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NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 9, 1884.

 

 

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“Allow me to offer you one.” said the lady, with a. brisk, business-like air, producing a. dainty little cigarette case and profl‘ering it to the gentlemen.

 

KATE SCOTT,

The Decoy Detective;

 

01‘, JOE PHENIX’S STILL HUNT.

A Romance of the Upper Crust and Lower Crust of New York Life.

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN.

AUTHOR or “THE EAT on THE BATTERY,” “THE DEMON DETECTIVE,” “RED RICHARD,” ETC.

CHA 1" ‘ER I.
on THE BRIDGE.

THROUGH an almost unolouded sky sailed a
glorious full moon, and the silver queen of night
looked down upon about as fair a scene of land-
scupe beauty as this world can show.

New York bay with its magnificent expanse
of almost lund locked water, wherein the navies
of the world might ride at anchor.

From the far-famed suspension bridge, but re.—
coutly completed, which connects the great city
of New York with its neighbor, Brooklyn, on
the Long Island shore. a fine view of the bay
can be obtained, and on the pleasant summer
night of which we write, hundreds of people
were pissing over the airy way, enjoying the
pleasant promenade.

It had been a very warm day, but with the
coming on of the night a balmy ocean-breeze
had come up laden with the ozone of the great
Atlantic sea, and nowhere could the refreshing
breeze be better enjoyed than on the spider-like
bridge which practi -ally makes the two cities
one.

The elevated pathway was a favorite resort
for young people of both sexes, and many aflirta—
tion has been carried on there when the mantle
Of night coverwi the earth. .

And on this evening of which vse write,
two young men made themseIVes conspicuous
by the glances they cast at evci'y atti'acliv»»
looking girl w ho came any u hero in ar them:

The young fellows, too, would have certainly
attracted attention by their pec.i|iar appear»
ance. I

They were dudes in the. fullest sense of the
word.

“Tooth-pick” shoes, the tightest of panta—
loons, white silk hats, with odd—shaped bell-
crowns and curling brims; in fact, got up re»

 

 

gardless of expense, and swinging in theTr hands
dainty littleswitch-like canes with golden heads.

Both of them good looking young men, too,
Well worthy to catch a woman’s eyes, in spite
of the ridiculous style of their dress.

Curled and gilded darlings were these dainty
young men, so careful of their precious persons,
if there were any youths in great Gotham fit
to be so termed.

Scions of two of the oldest and best families
in the metropolis, no modern upstarts, but an-
cient Knickei bocker stock, who assumed to look
with contempt on the mushroom millionaires of
to day.

'I‘ne taller one of the two. a well-built young
fellow with yellow hair, parted in the middle
of the head, after the English style. and sleepy-
looking blue eyes, was call Id Charles Van
'I‘romp, the only son of a widowed mother and
the heir to a lialfvdozen millions, besides bemg
worth a couple in his own right.

His companion. younger by a year or two,
also slighter in build. with brown hair and eyes
and incipient side-whiskers. was the only du—
scendant of one of the branches of the great
Clinton family. so renowned in the history of
the Empire State.

Alexander Clinton he was called. and though
he had no property he could really call his own,
for the family estates were all tied up for the
benefit of his heirs, a whim of his father, who
rather distrusted the ability of the son to take
care of the wealth he had accumulated, yet as
he had a life-income 0f twentydive thousand
dollars a year, he managed to get along tolera—
bly well.

The two were fast friends and were seldom
seen apart.

This was the first time they had eVer conde-
scended to do the bridge, but as the fellows at
the club that evening had assured them that it

 

was the proper thing to do, they had taken a.
cab and ridden to the bridge entrance and then,
for the novelty of the thing, had decided to
cross the structure on foot. .

“ We must really give the ladies a treat, me
deah boyf” Van Tromp had exclaimed; he as‘
sumed an English air as much as pOSsiole. and
there wasn‘t anything pleased him better than
to be taken for a son of Albion’s sea»girt isle.

"Certainly — the charming creatures—the
dear little ducks! I fancy they don’t often get
a chance to admire such perfectly stunning
bricks as we are every day in the week,” his
companion replied.

And so arm in arm the two had sauntered
over the bridge, feeling perfectly satisfied with
themselves and all the world.

As we have said, they favored every good-
looking girl that passed With a patronizing
stare, and were duly stared at in return.

And just before reaching the center of the
structure, an incident occurred which gave the
pair something to talk about.

A welldressed girl, about the medium hight,
with a finely proportioned figure, and an ex-
tremely graceful walker, overtook the two and
passed them as they were proceeding in a lan-
guid way.

“I say, Alex, there’s a deuced fine creature!"
exclaimed Van Tromp, calling his companion’s
attention to the lady in a tone intended to reach
her ears.

“I don‘t really know, deah boy, I was not
lucky enough to see her face, but her figure is
perfection itself!" Clinton replied.

And then to the delight of the pair, the girl
turned her head and smiled.

The young man was right: she was a fine
creature, although she could not be called stri-t-
ly beautiful according to the l‘lllrS of art. for
her features were rather irregular, although
finely-cut, but there was an air of vivacity—of
smartness to the face which was extremely
charming.

She had brown-black eyes, and brown—black
hair. worn short, and clustering in little crispy
ringlets to her shapely head, and she had a
coquettish way about her w hich decniedly im-
pressed the two young men.

“ Deah boy, I believe you have made a con-
quest,” C.inton hastened to whisper to his com
panion, as he perceived the girl’s mowment.

But in matters of this kind Van Tromp need-
ed no prompter, and he hastened to raise his
hat and how in the most courteous manner to
the lady.

And to his delight she acknowledged the salu-
tation with a slight nod. accompanied by a
pleasant smile, and slackening her pace allowed
the pair to OVertake her.

“Very pleasant evening for a promenad-,‘7
Van Tromp remarked, as he came up to the
lady.

” Yes, very pleasant evening, indeed.” she
replied, without the least embarrassment, and
just as if the two Were old acquaintances.

“I don‘t think I ever saw the moon look more
beautiful,” Clinton hastened to observe, eager

 

to place himself on familiar terms with the
pretty unknown. “Just cast your eyes down
the bay too, and observe what a truly 10Vely
View you have from this elevated position.”

The three were exactly in the center of the
bridge at the moment and, as with one accord,
they halted and leaning against the rail sur-
veyed the scene which, as the young man had
observed, was really beautiful.

“ It is perfectly superbz” Van Tromp ex-
claimed. “I don’t think I ever saw anything
handsomer in all my life, present company of
course excepted,” and he bowed gallantly to
the lady, who laughed merrily in return.

“You are inclined to be complimentary, I
see,” she rejoined.

“On, no, honest truth, I assure you,” and
Van Tromp bowed again.

“Oh, yes. not the slightest. doubt of that,”
Clinton hastened to add, and he too bowed as
elaborater as the other.

Both the young men were decidedly impressed
by the girl who had been foolish enough to al«
low them to become acquainted with her in
this manner.

She was no common young woman, no poor-
ly-paid working-girl, depending for her bread
upon the labor of her delicate hands, no daugh-
ter of the under-crust, ground down almost to
the dust by the pressure of untoward circum-
scances, nor was she either a scion of the upper-
ten, a child of shoddy, who had been sedulously
edu -aied to believe that she was something Let-
ter than the common herd.

In tact, although both of the )0ling men
prided theinselws w ith the belief that they were
“ deuced k. Owing Ir‘llOHS you know,” men
who lmd seen a deal of life and Were complete
ly up U) snuff, yet in the present instance they
did not know exactly what to make of the
Iirl.

In all their “ wide "experience they had never
encountered any one like her.

She was evidently a lady, well educated and
used to good society, and yet she had permitted
them to make her acquaintance in this extreme-
ly reprehensible manner. still there wasn’t any—
thing forward about her, nothing to encourage
a illrmtion.

"By Joye! I think I could stand here for
hours and gaze upon this beautiful view I" Van
Tromn exclaimed in admiration.

He was evidently referring to the moonlit
face of nature. but he had his eyes fixed upon
the pretty features of the girl.

“Oh. yes. it‘s really, truly, too awfully
Charming." Clinton observed, languidly: "but
I think if I had to spend much time here. I
should like a cigarette to while the minutes
awav.“

"Allow me to offer you one.” said the lady,
with a brisk. business-like air, producing a
dainty little cigarette case and proffering it to
the gentlemen.

“Good gracious! vou don‘t mean to say that
you smokel”Van Tromp cried, pretending to
re horrified, while Clinton also assumed an air
of intense amazement.

 

“ Oh, no, I don’t smoke myself. I only carry
a weed for the accommodation of my friends,”
she replied, laughing. “Take one; I’ll war-
rant you will find them as good as can be pro-
cured in the city. They are genuine Havana
and no mistake!"

It was quite an odd picture, and none of the
parties to it noticed a muscularly-built, stern-
faced, plainly-dressed man who had carelessly
halted in his prom nade a short distance away,
and, leaning on the opposite railing, was watch-
ing them.

“ I am really too awfully pleased I” ejacu-
lated Van Tromp, as he helped himself to a
cigarette.

“ Yas, too awfully, awfully!” simpered Clin-
ton.

The girl had made an impression.

CHAPTER II.
THE EAVESDROPPER.

“OH, don’t mention it,” replied the young
lady, in the most mattercf—fact way. “I am
always glad to oblige a friend. Have a light?”
and then she produced a little ornamented box
containing some tiny wax matches.

The young men hastened to avail themselves
of the offer, and when their cigarettes were
lighted, Van Tromp resumed the conversation.

“It seems to me that I have met you some-
where,” he said, “for your face is very famil—
iar. Isn’t your name—— Upon my word. I be-
lieve I can‘t recall it.” and he beamed insinuat-
inglv upon the girl.

“ North-Flora Muir,” the girl replied, and
then she added, in the most innocent manner
possib‘e:

"It seems to me that I have met you two
gentlemen, but I don‘t remember where it
was. ’

"Oh, there isn’t a doubt of it!” Clinton ex-
claimed. "I’m sure We’re old acquaintances,
but I never can trust my memory about -ny
such things; I never can remember plaCes, but
when it comes to features they always stick by
me.”

“I think it must have been up in the Cats-
kil's where I live when I am at home." the girl
remarked. “ I an] only here on a visit. I live
in 'l‘annersville."

A perceptible shade passed (lyer the faces of
both the youn;.r inen, and they cast iurtive
glands at ear-h other.

It was evident that something in the speech
of the girl made them unconifcrtabl--.

“ Tannersvilleg‘ Van 'l‘romp draw led, “ yes, I
think I have been there, but I don’t remember
much about it. That‘s near the Catskill Moun-
tain House, isn’t its"

“Yes; only a short distance.”

" I think I have driven through it,” and then
Van Tromp looked askaiice at his companion,
and (‘zinton coughed slightly as though embar-
rassed and turned his attention to the View.

" It is a lovely place in summer llllie and is
always crowded with vi-itors, m d as your faces
seemed familiar. I thought perhaps I might
have met; you there,” the girl obzerved, applr—

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

 

 
  
 
 
 
 
  

 

  

    
    
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
    
  
 
  
  
 
  
    
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 
 
     
  
 
 
 
  
   
 

 
  
   

  

 

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ently not noticing the slight uneasiness of the
entlcmen.

K d Yes, it is possible; but I don’t remember
the circumstance; but I am just as delighted to
See you now, and if you will permit the ac-
quaintance to continue I am sure We Will be
Very good friends indeed,” Van Tromp remark-
ed in his most gallant manner.

2‘ Well, I can’t really ask you to call upon me
because I am stopping with some friends in the
city who are dreadfully strict, and they would

ask me off home to my friends in a. tWinkling
if I should be so imprudent as to have any gen-
tlemen callers, but I gi out Walkll- g in Central
Park every pleasant morning, and I generally
enter the Park at Fifty-ninth street and Fifth
avenue, just about ten o’clock. 50.1f you should
happen to stroll in that direction we should
meet beyond a doubt. Mr.—Mr.—-?” - ”

“Thomas; Harry Thomas, at your serVice,
replied Van Tromp, with unblushing assu rance;
“ And this isimy bosom friend, Robert Jones,
he continued, introducing Clinton, who could
hardly refrain from a smile at his chum’s auda-

t .

“’1 should be pleased to see you to-morrow,
tlemen, and no doubt we can haVea delight-
walk. I’m only a country-girl, you know,

and need guides and protectors, so I shall look
for you to morrow. .

“I am on my way to see some friends of the
folks with whom I am staying, who live about
a block from the end of the bridge on the
Brooklyn side, and they are to see me home to-
ri‘ight, s’? I am obliged to bid you good-by now.

a! ta!

And with a charming smile she bowed and
want on her way. _ .

The young men returned the salutation in the
most elaborate manner, and then when the
girl’s back was turned, winked at each other
significantly. .

“ What do you think of it, old chappie?” Van
Tromp asked. _ .

“Oh, you’ve caught the girl for all she is
worth, there isn’t the least doubt about that,”
Clinton replied. “But, I say, old fellow, she
made a cold chill run all over me when she
mentioned the name of that infernal place.”

“Yes; it was as much as I could do to keep
my countenance. In fact, I never even hear
the Catskills spoken of in common conversation
without wishing that I had never been unlucky
enough to go there.” Van Tromp replied, as he
turned, as also did the other young man, and
began to retrace his steps.

“ But it wasn’t our fault, old fellow; we real—
ly didn’t have anything to do with it; we were
not to blame for what occurred.” 1

“ Yes, I know that, but in a measure we were
mixed up in it, although really as innocent as
a couple of lambs; and if there should eVer be
any row kicked up about the matter, the chances
are about ten to one that it would cau=e us con-
siderable trouble,” Van Tromp observed, and
from the'earnest way in which he spoke it was
plain be regarded the matter as being a serious
one.

Clinton being much more of the butterfly or-
der was not so much impressed.

“ It would be deuced awkward, of course; all
such things always are and extremely disagreeL
able; but by the aid of the potential article,
cash, we should be able to smooth things over.”

“ Perhaps,” replied the other, with a dubious
shake of the head.

Leaving this representative pair of the gilded
youths of great Gotham to pursue their way,
we will follow in the footSteps of the girl.

After parting with her admirers she had
hastened with light and springy footsteps to-
ward the Brooklyn shore, never noticing that
the quiet-looking, sober-faced man who had
been leaning on the opposite railing, near
enough to overhear the conversation indulged
in by the three, was foll0wiug her.

He came close behind her, and after she had
passed through the arch way formed by the
granite toweis and began to descend the ap—
proach on the Brooklyn side, quickened his
pace, then took advantage of the fact that no
one was near enough to them on the footpath
to notice what was happening, to address her.

“I beg your pardon, miss, for speaking to
you,” the stranger said, in the most respectful
manner, “but as I have something important
tosay to you, I trust you will. pardon the in-
trusion."

It Would have been impossible for any wo-
man not utterly and thoroughly a fool to take
offense at the man, and the girl was by no
means deficient in common sense, so, after
rapidly surveying the speaker with her sharp
eyes, she replied:

“ I shall be pleased to hear you, sir.”

“ In the 61 st place I ovarheard the conversa-
tion between you and the two young men
which took place on the bridge a few moments
at o.’

8“ Yes?” queried the girl, seemingly not at all
sur rised.

he two were now walking slowly along, side
by side.

“ The part of an eavesdropper or spy is not a
particularly pleasant one to play,” he re-
marked, “ and if it were not for the peculiar
circumstances of the case, most certainly I
should have been the last man in the world to
listen to a conversation not intended for my
ears.

“ But I happen to know both of those young
men, and when I saw them accost you I knew
that they meant you no good, and so I thought
it was my duty to keep an eye upon them.

“ I gathered from your conversation that
you are a country girl and possibly not aware
of the dangers that threaten an innocent maid
in this great, overgrown city. .

“Both of the names that those young men
gave you were false.”

“ Is it possible!” she replied, and yet she did
not Seem to be much amazed at the intelligenca.

“Yes, I am acquainted with the pair, al-
though neither of them know me personally.
They are good representatives of a large class
common to all our big cities, rich young men
with more money than brains, wlzo stoop to
follies which if indulged in by a mechanic would
be termed crimes.

“1 think that they have marked you for a
victim, and so I deem it in duty to warn you
against them. I overhear you make an ap-
pointment to meet these gentlemen in the park:
be guided by me, do not keep that appoint—
ment, and not only that, acquaint your friends
with all the particulars or this affair; do not
walk heedlessly into the snare that these young
wretches design to lay to entra you.”

The face of the girl did not stray the least
emotion, for she listened with perfect calmness
to the rather startling explanation.

"I am very much obliged indeed to you for
your trouble.” she said. “ Indeed I am sincere-
ly grateful. and I assure you I shall heed your
warning. Will you favor me with your name,
please?”

“ Certainly; Joseph Phenix.”

And it was indeed the renowned detective
whose thrilling adventures and hairbreadth es-
ca 3 we have so frequently chronicled.

nd now for the first time a look of surprise
appeared upon the face of the girl and she
gazed earnestly at the features of the gentle-
man by her side.

“ Phenix —J05eph Phenix,” she repeated,
slowly; “it seems to me as if your name was
familiar to me. It is an odd appellation, and
go ’that when once heard is not soon forgot-

n.

“My name gets into the neWSpapers once in
awhile, although I do my best to keepit out, for
in my busmess newspaper notoriety is about the
last thing to be desired.”

“And what may your business be, pray?”
and as she put the question it was evident from
her manner that she was deeply interested.

“ I am a detective officer, and that is the
reason why I made hold to interfere in your
case. Knowing these young bloods, and ascer-
taining from your convm'smion that you were
a stranger, and probably iii-t familiar with city
ways, 1 determined to Spoil their little game if
I could.”

“ You are one of the police detectives?"

“No, miss, not now. although the authorities

do me the honor to ask my aid once in awhile
when a difficult case comes up; I am in a pri-
vate line.” '

_ “ You are the very man I wish to see, then l”
cried the girl, with sudden energy. “Heaven
has surely sent you to my aid. It is I who Wlll
be the trapper, not these two silly fops!"

CHAPTER III.
KATE sco'r'r‘s STORY.

As a general thing, it was not easy to surprise
a man like Joe Phenix; he had seen too much
of the world, had been engaged in too many
startling adventures not to take with composure
whatever might occur.

Generally, too, he was able to make a shrewd
guess at the character of the people whom he
encountered; and it was seldom that be was far
from the truth, but in the present instance he
was wide of the mark, to judge from the girl’s
exclamation.

He had taken her to be a country maid, a vil-
lage coquette given to flirtation, and flattered
by the attention bestow ed upon her by the two
well dressed city bloods, and in order to save
the girl from their wiles he had interfered.

But 10! and behold! the dove had suddenly
turned into a hawk. Instead of avictim she
intended to become the exacutioner.

“I must have played my pa~t to perfection
to deceive such a wonderful judge of human-
kind as on are, Mr. Phenix,” the girl contin-
ued, rapidly. “I am no country girl. sir, no
maiden innocent of the traps and pitfalls of this
world, for I have fought for my daily bread
and gained my Own living ever since I was ten
years old, and not only supported myself. but
since the time I was fifteen I havs also taken
care of my younger sister. who has resided with
some of our relatives in Tannersville, a village
up in the Catskill mountains.” ~'

Phenix nodded.

“I know the place. I visited it on business,
once. It is a charming country.”

“ Yes, it was a Paradise in which my beauti-
ful sister dwelt until the serpent came and
tempted her away,” the girl remarked, with
bitter accent.

“ But it is quite a long story, and perhaps you
will not care to hear it,” she added.

“ If you choose to honor me with your Confi-
dence, I shall only be too glad to listen,” Phe—
nix replied. "

It was but seldom that the iron—hearted, stern-
minded detect;ve ever took a fancy to any one,
but in the present case he had been attracted to
the girl from the moment when he had first be-
held her face, and now that she had abruptly
revealed she was capable of playing a part well
enough to deceive even such an experienced
judge of human nature as himself, his interest
in the girl deepened. .

“ Oh, if I could only hope to arouse your in-
tercst so that you would aid in the terrible task
which I have undertaken!” the girl exclaimed,
her face flushing with an eager look born of the
hope which had suddenly sprung up in her heart.

“I am not a man to make any rash promise,”
he said, in his sober. stolid way, “but I am
ready to admit that I already take a great in-
terest in you, and if I can be of any servme I
feel sure you will not have to call upon me in
vain.”

“ Oh, sir.,if you would only aid me!” she ex—
claimed. “You are ail-powerful, while I am
naught but a weak girl, and yet I have taken
upon my shoulders a task of Vengeance which
might appall the stoutest-hearted man.

‘ It is the old, old Story, the tale of man‘s
perfidy and woman’s weakness which has been
rehearsed so many times since the world was
young.

“ You overheard the conversation between
myself and those two young men?”

The detective nodded assent.

“ They gave me false names, and I paid them
in their own coin. I knew them Well enough,
and was not deCeived by their falsehoods.

“ The latter one is called Charles Van Tromp,
and his comps nionanswers to the name of Alex—
ander Clinton."

“That statement is correct. I am well ac-
quainted with both of them by sight, although
not ersonally.”

“ in name is not Flora Muir, but Kate Scott.
I was born at Tannersville, in the shadows of
the Catskill peaks, just twenty—one years ago.

“ When I reached my tenth yearI had the
mistrturie to lose both of my parents. With
an only sister four years younger than myself I
was cast upon the mercies of a cold and often‘
times cruel world.

“ We were not absolutely helpless, as we had
relatives, honest people enough, but poor, nar-
row-minded and gr-sping.

“It was in the summer~time when my pa-
rents died; the mountains were full of visitors.
and I was lucky enough to find favor in the
eyes of a rich lady, who, with her husband,
was sojourning at the Mountain House.”

“That was fortunate indeed,” observed the
detective, who was listening to the tale with the
deepest interest.

“Yes, she said I was a bright, sharp little
thing, and took me into her service as a sort of
lady’s‘maid. ‘

“ I had received a good education for one of
my age, and my mistress made a. sort of pet of
me, treating me more like a companion than a
menial. _

“ She paid me liberal wages besides providing
all my clothes; she was rich, and could afford
to indulge in her caprices. From my wages I
paid my sister’s board.

“ With the lady I remained for five years,
and then death removed my benefacti'css, but
as a reward for my faithful servi0es she be—
queathed me a thousand dollars, and her hus-
band exerted his influence and procured a sit—
uation for me in one of the leading phmograph
galleries of the city. where I remained until
about a month a go, when Igave up my position
in enter upon this task of vengeance which has
fallen to my share.

“ My sister, who was called Louise, grew
up to be a beautiful girl; she was a blonde, with
the most beautiful blue eyes and hair like
threads of beaten gold.

“She had artistic talent, and I spent my
money freely to deVelop her genius.

“All went well until about a year ago; she
was jast sixteen then and oh! so beautiful. We
were accustomed to exchange letters weekly. I
wrote every Sunday, and she answered So that
I would get the letter either Friday or Satur-

 

av.

“The letters never failed to come by Satur-
day until one week; then none arrived.

“ I did not feel at all alarmed, for I imagined
the letter had miscarried, but when Monday,
Tuesday and Wednesday passed and no tidings
reached me, lbccame alarmed. I telegraphed
to Tannersville and received a reply that my
sister was not there.

“In hot haste I took the first train for the
Catskills, and when I arrived at Tannersville
hurried to the house which had sheltered my
sister so long, and when I questioned my rela-
tives as to what had become of my sister, I
found them as astonished as myself when they
learned that I did not know anything about my
beautiful Louise.

“ They had been led to suppose that I knew
all about the mailer. .

“One of the Summer visitors, a young, hand-
some, rich New Yorker, had become acquainted
with my sister, and it seemed to be a case of
lova at first sight on both sides, and after a
courtship of a cou is of u eeks the two went to
a minister one n ght and Were married; then
they departed to the city, where they were to
meet me.

“My poor, misguided sister had said I was
aware of the affair. but was so busily engaged
in the city that I was not able to come to the
mountains.

“ Henry Tappan was the name by which the
New Yorker was known.”

“It is an old New York name,” the defiectivs
observed.

“ But it was a false appellation l” the girl ex—
claimed. “ I returned immediately to the city
and set to work to disoover what had become
of my Louise. I feared for the worst despite
the fact that there was not the least doubt she

 

l

 

neck, put

 

had been legally married, but her keeping me
in utter ignorance of the entire affair I regard-

ed as being a very bad sign.

“As I. feared, I could not discover the least
trace in New York of the young man who in

the Catskills had called himself Henry Tappan.

“None of the Tappans who resided in. the
city knew anght of him: both he and my Sister
had disappeared and left no more trace behind
than if the earth had opened and swallowed

them.

“ I spent money like water, employed the de-
tectiVes, adVertiSed, but all to no purpose.

a year now I haVe not wavered in my purpose,

but not the slightest clew have I gained until

this afternoon.

“I attended a matinée at the Academy of
Music, and as I was coming out after the per—
formance, in the crowd I happened to be im-

mediately behind these two young men.

“A fragment of their conversation reached

my ears.

“ One said to the other, ‘ I saw that Catskill
‘Did he have the girl With
‘No,’ was the reply.
and then from what followed it Seemed asif
had a knowledge of some wrong which
be keen done by a fast young man in the

fellow to-day.’
him?’ the other asked.

the

Catskills to a country girl.

“Of course it was but a chance that they re-
ferred to my sad affair, but 1 determined to

follow it up and ascertain

a hen I gathered from their conversation that
they intended to visit the bridge, I managed to

beyond a doubt, and

meet and insnare them there.” .
“ It was cleverly done, and the clew is worth
following up. You ought to join the detectin-

force: there is a dearth of
tives,” Phenix remarked.
tective myself.
work which only a woman
“ Will you take me?” cri

good female detec-
“ I need a decoy de-

Often there comes a bit of

can do.”
ed the girl. eagerly.

“It is the life beyond all others that I desire,

and I am sure, too, that I have natural talent

for such a vocation. ’
“ Yes, I will, and gladly,

my aid in solving your riddle,” Phenix an-
“Iliave a job on hand to-
Can you come to my office—

swered, promptly.
morrow night.

and I will give you

here is my card—disguised as an Italian boy,

one of the street bootblack

boys, you know?‘\’

“Oh, yes, I will be there, and I am sure I
shall be perfectly at home in any disguiSe.”

And so the compact was

Kate Scott, the avenger, into Joe Phenix’s De-

coy Detective.

 

CHAPTER
T H E A s s A

made which turned

1V.
ULT.

THE girl went on her way with light steps

and a cheerful heart.
The unexpected meeting

and his assurance that he would aid her in the
task to which she had resolved to consecrate
her life, was a most welcome piece of good for-

with the detective.

tune, and she felt greatly encouraged.

Since she had begun her search for her sister

and had mingled with the

detectives, she had

often heard Joe Phenix Spoken of in the highest

terms.
In fact, there was hardly

a man in the detec-

tive line who did not regard the cool, quiet,
massive—formed detective as being the greatest
thief—catcher who had ever flourished in New

York.

Some envious mortals would not admit this

openly, but in their hearts
the same.

they believed it all

And now since she had succeeded in forming

an alliance with the most

of them all, she felt convinced she would suc-
ceed not only in discovering what had become
of her sister, but in punishing the villain who
was responsible for her flight, for Kate felt
sure that there was something wrong about the

matter.

True, her sister had been legally married to
the young man who called himself Henry Tap-

renowned detective

pan; there wasn’t any doubt about that matter,

for the marriage was performed by aregularly-

ordained minister in the presence of witnesses,
but that there was something wrong was evi-
dent, for if there wasn't, why had she been kept

in ignorance in regard to it; she who had toned
that her sister might be comfortable ever since

she‘had been big enough to

Then, if her suspicions were unfounded and
everything was all right, if her sister had con-
tracted a happy marriage with the man of her
choice, why should there be any mystery about
Why should both husband and wife

the. affair?

work?

hide themselves so sedulously from all the
world that a year’s search by some of the most
expert detectives in the city, urged by the in-

ducement of a large reward, did not result in a

discovery of their whereabouts?

N o; the girl was sure her sister had been be-

tra ed and foully dealt with.

he villain who passed by the name of Henry
Ta pan—Kate felt satisfied it was afalse ap-
pel ation—had managed to fascinate the inno-

cent country girl, unsuspicious of the villainy

that existed in this great world, and, not

being able to gain possession of her in any other

way, had married her and taken her to the
city and there probably tired of and deserted

his victim.

But, if this was the truth, why was it that

the unfortunate Louise had not sought out her

sister, the unselfish heart who had watched

oVer her since childhood with all a mother’s de-

votion ?

It was a mystery, and the mor

flected upon it the more beWildered she became.

Only one explanation had occurred to her
during all these long months when she had been
as persistent in her seat ch as the hound on the

scent of blood.

Her sister and the villain who had lured her

New York, perhaps
had not come there at all, but had fled to some

away had not remained in

distant locality—to anot‘n
the seas, perhaps, and the
when deserted by the ser

her away, had not been able to either return to

er country beyond
unfortunate Louise,
pent who had lured

the city or to communicate with her sister.
She might have died of grief and shame

when she discovered that she had been so ter-

ribly betrayed.

Of little consolation is the em
rite to a young girl when she ma

discowry that the man to whom she has given

all that a woman can give, is a scoundi‘el who

has basely deceived her, a

vile wretch, unwor-

thy of the affection of any pure-minded woman.

Kate had almost given up all hope of ever

again seeing her sister; she feared that she
had found rest from her misery in the cold

damp grave, but even if that
of vengeance yet remained.
The villain who was responsible for all this

wrong must be sought out and punished.

The girl had not deceived the
when she had said she was on h

some friends in Brooklyn.

young men

It was t' e truth, and after leaving the bridge

Kate procwded directly toward her destina~

tion.

She proceeded up Washington street to Nas—
sea and then turned into that thoroughfare, in-

tending to go through it to
street her friends resided.

Fulton, upon which

Nassau street between “’ashington and Ful-

ton is dimly lighted. and is
after nine 0’ the night.

not an inviting spot

The street is but little used by anybody, and
pedestrians are few and far between.

Into.the street on the low

er side two narrow

alleys empty, populated by an extremely poor

class of peOple.

The alleys are as dark as

a pocket at night,

and afford a convenient lurking place for any

evildisposed person.

The girl went on without a thought of fear,

but, just as she crossed the
the da kness of the narrow

first alley, out from
thoroughfa re. bound-

ed two muscular fellows, and they seized upon

the girl in a twinkling.

One grasped her from behind, and in the most
dextrous manner passed his arm around her

One of his knees in the small of her

back and jerked her from her feet.

it was the rufiianly trick
and when it is performed
was in the present instanc

known as garrotiug,
by an expert, as it
e, for the moment it

 

 

 

 

For

9 the girl re-

pty marriage-
kes the terrible

was true, a task

er way to visit

 

renders the victim entirely helpless, so much so
that i is impossible for the person thus rudely

assailed to utter even a single cry.

And the second ruflian, too, was as .
to play the part which had been assigne to him
in this evidently carefully planned outrage as

his companion.

He was provided with a sponge saturated
with chloroform, and simultaneously With the
garroting of the girl by the first scoundrel he
applied the sponge to her nostrils, and then both
of them dragged the hapless maid into the dark

recesses of the alley.

This movement occupied far less time in its

execution than we have taken to describe it.

All the surroundings were favorable, too.
There was not a single soul near enough to the
scene of the outrage to detect what had trans—
pired, although Fulton street, Brooklyn’s main
artery, with its constant stream of pedestrians,
and Washington street, the direct means of com-
munication with the bridge, were only half a

block away.

But the operation was performed so quickly
and with so little noise that not the slightest dis-

turbance was raised.

Within the alley stood aback, its lamps un-

lighted, so as not to attract attention.

Into the carriage the now senseless girl was

placed. -

The potent drug had done its work only too
well, and Kate Scott was as helpless as an in-
fant in the hands of the villains who had so

roughly and unexpectedly assailed her. .
The ruflian who performed the garroting

operation was tall and thin, although extremely

muscular: his companion was short and stout.

“ Now, Stingy Bill,” said the tall, thin man.
who seemed to be the leader of the two, after
the girl was safely bestowed in the coach,
“light the lamps, then get on the box.

inside with the gal.

to s uall.”

“ ut that ain’t according to the peppergram,
Four Kings,” remonstrated the other.
boss said that she was to be blindfolded so she
would not be able to see where she was going,

and have a gag put in her mouth.”

“ Blamed if I didn’t forget all ’bout that,” re-
“ You’re right, you dufi‘er,
And I’ve got the gag in
my pocket, too, as well as the Will to go over
her eyes, so that she won’t-be able to spy out

sponded the other.
for a thousand dollars.

the lay of the land.

“ Durn me, if I see how .I come to forget it.”

“Oh. you ain’t got the head on you for biz,
like your uncle!” exclaimed the stout man, com-

)

placently.

“Ain’t got so much jaw, anyway,” retorted
“But 'you get to yer lamps, and
then h’ist onto that box and git', while I attend

the other,

to the gal.”

Then he entered the coach, drew the gag from
his pocket—it was a curious contrivance, about
the shape and size of a large pear, made out of
a cork wound around with cloth.

and with

strings attached to it so that it could be held in

the mouth after being placed there.
“ No use to gag or blind her until

I see she is

coming to her senses,” the man muttered, as he

got the “ tools ” ready.

But he thou ht it necessary to securely bind
both her han s and feet, so she was rendered

perfectly helpless.

By the time this operation was completed the

coach had started.

The seizure had been so adroitly performed
that the girl had hardly time to realize that she
had been assaulted before her sensas fled.

How long she remained insensihle she knew
not, but when she recovered consciousness again
she found herself in utter darkness, lying upon

what seemed to be a lounge.

She was evidently in a room, for the air

seemed close and musty.

'Risiug to a sitting posture, she endeavored to
discover where she was, but the darkness was

too intense.

Then a soft light began to illuminate the
room, and when it partially dispelled the dark-
ness, she saw she was in an apartment without
either windows or doors and about twelve feet

square by seven high.

The light came from a glass fixed in the cen—

ter of. the ceiling.

The room was comfortably furnished with a
table, two chairs, the lounge, and in one corner
an iron sleeping-couch like those used in hos—

pitals.

The girl sprung to her feet and advanced to

the center of this strange apartment,

wildered.

utterly be-

Then a sharp click fell upon her ears. She

turned to ascertain the reason of the sound and
was confronted by a tall figure robed from head

to foot in a black cloak.
(To be continued.)

 

 

My Fan! Slim.

BY JACK CLERMONT.

 

SAM and I had gone out West together when
I . For years we had worked
side by Side, and slept together every night in
our rude shanty, and I would have staked my

we were mere lads.

life on Sam’s fidelity and trustworthiness, and
lknow any day I would have risked life and

limb for him.

At last, when we were almost discouraged by
our continual bad luck, we struck it rich, and
found ourselves possessed of a small fortune.
An abandoned old mine turned out a bonanza
to us, and we sold it for fifty thousand dollars
and started homeward with the money.

I remember well

the first night we, camped

out with our fortune; both were a little uneasy

for fear some cut-throat would foll

ow us. At

last I fell asleep and awoke not until the sun

came peeping over the hill-tops.
“ Hallo, Sam, old fellow!”
But Sam was nowhere in sight.

“ Why, what the deuce l”—I began; then sud-
denly clapped my hand to where my leather

wallet had been—for it was gone!

“My God, what does it mean? Sam, my old
pard, are you a thief?" I cried aloud; but no

answer came save the soft whisperiii
“Yes, it must be true; t

the pines.

s among
6 villain

has fled with all the money, and I am left poor

as I was when I first came West.

I will follow

him to the ends of the earth but I’ll find him

and be revengedl
Woe unto him when we meet!”

0!), the false—false friend!

Slowly, carefully I set to work, and as the

bound follows the bare I followed Sam.

I got

on his trail at almost dark and did not overtake
him until near noon the next day, when I came
upon him, suddenly, near the narrow debouch

of a cut-away canyon.

He was only a slight distance in advance

when he saw me.

He turned deadly pale, and

ran eagerly toward a fallen pine that spanned
the narrow water-course and formed an in-

secure brid e.
- ‘t  l”
instantly or I fire!’

cried,,in an awful voice. “Stop

But he heeded me not, only leaped upon the
tree, gavo one hurried, backward glance, and
even as I raised my revolver, he slipped and

fell.

My weapon dropped from my nervous clasp,
and With a cry only leSs dreadful than his own,
I sprung forward and peeped over the edge of

the abyss.

The money was forgotten-—even the dastardly

theft—only Sam, my old chum and

ard, had

gone to his death; but no, as I 100 ed, I be-
held, not very far below me, on a ledge of rocks,
his prostrate figure, and heard a faint moan.

“ Wait, old fellow,” I cried; “ I’ll contrive
some way to reach you before many hours; lie

quite still.”

I looked about for something of which to
construct a rope, and racked my brains with

vain projects.

At last I hurried to the plain,

which was just below, and by a lucky accident

came across a little herd of deer.

down the buck, skin him, and after in

construct a rope out of his hide, was

 

To bring
ucli labor
no light or

rom pt

I’ll go
Give me the sponge and
the bottle, so I will be able to give her another
dose if she gets her senses back and is inclined

“ The

easy task; but I did it, and before dark had
drawn poor bruisml Sam from his dangerous
resting-place to solid earth, and had l'Oi:.slP(l
him a dainty supper of my fresh venison. He
could not walk a step, could scarcely raise his
hand, and avoided meeting my eyes. For fvm
weeks I stayed beside him and nursed him like
a, child, when, at last, he was able to mow on
once more.

“ on, Charlie!” he said, one day, with a sub
in his voice. “Don’t deacrt me no . Oh, if
you only knew how remorsefully I eel—how
ashamed, bow wretched! God knows you have
heaped coals of fire upon my head.”

“ Come, pard!" was all I said; “it’s time we
were moving on.”

And to-day I feel quite sure of Sam’s trust.
worthiness and love. We have long been part-
ners in our lar e and wealthy business hou~c.
and'l know well who would any day risk li a
or limb for me if need be; and I have nt‘Vt'l‘
been sorry for the mercy I showed him in his
time of trial and tem tation.

And almrst every ay, looking from my own
experience I say, when I read the record of
some young man or woman who has drifted
into sin owing to too great temptation—“Oh,
if only a helping hand were there to lift the
,crime away 1”

The wor d would be ten thousand times bet-
ter for such charity.

 

 

YOUR LOSS AND MINE.

BY ERMINIE 0. STRAY.
e

 

You lost one near and dear to you ;--
I pitled on. God knows;

My tears ell fast like. summer rain

ecause of her repose;

But I did not know what ’twas to weep
In silence and apart—-

What ’twas to bear this earthly woe,
A well-nigh broken heart.

You lost one near and dear to you,
And I pra ed God to give
You strengt and grace to bear the loss
All throu h the. years you live;
My sympat iy was yours, that day,
And yours forevermore,
For now I know the agony
Your heart in silence bore.

For now I know, alas, alas!
How bitter ’tis to bear,

For like your pain and bitter loss
I since have had my share;—

I‘ve lost one near and dear to me;
My aching heart has bled;

But you forget a promised friend,
My sorrow, and MY DEAD!

 

Sealskin Sam,

THE SPARKLER ;
on,
THE TRIBUNAL OP TEN.

 

a Tale of the Mines.

 

BY EDWARD L. WHEELER.

CHAPTER X.
A TRAITOR’S DOOM.

SEALSKIN SAM had effected his and Placer
Poll’s escape in the manner that people naturally
so used. '

e bad bribed the two guards.

The idea had occurred to him as he and t‘n
girl sport sat in silence on the floor of tho
cabin.

He had a considerable sum of inoiioy \\ illi

him—why could lic iiot use it as the key to his
liberty!
Bot i guards were probably hard-Working
miners, who could save littlo or nothing out of
their wages. Berlin is a bird in the hand Would
be worth two in the iush to them!

“ I say, Murphy l" he called out.

“ Well, phat is it?”

“ ls‘lt cold out?"

“ Not a bit! not a hit, me boy!” was the dry
answer.

‘ “ It’s’cold here.
ciao a it.”

“Its tight-rope exercise you’ll be gittin’ in
the mornin’, shure.” ‘

' “ Is that so? How would you like to stretch
hem , Murphy!”

“ ivil a bit w’u’d I like it!”

“ Then ho'w'd’ye think I’m fixed?”

“ Shure. it’s a bad lookout yez have.”

“I should murmur! But, ye see, I don't in-
tend t6 dangle. How long have you been work—
ing in the mines?”

“ Thrae moonths—me an’
was the answer.

“And how much have you laid by for a
rainy day l”

“ Faix! divil a cent at all, at all!”

“And if you were to remain here three more
months you’d not likely be any richer?”

“ Shure, it’s sinsible yer ’re shpakin’ now, me

laddy-buck l”
“ Of course I am. Now, I’ll tell you what I’ll
do. You and Muggins release me from here,
and I’ll give you each a hundred dollars, and
you can accompany me into the mountains to a
safe place, where you can remain until you get
ready to seek another location.” '

The two guards consulted together in low
tones for several moments.

ere was a chance to make a “stake " that
would help them out of the wild “’est, which
they Were in nowise loth to leave.
“ Make it two hundred apiece, and it’s a go!”
Mu 'ns cried.

“ ery well. Let me out, and the money
shall be yours!” the Sparkler answered.

To Placer Poll he added:

“You remain here till I’m gone. The door
shall be left open. I will see you later.”

She put out her hand, but Was silent.

. He fanc1ed a tremor shook it, as he pressed it.
in his own. »

.“ Tger’ aig’fl'no Ishenan about this?" Mug~
gins eman e . “ t‘s s uare (I ~ ’—
shet?” q , ead open an

“ Of course.
Sam replied.

“ Then it’s a bargain.
door l”

A moment later the door swung open, and
Sam stepped into the open air—free!

The guards started back in surprise.

“ How tha divil did yez git loose!” Murphy
demanded, suspiciously.

.“Easy enough. It takes more than an (.r-
dinary bed-cord to hold Stalskin Sam, you bet!
Here’s your money—four titties each. Now
follq’w me, for this camp won’t be healthy for
you

The miners obeyed full well re '2' r
Sam had spoken tlie ti‘uth. an m“ thu‘

Leavmg the mining-camp behind, the Spark-

ler strode rapidly away up the gulch, at a rate
of speed that made his followers “ hump”tlieni-
selves to keep up with him.
. Full an hour he continued on, without paus-
ing, and th n stood before the mouth of a small
cavern, far up amoag pines and jagged rocks of
the mountain.

“ Here we are safe!” he said. “ You fellows
had better remain here until the search blows
over, and then skip for parts unknown. It
Will be the healthiest thing ou can do !"

“ How about you I” Muggins asked.

A strange sort of laugh escaped the handsome
man.

“I? Why, I shall sta here in the ' -’ '
of IIunki-Dori until thgy Tribunal of degItis
broken up, and Several wrongs are righted—
several debts of vengeance paid!”

_He had brought Placer Poll’s lantern with
him; he turned on the light, and they all
stepped into the cave.

‘ It proved to be a dry, warm place, and by
Sam 5 direction a fire was soon burning bright-
ly, the smoke escaping up through the crevices,

Sam threw himself down before the tire, and

I’d like to get out and exor-

Muggins, here,”

You have my word of honor 3“

Murphy, unlock the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
    

  
   
   
    
  
  
   
  
 
   
   
     
    
   
  
  
     
   
     
    
   
    
   
  
    
    
      
 
   
    
   
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
    
  
 
   
 
 
   
    
  
   
    
  
 
    
    
   
  
  
  
   
 
    
   
  
   
   
   
    
 
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
 
   
 
 
  
    
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
  
    
  
  
  
   
 
 
   
 
   
 
   
    
   
   
   
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
   
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
  

.53,“ A, ,g.

“recs; :1? ~   31g, ‘3...-

          
       
         
         
        
 
          
     
     
      
     
        
     
   
 
   
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

   
   
 
 
   

 

 

 

 

 

  

wan-r i. t I-

 

 

lay gazing thoughtfully into it, reviewing, in
mind, what had already passed since his com-
ing to Hunki- Dori,

Muggins and Murphy also seated themselves
upon the rocky fl‘IOI', and producing a pack of
cards began to play the game of casino.

The occasional glances at the Sparkler he did
not notice.

He felt wearied, not having had any sleep for
thirty-six hours, and the warmth of the fire
soon had the effect of lulling him into a state of
TOPUSP.

Still the miners played on.

Tne loud breathing of the sport finally at—
tracted their attention.

He was sleeping soundly, and his face wore a
pleasant expression.

Murphy looked at. Muggins.

“ Why not nab him ag’in, bedad? There’ll
be a big reward for the loikos av him.”

“I was thinkin’ the same thing, I’at. But,
how would We work it!”

“Easy enough. Swear that Placer I’oll kiv—
cred us, an’ forced us to let him out. Thin we
gave chase an’ captured him again.”

“(load ideal ilave ye got any rope?”

“Divilabit; but I have some wire, an’ it’s
better.”

He took some serviceable wrapping wire
from his pocket and exhibited it in triumph.

“That will do! Give me a piece. \Ve shall
have to go at this carefully!”

Sealskin Sam, however, lay in an admirable
position to be captured. His feet were close to-
gether and his hands were clasped.

Murphy took the job of fastening his wrists
together, while Muggins attended to the feet.

it was a delicate undertaking to accomplish
without awakening him, but it was soon done,
and the two captors arose and surveyed their
work proudly.

“ A fat raise we’ll make! ’ Muggins chuckled.

“ Faith, an’ shure we will,” Murphy agreed.
“Hi, there! turn yer back forninst me, mon—
thaer's a worrum a—crawlin’ on it l”

Muggins quickly obeyed, having a great hor-
ror of vermin species.

It was a fatal action.

Murphy suddenly shoved his revolver against
the back of his companion‘s head and fired.

Uttering a piercing cry, Muggins fell forward
Upon his face—dead!

The report and cry awakened Sealskin Sam,
and finding himself powerless, a glance was
sufficient to make him understand the situation.

Murphy dropped the revolver and drew a
knife, as he stepped toward the sport.

“ 'I here’s a reward for the loikes av ye, dead
or alive!” he cried, a wolfish glitter in his eyes,
“ an’, begorra, it’s not poor I’m goin’ to be all me
days. You’re as slippery as the divil himsilf,
an’ I’ll take ye, dead'”

He leaned forward, glaring down into the
Sparkler’s face, his murderous blade upraised
to s‘rike: but at that instant a tremendous
glaik dog leaped into the cave, with a savage

ar .

“ Hero! Thank God!” Sealskin Sam cried.

Murphy wheeled around, in alarm. as the
huge mastifi caught him by the throat, knock-
ing the weapon from his hand.

It was now “good-by ” Murphy.

CHAPTER XI.
A sroav or THE PAST.

I'r now becomes our duty, in the interest of
our romaiiCe, to go back to a scene at the Selden
mansion, which occurred in tho mine-owner’s
private room, after he and Bollivar Bullwhack
had ascended to that cosey apartment from the
parlor, as related in a previous chapter.

The face of the giant was smiling and tri-
umphant; the fHCH of the mineowner, on the
contrary, was scowling and disagreeable, his
eyes gleaming, with malignant evil in their
depths.

“ Well?” he said, pointing out a chair to Bull-
whack, and seating himself at a table on which
a student—lamp reflected acircle of olden light.
“ You have dared to come here! hat new?”

Bullwhack took a greasy pouch from his

Ocket and filled his mouth with a huge chew of

lie-cut, munched away on it awhile, and then
squinted one eye and regarded Ebenezer Sel—
den with a speculative stare.

“Thet ‘brotherly’ racket war purty good,
warn’t it?” he observed.

“ More clever than the most of your actions.
You had to make a blunder toward the last!”

“ The gal didn’t notice it?”

“ Of course she did. She’s no blockhead, you
may bet.” .

“ What does she know 9” and the giant grinned,
good-natured l y.

“I have given both her and Sardon a hint,
and I think they understand.”

“Oh! I allow thar’ll be some kickin’, but I
ken’t help it. Ther time is come, an’ it has got
ter be done!”

Eben compressed his 1i 5 grimly.

“ In God’s name why 0 you not spare them
a little longer?” he gritted.

“ Not much. Et ain’t my natur’l”

“ You needn’t tell one of that. Your face be-
trays your ugliness fast enough.”

“If I am any uglier than you, I’ll eat my
shirt. You have grown worse since we met
last. Eben, ye old sucker, I want lucre!”

“You’ll got none from me!”

“Oh! won’t I? Neow I ain’t so sart’in sure
about it. I hope ye don’t calkylate I’ve been
as still 9. mice all these fleetin years, months,
days, an’ weeks? I’ve found out a few things
about you.”

“ Bah! what!”

“ First, murder. Second, abduction. Third,
theft. Fourth,desertion and corruption. Fifth,
robbery, and lastly, a conglomeration of sins
that would fill a caterlogue l”

“ Pshaw! you’ve been drinking too much.”

“Nary. The fact is, Eben, unless your bank—
account is rather bulky, yer coil 0’ cordage aire
unwindin’ purty near to the end!”

Selden lit a stubby clay pipe, tipped back in
his chair, and blew a cloud of smoke ceiling-
ward.

“Now, look here!” he said. “I am a rich
and influential man, and you are a ruflianly
beggar. Supposing, for instance, I was to re-
fuse you one red cent—what would you, or
could you do about it, siri” .

The same triumphant leer was upon the giant’s

ace.

"What c’u’d I do?” be repeated, closing one
eve, and aiming a squirt of tobacco-juice at the
tire-place. “ Waal, that depends. Will ye listen
to me, all through, of 1 ti ll ye?"

Eben Selden’s mood seemed changing from
ill-feeling to good-nature.

He arose, went to the door, looked out, came
back. and was seated.

“ Go ahead!” he said, drawing an extra cloud
of smoke from his pipe. “ My ears are not of
abnormal size, but they are attentive.”

Bollivar Bullwhack evidently did not admire
the rather cool way the mine-owner had adopt-
ed. He gave a sharp glance around the room,
as if to see if there were convenient places for
eavesdroppers—then, after a. moment, he spoke:

“Well, ye seem desirous 0’ drawin’ me out,
an’ I’m goin’ ter let ye draw. Ye needn’t in-
terrupt me, more’n to say es, or no, when I
require. Reckerlect, I’m gom’ ter tell. ye what
I know, an’ ye needn’t try no funny bizness on
me, sech as killin’ me, fer, I’ll tell ye why,.be-
forehand. Ye parseeve that I‘ve got my right
hand in my right-hand pocket, an’ thet aire hand
aire clutchin’ a ‘bulldog’ revolver w’ot aire
leveled straight at yer heart, as squar’ as. a ge-
ograify. Ef ye try any inunky bizness Wi’ yer’s
tl‘uly, Bollivar Bullwhack, I’ll apprise ye, afore—
hand, thet ye get beautifully left!"

“Go on!” Selden called out, with a compres-
sion of the lips. '

"Keerect. IVaal, to begin with, it warsg‘V-
el‘iul vears ago when we first met, warn’t itf’

“Yes!” Selden replied, stolidly. ,

“ We war some years younger than now! ’
Bullwhack pursued. “Thar warn‘t so many
crew’s tracks on our faces—hot a wart on ther
proboscis 0‘ either of us. I reckon we must ha’
stepped on toads when we were young, Eben,
w’ich accounts fer the warts.”

 

"Go on. Come to the head!”

“Like a b’ile on yer neck, eh? \Vcll, byer
goes: It war years ago. \Ve war both young
and purt . I hedn‘t drunk so much bugjuice,
then, an warn’t so big, by long odds, as‘ye are
well aware. Our first acquaintance—let me see
~I war trampin’ along a country road. in Penn-
sylvania, when I heerd a carriage a-comin‘. So
I dodged inter a clump o’ bushes. What did
thet carriage do, but come along, an’ stop in
front 0’ my hidin’-place. Ther’ was a man an’
woman in it, an’ both were werry la-lah—that
is ter say, werry upper—notch, jedgin’ by looks.

“ ‘ Now, Leonorn,’ ther man said, ‘ this thing
has gone far enough. I want your answer.’
He spoke real mad like.

“ ‘ Lnther,’ ansvvered the gal, ‘ my answer is
the same as before—Mo I I may as well be
plain with you. I am engaged to Bartley Bry-
ant. He will take me, and be a protector of
piytp,00r dead husband’s child, and I am con—
.81) .

“ ‘Ye’r’ content, aire ye?‘ Luther growled.
‘Let me tell ye that your dream is a mockery,
then. No one knows of this drive to day. I
am going to kill you, and cheat my rival of his
prey. Your child shall follow you, Leonora.‘

“ She put. up her hands, then, but he did not
hesitate. [his knife flashed through the air,
and Leonora died immegetly. She war pitched
out 0‘ the carriage, an’ you—you, Luther, driv’
fast away l”

The face of Ebenezer Selden remained stone-
like in its composure.

“Go on!” he said, with a yawn.

“ I found out who ye were, reckonin’ mebbe
Icould salt some hush-money out 0’ you. Ye
war poor, but were likely ter inherit a good
boodle in due time. I wrote ye what I hed
seen, but didn’t mention givin’ ye away. I
war content ter wait. The next time I met
you war in St. Louis. You war then on the
prisoner’s dock fer petty theft ——an’ ye war all
broke up, eh ?"

Selden nodded.

‘_‘ You have a keen memory,” he admitted,
grimly.

“ Oh, you bet I hev! My wad war nu-
merous then. so I got ye off at light hail, an’
we slid together. You slipped me, tho’—an’ I
got married. I would ’a’ had a good future,
mebbe, only, like the snake ye aire, you crept
in, an’ furst I knew, I war minus a wife. It
warn’t long. I trailed ye, an’ once more found
yer hand dipped in blood. Ye hed killed her!”
f An expression of pain passed over Selden’s
aCe.

Bullwhack paid no attention to it.

“ An’ still I war content,” he went on—“ all I
wanted war ter see ye git rich. I might relate
a vollum 0’ other criminal rackets ye had, but
I’ll tech only on ther main ones, ter save time.
I hunted ye up, an“ fer a time we war friends.
Ye unfolded ter me a secret. Yer rich uncle
war about ter step out, an’ of ye were married
an’ settled down, an’ hed children—at least two
—he proposed ter make ye his heir. Bat nary
a chick nor a child did ye hev, an’ in yer di-
lemma ye turned to me. I loaned ye mine,
you promisin‘ ter fetch ’em up ter votin’ age in
furst-class shape.”

“ Haven‘t I done it?” Eben Selden hissed, sav—

agely.
“ I reck’ I haven’t seen the boy, but ther gal
looks like she might hev jest popped out o‘ a.
dressmaker‘s shop. But, let me go on. When
yer uncle ambled off, ye found, ter yer sor-
rer, thet the thing weren’t goin’ ter sagaciate.
He hed left his cool half-a-milyun ter the kids,
but it weren’t to tech ’em, till the youngest war
plum squar’ 0’ age.”

Selden drew a long breath.

" The only thing fer you to do were ter hang
on ter ’em, an‘ git hold of the boodle, when they
were of age.”

“ Yes, an’ I’ll hev itl” Selden gritted, fierce-
ly. “ I’Ve bided my time, and shall have my
reward. Everything is fixed in readiness, and
the minute the girl is of age and signs the paper,
I am willing you should have your children
back.”

“ Oh, how clever! Wouldn't that be a reg’lar
blood-poodin’? When’s the girl of age?”

“ Soon.”

“I ain’t fergitful 0’ thet. Yet it aire sum
time, too. She lacks a few year yet, Eben.”

“That matters not. She is misinformed as
to her age. In a couple of days she will be able
to swear she is twenty-one.”

“ Ho! ho! that’s yer racket, eh? \Vaal, I
persume I might sp’ilo it, eh? But I ain’t done
wi’ my story, yet, Eben. The daughter of
Leonora still lives, and knows of your crime,
an’ has sworn to wreak vengeance on you.”

“ Bah! am 1 a baby to fear a weak woman?”

“Maybe not. But, Leonora’s gel is not a
weak woman. Cast upon the world, her life
hes been a rough one, an’ she has lost the quips
an’ quirlleques of feminine wimmen. She seeks
ven eance.”

“ et her seek !”

“ But she aire in this very camp l”

Eben Selden started.

“ You lie!” he gritted.

“ If I do, I don’t know anything about it!”
the giant declared. “She is here, but don’t
know you.”

(t  "I

“ A relief, eh? Waal, I should faint! Ef she
knew ye war beer, I oplne thar would be blood
spilt, somewhat. I ken easily put her on yer
track, of ye want me to.”

“ You needn’t mind l” Selden returned. “ Are
you done?” ,

“Not quite. I’ve another thing or two to

say.”
‘ Be brief then.”

“ I will. What man, of all your enemies, do
you fear most?”

“ None of them!”

“ You don’t, eh i”

“ I do not fear God, man or devil l”

“ Su pose Bartley Bryant war to confront
you? ow d’ye think ye would feel?”

“ I do not think I should quail.”

“ Waal, you’re queer. I should almost shiver
my socks off, of I war you!” -

Selden laughed in his old cracked voice. His
composure, evidently, was not so great as he
assumed.

“ Go on !” was his mechanical answer. “ Talk
me to death if you like.”

“ I’ll try my best, Eben. I hev a few re-
marks ter make consarniu’ Bartley Bryant and
ther brother of one Sadie Southwell l”

 

CHAPTER XII.
BULLWHACK’S PRICE.

THE face of Eben Selden suddenly changed
color, as the giant uttered the last name.

“ What!” he gasped.

b0 t—” _ .

“All!” Bullwhack assured, With one of his
peculiar grins—“all, dear Ebenezer. Shall I
explain? I might as well, as I see that your
memory is very defective.

“To begin with: There was a pleasant leetle
home, once upon a time, down among ther pine-
clad hills of Nebraska, where dwelt a trio. of
persons named Southwell. The only livmg
parent was a decrepit old man 0’ seventy years;
then ther war a son an’ daughter. The son war
a hunter, miner, and so forth,.an’ kept the
family supplied wi’ ther necessaries ’0’ life; the
gal, young, beau'iful an’ charminn was, the
housekeeper. D’ye reckernize the tint o my
Michael-Angelo-like picter, Eben? Well, a
great, an’ pompous, an’ learned man, gained
access to thet home, an’ courted the.gir'l‘—daz-
zled her wi’ his pictures 0’ aristocratic life. _A
marriage war secretly performed. It war in-
tended to be a mock marriage!”

“Intended!”

Eben Selden gasped in uttering the word.

“ Yas, intended, so fur as you aire concerned,
Ebenezer, an’ ye know it. Schemingr old Vil-
lain that you are, you never intended to make
the innocent, trustin’ girl your wife!”

*‘ Nor did I" was the fierce answer:

“ I‘ll beg tcr tip ye a cross-eyed smile on that.
Ye did marry her, an’ she an’ her child aire
years, an’ come in fer yours when you turn up
yer toes!"

“ What do you know .

 

“ It’s false as hell itself!"

“ Kuin’t say ’bout that, fer I‘ve never bin
then. b..t ye kin bet on my bein’ right. 1 “ar
watchin’ ye them days, an’ I war )‘erevil genius
then. When ye hired yer rasrally nephew,
Larry Lee, to furnish a snide instead of a gini-
 preacher, Larry, dear boy, didn’t fill the

l .

“ What?”

“No, Sir—eel A peculiar sort 0’ inderwidual,
named Bollivar Bullwhack, got Larry so b’ilin’
drunk he couldn’t hev told a minister frum a
stone quarrv, an’ a real minister war sent an’
did the job i"

Selden‘s eyes fairly blazed.

"You accursed radian—you did this?" he
hissed, venomously.

“ Waal, I should cough up a cat!” Bullwhack
assured—“ but I let the sarcus go on. My bu b-
ble warn’t ready ter burst, jest then. Yer chil-
dren war at college—thet is, mine Were—an’ ye
war livin’ in clover, you hardened old sinner!

“ IVaal, things went on until forthcoming
events began to cast their shadows—then ye
skipped. Ebenezier, like a guilty son ofa—gun,
leavin’ behind ye a letter tellin’ her ye war tired
0’ her-her, the sweetest angel in Nebraska—an’
thet ther marriage wer’ only a mockery!"

For the first time during his narration, the
face of the giant became stern, and he glared at
Selden in a way that made the detestable old
villain feel verv uncomfortable. The mine—
owner‘s usually florid face new showed a shade
of pallor. .

“ Well,” Bullwhack went on, “ poor Sadie be—
came crazed, partly, and fled from her home.
Her child was born, and later she was found
perisliing upon the prairie. By whom, do you
suppose?”

“ How do I know?”

“By Bartley Bryant, at that time a ranch-
owner in this Territory. She was taken to his
home, but was stolen away by Larry Lee, and
has not been heard from since. I doubt if Bry—
ant told her her child lived, for he gave it to a
person who had once known the Seuthwells.
and from whom he learned of yer perfidy an’
Sadie’s wrongs!”

“ W hero is the child?”

“ Safe! that’s enuff fer ye to know. But, let
me go back: Sadie had another lover, whom she
fersuNk, jfer you. Mebbe you hev heard 0’ him?”

«‘ O!

“ Waal, his name war Walter Bent. Arter
Sadie’s disappearance, several 0’ those who had
knew her got together—Bent, an’ her brother.
among ’em—an’ took a solemn oath never to rest
until your death paid ther penalty 0’ yer treat-
ment 0’ Sadie!” ‘

Ebenezer Selden arose from his chair, and
pac~d the floor, his brows contracted, his eyes
wearing a scared look. .

“ Who are they?” he demanded, fiercely turn-
ing toward the giant.

“ Waal, Eben, 1 aire onel”

“ You .’ Bah!” °

“ I—me, Bollivar Bullwhack, is one.”

“ Who else?"

“ Well, I dunno whether I better let on ter
you or not. Guess I. will, however. Walter
Bent is number two.”

‘I  I”

“ Gerald South well is three.”

6‘ Yes.”

“ Salem Sphinx is four.”

The mine-owner started.

“ Salem Sphinx, the gambler?” he ejaculated.
“ Why, I have known him for months!”

“ Mebhe. But, very likely, to your sorrow.
He and Leonora’s gal are after you.”

“ Oh! Well, go on! Who else?”

“Ther’ may be others, but I persume, if so,
they aire in the employ of Walter Bent! By
the way, however, your most vehement enemy
aire here—has been beer, fer some time!”

Eben Selden looked at the giant, searchingly.

He then arose, went to a safe in one corner of
the room, and presently returned with a roll of
bills.

“ Who?” he tersely demanded, throwing down
a fiftydollar note, before the giant, on the ta ble.

“ Bartley Bryant!” Bullwhack answered.
“You, probably, know him as Maurice Clark-
son!"

The mine-owner uttered an oath.

"‘ Great God! Colonel Clarkson—impossible!”

“ Nary a time, dear Ehenl I also see’d a
’s ectabie-lookin’ chap at the Cremonia, ter-
night, from St. Louis. I sized him up, an’
reckoned he wanted a feller 0’ about your .size,
fer counterfeitin’ or somethin’ o’ the sort, down
thar. So ye see thet yer bale 0’ bay aire gittin’
reduced purty nigh ter the last spear.”

“ So it would seem!” Selden replied. “ I am
not frightened, though!”

“ I shed be, of I war ye. Ef my idears ain't
lost their origin, most all yer enemies aire
in this byer very camp 0’ Hunki-Dori. Clark-
son an’ Bent both ar’ on hand.”

“ Yes; Bent is here, and in limbo. He is Seal-
skin Sam 1”

“ Correct. But he ain’t in limbo.”

“ He is. I saw him locked up just before you
honored me with this visit. If he gets out,
alive, it will be queer.”

“It’ll be a darned sight queerer of he don’t
git free. He’s as slipperyas an eel. Who else
hev ye tumbled to?”

“ No one.”

“ Thort not. Wael, Leonora’s gal aire heer.
Bullwhack aire beer. Sealskin aire beer, an’
for what I kno’, a couple 0’ his confederates.
Gerald Southwell, of not hear, will be, soon: an’
yer prospects aire purty thin. Not noedfully,
tho’. Of all yer enemies, Luther Lee, I am the
only one that knows you are not really Eben-
ezer Selden.”

“ Are you sure?”

‘.‘ Sure as that I live, this minnit. The man—
hunters w’ot aire after you aire not aware 0’
the fact thet ye live beer. This place, I reckon,
war selected fer ’em to meet, an’ compare
notes.”

The man of many crimes did not appear to
regard this assertion as reasonable.

“ They evidently believe I am in this part of
the country, or else they would not hover so
close together."

“ Possibly ye aire right. Ef they don’t know
ye’r’ beer. et won’t take me long for tell ’em,”
Bullwhack suggested. “ The fact aire, it’s shell
out or swing, wi’ you. Ef ye cum down liberal
I kin easy put ’em off ther track. Ef ye don’t,
why my conshence won’t allow yer to escape
the vengeance loomin’ up fer you.”

“ That’s your game, is it?”

“You bet! I hevn’t s’arched out all these
things, for years, Wi’out expectin’ ter git well
paid fer doin’ it. I c’u’d hev sprung ther trap
on ye long ago, but didn’t want to. I wanted
ye to git rich, so that I could bleed ye. Oh!
Lute, me boy, I’m as fly as ye find ’eml”

“ I see!” the mine-owner growled. “ You’ve
struck the wrong party, however. I’ll not give
you one c0pperl”

“ Ye won’t?”

“ You have heard me!”

“ Then I wouldn’t give two cents fer yer hull
carcass!” the giant growled, rising to depart.
“ I’ll leave you now—ye need time ter reflect.
My price aire fifty thousand dollars. An’ not
a stiver less—fifty thousand in cool cash, or up
ye go, ye double-dyed-insthe-wool villain!” and
Bullwhack backed out of the room, still grasp-
ing his revolver in his pocket, ready to draw it
on the slightest sign of old Eben’s attempt to
“get the drop‘” on him.

The old scoundrel now had good reason to
wish the giant silenced!

(To be contimted—comnwnced in No. 62.)

 

A Good-sized Bootjack.

“ THAT fellow had a monstrous foot, the big-
gest I ever saw.”

“ How large .3” asked the General. “Give us
some idea of its size."

“I don’t know that I can, but I tell you
what’s a fact. His foot was so big that—
lVell, you have heard the old story of the fel-
low who used the forks of the road for a boot—
jack? Yes: well, Nick tried it,'and split the
road so far that the geography of the neighbor-
hood was changed.”

. bearing on this subject; my associations having

 

VIOLETS IN WINTER.

BY ABBIE C u’KEEVER.

 

 

Violets in winter, in dainty fragrance rare,
Sent by the one beloved to nestle in my hair.

Qh, lovely purplebeautiesl how can I e’er forget?
1 cu matke me think of clever with nodding daisies
se —

You bring to mind the hillsides, the blooming or-
chard trees,

The blushing, flushing roses swaying in the breeze—

You recall to me the lover that came in other days,
W ho loved your modest beauty and knew your
dewy ways— ‘

My farmer lad and lassie! How far away it seems!
Only a treasured memory from life‘s sweet early
dreams.

The strong face 11rsked with sunbrown—the will-
ing, gentle hands;

Their labor now is ended—or, resumed in other
lands;

For who can say the Savior, in Heaven‘s fairer
sphere,

May not have some glad work for those who served
him truly here?

Ah, VlOltitsl Sweet blossoms that hint of Heaven’s
lig it!

I will place you in my tresses and on my breast to-
night.

Yet will I not forget th‘ old love when on the new I
gaze'

Thouglh this new is best beloved, I’ll rememberother
ays.

 

Plains and Mountain Man.

BY FRANK TRIPLETT.

 

 

Isaac Graham.

IT is a singular fact that more is known of
the daily life and the exciting exploits of Boone,
Kenton, Brady, Clarke and other heroes of that
era, than of the plainsmen and mountaineers of
a much later date. But few of our people have
ever heard of Fitzpatrick, “ Old Bill” Williams,
“ Peg Leg ” Smith, or the Subtettes, and yet
they were among the most noted of those trap
pers and hunters, who opened the way for civil-
ization upon the. trackless plains and across the
inhospitable mountains, which once formed our
Western barriers.

“ Buffalo Bill,” the celebrated scout, is, strange
to so , by many considered as a plains pioneer,
and it Carson is almost universally supposed
to have been one of the first of all our mountain
men. A long residence on the plains and in the
mountains, prior to the advent of the railroads,
has enabled me to gather a fund of information

been largely with the few surviving comrades
of the wonderful heroes, whose lives and ex-
ploits will be given in a series of sketches in
BEADLE’S WEEKLY.

Isaac Graham was born in Tennessee, about
the year 1784, his father having been a friend
and companion of Boone, Findley and other of
the men who from V irginia and North Carolina
pioneered the rugged hills and fruitful vales of
Tennessee, and afterward wrested the “dark
and bloody ground " from the swarming hordes
of the savages.

Graham, a. fine rifie~ shot and a bold and skill-
ful hunt-er, had become inured to the savage
conflict in Kentucky and Ohio, and when,
through the submission of the Northwestern
tribes, peace reigned along the border, his soul
longed for more stirring scenes, and he started
to Missouri. The universal mode of travel at
that time was either by canoe or flatboat on the
rivers, or by saddle-animals and pack-horses
upon land. The latter method was chosen by
Graham, and accompanied by a single comrade,
whOSe name has been lest, he set out' for St.
Louis, then under Spanish dominion.

Here they outfitted fora trip to the moun-
tains, where they intended to trap fora few sea-
sons, and each riding a horse and driving another
packed with their movables, they entered the
unbroken wilderness lying to the westward, and
disappeared in the heavy timber. It is needless
to say that the two men were “free trappers;”
all except those working for a Company being
so designated. The Company trappers, who
outfitted at St. Louis, ascended the Missouri
river for long distances in boats, trading with
the savages along the banks and usually build-
ing a small fort as a tradingpost and general
rendezvous, from which they spread out over
the surrounding country, setting their traps in
all of the mountain streams and meeting at the
post occasionally to compare notes, receive the
commands of the Company proprietors, etc.
From their independence of any such duties
and requirements, those adventurers who,
singly or in squads of two or more, trapped
for themselves, were known as “ free trappei's.”

The first season they spent below the Yellow—
stone and with little incident, as the Sioux,
Arickaras and Crows Were all at peace with
the few white men who penetrated to their
country. The second season, however, they
made their way into the Blackfoot country, on
the head-waters of the Missouri river, and here
they were in continual danger. Only the ut-
most caution preserved their lives, and their
skirmishes with the pugnacious Blackfeet were
innumerable.

On one occasion, while out looking after their
traps, the two trappers were surprised by a
shower of arrows from their ambushed foes.
Both were wounded, but not seriously, and
dashing into the Chet-shat-sha, upon whose
banks they were standing, they sought cover
upbn its opposite shore, and after a she fight
0 over an hour succeeded in heating 0 their
assailants with a loss of two warriors killed and
several wounded.

This lesson taught Graham and his comrade
caution, and thenceforth they set their traps
only late in the evening and removed their
game (concealing the traps) before daylight
each morning. 11 this way they escaped at-
tack for some time, but tiring of this close con-
finement and their diet of beaver, they deter-
mined on a hunt. Leaving camp very early in
the morning, they struck out across the foot-
hills, determined to get a shot at the antelope
and buffalo they saw feeding on the plains at
some distance from the hills.

They reached the plain in safety, and in a
short time had succeeded in killing a fat buffalo
cow. Hastily skinning her, they were proceed-
ing leisurely to cut off the flesh that they in-
tended to jerk (dry), when looking back toward
the hills they saw at least a dozen Blackfeet
riding down upon them. The situation ex-
plained itself at a glance: the Blackfeet, out on
a hunting-party, had struck their trail and
were coming down upon them with the speed of
the wind.

IVhen the savages saw that they were discov-
ered, they gave Vent to the fierce war-whoop of
their tribe, but did not change their course. It
seemed as if they were so confident of their
victims that they neglected their usual precau-
tion of circling and firing from a safe distance.

W'hen within a hundred yards, Graham
thought it best to risk a shot, and telling his
comrade to hold his fire. he himself aimed at
the foremost savage and brought him to the
ground. The chief, for such he was, did not
move and his followers seeing that he was dead
gathered incautiously around him, howling out
their death hallo.

Graham told his comrade to try a shot. and
he tin-d, but only wounded one of the Indians,
who. however. fell from his horse. Toe horse
of the chief had been caught by the savnges,
but the horse of the wounded Indian broke

 

his lnriat, and galloping directly toward the
trappers, was caught by them. lmmediately
upon the fall of the second Indian, the others
had scattered. bearing off his lH'd\, and were
now at a safe distant-e. After holding a short
council they circled to windward of the trap-
pers. intending. if possible. to burn them out of
their present position, but, after several inef-
fectual attempts to fire the grass they gave up ‘
in despair, and again assembled for a council.
The result of this seemed to be a determina-

   

thH'tO keep the trappers surrounded until a
courier, whom they now sent (ff, should mung
up some (I their Warriors armed with rifles— ,.
thosqpresent having only bows and arrows. ii
'1 UH Situation of the two whi e men was despg ' fé
rate, but in the Vocabulary of the American '
trapper there was no such vs 0rd as despair. Af-
ter hours that. seemed interminable, nightfinally 4
ca me, and luckily it was as dark as could be de- r
Sll‘efl. Graham determined to attempt a ruse
WOUgh, be bad grave doubts of its success. The
trappers had kept possession of the Captured
steed, intending. if necessary, to kill it to use
as a breastwork. T‘tey now set to work to
make two dummies of the buffalo—hide and a
part of their clothing, and these they bound
firmly upon the back of the almost frantic ani-
mal. “IV hen completed it seemed in the dark-
iiess of .he night as if the horse had upon its
back two closely crouching riders.

Hardlydaring to hope that the Indians would
be dccelVHl, the horse was turned loose, struck
a sharp blow and darted off, while the trappers
threw themselves upon the ground and crawled
sw1i'tly a“ ay from the (lead buffalo. The rapid
firing of the Indians“ rifles told them that the
stratagem had succeeded, and they hurriedly
made their way back to toe Hills.

Convinced that they would be unable to fol-
low their evocation longer, in the land of the
Blackfeet, Graham conceived the idea of mak—
ing his way through to California, which had
already been visited by Jedediali S. Smith, an-
other trapper. Accordingly they cached the
peltries they had already taken, and pursuing a.
course t. )ward the West. they succeeded in cross-
ind the Rocky Mountains and reaching the wa-
ters of the Pacific slope. Trapping down these
waters, they had many skirmishes with the
Crows, into whose Country they had now pene-
trated. In one of these fights Graham’s com-
rade was mortally wounded, and Graham him-
self so fiercely pressed that it was with difiiculty
that he saved his life. Flying before the infu-
riated savages, he had to abandon to their
brutality the companion with whom he had so
long shared every joy and every danger.

Alone in an inhospitable wilderness swarming
with enemies, Graham fled for three days and
nights, scarcely allowing himself an hour’s rest l
in twenty~four. At last, when nature could no
longer stand this terrible strain, he struck a
party of Snake Indians, under the command of
their great chief, Peni. This Indian was of a.
disposition at once brave and gentle, and the
distress of the trapper appealed strongly to his
noble nature. Making a fierce charge upon the
Crows. he drove them furiously until night. al-
most annihilating the party of warriors who
were pursuing Graham. The latter Was fur-
nished with a horse and taken to Peni‘s village,
where he received the greatest attention.

With the hospitable chief the trapper re-
mained several weeks and then, despite the
kindly efforts of the chief to detain him, he
again set out for California. The dangers of
the way were painted in vivid col- rs by the
Snake, but the restless nature of the American
trapper must assert itself, and accompanying
him a. day’s journey and presenting him with a
strong, hardy horse, Peni took his leave of the
man whom he had rescued from a terrible death
and whom he was destined never to see again.

Using every precaution that experience and a
ready 'Wit could suggest, it was some days be-
fore Graham encountered further troubles, but
one morning when going into camp—for he
traveled by night and secreted himself and
horse. as well  he was able, during the day—
be reused a grizzly bear, that had some prey se-
creted near, and, before he could fire his rifle,
the bear Was upon him, and after knocking him
down hit him through the shoulder and thigh.
Although suffering terribly, Graham retained
command of himself and did not move, and the
fierce animal soon left him and resumed its po-
sition near its prey. As soon as Graham re-
covered his strength he rose. cocked his rifle,
and waited for the attack of the brute. Com-
ing on swiftly, Graham checked its charge by 8.
rifle-hall. that penetrated its brain, and follOW-
ing up his advantage with two pistol shots soon
had the satisfaction of seeing it die.

The wounds of Graham were painful, but not
serious and he continued on his journey, bath-
ing them at every opportunity with cold water.
When about recovered from his injuries, Gra-
ham struck the country of the Bannocks, and
here he had several sharp fights, but as these
Indians were entirely unprovided with fire-
arms he easily heat off their swarming numbers
and his most severe 105s was the horse which
had been presented to him by Peni, the Snake
chief. The horse was stolen while Graham
slept and, as if satisfied with inflicting this loss
upon him, the savages then withdrew. By way
of balance, the trapper had killed three of their
warriors and wounded four or five others.

Soon after this Graham reached California,
and building him a hut in the mountains, about
a hundred miles from Monterey, he followed
with avidity his profession of hunter and trap-
per. Like Boone he was satisfied wherever
game was plenty and required none of the arti-
ficial luxuries of civilization. He had hunted
and fought Indians from the borders of Tennes-
see to those of California and even now his
martial ardor was not dampened. Alvarado,
one of the ofiicials of the State, flying from the
anger of his superior, sought refuge with Gra-
ham, in 1836. The trapper was now over fifty
years old, and he not only received the hiding
Mexican, but also volunteered to organize a
revolution which would make California a free
State and place Alvarado at its head.

These kind offices were received by the Mexi-
can with loud protestations of gratitude, of the
sincerity of which we leave the reader to judge
when we have finished the sketch. Selecting a
few American trappers, Graham went to the
whale-ships on the coast and procured a quan-
tity of ammunition. With these men and sup-
plies he marched on Monterey and seizing a
small four-pounder there, turned it against the
house of the Acting GOVernor, Gutierrez, and
after a single shot demanded a surrender. The
reputation of the trapper as a fighting-man was
well known and Gutierrez and his three hun-
dred soldiers promptly surrendered to him and
his seventy-five recruits.

Alvarado was installed as Governor, and
Graham, after suggesting a constitution similar
to those of the American States, disbanded his
men and withdrew to his cabin in the moun-
tains. IVhen his support was withdrawn, Al-
varado found himself unpopular with the Cali-
fornians, and, in order to hold his position, he
again placed the State under Mexican rule.
This was a species of treachery not to be won-
dered at in a Mexican, but it will hardly be be—
lieved that he had his benefactor, Graham, ar-
rested, conveyed to the city of Mexico and
there incarcerated in a prison, where he lay for
years. Here was a true specimen of Mexican
honor and gratitude!

The release of Graham was finally procured
through the intercession of the English consul
at Mexico and of some other foreign officials,
and he returned once more to his lonely cabin
to broo‘l over his wrongs. He never recovered
from the curse of the Mexican irons, that had
eaten into his soul, and was never again the
light-hearted, careless man that he had been.
The years spent in the prison had aged him
more. than all of his dangers and hardships,
and he survwed his release but a short time.

Thus perished through ingratitude and treach-
ery one of the earliest of the. mountain-men, to
whom we owe a debt of gratitude, that so far
has remained unpaid. History omits them
from its immortal pages. and neither the art of
the sculptor nor the painter has perpetuated
their exploits or their merits.

The servictts of Graham extend over a period
of some thirty—five years: in all of which time
there was si,'.il‘('elV a week but had its ambush
or its battle: scarcely a day but was fraught
with innumerable dangers. Upon his pathway
ever waited the hidden perils of the'avalanche. ‘
the rockeslide. the slippery ])l‘cl"l{vlCP. savage
beasts and \‘ct more savage Indians. That he,
at last, should die in his humble bed is SC:’.I‘Ccly
less wonderful than his hundreds of almost
miraculous escapes from the many dangers by
which he was so constantly envuoned.

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Published'erery Monday m’rning at nine o’clock.

NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 9, 1884.

 

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BEADLE AND ADAMS. PUBLISHERS.
98 WILLIAM Sr. New YORK.

 

 

Buffalo Bill Again!
A Brilliant Story from His Pen!

With “ Fancy Frank ” for Hero!

To Start in Number 67 !

As splendid a romance of the wild West as
has appeared in years, in which the remarkable
Dr. Frank Powell—ex-surgeon of the U. S.
army and the W'hite Beaver Great Medicine of
the Winnebagoes—enacts a strange episode in
his exciting and singular career. As

The Doctor Scout,
The Terrible Rifle,
The Wizard Knife,

he becomes the Exile of the Platte to discharge
a. noble trust—to right a monstrous wrong—to
strike the Red Angels of the Overland a mortal
blow almost unaided and alone. And in a suc-
cession Of chapters of almost weird interest,

The Great Brother Scout, ‘
The Heroic Man of the Plains,

tells the story with a spirit, and a fine sense of
the author’s art that is pleasing evidence of his
versatile talents. Hence, readers may well
anticipate

The Serial Story of the Season!
The Romance for All to Read?

 

A DOUBLE ATTRACTION!
TWO “ STARS” IN NO. 67.

Oil CDDMES ALSO!

In the same issue with Buffalo Bill’s new pro-
duction appears

Little Buckskin.
THE PRAIRIE CENTAUR;

OR,
OLD KIT BANDY’S RAMPAGE.

Just a jewel of a “yarn,” in Oil Coomes's
happiest vein—full of fun, excitement and
story, in which the queer Old codger, Kit
Bandy, is both a lion and a lamb. It will
“take” old boys and young amazingly—as all
of 011 Coomes’s stories do.

 

The Wide Awake Papers.

“ The Mean Husband.”

“Now and then the Mean Husband appears in
such numbers as to make it strange that a greater
proportion of the women do not voluntarily choose
the ancient and honorable profession of old maid.
* * * * Yet in spite of every warning of this
kind we presume the girls will go on saying “ Yes,"
and there will be new marriages in the papers every
day."—N. I. Timbune.

Without a doubt! Example never has been
and never will be—especially in matters of the
heart—a teacher that could supply the place of
Experience; and if there is one thing beyond
the power of a mortal to accomplish, it is
to convince a woman, before marriage, that
the man she is about to wed has any hu-
man frailties. He himself could not do it, so
long as be coupled the confession with the de—
claration that he loved her. She would take his
word against every one else in the world—even
against the most tender and loving of parents——
but never against himself if he owned toa weak-
ness or a fault. Such is the folly and the un-
reasonableness of the average woman! The
more is the pity, for too often her wedded life is
but newly begun when, without any difficulty,
the man who wooed her in the guise of an an-
gel proves to her that he has more devilishness
than divinity about him.

It is not long ago that a young woman of edu-
cation and refinement fell desperately in love
with a handsome officer who appeared to be as
desperately in love with her. An idol in her home.
her parents would not consent to the union until
they assured themselves of the young man’s ex—
cellence; and it was not long before they laid be-
fore her overwhelming [to them] proofs of his
unworthiness to become the husband of any pure
and loving woman. They proved to her that
he was an inveterate winedrinker, often im-
bibing to excess; that it was one of his daily
habits to play cards for money: and that he
had lived openly, for years, with a woman
whom he had treated, and insisted that others
should treat, as his wife—she being so in all
but name; they even placed before their daugh-
ter the kind and affectionate letters which her
lover had written to his absent mistress at the
same time be was wooing with passionate ardor
his younger, and later love. And did this girl
do what any woman with sense, and reason,

 

and self-respect, and honor, ought to have. done?
—-did she say, “A drunkard and a gambler is

not a fit man to become the head of a home and
the father of a familv; and—beyond that—this
man, in the sight of High Heaven, is a married
man; if he ever gives to any woman his name it
should be the woman to whom it should have
been given years ago!” No! Instead, she
threw self-respect, reason. honor. duty, and
filial love to the winds, and said, “ He, at least,
has not married her, so he can marry me; and—
we love each other!"

True, he had not married the other woman
as far as the saying of a certain few words

 
  

The pa-

 

went, but he was her husband; and the man
who could thus desert one woman for another
was just as likely to tire of his second fancy as
of his first; and so his young Wife soon learned.
Today, a broken-hearted and faded woman'—
young still but with all her beauty and spirit
gone—she lives upon the bounty of the devoted
parents whose good counsel she despised In the
da ‘s‘of her rash girlhood.

We waste a great deal of sympathy and
pity on such unfortunate wives; but is it all de-
served? It seems to me not. For thethou-
sands Of ignorant girls—girls who have lacked
all the enlightenment and. training of good
herita'. e, intelligent parental influence, and a
fair education—who say f‘yes” and then find
themselves tied for life to the Mean Husband:
who learn—all too late—that they were a. thou-
sand times better otf as their own mistress,
earning ever so meager wages, than as the
(lrudging wife of a brutal husband and the
mother of three or four miserable children, I
have unbounded pity. It fills me with impo-
tent fury and despair, often, that “ the masscs,”
as we are given to calling the great class Of un-
educated and unintelligent people, should have
to learn so slowly and through such bitter ex-
periences; but when young women of culture,
young women who ought to be able to reason,
to use good judgment, to love honor, to be
guided by motives of self-respect, make mar-
riages that have no excuse for their being save
the same blind passion and animalism which
characterize the marriages Of the lowest and
most illiterate, and find themselves united for
life to the Mean Husband, then I say sympathy
and pity are wasted. A woman who is mar-
ried to one of the meanest of husbands—a man
who is selfishly extravagant, intemperate, sen-
sual, ugly-tempered, vicious, and neglectful,
was warned before marriage—by the lover
himself—that she would “ be. a fool to marry
him.” He told her that he was “ a bad fellow,
with an ugly temper and fast habits :” but—re-
fined and educated girl that she was—she mar-
ried him, and has rued it ever since.

And yet, as is said in the article quoted
above, in the face of numbers of examples of
the meanness and unworthiness of husbands,
women go on saying “ yes;” and yet the half—

nay, the thousandth part—of the Mean Hus-'

bands never get their names in the papers.
There is not a person of intelligence but can
point to one Mean Husband that he knows; and
probably to more. But women endure all man-
ner of indignity, and neglect, and even positive
cruelty—first, because habits, and associations,
and a knowledge of bondage, form a subtle tie,
hard to break; Secondly, because they shrink
from publicity and being “.talked about”;
thirdly, for the sake of their children; fourthly,
for the sake of being supported; and the last
reason is really the most debasing of all. There
is where half the trouble lies. When women

get intelligent enough to appreciate that they .

can live in greater comfort. and independence,
and with far less drudgery, on the salaries they
themselves earn. than on the wages that must
go to support two, and in time, perhaps, half a
dozen people, they will be less rash in marry-
in .

Every girl of intelligence can, in these days,
support herself nicely, and Without any loss of
respect or caste; and every girl should do _so,
whether her father isa clerk or a millionaire.
then she has assured to herself a place in the
world, when she is conscious of her own pOWer
as a money-maker, and as an earnest soul
in the strife of life, she will demand the
very highest credentials, as to character, hab-
its. and fame, from the man who desires to
enter into partnership with her life; and when
men are expected to stand as high, socially,
financially, mentally, and morally, as the wo;
men they marry—when marriage becomes a
partnership of equality even as regards the
habits and the virtue of the contracting parties
—it will be harder to find the Mean Husband.
He may not altogether disappear, but he will
grow beautifully less; and until that time comes
when a woman can marry with the fullest con-
sent of her intelligence, her duty, her self-re-
spect, her honor, and her reason, she had much
better say “No” to every man who comes
along. Marriage which has the consrmt of the
heart alone, unauthorized by practical judg—
ment and careful reasoning, is the kind of mar-
riage which is apt to resolve itself into the mis-
era ble union of a disappointed wife and a Mean
Husband. BELLE BRIGHT.

 

The llwl Papers.

Our New Family Horse. '

 

OUR present family horse was recently left as
a lethargy (I mean a legacy) to my wife, by her
deceased aunt, aged 80 years. I cannot say how
old the horse is, and nobody could tell its age by
its teeth, as most of the; are missing, and if a
horse gets a new wrinkle every year, it would
be an impossibility ever to count them.

He is a perfectly white horse now, but I can-
not gef my wife to believe that he was once a.
pure black, as she insists that a horse never gets
gray, and as she is a timid woman, at least
around a horse, she very naturally looks upon
this one with great favor and would not part
with him—even to the sheriff.

1 must say that there is some life about the
animal, at least I am sure that any one looking
at him ver close would see that he was not
dead, and i he had the same power to work his
legs as he has to work his jaws I would put him
against J. I. C. in a five- mile race and win.

He is the Very soul of patience in a buggy,
and never starts and runs off for the purpose of
getting there in a hurry. His name is not Eli.
I can leave him anywhere and I could return
and find him right there, unless perhaps the
pike is a little down-hill and the buggy Would
run off with the horse, as it were, by pulling
him back, which has happened severe times
lately.

I am never afraid of him kicking in the
shafts; he is a most sensible beast. and seems
well enough to know that if he should raise both
of his hind feet off the ground at once he would
necessarily throw all his weight on his forelegs
and it would be more than they could stand.
He’s sharp.

When 1 have nothing else to do I sometimes
drive him, and indeed one of these drives is the
best mode of passing off time I know of. I can
thus dispose of more time than you ever saw.
My wife often rides out. but then she is never
in a hurry—unless waiting with a meal.

I will not deny that he is a perfect master Of
the road—that is, he goes along right in the
middle and never turns to the right nor left to
give room for another team to pass. pull as
hard on the line as I can. When he does take
a notion to notice the pull of the lines, he will
turn just the Opposite way; so, if I want him to
turn right i always pull left, and generally I
have to get out and pry him around when I
want him to turn down a cress road, though he
turns very easily to strike up every lane that
leads to a wayside barn.

1 have never been arrested for overdriving.
One of the funniest things about him is that
when he is jogging along, and 1 cut him with a
whip to make him go faster, he always stops
right still. it seems that his back itches
just about where l strike, and he stops to get
some more of it; when I quit whipping him he
will start on. . .

He will keep up with a load of hay no matter
how bad the roads are.

One of the redeeming features about him is
that when tramps overtake me on the road
they never ask me to allow them to ride; they
seem to consider that they haven’t so much
time to lose, and walk on. Neither am I both-
ered in lending him to the neighbors, and that
is certainly a great blessing.

The fastest time I ever made with him on the
trotting—track was never exactly found out, as
the man who held the watch had to leave to go
to his dinner, and promised to come back, but
failed to do so.

He is a horse of good bone, and you will not
have to take my word for it alone because you

can see it. He is about the‘ knobbiest steed
around, and there is one good thing about It,
for if he was the least bit fatter‘it would be Im-
possible for him to travel at all.

He always manages to keep ahead of the
buggy, unless it is going down-grade, when it is
about as much as he can do.

From too much overstud y and constant over-
use of his eyes in looking into the feed-box, to
see if there is anything to eat in it, his sight has
been greatly impaired, yet in wife will never
drive him out without a blind-bridle, as she
thinks he might see something at the side of the
road to scare at. I laugh and tell herI fear
nothing of that sort, though it might be that
something at the roadside might get frightened
at him.

His architectural style is pure Gothic, of the
reign of Queen Anne, and when I tell my Wife
that if his neck was a little bit longer he would
look like a brother-in-law to the dromedary, a
fresh family jar is openi d on the spot.

Time and distance are nothing to this horse.
If he starts to go to any place he is bound to
arrive there if it takes all day, as it generally
does; but he never runs over any little children
when he is going his fastest: they always have

lenty of time to get out of the way. He should
Belong to some physician, for by the time he
would get there the patient would have a
chance to recover.

Really, it is a base libel for people to stand
and say that he can’t go at all, when with a
little close observation you can see that he
really is going, though I never broke a line yet
in holding him back.

In hot weather the flies may be thick on his
back, but he pays no attention to them, proba-
bly does not feel them, as he never switches
them Ofi? with his tail; perhaps he thinks there
is too much extra work in doing this and a
waste of energy that he had better save for his
le s. but I don’t km W.

hile I cannot grumble at the smallness of
the tax which 1 pay on him. his feed-bill is a se-
rious drawback, for he is always as hungry as
an old maid boarder.

He travels, for his health, in a half-trot, or half—
walk, I have never been rightly able to tell ex-
actly which, and so goes in a kind of jerk which
constantly throws my head back to the great
danger of snapping my neck off, and it nearly
makes me sea—sick to ride behind him; and he
always goes with his nose close to the ground——
being a shrewd horse, he scents to see if he is on
the right road.

When I hitch him up and want to start right
off on a sudden, all I have to do is to say “ go!”
—besides giving him a thundering lick with the
heavy end of the whip, and then away he gOes
right off, before long, and at the word “ whoa!”
he stops without any trouble. He has some
very wonderful traits indeed. ‘

SOLOMON SHINGLE.

 

Extraordinary Shooting.

WE have on our desk four cards, each per-
forated with pistol shots, accompanied with the
following certificate: -_i

“The undersigned witnessed Dr. D. F. Powell
make the shots in cards sent: said shots made at
night in office of Dr. Powell. at a distance of 35 feet.

“ PRENTISS INGRAHAM,
“ W. A. DARLING,
' “H. J. VOGEL,
“ WILLIAM BURKIIARDT."

Across the surface of three Of the cards is
stretched a hair. Card NO. 1: the hair is sov—
ered in almost exact center of its length—one
shot. Card No. 2 stretches a hair from the
scalp of Short Win . It is cut in twain—one
shot. Card No. 3: t tirteen shots in card center;
hair severed at second shot; all shots within the
area of a silver dime. Card No. 4 bears the re-
markable evidence of twenty consecutive hots
in the ace of clubs—all within the ace or touch—
ing its edges.

If more extraordinary pistol shooting ever
has been done, we have not seen the record, and
as the above comes with the attestation of
four gentlemen witnesses, it of course is un-
questionable.

Until this is beaten we think Dr. Powell—the
“Fancy Frank ” of our romances-fairly en-
titled to the championship.

The cards can be seen at this office.

 

‘ The Great Florida. Swamp.

THE high hopes that were entertained Of the
exploration into the Florida Everglades by the
Times Democrat of New Orleans haVe been dis-
appointed. It was believed that the interior
portions of the supposed great swamp might be
found to be elevated and reclaimable, and so of
value for farming purposes. It was also hoped
that it would be found practicable ’to build a
telegraph line from the cable on the west coast
of Florida across to Jupiter Inlet on the eastern
coast, where all vessels pass from the West In-
dies and the Gulf, and where their arrival could
be telegraphed northward. The exploration,
made with great labor in canoes over a distance
of nearly 300 miles, shows that none of-these
expectations can be realized. The great swamp
is a swamp and cannot be made anything else.
The lands, if they can be called so, are worthless
for any purpose of cultivation, and not even
the proposed telegraph line can be set up and
maintained. This will put at rest forever all
the legends of generations past about luxuriant
and fertile regions within the Everglades. They
must be left to the Indians who still haunt them
and have done so since the days of Osceola and
the Seminoles.

Light-House Life.

CAPTAIN CLARK COLE, keeper of the light—
house on Presque Isle, got through the floating
ice and landed in Erie, Pa., the other day. As
to life in the light-house, he said to a Dispatch
reporter: “To a. politician the place would be
banishment, but to a Christian it is paradise.
There is nothing to do during the present
months when the lamps are not lighted but to
eat, drink, and be merry on the rations and
literature supplied by a thoughtful GOVern~
ment. Twice in a year a Government vessel
heaves in sight and anchors in the roadstead op-
posite the beacon. A uniformed official in-
spects the li ht-house. and a purser leavos 200
pounds of so t pork, 100 pounds of salt beef, 2
barrels of flour, 2 barrels of potatoes, 10 gallons
of beans, 50 pounds Of an ar, 24 pounds of
Coffee, 40 pounds of rice, an 4 gallons of vine-
gar.” This is the Government ration, and
upon this the keeper is supposed to exist until
the GOVernment remembers him again. There
is a library case which the nation fills with lit-
erature selected with an eye to the spiritual as
well as the earthly welfare of the keeper.
“Fox’s Book of Martyrs;” “Jonathan Wild,”
the “Apocalypse,” a Bible Concordance with a
complete set of hymn-books, the “ Adventures
of Captain Kidd, the Pirate,” Byron’s “Cor-
sair,” Ingersoll’s lectures, the census reports,
and a number of scientific works are among the
collection.

 

 

Bronco Sam.

SPEAKING about cowboys. Sam Stewart,
known from Montana to Old Mexico as Bronco
Sam, was the chief. His special delight, Bill
Nye states, was to break the warlike heart Of
the vicious wild pony of the plains, and make
him the servant of man.

There may be joy in a wild gallop across the
boundless plains, in the crisp morning, on the
back of a fleet bronco; but when you return
with your ribs sticking through your vest, and
find that your nimble steed has returned to
town two hours ahead of you, there is a tinge
of sadness about it all.

Bronco Sam, however, made a specialty of
doing all the riding himself. He wouldn’t en-
ter into any compromise and allow the horse to
ride him.

In a reckless moment he offered to bet ten
dollars that he could mount and ride a wild

 

Texan steer. The money was put 11 . That
settled it. Sam never took water. his was

 

true in a double sense. Well, he climbed the
cross-bar of the corral-gate, and asked the other
boys to turn out their best steer, Marquis of
Queensbury rules. .

As the steer passed our, Sam slid down and
wrapped those parenthetical legs of his around
that high-headed, broad-horned brute and he
rode him till the fleet footed animal fell down
on the buffalo-grass, ran his hot, red tongue out
across the blue horizon, shook his tail convul-
sively, swelled up sadly and died.

It took Sam four days to walk back.

Atendollar bill looks as large to me as the
Star Spangled Banner, sometimes; but that is
an avenue of wealth that had not occurred to
me.
I’d rather ride a buzz-saw at two dollars a
day and found.

 

A Road-Knight’s Exploit.

THE Laramie Boonurcmg. in a late number,
thus tells ofa recent exploit of a Wyoming celeb-
rity:—-While Fred Rowland, Who keeps a half-
way station at Seven-mile Ranch, was away,
having gone to deposit $1,000 of his savings. a
stranger stopped at the ranch, which had been
left under the care of an employee named Will-
iam Tucker. He gave his name as Alfred Knight,
and wanted some dinner. After eating, and
while Tucker’s back was turned. he seized a
rifle leanin against the wall, dropped it on
Tucker at gull cock, and bade him elevate his
hands. Tucker did so. Knight then walked
behind the bar, and, picking up a revolver that
lay on the shelf, placed it in his hippocket, and
invited Tucker to take a walk with him to the
stable, which he did. He picked out a horse
and bade his prisor er saddle it. This done,
Tucker went back to the house, followed by
Knight, who ordered him to tie some blankets
to the saddle and put up some provisions; also
to take the money-drawer and dump its con-
tents out upon the ground. It contained about
$25, which Knight pocketed. He then bade
Tucker write a document, which he signed, as
follows: ' ’

“ I do hereb ' swear that I cleaned out the Seven;
mile Ranch. 'l'yucker had nothing to do with taking
the guns or the horse.” ALFRED KNIGHT.

Knight then mounted his horse, and, making
Tucker walk before him, left the ranch several
miles behind. Here he remained until evening,
when he coolly informed Tucker that he guessed
there was no danger of his being apprehended.
so he would resume his journey—he (Tucker)
could return home. Captor and prisoner then
parted company. Tucker made his way to
Rock creek and telegraphed his employer that
the ranch had been robbed. Knight was fol-
gviiled by oflicers, who arrested him near Fort

0 ins. .

 

A Pretty Big “ Relate.”

WE are told by the Cincinnati papers of a dog
who found his way home by a walk from New
Orleansto Aurora, Indiana. a distance of OVer
twelve hundred miles. Mr. George Griffin, of
Aurora, states that the dog had been taken on a
flatboat down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers.
The distance from New Orleans to Cincinnati is
something over 1,200 miles, and this place is
only twenty—five miles below Cincinnati. Mr.
Griffin says the dog was a worthless animal.
and was taken on the boat with the intention of
dropping it off somewhere down the river to
get rid of it. The dog was, however, kept
aboard the boat ,and taken to New Orleans.
Here he was turned adrift in the city. The
boat’s crew returned home to ether, and, as
they had seen nothing of the 0g for several
days before leaving New Orleans, they con-
cluded they had lost him.

“ About three months after my arrival home,”
said Mr. Griffin, “the lost dog crawled under
the back fence and sneaked up to the kitchen
door. He was the most woebegone looking
creature I ever saw—poor, lank and hungry,
with barely enough strength to drag himself
along. He was the prodi alson Of dogs, and
looked as though he wanter the fatted calf, and
wanted it right away. When I left him in New
Orleans he was sleek and rat; when he turned
up at home, three months later, he was a mere
skeleton. His feet were sore and bleeding. He
had a bushy tail and it was full of burrs, show.
ing that he had come through the woods. I am
sure he walked every step of the way. At first
I was afraid to tell my wife Of his return, know-
ing she would think there was something super-
natural about it and worry over it. I prepared
her for the news by telling her it was a common
thing for dogs to walk from New Orleans, and
that I was expecting Jack home any day. I
fixed up ’a nice, comfortable nest for him in the
woodshed, and it was three weeks before he
Would leave it. He just laid there and rested.”

“

Focused Fact.

 

_ CAMPHOR trees are being successfully grown
in Florida.

EARTHQUAKES. tornadoes, shipwrecks, fires
and other casualties are reckoned to have de—
stroyed 125,000 human lives in 1883.

CLEVELAND’S 136 mills, with $21,202.500 cap-
ital and 17,114 hands, turned out $32,411,600
worth of manufactured iron last year.

THERE are 5,000.000 followers of John Wes-
ley in the world. The total Methodist pula-
tion Of the globe is estimated at $25 000,613

GUITEAU’S skeleton, which is hidden in a
private room of the Army Medical Museum,
has been polished and bleached until it looks
like an ivory figure.

RECENT investigations into the density of the
population in Paris, as published in the Globe
of that city, develop the fact that there are
(38,126 houses with a population of 2 225,610 in-
habitants, giving an average of 33 persons to
each house.

THE North-western Lumberman gives Dr.
David ward the credit of being the ichest
man in Michigan. He owns 2,200,000,000 feet
of standing pine in Michigan and Wisconsin,
and his total fortune is placed at $25,000,000.

THE longest line of fence in the world will be
the wire fence extending from the Indian Ter-
ritory west across the Texas Panhandle and
thirty-five miles into New Mexico. It is said
that eighty-five miles Of this fence is alreadv
under contract. Its course will be in the line Of
the Canadian river, and its urpose is to stop
the drift of the northern catt e. The fence will
be over two hundred miles long.

ACCORDING to the Portland Ore on News
the 20,000 Indians on the reseigvatifins) in the
NorthWest show great imprOVemcnt. It says
the Indians at Siletz and Grande Rond are so
improved that they live Inuch as whites do;
they respect marriage, and have comfortable
homes. They can be seen traveling about with
theirown teams and wagons. They havo no
annuities, but grow crops of vegetables, fruits
and grain. They have stock and livo on the
proceeds of their farms. They were originally
the worst savages on the coast, the ones who
used the torch and the scalping—knife in Rogue
River Valley. They are now civilized, wish to
become citizens an voters, to Own their lands,
apd would be glad to pay taxes if they could be
Citizens.

.TIIE President of the United States Crema‘
tlon Socrety says that there are 5,000 persons in
this country pledged to have their bodies
burned. There is as yet only one crematory—
that at Washington, Pa.; but th-i plans are
drawn for another, and the society is raising
the money to build it. Fifteen thousand dol—
lars have been subscribed. The building will
beSides the furnace, contain a room for the reI
suscitation of persons who would otherwise be
burned or buried _alive: another for the keeping
of bodies by refrigeration until the arrival of
distant mourners, who might wish to take art
In funeral ceremonies; and a third in w ich
any desrred_rites may be held. He also says
that the principal Opposition is by Christians
and that their dislike of cremation arises from
a belief in the doctrine of resurrection.

Correspanttefis’ Column.

[This Column is open to all correspondents. In-
quiries answered as fully and as )romprly as cir-
cumstances will permit. Contribut Oiis not entered
as “declined” mav be considered accepted. No
MSS. returned unless stamps are i'nclosedj

Declined: “ For Your Sweet Sakc'" “ To OurCon-
tributors;" “A Mystery;“ "The ut;“ “Sailor’s
Yarn;" "Pecuniary Considerations? “Molly's Old-
buckz” “Shedding the Old Lovcs;" “Freezing to
FOrty-flve;” “ Not a Question of Taste;" “ Go, Boys,
Gol’ “The Six Discontentsz" “Ere the Sacrifice,‘
etc; “,The B. B. Lain” ' ‘Solid Solace;" “The
Right to Bear;” “ Our Brownie‘s Arms," etc.

KATIE. Miles City is in Montana. GO by Northern
Pacific R. R.
E. R. C. Do not care for such matter, at a price

Will use poem.

Gus. Bridal presents should be marked with the
bride's married name.

LION CHARLIE. Your question is not clearly

stated. DO you wish us to publish a list of our au-
thors?

G. L'. If the club is just for singers call it “ The
Nightingales " or “The Harmonians," or (being in
Ba tiiiiore) “The Orioles."

K. K. G. .The Manila iaper is excellent for manu-
script. It is one/half c caper than ordinary white
“laid " paper.—See what is said to "Gi-eatorex.”

SMELTER. Cannot give address in Colorado. Con-
sult the Mining Record (weekly), New York—There
is no Pigeon Run Post-office either in Illinois or [ii-
diana. Ohio and. Virginia each have such a name
on the official list.

WHITE JOE. The measure is above the average..—
You can do too much of a good thin ; moderation.
in such exercise is always best.—The (lady certainly
has the choice Of her “ set.” If you are left out, to
show anger is silly.

GREATOREX. We do not decline contributions with-
out examinaiion, but all that a glance shows to be'
crude and worthless are, of course, not read but
tossed at once into the" basket as worthless. If we-
took such writers at their own estimate of their
value we would have matter for a queer paper.

DELL. If young lady really is a co uette. and ”
freely accepts or courts the favors of ot ier gentle-
men. we should deem it no “injustice” to drop her
acquaintance. Trifling in such matters is evidence
either Of weakness Of character or absence of true
love for you. ~

KEYES AND CONNOR. It is the step to take, if you
are a boy of energy and ambitions to be somebody,
to go West. New York is a wicked ci' y, no question
of that; so are all large cities—Our WEEKLY is
largely sold in Omaha—Roland Yorke, of course,
was a fictitious name.

SILVER STAR. Your queries about authors are an~
swered by the continued issue of their stories both
in the LIBRARIES and this WEEKLY.— We have never
given a “plate of pictures of our authors." Your
onl way to obtain their ortraits is to ask them, in-
diVIdually, for photograp is.

A FOOL. Bow-le s are now treated successfully by
good surgeons. ou must be attended to, however.
while you are yet rowing.—~The last of the “ Dead-
wood Dick ” nove s is Half-Dime 321, viz.: "Dead-
wood Dick’s Dozen.” The novel “ Peacock Pete " is
No. 317 —Cannot answer as to the sequel to Dime
Library NO. 231.

MONTE JIM. (J. D. K.) The battle. of the Big Horn
in which Custer and his command were massacred
occurred June 25th, 1876.-——None of our now l-wrlters
reside in Missouri. we believa—Your writing is good
enough for manuscript—There. is no limit in words
for the prize comic sketch. It may be from 1,000 to
5,000 words, or a series of papers.

HARRY J. F... Sallis, Miss. The “Pan llrtndle
country “ is Northwestern Texas. lying between
New Mexico and the Indian Tcrrilor '.---\\'r- know of
no life. of “The Kid."~Don‘t know t ie slciiiucr fare
between the. ports named. Write to the Morgan
Steamer Line, New Orleans—'l‘lui Deadwood Dick
series is too long to bore give. See list on any "Aim-
DIME LIBRARY issue.

CONSTANT READER, N. Y. Everybody cannot.
loni'n veiitilloqui‘srii. Onlv it few [N‘l'HHlN can be.-
conio “exports” in it.~ ‘'or it buy of l.'i tlu- blght
and weight arc far above the average. Stu-h u boy
gives promise of being a giant.— Sliui-iluiml Willi"
is only acquired by long practice and a H wcliil kit/1‘ ,
for it.——lteportcrs curii according to skilfuud ability
——from 3510 to $30 per week.

HERMAN P. It is quite useless for illiti-rzuo per-
sons to try to write for the press. 'l‘liolr (‘l iidc Work
is always refusi-d.-—_Bocause an incident is truo is no
reason for its publication. It. must hith elements of
novelty and originality to excite any interest in the
reading. -—A boy who “ feels that he can write "
must first obtain a good English education, and then
read extensively of books 1) I the. best authors. In
no other way can he qualify himself for the writer’s
vocation.

En. EM. You have every reason to suppose that
attentions so marked and persistent us those you
describe are serious in intent, and Certainly you
have giVen your friend every i'cuson to suppose
they will lead to a favorable answer when his presses
his suit to a proposal of marriage if he, is iiiercl
flirting it is Wei that you remain heart-whole. I’ll
he is in earnest you certainly do wrong to give him
so much encouragement, if you are positive you can
nevery marry him.

TOM AND GILBERT. If you do not wish to purchase
expenswe “favors,” you can at any large confec-
tioner’s, or at a fancy store, select numerous prett
toys and trinkets. which—fastened to ribbons—will
do excellently. Or, why do not the ladies of your
club make the favorsi—there are scores of things
they can make at small expense—Of course you
must acknowledge every gift you receive. You may
do so verbally or by a neat note—The lady, or rather
her parents or guardians, furnish the wedding-curds,
of course, as the invitations are issued in their name.

R. FRANK J. DO not be discouraged because the
lady has not answered our letters. Having known
on so short a time, am you not having giVen any
indications of your feelings before parting, it it
uite probable that the lady rather doubts you.

on would do much better to visit the lady, and
make a verbal declaration of love, and then by your
earnestness you might convince her of your sin-
cerity. At al events, oand see her, and come to
a complete understam ing. You might at. least get
her to promise that you may pay her a lover’s at-
tentions, and try to win her heart.

ROMAN. By ‘ hammered ” gold or silver, is meant
any gold or silver that has a surface covered tliickl '
with little mark or dents, made. by heating it wrt
a hammer. Sic vebuttons, Scarf-pins, studs. and
caneheads, finished in this style, are very po ,vular.
—-If you use warm water upon your face and ands
in Winter and then go out in the. cold air, you must
expect to have your skin chap. Use cold water.
Be sure. to dry your skin thoroughly.——(‘ertuinlv;
send Christmas cards next year to those who 3' nt to
you this year. You can keep a list. But ’ou must
also return verbal or written thanks for t one. you
received.

JAMES H. G. or course you send wedding-cards to
people at a distance. lfccmise some friends live far
away is no excuse for neglecting them. or even as-
suming that they will not respond to the invitation.
If you send cart 3 at all. you must send to all your
friends and acquaintancos whose fricudsliip and ric~
quaintancc you desire. to have. continued after vour
iiiurriage.« You can not a plain gold ring for $53, but
we would advise a little heavier one than that.» A
soul-skin sacque Would be It very sciisiblo and «lo.-
gnnt irescut to giVo your lirldc: or. if you cannot
ntl‘ori that, give her as handsome u fur-lluud circular
as your means will admit. I

PAiiEN'rs. We do not bulich in ch'ldrcii‘s parties
that begin after dark and keep thoi-lilldrcii out lute.
Children not in their tcoiis should get to hml b ' hull‘
nftcrciitht o‘clock Hl'tllll itly, and should not lt‘. ul-
lowcd to attend parties that will keep tlir-iu out. later
than that. “ Aftvrnmm ion, from three to six.“ is a
mo», entertainment for Very little children and n.
party from “ four to eight " for larger ones 8 qulto
ong and late (-iioiigli.~ Bathing children daily, at
rising, Wll-ll cold water (a swift sponge bath), will
keep them from inking cold and eradicate the. ion-
dency to coughs. ()r bathe the chest daily with

col’d water, rubbing it Wit h it coaise. towel until it is
rer . o

D. C. G. .lf you have not been in that city since
your iiuirriage, you should send notes or minis to
your friends, telling them when and where you will
)0 in town, and that yourself and wife ‘wlll lio
pleased to have them call at a certain time (when
you must be sure to be ready to receive them). it
would not. only be perfectly pro ’iei‘ to do this, but it
is the fashionable thing to do. '0" can return the.
calls, if you have time, but must not be the. first to
make t,lieiii.-It is said that nightly applications of
custor-oil will cure corns. Do the too up in a linen
rag, and use plenty of oil. An application of raw
liucii (the pulp) nightly has been known to cure some
people.

Amos E. You can develop your chest overcome
the tendencies of which you speak, rind iiiiprovu
your health generally by u (‘Olll'St‘ of gyiiiimstics

'ou should cxerciso daily and at a regular hour ex:
tending by slow degrees the time vou devote, to
practice. Learn to box, and use duiiib-lwllsor ln~
dian clubs-There is no correct way of pronouncing
the word (fa/owl other than the out-rally accepted
one, as if it were spelled kc Niel. §Vo am», with you
that the spelling and the prouuiicintiiin are iitti-rlv
at variance, but that cannot. be. helped. The spell-
ing is French, but theJironuiiciation is more. nearly

 

allied to the Spanish colonel “ “the - '
i . , . chief or c nu—
mander of a column.“ ‘

  

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Fireside Ballads.

«00>
Farmer John Compares the Old with
the New in Education.

 

BY II. II JOHNSON.

 

I tell you, Sary, times has changed since you and I
was young:

There's lots of new things, good and bad, has into
lieili‘ s‘ il‘iing;

And l‘ariiin ain‘t the thing it was ’bout fifty year
It '(I.

Nor scl’iools‘ ain't what they used to be, not by a
lengthy show.

Long years ago, when I was young, I Went to (lees-
tl‘ii‘t school

Down in the old log school-house, where the master
used to rule

With will and band of iron, and voice. as strong and
lulltl

As tIiiiiider-pcals that crasliin’ come from out the
threateijii‘ cloud.

Ithink I see the master yet as oft I‘ve seen him
stand—- _

A II‘OIWII upon his scowiin’ face, a cudgel in his
mud—

The scholars in a sliiverin’ fear. and treniblin’, big
and small,

Not knowiu‘on whose liiekless back the master‘s
blows would fall.

He. pounded I’arnin‘ in our beads by boxin’ of our

ears,
And salted every lesson down with our own briny
tears;

He gave us marks upon our backs that lasted days
and Weeks . _
After the tear—drops brought by pain had dried up

on our cheeks.

He boarded all the. dcestrict ’round, a week in ev’ry

ace,
But didn‘t find in ev’ry home a pleasa..t, sniilin’
face.
He used to hang around the girls, and silly nonsense
talk ,
Until they‘d wish he’d turn his back and show how
he. could walk.

We l’arned our letters one by one, and then com-
menco-il to spill

Till Webster‘s ‘E.einent:iry ” we thought we knew
( iiite well:

And t en the “English Rea(ler“’came, and when
we once could read

What Pope and Dryden wrote, we thought that we
Were smart indeed.

we tuggr d at “ Daboil ” weeks and weeks, and
l’arned by rote each rule.

And eaclh Ollie tried to be, the best at cipherin’ in the
sc ioo :

And when, at length, we got as far as “ DoubleRule
0" Three,"

We thought wed‘d reached the highest limb of
mathematics‘ tree.

You’d hardly see a grammar then in any deestrict
school;

We thought. that studies such as that would make a
boy a fool:

We couldn‘t see no sense in it; this parsin’ verbs and
nouns-

Seemed just about as silly as the talk of circus
clowns.

And algebra we thought, of course, no one but mer-
chants use

For iuai-kin’ sly the price of goods, so that they
couldn‘t lose

Geometry, well, Ideclare! Don‘t think I ever heard

In all the days I went to school, not even such a
word!

But. Sary, things have changed so much between
tha' time <Il'l now

It almost tuins my old brain ’round; I feel. I don’t
know lI(‘\\'.

I used to think I knew some things ’bout ’rithinetic
uni! such,

But now I find that what I know don‘t all amount to
much.

Why. Hzii'y, children know more now than My ones
used in then!

Our little boys. that go to school, can talk as big is
men,

And tell us lots about llh‘ stars a-sbiiiiii‘ in the sky—

That they are unml ls so faraway,althoughthey look
so nigh!

()ur boys «an tell us wondrous things about the sea
and land,

Now (End look ages to make both as now we see
them stand!

And how He dug the valleys down and ieared the
mountains high,

That l.)ok so much like pillars vast to help hold up
the sky!

They‘ll tell us how the rocks were made and fixed
fast in their place,

And box the coal we burn was formed, and all its
stages trace;—

They’ll tell us how some kinds of rocks were made
from shells and bones,

And how the glaciers scattered ’rouiid the massive
bowlder stones.

They’ll tell us how the air we breathe don’t reach up
very high, '
Although we used to think it went ’way up into the

sky.
They’ll tell us that the dew don’t fall, but comes
some other way. ' _
And all them things they’ll prove to us and make it
plain as day.

There‘s lots of school-girls, now, can tell how plants
and grasses grow,

And how the leaves and buds are formed, and how
the flowers blow; _

They’ll tell us how they gather up their food from
earth and air,

And lots of things so wonderful, all I can do is stare!

The school-books, too, are different now fiom what
they used to be! . . ,

Somehow they make things planier, so that ey ry
one can see; .

The school-room walls are covered now With black-
boards and with maps ' .

Instead of pegs we, used to see for liangin' hats and
caps; _ .

They’ve globes and other fixin 8 now we IICVHI‘ heard
of then,

For teaoliiii’ boys to growup irto educated men.

School-teachers, too, are dit‘f’rent now from them of
years ago;

They‘re. betwcr l’arned in every thing than them we.
used to know:

They‘re proud of their profession. and they‘ve got
their standard high,

And bound to make it higher still—~they‘ll do it if
they try.

They teach their scholars how to speak, and how to
ac polit : _ ‘

They didn‘t use to do it so, but ‘then I think its
I'l rlit:

It make: the kind 43‘ feel ashamed of my old-fash—
ioned ways,

And wish I could ’a’ been a boy in these enlightened
days.

I tell you, Siii'y, I don’t know what things will hap-
pen next: _

This worl'l is riisliin' on so that it iiiiikes me quite
perplexed.

They’ve harnessed lightnin’ with a wire, and made
it do their will, '

And liitcheil up steam to draw their loads through
valley and o‘er hill!

“'0 old folks won’t be nowhere soon: they‘ll leave
us ’way behind:

We can‘t keep step with younger ones in this fast
march of mind:

But We can bid the age llod-snecd in all it does
that‘s I ir/M,

Till Truth, with radiance like the sun, shall lighten
Erroi ‘s night.

 

An Educated Gentleman.

“ Dis is dc fouf anavers’y 0’ my marriage,”
said an old negro ‘

“ How many times is yer been married?” asked an
acquaintance.

"Ef dis is dc fouf anaVers’v, o’ co’se I’se been
married fo' times. I‘se heard de white folks say dat
it doan’ do no good tcr edycate de nigger, an’ now I
b’lieves it. lleah yer is dun gone ter school an‘ got
a good edycation an‘ doan’ un’erstan’ ’rithmetic yet.
I’se ashamed o‘x yer, sab." _

“ Uncle Ben,” replied the acquaintance. “ I neber
went ter school much an’ I kain t talk zackly roper,
but blame cf I ain’t got mo‘ senSe ’bout 510 1 mat-
ters den yerse'f has. De anavers’y o’ a _marriage
doan’ mean how often a man’s been married, out it
means how long. Anavers’y means year, an_ is tuck
from de L'itin. Ann means married. an versy
means year, an’ (In bof when put togedder means
married year."

"Waal, chile. yer mus‘ ’scusc me. For» dc Lain
I didn’t know yer bad so much 'iigh‘enineiit. Vi hen
yer Sets up a school. dinged ef I doan’ sen' my cliillun
ter yer, for l’se l’arned mo’ frum ycr in fitteeii min-
its den I eber knowed befo’. I ken stan‘ ’mps' any:
thing, but when a man draws out de En'lesh an,
de Latin on me, l’se 'blecged ter gi’n up den an
dar. I thanks yer fur dc intiimation.”

 

 

Old Pop Hicks, Showman;

’

Lion Charley’s Luck.

A TALE 0F CIRCUS RIVALRY.

 

BY CAPT. FRED \VHITTAKER,

AUTHOR OF “ PARSON JIM,” “ JOHN ARMSTRONG

)
MECHANIC,” ETC., ETC.

 

CHAPTER X.
AN UNEXPECTED MOVE.

VVIIEN Pop Hicks came back from tea that
evening to prepare for the night show, he was
amazed and delighted beyond measure to see
that his rival had taken down his signs, and that
the people of the other show were packing up to
depart.

Mr. Bownsse. in his road-curt, was driving
here and there, scolding and swearing in his
usual style, the big tent was down, and the
wagons were loading up to go.

The Old showman at first was too much
astounded to speak. He could hardly believe
his eyes. Such an open confession of defeat was
like oil to his troubled spirit.

He did not go near his rival; for he was a
man of (peace and did not want to irritate any
one nee lessly.

But Bownsse saw him, drove over to him and
held out his hand frankly.

“ Good-by, Pop,” he said, with an afl’ectation
of resignation. " I know when I’ve had enough
and you’re too many guns for me. The world’s
wide enough for both of us, isn’t it?”

Pop instantly grasped the roffered hand.

“No malice between us, (Eeorge, I hope,” he
said. “Business is business, and you‘ve given
me the liveliest wrastle I ever bad. But, as you
say, what’s the use of two men losing money?
It’s my old route, and I couldn’t let a new man
drive me off, could I?”

Bownsse pretended to be cordial.

“No, no, I don’t blame you a bit, Pop,” he
said. “ I’d have done the same if I could. I’m
going to switch off at the next town. You’re
too many guns for me, and I‘m off.”

Pop hesitated. He had all a showman’s gener-
osity to a man in distress.

“Say, Bownsse,” he began, “you must have
lost a heap of money—”

i
" '1

        

_..._ -1

/’.-"".'m

/ z//,, .r' "

 

Bownsse in the profession, on account of his
great fondness for the succulent and aromatic
bulb which forms a leading ingredient in Spanish
cookery. He was called “Onion George” 'ust
as Jim Perkins was as often called“ Whisky
Jim” as “Elephant Jim.”

Pop Hicks went off to his show, while little
Moone took his cart and drove off on another
road to intercept the Bownsse show, where he
was well known and rather liked than other-
wise by several individuals with whom he had
traveled the previous season.

Bownsse was not with the column. or Moone
would not have gone near it; but people in
rival show establishments are very good friends
with each other, when the manager is not in
sight.

Moone pretty soon came across General
Egypt, the Giant, who rode in a wagon,
wrapped up in a fur coat, though the night was
not cold.

General Egypt was a remarkable giant in his
way, for he fondly imagined he bad brains,
and was very ambitions of becoming an author
-—in partnership with some one who would do
the writing, while be furnished the “ideas,” as
he said.

Moone had had a great deal of fun with him
in the past season, and as soon as the general
saw the little agent he held out his huge paw,
saying:

“Just the man I wanted to see. How about
that story we were to write, Moone? I tell you
there’s millions in it, properly handled.”

“ I’m working on it,” replied Moone, gravely.
“ I can’t do much on the road, you know. In
the winter we’ll bring it out. But say, general,
where are you going?”

General Egypt chuckled.

“ Don’t know and don’t care. This is a regu-
lar fool of a show. Manager don’t know his
own mind, and takes in a crooked guy, looks
like a sharp, to run the machine. I don’t care.
They’ve got to pay me, Saturdays, or I know
the reason why. I don’t go begging for engage-
ments like some folks.”

“ Who’s the guy?” asked Moone, quietly.

“Blanked if I know. Call him Stone. But
I say, Moone, about that story. I’ve got a
splendid idea for you—”

Moone cut him Off.

“Keep it for the winter. Don’t talk of it.
Ideas are money, general. Don’t breathe a
word. Don’t you know story-Vi riters are regu-
lar thieves? Not a conscience among ten, to go
round one man. Are all your people here?” ,

  
 
       

, , ,,
\ 711/
iii

a

 

9’Q
@
<5

ness he’s well chained: but I’m afraid we’ll have
to give him a gocd lesson after the show’s over.
He can’t go on; that’s certain. We’ll put it all
on Jim being sick. By gum, it’s true!”

Even as he spoke, they heard a great noise of
trampling in the stables, and the angry scream
of the elephant.

PO Hicks looked round uneasily.

“ o c it won’t scare the guys,” he said.

On t e contrary, the noise of the screaming
attracted a crowd, and they began to pile into
the show faster than ever, so that Moone ob-
served:

“ Let him holler. He’s safely tied, isn’t he?”

“ Oh, yes, for the matter of that we’ve got
him all crippled so he can’t move; but he makes
such a noise he scares the horses. I say, Moone,
suppose you hunt up Jim and get him to come
and sleep with the King. It’s the only thing
that quiets the brute in one of his tantrums.”

Moone was about to answer, when they heard
a wild, drunken howl near the tent, and saw
the redoubtable Elephant Jim himself approach-
ing them, waving his hat in the air, and scream-
ing at the top of his voice:

“ l’m Jim Perkins, the Elephant Emperor,
and I kin whip any man that ever wore hair on
his head. Whoop!”

CHAPTER XI.
ELEPHANT JIM.

SOME men get stupid drunk, and go to sleep
peaceably; others weep and lament over their
woes and the whisky; others are full of fun and
music; still others are grave and owlslike in
their wisdom, while the remaining class puts
on war-paint and goes on a tear.

Jim Perkins generally began by fun and
singing, ending up by putting on his war-paint,
when he got frantic with excitement.

He was a very tall man, with a tremendous
skeleton and hard, brOWn muscle all over him,
but as thin as a rail. His hair and eyes were
dark, his complexion naturally sanguine, his
temperament excitable, and he was kept in a
constant state of nervous tension by the gigan-
tic brute he had to keep in control.

The enormous strength and viciousness of his
charge, and the watchfulness to which it; im-
pelled him, gave him a contempt for the oppo—
sition of mankind; and he gloried in the com-
pjlletfi subjection to which he had brought King

11 ip.

Drink had brought out all his qualities, es?
pecially his vanitv and ferocious daring, and he
kept shouting as he came:

 

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Elephant Jim stood there, leaning up against King Philip’s foreleg, blinking at his emplOyer.

“You bet I have, but that needn't worry
you.” was the reply.

“ No: but I was thinking that we might make
a deal, George. There ain’t enough for two of
us, fighting each other, but you’ve got some fea-
tures I’d jest as soon take off your hands, and
combine the shows.”

Bownsse grinned.

“ And what would become of the rest? No,
Pop. Each man to his own row. I ain’t bank-
rupt yet, ye know. Maybe we’ll see each other
again. Good-by.”

The rival sho“ man drove off, and Pop went
to hunt- up Moone, to Whom he said in his quick
\i av:

“Heard the nmvs. hey? Heard it?”

“ Nothing but what I’ve expected,” said
Moone, trarquilly. “Elephant Jim’s gone on
a tear.”

Pop started angrily.

“ On a tear? It’s too had. He. swore he’d
keep straight till the season was over. It’s too
bad. Consarn his skin! Are. you sure of it!”

“ Saw him come out of the Porter House and
he’s got his war-paint on. We’re going to have
trouble. Mr. Hicks.”

Poo stamped his foot.

“ It’s too had, too bad. And just as we had
run Bownsse out of town, too. It’s enough to
make a saint swear.”

Moone remained placid.
surprise at anything.

“ Has Bowuss‘e given up?"
didn’r think he would, so soon.”

" But he has, he has. He’s moving out new,
and told me he was going to switch off at the
i ext town.”

“ Vi’lien did he tell you?"

“Just now,”

Moone shrugged his shoulders.

 Then it's lucky Perkins took his freak when
it will do least harm,” he said. .

Pop snatched at the grain of comfort With

rerness.

93“: So it is, so it is. ,W'e‘ll have to do without-
King Philip to-night. “'e’ll have all the. guys
that’s left, anyhow.”

Moone seemed to be unusually thoughtful at
the news. for he repea'ed: '

“ So Onion George has caVed in, has he?
That’s queer, very queer.  Hicks, do you
know I think there’s a trick in it!" ‘

“ A trick? How can there? The man s gone.
I saw him.”

“ But he’ll come up. next place.”

“ I expect that. He‘ll try to show a day
ahead of me, all the way. But what of that?
lVe can skip a day, and head him off. I wasn’t
born yesterday.” _

Still Moone. seemed unconvinced. I

“ I tell vou there’: crooked work in it all, Mr.
Hicks. You’ll see it. "

Pop looked vexed as he retorted:

“ If there is, it‘s your bur-ines; to find it out.
What. do I pay you for?" .

“ You’re quite right, sir,” calmly replied the
little agent; “ and that‘s just what I m gomg to
do. W'ill you lend me the cart :” ,

“ Certainlv. Find out all you can.‘ If there 5
any trick in it, I’ll make it hot for Dawn George,
you bet your boots.” _ M

“ Onion George ” was afinainc given to -ir.

He never showed

he asked. “I

 

Egypt nodded.

“ All but Charley Noble.”

“ Ah. where’s he?”

The giant; leaned over him to whisper myste—

riously:

“Hush! hush! A lady in the case. Don’t
say I told you. It’s a mash in your show.
Didn’t you see him in the parade to day?”

“ NO. What did he do?”

This was a lie; but Moone made a practice of
lying in his business, if he could gain a point on
it.

The general laid his finger on his nose.

“Don’t say I said it. He was mashing on
your leading lady. He’s gone-dead gone—it’s
a joke on him.”

“ Is she a joke, too?” asked Moone.

“No, no, bless you, no. Perfect lady, for all
I know—”

“You may he sure of that,” interrupted
Moone, very dryly.

“Of course. of course. And no one in the
show says a word to his face either. He’s a
hard case, you know, Gad, I wouldn’t like to
get into a muss with him myself, unless I had a
good hold of him to start with. He’s like his
Own tigers in quickness, and kicks like a stud-
horse."

“ And he’s stayel behind ?" asked Moone.

“ Yes. That is, he didn't come with his cages,
and left woid he’d meet us next town. I
wouldn’t wonder if you found him round your
show to night. But say, Moone, about that
story. It ought to be worth a good deal, han-
dled right.”

Moone escaped from him by saying:

“ I think it is. In fact. I’m going to write to
some publishers, to—morrow. asking for the best
terms. I’ll let you kinds. Good by. See you
latcr.”

Then he drove back to town, having found
out what he wanted to know.

The cause of the move was a secret in the
Bownsse show, and Noble must be the only
persm who knew it, if indeed he did.

The little. agent drove back to town in a very
thoughtful mood. He could notyet quite un-
derstand what was going on, but be suspected
the worst, it being his habit to suspect every
One in business.

He arrived at the Shaw just as the doors were
Opened for the evening, and scanned the people
as they went in very carefully, after having put
up his horse.

He was looking for the dudes of his fears, and
half expected to see them.

Instead of that he saw a crowd of eager country
people, anxious to get front seats, and keeping
the ticketrman busy taking in money, till the
ruin ended.

Moone felt that thrill of virtuous pleasure
which comes of good business, as he watched
the steady stream of silver dropping in, and
was not surprised to hear old Pop’s voice beside
him, saying:

“ Got ’em this time: hev. Moone, hey ?”

“Yes. sir,” resonnded Moone, soberly. “Is
Jim Perkins inside, yet?”

Pop shook his head. and drew him back to
whisper:

“ Don’t mention it before them: but King
Philip’s as ugly as sin to-night. Thank good-

 

“Here goes Elephant Jim, Emperor of the
beasts! Ten thousand dollars, no other man
can handle King Philip, and I’ll whip the hide
off the sucker that; goes to deny it. Whoop .’
Hooaloo-aloo 1!!”

The country people shrunk out of the way in
dismay, but Oid Pop Hicks instantly started
forward to meet Jim, saying:

“ Good~evening, Mr. Perkins. Come along
in. I want to speak to you on business.”

Jim would have struck him had be shown any
fear, and might have resented any sort of re-
proof, but the commonplace tone and jolly man-
ner completely disarmed him, so that he burst
out into a laugh, threw his arms round Pop’s
neck and shouted:

“ Pop Hicks, by Jerushy, you’re a gentleman,
sir, ’n I know it! Gentleman, Pop Hicks, the
oldest shmean in the business, and the best,
by Jerushyl I’ll lick the man that says he
ain’t. Hey .’ thoop ! !”

But the men of the show were too much used
to drunken people to hesitate what to do, when
a thing of this sort took place in front of the
ticket-wagon.

Pop‘gaVP a signal, and a good dozen of men
rushed on Jim and hauled him off to the ring
entrance, h0wling and laughing, but: good-
natured, till they got him to his unwitldy and
vicious pet, when they threw him in under
King Philip’s tusks, and he rolled over be-
tween the animal’s feet and went to sleep forth-
with.

The gigantic brute, the moment before, had
been " weaving” its head uneasily, shifting
from foot to foot as well as the chains would
allow it, striking viciously at everything that
passed with its trunk, and occasionally trum-
peting furiously so as to frighten all the horses.
King Philip was growing more and more an-
gry, so that the oldest beast men in the show
did not~dare to go near him, and they began to
feel anxious about the strength of the iron
chains that confined him.

Besides the bands round his tasks, by which
his head was bound dOWn to the steel gyves on
his forelegs, so as to cripple his motion, huge
chains were padlocked on his hind legs, and

assed around an anchor that was supposed to
he capable of defying his wildest efforts. ,

Yet the great brute had drawn the anchor
half out of its bed before Jim was brought in,
and the handsin the show had passed a thick
cable round it, for fear it: should come out, tak-
ing the ends of the cable under the tent to a.
large tree close by, in the lot.

But the moment King Philip felt his master
rolling helpless under his feet, the whole mood
of the brute changed. He ceased to “ weave”
his head and shift his feet, which be spread
apart so as not to hurt the drunken man while
he softly caressed him with his trunk and ut-
tered a low whining sound, expressive of affec-
tion and joy at Jim’s return.

As for the drunken man himself, he seemed
to be perfectly satisfied with his position: for
he rolled over on his back, clasped King Phil-
ip’s trunk in his arms, and growled out:

“ Was ye glad to see me, ye old thief? thoop .!
Go to blazes, all of ye.”

And in five minutes he was snoring like a pig,
when Pop Hicks said to the men:

“Keep him in sight, and don’t let him get

out again. I guess he’ll sleep now.”

They went away, leaving the elephant-trainer

snoring between King Philip’s feet, while quiet

settled over the show, and Pop Hicks returned

to the door. '

It wanted half an hour yet to the Opening of

the performance, but the house was filling rap-

idly, and Pop rubbed his hands as he watched

the steady stream of people flowing in, and re—

marked to Moone:

“ Guess the trouble’s over, hey?

think, hey? “That d’ye think?”

Moone’s only answer was:

“ Have the girls come yet, sir?”

“ No—no—why d’ye ask why, why?”

“ Because I find that Lion Charley Noble

stayed behind from their show, and I ve got a

kind of idea we shall find him with our girls,

somewhere.”

“ Hem! hem! Why d’ye think so?”

“I judge from human nature, sir. Didn’t

yiou take every chance you could get to see Mrs.
icks before you Were married?”

Pop Hicks sighed slightly.

“ Ay,.ay, boy—I did, I did. Poor Sally! My

Sally’s Jest like her, at her age. Little bit of a

woman. Used to do bareback. Most pluck of

any woman I ever saw. Ay, ay, I sup 030 so.

But look here, Moone, how’s this? I don t know

the man. Never spoke to him. How can Sally

speak to him?” ~

“Zoralina was with him in the same show

last year,” returned Moone. “ I wouldn’t won—

der but he works his little racket, all respecta-

ble, through her.”

Po frowned.

“ hat do you meant—that my darter gets

introduced to him by Zoe?”

“ Why not, sir?”

Piwlooked still more angry.

“ by not? By gum! I’d have you know,
Mr. Moone, that my darter is my darter, and
don’t pick up with strangers out of her own
show.’

Moone laughed.

“ I’m afraid you’ll find girls the same all
Evens”, no matterif they be managers’ daugh-

ers.

Pop Hicks had been peering round in the
now slowly gathering dusk; for it was getting
time for the ladies of the show to come in, and
now be interrupted Moone, with a voice of tri-
umph, pointing down the street.

“You’re mighty smart, Mr. Moone,” he said,
“but not as smart as you might be. There
comes my darter, now, with the other gals; and
they’re all alone, jest as they always are.”

Little lltIoone’s eyes followed his, and he saw
Sally Hicks, with Fanny Rounder, Bridget
Stubbs (altas Hippolyte), and poor little Zora-
lina, who always looked so mournful, coming
down the street to the tent, with no one but
Tom Fowler, who was known as the steadiest
of married men.

Moone said nothing, though he felt that he
would rather his prophecy had come true; but,
as it had not, he did like other wise prophets,
held his peace on the subject and waited for the
day when he could exclaim: “ I told you so.”

The girls went into the show, all but Sally,
whose father beckoned to her to say, uneasily:

“Sally, child!”

“Yes, pa,” she answered, looking up at him
in her usual frank manner. “ What’s the mat-
ter? Business bad?”

“ No, ’tain’t that, Sally, but—”

“ But what, pa?” .

“ Do you ever think of getting married,
Sally?” asked the old showman, nervously.

Sally burst out laughing in a way that, had
Pop been a student of human nature, outside of
his own line, would have convinced him she was
as yet but a child, with no ideas of love.

“ Me? Married? What an idea, pa! That
would be a racket!”

Then she giggled again, as if the idea were
too reposterous.

“ o, no, pa. As long as the guys come in,
and you run the shOW, I’m your right bower,
ain’t I? You bet I am, and I know when I’m
well off, too.”

“ There’s this Noble.” interrupted the old man,
nervously. “ You know him, don’t you?”

He watched his daughter like a hawk, and

What do you

as one well pleased.

"Oh, yes, I know Lion Charley,” she said,
carelessly. “ He’s Zoe’s mash, not mine. They
used to be together in the Silver Palace ShOW,
last year. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see
him come into our show to-night, about the
time she goes on. She’s dead gone on him, you
know, pa.”

P0 was immensely relieved.

“ h, is that it?” he said. “I’m glad you
told me. Zoe’s a good girl, and I guess he’d
make her a good match. Be civil to the young
fello’w, Sally, and leave ’em all the chance you
can.

“ You bet I will,” was the saucy reply.
fly, pa. Two’s company, three’s none.
hasn’t been here to-night.”

Then she went into the tent, and Pop was
about going round to attend to his own dress-
ing, when he heard, again, the well-known
angry scream of King Philip, inside the tent,
followed by a woman’s shriek.

It was his daughter’s voice, and the old man
ran as hard as he could to the back entrance,
where be rushed in, to find the performers
in a bunch near the door, all chattering to-
gather.

“ What’s the matter? Where’s Sally?” he
asked, pale as death.

“Here, pa, not hurt.” she answered, in rather
a faint voice, and he saw her near the entrance,
leaning up against Zoralina or Amelia Briggs,
who looked as white as a sheet.

“What’s the matter, then?” he asked, anx-
iously.

“ Nothing—only—as I went by King Philip—
I saw Jim Perkins asleep—between his feet—
and I—in fun—threw a peanut at him,” she
said, between suppressed pantings of fear, “ and
the brute nearly struck me with his trunk. Pa,
Why didn’t you tell me he was in a bad temper
tonight? I might have caught it.”

“ He didn’t hit you, did he?” asked Pop, in a
still more anxious tone.

“ Only—only—a little brush—it was the wind
knocked me down,” she said, faintly. “ I’ll be
better soon, pa.”

But Old Pop Hicks strode off to the place
where the elephant stood over its master, and
called out angrily:
“Perkins! Jim Perkins!
drunken brute!

H I’m
But he

lVake up, you
W'ake up instantly.”

 

CHAPTER XII.
LION CHARLEY.

ELEPHANT JIM heard the voice, and woke
with a promptitude that surprised the sh0w-
man. rolling over and roaring:
“Git out 0’ that, ye old thief!
blazes is that? Whoop!"
Then he scrambled up to a sitting posture,
and rubbed his eyes, blinking.
“ You, Jim Perkins,” cried Pop, angrily,
“do you know who I am, sir?”
Jim looked round and instantly bounded to
his feet with a how].
“ Whoop! Hooray for Pop Hicks! Th’ best
showman in th’ States, b’gosh! Time to go on?
I’m ready, sir, ready, b’gosh! Whoop! I’m Ele-
phant Jim!”
“ Shut up your head and listen to me,” cried
Pop, angrily. “ Your brute nearly hit my
daughter just now. Do you know it, sir? Do
you bear?”
Elephant Jim stood there, leaning up against
King Philip’s foreleg, blinking at his employer,
but the words hardly seemed to penetrate to his
consciousness, for he said, slowly:
“ What’s that? Wha’ that?”
“ I say your brute of an ele hant very nearly
killed my daughter, Sally icks, a moment
since, while you lay, drunk as a fool, between
his feet,” cried Pop, in great excitement. “ Is
this your promise to me, Elephant Jim? You
swore you’d keep sober, and here you are drunk
again. And now you want to kill my Sally?
Is that what you want to do?"
Elephant Jim seemed to be sobered at; once
by the accusation.

Who ’n the

 

 

 

 

 

saw she never changed color, though she smiled,

 

 

 

 

  

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\vh lined with amaz-nient. “_Me.’ ‘Why, Pop,
I’diive King Philip himself, if she d axed me

' HIL' _
fof' llell, you nearlv let him kill her,” said Pop,
more placably. “Sue was gomg by. all" the

. re struck at her. _
brich did, did he?” cried Elephant Jun.
“Then, by gosh Jerushy, Pop, I ll jest give him
the most all firedest lambasiin’ he ever got in
his life, arter this shows owr. Hit at Sally
Hicks will ye, ye old thief? What d I tell ye?

l— 6"
hAud rvith that he ran for a pitclifork and be-
gan lo jabit into the elephants Sensitive trunk,
till King Philip roared aloud with pain and
tu rzed at his chains so hard that Pop shouted:

‘O'Lot be, Jim! Let be, you drunk-n idiot!
Do you want him to break loose and start a

z ic! Let be!”
p {Juan started and drew back at the word
“panic.” It roused, in his muddled brains,
some I‘LCOllECblOp of the compacr into which he
had enterel that day with the opuOSIte show,
wherefor the money was still stufde into his
luckels.

He turned sullen and'insolentat once.

"I ain’t goin’ to make no panic,” he growled.
“Drunk or sober, l’ui able to take care of my—
self and King Philip, in any show in this coun-
trv. I ain‘t' beholden to no man. I can go
where I lease.”

“ Wuegeviei' you go,” retorted Pop, firmly,
“ you’ll keep your engagements, Perkins, or
you'll find people won’t trust you lone. Now
a.t.t~-nd to your brute, and be rvady to do your
act when :vour time comes. You ain’t dressed
. . Tl
9" Oh. it don‘t take me long to dress,” the
eleohant trainer replied, in the same sulky
KV‘ly. " I’m ready to go on, dress or no dress.
I know my biz.”

Then to the elephant: .

"Get up there, y’ old thief! D’ye want to
git. me into disgrace?” .

Pop looked at him a while, and finally be-
came convinced that Jim was sobering down
rapidly. _

He had known him do his act before, when
boozy, and Jim Perkins never staggered, what-
ever his load of liquor. .

So Pup went away to dress for the ring, and
very $000 after heard the stamping and clap-
ping that told of the impatience of the audi-
once for the show to begin. .

He gave the signal while he was dressmg,
and watched King Philip narrowly while the
horses of the opening cavalcade went by his
box. toward the ring.

The elephant never ncticed them, and Pop
became satisfied that Jim was attending to his
business.

He went into the ring and passed through
the opening performance as usual, till the time
came for Jim to perform his beast.

Then Professor Rabbetts sidled up to him, to
ask in low tones:

“ Is Parkins safe? Shall I announce him or
say he’s sick?”

“ Let me see first,” said Pop. “ A wait’s bet-
ter than a panic.”

And he hustled into the stables to find Jim
Perkins all ready, dressed, his eye a little wild,
his face flushed, but apparently able to come on,
while King Philip stood by him, entirely 'un-
chained. but quiet.

Po looked at him uneasily.

“ hat made you take his tusk chains off?” he
asked.

Jim scowled sullenly.

“I kimW my biz. If there’s trouble I know
hovv to stop it. Shall I go on 9"

For a moment Pop hesitated.

Then he gulped down his uneasiness and said,
shortly;

" Yes. If there is trouble, Jim Perkins, God
forgive you, after all the kindness I’ve shown

on.”
y Something in his words seemed to strike the
elephant-trainer with a sense of remorse, for he

answ. red, with an earnest respect he had not,

sho wn before for weeks:

" B+fore Gol. Pop. he’s safe. I wouldn’t give
myself away. I can mast-r him any time."

HG) on then,” said Pop; and he made the
signal to Rabbetts. who was watching from the
ring.

Toe stentorian professor ro'ared:

“ Professor Perkins, Emperor of the Tuskers,
with hli wonderful trained elephant, King
Philip, will now go through his wonderful per-
formance."

And with that the professor took a leap over
the bank at the side of the ring. to get out of
the way, as King Philip rushed into the center
of the arena, with his trunk in the air, and stOod
there. trumpeting wildly, and looking round
him at the people.

The next moment Jim leaped after him, and
called out, sharply:

“ K'ieel, sir! kneel!”

Kingr Philip he “'6 the mandate, and, for the
first time in months, refused to obey, backing
away from his keeper.

Jim, with the reckless daring that distin-
guished him, instantly rushed in with his
goad, shouting fiercely; drove the gigantic
beast round the ring, prodding him all the time,
while the people hushed their cries and stared
at the contest, hardly knowing what to make of
it, or whether there was real danger in the
beast.

Some people on the bottom seats sprung up,
and a woman fainted.

For several seconds it looked like a panic, and
Pop turned pale.

Then King Pnili yielded, stopped and fell on
his knees: Jim ma e a bound to his foreleg and
theme to his head, where he stood up erect, with
the point of his long goad pressing into the
elephant’s skull, and looked round him with the
air of a demi-god.

King Philip was subdued, and the people saw
it and roared their approval.

The scary ones on the lower seats sat down,
ashamed of themselves, and Jim Perkins slow-
ly withdrew his goad and signaled the elephant
to rise.

King Philip slowly and steadily rose up, and
carried his conqueror on his head round the
ring amid loud and enthusiastic applause, while
Pop Hicks muttered to himself:

“By gum! he’s a card, he is: a great card. If
he’d only let whisky alone.”

The clcpbantlraincr went on with his per—
formance with the now subdued beast, and Pop
Hicks breathed freer when he saw that King
Philip had calmed down into quiet and obeyed
orders promptly.

He was congratulating himself on it, when he
felt some one touch his arm, and turning, saw
a stranger by his side, a man of medium hight,
very stoutly built, with a. frank, bold, hand-
some face.

_I’0p stared at him. The stranger was among
his people behind the scenes, and he did not
recognize him.

“ Excuse me," said the stranger, in a low
tone. " I’m Lion Charley Noble. You don’t
know me. perhaps_”

Pop instantly remembered him.

“ Yes, yes: beg pardon. Glad to see you.
Can I do anything for you 5"

He supposed the other wanted a favor.

Lion Charley sh0ok his head, and spoke low
and rapidly:

“ You’re going to have trouble with that
brute. I had him mysclf once, but he don’t be-
have as lie used to. Who took his chains offf”

“Jim Perkins,” said Pop, a strange sensation
very like fear, at his heart. ,

Lion Charley looked grave.

“ He ought not to have done it. He’s a good
trainer, I see; but the brute knows he’s free.
Get your horses out of the way. He mustn’t
come out of that ring in that condition."

, hurriedly.

had apparent]
down to the
bing it upon sandstone.
lar to bamboo, a s
that region at this
whirl. It had been broken
workman.

- v -. . - . . " -‘ “ But what will .Bownsse say?” asked Pop
" Me klli Sally HlLkbl ’ he iepeated, as if over “I’m grateful, very grateful a;

you: but—”

gramme.’

coming next.

King Philip.”

got!”

back a pace.

were made of large
A narrow
entire front.

be seen along t
miles.
wooden s

 

“ But Wh it are you going to dot” asked Pop,
more confused than ever.

Lion (.‘lmrll-y begun to tearofii his clothes,
showing a scit of
ing all the while.

"I’lll‘gillll: in to help Jim ll’t‘l’lillis put on '
the chains, while he} in the glen-c of the lights.
I‘cll' your ringmas'er to announce me. as a
SprClal favc-I‘ from Mr. Bownsse." V

tights under them, and spsak— {

  
  

defense, no
g] y p hics

  

“ But don’t talk,” answered Charley, sharply.
“ You’re losing time. Tell the men to bring the
chains. If he comes out into this dark among
the horses, he’ll just raise Old Scratch. chk!
Announce me!” _ _

As he spoke, he kicked off his last bit of outer
clothes, and ran to the entrance of the ring.

Pop ran out, and saw that Perkins had just
thrown his somersault from King Philip’s tusks,
and was standing on the elephant’s head for the
final wheel round and salute.

He rushed out and shouted;

“ Perkins! A moment!” .

Perkins stopped, drove his goad into. King
Pnilip’s head and stood up proudly, While the
huge brute knelt.

Pop Hicks roared out: _

“ Ladies and gentlemen —-W8 are about to give
you a surprise and treat—not in the regular pro«

There was an instant hush of expectancy, and
people strained their ears to hear what was

Pop Hicks continued: .

“ l have the pleasure to slate that—Lion
Charley—w ho once trained King Philip himself
—by the kind permission of Mr. BOWIISSe—has
consented to appear for—this night only—to as—
sist Professor Perkins—in the arduous task—0f
chaining a wild elephant—so that he cannot
hurt a child. Lion Charley!” .

Then camea roar of applause, as Lion Charley,
with an actiVe bound, sprung into the ring in
his crimson tights, and bowed to the audience;
then advancwl to King Philip, snapped his
fingers, and called out sharply:

" Lie flat, sir!”

Down went King Philip’s head between his
fore feet instantly, and Jim Perkins slipped off
his head and fell in the ring.

Then he leaped up and cried angrily:

“ Who ’n blaz s are you, interferin’ with my
business? Get out of this ring! I’m runnin’

His voice was loud enough to attract the at-
tention of the people, and they began to get up
again excitedly.

Lion Charley turned his head to call to Pop
Hicks, guardedly:

“ Bring the chains, quick! All the men you’ve

To Jim Perkins he said:

"Be still, man; don’t be a fool.
be chained, or he’ll smash things.”

“ And I say, by gosh, he shan’t be chained,”
cried J im, savagely. “ Get out of this ring, or
by gosh, I'll set him at you.”

Charley Noble folded his arms and stepped

“ Try it if you dare,” he said.
Jim. furious with rage and whisky, turned to
the elephant and shouted:
“ UP AND SMASH HIM, PHILIP!”
(To be continued—commenced in No. 62.)

 

 

An Ancient “City.”

MR. JAMES STEVENSON. of the Geological
Survey, has reported to Major P0weil, as one
of the results of his last season’s field opera-
tions, the discovery of several more ruined cave
and cliff cities, differing in some respects from
any he had before examined.
markable was a village of sixty five under-
ground dwellings situated near the summit of
one of the volcanic foothills of the San Fran-
cisco mountains, in the San Juan region of Ari-
zona. The surface stratum of the hill had, by
exposure, become hardened, and formed the
common roof for the entire community. The
dwellings were excavated after a common pat-
tern, and a description of one gives an idea of
the whole. They had no inter communication
beneath the surface. and were only accessible
by means of square holes leading from the sur-
face by a vertical shaft to the floor of the main
room of the dwelling. Holes cut at convenient
distances along the sides of the shaft served the
pul‘pOSrS of the
shaft, the explorers found themselves at the
side of an oval—shaped, arched—roofed room,
about twenty feet in its smallest diameter.
the ends and on the side opposite the entrance
low doorways Connected the main mom with
smaller rooms, the. whole suite consisting of
four apartments. .

A groovo, eighteen inches deep by fifteen in
width, extending from the floor of the main
room up one sid.- of the shaft to the surface of
the hill, its bottom filled with ashes and its
sides blackened with smoke, formed the fire-
place and chimney of the establishment.
Around the mouth Of the shaft a stone wall in-
closed a kind of door yard. The wall seems to
have served the double purpose of guarding
against snow-slides and preventing the acci—
dental fall of an inhabitant into his own or his
neighbor’s dwelling.

Considerable débris was found in these an-
cient dwellings, an examination of which led
to the dis00very of many curios. illustrating
some of the social and domestic customs of the
extinct race. Stone mauls and axes, the im-
plements used in excavating the dwellings, pot-
tery bearing a great variety of ornamentation;
bone awls and needles of delicate workmanship,
the family grinding-stone for grain, its well-
worn surface indicating long use, shell and
obsidian ornaments and implements of wood,
the uses of which were undiscoverable, were
among the trophies of the exploration.

Search was made for a water
but no appearance of the exist
the region in recent centuries was discOVered.
There were signs of intercommunication be-
tween this village and a cliff city some fifteen
miles distant, which is al
This city, or, rather
pied the sides of a can

The most re-

Descending the

course or spring,
once of water in

so a new discovery.
, cluster of villages, occu-
yon, which has recently
been christennd Walnut Canyon. It is an im-
mense fissure in the earth, with nothing abova
the general level of the country‘to indicate its
existence to the traveler until he stands upon
its brink. The sides have been gullied bystorms
and torrents, leaving shallow
of. great length at different high
toms of which, wherever the ledge furnished a
sufficient area, dwellings in groups or singly
were built. The season was Well advanced when
the place was reached and only little time was
spent in its exploration. A ll the ancient methods
of approach had been lon
and access to the nearc
was a work of difficult
which was

cave-like places
ts, along the bot-

g before worn away,
st of the groups of houses
y. The group or village
most narrowly examined was about
three-quarters of a mile in length, and consisted
of a single row of houses, the common rear wall
being the lining rock, while the sides and fronts
squared stones, laid in clay.
street or pathway extend?
Other and similar villages could
he canyon for a distance of five
Among the relics found here were a
pindle whirl similar to those in use by
the Pueblos of the present time, but unlike
them in the apparent manner of its manufac—
ture.
Nothing indicating the use of metallic tools
of any description was discovered. The sun
face of the wood of which the whirl was formed
y been charred and then ground
required size and shape by rub—
A shaft of reed simi-
pecics entirely unknown in
time, still remained in the
by the ancient
and neatly mended
about it a piece of fine twine.
twine, being examined under the mic
disclosed the fact that its fiber was of
human hair.
Articlcs of wood, corn—cubs and oven perfect
grains of corn, walnuts, Loiics of the elk, ante-
lope, and wolf, portions of wearing apparel of a
. fabric l'i/‘Senlljllllg the mummy cloth of Egypt
and Olin-l“ articles were found in abuinlanc
ll'urieol in the pile of dcbris which
fillcd those ilcscrlcd homes.

Thur were. no weapons of war or works of
temples or idols, and no hiero-
or pictures.

The ends of this

RESTLESS.

I cannot read. I cannot write,

I cannot e‘en a page indite

To that dear friend. who Ion s, I know,
To hear from her old school- riend, Joe.

Unsatisfied I mope around

And wonder if there could be found
Another girl so sad and drear

As I, since parting from my dear.

In love, you say? Six fathoms deep

Would measure not the tears I weep!

They’d turn a mill in dryest weather

Where erst you’d walked With dry sole-leather

,The sighs I've “ hove " would pierce a rock,
And yet. oh dear! this senseless block
Of manhood sees not, does not know

' That he on me has brought such woe!

And, when he smiles on other girls.
And carelessly his mustache twirls,
I grow enraged, and hate him so,
And long for death, or—a new beau!

 

 

 

Mome Jim,

The Black Sheep of Bismarck.

BY JOS. E. BADGER, JR.,
AUTHOR OF “ NOR‘ WEST NICK,” “ KING OF THE
RUSTLERS,” ETC.

CHAPTER XVII.
MONTE JIM AS A MAN AND A BROTHER.

MONTE JIM stared oxedly into the counte-
nance of his companion for a brief space, then
leaned across the table and lightly grasped
Alva Pennington’s wrist between his thumb
and forefinger, after the fashion of a doctor
feeling the pulse of a patient.

Amazed in his turn, the wounded man made
no attempt to withdraw his hand, until, with a
short nod, the dashing sport relaxed his gentle
grasp of his own accord, mutterin :

“I thought so! Feverish—deculedly fever-
ish!” ~

“That’s too thin. You can’t throw dust in
my eyes any longer,” sharply retorted Peu-
nington. “ I’m neither feverish nor crazy, but
clearer~brained and wider awake than I have
been at any time since we first met on the
train. I say it again— you’re my brother,
Lloyd Pennington!”

“You’re dead sure you’ve called the turn,
this deal 3” c

“ I know i‘ l” was the positive reply. “ I-was
blind as a bat not to have suspected the truth
at the very outset. If not Lloyd Pennington,
why did you exhibit such a. strong interest in
me and mine, when I was butting my brains
out against Blinky Scott and his crooked pic-
tures? What made you return the money I
lost?—-in one word, your own conduct is proof
sufiicient that you are no stranger.”

Monlé Jim listened quietly, a peculiar light
in his big blue eyes, a slight twitching of his
blonde mustaches; and it was this that caused
Alva Pennington to SO abruptly break off his
enurneration of the proofs to which his eyes
‘ had just been opened, ending with that dogged
reassertion.

“ There’s —no use denying it, then 3” slowly ut-
tered Monté Jim, leaning back in his chair and
gazing into the face of his companion, through

 

 

let a man throw up his hand or call for fresh
cards?”

stick to my belief,” was the dogged reply.
“ You‘re Lloyd Pennington, or I’m a natural-
born idiot!”

Monté Jim brushed the smoke aside, and
leaned forward to gaze keenly into the flusbei
countenance of the speaker. Only for a mo-
ment; then, with a short laugh, be extended
his right hand across the table, uttering:

“All right, if you will have it so! Shake,
brother 1” ‘

“ hen you own up to being Lloyd Penning-
ton?"

“ Why not?" was the careless response. “ You
Say that even should I deny the charge, your
conviction could not be changed. The name is
not bad: it has a sort of aristocratic sound, and
will answer my purpose quite as well as that of
James Ince. I name as much right to one name
as the other, at any rate.”

“ I can take oath that you’re Lloyd Pen—
nington!”

“ That settles it then, of course. By the way,
do you happen to remember how it was you
came to lose me?”

Alva Pennington scowled a little as he re-
turned that keen gaze, for he felt that the sport
was laughing at him, though outwardly Monté
Jim was sober as a deacon at prayers. But he
was doggedly positive that he had at last solved
the mystery with which the card—sharp and his
actions had been surrounded ever since their
first encounter, and would not permit his belief
to be shaken.

“ Why ask that, when you must know better
than I!”

“For information, dear brother,” smiled
Monié Jim. “If I am Lloyd Pennington, sure-
ly I had ought to know something of his past
life and ex loits? Unluckily, I have forgotten
all about t at portion of my career. Loss of
memory during a severe fever, I dare say. But
—oblige me, brother.”

“ You disappeared in a night, ten years ago,
leaving no clew behind you,” doggedly mut-
tered Pennington.

“No clew, eh? Then there was no bloody
trail—no tremendous crime to startle the neigh-
borhood?”

His companion shook his head in the negative.
“ What do you mean by asking such a foolish
question?”

Monte Jim heaVed a sigh as of relief, and
sunk back in his chair, drawing briskly at his
cigar before replying:

‘ I’m glad of that. I was afraid I might be
somebody famous, or infamous, according to the
standpoint from which you choose to view it.
Famous is good—there’s money in a name, pro-
vided it don t smell too awfully strong of hemp!”
A hot, angry flush overspread the counte-
nance of Alva Pennington for he Could no
longer doubt that Monté Jim was ridiculing
him. He leaned forward on the table, bringing
one fist heavily down as he said:

“ Look here, you ,' enough nonsense. Let’s
get down to business. Come out flat-footed.
Are on or are on not the man l’in,looking
for— loyd Penn ngton f”

“ I thought you settled that fact at the out-
set?” and the card-sharp opened his eyes in sur-
prise. “ As far as I m concerned, I don’t care
a. continental, one way or the other, as long as
there ain’t a hempcn necktie waiting for this
Lloyd Pennington. Tell you what we can do,”
with a sudden lighting up of his countenance,
as he picked a double eagle from the money
which lay in two piles on the table between

'them, and spinning it Swiftly on the level sur-

face as he spoke: “ Let this settle the mo.
nientous question. Heads, I am—tails, I am
not—watch the little joker and see for yourself
that you are getting fair play! Make your
game while she rolls, gentlemen! All made,
and— Heads she am! My long-lost brother,
come to me arrums!”

Alva Pennington dropped back into his chair
with a snapping snarl, as Monté Jim arose and
stretched his arms across the table with a mock
tragic air.

“ Drop your durn foolishness!” he growled,
surlily. “ I’d rather you Were LIOyd Penning-
ton, as I firmly believer-3’

“Since you believe it, and the fates have de—
cided that I am be, I’ll not deny it any longer.
lain Lloyd Pennington, on one condition,” iii-
terruptcd Monté Jim, soberly.

“ And that condition f”

“ Is this: take up that money and put it in
your pocket.”

Alva Pennington gazed at the- speaker intent-

ly for a brief space, then silently obeyed, fold-
ing the package of bills and placing them in his

wallet.
“I accept the condition,” he said, gravely.

 

“Money is very dear to me, now. lVith it, I

\

‘you prove yoursclf Lloyd Pennington, as well

a circling cloud of cigar-smoke. “ You won’t

“Deny it from now until sunrise, and I’ll

 

‘ asked, all save a comparativel small sum was

cracked 1”

She declared that she would devote the remain—

last commands of her parent.”

reply. “ I told her how madly I loved her, and
begged her to marry me. I swore I would help
her to find Lloyd, and would‘willingly divide
the money with him, if living: but she Would
not listen. She had taken a solemn oath, and
would_keep it, if possible. She held that not
only did the money belong to him, by rights,
but that until he learned the
the will, and himself declined to carry out that

one provision, she was also in bonds—was ‘not
her own mistress!”

his countenance growing more animated, a po-
culiar look filling his eyes. “Do you know,
my dear fellow, I begin to believe 'that I am
Lloyd Pennington, after all! Since you admit

that you stand no show with the charming
creature, why not—”

out a bitter curse, striking his tightly-clinched
fist. on the table with a force that caused the oil
lamp to jump and totter.

or whatever your rightful name ma be—take
care, you ! ” he grated, savagely. “ ’ve given
you fair warning that no man can cross my
path in this matter, and both of us live! I love
Medea Pennington with all my heart and soul!
I’ll marry her, or she dies a maiden! If you
Were ten times my brother, I’d kill you before I
let you rob me of her love!”

self!”

tered the other.

1y surprised and not a little alarmed when she

i hope to win a fortune, and by means of that

fortune, ain a wife.”
A swifgchange came over the face of Monté
Jim as he listened to this speech. All trace of
mockery vanished, and in its place came a
gravity rarely to be seen there. ' ,
“ You are alluding to Miss Pennington, I pre-
sume?" .
“ Yes. Let me tell you just how we stand in
our relations to each other, and then you Will
understand why it is I am so anxious to have

as my reasons for betting high in hopes of Win-
ning a fortune off—hand,” said the young man,
his voice grave and earnest. _ .

“ Her sole purpose in coming here is to find

0u_”

“To find me?” echoed Monté Jim, in evident
surprise.

“Or Lloyd Pennington, which amounts to
the same thing.” a ’ .

“ Of course; I forgot my new name.” With a
short laugh. “ Don’t let that trouble you,
brother. I’ll soon grow accustomed to it, [dare
say. Searching for me, you say? What for '3"

“That’s the puzzle!" ejaculated the young
man, scowling with evident irritation. “ She’s
kept her secret, even from me, though she
promises to let me know all, when her search
has fairly succeeded.” _

"Mysterious!" commented Mcntc Jim, With
a slow shake of the head. as he thoughtfully
pulled at his blonde mustache-s. “ Do you
know, brother, I’m getting a little nei vous?
Suppose the young lady has some secret claim
on me? Suppose she Comes forward as a
claimant of a long-lost husband, or something
of that sort? It would hardly shock or sur-
prise me more than the claim you persist in
making."

“Do; ’t be an infernal fool!” growled Pon-
nington, too much in earnest to relish a jest, if
jest Mopté Jim intended.

“ Which you think I would be, for deserting
such a charming lady? I quite agree with you,
dear brother. And if she really has any matri-
monial sentiments, I’ll do my best to meet her
half-way; be sure of that !”

“ And be sure of this I" grated Alva Penning-
ton, leaning across the table, with tightly-
clinched fists, his eyes glowing with a red light,
his strong teeth grating. “Were you tenfold
my brother, I’d cut your heart out the moment
you stepped between that woman and me! Is
that plain talk?”

“So! that’s the way the wind blows, is it?”
exclaimed Mouté Jim, elevating his eyebrows.

“If I don’t marry Medea Pennington, no
other man shall ever fill the position,” added
Pennington, with more calmness, but not a
whit less earnestness of purpose “ I say this,
that you may have no excuse for making a
mistake. I say, just as frankly, that I believe
you can Win er for your wife. if you think
proper to make the effort.”

“And as a wedding-gift, you would present
the with a bit of cold steel or a few blue pills,
placed where they would do the most goods”
lau hed Monté Jim. ,

“ nless you killed me before I got the
chance,” doggedly replied the other.

“ As an affectionate brother, you promiso to
be a success, I must confess!”

“ Look here, Lloyd; let me tell you. I’ve
worshiped Medea ever since I left off round
jackets. I know I don’t deserve such a treasure
——that I am not half good enough for her—but
if I can’t haVe her for my wife, no other man
shall While I draw the breath of life I"

“ Well, you are hard hit, sure enough i”

“I loved her so desperately, that I actually
was afraid to tell her so, until less than six
months ago, when her father died, leaving her
an orphan, alone in the world, saVe for me.”

“And me,” interposed Monté Jim. “11' she
is your cousin, and I am your brother, she must
be my relative, as well.”

“I thought you dead, at that time; in fact,
we all thought so, for Medea and I had often
spoken of you, wondering what had caused your
sudden disappearance. But let me take the story
of how we came here, on your track, by the
right end.

“ When uncle died, I plucked up courage to
avow my Iova for Medea, and asked her to
marry me. I really had some hopes of success,
for she had always appeared fond of me, though
I showed myself such a-bashful fool in her pres-
ence. As 81.6 was left alone in the world, I felt
reasonably sure she would acoept me, and you
can imagine what a terrible blow it was to me,
when she said plainly that she held herself
ltliougd to another man, if he chose to accept her

an .

“As soon as I could recover the use of my
tongue, I asked her for an explanation, and she
gave it, though with a reservation I have never
been able to comprehend.

“ She said that she had promised her father,
as he lay on his death-bed, to search the world
over if need be, for Lloyd Pennington, whom,
until then, she had believed dead long ago. She
had sworn to find him, if living, in order to
right a great wrong. She showed me an extract
from the will he had left, but which was not to
be opened until Lloyd Pennington was discov-
ered, or positive proof of his death found, but
that only increased my perplexity, and made
the muddle deeper.” '

“ Any objections to let a man know what that
extract revealed?” asked Monté Jim, carelessly.

Alva Pennington gazed keenly into his face,
but it told no tales, and the big blue eyes were
fixed on the slowly widening rings of smoke that
floated above his end.

“It made Lloyd Pennington an equal heir
with her to the immense fortune which uncle
died possessed of, on condition that the two were
married to each other within a year from the
time Lloyd Pennington was discovered, if liv-
ing. If she refused to marry him, on being

to go to him. If he was dea , the entire for-
tune belonged to her!”

“The old fellow must surely have been
“So I hinted, but Medea would not listen.

der of her life to searching for the missing man,
but What she would find him and carry out the

“ Even to marrying the lost heir?”
“Even to that extremity,” was the moody

full conditions of

“ Romantic —very l” commented Monté Jim,

He paused abruptly as Alva Pennington hissed

“Take care, Monte J im—Lloyd Pennington,

“ Come, old fellow, don’t make an ass of you r~

“You’ve got your warning,” sullcnly nint—
._..__
'CIIAP'I‘ER XVIII.
AN HONEST MAN‘s FAITH.

To say that Medea Pennington was thorough-

 

felt her arm caught and heard those startling
words, but imperfectly eXpresses her emotions.

 

reply, Mr. Rice, deeply as it has slim
From the first I felt a strange- :nu
repugnaiice toward thafmthnt cronmro, “munh
l was unable to explain it, cyan to my'lnlf', And
yet, had I known all, I must buy» '
visit!”

and l have full faith that lll’
said Rive. griwclv. “but.

Would rather see lic‘r col:
to have her recognized in company with that

 

  

 

Tlierc was an explosive oath of utter disgust,
though it came from neither her lips nor those
of the man who so abruptly made his appear-
ance on the scene; and when she turned in-
stinctiver toward the fat little professor, it
was only to catch a fleeting glimpw of his coat-
tails as he vanished around the corner of the
building, with more haste than grace.

“ Mr. Rice—how you startled me!” mur-
mured Medea, hardly realizing the words she
uttered.

“ I beg your pardon, Miss Pennington,” re-
plied the ex conductor, for it was indeed he
Whose abrupt appearance and recognition had
resulted in the sudden flight of Professor King
Smith. " I was so startled—no utter] amazed
at recognizing you here, at night, a one, and
coming from the house of that woman—that I
permitted my feelings to get the better of my
politeness. ”

“ I was not alone,” hesitated Medea. looking
around her, with a slightly embarrassed air,
when Rice quickly broke in:

“If I am in the way, Miss Pennington, you
lmvc only to hint .as much, and I will retire.
Only my strong interest in your welfare led me
to interfere, knowing that you were a stranger
in a strange place, and therefore not to be ex-
pected to know the character of this house and
that of the notorious woman who liw-s here~—”

His tone. and manner, more than the words
he uttered, so startled Mules. that she cut him
short as he was lifting his hat in a formal bow,
preparatory to turning away, clinging to his
arm with both her hands, her voice unsteady as
she spoke:

“I am glad you came—glad you addressed
me, Mr. Rice. As you say, I am a stranger
here, and I begin to fear that. I have acted very
imprudciitly in my great anxiety to perform
the work which my dying father left to me as a
sacred charge. But 1 had no one to consult, no
one to advise me.”

“ Then I was forgotten?” with an air of gen-
tle reproach.

“ Not so,” was.the quick, almost eager reply.
“But there was not time—I had to decide on
the instant, or perhaps forever lose the claw to
the mystery which his haunted me, day and
night, for months. If you could only under
stand—if I might tell you all!”

" I do not seek to force your confidence, Miss
Pennington, but once more: if I can in any
way be of service to you, it will make me only
too happy.”

Plainly, almost clumsily, the wish to serve
her was shaped by the young man, but now, as
before, Medea recognized the deep earnestness,
the strong and pure devotion which underlay
his speech, and impulsive] she drew closer to
him, casting all doubts to t e winds.

“ I will take you at your word, my friend—-
but not here, in the dark,” with a sw1ft, appre-
hensive glance around her. “ If you Will take
me back to the hotel, I will tell you all.”

Will Rice drew her arm within his, retaining

her little gloved hand, perhaps unconsciously,
for the usually cool, steady-nerved railroader
was now strangely flustered by that warm,
trembling contact.

“ I will act as your escort, “with pleasure, be-

cause it is not safe for a lady to be abroad at
this hour of the evening, in a rough town like
this, but as for the rest—your confiding in me,
I mean—d0 not do so, without you feel you can
trust me implicitly.”

What Medea might have replied to this

speech will never be known, for at that mo-
ment a wild npronr burst out in the thicker
portion of the town toward which they were
now makin their way. I’istolshots, shouts
curses aiidsirill screams as of men in mortal
agony.

Pale and trembling, Medea. clung to the stal-

wart arm of the (ax-conductor.

‘ Only a drunken row, Miss Pennington,” was

his hasty assurance. “ There is no danger, as
long as we keep from running headlong into the
thick of it. I’m afraid We’ll have to wait a lit—
tle, for the row appears to be between us and
the hotel.”

If the whole truth must be told. Will Rice

was not exact] sorry that this disturbance
had broken fort just when and where it did.
Though his acquaintance with the young wo-
man was so brief, measured by days and hours,
it was quite long enough for him to have fallen
over head and ears in love with her. Nor was
this sentiment in the least shaken by the some-
what peculiar and compromising situation in
which he had just discovered her. He could
have taken oath that there was nothing wrong
in her part of the affair.

Keeping in the deep shadows, they watched

and listened, while the row at the Clipper
Shades reached its culmination and gradually
subsided. A few dark figures flitted past them
in the dark, evidently hastening to see the
“ fun,” but without observing them, and then,
when comparative quiet was once more restored,
they once more moved toward their destina-

“May I ask—was it your cousin who was

gith you, back there?” hesitatingly asked Will
ic

e.

“ No,” faltered Medea.

“Excuse me—I didn‘t know—”

“ Mr. Rice,” impulsively, “you shall know

all; but not now. Please wait until we reach
the hotel.”

He said no more, and a few minutes more

brought them tothe hotel, just too late to see
Honest Giles hastening up the stairs with
bandages and hot water for the wound re-
ceivad by Alva Pennington.

“You Will come in, Mr. Rice?” asked Medea,

as the gentleman released her arm on reachin
the steps, adding impulsively as he hesitated:
“ You must! In self—justice I must make an ex—
planation of my conduct this night. Of all
men, I would not have you go away under a.
false impression!”

There was an earnestness in her low tones

that thrilled him through and through, causing
his heart to jump with a new-born joy, and the
blood to course hotly through his veins.

Without a word, he followed her into the par-

lor. Medea cast aside her wraps, then turned
impulsively toward him, her earnest eyes hold-
ing his 5 ellbound as she asked:

‘ Mr. ice, will you please tell me what you

meant by the words you uttered when you first
recognized me by the door of that house? You
spoke as though it would be a disgrace to an
honest woman to be seen coming out of it.”

It was an embarrassing question, but with

those eyes on his, Will Rice could not refuse to

rrply as requested, and he did so without eva-
s on.

“ I will answer your question as frankly as it

is asked, Miss Pennington,” he said, gravely.
“The woman who lives there is one of' the most
notorious characters in Bismarck. licr name
is Helen Brinston, and you may judge of the
reputation she hears, when I tell you that she
is nicknamed Hell~and—Brimstone! ’

At his grave speech, Medea turned min as a
liost,.ahd sunk down in her chair, hiding her
ace in her hands. Will Rice inipiilsiVoly

started toward her, but just then there come
the sound of rapid
entered the room. uttering a little exclamation
as he recognizl-d Miss Pennington seated therc.

footsteps, and Honest. Giles

It was on the tip of his tongue to toll her of

the accident which had befallen her cousin, but
be checked himself in time, and with a muttered
apology for his intrusion, he hastened through
to the office.

His sudden entrance, and consequent cmbnr-

rassmcnt. produced one good effect. in rcstoring
the nerve of the shaken girl.

She motioned Rice to bo sealed. than said:

“ [am deeply obliged to you for your {rank
ckctl nw.
l puwurful

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f Medea flushed hotly, then grew paler than be—
ore.

“ If I am dis raced. I cannot help it now. I
would take the same S‘ep, under the same cir-
cumstances, though I knew it would leave me
withouta friend on the face of the earth. To
any other person, I would decline to justify
myself, but somehow, I would deeply regret
leaving you under a falseiiiipression, and if you
will consent to listen—”

With an impulsive movement, Will Rice drew
his chair close to the one she occupied, and
caught ner hands in his, holding them firmly
though gently, as she tried to withdraw them.
His honest eyes were full of light, and truth
itself showed on his brow and rung in his deep,
manly tones:

“ Miss Pennington, please listen to me. before
you speak further. Your voice tells me your
feelings are hurt by what I said, or by my
blunt manner of speaking. I am sorry, for I
would cut oil‘ my right hand, sooner than know-
ingly offend you.

“You is iokc of disgrace, and of losing your
friends. ‘here is one friend whom you cannot
lOse, even though that imaginary disgrace was
terribly real. I trust you so wholly, that I
would disbelieve the evidence of my own eye-
sight, did it dare tell me you were anything but
the purest, loveliest, best little woman in the
whole world I”

“Mr. Rice!” faltered Medea, half scared by
his veliemence.

“ You must let me say it all, now I have be
gun,” he. gently interposed, Still holding her
trembling hands. “ I love you with all the
powerof my nature. I beg of you to give. "W
a little of yours in return. as the most precious
gift woman can best0w upon man. I love you—
I love you! I could not tell how dearly, though
1 had all eternity in which to repeat the story l”

“ You say this. after what you saw tO—night?”
murmured the young woman, strongly moved
by his intense earnestness.

“Why not? I love you. I wish you to be»
come my wife. I do not pretend to say how it
may be with others, but with me there. can be
no doubt where there is love—and 1 love you.”

If he had spoken for an hour, with each and
every word gIUWIDg‘ with the most sublime elo-
quence, Will Rice coul-i not have bettered his
case one whit with the Woman who listened.

Her cheeks grew softly flushed, her eyes
beamed softly upon his honest Coiinte 2mm, and
her redrripe lips trembled as though on the
point of giving him the answer he so longed——
so breathlessly waited to hear; but only for a
moment.

Then her face grew paler, and the light in her
eyes altered toone of almost stern resolution.

“ I thank you for the trust you hold in me,
Mr. Rice. and I will never forget it, or your
words. And yet I am almost sorry they Were
ever spoken, for it is wholly beyond my power
to give you the answer you wish to hear.”

“ Don't speak too soon, Miss Pennington,”
hastily interrupted Rice, though his eager look
began to fade from his honest countenance. “ I
can wait—l am not fool enough to think you
can love me, as yet. But don‘t say that I may
not hope—that you can never love me when you
come to know me better. Give me time to
teach you—give me a little hope l”

“ IfI could, believe me, Mr. Rice, I would do
so,” was the grave, almost sad response. “But
that is impossible. I am not my own mistress.
I am in a. measure bound to another—”

“ Not pledged?”

“ Yes—and no,” hesitatingly; then with more
decision: “Let me explain to you, Mr. Rice,
and then you Will see for yourself how peculiar—
ly I am situated in life. It is a painful story
for me to relate—" ~.

“Then spare yourself,” was his quick inter-
pOsition. “ I have no right to ask it of you,
and surely iiO wiin to give you pain. Heaven

knows! I would be only too ha py to spare you
all pain—all trouble, even the slightest, if [only
might!”

“ l believe—and thank you, dear friend,”
said Mcdcii, pressing his hands as he was slow—
ly, reluctantly withdrawing them from hers.
“ 1 am sorry that I cannot give you the reward
you (11in but as it is wholly beyond my power,
the least. I can do is to explain to you how I
came to be placed in such a peculiarly trying
situation.”

“ If you insist, I will make no further Objec-
tions. In this, as in all else, your will shall be
my law,” he said, simply, little thinking that
this Very gentleness was making her task all
the more diflicult to Perform.

“My father died six months ago,” she said,
plunging at Once into the subject, as though
eager to reach the end of a disagreeable mat-
ter. “ He died respected by all who knew him,
yet there was a terrible secret in his past life,
which even I did not suspect, though his only
child, and his idol, as I believed with the best
of cause. To me alone did he make his painful
confession, when the doctors told him all earth-
ly hope was gone; and even me be bound to see
crecy, until I had made every effort in my
power to find the erson whom, in the days
gone by, he had so bitterly wronged. ‘ He made
me swear to spend a. lifetime, if no less would
suffice. in the quest, which was to end only
when I succeeded in finding the person. or Ob—
taining positive proof that he was dead.”

“ Is that all?” eagerly demanded Rice, as she
paused. “ If that is the bond you spoke of, it
need not keep us apart. Marry me. and I will
share your search. I will take all the trouble
on my own shoulders. ,I will work night and
day until your pledge to the dead is kept. I
have no other ties—"

He paused abruptly, checked in his impetuous
speech by her uplifted hand. She spoke grave—
ly, tenderly, but with a resolution which even
he could not doubt:

“ I am sorry you have reverted to that sub—
ject, Mr. Rice. but since you have, to avoid any
further chance of misunderstanding, I will
speak plainly. I do not love you, as a true-
hearted man should be loved. I do not know
that I could eVer love you, as you wish; but
neither do I love any other man. I would not
permit myself to indulge in such a sentiment,
while my life-work remains unfinished. At the
same time, I would like. to retain your friend—
ship, if you can grant it on these terms; abso-
lute avoidance of this subject.”

“It will be hard, but I‘ll try my best,” was
the grave, earnest response, as he held out his
hand; and thus the compacn was ratified be-
tween them.

“ It was in hopes of learning the real name. of
the man whom my dead father bade me seek,
that [ visited the house of that woman, this
evening,” resumed Medea. “A man came to
me here, and said that his sister could tell me
all.‘ I went with him. and after forcing me to
listen to a long and sickening story, that woman
declared the man I sought was her husband.”

“ Why, she claims to be the wife o‘.‘ Curly
Kaine, the wretch who so shamefully annoyed
you that night on the train !”

Medea stared at him in surprise.

“ Of Curly Kaine?” she echoed, in amazement.

“They claim to be man and wife, yes,” was
the more quiet reply. “It is rumored that she
is wonderfully rich, however she obtained the
money. She owus the gambling hell, called the
Clipper Shades, which Curly Kaine manages.
But surely that scoundrelly fellow cannot be
the man you are. seeking!”

“ No—I don’t know!” helplessly murmured
Medea, taken all aback. “She said he was her
husband, but that they were living apart—that
he had tried to kill her, many times-—” .

Her speech was cut short by a sharp explosmn
which apparently came from some spot almost
directly overhead, closely followed by a Wild
scream and bitter curse.

A crash of glass followed, then came a loud
explosion that appeared to shake the_ entire
building to its very foundation._ and with the
rumbling echoes was mingled a I’l'T‘Tm-LT Sllrlfkv
as though of some one suffering agony the most
intense.

These later sounds apparentl v came also from
the interior of the building, and startled almost
out Of her senses. Medea clung tremblineg to
Rice, as they both leaped to their feet. .

(To be continued~commenced In No. 08.)

N

 

BABY IS QUEEN.

Rrspectfui’ly inscribed to Anna Louise II'i‘lI/ams.

 

av JOSIE.
Baby is queen, and her vassals we are——
Gladly obe her lightest decree;
And for this Oiiiage we render to her,
She deigns to smile on us graciously.

Eyes as blue. as the heavens above us.
Hair that the sunshine turns into gold,
Li IS that are sweeter far than the nectar
‘lie gods enjoyed in the days of old.

What would we take for this precious baby?
Golcondu‘s wealth could not purchase our pet;
’Twould bankrupt the world, the price we should

as ,
And leave it hopelessly still in debt.

The Pink offlihe Pacific;

The Adventures of a. Stowaway.
BY OLIVER OPTIC.

CHAPTER XXII.
THE MAN IN WHITE.

CAPTAIN HODFIELD was entirely Satisfied
With the arrangement made by the owner, and
he was quite willing to remain in the brig if
Pink was allowed to do the same. Certainly
his position as commander of the beautiful brig
was wholly to his mind: but he was not mean
enough to desert. Pink in his extremity.

“ I tell you plainly, father. I Won’t submit to
this,” said Tom, as soon as Mr. Dunwood had
declared his intention with sufficient emphasis
to indicate that he meant all he said.

“ You must submit to it, my dear son; there
is no other wav to do. The captain will leave
the vessel if Pink is put on shore; and you
know as well as I do that we have no other
navigator.” replied the owner. in an apologetic
tone. “If we attempt to sail without a com—
petent navigator, We shall be wrecked sooner
or later.” .

“I don’t believe the captain will leave the
vessel. He knows on which side his bread is
buttered,” replied Tom, with a sneer.

“I am sure he will leave; and I think I un-
derstand human nature,” added the father.
rather sharply for him. “And that isn’t all:
I don’t believe Cliinks will get the brig under
way if the captain leaves her; and I should not
be surprised if all the seamen mutinied. I
should not blame them much if they did; for
their lives would be no safer than ours.”

“ Then I shall leave the brig myself,” added
Toni; but there was not much heart in his
tones. -

“No, you won’t leave the brig, my son; I
will not believe you are so stupid as to throw
yourself into the power of these Dyaks, for
you can see for yourself that they are pirates.
Be reasonable; and when we get to Manila,
or some other regular seaport, I will send Pink
off, rayon if the captain insists upon going with
him.

“I won’t come on deck while Pink remains
in the brig, then,” continued Tom, backing
down so far. as he retreated down the com-
panionway.

Buck and Weldon had come on deck, but the
jolly-boat was left, made fast to the stern, for
it was possible that it might yet be needed be-
fore the vessel got out of the river. The cap-
tain gave the order to man the capstan. and get
up the anchor. As soon as the anchor was hove
up to a short stay, bands Were sent aloft to un-
loose the sails, and the men on deck were at
their station in readiness to man the sheets and
halliards. The mate gave the orders, for the
brig was handled in man-of—war style. Cap-
tain Bodfield went down into the ward rOOm to
consult the chart while the mute was getting
the nrig under way.

Pink was not at all satisfied with the decision
of the case which the owner had made, and to
which the captain assented. ILA, had as much
pride of a certain kind as though he had been
the son of a nabob; and the thought of remain-
ing on board as a sort of guest was utterly re-
pulsive to him. Tom DunWOod was a tyrant
of the worst description, and he could not en-
dure the thought of being kicked and cuffed by
him. He. was sure the ill-natured cub would
quarrel with him every day he remained in the
brig. He had seen enough of wild life in Aus
tralia not to like it; but anything was prefer—
able to being an unwelcome guest. After think-
ing of the matter for a time, he came to the
conclusion that he could not stand it.

The captain had gone below, and all hands
were busy making sail. The family were in
the cabin. whither the owner had followed his
son. Pink had no regular station in setting
and furling sail, for there were several light
hands for the top-gallant-sails and royals. He
had made up his mind to drop into the water at
a convenient moment, just before the vessel got
under way, and he went to the tafl‘rail to see
how it was to be done. He saw the jolly—boat
astern. The painter was made fast to a ring,
and he could cast it off without attracting the
attention of the ship’s company. The sight of
the boat suggested his plan, and he lost not a
moment in putting it into execution.

Unfastening the painter, he passed it through
the ring, and with one end in his hand, he slid
down on the rope. Letting go the end of the
painter, he hauled it through the ring, and into
the boat. The tide was now coming in rapidly,
and without an effort on his part, the boat was
carried away from the brig. When it had
drifted half a cable’s length from the vessel,
Pink got out the oars, and a few vigorous
strokes sent the light boat into the stream
where the water casks had been filled at a cas-
cade of fresh water from the brook above. The
runaway concealed the boat as best he could.
for he was not strong enough to take it out of
the water.

Pink was sure the captain would not go out
of the river if he happened to miss him before
it was too late; and he decided to put a con-
siderable distance between himself and the
landing-place. Most of the country near the
sea in Borneo is a kind of morass. where vege-
tation grows with the wildest luxuriance; but
it was high ground where the brig had been
watered. Pink intended to make his borne for
the present in the bungalow where he had
found Toni Dunwood; but he felt a great in-
terest in the movements of the Belle Of the
Bay. and Stine in the two fleets of proas. which
had been watching each other for several hours.
He wanted to be sure the brig left without him;
and if she did not, he desired to know if a boat
was sent on shore for him, that he might get
out of the way of his pursuers. He did not
concern himself at all about the Dyaks, though
if the. two fleets fought a battle, he wanted to
see the action. He had fallen among natives
in Australia in his wanderings, and he had al-
ways astonished them by his gyrations and
somersets. He thought he could astonish the
Dvaks if he fell into their hands. _

'He walked about a mile up the river, till he
was above the upper fleet of roas. He had kept
in the bushes till he was too ar off to be seen by
those on board of the brig, and then continued
his walk on the bank of the broad river. He did
not appear to be missed on board of the brig,
and everything went on upon her deck as when
he left her. The jolly-boat was sure to be
miSSed, if he was not, by the time the brig
reached the mouth of the river. But it was
evident to Pink that there had been some delay
in getting the Belle of the Bay under. way, or
she would have been half-way to the Strait be-
fore this time. Ha could not see very distinct-
Iv. and he climbed a tree to g t a better View
(if-the sination.

He discovered that the. lower fleet of_ proas
had either drifted or rowed up to the vminity
of the brig. Verv likely the captainhad sus-
pended his operations to watch their move
ments. with the men at the guns. The com-
wonder of the Belle of the Bay had hail expe-
rience enough with pirates to be, wary, and. to
be in readiness for anything. Suddenly Pink

 

 

 

saw the lower fleet move rapidly up the river.
He could just see the flash of the numerous
oars, as the sun struck upon them when they

rose from the water. It was plain enough that
the outer fleet was tired of waiting, or the chief
in command of it had satisfied himself that the
brig was going to sea, and would not interfere
with the aciion.

Pink watched the approaching fleet with in-
terest. It was clear to him that something was
about to be done. There was to be fun of some
sort, as be viewed it; and he was almost as much
eXcited as he had been on boai d the American
Continent. As yet the chiefs on the platforms
0f the upper fleet seemed to be unmoVed by the
approach of the enemy. On the largest of the
proas, which was only a short distance from the
spot where Pink stood, was a man who did not
appear to be dressed like the Others; in fact, he
looked like a European. All the after part of
the platform was left for his use; and Pink saw
that he was studying the situation. The waif
haan doubt that he was the commander of
the fleet, judging by what he had seen among
the Malays.

Presently this man gave an order in a loud
tow, and all the proas began to move up the
river, and were headed toward the point at a
bend of the river near which Pink was perched
in the tree. Though the lower fleet was by this
time a considerable distance above the anchor-
age of the brig, she did not get under way and
go down the river, as she was expected to do.
Pink wondered what she was waiting for, and
he concluded that the captain had missed him,
or that the people on board were desirous of
witnessing the battle of the proas. He could
not see that any boat left the brig for the shore,
as would probably be the case if the captain had
discovered the absence of his protege.

While Pink was watching the brig, the up er
fleet was rapidly approaching the point. e-
fore he was fully aware of their intention, the
proas had come close up to the shore. The
movement was clearly a piece of strategy; but
Pink could not fathom its meaning. The Dyaks
were altogether too near him for his own com-
fort and safety; but he could not now descend
the tree without the danger of being seen. To
the astonishment of the observer, the whole
fleet ran up to the bank of the river, not a hun—
dred feet from the tree in which Pink was con-
cealed. The water was deep to the very shore,
and as soon as the proas touched the bank, not
less than a hundred Dyaks leaped out upon the
sandy beach, which sloped down very abruptly
to the water.

Pink now looked with interest for the man
dressed like a European. He remained on the
platform of his proa. He was dressed in white
linen clothes, and wore a heavy gray beard, an
appendage which none of his companions had;
and he was a white man, while the others were
of a light—brown complexion. Some carried
heavy swords, with a sharp angle just below
the hilt; others were armed with sumpitans, or
blow - guns, some seven or eight feet long,
through which they could discharge poisoned
arrows, and more were provided with a kind of
short sword of peculiar construction. The Eu-
ropean had a long sword; but in his belt was a
pair of pistols. Pink wondered if he was de-
tained among the Dyaks against his will, as
Captain Bodfield had‘been among the Malays.

While Pink was watching the chiefs and
others on board of the proas, several of the
rowers who had landed came to the tree where
he was, and two of them proceeded to climb it,
evidently for the purpose of taking an observa-
tion. The waif saw that he had no chance to
escape;but he had the revolver in his pocket,
which the captain had given him; and be con-
cluded not to be butchered by the Dyaks with-
out making any defense. In taking the weapon
from his pocket he made some noise, which at-
tracted the attention of the Dyak who led the
way. The fellow uttered a tremendous yell,
and retreated down the trunk to the ground.
Pink followed him,

Putting on a bold face, the waif pointed to
the proa of the white man, and then went on
board of it.

“ Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed the man in
white, when he saw- him.

He spoke English, at any rate.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE COMMANDER OF THE itAJAH's FLEET.

IVHY the man in white exclaimed “ Meicif'ul
HeaVeul” Pink had no means of knowing. He
only observed that he spoke English; and this
fact interested him more than any other. But
the near approach of the enemy prevented tae
comma nder—for such he was—from taking any
further notice Of the waif. The chiefs and other
Dyaks did not seem to be at all disturbed by his
presence, for they hardly noticed him. Pink at
once proceeded to make himself at home; but
he was careful to keep near the man in white.

The reason why the fleet had run up to this
point was soon made apparent. A considerable
number of the r0wers, under the direction of
a chief, were at work in the dense jungle above
the beach. Pink had not noticed them before;
but now he saw they were clearing away the
bushes, just below where the proas lay. Some-
thing that looked like a wall of earth began to
show itself: and after the men had continued
their labors for a short time longer, a two—gun
battery was disclosed, which had been masked
in the jungle.

By this time the yelling from the approach-
ing fleet was fearful, for the enemy seemed to
depend upon noise to inspire their courage. The
man in white seemed to be very quiet, and spoke
in low tones to those around him when he
spoke at all. Several packages were landed at
his order, and Pink concluded that they con-
tained ammunition. The commander spoke a
few earnest words to the chiefs on the platform,
and then went on shore. Pink fOIIOw‘ed him.

The man in white went behind the battery,
and both pieces wereloaded under his direction.
With his own eye he sighted them, and then
gave the. order to fire. The waif attended the
commander to the top of the earthwork, to as-
certain the effect of the shot.

“ That was very well done,” said the man in
white, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“ First rate,” replied Pink, who was the only
one that could understand-the remark.

The shot had knocked a great hole in the side
of the leading proa, producing the utmost cons
sternation on board. The presence of the bat-
tery had evidently been unsuspected by the
enemy. IVhen it was thus demonstrated to the
foe that the battle was not to be fought with
smupitans and parangs, a yell of consterna-
tion sounded through their fleet They seemed
to realize promptly that it was useless to contend
against cannon; and they began to retreat with
the utmost precipitation. When the man in
white saw their intention he leaped down from
the earthwork and pointed the other gun. lt
was promptly discharged, but it had been aimed
too high, and the shot killed one of the chiefs
on the platform, without doing any further
damage to the hull. Before the guns could be
loaded again the fleet was too far off to encour-
age the commander to waste his powder, of
which he had only a small supply.

At a word from the commander, all the Dyaks
hastened on board of the proas, which were
cast ofl:' from the shore. The oars began to be
plied with vigor, and the fleet was headed down
the river in pursuit of the fleeing foe. But the
enemy had the start, and there was little pros-
pect of overtaking them, unless they paused to
give battle on more equal terms than under the
guns of the battery.

“ Now, who are you, my lad ?” asked the com-
mander, as the chase was in progress.

“ I am Pinkerton Dykes.’ replied Pink, re-
membering his name this time.

“ How came you here?”

“ I came in that brig which you see down the
river.”

“ Is she a man-of-war?”

“ No. sir: she is a yacht, in which a rich man
and his family are sailing for the fun of the
thing,” replied Pink, with a chuckle, as though
he thought there could not be much fun in sail-
ing among pirates and sharks.

“ We thought she was a man-of—war, and were

 

 

afraid she might interfere if we had a brush in

 

Sight of her.” added the commander. “ But we
are here only to protect the territory of the Ra-
jah of Kati from invasion.”

“ What is the other fleet?” asked Pink.

“It belongs to the Rajah of Djama. who
wantsto conquer the country of the Rajah of
koti, in order to add it to his own dominion.
We have all the right on our side, or I should
not be here,” replied the Commander.

“And who are you, sir?" asked Pink, bluntly.

“You may call me Captain Fairfield,” an-
swered the commander, with a smile at the sim~
pliCity of the waif. “ Five miles above this
point there 111% three short streams that flow
from this one into the Strait. The fleet of the
Rajah of Djama came up the Badok, the most
southern ot the three, to attack the town of
Koti. l have lived with the rajah for the last
ten years, and he has made me the commander
of all his forces by sea and by land. I had
planted a battery near the mouth of this stream,
and with it repelled the attack of the fleet. The
only other way the enemy could approach the
town is by the main river; and I came down to
meet them.”

“ Where did you get your great guns?” in-
quired Pink.

“I brought them with me in a yacht, like
that one below, only she is a schooner instead
of a brig.”

“ Why don’t you use her to heat off the ene-
my. if she has gunséI We heat off a whole fleet
of Malay proas with the guns of the brig.”

“ Because I had no sailors to handle her. My
men were not willing to remain in the service
of the rajah, and I sent them to Manila, where
they could find a passage home. I find the Dy-
aks do better in their proas than in the yacht.
But why did you leave the brig, my lad ?"
asked Captain Fairfield.

In reply to this question Pink told his story.
By the time he had finished the proas were
abreast of the Belle of the Bay. The waif had
been so absorbed in his narrative that he had
not heeded the brig till a shout on her deck,
coupled with his name, assured him that he had
been seen and reCOgnized by his late shipmates.

“ Don’t you wish to return to the brige” asked
Captain Fairlield.

“No, sir; I do not,” replied Pink, very de-
cidedly; and he added to his former narrative
the reason which had induced him to leave the
vessel.

“ I see you have a big soul in your bosom.”
said the commander. “ Where does this owner
of the brig live when he  at htme?”

“ 1n Baltimore.” replied Pink.

“ In Baltimore l” exclaimed Captain Filll‘field,
looking intently at the features of the waif.

Pink did not think it very strange that the
Dunwoods came from Baltimore; and this was
the second time the commander had indulged in
exclamations he could not understand.

" You haven’t told me his name,” added Cap-
tain Fairfield, glancing down the river at the
retreating proas.

“ The Owner’s nameis Dunwcod; and he has a
son whose name is Tom, and a daughter whom
they call \Vinny,” answered Pink.

“Dunwood! I knew it was he!” exclaimed
Captain Fairfield.

“ What made you think so?" asked Pink, be-
wildered by a third exclamation.

“The villain 1”

There was another exclamation to bother
Pink. But the commander did not answer his
question, and stalked forward on the platform
like a. man who had just got something to think
about.

Possibly Captain Fairfield did not wish to say
anything more about the Dunwoods; and pos-
sibly the movements of the proas ahead de-
manded his attention. He had called Mr. Dun-
wood a villain; and Pink supposed he meant the
owner of the Belle of the Bay when he used this
hard word. He was willing to believe that he
called him by the right name, for he did not
think that a man who could send a boy on shore
among savages to gratify the whim of his son,
could be anything but a villain. But it was im-
mediately evidtnt that the commander had
something to think of besides the Dunwoods;
for the enemy’s fleet had suddenly sheered off,
and run toward the right bank of the river.
This change of course looked like strategy of
some sort; and Captain Fairfield at once ordered
his men to cease rowing.

Pink surveyed the situation; and being quick-
witted, he soon made up his mind that he com-
prehended the intention of the enemy. Look-
ing t0ward the right bank, he discovered a shoal,
at least a quarter of a mile in length, which
was just covered by the rising tide. He had
noticed it in the morning from the deck of the
brig, " hen it looked like a muddy island. Be-
yond it, and close to the shore, he was satisfied
from the appearance that there was a consid-
erable depth of water; at least enough to float
the proas, which did not draw more than two
feet of water.

The fleet of Captain Fairfield was already
abreast‘of the shoal, while the enemy were mak~
ing for the lower end of it with all the speed the
rowers could command. It was plain enough,
even to Pink, who did not claim to be a strate-
gist, that the fleet Of the Rajah of Djama in—
tended to double on that of the Rajah of Koti,
in order to get above him, and ca )ture the mis-
chievous battery at the point. f the enemy
could accomplish this purpose, he would have
no difficulty in running up the river and taking
the town.

“I see what they are about, Captain Fair-
field,” said Pink, as he walked forward to the
part of the platform where the commander had
stationed himself.

“ So do I,” replied the commander; “and if I
had thought Of ttat shoal, which is an island at
low tide, I should have run through the narrow
channel near the shore. But it is too late now;
and I am afraid I have fallen into a trap.”

Captain Fairfield looked very anxious, but he
said nothing more. He was looking about him
for the means of extricating his fleet from the
dilemma. Pink was not an officer of the fleet.
but he could not help looking about him, and
studying the situation. He wanted to do some—
thing to help the man in white, for he was sat-
isfied that the Rajah of Koti bad right and jus-
tice on his side.

“Do you know what I would do if I were
you?” asked Pink, wit-h more confidence than
he was accustomed to assume.

“ I haven’t the least idea what you would
do, my lad,” replied the commander, with a
smile.

“ I would send the gunners back to that bat—
tery in the swiftest proa of the fleet, while the
rest of the proas fight the enemy down here,”
continued Pink, with enthusiasm.

“That’s a bright idea, Pinkerton.”

“Call me Pink, and save time.”

“ But the gunners are good for nothing unless
I am with them,” added the commander.

“ But they can fire the guns without you, and
the noise will frighten them off.”

The suggestion was adopted.

( To be continued—commenced in No. 58.)

 

 

Casual Mention.

 

HOT water, says a writer on hygienic science,
is to be the drink of the future, because of its
healthfulness.

A SMART advertiser in Baltimore offered
prizes for guesses as to the number of seeds in a

pumpkin. It was cut on New Year’s day and
found to contain 727 seeds. The nearest guess
was 721.

SPEAKING of the intense irritation to horses
of the bearing-rein, the Medical Times says:
“ Many a well-meaning owner of horses allows
his animals to be tortured for six days in every
week, who would shudder at the thought of the
decapitation of a frog.”

IT has been computed that if all the tobacco
consumed in one year were got together and
made into a rope two inches thick, it would
reach a length sufficient to go thirtv times
round the earth at the equator, and if all the
snuff were collected there would be enough to
bury an entire city.

 

NINETY NINE per cent. of the respectable

women of the country, maids, " idows, and I
matrons, are heart and soul oppOSed to rum
in all 115' forms. To women there is not only
nothing in mm that is pleasant, but there is
nothing that is not misery.
. AT whatever hour a person dies in Mexico it
is castomary to put the funeral just tweniyrfour
hours later. and as the mortality is greatest all
over thewor‘ld at night, the moSt 0f the fuueral
ceremonies in Mexico are performed at night,
no women being permitted to attend.

WYOMING TERRITORY is prolific in fossils, and
not only are monsu‘ous animals discovered, but
the remains of forests, nuts, and what appear
to be even fruits and vegetables. Representa-
tlt us of the I each, pear, acorn, etc., are found,
while petrified eggs in a high state of perfi ciion
are frequently met with.

MR. HuTCHIN. of the Eye, of Bloomingfon,
lll.,_saio in a hantering way that Mr. Piper. a
capitalist, Would give every needy family in the
city a Thanksgiving turkey, and then Mr. Hut-
chin added that he would give 310 for every
turkev so given. The next day's returns made
Mr. Hutchin a debtor in the sum of $650, and,
as he couldn’t. readily pay, be compromised by
givmg a dinner.

CoNoRESSMEN who are at Washington are
saying that there must be a mor~ stringent law
a ainst Mormonism than the Edmunds act. 0 o
p an is to abolish the present govm'nment and
establish a provisional goVernment, the oflic rs
to be apgointed by the President and confirmed
by the. enate. A Mormon missionary excites
some indignation at IVashington, where he is
staying, by his imtudent boast that he has re-
cently converted seventy six young girls.

.I’ROF. PUTNAM, of Harvard, lecturing upon
his own. explorations of the Turner altar mounds
of Ohio, said that among the 200,000 specimens
found were some showing how large a space the
mound-builders and their trading allies covered
on this Continent. There were grizzly hears’
teeth that must have come from The Rock v
Mountains, alligators" teeth from the South, aid
pearls from the sea-shore. Thousands of per-2 ls
were found in one altar all drilled for stringing.
. A RESIDENT of the Wabash Valley travelirg
in California was astonished when he first saw
corn thriving in the dry and seemingly burr: n
soil of Los Angelos county ; but the farmers e13
plained that beneath these corn—fields is tie
subterranean outlet of some stream, and fl at
they are watered from below. By digging
d0wn ten or tWelve feet almost anywhere over
the bed you will find the river, which rean—
pears on the surface again in two different beds
some miles further down, and then again Sinks
beneath the surface.

TULARE LAKE once had an area of 1,736
miles and depth sufficient for a steamboat that
navigated it; but its area has been reduced to
196 miles, and its greatest depth is only twentv-
two feet. Its contraction is attributed to the
absorption of water for irrigating purposes
from the two streams that feed it. Some San
Franciscans who have just returned from a
visit to the lake predict its utter absorption, as
every farmer who settles near it digs a new
canal for irrigation. There are about forty a r-
tesian wells within a radius of forty miles
around the lake.

 

 

W A few Advertisements will be inserted
on this page at the rate of fifty cents per line
nonnarei'l measurement.

ST. VAIEN IINE’S DAY.

Away! away! my true love seek.
And call the rose-blush to 1181‘ check !
And let her sweet Ii is kiss the line
To find who sends t iis valentine.

VF For other Valentine Verses send for Beadle‘s
Dime. Book of Verses. Sent. post—paid on receipt of
price, ten cents. by

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers. 5'
98 William Street, IV. Y. 1

WORKS BY CAPTAIN MAYNE HEiIl

In Beadle’s Dime Library:

8 The Headless Horseman.
12 The Death Shot.
55 The Scalp Illinters. ?
66 The Specter Barque.
74 Captain of the Rifles.
200 The Rifle Rangers.
208 The \Vliite Chief.
213 The \Var Trail.
218 The Villa Huntress.
228 The Maroon.
234 The Hunter’s Feast.
267 The \Vliite Squatv.
The above Dime Libraries by Captain Mayne Elem
are for sale by all Newsdealers. ten cents pci cup).
or sent by mail on receipt of twelve cents each

In Beadle’s Half-Dime Library : 

4 The “ma Horse Hunters.

78 Blue Dick.

87 The Land Pirates.
137 The Helpless Hand.
239 The Gold-seeker Guide.

The above Half-Dime Libraries by Captain Maya:-
Reid are for sale by all Newsdealers. five cents per
copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each.

In Beadle’s Boy’s Library:

2 The Ocean Iluntcrs. 

89 Gaspar, the Gaucho; or, Lost
Pampas.

The above Boy’s Libraries by Captain Mnin
Reid are for sale by all Newsdcalers, five cents per
copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. i

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pmumam, ‘
98 William street. N. Y.

 

 

 

war-<— '

 

 

III“

(ill

 

The Dime Dialogues No. 30.

Twenty delightful and “taking” piices
Schools, Exhibitions and Entertainments. and 3'. I
Parlor and Amateur Tlicatricals.

For sale by all newsdealei‘s; or sent posrpui‘d. to
any address, on receipt of price—TEN crsrs l‘At'Il.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers.
98 “'illiaiii St. N. Y.

Hand-Bunk of Winter Sports.

Embracing: skating, (on the ice and on rollers.)
rink—ball, curling, ice-boating, and American tom
ball. Together with the special code of rules li'.‘
prize skating of the Skating Congress, and rccor. .~.
of matches at base-ball and cricket on the ice. The
whole illustrated with diagrams. By Henry C‘hilti'
wick, author of “ Dime Base-ball Player,” etc.

Sold by all Ncwsdealers; or sent, post-paid, re a. \
address, price Ten vents.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers.
98 William St.. New York.

A Leadm' a London Piiyr I

ician establishes an 3

Office in New York .

for the Cure of i

_ EPILEPTIG FITS. .
DomAmJournalonIcclirinc.

Dr. Ab. Meserole (late of London), who makes aspeciu‘. 
of Epilepsy, has without doubt treated and cured more ci::~
than any other living physician. His success has siin ply bi-
astonishlng' we have heard creases of over '20 years sun:
in successfully cured by him. He has published a worki
thfii disease, which he sends with a. large home of his wry
derful cure {recto any sufferer who may send their exprc
and P. 0. Address We advise any one wishing a cure to a:
dress Dr.AB. usEROLE. No. 96 John St, he“! York. O

on SUMPTlllll.
Ihave a positive remedy for the above discuse: ‘
its use thousands of cases of the worst kind and
long standing have been cured. Indeed. so si l'f -ll!
my faith in its efficacy, that Iwill send TWO l::( "
TLES FREE together with a. VALUABLE ’1 RE-
ISE on this disease, to any sufferer. Give Expi

and P. 0. address. DR. T. A. SLOCUII, 15‘] Pc.
St, N. Y.

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LAMENT 0F TIEI‘LUNDERTAKER.

BY J0 KING.

 

I find this is no town for me,
And here I’ll not get wealthy;

I have not had a single call;—
I’m sick because it’s healthy.

To help my trade the people show
A great deal of remissness;

The only dead thing I have seen,
So far, has been my bus ness.

I am the only mourner here—-
The place of my preferment,

And I myself in torment am
For lack of an interment.

The place is too salubrious,
Like all these Western places;
I’ve had no case of burial—
But lots of burial cases.

The ver air is full of life,
And hither flock the many; _
Nobod round here’s losmg friends—
And ’m not making any.

People are well: ’tis trade _that’s :11;
M victuals I’m not making;.

An I’m inclined to think this is
My gravest undertaking.

I do not see how I can live,
For money at all events IS
What keeps us up, and greatly I
Lack funeral expenses.

Now at the present state of things
I’m very badly worried;

My hopes and prospects so far are
The only things I’ve buried.

And all can see my business
Has got no life about it,

Or rather it has got too much;—
Only my hopes are shrouded.

I very lainly see this is .
No p ace for my professwn,
So I will just rehearse my stock
And head my own processmn.

Ah, yes, I‘ll hie away from herel
Would I had long since started;
And all my creditors shall 81 h:
“ Ah, Jones is the departe .”

 

Around the Camp-Fire.

BY CAPTAIN RINGWOOD.

 

 

A Race With Apaches.

- THE region of country round about the Elk
mountains had been fixed upon for the season’s
campaign, and we—that is, Rube Harkins, Jim
Curtis and myself—left the post early one
morning, and turned our faces westward. Three
days out we came up with an emigrant-train,
and, glad of a chance to hear anything from
the “States,” that had transpired within a
year, we joined forces, and traveled in com-
pany. Upon the other hand, the emigrants
Were e ually pleased to be reinforced b three
good rifles, as the Indians were reporte to be
somewhat vicious. “Sorter ’greeable like both
ways, you know,” as old Rube put it. _

I found among the emigrants one family—
father, mother and two daughters—in whom I
at once became interested, especial! in the
oldest daughter, a sprightly young la y of just
the “ reper” age, not by any means hand-
some, gutintelligent, evidently well educated,
and certainly the most superb rider that I have
ever seen. The young lady and myself at once
became good friends, and, with the permission
of Mr. Somers, her father, I became her escort
in the morning gallops over the level prairie
that stretched out seemingly without end, to-
ward their far~off destination.

I soon saw that Rube and Jim Curtis did not
altogether fancy the turn aflfairs had taken,
and, more than once, I surprised them While
exchanging sundry sly glances, remarks and
head-shakings at my expense.

One night I chanced to overhear the old fel-
lows talking the matter over.

“Now, seehyar, Jim,” said Rube; “the
youngster‘s a-gettin’ in a durned bad way ’bout
thet gal. Next thing we know, he’ll be fer cut-
tin’ loose an’follerin’ her off to Californy. See
ef he don’t.”

“I’m afeard nv it, Rube, cussed ef I hain’t.
Thar ain’t no depen’ence to be put into ’em
when they gits thet way. I’m for dustin’ outen
this, and let ther danged ole train take keer uv
itself.” .. .

“’Twon’t do to lose the youngster; ’sides
whiCh thar, ain‘t no tellin’ what that gal .moiit
do to him arter' she’d got her grupslonto him,
fer good an’ all. I lieu heard thet when they’re
a mind to, they kin-be wuss’n a rattler fer
downright p’izen wiciousness.” ‘

“’Sposin’ you gives the ole man the sign,
Rube? Mebbe he’d bu’st it up,” said Jim.

“ N ary bu’st!” replied Rube, contemptuously.
“ He’s jess suiten 'to death, he ar’, at the way
ther stick’s a-floatin’.”

On the following morning the worthies made
their appearance, and announced that they
would push ahead and secure some fresh meat,
the supply having run low, and insisted that I
should accompany them.

I saw their game, and nearly laughed out-
right, but I gravely declined, pleading a pre-
vious engagement with a lady, assuring them
that it was impossible to break it.. .

” Well, you jess keep on, an’ see whar you’l
fetch upl” growled Rube, as he turned away,
mounted, and rode off to the southwestward,
followed by Jim Curtis, shaking his head as
lorligg as he was in’ sight. ‘

alf an hour later, Kate Somers, mounted
upon her powerful iron-gray, appeared from

behind the wagons, and in a few minutes we fect, seeing which I determined to reserve the
remaining chambers for closer quarters.
The arrows now began to fly thickly, one or .

were off at a sweeping gallop, in a direction
nearly the same as that taken by the scouts.

It had been our custom to ride on ahead of t
the train as far as desirable, and then retrace
our way slowly until it came up. . , ,

This morning, however, the programme was
slightly changed.

Away off to the southward we had discovered
a singular—looking mound, or rather pillar, of
what seemed to be rock, rising abruptly from
the level plain to a considerable hight, the only
object to break the monotony of the scene, save
a belt of timber lying off to the eastward.

Our objective point looked to be two or three
miles off, but I knew it to be ten, or, perhaps, t
own more. _ '

Giving our horses a free rein, we went away

the intermediate space.

As we gradually drew nearer, the remark-
able formatiom began to define itself more
clearly, showing the seamed and rugged sides
of a huge column of dark-colored rock, about
whose base lay great fragments that had, from
time to time, fallen away from above.

Standing out clearly against the background
of blue sky, it presented an appearance that
could not fail to arrest the most careless glance;
but, to the educated eye of my companion—
geology having been a favorite study, as she
informed me—it possessed a far deeper in-
terest.

At a distance of four or five hundred feet,
we drew rein, and began an animated discussion
as to the probable cause, etc., of the formation.
So deeply, indeed, had 'We become interested,
that we took no notice of what might be going
on about us, nor would we have done so until
too late, had I not been impelled by one of
those mysterious impulses that every one has
felt, at one time or another, to look around me.

It was but a hasty glance. and yet it was
enough to momentarily check the Very pulsa-
tions of my heart.

There, within less than half a mile, coming
down silently, and yet with the swiftuess of a
storm cloud before the blast. rode a war-party
of Apaches. straight for where we stood. "

Thit the reader may more readily compre-
hend the situation, I will briefly state the posi—
tion occupied by ourselws and the Indians.
Taking the pillar of rock for a central point,
we, as l have already said, stood upon its nor-
thern side, distant from it some tour or five
hundred feet.

The Indians had come upon us from the fur-

 

gray to forgfia ahead, again drew up on the
other side,

Pa

upon her ; lips by the whiz of an arrow that
passed within a hand’s breadth of her face.

number had passed through my companion’s
dress, though without wounding.

of the missiles, one of which gave me much un-
easiness, being buried deeply in his neck.

ra ‘ idly growing nearer at hand.

of verdure to select a proper p ace in which to
break through, when, suddenly, an unearthly
screech, or bowl, or cry, I know not which to

my arm and encircle the
at a rattling pace, that promised to soon cover the same time liftin her from the saddle, when,

- with a eonvulsive
reared aloft, wildly pawing the air, and then,
with a groan, full of terror and pain, he fell
headlong to the earth.

protruding from the eye: that told the tale.
from the Apache band.

mean while the pursuers have closed rapidly,
and a-perfect cloud of arrows are cutting and
whizzmg about our heads.

shrink and quiver between my knees. The
fatal shaft has found a vital point, and he also,
within the very shadows of the timber, reels,
staggers, and falls heavily upon his side.

from _my grasp, full ten feet, or more, with
stunning force, and as I gained my feet I saw
that she was lying perfectly still.

dian, now scarce fifty feet distant, and then
sprung for the prostrate form.

and then, out from the fringe of bushes I saw
a lithe. active figure spring, dart forward, seize
the ins-nsible girl, lifting her as though she
had been an infant, and shouting in a voice
that was very familiar, and certainly very wel-
come:

Jim Curtis dashed into the bushes and disap-
peared from sight.

ther, or south side, and, when first discovered,
were half a mile or more ofl". I

Upon the east, at least two miles away, lay
the belt of timber of which 1 have before spok-
en, while to the west, the prairies stretched
away to the mountains whose summits ap-
peared only as a faint blue line along the hon-
zon.

Under such circumstances a man has not long
in which to make up his mind to the course
necessary to be pursued. .

To attempt reaching the train by a backward
flight was altogether too hazardmis.

We were both well mounted, but these long
races are uncertain, very.

A stumble—a wrench of the foot—a treacher-
ous hole in the path, and the game is up.

The mountains were still further away, and
consequently no hope there.

The timber. That was our only chance. And
the best. .

The lain Indians dislike to leave their horses.
Nor Will they do so if they can possmly help it.

The timber was dense, and beneath grew a
thick Chaparral, through which our heavy and

owerful horses could break ten miles to the
ndian mustangs’ one.

A word to the brave girl, who had not for an
instant lost her resence of mind in the face of
so appalling a anger, and we were off,.head-
ing, not directly for the belt, but obliquing
sli htly toward the north.

t will thus be seen that pursuers and pur-
sued were riding upon the side lines of a tri-
angle, the converging—point of which would be
some part of the belt of timber.

The Apaches were quick to discover my ob-
ject, and at once wheeled from their former
course, and plied lash and spur to head us off.

I saw at a glance that the race would be a
close one, and though I did not despair of reach-
ing the timber first, yet I knew the courses we
were pursuing would soon bring the savages
within bow-shot, and then— Well, we would
have totrust the same fortune that had hitherto
invariably set in my favor.

How the brave girl rode! Erect, firm in her
saddle, looking neither to the right nor left nor
behind, she held the reins with a steady hand,
lifting and easing her horse as the nature of the
ground required. Never striking With Whip,
but speaking now and then in low tones of en-

couragement to the intelligent animal.
As

saw the Indians begin handling their

bows, I slightly checked up, and allowing the

I‘ if “‘3”.

I i .- /, gfi \
l)  W /
// W'Ii/‘f'i/

k  ” 0"

long against Old Rube, who was coolly reload-
ing the rifle he had just emptied with fatal ef-
fect.

“Open on ’em, lad, wi’ the pepper-box,”he
said, and I instantly obeyed, giving him time
to load.

The next instant Curtis rejoined us, and he
also opened fire from his six-shooter.

This was rather too much for the Apaches.

They drew off to consult, and while they
were at it, we quietly withdrew.

 

 

SOME DAY.

BY EDEN E. REXFORD,

 

 

I hear a song—a song so sweet
I try all vainly to repeat
Its melody, and, failing, say:
“ I’ll sing it, if God wills, some day.”

Some day my work will all be done;
Earth will be lost and Heaven be won.
And when the long, rough way is trod
I shall behold the face of God.

It may be that I shall not know

The way, when comes the time to go,
But in my Father‘s hand I‘ll lay

My own, and He will show the way.

“ Some day,” I say, and patient wait
The opening of the Jas r Gate.
Come soon or late the time will be
The dawn of endless rest for me.

The Wonderful Sheep.

‘Vhat Mr. Suggs Told the Book-A gent.

 

 

 

BY HENRY HARDING.

 

“THIS valuable feature,” began Mr. Cheek,
with his oiliest manner, “I will now endeavor
to explain to you. You know that a book, to
be complete, must possess everything to interest
the class of readers for whom it is intended.
Now this book, being prepared especially for
farmers, contains everything that is of impor-
tance for them to know, and being so fully
and superbly illustrated, the text is thereby
made doubly clear, and the subjects intended
for explanation are as well understood asthou h
the reader were present in person at an exhi i-

 

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bunt anything when I pinched his ear and
p’inted to’ard anything; and I guess ’twas this
trick that made dad backslide. Anyhow, on’e
hot mornin’ dad was down on his knees prayin ,
and his face was to’ard the inside cellar door,
which was open. Jest then Tom walked in, and
I pinched his ear and p’inted to dad. . Tom made
a rush, and dad went down cellar Without stop-
pin‘ to say amen. He didn’t pray more’n oncet
or twicet arter that; and I ain’t sure but he was
waitin’ fer an excuse fer quittin’ the church,
and Tom give him the chance. But that sheep s
fleece was really astonishin’. Guess how much
it weighed.’

“Ten pounds, maybe,” suggested Mr. Cheek.
“ But, as I was about to say—"

“ Ten pounds? Gosh l” interrupted Mr. Suggs;
“ why, that sheep’s fleece weighed—now—well,
I‘ve forgot 'est how much, bu. I’ll tell ye what
we done. e washed his wool out clean, one
day, and the next mornin’ early we sheared
him, took his wool to the factory (they was one
clost by) and had it carded and spun and wove.
Then mother and the girls took the cloth and
made clothes fer every one of the fambly. They
was dad, and mother, and John—that’s three—
and ’Liza Jane, and Nancy Marier, and Altena
—that’s six; and then they was Jim, and Joe,
and me—nine. Well, sir, you won’t b’leeve it,
but the wool off’n that one sheep made clothes
fer every one of the fambly—and good, warm
clothes, too, they was, and come jest in the I]le
of time fer cold weather. And ’twas all done
atween sun and sun. Lively, wa’n’t it?”

“ What time of the year do you usuall shear
sheep?” asked Mr. Cheek, without noticmg the
last question Mr. Suggs put. .

“ Middle of June. Ye see—”

“ Cold weather—winter—in J une?”

Mr. Cheek’s voice betrayed his incredulity.

“Summer was short—and dry,” answered
Mr. Suggs, with ready tongue. ‘ Dryest sum-
mer I ever see. We had to drive our stock seven
mile ter water, and we forded two streams on
the way. 1—”

“ Mr. Suggs, your statements are too utterly
preposterous for belief,” protested Mr. Cheek,
rising in his disgust and reaching for his hat.
“ I came here and tried honestly and fairly to
sell you a book. I attempted to show you what
a valuable book you might possess if you chose.
Instead of paying attention to what I had to
say, you have kept me here an hour, listening
to your incredible and wildly absurd yarns. If
you had the least self-respect, or any respect for

 



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‘33“ it
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“ea

As I shot by him, I saw the shafi of an arrow protruding from the eye; that told the tale.

tween her and the attacking

rt .
“ ~You shall n—” but the words were cut short

I instantly returned the fire, but without ef-

wo slightly touching me up, while an equal
My horse, shielding hers, hadcaught several

Still we rode steadily forward, the timber
Was running my eye alon the dense wall

erm it, smote my ear.

I had barely time to glance round, reach out
young girl’s waist, at
ound forward, the gray
As I shot by him, I saw the shaft of an arrow
As the horse fell, a wild, exultant yell burst
They were now sure of their prey.

Fifty yards more and cover will be gained.
Half the distance has been passed, but in the

I hear a deep. heavy thud, and feel my horse

The force of the shock hurled the young girl

Wheeling rapidly. I fired at the leading In-

But there was another too quick for ‘me.
Echoing my own pistol I heard two shots,

“ In with )‘u1‘,lad; I‘ll take keer my the gal,”

 

I entered at the same point, and ran head-

stancez—on pigs fifteen hundred and nine we
are told that erino sheep are more valuable
for certain purposes than Southdowns; that
Cotswolds—”

“ Is that a sheep?” interrupted Mr. Suggs, as
his gaze took in a picture of a. prize ram of
more than ordinary size, to judge b the com-
parative sizes of other sheep standing around

1m.

‘1 That is a perfect reproduction of the aint—
ing by Michael Angelo of Mr. Orra Sut ard’s
great ram Moliere,” ex lained Mr. Cheek.
“ He weighed two hundre and thirty pounds,
find ,his fleece weighed nearly forty pounds.

8—

' “ Be nil-u speakin’ of the man or the sheep?”
asked . Suggs, with a puzzled air.

“ It is not generally su posed that a man is
very 'woolly,” retort Mr. Cheek, loftily.
“ Still I have known men to be fleeced—”

“Hal hal hal” laughed Mr. Suggs. “Put it
thar! That reminds me of dad. He tuck a
load of wool ter the city oncet, and he got kind-
er interested in a little thimble—game he see 0-
in’ on. A oily chap, with a voice jest like
yourn, had three tbimbles and a pea, and
wanted to bet with dad that he couldn’t tell
w’ich thimble the pea was under. Dad won
two or three times on small bets, and fin’ly got
so confident that he bet his hull load of wool
ag’in‘ its vallue; and, darned if he didn’t lose
itl Dad felt sheepish, bein’ fleeced of his wool.
Ha! ha! ha!” -

“Quite a common occurrence in cities,” as-
sured Mr. Cheek. “These sharpers rarely fail
of their prey when they have once scented it.
But. as I was say—”

“But, dad had his revin e,” broke in Mr.
Suggs—who, having had his ittle joke, was in
excellent humor. “Ye see, not long arterward
that same feller come along sellin’ Italian queen
bees, and he got to talkin’, and stayed to din-
ner. Dad got a chance to let the queens out’n
the box and put some sassy workers in their
places. Now, ye know that queen bees ain’t
strong ’nufl? to sting throu h a man’s skin,
though they can sting each ot er to death. The
feller didn’t know ’nulf ’bout bees to notice his
queens wasn’t there, and so he put his finger
and thumb in to pick one on ’em out to show
that they couldn’t sting. I couldn’t sw’ar that
he was stung, but from his extraordinary
actions I kinder guess he found out somehow
they wasn’t ueens. He left purty soon, and
he wasn’t wal in’, neither.”

“ Your reminiscence is totally irrelevant to
the subject under consideration,” was Mr.
Cheek’s rebuke, accompanied with a severe
frown. “You see this huge Cotswold—”

“Looks like one dad owned oncet,” averred
Mr. Suggs, undismayed; and Mr. Cheek’s
face blanched. “Ye see, we had a cosset
lamb that I fed on all sorts of stuff, and
l’arned it all sorts of tricks. One trick was to

others, you would put a bridle on your tongue.
It is a very unruly member. Sir, I shake the
dust of your yard from my feet. Your name
shall become known among honest men as that
of the most remarkable liar I ever met. Good-
day, sir!”

As he swung through the doorway, Mr.
Suggs s rung to his feet, his face in a broad
glow o pleasure. Seizing Mr. Cheek’s reluc-
tant hand, he gave it a squeeze that would have
crushed a dude.

“Say, Mr. Cheek,” he said, “ when you call
around this way, jest dro in and have a chat.
You hain‘t begun to beer all I’ve 0t ter say
to ye. Now, there’s dad’s dog, that 8 been—”

But Mr. Cheek was gone.

“ Wonder of he thought I was goin’ ter
b’leeve all he told me ’bout them paintin’s,”
mused Mr. Suggs, with a chuckle. “ Five
thousand dollars fer a pictur’l I b’leeved the
teller wasa gosh-darned liar an’ tuk me fer a
blamed fool, so I jest swapped situwations, and
that‘s What’s the matter; Cheek has actooall
been beaten at lyin’l” and Suggs hitched up his
pantaloons, smiled broadly, and wishes another
agent would come along.

 

 

After Many Years.

BY M. R. WHITE.

 

 

IN 1835 the Indians in the Indian Territory
were causing much trouble, raidin the white
settlers in the Western part of Ar ansas, and
my. company, which was stationed at Fort
Smith, then a frontier post, was sent out to
check their savage depredations. We came
upon one of their villages one day, and after a
sharp fight we defeated them and destroyed
their lodges or tepees. In the fl ht I was se-
verely wounded in the leg. While one of my
men was dressing the limb a White woman, old
and haggard, approached and requested an au-
dience With me. As soon as the wound was
dressed I had the woman brought before me
apddasked her what I could do for her. She re-
pie :

“I am a white woman. For twenty-five
years I have been a captive among these In-
dians. My husband and I, with a number of
others, were seeking new homes in the great
Louismna Territory, which was said to be the
finest country in the world, when the Indians
attacked us one night and killed all but myself
and husband. The Indians were on a march to
the west, and for a couple of days my husband
and I remained together, but on the third da
the band diVided, one half—taking me with
them—crossmg t0 the south side of the Arkan-
sas river, while the other half remained on the
north Side. In crossing the river the boat upset

 

and I would have died there, but I hoped to
meet my husband again, so I scrambled to the
bank with the Indians. who brought me here
and compelled me to marr the chief, who, in
turn, made me work like a s ave. I have never
seen my husband from that day to this, and I
believe he is dead. I now want to go East and
see if I can find any of my people.”

I promised to do all I could for her and took
her to Fort Smith, where she was properly
clothed and cared for by the tender-hearted
ladies residing there. The wound in my leg was
serious, and fora long time I was confined to
my room under the care of the post surgeon.
After a time it healed sufficiently for me to
walk about the camp, but I was unfit for duty,
and it seemed likely that I would remain so for
a couple of months; so I applied for and received
leave of absence for three months, that I might
visit in home in Louisville. The old woman
whom i had rescued from captivity was still in
the fort, and when she heard that I was going
East she begged to be al10wed to go with me.
It has never been said that I, Captain Tom
Green, ever denied a woman a favor, and on
this occasion I could not refuse the eager, earn-
est request; therefore, one bright August day,
myself, the old woman, and my faithful ser-
vant Set out. on our long journey on horseback.

During the day we would ride along through
the denSe forest, only stopping at noon to par-
take of some refreshments, and at night we
would lie down under the trees to sleep, myself
and servant giving our blankets to the woman,
while we slept on the greensward.

Thus seVeral days passed, each one like the
first, and we had reached Sugar Loaf moun-
tain, a curious formation of nature situated
about fifty miles from Little Rock. N ight
caught us here, and we had dismounted and
were about to make a fire on which to prepare
our evening meal, when suddenly a strange
creature appeared before us. It looked like a
man, but was clothed in the skins of wild ani-
mals and the hair and heard were lon .and
tang ed, making him look like a wild ast.
But he soon gave us to understand that he was
a rational human being by saying:

“ If you will take the trouble to come up the
mountain a piece I can fix you so you will be
more comfortable than you will out here.”

Of course we thought a human habitation, no
matter how humble, would be preferable to a
night in the woods, so we followed him to his
home. We tied our horses at the foot of the
mountain and then ascended a short distance
till we came to a hole in the rocks, and here the
man sto ped.

“ Wal right in,” he said. “This is where I
live.”

That was easier said than done, for we had to
crawl a few feet; but, when we got inside, the
cavern was large and commodious. Our host
set to work and in a short time he had a very
good meal prepared for us of which we partook
freely. During this time I noticed that the her-
mit was quite old, but hale and hearty. After
supper I asked him how he came to be in this
out-of—the-way place.

“ It is along story,” said he, “and will prob
ably tire you to listen to it, but I believe it
would do me good to tell it to some one. It was
this way: Twenty-five years ago a part of
emigrants came to this country to settle. T ere
were three families, and each family had a good
team and wagon, and we were determined to
make us a home in the wilderness. I had a wife
then, and as we were both young we built bright
castles in the air, castles that were dashed to
the earth all too soon. One night the Indians
came upon us and killed all but myself and wife.
They took us captive and were taking us west-
Ward when, one day, the part divided and my
wife was taken from me. 0 Were on the
banks of the Arkansas river, and the party
which took my wife crossed to the other side.
The river was up and the current swift, and as
the boat in which she sat neared the other shore
it turned over and she was drowned. Oh, that
I might have gone down with her! Shortly
afterward I managed to escape, and in my
wanderings I found this place. I was sick,
bodily as well as mentally; but not far from
here I found a spring which cured in bodily
ills, and as game was plentiful I conc uded to
remain here.”

DuringI this recital the old woman had re-
garded t 0 speaker in a curious manner, and at
its close she sprung forward, and throwing her
arms about his neck, exclaimed:

“Johnl John! Can it be that we meet
again!”

He clasped her to his heart and their tears
mingled—tears of great joy. As I turned my
hea away I felt that there were tears in my
own eyes.

I went on to Louisville, where a good nursing
soon made me all right a ain, and I returned to
the far West and the ol routine, but I never
forgot that scene in the cave, and never will.

%

 

Telephone Echoes.

 

THE holidays are over, but the hollow nights
Will be ke t going just as long as the crop of
babies he] 3 out.

A BOSTON girl fell in love with a gray-haired
old man, an some of her acquaintances were
mean enough to say that she had got the antique
craze.

WHEN you see a man nowadays with an ex-
pression of hopeless sorrow on his face the
proper question to ask him is, “ How much did
the plumber charge you?”

Cooxaoxcans are said to have 3,000 teeth.

hen a cockroach’s wife has the toothache at
night and the dentist’s shop is shut up, what a
musmal time there must be in the household!

A PITTSBURG man has patented an “improved
sash holder.” Still it will be hard to convince
young men that there is any better sash-holder
tlfian a coat-sleeve with a good stout arm inside
0 15.

“WHAT are they going

1e?" asked Silas of Zones. “ Going to mail it,

guess.” “ Mail it? What do you mean?”
flhy,’ they’ll probably put it into the post
cc.

to do with that big

H
ori

THE official pa er of Harvard Colle e sa 3:
“The Harvard cheer is full of dignitgy', unity
and self-restraint.” What little Harvard cheer-
ing that we have heard sounded to us as though
it was full of beer.

THEOPHRASTUS called beauty “ a silent cheat.”
It is suspected that Theo. fed his beauty ice-
cream and chocolate caramels all summer, and
as soon as the first snow came she went
sleighing with another fellow.

t

THE current “ catch ” is to ask your friend if
Christmas and New Year’s come in the same
ear. Not a few people will promptly answer,
‘No, of course they don’t,” and a half—minute

later they feel sick over their own mental weak-
ness.

- A MAINE woman put her husband up at auc-
tion and did not receive a single bid. The by-
standers thought she must have a reason for
selling, and as she refused to give it they con~
eluded he wasn’t a desirable article to have in
the house.

A PERPETUAL clock has been invented by a
Brussels man, which will never run down. A
grateful public would now be much pleased if
he were to successfully turn his attention to
deVismg a perpetual umbrella, which can al-
ways be found when wanted.

“I SHALL teach you to Speak proper] , and
then to write as you s )eak,’ said a teacher in
the public schools. “ 001‘ Billy Wilcox,” said
a little v0ice,apparentlyinvoluntaril . “ What
about Billy?” "Please ma’am, he speaks
through his nose; he will have to write through
his nose.”

“ lViiEN I die, my boy,” said a rather festive
Pittsburg father to his son, “ I don’t want any
floral pillow with ‘Father’ or ‘Rest’ on it
simply the letters ‘S. Y. L.,’ nothing more.”
“And what, dear father, are these letters to
Signifv?“ “They shall stand for the words
‘ See You Later.’ ” ’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
    

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