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Vol. II.

\g/‘F. Beadle

Iliam Adams,  l’uuLisiinas.

Davul Adams.

 

(ill AFTER I.

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of a (leer.
It was this that had caused the

who

over the heads of the leaders.

him, he said:

pickings, fer I knows yer.”

ver in hand ready for use.

graceful. .
The rider was dressed in deep

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  

 

gular and striking appearance:
The saddle, bridle and trappings

 

(‘orvmanr 1894. av HEADLE AND ADAMs.

NEW YORK. MAY 3. 1884.

 

 

 

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Piling 11111185. stage-coach, passengers and the corpse of tne driver in one grand wreck.

The Wizard Brothers;

03,

WHITE BEAVER’S RED TRAIL.

 

BY HON. WM. 1‘. CODY (Buffalo Bill),

AUTHOR or “WILD BILL,” “ WHITE BEAVER,” ETC., ETC., ETC.

 

A KNIGHT or“ THE OVERLAND.
“ Dram rein ,’ put on your brakes .’

or I kill you and

The words rung out viciously, but clear and threat-
ening, from the lips of a horseman who had Just
darted out of the shadow of a clump of timber and
wheeled alongside of an Overland stage as it was
going at abrin pace along the trail running through
what is, now the State of Nebraska. .

The stage was drawn by six handsome, Jet-black
mules, which, at the cry of their driver, had bound-
ed forward into a rim, almost as swift as the thght

stern COIDUI and

and threat that open this story, and as the coach
swunr sWiftly along the knight of the Overland,

had so suddenly appeared, leveled a revolver
in his left hand at the driver, while in his right he
whirled a lariat. as though about to throw the noose.

For an instant the driver hesitated, as though not
knowing whether to obey or take the chances; but.
as though convinced that it was certain death to

“ l‘ll draw ’em in, pard, an’ let yer hev yer leetle

As he spoke he began to draw in his running
mules, and gently put his foot on the brakehwhich
rapidlv checked the speed oi his team, while the
horseman rode by vhe side of the coach, his revol-

LOoking out of the coach-window were two faces,
one, that of a woman. the other a man, and round,
fat, and Very much ala- med was the latter.

The horseman, upon whom their eyes fell, was
mounted upon an animal as'white as snow, With
long wane and tail, and a gait that was easy and

black, wore top-

boots, and a slouch hat, the sable brim being turned
up in front and held there by a strange mask that
concealed the face from the mouth up. but allowed
the latter feature, shaded by a long, blonde mus-
tache, and a resolute chin, to he revealed.

The mask consisted of two scarlet Wings, so ar-
ranged as to cover the face, and WIN]. holes in each,
through which two fiery eyes were ViSIble._ h

The points of the wings extended as high as t. e
crown of the hat, the whole presenting a most sm-

of this strangely

 

masked rider, were of a most elegant description,
while his spurs were gold wings on either side of the
heel, with the shar rowel in the points.

His revolvers an knife were also gold-mounted,
and altogether he looked like some fancy masque-
rader for a hat masque, rather than a bold knight of
the road, who had darineg darted out of his cove rt
and ordered the driver of a stage-coach of the over-
land trail, bearing Uncle Sam’s mail, to—

“ Halt or die!"

When the driver had brought his mules to a stand-
still he said, sullenly: '

“Now, pard Red Angel, speak your little speech,
and be quick about it, fer I’m late.” .

“ You have a United States army messenger in-
side as a passenger,” was the assertion rather than
question.

“You is off thar, pard fer I hes not,” answered
the driver, a plucky and true “prinCe of the rib—
bons.”

As though doubting the assertion the horseman
rode up to the door, turned the latch and threw it
0 en.

pA glance showed him that but two
inside—the woman and the fat-face
spoken of. .

“ Don’t harm us, good man,” whined the lat-
ter, pale as death. . .

“ It is not my intention to do so, 811‘; but you,
madam, I must ask to accompany me.” ‘

The woman started, drooped her head, and said
in a low tone, hoarse with alarm: ,

“ Oh, sir; Spare me, I implore you! ’ '

“My dear madam, you plead to Captain Hyena,
the chief of the Red Angels of the Overland, who,
on know, is merciless to man and woman ahke.
{'ou must go with me.”

“ Wal. I declar’ ef you makes war on a leddy-pas-
senger I drives I’ll make it so hot fer you an your
gang. Cap’n Hyena, as folks calls yer, th‘et yer 11
hev ter emigrate ter new diggin’s,or I hes hke a tin-
peddler.” '

The driver spoke earnestly, but the knight of the
road on] laughed lightly in response and repeated
his wor s:

“ You must go with me, madam.”

“ Here, pard, I hes a leetle bag 0’ dust o’ my own;
thar’s a bag 0’ letters in ther boot, an’ thet old man
in ther hearse looks as though he were rich, so take
what dust yer kin raise and git!”

“The woman must go!”

“ I’m durned ef she shall, ef—”

ersons were
man before

 

The bold fellow had dropped his hand to his hip,
where was the butt of his revolver, and his fingers
were grasping it to draw, when there came a flash
and report, and the driver fell back dead while the
crack of the weapon startling the mules, they
bounded away at full speed, leaving the road-agent
seated upon his horse on the trail, as though mo-
mentarily taken aback by the suddenness of what
had occurred.

But such was not the case, for he was not one to
be caught off his guard. His hesitancy for the mo-
ment had been at catching sight of a party of horse-
men far down the trail, and coming at a canter
across the prairie.

“By Heaven! I will not be foiled,” he cried,
through his set teeth, and a word to his horse sent
him fl ing away in pursuit of the now runaway team
of In es.

 

CHAPTER II.
A DOUBLE CHASE.

WITH nothing to fear from the driver. whose coach
had really turned into the hearse he had called it, in
border parlance, the knight of the road dashed on
at a speed that soon drew him even with the coach,
though at a little distanCe to one side, as though he
feared a shot from the male passenger, who might
pluck u courage to fire at him.

With his revolvers in his belt and his lariat whirl-
ing about his head the road-agent showed his plan
of action to check the flying mules.

Over the prairie still came the horsemen five in
number, at the same easy canter, as though 1 hey had
not yet discerned that the team was running away
and no driver on the box. They were yet some dis-
tance away, and the knight of the Overland was cal-
culating all his chances for success and failure.

Having reached the position he desired, he meas-
ured his distance, and was just about to throw the
lariat, when a shot came from the stage-coach, and
his horse bounded into the air.

"Curse you! that is your game is it? I‘ll now play
mine!” he hissed, as he glanced over his shoulder
and saw the face and form of the woman in the
stage-coach window, a revolver in her hand. from
which she had just sent a bullet after him, and
was threatenin to send more.

As he spoke t ie road-agent sent his lariat whirling
forward; the noose whizzed through the air, and the
coil caught over the head of one of the leading
mules, while the well-trained white steed threw him-
self back upon his haunches to meet the shock.

Instantly it came~the lariat tightening with a
loud twang and the shock hurling the animal in the
snare heav y to the ground, dragging his mate with
him, and in one instant pilin mules. stage-coach,
passengers and the corpse of t e driver in one grand
wreck

Leaving the struggling animals to extricate them-
selves as best they could, the horseman cast the end
of his lariat loose from his saddle-horn. and spring-
ing to the ground thrust his revolver into the coach
window. w ile he cried:

“Come out of that, madam, for you are not
hurt.” .

No answer came, and tearing open the shattered
door, be dragged out a form.

It was the at passenger. who cried piteously:

“ Don‘t kill me. good man!”

“ Coward! out of the way. for here is my game.
Come, you must 0 with me.”

His hand reste heavily upon the woman’s shoul-

 

der. and in silence she stepped out, her face as white
as death.

It was a strong face too, with well-cut features,
and a look of fearlessness upon it that seemed out
pf place with the deathly pallor which betokened

ear.

Several of the mules had now struggled to their
feet, but were in a tangled mass of harness. This,
however, was quick! ' severed by a few strokes of
the bowie-knife of t 16 road-agent, and one of the
animals being freed was led out of the huddled,
struggling mass.

Then came the stern order:

“ Madam, let me aid you to mount my horse.”

The woman made no reply, but sprung lightly into
the saddle, and seizing the reins a determined light

littered in her eyes—seeing which the masked rob-

er said:

“Be careful, for that horse is trained to obey his
master’s call. Now, I will be ready so soon as I get
your baggage."

“I have no baggage,” said the woman, quickly
and nervously.

“Only this," and the masked man drew a sachel
out of the wrecked coach.

‘_‘ That belongs to that gentleman,” the woman
cried, hoarsely, her voice trembling as she spoke.

“Yes. that is mine, sir, and I beg you not to rob
me, good man."cried the fat passenger, his face
flushing and paling by turns.

“1 am sorry'I cannot oblige you, sir, for I shall
have to take this sachel: but I leave you the mules,
what is left of the old hearse, and the body of your
driver. Good-afternoon, sir, and tell those gentle-
men, who are now spurring forward at such a fu-
rious rate when they arrive, that this is some of
Captain Hyena’s work, and if they wish to find me,
my home is upon the prairies.”

Springing astride of the still trembling mule. the
road-agent started off at a rapid pace. a word to his
white horse causing him to follow, with the most
unwilling captive upon his back.

Hardly had he been gone two minutes, when up
dashe‘ the five horsemen and drew rein.

An instant they stayed there; then three of their
number pressed on in hot pursuit of the daring road-
brig‘ind, who had robbed an Overland stage in full
sight of five United States cavalryineni

Those that remained by the wreck stood gazing
after their comrades and the reckless fugitive and
his captive and praying that at last the Red Angel
chief, who had long defied his toes, would be run
to earth and have to answer for his crimes.

 

CHAPTER III.
THE LIFE-CHASE.

THE scene where the daring not occurred, which
has been detailed in the foregoing chapters, was
upon the open prairie.

Following the trail on ahead with the eye, it
wound over rolling plains, with here and there a di-
vide, a clump of timber, and a fringe of cotton-
woods or willows on the bank of some small
stream.

Looking in the opposite direction, the thicket.
which had concealed the knight of the road until
the stage-coach dashed by, was visible, 8. mile, per-
haps, from the scene of t e wreck.

Then there was a rolling plain for a mile or so, and
beyond a view of hills and forests.

It was toward the latter that the horseman and
his captive were tending, for he made no halt at the

One copy, lonr months, ".00
TERMS IN ADVANCE Onewpy, one year,. . . 3.00
Two copies,oiie year, . . 5.00

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little bit of timber where he had lain in ambush
waiting for the stage.

The woman rode by his side in silence, her face
bent downward, as though she was lost in a deep
and painful revt rie.

She however sat the horse well, in spite of riding
on a man’s saddle, and, apparently resigned to her
fate, allowed the horse to run on at will.

Once or twice she cast furtive glances at her kid-
napper, as she saw him turn and glance back at
their pursuers, and then there was a look of mingled
hatred, fear and anger in the look.

The mule, stripped of his harness, and with only
his blind-bridle on, ran with the speed and ease of
the handsome white, and seemed both willing and
anXious to go.

Mounted upon his bare back, the masked robber
ap eared as much at home as he had l ezn in the
satdle, and kept the pace not too fast, not caring,
seemingly, to push the animals to their best speed.

Those who were in chase were an ofiicer, wearin

an army lieutenant‘s rank, and two soldiers, and
they were splendidly mounted, and pushing their
horsles at a pace which gained on those they pur—
suet .
, .The officer was a young, handsome man, with the
air of a dashing cavalryman, and his face was set
With a resolve to capture the noted Red A ngel chief
now “ so near and yet far " from him.

He had seen the stage coming rapidly toward him,
and the horseman by its side, but had not at once
suspected trouble, as he could not believe one man
would threaten danger to so many. for the coach
generally went through full of passengers.

At last, however, he saw the white puff of smoke
coming from the revolver fired by the woman, and
instantly it dawned upon him that, though the
coach was coming directly toward him and his men,
the horseman riding by it was a road-agent.

At the same time he observed that the driver lay
back motionless upon his box.

" Ho! men, there is mischief there!

“Follow me!”

His ringing words were responded to with a. cheer,
and the party dashed forward at full speed.

But they had not more than started when they
saw the smash-up, as one of the leaders was thrown
by the lariat, and dt ep into the flanks of their
horses they drove their rowels, to get to the scene.

But the daring and cool knight of the road was
too quick for them, and, as the reader has seen,
when they drew rein by the wreck, the robber and
his victim had escaped.

“\Vell, sir, what means this?” cried the lieuten-
ant when he came near.

“we have been robbed, sir; robbed, and a most
charming lady kidnapped, while our poor driver
was killed, sir, killed, and all by one man, One man,
511'! ’ almost shouted the fleshy gentleman, who was
struggling between fright at his danger, and delight
at his esca e.

“ And w 0 was this one man, sir?”

“The driver called him Captain Hyena, the Red
ainglel.’ sir; but to me he seemed more like a black

eVi .'

“ Ha! then we are in chase of good game, men.

“ You say he kidnapped a lady?”

“ Yes, sir; a most charming lady, who told me her
sachel was full of riches, and begged me to claim it
as in own.”

“ illed the driver, lariated a leader, breaking the
animal’s neck, another mule there with a broken

 

leg, the stage smashed, a mule stolen, and a lady

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          

     
       
     
     
   
     
     
       
       
         
       
 
      
     
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
   
   
    
 
 
 
   
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
 
  
   
  
   
   
  
   
 
  
    
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
    
  
    
   
  
   
   
 
 
 
   
    
  
   
   
  
  
  
   
    
 
   
    
    
 
  
      
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
     
    
   
   
   
   
  
  
   
     
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
     
       
       
           
             
       
         
       

 

 

 

 

      
        
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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kidnapped with her riches,” said the Officer, as
though taking a rapid inventory Of the damage
done. . fl 3—,.“

" And I, sir, I threatened and— .

“I am glad to see that you are not hurt, 511‘, $3
shall leave men to look after you and the stage.,
broke in the lieutenant, and turning to two Of his
men he continued:

“ Bolton, as on and Reid are not as well mounted
as the rest 0 us, remain and repair damages as
well as you can, and carry the coach on to the sta-
tion.

" Then return to the fort and report what has oc-
curred, and say to Major Benteen that I have gone
in chase of this famous knight of the road_

The soldiers addressed saluted, and the lieutenant
with his other two men dashed off in_ hot chase.

After passing tne timber and seeing that_it was
Captain Hyena’s intention to make for the hills, the
officer spared not his horses in his endeavor to catch
up with the bold robber. for he knew that the Red
Angel chief was reported to have a band of half a
hundred lawless followers. and why he had alone
made the daring attack on the coach he could not
understand, but felt assured he must have aid not
manv miles awa . .

“ We must catfih him before he reaches the hills,
men,” cried the officer, and the determined manner
in which they urged their horses on_began to tell,
for the outlaw was forced to put his mule at his

best.

Yet still the trOOpers gained, for though the mule
was fleet of hoof, those horses on his trail were
fleeter.

" We are gaining rapidly. and he must soon come
to bay,”cried the young Officer, with glee, as he saw
that ten minutes more would bring him alongSide of
the outlaw. . . .

But Captain Hyena did not look behind him With
any great anxiety, it seemed, nor any more fre-
quently, as his danger increased, for the soldiers
watched his every movement closely. _

Before him, yet some distance Off, lay the hills.

Could he reach them he would be safe, for he_could
soon find a breastwork to fight behind, if he did not
find friends there. . _

Upon the open prairie, if brought to bay, he must
stand and face his foes, three to one, with the wo-
man also to look after. .

That the young lieutenant would be driven off, the
outlaw could hardly belieye, for he knew of what
material the officers on that far border were made,
and that the men would follow his lead was most
certain. .

SO on he urged the black mule, strivmg to get as
near as possible, it seemed to his pursuers, to the
hills, before he would turn at bay.

But nearer and nearer drew the cavalrymen, and
a look behind showed Captain Hyena that the lien-
tenant had drawn his revolver and would soon use

it.

Instantly the bold bandit acted, and with a nerve
and promptness that showed him a master of the
situation.

“ Slide to a seat back of that saddle, and if you
slide off I will kill you 1”

The words were addressed to the woman, and that
he meant what he said she fully realized; so instant-
ly she. obeyed.

Then came the 'Order:

“ Throw away that revolver you carry, madam 1”

He saw the gleam in her eye, and detected her

urpose, for he quickly drew his own and covered
Ber, while he cried:

“ Drop that revolver, and then I’ll take that empty
saddle, and show those soldiers what my noble horse
can do.” ,

The woman dropped the revolver in silence, and
riding closer, the outlaw threw himself from the
mulc’s back to his saddle on the white horse with a
skill that would have done credit to a circus-rider.

But, just as he made the spring, there Came the
crack of a revolver, and the black mule plunged for-
ward with a wild snort, and fell heavily, the bullet
having buried itself in his brain. I

“ That Officer is a dead shot, for his bullet would
have killed me, had it been fired an instant sooner;
but with you as a shield, I have no fear now,
madam,” and the outlaw actually laughed.

The woman made no reply, and the white horse.
with his double load, at the urging of his master,
now bounded forward with an increased speed which
began to drop the pursuers who were a most upon
him when the change was made.

“ If I only dared.” muttered the Officer, as he held
his revolver ready, as though about to fire.

“No, I must not risk it, for I might hit the wo-
man, and if I dropped the horse the fall would doubt-
less break her neck.

“ But oh, what a temptation,” and he half-raised
the pistol to a level; but shaking his head he re-
turned it to his belt, and onco more urged his tired
horse in pursuit with the words:

‘ Spur deep, men, for that noble horse cannot
stand that double weight long, and will soon break
his heart under it.”

CHAPTER IV.
BROUGHT T0 BAY.

CONTRARY to the expectations of the lieutenant,
the splendid white horse of the Red Angel chief did
not break his heart under the terrible strain put upon
him, but continued to gain steadily upon his pur-
suers, until he dashed into a ravine in the foothills
qmte along distance ahead of them.

The outlaw had headed for this particular point,
seemingly well acquainted Win the locality, and
once in the mouth of the ravine, he had come to a
halt and quickly dismounted, as though determined
there to stand at bay. rather than push his horse up
the hill under double weight.

On each side of the ravine, for a Ion;r distance.
ran a cliff, which was unbroken, and the nature, of
the ground in the rear was such that the mount bay
could not be easily flanked, while. as darkness would
come within an hour. and knowing the country, he
could readily extricate himself lrom the trap in
which he found himself.

“ Now, madam, I expect you to aid me in the little
difficulty I have gotten myself on your account.”
said the ou'law. as he led his horse back out of dan-
ger. "Stand there, please!”

The woman obeyed, taking the stand against a
bank that arose to her waist.

“Now, I will take my place just behind you, and I '

hope. it won’t make you nervous to have the fire
Over your shoulders, for I shall do so if attacked,
and that foolhardy young Officer seems determined
to run to his death.”

“You would not kill him?" said the woman, in a
low voice.

“ As readily as I would you, if my life depended
upon it,” was the response, and then. with a re
volver in each hand the bandit stood at bay, the wo-
man directly in front Of him. .

Seeing the position of affairs. the lieutenant made
up his mind to dash right into the ravine and have
it out in a hand-to-hand fight.

“ Come, men, we must settle this thing right here,”
cried the gallant officer. and he rode at a headlong
pace directly for the mouth of the ravine.

“Back. sir, back! for he will kill you!” cried the
woman, her voice vibrating with emotion.

But the soldier made no reply, and then came the
crack of the outlaw’s revolver.

_ Down, headlong, went the horse ridden by the
lieutenant, who tried to save himself from a heavy
fall, but was unable to do so, for he was hurled to
the ground with stunning force, and pinned there
by the weight Of his dead steed

As though knowing the result of his shot the out-
law flred again, this time at the nearest soldier, and
the man threw up his arms and fell backward from
his saddle, droppim;r in a limp heap, while his horse
dashed on into the ravine.

Seeing that his officer and soldier-comrade were
both down. the remaining cavalryman wheeled as
though on a pivot, and darted away from the fatal
spot at full speed to save himself from alike fate, a
shot or two from the outlaw following him.

“They will trouble us no more, madam.” the road-
agent said, qtiietly and taking the arm of the woman
he led her back into the canyon to where the white
horse was standing. and by his side—for he had s ed
right on into the ravine—was the animal of the s ain
soldier.

“We are both mounted again. you see, madam.
Please take my horse,” said the outlaw. with sar-
casm, as he caught the rein Of the other steed.

“ Will you ride off and leave that Ofilcer to die?”
she asked.

“ I will; so be good enough to mount, and lose no
time,” was the warning rejoinder.

The woman leaped light] to her seat in the sad-
dle, for the outlaw offered or no aid, and springing
upon the back of the horse he held, he said:

“ You lead the way.”

“ \Vhere?"

“ Out of the canyon, and up into the hills.”

She seized the reins and obeyed, glancing earnest-
ly down upon the dead soldier, and at the officer,
who was moving his hand across his brow, as though
striving to recall his senses.

He lay upon one side, his left leg pinned down un~

' der the body of the horse, and evidently had fallen

heavily.

_“ H: can do you no harm, now, so at least release
him irom his painful position,” urged the woman.

“I shall do nothing of the kind. madam.

“ He is my foe; he sought my life, and he may die
there, or become foo i for the wolves for all I care.
That is our way, up that trail.”

She turned her horse into the trail he pointed to,
and he followed her on up the hill.

After riding a mile the nature of the ground he
came wild and rough in the extreme, and they had
to pick their way.

Suddenly the outlaw, whose eyes were constantly
watching on all sides, spurred to the side of the wo-
man, and seizing the rein, said hoarsely:

“ Quick! Come with mel”

She wondered at his excited manner. and glanced
about her for a cause for it; but he urged both

horses into a fissure in the hillside, which was partly
concealed by a few stunted trees.

But a curse escaped his lips as he sawlhat the ra-
vine abruptly terminated within a few feet,_and did
not extend into a canyon, penetrating far into the
bill, as he had hoped.

“By Heaven! 1 must take the chances, for to go
out again would be to have them see me, if they
have not already done so,” said the man aloud. .

“ Who?” asked the woman, her face flushing With
ho e.

PWait and see.” was the curt answer, and then a
moment after came the almost joyous cry from the
road-agent:

“ Saved! for now my trail will be destroyed!”
Then there came a hurried trampling sound, and
a band of elk sped by the mouth of the ravine, and
within a few paces of where the outlaw and his vtc-
tim sat side by side upon their horses, illy concealed
by the few stunted trees that grew at the ravme’s
entrance. ‘

The boots of the elks did indeed destroy any trace
left by the horses. for there was a large band of
them. and the cloud of dust floated into the hiding‘
place of the outlaw, temporarily concealing it from
Vle‘V.

The woman had held high hope when she heard
those trampling hOOfs, that aid was near; but when
she saw what made the sound, her face again paled,
and she wondered at the excitement shown by her
captor. .

But he still remained in hiding, a revolver in each
hand, and she felt that he knew other cause for dan-
ger was near, and had not been frightened by a band
of elk.

 

CHAPTER V.

THE SURGEON scour AND ms BROTHER PARDS.

SEVERAL moments went by in breathless suspense
to the woman, and to the road-agent as well it
seemed, for he appeared ill at ease, and thenthe
sound of hoofs was heard, followed by a laugh, in a
man’s voice—a voice full of lightheartedness.

Then the outlaw said, in a low, savage tone:.

“Oh, how I would like to turn that laugh into a
wail of woe! But I’ll hide my time.” _

Turning to the woman, he continued in the same
sup ressed voice: .

“ oman, one word, one act from you now Will
seal your doom, whatever my fate may be, for those
coming are the Surgeon Scout and his two brothers,
and my bitterestfoes.” ' .

As he spoke he ressed his revolver hard against
the head of his prisoner, who sat white and motion-
less upon her horse. .

The next instant there appeared in sight 8. horse-
man of striking appearance.

He was mounted upon what is known as a buck-
skin or “claybank’ horse, with snowy mane and
tail; he was even a more beautiful animal than the
white horse of the border bandit. His rider was a
man who would rivet the gaze in any assemblage.
His manner was easy and graceful, his carriage
that of a soldier, while he rode with the air of one
born in the saddle, so to speak. .

He was tall, his shoulders broad and masswe,
and his face darkly bronzed and very handsome.
while waves Of raven hair fell in! clusters below his
neck, and were thrown back with a jaunty air that
did away with the effeminate appearance which
long locks often give to a man.

His face was strongly featured. his eyes black
and most expressive, and there was that in it to
win admiration and love, and inspire respect.

He was dressed in the fulluniform of a brigade
surgeon in the United States army, and was armed
with repeating-rifle. a belt of arms, an'l-a lariat, for
the lasso may be called a weapon of Offense to those
who know well its use.

Just behind this dzstingue’ soldier-plainsman was a
horseman, also splendidly mounted and thoroughly
armed; but he was dressed in buckskin hunting-
shirt and leggings, wore a sombrero of gray felt, and
cavalry boots.

His form was slender, but tall and full of power,
and his face most attractive, for its features were
stamped with strength 'of character and well-cut.

His hair was also jet-black, without the shadow
ofa wavein it, and hung down his back almost to
his belt, and he rode with the bold freedom and ease
of a Comanclie.

Close upon the heels of the second horseman
came the third—a younger man than the other two
possessing smaller stature, but one that combined
strength and activity, while his movements were as
graceful as a woman’s.

His face was also dark—hued, but a sunny expres-
sion rested thereon that never deserted it even in
danger, and yet which could turn to a shadow of
deepest sympathy for one in sorrow.

His hair was the same sable hue as was his com-
rades”, but his eyes were as blue as a turquoise—
large, full of expression. in which lurked a glimmer
of mischief and a trace of recklessness.

He was dressed also in buckskin, top-boots and a
sombrero, and “armed to the teeth,” while he be-
strode a restive, wiry roan stallion that had every
indication of speed and great endurance.

As the three, horsemen were all in front of the
ravme, and in full view of the outlaw and his prison-
er, there was visible that resemblance in their faces
which proved kindred blood flowed in their veins.

It was a most critical moment for the knight of
the road and his victim, for those three horsemen
were “ men to the border born,” and might cast
their eyes at any instant into the ravine.

In fact, nothing would be more. natural than for
them to do so, ever watchful as they were for dan-
ger in their path. .

The game behind their saddles proved that they
had been off on a hunt. and, although the band of
elk, startled by their coming, had run near them in
their flight down the bill, they had not fired upon
them in sheer want-onuess to kill, for they had
an ample supply of meat with them.

Most fortunate was it for the outlaw that the elk
had dashed over his trail. or assuredly the eyes of
that hunier trio would have detected them.

But nowr they seemed unsuspicious of danger, or
mischief brewing. and were chatting pleasantly. for
when in front of the outlaw’s hiding-place, the
laughter of the rearmost horseman again broke
forth at some remark of the one next to him.

In that breathless moment of suspense to the out-
law and woman—of fear with the one and hope with
the other—the two sat motionless, as did. also their
horses.

A neigh. the stamp of a hoof, would betray their
hiding-place, and then all would be lost for the man,
all would be gained for the women.

And there they sat, the outlaw with one revolver
ready to fire upon his foes, the other pressed hard
against the woman’s head, to awe her from move-
ment or outcry.

Another second and the three horsemen would be
out of sight, when, suddenly, came in startled tones,
doc and strangely silver-voiced:

" 0, boys! look! there is deviltry going on down
yonder!”

At these works the three horsemen drew rein, the
last one being still in full view of the Red Angel and
his victim, to whom the suspense now became aw-

ful.
(To be continued.)

 

 

Foreign Items of Interest.

 

THE grand horse total of Germany is by the last
return 2,417,138; that of Austro-Hungary, 3,400,000.

THE Mexican Government is importuning Flemish
pieo le to introduce into that country the cultivation
o ax.

IN the canton of Valais, Switzerland, a cheese is
sometimes made when a child is born and not out
until the funeral feast, perhaps 70 years later.
Wealth is computed by cheeses.

Tm: city of Manchester, England, now has water
reservoirs covering 844 acres, whose mains measure
643 miles, and the supply 20,000,000 gallons to 900,-
888 people daily. he cost thus far has been £3,352,-

- a
. BERLIN has one drug store to every 16.206 inhab-
itants; Breslau one to every 13,000, and Cologne one
to every 11,000. A Chicago writer expreSSes surprise
at these figures, for his is a large German city, yet
it supports a. drug store. for every 1,500 inhabitants.

IT is stated that sackcloth. or canvas,can be made
as impervious to moisture as leather, by steeping it
in a decoction of one pound of oak bark with four
teen pounds of boiling water, this quantity being
sufilment for eight yards of stufii. The cloth has to
soak twenty —f0ur hours, when it is taken out, passed
through running water, and hung up to dry.

THE manufacture of needles and pins constitutes
one of the, fill st. flourishing industries in Germany.
The eight nianufactories of Iserlohn alone con-
sumed, in 18%, no less than 600 tons of wire, em-
ploying also a working-force of some 800 male and
700 female and juvenile operatives, besides seven
steam-engines and four water-wheels of 200 horse-
power.

A srniKiNG proof of the force of the wind-storms
in England in December and January last was af-
forded by the annual sale of timberon the Clumber
Park and Worksop Manor estates of the Duke of

ewcastle. The catalogue coutaincd no fewer than
sixty-seven lots, which included 2.613 trees uprooted
in Clumber Park, and 673 trees and 159 poles blown
down in Worksop Manor.

THERE are 500,000 gersons employed in coal-mines
in Great Britain, an of these in 1878 no fewer than
1,413 were killed. and within the last ten years, since
the passing Of the Mines act. the yearly average has
been 1,200, or one in every thirty-eight employed,
as compared with one in seventy-five of British sail-
ors lost at sea. There are many other accidents in
mines not officially recorded, and it is believed the
total lives lost in English mines is 2,500 every year—

 

forty-eight every week, or eight every day.

STILL LITTLE FEET AND HANDS.

BY ERMINIE C. STRAY.

The little feet that pattered
All over the house by day,
And the little hands that scattered
In a most untidy wa ,
Are Strangely cold an silent
In their narrow house tonight,
And the eyes are closed forever—
The eyes so dark and bright.

And I sit and watch beside him.

Willi my heart bowed down with woe,
And an agony of sorrow

That I never thought to know.

If the mute. cold lips could utter

One little word to-night,
Or give me back in answer

A kiss so warm and light—

If the feet again could patter
Dust and mud about,

Or the little hands could scatter
My treasured trinkets out,

I need not sit in sorrow,
As the years go sadly by,

Or wonder if I’l meet him
In the home of by and by.

 

 

 

A Story of a Young Man from the
Country.

A Knight—ill Labor;

Job Manley’sé_Rise in Life.

BY CAPTAIN FREDERICK WHITTAKER,

AUTHOR OF “ JOHN ARMSTRONG, mama," “ NORMAN
CASE, PRINTER,” arc, ETC.

CHAPTER XI.
THE CONFIDENCE IAN.

He looked rouna him to see whether any one was
watchin him, and found that the policeman was
right. ore than one lance was resting on him,
and the way in which al the gazers averted their
eyes showed the youn man they did not want him
to know they were 100 mg.

Job was naturally quick-witted, and the sight
roused memories in his mind of storieshehad heard,
of snares spread before countrymen, in the city.

Immediately he became alarmed for the safety of
his personal property, and caught up his grip-sack
with a defiant look round him, as much as to warn
any one against trying to play any tricks on him.
So much was he exercised, that he rose and left the
park, with the impression that some one was follow-
ing him.

t was not till he had got some distance away, that
he realized that he was alone in the great world, and
that no One cared whether he lived or died. Then he
began his wear tramp again, to look for employ-
ment, with no i ea where he was going.

He wandered up Broadway vaguely, and walked
for more than a mile, without the slightest idea of
the locality he was in, when he 'was tapped on the
shoulder by some one who said:

“ Excuse me, Mr. Toppington; but I am sure that
must be you.”

Job looked round, and saw a handsome youn"
man, dressed with the best possible taste, who held
out his hand with a smile, and‘appe‘ared to be very
glad to see him. .

“My name is not To pington,” said Job, stiffly.
“ I don’t know you at at , sir.” ,

The young man seemed much surprised. for he

drew back saying:
“Is it vpossible that I can have made such a mis-
take? hy, I could have sworn that you were
Erastus Toppin on, from the town of Piermont. I
apologize most eartily, sir, for in error. But the
likeness is most extraordinary. n my soul it is.
Excuse me. sir. I am very much interested in Mr.
Toppington. He is an Old friend of mine. You surely
must be a relative of his, from the likeness. May I
ask if you are. not from Piermont? My name is
Charles Freligh, and my father is president of the
bank there. )Oii't you know him?’ ‘

There was something in the face of' the stranger
that disarmed the first suspicions of Job Manley,
and it was with less stiffness that he answered:

“ I don’t come from Piermont at all, sir. I come
from Sand Flats, and my name is Manley. I never
heard Of Mr. Toppiugton, or Of your father either.”

The courteous stranger backed away from him
With a bow and the lift of his hat which told Job
that he was aman of the world.

“I am sure I beg your pardon. You mtist excuse
me for being deceived by the resemblance. Good-
da ', sir.”

job pursued his way up the street, with. his grip-
sack in his hand, and a sense in his heart that he
must be a better-looking man than he had given him-
self credit‘f‘or. No one dislikes to be accosted as an
old friend by the son of a bank president, even if it
is all a mistake, and Job felt his heart lighter.

The very next block he almost ran up against
another young man, in equally fine clothes, who
held out his hand with the remark:

"Why, Job Manley, where in the world did you
%€op from? And how are all the folks at Sand

ats?’

Job stared at. his in terlocutor with the question:

~‘ Why, sir, who are you? I never saw you before
in all my life.” ‘ ,

The stranger had got hold of his hand, and was
shaking it with all the heartiness that he could mus-
ter u , as be repeated:

“ ot know me! Why, man alive, I used to go to
schpol with you._ Don’t you remember little Joe
St es? ’ ‘

ob looked hard at him, and said, dryly:

“ No, I don’t I neVer did. It was Tom I know.”

He had no idea that the other was a confidence
man. but there was something in the face of his
second interlocutor that aroused his suspicious; and
the suspicion was turned to a certainty as the other
sudden y turned pale, and looked at something be-
hind Job.

Job wheeled round and saw a policeman coming
toward them, with the look of a man in authority
on his face. Then he turned again to the stranger,
and found that in the interval, short as it was, the
well dressed young man had disappeared.

Then for the first time it flashed on him that he
was being played With, and he went up to the po-
liceman and asked him:

“ If you please, can you tell me who that man Was
who just spoke to me? I don’t know him, but he
called me by name.”

The man of buttons looked him over from head to
foot. and solemnly said:

“ Well, you are green. That was Hungry Joe, the
best confidence man in the city See here, young
feller, don’t you go to talking to every man you
meet, unless you want to lose all you’ve ot in that
grip-sack of yourn. Where do ye come rom, any-
wziy, and what are ye doin’ here?”

is tone was demdedly cold and unsympathetic,
but Job said, without any hesitation:

“ I am a carriage-worker, looking for work in the
city. I don‘t seem to know where. the places are,
Cgln’t (you direct me, please? I should be very much
0 ige .”

For a wonder he had hit upon the right thing to do
in his innocence. The policeman was the only man
whom he could have applied to with the certainty
of being treated with honesty.

The policeman eyed him in the same unsympa-
thetic and rather scornful way, but answered him
directly:

“Carriage-worker, are ye? Why don’t ye look in
the D’rect ry fur what ye want? They’re in every
drugstore.”

Job was uzzled; for he had never been out of
Sand Flats in his life, and had not the least idea Of
the convenienCes of the city.

He asked a few more questions. and the police-
man, seeing that he was really what he seemed, told
him a good deal that was of value to the oung man
in his after-life in the city, and concluded, by taking
him into a store and showing him how to find the
places he wanted to look for. When Job finally went
out of the store he had made more than one friend
by his open way of acknowledging his ignorance,
and he had a list of addresses in his pocket that bid
fair to make his path in life more easy than it had
been so far.

He started at once for the factory to which he had
been recommended to applypand had not got very
far when he saw the identical young man who had
hailed him by name coming up again. This time
Job was not so verdant‘as before, and he waited an
the strah ,er accosted him with the same pretense of
knowing im. when he retorted:

“Look here, my friend, I know who you are now_
You’re Hungry Joe. and I don’t want an thing to
do with you. Keep out of my way or it Will be the
worse for you.”

Hungry Joe glared at him for a moment, and then
replied, with a sarcastic emphasis about which there
was no mistake:

“ Oho, country. so you’ve found out a lot. haven‘t
ye? You’d better go back to Sand Flats and get
yer eye-teeth cut before ye go round the citv any
more. I’ll be. even with e yet; see if I don‘t.
You‘re a healthy pill to cal a man out of his name.
I’d have you know I’m no Hungry Joe, and if you
call me any such a thing, I’ll have‘to take the hide ofl
you. D’ye hear? Say!’

And as he spoke he raised a cane that he carried
in his hand, and shook it at Job, for they were in a
side street, where the confidence-man thought he
would have a chance to do a little bullying.
Moreover, Job saw that two of the comrades of

 

 

the stranger had come up, near by, and were sneak-
in toward him in a menacing manner. _

The young man, for the first time smce he had
been in the city, began to feel afraid, and to remem-
ber what his mother had told him of the footpads
that infested it. He was all alone, and the three
thieves were coming up to inclose him, where he
would have no chance to escape. The fact was, they
thought there might be something in the bag wort
stealing, and they saw Job was as green as grass.
But. gi een as he was, Job had learned something
from Axel, in the da 3 when the young Swede had
been in Sand Flats, t at was to stand him in good
stead now that he needed it.

He saw he would have to fight for his property,
and he thought it- might be for his life. In a mo-
ment he had taken the initiative with his first as-
sailant.

He was close to Hungry Joe, who had only shaken
the stick at him with the idea of frightening the
young countryman, and not with any purpose of as-
saulting him, till his friends came up.

With a quick motion that he had learned from
Axel, Job snatched at the cane, which was of the,
loaded kind, that is the most dangerous, and had it
under his arm Then, with a wrench that told of his
strength and skill, he tore it out of the crook 8
hand, and in a moment more had leaped back to
defend himself, throwing his bag on the ground at
his back.

Hungry Joe. started nervously, and was about to
run, when Job made a crack at him which caught
him on the temple and laid the crook on his back in
a trice. Then he started toward the others. and saw
them turn to flee. Forgetting his bag and every-
thing else in the excitement of the contest, and
thinking he had them foul,Job ran after the foremost
of his foes, and chased him down the block and round
the corner. Then it flashed on his mind that he had
left his bag behind him, and he turned to run after
it again. To his surpiise, the man he thought he
had stunned was running like a lamp-1i hter down
the street, and he had the bag in his han .

With a sense that he had been fooled at last, Job
set out in hot pursuit, and soon found that he was
gaining on the thief.

 

F0 UR TH STEP.

CHAPTER XII.
comma ms EYE-TEETH.

AWAY went Job and the crock at full speed, with
the advantage on the side of dishonesty that Job
had got, without knowing it, into a quarter of the
cit where every step he took was in the direction
of is foes and the friends of the thief.

He had been on his way to a facto near the
North River, and his path had led him 0 the track
of vehicles and cars, and into the neighborhood of
the up-town docks. _

The crook ahead of him knew this, and was acting
on that knowledge. He found that Job, with his
country training, was running him down fast. and
that he would be likely to catch him before long.
He began to open the sachel as he ran, and scatter
the contents on the ground as he went, to tempt
Job to stop and pick t cm 113. There was not much
in the bag, as the thief foun out before long.

A suit of working clothes, and a spare shirt or
two, was all that he found to reward his search; for
Job had not brought much with him.

But the sight of his property. scattered on the
street, which would have tempted some men to
'stop, had the very opposite effect on Job , for it ir-
ritated him beyond measure, and made him more
anxious to catch the thief and avenge his loss than
to save that which was hardly worth saving. The
sight of his shabby wardrobe even made him blush,
for it brought to mind how poor he was.

He ran on more rapidly than ever. and gained on
the thief, so that be was almost on the heels of the
latter, when Hungry Joe dodged and took a fresh
start in another direction.

Job darted after him and overtook him at last,
when the thief threw the carpet-bag at- his head,
and tried to run away again. He had found, when
it was too late. that the ba was not worth stealin .
Job, full of anger, caught im as he turned, and in
a moment more was rollin on the ground, on top
of the crook, who had only een shamming when he
fell before under the blow of his own cane. Now
he was fighting for all he was worth. and had not
Job been a skillful fighter. thanks to the instruc-
tions of Axel, which he had not forgotten, he might
have fared badly, for the crook was an Old hand at
all sorts of tricks.

Job was far the strongest. however, and soon had
his antagonist down on his back. when he. proceeded
to hammer his countenance into a jelly, till the
crook roared for mercy. The hot temper of the
youn count man was fully aroused, and he Went
on ti the at or once more shammed dead to es-
cape: when Job let up on him, and rising from the
ground, saw that he was alone again in the street.

His enemies. the crooks, seeing they had made a
mistake, and that the countryman was a tough cus-
tomer, without any plunder worth taking, aban-
doned their comrade to his beating, with a cheerful
unanimity characteristic of the class to which they
belonged: and that was the reason that Job had not
been Set on and beaten long before by the roughs
that infested that very locality. Such was the luck
that seemed to accompany him, though he did not
know it at the time. '

Job Manley rose from the pavement, where he
had left the crock. and began to pick up his things
as he went back along the street, till he had turned
the corner. 1 '

His late foe, waiting till the young countryman

From thence he was led to a larger room, the
whole size of the building, in whicha number of men
were at work. and the foreman, as he thou ht him
tokbe took Job to a forge at the end, w en he
as e :

“ Can you forge clips?”

Job nodded,and the man pointed out a pile of
small pieces of iron, on the ground by the forge, and
told him: ’

“ GO to work at once then and let’s see what you
can do. If you 'are up to t e work, you can have
steady enip oyment. Here is the pattern. See. how
man you can make before the shop shuts up."

JO took his working-clothes out of his bag with—
out another word, and set to work at the pile of
half-finished forgings with such alacrity that, before
long, he had made quite decent progress He found
the work easy, after the various things he had been
in the habit of makingr in the country shop, for the
forging was half done by machinery and all he had
to do was to finish up the pieces, already roughed
out for him. The man who had set him to work
went away but came, in about half an hour later,
and took a look at the clips made by the new band,
when he said, with an expression Of great satisfac-
tion:

“ You do good work, young man. I came. from the
country myself. and I think we shall always get the
bzst work from there. Now let us see whether you
c n do anylarge work. Did you ever set tires?"
“Yes, Sir,” was the quiet reply.

“ Then come over here and try what you can do.
Don‘t let any of the Union men play tricks on
on.”

He took Job to another forge, where a pile of rib-
bons Of steel, cut to the length for the tire of a
wheel, lay on the ground, and the young man set to
work again.

This time he was left alone much longer than be-
fore, and his work was even better done. When his
em loyer came back again he said to Job:

‘ ou‘ll do, I think. Come into the office, and
give me your name, and you can go to work regu-
larl to-morrow.”
hen Job went out Of the building that evening,
he learned that he had been talking to the proprietor
himself, and he had a permanent engagement.

CHAPTER XIII.
Jon's FOURTH s'rmr.
WHEN Job Manley went back to the factory, next
morning, he felt as if his fortune was made at once.
He had all the elasticity of youth and his luck had
been very good, as it had turned out.

He had found work in his very first day in the city
when better men than he had been compelled to
hunt about for weeks. and see no chance.

He had had no trouble about a boardin —house;
for he had come to the city with a letter rom his
mother, to an old friend of hers who lived in the
Ninth Ward, and who ke t boarders.

Mrs. Hunt had original y come from the town of
Oxlip, not far from Sand Flats, and had been very
proud when a city man had married her. All her
neighbors had envied her, when they heard she was
“going to the city to live,” and had pictured her as
residing in a brown-stone front, with a dozen ser-
vants, till they found out, after a few years, that
she was only t e wife Of a drunken tailor, who had
come to Sand Flats on a summer vacation, being a
cutter in 500d pay, but diSsi ated to a degree that
compelle his wife. in the t iird year of their mar-
riage, to keep boarders in order to support herself.
Mrs. Manley had been one of the few friends who
had been favored with the lady’s confidence and she
had sent her son to Mrs. Hunt with the belief that
he would be treated there with the same consider-
tion that would be shown to a relative.

This was so far true. that Mrs. Hunt s onged on
her relatives all she could, and found Oh it very
convenient addition to her stock of people, from
whom money could be borrowed at odd times.

He had not been in the house for three hours,
after he had been accepted for a boarder, before
the Old lady was up in his room, trying to get him to
give her a week’s board in advance; and when she
got that, she confided all her trouble to Job, and told

im of the. "fine home she had left in Oxlip,” and
the “number of horses that her father had.‘ and of
the “ great change in her prospects, since Tom had
taken to drink.”

Before Job could get to bed that night. he had heard
the whole history of Tom‘s cnormities, and come
to the conclusion that. the husband of his liOstess
must be a fiend incarnate.

Mrs. Hunt had one. good, and many bad traits as a
landlady.

She was very kind-hearted, and tried all she could
to make her guests cmnfortuble; but she was an ill—
corrigible slattcrn, and bad a way of puttingoll' her
work to the, last moment that it could be done, with
or without safety.

She had a cheerful peculiarity of never beginning
ber week’s scrubbing till about ten o’clock on Sutur-
day night. and the work very often went on into
Sunday morning, with the. remark, on the part of
Mrs Hunt, if any one asked her “ why she worked
on Sunday " that it was a “ work of necessity and
therefore cxeusable.”

This peculiarity was the more strange, because
she was a very ardent Baptist and always at the
Thursday evening prayer meelings, while she talked
religion at all times and seasons.

However. her peculiarities had not yet fully de-
veloped to Job, when he went to the. factory, the
morning after his arrival, and was about entering
the place, when he was accosted by one of his fellow-
workmen, whom he had not noticed the day before,
who called to him, as be was ascending the steps:

t“ Hey, young fellei', I want to speak to you a initi-
u e.’

 

 

had got out r f sight, crawled away with a sad story
to tell his friends of the “liard-fisted 'Okel ” he had
caught, and how the thing had turne out to be verv
different to what he had expected. "

As for Job, he was not iii the most cheerful mood.
for the scatterment of his worldly goods had chafed
him considerably, and the crock, in the course of
the flight, had managed to bite one Of his fingers se-
vere y.

Therefore he was not very much elated by the
success of his encounter. Moreover, he had lost
some things out of the ba that made him feel
badly. One was a portrait O Cora Beath, that she
had given him when she went away, at his earnest
and bashful request; the other a ribbon he had
stolen from her hair at a time when she did not
know that any one had enough interest» to think
about her. He hunted for these little relics in vain.
and was about to give up the Search, when he found
himself Opposite to a large building, which revealed
itself to him as the object of his search in the
words. across the whole front:

“ CARRIAGE FACTORY. ”

He had found the place he was looking for, and
found it by accident when he was not expecting it.

Atthe door of the factory stood a man who was
looking at him curiously. and the man had something
in his hand that Job saw was the portrait he was
hunting for.

In a moment he was up the steps and saying to
the man‘

_t :‘,That picture is mine, sir. I have but just lost
1 .

He took a good look at the man as he spoke, and
saw that he was of middle-age, and had the appear-
ance of a respectable mechanic or foreman. This
man handed him the picture, Willi the dry remark:

“If it is yours, I should recommend you to take
better care of it for the future. Isaw it lying on
the Side-walk, 'ust now, and it might have been
picked up by a ess honest man.”

Job thrust the picture into his bosom, and said to
the other, in a tone that shode his gratitude:

“Thank you, sir. I was robbed of it by a thief
who snatched it and ran. It is the portrait of an old
friend.”

The man looked at him from head to foot, with n.
scrutiny that showed how Job’s language astonished
himfiplnd staid:

“ iere 0 on come from am ' -
mg in New mekyq , I what are you do

It was the second time that Job had been asked
the question that day. and the tone of the speaker
was that of the same keen and half-sarcastic query
that had ofl’eiided him in the policeman, though he
had not showed it. But be controlled his rising irri-
tat‘ion, and answered the other with politeness:

I am a carriage-worker, looking for work. Are
you the foreman of this sho ‘2"

The man nodded and continued:

A carriage worker, do you say? A wheelwright.
I suppose you mean? You had better go back to
the country. 1 on won‘t get much to do here. The.
machines have driven hand-labor out of the field.”

.‘I‘ob looked up at him to reply:

I don‘t mean any such thing. I mean that I am
a generalman at all sorts of work. I can set a tire,
or forge it. I can set up a wheel or make a spoke.
I can_put in a. hub, or make one. I can do anything
Egatnis done in your shop, and I want a chance to

The man looked at him more kindly than he had
done before, and asked Job:

“ Where have you worked f”

Job colored deeply. He had had enough to do
With mentioning Sand Flats; but there was no es-
capi‘, so léeSaid: t d h

‘ wor e at my ra e wit Nathan Macka .
Sand Flats, and he does all the work for Highs:
Kortlandt. He used to be in Brewer’s, and set up
for himself."

Thestranger nodded again, and said to the young
man. in an abrupt way:

“ Hem—want a man like you. if you can do what
you say; but that IS the question. Come into the
shop with me. I‘ll give you a chance.”

Job, with a wildly beating heart, though he was
outwardly calm, fol owed his new friend to a long
wareroom, where there were a number of carria es
and wagons standing in all the glory of new varnish

 

and brass-work.

Job came, down readily enough, for it was vet
early, at (1 found that the man who had spoken" to
him was one of a group, who began to collect as soon
as became toward them. There were five men in
the group, and the spoke snian was a grizzled man
of medium sizr, who had a curious smile on his face
as he asked Job:

“ Where do you come from?”

Job, mistaking the question for a sneer at Sand
Flats, colored and replied sharply:

“Just as good a place as y( ii did. Who are you?”

I-Iis questioner looked round at the, group, who
were all looking at Job as if he were a curious ani—
mal, and gave n. (by sniff as be answered:

“ \\ ho am 1? Well, you’ll find out fast enough, if
you don’t mend your manners l‘iii the Deputy
Grand Workman of this district, I am, and you
haven’t joined the Order yet.”

“Order! what Order?” asked Joli, bewildered.
“ What are you talking about? 1 come from Sand
Flats, and I want to be. left alone. If any of you
men want to make a fight with me, you’d better
look out; for I am not the man to be imposed on, I
can tell you.”

Job hail not got over his peppery tem icr yet, and
the glances of the men Were so hostile t lat he nat-
urally thought they wanted him to fight.

The “Deputy Grand Workman,” as he had called
himself, shook his head as he. replied:

“This ain’t no question of fightin', young feller.
You can‘t fight a hull gang, when they say you
sha’n‘t work till you j‘ine. the Order. We‘re the
men what looks out fur the rights of the workman,
and we don’t allow no scabs to come in here, a-lak.
in’ away the work of better men.”

Job, not yet. understanding the man. turned to the
others and cried out:

“ What dOes all this mean? I come here from the
country to get work, the same. as the rest of you.
What have I done that you object to?”

Not a man of those he looked at answered a word;
but one and all looked away from him, as if he had
not spoken to them:

{fihe man who had first spoken continued plu-
Cl

" {lounce ain’t no use, young fellcr, and on might
as well know it, fust as last. We‘re. all niou men
in this shop. and we don’t let no others come in.
You‘ve got to j‘inc the Union, or you can’t work fur
this shop."

Job looked round him at. the slolid faces of the men
who would not look him in the eye. and saw that
there was something in it which he did not under.
stand. It looked to hiiil, however, as if some one
was trying to dictate to him, and this roused his
anger.

He turned on the man who had first spoken and
asked:

“ What is your name?”

“ My name is Stevo Knapp, and If you want to
stay in this Sill p, you‘d better remember it, vouiig
feller,” was the reply in a tone that was decidedly
menacing. “ I’Ve sou-n your country roosters come
in and got their combs out in this city. I’ll give you
till dinner time to settle; and if you hain’t‘donc it
then. look out fur squalls.”

lie was turning away, when Job asked:

‘_‘Tell me What you mean by settling. I don’t
qiiite. understand.”

He sztw that there was something behind all this
that might. be dangerous, and he wanted to know
what it was

Knap ) curled his lip and replied:

:‘ We! . since you‘re so darned green, I‘ll tell on.
It ll jest cost you ten dollars to work in this s top,
and till the mone 's paid you‘ll have no leace."

_“ But who am to ay the money to?‘ asked Job.
still more bewildere( . “I‘m a stranger here, and I
haven’t got but fifteen dollars to my name. Why
should I pay any monev to you?”

Knapp seemed. for t e first time, to realize that
the. boy was reall green, and he. said, with more
politeness than behad hitherto shown:

“ We ain’t hogs. we ain‘t; and we only want to pur-
tect ourselves. We all belong to the. Union, and the
bOss took '01] in to spite us. We won‘t allow it.
Either on ve got to become one Of us, or you've got
to go e where. That‘s fiat."

So saying, he turned his back on Job, and his be-
havior seemed to be a signal to the rest, for they
followed his example. and went up the steps to
work. as the. bell tolled out its summons.

 

Job went to his forge in a thoughtful mood, and

 

 

 

 

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found that everything went on with the same

 

 

smoothness as the day before. till it came to dinner-
time, He had a large job of forging on hand for
the attcrnoon, and had made up his tire, with the
intention of getting it hot. by the. time he, had tin-
ished his dinner. which he look by the forge.

Mrs. lliiiil was very liberal with her lunches, and
the young man had almost forgotten the episode of
the morning, when it was recalled to his mind by
the approach of Knapp, with a number of men who
stood by the forge, as Knapp asked him in a loud
tone:

“ Well, country. what have ye, made up yer mind
to do? Air ye with us or ag‘in’ us?”

Job looked up. and found that every face in the
room was turned on his own, and that there was a
look of decided menace in the eyes of all the men,
that told him they were united against him.

The epithet. “ country ” irritated him, and he rose
up to answer:

“ What do you want with me? If it is money, I
won’t give it till it‘s asked for civilly. I never
worked in a shoplike this before; and I don’t under-
stand your ways. if you mean to threaten me, you
are a pack of cowards to pitch on one man like this.
I don‘t pay a. cent. under com mlsion."

lle had expected an immediate explosion; but the
result disappointed him agreeably. Knapp only
nodded without speaking, and the whole assom~
blago dispersed.

Job finished his dinner in peace, and went to work
again at his forging, beginning b heating u ) his tire
to the full blast, on account of t ie size of ilic piece
which he was to Weld together.

As be u as getting the. last heat on the fire, he was
called away for a moment by one of the helpers,
who wanted to ask a ( nestion; and, as he came
back, he saw Knapp wa king away from his forge,
as if he had passed by it to take a look.

He thought nothing of it till long afterward, for
his attention was concentrated on making a good
job of the forging he was engaged on. It was a
combination of several pieces, to go under an En-
glish or llodininton break, and had more than one
horn, made separate, the whole to be welded to-
getlici‘.

lIis tire looked splendid, and he got out the. first
a :d second pieces and began to hammer them, as
hard as he could, while they glowed with the fervent
heat.

llut, to his surprise, the fire seemed not. to have
been hot enough. At all events, the two pieces
would not join. lIc heated and heated, ham»
mered and hammered: but. every time he put the
least strain on the joint, it slipped off as if it had
been gr h‘lSt‘tl.

Noi suspecting anything wrong in the fire, be ex—
amined the iron cio~cly, and found no trace of any—
thing that looked lik-- bad stuff. Again he plunged
it into the tire. and went on heating and hammering
till he had worked in this way for nearly two hours,
and the afternoon was almost spent.

Such a thing had never happened to him in all his
life, and. to add to his discomfiture, as he looked up
from his task. occasionally, he caught the glances
of the workmen round the room, bent on him with
a malice that showed how they enjoyed his trouble.

He heard one of them say to the other, so that he
could listen:

“ Country don’t seem to know what’s the matter.
Jim, does he?"

Jim snickcred and replied:

“ He‘s a bloomin’ snoozer. to come from Sand
Flats to teach us. ain’t he? He can’t do the work
here lie don’t know enough.”

Finally .1 ob,at’ter a barn struggle, gave up and went
into the oil‘icc, where sat Mr. Stovcr, his employer,
and asked:

“ Can] say a word to you, sir?”

Stovcr, who was a busy man, looked up absently,
and nodded:

“ I think I ought not to stay in this shop any more,
sir,” begun Job, in a tone that showed how angry
and ashamed he was “ I thought I knew all about
my trade, and here I find Icau‘t. forge a piece of
iron. to save my life. I’ve tried and tried, all the
afternoon, and I’ve only burned the iron and spoiled
the piece."

A slow smile broke. over the face of his employer,
as he asked:

“ is there anything the matter with your fire?
lluveyou looke'l?”

“I can‘t tlnd anything with that, sir.
bright enough."

Stovei' Hllllll'l again and asked him:

“ Im you remember what i told you yesterday,
Manley 2’"

Job stared at. him.

“ No, sir. Did you say anything special?”

“I told you not to let the Union men play any
tricksoii \oii. 'l‘liey‘ve coppereil your tire; that's
“H, You can't douiiylliing with it till you‘vecleared
it all out and n-uile a. new one. The quicker you do
it, the sooner you will find out what is the matter.
Have they been at you to join their Union?"

" Yes, sir.“

“ And did you join it?"

“ No, sir. I told them i was not going to be forced
into doing anything that i did not. choose.”

“Then that’s why they coppercd your fire.”

It burns

 

CHAPTER XlV.
om; AGAINST ALL.

Foii a moment Job was too much astonished to
answer; but then he asked:

“ And how did they do it. sir, if you know their
tricks? I understand fair work, but I never saw
such a trick as that before.”

Stover laughed at his look of. dismay and answer-
ed him kindly: .

“ Go back and make your fire over again. Dump

 

it out everything you have. _l)on’t_ '1ch a coal. re-
main. All they used was a little piece Of tinfotl or

a scrap of lead, or, what is still better, some cop )er
filings from the finishers. Some one dropped t at;
into your forge while, you were. not looking Tue
heat of the forge volut ilizcd the copper orlcad,wluch-
cverit was, and you will find, on the two faces of
your forging, when they are. cold, a thin film of a
coppel'y gleam .vhich has made. all the trouble. You
must make a fresh fire, or you Will never get over
the difficulty. Did you see any one near your fire?
If you can fix it on any man‘in the place, I Wlll send
him packing. I am not gonig to be ruled by these.
Union men. I run my own factory, orI know the
reason why.”

Job considered and replied:

“ There was oan one. man near it; that I saw, and
that: was Steve Knapp. who told me he was the
Deputy Gi and Workinzin of sonic Order that; he
wanted me to join.”

Stoverlistened to him quietly and asked:

“ A re you quite sure that he, said that to you?”

“Certainly, sir. He wanted me to pay him ten
dollars. it must be lie, for no one else was near the
forge. and he had no business‘ there.” _

Stover listened to him as he -~poke,and his face
wore a look of some. triumph as he said:

“ You have done more than you think to—day,
young man. You have unmasked a man who has
ilone inc agi-eat deal of mischief.  have run my
own shop my own way,till these Union fellows have
come ill to dictate to me whom I shall take and
whoml shall not. it! has got to stop.”

He touched a spring»bell,and told the porterto
send in Knapp, who came, looking rather pale, but
defiant: . '

Stovcr facml round on him, and asked him, pOint-

l- nk:
b :1. Knapp, why did you copper this man’s tire?”

Knapp pretended to be very much surprised and
asked in turn: _ I m

“ lioes he say ] eoppcred his tire, Sll‘? _

“ No, he don’t. He‘s not up to your tricks yet. _ I
say youdid it, and I say that,if it happens again,
you Ieavo the shop.” I

The boss‘s tone was hard and cold, and them was
a gleam in his eye that .t'Vitlt‘lllly had its effect on
Knapp, for he said nothing in reply except.

“ I' don’t know notheii about it, sir.

“ You lie, you do; and I know. that you are the
man who stirs up all the strife in my placq. You
fellows who call yourselves ‘lords ot labor are a

tick of frauds. and l. have. resolved to defy you. It

hear of any more lieilevilincnt of this, young inan,

on all go out of the shop. [don I care if it
)rcaks up the business. I’m getting old, and don t
care about. making any more money than I have. I
would just as soon shut up the shop to—morrow; and
I’ll do it. if you force me. \\ e are not in, the old
country now, where you came from, With their
Unions and outrages, and all that sort; of thing. i It
you want to go back there, you can do it; but if you
stay in this country, you have. got to follow Alllell:
can methods. “71-. don’t believe in this sort of
thing; and when I served mytime there weie no
Unions or strikes, and the workmen were better:
satisfied than theyan now. Youlgii back to youi

‘ -* I ( cave t. iis young man a o ie.
 ‘ii‘zlulllexpected to hear a ferocious outbreak
from Knapp, on this scolding: but, to. his suipiise,

- r i ‘ 'v ’ 'l' mu ” was silent and sub-
thc ‘Depiill (.iiandfiVoi in .
inissive, and only said as he went out. I '_ _ H

‘ i don’t want to hurt any young man. su. v _ N

Then Stovcr gave .Job an outline of'tlic variouii
tricksthat prevail in the shops where it is (llCSllit)
to drch out an objectionable man: so'that,..iy { tit
time Job i‘eiiil‘lietl to his] foi‘ge._ln; ill'alfilllcconcllet o

rnin‘r out. his fire ant. )eginnnig z :11 .
tult was along job; but he persevered,land lgfiflltlhs
happiness of finishing his forging; “I,” ‘15?“ if ml
any more tricks that day, so that it “as potting c .

bv the time the shop shut up, and Job w en ome,

" u of his victory. , v

Infiull he was destined to find out the ciiillllvl/ Ofdthe
men who wore after him. though they did‘not are;
to show it in the shop. As he turned the (1119119:
the street where the shop was SliUit’lt’ft-, rights;
startled by the sound of something whizzint, _ yhed
head, and the next moment a. large stone mils his
on the avement, the splinters d‘?.Sl).ng‘ul) llllothat
face, w file the direction of the missuc show e(

t
i

3 it had been dropped from above.

 

He looked up,
and saw that he was under a house at the corner,
and that a man's head was peeping over the cor-
nice. Before he could get~out of the way, there
came a black dot in the air, and down came another
stone from the top of the house, sent with deadliest
intent; for it passed within an inch of his body as
he started back and escaped it. ’

For one moment he was tempted to retaliate, but
the next he saw that the odds were too great. A
St'Ol‘O of heads Wel‘t‘ over the top of the house, and a
shower of the same missiles came whizzing down at
him. The. young man turned and ran like a deer
down the street, and remembered that he had heard
that a number of the. men of the factory lived in the
houses at the corner, which were of the kind known
as “barracks " Or “ tenement-houses.”

lie 'was struck several times by fragments, but
not With a piece of any great size, and managed to
is'pefdily get out of the dangerous vicinity with whole

iin )8.

‘As he went home to his boarding-house, be blessed
his stats that he had not enga red his living-place
anywhere near the factory, for it was clearly not a
pleasant place for a man to live, if the people of the
tenement-house disliked him.

He got home that. night; without further accident
and returned to the shop next day, at the usual
hour. when he was met by the same group as had
{net him the day before, and Knapp at once said to
uni:

"Well, are ye. ready to 've. in yet? Ye’ll find
that the boss can’t save ye, if I“? want ye. Jine the
Order, and we Won’t hurt ye. Kee ) on as ye are,
and some fine day ye’ll find out t iat ye ain’t so
smart as ye think. Better to lose ten dollars than
to git one’s eyes put out.”

Job Manleys blood was up now; and his success
the night be ore had rendered him reckless, so that
he pushed his fist in Knapp's face, and shook it un-
der the other’s nose, crying out:

“ That for you and your threats; and the first
time I catch you alone I’ll give you the best whip—
ping you ever got. Do you hear, you old thief? I’ni
the man that can do it, and if you doubt it try it on
now.

The face of the leader Of the gang turned deadly
pale and he seemed undecided what to do, when a
large. man, who had hitherto remained in the back-
ground, stood out and said to Job:

“ llc ain’t able for you, but I am. If you kin beat
me, I’ll see the boys don't pick on ye no more. Will
ye do it this evening?”

Job turned on him with the question:

“ Will you show me fair play if I do? or are you
one of the gang of cowards that threw stones from
the top of a house last night?”

'lgle big man shook his head, and one of the men
sai :

“No, no, young fcller, them was Knap ‘5 gang.
Bill Kostcr don’t do notlien Of that biz. I he says
he’ll fight; ye fair, he’ll do it.”

pr looked at the big man attentively, and at last
salt :

" I don’t want to fight. I haven’t fought fora. lOng
time, and the last time I got licked. But: if you’ll
let me alone after I’ve whipped you, I’ll do my best.”

The big man laughed, and replied:

" You’re a. rooster from Roosterville. you are,
young fellei', but you’ll get your comb out to-night.
See if ye don‘t.”

(To be continued—commenced in N . 74.)

 

 't '

BY HEIAD.

 

Now I wonder, Oh, I wonder
If, on this fair earth there’s one
‘Vho can say—and speak it truly—
I‘m content. and all’s well done.

As for me—ah, well! what matter
If my life may not be bright;
. If I may be always striving-—
Failing—striving to do right.

Tlio’ my heart is ever yearning
After what it never finds;

Tlivi’ I meet with disappointments,
And with gricfs of many kinds:

No one, knows, for I am smiling,
And my outward life is guy,

But within, still there’s a longing
Nothing satisfies today

And I see upon the faces
Met along the path of life,

Foot prints of the same old struggle,
War with Nature: constant strife.

And i wonder why it is so:
\Vhy we cannot be content;

Why not wait with greater patience
Till " the vail in twain be rent.”

 

Bullion Brei;

The Giant Grip of Git-Thar.

A Tale 01 Silverland.

 

BY E. L. WHEELER,

AUTHOR OF “DEADWOOD DICK,” “SEALSKIN SAM,”
ETc., ETC., ETC.

 

CHAPTER XV.
EXIT SILVERsanl

JUST at dusk, that evening, Bill Tobias lay upon
the rude bed in his shanty, groaning and cursing.
His broken ribs Were again out of place, through his
at tempt to reach his whisky-j ug that had been push—
ed under the bed. .

His shanty was isolated, making it ll’IlpOSSlble for
his (31‘le to be licardumless some. one passed the place
hv chance; therefore. as he could make no one hear,
he had no other comfort than to groan and curse the
ill-luck that had bcfallen him.

The cabin was wrapped in deepest gloom, and be—
ing of a superstitious nature, Tobias started at eVery
sound and rather expected to be confronted by some
disembodied spirit. _

Accordingly, be fairly yelled, outright, when he
felt his weapons snatched from his belt and saw a.
figure towering above him. I

The next- iustant the slide was shot upon the Side
of a dark-lantern, and 0. stream of light lit up the
scene. N m .

Tobias utt .‘l‘Cd a growl as he saw Suke Silversmith
standing before him. -

“ What d’ye want?” he gritted.

“ You may guess!” the road-agent laughed.
“What are men of my reputation generally prowl-
ing around after?" ”

“ Robbery and murder, cuss ye! ,

“Hit the. nail precisely on the head, Toby. _ I ve
come forihat. littie boodlc I left in your keeping——
five thousand do‘lai's !”

“ You caii’thave it. It’s mine!”

“ Not if the court knows herself. You didn’t do
yer job. The feller got: away, and I demand it all

, .k ,7 -
ba‘k‘ I won’t give it up, curse you!” retorted Tobias,
sullenly and viciously.

Silversmith eyed him a moment, savagely; then,
suddenly raising a revolver, he fired. 1

Instantly a crimson spot appeared u on tile forc-
hcad of the wretched man. and he fe 1 back ‘dcad;
not a struggle followed the shot. At once Silver-
smith hauled the body from the bed and searched
'l‘obias’s clothing. Finding nothing, be searched the
bed, but with no better result. '

He then ransacked the shanty in every part, but
failed to find the money or any trace of it,.until,
finally, he. chanced to lift up a loose board in the
HQI‘Iiere, beneath it, lay the rollbf bills. It was all
intact, as. he had given it to Tobias. “

“ Now then I‘m‘ solid!” he said. exultantly. .I
can afford to part with ten thousand dollars, were it
even onlv fora small interest in the Singleton mines.
But. besides that, I get a lovely woman, and one
who is priceless. In a secret iiiterView Ihad With
old Jamison. as he is .known, a few weeks ago. he
told me that. Sadie Singleton was the girl he had
once stolen from Sir Guy_ Montrevor. After we are
married, and everything is settled, how proud I shall
be to introduce my pre: ty bride to her-aristocratic
(la-duh. and receive his blessmg and an iiiVitatiOii to
llazlehurst Manor! Ha! ha! Sake SilYei-smith,
there's ll! ithing slow about you, is there? Y ou‘d bet-
ter fire this shanty, however, as some 0 the gnlpofs
o’ Git~'l‘har may want to preserve a little of Tobias 8

s o th ,ir )tlI‘ll)!‘ mam es.‘ I
dthe :oonestiirted a fire in such a manner that it
would take considerable time to get gomg With
much headway; thtill he leftlthe blame and betook

‘niself to the Sing cion rcsit ence.
hllle found the minepwner in the parlor, and alsoa
verv reverend-lookiiig gentleman; for, although Git-
Thar had no lawyer, a. minister had already l'icated
there to do What good he could at reforming Sln-

- rs. _ _
n(There was a look of impatience upon'Septimus

Singleton‘s face, but it; passed away as Silversmith
his a )earance.
magih! yolilve come at last, eh? I am glad. _I am
expecting Montrevor and the lawyer every minute.
Are you ready?” ”
“Quite. Is your daughter?

 

 

“'Yes. Sadie, dear!”

Sadie immediately entered from an adjoining;
room She was slightly pale, but otherwise appar-
ently composed.

*‘ lllr. Beaufort wants to know if you are ready?"

“I am ready!” Sadie replied, with forced calm-
ness.

"Then, Mr. Beaufort, upon receipt of the money
I Will bid the Reverend Mr. Spangler marry you!‘
Singleton said. »

“ Here are the ten thousand dollars.
all rights.”

Septimus Singleton counted the money over sev-
eral times, as if to make sure that it was all right.

“I find it correct, sir,” he said, at last. "Mr.
Spanglcr, you can marry the young people.”

At this moment the parlor door was fiung Open,
and Sir Guy Montrevor, all his suit, and lawyer
Smith, of Jimville, entered.

“Mr. Septimus Singleton," the baronet said pom-
pously, “ we are here!”

‘_‘ I see you are—so am I l" the mine-owner replied,
quite as coolly. “ I presume you have a little docu-
ment, which you want the money on?"

" Lawyer Smith holds a mortgage against your
pro erty, with orders to foreclose it i”

“ 'wyerSaiith, you will please name the amount
of. this claim against me!” the mine-owner said,
grimly.

“Interest and all. sir—just ten thousand, seven
hundred and ninety nine dollars, and ninety-two
cents, to date!” Smith replied.

“ Correct! Here is ten thousand dollars, and here
is the balance. Count it, and see that it is all right!”

A smothered imprecation escaped Sir Guy.

“ Where did you get this money, Singleton?” he
demanded, pale with excitement and rage.

“ None of your business. Your claim is paid.
It matters not to you from what source I got the
amount.”

“ Well, maybe not. Be sure it is all right, Smith ”

“I find it correct, sir. Mr. Sin leton, here is your
mortgage. marked mid, and dc ‘vered in the pre-
sence of these pcop c.”

Singleton received the document and thrust it into
his pocket, while Sir Guy also took possession of the
money.

“ N 0w then,” spoke up Silversmith, “ let this mar-
riage ceremony take place.”

“ Not just yet, if you please, you road-agent
devil!” a ringing voice cried, and three persons
leaped simultaneously into the room and sprung to-
gether upon the scheming scoundrel—Silversmith.

Although he Struggled likeamadinan. the com-
bined strength of the three men bore him to the
floor, and he was securely bound in a twinkling.

The victorious trio then arose.

They were Bullion Bret, Lieutenant Langdon, and
old Uriah Knockcnistitf, who had appeared in the
very hight of his glory.

“ What is the ineaiiin Of this?” Septimus Single-
ton demanded, while t e others stood around in
wonderment.

“It means, sir!” Bret returned, sternly, “that
that young lady. whom you were about to sacrifice
for the money of this villain, is saved from the un-
enviable fate of marrying Silversmith, the road-
agcnt! I am Bullion Bret!”

Sadie staggered back with a horrified cry. Old
Knockemstifl‘ was stifling the capiive’s furious
curses by holding his hand over his mouth.

Every one seemed thunderstruck.

“ I shall have to have some positive assurance of
this!” Septimus Singleton said, coldly. “How do
we know but you are the road-agent ?”

“ I can set all doubts at rest in the matter!” Lieu-
tenant Langdon said, touching his hat, “for I am
Lieutenant Langdon. 0f the U. S cavalry, and I
know this young man well. He is Bullion Bret, os-
tensibly a speculator, but in reality a detective. and
is armed with papers for the arrest of the murder-
ous rufilan, Silversmith!”

He, failed to add that he had been the bearer of
such papers to Bret, as it might not be considered
wise under the existing circumstances.

“If this be true I am under deep obligations to
you, sir,” Singleton said, turning and offering his
hand to Bret. “I speak for both myself and my
daughter!’ ’

"You are weally the most deligh’fiil, aw, hero, I
evaw met!” exclaimed Sir August Reginald, who
was a blooming Speclnlen of an English dude. “Aw!
allow inc—shake, my man!”

“ Yas, shake—shake wi’ a real sir!” roared Knock-
cinstit’f, with a broad grin of anticipation.

With a profound bow Bullion Bret accepted the
dude‘s gloved hand.

The next minute Sir August was dancing up and
down, and yelling like mad.

“ Owl owl let go~ochcrs! ow! 0w! let go, ye
nawsty brute!” hc roared, wild with pain and ter-

See if it is

ror.

Bret let go, with a laugh.

" Why, what‘s the matter?” he queried. " Did you
never shake hands with a live man before?”

The dude did not reply.

He, had sunk upon a chair, and was nursing and
dolet'ully examining his hand.

Just then, as Silversmith had ceased cursing,
Kuockemstiif released his grip, and the bound vil-
lain was rai~ed to a sitting posture,

This was the road-agcni ’s chance.

“Ten million curses on you, Bret Beaufort!” he
cried, his face livid with rage—"curses on you all!
That girl is not yours Sep Singleton. Oh, no!”

The mine-owner turned pale.

Sadie had grown as white as a sheet.

“ She is not yours. I would not have tried the
game if she had been. You got her from the poor-
house, but she came of a good family, though. She’s
3—9?

At a. motion from Bret old Knockemstifl blockaded
the road-agent’s utterance.

“Let me explain!" the Giant Grip now spoke.
" Mr. Singleton, as I know all, are you willing to con-
fess that llliss Sadie is not of your own blood?”

“ No! she is not!” Singleton confessed, bowing his
head.

“ Oh! papa! papa! (10 not say that l” Sadie scream—
ed, throwing herself at his feet and uplifting her
hands, while tears streamed down her cheeks. “ Oh,
tell me itis false!”

“Be calm, dear lady,” Bret interposed, kindly.
“Mr. Singleton has been a father to you, and you
shall not be separated from him. Your own parents,
from whom you were stolen, when small, were poor
but highly honorable and respected, who have been
dead many yeai s.”

‘- Hov know you all this?” Singleton demanded.

“1 will explain, if you will allow me. I suppose
you all know that I am of English descent—from
down among the Berkshire hills; and you also
know that, years ago, there existed in England a
man kniwn as Chandos. the Child stealer?"

" Chundos, the Child-stealer!” cried Sir Guy.
" Speak. man, what know you of him?”

“Cliaudos, the. Child-stealer!” echoed the dude.
“ Did he. have, aw, a grip like you?”

“Be silent, if you expect me to explain,” Bret
commanded, authoritatively. “ If interrupted again
I snail refuse to speak. Chundos, the Child—stealer,
was my father’s brother, and a bad man. I do not
know how many children he ever stole, but I 'now
that he stole Miss Singleton. here, and also the
daughter of Sir Guv and Lady llIODtI‘eVOI‘. Miss
Singleton he placed in a poor-house: Sir Guy’s child
he brought to America. For good reasons I have
followed him and his son. To-n‘ighi, as the breath
was leaving his body, I found the very man. An us—
szissiii had struck him down, but ere he died he con-
IeSSPd to me, in the presence. of my two companions,
that Miss Singleton was of humble yet; most respect-
able parentage, whilc the young lady every one had
supposed to be his own daughter was really the
stolen child of Sir Guy and Lady Montrevorl"

“ What! my child living, and here in this camp?
Go! quick! fetch her! ,God be praised! Singleton,
old boy, put it there! Shake! you shall have every
cent of that money !”

And the baronct was fairly beside himself with
joy as he danced about. while, to add to the scene,
as became a lady of her station, Lady Montrevor,
who was of the party, had fainted in the dude’s
arms!

“Don’t work yourself into a quick consumption,
sir!” Bret said, addressing the Englishman. “ Your
daughter is alive and well, but at this moment is in
bad'hands. She has been captured by a man named
Primrose—a Mormon elder—n ho killed old Jeptha
Jamison. or Chandos. . s be really was. We must go
to her rescue; but first, Some arrangements con-
cerning my detestable cousin, here, the blooming
Silversmith. Mr. Singleton, I desire that the matter
of his capture. be kept quiet. and that he be held a
prisoner here in your house until the sheriff arrives
from Jimville If the mob gets wind of it, he won‘t
live an hour!”

“ Neither he will!” a gruff voice cried, and a burly
mine‘, heading a swxrin Of grim miners. marched
into the room. “ \Ve ve heerd 0’ ther hull thing from
the Chinese servant, and while we’re much obliged
to yer, Bullion Bret, fer what you‘ve did, an’ Sorry
fer our cold shoulder to’ard ye, we want that cuss,
an’ We‘re goin’ to hev him, of we hev to tear this
she-bang down over his head !”

Bret looked sharply owr the crowd. There
seemed half a hundred or more of them —all stern»
faced and merciless.

“Gentleman, if you are determined, of course I
am powerless to stop vou!” be said:_ “ but I beg of
you to let the law deal with this villain.”

“ Ther law kin hev what’s left of him after we git
through!"the man retorted. “The skunk had no
mercy on Hank Hoagland, an’ Hank war the
squargst boy as ever pulled a ribbon. Boys—Snatch
’im .’ ’

They did “ snatch him ” with avidity, and paying
no attention to his appeals for a fair trial, bore him
from the mansion.

In front of the Punch Bowl Hotel was a large tree
which had an outstretching limb, ten feet abOVe
ground, that seemed to have grown there purposely
for the needs of Judge Lynch.

To this Suke Silversmith was borne, placed upon

his feet, and the fatal noose adjusted about his
neck. He had ceased to hope for mercy, and his
face. wore an ugly expression of hate. and defiance.

“ hen the unnoosed end of the rope. was thrown
over the limb and Seized and drawn taut, as an inti-
IllatleIl of what was to follow, the. big miner, known
as Y‘azoo Bill, stepped forward.

Y“ Silversmith,” he. said, " we’re goin‘ to hang you.
Ixot for one thing, but; for many. You’ve robbed
stages. ain’t you?"

“Yes!” laconically.

“ And banks 5’"

(l  H

“Over a year ago ye dropped down at ther Punch
Bowl hyer, an: soaked us out 0’ our swag?”

A faint smile played about the doomed man’s
mouth.

“ Correct l" he responded.

“ You shot Hank Hoagland, cuss ye?”

“ Yes, and more than that, I killed Bill Tobias, too.
See! his shanty is on fire!”

He nodded in the direction whence a. glow of light
was beginning to reflect a ainst the sky !

“ Bovs! Up with him!” azoo Bill gritted.

We draw the curtain.

CHAPTER XVI.
CONCLUSION.

AT the Singleton residence, after the excitement
attending these events was somewhat subdued, Bul-
lion Bret began to arrange for oing to the rescue of
Virgie Jamison, and took Old iiockemstiff into his
counsel.

“ Thar ain’t no use 0’ a Gentile venturin’ into
Pukcvdle till every one’s asleep,” the mule-driver
declared, “ ’ca’se it’s dangerous. Ef the gal ain’t
in the Elder’s house, she is up in a. mountain caVe,
where he keeps them as is mulish till he breaks ’em
in. Tried to git him to put my Aramiuter through
a course 0’ sprouts, but he’s afeard she’d lick hiin,
’st ed 0’ his whalin’ her!"

“‘What course do you think, then, is best to pur-
sue.’

" I reckon I better go an’ nose around Pukeville.
I kin soon find ef the Elder has returned. Ef he
liain't he‘s gone up in the mountains.”

t “ Tilien go, and may God speed your favorable re—
urn

Bowing, Kiiockemstifi departed in a hurry, for he
was anxious to Wlillt-‘SS the lynching, and he got
there just in time to view the painful spectacle.

He then prepared to visit the Mormon settlement.

"Now, Urialier, you ought to have a good quart
bottle of booze with ye to keep off fever and—Arte
minta!”

This was what Satan, or some other evil thing
not visible, seemed to whisper in the mule-driver’s
ear.

Knockemstiti stopped short. His gaze wandered
to the red light over the entrance of the Punch Bowl
saloon. There was the Admiral, for instance, who
was noted for keeping a. right good article of liquor.

Why not——

“ See b 'er, Knockemstifr‘, ain’t: ye ashamed 0’
yerself? f ye git more booze on board, where’ll
ye fetch up at? Now you git up an’ {/2'! .’ ”

This was what Uriah said to himself, and, be it
said t9, his credit, he obeyed his own mandate and
‘ 0t.

gHe went direct to Pukeville, avoiding his own
domicile. for fear of encountering Araininta, and sev-
eral other Mrs. Knockemstiffs.

Observing great caution, be instituted seemingly
carelessinquiries concerning the Elder, until, from
the answers he reCeived, he was satisfied the Mor—
mon abductor was not in the village.

“ 1 know what I’ll do!” he muttered. “I’ll cheat
Bullion Bret o’ becomin’ a hero by tacklin’ the job
myself. I’ll rescue the gal, an’ git a lot o’boodle for
doin’ it !”

He knew pretty near where the cave was located,
far up the mountain-side. It wasa. hard tramp, but
he could do it. So he started.

He had a pair of revolvers, and was not a mean
shot. If the Elder refused to give up the girl, it
was his firm mention to shoot him on the spot.

Up the mountain-side he toiled, stopping now and
then for breath.

At last he neared the vicinity of where he be-
lieved the cave to be.

“ I’ll bet ’tain‘t fur Off,” he muttered. “ It’s nigh
a big pine. Ah!—”

The moon had almost suddenly come from be—
hind the breaking clouds, lighting up the mountain
with a weird,wondr0us beauty: but that was not what
startled the mule-driver. Not ten feet away from
him on a ledge stood Elder Primrose, holding Virgie
in his arms!

l’riiiirosc uttered a snarl like an infuriated wild
beast at sight of his buin pursucr, and dropping
Virgie upon the ground,he sprung forward upon
the mule-driver, uttering a savage oath.

The two men clinched, and then began a struggle
that could only end with the death of one or both.

Raising herself as best she could, Virgie looked
down upon the scene with violently-beating heart
and colorless face, well realizing that on the result,
Of the battle, depended her fate.

“ You’ll dog me, will ye?” the Elder roared. “I'll
tear your accursed heart out!”

“ Ye haven’t get at it yit!” Knockemstifi’ roared.
“ What’s more ye ain’t goin’ to. Curse ye, bite will
ye? I kin do that, too! Thar! thet was a piece 0’
yer souse, 1 know, ’cause et tasted like whisky

)ickle. I’ll show ye what a scrouger I aire. When

git through thar’ll be twelve mourniii’ Primroses
in Pukeville. Buck heads. will ye? Oh! but thar’s
jest whar I live when I’m at hum!”

And thus they desperately fought.
to utter any sounds but dog-like rowls, and heavy
gasps. It was, evidently. a fig t to the death.

Minute after minute passed, until it seemed to Vir-
gie as if they had been fighting for hours.

Finally she noticed that their struggles were grow-
ing less and less desperate. They were becoming
weak and exhausted from terrible exertion and the
loss of blood. Weaker and weaker—untilthey ceased
struggling altogether.

“ Oh, I believe they are both dead l”Virgie gasped,
a feeling of horror creeping over her. “I am all
alone, ’way up here on the mountain. What will
become of me?”

A sound in her rear startled her. She looked
quickly around, and a wild scream of terror escaped
her.

A huge grizzly hear was lumbering down the
mountain-side directly toward her. Was a horrible
fate in store for her, too?

But—a rifle-shot!

The bear paused, and pawed his face——then came
on faster!

Tneii followed a quick succeSsion of rifle-shots,
until the huge brute rolled over. dead. when. a mo-
ment later, Bullion Bret leaped forward to Virgie's
side.
“ Oh, Mr. Beaufort! Thank God!” she cried.
“ How do you know it is Beaufort?” he demanded,
curiously.
" I know it is you, by—”
She paused, and a wave of color swept over her
face.
“Your heart, eh?” h.) finished.
He cut her bonds, picked her up in his strong
arms, as though she were but a child.
Then he kissed her!

“ Was I right. dearest?”
She did not answer, but nestled closer to his manly
breast.
A few moments later Brut examined the recent
fightei s. and found ihat Primrose was (lead.
'Old Uriah, however, still had life in him; so Bret
bravely shouldered the big bummer, and, with Vir-
gie by his side, set out for Git-Thar.
Frequent rests had to be made, but at last they
reached the Singleton mansion.

Down the street, looking ghastly enough, the sus-
ended remains of Suke Silversmith swayed to and
r0 in the wind.

They ceased

 

Sir Guy and Lady Montrevor received Virgie with
profound joy, and the dude declared on the spot
that be was ready to marry h T, but Bret dashed his
expectations by the announcement that Virgie had
promised to become the future Mrs. Beaufort.

Sir Guy and his ladv at first objected to this sud-
den arrangement, but when they found that, Virgie
had a will of her own they were forced to acquiesce.
The next- day old Chandos was buried, and his
wretched son by his side.

The money which Silversmith gave to Septimus
Singleton. of course belonged to Metler and Maguire,
who made a demand for it.

Though it turned out that Bullion Bret was by no
means a poor man, yet the colonel gave him the
amount represented by the mortgage and he became
an equal partner in the Singleton mines.

The next dav, also. the miners concluded to return
to work, at oll wages, and did so.

The loss to the Mormon element of their leader
rather demoraliz-d them and in less than a month
Git-Thar was practically a Gentile town—but com-
paratively few Mormons remaining.

Old Uriah Knockeinsti‘fi did not die.

After long months he recovered, and ever after-
ward was a’member of Bullion Bret’s llOllSt‘llt-ild—
for his plurality of wives had gone with the Mormon
evacuation.

Before the return of Sir Guy’s party Virgie and
Bret were married, and it was a quite grand affair,
besides being the union Of two truly loving hearts—
something very uncommon nowadays! .

A little later, Sadie, who still regarded Septimus
Singleton as a father, married Lieutenant Langdon.

As Git-Thar grew it demanded city government
and a mayor, and Bullion Bret was the choice Of the
people, and gave to the town a more 0138510 name.
And when he wants to have a‘ little fun at some
one‘s expense he always “shakes”—for, probably
no man lives with a stronger grip than the Giant
Grip of Git-Thar.

THE END.

 

 

Casual Mention.

 

A NOVEL feature in the dining-room of a hotel at
Niagara Falls is a colossal mirror, in which the Falls
are reflected iii such a manner that the guests may
admire while they eat.

ALFRED CHADWICK yoked his wife
steer. for which Judge Jeniiison, of Detroit, gave
her a. divorce, He insisted that he only followed
the general usage among the market gardeners of
western Canada.

A .iEALOi's husband slapped a man’s face in 8.
Prevalence streetcar because the man’s th-s had
been staring at his wife’s face. The car sto ped a.
block further on, and a little girl entered and ed the
man away. He was totally blind.

THE grave of the celebrated Kit Carson is at Taos,
N. M., and the Grand Army posts of that Territory
are aboutto take steps to erect a suitable monu<
ment to his memory. A son of the old mountaineer

is in the employ of ex-Senator Dorsey on his cattle-
ranch.

to a. plow with a

_ THE success of the California oarsman, Petersen,
in outrowmg Lee in a single scull race at Oakland,
' roved a Waterloo for the local sporting fraternity.

etersen is a magnificently developed young fellow
only nineteen years old, who has gained muscle and
skill as a boatman on Long Whai f.

VVHAT is now called Holdrogc, a town in Nebraska,
was four months ago nothing but a treeless plain.
On October 9th last the first house was brought;
there on wheels from a near-by county. Since then
Sixty-two business houses and a proportionate num-
ber of divcllings have sprung up there, and Holdroge
IS a busy and thriving town.

A SINGI‘LAR case of fatal poisoning from a vail has
occurred in Kansas. The wife of Judge A. H Foote,
of Luivrencc, Kan., had a scratch on her face when
she started out for her afternoon walk. She wore a
dark green vail to conceal the abrasion. The blood
absorbed some of the green coloring matter of the
vail, and blood poisoning set in. She died in three
days.

_THE Bad Lands Oniz‘lmy is the rather unpreposses-
Sing title of a new paper that has been started in
Dakota, not to publish, as might be suspected. liter-
ature of the revolver and bowie, but, as its intro-
ductory ambitiously states, to become the “leading
cattle paper of the Northwest.” Its proprietor and
editor is the Marquis de Mores, son of the Due de
Vallombrosa.

AN enterprising citizen of Colorado—a Mr. Tay-
lor—lias undertaken an enterprise from which lie
anticipates a rich return. He is inclosing three
hundred acres of land near Greeley with a fence
Sixteen feet high, and into this secure retreat he.
hopes to entice elk and deer as they leave the moun-
tains next fall, his object being to breed theSe ani-
dmals for sale to Eastern parks and zoiilogical gar-

ens.

A JURY of seven women and five men in \Vashing-
ton Territory heard the case of a barkeeper charged
with keeping a disorderly house. The female end
of the jury was solid for conviction and the other
for acquittal. Being unabie to agree, a new trial
was ordered. The women say they know where to
find five of the biggest fools in the country, and the
men declare they will emigrate before they Will
serve on another mixed jury.

BOSTON has again broken the monotony of daily
existence. This time it is “mind cure." Three wo-
men pose before large and fashionable audiences
and eradicate disease and sickness by the influence
of their minds. Their theory is that there is no such
thing as disease; what is called disease is merely a.
delusion born of an unbalanced mind. One of the
apostles has cured a patient subject to epileptic fits.
None of them has tackled a red-hot case of small-
pox yet, however.

GOLD specimens from the Hunky-Dory Mine, which
lies in Holy Cross Mountain, three miles from Cross
City, give seventeen ounces to the ton. A curiOsiiy
which Colorado will cxhibitat the Exposition in New
Orleans is the magnetic water from an artesian well
bored in Denver. A descriptive letter says of the
boring of this well: “The second flow was slightly
magneiic, but when we. struck the third flow, it was
so strongly magnetic that it was with great difficulty
we could get the drill up and down in the well. We
were thiee months and three days putting the well
down. and have a pressure of tivcnty pounds to the
square inch from each flow."

THE Weiityvorth Falls, in New South \Valcs, are
reported to surpass Niagara in beauty and grandeur.
At first the water leaps a distance. of seven hundred
feet. as though falling over the hack to the Seat; of
a great arm-chair cut out of the face of the moun-
tuiii. Falling in sprays, it gathers itself for another
run and leap, the second time falling over eight
hundred feet into the great gorge below. The fall is
so far and the foliage so dense at the foot that the
eye fails to see the second gatheringplace of the.
clouds of spray glittering in the sunlight 1,500 feet
below. The 'alley below the falls spreads out into
a great amphitheaterfifty miles across, and hemmed
in on every side but one with perpendicular moun-
tain walls.

 

Singular Stories.

 

A MAN named Chenworth, who lives in the village
of Cowboy, Kan., owns a liOi'Se which he <ends to a
store three miles distant for provisions. A note tied
to the horse’s mane has a list Of the articles wanted.
They are strapped in a bag to his back. The animal
never Stops to nibble grass, but goes the whole dis-
tance at a brisk trot.

\VHALES were eaten by persons of the upper classes
in Europe as late,ar leastas the latter part Of the thir-
teenth century. The. tail and tongue, dressed with
peas or roasted, er‘e prized as choice delicacies.
The Princess Eleanor de Montford paid in 1266 the
sum of tweniyfour shillings for “ 100 pieces of
wale,” to be used as food in her household.

SAMUEL W. BAKER, the African explorer, is quoted
as saying that camels will eioss a desert with a load
of 400 pounds at the rate of thirty miles a day. in the
burning heat of summer, and require water only
every third or fourth day. In the colder months the
animal Will work seven or eight days without water,
and if grazing on green foliage, without labor, will
only drink once a fortnight.

A MONKEY Signalman manages the railway traffic
at Uitenliage. South Africa, according to the (bin-
n/es. The human Signalman belonging to the post
lost both his legs in a recent railway train, and so
has trained a baboon to (lscliargc his duties. Jacko
pushes his master about on :1 Holly, and under his
directions works the lever to set the signals with a
most ludicrous imitation of a man.

WHEN George Warrell. of Rapid City, Minn, went
to be married he found his progress impeded by a
river swollen by the spring floods. With a rope
around his body—one end held by friends on the
bank—lie swam the stream, and then. on an inr
proved raft, towed over his clothes and two Saddles,
one of them his wedding present to the bride. Then
the horses were guided across, and the wedding was
celebrated.

A GENTLEMAN living at Aiken, S. C., owned a pair
Of ponies which the family had driven for years.
Recently the roads became so bad that he sent the
ponies out to his plantation to pasture, and bought
a team of stout horses. When the ponies went to
the farm the old family coach dog, which had run
with them for ) ears. accompanied them. They had
been there a week when the dog trotted back to town
to see his master. He hovered around the. new box ses
for a few minutes, and then put off briskly for the
faim. In an hour he came back, followed by the
two faithful Old ponies whose places had been
usurped by the horses.

IN the old days no woman was allowed to dese-
crate the monastery at San Augustin, Mexico, by
so much as putting her foot Within its walls. A no-
ble lady of Spain. wife of the reigning Viceroy. was
bent on visiting it. Nothing could stop her, undin
she came. But she found only empty cl0isters, for
each virtuous monk locked himsle securely in his
cell, and afterward every stone in the tloor which
her sacrilegious feet had touched was carefully re-
placed by new ones fresh from the mountain top
before the polluti m of her presence was consulered
removed. But times are sadly changed. and the
house has been turned into a common hostelry.

THE city editor of the Philadelphia Reward has
succeeded in taming a pair of house flies so that they
come at his bidding and join him in his midnight
lunch. They allow him to Cfll‘rSS and fondle them,
but such liberties 0n the part of any others are
sharply resented. “'lien he happens to‘be ofit‘ for a
day or two the flies go humming nieurniully are und
the room and refuse to he comforted by any of the
reportei s or even the editor-in-chief. As soon. how-
ever, as Mr. Forestal enters the room the dull hum
of their wings is changed to a cheerful whir, they
alight on his nose, climb over his face andcrawl
into his ears, apparently in the ecstasy of delight.

THE news of. a remarkable natural phenomenon
is reported from Bonn. in Algeria. An isolated
mountain, the I).<liebel Naibo.  feet high, IS Sink-
ing into the earth. Round its foot tlieie is a deep
hollow. and before long the mountain will disap-
pear. The district of Bona has once betore Wlt-
nessed a similar event: the Lake Fezzara, of more
than 12,000 heC'ares. did not exist in the time (ir‘the
Romans. St. Augustin, who lived at Bona. described
the whole district without once mentioning the lake,
and researches in 1870 have resulted in the discovery
of the ruins of a Roman town at the bottom of the
lake. As in Arabian writings there is nothing to be
found concerning the formation of the lake. it is
supposed that it has existed only for about a thou-
sand years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.‘Iuwllll'l'Wllllllll‘llInm-tlt

   

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Published every Monday morning at nine o‘clotlk.

 

NEW YORK, MAY 3, 1884.

EADLE’S Warrant is sold by all Sewsdealers in
tlile3 United States and in the Canadian Dominion.
Parties unable to obtain it from a Newsdealer, or
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subscription. Subscriptions can start With any late
number. I

TAKE NOTICE—In sending money for subscription,
by mail, never inclose the currency except in a re-

'stered letter. A Post Office Mone Order is_ the

.t form of a remittance. Losses y mail Wlll be
almost surely avoided if these directions are fol-
lowed. I

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

BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,

98 WILLIAM ST.. NEW YORK.

 

 

NEXT TO BE GIVEN!

in Eventful Tale of See and Share!

IN WHICH /
Life-Savers and Coast-Wreckers—
Lighthouse-Keeper and Old Seamen—
A Shinnecock Indian and Maid—
And a Lively Child of the Sea—
are the actors in a most captivating and highly
romantic story, by a new author, whom our

readers will thank us heartily for introducing
to our already splendid corps of writers.

 

tories to Follow!

A BRILLIANT SEA ROMANCE

By 001. Prentiss Ingraham—

The Giant Buccaneer.

A Companion Story to “Ocean Guerrillas.”

lNew Serial of Werkingmen’s Life

By Capt. Pred’k Whittaker.

 

 

A SPLENDID DEFECTIVE STORY

By a Favorite Author.

 

The Wide Awake Papers.

The Marks are There!

A GENTLEMAN once had placed upon his lawn
a beautifully-molded chestnut post. After plan-
ing and oiling had developed to the full the del-
icate veinery of the wood, and left it artistically
polished, he called thither his son.

“ Harry, here are nails and a hammer, and I
have now a favor to ask of you. You see this
post. \Vhenever you do wrong, either in word
or deed, I wish you to drive a nail in here.”

The boy promised; and days, and weeks, and
months rolled away. At length he came to his
father with a. troubled light in his eyes and a
clouded brow.

“ Father, I have not thought myself very
wild nor wicked, but I am shocked to find the
post entirely filled with nails. I wish to become
an upright, honorable man; tell me how to bet-
ter myself.”

“My boy, every time that you do a kind, a
generous, a noble act, every time that you speak
a word for the right, draw out a nail.”

Again days were born and died, and summers
smiled, and winters frowned, and the subject of
the post was not mentioned. But there came a
day when Harry led his father across the lawn
and ointed to the defaced piece of wood.

“ very nail is gone, father, but the marks
are there !”

Ay! the marks were there, of every wrong
word and act, ineflEaceable, even as upon the
boy’s life. Each error, each sin, was graven
upon the fair-paged book of his soul, and would
have some influence upon all his career: and
upon many another mortal’s besides.

Even so every good deed, every advance in
uprightness and honor, has its influence upon
more lives than mortal ken dare gauge. What-
ever is done or said for good or for evil, or in
utter carelessness of either, has influence—how
great, who shall reckon?

Cast a pebble in the tide and its ripples cease
only a ainst the shore. So every act upon the
sea of ime spreads on until it touches the bound-
ary of Eternity. There is no deed, however
small, performed by any person, however hum-
ble, that the marks are not there!

It seems so trivial a matter to Joe, now, an
unkind rem 'rk to mother or sister, disobedience
to father, an unlearned lesson, a little act of de-
ceit, a cruel joke played, a promise broken, a
law evaded, advice disregarded, mental powars
imposed upon, physical Well—being tampered
with; but, ah! Joe. they all leave their marks.
Marks you may see and feel some day, with al~
most despairing curses upon youthful sins.

Ella is careless now, of deed and word. She
scarce beeds when some bitter taunt pierces the
sensitive heart of friend or mate; affects many
a disagreeable, vain and odd habit; reads liter-
ature she would give good years of her future
to forget; wastes time on frivolous pursuits;
glories in adopting and advocating questionable
practices and theories; tortures her physical
beauties and neglects her mental gifts: con-
tracts inaccuracies and inelegancies of speech
and manner; falls into unlovely habits of sur-
casm, criticism, selfishness, fault-finding, gossip.
Ella may come to see the hideousness of many
or all of her imperfections and wrongs, may
even, in time, conquer each; but she can never
undo the vast influence they have circled upon
and around mankind; she can never bury them
too deep for regrets to cease growing over them ;
she can never forget them, never make her life
what it might have been unstained by them:
the mark of each will be on her mind, and
mm hers, and life, always!

Whittier says:

“ Of all sad words of tongue or en,

The saddest are these, ‘ It mig t have been ’ ”;
but with due deference to our dear Quaker poet,
another of his ilk has written a rhyme far more
truthful.

“ If, of all words of tongue and pen,
The saddest are, ‘ It might have been,”

 

“ How sad are these we daily see:
‘ It is, but hadn’t ought to be.’ ”

So it seemed to me, that of all sad words the

  
 
 

saddest are those we hear so often, “'Wbat
would I not give if I had done so and so in my
youth 1” “ I would cancel five years of my life
to forget that I committed such an act, or con-
tracted such a habit, or read such a book, or left
unlearned such an art.”

Ah! how well it would be if each of us had a
post to record our errors upOn. to have the conv
sciousness of their indelibility ever before us.
Since that would be an inconvenience that
might materially raise the price of lumber,
would We not leSsen our causes for self‘reproach
and rem0rse, if we alwa) s remembered that
our every deed and word influenced to a greater
or less degree all mankind, and that for the or-
currence of each consciously spent to nute of
our lives—the marks will bathere. ?

BELLE BRIGHT.

_

Happy-Goblin Papers.

My Horse-Trade.

THERE is a. gooi old adage—I don‘t know the
author of it, but it is good all the same—which
gives some valuable advice about not trading
horses while crossing a stream. .

I didn’t do that, exactly, but I traded With a
horse-jockey, Which is almost asbad. On the
whole, I don’t know but what it 15 worse; any-
way, I'd rather swap horses with old Neptune
himself in the middle of the Atlantic during a
thunder-storm than to tackle a professional
j. ckey again.

His name was Peters-not the horse, but the
jockey who owned him—and he was the oiliest-
toiigued, smoothest—talking, most specious, and
altogether the sharpest sort of a rascal, was
Peters, that 1 ever had the misfortune to meet.

I didn’t realize this fact at the time, but I soon
found it out. I di=covered it very shortly after
I made Peters‘s valuable acquaintance.

The horse I owned suited me well enough; 1
had never said anything about trading him off,
didn’t want to trade, in fact, had never thought
of such a thing, and probably never would if
Peters hadn’t come along and put the notion in
my head.

As I look back on the affair, now, I hardly
know which to admire most, Peters’s sublime
check, or his perennial affluence of language.

His cheek was something phenomenal, and he
could use more language and tell less truth
in a given space of time than any man I ever
met—outside of Congress or a political rimary.
You wouldn’t think it, but it is so. by, be-
fore I had kn0wn Peters an hour he had succeed
ed in convincing me that the horse I usually
drove was a careworn and crippled wreck that
no Self-respecting tramp would think of steal-
ing, am it the animal was turned out loose in
the street. Then he said that he had the very
horse I wanted, and he proceeded to show me a
skinny old skeleton that looked as though it
hadn’t interviewed a peck of oats for ten years,
at least.

“ Looks rather thin, don’t be?” I inquired, as
I looked the animal over.

Peters looked at me as if he thought I had just
escaped from some lunatic asylum.

“Thin?” he exclaimed, in tones of mingled
sarcasm and astonishment. “Did I understand
you to say thin 7' Good gracious! man, I guess
you don’t know much about horse-flesh! Why,
that. horse is pure Arabian, and they never are
any fatter than that. Thinness is character-is
tic of the breed, and when they get fleshy they
are worth no more than a common plug like
yours. This horse is a thoroughbred, pure-
blooded Arabian, as I said before, and his pedi-
gree reaches clear back of sunrise ten or fifteen
hundred miles. He was sired by Aladdin,
dammed by Star of the Orient, and is a half-
brother of Flething and Flying Cloud and
second-cousin of the noted Blackhawk and full
brother to Simoon of the Desert, the latter of
which is still owned by the powerful Arab chief
Haboodkhan of Najook who refuses to part
with him for any money.”

And so Peters rattled on for two mortal hours,
completely paralyzing me by his off—hand elo—
quence and wonderful and bewildering array
of horse knowledge. .

Finally he said that as I was a personal friend
of hlS (I had just been introduced to him that
morning) and he was anxious to do me a favor
(this must havo been sarcasm), he would make
me the best offer of the season in the horse-
trading line, and give me a chance to own an
animal once that was worth driving.

Well, what could I do?

There was no use trying to resist Peters. He
was so plausible and smooth in his demeanor-,and
he told such beguiling fairy tales and so many
of them, without even stopping to take breath,
that he would have captivated almost anybody
—except another horse-dealer or perhaps a
bunco ste'c rer.

Being only an ordinary mortal with a long—
ing for improved horse—flesh, I finally succumb-
ed to Peters‘s eloquence.

The result was that Peters left the accom-
plished Arabian Steed in my stable, and drove
away with my two-hundred dollar “plug” in
front of his buggy, and about a dozen crisp ten—
dollar greenbacks in his pocket that had for-
merl y belonged to me.

So far so good. But that night, along about
19 o’clock, the fun commenced. I heard a mys-
terious noise in the direction of the stable, so I
arrayed myself in a horse-pistol, lantern, club,
an old linen cluster and a pair of pants, and
went out there to investigate.

Ifound my Arabian steed enjoying himself
by hanging his chin over the top of the stall,
and grunting and groaning and acting as if he
was pretty seriously distressed about some-
thing. Evidently there was something on the
animal’s mind——or he had a bad case of the
colic, I wasn’t certain which. There was a sad,
far-away look in the critter’s eyes as he stood
there wrapped in deep reflection and an old
horse-blanket, and I was deeply grieved at the
thought that I was powerless to solace him in
his affliction.

However, I went down to the village and
prowled around in my airy habiliments and
found the boudoir of the horse-doctor. Then I
pounded on the door with the club, and when
he woke up I requested him to insert himself in
his ready-made raiment and come up to my
pgacaa and diagnosis the case of that Arabian
s ee .

He came. After looking the animal over
and collecting two dollars of me, he informed
me that the horse had the “ crib-bite.” I
knew then almost as much about it as I did at
first. 1 had never encountered a case of “ crib-
bite” before, so I requested the equine phy-
sician to explain the nature of the disease, and
also asked him if he considered the patient in
any immediate danger.

The horse-doctor gave vent to a supercilious
snort of derision, and said he guessed the only
danger was that my valuable but discontented
steed might pull the stable down if I couldn’t
coax him to desist from his crib-biting perform-
ance. He advised me to put up a barbed wire
fence around the top of the stall so the horse
wouldn’t feel disposed to rest. his chin there
when he felt mournful and unhappy; and then
he collected two dollars more of me and went
away.

The next day I hitched up my Arabian steed
and went out for a ride. I was consumed with
anxiety to test the animal’s speed and driving
qualities. Peters had told me that the horse he
had traded me had a record of 2.40. I found
afterward that this was so. The animal had
Once actually made a mile in a trifle less than
2.40 aboard of afreight train on the Long Island
railroad.

It is easy enough to make a big record on
aper or aboard of a fast freight train, especial-
y if the engineer gets a little reckless and goes

to racing with a stray cow or something of that
sort; but when it comes down to booting it on
the solid turnpike ahead of a road-buggy con-
taining one hundred and sixty pounds of able-
bodied citizen—well, the record generally col-
lapses.

It did in the case of my Arabian steed. That
horse couldn’t have trorted a mile in three min—

 

utes to savo its worthless hide from the leather-

foundry; and its ordinary, everyday gait
somewhat resembled that of a game-.egged
dromedary climbing over a pair of bars.

During my ride I met several of my friends
and acquaintances. They all noticed that horse
the first thing, and seemed deeply interested in
my new acquisition.

The first to come along was Brown. He smo’e
a significant smile as he gazed on my new
roadster, and asked me “if that was an import-
ed mule, or a new breei of donkey?” W'ither-
ingly 1 retorted that the only donkey I knew of
around there was the one under his hat, and
passed haughtin on.

Then Jones met me (somehow I never did like
Jones) and burst out with:

“ Ha-ha! where’d you get the chromo? Draw
it in a prizepackage?”

Jones probably considered this intensely
funny. I didn’t. I gave him a cold glare,
warranted to paralyze at forty yards, and rode
on. ‘
Next came Robinson. He smiled and said:

“Ah, Nufi', you're in luck, I see. When did
you get the contract?”

“ What contractl” inquired I.

“The contract to take that skeleton out to
the bone-yard!” he shouted, as he whipped up
and drove on out of range.

Than Suiflkins came booming along and
ye 1e :

"Hi there! Get out of the road with that
brush fence, or somebody will have you arrest-
ed for obstructing ‘the highway and scaring
horses 1”

And so they kept it up with their excruciat
ingly comic suggestions and remarks, until I
began to realize that a spin on the road behind
that Arabian steed considered as a pleasure
excursion was not an overwhelming success.
Somehow I was not enjoying my ride half as
much as I thought I would. And to make mat-
ters worse, when I finally got disgusted and
turned around to go back heme and escape
from the chafling of my friends, that gifted
steed began to heave and groan and puff like
an engine with thirty coal-cars on an up-grade;
and every few rods it would stop and calmly
lean up against a telegraph pole to rest.

How I ever got that animal home is a. deep.
dark mystery to me; but I finally did it. We
made the last quarter of a mile in forty-five
minutes amid the enthusiastic plaudits of the
whole neighborhood. The giddy speed at which
we were traveling seemed to sort of spontane-
ously attract the attention of everybody in
that section of the Country. I received quite
an ovation on my way home, but I am not at
all stuck«up or haughty on that account. 1
never allow trifles of that sort to interfere with
my mental equipoise.

When I finally reached the seclusion of my
own premises, it didn’t~ take me more than
thirty-five seconds by the chronometer to yank
the harness off that animal and escort him into
the stable. Then I limbered up my artillery
and started out to hunt up Peters, with the
cheerful intention of shedding three or‘ four
quarts of his choicest gore. But I didn’t find
him. He had faded away like a bank cashier,
and my horse and cash had evaporated with
him.

I have now for sale cheap one pureblooded
Arabian steed, imported direct from Stone
Arabia, N. Y., and warranted to have the
heaves, cribebite, poll-evil, blind staggers, botts,
and all the regulation equine disorders, besides
two or three brand-new diseases that I am go-
ing to invent names for and get patented soon
as I find time.

No reasonable or unreasonable offer for the
animal will be refused. Come early and avoid
the rush at the stable door. Admission free;
horse-jockeys and miners half price.

Yours for cash (the horse I mean),
NOAH NUFF.

 

A “ Typical” Texan.

Texas Siftz'ngs has some curious particulars
about the late Ben Thompson, the noted des-
perado of that State, recently slain by a bro-
ther desperado. He is said to have killed fif-
teen men with his own hand, and once killed
two by successive shots of a revolver, fired in
opposite directions, both having him covered
with their own weapons, and only showing
their heads. His clothes were always fashion-
able, and he wore $3,000 worth'of diamonds.
In 1882 he was made City Marshal or Chief of
the Police of Austin, but had to take a vacation
in June in order to kill a man in San Antonio
to Whom he owed a grudge. He killed him ac-
cordingly, but he was put in prison for it and
tried at San Antonio, bail being refused. He
was acquitted, of course, but be retained his
office in Austin during his incarceration, and,
on his return to that city, had the horses taken
from his carriage, and was drawn through the
streets by an enthusiastic crowd. He was un-
well at the time of his death, but people re—
marked: “Ben is a little bilious, but he will
come all right again as soon as he has killed a
man.” Sure enough, he soon after sought to
effect his cure by killing a certain Foster at
San Antonio, but Foster was too quick for him.
Ben killed him, but not before he had relieved
Ben himself of all further pains and aches by a
well-directed shot.

Beer.

THE annual consumption of beer in Europe
and the United States reaches astounding fig-
ures. The Brewer‘s Journal, in a late issue,
thus summarizes in what it announces to be a
correct exhibit for the past year:

 

Pier/2101501: Pr. capita

 

 

 

 

 

COUNTRIES. U 8.11513. cons’pt’n.
31% gals. U. S. gals.
Bavaria . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10,342,289 62

Wurtemburg . . . . . . . . . . ‘ . . . . .. 2,721,582 58

Belgium . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1,565,003 41

Great Britain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . 37.678450 36

German Empire . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 32,711,? 24

Baden . . . . . . . . , . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 996,250 21

North Germany . . . . . . . . . . . .. 17,862,793 16

Alsace-Lorraine . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 788 862 15

United States. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17,349,424 11

Denmark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 955,320 11

Austro-Huiigary . . . . . . . . . . .. . 10,222,229 10
Netherlands... ..    1,216,776 10
Switzerland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 770,960 10

France . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.838.%8 5

Russia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2,399,194 5

Norway . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 515,370 5

Sweden. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 779.340 4

Canada . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 382,126 2

Italy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..... .. 110,045 .15

Other States, about . . . . . . . . . .1 2,000,000 .,

Total production . . . . . . . . .. l 148,205,987 U. S. bbls.

 

As we remarked, this is an astounding exhibit
and should set people to thinking. Add to it
the consumption of wine, spirits. and tobacco,
and it will be seen that the “civilized ” world
is hard at work to see how much money and
health it can waste.

 

The New Placer.

THE statements in regard to the riches of the
newly-discovered placer in the Coeur d’Alene
region, Idaho, continue to gr0w. The latest is
from a Minnesota State Senator, who, just re-
turned from the mines. says: . _

“ The yield of gold the coming season Will be
extraordinary. One miner a few weeks ago
who was too poor to buy his own outfit l'nas
taken out 35 000 worth from a place six feet
square. Another has sold a quarter of his claim
of five acres for $10,000 cash. A miner at Rat-h-
drum has sent $1.200 in gold to the United
States Mint; he showed three nuggets worth
$167. The merchants at Spokane Falls have
taken in $40,000 from the miners in exchange
for supplies. A few of the placers are working,
but on most of them there is from two to twenty
feet of snow. The snOW, however, is melting
rapidly, and the miners who are working take
out $40 a day per man. The men who {lumped
the “widow’s” claim last fall, while ghnng
the matter in the courts, have taken out $18,—
000. There are 5000 men in the mines, and
their claims cannot be bqught_ Many sit with
gun in hand watching their claims. People are

 

flocking into the mining region at the rate of

one hundred a day. At Thompson’s Falls. over
one hundred buildings have been erected In the
last two Weeks I anticipate an influx of from
50,000 to 100,000 people?”

 

A Western Judge’s Charge.
IN a flourishing mining-camp known as
Chipp‘s Flat, Sierra county, California, thirty
years ago. the location of the claims and the
mininglaws adopted thereunder were such that
one continuous war of litigation was the result.
Two mining companies having conflicting
claims, seeing the almost impossibility rf set-
t:ing their dis utes by aresort to the District
Court, mutual y agreed to try their cause be-
fore a Justice of the Peace and a jury of twelve
miners select-ed from those having river~claims
on the Middle Yuba. A. S. McMillan, of Min~
nesota, (C ii), the banking and express agent of
Langton‘s express and banking house at Downie-
ville, had been elected Justice of the Peace for
the township, including Minnesota and Chipp’s
Flat. In 1853. So it was agreed that he should
preside, and the trial came off early in the year
1854 at Coipp‘s Flat. In order that sufii dent.
room might be had for the parties litigant and
their friends the billiard and liquor snloon of
Paul Copperas (now living at Snow Point, in
Nevada county, just a little east of south of
Minnesota,) was chosen as the most spacious
building in town. The trial commenced pron pr,-
Iy at nine o'clock in the morning and occupied
the entire day. Both of the parties litigant had
plenty of money; and each seemed to vie with
the other in liberality during the progress of
the trial. Lawyers had been provided by each
side to conduct the case, and it must be pre-
sumed that they felt no interest in putting a
stop to the liberality of their respective clients
At all chnts, frequent recesses of the court
Were had during that day, of five minutes each,
when refreshments would be servr-rl, mostly of
a liquid character. Justice McMillan was not
very erudite in the law: but if there was one
thing in which be exhibited great pride it was
to he addressed as “Your Honor,” while presid-
irg in a case. Anything more familiar than
that always roused his ire. The numerous ad—
journments which the court took this day had
more percepible effect on the presiding justice
than on any one else connected with the case,
though champagne and whisky had been im-
bibed freely all around. Plenty of the substam
tials in the eating line had also been provided.
in order that the case might be determined at
one sitting. The testimony was all in at five
o’clock, and the counsel had concluded their ar-
guments at'a little before nine. Realizing the
fact that many thousands of dollars were in
Volved in the suit, McMillan thought it incum
bent on him for the first and last time in his
life to deliver 'a charge to the jury, and did so.
By this time the frequent adjournments had
produced a marked change in “His Honor.”
His tongde seemed thick and his utterances had
no meaning or special application to the case at
bar. Upon McMillan stating that such and
such were laws for the jury to consider, one
juryman, clear-headed and sober, made this
inquiryz—“Mac, Where do you find this law?”
“ What is that, sir!” angrily inquired “ His
Honor.” “ I simply want to kn0w,” replied the
juryman, “where you found that law ju-r
quoted?” “ Dash, dash your soul,” replied “ His
Honor.”
when I tell you a thing is law, it is law!” Upon
this “ His Honor” reached his right hand down
to his right hip, where he had a large navy CU]:
revolver in its sheath, and, drawing it. the
juror saw it was no place for him. and he broke
for a side door and escaped from the room. As
“ His Honor ” still held the Weapon in a threat-
ening attitude, the remaining jury men though
it would be more healthy to be 0: tside, and so
they folIOWed the first juryman. Believing the
dignity of the Court to be horribly outraged
“His Honor” followed, threatening dire ven-
geance upon the whole jury. The ridge be-
tWeen Chipp's Flat and Minnesota at that time
was heavily tinibered with pine and fir. There
was a flat of about fifty or sixty yards before
reaching this ridge and the jurymcn. seeing the
irate justice making for them, revolver in hand,
at OllC6 broke for the timber, be following
closely and threatening death to each and all
unless they returned to the court-room. But
the jury outfooted the judge and took shelter
among the timber. That jury never reassem-
bled to render its verdict. The members of the
two mining companies in litigation met that
night in a spirit of the best humor (in fact, they
had been so all day), talked over the abrupt
dispersion of the jury and mutually agreed to
divide the mining ground in dispute. And that
ended the last litigation on Chipp's Flat.

 

Focused Pacts.

 

AN Augusta, Ga... editor says that five men
in the Southern States now read the newspapers
where one man read them ten years ago.

THERE were in England in 1883 paiioers num-
bering 1,069,296 in a population of 267 00 000, or
one pauper to eVery twenty five of the popula-
tion.

PROBABLY the largest and finest perfect plate
glass ever made in this country has just been
finished in J eifersonville, Ky. It measures
104x216 inches.

THE value of the neat cattle subsisting on the
natural grasses along the slope of the Rocky
Mountains from the British possessions to Mex-
ico is placed at $600 000,000.

THERE were 23 310 houses built in London ard
the suburbs in 1883 forming 508 new streets and
one new square, and covering a distance of sev-
enty—five and onevhalf miles.

THE’money expended by Americans for the
purchase of pictures in France within the last
twenty years amounts to 200,000,000 francs,
which is equal to $40,000,000.

MR. BLAINE reCeives eighty cents a volume
rovalty for his book. It is said that about 100,
000 volumes already havn been ordered, so that
the writer is sure of 880,000 for his year’s work.

IT is proposed to tunnel the Sierra on the line
of the Central Pacific Railroad from Truckee
to Blue Canyon, and do away with the sn0w—
sheds, many of which are getting old and rot-
ten, and break d0wn easily under a heavy
weight of snow.

AMONG the things to be exhibited at the meet»
ing of the inventors in Cincinnati is the first
patent ever issued in the United States. It is
dated New York, July 31, 1790, and is signed by
George Washington, President: Edmund Ran-
dolph, Attorney-General, and Thomas Jeffcr»
son. Secretary.

THE Blue Ridge of West Virginia is believad
by the State Geologist to contain a sluuibering
volcano. There is One place of about an acre
in extent where the ground never freezes and the
snow always melts. Vegetation is always a
month in advance of the season. The volcano
is believed to be below this spot.

DAKOTA‘S assessed valuation last year was
greater than that of Minnesota in 1867, after it
had been a State for nine years, and the Value
of the personal property exceeded that of Min-
nesota in 1872, after a State existence of four-
teen years. ln four years, at the present rate
of increase, the valuation of Dakota will equal
that of Minnesota last year.

THE duration of life in England is on the in-
crease. Men’s lives are prolonged two. and
women’s three and one-third years beyond the
limit of thirty-five years ago. The change is
ascribed to various causes. prominent nmm
which are the influence of the Public Health
act, the progress of the temperance nioVement
and the diminishing virulence of epidemics.

THE school-teachers of France number 81,000
and no fewer than 48,043 of them receive sal
aries below $200 a year. Salaries ranging fi'oin
$200 to $260 are paid to 22 355 teachers; from
$260 to $320 to 5 969 teachers; from $320 to 8380
to 2 260; from $380 to $440 to 1 364: from $440
to $520 to 786 and onlv 579 teachers receive

 

above 8520. Of the 48043 teachers, 19,058 do
not receive more than $130 a year.

 

“I’ll give you to understand thal'

 

Correspondents Column.

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

Declined: “Clark Wayne;" “ A Big Breeze-" “El-
bert‘s BounCcr;" “A Deep Borez” “The nited
Fates;" “A Tearing Tiine;" "AllNfihtLongfi‘eth
"High Water Mark;” "A Used-Up an:" “A Sigh
for the Prince:” “ Sweet Fern and Clover;" “Char-
ley’s Que-cut" “Park Amenities;" "A World Well
Done;” “Mount and Win;” “ A Sunnner-Summen”
“A Jealous Wife;" "In Spite of Swords:“ “The
grccioup Trust;” “A Watch to Keep.” “Always

ours.

W. D. P.. Milliard, 0. Answer to your note is re-
turned wirh notification that there is no such post-
omce as Milliard.

N. Y. M. P. New York policemen receive $1,000
for the first year of service; 81,100 for the second;
and $1,200 per year thereafter.

ARTIST. Betterattend Cooper Institute Art Classes
for a term: then try for a situation in some design-
er‘s studio. Designers, as a rule, don’t care to be
bothered with pupils.

J or: Goss. There is not, we apprehend. much Work
for a stray painter and grainer in the South. Tlie'
large towns and cities—whore such work is in de-
mmirl— usually are well supplier! with good painters
and grainers.

R. E. A. A pistol is like a watch—worth all you
can get for it, yet oftentimes sold for onequurter of
its first cost. A good revolver costs about 3512. Yet
second-bands can be had for half that price at
pawnbrokers and gun-shops.

S. D. You cannot buv athoroughbred Newfound-
laud pup for less than $25. It would be a fine pres-
ent to give the lady, and Newfoundlauds are now
extremely fashions. 1e. as lady’s dogs; but if she
prefersa small dog, she might be disappointed at
receiving a big one. You might give her a pug or a
black-and-tan.

JOHNNY JUMP. A meter is equivalent to 39.37
inches. Ten meters make a dekameter—IOO meters
make a hectometer-— 1000 meters a kilometer. A
millimeter is the thousandth of a meter—a centi-
meter is ten millimeters—a decinieter is ten centi-
meters. Yes; the system is very admirable, and
the very name of the measure tells its quantity. It
is a true decimal system.

INQUIRER. Nothing better than to rub the nose at
night. with camphor-icc, washing it 011’ in the morn-
ing. The redness probably will “ wear off ” or gradu-
ally disappcar.— t is rather silly to talk of going
West to become a cowboy. The cowboys are a very
rough class of men—no boys among them, and a
decent boy. there, w0u1d be as much out of place as
these ruffians would be out of place in good society.

A. A. Cut hair short and rub scalp occasionally
with cosmoline. Gray hairs are not apt, however,
to stop coming with any treatment. To be “agree-
able ” to young ladies talk nonsense. That is about
all the advice you need on that subject. If. how-
ever, you by chance encounter a young lady who
wants you to talk sense, then show her what you
know, but beware of talking of things or on subjects
beyond your knowledge. Girls who are smart and
intelligent are quick to detect ignorance.

LONG TSLANDER. 1. Certainly, it was perfectly
proper for the ladies in question to send you birth-
da cards, as they are your neighbors and your
wrfve‘s friends. 2. You should call there and thank
them pleasautl for the little attention. 3. It is
claimed that ce er , used daily, will com lctely cure
rheumatism. It is so simple a remedy t at you can
certainly try it. Break the celery into small bits,
add a. little water, and stew it. Eat both ofthe vege-
table and the liquor freely. We have already stated,
several times, that a plentiful use of lemons is very
helpful in many cases of rheumatism.

INVESTIGATOR. The word acropolis means “the
upper or higher part of a Grecian city: its citadel or
castle;" but vuen it is used it is almost always used
as a proper noun in reference to the famous Acrop-
olis of Athens, which is the llrst object to catch the
cyc howcvcr that City mu be, approached. In the
center of this stood the ’artlienon, the celebrated
temple of Minerva, or “ House of the Virgin." It
Will; built in the limo of Pericles, riboul.448 n. (t., Ic-
iliius and Calllcrnles lining the urcliltccts and Phl~
«line the chief sculptor. 'l‘liis rcninlncrl uninjured
until Scptembcrflll 1687, when tho Interior of the
temple was destroyed.

lsAIAE P. R. A cubic foot of pure old Wolglis
1,218.75 pounds avoiidupois; a cubic oot of pure
silver Weighs 026.25 pounds uvoirrlupois. One "111‘
lioii dollars of gold coin weighs 3,058.8 pounds avoir-
(In ois; one million dollars of Slth'I' coin weighs
58,. 25.9 pounds avoirdupois. The calculations of the
mint are. made u )01. the basis that 43 ounces of
standard gold, or 00 fine (coin), is worth $800, and
11 ounces of silver, 900 fine (coin), is worth $12.80.
The value of a ton of pure gold is $602 799.21. and of
a ton of silver, 5537,20484—Rust can be removed
from iron by the use of kerosene. Apply the oil
plentifully with a bit of flannel, and then rub well
with clean flannel.

CARPENTER. It is not the truth when young men
say they have no time to read. By reading forty
minutes a. day—less than three-quarters of an hour
—a person can peruse many books during a year.
You can certainly get twenty minutes, twice a day,
to devote to reading. If you would wake up one
hour earlier than usual, every morning. and devote
that one hour only to reading, in the course of a
year you could read thirty or more books. “’e
would advise good general reading—modern books
of travel. birgiaphy, essays, history. and the best
novels. If you can afford to take a first-class
monthly magazine, you will be able to gain a great
deal of general information.

MARCUS W. T. You are very unwise and dicta-
torial to interfere with the lady’s arrangement of
her hair. It would be exactly as sensible and right
for her to dictate to you how to wear yours. You
wear yours as you like, and if she is a woman of any
spirit she will wear hers as she likes. We have yet
to learn that because “a man loves a woman and
intendle marry her,” or has married her, he has
any right to dicrale to her as to such matters. She
is as much a free moral agent as he is. You may
say how you think she will look the best, but not
how she shall or shall not dress her hair. Bangs of
some kind are worn by nearly all ladies, young and
old—The engagement-ring is worn on the third
finger of the left hand. The wedding-ring is worn
on the same finger.

A. B. C. The old residents of a village or town
should call upon a new family. It-wculd not be
amiss, liowevw, for a married lady—under such cir-
cumstances—to adopt a plan often followed b
ladies in New York and send out her visiting car ,
as: “fih‘o‘ Alt/tar Bell Conrad,” with her residence
a-ldress—if she lives in a numbered house or one
that has a distinctive name. as “ Elmwood,” “The
Cellars." engraved in the lower right-hand corner
and a day. as, “ Tuesdays," or certain days, as:
“ ll'ednesnag/r an Mari-II,” cngrnvcrl or written. in the
lower left-hand corner. If she has a daughter or
daughters grown, "ill/m (hula i " or “Misses (Jon.-
r «I " is en raved directly under the mother’s name.
Tlicsc (11115 are sciit to all the pcople the lady
knows, or wishes to know, and she may rely upon
their being respoiulcd to. She should have some re-
freshment to offer her callers—cake and chocolate,
tea and sandwiches, 01‘ both served in the parlor (if
an adjoining room. All culls thus murle upon her
should be returner] within a week.

G. W. Your queries would require a column to
properly answer. See any Iliblc I)iL‘lit)litll‘V or Eu-
cyclopctlia for history of the Bible Ilscll', null of par-
ticiilar books—for almost cvcry how has a history.
Tho Niblt- as it was finally counted in the Vulgate
and Wicklill‘e. and Kim,r Junie-i versions, was fioiii
tlicslow accroliniis of rimmisciipts that had lM‘t'll
copied and rocopicrl innuincrnblo times. in several
languages. The church of Home, in its several
councils. passed upon the validity and versions of
the vnri0u~ books and cpistlcs. uiirl llioso rejected
by these councils and by scholars are classed as
apocrypliil. The first [II/life“, anlllnt‘S, of course
were the first lllll‘lNllllfl ion of the Biblc it) the people;
before that time the book as a wliolc or in parts was
only accrssiblc to priests and scholars. in the libra-
ries.— As to differences of churches the. fact that
even our own onI'cfullv-worrlcrl Constitution bears
various constructions shows how honest differences
of Views may be (‘lltl rtniuerl on the thousand ( nes-
tions of theology, construction and history iiivo vcd
in such a complcx work as the Bible is.

A. F T. It has been said, and With much justness,
that few men who slilfikc‘ ai'cprrlerf (Ifll/If‘nlt’ll ,' but
if smokers would reuieiilbera few 0 the rules ob-
ligatory u on them as gentlemen this liamh stric-
ture woul be avoided. ]. You should never smoke
in the presence of a ludy- even though she. be a
member of your family— “‘lthrllll’ asking and receiv-
1111!. her )crniisdon. 2 You should 1m cr smoke
while wal 'ing, riding, or driving w ith a lady. 3. If
while walking or rirlimz, you ban: a cigni‘ in voui‘
mouth, and meet a lady to whom you must bow,
\ ou must remove your cigar from your mouth be-
fore lilting ,\ our bar. If you wish to speak with her
you must throw away your cigar. 4. Under no ctr:
cuuistmiccs smoke at an evening ciitci‘tainmcm un-
less there is a "smol'imr—I'oom “ provided it is the
liight of bud manners to smoke in a dressing-room.
5. Do not a p: ar in the presence of ladies until your
clothes an breath are free l’roiu the odor of suiokc
6 Never smoke in a public place whore “ Gentlemen
are requested not to smoke," or lndics are present'
ai-d avoid smoking on a public thoroughfare when:
you must necessarily offend men who do not smoke
as well as the female passeIs-by. ’

 

 

 

 

'7 .

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“WEE.

   

._._@

iiIIiii.nminI"'lzii...u.w‘

l'i

l

“lllIHIW‘Wllh'lliiiimum.

 

 

Hark! Eurns blows ii piercing challenge note,
( ;
Charging, they wrestle in cyclonic strength,
’lllidst shivering steel and clashing bayonets‘ gleam

Striking the blastforged chains from storin-vcxe

Shriek, tempest wild! thy clunging toesin-peals
\Vhere now thy victor banners. s orni afloat?
Thy treasured eriiiliie—gui'b of royalty—

Uiieri-stei

Ay, glower on that ill-oniened shaft. of power,
Iiiiiioteii! now thy i'iige' Dnr’st thou take up
Fulv-Iltllllt‘SS monarch, seek thy tottering throne,

Thy bowl of wrath, death llllllll”(l, scarce is heard,

THE Y OUNG TRAMP;

AUTHOR or “BULLION BRET,” “DEADWOOD

ble as Deacon Samuel Hall entered his tidy
kitchen, one blazmg hot July day, with the fra-
grant odor of the harvest-field clinging to his
somewhat seedy broadcloth garments. The
kitchen floor was as white and clean as indus-
trious Mother Hall could make it, and the
white spread dinner-table was loaded down
with smoking-hot suostantial edibles such as
the thrifty farm—wife knows best how to serve
up in a palatable manner.

knitting, and glanced up as her spouse entered
and threw off his coat.

and his wife, long past the prime of life, and
yet well preserved and generally young for their
years.

over the top of her spectacles at the deacon’s

in great beads, “ I dare say you found it a warm
walk over to The Cedars?”

impatience. as he mopped off his sunburnt face

name for it. Everything is scorchin’ up wi’ the
sun. Where is Cleopatra?”

worried resignation came upon Mrs. Hall’s mo-

therly face. “ I tell you, deacon, there’s no use
of my trying to manage that child. In spite of

estate, or else fishing down at the river. Dear

 

 

 

 

 
       
     
     
    

    
 
    
 

 

TEMPEST TORN.

BY FRANK M. IMIIRIE.

 

Lou ily defiant, Boi'eas’ bugles soun
While devastation marks the vantage-ground.
Swift through the ranks a meteor presence strides;i

guards, _ .
As inuriniiring treason waning power derides.

Jur with the falling shackles gleaming bright.
Where now thy sliceny who of gem-starred white?
Now diippled, soiled, a motley aspect wears;

erag re-eelioes iniitteriiigs dire;
I)lt-llllllllll(‘d clitf thy tattered pennon bears.

Sent by great .l‘hmbiis from his eloiid-girt home;
The golden gauntlet, by his bright hand thrown?
Stained thy eseiitcheoii by Defeat‘s chill breath;

Thy triumph-chamber is thy conch of death!

 

Ragged Bob,

on,
The Heir of the Cedars.

BY ED. L. WHEELER,

DICK," ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER I.
DEACON HALL EXPRESSES HIMSELF.
THINGS in general looked decidedly comforta

 

Mrs. Hall sat by a cool window, patiently

They were hale, hearty people, the deacon

“ Well, deacon,” Mother Hall said, glancing

bald crown, upon which the perspiration stood

“ Warm?” the deacon echoed, with a snort of

with a red bandana handkerchief—~“ warn ’5 no

“Law! dear knows—I don’t!” and a look of

all I can say and do, she will have her 0 "n
way. I presume, if you take the pains to look,
you’ll find her romping somewhere about the

me! l’iii sick and tired of trying to correct
her.”

“Fudge! ilddlesticks! you don’t try. You
haven’t ambition enough to govern a cat. I
told the girl to stay here and weed out the
onions in the garden, or I’d strap her. Did she
do ii?"

“ [)0 it?" and ti. faint smile lit up Mother
Hull’s features. u'Wliy, deacon, you weren’t
hardly a dozen yards from the house when she
put her finger to her nose after you, and said
‘ she’d be darned ef she was going to weed your
onions,’ uni away she went, like a young calf
turned out to pasturel"

“ \Vell! well I WELL!” the deacon said. fetch-
ing his cane sharply dovvn upon the floor. “If
that don't beat all I ever heard. Why, bless
my heart, I’ll nigh skin her alive when she re—
turns. I’ll learn her who is master here, the
young hussy l”

And so angered was the deacon, as he sat
down at the table, that he would have forgotten
to say grace bad Mother Hall not reminded
him.

“ Well, Samuel, how is everything over at
The Cedars?” she asked. “ I suppose all the good
people are well?” '

“Yas, they are well,” the deacon replied,
rather crUstily, for he was still contemplating
Cleopatra’s disobedience and the sound chastise-
merit he would administer to her. . -

“ Yas, they’re all well, and they’re gom’ to
have a big spree over there !”

“ A big spree, deacon?” .

“ Yas, that’s what I said. I alwaysbelieved
Algernon Agatha a man of true Christian qual-
ities, but wnat he’s been gone and done now, is
a disgrace to the church.”

“ Laws me! Do tell us what it is?” And
Mother Hall looked decidedly flustered and
anxious. .

Mr. Algernon Agatha, the last.of‘ his race,
and a thoroughly blue-blooded Virginian, was
the owner of an extensive and magnificent es—
tate, containing The Cedars. his old ancestral
residence, and many hundreds of acres—nearly
all of which were productive. The little town
of Rushville was upon his estate, and he owned
the lar er art of it.

The gAgifthas for generations had been. a
proud and wealthy family, more or less dis-
tinguished in war and civillife, and at the time
of which we write. Algernon Agatha and
his daughter were all that Were left of the1r

me.
nu“ What has he done?” exclaimed Mr. Hall,
pausing long enough to run his nose, which,
considering that it was a deacon’s “ horn, was
rather unnntiirally red. Not. of course, that
any one would suspect the deacon'of ever in-
dulging in the flowing bowl, he being a strict
church member. and at the_head of the local
temperance society at the Village; “ what s he
done? Well, Samantha, he’s gone and done
Something that none but an ungodly man
Would do. You know today is the eighteenth
birthday of his daughter Agnes?”

“ Well?”

“ Well, what is there going to take.place at
The Cedars, but a regular spree—I reiterate, a
regular spi'we. There’s going to be a lawn- arty,
with asupper and wine. and a band from ash-
ington. and dancing, too—just think of it, danc—
imj! Why, it is terrible, and here Algernon 8
wife hasn’t been dead a year yet!” .

“ Laws me!” gaSped Mother Hall, too horri-
fied for further utterance.

“ And that isn’t all, neither,” the deacon
went. on Solemnly, after nearly choking over a
mouthful of hot potato. “There’s a houseful
of aristocracy from Washington at The Cedars,
and among the lot a rich WliIOW. and her son——
a senator’s widow, in the bargain, and they do
say she has come on purpOSe to set her cap for
Algernon, while her son fishes tor the daugh-

1‘!
tea Well! well!” sighed Mother Hall.

“It’s scandalous!” the deacon averred, “ac-
tually scandalous. I, however, cautioned Al-
. him a piece of my mlnd about
the matter. I told him that it was nothing
more nor less than a disgrace to our Christian
community, and he ought to cut out the Wine
and dancing. And what on earth sort of an

gernon, and gaVe

H
answar d’ye suppose he gave me?

“ Laws knows. Samuel~ laws knows. Mr. Al-
gernon Agatha isn’t the same man he used to
be. It’s politics and fashionable life at the

capital that has ruined him.”

“ are sensible, Samantha—for
For once you Well, he told me that
Christianity nor the church had nothing to do

once you are sensible.

 

own business a little closer, he should look
aronnd for another overseer!”
“Laws me!"
“ Yes, indeed! I never was so shocked in my
life. I fear, Samantha, there’s dishonor and
disgrace in store for the proud old name of
Agatha, and that, eventually, this home will be
sold over our heads, and we shall not havea
roof to shelter us.”
“ Terrible! terrible!”
“Of course it’s terrible. But, hush! here
comes one of the farm hands. I wonder what’s
up, now?"
A strapping, sunburnt fellow directly pre-
sented himself at the open kitchen door, and
dof’fed his hat out of profound respect for the
deacon, who, barring the local minister, was
the most revered man in Rushville.
“ Well. Peters, what is it?" the deacon asked,
from behind a forkful of strawberry Shortcake.
“ Anything gone wrong?”
“Yas, sir,” Peters replied, scraping his foot.
“There’s a gang of tramps camped down by
the river. nigh the Black Slough. They’re the
hardest lookin’ set I ever saw, sir—nigh to
twenty on ’ein—an’ they ’pears to act like they
war goin’ to stay.” ,
“ Indeed! Did you order them away ?”
“Yas. sir, an’ they told me to' go soak my
head, or they’d ‘rat’ me, an’ sed as how they
llrrliofwsd their biz. When they showed revolvers
e t.
“ I’ll see to it, by and by. They may move
on, by night. f not, you must get the hired
hands together and bustle ’em off.”
“ I’m afraid, sir, they won’t go without fight.”
“ Well, you can speak to Mr. Agatha about
it, then. He will give you your orders.”
And the deacon went on with his dinner,
while Peters strode away, shaking his head
rather dubiously:
“Them tramps ain’t goin’ to skedaddle so
kindly,” he muttered. “ This is their first visit
for a year, an’ Jim Bloker‘s with ’em. That, in
itself, means something. He is adesperatechar-
acter. and his comin’ ter the neighborhood of
The Cedars, now, ain’t all for nothin’—oh, no!
There’s a cloud overhangin’ the Agatha home,
methinks, even though it be no bigger than a
man’s hand as yet.”
Deacon Hall had expressed sentiments of a
somewhat similar nature several times, and
Peters, evidently, was, in part, only reitera-
ting them.

 

CHAPTER II.

R A G G E D B o B.
DEACON HALL had not yet completed his
dinner when his good wife chanced to glance
out of the window, and uttered a cry of aston-
ishment.
“ Why, here comes Cleopatra now, Samuel!"
she exclaimed; “and as I live. she’s wringing
wet from top to toe, and there’s a ragged boy
with her that I never saw before!”
The deacon finished his dinner at a gulp, and
arose and procured a whip from a hook on the
wall—one of the rawhide species of whips often
used by ox drivers.
By the time he was reseated at the table,
with the whip concealed beneath his coat, Cleo-
patra and her companion appeared in the door-
way.
The girl was about fifteen years of age, and
the picture of health. Although she had not
yet attained her full hight, and was of short
stature, she Was well formed, and it was easy
to guess that she was strong, and quick of
movement.
Her face was one of those laughing faces,
pretty of feature, yet whose chief charm was
its embodiment of mischief and unrufiled good-
nature.
Indeed, it seemed as if that face could not
look otherwise than laughing, under any cir-
cumstances, with its rather large mouth, spark—
ling eyes, and just the least bit of a pug nose,
that added to, instead of detracting from, her
beiiuty. She had a wealth of brown hair, with
well-shingled bangs—but it now was Wet and
unkempt.
Her coarse but becoming dress, of the Mother
Hubbard style, was dripping Wet, and she had
evidently just come out of a bath.
Her companion was wet, like herself, and
rather an unprepossessing-looking lad, in some
respects, for his attire was greasy and little
better than a mass of rags. Such rents as had
been mended were sewed with twine, and the
color of the patches was startling.
A calico shirt, p-iir of trowsers, and stogy
shoes, and a ragged “chip ” hat, comprised his
wardrobe.
In face, however, there was a contrast, for
his features were sharp, clear cut, and of rather
patrieian aspect. His eyes were dark and keen,
and his mouth wore “grit” clearly expressed
about its firm—set lips. His hair, probably to
save combing, had been clipped close to his
seal .
Hg was Seemingly about a year older than the
deacon’s daughter.
An audible groan escaped Deacon Hall, as he
glared over the tops of his glasses at the drip-
ping pair, while his goodly spouse put up her
hands in horror.
“ Well !” the deacon said, looking as angry as
he knew how, “ u-ell ?”
“No, daddy, it wasn’t the well!” Miss Cleo-
patra responded, puckering her mouth into an
irresistible grin—“ it was the river, daddy!”
“ The river, girl? Explain yourself!”
“ Well, you see, daddy, them onions were too
dry to weed—oh! sure they were, ’til it rains—
so I took Joel’s snare and went down to the
river to snare suckers!”
“Aha! to snare suckers, eh?” and the deacon
grew apoplectic. . I
“Yes, sir! Just think how nice a string 0’
suckers would have tasted for your dinner if—
if—if I had catched ’em, and—”
Cleopatra edged back a bit as she saw the butt
of the rawhide peeping-from beneath the dea-
con’s coat-tails.
“Go on, Cleopatra—out with it!” thundered
the deacon.

“ Well—well, you see, I—I leaned over too
far—had an awful big bite-—biggest bite I ever
had; and 1—1 went in, ker souse, right in a big
hoel, over my head. Golly, I thought I was
drowned, and was screechin’ like a Guinea hen,
when this feller jumped in and saved me. Oh!
but wasn‘t I glad—an’ just think of what a
funeral bill be saved you, too! This is Ragged
Bob. daddy. an’ he’s a scrumptious feller. too.”

“ Ha! ha!” the Deacon nodded. “ I see! I see!
Do you walk into the kitchen, here. Cleopatra!”

“'My name ain’t Cleopatra—I hate that name.
All the men calls me Plucks.”

“Do you hear me, Cleopatra?” and the pa-
rental foot came d0wn with an imperative
stamp. “ Come to me ."’ _

. “Yes, daughter, you know your pa,” chimed
in Mother Hall, “ and should obey him!”

“ But—but—ye ain’t goin’ to lick me, daddy?
’Deed, the onions wouldn’t weed, an’ it was sech
a nice day for fishin’. I won’t do it again—oh!
I hope to gum. I won’t!” .

“ Oh! say, guv’nor, let up on the .gal, this
time,” spoke up Ragged Bob. “She ain’t done

thankful the fishes ain’t got her!”

“What! d’ye diire to dictate to me. you
young beggar?” cried. the deacon. “Why.

fell in a softrsoap ba r’l. You let up on Plucksy,

I’ll weed yer hull garden fer ye!”

shot into you.”
Bob laughed outright.

ee! I’m a tramp, and

 

with his private affairs, and if I didn’t mind my

nothin’ worth lammin’ her fer. Ye orter feel

bless m soul, if I catch you I’ll skin you alive!”
“Yogi, ain’t got me yet!” Bob retorted, un-
abashed. “I'm just as slippery as a eel w’ot

now, ’ca’se she’s all 0 K. Ef ye won’t 1am her

“ Worse an’ r orse! Boy, if ye don’t leave
these premises, instanter, I’ll put a load 0’ buck-

“ Well I’ll be jiggered l” he exclaimed. “_You
be a queer old cove, ain’t you? Do :Iltlgolfqllke- a.
. fe rdo e er an sa . 0 Sir-

boy a: were a a p lopwouldn’t weigh ,half
what I do if the buckshot was all picked out o’
my shins. Have to try some other racket If. ya
want to skeer Ragged Bob. But. I say-ye ain t
goin’ ter lick Plucksy, be you? That would be
a dog-goned shame. so it would. She. is a bum;
tum gal, an’durned if she deserves bein’licked.’

con said, with grim emphasis; “and what‘s
more, if you don’t clear out, inside of a jilfy,
I’él have you thrashed within an inch of your
i e!

“ Who’ll do it?” Bob demanded, impudently.
“ I’ll show you !” the deacon cried. “Cleo-
patra, come in here!”

“I won’t, onless you’ll promise not to lick
me!” Plucks replied, on receiving a reassuring
whisper from Bob.

“You won’t, eh?” roared the deacon, now
thoroughly enraged. “ We’ll see!”

He arose from the table, with the whip firmly
clutched in his hand, and sprung toward his
disobedient daughter.

She ran back into the yard, behind her rag-
ged friend, who firmly stood his grou'id, with
flashing eyes.

“Don’t you strike me!” he cried, sharply.
“I wouldn‘t like to tussle with an old cove like
you, but. I’ll be gum-blasted if you are goin’ to
whale Plucksy, all for nothin’, when I’m
around!"

Unmindful of the boy’s warning, the deacon
raised the whip, and laid it soundly over Bob’s
back and shoulders.

Fired with anger, the young tramp submit-
ted to but a few blows ere be seized the whip
and wrested it from the deacon’s grasp, and
sent it flying away several yards.

“You old snoozer, ef you wasn’t Plucksy's
father I’d lick blazes out 0’ you,” he cried, bel-
ligerently.

" Samantha, blow the born for Clem l” fairly
shrieked the deacon. “ I’ll see if I’ll be served
like this.”

Instantly the clear notes of the dinner-horn
resounded, and in a moment Cleopatra cried
out:

“Look out, Bob—scoot! Here comes Clem
and Abe!”

Ragged Bob looked around and beheld two
burly-looking negroes hastening toward the
farm-house from a neighboring harvest—field.
“Me run?” he retorted, contemptuously.
“Well, I guess not! I don’t stan’ in fer a gal
an’ then run away an’ leave her—not much!
If I have to, I’ll lick the niggers, an’ the old
man in the bargain!” and he looked as if he
were confident that he could do it.

But boys often overrate their powers, and
thUs it was with Bob.

would have been discretion for him to have
“ scooted,” as Plucks had advised.

CHAPTER III.
BOB GETS A FLOGGING.

ON came the negroes, who were of unusual size
and decidedly brutal of aspect.
“Oh! Bob! Bob! you had better run,” Cleo-
patra cried, excitedly. “ What can you do at
fighting those fellows?"
“ Can’t most always sometimes tell till I try,
Plucksy,” was the youth’s cool reply. “ Ef they
tetch me, you’ll see nigger fur fly.”
“Then ye won‘t clear out?" Deacon Hall de-
manded, eying the boy angrily, although he se-
cretly admired his grit.
“ Nary a clear!” responded Bob, firmly. “I
wasn’t fetched up amoag’ tramps all fer no good.
A tramp is as good as a Turk any time, an’ he
ain’t ’most always a COWard.”
By this time the two negroes had bounded
over the fence and stood in the yard awaiting
the overseer’s orders.
“ What is it, boss?” the largest of the two de-
manded, whose name was Abraham.
“ You see this young jackanapes?” the deacon
cried. “ Well, he's a tramp and one of the un—
godly. He has insulted me on my own prem-
ises, and I want you to administer to him a se-
vere chastisement that will be a lesson to him
in the future. Seize him!”
With grins of approval, the two negroes
rushed toward Ragged Bob.
There was a brief but desperate struggle, and
although Abraham went tumbling to the
grou ld from the effects of one of Bob‘s well-
aimed blows, Clem threw himself bodily upon
the boy, and succeeded in holding him in a firm
hug.
Abe quickly regained his feet, and in a jiffy
Bob’s hands were bound, and he was a prisoner
beyond doubt.
“ Aha! so we’ve got on, eh?” the deacon
cried, triumphantly. “ presume you’ll give
in now, my smart youngster?”
“Not muchly!” Bob cried, as game as ever.
“ ’Cause it took the three 0’ ye to capture me,
that ain’t sayin’ I weaken. Just wait till I get
free an’ see what I’ll do.”
“ Will you? \Ve’ll see about that. You’re
going to catch the worst tanning you ever had.
By the time you are through you’ll be glad to
do your tramping in some other part of the
country. Boys, tear the shirt from his back,
and tie him to yonder tree. I’ll show him how
we used to treat slaves down in Alabama!”

The negroes proceeded to obey orders with
alacrity. They had evidently had their initia-
tion, long before, in the torture of the lash, and
were in nowise loth to try the experiment at
some. one else’s expense.

“Oh! daddy! daddy! please don’t flog him!”
Plucks cried, pleadingly—”oh! please don’t,
now, that’s a good daddy. You may lick 'me
all you want to, but please don’t lick him!”

“ Oho! ye’ll take the young vagabone’s part,
hey?” roared the deacon. “ Wait till I get you
in the house, girl—just you wait!”

The negroes had by this time got Ragged Bob
stripped to the waist and lashed to a tree which
grew near the kitchen door, with his face to-
ward the tree.

The boy had not lied when he had made his
brag that he was filled with buckshot, for there
were numerous places upon his back, whOSe
black spots showed that he had been literally
peppered with birdshot.

“ Dar, boss, we’se fixed him!” said Abe, with
a tri mphant grin.

“ 00d! Get the whip an’ give him ten good
cuts, and if he don’t squeal, and promise never
to show up around these parts again, give him
the gad till he does!”

Abe seized the whip with a chuckle of satis-
faction. One of his eyes was now Swollen shut
from the effects of Bob‘s right-hander, and he
meant to improve the chance before him to get
even with the young pUgilist.

The first blow he struck caused a red welt to
arise upon the young tramp’s white back. but
he uttered no outcry, although the pain must
have been intense.

The second, third and fourth each drew blood,
but elicited no expression of pain from Ragged
Bob. who clearly was so “ gritty ” that he
would stand great torture before begging for
mercy.

“ Put it on harder! Cut him in two, but
what he shall squeal!’ yelled the deacon, now
savagely. “I’ll l’arn tramps to come around
these premises and sass me—I’ll l’arn ’em! Tuck
on the gad harder, I tell ye, Abe; make the
snipe squeal for mercy l”

“ I‘ll die before I’ll do that!” Bob cried, defi-
antly. “ I ain’t that breed w’ot takes water.”

“ Oh, you ain’t, hey? We’ll see—we’ll see!”

And the deacon, now thoroughly unmasked
of his piety, fairly danced with delight as Abe
laid on the Whip with renewed energy.

How long the inhuman punishment would
have continued would be hard to say, had not a
new arrival upon the scene put a stop to it: for
there was the clatter of hoofs, and a horseman
dashed up along the farm-house fence and drew
re

 

in

“Hello! there!” he cried, hastily drawing a
pistol from his hip-pocket and cocking it.
“ What sort of business is this, I should like to
know? Hi! there, you black rascals! Throw
down that whip and release that boy, or I’ll put
a bullet through each of your hearts. And as
for you, Deacon Hall, I am astonished!”

In ringing tones the horseman spoke the
words. and Abe and Clem hastened to obey his
command, while Deacon Hall shrunk back as if
the rebuke bad stung him.

The horseman was a handsome young fellow
of not over four and twenty, of well-molded
physique, and a clear-cut, open face, of pleasing
expression, lit up by a pair of brilliant brown
eyes, and adorned by a gracefully trained mus-

 

“Yas, I’m goin’ to lick Cleopatra!” the Dea-

tache.

Three against one was too big an odds, and it ,

He was well, but not flashin attired, and his
horse-trappings were of superior quality.

“ Yes, Deacon Hall, I am astonished at you,”
be repeated. “ That you. an avowed Christian,
should degrade yourself by seconding such a
piece of cruelty as this. What will your breth-
ren of the church say?”

“ I don’t care a picayune what they say,” the
deacon declared bluntly; “ and you‘ve no busi-
ness to meddle in the affair, Frank S aples!”

“But I make it my business, all the same,"

young Staples retorted. “I don't allow any
one to suffer when I am about, without there is
a good cause for it.”
. “ The boy’s a tramp, connected with a thiev-
ing gang of tramps, and when I ordered him to
clear out be open y defied me, the insolent rat,”
blustered the deacon.

“Yes, an’ he was a-goin’ to 1am his gal, all
fer fallin’ in the river, an’ ’cause I wouldn’t let
him, he got all creasercrossed !” chimed in Rag-
ged Bob, trying to put on what was left of his
tattered shirt. “He’s a mean old rascal, and
if he wasn’t so old I’d lick blazes out of him
myself.”

"You’d hardly be censurable if you did it
anyhow, I should say, considering the flogging
you got. But,, my boy, you’d better take a
skip now, while you have a chance,” and Stav
plesttightened up on his reins, as if about to de-
par

“ Oh, I’ll go, fast enough,” Ragged Bob said,
“ but first. sir, I want to have a private word
with you.”

“ With me?” And young Staples looked his
surprise. '

“ Yes, sir; with you, that is, if your name is

Frank Staples.”
. “That is my name, my lad, but I cannot
imagine what you can have to say to me in pri-
vate, for I’ll vow I never saw you before. HOW-
ever, come along, and be brief with what you
have to ask.”

" Oh, I ain’t on the beg!” Bob answered
“ Good—by, Plucksy. Take care the old man
don’t get his books on you.” And with this
advice the young tramp followed Frank Sta-
ples, who was riding slowly away.

Down the dusty Country road, out of earshot
from the farm-house, Staples drew rein, how-
ever, and surveyed Ragged Bob rather critical-
ly as he came up.

“ Well, now, my lad, what is it?” he asked,
just the least bit of an anxious expression up-
on his face. “If you have anything to com-
municate that particularly concerns me, out
with it.”

“Oh, you bet!” Bob assented, seating him-
self on the top board of the fence by the road-
side. “I jest wanted ter tell ye ter keep an
eye out, fer thar’s breakeis ahead.”

“ I do not understand you.”

“ Oh, ye don’t, hey? Well, I’ll try an’ elucer-
date more clearly. Ye heerd old Puffemblow,
back yonder, call me a tramp?”

H YPS. ”

“Well, he told the truth. I am a tramp, an’
am one of a. band of twenty-odd other tramps,
ye see.”

“ I see; but What on earth does this fact have
to do with your interview with me?”

“ A heap, as ye will find out. Hey you ever
heerd of sezh a feller as Bloker—Jim Bloker?"

Young Staples’s countenance changed ex-
preSSIODS.

“I have,” he admitted. “ Go on.”

“ Oh, you bet! Ye saVed me from gettin’
wuss skinned than I did, an’ I’ll make things as
clear as I can. A year ago a gang 0’ tramps
camped in this neighborhood, an’ ole Buck
Brant War ther captain. The old man was a
rich old cuss, havin’ tramped an’ bin savin’ all
0’ his life. an’ he allers carried his boodle with
him, not trustin’ in banks and savin’ inster-
tooshuns half so much as he did in his own

gangv

“ ell, just afore comin’ to this vicinity one
o’ the party had gi’n it his intention to cheese
on trampin’, an’ accordin’ly bid the gang good-
by, and that’s the last as was see’d 0’ him. He
was rather high-toned, an’ several noxches above
the standard of the usual tramp, an’ his name
was Frank Staples.”

“CorrectI—go on,” young Staples said, be-
traying considerable eagerness.

“ Well,” Ragged Bob pursued, “nothin’ pur—
tic’ler was thought about his secedin’ ontil the
gang come to this vicinity, when their leader,
old Buck Brant, disappeared, money and all,
and no trace could be found of him, nor no
tidings. The gang at once agreed it was a case
ofnt'oul play, and that you were interested in
it

.‘C !”

“Exactly. A search was made for you, the
gang havin’ sworn to take revenge upon you,
but it was not until reCently thet Bloker learned
that ye was here in Rushville, an’ cashier of
Agatha’s bank. So the gang tramped this way,
an’ have arriv’. They mean to raise ructions
wi’ ou.” -

“Indeed!” and young Staples’s face flushed
with anger. “So they believe I was instru-
mental in the old captain’s disappearance, eh?
Well, all I’ve got to say is, they can’t prove
anything of the sort, and if they come bother-
ing me they’llfind out they‘re barking at the
wrong coon. So far as old Brant was con-
cerned, he no doubt took French leave of the
gang, for fear they’d want him to share, should
he propose an open withdrawal.”

“ No use 0’ yer tryin’ to make the gang be—
lieve anythin' 0’ that sort—oh no! Ye see, a
big scheme was out to rob an old chap up the
State—a reg‘lar ten thousan’er—an’ the capt’in
were at the head 0’ the plan. So the gang ar-
gues thet he wouldn’t ’a’ slid off an’ left ’em,
anyhow. till arter that job is over. They say
it’s as plain as nose paint to them that old Buck
has met with foul play, an’ that you know all
about it. Dunno how they’re goin’ ter sting
ye first, but ther gang is here for bizness, an’
aire goin’ to stay ontil it’s through. But, I say,
don’t ye let on I told ye, or Old Bloker would
Skin me alive, bein’s he don’t worship me pur-
tic‘ler much, anyhow.” '

“ All right, my boy. You can depend on it
I’ll do nothin’ to bring trouble on your shoul-
ders, and I am deeply indebted to you for your
kindness in supplying me with the informa-
tion. Why are you a member of this band of
bad men ?”

“ Oh! I dunno. Hain’t got any other way 0’
gettin’ along. Bloker picked me up last winter,
when I was starvin’, and sed if I’d come with
him he‘d support me, an’ make a man of me,
soon’s I got bigger.”

“ I hope you don’t steal, boy, or commit any
sort of crime?"

“ Not me! If they wants me to do anything
I think ain’t right, I plays off sick, an’ Snooks
does it. Snooks is another kid, uglier-lookin’
an’ meaner than me. But I do crib apples once
in a while, when my stummick gits controver-
sin’ wi’ my backbone.”

“Even that is wrong, my boy. When I trav-
eled with the tramps it was because [was as
poor as a church mouse, and could move in no
better society than that from which my spirit
rebelled. Finally, hovvever, I made a resolu-
tion to strike out, and good fortune ma‘erially
aided me in gaining the enviable position I now
hold. You come to me to-morrow, and I’ll see
if I can’t do something to lift you out of the
depths you are now struzgling in. Don’t for-
get!” and touching up his horse with the spur,
the ex-tramp galloped away.

Ragged Bob watched him until he disappeared
from view, then he turned his gaze back toward
the deacon’s farm—house.

“ The mean old skeeslyx,” be muttered, a
twinge of pain causing his mind to revert to
the punishment he had received. “ If I could
see the gal I’d caax her away from home.
Guess he’s taken her in the house, an’ is lammin’
her. Heigh-ho! I wonder what Bloker hes got
for dinner?” and climbing over the fence he
made his way across lots tOWard the river, half
a mile distant—its location marked by a long
fringe of trees along its bank.

“Yes, there’s trouble in store for Frank Sta-
ples,” the boy muttered, “ an’ if I can keep ’im
posted, so as no harm won’t come to him, I’ll do
it, for he seems like a. nice sort of fellow, even

 

if he is under a. cloud. ’Spect no one hereabouts

knows as how he was ever a tramp. Ho! hot
I expect that Will be old Bloker‘s first p’int 0’
attack. An’II heerd him tell Big Sanders how
herwas a-gom’ ter use me as the stool-pigeon
agin’this Staples. New, u-on’t I make a ‘ fly’
old pigeon, eh? They better not get stuck on
my honesty toward ’em, neither!”

(To be continued.)

—-—_

“ Haythin Chinees.”

BY JEss’ c. COWDRICK.

 

 

 

ME. name is Patrick McMrnnus Cann. I‘m
an Irishman by birth, an’ moiglity proud I am
av it, too. No nade have I to proclaim me
nationality though, I reckon, fer me name is
pinter enough to that fact, God knows. But
avm if me name were George Washington, or
anything else, th’ brogue that is on me tongue
as thick as yer foot would show whinceI came,
unmistakably. “ Th‘ rose by any other name
would smell as swatc," thank Heaven.

Next to bein’ an Irishman, if I could not be
that, I’d choose to be a United States av Amer-
ican. An’ new to bein’ that, I‘d choose to be a.
Frinchman. Beyanst that I cannot go. But
sooner than be a haythin Chinee I’d be a nay-
gur, a—a dog faced Turk, a—a—an Anglish-
man, or anything else. If I'd been born a yal-
ler haythin av a Chinaman I’d hang meself this
blessed minute. No, bedad, I wouldn’t, ay-
thur; I’m a liar; I’d have done. it last week.

Before th’ death av th’ late widdy Hannah
McGree, three weeks ago, I was her boarder.
As foine a lady was th’ widdy as ye’d foind in
a day’s walk about th’ town, an’ had her loife
been spared, 1 think she would soon have be
come Mrs. McMannus Cann. I do indade.
Heaven rest her soul, I loved her. So I did.

Yis, I boarded with th’ widdy, an’ I must
say that I never felt more at home under me
own father’s thatch than I did in th’ home av
that same lady. She used to make me shurts,
mend me socks, wash an’ iron me duds, an’ care
for me just loike a mother.

But things have changed since Hannah died.
I now live in a regular boarding-house, if it
can be called livin’, mend me own clothes or
wear thim unmended, an’ get along as best I
can.

Durin’ th’ first week that I was there I was
in a perfect purgatory, an’ would have given
th’ best year av me 101fe to have had Mrs. Mc-
Gree come back again. But that “as not to
be, so I had to grin an’ bear it, an’ get on as
well as I knew without her.

Wan mornin’ I asked me landlady if she
gould tell me where I moight get me washin’

one.

She directed me to a Chinese laundry a few
blocks away, an’ takin’ me duds under me arm
I started out to foind it.

When I came to th’ place 1 found it was down
in a dark hole av a cellar, or basement. There
was a soign furninst th’ dure that looked loike
th’ side av a tay-box, or th’ little red paper on a
pack av foire-crackers, only bigger. It was a
red soign, au’ there Were red curtains at th’
dure an’ th’ windys.

Down I wint. I opened th’ dure an’ stepped
in. It was a little cubby-hole av a place, with
a long table across wan ind, an’ a couple av
shelves beyant it, furninst th’ wall. There were
a couple av chairs on wan side av th’ room, a
shtove on th’ other, an’ that’s all.

Beyant th’ table two haythin Chinees were
ironin’ cuffs an’ collars, au’, would ye belave
it, they didn’t know enough to hould th’ iron
down flat, but tilted it back on its ind an’ used
it that way. That shows their ignurance!

As I wint in I took me bundle from under me
arm an’ walked 00p to th’ table, but before I
could shpake a single wurred wan av th’ hay-
thins dived under th’ table an’ came oop on th’
side where I stood an’ snatched th’ bundle away
from me. He flopped it d0wn, bursted it open,
tore off th’ paper, an’ thin jerked me purple an’
foine linen around most shamefully. Thin he
took a bit av a shtick an’ shpit on it an’ made a
black mark on every pace, an’ thin scratched
a lot av curious marks on a bit av paper an’
handed it to me, sayin’:

“ No lose checkee.
washee.”

An’ thin he pitched me duds down into a cor-
ner, dived back under th’ table again, an’ wint
to ironin’loike mad without even lookin’ at me.

Sez I, “ Whin can I get th’ things?”

“ Bling checkee,” sez he.

“Yis,” sez I, “ but when shall I come?”

He ounly looked at me.

“ Sez I, “ I must have me shurts by Saturday
night, sure!”

“All lite,” sez he, “ Sat’ee night.
checkee.”

, “ Yis,” sez I. “ never fear but I’ll ‘ bling’ th’
‘ checkee’.” An’ I wint home.

Whin Saturday avenin’ came I called at th’
laundry fer me washin’.

"Checkee,”sez wan av th’ yaller bastes, a-
holdin’ out his hand.

“ Be Heaven,” sez I, “ I fergot it!” an’ home
I rushed, an’ 00p th’ stairs, an’ into me room to

et it.

g But I couldn’t foind it. I looked here an
there an’ all about, but divil a shadow av it,
could I see. I remembered puttin’ it away so
it wouldn’t get lost, but bless me if I could re-
member where I’d put it a: all, at all.

1 Spirit about an hour a lookin’ fer it, an’ thin
I found I had to go back to tu’ laundry without
it.

Back I wint.

“ I can’t foind me check,"sez I, to th’ wan I’d
spoke to before.

“No git washee,” sez he, an’ be wint on with
his wurruk as cool as ye pl’aze.

Wan was sortin’ out th’ clane clothes an’ do-
in’ thim 00p, an’ th’ other wan was shpittin’ on
th‘ little shtick an markin’ th’ packages. an’
thin chuckin’ ’em on th’ ind av th’ table in a
hape. An’ they kept roight on an’ left me a.-
standin’ there.

“See here, ye copper. colored imps,” sez I, “ I
want me duds!”

“ Bling checkee,” sez th’ haythin.

“ I tell yez I’ve lost it,” sez l.

“ Bling checkee, git washee,”sez he, asmilin’
like a sunfl0wer.

“Bother yer eyes!” sez I, “ I’ll have me own
property if I have to foight fer it!” an’ I thrust
me hand into his big basket. But at that same

Lose checkee git no

Bling

under his gown an’ p’inted it shtraight at me
head.

" Houly mither!” I cried, jumpin’ back.
“ Would ye murther me, ye skunk?"

“Hands off!” sez be; “me shoot full holes
allee same ’Millican man!”

What could I do? Me clothes I had to have,
but how was I to get thim?

“Me good fellow,” sez I, “don’t let us have
any wurruds. You puil out th’ clothes, wan
pace at a toime, an’ I’ll tell ye what is mine.
An’ thin, by me soul, we’ll go out an’ have a
dhrap av th’ craythurl”

But would he do it? No. He wint ahead
with his wurruk.

I was that mad I could have killed th’ both
av thim, but I was afraid av that pistol. Only
fer that I’d have cleaned out th’ shebang in no
toime.

I took a chair an’ sat down. Th’ two hay-
thins Worked away with a will doin’ up pack-
age afther package an’ makin’ all sorts av funny
marks on ’em, an’ thin throwin’ ’em onto th’
nape, roight near me.

Prisently I saw me own longed-for garments
appear, an’ in a moment they were done up an’
marked. Thin onto th’ hape they wint, an’
tumbled roight down by the elbow.

So near an’ yet so far!

I got up again an’ begged an’ plead with th’
two pig tailed, squint-eyed, yaller-skinned, lop-
cared sons av guns, but it was all av no use.
argued till th’ perspiration rolled down we face
an’ only fer that pistol there’d have been blo
spilled, I tell ye!

At last, wbin I found there was no hope fer
me, I sat down again. An’ thin it was that a.

 

happy thought struck me.

  

 

 

 

 

instant, begorra, he pulled a big pistol from-

 

 

 

 

 

   

 
 

 

 

 

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“ Be jabbers,” sez I to meself, “ I'll stale ’em!
So I will.” .

h’ acka e wasl in’ might by me elbow, as
I said,p an’ lgnly waited a good chance to grab
it oop in’ run.

Th’ e ance soon came. _

1 Th’ two haythins finished dom’ up th’ pail;
ages, an’ thin began to ut thim away upon _

shelves furninst th’ wal . Me heart was begin-
nin’ to sink, whin’ all av a suddent, down came
the’ shelves upon th’lheads aav me two innemys,

' ' ’ ’ undles al aroun .

Sp1812an  Patrick, me b‘ye. here’s yer chance,”
an’ I grabbed me bundle. But another thought
popped into me head just thin, an, droppip me
duds I reached over th’ table an tied th two
haythins’ pigtails together at th’ inds. Thin
snatchin’ oop me bundle again, I started.’

But I was only half-way perchune,th ,table
an’ th’ dure whin they spied me, an th yell
they both gave was enough to curdle your
bl(B‘OIEiI‘oiW “ Hoil” an’ afther me they came.
But whin I tell ye that wan av thim made a;
dive under th’ table at the same tOime that th
other wan wint to jump over it, ye can imagine

’ esult.
thTrh’ wan that dived under th’ table sat grace-
fully down, while th’ wan that Wint to jump
over turned a complate back summersault, an
came down all in a hape, in a way that made
me laugh. _

An’ thin they began to fmght. ,

“ Go it, ye diVils!” sez I. “Perhaps'ye 
know how to trate a gintleman another tonne.
An’ out I wint. An’ th' kay bein’ in the lock,
I turned it an’ locked th’ dure' afther me. ’

Bein’ safe thin, I stopped ter a moment an,
listened. An’ av all the whoopin’ an’_howlin
ye ever heard, thim two Chinees hate it then.
I heard th’ table go over, an’ the’ sthove-pmpe
com a down, an’ then I started on th’ run fer
home, an7 oop the stairs an’ into me room before
I sto ed wance.

“ Iggorah!” I cried, as I let fall me duds an’
threw oop me hat. An’ thin out from me hat
fluttered a bit av paper. _ o

I picked it oop, an’ Would ye belave 1t, it was
th‘ very check that had caused all me trouble.
I had put it under th’ linin’ av me hat fer safe
keepin’, an’ had fergot it. . _

Not wishin’ to chate th’ two dirty haythins
I put th‘ check into an envelope, together.w1t_h
a dollar bill, an’ a day or two later I Sint it
around to ’em by a b’ye. An’ that same ave-
nin’ I wint around meself to see how they
looked. . _ ,

I peeped in over th’ little red curtain on th
dure, an’ saw thim’ hard at wurruk, but a
sorry-lookin’ couple they were. They had each
a blacked eye, tn’ pigtail av wan was cut off
within six anches av his head, wan had a plas-
ther on his nose, th’ other had a plasther on his
ear an’ carried wan arm in a sling. They were
all broke oop. An” so were th’ shtove an’ th’
chairs. . O .

While I stood there a man Wint in with a
bundle. Wan av th’ poor divils took. it an’
marked th’ duds as I tould ye he did mine, an’
thin wrote a check fer thim. An’ thin he
handed it to th’ man, sayin’ in a tone as mourn-
ful as a funeral, “ No lose checkcc.” _

Yis, sur, I hate 3. haythin av a. Chinaman
above all things. I never loved ’em, but afther
that I loved ’em less. .

An’ as fer boardiu’— Well, this year Is lape-
year, an’ if any good lady, widdy or otherw1se,
with wan half th’ good qualities av tli’ late
lamented widdy Hannah McGre-e, cares to
change her name, let her call upon yer humble
servant—Patrick McMannus Cann.

 

 

A VISION.

BY EBEN E. REXFORD.

 

Oh, I have had a vision!
I looked beyond the gateway of the City of the Blest,
And I saw the hills EIySian,
And the spires of the inausiOiis where the weary are
at rest.
CHORUS:
Oh, beautiful, beautiful vision,
0f the city so far away,
Of my home on the hills Elysian,
So far and far away!

Oh, the rapture that came o’er me,
When I heard the angels singing in thatland beyond
the tide,
And I saw those gone before me,
And the light of Heaven’s glory made their faces
glorified.

And I heard the golden viols
And the voices of the angels blend in sweetest har-
mon y ,
And my heart forgot its trials
And went reaching out to Heaven on that tender
melody. .

Oh, what peaCe and tender quiet
Wrapped the bright celestial city in a strange, un-
earthly calm.
And my pulses all ran riot
As I looked at that sweet country with its atmos-
phere of balm.

Oh, that far-off. far-off country!
If it only could come nearer! but, ah me, I quite
forget!
8I must turn my footsteps thither,
And perhaps along its pathway, I may walk with
Jesus yet.

Icean Guerflflas;

THE PLANTEB. MIDSHIPMAN.

A Romance of Southern Shores and \Va-
tors in the Eighteenth Century.

BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM,
AUTHOR or “MERLE, THE MI’TINEER,” “iioN'rEzum,
THE MERCILEss,” ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE COLONEL’S PLOT.

COLONEL BRANDT arose, the morning after
his interview with the Smuggler Queen, in no
good humor, as his negro valet diSCerned with
half an eye.

He was cross with himself, and with the world
in general, while the few hours of restless sleep
he had had did him no good.

Going into the breakfast-room he found there

 

 

. Bradford Carr, the tutor that had been, and

now the aflianced of Maud, awaiting him.
Bradford Carr greeted him with a pleasant
word, but received only a growl in response.
Then Maud came in, looking exquisitely lovely
in her morning-robe, and, as was her wont,
kissed her father affectionately.
But still he kept up that gloomy manner.
“Father, what has gone wrong with you?”
asked Maud, anxiously, fearing that he had
broken his pledge, and being tempted, had gam-
bled.

The colonel feared that such was in her
thoughts. so determined to come to the point at
once. and saidzt

“ Maud, I am anxious to get hold of some
business papers that once belonged to Soule
Ravelle, your old lover, and who made you his
heiress, and this pirate chief—”

“ Barton Keys, father?”

“ Yes; he alone can give me a clew to them.”

“ Irbe not write and ask him about them?”

“I have done so, my child.”

" And his answer, father?”

“ He says flatly, that he will tell you about
them, as they concern you, but not me; for, he
insinuates, as they are marketable property,-I
may be tempted to dispose of them and gamble
them away.”

“ He is most insulting, sir,” said Bradford
Carr. calmly.

“ Yes, but I consider the source.”

“ But are they so important, father?”

“ Yes, for they involve a matter of some thou—
sands, a speculation which it seems Ravelle and
Keys entered upon together, and of which no
note was made among his papers.

“It is in their names conjointly, and the Sea
Ghoul says that he will sign his claim away to

Mp

@

 

WG©

you, and tell you how to get the property, but
0 one else.” . o .
to‘PThen, father, if you think it worthnwhile, I
will go to the prison and see the pirate.
“ No! no! no! not for the world would I have
you go there, my child, nor would Mr. Carr, I

am sure wish it.” _
“Inde’ed I would not, Sir,” answered the tu-

tofiThen drop the matter, father, as of little
” ' Maud.

W9? H13, 511:3: will not do, for it involves more

than you have an idea; but I Will tell you what

I Yiilvdo't" f th 7”

‘ a er. _

“ I £31 ’ask my lawyer to come here to-night,
or do you expect company ?”

“No, father.” .

“ Then I will have Blackstone come here, and
then get a permit from the naval commandant
to have the Sea, Ghoul brought here.

“ Oh fatherl’ .

“ Do’not get alarmed, ntlyfhild, for he shall

under a stron uar . .
co‘IPStill it will be thkgindgfa dgiéeat risk, Colonel
t ” su ested ra or arr. _ _
Blizzllléh,’ for Igshall send the carriage .to the jail,
have the pirate doubly ironed, get in With his
guards, and drive out here, and no one Will be
the wiser.”

“But will he then make known the secret he
holds?” . _ 11
“Yes, Maud, he has said that he Will te

77

“Well, father, you know best; but I did not
wish ever to face that wretch inhuman again,
and Maud shuddered. .

“ It will be but for a few moments, my child,
and I can think of no better plan, forI Will
not consent to your going to the prison to see

‘ 77
bu'I‘lIlIS having been arranged the colonel cheered
up, ate a good breakfast, and, accompanied by
Maud and Bradford Carr on horseback, rode
down to the navy quarters below the City:

The commandant received them cordially,
heard the colonel's stolrly, 1and said he would
h ve the risoner brou t ere. . _

aBut thepcolonel urged that he did not Wish it
known that he was to meet Maud, and begged
the commandant to dine with them and meet
the pirate there, and hear what he had to say.

This the commandant consented. to do, and
then he wrote the permit to the prison-keeper,
and invited his guests to go on board the pirate
schooner and inspect her, she havmg been put
in erfect order as a cruiser.

‘PWhat pretty vessel is' that?” asked Maud of
the commandant, glancing up the river some
distance, where a rakish schooner lay at an:
chor, her sails neatly furled, and all about her
looking the trim, fleet cruiser she was.

“ That is the craft that also was under sable
colors, once upon a time, Miss Brandt, for she
belongs to the once noted rover Palafox, the
Sea Fox.”

“ Indeed! I have often seen her before at a
distance.”

" Yes, most persons wished to see her that
way, Miss Brandt, a year ago; but to do the
Sea Fox justice, he did much to protect our
Gulf coast from other rovers, never warred
against or raided upon our own people, or cap-
tured vessels bearing our flag, and, in the end
turning honest, he became a pirate-hunter, and
we owe the capture of this very craft to him,
for he it was who ran down the scnooner, and
then its commander, the Sea Ghoul, as you well
remember, and the Government pardoned him
and his crew, and before long he is to be sent
buccaneer—liiinting among the Bahamas, I be-
lieve.”

“ Yes, I know,” quietly said Maud, while the
commandant little dreamed how well she did
know all about the Sea Fox, and then had his
daughter Myrtle, as her; oh‘ge‘e at Madame
Chotard’s boarding-school in the city.

"When does the Sea Fox sail?” asked Brad-
ford Carr, gazing with admiration upon the
beautiful vessel.

“ As soon as I can spare him the men, for I
am using two-thirds of his crew here now; but
let us return to my quarters to lunch,” and the
commandant escorted his guests back to his
home, and after a pleasant hour spent around
the lunch-table, they took their leave, with the
promise of the naval officer that he would dine
with them that afternoon, and be on hand to
meet the famous Ghoul of the Sea when he
should be brought to the mansion to see Maud.

 

CHAPTER XXVI].
THE MYSTERIOUS FRIEND.

WHEN the pretended sailor left the salon of
the Palace of Chance, it was not as Colonel
Brandt had believed and hoped, for good, for,
upon reaching the street she walked rapidly
along until she came to a tavern.

This she entered and ascending the stairs of a
private door, disappeared in a room.

A short time after a person came out of the
room, a cloak about his shoulders, a slouch hat
half-concealing his face, the lower part of
which was hidden by a long beard.

The man was of middle hight, well—dressed,
carried a cane, and wore eye-glasses, as could
be seen by the swinging lamp in the hallway.

Leaving the inn by the same private en-
trance by which the disguised Smuggler Queen
had entered, the man walked at a quick pace
down the street, and at last came to the Palacc
of Chance.

At the doorway he was halted by the man on
duty there, who said politely:

“ No admission, monsieur, unless yen are
known, and I do not recall you, sir.”

“Here is my card, monsieur,” said the man,
speaking in excellent French.

The keeper took the card and read aloud:

“MONSIEUR J AQUES Bounmor,
“Pan's, France.”

“ Will not that admit me. monsieur?”

“ No, monsieur, for our rules are very strict;
but if you have a friend in the city who will
come with you—”

“ No, I have no friends; I am a stranger here;
but I love to gamble, and I play large sums, so
I came.

“As my card will not admit me, monsieur,
will this, and say no more about it?” and the
stranger slipped into the hand of the door-
keeper several eagles.

“Oh. monsieurl you are generous, and I can-
not refuse you,” cried the delighted keeper,
hardly able to believe his good luck as he gazed
at the golden eagles. ,

“But, monsieur, if you should be uestioned,
say that you are the friend of Don udolpho,
for he often sends his acquaintances here.”

“ Yes, I will not compromise you, monsieur,
and I thank you.”

With this the stranger walked on up the
grand stairway into the gilded salon.

The playing was at its hight, and a number
of aristocratic gamblers were there, betting
largely upon the turn of a card.

But these seemed to hold no particular inter-
est for the visitor, and he sauntered around the

,room, still wearing his cloak and slouch hat.

At last he came to a table where a number
were betting, and among them Colonel Brandt.
He had just lost the last dolln r of the money
given him by the Smuggler Queen, and was
about to give his due-bill to the banker fora
thousand, when the stranger said:
“Pardon me. colonel, but allow me to lend
you what you need.”
Colonel Brandt started, for there was some-
thing in the tone of the voice that struck him
as familiar, and he gazed quickly at the
speaker.
Before him he beheld one whom he did not
remember to have seen before, and said haugh-
tily:
“Pardon me. sir, but I do not remember to
have seen you before,”
“ On the contrary, colonel, we have met be-
fore: but I have grown my board since our last
meeting, and my eyes failing me, I put on
glasses.”
f (itlillonel Brandt turned pale, and stammered
or :

 

“ My dear sir, I do remember you now; but
I will not accept your most generous offer,
while, if you will excuse me, Sortoris, I’ll not
play any more to-night.

“ How do we stand, by the wa l”

“Just even, colonel," answere the dealer.

“ All right; good-night, forI will go with my
old friend here,” and Colonel Brandt nervously
walked away with the stranger. i

“You did not play long, sir,” said the door-
keeper, as his generous visitor passed out With
Colonel Brandt.

“ N o, I met an old friend, Colonel Brandt
here, and concluded not to play tonight," and
the two reached the street.

“ Well, colonel, with money in your pocket
you fell, and lost all that I gave you,” said the
stranger.

“You are playing the spy upon me, I see,”
the colonel retorted, sternly. .

“Oh yes; I did not wish to see you ruin
yourself.” ~

“ Why this interest in me, woman?”

“ Well, if you are ruined, I wish to be_ the
cause of your fall, do you see, and I had no idea
of allowing you to pledge my jewels, as you
would have done, had I not put on this disguise
and gone back.

_ “Now, colonel, get your horse and go home,
for ,I have no idea of letting you assassmate
me.

“ Howdare you—"

“Don’t get angry, for we understand each
other, and so well, that I will make good to you
a thousand of your losses, as you may need
money at the prison.

“ Here are a thousand dollars, colonel, and I
warn you to go home, and not back to yonder
salon.

“ If you do not heed, beware I”

With this the disguised woman raised her hat
politely, bowed and walked away.

But Colonel Brandt had received a warning
he dared not disregard, and going to the stable
where he always put his horse up when he rode
into the city, be mounted and rode home, an-
gry with himself and all the world, and from

not recovered when he awakened the following
morning.

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE COMPACT WITH RUDOLPHO.

THE second time she left the Palace of Chance
the Smuggler Queen, as the reader now kn0ws
the cloaked and bearded stranger to be, walked
off a little distance and then halting in the
shadow, watched Colonel Brandt, as he stood
where she had left him, in the full glare of the
swinging lamp.

Presently the planter walked away to the
stable, and the Smuggler Queen followed; but
seeing him mount his horse and ride toward
home she muttered, as she turned away:

“ The warning had good effect. Now to see
Don Rudolpho.”

Ten minutes after, she reached the shop of
the money—lender, just as the clerk was closing
the door, for Rudolpho kept late hours, as many
of his customers dropped in after night, and
many of them too, were men who could not
stand inspection by sunlight.

“Is the Don in?” she asked.

“He is, senor.”

“ Can I see him?”

“ I will hear your name, sefior.”

“ Restel.”

Bono walked off, to soon return and state
that the Don would see the Senor Restel.

“ In heavon’s name, lady, what new dodge is
this?" exclaimed the money—lender, as Rita en-
tered his private office, and throwing herself
into a chair, removed her hat and false beard.

“ I have been tracking the planter,” was the
reply.

“Colonel Brandt?”

“ Of course, who else?”

“ Well, lady?”

“ My husband escapes to-morrow night.”

“ Hal you are sure of this?” and the money-
lender changed color.

“ Yes, I am sure of it.”

“ You have arranged it then?”

“ I have arranged that he gets out of prison,
drives along the rivar road, and is there to be
rescued by some of my men.”

“ And then, lady?”

“ Then he is to take a boat and pull for the
schooner Sea Fox, which is to be already in the
possession of your men.”

“ This is a desperate undertaking, lady.”

“Captain Barto is in a desperate fix, sefior.”

“Granted; but why would it not be better to
have him drive at once to the lake-shore and
board your lugger?"

“I need the lugger where she is, senor, for
another purpose, so you must do as you said,
and get me a crew to seize the Sea Fox.”

“ It is such a short notice, lady.”

“ Gold buys time, Don Rudolpho.”

“Yes, gold will work wonders, lady.”

“And I have the gold to give you."

“ You will need how many men?”

“ One hundred, for he must have a. good
creW.” '

“ He will not then use the vessel as a means
of esmpe to another land, but raise the black
flag again, I take it, from your words?”

“ Of course he will remain a pirate, for there
is no other life open to him; but for the present
he will seek other waters in which to hoist his
flag.

“Lady, it will cost a round sum to get men
on such short notice, and good men too.”

“ It must be done, cost what it will.”

“ I have some three-score I can count on, and
soon pick up; but you want more.”

“Yes, one hundred good men.”

“ The Sea Fox has about a dozen on board of
the old crew.”

“ Yes. and you can buy them.”

“ Perhaps they are not for sale, lady.

“ Bah! all men are for sale, Don Rudolpho, if
one has the money to buy.

“ I tell you to buy them, cost what they will.”

“ The Sea Fox is fortunately away just now.”

“ Yes, and you can go on board, or send some
reliable person— Ha! I will go myself, and I’ll
guarantee the schooner is mine one hour after
dark.”

“ You are a wonderful woman, Lady Rita.”

“You prove yourself a wonderful man then,
by carrying out my plans.

“ Listen, I wish twenty men at the Live Oak
point between the town and Brandt’s mansion.

“They must be on the other side of the river
at sunset, cross in boats, and you have a man
there to meet them, whom you can trust.”

“ I know the man, lady.”

“ Good! let him be there, and when the
Brandt carriage comes along, he must spring
out, knife the horses to prevent their running,
drag the guards out and kill them, and bear
the prisoner to the boat and thence to the
schooner.

“ In the mean time, Don Rudolpho, you must
send the remainder of your men on board the
schooner, where I will be, and I will see that
the crew there offer no resistance.

“Then, when the boats come with my bus—
band, the Sea Fox shall fly down the river to
safety.

“ Do you see my plan?”

“ Yes, lady, and I trust all will work well.”

“ All shall go well, Sei'ior Rudolpho, for I
will not fail in my part and see that you do not
in yours.

“Here, use the jewels, and they will give you
ample means for your purpose.

“ To—morr0w I will see you again.

“ Good-night.”

With this the Smuggler Queen dashed the
gems down upon the table, and, resuming her
beard and hat, left the room, the money‘lender
rising politely and b0wing her out.

As she departed, he called to his clerk and
said:

“ Bono, go to the quarters of Captain Mendez
and tell him to come here at once and bring his
lieutenant with him.”

“Yes, senor,” and the youth disappeared.

“ Now I will plot. too. my beautiful Smug-
gler Queen,” said Don Rudolpho, and his eye
had a wicked gleam in it as he spoke.

n'

 

this humor the reader will remember he had.

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
a DUEL FOR LIFE.

BUT to return to the Witches’ Isle, and.the
scene that followed the return of the giant
guard and his prisoner.

During the absence of her guard, or watch—
man, the witch sat in her hideous .chair and
gazed fixedly upon the young midshipman,
who, though nervous at the look, or rather
stare of one whom he certainly had cause to
dread, and could not but believe was in some
way allied to the Evil One, yet met her glance
unflinchin 1y. . .

In fact rving Brandt had made up his mind
to meet what came with undaunted mien.

He had escaped from the revenge of the
Smuggler Queen, and he had found safety in
swimming to a craft from which the smugglers
had fled in terror.

He had put foot on the island, faced its super-
natural terrors, and yet lived, and, face to face
with the dreaded witch herself, he yet had from
her lips a promise of life, should he prove Vic-
tor in a combat she had arranged for him.

If victorious, her words told him that he be-
came her slave.

So be it, he thought; as a slave he would plot
to escape, and, if he found a way, witches,
wizards, blood bounds and all the terrors of the
island should not prevent him.

Such were his thoughts as he stood under the
gaze of the old Witch, and as he saw the blood-
hounds coming down the ravine, and knew that
the giant and his prisoner were not far behind,
he muttered:

“I‘ll escape if I have to set sail in that infer- I

nal coffin craft.” _

In a little while the giant guard and his pris-
oner came in sight.

It was Perdido, the mutineer.

“ You know that man; I see it by your face,”
said the Witch.

“ Oh, yes, 1 have seen him before.”

“ He was a mutineer?”

“ Yes, and worse still, sought to kill and rob
a woman, which, smuggler though she was,
iihoyved his dastard nature,” boldly responded

rvm .

“ ou are a good swordsman?” queried the
Witch.

“ Yes. a fair one?”

“ And he?”

“ I know not what he can do.”

“ You will soon find out.”

A moment after the guard and his prisoner
arrived.

Perdido was a Spaniard by birth, and his na-
ture was full of superstition.

He had been a sailor too, once an under-officer
in the Spanish navy, and afterward a pirate,
and he was not one to shrink from any red deed;
but he now shrunk back as be faced that dread
old being in her death chair.

He had had a hard struggle for life the night
of the wreck, but, with several companions, he
had clung to the wreckage of mast and rigging
until washed ashore.

Then they had sought a light visible up a
ravine, and not once suspecting where they
were.

They had just come in sight of the cave, and
shrunk back in horror into a thicket, when Irv-
ing came in sight, and then the bloodhounds,
scenting strangers near, had rushed upon them.

As fleet as a deer, Irving Brandt had escaped.
and Perdido had managed to draw himself up
intoa tree; but before his eyes he beheld the
sickening sight of his comrades torn to pieces
by the savage brutes, and heard their frenzied
shrieks of terror and anguish.

Then he had been discovered by the giant
guard and made a prisoner, to be thrown into
a ghastly den, and have the same mad brutes
his keepers.

These sights had told upon Perdido, and now,
as he faced the Witch, he was white-faced and
haggard-eyed.

“ Do you know that youth ?” asked the Witch,
pointing to Irving. ,

“ Yes, he is a mutineer,” was the reply.

“Liar!” cried Irving, moving toward him;
but the \Vitch checked him with her wand and
asked:

“ Why do you call him a mutineer?”

“He led a mutiny on our ship and ran her
ashore, to drown all on board, that he might
possess the booty she carried. for he did not
Know this to be the Witches’ Isle,” was the un-
abashed response of the mutineer.

The witch smiled and glanced at her guard;
but he showed no sign that he had heard what
Perdido had said, and she remarked:

" Well, sir, you tell different stories; but as it
is no affair of mine which of you is guilty, and
both of you can not remain alive upon this is]
3nd,} have determined that one of you must

1e.

“ He is guilty, let him die,” urged Perdido,
quickly. ~

Irving smiled, but made no reply, and the
witch continued: 0

“ The one who lives must be my abject
slave.”

“I will be your slave, if you will only kill
him and let me live.”

“ That youth does not beg for his life.”

“ His conscience is so fearful he wishes to
drown it by death,” and Perdido spoke with a
nervous quickness that showed how well he
knew his danger, and yet loved life so well as
to beg piteously for it.

“ Of the two faces, stamped as they are seen
by me, you bear the guilty one,” said the witch,
Ste‘l‘l’jlxly. I

‘. o, no: am not uilt , and if on s ar
my life I will be your sglavg” y p 0

“It is not for me to spare your life.”

“ To whom then am I to plead?"‘and the cow-
ardly wretch glanced earnestly about him.

0 your own nerve our coura e and Y ‘
skill with asword.” ’y g ’ 3 om

“ I do not understand you.”

“ Bring forth the rapiers !” ordered the witch.

The guard entered the cavern, Perdido’s eyes '

following him, while Irving Brandt was gazing
down the ravine out upon the glimpse of blue
water beyond.

.In a moment the giant returned, bearing in
his hand two superb blades, both exactly alike.

“There, 811'. is the weapon that must save or
lose your life for you.

“ Take your choice!” ordered the witch.

Perdido looked at the blades and then at her
while he allowed his hand to rest upoh the hilt
of one. ,

“Take it, and with it face the one you ac-
cuse, for it shall be a duel for life between
you. ‘

“ If you kill him, you will save your life and
become my slave.

:: If he kills you, the same fate awaits him.

_ glow cross weapons, and let the tight be-
gin.

The witch spoke with the utmost calmness
and, now fully realizing what was expected of
him, PerdidoseiZed a weapon and wheeled to-
ward the midshipman, his face flushed with
hope, for never had he met his superior with
the sword.

“Ready!” said the deep tones of the giant,
and confronting each other, the two blades
crossed With a ring and clash that made the
sparks fly.

(To be continued—commenced in No. 71.)

-——————___

 

.A LITTLE American boy in England used to
ride a donkey called the Prince of “'ales, while
his younger sister rode one with a commoner
name, After service one Sunday morning he
exclaimed: “Momma, they prayed for my

gfigigliey; why didn’t they pray for baby’s,

A GEORGIA bride is described in one of the
local papers as “looking a very lily, cradled in
the golden glimmer of some. evening lake—a
foam_fleck, snowy yet sunflukhed, crowning
the ripplings of some soft Southern sea.” A
few years hence she will be described as looking
a very hollyhock, cradled in the shadowy se-
clusion of a stake and ridered rail fence—a red
sunset, flerCe and flushed, crowning the rip-
plings of some soft Southern wash-tub.

 

- 
—~, -1A‘-. .~.
'" - m«.r-l_.

WOMAN’S MISSION.

BY II. II. JOHNSON.

 

Though she may not in the battle
Bravely lead men to the fi ht—
Though she may not wield t e saber
For the right against the might;
She. can hover near the bedside
Where the wounded soldier lies—
She can cheer his dying moments,
Watch beside him till he dies.

Though she may not guide the voyage
Of the stench old "Ship of State,“—
Steer it from the rocks and breakers
\\ here its foes in ambush wait;
She may wield a mightier influence
Over those who rule the land;
She may be the silent power
That shall nerve the statesman’s hand.

Though she may not, in the councils
Of the nation, raise her voice—-
Though she may not, by their ballots,
Be proclaimed the co le’s choice—-
She can teach the litt e c ildren
To be brave and firm and true,
True to manhood, God, and-country:
More than this no man can do.

Though she may not from the pulpit,
Speak the words of truth and love,
\Varning men of death and judgment,

Pointing them to God above,
She can speak to some poor sinner—
Tell him Christ for him was given—
She may, by some kind word spoken,
Win a soul for God and heaven.

In the battle, in the pulpit,
In the councils of the land,
0n Fame’s high and dizzy summit,
Woman’s form may never stand;
But more holy is her mission—
Noblest work that God has given!
Hers to lift with hands so tender,
Our poor world up nearer Heaven.

 

VVhHe Beaven

THE EXILE of the PLATTE;
OR,
A Wronged Man’s Red Trail.

A Romance Founded upon Incidents in
the Border Life of'Frank Powell, the ‘
“ Doctor Scout,” late Surgeon In
the United States army, and
now the “llllghty Medi-
cine Chief of the Win-
nebagoes.”

BY HON. W. F. CODY (Buffalo Bill).

CHAPTER XLVI.
THE CAMP IN THE CANYON.

THE scene changed from the rollin prairies
to a wild but beautiful spot in the hil s, where
fl0wers are growing in the vales, streamlets
murmuring as they swiftly dash along, and
birds are making the forest ring with their
shrill songs.

In a small canyon a camp is visible, and fires
from which the smoke curls lazily upward are
to be seen before each door of half a dozen rude
shanties that are built under the shelter of the
steep hillside.

Horses are staked out here and there in the

 

valley, feeding upon the juicy grass, and sad-'

dlcs, bridles and pack-saddles hang ready for
use in the trees near by.

It is n. [,iicluresque sccno, yet a Wild one, and
there is every indication that the camp has not
been pitched for u day.

Afar olf, fully a league distant, is a high em-
inence, rising like a sugar—loaf out of a level
plain, with the rolling prairie beyond and the
range of hill-land behind it.

Its summit is bore of vegetation, and it is n.
desolate. spot for one to Seek; but standing
there, relieved against the sky, is a man, look
ing statue like in his stillness.

Under the brow of the hill, and a few paces
311d?!Y from the man, is a horse, saddled and bri-

(" .

This man is in plain view of the canyon,
wherein is the camp, and it is evident that he is
the sentinel, watching there for the approach
of any foe.

In the camp are a score or more of men, idly
lolling about upon the grass, sleeping, smoking,
or playing cards, while coming down the hill-
side are several more on horseback, their ani-
mals loaded with game.

Before one of the shanties, standing apart
from the others, and more pretentious, are two
persons, one of them reclining upon the ground,
the other supported in a half-sitting posture
upon a stretcher that had evidently been
brought out of the hut.

Both these persons the reader has seen before,
for one was the Doctor Scout, the other the
Red Angel chief, his face still concealed by the
mask of red wings.

Some weeks have passed away since the out—
law captain became the patient of the Doctor
Scout, and in all that time the Surgeon Scout
had not seen the face of the wounded man,
other than the long blonde mustache and firm
c in.

IVhat attentions, other than surgical, the chief
needed, Brick, the black bravo.’ attended to,
giving him his meals, and caring for him as ten-
derly as though he were an infant.

“ And you pronounce me out of danger, Pow-
elll,” asked the chief, as the two were together
under the sl‘anty.

“ IVholly so.”

“ And Dead Knife Jim, is he out of danger?”

1‘ X'es.”

“ And no longer needs care?”

“Only such as his comrades can give him, for
his arm is healing rapidly.”

“ And Lucky Luke?”

“Is likewi 0 doing Well.”

, “And Sandy!"

“ \Vas up this morning, while the lesser
wounded of the men are up and about.”

“You have then done your duty, you think?”

“To such an extent that I have sinned
against my Government and my conscience in
nursing back to sinful lives a set of villains
that deserve hanging,” was the very cool re~
spouse of Frank Powell.

The chief hit his lips, and asked:

“ “Well, what do you expect of me?”

“ 'l‘o release me.’

“ Upon what terms f”

“ What terms do you ask?”

“That you take a solemn oath not to again
take the trail of the Red Angels.”

“ If such are your terms, just set yourself
right on the matter, for I shall take no such
oath.”

“ Will _you swear not to bring any force of
men against. us. or giVe information that will
lead your soldiers to find us!”

“ Yes, I will swear to keep the secret of your
retreat here, and not to march against you
With any force, or to make known facts that
may lead to your being tracked down.

“.But [will pledge you also that I will re—
main your foe, and when I can personally
track you, kill you, or do you or your hand
harm, 1 “ill do so with my whole soul in the
good work.”

“ You are frank.”

“ Yes, my naum is Frank, and you should
know me Well enough to understand that my
words fit my name.”

“ I do. for a more fearless man I never met in
word or act.”

‘.‘ Thank you: I am sorry I do not know some-
thing good of you‘that I can return the compli«
ment. by flattery.”

“ So you demand your release?”

lt l (i”'”

“ Then I shall consult my men tonight after
the feast, for I see the hunters have brought
home a fine. assortment of game.”

“ I thought that you Were chief?”

(f I am.”

“ Then why consult your men '1”

“ To see if any of them object.”

“And if they do?”

 

 

 

 

\

 

wwq—‘u.’ r .m wwtnrmMa-e wow“.

‘ x

x... ........,...,.

 

 
     
     
         
      
     
      
    
   
    
    
        
        
       
 
     
      
      
      
       
      
      
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
     
  
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
    
 
    
    
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
   
   
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
   
   
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
   
    
   
   
   
   
  
  
 
   
   
     
   
    
   
   
    
    
   
   
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
  

 

 

 

 

 
 
     
   
   
   
    
   
     
    
   
   
   
     
   
   
 

      
   
 
   

<.i‘“‘é':-;2*.sfr: grammes

‘  ‘  ‘     

    
   
   
   
   
   
  
     
 
  
   
    
 
    
    
  
   
   
    
   
   
 

“FAA. - "
 A

“ \Ve’ll decide then what is to be done.”

Frank Powell said no more, but rising,
strolled about the camp, looking at the game
the hunters had brought in.

As he passed near the chief again, the latter
called out:

“ When does your parole end, l’i’iivell f”

“I told you that 1 would make no effort to
escape unlil I reported that you, and your
wounded men, Were in a safe condition for me
to leave them.”

“ And you assert now that they are?”

“I do.”

“Then you consider your parole at an end?”

“ i do."

“ And may attempt to escape at any Ino-
nieni ‘6“

“ No, [shall wait until after your men have
given you permission to let me go,” answered

the Surgeon Scout, as he turned on his heel and

walked off.

 

(‘HAl’l‘Elt XLVl].
'i‘iiii: DUEL FOR LIBERTY.
THE oiitlaws’ feast was a picturesque scene,

though a wild one, for the lurid glare of the
camp fires sent huge shadoWs of men, horses
and trees dancing against the Sides of the hills,
while voices in song, in profanity and coarse

jests were heard upon all sides.

A cask of rum had been opened by the chief,
in honor of the Surgeon Scout's report that
the wounded were out of danger, and the rough,
desperate men were drinking deep, and adding
the stimulant Of liquor to their own reckless

natures.

Frank Powell was no liquor-loving man, and
sat calmly by, viewing the wild scene and won-

dering how it all would end.

The chief had been bolstered up on his stretch-
er, the other wounded had been brought to the
large camp-fire, and Dead Knife Jim was

seated near Powell, grim and silent.

.1—

an.»

a

l.

.,

 

 

 

 

 

 

)‘S

"x-

/’ A.--

When the feasting was over and the desperate
band were excited with their drinking, the
chief ordered silence.

Instantly all was attention, and Captain Kit
said, in a voice that had grown strong once
more. and had the old~time ring to it:

“ Men, there is one in our midst who, as you
all know, does not belong to our band.”

A number of voices shouted:

“ That’s so!”

“ I refer to the Wizard Doctor.”

“ We all know him, an’ he are a Wizard Doc-
tor,” said one.

“ I admit his magical skill as a surgeon, men,
I admit his marvelous deeds as a man, his des-
perate courage, deadly aim, and all that; but
he is our foe, and though he has brought me
and others back to life, is he entitled to go?

“ I put the question squarely to you all.

“ Is the \Vizard Doctor to be permitted to go
free and again become our deadly foe?”

A Silence fell upon all for an instant, and then
Dead Knife Jim said:

“ 1f the Doc gives his word as how he won’t
do no harm ag’in’ us, I says let him go, fer he
are ther man clean through ter keep thet word.”

“I says so, too!”

“ Dead Knife talks serene!”

“ Thet’s ther music!”

“ Thar Doc can’t tell a lie ef he tried.”

“ Let him go 1”

“ Yas, he’s squar’!”

“ He’s Gospel on ther truth, pards.”

Such were the cries that followed the words
of Dead Knife Jim, with many more.

Then the chief said:

“ As the O inion of all seems to be to let the
Doetor go ree, I will administer to him an
oath that he will not lead a force against us,
will not betray our haunts, our strength of

 

numbers, or tell any secrets about us, and if he
takes this oath, he can go.”

“ Thet’s ther music!" shouted a voice.

“ ltuiiiember, mcn, this does not bind me not
to single handed hunt you down and kill you
wherever I find you,” came in Powell’s quiet
tones.

“ Wal, thet are nurve,” said one.

“True, it gives you the right to hunt us as
you can, singly. but not to betray us, or march
against us With any force.” ~

“ I understand you then, Captain Hyena, and
am willing to take such oath.”

“Then there is no dissenting voice?” asked
the chief.

At 3",”. I,”

All turned upon the speaker.
the oiillaw.

“ You object, do you, Van?”

6‘ I (10. ,‘7

“ You are the only one.”

“And the, rules of our band give me the right
to Ol)j"L'li.”

6L Y(,S.,7

“ I demand the execution of that man, whom
I am almost superstitious enough to believe is
allied With the devil!” savagely said the out—
law.

“I have been allied to a number of devils
of late,” coolly put in Powell. ‘

‘* \Vliy do you demand his execution, Van?”
asked Captain Kit.

“Because he has tracked us like a bound; he
has the death of Several of our number to an-
swer for ” _

“ l have a greater crime to answer for in san-
ing the lives of your chief and others." fearless-

It was Van,

 

ly put in the Surgeon Scout, and his bold re-
mark really Won for him the greater admir-

ation of many present.
“See, he regrets saving your life, and the
lives of Dead Knife and others,” continued Van,
and he went on rapidly, and with savage earn-
estness‘:
“ He has wronged us, hunted us, killed us.

and will do so again, and wipe us out from the
prairie, for he will never keep an path If he
makes it on a Bible, if we had one in camp to

swear him on.” _ '
“I has got a Bible,” said Dead Knife Jim,

putting his only hand into an inner pocket and

drawing forth—a pack of cards .’

All broke forth in a loud laugh at this; but
not in the least disturbed, Dead Knife Jim
again thrust his hand into his pocket and this

time drew out a small Bible, while he said:

“ It were in comp’ny along with ther keerds,
same as thet good man are in ther comp ny 0’
us, thet are a durned sight wuss nor any greasy
old pack 0’ keerds thet hev ever gambled a life

away.”

“Lordyl Dead Knife are goin’_ter.tak,e ter
preachin’, now he hev lost one 0’ his grips,’ said

Luka Luke.

“You is a howlin’liar, Luke, fer I are only
talkin’ sense, an’ of yer think ’cause .1 hev lost
one grip thet l haiii’t got another, jestllt me
see cf 1 don’t turn Ofi‘

feel yer windpipe an’
ther gas.”

But Lucky Luke concluded that held lose -his
name for luck if he allowed Dead Knife to try
the experiment, and remained silent, while

Van, the outlaw, said in a loud voice:

“You have heard my demand, men, and

speak up and tell the chief I am right.”

But nota voice was heard in response, and an

unpleasant silence followed, which was broken
by the mellow—toned voice of the Surgeon Scout
saying: . .
“ As you seem so anXIOus that I should die,
sir, suppose you take upon yourSelf the part of
executioner, and face me With a revolver at ten
paces?" _ ‘ _
A perfect yell greeted this proposmon, and
Van, the outlaw, saw that he had made a 'mis-
take, while he was the more convmced of it by
the remark of his chief:
“ Yes, Van, that settles the puzzle as to what
we are to do with the Wizard Doctor, and you
must face him.”
Again a yell of delight broke from the men,
for they Were just in the humor to Wish to Wit—
ness some tragic scene,

man to be toward a fire, .
were thrown to add li ht to the affair.

Doctor Powell calm v prepared for the.meet-
' ' ' ‘h d d him by Brick, at
lug, his revolver being an 9 he had been

the chief’s orders, for in the camp
forced to go unarmed.

and the distance was

' b Old J :9, the back of each
qumkly Steplmd Off y upon which fresh logs

Frank Powell smiled, and leveling the weapon

at a mark on the tree, rattled off the Six shots.

‘I‘ There were no bullets in that revolver,
Brick, tor See, there is no mark on that tree.”
“ Massa miss de tree, maybe,” said Brick, in-

noccntly.

Powell made no response until he had loaded
the weapon, and then he said, turning quickly
toward the negro:

“ You think so, do you, Brick, that I missed
the tree!”

“ Yas, massa.”

“ All right; I'll convince you to the contrary.
“There, place your hand (hm-e,” and seizing
the large hand of the negro, he flattened it out
against the tree, in spite of the effort to prevent
it on Brick’s part.

Then covering the head of the negro with his
revolwr, he. said sternly:

“ Holt it there as it is, or I'll kill you!”

The frightened black obeyed in terror, while
all looked on with real gusto, the chief remark—
ing:

“ If you harm that negro, Powell, your life
won‘t be worth a cent in my camp.”

Frank Powell smiled, raised his revolver
quickly, and four shots fl Ished forth, a wild
yell greeting them. as the men rushed forward
to find that a bullet had buried itself in the
space between each one of the negro’s fingers,
without nipping the flesh.

“ You have doubtless changed your mind,
Brick, about my missing the tree,” remarked
the Surgeon Scout, in an off- hand way.

" Yas, sah, I change my mind forebermore,
massa,” and Brick grinned all over his face at
his fortunate escape.

During this scene Van, the outlaw, had stood
with his revolver in his hand, and he would
gladly have shot the Doctor; but he saw the eye
of Dead Knife Jim upon him, and the latter
had his weapon in his hand, so he was forced to
take the chances Of a meeting with the Doctor,
though the exhibition he had had of his skill
did not reassure him of his success.

“I am ready,” said Surgeon Powell, pleas-
anflg, as he took the stand that the chief indi-
Ca e .

Sullenly Van took his stand, and the word
was given by Captain Hyena, while the Red
Angels ranged themselves in two rows on either
side of the combatants.

Both were told to stand with their backs to
each other, and at the word to wheel and fire,
until they emptied their revolvers.

Frank Powell stood with an air of utter in-
difference, while the outlaw seemed ill at ease.
Their weapons were in their belts, and they
were to stand with folded arms until the word.
Such were the arrangements.

Raising himself upon his elbow Captain Kit
cried:

“Fire!”

Almost with the word, so quick were the
movements of Doctor Powell, came the flash of
his pistol, and Van, the outlaw, fell dead before
he got his revolver to a level, the clutch of his
finger upon the trigger disrharging the weapon,
and the bullet burying itself in the brain of one
of the outlaws, who was at the end of the line.
“ Two at one shot,” cried Old Joe, while Cap-
tain Kit said:

“ Well, Powell, you have won your freedom,
and you are at liberty to start in the morning.”
“ Thank you.” was all that the Surgeon Scout
said, as he walked off to the shanty which had
been his abode in the camp of the Red Angels,
while these reckless spirits that had held him
prisoner went on with their revel without a
thought of their dead comrades.

CHAPTER XLVIII.
A FRIEND IN A FOE.

FRANK POWELL had thrown himself down to
rest, little recking of the turmoil in the out-
law camp, and was sinking to sleep, when sud-
denly he awoke with a start.
He was conscious of a human presence near,
and said sternly:
“Speak, or I fire!”
“Easy, pard Doc, easy, fer it are me,” came
in a whisper.
“ Ah! it is you, Dead Knife Dick?”
“Yas, Doc.”
“ Well, what is it?"
“ l wishes for give yer a leetle advice.”
“ I am listening.”
“Some 0’ ther boys hes been told ter ambush
yer in ther morning.”
“Indeed?”
“ Yas, iher chief hain’t ther best man in ther
world, and he wants yer dead, and he bev told
live 0’ ther boys ter lay fer yer at ther Willow
Canyon, through which yer hes ter pass, and
you is ter be shooted through ther heart, so jist
go round by ther Antelope ford o’ ther river,
and leave ’em thar waitin’ fer yer ontil they
gits gray-headed.” I _
“I thank you, Dead Knife, most Sincerely;
but as 1 know of their little game, I’ve half a
mind to go by Willow Canyon and stir the as-
sassins up a leetle.”
“ Five is a leetle too many, pard Doc.”
“Not if I first get the drop, and take them
by surprise.”
“ Waal, yer weepins is ter be onloaded, tho’
they’ll look loaded, an’ ther ammunition they
pretends ter give you is no good.”
“ Ah, that is bad.”
“ Yas, but I hes some good ammunition here
fer yer, an’ l’ll go out fer-night afore 1 goes ter
roost, an’ leave ther cap’n‘s repeatin’-rifie in
ther holler 0’ ther tree whar ther trail forks a
mile below here, an’ you kin git thet weepin.”

“I thank you most kindly, Jim, and some
day hope to repay you.” .
“ You hes done thet, an’ I’d take nothin’ from

 

friend.” .

I‘ll make an honest man of you.”

brain-pan.” '
“ If you get caught any time, I’ll try
the noose from around your neck, Jim.’
“ Afore it chokes me tcr death, Doc?”
“ Oh yes.”

luck ter yer, oniess yer shoots at me.
it means squar’ when it clutches your hand.”
law, and then lay down again to rest.

were given to him by Brick, with the remark:

Wish to disturb him.”

lyin .

him:

ag’in.”
The
cast a glance at them as he rode bv.

the bolloiv tree, and in it
faithful Dead Knife Jim had placed there.

they had no powder in the cartridges.

He soon had them loaded.
horse feeling
rein. heading .
in spite of the warning
Dead Knife Jim.

eyes, as though he
hushed assassins,
them,

 

CHAPTER XLIX.
WELL MET.

 

“ The weepin all right, massa—loaded jist as

I got him,” said the negro.

all the venom of his nature was aroused against

yer, Doc, fer ef yer is my inemy, I is yer
“Well, Jim, I have much to_feel gratitude
to you for, and if you wish to give up this out-
law life you lead, come to me at the fort, and

“ lt would be harder ter thread a needle with
a lariat, l guesses; but I’ll keep yer offer in my

and get
7

“'l‘uet are squar’, an’ I’ll say good-by, an’
“Here’s ther only grip yer hes left me, but
Frank Powell grasped the hand of the out-
But he was up with the dawn, his revolvers

“ Massa tOle me ter done gib you dese, Doc;-
tor; but he am sleepin’ dis mornin’ an’ I doesn t

“ All right, Brick; say to him that some day
I hope to meet him again,” answered the Sur—
geon Scout, well knowing that the negro was

Mounting his horse, he rode from.the camp,
the outlaws who were awake calling out tO

“Good—by, Doc, an’ don’t let us catch yer

bodies of Van and his brother outlaw
still lay where they had fallen, and the Doctor

. , _ ot where the trails divided he found
At the Sp the rifle which the

Not wishing to go further with no loads in
his revolvers. be examined them and saw that

however, and his
anxious to go, he gave him the
straight for the Willow Canyon,
he had received from

But there was a. stern look upon his face, and;
a dangerous twinkle in his handsome black
was anxious to meet the am-
and leave his mark upon

As Frank Powell rode along, disdaining to
desert the trail through Willow Canyon because

those who had plotted his death.
They were fearful odds against him, he knew;
but he was one not to count odds.
They were murderers, renegades, and intend-
ed to shoot him down like a dog, SO that he in-
tended to plot to circumvent them and make
them the sufferers.
He was well mounted, thoroughly armed, and
had confidence in himself, which were big odds
in his favor.
They expected to take him by surprise, and
he would turn the tables upon them, and thus
hold another advantage.
Arriving near the Willow Canyon, he wheeled
abruptly to the left, and was about to make a
flank movement by riding to the base Of the
hills, then leave his horse, go on foot over the
ridge which the canyon severed in twain, and
Coming up in the rear of the outlaws, thus meet
them.
He had gone but a short distance when he
heard the clatter of hoofs.
Instantly he drew his horse into a thicket,
and watched for coming events.
The clatter of the hoofs grew louder and
louder, which proved that the horses were com—
ing toward him, for there were several animals
that made the sound.
He had not long to wait, when coming up the
trail he beheld three horsemen riding at full
speed, and yet urging their horses on with spur
and voice.
A glance showed him that he knew them.
They belonged to the band of Red Angel out-
laws, and were without doubt the men who
were sent to take his life.
But where were the other two, for Dead
Knife Jim had told him that there were five
in the party of assassins?
He could have drOpped one or more Of them as
they ran, but he would not fire from an ambush
upon them.
That they were alarmed greatly was evident.
But what had so frightened them? '
Had the major at the fort sent a force to his
rescue, and had his brother George tracked the
outlaws to their lair in the hills?
It might be so; but at any rate, Frank Pow-
ell, with all these thoughts flashing through his
mind, decided to ride on and investigate for
himself.
He therefore waited in his shelter until the
outlaws dashed on out Of sight, and then he
rode on his way straight for the Willow Can-
you.
Soon the steep walls of earth rose before
him, with the stream running through them,
its banks bordered with willows, and he paused,
for again the sound of approaching hoofs reach-
ed his ears.
The clatter was echoed back from the canyon
walls, resounding like the tramp of a hundred
horses, and Frank Powell cried:
“ Troopers, as I live, for those hoofs are shod
to give back that ringing sound, andiconsequent-
ly they are not Indians.”
Listening still, he added:
“ NO, there are but two horses, and the echo
makes them seem to be more.
“I have nothing to fear from two men, so
shall wait.”
A few moments more and those he waited so
coolly for dashed into sight.
They were riding hard, and yet their eyes
fell upon Frank Powell as soon as he saw
them.
Instantly they dréw rein, dragging their
horses back upon their haunches for an in-
stant.
Then from the lips of the three men broke
exclamations, and spurring forward quickly,
they sprung from their horses, and each Of the
two grasped a hand of the Surgeon Scout.
Had the reader seen those three men, as they
stood there with clasped hands, he would have
pronounced them a noble trio.
Both Of those who had so suddenly come up
were men of fine bearing, the one tall, Slender,
wiry, straight as an arrow, with dark, express-
ive eyes, mild in repose, and full of fire in ex-
citement. -
His movements were full of quiet grace,
though quick, and With his jet-black hair hang-
ing far down his back, his buckskin suit, and
broad~brimmed slouch hat, he was one to at-
tract attention in any throng.
His companion was hardly more than the av—
erage hight of man, with a form that was per-
fect, and indicative of power and activity in a
remarkable degree; he was clad also in a hunt
ing-suit of buckskin, and showed that he was a
thorough borderman, at home in the dress.
His face was perfect in feature, and strikingly
handsome; so iandsome, in fact, with its dark-
blue eyes, and his long waving hair, black as
night, he might have passed for a beautiiul bru-
nette maiden in disguise, were it not that the
stamp of manhood, and all it implies, was
impressed upon his features, to give the lie to ef-
feminacy, that a first glance at him might sug-
est.
g Both men were well mounted, armed with ri—
fles, a belt of arms. and a lariat, and the reader
having met the taller one before, as Night Hawk
Powell, the fort scout, I mav as well introduce
his companion as Bronco Bill, in other words,
William Powell,* the youngest brother of the
Surgeon Scout.
After the first greeting was over between the
brothers, Frank PO well asked, in his kindly way:
“ Well, boys, you are here in search of me, I
know.”
“That is it, Frank, and we have found you,
or you found us, I don’t know which; but you
look healthy for an outlaw’s captive,” said
Bronco Bill, with a light laugh.
“ Oh, yes. I am in perfect health; but it will
be nothing to boast of if we do not ride on, for
we will have the whole band of Red Angels at
our heels in a couple of hours.”
“ Minus two we left back in the canyon.”
“ Ah! you ran upon those fellows then?
“ I thought something had startled the trio I
saw pass me.”
“Yes, we ran on them, fired as they saw us,
brought down one each, and the others ran as
though they thought we had a regiment at our
heels, while George and I started to follow, as
you see.
“ But Flyer trod in a hole and threw George,
and when I picked him up, we concluded to let
the fellows go, eXamine our game, catch their
two horses, and then come on.
“ We hitched the. horses back there in the can-
yon, and here we are.” _
“ And right glad am I to see you, Will, but
where is mother?"
“On the ranch, Frank, for I left her there
when I came at the tocsin sounded by George
to strike your trail.”
“And you struck it?” said Frank Powell,
with a smile.
“ Yes, we struck it rich, and now what have
you to say for yourself, Frank?”
In his quiet way, as they rode along, the
Surgeon Scout told his brothers Of what had
occurred in the camp of the Rel Angels, even
to his being bound by oath not to lead a force
against them.
Coming to the horses of the outlaws, they
took them in lead, passing the bodies of their
dead riders with merely a glance, while Frank
Powell, recognizing them, made known their
names with the remark: . .
“Lucky Luke’s had a turn Of luck this time,
and Old Joe never lived to die at the end Of a
rope. as I predicted he would. .
“ Now, boys, we will push on rapidly, for we
don‘t wish to be crowded; so, ho for the
fort!” .
“ All right, Frank; but as we can make it on
our way to go by Old Major Monkton’s ranch,
let us do so, for it is a duty you owe to relieve
the mind of that pretty girl about you. or She‘ll
be coming up here with all of the Old man’s
darkies at her back to rescue you.”
Frank Powell’s face flushed, but he simply

said:
“ Well, to Monkton’s Ranch be it, then.”

 

‘ Both George and William Powell are now physi-
cians and surgeons, practicing medicine in Wiscon—
Sim—THE AUTHOR.

 

he knew that deadly peril lay there in his

path,

   

      

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Iliumlllllllllllllllll !lllil.ll,,lh

am-

The New Ciusade.

BY “ IDAHO.”

 

 

PRESUMING your readers would be glad to
know the exact status of things in the New El-
dorado, 1 send this from the Eagle City camp
of the Occur il' Alene region.

Eagle City—a “ city” of Slabs, log and mud
shanties and stone hovels, is, in this first week
Of March, the seene of the wildest excitement
any gold region ever knew. Such a motley
processwn as has been pouring into this and
neighboring camps all winter was never seen
before in all the long history of mining settle—
ments. The hungry, half-naked and ragged,
as well as the Well-to-do, have been coming in a
steady stream, enduring hardships which never
can be adequately described, and surmounting
obstacles which might well be regarded as insup-
erable. A literal wilderness Of the roughest
imaginable topographical peculiarities, buried
in snow in some places so deep that bottom can-
not be touched, swept by icy blasts, destitute of
even the simplest conveniences of civilized life,
and overhung with leaden clouds, this whole
region has in six months been peopled by one of
the queerest aggregations of men anywhere to
be found.

Nothing but prospective riches could hive in-
duced these men to undergo the tortures which
they have experienced and must still experi—
ence in this most uninviting Of all climes. The
dreary days and nights passed on the foot-trail
over mountains and through narrow defiles and
gorges are hardly more terrible than the every-
day experience of the adventurers who have al-
ready reached the goal. There are thirty or
forty rude cabins here, each containing but one
big room, with no windows, holes in the sides
servmg for purposes of light and ventilation,
and on the floors of thesc structures the popu-
lation, wrapped in blankets, sleeps and dreams
of wealth.

The visions the dreamers behold in their
uneasy slumbers may best be judged from
the air-castles which they build in their wak-
ing hours. Packed in these huts like sar-
dines, shoulder to shoulder, sometimes thirty
or forty or fifty of them on one floor, the
men, whom neither Arctic snows nor Alpine
terrors could dismay, sleep nightly as uncou-
plainingly as though supplied with all the
comforts of the completest home. It is a
dreary thing waiting for the moms to melt,
revealing what every man believes will prove
the richest gold deposit on the continent.
Every-few days there is a fresh fall of two
Or three inches, which is not much when it is
considered that the Old snow is from five to
seven feet deep on the level, and in some
places three times as dee , but which is dis-
couraging, nevertheless. When the sun shines
and a warm wind blows, every one is con-
fident that the thaw is about to begin, but
all know that there can be no thaw in this
country before May. Men grown weary of
waiting set out in the morning determined to
overcome the obstacles which winter has
thrown in their way, but, after hours of la—
bor with pick and shove] have demonstrated
that the ramparts of ice and snow are prac-
tically impregnable, they beat a sullen retreat.
There are men here with money, and it is a
fortunate thing for many a poor fellow that
there are. Scores of played—out refugees, some
of them hard men, some merely unfortunate,
and a good many luckless, half-crazed, mis—
fortune-smitten adventurers, who have made
the rounds of all the camps only to be forced
by starvation to keep on the move, are here.
They have no money, and most of them have
no clothing suitable for this climate. How they
managed to get here at all is a mystery. Noth-
ing so clearly shows the unthinking and un-
reasoning nature of these great mining ex-
citements as the blind fatuity of such charac-
ters. The thought that after all the hardships
on the trail they might reach the promised land
only to starve or freeze to death never seems to
have entered their heads. They come strag-
gling in with no more baggage than a Tennes-
see tramp carries in midsummer, out at knees
and elbows, suspiciously thin at the waist, and
with features pinched and blistered by the cold.
There may be future United States Senators
and millionaires among them, but it does not
look so now. Some of them have been rich
once, twice, or three times, and most of them
have friends and relatives at the East who
know in a vague sort Of way that they are “ out
West.” They are after fortunes of fabulous
proportions, and expect to find them some day
all in a lump without much exertion.

There are no stopping-places on the terrible
Trout Creek foot-trail, and when men with no
supplies except the few crusts they carry in
their pockets Start out on that well—beaten
path they must keep moving day and night
until their destination has been reached. One
impecunious but ingenious fellow with a fond—
ness for warming himself, and with a large
Stock of matches on hand, stopped every few
miles and built himself a fire. Others coming
after him found the embers, and, putting fresh
fuel on, renewed the. blaze. These fires have
now been burning along the trail for weeks,
no understanding having been arrived at in
the matter, but every man consulting his own
interest. This fact better than anything else
will Show the incessant nature of the move-
ment toward the (bear d’Alenes. The fires
guide the procession by day, and at night
they illuminate the lonely mountains for miles
around.

These impecunious fortune-hunters must
work or starve, and as there is plenty of money
here for the development of the camp, they find
remunerative employment as wood—choppers
and builders. Many of them are weak and
sickly, and the axes which they swing seem in
their bony hands instruments with which they
are unfamiliar; but they toilon uncomplaining-
1y. They would regard such emplo ment at
the East as humiliating beyond measure; but
here it is merely incidental to the extensive
mining operations which they are all carrying
on in their minds. More than one of these half—
clad pioneers will receive a miner’s burial be-
fore the snows disappear.

The saloons, all with gambling attachments,
are running full blast day and night. Utilized
like the rest of the buildings here for sleeping
purpOses at night, the men who stretch their
weary frames on the boards Of the saloons do
so in utter disregard of the presence of drinkers
and gamblers. As the night wanes, and the
crowds at the bar or the board tables diminish,
the sleepers gradually encroach upon the re-
maining space, until finally the restless spirits,
who are never ready to quit, are compelled to
continue their carousals or their games over
the bodies of the sleep rs 0n the fl‘)OI‘. Any
place which has a roof to shelter it from the in—
clemency of the night is good enough to sleep
in, and fortunate is he who finds a plank not
alrrady occupied, no matter where it may be
situated.

This entire section has been staked Off into
claims time and again during the winter, and
when the snow goes off there is going to be the
liveliest kind Of fighting over the various lO-
cations. In numerous cases claims are held by
armed men, and any attempt at encroachment
would result in hostilities at once: but all over
the supposed gold country one claim has been
entered on the top Of another until inextricable
confusion has resulted. The extraordinary
depth of the snow has not facilitated matters.

Every man who has located a claim, whether
it was staked when the snow was one foot deep
and has had a dozen claims put on top of it
since, or whether it has been located on snows
as deep as Lake Erie, with no regard for the
claims underlying it, believes that he has a
bonanza within reach. Almost everybody is
thinking of selling all or part of his possessions.
It is a common thing to find a seedy indiv1dual
who will declare unreservedly that he_ is inor-
ally certain to get $300,000 for a certain claim,
and not a few have gone so far as to determine
just what they will do with their money when
they have secured it. Everything n0w lS

 

(To be continued—commenced in No. 67.)

hopeful, for no man, rich or poor, will permit

   

himself to doubt the richness Of the find here
although as yet there is verv little conclusivé
eVidence of the existence of gold in paving
quantities. Everything depends upon the’first
few days’ operations after the snow has disap-
peired' h b

"here ave eenagood man fi hts alr a
and insonie of the camps neai-yhegre tow: 
are being sold for $200 to $500, with the pro-
VlSO that no fight Will be thrown in. Jumpers
have made several raids, but as yet. they have
not been very successful. Over at Trout Creek
station the other day a brush shanty belonging
to a juniper was torn away in five. minutes, and
ten minutes .later another establishment had
been erected in its place by the rightful owner.
A purchaser at lone City, having found that he
had bought a fight as Well as a lot, went to the
man from whom he had bought to complain,
but was put Off with the remark: “ You are as
big as I am. Fight for your lot.”

All Winter long until two weeks ago there
was no woman in the camp, and at a. meeting
of prominent citizens it was decided that the
first woman to reach the mines should have a.
town lot. Several adventurous women started
for the front, but most Of them were induced
to'abandon the enterprise. One. a. young girl
With still some traces of beauty remaining, got
as far as Belknap, and was making prepara-
tions to continue the journey on foot, when she
died suddenly from an overdose of morphine.
The miners buried her with great solemnity
and tenderness, her body being the first to re-
ceive interment in the cemetery at that place.
Another, an older and more athletic indi-
VIdua], dressed in men’s clothes, actually made
the tramp from Trout Creek successfully, and
came into this camp in a blaze of glory, the
c‘itizens turning out and escorting her about the

city” In approved style. She retired from
View for a few minutes, and when she reap-
peared She was tastefully attired in the clothing
of her sex. Others are on the road.

 

[gf A few Advertisements will be inserted
on this page at the rats of fifty cents per line
nmmarpfl measurement.

Beadle’s Boy’s Library.
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3 KIT CARSON, KING OF GUIDES' or, Mountain
Paths and Prairie Trails. By Albert W. Aiken.
4 GORDAN LILLIE, THE BOY INTERPRETER OF THE
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5 BRUIN ADAMS, OLD GRIzzmz’s BOY PARD. By
Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
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O

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3 THE FLYING YANKEE. By Col. P. Ingraham.

4 THE DOUBLE DAGGERS. By Edward L. Wheeler.

5 THE Two DETECTIVES. B Albert W. Aiken.

6 THE PRAIRIE PILOT. By Buffalo Bill.

7 THE BUFFALO DEMON. By Edward L. Wheeler.

8 ANTELOPE ABE. the B0 Guide. B 011 Coomes.

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Containing twenty Minor Dramas, Extravaganzas,
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HANDBOOK
Summer Athletic Sports.

Walking, Running, Jumping, Hare and Hounds
Bicycling, Archery, etc., etc.

Fully Illustrated.
BY CAPT. FREDERICK WHITTAKER.

 

 

 

 

CONTENTS!

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Sciap Pictures 100., or 50 new satin Chromo
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QUIET LODGINGS.

BY JO KING.

 

 

I’ve journeyed far for several days,
I’m worn out and distressed,
I put up at a nice hotel
To get some needed rest, _
I’m shown up to my chamber straight,
And gladly go to bed at eight.

My lids close down into a doze;
I soon shall be asleep ;'
Fare well to all mv weariness!
Welcome, oh, slumbers deep! _
Somebody bangs this door of mine;
I wake; I hear the clock strike nine.
Again tny eyes begin to droop
In spite o rumbling wheels, .
And o‘er my halt-unconscrous mind
The mist of slumber steals. .
Alarm bells ring; “ Fire 2” shriek the men;
I wake; I hear the clock strike ten.

Back on the road to sleep I go;
And I am almost there;
M neighbor in the right band room
Begins to storm and swear—
“ By George, I’ve killed some twenty-seven!”
I wake; I hear the clock strike ’leven.

Back unto sleep, though something strange
Is nibbling at my toes!

My neighbor in the left-hand room
Shores with tumultuous throes;

If he should burst his safety valve!

I wake: I hear the clock strike twelve.

Again in a half-doze I fall.
Two fellows overhead.
With broken-hearted violins,
Seem playing for the dead,
Who, could they hear it, would but groan.
I wake; I hear the clock strike one.

But when they stop for want of tunes,
My eyes are sealed again._
A cavalry racket on the stairs,
By travelers from the train.
Begins, and shakes the whole house through—
I wake; I hear the clock strike two.

At last I soundly get to sleep,
And feel quite glad at heart.
Some traveler is going off,
And wants an earl start.
The porter by mista e wakes me,
What time the clock is striking three.

Quite mad. I rise and dress myself,
And tell the landlord’s crew

They woke the right man by mistake,
For I am going. too.

And to forget the night‘s events

I go and sleep across a fence.

 

Old Grizzly’s_M_ustang Hunt.

BY CAPTAIN RINGWOOD.

 

“ BOYEES, ef yer wants some fun, jess gather
yer lariats an’ kem wi’ me,” said old Rube, rid—
ing unexpectedly into camp one morning. 

He and Grizzly Adams had left us, two days
before, up on the edge of the Staked Plains, to
.look after a trail we had crossed while pursuing
a band of Comanches who had burned the house
of a settler.

We did not expect to see either of them so
soon, as the trail led westward, and they were
famous for “ hanging on,” so the appearance of
Rube was something of a surprise.

Tin cups and roasting meats were dropped,
and the fellows eagerly crowded around the old
trapper.

“ What’s up, Rube?”

“Mustangs, an’ a heap uv ’em. Yer know
ther big paint as we tried ter rope last season,
don’t yer, boyees?”

“ Yes! yes! Is be there?” exclaimed half a
dozen voices, excitedly. -

“He ain’t nothin’ else; bigger and purtier’n
ever. I tell yer, lads, he’s a scrouger,” replied-
Rube, who had dismounted, and was hastily
bolting a piece of half-cooked buffalo-rump.

“ Where’s Grizzly?” asked one of the boys.

“Back at Injuu Run, a-watchin’ ther mus-
tangs,” replied Rube. “ Kem, boyees, be con-
tinued, “ hurry up, er mebby they won’t be thar
when we kems to look fur ’em.”

The command was hardly necessary, as those
who could be spared from camp were already
in the sadddle, ready to be off.

It seems that the previous season a portion
of the company had been down in this section,
and while scouting along the border of the Co-
manche country had sighted a large drove of
wild mustangs, unusually fine animals, which
were led by a large “ paint,” or piebald steed,
whose fleetness of foot was described as some-
thing remarkable. Another “ white horse of the
prairies,” I thought at the time, and then gave
the subject no further attention.

But it n0w appeared that there was really
something in the report, for I well knew old
Rube never exaggerated such things or al-
lowed himself to become enthusiastic without
full and sufficient reason therefor.

Indian Run was a small creek emptying into a
tributary of the Pecos, well bordered with tim-
her, and skirting on its northern limits an im-
mense reach of prairie that swept away south-
ward to the base of Gaudalupe mountains.

Upon this prairie the drove of mustangs had
been sighted, and old Grizzly had taken a posi-
tion in the timber to watch their movements,
while Rube came on to camp to give us the news.

And very acceptable news it was, as most of
our cattle had been badly knocked up by the
last scout, and fresh ones were wanted. Luckily
there were half a dozen or so of us splendidly
mounted on “ American ” horses, and upon these
we depended for success in capturing the game.

Riding leiurely, so as to come upon the scene
of action as fresh as possible, we reached Indian
Run, and found old Grizzly on post, about an
hour after noonday.

The drove were not in sight, but the bear—
hunter told us they had fed around a point of
ginger below where the run made a sudden

en .

“ Lively, boyees!” exclaimed the old felIOW,
“ ther man as ar’ lucky enuflz' to rope this paint
ar’ a-goin’ to hev a big thing to hisself. Ralph,
there, looks ’s if he mou’t do it on his ‘clay-
bank.’ ”

“ Well, old man,” I replied, “if I do rope him,
I promise that he shall be yours.”

“Yer don’t! Hooray! Dang my ole mocca-
sins ef ever I gits thet crittur atween my legs,
[’11 make ther red-skins think as how somethin’
ar’ bu’sted l”

Preparations were at once made to begin the
hunt.

Those of us who were best mounted, were to
keep within the timber, and approach as near
the drove as possible, while the others, some
flve-and-twenty in number, were to strike out
into the prairie, and, taking advantage of a
slight swell, take positions so as to head off the
animals, and thus keep them within certain
limits.

These preliminaries were successfully carried
out, and at a signal from Rube, who had as-
cended a pecan tree to take observations, and
see when the scouts were duly posted, we moved
off toward the point whence we were to break
00ver.

The drove was, as Rube had said, a very large
one, and contained many fine animals besides
the leader. who, even from the distance we
were, could be seen to be a horse of magnificent
proportions and action.

They were feeding about half or three quar—
ters of a mile out from the timber, and seemed
to be entirely unsuspicious of danger.

At the word we broke cover and rode straight
for the gang, and had actually covered half the
distance before they appeared to notice our ap-
proach. On a sudden, however, the leader
threw up his head, snorted violently, and wheel-
ing about, made directly out toward the heart
of the prairie, closely followed by the balance
of the drove.

For half an hour the chase was confined
within the semicircle inclosed by the pickets;
but as we pressed the mob closer and closer,
roping several of them in the mean time, I saw
indications upon the part of the “paint” to
break through, and get into a wider field.

Old Rube, who had been hanging around me

in all the turnings and twistings of the race af-
ter the stud, for upon him alone I had fixed my
eyes, saw the same, and yelled out for me to
close or I would lose mv chance.

The next mOment the break would have been
made, when, fortunately, the mustang stumbled
badly—in fact, fell to his knees, and before he
could recover, I shot forward to his side, and,
with a lucky cast, dropped the noose fairly over
his head. .

Old Grizzly had been watching my move—
ments closely, and while the struggle between
myself and the stud was at its hight, he‘dasbed
up, yelling like a red skin, and wavmg his coon—
skin cap over his head. . . _

“Hooray, boyee! Hold him tight, while I—
Look yanderl” and jerking his horse back upon
his haunches, be pointed off toward the south-
ern border. A glance was sufl‘icient to reveal
the cause of this sudden exclamation. ' _

Just along the crest of a swell in the prairie,
distant some two. or perhaps three miles. a
number of dark objects were seen rismg and
falling with a regular movement, some of which
occasionally flashed brightly as when the sun is
reflected from a burnished metallic object.

“Injuns!” shouted Rube. '

“You bet, an’ a big party at that,” replied
Old Grizzly. “ By ther etarnal, boyee, it’ll never
do fer to give up ther paint. now we‘ve got him.”

But there did not appear to be any help for
it. The horse was making a furious reSIstance,
charging u on us, lashing out and biting at the
rope that held him, with a ViCiousness I had
never seen equaled.

“ Rope him, Rube!” suddenly shouted the
bear-tamer. “ Rope him on t’other stde, an’
mebby you kin lead ther durned brute!”

The hunter’s lariat instantly flew through the
air. the noose falling squarely in place. And
thus, upon each side. We galloped forward, hop-
ing to drag the stud along. But this only
seemed to render him more furious,» and plant-

» ing his fore—feet in the earth, he lay back upon

his haunches, and refused to mow.

While this struggle was going'on, the Indians
were rapidly approaching, and havmg sur-
mounted the rise, were in full view. ’

“’Pach’, by ther eturnal!” exclaimed Rube,
who had been closely scanning the war party
as they came on at full speed. “ What ther
deuce ar’ they doin’ hyar et this season?”

“ Ther durned niggursl” exclaimed Old Griz-
zly. “ Allers a~turnin’ up when they’re leastly
warntedl But, by ther everlastin’, they sha’n’t

hev ther critter! I’ll shoot him fust-l” And he
was rapidly unslinging his rifle from his back,
when a new thought seemed to enter his head.
“ I’ll ride him, boyees! I will, by Davy Hold
yer lariats tight till I mounts!” and he sprung
from the back of his mustang, and quickly ap-
proached the struggling stud.
I knew it was useless to argue the matter be-
sides, there was no time to do so. We had
either to cast loose our lariats and run for .t, or
else stand and show fight against the over-
whelming numbers that were bearing swiftly
down upon us. Seeing that the bear-tamer
was determined to mount the wild animal,
I made a sign to Rube, 'and instantly the
lariats on either side were stretched to their ut
most, nearly choking the steed from his feet,
and holding him steadily in one spot.

01d Grizzly watched for and caught his
chance, ran quickly forward, barely dodging a
fearful stroke from the mustang’s heels, and in
a twinkling was seated upon his back.
Before the stud had recovered from his sur-
prise the fearless man had reached forward and
g&asped both lassoes, and shouted for us to cast
0

This we did, and turned to flee just as the
first arrows of the Apaches began to fly about
our cars.

So ressing was the emergency, that for sev—
eral undred yards I had no opportunity of
looking back, the prairie being a “ hog-wallow,”
and consequently it required all my attention
to see that my horse did not stumble and fall;
but when I did glance over my shoulder I wit-
nessed a sight that was both alarming and lu-
dicrous in the extreme. The Indians had be—
come considerably scattered, those upon the
flanks breaking away right and left in pursuit
of the rangers, but there was still a very con-
Siderable body at the center, right in the midst
of whom I saw Old Grizzly. He was still seated
on the back of the mustang stud, but flying up
and down in the air in a manner that was su-
premely ludicrous, as the wild horse leaped and
plunged to get rid of his burden.

The Apaches were evidently in the wildest
state of excitement and confusion.

That they recognized the daring rider in their
midst was plain from their shouts and exclama-
tions. among which, even at the distance I was,
I could hear the words, “Man of the Bears,”
by which title my old friend had become known
all over the western tribes.

_ The old hunter had all he could do in attend-
ing to keeping his seat on the mustang’s back.
and hence made no attempt to uSe his weapons.
Seeing this, the Indians, evidently determined
to take him alive, gathered around the stud and
got ready their laSsOes.

All this I saw by occasionally turning in the
saddle as I scoured across the prairie toward
our distant camp. Again I looked back—mind
you. we were being hard pressed—and looking
beyond my immediate pursuers, saw that the

Old Grizzly still clinging like a monkey to his
b k

ac .

But while inclined to laugh, for the whole
thing was irresistibly comical, I felt a sudden
thrill of fear as I saw the Apaches getting their
bows in order, and rapidly fitting their arrows
to the string.

The speed of the wild home when he ran in a
straight line and steadily, was so much superior
to their own animals, that they felt the neces-
sity of using their weapons. if they would pre-
vent the ultimate escape of their well-known
and dreaded enemy. Preswtly I heard the sharp
clatter of hoofs rapidly approaching, and an-
other moment the “paint” mustang, with his
plucky rider swept by me like a flash.

The horse was now actually wild with terror
and pain, for his hind quarters were fairly
bristling with arrows, while, with a feeling of
pain 1 have but seldom experienced, I saw that
more than one of the shafts had found lodg-
ment in the back and shoulders of my old friend.

Soon after this, relief came.

Most of the boys had reached camp far ahead
of Rube and myself, and hastily collecting the
others, they now came thundering across the
prairie, riding in solid column straight at the
Apaches, who had pulled up as if to await the
attack.

They didn't wait long. however. The sharp,
ringing cheer of the rangers seemed to scatter
the last bit of courage, and away they went
southward, under lash and spur, and were soon
out of sight behind a swell in the prairie.

It now remained to capture Old Grizzly, who
was still scudding away on the back of the Stud,
and this proved to be no small matter. We
surrounded him at last, however, and the terri—
fied mustang was brought to terms by yet an-
other lasso around his throat.

“ Lookee hyar, boyee.” said the bear-hunter,
who was seated on the grass rubbing his limbs,
“yer may keep the dod-durn‘ed critter. I’ve
hed ridin’ enuff outen him ter last. Cuss the
beast, I don‘t b’leeve that’s a piece uv skin left
thar es big es a bullet-patch.”

But, unluckily, the splendid animal was des-
tined to serve no one. One of the arrows had
penetrated deep into the flank, touching a vital
spot, and on the following day he. died.

The wounds of Old Grizzly were severe, but
not dangerous, and alter we were satisfied that
n0ne of the arr0ws were poisoned, many a laugh

 

The horse was now wild with terror and pain,

 

“paint” mustang had broken away and was

 

coming straight after me like the wind, with

was had at the old fellow’s ride on the “paint”
mustang.

 

Officer Brant.

BY MALCOLM DOUGLAS.

 

 

HE was the oldest as well as the most intrepid
man on the force.

The position of a policeman is a precarious
one. At any moment he is liable to be stripped
of his badge. Yet the brilliant record Officer
Brant had made retained his place for him
through a number of administrations. He
was famed far and wide for his reckless brav-
ery. The stories the types told of him at
times had made the city ring with his praise.

He was tall and bulky, and possessed of im-
mense strength. His face was one from which
evil—doers shrunk. Yet little children were in-
stinctively drawn to it, and they were all his
friends. He had no enemies save those who
transgressed the law, and many a person in the
bitterest need could tell of the generous deeds
his big, warm heart prompted him to do.

But the Soul of Officer Brant was wrapped
up in his motherless boy. All his savings
were placed with scrupulous care in a bank.
Many a thing he could illy afford to spare
he went without in order to swell the deposit.

“There’s no telling when I’ll be taken off,”
he would confidentially remark to his brass—
buttoned companion; “this life is so risky,
you know. And I’d like to haveasnug little
nest egg laid away for my boy. Bless your
heart, that kid is one to be proud of. He’s go-
ing to make his mark in the world, and don’t you
forget it!”

In the chill, gray light of morning, when
he returned home after his wearisome round of
toil, he would steal softly to the bed and gaze
tenderly at the dream-lit face.

“ Poor boy!” he would murmur, with a Sigh.
“I try to do my duty by him, and yet— Oh,
if his mother had only lived!”

It was the child’s delight to put on his fa ther’s
heavy blue coat, and, with his little fingers
clutching a locust club, to parade up and
down the room.

“ Say, dad,” he would cry, anxiously, “ when
do you think I’ll be old enough to be a police-
man? Soon. won’t I ?”

“Never. I hope,” his father would rejoin,
smiling as he watched him trip up on the coat.
“You’re cut out for something better than
that, my lad—a statesu an, a lawyer, or a doc-
tor. Maybe you’ll be the president himself.
Who knows?”

The two modestly—furnished rooms in which
they lived were in a tenement in a poor quarter
of the town. They took their meals with the
family who were opposite to them. As the
boy grew older, he went to school. Occupied
with his duties at night, the father saw but lit-
tle of him. He often gave him homely bits of
advice.

“Stick to your books, lad,” he would say,
“ and never throw up the sponge. Just sail in

)ou’ll win. Never give up whatever you do.
It’s grit that tells in the end. If you set your
mind to it, you can do anything.” _

Years passed by. Officer Brant was still a
faithful guardian of the city. His boy had_com—
pleted a common-school education. As he eVinc'ed
a taste for mechanics, his father seemed him
a place in a machine-shop where it could be de—
Veloped. The reports that his employer gave
of him were so enthusiastic that Officer Brant
was filled with pride.

“ He’ll make an inventor, that’s what he
will.” he would say to his friends. “Bless
your heart, he’s forever tinkering away at
machinery. Some of these days he'll be getting
upacontrivance that will astonish you. I’ll
resign my position on the force, then,” with a
laugh, “ and get up a muscle clipping coupons
off of bonds.”

One day Mrs. Braham went to him with a
troubled look on her good natured face.

“ I’ve had it on my mind to tell you along
time, Mr. Brant,” she said, “ and yet I couldn’t,
somehow. .“It’s about your Jack. Do you
know—”

She paused, struck by the strange look that
came over his face.

“ Well?” he said, with forced calmness.

“Do you know,” she continued, half sorry
that she had begun, “ he’s out late nearly every
night of the WPek. My man has seen him once
with Bill Dodd‘s gang. I hope he’s not getting
into any trouble, sir.”

His brow darkened for a moment. “Bill
Dodd’s gang” was composed of a number of
young rowdies of whom all honest people stood
in dread. The master-spirit was a notorious
thief, who had an intimate knowledge of work-
house and penitentiary.

“ You Were right in telling me, Mrs. Bra-
ham.” he said, his strong voice trembling.
“butI can’t think the lad would do wrong.
There’sa screw loose somewhere, ma’am. I’ll
ask Jack about it when he comes home to-
night!”

She went away reliede at having dtne what
she thought her duty. He sat gazing moodily
at the glowing coals until twilight faded and
the six o’clock whistles sounded. Presently a
step was heard outside and a stout, fresh-com-
plexioned boy dashed into the room. Officer
Brant stood up and faced him.

“ Jack,” he said, sternly, “ what’s this I hear

 

 

with all your might, and never fear but what

 

 

 

about your going with Dodd’s gang?”
The boy’s face blanched and an almost defi—

r

r...»

4“ '
a.
 g

for his hind-quarters were fairly bristling with arrows.

ant expression came into his eyes.
red slowly returned to his cheeks.

“ So Braham told you about it, eh, dad?” he
said, drawing a deep breath. ' “ I’m sorry, for I
meant to myself. I’ve been trying to get Dave
Wilson away from them, dad. He works in
our shop, you know. I‘m afraid I’ll have to
give it up as a bad job, though. He’s a good
fellow, but Bill Dodd is ruining him.”

. His father looked at him with steady, search-
ing eyes. The boy met his gaze unflinching-

Then the

“ I believe you, my lad,” said Oflicer Brant,
gently, “but-don’t go with them any more.
Forgive me for being suspicious. You haven’t
a mother to guide you, Jack," sighing, “and
without one a boy can go so easily wrongl”

_ Ayerting his face, the boy went into the ad-
joining room and pretended to busy himself
with the various pieces of machinery that lay
scattered upon his desk. There was a remorse-
ful look in his eyes and his thoughts were far

away.

“Shall I tell him?” he asked himself.
I’ve lied to him and it’s too late now. I’m in
for it, and that’s the end of it. Iwish,”pas-
sionately, “ I had never seen any of them!”

Poor, foolish boy! If he had only confided in
his father even then!

Down a dark and

“No;

lonely street that night
Officer Brant walked with steady, measured
tread. His comrade and he had separated.
They were soon to meet at a corner further on.
Scarcely had the clock high up in St. Stephen’s
tolled eleven whena sharp cry fell upon his
ear. '

“ Help!” be distinguished.

Officer Brant speeded swiftly up an allev
whence the sound seemed to come. Ahead he
saw three dark figures engaged in a desperate
struggle. Before he could reach them, there
was aflash ofa knife and one sunk without a
groan to the ground. The others, alarmed by
the approaching footsteps. fled swiftlv.

The brave policeman gave hot cha§e.
the two reached the street, they ran in oppo-
SIte directions. Suddenly the one Oflicer Brant
pursued tripped up, and, by the time he had
recovered'his balance, flight was impossible.

The fugitive made a fierce struggle for liber-
ty, but he gradually succumbed to the other’s
superior strength. Finally be abandoned his
efforts, realizing that further resistance was
useless.

“Father,” he said, goaded to desperation
“ let me go! Don’t you see who it is?” ,

Officer Brant started back as though stung
by an adder.

“ My God!” he said, with a world of reproach
in his voice. “Then it‘s you, Jack!” He tight-
ened his grip on his shoulder. “ You lied to
me.” he went on, his voice coming hoarse and
thick; “lied to your own father! Oh, thatI
should ever live to see this day! There is blood
on your hands—blood on your hands! You are
a murderer!"

“No, no,” cried the boy, shrinking back.

When

“It was Dodd who did it! Let me go, father?
Some one is coming. Oh, let me go!”

“Let ou go?" his father echoed harshly.
“ No! on shall hang for what you have done!
Oh, Jack,” with a sob in every word, " you—
have—broken—my—heartl” He flung him
away as though he spurned him. “ G0!” he

cried. “ Go—before it is too late. Never come
back again. If you do, you will be caught.
Go. I say!”

Overcome by terror, the boy fled. He was
never captured. although his companion, in his
Confession, implicated him in the murder. The
next morning the body of a policeman was
found floating in he river. It was Officer
Brant!

 

 

The Dime Novel.

Its (bright, Grotvth and Influence-
Reininiscences of l'Inync Reid.

 

 

[Regular Correspondence of the Boston Evening-
Transcrith

NEW YORK, March 26th. 1884.

IT has become the fashion to attribute all
youthful depravity—the longing to escape from
or override the laws of civilization—to the per-
nicious and demoralizing effects of dime novels.
A letter which recently appeared in the Tribune
from a writer of dime novels. thr0ws a good
deal of light on the subject. The writer, Fred-
erick Whittaker. of Mount Vernt-n, N. Y., main-
tained with earnestness, and with a good deal

,of force, that the original dime novels and the

stories published now under that name are not
immoral in their teachings, and that it is unjust
to condemn them as the cause of every esca-
pade in which boys figure. If my recollection
serves me rightly, vice was always vanquished
and virtue alwaystriumphant in the dime novel
of twenty years ago, and the general character
of these stories is the same now that it vas
then.

There is,indeed,a class of stories for boys which
are really of an injurious character—the “flash”
histories, so called, in which outlaws of the Jesse
James stamp are held up to admiration for their
ph) sical prowess, daring and skill in the use of
the revolVer or the knife. It is to the influence
of this last-mi med kind of books rather than to
the dime novel. I think, that the formation,
ever and anon, of youthful gangs of thieves and
highWayme-n should be laid: and how to do
away with the evil is a problem that may well
tax the attention of thoughtful people.

I went down into William street the other
day and made a visit to the father of the dime
novel—Erastus F. Beadle. I climbed up the
stairs, expecting to be stopped on every landing
and to be asked for the countersign; but, to my
surprise, the office was much like any other.
There were no rifles in the corner, no scalps
that I could see, no “ keen, shining blades.” no
“haun’ch of venison,”—nothing, alas! but the
skin of some little animal that was stretched
over a frame in the office of the editor. This
was the only thing in the rooms that smacked
of the “plains,” and this, I am afraid, came
from a Jersey swamp. The head of the house,
Mr. Beadle, is an active, pleasant, white haired
gentleman, a little ast the prime of life, who
received me cordial y, and told quite an inter-
esting story about the origin and development
of the dime novel. “The'idea,” said he, “oc-
curred to us in ’59, and we began publishing in
’60. Every one said the project would fail, but
it didn’t. We first published dime song books,
cook books, etiquette books, etc., which we
bound in a salmon-colored cover. No ‘ yellow-
covered dimes’ were ever sent out by me; the
color is salmon. The yellowcovered ones were
imitations, and Were a bad lot. Well, after
awhile we started the ditne novel. Mrs. Ann
S. Stephens was the author of the first one—
‘ Malaeska.’ a prize story. published forty years
ago in the Ladies" Companion. I paid her $250
for the right to reprint the story. We sold ten
thousand copiesright off, and then tWenty
thousand more. Our other authors? Why,
some of the best-known writers in the country.
Here is Mr. Victor, an old friend of Horace
Greeley, our editor for many years; he knows
more about these things than I do.”

Mr. Victor took up the thread of the narra-
tive and went on as follows: "‘Our authors are
well-known men.. There’s a book by a man
who was onCe a member of the Ohio Legisla-
ture; another by an ex~Governor of Ohio. He
never wrote us a bad line. Edward S. Ellis—
you know him—wrote us our most opular
novel. He was a schoolteacher in renton,
and wasn’t twenty-one when he wrote his first
‘ dime,’ for which he got $75. That was ‘ Seth
Jones.’”

“Why,” broke in Mr. Beadle, unable to re-
strain his enthusiasm, “ we plastered the coun-
try with ‘ Who is Seth Jonesé’ and when the ex-
citement ran high we answered the question
with the picture you see on that cover, ‘ I’m
Seth Jones.’ We sold sixty thousand copies of
that story right off.”

“ You see,” continued the editor, “ these
novels introd uccd either historical or local char-
aCters. They followed right after ‘ Cooper’s
Tales,’ which suggested them. Mrs. A. M.
Dennison 'wrote historic fiction; Judge Jared
Hall, of Ohio, wrote ‘The Slave Sculptor,’ a
story of Mexico in Montezuma’s time—good
names. Our stories were very popular and our
rivals of the yellow covers and the Claude Du-
val series—bad books—began to spring up. We
held our own against them. But ours are
stories of exciting adventure only; there’s
nothing bad about them. See this article in the
North American Review for July, 1864 wherein
they are described and criticised. hey are
pronounced ‘ exceptionally moral,’ and they

do not even obscurely pander to vice or excite
the passions.’ The libraries have sent these old-
style dime novels into the background, though
we keep a stock of the best ones on hand still.
There are three styles—the Boys’ Library (five
cents), the Half Dime Library and the Dime
Library—the last being double the size of the
others.

“Mayne Reid? We have a large list of his
works. He would have sunk into obscurity if
we hadn’t sustained him. He has written cer-
tainly fifty stories and sketches for us. He was
working for us exclusively for eight or nine
years. We made a double number of his
‘ Scalp Hunters,’one of his most popular stories,
reprinting it at his rt quest. He retained of
course the English rights in his works. We
never paid him less than $600 for a story; that
was the standard price, though we may have
paid him more at times. I remember he brought

is ‘ White Squaw ’ down here one morning and
said he must haVe $700 for it, and we gave him
a check without reading the manuscript, which
Contained only about fifty thousand words.
Reid was always in monetary troubles, but. he
was a prolific writer, and when he got hard tip
he would (lash otl’ sketch after sketch and come
down here with his pockets stuffed. Here is a
lot of his manuscripts n0w that never have been
printed on this side. He sent us sketches up to
his death. Here is a story entitled “A Fight
in a Flood,‘ which, with the sketch that St.
Nicholas printed recently, was the last that
came from his pen. I think that we published
for ten or twenty cents about all the stories of
his that appear in the regular editions of dollar
books.

“ You remember that in ’82 Mayne Reid
wrote a series of letters to the Tribune descrip-
tive of English country life and social customs.

ere is an extract from a private letter rela-
tive to this work, and it is interesting as show‘
I'lng’JIIS conscientiousness. The date is July 16th,

8;:

“ ‘ I have not lately written any romance matter;
as you will see. by the New York Tribune I am cor-
responding with that paper. but how my corre«
spondence is being received by the American peo-
pic. I know not. Perhaps when 'ou are writing to
me, you would kindly say whether it produces a
favorable effect or not. I have lately sent some
letters that will not fail to make. me a host of ene-
mies here, but [ write in the interest of truth, and
care not if the heavens fall.’ ”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

//

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