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December 23. 188i

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Sin 19
Num er.

Vol. XV.

PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS,
No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK.

 

Price,
5 Cents.

No. 387.

 

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m TBA—[TOR GUIDE-

é

 

COL FRENTIS

CHAPTER I.
A BOY’S RESOLVE.
“WHAT are we to do, now that our guide id done{
or a prisoner?” _ .

The question was asked in an anxxous tone, by a
man who“. had was gray, and who stood amid a group
of half a dozen others.

It was a scene upon the prairie, a hivouac in a small
piece of timber, from which the eye stretched far away
across the rolling plain that seemed to be boundless upon
all sides except toward the “land of the setting sun,”
where a bold range of mountains broke the outline.

It was a picturesque Camp scene, there on the prairie.
with the score of trees giving shelter to the emigrants
westward hound, their dozen wagons and half a hundred
horses staked out near by.

The shadows of night were coming on, and several
fires were burning brightly, while about them were
women and children. the former cocking the evening
meal.

The group of men, before re'erred tn. had walked
apart from the Others. when the elderly one of the
party, and he who had spoken the words that open
this story, had beckoned them to do so.

  

 
 
 
 
  

 

1‘

  

2

 

It was evident that all were anxious. for their
faces showed it, and in response to the question
asked them, one replied:

“God knows what we can do; but what news
have you, Mr. Beckwith!”

Mr. Beckwith was the old gentleman referred
to, and he was looked up to as the “captain”
of the train.

“ I have just this news,” he replied, “and
that is what Guy Marsden told me~which was
that he came upon a place where there had evi-
dently been a struggle of life and death, and
found the guide’s dead horse lying there, and
the tracks of another animal leaving the spot.”

“ This looks bad for the guide, especially
when he was to have been back last night,”said
one.

“ Bad, indeed,” resumed Mr. Beckwith—“ for
without him we are in danger of our lives if
we keep on.”

“ I cannot understand why the guide left us
yesterday morning, as he did,” remarked one
of the group, impatiently.

“ Oh, his leaving was all ri ht, for, knowing
that we did not. travel upon unday, he asked
me to let him go off for the day to visit a ran-
chero and hunter, who, he said, lived some
thirtv miles from here.

“ But he promised to be back last night, and
as he had not returned this morning, young
Marsden volunteered to look him up, and I told
him to go, for, you know, the youth has passed
two veers out upon the plains.”

“ Yes, and it strikes me he is about as good a
plainsman as the guide; but where is be?”

One of the party went in search of the youth
in question, and found him looking after the
comfort of his horse, which he had ridden all
dag in search of the lost guide.

0 came toward the group of men with a
quick, firm tread and said pleasantly:

“ You sent for me, Mr. iBeckwith.”

He was apparently about seventeen years of
age, graceful, sinewy, and well formed for his
years, and with the air of one who had perfect
reliance in himself, young as he was.

He was dressad in fringed leggins, a blue-
fiannel hunting-shirt. a pair of top-boots,
slouch hat and wore a belt of arms.

His face was bronzed‘ by ex osure, but he had
long blonde, wavy hair, dar —blue eyes, and a
complexion that was as pure as marble.

Certainly he was a very handsome bo , and
{lie expression was winning, daring an reso-

ute.

“ Guy, I wish you would tell us just what
you discovered to-day.”

“ Well, Mr. Beckwith, I took Warpath Will’s
trail to-day, as you requested, and followed it
for a long way from here, when, upon the bank
of a small stream, where the bushes grew thick,
(I! fognd his horse, shot through the neck, and

on .

“There were traces upon the ground of a
struggle, and I could see Will’s boot-tracks,
though the others were faint, and evidently
made with a moocasined foot.”

“More than one man’s track, you thought,
Guy!” '

“ Yes, sir—several, evidently, and without
doubt Indians, or white men wearing mocca-
SIDS.

“ The saddle and bridle had been taken from
Warpath Will’s horse, and there were blood-
stains about, which led me to know that he had
been either killed or captured.”

“ So you think we need not expect his return,
Guy?” asked one of the party.

“ I do not expect him back, sir.”

“ Well, this is certainly a predicament for us
to be in; within a couple of hundred miles of
our destination, 9. wild Indian country ahead of
us, and no guide,” said Mr. Beckwith.

“ I was going to offer my services, sir, if you
cared to trust me,” said the youth.

All started and looked at him.

“ You have had some experience, I know,
Guy, but I fear—”

Mr. Beckwith paused and the youth said:

" I have had just this experience, sir.

“ I left home with my father just two years
ago, when he got the gold-fever, and was with
him in the mountains for more than a year.

“Then he struck the mine you havo heard
about. and sent me after mother and sister, and
to settle up our affairs at home.

“ I started with four men, and in an Indian

fight we had on the way, three were killed and
one wounded; but we beat the red-skins of!
and I remained with my wounded comrade
until he died. which was three weeks.

“ Then I came on alone, and reached home in
safety, though on foot and alone, I was three
months finding my way.

 

Warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.

“I feel now that I can guide you to your
destination, and thence take my mother and
sister to where my father awaits us, so I make
the offer to not as guide.”

“ I accept your services, Guy,” answered Mr.
Beckwith.

“ But I do not.”

“ I will return to the starting-point and get a
guide.”

" You are game, Guy, but you don’t-know

this country.”

“No, we must have a guide who knows the
prairies.”

Such were the remarks of the different men
of the group, and the youth’s face flushed hotly;
but he said simply, and in an indifferent way:

“ You are at liberty to do as you please, gen—
tlemen; but I shall continue on in the trail.”

“ Do you mean to say that you will carry
your mother and sister to certain death ’2” asked
one of the men.

“ I mean to say that I have started upon this
trail. and I shall continue it to the end.

“My father is waiting for us, my mother is
in poor health, and I am anxious to get her on
as rapidly as possible, and I shall start at day-
light, with the train if you wish, but without it
if you turn back,” and the daring youth walked
back to the spot where he had left his horse,
leaving the group of emigrants to ponder over
his offer and his determination.

 

CHAPTER II.
THE SEPARATION.

THE shades of night falling upon the prairie,
found the members of the emigrant-train in
earnest discussion.

The horses had been staked out for the night,
guards had been placed to prevent a surprise,
the supper discussed, and about the camp-fire
of Mrs. Marsden those of the train were gath-
ered who were not on duty, excepting the chil-
dren, who had turned into their blankets for
the night.

Mrs. Marsden, the mother of the youth whose
resolve had so surprised the men about him,
was a woman whose appearance indicated that
she had been born and reared among refining
influences.

She had loved a poor man, a trifle wild it
might be; but her heart dictated her choice,
and she had accepted her destiny, which was to
find a loving husband, and be cast of! by her
family, who had intended to sell her for gold
equal their own in value.

Guy Marsden and his sister Cleone were the
fruits of this marriage, and they were twins.

Strangely alike, they were, too, in their ap-

earance, both in face and form, and many had
een the times, as little ones, they had not been
known apart, even by their arents.

Though the husband of rs. Marsden had
worked hard at his profession, which was that
of editor upon a small aper, he had not been
able to accumulate but ittle, and the health of
his wife beginning to fail, he was determined to
give her a change of air in the hope of bene-
fiting her.

He had gotten together his little savings and
gone to a Western town, hoping to Secure em-
ployment there.

But luck was against him, and finding 'his
money going fast, be determined to siriko out
with a party for the gold mines lately discover-
ed in the Rocky Mountains.

Taking his son Guy with him, equipping him-
self as well as he could, and leaving for Mrs.
Marsden and Cleone the balance of their sav-
ings, enough to support them half a year with
economy, he set out for the gold country.

It was just one year and six months after his
departure that he “struck it rich” one morn-
ing, or rather, Guy did, for he had discovered
the vein of precious metal and called his father
to his side.

Instantly Don Marsden knew that his fortune
was made, and he started Guy at once to bring
his mother and sister there to join them, for the
climate was delightful, and he promised to have
a comfortable home built for them by their re-
turn.

He had sent home little sums of money from
time to time, so that the wolf had been kept
from the door, and always had received cheer-
ful letters from his wife; but one from Cleone
had told him her mother was filling, and the
doctor had prescribed mountain air.

“ The very place for her, Guy, and you must
make her most cOmfortable on the way.

“You have the dust to fit out well for the
trip, so leave nothing undone, and in the mean
time I will pay the boys to help me build a
cabin worthy of those 5* love so dearly.

 

   

“I would go myself, but you kno .
the boys have not been lucky, and in s
all they would take my mine from me. for
do not like our coming ofl here alone, so
from camp.

“Now don’t let anything delay your coming
back, and bring your mother at all hazards at
once, for something tells me, my son, she will
not be spared long to us.”

Such had been the instructions of the miner
to his son, and thus it is that the reader finds
them on the way to their destination, and
broilight to a standstill by the loss of their
gun e.

They had joined the western-bound wagon-
truin at Kansas City, and intended to remain
with it until reaching Denver, its destination,
when Guy had secured the services of Warpath
Will, the guide, to conduct them on to the gold
region where his father awaited them so anx—
iously. ‘

As they now sat about the camp-fire, it was
evident that the Marsdens were really alone
in their determination to go on their way with-
out a ide.

Mr. eckwith alone of the others sided with
them, but he was overruled by the majority,
and said at last:

“Well, Guy, I am in favor of going on with
you as our guide; but of course I am but
nominally the leader, and must yield to the
majority, so all will get ready to start back in
the morning, to a point where we can secure a
competent person to take us on our way.”

All looked at Guy Marsden, and saw that he
showed some annoyance at the decision; but
before he could speak his mother said:

“I thank you, Mr. Beckwith, for your trust
in my son, and will be sorry to part with you
all, for youhaVe made my way a pleasant one.”

“What! do you mean that you will not re-
turn with us?” asked Mr. Beckwith, with sur-
prise.

“ Certainly, if Guy thinks it best for us to go
on alone ” was the quiet response.

Guy glanced toward his sister, and arose and
walked off into the timber.

She understood his look and followed him,
leaving the whole party urging her to remain
with the train.

Cleone Marsden had been the life of the part ,
and to give her up would cause many hearts {0
ache and especially with sewral young men who
had been her most ardent admirers.

She was a high-spirited, beautiful girl. with
the form of a Venus and the nerve of a man.

She was devoted to her mother and brother,
and looked up to the latter as she might have
done to her father, in whose place she knew he
then stood to them.

“ Well, Guy, you called me?” she said as she
approached him, where he stood out of earshot
0 those about the camp-fire. .

“Yes, Cleone, I wished to ask you what it is
best to do.

“Mother, as you know, is failing, and counts
the days she wi 1 yet live, for she cannot believe
that she will get well and I believe that the
hope of seeing father alone keeps her up.

“If we turn back it will kill her, for it will
add several weeks more to our journey.

“ From here on I knew the way, as this is the
trail father and I took out, and on which I came
back alone, so we will not get lost, and I hope
we will not meet any Indians.

“ But if you say go back I will.”

“I do not say so, Guy, for, with you, I be—
lieve mother would die under the prolonged
disappointment.”

“ Then you are willing to trust to me as

uide?”

“ Willingly, brother.” .

“Thank you, Cleone: now go back and I
will soon join you. and then these train people
shall know just what I intend to do.”

Five minutes after he again approached the
camp—fire,land found the men and women alike
trying to dissuade Mrs. Marsden from going.

“ What do you say, my son?” she asked lor-
rowfully, as he sat down near her.

“ How are you feeling, mother?”

“ Not as well as I could wish, Guy.”

“ And do you wish to go on?”

“ I do.”

“We will start at dawn then, mother,” was
the firm reply.

“ And you are willing, Cleone?” asked the
mother.

“ Oh yes, mother, for I have more confidence
in Guy as a guide and defender, than in all the
rest here, who have not had his experience upon
the plains.”

This dig made several of the young men
wince, while Mr. Beckwith added:

 

    
 
   
  

l
l

‘0'“

;

warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.

 

 

. faith have I, Cleone; but the majority
es, so back we go.”

“And we continue on our trail westward,
Enough I shall be sorry to part company,” said
‘ uy.

“Mrs. Marsden, it is madness for you to
trust in that reckless boy,” hotly said one of the

art .

“ nyeel that I know best, Mr. \Villiams,” was
the quiet response, and nothing more was said
to the invalid, longing to reach a haven of rest;
but much comment was made away from the
hearing of the Marsdens.

With the morning, the wagon, ambulance and
stock belonging to the Marsdens, were divided
from the rest of the train, farewells were said,
and the brave mother and her two children
wended their way westward, while the emi-
grants took the back trail to seek another
guide.

 

CHAPTER III.
THE GOLD-MINER.

A WILD wilderness of H e Rocky Mountains,
ascene of rare grandeur and intense solitude,
break upon the eyes of a man who stands glanc-
in over the view spread out before him.

is steps have led him along a spur of moun-
tain, and a well-worn path, through thickets
and among the rocks he has followed, halting
as it turns the edge of the spur and descends to
the canyon bottom a hundred feet below him.

In the canyon is visible a small cabin, while
upon a slope, not far distant, and near the
bank of a pretty stream is another domicile in
course of erection.

It is much larger than the other cabin, is laid
out for four rooms, but is roofless.

The spot is a secluded one, far from an
town, and the nearest neighbors are the dem—
sens of a mining-camp thirty miles distant.

Down the valley, which the canyon opens
into and where the little stream joins a river, is
a deserted village, or rather mining-camp, a
few miles from the cabin, and where a year
before a thousand hardy miners dwelt while
they dug deep for gold, but with such poor
luck that they became disheartened and moved
awa .

Thye man who alone remained was the one
the reader beholds glancing over the scene in
the canyon and valley.

That man is Don Marsden whose brave boy
went to bring his mother an sister to the land
of gold, while the father toiled on hard to pre-
pare for them a pleasant home, and also to dig
from his mine a I that he could of yellow dust
to show them on their arrival. /

He had indeed struck a fortune, and well he
knew it, though his comrades in the mining-
camp had jeered at him when he went to that
region to search.

There were bad men in the camp, and he
dared not make his success known, so kept the
secret until he sent his son to bring thither the
wife and daughter.

Then he sought the camp, to ask the aid of his
comrades in building his new cabin, and to his
almost dismay, found the place utterly de-
serted.

In vain be searched the mines for those who
had worked them, for not a human being could
he find.

The log tavern, grocery, bar-rooms, all were
deserted, and a pack of wolves were prowling
through the desolate thoroughfares looking for
refuse.

Often had the miners threatened to desert
Lost Hope City, but Don Marsden had not ex-
pected them to carry it out.

For a moment he seemed stunned by the fact
that all were gone, and not one had sought him
out to warn him of their departure.

He was a brave man, but it almost unnerved
him to feel that he was there all alone, many
miles from the nearest habitation.

Could he have his wife and daughter come to
that land of solitude and loneliness? .

Yes, for hidden away in the mountains was
his fortune, and it must be du to be enjoyed.

So he bravely set to work a one to build his
cabin.

It was slow, tedious and hard work, but he
meant to accomplish all that he could.

Early in the morning he arose, ate his frugal
breakfast, and then sought his mine.

Until noon be dug for gold, and then set out
for “ home,” and worked all the afternoon upon
the new cabin.

At night, in his little but, he made rude fur-
niture for the “ mansion,” as he called the new
cabin, and thus the days passed away until
weeks rolled by, and three months had passed
since the departure of Guy.

 

As he stood on the spur, looking d0wn upon
his home, the sun fell upon him, displaying a
man of fine physique, and the face of one who
possessed a noble nature and bold intellect.

Luck had been against him in the past, but he
had not been conquered by ill-fortune, and now

all seemed sunshine ahead.

“ Three months today Since Guy left, so I
will not have much longer to wait,” he said,
musingly.

“1 cannot finish the mansion without his aid,
but I will do all that I can, and have the furni-
ture ready, so that we can move in soon after
their arrival.

“It will not be a palace, but it will be our
own, and in a year’s time the mine will pay
us so well we will be rich, and can go elsewhere
and live, and be rewarded for what we have
suffered here.

“ Ahl There comes a horseman up the
valley.

“ How strange it seems to see a fellow-being
now, after three months having passed without
setting eyes on one.

“ I must hasten on to my cabin and be ready
to greet him, be he friend or foe.”

So saying, the miner took up his rifle, which
leant against a tree near by, and continued on
his way down the hillside.

In about five minutes time he reached the
little cabin, crossin the stream upon a tree,
which had been fe led across it to serve as a
bridge, and unlocking the door he entered.

The situation of the cabin gave him a view of
the valley beyond the canyon’s mouth, and it
seemed to have been chosen asa position that
could be readily defended against the approach
of a fee.

Seating himself in the doorway, the miner
laced his rifle ready at hand, and began to
ook down the valley, where he expected the

horseman he had seen to appear in sight.

He had not long to wait, for soon a horse and
rider appeared, the latter leaning far over, as
though following a trail.

“ He is on the trail from Lost Hope City—yes,
he sees my cabin, and is coming this way,” said
Don Marsden.

The horseman now turned into the canyon,
and came directly toward the cabin, his eyes
having fallen upon its owner seated in the door-
way.

“ Can he bring me illvtidings from those I
lovei” asked Don Marsden of himself, and the
thought caused him to turn ale.

As the man approached, t e miner saw that
he was well-mounted, thoroughly armed, and
was dressed in buckskin, while a large gray
sombrero sheltered his head.

He was a man of thirty, perhaps, with a dark-
ly-bronzed face, clear-cut features, not wholly
prepossessing to the close reader of human na-
ture, and with eyes that were black, full of ex-
pression and restless.

As be advanced he made no hostile demon-
stration, and neither did Don Marsden, who felt
his advantage, should he prove a foe, in being
in his own cabin.

“ Well, stranger, are you astray in these
mountains, or is Don Marsden the man you are
in search of?" called out the miner, in a pleas-
ant tone, as the other drew near.

“ If you are Don Marsden, you are the man
I am in search of, and I’m glad to get to the end
of my trip,” answered the horseman, as be dis-
mounted and extended his hand.

“I do not think we have met before, com-
rade, so what may I call you?” asked the
miner.

“No, we have never met, pard; but my name
is W’arpath Will on the plains, and I know your

in.

“Hal you know my wife and children, sir?”
eager] cried Don Marsden.

“ l o, indeed.”

“Pray tell me of them, and if harm has be-
fallen them?” and the miner grasped the hand
of his visitor.

“ I left them two weeks ago, coming on slowly
by train, and all were well; but your son, know-
ing his time to return was 11 , told me to come
on ahead and tell you that they were all right.”

“ God bless you, my man; but tell me of my
wife’s health?”

“She is getting along well, pard; but how is
it tghe mining-village is deserted down the val-
8y

“The miners deserted it on account of bad-
luck, and just at the time I struck it rich up
here.”

“Yes, your boy said you had struck a for-
tune; hut you don’t mean to say you are all
alone?”

“ Yes, for there is not a human being dwel-

1d * *v: .. 7,, g.  o. I. ..

 

ling within thirty miles of here, and you are
the first man I have seen for three months.”

“ Indeedl But you will soon huvo company
when your family Comes, and I guess you have
a snug little pile of dust laid up to Welcome
them?”

“ I have, indeed, my friend, for my mine
pays for better than my greatest llOptS antici-
pated; but you are tired and hungry, so I will
get you some dinner, and then you can tell me
all about those you come from, and who are all
the world to me.”

As he spoke Don Marsden turned to enter his
cabin, when suddenly the stranger drew a re-
volver from his belt, and leveling it full at the
miner’s back, pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER IV.
THE 'rnnnannous vxsrron.

THE dastardly act of the visitor was so
wholly niiechcled to Don Mnrsden, that, had
the weapon gone off he would have been a dead
man on the instantl

But the cap snu ped, and it gave him time to
turn before his oe could a second time cock
and fire the pistol.

His rifle and belt of arms were not within
reach, and he saw that the best thing to do was
to spring upon the man and struggle with him
for the mastery.

As he bounded forward the second time did
the intended assassin pull trigger.

But fortunately again the ca failed to ex-

lode, and, with a bound, Don arsden faced
is enemy at arm‘s length.

What the result of the combat would have
been, for the two were both powerful men, had
they clinched in a death-struggle, no one could
tell, for, by dealing Don Mursden a crushing
blow on the head, with the barrel of his re-
volver, the murderer saw him sink at his feet ap—
parently dead.

“ I‘ll end you at once, Don Marsden ” he
muttered savagely, and raising the form n his
arms he carried it down to the river-bank and
tossed it into the stream, the swift current bear-
ingvit away from sight.

ithout a glance at the whirling form of the
man he had come there to kill, the murderer
returned rapidly to the cabin.

His first act was to 10ok to the welfare of his
horse, which be staked out up the canyon, where
an animal belonging to the miner was razing.

Then he want buck to the cabin an at once
began a regular search of its every corner and
hiding-place.

Private papers were unearthed, the [hiding-
place of the gold-dust was found, and con-
siderable treasure lay before the bold robber.

Then he took the trail, so readily followed,
leading to the mine.

At last he came to it, after a walk of nearly
a mile, and his eyes sparkled and an exclama-
tion of delight burst from his lips, as he realized
its value.

There in large letters, painted upon the stone
he read:

“This mine is the property of Don Marsden of
Lexington. Kentucky, and of his heirs.

“ Hands off, paras, under Bennity of frontier law.

“ on Mansznu, Miner.”

“ It is my mine now, Don Marsden, for I con-

stitute myself dyour heir,” muttered the man in
rim tones, an be turned away on the trail
eading back to the cabin.

Arriving there he noticed how the poor miner
had worked, for the comfort of those whom he
had expected soon to be with him.

Then he went after his horse, locked up the
cabin, put the key in his pocket and rode away.

An hour’s ride broug t him to Lost Hope
City, a village of shanties situated in a valley,
under the mountains’ brow.

It was as drear and desolate as a graveyard
for not a human being was visible, and abou
the trails, for they were such, rather than
streets, wolws Were prowling undisturbed.

The sun was ust sinkin behind the moun-
tain-tops, and nowing t at darkness would
soon follow, the horseman decided to remain
there all night.

He selected the most comfortable lookin of
the cabins, and dashing the door in with a kick,
entered.

A rude bedstead, table, shelves and a couple of
chairs were the furniture of the but, and in one
end was a large fireplace. 5

In this the man soon had a cheerful are burn-
ing, and then he cut a quantity of grass with
hisbknife, and stabled his horse in an adjoining
ea in.

A mountain deer, he had shot on his way
down the valley, was dressed and choice bit!
placed upon the coals, and night having fallen, ,'

 

 

 

  

4

 

Warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.

 

the lonely occupant of the deserted village,
cllosed the door and settled himself down to
s eep.

But hardly had his eyes closed, when the loud
and dismal hoot of an owl caused him to start
to his feet.

He drove the bird of ill -omen away from the
roof, where it had perched itself and a sin
sou ht his rude couch, when once more me an-
cho y notes were heard.

Cursing the owl he arose and shot it, and had
hardly re-entered the cabin, when its mate
turned up in a most dismal way.

In vain he sou ht rest, and rising once more,
fired at the other ird, but missed it.

Then the long-drawn~out bowl of the wolf
Was heard, and next the petulant yelp of the
coyote.

‘ Curse this place! the souls of the miners
who died here seem to haunt the place in the
bodies of wolves and night-birds,” growled the
man who had called himself Warpath Will, as
he once more tried to get to sleep.

At last the sounds seemed to grow fainter in
his ears, as slumber deadened his senses, and he
had lost consciousness in sleep, to suddenly
spring to his feet, as shriek after shriek rung
through the deserted camp.

In an instant the hooting owls, howling
wolves and yelping coyotes were silenced.

Like a statue stood War ath Will, the light
of the flickering fire on the earth showing him
to be very pale.

“ It is a panther, or a mountain lion,” he said,
as the shrieks continued.

Going to the door he looked out, and the sounds
grew louder and louder.

The night was very dark, and a drizzling rain
had set in, making the scene without dismal in
the extreme.

But still that wild unearthly shriek continued,
growing louder and louder, as the one who ut-
tered it came nearer and nearer.

With frightened yelps the wolves and coyotes
fled, the Owls flapped their heavy wings and
flew booting with fright away, and with a cry
that showed how terror-stricken he was War-
path Will grasped up his blankets and rushed to
the next cabin where his horse was moving
nervously about, also seemingly impressed by
the wild cries.

Throwing the saddle and bridle upon him with
hot haste, he darted out of the cabin with the
cry:

“ The place is haunted.”
Through the deserted camp he rode with the
of the wind, while behind him rung fainter
and fainter the unearthly cries that had so start-
led him. and caused him, brave man that he
was, to fly from what he believed was a being
of another world, while he murmured again and
again:

“Heaven have mere upon me, if my life is

to be haunted like this or my crime.”

CHAPTER V.
m wonr m LAMB’S woon.

Ir Mrs. Marsden had felt any doubt of the
capabilities of her brave son, as a guide, the
disappeared as soon as she had been on the trail
a couple of days, wholly under his charge.

He seemed to know exactly where lay the
best roadways, so that she would not be shaken
up badly, timed his halt for noon in such a way,
that some cool spring, or rivulet was reached,
with refreshing shade to lie beneath, and good
grass for the stock, while his camping-places
were certainly charming spots, and as safe as
was possible under existing circumstances.

The best game he shot for food, and he cooked
in a way that gave a relish to all she ate.

Their “outfit ” consisted of one stout wagon,
drawn by two mules, and an ambulance with a
couple of fine horses, with several led riding-
animals behind.

Guy had wished to hire a man to drive, but
Mrs. Marsden said that she would take care of
the ambulance, and Cleone volunteered for the
mule wagon, leaving the youth to lead the way
on horseback and look after the party generally.

Upon easy roads, Cleone would frequently
leave her team to follow after the ambulance,
while she mounted her horse and rode with her
brother.

Of course, they missed the company they had
had with the train, and the nights seemed very
lonel to them; but Mrs. Marsden was cheered
by t e thought that each day brou ht them
nearer to their home, and she hope against

 

hope that she would then be able to recuperate
her failing health.
She certainly seemed brighter, as the days
gassed, and one night, when they camped in the
ills, Guy said:

 

“ Mother, you are im roving fast, and I know
you will continue to 0 so, for in four days
more we will be at home.”

“Heaven grant it, my son; but somehow,
to—night, there is a shadow upon my heart, as
tho’ugh some dread evil were going to befall
us. .
“ Oh, no, mother; your thoughts are impress-
ed with gloom because I showed you the graves
on the way back of my comrades, who were
killed when I was on my way to you.

“ No, no; all looks bright to me now, for we
have passed through the Indian country, which
I dreaded, and if we meet any one in the moun-
tains they will be miners.”

" Or road-agents,” suggested Mrs. Marsden,
whose mind was filled with stories of the cruel-
ties of the Road~agents of the Overland.

“ We have little to tempt road-agents,
mother, for they do not care for household
effects.

“ But will father not be sur rised and delight-
ed at our purchases for house eeping?

” I declare, we can make our home most com-
fortable with what we have, and there is a lone
spot near for a garden and corn and potato
patch, and for that I brought the plow, while our
chickens will just be in clover when we let
them out of their cage into the canyon.

“ Then I will run down south after some beef
cattle and cows, and our home will be com-
plete, for it is no ordinary cabin that father in-
tended to build, with the aid of the miners of
Lost Ho e City.

“ I te 1 you, mother, we will be most happy
there and in a cou le of years, at furthest, we
will have dug a ortune out of the mine, and
can return and hold up our heads among the
wealthiest—so don’t be blue.”

Thus Guy ran on, painting the pleasures an-
ticipated in their new home, and in listening to
him both Mrs. Marsden and Cleone seemed to
cast of! a certain gloom that had come over
them as they entered the shadowy mountain
trai .

The fire burned brightly, the odors of broilin
meats and steaming cofl'ee filled the air, an
the scene was pictures ue and cheerful.

The ambulance an wa on formed half a
square as a background, an a. comfortable seat
had been arranged for the invalid mother,
while Guy and his sister cooked supper.

The stockmen were under the shelter of the
hillside, staked out for the night, the tent was
pitched, in which Mrs. Marsden and Cleone
slept, and the camp scene seemed complete with-
out an intruder, who just then rode up.

“ Ho, Guy, how are you!

“ And you Mrs. Marsden and Miss Cleone?”

The words rung out on the night air, and the
flrelight fell full upon a horseman who had
ridden near, his approach unheard on the Vel-
vety grass.

“ The guide i” cried Mrs. Marsden, while
Cleone said:

“Not dead!”

“Warpath Will as I live I" broke from the
lips of the surprised youth, and springing to the
side of the guide be grasped his hand.

Warpath Will looked pale and worn, and
slowly dismounted from his horse, which Guy
led away and staked out, while he said:

“You look used up. Warpath, so rest your~
self. and Cleone and I will soon have supper

read .”

“ 1" am used up,” said the guide, as Mrs.
Marsden held out her hand, and then be grasped
that of Cleone, though the maiden hardly of-
fered hers.

“ We deemed you dead, sir,” said Mrs. Mars-

en.

“ Indeed! I suppose my not returning to camp
caused that belief.”

“ Did nothing befall you?” asked Cleone.

“Nothing, other than that I lost my way,”
was the hesitating reply, and both Mrs. Mars-
den and Cleone noticed the seemingly con-
strained manner of the guide in answering.

Just then Guy returned and said:

“Well, Warpath, I am glad to see on; but
you gave us all a scare, when I went in search
of you and returned with the news that I found
iy‘témr dead horse, and that you had evidently

en killed, or captured by red-skins.”

The man started. while Cleone said:

“The guide says that nothing had befallen
him, Guy.”

“ I said that, Miss Cleone, not knowing Guy
had trailed me, and to avoid giving your mother
uneasiness ” was the quick reply.

“ Then forgive the prevarication, sir,” said
Mrs. Marsden, with a smile, adding:

“ As it was meant for a kindness to me; but
tell us. please, what harm befell you?”

 

“ I was attacked by Indians, madam,
killed my horse and made me prisoner; but, a
ter some days’ captivity I managed to make m
escape, and returning to the camp where I la
the train, found it gone. _

“I saw that you had come this way, while
the train had returned, so I followed your trail,
wondering that you would have dared venture
here alone.”

“ I felt I was equal to it, Warpath,” replied

Guy.

“ I do not doubt it, Guy; but you must be on
your guard now, for there is a foe here of whom
youdlittle dream,” was the quiet response of the
gui e.

“Who is it!” asked Mrs. Marsden earnestly.

“Mormons, madam,” was the response.

CHAPTER VI.
- THE GUIDE'S OFFER.

WHEN Warpath W ill made the remark as:
did, about there being Mormons to be avoided,
and inferring danger to follow, Cleone could
not but see a contradiction in his doing so, com-
pared with his having told a falsehood a few
moments before, about himself, as he said, not
to worry her mother. .

He had ski ped very lightly over his capture,
captivity an escape, and never having parti-
cu arly fancied the man, she was ever ready to
pick a flaw in his actions.

With the entire train, and especially with
Gu , Warpath Will had been a great favorite,
an his supposed death had been deeply
mourned.

Why he had come on after them, from whom
he'would certainly get nothing for his services, as
he had been hired by Mr. Beckwith, and not go
back to the train, Cleone could not understand.

And yet, her heart hinted at the reason, for,
more than once had the guide spoken of his love
for her, but been repelled with coldness.

He was a striking-looking man, not rough as
were the bordermen about him, and the young
maidens of the train, excepting Cleone, ha
been flattered by his attentions.

But Cleone felt that there was something
about the man that was mysterious, and, un-
able to fathom him she could not like him.

She knew well, at that time, that the Mor-
mons were causing trouble in the West, and a
party of them were to be avoided.

Man stories had she heard, around the cam -
fires, 0 the cruel deeds of the Mormons, the r
having kidnapped women and children, and
their merciless acts toward those who did not
believe in their faith.

Taking many of these stories as false, yet.
enough was known to cause her to dread them,
and feeling the blood recede from her own face,
when the guide spoke of their being near, she
glanced at her mother to see that she had turn-
ed deathly pale.

Instantly she said: -

“We have nothing to fear from Mormons,
sir, so why worry my mother by mentioning
them i”

“N 0, Miss Cleone, there is nothin to fear, for
I will guide you bya way that t ey will not
find us.

“ But, to be frank with you, it was because I
knew that a Danite captain and his band had
come this way, that I took your trail to warn
you, instead of oing back to the train.”

“ It was very ind of you, sir; but what are
we to do?” asked Mrs. Marsden.

“ I will make a scout to—night, and discover
just where the Mormon band are encamped,
and the best trail for us to take to avoid them.”

“ It is so kind of you, sir.”

“ No, Mrs. Marsden. it is my duty, for, unpro-
tected as you are, as Guy and myself could do
but little good, the Mormons would be only too
glad to carry you and Miss Cleone oil! into cap-
tivity, and I do not doubt but that that is their
object.”

“God forbid!” ejaculated the poor invalid.
and she fell back upon her couch of blankets,
while her eyes turned anxiously upon Cleone,
who sprung to her side and said:

“Mother, do not worry, for we have seen no
Mormons as yet. and I believe we will not run
into any dan er.”

Then turning to Warpath Will, she said se—
verely:

“ It was unkind of you, air, to thus pain my
mother."

“ Sis, Wa ath acted for the best, I am sure,
for he wish to place us upon our guard,” and
he added, as his sister came to his side at a mo—
tion from him:

“ I am confident that he knows more than he
hasllsgid, and even now they may be upon our
tra' .

 

    
  

 

4. -14.-.

 

  
 
  
  
   

 

Warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.

5

 

 

other, do not trust that man, for I feel
. e is treacherous.”
0h, Cleone! I never heard you speak ill of
ny one before, and you surprise me.

“No, no, W'arpath is as true as steel and all
right, so don’t insult him.”

Cleone made no reply, and supper being served
they sat down and partook of it.

But Mrs. Marsden ate very little, and Cleone
seemed annoyed and was silent; but the guide

, and Guy did justice to the supper, and, when it

was finished, the former started off on a scout,
he said.

Guy followed him out of earshot of his mother
and sister, and said:

“ What do you knOW, Warpath?”

“You have heard of Captain Champion, the
Danite?”

“Often, for he was the talk of our camps be-
fore I went East.” a

“ Well, he is a terrible fellow.”

“ So it is said.”

“He has a band of twenty men, and they
have done a great many red deeds through the
land.”

" Yes, so men say.”

“They are camped within three miles of you,
Guy.”

The youth started at this assertion, and said,
quickly:

“ Can this be true, Warpath?”

“Yes and more.”

“ What more 9”

“ They are on your trail.”

“ Well, they shall find me ready to defend
thOSe I love, for my poor mother is too ill to
:travel faster.”

"I know you are brave, Guy, but you can
do little, even with my aid, against Champion’s
band.”

“I can do my duty, and then accept the al-
ternative.”

“ No, Guy, I must be the sufferer, not you,
and I will tell you what I will do.”

“ Well?”

“ A Mormon regards his oath sacred, and if
Captain Champion swears to you that be will
do as you demand, he will keep his pledge to
the letter.”

“ But I have no pledge to ask of him.”

“ Listen, Guy, while I tell you that Captain
Champion is following you, because he believes
that I am with you, as guide.

“Now he has had cause to know me, and has
offered a reward for my head, as I have been
the vorst foe of himself and band.

“N w, Guy, I am a man that cares little for
life; you are young, and life is before you, and
then there are your mother and sister to look
after, and your father awaiting your coming,
as you have often told me about him.”

“ Well, Warpath, what does all this mean?”

“Just this; that you go to the camp of the
Danites and offer to give me into their power,
if they pledge themselves to allow your train to
go on its way unmolested.”

“Warpath, you don’t know me, if you sup-
pose I w1ll sava even my mother and sister by
sacrificing you.” was the hot reply.

“ Guy. you do not seem to feel that the
shock of capture will kill your mother, while
your sister will be carried off to become a Mor-
mon’s bride, not to speak of you being killed by
them.”

“ As you will be too.”

“ I hope not, for I believe there is a chance of
esca e for me, in fact 1 know it, as one of the
ban is my friend, I having saved his life.

“Besides, I am a man and must take my
chances, and will do so.”

“ No, we must think up some other plan,
Warpath.”

“ There is no other, and time presses.”

“ 1 know not what to do.”

“ Do as I say.”

“ If I was certain that you could escape?”

“ I can.”

“ Then I accept your noble offer, but for the
sake of my poor mother and sister.

“Tell me where the Danite Camp is and I will
go there, while you remain with my mother
and sister.”

“ All right, Guy.

“ Your sister does not like me, but this act of
mine will prove to her that I am sincere I hope,”
and having told Guy how to find the Danite
camp, Warpath Will saw him ride off on his
mission of life and death.

CHAPTER VII.
THE GUIDE‘S SACRIFICE.
GUY MARSDEN Ht that he was certainly in a
most unfortunate and perilous situation.
He knew well how cruel the Mormoms were

 

said to be, to men and women alike, and it was
his earnest desire to keep his mother and sister
out of their power.

But to do this he must run the risk of sacri-
ficing the life of the brave man who had oflered
himself as a hostage for them as it were.

“ Well I can only acccpt good Warpath’s
offer, and then do all in my pop-er to rescue
him from the Danites,” he said as he rode along
on his way to the Danite camp.

A ride of a league along the valley trail,
brought him in sight of a camp-fire up acan-
yon, and thither he went.

Not wishing to be fired upon, as it was likely
he would be in the dark, he hailed when within
a hundred yards of the fire.

“Well, who are you?” answered a voice near,
and it told Guy that he had already been seen
by the sentinel on duty.

“ I wish to see your captain, if this is the
cam of the Danites.

“ t is a Danite camp, and you will find the
captain yonder.

“ Dismount and leave your horse with me.”

Guy quietly obeyed, and then walked on to-
ward the fire.

As he approached he saw gathered about it a
group of a dozen or more men, who were en-
gaged in the various occupations of gambling,
smoking and talking.

As Guy advanced the whole party sprung to
their feet, their hands upon their revolvers,
while one man, with a long beard asked:

“ Well, sir, you are a stranger to us, so give
an account of yourself.” '

“ My name is Guy Marsden, and I am on the
trail to the gold-mines, and learn that you are
following me,” was Guy’s response.

“ How know you this?”

“It matters not, but I know it, as I do that
this is the Danite band of Captain Champion.”

“ Well, granted, what then !"

“Why do you follow my trail?”

“ You are our foe.”

“ I have never harmed you.”

“No, but may do so, and your plunder will
come in well for us.”

“Ah! you are robbers then; but can I not
make terms with you?”

“ \x'hat terms have you to offer?”

“ Do you know a man who is known as War-
path Will, a scout and guide?”

“ Well, we do, and would give much to cap—
ture him.”

“ Suppose I promise to place him in your
power?”

“ We will pay you well for it, young fellow.”

“ Will you pledge yourself to allow me and
my train go free, and unmolested to our desti-
nation?”

“ If you give Warpath Will into our power?”

“ Yes.” .

“ I will pledge myself, yes.”

“ Are you Captain Champion!”

H 1 am.”

“And you give me our pled e, by all that
you hold sacred in the ormon aith, to allow
me and mine to go on our way unmolested!”

H I do.”

“ And your men?”

“1 pledge myself for them.”

“Then I will give into your power Warpath
Will, upon one condition.’

“ Name it.”

“That you will not harm him for thirty days
from to-day.”

“ Why this condition?”

“ I have a motiVe for it which I will not re-
veal.”

“ It is granted.”

“ Now how much will you take in gold to
allow me to go on unmolested, and not deliver
to you Warpath Will?”

“ No sum that you can name,” was the stern
re ly.

P‘ Well, I will bring Warpath Will to your
camp to-night.”

“ Do so, and you go on your way, young
man.”

Guy Marsden said no more but turned to go,
when the one with whom he had spoken called
out:

“ Where is Warpath Will now?”

“It matters not where.”

“ Yes, for if he is in your camp, or near it, I
will go with you along with two of my men,
to bring him back, for I am well aware that you
have only yourself to guard your train.”

“ Well, come on. so that you do not go nearer
the camp than I wish,” and Guy Marsden rode
back down the valley accompanied by the
three Mormons.

Arriving in sight of the fire, he bade them
halt and rode on alone.

 

He found his mother and sister anxious about
him, and Warpath Will striving to cheer them.

“ Well, Guy, I told your mother you would
be back all right; but what news?" called out
the uide in a cheery tone.

“ could only arrange it, Warpath, as you
sug ested.”

“ hat is all right, and I will go at once.

“Good-night, Mrs. Marsden, and when I see
you again I ho e you will be well.

“ Good-by, iss Cleone,” and the guide am

“Did you tell them?” asked Guy. ,

“Oh no, of course not.”

“ Well, I will—”

“ No! no! Guy, you had better not,” and un-
heading Mrs. Marsden’s question why he was
going, the guide walked away accompanied by

uy.

The three Mormons sat on their horses await-
ing their approach, and, as Warpath Will halt-
ed before them, lending his horse, the Danite
leader said:

“ Ha! ha! ha! it makes my heart glad to see
you, Warpath Will.”

“I do not doubt it, Captain Champion; but
you would not have me for your risoner if I
did not give myself up to save my riends.”

“It matters not what the motive, we have
you,”and shall hold you fast until we can kill

“A threatened man lives long, Danite,” said
the guide.

“ All right, but we have you now.

“Bind him, boys.”

Two of the horsemen sprung to the ground
and quickly secured the guide, and with a sad
heart Guy Marsden turned away, and u on
reaching camp told his mother and sister Just
what he had done.

“Heaven bless that noble man,” fervently
cried Mrs. Marsden, while in a low tone, broken
by snbs, Cleone said:

“God forgive me for wronging him as I
have in thought, for I have ever doubted
him.

“But, brother!” and her eyes flashed, “he
shall not die by their hands, for, as on
have the Dunites’ pledge to spare him for thirty
days, in that time we can rescue him.”

“That is just what I intend to do, Cleone,
and it was the belief that I could do this that
gamed me to accept poor Warpath as a sacri-

ce.’

“Well, I will aid you, Guy, for, having
wronged him as I have, I will make amends
by lmy endeavors to save him,” said the noble
gir .

 

CHAPTER VIII.
THE MIDNIGHT FLIGHT.

UNTIL late in the night Guy Marsden and his
sister sat by the camp fire, discussing their
situation, and getting from it what comfort
they could.

Both of them fully realized the critical condi—
tion of their mother, for they remembered her
as she had been a year before, beautiful, strong
and cheerful.

Now they beheld her a wreck of her former
self, and with little strength.

Suddenly a voice came out of the darkness:

“ Hello!"

Guy started and went in the direction from
whence came the sound, his rifle in his hand.

Mrs. Marsden had retired, and Cleone ste ped
to the tent-flap to see if she, too, had heard) the
VOlOe.

" What is it, Cleone?” she asked.

“Brother has gone to see, mother, for some
(inn called to him.”

‘- 0.. that we were safe at home, if that
home be in the wilds,” sighed the woman,
Wearily.

Just then Guy came back to the camp-fire;
but he was not alone, for a small man, with
long hair and bushy beard, accompanied him.

The man had an evil face, and was armed to
the teeth, for he carried four revolvers in his
belt.

He bowed and grinned at sight of Cleone and
said:

“Yer sarvint, miss, and I hopes I See yer.”

Cleone did not like the visitor but bowed cold-
ly, while Guy remarked:

“Cleone. this gentleman says that he is the
friend of Warpath Will, and that he comes on
an important errand to Us.”

“Yas, miss, I are Pislol Pete, as ther boys
calls me, ’cause I carries so many revolvers,”
said the stranger in a cringing sort of way.

“And you come from the guide?” asked Cle~

one.
“Yes, and no, miss; but I comes ter larva

yer.

imw’d

   
 

 

  

6

 

Warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.

 

 

 

 

“Yer see Warpath Will hev got ther irons on
him, and I belongs ter ther band thet hes him:
but he hev befriended me in ther past, and I’ll
not desart him now.

“ But yer see, though ther cap’n give yer
brother here his pledge, and will stick to it, ther
men don’t like it, and some of ’em is goin’ ter
make a raid on yer camp to-night, fer they
knows they kin sell miss at a good sum up at
Salt Lake, and ther booty o’ yer outfit here will
be worth suthin’, so I jist detarmined ter skip
over, arter talkin’ ther matter over with War-
path Will, and tell yer ter mount yer horses
and git along jist so quick as ever yer can.

“I hopes yer understand me, miss, you and
ther young pard?"

They did understand him but too well, and
that it meant nothing more than a midnight
flight on horseback, for they could not carry
their teams.

“ Brother, what is to be done?” asked Cleone
sadly.

“ G0,” was the simple reply.

“ But mother?"

“ She will ride your horse, and I will pack
another animal with all we can carry.

“Come. we must lose no time,” and turning
to Pistol Pete Guy continued:

“ It is very kind of you, sir, to come and
warn us.”

“ Yas, but I did it fer W'arpath, and W’u’d git
my neck inter a noose of it were known what I
has done. .

“ Yer see I were appointed his guard tor-night,
but I slipped off ter tell ye.”

“ And we are indeed most thankful to you,”
answered Guy, slipping into the man’s hand a
bank bill.

Pistol Pete made no acknowledgment of the

ift. but set to work to get the horses, while
leone aided her mother to get ready and Guy
made up the pack for the led animal.

In a very few moments all was in readiness
for the start, and Pistol Pete having gone, Guy
placed himself in the lead with the pack horse,
and Cleone and her mother followed, riding side
by side.

As they rode away into the gloom the sound
of hoofs was heard back in the valley, and the
voices of men in loud angry tones, above which
came the cry:

“They have gone!”

“ Come, we must push on, mother, if you can
stand it, though they cannot follow cur trail to-
night, and we will thus have five hours’ start,
and that will save us,” said Guy hopefully.

It was evidently an effort for Mrs. Marsden
to ride, but she did so without a murmur—and
thus the flight was continued through the moun-
tains, Guy unerringly leading the way by
the trail which he had taken months before.

At daylight they halted for breakfast and
rest for half an hour, and with a great effort,
Mrs. Marsden again mounted for the flight.

Thus the morning passed, and another halt
was made in the afternoon.

Cleone ind ohswved Guy pass Several nice
spots, where would have been a good camping-
ground, and wondered why he did so.

At last he turned into a canyon that was wild
in the extreme, and the bed of it was but a
shallow stream.

Up the bed the went for half a mile, the
recipifous sides 0 the canyon risin far above
hem. and suddenly came to the en against a

massive wall of rock.

A tree grew here, its branches towering abovs
the top of the cliff, and its base washed by the
rivulet.

“Mother, on my way out I camped here for
two days, and climbing that tree 1 found a de-
serted cabin back on the hill.

“Now I can plainly See that you are not able
to go further without a good rest, so I will now
go up the tree with my lariats, and pull you up
after me, and Cleone too, and leave you in the
cabin while I go after father.

“The stream-bed will leave no trail of our
having come up here, and I will take the horses
on with me, so that, if we are followed, they
will keep on after their trail, and you and sis
will be perfectly safe until my return, which
will be in a couple of days at furthest.”

Mrs. Marsden’s lips quivered, but she answer-
ed bravely: -

“ My son, whatever you do, I know that it is
for the best.”

“ Yes, Guy, and let us lose no time; but can
you draw us up to the cliff?” asked Cleone, look-
ing up at the dizzy hight.

“ Easily, for whoever dwelt in the cabin
made a Windlass at the top for drawing up game
and wood, and I can use It.”

Taking the several lariats he made them into

 

a line, and tying one end about his waist, began
to climb the tree.

It was a long and hard struggle, but at last
he reached a imb along which he walked and
stepped out upon the cliff.

There was an old Windlass and a roller over
the limb of the tree, which would prevent the
rope from wearing.

Making one end of the lariat fast, Guy called
down to his sister that all was ready, and Cle-
one, having taken the pack from the led horse,
made it fast to the lariat.

It went up easily, and the end was thrown
back, and Cleone made a swing for her mother
to sit in, and which she could not fall out of
should she lose her nerve.

Then Guy began to turn the Windlass and up
into the air went the invalid, Cleone encourag-
ing her by cheering words.

She had nearly reached the top, in fact was
up to the limb, when suddenly Guy glanced up
and beheld an Indian almost 11 on him.

To let go the Windlass wou d be to kill his
Enother by a rapid descent of over a. hundred
eet.

Therevwas no way of making it fast, and no
time; but the boy did not lose his nerve for an
instant, and his revolver was at a level and his
finger on the trigger in a second of time.

 

CHAPTER IX. -
THE DESERTED CABIN.

NEVER in his life had Guy Marsden been in a
more critical position, and never did he expect
to be again, than when he stood there, his
mother’s, his sister’s and his own life in his
hands, with the huge warrior rmhing upon
him with uplifted tomabawk.

Hampered as he was by the Windlass, which
held his mother between life and death, and
with the bounding red—skin almost upon him,
the youth did not lose his iron nerve, but took a
rapid and deadly aim. and fired.

“Take that, red-skin, and welcome,” cried
Guy as he touched the trigger firmly.

With the report the warrior gave a spring
into the air, and a stifled war-cry issued from
his lips as he fell his length upon the rocky
ground, his tomabawk striking within a few
inches of Guy’s foot.

“ 0h, mother!” the boy cried, as he saw that
his mother‘s head had drooped forward.

Catching hold of the rope he made his way to
the edge of the cliff and drew his mother upon
it, after which he lowered the end rapidly for
his sister.

Cleone had heard the shot, and was in an
agony of suspense; but the ro ecoming down
reassured her, and in a short w ile she too stood
upon the cliff. -

“Come, sis, we must now revive mother, for
she has fainted,” cried Guy, and he soon spread
her couch for her by the side of the little cabin,
which seemed to have long been deserted.

Then Mrs. Marsden was gently placed upon
it, and soon returned to consciousness, though
she seemed very feeble.

Guy then built a fire in the cabin, put things
to rights, piled up plenty of wood at hand for
his sister, and unpacked the bundle he had
brought, so as to make his mother as comfort-
able as possible.

He had killed some game as they came along,
and this was dressed for cooking, and a rifle
and revolvers left for Cleone’s use. « -

Then he took the body of the red-skin and
lowered it rapidly to the canyon below, telling
Cleone he would dispose of it on his way.

Bidding his mother and sister a hasty fare-
well, and promising to return soon with his
father, he went down the rope to the canyon.
and Cleone pulled it up after him and watched
his departure, her eves full of tears.

“ Hurry hack, Guy, for you know,” she
called out, and he understood her well, that
their mother could not last long.

Throwing the dead warrior across the back of
the led animal, Guy mounted his own horsa and
set ofl at a quick trot.

The other animals followed. and Cleone saw
them disappear from sight with a sigh that was
wrung from her heart at her perilous and sad
situation. ,

Coming to the stream that wound through
the valley, and having to cross it, Guy gave
the dead warrior a watery burial by throwing
him from the back of the horse, and then press-
ed on more rapidly.

Having had a rest of two hours the horses
were able to keep up a steadv and swift gait,
and until far into the night Guy kept them at
it.

Then he sought a camping-place, and was

 

 

soon fast asleep, utterly worn out as h
with his loss of rest and hard work.

The animal had good grazing, and seems
ready to start, when dawn came, and once
more Guy pushed on, halting after a couple of
hours for breakfast.

Changing from one horse to the other every
39:3 he was able to keep up a good speed, and

i so.

Soon objects began to have a more familiar-
look to him, and he knew that Lost Hope City
was not far distant.

At last the mining-camp came in view; but
not a sign of life was visible, and, as Guy
drew nearer he discovered to his utter amaze-
ment that the place was utterly deserted.

He drew rein in his astonishment and looked
about him.

It certainly was Lost Hope City, but where
were its miners?

In dismay he pushed on once more, and did
not draw rein until he dashed up to the door of’
his own cabin.

To his horror it too wore a deserted look.

There was the “ mansion” half finished, and
his father could not be seen.

It seemed as though the place had not held an
occupant for days.

Springing from his horse Guy ran off to-
ward the mine at full speed.

It too was deserted, he discovered, as he stood
panting before it.

Again he returned to the cabin, and his ex-
perienced eyes told him that there had been no
fresh trail made to the mine for da 5.

Arriving at the cabin, his eyes to 1 upon blood
upon the rocks in front of the door.

It was dried up, but still was blood.

Seizing a stone, he broke the padlock and
entered the cabin. ’

At first all seeemed there as he had left it;
but soon he discovered that the secret recesses
of the cabin had been robbed.

The boy fairly staggered under this shock and-
groaned: '

“The miners have deserted their worthless
claims near Lost Hope City, and have gone; but
some of them, my father’s foes. have come here
before leaving, and perhaps killed, but certainly
robbed him.”

After a few moments the poor boy gained his-
self-control again, and then made a thorough
search of the place.

At last he said slowly:

“If father had gone from here of his own-
free will, he would have left me some sign in
the secret hiding-place we have.

“ He has not done so, his papers are gone, his
gold is gone, and I almost fear that he has-
been murdered.

“ It will kill poor mother to know this; but I
must return at once and bring her here, and
then, if father is dead, do what I can to work
the mine—7‘ f she lives.

“ Ah me! this is a bitter, bitter blow; but
Heaven grant that it does not fall heavier upon
me still.”

With this, Guy Marsden, his face pale and
quivering, mounted his horse, and leading the
others. started upon his return to the spot where
he had left his dying mother and sister.

It was sunset as he left the cabin, and night
had fallen before he reached Lost Hope City,
and he gave an involuntary shudder at riding
through the deserted town.

“There have been so many poor miners mur-
dered there, and the place was so wicked, I al-
most feel as though I should see ghosts in the-
streets,” he muttered, as he rode into the de-
serted camp. ,

And. as e spoke. there suddenly broke out.
upon the still night-air a burst of most fiendish
laughter which seemingly turned his heart to ice
with dread. '

 

CHAPTER X.
THE RETURN.

GUY MARSDEN was not of a superstitious na-
ture; but he was young, and his past experience
among the miners had led him to regard the su-
pernatural as not improbable.

His father had kept him at his studies, teach-
ing him at night in their little camp, and en.
deavored to do away with all the harm the
miners’ stories might implant in him, and with
considerable success.

Still the youth held an idea that there might.
be such a thing as the spirit of the dead prowl-
ing the earth, and, impressed by all that had
occurred during the past few days, he took
this view of the matter, and set his horses to.
flight.

Through the deserted mining-camp they went
at full speed, the hoofs of the horses awaking;

     
  

 

 

    
    

 

 

Warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.

 

 

. - echoes along the hills, and the almost
. ish laughter resounding behind them.
Finding that he of the mocking laughter did
not give chase, Guy drew rein after he had kept
up his rapid pace for a mile, and went along
more slowly.

He did not care to camp, and kept his horses
going until midnight had long passed.

Then he came to a halt in a patch of rich
grass, and after staking them out to feed upon
it, threw himself down to rest.

He was very tired and soon fell into adeep
sleep, from which he did not awaken until the
sun arose.

Then, to his horror, he saw that he did not
have a sin le horse.

The who 8 four had mysteriously disappeared.

They had not pulled their stakes up, that was
certain, for the saddles and bridles, laid near
each one, were gone too.

Then the certainty came to Gay that they
had been stolen.

For a moment he seemed almost in despair;
but his nature shook off the feeling that was
creeping over him, and he at once set out to see
if he could follow their trail.

This he readily did for a short distance, and
then the trail merged into four, going [In as
many different directions.

Again was the boy brought to a. standstill.

He knew not what to do.

His dying mother was awaiting his coming,
and yet he must return on foot, without the
means to aid her to their cabin, and perhaps
the news he had to tell her, about the mysteri-
ous disappearance of his father, would kill her
at once.

Still his duty was to return, and that as soon
as possible.

So he again shouldered his rifle and set off on
the trail back to where he had left his mother
and sister.

It was a. hard, long walk, but he went on
untiringly, pausing now .and then for adrink
of cool water from a rivulet, or for a rest of a
few minutes.

Night came on and found him on the way,'

and until late he held on, and then halted from
sheer necessity, as he was worn out.

A bath in a. brook refreshed him, a few hours’
sleep, the sleep of the utterly weary, rested
Elm], and before daylight he was again on the

rai .
As he was on foot he knew that it would be
nearer for him to follow the valley to the can-
on which led up to the cliff, on which he had
eft his mother and sister, than to go around the
mountain range to the spot. .,

So he continued on dewn the valley, and by
noon entered the canyon, nearly the whole of
which was the bed of a. shallow stream.

Straight through the water he went until he
reached the foot of the tree, when he gave a
loud hallo.

No answer came, and again he hailed.

Still no anSWer from above.

1th face became very pale, and then he called
ou :

“‘ Cleonel oh, Cleonel”

Still no answer.

He was very tired, but determined to at once
climb the tree, and accordingly began the hard
and perilous ascent.

Weighted as he _was, with his belt of arms,
and rifle slung athis back, it was no easy task,
and he was surprised to find how much heavier
it wasto accomplish than it had been on the
former occasion.

But hope and dread urged him on, as he
knew not the fate of the loved ones he had left
in the little es in on the clifl’.

Several times he was {compelled to pause,
and clinging hard, get such rest as he could.

At last the limb was reached, and he said to
himself: ‘

“Ten feet higher up and I never would have
reached it.”

Boldly he walked out and sprung to the cliff,
and then his strength utterly failed him, his
knees gave out, and he sunk down prostrated.

There he lay for some time, seeminglv unable
to move, while he kept his eyes upon the little
cabin in the background.

The door was closed, no smoke came from the
chimney and the place had the look of being
utterly deserted.

At last he was sufficiently rested to rise to his
feet and he hastened toward the cabin.

“ Mother! Cl-eone!” he called as be advanced;
but no reply greeted him.

. Opening the door sof tl y be looked Within.

The cabin held no occupant.

There was nothing to indicate either, that
any one dwelt there.

 

Stepping tc the hearth he felt the ashes.

It was cold, and he knew that no fire had
been there at least since the day before.

. Out of the cabin be fairly staggered, groan—
ing:

“My poor mother and sister, what has be-
come of you?”

Like one dazed he looked about him, and then
his eyes fell upon something beneath a distant
tree which caused him to start and fairly
quiver.

With a cry of anguish the brave be rushed
toward the tree and dropped upon his nees by
the side of a new-made grave.

CHAPTER XI.
A CAPTIVE.

FOR some moments the poor boy knelt by that
new-made grave.

Something told him that one he loved lay
therein.

Which one, his mother or sister, he could not
tell, yet he believed that it was the former.

Bitterly he repented having left the overland
train; but he had acted for the best, as he
believed.

His father mysteriously disappeared, perhaps
killed, his mother and sister gone, one of them
certainly dead, their train given up, his horses
stolen, and himself afoot, alive, and to bear all
that was upon him, was seemingly more than
human nature could stand, and the noble boy
bowed his head and seemed crushed by grief.

But his nature was one to surmount all diffi-
culties, to rise up against defeat and sorrow,
and entering the cabin, he looked about for
something to serve as a. shovel, with which to
throw the earth out of the grave, that the dread
Secret of who the occupant was might be reveal-
ed to him.

He found there a pick, spade and shove],
which showed that the cabin had evidently once
been the home of a miner.

Seizing the latter, he returned to the grave
and went to work with a will.

Deeper and deeper be dug, until at length he
worked more gently, for he knew that he was
near the body.

A few moments more and he came to a
blanket.

This he leant over and drew aside, and start—
ing back, he cried piteously:

“Yes, it is my poor mother! The outlaws
have slain her and buried her here.

“But 1 shall avenge her I”

For many long minutes he stood gazing down
at that serene, upturned face, which he loved so
well, then with a. sigh be replaced the blanket
tenderly, and began the sad task of filling up
the grave again.

He had worked but a short time when he
suddenly turned and as though from instinct,
for he had heard no sound.

There, within a dozen paces of him, he beheld
three rough-looking men, while in the back-
ground, seated upon their horses, were a dozen
more.

The three nearest him had dismounted and
left their horses with their comrades, and now
stood, each with a pistol in his hand, and their
eyes fixed upon him with a look of mischief.

A man would under such circumstances have
thrown up his hands in token of surrender,
when he saw the odds so against him—at least,
not one man in a thousand would have thought
of resistance.

But not so with the boy, for he was driven to
reckless despair.

His rifle lay u on the cliff, where he had sunk
down exhauste , but his belt of arms hung
upon the tree that sheltered the grave.

The tree was a large one—a pine—stunted in
its upward growth, but with a large trunk and
spreading limbs.

It stood upon the edge almost of the precipice,
growing in a crevice of the rocks, and provided
a. good protection.

With a bound the boy reached its shelter,
grasping his belt of arms as he did so, and fol-
lowed by three shots from the men.

Two of the shots knocked the bark from the
tree, and the third pierced his hat.

The three men started at once to run upon him,
when, turning quickly and drawing a revolver,
Guy dropped the one nearest with a bullet in
his brain.

This sent the other two flying to covar, while
their comrades in the background laughed loud
and rudely at their retreat.

“ Well, what do you want?" called out Guy,
in a firm voice.

“We wants you, boy, and we intends ter
have yer,” was the answer of one of the men
from behind a neighboring tree.

 

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“ Well, come and get me," was the defiant
response.

“ We intends ter.”

“ Who are you?”

“ We is some of Captain Champ’s band.”

“ I thought that I recognized your ugly faces;
but where is your captain?”

“Gone to the city. ’

“ What city l”

“ Salt Lake.”

“ And do I owe it to you that my mother lies
in that grave, and that my sister is gone?”

“ Ask the captain.”

“ Well, if you want me, come on,” was the
nervy reply.

The horsemen in the rear had now ridden u ,
keeping the cabin between them and the yout ,
and one of them called out:

“ Take the boy, Hank, and lose no time about .

it.”

“ Yas, take him as Ben thar did, and git tuk
instead.

“Come and git him yerself, ef yer wants
him,” was the sullen reply.

“You don’t mean to let him bluil’ you off?”
called out the speaker, riding into view from
behind the cabin.

“ I don’t mean ter let him make a stiff 0’ me,
thet are sart’in, of I are acquainted with my-
self.”

“Nor does I,” said the second one of the two
valiants.

" Well, I’ll see that a boy does not keep
a dozen men at bay.” And the speaker
started to ride forward, when a flash came from
behind the tree, and the horse ridden by the
seeming leader plunged forward and fell dead,
the bullet burying itself in his head, and thus
saving the life of his rider. .

“Curses on you, boy, I will have your life for
that!

“Come, men, follow mel” and the infuriated
man sprung to his feet and rushed toward the
tree, followed by the other two on foot, and
the rest of the band on horseback.

It was a thrilling scene, the brave boy stand-
ing at bay, half-hidden by the tree, and with
barely room enough up0n the edge of the pre—
cipice, to keep him from dashing downward a
hundred feet to death, while half a score of
men, on foot and mounted, were rushing upon
him.

“ Back all of you, for I shoot to kill, and will
not surrender,” cried the boy in a voice that did
not uiver.

“ 0 not kill him! take him alive 1” yelled the
leader, and the crowd darted toward the tree.

Guy realized his full danger, but he did not
lose his nerve, nor fire at random, for his next-
slwt brought down a foe, and the one following
dropped a horse, who threw his rider with a
force that stunned him.

As he raised his revolver to fire at the leader,
that worthy dropped into the open rave, and
the bullet broke the arm of the man ank, Just
behind him.

Before he could fire again, the men were
upon him, he was dragged from behind the
sheltering tree and hurled to the ground.

A moment more and he lay bound secure] , a
captive to a band he had every reason to ear
would take his life.

CHAPTER XII.
THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER.

As he la upon the ground before his captors,
Guy Mars en saw among the faces which he
had seen in his visit to the camp of Captain
Champion, whom his men called “Cap’n
Champ,” and who had still further become
known as “ Red Champion the Mormon.”

Guy was not hurt hysically, though he had
been somewhat rude y handled, and yet men-
tallv he suffered untold agonies.

He remembered Warpath Will in the hands
of those very men, and whom he had intended
to rescue.

He recalled his visit to the deserted cabin of
his father, and now la near the still optn
grave of his mother, while his sister’s fate was
unknown to him.

What his enemies intended to do with him,
he could not conjecture, yet there were dark
looks turned u on him.

He had kille two of their number, dismount-
ed two more, and one now sat near groaning
from a broken arm, and bitterly cursing him
with every twinge of pain he suffered.

After having him secure the lender had order-
ed a fire built and supper prepared, while their
horses were staked out on the mountain-side.

Then the arm of the wounded man had been
rudely dressed, and next the dead members of
the band had been buried back of the cabin,

l
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v !_  _, .f ,5?
“miss?”-

 

L.-—. .

 

 

s

 
   

8

Warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.

 

K

while the grave of Mrs. Marsden was still left
0 n.

p"Ia‘he shadows of night soon crept over the
scene, and the men sat down to their supper.

Guy’s feet Wore left secured, but his hands
were unbound, and he was placed by the fire
with the remark:

“Better eat hearty, boy, for it is your last
meal.”

In spite of his sorrow suspense, and almost
hopeless condition, Guy (lid eat heartily, for his
eye was upon any chance of escape, and he
wished to keep up his strength.

“Do you know who murdered my mother?”
he asked of the man who appeared to be acting
as leader, and who was a gaunt, cadaverous-
faced fellow who had the look of an itinerant
person.

“ Was she murdered l”

‘( Yes.”

“ You know that?”

“ I feel it, and wish to know who did it?”

“ Ask the ca ’n.”

“ He is in Sa t Lake, you say i"

“ Yes, he has gone there.”

“ And where is my sister?”

“ Ask the cap’n.”

“ He knows?”

“ I guess.”

‘ And what has become of Warpath Will?”

Tne men looked at each other and smiled,
while the leader said again:

“ Ask the cap’n.”

“Your captain seems to know everything,”
sneered Guy.

“Guess he does.”

“And do you know what you intend to do
with me?”

‘( Yes.”

“ You will not have to tell me to ask the cap-
tain to find out?”

H Noll?

“ What will be my fate, then!”

“ You will be killed,” was the cool reply.

Guy’s face paled, but he did not show a tremor
of fear.

Ige drooped his eyes for a moment and then
sax :

“How have I harmed you?”

“ Ask the cap’n.”

“Does he mean that I shall die?”

(t Yes.”

“ And you came here to seek me?”

H Yes.”

“ When will you kill me?”

“Almost any time: here, Doc, tie him up
again,” said the leader, and Guy found himself
once more secured and left lying by the fire.

One by one the men rolled themselves in their
blankets and lay down to sleep, while one
shouldered his rifle and went ofl, along the spur
to stand guard.

Guy could not sleep.

It would haVe been a mercy to him if he
could have done so.

The moans of the man he had wounded rung
in his ears, as the wretch tossed in his sleep.

The graves of those he had slain were in the
circle of the firelight, and the open grave of his
goor mother was but a few paces distant from

1m

What fate had befallen his sister he did not
know, and whether Warpath Will was dead or
alive he could not tell.

His father might be (lead, or living, might be
suffering agony as a captive to the Indians or
Mormons, while his own fate hung in the bal—
ance, and was at the mercy of men who seemed
to have no mercy in their hearts.

Suddenly Guy heard a challenge off along the
spur.

The guard had evidently halted some one.

An answer was given, and then two persons ap-
proached the cabin,one on foot the othermounted.

The horseman was Pistol Pete, as Guy saw at
a lance.

e dared not show any recognition of him, as
he approached the camp-fire, but watched him
closely.

“ Ho, pards, yer has ter be up and slopin’, fer
I has orders from ther cap’n ter bring yer at all
speed,” called out Pistol Pete.

The men sprung to their feet hastily and the
leader asked:

“ What’s up, Pete?”

“ I dunno, but you is wanted, and immediate,
so let’s be 011’.

“Got any cold grub around, thet I kin chaw
on While yer is gittin’ saddled up?”

“Yes, there is some, help yourself,” and the
leader pointed to the remnants of the supper,
and Pistol Pete helped himself with the air of a
hungry man, while the rest of the band began
to get ready to depart.

 

“Hello, who is you!” asked Pistol Pete, his
eyes falling upon Guy.

“We have met before,” answered the boy in
a low tone.

“ Yas, and you is havin’ ahard time o’ it, boy,
and I feels sorry for yer.”

“ Then out my bonds and let me escape, for I
can go over the cliff by the tree yonder,” con-
tinued Guy in the same low tone.

“ W’u’dn’t dare do it for a thousand dollars.”

“ I’ll give you more, if you will.”

“ Has you got it?”

“I have a secret that will pan out a fortune
for you if you let me go.”

“ How’ll I get it?”

“Go with me.”

“ I hev half a min’ ter trust yer.”

“ You can.”

“Waal, I’ll do it, and let yer go; but I _ ter
go with t’others now, so jist tel me whar kin
find yer one week from ter-day ?”

“ Right here.”

“ I’ll do it,” and Pistol Pete was about to
bend over and sever the bonds that secured
Guy, when the leader approached and called
out:

“Well, boy, as you shot two of our horses,
there is nothing for you to ride, so you’ll have
to remain behind.”

“ It matters not to me,” was the reply.

“ You’ve got more pluck than I ever saw
done up in one person before, and I hate to kill
you; but must obey orders.”

“ You don’t mean ter kill him, does yer,
Brass?" asked Pistol Pete.

H I do",

“ W hen l”

“ Before we start.” -

“ 'I‘het are too bad ter kill ther boy.”

“Yes, but he will soon be a man, and the
result to us then will be death, for he is a terror
now.”

“Let him go, lieutenant,” urged Pistol Pete.

“ No, he must die.”

“ Waal thet are too bad,” but hedn’t yer bet-
ter let ther cap’n see him?”

“ I have my orders from Captain Champ,
Pete.”

“ Waal, thar are no use talkin’ then?”

“ None.”

Pistol Pete looked sad, but whether at the
prospect of Guy’s death, or the thought of by
it losing his fortune, it is hard to tell.

As for the poor youn captive, he seemed to
feel that they would k1 1 him, and he nerved
himself to meet his fate bravely and let them
see that he could die without fear.

“Pete, put the youngster over there, just ten
steps off, and I’ll end his suspense,” said Brass,
in a cruel, cold tone.

“ Lieutenant, I are sufierin’ ther agonies 0’
sin, and it w’u’d help my arm amazin ef yer’d
let me draw trigger on him,” called out Hank
as he came forward, moving his wounded arm.

“ All right, Hank, you have the best right.

“Co-"e, youngster, you have just one min-
ute to live,” and taking the arm of the boy the
cruel man led him to a spot where the firelight
fell full upon him.

CHAPTER XIII.
A MERCILESS ACT.

“ONE minute to live,” repeated Guy, and
life seemed suddenly black before him.

To go out of the world in his youth, on the
very threshold of fortune, and hope, as it had
been but a few days ago, was fearful to con-
template.

A sudden destiny seemed to have come over
those of his name to be snatched from life with-
out warning.

But he would not shrink from his fate; he
would meet it unflinchingly.

Just as he was led to the place, where he was
to stand and be shot down, he saw the men rid-
ing‘ up with their horses saddled and bridled.

hey were gazing at him without one atom of
mercy in their faces, and one of them asked
roughly:

“ Groin’ ter call in ther boy’s chips, Brass?”

H Yes. 3’

“ Yas, he hain’t old enough ter enjoy life yit,
so he wont miss it,” said another. '

“ Who are goin’ t'er do ther shootin’?” asked a
third, as though anxious for the position of ex-
ecutioner.

“ I is,” replied Hank savagely, and he added:

“I’ll git a leetle even tharby fer this arm 0’
mine.”

“Kin yer shoot with yer left hand, Hank?”

“1 kill, as yer will see, ef yer looks on.”

“ Boy, were you taught to pray?” rudely asked
Brass.

u Yes.”

 

rayers, for your n

l,

“ Then say your
about here. Get rea y, Hank.
The man took his place, some fifteen feet fro :-
where Guy stood, and cocked his reVOIVer, hold-
ing‘it in his left hand.
be others stood around, or sat on their horses,
gazing with seeming interest, yet without mercy
upon the sad scene.

Pistol Pete stood to one side, with a look of
regret upon his face, though it was hard to an-
alyze the cause, asto its being called there b
sorrow, or greed at the loss of fortune throug
the boy’s death.

Brass, the lieutenant, and leader, in the ab-
sence of Captain Champion, stood one side, a
few feet from the boy and held a large gold
watch in his hand.

As for Guy Marsden, he stood upright, his
hands bound behind his back, his ankles tied
firmly, and his face turned upon the merciless
crew.

He was very pale, his features seemed as
though cut from marble, but not a tremor went
through his form, and not a quiver was upon
his lip.

Fearlessly, defiantly he faced his executioner,
though now and then he would raise his eyes as
if in silent prayer.

“I are ready, Brass,” said Hank.

“ All right; boy, your time is up.

“Hank, fire for his heart, and do your work
well,” was the response of Brass, the leader of
the merciless hand.

“I’ll do it prime, of my right arm are in a
sling, and I has ter shoot with my left,” was the
answer of the brute with painful deliberation.

As he spoke he slowly raised his weapon and
aimed at Guy’s head.

Then be lowered it, and leveled the weapon at
the boy’s heart.

As he did this, drawing out the suspense pain-
fully, Guy Marsden’s lips moved slightly and he
turned his eyes sadly toward his mother’s grave.

“Fire, if you are going to, Hank, or let
somebody else do the job, for we must be off,”
sternly said Brass, and with his last word the
wicked executioner raised his revolver for the

‘ third time.

When the muzzle pointed at the heart of the
brave boy, he pulled the trigger.

With the report, a mean broke from Guy's
lips, and while the blood spouted from the
wound in his breast, he sunk to the earth.

,“Throw him in the grave with his mother,
Hank, and fill it up,” ordered Brass.

“ I hev done my job, Brass, so let them as has
two arms do ther balance,” was the sullen reply.

At this Pistol Pete stepped forward, bent
over the form and raising it in his arms bore it
to the grave

Into it he let it fall glently, and then, seizing
the show], which Guy ad himself left sticking
in the dirt, began to throw in the earth.

“ Come, Pete, lead the way to where we are
to join the captain,” called out Brass, mounting
his horse.

A few more shovelfuls of earth Pistol Pete
threw into the grave and then hastily followed
the others, muttering to himself:

“ It Were an infamous shame it were, ter kill
thet boy, fer ef he had lived, he’d hev done ther
squar’ thing, I knows.”

Mounting his horse he too rode away from
the fatal spot.

The fire still burned brightly, casting dancing
shadows far off, and only the crackling of the
logs broke the stillness of the night for some
minutes.

Then the deep howl of a wolf, scenting a feast
was heard, and soon the hideous brute came
skulking in sight, and anxiously gazing at the

re.

Another long-drawn-out bowl, and another
wolf appeared.

Sniffing the air they started toward the
grave, not yet filled with earth.

Then another came, and another, all eagerly
gazing at the light, and ranging themselves
about the grave.

A wild yell in chorus, and seeing no one come
from the cabin to disturb them, the savage
brutes were about to pounce down into t e
grave, when a yell startled them, and a human
form sprung from the limb of the tree grow-
ing in the canyon, upon the cliff, scattering the
wolves in flight, growling furiously at their
disappointment. __

CHAPTER XIV.
A SURPRISE.

WHEN Guy left his mother and sister, they
felt the loneliness of despair, for they wore un-
used to such wild scenes, and to be left alone in
that desolate region was fearful indeed.

'V“‘x" . ~.—:W~o—.+.~L_ _. ..

      
  
 

 

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o' “as- i. '»:mM-v.—.+ “L- s. .4

   
   

Warpath Will, the Traitor Guide. ' 9

 

ortunately Cleone was a crack shot, and of
, . utterly fearless nature.

She had hunted in old Kentucky with her
brother, and upon occasion had killed a bear,
when he was rushing upon her, and to miss her
aim was to lose her life.

All along the trail coming out she had hunted
big game, and was considered the best shot in
the train excepting Warpath Will the guide
and her brother.

She was a perfect horsewoman, and these
bold accomplishments had nerved her to face
danger coolly and without fear.

She therefore felt equal to the task of defend—
ing her mother and herself against any ordinary
dan er, and also of providing themselves with
foo , should Guy be delayed in his return.

The condition of her mother, h0wever, great-
ly distressed her, for she feared the end might
come but too soon.

She put on a cheerful face, withal, and hustled
about to make everything as comfortable as she
could, and the while said cheerful things,
prophesying that Guy would come back sooner
than expected and bring her father, whose
presence would readily build her mother’s
strength up to a point to permit of their going
at once on home, for the cabin in the hills was
their only home; and they looked forward to ur-
riving there with hopes of happiness they had not
known elsewhere.

Mrs. Marsden saw how very hard Cleone was
tr ing to keep up a stout heart, and she did
w at she could to show her that she too felt
that all would come Well in the end; but she
suffered greatly and knew that it would not be
very long before she must pass away, and the
thought made her very sad, to feel that she
must give up life, husband and children just
when fortune was smiling upon them.

Thus the day passed away and night came.

A fire had been built within the cabin by
Cleone, and before its cheerful blaze sat mother
and daughter in silenCe.

A couch had also been made for the invalid,
Rythe loving daughter, and before very long
. rs. Marsden expressed a desire to rest upon
11:.

Cleone aided her to it, and then her mOther
said softly:

“Sing to me, my child.”

In her rich contralto voice Cleone sung song
after song, until she saw that her mother was
asleep.

Then she ceased, and as she did so, the deep
bowl of a wolf Without caused her to start and
shudder.

The sound awoke Mrs. Marsden, who said:

“Did Guy bury the Indian he killed, Cleone?”

“Yes, mother.”

“You do not think those savage brutes
snarling without could get at the body of the
poor red-skin, for it makes me shudder to think
of even a savage enemy being thus torn to
pieces after death.”

“No, mother, brother buried the body,” and
going to the door Cleone fired her revolver, and
the beasts went scampering away.

Fora few moments more a silence fell between
the mother and daughter, both being busy with
their own thoughts.

Then they both started, for the sound of beef-
falls was heard without.

“Ho, within 1" called out a deep voice, as a
horse came close up to the door.

“ Well, what do you wish, and who are you?"
asked Cleone, in her deepest tones, to indicate
that a man was the s eaker.

“.Is that you, Miss leone?” came the question,
which showed that she had not deceived the one
outside by her device.

“Yes, who are you?”

“ ” arpath Will, and I have come to see
on.

“Indeed! It is the guide, mother,” cried
Cleone, and she took the heavy bar down from
the door.

warpath Will, in anticipation of bein
admitted, had already hitched his horse. an
new stepped into the cabin, a pleasant smile up-
on his face.

“0h, .Mr. Hendricks, I am so glad to See
you,” cried Cleone, delighted at the sight of the
guide, when she remembered the sacrifice he
had made for them, and, in her loneliness, glad
to see one she had_known. though did not par-
ticularly like, while her mother also extended
her hand Wearily, though with seeming plea—
sure.

The guide’s face brightened, and he said
earnestly: . .

“ I am happy in havmg a welcome from you,
Miss Cleone; but I have come upon an important
service.”

 

“Ah, yes! you went as a hostage to the
Mormons; but how did you escape, after your
noble sacrifice for us?”

“ I esca ed in a way that I knew lay open to
me, Miss leone, though I did not care to use it
for particular reasons, which you will under-
stand when I explain them.

“Your brother has gone, I believe, to your
father’s camp after him?”

“How did you know this?” asked Cleone,
quickly.

“ From the Mormons who are spying his
mOVements, and who also told me that you
were here.”

“They know this, then?” asked Cleone, in a
frightened way.

“Yes, but they shall not harm on.”

“ You are but one, Mr. Hendricks, and they
many and merciless.”

“ I will use the same means to save you that
I did to escape.”

“You have not told me how you escaped
from their clutches, and touched by your noble
sacrifice for us, my brother and myself had
made up our minds to attempt your rescue at
all hazards.”

“It was most kind of you, Miss Cleone, and
just like your noble brother, too; but the sacri-
fice, as you are pleased to call it, which 1 made
was not so great as you believe.

“ To explain, I will say that the band of Cap-
tain Champion is not a legitimate squad of the
Mormon Legion, but an offshoot that is more
outlaw than anything else.

“ The captain is known on the border as Red
Champion, and though a Mormon and the foe
of Gentiles, he dOes a good many acts that are
not approved by Prophet Young and the rulers
at Salt Lake City.”

“ You seem to be well informed regarding
the Red Champion and the Mormons, guide,”
said Cleone, with something of her old sarcasm
toward the guide returning.

“ I am thoroughly informed, Miss Cleone, for
it is my duty to be.”

“ May I ask whyi”

“ I am at present a Mormon ofi‘icer myself!”
was the calm response, and the groan of Mrs.
garsden was followed by a startled cry from

eone.

 

CHAPTER XV.
THE srv.

SEEING the effect of his strange words, upon both
mother and daughter, Warpth Will hastened to
so :

' Permit me to the more fully explain, Mrs. Mars-
den, and Miss Cleone.”

"I do not understand, sir, how any further ex-
planation can excuse your confession, that you are
a Mormon," said Cleone haughtily.

" I said. of pram/I, Miss Cleone, and I will ut my-
self right by making a further confession, din I see
how on are horrified at my words and I should
have mown better than to say what I did."

“ No excuses are necessary, sir."

"You are angry, and I do not blame you; but let
me say:—” and the guide looked nervously around
the cabin, and then went to the door and listened.

Then he removed the bar, drew his revolver and
stepped outside.

.eone heard his steps going around the cabin,
and the thought came to her to s )ring up and bar
the door; _but she restrained herself and awaited his
reltulrn, neither her mother or herself speaking the
w n e.

“ I must be careful, Miss Cleone, not to be over-
heard, should there be an eavesdropper," said the
guide re-emering the cabin.

“ Who could be an eavesdropper in this wild
land ?" asked Cleone.

“ A Mormon.”

” What have you, sir, to fear from Mormons?" was
the cutting query.

"Anything, everything." was the response.

Cleone eyed him fixedly, for his words implied
what she could not com rehend.

Aftera moment of Silence he went on where he
had left off, when going out of the cabin:

“Let me say. Miss Cleone. that I am at present a.
Mormon, not from choice, but necessity."

“ I do not see how that can be, sir."

"' You shall see.

c “ You are aware that there is a general feeling of
ill-Will eXisting, amounting to, I may say war, be-
tween the Mormons and the Gentiles, and the
former are accused of many acts of cruelty and
worse, toward the latter.

:‘ The Government of the United States is deter-
mined to ferret out all such acts of the Mormons,
and to do so employs spies.

‘* I am one of those spies, Miss Cleone."

55  .f H

“ Yes. I am a Gowrnment spy."

“And a Mormon?"

H Yes. H

“You are doing that which the Bible says man
cannot do."

“ You mean serve two masters?”

“ I do."

“ Well, I am serving two. and one well."

“You speak in contradictions, guide.”

 

A

“ The truth is, Miss Cleone to do my duty to my
Government, I was compelled to become nominally
a. Mormon."

Ah 1,,

“ I am glad that you understand me new."

“Pra go on, sir.”

“ In coming, as it were, a Mormon, I gained
access to scenes that otherwise I could not have
been a articipant in, and to do my duty as far as I
was ab e to the Government I Served, I enlisted as a
spy for the Mormon Prophet, and he believes me one
of his most trusted emissaries.”

“ ludeedl but you run fearful risks.”

“True, and yet see the power it gives me, for,
when I found the Mormons on your trail under
this man Champion. I told our brother to 0 er me
as a ransom for your safe y, well knowing that he
Eras anxious to get hold of me as one of his worst

oes.

“The plan worked well with Champion, but his
men were determined you should not escape, and
went to {our camp without his knowledge.

“ Hav ng a friend, Pistol Pete. in the band. I sent
him to warn you to fly, and I was glad that you did
so; but Captain (‘liampion. discovering the act of
his men. recalled them, and determined to hang
upon your trail himself.

“ This he did. carrying me with him, and. intend-
ing to take my life, he talked boldly before me of
his ilans.

" Vhen word came to him from his scouts, that
your brother had left you here and departed. Cap—
tain Champion boldly said that (iuy had 'one for
reinforcements at the fort, and this act 0 his re-
leased him from his pledge, and that he should at
once coim- here and make you a captive."

" Me?" crii d Cleone, in alarm.

“ My poor child,“ sighed Mrs. Marsdeu

“ Yes. you. Miss Cleone, for he, knew that he could
receive for you a large price (lid he cnrr you to Salt
Lake to become the wife of some ricn and distin-
guished Mormon, perhaps of the Pro iliet himself."

Cleone turned deadly pale, and Ira. Marsden
moaned piteously.

“ Knowing his intention from lii. out poken words,
Miss Cleouc. 1 determined to act."

“ How 1’" softly said the poor girl.

“i determined to betray myself."

“ Betray yourself?"

“ Yes; that is, make myself known in my real
character."

“ Your real character?" echoed Cleone, mechani-
call .
“il‘hat is. my assumed character as a Mormon,
for I knew that 1 could thus control him.”

“ What did you do. sir?”

“I told him that he was going too far.

“ I told him that I had my eye upon him, and was
the trusted spy of Brigham Young, the Prophet
and that instead of bring his foe. as he believed, I
had only been playing a part to the. better can out
my dam of professed friendship for the Genti es.

“ {e was astounded. and of course demanded
proof. which I at once gave him.”

“ What proof had you?” asked Cleone, in the same
listless way.

“I had this secret signet of the Prophet, and the
passwords and private papers.“

He took from an inner pocket as he spoke, a leath-
er case with an official looking document in it,
which he handed to Cleone, who read, written there-
on:

“ Respect a Secret Chief of Nauvoo.

“ Baron“! YOUNG.“

Then he. took from about his neck a gold chain, to
which hung a massive gold ring with a strange de-
vice thereon.

“ And this outlaw respected these?" asked Cleone.

“ He did. and more."

“ What more?"

‘ He released me at once. for fear of his life
should I report him, and yet he refused to give you
n i."

“ Hal did he dare lay claim to me?" and Cleone‘s
face flushed an rily and hei‘ eyes flashed fire.

“ He did untiFI told him a falsehood regarding
you and thus saved you.”

"A falsehood?“

“Yes, Miss Cleone, I told him that you were my

wife.“
In an instant Cleone Marsden was upon her feet,
and her words of fury were about to burst forth
upon the ide. when a cry from her mother called
her quick y to her side

One look into that loved face and Cleone Marsdcn
knew that the end had come—her mother was dying.

 

CHAPTER XVI.
Tm: DEATH IN THE 0mm.

THE horror of the young girl‘s situation was in-
tense.

Alone with a dying mother, in a wilderness, sur-
rounded by foes, and with one present whom she
knew not whether to trust or not.

What could she do?

Her first duty was to her mother. and forgetting
self, she devoted herself to her with her whole
heart.

Mrs. Marsden had fallen back in one of the death-
like faints that Sometimes came ovrr her.

But this one seemed worse than ever before. and
it was very evident that she had been overcome by
the shock of what Warpath Will had said.

“S eak, mother! speak to met” cried Cleone, en-
treatingly.

The eyes of the dying woman slowly opened, her
lips moved, and she grasped the hand of Cleone.

Then, bending her ear close Cleone heard:

 

  

 

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Warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.

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“My poor desolate child; may God have mercy
upon you.”

Warpath Will came forward then. and. as tender-
ly as a woman might have done, he moved Mrs.
Marsden into a more comfortable position and gave
her a few (lrops of liquor from a llask he carried.

His manner was most gentle, his voice soft and
soothing, aml he no longer a )peared the borderlnan
whose name was a terror to us foes.

The li uor revived Mrs. Marsdeu, and then War-
path Wil said:

“ It is my duty to tell you. Mrs. Marsden, that
this attack is fatal, so that you can say what is
necessary to your daughter. ”

“ I know it,“ said the poor woman.

“ I will leave you alone with her; but let me cheer
your dying hours by assuring you that I will be her
friend, her protector, yes, her brother, until she be-
comes nearer to me. which I hope she may, forI
love her with my whole soul.

“I have money, I have a pleasant home, and I
will devote my li - to her, givmg up the wild career
I am now following.

" I told Captain Champion a falsehood, but I did
it for a urpose, for as my wife, he could lay no
claim to iss Cleone, which otherwise he would do.

“ Are you listening, my dear Mrs. Marsden?”
asked Warpath Will in the same gentle voice he had
spoken all along.

“ I hear eVery word," said Mrs. Marsden distinctly,
while Cleone crouched near her, her head buried in
her hands.

“I told Captain Champion we had been recently
married, and that my claim was above that of even
the Prophet.

" So 1 saved Miss Cleone from a life of wretched-
ness, and, if she cares not to accept me as her pro-
tector through coming years, she is at liberty to re,-
turn to her father and brother, under whose care I
will lace her.

“ ow, Mrs. Marsden, feel no worry regarding
your daughter, for you can trust me in all faith."

He arms: and left the cabin, and mother and
dau hter were alone.

“ )0 you love him, Cleone?”

“ No! no! 1101 Mother, nor could I ever do so.”
“"He is kind and noble, and he has done much for
us.
“True. mother, but yet I fear him, I doubt him.”

“ Still it were better his wife than the bride of a
Mormon."

“ Do not speak of it, mother: but feel assured
that I will be his wife before I allow myself to become
a Mormon's bride.”

“ Bless you. Cleone, my child,” murmured the
mother, and then she went on to speak of the ab-
sgnt son and husband. and left little messages for
t em.

Gradually her voice grew fainter, her tones sunk
into a whis er, and then ceased while breathing at
pra er for er desolate child.

0 eone knew that she was dead, and bent over her
and wept bitterly.

Softly into the cabin came Warpath Will, and he
saw that all was over.

He gently drew the weeping girl away, removed
the body to the rear of the room and infolded it in a
blanket. taking from about the neck a chain to
which was attached alocket with a miniaturel e-
ness of Don Marsden.

This he hung about the neck of Cleone, and she
said in a low tone:

“ Thank you; it was kind of mu."

Then he made a couch for C eone before the fire,
and said:

“lam going out now. so retire and get rest, for
you will need all your strength.

“I will awaken you at sunrise."

She arose and sunk down mechanically upon the
couch, while he threw more wood upon the tire
and left the cabin.

He then found his horse, and, staking the animal
out, he set to work with pick and shovel, taken
from the cabin, to dig a rave.

i 11:05 a long time he wor 'ed, and at last it was fin-
s e .

Then he wrapped his blankets about him and lay
down to rest.

It was dawn when he awoke, and he built a fire
near the cabin, took his traps from his saddle and
began to prepare breakfast.

Some birds he had shot the day before were put
to broil upon the hot coals, and a pot of coffee with
some crackers comprised the meal.

When all was ready he knocked at the door and it
was opened b Cleone.

Her face 3 owed how she had suffered, but she
had dropped to sleep toward morning and felt re-
freshed.

“ You are very kind.” she said faintly, as she saw
what he had done, and then, as her eyes fell upon
the graye, they filled with tears and she repeated:

“ Yes, you an ever so kind to me.”

A on of coffee and a very slight breakfast was
all that) she could eat, and then Warpath Willsnid:

“ I will bury her now; would you have me repeat
the service for the dead OVer her? I know it by
heart."

“ Oh sir, indeed I wonl 1," she said earnestly.

He brought the body from the cabin, placed it
ently in the grave, and then in his deep, impressive
ones recited the service for thedead.

It was a painful. a touching scene, and one that

Cleone Marsden never forgot.

After all was over, the guide said:

“To remain here would be dangerous. so I will
take on to your father and brother, for we will
doubt ess meet them on the way.“

“ You know best. sir,” was the low repl .

He left her to get ready, while he wa ked down

 

the mountain spur, which terminated in the cliff
overhanging the canyon.

He was gone perhaps an hour, and Cleone, in her
desolation. began to grow anxious, as she sat by her
mother’s graVe awaiting his return.

Soon he appeared. mounted upon his horse. and
leading, to her surprise, her own horse, with her
saddle and bridle thereon.

She was about to ask him how he came by the
animal, which her brother had led away with him,
when he said:

“ Miss Cleone. I was fortunate enough to get your
own horse, which escaped from your brother, and
was iicked upby the band of Captain Chaui iion.

" our brother evidently did not care to clay, or
fire his horse out in trying to catch your pony, so
went on without him.”

“ You are sure no harm has befallcn Guy?" she
asked anxiously.

“ Oh no, he is well able to take care of himself,
and by this time must have reached his father, so
that we will meet them returning for you.”

“ Do you not think that Iliad better await them
here, for my father will wish to see my mother‘s
graVe?”

" I would say remain, only there are roving bands
about that might come. here at any moment and
the mountain outlaws will not respect my Signet as
did Captain Chain )ion."

‘* I will be guii ed by you, then," was the an-
swer. and she allowed him to seat her in the saddle,
and mounting his own horse they rode away slowly
from the fateful spot.

CHAPTER XVII.
TEE nvs'raiuors CllINEE.

THE person who had so unexpectedly appeared
upon the cliff, and frightened the wolves away from
the grave into which Guy Marsden had just been
thrown, was a most remarkable-looking individual.

He had ascended to the cliff by the tree growing
in the canyon. and sprung out upon the rocks with
an agility that was remarkable.

As be advanced into the light of the fire it could be
seen that he was a Chinee.

He was taller than the average of his race. by for,
had great broad shoulders, wore the costume of his
country, excepting that his feet were teased in
moccasins and his head was surmount d by a black
sombrero with a broad brim.

About his waist was a belt of arms, two revolvers
and a long—bladed knife, and at his back hung a re—
peating rifle.

His hair was worn according to the style of his
countrymen, in one long pig—tail behind, and to the
end was tied a revolver which swung to and fro as
he moved like a pendulum.

Certainly he was a remarkable-looking individual.
and yet his faCe was an attractive one, though it
wore the traditional cunning look, with the child-
like grin for which his countrymen are so noted.

As though Conscious that he had nothing to fear
there, he strode directly toward the grave.

It seemed, by his actions, that he had seen from his
perch in the tree all that had taken place there on
the cliff.

Leaning over as he knelt upon the the fresh earth,
he thrust his arms down into the grave, and then
rising he held in his strong grip the form of Guy
Marsden.

“ Not deadecl me know allee time.” he muttered,
as he shook the earth from the clothes and carefully
wi )ed the dirt from the pale face.

uto the cabin he bore the limp form and placed it
before the hearth.

Then he built a bright fire, and seating himself by
the side of. the boy gazed into his face intentlv.

" Have breathe allee samee,” he murmure , and
stripping away his hunting-shirt he gazed long and
fixedly at the wound.

The bullet had entered his right side, and the
the wound was still bleeding slowly.

The Chinee took from a capacious receptacle
somewhere about his mysterious costume a small
box, which seemed to contain a vast assortment of
odds and ones.

Selecting a pair of long tweezers. heliinserted the
smaller end into the wound. '

Guy flinched as it entered, and the Chinee smiled
and said:

“ Allee lightee.”

He. moved the improvised probe about for awhile,
and then took the tweezer end and inserted it into
the wound.

After some time he drew it forth and the tWeezers
held the bullet.

“ Allee lightec,“ be repeated, and then he began
to dress the wound most careful] .

Again he had recourse to someiidden pocket and
produced therefrom a roll of linen and a bottle of
ointment.

The latter he oured upon the wound and then
bound it up wit 1 the linen. again expressing his
satisfaction with his “ Allee lightee.”

Having extracted the bullet and dressed the
Wound. the Chinee began to bathe the face of the
wounded boy with cool water. brought from a
spring on the cliff, and made him as comfortable as
be possibly could.

Guy soon showed evidence of returning conscious-
ness and Strength. and the Chinee gazed at him
with delight in his face.

At last Guy opened his eyes and gazed listlessly
about him.

" Am I not dead?” he asked. faintly, as the mem-
ory of the eXeculion flashed before him.

“ No deadee, but mnchee sickee.

“ Keepee&uiet and get along allee lightee."

The wor turned the boy‘s eyes upon the
speaker.

 

“Who are you?" he asked.

“ Chinee man. takee care of ’Melican boyee.”

“ Was I not shot down?”

‘* Yes, shootee downee, but I takee upee.”

“ Where am I?”

“ in cabin.”

"Yes. and my mother is dead, my sister gone I
know not where.

_“ I was a prisoner to the band of Captain Cham-
pion.

" I remember all now; but who are you?”

“ Me Chinaman.”

“ What are you doing here?”

“ Li\'ee allce round.”

“Well, you have been kind to me, and I thank
you; but am 1 not very badly wounded f”

“ No goodee wound; but kcepee quiet, and we
takee care of you allee lightee.”

"I will do as you tell me, for I have much to live
for.

“ Ay, and I will live to avenge those I love."

He s )oke hoarsely, and his lips were set flrml .

“’I‘afkec little now. mnchee when allee ligh ee,”
said the Chinee, and realizing the worth of the
Chinaman‘s advn-e, Guy Marsden turned his eyes
from the flrehght and sunk into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER XVIII.
A CHINAMAN AT BAY.

THE Chinaman. who had. from his roost in the
tree, seen all that took lace on the cliff, and had,
after the departure of t e outlaws. for they were
nothing else. so befriended Guy Marsdcn, seemed.
determined to continue in his good work after he saw
the wounded boy asleep.

He went out of the cabin and brou 'ht in plent of
wood, and then. driving 011' the we vcs, w iich ad
again returned, set to work filling in the grave. for,
when he took (:uy out of it, he had noticed that he
was not the only occupant.

Ascertaining first that the one therein was reall
dead, be filled it in compactly, made a neat moun ,
and then drew over it heavy branches of trees.
blown down by the winds, to protect it from wild
beasts.

It was now dawn. and he returned to the cabin, to
find G uy} still sleeping.

Then e set out along the spur and disappeared in
the thick timber of the mountain.

Soon the crack of his rifle was heard, and then
again. and he came back bearing upon his strong
shoulders a mountain deer and a s uirrcl.

Again he entei ed tnc cabin, but any still slept.

Going nearer he heard him breathing softly, and
with his inimitable “Alice lightee,” he walked out.
into the open air once more.

Searching in his blouse. he drew forth a bag of
rice, and a pint of it he put into a pan, along with a
piece of venison cut from a choice part of the
animal.

Putting some cold water into the pan, he set it.
upon the fire and watched it as it began to stew.

“Makee goodee soup; makee boyee strong,” he
said with satisfaction. as he skinned and dressed his
squirrel, which he placed on the coals for his own
breakfast. along with a tin cup of coffee.

Eating his breakfast in silence, but with exceeding
great isto, he again took a peep into the cabin.

But is patient still sl pt.

“ Makee mnchee strong‘, plentee sleepee." he mut-
tered. as he set to wor rubbing up his weapons
and setting things to right, as though he expected
to depart at an instant’s notice.

Again he entered the cabin, and found Guy’s eyes
fixed upon him.

“ Feelee allee lightee?” he asked, as he approach-
ed and squatted down by the wounded boy.

" I remember you now; you were so kind to me
before I went to sleep.

“ Yes, I feel much better, but suffer here,” and he
placed his hands upon his wound.

“It allce lightee bime-by; but habee some
soupee?“ and he ski ped out and brought in a cool
drink of water, whic Guy drank with a relish.

Then he bathed his face and hands most tenderly,
gave him some medicine he took from a small bot-
tle, and next dressed his wound as softly as a woman
could have done.

"Now soupee,” he said, and he went after the rice
and venison soup he had made.

Guy drank some of it with evident relish, and
would have taken much more had not the Chinee
drawn it away with the wise remark:

“Little bitlee goodec; big bittee bad.”

“ Who are you?” asked Guy, with curiosity.

“ Chinaman.”

Guy smiled and said:

“ There were some Chinamen in the mines a few
morghs'ago; were you at Lost Hope City?"

0

“ Where is your home?”

“ Ilabee no home."

“ What are you doing here?"
“Takee care ’Melican boyee.”

“ Y< s, and taking good Care of me, too; butas you ‘

will not tell me about yourself, tell me your name-—
mine is Guy Marsden.”

“ No likee long namee; callee Boyce.”

“ All right; and what shall 1 call you?“

“ Calico me China.”

“All right.”

“Allee lightec; now no talkee, but sleepee more,
makee strong.”

With this he stepped to the door, and as thou h
antici ating a long stay, he began to ather quan i-
tieg'o fallen woo and pile it up by t 6 side of the
ea in.

When returning from one of these pilgrimages to
the mountain-side, dragging a huge limb after him,
he suddenly came to a halt and sprung for shelter

 
  
 
  

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11

 

Warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.

 

. o the tree beneath which was the grave of
. Marsden, and which had so nearly become the
t resting-place of Guy Marsden.

Voxces fell upon his ear, and he saw three horses
be end the cabin.

_ le heard loud talking in the cabin, and one voice
Bait :

“ Waal, pat-(ls, my idea are ter kill him, fer ther
lieutenant said it were ther cap‘n’s orders—and of
he’liev’riz from thcr dead, then he oughter be settled
ag in. '

“I hates ter shoot a wounded boy, pards; but cf
we went back withoutdoin’ so, ther cap‘u w’u’d make
it gaé‘m fer us,” said a second voice, while a third

e :

“Waal, in some myst‘rous way he hev got out o’
ther grave. and he won’t tell us who helped him; but
we knows somebody did.

I “E! we hedn’t come back here, ter s‘arch fer ther
heutcnant‘s leather puss, which he says he lost about
here, ther young bantain w’u’d hev got well, and
we'd hev hed him on our trail afore long, so I says
kill him."

As the speaker spoke there came a sharp report
and he fell dead in his tracks.

Dismayed, the other two rushed out, to behold be-
fore them the Heathen Chinee.

There was blood in China‘s eye, and he meant mis-
chief, for another of the wretcbes fell by a bullet
from his revolver before he could fire at the one
whom he saw was  foe; and though the third man-
aged to twice discharge his weapon, he did no dam-
age. and before he could do so a third time, he was
in the clutch of the Chinaman.

For an instant only the struggle lasted. and the
outlaw, with a shriek of terror, felt the keen blade of
his foe entering his heart.

“Shootee Boyce, guessee not, no, no,” coolly said
China as he hastily entered the cabin.

The excitement he had passed through was cer-
tainly not good for Guy, and the Chinaman found
him flushed and nervous.

f‘ Eh! I feared they had killed you, China," he
crle .

“ Oh, no, China killee bad ‘Melican man.

“ Alice hghtee now, go sleepee,” was the very cool
remark, and he made Guy comfortable once more,
while he went out of the cabin.

“ T’ree hossn-e, muchee goodee,” he said,as he gazed
at the three horses.

uNo goodee placo here now; go quicken, take
Boyce," he added, and he Went to work preparing
to evacuate the place.

He out two longipoles and rigged two of the ends
together with a 1nd of harness, which looked as
though he meant them to serve as shafts for a
horse.

Some distance from the after ends he made with
lariats a kind of network, upon which he spread the
blankets of the three slain Mormons.

Unsaddling one of the horses, the one that looked
most likely to be a good draught animal, he rigged
him into the shafts, and led him around to see that
he would work all right.

Then he quietl , and with a cunning leer upon his
face searched t e bodies of the dead outlaws. and
seemed satisfied with what he found, for he said;

“Goodeel Chinaman gettee what] had ‘Melican
man stealee."

The other traps about the cabin he packed upon
one of the other two horses, and then going to the
threlt: bodies, threw them to one side with the re-
mar :

“ Wolfee habee plenty supper; no eatee Boyce or
Chinaman."

Entering the cabin he saw that Guy was awake;
but his face was flushed and he seemed wandering
a little, wlnle his ulse, which the Chinaman placed
his fin ers upon With the air of a doctor, showed a
risin ever.

“ ust leabee here; China takee Boyee allee
lightce.”

With this he raised Guy,us though he had been
aninfant, in his strong arms, and placed him upon
:tfietrope hammock he had made upon the long

a ts.

Returning, he threw upon the pack-horse the
blankets and other things in the cabin, and then,
hitchingthe three horses in arow, be mounted the
leader, and leading the other two rode slowly away
from the cabin, picking the easiest way, so that the
dragging ends might glide along without a jar, to
give pain to the wounded boy.

As night tell, they reached the valley. and the
strange party wound its way slowly along, the
Chinaman having without doubt, some given des-
tination in his mind.

CHAPTER XIX.
THE srsc'rsa or LOST neps CITY.

ALONG the trail to the mines, about Lost Hope
City, Warpath Will led the way, poor Cleone follow-
lnfwith a sad heart, yet with hope of soon being
w th her father and brother.

Eve deer that bounded across the path she
seeme to feel was the sound of their horses‘ hoof-
strokes, and thus disappointment after disappoint-
ment greeted her.

Ever gentle and kind, Wa ath Will did all in his
powertocheer her up, and w ien they cam )ed for

he night, he made her up a little shelter of oughs,
a bed of leaves. and built near a cheerful tire.

Then he prepared ‘Suppcr, and saying that he.
would stand guard, Withdrew for the night to some
distance away.

Until morning Cleone did not see him. and then
she awoke at the crackling of the blazing logs and
beheld the guide preparing breakfast.

He looked bright and cheerful. notwithstanding
his loss of rest. and invited her to breakfast, '

 

 

“ He is so kind, so gentle, and yet I fear him, yes I
almost hate him," she murmured, as she sat by the
rivulet. bathing her face and hands, while her eyes
were fixed upon the tall form of the scout busy
about the tire.

After the meal was over he laced Cit-one in her
saddle, and then again resnmet the trail.

It was afternoon when they arrived in Lost Ho 0
City, and the deserted place had the effect of ill-
creasing the gloom of the poor girl.

\Varpath Will explainct to her that when mines
became useless, miners were wont to desert them,
and such had been the case with Lost Hope City.

"Has l-O one remained?" asked Cleonc.

“NO one, the place is left to the (lead in the bury-
ing-ground yonder, and the ghosts that roam the
place at night.”

it was an unfortunate remark of the guide’s and
lie regretted it, as he saw the look upon Cleone’s

ace.
t “Do you believe in ghosts?" she asked in a low
one.

" I do not know what I believe hardly, for I have
seen strange sightsl could not account for, Miss
Cleone— Hal seethcrel”

It was broad daylight, for the sun had not yet
touched the western mountains, and one half the val-
le ' was in the sunlight.

pon Lost lIope City the sunlight also fell but
beyond, across the stream, under the brow of the
mountain the shadows fell somber and heavy.

There lay the little burying-ground of the. miners.
and the small head-boards above the graves, stood
out in bold relief, manylwhite as they were against
the black shadows.

As he had spoken the eyes of the guide wore
turned upon the burying-ground. and suddenly an
obfect had caught his gaze. that was white, but not
sti l, as were the ln-ml-boards.

At his cty Cleone glanced hastily in the direction
indicated, and belnld a human form, clad from
head to feet in a white, shroud-like garment, slowly
walking among the graves.

” What. is it?" she asked, drawing rein, and speak-
ing in a hoarse whisper.

“I know not."

“ It certainly is a. human being. sir ”

“Yes, or the ghost of one,” and Warpath Will
seg'tmed more impressed than he wished to ad-
llll .

“Let us ride tin re and find out.”

“No, no," he said quickly.

" Do you fear to go?“

“ It is better that we should not; come, let us ride
on and reach the cabin of your father before night-
fall," and the guide seemed deepr moved.

Before he could check her, or knew what she in-
tended, Cleone suddenly started forward, and urg-
ing her horse into a run, went flying down the trail
that led across the stream and to the little ceme-

cry.

“Come backl for Heaven‘s sake stop, Cleonel"
shouted the guide.

But the youn irl had made up her mind just
Evliat she woul 50, and urged her horse on the

aster.

Seeing that she would not heed his call, Warpath
Will spurred on in pursuit.

Down the trail wont Cleone, across the shallow
stream, and then up the road to the burying-
ground.

She kept her eyes upon the white-robed form,
which was standing motionless, apparently regard-
ing her approach, and distant from her some two
hundred yards.

Ql’l up the trail she ran, and behind her came the
gm: 0.

Suddenly her horse stumbled, and in recovering
him, she took her eyes off of the shadowy form.

When she again looked it had disappeared.

But though amazed, for she had certainly expect-
ed to find LOIIIG person, masquerading asa ghost,
Cleone kept on and entered the burying-ground.

There were about a couple of ‘hundred graves
there, nearly all with a wlnte, painted head-board,
and the name of the dead carvsd upon it, while
some of them were quite pretentious, having been
built of planks in the shape of large tombstones.

Once one was the trunk of a tree painted white,
another had a large cross above it, another a skill-
fully-constructed miniature church.all of snowy hue,
and it was evident from the workmanship upon
many of them, that a skillful carpenter had been
the architect.

Through the narrow streets of the little village of
the dead. Cleoue rode at a walk, her eyes Search-
log diligently everywhere for the white—robed form.

'B‘ut nowhere could she see trace of it.

lhcn the. guide joined her, his face Vf‘l'y Dale»
and he too, at her re tit-st joined in the search.

It was of no use, tor the white form had disap—
peared as mysteriously as though it had been indeed
a tenant of one of the graves about them.

There was no hiding-place near, and with the
mystery uusolvrid, Cleone rode on with the guide to
her father‘s house.

 

CHAPTER XX.
A BITTER nLow.
Tun sun had gone down behind the mountains,
and the canyon was in deep shadow, when the guide
turned into it, (‘leone riding by his side.

Above them the skies Were rosy bright. the moun- '

taiu-tops were tinged with sunlight, and the. slope,
onlwlilieh stood the miner’s cabin was a lovsly spot
lli( eet .

The little cabin was there. and beyond it, further
under the shelter of the mountain 5 or, was the
large “mansion “ which Don Marsden ad intended
as the home of his family.

'r

l .. ' .‘
.  '>_‘l"' I 4..“
.2 c.‘ 43' ~ owl; alga“, -.

It was yet unfinished, and with no one near looked
grim and desolate.

From the dwelling cabin of the miner, no smoke
curled up from the chimney. and no one stood in
the door to give them a welcome.

Up the slope they rode. halting near the door.

'I here was still no one to greet them.

“ We have missed them,“ said Cleone, her eyes
illlitig with tears.

“ es. they have taken some other trail to meet
you. and we have passed them unseen."

“ And what a blow to my poor father and Guy to
find not my motln-r, but a grave.”

" Do not think of that. Miss Cleone, but cheer up,
for they will soon return."

" And I must await them here?“

“ Certainly.“

“Iiow strange that I did not think of leaving a
note on the cabin door, telling all, and saying when
i had come.”

“i did so for you," was the re vly.

“It was so good of on to think of it."

“Well, 1 suppose t iis is home—but see! the door
has been broken opt-u."

She s )ruug lrom her horse as she spoke, and War-
path V lll, who had already alightcd, saw also that
the d :or had been violently opened.

“ Some vandals hare been here~ycs. the place has
been robbed,“ he said quickly, as he threw open the
door and entered.

“ And this is the home of my father?

“The little nest where he and Guy have so long
lived and struggled for a fortune.

“ 1 ha‘. e often pictured it in my mind, and mame
and myself have talked over and over again about
this s wt and the lewd ones who dwelt here.

"A ttsl and what is the end?

“i come here alone! I how my poor mother ly—
iug in her grave by the roadside to this spot, which
has been the Mecca of our hopes—her hopes and
lllllle.

“ No one greets me here, for father and brother
have gone.

“ The place has been dcsccratcd by some robber
band, and alom, as it wt-re, I am here mistress of
the dear yet dread spot.

“Oh.l eaVcn have mercy] how bitter the blow
that brings sorrow upon me and blasts all of my
hopes!

She had sunk into a chair as she spoke, and now
buried hur face in her hands.

When she began to soliloquize aloud, Warpath
Will had noiselessly left the cabin, and when she
looked up she had found him gone.

“That is a strange man. and he is so food to me.

1 "‘I believe that he loves me, and yet cannot love
nm.

“ He is handsome, noble, generous, and ohl so
good to met but alas! I fear him all the time, and
only wish that I did not.

“If harm should befall my father and brother,
what will become of me?

“The thought is madness, and I will not dwell
upon it.

“ Well, I am at home, and I must make the best of
it, and await the coming of father and Guy.

“ Oh! that poor mamma Were llt'l't‘ with me, then
would I be content, and if all of us could gather
around this little table to-night, i would be posi-
tively happy, and the booting of the owls and howl-
ing of the wolves would be but music in my ears.“

Again she bent her face in her hands and thus re-
mained for a long time.

Then she arose and threw off her riding-habit,
changing it for a dress which came in the ack,
and which Warpath Willhad thrown in throng the
open door. ’

Thus equipped for work, she set the cabin to
ri hts. and goin outside. found the guide busy.

e had stake( out the horses, built a fire near the
cabin. brought water from the rivulet and. as
(‘lcone came out of the cabin he was dressing a
deer which he had shot during t 10 afternoon.

It was new dark, and the mountains loomed up
black and gloomy about them.

in almost silence the two ate their supper, and
then Warpath Will said:

“As the cabin has been broken into, I will be on
m guard to—nlght, and sleep in the new buiiding
wl’i’ere I can see any one b; the flrelight, should
they approach you." ‘

“ Ever thoughtful and good—good-night," answer-
ed Cleone, and she went to her little cabin. Warpath
Will followed her, built a tire on the hearth, and
then walked away, leaving her seated in front of it
and brooding over her sorrows.

Approaching his horse. where it. was staked out
the guide threw the saddle and bridle n on it and
mounting, rode away in the direction of 0st lIope
City.

 

CHAPTER XXI.
anssD in A rimsron nonsmum.

SLOW”! down the valley rode War )alh Will.

Why he was going toward Lost Ilope City he did
not exactly know.

He. seemed impelled by some strange impulse he
could not resist.

A desire came over him to solvo the mystery he
had seen there.

He had observed the white-relied form in the
cemetery in the broad daylight, and had seen it dis-
apipgar as suddenly as tiough it had faded into
.m s .

Were some of the old denizens of the place still
hanging about it, trying to frighten people?

What object had they?

True, one who remained might find “ ickings“
in the different mines that would repay liim hand-e

 

somely, where a thousand would think it nothing.

 

   

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12

 

. .. _- “.9,” _' 'Wv_"‘:,__w"”w_f .-» ~‘>'-lv -—~_, I _. .__-. _‘ mms... _ w—.

Warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.

 

 

 

 

 

But would one man wish to remain in that lone
spot, or even two, far from any habitation?

He would at least see.

Down the valley he rode, slowly and watchfully.
until at last the dark objects came in sight that
marked the shanties of the deserted mining-town.

Pismounting from his horse the guide hitched him
to a small tree, and wended his way on foot, his
rifle in hand, read for a su rise.

“ If I see the w ite form shall fire on it regard-
less of consequences,” he muttered in a grim
tone.

On foot he glided noiselesst forward.

Arriving at the first shanty be halted.

No one was there to o pose him.

Through the descrte streets he wended his way,
and halting near the largest structure in the place.
the one which 'had been the tavern, he turned his
eyes over toward the cemetery.

The moon was just rising, and its light fell upon
the little burying-ground, casting out in bold relief
the white head-boards there.

The town of Lost Hope was in shadow, for the
moon had not yet soarnd high enough to throw its
light upon it.

Presently the guide started. for he was confident
that he saw a white object moving in the cemetery.

Was it imagination? Was one of the white board
monuments really moving?

He kept his eyes riveted upon the spot, and, after
awhile said:

“ It does move.”

A long time he watched, and then muttered:

“It is a human form, clad in white, and coming
this we. .”

Down the hill from the burying-ground came a
tall form clad in pure white.

It glided along, around the. creek, as though walk-
ing upon the waters, for the guide heard no splash-
ing sound. and came directly toward the tavz-rn
where he stood.

“ When it comes nearer I will fire,” he said, and
he brought his rifle up‘roady to carry out his threat.

Nearer and Lli'ul‘i'l' came the white-robed form,
and the rifle of the guide was about to go up to the
shoulder, when suddenly it came, to a halt.

War ath Will lowered the rifle,and gazing earnestly
behel the arms of the seeming phantom wave to
and fro.

But the gaze of what he was so intently looking at
seemed not toward him, but upon a point of the
camp further down, for he faced in that direction.

Instinctiver the guide looked in that direction
and lo! there was another phantom.

Coming directly toward him, and not further ofl?
than the other, was a snowy steed, and rider clad
in white.

The horse seemed to come on in utter silence, for
no sound of hoof-falls falling upon the flinty ground
could be heard.

In dismay the guide listened an instant, and then,
almost unnerved, he threw his rifle to his shoulder
and drew trigger.

The rifle was aimed at the phantom horseman,
and yet, there came no flash, no report.

The rifle did not explode.

“ My Godl why should my rifle fail me now?”
cried the guide, and he turned and fled from the
3 0t!

pLooking ov" r his shoulder, as he ran, he saw the
mounted phantom in pursuit.

The one on foot he could not see.

His own steps made a ringing sound, and yet the
white horse behind him seemed to move noiselessly.

On, On he flew, until his horse came in sight.

He saw that the phant 'm in chase was gaining
upon him. .

Whipping out his knife he cut the reins, not stop-
lng to untie them, and sped oli.’ at the full speed of
is horse.

Loud run the hoof-strokes of his own horse, as
he dashed a ong, but the white steed behind seemed
to run without sound.

“I dare not attempt to tire again," he said so on
he flew for half a mile, not daring to look behind
$113, for fear he would see the specter almost upon

At length he gained courage sufficient fer a hasty
glance, as the suspense was awful.

The phantom had disapficared.

But he guide held on is way at full speed, and
didhnot draw rein until the miner’s cabin came in
s t.
here was still the reflection of the flreligbt in the
cabin where was Cleone Marsden; but he rode by,
staked his horse out in the vale, and sought the
shelter of the “ mansion ” for the night.

He readily found himself snug quarters and wrap-
ping his blanket about him sought to rest.

But sleep did not visit him for hours, and only
when he was utterly worn out.

When he awoke the sun was shining brightly, and
glancing out of his retreat he saw Cleone getting

reakfast.

He hastened to join her, excusing his late nap by
telling her that he had stood watch all night.

But he did not once refer to the phantoms he had
seen in Lost Hope City.

CH AFTER XXII.
cnsonn’s enoxon.

Foa several days the two, Cleone Marsden and
Warpath Will, the guide, remained at the miner's
cabin.

The guide was as kind as a brother could have
been.

He did not go far from the cabin at an time, but
.procured plenty of game. and seemed 0 try and
make the maiden forget her sorrows.

At night he pretended to stand guard; but as soon

x

as Cleone went to her cabin, he would seek his re-
treat and strive to forget himself in slumber.

Most anxiously did Cleone watch for the comin
3f heir father and brother, and her heart ached wit

rea .

They should haVe been back the day after her ar-
rival. and yet they came not.

“What could it mean? Had harm befallen them?"
she would ask herself over and over again.

One day the guide went out on a hunt for game.
and he returned after several hours leading several
horses, one of which Cleone recognized as the ani-
mal ridden b her brother Guy. .

Breathless y she rushed to meet the guide crying:

“ Oh, sirl what has happened?"

“ Miss Cleone, I found these two animals straying
in the valley.

“One you know is Guy’s horse, and I suppose your
father rode the other one, and I fear—”

“ Oh! they are dead, they are dead!" groaned Cle-
one in despair.

“Oh no, I do not believe that; but they either de-
serted their horses, and took to the fins, when
chased by the Mormons, or the animals got away
from them when they halted to camp, for you see
they are saddled and bridled."

“ Yes, yes.“

" Now if it was on their way to meet you, by this
time they should have returned, even on foot, and,
as they have not, I think—"

“ Well?” groaned Cleone as the man aused.

“I was going to say that I intende to find your
father and brother for you.”

“ Oh, how good you are to me.”

“ lint I dare not leave you here alone, and there-
fore must ask you to go with me.”

“ Whither?”

“ I dislike to ask it, but then there is nothing else
to be done."

“ Where do you wish me to go?”

“If you remain here, the band of Red (.‘ham ion
would come and capture you, were I not lore
to defend you, or wild beasts might destroy you, for
there are grizzlies in these mountains. not to speak
of roving bands of Indians, while, if there was noth-
ing to fear, the loneliness of this life, without one to
call upon. would be enough to drive you mad."

“It would, it would."

“ For these reasons I ask you to trust me and go
with me.“

" \thre?"

“ To Suit Luke.”

Cleone started and became very pale, but uttered
no word.

“Understand me,” said the guide. quickly:

" I wish you to go where you can be comfortable,
and have no cause to fear.

“ My position as spy enables me to enter the Mor-
mon stronghold, and I will get you good quarters
there, and, to protect you wholly, will give out the
same story that I told Red Champion.“

“ What was that?“

“ That you were my wife,"

Again Cleone started, and the guide went on:

"With this belief the Mormons will not disturb

i you, and I can leave in erfect confidence on my

search for 'our father an( brother.

“ When have found them they can await you
here and I will go after you and take you to them."

"I thank you." .

“ You can thus take your choice Miss Cleone, of
remaining here. or of going to Salt Jake.”

“I would die if I stayed here," she said with a
shudder.

“ I fear so."

“ I can trust you wholly, I feel."

“ You can."

“ I will go with you.”

“ Then i will at once get ready."

Half an hour after the two rode away from the
little cabin in the canyon, and their destination was
Salt Lake City, the stronghold of the Mormons.

It was a long, hard ride, but just after dark the
evening of the second day, they rode into the city
of strange people.

The guide seemed thoroughly acquainted with the
place, and passed the Mormon guards without
trouble, as soon as be was recognized.

Turning into a ( uiet street, he stopped at a small
house, pleasantly coated, and with pretty grounds
surrounding it.

A woman with stern mien and quiet manner
met them and greeted him somewhat coldly, and
gazed at Cleone with interest.

“Mrs. Claire, l have brought you a boarder for a
short while, for I am called at once away.

" My wife, Mrs. Claire."

Cleone started, and her face flushed angrily at his
words, and she seemed about to break forth in in—
dignant denial, when the guide pressed her arm in
warning.

The woman addressed as Mrs. Claire said, qui-

etl :

II will look to your comfort, madam, during the
absence of your husband.

“ Come with me, please.”

She led the way into a cosey sitting-room and
bedroom adioining, and a lamp burned cheerftu
upon the tab e.

“There are your rooms, Mrs. Hendricks, and I
will have supper prepared at once."

She left the room, and before Cleone could speak,
the guide said:

 

“ Do not betray yourself. or me, I beg of you.

“I told you how I would have to bring you here,
and it was your choice to come.

“ After sup er I_ will depart, and devote my life to
‘ finding your ather and brother.”

“Thank you—0h, thank you!" and she extended
her hand.

 

 

He grasped it warmly and continued:
“Cleone, you know that I love you, and I
that in all truth you were my wife. ,
“You know me as I am, a plain hunter of t _
plains, but I have means, and in other than th

western land would be glad to have you go with me '\

to live, and I would devote my life to your happi-
ness.

“ Answer me then if, when I have found your fa-
ther and brother, you will be my wife?"

She seemed deeply moved, and for a moment did
not speak.

Then she said, faintly:

“ I cannot give you the love. I would wish to be-
stow upon one I called my husband. but you have
been good to me, and I cannot refuse ou.

“ Come to me when you know the ate of those I
love. and I will be your wife.”

“ I thank you,” he said earnestly.

“From my inmost heart I thank you for those
words!"

With this he led her out to supper, and soon after
mounted his horse and rode away down into the
busy part of the town.

CHAPTER XXIII.
A MINER ALLY.

WHEN Warpath Will left Cleone, he wended his
way down into the the busy part of the town, as I
have said.

He sought a stable, where he left the tired animal
he had ridden, exchanging him for a fresh horse, a.
su erb bay.

any persons seemed to know the guide, as he
went along.

Seeking the head-quarters of the Mormon Legion
he remained within for some time, in earnest con-
versation with the commandant, and then be
mounted his home and rode out of the town.

After leaving the last guard post behind him, he
turned into a canyon an soon drew rein beforea
small but.

A light glimmered through several cracks be-
tWeen the logs, and the guide called out:

“ Hello!”

“ Ohl I’m here. pard, and has a bend on yer.

“ I heerd yer horse a-comin’ so jist got ter my
leetle lookout, fer these is troublous times.

“ Who is yer, and what are yer biz with Miner
Mark ‘r"

The man could not be seen, but he evidently had
his face close to some hole in the wall of the cabin.

“ Don’t you know me Mark?”

“ Yas, I knows 'ou now, en fin.

“ Come in," an the man threw open the door.

The guide dismounted and entered the little hut.

It was an humble home, a bunk, a few blankets
and robes. a table. bench and in one corner a pick
and shovel, in another a rifle and shot-gun.

In another corner, in the rocky floor was a clear
spring, bubbling up and finding its way out under
t ie log wall, and a cupboard held the cooking uten-
sils and household stores.

“ Well, Mark, how does the world use you?"
asked the uide, taking a seat upon the bench.

“ Waal, git along, cap’n.”

“ Do you hunt much now?”

“Pretty much all ther time. fer robes and 'skinl
finds a good market, and game sells in ther city "
was the reply of the man. who was dressed in abuc -
skin suit, wore moccasins and a wolfskin cap, the
tail hanging down his back.

His face was bearded high upon his cheeks, and
the. wolfskin cap was pul ed down to his brow, so
that his eyes and nose were the only features visible
and these were not altogether prepossessing.

He looked like a man of great strength and endur-
ance, and one that would be a dangerous foe.

f “Haven‘t found the mine you have been looking
or?

" No cap’n. but I’ll git it yet, fer I are confident
I are intended fer a ric man."

“ Well, I have found a mine, Mar ."

6| No.3?

“Yes I have."

“ Wharf"

“Some distance from here.”

“ How does she pan out?"

H Big.’7

" Are yer all alone in it 1’"

“It is not mine."

“ Thougvht yer said you bed found it, cap’n?"

“Well, Iark, it is just this way:

“The mine was found by a man, who came out
here to di a fortune.

“ He ha his boy with him, and they hit upon this

lead.

“ Then the boy went to Kentucky after his mother
and sister, and on the way out the old lady died.

“ I was guide for the train, and I fell in love with
the girl."

“ J ist like yer, cap‘n.

“ Well, the boy left the girl and her mother, while
he went to bring the father to see his wife die, and
neither have since been heard of.

“ I took the girl to her father’s cabin, but as I
could get no news of either the man or his son, I
brou ht the girl to Salt Lake and left her.”

“ as, cap‘n; are she likely?”

“ She is beautiful.”

“J es‘ so."

"Now Mark, you have the reputation of being a.
good miner.”

" None better. Cap.”

“1 wish to arrange with you to go to that mine
and work it for the young gir ."

“ How much, Cap?”

“One fourth the dust you dig."

“ How do it pan out?‘

6‘ Big-.19

99

i

 
    
   

 

   
  
  
  
 
 

i.
l

- warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.

 
 

13

 

 

 

 

. m thar."
When will you go?"
" Now, ferI hain got nothing to keep me."

“ Where is your horse t“

“ Grazin‘ on the slope."

“Then get him and we‘ll be 03."

" Yas cap'n.”

The old hunter, a miner, for he was both, left the
cabin and soon led up a very hard-looking animal;
but he had the go in him, as the guide soon dis-
ooveredwhen they were upon the trail together.

It was late the next afternoon when they reached
the little cabin of Don Marsden. _

All was quiet there, though it was _ev1de_nt to the

de that some one had been there smce his depar-
ure with Cleone. _

IkIe said nothing about this to the miner but
as ed:

“Are you afraid of ghosts, Mark?"

“ Ghosts?"

It Yes'V!

“ Yer mean dead folks walkin' on 'arth!"

u Yes.7)

“ Not much I hain‘t."

“ I am glad to hear it."

“ Why, pard cap'n?"

“ Well, as the mines down the valley did not [pan
out very Well, the miners deserted them, and st
Hope City is wholly deserted, though the boys say
the hosts walk about the streets at night."

“ Eat ‘em walk."

“ You are not superstitious, then I"

“ Super—what?"

“Su erstitious."

“ W at are that?"

“ You do not believe in ghosts?"

“ Ca , I hain‘t never seen a speerit, though folks
says t ey does meander around; butI doesn‘t be-
lieve nothin‘ I don‘t see."

“ You do not?"

“ I does not, so just show me thet mine yer spoke
of, thet I may know whether to believe thet thar
are gold in it.

They left their horses staked out in the valley,
and the guide led the way to the mine.

“ Well, what do you think i” asked Warpath Will,
as Miner Mark examined the place closely.

“ Thar is gold here."

“ Yes, plenty of it." .

1“ Sto I sees, or at least thar is prospects of pickin'

en y.“

p “ And lyou‘ll work it?"

“I wil ."

“ On the terms I offered?"

“ Agreed, Cap."

“ Then to-morrow I will leave you, but in a week
or so I will return."

“ Some biz elsewhere 2"

“ Yes, I will be only able to come here once or
twice a month; but work hard and get out all the
dust on can."

e I ll do it, Cap."

“ Should you wish to see me about anything, you
know where to find me?”

“ I does; now let us go back to ther cabin and git
su r, for I are as hungry as a coyote.”

eir way led them past where the horses were
staked out, and the eyes of the old hunter fell upon
something that seemed to surprise him.

“ Thar is witches in this here valley, Cap."

“ hat do you mean, Mark?“

“Look tharl"

“ What is it?”

“ At our horse and mine."

“We 1, they are safe.”

“ Did you braid the mane and tail of our nag?"

“ No! by Jupiter! they are braided c ose."

“ And so is ther mane and tail 0‘ my rickety old

nes.”

“ Who could have done it?"

" Witches.”

“ Do you believe in such things?"

“ I believe in what I see.”

“ You are not afraid to stay here?"

“Cap. yer don‘t know me, fer I hain't afeerd o'
nothin‘,” was the calm reply.

The manes and tails of t e horses were certame
braided, and it was well done.

The braids were taken out, and the two men went
on and prepared their su per.

That ni ht Miner Mar stood watch; but in the
morning t was found that the witches had again
been around, for the same braiding set had been re-

Glad to leave the mysterious valley the guide
mounted his horse and rode away, leaving Miner
Mark alone at the cabin, and sa ing nothing to him
gbfut the strange sights he h seen in Lost Hope
a y.

 

CHAPTER XXIV.
ma spa-ma or THE 1mm.

“ HELLO, Mark!"

“ I are here."

The hail was given by Warpath Will, as he rode
up to the cabin in the canyon, just at dark one
as, , some two weeks after his de rture.

The answer came from the old3 miner, who had
gone into his cabin at sunset, and was cooking his

an 1'.
RI): door opened, and the miner stepped out.
“Back " 1), Cap?"
“ Yes, w at news?"
“ Plenty."
“ You have found plenty of gold?"
6‘ YES"!
“That is g .“
“So it are."
“ Well, I'll stake my horse out and come in to

 

supper, so throw another steak on the coals for
me ‘

“ There are plenty," and the miner turned again
hto his cooking, whi e the guide went off with his

orse.

He soon returned, hung his saddle and bridle up
on aweg and seated himself before the tire.

" el , Mark, you have a good supper here."
“Yas, I loves eatin’."
“ Anybody been around?"

“Don’t know."
“ Don‘t know?”

“Would you not have seen them, if any one had
been here?’

‘* Yas, I’d hev seen anybody, but I can't sw‘ar
they was in ther body."

“ Hal you have been troubled by the witches."

“ Ther witches hasn’t worried me none, Cap, but
they hes made it lively fer ther old horse.’

“How do you mean t"

“ I means thet they braided his mane and tail
every night, as reg‘lar as a gal flxin‘ her ha‘g fer
Sunday camp-meetin‘, and when I shaved every
identical ha’r off—"

“ Did you cut off your horse‘s mane and tail?"

” You 11 think so when yer sees him.”

“ Go on with our story."

” I were saym' thet arter I cut ther mane and
tail off. they tuk ter ridin‘ him, ontil he looks weary,
I kin tell yer."
th“ Why did you not watch to see who it was doing

isy'I

” Watch fer witches? Cap is yer a durned fool?”

“I hope not; but I am glad it is no worse."

“ It are worse."

" What?"

“ Cap, I hes seen a ghost.“ .

“ A ghost?"

“ Yas, a raal live one."

“ “'hen ?"

“ Often.“

“ Where ?"

“ Thar at ther mine."

It  I"

“ I says yes."

“ This is remarkable.”

“ So it are. Cap; but did yer find them as you
went to look for?"

“ The miner and his son?"

H YRS-H

“I did not."

:: Did,you hear of ‘emt"

" Think they is dead?"
N Yes-H

“ Yer knows how ther miner looked i?"

" He was described as a fine-looking man, with
black beard and hair.

“ 1 saw a likeness of him which his daughter had."

“ Yas, that are him."

” How do you know?"

“ I has seen him."

The guide turned very pale, while he gasped forth:

“ Seen him?"

“ Yas, or rather I has seen his ghost."

“His ghost?“

“ Yas Cap, fer I believes in ghosts now, I does."

“Exp ain just what you have seen, Mark.”

“ I has seen thet which I doesn’t like ter see."

“ Well?"

“I goes ter work in ther mine every mornin’ jist
arter sun-up, and I works there as long as ther day.
light wlll, let me see ther dust.“

“ Waal, Cap, it were ther fu'st day thet I went ter
work thar that I seen it."

“ Saw what i?"

“ Ther ghost."

“Oh, go on with your story, Mark, and don't keep
me in suspense."

“ Waal, Cap, thar hain‘t no hurry, fer we hev
ther night afore us, and arter I tell yer, ef yer wants
ter go and see, yer kin fer yerself."

“ wish to see nothing, but I do wish to know just
what you have seen,” said the guide, im atiently.

“Waal, Ca , I were so glad at ther ust I were
flndin‘, thet dug on ontil it were dark.

“Then I scraped ther metal together, and put in
in bag, and riz u to come home.

‘ It were dark t en, or mighty nigh it.

“Well. Cap, I confess I was skeered, and I drop
ther gold and tuk hold onter iron, as bein’ more
sarvice to use ist then.

“ But I didn tshoot my revolver arter drawin’ it,
fer I kinder thought it would do no good.

“ Thar, standin’ right out o‘ ther mine. and gazin’
at me in a sad kind 0‘ way, was what I at first tuk
fer a man.

“ But ther second glance showed me that no man
bed I ever seen prowlin’ round like him, tho' I bed
seen 'em wear what he bed on when they was in
their coffins.

“He bed a shroud about him from head to foot,
and only his white face was exposed.

“ Across ther forehead were a. red mark, blood-
red, thet looked something like a knife-cut tho‘ I
hes seen thet same kind 0’ wounds made b the bar-
rel o' a revolver hitting a man over the fo’ ead.

“ He heri awful sad eyes, thet did not seem ter
blink, and black beard and ha’r.

“ This were all thet were not covered up by ther
shroud.

“ ‘ Hello. ard,‘ says I.

“ But he idn’t hello worth a cent.

“ ‘ Pard.‘ says I. ‘ has yer met with aaccidinti'

“ Still he didn’t talk.

“ ‘ Pard. ef this are your mine you looks dead ef
yer hain’t, so don't mind ef are here, fer I are
workin’ it on shares fer yer darter.‘

 

“ Still he stood gazin‘ at me, and I begun ter fee!
uncgmflortable. m b ‘ d d
“ ‘o stoops down, ts up my ag 0 ust, In
lights out. leavin‘ him standin‘ than"

“ This is remarkable."

“ lt are.“

“ Why did you not shoot him?"

" Kill a man as were already dead. Cap?"

“ I‘d have tried the virtue 0 lead."

“He didn‘t bother me, nor has he since."

“ You have seen him again?“

“ Oh, be are thar as reg’lar as I are.

“ Ef he liain‘t thar in ther early mornin' when I
goes, I sees him in ther evenin‘ late.“

“ I do not understand it, Mark."

“And I hain‘t tryin‘ ter onderstand it, Cap.

“ He are tbar, and I works ther mine."

“ And on are not afraid?”

“Of w at?"

“The ghost.“

“ Nary, ef he don't bother me."

“ We] , I will have to leave you again to-nyght."

“ What, hain‘t yer goin‘ ter stay no time?

“No, I have work to do elsewhere."

“ Yer horse liain’t rested."

" No, but he is not very tired."

“ I wanted you to go to ther mine with me and see:
ther ghost."

"Not this time, Mark; but another time I will,"
said the guide, nervously.

He did not seem to rave any more appetite for
his su per, and soon after arose to go.

Tak ng his saddle and bridle. he went out to his.
horse and found the. animal quietly grazing.

But his mane and tail had been braided while he
had been in the cabin.
M“ Ther witches is abroad, cap‘n," said Miner

ark.

“Yes; but I must be off Mark, so work hard
while I am gone and get all the dust you can for
me."

“ Fer ther gal yer means?"
“Yes "

“I‘ll be squar‘ in ther divey with ther oor gal,
though I might hed e a leetle on my own s de, were
it a man I were wor ing with on pardnership.

“ Good-by, cap‘n," and the old miner watched the
guide as he rode. away from the cabin and disap-
peared in the gloom.

CHAPTER XXV.
THE HAUNTED muss.

Ala-rim watching the de arture of the guide, Miner
Mark turned toward hs cabin, muttering as he
went along:

" Now, t iet are strange.

“Ther cap’n evidently come here ter stay a few
davs, and yit he got off after hearin‘ my story, as
then b he were skeert.

“ e hev a narve 0‘ iron, and I never heerd any
one say he c‘u’d be skeert store; but of he didn t
kinder wilt tor-night, I are ignorant 0' what wiltin‘
are.
" Waal, we'll see when he comes ag‘in what are:
ther matter.

“ Now, he hev tuk ther road ter Lost Hope City,
and I does believe I will ist foller him, jist ter see
what are oin’ on in thet esarted town.

“ Now, e were so hurried ter git off. thet I didn‘t
tell him I bed rid down thar one night an‘ seena
ghost thar on horseback.

“But 1’“ see ef ther ghost shows itself to ther
cairn ter-night.“

Ie walked on rapidly now, got his saddle and
bridle, locked the door, and was soon mounted upon
his horse, following after the guide.

The animal had been ugly enough before, but now"
without an atom of mane, and with only a shaven
stump for a tail, he was Certainly an odd-looking

beast.

Ridin on re. idly the miner came in sight of the
guide, ust as e reached the deserted town.

Warpath Will had been riding slowly, but as he
emered the town, he urged his horse into a gallop.

He had passed perhaps a dozen houses, w en sud-
denly out from behind one darted a white horse and
rider.

He was hardly fifty feet in front of Mark the

Minor, who, seeing that the specter had not ecu
discovered by the guide, gave a loud shout of warn-
mg.
Warpath Will heard the c , turned quickly, and,
bebolding the s ecter form 0 horse and rider, drove
his spurs into tie flanks of his steed and bomided
awa like the wind.

“ aall thet ghost are too much fer ther cap’n,
thet are sart‘in.

“ He hev run like a deer, but I‘ll foller an’ see of
Death on a pale horse overtakes him."

It was not so easy, hOWever, for the miner to keep
to his determination, for his own horse would not go

fast. ,

"Yer hes ther devil in yer. yer is bewitched or ye:
hes been rid ter death by ther witches," cried Mark.
t ing to urge his horse on.

ut it was of no use, for Warpath Will and the
pursuing phantom went flying1 through the deserted
town and disa eared down t e valley.

Then Miner ark drew rein and listened.

"Thar are but the sound 0‘ one horse runnin‘
thar that are sart‘in.

“ Waal, I hev bed enou b 0’ this, so I‘ll jist git
back ter ther cabin and ta e it see .

" Ef ther cap‘n don‘t tarn up ag in, then I are in
luck, fer ther mine belongs ter me, an’ of he does, I
might as well put a bullet in him and git all ther
dust, instead 0‘ a part 0’ it."

With this reflection of a murderous character. the
miner turned his horse about and started back to-
ward his cabin.

 

“w-

 
   
 

l
11

47A.

_..._._' .-

14

,
.. ,-- Wyn-Wu, I. 3.." an, v .41....

Warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.‘

 

 

 

 

Ashe arrived at the place where he fastened his
horse, he said:

" I guess I’ll jist drop over to ther mine, an‘ see ef
my ghost thar are the:- one who were on ther white
horse, takin’ a ride for his health."

Staking his horse out, Miner Mark went across the
little stream to the mine. '

There he discovered the ghost, slowly pacing to and
fro in front of the mine.

“ Wan], he haVe not been off carousin’, that are
sart‘in," he said.

“ lint I’ll not distarb him," and with this he
turned back, retracing his way to the cabin.

Picking up his saddle and bridle, where he had
thrown them, he walked on to the cabin, and then
Seemed sudden] ' startled.

He certainly had locked the door, and yet now
he found it unlocked.

“Waal, ghosts is out this night fer sart’in,” he
muttered, and opening the door he stepped into the
cabin.

Down dropped the saddle and bridle, and he stood
like a statue.

For a moment he seemed unable to speak, and
then he said:

“ Waal, pard, is you ther devil hisself, or his
ghost?"

It was no wonder that he asked the question, for
calmly seated in front of the tire was what ap-
peared to be a man. enVeloped in a fiery red mantle,
strangely resembling a shroud.

The face of the stranger suddenly turned upon
the miner, and he saw that it was that of a boy.

The face was white, haggard, the eyes sunken
gutdbright, and it looked really like the face of the

ea .

Rising slowly the red-robed form moved toward
the door.

He looked straight at the miner, yet seemed not
to see him.

Quickly the miner stepped to one side and allowed
him to pass, and out into the darkness sped the
strange outh.

“ Waa , thet are ther boy the cap’n spoke of, and
he have tamed inter a red ghost.

“They seems peaceable enough though, and, so
long as they doesn‘t huxt me, then I are content
ter remain here and dig dust.

“I guess thet old Bones will suffer now, fer that
red gh0st do look too sickly ter walk, and be are

- ther one thet are ridin’ ther old horse every night.

“My! but I wish I were well out 0’ this, for it are
a haunted kentry and no mistake."

But the old miner seemed to have an iron nerve,
for he rolled into his bunk and dropped to sleep
without seeming dread of his ghostly visitants.

In the morning he awoke and Bones, as he called
his horse, did seem to have been hard ridden.

After leading him to the brook to water, and cook-
ing his breakfast, the miner started for the mine.

has ghost was not there, so he went to work with
3 WI .

He struck a rich lead, and was so engrossed in his
work that he did not leave off until the darkness
prevented him from seeing longer to pick out the

gold from the dirt.

“ \Vaal, I hev did a big da ‘s work, that are sar-
t‘in,” he said, and after gat Jering his diggings into
a bag he started for the cabin.

It was quite dark when he arrived, and he felt his
way toward the hearth to make a fire, when sud-
denly he was in a grasp of iron.

The miner was a strong man, but he could not
throw off the grip upon him; and after an instant
ceased to struggle, as to said:

“ Fightin’ ghosts hain’t no use, so I let up, pards,
for I knows thar is more than one 0‘ ye, tho’ I does-
n’t see er.”

Hard y had he uttered the words when a flash of
vivid light shot up from the hearth, then another
and another, and the interior of the cabin was re-
vealed to the now thoroughly-alarmed miner, for he
beheld that which was enough to drive him mad
with fright.

 

CHAP ER XXVI.
was MINEn’s MISSION.

VVHAT Miner Mark saw by the flashes of light in
the cabin was enough to frighten the stoutest heart,
as I have said.

The flashes momentarily revealed a. terrible sight,
and then all was darkneSS again.

In one corner of the fire-place the miner had
seen the youth, or rather what he called the “Red
Ghost."

In the other corner was the white-robed being he
had seen at the mine.

Grasping his arms as though they were in a vise
was a third form, and it was robed in deep black.

The last was tall, and that, if ghost it was it was
most powerful, the miner had had reason to now.

When darkness came again Miner Mark was silent,
and the stillness that followed was painful.

“Pard speerits, I sh’u’d hev got out 0’ this ther
fu’st night I diskivered that this kentr were ha’nt-
ed." said the miner, breaking the awfu silence.

“ Man. you are in the presence of those that can
curse your soul forever.

“ Be silent!”

The voice of the white-robed form—he who spoke
——was deep and sepulchral, and the miner shivered;
but he answered, in spite of the warning:

“ J ist tarn me loose out o’ thet door, give me my
old stum -tniled horse, and tell me good-by, and
durned e yer’ll ever see me here ag'in.

“ Jist try me.”

“ Man, we intend to try you.

“ You have a chance to save your soul," said the
white-robed s ecter.

“How can t he did, pard?"

 

“ Do my bidding.”

“ I’ll do it.”

“Perform faithfully the task I order you to do,
and all will go well; but fail me, and, night and day,
slee ing or waking, you shall be haunted through
life iy grim phantoms.”

" I‘ll do as yer tells me.”

“Make no mistake.”

“ You bet I don‘t,” eagerly said the miner.

“ will you sWear to obey my bidding?”

“ Yes, Ghost, on a stack 0’ Bibles so high old
Bones can't jump over ’ein."

" I will trust you.”

With this the flashes again came from the fire-
pl'co, and the miner saw the red and white robed
forms arise and approach him.

In the darkness that followed he could not see,
but he felt their cold hands laid upon him, and then,
in the same deep, scpulchral voice he was asked
sevrlu'al questions, and to them he returned prompt
re ) ies.

hen the duty he was to perform was made
known to him, and he was told to go.

“ I am off,” he cried eagerly.

“Remember, if you fail, your fate will be an awn
ful one.”

" I’ll do what yer says," cried the minor, and
gathering up his bridle and saddle, lie dashed out
of the cabin, and five minutes after was riding rapid-
ly away from the dread spot.

Old Bones was Certainly made to suffer that trip,
for he was giw-n no rest through the night, but
halted at sunrise, when the miner felt that he was
driving him too hard.

A rest of an hour, with water and grass, revived
Bones immensely, and he was put at it again, and
held to the gait he started in until noon, when an-
other halt of an hour was made.

“(.‘ome, Bones, we ,must git on ag'in, fer we is
doin‘ errands fer ghosts now. and I hain’t one for
tarry,” said Miner Mark, and he ke t the horse
pushing ahead until he staggered an fell dead on
the trai .

“ Waal you hev give up, Bones, but I doesn’t dare
ter,” and shouldering his saddle and bridle, the
miner started on the wa afoot.

He soon passed his 0] cabin, where the guide had
visited him, and an hour after was entering Salt
Lake City.

Straight to the Mormon Legion head-quarters he
went and his e 'es fell upon a form be well knew.

“I 0, Ca )!” ie called out.

It was arpath Will, the guide, and he started at
sight of the miner.

Mark called him to one side and held an earnest
whis .red conversation with him.

“ ut, Mark. I am to be married in two days,“
urged the guide.

“Put thet off, pard, ef yer wishes ter save ther
mine."

“ But, Mark—”

“ Pard, I tell yer thet thct mine are too valuable
ter lose, and ef yer delays, ycr’ll find other occu-
pants thar when yer goes."

“ But I can drive them out.”

" Yer kin drive Lothin‘, fer ther hills is gittin’ full
0’ miners, and you’ll jist be set aside mighty quick.

“G0 to yer mine, he thar when they comes in,
and er’ll hold ther fort and no mistake.

't  ut jist wait ontil they gits thar and yer’ll lose
1 .

“ You are doubtless right, Mark."

“ I know I is, and, arter yer hes made friends with
the mi ters, yer kin leave ther mine with me ter
work it, and come back here and git married.”

“ You sa well, Mark, so I will go.

“ We wit start to-night."

"' No, Iare clean layed out, fer, as I said. I kilt
Bones a-comin’ ant walked the rest 0‘ ther way.

“Ihes a leetlo biz ter settle up too. while I are
here, so will come on arter yer in a couple 0’ days,
ready ter go ter work in ther mine."

“ I hate ter go alone."

“ What is yer afeerd of, Cap?”

“ Have you seen anything more of your ghosts?”

“ Ghosts be blowetl! what does I keer fer ghosts?”

“ They do not trouble you then, Mark?”

“ No sir, Cap."

“Well, I will start to-night," and several hours
after, just at dark, the guide rode out of Salt Lake
Cit on his way to the Haunted Mine.

I e seemed not in the best of spirits, as he rode
along, and the light still reflected mm the western
skies, showed his face to wear an anxious look.

It certainly would have appeared more anxious
fiadthelknown that two persons were following upon

13 rat .

 

CHAPTER XXVII.
anraxnmon.

Tim sun was yet two hours high, when Warpath
Will rode into Lost Hope City.

Not a human being was in sight, and glancing
over to the little burying-ground he failed to see
there the ghostly form, which he had seen when
with poor Cleone.

Anxiously he looked from the right to the left, but
no one met his vision.

“From what Mark told me I expected to find this

lace full of miners,” he muttered. as he held on
is we. up the valley toward the Haunted Mine.

“I n t half-like this," he continued, “staying
all ni ht in that cabin; but I am in for it.”

At ast the cabin was reached, and all looked
serene there.

He staked his horse out, carried plenty of wood
into the cabin, so as to keep a bright ight all night,
and then cooked his supper.

He Seemed strangely nervous and ill at ease.

 

For some time he paced the cabin floor, and then ,

 

   
   

t
with a muttered im recation, carsed ‘%
thoughts, he threw 0 his outer clothing, -
more wood upon the fire, and laid down upon
bunk which had been the bed of Don Marsden. \

For awhile he was restless, and then turning his \
face to the wall he seemed to sink to sleep, because \,
his breathing became hard and regular. "

Suddenly the bunk Which had bell] occupied by
Guy Marsden moved.

Out from' behind it aroso a tall. black-robed form.

Then another in white, and a third in red.

Softly toward the sleeping man the black specter
glided and his belt of arms was removed from the
peg where they hung within reach of his arm.

’I hen the rude chair and bench in the cabin were
placed before the fire, but facing the hunk of the
sleeper, and the three phantoms seated themselves
upon it.

Then Warpath Will moved uneasily.

He seemed to feel their presence, and, with a
stat tied cry, as though in a troubled dream, be half-
sprung out of his bed.

Then his eyes fell upon the three terrible forms ‘
confronting him. l

The black-robed form’s face was entirely covered; I ,
but the other two were visible. t

In the one in white he beheld the face of Don Mars-
den, with the red wound on his forehead.

In the face of the one in red he saw Guy Marsden,
the Boy Miner.

Like one whose brain had become crazed, the l
guide glared upon the specters, and then from his ‘
lips broke the cry:

*‘ Don Marsden’s ghost! Guy Marsden’s ghost!

And you, you! black phantom from the tomb, who .
are cu? r

" itterly am I punished, for I am going mad 1” ,

“Warpath Will, on deserve your unlshment,” .'
said the white-robe form in se ulchra tones.

“ You are a base Mormon out aw, and you became a
guide for the emigrant train to lead it to destruc- ;
tion.

“ You left it on an excuse to visit a friend’s ranch, ’
and came here to kill me, that. you might return i
take the life of my boy, and then make my beautiful
daughter your wife. .

“You struck me down with. deadly intent, you
returned and told lies to my Wife and children. you }
pretended to sacrifice yourself to save them from 1

t s

the Mormon captain, when you are none other than
he, Captain Champion, yourself.

“ You killed my loved wife, when a few more days
only and she would have died without your cruel
act, and you left your hirelings to kill my son. .

‘f Then you came hither with my daughter. and 1
from here took her to your Mormon home, where i ’
Heaven only knows what has been her fate.

“ For these crimes, Warpath Will, you deserve a
a death b torture, and, such mercy as you have
shown it shall be shown to you." _

A wild shriek broke from the lips of the terror-
stricken man, and he fell his full length upon the
cabin floor.

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.
A STRANGE srom'.

HARDLY had Warpath Will fallen upon the floor
of the little cabin, when the sound of hoofs was
heard without.

_ nkfiu

.‘_

The three spectcrs started, and soon there came I
knock at the cabin door.

“ Who are you?“ asked the white-robed form.

" I are Miner Mark back ag’in," was the reply. <

“ Alone?" ‘,

“ Jist here I am alone; but thar are one who 4
waits not far 011' for me.” 1

“ Enter!” _ t

In obedience, there entered the cabin the old
miner.

He looked pale and haggard, and glanced anx- 
iously around the cabin at the three spectral-looking ‘
bein s.

Thigh his eyes fell upon the form of Warpath Will,
and he said:

“ He got here."

A‘ Yes}!

“ Dead?”

Without answering, the specter asked: _,

“ Did you obey my bidding in everything?"

Lt (fig ‘7 I

“ Where is the one whom you brought with V ’t

on?" '

“ Waiting down by the brook.” , t ' '

“ Go there, and send the one who awaits you, ~ .
here at once. I i

“Then mount your horse, and do not draw rem -
until dawn." I.

“I hears yer, speerit.” 4v,

“ Will you obey?” I 

“You et!" . , .. 1

“If you venture into these wilds again, or if you W ‘
send any one here, woe be unto ou. ‘ ‘

“I’ll keep off, and I hev nothin’ ter do with other
folks.“ , ,

“Begonel” .  ii.

The miner darted out of the door, and as he disap- 4 ’
peared, the three 5 ecters were‘suddenly metamor-

hosed into Don arsden, Guy Marsden, and the ‘ ,5

eathen Chinee, all appearing 1n pro r on, as - r in ..
soon as their black, white and r r0 3 were L 1-,“! I

thrown aside. .
At the same time the sound of hoof-falls was . . .' .
heard without, and they hastily left the cabin. ‘ I. ,
A horse and rider was seen approaching, and but ‘, V -
a dozen paws away.  $-
Hastening forward Don Marsden cried eagerly: I .~
"My child! In beautiful da hterl" . -
“Father!” an with a boun Cleone was in her , {
father’s arms. - ,= .i 

 

  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  

i
i

Warpath Will, the Traitor Guide.

 

 

u moments she remained with her head
J : shoulder, and then he said:

« are is your noble brother, Cleone.”

a brother and sister were at once locked in a
n ‘ embrace. and then Don Marsden said:

" C cone, to this man we owe our liva."

He turned to the Chinee, who said:

“Muchee gladee do goodee.

“ Gladee see ‘Melican gal.”

Cleone grasped his hand and thanked him most
warmly, and the four walked toward the cabin.

“Hal that man is gone.” cried Don Marsden, as
he saw that Warpath Will had disappeared.

" Me catcln-e," cried China, and he started off in

ursuit, while Don Marsden ushered his daughter

at: the cabin, followed by Guy, who looked pale and
Sic .

“ You must know, flther, that I come to you
alone, for mother is not with me." sadly said
Cloone, as the three look seats before the fire.

“I know all, my child, for Guy here returned for
you and found his mother‘s grave.

“He was captured by the Mormon outlaw band
under Red Champion, shot, and left for dead; but
that Chineo saVed his life, and nursed him back to
almost health again."

“ Who is the Chinee, father?"

” A poor fellow who killed a minor, in self-defense,
and feared to go again among them.

“ He has liVed in the deserted camp of Lost Ilopo
City, since the miners left the place; but before
that hid away in a lar 0 board monument, which
was erected owr a popu ar miner who died.

"He ingeniously put hinges on one side of the,
monument, and slept inside, not one ever suspect-
ing that such a thing was possible.

“He dressed in white, and la ed ghost, and I ha-
lieve that was one reason w 1y ost Hope City was
deserted so suddenly.

“But to tell you of myself.

“ léat man, Red Champion, came here, pre-

tende to come from on. and, trusted by me he
tried to shoot me; but iis pistol failed to explode,
and, when I turned upon him, he dealt me a blow here
———see the scar—that felled me like dead.

1 “Then he carried me to the river and threw me
n.

“The water revived me, and I struck out for the
shore, I suppose, for there I was found the next da y
by the Chiuee.

“I know nothing of what followed, until some
days ago; but he nursed me back to life, and then I
ran away from him, for I was crazed by the blow.

“In searching for me he came upon Guy in the
hands of the outlaws, and brough him to Lott
Ilope City, and nursed him as tenderly as you could
Lave done, all the time pla ing ghost, mountrd
upon a white horse, with mu ed hoofs, to scare an
old miner from the country.

“Again he came across me, watching my mine,
and half-dead, and taking me to Lost Hope City
once more, I came face to face with Guy, and lol
11) cason returned to me.

‘ hen we talked over all that had happened, and
were determined to rescue y on.

“Red Champion at that time came here but es-
caped us, so that we played ghost on the oh miner,
and frightened him into doing our bidding, which
was to get the villain back here again.

“This he did, and we gave him a terrible fright,
only he has escaped us.

“We also told the minor to bring you here, and,
thank Heaven, he has done so.

“Now, my child, you know all, so let us have your
story!"

" t is soon told, father " and Cleone made known
the adventures that befell her mother and herself,
after the departure of her brother, and then how
she had come to the cabin. and, after waiting for
(in 8, had gone on to Salt Lake City.

he told of how she had pledged herself to War-

ath Will, when she had discovered the fate of her

ather and brother, and how nohly he had acted
toward her.

She had at last set a day when she was to become
his wife, though she did not love him, for she had
given up all hope of ever seeing them alive again.

Then the old miner had come to her, and told her
he could lead her to those who waited to see her,
and feeling that it was her father and brother, she
had accompanied him.

“Oh, my child. what have you not escaped, to
have been saved from that Villain?" cried Don
Marsden.

“ What villain, father?" innocently asked Cleone.

“ That Mormon wretch, who would have made
you his wife." ,,

“ Oh father, can he be a Mormon?

“A ormon, child? Why, he is an outlaw as
well. for, as you seem not to know lum as he is, I
will tell you that the man from whom you have
been saved is none other than the Bul_(‘hml’7710n.”'

“No, no. father—it cannot bel” cried Clcone, in
dire distress. ,

“ it is true, Cleone, for he it was who was the 1311140
of your train, and while pretending to save you led
you to destruction.

“ Ile it was who caused your mother‘s death, tried
to kill me, bellow-d that his hirelings, accordlns M
his orders. had, slain your mother and then sought
todestro you.

“But \Z‘ilut was his purpose, my dear father?"
asked Cleone. m a dazed kind of wa .

“His purpose was to make you his wife, and to
get Sossessmn of the rich gold-mine we have
foun .’

“Yes, and he well-nigh succeeded," said Guy.

1 .
8t"2:111:39, did. indeed; but what have we not to be
thankful for?" said Cleone.

 

“ We have certainly been blessed, after all of our
sorrows, my children. and we owe our preservation
to our noble Chince friend, whom I love as though
he were my brother— Oh, here he isl" and, as Don
Marsden spoke, China entered the cabin, a disap-
pointed look upon his face. as he said:

"No catchch Maybe comee again, then catches
and killeo quick.

 

CONCLUSION.

Mn. DON MARsnnN, after the sorrows and misfor-
tunes he had known, under the influence of his
children‘s presence, rapidly became restored to
health, and worked diligently in his mine, while
(luy also quickly regained his former strength, and
became the hunter of the little party.

China chopped wood, worked ill the mine. and (lid
odd chores to help Clcone. who looked after the
culinary department, and many were the good din-
ners she gave them.

The new cabin, or “Mansion,” as Mr. Marsdcn
called it. was soon completed, and made a most do-
hghtfnl home there in that wild wilderness.

For a year or more Mr. Marsdon worked his mine,
though now and then troubled by the Mormon out-
laws, and then, with his children and China set out
to return to his old Kentucky home and enjoy the
wealth which he had so well earned by the perilous
life he had led in the Rockies during his search for
gold.

THE END.

 

Beadle’s Half-Dime library.

B Y B BACEBIH DGE IIEMYN G.

89 Ilinnd Jim: or, The Pet of the Family.
91 'l‘llc Captain oi'tlne Club; or. The Rian Athletes.
10! Jack llnrkawny In New \ ork.

BY CAPT. ALFRED B. TAYLDB, U. S. A.

191Buifulo Billy, the Boy Bullwhncker; or, The Doomed
’l‘ iirioon.

194 Buffalo Bill‘s Bet; or, The (Summer Guide.

BY “'. J. IIAMILT3N.

68 The Bed Brotherhood: or. The Twelve Avengers.
“6 Sin lc llnnd; or, A lulu fur a Life.

‘ 72 Mm 'l‘oln “'cnicrn, the 'l'o-xnn Banner.

337 Ben Bird. the Caro King; or, Big I’utu’n Scoop.

BY MAJDB LIHVIS “r. CABSDN.

273 The Three Trap era; or. Tim Mountain Monster.
988 Indian Joe; or, l‘ in White Spirit oi‘the Hilll.

BY \VM. 0. i’ATTE.'.

4B9 The Diamond Sport: or. The Double Face of Bed Rock
519 (in taln Mystery a or, Flw In line.
581 Du sy iinrc, tn.- Sport from Denver.

BY "AB R Y HAZARD.

828 Arkanle Jnckz 0r. The Scourge ui'tha Mines.
329 Red-Skill Tonii or, The Demon's 'l'mll.
842 The Mountain )evil; or. Yullow Jack, the Outlaw.

BY “'ILLIA“ if. EYSTEB.

190 Dandy Dnrke; 0r, The 'l'im-rn of lilin Vino.
210 Faro Frank; or, Dandy Durkn (lo-Down l’nrdl.

BY C. DUNNING CLARK.

185 Captnin i’nul ' or, Thu ll”)- Spy oi‘tim Mountains.
230 The Yankee Iinjun; or. The nu. ..r u... Black Sheroof.

BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.

7" "inc Dick or. The Yellow Chief‘s Vengeance.

87 The Lind ’Irlltelli or, The League oi Devil‘s Island.
18'? The llcl lens “and: or. Backwoods Retribution.
289 The Col meeker Guide ; or, The Lost Mountain.

BY ED \V ARD “' ILLETT.

16? Ana Scott, the Steamboat Boy.

199 Featherweight the Boy Cllnmplon oi'tiu- Munitingum.
228 (Mark Ali’ or, Feutlwrweight Among the Outlaws.

2N2 'l‘he Typo Detective: or. “'ensel, the Buy ’l‘nunp.
295 Fenrlenn l’ilil; or. The King at anrlzvlllu.

8!! The Boviu Sport: M, The Pride oi‘iTlnn-kaluck Camp.
82’) Nelno. the lik-tcctlve; or, Kit Kenyon's Vendetta.
340 Clip, the Contortionlst: or, 'l'hu Montana Vigilantu.

B Y ROGER STAB BUCK.

25 The Boy (‘nptnlu ; or, The l‘imtu'n Daughter.
“4 The Black Hchooncr: or, th Junk. on.» old TM.
359 The Golden llar mm: or. Lent Anions the Flash
848 Fire-Heels: or, i) .l Sklmllnt, the lit‘nill-Slllldow.
854 Big Horn lkc. the III]! Tramp; or, The Odd Yards.
891 'l he l’hnntoln Light-house.
8.0 Breaker lien, the Keei'vlhinnur.

BY BUCKSKIN SAM (Major Sam. 5. Ball.)
284 "lilkliocky'n “Boyoen” or, Benito, the Young Hono-

246 ‘llr'efl 'or.

I. out Gcor‘rcx or, The An '1 of the Run 0.
275 A‘rizonn .lncl.‘ : or. (llnnt Giorge’s l'nnl. g
297 'l‘hc Tarnntuln of Tami or, (:lnnt Gonrgu’n Revenge.
807 The Strange i'nrd or. Little Ben’s Death Hunt.
lili-i her-whoa ). kcr-w mo; or, Tim ’I‘nmntnln of Tom.
82? (lrccplng lot. the luddo; or,’l‘he Reii and White Pardl.
 ilflizlo {art-{it} er. "ll‘iwl 'l‘nnlmwnv’n 'l'rlnli.

‘ c ‘ I nu r 0; or. Rattle-nuke, h .
31.19 “'ild “golf; or, Blur-Foot Wallace to thJFiITkn'fiy
85-7 The Bunch Rolllcru: or, Tln- Siege of Fort Purgatory.
884 Snap-Rhot. the Boy Ranger.
875 Chlotn. the Creek; or, The Threu Thunderbolts.
88] Bundern Bill: or Frlo Frank to flu- Front.
892 Romeo and the Reds: or, The Relaunornd Ranch.
404 Little Lnrlnt: or. l’ecnn Polo'l Big Rampage.
2”. The l’nliay i'rlom 'Penver. '
‘ rce ‘ru era on Old Rock

442 Bluil’ Bill; or, rt. Lyix of a. no.3.” u" “mm”
455 Little Lone Star: or, The Belle of the Clbolo.

 

  
 

BY CDL. A. F. IIDLT.

8!)” Black Buckskin: or, The Masked Man of Death Canyon.
4|” Kenneth. lln~ Iiuu‘wh’iim.
435 Little Lighti'ool. the Hint of the Woods.

BY FREDERICK DE‘VEY.
8l8 (‘Ilnnrron .lnck. llu- King-I'm nl'ltltlu-Shotu.

47H 'l‘nngcm Ind, Ihv lh-m-ri Hutrctiw.
5-12 The Cnnyon I’nrdn.

 

BY l.ll".l"l‘. II. D. PERRY. U. R. N.

176 The Buy Runnwny; or, The iluernnu-er oi' the Bay.
It“) The Hen 'I'rnllcr: or, A Vow Wull iii-pt.
192 Cnptulu Kit; of, l‘iio Myntun ei‘Muntuuk Point.

BY JDIIN J. MABHIIALL.

40 Roving Ben. A Story oi'n Young American.
97 The Dutlnw Brothers: or, The ('uptlvu of the Harpu.

BY GICDINH‘Z C. JENKB.
435 “ii. Tiull’ 0“!on the Unknown.
492 (ill. ’I‘llur Dwucy’u Pledge.
518 The Demon Doctor.

B Y .1 ACK FARRACUT.

815 Ned. the Cabin Boy.
820 The bcn Sorccrcnn: or, The Boy Skipper.

BY JAMEH L. BIHYEN

10'! line-i". cd film: or, The Almndomui Forest Home.
110 The B ncl. Htccd oi'the i'rnirlcn. A Story of Tone.

BY CHARLES E. LASALLE.

50 Burt Bunker. lim Trapper.
5’3 The “' Ilitc Buii'nlo. A Tale of the Northwest.

BY CAPT. MARK WILToN.

25“ Young Kcntuclu or, The Red Lane.
270 Blizzard Bcn; ur, Thu Hint at Keno Camp.
286 Josh, the Boy ’l‘eudori‘oot.

BY JD [’1 EBCE.

897 Rob 0' the Bowery; or, The Prince of Mulberry StruL
415 The Vagabond Dcicctivcz or, Bowery Bob's Boom.
452 "of: "Ir Bob. the Strea-t-llny lh'icl‘tlve.

400 The .uwycr’n Nllndowz or. Luke’s Maw.

4793 Jnunty Joc, thu Young iiorsv-Klnu.

494 Hnriy film. the Young Ferrymun Detective.

50-1. Five Points I'iIil.

509 Jack J“ guru, the llutriwr Boy Detective.

l’ylil 'l‘nrlnr 'l int: or. Five i'olull l'hll‘n Menagerie.

526 North River Nlliw the Pier llc-tm‘tlvr.

583 “'rcutlln Ilcx, the l‘rldeni’tim Sixth Ward.

641 Jeff Flic 'cr, the Stnbin Boy Detective.

BY J. “K DSBON.

489 The Blvnl Glnntu oi'Nowimr'.
493 (‘nctnn Burr. tin- l\lnn ironi ilurd Luck.
(:3? 01d Buckcye. tins Sierra Shadow.

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN.

II The Two Detective-x or, The Fortunes of- Bowory Girl.
76 Abe Unit. the (lrowdiilier.
7i. Hol (flu or. tim (llnnt'l'rnpper.
288 Joe But-[L oi’ Angela and III: Boy Paul.
447 Ncw York Nut. A 'l'nioei"l‘rickl nnd'l‘raplln Gotham.
453 New En luml Nick: or, The Fortunes oin Foundliug.
404 Nimble £10k, tin- Cirrnl l‘rinco.
493 'l‘no- 'I‘cql, tun Arilonn Sport.
610 Cool Colorado, the Hull-Breed Detective.
518 Cool Colorado in New \ ork.

MISCELLAN ED US A U'i‘llDBS.

4 The “'Ild-llorlc Hunter-I. By Capt. Mayne Reid and
Frnderiek W'hittnlu-r.
ii Allvcnlnrcn oi‘ Bnron Muncimupeu.
12 iiulllvcr‘n 'I‘ruvclu. by Dean ‘wlit.
14 Aladdin; or. The Wonderinl Lnlnp.
16 Robin-mu Cru-mc. (2'1 lilnnlruilens.)
Di Hlndbud the Hnilor. "in Seven Voyager.
22 The Hon [icy-pen“ or, The Boy Robinson Crusoe. By Just:

Cnrrlh-wn. ii\' . . W . l’ 'o. i
86 The Buy Cl. wn; or, The Queen oi the Arena. By Frank ‘

i win.
88 T‘hc Dccan Bloodhound; or, The Red Pint“ of the
' loft

S. Finn.
8N Ned \Vyldc. the lloy Smut. By Texan Jack.
51 The Boy Illiien; or, The Underground Camp. By Arch].

(. runs
95 The Bivni Rover-u; or, The Froubooisri oi'tho Mluinlppl
lli' Menu-(fol. ilnmltino.
98 Robin llood, Lina ()utinwed Earl: or,’i‘lm Merry Men ol‘Grun-
wood. Br l’rei‘. (lildornievvo.
106 (Md Rube, the Hunter; or, The Crow Cnptivn. By Capt-in
Hamilton lloiun-u.
“2 The 1“ ud Hunter; or, ThuCnvn of Death. By Burton Size.
134 'I‘lnpy. the ’i‘exun; or, The You"): Champion. By Goor‘.
VFIUII.
128 The Young Privateer; or, The Pirate's Stronghold. By
llnrry Cnvcmlll . -
14S Hilnrp Rum ; or, The Adventure: of a Friuudleu Boy. By J
Alexander l’niton.
227 Dusky Darrell. 'l‘ra per: or, The Green Ranger oi' the Yul-
lowstonu. By Edward "when.
281 Fergus Foal-naught the New Yil’k Boy. By George].

Aiken.

866 Killb‘nr, the Guide; or,Dnvy Crockett] Croolmd Tun.
liy Ensign C. l). \Vnrren.

998 Red Claw. tln- Ono-Eyed Trapper; or, The Maid of the CHI.
lly Captain Collilim'k.

317 i’oncm-k Pete, the Lively Lad from Lendvlllo. By Lion-
tenant Aiired Theme. \

823 The filly lbefcctlvc; or, A Boy’: Fight for Life and Hon“.
lly Muior Mickey Free.

850 Bed Balph. the River Rover; or, The Bmihor'l ib-
vunuo. liy Nod linntiine.

865 Baltimore Ben the liootblack Datutiw. By A. P. Harris.

874 Gold-Dust Tom; or, Ben's Double Match. By George H.

on».
876 California Joe’s First Trail. By Colonel Thomas
"0"." iifllmlittvil ii ii i‘llfl‘i‘ll l B P Q “'i ll
18 Billy om u c \o . . inn-r. '  at .
240 Little Foxi'oot. xii. Gold llowla Kid. n’v Arthur c. sun-ion. -
475 The Block “Mr. M JI-hn S. Warner. , ‘
4S4 (‘omnm-hc Dice and Ill: Three invincibiel. 3'
llr-nrv .l. Thouuu. '
528 “'lznrd-Arm the Dnndv S \m‘i. ll Arthur F. Holt. ‘
589 The Cowboy iiukc. ly .dwin roolm Form“.
A New lune Everv Tuesday 7'
The Half-Dime Library In for nnio by all nowodoalon Iv. »
a.“ per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents cull.
BEADLE AND ADAMS. Publishers. 4..

08 Wiiiia- Street. New York

. a

 

' "11'. ‘..wq.s  “new...
5.1. ‘.""“'~‘i\ l'li- auburn yet”

I ‘ .‘ we...” .. 
’ ‘ I“;~f¢~'1"l".'r’:
‘ '. i '

BEADLE’SaeHALF-DI'MEeLIBRARY.

'Publiehed Every Tuesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Umform Price of Five Cents. No Double Number .

 

 

BY EDWARD L. “'IIEELER.

Deadwood Dick Novels.

1 Deadwood Dick, the Friday ol‘the Road.
20 Double Dagger-s} or, Deadwood Dick‘s Defiance.
28 Hull’ulo Ben; or, )i-niiwoml i)it'l( lll Disguise.
3.5 “viid Ivan, the ltoy Claude Ullt'nl.
42 Phantom Miner: or, Deadwood Ilii‘k's Bonanza.
49 Omaha (“1' or Deadwood Dick in Danger.
5? Deadwood Dick's Eagles; or, The l'nrda oi Flood Bar.
78 Deadwood Dick ols Deck: or. i'ulalllity Jane, the Heroine.
77 Corduroy Charlie; or, Deadwood Dick’s Last Act.
100 Deadwood Dick in Lead ville.
104 Deadwood Dick‘s Device: or, The Double Cross Sign.
109 Deadwood Dick as Detective.
129 Deadwood Dick‘s Double; or, The Ghost of Gorgon’s

Gulch.

188 lilomie Bill: or, Deadwood Dick‘s Home Base.
9 A Cause of Gold: or, Deadwood llirk's itig Strike.

156 Deadwood Dick 01' Deadwood; or. The PlClied Part .
195 Deadwood Dick's Dream; or, ’1 he Rivnii oi‘the iton .
201 The Black lliils Jezebel: or, Deadwood Dick's Ward.
205 Deadwood Dick’s Doom; or, Calamity Jane’s Last Ad-

Veililll’a.
21‘? Captain Crack-Risot, the Girl Bri and.
221 Sn ar-Coated flam; or, The Blac (.‘own.
282 Go (l-Dust Iii-4;. A Romance of llougha and Toughs,
268 Deadwood Dick's Divide or, The Spirit of Swamp Lake.
268 Deadwood Dick’s Death rail.
809 Deadwood Dick’s Big Deal; or, The Gold Brick oi

rugon.

821 Deadwood Dick’s Dozen ; or, The Fakir ofPllantom Flats.
847 Deadwood Dick’s Ducats; or, Rainy Days in the Dig-

glnga.
851 Deadwood Dick sentenced; or. The Terrible Vendetta.
862 Deadwood Dick‘s Claim; or, The Fairy Face of Faro

i‘ lists.
405 Deadwood Dick in Dead City.
I410 Deadwood Dick’s Diamonds; or, The Mystery of Joan

otter.
421 Deadwood Dick in New York; or, A “Cute Care.”
480 Deadwood Dick’s Dust; or, The Chained ilnnd.
448 Deadwood Dick, Jr.
4-18 Nickel-Plate Ned; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Defiance.
458 Elunflower Sam, 01 Shasta; or, Deadwood Dick Jr's Full

an .

459 Flush Fan, the Ferret; or, Deadwood Dick Jr's Big Round-
t.

465 g'lhilo Fly, of Phenix; or, Deadwood Dick Jr‘s Racket at

ilallll 10.

471 Bozeman Bill; or. Deadwood Dick Jr's Corral.

476 Humboldt Harry, the Hurricane; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s
Dog Detective.

481 Moll Mystery; or, Deadwood Dirk Jr. in Deadwood.

491 Prince Pistol, the King of the West; or, Deadwood Dick
Jr’s Compact.

496 Monte Cristo, Jr.: or, Deadwood Dirk Jr‘s inheritance.

500 Deadwood Dick's Digflinga; or, Dr. Death-Grip’s Swoop.

508 Deadwood Dick’s De verauce.

515 Deadwood Dick‘s l’rotegee.

522 Deadwood Dick’s Three.

529 Deadwood Dick‘s Danger Ducks.

584 Deadwood Dick’s Death Hunt.

589 Deadwood Dick Jr. In Texas.

544 Deadwood Dick, Jr. the Wild West Vldocq.

549 Deadwood Dick on Ilia Mcttle.

554 Deadwood Dick. Jr. In Gotham.

561 Deadwood Dick in Boston.

56? Deadwood Dick, Jr. In Philadelphia.

572 Deadwood Dick, J r. in Chicago.

578 Deadwood Dick, Jr. Afloat.

584 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Denver.

590 Deadwood Dick, Jr‘s. Decree.

595 Deadwood Dick Jr. in Beeizebub’s Basin.

600 Deadwood Dick Jr. at Coney island.

606 Deadwood Dick Jr’s Leadville Lay; or, Bristol and
BDCRet’I Loom.

Other Novels by E. 1.. Wheeler.

26 Cloven Hoof, the Buflalo Demon.
2 Bob Woolf; or, Tins Girl Dead-Shot.

89 Death-Puma, Detective; or, Life in New York.
45 Old Avalanche or. Wild Edna, the Girl Brigsnd.
58 Jim Bludsoe, r., the Boy Phenix.

. 61 Buckhorn Bill; or. The Red [tine Team.
69 Gold Riile the Sitar tsbooter; or, The Be Domain,
80 Rosebud liob tum, ugget Ned, the Knight.
84 ldyi, the Girl . inor; or, Rosebud Rob on Hand.
88 Photo ra'h Phil; or, Rosebud Rob's Resp nos.
92 Cane s Chen or. Old Anaconda ln Sitting iiull’s Camp.
96 \V atch-Eye: or. Arabs and Angels oi‘a Great City.

118 Jack Ho)’ 0 the Young SDeculator.

117 Gilt-Edged Dick. the Sport Detective

121 Cinnamon Chip, the Girl Sport.

125 Bonanza Dill, Miner.

188 Doss Bob the King of Boetblsckl.

141 Solid Earn the Boy Road-Agent.

145 gangssgu erret, the New York Detective; or, Boss Bob’s

O“ 0 .

161 New York Nell the Boy-Girl Detective.

17? Nobb Nick of Nevada; or, The Sierras Scamps.

181 Wild rank, the Buck-thin Bravo.

209 Fritz, tho Bound-Boy Detective.

218 Fritz to the Front; or, The Ventrlloquist Hunter.

226 Snoozer the Boy Sharp: or. The Arab Detective.

286 Apollo Bill, the Trail Tornado.

240 0 clone Kit, the Young Gladiator.

244 8 one Sam, the Frontier Ferrrt.

248 S-‘erra Sam's Secret; or]. The Bloody Foot rlnts.

258 Sierra Sam's l’ard; or. The Angel oi ilig lsta.

crras Sara’s Seven; or, The Stolen Bride.

lumbo Joe tinI liuy Patrol; or, The Rival Heirs.

Ienver Doll. the Detective Queen.

Denver Doll's Victory.

Denver Doll’s Dccoy 3 or. Little Bill’s Bonanza.

‘urk, the Boy Ferret.

Denver Doll’s Drii‘t or. The Road Queen.

i No. 1, the Dashin oil-Taker.

Liza Jane, the Sir Miner" or. the Ivon-Nerved Sport.

gelley, make a. 0.... the Detectives oi'Philadelphia.

.ittle Quick-S ot; or, The Dead Face of Daggersvilie.

{angaroo Kit or. The Mysterious Miner.

{an aroo Kit s Racket.

848 Man attan Mike, the Bowery Blood.

858 First-Class Fred, the Gent irem Gopher.

868 Brake Jim, the Gold-Gatherer; or, The Lottery oi

O.

872 Yreka Jim’s Prize.
878 Nabob Ned; or, The Secret of Slab City.
892 Cool Kit, the King of Kids; or, A Yiliain’s Vengeance.
885 Yreka J as’s Joker; or, The Rivals of Red Nose.
889 Bicycle Ben; or. The Lion of Lightning Lode.
894 Yreka Jim of Yuba Dam.
4-00 Wrinkles, the Night-Watch Detective.
16 High [at "any, the Base Bail Detective.
6 Sara IDIidel. the r-Bov Detective.
Jisss Beak and Pa], rivste Detectives.
: 88.8. Fe Sal, the Slasher.
Sealskill Saul. tbs Spsrkler.

 

 

 

 

 

 

BY CHARLES MORRIS.

119 Will Somers, the Boy Detective.

122 Phil Hardy, the Boss Boy.

126 Picayune Pete 3 or, Nicodemus, the Dog Detective.
180 Detective Dick; or, The Hero in Rags.

142 Handsome Harry, the Bootblnck Detective.
147 “'ill Wildiire, the Thoroughbred.

152 lilack lien-a, Will Wildfires Racer.

157 Mike Merry, lhe Harbor Police Boy.

162 “'ill “’ildiire ill the \Voods.

165 Billy Bag age. the Railroad Boy.

170 A 'i‘rulnp ‘nrd; or, Vt'lll \Vildhre “'lns and LOIOI.

174 Bob Iioekett; or, Mysteries ol‘New Yor

179 Iiob Rockett the Bank Runner.

1:43 ’l‘he llhldcn hand, or, Will Wildfire’s Revenge.

1 7 Fred Ilalyurd. the die Boat Boy; or, The Smugglers.
1"” "oh Ilockett; or, Driven to the “'nll.

106 thsdowed ; or, Bob Rot-kett‘s Fight for Life.

206 Dark Paul, the Tiger King.

212 Dashing Dave, the Dandv Detective.

220 To,“ Tanner; or, The Black Sheep oi the Flock.

225 Sam Charcoal the Premium lhlrky.

235 Hiladow Ham. the hitssellgcr Buy.

242 The Two “ Bloods "3 or. Silenandoah Bill and His Gang.
252 Dick Dashaway x or, A Dakota Boy in (‘htca o.
262 The Young Sharps: or. iioliirking Mike‘s ot Trail.
274 Jolly J n. the lh-tct‘tlrc A]: iri-nliee.

239 Jolly J n’a Job; or, Th.- ionng Detective.

298 The \Vater-Houud; or, The Young Thoroughbred.

805 (D'aahaway. 01' Dakota; or, A western Lad in the Quaker

.ll\.
82! Ralph llelsdy, the Hotel Boy Detective.
811 Tony Thoruc. the Vagabond Detective.
858 The Reporter-Detectivel or, Fred Flyer’s Blizzard.
867 \i' hie-Awake Joe: or, A Boy ni‘the Times.
8?9 Larrv. the Leveier; or. The Bloods of the Boulevard.
403 Fireliy Jack. the. River-Rat Detective.
423 The Lost Fill er; or, The Entrapped Cashier.
428 Fred Fiver. tie Reporter Detective.
482 invincible, Lo an. the Pinkerton Ferret.
456 Billy Brick, t id Jolly Vagabond.
466 \Yide-Awake Jerry, llriet'tlve; or, Entombed Alive.
4T9 Detective Dodge ; or, The Mystery of Frank Hearty.
48‘ \Viitl Dick Racket. .
501 Boots, the Boy Fireman : or, Tno Sharp for the Sharper.
566 The Secret .‘erviec Boy Detective.
596 Jimmy the Kid; or. A Lamb Among Wolves.

BY OLL (700M128.

5 Vagabond Joe, the Young Wandering Jew.
18 The Dumb Spy.
2? Autelo be Abe. the Boy Guide.
81 Keeu- uii'e, the Prime of the Prairies.
4i Lasso Jack, 1h.- Young Mustanger.
58 The "order Kin : or. The Secret Foe.
71 Delaware Dick. 1 a Young Ranger Spy.
74 Hawk-eve Harry the Young Trapper Ranger.
so Rollo. the Do Ranger.
184 Sure Shot Set 1, th-— lit-y Riilemnn.
148 Hear-Face Faul. the Silent Hunter
146 Hllver Star, the lloy Knight.
158 Eagle Kit, the lloy Delnon.
168 Little Texas, the Young Mustanger.
178 Did Solitary, the Hermit Trapper.
182 Little llurricane, the B0 Captain.
202 l’ros ect Pete ; or, The 'sung Outlaw Hunters.
203 The oy Hercules: or, The Prairie Tramps.
218 Tiger Tom. the Texas Terror.
224 Dashing Dick: nr. Trapper Tom’s Castle.
9228 Little \ illiilre, the Young Prairie Nomad.
288 The Parson De teetivc; or The Little Ranger.
248 The Disguised Guide; or, ii'ild Raven, the Ranger.
260 Dare-Dein Dan, the Young Prairie Ranger.
272 Miakskin Mike, the Boy Sharpshooter.
290 Little Foxiire, the Boy Spy.
300 The Sky Demon i or. liulnimlt, the Ranger.
884 \Vhip-killg Joe, the Bov Ranchers).
409 Hercules or, Dick, the lloy Ranger.
417 \Vebi‘oot one. the Tramp iiciet'tit'e.
422 nab Sam. the lioy Giant oi the Yellowstone.
444 Litt e Buckskin. the Young Prairie Centaur.
45? “'ingedi'oot Fred; or, Hid Polar Saul.
468 Tamarac Tom. the llig Trapper lioy.
4?8 Old Torn Rattler, the Red liver Epidemic.
482 Stonewall Hob, lhe Bay 'l‘roinn.
562 Biundering Basil, the Hermit Boy Trapper.

BY T. C. llAllllAUGll.

28 Nick 0' the Night: or. ThI- Bo Spy of ’18.
87 The Hidden Lodge; or The L ttle Hunter.
4'? Nightln ale has”, or, The Forest Ca talns.
64 Dalld .fack; or, ‘he Outlaws oi the regon Trail.
82 Kit 1 arei’oot the Wood-Hawk.
94 Midnight Jack: or, The Boy Trapper.
106 Old Frosty, the Guide; or, The White Queen.
128 Kiowa Charley the White Mnstanger.
189 Jud e L nch, Jr.: or, The Boy Vigilante.
155 Gal Tr g er, the Sport; or, The Girl Avenger.
16 Tornado mu; or, njlln Jack From Red Core.
188 Ned Temple, the Border Boy.
198 Arkansaw 3 or, The Queen at Fate’s Revenge.
20? Navajo Nick, the Boy Gold Hunter.
215 Captain Bullet; or, Little Touknot‘s Crusade.
281 l’lucky Phil; or. Rosa, the Re i Jezebel.
241 Bill Bravo: or, The Roughs of the Rockies.
255 Captain A oilo the King-Pin of Bowie.
26? The Ducks in Detective.
279 Old Winch or, The Buckskin Desperado“.
294 D namile Dan: or, The Bowie Blade of Cochetops.
802 '1‘ e Mountain Detective: or, The Trigger its: Baily.
816 Old Eclipse, Trump Card of Arizona.
826 The Tcn l’arda: or. The Terror of TakrNotice.
886 lllg Benson: or, The Queen of the Lasso.
845 Pitiiess Matt; 0', Red Thunderbolt’s Secret.
856 t‘msl ham and Par-4i: or The Terrible Six.
866 Velvet Foot. the lndlan Detective.
886 Captain Cutlass: or, The Bvccaneer’s Girl Foe.
896 Rough Rob: or, The Twin Champions of Blue Biases.
411 The Siiken Lasso: tor, The Rose of Ranch Robin.
418 Felix F x, the Boy Spotter.
425 Texas rum . the Border Rattler.
486 Phil Flash t 9 New York Fox.
445 The City V am ircs: or, Red Rolie’s Pigeon.
461 One Against F i‘ty; or, The Last Man of Keno Bar.
470 The Boy Shadow: or. Felix Fox’s Hunt.
477 The Excelsior Sport; or, The Washington Spotter.
499 Single 81 ht, the One-Eyed Sport.
502 Branded en, the Night Ferret.

2 )odger Dick. the Wharf-Spy Detective.
‘Dodger Dick’s Best Dodge.
3‘ . and Faicon.the Bowery Shadows.
.cr Dick, the DOCk Ferret.

Dick’s Double; engine Rival Boy Detectives
ase.

 

 

-gcr Dick’s Desperate
: .u Dick. the Boy Vidocq.
The Two Shadows.

er Dick's Drop.

594 Jun e Lon, the Street-Singer Drtectlve.

 

 

 

 

BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM.

7 The Flying Yankee; or, The Ocean Outcast.
17 Ralph to ‘, the Boy iiuccllmer; or. Tile Fugitive Yacht.
24 liiillllolfli Dirk or, The Mystery of the Yellowstone.
62 The Shadow fl tip; or. The Rival Lieutenants.
75 The Boy Duelist: or, The Cruise of the Sea-“'0”.
102 Dick Dead-E ‘e, the Boy Slnuggier.
111 The Sea-Devil; or, The Midslliplnan’s Legacy.
116 The llussar Camain; or, The liennit oi Hell Gate.
19'? Little Grit: or, ssie, the Sloth-Tendch Daughter,
204 Gold Plume; or, The Kid-Glove Sport.
216 Bison Bill. the Prince oi the Reins.
222 Grit, the Bravo Sport; or, The Woman Trailer.
229 Crisnson Kate or, The Cowboy’s Triumph.
287 Lone Star, the owboy Ca itain.
245 Merle the Middy or, ’ he Freelance Hair.
250 The Niidshipmau . utlneerz or Brandt, the Buccaneer.
264 The Floating Feather; or, hierle Monte’s Treasure

Island.
269 The Gold fihip: or, Merle, the Condemned.
276 Merle Montes Cruise; or, The Chase of “The Gold

280 Merle Monte‘s Fate; or. Pearl, the Pirate’s Bride.
284 The Sea Marauder; or, Merle Monte's Pledge.
287 Billy Blue-Eyes, the iloy Rover of the Rio Grande.
804 The Dead Shot Dandy; or, Benito, the Buy Bugler.
808 Keno Kit; or. Dead Shot Dandy‘s Double.
814 TheI Mysterious Marauder; or, The Boy Bugler’s Long
l’iii .
8's”? Bonodel. the Boy Rover; or, The Flagless Schooner.
888 Tile llldiasl Pilot; or, The Search for Pirate island.
38'? Warpath “'1'”, the lioy Phantom.
898 fieawali’, the iloy Lieutenant.
402 lsudor, the Young Conspirator; or, The Fatal League.
407 The Iiov insurgent; or. the Cuban Vendetta.
412 The “'iid Yachtsman; or, The War—Cloua’s Cruise.
29 Duncan Dare, the Boy Refugee.
488 A Cabin Bo is Luck; or, 'l‘ne Corsair.
48'? The Sea Ra der.
441 The Ocean Firefly; or, A Middy's Vengeance.
446 Haphazard Harry 3 or, The Scapegrace of the Sea.

450 \Vizard “fill: or, The Boy Ferret of New York.
454 “'izard “'iil’s Street Scouts.

462 The Born Guide: or. The Sailor Boy Wanderer.
468 Neptune Ned, the Boy Coaster.

474 Flora; or, leard Will’s Vagabond Fun].

488 Ferrets Afloat; or. leard Will‘s Last Case.
48? Nevada Ned, the Revolver Ranger.

495 Arizona Joe the Boy Pard of Texas Jack.

49? Buck Taylor, King oi tile Cowboys.

508 The Royal Middy : or, The Shark and the Sea Cat.
50’?' The Hunted Midshipman.

511 The Outiawed Middy.

520 Buckskin Bill, the Comanche Shadow.

525 Brothers in Buckskin.

580 The Buckskin Bowers.

585 The Buckskin Rovers.

540 Captain Ku-Klux, the Marauder oi the Rio.
545 Lieutenant Leo, the Son of Lafitte.

550 Lafitte’s Legacy: or. The Avenging Son.

555 The Creole Corsair.

560 Pawnee Bill, the Prairie Shsdowsr.

565 Kent Kingdon, the Card King.

570 Camille, the Card Queen.

575 The Surgeon-Scout Detective.

580 The Outcast Cadet; or, The False Detectivs.
586 The Buckskin Avenger.

591 Delmonte. the Young SclvRovcr.

59? The Young Texan Detective.

602 The Vagabond of the Mines.

60’? The Rover Detective; or, Keno Kit‘s Champion

BY BUFFALO BILL (Hon. Was. 1". Cody).

8 Kansas King; or, The Red Right Hand.
19 The Phantom Spy: or, The Pilot of the Prairie.
55 Deadly-Eye, the Unknown Scout.
68 Border Robin flood; or, The Prairie Rover.
158 Foley Frank of Colorado; or, The Trapper’s Tress.

LATEST AND NEW ISSUES.

608 The Pitcher Detective’s Foil; or, Double Curve Dan's
Double Play. By Geo. C. Jenks.

609 Boiiy Dorrit, the Veteran Detective; or, Little Lightning’s
Invincibles. By John W. Osbon.

610 Old Skinner, the Gold Shark; or, Tony Sharp on Guard. By
T. C. Harbnugb.

611 Bildad Barnacle, the Detective Hercules; or, The Tussle at
Table Mountain. By Lieut. A. K. Sims.

612 Deadwood Dick Jr. in Detroit; or, Turning the Tables
on Satan. By Edward L. Wheeler.

618 Billy Blazes; or. The Skeleton’s Legacy. By P. S. Wsme.

614 Whistling Jacob, the Detectlve’s Aid; or, The Queer Com—
bination. y Jo P erce.

615 Eighth. flan- , the Chief of Chained Cyclone; or, The
Heathen hinee's It iuion. By J. C. Cowdrick.

616 The Ocean Detective; or, The Last Cruise 0! the Black
Bear, By Geo. C. Jenks. Ready May H.

61'? Ral h. the Dead-Shot Scout; or, The Raiders and the
Red Rider’s of the Rio. By Col.‘ Prentiss ingrsham.

Ready May ‘21.

618 Deadwood Dick. Jr. in Cincinnati; or, The Clincher
Campaign. By Ed. L. Wheeler. Ready May 98.

619 The Boy Trans Detective; or, The Double Grip Wit-
neu. By Wm.G. atten Ready Juned.

620 Little L‘i‘ghtning’s Lea e; or, The Mystery oitne island.
By John . Oshon. Ready use it.
A New Issue Every Tuesday.
The Balf- Dime Library is for sale by all newsdesiels, 6v.
cents pa copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents escb.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pablislel,
98 William Street New York.