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8250 a year. Entered at the Post Office at Nok, N. Y.. atrSfmoond Class Mall Rates. Qgpfl’lght, 1884, by IEEAIELE AND ADAMSL if V 7‘“ August 
Single PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, Price.
VOL Xv. Number. No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 Cents- NO° 

 

 

WIDE'AWAKE JOE: or, A Boy of the Times.

BY CHARLES MORRIS,

AUTHOR or “ BOB ROCKETT, rm: BANK RUNNER,” “BOB ROCKETT, THE BOY DODGER,” “WILL “'ILDFIRE,” “ DARK PAUL,” no, mo.

 

 

AT THIS INSTANT HIS HAND WAS DABHED HASTILY ASIDE, AND THE PISTOL EXPLODED HARMBSLY II THE AIR.

 

  

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2

 

 

Wide-Awake Joe.

 

 

;' Wide-Awake Joe;

A BOY OF THE TIMES.

.——-—-

BY CHARLES MORRIS,

AUTHOR or “BILLY BAGGAGE,” “JOLLY JIM,"
“ WILL WILnrmE,” are, arc.
CHAPTER i.

JOE’S LUNCH acorn.

“IF you on’y know’d how hungry I was you’d
stop that there fun, square ofl’. Don’t I know?
You’d streak inter the kitchen, and chop me ofl!
a slab 0’ bread, with butter and ’lasses. Golly!
don’t this coon like ‘lasses, though!”

The young lady who was thus abruptly ad-
dressed iooked down in surprise at the speaker,
while her opened fingers let fall the flowers she
had been clipping.

It was a ragged young vagrant, with a bunch
of hair like a scalp— ock standingupright through
his torn cap, while his coat was ripped as if he
had been through a flax-mill. Yet there Was
something in the boy’s face that took the ear-
nest attention of the young lady. It was a leek
of honesty, pride and self possession, with a
keenness in the gray eyes that told of boldness
and daring. And there was not wanting that
look of cunning which comes upon the counte-
nance of boys who have to fight their own way
through the fox-covers of life.

It was a garden in which they stood, adorned
with rich flower-beds. The lady, a tall, slender,
handsome girl, of some twenty years of age, and
with a face whose brightness was tinged with a
shade of sadness, had been gathering a bouquet
of the more delicate flowers, when she was thus
abru tly accosted.

“ ungry, are you?" she asked, with a quizzi-
cal look. “ A hungry boy might be satisfied
with dry bread, without all the extras.”

“ Never git hungry that way,” answered the
unabashed boy. “ ’Tain’t that way I were
brung up. I'm a compound 0’ puddin’ and
’lasses. Wasn’t weaned on none 0’ yer tramp

rub. If ’lasses ain’t handy you kin toss in a
dab o’ strawberry ’serves, or some other sort 0’
sWeet truck. I ain’t a bit sassy.”

“ Why. no. You seem the Very pink of
modesty,” she answered, with a laugh at the
boy’s comical countenance. “ But will you
please say how you came into this garden? Do
you know that this is private property, with no
admission for va rants or beggars?”

“ Mought be,’ he answered, indifferently.
“ That don’t mean me! I ain’t nary vagrant nor
beggar, now 0;: bet! I come in over the fence,
’cause I see d a pretty lady pickin’ fl0wers.
Don’t mind me takin’ a rosebud, I s’pose. That’s
all I’m arter.”

There was something odd in the boy’s expres-
sion, which she could not quite make out. It
looked like wounded pride.

“ I thought you Were hungry a minute ago.”

“Got over that. You cured me. Jolly Joe
—--that’s what the boys call me—ain’t nary beg-

ar. Cain’t go that sort 0’ sass on my grub.
ayn’t I freeze onto a flower and git? Like
(0595 most as much as I do ’lasses.”

The boy drew up his well-formed figure,
while a flush came into his gray eyes, as he
stood like a. tattered young so dier before the
lady, whose looks betrayed a growing interest in
him. Despite his pride there was a pinched look
in his face which she could not help observing.

Yet she pointed to the flowers she had drop-
ped, without a word. The boy stoo d, picked
up the meanest of them all, and stuc it defiant-
ly in his button-hole.

“ Guess that’s gay enough fur a beggar.
Much ’bliged!”

He turned abruptly away. A slight stagger,
as of weakness, marked his step. Her eyes
filled with a softer light.

“ Stopl” she commanded.

The proud youngster walked on as if he had
not heard her.

‘ Will you not pick up the rest of my flowers
for me?’ she gently asked. “You made me
drop them.” ,

“Course I will! I’d ick up a stable full if
vou put it that way. her’ ain’t no chap goin’
kin say as Jolly Joe’s a shirk.”

In an instant he was on his knees, gathering
the scattered flowers, which be arranged with
a. skill which she did not look for at his hands.

“ How long since on had anything to eat,
Joe?” she softly quer ed.

“ Dunno. ’Bout three days, I guess. Here’s
yer flowers, ma’am. Good-by.”

 

“ Won’t you do something else for me, Joe?”

“ Sartain. Jist pelt it out.”

“ Come this way, then.”

She walked toward the stately mansion,
which stood just in front of where this conver-
sation had taken place. The boy followed, with
a dubious look, as if rather doubtful about the
new task that was laid out for him. -

In a minute they had entered the kitchen of
the house. ' Here she left him, after telling him
to wait for a while. He was much better used
to kicks than dimes, and feared that he mi ht
have been brought here to be cowhided for is
impudent intrusion.

“ I bet 1 git my teeth in the feller that tries
it on,” he savagely muttered.

“ You can try your teeth in this,”’camea soft
voice at his elbow.

Joe hastin swung round on his chair. There
stood the young lady with a late well heaped
with bread and meat. And tie bread was not
only buttered, but was spread thick with some
juicy preserve.

“That’s what I want you to do for me. I
want you to eat that.”

The famished little fellow looked up into her
face, and then at the food. A sort of gulping
sound came into his throat, and he wi ed his
tattered sleeve hastily across his eyes. et his
proud look did not abate one jot.

“ You ain’t in airnest?”

“ In solid earnest.”

“ And kin I do somethin’ to pay fur the
grub?” '

“ Yes, I will find some task for you.”

“Then here’s a go, like a cow in a clover-
patch. Why, just now I’d sooner have that
plate 0’ grub than a gold mine!”

The boy ate with ravenous haste. He had
certainly been very hungry. She sat look-
ing at him, pleased with the pleasure she was
giving.

“ You bet that’s prime!” he declared, licking
his lips. “ It’s jist gorgeous! Them there ’serves
hits me in a soft spot, Miss— ’Tain’t imper-
dent to ax yer name?”

“You can call me Miss Maud.”

“ Well, Miss Maud, you got plenty 0’ that
sweet truck around?”

“ I fancy so,” she smiled.

“Guess I’ll come and see you of’n. Now,
what’s the job? I’m jist as strong asa young
boss. Pelt out what I’m to do.”

“Sit still, Joa; I want to talk with you. I
see that lyou are not afraid of work. HOW comes
it than t at an active young fellow like you, in
a large city like this, has been left to go without
food till he is nearly starved? I should fancy
you could easily earn enough to eat.”

“ ’Tain’t allers so easy, Miss Maud,” answered
Joe, in the tone of an experienced hand. “ I’ve
had a streak 0’ hard luck; that’s ’bout the shape
of it.> Things is been goin’ criss-cross with me,
the wu’st kind.”

“ How so?”

“Trieda ood many things. Had apeanut
stand, and is got keeled over by a runaway
butcher’s cart; broke everything to flinders,
and bu’sted my bizness right up. Then I tried
bootblack' but that line’s played out; had to
guv it up. ’

“Why? Has everybody taken to blacking his
own boots?”

“ Ther’s a good many 0’ that mean sort. But
the dirty Italian bootblacks is the worst. Ther’s
a reg’lar batch 0’ them nasty furriners on the
street, that no sound American won’t ’sociate
with. That’s what settled this coon. I went
inter bankruptcy, and guv up the bizness.”

“What did you try next, J09?” she asked,
with a smile.

“ Jumped inter the newspaper bizness next,”
he anSWered dryly. “ Jist as bad as the rest.
Soon as I tried it on, folks quit murderin’ one
another. And there weren’t no wars nor prize
fights; and Congress adjourned, and stocks got

steady. Everthing tuk a dead set ag’in’ me.
Nobody7 wanted no (papers, ’cause there wasn’t
nothm in ’em. An finerly an n ly thief stole

my funds, and the editors woul n’t trust me
fur papers, so I had to slide out o’ thut line 0’
trade.”

“Why, Joe, you Seem to have had a hard
time of it. But you are a spry little fellow
that ought to get along. Your clothes don’t
cost you much; and you are not big enough to
need much food.”

“I kin stow away more provisions nor you
think,” answered Joe, proudly. “ I’m a reg’lar
little boss at grub. Anyway, that’s ’bout the
whole story. Everything1 tried lately is bin
3 dead failure. I ain’t hit ajob fura week, and I
ain’t eatnothin’ much, Folks yell, ‘Git out, you
dirty tramp!” Or they fling somethin’ at me

 

like a bone at a dog. Ican’t swaller be
ars’dg’rub—now that’s jist the solid fact, Miss
au .’
“Good, my boy! Ihonor your 5 irit. But
have you no one to care for you? here are
your father and mother?”

“ Never had none.”

“ Never had any?”

“ None as I ever knowed on, anyhow. Been
kicked about like a tin can in a gutter, ever

since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. J ist
like a mouse without a hole.”
” Is there no one to look after you? No rela'

tions?”

“ Nobody. Never had father or mother, or
uncle, or aunt, or cousin, or granddaddy, nor
nothin’ 0’ that sort. Hoed my own road, right
through. Nobody ever washed my face or
combed my hair or snuggled me in bed. Slept
withd and osses more nor I have with
humans. ’

Maud’s soft eyes were full of ity, as she sat
looking at the friendless waif. at there was
nothing in Joe’s countenance to call for pity.

His lunch had spruced him up again, and he .

looted as spry and wide-awake as a meadow-
ar .

“ How old are you?” she asked.

“Can’t say eggzactly. Somewhere ’bout
fourteen, I s’pose.’ I

“ Then it is time you were at some regular
employment. You ought to be learning some
trade or business.”

“ Kinder 0’ that notion myself, Miss Maud.
I’d work like a boss if anybody’d take me on.
But soon as they see me, that settles it. One
look’s enough to cook my hash.”

She leaned back in her chair, looking at him
with a musing expression. 'Joe sat upright,
with square shoulders and a steady face, like a
cavalry man on inspection. It was an odd
Scene, that tete a tete of the richly-dressed
young lady and the ragged vagrant, who were
conversing as naturally as if they had been in
the same rank of society. .

Their interview was interrupted by the en-
trance upon the seene of a portly gentleman,
with a full, florid face. Joe glanced at him and
shut his teeth. The young philosopher had evi-
dentl seen something not quite to his taste.

“ hy, Maud, what are you doing here?
I have been looking for you through the house.
And what sort of companion is this? Where
did you pick up this vagabond ?”

His tone was full of displeasure, as be fixed
his eyes angrily on the boy, who bore his gaze
without flinching.

“ It isa hungry little fellow, whom I have
been giving something to eat,” she answered.
“ But he is no common be gar, uncle. The boy
is willing to work, and am sure would be
ca able and industrious. He is a strong little
fel ow, too. Can you not find him something
to do in your store? I am sure he would do you
good service.”

Joe looked up with a flash of hope.

“ He would, eh? The roving young rag-bag!
I thought you had more wit, and. You are
always making a fool of yourself about some

ragamuflin. Send the boy away. Get out, you; 

youn tramp!”

“ hat’s what I told you they all holler, Miss
Maud,” said Joe, as he sorrowfully athered
himself up. “ ’Tain’t the boy, as fol 8 want
nowadays. It’s the clothes. I “now I’m honest,
and I ain’t afeard 0’ work, if I don’t stand for a
tailor’s shop ’vertisement.”

He walked slowly toward the door.

“ Do giVe him a trial, uncle,” pleaded Maud.
‘.‘ He will be a ver nice-lacking bo if he is
well dressed. And am sure he will 0 his best
in your service.”

“ Now let me hear no more of that, girl. I
know my business. And I know this sort of,
customers much better than you can. Away
with you, boy! There has been enough of this.
If you don’t make haste I will set the dogs on

on." .
y “ If you set a dog on me I’ll bite a slice outer
his ear. I bet on on that,” answered Joe, sav~
agely. “ An don’t you try it on me, old skin- '
flint,,?r Imought snip a bit off the end 0’ your
nose. ‘

The gentleman rushed at him, with a face in» l l

flamed with rage. But he might as well have).
tried to catch a weasel. Joe sprung with one
bound into the bushes, and was in an instant'

lost to sight in the thick growth of the sawen. _

CHAPTER II. ,
HOW JOE Losr ms COAT. \

SEVERAL weeks have passed since the date of .7,
Jolly Joe is alive and hearty ‘ ’

3r "
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our last chapter.
yet, and looks quite able to fight his own way

 

 

  

 

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Wide-Awake Joe.

3

 

 

next encounter him he is seated on a fire-plug,
on one of the main streets of the city, as dilap-
idated as ever, yet as happy as a king. Joe
has certainly been in luck, for in one hand he
holds a fat slice of pie, and in the other a noble
sandwich, to which he alternately devotes him-
self. Between his bites he whistles, as gayly as
a blue-bird on a branch.

“Jist you bet that pie’s prime,” he said to
himself, as he took another huge bite. “ And
them sandwiches ain’t to be sneezed at, neither.
Guess I didn’t strike a gay run 0’ luck when I
hit that last job. No, not much, nary time.
But the feller as says I didn’t kin go down
cellar.”

He went on whistling and swinging his legs,
as happy as if he owned the whole city.
clean gi t of a million dollars just then would
have been wasted on Joe. He had the sunshine
and a hunk of pie. What more could any one
ask?

“Don’t want to be hoggish,” continued Joe,
“ but wish I had a pint o’ peanuts to top off.
Jist to fill in the cracks.”

There was a touch of human nature. Man is
never content. Give him the whole United
States, and he would at once begin to wish for
Tinicum Island to top off.

The jolly boy had been observed, not quite
without envy, by many of the well-dressed
folks who were posting by, many of whom had
forgotten how to be happy, in the rush of
money-making. One of these finally stopped
before the boy, and looked at him with a harsh
and sour expression of countenance.

“ What are you doing here, you dirty young
vagabond?” he steriily demanded. “ Scoot
.now, before I hand you over to a policeman.”

“What fur?” asked Joe, innocently. “You
don’t own this street, do you, mister? Guess I
pay my taxes, and I’ve got a right to all out 0’
doors. S’pose you slide on, ’fore I call a peeler.
It’s ’g’inst the law to ’sturb a gen’leman at his
,- 3, dinner. This flre-plug’s as much mine as it’s
 v anybody’s, and I’ll freeze to it s’long as I’ve got
-‘ in, .a mind. Now you hear that?’

M”, w “You impudent young gutter-rat! Don’t
may. you know me? I’ve heard of your being beg-

 

 , ing at my house since I ordered you away.
if .1, f you come there again I’ll have you sent to

.the Poorhouse or the Refuge.”

 

3 ,4 “Jerusalem! If it ain’t old Skinflint, Miss
~21} Maud’s nice unclel” ejaculated Joe, with a
‘ whistle of su rise. “ ’Scuse me. I didn’t reck-

' 9" eraize you. 0t so many ’quaintances that I
;y: . can’t carry ’em all in my top story. How-de-do,
~11? [Skinn i”

,t “ by, you dirty vagrant!” cried the en-

tleman, swelling With rage. “You impu ent
.little street rat! For a word more of that sort
‘I’ll shake you out of your skin, to teach you
manners.”

Joe sat as cool as ever on his perch, with no
i .sign that he was a bit scared. He crammed
the last mouthful of pie into his mouth, and
. chewed away busily, as if afraid he might lose

'it if things came to a climax.
. “I’ll tell you this,” continued the gentleman,
;, -. growing hotter than ever. “ I won’t stand im-
" , udence from boys and beggars, and I’m half-
‘ nclined to give you a lesson that you’ll remem-

ber for a lifetime.”

“Didn’t guv on no imperdence,” rejoined
,. " Joe pluckily. “ t was you guv me imperdence.

 . You begun it. Wasn’t I settin’ here, ’sturbing
J ‘ nobody, when you pegged in? I’m a nice little
 - boy], as never gives imperdence to nobody.
l 5,: W at you tell me to scoot fur? I ain’t no
 * scooter. And I don’t keer fur nobody if he’s

big as amounting. Won’t let no rooster rub it
inn; i’rie, old hossfly, if he does wear a dandy
cos.

4». I; “ I’ll shake you out of yours,
u, . for another word of your slack. ’
' . f “ You try it on if you want to wake up an

you reprobate,

 earthquake. That coat’s bought and paid fur.
,.  ‘ ,It’s my rig, and if I like to wear it ventilated
  'ihat’s my biz. I know somethin’ ’bout the law,
. mister. Don’t you tear that there Chesterfield,
, or I’ll fetch you afore Judge Persons. with a
A 1;. ,ri'” habyous corpious, uicker’n a cat’s wink.”
gl’ .  ‘~ i The enraged gent e_man bustled up, hot with
5- .a ‘ff‘ ~rage. Joe did not stir. He was pluck to the
“ i”. .‘ backbone. In a minute his angry opponent had
 ' mfiht him by.the collar, and was shaking him
1,: _ .fn ously, tearing the ragged coat worse with
“‘ , every movement.
j ;  “ I’ll teach you, you rascal!” he hissed between
1 his clinched teeth. “ I’ll teach you to come spy-
} ing and stealing about my house! You insoleiit
51] young vagaboud l” .
779' ,' But there is sucha thin as reaching for a fly
' '  catching a hornet. ith a quick squirm

 

,‘hrough the world. At the moment when we

 

 

Joe slipped out of his coat, leaving the shabby
garmen in the hands of his assailant. Then
with a downward plunge he rammed his head
into the old fellow’s stomach, doubling him up
like a clasp-knife. The next instant Joe was
out of his reach,

.“ You’Ve stole my coat,” he elled. “Bet you
high I make you guv me a ettei' one fur it.
I ain’t no slouch, old Red~e 6. You can’t climb
this tree ’thout gittiii’ sour Simmons. I‘m goin’
to call on Miss Maud, and I don’t keer a shoe-
peg fur all your dogs. That‘s me.”

I way plunged the boy, leaving his coat as a
prize .in the hands of his assailant, who was
groaiiin r With the pain of Joe’s hit “ under the
belt.” ' be victorious young rogue disap ared
around the corner, with a yell of triump . He
was qmte satisfied with the transaction. He
had been well paid for his lost garment.

But we must leave him, and seek the residence
of Mr. Wetmore, the gentleman in question, a
few hours after the events just narrated.

This mansion was in the suburbs of the city.
It was surrounded by a considerable tract of
ground,.forming a reen lawn in front, and a
garden in the rear, t at in which Joe had made
the ac uaintance of his fair friend.

Man was again in the garden, walking in a
melancholy fashion up and down its rose-bor-
dered alleys. Her face was filled with a shadow
of'ttrouble, with which was mingled a flash of
spi e.

“If I was only a maul” she said hotly to her-
self._ “ Or if I only had a friend worth a fig!
I might as well be in a prison as here. I can do
nothing. I see iiobod whom I can trust. Yet
I know there is something wrong. I know that
I am being made the victim of roguei' ."

She tore the straw hat from her head, and
flung it angrily away. Then she bent her hot
forehead upon the cool crimson depths of a clus-
ter of roses, clutching the stem until its thorns
pierced her fingers.

“ It is always so,” she exclaimed, as she look-
ed at the blood-drops on her fair skin. “I can
touch nothing but what I feel its thorns. Life
isn’t worth the living. M ' uncle is playing the
rogue. I can feel it. Yet e has all my fortune
in his hands and I am powerless. It will be six
months yet before I can demand it, and by that
time it may all have gone to the dogs.”

She continued her stroll up and down the
gilt-y, without noticing a stir in the leaves near

er.

“ He supplies me with money,” she resumed.
“With more than I need. But that may be a
blind. I have heard and seen enough to distrust
him. His partners cannot know the extent in
which he is speculating with their business cap-
ital, or they would certainly not rest easy un-
der it. I know. I have evidence of his rascal-
ity. But what can I do? I haVe no friend, no
one who can obsche my tricky uncle guardian,
and show me how to check his villainy.”

“Now, don’t you swaller too much 0’ that
provender. ’Cause you’ve got one friend, Miss
Maud, that’s solid clean through.”

She started in surprise an alarm as these
words met her ears. There, on the other side
of the bushes was a shaggy head and a freckled
face, which she at once recognized.

“ Don‘t git skeered,” continued the voice.
“It’s on’y me, Jolly Joe Jorum. If you want
my head for a football, jist say the word. I’ll
cho ) it square off.”

e pushed through the bushes, and stood be-
fore her. It was Joe himself, though in his
shirt-sleeves. He had lost his coat.

“ What brings you here?” she demanded,

sternly; “ How dare you enter and haunt this
garden, and play the spy on my private
walk?”
' “Heered you talkin’, and wanted to take it
in ’fore I showed myself,” answered the un-
abashed bov. “Dunno how I’d know anything
if it _weren’t fur listenin’. So. old Skinflint's
playin’ bluff with you, Miss Maud? Tryin' to
rob you, and you ain’t got nobody to put a spoke
in his wheel?’

“ It is none of your business, voung impu-
dence. Leave here, instantly! You had no
right to come here, eavesdropping. I wish to
never set eyes on your face again."

She was ev1dently very angry. Her face was
flushed. and there was a flashing gleam in her
eyes. J oe looked at her in surprise.

“All right if you say so, Miss Maud. But I
never heered ther' was any harm in listenin’.
Yer want a friend, and I’m yer boss. Dunno
how we could rig up a better team. I ain’t
quite a feel if I am a street rat. Why, I’ve jist
bad the awfulest scrimmage you ever see’d,
with old Skinny. He shook me right outer my
coat, Miss Maud. Blest if he didn 1:. But I sot

 

4—:

up the stakes fur him. I guv him a ruin go,
now on bet.” '

“ but do you mean boy? Do I understand
that on have had a ti ’ht with my uncle?”

“ es. He guv me s ack, and then I guv him
slack. Then he said as my slack were im er-
deiice. Then I told him he was a hossfiy. hen
he shook me like a tarrier shakes a rat, and
stoled my Chesterfield ulster. Then I putm
head in his bread-basket, and made him wis
he hadn’t eat no dinner. Then I come here,
’cause he said he’d salivate me if I ever come
here ag’in. That’s how I come to hear on
talkiu’. Now, I’m bound to git even with S ‘lil-
flint. He’s got my coat, and I’m goin’ to make
him pay fur it, or bu’st. So pile out what’s
loose, Miss Maud, and you and me ’11 go straight
into partnership.”

She stood looking down musingly on the
youthful champion, while strange expressions

assed over her face. Several minutes passed
Before she spoke. Then it was but to say:

“I suppose you are hungry, boy. You are
here for your dinner, again.

“ Dinner! Hope you don’t think I’m a duck,
that’s allers eatin’. Why, I’ve eat enough grii‘.
to-day fur two bovs o’ my size. It’s satisl‘ue
tion I’m arter. Revenge!” And Joe dii ifs
best to make his voice dee and hollow. ,

She looked at him in si once for several mi:i~
utcs more, as if slowly trying to decide on some
course of action.

“Come with me,” she at length said.

She led on through the garden walk, Joe sub—
missively following. In a few minutes she
reached a summer-house that stood alone, over-
grown with vines, in the rear end of the garden.
This she entered, and seated herself wearily on
its curved seat. Joe curled himself up on the
floor and gazed into her face with the devoted
look which a iet do: fixes upon its mistress.

“You may 6 able to help me.” she began.

“I’m little and rugged, mt I’m wide-awake,
Miss Maud, and I’ll take a new name and be
Wide-Awake Joe to you. I’d sell my cars fur
you. Pile it out. I hope it’s ag’iii’ old Skinny,
fur I don’t love him. not much."

“Mr. Wetmore, Joe, is the proper name of
the gentleman whom you Christen by that
irreverent title. He is my uncle and legal
guardian. He has in his hands niy fortune of a
hundred thousand dollars. In six months from
now I will be of age, when it becomes mine by
law. But I fear it will be all gene. He is
pursuing a course which I do not like. But I
only suspect it. I want to be made sure of i;.”

Joe listened with an air of legal deliberation,
as if he was a lawyer listening to his client.
And the fellow had picked up some points in his
rough tide of life. He was not wanting in wit
and knowledge.

“Ain’t he guv s’curityl I’ve heered as a
guardian has to guv s’ciiriry. And the s’curity
is ’sponsible fur the plunder if he plays a sharp

ame.”

“I fear liis securities are good for nothing,
my boy. There have been panics, and men
have lost their money. I do not know, or I
would act. My hands are tied.”

“And you want me to spy out this caboodlel
Ain’t that it, Miss Maud? You want to git a
sharp pair 0’ eyes on old Skinny, and salt his
game fur him? LaWSee, that’s jist my roven-
derl I like pie and strawberry jam. bu I like
satisfaction a mighty deal better. He owes me
one, and I’m yer ribbins. Say the word and I’ll
go fur him like a hornet fur a bald-headed don-

ke .”

XCun I trust you to hold your tongue, Jeel
This must be kept rivate.” '

“You kin, Miss ll and. I kit: talk the straight-
cst streak out when I’ve got a clean swath.
And I kin he as mum as a. mouse inacheese
when I’m told ter.”

Maud fell into a reverie leaning her pretty
face on her hand, and looking far away into
the distance, while Joe gazed up at her likea
worshiper at his idol. He was badly taken
with his fair friend.

“ You will want good clothes. Joe.”

“ Won’t these do as I’ve got?”

“No. He must not know you. You must
disguise yourself in respectability.”

“ I’ll do it if you say so, Miss Maud. , But I
knew I’ll feel queer. ’Spectability that my
strong holt, nary time.”

“ And you wi need money. You will have
no titre to earii’ any. And you will have to
make ourne s.

“ Tiiiit’ll feyel queer. too. Never had much rat-
tle in my pockets. But I guess I kin git used to
that ’thout much ditflkilt .” '

“Very well, Joe.

e may have a hard ‘
battle before us. We must lay our plans for the

 

 

  

4

Wide-Awake Joe.

 

 

 

campaign. If you win the fight for me you will
not go without a reward.”

For the next hour the two strange confeder-
ates were in busy consultation, after which Joe
took his leave, with more money in his pocket
than he had owned in all his life before.

 

CHAPTER III.
an COATS FOR OLD ONES.
“SEE here, Mr. Morewet. Told you I was

comin’. I’m Joe Jorum, and I want a new
coat.”

“Wetmore on son of a ship’s cook l”

“I ain’t. ish I Was. I’d had a better go

on grub, if I had a ship’s cook for daddy. I
never had no dad, and I wanta new coat.”

It was Jol‘liy Joe, or WideAwake Joe, as he had
rechristene himself, as ra god and disreputable
as ever. He had plunged fioldl$into the whole-
sale grocery establishment of etmore, Browu
& Co., and seated himself sturdin on a pile of
coffee-bags, as he made this demand from the
senior member of the'flrm.

“ How dare you come here to annoy me, on
rag-tag of a street vagrant? There is enoug of
th s. will pitch yen head-first from a second-
story window if you don’t take away your ugly
carcass instanter.”

“ Nary step till I git my coat. B’pose I don’t
twig the law, mister! Been to see a. alderman,
and he says as how I’ve got you foul. You
stole my ulster. That’s a case 0’ bur lary, the
alderman says, and I calkulate he nows. I
want a new coat, and I’ll snatch you lively if
you don’t plug down instanter.”

“ Why, you dirty jacknapesl Here, Tom,
fiing this sauce-pot, neck and heels, out of
doors l”

“Who is it Mr. Wetmore!”

It was Mr. brown who spoke, a gentlemanly,
benevolent-“faced person.

“ An impudent varlet, who sauced me in the
street yesterday. I shook him out of his rags,
and he’s come here with more of his sauce. Out
with him, Tom.”

Mr. Wetmore was very angry. His full face
flushed purple, and only a sense of dignity made
him keep his hands off the boy.

The man addressed, a burly porter, came bus-
tling up, but Joe made no sign of moving. He
was pluck to the backbone, and he had made up
his mind it was to be a new coat or war in the
camp.

“ t was you sassed me,” he declared. “ When
I wasn’t sayin’ beans to nobody, you come 11
and sassed me. And you stole my coat, andll)
want a new ’un. And if you don’t plank down,
I’ll snatch you up afore Judge Finnigin. I’ll
bet you he rakes you down 2” ‘

Tom, the porter, by this time had come up.
At a sign from his angry master he made a
gab at the boy, but he might as well have tried

catch a flea. A quick backward somerset
took Joe over the pile of coffee-bags, and in a
minute he was standing on the top bag of the
has , with his fingers at his nose.

“ issed it that time, Tommyl Cut and come
ag’in, old snip-snap!”

The porter, angry at this defiance, made a
rush at the boy. In an instant there was a hot
chase, up and down, in and out, over barrels
and bags, under tables and over counters, down
into the basement, and up into the higher floors.
A half-dozen others joined in the ursuit, but
Joe was as nimble as a weasel. A ozen times
he slipped through their very fingers, and once
made a flying leap over the porter’s head from
the top of a hogshead.

Finally he plunged down again to the first
floor, and disappeared. His pursuers came tum-
bling down, hot and angry, after him, but he
was nowhere to be seen.

“ Shot out the front door, I reckon,” cried
Tom. “ Blast his ugly pictur’, I’d liked to give
him a shaking to learn him manners! Hang
him fer a dirty little pilgarlici”

“ Too spry for you, Tom,” said Mr. Brown,
with a smile of amusement. “ You can handle
cofiee—mats better than street rats.”

“ The rascal l" exclaimed Mr. Wetmore. “ I’ll
give him his coatl I’ll dust it well for him. the
flung scampl Have you that manifest ready,

or e? I must be ofi.’ to the custom-houso.”

“ are it is, sir, ” answered the clerk addressed,
handing him a folded paper.

“ Ver well.”

Mr. etmore seized his hat, crammed it an-
grily down upon his head, and stalked from the
room mutterin savagely to himself as he did
so. oily Joe ad evxdently greatly disturbed
his com are.

An d smile marked Mr. Brown’s face as he

away.

 

“ It never pa s to be too full of fight,” he said
to himself. “ ‘he boy does not look vicious.
Perhaps Wetmore is himself most in fault. I
never get into trouble with one of these boys.
What can have become of the saucy fellow? I
don’t believe he left the store.”

He had opened the door of the private ofilce
as he spoke. He stopped suddenly on the
threshold, with a. look of Utter amazement.
For there, in the cushioned arm-chair of the
head of the firm, sat no less a personage than
Joe Jorum, his hat pushed bacs, a pen behind
his ear, and a newspaper in his hand, which he
seemed to be diligently perusing.

“ Hillo!” cried the merchant, with more
amusement than anger. “ Why, you impudent
varietl How dare you come in here and take
possession i”

“ ’Cause the cap’n’s ofilce’s the best port in a
storm. Them slow-shanked snooks was chasin’
me, that’s why. I want my coat, asold Skinn
stole from me, an’ I ain’t a-goin’ till I git it.
ain’t none 0’ yer shirt-sleevers.”

“ Well, he has gone. So you can go. You
will get no coat out of him.”

“Then I’ll salt him with the liveliest law-suit

you ever see’d. I’m on’y a boy, mister, but It

ain’t been kicked round creation all these years
’thout l’arnin’ a thing or two. See here, mister,
you’re Skinny’s partner. hey i”

“ My..name is Mr. Brown,  And my
partner’s name is Mr. Wetmore. on are old
enough to learn manners. Come now, I can do
noth n for you. You must leave.”

“ F0 kin guv me what handle they please.
I won’t squirm,” answered Joe. “Don’t mind
callin’ on Mr. Brown, cause ou’re a gen’le-
man. at he’s a sore-headed ol skinfiint, that’s
what he is. S’pose I don’t know him? Guess I

‘ could guv you a p’int or two, if it were perlite.

Mebbe you don’t twig that he’s sportin’ half his

time dewn on the coast, ’mong the puts and

calls. Wonder what takes him there? Ain't

Buttin’ and callin’ coffee and tea ’mong the
rokers, are you?”

Joe’s quick eye had noticed a slight start in
Mr. Brown, and a just visible paleness of face.
He closed the office door carefully and seated
himself.

“Put down that aper,” he said severely,
“ and listen to me. ou are not a fool, I can
see that. You have roughed it in the world
enough to know some things that man men
twice our age don’t know. Now what 0 you
mean y this nonsense?” r

“I mean biz,” answered Joe boldly. “It’s
tales out 0’ school I s’pose, but that old shenani-

er stole my coat. Got my eyes ’bout me, Mr.

rown. I tell you old Skinny’s goin’ it heavy
on the coast. ee him down there every day.
He’s short on Erie, and long on Lake Shore.
He dips heavy, now you betl And if he don’t
come out some day with his feathers scorched,
then I don’t know beans frcm bullets.”

“There, there, that will do. I want to
hear no more of such nonsense” Yet M r.
Brown had grown visibly pale. “Here, hey,
if we owe on a coat it is our duty to pay our
debts. Ta 'e this.” He opened the door of a
wardrobe, and handed Joe 9. well-worn but
sound coat, that looked but little too large for
his stout frame. “ And here is a hat, in place
of that apology which covers your head. Put
them on and leave. And beware of the porter.
He has a kick in store for you if he catches
you.”

“ Him catch me? That snoozer? Not much.
I reckon! Don’t nab this weasel asleep, nary
time. Much ’bliged, Mr. Brown. That’s a gay
fit. The boys won’t know me, ’cause 1’s allers
been wearin’ ventilators. Good-by. If I git
any other p’ints I’ll post you on ’em.”

Joe walked sturdin away, leaving Mr. Brown
looking dubiously after him.

“Put 8. spoke in Skinny‘s wheel. that time,
you bet!” he said to himself. “Mr. Brown
takes it quiet, but it hit him hard, I know.”

Mr. Brown dropped again into his chair after
Joe’s departure, and leaned his head Wearin
11 on his hand, while a doubtful look marked
h s intelligent face.

“I hardly know what to think,” he said
testily. “Can it be true as that boy says? Our
finances have been trusted utterly to Wetmore.
Can he be playing with our funds? SeVeral
times lately we have been in a tight scrape for
cash, without any reason that I can see. If he
is speculating with the money or credit of the
firm it is high time it was known. By Jove, if
it turns out to be true I will have a thingto

' I wish I had questioned the 0y

He snatched up his hat, put it on hastily, and

walked with a quick step from the store, while

. chapter.

 

a disturbed expression marked his open counte-
nance.

Joe was watching from a nook on the other
side of the street as the merchant came out.
The boy’s face lit up with a knowing smile.

“ Brung him,” he declared. “I kn0wed it.
That’s Miss Maud’s fu’st shot. He’s pluggin’
fur the coast, if he ain’t I'm a sinner!”

Joe walked with a dignified air down the-
street, very proud of his new coat and cap.

.“ That’s a clean ten-spotter, as Miss Maud
guv me to buy a new rig. Thought I’d see
fu’st if I couldn’t squeeze ’em outer old Skinny.
Wish I’d axed fur pants and shoes and made a.
clear job of’t. Got to buy them, Is’pose, fur
my clothes is a good bit too vari’gated jist now.
The portico don t ’gree with the ground floor.”

CHAPTER .IV.
A MYSTERIOUS MANSION.
A WEEK had passed since the date of our last
It was night. Few people were
abroad, for the hour was late, and the location
one of the unfrequented streets of the city.

Down it walked two persona a, one a portly
gentleman who swun a gold- eaded cane in
his hand as he strode a ong: the other a youth~
ful personage, who kept well in the gentleman’s:
rear.

The gleam of a gas lamp showed the gentle-
man to be no lessa personage than Mr. Wet-
more. His eyes turned suspiciously to right
and left ashe passed on, as f be feared to be
seen. and recognized.

His follower was a neatly dressed bo , about.
as different in appearance from Jolly oe as a.
garden rose is from a field nettle. Yet the li ht
of the gas lamp showed that the face was be
same. There was the same saucy countenance,
despite the respectable rig.

“ Lawsee, ain’t I a spruce ’unl” thou ht Joe,
as he looked down at himself with infinite satis—
faction. “ Been cuttin’ the boys dead this week.
They ain’t fit to ’sociate with this ’spectable
coon. Guess I’ll strike out fur high-toned com-‘
pany, like old Bkinn ahead. Wonder where»
the old. snoozer is pilm’ fur? Looks duberous,
and I’m bound to trail him to his hole, if’t takes:
all night.” .

Fora week past Joe had been keeping up a.
sharp watch on the merchant. Of his first sus--

icien, which he had got from Maud, that Mr.

etmore was heavily engaged in speculation,
there was no evidence. During the Week he had
never once gone near the broker’s offices,
though stocks were just then ver unsteady.

“ Mar ins ain’t the game,” sai Joe to him—
self. “ iss Maud’s made a blunder. Thor’s
suthin’ deeper nor stocks, and I’m bound to find
it out or bu’st. Mebbe I don’t know nothin’,
hossfiy, but don’t let nobody buy me fur a
nobody, ’cause I’s been a little 0’ everywhere,
and seen a little 0’ everything, if I am a spring-
chicken.” I

He continued his pursuit, keeping well behind'
his game, and hiding at evory suspicious move-

 

ment of thes otted gentleman in advance. At .

length Mr. etmore paused, turned, and took.
a keen survey of the surrounding scene. No
one was visible. Joe just then was concealed
behind a tree box, through whose open slats he
keenly watched his prey.

After this hasty survey, Mr. Wetmore
turned to the house before which he stood,
quickly opened its door, and disappeared within.
its ortal.

9 had hardly vanished when the keen little
spy was in front of the mansion, which be ob—
Served with an exp"rienced eye. Yet there was
nothing doubtful in its aspect. It was, as Joe
felt himself to be, highly respectable. The houso
was a square built, three storied edifice, with
brown-stone front, and a plain but stylish a‘p~
pearance. It stood separate from the remain-
der of the block, being bordered on each side by
a space of ground, ke t .as a green lawn. An.
iron railing separate this space from the street.
The house was dark in front. Its lower shut-
ters were closed, and no ray of light came from
the upper rooms.

Joe looked at it curiously. He then crossed
the street and looked at it again. Then he
looked through the railing toward {the rear por-,
tions of the building. From the windows of this
region a faint light escaped, though they seemed
closed by tightly drawn curtains. .

Joe took a seat on the most convenient curb-
stone, tookrofi? his hat, and scratched his head
with a deeply reflective air.

“ Looks as square as a bird-ca e, with brass.
railin’, and a. singin’ canary,” .e ima god.
“ Perfectly ’spectable. g
bank presidents, or V er hifalutin’ tol-de-lpl m
folks, live there. ebbe old Skinny’s on y

Mon ht some ‘0’, ye);- ;

 

 

   
 

 

  
 

 

 

 

 

' and sharply pulled the bell.

‘

' - dune-w." Is"nn .

Wide-Awake Joe.

 

5

 

 

7"

/ 483’ on some 0’ his bi -bug ’quaintances. But
,

what made him act ’14! he Were ’shamed on’t.
That’s the dig as gits me. Folks ginerally like
to be see’d when they call on high-toners. They
don’t scoot ’long like they'd jist stolealeg 0’
mutton.”

His soliloquy was brought to an end by the
approach of a second personage. This was a
flashin dressed young man, who came up with
a sprightly air, turned briskly into the house,
The door was
'qliliickly opened to admit him, and as quickly
s at behind him.

Joe, from his station on the opposits curb-
stone, obsorved this, and scratched his head
a sin.

" ’Nother chap as wants to see the bank presi-
dent,” he remarked. “ But he rings the bell.
Don’t carry a latch-key like old Skinny.”

He continued his solitary vigil. During the
next hour not less than a dozen men had come
up and entered the house. These were in great
variety, some youn and spruce, some middle-
aged, substantial fo ks. Some walked briskly,
others approached cautiously, as if not caring
to be seen.

“ Queerest go I ever heered tell on,” consider-
ed Joe. “ Here’s all sorts, shapes, and sizes.
Some’s ’shamed o’ themselves and some ain’t.
Some’s tony, and some ain’t. That last chap
was as rough as a nutmeg-grater. That’s 3. hi h
old arty. Mebbe it’sa Fenian meetin’, hatc —
in’p ans to blow up England. and tow Ireland
over to the Yankee nation. Guv it up. Couldn’t
never guess conundrums. But there’s on’y one
p’int that’s cur’us. Old Skinny goes in with his
own key, but everybody else’s got to ring the
bell. He’s mighty at home, he is.”

Another person came up and was admitted.
This was a young chap, dressed like a dude, and
very foppish in manner.

“ Ther’ ain’t nobody kicked out,” queried Joe.
“ Guess I mought as well peg in, too. Ain’t got
no invertation, but l’s got a hard face, and
that’s a ticket fur anywhere."

No sooner said than done. The impulsive boy
hastily crossed the street, mounted the steps of
the mansion, and gave a strong pull at the bell.

Instantly the door opened. Before him was a
broad ball, into which he boldly stepped. The
door closed quickly behind him.

Joe looked around for the person who had
thus opened and shut the door, but no one was
Visible. He stood alone in a handsome vestibule,
which was closed by a second door, further on.
To his ardent fancy the whole affair seemed the
work of magic,_and he felt as if he had sudden-
ly become a prisoner, in some sort of enchanted
castle.

There was nothing for it but to go on. He
was in for it now. He tried the handle of the
door before him, but it refused to yield. Then
he gave it a sharp, hold knock. It still remained
closed. Joe was not easily rebufled A loud
rat-tat followed. But the house might- have
been utterly empty for any answer he go: to
his summons.

“ Wonder if the’r’ all asleep or dead; or if a
chap’s got to have some password to git in?
Mebbe the outside 0’ this crib’s the most com-
for‘ble.”

“ Come, youngster, what‘s the matter?” asked
a sharp voice behind him.

Joe 5wung swiftly round. There stood a
burly, fierce looking fellow, dressed in a sort of
livery, but apparently Selected more for his
muscle than his manners. How he had got there
the startled boy did not perceive. He had not
noticed a close-fitting side door, that was of the
‘same pattern as the wall of the vestibule.

“ Stir u , little ’un; what do you want. boy ?”

“ Don’t r. Thompson live here?” asked Joe,
at a loss for an excuse.

“ No, Mr. Thompson don’t live here,” was the
short answer.

“ 0r Mr. Jones?" tried the boy, at a venture.

H No.”

“Or Mr. Sunflower?”

“ Are you poking fun at me, midget? Try it
'on, and I’ll smash you i”

“ Who does livo here, then? It’s somebody I
want to see, but I’vo forgot the name.”

“ Then go home and fetch around a Directory.
Here now. Get !”

He threw open the front door, and glared at
Joe threatening] . The boy hesitated. He had
made a dead fai ure, but did not quite like to
give it up so.

“ Got it now,” he cried, with a show of brisk-
ness. “Don’t Mr. Wetmore live here?”

The doorkeeper, who was standing by the
door, fell back a pace at this name, while a mo-
mentary look of dismay came upon his stolid

But he recovered in an instant, and ad-

 

vanced threateningly toward Joe, as if with in-
tent to hurl him in a heap into the street.

“Hit ou that time, flunkyl” cried the
saucy fe low, with a laugh of triumph, as he
darted under the man’s outstretched arm, and
into the street. “Fetched you ’tween wind
and water, old stiffy. Jist tell yer lord as 1
called to see him. Jolly Joe Jorum, he’ll rec-
kernize the name.”

“ Flirt now, you rapscallionl If I catch you
sportin round here I ll mash you up in a coflee
mill. ake yourself scarce, while your bones
are whole.”

He closed the door violently, shutting Joe
out into the street. The latter crossed again,
and took his former seat on the curbstone.

“Much I’ll flirt! Didn’t make much out that
there little speculation, but I got one ’int.
There’s suthin’ here as Skinny’s ’shame of.
Don’t want folks to know as he’s in it. Now
l’ni goin’ to know, or I’m goin’ to bu’st. This
is my curbstone. I’ve paid taxes for my sheer
o’ the street, and this curbstone’s my sheer.”

An hour more passed, while Joe kept up his
lonely vigil. During that period no more per-
sons entered the mansion, but several left it.
But they came out as they had entered, one by
one. There seemed very little good fellowship
in the visitors to that stately edifice.

Joe grew more and more puzzled. Much as
he was used to the ways of life in the.c1ty he
could make nothing definite out jof this. The
affair grew more and more mysterious the longer
it lasted.

Finally there came out a young man whom
he had particularly noticed on his entrance.
He wore a. slouched hat, and long hair and
beard. There was about him something of a
western aspect, visible alike in hisfaCe and his
clothes. But the bold briskness With which he
had entered’ the mansion was exchanged now
for quite another manner. .

He plunged out fiercer while the light of a
neighboring lamp showe that his face_was
deathly pale, and had in it the sharp-drawn lines
of despair. He rushed blindly forward, as if
utterly unable to control his movements. Af-
ter a minute he checked himself, clap ed both
hands to his head, and reeled against t a lamp-

os .

“ He’s been hit hard,” considered Joe. “ Rank
p’isen, I reckon. Never see’d a man so obfusci-
cated.”

A fierce oath now came from the young man’s
ii 5.
p“ Lost! Ruined l” he groaned. “ There’s only
one thing left!”

He straightened himself up, lunged his right
hand into his pocket, and quic 'ly withdrew it,
holding a pistol.

“A trigger touch cures all.”

The pistol was at his head, his finger on the
trigger. A moment more and the rash man
would be stretched in death on the hard pave-
ment.

But at this instant his hand was dashed hasti-
ly aside, and the pistol exploded harmlessly in
the air. Ere he could repeat his mad move-
ment the deadly weapon was snatched from his
be rid.

“Guess I’ll take keer 0’ this littlegilaything.
Don’t b’lieve you’re fit to be truste With it,"
came a youthful voice at his ear. _ _

It was Jolly Joe that had saved his life.

“ Give me the weapon! I am ruined! Dis-
graced! Give it to me, or by Heaven—”

“Drop that, sonny,” rejoined the resolute
boy. “ Come wi’ me, store that shot fotclies up
any peelers. If ou want to shoot anybody
don’t shoot yerseli Shoot the chap as is been
saltin’ you.’ _

“ By Jovo, it’s a good thought, boy. I Will,
by Heavens!”

“ Come with me fu’st, and cool yer porridge.”

Joe led the way down the street, followed
submissivel y by the despairing young man.

CHAPTER V.
DOUBLING ON THE TEN.

“JIST look at. me, mister. I‘m on’yaboy.
Dunno how old I am, ’cause in daddy never
put my age in the Bible. ’Spect never had no
dad, nor no Bible. But you kin bet yer head
that what this coon don’t know ain’t wu’th
knowin’. Had my eye-teeth cut afore I was
weaned. and was brung up on pap and 'ogra-
phv. Now pelt in and let’s hear what’s a oat.”

This boasting speech came from Jolly Joe.
He had led the despairing stranger to a distance
from the scene of the last chapter, and they
were now seated together on the marble steps
of a quiet mansion. -

The stranger looked keenly into Joe’s faco.
He saw there a freckled countenance, marked

 

 

with abundant wit and shrewdness, and with
eyes that were full of keenness and rollicking
humor.

“ You’re a sharp-looking young customer.
Think ou know a thin or two?”

“If don’t know a t ing or three, ther’ ain’t
no snakes!” rejoined the confident bo .

The stranger hesitated a momen He had
somewhat recovered his composure, and pre.
sented a handsome countenance, with something
of the dare-devil humor of frontier life.

“ Well, then, what do you want to kn0wl”

“Fu’st, I want to know who I’m talkin’ to.
l’ni Jolly Joe Jorum' what’s your handle?”

“Jack Bledsoe, folks call me.”

“ And what sort 0’ shanty were that you
come out of jist now, lookin’ as if you‘d been
cliawed up by a grizzly? ’Tain’t a herrin’-fac-
tory, or a rivate powder-mill, I reckon.”

Bledsoe ooked keenly at the boy.

“ Can I trust oul”

“Dunno: can t allers trust myself; but you
kin try. Won’t split, ’cept somebody drives a
wedge in.”

“ I have no reason to keep the secret, at any
rate. I owe it no good-will. It’s a privaw gam~
blin establishment, my boy.”

H how!"

Joe gave a. long whistle of astonishment. The
cat was out of t a bag with a Von eance. He
sprung up and danced a jig to wor off his ex-
citement.

“ And they roped you in and done for you?”
he asked, on recovering his breath.

“ I am ruined l” exclaimed Bledsoe, excitedly.
“Cleaned out to the last penny. A clear five
thousand one into the maw of those hell-
houndsl by did you stop me? Why did you
not let me shoot myself for a blind fool and
idiot?”

“’Canse if all the idiots was to shoot the’r-
selves, ther’d be mighty few folks left,” answer-
ed the cool boy. S‘pose I’d go under in self,
’mong the rest 0’ the fools. See here, Mr. led-
soe, why don’t you plug back and rake ’em out?
Your luck mou ht turn.”

“ Very true; ut I have no money.”
“I have.”
“ You I” Bledsoe looked down on the boy

with the gleaming eyes of the gambler. “ How
much have you got?’

“Ain’t quite a millionaire, but mought rake
up a ten-spotter.”

“ And you’ll lend it to me for a last 001!”

“ Dunno ’bout that. That ’pends. ant to
know a thing or two fu‘st. Who runs that
sliant l”

“Its a sort of company concern, I fancy.
It’s their game to get on the track of strangers
to the city, rake them in, and sweep their k-
ets. That‘s the way they served me, foo that
I was!”

“Isn’t there a chap called Wetmore ’mong
’em? A stout, red-faced rhinoceros, as set-up
as if he’d jist Swallered a maho any fence-post?
Dressed like a undertaker, an as solemn as a
funeral sermon.”

“Didn’t see any such chap,” answsred Bled—
soe, with an involuntary smile at Joe’s odd
description.

“He’s there, anyhow. See’d him 0 in.
When i twi a coon once I’ve got him. hat’s
the chap Im arter. See here, Mr. Bledsoe,
can’t you ring me into that shanty? 1’s got
bizness there, the wu’st kind. You kin have
my ton, if you’ll let me tell you how to play.
I’ve got scrunchin’ luck. Been ’round some, and
know a thing or two.”

Bledsoe looked at him doubtfully.

“I am afraid a boy of your size cannot get
past the doorkeeper.”

“ ’Feard not myself. Had a confab with that
corn-cracker, and told him suthin’ ’bout his
pedigree. _He got mad, and I got out.”

“ here is one way it might be done,” said
Bledsoe musingly. “ Can you climb the railin
and slip round to the side door of the house
There is a signal-knock that lets visitors past
the doorkeeper. Then we go back along the
passage. I might slip open the side door, and
let you in."

“It’s a bargain,” exclaimed Joe. “I’m a
reg’lar squirrel at climbin’railin’s. Come ahead;
while the ame’s alive. I know old Skinny’s
there, and ’m bound to twig him.”

This cons iracy was at once put into execu-
tion, Joe ful of enthusiasm at the pros t of
carrying out his scheme, Bledsoe with t a wild
hope of the inveterate gambler. .

he hour was now rowin late. The night
was dark. Nobody o rv the adventurous
boy, as he climbed ike a. eat up the railing and
sprung down to the green grass of the win

JNA

 
 

  

 

r“ , ....- -. .. .. ...

Wide-Awake Joe.

 

He hurried on past the main building, and to
the side door to which he had been directed.
All here was in shadow. But from the room
above, in the second stocy of the main building,
a faint light made its way through the chinks
of the closed curtains, and an occasional vague
sound could be heard.

Joe waited impatiently, while the minutes

slowl passed, in dread 1» st the scheme of his
new riend might no' work. At length, much
to his relief, he heard a slight creaking sound

at the door. In a minute it opened anarrow
crack, and a can'ions Voice ask- «'2

“Are you thrref Come, quick."

In an instant the nin.l;ic lad had slipped
through, and the portal was silently closed
behind him.

“On, this way," whisperei lifedioe. “Fork
over that ten.”

“You’ll play jis’; a; I t ll you?” demanded

oe.

“Yes. My luck isn‘t worth shncks. I‘ll try
yours.”

Their way led up a flight of stairs, and to a
door on the second floor. At this Bledsoe again
gave a peculiar knork, when the door was in-
stantly opened.

Before them appeared a large, well-lighted
room, containing a considerable number of men,
the most of whom seemed engaged in some card
or other gambling game, of which several vari-
eties Were in actiVe Operation about the room.
Bledsoe stepped in, closely follOWed by his youth-
ful companion.

Their further entrance was checked by the
doorkeeper.

“ This is decidedly against the rules,” be de-
clared. “ No boy can be admitted. You should
know that, sir. The boy must go out.”

“I know that I’ve been cleaned out. I’ve
Come back here for another buck at the tiger.
;I‘b,is boy is my banker. He will and shall go
I] 7

“ Sorry, sir. But it can't be done.”

“ Like ter know what’s the reason?” demanded
Joe insolcntly. “ S’pose I‘m a soft-head, old
boozy? S'pose I ain't been round? Jist you Let
I know eVerything that‘s wu’th kn0win’ ’bout
these diggin’s. I can’t steal no new p’ints out
your old caboose.”

This controversy had attracted the attention
of man of the players. Joe’s loud tones in par-
ticular ad disturbed the serenity of the gather—
ing. A portly persona e hurried forward from
the rear of the room. 0 was dressed in a light
plaid suit, with aloud necktie and all the ap-

earance of a sporting character. He wore a
ong. thick mustache, and his face had some-
thing of a pallid aspect.

“Hey!” he ejaculated. “What’s all this?
Who let that boy in? Put him out instantly,
and the man that introduced him.”

“ I don't think you will,” said Bledsoe, setting
his shoulder sturdin against the doorsill. “ I
left my purse here an hour ago. I’ve come back
for it.”

“I don’t care a fig for that. You 0 n stay if
you want, but the boy mu t go.”

“ Are you the boss of this ’stablishment?"
asked Joe.

“I am the proprietor.”

“That's jist all I want to know,” answered
the boy, with a meaning wink. “And if you
know which side yer bread's buttered you’ll
haul in your horns. Mebhe you don’t reckernize
me. I’m Jolly Joe, I am. You can‘t pull the
wool over my eyes, 01.] Skinny. S’pose I don’t
twig you in that new git. up, hey? So, you’re
the boss! Glad to hear it. That’s what 1 came
here to find out. Oh, u-on’t I make Rome howl
’bont your ea rs! Kick me out. boozy. I want
the wu’st wa to be kicked out.”

The face 0 the proprietor grew suddenly pal-
Iid, while a. very disturbed look marked his
features. Joe was right. It was Mr. Wetmore
in disguise. The keen boy had his the decidedly
by the ears.

This look of dismay was replaced by one of
cunning, and by a forced smile.

“Where did you ick up this little idiot?" he
asked Bledsoe. “ o matter. It isn’t worth
while raising a disturbance. Let him stay,now
that he is in. I hope you will go on with your
play, gentlemen. I will take measures in fu-

ure against any such intrusion.”

“ Shet the stable door arter the boss is stole. I
s’ ,” muttered Joe. “ Thought I’d make you
b ow another tune. Come ahead, Mr. Bledsoe.
We’ve got the bull by the horns.”

The Westemer led the way to the fare table,
followed by his youthful companion. The dis-
guised proprietor had withdrawu to another
part of the room, where be seated himself, and
commenced diligently to gnaw his nails, while

   

i
. .. ‘,£_.,.a.,....._. 7—4-” ...,‘...-,- h... . .... .

 "‘l'

 

 

his eyes were fixed with a dark and lowering
look upon the daring boy. Joe had got into
the lion’s den. Would he get out again as
easily? That was another question.

There Were Several persons around the faro
table. Bledsoe changed his ten-dollar bill for a
check of the same value.

“Going toput all my eggs into one basket.
Is that right, Joe? I’m to play your game, you
know."

“Csirreck. Plank it down on the ten-spot.
That’s the size 0’ yer bet, and jist you see if
there ain’t a heap o’ luck in it.”

The gambler placed his check on the ten.
With imperturbable countenance, the dealer
drew card after card from the box. and laid
them alternately to right and left. Out came
the ten ofspades,and fell on the right-hand heap.

“ “70 win,” whispered Bledsoe to his youthful
“You hit it right. What will I do?”

A few more cards, and the ten came a ain to
the right. Bledsoe had again won. He ooked
inquirineg at his partner.

” Double,” v-‘liispered the latter.

The game went on. At every new move,
Bledsoe turned questioningly to his young friend.
But Joe seemed to have forgotten the langu ge
except the one word. “double.” Yet he had a
remarkable run of luck. Time after time the
winning card came up for the persistent doubler.
His play began to attract attention, and some
of the other gamblers ventured bets on the same
card.

Bledsoe grew uneasy. His heap of checks
now amounted to more than six hundred dollars
in value.

“ This lack can‘t last," hesaid dubiously. “ I
had better withdraw some, or divide my bets.
Luck must Change.”

“ Jist you watch the dealer’s fingers. I’ll
watch his face.” returned Joe. “He's a dead

heat, he is. Wouldn’t trust him with a pickled
crab.”
' “ How will I bet '5”

” Double.”

Much against his will he did so. The event
proved the soundness of Joe’s advice. The ten
won again for the player. He had twelve hun-
dred dollars and over on the card.

“ What next?"

“Cash the odd checks, that’s my notion.
Play ’em the even thousand on the ten.”

As Bledsoe was doing so the proprietor of the
saloon returned. He had been out of the
room for several minutes. He looked at the
game with alowering brow as he noticed the
heavy bet of the lat ly cleaned out gambler.
He took ascat behind the dealer, with whom
he whispered while the players were making
their bets.

“ What now?” asked Bledsoe.

“ Let her rip. The ten’s my boss,” persisted

Joe.
I “ lgy all that’s good, this can’t last! I must
ose.

“S‘pose you do. You won’t be dead broke.
You’ve some dingbats in yer pocket.”

Up once more came the ten to the right. A
murmur of surprise broke out from the sur-
rounding gamblers. Against all chance Bled-
soe had again won. For eight times in succes-
ion the ten had come up to the right. Chips to
the tune of two thousand lay on the card. He
looked with anxious inquiry at the unflinching
boy.

“ C ,pper your bet,” whispered the latter.

Here was a change in the venture. A copper
revarses the bet. A new murmur broke out.
Those who had bets on the ten removed them.
They did not like to trust this change of tactics.

A few more cards were drawn from the box.
Then out once mrnre came a ten. To the general
surprise it fell this tin s to the left. The daring
player had again won. The dealer quietly paid

1is lo-s. Checks to the value of four thousand
dollars lay on the winning card.

A whispered conversation went on betWeen
the dealer and banker. Joe watched them
closely. The boy was certainly an old one. in
judgment, if not in years. He noticed a change
in the expression of the dealer’s faca.

The latter turned again to the table and re-
commeuced his monotonous labor.

“What next?” asked Bledsoe, in a whisper, of
his young partner.

“ Take your copper from the card and copper
the dealer.”

“ What do you mean t".

“ I allers mean jist what I say,” answered Joe
testily. “ He’s got cheat in his eyes as big as a
mackerel. He’s been pd: up by old Skinny.
You’ve get yer revolver. Copper him with
that, or he’ll sweep yer bet, sure as shootin’.”

 

This suggestion was to the taste of ‘9'
Westerner. In an instant he had his pistol in his

hand and the dealer covered, while an ugly look ‘;

came into his eyes.
back in alarm.

“Square’s the word,” exclaimed Bledsoe.
“You‘re laying our. to play a crooked game
with me, you hound! I can see it in your e e
and your fingers. Deal square and if I lose Ker.
it go. But if you try foul fingering I'll bore
you through, as sure as my name is Jack Bled—
soe.”

“ Stop the game!” cried the banker, springing
to his feet. "I will have no pistol practice in
this establishment.”

“Nary stop!” yelled the gambler. “This
deal’s got to go on. Play it fair and there
won’t be no pistol practice. Play it foul and
I‘ve got a bullet apiece for the pair of you.
W! at say you, gentlemen? Will you stand by
me?"

The other players drew

“ Yes," came a general reply, from the inter-
ested party who had gathered arr und. .

With a perceptible pallor on his wooden
countenance the dealer began again to draw
cards from the box. Bledsoe watched his fin-
gel‘s with keen eyes.

0..t came card after card. The jack of
Spades fell to the left. Thrn followed the ten
spot of diamonds to the right. A shout broke
from the lockers-0n. The bold player had again
won. Bledsoe replaced the pistol in his pocket.
with a cynical smile.

“ Cr ppered the right pile that time,” he said.

“What next?” he whispered to Joe.

“Cash your checks, and get out,” answered
the latter. “Can’t; trust my luck no furder.
And can’t trust that there dealer neither. Cash
and it. Them’s the words.”

This advice was unexpected to the gambler.
Fora. moment be determined not to take it.
But, remembering his ill fortune when playing
his own game, and his good luck under Joe’s
directions, his good sense returned to him.

“ Cash up.” he said. “ I’ve had play enough
for tonight.”

“ Are you not going to give the bank a charce
to get eVen?” asked Wctmore excitedly. “ 1V9
have let you play a doubling game, against all.
rules.”

“Not much. You've got it laid out to suit.
me. But I’m a bit too old a chicken. You’d
done it this time only you didn’t like the wink
of a revolver. Here’s your checks. Fork
owr.”

'Ihrusting the money carelessly into his.
pocket, he strode away from the table, followed
by Joe, who gave a wink full of impudent.
triumph to his disguised foe as be turned away-

I‘Vetmore paid no attention to this insolence.
He seemed to be hiding his time. Joe was not
yet out of the lion’s den.

The remaining players followed the Oddl
couple with curious glances as they swaggered
out of the room. The door was closed sharply
behind them as they passed out to the stairs.
A sardonic smile curled Wetmore’s lips. He.
evidently had a game in reserve.

Down the stairs they went, and along the pas-
sage toward the street. The door was opened
before them. Bledsoe passed on to the vesti-
bule. Ere Joe couli follow, he Was caught by a

strong band and jerked fierCely back, the door ‘

sharply closing.

Bledsoe turned angrily back. But he was-
caught by a brace of strong arms, and thrust
violently toward the street. He knocked down.

one of his assailants, and made avigorous effort .

to draw his pistol. Ere he could reach it, how-
ever, he was pushed over the threshold, and the
door hastily shut in his face.

The game had been played. Joe was a pri-
soner in the hands of the Philistines. His friend
was in the street, with a firmly locked oakeu
door which resisted his every effort to re-enter.
The banker had won in the last deal.

CHAPTER Vi.
THE NEXT MORNING AFTER.

JACK BLEDSOE was not the man to turn
traitor to the hand that had helped him. No-
thing could be done that night; but at an early
hour the next day he was back again to the
gambling saloon, with an officer and a ma so
trate’s warrant, determined to release the 1m-
prisoned boy if he had‘to bring all the power of
the courts into requisition.

The mansion looked so utterly quiet on their ’ '

approach. that it seemed as it a mouse could.
not be stirring within its walls. To the violent

pull of the hell no answer was returned. After '

several hand-jerks, a man came round the cor-
nor of the house, v: atering—pot in hand.
“ What do you want?‘

 

he asked. "Thar. 

   
 
  
   
  
   
    
   
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
   
     
   
    
  
  
     
   
   

  
    
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
   
 
   
   
    
 
  
    
 
    
  
    
   
  
     
   
  

 

 

 

   
   
  
  
  
     

    
   
   
  
  

    
   
  
  
 
   
 
     
   

 
 

  
 
    
 

. ---- >"t'--<-'~flrv-~»—v----fi s.....~..-_. mm.-.

,1
O

.”

,ufinily are not at home. They have been in the
,. '/’country these six weeks.”

“ That cat won’t jump,” answered Bledsoe,
hotly. “ We want entrance to this gambling
hell. And we’ll have it or split something.”

“ This what?”

“ This gambling-hell.”

“ Are you out of your senses?” asked the man,
with a show of astonishment. “ 1 tell you none
of the family is at home. Mr. Bradley is at his
country seat at Ardmore.”

He turned to walk away, with the look of
one who is being trifled with.

“ Stop there, my friend,” cried the officer,
with authority. “ You will refuse to open that
door at your peril. I have here a search-war-
rant. We must go through that house, family
or no family.”

The servant turned again, with a flushed face.
He read, through the railing, the paper that
was resented to him.

“ 'hat does this mean?” he asked. “ It is an
outrage. The house is empty. I have been left
in charge of it.”

“It w0n’t be empty when you let us in.
Quick now, or I will break open the door, and
bring you before the magistrate for contem t.”

IVith a shrug the servant turned away. n a
few minutes the front door opened.

“ Mr. Bradley shall know of this outrage,” he
said. “Come now. Here is the house. I will
go with you, for I am responsible for its con-
tents.”

“ Very well,” said the officer. “ We will not
steal anything. Now, Mr. Bledsoe.”

Bledsoe led the way confidently toward the
gambling-room.

“ We will show you a thing or two about this
house,” he said sarcastically to the servant.
“You don’t seem to know what sort of a shanty
it is. And we will have that boy, or know the
reason why.”

He flung open the door of the gambling-room
as he spoke, with a look of triumphant malice.
But the face of the servant was all pure inno-
cence and surprise.

“ See here,” exclaimed Bledsoe. “ Hillol By
Jove! What does this mean?”

He paused in utter astonishment. No trace
V . of gambling apparatus was to be seen. The
;. H apartment was furnished like a quiet family
, ,sittin ~room, with nothing to show that it had
ever on used for any other purpose. Linen
covers lay on the furniture, as if to protect
them from dust during the absence of the

  
 
  
   
    

residents.

The officer entered the room, and looked
dubiousl about him.

“By 00k and pie, this was a gambling-

 

saloon last night i” cried Bledsoe excitedly. “ it
was full of gamblers. I played here myself.
-- i There were a dozen games going.”

“Are you sure of the house? We know noth-
ing of any such establishment here.”

‘ Sure? You bet I am. The boy is here.
I’ll swear it! The hounds have got scared, and
made tracks. But they snatched that boy, and
I’m bound to have him out of their hands. The
house must be searched.”

The officer somewhat unwillingly obeyed.
He was growing doubtful. From garret to
cellar every room was examined. All was
quiet and respectable. The furniture remained
as if the family had just left it. Joe was not
there, that was certain. Nothing suspicious ap-

  
   
  
    
  
    
     
  
  
    
 

peered.

“Well, what do you think now?” asked the
servant, who had followed them closely round.
“ It doesn’t look much like a. gambling hell. I
think Mr. Bradley will have something to say
about this business.”

“All right. Let him. Here is my card,
which you can Send him. By Heaven, officer,
Iain afraid some foul play has happened. I
will not drOp it here. I will have that boy
out of their hands, if I must search the whole

   
   
 
   
  
  

cit .”
‘I’You will need better luck than you’ve had
this time,” answered the officer, with a cynical
. ‘ Iain afraid you are on avery cold

 

‘

   
 

Bledsoe made no answer. He saw that he
was looked on as a fraud or a fool. Yet there
 was something in _the manner of the servant
I ' which convmced him that that individual was
playing a game. He walked away from the

ouse with downcast head and brooding brow.
Aneat trick had been played. Just how was
not so sure. Yet he had no idea of deserting
the friendless boy who had done him such a
service. Jack Bledsoe was pluck to the back-
bone. He had‘ followed an Indian trail more
than once in his life. and had no idea of letting
himself be thrown off the track by this blind.

  
  
  
   
  
   
  
    
   
  

 

 

  
    

.._~...... "no. -m‘

Wide-Awake Joe.

But we must return to the adventures of the
and boy, who had been so neatliy trapped, who
had so mysteriously disappeare .

On being drawn back from the door Joe’s
natural impulse was to give vent to a yell of
alarm. But a handkerchief was cia ped over
his mouth, from which came a pecu iar sweet
odor. He struggled in the hands of his captor,
but he felt his senses rapidly leaving him. In a
few seconds he fell back limp and motionless.
He had been chloroformed.

Of what happened during the few succeeding
hours Joe was utterly unaware. Once, indeed,
he partly regained his senses, and felt, as in
a dream, a racking motion and rumbling
sound, as of a carriage driven rapidly overa
stony si i'ect.

But the sweet-smelling handkerchief was
again applied to his nostrils, and he sunk back
into a deep insensibility.

When he again opened his eyes it was to see
a. gleam of sunshine, pouring through a. low
window, which opened before him. He lay on
a narrow Cot in a small room, with plain white-
washed walis, and sparse furniture. For a
while a sick feeling kept him motionless. ‘ Then
this passed ofl’, and his strength and spirit slaw-
ly came back to him.

He tried to rise, but in vain. He was bound
to the cot, by a. rope that passed tightly round
his waist, and was tied beneath the bed.

It was some time before Joe could gt a. clear
recollection of the events of the prcceoillflnlght-
Point by point it came back to him, and lie
groaan With spite when he thought of how
neatly he had been tricked.

“Old Skinny got his work in on me that
time,” muttered the young prisoner. “But if
he thinks he’s took the starch outer this coon,
[‘1] bet him a cow to apossum that he‘s mistook.
1 don’t. b'lievc he’ll kill me. And I’m goin’
to work fur Miss Maud while the sky keeps
blue.”

All Seemed quiet about the house. Joe waited
for several minutes. Not around came to his

ears. Ho final] got tired of this, and yelled
out at the top 0 his lungs:
“\Vhoopee! Wake upl \Vhere’bouts is you

all? Won’t somebody pile in and take off this
rope necktie? Want to dance a jig, and can’t do
it with this thing on. Whoopeel”

His continued yells were answered by a sound
below. Then a man’s head was thrust into the
room and withdrawn. Voicrs were audible
outside. Finally the door again opened, and
a personage entered whom he recognized at
a glance. It was r. Wetmore, though still
with his disguising mustache, and his flashy
suit.

“So, boy,” said the latter harshly. “You have
dug your grave and tumbled in it. So you are
goin to blow on me, hey?”

“ won‘t swear as I won’t, nor as I will,” an-
swered Joe, boldly. “ You’ve tuk me foul, but

ou’ll find me a hard orange to squeeze. I don’t
like you fur notliin’, Mr. Skinny, and I ain’t
goin’ to let on as I do.”

“You have threatened me, boy. You have
made a. mistake. Su )pose I choose to kill you,
as I would a rat. on have no relatives or
friends to look after you. You will be a wasp
out of my way. What is to hinder me putting
you under the ground?”

“ ’Tain’t a safe game,” anSWered Joe, boldly.
“ There’s sich things as ghosts 0’ dead men; and
dead boys, too. And murder allers leaves its
shadder behind. And I’s got more friends nor
you thinks on. Jist don’t you try it.”

“ Will you swear, by all that’s solemn, to
never mention what you saw last night, and to
forget that there is such a person as me in ex—
istence?”

“ Nary time," answered Joe. “ Dcn’t ’prove
of swearin’. You can’t tie this coon’s hands by
no sich spider-webs as that.”

“ Very well, then. Your fate be on your own
hands. You are playing with dynamite, boy.”

He hastily left the room. Joe remained to
his reflections. and not quite sure but that he had
played the fool.

CHAPTER VII.
THE OPENING OF THE RAT—HOLE.

A WEEK passed away, during which Joe con-
tinued a close prisoner. The rope was removed,
indeed. and he was given the freedom of the
room. but it was with a firmly locked door. and
a window that looked out upon a roof, full thirty
feet from the ground. In the distance green
fields, trees, and groves were visible. Not an-
other hou.se was in sight. The boy was evident-
ly imprisoned in a country house.

The sight of those green fields was a delight
to the street Arab, who had spent his whole life

4.....- a.-- . a e-.. .. -. m..-,,.

'7

3

among walls, without a glimpse of the broad
level of the country. He spent the weary hours
of his imprisonment looking longingiy from the
window, and wishing he was only out among
the we )ds and waters which were visible in the
distance.

“ it’s ’nough to guv a cove the blues,” he ejac-
ulated. “ Wonder what old Skinny’s up ter?
Is be goin’ to chop me up for hologner sassagers,
or is be goin’ to say, git? I wish he’d do one or
t’other, mighty soon. Guess I’d sooner hev him
do t’other. But he's a rippin’ old honey, he is,
and he niought take a notion to knock me cold.
Bet you I haunt him if he does.”

Joe threw himself testily on the floor. A faint
murmur of voices came to his cars from below.
He listened intently, but was unable to make
out anything.

Yet a conversation was going on in a lower
room in which the fate of the homeless boy was
deeply involved. There Were present the dis-
guised merchant, Mr. VVetmorc, and the burly
fellow who had acted as doorkccper of the gam-
bling—saloon, and who now filled the office of
jailer to the youthful prisoner.

“Dead men tell no tales,” he said, with a sur-
ly frown.

“But murder leaves its shadow,” answered
Mr. VVetmore. “The boy said that, and he is
right. I won’t run the risk, for there’s nothing
to gainb it. All I need is to keep his ton us
still for tie next few months. He can tell w at
he will after that.”

“ I am not going to stay here for months,
guarding a rat in il trap,” growled the jailer.

“ You‘ll be well paid for it. And there’s many
men would jump at the chance of a summer in
the country.”

“The country be fiddled. I ain’t hankering
after no such trick. But the pny’s something.
Make it enough and I‘m agreeable. But how
about the little game? Is it smelt out?”

“ Not much, answered Wetniore with a
lunch of triumph. “ They don’t catch this
winnel asleep. Bledsoe was there the next (in;r
with a search—warrant, but I fanc he didii t
find much. We flitted before morning, and left
Jim behind to play the innocent. Set up again
at the Liberty street shop. Everything is love—
ly, and a neuter game than ever afloat.”

A laugh passed between the two confederates,
loud enough to reach the ears of the prisoner
above. Yet there were other ears, nearer than
those of the entrapped boy. A spy was lurking
within easy earshot of the talkers, and taking
in with greedy ears every word that was said.

They rose and strode away at the end of their
conference, still talking over the subject of their
business.

Hardly had they gone ere the door of a closet
opened, in the room they had just left, and out
Etrode Jack Bledsoe, with a grim smile on his
ace. .

“ Did it up neat that time.” he said to himself.
“ But why the blazes didn’t they keep up that
interesting confab? There’s some few points I’d
like to be clear on. So it’s a traVeling shop he
keeps. Flits to a new hole when the old one
rets too warm. Guess I’ll have to hunt him up
in Liberty street and make a new break for a
pile. But wouldn’t he be wrothy if he knew
that I had tracked him out to this den? Now for
the ho . Where is he? Out of this he comes or
I’ll sellimy hat.”

Ho slipped from the room, and began a cau-
tious investigation of the premises into which
he had so shrewdly made his way.

Voices could still be heard below. Several
persons'seenied to be talking. Jack felt that he
had taken on no fool of a job. Ho was in a
hornets’ nest where he ran a fair risk of getting
stung before he got safely out.

But he was the right bird for this game. He
was an old trailer, understood thoroughly the
art of hiding, and was neVer the man to get
scared at the shadow of danger.

Night was not far distant. Jack had a double
job to erform, to see, and to kee from being
seen. 6 must learn all he coul before dark,
and trust to night for the rescue and escape.

Little dreaming of what was passing below
Joe trod his narrow den like a leopard in a cage.
He tried again the narrow-paned window. as
he had tried it flfty times before. .But it was
firmly fastened on the outside. And if he should
get out he would still be thirty feet above the
ground, a little too much for a comfortable
jump.

He turned impatiently away, and resumed
his uneasy stride.

It was growing dusky in the room, and shad-
owy outside, when the door at length opened,
and the keeper appeared, bearing with him a

 

 

I,platter of food.

    

. 'rl. ,.Q r J i - _ ,
Wautamf;walnut ..  . . 

I

 

    
 
 

   

e

8

Wide-Awake Joe.

 

“ Here’s your grub,” he said, harshly. “ Fall
to, chapee, and make the most of it. You ain’t
worth the good victuals we are wasting on you.”

“ Then I wouldn’t waste ’em, if I was you,”
re'oined Joe coolly. “ Jist turn me adrift.
Kick me out, if you want, and call me a dead—
beat. I won’t guv no slack back.”

“ “pose not,” anSWered the man with a grin.
“ But we can’t spare you just now.”

“ Then jist stop yer everlastin’ tongue racket,
and git outer this parlor. Didn’t ’vite you, as I
knows on.”

The keeper withdrew without answering.

“Bet you I make Rome h0wl when I do git
out,” c0ntinued Joe, as he addressed himself to
his sup er. “ I’ve got a peg or two in Skinny’s
coilin.’

The meal was plain but abundant, and Joe
had a boy’s appetite. In fact, he had been bet-
ter fed in his prison than for a long while out of
it. But the boy had been a free bird all his
life, and would yet have preferred a bone in a
gutter than a king’s banquet in a prison cell.

iberty is sweeter than the best food that was
ever cooked.

“ Hillo there l” he cried, abruptly dropping
the last morsel of his meal. " What’s that?”

A tap on the window-pane had given him
this start. He hurried forward. There was a
face at the pane. With genuine delight he recog-
nized the countenance of Jack Bledsoe.

JOe would have given vent to some dangerous
exclamation, but for the cautioning sign from
his friend. The latter motioned for him to
raise the sash. Joe indicated in dumb show
that it was fastened outside. In a minute Jack
had found and removed the fastening, and the
window was open. .

“Hush !” cautioned the scout. “Not a loud
word. I’m after you, Joe. Going to dig you
ant of this shanty.”

" Bully fer you!" exclaimed the delighted
boy. “ You kin snatch me out by the hair, if
you want. I won’t squeal.”

“ Ole moment. Will that chap be back after
your emptyldishes?”

“ Yes. 6 allers comes back.”
“Then we must play dumb.
see anything suspicious about you.

glass when he’s gone.”

The scout cautiously lOWered the window, and
replaced its fastening. Then he crept away
from the dangerous spot. Joe looked out, but
Could see nothing of him.

“ Like to be out there, I s’pose,” spoke the
voice of the keeper behind him.

Joe gave a guilty start. But he heedfully
kept his face to the window.

“ What’s the matter? I didn’t stick any pin
in you.”

“You mought as well, as come in a feller’s
room like a thief.”

'-‘ What are you looking at?
outside?”

“ The keeper walked up and looked out of the
window. It gave Joe a surge of alarm, but he
boldly kept his place and his countenance.

“ ou bet,” he answered with forced coolness.
“ Got a friend on the reof. Made up my mind
not to say no longer. Goin’ to leave arter you
carry ou' mum planes. Good—by, boss. I’ll guv
you a Ivi'ilullu'clld’lll')" i'..r jailer, to yer next

Irv-n."

’I‘no- fellow laughed.

“You’re a cool little coon, by Joseyl Kind
of like you, boy, and won’t slit your weasand
except I get orders from head quarters. What
the boss says has got to he dome.” ~

“Much ’bliged,” answered Joe, carelessly.
“ Got any twin brothers jist like you? Like to
trade off, if you have. Good—night. You won’t
find no prOVender left on them plates.”

He stretched himself on the cot with a broad
yawn. though secretly very anxious that the
fellow should leave the window. It was not
certain but that some trace of Jack’s presence
might be visible.

The jailer continued to stand there and look
out. A new scheme came into the boy’s shrewd
brain. He sprung from the cot, and began
a cautious movement toward the unlocked

Don’t let him
Tap on the

Got somebody

oor.
“ Hold there, cock of the walk! Can’t spare
you just yet.”
Like a flash. the keeper was across the floor
and had his back to the door.
“ Thought you’d furgot to lock it,” explained

oe.

“ Did you? You’re a very thoughtful young
monkey. But if you’d gone out that door,
you might have come back with a bu’sted brain-

an E”

He gathered up the empty dishes, and went

scowling from the room. A cunning smile came

 

  

 

on Joe’s countenance, as he heard the click of
the key in the lock.

“ Fooled that boozer, anyhow. If he on’y
knowedl Lawsee, wouldn’t ther’ be war in the
camp!”

He waited for several minutes to avoid any
danger of a return. His ear was at the key-
hole, but all seemed quiet below. With a grin
of triumph he hurrieu across, and tapped lightly
at the pane.

The signal had to be repeated several times
before the welcome face of the scout appeared.
He hastened to again open the window.

“I was afeard that cross-cut customer was
here yet,” he explained. “ I twigged his Ugly
snout, and slipped back. Wake up, Joe! Got
any valuables you want to collect?”

" On’y got one Vullyble,” answered Joe, with
a shrug, “and that’s what’s inside my skin.
Calkerlate I’m a jewel myself; but I ain’t got
no diamonds.”

“ Come, then!”

During this interval the night had deepened.
It was quite dark outside, exce t for the faint
g10w in the west. Joe slipped joyfully through
the open window, which was quickly closed and
fastened by his shrewd friend.

“ No use leaving our track open,” he declared.
“Follow me, boy, and hold on like a cat. The
root’s steep and slip ery.”

That was a fact; but Joe was good at holding
on, and he scrambled after his active friend un-
til the ridgepole was reached. Below them, on
the opposite slope, appeared a dormer-window
like that they had just left. A few seconds
brought the active pair down to its level. Slip-
ping round in front, Jack carefully inspected
the room inside.”

“The coast’s clear,” he muttered.
me."

The sash was cautiously raised. In an instant
he slipped through, and extended a hand to Joe.
The latter sprung through the opening with the
alertness of a cat.

“ So far, so good.

“ Follow

But the worst isn’t past
Iyet. Slip cfl’ your shoes, boy. We must move
ike mice.”

Joe quickly obe ed. Jack had his already
slung over his shou der. He listened for several
minutes at the door before venturing further.

“ Come,” he whispered. “ Step carefully.”

Along a short passage and to a flight of steps
led-their way. Be cautious as they would, the
stairs creaked frightfiilly under foot. Haltingat
eVery step the made their way slowly down.

The floor he ow was reached. Still the coast
was clear. The head of another stairway ap«
peared, leading down to the ground-floor.

They hesitated for a moment, listening acute-
ly, and striving to pierce the growing darkness
with their vision.

At this instant there came a single loud, fierce
cry of alarm from above, and the sound of
shuffling feet. ,

“ The cat’s out l” exclaimed Jack. “ The bird’s
missed out of the cage. It’s Dick ordevil now l”

“ Let go.” cried Joe. “Guess we kin hoe
our ’taters. ”

Down the stairs they went with quick bounds,
fiivhile the outcry behind them grew louder and

creer.

 

CHAPTER VIII.
CAUGHT IN THE ACT.

IT was certainly time to say goodby, and go.
The noise behind the fugitives increased. Steps
could be heard running on the floor below.
Down the stairs the Went, with quick bounds.

“This way,” exc aimed Jack. “The house-
door lies hereaway.”

They had reached the lower level and were
hurrying across the ball below, when a door at
the side was flung violently open, and a man
rushed out before them.

“What’s bu’sted?” he shouted.

“ The boy’s escaped! Stop him!” came from
above.
“Ay! ay! I’ve got him foul.”

“ Have you?”

These words came from Jack Bledsoe, whose
fist fell like a sledge-hammer on the man’s tem-
ple. hurling him in a heap to the floor.

The purSUer above was now at the head of

the stairs. Other steps and voices could be
heard.

“Quick!” cried Jack. “There’s a nest of
them.”

“I’m yer boss,” exclaimed the alert boy.
“ Pelt on lively.”
_ Springing over the prostrate man, in an
instant they reached and opened the door. and
sprung out to the high stone steps in front of
the house.

J0e was darting forward, when his experi-

 

4x

enced comrade caught him by the collar am.
dragged him hastily back.
step he crouched down in the gloom beside it,
dragging Joe dowu with him.

“ They know the ground better than we.” be

whispered. “They'll nab us if we run. Keep
mum as a mouse.”

“You bet, boss-fly.”

They had been none too soon. The next

instant several men came plunging hastily
through the open door, one of them carrying a
lantern, whose light fortunately did not all
upon the dark corner beside the step.

Mr. IVetmore was among them, without his
coat, and his face inflamed with rage.

“You're a sweet jailer,” he began fiercely.

“ Oh, drop that!” interrupted the jailer.
“ Ca1ch them now, and curse them after. This
way. The can’t be far ofl. We know the
ground. hey don’t. We can fetch them.”

Ho plunged forward, followed by the two
others. Across the yard in front of the house,
and into the road beyond. Then they separated,
each taking a different direction.

In a minute more they had disappeared in the
darkness, except where the lantern shed its dim
gleam from the distance.

“When in doubt pla a trump. That’s the
rule in whist, my boy,”laughed Jack. “ Come
back into the house. It’s the last place they’ll
think of till they’ve scoured the country.
’Tain’t the first time I’ve played this neat
dod 7e.”

“ ou’re a cool ’un,” exclaimed Joe. looking
with admiration at his companion. “ I’d never
thought on’t. Why, when they was standin’
over us there my heart swelled as big as a cab-
bage. Liwsee, sn’t old Skinny wrothyl Jist
mad ’nough to b 6 me alive.”

While these words a3sed they had risen and
entered the deserted ouse. Itiwas lit up here
and there with lamps, and Jack made a hasty
surve of the lower rooms.

“ ight ick up some tit-bit,” he said.

“ Jolly, if the hain’t got a supper-table sot
here!” exclaime Joe, as he opened the door of
a roam. “ Piled full of grub. And here I’ve
gone and swallowed my rations, and didn’t
leavea mite of appetite,” he declared regret-
full .

“5Guess I can nick a bit. for I’ve had no su
per,” returned ack. “ But let’s locate this
room first.”

He looked out of the windows to spy the lay
of the land beyond. Then he began asurvey of
the room itself.

“ Seems to me I’ve seen that bit of ap arel
before,” he said, pointing to a coat that ung
against the wall. '

“ It’s old Skinny’s,” ejaculated Joe. “ TWIgged
it at the taro bank that night.”

“ Guess I’ll investigate, then.
war.”

He carefully examined the pockets of the
garment.‘ Out of one of them he drew a thickly
folded paper. This he thrust into his pocket
without opening. .

“ Whats in it will keep,” he said; “but my
appetite won’t. They can’t be back for fifteen
minutes at the earliest. I can stow away a
fair share of provender in that time.”

He coolly drew up a chair and commenced his
supper, while Joe looked regretfully on, very
sorry that he had spoiled his appetite.

“Tell me all about this business,” remarked
Jack. as he continued to eat. “ I‘ve only got
the tail end of it now. What put VVetmore
down on you? What put you down on him?
Why are you spotting him? Let it out.”

Nothing loth, Joe hastily ran over the story
of his late adventures, his interviews With Miss
Maud, her confidential revelation to him, and
the events which had succeeded.

“ And I tell you she’s a bouncer!” cried Joe
with admiration. “ She’s as pretty as a full
blood rat terrier, and that’s the prettiest thing
I knows on. She’s just stunnin’, now. you bet;
and not a bit 0' stuck up ’bout her.
couldn’t use a college sport kinder nor she did
me, when I hadn’t nothin’ on but rags.”

“ In love with her, eh, Joe?” laughed Jack.
“Didn’t know you had such a soft spot. There,
now, just slip across to the front window, and
take a blink out. Look for that lantern. If
you see a sign of it coming back, give me the
cue.”

Joe hastened to obey, while Jack coolly cut
himself another morsel of steak, and spread a.
slice of bread thickly with rich country butter.

“ I like to eat my meals in peace and com-
fort,” he remarked. “ But if our friends want
to make a full supper, they’d best hurry back.”

The outhful spy meanwhile had stationed
himsel at- the front window, through which he

All’s fair in

Leaping off .the ‘

Why, she .

a

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     

 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

»
' I

1

3

Ir

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I;

 

Wide-Awake Joe.

 

took a long observation of the surrounding
scene. It was now so dark that he could see
but a few yards from the house. No sign of the
lantern could be made out.

“ They’re arter us yit, I s’pose,” he grinned.
“ Climbin’ fences, and tumbling over roots and
rocks. And growlin’. And cussin’. I bet old
Skinny’s cussin’. Lawsee, wouldn’t he cuss if
he twigged all that’s goin’ on here? Never
heered of sich a sell.”

He broke into a fit of laughter that, for a
minute or two, made him forget his business.
When he looked out again it was to get a start.
For there stood the man with the lantern. He
hat‘ Just come round the corner of the house,
an was gazmg in the window at Joe with a
ver surprised expression of countenance. It
woul not have been easy to tell which was the
most startled of the two.

But in a second the boy recovered his wits,
and ran hastily back, crying out:

“Slide’s the word, Jack Bledsoe. Cut and
run. They’re arter us.”

At the same moment the front door was flung
open, and steps were heard in the passage.

J oe broke into the supper-room. Jack had
already taken the alarm, and was on his feet
and at the window, which he had taken the pre—
caution to leava u .

“ Quick, Joe! After me!” he shouted, as he
cleared the sill with an alert leap and landed on
the green lawn outside.

Joe ran round the table and across to the
window. Achair stood in his way, which he
flung hastily aside. He gained the window,
leaped like a cat to the sill, in a doubled up
attitude, ready for another leap outside.

But at the same instant, with a. singing whiz,
a short, heavy club whirled across the room,
from the hand of a man at the doorway, and
took the unlucky boy square on the back of the
head, tumbling him like a log from the sill to

round below. He fell dead as a stone, all the
is senses knocked out of him by the hard blow.

Jack by this time was thirty paces awa . He
heard the dead sound of the blow behindy him,
but did not dream what it was, as he ran swiftly

n.

“ Come, lad,” he cried, deeming that Joe was
close behind him. “Keep an eye on my top—
knot, and run like blazes. If we can hit that
piece of woods we are safe.”

On he ran, jumping a fence before him like an
athlete. Five minutes more at his rapid pace
and the skirt of the woodland was gained.
Now for the first time did he pause, and look
behind him, surprised at the silence.

To his astonishment no one was visible,
neither the boy nor his pursuers. But it was
impossible to make out anything at twenty
paces. Lights were visible at the house, and
glimpses of somethin moving, but what it was
could not be distinguished.

“Joe!” he cried cautiously. “Where are
you, boy? Joel” His voice grew louder.
‘Where are you lazying? Heyl This way,
youngster 1” His tones now rung out loud and

,7

sharp. “ Hillol Stir your stumps.
No answer came. All remained deathly
silent. A suspicion of the truth began to cross

J ack’s mind.

“By the great grizzly I believe they’ve
nabbed the lad, after all. It’s too confounded
bad if they have. A hasty supper and a scrap
of paper don’t pay for the risk I‘ve taken.”

He seated himself disconsolately on the trunk
of a fallen tree, and waited developments, using
his eyes and ears with intent scrutiny. Five
minutes passed. Ten minutes. Nothing ap-
peared, either to eyes or ears.

i‘hey’re not chasing me, that’s a sure go,”
he muttered. “They’ve nabbed the boy, or I
know nothing about woodcraft. There’s noth-
ing for it but to scout back and smell out the
In of the land.”

ith the caution of a trained scout be com-
menced a reverse movement toward the house
which he had so lately left.

“ Fool that I was,” he muttered. “ I trusted
too much to luck and chance, and to a boy’s
eyesight. It wasn’t the judgment of a scout.
But 1’11 have the lad again, or know the reason

wlg.”

re long he had come near the house. His
movements now grew more cautious. No one
was visible. Everything was still. He neared
the window from which he had leaped. It was
closed, and the curtain drawn inside. A faint
sound, as of voices, Came to his ears.

He stooped down and felt the grass below. as
if with the fancy that the boy might be lying
there still. Some moisture wet his fingers.

“ The dew is falling very early,” he muttered.
“ Or is it dew? It feels clamniy.”

 

 

 

Taking a match from his pocket he struck it
on the wall of the house, and exImined his
fingers by the fluttering light. They were redl
It was blood, not dew, that had wet them!

And there, on the green grass, red spots were
visible.

Jack stood aghast, gazing at his fingers in hor-
ror till the match went out.

“ Dew l” he muttered. “ It is the dew of mur-
der! They have killed the boy, and I am re
sponsible for his death 1" '

What was to be done? Should he seek aid?
No. The boy might be only Wounded. He
must watch the house during the night. Some-
thing might happen in his favor.

The hours passed slowly by as he continued
his long vigil, seated beneath a shed near the
iear of the house. Yet no sound came to his
alert ears. Everything was quiet. There was
for a few minutes a movement of lights in the
upper ronms. Then they too went out, and
dee darkness fell over all.

NIIdnight came and assed. In spite of him-
self a doze fell upon t e senses of the solitary
watcher. He was but half asleep, yet his former
vigilance was relaxed. And now, in his slnm~
her, there came to him a sound as of carriage
wheels, and of low voices.

It was a minute before he could throw off his
lethargy, and regain his senses. The sound of
wheels was still faintly audible, in the distance,
but be imagined it was but an echo of his dream.
He heard no voices, and no signs of life were
visible about the solitary house- He fell again
intoi the doze from which he had but half-awak-
ene .

Day dawned at last. With its first gleam in
the east the patient watcher was on his feet,
and cautiously observing the house. He made
his way with heedful steps to the front. To his
surprise the door stood wide open. No living
thing was visible.

He boldly penetrated steppin with noiseless
care. His anxiety made him are all danger.
Room after room was entered and examined.
No person was to be seen. He ventured up the
stairs. The doors of the 11 per rooms stood
open. They were empt . he house was ut-
terly deserted. Not a S] n of its late inhabi-
tants was visible except t at red witness on the
grass, before which the scout again stood, with
a feeling of deep horror in his brain.

CHAPTER IX.
COPPERING A BET.

“ I’LL tell you this, Miss Weatherly, your un-
cle is a confounded fraud. Those are strong
words to use to a lady, but they express my
feelings.”

It was Jack Bledsoe who spoke. He was
seated in a richly-furnished apartment, in the
presence of Maud VVeatherly, whose beautiful
face was fixed on him with eager excitement.
But Jack was as cool as if he had been ina
western stock-yard, or camping out on the prai-
rie. One would have thought that he had been
brought up to this kind of thing.

“ I fear you are right, Mr. Bledsoe. But tell
me what you mean. I am burning to know.
I am deeply interested in his movaments, for
Certain good reasons."

“I know. The boy told me all. I am sorry
that I cannot speak at present. Miss Weatherly,
but I have given a pledge. But you can'trust
your fortune in my hands. The man is aVillain,
and I am bound to unmask him.”

“ And the boy? Little ragged J oe?”

“In serious danger, I fear. He saved my
life. I will not forget him. If any harm comes
to him it will go hard with the man that does it.
I am not one of the kind that it is safe to play
with.”

The young lady’s eyes beamed with admira-
tion as she fixed them on the face of the good-
looking and self-poised man before her. There
was that in Jack’s expression which made her
content to trust her luck fully in his hands. .

“Yet I hope you will run no dangerous risk.
Mr. Bledsoe,” she pleaded.

“Don’t you break your SWeet heart about
that,” said Jack, with a laugh that had a reck-
less ring. We have risk for lunch and danger
for supper out,West-.' I’ll pull through all right,
never fear. But I must be away. You Will re-
member our compact?”

“ I shall not forget.”

“ Good-by, then. And trust me.”

“ I do,'Mr. Bledsoe.” .

She held out her hand, which Jack clasped in
a strong pressure. Her eyes were find on him
with a eculiar softness that made the heart of
the bol fellow beat like a trip-hammer in his
breast. As he Went alon the street the mem-
ory of that look haunted im.

  

 

“I wonder if she’s taken with my handsome
phiz,” he said to himself. “ Hang me if I ain’t
half in love with her. Look sharp, Jack Bled-
soe. You’ve one through many a ti ht place
in your life. ut to be shot throng With a
pretty girl’s black eye is the worst wound, and
the hardest to clue, that a soft-hearted fellow
like you can take. You’re a dead-goner, old
hey, if you don’t mind your ways.”

ack had some important business in hand
that day, which he proceeded to put through.
Of this the most important was to hunt up a
young gentleman whose acquaintance he had
made during his gambling adventure. He fan-
cied this persm might know the locality of the
Liberty street den, and be able to introduce him
there. Jack had budness in his mind’s eye.

He was successful in both particulars. He
found his friend, who proved to be well posted,
and promised to introduce him that night to the
Liberty street saloon.

“ And I may ask you to back me,” said Jack.
“I’ve got a trifle of s ort laidout."

“ I am your man. am down on those sharks
as much as on can be.”

Within tie saloon in question, at midnight
that night, an active game was in progress. It
was a room much like that to which we have
already introduced the reader, and was fur-
nished with the gambling implements which
had been so hastily removed from the former

lace.
p Wetmore was present, new dressed in a suit
of blue, with a flashy diamond pin, and a gold
watch-chain that looked heavy enough to
strangle an ox. He wore the heavy mustache
as a disguise as before, and his usna ly. red face
had been given a pallid hue by some repara-
tion. Only a keen eye for faCes could ave re-
cognized in this sporting taro banker the quiet
sober merchant, whose soul seemed to be burie
by day in his coffee-bags. .

On his face, hOWeVer, was an ill~concealed

trace of anxiety, asif something had gone seri--

ously wrong With him.

A score of players were present, many of
them the same persons who had taken part in
the game at the other den. Just as the hour of
midnight struck. into the saloon walked Jack
Bledsoe and his friend, the former wearing an
expression of cool energy that meant business.

Wetmore, who was standing near the furo-
table, started as they approached, while his
eyes were fixed on Jack’s face With a look of
malignant hatred. .

“Didn’t ex ct to see me,” said Jack, With a
sarcastic smi e. “But we had such a neat
little game the other night, that I thought a
second dose of the same medicine wouldn’t hurt.”

“There’s the table, open to all with the cash
to plank down,” answered Wetmore.

“ Suppose one hasn’t the caslii”

“Then there’s the door. We have no room
here for beggars.”

“ Very good, Mr. Oliver—that’s the name you
sail under I believe—but I have something that
may take the place of cash. Do you recognize
this interesting document?”

He drew from an inner pocket a closely fold-
ed paper. A statement of its contents was
written on the outside. This he held up before
the eyes of the angry banker, whose spleen
turned to instant consternation. He turned
white as chalk, and fell back a pace. Then he
s rung forward and made a hasty clutch at the

ocument.

“ Not so fast. my hearty,” said Jack, quickly
withdrawing it. “ Can’t spare it yet. Just
wanted to give you a peg.”

“ Hand it over, or by eaven I‘ll know why!
The paper was stolen from me, gentlemen. by
this rascally thief. Return it, I say, or by—”

“Save all that wind, Oliver. You may have
soup for supper, and you’ll need your breath
to cool it."

“ It is mine, I say, and have it I will, by good
or bad i”

“ You acknowledge it’s yours? That’s one
good point. Shall I read it to these gentlemen,
or tell them where and how I got it?”

The cowed yet furious banker glaredfonnd
him for some of his backers, with a gr0wing in-
tention to make an assault on._the cool Western-
er, and take the paper from him by force.

“ None of that, my lively sport,” cried Jack
coolly, as be divined the intention. “ I ll make
a hole through the chap that lays a hand on me.
Come. I’ll give you a chance. Sup 039
I bet this interesting document at_fa,ro. ow
much are you ready to lay against it?’

The dismayed bank;r jumped at the chance,
its a. drownin man or a rope.

h “ A cool hgndred,” he eagerly ejaculated.
“It’s worth that to me.”

   

_ a...’v.,_.,..;. I. ,..._..__.J.....

     
     
     

 
    
 
 

 

1O

Wide-Awake J 06.

 

 

 

 

“ Is it?” answered Jack. “ It’s worth a bun-
dred times a hundred to me. That’s a cool
ten thousand.” He laid the paper on the ace,
still covering it heedfully with his hand.
“ There’s my bet. See it or flunk.”

“ Do you take me fora fool!”

“ No, but for a knave. I’ll tell you this, you’ll
not get a second chance. There’s another gen-
tleman deeply interested in this paper. If you
don’t care to take my bid, I’ll get his.”

He carelessly took up the important docu-
ment. The dealer meanwhile was quietly shuf-
fling the cards for a new deal. Wetmore’s eyes
fixed themselves menacingly on his impassive
face.

“ Good,” he cried suddenly. “ I’ll cover your
bet. Ten thousand on the ace, against that in-
teresting paper.”

By this time most of the players had gathered
round the faro-table, attracted by this odd

wager.
“ Cash then. Value against value. I will
not play this against chips.”
“ All right.” The banker hastily counted out

the heavy sum demanded, from the contents of
a. well filled pocket-book.

A look of secret meaning marked his face, as
he glanced again at the dealer, who was just re-
placing the well—shuffled cards in the box.

Jack also had his eyes on the latter. He
caught a look in his dull eye that told him all
he wanted to know. The cards had undoubted-
ly been doctored.

“ I copper the bet,” he said quietly.

“ No, no,” cried Wetmore. “ It was to be an
even bet on the ace. That or nothing.”

“ And I choose to copper. If you are not sat-
isfied you can draw. Are the cards stacked?”

“,,Do you accuse me of playing a foul game,
sir?

“Then why are you afraid of a copper?”

“I don’t care a g. Copper and be hanged!
Everythin is square dealin , here. Go on,
dealer.” is voice was full 0 honest indigna-

'tion, but there was a deep meaning in his quick

glance at the dealer.

“ Of course it’s square. I wouldn’t for a cow
hint anythin else. It’s got to be square or
somebody wi i be hurt. Here’s my copper. It
isn’t the ordinary style, but I guess it will hit
the mark.”

He drew from his pocket a loaded and cocked
revolver, which he quietly laid on the pile of
notes, keeping a finger resting on its stock.

“That’s our wild Western idea. of faro. Go
ahead, my cove. Of course you’ll deal fair. If
you don’t, you might get a toothache that won’t

easy cured. Drive on, and mind your fingers,
for I’ve got an eye like a. gimlet.”

The dealer turned perceptiny pale under
these quiet remarks. I

“ By Heaven, I won’t stand it I” exclaimed
Wetmore. “ Gentlemen, I appeal to you.”

“Let the ame go on,” answered the bystand-
ers. “ The est has its ways. Let the gentle-
inan”have his fancy. Fair play dreads no bul-

ets.

Wetmore bit hls lip with impotent rage. He
signaled to the dealer to proceed, but his hand
was thrust into his rear pocket, as if in search
of a weapon.

To all this Jack Bledsoe paid no heed. His
keen eyes were fiXed on the fingers of the deal-
er, as they slowly lifted card by card from the
box, and laid them succsssive y to the right
and left. He wore his usual stolid look, yet
there was a slight quiver in his hands, just per-
ce tible to Jack’s shar glance.

‘ I have cut his comg,” said the latter to him-
Self. “ He is scared, and my game is made. If
the cards are doctored, as I fancy, I have the
rascals foul.”

All other play had ended in the room. Every-
body was gathered around the faro table, look-
ing intently upon the interesting and unusual
game. There was but the one bet upon the
board, and as the cards came slowly one after
the other, from the box, a dozen sharp eyes
helped Jack’s in watching the movements of
the dealer’s fingers. He would have been a
keen one who could have made a foul draw
under that watchfulness.

“ Hold l” exclaimed Jack, suddenly. “ There’s
a little mistake, my man. Those cards stick
frightfully. You ave two in your fingers.
Suppose you put them back in the box, and see
if you can’t make a single dra w.”

‘You are right,” said the dealer, with great
coolness. “ They did stir-k.”

He separated the two cards, which had been
so neatly handled, that only a practiced eye
could have seen the deception.

“ That’s clever. I hope you feel no symptoms
of toothache.”

' won’t repeat the

 

Wetmore, who had been looking eagerly on,
turned away with a quivering lip. He half-
drew his hand from his pocket, while his eyes
filled with a murderous light. The fingers Were
tightly clinched around the handle of a revol-
ver, but he thrust it back again with amut-
tered curse. There were too many present for
pistol—practice.

At this instant, a quick-drawn breath and
then an impulsive shout came from the circle of
spectators. The ace had appeared and fallen
on the left-hand pile.

“ Guess I’ll rake down that little heap,” said
Jack, coolly. “I believe in coppering, gentle-
men; ’specially when you’re playing with a
keen coon like this good-looking dealer.”

He grasped the heap of bank—notes and
thrust them in one pocket, and the document in
another.

“ Are you not going to give me satisfaction?”
exclaimed Wetmore, in a tone of violent rage.

“ I’m your man,” answered Jack, conlly.
“The same bet, if you fancy it, or double, if
you like it better. There’s nothing mean about
this chicken, old man!”

“No—no. I haven’t the money. You must
give me a lower chance!”

“ You haven’t the money, eh? Would you
like me to make a guess about how much you
have?”

“ I will wager a thousand. I was a. fool
to make that other bet!” came the surly an-
swer.

“Strange how those two cards stuck,” an-
swered Jack, with a meaning look; “and the
dealer would never have discovered it if I had-
n’t happened to notiw Something odd. You
bet, then? Well, there’s
another way in w hich you may win the docu-
ment. Step aside here, please. This is a pri-
vate matter.”

Wetmore followed him out of the throng of
gamesters, who were husin debating the event
which had just happened with very serious
doubts as to the honesty of the game.

The two men gained a nook where they could
conVerse unheard.

“ What have you done with that boy—Jolly
Joe, as he calls himselfs”

Wetmore gave a guilty start.

“ I know nothing about the boy,” he hastily
answered.

“You lie! you hold him prisoner. He was
wounded in your hands. He may be dead, for
all I know. If he is, by all that’s good, you
shall answer for his murder!”

“ It is false! He is not dead,” was the hasty

reply.
“ So much the better for you, then. I want
that boy. Iwill make an even trade of this
document for his body—alive and well, mind
you. If he is hurt, you know the conse-
quences.”

“ Hang the young rat! I don’t want him. Put
the ten thousand you have just won to the
paper, and he is yours.”

“Not much! That was fair plunder, and I
intend to freeze to it. The paper for the boy.
Sa%the word, and quick !”

etmore hesitated, and Seemed lost in self-
reflection for several minutes. There was a.
look of furtive cunning in his eyes.

“ He is many miles from here,” he atlength
replied. “ Do you know the village of Grafton,
in Ohio?”

to. Yes.”

“ The boy is there, under care of my agent.
He is safe and well. I will give you an order
for his delivery in exchange for that document.
I am trusting to your honor.”

“You have my word. Jack Bledsoe never
went back on it yet. Deal square with me, and
I’ll deal square with you. That’s as good as if
it was sworn.” .

“ Come here to my desk. I will write the
order, and give you the necessary directions: I
take your word of honor, Mr. Bledsoe.

“ Fool!” he said to himself, as he led to the
desk. “ You have put your neck in the noose.
Beware! If you fall into my plot, I’ll pay your
score, as I am a living man.”

CHAPTER X.
A TOUGH JOB OF WORK.

JOLLY JOE was gradually becoming his old
self again. He was not dead. He was not even
seriously hurt. But he had lain insensible for
a period whose length he knew not, and he had
come to his senses with a racking pain in his
head that made him for the time wish he had
been killed outright.

He found himself, as before, in a. locked room,
though a very different one from that in which
he had been formerly imprisoned. It contained

 

 

 

 

much more furniture, the floor was carpeted,
and there were some cheap pictures on the wall.

The room had but a single window, and this
was closed outside by green blinds, which were
immovable, and which permitted nothin to be
seen but the sky overhead. They had ev1dently
been firmly secured on the outside.

But Joe was too miserable to trouble himself
about anything of this kind, or even to eat any
of the food that was brought him. He lay
groaning on his couch, heedless of where he was-
or of who was about him.

Two days slowly passed away. On the morn-
ing of the third he awoke feeling like a new~
made boy. The hurt in his head was still pain-
ful, but he had got rid of that miserable feeling.
of sickness and depression, and was as spry in
his limbs again as a young colt.

With this return of health came back all his
old independence and love of liberty. He
quickly made a study of his prison, a thing in
which he had taken no interest before.

“Tight as wax,” he said. “Ain’t a hole you
could git water through. But if old Skinny
thinks I’m a—goin’ to stay here I bet he’s goin’
to he took in.”

When the keeper came with his breakfast Joe
for the first time observed him. It was the
same stalwart fellow as before.

“Come back to yerself, youngster, have
you?” he demanded. “ I thought you were too
thick-skulled to be toppled over with a clothes
pin. Got your appetite back? I’m tired of
wasting good victuals on you.”

“Don’t git in no brain feVPr ’hout that,” re-
torted Joe. “I’m goin’ fur that grub. Soon’s
you git tired o’ feedin’ me, let it out. I’ll todo
dle. Don’t see no use stayin’ here.”

“ You‘ll go when we are ready to let you go,
youngster. You won’t play your old trick?
with us, now mind.”

“Jist you see if I don’t hammer out a new
’un,” returned Joe. “ I ain’t goin’ to stay here,
and ’tain’t in your boots to keep me here. Ain’t
goin’ jist yet though. Want to feed up fu’st.
I’ll let you know, so’s you kin say good-by.”

The fellow laughed and left the room, while
Joe turned to his breakfast with a powerful
appetite.

“ He thinks I’m funnin’,” he muttered. “ But
I’m in solid airnest. I didn’t ax fur this room
and I’m goin’ to git. Wonder what’s come 0”
Jack Bledsoe. Mebbe they’ve nabbed him too
and got him salted somewhere ’bout this shanty.”

His breakfast concluded the alert boy took a.
closer survey of his rison, examining its every
nook and corner With the sharpness of an ex-
pert. His scrutiny resulted In his finding,
among some rubbish on the shelf of a closet, a.
broken-bladed pocket-knife. All the small
blades were gone, and the large blade was
broken in half. But the part which remained
seemed strong and sharp.

“Jolly papers!” cried the boy, dancing :1 ji
in his delight. “I’ve hearn tell 0’ folks gittin
outer prison with a tenpeuny nail, or a piece 0’
hoop iron. Wonder if 1 can’t chop my way
out with this knife? Goin’ to try, anyhow.”

Armed with his new weapon he made a fresh
study of the situation. The door was solid.
There were no panels he could cut out. The
window blind could not safely be tampered
with. There remained the walls and the floor.

The floor was the safest, as his work would
be bid with the carpet. He trod it carefully,
feeling for a soft or yielding spot.

At one point, near the window, it seemed to
give beneath his tread. Joe kneelrd down and
thrust his hand under the edge of the carpet. ~, . .
The floor boards felt soft and crumbly to his a 
fingers. I * r

A noise admonished him. He sprung up and 
hid the marks of his work. It was the keeper "€5.33
returning for the breakfast dishes. 1':

He had hardly retired from the room before
the eager boy was again at his task. With the
aid of the knife-blade he removed the carpet- , .~ ,.
tacks for some distance, and threw it back on . ‘3‘.
the floor. - > 

“Guess I got a good six hours ’fore that - ,.
galoot okes his snout in again,” he muttered. ‘ ' V 
“Now et’s see what’s afloat.” , " ' L r

The point he had felt in tl‘e floor now lay re- u".
vealed before his eyes. He saw at once the , ’
cause of its peculiar feel. One of the boards . , Jig.
for the space of a foot or two in length, had , ,5 -_ 
been attacked by dry rot. It was evident it  '
could be easily cut.  ’1?

Joe at once commenced operations. The half / . _
blade that remained proved to be sharp. It cut ., g :‘a ,
readin into the yielding wood. He be a his . ‘9‘ , :‘
operations at a point where the row 0 nails ’ , U I. “a
showed the situation of the joist. - , ' " ‘-

It was necessary to be very careful. Any '

 

 

 

 

 

. >1,

 

   
   

/

Wide-Awake Joe.

11

 

4;—

L

noise might give the alarm to watchful ears be-
low. Yet the keen knife made its way slowly

.I ‘ through the wood, cutting out a narrow chip.

In less than an hour’s work he had reached the
joist below. The first part of his task was done.

He now attacked the Same board at the next
joist, as indicated by the nails. The dry rot ex-
tended to this point, and he was not long in
making his way through.

He had thus cut out a section of the floor-
board of a. foot in length, and between the rows
of nails, so that nothing held it but its grooved
connection to the adjoining boards.

A few long cuts of the knife settled this. Us-
ing the blade as a pry he lifted the piece of
board from its place in the floor.

Joe aused and listened intently. He rose
and he d his ear at the keyhole of the door. It
would not pay to be caught at his labor just
now.

All was silent. He returned. Before him
was the yawning cavity in the floor, bounded
by the two joists, a foot apart. Beneath them
lay the lath and plaster of the ceiling of alower
room.

Joe scratched his head as he looked down into
the hole. -‘

“Wonder what they keep down there?” he
asked himself. “ Don’t want to jump outer the
fryin’pan into the fire. Allers best look fu’st
and_jump arterwards.”

There was one way to find out. Carefully
scratching away the plaster he soon had a look-
out hole excavated through it, of the size of his
little finger.

This gave him a narrow glimpse of the room
below. Yet there was nothin to be seen but a
small space of the floor, a chair and a corner of
a table.

While he looked a man crossed the room,
treading heavily. Only his arm came within
the boy’s range of siszht.

Joe drew back as quickly as if he was himself
in full view. He closed up his sight-bole with a

iece ot‘ the plaster, in fear lest it might be seen
rom below.

“All hunky yit,” said the resolute boy. “ If
that chap thinks this chicken‘s goin’ to stay in
his hen-coop, he’s off his eggs the wu‘st way.
Jolly Joe ain’t nobody's fool."

He recommenced his labor. But his task had
grown more difficult. The next board was
sound and solid, and the broken blade ver
slowly made its way down into the hard woo .

But time and perseverance can accomplish
much. The blade at length touched the joist.
Another cut was made.

“ Guess that’ll do fur a. mornin’s work,”
thought Joe. “ Must be gittin’ on to grub time.
Lawsee, wouldn’t that coon be wild if he kn0w-
ed how I was sp’ilin’ his real estate! Guess I’ll
lock up till arter dinner.”

Carefully replacing the board in its lace,
after sweeping the chips into the cavity, e re.-
laid the car at, and stuck the tacks into their

old holes. e then hid the weapon, for fear of
a possible search.
“ Prime as wax works,” ejaculated Joe.

“ That’s jist the steadiest job I ever ut through,
and l calkerlate I’ve ’arned my inner. The
sooner old nincompoop totes along the grub the
better I’ll like it. I s’posa he’d t'otch me extry
rations if he knowed what I’ve been ’bout.”

He had not long to wait. Hisdinner appeared.
Joe was as innocent as a lamb.

“ ’Tain’t comf’able to keep a little chap as
never done nothin’ locked up this-a-wuy. Ain’t
you oin’ to let me out, mister?”

“ an’t afford to part with you yet.
too good-looking.”

“ You mought let me go. My mammy’s want-
in’ me home.”

“Let her want. Don’t hurt our feelings.”

“You’re a jolly dead-beat, that’s what you
are,” cried Joe. “ If I was big enough I’d punch
your ugly snout.”

eflung himself on the bed with a great show
of testiness.

The man laughed as he turned away.

“If I got you betWeen my thumb and finger,
little chap, you’d squeal like a pig in a gate.”

Joe made no answer. He had other business
on hand than to chafl with this man.

Dinner was .not fairly over ere he was at it
again, industrioust chopping away at the hard
wood of the floor. By night he had a hole big
enough to let his body through.

His operations were brought to an end by the
sound of voices in the room below. Removing
the plug of plaster, he looked heedfully down.
Below him sat a man whom he had not before
seen—a bullet-headed fellow with a very prom-
inent nose, which was all that Joe could make
out from his bird’s-eye view.

You’re

 

There was another, out of his line of sight,
but whose voice was that of the keeper. Joe
carefully scraped the hole a little larger with
the edge of his knife-blade. He listened intent-
ly to their conversation, every Word of which
came to his ears.

“ To night," said the keeper, in a tone of deep
significance. “ He comes, but he goes not. The
cage is ready for the bird."

“ Jack Bledsoe; was that the name?”

Joe started violently. What (lid this mean?
Was his friend threatened with some deadly
peril? The boy clinched his fists significantly.

CHAPTER XI.
AN ASTONISHED PAIR or ROGUES.

NIGHT had fallen when Jack Blcdsoe descend-
ed from the train at the thriving village of
Grafton, in western Ohio. He looked curiously
around him. The place was a Very pretty one,
and he gave an approving nod as he passed up
its main street in search of the hotel.

“Guess it will do. Supper first, and then
business. I don’t more than lmlf—bclievein that
ugly rogue who sent me here; but if he tries to
work a traverse on Jack Blodsoe, he‘ll find he’s
got a wide—awake babv to handle!”

The supper ended, Jack started out afresh,
having first got directions to the place he wished
to seek. It was now quite dark, but for such
light as came from the stars.

“ A wise man would wait for daylight, I
reckon," he said to himself; “ but I ain’t a wise
man. I’m one of those headstrong idiots that
like to put my jobs through on the run, and I’m
not going to give that confounded sharp time to
lay traps for this )ossnm. Got two jobs in
hand: one is to get .llolly Joe out of limbo, the
other is to hit the right side of Maud VVeatlier-
ly. Somehow I think I’m getting spoony on
that young lady.”

The place he sought was outside the village
proper. It was a brick house of no great size,
that stood alone in an open space oil? from the
line of the main street.

Jack took a side—squint at this mansion, and
felt in his pistol-pocket.

“Looks Seed y. Best have my pcrsuader ready
Maybe it’d be wise to go back and get a witness.
Guess not though. Reckon I can lay my
swath.”

A heavy rat-tat at the door of the house
brought no immediate answer. It had to be re-
peated before the door opened.

There ap ared a sour-faced man, holding a
lump, who ept the door half closed, as if afraid
of intruders.

“ Guess this is the diggings I’m after,” queried
Jack. “Phil Brady is my game. I). at he
hang out here. i”

“That depends. “'hat is your business?”

“ That’s my business.” The impulsive West-
erner pushed open the door, and entered in the
face of the scowling fellow. “Where I come
from we don‘t keep men dancing their heels at
the door. Chaps of my size and shape like to
hold their confabs inside.” r

“ Excuse me,” said the man, with a surly at-
tempt at apology. “ There are so many tramps
around that we’ve got to be kcerful. What
name did you say?”

“ I don‘t know as I said an . But when I
mount my handle I sail under t 6 name of Jack
Bledsoc.”

A quick change of expression passed over the
fellows face, which Jac ' did not fail to mark.

“So,” he said to himself. “ He expects me
then? He has been warned. I must look sharp
for thorns.”

The man led to a room on the second floor,
placed the lamp on a table, and remarked:

“ Make yourself comfortable for a minute. I
will hunt Phil. He is somewhere about the
place."

He quickly left the room. Jack was alone.
He seated himself, drew his pistol, and quietly
examined its condition.

“ I don’t quite relish the lay of the land,” he
muttered. “ Things look sulphury. Imfly have
use for this persuader.”

A peculiar sound attracted his attention. He
started and looked keenly around him. Noth-
ing was visible. Some fragments of plaster fell
on the floor at his feet. Jack sprung UP and
backed himself into a corner of the room.

“Are the dogs working up a game on mef’he
muttered. “Blast their ugly pictures I’ll salt
somebody if they try it.”

“ Beware !” spoke a cautious voice. “ They’Ve
got it laid ag’in’ you.”

The voice came from the ceiling. J ack’s keen
eyes quickly traVersed it, but he saw nothing
GXCept what seemed a slight break in the plaster
on the opposite side of the room.

 

 

A

Ere he could investigate further the door of'
the room opened, and the man he had already
seen entered, followed by J oe’s burly jailer.

“Want to see me?” he asked shortly.

“ Phil Brady ?"

“ That’s my name.”

“Then vou‘re my man. Suppose we come to-
anchor. I ’ve got a trifle of business.” Jack
helped himself to a chair, and motioned the
others to be seated as Coolly as if he was the
owner of the house. “I just dropped round
here to take charge of the rat that you keep in
this hole.”

“What do you mean?” asked Brady, with a.
show of surprise.

“Read that, and it may save words."

He passed over the note he had received from:
the gambler.

“Recognize that signature?"

“Yes.”

“Then read the contents, and let us get down
to dots.”

Brady read it with great care. His eyes wan-— I

dcred furtiVel from the paper to the face of his.
associate. A ook passed between them, which
Jack did not fail to note.

“ According to this 1 am to hand over to you'
a certain boy named Joe Jonm.”

“Just so.‘

“ And in return you are to give me a certain
document, here named.”

.“That‘s the size of it.”

“Very well. As you know so much 1 will:
acknowledge that I have the boy in charge. I
am ready to obey this order. Pass over the
document, and the boy is yours.”

“Pass over the boy, and the document is
yours.”

“ At least show me that you have the drcu-
meat. I am here in a position of trust. I can.
run no risks.”

“My word was enough for the master. 1'.
must show my papers to the man,” laughed
Jack. “All right, my cove. I do my work
straight, but I don’t blame you for caution.
Here is the passport. ”

He drew the folded nper from his ocket,
and held it up before rady’s eyes, sot at he-
could read what was written on the outside.

“Now, my friend, you have had your sight.
I demand mine. Tit for tat is the game.”

“Tat for tit, I fancy,” cried Brady, as he
darted forward with an unexpected spring, and
snatched the document from ack’s hand.

The latter was taken by surprise by the sudden.
and rapid movement. It was a second before?
he recovered his wits. Then with a quick action.
he drew his revolver and covered his assailant
with if.

“ That was neatly done, my noble sport.” he-
declared, “ but if you don’t pass that back
quicker than the wink of a flea’s eye. I’ll show
you a little circus trick we have out West.
You want to be posted in the way we start our
grave zirds.”

Jac ’s coolness had returned; but in the mo-
mentary excitement he had failed to notice the
movements of the scCond man. At this instant
a. heavy cane, flung by this man, took him in,
the pistol hand. with so smart a stroke that the
weapon was buried in in his fingers half-across-
the room, while his hand was benumhed by the
shock.

Ere he could recover the two men flung them-
selves upon him.

Only his left hand was fit for duty, and with.
that he struck out so shrewdly that one of his:
assailants toppled over to the floor.

But ere he could repeat the blow Brady grap-
pled with him. gras ied him in his strong arms,
and bore him down iackward by sheer weight.

The other fellow was quickly on his feet again,
his face inflamed by rage, a long-bladed knife
in his hand.

“ Pinion him. Phil, and I’ll settle him. There’s-
cash in it. And dead men tell no tales.”

Jack struggled fiercely, but he had been taken
at a disadvantage, and his right hand and wrist
were lamed.

He was borne to the floor, and held immova-
ble. in the pewerful grip of his antagonist.

The other fellow sprung furiously forward,
brandishing the murderous-looking weapon.
It looked bad for the daring westerner at that
moment. It seemed as if only a miracle could‘
save him.

“ Tip him over, and I’ll settle his hash.”

His words were lost in a cracking sound,
that seemed to come from above. It was fol-
lowed by a loud crash, and a considerable sec-
tion of the ceiling came down in a mass, square
upon his head, hurling him to the floor with its-
wei ht.

“gOh, Jersey! I’m killedl I’m blinded l" he.

:5

ivy/ff: ‘4. x

2-:
. .__,-c I v.

‘~' .

 

 

12

Wide-Awake Joe.

 

 

‘yelled, writhing away as if in mortal pain.
“ Ah! I’m a dead man l”

" What in t blue blazes is that?” screamed
Brady. “ By t under, the job has got to be put
through, if the whole sky fallsl”

He snatched the knife dro ped by his unlucky
associate, and while he heldp his prisoner down
with one hand he raised the deadly weapon aloft
with the other.

"Say your prayers, for your time’s up.”

Jack shut his eyes involuntarily. Death
seemed staring him in the face.

But just at the instant that the muscular arm
of the murderer seemed about to fall, a heavy
object shot d0wn throu h the air, and struck
him below the elbow wit such force, that the
'arm doubled over like a hinged stick. The bone
was broken.

“ Hey fer our side! That’s Jolly Joe’s signa-
'toorl” came a youthful voice in shrill accents
from above.

Brady, with a savage curse, pressed yet more
firmly on his prisoner, and with indomitable
fury reached for the fallen knife with his left
hand.

But down through the gapring hole in the ceil-
‘ing extended a boy’s legs. hey were followed
by his body, and Joe dropped through the aper-
'ture, landing square on the shoulders of the
burly villain below.

“ Lord save us!” he yelled in agony and
fright. “ What’s that?”

“Thunder and lightnin’, and blue blazes to
the back of’t,” answered Joe. “ Fling him 011',
Jack. Thought I’d drop down and see how
things was om’ on. Toss off the aloot.”

Jack, no ess astonished than is villainous
assailants, hastened to take advantage of this
diversion. The groaning fellow above him was
tossed aside with a quick writhe of his agile
.frame, and he sprung nimbly to his feet.

Brady had been half-crushed by the heavy
weight of the falling boy, and lay groaning in
'paiin, his broken arm dropping useless by his
:81 e.

His confederate was yet yelling in agony, and
rclutching at his eyes, which had been filed with
a shower of the falling plaster-dust.

. “ W'here under the sun did you come from?”
asked Jack, as he hastened to regain his pistol.

“ Dropped down through the ceilin’. Ginerally
come that way when the stairs ain’t handy. Sent
a basket 0’ plaster, and a hunk 0’ floor lumber
ahead, so‘s not to take nobody by surprise.
Hope I ain’t hurt nobody’s feelin’s.”

“ You imp of the devil I” yelled Brady. “ I’ll
kill you yet for this, as sure as I’m a living
:man!”

" Shet up yer speakin’trumpet, and save it to
-skeer frogs outer the ponds,” answered Joe in
«contempt. “ What’s you foolin’ ’bout, Jack
Bledsoe! VVhere’s yer dokyment? Them gem
boats didn’t play no fair game, and I reckon it’s
yourn yit. nem let me outl Nary time. Not
much let ’bout that. Go for the dokyment. He
stuck it in his coat pocket. I was looking down
through a little peep hole I had, and seen the
whole biz.” \

Thus admonished Jack hastened to recover
his lost aper from his groaning foe, who was
past ma ing any resistance.

“Now let’s git. Guess these chaps ’11 come to
arter a while.’

Jack looked back on his discnmflted foes.
Brady was completely laid out. His associate
was crawling away in search of water to wash
his smarting eyes.

“ Reckon you’ve had your rations,” remarked
Jack. “ I’ll send somebody up from the village
to look after you.”

“ Much I would,” exclaimed Joe, bitterly.
“ Arter ther tryin’ to kill you, and keepin’ me
locked up in a rat-hole. I wouldn’t send ’em a
blind puppy dog. Slide’s the word, afore they
rig up some other contraption.”

“No further fear from them. The starch is
all out,” answered Jack, as he followed the in-
dignant boy from the room. Jolly Joe had de—
cidedly played the trump card in the game.

CHAPTER XII.
TELEGRAPHING AND RAILROADING.

THE business establishment of Wetmore,
Brown& Co. was in full activit . Salesmen
were bustling about, porters shifting heavy
packages, customers coming and going.

Among them walked up and d0wn the senior
member of the firm, Mr. Wetmore, with an
anxious look upon his face which he sought in
vain to hide.

He strode about the store like an unquiet
spirit, finding fault in a dozen quarters, and
:making everybody as miserable as himself.

“Bet he had horse-nails for breakfast, and one

 

 

of them has stuck crosswa s in his gizzard,”
growled one of the vexed sa esmen.

At this moment a telegraph messenger boy
hustled into the store.

“A message for Mr. Wetmore,” he announc-

“All right!” exclaimed the merchant, snatch—
ing it eagerly. “ You need not wait, boy. If
there is any anewer, I will send it to the office.”

The lad went whistling away, while Wetmore
hurried to a secluded portion of the store with
his telegram, as if he wished to avoid observa-
tion.

He was wise in doing so, for a marked ex-
pression of dismay, rage and fright came upon

is face while reading it. A harsh oath rose to
his lips, mingled with a burst of hot fury.

He cast his eyes again over the telegram.
while his visage grew pallid. Its purport was
the following:

“ The game’s up, and the bank bursted. The cubs
are loose. Look out for yourself. I‘m settled with
a broken arm and a sprained back. Tom is blinded
with plaster. They have salted our mackerel. It is
your turn next. Beware. PHIL BRADY.”

The discomfited merchant crushed the paper
in his hand, while a volley of curses broke from
his pale lips.

“ The rascally idiots! That’s what comes
of trusting my work to others. If I had got two
months more I could have left them all to whis-
tle. But there’s not a minute to waste. Bled-
soe bps that fatal paper. I must snatch all and
run.

He hurried through the store. ,

“ Hey, Wetmorel” exclaimed Mr. Brown, who
had 'ust entered. “ Whither away so fast?”

“ have got a dispatch that my uncle is very
ill,” answered the merchant. “ I must go at
once. You will have to run things, Brown.”

“ Very well. I thought you looked out of
sorts. Go ahead. We will mane e.”

At almost the same moment in which this
scene was happening, Maud Weatherly, in her
up—town home, also received a telegraphic mes-
sage.

She read it with little less emotion than her
uncle had read his.

“ I have unmaskedaden of reptiles," it ran. “ The
boy is safe. I owe him my life a second time. W.
is a rogue in grain. I will be back as fast as steam
can carry me. We must work lively. or our bird
will fly. Watch him. JACK BLEDsoE."

She walked up and down her room uneasily.

“ What ‘2‘. to be done?” she asked herself.
“ Watch him! How can I? Had I better see

.Mr. Brown, and let him into the secret of our

operations? I will. My fortune is at risk, and
there is no time to lose.”

She ordered the carriage, put on a street dress,
and prepared to seek her uncle’s establishment.

Within a half-hour she was rolling rapidly in-
to town, in a luxurious turn-out.

But she had not got~half way to the store ere
her resolution wavered.

“ I Will be sure to find my uncle there. What
shall I say? It will be an awkward meeting. I
know nothing. Mr. Bledsoe has been too f001-
ishly secret. Mr. Brown may let the affair
out to my rascal of an uncle, and spoil the whole
business.”

“ Where shall I drive?” asked the coachman.

“To Montague’s drygood store,” she quickly
decided.

Had she known all that was involved in that
decision she would have come to a very differ-
ent conclusion. Only bare chance prevented it
from being utterly ruinous.

Late that afternoon, after her return home, a
second telegram came to her. This proved to
be from her uncle. It ran as follows:

“I will not be home to-night. Have hasty busi-
ness calling me to Jacksonville. May be absent for
a day or two. G. Wamoae.”

Here was new food for thought. In her pres-
ent state of mind, everything seemed suspicious.
She sat down and fell into a deep reflection,
sorry now that she had given up her intention
to call on Mr. Brown.

“I don’t know what to do,” she testily ex-
claimed. “ I am not fit for business. When
lwill ,llIr. Bledsoe be here? I feel lost without

1m.

A soft look came into her eyes, and a faint
blush to her cheek, as she reclined in her soft-
cushioned chair.

“ Why does he not come?” she murmured.
“ I fear I think less of my fortune than of him.
There is something in his eyes—something—”

Her voice fell away. A tender look came
upon her faCe. Had bold Jack Bledsoe been
there at that moment, his suit would have been
easily won.

At that moment he was seated, side by side

 

with Jolly Joe in a railroad car, that was roll-‘
ing eastward at express speed. ‘

They had come hundreds of miles since mom-
ing, and were rapidly approaching their destin-
ation.

“What are you thinking about, boy?" asked
J ack, after a long silence.

“ Tryin’ to git it inter shape,” answered Joe.
“ Sure 0’ one thing anyhow. I’m glad as a
frog in a mill-pond.”

“ Glad. What about?”

“Oh, ’bout everything! Glad I’m alive to
begin on. Glad you didn’t kick the bucket, fur
next. Glad ’canse grub’s plenty, thirdly. Got
past ’tater-skin diet, and cum up ter straw-
berries and short-cake. Ain’t that suthin’ to
make a feller feel spunky ?”

“ It never troubled me much.”

“’Cause you ain’t seen life. You ain't been
weaned in the gutter, like I was. Nothin’ like
hard times to make a feller spry. Fourthly,
I’m glad ’cause we’re goin’ ter salt old Skinny.
Lawsee, that’s better nor sugared-down straw-
berries! I ain’t down on nobody much, ’cept
him. But I’m down on him ort‘ul. Saved it all
up fur him.”

“ ome, come, Joe, you shouldn’t bear mal-
ice.”

“ Don’t. Not a bit,” answered Joe earnestly.
“ ’Tain’t me as hates him like rank p’isen. It’s
in my bones. Dunno how it got there, and
can’t help it comin’ out.”

Jack laughed at this explanation. He leaned
back in his seat, lost in reflection.

“ Do you know how much I won at taro, on
the strength of your ten-dollar bit?” he at length
ask

9 .

“ ’Bout ten thousand,” answered Joe.

“About twenty, I fancy. I went back and
gave them another shake, mv boy. Struck an-
other ten. Now” see here, Joe, fair play’s fair
play. Half this plunder is yours.”

‘ Mine!” answered Joe, opening his eyes
widely. “Why, you don’t owe me only ten
dollars."

“ We were partners, Joe. I owe you half.” .

“ Nary time. We wasn’t pards.”

“ I wouldn’t have won a cent only for your
money and your luck,”

“Oh, that’s ,hffyl Like ter know what I’d
do with sich a pile as that? All I want’s grub
and shoes. Reckon I kin pick up the balance.”

“You are worth ten thousand dollars, Joe.
I am going to put it out at interest for you. I
am not going to let you live like a vagrant.”

“Goin’ in ter stocks?” asked Joe, thh wide
open eyes. “ Margins?”

“ Not much,” laughed Jack. “ l’d sooner in-
vest in faro. It’s a. safer kind of gambling.
See here. boy, you will want some pocket
money. Nobody can tell what may happen
in our hunt for Wetmore. SomethingJ may
turn up where money will come in andy.
I—Iere. Stuff this in your pocket, and don’t lose
it.”
He handed Joe a fat roll of notes.

Joe opened his eyes in delighted amazement.
“It’s ’nough to take my breath,” he e'acu-
lated. “ How much is ther in that pile? ever
see’d sich a heap in my born days.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Jack indif-
ferentlv. “Look out for your pockets, that’s
all. You might get among thieves.”

“S’pose any on ’em kin go through me?”

cried Joe. “Guess you don’t kn0w this coon. ,
Like ter see the best chap goin’ git a nickel '

outer my pocket on the sly. been there, now
you bet.”

It was eight o’clock that eVening when the
train at length rolled into the depot of the city
to which they were bound, and the two travelers
stepped to the platform, and stretched their
limbs after their long ride.

“ A trifle of supper to begin with," said Jack,
as he led the way to the restaurant.

This dispatched he turned to Joe.

“I have an errand which I prefer to do I

alone,” be said. “You stay about here till I
come back. I won’t be more than an hour or
two awa .”

“All right. I’ll be ’round. Got no place
special to go to, and kin kill time here ’bout as
well as anywhere.”

“Look out for your cash, J06.”

“Guess I will. Goin’ to ’vest some more on
it. Ain’t had half supper ’nough yet. Holler
all the way down to my big toes.”

Jack laughed as he hurried away. Joe
lounged back toward the restaurant.

In less than an hour afterward, Maud
Weatherly started hastily up and dropped the
book she had been lazily reading, as the name of
Mr. Bledsoe was announced at the door.

The pink flush that came to her cheeks, as she

 

«Jr .

 

‘.  ' “ : .

l
l

 

’54—,

 

Wide-Awake Joe.

 

  

13

 

 

  
 

stood in momentary confusion, showed the di-
rection of her thoughts.

“I hoped to see you tonight,” she mur~
mured.

“You were bound to," answared Jack, “ ex-
ce t there had been a railroad blow-up.”

e hastened forward and warmly grasped

her extended hand, while his bold eyes Were so

A full of admiration that hers involuntarily fell

a

before him.

The shrewd fellow held her hand longer than
there was any call for, while they stood for a
minute in silence together.

“ Will you be seated?” she asked softly. “ I
received your telegram. I am so anxious to
hear the whole story.”

“ I have had something of an adventure,” he
answered. “ But first tell me about your
uncle. Has anything happenedil Is he in the
home?”

“No; he will not be home to-night. He is
absent at Jacksonville on business.”

Jack’s face fell. A whistle of surprise and
dismay came from his li

“Excuse me,” he as ed. “You took me
aback. I fear he has gone further than Jack-

sonville. I must see Mr. Brown at once. There
may be no time to lose. Do you know where
he ivesi”

“ Yes i” she answered, excitedly.

“ Will you go with me? He does not know
me.”

“ Certainly! Is it dangerous! Do you think
he has taken flight?" .

She had grown red and eager with excite-

ment.

“ I cantell nothing about that. But it is bet-
ter to be sure than sorry.”

She rung the bell for a servant.

“ Have the carriage got ready instantly!” she
commanded. .

“ Tell me what has happened, Mr. Bledsoe. I
cannot wait,” she eagerly demanded.
Jack began the story of his adventure. He

was interruflpted by the announcement of the
carriage. e continued it in the carriage. To
say that the good fellow enjoyed the situation
would be speaking very mildly. It was HeaVen
to him to sit so close to Maud Weatherly, and
to see the rapt attention in her beautiful
eyes.

Mr. Brown received his visitors with surprise.
It was changed to alarm when he heard their
errand. His excitement grew intense as Jack
proceeded with his story.

“Wetmore run a gambling-den in disguise?
You are romancing, sir!”

“ Not a bit. It’s solid fact.
an ocean of proof.”

Jack went on with his story.

“Tried to murder you? I cannot believe
that l”

“ I have my witness handy.”

“I have doubted him for months,” broke in
Maud. “ I fear that your business and my for—
tune are both in serious peril.”

“ I can hardly credit it. Yet some strange
things have happened. Where is that docu-
ment you speak of.”

Jack silently assed over the important paper,
lfor whose safe eeping he had so nearly lost his

ife.

Mr. Brown cast his eyes hastily over it, while
an extraordinary change came upon his coun-
ten ce.

“ y Heaven, this proves all and more!” he
exclaimed. in intense excitement. “ This is a
terrible witness of his duplicity! A contract
with Barnes of Toledo to invest fifty thousand
of the firm’s funds in a speculative venture!
AndI knew nothing of it! I have been stand-
ing on the brink of ruin without a dream of
dan er! I must to work at once, sir. Excuse
me or haste. Will you accompany me to the
store?”

_“ No; I must see Miss Weatherly home, and
I'have another errand.”

“ Come early to morrow, then.
there all night.”

A half-hour afterward Jack left Maud at her
door, with a pressure of her hand and a look into
her tender eyes that spoke volumes.

It was past eleven o‘clock when he reached
the railroad station and looked for Joe, whom
he‘had almost forgotten.

No Joe was to be seen.

“Tired out and sOught shelter, I suppose. I
must do the same.”

The‘next morning he was at the depot again,
but still there was no sign of J09.

"It was ten o’clock when he reached the store
of Wetmore, Brawn 8r. Co. Mr. Brown was

muscletely in the office.
A l" he said, with a trembling accent.

I can bring you

I may be

 

“ He has defaulted with all the available
funds of the firm. It is a fatal blow.”

Before noun that day it was known far and
Wide on the street that the firm of Wetmoro,
Brown & Co. had suspended payment, and that
the senior partner had 111d With all the cash
funds of the firm.

Another party had disap eared. Jolly Joe
was nowhere to be found. ack sought him in
vain. He had vanished.

 

L IIAI’TER XIII.
A CHASE nr RAIL.

WHAT had become of Jolly Joc? That is the
next question to be settled. We must return
to the railroad station on Ihe night on which
he had been left there to await his friend’s return.
Joe was such an uneasy customer that the only way
to follow him up is to keep a. sharp eye on his
movements.

After Jack Bledsoe‘s departure he had returned
to the restaurant. and finished his hasty supper.

Joe was now a ver different looking boy from the
ragged customer he ind appeared when we first saw
hi . He was neatly dressed, and looked as self
pgssessed as any millionaire. In fact the roll of

nk-notes in his pocket gave him a certain feeling
of importance.

“None 0’ cu lords and dukes kin come nintin‘
round me,” e said whimself as he strutte about
the room as )I‘Olld as a peacoc . “Guess I‘m ’bout
as hefty as the best on ya. If eon‘ knowed the.
size 0‘ my pile ye‘d squelch. on be Jack Bled-
soe’s a square boss. He's equal Wan o’ mules
and a dog~cart, he is." "‘

An hour passed slowly by. Joe lounged about. or
reclined on the seats. careless] watching the throng
of (people who passed through n a steady stream, to
an from trains. .

Another half-hour passed. He rose and stretched
his limbs.

“Wish Jack‘d hurryu ." he said. "Ain't goin’
to locate here all night. ‘uess somehow I‘ve ‘m‘ncd
a snooze."

The boy‘s sollloquy ended in a violent start. His
eyes had at that moment fallen on a facethat quick-
ly changed the current of his thoughts. He turned
away, not caring to berecognized in turn. and after
a moment‘s hesitation followed the party he had
seen.

it was a large-sized man, dressed in alight tweed
suit, and wearing a slouched hat, that was drawn
low down on his forehead. The lower part of his
face was covered b a heavy mustache and heard.

He held a hand erchief in his hand, which he
ke (f applying to his face, as if troubled with a. bad
co . .

" Won’t do. Skinny,” said the boy delightedly.
“ Can’t fool Joe Joruin if you‘d sew yerself u ) in a
pig‘s skin. I‘d know them eycso‘ yourii if sco‘d
them in the top of awooden lump. But what are.
you arter? That’s the go. iii‘t off travelin‘ or
nothin‘. I s’pose."

He followed to Ythe ticket-office, and managed to
push in_ very close behind the traveler, whom he had
neco nized as Mr. Wetmorc in disguise.

l“ ne through ticket for Chicago,” said the trav-
e er.

Joe slipped aside as his prey received the ticket
and backed out, again applying the handkerchief to
his face.

The. boy fell into a quandary. What was to be.
done? It was necessary to make up his mind on
the jum . Wetinore was traveling in disguise. He
was ma 'iiig unusual efforts to hide his face. It
looked decidedly like a flight for life.

Joe took off his cap and scratched his head for
ideas. Less than a minute was enough for him to
make up his mind.

“It‘s neck or nothin’ now." he. sold.
Jack‘ll be dis’p’inted, but ’tain‘t my fault.
den bizncss in Chicago."

Within two minutes more the wide-awake boy
had obtained a ticket and was on his way to the
train. He had lost sight of his game, but that did
not matter. He. had his fox holed.

Joe hustled up to the train gate, but to his sur-
prise aiid dismay it was at that instant sharply
closed. ‘

“ Hello, iiiistei‘!" he. cried. “ What‘s that fur?
I’m off fur Chicago, and here‘s the. dol:yment.”

“ Too late.” said the, gate-keeper bi‘icfly.

“ Too late f"

"Yes. The train’s ofi. Yonder it goes. You‘d
want to fly like a gull to trike that train now.”

“That’s rich." cried Joe. “That‘s sweeter ner
loaf sugar. You dunno how nice I feel.
the. next train go, mister?”

:: At ten o‘clock to-morrow.”

Glad to hear that. Next year ’d be as good.
What am I to do with this bit 0 paper?"

“Frame it, and keep it for a mantle] ornament,”
retorted the gate-keeper, a little miffed.

“Guess I Will. Much ‘bliged,” answered Joe, as
he walked away.

He was feeling decidedlv blue despite his chaff.
When Joe made up his mind he meant business, and
it was a bitter pill for him to be caught in a net like
this. The more he thought of it the more sure he
was that Wetmore was playing a run-away game.

“ If he slides now it’s all up," thought the discon-
solafe. boy. “ I know it‘d been mone in my pocket
to nab him. And there’s Miss Maud. .116 s slidin‘
of! with her money like dust afore the wind. Got a
big notion to punch my head. Took two minutes to
make up my mind, and lost thegame b .one min-
ute. Never took two seconds afors. an I’ve got
pegged out neat fur wastin’ somuch time."

“ .“posc
Got Slid-

\\'licn does

 

 

By this time he had again reached the ticket.
office.

"Here‘s yer bit o’ pnstebourd, mister," hcaii-
nounccd. “ Guess I‘ll fake my cash back again, if
you don‘t mind."

“ What do you mean?“

“ On‘y as you had no biz to sell me a ticket arter-
the train had skooted. Didn‘t want no train ‘ccpt
that ’un. If I can‘t make time. I kin stay home.“

“I thought you were in time,“ explained the,
agent. “ You arc. in a. hurry then to make Chicav

()y“

“Well, I‘d smile. It's wuss than a hurry. l‘m
arter my fortune, and that there train‘s slid off
with it.“

The ticket-seller lookcd quizzically at the boy, not
quite sure what to make of him.

“ Best slide over to New York," he advised.
“There‘s a. Lake. Shore train you can catch, that
will reach Chicago as soon as this.“

Joe sprun up and crackcd his heels in delight.
All was not ost yet.

“ Honest Injun?" he demanded.

“ Yes. Let me have your ticket. I will exchange
it for om- oii the Lake Shore. It will be three dol-
lars more."

“Don‘t keer fur that. Money ain‘t no 'count to
me. Got ‘nough to buy out your old road if'I want-
ed to go in the railroa< line, which I don‘t :1th ct.”

IIe plunked down the money, and race ve the
new ticket.

“ You're a lively little rat," said the agent, with a
laugh. “New slide. The York train pul.s out in
two minutes. Good-luck go with you."

“Much 'bliged, mister. I‘ll try not to run away
from it."

Joe hurried for :the train again, glad at heart at.
his renewed luck.

He was in time now, and was aboard a car in a.
minute more.

Three hours afterward he ate ed aboard the.
westward-bound train in the New ork depot.

“ On time, on bet,“ said the delig ited boy.
“Ho eso, any ow. It‘s a long race. and it‘s bind
to to which iron hoes is oin‘ to beat. But I‘m not.
goln‘ into no brain-fever bout that. Got in but ( ii
(ld Lake Shore and if it don't come up to he wir-
nin‘-post a iiec’ ahead I‘ll draw from the pool,
square. All I want now ’8 a sleepiii’-car and a
snooze. I‘m travelin’ first-class, now you bet.
Ain’t no common folks‘ sfylo ‘bout me. And if
there’s a chap ‘board the train kin beat me on a.
snooze I‘ll sell him my hat."

Joe. meant it. A blow-up of the engine would
hardly have wakencd hlin from his deep slumbcr.
which lasted until long after daybreak the ncxt
morning. All that da_ ' and night t in train rolled on...
and at eight o‘clock t ie succeeding morning pulled
into the station at Chicago.

The alert boy lost no time in springing from the
car. There was not a second to lose. His oiil ' hopo
now was in a few moments” delay in tho rivalyfruin.
He ran along the lntform and jum ied into a cab.

“Drive like old gee." he cried. “ o the West Side
depot. (lot to git there ,afore. the train.
extra if you make. it."

“ It is due now.“

“ S‘pose I don‘t know that? Drive."

The cub rolled away through the streets of Chi-e
cago at a lively gait. Joe’s anxiety increased with
every moment. Wash "(lllfl' to win or lose? Had
his hot race been for hing? A very few minutes
would tell. As the neared the West bide station he

axed cuiiously on of the cab-window at the pass»
ll" people and vehicles. Men were passing with
vu iscs in their hands. Was the train in? it lookcd
decidedly squiilly.

Suddenly Joe ullod the check-string of the cab.
The driver bent ( own.

“Turn like lightnin‘,“ exclaimed Joe. “ (‘liaso
that cab that jist assed us. Rim it down, fur it's.
got my game. in ii. 'c‘rc good for a fliier if you fol—
cr it in basic."

The wide-awake boy had caught a. glimpse ofn.
familiar twccd suit in the opposite cub. He shot at.
sight Iiianiiiiiuc more his vehicle was in sharp.
pursuit of the one in advance.

During this flight and pursuit matters were not at
rest in the city which t io alert boy had so hastily
lcff. ’l‘lio rcport of the failure of \\'cfmore. Brown.
& Co., had spread far and wide, and flic flight of the
senior partner was the topic of the newspapers and
the talk of the town.

Nor was the interest diminished when if. was found
that In: had not been satisfied with defaulting with the
fli'm's money to the tune of a hundred thousand
dollars.biit iad also swallowed up an equal sum
from his niece, of whom he had been guardian.

All the cash of’ the business was gone. and heavy
debts were pressing. It was sure ruin. The liabili-
ties were ahead of the. assets, and Mr. Brown was has
side himself with shame and despair.

But as the investigation lproceeded the surprise of
the community incrcasm . The unsuspected fact
came out that \Vctmore had been fora your past
conducting a heavy gambling business.

The police, wakoned up at last when it was too
late, made an investi_afion of the various laces at
which the game had een played. But not iing but
some useless a paratus was found. Bankers, dealers
and players. alike had skipped.

During this investigation. as may be imagined.
Jack Bledsoe did not fail to do hisbest to keep up
the spirits of his fair friend, ‘Maud Weatherl . She.
was an r and disconsolate but the bol fellow
manages i» soothe her anger and raise her spirits.

“He has not given us the all yet,"he declared.
“ It's a big country, but it‘s a ha one to hide in. Do
you know I‘ve a notion that that's what's become of

011 “Joe. The boy is at to be found. 'Hemay be
on attack of the way."

Pay you

 

 

14

Wide-Awake J 06.

 

 

He was interrupted by the entrance of aseryant
'with a telegram for Maud. She tore it open with
feverish haste.

“You are right," she cried quickly and gladly.
"‘ Read that. The boy is a jewel."

Jack seized the paperaud read hastily:

"I’m hot after Skinny. Struck his trail.
tracked to his den. \\ rite by next mail."
"Jon Jonuu."
“Lovelyl” exclaimed Jack. “Chicago, eh? The
game‘s ripe. l'll but high on Jolly Joe.”

CHAPTER XIV.
WORKING Hrs war.

'“ How much is figs a pound mister?"

It was Jolly Joe that asked this question, of a
:groceryman on a corner of a main streetin Chicago.

“ Don‘t keep them.”

“ Got any cheese and crackers?"

l‘ Yes.9l

" Guess I’ll take half a pound apiece. Fling 'em
.out lively.”

0

Got him

The groceryman weighed out the articles de- '

.manded. . . t ,
“S'pose yoa don‘t mind me squattin’ down round
here and takin’ a lunch?" . . , .

“ I don't kee a restaurant, b0 .” ,

“ Sort o’ hig i-toned, are ye? Kind 0’ tony street
this, ain‘t it?” asked Joe, nibbling at his crackers.

“ It is one of the finest streets in Chicago,” an-
swered the merchant. somewhat gratified. “ There
.are some very rich people live aroundhere." ‘

“ Looks like it, that's a fact," said Joe, biting off
a bit of cheese. “ Now that brown stone turn-out
down yander, with the festooned porticoes. S’pose
some 0’ your big bugs hang out there.“

Joe had coolly seated lliimsclf on a box and
gnawed away at his lunch as he spoke. The house
to which he pointed was one of the most showy
C(ilfiCPS on the street, and seemed only fit for the
residence of a man of considerable wealth.

“ That house,” ans“ cred the grocer 'inan, anxious
to show off the points of the neighbor iood. “ That
;is one of our dark horses. It has been shut up for
the last three months. It has been recently bought,
Tl am told, by a wealthy Californian. Some parties
have been in it since yesterday moming. Who they
are I don’t know. Nobody has been suen since but
.a servant, who came over here to buy )royisions."

“That‘s mighty curious." answcrct Joe with a

rest show of interest. “ Wonder if they're hidin’.
unno the gin'leman‘s name?”

“ Mr. Oliver Jenkins, they call him."

“ Oliverl” exclaimed Joe, with a start.

“ What ails you, boy ?”

“ On’y I used to know somebode" 0’ that name.
’Guess ’tain’t the same 'oker. ‘ood-by. Come
round ag‘in when I want a unch."

Joe had finished his crackers and cheese. He
loun ed away. up and down the street in front of
the louse, every door and window of which Were
critically examined. Then he made his way round
toward the rear of the mansion.

It opened on a narrow street. which ran between a
double row of mansions, fronting on opposite
streets. Many of them had stables and coach-
houses, opening on this alley.

It was not easy to tell to which houses these be-
longed. Joe returned to the main street, and count-
ed the number of houses fronfi the corner to that in
which he was interested; y making a similar
count on the back street he was able to strike the
rear of this mansion. He found there a low brick
stable, which just then was tightly closed.

“So far so good," said the young sp . “Got the
lay 0’ the land. That's suthin'. Now it's to set my
trap and bait it. Seems to me the old sucker‘s layin‘
low. Dunno as I'm about, I reckon.”

He walked away, not caring to be seen too much
about there. It was not advisable to appear to be
on the watch.

Yet the shrewd boy took good care not to get too
far away. He managed to have business in that
locality twenty times in the course of the day.

In the evening he was again at the grocer’s, buying
lunch, and asking questions.

“Seems to me you are anxious about the folks
.around here," said the grocer.

"Kinder," answered Joe. “Got a notion to specu-
late in some 0' these shantius. Tired o' lnckin’
round the world, and want to locate."

The merchant looked oddly at the quiet-speaking
b0 , and then burst into a roar of laughter.

‘ You’re a honey: Bless me if you ain’t!
old are you, midget?"

“Old ’nough to know cheese from mutton,” ro-
torted Joe. "Somewhere ’bout sixteen, I reckon.
But I been round. I know ’bout all that’s wu’th
knowin’.”

The grocer continued to Ian h, as he turned awa
to wait on a. new customer. T iis was a pretty gir
with a tripping step, and neatly dressed in cap and
.apron.

The grocer asked her some questions which at-
tracted Joe’s attention. But he got very short and
unsatisfactor answers.

- “Not muc to be pumped out of that young
lady," he said pettishly, as she left the store.

“ Who is it?”

“ One of Mr. Jenkins’s kitchen girls, I fancy. And
as 31 as a mouse.”

“ uess I'll try. Kinder anxious 'bout that there
mysterious house.“

The girl had not gone straight toward the house,
but was makin her way to the corner, as if she de-
signed to seek t e rear entrance.

Joe was quickly close behind her. He manag
Indeed to ,jostle against her arm. One of the pack-
ages she partied fell with a crash to the pavement.

How

ed .

 

The pa er bag burst open and scattered its contents
far an wide. it was a package of white sugar.

“ Confound your awkwardness!" cried the angry
girl. “ See what you‘ve done.“

“ Didn‘t go fur to do’t," apologiZed Joe. “ My
foot slipped on a lemon-pctrl. ’l‘ain’t no harm. We
kin scrape it u ) ag’in."

He kneeled own and began scraping together the
su ar, with a )lentiful mixture of cirt.

‘ You little ooll" she cried. “What are you at?
Do you suppose I would dare take that stulf into the
house?”

“Tell you what,” cried Joe. “I’ll slide back to
the store and git you some more. That‘s on‘y
square s'long’s split it.”

“ All right. Have you the money?"

“Plenty of it." answered Joc loftily. “Gobs of
it. Jist you wait here. I’ll be back in a twinkle.”

He was as good as his word. Within five minutes
he was back to where the girl waited in some doubt.

- “I’m square,"- said Joe. “ Here’s yer sugar.
Dunno what you want with it.” ;

"Why?"  '

“Oh, you’re sweet ’nough a‘read .7’ .

“ Go way, you young rogue!" Yet her laugh
showed that she was pleased.

“ It’s jist so. Wouldn’t bumped ag’in you on’y
you're so pretty. Was tryin’ to git a closer squint
at you." .

, “ You're a young rascal, that’s what you are," de-
clared the girl, laughing and blushing.

“ You bet I mean it. See here, Susy, you like ice
cream?" -

“ M name ain’t Susy.”

“ \V at is it?”

“Molly.”

"Well, then. Molly, can’t you slip out arter sup-
per? I’ll be ’rcund. Never like to go artcr ice
cream ‘cept with a pretty girl like you. It‘s more
tony, you know.”

She looked at the boy with a silly laugh, hesitated
a minute, and then answered:

“ I cannot get out till after eight."

"That’ll do. I’ll be ’round. Don’t miss.
dead earnest.”

“ i will come. if you fool me—“

“ Nary time. I‘m sound on the goose."

She hastened away, and entered the house by the
rear gate.

“ Got her nailed, anyhow,” thought Joe. “ She’ll
come. That’s one nail in old Skinny’s coffin.”

He was right. She came. The girl was certainly
pretty. and was tricked out now in all her fmery.
She seemed somewhat in doubt about the boy, and
her face lighted up on seeing him in waiting.

“Told you I was sound on the goose,” declared
Joe. “ Tuck yer arm under m wing. What you
like best? Strawberry cream or isses?”

“ Both,” said the girl, with a blush.

“ We'll have both then,” returned Joe.
getting along swimmingly.

But in one respect his progress was less ra id.
Over the cream he led the t' 1k to the subject of ier
master, who he was, and w ere he had come from.

But on these points she either know nothing, or
would tell nothing. She had been engaged the day
before. Mr. J cnkins came from San Francisco.
She had not set 0 'es on him There Were several
other servants. T at was all she knew.

Joe was in some doubt about this. There was a
certain hesitation in her answers. He fancied she
had been trained against talking.

He accompanied his new friend back home. It
was now dark, except where the gas lamps lit up
the street.

As they reached the corner of the rear street a
carriage drove out. It was impossible to tell from
which of the many stables it came, yet Joe keenly
eyed the driver, by the light of a neighboring lamp.

He (lid not get a good look at him, yet there was
something familiar in the face, that made the boy
anxious for another glimpse.

“ Good-night," said Molly, when they reached the

ate.

“Not much. I’m goin’ in.”

“ No. no. It is against orders. We are not al-
lowed as company in the kitchen.“

“Oh, t at‘s all taffy. I ain’t company, I’m only
a boy. Boys ain’t company. Tell ’em I’m your
cousin, if anybody pokes in. ’

“ I’m half afeard.”

“That ain’t all,” continued the bold boy. “ You
know we was to have ice cream and kisses. We
ain’t had the kisses yit."

She laughed and blushed. as she stood with the
gate half 0 en. Then she hastily leaned forward
and kissed im.

“ There! you’re only a boy, you know: so it’s no
harm.”

The next instant she was through the gate, and
had slammed and bolted it behin her. Joe heard
her laughing as she hastened up to the house.

"Mighty fine, Miss Molly," he ejaculated. “But
you don’t g\it rid 0’ this chestnut burr quite as easy
as that. en have kisses and cream ’stead of
cream and kisses. next time,”

Joe was not through with his day’s task. Ho
hung about the neighborhood till near midnight. He
was not going without another glimpse of that
coachman, if it took all night.

Finally a carriage. rolled up. Joe was at. hand. It
stopped in front of the mysterious mansion, and a
gent eman got out, so muffled up as not to be easily
recognized.

But the spy was not troubled about him. It was
the coachman he was after. He managed to walk
close by, just as the latter closed the carriagedoor,
and remounted the box. . .

One quick glance 'was enough. The boy burned
on, not wishing to be observed return. _

I‘m in

He was

 

“ Jolly papers 1“ he cried e erly, as soon as he was
fairly out of hearing. “ Don’t know him like abook?
It's the chap that‘s got the plaster in his e es, or
I’m no .jud e o’ foxes. If I ain’t got old kinny
nailed now t ere’s no shuoks.”

He continued to cogitate as he walked on. He had
his man. Should he sprin the trap on him at once,
or work up the game a litt a further?

“Guess I'll take a snooze fu’st, fur I’m tired
enough fur two boys 0’ my size. Arn’t my lodgin’s
anyhow. Maybe I mought dream out the best way
to work this little trap."

If a boy could sleep sounder than Joe did for the
rest of the night, and till ten o’clock the next day, it
would have had to be a dead log. He wasn’t trou-
bled with any nonsense of dreams.

When he wakened up howaver he was wider awake .
than an b0 ever was.

“Shil I to egraph, or shill I write?“ he asked him-
Self. “Cost like fun to sa ' all 1 want on the wires.
Guess I‘ll jist say, ‘All 0.
That‘ll kee ’em quiet."

Joe hurr ed to send his telegram, and spent the
next three hours writing a letter. His education in
this direction had been sadly neglected and he bare-
ly knew how to write. It was an odd-looking docu-
ment which at length left his hands.

Yet blotted, missprlled and illegible as it was it
managed to tell all that had hap ened, and to de-
mand the immediate presvnce in ‘hicago of Maud
Weather] , Jack Bledsoe, and Mr. Brown.

“That’l fotch 'em. l’m kinder proud 0' that
there dokyment," said Joe to himself, as he dropped -
his missive into a post-omce box. " Now guess I’ll
take another squint round fur Moll .” .

It is not necessa to dwail on t to events of the
next two or three ( ays. The boy had managed to
see Molly more than once in that time, and had
gained entrance to the kitchen despite her objec-
tions.

He had also learned a few things of importance
through all the secrecy that surrounded the man-
sion. At the end of the time mentioned a train was
rapidly approaching Chicago, bearing the three
persons for whom Joe had written.

The sport was ripening.

At the owning hour in which it rolled into the
station Joe was closeted with his fair friend, engaged
in a very interesting conversation.

“Three dollars a week. That ain‘t schrunshin
high wa res."

“ It’s a l i got, anyhow “

" And how much for holdin‘ your tongue, and not
talkin' ’bout things?"

“ What do on mean ?" asked the startled girl.

“ S’pose I ( on’t know? You‘re paid to keep mum.
See here, Molly, ain’t that a ile 0 money?”

She opened her eyes wi c at the roll of notes
which J 0e, displayed.

“ Now thcr‘s some fun afloat, Molly, and I want
'ou on our side. it’s goin’ to be a hundred dollars
in your pocket if you come over.“

“ A hundred dollars! What am I to do?"

“Jist what I say. To the nail.”

“ I‘ll do it. I don’t like this place anyhow.”

" Keep mum then. Your master’s a rascal and a
runaway. We’re arter him hot foot."

Look out for a letter.‘

CHAPTER XV.
ran sramomc or ran 'mxr.

Tun carriage which Joe had formerly observed
again drove up to the door of the mysterious man-
sion and let out its master, as it, had done on every
evening since Joe‘s arrival in Chicago. The occu-
pant of the house had not yet stepped into tho
street b day, but had driven out regularly every
night, a ter ark. ,

This had raised the boy’s curosity, and he had fol-
lowed one of these mysterious journeys. It had
ended in a fine-looking house in a. secluded street.

“ What goes on in that house?" remarked the
policeman, to whom Joe had addressed this ques-
tion. “ Nothing for boys."

“ What fur men, then? Is it a faro den?”

“You’re a cute one, boy. You’ve hit it. Least-
ways we think so. But policemen can‘t do anything
on a think so."

“Just as I had a notion," said Joe to himself, as
he turned away. “ He’s bit by the tiger. Can‘t let
him alone. Got to be dabblin’. All right, Skinn ,
but if I ain’t off my eggs your rope’s gettin’ short. ’

When the master 0 he mansion left his carriage
on the evening in question he was informed b the
servant that there was a erson waitin to see im.

“Why did you let him n?" he angri y demanded.
” Is that,the way you obey orders? I am at home to
nobod .’

“ I tgld him that. Couldn’t keep him out without
kicking him out." -

“ Then kick him out.
vadcd.” , .

“ It‘s only a boy. A little fellow. Said you’d he

might ad to see him. .
“A “A boy? Can it be-

I won’t have my house in-

Wl” He hesitated.
Where is he. i"

“ In the sitting-room up-stairs."

“ Ve well. I will see. this intruder. Do you 1:323
within caring. Call in the coschman. I may 11
him. Boys are not always to be trusted in these
times."

He made his way up the stairs a little. disturbed in
his mind. Who could this youthful visitor be?
Was it, by any chance, the vagrant, Jolly Joe?

Wetmore, for it was he, set his teeth firmly. If
the. boy had tracked him here it nught be well to
put an end to his tracking.

He flun open the door of the luxuriously tur-

'nished Sit ing-room. A youthful figure was bah

anced on a corner of one of its most richly covend '

 

 

;. .‘rt

 

 la

 'make things howl.

Wide-Awake Joe.

15 V,

 

 

  
 

chairs. Wetmore walked quickly to the chandelier,
tu ned up a gas jet. and looked down at his visitor.

“Guess you‘ve see'd me afore," said the youth.
“ It‘s me. Jolly Joe Joruin. Jist dropped in to see
how things was goin’."

“Joe Jorum?" cried the merchant, with an evil
look in his eyes. “ I don‘t know you. What do you
want here?“

" Nothin‘ but a chat over old times. Think I
don't know you? Them mustaclies and whiskers
iiiought fool some folks, but can’t come it on me.
Lawsee, I wouldn’t go through Chicago ’thout stop-
pin’ to see yon. Ain‘t furgpt the gay times we used
to have in the old faro ban a“

The merchant seated himself heavily. His face
-had grown very pale. It was evide t that, in spite

of a! his precautions, he had been tracked.

What was to be done? Was it the boy alone that
had tracked him? He knew J oe‘s character well
enough to know that he would take dangerous risks
If the boy was alone all might be safe yet. To dis~
pose of him and take to flight again. It was an easy
game to play.

“Jolly Joe. I remember you now," he remarked,
as if with renewed recollection. “ You are the boy
that came begging at my back door."

“ And as got cotchcd in a fox-trap," su plied Joe,
with a wink. “ Couldn’t hold this coon t ough."

“ How did you know I was here?“

“ Sce‘d you,“ answered Joe, with another wink.
“ Arter I got away from that Ohio fox—trap I slipped
on a. train and stole a ride out here. Goin‘ to make
my fortunenl am. See’d you to-night gittin’ in yer
carriage. Couldn‘t fool this chicken with them

here whiskers. \Vheu I see a feller ouc't, that fel-
ler’s nailed. J ist dropped in to wait. ’(‘tause you
owe me a lift, you know."

“ You lie, you young rascal! You have been spy-
ing me. Have you sent word to anybody that I am
.here? The truth now. I will cut your tongue out if
you lie to me."

“ Goin' to send word tomorrcr, answered Joe
coolly. “ Thor‘s some folks as ‘(1 like to know where
you're hidiii‘. Thought I‘d call fu'st, though, and
strike you fur a lift. Kinder short 0' cash, and if
you ionv down handsome I moughtn’t send word.“

" on 11 bribe me, you young’ rascal, will you?"
With assumed fury the merchant caught him by the
collar and shook him soundly. “ You have sent
word, I sa ! Lie to me at your ieril!"

"I'll lie if you want me to rig it bad; but I don’t
like, to. Kinder like to stick to the truth. Suits my
constitution better."

“ You hound! Are you telling the truth or not?"

“ Tryin’ to. Sometimes, though, the truth gits
twisted round into a lie afore a feller knows it."

The merchant looked at him keenly. But nothing
could be made of Joe's impassive face. He turned
and gave a sharp pull at the bell.

“ What you do n‘ that fur?" queried Joe. “If

cake an‘ ice cream, I‘m yer

, 'e‘r‘ goin’ to order n
But I don‘t wan to be set dovigi‘on by no gum

H

ioss.
game." , ._

Wetmore gave no answer. He seated himself
while waiting the answer to his summons. It came
in the shape of two men who had been warned to be
read , the house-servant and the coachman.

" ere. men,” cried Wetmore, harshly “Take
this impudent young hound and lock him up. He
has been impertinent to me, and I intend to teach
him a lessson for it."

“ Oh, now come, judge," exclaimed Joe, with a
show of consternation. “Now that ain‘t on the
square, nohow. I on’y said—”

"Away with him, fellows." re oined VVetmore.
“Don’t stop to hear him talk. nd see that he‘s
locked up safely. You shall answer to me if he es-
ca es you.”

hey caught Joe by the shoulders and raised him
to his feet. He made no resistance.

“'Tain’tsquare, judge. I‘ll stick ter that. You’d
best let me slide or I‘ll make things howl, now you

7'

et.

“01! with him.” cried Wetmore.

“ All right. But you‘ve gotdiold of aJune bug, old

kinny. Jist you look out." _ i _

The two men dragged the unreSistmz boy rapidly
across the room to a door that led from it on the
left. There were three such doors besides the one
leading from the stairs.

Theylhad flung this door open, and were about to
dragt eir prisoner through it, when they suddenly
halted and stepped back before a person who ap-
peared in the doorway.

They had reason to be startled, for this person held
a istol, which was pointed in an uncomfortable
tas ion toward them.

“Don‘t get scared,” he softly said. “It won’t go
01" if You keep right quiet. I’m Jack Bledsoe. that
maybe you’ve heard of. You needn’t get into no
Stew “will that boy. I’ve stepped round to look
after him."\

Wetmore had fallen back in pallid consternation
ill; this unlocked-for vision. He now started up in a

ury.
“1 know 3'0“. you blacklegi How dare ou in-

".trude into my house? Leave here this ins ant, or

I‘ll have you filing from the windows! Run for
ofiolicempn, Ralph. We will see if there‘s law in
cage.
~é‘ Don’t run. Ralph. You'd best walk verv slow.
"And take. care of the handle of that door. There‘s
an electric Wire from it to this pistol. If you turn

.1; :the handle the pistol might go off; and then some-

body might get hurt.”
Joe, w 0 had been released, broke into a fit of
hter, so hearty. that he dropped back into a
.c .
' ‘fWhat you think 0' that, Skinny? Told on I'd
Kind ofaJack-in-a-bosz ain't

 

it? You tech the door, and out pops Jack. Lawsee,
it‘s fun."

“ iiy Heaven, I won‘t stand this!" screamed the
infuriated merchant. “ If you men are scared
by that brnggart‘s pistol, I am not. I will take the
holy inySi-lf."

Ie grasped Joe by the collar, and ran across the
room .o an opposite door, dragging his captive be-
hind him.

lle flung this door open with a clung, and was
about to rush into the room beyond, when he sud-
denly retreated, with more haste than his servants
had done.

For in the. open doorwa stood a second person, a
middle-aged, well-dresse man, with a very severe
expression of countenance.

‘ Another Jack-in-a-box," yelled Joe. with a
second scream of laughter.

" Brown i" cried the discomflted villain.

“Just so. Brown, of the firm of Wetmore, Brown
8: Co. I don‘t want to interrupt your little leasure
trip, but l‘li trouble you for a trifle of a undred
thousand dollars, which you owe the firm."

He step d forward into tie room, while the un-
masked Vl ain retreated step by step before him, as
if from a ghost.

“ Some notes coming due, you see.“ remarked
Jack. “No funds to take them up. Thought he'd
dro ) out and give you a call."

“ 1y; ain’t it prime!” ejaculated Joe, stoopin
with is hands on his knees, as he looked quizzfi
call up into the pallid face of the runaway.

“ uined!" groaned the latter. “ The fiends take
you all! But there’s one hope."

He darted hastily across to the third door of the
room. No one st rred to stop him. He flung the
door open in mad haste; but recoilcd with more
consternation than before.

“Jill—in‘tlie—box this time," cried Joe.
Jacks and 11 Jill, hey, Skinny!“

There in the doorway stood a woman's form, with
the pretty face of Maud Weatherly, which was now
Very severe and grave as she looked in the dismayed
face of her uncle.

She stepped out into the room.

“ I can spare you, uncle," she said. “ I hardly
think your absence will be much loss. But I am not
ready to spare my fortune, whien I must request
you to leave behind."

Wetmore glared with staring eyes from one to the
other of the three persons, who had appeared as if
by magic. lie fell into a chair and covered his face
with his hands, as if to shut out the sight of spec-
tcrs. Then he leaped up like a madman and sprung
wil'lly at Joe, who was standing directly before
him.

“ It is you, you gutter-rat, I have to thank for
this! Take that!"

He struck fiercely, with a heavy paper wei ht
which he had snatched from the table. But oe
was too quick for this murderous blow. In an iii-
stant he had darted past the infuriated man, and
under the table.

The maddeued villain turned to his niece, with a
deadly fury still glaring in his eyes.

But at the same instant a shrill whistle rung
through the room, and two men in the garb of
policemen ran out of an adjoining apartmen .

“Snatch him," cried Jack. “He is dangerous.“

The officers obc ed this order, and forced their
prisoner into a c iair, where. after a moment's
struggle, he fell back conquered, in an utterly hum-
bled and crushed attitude.

“ That's the end of our little game," cried Joe tri-
umphantly. “ You loved it Well, Skinny. but us
chaps know somethin‘ bout fare. ’Tain‘t the fu‘st
time we‘ve coppered the bet on you. Had yerfront
door all right, didn’t you? Butl jist slipped those
folks in through the kitchen. Molly’s my right
bower, you know. Pass over the plunder. judge.
We don t want yer carcass; but we want the cash
ori‘ul bad."

Wetmore made no reply. He was utterly crushed
and heartbroken. At asigii from Mr. Brown the
officers remowd him from the room, while the
others held 8 conference as to the best steps to pur-
sue.

It is not necessary to dwell at length on what fol-
lowed. Joe‘s scheme had been completely success-
ful, and its dramatic termination had taken all the
starch out of the entrapped defaulter.

He was very glad to hand ovor his ill-gotten plun-
der on a promis» 0 personal liberty. and a stay of
legal proceediu s. fter returning to Mr. Brown
and his niece w int he had robbed them of he had
still some thousands left, and with that be started
further West, while they returned East with their
recovered wealth, though not forgetting to pay
Molly the ‘ um that Joe bad so liberally promised.

_Ere a month elapsed a message came over the
Wires from a mushroom city of the Far West. de-
scribing the sudden death of Gabriel Wetmore, from
a pistol-shot. at the hands of a gambler, who had de-
tected him cheating at cards.

So the inveterate gambler met the natural end of
his course of life.

Two days afterward Mr. Brown met the creditors
(fif the firm of Wetinore, Brown & 00.. with a smiling

ace. -

“ Have you your bills. gentlemen? I am prepared
to settle in full. 1 have opened the store again this
morning, and am ready to rim again at full 8 ecd."

“ Then why in the world did you suspend?‘ asked
one of the amazed creditors.

“ Simply that the funds of the firm had got into a
rat-hole. But we have opened the hole at the other
end, and let them out again "

Meanwhile bold Jack Bledsoe was not left without
his thanks from Maud Weatheriy. Va? warm
thanks some would have thought. But ack was

“Two

 

wide awake enough to see through a pine plank, and
he irosecuted his acquaintance with the fair Maud
wit i such ardor that it was not long before rumors
of.an engagement got afloat.

And they were this time well founded. The gal-
lant Westerner had woowl and won Maud and her
fortune which he had done so much to save.

During all these events Joe Jorum had become
Jolly Joe more truly than men

Mr. Brown was very anxious to take him into his
store, but Maud was determined he should first have
an education. So arrangements were made to send
Joe away to school, where the rough edge of his
character might be rubbed off, and the sterling gold
of his inner nature be made clear.

“Don‘t keer much what you do with me,“ said
Joe, “so‘s there‘s night 0 grub. Come to the
conclusion that gm )‘3 t e s iiee of life. There‘s a

nod many other things wu't i havin‘, but no feller

in engoy em ’ccpt he‘s got sutliin‘ inside him. I
know t iat, ‘cause I‘Ve been there." ,

So Joe was sent away to school and there he still
is, more devoted to rub than to learning, we must
allow. Yet he is ta ’ing in the latter at a very fair
rate, and promisos to be a creditable scholar. and a
useful member of society, before many more years
roll round.

THE END.

 

Beadle’s Half-Dime library.

BY HARRY ST. GEORGE.

80 Roaring Rni h Rockwood, the Ran er.

4.1 Rnulln Huge; or, The Ni hthnwklo Kentucky.

Gil 01d Illc cry; or, l’nndv Ell-'1 whip.
108 During: Davy: or, 'l'hn 'l‘rnll oi' illt' ! onilr Wolf.
16“ Illckory llurr ; or. The ’l‘rn ipnr-iirixnda’l Spy.
1?! Thunderbolt om; or. the 'oli-Hurdor,

RY ottoman “'ALIND RROWNE.

Fifi "and Rock the Man from Texas.
90 The I read Rider; or. The 'l‘exnn Duelist.
99 The Tiger of'l‘non or, Dmiin Itocii'n AngoL
lib The Mad Miner; or, Dandy "(H'ii'll Doom.
lBl The Golden llundz or, Dnmiv Kerk in the Rescue.
Iii-1 Dandy Rock’s l’lcd e: or, liunted to Death.
178 Dandy Rock’s Riva i or, The Haunted Maid of'l‘loo.

BY I’IIILll' 8. “'ARNE.

01 Patent-Leather Joe: or, Old Rattle-unite, the Charm.
175 Captain Arllonn; or. haunt-Laud." Joe'l Big (lune.
lint Captain Musk: or, l’iitent-lmutlier Jim's Defeat.
219 hop-pun], the Duelist; er, The Mountain Vl'lllpii‘N-
838 A ’l‘on ll Iloy; or, The Dwnri'ii Revenge.

863 Little 'oriuido; or, The Uliil‘nntu oi' the Glen.
8'?“ Little Jingo; or, the Queer I’iinl.

89L“ Little "ii-my or, Caught in “in 0"] Trap.
401 Little Hlloo-I‘ Iy or, A Race for A Ranch.
408 Little Leather-l l’fit‘t‘lfl‘ll or. 01d Jumbo'ICoI-Io.
4!“ Little All Hint or, The Curse or lilood.

451 Colorado Rate. A Title ot‘tlie nlinun.

480 Three Jolly I’m-(In.

5|? Jim Gladdon’l licput .

527 The Jolly l’urdn to t 0 Rescue.

5-17 Nnmly Andy; or, A Good Man Down.

556 Lariat LII; or. The (‘ut for ii Life.

574 "hi \Vennol-top. the Man with the Dogs.
598 Keen (lit-m. the Ranch linp.

599 Jim llnluly the No-Nnmu Sport.

013 Billy Blazes; or,TiIu Sicoluton'n hasty.

RY ALBERT W. AIKEN.

11 The Two Detectives: or, The Fortune. of: Bowery Girl.
76 Abe (loll. the Crow-Killer.
19 Noi “in or. the Giant Trapper.
.83 Joe Rue ' oi’An‘eln nmi Ills Boy Paul.
447 New York Nut. A Tale of Trlnln and Trlpl In Gotham.
45” New En Inmi Nick; or. 'i'in~ Fortunu oi'n Fondling.
404 Nimble 1 hit. the Circus Prince.
93 ’I‘non Ted, tow Arilonu Sport.
510 000! Colorado, the liniizilmvd Detective.
51$ Cool Colorado in New York.

ll Y J0 PIERCE.

897 Bob 0' the Bowery ; or, The Prince of Mulberry Street.

415 The Vagabond Detective: or. Bowery Bob’o Boom

462 Hot: mr llob. the Street-iii»)! Detective.

460 The Lawyer’s Hlinilowi «Ir Lulus’l Lem.

4TB Juunty Joe, the Young iioru-iilnu.

494 linrly Him, the Young Furryiniui Detective.

504 Five Points l’iiii.

509 Jack Jn Kern. the Butcher Boy Detective.

{Slit 'l‘nrtnr 'l‘inu or, Fivv l'uintn l’iiil’u Menagerie.

526 North River Nut. the Pier lietectlvv.

533 Wrentlln Rex, the i'rldeo! the Sixth Ward. '
fi-li J0“. Flil' 'er. the Stable Boy Detective.

55' Nit'k Nettie, the iloy Shadow.

(in!) llurlem .Im-k. iin- 0mm ii...- Detective.

569 “rock I Ron. 1h.- ()n-ills-Own-Hook Detective.
53'? It nt Pete. the Sven-t Sifter.

fist-i .lucl.-o'-Lnniern. ilw Under-Sen l’rmpnctor.

mm “Hole-Awnin- Iii-rt, tlivStn-et-Sm-mr.

(H l “'lIl-Atlliiu Jacob, the Den-rtlve‘n Aid.

023 Ihu-k Bumblebee, the lill’ilfill Hummer.

 

   

ii" llllOKHKlN 8AM (Majol- Sam. 3. null.)

934 “Mkliooky I “Iloyeen or, Benito, on Young Hono-
TOI (if.
946 (-‘iiuit George; M, The Ang’i or the Range. j
875 i\ rizmia Jack i M. (.‘lant George’s Yard. !
.97 The ’l‘nruutuin of Tom- or, Giant George's Revenge.
307 The h‘trange l'ord: or, Little Bou’n Death Hunt.
81% Ker-whim . Ker-whee: or, The Tarantula iif'l‘rioe.
827 Creeping: flat. the (luddol on Thu RM Ind Will“ PIN!-
833 Frio Fri-ti : or, The 'l‘oulmwny’l Trust.
844 The PI htlng Trloi or Rattlesnake. the Toni-way.
849 “'ild V oil': or. Big-Foot i‘l'nliiico to the Front. ,
 :‘ile "I'llt'll Illinlaers her, Tim Siege of Fort i'Argntory.
Imp-S iot. t e 0)! auger. '
875 (‘lilotu. the Creek; or ~The 'l‘hrou- l'bunderboitl.
8M "under-n [III]: or. l-‘rio i-rrink to the i‘rnnt.
mm I‘m-loo and the Reds; or. T)“ Belem-"d Rawh-
 ld'ulli; I‘m-lat; ori’i’erun Pete I Big Rampage.
' ' e a sly om enver.
42? The Three Trailer" or, Old Rm‘hy on the Run"...
442 Illuli’ “Hit or. The Lynx oi the Leona.
4.36 Little Lone Star: or.The Kelli-Infth Clhoio.
A New lune Every Tuesday

The flulfdflme Library h- for Ilia by u! new-dealers, flvo
not: our copy, or not by mall on receipt of six cant- emu.
BEADLE AND ADAMS. Publishers.
’8 William Street. new lurk

 

 

\cc.

.BEADLE’SrHALF-DIMEeLIBRARY.

Published Every Tuesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Five Cents.

N0 Double Numbers.

 

BY EDWARD L. “WHEELER.
Deadwood Dick Novel-t.

l Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road.
20 Double Daggers or, Deadwood Dick‘s Defiance.
28 Duii'nln lien‘ or, cadwoml Dick in Iliuguiae.
85 “did lvan. t m lloy Cluudu Diivni.
42 Phantom “inert or, Deadwood Dirk’a lionnnut.
40 Omaha Dll‘ or Deadwood Dick in Danger.
5“ Deadwood ch "I l‘Zaglca; or, The i'anla oi Flood Bar.
78 Deadwood Dick on Deck: or. (‘nlnuiity .liuic,i.lle Heroine.
7? Corduroy (‘llarlict or. Deadwood Dick‘s Lnat Act.
100 Deadwood Dick in Lead ville.
104 Deadwood Dick's Device: or. The Double Crou Sign.
109 Deadwood Dick ae Detective.
129 Deadwood Dick‘s Double; or, The Ghost of Gorgon‘s

(.‘ulch.
Is“ "Inside Bill; or. Deadwood Dick’s Home Due.
14” A Game of Gold; or. Deadwood Dick’s Big Strike.
156 Deadwood Dick of Deadwood or. The Picked Par .
195 Deadwood Dick’a Dream; or, he Rlvull oi'the it.) .
.01 The iilack llillll Jezebel; or, Deadwood Dick's Ward.

205 Deadwood Diek’s‘ZDoom; or, Calamity June’s Lest Ad-'

venture.
21? Captain Crack-Shot, the Girl Bri and.
221 Sn sir-Coated Sans: or, The Blue Gown.
282 Go d-Duat Dick. A Romance of Rough. and Tough“
268 Deadwood Dick’a Divide or, The Spirit of Swamp Lake.
268 Deadwood Dick’a Death rail.
8” Deadwood Dick’e Big Deal; or, The Gold Brick 0!

Oregon.
821 Deudwofil ck" Dolen : or, The Fakir oil’hantem Firm.
“7 Deadwo ‘l ieks Dinoth or, Rainy Days in the Dig-

inua.
851 Deadwood Dick Sentenced; or, The Terrible Vsndetia.
662 Deadwood Diek’a Claim.
405 Deadwood Dick in Dead City.
4“) Deadwood Dick's Diamonds. ,
42] Deadwood Dick in New York; or, A " Cuts Case.”
480 Deadwood Dick'a Duatt or, The Chained “and.
448 Deadw d Dlek, Jr.
“A Nick“. l. Ned; n!,l)ondwood Dick Jr’s Defiance.
458 Sunflower

and.
459 Flash Fan, the Ferret; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Big Bond-
465 l’llilo Fly, oi Phonix; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Rocket at
Claim 10.

471 Bozeman Bill; or. Deadwood Dick .lr’s Corral.
478 firrfibolfit llarry the Hurricane; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s
elect ve.

481 Moll Myatery; or, Deadwood Dick Jr. in Deadwood.

‘91 Prince I’Iatol, the King of the West; or, Deadwood Dick
r's ‘omnuct.

496 Monte Cristo. In: or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s inheritance.

 {:efiwgo:  [flgfiivng- ; or. Dr. Death-Grip’a Swoop.
e w o a e erance.

5I5 Deadwood chk’e l’rotegee.

522 Deadwood Dick’s Three.

529 Deadwood Dick’a Danger Ducks.

58H- Deudwood Dick’e Death Hunt.

589 Deadwood Dick Jr. In Texan.

544 Deadwood Dick, Jr. the Wild Weat Vldooq.

549 Deadwood Dick on Ilia Mcttle.

55-! Deadwood Dick. Jr. in Gotham.

56! Deadwood Dick in “onion.

567 Deadwood Dick, Jr. In Philadelphia.

572 Deadwood chk. .lr. In Chicago.

57% Deadwood Dick, .lr. Afloat.

5H4 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Denver.

590 Deadwood Dick. .lr‘a. Decree.

505 Deadwood Dick Jr. in iiccizcbub’fl Basin.

600 Deadwood Dick Jr. at (‘oney Inland.

606 Dem wood Dick Jr‘n Lcndville Lay.

("2 Den wood Dick .l r. in Detroit.

6ll'l Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Cincinnati.

624 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Nevada.

Other Novelu by E. L. \Vheeler.

20 Clovcn “00f, the ilull‘nln Demon.

82 Dob \Voolt’; or, The (.‘irl Dmd-Shnt.

30 Death-Face. Detective; or, Life in New York.

45 Did Avalanche: or, Wild Edna, the Girl Brig-11d.
53 Jim Diminoe. Jr.. the iiny Phenix.

6| Hui-khan. "III; or, This lied llille Team,

09 Gold Itlllc the SharKnhooter: or. The lioy Detective,
80 Ron-bud Iloli or, 'ugnct Neil, the Knight.

“4 idyi, the Girl .iiner; or, Roaehud Rob on Hand.
8” I'lloiogl‘a ll Phil; or, Rosalind itoh'a ltcanpenmnce,
92 Canada 1‘ let; or, old Anaconda in Sitting Bull’s Camp.
96 \Vut (lh-l':\'0,; or, Aruha onii Angclu Ufa Great City.
.iaek lloy o the Young Sncculutor.

Gilt-Edged Dick, Lb.- Sp 'rt D--teutive

l‘ivlnalnon ('hip, tho Girl Sport.

r Bonanza Dill. Miner.

38 "out: liob tin-King oi‘ liootldm-ka.

4| Silllll Hull! ihc lin)‘ limul Agent.

45 Captain ‘erret, the New York Detective; or, Boss Bob’s
6

7

gnu—
"in-4w

on.“ Join

! New York Nell the lloleiri Detective.

7 Nobh ' Nick oi' A'cvadat or. The Sierras Scamps.
“I “'ild ‘rank, llic liiu'kekill lirnvo.
209 Fritz, the Bunnd-lloy Detective.
2I3 Fritz to the Front; or, The. Ventriloquiat Hunter.
226 Hnoozer. the li u_v Slinrp: or. The Arnb Detective.
236 Apollo "ill, the 'l'vail 'r‘ll‘llllllt).
240 (' 'clonc Kit, the Young.' Gladiator.
24! Sierra Sum, lh. l"ronl1rr l“rrl‘ct.
2,}! Sierra Hnm‘n Neel-ct; or, The llloodv Foolprlntl.
253 Sierra flnlu’a I’ard; or. lm: Angel oi ilig Vista.
25“ Sierra Fam‘a lieu-u: nr,’l‘lie.\'1olun ilride.
273 Jumbo Joe, the liuv l’nlrol; or, The Rival Heirl.
2?? Denver Doll. iln- Dcicl tin: Queen.
2!" Denver Doll‘l Victory.
2‘5 Dcnver Doll‘a Dccoy ; or. Little Bill's Bonanza.
291 Turk, the tiny Ferret.
296 Denver Doll‘a Drill: or. The Rand Queen.
299 .\ No. l, the, flashing Toll-Taker.
808 ‘l.lzu Jane, the 'u‘irl Mini-r; or. [he lion-Nerved Sport.
625 Kelley, Ilickcv .t' (30.. the Dem-time of Philadelphia.
BliO‘Little Quick-“lust; or, 'l‘ln- Dead Face of Duggersvllle.
88 i Kangaroo Kit; or. The Mysterious Minor.
.39 Kangaroo Klt’u liackct.
843 .“auhntian Mike, the llnwery Blood.
3514 First-(flan Fred, ilie (lent irom Gopher.

305 trek“ Jim. the Gold-Gatherer: Or, The lottery oi

Lite
872 Yreka Jim’s Prize.
3?“ Nahob N ed : or, The Secret of Slab City.
832 Cool Kit. the Kim: oi' Kida: or. A \‘illnin’s Vengeance.
865 Yrckn .llrn’e Joker; or, The Rivals of Red Nose.
Bill” Hieyclc lien; nr. The Lion of Lightning Lode.
894 Yreka Jim of ana Dem.
400 “'rlnklen, the Night-Watch Detective.
416 lllgh "at. Harry, the rim Bull Detective.
426.83.: Slabaldea, the Beggar-Boy Detective.
484 Jim Beak and Pal. rivets Detectives»
488 Santa Fe Sal, the Sluher.
‘86 Seal-kin 8a., the Sperkier.

H-IIH HH-lflldhlhl

 

In, oi Shasta; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Full V

 

D Y (‘ II A RLES MORRIS.

lll'l “'ili Son-era, thc llov nrt8(‘tl\’8.

122 Phil llurdy, the lion lioy,

T20 Picayune Vote; or, Nicodchiue, the Dog Detective.
Detective Dick: or, The Hero 1!! ling...

llaudamnc, Harry, the Boondm-k Detective.

\" lll \Vlldilre, the 'i'horoufzhhrcd.

Iiiack "can, \i’ill Wildiirc, a Racer.

Mi ‘0 _ crry, llic llnrlmr l'uiice Boy.

“’ill “'iidiire in the \Voodn.

Dilly Baggage. the Railroad in. v,

A Trump ( ardx or. Wlli Wildhro Wins and 1.0.“.
Dob Rockctt; or, filystoricu ol’ New urk.

Bob Rocha-Lt the ilauk liunm-r.

The Iliddcn lland‘ or, Will Vl'ildlirc'a Revenge.
Fred llalyard, tlm .ilc Boat no); or. The Sinugglen.
Dob Rocket“ or. Driven to thr Wnll.

l 6 Shadowed; or, Bob itorkett‘a Fight for Lilo.

203 Dark Paul. tha- Tlgvr King.

2|2'Duhlng Dave, the Dandy Detective.

220 Tom Tanner orI The Black Sheep oi the Flock.

225 Sam Charcoa the i'rruniuln Darky.

235 Fhadow Sam. the Meseenger Buy.

242 The Two “ Hloo a”; or, Shenandoah Bill and His Gang.
252 Dick Daehaway x or, A Dakota Boy in Chicago.

262 The Young Sharpe: or, Rollicklng Mike’s llot Trail.
274 oily Jim. the Detective Ap rcnlice. .

289 oily 'Jlm’a Job; or, The drum Detective.

298 The Water-llound; or, The faring Thoroughbred.
805 Ila-howay, of‘llakota; or, A Western Lad in the Quaker

City.
324 Ralph Ready, the Hotel Boy Detective.

u
u
3

zwraaaaciaha

t-lt-anlalp‘ua-shifll-i
“35:3'5'015'15

I-tl-I
$11
33"!

'84] Tony Thorne, the Vagabond Detective.

856 The Reporter-Detective; or, Fred Flyer's Bliuard.
8 7 Wide-Awake Joe: or, A Boy of the Tuner.

8?” ‘Larr . the Leveler; or. The Bloods of the Boulevard.
408 Fire y Jack, the River-Rut Detective.

423 The Loot Fl er; or, The Enirapped Cuhier.
428'Fred Fiver. t e Reporter Deter-tin.

432 invincible Lo an, the Pinkerton Ferret.

:450'Diliy "rick, t e Jolly Vagabond.

466 \Vidc-Awake Jerry, Detective; or, Entombed Alive.
479 Detective Dod e : orI The Mystery of Frank Hearty.
4873 \ ild Dick linc ct.

50] Boole, the Boy Fireman : or, Too Sharp {or the Sharper.

566 The Secret her-vice Bov Detective.
596 Jimmy the Kid; or, A Lamb Among Wolves.

DY OLL COOMEB.

5 Vagabond Joe. the Young Wandering low.
13 'l‘he'Dumb Hp)’.
27 Antcio e Abe, the Boy Guide.
Bl Keeu.knli'(-, the Prince of the l’rniriel.
4| LII-MD Jack, the Young Multangcr.
56 The Border King: or, The Secret Foe.
7| Delaware Dick, the Young R‘nxer Spy.
7 llawk-evo Ilnrrv Ihe Young Trapper R‘ID‘".
Rollo, the Do ‘llnnger.
134 slll‘l‘ Hhot Set I, illr Boy Rillcnmn.
148 Sear-Face, linul, the '~‘i|cnt Hunter
14‘6 i‘llvr-s- Star, the Day Knight.
155 Eagle Kit. the lioy lh-nmn.
166 Little Texan, the Young Murtnnger.
I?“ Did Holltary, tlic. ilcruiil 'l‘ru vpcr.
152 Little llurrlcanc, th» Boy (.uplnln.
202 l’roa loot, I'etc; or, Thc 'ounu (lullaw Hunters.
201% The oy Ilcrculce: or, ’l'ln- Prairie Trampl.
2i“ 'i‘iger 'IVOIII. the 'l'cxaa 'l'rerror.
22i Dar-hing Dick: or, 'l'ropper 'i‘om’s ('naile.
228 Little “'ildiirc, the Young l'ruiric Nonind.
2891. The Par-on Dc tccilvc; or, The Little Ranger.
243 The IllaguI-cd (luldc; or, \\ ild ilnven, the Ranger.
260 Dare-Devil Dan, the Ynllng I’rairir Ranger.
2T2 “Inkakln Mike, the lioy Shnrpnhmter.
290 Little Foxiirc, the lioy Spv.
800 The Sky Demon : or. Ruinhoit, the Ranger.
88.4 “'hlp-laing Joe. the ilm- Rum-hero.
409 Hercule: or, Dirk, the Boy Hunger.
41'." “'cbi'oot . loec. llm 'l‘rnmp lien-olive.

‘ thc lioy Giant ol lln- Yellowstone.

i -ka|.ln. In» Youer l‘rnirie Centaur.
45? l" Intrcdl'oot Fred: hr. Hid l‘oinr Saul.
463 'l'anulruc ’I‘oul. tln- iii: Tin I'Iel‘ Boy.
478 Did 'i‘onl Rattler, the Red {iver Epidemic.
482 Mom-wall Dob, Ihn- lioy 'l'minu.
562 Blundering Dnnil, the Hermit Boy-Trapper.

DY T. C. "ARDAUGII.
28 Nick 0‘ the Night 3 or, 'l‘li- lloy Spy hi "it.
8? The Iliddcn Lodge: or Thu Little Hunter.
4‘." ngiltin ale Nat: or, ’l'nc Forest Ca vtuinl.
64 Dandy . “ck; or, 'l'hu (lul lnws (-i' the )regon Trail.
32 Kit linrci'oot the “'ood-ilnwk.
94 Midnight Jack; or. The liny ’l‘rnppcr.
100 Did Froaty, the Guild»; or. 'l'ln- Whit.- Queen.
123 Kiowa Charley the White Mualanger.
189 .Iud c. Lvnch, Jr.: or. The llov \‘iziinnte.
155 Gilli Trig er, the S ml; or, 'i'in- (:lrl Avenger.
ltiil 'I‘orluulo For“: or, lnjun .lm'k From iii-d Core.
188 Ned Temple, this llordcr lioy.
19?" Arkanaaw ; or, 'i’hc Qum h oi Fulc‘a Revenge.
20? Navajo Nick. the [lay Gold Hunter.
215 l‘aplain Dullei: “r, Litth: Toi-knoi'a Crusade.
giil I’incky l'hll; or. Rona, lhn Rel .ll'll‘ill'l.
241 lilll Dravo: or. The Rough“ ol' the Rockies.
255 (‘aptain Apollo, the Kinu-i'in ol' Bowie.
267 The ltucknkin Detective.
270 Did ‘Vllll'll: or. The lilll'k’rhlil Desperado".
294 Dynamite Dan; or. The Ilnu‘ic lllmle of (Inchetope.
802 The Mountain Dclcctlvc: or. The Trigger Bar Bully.
Bill Did Eellplc. 'l'ruuin Curd oi’ Ariaonu.
826 The Ten l’nrda: or. The 'l‘rrror oi Take-Notice.
836 “ll: Dem-on: or, The Que-cu nl lhc Loom.
845 l’itlle-AM )l at! t or, llcd Thuiidorholl’a Secret.
B56 I‘mil ham um! i’ard: or The Terrible Six.
866 Velvet Foot. the Indian Detective.
8R6 (‘aptuin (‘utlnanx nr, ’l he lll'ct'nncer’l Girl Foe.
896 Rough Rob: or, The l'win Champions of Blue Blitz“.
The. h‘llkcn Latino: or. The Rose of Ranch Robin.
4|” Felix Fox. the Boy Spotter.
425 Texan Trump. the ilordcr Rattler.
480 I'll“ Fill-h. the New York Fox.
445 The (‘yity Vampirca; or, Red Rolfe’s Pigeon.
46] One Again-t Fii‘t y; or, The Last Man of Keno Bar.
70 The Boy Shadow; or, Felix Fox’s Hunt.
477 The Excclaior Sport: or, The Washington Spotter.
499 Single flight. the (hm-EyedSpnrt.
502 Branded Den, the Night Ferret.
5l2 Dodger Dick. the “'hari-Spy Detective.
i Jodgcr Dick’a Beat Dodge.
5291 lF‘oa and Falcon, the Bowery. hadows.
ill ‘ _ Dick, the Dork Ferret.
548 B... I... Dick’a Double; or, The Rival Boy Wm
55 :u ‘c. Dick’a Deeps-rate Case.
56 um .. . Dick. the Boy Vidocq.
578 ' he‘Two Shadow;
5S2 Dodger Dick's Drop.
594 Little Lon, the Street-Singer Detective.
610 Old Skinner, the Gold Shark; or, Tony Sharp on Gland.

or
“ID

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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BY COLONEL I’RENTISS INGRAIIAM.

7 The Flying Yankee; or, The Ocenn Outcast.
17 Ralph Roy, the Buy liliu‘lillrel’; or. The Fugitive Yacht.
24 Diamond Dirk her, The .‘lyhit‘i’y oi‘thi- Yellowstone.
02 The fihadow h‘ Ip; or. The itivnl l.li‘|li\'llflllil.
75 The lioy Dnellat; or, The Cruise. oi' the Sun-Well.
l02 Dick Dead-E 'e, the ilny Sinuuuier.
Ill The Ben-Devil: or, The Miduhlpuiun’u Legacy.
116 The Ila-nor Curtain; or, 'I he lleimii oi llell (late.
19? Little Grit; or, leasie, the Siork-Tohdrr'a Daughter.
204 Gold l'illme; or, The Kid—Glove Sport.
2l6 Biaon Bill. the. Prince oi the Reina.
222 Grit. the Bravo Sport; or, The Woman Trailer.
229 (lrlmpon Rate or, The Cowboy’s Triumph.
287 Lone Star, the owboy Ca taiu.
245 Merle the Mlddy or,’ he Freelance Hair.
250 The Hidehiplnun - utlneert or. iiraudt, the Buccaneer.
264 'l he Floating Feather; or, Merle Monte’a Treasure

    
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
  

a and.
260 The Gold Shin; or, Merle, ibc Condemned.
276 lag-rip Monte-i Crulac; or, The Chane of “The Gold
a lit.
280 Merle Monte'arFate; or. Pearl, the l‘iraw‘s Bride.
284 The Sea Marauder; or, Merle Monte‘s Pledge.
2K? Dilly liluc-Eyea, the Boy Rover of ihe Rio Granule.
804'The Dead Shot Dandy or, Benito. the Boy Buglei'.
803 Reno 'Kiltx or. Dead Hhotl undy’s Double.
814 The] Mysterious Marauder; or, The Boy Bugler‘s Lon.
nu .

377 Bonodel, the Boy Rover; or, The Flagleu Schooner.

883 The Indian Pilot; or, The Search for Pirate island.

38? Warpath Will, the Boy Phantom.

895 Seawall; the Boy Lieutenant.

402 Inodor, the Young Connpiratort or, The Fatal Long“

407 The Boy Inaurgcnn or, The Cuban Vendetta.

412 The \Vild Yachtanian: or, The War-Cloud’s Cruise.

429 Duncan Dare, the Boy Refugee.

488 AiCabin Boy’s Lac-kl; or, The Cor-air.

48? The Sea Raider.

44] The, Ocean Firefly; or. A Mlddy’a Vengeance.

446 lluphaznrd "any; or, The Seapong of the Sea.

450 “'izard “'ill: or. The Boy Ferret ofNew York.

454 “’izard \Vill’u Street Scouts.

462 The Born Guide: or. The Sailor Boy Wanderer.

46B Neptune Ned, the Boy Coaster.

474 Flora; or, Wizard W'iil’e Vagabond Ford.

488 Ferrets Afloat; or. lenrd Will’s Last Case.

4’47 Nevada Ned. the Revolver Ranger.

495 Arizona Joe the Boy l’nvd ol'Teme Jack.

49? Buck Taylor, King oi tilts Cowboys.

508 The Royal Mlddyz or, The Shark and the See Cat.

507 The Hunted Midahlpman. '

51] The Outlawed Middy.

520 Duckakln Dill, the Comanche Shadow.

525 Brother: in Buckskin.

530 The Duckakin Bowers.

535 The But-«akin Rover».

540 Captain Ku—Klux, the Marauder oi the R10.

545 Lieutenant Leo, the Son of Lafitte.

550 Laiitte’a Legacy: or. The Avcnging Son.

555 The (‘rcoie Cori-air.

560 l’awnce “ill, the Prairie Shadower.

565 Kent Kingdon, the. Card King.

570 Camille, the Card Queen.

575 The Surgeon-Scout Detective.

580 The Outcaat Cadc ; or, The False Detective.

586 The Buckakin Avenger.

59] Dclmontc. the Young Sea-Rover.

59'? The Young Texan Detective.

602 The Vagabond oi'tlle Mince.

60? The Rover Detective: or. Keno Klt's Champions.

617 Rai in. thc Dead-Shot Scout; or, The Raiders and the
lied {lilefi oi the ltio.

DY BUFFALO BILL (llon. Wm. F. Cody).

3 Kant-an King: or, The Red Right Hand.
19 The Phantom Spy : or,The l’llot oi' the Prairie.
55 Deadly-Eye. the Unknown Scout.
63 “order Robin Hood 1 or, The Prairie Rover.
158 Fancy Frank of Colorado; or, The Tmpper'n Trust.

LATEST AND NEW ISSUES.

626 The Champion l’arda; or, The Lucifer ofSiiver Bar. By
T. C. Hnrbuugh.
627 Tom Draco. of Arkanaae; Or, The Wolrln the Fold. By _
Charles Morris. ,
628 Broadway Dilly’a Dcnd Act; or, The League of the-
Swnrn Seven. liy .l. C. Cowdrle .
629 Violet Vane. the Velvet Sport; or, The Jubilee. ofJncklAwn.
lly Wm. G. Patten.
680 Deadwood Dick. Jr. in No Man’s Land; or, Golconda,
the Gladiator. liy Ed. L. \Vlu'elcr.
681 Tom Cat'u Terrible Tank; or. The Cowboy Detective’o
Own case. By Lieut. A. K.‘Simu. Ready August ‘27.
662 The Dead Detective’e Double. By Gerald Carlton.
Rcud)‘ September 3.
8 Pl ck ' Paul the Boy Pros ertor: or The Deadwood Des-
68 pcrlildo’e’lmst lulilngs. By J. . Osbnn ’ Ready September 10.
4 Cache Carl the Chico Ginnt; or.The True Hearts of Red
68 Eyr- Roost. lb" Buckskin Sam. Ready September l7.
6 5 Oklahoma III the Blue Coat Scout; or The Boomers Last
8 Battle. By P. S.’Wnrne. Ready Septembel' 94.
A New Issue Every Tuesday.

The llaif- Dime Library is for sale by all newsdeelers, five
cents pa copy, or sent by mall on receipt of six onto each.

BEADLE AND AD‘AHS, Paw-hers,
98 William ltreet New Yul;