as to
crush him against the edge of the seat. The
other met thesc eflorts by as determined a re-
sistance, and neither bein able to use a wea~
pon, the termination of t e aflray was doubt-

1

At length the robber for such he was, gained
a slight advant e. y a slip of his foot the
mountaineer was orced sharply backward, and
he felt that the strain was too eat upon him,
that he would be thrown upon he narrow floor
of the buck-board if he did not do something,
and he suddenly ceased to resist, but threw
himself with all his strength backward in the
same direction that his enemy was striving to
force him!

The effect was startling, unexpected as was
the movement, and both men lost footing and
balance, struggled an instant to regain it, and
then fell with a heavy crash upon the wheel
and from it to the road beneath!

Powell was of course on top, but still on his
back and within the grasp of his enemy, and as
he fell his ankle was so severely wrencbed that
he felt it would be impossible for him to stand;
he must finish the fight upon the ground.

But before he could regain his breath suf-
ficiently to renew the struggle the man released
his hold upon him, flung him heavily to one
side and sprung aWay after the horse.

Evidently it was part of the scheme to reserve
the bronco as a means of escape.

As he did so Jim sou ht to rise, but the pain
of his ankle preven him from doing more
than to reach a half-sitting position.

‘ The jar of the fall had shaken his brain too.
He felt for his pistol, but it was gone, the money
was still within his bosom.

He looked about him,’ half-despairing. Un-
armed and helpless what could he do?

Close at hand he saw the woman approach-
ing, the expression on her face now one of in-
tense rage and hate; in the other direction he
saw the robber, her companion, just about to
lay his hand upon the retreating wagon, and
then—then came a roar and a. rush of sound as
if the mountains had lpllen, Powell felt himself
hurled to the earth, and all was a biankl.

They told him about it afterward. How
Mann Spencer’s nitroglycerine had “ gone off,”
and the robber, horse and wagon with it; how
a flying drill had almost decapitated the wo-
man, and how he had bany escaped because
he had not been upon feet.

Hall Gulch Mines bought the mountaineer a
new outfit and gave Tom Spencer all the nitro-
glycerine be needed for his mine, but Jim has
given up the private express business.

 

 

 

Not In Harmony.

Mn. AND Mus. Wmonou do not live in har-
mony. They live in Austin. They fight more
or less every da in the weak and we infer
from the to low ng that Mrs. Widgoon is not
entirely to blame, as her husband causes her to
become angry every once in a while.

They attended church last Sunday, and after
the service was over, and they were walking
quietly homeward, he asked her:

“Mrs. Widgeon, you know why the preach-
ers always pro. for the widows and orphans,
and never for t e widowers?”

“ I don’t,” wonderineg replied Mrs. Wid-

geon.

“I’ll tell on. The preachers know very
well that t e widowers, instead of needing
prayers should offer up thanks.”

There was a sound of deviltry by night in the
Widgeon mansion.

 

 

THE AFTER-TIME.

BY AL. W. CROWELL.

 

Afterthe ruin the sun
Glows in the ruddy west;
After the day of toil is done
Cometh the night of rest;
Recompense for our ain is won
Such as He deemet 1 best.

After the- cioud has burst
Azure of sk shines throu h;
Sorrows of g oom our souls ave nurst
Fade to a brighter hue;
Li s will discovur that are athirst
ountains of grateful dew.

Knowledge of woe will bring
Knowledge of erfect peace;

Hearts new-frcu from pain will sing
Sweeter for their release;

Swiftor the sweep of a wounded wing
After the pain shall cease.

Patience, my bleeding heart,
Balm will be found for thee;

Never so sore and sad thou art
Pam will not Cease to be;

SorroWs in time will sure depart,
Leaving thee glad and free!

Roland Yorke,

The CITY THOROUGHBRED;
on,
The Night Hawk. of New York,

 

A Tale of the Lawless.

 

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN.

AUTHOR or “run DEMON Dnucnvu,” “ oven
LAND m,” “BAT or run BATTERY,”
"TALBOT or CINNABAB,” ETC.

CHAPTER XVII.
um CONFIDENCE MAN.

HUNGRY J0]: was about as well-known to the
panics as any rascal in New York, but so care-

lly did he conduct his operations that it was
but rarely the authorities got a chance at him.

The fellow had one great gift—a gift which
rendered him almost invaluable to any first class
gaming-house, and that was a natural talent for
gaining the confidence of utter strangers.

Hungry Joe, although not ticularly blessed
with good looks, yet had a p easant and agree~
able way with him.

He looked like a entleman. acted like one—in
fact, the rascal h been well brought up, being
the scion of an old and res table family. but
had gone tothe bad early 11 life, the result of
following his own unchecked im ulses—and, as a
conversationalist, it is doubtfu if his superior
could be found without a long search among
educated and gifted men.

Being a well read man, and taking particular
care to keep up with the times, he was thor-
oughly posted upon almost every subject, and
so was enabled to get upon familiar terms with
strgpgers, if they were at all inclined to be so-
cia e. ‘

In the game which the detective had resolved
to lay he had one great advantage.
ing a new man on the force he was not per—
sonally known to the criminal classes, while he
had taken particqu pains to familiarize him-
self with all the representative men of the dif-
ferent grades.

So it happened that the moment he saw
Hungry Joc he recognized him, while even if
he had not been disguised the confidence man—-
as the experts in that line of business which
Hungry Joe followed are termed—would not
have had the slightest suspicion that Yorke was
one of the detectives from the Central Office.

Our hero had just entered the elaborately
fittedu café of the Hoflman House, when he
noticed 6 had attracted the attontion of Hungr
Joe, who had been lounging on the sidewalk
near the door of the hotel on the lookout for a
victim. '

Hungry Joe followed the detective into the
saloon which was well-filled with customers,
some drinking at the bar, others conversing in
little knots in the center of the apartment, while
quite a number were examining and admiring
the costly paintings which adorned the walls.

The detective joined one of these groups so as
in give the confidence man a chance to accost

1m.

. Taking out his eye-glasses and putting them
in position he affected to be engaged in a critical
examination of one of the paintings.

“Beautiful!” he murmured, as if communing
with himself, yet loud enough to reach the ears
of Hungry Joe, who had taken up a position
right behind him.

“ Peste .' it is as fine a picture as I have ever
seen—Jae female forms are lovely beyond expreso
sxon.

The detective had assumed a slight accent
only, just enough to enable any one to suppose
he was a foreigner.

“.By Jove! it is real] su

remarked, affecting the
casxon.
_ “ I be your pardon, sir,”he continued, touch—
ing the isguised detectivs on the shoul ler, “ but
could you tell me the name of this really supe-
rior work of art?"

“ Well, reall , I am not exactly sure of m ex~

act title, but
Temlptation, or something of that sort.
_ “ aust, you will observe, is the bearded man
in the center, gazing with such enraptured eyes
upon ze beautiful women, so perfect in both
face and form, while the snecring fellow at his
elbow represents Mephistopheles, the Prince of
Darkness, who is showing the mortal what
pleasures he can bestow upon him if he will
only consent to sign awa his soul in considera-
tion of a few years of un imited pleasure."

“ I don’t really know if it would be such a
deuced bad bargain after all,” the confidence
man observed.

“ Those angelic women are almost enough to
tempt a saint, particularly such saints as we
have nowadays. ,

“I was just going to take a little liquid ro-
freshmeut, but as I hate to drink alone, I was
looking around for a friend; not much chance
of meeting 011119, thouglh, for lI age almost a
srangerinteci—vcon nherea
week. ’ ty y -

“ Something like my own case, but I only ar-
rived to-day, the detective replied.

“By Jove! sir, lam glad to meet you. My
name is Altenham—Harry Altenham, of Lon-
don, England. I’ve just tun across the herring-
pond to soowhat kindof a beastlycountry they

ad here, anyway.” .

“My name is Malamute—Adolph Melan-
forte. I am a. Frenchman by birth, but have
been doin business so long in this country—in
Canada, ontreal—that I regard myself as be-
i almost a native,” Yorke remarked.

nd then the two shook hands in themed.
cordial manner.

Hun Joe chuckledin his sleeve at the any
manner in which he had succeeded in making
the acquaintance of the man who, he thought,
would prove a rich prey); while the detective
was equally rejoiced at ing able to humbu
suchan 01 hand at the business as the con -
dance man so successfully.

“ Well, how do you like the city as far as you
have got?” Hun y Joe asked.

“ I have b y been in town long enough to
be able to pass an opinion.”

“ Is this your first visit to New York?"

“ Yes, although I have been a resident of
Montreal for years.”

“ Come down to have a little fun, I suppose?”
said Hungry Joe, suggestively.

“ Yes, that is my doc,” and the detective
laughed as if he thought his companion had
given utterance to a good joke.

“ That is about my case, and I generally
manage to have a good time when I am in
foreign parts: but I was just going to take a
drink. as I said; will you join me?”

 

rbl” Hungry Joe
ng ' hman on this oc-

“Certainly; much pleasure it will give me,”
’.

 

 

 

 

think it is known as Faust’s ‘

 

 

 

 

w Mr. “Hi-1‘

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

.‘Mkdil‘1>&4.go.,.9awc;n hawk.“ - < v   u

.usuz -..m-.u..«.

slanderous“ m.

 

 

 

 

 





S
(.

 

 

.7". “0,21. .

 

 

_.~cvr—wp .

no

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

replied the supposed Frenchman, bowing with
stately dignity. ,

The two advanced to the bar, indulged in a
brace of “cocktails,” for which Hungry Joe
paid, and then the disguised detective insisted
upon his new~made friend imbibing at his ex-
pense. :

The confidence man consented readily enough,
glad of an opportunit to “ size up” the pocket-
book of the other, an his eyes fairly s rkled
with delight when the detective, in sett ing for
the “drinks,"displayed a large wallet, crowded
with bills of large denominations, which he
carried in the inner breastpocket of his coat.

“ Are on bound for any particular place this

evening Hungry Joe asked, as the two saun-
tered toward the door of the saloon.
" Oh, no, only out for the purpose of killing
time. I am a mere straw upon the surface of
the tide, content to float in whatever direction
accident may see fit to carry me," the other re-
plied, with true French indifference.

“ y own case exactly, although I had a
sort of idea I should drop into a club-house up
the street here, where was introduced last
night."

“ A club-house ?”

“ Yes, a regular firstclass place: as fine a one
as I was ever in, and that is saying a great deal
too, for I have been the rounds in ‘ Lunnon
town ’ and have Seen everything worth seeing.”

“ What sort of a place is it!" asked the detect-
ive, assuming to be interested in the matter.

“ A temple devoted to the worship of the

goddess of chance, and I was really astonished
, to see that the very best men in New York were
' hovering about the shrine.”
i “ Nothing surprising in that; a man who is a
: man with blood in his veins instead of water
must have his fiing once in a while,” the make
believe Frenchman replied, with .s-angfroi'd.

“When I was in Paris I made the grand
rounds with some friends who were kind enough
to do the honors, and we had a glorious time.
Ze sport was superb—magnificent!”

“ Sometimes it is deuced expensive, though:
I remember one rouse that we had in London
cost me a hundred pounds, and the deuced cash
was gone almost before I knew it. It took unto
itself wings and vanished.”

Hungry Joe was playing the character of the
light-hearted. jovial Englishman to the life, and
if the detective had not been posted as to who
and what he really was, he would surely have
been tricked.

“I have never been unfortunate; the blind
, goddess always smiles upon me. Peste ! I am
i utterly indifferent about the matter. I do not
care whether I win or lose,” the other replied,
with superb indifference.

" By JOVe! you would be just the fellow to

break one of these banks!” Hungry Joe ex-
claimed, pretending to be suddenly impressed
w ith an intense admiration for the nerve dis-
played by his companion.
, “ L iok you here! I have half a mind to go
i with you tonight, and see if I cannot astonish
these Yankee Doodles!” the supposed French.
1 man observed, abruptly.

“ That‘s a deuced good idea! By Jove! I be-
lieve that you could make the fellows squeal!”

“ I'll do it!” the other exclaimed, decidedly.
“ I have not had anything to stir my blood for
a long time, but I do not know if I have money
enough. I have not over four or five thousand
with me, and to break a bank, you know, my
friend, one must play a big game.”

Again the eyes of Hungry Joe sparkled, and
1 it required all his self-possession to prevent him
I from betraying the satisfaction he felt.

I Fm: thousand dollars was a pretty big haul.
I

 

 

"I did not think!” continued the detective
before Hungry Joe could speak. “ I have my
check-hook on the Bank of Montreal.

l suture is good for twenty thousand.”
3 “ Oh. you have money enough, so let’s be off!”

Hunzi'y Joe’s mouth was watering to get at
this wonderfully rich pigeon: not often did he
; chaii c ‘0 meet one so well worth the plucking.

Fifteen minutes later the two were ascending
the sips of a palatial brown stone-front man-
>I()lI on Thirty-first street.

My sig-

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
IN THE DEN.

‘ l'ii not quite sure that I will be able to get
in," Hungry Joe observed, in a dubious sort of
way, to his companion as he pulled the bell.

“This is one of the hightoned places, and
they do not admit any strangers unless they
are properly introduced.

" A friend, who knows the ropes, introduced
me, and I rather think the sable guardian of the
door will be apt to remember me, but he may
not."

The detective understood that this was all
gammon, for Hungry Joe, being a regular run-
ner for the house, was as well ki10wn to the ser—
vants as the proprietors of the establishment. .

But this little bit of “ funny business,” as it is
termed among the “ profession,” was.for the
purpose of inspiring the proposed victim With
5 perfect confidence in the honesty of his com-
! panion.
> And so, when the servant appeared—he was a
‘ stout, good looking negro, clad in a complete
suit of black, with a white necktie, looking re-
spectable in the extreme—at first be affected not
to remember “ de gemman ” at all.

The door was so arranged with a bolt and
chain on the inside that it could only be opened
about three inches: just far enough for the ser-
vant to get a view of the applicants for admis-
sion; then, if the inspection was not satisfac-
tory, he could decline to admit them, and it
would be impossible for them to force their way
into the house. _ I
i In case of a descent of the police, while they
} were enga ed in breaking the door open, ample
i time woul be a110wed for the gamblers w1thm
to escape.

I At last the servant pretended to suddenly re-
! member that he had seen de gemman before,
I and said he would admit him, but hesitated in
i re ard to his companion. I

I he “ capper,” however, upon assuring the
1 man that the gentleman was a “ thoroughbred,’
l

l

in every respect, succeeded at last in securing
admission.

The door was opened by the colored Cerberus
and the visitors were ushered into a hall fitted
up in the most luxurious manner. _

“ De password to—night, gemmens, is cham-
mgne and oysters,” said the negro, as the two
passed by him, and be carefully closed the door
z tcr them.
if“ What means he b that?" the disguised de-
tective inquired, thin ing that it was his game
to a car ignorant, although he had a pretty
goo( idea in regard to ‘he matter.

“W'e have to pass another guarded portal.
As I told you. this is one of the toniest places in
the city; all the big bugs come here, men whose
n‘imes’on ’change at the bottom of a check are
good for a hundred thousand doll'rs, and it
wouldn’t do, you know, for any such customers
as that to be ‘ pulled " by the 011cc. .

“They wouldn’t have sue a thing happen
for a million of dollars, and although there is
very little danger of the police ever troubling
theplace, for it is understood that the proprie-
tors Siand in with the powers that be and pay
a big sum weekly to a certain prominent man
in the police department for protection, yet
they take all these prgcautions so as to make
their atrons feel sa e. '

“Zgidea is a good one. Pesto! it would be
ugly to be drag ed to a police station and
locked up all nig t in a miserable cell like _a
common vagabond. \Vith my constitution it
would not agree at all,” the pretended French-
man remarked, with a true Gallic shrug of the
shoulders. .

“ Not the slightest den or of such a thing oc-
curring, I assure you!" un ry Joc protested.
“Whv. my dear sir, I wou dii’t have such a
thin v'linppen to me for the world! _

“ If the ’0ch of such a frightful accnleiit as
that should ever travel across the water, it
would cost me a fortune, for I’ve a bachelor
uncle, worth a hundred thousand pounds, and
lw has promised to make me his heir—I was
immcd after him—if I behaved myself like a
good boy: so in England, you know, I am

 

   
  
 
 
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

  

‘vi

'Uuum‘ intuit

 

i

If 1
63mmth

deuced particular what I am up to, but over
here, by Jove! I’m on the loose!"

By this time the two had come to a heavy
walnut door at the end of the entry.

Hungry Joe turned the ilded knob attached
to it, but, instead of the cor opening, a little
panel, about six inches square, in the middle of
the door, moved to one side, permitting the
face of another well-fed colored gentleman to

seen.

“Champagne and oysters, my boy!” said
Hungry Joe.

The darky grinned, closed the panel, and
then distinctly to the ears of the two came the
sound of heavy bolts moving in their sockets.

“ You see,’ Hungry Joe explained, “ how
deuced well managed the place is. If any hos-
tile force succeeded in getting by the first man,
here is a second door to stop them and allow
time for the birds to escape.”

“ Ze scheme is beautiful,” the Frenchman re-
marked.

“ Oh, the men that run this place are right at
the top of the heap‘.”

Then the door opened, the servant bowed
10w as the two passed by him, and they
ascended the stairs beyond, which were carpet-
el with an expensive stuff into which the foot
fairly sunk, so that their footfalls did not make
the least noise.

On the floor above were three rooms, two
lar e and one small.

T e small room was right at the head of the
stairs and fitted up for the reception of the
visitors’ hats and cumbersome outward gar—
ments, a servant being in charge to check the
articles.

Relieved of their: incumbrances, the two
sauntered into the front room.

Roland Yorke had seen some finely-furnished
apartments in his time, but the rooms into
which his companion conducted him went
ahead of anything in his experience.

The apartments were connected by a large
archwafy.

The rent one was a most elegant parlor,
adorned with superb furniture, costly statues
and expensive paintings.

By one of the walls stood an elaborate side-
board. upon which a sumptuous lunch was
spread, flanked by costly liquors.

A cream-colored waiter, active as a dancing-
master, and as polite as though he expected
every visitor to present him with a five dollar
bill, waited upon the guests.

“This is the best spread in town,” Hungry
Joe whispered to his companion. “ Delmonico
himself couldn’t get up a better.

“ They say they give the cook here two hun-
dred a month and a carte blanche to get what
he likes.

“The wines and liquors too are superb; I am
told that there isn’t a better stock in the city
than this house has in its cellars.”

In the inner room was the faro-table and
around it was quite a throng deeply engaged in

pla .

The runner was quite right in his statement
that the lace was first-c ass in every respect,
to 'udge mm the looks of the visitors.

There wasn’t a rough or a scaly-looking indi-
vidual in the rooms.

Altogether there were about thirty gentle-
men present, and the majority of them were
well along in years, solid, substantial-looking
men, not the kind at all that most people would
suspect of risking their money upon the turn of
a card. But the establishment had the reputa-
tion of playing a perfectly square game, and so
the solid men who, not content with the rise
and fall of stocks, “ hankered ” for a chance to
either win or lose money more speedily, took a
“ flyer ” in this lace.

The dis ui detective had surveyed the
guests wit an eagle eye, although so skillfully
did he manage it, that he seemed to be simply
glancing about him out of mere idle curiosity.

He was looking for the man whom he had
sworn to hunt down, Bristol Bill.

And Bristol Bill was there!

The heart of Roland Yorke gave a great leap
when he discovered the outlaw, although his
impassible face betrayled no sign of the exulta-
tion which possessed 'm when he made the dis—
COVt‘I'y.

He was on the track again.

Bristol Bill was capitally disguised, and it is
doubtful if any eye but that of his desperate
and determined foe could have penetrated his
secret.‘

He had had a clean shave,and wore a black wig
with rather long hair: the wig came down low
on his forehead and the hair was brushed back
behind his ears, and being dressed from head to
foot in black, with a white neck- tie, he had
quite a clerical look. -

The complete black suit too made him ap ear
much smaller than he really was, and the a ter-
ation wrought in his face by the wig was truly
wonderful.

Bristol Bill was not playing, but stood by the
sideboard busy in conversation with a portly,
good-looking man with a long, brown beard;
and the moment the disguised detective set eyes
upon him he came to the conclusion that he was
one of the proprietors of the place; there was
a certain something about him which to the
practiced eyes of the sleuth—hound of the law
seemed to indicate he was not a visitor.

Bristol Bill and the long-bearded gentleman
had surveyed the detective with searching eyes
when he entered the room in tow of the capper-
in, and Yorke, who d'scovered them almost as
soon as they did him, saw that the critical
moment was at hand.

If they, with their keen eyes, did not pene-
trate his disguise, it was moral! certain that
no one else would be able so to o, and for the
moment he felt anxious.

 

CHAPTER XIX.
A BIG GAME.

THE detective had complete confidence in his
disguise though and he did not believe that
any one, no matter how well-acquainted With
his person, would be able to detect his decep-
tion.

This belief was correct, for Bristol Bill did
not recognize him, althou h he bestowed a
m0st searching glance upon. im.

Two things favored the dis uised man. _

In the first place, Bristol Bill hadn’t any idea
that the detective would be able to get upon
his track so soon, for he had caused a report
that he had fled from the city to be widely cir-
culated in all resorts where the criminal c asses
congregate, and where, as a natural result, the
police-spies sought their pre .

This was done to thr0w t e sleuth hound off
his track.

Bristol Bill fully realized that at last a man
had struck in upon his trail who threatened to
prove more dangerous than any instrument of
justice whom he had yet encountered, and he
had made up his mind that at any cost the
bloodhound must be removed.

He understood that it was to be a struggle for
life or death, that he must kill the man who
had set in upon the pursuit with such fierceness,
or else the detective would certainly land him
upon the scaffold, and bold as was this master-
scoundrel, yet he shrunk from the hangman
and the rope. .
Secondly, as the detective had been lured into
the place by the most skillful runner that the
city could boast, or the whole country might be
challenged to produce his equal for that mat-
ter, Bristol Bill at once fell into the error that
he was a pigeon to be plucked and never for a
moment even entertained the suspicion that
there was anything wrong about him.

The searching look that he bestowed upon the
stranger was only for the purpose of ascertain-
ing what sort of a prey he was likely to make,
for Bristol Bill had a large, though secret inter-
est in the gambling-house. ‘ V I

“ He looks like a foreigner,” Bristol Bill re-
marked to his com )aiiion. ' .

“Yes; I shouldn t be surprised if he panned
out rich,” the other replied. “That rascal of a
Hungry Joe has a scent_as keen as a hound for
a man with money in his pocket. .

“It is a very rare thing indeed for him to

 

make a mistake and waste his time on a man
not worth the icking up."

“ That’s a film-looking gentleman with the
brown beard,” the detective remarked careless-
ly to his companion, as the both happened to
glance_in the direction of t e sideboard at the
same time.

“ Yes; I have a slight acquaintance with him.
He 18.0118 of the noted men about town. His
name is Bolly Lewes and he is a regular king
among the sports of New York.”

Hungry Joe felt that he was being led upon
dangerous ground, when the Frenchman re~
ferred to the m with the brown beard.

Bolly Lewes was one of those men whose re-
putation as a sport extended from Maine to
California, from the Gulf of Mexico to the
frozen regions of the North.

That he had been in Montreal a dozen times,
and each time made a stir in the sporting cir-
cles of the town, was more than probable.

It was possible that the stranger had met him
on one of these occasions and to attempt to lie
about the man’s character might upset the
whole afl‘air.

So Hungry Joe thought that it was best to
tell the truth.

“Ah, yes, he looks like a representative man,
although I should never have taken him for a
sport,” the detective remarked,quite carelessly,
as though he took no particular interest in the
matter.

“ He is one, and a deuced fine fellow too,
everybody says!”

“Let's have a glass of something and then
we can try our luc ,” the supposed Frenchman
suggested.

" All right, I’m agreeable.”

The two went up to the sideboard: Hungry
Joe took a glass of sherry wine, while the French-
man, to the delight of the runner, indulged in
a good horn of brandy.

This was exactly what Joe liked to see.

If a man commenced on brandy he was apt
to stick to it, and when a man begins to gamble
and becomes excited he generally drinks hard.
particularly if he is a new hand at gaming, and
not used to the excitement.

Then the two made their way to the table.

An old gray-bearded gentleman, wh looked
as if he might be the president of a ational
Bank, had just lost the last of his stock of chips
as the two men approached, and stood gazing for

_a moment with an anxious face as the “ bank ”

raked in its gains, then smiled a sort of sickly
smile, got up, went to the sideboard, helped
himself to a whole tumbler full of brandy, took
his hat and departed.

Bolly Lewes noticed him as he went out, and
remarked to Bristol Bill: '

“ That’s old General Jones, of the firm of
Jones and Jones; one of the leading broker-
houses in Wall street.

' “ He has blown into the bank here fifty thou—
sand dollars since last month.

“ I should not be surprised if the firm wakes
up some morning and finds the general to be
among the missing.

“For I reckon it’s the firm’s money that he
has been using.”

The gambler’s words were prophetic.

Next morning the old general was among the

missmg.

He was dead.

Going straight home from the gambling-house
he took a dose of poison, and the next day the
city rung with the news that he was a defaulter
to the tune of a hundred thousand dollars.

Such is life!

“ Hungry Joe’s man is going to take the gen—
eral’s chair,” Bristol Bill remarked, “and that
ought to bring him bad luck, for I heard one of
the boys say to night that the old man hadn’t
won a bet for a week.” _

“ Well, I don’t know about that,” responded
the gambler, with a dubious shake of the head.
“ The chair may be bad luck to him, and mighty
good luck to another man.

“I’ve seen luck change about in just that
way a hundred times; luck is one of those slip—
pery things that a man can’t tell much about.

“ I know I would much rather tackle a bank
after an unlucky player, than to take the chair
of a man who had got up a big winner.”

And the gambler seemed right in this belief,
too, for the luck of the chair seemed to change
the moment the stranger sat down in it.

“ That man is no slouch of a gambler!” Bolly
Lewes exclaimed, as he watched the French-
man’s game.

And, in fact, the detective, though young in
years, was an old hand at this sort of thing, for
when standing on the threshold of manhood he
had been infatuated with the temptations of
the green cloth, and had risked many a dollar,
and spent many an hour “ bucking against the
tiger. ’

And since he had weaned himself from the
fatal habit he had given much study to the
game, just for mere amusement, and had
thought out a “system ’.’ which be judged would
be apt to win, if the player was at all favored
by fortune.

It was simple enough.

If a certain card came out a loser three times
in succession, back it to win on the fourth, or if
it won three times, back it to lose on the fourth.

And as the disguised detective had plenty of
money to back his game, he went in boldly.

He tossed over ten one—hundreddollar notes,
and requested a thousand dollars’ worth of chips
to begin with.

This did not excite any particular attention
because it was a “ game” noted for its big
stakes.

The man who only ventured ten dollars upon
a card was thought to be rather small potatoes,
fifty-dollar bets being far more frequent than
ones for lower sums.

A fresh deal had just commenced when the
new-comer sat down at the table; he watched
the cards run for a few minutes, until the ace
had lost three times in succession, and then he
put the whole thousand dollars on the ace to
wm.

The magnitude of this first bet caused the
rest of the players to open their eyes, for it was
not often t at a man plunged in so boldly at
the beginning.

The ace won.

“The luck has changed,” Bolly Lewes re-
marked to Bristol Bill.

“He’s a bold fellow and plays a big game,
whoever he is,” the other remarked. “ You
had better look out or he may break your bank
for you to-nigbt, for that’s the kind of fellow
he is, I can see plainly enough.”

“ That would be a tough joke on Hungry Joe ”
Lewes observed, with a quiet chuck e. “ e
gets so much per cent. of what the stranger
loses as his commission for inducing the fly to
walk into the spider’s parlor.

“ Now if the fellow breaks the bank and
strikes us for fifty thousand dollars, can’t we
come down upon Joe for a percentage on that
sum? It’s a poor rule that won’t work both
ways. you know.”

“ When you get it out of Joe, you can ut it
in your eye and see clear,” Bristol Bill rep ied.

The game continued.

The stranger bet more and more heavily, and
he seldom lost.

The stack of chips at his elbow grew to mam-
moth proportions.

At two o’clock he had won ten thousand dol-
lars.

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

———

 

AN IDOL LEGEND—A certain tribe in Africa
worship what they call the Sacred Hen. You
see, along time ago a certain Dorcas Society
sent a lot of clothes and edibles to the heathen,
and among the latter was a spring chicken.
The savages founi it impossible to cut or chew
the spring chicken, which had evidentl hailed
from a boarding—house, so the chief tie a cord
on it and used it for a slungshot. In the first
battle in which he used it he killed a neigh—
boring king and won a signal victory. He then
concluded that the spring chicken must be some
kind of a Mascotte, and all the tribe fell down
before it and worshiped. And the are wor-
shiping it yet under the title of the acred Hen.

 

 

Vigilantes in Montana.

 

BY E. P. M.

IT is believed that eight or nine men have
been hanged within the past year by the Mon-
tana Vigi antes. Several of these executions oc-
curred last winter at IVeeksvilie, now Kitchen’s,
a temporary settlement on the line of the North—
ern PaCific Railroad, on the Bitter Root river,
and near the Idaho line. From the window of
his Pullman car the traveler sens three new
graves. One of the mounds is marked by a pair
of crutches stuck into the earth. The crutches
belonged to the gentleman who occupies this
grave. _ He had accidentally shot himself in the
leg while attempting a robbery, and was hob-
bling around the country when the Vigilantes
came up with him. The two sticks form his
only monument.

The last executions by order of the Vigilantes
were no longer ago than July. A barn was
burned in Greenhorn Gulch by incendiaries.
SuspiCion and certain footprints pointed to the.
houses of two neighbors, one of i 'bom was post—
master. Near by, and in full view of this rail
road track, are two fir trees, one on each side of
the stage road. It is a little more than ten
weeks since the body of the postmaster ai.
Greenhorn Gulch was found swinging from one
of these fir trees; the tree acrOss the read was
tenanted by the corpse of the postmastcr's part—
ner.

A piece of white cardboard, measuring ex-
actly seven inches by nine. and carrying in
very black ink the device represented below, is
sometimes visible of a morning tacked to the
door of a house or cabin, pinned to the canv::s
flap of a tent, or nailed to a stake, planted 0p-
poute the entrance of a ranch or wakiup in the
wild :rness:

 

3-7 -7 7

_The placard conveys a message that is intelli-
gible to every desperado in Montana. The
figures 3-7—77 are the conventional form of no-
tice that his record has been considered by the
Vigilance Committee, and that he must pack
up and leave within twenty—four hours. The-
skull and crossbones tell him what will happen
if he treats the warning with contempt. He
knows that there is no nonsense about the mes-
sage; the senders of it are in grim earnest. In
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the person
thus notified to depart hunts the hills without
dela , and Montana sees him no more. In the
hun redth instance, perhaps, feeling that he is
the victim of a mistake or of unjust suspicion.
he seeks the most prominent and generally re-
spected citizen in the neighborhood and lays
the case before him. The defense is heard
kindly and patiently, as one neighbor listens to
the story of another neighbor’s wrongs. Not a
word passes indicating that the accused is, in
efi'ect, pleading his cause before the Vigilance
Committee; yet both the pleader and the lis
tener know that such is the fact. If there is
merit in the plea the charges receive further
investigation. A few days later the defendant
in this informal proceeding gets a 0rd in a
roundabout way that judgment against him has
been reversed, and that he may remain.

For there is still in existence in Montana an
active and powerful organization outside of
and, in some senses, above the Territorial law.
It has included, and perhaps still includes, a
great majority of the honest men of the Terri-
tory. Leading citizens—bank preridents, law-
yers, merchants who have become millionaires.
editors, successful miners, farmers, and stock-
raisers—-—while usually reticent about their pres-
ent relations With the Vigilantes, do not hesi-
tate to speak with frankness and even pride
about the masks they have worn in the past.
and the nooses they have tied, and the thievw
and murderers they have dropped. I haw
heard the distinguished leader of the Mon ana
bar tell how he stood on the head of a strun~
gling wretch, and wound the rope tighter
around the ga110ws bar overhead. These good
citizens admit that the Vigilantes have made
mistakes, but they hold that the summary ad-
ministration of justice through means not re»
cognized by law was, on the whole, unerring,
satisfactory, and, under the peculiar conditions
of society, absolutely necessary for the protec-
tion of life and property.

There is no doubt that the organization is still
a terror to the lawless in Montana. They credit
it with an extent and minuteness of knowledge
concerning their past careers and present move-
ments which it cannot in the nature oi things
really possess. It was not unusual for a new—
comer in Montana to go to some citizen sup-

sed to be powerful in the councils of the Vigi-
unce organization with a request like this: “ I
am So-and-so from such or such a place. I
committed this or that crime in the States, but
of course you know my history from A to Z.
I want to live straight and square here in Mon—
tana, and} beg that you will not let what y. u
know of my record count against me.” The
petitioner who thus voluntarily gave an ay his
secret was always told that the Vigilance Com—
mittee took no cognizance of the former life of
new-comers; that if he showed a disposition to
lead an honest life he would be all right. The
very general belief in the omniscience of the
Vigilantes has been one of the chief sources of
the organization’s power.

When asked to explain the continuance to the

resent day of a system which cannot be justi—
Iied on general principles, the Montana Vigi-
lanter replies in this fashion: “ We came to-
gether when there was no law in the Territory,
and we organized for the prevention and pun-
ishment of crime. We (lid unpleasant work
with firm hands. While our mountain law was
a terror to all villains, no honest citizen ever
had reason to fear it. Politics never influenced
its actions, personal interest or malice rarely, if
ever. The best men in the Territory “ere
among us. We drove out the murderers and
road-agents, and made it possible for the peace—
able to live and for the industrious to retain
the products of their Own industry. “’0 did
more than this. We introduced and established
the courts of justice, and made the civil au-
thority respected. Just as fast as the corsoli—
dation of society renders operative the ordinary
processes of law we retire with our L3, nch law.
We stand behind the courts, and uphold them.
If we ever interfere now, it is to supplement
the defective administration of the civil au
thority and to correct izs mistakes. When
Grand Juries in Montana are fully up to theii
work, and Judges, District Attorneys, tria‘
jurymen, and Sherifi's do their Whole duty, you
wil hear no more of the Vigilantes except as a
memory.”

It is exactly twenty years since the Vigilance
Committee of Montana. was first organized in
that region of the Rocky Mountains which is
drained by the three forks of the Missouri. Four
men at Bannack City and five at Virginia City
led in the movement. In about thirty days the
Vigilantes had captured, tried, and hanged
twenty-two members of Henry Plummer’s band
of road~aglents—a gang of robbers who VW‘I‘B
known to ave murdered not less than one l‘un»
dred and two ersons in the few months pre»
ceding. The s cry of this short and decisive
campaign is told in a pamphlet pub'ished in
Virginia City last year by D. W. I‘mon. Tin-
pamphlet purports to have been “rit‘cu by
“Prof. Thos. J. Drinsdale"-—a on he which up
parently conceals the identity of one of the
principal aetors in the ting dy.

 

 

“PEPI, how did you get along in school "0
day?” “Badly, apa: the teacher grave i. e n
thrashing.” “ by?” “\Vell, he asked me
how many teeth a man had, and l sail a zirhclu
mouth full.”

 

o

 

 

 

H- ..l&....... a . . ‘_‘ i...» ,.,

I courted Genevieve, a comely maid:

Did all my trembling bones and stammering tongue

Oh, coward man, to fear a maiden so!

h. wretch unwise, to treat with such a foe-

I married Genevieve. a stalwart wife:
Dor l permeate my troublous matrimonial life
Sagacious man, respecting woman so!

And mcekly through the gloom of wedded life I go,

 

Popular Poems.

——‘.>—*

GENEVIEVE.

 

My love was hot, and yet a gentle fear

pervade
When she, my worshiped Genevieve, was near.

Oh, foolish craven, holding love so dear!

Trembiing, forsooth, when Genevieve was near!

Mv love hath cooled, and still a generous fear
When she. my vigorous Genevieve, is near.
I’m on my knees when she is on her ear-—

Trembling, alas: when Gsiievieve is near.
——[)én].‘:7‘ Tnbzme.

 

20'

MELV SCHATZCHEN‘

 

Oh maiden of the flax-en hair!
(\Va: i-vcr maid more blithe and fair?)
Oh uiaiten of the azure eye!
Perceive you not in mch deep sigh
M} (lii‘i.~ibewerl)ung?
Swe- t maid. fur you I'd sacrifice
My Ilt‘t‘VIS and. feet and hair and eyes,
It I CL iii! know success would fall
()1! wan; for j» i vur :Ee;.l‘ sake, I call
My Glut-tbcn'crbung!

 

Fair liciiiscllu: d never knew a maid
In churn» so rich: no artful aid
Could lllilIU' you more deserve that I
Should long and diligently ply

)ly Giiilstbewerbung!
Sof. mailer. of the fiaxcn hair,
If you will follow me to where
Columbia spreads her verdant sward,
Oh, that WI 1 rich indeed reward

My Gunstbewerbung!

~- Com to «Daniel.

 

:0:
ONLY!

 

 

BY JOHN ASKHAM.

Only a shred of hair set in a ring;

Yet how I prize that lock of silken hair!
I do esteem it as a priceless thing,

And evermore the precious bauble wear.

Only a little chair, lon vacant now,
But memory often fl is the empty seat:

A fair. sweet child, with calm and sinless brow,
I see in fancy sitting at my feet.

Only the portrait of a childish face,

be silent shadow of a vanished forni,

Pressed often to my own in glad embrace,
With loving prattle and fond kisses warm.

Only some broken toys; but oh! to me
They are the relics of a happy past;
Ke t as a. treasure under lock and ke .
ementoes of a time too bright to list.

Only some little garments worn and old,
Gazed at in secret sorrow now and then:

Guarded as misers hoard their darling gold,
And hide the treasure from the eyes of men.

Only two iiny shoes, worn out almost,
You would not deem them worth a passing
thought:
But oh! they conjure up a rushing host
Of sweet, sad memories that come unsought.

Only a little bed: how oft I bent
To kiss the lovely tenant sleeping thk re;
My heart was happy in its great content,
-'or recked the sorrow it has had to bear.
Only a little while, but short at best,
And time will waft us t , the other shire:
Pei-tings and death no more shall rackthc breast
.In that blest home, the Land of Evermore!
——Ni at York 0 we) wer.

-—202

 

A RISE-BALL BALLAD.

 

J. Smith is dead. That fine young man,
W» ne’er shall see him more.

He was a member of our club
Since 1864.

His private virtues were immense,
His inamier free and bluff,

He wore a paper collar, and
Was never known to muff.

He rarely took a drink more strong
Than lemonade or pop:

He hated drunkards, and was a
Magnificent short-stop.

His nose was Roman, and his eyes
Continually were peeled;

He made a s lendid umpire, and
A beautif left—field.

His hair was red, and shingled close;
Much sunburned was his face;

He never showed with more effect
Than on the second base.

Being a man, he had his faults,
As likewise have we all:

He felt a preference for the New
York regulation ball.

Though not a matrimonial man,
He dearly loved a match,

And, like his sisters, had but few
Superiors on the catch.

He had a noble mind, as eke
A very supple wrist: _

And when he pitched he gave the ball
His own peculiar twist.

Of )olitics and church affairs
e held restricted views:

His fee; were usuall incascd

In canvas, hob-uai ed shoes.

But he is gone. With ins and outs
Forever he is done:

He broke his heart and hurt his spleen
In making a. home run.

His body we have planted now,
His soul is in the sky:
The angels reached from heaven down
And took him on the fly.
— B'U‘llwf/IOZ/ [[awkeye.

 

102

 

OVER‘VoRKED.

 

BY ELLA WHEELER.

Up with the birds in the early morning—
l‘he dew-drop glows like a precious gem;
Beautiful tints in the skies are dawning.
But she‘s never a moment to look at them.
The men are wanting their breakfast » arly;
She must not linger, she must not wait:
For “'0: ds that are sharp and looks that are surly
Are what men give when the meals are late.

Oli. glorious colors the clouds are turning,
If she would but look over hills and trees;

But here are the dishes. and here is the churning—-
Those things must always yield to these.

The \‘ orld is filled with the wine of beauty,
If she could but pause and drink it in;

Du.t pleasurc. she says, must wait for duty—
Neglected work is committed sin.

The day grows hot, and her hands grow weary;
Oh, for an hour to cool her head
Out with the birds and winds so cheery!
But she must get dinner and make her bread.
The busy men in the hay-field working,
If they saw her sitting with idle haiirl,
Would t‘ ink her lazy, and call it shirking,
And she never could make them understand.

They do not know that the heart within her
Hungcrs for beauty and things sublime,

They only know that they want their dinner,
Plenty of it, and just on time.

And after the sweeping and churning and baking,
And dinin r dishes are all put by,

She sits and sews, though her head is aching,
Till time for supper and chores draw nigh.

Her boys at school must look like others,

Slit $.1st124 she patches their frocks and hose,
For the \V'il'lil is. quick to censure mothers

For the lenst neglect of tlieircliildri 21‘s clothes.
Her husband comes from the field of labor,

lie gin- no praise to his weary \vilV-z
She‘s (Iiilil no lil.il‘¢-' than has he neighbm';

‘Tis the lot of all in country life.

But zif‘w r the st rife and weary tussle
With hf“ is done, and she lies at rcr'. ‘

 

 
 

 

  

 

 

’l‘hc nuiio: ‘s brain and heart and muscle—
Hcr sons and daught rs—shall call her blest,
And - think the swcclcsl jOi,‘ of h {Wt-'1.
The i'nrwsl lilies of t tci‘nul life,
And the fiiii'c t crown of all, will be gii'rn
Unto tIlt 2i”;yii'(\i‘ii farmer's wife.
———(". W41. '1'. MM.

 

   
    

H own..- ,,.,...._..

, .- Wm”— -7

-mqu .g.-.»‘ ‘H

.....,. ml, -~  7m;

"if..- . . .

or-

-,-e..  v?

:.

fin.

.  :11, w, an  «- .wm..om~:~ .. .

"1" W..- . 

k... _.u~
at. , .

I “’."-—Vr.. we

.‘

y’...

‘ '“W‘t‘f‘ 2 V.

.w «,3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

        

 

 

 

 

   
 
 
 
 
  

L, . x»
ackéénxr-
. “ v,

     

 

  

  
 

a..."

9.2
6?) G?
s

 

 

Published every Monday momma a! nine 0.610015.

 

 

NEIV YORK, NOVEMBER 3, 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 preferring to have the paper sent direct, by
mail, from the publication office, are supplied at
the following rates:

Terms to Subscribers, Postage Prepaid:

One co y, four months . . . . , . . . . . . . . . .. $1.00.
“  one year. . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 5.00.
Two copies, one year . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 5.00.

In all orders for subscriptions be careful to give
address in full- State, County and Town._ The pa-
per is always stopped, promptly, at expiration of
subscription. Subscriptions can start With any late
number. . .

TAKE NOTICE—In sending money for subscription,
by mail, never inc-lose the currency except in _a re-

istered letter. A Post Office Money Order is the

st form of a remittance. Losses by mail Will be
almost surely avoided if these directions are fol-
lowed. _

WA“ communications, subscriptions, and let-
ters on business should be addressed to

BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,

98 WILLIAM ST., NEW YORK.

 

COMMENCES IN NEXT ISSUE!

Gideon Goldlace,
The High Horse of the Pacific.

A Tale of \Vestcrn Texas.

 

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN,
AUTHOR.OF “ OVERLAND KIT." “ RED RICHARD,”
“BAT or THE BATTERY,” “DEMON DE-

TECTIVE,” ETC., ETC.

 

The popular romance-writer makes a decided
hit.

The High Horse is as strikingly original as
the ce'ebrated Dick Talbot.

The story, as such, is full of the most novel
dramatic and personal interest.

The locality chosen is one never before intro-
duced in wild West and border romance.

The strangest features of corrbined mining,
fort, border and wilderness life are behind it
all.

The miner, the rough—rider, the reckless ad-
venturer, the keen sport, the rowdy and bum-
mer—all are the dramatis personaa.

And An Odd Girl
And A Queer Dutchman
serve to give the exciting proceedings 9. very
humorous and pleasing semblance. So all in
all it is
The Story of the Season!

 

The Wide Awake Papers.

“ In Care of” You.

THII “Paper” is for You and yet not for
You. B You I mean all the masculine readers
of the VgEEKLY: and the paradox means that
this “ Paper” is for you to take charge of but
that you are not to read it. Just think what
implicit faith I put in your honesty that I con-
sign to your care an open article which you are
not to read—though I am free to confess that it
concerns yourself entirely. But men have no
curiosity—so it has been asserted through all
ages; though why Adam tasted the apple, if it
was not from a curious desire to learn its flavor,
I defy any theologian to explain ;—and upon
that fact may be founded quite a little faith in
their honor and honesty. Accordingly, depend-
ing upon your'éntire freedom from curiosity, I
give this paper into your hands with the under-
standing that you are not to read beyond the
point where my instructions cease concerning
its disposal; but, if you are married, give it to
your wife to read. If you have a sweetheart,
tell her this was written for your benefit but
for her perusal. If you have not yet “ popped
the question,” and there is no girl with whom
you are regularly “keeping company,” hand
this to the young woman youiare thinking of
taking to the circus the next time it comes to
town. At all events give it to the woman whom
you believe to be the most in love with you,
even if she should be that commonplace Indi-
vidual—a sister or a mother: and tell her that a
friend of yours, who has your interests very
much at heart, desired her to give some atten-
tion to it for your sake. You need not peep over
her shoulder as she reads it, either. That would
be both impolite and mean, to say nothing of
the familiarity it would imply, which should
be promptly rebuked.

Now fol this—just here—so that you can
carry or send it to your sweethmrt, “com-
pany,” or best feminine friend, whoever she
may be, without reading further—to where I
sayito her:

y dear, the next time he accompanies you
to any public entertainment, see to it that he
takes off his hat the moment he enters the
building, or—at the latest—the instant he gets
to his seat. If he forgets this important act, do
not be afraid to jog his memory. I am con-
vinced that one~half or even three-fourths of
the rowdyish men one sees could be transformed
into well-mannered ones if but the women
with whom they associate most, and of whom
they are most fond, would exert themselves to
protest against the rudenesses shown them;
for I do not believe that the majority of ill—be-
haved men are so from choice. but from igno-
rance, carelessness, and the mistaken silence of
friends. It is a. rudeness for a man to keep his
head covered when he is indoors and in the pres-
ence of women. and when your escort keeps on
his hat, when it should be Off, it is a duty you
owe both to him and yourself to ask him to re-
move it. You owe this duty to him because it
is always a woman’s place to be a reformer.
Every man with whom you associate should be
better, gentler, more refined, more courtly, for
his acquaintance with you: and you owe this
duty to yourself because your own reputation
suffers or gains, in the eyes of all who observe
you, by the company you appear to keep. When

see a man at the theater sit by his companion’s
side with covered head, I immediately set him
down as ignorant and rowdyish; and naturally
one concludes that the girl who keeps such com-
pany, and allows such indignity to be shown
herself, is no lady, and has no knowledge of
good manners or the proprieties. If the girl is
misjudged it is her own fault; she should have
insisted upon her escort showing proper defer-
ence to herself and the laws of good behavior.

Another thing, my dear; if he chews tobacco,
insist that he shall not chew while in your com-
pan y. It does not matter that you “ object less
than some peOple"—people of cleaner habits
and finer senses—t0 this dirty practice. You
owe it to yourself all the same, and he Owes
that much respect to you, that he shall not
chew while with you; first because it is dirty,
and if he loves or respects you he should not
do, in your presence, that which is filthy;
secondly, because it renders the breath Offen—
sive, and a gen leman should always guard
against the vulgarity of appearing before a
lady with an ill-smelling mouth; thirdly, it is
a breach of good manners, and an indignity to

 

the person addressed, to talk with anything in
the mouth; fourthly, it necessitates the vul-
garity of spitting— a rudeness your escort
should never be guilty Of in your presence.
So, whether you approve or disapprove the
custom of chewing, you should at least resent
as an insult the act of chewing carried on in
your presence. You look blank! Perhaps he
chews, and you are afraid that if you suggest
to him that he cannot roll his quid about his
mouth and squirt tobacco-juice in your pres-
ence, he will swerve from his allegiance to you
and shineu to that horrid red-headed Polly
Hopkins. er well, make your protest and
let him do it! If he does not respect you more
for respecting yourself and insisting that he
shall not do, in your company, that Whlch_Wlll
expose you to the charge of associating With a
vulgar, ignorant, ill bred man, he is a poor cur,
not worth your friendship. If he loves his
quid of tobacco better than an hour or so of
your companionship you can rest assured that
he did not waste much affection on you. The
other night, at the theater, I saw a well-dressed
young woman out with an escort who sat and
chewed his cud and spat on the Brussels car et
of the aisle throughout the performance. 0

ou think any man who respected the woman
e was with would have so disgraced her, or
that any woman who respected herself would
have permitted her escort to act so vulgarly
and disgustingly in her company? I_ have no
ri lit to say to any of my male acquaintances,
“ ou shall not chew tobacco!” but I havea
perfect right to refuse to go out with any man
whose mouth is dirty, whose breath 15 nasty,
who talks to me with a big wad in his mouth,
who chews in my company, who splashes walks,
soils floors, ruins carpets, with great pools of
filth as he promenades, rides, or sits at my side.
And no girl who respects herself would be seen
with such a man. And if a girl discovers a
man doing these things in her presence it is her
right, and her duty to herself, to ask him to
refrain until he shall have left her.

These are two things, my dear, that you
should see to it, both for his improvement in
good manners and for the sake of your own
reputation, that the man who gives you this to
read never does. If he really cares for you he
will not love you less, but more, that you gen-
tlv but firmly assert your right to his courtesy,
his best behavior, and his evidences of respect:
and it is because I, as well as you, am interested
in him that I ask you to seek to reform his
manners in these respects. Kindly remember
me to him, but you need not tell him all I have
said. This is our little secret, and he must re-
spect it. BELLE BRIGHT.

 

The Owl Papers.

A Seedy Congressman.

COLONEL BILL HICKS was a seedy Con zress-
man, in the agricultural sense. and made poetry
pay by sendin his verse on every package of
seed forwarded to his constituents, though while
running for his fourth term a mistake in the
packages, made by his secretary, raised such a
laugh on him in his district that the opposition
used it as a campaign measure against him and
he lost the election; literally laughed out.

One of the verses sent out to a lukewarm
friend was this, on a package labeled “ Cauli-
flower”:

“ Let me, like this seed, grow to power;
’Tis what the people call—a-fiower,
And comes of right good stalk, I ween;
You’ll find it tender, soft and green.
On heads of it may you be fed
And always see that I‘m a-head.”

The seed turned out to be cabbages, but
G. W. Washington was the only person who
succeeded in having his name immortalized by
such plants.

Another package marked “ Watermelonseed,”
sent out, bore this:

“ When one of these grows out of bound,
The people all shall flock around
As I would have them flock round me—
With noise and shout, tumultuously.
The fruit will the fair prize obtain.
Just like me in the next campaign.”

These eventually turned out .some pretty
good pumpkins, and some pumpkins he did not
get to be. .

To my uncle was sent some new kind of hay-
seed, with

“ Hay there, my dear yeoman friend!
To the winds these seedlets send!
But don’t let it come to pass
That I should be sent to grass.
Prize it as I do who wear
Some of It within my I air.
Recollect the cause of mine,
And make hay while the sun doth shine."

A package of cats had this:

“ Oats sweet to be Of some account
To friends, as up Fame’s bill you mount.
I hope my honor to sustain
Will never go against your grain.
’Tis writ some men will catch at straws;—
May I get handfuls in my claws!
Sow these, and may the future shocks
Fill all your barn—and ballot-box."
Along with some corn to show it the way
was:
“ May every grain of corn in here
Be fruitful of the election-ear.
Like unto me ’twill take the field
And (like my opponent) quickly yield.
Plant it in hills and then proclaim
From every hill my claim and name.
I tell you, sure as I am born,
— ’Tis you whom I would hope to corn;
While everything ahead denotes
A cornucopia of votes."
You see the old gentleman spoke right out——
until his spoke was left out. He meant busi-
n

 

ess.
With a select but small sack of beans went:

“ Of all stringed instruments, I ween,
The greatest yet is the stringed bean.
May all my henchmen of the sod
Be thick as beans within a ,
And I would have them tru y know
I’ve been soup-erior to my foe;
So when around election rolls
Like beans they’ll hold me at the polls.”
He was a bean eficent man! He forwarded
this rhyme, along with some patented onion-
sets:
“ Strong as an onion do I stand,
To scent the welfare of my land,
And, like the onion fumes which rise,
Let me be strong within your eyes."
He strove always to hide his modesty under
a bushel with the bottom out, and sent with
some tomato—seed:
“ It’s very good, you‘ll surely note,
To transplant all things—save a vote.
Stick these so they will stick to sticks
As you would stick to me. Bill Hicks;
For it is hard. you will ree,
To—matvo Congressman like me."

You see he was full of sauce and wanted to

ketchup.
Another constituent got some potatoes with
this epitaph:
“ Like these tatoes be all eyes

And watch 111 where my interest lies.
These here the large potatoes be :—

NO small potatoes, sure, are are.

Get hel and drop them in a hill

As you (1, with help, drop votes for Bill."

He was so difiident!

He sent a constituent some clover-seed with
this trade-mark:

“ This clover is the flve-leaved kind
For which so many seek to find.
Sow it well, and barrow it over:
Vote for me. and live in clover.”

If he had only had a little more boldness to
push his claims! But he seemed to leave him-
self in the background—and only came up when
the procession had passed.

The countersign toa package of rye-seed was:

“ This rye is said to be the best
That ever yet was sent out West;
And well adapted to its use,
Because it is more full of juice.
I wish I could more voters spy
A-coming through this rye."

 

That was all wall enough, but. unfortunately,

- Obediently,

 

it was by mistake sent to a preacher, and worked
woe from firstly to the doxology—aml later.
His post mark on some hemp seed ran:

“ Full soon this hemp shall grow most tall,
And pods of rope grow ripe and fall.
I came of a most glorious line!
To friends I‘m bound as by a twine!
Willi them I cord; for them I hope
To climb to fame on ladder of rope.
Your neighbors will not think it sin
If they for me can be roped in.“

On a package signed “ Muskmelon,” was this
legend:

“ Oh, rear these well. and when you see
Their fruit then kindly think of me.”

He argued in vain that it was the nature of
the ground that made them turn out to be
squashes.

He did not know how to electioneer, and sent
one farmer some wheat with this sentiment:

“ ’Tis wheat to have a tender friend
To whom this wheat I haste to send.
I ho e that it may prove to be
See sown in best of ground—for me .'
To me return an hundred fold
When you your next election hold.
Sow it as you would sow my praise—
Broadcast along your country ways.
The bread from it I know wil please
When it is eaten — with fran‘c/zeese.”

On a paper of beets in the small he auto-
graphed these lines:

“ Plant to m credit this good seed
And may t eir yield be great indeed!
In next campaign we’ll not be beet,
Nor will we beet a foul retreat.
Beet rue to me and guard me close
Whatever beetling powers oppose.”

On account of the seed business he had to se-
seed from the canvass. Yet in his old district
they still keep his memory green.

SOLOMON SHINGLE.

 

The Woods of Carolina.

THE vast forests of North Carolina—just now
coming into great prominence as a source of
supply to the seaboard States—comprise trees
of one hundred and fifty varieties—in which
may be mentioned the curly poplar, black oak,
water oak, Spanish oak, red hickory, curled
maple, hackberry, persimmon, cotton, gum,
beech, maple, tupelo gum (a. very white wood.)
sycamore, villow oak, red bay, hornbeam,
laurel oak, juniper, palmetto, ash, red elm,
gum poplar, bitter-nut hickory, holly, black-
jack oak, yellow locust, red cedar, sour wood,
white holly, swamp chestnut oak, red birch,
sweet gum, overcup oak, old-field pine, short-
leaf pine, yellow pine, pitch pine, ond pine,
white pine, sassafras. white shellbar hickory,
black gum, mulberry, hemlock spruce, chin--
quepin, dogwood, white spruce, weeping willow,
sumach, balm of Gilead, honey locust, wild red
cherry, witch hazel, umbrella,mountain maple,
white bay, black mulberry, white walnut,
curled pine, black walnut, scrub oak, rough
and smooth bark cucumber, laurel, crab-apple,
huckleberry, service, chestnut, china tree, black
ash, black cypress, hemlock, striped maple,
magnolia, ivy, water ash, snowdrop, iron wood.
red hickory, wax myrtle, balsam fir, sugar
maple, yellow wood, swamp dogwood, wahoo,
red elm, yellow poplar, Wst oak, black birch,
cypress, linn, etc., etc. but country on the
earth can show a like value in variety and com-
mercial usefulness?

White Scalp Hunters.

MR. MAqu REID, the celebrated novelist, in
a recent letter to the London Echo, contributes
his testimony to show that scalp-hunting has
been a feature Of society during the last three-
quarters of a century. He says:

“In this day’s issue Of the Echo a pears a para-
graph, copied from the New York n'bune, under
the heading ‘White Scalp Hunters.’ It tells of an
inhuman deed, with rejoicin thereat, done in the
‘new and thriving city of C 'huahua.‘ Chihuahua
is not a new city, but one of the oldest in Northern
Mexico; and I grieve to add that the deed chroni-
cled there is neither new, nor of rare occurrence.
Any one who has read my novel, ‘ The Scalp Hunt-
ers ’——from which the paragraph referred to takes
its ending—will find in the penultimate cha ter an
account of a similar incident, thus:—-‘ The re urn of
the expedition (that of the scalp-hunters) to El Paso
was celebrated by a triumphant ovation. Cannons
boomed, bells rung, fireworks hissed and sputtered,
masses were sung, and music filled the streets.
Feasting and memment followed, and the night was
turned into a blazing illumination of wax candles
with an grandfuncion dc balk—a “ fandan o." * “
Next morning, as we rode out Of El Paso, chanced
to look back. There was a 10513?] string of dark ob-
'ects waving over the gates. etc was no mistak-
ing what they were, as they were unlike anything
else. They were scalps.’

"In another of my novels of later date, I have
given an account of a similar ory adornment over
the gates of Chihuahua; and t e same may be said
of other Mexican frontier towns as inciden s of fre-
quent occurrence during the last three—quarters of a
century. Why it is now brought before the civilized
world as a novelty is a matter of so rise to yours,
rm: REED."

 

A City On Wheels.

How towns in the West migrate, is thus de-
scribed by a letter given in the McGregor,
Dakota, Times:—“ I arrived at Bartlett, D. T.,
about the middle of the afternoon of a beauti-
ful day. 1 found some stir and activity among
the people of the city, but it seemed to be the
excitement incident to the emigration of a city
on wheels. The ople generally had aban-
doned all hope 0 the city, and were moving
their houses bodily to Devil’s Lake and other
places. The houses were first lifted onto large
timbers of sufficient size and strength to hear
the weight of the house. These timbers were
then suspended under two monstrous frei ht-
wagons on either side of the building; our
large horses or oxen were then hitched to the
wagon on each side, and, the road to Devil’s
Lake being across a smooth prairie, the teams
were able to move' along easily with a fair-
sized building. Some of them, with the teams
attached, presented to my mind sights most
magnificent. It was the first time that I had
ever seen a city moving on wheels. I had seen
people moving on a large scale in their so-
called “prairie-schooners,” but the sight was
tame compared with this. I thought of a re-
mark I once heard to the effect that ‘the ap-
proach of a train of cars drawn by a powerful
engine was a magnificent sight to behold,’ and
I thought to myself a road lined with two-
story houses, moving to the music of the steady
trend of teams of eight powerful oxen, was a
sight equally magnificent. And such was the
fate of the once proud city of Bartlett.”

 

The Tornado.

A CONTRIBUTOR to the Popular Science
Monthly, in a Very admirable paper on our
meteorology,tbus describes the terrible tornado,
which has made this year so memorable in al-
most all parts of our country for the destruction
wrought:

“ As the tornado now sweeps onward in its
course it rises and falls with a series of bounds,
and, with a swaying motion, describes a zigzag
course, now forming a chain of loops and again
shooting off on an obtuse angle, varying in the
speed of its forward motion, which may be
anywhere from ten to thirty miles an hour. At
the same time it is rapidly whirling on its axis
in the opposue direction from a screw, or the
hands of a clock, the air revolving around the
vortex necessarily attaining a speed of several
hundred miles an hour. First widening,then con-
tracting, now bounding above the tree-tops, and
again descending to Sweep the earth bare of
every Object within its reach, the aerial mon—
ster surges onward. The largest forest trees,
were playthings in its gra:—p, are plucked up by
the roots or snapped off like pipe stems: sub-
stantial buildings are first crushed like egg-
shells, then caught up in the vortex and the
debris carried sometimes for miles before it is
thrown ofi‘ by centrifugal force, and falls by
gravitation. any where. everywhere, as soon as
released from the monster’s gra's 3.

nado‘s appearance and work, even for those
who have been eye-witnesses, or who have per-
sonally passed through the horrors its coming
brings. While accounts differ as to its a pear-
ance and behavior, as witnessed from di erent
points of observation and under different cir-
cumstances, all substantially agree that it is
cone-shaped, its mition rotary, that its apex
resembles fire and smoke, and that vivid light-
ning and heavy rainfall usually accompany it.
In rare instances electricity, in the form of St.
Elmo’s fire, will produce the vortex, and a
white. steamy cloud will follow. It will be ob—
served that the form of the tornado cloud is
nicely illustrated by the “ proof plane ” used in
teaching natural philosophy. The small end of
the plane is most heavdy charged with elec-
tricity, and the nearer it approaches to a r~
feet point, the greater will be its accumulation;
a high tension is caused and the electricity
must escape by some conductor. So, in the
tornado cloud, the smaller the point or stem,
thetglreater the force exerted when it meets the
ear .

 

A Blushing Indian Bride.

“MINNIE and Cliavo want to mally,” said
Chief Charlie, of the Utes while in Denver re-
cently. “ He heap big Injun, she heap nice
squaw. Injun want no preacher; Injun want
to mally in Injun like Ute fathers. Ma lly quick;
right away. Come.” And everybody went.
Crowded In the tepee were about twenty-five
persons. The blushing bride, in a brilliant dress
cut en train, stood by the side of the young war-
rior who had changed his attire from one of
warfare to that of mourning. Ranged on each
side of the tent were the braves, sixteen in num-
ber, in full paint and feather, each with a plug
hat. Chief Charlie directed the ceremonies. In
a few words he announced in Ute that the
father and mother of the bride had selected
Cbavo for a husband, and that Chavo wanted
Minnie to darn his socks. sew on his buttons and
such other duties incumbent on the squaw of so
mighty a warrior. Turning to the bride and
groom he asked the usual questions.

The bride replied in Ute, whereupon the chief
stepped aside. The high-contracting parties
then seated themselves in the straw in the mid-
dle of the tent, while around them squatted the
braves. Mrs. Sow-no-winch, motl er of the in-
teresting pappoose, placed around the bride’s
neck an amulet tied with deer sinew, and then
the ceremony was complete. At another sign
from the chief the braves began to chant, rising
in the vocal key louder and louder, until the
dirge grew wild and weird, breaking forth in a
harmony of sounds that defied all musical scor-
ing. From grave to gay the group had passed
with but little interim. The assemblage by this
time was metamorphosed, so that the scene was
wild and beyond descri tion. All at once the
commotion ceased so su denly as to startle the
guests. Exhausted the braves sunk to the
ground, and the warrior and his newly-made
wife passed out from the group, he disa pear-
ing first through the lodge entrance and s e fol-
lowing.

After the marriage the whole band took their
way to the photogra hic gallery, where their
pictures were taken. innie accompanied them,
but not with her husband. She was nothing but
a squaw, and realizing her position she strolled
about behind the braves as meek as the tra-
ditional lamb that followed Mary.

 

Focused Pacts.

 

KANSAS has raised a fine sorghum crop this
season to supply the demand of the recently
established sugar factories in that State.

TH]: first public experiment with an electric
locomotive Is to be had on the Sarato and
MountMacGregor Railroad, November 0.

AT present cop r mining is sharing the
honors about equal y with silver and gold min-
ing in Southern Colorado, New Mexico, Ari-
zona, and Mexico.

SEVEN slaughter - houses are Operatin in
Texas exclusively on beeves for shipment sat
and North in refrigerator cars, and the business
is growing enormously.

OUT of a total pulation of about 30 000,000
in this country, t ere were in 1880 a. litt a over
250.000 people insane, idiotic. blind, and deaf
and dumb. In every 1,000,000 of population
there were 1,834 victims Of insanity, 1,563 idiots,
976 blind and 675 deaf and dumb.

THE deposits in the savings banks of Califor-
nia on the 1st of July last were $56,507,163, an
increase of more than $3,000,000 within a car.
The number of depositors, Jan. lst, was 7 ,250,
about one in twelve of the population—showing
a very prosperous and healthy state of aflairs.

THE San Francisco Alta says that shad, which
were planted in the waters of California a few
years a o, are naturalizin g themselves along
the who a Pacific coast. They are now caught
in Puget Sound, and, the Alfa believes, will
soon frequent every river and harbor between
San Francisco and Alaska.

THE planets that have been so long strangers
to the evening sky are now returning, led oil!
by the ring-encircled Saturn. Saturn is now
in the constellation Taurus and in proximity to
the star Aldebaran. The steady, golden light
of the planet exhibits a fine contrast to the fiery
scintillation of the star. They rise at half-past
nine.

A PARTY of Eastern men have late] bought
18,000 acres in Eastern Oregon, not ar from
Walla Walla, Washington Territory, the price
being $170,000, of which $10,000 was paid down
and the remainder is to be paid in three and six
months. Why land, in such bodies, should sell
for such a. price in remote Washington Terri-
tory, we are anxious to know.

THERE are only six distilleries of rum in the
country and all six are in Massachusetts. Of
nearly half a million gallons of rum exported
last year the greater part went to Africa. The
Germans say of a man who has taken just
enough alcohol to be mentally stimulated that
he 's “ illuminirt;” but rum IS plainl not the
kin of illumination which the Dark ontinent
needs.

THE intensity of the struggle for a livelihood
in England is illustrated by the statement of a
magazine writer that there are 300,000 families
in London who are in the habit of pawning
small articles, and that more than 6,000,000 un-
claimed pledges are sold every year in that city,
while over 270,000,000 articles are taken In
pledge in the course of the year throughout the
country. Of course some of these pledges are
of stolen goods, but the writer estimates that
they do not exceed more than one in 14,000.

ACCORDING to their own statements, the Po-
lygamists have been doing an immense business
during the past six months in winning converts
to their so-called Church. More than 23,000
new members, they say. have in that time
joined, while less than 1,000 have gone to the
bosom of Joseph Smith and Brigham Young.
The statistics of marriages and births are re-
ported to be equally flourishing. The apostles,
the patriarchs, the seventies, the high priests,
the elders, the bishops and the deacons are there-
fore, as may be supposed, in an exceedingly ju-
bilant frame of mind.

SIR EDWARD REED, M. P., Owns no less than
2,000.000 acres in America: the Duke of Suther-
land, 400,000: Lord Dunmore. 100,000, and Lord
Dunraven, 60,000 acres. Messrs. Phillips, Mar-
shall & Co. own a farm of 1,300.000 ncres; the
heirs of Colonel Murphy, 1.100000 acres: H.
Diston, 12,000,000 acres, and the Standard Oil
Company, 1,000,000 acres. It appears that nine
men own a teriitory equal to that of New
Hampshire, Massachusetts and Rhode Island
combined. Then there are the great railroad
corporations, whose free gifts of land from
lavish Congresses amount to upward of
200,000,000 acres. Eleven of these co rations
have received 120,000,000 acres. The orthern
Pacific road had grants amounting to 47,000,000
acres, and other grants made ranged from

 

_ l
“ It is difficult to accurately describe the tor-

1,000,000 acres upward.

Correspomlepts’ Column.

[This column is open to all correspondents. hr
quiries answered as fully and as promptly as cir-
cumstances Wlll permit. Contributions not entered
as‘ "declined" may be considered accepted. No
MSS. returned unless stamps are inclosed.|

Declined: “ A Doubtful Quest;” “ Dead;" “ Ben’s
Solitaryfl’ “The Shogi on l:roadway;" "' Lad
Mary:H ‘A )lidower's Oiiiance;" “A Solid Acqul:
sition;H ‘N‘i'gh't After Night;" “A Ronstabout at
Home; ” \\ ithin the Trapz” “Sowing the Seed;"
"Therefore An Encore;” “At His Best;" “Char—
ley‘s Riyulf’~ “Not So Fair, So Dear;” " A Preemp—
tors Bight; ‘ "A Sin to Covet;" “Memories of’
Three; “Something Sweet to Tell You;" “ Pace!"
DANDY JIM. See answer in No. 50 to A. W. B.

CONSTANT READER. If you are such, of our paper.
you must have seen 1gout: query answered at least a
half-dozen times w1t in the year.

J OHN D. D. There are 502 acres in Prospect Park,
and the value is $9,236,000 (according to the con-
troller s report), which would be about $18,898 per
acre.

ACOLYTE. The shortest chapter in the New Testa-
ment is the first of the first Epistle of John.—Obed
gaghthe gather of Jesse, the father of David. See

u iv. 4.

IGNORANCE. Direct inquiries to Commandant
Brookl n Navy Yard, stating your wish, and at
same time, submitting your parents‘ assent— which
will be necessary.

MEDIEVan There were fourteen "Presidents" be-
fore “ashiiigton—Presidcnts of the “Confedera-
t:on" cried—the last being Cyrus Grifiln, of Va,
from an, 1788, to April, 1789, when Washington was
inaugurated as the first President of the new, or
Constitutional Union.

E. F. The “central line of motion" must, of
course, be determined by the relative position of
cylinder to piston—For “horse- ower, ’ see Has-
well‘s Tables—As to a copartners ip, it can be spe—
cial, silent or individual interest, when it is not de—
sirable to make it known. If the other party wishes
it kept a secret it can be so arranged—as it Often is.

Povs OF SCHOOL No. 10. We cannot supply the
early numbers of Our IVEEKLY; nor can we reprint
the stories you name in our columns again. Too
much pressure of valuable new matter to do that.
We can me no other way than to give the novels
place in our DIME or HALEDIME Lmnxnv. Will be
governed by the number of applications received for
the reissue.

'HARRY AND FRANK. Texas is larger in area than
either Austria, Germany or France. and California
is larger than either Dakota or Montana. Arizona is
bigger than Nevada, as Nevada is greater than
Colorado or Wyoming.——Since you are both doing
well be content to remain at home. The father is
entitled 1y law to the money earned by his sons and
daughters till they are of age. but not after that.

W. A. AND En El. Texas Jack was about thirty-
eight when he died—Can‘t say as to Buckskin
Sam‘s age; should say he was forty-four.— Dr.
Powell has not. we believe, shot with Buffalo Bill or
Dr. Carver. All certainly are marvelous marks-
men——the best in the world—As to the relative
merits of the three scouts you name it is impossible
to gage—A Winchester repeating rifle costs from $40
to .

G. E. M. It is evident your stomach is all “out
of order." The only cure for indigestion is a severe
course of diet. Eat nothing but casil assimilated
food; avoid all grease; never touchw at has been
f/iéd,‘ abjure coffee; drink no spirits or beer; eat
with stated regularity three times a day and at no
other times. Indigestion, dyspepsia and “ bad
gtlood “hare all induced by outrageous misuse of the

omac .

ORADELL. We have but recently, we think, an-
swered the same query, but say again: The three
golden balls as a sign for pawnbrokers‘ shops origi-
nated With the Lombards, who were the first pawn-
brokers in London, England, where their peculiar
business was regulated by law. The three balls
were a part of the arms of Lombardy, whence they
came, and were adopted as a sign of their trade by
all who went into the business.

Loni W. The “bum " areprobably bunions. Go
to some good chiro 1st. If no such “ professor ”
is within reach, use this ointment: 'I‘incture iodine,
twelve grains; vassaline, one ounce; pure lard, one
ounce. Melt Over slight fire and mix. Use this oint-
ment until the bunion is softened and uninfiamed.
Then appl acetic acid. daily, or a verdi 's oint-
ment. In t e mean while, the bunion must wholly
relieved of pressure, or any source of irritation, or
no treatment will do any good.

MATTIE. Nothing is gained in such cases, by in-
sisting on having your way. A recognition of the
gentleman’s right to retain his relations with the
friend who has been so good to him is no " conces-
swn ”.on your part. It is but the. tyranny of a
petty Jealousy. or s ite, we should say, to assume
Iy'all-superiority of Judgment: and by asserting it,to

is discredit, you may some day lose your hold on
him forever. To irritate and annoy by ceaseless
suspicion and remark, is a poor method to conquer
aman.

Kmm Conan. James Fisk, Jr., was shot by
Edward S. Stokes in the Grand Central Hotel, New
York, on Saturday. January 6, 1872 at 4 15 r. n. In
the first trial of Stokes for murder the jury dis-
agreed, June 19, 1872. In the second trial from De~
cember 1872, to January, 1873, Stokes was convicted
of m er and sentenced to be hanged February 28.
1873. He obtained a new trial, and on October 13,
1873, was convicted of manslaughter in the third
degree and sent to State prison—Black Friday was
September 24, 1869.

AUGUST. The very least that on could have done
for your friend, after the troub e she had taken to
serve you, was to write her a warm letter of thanks.
You certainly have treated her very shabbily. No
one can afford to neglect a faithful friendship, and
you have acted most foolishly. Why do you not
write the‘lady a note saying that you would like to
be permitted t0visit her the next time you are in
her town? You might then make right the coldness
between yourself and your friend b proving to
gar that you are not utterly ungrate nor forget-

J. B. W. A lady is not called upon to “give rea-
sons,” and no matter how intimate you have been,
so long as you made no distinct avowals of your love,
we cannot see that she has “ done the cruel thing ‘
in accepting another. On the contrary, seeing how
fond you were of her, on “ did the foolish thing " in
not formal] asking er hand. Young men often
lose admire le wives b their indecision or unrea-
sonable confidence in t eir power to control a wo-
man‘s love. Take no umbraze. therefore, at the
lady but maintain your kindly relations with her,
so that if anything should occur to break the en-
gagement she has made you will be in a good posi-

tion to renew your suit.

SCHOOL Box. You are way at sea. The well-
known “Esop's Fables ” were written b a Thra-
cian,or Phrygian. named Esopus, who liv between
five and six hundred years before Christ. [Esopus
was a slave but his wit and pleasantrv procured
him hisf om. Part of the time be ived as a
freedman in the family of his former master; also.
he traveled over the greatest part of Greece and
Egypt. It is said that Croesus, King of L dia. be-
came his patron, and that the latter part 0 his life
was spent at the Lydian court. Crtesus . t ZEsopus
to Delphi to consult the oracle, and there [Esop be-
haved with so much severity, and spoke so sarcas-
tically about the Delphians. that the Delphians be-
came enraged and accused him of trying to rob
Apollo‘s tem 1e of one of the sacred vessels; and 561
B. c. be peris ed at the hands of the Delphians, who
threw him from a high rock. His fables Esop
dedicated to Croesus; but what now up an under
his name is no doubt a compilation of a the fables
and apologues of wits before and after his time, con-
jointly with his own. The best collection was found
in a manuscript at Florence in 1809. In these, two
excellent editions of “Esop’s Fables " have been

ublished. The original fables were written in

reek, but they have been translated into many
languages.

BENNY S. It is quite “possible” and compara-
tively easy for any young boy or irl to ebonize and
polish wood. Use pine wood. 0 ebonize it, melt
quarter of a pound of the best size in a stone pot
with as much water as will cOver it. The pot must
be set upon the stove, but the mixture must not
boil. Next mix to a smooth to three cents‘
worth of lamp—black and a little lue—black with oil;
and over this paste pour the melted size, stirring
the two thoroughlv together. While this is yet
warm apply it thickly and smoothly to the wood.
When the int is quite dry, in a room free from
dust and w ere the temperature is 60" or 65°, give
the wood two separate coats of oil copal varnish.
Use a big brush, and do your varnishing quickly,
boldly and evenly. After the second coat your
wood will be clxonz'zed. TO polish it, the wood must
have been varnished four times. After the fourth
coat is dry. mix (in a clean saucer) enough of the
finest pulverized pumicestone with water to form a
paste, the consistency of cream. Rub this upon the
wood, with a linen rag. until the surface of the
Woodwork is as smooth as glass. Next, dry the
wood with a cloth; then polish again with tripoli
and sweet oil. With a soft linen cloth dry the wood
a second time, and then rub it with starch-powder;
lastly. polish with clean, soft linen until you can see
your face in the wood as in a mirror. Kee the
pumice-stone, the tripoli. and the starch-pow er in
clean and separate saucers, and be careful that
everything is free from grit and dust.- Young boys
and girls, with a little erseverance and i enuity,
can make many beauti ul bits of furniture or their

 

rooms and their homes.

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

wt Nah/n c. isswuti

:13!4«"V5~1:’w7r .54.»:“23

\ w}: v r was fibgfiWfl‘f‘ basins-u." u. .

r ..,.:.n. 3., a Aw-wtiiwmmerMmMflal-VF ~aam,»....nam‘n... -.......A.u‘«.m. fligfln_~aollil~ “.2. a»... i,

«314—» ~ a. w .. 4....

-. mix. .1

a... nos-vs

..

 

 

 

 

 

  

.,z§"1r;-n«

m y

'-' 15v»

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

r"...

’A .w

’xi\“
/

Y”

C

A

  

/

LA

L

   

Q.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fireside Ballads.

o‘o———

THE NEW CLEOPATRA.

BY FRANK ll. IMBRJE.

 

 

 

Away with those silken fetters!
They burn on my flesh like flame!
He’s calling aloud from the jungle—
Iy king of the yellow mane.
Unloose me! I‘ll shriek him an answer
That will rouse all the beasts from their lair;
Then I will lie couchant and listen
With strengthful limbs bare.

What reek I if hundreds of thousands
Are dumb with a passionate pain—
If leagues upon leagues are heaped solid-—
If millions on millions are slain l
If the leagues and the millions were doubled,
I would desolate all in gain:—
Oh, mysiellow-maned king of the jungle,
riek in my pain!
I will cry till the breath of your nostrils
Burns hot on my tawny breast—
Till the thews of your yellow body
quivering with mad unrest.
Then we’ll spring through the jagged coral
Whose sharp white teeth are red
With the crimson blood that is gushing
From the loins of the dead:

We will leap to our shaggy pillows

W'here the tears of amber sleep
That the trees have wept through the ages,

And shall weep, and weep, and weep.
What fear we the stab in the ambei ‘2

We have torn out the hearts of sleep
From the naked breasts of the lotus,

And lined it deep.

We will wrestle. and revel, and riot——
We will roar in a tortured delight,
Till thy lions shall gather in armies,
And thy tigers wax wroth for the fight—
Till the goaded she- wolf of thy empire,
Who dared with my lion to mate,
Shall hurl back thy whelps from their suckling
And how] at thy gate!

Let her howl and howl in her frenzy.
With her white bosom bleeding and bare.

Till the trumpet tongued voice of thy legions
Shall startle us both from our lair!

Mark you, if that cry ’moug the millions
Durst weaken my bristlin king.

I will drain the best blood 0 your Vitals:—

The asp has her sting!

I will tear from your sinewy members
The life of their torrid life

Till the curves of my lithe, round body
\Vrithe and sweat blood in the strife.

Then. wounded and crouching beneath you,
I will tangle my feet in your mane,

While the rasp of your rough tongue upon me

Is cruel to pain;

And we'll wran lo, and wrestle, and riot,
In the strengt of our leonine power,

Till the mad night hangs (zizzy and pallid
Far down the ab as of the hour—

Till the lightning: ave written Omega,
Till the Alpha of silence has come,

And no moon in the night that is moonless,

And Sunless the sun—

Till the conquered world staggers, exhausted,
The ocean be shivered to foam,
And I, and my lord of the jungle.
Are. forever and ever alone
Where forever and ever I’ll answer
My king of the yellow inane _
Over leagues upon leagues of heaped bodies—a
Over millions of slain!

Baby Sam,

The Boy Giant of the Yellowstone;
on,
Old Spokane Joe’s

A Romance of “ Wonderland.”

BY OLL COOMES,
AUTHOR or “HERCULES, THE noun nu-
srnovnn," ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER VIII.
OLD sroxasn’s RETURN To CAMP.

OLD SPOKANE JOE was not a little surprised
when he discovered that he was on the mysteri-
ous floating island, but be ex erienced no fear
or uneasiness when he realize that its occupant
was Benraymond, the man whoOhad rescued
him from danger. He said nothing, howeyer,
of his discovery, and advancing with his friend
through the border Of dense willows that fringed
the island, he was conducted into a little tent
that was pitched a few feet from a low, thatch-
roofed cabin. There was nothing in the tent
but a couch, and 11 ion this the old hunter was
requested to seat himself. Then Benraymond
proceeded to dress the wound upon his—the
hunter’s—head, and when he had completed this
second act of kindness to him, Spokane said:

“ You’re a good Samaritan, stranger, I swan
you be, as well as a hull rigiment in a fight.
Again am I indebted to you for helping me
out.” .

“ Not at all, Spokane, not at all,” replied Ben—
raymond. seating himself before his guest: “ but
I would like to ask you a question or two.”

“ Drive ahead, stranger.” . .

“ DO you know that man, Norton FenWick?”

“I see’d him once before ;—he‘s Donald
Strahm, now.” i I”

“ When did you see him before, Spokane?

“ Some years ago.” _

“You and he seem to be enemies. I over-
heard some of the words that passed between

. H
y0“‘LIVe never war/enemies till tO-day. He tried
to crowd me and ,I wouldn’t be crowded.”

“ He’s a villain, Spokane.”

“Then you know him well, stranger?”

“ Yes, but it was thousands of miles from
here.” I

“ Whew! then you must be a foreigner!
Dutch!l Irish.’ or English 2"

A smile paSSed over Benraymond’s bearded
face. ‘ _

“ I am an Englishman.’ he replied,

“Come of good” blood—away up mong the

b b re ions, eh?

"8“(1) confe of a good family, I am proud to say,
Spokane." _ , .

“ \Vhat the nlllircd mystery you dOin here in
this lonely, out-of—the-way place?’

“ \Vhy. Spokane, this is the grandest spot on
God‘s earth. I have traveled the world over
and found no such place as the X cllowstonc
Park.” v

“ Are you liviii’ here all alone! I h

“I like solitude," Benrnyniond replied, With
some evasion; “ but since this place has been
deiiled with the presence of that man. Pennwick,
it will scarcely be to me what. it has’ been.

“ 'l'hen he‘s an enemy to you, eh: .

“ Yes, worse than that—:1 curse. He is a de-
mon at heart. and I assure you he is in this
valley for no good purpose. Whether he knew
I was here or not until we met thli eVening, I
know not, but I do know that I loathed. the
very soil he trod on and came here to be rid of
his presence—tho sound of his VOice—tlie men-
tion of his name, and now, like tin.- curse that
he is. he comes here. 1 tell you. Spokane, this
valley will not. hold both ofus long. .But what
surprises me now is your lll‘lllt'; acquainted With
hirii, and his demands or you. ‘ g. . ,

“ [ presume so, stronger. out I ve nothin to
say now about it—reckon you overheard what
passed atween us?” ”

“ I heard some of it, Spokane.

“ \Vlint we said ’u’d be nothin‘ to you, stran-

‘ H .
g(“‘Ay! but maybe it would; I have always
thought that that man’s sins against me have
reached even into America. He always some
that ho would have. my lifeblood after l’itlvlllg
destroyed my happiness nintriiincd me. ,

“ Stranger, I think yoitrc mistaken; it; s
somethin‘ else lurido; your life he seeks hero in
1\ll]~"l‘ll!fl.-—-—s() nethin’ that. I alone can givsm
guml-thiu’ l lu'Vet‘ will give, so help me God.

' “ l overheard sonic remarks he made about a
child,” said Ilcurnymmnl, his eyes fixed search-
ingly on the hunter’s face.

 

Trust.

 

 

  
   

 

 

versation by saying:

goin).n

“ Spokane,
ashore with
you’ll return it tomorrow.”

Anxious to know
hunter promised
He was satisfied
the island and

that he would return the host.

its brave and noble occupant.

those of Benraymond on the island.
to

that he did not pass beyond the camp,

Strahm and his minions.

light, and the first thing Old Spokane saw on
landing was the imprint Of a booted foot in the
sand. In fact, there were scores of tracks, but
all were evidently gnade by the same person
passing to and from the lake. They led back
into the shadow Of the pines, and Old Spokane
made up his mind that some one must be in
camp thereabouts, and proceeded to make a re-
connoissance. But he had advanced but a few
paces into the woods when a voice, accom-
panied by the click of a revolver, demanded:

“ Who comes there 9”

“Don’t shoot, man!” quickly responded the
hunter, for the voice was familiar, although he
could not just then recall the name of the per-
son; “don’t shoot!” be repeated; “ it‘s l.”

“ Who are you? Spokane Joe i” asked the
voice.

“ I should proclamate it was,” was the lacon-
ic reply, “ and fOr the life of me I can’t name

ou.‘
y “ I am Frank Rodman.”

‘2 $0 l” exclaimed thelpunter. q ky ,

‘ es, and pretty we used up, I p0 .’

“ Good Lord! can this be, boy?”

“ IValk out into the moonlight, and you’ll
see.’

Together they walked out of the shadows
into the light and as Old Spokane looked upon
the man a cry burst from his lips.

It was Frank Rodman true enough. but he
could scarcely recognize him with his pale face,
bandaged head and soiled garments.

“ Great geysers, Frank! have you been in the
clutches o a grizzly? Tell me, boy, what’s
wrong?"

“ Everything, Spoky,” replied the young
man; “do you know that the Sioux are scat-
tered all through—” ‘

“Yes, yes, boy; but you don t mean to say
the —-”

“Xl‘hey attacked us at Mary’s Lake. Several
of them were ambushed on VVilma’s _Isle, and
when Baby Sam landed there with Wilma and
Sarah the girls were captured, and when we
three boys went to their rescue we were set up-
on and Fred Sears, and for all I know, Baby
Sam, was slain.”

" And are the gals still captives, Frank?”

“ I know nothing to the contrary.” _

“ Oh, Lord!” groaned the Old hunter; “‘thlS’Il
kill your poor Old father! Boy, whats the
iiieanin’ of it!” .

“I know not, Spoky, but there is treachery
at. work somewhere. Those savages knew to
the very day when we were to be at the island.
Ilv agreement. Baby Sam met us there and
carried us to the island in his boat—taking the
girls first, for the boat was too small to carry
all. On the way over with Fred and I, Spar-
rowhawk, the friendly Crow, who’d also been
on the island and had discovered the intention
of the Sioux, swam unobserved by them along-
side our canoe and warned us of our danger.
\Ve were about half-way to the island but at
once turned back to the mainland, and after a
consultation we resolved to attempt the rescue
of the girls. So we retinibarked for the island,
on which we landed and were in search of the
girls when attacked by eight or_ ten savages.
Poor Fred fell dead at the beginning of the
tight. though not before he got in his work on
a‘red skin. The next moment I fell under the
blow of a flying tomahawk at the SldC of Baby
C. m."

81“ But. how came you here, Frank?"

“That‘s the remarkable thing of the whole
affair; after Sparrowhawk had warned us_of
our danger he swam off. He is such a peculiar
Indian that we thought nothing of his not go-
ing to help us; but when I recovered my senses
after the. tight I found Spnri'owhawk Sitting at.
my side in under a great projecting rock at the
winter‘s edge. From him [ learned that he did
take a hand in the fight on the island: but after
I fell and tho bottle seemed to be agamslius,
the Indian d rugged me from the field down into
the lake unobserved by the Sioux 'who were
intent on killing or capturing Baby ., am. How
the Indian accomplished it I cannot imagine,
but he swnin with my body to a place of refuge
and thcro dres<cd and bandaged my gushed
head. But, Spoky, that noble not of the Crow
was my reward for caring for him and givmg
him medicine and food when he lay Sle in our
settlement a year ago when all Others refused

 

Spokane started slightly, and for a moment

 

to go near him, believing he had the small-pox.”

both he and Benraymond were silent. To the
hunter there was something almost irresistible
in the presence and voice of the mysterious
man, and through fear of his own weakness—
that he might be led to reveal the one great so-
cret of his heart, he changed the subject of con-

“ Stranger, pardon me, but it’s now dark, and
as I’m awful afraid that demon Strahm ’ll slip
’round and injure my friends, I’d better be

unless you insist on me going
you, I will loan you my canoe if

more of Benraymond, the
there was some mystery about

He had seen but very little of the place, and
once was sure he heard other footsteps than

Bidding him good-night, Spokane proceeded
the boat and was soon afloat on the lake un-
der the shadows of night. He headed south-
ward, but owing to the darkness he could not
tell exactly where to land, and to make sure
he put
ashore about two miles from where he had met

By this time the moon had come up, flooding
the surroundings with a weird and wondrous

  

“ Boy, ye know the Scripter says to cast your
bread on the waters;
no“. 2p?

here in hopes of meeting you and father, but
feeling weak and tired, I told the Crow I would
rest here till he came back.”

“ Wonder the red- skins didn’t find you here,”
said Spokane.

“ Are they around here, too?”

“ I shoul say so, boy—see that?” and he
raised his hat and displayed a bandage on his
head ; “ a red-skin’s hatchet did it.”

“ Is father safe, Spoky ’5” the young man
asked, the shadow of a fear creeping over him.

“ Was when I left, boy, ’bout an hour before
sunset. He’s been feelin’ happy all day over
the thoughts of meeting you young folks to—
morrow or next day.”

“Poor father! it will almost kill him when
he learns the fate that has befallen our party.
How far is be away, Spokane?”

“ Not over a mile away this blessed minute;
but it’ll nigbly craze him when he sees his boy
all battered and pounded up. And poor Baby
Sam! the Gallatin valley will weep for him and
refuse to be comforted; but never, no, never,
will the Boy Giant be forgotten. His name,
brave and noble soul, will go down in the tra-
dition Of the valley for a thousand years— But
say, Frank, we’d better hurry along to camp.”

‘ But I promised Sparrowhawk I’d remain
here till he returned."

“Oh, he‘ll find you, or else we’ll move our
camp down here, for I reckon we can do nothin’
huntin’ for the gals till the Ingin gits back.”
be“A,ll right, Spoky. I’ll do what you think

st.

Concealing his canoe, Old Spokane led the
we taward camp, where they finally arrived
to nd Mr. Rodman and Professor Drood sorely
uneasy about the 01d hunter’s safety. But the
presence of his son there in such a plight, and
the news he brought of the Wilma. Island
tragedy almost drove the father frantic with
grief, and it was all his friends could do tore-
strain him from rushing madly away in search
of his idolized daughter, and talk him into quiet
and composure. When they did, however, Old
Spokane narrated his adventures around the
lake, though be withheld that part relating to
Donald Strahm’s demands upon him for the
restoration of his child, and his timely rescue
by the mysterious Aaron Benraymond.

After hearing the old man’s story, Henry
Rodman made up his mind that Donald Strahm
and the man Beuraymond, were some way, di-

 

 

 

rectly or indirectly, responsible for the pres-

 

' "Wu-2’“

8

Dresden. hanging head downward, yelled like a. demon, but in the hands of the young

ones of the Indians there in the valley: though,
in view of the kindness and help given Spokane,
he could not associate Benraymond in criminal
league with Strahm. His views, however, were
entirely at variance with those of Old Spokane,
and the more they discussed the matter the
more it became involved in perplexing mystery.

 

CHAPTER IX.
BABY SAM IN TROUBLE.

IN the conflict in the Indian bivouac where
Sarah Marshall was held a captive Sabina
Bandy, the wife of Old Kit. played an import-
ant part. Concealed in her bosom was a tiny
revolver which she did not hesitate to use when
the life of her recreant lord was endangered,
but what was the most surprising was that
she used it against the red-skins, her husband’s
boon companions. '

Then as soon as all had been wrapped in dark-
ness by Old Kit sweeping the fire in every direc-
tion, she turned and ran to where Sarah stood,
and with a keen-edged knife severed her bonds,
at the same time saying:

“ Come, child—quick! escape with me l”

Scarcely aware Of what she was doing Sarah
permitted herself to be hurried away into the
Egyptian darkness of the woods, nor was she
permitted to stop until a point was reached at a
safe distance from the scene of conflict. Then
old Sabina seemed to realize for the first time
that they were alone. .

“ Please the Merciful Master!” she exclaimed,
“ we are away from them horrid savages, but
have become separated from Christopher and
that big boy, and in this darkness we’ll never
find them. If I only dared to I’d call Chris-
topher, but that’d just tell the Ingins exactly
where we were.”

“ Mrs. Bandy, what if your husband and
Bab Sam were slain?” said Sarah.

“ t’d be dreadful, child, dreadful; but if Chris-
topher’s the same man he was years ago he’ll
dodge them Ingins, for he’s an old dodger. I’ve
known him these years. the old deceiver.”

Meanwhile the “ old deceiver ” and Baby Sam
had taken advantage of the darkness that fell
so suddenly on the combatants to escape into
the wood, going in the direction they supposed
Sabina and Sarah had taken: but, to their
disappointment, they soon discovered that they
were separated from the women entirely.

“ What in the plague are we going to do, Kit?”
Sam asked.

“ We’ll have to do the best we can, and if we
don’t run across the weemin to-night, maybe
daylight ’ll make matters all right. If it wer’n t
for that leetle gal I’d not bother myself ’bout
that old lady, for I’ll bet if a cyclone ’d carried
her away from that camp she’d turn up all
right some day with reticule and umbrella in
hand. She’s no tenderfoot, is Saba, and when
it comes to a real fight she‘s a hull litter 0’ wild-
cnts, she is, by the horn of Joshua! Say, didn't
ye hear the ‘ping’ of her little shooter when
the ball Opened? Why, Baby, she can hit the
Goddess 0’ Liberty on a silver dollar ten yards
every pop; but say, did ye git hurt; any in the
racket!”

l
‘1
mm. m,

'lll,,um- u

1

but whar’s the Ingin

“ Off in search of Wilma and Sarah. I came.

 

lllmllllnuilnunmmllm

“Not the least; everything worked like a
charm in the attack, but our bad luck comes in
losing the girl.”

“Let’s move along, Baby, and mebby we’ll
stumble across them somewhere. If we come
within their hearin’ old Sabina ’11 let it be
known, and don’t you forgit to remember it.”

So saying they turned and moved away-—
wandering around in an aimless sort of a way
that was quite discouraging to the Boy Giant.

They traveled on for an hour or more then
they sat down to discuss their future course.
The silence of the place was broken by the boil
and bubble of the “ Mush Pot,”
plied to a boiling vat of chalk, and the rush and
roar of a great geyser about a mile away, known
as Old Faithful.

After a few minutes’ talk, the two resumed
their tramp. They moved back into the hills
and soon found themselves traversing a narrow
defile where the shadows lay deep and dark.
Side by side they moved on until the way be-
came so narrow as to compel them to walk one
behind the other. Old Kit took the lead. The
defile grew deeper, darker, narrower, as they
advanced, and finally Baby Sam observed:

 I, guess this pass’s going to run together,
i .
“ Looks that we .”
But they moved on and finally found the
defile growing a little wider. Suddenly the
Boy Giant exclaimed:

“ Stop Kit—listen 2”

They came to a stop and listened, when the
sound of footsteps was heard coming behind
through the pass, mingled with low, excited
vmcas.

“ Plagues of Egypt!” exclaimed Baby Sam,
“ we’re being pursued, Kit.”

“ Yes, and by the eternal Satan!” responded
the old mountain detective, “ I hear the voice
0’ the outlaw, Scott Dresden, among them——
Thar! that war his cussed lip!”

“Forward, then, old pard, forward! We
need more room than we've got here to do some
royal fightin’.”

They hurried on through the defile that was
now growing more tortuous and difficult to fol-
low than ever. But this suddenly ended in a
good-sized opening walled in on all sides by
rising vertically to the hight of hundreds of
feet. But to their utmost astonisment they
discovered the smoldering embers of a camp-
fire, that gave forth a faint glow, close in under
the wall on the right, and in its dim light they
saw some articles of clothing, blankets and
camp equipage that bore a suspicious look.

 

   

 

“By the horn of old Joshua!” exclaimed

 
 

Hercules he was powerless.

 

 >\;\.

Bandy, as he gazed around him, “we’ve run
right into the devils’ rendezvous, bo l”

“ Yes, and hear them coming, Kit!” said the
Boy Giant.

At one side of the retreat the fugitives saw a
continuation of the defile and at once made to-
ward it. but it was so narrow that Old Kit,
with difficulty, pressed himself through side-
ways, saying, as he did so:

“ Good Lord! boy, you’ll never git your big
carcass throu hherel Take off that cartridge
belt and pass it through to me—reduce yerself
and squeeze through—quick, for they’re comin’ l”

Unbuckling his belt he handed it, with his
rifle, through to Kit, then turning his left side
to the passage, he said:

“I’ll squeeze through, Kit, or bu’st this old
mountain.” '

With all his great strength the young moun-
taineer crowded himself into the passage, but be-
fore half his body was concealed the jaws of
the great rocks seem ed to fasten upon him and
hold him as if in a vise.

The voice of the pursuers could now be heard
but a few paces away.

“It’s no use, Kit,” Sam protested: “I can’t
make it—I’ll have to fight.”

“ Then git back, boy, 50’s I can help you—
quick!” ordered Kit.

“ I can’t, Kit, I’m fast—wedged ink—flee, man,
while you can!”

Scarcely had the last word fallen from the
brave boy’s lips ere Scott Dresden, the outlaw,
burst into the retreat followed by a dozen or
more companions, most of whom were savages.

With a yell that went roaring up through
the black defile, Dresden, like a panther, sprung
forward to seize the Boy Giant. But the lat-
ter’s strong right arm was free, and when the
villain came within reach be seized him by
the shoulder, and with all his prodigious
strength swung him around and drove his face
with mighty force against the rough. jagged
wall, cutting and mashing it in a most frightful
manner, and knocking the breath out of him.

But the next moment a dozen violent hands
seized the Boy Giant and dragged him from the
jaws of the trap that had caught him, opening
the way through which four savages glided in
pursuit of Old Kit.

A desperate hand-to-hand struggle now en-
sued betwen Baby Sam and the foe, and the
boy bid fair to hold his own, when a cowardly
renegade struck him on the head from behind
and brought him, half— stunned, to his knees.
In this condition the brave youth was soon
overpOWered and securely bound, when wild
yells of savage triumph rent the very heavens.

Then an outlaw threw a few pine sticks on
the bed of coals, and soon a bright blaze lit up
the place. But the most distressed-looking ob-
ject revealed to the gaze of the victors was the
face of their leader, Scott Dresden.

Half-blinded and choked with blood, and suf-
fering the most intense agony, the outlaw chief
turned to his folllowers and, in terrible passion,
exclaimed:

“ Men, take that fiend incarnate to the near-
est boilin spring and throw him in alive! The
devil shal have man broth for his breakfastl”

a local name ap-x

A» l’
r

4\

  

-A..

 

CHAPTER X.

DONALD STRAHM CALLS ON SCOTT DRESDEN.

EAGER. for the fiendish work, Dresden’s fol—
lowers seized the Boy Giant and started to drag
him away to the nearest boiling spring, but be-
fore they were out of the retreat the outlaw
chief said:

“ Hold on, men; let us wait until morning. I
want the young demon to brood over his fate
awhile: besides, I want to see him flop and
flounder when he goes into the broth-pot.”

With evident disappointment the outlaw’s
menials brought the prisoner back and rebound
.his feet and forced him to be seated.

_The suffering of Dresden was fully equal to
his revengeful fury. One of his eyes swelled
shut in a few minutes, while his whole face was
cut and bruised beyond recognition. The only
alleviation he could find was in constant appli-
cation of cold water, and to obtain this he had
to go to a little mountain stream, over two hun-
dred yards from the “ Grotto,” as the outlaws
called their rendezvous. He took three men
w1th him as a body-guard, and there for hours
he sat and bathed his face and swore, and swore
and bathed.

It was long after midnight when he returned
to the Grotto, feeling considerably easier, but
in nowise improved in looks. To his joy he
found that the number of his friends had in-
creased during his absence, and that Donald
Strahm, one white man, and three Indians were
the arties joining them.

“ reat hounds of Satan!” exclaimed Strahm,
as Dresden entered the Grotto. “Captain
Dresden, you look as though you’d been fight-
ing a wind-mill.”

“There’s the cause of it!” hissed Dresden,
pointin toward Baby Sam.

“ So understand, but I congratulate you on
his capture.”

“Thanks, my Lord Fenwick, returned the
outlaw, “ but if we’d succeeded in getting that
cunning devil we’ve known as Big Horn, then
I’d be happy for the ends of justice would soon
besei'ved. I tell you I mistrusted that rene-
gade all along, and now to him and that big
lummix of a boy there, we are indebted for the
loss of both of those girls that we have worked
and planned so long to capture at Mary’s
Lake.”

“ Thunder and Mars! you don’t tell me, cap-
tain?”

“ I do, sir: after the girls had been captured
and that Boy Giant also, I detailed each one to
kill the other, for I wanted Big Horn out of my
way as well as Big Sam, and cuss me if they
didn’t turn on us, killed Stackpole and Doyle
who were acting as seconds, and then dropped
two more men, and the rest of us barely escaped
with our lives. Then again—just to-night—
Big Horn joined a party of our red-skin friends
who’d still one of the girls in custody, and
played his rOle of ‘big Ingin, much brave,’
and the first them red-skins knew that big
hound was upon them like a hurricane beating
them down with a club, while Big Horn shot
and kicked and cut. The result was that the
girl was rescued and run off in the night. We
heard the battle and hurried forward to take a
hand, but were two minutes too late. You see
not one of the Sioux knew of Big Horn’s
treachery at the lake, and so he played it
handsomely. Lord Peter! if I’d only been
there in camp when he came in, I’d made him
‘blat.’ So you see our campaign’s a flat fail-
ure so far as the capture of the girls are con-
cerned.”

“ I think I can tell you where one of the girls
is, captain,” said Donald Strahm.

“ Indeed?”

“ Today, or yesterday rather. toward even-
ing we saw a small canoe gliding across the
waters of the Yellowstone Lake, and it con-
tained two occupants one of which was a.
woman beyond a doubt. The boat touched at
a little island which we afterward discovered
was a floating island.”

“The deuce you say 1” exclaimed Dresden;
“my lord, I’m afraid our game’s going to be
checkmated all around—we’ve been given away
by a traitor.”

“Then that traitor must be Big Horn, who,
while we were holding secret meetings in your
lodge in the Sioux village, overheard all by
eavesdropping. I tell on that fellow’s not a
fool by any means, ott Dresden. But I
hav’n’t told you of the biggest surprise of the
season, captain.”

“Well, I’m prepared now to hear of ’most
any kind of a surprise, my lord,” said Dresden.

“Well, you remember I told you all about
my troubles with one Warren Hanover, the son
of the earl of Hanover, in England. of his dis-
appearance and my trip to America on busi-
ness with Mrs. Ann Kirby? Then you remem-
ber that I told you that Jack Prunty, the set-
tler with whom I’d left my child had been
massacred by the Indians, that the child had
been taken captive but was afterward ransomed
by a party of emigrants bound for the West
and that for two ears I’d searched amon a]
the settlements o the territories for myc ild,
and that I had finally fixed upon a certain girl
as being mine from her wonderful resemblance
to her dead mother.”

“Yes, yes,” replied Dresden, “I remember
all that of course, but where does the surprise
come in?”

“Wh , sir, by accident I stumbled into the
camp 0 an exploring-party to-day under one
Professor Drood, and who should I meet there,
well and alive, but my man, Jack Prunty, sail-
ing under the colors of Spokane Joe.”

“ 0h, Moses and the bullrushes! you don’t tell
me Old Spokane Joe’s your treasure-keeper?”

“ NO other, sir, no other than Jack Prunty,
but he pretended not to know me in their own
camp, nor did I pretend to know him. Icon-
eluded my bird was already in the bush and
that it would only be a question of time until it
was in hand. So I said nothing to them more
than to tell them I was a disgusted prospector
anxious to get out of the country, but my man,
Prunty—Old Spokane—it seems, suspected all
was not right and followed me up; but one of
my scouts discovered the fellow, and we laid
for him and finally cornered him on the lake-
shore. As I had him foul, as I thought, I de-
manded my child’s whereabouts, but, sir, he
had the accursed impudence to tell me it. wasn't
my child l’d left with him, and flared up and
showed his teeth. So I had to call out my men,
and the Old tiger shot one of them down, and
but for the fact that I wanted him alive he
would have been annihilated there and then.
Finally one of the boys tripped him up and the
battle seemed won; but before he could be se—
cured a tall, bearded man, with eyes glowing
like a demon’s, bounded from the cover of some
undergrowth with a long, whip—like sword in his
hand, and so dexterously and so rapidly did he
handle the flashing blade that his very head and
shoulders seemed surrounded by a nimbus of
flame. I drew my revolver to shoot him, but
he divined my intention, lunged forward, and
somehow or other—I don’t know exactly how—
he caught my weapon on the point of his sword
and twirled it out of my hand like lightning.
And that man, my dear sir, was no other than
Warren Hanover, the son of the Earl of Han—
over!”

“Great mortality!” exclaimed Dresden, “ do
you suppose he is on a trail, too?”

“ I. can’t see for the life of me how he can be.
I think our meeting simply a coincident.”

“ I’ll be cussed if it don’t begin to look like a co-
incident that is like] to bring us more trouble,”
replied Dresden: “ ut what became of your
English swordstnani”

“ Well, the fight was a drawn battle. After 1
lost my revolver I leaped backward to escape
the fellow’s sword, when my folks. supposing I
was lighting out for dear life, turned and ran,
too; but our gallant foe did not follow us, and
the next we seen, him and Old Spokane, as we
supposed, was in a boat pulling out into the
lake. They finally touched at tlro same island
where the other boat had landed its occupants.”
“By heavens! that island’s got to be pulled,”
declared Scott Dresden, “for it may be the
point from whence all our trouble is emanat-
ing.

The two villains had carried on all this con—

 

versation in the hearing of Baby Sam. They

 

 

‘7‘5 .. .n =

A-—‘

 

U

'7' '3‘»

‘mszr .

, ,, Vt, .‘. ~—..

‘. . ... . ..., .7? «.1. ,. “3.1-5:

T—-.» a mew , 

. 1,. T _..-,.- ,9.‘  .. W.M,'_W-,_s... .

a

..3.. . 3r. .7...“ K...“ ,g.‘ ‘

...., .TV- ..

‘ - w; -=2~’~.V-m

“a”

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A“
-U'AS—

, 7;.

Ag"

    

 

  

 

 

 

   

«.3.
9
@

'l i In l llll
"in "Hum-mum I |
l
l

 

 

 

   

regarded him as powerless to do them further
harm, but when the subject had so changed as
to include the Boy Giant, Donald Strahm turned
to the prisoner and said: ,

"Perhaps you could tell us something about
the conduct of Big Horn, Baby Sam—in other
words, what he’s up to?” y

u He‘s up to your little game," replied Baby
. um.

S “ He is, eh! Well, what else can you tell us?
—do you know where those girls—Wilma Rod-
man and Sarah Marshall aret” .

“You impudent scoundrel l” the Boy Giant
fairlv hissed, “if I did knnow I‘d die a dozen
deaths before I’d tell on.

“ Oh, he’s a mad fog!” Dresden snarled, “ but
he’ll get the chance to-morrow morning to die
one death, that’ll atone for some of his murder-
OUs work, now mind.”

By this time night was well advanced, and
after the guards watching the approaches to the
grotto had been changed, Dresden and Stralini
rolled themselves in blankets and laid down to
r st.

Bright and early the next morning they were
astir. An ample supply of food that was con—
cealed iii the grotto was brought out, cooked
and eaten; and after their matutinal meal,
which had been washed down with Villaiiious
whisky, Scott Dresden turned and shouted out:

“ Ndw, men, to the Devil’s Broth Pot With
that young bruiser 1" _

Upto this moment Baby Sam had entertanied
a faint hope that, if die he must, he would .be
liliie'l outright, and not subjected to the hellish
lOl‘Yill‘t- (' .iiict-ivcll by the brain of the monster,
Scott Dresden.

It was not. over a mile to the great gevs r
known among the hunters and Indians as "The
DJVil‘s B rotli Pot,” though pointed out to tour-
ists now as “Old Faithful.” Its eruptionsoccnr
at intervals of about seventy minutes With all
the regularity of the flow and ebb of the ocean’s
tide. [t lasts about twenty minutes, then
ceases, and the boiling flood sinks out of sight
in the crater to gather new force for another
outburst.

It was but a short time till the outlaws anti
savages, with their captive, came in Sight of
the geyser. It was located on the summit of a
large, cone—shaped knoll that for ages upon ages
had been forming from sediment thrown from
the geyser. The sides of the cone were cut
into hundreds of little channels by the rushing
of the waters. In the little valley at its base
was a large channel through which the bOiling
liquid escaped into the Fire H_ole river that
flowed hard by. Just aCi-oss this channel was
a gradual ascent crowned with a dense growth
of pines.

The geyser was quiet when the outlaws came
in sight of it.

“Hadn’t we better wait here until after the
‘Pot’ boils again?" said Dresden, stopping at
the edge of the pines near the foot of the cone.

“It hasn’t been twenty minutes since it ceased
its tumult,” responded Strahm; “and it will be
nearly an hour yet before there is any danger
from its spouting. In that time we can get
over to the crater, dump our game and get
back here. I say let’s push right ahead and get
the job off our hands.”

“ All right' forward march l” commanded
Dresden, leaping the channel and beginning
the ascent of the cone.

Four men conducted the doomed boy toward
the geyser with his hands tied at his back and
a. revolver at his head. The Indians were all
left on the safe side of the cone. Their super-
stitious fears would not permit of their ap-
proaching nearer to the dreaded “ Broth Pot.”

In his fiendish desire to hurl the author of
his battered countenance into the great cal-
dron, Dresden hurried on and reached the cra-
ter a hundred paces in advance of those who
were laboring along With the captive. He stood
0:: the very rim of the crater, whose diameter
was fully six feet, and gazed down into the hot,
cavernous depths from whence came an ominous
gurgling sound. He felt the marble-like earth
beneath his feet shake and quiver with internal
emotion. He could see. the boiling flood rising
slowly in the porcelain-lined throat of the cra-
ter; and suddenly he heard and felt the roar of
underground thunder that was immediately fol—
lowed by the upward rush of hissing steam that
caused him to start back in alarm. And this
in turn was succeeded by a hoarse gurgling
moan, a violent trembling of the cone, when,
with the force of a mighty hurricane, a river
of boiling water six feet in thickness shot up
into the air to the hight of two hundred feet.
The rays of the sun, which was just rising
above the distant mountain range, shone upon
the mists of white steam and formed a bright
rainbow above the summit of the column of in-
describable splendor and glory, while the water
bursting outward at the top of the column, like
a. gigantic fountain, descended to earth in a
perfect torrent of earls. But, grand as was
the sight, the situation was equally as perilous.
Of this the outlaw was fully aware, and turn-
ing with a shout of warning to his friends, he
dashed away to escape the falling flood of boil-
ing water, which, being undisturbed by the
air, fell with equal and thunderous force all
around the summit of the cone. Soona mighty
flood was rolling down the slope in one broad
sheet, and the outlaws in charge of Baby Sam,
seeing their deadly danger, turned and ran for
their lives, knowin that the boy must follow
or rish in the sea ding flood.

he Boy Giant readily realized his situation.
He saw that the time for him had come to act
not only in saving himself from the water, but
to elude his foes, and throwing all his prodi-
gious strength into one superhuman effort be
burst the bonds that tattered his hands and
once more stood free.

At this very juncture Scott Dresden dashed
past him at a wild, breakneck run, and when
but a few feet away stumbled and fell heavily
to the earth. Before he could rise the Boy
Giant was upon him, and stoopin , be seized
the villain by each ankle and swung im around
upon his back as though he had been a mere
child. Then drawing each of the yellin out—
law’s feet over his shoulders the boy ashed
away, but he did not go in the direction taken
by the others but bore sharply off to the left so
as to turn his back almost upon those standing
at the foot of the cone.

Dresden, hanging head downward clutched
frantically at the air and yelled like a demon.
but in the hands of the young Hercules he was
powerless. Sam’s sole object in thus carrying
him was to protect himself from the bullets of the
savages waiting among the pines. It was the
boy’s only hope—an expedient that his quick
brain had conceived, and his giant strength
enabled him to carry out.

But the successful execution of the young
mountaineer’s plan of escape was greater even
than its conception, for by the time he was
fairly under way the flood had overtaken him,
but in spreading out over the cone its depth
had been so reduced as to enable the hundreds
of little channels before mentioned to carry the
boiling flood. But even then the fugitive could
proceed only by leaping from one projection to
another, in doing which a single miSstep would
prove fatal.

The moment the savages saw the bays des-
perate move, they set up a wild yelling and
opened fire with their rifles. Baby Sam could
hear their bullets whistling around him, but he
knew they were not shooting to kill, for the
life of their leader was in equal danger with his
own, and he had heard the whistle of bullets
too often around his head to be intimidated by
the sound.

With his eyes fixed on the earth before him,
his teeth set and every nerve strung to its
utmost tension, the brave boy bounded along
amid the scalding, steamin rivulets and at last
reached the great channe that received the
flood at the foot of the cone.

With a breath of relief he dropped the out
law, leaped across the ditch, bounded up the
gentle slope beyvnd and plunged into the
shadows of the pine words. a wi‘d, ringing
shout of defiance peeling from his lips.

But scarcely had be gone a dozen steps among
the tn: es when a voice ca‘led out to him:

“Here, boy—this way 2"

 

He glanced to the right and saw Old Kit
Bandy approaching, his face aglow With ex-
citement and joy.

“Glory, Kilt! ‘m glad to meet you!” the boy
exclaimed, breathing heavily.

“ Here, lad, ’5 your ‘VIIIt‘hestel‘ and cartridge~
belt—good thing you give ’em to me—‘maga-
zine’s chockfull—shoot the devils down if they
crowd you!” .

Baby Sam took the belt and quickly buckled
it around him, then, as be grasped his rifle, a
stern smile wreathed his lips, his big eyes flashed
with the light of a desperate determination, and
stepping behind a rock, upon which he rested
his un, he said:

“ J. ow, curse them, it’s my turn!” .

Soon he caught sight of two red-skins—
one behind the other—gliding along like hounds
upon his trail, and quickly glancing along his
rifle be pressed the trigger and both savages fell
dead—the report of the gun rolling away in sul—
len echoes and mingling with the roar and tu-
mult of the Devil’s Broth Pot.

Quickly the young mountaineer threw an-
other cartridge into his rifle, and the glimpse of
a movnig figure among the pines invoked an-
other deadly shot.

Several moments of silence now elapsed and
no more savages appearing, Old Kit, who had

tood an admiring spectator of the young g1-
ant’s deadly work, said:

“ By the rain’s-liorn ot Joshua! Baby Samuel,
you’re. a splendid lump 0’ humanity—an up~
roar’ous young hurricane. I reckon the devils
’ll not tamper With a bottled cyclone soon again.
But, say, Baby, what on earth were you doing
over tl ere near the geySer!’

" Why, my biave captors took me over there
to throw me into the crater, to make man-broth
for the devil‘s breakfast.”

“ And what Saved you, lad 3”

“He who controls the destinies of man, and
wnose mighty pow er is seen in the wonders of
“’ontlerland. The geyser began to flow before
they got me to the crater, and I was saved.”

"Bless the Lord!" said Old Kit, reverently.
“ I came in sight jlbt as you shouldered that
feller arid started. I’d ’a’ put in a shot for you,
but I war afraid the report 0‘ the gun might
lead you to think enemies were in front of you.
as Well as behind, and throw you off your base.”

“That scoundrel I covered my retreat with
was Scott Dresden, and I don’t see what I was
doing that I didn’t throw him into the esca e-
channel that was half-full of scalding water. ’.

"It war a pity, boy, it’s true, but you did
nobly in savin’ yourself, for I’ll swear you’re
needed now, lad, if eVer you were. Them poor

als-”

g " Yes, yes, Kit, they must be saved!” inter-
rupted the boy, and, shouldering his rifle, he
turned, and the lWo moved away through the
cool morning shadow 5.

(To be contt‘ntt d—eommenced in No. 48.)

 

REMEMBRANCE.

BY EMILIE CLARE.

 

 

A score and ten long, dreary years
We‘ve stru: led With a fate of tears—-
Of toil. an care, and ain:
But memory, what else ietide,
\l‘ill bless us to the other side,
To never part again.

The waters wear the granite gray,

But Time nor tide can wash away
l‘hc ii'nuge, dear, of thee;

It must have been decreed above

That y: »u and I were destined, love,
On earth to parted be.

How few such tenderness can boast!
I deem they only love the most
Whom Fate apart have set;
A lingering cry for kindred hearts—
A tearful agony that starts
A ten: ful, vain regret!

Histariigandits.

BY JOHN H. \VHITSON.

 

THE ABBE DE VATTEVILLE.

THE hero of this veracious chronicle was born
about the year 1612. He received a liberal edu
cation, became a monk of the Order of Carthu-
sinus and was ordained a priest.

He was a man of considerable strength of in-
tellr» ct, great energy, restless character, shrewd
and cunning, and rapidly forged to the front in
whatev r he undertook.

Naturally enough the heavy monastic yoke of
the Carthusian Brotherhood soon became gall-
ing .- nri distastetul to a man of his active and
inconstant temperament, and he determined to
escape them all at the first favorable opportu-

nit .

This not coming soon enough be resolved to
make one. Gaining the friendship of a villager
the monk hired him to procure a complete suit
of Citizen’s clothing and some weapons, and,
having these conVeyed to him secretly, at once
began preparations for flight.

His inattention to duty, his absences, grown
more frequent of late, and his watchful, halting
and hesitating manner, aroused the suspicion of
some of the older brothers, and this, coming to
the ears of the prior, he‘ set himself to watch
Vatteville, and, as it chanced, began his vigils
on the very night the latter had fixed for his
departure.

From his place of concealment the prior saw
the traitorous priest, in citizen’s attire, steal
softly through the long corridors and a preach
the secret chamber where the common unds of
the priory were kept. This he entered, and se-
curing all the money he could find, crept quietly
back to his cell.

Angered by the boldness of the robbery, and
knowing by his dress that Vatteville intended
to leave. the prior rushed into the open cell, and,
seeing the robber standing by a ropeladder
which he had prepared to facilitate his flight,
began to cry aloud with the intention of arous-
ing the entire establishment.

At this Vatteville drewa pistol, shot the prior
dead and suc.-eeded in scaling the outer walls,
and, leaping upon a horse which had been placed
in waiting, was safe from pursuit before the
frightened monks, startled from their midnight
slum beis, Could divine the cause of alarm.

Two or three days later he stopped to dine at
a public house in a solitary part of the country,
having been without food fora number of hours,
and ordered the landlord to send to his room all
the eatablt s be had.

Tlll‘ landlord expostulated, declaring that he
could not want them all; that he had not a
great store at hand, and some other furnishing
wayfarer in search of entertainment might
presmitly come that way.

“ Bal' I" answered the unfrocked monk, be-
coming angi'y. “send them up at once; I will
pay your bill."

Thus commanded the host proceeded to ex-
ecute his order, when another belated traveler
entered and asked for a meal.

The landlord, in despair, explained to him the
situation, and the DEV-"COIDi-I‘, incensed at the
selfish disposition of Vatteville, strode into his
room and demanded an explanation and a share
of the meal.

A heated altercation followed, which culmi-
nated in the ex-priest shooting the stranger
dead, with as little compunction as he had shot
the prior. He then ecolly finished his dinner,
paid the bill, and rode leisurely away.

Going to a ~eap0rt town be disposed of his
horse and t~wk passage for Alexandria on a
trader, rear" 1. g that port during the great Mos-
lem fast oi R nmdan, which generally closes in
ablaze ot‘ :loi‘y.

'l‘ne siiauge sights and sounds of this ancient
city, to -( th-«r u ith the oriental splendor of the

MOsleni p igrn nts, fascinated and delighted him.
He mieiniin d tosee the country in its wilder
ant rnd. r 'isponts. and joining the Egyptian
forc s, Ll’vll calling for Volunteers. pushed into
thu zutwii r in lilll‘~lllt of a revolting body of
Mam- Illif: s—tlia. iir -ulent race. whose leaders
V\"¢’l‘~ finally in mm: :ed and themselvesdestroyed

at Ciiro, ll) 1811., by Mohammed Ali.

 

Coming u with the Mamelukes near the

pyramids, a‘bloody battle was fought. in which
the pursuing party suffered badly, Vattevflle
himself falling into the hands of the wild war-
riors, who immediately continued their re-
treat.
. One of the chiefs taking a fancy to him, and
doubtless thinking he would make an excellent
and valuable slave, because of his education
and his acquaintance with several languages,
finally took him to his leasant home in a dis—
tant oasis, which nestledgike a miniature para-
dise amid the burning wastes of the desert.

Here he was installed as chief of the slaves
and menials—a osition particularly distasteful
to a man of atteville’s disposition, and he
immediately began planning an escape. He
knew that to accomplish this he would be com-
pelled to slay the Mameluke chief, and make
his exit durin the confusion into which his
servants would be thrown, and that capture
meant certain death.

How to compass the death of the chief, with—
out needlessly endan ering himself, was a ques-
tion which worried im not a little. He was
not allowed to carry arms, and it would be
sublime folly to attack the desert king, fully
armed as he always was, without weapons and
unaided.

Suddenly a bright thou ht came to him. He
had read of the tragic eath of Cleopatra, so
characteristically described in a recent “poem,”
beginning thus:

“ She took a nasty, p'ison snake,

And hid it in her gown;

It gave its little tail a shake,
And did its job u brown.

She went into her ittle bed,
In dreadful a ony,

Then tore her c iignon from her head,
And, followed Antony!”

Snakes of all kinds were abundant on this
bright oasis, from the huge python to the dead—
ly asp. They were of all the hues, and seemed
to delight in making one’s acquaintance on
every possible occasion.

Securing a venomous-looking reptile, Vatte-
ville conveyed it to the sleeping—apartment of
the Mameluke and secreted it in his couch.

On retiring the chief was bitten, and during
the alarm and confusion which immediately
followed Vatteville escaped, and, eguided by the
stars, set out for Cairo, mount on a fleet
dromedary, and succeeded in reaching that
cit in safety a few days afterward.

V hether his late master died or not from the
effects of the bite, he never learned and had no
yearning desire to investigate.

He had had enough of Egypt and the Mame-
lukes, and, working his way along coast to
Tripoli, succeeded, after a time, in gainin the
friendship and confidence of a celebrated edi—
terranean pirate, and was placed in command
of one of his vessels, making several successful
ex editions.

uring one of the e be captured a large
Spanish galleon, but while convoying it to the
pirate rendezvous was chased by a man of—war
and forced to abandon his prize.

While in Tripoli he fell a victim to the dark
eyes and sensuous beauty of an Egyptian
g awazee,‘or dancing girl. He “adopted” her
and installed her in his sumptuous home, but
only soon to tire of her, or rather to fear her
changeable and tier disposition; so be under-
took to discard her or another and she, crazed
by grief and despair, committed suicide by
leaping from a buildin into the street where
he was passing, falling end at his feet.

Horrified by this tragedy induced by his own
act and especially as he once was really at-
tac ed to her, he left Tripoli, and, going to
Constantinople, applied for admission into the
arm ' of the Sultan, who at that time had his
ban 5 full with a war against the Venetians, in
Morea, but several leading Turks strenuously
objected to his enrollment and declaimed
against him as an’ uncircumcised dog of a
Frank. To mollify their prejudices and show
to them what an obliging servant he really
was, Vatteville submitted to the rite of cir-
cumcision, and was thenceforth permitted to
wear the turban and to enter the Sultan’s ser-
Vice.

This evidence of his self-abnegation, together
with his really great talents and reckless dar-
ing, advanced him rapidly, and he soon became
the confidential adviser of the Sultan and was
created a pasha.

His services in this struggle, and while he re«
mained loyal to his Ottoman master, were
marked by great brilliancy and an actual
genius for the art of war; but at length a
strange longing to return to the scenes of his
early life came upon him. He grew weary of
adventures in the Orient, and flu ing means to
address the Government of Venice, began secret
fiegotiations looking toward his speedy return

ome.

He soon succeeded in enterin into a compact,
agreeing to deliver up to the enetians several
armed fortresses, and to communicate much
valuable information concerning the Turkish
forces, on condition that they would secure for
him complete absolution from his holiness the
Pope, for the sundry crimes and misdee s of
his life, and his apostacy from the church, to

uarantee to him entire protection from the

‘arthusian monks, and an assurance that he
should be reinstated in the priesthood, with the
Eight to possess and exercise all sorts of bone-
ces.

The Venetians accordingly brought their
strongest and most potent influences to bear
upon the Holy See, and the Pope, believing the
interests of the church great enough in this in—
stance to warrant his favorin Christians
against the dreaded Turks, gran the r nest.

As soon as Vatteville was well ass the
matter had been satisfactorily arran ed, he
quietly commenCed his preparations to a ndon
the country of the Osmanh; but he determined
not to leave in an impoverished condition. 80,
gathering a few of the desperate Europeans,
who were even then to be found in and around
Constantinople, be secured a small vessel and
anchored it in a hidden retreat in the Sea of
Marmora, a few miles from the Golden Horn.

He then laid his plans with such care and
caution that he succeeded in betraying into the
hands of the Venetians the fortresses he had
named; and, hastening to the city, in disguise,
took his men, who were awaiting him on the
vessel, and going to one of the richest mosques,
plundered it of all its treasures.

He escaped in safety to his vessel and suc-
ceeded in a few hours in reaching the Venetian
squadron, which had been sent to that point to
aid him, and embarking on board one of their
shi s was carried safely to Italy.

6 went immediately to Rome, where he was
warmly received by the Pope who, as agreed,
gave him full absolution, and he then returned
to his old home in France.

The singular novelty of many of the events
of this pirate Abbe’s life served to cast a
glamour of romance about him which, in a
large measure, concealed the gravity of his
crimes, and he soon came to be regarded asa
man of consummate address and intrigue; and,
to still further increase his power, he courted
and gained the friendship of the queen—mother,
and1 associated with the leading ministers of the
rea in.

To these he soon made himself invaluable,
and to requitc his services he was, at different
times given the Abbey of Beaume, the half of
Franche Comté, a villa in Picardy, and many
other valuable estates and emoluments.

He made the Abbey his home, where he lived
in great magnificence, remaining a rtion of
the time u n his estates and at ésancon.
Whenever e chose to visit Paris and the g9.
French court he was eve where received wit
marked consideration an distinction.

He had, wherever he went, numerous uip-
ages and attendants, a fine pack of houn s a
sumptuous table and good compan , and or
many years reigned with all the reg and bar-
baric splendor of a feudal lord, exercising
almOst absolute dominion over all the surround—
ing country.

The Intendants of the Provinces bowed to
him in humble submission, and b the express
orders of the Government oppose him in noth‘

 

ing, even allowin him to regulate the taxes in
the territories un er him.

Thus he lived, respected by some, feared by
others, and hated by the ood and pious Car-
thusians, who could never rin themselves to
forgive him for having discar ed the hood of
the order and for having led such a wicked life.

Aware of this, he often took delight in call-
ing upon some gouty old prior, or hooded re-
cluse, and taunting him with stories of adven-
ture and rofiigacy that made the poor monk
brother fairly groan in horror.

As age came on the Abbe remained more in-
doors, amusing himself mainly at the game of
ombre, at which he was very skillful, gaining
the codille so frequently that he was nick-
named L‘Abbé Codille. .

He died in the year 1702, at the age of ninety,
having verified in his life the familiar adage
that “ Truth is stranger than fiction.”

 

 

,Tlie Slog Witness.

BY PAUL PASTNOR.

 

A TERRIBLE murder had been committed in
Orotara, under the giant Teneriife, in the Ca-
nary Islands. But who of the bustling crowd
that began to surge along the streets of the
town in the morning sunlight, knew of the
dreadful deed? The pennons floated gayly from
the English shipsin the harbor, and the “ Y’ ove,
heave ho!” of the sailors came merrily over the
sparkling water. On the decks already the toil
and clamor of loading the merchant ships had
begun, and the swarthy natives, strip ed to the
waist, were hoisting up the great ales and
boxes with weird chatter and weirder songs.
The English residents of the town Were just go-
ing to their laces of business, elated by the
freshness of t e early morning. Not a tinge or
a suspicion of tragedy disturbed the air. Ev-
erything seemed well. To be sure, the Bank of
Orotara was closed—but was it not always
closed at that hour in the morning? Depositors
hastened by unconcerned, and the blue curtains
hung close to the plate-glass, and hid all the
devastation within.

Two dark—browed Spaniards were rapidly
pursuing the road under the base of Teneriffe.

hey were on foot, and bore, slung over their
backs, two large traveling-sacks of pliantleather.
Their faces bore an anxious look, and occasion-
ally they turned and cast a furtive glance down
the road behind them.

“ Think you, Manuel,”said the taller, in a low
tone, “that any person saw us walking with
Morris last night?”

“ I have suspicions, Pedro,” replied his corn-
panion. “ You remember the lad that ran by
us in the road? I knew him—he knew me!"

“ Diablnl—who was he?”

“ Emuel Armas—the fisherman’s boy.”

“ Did he know Morris?”

“ Quien sabe ?—I know not.”

The Spaniards walked along for some dis-'
tance, more rapidly, in silence. Finally Pedro,
the taller, stopped, and struck his companion
lightly on the shoulder—

“The broken tomb, Manuel! In six days he
will smell!”

The two men stood confronting each other,
their swarthy faces livid with apprehension.

“But,” urged Manuel, “it was but a corner
chi Xed—not as wide as a man’s finger. ”

“ h, but the flies!” whispered his companion.
“Think you not they will see the flies crawling
in and out? IVe were fools—fools! But; where
else could we have put him3—and the watch—
man’s light coming up the. road 2”

“ Oh, come on—all is safe,” replied his com'

panion. “The tomb will not be opened for six
days at least, and by that time we shall be safe
in Sfiainl’
“ ut we are known,” groaned Pedro. “The
lad saw us with the Englishman; we are known
to have been in his confidence for years. We
alone could have enticed him b night out to
the cemetery. Suspicion will fa l on us first of
all, and our flight will confirm it. Alas, it was
a badly-managed business, after all. Three
years of waiting and preparation, and then to
make such a terrible mistake at last! Would
to heaven we had thought of the broken
corner on the tombl But such a cursed deed
robs a man of half his wits. Ughl I shall
never forget how he caught my arm with his
bloody hand, and plead for his life!"

“ Hush—hush? exclaimed his companion,
warningly. “ We might be overheard. Come
—come. We must flee now, and put as much
of God’s earth between us and the dead rran as
we can, before the body is discovered.”

 

Ten o’clock came, and passed, at Orotara;
but the dark curtains of the bank were not
raised, and the ground glass doors remained
closed. The little knot of business men gathered
about the steps, impatiently waiting, grew
alarmed. A messenger was sent to the cash-
ier’s house. Two of the bank clerks came
strolling up, laughing and twirling their canes.

“Have you seen Mr. Morris this morning?”
was the anxious question of the bystanders.

No, they had not seen him: some little family
delay, perhaps. And then they went on talk-
ing. Presently the messenger came back run~
ning, to say that Mr. Morris had left the ouse
at about eight o’clock the previous evenin , and
had not been Seen since by his family, an they
were nearly distracted. The excitement of
those around the bank could now be restrained
no longer. A cry immediately went up that
the cashier had absconded with the funds; and
in less than fifteen minutes a huge crowd was
sur 'ng around the closed bank.

“ he keysl—who has got the keys?” shouted
the crowd.

“ Mr. Morris always carried them with him,”
shouted one of the clerks. “The doors will
have to be for .”

A house was building a little way down the
street, and half a dozen stron men brought a
beam on their shoulders an battered in the
doors of the bank with it. Everything ap-
peared to be in good order, until the vaults
were reached. Here a sad sight presented itself.
The great triple steel doors were standing wide
open, and papers and books were scattered in
profuswn over the floor. A hasty examination
showed that about everything of value had
been removed—all the cash and notes of the
bank, and whatever could be turned to profit in
the hands of private parties. S icion, of
course, fell immediately upon Mr. orris, the
cashier. Every one believed that he had disap—
peared with the funds of the bank, and great
was the indignation that raged against him and
even against his innocent family. There was
talk of driving the latter from the town, but as
the excitement gradually subsided into calmer
discussmn, this threat was not carried out. The
only detective on the island was at once se-
cured, and the case placed in his hands. Pri-
vate individuals also left their homes to engage
in the search for Morris, and before another
morning the whole island knew the story, and
was on the lookout for the defaulter.

 

Nearly two weeks sped by, and nothing had
been heard from Morris or the funds of the
bank when one sultry afternoon the keeper of
the rotate. cemetery, while walking through
the grounds, was astonished to see a. black
stream of flies crawling in and out of the corner
of one of the flat tombs, covered with a slab so
common in the Canary Islands. He knew that
the tomb was empty, or had been for some time
past, and_could not conceive that there was
anything in it or around it that should draw so
large aswarm of flies. Coming nearer, his nos-
trils were assailed by the unmistakable stench
of decaying flesh. Horrified, he ran to the lodge
for assrstance and, accompanied by two of his
men, returne and pried u the slab of the
tomb. There lay the body 0 the cashier of the
Orotara Bank, the features distorted yet still
recognizable, and the clothes torn and disor-
dered, as though in a last des rate struggle for
life. The news flew like wi dfire, and in less
than two hours the excitement of the people
was such that a coroner‘s jury had to be im-

 

panneled, and a surging crowd awaited the ver-
dict. While the body was being examined, a.
lad pushed his way through the crowd, and,
when he had gotten as far into the room as he
could, remarked, casually, to one of the by-
standers that he had “met Mr. Morris walking
out on the cemetery road with Pedro Cruitza
and Manuel Brito on the night when the bank
was broken.” This remark was caught up and
created a great sensation. Pedro and Manuel,
it was noticed, had disappeared at about the
same time as the Englishman, but nothing was
thought of it, .as they frequently went away to-
gether and did not return for days. But now
they had been gone a long time, and no one had
heard anything from them, or even seen them
on .the island. Suggestion ave way to sus-
p-ic1on, and suspicion to con ction, and convic-
tion to certaint , so that by the time the coro-
ner’s verdict 0 “died by violence ” had been

ronounced, the crowd elled as one man—
‘ The Spaniards did it! The Spaniards did it!”

 

Three weeks later, in the mountains of S in,
a little band of dusty travelers, headed y a
small man in a slouched hat, stopped at anout-
of—the-way cabin by the roadside, and knocked
at the door. A dark face was seen for a mo-
ment at the window—then it disappeared, and
all was still inside. The small man ta ped
again. Noresporse. He pushed open the oor,
and as he did so, two figures disappeared at the
rear of the cabin. He rushed after them, call-
ing  some of his men to follow. They reached
the hillside back of the but, and saw the men
running for the woods.

“ Halt, Pedro Cruitza! Halt, Manuel Brito!"
cried the small man, in a ringing voice; and as
he spoke he drew a revolver from either hip,
and held them flashing before him, while his
followers did likewise. “Halt! you are my
prisoners!"

The Spaniards turned and threw up their
hands. he cowardliness of their race when
driven to extremities overcame them, and they
gave themselves up without a struggle. In the
gloomy dungeon at Santa Cruz they confessed
their horrible crime, which, rhaps, had never
been brought to light had it not been for the
broken tombstone in the cemetery at Orotara,
and doggedly met their fate, a few months
later, on the gallows of their gloomy prison.
So does the vengeance of God pursue the mur-
derer unto the end.

 

THE CAT.

(PAnonv on “Harp that Once Through Tara‘s Hana")

 

 

BY J. F. B.

The cat that once, on the back street,
Had kept us from our rest,

Now is made into sausagemeat
And eta s in an ice-chest.

So sleep t e cats of former days,
So glory’s thrill is o’er,

And while the butcherflnds it pays
They’ll feed them to us more.

No more to men and women bright
The not es of cat will swell;

The song alone, not heard at night,
Its tale of sausage tell.

Thus people know not what they eat,
And they may know less still,

Until they ve u sausage-meat—
That st on w ich some till.

 

The Sea llesperado;

THE PIRATE LOVER.

A Romance of the early years of
the present century.

 

BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM,

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

CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE OUTLAW LIEUTENANT MAKES A SECOND
VISIT.

DUVAL DUNMORE, the pirate lieutenant, was
certainly a most darin man, or he would never
have so openly and b0 dly played the part he
did to gain an interview with Helen Ha ward.

Departing from the mansion, he went ck to
his room at the inn, where the landlord treated
him with distin uished consideration, believing
that he was rea ly an officer of the navy.

He had ordered the best room in the hotel,
when he had arrived in the stage that morning,
and had dis of the choicest breakfast that
could be given him, washing it down with a
bottle of rare old wine.

Then he had arranged his toilet with care and
gone to make his call upon Helen, with a result
that is known to the reader.

Returning, he asked of his landlord where he
could find the Messmates’ Anchorage.

“ That is not such a place as to suit one like

on, sir,” quickly said the landlord, fearful of

osing a well-paying guest. ,

“I have no idea of leaving your hOSpitable
house, landlord, as long as business detains me
in our town; but I e t I may meet at such
a p ace as the Messmates’ Anchorage, a seaman
whom I wish to see.”

“ Ah, es, air, it is the place to find seamen,
and I w' I go there with you.” '

“ N 0, thank you, only call a vehicle for me to
drive theta?

This was done, and Duval Dunmore entered
the taproom of the Anchorage.

Captain Tom sighted him, and, as naval of-
ficers never visited his place except to look up

 

deserte or smugglers, he was on his dignity at
once a said sharply:
“Yo 11 find no pirates, smugglers or deserters

here, sir, for my house is a respectable one.”
The lieutenant laughed lightly and an—
swered:
“ Are you Captain Tom?”
. “’That is what my particular friends call me,

“ Well I shall have to claim that distinction,
Captain Tom, and I wish to s:e you in private. ”
‘ I can see you here, sir.” .

“Pardon me, but I wish to have a chat with
you over a bottle of your good Bur ndy, whicl‘ii
Capgain Morte tells me, you keep or his especi
use.

At the mention of the name Captain M0
the host of the Messmates’ Anchorage turn
pale' but he said quietly:

“ Captain Morte, did you say, sir?”

I - Yes. 1’

“ I have no friend of that name.”

“ Oh, yes you have, for I refer to the pirate
of that name.”

Captain Tom fairly shivered; but he felt that
he must keep up a bold front, so he answered:

“ Oh, yes, the pirate; I have heard of him,
but never have seen him', though I’d take a day
of! to go to his hanging.

“ Nonsense, man, you don’t mean it.”

“ I do in faith .”

“ Then I shall tell Captain Marta what you
think of him, for he believes you his friend and
sent me to you,” and the pirate lieutenant smiled
wickedly.

“ Blast your handsome face, what do you
mean by scaring me to death just to havo your
own fun with me?

“ I’ve half a mind not to tap the Burgundy
for you ” growled Captain Torn.

“ d to talk business with me in here, eh?”

“ No, we’ll take safer quarters in my fort,”
and Captain Tom led the way to his fort, as he
called his private room. A

" So the captain isn’t dead then?” he said,
ea erl .

“ No, but he had a close call, and is now lying
severely wounded.”

“ And who might you be?”

“My name is Duval, and I am first lufi of
the Witch.”

“ Ah! I have heard the captain speak of you:
but you caught a Tartar in the Britisher?”

 

 

 

 

  

'Am‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“YR-0,6; ,‘ *

3553M);.%f$i¥um,.fls<mwj;~tflb‘A r

v.41.»

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

,, W i . . m . . . v . . . .
to fight: igeglggecdéualgdrégt: 311331;: Beast $325155 IySJUIIZ‘lilIEEfigr Eggs there is no doubt but that  asggerg” Nortth Pilitte vaéley. this trail arose before me jacent ravine. Birds in flocks, in sixes, in pairs
15.::Why so”, : ere, sin have you ever seen this before?” “Yes.” . spec e1 1 e, an disturbed my slumbers as a and singles arose before me.

“It gives that poor girl a respite whom the
captain demanded should sacrifice herself.”

“ You are just my way of thinking there,
leftenant, for, though I like Master Rupert, and
would do much for him, I don’t like to see him
persecute that poor girl, and I’d give much if
he’d let up in that quarter.”

“ But he won’t, you may rest assured, and he
bade me come to see you, and tell you to keep
an eye upon her, as he feared she might be in-
fluenced by her parents and friends to run off
wheie he could not find her."

“ Not she, if she gave her word, for it‘s in her
to marry Satan himself if she made up her
mind to it.”

“ So I believe; and the captain told me to tell
you where we we: e now with the brig, and
where we would put in at certain dates. so that
you could have a messenger there to give him
any information for his gOOd, as to the move-
ments of cruiSers and [LexCHant ve:sels, which
would be for his advantage.”

“ I’ll do that. but I Won’t help him harm that
lovely girl, and you can tell him that the one
man who is really his friend told you to say so
to him."

“ I will tell him, I assure you, and if he will
give up his idea of dragging her down with
him I will be rejoiced: but from what I know
of aptain Morte, I feel that it is vain to hope
that he will do so."

“He’ll never do it unless one thing prevents,”
firmly said Captain Tom.

“ And what is that?”

“ Death,” was the ominous reply.

After posting Captain Tom thoroughly as to
the future movements of the Winged Witch,
Duval took his leave, and returning to his hotel
remained in his mom until the departure of the
stage, which would take him by the coast road
to a goint where he could leave it and join his
vesse .

 

CHAPTER XXXV.
THE TELL TALE SEAL.

Anna. the de rture of her strange visitor,
Helen Haywar sat for some time in deep
thought.

“ And such a man a pirate?” she murmured.

“ A man of noble face, and a face that some-
where I feel that I have seen before.

“It is strange, passing strange. that such as
he can stoop to sea-robbing. and there must be
a fearfully weak t in his nature to allow him
to become what 6 has, or some dire wrong
have been done him to drive him to it.

“ Just to think that Rupert Mortimer, a bril-
liant man, who could have made his mark in
the world, and this man, should be what they
are.

“ But Rupert Mortimer has a wicked and
cruel heart, which only needed circumstances
to show what he was; but I am woefully mis-
taken if that man has not a. good heart, in spite
of his hands being dyed with blood.”

As she. thus mused her eyes fell u
ing object near the chair on whic
lieutenant had been seated.

Stooping she picked it up, and to her surprise
she saw that it was a massive gold seal, With a.
crest of diamonds u 11 one side, set into the
stone, and upon the 0 her the initials “ D. D.”

Then upon the gold band that surrounded it
was engraved:

“ DUVAL DUNMORE or CASTLE CRAGHEAD.”

“ How strange this is, for he alone could have,
dropped it.

“ Yes, I remember now seeing his fob-chain,
and the gold here has worn thin and broken.”

“ How can I give it to him, I wonder?

" I must wait,” and with this she placed it in
her pocket and walkin across the hall tapped
lightly at the door 0 the room occupied by
Lord Stanwix.

His ralet opened the door for him, and she
asked if she should read to the wounded man.

“ Oh, yes, and I am glad you have not waited
until the afternoon, for I was getting lonesome,
Miss Hayward,” he said, pleasantly.

She advanced near the bed and asked:

“ How are you feeling, Lord Stanwix?”

“ Far better, I assure you."

“ I am glad to hear that.

“ Now what shall I read?"

“ Talk to me instead.”

“ And what shall I talk about?” she said, with
a smile which brightened up her face, now be—
coming so very sad in its expression.

“ Talk to me ab0ut yourself.”

“ That will be of little interest.”

“Ah, no, for the month is up I know.”

“ Yes, and I have a respite,” she said quickly.

“You have seen the pirate then?"

“ No, but his representative.”

“ He feared to come then to claim you 3”

“Oh, no, for that man does not know fear.”

“Your words tell me that he lives, when I
hoped that I had killed him.”

"And you nearly did so, for he lies on board
his vessel dangerously wounded.”

“ Please tell me of him.”

Helen told of the visit she had received, and
that she felt happy at the respite.

“ You shall never marry him, Miss. Hayward,
for I will be able in a few w eks to go on board
my vessel, and in the mean time I will add to
mv crew, and place a heavier battery upon the
brig, so that when next I meet the pirate he
shall not escape me.”

"’81! you must not fret yourself, my lord, or
talk of fighting, or the doctor Wlll forbid my
Seeing you, as I am the only one to disturb you
with my chattering,”

“I would rebel at once and refuse to follow
the doctor‘s advice under such circumstances,
Mrs Hayward.” I

Helen smiled and asked quickly, as though to
change the subject: '

“ Is, Duumore a prominent name in England,
Lord Stanwix?" .

He cast a quick look into her face and said:

“ “7e so consider it, Miss Hayward.” _

“ Do you know of Castle Craghead in Eng-
land, mag‘ I ask? ’ .

Again e looked at her in that strange way,
and answered:

“ Oh yes, I know of Castle Craghead.”

“ Again let me ask you if you ever heard the
name of Duval Dunmore .1" '

“ What ! Duval Diinmore ?” he cried, ex-
citedly.

“Yes, sir.” .

“It was the name of my poor brot er, Miss
Hayward.”

“ Your brother?”

“Yes, and I would beg of you now  tell
me where you heard of his name, or if you
know aught about him ?"

Helen looked disturbed, and for a moment
was silenlf. 'd . l t e

hens esai ina ow on:
“ What was your brother’s full name, Lord
nwixi”
Sta Duval Dunmore. Lord of Castle C head,
were his name and itigladagd the latter my
‘ l f brother 3 ea .
tltheAnd-Jyou believe him dead, Lord Stanwix t”

“ Miss ayward, l have ever had a presenti-
ment that m brother yet lived, though all
others believe im to be dead. . _

“In fact, what seemed to be proof positive
of his death Was brought to England, and I was
urged to take possession of the estates and as-
sume my title.

‘ This I refused to do, though all of in
friends and acquaintances at once began to ca 1
me Lord Stanwix, and I was forced to accept

on b courtes .
it ‘t‘hB'utFnot to tak); posaession of Castle Crag—
head, until assured of Duval’s death, I sought
the roving commission on a cruiser which I now

u a. glitter-
the pirate

‘Y‘I'Vill you now tell me haw you ever hearl
of the name of Duval Dunmore. and if be yet
lives to your knowledge, or whether you know
aught regarding him ?"and Lord Stanwix looked
eagerly into this face of Helen, who said, after

’ n of si ence:
aq‘lIsgillttell you all that I know, Lord Stan

' wix, and I know that it will give you pain, for

  

As she spoke she handed him the trinket she
had fou (1.

One gllince at it and he exclaimed:

"Have I ever seen it before?

“ Why, Miss Hayward, I gave this seal to
my brother, as a souvenir, ten years ago.
_t Pray tell me how you came in posseSSion of
l I

“It was dropped on the floor in the library
an hour ago, by the messenger sent me from
Captain Morte, the pirate,” was the low reply
of Helen Hayward.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
LORD STAXWIX TELLS A STORY OF THE PAST.

"THIS was dropped in the library, by the
man who brought you word from Morte, the
pirate!” asked Lord Stanwix, in a 10w tone, and

elen saw that he was deeply mOVed.

“Yes, you can see where the gold has worn
very thin and it was broken by some slight
movement of the wearer.”

“ It is my brother’s seal, Miss Hayward.”

“ I do not doubt that, sir."

‘_‘ And this wearer?"

“ Must be your brother, Lord Stanwix.”

“ No, no, it cannot be that poor Duval has be-
come such as that.”

“ In my mind, sir, there is no doubt but that
the man who calledupon me, giving his name
as Lieutenant Dunmore, and your brother are
the same, sir.”

“ Will ya u describe the man, if on please?"

“A man of fine form. dignifiedy mien, and a
face strangelv like your own, while he is also an
Englishman.”

“Good God! can it be that it is Duval, and
that my presentiment is to be fully realized?"
said Lord Stanwix.

“I fear, sir, that you will find in the pirate
lieutenant none other than your brother: but,
from what I saw of him, he certainly has not
the look of one who had yielded his life to
crime.”

“ I cannot understand it Miss Hayward; but
tell me, where is this man?”

“ He has left.”

“But you can find him for me i”

“No, sir, only by communication with the
pirate vessel.”

“ And that is impossible?" '

“ It is im sible until I again hear from the
pirate chie .”

“ Too bad, too bad; but I will yet know all.”

Then, after a moment of silence, be con-
tinued:

“ Miss Hayward, let me tell you of this wan-
dering brother of mine, if he is the one who has
but now called upon you.

“ He is three years my senior, and was from
earliest boyhood a noble-hearted, generous fel-
low whom every one loved. .

” He thought no more of his title than he did
of plain mister, and was a rare sportsman,
yac tsman, and had many friends among that
class of people.

“ My parents scoldei him for being too dem-
ocratic, but he only laughed at the idea of put-
ting on the airs of an aristocrat.

“ One day he came home and told father that
he was in love.

“ Our parents had selected a dozen fair maid-
ens for him, any one of whom would have been
a most eligible match, but he had refused to
consider the selection of a wife until he met a
girl who won his heart.

“ That girl was a daughter of a poor countr
farmer, who had not money enough to give his
child an education. .

“But Duval had met her when she was a
mere child, had gained the consent of her father
to send her to boarding-school, and had edu-
cated her as a fine lady.

“ She returned to her humble home a beautiful
and accomplished maiden, and then it was that
my brother told my parents that he was in love
and who was the object of his adoration.

“ The storm this raised was terrific, and my
father forbade Duval ever speaking to the girl
9. am.

g“Poor fellow, he Went off at once and mar-
ried her, and they went to London to live.

“ He found that my father was endeavoring
to separate him from his wife, and he set sail
for Paris.

“ Disdaining to ask assistancc from father
and unable to gain employment, Duval drifte
along in the struggle of life until one day he
came to his humble home and found his wife

one. '
g “ A note to him explained all.

“ She had been an ambitious, designing girl,
and when she discovered that my father did
not forgive his son, and that wealth and title
did not come to her, but only hard work and
poverty. she looked about for a new conquest;
her beautiful face and form soon atiracted at—
tention, and she ran off with a young Italian
noble.

“ The shock to poor Duval was terrible, for he
loved the false girl with all his heart.

“ He broke down under the news, was thrown
into brain fever, and his landlord, discovering
who he really was, wrote to my father.

“ My father’s answer W .s curt in the extreme,
and was to the effect that the invalid was his
son, and if he lived through the attack, when
he, my father died, would be Lord of Craghead
Cassie; but that he had disgraced himself and
his family, and would neither be aided nor owned
by them.

“ This letter the landlord showed my brother
upon his recovery, and he left the place where
he had suffered so much. .

“ It was months before we heard of him again,
and then it came to us how an Italian noble,
who had run off with the wife of an English-
man, had been tracked by the husband and
forced to fight a duel, in which he had fallen.

“ The servants of the Italian had then attacked
the E-igliehman, the report said, who, in defend-
ing himself, had fired a shot which had killed
his own wife, who was dashing up to the scene
on horseback.

“ Seeing that he would be murdered, my
brother mounted the horse that his wife had
just fallen from and fled. '

“ But he was hotly pursued and forced into a
swollen stream, where both horse and rider
Were drOWned. .

“ So said the re rt; but never from my mind
could I efface the lief that poor Duval would
one day rea pear, and did he do so now, other
than what e is, ladly would I welcome him
and turn over to him the estates and title which
are his just due, for I look u on his punishment
of the Italian as just, and his defendin his_life
against the servants as natural, while a 1 united
in telling me, for I went to the scene, that the
shot that killed his false wife was an acc1dental

ne.

0 “ Now, Miss Hayward, you know all, and

should you again s:e m rother, or can at

word to him in any wa , beg you to have bun

meet me, for tell him t at I hold only love in

my heart for him. ,

“Tell him that on; motheg, oufr father are
th dead and dying or ave im or marryin

Egainst th’eir will, and fa t that he had suffere

on b.”
enHelen felt deeply the story she had heard, and

'd in a low tone:
sal‘ Oh, that I could bring him face to face with
on, and let him cast forever the dead past he-
ind him.”

 

CHAPTER XXXVII.
ACCUSED 0F TREACHERY.
BY making his way to the fishing hamlet,
where the smu glers had their rendezvous, Du-
val, the irate ieutenant, was eiiabled to get a
boat an run down to the secret inlet where he
eft tile bri .
haIIIe1 arrived IE safety after an absence of sev-

eral days, to find Captain Morte rapidly im—
proving.

He was greeted in a cordial manner, and the

pirate chief showed an anxiety to know the re.—
sult of his officer’s Visit.

“ Did you go there?” he eagerly asked, after

the Spanish surgeon had left them together in
the cabin.

 

 

“ She has not broken her pledge then?”
“ In what way 3”

“ By running off from me, or marrying an—
other?”

f‘ My opinion formed of Miss Hayward, Cap-
tain Morte, the short time that I had the pleas-
ure of meeting her, was that she was a woman
who would allow but one thing to prevent her
keeping her pledge to you.”

“And what is that one thing, sir?”

“Death.”

“ Ah! she might die, true, and that would
break her pledge to me.”

"And you might die, Captain Morte.”

‘f True, I had not thought of that; but your
opinion of her is as I think, for she isa noble
girl, if she did cast me off when I was proven a
murderer.

_ “ As long as she heard my story only. she be-
lieved me; but when eye-Witnesses swore dif-
r'erently, then she cast me ofi‘ and left me to my
fate, for she knew that there was no doubt as to
my uilt.

“ ell, I yet hope to make hera good hus-
oand, so that she may forget my past.”

Duval smiled grimly at this. and said:

“ I told her of your wound, and that it would'
be months. perhaps, before you could be up.”

“ And her answer?”

“ That she would wait.”

“ It is enough.” said Captain Morte, while a
triumphant gleam shot through his eyes.

“ Did you see Captain Tom, also?"

‘f Oh, yes, and after giving him a good scare,
enjoxyed a bottle of his very excellent wine.”

“ told you he kept the best; but you told
him to put spies upon Miss Hayward, and to
keep me informed of all that transpired?”

“ did, sir.”

“Then your trip was a success?"

“ I did as you told me, Ca tain Morte.”

“Any news from that fe ow Riaz, who ran
off with my lateen—rigged vesse ?”

“ Nothing could I learn about him.”

“I wish to run across his path, and every
man on his craft shall be put in the hold, and
the vessel sent to the bottom with them for
serving me the trick they did,” said Captain
Morte, savagely, and Duval fairly shuddered at
the fearful revenge which was con :emplated
upon Riaz, the rebel lieutenant, and his crew.

“ There is one thing that I wish to ask of you,
Captain Morte.”

“ Well, Duval, it is granted beforehand, for I
owe much to you.”

“ Thank you, sir; I have tried to do my duty
while with you, though I find I was not cut
out for a pirate.”

“ Bah! you are not getting faintrhearted, and
wish to leave?”

“ I am not faint-hearted, sir; but I drifted
into piracy as though it was my destiny.

“ Circumstances, which I will not make
known to you, took me from my home, and
avenging a wrong made mea life-taker and a
fugitive.

“I tried to live honest, became captain of a
merchant vessel, but it was taken by a pirate.

“ I escaped, and be an life again to be wrecked
on an island, and a ter a year of suffering I
was rescued by a pirate craft.

“ I remained with my rescuer until I could
leave him, and taking passage in a schooner
across the Gulf it was captured by the very
outlaw I had left.

“ His first officer was killed, and he asked me
to serve him until he visited Havana, and I
could but obey.

“You remember that you attacked that pi-
rate vessel, captured it, and offered me a posi-
tion as your first lufi’?”

“ Yes, for I was struck by your splendid use of
wea ns and cool courage.”

“ accepted, and I have served you for quite
a while now, but I desire to leave on.”

“Not while I am down on my ck, Duval,
surely?”

“ I will remain with you another week, sir.”

“ You cannot do better than remain.” >

“I may not do better as far as making gold is
concerned, but I can certainly feel that what I
earned has not cost human lives to get.”

“Bah! you talk like a child, Duval; you are
canting, and I am too ill to bear it, so leave me
and send Lieutenant Buck here.”

Duval bowed and left the cabin, and a mo-
ment after the pirate officer Buck entered.

He was an American evidently, but his face
was evil in the extreme and treacherous.

“ Buck, I wish to promote you to my first
luff," said Ca tain Morte, abruptly.

“ And Mr. uval?”

“ Has turned chicken-hearted, and, havin
been up to the town, and wishing to leave,
believe intends to betray me, so I will cut his
days short.”

“ Do you mean to kill him, sir?” asked Buck,
coolly.

"Yes: I wish you to go on deck, have a
guard seize him, and swing him up to the yard-
arm, without time for a prayer.”

“But he is most popular with the men, sir,
and—”

“ Tell them that he has laid a plot to surren-
der us to an American cruiser, and that my or-
ders are to hang him.

“Iron and gag him, so that he cannot talk,
and while you are preparing for the work, or—
der the anchor up and sail on the brig in great
haste to bear out the story by at once putting
to sea.

“ Do you understand, Buck?”

“Yes, sir.”

“ Then obey," said Captain Morte, abruptly,
and the pirate ,ofiicer turned to leave the cabin
to execute his chief’s dastard orders.

(To be continued—commenced m N0. 43.)

 

 

A Septifllpr Hunt.

BY FRANK \VILKESON.

 

THAT portion of the North Platte valley which
lies between the Medicine Bow Range and the
Continental Divide is famous throughout the
West as one of the best hunting-grounds in the
country. The rugged, pinoclad highlands,
encircled by “down timber,” afford a compar-
atively safe retreat for such game animals as
instinctively migrate in the spring from the
lowlands and adjacent foot-hills to the moun-
tains. Bears, elk, and black-tailed deer abound
in the mountains. Spruce grouse and blue
grouse breed in the highlands, to migrate with
their almost full-grown young to the foot-hills in
early fall, there to fatten on berries. In the
valley antelope graze in herds. Flocks of sage-
hens, the largest of the grouse family, and, in
my opinion, the best-flavored bird in America,
are very numerous on the sa 9 brushlclad
plains. On all the streams flowm from the
mountains to the Platte river, wil ow grouse
live and thrive.

I had hunted in this valley last year and the
year before last. The reco lection of the sport
haunted me throughout the past summer. I
resolved to hunt in the preserve, to spend a
week among the game animals and birds that
live on the gray plains and rocky hills, where
springs of cold water, gushing from nite
rocks, tem t antelope to quench their thirst.

The trai from my mountain-home to the
Platte valley leads down Do las creek for ten
miles, winding around precip tons bluffs, where
the narrow trail is h gh above the foaming
water, and boldly crossing high, rocky points
that jut into the stream. Then it leaves the
valley and leads into the down timber. For
four miles it winds among the trunks of fallen
trees. There is not a blaze or a broken twig on
any of the young pines that compose the dense
thicket covering t e fallen timber to guide the
traveler. The trees lie in a jackstraw-like
tangle. The rains that fall frequently in the
lower hills wash away all tracks made by
horses. The trail is a b ind one, and is purpose-
ly kept blind by the few men who know it. It
would be considered sacrilegious to blaze the
route.

After I had resolved to hunt in the upper

nightmare of a gigantic serpent gliding sinu-
ously through a tangle of fallen trees and pine
thickets. The knOw'ledge that many men, boast-
ful of the possession of woodcraft, had tried to
follow the trail, and none had succeeded, but
had wandered miserably in the adjacent hills,
and had been tantalized by seeing the Conti-
nental Divide and the Platte valley without be
ing able to get their horses through the down
timber, disturbed my waking hours. I had been
over the trail once, riding through a blinding
snow-storm from the Platte to my mountain
home.

My comrade on that trip was a hunter, trap—
per, and gold-miner. He was no longer in the
highlands, haviig crossed the Great Divide last
spring. The horse I rode on that trip was a
celebrated mouniain animal, famous for the
length of her head, the bump of locality on
which, if there is any truth in phrenology,
should have been as large as a gooseregg. I
nad used the mare, a mild-eyed, high-strung,
intelligent creature, more or less for two years.
It mattered not where I had carelessly taken
ner. She, if I did not stupidly seek to control
her actions, would follow the trail back to my
home. I belieVed this mare would remember
the upper trail to the Platte. I sent for her.
She came trotting into camp behind the stage.
When I untied the white beauty, she followed
me to the kitchen door and daintin ate bread
out of my hand. Then turning, she walked to
my stable and called for admission.

T..e next morning we started. At first the
mare was a little undecided as to the course I
intended to take; but when I guided her to the
upper Platte trail and had followed it to a point
below which no other trail crosses, she tossed
her head and confidently strode onward. She
would turn and nibble my leg gently, as much
as to say, “ Going to the Platte after antelope and

rouse, eh? We’ll have a time, and we’ll make

im, the stupid pack-horse, carry the meat.”
Then she would prance with delight, and blow
long columns of sweet—scented breath into the
frosty air. She never hesitated at the fords of
the creek, but confi lently crossed. When we
arrived at the point to leave the valle and enter
into the down timber I gave her her cad. She
turned, and when we reached the first trail-ob
structing log she stopped and looked at me, as
much as to saé: “ You are too heavy for me to
jump with. et off and walk.” I obeyed her
unspoken command. After throwing the stir—
rups across the saddle I told her to go ahead.
She plunged into the thicket, with the ack-
horse behind her, and began jumping the Ibgs.

I did not think it possible for a horse to re
member a trail it had passed over but once, and
then througha furious snOW-storm. I had grave
doubts as to the outcome of my experiment.
But the mare remembered the trail. After
traveling two miles she stopped at a bear-trap
made of lo and looked at me. I remembered
the trap. t was the work of a minister of the
Gospel, who sought to improve his financial
ozndition by catching bears alive and ship
ping them for sale to Eastern markets. The
scheme was not successful, there never having
been men enough in the Medicine Bow Ran e,
who knew the trail, to lift the heavy log~cabm~
like pen, the minister fondly thought to be a
trap, sufficiently hi,h to admit of a. bear walk—
ing under. This trap was the first landmark I
recognized. Crossing creeks, climbing divides,
descending long slo s, the white mare daintily
picked her way. u an hour and a half we
stood on the crest of a. bare bill that slopes down
to the Platte. It was a marvelous performance.

As we entered the valley, down which the
trail leads to the river, the mare was a couple
of hundred yards ahead of me. As she turned
a point she suddenly stopped, threw her ears
forward, and stood motionless, apparently look-
ing intently at something in the valley below
her. Wal ing up to her I looked over the
point. In the valley below, standing in the
edge of a clump of willows, were two large
black-tailed bucks. My Marlin rifle came to
my shoulder, and the largest buck I have ever
seen fell dead as the whip like report of the rifle
broke the silence of the solitude. The remain-
ing buck stood stupidly looking around to see
where the shot came from. Then, as I walked
around the point and yelled at him, he sprun
-nto the willow thicket and disappeared.
dressed the buck. and hung him in a pine tree.
We crossed the Platte at the upper ford. I ate
my lunch while the horses fed on the rich grass.
Around me were high, rocky hills scantily cov-
ered with stunted pines. Down the river was a
rocky,pine-clad canyon, through which the river
roared. Beyond me were long slopes covered
with sage-brush, among which a few antelope
were standing. '

My setter bitch, Queen, that had been a year
in the forests, and had evidently come to the
conclusion that there was to be no more upland
shooting in her life, was frantic with joy to be
once more in the open. She vigorously beat
the ground, and broke all the rules that control
the behavior of wellconductod setters, by flush—
ing and chasing grouse, giving tongue the
while. Jackrabbits she joyfully pursued. I
let her have her fling. I camped in a thicket of
quaking aspen, and unpacked and unsaddled
my horses and picketed them. Then putting
my shot-gun together, I called Queen to me and
talked to her, telling her that she had had her
fling and that now business was to com-
mence. I emphasized my remarks about the
folly of an old dog chasing jack rabbits by a few
cuts with a switch. She yelped her approval of
what I said, and promised, as plainly as a dog
could, to behave herself.

Walking over the sagebrush-covered divide,
I saw many antelope standing In the biush
looking anxiously at us, as though they had
never before seen a man and a dog. They were
very tame. Does, with fawns at their sides,
gazed with open-eyed astonishment at us. One
doe that had three fawns, the first I have ever
seen with so many, came uite close to me. I
sat on a rock, with my 0g: at my feet, and
watched her. She would slow‘ly advance ten or
twelve feet, then stand and stam , sheep-like,
with one fore—foot, and the three little antelope
would funnin stamp in imitation. This doe
I suspect, had a motherly heart, and had
adopted an orphan whose mother had been
killed by some thoughtless hunter. They slow-
ly approached me until within twent yards. I
could plainly see the sides of the 0e heave
with excitement as she stood looking at me.
Slowly in hand went to my hat, and then, with
a sprin , junii‘ped to my feet and threw the hat
at the our. heir curiosity was fully satisfied.
They fled through the sage-brush, and as long
as I could follow them with my eyes they were
running rapidly. .

I saw but few bucks. They were alone, the
running season not having commenced, stand-
ing widely separated from each other and from
the docs. Some of the bucks stood on the
crests of rocky ridges, apparently absorbed
in admiration of the mountain scenery.
Thoroughly enjoying the gray valley and the
animal life, I sat on the rock and thought-
lessly allowed my dog, that had tired of idle—
ness, to range in the sagebrush. A covey of
sage-hens whirled past flushed as the do
ranged dewn the wind. ith hanginfg head an
pen ent tail she abjectly crawle orth from
the brush and lay whining at my feet protest-
ing, do -liku, against the whipping she knew
she ou tto receive. I gently pulled her soft
ear an forgave her. Havin marked the birds
down, I went to the s t an the s rt began.
The ra id reports 0 (he heavily—c arged un
resoun ed from rocky blufi' to blufi'. he
antelope fled in wild disorder. The large game
birds rose singly or in pairs. The shooting was
exceedingly ra id. Of that covey none esca d.
The delight o the dog was childlike. hen
she gathered the dead birds in a pile at my feet
she looked at me with adoration lainly ex-
pressed on her handsome face. 11 shooting
sage-hens it is necessary to draw the birds as
soon as possible. If they are left undrawn for
an hour the taste of the sage, on which they live,

enetrates their white flesh and renders it un-
t for food. Putting the birds into a sack and

 

There was no
need of a dog to find them. They were every-

The dog quivered with excitement.
My gun was empty when a large cock arcs: be-
hind and flew past me. Hastily I thrust my
hand intomy cai'iriilgeebag, intending to load
and kill him before he was out of range. Much
to my astonishment the bag was empty. It
contained 50 cartridges when I left camp. I
had bagged 41 birds, and those I missed. I am
happy to say, I missed cleanly. There were
no broken-legged biids to fly into the serge-
brush and die a painful death. Makiig two
piles of my birds, I r. turned for the pack»hor.~e
and packed them into camp.

IVhen I lived in Kansas in life was made
miserable bv a jack-rabbit thaglived in one of
my stubble fiercs. This fiendish creature lured
me to poverty by presenting his phantom form
before me ii hen I was hunting. Better shots
than this creatuie offered me were never seen,
and  always Ull:S€d them. I became convinced
that it was the specter rabbit of the Gypsum
valley. Finallyl became afraid of him, and
frequently declined twenty-yard shots. That
depraved creature “ould jump up before me
and_appareiitly enjoy my shooting at him six
or eight times in walking thrcuoh half a mile of
stubble. I could distinguish him from other
rabbits. that were an easy prey, by the sinister
expression of his face. Yes, that rabbit was
undoubtedly the devil. I used to dream of him.
I honestly believe he powerfully influenced my
departure from the land of sunfiOWers. Imagine
my horror when I saw the twin brother of that
Kansas rabbit hop out of the sage-brush by my
camp. The accursed creature had the same
sinister expression as his brother had. I grasped
my gun, and as I threw it to my shoulderl said
to my dog: “Qieen, you shall have wasted
'ack-rabbit for supper.” I pulled the trigger.

he rabbit gayfiy hopped off. I discharged the
other barrel. e continued to hop. In anguish
I dropped the an, and in terror-stricken tones
exclaimed, “ t is, it. is the specter rabbit!”
Prompt] y the dog drove the rabbit into the sage-
brush, and I was restored to cheerfulness.

The next morning I awoke early. There was
a heavy frost on the grass. My blankets were
white. As I turned, preparatory to a cat—nap,
I saw that the'white mare was intensely inter-
ested in something she saw. Looking in the
same direction, I saw a large buck antelope
standing motionless in the edge of the sage-brush
behind me. His breath formed a tiny cloud of
vapor as it arose above him. I drew my rifle
from beneath the blankets and tried to cover
him. The gray light Was too dim; so I waited
patiently. Again and again I tried to cover

im but the gray light and the gray sage-brush

confused mv vision. Finally. as I once again
drew the rier down on him, the black pinhead
of the glor-e sight was fairly distinct on his
forehead, and I pulled the trigger. He fell in a
heap.
My pro osed week’s sport was at end. I
had a sac ful of sage-hens, an antelope, and a
deer. I could use no more. I packed my
horse, saddled my mare, forded the river, and
began the ascent of the bare mountain to where
my deer was hanging. There I ate breakfast,
the brisket of a fat buck roasted before a fire
of resinous logs. As I sat smoking an after-
breakfast pipe, the sun arose behind me, and
the desolate-looking gray of the valley became
tinged with pink. Regretfully I mounted. I
turned in my saddle, and bade the valley of the
North Platte a last farewell. Sadly I rode into
the forest, feeling that my play-time had
passed.

 

 

W A few Advertisements will be inserted
on this page at the rate of fifty cents per line
nonpareil measurement.

H ANDBOOK

 

Summer Athletic Sports.

Walking, Running, Jumping, Hare and Hounds
Bicycling, Archery, etc, etc.

Fully Mush ated.

BY CAPT. FREDERICK WHITI‘AKER.

 

comms:
Pedestrianism; Walkers Vs. Runners; Scientific
Walking (3 cuts): Scientific Running (2 cuts); Dress
for Pedestrians; Training for a Match: Layin out
a Track (1 cut): Conducting a Match; R600 3 of
Pedestrianism; J umping and Pole-leaping (1 cut)‘
Bicvclinz: Rules for At letic Meetings; are and
Hounds (] cull: archery (1 out).
For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, post-paid, on
receipt of price, '9 66/18, by
BEADLE AND ADAMS. Pnausnans.
98 William St, N Y

RECITATIUNS AND READINGS.

A very choice collection of the most “taking”
things for the Stage, Platform and School. Humor-
ous, vernacular. pathetic, eloquent and forensic.

CONTENTS.
The Irishman‘s Panora-‘When the Cows Come
ma. ome.
The Lightning-rod Agent.,The Donation Party.
The Tragedy at Four AcelTommy Taft.

Flat. A Michigander in France.
Ruth and Naomi
Carey of Carson
Babies.

Joiin Reed.

Not One to Spare.
Mrs. Breezy’s Pink Lunch.
Rock of Ages.

J .Caesar Pompey Squash’s
The Brakeman at Church, Sermon.
Passon Mooah‘s Surmount Annie‘s Ticket.
Arguin the Question. The Newsboy.
Jim W0 fe and the Cats. Pat’s Correspondence.
The Dim Old Forest. Death of th‘ Owd Squire.
Rasher at Home. Meiii Tog Shueid.
The Sergeant’s Story. At Elberon.
David and Goliah. The Cry of Womanhood.
Dreaming at Fourscore. The Judgment Day
Rum. The Burst Bubble
Why Should the Spirit of Curfew Must Not Ring To-

Mortal Be Proud? night.

The Coming Mustache. The Swell.
The,Engineer’s Story. The Water Mill.
A Candidate for President Sam’s Letter

 

Roll Call. Footsteps of hie Dead.
An Accession to the Fam- Charity.
ily. An Essay on Cheek.

For sale by newsdealers everywhere or will be
sent, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of price,
ten cents.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Punusnnns,

98 William Street. New York.

The. Dime Dialect Speaker No. 23.

A “taking” collection of Irish, German-English,
Cockney, Negro, Yankee, and Western Vernacular
speeches, recltations and narratives, by the best
American wits and humorists. Prepared expressly
for the Dime Speaker Series.
For sale b Newsdealers everywhere, or will be
sent, st-paid, to any address, on receipt of price,
t

10 cen s.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers.
98 William St.. New York.

The Dime Dialogues No. 30.

Twenty delightful and “taking” pieces for

Schools, Exhibitions and Entertainments. and for

Parlor and Amateur Tbeatricals.

For sale by all ncwsdealers; or sent pos-ipziid. to

any address, on receipt of price—rim CENTS man.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers.
98Willizini St. N. Y.

Photos of Female Beauties 100., H for 25c. Cat-
wo alogue free. Gem Agency, Indianapolis. l..d.

 

 

 

Gold and Silver Chi-omo Cards. no 2 alike. with
name, 10c., postpaid. G. 1. Reed & (‘o., Nassau,

 

A BOON TO MEN

who from Indiscrctions, Excesses or other muses
are weak. unnerved and powerless. The Mouton
Bolus effects a rapid and permanent CNN, in eve

form of Nervuiis I'cbilii)‘, witlioiil Slonircli )lcdi-
ciiies. Scndforti-czitise. MARSTUN liki)lH*Y(‘(’),,

 

‘ erecting a signal over them, I went into an ad-

46 West 14th st., New York. 5—Slilcow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
 
   
   
   
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
   

.1 -2- ~ r»-_<

....g_,.. .1 .

amp..-

#1,

5 Y

9?

 

 

 
  
  
 
          
     
         
      
         
       
 

 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  

 
  

 
 
 
 

   
   
    
 
 
 
   

  
 
   
   
 
 
  

   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
     
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
     
  
    
  
  
 
  
  
 
     
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
   
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
 
 
 
  
 
     
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
   

     
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
   
    
   
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
   
    
   
  
 
 
    
    
   
   
   
  
 
   
 
     
    
  
 
  
     
 
 
  
   
 
    
   
 
  
 
  
   
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 
   
    
 
   
   
   

 

 

--_ .r:

 
   

IL.

 

\

 

 

mun

1 .1H “ W"

  

-,v
1ququ l “‘

 

 

      

Wulilmlh-nlml Wu.

 

A SERIOUS CASE.

BY JO m0.

 

He sat on the deck of the steamboat,
Alone and apart from the throng;
His eye wore a halo of sadness,
And he heeded not music or song.

He wore a sad look of dejection
Which seemed to be fixed on his face,
And the women looked on him With pity,
For there grief seemed out of place.

Like the curious heart that is female
They consulted together at last, .
And approaching the stranger they asked him
The reason he seemed so downcast.

He sighed and said, “ Ladies, forgive me;
My sorrow is hard to suppress;

It lies on my heart like a burden,
And with years it will never grow less.

“ I loved some cars since a fair maiden—
The light 0 existence to me: _
She was dearer than riches or kingdoms,
Or coronets ever could be.

" I vowed I would ne‘er live without her,
And death itself could not uspart;
I ave her the tenderest worship
hat ever welled up from a heart.

" She ever was glad at my coming,
And seemed, when I left her, forlorn:
And ever she met me with kisses—
The kindest maid ever was born.

“ Her faca seemed too fair and too lovely
To sta Very long here below;
On her (lid I look as an angel,
And how could I e'er see her go?"

And here his strong manhood was weakened,
His body was shaken with grief, .

And tears from his eyelids came welling,
But ah, with what little relief!

" Alas the sad day I" he sobbed only,
And he hid his. wet face in his hand,
And tears came in eyes of the women,
Whose sympathy none understand.

And they asked, ” Is her grave in the valley
Where the wild roses shed their perfume?
Did death separate you forever,
And hear her away to the tomb?”

His being was filled with emotion
And sorrow his bosom did stir;—
“ Oh no, fair ladies," he sniffled,
“ I grieve ‘cause I’m marriel to her!”

 

Around the Camp-Fire.

BY CAPTAIN RINGWOOD.

A Sioux Trick.

“FUR downright cuteness, a trick I onc’t see
a lot uv Onc-pa- Sioux git off onto a lot uv us
mountain—men, t ennything a-goin’.”

“Fooled you, did the ?" asked old Rube‘s
artner, who wished to aw him out for the

benefit of the rest of us.

“ Foolin’ain‘t no name fur it. They jess tuck
us in an’ made the darnedest set uv Jackasses
outen the hull lot. An’ the wust uv it wur thet
ev’r darn skunk uv ’em got cl’ar, an’ went ofl
yellin’ an’ yowltin’ wuss nor a pack uv coyotes.

“Jim, hyer, hes heard me tell the story
menny a time, but I reckin none uv you fellers
hev, an’ I’ll norate the sarcumstance while the
meat ar’ scorchin’.

“ Ther’ wur fifteen on us in the gang. We
bed kum acrost t’other party the day afore, an’
as we wur in the Sioux kentry, we doubled
teams an’ went into camp.

“ Airly next mornin’ the chap as wur guard-
in’ the corral kim t’arin’ into whar we wur get-
tin’ up the fires, shouten as how he hed seen a
party uv red-skins on the top of the ridge to the
south’ard. «

“ I‘he Sioux were p’izen bad thet season, an’
we jess expected a reg’lar scrimmage would hev
to take place right soon, if not sooner.

“ We knowed it would hev to be a hefty gang
thet would tackle us, an’ so, leavin’ the fires to
take keer uv the’rselves, we up picket- ins an’
were off afore a mountain-cat could b ink her
6 e.
y“When we struck the high ground the imps
hed left, an’ we see ’em more’n a mile ofl, cav-
ortin’ about on the perairy, shyin’ up the’r
lances, an’ jerkin’ ther bows about in the a'r
like so menn y crazy Diggers.

“ ‘Thet dodge won’t go,’ sed one of the fol-
lers.

“ ‘More uv ’em yander in the timmer,’sed
anuther one.

“‘Tryin’ to draw us into a cussed ambush-
ment,’ put in sumbody else.

“I wur fur chargin’ the imps, fur I didn’t
b’leeve the wur suc darned fools es to try sech
a stale tric es thet onto mountain-men; an’ ar-
ter I sod so, most uv the fellers agreed, an’ at
’01!) we went.

“ ’Stead uv runnin’, as they anerally did,
them Sioux kept on cavortin a ut on the’i'
bosses, ridiu’ round an’ round, an’ yellin’ like
mad.

“But es we closed in onto ’em, they put out
across perrairy, an’ when they’d got a good bit
off, at it they went ag’in, ridin’ round an’ yell-
in’ jess the same as afore.

“ They played this on two or three times, an’
I could see thet the boyees wur gettin’ the’r
dander up, an’ wur keen to come to close work.

“ The next time they put out, we kept
straight arter ’em es hard es we could pelt, an’
in less’n a quarter we wur in range an’ gainin’
on ’em right lively.

“All at onc’t them Sioux ulled up an’ faced
about, settin’ in the’r sad es es cool es you
please, an' evidently detarmined to let us kim
to close quarters an’ fight it out.

“Some uv the fellers begin handlin’ the’r
rifles, when Ned Slocum hollered out to wait
an’ use the’r six shooters.

“ Thet wur the ticket, an’ the rifles wur laid
across, an’ the pepper-boxes hauled out fur
hand-tohand work.

“ You see, all this time we wur closin’ in onto
the red-skins, but they didn’t seem to mind it at
all.

“Thar they sot, ev’ry nigger uv ’em, wrapped
up in the’r red blankets, and not even hand in’
the’r weepins to be ready fur the scrimmage.

“ ‘I don’t like it,‘ said Ned. ‘ ’Tain’t nateral,
an’ take my word, them Sioux ar’ up to sum
sort 0’ deviltry.’

“ I thought so, too, but I didn’t say nothin’,
an’ ahead we went like as if Ole Nick hed been
grup in’ the hosses’ tails. _

“ ‘ hey ar’ goin’ to break,’ sed Ned, ag’in,
but they didn’t, an’ we kept gittin’ closer an
closer.

“ ‘ Don’t fire, boyees, tell we’re smack into
’em,’ I sed, and they didn’t.

“ At forty yards 1 see sum of ’em gittin’ fixed
fur beginnin’ the work.

“With one uv our reg’lar mount’in-screeches
we ive the word, an’ down on ’em we went.

“ ut we didn’t re’ch ’em. He-he-hel no, we
didn’t; not by a durn sight. Ho-ho-hoo!” And
the old fellow laid back on the grass and laughed
long and loud.

“ What was it, Rube? Durn it all, finish the
yarn ” exclaimed an impatient listener.

“ at wur it ?” answered the trapper, catch-
ing his breath. “Well, it wur enuff, I tell you.

“Jess at the very minnit we thought we hed
them redskins, the bed us. Ho-hoho!

“ The fust thing knowed wur a big red flash
right afore our eyes. Suddent like as a streak
uv lightnin’, an’ jess es bad, or wuss on the
bosses.

“ You oughter ’a’ seen them bosses when the
imps flirted the’r red blankets, fur thet’s what
made the red flash I hed see’d, right in the’r
eyes. Thar ain’t no critter as would ’a’ stood
it, an’ ourn wur all young er mettlesome, an’
the way they did take on wur a caution.

“ The very minnit the red-skins hed jerked
the’r blankets, they wheeled an’ wur off like a
norther.

“But we didn’t foller. Not much; fur we
bed about all we could ’tend to to save our own
karkasses.

“ My boss went on like he wur scar’t cl‘ar
outen his senses. He flared, an’ pitched, an’
kicked, an’ cavorted, an’ finished the biziness
by pitchin’ me clean over his head into a mus-
keet bush.

 

 

“ Ther others war jess es had, an’ sech a
scramblin’ an’ fallin’ an’ holdin’ on you never
see, nor never will, I reckin. '

“ I wur hurt, an’ hurt bad, but I sw’ar I like
to ’a’ died larfln’ while the show lasted, which
wur fur ten minutes er more. _

“ By the time the boyees hed straightened up,
the Sioux war out of sight, an’ we hed ter ride
back, cussin’ and suckin’ our thumbs like a pas-
sel uv walloped youngsters.

“ Thet war a Sioux trick, an’ it wur a good
’un, too.”

0in life Sketches.

BY AGILE PENNE.

 

 

Kate Allen, the Female Pickpocket.

ON a bright afternoon in the month of April,
several years since, I sallied forth, intent upon
visiting the grand Bazar in aid of “ The S el-
tering Arms,” then being held in the Armory
of the Thirty-seventh regiment on Broadway.

Clothed in my bcst—a “ pepper and salt ”
suit—with a half-blown white rosebud—my es-
pecial favorite—in my button-hole, I went forth
to see and be seen.

I took a Sixth avenue car and thus proceeded
ra idlv up town.

n the same car was a lady, exquisitely
dressed, and, in face, handsome in the extreme.

I devoted a considerable portion of my time
to shy glances at my charming neighbor, and
finally came to the conclusion that she was
about as pretty a woman as I had ever looked
u on.

gJud e of my delight then on reaching Thirty-
sevent street to see her—like myself—rise to
alight from the car. Then the thought flashed
upon my mind—possibly she, too, was going to
the Bazarl

My guess was right, for the lady did enter the
armory. I followed close at her heels.

As we entered the hall—the lady only a few
paces in advance of me—her handkerchief flut-
tered from her side to the ground. Here was
a chance for an introduction, perhaps. Ea er-
ly I sprung forward, caught the fragile cam ric
from the floor, and then overtaking the lady,
with my best bow resented it to her.

Sweetly and m estly she thanked me for the
slight service; said, softly, that she had ex-

pected to meet her cousin, and could not guess
what had become of him; murmured a few
words about how unpleasant it was for a lady
to be in the midst of such acrowd without a
protector. With a boldness that astonished
even myself, I instantly offered her my arm
and begged her to allow me to be her escort. I
told her in name, and aftera few seconds of
hesitation s e accepted my oflfer.

Behold me then, arm in arm with this glorious
creature, promenadin the spacious room to the
sweet strains of the arine Band.

She was really a delightful creature—so lady-
like, so modest, and with such a sweet smile,
and with such charming simplicity.

As we stood before one of the show-cases we
became entangled in a crowd; a man, dressed
in a “ pepper and salt ” suit, similar to in own,
and wearing, too, a white rosebud in his but-
ton-hole, pushed rudely by me, and as he passed
he whispered in my ear:

“ ’Ware hawk! The ‘ cops’ are flyl" and
then he disappeared in the crowd.

I was bewildered. I knew enough of the
thieves’ “ argot ” to understand that the fellow
meant that the police (cops) were on the watch
and that the rest of the sentence meant thatl
must be careful.

What the deuce does it all mean? Why should
the stranger address such language to me?

Then another man bumped up against me.
He, too, was dressed in a “ r and salt”
suit, and wore a white rosebud in his button-
hole.

“ Stow the sugar an’ light out!” ejaculated
the second man in my ear; and then he, too,
disappeared in the crowd.

For the life of me I could not understand it.
Who on earth did they take me for, that they
made these mysterious remarks to me?

Drawing apart from the crowd, the lady and
I sauntered toward the lower end of the hall.

Briefly my com anion told me who she was.
By name. Agnes ordaunt, the daughter of a
wealthy farmer of Orange county, she was mak—
ing a brief visit to some relatives in the city.
She would be delighted to have me call upon
her at No. — Twentythird street.

Visions of happiness floated throu h my
mind, for I confess, frankly. that I was alf in
love with the beautiful Miss Mordaunt, although
our acquaintance was but a half an hour old.

Then we sauntered slowl back toward the
crowd again. A man passe us; a little fellow,
with short, black hair, and eyes as keen as a
hawk’s. He threw a rapid glance at Miss Mor
daunt’s face as he passed. t was quite an in-
solent look, and I felt half-tempted to call the
fellow back and ask him what he meant by it.

I saw that Miss Mordaunt had noticed the
fellow’s glance, for her cheek grew a trifle pale,
and some odd, ugly lines appeared about the
corners of her mouth.

 

had we entered it when a man stumbled vio-
lently against me.

“ Git up an’ git!” he cried in my car, as he
passed, and then I noticed that he, also, was
dressed in a “pep r and salt” suit, and wore
a white rosebud in his button-hole. This was
a most mysterious affair. Three men, all dressed
like myself, all wearing a white rosebud in
their button—hole, had made it their business to
run against me in the most outrageous manner,
and whisper some cursed nonsense in my ear.
If this was intended fora joke I felt that it
was going altogether too far. For the second
time I asked myself:

“ What the deuce does it all mean?”

Then the crowd grew more dense. In fact
Miss Mordaunt and myself got pretty well
squeezed, but finally we drew clear from the
throng.

“I am tired. Will you escort me to the
door?” asked my companion.

“ Certainly,” I replied, though sorry was I to
part with her.

Then, as we made our way slo wlyto the door,
a flashy-dressed fellow went rapidlv past us.

“The ‘cop’s’ tumbled to the little game;
look outl” he said, in a guarded tone, as he
went b .

Miss Mordaunt apparently did not hear this
strange remark, for she took no notice of it.
As for myself, I began to think that there must
be something about my personal appearance,
denoting that I was a member of the “danger—
ous classes,”——as the papers style the thieves,
etc., of New York—t0 have all these slang ex-
pressions addressed to me.

“ On, Mr. Penne,” cried the lady, suddenly,
“will you do me a favor? I’m afraid of hav-
ing my pocket picked in the crowd Outside.
Will you take my wallet—I have considerable
money in it—and keep it for me until I get into
the car?”

“ Certainly,” I replied.

Then she gave me her wallet. It was quite a
large one and quite full. I noticed this as I slid
it into my breastpocket.

“Wait for me outside, please ” she said. “ I
see a friend from our town yonder that I wish
to speak to.” And then she glide awa from
me, apparentl in a great hurr . But 8 e had
not proceede twent steps w en she was ac-
costed by the short- aired fellow that had
stared so insolently at her. A few words
passed between them, and then she followed

 

 

Then we got into the crowd again. Hardly

him into an apartment adjoining the main hall.

V .

w

 

“I couldn’t understand all this. I was lost in
wonder, when I felt a heavy hand laid upon
my shoulder. Turning, I beheld a keen—eyed,
heavy-bearded man.

“ I want you!” he said, laconically.

“The deuce you do!” I ejaculated, in aston-
ishment.

“ Yes, come,” he added.

“ Where?” I questioned, in growing astonish—
ment.

“Follow me and you’ll probably find out,” he
said, with a wink.

I could not gainsay the truth of this, so I fol-
lowed meekly and without a word. I began to
believe that by some mistake a lot of lunatics
had visited the Bazar in aid of “The Shelter-
ing Arms,” and that I had encountered the
whole party.

The heavy-bearded man conducted me to the
apartment that I had seen Miss Mordaunt and
the little black-haired man enter.

In the apartment I found Miss Mordaunt, the
black-haired man, the three individuals in
“pepper and salt” suits and with white rose-
buds, who had tumbled against me, and, lastly,
a squad of policel

“ Now, 811‘, who are you 'I” questioned the little
man, curtly, after I had entered.

"By what right, sir, do you ask that ques-
tion?’ I demanded, a little indignant at his tone.

“ 1 am Captain Caimes, of the Detective Po-
lice,” cried the little man, sternly. “ No fool—
in%: answer my question.”

riefly I explained my name and business.

“Oh, gammonl” cried the detective, when I
had finished: “you can’t play that here. It’s
too ‘thin.’ Your ‘pals’ here,” and he pointed
to the three in “ pepper and salt,” “ have
owned up that they came here on the ‘pull’
(that is, to pick pockets). Now make a clean
breast of it.”

I assured the officer that I had spoken noth-
ing but the truth. -

“And this woman—do you know her?” the
detective asked.

“ Miss Mordaunt—well—I have known her
only about a half an hour, sir,” I replied, in a
mist as to what all this meant.

“ You see, sir," said Miss Mordaunt, in her
low, sweet voice, “the gentleman confirms my
statement. I suppose, now, you are satisfied
that I am innocent in regard to the matter, and
that I can depart.”

“ Yes,” said the detective, in a surly way.

Miss Mordaunt swept gracefully out of the
room, giving a glance as she passed, as much as
to say, “ Remember."

“ Well, I’m blessed if I ain’t puzzled!” cried
the little detective, in a rage. “Ain’t you a
‘ pal’ of these men .3” and he pointed to the three
who sported the rosebuds.

“No, sir!” I cried, indignantly, shoving my
hands into my pockets. But, something in my
right-hand pocket made me start as if my fin—

 

,/ I .9, .. ‘ ,
.3, — “4.7,. _
'éjt, . ’ »«
l II/I'lll \' ‘
t 2",]: ‘

 

gers had touched a snake coiled up there. Forth
mm the pocket I drew a gold watch, then a
silver one, and lastly a well-stuffed pocket-book.
A or of horror broke from my lips.

“ may as well own up,” said the taller of
the three in the “pepper and salt.” “It’s all a
mistake. We thought this gent was a pardner
of ours ’cos he was dressed jist as we agreed to
he, an’ had the rosebud in his button-hole as a
sign. So, when we lifted a ‘ticker’ we shoved
it into this gent’s pocket, thinkin’ he was one on
us. But 1 never tuck anything.”

“ Nor I!” chorused the other two.

“Oh, you’re innocent ducks, you are!" said
the detective, with a sneer; “ but I hav’n’t got
the proofs; so ‘ lcvant.’ ”

The three did not let the grass grow under
their feet, but left instanter.

“ I’d give a trifle to know what she did with
that pocket book!” said the detective, in dis-

st.

A horrible sus icion seized upon me.

“ Who is that iss Mordaunt?” I cried.

“ Kate Allen, the smartest pickpocket in New
York,” said the detective.

“ Then this pocket-book, which she asked me
to keep for her—” said I, producing it.

"Was stolen by her from Judge Daily, not
ten minutes ago!"

I hastened from that Bazar a sadder and
wiser man than when I entered it. And I never
look at a handsome woman in a streetcar now,
for fear that she int: he a female pickpocket.

About a week a ter this little adventure,
which might have had quite an unpleasant end-
ing for me, business called me to Albany. I
took a train via the Hudson River Railway.
After taking a seat, a lady entered the car, ac-
companied by a gentleman in dark clothes. The
man was the detective Cairnes, the woman
Kate Allen, bound for the State Prison at Sing
Sing. She had come to grief at last.

 

 

A Fearful Retribution.

BY M. B. WHITI.

 

IN Clay county, Arkansas, is a large mound,
a relic of a race now extinct. This mound as
many others 'of the same nature, is sup to
have been erected as a mausoleum—a pyramid
on a small scale. That it served such purpose

1. ‘ ' ‘ "v
, , \l . ~‘
. 4/- .v I Ill
11%;}, ‘ // Nib/Hi

" ’1 /;I///

“You oughter ’a’ seen them hosses when the imps flirted the’r red blankets.”

there is no doubt, as bones and curious articles
have been found in it, but there were other
uses to which this mound was devoted. If any
one will read the travels of Alvarez de Nunezin
the wilds of Arkansas four hundred years ago
he will find that the adventurous Spaniard dis-
covered large fields in a high state of cultiva-
tion and industrious peo le tilling the soil. In
every instance these fie ds were in the fertile
bottoms and near the rivers that are so numer—
ous in the South. At long intervals these rivers
overflow, devastating the country for many
miles on every side, and it was to afford a place
of refuge that these mounds were built. The
one of which we speak stands near Black river,
and is now about thirty feet higher than the
general surface of the land.

Where the builders of these mounds came
from or where they have gone is a question for
scientists to puzzle over as they have puzzled
over them before. Certain it is that they were
distinct from the Indian of to-day, as the marks
of their semi-civilization plainly testify.

During the early settlement of the State a
gentleman by the name of Waltman, from the

ast, moved to the Black river country, and
finding this mound, and being pleased with
the location, erected a small log-house upon -its
summit, where it still remains. At one time
he had been well to do in his old home, but
having met with reverses he was com lled
to sell out and move to the Far West, which at
that time was infested with wild beasts and
wilder men. He brought with him his wife and
child—an only dau hter. His daughter had been
reared in the la 0 luxury, and was unused to
the hardships o the frontier, but with that hero-
ism for which our American women are noted,
she willingly shared all the dangers and trials
which were encountered, and sought to render
their new home as pleasant as circumstances
would rmit. It was a sad blow to her to give
up her ks, her music, and many other things
which lent their charms to the old home, and
most of all did she feel the loss of the manly
face of Gilbert Marcom.

A charming young lady was she, over whose
sunny head eighteen summers had passed and
of beaus she had no lack before coming West;
but of all the gay cavaliers who sought her
smiles. or tried to win her hand, none had
pleased her so much as Gilbert. The parting
between them had been painful, for they could
not tell whether they should behold each other
on earth again or not, but Gilbert had promised
to come to her in a short time. Upon this
promise the fair Ruth—her name was Ruth—
built a hope which lightened the otherwise sad
joume .

At the time that Mr. Waltman settled on the
mound the Cherokee Indians occupied the coun-
try, and acted in a very friendly manner to-
ward the new-comers, but among them were
renegades, who had left their native homes to

escape the strong arm of the law, and the worst
of them all was John Ragland, known by his
als as Red Jack, from the fiery color of his
air. There was no crime too low for him to
commit, and he was thoroughly feared and dc-
spised b his tners in sin.

Ere r. altman had been long in the
country, Red Jack, in passing that way, had

won him a call, and was cordially welcomed.

hile there he saw the beautiful Ruth and
was smitten by her many charms. After that
he made frequent visits to the log house on the
mound and began payin attentions to the
young lad . To say that t 030 attentions were
distastefu to her would but mildl express the
loathing with which she regard him. How-
ever, Red Jack continued his visits and finally
asked Ruth to become his bride. This she re-
fused to do, and he left in high dudgeon, vow-
ing to wreak dire vengeance on one who could
scorn his love—if such a sentiment could dwell
in such a heart.

The fall of the year had come, and Mr. Walt-
inan often spent whole days in the woods hunt-
ing deer and bear, whose meat he intended to
dry for Winter’s use. About the beginning of
an extremely wet season he was ap roaching
his home one evening, when he hears screams
proceeding from the house and at once knew
that his amily was in danger. Rushing for—
ward he saw his wife looking toward the river,
which was a quarter of a mile distant, wringing
her hands and weeping bitterly. To his quick
inquiries she informed him that Red Jack had
abducted their daughter. He started out in
hot pursuit, but before he had gone far he
heard several shots fired. Hastening on, he
came upon the scene of the shooting and found
his_daughter in the arms of Gilbert Marcom,
while near by stood an old frontiersman, and
Red Jack was nowhere visible.

Ruth soon told how Red Jack and several of
his followers had come to the house about dusk
and carried her 01!, despite the resistance of
herself and mother, and were on their way to
a. canoe that was waiting for them when Gil-
bert opportuner arrived. One of Red Jack’s
allies had been killed in the fray, and Jack him-
self was believed to have been wounded. The
others'made their escape.

_A distant roaring sound was heard, and as
night was upon them, they all went to the
house, where Gilbert and his companion were
made royally Welcome. Durin the hi ht the
people in the house fancied t ey coud hear
cries for help, and the roaring they had heard
became lou er and louder, and the crashing of
trees and howling of animals seemed as though
pandemonium had broke loose about them- but
the night was so dark they could see nothing
when they looked out. But when da broke
what a sight met their aze! During t e night
the water had risen a vs the banks of the
river and they found themselves entirely sur-
rounded by a rushing, roaring torrent. As
they stood and looked at the soothing black wa-
ter they distinctly heard the cry of “Help!
He] 1” but no help could be given, for no man
con (1 stem that awful current, and each mo-
ment added to its depth and strength.

The voice was that of Red Jack, who, though-
wounded, had managed to climb a small tree
when the water first reached him, and he was
now as high as he could go, about fifteen feet
from the ground, and the water was followin
him. All day he clung to the tree and watched
the water as it came u inch b inch, and by
noon it had reached his feet. till upward it
came, soothing and boiling, and he knew he
could not swim in the turbulent tide, but must
drown if it should cover him. He had shouted
himself hoarse, and now thought of the wicked
deeds he had done. In that awful hour he even
prayed that his life might be spared, but the
remgrseless waters still came upward and up-
war .

About a week afterward, when the waters
had sufficiently subsided, Mr. Waltman visited
the place and there, in the to of the small tree,
was all that remained of ohn Ragland. He
had held on to the tree for safety, but all in
vain, and the waves had sung a. requiem over
him as his soul took its flight.

Of course you expect me to say that Gilbert
and Ruth were married and I will, and their
descendants in the Black river valley will take
goat pleasure in telling you this story much

tter than I have done.

 

 

Telephone Echoes.

MANY women are spoken of as angels. Mrs.
Noah must have been an ark-angel.

“ Tm: rolls of the ocean, which so many per-
sons talk of, have probably been caused by
the oft-mentioned bread cast upon the waters.”

1]" you want to experiment on the adhesive-
ness of affection, endeavor to divorce a lazy
boy from a warm bed on a cold winter
morning.

A STRATFORD woman dreamed that she saw
her husband kissing a certain neighbor’s wife,
and she awoke and struck him across the face
and broke his nose. Man is nowhere safe.

“ DON’T tell me ‘ you won’t ’,” said an Elmira
father to his little daughter of six summers.
“Well, but papa,” said the artless little one,
“ what shall I say when I mean I won’t?”

PROFANI’I'Y never did any man the least ood.
N 0 man is the richer, happier, or wiser or it.
It commends no one in society it is disgusting
to refined people and abominable to the good.

A SAN FRANCISCO lady tells of the delight of
Ralph Waldo Emerson in the Yosemite. When
asked what he thought of it, he said: “ It is the
only thing I have seen out here which comes up
to the brag!”

“ THEY say that Biégs and his wife fight like
cats and dogs.” “ ’m! This comes of not
knowing when you are well off. They
ways so ha py durin
tililii’ik that t ey shoul
a .

“ THOMEBODY thays that I lithp,” chirped a
dizzy dude to a young lady; “but I can’t per-
thieve it. Can you, mith?’ “ I thould hethi-
tate to thay, thir,” sweetly chimed the belle.
The wretched youth toddled wearin away, and
got mildly drunk on a thimbleful of buttermilk.

THE Crown Prince of Portugal is betrothed
to a daughter of the Emperor of Austria. This
enga ement, however, will not 've him the
privi ego of sitting on the vine-cfild piazza of
the old man’s house and counting shooting stars
with his sweetheart. No young American on-
vies his royal nibs.

CUSTOMER—“How much are these eggs a
dozen?” “ Dwent ~five cents,” replied the Ger-
man grocer. “ hy! how’s that? Jones sells
them at twent cents.” “Und vy don’t you
buy ov Jones, on?” “Because he hasn’t any
this morning.” “ Vell, I vill sell dem for dwen-
ty cents, too, ven I don’t got any l”

“ WHY do you mutter that way when you
read?” asked a man of an old negro who sat
mumbling over a newspaper. “How ought I
read sah?” “ Why, read without moving your
lips. “What ood would dat sorter readjn’
do me, fur I con dn’t heah it! When I roads I
finger read so I can heah what I’se readin’

u .

AN exchange says: “ A girl shouldn’t wear a
black belt about her waist when she has got a
white dress on and is walking with a young
man in the night-time. It makes it appear
from a rear view as if her fellow had his arm
around her waist.” This makes the Boston
Post think that all the girls will be wearing
black belts now.

AN itinerant preacher who was holdin forth
to a congregation on the eastern shore ongai-y-
land, composed chiefl of oyster—dredgers, used
the expression— “ f your right arm offend
thee, pluck it out; if your eye ofl’end thee, cut
it off.” An old oysterman who occupied a
front seat, on hearing the above expression,
remarked in a stage whisper that was heard all
over the church, “ Do you think that we‘ve got
eyes like a crab?”

 

were al-
their courtship! To
marry and spoil it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
 
  
  

 

“ “in; r.