IT liTllflll II'

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\‘ .

k

 

 

 

I \ e N“

. \ \\ ~\\\\\ I ‘2-
  §‘ § 1.!
.  . §  g
5',   \\ . \ 17:: . .'_%
. \  \WWW WWW \\\\\N\\\X\\\\\\\\\\\ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\N  //\§
\\\\\‘ ___ AAQR-‘Lo ,\\ . w,  h-  \\‘ \
'IllIIIIHIHIIIIHIHIHIIIIHIHIHIHIHII ,J mm.“ ....~IIIHIH&\§§
022818115}886.juiym-EAND ADAM _ . Ami“ 

.5 1 ED WEEKL ' D E ‘ -
V01. XVHL $2 0 PUBIISH Y BY BEA L AND ADAMb, Pmce, NO. 457.

a Year- No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 Cents-

 

 

    
    

(lld Polar 80] Prime Northwest.

BY OLL COOMES,

AUTHOR OF “LITTLE BUCKSKIN,” “ BABY SAM,”

“HERCULES, THE DUMB DESTROYER,”
“WHIP KING JOE,” ETC., ETC.

 

CHAPTER I.
A WINTER NIGHT AT DEER LODGE.

FAR up in Northwestern Minnesota, on the
fshores of a little lake that had an outlet into the
Red River of the North, and surrounded by a
primeval forest of majestic pines, stood a com-
modious log cabin. For some years it had been
:the horpe of three hunters and trappers who
[were w1dely knqwn throughout that region by " ‘
the characteristlc names of Columbia Jim, 01d WINGEDEooT FRED, IN PURSUIT, CAUTIOUSLY SWUNG ALONG UP THE RIVER, HIS EYES

and Wingedfoot Fred. The latter was 3 AND EARS ON THE ALERT, AND ms FAITHFUL HOUND FOLLOWING AT HIS HEELS.

 

   
 

 

,I
z ,_,

 ':'  ,..-5
“act-w V”, w. “\

   

  
 

. . ~ 1‘ 

   

. a}?  (it
I

Win edfooti Fred

 

boy of eighteen, noted for his remarkable swift- 
ness of foot, and whose bursts of s wd had so
often excited the Wonder of the ndians that I
the were led to bestow upon him the name by .
which he soon became known to friend and foe
alike. Deer Lodge, as this cabin was called, was
sometimes the winter‘s rendezvous of hunters
and trappch from other points. It was the
stopping-place of the fur-trader and the voyage-1w
up and down the river. Its roof had sheltered
many a snanger and many a friendly Indian:
but whosoewr was the guest at Deer Lodge, he
alwayslcl't thire with a deep sense and due ap—
precmtion of the hospitality of the place.

It is mid-winter when we would conduct the 1
reader to Deer Lodge and introduce him to its {
occupants. A snow-storm is raging without.
The wind is roaring through the stormy sky and
the branches of the pines are moaning and
creaking in the blast; but within the cabin all
are warm and comfortable. A roaring fire is
burning on a wide hearth, diffusing its genial
light and heat into every corner of the room,
and before it are seated three of the present oc-
cupants of the place—all bearded and buckskin-
clad men, upon Whose faces there is an eager,
ex ctant look.

he eldest of the three was Columbia Jim, a
small, sinewy man, of perhaps fifty years. ,He
had keen gray eyes that, through force of built,
were ever on the move like the restless flashes of
an eagle. His face was covered with a short,
stubby beard plentifully sprinkled with gray.
He had a prominent nose. awide mouth and
thin lips. Around the latter ever lurked an ex-

ression indicative of a rollicking spirit and evi»
ence of the careless use of tobacco.

Old Dismal was next to Columbia Jim in
years. He wasa man of medium size, with a
round full face, a small hooked nose, and big,
staring eyes, all of which gave him an cxpres- l
sion suggestive of the wise solcmnlty of an owl.
It was his looks, and not his disposition—for he ;
was a man of a lively, jolly' spirit—that gave i
him his name.

The third person was a man whom we have
not Considered asone of the founders of Deer
Lodge. although he had been sojourning there
some six months, and had proven himself a skill-
full hunter. He had given his name as David
Holland when he first came to Deer Lodge, but
be had not been there a week beforeiie had been
dubbed Pilgrim Dave. He was a man of about
forty years With a tall, well—proportioned form.
a prepossessing face, with an open manly coun-
tenance, a pleasant brown eye with a somewhat
wearied expression. He wore a full, dark-brown
beard, but his hair he kept closely cropped. To
a casual observer it was plain enough that Pil-
grim Dave was not a born borderinan. in fact,
when he came to Deer Lodge, he admitted that
he had 'ust come from‘civilized life eagerto
throwo its cares and responsibilities and fol-
low the free and unrestrained calling of a hun-
ter. He admitted he had no claims upon any
one in the wide world, nor had any one any
claims upon him, and that, bein a free man, he
could come and go as he pleaser. The hunters
were so pleased with his eneral appearance
and the readiness with whic be adapted himse
to their life, that he was finally admitted into
full membershipvat Deer Lodge.

Wingedfoot red, the junior member, was
not present. About an hour before night, and
long before the storm began, the boy had gone
out in pursuit of a deer that he had seen his
hound coursin along the lake in the direction
of the river. is prolonged absence caused his
friends no little uneasiness. Old Dismal seemed
more restless than the others. and made fre uent 5,
trips to the door to listen, but each time no hing I
but the roar of the storm greeted his ear.

“ I tell you. folk 9,” he finally said, “ this is the l
wu’st storm l’ve see’d for fourteen years, and if i
Wingedfoot’s out in the woods he’ll have enough .
to do to find his way in.” i

“ Fred’s bump o’ navigation is splendidly ,
developed, Dismal,” answered Pilgr m Dave 3
“iagd ” I’m of the opinion he’ll get in all ;
r t.

g‘ Pilgrim,” said Dismal, “I war never be-
wildered but once in my life, and that war on a r
stormy night fourteen years ago, not over one
hundred miles from here, either. I’ll never for-

it that night, though 1 wish I could—not

a’se I come so nigh flperishin’,‘ for I didn‘t
come anywhere within ty degrees 0’ freezen, .
but beca 8e 0’ what happened that night.”

“ Well what did happen, Dismal?” questioned
I’ll m ave.

‘ I don’t like to even talk ’bout it, Pilgrim,”
the hunter went on; “in all the years Columbia
Jim and me’s banked togfither this ’s the fu’st
time I’ve ’luded to that nig t in his presence.”

 

 

' could head the buck ofl’.

 

“Well,” said Columbia Jim, “since you have
tetched on the subject, and stories 0’ storms ad—
ventures bein’ in order, s’pose you reel it off.”

“Boys, if you wait till Wingedfoot Fred gits

in, I‘ll a rree to tell the story, though, I must -

confess, never did think so much 0’ myself

i
i
i
I

  

slowly at first, but I kept gainin’ on it till I guess
I’m all right again, ’cept a broken rib or two
and a bu’sted brisket. But. folks, this stranger-
man is Mr. William Wyncoop, a fur-buyer from
St. Loo.”

“ Mr. lVyncoop.” said Columbia Jim. “ I’m

after that night’s work—I’ve alers felt that I : glad you happened along when ye did, and we’ll

didn’t do the square thing that time, or— Ahi
li‘rcd must be cumin"! I hear his hound at the
door!”

A loud scratching was heard at the door and
rising Old Dismal advanced and threw the door
open. As he did so a decrhound, his coat White
with snow—ilakvs, bounded into the room in evi-

l

dent excitement, carrying something in his;

jaws. His young master was nowhere within
hearing.

“ W'hat‘s that Bugle’s got in his mouth?” asked ,
Columbia Jim, advancing and bending over the ;

dog; “ by the burnin’ Inartyrs!”—he continued,
starting up, “ it's a knife .’ a buck-horn handle I”

“ It’s VVingedfoot‘s!” cried Old Dismal. “ and,
my God! the blade’s in 'l‘usted with fresh blood!
Men, the boy’s in trouble, if not dead!"

CHAPTER II.
OLD DISMAL’S STORY.

THE three hunters were startled and perplexed
by the bloody mes-age that Bugle, the bound,
had brought in. Columbia Jim took the blade
closoi' to the light and examined it. It was
VVingedfoot’s knife, that was certain, and it was
stained with fresh blcod. but whether the. life-
blood of the boy they knew not. At length Dis-
mal said in a grave tone:

“Men, we must "0 and look for the lad. May-
be the dog wilblead us back to his master, be he
livin’ or dead.”

"Without further words they put on their fur-
caps and coats, and arming thmnwh'cs with
knives and revolvers. pluan out into the night
and storm. Bugle leading tlio way. The animal
led them through the woods down to the lakclct,
and there across its frozen depths to the mouth
of the little creek that flowed thence to the
Red River. Here the dog stopped and acted
very much as though he had detected the. pres-
ence of something before him, then he shot away
down the creek, having the hunters standing
speechless with Surprise at his strange conduct.

Suddenly, howevor, their ears were greeted by
the. Sound of a voice. It came from the direc-

tion the do had gone, and could not be far
away. Old ismal called out:

“ Ho. therel who comes this way?”

Almost instantly the answer came back:

“ It’s me, Dismal, and a stranger.”

It was the voice of Wingedfoot. The three
hunters gave a shout of ]joy that was whisked
away on the wings of tie storm through the
Woods.

Two fl urcs approached them, and, as they-

did so, Co umbia Jim asked:

“ Wingedfoot, what’s the matter? What did
you mean by scudin’ cle Bugle to the cabin with
your bloody knife to frighten us outen our lives?
Are you hurt, boy i”

“I thought I was killed,” answered Fred; I

“ but I was worse scart than hurt.”

“What happened you, anyway?”

“Why, you remember I went out to he]
Bugle take in a deer?” Fred explained. “ We] ,
while they were coursing around throu h the
woods, I thought I’d gain a position w ere I
I’d scarcely done so
when the buck came snorting through the woods,
and came mortal nigh heading me off. I was
standing in his path, and before he could see me
or I could get out of his way, we collided. A
thousandth part of a seconl before he struck
me, I drove my knife to the guards in his neck.
That was the last thing I knew for as much as
an hour, I reckon. When I cameto it was dark
and stormin’. Bugle stood by lickin’ my hands
and face, and doin’ all he could for me. The
buck was Iayin’ across my feet, dead, and if it
hadn’t been for this I reckon I’d never found
out where I was. ’d been knocked senseless
and breathless; and I was certain both my legs
were broken, and made up my mind I’d die
there unless I had help. I bethought me of my
knife. I leaned over and found it stickin’ in the
buck’s neck. I drew it out, and puttin‘ it in
Bugle’s mouth, told him to go home with it,
thinkin’ you folks would come on seeing it. The
dog went off as if he didn’t like to leave me, and
I was afraid he would drop the knife, even if be

A should go back to the cabin. But, noble old

pup, he’s provcn true to his training. But soon
after he’d left I hardwootstem near, and, in
answer to my call. this ‘ stranger came and
nlled the buck of! me, and then I found my
egs weren’t broken. but only numb. However,
I soon got up a circulation and we struck out—

i

 

make it extremely pleasant for you in our
cabin. Come along, and let‘s git out 0’ this
pesky old storm.”

So saying, all started off and in a short time
they were out of the storm, under the root and
within the cheerful warmth of Deer lodge.

_William Wyncoop at once remole his cap
and greatlcoat and took a seat near the fire,
while VVingedfoot, assisted by Old Dismal look-
ed after his injuries. Wyncoog “as a man of
ilve—and-forty years of age. 9 vsas a large,
sloully built man with a beardcd face, steel-
gray eyes, and a large flat nose traced diagon-
ally by an ugly, rcd scar. He was well dressed
and, although his personal appearance was not
the most comnundable, his speech and gentle-
manly deportinent nude up for it. He was
quite communicative, and informed the hunters
that his home was in St. Imus, that he wasa
fur-trader, and was making the rounds of the
camps of all the l'untcis and trappcrs al( ng the

led River and adjacent lei-riti ry with a view
of purchasing their I‘cltrics. Having lost his
horse about fifty miles from there, and being
unable to replace it, he had been compelled to
travel on foot. ..

The Deer Lodge hunters informed him that
they still had in stock their fall and wmter’s
catch of beaver, otter, mink, wolf, deer and a
few panther and bear skins—in all, perhaps
three thousand dollars’ worth, and that they
were ready to sell at any time. The trader told
them that in the nrorningr he would look at their
stock which was carefully stored away in one of
the three rooms of the cabin.

In the mean time Old Dismal had overhauled
Wingedfoot for 1‘cpai1's,l:ut aside from a few
bruises he found no injuries. This discovery
worked like magic in on the vouth, who thought
several of his ribs “ere li'c 'cn for in a little
while he forgot his misery and was the liveliest
of the party.

As before stated, he was eighteen years of age,
rather tall and, although blender, he was as
well formed and supple in his movements as a
young panther. Every feature of his manly
face, his dark, hazel eyes, his m se, his mouth,
his ample brow—all were expressive of a noble
character, a. gentle heart, an indomitable will
and resolute (f1 mirage—possessions that made him
adevoted friend and lust lovable (ompanion.
And his remarkable cru'urancc and wonderful
swiftness of foot, his (I rrii g in setting a trap,
and his skill as a riflcn an. nude hima most suc-
cessful hunter and trapper.

A supper of roasted venison, broiled fish taken
that day from the lake, brcnd and hot coffee
was prepared by Columbia Jim for tlucir guest,
and after be bad paliakcn of tie rcpast. the
party seatmbthcnvselvcs before the fire when
all, except Wingcdfoot, brought out their pl 5
and tobacco fcr a general smoke. Colum via.
Jiin reminded Old Dim-a] that a story was
still duo from him and that the time had now
come for its telling.

" I’d hoped,” said Dismal, “that ou’d forgot
all ’hout that. but sce’n’ ou’re boun to have me
tell it, I’ll go in and be ( one with it. Now, as I
said before, it war fourteen years ago this win-
ter in Jinewary the thing occurred. I was on
my way across the country from Sauk Rapids
to Buzzard Bend, to take a hand with the fur
company that I hcard had located there. The
distance was a long one, but I felt as nimble
then as W'ingedfoot Fred. The ground Was
covered with a (lee snow. lint its (TUSt Would
bear up a boss. T e weather was fine when I
started. and continued so till I was Within fifty
miles 0’ my destination, when a Storm set in
'11st like this one. I wanted to make Goose’
Lake before stoppin’ for the night, but the
storm got so burl and the (Sight so dark, that I
act’ly got lost in the W 9.. But, final] , I
struck a little, frozen stream With high blu s on
one side and there I made up my mind to stop
for the night. live 0!‘ (“8- I found a 8 tin
under the bank clear of snow. and there light-
ed a fire. some drift brush and old, dead roots I
found there servm’ as fuel. I war well screened
from the storm, and {soon become so cheerful
that I out With ‘mv pipe and fell to smokin’.
But all once :1 card a faint cry. At fu’st
I though it war that o’ a painter. but I listened
till it was repeated ag’m and ag’in, and then I
made up In mind it war a human cry—that
mo, of a child. Lord! but didn’t I scatter out
o’ thar quick, though? Guided by the feeble

,4

.__._.._—.’ .. .‘m 4..-

.._-.s..— A- -m.-- .-

 

‘l‘

.. Lghk‘ffifi

 

' where I’d been tram in‘ all evenin’. but that was

'his feet, his whole frame trembling With excite-

     

..____. _ ._. A..__.~._v.m *,

and what do you think it was?”

“ A child, 1 s’posc,” guessed Columbia Jim.

“ Yes, sir, a child—a little girl, a—”

“A girl!" exclaimed Pilgrim Dave, with a
start, while ll illiaiii Wyneoop manifested even

eater surprise.

“ A little girl,” Dismal went on, “about three
or four years of age—a sweet little blue-eyed
an e], that war almost dead with Cold—”

‘ And you say that was about fourteen years
ago?” again interrupted Pilgrim Dave.

“ Fourteen years a o, Pilgrim, this J inewary,”
Dismal repeated. “ carried the child to camp,
warmed her back to life, wrapped my own blan-
ket around her frail little figure, and soon she l
seemed quite comfortable. I tried then to con— ‘
verse with her, but the little thing seemed too
dazed—inld with terror, and every time’d break
out a-c’ryin’. I tried every way in the world to ]
comfort her, but she refused to be comforted.
After awhile she fell asleep. I took her in my
arms and sat down, and as I gazed into her ,
sweet, baby-face, I was as near heaven as it is 1‘
possible for a sinner to be. Finally, I fell to 
thinkiii’ as to how the child had come there in j
the night and storm. I made up my mind some 1
man with his family must be livin’ somewbares I
about, and, while meditatin’ over the joyful sur- l

rise that would attend the child’s parents when i
should return it to them safe, my fire went
nighly' out. I laid the child down, carefully 3
covered her up, and then started out to hunt ‘

more fuel. The fire must be kept goin’.”

Here the old liuntci‘ paused,rlcancd forward ‘
and picking up a live coal from the hearth, !
(11‘ng it into the. bowl of his pipe, and began i

11 ng away liVer, in the mean time running !
is big eyes over his audience, who“ were all at-
tention.

“ As I said,” the old hunter resumed, “I sailed ‘
out to hunt up some fuel to keep a fire. I ;
couldn’t see my camp-firea hundred yards away,
so thick was the timber and dense the fallin’
snow. I gathered one arm-load 0’ wood, and
then Went back foranother. I was about a hun-
dred yards or so from camp when I thought I
heard another cry—just in what direction I
couldn't tell. But I listened, wonderin’ if war
to have ttliie care of another child on my h nds.
But I di n't hear the cry an more, and so I
groped about in the dark, am gatherin’ up my
second load 0’ wood, returned to camp; but God i
0’ Israel! what was my surprise and horror to
find that child gone!"

“ Oh, no!” cried Pilgrim Dave.

“ Yes, sir,” asserted Dismal, “she was gone,
and what’s more, I have never found out from
that day to this what became of her. If I’d re.
turned to cam ) when I first heard, or thought I
did, that cry. Ilmight ’a’ known, at least, whether
she wandered off or was carried away by man
or beast. But twenty minutes had passed be-
fore I got to the cam ), and in that time snow
enough had fallen to ill up all tracks. I took a
torch and began a search. There was a confu-
sion of little round holes in the snow around

all I could find. I s outed until I was hoarse.
Like a madman I glunged here and there through
the forest until was completely exhausted.
Sick at heart, I returned to camp, and settin’
down, I/read myself a hull, lo lecture on the
subject 0’ condemned idiocy. ys, I’ve never
entirely forgiven myself for that night 0’ blun-
derin‘ work. Now, that’s my story, and do you
wonder at my not wantiii’ to tell it?”

Pilgrim Dave, shading his eyes with his hand,
leaned forward and 5000]le a red coal with his

ipe; then, as be pressed it down into the bowl,
he asked with evident emotion:

“ Do you think, Dismal, the child went away
of its own accord?” '

“ I never thought she wandered ofl’ by herself.
The snow was too deep,” answered Dismal.

“ Then she was undoubted] dragged away by
a. bear or panther,” said yncoop from the
depths of his environing smoke:

‘ I don’t think so,” re lied Dismal. ’

“Did you search care ully under that bank to
see that there was no holes eading t0 the lair of
a wild beast?”

“ I searched ever foot of it. I believe now
that she was taken rom my camp by the person
or persons, be the red-skin or white, that had
left her in the t1 place to perish."

“Dismal!” exclaimed Pilgrim Dave, rising to

giant, his voiehi:1 husk
you sir, t t c d kidna
from he’r father l” W p
“ How d'ye know, m?” asked Dismal,
amazed at his friend's exc tomcat.
I " I knowfso by the dates you give of the aflair

with emotion, “let me
‘ pod—stolen

 

, suddenly come over him.

‘ fro across the floor a few times, finally opened

‘ besieging his very soul.

 

Win gedfoot Fred, _ 3

cries, I finally came to the object o’ my search,  —by the description of the little girl! Com-  "It was still storming without and (‘Vcl‘ and
' rades,” and the man’s words seemed to come 7 anon the crash of a falling limb near the cabin

from the depths of an agonized soul, “ that blue- l was heard mingled with the roar of the wind.
eyed, flaxen-haired girl was my child I” l Pilgrim Dave was the last to seek his couch
—— = and the first to rise in the morning, although all
CHAPTER III. I were astir before it was fairly day.
A MYSTERIOL'S DEATH. l The storm had now ceased, buiihiyed and rag~
PILGRIM DAVE’S friends were not only startled I ged cloud-hanks lying low along the horizon
by his declaration but, by the change that had so 1 threatened a renewal at almost any hour.

They sat gazing in  After breakfast the trader (xpre.~s«d hisin-
tentions of continuing his journey noon the
river as far as Blizzard‘s Bend. lic \\ us invited
to remain until the weather was nu re propi-
titous, but heconld not be pl‘t‘Vtiilmi up n to stay
even a day longer. and at last I". ingedloot Fred

 

speechless Silence at the man who, pacing in and

the door and looked out into the stormy night
taking advantage of the moment to brush the
tears from his eyes. When he turned back to
his friends, his face was white and wore the ex- . said:
press-ion of one battling with emotions of grief ‘ “ I’ve a notion to take Moscow and tie sledge
, and carry Mr. “'yncoo down as far as the
' mouth of the Manoniine YIIVH'. anyhow. That’s
not far from Buzzard Bend, and I can make the
l trip there and back before dark.”
Mescow was a large elk belonging to the hun-

“Then you had a child stolen from
grim 1” observed Old Dismal, at length,
deep with sympathy.

“ Yes,” replied Pilgrim, “my child was stolen a _
from her home at Bethe], a settlement some fifty I ters. It had been well trained to the harness,
miles below Sauk Rapids. fourteen years ago the ‘ and was used almost daily during the winter to
twelfth of this coming January. I always be— i a sledge.

l

on, Pil-
is veice

h
lieVed she, had been sto en, but my neighbors and The trader told the boy he would payliim well
friends thought she had wandered off into the for whatever distance he might see fit to carry
Woods and been destroyed by wild beasts. At him, but Fred refusing to accept any compensa-
the time there was no snow on the ground which lion, agreed to take him to the mouth of the
being frozen hard, left no marks. But well do I Manoniine forthe simple pleasure ot‘a sledge-ride
remember that four da'vs after her disappear- down the rivrr. \Vith this understanding, Mos-
ance there fell a very heavy snow—the same in cow was harnessed to the sledge and in a few
which you were lost, Dismal—that blotted out ‘ minutes l‘i'illiani ll'yncoop u as Icing whisked
every hope from my heart. Yes, your waif of away (1mm the river at aliver pace. seated be-
that night, Dismal. a: be 'Oiid doubt my child side Wingedfoot Fred whose happy face beamed
—-niy Edith. Her mother ad died in Detroit a with the exuberance of joy. The lad took his
year before and. I) re nest of in wife’s sister faithful friend, Bugle, with him, the dog being
residing at Bethe], todl" the chi] to her. The given a place in the sledge at the feet of his was-
blow drove the poor woman mad, and as it sev- ‘ to
ered from me the last tie of blood I had on earth,
so far as I knew, I began to rove about from
Maine woods to Oregon. That is why I‘m here
a hunter and trapper, though I have kept my
secret from you. Fourteen years! if Edith is . subject.
now livin r she is seVentcen ears of age. then b, ‘ The day wore slowly on ard as evening ap-
(lod only news, it might have been better or ‘ preached the sky became overcast. a cold, raw
her had she died that stormy night. I think wind arose from the north, and soon another
now that she must have been carried away by snow-storm was raging.
Indians that were prowling around the settle- ‘ “ The kid’s goin" to have a run h time o' it,
nients those days begging, though none had been , after all,” Old Dismal observed as e looked out
seen in our vicinity for a month prior to her dis— 1 at the falling snow.
appearance. But, comrades, I now have a mis— “Ay! but he’ll make it, Dis, responded Co-
sion before me, and that is to begin a search for ; lunibia, “ you could no more lose that boy than
my child ‘ just as soon as the winter breaks up, ' the way to your mouth when you’ve a fist-full 0’
though I have little ho es of ever finding her. juicy vcnismi.”
She may have perished t at same night you saw “ But It’s time be war back, isn’t it?”
her, Dismal, but I must satisfy myself further “ Hark! button yer lip!” suddenly admonished
by visiting every Indian camp and white settle- Columbia Jim, " I guess he’s come now.”
ment in the Northwest.” They listened and heard a Sound like that

“ And Pilgrim Dave,” exclaimed Wingedfoot peculiar bark of an elk, and hurried to the door ‘
Fred. who had all the while maintained a re; and opened it and looked out. They started
spectful silence, “allow me to enlist in your‘, with surprise and horror as they did so, for they
cause, for I believd I can be of service to you in' Saw their elk, Moscow, pass along by the door
the search for your daughter.” toward his stable drawing behind the sledge in

“ Noble-hearted Win edfoot!” exclaimed the which sat, or rather reclined, a single occupant
half-distracted man, “ could wish for no bet- in an unnatural position, silent and motionless.
ter, no braver companion than just yourself.” “ Soul of my body!” cried Old Dismal, “ what

“ Then it’s a bargain !” exclaimed Fred, en- has happened?”
thusmstically, “for I’ve always wanted to travel For a few moments the three hunters stood as
and see more of the Northwest.” if paralyzed, gazing upon the mute occupant of

“But men,” observed W'illiam Wyncoop, the sledge. His right arm hung over the side of
“ you must remember there are a great many the vehicle the hand dragging in the ow. His
hostile Indians in the Northwest—yen, even in face was upturned to the starry sky, his head
Minnesota—within fifty miles of here," uncovered and thrown back over the rear of the

f‘ If you dare venture there to buy furs we sledge-box. His hair was full of snow, and from
mlght go on a friendly mission,” Wingedfoot the back and under side of his head a crimson
Fred blurted out; “unless you stand in with the icicle hung almost to the mid.
red-skins." . Columbia Jim was the rst tonach the sledge.

This last remark was made in boyish thought- . He gazed down into the face of the silent driver.
lessness, but it was evident that it touchedthe ; He recognized it as the face of William Wyn-
trader’s sensitive nature for he gave a percepti- ‘ coop, the fur-trader. There was a bulletohole in
ble start and. removing his pipe. from between his forehead. He was stone (1
his lips, he said, in atone deftly tinged with sar-
casm:

“ My business as a trader reguires courtesy
and fair dealing on my part, an I expect the
same of those With whom I trade. If I enter a
Sioux camp with the laudable purpose of buy- LEAVING the three hunters of Deer
ing, the Indians know it, but it 1 go as a s )y, wrapt in mystery over the death of their late
with no obvious business, I beget mistrust. be ‘ guest, we will follow lVingedfoot Fred and his
red-skin is a shrewd fellow if he is a heathen. passenger down the Red River.

HOWever. Mr. Pilgrim Dave, I will, in my The speed with which they glided along the
travels amon the Indians, keep a sharp lookout smooth surface of the frozen river made the keen
and if I shou (1 find among them any white girl - air all the more cutting, but the boy and the
that I might mistrust of being your daughter, { trader being warmly clad and wrapped in robeS.
even a ca five, I will try and communicate ; thfiexmriencw no unpleasantness from cold.

With you 9. Deer Lodge.” | e wind sucking down the opening through

“ I will be grateful to you, Mr. Wyncoop, for i the woods made by the river kept the ice clear

yeour kindness,” Pilgrim ave said. “ You can I of snow except along the edges, so that in order
of great service to me in the way you sug— to give Moscow good footing, they were com-

gest Without interfering at all with your buSl- pelled to hug the shore closely.

ness.” Owing to the fact that Wyncoo kept his face

After discussing this sad topic at length, the closely muffled, the two con but little. . .
party finally made preparations to retire. In this way they sped along for hours. Milo

r.

That day the hunters remained clcse by their
fire in the cabin. Pilgrim Dave could think and
1 talk of nothing but his lost child despite the ef-
' forts of his companions to draw his mind off the

 

 

CHAPTER IV.
mun , THE FUGITIVE MAIDEN.

 

 
 

 

 

Wingedfoot Fred.

 

 

 

after mile glided behind them, and finally
Win edfoot observed: ,

“ should think we were cittin’ along pretty
near to Buzzard Bend. Mr. yncoop.”

“ Eight or ten miles yet, I should say,” replied
the trader, gruilly.

“We’ll soon reel that off,” said Fred, urging
on Moscow, who seemed to enjoy the exercise as
much as his young master.

Two or three miles more had been traversed
when they suddenly turned a slum» point of land
with such speed as to upset the : it‘tlju: and send
driver, passenger, dog and effects sprawling out
over the ice.

The elk stopped in obedience to the call of his
master, who rose to his feet, gleeful with laugh-
ter over their harmless mishap. But Wyncoop
did not regard it in the same spirit, and turned
upon the boy with words of angry reproof.

“ I beg your pardon, sir—indeed 1 do,” said

Wingedfoot, a logetically. “It was not done
intentionally, assure you, and I promise it shall
not occur again.”

“ Youn

man,” replied the trader sternly,
“ this is t e second time you have deliberate y
insulted me. Last night, in your own cabin,
you flung an impertinent insinuation at me
about standing in With the Indians.”

“I did not intend an insult,” answered Fred,
“ and am sorry I said what I did; but if it is
not so, I should see no reason why you should
be offended.”

“If you, a be , will attend to your own busi-
ness,” retorted t e trader seemin to grow more
irritable, “ and speak when spo en to, it will
save you a broken head some time. I shall
take no more of your impertinence.” ‘

“All right, Sir; you don’t have to,” replied
the boy, in a manly spirit. “ I have apologized
f ,r what you have seen fit to regard as insults,
but you appear to think a ho is entitled to no
respect, so I will take my 81 e and return to
Deer Lod e, and you can hoo it on to Buzzard
Bend the you can.”

The robes and Fred’s rifle were still 1 ing up-
on the ice, and as the outh turned an began
gathering them up, Vyncoo walked to the
sledge, and turning it right side, up leaped into
it, w ing:

“ ' oung man, I rather think I will ride, and
you ma do the hoofing in whatever direction
you pr er.”

Having thus delivered himself, he spoke to the
elk and it started off at a swinging trot.

Wingedfoot Fred was now thoroughly aroused
b the audacious meanness of the m-cn,whose true
c aracter was beginningto crop out. He called
aloud to the elk, which, true to its training, cir—
cled around and, despite the efforts of the trader,
trotted back to its master.

V‘Vyncoop was now in a rfect rage, and the
movements he made with is right hand under
the breast of his coat seemed, in connection
with the look upon his face. fraught with mur-
dcrous intent. But, whateVer thou ht was in
his mind it was suddenly arres when. in
turnin toward Wingedfoot, who stood a few

ces {in the rear of the sledge, he saw some-
?fiin sweep sudden] into vlew from around a
ban in the river be ow.

Bugle, the bound, had also made the same
discovery, and starting up with a loud growl,
called his master’s attention in that direction.

It did not require a second glance at the object
that had so suddenly attracted the do and
trader’s attention total] the young hunter hat it
was a light sledge, drawn by six or eight wolflsh-
looking dogs, approaching at a lively speed. It
contained but a single occupant who sat nestled
down in a bundle o robes and furs.

At sight of Wingedi’oot and the trader the
occupant of the dog-sledge seemed to become
greatly excited and at once called the animals to
a halt, but when this was effected the outfit was
not over three r away, and B lo sprung for-
ward as if eager seize the messed, sub-
servient curs and shake the life out of them.
But Fred ordered him back and advanced him-
self toward the sledge, an exclamation of sur-
' prise escaping his lipsas he did so. The occu-

pant of the sledge was a female—a young girl!
Wingedfoot was completely surprised and as
tonishod, not onl at meeting a woman there,
but at the remar able beauty of her youn face
and her wondrous dark eyes. She coul not
have bleen'gvetii fifteen togsgventeeih yearsté);
can evn en y.o ape: gum. erpre
:Ece was framed in by the borders of a spotless
white fur hood Her checks were the ruddy
low of health, and as .she raised her big lus-
zmlcyecandgazed upmtohis facewith shelf-
frlghtcnod. half-pleating? look, the be felt his
verylonl thrilled as touched by magic
wandof enchantment.

 

“Great goblins!” the boy exclaimed, not a
little embarrassed, “ I never expected to meet a
girl here. Who are you, anyhow?"

“I am Naida Quesne, and I do hope I have
met friends,” the maiden answered, in a sweet
voice, tremulous with doubt and fear.

‘ I’m your friend from the Word go,” Fred
answered, “I’m W'ingedfoot Fred, from Deer
Lod re.”

" re you, indeed?” the girl exclaimed, her
voice, and the expression of her eyes and face
se ming to undergo a change of .vleasant relief;
“eh, sir, I had just started to eer Lodge to
claim its protection.”

“ From whom?” asked the boy.

“ From those who would make my future life
a living dcath.”

As she answered thus a hoarse, sardonic laugh
burst from \Vyncoop’s lips. The man had been
listening to the boy and girl’s conversation, and
turning the elk he drove it alongside the dog-
sled e, saying:
tb“ ”rather think, Miss Naida, you’ll go no fur-

er.

A cry burst from Naida’s 1i 3 as her eyes fell
upon the face of Wyncoop, an lifting her hands
toward \Vingedfoot she cried, in an appealing
veice:

“ Oh, do not let him take me back to Buzzard
Bend!”

“ You know him then i” observed Fred.

“ Yes, he is Canada Carl—”

“That outlaw!” cried Wingedfoot; “villain!
wretchl get out of my sledge at once or I will—”

Here his words were cut short by the crack of
VVyncoop’s pistol fired intrblank at Fred’s
breast, and with a cry t 6 boy staggered back
and fell u n the ice, but in a moment he was
upon his eet again apparently unharmed.

The crack of the pistol had frightened the elk
and away it darted, with a snort! Canada
Car], as the girl had called Wyncoop, ulled
upon the line attached to its horns, whic act,
instead of stopping it, brought it around to the
left, obedient to its training; and just as the
villain’s face was turned toward him, Winged-
foot Fred raised his rifle and fired, and the out-
law fell back in the sled e. with a bullet-hole
throu h his head, while t e elk, panic-stricken,
dashet furiously away—refusing to obey the
calls of its youéig master longer.

After repeat efforts to sto it without avail,
Wingedfoot Fred turned bacl; to Naida, who,
white with terror, sat trembling in her sledge,
while her dogs sat or lay panting on the ice, in-
difl'erent to everything except the prescnce of
Bugle, who regarded them with lofty canine
contempt.

“There, Naida, I guess he’ll not threaten you
nor try to kill me soon, again,” the youth said,
betragiu some emotion.

“ O , ingedfoot!” cried the girl, “you must
be hurt.”

“I think not, though his bullet knocked me
over. My thick woolen clothin must have
stayed the ball. But, I’m surpri to hear that
his name is Canada Carl, though he’s acted mean
enough to be old Satan himself. He came to
Deer Lodge, last night, and said his name was
Wyncoop, and that he was buying fur. I was
takin’ him to Buzzard Bend, as an act of kind-
ness, but I happened to upset our sled e comin’
’round that int, when he got ma as fury
and we were avin’ it when you come in sight. ’

“I knew he was own, from the Bend,” said
Naida. “but I did not now he had gone to
Deer Lodge or I should not have started for
there.”

“ What kind of people live at Buzzard Bend,
anyhow?” Fred questioned.

‘Alasl sir, the are mostly bad
sorry to confess,’ she replied, wi
shame. “My father, or rather my step-father
Henri Arnaud, and three other men, located
there two years ago to follow the calling of hon-
est hunters and trappers. Six months later
came one Jean Dladocq that man, Canada
Carl, and four others—all bad men. Father
Amaud had left the St. Croix to escape the
presence of Jean Dladocq. For some reason or
other he holds a power over father that makes
him his slave almost. Mr. Arnaud married in
mother when I was a little girl, and he has a -
ways been a kind and loving father to me.
Since mother died, a few months ago, he is all
the friend I have had left. but Jean Dladocq
comes now and demands of father in hand in
marrla 6. He hates Dladocq as bi rly as I
do, but e was forced to give his consent, and
to-morrow night I was to have married him,
and as a last resource to escape his power I de-
termined to flee to Deer Lodge and ask the
rotection of the hunters there. As I have been

the habit of taking a daily ride with my

pic, I am
a sense of

 

dogs, an opportunity to escape was easily af-
forded.”

“ Well, it’s a good thing I upset our sledge, or
I might ’a’ run my head into a halter at Buz—
zard Bend,” Wingedfoot observed.

“ If you had ever set foot on Buzzard Bend,
ou would have been slain. There are now no
ess than thirty Indians camped there. brought
by Canada Carl for the purpose of murdering
and plunderin a number of hunters at. various
camps. Deer odge was to have been one of
them. Their object is to secure 'the stock ‘of
furs and peltries the hunters may have on hand.
There are two other men there inakin counter-
feit money, and, to still add to the wic edncss of
the place, a stranger arrived there a few days
ago who seems to be an old friend of Carl’s. I
heard them talkin one da about a man named
Holland, at Deer odge. he seemed to be in
doubt as to whether it was olland, and Carl
told him he would run down to the Lodge some
day and see; so I suppose he has been there for-
that )urpose.” .

“ e scoundrel!” exclaimed Wingedfoot, in-
dignantly. “ He came there meek as Moses
and we treated him like a rince, and he 
'a’ had a good laugh over is entertainment if
he’d just kept his cloven hoof out of my Sight 3
while longer. But, Miss Naida, you’ll be wel-
come at Deer Lodge. and I’ll be on] too happy
toconduct you— Ah! what now, ugle?” .

The hound had started with alarm, lookin
down the river, from which direction there su —
denl swept into view a figure wrap in a red
blan et, and with his long black hair flying in '
the wind.

“Now who’s that?” asked I’Vingedfoot, as be
capped the rifle lying in the hollow of his left
arm.

Naida glanced back over her shoulder, then
uttered a. little cry, saying:

“ It is Wolf Tooth—a desperate half breed In-
dian—the scout at Buzzard Bend! Be on our
guard, Win edfoot, for he is an ugly fe low.
He must be ollowing me.’ He is u on skates.”

“Steady there, Bugle!” comman ed Fred, for
he knew the dog was ever ready to fly at the
throat of an Indian.

Th. Indian came around the bend with such
speed that, by the time he came to a stand, he
was not over twenty feet from Wingedfoot and
the girl. .

He was a young savage, dressed in buckskin,
with the blanket around him belted to his waist.
His head was hatless and covered with a shock
of coarse black hair, cut short in front, but
hanging to his waist behind. His 1ip8.bemg too
short to cover his long, projecting upper teeth,

gave him more the appearance of 9. ast than
man. At his girdle he carried a knife and tom-
ahawk.

At first the save. e manifested some surprise
at sight of Wing foot, but the eXpressmn of
his face and the low of 1118 eyes. changed to
those of a wolf w en about to seize upon 113

re .

p “yHullo here, Wolf Tooth !’_’ exclaimed Win -
foot, with as much familiarity as though he ad
always known him, “out havin’ some fun
skatin’, are you?” '

“You ngedfoot!” replied the half-breed
in a queer tone, rendered so by the unnatural
formation of his mouth and a defective palate.

“That is the call I answer to, up the crick,”
replied Fred; “but which way are you bound,
woihfffif hl th t ' l”h l'ed

“eaeragir ere1_ .

“ Wolf Tooth, why liave yeti) followed me!” de-
manded Naida.

“ See whor you go to—but know nOWh-;you
come toor meet thar pale-face, Wingedfoot. .

“ Niki did, not; I was going to his cabin—to
D r e.

egflooh‘i” grunted the half-breed, with a most
atrocious look, “you’ll go—or back nowr to ther
Roost, me mistruS’; yoor runmn erway frumb
home.” ‘

“Nary step ’11 she
to!” declared Wing
manner. .

Without the least sign or warning, Wolf
Tooth darted like a hawk upon the boy, seizing
him by the throat. .30 710191113 was the collision
that both fell heawly upon the Ice. Bundled
u as he was, Wingedfootl had_ been taken at a
dlsadvanm 9. But, in his faithful hound he
had a m valiant friend, for, no sooner had .
the foe seized him than Bugle was at the half.
breed’s throat. Q

Over and over n the ice With cries, rowls,
ma gasps, the t rec tumbled and r0 led to-

th r.
geWilli Tooth very soon discovered that Wuiigg- V
edfoot was not b 3 worst enemy to vanq ,

back unless she wants
oot, in a most emphatic

. / ,
I r zidldh'i’fi; .k, 7.. “Law 

 

 

   
 

 

“a

— -—.....-.....§.J.... u".

it.

"x,
l
4!
l
i
p

 

Wingedfoot Ili‘redt

 

and wh6n he felt the teeth of the dog tearing in-
to the muscles of his neck and throat, he was
compelled to release the boy and fight the dog.

Thus relieved, VVingedfoot 'crawled out from

' under the combatants and turned to help Bugle.

But he saw the dog needed no help.

The half breed’s tongue was already protrud-
ing from his mouth. His eyes were bulging
from their sockets and bloody froth was upon
his lips. Once the doomed Wretch ceased almost
to stru gle, then, with a convulsive start, he
threw himself from side to side, flinging the dog
over and back—lashin'r the ice with his body
until it seemed every bone inside the animals
skin must be crushed. But in vain were his ef-
forts to shake off the bound; nor could his master
call him off, until the half—breed’s convulsions
had ceased in death! Even then, Wingedfoot
was compelled to choke the dog off, so frantic
had he become by the taste of human bleed.

During the whole of the conflict Win edfoot
had been too busily engaged to give Nah a even
a single look, but, when he had dragged Bugle
away from the lifeless half-breed, he danced
around him. To his utter surprise an bitter
disappointment he discovered that the girl was
gone! He glanced up the river and down, but
she was nowhere to be seen.

CHAPTER V.
ROMAN JACK—A STRANGE SOUND.

VVINGEDFOOT FRED was astounded and per-
plexed. He knew not whether the girl had fled
through fear of an unfavorable termination of
the conflict or to escape further delay in her
flight from Buzzard Bend.

But whatever motive had taken her away,
Fred never once doubted her having gone on up
the river, and at once prepared to follow. He
removed the skates from the feet of the half-
breed, whose body he then concealed under the
snow along the river-bank. This done, he
gathered up his robes and blankets and hid them
away then strapping the half breed’s skates
upon his own feet, he glided away up the river,
increasing his speed as he went, until it taxed
Bu le’s utmost exertions to keep in sight of him.

n, mile after mile—like a young Mercury in-
deed, he flew until he finally came to where the
river was for a short distance entirely covered
with a thin layer of snow. There he stopped to‘
look for the sledgetracks. He searched the ice
from shore to shore, but not a. mark of any kind
could he find except Where the elk-sledge had
gone down and back. Naida had not gene that
way at all! _ .

14 red was again disappointed but not discour-

aged. With his usual fine pluck and dogged

perseverance he turned and began retracing his

steps down the river. He soon reached the
scene of his late adventures, but sped on like the
wind. Two miles further on he glided past the
mouth of the Manomine River, and another
mile from there he stopped to look for tracks
where astri of snow reached entirely across
the river. here he found two sledge-tracks.
Both had been drawn by dogs. The tracks of
the animals shoch that they had gone in oppo-
site directions. But with this diSeovery he still
could not believe that Naida had from choice re-
turned to Buzzard Bend and its irils, but that
she had been dra ged back by he do ‘ whose
tracks showed t ey had traveled bac in the
wildest disorder.

Calling into action eve energy of mind and
body the determined boy -asmnod on down the
river still in hopes of overtaking her; but his
hope were in vain. Ile nevor got even a
glim )se of her or the sledge, although venturing
within sight of the cabins of Buzzard Bend.

Turnin about the boy began retracing his
steps up tie river at a leisurely pace. his mind
engaged with many conflicting thoughts. He
had by no means given Una“ {who of Naida’s
rescue from her perilous Situation. As be ap-

roached the mouth of the Manonnne it sudden-

y occurred to him that there wasa dug-out,
known as the Convict’s Came in the bluff over-
looking the confluence of that river with the
Red River. The place had an unsavory hismry
but this had been given it more through Indian
superstition than any single fact warranted.

Fred knew it would afford a fine place of
security and rest, no matter what its true his-
tory was. The boy had not a drop of supersti-
tious blood in lfim, and in hepes of yet being
abletoassist Naida in some way or other, he
concluded to seek the cave and remain there un-
til nightfall, at least. Nor would he have long
to remain for it was not long until night. ‘

Having thus made up his mind, the youth
finally turned from the Red River into the

 

men of the Manomine. Behind him, and

upon his right, lay interminable pine forests.
On his left, in the angle formed by the junc-
tion of the two streams, rose a steep bluff to
the hight of over two hundred feet. Its sum-
mit and the side next to the Red River were
covered with trees, but the almost perpendicu—
lar slope facing the Manomine was devoid of
all vegetation except some tall grass on the hill-
side and a fringe of bushes and vines along the
bank of the stream.

In this blufl’, about sixty rods from the larger
river, was Convict Cave, toward which Fred
was making his way when he suddenly discov-
ered a man comin down the river toward him
at a lively pace. e could see that the stranger
was upon skates—that he wore a fur ca and
short fur coat, and carried a rifle in his nds
before him.

W'ingedfoot stopped and awaited the man’s
approach, not knowin whether he was a friend
or foe. Bugle squatted on the ice by his master’s
side, licked his ugly chops and yawned as if im-
patient f or another fight.

Within forty woes of the young‘ hunter, the
stranger stopped, and, in a clear voice, called

“ Hullo, stranger, what’s the go with you and
your pup?”

“ \\ e‘re just tryin’ to figger out who and what
you are?” \Vingedfoot responded.

“Well, I’m Jack Towner, otherwise Roman
Jack, hunter and-N

“ And I’m Wingedfoot Fred, from Deer
Lodge,” broke in the youth, “ and glorious glad
to meet you Jack, old friend.”

The two at once advanced toward each other,
and soon their hands were clasped in happy
greeting.

Roman Jack was a young man of two-and-
twenty, with a tall, athletic form, a face with
features strongllyy characteristic of a man of
honor, pluck an courage. He had a magnifi-
cent dark brown eye, a rather prominent nose
of the Roman ty , a light-brown mustache,
and long flowing iair of the same color. He
was dressed in the winter garb of the hunter,
and carried a rifle in his hands, a knife and pair
of revolvers in his belt. Slung at his back
was a small liaversack in which he carried his
rations.

This young hunter’s quarters were more than
fifty mile-i ca.~:!,wnrd on the banks of the Mano-
mine. He mid \Vingcdfoot Fred were old ac-

uaintances, and the meeting of the hunters
t ere was one of great surprise. and ‘oy.

“ Dancin’ goblins!” exclaimed Fred, when they
met, “I never was so glad to meet any one in
my life, Roman Jack, you big buccanecrl”

‘. ‘ I ’spected toinect you soon, Fred,” responded
ack, ‘ but I never expected to meet you here
But how’ve you been, Fred? How’s Deer Lodge?
Old Dismal? Columbia Jim and the Pilgrim.Z
What are you doin’ up here at this time 0’
day?”

“ was jist makin’ for the Convict’s Cave to
spend the night.”

“ And I was just on my way to Deer Lodge to
visit you. I got behind on account of so much
snow on the river, inaliin’ skatin’ very heavy.
But if you‘re goni’ to stop at the dug-out I’ll stay
with you, to be sure. But is there any thing in
the w ind, Fred ?”

“Indeed there is, Jack; I’ve been having a big
run to-day, but let’s get into the cow and I’ll
tell you all about it.”

“All right, Fred, for its goin’ to be another
stomin night-it is beginnin’ to snow now.”

Together the two advanced up the Manomine
to the mouth of the old (in ,-out, whose entrance
was almost closed by t e snow—laden vines
that hung over it; but, bending low, they crept
into the retreat which they found dark as mid-
night. Roman Jack took a match from an inner
pocket and lighted it. Its light revealed a large,
spacious room, and also evidence of its haying
been occupied Within the (Past few days. There
were still the undisturbe ashes of their camp-
fire, and, what was most pleasing to the boys.
there was a goodly pile of dry fuel there that
had been left y the last ledger. So the work of
lighting a fire was but a few ininutes’ labor, and
when the gloom of the place had been dispelled
by the ruddy glow of the flame, the young hun-
ters seated themselves and entered into conver-
sation, Wingedfoot trusting their safety to the
watchfulness of -Bugle, who had stretched him-
self on the floor near the entrance with‘his nose
between his paws.

Wingedfoot at once entered intca detailed ac-
count of his adventures that day with Canada
Carl, Wolf Tooth. and the fair Naida. He also

described the state of affairs at Buzzard Bend,

as given him by the maiden and the respect for
some lively work in the near future. p

 

Roman Jack was astounded byall this, and
when Fred had finished he said:

“By smoke! it’s a googfthing I met you or I
might ’a’ lost my hair. ter seen I couldn’t
reach Deer Lodfie to-day, I concluded to stop
geranight with aida and her father at Buzzard

n .

“ Then you have met them?” observed Fred.

“They staid over night at our cabin on the
Manomine when they were on their way to the
Bend two years ago. We thought at the time
Henri Arnaud was a ve foolish man takin’ so
bright and charming a girl as his daughter into
the wilderness among Ingins and painters. But
I presume he was fleein’ there to escape the per-
secutions of that man, Dladoc .”

“ No doubt of it, Jack, and, by the holy gob-
lins, I’m oin’ to see that she gets to Deer Lodge
if she still, wishes to go there.”

“And I, \Vingedfoot, will stay right with
you,” declared Jack.

Thus the two conversed for a couple hours
when finally both arese and went out of the
cave. It was dark as Egypt and snowing thick
and fast.

“ Another wild night,” said Wingedfoot,
returning to the du but; “ I’m sor to see this
snow for it will ob iterate every (Shaw to Nai-
da’s— Great white spooks! what’s that?”

Something like a subdued wail smote 11
their ears and Bugle started up with a ow
grow] and stood crouched as if for a ring.

be next moment there came a dull crux out-
side the du -out as though an avalanche from
the hillside d landed upon the river. A cloud
of snow was puffed into the cave covering the
dog in white. Then again there came to the
ears of the young hunters terrible, subdued
groans as if of demons struggling in the throes
of death down under the frozen depths of the
voiceless Manomine.

CHAPTER VI.
POLAR SOL APPEARS ON THE SCENE.

WINGEDFOOT FRED and Roman Jack were
most thoroughly startled and confused by the
sounds that greeted their cars, and for a few
moments their minds were active in endeavors
to solve the mystery. They knew almOSt at a.
glance that the entrance to the cavern had been
blocked. and they had about come to the con-
clusion that their retreat had been besieged by
enemies when they discovered a pair of mocca-
sined feet and buckskin-clad legs protruding
from the snow-pile blocking the. entrance. That
the owner of these pedal extremities were alive
was evident from the lively way in which they
fairly fluttered in the air.

“dugedfoot Fred held back his dog, which
seemed frantic to get at the heels of the un-
known, with one hand, while with the other he
held his revolver waiting the appearance of the
rest of the “kicker” from the snow. But the
fellow seemed unable to extricate himself from
the file and finally Fred observed:

“ ack, that critter’s fast there, be he Ingin or
white man.”

“ S’ ose we snake him out by the heels?” sug-
gest Jack.

“ All right! Down now, Bugle, and be easya
moment.”

The obedient hound crouched down andthe
boys advanced and seizing the unknown’s heels
endeavored to pull him out of the snow into the
cave, but their efforts proved a failure. The
man, or savage, seemed weighted down or
wedged fast, but bracing themselves the boys
again made an heroic effort to land the un-
known. This time the body seemed to yield.
few inches. but a smothered groan followed. .

“ We fetched him a little that time,” remarked
Fred, “ or else we stretched his body out three
or four inches longer. But, let’s stretch him a
mile long or pull him out—now again! yo—heah 1”

For the third time they exerted their united
strength until the joints in the unknown’s legs
fairly cracked under the strain. But they had
the satisfaction of seeing the body being 11—
ally withdrawn from the snow, and, king
breath and a new hitch on the moccasined heels,
they hauled away until the hips, then the bod ,
then the shoulders of a man were pulled in
sight. They then supposed their labor would be
completed when a few more inches of man
shou dbe dragged out. but in this the seemed
mistaken, for what appeared to be the end was
followed by a continuation of the same or an-
other body. .However, the boys hauled away.
Six, seven eight, and even more than ten feetd
man was dragged out like a snake from a hole,
and yet the further end was not viable.

“Ghost of old Goliah!” exclaimed Winged-
foot, in surprise. “What on earth have V.

struck, old par-d?”

 

 

  

§

\
\_

Wingedfoot Fred.

 

 

But before Roman Jack could answer, the
Snow-clad man-serpent warped up near the mid-
dle, broke in twain, and resolved itself into two
distinct and different looking individuals—a
white man and a savage warrior!

The young hunters stood aghast—silent,
speechless. 'lhat the red~skin and white man
were enemies—that they had been locked to-
gether in a dreadful death-struggle, was quite
evident.

The combatants seemed blinded by the light
into which they had been so unexpectedly con-
ducted, and stood glaring around them with a.
look of surprise and real horror upon their faces.

With the exception of Bugle, who kept up a
continuous growl, a (leadsilence was maintained
b all for full a minute, when, owing to the

 

b ocked cavern filling with smoke almost to suf-
fOcation, the white combatant was forced to
sneeze. The violent fling of the head shook the
snow from his hair and heard, and then, as Fred i
caught a glimpse of his face, a light of recogni-
tion beamed in his eyes, and he exclaimed:

“ If it isn’t ( )ld Polar Sol, may I be blessed!”

“ An’ [’11 be etarnally )etrified. if you ain’t
Wingedfoot Fred. the Boy Mercury o’ the
Woods—the pistol-artist!” exclaimed the white
man. “I’m numerous glad to meet you. boy,
and jist as soon as I pnlvcrize that p’izcn imp o’
a savage I’ll wobble. your paw.”

This friendly recognition of the whites excit-
ed the fears of the savage, and he stepped back,
endeaVoring to back out of the cave; but he
soon found that egress was cut off by the snow
blockade, but, game even in the face of odds, he
whipped out his knife and steed ready to de-
fend himself to the last.

“ Red-skin,” said Polar Sol, “ you picturesque
varlet, you’d as well ground your arms and
surrender, as becomes a great warrior, and not

0 babboonin’ with death. Perha )s you don’t

now that I’m Old Polar Sol, the ‘old Wave 0’
the Nor’west, and that by my side stands VVing-
edfoot Fred, a pistol-artist—one o’ the Old Mas-
ters—who slings the paints o’ dcestrnction with
the lavish hand 0’ a cyclone. No, smoky—rind;
you’re in no shape to buck the Cold Wave and
the young artist from Deer Lodge.”

If all this had any effect upon the savage, he
did not let it be known by 'a single outward
sign. He stood as immovable as a statue of

 

stone, with every muscle apparently strung to ,
utmost tension.

Old Polar and his friends saw that the red- ,
skin was a desperate and powerful fellow, and ‘
that he did not intend to yield without a strug— ,

le. Fred and Roman Jack each held a pistol ‘

n his hand, but both knew that they were held .'

within the scope of the savage’s vision.

Seeing the Indian was not disposed to precipi— ,
tate a conflict, Old Polar again said:

“ Old Rusty Skin, which shall it be, fight or
flight? This thing’s got to come to a focus, in
a bar now.”

Whi e thus speaking, the form-of the red-skin I
was seen to settle down like that of a tiger, and .
then as soon as the hunter had uttered the last
wor , with the quickness of a. cat he shot for-
ward toward Polar with a fierce cry. But in mak-
ing the leap, his head had struck against the low
roof of the cave with such violence that he was
hurled back prostrate u on the ground, and be-
fore he could regain his eet Old Polar gave him
a. kick in the stomach that curled him 11 ) breath—
less upon the earth. Then he was quic ly over-

ered and bound hand and foot.
, “ Now, \Vingedfoof, my boy, give me a quake
0’ your paw.” said Old Polar, “ for I’m sur-
donic glad to meet you.”

“ And the same to you, Polar,” responded
Wingedfoot, “ and here is my young friend, Ro—
man Jack.”

“ Roman Jack.” said the old man taking
Towncr's hand, “ I’m frantic glad to make your
’quaintance and wobble your w, for I know
by the light 0’ your eyes, and t 16 gracot'ul curve
0 your rose that you are a hull Roman holiday
on a fight.”

Roman Jack now had a square look at Polar
Sol, 9. man of whom he had often heard. He
must have been fifty odd years of age. of me-
dium hight, rather lean and angular, with keen
dark blue eyes and a long, sharp aquiline nose,
His head and neck were covered with a short
grizzly hair. He wore his beard cut short except
under his chin where it hung down like the
heard of a goat.

“ You’re not at all sparin’ of your praises, Polar
Sol,” res )nded Roman Jack, “however much_
orlittle deserve them. But I am sure Polar
Sol has met with a lively adventure to-night.”

“Wal, I’d ruther say I’d had a fit 0’ fun at

 

any rate; and that smart. red varlet there re-
alizes now, I suppose, that the Cold Wave

struck him in his summer uarters. A red-skin
that can’t read the almanic of the sky, and dis-
tinguish atwixt a local blizzard and a Cold
Wave from the Nor’west is a poor, benighted
varlet, indeed.”

“ But it seems to me the Injin was holdin’ the
Cold wave a pretty stiff tug,” remarked Ro—
man Jack with a. smile.

“ Mebbe it seems so, but he’ll never buck up to
another Nor’wester, the bold heathen.”

“But I’d like to know how the Cold Wave
and the heathen bold come to be wallowin’
’round in the snow together,” said Fred.

“ It comes 0’ the redskin's curiosity,” answer-
ed Polar. “ I swept down from the boreal caves
to,reconnoiter Buzzard Bend,about which there’s
some ugly suspicions bein’ raised on ’count 0’ a

gang 0’ Injins hangin’ ’round there known to be »

at war with everybody but outlaws. Wal, I
made the reconnoissance, and as night was com-
in’ on I pulled out for tins cave to bunk till
mornin’. As I had to come over the hills
through the “'OmlS to elude a party 0’ excited
Buzzard-Benders on the riVer opposite the
cabins. it made me late, and as I was comin’
down the bluil‘ above this cave, I come 11 ker-
bump gainst that red-skin in the dar and
storm. I s‘pose he’d got sight 0’ meand thought
he’d take me in and endeaVorcd to head me off.
We grappled each other and over we tumbled
in thc‘snow, and down the slope we rattled like
two horned elks. All the snow on the hillside
seemed to let loose and come With us to see the
fun, and ’bont the next thing I knew was of
somethin’ pullin’ at my heels. At fu’st I thought
it war a bear, and wished I war at the other
end 0’ the snow-pile. But the Ingin held on to
my mane and so I grupped away on his till we
war landed”;

All efforts at conversation with the Indian
proved unsuccessful. Either he could not or
would not understand a word of English, and
even when Old Polar addressed him in his own
dialect, he maintained a defiant and stolid
silence.

Seating themselves, finally, the three discuss-
ed the situation. ngedfoot Fred narrated his
adventures with William ‘ yncoo , the meeting
with Naida, the coming of l olf ooth, and the
flight of the girl While engaged in conflict with
the half-breed.

“And you say you don’t know what become
0’ the gal?” Old Polar remarked.

“ I only know that she turned back down the
river, and I supposed went back to the cabins at
the Bend.”

“ Sword 0’ Old Gideon!” exclaimed Polar Sol,
“I’ll bet a Greenland iceberg she never went
back to the Roost o’ Buzzard Bend. and I’ll tell.
you why: as I war comin’ down the river, ’bOut

1 five miles beyond the Bend, 1 had just turned

aside into the mouth o’a little crick, when a

. dog-sledge went whiskin’Jiast up the river like

the wind. Before I coul git hack to the river
and git a fair view ‘0’ the outfit it was gone
from sight. The occupant was all bundled up
and cuddled down in the sledge, so I couldn’t
tell whether ’twas a gal or boy, but I judged by
the white hood it war a gal.”

“That was Naidal” exclaimed Fred, “but,
where in the name of mercy can she be going, in
the face of the storm?”

“The Lord only knows!” answered Polar;
“but, at the time, I naterally Slll‘lll096d that
whoever it was knowed their own business; and
as I hadn’t any chanle to meddle, I give the
matter no more concern. But if it’s your gal,
Naida. I tremble for the poor thing. The near-
est p’int where she could strike shelter is twenty
or twenty-five miles down the river at Father
Lille’s ea in, or the camp 0’ the French-Cana-
dian squatters.”

“She cannot, or may not reach there to—
night. in the face of this storm,” declared
Roman Jack.

“If she doesn’t, then she will surely perish,”
added Old Polar.

“ Friends !” cried Wingedfoot Fred, springing
to his feet, “if that girl perishcs in this storm, I
too will perish in searching for her.”

“ Fred. you’re not goin’ out to-night?” ,

“ I’m going to start at once.” Fred declared.

“ Then you don’t go alone,” averred Roman
Jack. “ for I am goin’ with you 1”

“And, by the sword o’ Gideon!” exclaimed
Old Polar, ‘if that’s your go, the Cold Wave 0’
the N or’west will blow along with you.”

CHAPTER VII.
FATHER LILLE.
TWENTY-FIVE miles down the Red River was
a little settlement known as Frenchtown. It
was settled up wholly by French-Canadians,
who had squatted there in the wilderness to eke

 

 

 

 

out a scanty livelihood by hunting, fishing and
the cultivation of a few rods of ground in wheat
and garden vegetables. As most of the men
Were too lazy and _shiftless to do much hunting
and tra ping, the burden of supportin thefami-
lies to] upon the women an chil ren. For
some reason or other, they had never been me-
lested by hostile Indians, but this was probably
attributed to the influence of one Father Lille, a.

Jesuit missionary, who had converted to the /

faith of Loyola most of the squatters and many
of the nearest Indians.

Father Lille’s cabin was situated 11 on the
bank of the river about two miles from reach-
town, amid a dense owth of stately pines. It
was a lar e, comm ions building with two bed-

, rooms, a 'itchen and sitting~room.

For more than sixteen years had Father Lille
resided there, undergoing all the hardshi s, pri-
vations and dangers to which any man la oring‘
for the good of men’s souls had ever been sub.
jected in the wilderness of the Northwest. He
was beloved by all who knew the gentleness of
his nature and the kindness of his heart. His
door was always open to white man or red with-
out question, and his hospitality had become
proverbial throughout that region. '

It is upon the same night that we left the
three hunters at Convict Cave that we would
int oduce Father Lille and his household to the
reader.

It was storminrr without, but before ,an open
fireplace wherein nn'ncd a glowing fire sat the
priest and his two female companions.

Father Lille was a man of sixty years of age,
with a. large and powerful frame that bore
lightly the weight of so many years of incessant
toil. His face was smoothly shaven, bearing
the marks of time, but with the expression of a.
kindly nature.

The eldest of the two females was a negress,
the missionary’s housekeeper. She was a Woman
of fifty or more years, a fat and good-natured
soul, partaking greatly of her master’s kindness
of heart and religious fervor. ,

The third person was a young girl of perhaps
seventeen years, the adopted daughter of Father
Lille. She was a perfect type of womanhood
and intellectual grace. She had a sweet and
lovable face and eyes that were most wondrous
in their expression .

Seated in a comfortable arm-chair. Father
Lille was reading to his companions. Finally he
laid the book aside and entered into a discussion
of the subject of which he hadbeen reading with
his daughter Ruth. From this subject they
drifted into that of the weather.

“ I pray no one is abroad to-night,” observed
Father Lille, “ or they will surely rish.”

“This storm, father,” said But , “ will pre-

vent your going to Buzzard Bend to perform '

that' marriage ceremony there to-morrow
night.”

“When that man was here to engage me to
selcmnize the marriage, I made provisions for
stormy weather,” replied the missionar ; “ and
it now looks as though I Was Wise 1n oing so,
that there may be no disappomtment if I do not

“But, br .s do good master,” . oke u Old
Zoe, the iicg'css, “.blltz dc missusng de house
will be dis’p’inted if she hab hull boat ob nice
flummigigs cooked for de n cddin’ supper.”

“The ceokcry’ll keep, Zoe,” replied the mis-
sionary, “ this weather, perhaps better than the
patience of the bride and—”

“Bress de soul ob my body!” suddenly ex-
claimed the negress, as there came a rap upon
the door.

Notalittle surprised, Father Lille advanced
and opened the door. The light streaming out
revealedto him the presence of a man clad in
fur coat and cap covered with snow.

“ Gmxl-evening, sir,” the stranger quickly
said: “is this the cabin of Father Lille?”

“ It is, stranger; walk in out of the storm and
consider yourself housed for the night,” said the
kind-hearted priest.

“I am only too glad to accept your hospi-
tality,” replied the stranger, “ more particularly
since your cabin has been my destination for
many days.”

The man entered the house as he thus spoke.
The missionary assisted him to remove his over—
coat and cap and seated him before the fire.

The now-comer was a man -of about forty
years of age, With a.slender figure and a. pale,
sickly-looking face pinched with cold. He was
a total Strange-1‘ 1’0 the missionary and his
family but the good best soon made him feel
as much at ease as though he were an old ac-
quaintance. _

The unkn0wn. seated before the fire, stretched
out his thin, bony fingers that were half-cramped

   

.i,

'. ax

.....fl..._._.;.-._.. ... . --.. __.‘_.._v..-.
:

 

" “Tammany”..-

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

.
,. .
Viv
,.

\ r \

Wingedfoot Fred. _

 
   
 

 

 

 

 

seated there awhile he was sciZed with a fit of
coughing that seemed to give him some distress.

6‘ Sir:
coughing, “ you are not a very robust man to be
cut on such anight. You seem to have some
pulmonar trouble.”

“ Indee , sir.” rcplied the man, in a husky
voice, “ scarcely this winter is between me and
the grave.”

“ Then why have you exposed yourself on this
dreadful night?”

“Dut ,sir—duty of conscience, duty to my
soul an to others sent me out,” declared the
Wayfarer.

“ And whither are you bound ?”

“ I’m at my journey’s end.”

“ Ah, indeed," replied the priest somewhat
puzzled by the stranger’s evasive talk.

Presently Ruth brought the man a cup of hot
coffee which she bade him drink to stay his
strength until Zoe could prepare him something
to eat.

“ hank you, miss,” the stranger said; “but
alas! that I should ever live to accept a kind-
ness from your fair hands."

“ And why not, pray l” Father Lille asked, as

{nth retired blushing under the stranger’s com-
plivnents.

The man, however, (lid not appear to hear his
question and began sipping tho coilcc. When he
had finally emptied the cup, he turned to Lille
and said:

“ Whenever you have time to hear me, I should
like a private talk with you. It is for that pur-
pose I have come hundreds of miles.”

“ Indeed?” exclaimed the priest; “ but your
supper is now ready, and after you have eaten I
w." ll be at your service.”

The man was conducted into the kitchen and
sea ted at the table. old Zoe attending him. _

Returning ‘ to Ruth in the sitting-room and
closing the kitchen door, the priest said:

“ I do wonder what that man can have to
sav?”

“I do not know,” replied Ruth, “but his re-
mark tome I thought sounded a little strangely.”

“ So it struck me, daughter, and instantly my
mind reverted to a wintry night ears ago when
you first became an inmate of t is cabin. But
then the man’s remark may have no particular
mcnning—he may only be some penitrnt driven

by remorse of conscience to seek spiritual conso- ;

lation at the last hour. However, we’ll soon
know what his mission is~~ Ah! another knock
‘at the doci'l—another penian perhaps!”

True enough. the conversation of the
and his daughter had been interrupted by a
soft rap upon the door, and rising he advanced
and opened it. And an exclamation burst from
his lips as he did so, for he beheld a female form
clad n furs standing before him!

“ Are you Father Lille?” she asked, in a sweet
girlish tone. before the priest could s cak.

. “ Yes, my child, I am Father Li lo,” the as-

tonished missionary replied.

“And can I get lodging hcre, to—night?” was
again asked.

“Come in. my child, come in,” said Lille,
“ and tell me, in the name of heaven, who you
are and whence caine you this stormy night?’

The girl tripped into the warm room and as I

Father‘Lille closed the door she lifted her eyes
to his and said, in humble modesty:

“My name is Naida Qucsne. I came from ‘
I am a fugitive from thcre, and i
, , , | “ No, sir," Naida replied with n sndncss in her ~
“M cbud,”saidthe missmnary, “youantonnd '

Buizard Bend.
seek safety under your roof.”

me. on. Naida Quesne! and to—morrow night
I was to have been at Buzzard Bund to join you
in wedlock with Jean Dlhdom}, My Child, Why
are you here? why a fugitive rom home?”

“ Because I will be. the bride of death before I
will ever be the bride of Jean Dladocq 1”

CHAI’TER VIII.
'rmn IM’ALin’s cowssssion’.

RUTH assisted the fugitive maiden to remove
her wraps, and when the figure and face of the
girl had been thus relieved, the priest and his
daughter were amazcd at her lwauty.

“Surely, my sweet sister.” said Ruth, “you
have not traveled all the way from Buzzard
Band on tom: and alone?”

“ I came alone. but m . t of the wa in a dog-
sledge,” Naida answcrglg; “though

with cold to warm them: and after he had been .

said Lille, after the man had ceased .

priest I

 

' “I can stand much cold,” Naida said; “ I am
l used to it; but in the first place I started up the
river in hopes of seeking refuge at Deer Lodge,
the home of four hunters and trappers. Shortly
after starting I met one of the four, a young
man named \Vingedt‘oot Fred, who was
bringing home one of our men who had
been to Decr Lodge. The youth and
the man were having some trouble
when I first met them. The man, who was
Canada Car], ordcrcd me back home, when
words ensued between him and Wingedfoot
which resulted in the cxchangc of shots and the
death no doubt of Canada Carl. He was in the
boy‘s elk-sledge at the time, and the elk becom-
ing alarmed, dashed away up the river with his
body. A few moments later, who should come
in pursuit of me than Wolt‘ Tooth, a cunning
hall-breed Indian. He and IVingcdfoot got into
an altercation, and during the struggle my dogs
became panic-stricken, and turning, fled down
the river toward home with me. But I managed
to get them under control when nearly opposite
the cabins of the Bend, and. as no one was in
sight, I made up my mind to keep on down the
river and seek refuge at your cabin. I have
heard so much of your kindncss to strangers,
that I felt sure you Would not send me back to
Buzzard Bend. I cannot marry J can Dladm-q—
I do not love him.
tween death without him and life With him, I
prefer death a hundred times.”

“My poor child!” said the gocd missionary
Consolingly, “ rcst your young soul in peacc: no

I
l

 

' act of mine shall cvor bring sorrow and unhap- ,

l pincss upon your head l” A
i “ Your father must be crucl. Nadia,” said
‘ Ruth, “if he would have you marry a man you
, abhor.”
i “Henri Arnaud is only my stop-father,”re—
E plied Naida, “ and yet he has been a kind and
l noble father to me in ever respect except in
this matter. And even hodislikes Dladocq. We
fled from the St. ()roix country to Buzzard Bend
to elude him, but he found out our whereabouts
I and followed us. He holds father Arnaud in his
flower in some way, and it is through this power
edemands me in marriage. Since Dladocq’s
coming there, other bad men like Canada Curl
I and his followers have tnkcn up thcir quarters
l there in spite of the protests of those who would
' lead an honorable lifc. Quite lately another
man came thcre and brought with iim from
: over in Dakota no less than forty bloodthirsty
l Indians. Their object I know is plunder. Can—
ada Carl was sent to Deer Lodge as a spy to
ascertain the amount of furs the hunters there
, had on hand, as wcll as to learn somcthing of one
, of the hunters. In gcing to Dccr Lodge I ex-
1  to put the hunters there on their guard
l as Well as escape from Dladocq‘s power.”
I “ When was this murderous work to be done?”
I asked Father Lille. ,

“Just as 80011 as the .rivcr broke up so that
they could raft their plunder down the stream
to some point of safety,” replied Naida.

“ Truly, my child, these are Serious charges to
prefer against the ieople at Buzzard Bend.” the
; missionary said; ‘ but there are some things
l come to my own personal knowledge of the situ-
l ation of affairs there that have aroused some
suspicion, and I understand that even now a
noted hunter, named Polar So], is investigating
3 affairs about Buzzard Bcud. But as to Winged-
foot Fred: then you do not know whether he was
slain or not?”

 

tone, “but I have been afraid all the time that

warrior.” .
At this juncture the first callcrmamc in from

the kitchen and closed the door.

caller, though he. said nothing of her being: a tu-
gitive, nor of the secrets of Buzzard Bcnd, and
as soon as possible changed the subject by
sayin :

“And now, my dear sir, I have not been hasty
about inquiring your name, and yet would be
pleased to know whom I have the pleasure of
entertaining.” .

' “ y name, Aaron Deane; and my home is in
Michigan,” the man said, “and seeing we are
'now alone, I desire to unhurden my soul to you

was com- l and prevent, if possible, a further wrong to an

lied to abandon the sledge and turn the dogs [ innocent being.” -

over a mile from here, so tired and cross 3

and unruly did they become. _
a glimpse of your light and soon made the dis-
‘ tance here on foot.” ~
. “ It is a wonder,‘€iv child. you ever reached
here alive,” Father , ille said in surprise and as-
tonishment. '.

WQI‘g, for Doane’s voice was feeble.

He. is a wicked man, and be- 

he was slain, for “'olf Tooth was a powerful

his supper when Ruth taking Naida retired to .

The missionary told the stranger of his second i

“Go on, Mr. Donne.” said Lille, seating him- ‘
But I had caught i self near the man so that he couldcutch every

\

“To be sure,” he answered, “she is my
adopted child; but why do on speak of that?
What do you know of my amily—my daugh-
ter?

" That‘s what I have come here to speak
about.” Doane responded; “for, fourteen years
ago, I left the little child at your door that has
grown into a lovely and noble woman.”

“Then you are the father of my daughter,
Ruth?” exclaimed the riest.

“ Listen, Father Lil e, and I will tell the whole
sto . Sonic months ago my physician informed
me could live but a year at most. This infor-
mation began to prey upon my conscilnce.
hadn’t led the most exemplary life, though I had
been guilty of but one mean crime. This I saw
an opportunity of atoning for to a certain ex—
tent, and that’s what brought me here.

“Twenty years ago, when quite young, I
was a wild and reckless youth. In one Harold
Walsingham I had a boon companion. He was
a little older than I, and, I should say, a little
meancr. His mother was an Italian, and he
seemed to inherit from her all the secret and
deadly vindictivencss so characteristic of that
race. He was a large, handsome fellow, who
boasted of his conquests in female society. Fi-
nally he Lecanrc acquainted with a Miss Edith
Mnrch. With whom he fell desperately in love.
Miss Murch “as a ircst cxccllcnt and accom~
plishcd young lady, “orthy of the best man on
earth. In (.nc David Holland my i'riendWal-
i singham had a rival. Holland wasa pcor but
: noble young man, of pine, upright character.
liloi-eovcr, he was a first cousin oi: Walsincham.

 

l
1 In the contest for Miss Murch‘s hand David Hol-
: land won. The best of feeling had never exist—
? cd between the cousins, and now the breach was
made wider. All the. rcvengcful spirit of W'al—
singham “as aroused, and he swore that he
would ruin and wrcck the lives of Folland and
his wife. In this I and one Alfred Phillis were
his aidcrs and abettors.

“ Well, two years went by.
hounded the young couple persistently, watch-
ing for an o iportunity to strike. But before he
had accom.» ishcd anything, Edith Murch-Hol—
land died, caving a child—a daughter of one
year. Holland at once placed this- child in the
care of a married sister living at a settlement
on the Mississippi River in Eastern Minnesota.

“After the dcath of Edith it semis Walsing—
hnm’s spirit of revenge burned as fierce as ever,
and he at once fixed his designs on the child in
hopes of adding ancw to Holland’s sorrow. It
ran along two‘ycars when Alf Phillis and I
succeeded in kidnapping the child (ne winter
evening and carried her ofi’. You know the
rcst, Father Lille. That child was left one win-
tcr' night at your door. with a note pinned u on
her cloak saying that the child’s own fat er
left it there, and commended it to your kind-
ness and mercy. This falsehood was resorted
to that you might make no inquiry, in d in
hopes her whereabouts would remain a secret.”

“ My God! then this is the life history of the
little storm-waif—of my Ruth!” exclaimed the
missionary, excitedly. “Oh! the shameless
crimes! the wickedness of this world!— But

rdcn me. Doc me, what of the wronged fatht r,

avid Holland?”

“ “'cll, he scarchcd and searched for the-
child, aidcd by scores of incn, but the search
was finally givcn up. all bclicvin the child l'ad
wandcrcd off and l=ccn (levourcd 3‘ wild bcasts.
Two years latcr Holland went to Califci'nia, to
Nevada, to the wrr of Secession, and that was
the last ever heard of him until about six
months ago.

“ It sccnzs that some time after the abduction
Alf I)li?llis was compelled to flee to Canada to
cscal-e the law 1‘ or some crime. In the irovince
1 l:c l-ccmnc a lcader cf outlaw ry under t e name
of Canada Carl. In the course of time he drift-
ed back up the Red River into the States, and
about six months ago he mct a hunter whom he
l thought resembled Dave Holland. He was not
sure lwcausc he did not spcak with the hunter.
Moreovor. he had not seen Holland but once or
i twice in hislifc. Put he wrote to I’Valsingham
l of his discovery. Walsingham came to me with
| the letter. He couldn’t believe it was Holland,
I but to make sure he sent Word to Phillis, who
; wrs with a party of hunters and trappers at a.
3 place called Buzzard Bend—”

1 “Buzzard Bend!” exclaimed Lille; “ it is with-

l in twenty-five miles of here; but again, pardon
my interruption, sir.” v

‘ “ He sent word to Phillis to ascertain beyond

l question whether the person he’d seen was 01-

 

l

o begin with,” said Donne, “I infer the land ‘or not and report to him; but at last ac-
young lady who kindly brought me a. cup of counts he’d heard nothing from Phillis. But,

coffee is your adopted daughter 5’ ”
Father Lille started.

sir, if the matter had been permitted to dro
there perhaps I would not now be here. But “

Walsingham

      
    
 
   
   
   
    
  
    
   
    
 
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
    
 
   
  
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
   
    
  
 
   
     
   
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
  
      
      
      
       
        
      
        
        
        
    
       
     

 

 

immune! wxpfi.,1.,.,,... , I

y t

. we ......w.-~.. _. W» -. m. u. -om-w

l

 

 

Wingedfoot Fred.

 

 

 

The evil kept supafiipsgwmatfi‘fiial for
we u 11.
E3...

wasn’t.
Walsin ham’ villainous ins
By the oath of a relative in the East somew

Harold VValsingham and David Holland, or
their heirs if they Were dead, became heirs to a

large pro rty. Walsingham wanted it all and
if he ha' gone on and claimed it upon the
grounds of Holland and his heirs being dead he
would doubtless have ot it. But now he be-
came afraid of me. 3 to Phillis he had no
fears. for he being under indictment for murder
and forgery would not dare to let his existence
be known.

“ Being as I was, on the verge of the grave, I
told Walsingham one day that I could not die
with my soul unburdened—that the abduction
of that child haunted me constantly. I told him
that I would make a dying confession of that
crime but would implicate no one but in self.

“He cursed me for being acoward. I eswore
that even if I did make even that much of a con—
fession he would straightway go and kill the
child of David Holland, and that her blood
would be upon my head. To save the girl I

romised him I would make no confession. But

e was suspicious of me, and I am satisfied he
made a secret attempt to assassinate me. How,
I need not narrate, but failing in that the vil—
lain left the country.

“ I found out he had gone West and I made up
my mind then that he meant mischief to the
heir of David Holland, and I determined, if life
and strength lasted me,,to head him off. So I
set out for your cabin to tell you this. I have
now done so and accept the consequences.”

“ Ah, me!” sighed the old missionary, “it is a
sad thing all around, Mr. Deane; and the saddest
of all is to think that the sorrow of that poor
father in the loss of his child has been my joy in
the possession of her. To me she has become as
dear as though of my own flesh and blood. I
have given all the time outside of my duties as a
faithful missionary to her education and com-
fort. I have been a father, a teacher and protec-
tor to her. She has all the tender traits and in-
stincts of a noble Christian woman. While too
young to remember anything of her life before
coming here, she has not been kept in ignorance
of how she became an inmate of my home. he
seems happy and contented. She loves the wild-
u‘oods, the rivers and the lakes. She goes often
on missions of mercy and kindness to the cabins
of the squatters, and the villages of the Indians.
She has administered to the needy and cared for
the sick. It would be a crime in the sight of
High Heaven for any man to harm a hair of her
head, and so long as I have life no harm shall
ever come to her.”

“ Harold Walsingham would care no more for 4
her life and happiness than you would for that
of a fly,” asserted Deane, “and if he should
ever come here, mark my word, Father Lille, he
will come with devilish designs, and your life
will not stand a moment in the way of—-”

The speaker’s words were here cut short 1) the
door being suddenly thrown wide open an the
unceremonious intrusion of a strange man, of a
large and powverful build. At sight of the in-
truder’s face, Aaron Deane sprung to his feet and
starting back, pointed to the stranger, crying

out:
“ Father Lille, beware! that man is Harold
Walsingham l”

 

CHAPTER IX.
A GATHERING STORM.

“YES,” exclaimed the tall intruder, pausing
a step or two from the door, “I am Harolt
\Valsingham, and you are Aaron Deane! And
knowing me, good priest and pale penitent, let
me introduce to you my friend, Jean Dladocq,
and pthers, whose names are not material to

on.

As he spoke another manLJcan Dladocq, in
fact, entered the room. followed by a third and
fourth white man and four Indian warriors, the
latter wrapt in blankets thrown over their heads
and irded about their waists.

“ gentlemen, my door is always opened to the
wayfarer,” said lather Lille, confronting the
intruders, “ but he who enters unannounced does
not manifest respect for his best.”

“ Father Lille,” responded Dladoc , in an at-
tempt at justification, “ would you (have a fel-
low-man stand upon ceremony when he was
almost perishing with cold? Besides I am half-
crazed to know whether a oung lady, who dis-
ap ared from our place y—my aflianced
wi e~—is here, or has perished in the storm.”

“ If you mean Miss Naida Quesne "replied the
priest, “she is here. safe and well—now with
my daughter in the kitchen.”

’ I mean Naida Quesne,” replied Jean Dladocq,

I “and the Wedding that was to be tomorrow

I .

 i  " L’s-4,
"‘- -. new; 1W..an *3.

 

night can as well be tonight and save you the
trip to Buzzard Bend.” '

“ There will be no compulsory weddings here
to-night, or anywheres else to-morrow night!”
exclaimed the priest, with firmness.

“ Ah 1” exclaimed Dladoc , with a sneer, “ I
suppose the girl has been chirping something to

on.
y “ Do you know why she is here, Mr. Dladocq?”
questioned Lille.

“Whatever it is it makes no difference to
me. I am not a man to be thwarted,” answered
Dladocq, quickly.

The white men during this conversation had
removed their caps and unbuttoned their coats,
and the red-skins dropped their blankets from
their heads back upon their shoulders. The
former had revolvers in their belts, the latter
knives and tomahawks.

“ Your language implies a threat,” responded
Lille to Dladocqs remarks, “unless I mistake
your tone.”

“ It im lies business, at any rate,” the villain,
for such 10 was, retorted in a blustering tone.

“ And, if my friend Deane there,” )ut in
VValsinj. ham, ‘has been here long, ‘uther
Lille, you doubtless know his mission and mine,
also. He has told you, I presume, that the little
waif left at your door fourteen years ago—now
grown to beautiful womanhood, 1 am told, has
become an heiress. He may have come here to
conduct her to her rightful house and inheri—
tance—at least to notify her of the waiting for-
tune. But as I’m joint heir with her, since her
father is dead, 1 claim the right to her guardian-
ship as next of kin and am here to conduct her
East.”

“ Ah! you would conduct her to rum—to
death, Harold Walsin rham!” cried the mis—
sionary, impetuously. ‘It was your heartless—
ness that tore her from her father and sent her
here!’ ‘

“So then, Aaron Doane,”sneered VValsing-
ham, 8. vindictive fire flashing in his white,
steely eyes, as he turned upon the invalid, “ you
have turned traitor! Your health has permit-
ted your coming here a whining penitent at the
feet of a canting priest. You should have known
more than to undertake to thwart me, so you
need not complain of the result of your folly. I
know not what you have told the missionary,
but I, without the immediate fear of death be-
fore me, have the same right to atone for a
wrong done that you have. I confess that I
was the cause—you the instrument—0f ol-
land’s child being stolen and carried to this mis-
sionary’s door; and I new intend to make a res-
titution, as far as in my poWer, for that wrong,
and I am here for the )ur )ese of restoring Hol-
land’s child to her frien s and fortune—to be-
friend her.”

“ You would befriend her as the wolf does the
lamb,” retorted Deane, his eyes flashing and the
hectic flush on his pallid cheeks glowing brighter.
“ Harold Walsingham, you are la inga villain’s
game, and I warn you, Father ille, to never
allow that maiden to leave here with him!”

“ There is no need of that warning, for the
maiden will not go hence without my consent,”
Father Lille assun (1 him.

“ So then you propose to stand in the way of
my atonement—you, a man of God?” queried

alsingham, in an affected tone of injured in-
nocence.

“You have not entered my house like one
who would redress a wrong,” rcsyxmdcd Lille,
“ but more like one half thwarted in an evil de-
sign. I trust and treat men according to their
merits, and, sir, until you can show that you are
honest in your avowe( kindness to my adopted
daughter, she cannot leave my roof.”

“ Perhaps, Father Lille, you may say the
same by me and my little sweetheart, Naida,”
observed Jean Dladocq.

“ No one has ever sought my aid but what it
has been freely given, when in the interest of
right and justice,” replied the missionary.
" Naida has sought my roof as shelter from the
storm, and my protection from a life of misery
and shame, a mi as long as she continues to make
these claims, I shall protect and defend her with
all my p()Wn]-—yea, my life!" '

“God bless the soul of my grandmother!" ex-
claimed Dladocq sarcastically; “you’re a self-
ordaiued guardian for all the waifs and pretty
girls in the land; but, old man, be you riest or
devil, that girl will go back with me to uzzard
Bend my wife! It will be useless to threaten.
remonstrate or appeal. I desire to speak with
Naida, and you will do well to bring her into
this room. If you refuse to bring her in. I will
have to find her myself. Now let this suffice.”

“ And while. you are about it, Father Lille,”
said Walsingham, “I would suggest you con-

 

duct your daughter in, also. I would like to
converse with her in your resence.”
Father Lille stepped hue and laced himself
against the door opening into t e kitchen, his
stalwart figure towering almost to the ceiling
his venerable face wrought with 8. determine
expression and his eyes flashing with the light of
a great soul aroused by a sense of impending

perl . ,
Jean Dladocqb spoke to the Indians in an un-
dertone, when t e savages at once passed around
in front of their white companions and advanced
toward the priest, their eyes gleaming with dev-
ilish cunning, their hands upon their toma-
hawks. . '

“ Back! back, villains! I command you, in
the name of God!” thundered the missionary in
startling tones.

The savages involuntarily stopped.

Aaron Deane, pale and haggard, took advan-
tage of this momentary silence to rise and say:

‘I have but a short time to live, at best, and I
can hasten the end of life in no better way than by
standing by the cause of this grand old man and
the lives of those girls!”

Stepping back against the wall the invalid
drew from his pocket a pair of pistols and stood
facing the savages and their white allies, a look
of (,lesperate dctci urination upon his pallid face.

A still greater silence seemed to follow thisact
of Deane. “'alsingham fair] ' trembled atathe
look he, gave him, though a ecting 'a smile of
contempt. Not a word was spoken, but the si-
lence that reigned at that moment was the calm
that precedes the furious burst of the stolm.

CHAPTER X.
THE STORM BURSTS.

AFTER the arrival of Dladocq and Walsingham

at Father Lille’s cabin, Ruth and her fair fugi—
tive-guest were not ignorant of what passedlin
the sitting-room, although the deer between it
and the kitchen was closcd. No sooner had Dla-
docq spoken to the missionary than Naida re-
cognized his loud. blustering voice, and her
young heart grew sick with terror.
. Under the circumstances the girls felt justificd
in listening to what was said. They soon learned
that Dladocq was in pursuit of Naida, and. that
even Ruth hersclf was being demanded by one
of the intruders—a person claiming to have left
her a waif at the door of Father Lille’s cabin.

Both the maidens were thrown into a stale
of great fear and excitement, and, finally, whm
they heard Dladocq demandin the presence of
Naida, and his demands coup ed with threats;
Naida said to hei‘ companion:

“ Oh, Ruth! I prefer death in the storm to
life in that’s man’s power. I will flee this minute
—while I can!”

And in spite of Ruth and old Zoe’s appeals and
entreatics she put on her cloak, hood and mittens
to depart.

A door opened from the kitchen into the back-
yard on the west side of the cabin, and us she

ml 1her friends adieu and turned to open it, Ruth
Sfllf 1

“ Wait a moment, Naida, and I will go with
you and conduct you to the nearest of the French-
Canadians’ cabins.”

Naida stepped. Ruth hastily put on her furs
and oval-shoes, and having addr a. few
words to Zoe was ready to start.

N‘iida opened the door. As she did so, she
started back with a little cry of terror for she
found herself confronted by a man who was
standing just outside the door.

“Naida,” said the man gliding softly into the
room, “do not fear Inc—(lo not be alarmed—”

“Oh! it is Wingcdfoot Fred!” the maiden ex-
claimed, and in her wild joy at seeing him alive,

she grasped his arm and clung to it asif it were a ‘

refuge from danger. “God be thanked,” she
whispered, “that you are alive. I was so afraid
the Indian had killed you. But this, VVingedfoot
Freduis my new-found friend, Ruth Lille. We
were Just going to start away to escape the ene-
mies who at this moment confront good Father
Lille in the adjoining room.”

“How many are there, Naida?” the young
hunter asked.
’ “ Eight—four white men and four Indians.”

Wingedfoot Fred advised the light in the kit-
chen to be put out, and when this was done he
held a whispered con ultation with the rls.
Then advancing. he a bed his ear to a ‘ttle
knot-hole 1n the door and listened a few moments
to the conVeisatlon gomg on in the adjoining
room; then turned and burned from the cabin.
Meanwhile, Father Lille and Aaron Deane stood
confronting their enemy. Walsingham and
Dladocq stood behind the red-skins, calmly
awaiting their movements to recipitate the
conflict. or the result they half no doubt, v for

' i
xv,

H.

  

.4-se~....:.a;.~. . ,3“; Hark,‘

.
., 4... “a. 4:,“
.
.  .

: "*-‘-. ~

. 4.. :...éz

r .yf .
.- ,V

 

 

  
  

’ gig; onus» .—. 1.an i.

..:;'-,-as._, «k- .0 x...“
e 4 ‘ .

nos-i. » :1, . ..

"e. 4;,

it?

3

.5.
..

"“3,-;.—L"~»A— pus-wk. ..

\

 
  
   
 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
 

Wingedfoot Fred,

  

 

 

Father Lille was unarmed. But before a blow
was struck—while the savages hesitated—the
door behind Lille was suddenly thrown open and
a voice behind the priest said: _

“ Father, step back into this room; friends are
here!”

Involuntarin it seemed, Lille stepped back-
ward into the kitchen, drawing Doane in with
him. A savage made a dash after them, but re-
ceived a blow that staggered him back against
his companions, causing a momentary con-
fusion.

At the same instant the kitchen was lighted
up, and to the surprise and horror of the out-
laws and savages, they beheld just Within the
room, with drawn revolvers ll’mgedfoot Fred,
Roman Jack and Old Polar sol, with the bound,
Bu 1e, crouching before them!

1% cry of surprise broke from the lips of Dla-
do , while a muttered curse was hissed from
the ips of Walsingham.

“ Scat, there, you bloody varletsl” yelled Old
Polar, as he sent the savage reeling back into
the room, for it was he who struck the blow,
“or, by the sword 0’ Gideon, you’ll be smote hip
and thigh! Behold in me, Polar 801, the Cold

Wave 0 the Nor’west. and upon ni right
'Wingedfoot Fred, the Pistol-Artist, an on my

left Roman Jack, the Death—Jav‘lin. We’re here
for a Roman holiday, and if you want to buck
the Gold Wave, the Master Artist and the J ave-
lin-Gladiator, and this pup, Old Var-Dog his-
self, sail into the amp’itheater. Yes, you valo-
rious varlets, if on want a skrimmiage, why,
skrim away, and, understaan that if there’s to
be any weddin’s here to-night, we’ll ’fieiate. Do
you hear the rumble, hey?”

“ To the devil with your vaporings'.” shouted
Jean Dladoe , who had somewhat recovered
from his shoe :, “ you need not think blustering
bravado will frighten us.” . '

“ Then h’ist yer anchor and sail in.”

" We did not come here toshed human blood ”
Walsingham remarked, “but if we cannot settle
by compromise the object of our visit, we will
not hesitate to strike, and strike with a ven-
geance. Understand that?”

“ We understand it, sir,” replied Old Polar
Sol, “and will now and for all time say that
you can’t Compromise anythingI that includes
the possession 0’ them gals. ow strike, or

z' t I”

As the old hunter uttered the last word, the
lamp behind him was blown out and the kitchen
enveloped in gloom. This seemed the signal for
the attack, and nickcr than thought the three
hunters raised t cir revolvers and fired at the
savages nearest them. '

As the red-skins went down With a moan, the
door of the sitting-room burst open and no less
than a dozen more savages, who had been wait-
ing the Sound of conflict as a signal to enter,
rushed into the room, and with drawn toma-
hawks joined in the combat. The presence of
these sava es was unknown to the hunters, but,
nothing (Iannted, they bravely stood their
ground; and then and there, under that humble
roof where naught but love and affection had
dwelt—where naught but songs of praise had
resounded—the crack of revolvers, the yells of
savages, and the curses of outlaws Were mingled
in the frightful din of a deadly conflict. a

 

CHAPTER XI.
A VICTORY AND YET DEFEAT.

J EAN DLADOQQ and Harold Walsingham were
too shrewd to rlsk their own precious lives in
the chances of war, for no sooner had the con-
flict opened than they dodged into an angle of
the room out of Sight of the hunters. They did
not deem it ncCossary that they should expose
themselves. The 7 had brought the red—skins to
do their murderous work, and With more than
half a score to three they had no doubt of the
result.

But never were men taken at a greater disad-
vantage than those outlaws and redskms. The
latter were armed with tomahawks and knives,

and must pass through the partition door to ,

strike a. deadly blow. They were fully exposed
in the light from the fire on the hearth, while
the three hunters stood concealed in the dark-
ness of the kitchen, and as the red-skins could
only pass through the (‘0 r one at a time, that
passage became a Thermopylzn to them. As soon
as one appeared therein he was shot down, and
in a few moments the opening was half-blocked
Fwith their bodies. _
Two of Dladocq and Walsingham’s white
friends had taken a hand in the conflict, and
succeeded in firing a few random shots into the
kitchen, one of which passed so close to Ruth’s

\

 

face that, with a cry of fear, she and Naida
sought shelter in the bedroom whither Old Zoe
in terror had already preceded them.

From their safe retreat in the corner Dladocq
and Walsingham soon discovered that the trap-
pers occu ied an almost impregnable position,
and after alf their friends had been shot down,
and that, too, without inflicting the slightest in-
jury upon the foe so far as they could determine,
the two master-villains determined to escape
while they could; and bounding across the room
and out into the night, they called upon those
that were left to follow, and in a moment
every living savage had beat an inglorious re-
treat from the cabin, leaving their dead and
wounded behind.

Old Polar now ex cted the foe would renew
the attack throng the outer kitchen door,
where they could have the benefit of the dark-
ness, and prepared to meet the aSSault from
that1 quarter; but to his surprise it was never
mat e.

The moaning of old Zoe in the bedroom drew
Father Lille to her side. The room was dark,
and a cold current of air drawing through it.
He saw the window was opened and as he could
not hear or soc Ruth and Naida a dreadful fear
seized upon his mind.

“Zoe!” cried the missionary, “why is that
window open? Where are the girls?”

“ Oh, Lor’l Massa Lille!” moaned the negress,
in terror, “ they done gone away!”

“ Gone where? In Heaven’s name tell me
quick, woman?” the old man fairly gasped.

“ De poo’ young missuses war inos’ frighten to
death, and when do men war fightin’ Ruth she
open de windy and jump out an’ run away, de
Lor’ only knows wharl”

Old Polar and the boys overheard this start—
ling information, and as the missionary came out-
the old hunter said:

“ After all, our victory is defeat; we whipped
the varlets but they have got the gals.”

“ Oh, I hope 0t!" exclaimed the riest in
agony of mind; ‘ beside themselves wit terror,
they escaped from the house and may be in hid-
ing near, or gone to the settlement below.”

“ The were all dressed to flee when I first
came,” Vingedfoot said, “ and still had on their
wraps when the fight began.”

“Well I’ll investigate the matter,” said
Roman hack, and he left the cabin and began
carefully rcconnoitering the surrounding woods
and out building.

The storm had almost ceased and there was a
fair prospect of a clear sky and a bright moon
ere long.

Finding neither maidens nor red—skins about,
J aek went back to the cabin and examined the
ground under the bedroom window. In the
snow he found the maidens’ tracks, and set out
to follow them, but had gone but a few rods
when they were wholly obliterated by the tracks
of the retreating foe. There was undiSputable
evidence of a struggle in the snow where the
tracks met, and this satisfied the young scout
that the girls had been caught and carried off by
the foe, whose tracks led down in the direction
of the river.

Returning to the cabin Jack made known his
discovery.

Father Lille was almost prostratedr by the
news, and it was then that the kind and gentle
side of Old Poliir’s nutui'c shone out in all its
greatness through his Words of sympathy and
encouragement addressed to the old missionary.

“And we will start at once,” he said in con-r

clusion, “ in pursuit of the foe, and never cease
until the girls are recovered or we are slain in
our efforts to save them.”

“May God s eed you, is my prayer,” Lille
said; “ were I a do I would go along with you.”

“We’re enough for them, father,” said
Wingedfoot Fred, “ but before we start I want
to make one re nest of you. I see a pair of
snow-shoes hanging yonder. I would like to
have them. We have two pairs of skates out
here, but it may be necessary for us to leave the
river and, in that case, the shoes would be of
great service. for the snow is quite deep.”

“ Take them, my son,” minandud the priest,
“ and if you wish them, there is another pair in
the wmidshed.” ’ .

The snow—shoes were at once procured: Ro-
man Jack and Fred brought in their rifles——
Polar Sol having left his at Convict Cave—and
examinied their priming, i eir revolvers were
all carefully reloaded, and then bidding the
priest and Aaron Doane good-by, they took their
de arture.

y this time it had ceased storming entirely
and the sky was almost clear. The moon was
out most of the time cud its beams falling upon
the snow made it light almostas day. But what-

 

ever was to be done under cover of night must
be done speedily, for it was y growing
light in the east.

Striking the enemies’ trail the three hunters
followed it down to the river where they found,
as they had predicted, the foe had gone back up
the river toward Buzzard Bend.

A light skift of snow covered the entire sur.
face of the ice. This made walking on the ice
all the more easy and the ursners hurried along
at a rapid gait; and they find not one over five
miles before they caught sight of t e retreating
foe less than half a mile ahead.

“Boys ” said Old Polar, as soon as they had
sighted t e enemy, “ we mustn’t let the varlets
know we’re follerin’ ’em, or else they’ll be apt to
ambush us.”

“How would it do for two of us to put on
these snow—shoes and take to the woods and get
in ahead of the villains, and, from conceal-
ment along the shore, ascertain the number of
the foe and,calkilate the probable chances in
rescuin’ the maidens in an open attack. W'e’re
nearing Big Bend now, and by cuttin’ across lots
we can gain four miles on them if they keep to
the river.”

“ Boy, that‘s the very caper,” acquiesced Old
Polar; " but as I‘m no geod on skates, I want to
be one o’ the cross-lot cutters, and I’d suggest
Roman Jack goes with me, leavin’ you, seein’
you’re an artist on skates.”

“ All right; just as you say, Sol,” was Winged-
foot’s reply.

Hastily the old hunter and J aek adjusted the
snowshoes, and taking leave of Wingedfoot,
struck into the woods where the snow, on an
average, was two feet deep, and where traveling
would have been almost impossible without
snow-shoes. .

Putting on the skates he had taken from Wolf
Tooth, \l'ingedfoot in pursuit, cautiously swung
along up the river, his eyes and ears 011 the alert,
and his faithful hound following at his heels.
There was an inch or two of snow upon the ice,
but it being light and dry. and the ice smooth
and hard as glass, it offered but little resistance
to the skates.

When morning dawned, the outlaws were
fully fifteen miles from Buzzard Bend, some of
them plodding along with Wearicd footsteps, for
they had been on a forced march for almost
twelve hours.

Besides Jean Dladocq and Harold Walsing-
ham, there were in the party one white men and
no less than fifteen savages. Where so many
had come from seemed a mystery to Wingedfoct
Fred, for he was sure fifteen savages had never
escaped alive from Father Lille’s cabin.

The captive girls were seated in a close and
cramped position in the do ~sledge that Naida
had abandoned the night efore near Father
Lille’s calin. This was drawn by two fleet—
footed warriors.

Shortly after daylight, the enemy discovered
Il‘ingedfoot Fred and his dog following them.
This discovery was greeted with a derisive laugh
from the outlaws, and a yell of defiance from
the red-skins. But none of them dare attempt
to give chase to the boy, for they knew they had
as well pursue a fox as the Young Mercury of
the Forest.

There were but two rifles in the party, and
owing to the extreme sharp, cutting air, they
were slung at the back of their owners, that the
movement of the hands and arms nzipht be free;
and as long as these .weapons Were 10? called
into requisition, “‘ingedfoot Fred seemed to
have no fears in crow ding clcse upon them.

The two warriors drawing the sledge kept
about twenty rods in advance of the main par-
ty which expected danger, if any danger at all
should menace them, from behind and kept
back to cover their flight with the girls.

Walsingham and Dladocq became highly
amused when they discoveru] that Wingedfoot
alone was following them, and cracked many
jokes at the expense of their pursuer and his
dog.

“I presume,” Dladocq observed, attempting
to be facetions, “ that dog and his chum are
coursing us to our lair.”

“I don’t know What he intends to do,” re—
plied Walsinghnm, in a more n‘attcr-of‘fact
tone, “but I do know he and his two friends
piled up Indians in that cabin like cord-wood.
But I would give a dollar to know what that
boy expects to accomplish following us alone,
more than to see where we go.” ,

“I rather think the reason he is alone,” re-

lied Dladocq. "is because there was no one
in good health to come with him. I feel certain
our folks woundch if they did not kill, some 0!
that outfit last night. and—”

His words were here cut short by a dull, stan- .

  

 

 

 

   
 

PWingedfoot" Fred.

 
 

My.
., $4,,- ~<

_ H4a,..,.4v,-. » -ayv -»

 

 

 

 

ning report by a couple of rifles mingled With a
savage cry of agony.

Glancing in the direction whence the cry
came they saw the two savages drawing the
sledge stagger, part and fali~ upon the ice, and
turnin their eyes to the point from whence I iiieo
shots (1 come. they saw Old Polar S01 and
Roman Jack standing upon the bank of the
river opposite them With smoking rifles in their
left hands and a revolver in their right; and
this startling discovery had no sooner been
made than the hunters greeted them with a. fu-
sillade of revolver-shots.

The bullets whistled around them and even
pelted them, but the distance was so great and
their clothing so thick that the balls failed to
inflict injury, unless happening to strike an un-
protected spot, which was the case in two iii-
stances—one wherein a savage was struck in
the throat and killed instantly, and the other in
which a ball striking Jean Illadom on the side
of the head, passed barely through his cap and
knocked him down slightly stunned. '

Uttering a (lenioniac war-whoop, every living
savage dashed away toward the two during
hunters, who, with a mocking peal of laughter,
took to their heels. Scrambling up the bank
like a pack of bounds, the red-skins were com-
pletely dismayed to See the bordormen skim-
ming awa over the snow like deer, while they
flounderedyhip-decp in the cold drift.

VValsinghain, supposing his friend Dladocq had
been killed or wounded, dropped on his knee by
his side, and while bending over him he was sud-
denly startled by something gliding past him
like a swift bird. He raised his eyes. An oath
burst from his lips. He saw \Vingedfoot Fred,
the Young Mercury of the Forest, gliding like a
meteor down the river—having passed within
twenty feet of him.

Straight toward the sledge, in which still sat
Ruth and Naida half dead with despair and cold,

lided the adventuresome boy. When within a

ew rods of the sledge he slackened his speed
slightly, squatted upon his haunches and was
thus carried forward by momentum As he
passed the sledge he threw out his hand and

rushed his fingers along the side, setting the
vehicle in motion, and as he glided on be seized
the rope attached to the forward end of the
sledge, rose to his feet and sped on, dragging the
conve ance after him.

But Lille starting to her feet like one sudden-
ly awakened from a frightened dream, lost her
balance and fell from the sledge. Naida uttered
a cry of terror, and would, doubtless, have fol-
lowed her, had Wingedfoot not looked back.
The sight of his face calmed her fears, and she
settled back in her seat. \

Before \Vingedfoot Fred had discovered his
loss of Ruth he was more than four rods away,
and tho savages turning back from pursuit of
Polar Sol and Roman J ack were coming up the
river, yelling like demons while VValsingham
and Dladocq, having already reached the maid;
on, had opened a fire with revolvers on the boy
without the least regard as to whom they hit-—
bog or girl, or both.

itterly disappointed in Ruth’s misha ,the
youth sped on, determined to save Naida i pos-
sible. A hot race now ensued. His flight ob-
structed by the weight of the sledge and the f rce
movamcnt of both of his hands, \Vingedfoot had
the hardest race of his eventful younglifc. With
every nerve -trung to its. utmost tension, with
every energy of mind and body called into ac-
tion, be fairly flew up the river, at every stride
white wings seeming to rise and full about his
feet as his skates cleaved the powdered snow that
shrouddd the icy bosom of the river.

CHAPTER XII.
A MESSENGER FROM BUZZARD BEND.

THE fury of 'Walsingham and Dladocq knew
no bounds when they found that after all their

recaution and jesting, the “ dog and his chum ”
Bad outwitted them and deliberately taken one
of the girls from their very grasp and escaped
with her.

The two villains did not join in the pursuit of
the boy, preferring to remain behind and keep
charge of Ruth.

But five of the fleetest sava es continued the
chase after the first mile ( ash. They were
strong and desperate warriors, of great endur-
ance, and for the first two miles they gained

adually upon the boy. but after that the dis-

nce be an to widen between them.

Mile a ter mile slipped behind him and as yet
not a word had passed between him and Naida.

With measured strides and unfailing strength
the youth sped on, taxing Bugle to his utmost to
m pace with him. And not-until many miles

‘ been traveled, dezard Bend passed in safety,

.’
t

 

 

 

 

and the mouth of the Manomine was in sight,
did he stop. When he did, he turned, his face
flushed and streaming with perspiration, and his
eyes glowing with a light of joyous triumph, and
with a smile upon his lips, said:

“ Well, there, how’s that for a sleigh-ride,
Miss Naidaf”

“ Oh, W ingedfoot! you dear, brave boy i”
cried the maiden. rising to her feet and stepping
from the sledge, her face radiant with joy, ‘ you
have saved my life! Oh! how can I ever repay
vou for this?”

“ Your kind words, Miss Naida—your grateful
appreciation fully repay me,” responded the
youth, who, though an uncultured and unpolish—
ed backwoodsman. was possessed of that manly
honor, courage and gal entry as ever wins the
respect and admiration of a true woman; “all
I’ve done I considered in duty to do, and my
only regret now is that did not rescue that
other girl from them wretches.”

“ Poor Ruth] she was crazed with fear. She
did not know what she was doing when she
juni aid from the sledge.

“ Veil,” Fred observed, “my work will not
be done until you are both safe at Deer Lodge,
and, as every moment is precious, it" you will
take your seat in the sledge we will hasten on to
the Convict Cave and there await the coming of
Polar Sol and Roman Jack, as we had arranged.”

“\V'iiigcdfmt, I should prefer to walk with
you if you have no objections,” the maiden said,
a little timidly.

“ None at all, I’m sure, for you must be tired
of riding so far,” Fred replied, apparently pleased
with her preference, and gallantly offering her
the support of his arm, which was accepted, the
two moved on. r

‘The maiden tripped along lightly, a decided
look of happiness upon her young face.

After a few minutes” walk they turned into
the mouth of the frozen Manomine and moved
toward the cave. As they approached it Fred
began to s ieculate in his mindlas'to how they
might fin the Indian they had left there the
night before bound and gagged; and it occurred
to him that he might be taking some risks by
entering the place without having first investi-
gated t e situation there. But before he had
fully decided what course he should pursue, he
was ha pily relieved by the sight of Old Polar
Sol ant Roman Jack coming down the river,
each carrying a quarter of deer which they
had succeeded in killing in crossing through the
woods.

Stopping about fifty paces from the cave
Wingedfoot waited until his friends came up
when a few moments of congratulations and re-
{oicings were indulged in. While thus engaged
Vingedfoot suddenly caught sight of a hairy.
face peering from the narrow passage in the
snow-bank leading into the dug-out—-the face of
a white man.

Mechanically the young hunter’s hand drop-
ped to his belt, but at the same moment the face
disa )peared.

“ boys!” the lad exclaimed, “ there’s some one
in that cave!”

P“That Iugin ought to be there,” said Old
olar.

“Yes, but there’s a white man there,” de-
clared Fred, and even as he spoke a man in a
hunter’s garb came bounding from the cave with
the whoop of a Wild Indian.

“Bless Moses! it is Columbia Jim, one of my
chums!” cried Fred, beside himself with joy,
while Bugle gave a loud bark and began caper-
ing about as if imbued with his masier’s spirit;
“ yes, and if there don’t come Old Dismal and
Pilgrim Dave, too! whoup! bail to you, pards of
Deer Lodge 1”

, Columbia Jim and Polar Sol being friends of
old, advanced to meet each other. Clasping
hands with a clap like that of two boards com—
ing violently together, they stood gazing into
each other’s eyes laughing like school-bovs.

“God bless your old owlisli soul, ’Lumbia
Jim!” exclaimed Old Polar, “it does me away,
’way upto wobble your paw ag’in! It’s been
sixty-’leven years since I looked upon that tor-
tuous ugly face, and it does ’pear to mine eyes

iat time‘s been (\chvatin’ a little “round your
hops and layin’ the white—Wash on yer hair and
heard. But how areyou. ’Lumbia? how’ve you
been? where’ve you been since—"

“ Say. Polar Solomon,” interposed Columbia
Jim, “be you ’bout through? Am I to have a
chance to inquire ’bout your health ?—to tell you
old age iinproves your looks and strengthens
your ’rnngement for rotary talkin’? God bless
you, Polar, l’m frolicsome to see you. so rise up,
man. and let me introduct you to my friends,
Old Dismal and Pilgrim Dave—regular ole J in-
ewary thaws, both 0’ Fem."

 

These last-named coming up, a general intro-
duction was given all around, and it was amus-
ing to Old Polar Sol to observe how awkward
and confused Columbia Jim and Old Dismal
were in their remarks to the fair Naida.

Finally W'ingedfoot Fred, who had the maid-
en’s comfort as well as safety at heart, inquired:

“ How’s everything in the cave. friends?”

“ All right, though there‘s a red-skin in there,
bound hand and foot,” replied Old Dismal.
“ We left him as we found him, waitin’ his
owner.”

“ He b’longs to Polar Sol: but, friends, what
brou ht you up here?”

“ ’9 come up here to look after you,” Dismal
answered. “ The elk returned with the sledge,
in which set the trader, W'yncoop, shot through
the head, and we war afraid you’d gone under,
too, or war in trouble. Boy, d’ye know who shot
the trader?”

“ I was compelled to.” replied Wingedfoot, as
all moved on toward the cave. “ He was noth-
in’ but an old spy, sent up to our place to find
out all he could. But when I get to the cave I’ll
tell you all ‘bout it. And for you, Pilgrim
Dave, I’ve some good tidin’s, or else I’m woefully
mistaken.”

“ For me, Fred?” exclaimed the hunter.

“ For you,” reiterated the young hunter, as he
entered the cave. , I

All followed into the dug-out except Old Dis-
mal, who remained outside on guard.

An hour later, as the party was seated around
their fire, Wingedfoot narrated all his adven-
tures from the time of leaving Deer Lodge 11 to
the moment of their meeting on the ice. n
after he had finished, Pilgrim Dave asked:

“ Then you are sure that the missionary’s
daughter. 1 uth, as you called her, is his adopted
daughtcri”. -

“ Naida there can tell you more than I can
about her,” replied Fred.

“ She is the adopted daughter of the mission—
ary, sir,” Naida answered with maidenly mod-
esty. “ She is a sweet and lovely girl grown to
womanhood. Many years ago she was left at
Father Lille’s door one very dark, cold night—”

“ And she has blue eyes, fair complexion, and
light brown hair!” broke in the excited, impa-
tient Pilgrim Dave.

“ Then you have seen her, for that is her de-
seription,” the maiden answered.

“ She must lie—must be, my child!” cried Pil-
grim Davc, his face and tone betraying deep
emotion. “ My child, Miss Naida, was stolen
from me fourteen years ago, but by whom I
know not. I say stolen: she disappeared at that
time and, although I had given er up as dead,
hopes of her being alive were recently revived in
m breast by a story of adventure told by my
friend Dismal And so the girl is in the pewer
of the savages?”

“ Not so much in the red-skins’ power,” Naida
replied, “as the power _of one of the very men
who aided, or abetted, in stealin her from her

home when she was a little chi] , too youn to .

remember anything about her abduction. at
man has been at Buzzard Bend quite aweek.
He was a friend of Canada Car], who had been
at the Bend some time—the man whom Winged-
foot killed.
“'als'ingham—”

“Harold Walsingham! Great God, that de-
mon!” cried Pilgrim Dave: friends, that settles
it. That girl is my child! Oh, that I had
known this sooner! But I never expect to see
her now. Harold Walsingham will murder her-
because he holds a devil’s spite against me!”

“Don’t despair. Pilgrim Dave” said Roman
Jack, “for as long as we’ve lie we’ll pursue
Walsin‘ham and his gang to the end o’fihe world.
Ruth shall he rescr‘icd tho’ all the devfls betwaen
heaven and hell oppose us!” .

“ Bravo!” shouted Columbia J III].

“Amen!” added Old PolanSol. “The Cold
Wave 0’ the Nor’west has a life to give in the
cause, and with Roman Jack, a whole legion in
a fight; VVingedfoot Fred, the pistol-artist after
the Old Masters. Signim' Dan-yeli Boone and
Monsieur Kit ('arson: Mr. Dismal, and the val-
orious Hail Columbia James, will make a,
Roman Holiday for that man Walsin‘ham and
his rusty-rinded vm‘k‘tS. The maid, Ruth, was

brought on to Buzzard Bend. and if she is spirit-
ed away from there, as she likely will be, it Will "

not be before nightfall and very prob’ly not be-
fore this cold weather moderate. 'ith the
[eewhometer at least ten degrees below Pedro
the Cold Wave loose along the Red River,ian

Young Mercury ready with feathers plumed to
soar aloft and paint deestruction over the sky,
along With the other cyclones, them outlaws are
goin’ to take no risks. But we should be on our
guard all the same. We want to watch every

The other man’s name was Harold ,

 

   

 

' Sam—4...

“M.

 

Wingedfoot Fred. ,

11.

 

corner and every move. As soon as night sets in
we should reconnoiter the. Bend and, really,
station a guard up there to see that the gal is not
stolen away under kiver of night. Now, I for
one volunteer to go up and reconnoiter Buzzard
Bend, seein’ I’m some’at ’ uaintcd with the place
and its s’roundin’s.”

“ And I and Bugle will 0 for another,” put in V
|

Win edfoot Fred.

“ nd I for a third,” said Roman Jack.

“Two’s enough ” Polar said “ seein’ we’ll
have the dog. ou‘ll have a chance, Roman,
to do some work before the end is reached.”

Thus was the programme for the coming night
arranged. The party feasted upon broiled veni-
son, and passed the remainder of the day discus-
sing topics incident to their situation and sur-
roundings.

‘ Dismal.

‘ as he chasteneth.

As men as it was dark, Old Polar and IVinged— 1

foot Fred and his dog took their departure to
reconnoiter Buzzard Bend.

Roman Jack was the first to go on guard at
the dug-out.
was clouded over, and a stiff north wind was
roaring through the pines. But despite the dark-
ness, objects could be seen on the white snow on
the frozen river at quite a distance, and Jack
had been on duty less than an hour when he
discovered a dark something coming up the
Manomine toward hinl.

Watching it closely, it soon came near enough
for him to see it was a man. He appeardl to be
quite lame, and Jack’s first thought was that it
Was Polar Sol or li‘rcd, who had been hurt, and
was returning. However, to make sure, he
called out:

“ Who comes there?”

“It’s rue—Lame Doke, from Buzzard Bend,
and, if you feel like it, bang away and shoot the
stuffin’ out o’ my miserable life,” was the sur-
1pgising response given in a Weary, disheartened

ne.

“Come up closer. and I’ll see if your’re worth

The night was dark, for the sky _

1 believe me or liot— on can slaughter me or not,

the powder and lead,” Rollian Jack commanded. -

The fellow limped up to the guard, but was at
once turned over to Pilgrim Dave, who, coming
out of the dug-out at this moment, conducted him
back into the cavern.

“ Well, now, what We ye catched?” exclaimed
Columbia Jim at sight of the man; “ what is it,
Pilgrim?”

Sta .
The stranger was a man of fifty years of age,

-with a shrewd, running lace. a short, stiff

beard small, steel gray eyes. He was lame in
his left leg, which, being slightly bent, was stiff
at the knee, and thereby a few inches shorter
than the other.

' nearly everything left—bunks, food and all you

. I Columbia Jim 0 the maiden.
“Oh! it’s Lame Doke!” cried Naida, with a l
rt 3 all my personal effects are there, unless the In-

“ Good-evening,” the old fellow said, with the _

careless indifference of an old acquaintance
drOpping in for a friendly chat, “ you’re all quite
oosey 'n here, ain’t yei-well, bless my soul!
there’s Miss Naida, safe and well, sure enough.
You little scamp, how you’ve been actin’; but
then I don’t blame you a bit—I rejoice ill your
git. Dod—darn Jean Dladocql he’s a scanlp.

om! old dad’s feelin’ awful bad ’bout the way
thing’s are goin’—-—‘by crazy! there’s one 0’ old
Moose’s Inglns, too! In a kind 0’ a bad fix,
bein’t you, red-skin?”

“We”, Rfiy;’Lame Doke, what brings you
down here?” asked Columbia Jim; “ give an ac-
count of yourself.”

“ I came down to visit you and let you know
that I’m no outlaw and cut-throat,” the cripple

V . answered in a lugubrious tone.

“ Put yourself to some trouble, hav’n’t ye? but

thep how’d ye know we war here? Explain, will
e?

, “ A scout was sent out tO-day to 100k for the

three cyclones that tore up things soelephantish

last night at the nil-<sionziry’s cabin, and when he

I

 

returned he reverted eight or ten destroyers in ;

camp here. That throwed the whole Injun and

outlaw ang into spasms and they made up their ;

minds t lat the. safest thing,r for themtodo was to i

lean out.
Wild bay steer, for he wanted to secure Naida,

to let Naida go to grass and went with them.”
‘f And so they have really gone?”

"Yes, sir, gone and taken the gal Ruth with '. overtake him.”

them,” answered

after dark ” Lame Doke; “ they left shortly

forever 1”

 

, CHAPTER XIII.
COLUMBIA m AT ms wrrs’ END.

LAME DOKE seated himself by the fire and 1 stepped

To this Jean Dladocq kicked like a :

‘ chawed up last night and to-day by Wingedfoot’s

nervously working his fingers as he listened to  with his bare hand. To his utmost surprise and

Pilgrim Dave and Columbia Jim discuss the ,

news he had brought. Hearing the name of 3
Wingedfoot Fred mentioned, the old man asked: l
“ Which 0’ you fellers’s Wingedfoot Fred? I’ve i
hearn so much ’bout that lightnin’—heeled youth ,
Eofdayghat I’lli dyin’ to see the terror 0’ the Red L
iver. '
“ He’ll be round by and by," answered Old 
“But, say, why didn’t you go along ,1
with your Injun and outlaw friends?” =
“ Ju. bekase they swore they wouldn’t be !
incumb red with a cripple, for they war goin’ I
to go on the fly. But then I didn’t want
to—me and Naida’s father made up our
minds to stay and take our chances. He’s ‘
hopes of meetiii’ his darter, whom he loveth
So on] me and father Arnaud :
lord it now at Buzzard end. Blessings on my
soul! how old Moose Head’s Ingili gang were

folks. Old Moose really believes that boy’s en- 1
chanted—can’t be killed—got real wings on his ‘
heels, and all such fool slosh. Fact is, Buzzard
Bond’s been inflicted with more fools and vil-
lains than any spot on earth in the same length
0’ time. But I’ll) sure Miss Nailla Will bear me
witness that, I, Lame Duke, have taken no part
ill iniquity, neither has her dad. Now, you can

as you wish. But do think, gents, that Naida
and her father should be got together. It can
bedone safely, for the poor old man’s rid 0’
Jean Dladocq’s poWer.”

“ If Naida desires it,” said Dismal, “ we will
conduct her to her father, or bring him down .
here.”

“ I’m sure I should like to be with my father.”
said Naida, “for I know that it was really
against his wish that I was to be married to
Dladocq; but the villain had a strange power
ovetrllnn and he was compelled to give his con-
scn r.

“ S’pose then you move up to the Bend?” sug-
gested Lame Doke, “ plenty good shelter there—

could wish to make on comfortable; but I
wouldn’t recommend aida and her dad to stay
there for fear Dladoc might return.”

“What say on, iss Naida?” questioned

“I should like to return there some time, fr'r

dians carried them 011’,” N aida answered.
D“They didn’t carry off a thing,” said Lame

oke.

“All right,.then,” said Columbia Jim; “just
as soon as Wingcdfoot and Old Polar Sol get
back from—from Deer Lodge where they went
after a conveyance to carry Naida there we’ll
come up to Buzzard Bend. It may be te—
maybe mornin’ before we git there.’

“ Then I’ll hop back and tell Dad Arnaud and
we’ll put things in shape,” the cripple said; ‘the
old man wasn’t able to walk or he’d been with
me; he‘s almost prostrated with this work.”

“. Tell the old gentleman to cheer up, for
Naida’s in good Company and quite comfort-
able,” said Pilgrim Dave.

"All hunky, so here we go,” and Ilsing, the
old cripple limped from the cave, Pilgrim Dave
escorting him apast the guard.

“He’s an odd old stick.” observed Dismal,
when the cripple was out of hearing.

“He’s a miserable. mean—lookin’ old scamp ’s
all I can say 0’ him,” added Columbia Jim. “ I
didn’t like that woeful whine in his voice.”

“Good friends,” said Naida, f ilirly indignant,
“Lame Doke is one of the most deceitful and
fertile-brained villains that was ever at Blizzard ',
Bend! I caution you to take his story with
many grains of allowance. 1f Wingmlfoot and ;
Polar Sol say Buzzard Bend has been deserted, :’
I will think it is so, otherwise I will not.”

“ That proves my estimate 0’ that man’s char- i
actor kn rcctl” declared Columbia Jim. “ Ieven 3
mistrusted he was lyin’ to lis, and as proof of
that mistrust, you remember I ‘fibbed ’ myself

 

. ‘ , about Fred and Polar goin’ to Deer Lodge?:
hisafllancedgbutthe othersdetermmedtcgoany- l \Vhen the boys get back we’ll know the truth: a
how, and not wantin’ to lose hisliair, heConcluded . but I’m sorry now we didn’t keep him here till '

l

i

i
l

they returned. And, by wlialeyl I believe I’ll i
light out and bring the old sinner back if I can i

In two minutes the old borderman was out i

l upon the Manomine moving rapidly over the 5
‘f My Godl” cried Pilgrim Dave, “then my I ice. It was entirely, too dark to follow the old l
child, if she Ruth was, is lost again to me, and ' man’s tracks, but he was satisfied that he would 1

eep on the river back to the Bend. Hurrying {

long. the hunter‘ had almost reached a point i
opposite to where the road led back from the ‘
river to the outlaws’ cabins. when he suddenly
in something that splashed like water.

Whed out his bony hands to warm them, 5 He stopped and, steeping over, touched the ice I

\

horror, he found it covered with fully an inch
of moving, cree ing water and slush!

Quickly the o d hunter stepped to one side—a
yard a rod—but the water was still there. He
could feel it creeping, crawling and pushing
around his feet like a snake.

Never was Columbia Jim so Singinsed, so
astounded. It had been bitter cold or weeks,
so that the overflow could have come from no
natural causes. Neither could it have been a
sudden upheaval of water from the river. It
might have been a great sprin , somewhere
along the river, bursting from its my thralldom
and rushin out over the ice of the river. He
even thong t he heard, mingled with the roar
of the wind among the pines, the rush and tum-
ble of waters. Of this—in fact, of nothing what-

, ever, was he certain; and so perplexed and un—

settled did his mind become, that he finally
turned about and began retracing his steps to
the dug-out, for the first time in his life at his
wits’ end.

 

CHAPTER XIV.
SOMETHING MYSTERIOUS.

TEE cabins at Buzzard Bend had been erected
many long years before the opening of our story
it was said, by the Northwestern Fur Company,
but they being abandoned shortly afterward,
for some unknown reaSon, they had ever been
the temporary quarters of nomadic hunters and
the stopping-place of voyageurs. The buildings
consisted of two long, low cabins, or rather, two
rows of four cabins each joined together in one..

‘ These cabins had been SUl'I‘OuDdtd by a stock-

ade, but this of late years had been permitted to '
fall into decay or been used for fuel. A little
stream fed by numerous springs came babblin
through the forest and, passing near the sout
cabin, fell over a stony ledge into a narrow
channel ten to fifteen feet deep and gliding on
some sixty rods further, lost itself in the Red

iver.

To Old Polar Sol ever foot of the country
surrounding Buzzard Ben was familiar, and it
was this knowledge of the place that enabled
him and Wingedfoot to approach it by ways
most favorable to them. '

After crossing the Red River opposite the
mouth of the Manomine, the scouts put on their
snow—shoes and b a circuitous route through
the woods approac ed the cabins that stood back
from the river about three hundred yards.

The. two scouts a preached the cabin from the
river side, though ipully three hours had elapsed
since leaving the dug-out up to the time they had
gained a point of observation, so cautiously had
their movements been made.

Within easy pistol—shot of the nearest cabin
they secreted'themselves behind the trunk of a
large pine. But one of the cabins was lighted,
and the door of one of the rooms stood open or,
rather was opened every moment or two by
some one passing in or out. Near the further
cabin the scouts saw about a den: 11 Indian lodg-
es, but even while the were watching they saw
the Indians go out an tear them down and re-
move them into the dark or disused cabin.

“They must be goin’ to pull out,” whispered
Wingedfoot Fred, ‘seein’ they’re icarin’ up, or
are just takin’ their tcpecs in out of ilie cold.”

“They‘re gittin’ aleard 0' another Roman
holiday,” returned Old Polar. ‘

Asthey could see Indians and white men going
in and out the cabin, in apparent haste, the
scouts knew something was afoot, and in hopes
of learning definitely what it was, Polar pro-
posed a change in their point of observation.
So dropping back they made a detour in the
woods expecting to approach the cabins from
the southeast under cover of the channel here—

. toforc mentioned; butto their surpilse and dis-

appointment. they found the channel full of wa-
ter and. of ccurse, from n owr. Suddenly, how-
ever, Old Polar was reminded of a fact connect-
ed with that ditch and, in a low tone said:

“ I remember now. this channel has a dam at
the lower eend next the river. It war put imby
the fur company and repaircd by others from
time to time and called, when filled with wa-
ter, “the Reseeriir.” The object of it was an
ample water-supply inside the str-ckade in case
of fire or siege. “'hen full as it now is it must
be ten or fifteen feet deep.”

Having thus given a history of the Reservoir
the scouts moved on. They did not change their
course because they found no channel, but
moved toward the cabins on the ice where they
found easy walking.

When within about fifty 0f the build-
ings they noticed a light moving to and fro lie-
tween one of the cabins and the head of the Res-

 

  

'ous fish or animal.”

12

 

Wingedfoot Fred.

 

 

 

ervoir, while persons could still be seen going in
and out at the door of the building.

~ “The varlets are still on the move busy as
beavers,” Old Polar observed softly. “J onah’s
whale! we must know what they’re up to.”

The branches of the trees interlaced their
bou hs over the Reservoir making it as dark as
the all of a dungeon. It was a fine placeto
get into a tra , but trusting to their own eyes ‘
and ears, an Bugle’s keen scent, they moved
cautiously forward making sure no savage’s
form was blended with the darkness of a tree-
trunk.

Old Polar Sol was moving at “’ingedfoot’s
left, and a pace in advance, his eyes bent down-
ward, when he suddenly threw out his hand and
grastééiing the youth by the arm said, in an ex-
ci whisper:

“ Sufferin’ Socrates! look under our feet, boy l”

Fred dropped his eyes to the ice, starting as
he did so for, he saw what appeared to be a ball
of fire or luminous body moving along down

 

wifhin the frozen depths of the Reservoir!

‘Goblinsl what is it, Sol?” exclaimed the
boy in amazement.

‘lt’sa light sure as there be 9. Heaven ’bove
usl”

“But it’s not a human affair,” Wingedfoot ‘
declared, “for nothin’ of the kind could exist
down there. It must be some kind of a: lumin—

“ 1’11 swear, I don’t know what it is; it breaks
me 5111— Ah! there it goes back! See it? I
tell you it’s a light down under the ice, or Sa-
tan’s a saint!”

Wingedfoot made no reply. He was com-
pletely dum founded. After a few moments’ men-
tal reflection they moved on. The were per-
haps twenty~five paces from the ea in when a
clear light suddenly burst on their view from
the shadows before them and moved away to- ,
ward the house. They could see it was the light l
of a lantern carried by some person, but where i
that person had so suddenly come from was the .
question. A few more steps forward, however, 1
revealed to them the outlines of an Indian
lodge or tent on the ice before them, and from I
this they concluded the light had come.

Even while they were discussing the matters
in whispers, the lantern again appeared from s
the cabin, returned to and disappeared in the
lodge. Still, a few minutes later a savage from 1
the house, walked down to the tent and entered
it; and, what was still more surprising, he was
followed by a second, third, and so on, until
poi less than six or eight had passed into that
o e.

‘FNow what do you suppose is goin’ on in
there?” asked Fred.

“Ast ine somethin’ easy, Wingedfoot,” was ‘
the response of the Cold Wave, evidently per-
plexod.

“Well, I’m goih’ to know,” declared Fred, re-
moving nis snow-shoes that he might have free
use of his feet in case he should be discovered
and compelled to fly for his life.

“Be awful keerful, lad.” cautioned Polar,
“for I tell you. we’re on dangerous grounds.”

With the silence of a shadow the young hun- ,
ter crept toward the lodge, trusting to the i
roaring of the winds in the tree-tops to drown
what little noise his feet made in the creaking
snow. He approached the tent from the side
0 posite the entrance, and when he had reached
a at to see that the coast wa< clear, he applied
his ear to the side and listened. But not a
sound could he hear. This puzzled him more ;
than ever, and, while he stood wondering
whether to remain there a while or return to
Polar Sol, he caught sight of a thread of light
between the overlapping edges of the skins
out of which the lodge was constructed. With
this discovery came the desire to see into the
tent, and unable to resist the tem tation. he
rehched out and gently parted the er ges of the
skins an inch or two. As he did so the light
disappeared, but not before he had made a dis-
covery that so staitlcd him that he could
scarcely suppress a cry of astonishment.

Rising he stole noiselessly back to his anxious,
impatient friend, almost speechless with sup-
pressed emotions.

“ Wal, what is it? how many’s in that lodge,
and what are they doin’?” questioned Polar.

“ Not a soul there 1” answered the boy.

“Bo , yer crazy! thar wer’n’t a soul went
away, ut another man with a light went in,”
declared the old bordcrma u.

“I know that, too. friend Polar,” replied
Fred; “but inside of that lodge there is a big
hole in the ice, and through that hole. down into
the dark depths of the reservoir them In 'ns and

; be nimiyleft in the house.

 

outlaws descended—for all I know, take
counselot the devill” -

CHAPTER XV.
PREPARING ron‘ BLOODY BLOWS.

“ SWORD 0’ Old Gideon!” exclaimed Polar Sol,
when Win edfoot Fred had told him of the dis-
covery he ad made, “are the outlaws and In-
gins o’ Buzzard Bend am hibious demons? or
war it spirits 0’ murder victims we’ve see’d
marchin’ to and fro in a ghostly parade? What
d’ye say, boy?”

“It’s neither, Sol,” replied Fred; “ I don’t
think there’s any water under the ice—it’s been
drained off or sunk away—and the foe are down
under us workin’ up some deviltry. That ac-
counts for the light we saw beneath our feet.”

“ Then the dam at the lower end of the Reser—
voir has been broken and the water drained ofli',
leavin’ the ice hangin here like a flat roof.”

“ That’s about the Size of it, Sol—but, histl the
door of the cabin opens again 1”

True enough, the door was thrown open re-
vealing a bright light within the room. A man
was seen to come out and was immediately fol-
lowed by seven others, all of whom walked down
to the Reservoir and passed into the lodge on the
ice.

“ You observe that, do you, Polar?” queried
Fred; “ that makes no less than sixteen or eigh-
teen we have seen enter that lxlge and but one-—
he of the lantern—go out. Surely, there can’t
Judas! if I could
only smash this ice down onto ’em 1”

“ I’ll be crucified if I can See what they’re up
to; but to make sure 0’ one thing, s’pose we slip
down and examine the lower end of the Reser-
voir and see if the dam is broken.”

To this Fred assented, and they at once started
back toward the river. They had gone but a

‘ short distance when they discovered three figures

skulking beside a tree on their left, and were

‘ making preparations for defense when their ears

were greeted by the query:

“ Hullo, therel that you, Wingedfoot and
Polar 5”

Wingedfmt recognized the voice as that of
Columbia Jim.

_ “ Yes, old pard, come forth," he commanded,
and the next minute the were joined by Colum-
bia Jim, ()ld Dismal ant Roman Jack.

“ What’s wrong, boys, anything?” eagerly
questioned .Polar.
“Come to hunt you tellers,” replied Old J im;

‘ “war afeard you war all drowned; the hull

Red River’s flooded below and we came up to

i investigate the matter and look you up. We

found the dam to this creek or pond, or what-
ei er ’tis. broken open by accident or force and
all the water discharged onto the ice 0’ the river,
the bottom 0’ the creek or pond bein’ still a little
higher than the surface o’ the river. But Is’pose
you’ve diskivered that Buzzard Band has been
deserted, haven’t ye?” '

“ \Ve’ve discovered no such a thing, ’Lumbia
Jim,” replied Polar, “ but we did see them all,
or most 0’ them, I should say. come out o’ the
cabin mid go down under this ice within the
past half-hour.”

“ Ha!” ejaculated Old Dismal. “then Naida
was right about Lame Doke whose little game
begins to show up.”

“ Who’s La me Doke?" questioned Winnedfoot.

Columbia Jim briefly narrated the story of
Lame Doke’s visit to the care, his story of the
outlaws and Indians’ flight, his invitation for
them to go up to the cabins, his departure,
Naida’s suspicions, his—Jini’s—pursuit of the
old cripple, the finding of the ice flooded, his re-
turn to the d g-oiit, the starting of the three
to look for their friends, leaving Pilgrim Dave
and Naida alone with the captive Indian at the
cave to await/their return.

“ A trap's been set for us,” declared Old Polar
when he had heard Columbia’s story, “and I

 

 

' be frozen solid

would ’rouse s’pficion unless they expected it to
fore we got around.”

“Well, grant it that we’ve figgered out the
enemy’s designs and plans, what do on ropose
Eve ihall do to thWart them?” inquired oman

ac .

“ Wal, let me see,” answered Polar; “ we
see’d ’bout sixteen o’ the variets go into the tent.
Say thar war four or five in thar before we
began to count; that’d be twenty or more.
Now, the Gold. Wave has two revolvers—six
shots each—good for say eight or ten 0’ the gang.
How are you tellers flxed?’

A count of revolvers showed eight at hand; in
all, forty-four shots.

“ As every man here,” Polar went on, “is an
artist with a revolver, we can flummix them
variets easy enough, pervidin’ things all work
out as we plan. 1 know we’re takin’ some risks
and ag’inst big odds, but we’ve got to do it if
we'd save that gal; and 0’ course we’re goin’ to
save her or die in our tracks as becomes men.
Now, I’d suggest we divide lip—two go ba< k and
enter the empty Reservoir through the lm lien
dam, and crawl as cautiously as they can to
where the demons are in waitiii’ and there watch
their chances. They’ll not be ’spectin’ any one
under there, and as they doubtless have a light
or two, them as go can judge by the lights 'hout
whar the vai'lcts are. If no light is reen, the car
will have to he the guide. Then, when those
outside think they’ve had time to git into posi—
tion, they can send one 0’ their number to tell
Lame Doke that the folks at the Convict have
decided not to move up to the cabin at all. If
the cripple is there, as he or Henri Arnaud
doubtless will he, and they’re into the infernal
trap business, as we suspect. he or they’ll go and
inform the varlets in the Reservoir, and they’ll
have to crawl out. for I don’t s’pose it’s a cave
o’ the gods under that ice. If they have Ruth
with them under there, she may be brought out
first; and if she is, the three outside must be

‘ ready and jump onto her custodians and release

her before those back can get out, for it’s prob-
able they’ll have to come one at a time. The
crack 0’ the pistols outside will be the signal for
those under the ice to sail into the rear and thus
divide their attention. But if the gal is brought
out last, those outside must keep quiet and the
two under the ice rescue the gal, the SOUTH] 0’
their shooters to be the signal for those outside
to waltz into the advance 0’ the foe. But who-
ever enters the cave will have to be guided by
circumstances to some extent. Not kiiowin’
whether there will be any light there to work
by, they may not know w km the gal’s brought
out-must be careful, too, not to shoot her. But
if she is not there, we want to make it hot for
the vai‘lets, anyhow. So, whoever goes into the
hole must use their own judgment accordin’ to
risin’ emergencies.”

is Well, pl] go, for one,” said “'ingedfoot,
“ for I can take Bugle, and what I can’t see nor
hear he can smell.”

J “ And I will go for the other,” added Roman
ack.

“That settles it, then,” said Polar So], “the
Old Master, the Legion, and the dog will operate
in the cave, and the 001‘] Wave. Hail Columbia,
James and Old Dismal will work the upper
regions.” __ .

CHAPTER XVI.

IN THE DISMAL CAV'ERN.

As VVingedfoot Fred and Roman Jack turned
to depart for the lower end of the Reservoir, Old
Polar said. with much feeling:

“ It are ei1 her for a little while or all etarnity
We part, boys, so good-by.”

Turning. the young hunters hastean to the
broken dnni, which they found opcncd at the

: bottom. The Reservoir was thoroughly drained

wish to goodness you’d ’a’ promised that crippled ,
A been before the dam was br< ken. creeping stead-
“That’s exactly \‘l hat we did do,” replied :

varlet we'd go up to the cabins.”

Columbia.

“Then why can’t we haw: a. Roman holiday? 1
Why can’t we put our five massive inicllects to— .
gether and devise some scheme by which We "

can turn the tables on them cunnin’ varlefs and
rescue the gal, Ruth? Now. it’s probable the
gal, and most all the Buzzard-Benders, are con-

cealed under this ice, and that there’s no one at .

the cabin but Lame Joke, and maybe. Naida’s ,

father. The trick is to git us into the cabin .

once and then when we’re ofl.’ our guard the
varlets will come whoopin’ out 0’ their novel
hidin’-place and butcher us. The trick’s a cute
one, for who’d ever think 0’ lookin’ under the
river for concealed foes? How many ways the

devil takes, and long ways. too, to get the drop 1

on a man. But after all they’re not so smart.
They might ’a’ swore that water on the river-ice

although the natural rivulet was still, as it had

ily along through the channel, :‘llld mingling its
waters with those of the Red River by a passage
under the ice.

VVingedfoot sent Bugle ahead into the ice-
cave, be following close behind. and Roman
Jack last. The place was dark‘es midnight. and
pervale with a damp. humid atmosphere. The
Sides of the passage sloping downward from the
thick, icy 1‘( M" were covered with a muddy
slime. into which the boys sunk almost to their
ankles. Their meccasins Wcl‘c soon thoroughly
soaked through. and after both had slipped and
fallen several times, they made up their mindsto
wade, the rivulet. This they found rather cold
footing, but little colderafter all, and far less dis-
agreeable. than the slippery, rocking slopes.
The water was not more than an inch or two
deep. and sped along with a tinkling ripple over
a solid bed of sand and gravel.

 

 

. MW. M._..w.a.____~

~v‘ 2m.-.

.W»M .... mac»... *

Wingedfoot Fred. .

" ‘13

 

 

The boys could advance but slowly. Winged-
foot Fred, bent slightly forward, With his eyes
and ears on the alert, kept his hand upon Bug e’s
back. Upon the dog’s keenness of scent they re-
lied more than on their own eyes and ears.

The unnatural cavern seemed to grow more
dismal and wretched as they advanced._ To the
warm, damp air was added the nauseating odor
of the slime and mold; but nothing daunted, the
young bordermen crept steadily on_and on until
their patience and disagreeable feelings were at
length rewarded by the glimpse of a light a long
ways ahead.

Creeping on trusting to Bugle’s nose for the
detection of dangers amid the darkness, and to
the rivulet’s voice to drown the _loudc st possible
noise the might make in their advance, they
finally gained a point within fifty paces of the
light and stopped to hold a whispered consulta-
tion, which ended in the deCiSion to move on
nearer the light.

With all the caution they could master they
crept clmer and closer. .finally halting within
forty feet of the nearest light, a revolver in each
hand.

Three lights were now visible. Two were
from old-fashioned, perforated tin lanterns, and
the third was a. pine torch whose wavering flame
told that it was affected by a slight air-current.
On a raised stage or platform of poles and slabs
covered with robes and blankets, the boys dis-
covered the captive, Ruth Lille sitting wrap d
in a blanket, her face white and allid in the 'm
light of the flickering torch. ear her on the
edge of the same platform sat two men whom
the b0 5 at once recognized as Jean Dladoc and
Harol Walsingham. Between them an the
stage they saw, sitting and standing, fifteen or
twenty savages and outlaws with blankets over
their heads and around their shoulders. Within
fifteen feet of where they stood they saw a rude
stairs that they knew landed in the lodge on the
ice above.

Not a word could the boys hear uttered. Like
hooded gnomes the foe sat silent and motionless
While the wavering torch-light dancing over the
crystal roof of the cavern and the reeking, slimy
walls wove a thousand grotesque figures around
them.

Standing as motionless as the men they were
watching, the icy water creeping around their
feet, the limbs of the young unters seemed to
become paralyzed. As long as they kept mov—
in they ex ricnced no great effect from the
cold water, at now ever moment seemed an
hour to them. The drea silence, broken only
by the silvery tinkle of the rivulet, was also
painful to them, and it seemed that they would
never be able to endure the terrible strain to the
end. But relief finally came. The silence was
suddenly broken by a voice from overhead bawl—

in out:

5‘ Say, down there' the whole dimmed scheme’s
fell through with. The folks to the Dug-out sent
Columbia Jim up here to tell me they wouldn’t
move 11 to-night and ast me and Arnaud to go
down t are as they’re goin’ to start to Deer
Lod e ’arly in the mornin’.” .

“ 15’s the voice of that devilish cripple, Lame
Doke!” whi red Roman Jack.

Instantly hat group of gnomish figures be-
came astir with life. They rose to their feet
and began, to move. A murmur of sullen
voices drifted to the ears of the young hun-
ters, followed by the louder tones of Walsing-
ham and Dladocq freighted with horrible blas—

phe§y.

“ ow look out, ard,” whispered Wingedfoot,
the blood now rus mg .111 hot currents through
body and limb, “the lions are stirred up, and
the tug of war has come I”

CHAPTER XVII. ,
A DREADFUL CONFLICT.

AFTER the boys had left them, Polar 801,
Columbia Jim and Old Dismal at once moved
toward the cabins. Every avenue of approach
was freely thrown open by the outlaws that
their victims might walk into the trap without
the least suspicion being created.

The only sign of life about the place was the
light in the cabin.

Columbia Jim was selected to go to, the cabin
as a messenger from Convict Cave. He left his
friends a few rods from the buildings, and boldly
approached the door and rapped sharply upon
1 .

y The summons was answered by the redoubt-
able Lame Doke, who, with a gracious smile
u n his face, invited the hunter in, at the same

6 looking out around for others.

“No, hav n’t got time,” nded Columbia.
“After you left us, our folks a the cave changed
 ’bout comin’ up here. They con-

 

 

 

cluded to stay there till mornin’, and bright and
’arly rack out for Deer Lodge. They sent me
up to have you come down there— on and Mr.
Arnaud. Little Naida stands by or old dad,
and we do, too, and want you and him to go
with us. What d’ye say—go or not ?”

The disappointment of thc cripple over this
news was plainly visible upon his face and in
his actions.

“I don’t hardly know what to say,” he re-
plied. “I’m ’bout blowed now with my walk
down there and rustlin’ ’round here to git things
in shape for you folkses’ comfort. But I’ll
promise that me and Arnaud will be down there
in an hour or two, but I can’t go now till I rest
my game leg.”

‘ Vell, come soon as you can,” said Columbia,
and turning, he strode away into the woods and
rejoined his friends.

“Sword 0‘ Gideon!" whispered Old Polar to
the messenger, “we heard every word you told
that fellcr, “ and I must say, Jim, you’rea most
fanciful liarian. I didn’t s’pose any man could
spoon out fiction to a cor old cripple as youdid.
It made me sad. but ’11 forgive you, Jim, seein’
you war truth-nervous.”

“ I’d ’a’ shot the old villain if it hadn’t been for
sp’ilin’ our plans,” retorted Columbia Jim.
“ The old cuss! he can hide more cunnin’ and
ginuine deviltry under that game leg and meek
voice than ever ‘lurked behind the cross.’ Ahl
he’s comin’ out the cabin!”

True enough, the form of the crip le was seen
to come from the house, sto and 00k around
him as if be half mistrusted t e presence of dan-

er, then limped on down toward the Reservoir.
%Vhen the saw him enter the lodge on the ice,
the three unters moved up a few paces nearer.
They heard the cripple delivering Columbia
Jims message to his ambushed friends. Then
the saw him come out of the tent and limp
bac to the cabin.

But a few moments later they heard the sound
of voices in the lodge pitched in tones of anger,
and then the form of a man—Harold Walsing-
ham—was seen to come from the tent leading
Ruth, and followed by Jean Dladocq. The out-
laws were giving free expression to their feel-
ings of disappointment in language loud and
profane.

The three hunters waited until five or six red-
skins had issued from the lodge, then at a signal
from Old Sol, they leaped from their covert
u n the foe. Polar thrust his revolver into

rold Walsin ham’s face and fired, and Co-
lumbia Jim did ' ewise for Jean Dladocq, while
Old Dismal paid his respects to the nearest sav-
age. Without scarcely a mean the three fell
dead, and before the others realized what had
ha pened, the hunters had turned upon them.

ad a thunderbolt fallen from the wintry
sky. the savages could not have -been more
startled. So completel were the taken by
surprise, that not one 0 them rai . his hand in
defense, but sought to save his life by flight, and
in less than fifteen seconds from the firing of the
first shot not a living savage or outlaw was to
be seen outside, and if any had escaped, the vic-
torious trio did not know it.

In the mean time, another conflict was going
on down under the ic vault of the Reservoir.
After their own fight ad ended, the old hunters
could hear the pent-up roar of firearms and the
yells and cries of savages that suggested a battle
(1);] (tlgmons down in the cavernous realms of

u .

The sound of the hunters’ revolvers had been
the signal for Wingedfoot Fred and Roman
Jack to begin their attack, although less than
half the savages were out of the cave. The
crack of their weapons sounded like the boom of
a mortar, but as one re ort after another he-
came blended together be sound rolled away
through the cavern like deep sullen thunder.
The savages’ yells of dismay and terror were soon
added to the din. Bugle, too, uttered a deep
sonorous bark and flying at the throat of a sav-
age the two were soon rolling and floundering
in the mud and water in a death struggle.
rapidly did the boys discharge their revolvers
that, to the excited foe it must have seemed
that they had been attac ed by a large force of
enemies. But aside from numbers, the unearth-
ly, pent-u roar of the revolvers was enough in
itsself to ll the souls of the red-skins with ter-
ror and send them flying in every direction like
panic-stricken covotea

Like their friends above, the Indians, and the
two or three outlaws among them never oflered
to return a blow, and in the mad confusion of
those who endeavored to escape the unerring
aim of the young hunters, they only made them-
selves more cons ieuous as they ran, lea ,
crawled and roll hither and thither, in an out

 

of the torch—light—splashing through water and
slime and rolling and splattering in mud like a
herd of panic—stricken swine. The waters of the
little stream became laden_with the crimson
tide of life. Deeper and more up alling rolled
the subterranean thunder as, Jove-1i e, the young
hunters stood hurling bolt after bolt around
them. But the last shot was finally fired, and
the conflict in the cavern had ended; but while
the roar of battle was still hanging within the
dismal lacea voice, which was recognized as
that of olar Sol, called out from above:

“How goes it, boys, down there? Want any
help?”
‘ No, it’s all over with,” replied Win foot,
“and we’ve wiped out the last one of t 9 bar-

barians.”

“ Bravo! we’ve did the same up here?" shouted
Polar, “and the gfl is rescued. A bully old
Roman Holiday it as been!” i

.A shout of triumph burst from the boy’s

i s.

pWin edfoot finally called Bugle to his side.
In the light of the outlaw’s flaming torch, which
had been left burning when the retreat began,
and in whose light the boys had picked off the
savages, he saw the dog was covered with a.
coat of mud from the end of his nose to the 
of his tail. But despite this mud the boy lif
him in his arms and ascended the stairs to the
up r world, followed by Roman Jack.

ld Polar and Dismal were there to greet them,
and as soon as they saw the plight the boys were
in, Polar said:

“Let’s git into the cabin. boys, afore your
duldls freeze stiff on your bodies, and you take
co .’

The four at once hastened to the cabin whither
Eolllumbia Jim had preceded them with Ruth

1 e.

As they entered the room aglow with theli ht
of a roaring fire burning on a wide hearth t ey
saw the maiden standing alone, while from the
adjacent room—also brightly lit tip—came the
sound of Columbia J im’s voice in angry threat-
ening tones.

Polar Sol hastened into the room to see what
was up and there found Lame Doke groveling
on the floor at the feet of the old hunter, beg-
ging for his life like a cringing coward.

At sight of Roman Jack and Win edfoot
Fred, Ruth Lille started back as if with error.
She did not recognize them at first, so woeful a
sight did they resent. They were mud from
head to foot. heir faces were splattered and.
streaked until they were scarcely recognizable.

“Thank the fates, Miss Lille, you are safe at
last!” Roman Jack said as his eyes met those of
the maiden.

“Oh, don me i” the girl cried recognizing
his voice, “I did not know you at first. I see
you have been in that horrible cavern.”

“Yes, Miss Ruth,” Jack responded with a
smile, “ we were there, and not only demolished
the red-skins left there, but managed to mop out
the place with our persons. Behold my friend
Wingledfmtl—ay, and his dog. It‘s hard tellin’
whic is the sorriest lookin’ critter.” '

“ Oh, well, we’re happy, anyhow,” exclaimed
Fred, cutting a caper across the floor in boyish
glee. “ Spring’ll soon be here and then we’ll
shedflour old coat: eh, Bugle, my brave old

0

he do yawned an answer, then shook himself
vigorou dy sendin a shower of mud across the
room an profuse y sprinkling the face of Old
Dismal to the amuscmcnt of t 0 boys.

Wingedfoot Fred at once became anxious to
look through the long cabin. He found there
were four rooms and that there was a fire burn-
ing in each one. In the garret he found a
quantity of robes, blankets and clothing that-
had evxdently been recent] concealed there.
The clothin was overhaule and both he and
Roman Jac succeeded in fitting themselves out
in a dry suit: though the. one appropriated by
Wingedfoot was several Sizes too arge for him,
and provoked no little amusement when he
made his appearance before his friends.

After he had searched every nook and corner
of the rooms the boy went back to the second
room and said, in the presence of Lame Doke:

“ Gracious angels! the house is lighted and
warmed up from parlor to kitchen.”

“ Yes,_ made the fires,” said the cri pie
“expectin’ you folks u to ad the nigh}; I
wanted you_to be comgrtalfil; and for all this
my reward is curses and threats. I tell you I’m
honest. It’s me as well as you that‘s been de-
ceived by Dladocq and his followers. I didn’t
know they war concealed in the ditch, I Wear
I didn’t.” i

“ You old liar!” blurted Columbia Jim, “ you:
war the very man that went down to the Reser-

 

  

'14 l i -

Wingedfoot Fred.

 

voir and told your friends that their scheme had
failed. Now stop your lyia’ ’oout your inno-
cence. “'6 know what you have done. Give
us a truth or two. Tell us where Henri Arnaud
-Naida’s father—is?”

“ Don’t know—s’poso you killed him,” replied
the cowering old villain.

Procui'inrr one of the outlaws’ lanterns, Polar
and Disma went down to the Reservoir and
searched for Arnaud’s body, but failed to find it
in the cave or out.

Meanwhile Roman Jack had seated himself
by the fire in the first room and entered into
conversation with Ruth.

“You have passed throu h a terrible ordeal,
Miss Lille,” he said, “but have every reason
to believe a happy surprise now awaits you.
From What I learned at the missionary’s cabin
and elsewhere, you are Father Lillc’s adopted
dau hter only—that when you were a little
child, you’d been left at his door by some one
that claimed to be your own father.”

“Yes, Jack,” Ruth replied, “Father Lille
and I always supposed my own father had left
me there, but since I have been in Walsingham’s
power he confessed that he had been instru-
mental in takiu me from my father, that two
men named Ph' lis and Deane had, by his re-
quest, abductcd me and carried me to the door
of Father Lille. He told me that my father’s
name was David Holland—that he was dead-
had been killed in the war—”

“He lied like a pirate. Ruth,” declared the
young hunter, “for your father is alive and
within three miles of here this minute.”

“ My father alive, Jack?” cried the maiden, a
gleam of reviving hope lighting up her sad face.
“ Can this be possible?”

“There’s no doubt of it. Ruth.”

“And when shall I meet him?” she asked,
eagerly, hopefully.

“ Just as soon as we can get away from here
we’re goin’ to return to the Convict Cave where
we left him and Naida.”

“ Oh! is it possible! is it possible that I am to
meet my own father?” the maiden exclaimed,
her eyes SWllIlmlll" in tears of joy. “Tell me,
Jack, is he an 01! man? Is he tall? or is be
short? Is he a large man? or is he small? Oh,
how often have I imagined how my father and
mother look. I have pictured my father in my
mind asa tall, handsome man, with blue eyes
like mine, a full heavy beard and a kind, gentle
Veice.

“ Your picter is nearly correct, Miss Ruth,
tho’ his face is somewhat care-worn. He has
been at Deer Lodge over six months and is aw-
ful well liked by his companions. 0h, you’ll
not be ashamed of him, I’m sure.”

“ No, I know I will not, Jack,” Ruth replied,
her irits reviving; “and dear old Father
Lille, 0 who has been so kind to me all these

ears, will rejoice with me when he hears that
‘s pra ers have been answered and my father
roster to me.”

While the youn folks were thus conversing,
Polar Sol and Co umbia Jim returned from
their search for Arnaud’s body, and marching
straiaht into where Lame Doke sat, Polar Sol
seized him by the collar and jerking him to his
feet said in an angry tone:

“ See here, you 01 varlet, you’ve told us your
last he! Now tell me where Arnaud is, or I’ll
hurl you into that fire as I would a serpent!”

Trembling in War limb, his teeth chattering
the crip 1e manage to gas out:

“ We] , come to think, I have that Dladocq
did kill him for opposin’ our—I mean their
scheme to trap you. ’

“ Ah! a slip o’ the tongue!” exclaimed Old
Polar. “ Murder will out and since you’ve
admitted your guilt you’d as well unburden
your old soul. Out With the whole story. Tell
us why Arnaud was killed?”

“ I told you,” chattered the cowardly old vil-
lain, “ that he opposcd the scheme to trap you
tellers. He thought an awful sight of little
Naida, and didn’t want Dladocq to get her, for
he was afraid he’d ’most kill her for runnin’ off.
She was awful good to the old man, if he was
only her step-father, but he was afraid of Dla-
doc —-I don t know why—and just had to give
up or Naida tomarry him. But Naida run
away to kee from marryin’ him, and Dladocq
’cused the o d man 0’ puttin’ her 11 to run off.
Mebby he did—I don’t know, but ladocq was
murderin’ mad; shot all the sledge-do and
threatened to slay all the hunters ’long tgg Red.
He was naterally a mean man, and after Wal-
sin’ham and Phillis came here he seemed to get
wusaer.”

‘,‘ Phillis was that oily hairpin that visited
Deer Lodge a few days ago, weren’t he?” uked
“Old Dismal.

fl

 

 

 

“ Yes, he went down to see if one 0’ the Deer
Lodgers war really a man they’d S’posed war

dead—‘David Holland, I think, was the man’s ‘

name-and to see somethin’ ’bout your stock 0’
ltrics.”

Fred, done him up in line shape.
with your story about Armand."

“Henri Ariiaud wer‘n’t a bad man, I can '

swear ” the cripple went on. “He run away
with his wife and Nelda from the St. Croix
country to git rid 0’ Dladocq. He came and
settled down here with two other men and went
to huntin’ and trayfin’. One day his good wife
died. She‘s burie out yonder undei‘a pine, and
her name’s writ on the tree. Nearly six months
after who should come along but Jean Dladocq
and Phillis and several other mean men. They
settled right down and staid here. Dladocq

threatened to kill the old man if he ’tl‘lllptl'd to ;

dod 0 him ag’in. W'alsin’hani come here a

- wee ago to see Phillis ’bout takin’ the mission-

ary’s girl away from him. Arnaud was opposed
to the raid on Father Lille’s cabin, but Dladocq
had old Moose Head and his warriors under his
thumb and the done just as they pleased. This
evenin’ when

him dead. His body was buried in the snow

back of the upper cabin. I can take you to the

very spot.”

S ‘1‘ Then do so, forthwith,” commanded the Polar
o .

The search was made and the body found and
recognized by Polar Sol who had seen Ai'naud
several times.

After returning to the cabin, Old Polar, again
plied the cripple with various other questions,
finally concluding with the query:

“ New, durin’ your sojourn ere what part
have you been playiii’ seein’ you’re a cripple?”

“ I alers had a desire,” answered the old scamp,
with an attempt to smile, " to be inventin’
money—that is—”

“ That is, you’re a counterfeiter, you old repro—
batel" exclaimed Polar. “ I’ll swear we ought
to hang you right up new and here.”

“ You (1 better not spend too much time tryin’
to talk and scare me to death,” adVised the old
cripple, “ or you might find yourselves in a trap
after all, for you needn’t think your enemies are
all dead by a long shot.”

This remark had a decided effect upon the
hunters, as the wily old outlaw doubtless in-
tended it and Wingedfoot Fred at once left the
room and taking his dog went out into the night
and made a careful reconnoissance of their sur—3
roundings: but not the sign of a living foe could
he find. Returning to the cabin he attempted
to go back into the second room but found the
door fastened on the inside; without a word he
turned aside and entered into conversation with
Roman Jack and Ruth. .

Some twenty minutes later Polar Sol, fol-
lowed by Columbia Jim and Old Dismal, came
out of the room, closed the door behind him, and

said:

“Wal. folks, I reckon we’d better be pullin’
out for the cave.”

As he spoke he gave the boys a look that re-
quired no ex lanation.

With a 100 of decided happiness upon her fair
face, Ruth arose and pre ared for the journey
to the dug-out, and as they passed out of the
cabin, Roman Jack gallantly offered her the
support of his arm, which she accepted, and
thus the oung hunter became her escort.

Old Po ar carried a lantern, and Wingedfoot
Fred and his dog led the way, Columbia Jim
and Dismal bringing up the rear.

Within an hour after the departure of the

hunters from the cabin, afl re—that of a white
man—crept from the sha 0ws somewhere, and
approaching the door of the cabin, pushed it
open and entered. His face wore a wild, hag-
gard look. He was almost dead with cold, but
ie stopped not to warm at the first fire. He
went rom room to room. As he entered the
fourth or last one, he started back at sight of a
form hangin from a joist overhead. It was
the body of t e counterfeiter and outlaw, Lame
Doke. He was motionless, dead!

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
DREAMS OF LOVE.

ALONG down the ice of the Reservoir and up
the river, where walking was easier for Ruth,
Win edfoot Fred led the way; and after a
coup e of hours’ walking the turned up the Ma-
nomine, and soon the chal enge of the faithful
Pilgrim Dave at the Convict’s Cave, greeted their

“1'8.
“We’re friends, Pilgrim,” Wingedfoot Fred

 

riiaud threatened to give away 1
the scheme to catch you fellci-s, Dladocq shot

 

 

 

 

answered‘him, “ and we’ve depopulated Buzzard
Bend the slickest you ever saw and rescued your
daughter.”

“ God be praised!” exclaimed the man in tones

1 of reverence, and stepping from the cave be ad-
“Well, the Old Master artist, \gingedfoot?
ut go on

named to meet the party, inipatientto look upon
and know his own child.

Old Polar advanced to Ruth’s side as he came
up and holding the lantern up so that its light
fell upon the face of the maiden and also that of
the bearded hunter, said: -

“ This is the gal, Pilgrim.”

Pilgrim Dave gazed into the face of the mail-
en and she into his. For several moment s the
man’s lips were sealed. It seemed as thou; h be
was unable to speak, but finally be swallowed
the lump in his throat, and a gasp_—a sob, burst
from his lips and reaching he clasped the maid-
en in his arms crying out:

“ My child! my little Edith—the living ima e
of her dead mother! Oh, my daughter! you do
not know me!"

“Fatherl” the maiden sobbed, but she could
say no more. Her heart was overflowing. Not
flu; shadow of a doubt rested in the mind of,
on. 101‘.

There was a deep silcme for several moments.
Roman Jack walked away, and Polar Sol low-
cred his lantern to conceal a mist of tears that
glisteiicd in his eyes.

Wingedl'oot Fred had hurried on to the cave
where he was greeted by Naida, whose eyes had
not been closed in sleep that night.

“ N aida," he said to her, “ I congratulate
you on bein’ rid of all your enemies and p<rse—
cutors.”

' “ But what of my father. Fred ?” the girl ques-
tioned, her first thought being of Henri Ai‘naud.

“ I’m sorry to have to tell you, Naida, he is no
more, Jean Dladocq in a fit of rage killed

111)].

The maiden burst into tears of grief and sob-
bed most bitterly. Fred endeavored to comfort
her with kind and sympathetic words.

Presently the others came into the retreat.
Ruth, happy now, clasped Naida in her arms,
cr ing out:_

‘0 , Naidal I have found my father at
last!”

“And I have lost mine, sweet Ruth,” Naida
sobbed.

“ Cheer up, Naida,” said the gentle-hearted
Ruth, “ my father shall be a father to us both.”

“ Yes, Naida,” said Pilgrim Dave, " you shall
never want for a father as long as I IiVe.”

The scene was both a happy and sad one. and
it was some time before all had become settled
and reconciled to the situation.

The hunters now concluded that they could af-
ford to liberate the red-skin they l ad held captive
so long, and did so, although P< lar Sol declared
that if it had not been for the presence of the
1girl‘s he would have taken the fellows scalp for

ac

Relieved of all fears and mental cares Winged-
foot, Roman J aek and Polar wrapped them-
selves in their blankets, and laid down for a
much-needed nag, haan been on the go for
over forty-eight ours Without sleep or rest. In
five minutes they were sound asleep.

Pilgrim Dave never. closed an eye that night.
Joy and happiness banished sleep, and for hours
he and Ruth talked of the past, each recountin
the events in his and her life during the ears 0,
their se aration. It was with great JO that
Pilgrim ave listened to Ruth’s story of ather
Lille’s kindness to her as a father, a teacher and
Christian adviser. ,

When morning came the three hunters were
still sound asleep. Their friends would not dis-
turb them, and When they finally awoke it was
quite noon. Rising. they greeted their friends
and oing out into the open air, walked aroun
awhile, washed their hands and faces With snow,
and then returning to the cavq. announced them-
selves ready for dinner, which the girls took

t pleasure in preparing3 though l‘ffluiring
at little time and labor, as miled venison was
the only food they had to prepare. .

After all had dined the began discussing the
advisability of startin a. once for Deer Lodge.
While thus engaged._ alda’s eyes were seen to
fill with tears, and rismgi She walked out of the
cave without saving a word to an one.

Win . edfoot Fred saw that she was in trouble,
and fol owed her out. He found her standing
a few rods away. her tearful eyes fixed thought-
full on somethm far off.

“ aide,” said 15 6 youth, approaching, “ I see
you are sad.” '

“ Yes, indeed. Fred,” she replied, with uiver-
in Lips; “I have enough to bear to in one

“Jam's true, Nana; but you have posed as

 

  

Mew;  _

 

 

 

  

‘ {1‘15}— '...':
a now-v

 

  

 

   
  
  

 

 

  

 

 
 
   
    
  
   
    
   
    
  
  
   
 
 
  
   
   
     
   
 
  

 

   

  

   
 

be eovertorthe'gratiflmtion of
 , rid Hollandmoosnilid

with nothing to fear and much to live for.”

“ You do not—you cannot understand me,
Fred. I am now entirely alone in the world.”

“Not by any means, Naida,” declared the
youth. “ Every blessed one of us 18 your
friend.”

“I do not doubt that- you have been brave,
kind friends, to whom I owe my lasting bless—
ing. But still you are strangers, in one sense of
the word. If I were a boy like you, I could
make my way through the world easy enou h.
I ma have relatives somewhere in the wor d,
but t ey, too, are strangers to me. I am but
the unsophisticntczl' daughter of a hunter, and

'the last year of my life has been spent in the

rendezvous of a band of outlaws and evil men.
All this would be against me, as I am a girl, but
if I were a boy it would not. ’

“Naida,” said Fred. with no little depth of
feeling, “ it’s true I have known you but a few
days, and yet I, as well as my friends—yes, even
the outlaw, Lame Doke himself—know you tonbe
a ure and innocent girl with all the nobler in-
stincts of exalted womanhood.” _

“Oh, Fred!” the girl exclaimed, “it IS truly
comforting to know that you and your friends
regard me as I am—as have been reared in
humble life by a Christian mother! But for all
this, I am a helpless girl now, and do not want
to become a burden to any one.”

“Naida,” Fred said tenderly, yet in a tone
that betrayed great emotion, “you‘re just the
kind of a burden I’d like to have upon my heart
and hands all my life. I, too, am alone in the
world, and While I have many good friends, I
want some one to whom I can go With a claim
stronger than friendship; and you, Naida, are
that person. Dare I hope ever to be the same
to you?”

As these words fell from the young hunter’s

Wingedfoot Fred.

  

15

.-

 

.__.a. m. A.

I -,__.
ordeal in safety, and the future lies before you though the latter was but a shadow of his for-

mer self. The invalid’s story of his part in the
' abduction of Ruth, revealed the important part
that Old Dismal played in bringing about the
ha py termination of one portion of our story.

' he reader will, doubtless, remember the story
Dismal told of finding a child in the woods, one
stormy night, fourteen years before, of how he
carried it to camp and cared for it, and of its
mysterious disappearance an hour or two later
while he was out in the woods searching for fuel.

Donne admitted that he and Phillis—alias
William VVyncoop, alias Canada Carl—iii flee-

' ing with the child had become bewildered in the

storm, and finally believing the child was dying
of cold they dropped her into the snow, thereby
relievin themselves and their nearly exhausted
horses 0 so much burden. They had not gone
far, however, when they discovered the light of
a camp-fire and rode toward it. They saw no-
body about it, but remained under cover and
watched. Presently they behold a man, stag-
gering from the darkness into the light, carrying
in his arms the child they had deserted. Not
wishing to be seen in that country. and yet anx-
ious to know the condition of the little one, they
remained in concealment and watched the hunter

'warm the waif to life. thcn exert himself to

amuse it until it finally fell asleep. “'hen the
hunter left camp to gather fuel Deane held the
horses, and Phillis crept info camp and stole the

 

child away again. They then rode on and on.

3. The next day they stoplxfl for awhile at Con-

, child at Father Lillc’s door.

vict Cave. and the followiin night they left the
So, had it not been

1 that Old Disiiinl was Providentially belated that

1 night, Ruth would have perished in the storm
without a doubt.

i For Ruth’s benefit, Old Dismal was induced to

, tell over again his experience of that night. and,

[ although his efforts to amuse her by standing on

lips, the maiden raised her eyes and gazed at 1 his head and other boyish antics, failed of the
himthrougha mist of tears like one suddenly ‘r desired result then, his story provoked the
awakening from a pleasant dream to_find it . maiden and all her friends into pi'als of hearty
reality. Her lips quivered with emotion. but ' laughter.

uttered no word. She mechanically raised her

After Aaron Doane had told the story of his

hand to brush a tear from her cheek, and as it | crime, he said:

descended it fell into the outstretched palm of
the young; hunter, and there 19. flutterin like a
timid bird. Almost unconscmusly Fr drew
her close to him, and stooping kissed her brow.
She blushed. her quivering lips moved. and in a
tremulous voice she said:

“ Fred, on shall be my friend for—”

“For li of” finished Fred.

“ Yes,” she answered softly, her young heart
oval-flowing with the rapturous bliss of a new-
born happiness.

“$1137, out thar!” suddenly bawled out the
voice of Polar S )1; “ if you youngsters are goin’
with us to Deer Lodge you’d better be skir-
mishin’ around.”

Ham»
lovers returned to the dug-out, and a few min-
utes later the Whole party flied out of the cave

i ' “ It may seem strange to you all that any man
g could be guilty of sucha crime withouta greater
motive than I had. But I find there is no crim-
inal depravity to Which man will not descend
when his moral nature has become debased
by dissipation and evil influences. This crime
against Holland—a man who had never harmed
me by word or act—was done to gratif * the re-
venge of another man. But, I am than ful it is
I, the worst one of m life, and that the demon
Remorse, inspired y the near approach of
death, has driven me, even at this late hour, to
make reparation, such as it is. And knowing
; that any punishment the law of the States, or of

the woods, might inflict upon me will be soon

yas two hearts could well be the young  ended, I leave my fate in David Holland‘s

‘ hands.”
1 n And I,” said Holland, “forgive you, and re-

and moved away down the Manomine and up : mand you to the mercy of your God. who will

the Red River.

CHAPTER XIX.
BACK AT DEER LODGE.

ONCE more We find ourselves at Deer Lodge
whose occu ants are now increased by four— 1d
Polar Sol,
and Naida.
from the inclemency of the weather and the
dangers of the Woods after a, long yet pleasant
journey from Convict Cave,

It has been three days since their arrival. Al-
ready David Holland—Pilgrim Dave—has decid-
ed upon his future course—to Quit the woods
and with his daughter, for his daughter’s sake,

oback to civilization. Naida is to make her

ome with them until some time in the future ?

she can have a home of her own. Wingedfoot
Fred and Roman Jack are to accompaQY them
to the settlements. They are not certain, how-

ever, when they will start, for they Will '
not leave until Father Lille has been seen- The)’ 

are expecting the missionar there every day,
for Old Dismal had been dispatched With the
elk-sledge to bring him to Deer Lod e, and if he
cannot come they will visit him at is cabin as
scon as the weather will permit.

To their joy, however. Dismal finally re-

turned, bringing not only the good missionary,"

but Aaron Doane, the invalid» 3130'

Ruth was so rejoiced to meet her kind old fa- 1, But the trio of grand old
ther that she was beside herself w1th 10y, 1101‘ .‘
was the happiness of the old man any the less :

profound.
The whole of the events of the past week,
and we may say the past fourteen gets, bad .to
other Lillie.
Aaron Donne, al-

; fairly and impartially mete out to you the un-
ishvvient or mercy that would in the end) be
yours.’

] And here we will say that the invalid never

4 left Deer Lodge. When Father Lille took leave

I of his friends and returned to his post of duty,

Oman Jack and the two girls. Ruth 3 Deane was unable to travel, although be greatly
They are comfortably domiciled i desired to return with the missionary and re.

1 ceive, in his dying hours. the old man’s benedic-
tion. A month later he died and was buried
alongside his unrepentant friend, Phillis, under
the dark ines.

Wing foot Fred and Roman Jack never re-
turned to the Wileroods after leaving Deer
Lodge that winter. They had lcrn persuaded
to lay aside their buckskin and rifles for the
garbs of civilization and school-books. Out of
his bountiful inheritance, David Holland could
well afford to be generous to the brave and gal-
‘: lant boys: but he little dreamed that, in years

to come, the would make demands upon him
for the ban 3 of his daughters. But, such was
i the case, and Fred has ever been true to the
* pledge made on the ice of the Manomine, in that

e made her one of the best. truest and most

E devoted of husbands. While Roman Jack and
5 Ruth are equally as happy. -

Polar Sol returned to his own hunting-grounds
v down the Red River, and Columbia Jim and Old
l Dismal continued in business at Deer Lodge.
ood heroes were more
than once brought together afterward, by
events quite as stirring and adventuresome as
those we have just recorded, and we may find it
expedient, at some time in the future, to give
our readers another chapter of the life of “ Polar
[801, the Cold Wave from the N or’west.”

~ THE END.

 

Edward L. was-inc.

Deadwood Dick Novels

Beadle’s Half-Dime Library.

1.
20.

104.

109.
121.

129.

138.

149.

156.

195.

201.

221.

405.
410.

421.

1 430.

443.

448.

. Deadwood Dick’s

 

Deadwood Dick; or, The Black Rider of the
Black Hills.

The Double Daggers; or, Deadwood Dick's
Defiance.

. Buffalo Ben; or, Deadwood Dick in Disguise:
. Wild Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval; or, Tl)?

Brotherhood of Death.

. The Phantom Miner; or, Deadwood Dick‘s

Bonanza.

. Omaha 011; or, Deadwood Dick in Danger
. Deadwoixl Dick’s Eagles; or, The Pards c"

' Flood Bar.

. Deadwood Dick on Deck : or, Calamity J ane.

the Heroine of Whoop-L p.

. Corduroy Charlie; or, The Last Act of Dead

wood Dick.

. Deadwood Dick in Leadville; or, A Strangc

Stroke for Liberty.

Deadwood Dick’s Device; or, The Sign of
the Double Cross.

Deadwood Dick as Detective.

Cinnamon Chi the Girl Sport; or, The

)
Golden Idol ofI Mount Rosa.

Deadwood Dick’s Double; or, The Ghost of
Gorgon’s Gulch.

Blonde Bill; or, Deadwood Dick’s Home
Base

A Game of Gold; or, Deadwood Dick’s Big-
Strike.

Deadwood Dick of Deadwood; or, The
Picked Party.

Deadwood Dick’s Dream; or, The Rivals of
the Road.

The Black Hills Jezebel; or, Deadwood
Dick’s “'ard.

Doom;

or, Calamity
J ane’s Last Adventure.

. Captain Crack-Shot the Girl Brigand; or,

Gypsy Jack from Jimmwn.

Sugar Coated Sam; or, The Black Gownsof
Grim Gulch.

. Gold-Dust Dick. ,
. Deadwood Dick’s Divide; or, The Spirit of

Swamp Lake.

. Deadwood Dick’s Death Trail; or, From

Ocean to Ocean.

. Deadwood Dick’s Big Deal; or, The Gold

Brick of Oregon.

. Deadwood Dick’s Dozen; or, The Fakir of

Phantom Flats.

. Deadwood Dick’s Ducats; or, Rainy Days

in the Diggings.

. Dead wood Dick Sentenced; or, The Terrible

Vendetta.

. Dead wood Dick’s Claim; or, The Fairy Face

of Faro Flats.
Deadwood Dick in Dead City.

Deadwood Dick’s Diamonds; or, The Mys-
tery of Joan Porter.

Deadwood Dick in New York; or, A Cute
Case.

Deadwood Dick’s Dust; or, The Chained
Hand.

Deadwood Dick, Jr.; or, The Sign of the
Crimson Crescent.

Nickel-Plate Ned; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s
Defiance.

The above are for sale by all newsdealers,
five cents a copy, or sent by mail on receipt of
six cents each.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Punusnns,
% William street, New York.

  

  

in. .-...

l
4
a
t

 
   
   
    
 
 
  

 

BEADLE’SrHALF-DIMEaieLIBRARY.

Published Every Tuesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Five Cents. No Double Numbers.
0

 

 

~e ‘ . 5 I

 

BY EIHVARD L. “WHEELER.
Deadwood Dlt-k Now-in.

1 Deadwood Dick, tln- l’rinw‘ Hi the llvmrl.
20 Double Daggorn; or, l’t‘mlu'nml [lit-“'5 Di-tiam-e.
28 Buffalo lien: or, ihudwmni lllt'li in Disguise.
3") \‘Iiltl li’lIll. llit‘, liuy l'lululu llrnul.
42 I’hnutom Itiincr; or, llmdnuud lliv'k'a l’ronnnza.
49 thrmlm on; or, llt'mlwmr-i link 1,. “Mm...

5i Deadwood Dick'l l'lngltw; or. The i‘nrda oi Flood liar.
73 Deadwood Dirk on Dork: or. 1‘..in:nitv .luuv,tiu-, Heroine.
’6'? Corduroy Charlie: or. kuimwi Dick‘s Lost Act.

100 Deadwood Dick ill Lomh lilo.

104 Deadwood Dick”! Dot Ice; or, ‘l he l)u\ll)lt: Crma Sign.

109 Deadwood Dirk an Detective.

1291(l‘eiuliwood Dlok‘a Double; or, The Choet ot (:nrgou‘o

‘lll (T i.

[all [Halide lilll: or. DemiWnod Dick's Home lids».

149 A Game of Gold; or. Dundme llirk'a iii: Strike.

16-!“ Deadwood I'lQio' oi' "l‘flth‘ood: or. 'l‘lw l’il'lwnl l’mlv.

197» Dead ' od Divk’n Dream; or. The Riv in Ill the liuud.

201 The ll uok Illlanozeht-l; or. limitlwmnl i) vk'a Ward.

205 Deadwood Dick‘s Doom; or, Culuurity .lzme'l Last Ad-

venture.

21'? Captain Crook-Shot, the Girl l'irigand.

221 Sn ar-Coated Sum; or, The Blur-k (iown.

232 Go d-Duat Dir-k. A RUIIIlInr'e oi‘ Rouuh ~ and Touzha.

268 Deadwood Dick‘l Divide; or. The Spint ofSwnmp Lake.

26% Deadwood Dick’s: Death Pro“.

809 Deadwood Diok’a iii: Deal; or, The Gold Brink of

Oregon.
821 Deadwood Dick'a Doze-n; or, The Fakir «(Phantom Plate.
84‘? Deadwood Dick‘s Dueutn: or, Rainy Day: in the Dig-

mnuu.
851 Deadwood Dlek Sentenced; or, The Terrible Vendetta.
802 Deadwood Dick’s Claim; or, The Fairy Fee. of Faro

hint...
405 Deadwood Dick in Dead City.
410 Deadwood Dick’s Diamonds; or, The Myltory of Jon

Porter.
421 Deadwood Dick in New York; or, A “ Cute Care.”
480 Deadwood Dick’a Dust; or, The Chained “and.
448 Deadwood Dick, Jr.
418 Nickel-Plate hed: or, Deadwood Dick Jr’l Defiance.
'8 Sunflower Sam, 0! Shasta; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’a Full

“and.
459 Ili‘luuh Fan, the Ferret; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’u Big Rotund-
l.
465 abilomFly, oi Phenix; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’a Racket at

Rllii .
471 Bozeman Bill; or. Demiwmd Dirk Jr’l Corral.
4T6 Humboldt Harry, the Hurricane;- or, Deadwood Dick Jr’-
)og Detective. ,
481 Moll Mystery; or, Deadwood Dick Jr. in Deadwood.
491 Prince Pistol, the King of the Welt; or, Deadwood Diok
Jr‘a (‘mnpant.
figg’il’ioadte (,‘r‘i'altfi, feign Deadwood gckntlhinherllaloe,
ea woo o ' u 5' "2H". . t -Gri ‘a Swoo .
508 Deadwood Dick’a Defiverance. p P
515 Deadwood Dick‘s Protegee.
522 Deadwood Dick‘s Three.

Other Novels by E. L. Wheeler.

26 Clever- lloof, the Bufl‘alo Demon.
82 Ilob Woolf; or, The Girl Druid-Shot.
89 Death-Face, Detective; or, Life in New York.
45 Did Avalanche: or, Wild Edna. the Girl Brignd.
53 Jim llludnoe. Jr., the Boy Phenix.
6| Iim-khorn ilill; or. The Rad Rifle Team.
69 {told llitie the Shut Ishooten or. The Boy Datum",
80 "oat-bud [lob or, want Ned, the Knight.
R4 idyi, the Girl . Iner; or, Rtilehud Rob on Hand.
88 Photo ra h I’hll; or, Rmebud Roh’l Reap earanco.
92 (Inna a (3 er; or, Old Anaconda in Sitting ull’l Cu“,
96 \Vatoh- E (a; or, Aruba nnd Angela of a Great City.
118 Jack "or e the Young Sneculutnr.
117 Gilt- Edged Dick, the Sport Detective.
121 (‘lnnamon Chip, the Girl Sport.
125 Bonanza Bill. Miner.
138 lion-a Ilob the King of llootidarlu.
141 Solid Sam the Boy RoadrAge-nt.
145 Captain term, the New York Detective; or, Be“ Boy.

on Job.

181 New York Neil the Boy-Girl Detective.
1?? Nobb Nick of fievadat or, The Sierral Scampi.
181 Wild ‘rmtk, the Buckskin iiruvo.
209 Fritz, the Bound-Boy Detective.
218 Fritz to the Front; or, The Ventrlloqnht Hunter.
226 Snoozer the Buy Sharp: or, The Arab Detective.
236 Apollo Dill, the Trail Tornado.
240 (1 clone Klt, the Young Gladiator.

44 ' erra Sam, the Frontier Ferret.
248 flucrra flarn'a flocrct; or The Bloody Foot rinte.
258 fl-erra Stun’n Paul; or. The Angel or Big in...
258 fi 'erra flam'a lie-vent or. The Stolen Bride.
278 Jumbo Joe the liny Patrol; or, The Rival Hair».
.77 Denver Dol’l. the Detective Queen.
281 Denver Doll‘a Victory.
Ills Denver lioil‘a Dot-0y ; or. Little Bill‘s Bonanza.
291 Turk, the Boy Ferret.
296 Denver Doll's Drift; or. The Road Queen.
299 A No. l. the Dashing Toll-Taker.
8 ’lea Jane, the 'iirl Miner; or, the ivon-Nervod S rt.
82 Kelley, lllckev 41' Con-Fang: tho‘Sleuthl of? iladalphia.
no .ittle automation or,’ it sad lace ornauemiuo.
834 (angaroo Kit; or. The Myltoriom Miner.
889 .{an nroo Kit’a Racket.
848 Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood.
868 [What-(llama Fred, lliQ Gent irom Gopher.
86% Breka Jim, the Gold-Gatherer; or, The Lottery or

(a .

81¢ Yreka Jim’s Prize.
27" Naboh Ned; or, The Secret of Slab City.
892 (lool Kit. the King of Kldn; or. A Villain’s Von not.
3’35 Yroka Jim’a Joker; or, Tim Rlvnla of Red on. ,
8R9 lfloyolo lien; or. The Lion of Lightning Lode.

4 Yreka Jim of "him Drum.
400 Wrinklea, the Night-Watch Detective.
416 High lint Harry, the Halo Bnll lietective.
0 Sam “lab-idea. the ileggar-BoBDetectivo.

Jim Beak and Pal. Private «actives.
488 Slit“ Fe fill, the Siuaher.
480 Sealakin Sana. the Sparkier.

 

9
5'3

 

éfi
.5

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN.

11 The Two Detectivea; or. The Fortunes of. Bowery Girl.

76 Abe Colt. the Crow-Killer.

'20 so] 9|. er, the Giant Tra par.

8 Joe Buo ‘ of Angela an "in Boy Para.

447 New York Nat. A Tale of Trlelu and Trap! in Gotham.

45: New En land Nick; or. The Fortunes olal‘ouudlinc.
Nl-hl glak, the Circul Prince.

'l‘aoa 'Fed, toe Arlaona S rt.

4 8
520 0001 Colorado, the Hai -Bmd Detective.
818 00010010” in New York.

 

 

BY (IDLIDNEL I’ll ENTISS INGRAIIAM.

7 The Fly lm: Yankee: or, The Ocean (lutrusl.

17 Ralph Rut, line Ho)" liuu'un or; or. The Fugitive Yacht.
2.4 "Jainier lilr-k ' or. The “Ht-41v of the Yellowstone.
tr ’ ho Nhudnw hltlp; or. ’i'lne iiivul Lirutunnliia.

.

| 5 The [guy [nu-l1“ ; or, 'i'hu Cruise of the Sen-“'0”.

02 Itlul.‘ Dead-Eye. tho liny Suiucgmr.

II The Scipncvll; or, ilw .\l.ii\hip|nuh's Logarv.

m in... u...,...,.(;m.r,.1..; ..r.-‘1 1.. iluuiiiitoi iiéll Gate.

97 “mo urn; or, iiuw'rt. rho Stork-'l'eurli-r's Daughter.

ll» Gold l'lumo: n". Ilw Klil-llluve Sport.

ill lilhflll lilll. the l'rltit'u (ii iii» ‘wiua.

22 lu‘ I'll, lilo lit'uvo fiptil'i ; 4-l‘. The “'onmn Trailer,

29 (‘r-inrnon Kliit': Hr. 'l'lw ('mvlmy's Triumph.

37 Lone Mar. tho Cowboy Captain.

15 Mom. “n. “may a or, The it‘reelam‘e lleir.

- t) ’l llt' )iiduhipmun . lutlncor: or. Brandt, the Buccaneer.
l ‘i llu- Floating Feather; or, Merle Monte’s Treasure
\ ulnl.

29" Thu (ion! .thp; or, Merle, the Cnudeninad.

2.6 Ni} uric Monte’a (fruit-e; or, The Chase 0! “The Gold

\ up."

2K0 \| uric \lonte‘a Fate; or. Pearl, tho Pirate's Bride.

284 The Son M “murder; or, Mario Monte'a l'ledmt.

2!? NHL; liluo.|~:,e-, tho llny Rove-r of lilo iiin (r'rrnndo.

804 The lit-ad Shot Dandy; or. iienito. the Boy Buxior.

808 K mm Hit; or. Ih-nd Shut Mandy's llouhle.

81-1 The .‘Iiyaterloun Marauder; or, The Boy Bugler’a Long

lrnll.
877 lionodel, the Boy Rover; or,The Fiazleaa Schooner.
3H5 The Indian l'llot; wr, 'l‘uu Search {of Pirate island.
33'? “'nrputh “'ill. the lin)’ i‘hnntom.
gill; :eltit'llli3'ilhe |i.r_v Lil-utt-Imnt.

1) lot or. t e Young Cont-pirator or, The Fatal 1.. e.
40? The liov lnfllll’flt‘l‘ll; or. This Cultist! Vendettl. m
412 The “'ild Ym-htnmnn ; or. The Wur-Clouu’a Crulu.
429 Dunt-nn Dore. tlw Boy Refugee.

433 A (‘ahln Bo "- Luck; or, The Corsair.

48? The Run Rn dor.

441 The lit-eon Firefly: 0?. A Mimi)": Vengeance.
446 llnphazard Ilnrr'y ; or, The Srupu rrnce of the Sea.
450 “ iznrd “'1” or. 'he Hwy Form 0 New York.
451 “'izard “'iil a Street flcoutn.

462 The llorn Guide; or. The Sailor Boy Wanderer.
468 Neptune Ned, the lioy Counter.

474 Flora; or, Wizard Will’s Vauahond Pard.

483 Ferret: Afloat; or. Wizard “'iil’l Last Can.

48? Nevada Ned, the Revolwr limimtr.

495 Arizona Joe tlu- lloy l‘nrd oi 'i'uxal Jack.

49? liack Taylor, Kim: oi 1h» Cowbnyl.

508 The Royal .VI iddyt or. The Shark and the Sea Cat.
507 The lluntod Mid-hi man.

511 The lilttlnwod Mid y.

520 Iluckakln Hill. the (‘anIClle Shadow.

525 Brother. in Buckskin.

[$.gnd-ifl-a

k

“KR.”

BY CIIA RLES MORRIS.

8 Will Somera, the Boy Dnlflclivo.

2 Phil Hardy, the Bonn Hwy.

ti l'ioayune ’t-tr; or, Nicodemus, the Dog Detective,
0 Doteotlve Dick; or, The Hero in Raga,
llamlmmre Harry, the Boothim-k Detective.

“'ill ‘1' Ilt‘lll re, the Thoroughbred.

Hack lit-Ila, Will Wildfire‘a Racer.

1
2
2
8

GG'VIBé-
NNGNG
.—

Miko Merry, ihr ilnrhur l’ollcn Boy.
“'iil Wildfire in the “'ooda.
l5 llllly Baggage. the Railroad Boy.
0 A Train]; Curd: or, \Vlll “'il-ihro “'im and 1.0.0..
4 Bob “cake”; or, Mysteries of New York.
ll llob Rocket: the Bank Runner.
3 The "mm... hand; or, Will Wildflre’l Revenge.
7 Fred ilalyar-d, the Life Boat Buy; or. The Smuzgien.
139 "ob flockctt; or, Driven to the “'ull.
196 shadowed; or, iloh Rockett'l Fight for Life.
206 Dark Paul. the Tiger King.
212 Dan-hing Dave, the Druid? Detective.
220 Tom Tanner; or, The ii uck Sheep oi the Flock.
i195 Sum Charcoal the Premium Dnrlty.
85 Shadow Rum. the Mustang" Buy.
242 The Two “ illooda "; or, Shenandoah Bill and Hi: Gang.
252 DIt-k Da-hnwny : or, A Dakota Boy in Chicago.
262 The Young Sleuth-t; or, Roilickiug Mlku’a iiot Trail.
274 Jolly Jim. the llutw‘tirv- An routine.
2M! .10in .lim’a Job; or. The loom: Detective.
298 The “'nier-Ilonnd; or, The Young Thoroughbred.
805 Ila-hnway, oi‘ Dakota; or, A Wratern Lad in the Quaker

(my.
824 Ralph llendy, the Hotel Boy Detective.
841 Tony Thornc. the Vagabond Detectiva.
858 The Reporter-Detective; or, Fred i-‘lyor’l Bliuard.
86‘? W hie-Awake Joe; or, A lioy ofthe Times.
879 Lori-v. the Leveler; or, The Blood. of the Boulevard.
403 Firein Jae-k. tho River-Rat Detvrtive.
423 The Loot Fin er; or,'l'he Entrapped Cuhier.
4728 Fred Fl er. tm Report" Detective.
482 Invinch e Lofun, the Pinkerton Ferret.
456 lillly llrick. tie Jolly Vagabond.
4 Wide-Awake Jerry, Detective; or, Entombed Alive.
4T9 Detective Dod e; or, The lily-wry of Frank Hearty.
483 “'ild Dirk "no etc.
501 Booth, the Boy Fireman ; or, Too Sharp for the Sharper,

HHflHHHHHHflflHHHH
-

IINNOI

BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR.

2 Yellow-tone Jack; or. The Tra or.
48 Black John the Road-Agent; or. re Outlaw'a Retreat.
65 llurrionne Dill; ur. Mustang Sam and iii. Pard.
. “It-In 8am or. The King of the Plain.
mi nwk 'It; or, The Daughter of the Ranch.
y Lance the lioy Sport.
I'ant Ier Paul: or. Dainty Laure to the Rescue.
c Huck Giant or. Dalntv Lance in .l--opnrdy.
Dead y Duall or, ightlng Fire with Fire.
- The Boy 'l‘ra lera; or, Dainty Lance on the War-Path,
The llo l’nrda; or, Dainty Lance llmnnllu.
11 (ll-ooth Cale, the Caliban of Celestial City.
0 The liarram-a Wolf; or, The Beautiful Decoy.
819 The Dim-k Rider; or, The lione~Tltleveel 1.0.3.1.,
885 old Double Fiat hon The Slut!!! Guido.
‘55 'llill' King oi thu- ‘ood-e or ll'tnill fluole’l Lat Trail.
449 kit Fox. the Border Boy Detective.

gar-
3‘:
F53
:1!
i!

 

Hdflflflflu
339-91
1:-
'3.
='

no
3
au-

3
pa

BY EDWARD s. mus. ’
/

6 Bill Biddon, Turmer-
8 fiefll Jonea; or, e Captlvu of the Frontier.
10 Nat Todd or, The Fate of the Sioux Captive.
21 The Front. er Angel.
98 The Boy Mine"; or, The Enchanted island.
1 I The Hunted Hunter; or, The Stran e Honor-Ia.
4 The Hall’- loud; or, Thr- Pantbor o the Plain.

.21 The lingo lunter; or, The Steam Prairie Mal.

 

 

‘

BY BUFFALO BILL (lion. Wm. F. Cody).

8 Kan-Ian King; or. The Red [light "and.
19 The Phantom H y: or, The Hint of the Prairie.
55 Deadly-Eye. the 'nknown Smut.
68 Border Robin Hood; or, The Prairie Rover.
158 Fancy Frank of Colorado; or, The Trupper’n Trait.

BY OLL COOMES.

5 Vagabond Joe. the Young Wandering Jew.
13 The Dumb Spy.
2'? Anti-lope Abe, the Boy Guide.
81 Keen-knife, the Prince oithe l‘rairiel.
41 Dunno Jack, the- Young Mustang".
58 '1 he Bord“- Ktmn or, The Secret Foe.
7' Delaware. Die-k, the Young it-nser Spy.
74 "awkuevc Ilarrv, tiu- Young Trapper Ranger.
83 Rollo, the Ito I linger.
"54 Sum- Hhot So: I, thv Iiuy lililrnmn.
143 flour-Fave haul, the Silent lluutn r.
146 fiilvor Star, the lio) Knight.
158 l‘iflfllt‘ lalit. tho lioy ileum".
168 Little Texan, the Young him-ranger.
178 Did Solitary, llm llvrlnit 'Ira rprr.
182 Little Ilurrionne, thu iio (aptnin.
202 Pro: wot Petr; or, The 'oum; Outlaw Hit-tell.
208 The oy lien-“lea: or. 'I iw l’rulrle 'i‘r-Ilpo.
21fl 'l‘lucr Tom. the Tune 'l'rrrw.
221 lint-hing Dir-k: or, 'I run." 'l‘mn’a (’astle.
228 lll'tl" \Vlldilro, tlu- Y: ung i‘iairie Nomad.
283 The l'nr-on Detective; or, The Little Ranger.
243 The DinguiM-d Guido; or, \‘l'iid Raven, the Inger,
260 Dare-Devil Dan, the Young Prairie Ranger.
272 Minknkln Mike, the lioy Shurpshootor.
290 Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy.
800 The sky Demon; or, Rulnbtrll, the Ranger.
384 “'hln-kinz Joe, the Boy Ranchern.
409 Hercule! or, lint-k, the Boy Ranger.
41‘? wehfoot, A one. the Trump Dewrtlvo.
422 Rab Ram, lilo lioy Giant ni'lhe Yellow“..._
444 tht e "lfl'kakln. the Young Prairie Centaur.
45‘? “‘lnge-di’oot Fred 3 of. “hi Polar Saul.
6 ‘nmarao 'I‘om. tho Big Turret Boy.
‘78 Did Tom Rattler lhr Red .(iver Epidemic.
482 Stonewall llob, the Boy 'l'i'OJfln.

BY T. C. IIARDAUGII.

28 Nick 0’ the Night; or, Th-- Boy Spy of ’70.
87 The llidden Lodge; or The with Hunter.
4? Nighiln ale Nut in, Tue Forest Pigtail".
04 Dandv . ack; or, ’ ‘ho- Outlaws of the rogu- Trail.
82 “it lrlll’ei'oot the Vi'ood-llnwit.
94 Midnight Jack or. The Boy Trapper.
106 Did Fronty, the iuldr; or. The Whit.- Queen.
128 Kiowa Charley thr White Muslunger.

' 189 Judge Lt'm-h, Jr.: or. The linv Vigilante.

155 Gold Tr 2 er. the Slwrt; or. The Girl Avenur.

mu Tornado ' ‘mn; ur, njun Jarlr From Red Core.

183 Ned Temple, the Border Boy.

19" Arkltllnaw ; or. Thu On» in oi Fntv‘a Revenge.

20" Navajo Nick. the Boy Gold Hunter.

215 (,‘nptnln Bullet ; or, Little Toplmot’n Crusade.

23H l’lnoky PM]; or. Rona, the Ron Jorebel.

24‘ "in Bravo; or, The Roruha of the Rockies.

265 (‘nptaln Apollo, the King-Pin of Bowie.

267 The iiuoknkin Detective.

279 Did “'lm-h: or, The iim‘kakin Desperado“.

294 D 'nnmite "an; or, The Bowie Blade of Cock“..-
802 'l' 9 Mountain Detective; or, The Trigger h Bully.
816 Did Et-llpao, Trump Card of Arilona.

826 The Ten l’arda Err-r. The Terror of Take-Notice.
386 Dig Benaon; or, he Queen of the Lame.

845 Piflleae Matt: or, Red Thunderhoit’l Secret.

at»: Paul sum ulli' I’arr'; or The Terrible Six.

366 Velvet Foot, the indlau Detective.

3R“ (‘flnt'h‘ (jungle; or, ’he 13 ‘ccuneer‘l Girl Foe.
39¢; no“ 1. Rob or,'i‘he l'wln Champions of Blue niuu.
411 The fink... ‘.Iflo or, The Ron of Ranch Roth.
413 Felix Fox. the Boy 4mm"-

425 Text“ Trump, the Border Rattler.

48“ PM] Flaah. the New York Fox.

445 The Cltv Mouth-t coiled “MW-Pinon.

461 one Alainat Flfly; or, i‘h‘e Last Man of Ken k,
470 The Roy shadow: or. Felix Fox's Hunt.

477 The Excel-ior Sport: or. The Wuhingtol Split".
499 Single night. thr Our-End Sport.

502 Branded Den, the Right Ferret.

519 Dodger Dirk, the Wharf-Spy Detective.

521 Dodger Dick’s Beet Dodge.

LATEST AND NEW ISSUES.

52? The Jolly Parde to the Renate. By P. S. W...
528 Fox and Falcon, the Bowery ‘Shadowl. By T. C. Hannah.
529 Deadwood Dick’s Danger Docks. By E. 1.. Wheeler.
580 The Buckskin Bowers. By Col. P. ingrahaa.
581 Daily Dare, the Sport from Denver. By Willi-a G. Patten.
582 The Cowboy Duke. By Edwin Brooke Format.
588 Wreatling Rex, the Pride of the Sixth Ward. By 30 Pierce.
584 Deadwood Dick’s Death Hunt. 3! 3- L- “219.
585 The Buck Ikin Rovers. By Col. Pnntin ln‘rah“.
586 Broadway Billy’s “ Dlflkiity.” By J. C. Cewdrlck.
58‘! Old Buckeye, the Sierra Sleuth. By J. W. Oahu.
588 Dodger Dick. the Dock Ferret. By T. C. Harbaugh.
589 Deadwood Dirk Jr” in Texan. 3! an"! L- Wheeler.
540 Captain 'Ku—Klux, the Marauder ot the Rio. 3, (None!
i‘rentiu ingraham.
541 Jeif Flioke", the Stable Boy Detectin- By Jo Home,
548 The Canyon Parde. By “0‘1"le D0"!-
andy Deoemhrr I121.

548 Dodger Dick’s Double.

Ready Deremher 9 . i “ "a w find
4: Jr. he ' 8- oeq. By Edward
“4 linings" hiay’new'nw 17-
545 Lieutenant Leo, the Son of Lafitte. By Col. 1’. W.
Ready January 3.
A New lune Every Tuesday.

The Half-Diane Library 1- for Ialo by an new.”
“u”, .9", or sent by mail on receipt of Ill «at: each.
3mm AND ADAMS, Pahliahfllo
98 Willia- Dtreet, New Yell l

By T. C. Herb-ugh.