GBeadZe 99- fldams, qublishers, N0. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. Com lete P i , In One umber. r cc Ten Gents. The Heaaiegsjgjrs‘r. BY CAPT. MAYNE 4 STRANGE STORY OF TEXAS. REID. ,‘V’ ._ ‘l 3'; ‘ mun/M ‘ ‘Hliimpuwmmb "Hrwlm ’I‘ a. pm "a T 1.1:" Headless Horseman. A STRANGE STORY OF TEXAS. BY CAPT. MAYNE REID. PROLOGUE. Tim s of Texas, reclining in midnight lair, is star- tlcd from is slumbch b the hoof-stroke of a horse. He does not forsake iis covert, nor et rise to his (out. His domain is shared by the wi d steed of the savanna. given to nocturnal straying. He only uprears his head; and, with antlers o‘erto )piug the tall grass, listens for a repetition of the sound. Again is the hoof-stroke heard, but with altered in- tonation. There is a ring of incial——the clinklng of steel against stone. The sound, significant to the ear of the stag, causes a quick change in his car and attitude. Springing clear of his couch, and bounding a score of yards across the grairic, he pauses to look upon the disturbcr of his reams. ‘In the clear moonlight of a southern sky, he recog- nizes the most ruthless of enemies—man. One is ap- proaching upon horseback. .chldlllg to instinctive dread, he is about to resume . his flight: when something in the appearc'm‘ of the ‘ horseman—come unnatural seeming—holds yinl trans- fixed to the spot. , With haunclics in quivering contact With the sword, and t'rontlet faced to the rear, he continues to gaze~hls large brown eyes slraining upon the intruder in a min- ;lmi expression or" fear and bewilderment. What has challenged the stag to such protracted scrutiny? . The horse is pi-rl’cct in all its parts—a. splendid steed, saddled, bridled, and otherwise completely on arisoned. in it there a.ppoa.1-S nothing amiss—nothing .o produce either wonder or alarm. But the man—the rider? Ah! About him there is something to cause both—some- thing weird—smuething wantiny/ BY HEAVENS! rr is THE HEADl Even the unreasoning animal can (perceive this' and, after gazing a moment with wildere eyes—wondering what abnormal monster thus mocks its cervine intelli- gonee—terror-stricken, it continues its retreat; nor again pauses till it has lunged through the waters of the Leona, and placed t e current of the stream be- tween itself and the ghOstl intruder. . ' * * Heediess of the alfrlgh ed deer—either of its pres- ence or precipitate flight—the HEADLESS HonsmuAN rides on. He, too, is going in the direction of the river. Unlike the stag he does not seem pressed for time; but ad- vances in a slow, tranquil pace; so Silent as to seem ceremonious. Apparently absorbed in solemn thought, he gives free rein to his steed; )ermitting the animal, at intervals, to snatch a mouthfu of the herbage grownig by the-wa . Nor does he, b voice or gesture, urge it impatient y inward, when t e howl-bark of the prairie-wolf causes fling its head on high, and stand snorting in its tracks. He appears to be under the influence of some all- absorbing emotion, from which no common incident can awaken him. There is no speech—not a whisper— to betrlaiy its nature. The startled star, his own horse, the wo and the midnight moon, are the sole witnesses of his silent abstraction. Ills shoulders shrouded under a serape, one edge of which, flirted up by the wind displays a portion 0 his figure: his limbs incased in ' water-guard” of jaguar- skin ; thus sufficiently sheltered against the dews of the night, or the showers of a tropical sky, he rides on— silent as the stars shining above, unconcerned as the cicada that chirru s in the grass beneath, or the prairie breeze playing wit the drapery of his dress. Something at lenvth appears to rouse from his rev- erie, and stimulate him to greater speed—his steed, a: the same time. The latter, tossing up his head, gives utterance to a oyous neigh; an , with outstretched neck and 3 re nostrils advances in a gait gradually increasing a cantor. 'lhe proximity o the river ex- plains the altered pace. Tho horse_halts not again till the crystal current is surging ainst Is flanks and the legs of his rider are submerge knee—deep under the surface. The animal eagerly assu es its thirst ; crosses to the OPDOEite Blde; Mid, With Vigorous stride, ascends the s oping bank. gun the crest occurs a pause : as if the rider tan-led till is steed should shake the water from his flanks. There is a rattlin of saddle-flu. s and stump-leathers, resembling thun er, amidst a 0 0nd of vapcz, white as the spray of a cataract. On 0 this self—constituted nimbus t?“ HEADLEBE Hosanna emerges ; and moves onward, as before, Apparently pncked by the spur, and guided by the rein, of his rider, the horse no longer strays from the track ; but steps briskly forward, as if upon a path al- ready trodden. A treeless savanna stretches before, selvedged by the sky. Outlined against the azure is‘seen the im ~rfect centaurean shape gradually dissolvmg in the distance, till it becomes lost to view, under the mystic gleaming of the moonlight l CHAPTER I. m BURNT mums. ON the (great plain of Texas, about a. hundred miles wuthwar from the old Sianish town of sun An- tonio do Bajar, the noon ay sun_is sheddin his beams from a sky of cerulean brightness. nder the golden li ht appears a group of objectshbut little l‘l unison wit the landscape around them; smce they 1 etokcn the presence of human beings, in a spot where More is no sign of human habitation. The objects in question are easily identified—even at a great distance. They are wagons; each covered with its ribbed and rounded tilt of snow-white “ Osnaburgh." There are ten of them—scarce enough to constitute a “caravan ” of trade nor et a. “government train." They are more likel t e in vidual propert of an emi— grant; who has lan ed upon the coast, an is wending Lies way to one of the late-formed settlements on the 0118.. Slowly crawling across the savanna, it could scarce be told that they are in motion, but for their relative positlin, in long scrriod line, indicating the order of man: The New York. Library. 1 The dark bodies liclwcen each two declare that the teams are attached; and that they are making progress is proved, by the retreating antelo e, scare rom its noonday siesta, and the long-shah ed curlew,_ rismg with a strange Screech, from the sword—both bird an beast wondering at the string of strange behemoths, thus invading their wilderness domain. Elsewhere u on the prairie, no movement may be de- tected—either ird or undruped. It is the time of day when all tropical life comes to id, or seeks repose in the shade; man alone, stimulate by the love of gain or the promptings of am ition, disregarding the laws 0 nature, and defying the ervor of the sun. _ So seems it With the owner of the tilted train, who, despite the relaxing influence of the fierce mid-day ‘ heat, keeps movin on. I ‘ That he is an emigrant—and not one of the ordinary ‘ class'—is evidenced in a variety of ways. The ten large l wagons of Pittsburgh build each hauled by e ht ab e- ‘ bodied mules; their miscellaneous conten s, p enteous provisions, articles of costly furniture, evel. of lame, ive stock in the sha e of colored women and children; the groups of blue and yellow bondsmen wuikmf alongside, or straggling foot-sore in the rear; the trave - lng carriage in the lead, drawn by a. span of sleek- coated Kentucky mules, and driven by a black Jehu, sweltering in a suit of livery; all bespeak not a poor Northern States settler in search of a new ome, but a ; rich Southerner. who has already 'purchased one, and is on his way to take possession of i . I And this is the exact story of the train. It IS the propcrt of a. planter who has landed at lndianoia on he gul of Mata rorda, and is now traveling overland ~07]. route for his estination. In the cortege that accompanies it, riding habitually at its head, is the planter himself—Woodie Poindexter —a tall, tlnu man of fifty, with a slightly so. lowish com- plexion, and aspect proudly severe. He is simply, though not inexpensively clad; in a loosely-fitting frock of alpaca cloth, a waistcoat of black satin, and trowsers of nankin. A shirt of finest linen shows its plaits through the opening of his vest—its collar embraced by a iece of black ribbon; while the shoe, restin in the stirrup, is of the finest tanned leather. His eatures are shaded by a broad-bummed Leghorn hat. The two horsemen are riding alongsidHne on his right, the other on his left—a striplin scarce twenty, and a young man six or seven years 01 er. The former is his son—a youth whose open. cheerful countenance contrasts, not only with the severe aspect of his father, but with the somewhat sinister features on the other side, and which belong to his cousin. The youth is dresse in a. French blouse of sky-blue “cottonade,” with trowsers of the same material; a. most appropriate costume for a southern climate, and \fivhich,iwith the Panama hat upon his head, is equally ecom ng. The cousin, an ex-offlcer of volunteers, affects a mili- tary undress of dark blue cloth, with a forage cap to 1 correspond. i There is another horseman ridi near, who, on ac- , count of having a white skin—not w lite for all that—ls i entitled to description. His coarser features, and cheaper habiliments; the keel-colored cowhide clutched in his right hand, and flirted with such evident skill, l reclaim him the overseer and whipper—up of the swar- l p i th pedestrians composing the entourage of the train. he traveling-carnage, which is a “ carriole,“—a sort ‘ of cross between a Jersey wagon and a baipuchefhns ltwo occupants. One is a oung lady of the whitest skin; the other a girl of the lackest. The former is the daughter of Woodley Poindexter—his only dau hter. Shegf the sable complexion is the young lady’s land- mai . The emigrating arty is from the “coast " of the Mississippi—from uisiana. The planter is not him- seif a no we of this State—in other words 3. Create; but the ty i”; exhibited in the countenance of his son—still more l): that fair face, seen occasionally through the curtains of the carriole, and whose delicate features do. clare descent from one of those indorsed damsels—filles a la candle—who, more than a hundred ears ago, came act-£55, the Atlantic with proofs of their virtue—in the we . A grand sugar planter of the South is Woodley Poin- dexter; one of the highest and haughtiest of his class; one of the most profuse in aristocratic hospitalities; hence the necessity of forsakin r his Mississippian home, and transferrin ’ himself and h s “ peuates —with only is “niggers”—t0 the wilds of south- a. remnant of western Texas. The sun is upon the meridian line and almost in the zenith. The travelers tread upon their own shadows. Enervated by the excessive heat, the white horsemen sit silently in their saddles. Even the dusk edestri- ans, less sensible to its influence, have ceas t eu‘ gar- rulous “gumbo;" and, in straggling groupS, shamble listlesst along the rear of the wagons. The silence~solemn as that of a funeral procession— is interrupted on] at intervals by the pistol-hke crack of a whip, or the 0nd “ woha," delivered in deep bary- tone from the thick lips of some sable teamster. Slowly the team moves, as if gro .ing its way. There is no regular road. The route is in icated by the wheel. marks of some vehicles that have passed before—bare. 1y) conspicuous, by having crushed the culms of the 3 art grass. Notwithstanding the slow progress, the teams are (loin their best. The planter behaves himself within less t an twent miles of the end of Joume . He liopestoreach t before ht: hence the mam am. tin-in throu h the midday eat. Lhcxpecte y the drivers are directed to pull up, by a sign from the overseer; who has been ridin a hundred yards in the advance, and who 18 seen to ma e a sudden sto —as if some obstruction had resented itself. 6 comes trottin back towar the train. His ges. tures tell of something amiss. What is it? There has been much talk about 'Indians—of a prob. ability of their being encountered in this uarter. Can it be the red-skinned marauders? cely: the gestures of the overseer do not betra actual alarm. “ What is it, Mr. Sansom?" asked he planter, as the man rode up. . “ The grass air burnt. The prai ’5 been aflre.” " Been on fire! Is it on fire now: ’ hurriedly inquired the owner of the wagons, with an apprehenswe glance to- ward the traveling carriage. “ Where? I see no smoke!“ “ N0, Sir—no," stammered the overseer, beco conscious that he had caused unnecessary alarm; “ didn’t say it air aflre now; nly that it hez been, an’ the hul round air as black as the ten 0’ spades i" “ a—tat! what of that? I suppose we can travel over a black prairie as safely as a green one? “What nonsensepf you Josh Sansom, to raise Inch 3. row about nothing, f1 htening the eople out of their sensesl Ho! there, you niggersl y the leather tohyour teams, and let the train proceed. Whip up i— w u ’ “ nil: Captain Calhoun," protested the overseer, in res onse to the gentleman w 0 had re roached him in suc severe terms, “ how air we to findp the way?" “Find the wayl What are you raving about? We haven’t lost it—have we i“ “I’m afraid we hev, though. The wheel-tracks ain't no longer to be seen. They re burnt out, along wi‘ the rass “ What matters that? I reckon we can emits a bit of scorched prairie, without wheelmarks to guide out We’ll find them a am on the other side.” “Ye-es," naive y responded the overseer, who, al- though a “ down-caster, ’ had been far enough west to have learnt something of frontier life; “if theer ali- any other side. I kedn’t see it out o’ the saddle—ne’er cal 11 (i‘ it." m “ sh up n ersl w 'p upl outed Calhoun without’lieedlng e remark; and spurring onward, a; a s that the order was to be obeyed. 8 teams are ain set in motion; and, after advan— cing to the edge 0 the burnt track, without instructions from an one, are once more brought to a stand. The w t to men on horseback draw together for a consultation. There is need: as all are satisfied by a sin le glance directed to the round before them. or as the eye can reach t e country is of one uni- form color—b ack as Erebua There is nothing green— not a blade of grass—not a read nor weedi It is after the summer solstice. The ripened culms of Yramzmoe, and the prairie flowers, have alike crumbled nto dust under the devastatl breath of fire. In front—on the right andlfieft—to the utmost ve e of VlSlOl] extends the scene of desolation. Over it the cerulean sky is changed to a darker blue; the sun, though clear of clouds, seems to scowl rather than shine—as if reciprocating the frown of the earth. The overseer as made a correct report—there is no trail visible. The action of the fire, as it raged among the ripe grass, has eliminated the impression of the w eels hitherto indicating the route. was? “ii” “if” t an. i uiry u. e p er mac 11 pg , stone that told of a. vaciliatlng Spil'll’t. - “Do uncle Woodleyl What else but keep straight on? The river must be on the other side. If we don‘t hit the crossing, to a half-mile or so, we can go up or down the bunk—as the case may require." “ But, Cassius, if we should lose our way i" “We can‘t. There‘s but a. patch of this, I suppose. If we do go a. little astray we must come out some- where—on one side or the 0 er." “ Well, nephew, you know best; I shall be guided by on ' “No fear uncle. I've made in way out of swam a”: than this. Drive on, niggerslyKeep straight after The ex-omcer of volunteers cast a concel galance toward the traveling gong): the cits: ms of which appears a fair face, slightly shadowed with anxiety—gives the spur to his horse; and with confident air trots onward. A chorus of wbipcmcks is succeeded pling of fourscore mules m led- with the clanki wheels against their hubs. e wagon-train isnogngl more in motion. ' The mules step out with greater ra idi . Th surface, strange to their eyes, excite}; tlgm to lit-18:11:): action—causing them to raise the hoof as soon as it touches the turf. The young animals show fear—snort- i southeytwance. h m be me r appre e one come alla. ed; taking their cue from their older assoeiates, tyliey' nil-:95 on Astgsilfly as beforie. ad I e or more 3 m e a arent innd from the point of starting. ' En iber’; is a gift iii: self-appomted finds has ordered it. He has reined up his horse; and sitting in the saddle with less show of gglxllfldence. He appears to be puzzled about the direc- The landscape—if such it ma be called— a change; though not for the getter. It lshsfi'lllas'sgblllggg $3; etlo $1113 “1312‘? caughe Illivgrizo . But the surface is no ‘ 7 . _. . lotions—with yvalleys betwgeraar'f'llzdges gentle man by the tram. are not drag treeless—though nothing that m termed :ltree in sight. There have been such be ore the am- bias, mzquttes, and others of the acacia. f -— d‘ ing solitary or in copses. Their light pinnaaumt'g foliug has disappeared like flax before t e flame. Their ex- istence is only evidenced by charred trunks and black- ened boughs. - “You‘ve lost the way, nephew!" said the planter, l'ldllllqg rapidiy up. t t I w m “ 0 one o—no e . ‘ve o pad to he look. t must lie y this direction—di that Willi): get $11215: drive on. We're going all right—I’ll answer or a . Once more in motion—adown the slo then ulo the valley—then up the acclivity of not or ridge—a3 then there is a second sto page upon its crest. “You’ve lost the way, ash?” said the plantar, com- ing up and repeating his former observation. Dumed if I don t believe I have, uncle l" onded the no how, in a. tone of not very refgectful strust. An ow. who the deuce could find way out of an ashp t like this? No, no," he continued, reluctant to 13611723 3161:, enviearrassmlilanltkgg thTo11 cal-dole came in . . e are a . m8 won.” a river must be n oes the guide. evident] irresolute. On follow the sagle teamsters, who, des to their stolidlty d0 110‘ fail to note some of the vaci tion. They can tell that they are no longer advancing in a direct line; but 011'- cuitons among the copses, and across the gladea that stretch tween. All are gratified by a about from the conductor, an- nouncin recovered confidence. In response there i811 Egg: explosion of whip-cord, with Joyous exclama- Once more th are stretchi their teams 8.10 o traveled road—w are a half-scourge of wheeled vehlilcfies must have passed before them. And not long before: the wheel-tracks are of recent lm rose—the hoof-prints 0f the animals fresh as if made within the hour. A train of wagons, not unlike their own, must havepasscd over the burnt prairie. , Like themselves, it could only begoing toward “I. Leona; perha a some government convoy on in Why‘- 0 Fort Inge? n that case they have only to keep in 9 Q same track. The forth on the lineal that-29d: Nos. 8-9. ‘ int it short distance beyond the point where their jour- ney is to terminate. Nothing could be more 0 ortune. The guide, hith- erto perplexed—thou h w1tiout acknowledgin it—is at once relieved of al anxiety; and with a fres l exhi- bition of conceit, orders the route to be resumed. Fora mile or more the wagon«tracks are followed— not in a direct line, but bending about among the skele- ton copses. The countenance of Cassius Calhoun, for awhile wearing a confident look, gradually becomes clouded. It assumes the profoun despondency, on discovering that the four and forty wheel— tracks he is following have been made by ten Pittsburgh wagons and a carriole—the same that are I now followin him, and in whose company he has been ' traveling all he way/tom Malawi-dd .’ CHAPTER II. THE TRAIL on ma LAZO. BEYOND doubt the we. ons of Woodley Poindextor Were going over ground ready traced by the tiring of their wheels. “Our own tracks! What mean you, Cassius? You don‘t say we‘ve been traveling—" “(in our own tracks, I so . uncle; that very thing. We must have made a com ete circumbendibus of it. See! here‘s the hind hoof 0 my horse, with half a shoe off; and there’s the feet of the niglgers. Besides, I can tell the ground. That‘s the very 111 we went down as we left our last stoppin -place. Hang the crooked luck! We‘ve made a coup e of miles for nothing." Embarrassment is no longer the only ex ression upon the face of the speaker. It has deepen to ch. .- gn’n, with an admixture of shame. It is through him that the train is without a regular guide. One, eng 1red at Indianola, had piloted them to their last camping- place. There, in consequence of some dis ute, due to the surly temper of the ex-captain of vo unteers, the man had demanded his dismissal and one back. For this—as also for an ill-timed disp ay of confidence in his power to conduct the march—is the planter’s nephew now suffering under a sense of shame. He feels it keenly as the carriole comes up, and bright eyes become witnesses of his discomflture. Poindexter does not repeat his inquiry. That the road is lost is a fact ev1dent to all. Even the bare footed or “broganned” pedestrians have recognized their long-heeled footprints, and become aware that they tare for the second time treading upon the same groun . There is a general halt, succeeded b an animated conversation among the white men. he situation is serious: the lanter himself believes it to be so. He can not that reach the end of his Journey—a thing upon which he ad set his mind. That is the very least misfortune that can befall them. There are others possible and probable. There are erils upon the burned plain. They may be compelled spen the night upon it, with no water for their animals. Perhaps a second day and night—or longer— who can tell how long? How are the to find their wa ? The sun is begin- ning to descen ; though still too igh in heaven to indi- cate his line of declination. By waiting awhile they may discover the quarter of the compass. But to what nrpose? The knowledge of east, west, north and sout can avail nothing now ; they have lost their line of march. Calhoun has become cautious. He no longer volun- teers to point out the path. He hesitates to repeat his pioneering ' experiments—after such manifest and shameful failure. A ten minutes’ discussion ends in nothing. No one con su gest a feasible plan of proceedm . No one knows how to escape from the embrace 0 that dark desert, which appears to cloud not only the sun and fikyi. but the countenances of all who enter within its m ts A flock of black vultures is seen flying afar off. They tome nearer and nearer. Some alight upon the ground —others hover above the heads of t e strayed travelers. ls there a boding, in the behavior of the birds? Another ten minutes is spent in the midst of moral and hymen-1 gloom. Then, as if by a benignant man- date rom heaven, does cheerfulness reassume its sway. Elie ciause? A horseman riding in the direction of the am An unexpected sight: who could have looked for human being in such a, place? All eyes simultaneously sparkle with JO ; as if m the approach of the horse- man they behe d the advent of a savior! “ life‘s coming this way, is he not?" inquired the planter, scarce confident 1n Ins full 3' ht. “ Yes father; straight as he can ii a,” replied Henry, lifting he but from his head and waving it on ' : the action accompanied by a shout intended to attract the horseman. The signal was superfluous. The stranger had already sighted the halted w ons; and, riding toward them at a allop was soon wit ‘ speakm distance. e di not draw bridle until be as passed the train- fild argved upon the spot occupied by the planter an s pa . “A szican!" whispered Henry. drawing his deduc- tion from the habiliments of the horseman. “So much the better ” re lied Poindexter, in the Sims thine of voice; “ he’ll be a the more likely to know e roa ." “ Not abit of Mexican about him ” muttered Calhoun “exce ting the . I’ll soon see. new dias,cavaller0. Ella . Maximum (Good day, sir! are you a Mexicanoi") ,NO, glideed " replied the stranger, with a protesting Emmi-sh i€110“ prefhtitmtllisiilsélI can speak wtioil youl in P841 v Y eriudaresa on uner- steam 1:31:53? in English: which, 13.3mm... is your no ve Calhoun. 3958:3017ng that he had spoken indlflerent Spanish, or m flerently pronounced it, refrains from making reminder. . “ American, Sir." replied Pomdemr. his natural pride slightly piqued. Then, as if fearing to oflend the man from whom he intendedasking a favor, he added: gYes, sir; we are all Americans—from the 54mm tales." “That I can rceive by your following." An ex. pression of extempt—scarce perce ti lea—showed tself upon the countenance of the sp er, as his eye rested upon the gran s of black bondsmon. ‘I can perceive, too,” he ad ed, “that you are strangers to prairie traveling. You have lost your way? “ We have, sir; and have very little prospect of re. IN it, unless we may count upon your kindness . H “ Not much kindness in that. By the merest chance 1 cum upon your trail, as I was crossmg the prairie. I est expression of‘ The Headless Horseman. i saw you were going astray; and have ridden this way to set you right." “ It is very good of you. We shall be most thankful i sir. My name is Poindexter—Woodley Poindexter, of ‘ Louisiana. Ihavc purchased a ropcrty on the Leona river, near Fort In e. We were in hopes of reaching it I before nightfall. ‘an we do so?" i “ There is nothing to hinder you, if you follow the in- y I structions I shall give." 1 On saying this, the stranger rode a few paces apart; and appeared to scrutinize the country——as if to de- termine the direction which the travelers should take. ‘ Poised conspicuously upon the crest of the ridlge horse and man presented a picture worthy of ski] ui delineation. A steed, such as might have been ridden by an Arab i sheik—blood-bay in co or—broad in counter——with limbs clean as cuhns of cane, and hips of elliptical outline continued into a magnificent tail sweeping rearward like a rainbow; on his back a rider—a young man of more than flve-and-twenty—of noble form and features; habited in the picturesque costume of a Mexican ranchcro—spencer jacket of velvc n—wlzone/os laced along the seams—calman of snow-white lawn—bolas of buff leather, heavily s urred at tho heels—around the waist a scarf of scurle crape; and on his head a hat of black glaze, banded with gold bullion. Picture to onrself a horseman thus habited seated in a deep rec—saddle of Moorish shape and Mexicali manufac- ture, with housings of leather stamped in antique pat- terns such as wero worn by the caparisonod steeds of the Conquistadoren; picture to yourseif such a median, and you will have before your mind‘s eye a counter- part of him upon whom the planter and his people were gazin ‘. , Through the curtains of the traveling carriage he was regarded with glances_that spoke of a singular sentiment. For the first time in her life, Louisa Poindex- tcr looked upon that being hitherto known only to her imagination—a man of hermc mold. Proud might he have been, could he have. guessed the interest which his resence was exciting in the breast of (".3 Creole. Hg could not and did not. He was not even aware of her existence. He had on',‘ glanced at the dust~be- daubed vehicle in passing~—as one might look upon the rude incrustation of an oyster, without suspect ng that a precious pearl may lie (gleaming inside. ‘By my faithi" he eclared, facing round to the owner of the wagons, “I can discover no landmarks for ' £011 to steer by. For all that I can find the wa myself. i on will have to cross the Leona. five miles elow the fort: and, as I have to go by the crossing myself, you can If‘tvillow the tracks of my horse. Good-day, gentle- , men i Thus abruptly bidding adieu, be pressed the spur against the SldO of his steed, and started off at a gal (E; An unexpected—almost unconrteous departure! thought the planter and his people. They had no time to make observation upon .‘.. before the. stranger was seen returning toward them! I In ten seconds he was again in their presence—ail listening to learn what had brought him back. “I fear the tracks of my horse may prove of little service to on. The mustangs have been this way since the fire. he have made hoofmarks by the thousand. Mine are sho ; but, as on are not accustomed to trail- ing, on not be ab 0 to distinguish them—the more fit at in ese dry asth all hoof-tracks are so nearly e. “ What are we to do?" despairingly asked the planter. “I am sorry, Mr. Poindexter, I can not 5 to con- duct you. I am riding express, with a dispute for the fort. If you should lose my trail, keep the sun on your ri ht shoulders: so that your :hadows may fall to the is t, at an is ’ ‘ bout fifteen degrees to ym‘r line of march. Gfiml‘l‘ forward for about five miles. You will then come sight of the too of a. tall tree—:3 c1 press. You will know it b and direct for that tree. its leaves bein in t'm red. t stands on the link .' the river; and close by is the crossing.“ The yo horseman, once more drawing up his reins, was a ut to ride 01!, when somct " v: caused him to linger. It was a pair of dark lustrous eyes- observed by him for the first time—glancing through the curtains of the traveling Their owner was in shadow; out there was light enough to show 1that the were seit :11 a countenance;1 o: su love iness. e perce v , moreover a thmr? turned u n himself—fixed as he fancied in an expression that tokened interest—almost tender- ness! He returned it with an involuntary lance of admira- tion, which he made but an awkw attempt to con- ceal. Lest it m' ht be mistaken for rudenczs, he sud- denly faced roun ; and once more addr'fl - d himself tit; t2? lanter—who had just finished thamnng him for s . “I amtybut ill-deserving thanks," was his rejoinder, “thus to leave on with a chance of 10 your tray. Bufflas I have to d you, my time is measure not a. little reluctant to travel alone. “ You are very kind, sir," said Polndexter' “but with the direction on have given us, I think we be able to manage. The sun Will show us— “No: now I look at the sky itwill not. There are clouds looming u in the non - In an hour. thesun ma be obscure ——nt all events. before you can gist wit in s' ht of the cygress. It will not do. Stay 1" e ooflintuifilg, after fl; It‘e fictive 1221110555,, I have a better 8 : allow ra my - p While sp/eaking. he had ted the coiled rope from his saddle-bow, and flung the loose end to the earth—the other being secured to 9. rl in the pommel. Then raising his hat in ceful utation—more than half- directed toward 1'. e traveling carriage—he ave the spur to his steed: and once more bounded 0 over the prairie. The lazo 1e honing out, tightened over the hips of his horse, tintijgcir a dozen yords behind left a line upon the cinerous surface, as if some slen er ser. pent had been making its pa 6 across the plain. “ An exceedin 1y curious ellow! remarked the lanter, as the sgoodhglazmg after the horseman. fast omi hid on be d a cloudy‘of sable dust. “I on ht to ave asked him his name! ' An exceedingly conceited fellow, I should sa ," muttered Calhoun, who had not failed to notice a glance sent by the stranger in the direction of the car- rlole, nor that which had challenged it. “As to me name, Idon’t think it matters much. It rnightn't be his own he would give you. Texas is full of such swells. who take new names when they get‘liemby way of e dispatch-bearer consulted his watch—'as though 3 3 “ on are unjust to the stranger. He 0. )pcnrs to be, e ucated—in fact agentlemun—worthy 0 bearing the best of names, I s ould. shy.“ “Agentlemnn! Deuce unlikely; rigged out in that i‘anl‘aron fashion. I never saw a. man yet, that took to a Mexican dress, who wasn‘t a Jack. He‘s one, I’ll be bound.“ Durln this brief conversation, the fair occupant of the carr ole was seento bend forward and direct a look of evident interest after the form of the horseman fast recedi from her view. To th s. perhaps, might have been traced the nor: mon‘y, observable in the speech of Calhoun. “ hat is it, Loo?” he inquired riding close up to tho [ carriage. and speaking in a voice not loud enough to he heard by the others. “You appear impatient to go forward: Perhaps you‘d like to ride off along with that zwugggl'lllg follow? It isn’t too late: I‘ll lend you my orse. The young girl threw herself back upon the seat, evi- dently dis leased, both by the speech and tone in which it was de ivercd. But her displeasure, instead of ex. pressing itself in a frown, or in the shape of un indig. nant rejoinder, was concealed under a guise far more galmig to him who had caused it. A clear ringing laugh was the only answer vouch- safed to im. “So. sol I thought there must be something—by the way fyou behaved yourself in his presence. You looked as i you would have relished a lewd-tare with this showy dispatch-bearer. Taken with his stylish dress, I suppose? Fine feathers make fine birds. His are bor- rowed. I ma strip them off some day along with a little of the sk n that‘s under them." “ For shame, Cassius! your words are a scandal)“ “ ’Tis you should think of scandal, Loo! To let your thoughts turn on a common scamp—a masqueradi fellow like that! No doubt the letter-carrier, employ by the officers at the fort!“ “A letter-carrier. you think? Oh, how I should like to get love-letters by such a postman l“ ‘ You had better hasten on, and tell him so. My horse is at our service." “ Ha! ha ha! What a. simpleton you show yourself! Suppose, for jesting‘s sake, I did have a fancy to over- take this prairie postman! It couldn‘t be done upon that dull steed of ours; not a bit of it! At the rate he is gomg he and h s blood-bay will be out of sight before on could change saddles for me. Oh, no! he's not to e overtaken by me, however much I might like it; and perhaps I might like it /” “ Don‘t let ourfather hear on talk in that way.“ “ Don‘t let im hear you * in that wa ,“ retorted the you lady, for the first time speaking a a serious strain. ' Though you are my cousin. and apa may think you the pink of perfection, I don‘t-not l I never told on I did d I?‘ A rown. evidently called forth by some unsatisfav tory reflection, was the only reply to this tantalizing in term ative. “ on are my cousin," she continued in a tone that contrasted strangely with the levity she had already exhibited “ but on are nothing more—nothi more-i Captain Cassius alhoun! You have no claim be my counselor. There is but one from whom I am in duly bound to take advice or bear reproach. I therefore hop. of you, Master Cash, that you will not nln presume. to re t such sentiments—as those you ave just fa- vo me with. I shall remain mistress of my own thoughts—and actions, too—till I have found a master who can control them. It is not you!" Having delivered this speech with eyes flashing— half-angrily half-contemptuous'ly—upon her cons u. the young Creole once more threw herself back upon the cushions of the carriole. The closing curtains admonished the ex-omeer that further conversation was not desired. Quail! under the lash of indignant innocence, he was only happy to hear the loud “gee-on “ of the teamsters, as the wagons commenced moving over the somber surface—not more somber than his own thoughts. CHAPTER III. was PRAIRIE moan-r031. Tun travelers felt no further uneasiness about the route. The snake-like trail was continuous; and so plain that a child might have followed it. It did not run in a ht line, but meander among the thickets; at times urning out of the wa . place: where the ground was clear of timber. Th 8 had evi- iic: :tly been done with an intent to avoid obstruction to tho wagons; since at each of these windings the travel- ers con d perceive that there were breaks, or other in- equalities. in the surface. ‘ How very thou htful of the yo fellow!" remark- ed Poindexter. “ reullyfeelregreta not havin asked {gr his 11am" 6. If he belongs to the fort, we all see m ag hglll‘lg doubt of it," assented his son. “ I hope we- Hls da hter, reclin! in shadow, overheard the co ectur s each aswel asthe rejoinder. Shesnid not ; but er gance toward Hen seemed to do- clare t t her heart fondly echoed the o . . Cheered by the p of soon to nating atoni- some ourney—as also y the pleasant anticipation of behol ng, before sunset, his new purchase—the planter was in one of his happiest moods. His aristocratic bosom was moved by an unusual amount of condescension to all around him. He chat. ted familiarl with his overseer; shipped to crack a oke with “ ncle " Scipio. hobblin ong on blistered eels; and encouraged “Aunt " 0 as in the transport of her piccaninny. “Marvelous!” mi ht the observer exclaim—misled by such exce tlonal nterludes.sopathetically described by the scribb ers in Lucifer’s pag—“ what a fine utri- archal institution is slave , a ter all! After we have said and done to abolis it! A waste of sympathy —sheer philanthropic folly to attempt the destruction of this ancient edifice—worthy comer-stone to a ‘ chivalric nation! Oh, ye abolition fanatics! why do 9 clamor against it? Know ye not that some must an or ——must work and starve—that others may enjo 0 luxury of idleness? That some must be slav that others may be free?" t hich m m Such arguments—a w a wor mi; weep— have been of late but too often u ed. Woe to the man who speaks, and the nation that ves ear to them. The lanter‘s high spirits were shared by his . 09.111013! alone excepted. The were acted faces of his black bondsmen. w 0 re arded him as in improvement, if for no better reason. Come. cousin Cash." protested yous; Poindexterh source. and dispenser, of their happ ens or ulna-y... a”. omnipotcnt«ncxt to uod. God, and {cared him more; though he wash no means 5. bad um :le~r~t_liat is by compu/iwn. He di not abso- lutely lam- delight in torturing them. He liked to see them u'l-ll l'cd and clad—their epidermis shinin with the exudation of its own oil. These signs bespo e the .ln )ortanco ot' the proprietoF—hnnsclf. He was satis- tlel to let them off wit ‘ :ialutary, he would assure you; and in all his “stock ” {here was not one black-skin nmrkcd with the mutila— ; (ion of vengeance—a proud boast for a Mississi piau ‘ slave-owner, and more than most could truthfu y lay I claim to. W“... ._ .-_.._...-...,.....i. , ‘ mrus and "byastranger,” sneeringly replied Calhoun. ‘ planter, in the tone of , respectful authority. In the )rosence of such an exemplary owner, no, wonder t at the checrfulness was universal—or that the slaves should partake of thcir master’s joy, and . :ivo way to their garrulity. It; was not destined that this jog;fulncss should con- , .t LIB after a time ‘ tinue to the end of thcir journey. lnwrru ted—not suddenly, nor b, any faint on the wart 0 those indulging in it, bu by causes and cir- cumstances over which they had not the slightest con- .ro . As the stranger had predicted, the sun ceased to be visible, before the cypress came in right. I There was nothing in this to cause apprehensuon. The line of the lazo was conspicuous as ever; Mid the needed no guidance from the sun, on] that his clou - eclipse produced a corresponding c set upon their, spirits. . “Ono might sup ose it close upon nightfall," ob- served the planter rawing out his gold-repeater, and glancing,r at its dia ; “and lyct it’s only three o‘clock! Luck the young fellow e But or him, we might have floundercd among these usth till sundown; perhaps have been compelled to Glee ) u n them.“ . I “ b ack b.. Lit would be,” Jokingly reJoined Harry, with the design c“ rcnderin the conversation more cheerful. “Ugh! I should avc such ugly dreams Wore I to sleep upon them}: . “ And I, too," added [115 Sister, protruding her pretty face through the curtains, and to 'mg a survey of the surroundh' scene; “ l'am sure I should dream of Tar- ‘lgduto, and Prose inc, and—" "Hiya! h a! hya!"grinn the black Jehu, on the box—enrol ed in the plantation books asPluto Pal 5 —“De youn missa dream ’bout me in _de mids’ of dis brack rairiel Golly! .lat am a good Joker—berry! Hyal hya hyal“ ‘Don t be too sure, all of c," said the nephew, at this moment coming up, am taking part in the con- Iersation—“don‘t be too sure that you. won’t have .aomake your beds upon it yet. 1 hope it maybe no worse." “ What mean you Cash ?” inquired the uncle. “Imean, uncle, not that fellow’s been misleading (l3. I won‘t say it for certain; butit looksu 1y. We've come more than five miles—six, I shoul say—mud where’s the tree? I’ve examined the horizon, with a. nair of as good eyes as most have got, I reckon; and there isn’t such a thing in Sight." _ “But why should the stranger have deceived us?" “ Ah—why? That‘s just it. There may be more rea- sons than one." _ . “Give us one, then!” challenged a silvery mm: from tho carriole. “We‘ve all ears to heat-1t!" “You’re all ears to take in anything that‘s tRlId you sup- pose if I gave my reason, you'd be so charitable as to call it a false alarm!“ ' “That depends on its character, Master Cassnus. I think you might venture to try us. We scarcely expect a. false arm from a soldier, as well as traveler, of your experience.” Calhoun felt the taunt; and would probably have withheld the communication he had intended to make, out for Poindexter himself. “Come, Cassius, explain yourself!" demandedYthe ou nave said enough to excite something more than curl- :sit . For what reason should the young fellow be I 1‘ us tantra. ?" ell, uncle, ‘ answered the err-officer, retreati a. little from his original accusation, “I haven’t said or certain that he is; only that it looks like it.” “In what way?” “ Well, one don’t know what may happen. Traveling rties as strong, and stronger than we, have been at- $353.1 oitlwse plains, and plundered of everything—- mu cre “ Mercy l" exclaimed Louise, in a tone of terror, more infected than real. “ 3 Indians,” replied Pointhxter. “Ah—Indians, indeed! Sometimes it may be, and sometimes, too, they may _be whites who play at that ' ame—uot all Memcan wintes neither. It on needs a. it of brown paint: a horsehair wig, with ha a dozen feathers stuck into it; ‘that. and plenty of hullnbalooin . If we were to be robbed b a. party of white Indians, t wouldn't be the first time he thing’s been done. We as as half deserve it—for our greenness, in trusting .much to a. stranger." “Good heavens, nephew! this in aserious accusation. Do you mean to say that the dispatch-rider—if he be one—is leading us into—into an ambuscade i" “No, uncle; I don‘t say that. I only say that such thi have been done; and it’s possible he may.“ “ ut not probable,” emphatically interposed the voice from the carriole, in a tone muntiu ly quizzical. “No!” exclaimed the stripling enry, who, although riding a few paces ahead, had overheard the conversa- 'lon. “ Your suspicions are un'ust, cousin Cassius. I ~n'onounce them a. calumny. W t’s more, I can prove “hem so. theroi" The youth had rained up his horse, and was pointing )0 an object_placed conspicuously by the path- which, Jefore speaking. be had carefully scrutinized. lt was a all plant of t. e colummar cactua, whose green, succu- i zit stem had escaped scathin b the fire. It was not to the plant itse f t t Hen Poindexter .L're'cted the attention of his companions; ut to a. small white disk, of the form of a. parallelogram impaled npon one of its spines. No one accustomed to the mg of civilized life could mistake the “card.” It ’ was one. “ ear what’s written upon it 1" continued the young 118". “ding mare“ “11 aloud the directions mailed upon the bit of pasteboud, ' “Tar. amass IN smart” t " Where i” inqmred Poindexter, r'rhere's a hand." rejoined Be , “with . finger muting—no doubt in the direction 0 the tree." All eyes were instantly turned toward the quartil- of 3 compass in 'cated by the amber on the on“, They loved him loss than‘ I an occasional “cowhiding"—, The New York Library, Had the sun been shining, the cypress might have hem seen at the first glance. As it was, the sky—late of cerulean hue—was now of a le en gray; and no straining of the eyes could detect anything along the horizon resembling the to ) of a tree. “There‘s nothing of t e kind," asserted Calhoun, with restored conildcnce, at the some time rcturnin to his unworth accusation. “It’s only a dodge—snot ier link in the c min of tricks the scam is playing us.“ “You mistake. cousin Cassius, replied that voice that had so often contradicted him. “Look through this lorgnctte! If you haven‘t lost the sight of those , superior elyes of yours, you'll sec semething rerg/ like a tree—a ta tr -—and a cypress, too, if ever there was one in the sw ups of Louisiana." Calhoun (1 hands of his cousin. He knew it would convict him: {ortlhe could not suppose that she was telling an un- ru I. i Poindexter availed himself of its aid; and, adjustin the focus to his failing sight was enabled to distinguis the rim-leafed cypress, topping up over the edge of the , pran e. l “ It’s true,“ he srid, “ the tree is there. The younfi ,l fellow is honest; you've been wronging lllm CaSh- ; didn‘t think it likely he should have taken suc a queer ! plan to make fools of us. Ho there! Mr. Sansom! Di- ] rect our teamsters to drive on!" 'et remain longer in company s itefully spurr : horse, and trotted oil! over the famine. 1 “Let me look at that card, Henry?" said Louise, , u .m‘ ft us such a. sure guide. ! curious to see the cipher that has been of such service l ltself——commanSisdyoulH j speaking to her brother in a restrained voice. ‘tous. , Bring it away, brother: it can be of no further use where it is—now that we have sightcd the tree.” Henry, without the slightest sus icion of his sister’s : motive for making the request, ie ded obedience to it. i Releasing the piece of pastegoard from its impale- l ment, he “ chucked ” it into her lap. “ Maurice Gerald! " muttered the young Creole, ,aftcr deciphering the name. “Maurice Gerald!” she . repeated, in apostrophic thought, as she deposited the i piece of pasteboard in her bosom. “ Whoever you are—— i whence you have come—whither you are going—hence- ’ forth there is a fate between us! I feel it—I know it— Am I to take it as a type of this still untraced estiny?" CHAPTER IV. THE BLACK nosm. For} some seconds, after thus surrendering herself to the ‘Slbylline thoughts thus expressed, the you lady sat in Silence—her white hands across her tom es, as if her whole soul was absOi-bed in an attempt egher to ex lain the past or to penetrate the future. er reverie—whatever might be its cause—was not of long duration. She was awakened from it on hearing clared some object of apprehension. She recognized her brother's voice, speaking in tones that betoken alarm. “ Look, father! don’t you see them i“ “ Where, Henry—where?“ “Yonder—behind the wagons. “I do—thoug . look like—like—“ Poindextcr was puzzled or a. simile— ! “I really don‘t know what.” 1 “ Waterspouts?” suggested the ex-captain who, at ' sight of the strange ohgects, had condescended to re- } join the party around the carriole. that? It 5 too far from the sea! I never heard of their occurring on the prairies." “ They are in motion whatever they be," said Harry. “ See! they kee clos n and then goingla art. But for that one mig t take t em for huge obe ‘s ' of black marble!" “ Giants or ghouls l" jokingly suggested Calhoun; “ ogers from some other worl , who ve taken a fancy to have promenade on this abominable prairie!" The ex-omcer was only humorons with an efiort. As well as the others, he was under the influence of an un- easy feeling. And no wonder. Against. the northern horizon had suddenly become upreared a number of ink-colored columns—half a score of them—unlike anything ever‘ seen before. They were not of regular columnar form, nor fixed in any way; but constantly changing» size, shape and place—now steadfast for a time—now glid- ing over the charred surface like ts upon skates— anon bendln and balancing town one another in the most fantast c flgurlngsl It required no great effort of imagination to fancy the Titans of old, resuscitated on the prairies of Texas, leading a. measure after some wild carousel in the com- pany of Bacchus! In the proximity of henomena never observed be- fore—unearthly in the r aspect—unknown to eve in- dividual of the rty—it was but natural these sho d be inspired with a. arm. And such was the fact. A sense of danger every bosom. All were im ressed with a. be lcf: that they were in the resence 0 some peril Qf (he mama. A gene ll‘rlt had been made on first observing the strange o jccfi: the neg-mes on foot. as Well as the teamsters, {ting utterance to shouts of terror. The animals—mic: as well as horpesinhad come instinct. ively to a s and—the latter neigh E and trembling— tho former filling;r the air With their 8 rill screams. These were Lot the only sounds. From the gable towers could be heard a hoarse. swishing noise, that resembled the sou h of a waterfall—at intervals break. ing into reverberagons like the roll of/musketry, or the detonations of distant thunder. , These noises were gradually growing louder and more distinct. The danger, whatever it might be, was draw- i nearer! . nsternation became depicted upon the counts- nanoes of the travelers, Calhoun‘s formi no excep- tion. The ox-omcer no longer pretended evit . The e es of all were turned toward the lowerintg0 , and tile band of black columns that appeared be com- on to crush them! t this crisis a about, reaching their cars from the opposite side, was a source of relief—despite the unmis- takable accent of alarm in which it was uttered. Tul'ning. they beheld u. horseman in full gallop—rid- dlrect toward them. e horse was black as coal: the rider of like hue, even'to the skin of his face. For all that he was recog- : as the stranger, upon 1m'lalh WM“ 1! uicker than those I e one o woman are q 0 man: 8:06 within in o the carnage was the firm to identifyw My] ' ’ l \ isduined to take the opera. glass from the . Ca houu, not caring to continue the comm-satin;j nor 1 his exclamations without—mingled with words that de-! You see them now?“ . h I can not say what the are. They. “ Surely it can’t be . rvaded C thetrail of whose lazo they are finally more th can-lob and to SIan . . name numlw' “We”: a. temflhfi' r w V91. I. “Onwardt” he cried, as soon as within speaking dis touce. “ On—oni as fast as you can drive! “What is it?" demanded the plantar, lll bewildered alarm. “ Is there a danger?” “There is. I did not anticipate it, as I passed you. It} was only after reaching the river I saw the sure signs 0 it.’ “ Of what, sir?" “ The IwI-t/iel'. ” “ You mean the storm of that name?" ‘5 I do.” “I never heard of its being dangerous," into Calhoun “except to vessels at sea. It‘s precxous col , I know; ut—” “ You‘ll find it worse than cold, sir " interrupted the young horseman, “if you‘re not quic in getting out of ‘ its way. Mr. Poimh-xter,” he continued, turning to tho planter, and speaking with impatient emphasts, “ I tell you that you and our party are in peril. A norther is not always to be readed; ut this one—look yonder! You see those black illars?" “ We‘ve been won cling—didn‘t know what to make of them." “ They're nothing—only the precursors of the storm. .LOOk beyond! Don't you see a coal-black cloud spread- : "lg pver the sky? That's what you have to dread. I don't wish to cause you unnecessary alarm' but I tell i you there’s death in yonder shadow! It's in motion,. , and coming this way. You have no chance to esca , 610813th “Peed. I you do not make haste, it will too late. In ten minutes‘ time you m be enveloped, and then—quick sir, I entreat you! On er your drivers to hurry forwar as fast as they can! The sky—heaven ’ The planter not think of refusing compliance ‘ With an appeal urged in such energetic terms. e or- der was given for the teams to be set in motion and driven at top speed. 1 Terror, that inspired the animals ually with their l drivers, rendered superfluous the useeot} the will . , The traveling cartilage, with the mounted) men, , moved in front, as before. The stranger alone threw , himself in the rear—as if to act as a guard against the , threatened danger. . At intervals he was observed to rein up his horse and , look back; each time by his glances betraying increased ndex- ‘ sure as there‘s a sky abovei Oh! how that sk lowers! ap rehension. l erceiving it, the planter approached, and accosted him with the inquiry: - “ Is there still a danger?" “ I am sorry to answer on in the affirmative," said fhe; “I had hopes that t e wind might be the other we ." ' “y Wind, air? There l' none that I can ive.” “Not here. Yondci it is blowinga. urrlcane, and ,t is way too—direct. By heavensi it is nearing us rapigly ! I doubt if we shall be able to clear the burnt V“Wbat is to be done?" exclaimed the plantar, ten-l. fled by the announcement. r “ Are your mules doin their best?" . “ They are; the coul not be driven faster." “I fear We shit! be too late, then!“ As the speaker gave utterance to this loomy conjec, ture, he rained round once more, and 33% regarding the cloud columns—as if calculating the rate at which they were advancing. The lines contractin around his lips told something more than dissatisfact on. " Yes; too late!“ he exclaimed, suddenly terminating his scrutiny. “ The are moving faster than we—fu faster. There is no ope of our escaping them!" . “Good God, sir! is the danger so great? Can we do nothing to avoid it?" The stranger did not make immediate rep . For s some seem: he remained silent, as if reflec —- glance no longer turned toward the sky, but wan erlng among the wagons. “Is there no chance of escape!" urged the lanter- wlgil the impatience of a man in presence of 1;. great pe . “There is!” oyfull res uded the horseman some he eful thoughg’hadpgt length suggested ’13:le “There a chance. Idid not think of it before. We cannot shun the storm—the danger we may. Quick, Mr. Polndexterl Order your men to muffle the mules- the horses too—otherwise the animals will be blinded. and go mad. Blankets—cloaks—anythin will do. When that s done, let all seek shelter within t ew us Let the tilts be closed at the ends. I shall myself on]: to the traveling carri ." Having delivered this chapter of mutations—which , Pomdexter, assisted by the overseen. hastened to di- rect the execution of—the young horseman galloped to- wfixfifigemim idh ining ‘ a1 d a: ‘ ame " as. 9 re u on e econ-l and flieaklng with as much suavlty as 53. clrcumstanoclee'o woul admit of, “ you must close the curtains all round. Your coachman will have to get inside; and on, gen- tlemen,“ he continued, addressing himself to H2 and alhoun—“ and you, air," to Polndextar who 11:3me come up. “There will be room for all. Inside, I be- seech youl Lose no time. In a. few seconds the storm “1133‘” “six?” in iredth hater with “ n on r u a 3 interest K: the man who was misting sdch excl-tall): g secure them against some yet unascerlnined danger “ Wh“ Dost (if yggtrself?” t ' n‘w eamomenu nme.1knw ’ coming. It isn‘t the first timtia)o I have encodjnteivcgaltf In—in, I entreat you! You haven‘t a seco m1 amugdtgstll‘int shriek! Quick. or the dmmngutfm The inter and his son sprung together to the ground, mg :1: reatedfinstio the traveli a can, re u n to dismount, remained mm ed in the saddle. y should he skull: from a vision- aryrhdnnger, that did not deter a man in ‘ Sub? e latter turned away; as he did 30, :fimagoo et lgfiidfih the nearest twang gym eye w alacri dud, Y “a”. the stranger was left free to fie care of himself- Quickly unfolding his scrape—hitherto across the cantle of his saddle—he t! it over the head of his horse. Then dra fhc- hook, fastened it, fifuhmn, around the ’- Withequalsl essheundidhisscarfof m and stretched it arotmd his sombrero— it in such 9: Way. that one edge was held: under the n while the other dro ped over the brim-thalomfiha ' cm “is.” .M. 9,...w n {ma-.1... - l i x i 8-9. Nos. “ Ox: 3 again sir, I adjurc you to get inside} if you do not ou‘ll ve cause to repent it. Within ten minutes time you may be a dead man 1" I The ositive emiphasis With which the caution was de- iivere produced ts effect. In the presence of a mor- tal foeman, Cassius Calhoun was no coward. But there , was an enein approaching that was not mortal—not in i any way understood. It was already inalin itself . manifest in tones that resembled thunder—in s iadows that moo ed the darkness of midnight. Who would not have felt fear at the approach of a destroyer so declar- ing itself? ' The ex-omcer was unable to resist the unith warn- ings of earth and heaven; and, slip ling out of his saddle with a show of rcluctance—intcm cd to save appear- ances—he clainbcred into the carriage, and ensconced himself behind the closely drawn curtains. To describe what followed is beyond the power of the pen. No 0 e beheld the s ectacle; for none dared look upon it. ven had this ecu possible, notbni could have been seen. In five minutes after the mingling of the mules, the train was enveloped in worse than im- nierian darkness. . The opening scene can alone be depicted: for that only was observed by the travelers. One of the sable columns, moving in the advance, broke as it came in collision with the wagon-tilts. Down came a shower of ' black dust as if the sky had commenced raining gun- powder! t was a. foretaste of what \ 'as to follow. There was a short interval of open atmosplicre~hot as the inside of an oven. Then succeeded puffs, and whirling gusts, of wind—cold as if projected from caves of ice, and accompanied by a neise as though all the trumpets of Eolus were announcing the advent of a storm-king! In another instant the. norther was around them; and the wagon train, halted on a sub-tro ical ilain, was en- velope in an atmosphere, akin to t at w ‘ch congcals she icebergs of the Arctic Oceanl Nothing more was seen—nothing heard, save the whistling of the wind, or its hoarse roaring, as it thun- dered against the tilts of the wagons. The mules hav- ing instinctively turned stern toward it, stood silent in rrIIeadless the traces; and the voices of the travelers in solemn . converse inside could not be distinguished amid the 1 howling of the urricane. Every 8. rture had been closed, for it was soon dis- 5 covered, t at to show a face from under the sheltering canvas was to court suffocation. The air was sur- charged with ashes, lifted aloft from the burnt plain, and reduced by the whirling of the Wind to an impal- pable but poisonous powder. , . For over an hour did the atmos here carry this cin- crous cloud; during which period asted the imprison- ment of the travelers. _ At length avoice, speaking close by the curtains of the carriole, announced their release. “You can come forth!" said the stranger, the crepe , scarf thrown back above the brim of his hat. “ You - will still have the storm to contend against. It will last to the end of our journey; and, perhaps, for three days longer. ut you have nothing further to fear. The ashes are all swept oil. They’ve gone before on, ind you’re not likely to overtake them this side 0 the die (irandefl' I “ Sir!” said the plantar, hastily descending the steps of the ca‘rria e, “ we have to thank you for—for—” “For our 'ves, fatherl" cried Hen , supplying the proper worse. ‘ I hope, sir, you favor us with your e " ' “Maurie: Gerald /" returned the stranger; “thong: at the fort you will find me better known asMaur mustanger." " mus scorntuil muttered Calhoun, but only loud enough to be hear by Louise“ _ ‘ Only a niustangerl” reflected the anstocratic Pom- dexter, the fervor of his gratitude becoming sensibly “ For guide you will no longer need either myself, or my 1520, ‘ said the hunter of wild horses. “ The cypress is in sight: keeéiflstraight toward it. After crossi , you will see the g over the fort. You may yet reac ' 0111‘ Journey'l end before night. I have no time to tarry; and must say adieu.” Satan 11111138”. “bride. a Tartar-eon steed, could not have looked more like the devil than did Maurice the mustanger, as be separated for the second time from the planter and his party. But neither his as iy envelope, nor the announcement of his humhle calling, did ought to damage him in the estimation of one, whose thoughts were already pre- sed in his favor—Louise Poindexter. 11 hearing him declare his name—b3! resum tion already known to her—she but more ten orgy ch shed the bit of cardboard, chafing against her snow-white bosom; at the same time muttering in soft, pensive soliloquy heard only by herself: “Maurice the mustaiigerl despite your sooty cover- ing-«icspitc your modest retense—you have touched the heart of a Creole maiden. Mon dieu—mon dieu/ Hi 10 too like Luciferfor me to despise him.” CHAPTER V. m noun or m nouns-an er. the Rio de Nueces (River of Nuts) collects its waters from a hundred tributary streams—lining the map like the limbs of a grand enealoglcal tree—you Inn-Vlooku n aland of surp ug fairness. Its sur- face is rollng prairie," interspersed with cium s of post-oak and pecan, here and there along the ha 3 of the water-courses uniti into continuous groves. In some places those nbered tracts assume the as- pect of the true Mammal—a thicket, rather than a for- est—its principal growth being various kinds of acacia associated wi h copaiva and creosote trees, with wil hoes, With eccmtric shapes of cereus, cactus, and :lggresceut yucca. f m i h. ' ese spinous orms o vege ton, t on h re ulsive ['20 the eye of the agriculturist—as provigg the? utter .ite ty of the sail—present an attractive aspect to the or the lover of nature; especially when the‘ corona unfolds its huge, wax-like blossom. or the Fou- quicra a overtops the surrounding Shrubbel'y with its spi'kfilafi Esplciggegfl flowers, like a red flag hanging no 0 o i s . The whole re on, hlgwever, is not this diameter. are-stretc esof greaterferti when thiack us earth ves nourishment 155693 0f taller Imminent! more foliage. The wild " some odd-- , the elm. the hackborry. of several with here and there a. smiths or cottonwood— ormthe com cuts of many ‘33:: Icons. Which. from the blendhipggf leave: \ ' I ,IN ,. “ orseman. ‘5 '. h of various shades of green, and the ever-chanixin con- tour of their eluiu )S, deserves to bc denominated air. The streams of t iis regional-c of crystal purity—their waters tinted only by the reflection of sapphire skies. Its sun, moon, and stars, are scarcely ever concealed behind a cloud. The demon of disease has not found his way into this salubrious spot; no epidemic can dwell within its borders. Despite these advantages civilized man has not yet made it his home. Iis pat is are trodden only by the red-skinned rovers of the pl'lliI‘iU—LiPullO or Comanche —aud these on] when mounted, am upon the mural/d toward the settlements of the lnwor Nucccs, or Leona. It may be on this account—though it would almost seem as if they were actuated by a love of the beauti- ful and picturesque-that the true children of Nature, the wild animals, have selected this s iot as their favor- ite habitat and home. In no part 0 Texas does the stu bound up so often before you; and nowhere is the tim d antelope so frequently seen. The rabbit, and his gi antic cousin, the mule-rabbit, are scarcely ever out o sight; while the polccat, tho opossum, and the]: curious peccary, are encountered at frequent inter- va 3. Birds, too, of beautiful forms and colors, enliven the landsca e. The nail wliirrs up from the nth; the king vu ture whee s in the ambient air; the wi d turkey, of gigantic stature, suns his resplendent orget by the side of the pecan copsc; and the sin u or tailor- bird—known among the rude Rangers as t e “bird of Paradise”-—flouts his long.r scissors-like tail among the feathery fronds of tho acacm. . Beautiful butterflies spread their wide wings in flap~ in flight; or, perched uplon some gag} corol a, look as if t icy formed art of t o flower. uge bees (Meli- ue), clad in ve vet livcries, buzz among the blossom- g bushes, disputing possession with hawkmoths and humming-birds not much law or than themselves. They are not all innocent, t 16 denizens of this lovely land. Here the rattlesnake attains to larger dimen- sions than in any other part of North America, and shares the covert with the more dangerous mmmin. Here, too, the tarantula'inflicts its venomous sting; the scorpion poisons with its bite; and the centl ode, by simplyfcralwliug over the skin, causes a fever t at may rove ate. . p Along the wooded banks of the streams may be on- countered the spotted occlot, the puma, and their more owerful congeiier, the jaguar: the last of these felidaz eing here upon the northern limit of its geographical ranve. AToug the edges of the chaparral skulks the gaunt Texan wolf—solitary and in silence; while a kindred and more cowardly species, the coyote, may be ob- served, far out upon the open plrfi‘ , hunting in packs. Sharing the same range with these, the most trucu- lent of ‘fiuadrupeds may be seen the noblest and most beaiitif of aniin s—perhaps noblcr ..nd more beauti- ful than man—certain! the most distinguished of man‘s companions—the orsel .Icrc -indepcndent of man‘s caprlce, his jaw un- checked by bit or curb, his back unscathed by pack or saddle—ho roams unrestrained; gi Lig way to all the wildness of his nature. But even in this, his favorite haunt, lie is not always eft alone. Man presumes to be his pursuer and tamer; for hole was he sought, captured, and conquered, by Maurice the mwtanger. On the banks of the Alamo—one of the most sparkling streamlets that pay tribute to the Nueces—stood .1. dweliin ,unpretentious as any to be .7 und within 11; limits 0 Texas, and certainly as picturesque. Its walls were com osed o s lit trunks of the arbores- cent yucca, set stoc ade-fas on in the und; while its roof was a thatch furnishedbvj the ong bayonet- sha d leaves of the same gantic lily. e interstices between t e uprights, instead of bcin “chinked " with clay—as is common in the cabins : Western Texas—were covered b asheetln of hers skins; attached, not b iron too '3, but wit the sharp spines that terminate t e leaves of the " i plant. 0n the bluffs, that on both sides over ooked th i rivu- let—and which were but the termination of the escarp- ment of the her plain—grew in abundance the mate- rial out of w ch t e but had been constructed; tre" fiuccas and mague s, amidst other rugged ty -s of ster- e vegetation; w cross the fertile valley elow was covered with a growth of heavy timber—consisting chiefly of red-mulberry, est-0o ' and gecan, tha formed a forest of several eagues in ion . The tim- bered tract was. in fact, conteminous th the bottom lands; the tops of the trees scarce doing to a level with the escarpment of the cliff. It was not continuous. Alpn the ed 6 of the stream- let were breaks—fanning litte men or savannas, covered with that most nutritious of grasses, known amonE‘Mexicans as aroma. In e concavity of one of these, of semicircular shape—which served as a. natural lawn—stood the primitive dwelling above described ; the streamlet rcp- resentin the chord ; while the curve was traced by the trunks o the trees that resembled a series of columns su orting the roof of some silvan coliseum. e structure was in shadow, a little retired among the trees ; as if the site had been chosen With a view-to concealment. It could have been seen but by one pass- ing along the bank of the stream; and then only With the observer directly in front of it. Its rude style of éagciltiitgcture, and russet hue, contributed still further 5 mans muesli. ' The housepwcas a mere cabin-not lar er than 9. mar- quee tent—with on it single aperture,_ t ie door—if we except the flue o a slender clay chimney erected at one end a ainst the upri ht posts. The doorway had a door, a iglit framewor of wood, with a horse-skin stretched over it, and hung upon hinges out from the same hide. . In the rear was an o n shed, thatched With yucca leaves, and sup rted y half a dozen posts. Around this was a sin inclosure, obtained by tying cross-poles to the trunks of the innocent trees. _ . A still more extensive inclosure. cOBtmni within its circumference more than an acre of the tim radii-act and fenced in a similar manner, extended rearward from the cabin, terminating against the bluff. Its turf tracked and torn by numerous hoof rhits—in some places trampled into a hard surface—to d of its use: a fcorral“ for wild horses—mustangs This was made still more manifest by the presence of a dozen or more of these animals withm‘the incloaure, whose glaring eyeballs and exc1tod actions gave evi- dence of their recent capture, and how in they invoked the imprisonment of that shadowy ‘ ~ The «prior of the but was not w thout some show M *. ‘ l. .toon neatness and comfort. Tho shooting of mustang skin- that covered the walls, with tho hairy sidc turned in. ward, presented no mean appearance. The smooth, shining coats of all comm—black, buy, snow-white, sor- rel, and picbiild—ofl'ered to the eye a surface pleasantly variegated; and there had evidently been some taste displayed in their arrangement. ’1 e furniture was of the scuntlcst kind. It consisted of a counterfeit camp bedstead, formed by stretching a horschide ovcra framework, for a settle; a couple of ‘ stools—diminutive specimens on the same model; and a rude table shaped out of hewn slabs of the yucca-tree. Something likeasecoud sleeping-place appeared in a remote comer—a “shakedown‘ or “spread,” of the universal mustang skin. What was least to be expected in such a shelf containing about a score of books, wit lace was a “ pens, ink and pupele'ie; also a newspaper lying upon the slab table. Further proofs of civilization, if not refinement, pre~ sciited themselves in the shape of a. large leni‘licru mrt- manteau, a doiiblc-barrelcd gun, with “Wcsl 1c icli- ards" iipou the breech u. drinkinfiz-cup of chase silver. 8. huntsmau‘s horn, an .idog-cii . , Upon the floor were a few culinary utensils, mostly of tin, while in one corner stooda demijohn, covered with wicker, and evidently containing something stronger than the water of the Alamo. Other “chattels " in the cabin were perhaps more in keeping with the place. There was a high- leaked Mexican saddle, a bridle, with headstall of plaite horse- hair, and reins to correspond, two or three spare scrapes, and some odds and ends of rawhide rope. Such was the structure of the mustanger’s dwelling-— such its surroundings—such its interior and contents glth the exception of its living occupants—two in nuni er. On one of the stools standing in the center of the floor was seated a man, who could not be the muslin] er himself. In no way did he present the semblance o a proprietor. On the contrary, the air of a. servitor—tho mien of habitual obedience—was impressed upon him beyond the chance of misconstruction. ude as was the cabin that sheltered him, no one en- terintg under its roof would have mistaken him for its mas er. Not that he appeared ill-clad or fed, or in any way stiuted ii his requirements. He was a round plump specimen, with a shock of carrot~colored hair and a bright ruddy skin, habited in a suit of stout stud—half corduroy, half cotton-velvet. The corduroy was in the shape of a pair of knee-brooches, with gaiters to cor- respond; the v. .veteen, one - bottle-green, now faded to a brownish hue, exhibited itself in a sort of shooting- coat, with ample pockets in the breast and skirts. A “wide-awake" hat, cocked over a. pair of eye- equally deserving the appellation, coinpletcd the cos- tume of the individual in question—if we except a shirt of coarse calico. A red cotton kerchicf loosely knotted ground his neck, and a pair of Irish brogues upon hi: eat. It needed neither the brogues nor the corduroy breechcri, to proclaim his hat onaiitfv. His li nose, eyes,‘ air and attitude were all unmis akablv ‘edan. _ ad there been any ambiguity about this ‘It would have been dispelled as he opened his mouth for the omission of s oec“: and this he at intervals di in ac- c;'it that co d only have been acquired in the s e of Cialway. As he was the solo human occupant of the cabin, it ml ht be supposed that he spoke o soliloquy. at so however. Crouched upon apiece of horse-skin, in front of the fire, with snout nif- burled among the ashes was a canine companion, whose ap earance bespoke a com man—a huge Irish stag- ound, that looked as if he, , understood the Speech of ' mnemara. Whether he did so or not, it was addressed to him, a . if he was expected to comprehend every word. “Och, Tara m; Jewell” exclaimed he in the corduo roys, fraterun 1y interrogatln the bound; “hadn’t you w duh now to be back in allyballah? Wadn’t yes loik ~ to be wanco more in the coortynrd av the owld castle, friskln’ over the clane stones, an” beln’ tripe-fed till there wasn't o. rib to be seen in ', our SldCIi—EO differ . ‘.:from what they arr now—wan I kyan count ivory van av them? Sowll it's mese '. that ‘u’d loike m be there, or iybowl Bud there‘s no knowin‘ when the oung masthei: ‘11 go back, an‘ take us a] 113 wid him. iver mind. Tara! He‘s goin‘ to the sittl ments 1!. y: owld do ;an’ ‘s romised to take us thare; at'l some conso him. a japersl it‘s over three months since I’ve been to the fort nieself. Ma be I‘ll'flnd some owld acquaintance a on them Ir sodjers that‘s come lately; an’ be m sogwl, av I do, won‘t there boo dhrap between us, won’t there,’Tai-ai ’ The stag-hound, raising his head at heorl tion of his name, ave a slight snuir, as if in answer to the roll inteirogatory. “I‘d like a dhrap now," continued the speaker. out- ing a covetous glance toward the wickered jar; “might- ily_ I w‘u‘d that same; but the dimmyjan is too near bem’ em‘pty, an’ the young masther might miss it. Besides, w u'dn‘t be real honest av me to take it wid- out l’ave—w’u‘d it, Tara?" The dog again raised his head above theashes. and sneezed as before. i “ Wli that was yia the last time ye spokel Did you mane ityfor the same nowi Till me, Tara!" I Once more the hound gave utterance to the sound—- that appeared to be caused either by a slight touch of influenza, or the ashes having entered his nostrils. . “ ‘Yls‘ again? In truth that‘s just what the dumb craythcr manesl Don't timpt me ye owld thief i No-- no; I won’t touch the whisky. I'il only draw the cork out av the dimmyjan, an' take a smell at it. Shure tho masther won’t know an thing about that; an' if he did. he wig‘dn't mind it! melliu kyan’t do the pothycen an rm." ri the concluding portion of this utterance the . speaker forsaken his seat, and approached the cor her where stood the or. . i Notwithstanding c roi’essed innocence of his in! tent, there was a steait nous about his movements M seemed to argue either a want of confidence in his own integrity or in his \iu' tq resist temptation. .. ' . , He stood for a. ort while listening—his eye-taan . toward the 0 en doorway; and then taklngvup 1h .. > figmle he , . the men» n II n \ , nose. . J _ i ., . . For some seconds he remained in this attitgdor viny.‘ 7. x out no other sign than an occasional “sail, » . that uttered by the hound, Md which he had. been, fr}: m I retasa‘i‘idaglrmativecnswertohisin - . ‘ express 9 the and of the potent r . .,> .- , wont the stoppcrand- .n' , “ mmuuwudemmii, in, ,_.._-f_i_n .....n;..t.n.~.i.,,._._. . n... w No. Mn..." . on, he... -W, ‘i i! ‘1 i x “gluck—gluck " of the escaping a, ‘ way. the captin1 at 6 same time tea 6 ' ' The New cashm- But this onl satisfied him for a very short time; and gradually the ottom of the jar was seen goingupward, while the reverse end descended in like ratio in the di- rection of his protruding lips. “ Be japersl" he exclaimed, once more glancing ntealthily toward the door, “flesh and blood c’u’dn’t stand the smell av that bewtiful whisk widout tastixi' it. Trathl I’ll chance it—jist the smal est trifle to wet the tap av my tongue. Maybe it ’11 burn the skin av it; but no matter—here goes i’ ' Without further ado the'neck of the demijohn was brought in contact with his lips; but instead of the “smallest trifle" to wet the to of his tongue, the uid told that he was ministering a copious saturation to the whole lining of his lar hr, and something more. After a dozen “ smacks” of the mouth, with other exclamations denoting extreme satisfaction, he hastily restored the stopper; returned the demi- jttihnLto its place; and glided ack to his seat upon the a 00 “Tara. ye owld thief!" said he, addressing himself once more to his canine companion, “it was you that timpted me! No matther, man: the masther ‘11 never miss it; besides he's goin‘ soon to the fort, an‘ can lay in a fresh sup 1y.” For a time t e ' ferer remained silent; eitherreflect- l on the act e had committed, or en oying the c legit: which the “potheen” had produce upon his sp . , His silence was of short duration, and was temnnated by a solilo uy. “I won er,“ muttered he, “fwhat makes Masther Maurice so anxious to get back to the sittlements. He says he’ll go whinever e catches that sp0tW musmnfi he has seen lately. Sowll isn‘t be bad afther tha haste! I suppose it must be somethin' be ant the com- mon—the more be token, as he has chase. the craythin- three‘times widout bein’ able to throw his rope over it -on‘ mounted on the blood-bay, too. He sez he won’t ave it up, till he gets howlt of it. Trath! I hope he'll pped soon or wez may stay here till the marnin’ fimsday. flush, (what’s that?" _ ' 'ng up from his couch of skin and th a low growl, had caused the exclama- avT er s rpshigg o§t tion. "Pheliin!" hailed a. voice from the outside. “Phe- 1” “It’s the masther ” muttered Phelim as he jumped from his stool, and followed the dog throth the door- CHAPTER VI. was sro'rrnn MUSTANG. _ Purim was not mistaken as to the vows that had hailed him. It was that of his master, Maurice Gerald. 0n getting outside he saw the mustanger at a short distance from the door and advanci toward it. Lathe servant should have expects . master was mounted upon his horse—no 10 or of a reddish color, but appearing almost black. e animal‘s coat was darkened with sweat; itsycounter and flanks speckled with foam. The blood-bay was not alone. At the end of the lasso —-drawn taut from the saddle-tree—jwas a compamon, or, to speak more accurately, a captive. With a leath- ern thonv looped around its under Jiaw. and firmly em~ bracing fiie bars of its mouth, kept 11 place by another passing over its neck immediately behind its ears, was the captive secured. . Itwas a mustang of pecuhar ap .earance, as regarded Its markings; which were of a nd rarely seen even among the largest “ g " that roam over the prairie pastures, where colors 0 the most eccentric patterns are not uncommon. That of the animal in question was a ground of dark chocolate—in laces ap reaching to black—with white spots distribu over i as regularlyas the contrary colors upon the skin of the aguar. '~ As if to give eflect to t s pleasing arr ement of hues. the creature was of perfect shape—bro -chcsted, full in the , and clean-hmbed—with a hoof show- half a score of concentric rings and a head that in ht be taken as a, type of equine beauty. It was of la size for a mustang, though much smaller than the o ry lish horse; even smaller than the blood- bay— :1 mustang—that had assisted in its cap~ tare. The beautiful on tive was a mare—one of a mamda that frequented lains near the source of the Ala- mo; and where. for t 9 third time, the mustanger had una ally chased it. In his case the proverb had 1pme untrue, In the third time he had not found t e “charm;” the hit favored him in the fourth. By the fascination of a o rope. with a running noose at its end, he had secure the creature that, for some reason known only to him. self he so ardently wished to _ Phelim had never seen his master return from a. horse-hunting excursion in such a state of excitement; even when coming back, as he often did, with half a dozen mustangs led loosely at the end of his lasso. But never before at the end of that im lenient had Pheliin beheld such a beauty as the spotte mare, she was a thing to excite the iration of one less a. con- noisseur in horseflesh than the ci-dwam stable-boy of “ — hoora!" cried he as he sate esu n Hooch 00 H iy v his hatgiflig° theah' tothe ow arnan‘ n a. ck to boot, Masther Maurice, yez ve cotehed the :2? atlastl It‘samare, beja rs! Och, the purty a l I don‘t wondher yez 6v been so bad about t howlt av her. Bowl! if yez had her at Bailing— oe Fair, yez might ask your own price. and fit it too, widout glvin‘ nce av luckpenny. Oh! e purty craythurl Where will yez hiv her phut, masthur? Into the corral, with the others i" “No. she night at kicked among them. We shall tie her in the ed. Castro must pass his night outside among the trees. If he’s got any gallantry in him he won’t mind that. Did you ever see an so beauti- fmmshemPhehm—Imeanintheway ofhorse- H An’ I urty sh bogwaghci the era url e looks as if a. y c’u‘ 2t]: her gn' yit, mytti‘lath. she looks like she w'u'd ate you. Y'a haven’t given her the schoolin' lesson, haye Mao, Phelim: I don‘t want to break her just et—not Hill have tin: and can do it properly. It wo d never do to spoil su perfection as that. I shall tame her after we’ve taken her to the settlements." z “ Yes he coin” the“. number? make only one do. between here and t e fort. “ Sowll I’m gla to hear it. Not on my own account, but yours Masther Maurice. Maybe yez don’t know th.tthe whisky’s on the idge of bein' out? From the rattle av the jar I don't think there’s more than three naggins left. Them sutlcrs at the fort aren‘t honest. The chate in the mizyure, besides waterln' the whisky, so t t it won‘t bear a dhrap more out av the strame hare. Trathl a gallon of Innishowen w‘u’d last a qual to three av this Amerikin rotgut, as the Yankees hem. selves christen it." “ Never mind about the whisk , Phelim—I suppose there‘s enough to last us for this night, and fill our flasks for the journey of to-morrow. Look alive, old Bally- ball 'rh! Let us stable the s otted inare, and then I shall ave time to talk about a resh supply of ‘ potheen,‘ which {fknow you like better than enyt 'ng else—except yourse " “ And on, Masther Maurice i" returned the Galwe- gian wit 1 a comical twinkle of the eye, that caused his mas r to leap laughineg out of the saddle. The spotted mare was soon stabled in the shed, Castro being temporarily attached to a tree, while Phelim pro feelclled to groom him after the most improved prairie as ion. The mustan er threw himself on his horse-skin couch, weaned with t e work of the day. The ca ture of the "‘ yegua pinta ” had cost him a lo and ar uous chase ——-such as he had never ridden be ore in pursuit of a mustang. There was a motive that had urged him on, unknown to Phelim—unknown to Castro who carried him—un- known to livin creature save himself. Notwithstan ng that he had spent several days in the saddle—the last three in constant pursuit of the spotted mare—despite the weariness thus Occasioned, he was unable to retain repose. At intervals he rose to his feet and paced the floor of his hut as if stirred by some ex~ citing emotion. - _ For several nights he had slept uneasily, at‘ intervals tpssingu on his catre till not only his henchmau, Phe- hm, but 's hound, Tara, wondered what could be the meaning of his unrest. The former had attributed it to his desire to possess the spotted mare; had he not known that his master's feverish feeling autedated his knowledge of the exist- ence of this peculiar quadru ed. It was several days after s last return from the fort that the “ yegua pinta “ had first presented itself to the eye of the mustanger. That, therefore, could not be the cause of his altered demeanor. His success in having secured the animal, instead of tranqufliziné his EXIT”. seemed to have giroduced the contrary 0 set. t least so thou ht helim, who, with the freedom of that relationship nown as “ foster- brother,“ had at length determined on questioning his master as to the cause of his inquietude. Asthe latter lay shifting from side to side, he was saluted with the interro atory: “Masther Maurice. fw t in the name of the Howly Vir n is the matther wid ye?” “ othi , Phelim—nothing, mabohii/ What makes you think t ere is?" “ Alannah.’ How kyan I help thinkin‘ it! Yez kyan’t et a wink av sleep; niver since ye returned the last ime from the sittlement. Och! yez hiv seen somethin’ there that kafies ye awake! Shure now, it isn’t wan av them Mixi in girls—mowchachas, as they call them i7 No, I won’t believe it. You w’u’dn’t be wan av the owld Geralds to care for such trash as them.” “ Nonsense, my good fellow! There’s nothing the matter with me. It s all your own imagination." “Trath, masther, yez arr mistaken. If there’s any thing asthray wid me imaginashin, fwhat is it that s gone wro wid your own? That is, whin yez arr aslee w ch aren‘t often av late." “an i‘m asleep! What do you mean, Phelim?" “What div Imane? Fhay, that wheniver yez close your 8 es an‘ think yez are sleepin‘ ye begin palaver- in‘1 as f a. preast was confessin’ ye i” ‘ Ah! Is that so? What have on heard me sayi". “Not much, masther, that I c'u’ make sinse out av. Yez be always tryin‘ to renounce a big name that ap; pears to have no indin', Ough 11: begins With 3 MN- “A name! What name?” “ Sowll I kyan’t tell ye exakly. It‘s too long for me to remember, seein’ that my edicashun was intirely niglected But there’s another name that yez pbut be- fore it ; an’ that I kyan tell ye. It‘s a W S "3111?. though it‘s not common n the owld country. It s acme tthgt ye say, Masther Maurice ; and then comes e not caring to converse longer on the subJect. Some name I may have heard somewhere, accidentally. One does have such strange ideas in dreams! u Trathi yez spak‘ealthobgriith thliiatreikn}n 31111: dram masther e k a u a u av a cfiriage wid gin-talus to it, an? tel in her to close ghenfirggaynst some danger that yez are going to save or m. “I wonder what ut such nonsense into iny head 7” “ I whonder mesefi” re oined Phelim, flxmghis e es upon his oung master wi h a stealthy but scrutin n5 look. " £11113, ‘ he continued, “if I may make bowl to axthe uistyun—shui-e, Masther Maurice, yez haven't been malgn’ 3. Judy Fitzsummon‘s mother av yen-sent, an‘ fallin‘ in love wid wan of these Yankee weeinen out hare? Och, a'n-an-ee! thtfit w’u’d bggfigsnfowrtilauntfi ; and fwaht w’u’d she so e W e oolden hairan' blue eveys‘ that fives not twinty miles romB h?" “Pohauyhh, eliml you’re taking leave of your senses. ‘1 car." “Trath, manner I aren’t: but I know somethin‘ I w“I‘lwm‘d likieim :fieifii‘ietu'” 1h pa?" 5 t 0 me 0 “You. alanan Niveri It’s. Tixas I mane. I’d like totake have of that; an" you oin along Wid me back to the owld sad. Ari-ah, now. what 8 the use av yer stayin’ here wastin‘ the best part av yer days in doin’ nothin'? bhure ez don’t make more than a bare livin in thehorse-catchin’ ; an‘ if ez did, what unit- thers ? Yer owld aunt at Castle fia‘lfih can t howld out much longer; and when she‘s did, e beth do; me ’11 be yours, spite av the dhirty way she s t'hratin ye. Shure the roperty’ggot a tail to itLan not a mother’s son av emycan ka e out av it! “Hal ! ha!” in. page oung Irishman: “ ou’re quite a. latryer, Phelim. tha a first-rate a me you'd have made! But come! You forget that I ven‘t tasted food since this morning. What have you got in the larder?" 7 ! “To-morrow. We shall startqny do. break,”so as to “ l“.intermpted the young 1115mm“: e‘flifienfly m:11 V91- 15 “ Trath! there‘s no great stock, masther. Yez haven't laid in an thin‘ for the three days yez hev been afthei‘ spott . here’s only the cold venison an’ the corn~ brea . It or. like I’ll phut the venison in the pat, an’ make alias -av it. ’ “Yes, do so. I can wait." “ Won’ yez wait betther afther tastin‘ a dhrap av the craytliur?‘ “ True—let me have it.” “ Will yez take it hate or with a little wather? Trath! it won't curry much av but same.” “A glass of grog—draw the water fresh from the stream." ' Phelim took hold of the silver drinkiii cup, and was about ste )ing outside, when a row] rem Tara, ac- companieglby a start, and follows by a rush across the floor, caused the servitor to approach the door with a certain degree of caution. . The barking of the dog soon subsided into a series of Joyful whimperings, which told that ho had been grati- fied by the Sight cf some old ac uaintance. “It s owld Zeb Stum ,” sai Phclim, first peeping out, and then stepping oldly forth—With the double demgn of greeting the new'comer, and executing the order he had received from his master. ' The individual, who had thus freely presented himself in front of the mustanger’s cabin, was as unlike either of its occu ants as one from the other. He stoo full six feet high, in a air of tall boots, fabricated out of tanned alligator-skin; into the ample tops of which were thrust the bottoms of his pants- loons—the latter being of woolen homespun, and had been dyed With “dog—wood ooze." but was now of a simple dirt color.. A deer-skin undershirt, without an ’ other, covered his breast and shoulders; over which was a “ blanket coat ” that had once been green, 10 since gone to a greenish-yellow, with most of the woo worn oiI. There was no other garment to be seen: a slouch felt hat, of gra sh color. badly battered, completing the siigiple, an somewhat scant, collection of ward- ro c. He was 6 nipped in the style of a backwoods hunter, of the true amel Boone breed: bullet-pouch, and large, crescent-shaped powder-horn, both suspended by shoul- der-straps, hanging under the right arm; a waist-belt of thick leather keeping his coat closed and sustaining a skin-sheath, from which (Protruded the rough stag~ horn handle of a long-blade knife. He did not affect either moccasins, 1e gings nor the fringed and capfd tunic and fringed s irt of dressed deer-skin worn y most Texan hunters. There was no embroidery upon his coarse clothin , nor carving upon his accouterments or weapons, not ng in his mat on- semble intended as ornamental. Every thing was plain almost- to rudeness: as if dictated by a spirit that de- spised “ fanfaron." Even the rifle, his reliable weapon—the chief tool of his trade—looked like a rounded bar of iron, with a piece of brown unpflfihed wood at the end, forming its stock; stock and e1 when the butt rested on the ground, reac' hing up to the level of his shoulder. The individual thus clothed and equipped was appa- rently about fifty years of age, with a complexion in- clining to dark, and features that at first exhibited a grave aspect. On close crutiny, however, could be detected an un- derlying stratum of uiet humor; and in e twinkle of a. small grayish e e t_ ere was evidence that its owner could keenly relis a Joke, or, at times, pe trate one. The Irishman had gronounced his name; it was Zebu- lon Stump or “ 0i ‘Zeb Stump," as he was; better known to t e ve limited circle of his acquaintance. “Kaintuck by lrth an” raisin! "—as he would have described himself, if asked the country of his nativity— he had 1passed the car] part of his life men the primeva forests of the wer Mississippi—his sole call- ing that of a hunter; and now, at a later period, he was perf’grming the same mailer in the wilds of Southwest ,ern axes. The behavior of the stag-hound, as it bounded before him, exhibiting a series of canine welcomes, told of a friendly acquaintance between Zeb Stump and Maurice m3 311%??? i ll sal ted Zeb hi figure ven soon on y u as 's sh‘adaowgd the cabifidogzg. " ’ mu , oo evening, 1-. um ! re'oined the 0 “119.11%”: using to receive hing. “ s p inside “midi sea . Q The hunter accepted the invitation- and makin a single stride across the floor, after'some awkwgrd maneuvering, succeeded in lantin himself on the stool lately occu ied by Phe m. elowness of the seat brought his ees upon a level with his chin. the hemii'ifle rising likeapikestafl! several feet above his “Durn stools anyhow!” muttered he, evidently dis- satisfied with his posture; “an‘ chars. too for that matter. I likes to plant my starn u 11 al ; thur ye‘ve got somethin‘ under ye as ain‘t e to guv way i" “ that," said his best, pointing to the leathern portrpanteau in the corner, ‘you’ll it a firmer Old Zeb ado ti the suggestion, unfolded the zigzag of his coldssal gerongas. and transferred it to the trunk. 33“ ‘f°",M" 8‘1ng tat: “M1312; tied to 0. o r on ' ur a ' I wa‘n't a- ul'ftfi'." , “punk :2 F311: geggr hunt onlhomfibgcg, fingers?" . e a green are u . bod huntin’ a-horseback must be a dumationyfool 1);“ goes a awe unlvei'tsal flashifon li‘n Texas." ve or no, a 9. 00 s fashio — lazy fool‘s fashion! I kill more meat in gneaagtnfifii then I ked in a bid week wl’ a hogs atween m legs I don‘t misdoubt that a boss air the best thing gar yo‘u— bein say ur game’s entirely difi’rent. But when ye go after bear, or deer, or turkey e er, ewon’tsee much 9 them, trampin‘ about throng the bera-hossb up scarrin everythin’ es hes got ears ’ithin the o it mile. As for bosses, I shedn't be bothered wI ne er- a one nohow, ef twa’n't for packin’ the meat; thfit 5 why I eep my ole maar." She 3 outside, you say? Let Phenm “*9 he? Nun touthe shed. You ll stay all ht?“ ’ I kim for that purpiss. ill: on needn’t trouble about the mar; she air hitched «3 cont. I’ll let hei out on the laryltt, store I take to 8mm" » ‘You'll have somelghins “0 613-“ with-“1Wme ting su per . in sorry can 31‘ 0“ miiizssrrmmw my“ b. D‘ o oer-mes ce t baa:- butIllkeboth donsoverthe coals. ’Maybe Icon hall'- ye some'at thet‘ll make a roast. Mister Phee cg , . ye ‘on‘t mind stenniu’ towharniv critter air s i in off ‘ ...., ~v~wq~w~o m_ 4.. , thing else, the moni or that urged their retiring to rest: mm 1! . Whvm#&u,w&wam‘mm '." Nos. 8-9. N ve‘ll find a gobbler hangin‘ over the born 0‘ the seddle. I shot the bird as I war comin‘ up the crik." “ Oh, that is rare good fortuiiei Our larder has ot , Very low-quite out in truth. I‘ve been so occupied or ‘ the last three days in chasing a very curious mustang, , that I never thought of taking in gun with me. Pneluii i and I and Tara, too, had got to t eedge of starvation." , “ at sort 0’ a mustang?” inquired the hunter, in a tone that betrayed interest, and without appearing to ‘ notice the final remark. “ A mare; with white spots, on a dark chocolate ground—a splendid creature!" ' 1 "‘ Durn it, young fellar! thet air‘s the very bizncss thet‘s brung me over to ye.” ‘ “ Indeed l“ . ‘ “I‘ve see‘d that mustang—niaar, ye say it air, though i I kedn't tell, as she never let me 'ithin hef a mile 0‘ her. I‘ve see’d her several times out on the purcyra, an’ I ; iest wanted you to go arter her. I’ll tell you why. I‘ve on to the Icona settlements siiiceI see‘d you last, and since I see’d her too. Wal, thecr _huv kuin thur a. a man as I knowed on the Missism pi. 'He air a rich humor, as used to keep up the tal est kinds 0’ doin’s, specielly in the feestin’ way. Many‘s the Jeint 0’ deer. meat, and many’s the turkey-gobbler this h or coon has su‘p lied for his table. His name air Pcin exter." oiiidexter?" “Thet air the name—one o‘ the best known on the Mississippi from Orleans to Loocyn He war rich then, on‘, I reckon, ain’t poor u0w~seciu‘ as he‘s brought about a hundred niggers along wi‘ him. Besides, thur’s a nephew 0‘ his’n, by name Calhoun. He‘s ot the dol- lars, an‘ nothin’ to do wi’ em but lend ’em to is uncle—- the which for a sartin reason, I think he will. Now young fellur I'll tell ye why I wanted to_see you. Thet air planter ev got a darter, its air hell-bent upon horseflcsh. She used to ride the skittishest kind 0’ cattle i'i Loozeyanner, whar they lived. She liecrn me tellin‘ the old ’un ’bout the spotted mustang; and nothin’ would content her thur and then, till he roxmsed he’d ofler a big price for catchin’ the critter. e sayed he’d give 9. kn pie 0’ hundred dollars for the anymal ef twur an film like what I sayed it wur. In coorse I knowed t at ’ud send all the mustangers in the settle- ment straight custrut arter it; so an in’ nothin’ to no- ody, I him over hyur, fast as my 0 e maar ’ud fetch me. You up that ’ere spotty, an’ Zeb Stump ‘11 go yur bail yefill. grab them two hundred dollars.” “ Will you step this way, Mr. Stum i“ said the young Irishman, rising from his stool, an proceeding in the direction of the door. The hunter followed not without showing some sur- prise at the brupt invitation. Maurice co iducted his visitor round to the rear of the cabin; and pointing into the shed, inquired: ‘ “ Does that look anything like the mustang you ve been 3 aking of?" “Doggone my cats, at 'tain't the eyedeiitical same! Grupped already! Two hundred dollars easy as slidin’ ‘. down a barked saplin’l Young fellur, y or in luck; two . hundred, slick sure i-and, durn me ef the aiiyinal ain‘t Worth every cent of the money! fleehosofati what a ‘ utty beast it airi Won't Miss Peintdextei‘ be pleezedi ‘ It‘ll turn that young critter ’most crazy i” 1. ‘ CHAPTER VII. . nomaxn ANNOYANCES. Tar: unexpected discovery that his urpose had been already anticipated by the capture 0 the spotted mus. tang raised the spirits of the old hunter to a high pitch of excitement. _ They were further elevated b a portion of the con- tents of the demljohn, which h d out beyond Phellm‘s expectations : giving all hands an vavppletizin “ nip " be- fore attacking the roast turkey, t ano er go each to wash it down, and several more to accompany the post-canal ipe. While th was being indulged in, a conversation was carried on; the themes being those that all prairie men delight to talk about: Indian and hunter lore. AsZeb Stump wasa sort of living enc clopaedia of the latter, he was allowed to do most 0 the talking; and he did it in such a fashion as to draw manga won- geginggoijncuiation from the tongue of the as nished . awe an. Long before midnight, however, the conversation was brought to a. close. Perhaps the empt demijohn was, as much as any- though there was another and more creditable reason. 0n the morrow, the mutanger intended to start for the settlements; and it was necessary that all should be astir at an early hour, to make preparation for the gourne . The wild horses, as yet but slightly tamed, strung together, to prevent their esoapénfilgy the we. ; and (inany‘5 other matters required at n g to ous to e a are. he hunter he already tethered out his “ ole maar “ —-as he designated the sorry specimen of horseflesh he was occasionally accustome to bestride—and had brought back with him an old yellowish blanket, which was all he ever used for a bed. ' “ You may take in bedstead," said his courteous host- “I can lay myse f on a skin along the floor." “ o." responded the guest; “none 0 yer shelves for Zeb Stumpto sleep on. I prefer the sohd groun‘. I kin sleep soiinder on it; an , besides, thur‘s no fear 0 tallin’ over. “If you prefer it, then, take the floor. Here’s the imagines. I’ll spread a hide for you." ‘9 onngbeellur, don’t you do anythin’ o‘ the sort; ye'll on! wutin‘ y’ur time. This child don’t sleep on theH Hlsbedairthe green grass of the pur- ayara “What! you're n0t 80111’ to sleep outside?” inquired the musta er, in some cognac—seeing that his guest, with the o blanket over arm, was mm for the door. 1 “ I ain’t oin‘ to do anythln' else." I “ Vizhyht e night is freezing cold—almost as cold as a nort er ' “Darn that! It air better to stan‘ a. leetle chimness than a. feelin' o' suflercation—which last I w'u'u mm. ly hev to go through ef I slcp‘ inside 0‘ a house," “ You are jestin ,Mr. Stump? “Young felluri’ emphatically rejoined the hunter, without making direct wily to the queetio “n; a“. now all 0’ six year since lb Stump hev surgicth his Ole imneraroof. Ionce’tnsed whevasort‘o’ a housein the hollow o’ a sycamore tree’. ‘ the Mississippi, when my ole oomsn Wur alive, on I, “9' up the t ’comxnerdateu 1161;“.Am went nder oved to Lease on ' then m u "1m Sincethenytho as o' f rs. Thatwuron li/vi . / t he; ' The Headless Heisma- / ,7. “ If you prefer to lie outsidon" “I profarit,” laconicall reioinud the hunter, at the same time stalking over! e t ireshold, and lidiiig out lipuli the little lawn that lay between the ca iin and the cree '. His old blanket was not the only thing he brought with him. Beside it, hanging over his arm, could be seen'some six or seven yards of a horse-hair rope. It was a piece of a nubricxta—usuaily employed in tether- ing horses—though it was not for this purpose it was now to be used. Having carefully scrutinized the grass within a circum- ference of several feet in diameter—which a shining moon enabled him to do—he laid the r0 )8 with all care around the spot examined, shaping it into a sort of ir- re rular ellipse. toppling inside this and wraPEing the old blanket roun im, he uietly'let himsel own into a recum- belnt position. nan instant after he appeared to be asee Aug he was asleep, as his strong breathing testified; for Zep Stump, with a halo constitution and a quiet conscience, had only to summon sleep and it came. He was not permi ted long to indulge his repose with- out iiiterruption. A pair of wondering eyes had gyfichpd his every movement—the eyes of Plielim ea. “ Mother av Mozisl“ muttered the Galwegian; “ fwat can be the m'nnin‘ av the old chap’s sui'ronndin' him- self wid the rope?" _ . The Irishman’s curiosity for awhile stri gled with his courtesy, but at length overcame it; an , just as the slumberer delivered the third snore, he stole toward him, shook him out of his sleep, and propounded a qllleSBIUD based upon the one he had already put to him- se f. “Durn ye for a Irish donke _!“ exclaimed Stump, hi evident displeasure at being ( isturbed; “ye made me think it war mornin'i What do I put the rope ’roun‘ me for? What else w’u’d it be for, but to keep 01! the varmints?” , “What varmints, Misther Stump? Snakes diz yez mane?“ “ Snakes, in coarse. Durii ye, go to our bedi" Notwithstanding the sharp rebuke, ’helim returned to the cabin apparently in high glee. If there was any- thing in Texas, “barrin’ an' above the Indyins them- selves," as he used to say, “ that kept him from slapin’ It was them vinamous snrpints. He hadn't had a good nl ht‘s rest iver since he (i been in the couiithry for thgnkin’ of the ugl vipers, or dhi'amin’ about t im. What a pity Saint athrick hadn’t paid Texas a visit before goin' to grace!" Phelini. in his remote residence, isolated as he had been from all intercourse, had never before witnessed the trick of the cabriesta. He was not slow to avail himself of the knowledge thus acquired. Returning to the cabin and creeping stealthily inside—as if not wishii to \v e his master, already asleep—he was seen to ta e a cabriesta from its peg; and then going forth again, he carried the long rope around the stockade walls—paying it out ashe proceeded. . Having completed the circumvallation, he re-entered Elie hulg; as he stepped over the threshold muttering to mse : “Sowli Phalirn O’Nale, you‘ll slape sound for this night, spite av all the snakes in Texas." For some minutes after Phelim‘s soliloquy a profound stillness rel ed around the but of the mustan er. There was ll e silence inside; for the countryman 0 St. Patrick, no longer apprehensive of the score of re tile intruders, had fallen asleep, almost on the momen of his sinking down upon his spread horse-skin. For awhile it seemed as if eve body was in the enjoy- ment of perfect repose, Tara an the ca tive steeds in- cluded. The on sound heard was the made by Zeb Stump‘s “maar Kclose by cropping the sweet grama rose. 3 Presently, however, it might have been erceived that the old hunter was himself stirring. Ins ad of lying still in the recumbent attitude to which he had con- signed himself, he could be seen shifting from side to sl e as if some feverish thought was keeping him awa e. After repeatin this movement some half-score of times, he at lengfii raised himself into a sitting posture, and looked discontentedly around. ” Dad-rot his ignorance and imperence—the Irish cuss!” were the words that came hissing throu h his teeth. “ He‘s s ilt my night‘s rest, dnrn hlmi ‘ vould sarve him ’bou right to drag him out an‘Fl’e him a duckln’ in the crlk. Do -goned of I don‘t eel ’cllned torst doin' it; only I dont like to displeeze the other Irish, who air a somebody. Possible I don't get a wink o’ slee till mornln’." ' Havfng delivered himself of this peevish sohloqu , t e hunter once more drew the blanket around his ' y, and returned to the horizontal position. Not to sleep, however, as was testified b the tossing and lid etlng that followed—terminated y his again ralsinfiFim' self into a sitti osture. A so 10 uy, very similar 0 is former one, once more edl from his ll 3; this time the threat of ducking hellm in the creek lng expressed with ‘a more em- phatic accent of determination. He 3. peared to be wavering as to whether he should carry the design into execution, when an object coming under his eye gave a new turn to his thoughts. 0n the ground, not twenty feet from where he sat a. long, thin body was seen glidi over the grass. Its serpent sha , and smooth, lub cated skin—reflecting the siive light of the moon—rendered the reptile easy of identi cation. ‘ , “ Snake!” mutteringly exclaimed he, as his 6 e rest- ed on the reptilian form. _“Wonder what so it air, slickerin' abeout h ar this time o the night? It air too lurge for a rattle, txwugh thur air some ‘in these parts ‘most asbigas it. But it air too clur i the color, au‘ thin about the belly, for 'ole rattletalll No, 'taln't one 0’ them. Han—now I reevcog-nlze the varminti It air a chicken, out on the s‘arch arter eggs, I reck‘nl Dam the thingl it air comln’ torst me, straight as it kin crawl.” The tone in which the s er delivered himself told that he was in no fear of e reptile—even after discov~ ering that It was makingl approach. He knew that the snake would not cross t e oabriesta, but on touching It would turn away, as if the horsehair rope was a line or ng fire. Secure within his magic circle, he could have looked tranquilly at the intruder, though it had been the most poisonous of prairie-3e ts. But ltwas not. On the contrary,i Was nigh-M0me as the “chicken “- from w the species takes its trivial title-«at the some ‘ I / . I the with‘that W withl , ‘ time that it is one of the largest in the list of North American reptilia. The expression on Zeb’s face, as he sat regardin ' it, was simply one of curiosit , and not veiy keen. To a hunter in the constant habit of couching himself upon , the grass, there was nothing in the sight either strange or terrifying; not even when the creature came close up to the worm-ta, and with head slightly elevated, rubbed its snout against the rope. After that there was less reason to be afraid, for the snake, on doing so, instantly turned round, and comp monccd retreating over the sword. For a second or two the hunter watched it moving away, Without making any movement himself. He seemed undecided as to whether he should follow and destroy it, or leave it to o as it had come—oiinscathed. Had it been a rattlesna e, “cop erhead," or “mocca- sin,” he would have acted up to he curse delivered in the garden of Eden, and planted the heel of his heavy alligator-skin boot upon its head. But a harmless chicken-snake did not come within the limits of Zeb Stnmp’s antifimthy, as was evidenced by some words muttered by im as it slowly receded from the spot. “ Poor crawlin‘ critter, let it goi It ain’t no enemy o‘ mine, though it do suck a turke ‘3 eggs now an‘ then, an‘ in coorse sacrifices the hirer o‘ the birds. Thet air onl its nater an’ no reezun why I shed be angry wi' it. Bu thur‘s a durned ood roe-zun why I shed be wi' that Irish—the dog- Oiled. , stinkin’ fool, to lia‘ woke me as he dudl I feel od-rotted like sarvm’ him out, of I ked only think 0‘ some way es w‘u’dii’t discommode the young fellur. Stoyl By Gechosofat! I‘ve the ides—the very thing—sure es my name air Zeb Stumpi" On giving utterance to the last words, the hunter—- whose countenance had suddenly assumed an expres- sion of uizzical cheerfulness—sprung to his feet, and, with Ihen body, hastened in pursuit of the retreating re tie. ' few strides brought him alongside of it, when he pounced upon it with all his ten digits extended. ~ In another moment its long, ghtteri body was up- lifted from the ground and writhing in s grasp. “ Now, Mister Phelim," exclaimed he, as if apostro- phizing the serpent, “of I don‘t gi'e y‘ur Irish soul a scare thet '1] keep ye awake till mornin‘, I don’t know buzzart from turkey. Hyur goes to purvide ye wi‘ a bedfellurl” On saying this, he advanced toward the hot, and, si- lently skulking under its shadow released the serpent from his grip—lettin it fall within the circle of the cabiiesta, with which helim had so craftily surrounded his sleeping-place. Then returnin to his grassy couch, and once more pulling the old b nket over his shoulders he muttered: “The varmint won't come out acrost t e ro thet air sartin an’ it ain’t a- oin’ to leave a yar o‘ the groun’ 'ii: out explorin’ or a place to git clur—thet‘s eequall sartin. Lf it don‘t crawl over thet Irish green- horn 'it ' the hef 0" an hour, then old Zeb Stump air a greenhorn hisself. Hil what's that? Dog-gonad ef ‘ta n’t on him arread i” If the hunter be any further reflections to ve tongue to they could not have been heard-for at t moment there rose a confusion of homes that must have startled every living creature on the Alamo, and for miles u and down the stream. , It Was a uman voice that had ven the cue—or ra- ther, ahuman howl. such as coul roceed o from the throat of a. Galwe Phelim ‘Neal was e ori- ginator of the lnfern fracas. ' His voice, however, was soon drowned by a chorus of barkings, snortln s and neis-hings, that continued with- out interruption or a perioc of several minutes. “What is it?" demanded. his master, as he lea from the catre and gro his way toward his terri ed servitor. “ What the evil has got into you, Phelim! Have you seen a host?" . “Oh, master l—— y japersl worse than that: I’ve been murtheredb a snake. It’s hit me all over the bod . Blessed Sain Pathricki I’m a poor lost sinner! I’li’ sure to die!” “Bitten you, ou sa —where?” asked Maurice, hast- 11y striking a lig t, ant proceeding to examine the skin of his henchman, assisted by the 01d hunter, who had by this time arrived within the cabin. “I see no sign of bite," continued the mustanger after havi turned Phellm round and round, and closely scru inized his epidermis. * x “ Ne’er a SCratCh,” laconicaliy interpolated Stump. , “ Sowll then if I’m not hit, so much the better; but it crawled all over me. I can feel it now, as oowld as chaigéy, on me skin." “ as there a snake at all?" demanded Maurice, 'in- . cllned to doubt the statement of his follower. “ You’ve been dreaming of one. Phelim—nothing more." “ Not a bit of a dhrame, master; it was a WWII. Be me sowl, I‘m sure of it!” “I reckon thur‘s been snake,” dryly remarked thei hunter. “ Let’s see if we kin track it up. Kewrious 11 air, too. Thur's a hair-r0 all roun’ the house. Won~ der how the val-mint co d hs.’ crossed that! Thnra thur it is l" The hunter, as he spoke, pointed to a cornerof the cabin, where the serpent was seen spirally coiled. . “ Only a chickenl’ he continued: “no more harm in it than a suckin’ dove. It kedn't ho.‘ bit y‘e, Mister Pheelum; but we‘ll put it past bitln’, an how. Saying this, the hunter seized the sna e in his hands' and, raising it aloft, bro ht it down n n the floor 0 tfie cabin with a “thwac " that since deprived it of t e wer of motion. ’ " ur now, Mister Phelimi" he exclaimedbgiving it‘ the flnishi touch with the heel of his heavy oot, ‘ ye may go mfg: to ’ur bed ag‘ln, an‘ slee ’tliout fear 0‘ _ bein‘ disturbed t II the momln —leastw se, b snakes.” Kicking the ddgnft {eigilfiiybiforfinhimtb hi b Sltéimp strode out of the u 8 Be ‘1 c “0 98 mse v as. for the third time, lie extended his colossal calm along the sword. . CHAPTER vm. , m CRAWL or was ALACBAN. Tim killing of the snake appeared to be the we 1' s neral return to ulescence. The ’how 3 of o onnd ceased with t osebf the henchmen. e mm tongs once more stood slient under the shadowy trees. Inside the cabin the only noise hm was an occa- sional shumlng, when Phelim, no 'lon rfeeling‘ conn‘, ‘ denfie if the protection of a com. o r . anugside also there was but one sound to disturb the . stillness, though its intonation was in strlld cont-rest, ' ch 1:. It mlgv Ft have beenr d an a orou can 9 gran 0 an mm, an , mailman blunting; bntpmsedisgosit did,from V 8 the nostrils of Zeb Stmnp, it could only be the snore of the slumberiug hunter. Its sonorous fullness proved him to be soundly asleep. He was—had been almost from the moment of re-es- tablishiug himself within the circle of tliorabliasla. The revame obtained over his late disturhcr had acted as a settler ovor his nerves; and once more was be enjoying the relaxation of perfect repose. For nearly an hour did this contrasting duet continue, varied only by an occasional recited/)6 in tho hootof the great horned owl, or a can/(Ha pelts-erase in the lugu- ,' rious wail of the prairie wolf. 1 At the end oi’ this interval, however, the chorus re- ( ominenccd, breaking out as abruptly as before, led by the vociferous voice of the. Connemara maii. “ Meliah nuirdherl“ cried he, his first exclamation not only startling the host of the hut, but the guest so soundly sleeping outside. “ IIowly mother! Vargin av un urtictcd nnoccncel Save inc—save me i" ‘ Save you from what?" demanded his master, once more sprin 'ing from his couch and hastening to strike alight. “ Vhat is it, you confounded fellow?" "Another snake, ycr hannerl Ochl be me soulla far wickedcr sarpent than the wan Misther Stump killed. It's hit me all over the breast. I feel the place buruiu‘ where it crawled across me, just as if the horse-slicer nt Ballyballagh lizid scorched me wid a rid-hot iron!" “ Durn ye for n. stinkin’ skunk l" shouted Zeb Stump, with his blanket about his shoulder, qiiite filling the doorway. “Ye've twice‘t milled in night’s sleep, ye foolish fool! ’Scuso me, Misicr Ger di Thur air ools in all countries, I reck‘n, 'Merican as well as Irish—but this liyur follercr o' yourn air the durudest o’ the kind iver I kiln acrost. Dog-goned if I see how we air to et pay sleep the night, ’lcss we drowned Mm 111 the crick u stl “ Oclil Misthcr Stum , dear, don‘t talk that way. I aware to yez both there :5 another snake: I’m sure it’s in the kyabin yit. It‘s only a minute since I feeled it cree in’ over me." “ on must ha' been dreaniin' l" re'oined the hunter, in a more com ilacent tone, and spca ’ing half interro- 'atively. “I 11 yo no snake in Texas will cross a horse-hair ro c. The i'other ‘un must ha’ been inside the house a ore yc laid the lar 'itt round’ _it. ’Tain’t likel there kcd ha‘ been two on em. We kin soon set- tle that by s'archin‘.“ “0h, inurdhcrl Look hare!" cried the Galwcgian, pulling 01! his shirt and laying bare his breast. ‘Tharc's the riptoile‘s track, right acrass over me ribs! Didn‘t I tell ycz there was another snakel. Oh blissed Mother, what will become av me? It feels hke a strake of fire!" “Snake!” exclaimed Stump, stepping up to the at“- frl htcd Irishman, and holding the candle close to his 9k n. “ Snake i'deedl By the ’tarnal airthquake, it air no snake! It air wuss than thatl" “Worse than a snake?“ shouted Phelim in dismay. “ Worse, yez say, Misther Stump? Div yez mane that it’s dangerous l" “ Will, it mout be an” it moutn‘t. Thet ’ere ’ll depend on whether I kin find somethin‘ ’hout hyur, an’ find it soon. Ef I don‘t, then, Mister Phelum, I won‘t au- swei'——" “ Oh, Mist her Stump, don‘t say there's dangerl" “What is it?" demanded Maurice as his eyes rested n on a reddish line running diagonally across the breast up his follower, and which looked as if traced by the point of a hot spindle. “What is it, anyhow?" he re- peated, with increasing anxiety as he observed the serious look with which the iuiiter regarded the stran o marking. “I never saw the like before. Is it some ing to be alarmed about?" “All 0‘ thet, Mister Gerald," replied Stump, motion- in .Maurice outside the but, and speaking to him in a \v is er, so as not to be overheard by Plielim. “ t what is it?" 6%01‘1 asked the mustanger. “ It air the crawl o‘ 12‘ en centipede." “The ison centipedel Has it bitten him?" “No, hardly think it hes. But it don’t need thet. The crawl o' itself air enqu to kill him 1" “ Merciful heaven! you don‘t mean that?" “I do, Mister Gerald. I've sce’d more ’an one good fellur go under wi’ that sort 0' a stripe acrost his skin. If thur ain’t somethin’ done, au‘ thet soon, he‘ll fast get into aragin‘ fever, an‘ then he’ll 0 out 0’ his senses, jest as if the bite 0‘ a mad dog h gi’n him the hydro- phoby. It air no use frightenin‘ him howsomdever, till sees what I can do. Thar‘s a arb, or rather it air a ilant, as grows in these parts. 1’ I kin find it handy, here ll be no defeequilty in curin‘ 0’ him. But as the cussed luck w'u’d hev it, the moon hez sneaked out 0’ right; an' I kin only get the arb by opin’. I know there air plent 0‘ t up on he blag: an‘ ef you'll go back inside, an keep the fellur quiet, I‘ll see what km be done. I won't be gone but a minute." The whispered colloquy, and the fact of the speakers havi gone outside to carry it on, instead of tranquil. izing t in tears of Phelim, had by'this time a mented them to an extreme degree; and Just as the ol hunter, bent upon his herborizing errand, disa peared in the darkness, he came rushing forth from a hut. howling more piteously than ever. ' It was some time before his master could get him tranquilized, and then only by assurinzijhim—on a faith not very flrin— that there was not the s ghtest danger. A few seconds after this had been accomplished, Zeb Stump reappeared in the doorway, With a countenance that produced a pleasant change in the feehngs of those inside. His confident air and attitude ro- claimed, as plainly as words could have done, the. he had discovered that of which he had gone the “ arb." In his right hand he held a number of oval s aped objects of dark green color—all of them bristling with dark spines, set over the surface in e m- distant clusters. Maurice recognized the leaves 0 a plant well known to him—the oregano cactus.‘ “Don‘t be skecart, Mister Pheeluinl" said the old 1. inter, in a consolamry tone, as he stepped across the tiresliold. “ Thur's nothin' to fear now. I hev got the Lolsum as ’11 draw the burnin‘ out 0’ y’ur blood, quicker ’an flame 'ud scorch a feather. Stop y’ur yelliu’, manl Ye‘ve roasted every bird an’ boast, an’ creepin’ thing too, I reckon, out o‘ thar slumbers, for more ’au twenty mile a an' down the crik. Ef on go on at that grist much anger, ye’ll brin the manu- checs out o’ thur mountains. an that ’ud wuss may- hap than the crawl 0‘. this hundred-legield critter. Mister Gerald, you git riddy a bandlge, w “es I pur- ares the powltiss.’ Drawi his knife from its sheath, the hunter first lapped o the spines, and then, removing the outside Win, he split the thick succulent leaves of the cactus into Slices ul‘ about the eighth of an inch in thickness. M be spread co;i'.igi‘.ou.~ly apwu a strip of clean in search— ha, The cw York Library. l cotton stuff already prepared by the mustangcr; and 1 then, with the ability of a. hunter, laid the “powltiss,” ‘ as he termed it, along the inflamed line, which he de- ‘ clared to have been made by the claws of the centi- pcde, but which in reality was caused by the injection of venom from its isou-charged mandibles, a thdu- sand times inserted nto the flesh of the sleeper. The application of the oregano was almost instanta- neous in is effect. The acrid 'uice of the plant, pro- (lucin a counter poison, killed t at which had been se- Note by the animal; and the patient, relieved from fuithcr apprehension, and soothed by the sweet confl- dcnce of security—stronger from reaction—soon fell oil into a profound and restorative slumber. After searching for the centipede and failing to find it—for this hideous re tile, known in Mexico as the alacran, unlike the ratt esnake, has no fear of crossing a cabriexm—the improvised physician strode silcutl out of the cabin' and once more committing himse to his grassy couch, slept undisturbed till the morning. At the earliest hour of daybreak, all three were nstir -—Phclim having recovered both from his fri lit and his lover. Having made their inatutinal mea u on the debris of the roast turkey, they hastened to ta to their de nature from the hut. The quondam stable-boy of Bil Ybflllagh. assisted by the Texan hunter, repared the wild steeds for transport across the p aius—by stringing them securely together—while Maurice looked after his own horse and the spotted mare. More es- pecially did he expend his time upon the beautiful cap— tive—careful] combing out her mane and tail, and re- moving from er lossy coat the stains that told of the severe chase she ad cost him before her proud neck yielded to the constraint of his lazo. “Dnrn it, maul“ cried Zeb, as, with some surprise, he stood watching the movements of the mustanger, “ ye needn‘t ha’ been hef so perticklerl Wudle Print— dcxter ain‘t the man as‘ll go back from a arg'in. Yu‘ll git the two hundred dollars, sure as my name air Zeb’lun Stump; an‘ dog-gone my cats, cf the maar ain’t worth ever red cent 0‘ the money i" Maui-ice ward the remarks without makin reply; but the half-suppressed smile playin" around is ips told that the Kcntuckinn had altogether misconstrued the motive for his assidunus grooming. In less than an hour after the mustanger was on the march mounted on his blood-bay, and leading the spotte mare at the end of his lazo; while the captive carallada, under the guidance of the Galwegian lgroom, went trooping at 5 br sk ace over the plain. Zcp Stump, astrido his ‘old maar,” could onl keep up by a cqnstanthammering with his heels; an Tara. picking his steps through the spinous mezqum grass, rotted listlessly in the rear. The but, with its skin-door closed against animal in- truders, was left to take care of itself' ts silent solitude, for a time, to be disturbed only by the booting of the horned-owl, the scream of the cougar, or the howl-bark of the hungering coyote. CHAPTER IX. THE momma FORT. Tna “star-Spangled banner" suspended above Fort Inge, as it flouts forth from its tail staff, filings its fltful shadow over a scene of strange and original interest. It is a picture of pure frontier life—which perlia s only the pencil of the younger Vernet could truthfu y portray—half-military, half-civilian—half-savage, hal - civilized—mottled With fl ures of men whose com- lexions, costumes and ca ings, proclaim them apper- aining to the extremes of both, and every poss1ble gradation between. Even the mise-en-scene—the fort itself—is of this mix- cegenous character. That star-span led banner waves not over bastions and battlementS' it dings no shadow over casemate or covered way, osse, scarpment, or glacis—scarce any thing that appertains to a fortress. A rude stockade, constructed out of trunks of algarobla, inclosing shed-stablin for two hundred horses- outside this a half-score bull ings of the plainest architectural style—some of them mere huts of ‘ wattle and daub "— jacales—the biggest a barrack; behind it the hospital, the stores of he commissary, and quartennaster; on one side the guard-house; and on the other, more pre- tentiously placed, the messroom and ofllcers’ gunners; all lain in their appearance—plastered an white- was ed with the lime lentifully found on the Leona—— all neat and clean, as omesa cantonment wearing the imiform of a great civilized nation. Such is Fort e. t a short distance off another group of houses meets the eye—nearl , if not quite, as imposing flfi the cluster above descri d bearing the name of The Fort." The are just outside the shadow of the flag, though 1111 or its rotection—for to it are they in- debted for their 01%in and'eXistence. 'They are the germ of the vi e hat universally sp 8 Sp in the proximity of an erican 11th post— '1 Prom- ility, and at no ve remote period. to become 8' 00W!) —perhaps a great 0 ty. At present their occupants are a sutler, whose store contains “knick-knacks” not classed among commis- sariat rations; a. hotel-keeper whose bar-room. With white, sanded floor, and shelves sparkling With pris- matic glass tempts the idler to step in; a brace of gamblers whose rival tables_of fare and manta extract mm the ckets of the soldiers most part of their pay; a score 0 dark—eyed senoritas of questionable reputa- tion; a like number of hunters teamsters, mufiangers, and nondescripts—such as constitute in all countries the ngers-on of a military cantonment, or the followers of a camp. _ The houses in the occupanc of this motley corpora tion have been "sited" wit some deSign. Perhaps they are the property of a single speculator. They stand around a “ square " whereninstead of lamp-posts or statues may be seen he decaymgtg‘unk Offi CYPPESS. or the bushy form of a, hackberry, rising out of a topic of trodden ' The Leona—at this point a mere mvulet—glides past in the rear both of fort and village. To the front ex- tends a level lain reen asverdure can make it—in the ‘stance dar ened gy a bordering of woods, in which post-oaks and pecans, live—oaks and elms, struggle for existence with spinous lants of cactus and none; with scores of cree era, 0 bars, and parasites almost unknown to the b0 nist. To the south and east along the bank of the stream you see scatte houses; the homesteads of plantations; some of them rude and of recent construction, with a few of more pretentious style and evidently of older origin. One of these last particularly attracts the attention: a structuw of super or size—with flat roof. surmounted . by a crciielicd parapet-«whose \i‘liite walls thow cou- Vci. 1.- spicuously against the green background of forest with which itishalf encircled. It is the hacienda of Casa del Como. Turning your eye northward, you behold a curious isolated eminence—a gigantic cone of rocks—rising lov- ernl hundred feet above the level of the lain; and be- yond in dim distance, a waving horizonta line indicat- ing the outlines of the Guadalupe mountains—the outstanding s urs of that elevated and almost untrodden plateau, the June Estacado. Look aloft! You behold a sky, half-5a pliire, half- turquoise; by day, showing no other spot ban the orb of its ioldcn god; by night studded with stars that a ear c ’pped from clear steel, and a moon whose we l~ eflned disk outshines the effulgence of silver. Look below—at that hour when moon and stars have disappeared, and the land-wind arrives from Matngorda Bay, laden with the fragrance of flowers; when it strikes the starry flag, unfolding itto the eye of tbo moon—then look below and behold the picture that should have been painte b the pencil of Vernei—t.:u varied and vivid too plenti iii in shapes, continues an I coloring, to be sketched by the .n. In the tableau you distinguis soldiers in uniform . the light blue of the United States infantry, the dill‘ki x cloth of the dragoons, and the almost invisible green | t the mounted riflemen. You Will see but few in full uniform—only the 001 eters‘fof the day, the captain of the guard, and the guard i so . Theircomrades of! duty lounge about the barracks’, or Within the Stockade inclosure, in red-flannel shirts, slouch hats, and boots innocent of blacklng. They mingle with men whose costumes make no pre- tense to a military character: tall hunters in tunics of dressed deer-skin, with leggings to correspond—herds- men and mustangers, habited a la Mexicans—Mexicans themselves, in Wide calzorwros, asrapes on their shoul- ders, bolas on their legs, huge spurs u on their heels, and glazed sombreros set jauntily on the r crowns. They palaver with Indians on a friendly visit to the fort, for trade or treaty; whose tents stand at some distance and from whose shoulders hang blankets of red, and green and blue—giving them a picturesque, even clas- sical a pearance, in spite of the hideous paint with which t ey have bedaubed their skins, and the dirt that renders sticky their long black hair, lengthened l-y tresses taken from the tails of their orses. Picture to the eye of your imag ation this jumbl.-. of mixed nationalities—in their varied costumes of race condition and callin ; jot in here and there a black-skinned scion of Et iopia, the bod -servant of some officer, or the emissary of a planter ram the ad- acent settlements; imagine them standing in sgossip- roups, or stalking over the level plain, amid some ha dozen halted wagons; a couple of six-pounds" upon their carriages, with caissons close by; a square tent or two with ts surmounting fly—occu ied by some eccentric officer who l.B‘refers sleeping un er canvas; a stack of bayoneted es belonging o the soldiers on guard—im us all these component arts, and you will plaza bi; (go your Iphindt’s By? a tru hful picture of a m ry 0 upon e ront er of Texas and the extreme selvedge of civilization. ' About a week after the arrival of the Louisiana plaic- tor at his new home, three officers were seen standi upon the parade ground in front of Fort I e, wit Eheir eyes turned toward the hacienda of ass. do] 0W0. They were all .oung men: the oldest not over thirty years of age. is shoulder-straps with the double bar proclaimed him a ca tain; the second, with a single cross-bar, was a first eutenant; while the youngest of the two, with an empty chevron, was either a second lieutenant or “breve . ‘ They were off duty; engaged in conversation—their theme, the “ new people " in Casa del Corvo—by which was meant the Louismna planter and his famil . “ A sort of hausewarming it’s to be “ said tge infan try captain, alludin to an invitation t at had reached the fort,_extending 0 all the commissioned officers of the garrison. “ Dinner first, and dancing afterward—a regular field day, where I sup ose we shall see paraded the aristocracy and beauty 0 the settlement." drégigfpcraclyg: I$3511:iniévlytrhregitloined the lieutenant of . o . baggy” still 133." a ere, I fancy, and of ou mis 0, Hancock. There are both u n banks of the Leona; some ood States‘ taming: hats: strayed out this Wig. We‘ meet them at Poindsxter‘s Ram/“no doubt. n the question of aristocracy, the ost himself, if you’ll pardon a poorjoke. is himwlf B host. He has enough of it to noc ate all the com- any that may be present; and as for beauty, I’ll back is daughter against anything this side t e Sabine. {Epsom y’s niece will be no longer belle about “Oh, indeed!“ drawled the lieutenant of rifles in - tone that told of his being chafed by this re regent:- gpn. ”“ Miss Poindexter must be deuced goodzlooking, en. “ She’s all that, I tell you, if she be an th what she was when I last saw her, Whig: wiggiiltk: Bayou Lafourche ball. There were half a dozen Cre- oles there who came nigh crossing swords about her " ‘:A co uette I sup set" insinuated the lineman. ' ‘ Not of the lid, Crossman. Quite the con- tra , I assure you. She’s a girl of spirit. though— lik enough to snub any fellow who ht t to be too amihar. She’s not Without somemdf therfather's pride. It’s a family trait of the Poindexters." “ Just the girl Is ould cotton to ” jocosel remarked the yo d 0011. “And if she‘s as ooddookin as ou saye3 ap n Sloman, I shall certai y o inforfier. nlike rossman here, I’m clear of all on laments ofutgveefiegfrg. H'l‘hankktlie Lord for it!" , - ancoc .‘ re'oined the i a gentleman of sober inclinings, “I'lfifgfiftrygi‘olaoetg slasher minister w “I” seen “Whyom. s1 d,” o amp—m” I" if you a aw, Oman 1 don’t you be alarmed .bout me I’ve been too often under the are of ' an fear of them." bright was“) haw :‘Nonestoall: lixtashersé; t u ‘ Deuce et oum eaeowfal vowith this lady without airing sat eynes upon 111.3,.“k Elie must beusome extrao — compamhlé" She was th, when I last saw her." ' 15 Wit?“ “8 "sigma .... i... 6 euro e me ' months. Just after we got bask rmhfofigixgghfi. was then ‘comlng out,’ as society style, “- , “ ‘ A new Its: in the armament, to light “a ".1 on 3,0,. . . LI. . Nos. 8-9. “Eighteen months ls along time," sager remarked Crossman, “a lon1r time for an unmarried maiden-— especially among (.rcoles, where they often get spliced at twelve, instead of ‘ sweet sixteen. Her beauty may have lost some of its bloom?" “ I believe not a bit. I should have called to see' only I knew they were in the middle of their ‘plenishing,‘ and mightu‘t desire to be visited. But the ma or has been to Casa del Corvo, and brought back sue a re- port about Miss Poindexter‘s beauty as almost got him mto a scrape with the lady commanding the post. “Upon my soul, Captain Sloman!” asseverated the lieutenant o dragoons, “ you’ve excited my curiosityto such a degree,l feel already half in love With Louise l’oindexter.“ I ' “Before you get altogether into it,” rejoined the officer of infantry, in a serious tone, “'let me recom- iiiendalittle caution. There’sabete harm the back- ground." . . “(it brother, I suppose? That is the individual so re- gar ed.“ “There is a brother, but it's not he. A free, noble young fellow he is-«the only Pomdexter I ever knew not eaten up with ride. He‘s quite the reverse." “The aristocrat c father, then? Surely he wouldn’t object to a quarterin ’ with the Hancocks‘t" “I'm not so sure 0 that; seeing that the HaBncocks ut it s are Yankees and he‘s a chivalrtc Soul/Lerner! not old Poindexter I mean." “ Who, then, is the black beast, or what is it—if not a human?" I “ It is human, after a fashion. A male cousin—a queer card he is—by name Cassius Calhoun." “I think I've heard the name." “ So have I ” said the lieutenant of rifles. “So has aimost everybody who had anythin to do with the Mexican war—that is, who took part in utt’s campaign. He figured there extensively, and not very creditabl either. He was captain in a volunteer regi- ment of ississippianso-for he hails from that State; but he was oftener met at the mania-table than in the uarters of his regiment. He had one or two affairs, t at gave him the reputation of a bully. But that no- toriet was not of Mexican war ori in. He had earned it be ore goiu there; and was we known among the dos eradoes 0 New Orleans as a dangerous man. ” “ t of all that?” asked the young dragoon, in a tone slightly savoring of defiance. “Who cares whether Mr. Cassius Calhoun be a dangerous man, or a harmless one? Not I. He‘s only the girl’s cousm, you on ?‘ “ Something more, perhaps. I have reason to think hcl‘sAher logic; 1’" ‘ cos 0 on 511 so “Thutli caii‘t tgli. I or; y know, or sus set, that he‘s the favorite of the father. I have hear reasons wh ; given only in whispers, it is true, but too probable to e scouted.‘ The old story—influence springing from mort- gage money. Poindexter’s not so rich as he has been~ else we'd never have seen him out here." "If the lady be so attractive as you so. , I suppose we‘ll have Captain Cassius out here also be ore lon r?” “ Before long! Is that all on know about it? e is here; came along with the amily, and'is now residing with them. Some say he’s a partner in the glantmg s ulation. I saw him this very morning— own in t 3 hotel barroom—‘liquoring up,’ and swaggerlngin his old way.” . “ A swarthy-complexioned man of about thirty with dark hair and mustaches- wearing a blue cloth frock, Ralf military cut, and a dolt's revolver strapped over 9 “ y, and abowie-knife, if on had looked for it un- der the breast of his coat. at’ the man}: “ He‘s rather a formidable-looking fellow,‘ remarked the young rifleman. “If a bully, his looks don‘t belie him. ' “D—-—n his looks!" half angrily exclaimed the dra- goou. “We don‘t hold commissions in Uncle Sam‘s army to be scared by looks, nor bullies either. If he comes any of his bu ingr over me, he’ll find I'm as quick with a trigger as e.‘ At that moment the bugle brayed out the call for morning parade—a ceremony observed at the little frontier fort as re r as if awhole corps d’armee had been present—an the t ree officers separatinig, betook themselves to their quarters to repare the r several companies for the inspection of t e major in command of the caiitoninent. CHAPTER X. CABA DdEL’ l({ioavo. C d 100 T a state or “ hacien a,’ nown as asa e rvo, extgndeed oio’ng the wooden bottom of the Leona. river for more than aleague, and tW‘KElG that distance south- ward across the contiguous pra i e. The house itself-usually, though not correctly, st led the hacienda—stood within lonlg cannon range of .«ort Inge; from which its white wa s were partia ly viSible; the remaining portion being shadowed by tall forest trees that skirted the banks of the stream. Its site was peculiar, and no doubt chosen _with a view to defense: for its foundations had been laid at a time when Indian assailants might be expected; as indeed the might be, and often are, at the present hour” There was a curve of the river closmo upon itself, like a shoe of a race-horse, as the arc of a Circle, the parts complete; the chord of which, or a parallelogram raced upon it, might be taken as the ground-plan of the dwelling. Hence the name—Case. del Corvo- the House of the Curve " (curved river). ‘ The facade, or entrance side, fronted toward the rairie—the latter forming a noble lawn that extended go the of the horizon—in comparison with which an imperial ark would have shrunk into the dimen- sions of a dock, The architecture of Casa del Corvo, like that of other large country mansmns in Mexico, was of a style that ' t be termed Morisco-Mexican: being a single $1; in hight, with a flat roof—azalea—s uted and parapeth all around; havmg a courtyar inside the walls, termed atio. open to the 81W. With a flagged floor, a fount éangrgn stunting??? es swig th frag-ran en 06 _ . $339 ’wooden door thic studded with lt-heads; ws caneggh side, «agenda bale. ' bars raga. see are 9 gig; alum-acf flmgflsutfcg of a exican hacienda; and Gaga, del Gorvo differed but little from the type almost vernal throughout the vast territo ies of Spams America. - hr 0 estead that adorned the newly- Suc caveats.as gédhthle Ionisiana planth had he- ? mp0“: b . ' “$333.9 Wfimmmmmd and two or three win h whi w he Headless Horseman. the dwelling; not much in its interior, if we exce tthe gel-sonwa of its occupants. Aphysiognom , half nglo- ‘axon, half Franco-American, presented i self in court- yard and corridor, where formerly were seen only faces i of pure Spanish t Ille; and instead of the rich, sonorous lan uage of Anfil usia, was now heard the harsher gut ural of a semi-Teutonic tongue—occasionally diver- sified by the sweet aecentuatimi of Creoliaii French. Outside the walls of the mansion—iii the village-like cluster of Yucca-thatched huts which formerly gave housing to the [icons and other dependants of the haci‘ enda—the transformation was more striking. Where the tall, thin vague/'0 in broad-brimmed hat of black glaze, and checkered scrape, strode proudly over the sword—his spurs tinkling at every step—was now the authoritative “overseer, ' in blue jersey or blanket- coat—his whip cracking at every corner: where the red children of Azteca and Analiuac scantily clad in tanned sheep—skin could be seen, with sad, solemn aspect, lounging listlesslyI by their Jacalex, or trotting silently along, were now card the black sons mid dau liters of Ethiopia, from morning till Ill"llt chattering t eir gay “gumbo " or with son and gance seemingly contra- dicting the idea that very is a heritage of unhap- piiiessl Was it a change for the better upon the estate of Casa del Corvo? There was a time when the people of England would have answered—n0; With alunaiiimity and emphasis calculated to drown all disbelief in their sincerity. Alas, for human weakness and hypocrisy! Our long cherished sympathy With the slave proves to have been only a tissue of sheer dissembhng. Led by an oli- garchy—not the true aristocracy of our countr ; for these are too noble to have yielded to such deep esi - ing—but an oligarchy composed of cons irin pie s who have smuggled themselves into the rst p aceso power—in all the four estates—guided by these when conspirators against the people’s rights~Eng has proven untrue to her creed so loudly proclaimed—tru- culent to the trust reposed in her by the universal ac- claim of the nations. _ On a theme altogether different, dwelt the thoughts of Louise Poindexter, as she flung herself into a c air in front of her dressing-glass and directed her maid Florindato prepare her or the rece tion of guests— ex ected soon to arrive at the haciem a. _ 1% was the day fixed for the “house-warming," and about an hour before the time appointed for dinner to be on the table. This might have explained a certain restlessness observable in the air of the young Creole— especially observed by Florinda; but it did not. The maid had her own 1‘. oughts about the cause of her mistress’ disquietude—as was proved by the conversa- tion that ensued between them. Scarce could it be called a conversation. It was more as if the young lady were thinking aloud, with her at- tendant acting as the echo. During all her life, the Creole had been accustomedto look upon her sable handmaid as a thing from whom it was not worth while concealing her thoughts any more than she would from the chairs, the table, the sofa or any other article of furniture in the a artment. rl‘here was but the differ- enceof Flor-inda sing a little more animated and com- paiiionable, and the advantage of her being able to give a vocal res onse to the observations ad her. For the st ten minutes after outed? the chamber, Florinda had sustained the brunt of t e dialogue on indifferent topics—~her mistress only interfering with an occasional ejaculation. “ Oh, Miss Looe !" pursued the neg-recs, as her fin- gers fon laye amo the lustrous tresses of her on m s ress' hair, “ ow bew’ful you’ hair am! iike e long ’Panish moss dat hang from de pruss- tree; only dat it am ob a difl’rent color, an’ 5 he like do sugar-house ‘lasses.” As already stated, Louise Poindexter was a Creole. After that, it is scarce necessaryto say that her hair was of dark color; and—as the sable maid in rude s eech had expresseditr—luxuriant as Spanish moss. I? was not blac ; but of a rich glowing brown—such as may be observed in the tinting of atortoise-shell, or the coat of a winter-tra ed sable. ' ' “ Ah!" continued orinda, s reading out an immense “ bank" of the hair, that g} stened like a chestnut against her dark mlm, “ if I ad dat lubly hair on ma, head, in’tead ob is cigsg’d ciifly wool, I fotch ’em all to ma feet—ebb one o em. “What do 5%.. mean, girl?" inquired the youn lady, as if just aroused from some dreamy reverie. “ at s that you’ve been saying! Fetch them to your feet! Fetch whom?" , “Na, now; inIi knowtwliat dis chile mean l’ “ ’Pon honor do no . “ Make ‘em lub me. Dat's what I should hab say." :zgfitthvhorfift‘ 'i‘ ‘ De you I planter de officer ! e w 6 gen m . i . ob de fort—all ob dem. Wif'youpfiail‘. Miss Looey, I could dem all make conquess: ‘t Ha—ha—hal” laughed _the young lady, amused at the idea of Florinda figuring under that magmflcent chevelure. “ You think, With in hair upon your head, you would be invincible amen t 6 men “ No, missa—not ou’ hair a one—but wif you’ sweet face—you‘ skin, wh to as do alumbaster—you’ tall flgga -— ou’ grand look. Oh, Miss Looey, on am so ’ en- di bew’ful! I hear de white gen in, 53y so. nee hear ’em say it. I see dat for muse f. “ You‘re learning to flatter, Florinda. “No ’ eed, missa—ne’er a word ob flattery—ne‘er a word, 1 sw’a‘ it. By de ‘postles. 1.8W’a’ it." To one who looked upon her mistress, the earnest as- severation of the maid was not necessary arrow the sincerity of hers eech, however hgperboli it In ht appear. To say tiat Louise Poin exterwas beaut ul would only be to re eat the universal verdict of the society that surronn ed her. A Single glance was suffi- cient to satisfy any one upon this int-strangers as well as ac uamtances. It wasp. k nd of beauty that needed no iscovefing—and yet it is difficult to describe it. The pen can not rtray such a face. Even the pencil could conve bu a faint idea of it: for'no paint- er, however skille , could re resent upon co (1 canvas the glowing, ethereal light t emanated from be:- e es, and ap to radiate overher countenance. or features were Purely clasmo: resembling those t of female beau Yehosen by Phidias or Praxiteles. m8 at in all the Grecian Pantheon there is no face to it could be likened: for it was not the counten- ance of a goddess; but. Something more attractive to 'the eye or man, the face of a woman. , suspicion of sensuality ,‘appa ut in the voluptuous curving of the lower lip—still mo pronounced in the prominen 9 no -: m): V, M , ole t rounding beneath the cheeks-while depriv- , ing the countenance of its pure s iritnalism, did not erhaps detract from its beauty. ere are men, who. inthis departure from the divine type, would have per. (named a su erior charm: since in Louise Poindexter they would ave seen not a divinity to be worshiped, but a woman to be loved. Her only reply vouchsafed to Florinda’s earnest as- severation was a laugh—careless. though not incredu- lous. The young Creole did not need to be reminded of her beauty. She was not unconscious of it: as could be told by her taking more than one long look into the mirror before which her toilet was being made. Tl: flattery of the ne rress scarce called 11 an emotion; cor- ; tainly not more t an she might have elt at the fawning of a pet spaniel: and she soon after surrendered herself to the .revcne from which the speech had aroused her. .F'lorinda was not silenced by observing her mistress" air of abstraction. The girl had evident y something on her mind—some mystery, of which she desired the eclaircivmnent—and was determined to have it. “Ah!” she continued as if talking to herself; “it Floriiida had half de charm ob young missa—she for nobody care—she i‘ or nobody heave do deep sigh!” “ Sigh!" repeated her mistress, suddenlry startled by the s eecli. ‘ What do you mean by that " “ a' dieu, Miss Looe , Florinda no so blind you t‘ink; nor so deaf, neider. S eyou see long time sit in do same lace; ou ncbbei' ’peak no word—you only heave de sig —de ong, deep Sigh. You nebba do dot in do lantasliun iii Loozyanny." _ “ orinda! I fear you are taking leave of your senses, or have left them behind you in Lonisiaua. Perhaps there‘s something in the climate here that aflects you Is that so, girl?“ ‘ . i a “ Pa’ dieu, Miss Looey dat nestion ob oursell’ ask. You no' he ang ’ca’se ’pea so plain. orlnda you‘ slave—she you ub like brack sisscr. She no’ happy hear you sigh. Dat wh she hab take de freedom. You no‘ be an wlf me " “Certainly no . Why should I be angry with you, child? I’m not. I didn’t 8%1 was; only you are quite mistaken in your ideas. at you’ve seen or board could be only a fancy of your own. As for sigblng heigho! I have some hing else to think of just now. I have to entertain about a hundred guests—nearly all strangers too; among them the oung lantern and officers w om on would entangle you ad my hair. Ha! ha! ha! I ( on‘t desire to enmesh them—not one of them! So twist it upas you like—without the sem- blance of a snare in it." . “ Oh, Miss Looe !you so ’peak?“ inquired the nogresq with an air of evi cut interest. “ You say none obdem en‘l‘m you care for? Dore am two, t’ree, berry, bangs erry, han’som‘. One planter dar be, an’ two of ofi‘lcer’—all young gen‘l’m. You know do t'ree I mean. All ob dem hab been ‘tentive to you. You sure, ’tain’t for one ob dem dat you make sigh i” “S h again! Ha! ha! ha! But come, Florlnda, we’re osing time. Recollect I‘ve got to be in the draw- ing-room to receive a hundred guests. I must have at befittin such an extensive reception." I “No ear, Miss Looey—no fear. I you todette make in time. No‘ much trouble you dress. Pa‘ dieu, in any dress you look ’ lendid. You be (la belle if you drebs like one ob de el‘ hand ob do plantashun.” “What a flatterer you are wn, ll‘lorlndal I shall begin to sus ct that you‘re ter some favor. Do you irvlish 1919’s to ntercede, and make up your quarrel with uto . . “ No, missa, I be friend nebber more wid Pluto. He show hisself such great coward when come dat storm on de brack prairie. . Ah, Miss Looeyi what we boaf do if dat oung white gen i‘m on de red hoes no com' ridin’ at way i“ “Ifhe had not, chere Florinda, it is highly probable none of us would now be here.“ “ h, m wasn’t be real fan man, dat ’ere? You see him bew’ 111 face? You see in thick hair. 1653 do color ob our own—only curled a leetle bit like minel‘ Talk ob a young planter or dem officer at de fort! De brack folk say he no cod for nuffln‘, like —he 0 poor white trash. 0 care fo‘ dat? He am de sorta mfiii’could make dis chile sigh. Ah! do berry, berry so Up to this point the young Creole had reserved a certain tranquillity of countenance. She ti ed: to con- tinue it' but the effort failed her. Whether by cool. nt or design, Florinda had touched the most sensitive c 0rd in the spirit of her mistress. She would have been loth to confess i even to her slave; and it was a relief to her when lou voices heard in the courtyard Save a colorable excuse for terminat- in her toilette, a ong with the delicate dialogue upon w ch she might have been constrained to enter. . CHAPTER XI. ‘ AN UNEXPEGI‘ED ARRIVAL. ' ’ i “ Sn, ye durnationed ri whar's your master?” ' “,ylgass Poindex‘er, sai- De ole mus’r, or do youn‘ un - i , 1 “Young ‘un be durnedi I mean Mister Peintdaxtor. Who also shed I? Whar air he?" \ ” Ho—ho! sar, dey am boaf at home—dot is, day am boa! ’wa from de house—do ole mass’r an’ de yang]: Mass‘r enry. De am down do rihber, who do i . am makin‘ do new enoe. Ho! ho! you find. ’em dab." “ Down the river! How fur d‘ e reck'n? “Hollioisar. Disniggahrec 'n itbe'bout t‘ree 0!" four mile—(lat at do be 1638‘." - . “ Three or four mile? e nith de a durnationed f gger. Mister Peintdexter’s plantation don‘t go in fur; an' I reck’n he ain‘t the man to be m ‘ «Home on some’dy else’s cl’arin'. Look hyuri What time all he expected hum? You’ve got a straighter idea o’thet, I he 9" “ e boaf'pected home an‘ do {no mass‘r, and Masa‘ Ca‘ oun, too. agwine to be big doin’s ’bout dis yer shanty— dat fo‘ ye‘seff by do smell ob de kitchen. Ho! sorts o' e roas’ an' do bile, an‘ no hab- soon, dc oung much- 01 ho! dar’s ‘ reas'in‘—d . ue; do pot-pies, an‘ de chicken fixin‘s. Ho! ho: ain’ day agwine to go it hyar jess like do ole times on do cause ob do niissiippy ! Hoora fo" ole Mass‘ Poindex‘sfi. hede right sort. 0 hot ’trangeriwhyyou no 1500' on no frien’ oh (la mass’r?‘ . - “Bin-n y'ou. n1 61'. donI't ye figsmber me! Now I look into M “8 mil , I‘BOO u."y “Go y htyl ‘tcin tMass’ ‘TumI’E—‘tuletofotohdo ven'son an’ a turkey gobble to de 0 lantashunr By. de jumbo. it am. tbo‘. Law Mass‘ {£11m dis Mgr ’mambem you like it wa’ de afofb'ymy beer-n y‘ou' called dila’lgdder day; but I war aw -’bout a place. ‘ now We dot cairiesdo ladyob do Welsh-d9; / arm" 0! All least half an hour to compose myself into an attitude ‘ v .8 dc. f;':‘.'~ f- .- me] i- j. «M... -__ -.., Ia ving three - returned it empt . .- smacking“ the ps almost drowned the simultaneous ex 10 The N ewflYorkd Library. bew’ful Miss Loo. Lor‘, mass’r, she her line gal. Dey do say she beat Florinday into fits. Nob a mind, Mnss‘ "I‘um , you better wait till ole mass’r come home. He am a nd to be hya, in de shortess po'ss’ble time.” “Wei, if that’s so I’ll wait upon him," rejoined the hunter, leisurely liftin his leg .over the saddle—in which up to this time, c had retained his seat. “Now, ole fellur," he added, easing the bridle into the hands of the negro, “you gi e the marr a dozen ycers 0’ corn out o’ the crib. I’ve rid the critter better'n a score 0’ miles like a streak o' lightnin’, all to do your master a service.” “0h, Mr. Zebulon Stump, is it you?" exclaimed a sil- very voice, followed by the appearance of Louise Poin- dexter upon the veranda. “ I thought it was," continued the young lady, coming 1‘1}: to the railings, " though I did not expect you so soon. on said you were going 11 )on a Ion Journey. Well, I am pleased that you are ere; am so will papa and Henry‘be. Pluto! go instantly to Chloe, the cook, and see w at she can give you for Mr. Stump‘s dinner. You have not dined, I know. You are dusty—you’ve been traveling? Here. Floriiidal Haste you to the sideboard and pour out some drink. Mr. Stump will be thirsty, I’m sure, this hot day. What would yOu prefer—P011: sherry, claret? Ah, now, if I i'ecollcc , you used to be rtial to Monon ahela whisky. I think there is some. orinda, see if fizere be! Ste into the veranda, dear Mr. Stump, and take a seat. on. were 111%“ng for pa a? I expect him home every minute. I s all try to en rtain you till he comes.” _ Had the young lady paused sooner in her speech, she would not ave received an immediate reply. Even as it was, some seconds elapsed before Zeb ma e reminder. He stood gazing u on her, as it struck speechless by the sheer intensity ofgfis admiration. “ Lord 0’ more , Miss Lewaze,“ he at length gasped forth, “I thortw en I usedto see you on the Massis— sl i, ye war the puttiest critter on the aii'th; but now, I tfigk you the puttiest thing eyther on airth or in hev- vin . Geehosofatl" ' e old hunter's praise was scarce exaggerated. Fresh from the toilette, the gloss of her luxuriant hair untarnished by the action of the atmosphere; her cheeks glowing with a carmine tint, produced by the application of cold water; her flne figure, gracequ draped in a robe of India muslin, white and sem - translucenHetteinly did Louise Poindexter appear as pretty as an hing upon earth—if not in heaven. “Geehoso at l” again exclaimed the hunter, followin u complimentary speech, “I hev in my time see’ w t I thort war some utty critters of the sheemale kind— ole ’ooman erself warn’t so bad—lookin’ whin I t kim acrost her in Kaintuck~thet she warn’t. But I will say this, Miss Lewaze: ef the putti- est bits 0’ all 0‘ them war clipped out an’ then Joined th ‘ther ag‘in, the w‘u’dn’t make up the thousandth- of an angel sec as you." . “ Oh, oh, oh! Mr. Stump—Mr. Stumpl I’m astonished to hear you talk in this manner. Texas has quite turned you into a courtier. If you go on so, I fear on lose your character for (Plain speaking! A ter that I am sure you will stun in need of a very big drink. Haste, Florinda! I think you said you woul prefer whisky i" . , “~Ef I didn t say it I thunk it; and that air about the same. Y’ur ri ht, miss, I prefer the corn_ afore any 9‘ them furrln lic ers; an‘ I sticks to it whuriver I kin git it. Texas hain’t made no alterashun in me in the mat- ter 0’ lickerin’." _ “ Mass’ ’Tump, you it hab mix wif water?" inquired Flcazinda, coming forward with a tumbler about one- hali full of “Monongahela.” “ No gurl. Durn yer water! I hev hed enufl o’ thet oo I started this mornin’. I hain’t had a taste 0’ licker the hul day—ne’er so much as the smell 0’ it.” “ Dear Mr. Stum l surely you can't drink it that way? , it _ your throat! Have a little sugar or honey with it?" Spell it, miss. . It air sweet enui! ’ithout that sort 0’ docterln ' ’spe arter ou hev looked inter the loss. Y’u’ see of can’t k it. Hyur goes to . 9 old' hunter raised the tumbler to his chin, and aftergi gulps and the fraction of a fourth into the hands of Fiorinda A lo clams one of astonishment uttered by the young lady and her maid. ‘ Burn my throat. ye say? Ne’er a bit. It hez jest eiled that ere ugewlar, an‘ put it in order for a bit 0’ a palaverIwan to hev wi’ y'ur father ‘bout that ere spotted mOWStBJ‘lfi-Ji “0 true! I forgotten. No, I hadn’t, either; but I d not an pose you had time to have news of it. Have you hear anything of the pretty creature ?” “ Putty critter ye may well pernounce it. It ur all 0’ thet. Besides it ur a moor." “A ma’ar! What’s that, Mr. Stump? I don’t under- “.A moor I sayed. Surely ye know what 9. mar is?" “Mora-a—ma-arrl Why, no, not. exactly. Is it a Mexican word? Mar infigamsh signifies the sea." “In coarse it air a Mi ‘1: moor—all mowstangs air. Theyair all on ’em 0‘ a breed as war once’t brought over from some Eu-i-opean country by the fust 0‘ them as settled in these hyur puts-leesewise I hev been; n so. . . “ . Stump, I do not comprehend you. What ' ’ tang a ma—a-r?” . esher 3 mar? lCase she ain'ta. hose,- th makes it, Miss Pintdexter." “Oh—now—I—I think I comprehend. But did you m yoghsve heard of the animal—I mean since you us “Room 0’ her, see‘d her, an' feeled her.“ :zgdeggl" p6, ,. e gru . “Ah, caughtl what cal-{ital news! I shall be so de- lightedtosee the beaut‘ ul thing; and ride it too. I haven‘t had a horse worth a piece of orange-peel smce I’vebeen in Texas. Papa has promised to urchase this one for me at any price. But who is the ucky in- dividual who accomplished the capture?" “ Ye mean who grupped the maar?” “Yes, yes—who?" l “ Why, in coarseg it wur a mustanger." “A mustanger?‘ . “Ye—es—en such a one as thur ain’t another in all or to ride shoes or throw a laryltt 6 me talk about y’ur Mexikinsl I never soo'd n Mexilgn ked _ hogs—dome like that young m; an‘ thur ain’t a o’ thur p’isen blood inhi- veins. Hour es white es on myself." “His name?" ” Wal, es to the name 0’ his funiil , that I never heorn. His christ n name air Maurice. e's knowed up thur ’bout the ort as Maurice the mustanger.” The old hunter was not sufficiently observant to take note of the tone of eager interest in which the question had been asked, nor the sudden deepening of color upon the cheeks of the questioner as he heard the answer. I Neither had escaped the observation of Florinda. “La, Miss Loooyl” exclaimed the latter, “shoe dat y de name ob de brave young white geii’l’m—he (let us save from being smodered on de brack Dl'all‘efi'f"' ‘ “ Geeliosofat, ycsl” resumed the hunter, relievmg the , young lady from the necessity of making reply. ‘ ‘ Now I t ilnk o‘t, he told me o' thet suckiiii'istaiice 4 this vei mornin’ afore we started. He air the same. i Tliet’s t ie very fellures hev trapped spotty; an’ be air l toatin‘ the critter along at this eyedeiitical minnit, in i kump’nfi wi‘ about a dozen others 0’ the same cav- I yurd. e oughter to be hyur nfore sundown. I pushed , my ole maar ahead so’s to tell y’ur father the spotty , war comiu’, and let him get the fust chance 0’ buyiu. I knowed as how thet ere bit 0' hoss doin’s don‘t get ‘ druv fur into the settlements afore someb’dy snaps her \ up. I thort 0’ you, Miss Lewaze, and how ye tuk on i so when I tolt ye ‘bout the critter. Wal, make y‘ur , mind eezy; ye shall hev the fust chance. Old Zeb Stum ’11 be y’ur bail for thet." u0 . Mr. Stung), it is so kind of you! I am very, ’ve grateful. on will now excuse me for a moment. Fat er will soon be back. We have adinner-party to- . day, and I have to prepare for receiving a great many , people. Florinda, see that Mr. Stump’s luncheon is set : out for him. Go, girl—go at once about it!” “ And, Mr. Stump,” continued the young lady, draw- ing nearer to the hunter and speaking in a more sub- ; dued tone of voice, “‘ the young—young gentleman ‘ should arrive while the other people are here—perhaps he don’t know them—will you see that he is not neg- lected? There is wine yonder, in the veranda, and gther things. You know what I mean, dear Mr. tuiiip Z" “ Durned if Ido Miss Lewaze; that air. not adzackly. I kin unnerstan‘ all that ‘ere ’bout the licker an’ other lixin's. But who air the young gen’leman y’ur speak- in’ o”? Thet’s the thin as bamboozles me.’ “Surely you know w o I mean? The young gentle- gian—the young man who, you say, is bringing in the orses.” “0h! ah! Maurice the mowstangerl That’s it, is it? Wei, I reck’n y’ur not a hundred mile astray in calling him a gen’leman; tho‘ it ain’t oflener a. mowstanger gits that entitlement, or de rves it, eyther, He air one every inch 0’ him—a gm cman by berth, breed, an raisin’—tho‘ he an‘ a boss-hunter, an‘ Irish at thet. ’ The eyes of Louise Poindexter sparkled with delight as she istened to opinions so per ectly in unison with her own.” “ I must tell e, howsomdiver," continued the hunter, as if some don t had come across his mind, “it won’t do to show that ‘ei‘e young feller any sort 0' second- hand hospertality. As they used to say on the Massis— si pi, he air ‘as proud as a Peintdexter.’ Excuse me, 155 Lewaze, for letting the word slip. I didn’t think o’t that I war talkin’ to a Peintdexter—not the proud- est, but the uttiest o‘ the name.” “Oh, Mr. tum ! You can say what you please to me. You know t at I could not be offended with you, you dear old giant!” “He'd be meaner than a. dwurf es ked eyther say or do any thing to oflend ou, miss.” “Thanks! thanks! know your honest heart—I know our devotion. Perhaps some time—some time, Mr. S ump"—she spoke hesitatingl , but apparently without any definite meaning—“ I m ght stand in need of your friendshi .” ‘ Ye won’t nee it long afore ye git it, then; that ole Zeb Stump kin promise ye, Miss Peintdexter. He‘d be stinkiner than a. skunk, an‘ a. bigger coward than a coyoat, es wouldn’t stan b sech as ty‘ou, while there $1; a. bottle full 0' breat left in e meide 0‘ his Y "A. thousand thanks—aggln and again! But what were you going to say? ou spoke of second-hand hos itality? ' “imam . “ You meant—" . _ “I meaned that it ’ud be no use 0’ my inviting Mau- rice the mowstan er eyther to eat or to drink unner this h r roof. nless y'ur father do that, the young fellur‘ go ’ithout tastin . You unnerstan’, Miss Lew- ase, he ain‘t one o’ thet son: 0’ poor whites as kin be sent around to the kitchen.” The young Creole stood for a second or two without making rejoinder. . She appeared to be occupied With some abstruse cal culation, that engrossed the whole of her thoughts. “Never mind about it,” she at len b said, in a, tone that told the calculation complete _. “Never mind, Mr. Stump. You need not inVite him. only let me know when he arrives, unless we be at dinner, and then, of course, he wouldnot ex cut any one to a - ear. But if he should come at 1: mt time, you do n ' —won‘t you?" H . “ Boun’ to do it, of you bid me. “ You will, then; and let me know he is here. I shall ask him to ea. .” , “ E! e do, miss, I reck’n ye‘ll 6136,11 ,hiS appetite. The sight 0 you, to say nothin’ o’ listemn to y ur melod us VOice, ’ud cure a starvin’ wolf 0’ how hungry, en Ikim h r I war kish enuf to swaller'a raw buz- zart. eow I don’ care a durn abput eatin . I ked go ’ithout chawin’ meat for a month. As this exaggerated cha ter of egphemism was re- sponded to by a pen! of ear rin _ng lau hter, the young lady pointed on the other side of t‘ e patioi where her maid was seen emerging from the. ‘ cocina,’ carrying a light tray—followed by Pluto With one of broader dimensions, more heaVily weighted. ‘* You great giant!" was the reply, given in a tone of sham reproach; “I won’t believe you have lost your 3 petite.‘until you have eaten Jach. Yonder come uto and Fionnda. They bring something that will prove more cheerful compon than I, so I shall leave {3% to 8111'!in it,HGoo(%-by,’ 'eb—good-by, Or, as the Vessel re aata me o.’ G”- ly Wyere th’ese wordsgspoken—llghtly did Louise P0 ext“ trip back across the covered corridor. Onlyatter enter' her chamber, and finding herself chez so! meme, alanng give way to a. reflection of a more serious character, that found expression in words low murmured, but full of mystic meaning: . _ “It is my destiny; I feel—J know that it 13‘ I dare not at“ and St I cannot shun it—I may not—I would not i CHAPTER XII. TAMING A WILD MARE. Tm: leasantest a artment in a Mexican house is that which as the roof or its floor and the sky for its cell- ing—the azotea. In fine weather—ever fine in that sunny clime—it is preferred to the drawing-room; especially after dinner, when the sun begins to cast rose-colored rays upon the snow-clad Summits of Orizava, Popocatepec Toluca, and the “Twin-Sister;“ when the rich wines o Xeres and Madeira have warmed the imaginations of Andalusia’s sons and daughters—- descendants of the Conquistadores—who mount.up to their house-tops to look upon a land of world-Wide re- nown, rendered famous by the heroic achievements of their ancestors. Then does the Mexican “ cavallero " clad in embroid- ered habiliments, exhibit his splen id exteriorto the eyes of some Senorita-at the same time puffing the smoke of his paper cigarito against her cheeks. Then does the dark-eyed doncella favorably listen to soft whisperings; or perhaps only pretends to listen, while, i with heart distraught, and eye Wandering away, she sends stealthy glances over the plain toward some (lis- tant hacienda—the home of him she truly loves. . So enjoyable a fashion, as that of spending the twi- hght hours upon the housetop, could not fail to be fol- lowed by any one who chanced to be the occu ant of a Mexwan dwelling; and the family of the uisians. planter had adopted it, as a matter of course. On that same evening, after the dining-hall had been deserted, the roof, instead of the drawin -r00m, was chosen as the place of reassemblage' an as the sun descended toward the horizon, his slanting rays fell upon a throng as gay, as cheerful, and perha s as re- s lendent, as ever trod the azotea of Casa de Corvo. oving about over its tesselated tiles, standi in scat- tered groups. or lined along the parapet th faces turned toward the plain were women as fair and men as brave as had assembled on that same,spot—even when its ancient owner used to distribute hospitality to the hidalgoa of the land—the blues! blood in Coahuila and Texas. The company now collected to welcome the advent of Woodley Poindexter on his Texan estate could also boast of this last distinction. They were the elite of the settlements—not only of the Leona, but of others more distant. There were guests from Gonzales, from Car- troville, and even from San Antonio—old friends of the planter, who, like him, had sought a home in South- western Texas, and who had ridden—some of them over a. hundred miles—to be present at this, his first grand “ reception." The planter had spared neither ains nor expense to give it eclat. What with the sprink ng of .uniform and epaulettcs, supplied by the fort—what With the brass band borrowed from t 6 same convement repositoryu what with the choice wines found in the cellars of Case. del Corvo, and which had formed part of the purchase —there could be little lacking to make Poindexter’s pxart the most brilliant ever given upon the of e na ~ And to insure this effect, his level .da hter Louise late belle of Louisiana—the fame o wholsge beduty had been before her, even in Texas—acted as mistress of the ceremonies—moon about among thendmiring gugits With the smile o a. queen and the grace of a go ess. On that occasion was she the cynosure of a hundred pairs of e es, the hop iness of a score of hearts, and erha s t e texture o as many more: for not all were lesse who beheld her beauty. Was she herself happy? The interrogato may a pear singular—almost ab- surd. Surrounded y f on s—admirers—one, at least who adored her—a dozen whose incipient love could but end in adoration—young planters, wyers, embryo statesmen and some with reputation already achieved —sons of Mars in armor, or With armor late laid aside— how could she be otherwise than proudly, supremely ha ? Epsstranger ht have asked the question; one su- perficially no u nted with Creole character—more es- pecially helc aracter of the lady in question. But mingling in that-sElendid throng was a man who was no stranger to at er; and who, perhaps, more than an one present, watched her every movement; and en eavore V more than any other to interpret its giealniingi. Cassms Calhoun was the individual thus cc p e . I She went not hither, nor thither, without his follow- ing her—not close, hke a shadow: but by stealth, flit- ting fi'om place to place; upstairs and down-stairs; standing in corners with an air of a parent abstrac— tion;_ but all the whi e with eyes turn askaiit upon his cousin’s face like a plain—clothes policeman employed on detective uty. Strangely enough he did not seem to pay much re- gard to her speec es made in reply to the compliments showered upon her by several would-be winners of a smile—not even when these were conspicuous and re. spectable as in the case of youviig Hancock of the an. goons. To all such he listened ' thout visible emotion, as one listens to a conversation in no way affecting the afigirs eithelar gain or friendst0 th m was on y g e no on observ. ing his cousin near the para 1:, with her eye turned interrogatively toward the p n, that his detective zeal became conspicuous—so much so as to attract the no- tice of others. More than once was it noticed b those standing near: for more than once was repea the aggtw‘llilitgh gave caéuse to it}:l rvsnove wieaparttheo rose of Casa del éOl'VO nxiiyght have béen seinutggapngggach the parapet, and look across the plain, with a glance that seemed to interrogate the horizon or the sky. Why she did so no one could tell. No one presumed to conjecture, except Cassius 'Calhoun. He had tho hts upon the su ject—thoughts that were tortur- mgVh . en a group of moving forms a peered u n the Prairie. emerging from the garish lig’lit of melanin sun—when the spectators upon the ammo pronounced it a drove of horses in charge of some mounted men. the err-officer of volunteers had a suspicion as to who was conducting that canallada. , Another ap to feel nudism interest in its od- vent, though, perhaps, from a ' ‘ before the orse-drove had attracted the observation Poindexter‘s so his daughter had noted its up- proach—me the me that .a. cloud of dust soared, up against the horizon, so slight and filmy as to have“. comm by any eye not bent expressly on an. WY ‘ . ’ \ From that moment the yaw Creole, Imdor eovor at muonmonmflocinlootmroomanim ." / v y'ur head, Nos. 8-9. had been slyly scanning the diistclou(l as it drew nearer; forming conjectures as to what was causing it, upon knowledge ah'cady, and as she supposed, exclu- sivel her own. I “ ild horses!" announced the ma or commandant of Fort Inge, after a short inspection t roii ’ll his pock- et-telescope. “ Some one bringing them iii, ’ he added, a second time raising the glass to his e. u. “ Oh_l I see now—it‘s Maurice, the niustanger, w o occasionally helps our men to a remount. He 11 meals to becoming this way—direct to your place, Mr. omdexter. “ If it be the onng fellow you have named, that‘s not unlikely,” replied the owner of Casa (lcl Corvo. “I bargained with him to catch me a score or two, and maybe this is the first installment he’s bringing me. “ Yes, I think it is," he added, after a look through the telescope. “ I am sure of it,” said the planter‘s son. ‘ the horseman yonder to be Maurice Gerald. ’ The planter s daughter could have done the same; though she made no displa of her knowledge. She did not ap ear to be much interested in the matter—- indeed, rat ier indii‘i’emnt. She had become aware of being watched by that ev11 eye constantly burning upon her. The cavallada came up, Maurice sitting handsomely on his horse, with the s otted mare at the end of his lazo. “ What a. beautifu creature!" exclaimed several voices, as the captured mustang was led up in front of the house, quivering With excuement at a scene so new 't “I can tell to i . “It‘s worth a journe to the ground to look at such an animal!” suggeste the 1!lll.]01“S wife, alarb’ of en- thusiastic inclinings. ' “I propose we all go downi What say you, Miss Poindextcr?” “Oh, certain] ,” answered the mistress of the man- sion amidst a o orus of other voices crying out: et us ro down! Let us go down!" Led by t ie majoress, the ladies died down the stone stairway—the gentlemen after; and iii a score of sec- onds, the horse-hunter, still seated in 1115‘ saddle, be- camle, with his captive, the center of the distinguished 0111: 6. Henry Poindexter had hurried down before the rest, and already, in the frankest manner, bidden the stran- ger welcome. , Between the latter and Louise only a. slight salutation could be exchanged. Familiarity with a horse-dealer— even supposin him to have had the honor of an intro- diiction——,woul scarce have been tolerated by the “societ . 0f thi ladies, the major‘s wife alone addressed him in a familiar way; but that was in a tone that told of superior position, can led ,withcondescension. He was more gratified b a g nee—quick and silent—when his eye changed into igeiice with that of the oung Creole. Hers was not the only one that rests approving? upon him. In truth, the mustanger looke splen ' despite his travel-stained habihments. His {gurney‘ of over twenty miles had done little to fatigue m. he prairie-breeze had freshened the color upon his cheekS' and his full round throat, naked to the breast-bone, an slightly bronzed with the sun, contributed to the manli- ness 0 his mien. Even the dust clinging to his curled hair could not alto ether conceal its natural gloss, nor the luxuriance ofi s rowth; while a figure terse knit told of strength an endurance beyond the or nary endowment of man. There were stolen glances en- deavoring to catch his. sent b more than one of, the fair circle. The pretty niece o the commissary smiled ' ' n him. Some said the commmsary’s admiring u wife; butlflhig‘liould be only a slander, to be traced, perhaps, to the doctor’s better-half—the Lady Teazle . of the cantonment. “ Surely,” said Poindexter, after ma an examina- tion of the caEguredmustang, “ this must the animal of which old ’b Stump has been telling me?" . ‘ I “ It ur thet eyedenticul same," answered the indiyi- dual so described, making his wa toward Maurice With the des' n of asmsting him. “ e—es, Mr. Peintdexter, the ey enticul critter—a maar, es ye kin all see for y‘uiselves—" _“ Yes, yes," hurriedly interposed the planter. not de- siriifiany further elucidation. “ e young fellur hed rapped her afore I got thuri so I wur Jess in the nick 0 time ‘bout it. She mout ’8. been tuk elsewhar, an’ then Miss Lewaze thur mout 'a’ missed hevin’ her. ' ' ‘ . “ It is true indeed, Mr. Stump! It was very3 thought- ful of you. I know not how I shall be able recipro- cate your kindness.“ “Reciperkatel Wal, I suppose thet .air means to do suthiu' in return. Ye kin do thet, miss, ’ithout difee- guilty. I lia’n’t dud nothin‘ for you ’ceptin’ make a. bit 0’ a Journey acrost the purayra. ‘ To see y ur bewtyful self mounted on thet moor, wx‘ y ur loomed het upon an’ y’ur long-tailed pee ykote streakin‘ it ahint you, ’ud pay old ehob Stump to go ciur to the Rookie an’ back ag'ln." , “ Ohf'Mr. Stum i you are an incorrigible flattererl Look around you you will see many here more deserv- ing of your compliments than I." "Wei, wall" re'oined Zeb, casting a look of careless scrutiny toward t e ladies, ‘ I ain't a—goin’ to deny that thpr air obs o’ putty critters hyur—dog—goned putty critters; ut es they used to say in ole Loosyanney. thur air but one Lewaze Peintdexter." , A burst of laughter—in which onl a few feminine voices bore part—was the re 1y to Zeh‘s gallant speech. ‘1 shall owe on two hun red dollars for this, ’ said the planter ad resalng himself to Maurice and pointing to the spotted mare. ‘ I that was the gum sup“. latetll for by gar. Stumpio th ‘ W351” filmy estih]ation"re lied the mustanger with a significant but gen-hitehtiongd smile. “ I cannot take your mone . She is not for sale.” “ Oh, indeed i" said the p ter drawing back with an air of road disa pointment; W a his brother planters, as \ve’l as the o cers of the fort, looked astonished at the refusal of such a muniflcent price. Two hundred dollars for an untamed musta , when the 11 ml rate g; price ‘v’vas from ten to twenty The mustang‘er must lie ave them no time to dcscant upon his sanity. ‘ ‘fMig'. Poindexter ” he continued. speaking in the some geod-humored strain,‘ "you have given me such a, generous price for my other captives—and before they werefiaken, too—that I can aflord to make a' present-— “whatjve over in call a ‘luck ny.‘ It is our custom éhere alga, when a'hogsgttrhagie mes place at the . “Se-r ‘ t edmcour, no e giro oné‘llfche fair mémbers or; is my. i havctho permission to gin-oducethls‘mberuian f on unconfirmed: W' * " The Headless Ho rseman. 11 “ Certainly, by all means," resplonded several voices, two or three of them unmistaka ly with an Irish ac- centnation. “Oh, certainly, Mr. Gerald!" replied the lanter, his conservatism viving way to the popular wi —“as you please about t at.“ “Thanks, gentlemen—thanksi" said the mustanger, with a patronizing look toward men who believed them~ selves to be his masters. “This mustang is my luck- penny; and if Miss Poindexter will condescend to accept of it, I shall feel more than repaid for the three-days’ chase which the creature has cost me. Had she been the most cruel of co uettes. she could scarce have been more difficult to sd no." “ I accept your gift, SH", and with gratitude," respond- ed the young Creole—for the first time proclaimin ' her‘ self. and stepping freely forth as she spoke. “ utI have a fancy, she continued. pointing to the mustang —at the same time that her eye rested inquiringly on the countenance of the mnstanger~“ a fancy that your captive is not yet tamed ! She but treinbles in fear of the unknown future. She may yet kick against the traces. if she finds the harness not to her liking; and then what am I to do Y— r 1?" “True, Maurice!" sai the major, widon mistaken as to the meaning of the m stei‘ious speech, and address- ing the only man on tie ground who could ossiny have com rehended it; “Miss Poindexter spea 's very sensibly. Izi‘hat mustang has not been tamed yet—any iiiie may see it. Come, my good fellow! give her the esson. “ Ladies and gentlemen !" continued the major, turn- ing toward the compan , “ this is something worth your scein v—tbose of you w 0 have not witnessed the spec- tacle efore. Come. Maurice mount and show us a s ecimen of prairie horsemansliip. he looks as though e would put your skill to the test.” “You are right, malor: she doesl“ replied the mus- tanger, with a quick glance, directed not toward the captive quadruped, but to the young Creole, who, with all her assumed courage, retired tremblineg behind the cii cle of spectators. _ “ No matter, my man," pursued the minor, in a tone intended for encoura ement. “In spite of that devil sparkling in her eye '11 lay ten to one you‘ll take the conceit out of her. i_‘y 1" Without losing credit the mustanger could not have declined accedin to the major's request. It was a challenge to skil —to equestrian prowess—4 thing not 1' htly esteemed u on the games of Texas. e Proclaimed h s accep nee of it by leaping lightly out 0 his saddle, resigning his own steedto deb Stump, and exclusively giving his attention to the ca tive. The only preliminary called for was the c caring of the ground. This was effected in an instant, the greater part of the company, with all the ladies, returning to the azotea. With only a piece of raw-hide ro e 100 d around the under jaw, and carried hendsta fa on behind the ears—with only one rein in band—Maurice sprung to the back of the wild mare. It was the first time she had ever been mounted by man—the first insult of the kind offered to her. Ashrill, spiteful scream spoke plainly her apprecia- tion of and determination to resent it. It proc imed dteflarice of the attempt to degrade her to the condition 0 a s ave With equine instinct, she reared upon her hind legs, for some seconds balancing her body in an erect - tion. Her rider. anticipating the trick, had thrown his arms around her neck- and close clasping her throat, ap ear-ed part of herself. But for this she in ht have cited over upon her back, and crushed him once. er. The uprearing of the hind quarters was the next trick of the mustang—sure of being tried and most difficult for the rider to meet Without bcln thrown. From sheer conceit in his skill, he had de ned saddle and stirru ,that would have stood him in stead; but with these e could not have claimed accomplishment of the boasted feat of the rairies—to tame the naked steed. He performed it thout them. As the more raised her hind-quarters aloft, he turned quickly u n her back, threw his arms around the barrel of her ody, and rest- ing his toes upon the angular points of her shoulders, successfully resisted her efforts to unhorse him. Twice or three times was the endeavor re ted by the mustang, and as often foiled by the of the mustim er, and then, as if consoled that such efforts werei e, the enraged animal plunged no longer; but, 5 rm 1 awa from the spot entered u on a allo t§at gpng yto have no goal this side e on o t eeart . It must have come to an end somewhere; though not sgghthofhthe 5 9033211}; xiii: kept their places. we. or t e orse- m . Co ectures that he might be Ringgiti or, at the least, badly " cri led,“ were freely ventu d his ab. sence' andp ere was one who wished it so. t there was also one upon whom such an event would have produced a painful imegression—almost as ainful as 11 or own life depend upon his safe re ru. Why Louise Poindexter. daughter of the proud Loutsiana suafiar-planter—a belle—a beauty of more than provin- ci repute—who could. by simply saying esiallilnve had for a husband the richest and no 168 in e d—why she should have fixed her fancy, or even permitted her thoughts to stray upon a poor horse-hunter of Texas, was a mystery that even her own intellect—by no means a. weak one—was unable to fathom. . Perha 5 she had not gone so far as to fix her fancy n hgn. She did not think so herself. Had she imam Saar “W cesarean me our ave recoi ' mm 9 con use. glances, ghatmfiogld not have failed to present them- ves to or n . : She was but conscious of having conceived some strange interest in a strange individual—one who had resented himself in a. fashion that favored fanciful re. gections—one who differed essentiallyv from the com- monplace types introduced to her in t a world of social distinctions. She was conscious. too, that this interest—orifinmlgg in'a word, a glance, a gesture—listened to or o erv amid the ashes of a‘ burnt raids—instead of subsiding, had ever since been upon 9 increase” 'It was not diminished when Maurice the mustanger came riding back across thme with the win we between his legs—no more d, no longer trying to .19 Stray him but with lowered crest and mien sumva, acknowledging to all the world that she had he;- master! ~ ‘ . , \ _ r. v. L Without acknowledging it to the war! uneven w MWyoung Creole was inspired _'a similar“ ‘_ ‘ . , I (‘33! th the v tin canisters ‘ one on the way." “Miss Poindexter," said the musta er. liding to the ground and without making an we now edgment to the plaudits that were showered u n hlni, “may I ask you to step up to her, throw t 's lazo over her neck, and lead her to the stable? By so doing she will regard you as her tamer; and .ever after submit to our m i, if ou but exhibit the Sign that first depriv her of her li rty." - Aprude would have dpaltered with the pro 050.1, a coquette would have eclined it—a timid gir would have shrunk hack. Not so Louise Poindexter-a descendant of one of the filled a la cassette. Without a moment‘s hesitation Without the slightest show of rudei stepped forth from the aristocrat c circ e' as instruct» ed, took hold of the horsehair rope; whisked it acrosn the neck of the tamed mustang and led the captive 01! toward the caballeriza of Casa del Corvo. As she did so, the mustanger‘s words were ringing in her ears, and echoing through her heart with a strange forebodin weird signification. “She w‘ imam you as her tamer and ever after sub- mil to your" .if_ you but exhibit die sign that first at priced Iier of her liberty.” CHAPTER XIII. A PRAIRIE PIC-N10. Tun first rays from a rosy aurora. saluting theflag of Fort Inge, fell with a more subdued light upon an assemblage of objects occupying the parade-ground below—in front of the “officers' uarters." A small summer-wagon stood in the center of the loop - having attached to it a double span of tight ittle exican mules, whose quick, impatient, “ stem ing” tails spitequ whisked, and ears at intervals turning awr , told t at they had been some time in harness, an were impatient to move off—warning the bystanders, as well, against a too close approximation to their heels. Literally speakin , there were no bystanders—if we exce t a man of co ossal size in blanket contend slouch felt at - who, despite the obscure ht ling gourd lilthoulders, could be reco asZeb p, e on er. - He was not standing either, but seated amide his “ole maar," that showed less mudety to be 08 than either the Mexican mules or her own . . r The other forms around the vehicle were all in m tion—quick, hurried, occasionally confused—hither; thither, from the w on to the door of the quarters. and back again from he house to the vehicle. There were half a score of them, or thereabouts; varied in costume as in the color of their skins. Most were soldiers, in fatigue dress, though of different arms of the service. Two would be taken to be mess-cooks: and two or three more oi’flcers‘ servants, who had been detailed from the ranks. or fear—she Amore 1e 'timate specimen of this rofesslon ap- - peared in 0 person of a well-dres dnrkyywho moved about the undin a. very. authoritative man- ner; deriving his portance from his office of will do ' ‘tout tothe major in command of the cantonment. .A sergeant, as shown by his three-barred cheveron, virus in charge of the mixed cplarty, directin their. move ments; the object of whi was toload ewagon with eatablsis and drinkables—in short. the paraphernalia of a 10- c. * at it was intended to be u was testified gKethe amplitude an v of the impedi- meufa. re were hampers and baskets of all aha and sizes, including the well-known on, inclosing its twelve neclégdofsshirilrlilgbsilver-lIll ; while pain on s - ro. wi the universal sardine-case. prgclahned all? proxies of . many luxuries not indigenous to Texas. . vilfiiowezgr delicate arid Extensive thfe stock of pro- sons, erewasone n e part 0 urv or: who did not appear to think it complete. ficdeguwtad Lucullus was Zeb Stum . - ‘ .' no. ductile, “Lookee hyur 'ii ," said h ad 'hfin- self oonfldentiallysutzglthe individg’al W “.1 haln’t see‘d nee smell 0’ corn ut inter the v is as yit; an’ I rec ‘n thet out out o p , thur’ll some folks ud efar a little corn to a 0’ that fur French stuff. ham-pain, ye call it, Inélieve." " Prefer corn to champagne? The horses 6 mean?" “Housesbc elm-nod. hain‘t talkin’ ’boutriou com. I mean M’nongaheela.” “Oh—ah—I comi'g‘jehend. You're right about that, Mr. Stump. The w sk mustn’t be to tten, Pomn. IthinkIsawa jarinsi e, thatisintendeldggo " ' ' “Yaw—yaw, sa'gint," responded the Wed domestic; “dar am dat same wencle. Hy; ithd" be added. lugiint e g a large jar into the light, Mm it Spainztgb wagon. m _ . . ‘ a peering to think 6 ckingnow.oo:n-' plate, showedjsi of im fimwmggofl. “Ain‘t ye rid ,surgin 9" he inquired, shitting rest less] in his stirrups. ' “ ot ulte, Mr. Stump. The cook tellsmcthe chick~ ens wan another turn upon the spit, hetero-we can take ‘em alo .“ “Durn thenguckens an‘ thccook tool What ‘1- any, dung~bill fowl to compare wi’ a wild turkey o‘. the pure a: an‘ how am I toshootone anor-the‘cun-hev / clom ten mile up the l The major sawed! war to t him a. bbler wha var shed ha pen. l'i‘ain‘t‘so ‘ urnation eezy to kill turkey ‘gobhfer um um , - wi’ a. clamjamte like this comin’ clostu n 3% heels. Ye mustn suppone. lurgmt, that t he drubmafwiumesoggro'a fort. Of all the cun- nin' critters as frequent: ese hyur puraym, Emmy air the cunnin’est; 811‘ to t half-way roun’ ouo'o’ “em yenmust be up along wl‘ e sun; and preehap alittle ur er.” s 1 “True, m. Stump. I know the major wants awild' r turkey. He told me so; and expects you to procure ‘ “No doubt he (1ng Dreeha axpex me lich ' "to ‘ {humus him wi' 11 b er's toiliJgue, an’ hump—3m '- w‘ “r 0 sang . m “are: emr ,... a... exaa—nor n or 5; won 11 writer-go booklvbev contrary, an' a much runs, ‘w at Eur-o r7 1 . 6 been. Thur ain‘t a hauler 'bout h r. WM, w “claimed an admirer oneo« nor e » break! yUnless I h’dv myowntim 1* expegvur’ur Mm‘. ,ye‘ dowel forth ” .b .thshunter’s $11 did thaltriwas possible W 0 36:39am " t ' the departure»: . afind his porn-colored compartcndr shortly s x ' 2 . , . , l I '12... after, the provision train, with Zeb Stump as its guide, was wcndilig its way across the extenswe plain that hes between the Leona and the “ River of Nuts.“ The parade-ground had been. cleared of the wagon and its escort scarce twenty minutes, when apart of somewhat different appearance commenced asscnib 'ng upon the same spot. There were ladies on horseback, attended, not b grooms, as at the “meet” in an English huntin -flel , blit by the cntlomen who were to accompan t em— thcir frien s and ac uaintances—fathers, brot ers, lov- ers, and husbands. ost, if not all, who had figured at i’oindexter's dinner. arty were soon upon the ground. The planter hillise f was present; also his son Henry, his nephew. Cassius Calhoun; and his daughter Louise —tho young lady niountcll upon the spotted mustang that had figured so conspicuously on the occasion o the entertainment at Casa del Curve. The affair was a reciprocal treat—a simple return of hospihlity: the major and his officers being the hosts, the planter and his friends the invited guests. The en- tertainment about to be provided, if less pretentious in luxurious ap oiiitiiicnts was equally appropriate to the time an place. The guests of the cantonment were to be gratified b witnessing aspectacle—gmnd as rare—a chase of wil steeds! . The arena of the sport could only be upon the Wild- horse prairies—some twenty miles to the southward of Fort Inge. Hence the necessit for an early start, and hating irecedcd by a vehicle in on With an ample com- m m1 at. Just as the sunbeams be an to dance. upon the crys- tal waters of the Leona, t e excumionists were ready to take their departure from the parade-ground, w1t i an escort of two score dragoons that had been ordered to ride in the rear. Like the party. that preceded them they too, were provided with a guide—not an old back- wo man in battered felt hat, and faded blanketcoat, astride a so gy roadster; but a horseman completely costumed 5:5 equipped, mounted upon a. splendid steed, in every way worthy to be the chaperone of such a distinguished expedition. I v “ Come, Maurice!" cried the major, on seeing that all had assembled, “we‘re ready to be conducted to the e. Ladies and gentlemen, this yo fellow is mughly acquainte with the haunts an habits of the wild horses. If there’s a man in Texas, who can show us how to hunt them, ’tis Maurice the mus- tan or.” “ aith, ou flatter me, major!" rejoined the young Irishman. liming with a courteous air toward the com- pany- “ l have not said so much as that. I can only prom so to show you where you may find them.“ “Modest fellow!" soliloquized one, who trembled, as she gave thought to what she more than half suspected to be an untruth. . “ Lead on, then!" commanded the major; andhat the word, the gay cavalcade, with the mustan er in the lead, commenced moving across the para e-ground, while the star-span tied banner, unfurled by the morn- in breeze, flutters upon its staff as if wavmg them an en! A twenty- mile ride upon the prairie turf is a mere bagatelie—before breakfast, an airing. In Texas it is so regarded by man, woman, and horse. It was accomplished in less than three hours, without further inconvenience than that which arose from per- forming the last few miles of it with appetites uncom- fortably keen. Fortunate! the provision wagon, sed u n the road came one u 11 their heels: on long be ore the sun had attained he meridian line the excursionists were in full picnic under the shade o a gigantic pecan tree. that stood near the banks of the Nueces. No incident had occurred on the way worth record- ing. The mustanger. as a guide, had ridden habitually in the advance; the company, with one or two excep- tions, thinking of him only in his official capacity, un- less when startled by some feat of horsemanship, such as leaping clear over a prairie stream, or dry arroyo which others were fain to ford, or cross by the crooked t . There may have been a suspicion of bravado in this behavior—a desire to exhibit. Cassius Calhoun told the com an that there was. Perhaps the (ax-captain spoke this: rutth—for once. / era was some excuse. Have you ever been in a milling-field at home, with riding habits trailing the award. and plumed hats proudly nodding around you? You have' and then what? Be cautious how you con- demn the 'Texan mustanger. Reflect, that he, too, was under the artillery of bright eyes—a. score pair of them —some as br’ ht as evfer ooked love out of a lady‘s sad- dle. Think, t at Louise Pomdexter’s were mo the number—think of that, and you will scarce f sur- prised at the ambition to “ shine.“ There were others equally demonstrative of personal accomplishment—of prowess that might prove man- h The young dragoon. Hancock, f uently essa ed to show that he was not new to the sadd e; and the heutenant of mounted _ miles at intervals strayed from the side of the commmsary‘s niece for the per- formance of some equestrian feat, Without looking ex- alusively to her, his reputed sweetheart, as he listened to the whis erings of applause. Ah, da tor of Poindexter! whether in the colon of civilized ulgcmisiana, or the prairies of sav e Texas, peace could not reign in thy presence! w are thou wilt, romantic thoughts must spring up—wdd passions be engendered around thee! CHAPTER XIV. ran MANADA. HAD their guide held the prairies in complete control, its denizens subject to his secret will, res naible to time and place, he could not have conducte the excursion- ists to a spot more likely to furnish the sport that had summoned them forth. Just as the s arkling J ohannisberger—obtained from the German no stores of San Antonio—had imparted a brighter blue to the sky, and a more vivid green to the grass, the cry of “ MustenOs!“ was heard above the hum of conversation, interrupting the half-spoken sen- timent, with the pea! of merry laughter. It cainefrom a Mexican t'aquero, who had been stationed as a videtw on an eminence near at hand. Maurice—at that moment partaking of the hospitality of his em loyers, free! extended to him—suddenly qutifed o the cup: an springing to his saddle, mod on : “ Coronado 1'" “No,” answered the Mexican: “ mam" ! A The New York Library. “What do the fellows mean by their gibberish?“ in- quired Captain Calhoun. . “ liluaterws is only the Mexican for mustangs," replied the major; “and y ‘ manada ’ he means they are wild mares—a drove of them. At this season they herd together, and keep apart from the horses; unless wheil—“ “When what?” impatiently asked the ex-oflicer of volunteers, inten'upting the explanation. “When they are attracted by asses," innocently an- swered the major. A geilorrl pea! -of laughter rendered doubtful the naincte of the major‘s response—imparting to it the sus icion of a personality not intended. or a moment Calhoun writhed under the awkward misconception of the auditory; but only for a moment. He was not the man to succumb to an unlucky acci- dent of speech. 0n the contrary. he erceived the chance of a triumphant reply; and took vantage of it. “ Indeed!" he drawled out, without appearing to ad- dress hllnself to any one in particular. “I was not aware that donkeys Were so dangerous in these arts." As Calhoun said this, he was not looking 8. Louise Poilldexter or he might have detected in her eye a glance to ratify him. a young Creole, lies ite an apparent coolness to- ward hiili, could not wit hdd admiration at any thing ]that showed cleverness. His case might not be so hope- ess. The young dragoon, Hancock, did not think it so; nor ct the lieutenant of rifles. Both observed the approv- ng look, and both became imbued with the behef that Cassius Calhoun had—or might have—in his keeping the happiness of his cousin. The conjecture gave a secret chagrin to both, but es- pecially to the dra oon. There was but s on time for him to reflect upon it; the manual». was drawing near. , “ To the saddle!" was the thought upon every hand, and the cry upon every tongue. . The bit was rudely inserted between teeth still in- dustrioust grinding the yellow com; the bridle, drawn Over sliou dcrs yet smoxiug after the quick skurry of twenty miles through the close atmos here of a tro ical morn; and, before ahundred could ave been do "be- rately counted, every one, ladies and gentlemen alike, was in the stirrup, ready to ply whip and spur. By this time the wild inaresa peared coming over the crest of the ridge u n which e vidette had been sta- tioned. He, himse f a horse-catcher by trade, was al- ready mounted, .and in their midst—endeavoring to fling his lasso over one of the herd. They were going at mad gallop, as if fleeing from a pursuer—some dreaded creature that was causin them to “ whigher " and snort! With their eyes strained to the rear, they saw neither the sumpter wagon, nor the equestrians clustering around it but were continuinglonward to the mgkwhich chanced to lie directly in t e line of their ‘They are chased!” remarked Maurice, observing the excited action of the animals. “What is it, Creapino?" he cried out to the Mexican, who, from his osition, must have seen any pursuer that might be a ter them. There was a momentary pause, as the rty awaited the response. In the crowd were coun inances that betrayed uneasiness, some even alarm. It might be Indians who were in pursuit of the mustangs! “ Un (ulna cimmaronl" was the phrase that came from the mouth of the Mexican though by no means terminating the suspense of the picnickers. “ Un macho!" he added. “Oh! That‘s it! I thought it was!" muttered Mau- rice. “The rascal must be stopped, or he‘ll spoil our sport. So long as he’s after them, they‘ll not make halt this side t e sk line. Is the machocoming on?" “Gigs? at hand, on Mauricio. Making straight for se . 'Fling your ro over him if you can. If not or! - ple him with a slim—any thing to put an end to 5 ca. rs.” he character of the ursuer was still a m story to most, if not all upon t as ground; for only he mus- tanger knew the exact significance of the phrases-— “ 1m aslno cimmaron," “ mt macho.” “ Explain, Maurice!" commanded the major. “LOOK yonder!" replied the young Irishman, point- lnq'ltiio the top of the hill. e two words were sufficient. All 6 es became dialect/ed Ward the crest {if :he ridge, w leis-38:31:31- m ,usua r ardedaste osowne - pidity, was neg advancing witlirtlm sw1ftness of a bird upon the win . " But veryudligerent is the “ calm cimmtmm from the ass of ClVl ‘ tion—the donkey becudgeled into stolidity. The one now in sight was a male, almost as large as any of the mustangs it was chasing]; and if not fleet as the fleetest, still able to keep up Wit them by the sheer pertinacit of its pursuit! The tab can of nature, thus presented on the green surface of the prairie, was as promptly reduced as it could have been upon the stage 0 a eater, or the arena of a hippodromc. Scarce a score of words had passed among the spec. tators before the wild mares were close ulp to them; and then, as if for the first time izceiv'ing t e mounted party they seemed to to et t.eir dreaded pursuer, and shied off in a slanting irection. “Ladies and gentlemen!" shouted the guide to a score of poo le endeavoring to restrain their steeds, “ keep your p aces, if you can. I know where the held has its haunt. They are heading toward it now; and we shall (1 them again, with a better chance of ’a chase. If you pursue them at this moment, theyll scatter into yonder chaparrai; and ten to one if we ever more ct ‘ ht of them. ” 3013. genosl‘lgCrespiiio! Send your bullet through that; brute. He‘s near enough for your campsite, is e no ‘ The Mexican detach! a Short gun—“em?” “— from his saddleiila , andnfiastily bringing “'3 b“ ‘ "° his shoulder, fired at t 6 wild ass. in The animal bra. ed on heal-i the report' but only a? nil" defiance. yHe was evidggntly untouched. Cres- p‘l‘P 8 bullet had not been truly aimed. I must stop him!" exclaimed Maurice, “ or the mares Will run on till the end of daylight." . As the mus or s ke, he struck the spur sharply uito the flanks 0 his cine. Like an arrow projected from its bow, Castro shot ofl.’ in pursuit of the Jackass, now fiauotping regardlessly past. _ . Hz; a pull. springs of the blood-ha , guided in a diagonal direction, brought his rider wit in casting dis- tance: and, hke aflash of lightning. the loop of the lazo was seen descending over the long ears. .. 3791- 1- On launching it, the mustanger halted, and made a half-wheel—tlie horse 0mg round as upon a ivot; and with like mechanical obedience to the will 0 the rider. braced himself for the expected pluck. There was a short interval of intense expectation, as the wild ass, careering onward, took up the slack of the rope. Then the annual was seen to rise erect on its hind legs, and fall heavdy backward on the sward where it lay motionless, and apparently as dead, as if shot throu h the heart. It was on y stunned, however, by the shock, and the quick tightening of the loop causing temporary stran gulation, which the Mexican mustanger prolonged to atlernitty, by drawing his sharp-edged machete across his roa . The incident caused a. ostponement of the chase. All awaited the action of t 6 guide, who, after “ throw- lnfi“ the macho, had dismounted to recover his lazo. 6 had succeeded in releasmg the rope from the neck of the prostrate animal, when he was seen to cell it up with a quickness that betokened some new cause of exgzltloment—at the same time that he ran to regain his as e. Only a. few of the others—most being fully occupied With their new excited steeds—observed this show of haste on the part of the mustanger. Those who did, saw it with surprise. He had counseled patience in the pursuit. The could perceive no cause for the eccentric change of tac ics unless it was Louise Poindexter, who, mounted on the spotted mustang, had suddenly separ- ated from the company, and was allo ing ofl after the Evils mares as if resolved on befing goremost of the e . But the hunter of wild horses had not construed her conduct in this sense. That uncourteous start could scarce be an intention, except on in? of the spotted mustang. Maurice had recogniz the manada as the same from which he had himself captured it; and, no doubt, with the design of rejoining its old asso- ciates, it was running away with its rider! So behaved the guide; and the belief became instantly universal. Stirred by gallantry. half the field spurred off in pur- suit: Calhoun Hancock and Crossman leading, with half a score of young planters. la ers and leg slators close following—eac as he rode o reflecting to him- self what a bit of luck it would beto bring up the run- awa . Bil’t few, if any, of the gentlemen felt actual alarm. All knew that Louise Poindexter was a splendid eques- trian; a spacious plain lay before her, smooth as a race-track; the mustang might gallop till it tired itself down; it could not throw her; there could be little chance of her receiving an serious injury. There was one who di not entertain this confident view. It was he who had been the first to show anxiety —the mustanglgghimself. the t to leave the ground. Delayed in the He was rearrangement of his lazo, a moment more in remount« ing, he was a. bun paces behind every competitor, as his horse sprun forward upon the ursuit. Calhoun was a 6 distance in the end, pressin on with all the des rate energy of his nature, and a! the 3 ed he coul extract twin the heels of his horse. 9 dragoon and rifleman were a little in his rear; and then came the "rock." Maurice soon passed through the thick of the tie! overlapped the eaders one by one; and forging sti {llirther ahead, showed Cassius Calhoun the heels of his arse. A muttered curse was sent hissing thro h the teeth of the ex—offlcer of volunteers, as the blood ay, bound- ing past. concealed from his sight the receding form of the spotted mus . The sun, looking own from the zenith, gave light to a singular tableau. A herd of wild mares going at reckless speed across the grail-lo; one of their own kind witha lady upon its ack, followin about four hundred ards behind; at a like distance ter the lad , asteed 0 red bay color, bestridden by a cavalier turesquely attired. and aptgsrently intent u 11 over- taking her; still further in e rear a at ' o mounted men—some in civil, some in militafllv garb; hind these a troop of dragoons going at f gallop having just parted from a mixed grou of ladies an gentlemen, also mounted, but motio ess on the cplain, or only ash-ripg around the same spot with ex ted gesticnla- ons In twenty minutes the tableau was changed. The same personage/s were upon the stage—tth topic cert o the prairie—but he grouping was erent or, at all events the groups were now widely apart. The mannda had gained distance u n the s tt mustang: the mustangu n the blood y; an the blood by ab! his compo itors were no longer in ht, or co d have been seen b the far-piercing eye 0 the WM, soaring h in e sapphire heavens. e wil mares—the mustang and its rider—the red horse, and his—had the savanna to themsel ! ves CHAPTER XV. mil: RUNAWAY ovmaxnt. Fon another mile the chase continued without much chan e. Thg mares still swept on in full flight, tho b no longer screaming orin ear. Thomas stillu red an occasional neigh, which its old tcs seemed not to notice, while its rider held her seat in the saddle unshaken, and without an apparent alarm. The blood bay appearedy more excited, tho b not so much as his master, who was beginning to ow signs either of despondency or chagrin. “ Come Castro!” he exclaimed, with a certain spiteo fulness of tone. “What the deuce is the matter with our heels to-day of all others? Remember, you over. 0k her before—though not so easy, I admit. But now she s we! hted. Look yonder, you dull brute! Weight- edewitlli tfwhich 3 worth (1mg; too ggE—worth evry ropo our ood,an e . e eglia pinta' seems toyhave improved her paces. Is ityfrom traimng; or does a horse run faster when ridden? “What if I lose ht of her? In truth, it s to look queer. It won! be an awkward situation or the youn lady. Worse than that—there‘s denier in it— real er. If I should lose sight of her, e‘d be in trouble to a certain !" Thus muttering . co rode on: hise e now fixed upon the form still flitting away before ; at inter vals interro ating, with uneasy glances, the space that sefiamted from it. ptothistimehehadnotthoughtofhaillngtho rider of the runaway. His shouts might have been heard;- but no words of warning or instruction. He had refrainog partly on __._‘_L. W- . a... l l l Egg-3'9; this account; partly lwcauso he was in momentary ex- tation of overtaking her; and partly because be 'new that acts, not words, were wanting to bring the mustang to a stand. All along he had been flattering himself that he would soon be near encligh to iling his lazo over the creature's neck, and control it at discretion. He was gradually becoming relieved of this hallucination. The chase now entered among copses that thickly studded the plain, fast closing into acontinuous chapar- ral. This was a new source of uneasiness to the pur- sucr. The runaway might take to the thicket or be- come lost to his View amid the windings of the wood. The wild mares were already invisible, at intervals. They would soon be out of SI ht altogether. Tlit’l'c Sfemed no chance of their 01 aSSociatc overtaking t iem. What mattered that? A lady lost on a prairie, or in a chaparral—nlone, or in the midst of a manada—either contingency pointed to a certain danger. A still more startling peril suggested itself to the mind of the mustnnvcr~so startling as to find expres- sion in excited s edit. I “By heavens! ‘ he ejaculated his brow becoming more clouded than it had been from his first entering the chase. “ If (he stallions should chums (his way! ’Tis their favorite stamping-ground among these mottes. They were here but a week ago; and this~yes—‘tis the month of their madness!" The spur of the mustanger again drew blood till its rowels were red; and Castro. gallopith at his utmost speed lanced back upbraidingly over is shoulder. At t s crisis the manada disappeared from the sight of the blood-ha and his master; and most robabgl at the same time rom that of the spotted musging an its rider. There was nothing mysterious in it. The mares “MY PISTOL IS AT YOUR HEAD! had entered between the closing of two copses, where the shrubbery hid them from View. The enact produced upon the runaway a‘ppeared to proceed from some in cal influence. 3 their dis- apgearance was a sign for discontinuing the chase, it Bu denly slackened pace; and the instant after came to a standstill! . Maui-ice, continuin his gallop, came up with it in the middle of a meadow- ike glade—standing motionless as marble—its rider, reins in hand, sitting silent in the saddle, in an attitude of easy elegance, as if waiting for him to ride u l “ Miss Poingexteri“ he gasped out, as he s urred his steed within rgseaking distance; “ I am g! that you have recove command of that wild creature. I was beginning to be alarmed about-—-" ‘ A1101“ What. 311‘ 1’" was the question that startled the nustanger. “ Y0?” safety. 01' 0011136,“ he replied, somewhat stam- y i moi-mg . “Oh, thank you, Mr. Gertildfl‘}v but I was not aware of having been in any danger. as I really so?" “ Au danger!" echoed the Irishman, with increased astonis ment; “on the back of a runaway mustang, in the middle of a thless rairlei” “ And what a that? he thing couldn’t throw me. I'm too clever in the saddle, sir. “ I know it, madame; but that accomplishment would have availed you very little ind You lOSt yourself a thing you were like enouglh to have done among t is chaparral copses, where t. e oldest Texan can scarce find his way.‘ d n 1 "may? That was the danger to be i “There are others besides. Suppose you had fallen in with—3' “ Indians!“ interrupted the lndv, without waiting for the mustauger to finish his hypot ieticul speech. “ And if I had, what would it have mnlict‘i-d‘.‘ Arc not the Comancth m puz at u'esent‘! Surely they wouldn‘t have molested me, gal ant follows as they are? So the major told us, as we came along. ‘Pon my word, sir, I should seek, rather than shun, such an encounter. I wish to see the noble Sara '1: on his native )rniric, and on horseback: not, as I’ve itherto beth lllllll, reeling around the settlements in a state of (lebnsomcnt from too freely pat-taking of our tire-water," ” I admire your courage, Miss; but if I had the. honor of being one of your friends, I should take the liberty of counseling a little caution. The ‘noble savage ‘ you speak of is not alwn 's sober upon the prairies; and per- haps not so very ga limit as you‘ve been led to believe. If you had met iin—" “if I had met him, and he attempted to misbehave himself, I would have given him the 'o-by, and ridden straight back to my friends. On sue l a swift creature as this he must have been well mounted to have over- taken me. You found some ditlicultv—did you not r" The eyes of the young Irishman, already showing as- tonishment, became expanded to increased dimensions, surprise and incrcdulity being equally blended in their ance. g “I3ut.‘I said he, after a speechless pause, “ you don‘t mean to say that you could have controlled-tlmt the inustan was not running away with 3 on? Am I to un- derstan —" “No—no—nol" hastil rejoined the fair equestrian, showing some slight em arrassment. “ The mare cer- tainly made 011' with inc—that is, at the first; but I—I found, that is—at the last—I found I could easily pull her up. In fact I did so; you saw it?" “ And could you have done it sooner?" § \ A strange thought had suggested the interrogatory; and with more than ordinary interest the questioner a ' 'ted th 1 . ‘i‘all’erhapg—pgha s—I might; no doubt, if I had dragged a httghardbr upon the rein. B- t you see sir, I like a good gallop, especially upon a prairie, w erg there‘s no fear of rungizgg over pi s. poultry, or people. Maurice looked am . In a h s experience, even in his own native laud, famed for feminine brewerie— above all in the way of bold riding—he had met no match for the clever equestrian before him. His astonishment, mixed with admiration, hindered him from maki a ready reJOinder. . “To 3 ak truufii," continued the young lady, With an air of c armin simplicity, “Iwas not sorry at be'm run oi! with. no sometimes gets tired of too muc talk—of the kind called comphmen I wanted fresh air, and to be alone. So you see, Ir. Gerald, it was rather a bit of good fortune; since it saved ex. planations and adieus." “ “You wanted to be alone? responded the mus- tanger, with a disappointed look. ‘ am sorry I should have made the m stake to have intruded upon you. I assure you, Miss Poindextgr, I followed because I be. lieved you to be in danger. “ Most gallant of you, sir; and now that I know there was danger,l am truly gratefuL I presume 1 have guessed aright; on meant the Indians?" “No; not In inns exactly—at least, it was not of them I was thinking." “Some other danger? What is it, sir? You will tell me so that I may be more motions for the future?“ Maurice did not make immediate answer. A sound m1 king u n his ear had caused him to turn away—~85 if inatten he to the interrogatory, The Creole, perceiving Ihnm mm. mm: cause for his I ONE snow LEFT—MAKE AN “’0ch on DEW—PAGE 18. 13 abstraction, like 'iso nssunwd alisti-ning attitude. She- heard a shrill St'l'l'alll, succeeded by another and an- other, close followed by a loud hammering of boots— tho conjunction of sounds causing the still atmosphere to vibrate around her. it was no mystery to the hunqu of horses. The words that cattle quick from his lips~though not do sigtued—wcro a direct answer to the question she had p'l . “ The wild slullionxl” he exclaimed, in a tone that bctokcned alarm. “I knew they must be among those mumps; and they are!" i “ Is that the danger of which you have been six-ab ng‘!" “ it is.“ “ What fear of them? They are only mustangs!" “True: and at other times there, is no causi- to fear them. But just now, at this season of the year, they become as savage as tigers, and equally as vindictive. All! the wild stood in his rage is an enemy more to be dreaded than wolf, anther, or bear." “ What are we in o?“ inquired tilt' young lady, now, for the first time, giving proof that she felt i'i-ar-by riding close up to the man who had OlN't' before res- cued her from a situation of peril, aml gazing anxiously in his face as she awaited the answer. “ if they should charge upon us," answered Maurice. “there are but two ways of escape. One, by ascend ing a tree, and abandoning our horses to their fury." “The other?" asked the Creole, with a mum fmid that showed a pn-sence of mind likely to stand the test of the most exciting crisis. “Any t. ting but ahnndou our animalsi ‘Twould be but a shabby way of making our escape i" “We shall not have an opportunity of trying it. I perceive it is impracticable. There‘s not a tree within .L sight large enough to afford us security. If attack we have no alternative but to trust to the fleetness 0 our horses. Unfortunate! ," continued he, with a glance of inspection toward“7 the spotted mare, and then at his own horse, “they've had too much work this moming. Both are badly blown. That will be our greatest source of danger. The Wild steeds vnll be sure to be fresh." “ Do you intend us to start now P" “Not yet. The lo erwe can breathe our animals the better. The s one may not come this way; or if so may not molest us. It will depend on their moo at the moment. If battling among themselves, we may look out for their attack. Then the have lost their reason—if I may so speak-and wi recklessly rush upon one of their own kind—even with a man upon his back. Hal ‘tis as I expected: they ate in conflict. I can tell by their ones! And driving this way tool“ . ‘ but, Mr. Gerald, why should we not ride off at once, in the opposite direction?" “ ‘Twould be of no use. There's no cover to conceal us on that side—nothing but open plain. They’ll be out upon it before we could get a suiflcient start and would soon overtake us. The place we must make for—the only safe one I can think of—lies the other way. They are now upon the_(lirect path to it. if I can judge by what I hear; and if we start too soon we may ride into their teeth. We must wait, and try to steal away; he- hind them. If we succeed in gettin past, and can eep our distance for a two-mile 9.110 1, know a s t, where weshallbenssafeasifinsdet econ-also ‘ del Corvo. You are sure on can control the mustang? " lte sure,“ was 0 prompt repLV: all idea of de- copi l.011 being abandoned it the pm of dam Dex /14 ___._.._._.__s.__,,,l ,, ,. CHAPTER XVI. no BY WILD summons. THE two sat expectant in their saddles—she, ap ar- cntly, with more confidence than he; for she con ded ‘ in him. Still but imperfectly comprehending it, she knew there must be some great danger. When such a man showed sign of fear, it could not be otherwise. She had a secret happiness in thinking, that a portion of this fear was for her own safety. “ I think we may venture now,‘ said her companion, after a short eriod spent in listening; “ they appear to [have passedt ie 0 enmg by which we must make our l retreat. Look we to our riding, I entrcat you! Keep a firm seat in the sad e, and a sure hold of the rein. Gallo.) by my side, where the ground will admit of it; ut in no case let more than the length of my horse‘s tail be between us. I must perforce go ahead to guide the way. Hal they are coming direct for the glade. They‘re already close to its edge. Our time is u l” The dprofound stillness that but a short while he ore perva ed the prairie, no longer reigned over it. Iuits stead had arisen a fracas that resembled the outpouring of some overcrowded asylum; for in the shrill neighuig of the steeds might have been fancied the screams of maniacs—only ten times more vociferous. They were mingled with a thunder-like hammering of hoofs. a sWishing and crashing of branches, sava 6 shorts, accom anied by the sharp snapping of teet , the dull “thu " of heels coming in contact With ribs and rounded hips: squealing that betokeued spite or pain allforming acombination of sounds that Jarred are 3‘ upon the ear, and caused the earth to quake, as if osc' ating upon its orbit! . It told of a terrible conflict carried on by the_Wild stallions, who. still unseen, were hting indiscrimin— ately among themselves, as they be d their way among the matter. _ Not much longer unseen. As Maurice gave the signal to start, the speckled crowd showed itself in an opening between two copses.‘ In a moment more it filled the gahiigway-like gap, and commenced disgorging into the g s, with the im tus of an avalanche! It was compose of living forms—the most beautiful known in nature: for in this man must give way to the horse. Not the unsexed horse of civilization, with hunched shoulders, bandied limbs and bowed frontlet —soarce one in a thousand of true equine shape—and this still further mutilated by the shears of the coper and gentleman jockey—but the wild steed of the savan- nas, foaled upon the green grass, his form left free to develop as the flowers that shed their fragrance around 'Eye never beheld a more splendid sight than a coral- lada of wild stallions prancin upon a prairie; especial- ly at that season when, stirr b strong passions, they seek to destroy one another. he spectacle is more than splendid—it is fearful—too fearful to be enjoyed by man, much less by timid woman. Still more w en the spectator views it from an exxfiosed position, liable to become the object of their attac In such situation were the riders of the blood bay and spotted mustang. The former knew it by past experi- ence—the latter could not fail to perceive it by the evi- dence before h . “ This way 1’" cried Maurice, lancing his horse‘s flanks with the spur, and bending so as to oblique to the rear of the oavallada. “B heaven—they’ve discovered us! On-on! Miss Pom exter! Remember ou are riding for your life i" The stimulus of speec was not needed. The be- havior of the stallions was of itself sufficient to show th‘ilit speed alone could save the spotted mustang and its :1 er. 0n coming out into the open ound, and gettin sight of the ridden horses, they hair suddenly desisteg from their interneciue strife; and, as if acting under the orders of some skilled leader, came to a halt. In line, top, like cavalry checked up in the middle of a charge For a time their mutual hostility seemed to be laid aside—as if the felt called upon to attack a common enemy, or resis some common do. or! The pause may have proceeded rom surprise; but, whether or no, it was favorable to the fugitives. Dur- ing the twenty seconds it continued, the latter had made good use of their time, and accomplished the cir- cuit required to put them on the path of safety. Only on the path, however. heir escape was still roblematical; for the steeds, perceiving their inten- on, wheeled suddenly into the line of pursuit, and Went allopin after, with snorts and screams that be- tr%yo a spi ul determination to overtake them. m that moment it became a straigggaa unchang‘ lug chase across country-a trial of sp between - {filedhorses without riders and the horses that were en. ‘ At intervals did Maurice carry his chin to his shoul- der‘ and, though still preserving the distance gained :ittl’ie start, his look was not the less one of apprehen- on. Alone he would have laughed to scorn his pursuers. He knew that the blood bay—himself a prairie steed— could surpass any competitor of his race. But the more was delaying him. She’ was alloping slower than he had ever seen her—as if unw' ‘ng, or not covet~ Ingescakae a horse with his head turned away from home! “ Whatcan it mean f" muttered the mustanger, as be checked his pace to accommodate it to that of his companion. If there should be any balk at the cross- itng we‘re lost. A score of seconds will make the dif— ere e. “ ekee ourdistance, don’t we?" inquired his fel- low-tn tiv noticing his troubled look. . . “So 81‘, yes. Un ortunatel there’s an obstruction ahead. It‘ remains to be seen ow we shall get over it. I know you are a clever rider, and can take along leap. But your mount? I’m not so sure of the mare. You know her better thanl. Do you think she can carry you over—" ” Over what, sir?" “You'll see in a second. We should be near the lace howl: The conversation thus carried on was be- ween two individuals riding side by side, and going at agailggofnearl amiletotheminute! , _ _As e guide predicted, they soon came Within sight of the obstruction; which roved to be an arroyo 2awnmgflssureinthep fullfifteenfeetin width, as man in depth, and trending on each side to thevergeof ‘on. To turn aside, either to the right or left, would be to ; ' the advantage of the diagonal; which i i 6 so could no longer aflord. The chasm must be crossedor the stslhonswould ' vrtako'them. The New York Library. It could only be crossed by a leap—fifteen feet at the least. Maurice knew that his own horse could get over lt-he had done it before. But the mare? “ Do you think she can do it?" he eagerly asked, as, in slackened pace, they approached the edge of the bar- ranca. “ I am sure she can," was the confident reply. “ But are on sure you can sit her over it?’ “ Ha! ha! a!” scornfully laughed the Creole. “What a question for an Irishman to ask! I‘m sure, sir, one of your countiiywomen would be offended at our speech. Even a native of swampy Louisiana, on‘t regard it as at all gallant. Sit her over it! where she can carr . “ But, Miss Poin exter,” stammered the guide, still doubting the powers of the spotted mustang, “ suppose she can not? If you have any doubts, had you not bet- ter abandon her? I know that my horse can bear us both to the other side, and with safety. If the mus- tan be left behind, in all likelihood we shall escape furt ier pursuit. The wild steeds—" “ Leave Luna behind! Leave her to be trampled to death, or torn to pieces—as you say she would! No— no, Mr. Gerald. I prize the spotted more too much for that. She oes wi h me: over the chasm, if we can. If not, we bot break our necks at the bottom. Come, my pretty pet! This is he who chased, captured and con- uered you Show him you’re not yet so wbdued, but t at you can escape, when close pressed, from the toils of either friend or enemy. Show him one of those leaps, of which ou’ve done adozen within the week. Now for a flight in the air !” Without even waiting for the stimulus of example, the courageous Creole rode recklessly at the arroyo, and cleared it by one of those leaps of which she had “ done a‘lozen within the week.” There were three thoughts in the mind of the mus- tanger—rather mi ht the be called emotions—as he sat watching that ea . e first was sim lo astonish- ment; the second, in use admiration. T e third was not so easily defined It had its origin in the words— “ I )Ivize the spotted more too much for that.” “ by?" reflected he as he drove his spur-rowels into the flanks of the blood ay; and the reflection lasted as long as Castro was suspended in mid-air over the yawn- ing abysm. ‘leverly as the chasm was crossed, it did not insure the safety of the fugitives. It would be no obstruction to the steeds. Maurice knew it, and looked back with undiminished apprehension. Rather was it increased. The delay, short as it was, had given the pursuers an advan e. They were nearer than ever! They would not be ikely to make a moment’s pause, but clear the crevasse at a single bound of their sure-footed gallop. And then—what then? The mustanger put the qkulestion to himself. He grew paler as the rep]?! puzzled "in. On alighting rom the leap he had not paused for a second, but gone galloping on, as before, close followed by his fugitive companion. His ace, however, was less impetuous. He seemed to ri c with irresolution, or as if some half-formed resolve was restraining him. When about a score len hs from the edge of the arm 0, he rained up andw heeled round as if he had sud enly formed the determination to ride back! “Miss Poindexterl” he .called out to the young lady, at that_moment just up With him. “ You must ride on a. one. “ But why, sir?" asked she, as she jerked the muzzle of the mustang close up to its counter, bringing it almost instantaneously to a stand. “If we keep together we shall be overtaken. I must do something to stay those savage brutes. Here there is a chance—nowhere else. For Heaven's sake don’t uestion me! Look ahead yonder. You erceive the s een of water. ’Tis a prairie and. Ride straight toward it. You will find yourse between two high fences. They come together at the pond. You’ll see a. $3.1), with bars. If I’m not up in time, gallop through, smount, and put the bars up behind you.” “And you, sir? You are going to undergo some great danger?” “Have no fear for me! Alone, I shall run but little risk. ’Tis the mustang— For mercy’s sake, allop forward! Keep the water under your eyes. et it guide ou like a beacon fir . Rememberto close the gap nd you. Away, away i" ' or a second or two the oung lady a peared irreco- lute, as if reluctant to 8 company wi h the man who was making such effor s to insure her safety—perhaps at the peril of his own. By ood fortune she was not one of those timid maid- ens w 0 turn frantic at a crisis, and drag to the bottom the swimmer who would save them. She had faith in the capability of her counselor—believed that he knew what he was about—and once more spurri the mare into a gallop, she rode off in a direct hue for he prairie on . At the same instant Maurice had given the rein to his horse, and was riding in the opposite direction, back to the place where they had leaped the arm 0! On partin from his companion, be h drawn from his saddle ols_ter the finest weapon ever wielded upon the prairies—either for attack or defense, a ainst In- dian, buffalo or bear. It was the six-chum red re- volver of Colonel Colt—not the spurious immanent of Deane, Adams, and a. host of retrograde imitators, but the genuine article from the “land of wooden nut- me “ with the Hartford brand upon its breech. “531 y must not et over the narrow place where we crossed,” muttered e, as he faced toward the stallions, still advancing on the other side of the arroyo. “ If I can but fling one of them in his tracks, it may hinder the others from attempting the leap‘, or delay them. long enough for the mustang to make is escape. The big sorrel is leading. He Will make the spring first. he pistol’s good for a hundred paces. He's within range now!" » Simultaneous with the last words come; the crack of the six-shooter. The largest of the stallions—a sorrel in color—rolled headlong u n the sword; his carcass fal ' transversel across e line that led to the leap. a dozen o ers, close following, were instantly brought to a. stand; and then the whole cavaliadal The mustanger stayed not to note their movements. Taking advantag‘e of the confusion caused by the fall of their leader 6 reserved the fire of the other five chambers; and, wheeling west, spurred on after the spotted mustang, now far on its way toward the glis- tening pond. Sit her any- . Whether dismayed by the fall of. their chief, or whether it was that his dead body had hindered them from ap— proaching tne only place where the chasm could have . trayed either rpique or compunction. Vol... I. been cleared at a leap, the stallions abandoned the pur- suit; and Maurice had the prairie to himself as he swept on after his fellow-fugitive. , He overtook hcr beyond the conver ence of the fence: on the shore of the pond. She had 0 eyed him in eve thing, except as to the closing of the gap. He found it open, the bars lying scattered over the ground. He found her still seated in the saddle, relieved from all apprehension for his safety, and only trembling with a gratitude that longed to find expression in speech. The peril was passed. CHAPTER XVII. THE MUSTANG TRAP. No longer in dread of any danger, the young Creole looked interrogativel around her. There was a smai lake—in Texan phraseology a. “pond "—with countless horse-tracks visible along its shores, proving that the place was frequented by wild horses—their excessive number showing it to be afa- vorite watering-place. There was a high rail fence—— constructed so as to inclose the pond and a portion of the contiguous rairie, with two diverging wings can ried far across t 1e pllam, forming a funne -shaped ap- proach to a gap, w ich, when its bars were up, com- pleted an inclosure that no horse could either enter or esca e from. “ at is it for?” inquired the lady, indicating the construction of split rails. “ A mustang trap,” said Maurice. “ A mustang tra i7" “ A contrivancc or catching wild horses. They stray between the wings; which, as you perceive, are carried far out n on the plain. The water attracts them; or they are riven toward it by a band of mustangers who follow, and force them on through the ap. Once within the corral, there is no trouble in ta 'ing them. The are then lassoed at leisure." “ oor things! Is it yours? You are a mustanger? You told us so?" “I am; but I do not hunt the wild horse in this way. I prefer being alone, and rarely consort with men of my calling. Therefore I could not make use of this contri- vance, which requires at least a score of drivers. My Egapo‘n, if I may dignify it by the name, is this—the so. “ You use it with great skill? I’ve heard that you do; besides havi myself witnessed the proof." “ It is com mentary of you to say so. But you are mistaken. here are men on these rairies ‘to the manner born’—Mexicans—who regar what you are pleased to call my skill as sheer clumsiness." “ Are you sure, Mr. Gerald, that your modesty is not prom ting you to overrate your rivals? I have been told t e very opposite.” “B whom? , “ our friend Mr. Zebulon Stump.’ 0 d Zeb is but indifferent authority on the “Ha—ha! subject of the lasso.” ‘ I “I wish I could'firow the lasso,” said the young Creole. “ They tell me ’tis not a lady-like accomplish- ment. What matters—so long as- it is innocent, and gives one a gratification ‘2" “Not lady-like! Surcl or skating! I know a! “ An American lady?" “No; she’s Mexican, and lives on the Rio Grande; but sometimes comes across to the Leona, where she has relatives." “A you lady?" “Yes. A out your own age, I should think, Miss Poindexter. " “ Size i?” “ Not so tall asyou." “But much prettier of course? The Mexican ladies. I‘ve heard, in the matter of good look, far surpass us plain Americanaa.” “ I think Creoles are not included in that category," was the reply worthy of one whose lips had been in contact with the famed bowlder of Blarney. ~ “ I wonder if I could ever learn to fling iti" pursued the oung Creole, pretending not to have been aflected byt ecomplimentary remark. “Am I too old? I‘ve been told that the Mexicans commence almost in ghlildlhlfigd; that that is why they attain to such wonder- u s ' “Not at all," replied Maurice, encouragingly. “ ’Tis possible, with a year or two's practice, tobecome a pgogcien: lancer. I, myself, have only been three years a ; an — . He paused, perceiving he was about to commit him- self to a little casting. “ And you are now the most skilled in all Texas?” said his companion, supplying the presumed finds of his Ispeech. “ o, no!" laughingly rejoined he. “That is but a mistaken belief on the part of Zeb Stump, who judges my skill by comparison, making use of his own as a standard.’ “Is it modesty?" reflected the Creole. “Or is this man mocking me? If I thought so, I should go mad!" “ Perhaps you are anxious to at back to your party?" said Maurice, observing her a stracted air. “Your father maybe a ed by your long absence? Your brother—your cousin—” . “ Ah, true!" she hurriedly rejoined, in a tone that be- . “ I was not think- ing of that. hanks, air, for reminding me of my duty. Let us go back 1" sin in the saddle, she gathered up her reins and pli her tiny s ur—both acts being performed with an air of langui reluctance, as if she w0u1d have pre- ferred lingering a little longer in the “ mustang trap." ’tis as much so as archery y who is very expert at it. " Once more 11 on the prairie. Maurice conducted his protegee b I: most du‘ect route toward the spot where they d parted from the picnic party. Their backward way led them across a peculiar tract" of count —7what in exa's is called a “ weed prairia".. an up man bestowed by the early pioneers, who" were not very choice in their titles. ‘ The Louisianian saw around her avast arden of ay flowers, laid outin one and rterre, w ose b9 ers were the blue circle of t e horizon—a garden designed, planted, nurtured, by the hand of Natu . The most plebeian spirit can not pass through such a scene without receiving an impressmn calculated to re- fine it. I’ve known t e illiterate tra per—habitually blind to the utiful—pause in the mi t of his “weed Baffle,” Vwibtl‘iathe flowers rising breast . , gaze for a while upon their audy coro beyond the verge of his vision; en continueéhis stride with a gentler feeling toward his fellow-moo, g A aflrmerfaithinthegrandeurofhiseod . . “ hire!qu 'tis very beautifuli” ego-aimed the on" i In v t l i kt. NOS' 919'. thusiastic Creole, rcining up as if by an involuntary iii- Stinct. “You admire these wild scenes. Miss l’oindcxter “ Admire them? Something more, sirl I s - around me all that is bright and beautiful in nature; verdant turf, trees, flowers, all that we take such pains to plant or cultivate; and such, too, as we never succeed in equati- ing. There seems nothing wanting to make this picture com lete—‘tis a park, perfect in cvciythingl" “ xcept the mansion i" “ That would spoil it for me. Give me the landscape where there is not a house in sight—slate, chimney, or tile—to interfere with the outlines of the trees. Under their shadow could I live; under their shadow lct nic—” The word “ love," uppermost in her thoughts, was upon the tip of her tongue. She dextrously restrained herself from pronouncing it, changing it to one of very diiferent signification— ‘ die.‘ It was cruel of the young Irishman not to tell her that she was speaking his own sentiments, repeating them to the very echo. To this was the prairie indebted for his presence. But for a kindred inclination, amounting almost to a aSsion, he might never have been known as Maurice t w mustanger. The romantic sentiment is not satisfied with a “ sham." It will soon consume itself, unless supported by the consciousness of reality. The inustanger would have been humiliated by the thought that he chased the wild horse as a mere pastime—a pretext to keep him upon the prairies. At first he might have con- descended to make such an acknowledgment; but he had of late become thoroughly imbued with the pride of the professional hunter. His reply might have appeared chillingly prosaic. “ I fear, miss, you would soon tire oi" such a rude life ~no roof to shelter you; no society; no—i’ “ And you, sir; how is it you have not grown tired of it? If I have been correctly informed—your friend, Mr. Stump, is my authority—you‘ve been leading this life for several years. Is it so?" “ uite true; I have no other calling." “ ndeedl I wish I could say the same. I envy you our lot; I'm sure I could enjoy existence amidst these eautiful scenes forever and ever i" “ Alone? Without companions? Without even a roof to shelter you?" “I did not sa that. But, you’ve not told me. do you live? ave you a house?” "It does not deserve such a high-soundin appella- tion," laughingly replied the mustanger. “ S ed would more correctly serve for the description of my jacal, which may be classed among the lowliest in the land.” “Where is it? Anywhere near where we’ve been to- r,“ How an ?H ‘ylt is not very far from where we are now. A mile, perhaps. You see those tree-tops to the west? They shade my hovel from the sun and shelter it from the storm. “Indeed! How I should like to have a look at it! A real rude but, you say?" “ In that I have but spoken the truth.” “ Standing solitary?” “ I know of no other within ten miles of it.” “ Among trees, and picturesque ?" ‘ “That (18 ends upon the eye that beholds it.” “91flshoul like to see it, and judge. Only a mile, you is. . XA mile there, the same to return, would be two." tzghat’s nothing. It would not take a score of min- i . “Should we not be trespassing on the patience of your people?” “On your hospitality, perha s? Excuse me, Mr. Geraldi’ continued the young ady, a slight shadow sudden] overcasting her countenance. ‘ I did not think 0 it. Perhaps you do not live alonel’ Some other shares your—jacal—as you call it?” “Oh, yes; I have a companion, one who has been with me ever since 1—” The shadow became sensibly darker. Before the mustauger could finish his speech, his lis- tener had pictured to herself a certain image, that might answer to the description of his com anion; more inclining to embonpoint, with a skin of c estnut brown; agirl of her own age, perha 5 eyes of almond aha 5, set piquantly oblique to the ‘nes of the nose: fleet of more than Egarly1 purity; a tinge of crimson upon the cheeks; ir 'ke Castro’s tail; beads and bangles around neck, arms, and ankles; a short kirtle elaborately embroidered; moccasins covering sma feet; and fringed leggings, laced upon limbs of large development. Such were the st lo and equi merits of the supposed companion, who ad sudde y become outlined in the imagination of Louise Pomdexter. “Your fellow tenant of the jacal might not like being intruded upon by visitors, more especially a stranger?“ “ 0n the contrary, he’s but too glad to_ see visitors at runy time, whether strangers or acquaintances. My foster-brother is the Last man to shun .society, of which, ’poor fellow! he sees but precious little on the 0 am . “ Your foster-brother?" “ch. Phelim O‘Neal b name. like myself a native of the Emerald Isle, and s ire of Galway; only perhaps speaki a little better bro e than mine." “ 0h, he Irish bro el should so like to hear it s ken by a native o Galway. I am told that theirs is t a richest. Is it so, Mr. Gerald?" “ Bel a. Galwegian myself, my jud ment might not be reliab a; but if you Will condescen to accept Phe- liin’s hospitality for half an hour, he will, no don t, give you an op )oi'tunity of judging for yourself.” “1 3110 d be delighted. ’Tis something so new. Let a and the rest of them wait. There are plenty of 'cs without me; or the gentlemen may amuse them- selves by tracing up our tracks. "l‘will be as good a horse hunt as they are likely to have. Now, sir, I'm read to accept your hospitality.” I “ era‘s not much to otter you, I fear. Phelim has ' been several days by himself, and as he’s but an indif- ferent hunter, his larder is likely to be low. "l‘is fortu- nate you had finished luncheon before the stampede." It was not Phelim’s larder that was leading Louise Poindexter out of her way, nor yet the desire to listen to his Connemara renunciation. It was not curiosity to look at the jacal o the mustanger; but a feeling of a far more irresistible kind, to which she was yielding, as if sh. believed it to be. her fate. davisit to the lone hot on the Alamo; she under its roof; she scannedwith seeming inter- est ; and noted with pleased surprise d thea' c eels that “Wed the 00m; Eh?- W. with up iarent delight to the prllt/LO/jm'ol‘ the Connemara man, w 10 called her a “ colccu buwn',” slic parka of Phclini’s hospital ' —condescen(lingly tasting of eve! — ‘tllllig (liTel'et, c it that which was most urgoiity ,1) "ed upon llt'l, ‘a dhrap of the craythcr, drawn ‘1'] sh from the (linuuyjan;” and finally made her de- '. from the spot, apparently in the highest spirits. Alasl hcr delight was short-lived, lasting only so long as it was sustained by the excitement of the novel adventure. As she recrossed the flower prairie, she found time for making a variety of reflections; and there; was one that chilled her to the very core of her war . Was it the thought that she had been acting wrongly in keeping her father, her brother and friends in sus- pense about her safety? or had s ie become conscious of playing a part open to the suspicion of being unfein- inine? Not either. The cloud that darkened her brow in the midst of that blossoming brightness, was caused by a different, and far more distressing reflection. During all that day, in the journey from the fort, after over- taking her in the chase, in the pursuit while protecting her, lingering by her side on the shore of the lake, re- turning across the prairie, under his own humble roof—- in short, ever where—her coin )aiiion had only been polite—had on y behaved as a gen; Imam CHAPTER XVIII. JEALOUSY UPON THE TRAIL. Or the two-score rescuers, who had started in pur- suit of the runaway, but few followed far. Having lost sight of the wild mares, the mustang, and the mustan rer, they began to lose sight of one another; and be ore long became dispersed upon the prairie, going single, in couples, or in groups of three and four together. Most of them, unused to tracking up a trail, soon strayed from that taken by the manuda; branch- ing off upon others, made, perhaps, by the same drove upon some previous stampede. The dragoon escort, in charge of a. young officer—a. fresh fledgling from West Point—ran astray upon one of these ramifications, carrying the hindmost of the field along with it. It was a rolling prairie through which the pursuit was conducted, here and there intersected by strag- glin belts of brushwood. These, with the inequalities of t e surface, soon hid the various pursuing parties from one another; and in twenty minutes after the start, a bird, looking from the heavens above, might have beheld half a hundred horsemen, distributed into half a score of groups, apparently having started from a common center, spurring at f speed toward every quarter of the compass. But one was going in the right direction—a solitary individual, mounted upon a large, strong-limbod, chest- nut horse; that, without any claim to elegance of shape, was proving the possession both of speed and bottom. The blue frock-coat of half-military cut, and forage cap of corresponding color, were distinctive ar- . ticles of dress habitually worn by the ex-captain of volunteer cavalry—Cassius Calhoun. He it was who directed the chestnut on the true trail; while, with whip and spur, he was stimulating theanimal to ex- traordinary efforts. He was himself stimulated by a thought—sham as his own spurs—that caused him to concentrate a his energies upon the ob‘ect in hand. Like a hungry hound he was laying is head along the trail, in hopes of an issue that might reward him for his exertions. _ What that issue Was he ‘had but vaguely conceived; but an occasional glance toward his holsters—from which protruded the butts of a brace of pistols—told of some sinister design that was shaping itself in his soul. But for a circumstance that assisted him, he might, like the others have gone astray. He had the advan- tage of them however, in being guided by two shoe- tracks he had seen before. One, the lar er, he recol- lected with a. painful distinctness. He ad seen it stamped upon a charred surface, amid the ashes of a burnt prairie. Yielding to an undefined instinct, he beadeanade a note of it in his memory, and now remem- - r it. Thus directed, the ci-det'ant captain arrived among the copses, and rode into the glade where the spotte mustang had been pulled up in such a mysterious man- ner. Hitherto his an sis had been easy enou ,h. I At this point it became co ecture. Among the hoo - rints of the wild mares, the s oe-tracks were still seen, ut no longer going at a. gallop. The two animals thus dis- tinguished must have been halted, and standing in juxtaposition. ' Whither next? Along the trail of the monada, there was no imprint of iron; nor elsewherel The surface on all sides was hard, and strewn with pebbles. A horse going in rude gallop, might have indented it; but not one passing over it at tranquil pace. And thus had the spotted mustang and blood-bay parted from ting spot. The _lia.d gone'at a walk for some score yard , before sta ng on their final gallop toward the mustang trap. The impatient pursuer was troubled. He rode round and round, and alo the trail of the wild mares, and back again, without ‘scoverin the direction that had been taken by either of the rid on horses. He was be 'nning to feel something more than snr prise, when t e sight of a. solitary horseman advancing along the trail interrupted his uncomfortable conjec- tures. It was no strain r who was drawing near. The colossal figure. cl in coarse habiliments bearded to the buttons of his blanket-coat, and bestriding the most contemptibie-looking steed that could have been faiuid within a hundred miles of the spot, was an old ac- Cassius Calhoun knew Zebulon Stump, quaintance. . long before either and Zeb Stump knew Cash Calhoun, had set foot on the rairics of Texas. “ You hain’t see’ nuthin’ 0’ the young lady, hev you, Mr. Cal-hoon?” inquired the hunter, as he rode up, with an unusual im ressiveness _of manner. “ No, ye hain’t," he continue as if deducmg his inference from the blank looks of t e other. “ Dog-gone in cats! I wonder what the h—— hev become a” hen ewrious, too, sech a. rider as she air ter let the durned oat o’ a thing run away wi‘ her. Wall thnr’s not muc danger to be reeprehended. e mowstanger air putty sartin to throw his rope aroun’ t e critter, an' that ii put an eend to its capers. Why hev yeptopped hyur?" _ “ I’m uzzled about the direction they've taken. Their tracks £ow they have been halted here; but I can see the shod boots no further." “Whoa! whoa! ‘ur right, Mister Cauhufli Th hev bombshell hyurayan’been clout thorium too» 01 TheiHeadle‘ss Horseman. hainjt gone no further on the trail of the wild macro. Sartin they hain't. Whar then i?" ' The speaker scanned the surface of the lain with an interrogative glance; as if there, and not rom Cassius Calhoun, expecting an answer to his question. “ I cannot see their tracks anywhere,” replied the ox- ca item. ‘No, kan‘t c? I kin, thou h. Lookye liyurl Don't ye S§e them t or bruises on t e grass!” . 0.. “burn it! thur plain es the nose on a Jew's face. Thur‘s a big shoe, an‘ a little ‘un clost aside 0‘ it. Thet’s the wa they‘ve rud off, which show that they hain‘t follere the wild maars no further than hyur. We'd better keep on arter them?" " by all meansl" Without further parley, Zeb started along the new trail; which, though still undiscerniblo to the eye of the other, was to him as conspicuous as he had figuratively declared it. In a little while it became visible to his companion— on their arrival at the lace where the fugitives had once more 11 ed their orses into a gallop to escape from tho cava lada, and where the shoe-tracks again deelply indented the turf. S iortly after, their trail was again lost—or would have been to a scrutin less keen than that of Zeb Stump—among the lion reds of other hoof-marks seen upon the sward. “ Hillool” exclaimed the old hunter, in some surprise at the new Sign. “What‘s been doin’ hyur? This (1127‘ some‘at kewrious." ' “ Only the tracks of the wild maresl" suggested Cal- houn. “ They appear to have made a circuit, and come round again! ’ ’ “ If they hev, it’s been arter the others rud past them. The chase ’a' changed sides, I reck’n.” “ What .do you mean, Mr. Stum i’" ” That i‘stcad 0’ them gallupin arter the maars, thee maars hev been gallupin’ arter them." “ How can you tell that?” “ Don‘t ye see that the shod-tracks air kivered by them 0’ the inaars? Mnars—no! B the 'turnal airth- quake l—thcm’s not moor-tracks. hey air a inch big- ger. Thur’s been studs this way—a hui cavayurd 0‘ them. Geehosofatl I hope they hain‘t—” “ gaven‘tlghat?” “ one a r Spott . If the hev then thur will be da‘i’ivger to Miss Peinttlgxter. Chime oh i” ' ithout waiting for a rejoinder, the hunter started ofl’ at a shambhng trot, followed by Calhoun, who kept calhgg to him for an explanation of his ambiguous wor Zeb did not deign to offer an —excusin himself b a backward sweep of the ban , which segemed to sayy, “ Do not bother me now; I am busy.” For a time he appeared absorbed in taking up the trail of the shod horses—not so easily done, as it Was in places entirely obliterated by the t ick trampling of the stallions. He succeeded in making it out by piece- meal—still goii on at a trot. . It was not til he had arrived Within a hundred yard of the arroyo that the serious shadow disappeared from his face; and checking the pace of his mare he vouch- safed the explanation once more demanded from him. “ Ohi that was the danger,” said Calhoun, on hearing the cd 1litigation. “How do you know they have so ca fekogaiiniiw i F iii 1d 11 pea‘ rs Wha . orse res kil e e a 9 t does that rove?“ y ’ p :2 thf miaivitangfir hasflkilled ' rig ene eot erso out ' and the fol- ‘°Yi'eT‘i.“°E“i‘h%€i" i.» h J ’ y ey o ow no urt er'but it wa‘n'tadzackl that es scared ’m off. Thur’s tlie thing as kep them yfrom forlll‘grin’. (ile Hiclitoryti $13.11:1 a jump!" espeaerponte tearrooontheedeof which both riders had now arrived. y , 3 “You don‘t suppose they leaped it?" said Calhoun. “ Imposmble." “ Leaped it clur as the crack 0‘ a rifle. Don‘t e see thur toe-marks, both on this side an‘ the t‘other An' Miss Peintdexter fust, too! By the ji‘lfinpln’ Geehosofat‘ what a gin-l she air sure eiiufi ey must both ‘a Jumped afore the stellynn war shot, else they kedn’t 9. got at it. Thur‘s no other place whar a boss ked go over. Geeroozaleml wa‘n‘t it cunnin’ o‘ the mows or to throw the stud in his tracks, jest in the very up? Zfogithlnk that he. and my cousin crossed diam to- ge er ‘ “ Not adzackly thegithei',” explained Zeb, without suspecting the motive of the inten'ogatory. “AsI‘vo sayed, Spotty went fust. You see the critter’s traclm yopner an t‘other side?" 0. ‘ “Wal—don‘t ye see they are kivered wi’ them 0' the mowstanger's hoss i" “ True—true. " “As for the stellyuns, thtiy hain’t t over—ne‘er a one 0’ the hul cavayard. kin see ow it hez been. The oun fellur uiied up on lié‘other side, an‘ sent a buiie bac inter t is brute s kar idge. closin’ the go. ahint him; an" the pursooers seein‘ it shet, guv up t e chose, an’ scampered ofl.’ in a different dlfglckZ-lfillllg.v Thur‘s the way they hev gone—up the side 0 e ' “They may have crossed at some other place, and was? “3° “with t u . .f .1. ~ eyu,e evenmeoooree ked ‘t back hyur—yilve up, an' five backgag‘in. Not { bit 0 that, Mister Cal-boon. Ye needn‘t be uneezy ‘bout Miss Lewaze bein‘ (pursoood by them any further. Arter the jump, she's ru oi! along wi' the mowsianger—botn on "em as quiet as a kn le 0’ lambs. Thur wa‘n‘t no danger then; an‘ by_t s time, the oughter be dog: goned well on torst reJeinin’ the poop as stayed by tho, purvision wagon." “'Come oni" cried Calhou exhibiting as much im- patience as when he believ his cousin to be in serious peril._ “Come on, Mr. Stump! Let us get back in Sp‘e (2:11le asfpotaq g) 16 l“ l “ i d Zeb pem tting _"osoas'you eeze, reone i himself to slide leisure: out 0 his saddlli. and then drawmg his knife from ts sheath. “I‘ll only want yl to wait for a matter 0’ ten minutes or thereof) '12.." “Wait! For what?“ geevishly in aired Cdggun. ' *‘ Till I kin strip the ide of! o‘ 's by“: sorrel. It appear! to be a skin 0‘ the fust illualeriy; an’ ‘ fetch a five—dollar bill in the sett emenufi' F—i bills ain't picked up eve do. on theseh 11-7 ' ran." “Confound the skinl ’ anygriiy eijamfitcgmthye lab" patient Southerner. “ Come on, an leave it." I s “ Ain‘t wgoln‘ to do any thin‘ o‘ the so upended Hie hunter. as he drew the sham ’Twar jest like ' ma, vmll: ' ~'-—v—=~—-—-w»-~.«- figmggwxme. . . .A V 37:3-.;.«;. . _... a...“ I..- _...__4 ' d ” jealousy that ur ed Cassius Calhoun to take that hasty guided him back to the trail of the manor a; and be- an himself, upon the same ath. Though he saw but their backs—and at a long 16 blade along the belly of tlic prostrate steed. “ You kin go on if 8 like, Mister Cal-boon; but Zeb Stump don't start till e packs the hide 0’ this hyur stellyun on the lzrupper 0‘ his old maar. That he don’t.” ' “Come Zeb; what's the use of talking about my go- ing back by myself? You know I can’t find my way?” “ That air like enough. I didn’t say ye ked.’ “ Look here, you obstinate old case! Time's precious to me just at this minute. It'll take you a full half- liour to skin the horse." “ Not, twenty minutes.” “ Well, say twenty minutes. Now twent minutes . :ure of more iin ortance to me than a five- ollar bill. You say that’s t e value of the skin? Leave it behind; and 1 agree to make good the amount.” “Wal—that air duriicd giii‘rous, I adinit—dng-goued gin‘rous. But I mussen except your ofi’er. It ‘ud be a mean trick 0‘ me—meaii enough for a. yeller-bellied Mexican—to take y’ur. money for sech a service as thet; the more so as I ain‘t no stranger to e, an’ my- self a-goin’ the same road. 0n the t‘otlyiier hand, I kan‘t afford to lose the flvc-dollars’ worth 0‘ boss-hide, which ‘u’d be rotten as punk—to say nuthin‘ 0‘ its bein‘ tored into skrecds by the buzzm‘ts and coyoats— store I mout find a chance to kum this way ag‘in.” “ ’Tis very provoking! What am I to do?" “You air in aliui'ry? Wal—I’m sorry to discommer— date ye. But—stay! Thur‘s no menu for y’ur waitiii‘ qn me. Thur‘s nuthin‘ to hinder ye from findiii‘ y’ur way to the wagon. Ye see the tree stannin‘ up against the inlay-line—the tall poplar yonner?" o. “ Wal, do you remember ever to hev see’d it afore? It air a queer-looking plant, appearin’ more like a church steeple than a tree.“ “ Yes—yes!” said Calhoun. “ Now you’ve pointed it out, I do remember it. We rode close past it while in pursuit of the wild mares?” “‘ You dud that very thing. An’ now, as ye know it what air to hinder you from i'idin‘ past it ag’in, an folleriii’ the trail 0’ the moors back’ard? That ’u‘d bring ye tn y’ur startin’ point; where, if I ain’t out 0’ my reck’iiin’ ye’ll find your cousin, Miss Peintdexter’, ,an‘ the hu! 0 y’ur arty, enjoying themselves wi’ that ‘cre French stuff 1; ey call shamgain. I hope they'll stick to it, and spare the Mononga ela—of which licker I shed like to hov a triflin’ suck arterI git back my- Calhoun had not waited for the wind-up of this char- acteristic speech. On the instant after reco izin the tree, he had struck the spins into the Si es 0 his chestnut, and gone oil! at a gallop, leavmg old Zeb at liberty to secure the coveted skin. “Geeroozalem!” ejaculated the hunter, glancing u and, noticing the quick, unceremonious departure. “ t don’t take much 0’ a head-piece to tell why he air in sech a durned hurry. I ain’t in self much guv torst guessin'; but, ifImn’t dog-gone ly mistaken, it air a elur case 0‘ jellacy on the trail !” I Zeb Stump was not astray in his conjecture. It was departure—bloc jealousy, that had first assumed sha e in a kindred spotr—in the midst of a charred prairie; that had been every day growing stronger from cir- cumstances observed, and others magined: that was now intensified so as to have become his prevailing passion. The presentation and taming of the spotted mustang; :he acceptance of that gift, characteristic of the giver, ind gratifying to the receiver, who had made no effort ;o conceal her gratification; these, and other circum- stances acting‘g‘pon the already excited fancy of Gas- sius Calhoun, conducted him to the belief that in gigging, the mustanger, he would find his most power- v . The inferior social position of the horse-hunter should have hindered him from having such belief, or even a suspicion. Perhaps it might have done so had he been less inti- mately acquainted with the character of Louise Poin- dexter. But, knowing her as he did, associating with her from the hour of childhood—thoroughly under- standi her independence of spirit—the braverie of her disposit n bordering upon very recklessness-he could place no rehance on the mere idea. of gentility. With most women this may be depended upon as a barrier, if not to mes-alliance, at least to absolute impru- dence; but in the impure mind of Cassius Calhoun, while contemplating the probable conduct of his cousin, there was not even his feeble support to lean upon! Chafing at'the occurrences of the day—to him crook- inauspiciou ——he hurried back toward the spot where the picnic ad been held. The stee le-like tree yond that was no danger of strayii . He had on to return along the path already troddlegn by mm, 1y He rode at a rapid pace—faster than was relished by his now tired steed—stimulated by bitter thoughts, which for more than an hour were his sole companions -—their bitterness more keenly felt in the tranquil soli- tude that surrounded him. , He was but little consoled b a sight that promised other companionship—that o ' two cream on horse. back riding in advance and gomg in be same direction istauce ahead—there was no mistald the identity of either. They were the two inflduals t at had brought that bitterness upon his Bl) Like himself, the were returning upon the trail of the wild mares wh ch, when first seen, he had struck, arriving on t from a lateral path. Si 9 by side— thelr sadd es almost chafing against each other—to all appearance absorbed in a conversation of intense inter- est to both they saw not the solitary herseman ap- proaching them in a diagonal direction. Apparently less anxious than he to join the party of ic-nickers, the were advancing at a slow pace—the a little inc ning to the rear. eii- proximity to one another—their attitudes. in the saddle—their obvious inattention to outward objects— the snail-like pace at which the were prooeeding—these, along with one or two other 'ghter circumstances ob served b Calhoun, combined to make an impressmn on his min —or rather to strengthen one already made— that almost drove him mad. To gallop rapidly up, and rudely terminate the tale-a- lab, was but the natural instinct of the chivalric Smith- el'ner. In obedience to ithe spitefully plied the spur, and once more forced his jaded chestnut into an unwill— center. a few seconds, however. he slackened $.06. 35 if changing his determination. The sound of 5 horse 8 hoofs had not yet Wdl'd d the edicts of his-proximity— ‘701. i, The New York Library. though he was less than two hundred yards behind them! He could hear the silver tones of his cousin‘s voice bearing the better part of t ie conversation. How interesting it must be to both to have hindered them from perceiving his a proach! _ If he could but over near what they were sayin ? It seemed the most unpropitious place for p aying eavesdroppci'; and yet there might be a chance, . The seeming interest of the dialo e to the indiViduals engaged in it gave promise of sue i opportunity. The turf of the savanna was soft as velvet. The hoof gliding slowly over it gave forth not the slightest sound. . Calhoun was still too impatient to confine himself to a walk; but his; chestnut was accustomed to that gait, peculiar to the horse of the South-Western States—the ‘ ace "—and into this was he pressed. ith hoofs horizontally striking the award—elevated scarce an inch above the ground—he advanced swiftly and iioiselcssly; so nick withal that in a few scoonds he was close upon t e heels of the spotted mustang, and the red steed of the mustanger! . He was then checked to a pace corresponding to theirs; while his rider, leaning forward, listened With an eagerness that evinced some terrible determination. His attitude proclaimed him in the vein for Vitupera- tion of the rudest kind—ready with ribald tongue; or, if need be, with knife and pistol. His behavior dc ended on a ‘contingenCy—On what might be overhear ! States of America. If so, no Letheaii draught could ever efface from your memory the “ bar-room " of the hotel _or tavern in which you have had the unhappiness to s030urn. The counter extending longitudinally by the side; the shelved wall behind, with its rows of de- canters and bottles, containing liquors, of not only all the colors of the prism, but every possible combination of them; the elegant young fellow, standing or sliding between counter and shelves, ycleped “clerk "—(lun‘t call him a. “ bui-«kecperJ‘ or you ma get a decanter in your teeth—this elegant young gent eman, in blouse of lue cottonade, or white lhieii coat, or maybe in his shirt sleeves—the latter of finest linen and lace—ruffled, in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and fifty—this elegant young gentleman, who, in mixing your sherry cobbler, can look you straight in the face, talk to you of the politics of the day, while the ice, and the wine, and the water are passmg from glass to glass, like an iris sparkling behind his shoulders, or an aureole sur- rounding his perfumed head! Traveler through the Southern States of America! you cannot fail to remem- ber him. If so, my words will recall him, along with his sur- roundings—the saloon in which he is the presiding adu ministrator, with its shelves and colored decanters; its counter; its floor sprinkled with white sand, at times httei‘ed With cigar stumps, and the brown asterisks pro- duced by ewpectoration—its odor of uiusk, absinthe and lemon-peel, in which seem to luxuriate the black fly, the blue-bottle, and the sharp-tongued musketo. All these As chance, or fate, willed it, there was nothing. If : must be sharply outlined on the retina of your memory the two e uestrians were insensible to external sounds, their stee s wereuiot so absorbed. In a walk the chest- nut step ed heavil —the more so from beiii fatigued. His foot all reclaimed his proximity to the s arp ears, both of the lood-bay and spotted mustang; that simul- taneously flung up their heads, neighing as they did so. Calhoun was discovered. “ Ha! cousin Cash !” cried the young lady, betraying more of ilgue than surprise; ‘ you there? Where’s father an arry, and the rest of the eople?“ “Why do you ask that, Loo? I rec on you know as well as ." “ What! haven't you come out to meet us? And they too~ahl (your chestnut is all in a. sweat! He looks as if you he been riding 8. ion race—like ourselves?” ‘ Of course he has. I f0 lowed you from the first— in hopes of bein of some service to you." “ Indeed? I id not know that you were after us. Thank you, cousin! I’ve 'ust been so. ing thanks to this gallant gentleman, who so came a ter, and has been good enough to rescue both Luna and myself from a ver unpleasant dilemma—a dreadful danger I should rat er call it. Do you know that we‘ve been chased by is. dro?v’e of wild steeds, and had actually to ride for our ives ‘ “ I am aware of it.” " You saw the chase, then?" “ No. I only knew it by the tracks.” "The tracks! And were you able to tell by that?" “ Yes—thanks to the interpretation of Zeb Stump.” “ Oh! he was with you? But did you follow them to—to—how far did you follow them?” “ To a crevasse in the prairie. You leaped over it, Zeb said. Did you?" “ Luna did.” “With you on her back?" “ I wasn’t anywhere else! What a. question, cousin Cash! Where would you expect me to have been? Olin ‘ gto her tail? a! ha! ha!" “ id you leap it?" inquired the laugher, suddenly chawn t tone. “ Did you follow us any further?" “ o, 00. From t e crevasse I came direct here, thinking you had got back before me. That’s how I’ve chance to come up with you.” The answer a. peared to give satisfaction '“IAh! I’m g you’ve overtaken us. We’ve been riding slowl . Luna is so tired. Poor thing! I don’t know how shall ever get her back to the Leona." Since the moment of being joined by Calhoun, the mustanger had not spoken a word. However pleasant may have been his l'evious intercourse with the young Creole, he had relinquished it, without an apparent reluctance; and was now ridin silently in t e advance, as if by tacit understandin be ad returned to the per- formance of the part for w ch he had been originally intended. .For- all that, the eye of the ex-captain was bent bhghtingly upon him—at times in a demoniac glare— when he saw—or fancied—that another eye was turned adnnringly in the same direction. it long Journey performed by that trio of travelers might have led to a tragical termination. Such finale was prevented by the ap earance of the ic-nickers, who soon after surroun ed the returne runaway, drowning every other thought inthe chorus of their con- gratulations. CHAPTER XIX. is th b W's 3i” wumderth tecti - eem 0c 11 n u un epro on of Fort In efyhe #132ng the mostcons icuous building. s is but the normal condition 0 every Texas town—whether new or founded forty ears ago; and none are older exce t the sparse cities 0 Hispano- Mexican origin—w ere he ressz _aud convent took precedence, now surpassed y, and in some instances transformed into, the “tavern.” ‘ The Fort Inge establishment, though the largest in the place, was, nevertheless, neither very grand nor lmposin . Its exterior had but little pretense to arch. itectur style. It wesa structure of hewn logs, having for ground-Elan the letter T according to the grotesque alphabet—t eshank bein used for eating and sleep- lng rooms, while the he was a single apartment en- tirely devoted to drinking—smoking and expectorating included. This last was t e bar-room, or “ saloon.” The sign outside, swinging from the trunk of a post- Oaky that had been pollarded some ten feet above the ground, exhibited on both sides the likeness of a well- ‘nown military celebrity—the hero of that. uarter of the globe—General Zachary Taylor. It di not need lookiuglat the letterln beneath to ascertain the name of the otel. Under tie patronage of such a portrait it could only be called “ ROUGH AND READY." ' . There was a. touch of the apropos about this deSigna- tion. Outside things appeared re ‘3 enou h, while in- Side, especially if you entered byt e ‘ 0011,” there wuss. readiness to meet you halt-way, with a mint 31113 a sherry cobbler, a gin sling, or any other mixed (111 known to ti‘ans-Mississippian tipp ers, provided algvggglghat you were ready with the Wayunee to pay The saloon in question would not call for description, had you ever traveled in the southern or South-Western The hotelpr tavern, “ Rough and Ready," though dif- fering but little from other exan houses of entertain- ment, had some pomts in particular. Its proprietor, instead of being a speculative Yankee, was a German—— in this part of the world, as elsewhere, found to be the ‘ best purveyors of food. He kept his own bar; so that on entering the saloon, instead of the elegant young gentleman with the ruflicd shirt and odorous chevelure, your “liquor ” was mixed for you by a staid Teuton, who looked as sober as if he never tasted—notwith‘ standin the temptation of wholesale price—the deA licious rinks served out to his customers. Oberdotlei was the name he had imported with him from his fatherland; transfomied by his Texan customers to “ Old Duffer." There was one other peculiarity about the bar-room of the “ Rough and Ready," though it scarce deserved to be so desi nated, since it was not uncommon else- where. As a re stated, the building was shaped like a capital T; the sa con re resenting the head of the let- ter. The counter exten ed alon one side, that con- tiguous to the shank; while at eac end was a door that opened outward into the public square of the meipient eit . This arrangement had been designed to promote the circulation of the air—a matter of primary importance in an atmosphere where the thermometer for half the year stands at 90 in the shade. The hotels of Texas or the South-western States—I may say every part of the American Union—serve the double purpose of exchange and club-house. Indeed, it is ow n to the cheap accommodation thus afforded-— often of t e most convenient kind—that the latter can scarce be said to exist. . Even in the larger cities of the Atlantic States the “club” is by no means a necessity. The moderate charges of the hotels, along with their excellent cuioine and elegant accommodations circumsci-i'be the pros- perity of this institution, whic in America is, and ever must be, an unhealthy exotic. The remark is still more true of the Southern and South-westem cities, where the “saloon ” and “bar- room ” are the chief places of resort and rendezvous. The company, too, is there of a more miscellaneous character. The proud pla r does not disdain—Tier he does not dare—to drink in the. same room With the “ our white trash,” often as proud as himself. There is no peasant in that part of the world—least of all in the state called Texas; and in the saloon of “Rough and Ready" might often be seen assembled re resentatives of every class and calling to be met w th among the settlements. ,Perhaps not upon any occasion since “Old Dufler" had hung out the sign of his tavern, was he favored with a larger company, or served more customers across his counter than upon that night, after the re- turn of the horse-hunting party to Fort Inge. With the exception 0 the ladies, almost every one who had taken part in the ex edition seemed to think that a half-hour spent at the “ ough and Ready ” was necessary as a “ night-cap " before retiring to rest' and as the Dutch clock guaiiitly ticking among the {0 ored decanters, indicate the hour of eleven, one 3 er an» other—officers of the fort—planters livmg near along the river—sutlers—commissariat contractors— s cm- men "—and others who‘might be called nondescripts— came dropping in; each as he entered ' him-clung straight up to the counter, calling for his. favorite drink, and then falling back to converse Wit some group already occupying the floor.' ' One of these groups was conspicuous. It conSisted of some eight or ten individuals, half of them mum. form. Amo the latter were the three officers y introduced; t e captain of infantry, and the two lieu- tenants—Hancock of the dragoons, and Crossman of the mounted rifles. Along with these was an .offlcer older than any of them, also higher in authority, as could be told b the embroidery on his shoulder-strap, that proclaime him of the rank of major. As he was the only “fleld~offl- oer “ at Fort Inge, it is unnecessary to say that he was the commandant of the cantonment. These gentlemen were conversing as freely as if all were subaltcrns of e ual rank—the subject of the dis- course bein the inci cuts of the day. “Now te us major!" said Hancock: “you must know. Where did the girl gallop to!" “ How should I know?” ansWered the officer‘appealcd to. “Ask her cousin, Mr. Cassius Calhoun." “ We have asked him but without getting any satis- faction. It’s clear he nows no more than we. He only met them on the return—and not very far from the place where we had our bivouac. They were gone a precious long time; and, judging from the sweat of heir horses they must have had a hard- ride of it. They m‘ ht have been to the Rio Grande, for that mat. ter and yond it.“ , ‘ Did you notice Calhoun as he came back i” inquired the cagt‘ain of infantry. “ There was a scowl upon his face t t betokened some very unpleasant emotion. within‘his mind, I should say.” .. H “He did look rather unhappy,"re lied the Lab—113 surely, Captain Sloman, you 4 ‘t . . R _‘ | Nos. 8-9. A ‘ “ Jealousy. I do and nothing else." “What! of Maurice the mustanger? Poh—poh! im- possible—at least very improbable." “ And why, major?” “My dear Sloman, Louise Poindexter is a lady, and Maurice ticrnld—" “Might be a gentleman, for aught that is known to the contrary.‘ “ I’shaw! ’ scornfully exclaimed Crossman‘ “a trader LI; horses! The major is right—the things impossi- 6. “Ah, gentlemen!" pursued the omcer of infantry, with n. significant shake of his head. “ You don’t know Miss Poindcxter so well as I. An eccentric oung lady —to say thcleast of it. You may have alrea y observed lh'lt for yourselves." _ “ Como come, Sloman !" said the major in a banterlug way; “you are inclined to be talking scandal, I fear. That would he a scandal. Perhapsgsou are yourself in- teresz in Miss Poindexter, notw1t tandm your pre- tensions to be considered 3. Joseph? Now, could un- derstand your being jealous if it were handsome Han- cock here or Crossman—supposin him to be discu- gaged. But as for a mustangerfpo —poh i" “ He‘s an Irishman, major, this mustanger; and if he be what I have some reason to suspect—’ “ Whatever he be " interrupted the major, cast! 0 a. side glance toward the door, ‘he’s there to answer or himself; and as he’s asufficientl plain-spoken fellow, you may learn from him all 9. out the matter that seems to he of so much interest to you." “I don't think you Will," muttered Sloman, as Han- cock and two or hreo others turned toward the new- comer, with the design of carrying out the major's suggestion. iently advancing across the sanded floor, the mus- tanger had taken his stand at an unoccupied space in front of the counter. “ A glass of whisky and water if you please," was {helmodost request with which he saluted the land- ort. “ Visky and vachteri“ echoed the latter, without an show of eagerness to wait u on his new guest. "' a woe, visky and vachterl t is two pickayunsh the glass!" “I was not igguiring the rice," re lied the runs- tanger. “Iask tobeserv with,a gfiass of whisky and water. Have you got an '1’” “ Yesh—yesh,“ responded he German, rendered ob- uious by the char rejoinder. “ Plenty—plenty of via and vachter. ere it ish.” rile his simple potation was being served out to him, Maurice received nods of recognition from the officers returning them with a free, but modest air. Most 0 them knew him personally, on account of his business relations with the fort. They were on the eve of interrogating him—as the ma'or had suggested—when the e trance of still another individual caused them to sus 11 their design. The new-comer was Cassius alhoun. In his presence it would scarce have been delicacy to investigate the subject any further. Advancing with his customary swagger toward the mixed group of militar men and c vilians, Calhoun saluted them as one w 0 had spent the day in their company, and had been absent on y for a short inter- val. If not absolutely intoxicated, it could be seen that the cx-offlcer of volunteers was under the influence of drink. The unsteady‘ sparkle of his eyes the unnatural pallor upon his fore cad—still further clouded by two or three tossed tresses that fell over it—mth the some- what grotesque sot of his forage cap—told that he had been taking wine beyond the limits of wisdom. “Come, gentlemen!" cried he, addressing himself to the major’s party, at the same time stepplnlg u to the counter, “let‘s hit the wagon a crack, or o (1 under- and-blltzen behind the bar will say we're wasting his lights. Drinks all round! What say you?" “ —agreedi” replied several voices. “ You, major?“ “ With pleasure Captain Calhoun." According to un versal custom, the intended imbibers fall into line along the counter, each calling out the name of the drink most to his liking at the moment. Of these were ordered as many inds as there were undividuals in the party; Calhoun himself shouting out .-“Brown she for me;" and immediately adding—- "with a dash of itters.“ “ Prandy und itters, you calls for, Mishter Calhoun i" said the landlor as he leaned obsequlously across the counter toward the reputed partner of an extensive es- tate. “Certainly 1you stupid Dutchman! I said brown sherr , didn’t l" “ A I rights, mein herr; all r! hts! randy and pltters —prandy and pitters," repeat the erman Boniface, as he hastened to place the decanter before his ill-man- nered guest. , With the in e accession of the major 5 party, to several others :fi-eady in the act of imbibing, t e whole front of the long counter became occupied—with scarce an inch to s are. _ A parent y by accident—thou h it may have been ties gn on the part of Calhoun— 1e was the outermost man on the extreme right of those who had responded to his invitation. This brought him in juxtaposition with Maurice Ger- ald, who alone—as regarded boon compamonshi ' was uletly drinking his whisky and water, and smo mg a or 6 had just lighted. e two were bac toback—neither having taken any notice of the other. :lAtetoastl" cried Calhoun, taking his glass from the c u l r. “ Let us have it!" responded several voices. " America for Americans, and confusion to all foreign interlopers—especiall the d—d Irish !" On delivering the o noxious sentiment, he staggered back a pace; which brou ht his body in contact with Hint of the musta er—a the moment standing with [:10 glass raised to gigs h‘ s. _ r The collision caused t e spilling of a portion of the {dusky and water; which fell over the mustanger‘s roast. Was it an accident? No one believed it was, even for a moment. Accom led by such a sentiment, the act coultll only have been an aflront mtended and premecu. tatei . All present efipccted to see the insulted man spring instantly upon 5 insulter. The were disappointed as well as surprised at the manner which the m r seemed to take it. There were some who even fan ed he was about to submit to it. “If he .doec," w Hancock in Sioman‘s ear, '4 he on: at to be kicked out of the room." ' i The Headless Horseman_.- “Don‘t you be alarmed about that," responder: one infantry officer, in the same ratio race. “ You‘ll find it diil’ereut. I’m not given to betting, as you knOW' but I‘d lay a month’s pay u on it the mustanger don‘t back out; and another that 1'. Cassius Calhoun will find an ugly customer to deal with, although 'ust now he seems more concerned about his fine shirt, t an the insult put u on him. 0le dcvil he is!” Vhilc this whis ering was being carried on, the man to whom it relate was still standin by the bar—to use a. hackneyed phrase—“the observe 0 all observers.“ Having deposited his glass upon the counter, he had drawn a silk handkerchief from his pocket and was wiping from his embroidered shirt-bosom the defile- mcnt of the spilt whisky. There was an imperturbable coolness about the action, scarce compatible With the idea of cowardice; and those who had doubted him perceived that they had made a mistake and that there was something to come. In silence the awaited the develo ment. They ha not long to .wait. 8 whole affair—specu- lations and whispenngs included—(lid not occupy twenty seconds of time; and then did the action proceed, or the speech which was like to usher it in. “1am an Irishman, ’ said the mustanger, as he re- turned the handkerchief to the place from which he had taken it. Simple as the re 'oinder may have appeared, and long delayed as it had been there was no one resent who mistook its meanin . If the hunter of wil horses had tweaked the nose 0 Cassxus Calhoun, it would not have added em basis to that acce )tance of his challen 9. Its simplicity but proclaimed t l8 serious dcterminat on of the acceptor. "You?" scornfullyretorted Calhoun, turning round, and standing with us arms akimbo. “Your' he con- tinued, with his eye measuring the mustanger from head to foot “ you an Irishman? Great God, sir, I should never have thought so! I should have taken you for a. Mexican, jud in y your rig, and the elaborate stitching of your s iirt. “ I can‘t perceive how my rig should concern you, Mr. Cassius Calhoun; and as you’ve done my shirt no service by spilhng half my hquor upon it, I shall take the liberty of unstarclnng yours in a similar fashion." So saying, the mustanger took up his glass- and be- fore the ex-ca tam of volunteers could duck his head, or get out of t e wa ,' the remains of the Mono ahela were “swilled " into is face, sending him off in nfit of alternate sneezmg and coughing that appeared to afford satisfaction to more than a majority of the by- stan ers. The. murmur of approbation was soon suppressed. The circumstances were not such as to call for speech; and the exclninations that accom anied the not were succeeded by a hush of silence. A 1 saw that the quar- rel could not be otherwise than a serious one. The af- fair must end in a light. No power on earth could pre- vent it from coming to that conclusion. CHAPTER XX. AN unsur. memos. On receiving the alcoholic douche, Calhoun had clutched his six-shooter, and drawn it from its holster. He only waited to at the whisky out of his eyes before advancing on his versary. The mustanger, anticipating this action, had armed n himself with a similar wen n, and stood to re- turn the fire of his antago t—shot for shot. The more timid of the 3 this had com- menced making their esca. out of doors; tumbl over one another in their to toget out of harms few others, of cooler courage, from choice; or, perhaps, actuated by a more astute instinct, which told them gambin fittempting to escape they might get a bullet in e we '. There was an interval—some six seconds—of silence, during which a pin ml ht have been heard falling upon the floor. It was but t einterlude that often occurs be- tween resolution and action; when the mind has com- pleted its task, and the body has yet to begin. It might have been more brief with other actors on the scene. Two ordina? men would have blazed away at once, and without re ection. But the two now con- fronting each other were not of the common kind. Both had seen street fighting before, had taken part in it, and knew the disadvantage of an idle shot. Each was determined to take sure aim on the other. It was this that prolonged the interval of inaction. To those outside, who dared not even look throu h the doors, the suspense was almost painful. e c - ing of the pistols, which they expected every moment to hear, would have been a. relief. It was almost a dis- appointment when, instecd, they heard the voice of the major-who was amon the few who had staid inside— ralsed in a loud, autho ve tone. “ Hold !" commanded in the accent of one accus- tomed to be obeyed, at the same time whisk his saber out of its scabbard, and interposing its long 8 between the dis utants. “ Hold your Ere—I command you both. Drop our muzzles; or by the Almighty I‘ll take the arm 0 the first of you that touches trigger! Hold 1" “ Why l" shouted Calhoun, urple with dug as- sion. ' Why, Major 7 After an t ke that and from a fellow— “ on were the first to offer it, Captain Calhoun." “D—n me ifI care! I shall be thelast to let it pass unpunlshed. Stand out of the we , major. The quar- ours— on have no righ to interfere l" rel is not “Ind 1 Ha! a! Sloman! Hancock! Crossmani hear that? I have no right to interfere! Hark ye, Mr. Cassius Calhoun, ear-captain of volunteers! Know on where you are, sir? Don't fan yourself in the S to of Mississippi—among your ve-whi ing chivalry. This sir, is a military under in tary law—my humble self its present tor. I therefore com- mand on to return your six-shooter to the holster fromw ch on have taken it. This instant too or ou shall go he guard-house, like the humblect sol er n the cantonment 1" “Indeed!” sneerlngly ragged the Mississippi“. “Whatanne country on in d Texas to become. I an a man mustn' ht, however much ev without first obtaining a cease from Major cod Is that to be the law of the land?" “ Not a bit of it," retorted the major. “ I’m not the man—never was—to stand in the way of the honest ad- justment of a quarrel. You shal- l be you and your antagonist—to kill one another, if it no lease on. But not Just now. You must percdva fir. nun, dict your sport endangers the lich lother people, w 0 have not the Bbxbtect intern-tin it. \ I quite at liberty— tim Wait till the rest of us can withdraw to a safe distance: and you mu y crack away to your heart‘s content. Now, sir, will that be agreeable to you?" Had the ma or been a man of ordinary character his commands in ht have been disregarded. But to his official weight, as chief officer of the post, was added a certain reverence due to seniority in e-along with respect for one who was himself known wield a wen.- pon with dangerous skill, and who allowed no trifling with his authority. His saber had not been unsheathed by way of empty gesticulation. The disputants knew i - and by simu v aneous consent lowered the muzzlec 0 their pistols— stlll holding them in hand. Calhoun stood, with sullen brow firming his teeth, like a beast of prey momen ‘ wi old from making attack upon its victim; while 1 e mustangcr appeared to take things as coolly as if neither angry, nor an Irishman. ‘ “ I suppose you are determined upon fightin 7" said the major, knowing that there was not much 00 of adjusting the quarrel. ‘ I have no particular wish for it " modestly respond ed Maurice. ‘If Mr. Calhoun w' apologize for what he has said, and also what he has done—‘ “ He ought to do it; he began the quarrel 1” suggested several of the bystanders. “Never!“scornfullyres ndedtheex-ca taln. “Cash Calhoun ain‘t accustome tothat sort of hin . A l- ogize indeed! And to a masquerading mon ey e that!“ “Enough!” cried the young Irishman, for the first time showing serious anger; I ave him a chance for his life. He refuses to accept Mother of God we don’t bot leave this room alive! Major, I insist hat you and your friends withdraw. can stand his insolence no ion er!“ “ Ha—ha—ha!" res nded egalhoun, with a yell of de‘ rislve laughter, “a c ance for my hfe. out, all of yea—clear out and let me at him!" ‘ Sta 1” cri upon t e duclist. “ It’s not quite safe. You may fancy to begin your game of touch-trigger a second too soon. We must at out of doors before you do. Becid en- tiemen!“ e continued, addressing himself to one Around him, “there should be some system about this. the acce ted the propose . I filialthig' :11; you can object?" continued the major, 11 rr 3. v . “I :Ea’n‘t ob act to anything that‘s fair,“ accented the Irishman—‘ devil a bit!” ' “I shall ht with the weapon I hold in my hand." d doc cred Calhoun. ‘ l the very weapon for mol" was the rejoin- der 0 his adversary. “I see you both carry Colt‘s six-shooter No 2," said the major, scanning the pistols held in hand. " So far all lilfhtl you‘re armed exactly alike." “ ave they any other weapons?" inquired. oung Hancock, suspecting that under the cover of 1: coat the ex-captain had a knife. “I have none," answered the mustanger with a franknm can that left no doubt as to his speaking the tru . Alla ecwercturnedu nCnlhoun,whon peuedto hesitatg about making :0 reply He saw hcpmust de- clare himself "or course," he said, “ I have my toothpick as well. You don't want me to give up that? A man ought to we . Ay few stayed'in the room from sheer irrcsolution; n be allo ed w to use whatever weapon he has “ But, Captain Calhou " pursued Hancock, “your adversary has no knife. uyou are not afraid to meet him on 1131 terms you sho d surrender yours." “ Certa nly he should surrender!" cried several bystanders. “He must! He must !" mgmmgifihcghou L‘bsaidug; major, in a with»: . 0 on so ransom man; without havin recourse to steeLanEefore you finish drip , one or e other of you—“ his coat. Then drawing forth the proscribed weupo til 1: to the furthest corner of the saloon, be ad ed, in a tone of brav o, intending to incownrdlcc his adv “I shn‘n’tw at it for such a npangled wgbgdegrihat. I‘ll fetch him out of his home at the rs o . “ Time enough to talk when you've done something to justify it. Cry boh! to a goose; but don‘t fancy our big words are olng to frighten me, Mr. Calhoun! finick, gentlemen! ‘m impatient to put on end to his and phem !” “ Hound!" franti hissed out the chivalroul Southerner. “Low d of an Irish dam! I'll send you howling to your kennel I’IF" “Shame, Ca tain Calhoun!” interru the unpolite in the resence of Willa company. Have patience a mllnute lon r; then you m3 3 what you like. Now, gen on!“ he continu , - than is only ng himself to themsugounding, “ mm enga’ge not a) begin fining an we have got outegf their way ‘ one more A difficul here pummel itself. Haw‘m the en- ggement tgy be given? A single promise would Icuoc sufficient in a crisis like tha l The combatants— gggtpffltlficm tat least—would not be ovmupulous u e o ailing . “There mugt be :"BBEM." pursued the major. “Neither should fire till at be given. Gummy one an gent what it is to be?“ . 5 think I can " said the nlet captain Slomnn, ad- vancing ache spoke. “Let c gen omen outside along with us. see no difference between t em. them enter again—one at each door, with the under mailing neither is to fire before setting motocross e renho .' , “ ital! the very thing!" re lied several voices. "Ag‘dwhat for a signal ’ dem’hnded the major“ “A 0t? . “ No. Ring the taven: bell!" "Notth could be better—nothing fairer” omin- pi waiver: ,.' . , r_ t; and now, by the . the major, hesitating to turn his back i If the are to fight, let it be falr for both sides. Let them armed ike and go at it on the square!" ' “B all means!” chorused the half-score of specta- tors, rning their eyes tovivard the disputantc, to can if I and n the knife!" interrupted Calhoun, unbuttonlng > n, med r. seconded byo her voices. “This talk is idle, not in . . cl declared the or of'thodoon ain‘t ogOtVnrd mag, t‘hfor 0nd ‘ . ' Main major ’ scream Commons. ruchin ontnfmm behind his buzewhera' Ila-1,0 fill a had been stun transfixed ‘lool'. “ Goth-cu the ahenfiemenl pe not ,Ihoot gegyNMo inside the shalom! Ach tiles and In chplendid loo lashes. clock.thnt {an Mnemoth they'l t '18 drcd dollars. They'll shpill my pesht liquors—och! Major! it’ll ruin me—mein Gott—it will!" “ Never fear, Oberdofier!" rejoined. the major, paus- ing to reply. ‘ No doubt you’ll be pend for the damage. At all event you had better beta 'e yourself to some place of safety. If you stay in our saloon, you’ll stand a and chance of getting a ullet through your body, am that would be worse than the preaking of your ottles." , Wit out further parley the major parted from the unfortunate landlord and burned across the threshold into the street, whither the combatants, who had gone out b so iii-ate doors, had already preceded him. “Od offer," left standing in the middle of his sanded floor, did not remain long in that perilous po- sition. In six seconds after the major‘s coat-tail had disappfiai-ed through the outer door, an inner one closed u on 's own skirts; and the bar-room, with its cam- p ene lamps its sparkling decanters, and its costly mirrors, was left in untenanted silence—no other sound being heard save the ticking of its crystal clock. CHAPTER XE. A DUEL wrrsnv noose. , ONCE outside, the major took no further part in the aflair. As the commanding omcer of the post, it would have been out of place for him to have given encourage- ment to a fight—even b his interfering to see that it should be a fair one. T ’s, however, was attended to by the younger officers, who at once set about arrang- ing the conditions of the duel. There was not much time consumed. The terms had been expressed already; and it only remained to ap- point some one of the party to superintend the ringing of the bell, which was to be the signal for the combat to commence. This was an easy matter, since it made no difference who might be intrusted with the duty. A child ' ht have sounded the summons for the terrible conflictt at was to follow. A stranger, chancng at that moment to ride into the rude s unre of which the hotel “ Rough and Read " form nearly a side, would have been sorely puzzle to comprehend what was to come to pass. The night was rather dark, though there was still light enough to make known the presence of a conglomeration of human beings, assembled in the proximity of the hotel. Most were in the military garb; snice in addition to the officers who had lately figured inside the saloon, others, along with such soldiers as Were permitted to pass the .ientries, had hastened down from the fort on receiving intelligence that something unusual was gonig on with- in the “ square." Women, too, but scantily robed— soldiers‘ wives. washerwomen, and “ senoritas " of more questionable calling—had found their way into the street, and were endeavorng to extract from those who forestalled them an explanation of thefracaa The conversation was carried on in low tones. It was known that the commandant of the post was present, as well as others in authority; and this checked any ,ropensity there might have been for nOisy demonstra- ion. The crowd thus promiscuously collected, was not in close proximity wit 1 the hotel; but standing well out in the o n ground about a dozen yards from the build- ing. oward it, however, the eyes of all were directed, w th that steady stare which tel s of the attention being fixed on some engrossing spectacle. They were watch lng the movements of two men whose pOSitions were apart—one at each end of the heavy blockhouse, known to be the bar-room of the hotel; and where, as already stated, there was a door. Tho h separated by the interposition of two thick log w s, mutually invisible, these men were maneuver- ing as if actuated by a common impulse. They stood contiguous to the entrance doors, at ogflposite ends of the bar-room, throu 11 both of which red the light of the camphene amps—falling in road divergent baudsu n the rough gravel outside. Neither was in front 0 the contl ous entrance; but a little to one side, just clear of he light. Neither was in an upright attitude, but crouching—not as if from fear, but like a runner about to make a start, and straining upon the sprin . Boti were looking inward—into the saloon, where no sound could be heard save the tithing of a clock. Their attitudes told of their readiness, to enter it. and that the were only restrained by waiting for some precon- ce ed si nal. That t eir purpose was a serious one could be de- duced from several circumstances. Both were in their shirtsleeves, hatless, and stripped of eve rag that might form an impediment to action; wh le on their faces was the stamp of stern determination—~alike legi- ole in the attitudes they assumed. But there was no fine reflection needed to discover their design. The stranger, chancin to come into the s uare, could have seen at a lance t t it was deadly. e pistols in their hands, eoc 'ed and tightly clutched, the nervous energy of their attitudes; the silence of the crowd of specta rs; and the concentrated interest with which the two men were regarded, proclaimed more em hatically than words that there was danger 'n what t ey were doing—in short, that they were en- gaged in some sort of a strife, with death for its proba- le consummation! , , So it was at the moment when the crisis had come. The duelists stood, each with eye intent upon the door by which he was to enter—perhaps into eternity! They only waited for a signal to cross the threshold; and en- gage iu a combat that must terminate the existence of one or the other—perhaps both. t Werfle they listening for that fatal formularyz—One— wo— re No“ Another signal had been agreed upon; and it was given. _ . A stentorian voice was heard calling out the Simple mgfisylllable: Three or four dark figures could be seen standing by he shorn trunk on which swung the tavern-bell. The 1 r)inmand instantly set them in motion; and, along With the oscillation of their arms—dimly seen through the darkness—could be heard the sonorous tones of a bell, whose sounds had been hitherto heard only as s bole of joy—calhng men together to partake of the. which per tuates life—was now listened to as a summons of (lea ! The “ ringing in " was of short duration. The bell had made less than a score of vibrations, when the men engaged at the rope saw that their services were no long- er required. The disap earance of the duelists, who had rushed inside_the_s oon, the quick, shar crackin of pistols; the shivering of broken glass, a momsh the ringers that theirs was but a superfluous noise; and The New York Library. dropping the rope, they stood, like the rest of the crowd, hstening to the conflict inside. No eyes—save those of the combatants themselves— were witnesses to that stran o duel. At the first dong of the be 1 both combatants had re- entered the room. Neither made an attempt to skulk outside. To have done so would have been a ruin to reputation. A hundred eyes were upon them; and the spectators understood the conditions of the duel—that neither was to fire before crossing the threshold. Once inside, the conflict commenced, the first shots filling the room with smoke. Both kept their feet, though both were wounded—their blood Spurting out ovor the sanded floor. The second shots were also fired simultaneously, but at random, the smoke hindering the aim. Then came a single shot, quickly followed by another, and succeeded by an interval of quiet. Previous to this the combatants had been heard rush— ing about through the room. This noise was no longer being made. Instead there was profound silence. Had they killed one another? Were both dead? No! Once more the double detonation announced that both still lived. The suspension had been caused as they stood eering through the smoke in the endeavor to disti ish one another. Neither spoke or stirred in fear of etraying his position. . Again there was a eriod of tranquillity similar to the former, but more pro onged. It ended by another exchange of shots, almost in- stantly succeeded by the falling of two heavy bodies u on the floor. here was the sound of sprawling—the overturning of chairs ‘ then a single shot-the eleventh—and this was the last that was fired! The spectators outside saw only a cloud of sul hurous smoke oozin out of both doors, and dimming e light of the camp ene lamps. But the ear-that was gratified b a greater variety. There were heard shots—after the ell had become si- lent, other sounds; the sharp shivering of broken glass the duller crash of falling furniture, rudely overturn in earnest struggle—the trampling of feet upon the boarded floor—at intervals the clear ringmg crack of the revolvers; but neither of the voices o the men whose insensate passions were the cause of all this commotion! The crowd in the street heard the confused noises. and noted the intervals of silence, without being ex— actly able to interpret them. The reports of the pistols were all the had to proclaim the progress of the duel. Eleven had en counted; and in breathless silence they were listening for the twelfth. Instead of a pistol report their ears were atifled by the sound of a voice, recognized as that o the mus- tangvgr. “ y pistol is at your head! I have one shot left— make an apology, or die 1" By this time the crowd had become convinced that the light was approaching its termination. Some of the more fearless looking in, beheld a strange scene. They saw two men lyin prostrate on the plank floor; both with blood-stained a iliments, both evidently dis- abled; the white sand around them reddened with their gore, tracked with tortuous trails, where they had crawled closer to get a last shot at each other—one of them, in scarlet scarf and slashed velvet trowsers sli htl surmounting the other, and holdiu a ]pistol to is end that threatened to deprive him of is ife. Such was the tableau that presented itself to the spectators, as the sulphurous smoke, drifted out by the current between the two doors, gave them a chance of disti ishing objects within the saloon. At t e same instant a. diflerent voice from that which had already s oken. 1It was that of Calhoun—no longer in roistering ravado, but in low whining accents, al- most a whisper: “ Enough, d—n it! Drop your shoot- ing-iron—I apologize.” CHAPTER XXII. AN UNKNOWN DONOR. IN Texas a duel is not even a nine days‘ wonder, It often ceases to be talked about by the end of the third day; and, at the expiration of a week, is no longer thought of except by the rlncipals themselves, or their immediate friends and re aLives: This is so, even when the parties are well known and of res ectable standing in society. When the duelists areo humble osition—or as is often the case, stran- gelars in the pace—a s' ie day may suffice to doom eir achievement to ob 'vion‘ to well only in the memory of the combatant who has survived it—oftener one than both—and erha 3 some ill-starred s ectator, who has been bored y a ullet, or received 6 slash of a knife, not designed for him. More than once have I been witness to a “street flght"—improvised upon the pavement, where some innocuous citizen, sauntering carelessly along, has be- come the victim-even unto death—of this irregular method of seeking “ satisfaction. . I have never heard of any punishment awarded, or damages demanded, in such cases. _The are regarded as belon in to the ‘chapter of acciden i ThOug assius Calhoun and Maurice Gerald were both comparatively strangers in the settlement—the latter being only seen on occasional Visits to the fore. the aflair betwen them caused something more than the usual interest; and was talkw about for the full period of the nine days. The character of the former as a noted bully, and that of the latter as a man of sin- Egarhabitud ave to their duello a certain sort of ' tinction- an he merits and demerits of the two men were freely discussed for days after the affair had taken place—nowhere with more earnestness than upon the spot where they had shed each other 3 ,blood—in the bar-room of the hotel. The conqueror had ained credit and friends. There were few who favor his adversary; and not a few Who were gratified at the result: for, short as had been the time since Calhoun's arrival, there was more than one saloon lounger who had felt the smart of his inso- lence. For this it ed the 01111 Irishman had was presum Y most my administered a cure; and there was satisfaction at the result. How the ell-captain carried his discomflture no one could tell. He was no longer to be seen swaggeflng 1'1 the saloon of the “Rough and Ready'” though the cause of his absence was well understood. It was not chagrin, but his couch; to which he was confined by wounds,_that if not skillfully treated, might consign him to his coffin. Maurice was in like manner compelled to stay within doors. The injuries he had received, though not so severe as those of his antagonist, were nevertheless of such a character as to make it necessa for him to keep to his chamber—a. small and scant y furnished bedroom m “Old Dufler‘s” hotel; where, notwith- standing the eclat derived from his conquest, he was somewhat scurvilv treated. In the hour of his trium h he fainted from loss 01 blood. He could not be ta en elsewhere: though, in the shabb apartment to which he had been consigned, he might ave thought of the luxurious care that sur~ rounded the couch of his wounded ant onist. Fortu. nater Phelim was by his side, or he in ght have been still worse attended to. “Be Saint Pathricki it‘s a shame,” half-soliloquized this faithful follower. “ A burnin‘ shame to squeeze a gintleman into a hole like this, not bigger than a pig- stoy! A gintleman like on, Masther Maurice. An‘ thin sucha in' and drink ‘. Och! a well fed 011:5 pi w‘u’d um 11 its nose at such traytment. w t div yez th k I’ve heard Owld Dufl'er talkii" about below i“ “I haven‘t the slightest idea, my dear Phelim' nor do I care a straw to know what on ve heard Mr. Ober- doi‘fer saying below; but if you on’t want him to hear what on are saying above you’ll moderate your voice a lit 9. Remember, ma ball”, that the partitions in thislplace are only lath and plaster." I ivil take the artitions; and divil burn them, av he IOIkeB. ’ Ay ez on’t care fur fw‘at’s sed, I don t care fur fw ats eeurd—not the snappin’ av me tin era. The Dutchman can’t trate us any worse than he’s eon dom already. For all that, Mast er Maurice, I thought it bist to lit you know." “Let me know, then. What is it he has been say- mg?" ! Will, thin, I heerd him tellin‘ wan uv his crane that besoides the mate an” the dhrink, an’ the waslzi'n’ nn' lodgin‘, he intinded to make you pay for the bottles, an' glasses, an’ other things, that was broke on the night av the shindy." “ Me pay? “Yis, erself, Masther Maurice; an‘ not a pinny char ed the Yankee. Now I call that downright rasc mane; an‘ nobod but a dhirty Dutchman w‘u’d ver hev thought avi . Av there be any thin’ to pay, the man that‘s bate should be made to showlder he damage an’ that wasn’t a discindant av the owld Geralds av fiaflgballagh. Hoo—hooch! w’u‘dn't I loiko to shake a shay alah about Duffer‘s head for the mat- ther of two minutes? W‘u'dn‘t I?“ “What reason did he ive for saying thatI should pay? Did you hear him ate any?“ ‘ I did, masther~the dhirtiest av all raisuns. He s'id that ]you were the bird in the hand; and he w‘u’d kape ye ti yez sittled the score.” “ He’ll find himself slightly mistaken about that; and would perhaps do bett r by presenting his bill to the bird in the bush. I be willing to pa for half the damage done; but no ore. You ma te him so, if he speaks to on abouti And, in trut , Phelim, I don't know how am to do even that.~ There must have been a good many breakages. I remember: ood deal of jingling while we were at it. If I don‘t in stake, there tfileskgflffri'ashed mirror, or clock-dial, or something of e .‘ “ A big lookln’-giass, master an’ a c std! som n' that was set over the clock. ,They a? two hueiigjred dollars. I don’t belave they were wo wan half av the inoney." It i ‘ ven so, s a serious matter to me— et at this crisis. I fear, Phelim you will have to mak’gla journey to the Alamo, and fetch away some of the household ods we have hidden there. 0 get clear of this scrape shall have to sacrifice my spurs, my silver cup, and, perhaps, my gun!" “ Don‘trs’ay that, masther! How arewe to live, if the goes “As we best can,ma bohtl. On horseflesh, I suppose; and the lazo will supply that.“ _ “lge '3. rs, sits wa'lfl dn’t be iptugi worse thlim the mate ow u or ore us. ves me 1. e bellyach iverrhy time I ate git.“ h in e e converse. on was ere terru ted b the o n- ing of the chamber door; which “Pas daiyie wi out knocking. A slatte servant—whose sex it would have been difficult to eiermlne from outward indices —a peared in the doorway, with a basket of almsinnet hellI extended at the termination of along, ewy sun. so 17:111.:qu sitinjzfirtrugei" asked P3133111): who, from in Drug on a pears hunted With t e feminine charactei- o the intruderfml “A shentlcmans rot this." “A gentkmanl tho, Gertrude?" “Not know, mein herr; he was a strange shentle- a . “Brou ht b a entleman. Who can he be? See whn it fritefimn’: ti: fast ninfis of th lid d t eimun e e an exposed the interior of the basket. was one o considerable bulk: since inside were discovered several bottles, ap- parent! cont lag wines and cordials packed among a para em a sweetmeats, and 0 er delicacies-— both 0 the confectionery and the kitchen. There was no note accompan e present—not evenadirec. tion—but the trim an elegant style in which it was dpnelgicp proved that it had proceeded from the hands 0 a . Maurgie turned over the various articles examinin each, as Phelim supposed to take note 51 its valud‘. Idltfle was ‘he thinking of this, while searching for the ' nvo c‘e.’ There proved to be none—not a. scra of per— so Trlrliuch as aéatgd/f m p pa m“ e genero o e supply—well timed as it was— bespoke the donor to be some n in - cream ‘ Sammmmm s 08 re ec ,afairim e on out in his mind: which he could not iii connesiirengith that of his unknown benefactor. &uld it bongouiso Poindexter? In spite of certain improbabilities, he was faln to believe it mi ht~ and so long asthebelief lasted. his heart was qu ve with a sweet beatitude. As he continu to reflect the hnprobabllities a Feared too strong for this pleasant supposition; h aith became overturned; and there remained only 37‘ éhltimumiiiii it! 13°” in th 00 em .‘ a , e nnemaraman in semi-sumo? ,. “A gintigiiiau. she sez; skim-l gintle- man, I say “no div ez think he was, masther? ’ “I haven’t the 311 test idea; unless it ma have been some of the 0 cars of the fort; thomh child Eiqu expect one of them to think of me in this as on.‘ “Nayther you need. It wasn’t wan of diam. No No.8. :mier or gintleman aytliur, phut them things in the as ’ct. “ Wh ' do you think that?” “ Fw y div I think itl Och, mastheri is it yerself to ask the quisiyun‘? Isn’t there the smell av a swate fin- itcr about it? Jist look at the nate way them gagcrs is tied up. That purty kreel was niver packe y the hand ava man. It was done by a wumon; and I‘ll warrant a. raal lady at that.” “Nonsense, Pliclim! I know no lady who should take so much interest in me.” “Aw, Illlll'illllll‘! What a thumpin’ big flb! I know one that sli'u’d. It w‘u’d be blac uu atytude av she didn’t—after what yez did for her. Di n‘t yez save her life into the bargain?” “ 0f whom are you speaking?” “Now, don‘t be desateful, masther. Yez know that I mane lhc purty craytlicr that come to the hut ridin‘ Spott that you presinted her, \vidout resavm’ a dollar for the. mare. f it wasn't her that smt ye this ham- per, thin Phaylim Onale is the bi gest nurnskull that was her born about Ballyballag . Be the Vargin mastlier, speakin‘ of the owld lace phuts me in min of its paple. that w‘u‘d the hie-eyed colleen say, if she knew yez were in such danger hecur?" “ Danger! it’s all over. The dootor has said so; and that I may [:0 out of ‘doors in a week from this time. Don’t distress yourself about that.” “Troth, masther, yez be only talkin.’ That wasn't the danger I was dhramin’ av. Ycz know will enough what I mane. Maybe yez have received a wound from bright eyes, worse than lid bullets. Or, maybe, some- b' ty ilse has; anI that‘s why ye’ve had the things sm e. “ ou’re all wrong Phelim. The thin must have come from the fort; but whether you bel eve it did, or not, there’s no reason why we should stand upon cere- Zililonyxyvith its contents. So, here goes to make trial of em The Headless Horseman: 19 “ ‘Tis only Isidoral" muttered the mustanger, as he glanced at the su inscription u 301) the note. Then openingi‘ with an air 0 indifference, he read: “Qunmno Simon—Soy qucdnrido per una semann en la cusu llL‘l tio Silvio. De vucstru des fortunn he oido-tum- blen qiic V. csta Inal ciudado en la i‘onda. He mandado algunas cositas. Sea giraclosa usarlos, como una chi ul- tita menioria (lel serv cio ande do no vuestrn den or estoy. En la siila soy escr undo, con as ospuelas repa- radas sacar sangrc de Ins ifadns dcl mio cavallo. )1 un momento mas, iartira or 9 Rio Grande. “Bienhicor— e mi vi a salvador—y de que a una mujer esta mas querida, la honra—adios—adiosl “ISIDORA COVARUBIO on Los LLANOS. “ Al Senor Don Mauricio Gerald.” Literally translated, and in the idiom of the Spanish language, the note ran thus: “ DEAR SIR-I have been staying for a week at the house of uncle Silvio. Of your mischance I have heard—also that you arr indifferently cared for at the hotel. I have sent you some little things. Be (1 enough to make use of them, as a slight souvenir of t e great scrvice for which I am your debtor. I write in the saddle, with my spurs ready to draw blood from the flanks of in horse. ln an- other moment. I am off for the Rio Grandel' “Benefactor-preserver of m life—of what to a woman is dearer—my honor—adieu! 3 ion! “Isrnoru OOVARUBIO on Los LLANOS.” “ Thanks—thanks, sweet Isidoral" muttered the mus- tanger as he refolded the note, and threw it carelessly upon the coverlet of his couch. “ Ever grateful—con- srderate—kindl But for Louise Poindexti-r, I might have loved you 1” CHAPTER XXIII. vows or VENGEANCE. CALHOUN, chafing in his chamber was not the ob'ect of such assiduous solicitude. Notwrthstanding the ux- urlous appointments that surrounded him, he could not comfort himself With the reflection that he wrs cared all the natural savageness of his disposition was re- stored, along with the additional bitterness arising from his recent discomflture. It had been the pride of his life to exhibit himself as a successful bully—the master of every crowd that might gather round him. He could no longer claim thi‘ credit in Texas; and the thought harrowed his heart to its very core. To figure as a. defeated man before all the women of the settlement—above all in the eyes of her he adored: defeated by one whom he sus ected of being his rivr', in her affections—a mere name ess adventurer—was to: i I much to be endured with equanimity. Even an ordiu‘ na man would have been pained by the inilictioui Cal oun writlied under it. He had no idea of enduring it, as an ordinal iiizt'i would have done. If he could not escape from t ie di 1 grace, he was determined to avenge himself u on ii ' author; and as soon as he had recovered from he rig»- preliension entertained about the safety of his life, be commenced reflecting upon this ve subject. Maurice, the inustinigcr, must dig?7 If not by his (Cat houn’s) own hand then by the hand of another, if suv‘n an one was to be louud in the settlement. There could not be much difficulty in prouuring a confederate. There are bravoeu upon the broad prairies of Texas, as well as within the walls of Italian cities. Alas! there is no spot upon earth where gold cannot command the steel of the assassin. Calhoun possessed gold—more than sufficient for such purpose; and to such purpose did us determine upon evoting at least a portion of it. In the solitude of his sick chamber he set about nui- turing his plans, which comprehended the assassination of the mustangcr. He did not purpose doing the deed himself. His lute defeat had rendered him fearful of chanclng a second encounter with the same adversary—even under the ini- vantageous circumstances of a surprise. He had be- 7 ii it ~34 “Is IT A PHANTOM? gummy rr CAN NOT ran HUMAN l”—-Page 28. Notwithstanding the apparent relish with which the invalid partook of the roducts—both 0f cellar and cuisine—While eatin an drinking, his thoughts were occupied with 9. st more agreeable theme: Wlfll a string of dreamy conjectures, as to whom he was me debted for the princely present. _ . 'Could it be the oung Creole—the oousm of his direst enemy, as wellras his reputed sweetheart? The thing ap cared im robable. If not she, w 0 else co (1 it be? The mustanger would have 'ven a horse—a whole drove—to have been assured t t Louise Poindexter was the provrder of that luxurious refection. Two days elapsed, and the donor still remained un- known. Then the invalid was once more reeabl s rise‘d by a second present—very similaratg the flrgt—ma’nothei" basket containing other bottles, and crammed with fresh ‘ confections." The Bavarian wench was again questioned; but with no better result. A "sheutlemans” mm H rot" it... the semi " stran er shentlemans “ as be ore_ She could oniy add t at- “ the shentlemans" was very ‘ achwari‘z," wore a. glazed hat, and came to the tavern mounted upon a mule. _ , Maui-ice did not appear to be gratified with this de- scription of the unknown donor; tho h.no one~not even Pheliin—was made the confidant 0 his thou hts. In two days afterward they were toned down the former sobriety—on the receipt of _a third basket, " Eros by the schme shentlemans " in the glazed hat, w 0 came mounted upon a mule. . The change could not be explained by the belon ngs in the basket—almost the counterpart of what had been sent before. It might be accounted for by the contents of a billet done. that accompanied the gift—attached by - ribbon in the wickerwork of palm-sinnet. . forb livin creature. Truly selfish in his own heart, he hail no aith in friendship: and while confinedto his couch—not without some fears that it might be'his death-bed—he experienced the misery of a man behev- ing that no human being cared a mw whether he Shgum live ortliie'sh to him was upon the score of s a, own . realizing}? It” could scarce have been otherwise. His conduct toward his cousins had not been such as to se- cure their esteem; while his unclehthe roud Woodiey Poindexter. felt towargdhfim something to aversion, min ed with a subdu ear. Itgis true that this feeling was one of recent origin; and arose out of certain relations that existed between uncle and nephew. As. already hinted, they stood to one another in the relationship of debtor and creditw— or mortgagor and mortgagee-the ne hew being the latter. To such an extent had this in ebtedness been carried, that Cassius Calhoun was in effect the real owner of Casa del Corv0' angstcould at any moment have roclaimed himself i s m er. ConIscious of his power, he had of. late been using it to effect a particular 56, that IS. the securing for his wife the woman are ad ionsi fiercely loved_his cousin Inuise. He had come to now that he stood i but little chance of obtaining her consent: for she had taken but slight aims to conceal her indifference to his suit. Trusting the ullar influence established over her father, he had stemmed on taking no mm or denial. , , These circumstances consrdered, it was not st that the ex-omcer of volunteers, when stretched upon a. sick bed. received less sympathy from his relatives than in ht otherwise have been extended to him. ile dreading death—which for a length of time he actually did—he had become a little more amiable to those around him. of short continuance: and. once as The agreeable mood, however, was , . of recovery. i no friend of Maurice the mustanzer. come too much encowardized to pla the assassin. Hi wanted an accomplice—an arm strike for him. Where was he to find it? Unluckin he knew, or fancied he knew, the very man. There was a Mexican at the time making abode in the, village—like Maurice himself, a. mustanger, but one _ot those with whom the young Irishman had shown a dis. lnclination to associate. _ As a eneral rule, the men of tnis eculiar calling are among e greatest reprobates who ave their home in the land of the “ Lone Star.“ liy birth and breed they are mostly Mexicans, or mongrel Indians; thou b, not unfrequently, a Frenchman, or American, flnds i a con- eru‘nl calling. They are usually the outcasts of civil- ged society—oftener its. outlaws—who, in the excite- ment of the chase, and its concomitant dangers, find. rhaps. some sort of salvo for a conscience that has Egan severe! tried. While dwe ing within the settlements, these men are not unfrequently the pests of the society that surrounds them—ever engaged n bred and debauch; and when abroad in the exercise of their calling, they are not. al- ways to be encountered wrth safety. More than once ll is recorded inthe history of Texas how a corn any of mustangers has, for the Dome, converted itse into a band of waddlla of salteadores; or. disguised as Indians, levied blackmail upon the train of the prairie trav- eler. One of this kidney was the individual who had he- come recalled to the memory of Cassius Calhoun. The latter remembered having met the man in the bar-Mom of the hotel upon several occasions, but more especially on the night of the duel. He remembered that he lied been one of those who had carried him home on the stretcher; and from some extrav ant expression he had made use of, when 3 ’ of antagonist, \fiaL houn had drawn the d notion, that the Mexican w“ 20 Since then he had learned that he was Maurice’s dead- liest enemy—himself excepted. With these data to proceed upon, the ex-captain had called the Mexican to his counsels, and the two were often closeted together in the chamber of the invalid. There was nothing in all this to excite suspicion—even if Calhoun had cared for that. His visitor was a dealer 1 in horses and horned cattle. Some transaction in horse- flesli might be going on between them. So any one would have so oscd. And so for a time, thought the Mexican liimse ; for, in their rst interview, but little other business was transacted. The astute Mississig; plan new better than to declare his ultimate designs a st anger, who, after com leting an advantageous horse-trade, was well su plie with whatever he chose to drink, and cunning y cross- uestioned as to the relations in which he stood wit Maurice the mus- tanger. In that first interview, the ex-ofllcer of volunteers learnt enough to know that he might depend upon this man for any service he might require, even to he com- mittal of murder. , ‘ The Mexican made no secret of his heartfelt hostility to the young mnstanger. He did not declare the ex- act cause of it; but Calhoun could guess, by certain inuendoes introduced during the conversation, that it was the same as that by which he was himSelf actuated —the same to which may be traced almost every nar— rel that has occurred among men, from Troy to exas —~a woman! The Helen in this case appeared to be some dark-eyed donoelht dwellin upon the Rio Grande, wnere Maui-ice had been in the abit of making an occasional visit, in ‘ whose eyes he had found favor, to the disadvantage of her own oonpaisano. The Mexican did not give the name; and Calhoun, as he listened to his explanations, onl hoped in his heart that the damsel who had shgbted 'm might have won the heart of his rival. During his days of convalescence, several interviews had taken place between the ex-captain and the in- tended accomplice in his purposes of vengeance—~ ‘ enough, one might suppose, to have rendered them com etc. W ether they were so, or not, and what the nature of their hellish designs, were things known only to the brace of kindred confederates. The outside world but knew that Captain Cassius Calhoun and Michael Diaz— known b the nickname “ El Coyote," appeared to have taken a. ancy for keep each other‘s cogfany; while the most respectable po on of it wonder at such an illvstarred association. ? CHAPTER XXIV. ‘ 9N THE norm. THERE are no slufigards on a Texan lantation. The daybreak be ns t eday; and the he conch, orhthe cowhorn, the. summons the dark-skinned proletarians to their toil, is alike the signal for the master to forsake his more luxurious couch. Such was the custom of Casa del Corvo under its original owners; and the fashion was followed ‘by the family of the American planter, not from any idea of precedent, but simply in obedience to the sug estions of Nature. In a climate of almost perpetua sparing, the sweet matutinal moments are not to be was cl in sleep. The steam belon s to the hours of noon; when allnature appears to s ‘ k under the smiles of the galar luminary, as if surfeited with their snperabun— nee. On his reappearance at morn the sun is greeted with renewed joy. Then do the tropical birds is read their resplenden plums e—the flowers their dew- esprinkled petals—to receive is fervent kisses. All nature again seems glad to cknowledge him as its god. Resp endent as any bird that flutters among the foliage of south-western Texas; fair as any flower that blooms within its glades was she who appeared upon the housetop of Casa de Corvo. Aurora herself, rising from her roseate couch, looked not fresher than the young Creole, 8. she stood con- templating the curtains of that very couch, from which a Texan sun was slowly uplifting his globe of burning gold. She was standing upon the edge of the azotea that fronted towardrthe cast, her white hand restin upon the co no of the parapet, still wet with the ews of the ht. Under her eyes was the garden inclosed within a curve of the river; beyond the bluff ormed by the opposite bank- and further still, the wide—spreading plateau of the rairie. Was she look ng at a. landscape that could scarce fail to challenge admiration? No. Equ _ was she unconscious of the ascending sun; though, 5 some_fair pagan, did she appear to be in prayer at its upnsmfil Listened she ’to t e voices of the bird from garden and grove swelling harmoniously around her? On the contrary, her ear was not bent to catch any sound, nor her eye intent u 11 any object. Her nce was wandering, as if her oughts went not with t, but were dwelling upon some theme, neither present nor near. In contrast with the cheerful brightness of the sky, there was a shadow upon her brow; despite the joyous Kembgng of the birds, there was the sign of sadness on r c eek. She was alone. There was 'no‘one to take note of this melancholy mood, nor inquire into its cause. The cause was declared in a few murmured Words, that fell, as if involuntaril , from her lips. @313?” be dangero wounded—perhaps even to Who was the? object of this solicitude, so hypotheti- expre e invalid that lay below, almost under her feet, 1: a chamber of the hacienda—her cousm, Cassius Cal- oun It could scarce be he. The doctor had the day be- ‘ what singular 1:319 lpronounced him out of danger. atgdhon thfilway to n c recovery. Any one listenin er so oquy— after a time continued in the 585118 sad tone—would have been convinced it was not he. “I not send to inquire. I dare not even ask after him. I fear to trust any of our people. He may be in some poor place— rhaps unconrteously treated —perhaps neglected? ould that I could convey to him a message-something more—without any one being the wiser! I wonder what has become of Zeb ‘Stump‘i" As if some instinct whis red her, that there was a bility of Zeb makmg a pearance, she turned 1‘ eyes toward the Slain, on e oplposite side of the river, where the ma led up and own. It was the common highway between Fort Inge and plantar; asZeb stamp, the hunter l l The, N??? 3.0m Libral‘y~‘ tions on the lower Leona. It traversed the prairie at l some distance from the river bank; approaching it only at one oint, where the channel curved in to the base of the lufls. A reach of the road, of half a mile in length, was visible in the direction of the fort; as also a cross-path that led to a ford; thence running on to the hacienda. In the opposite direction—down the stream—the view was open for a like length, until the chaparral on both sides closing in, terminated the sa— vanna. The youn$ lad scanned the road leading toward Fort Inge. eb ‘tump should come that way. He was not in sight; nor was any one else. She could not feel disappointment. She had no rea- son to expect him. She had but raised her eyes in obe- dience to an instinct. .Somcthing more than instinct caused_her, after a time, to turn round, and scrutinize the plain in the op- posme quarter. If expecting some one to appear that way, she was not disappointed. A horse was ‘ust step 1 out from among the trees, where the re debouc e from. the Chaparral. He was ridden by one, who, at first Sight, appeared to be a man, clad in a sort ofVArab costume- but who, on closer scrutiny and despite the style of eguitation—a la Duchess; de Zierri—was unquestionably o the other sex—a lady. There was not much of her face to be seen' but throu h the shado opening of the rebozo—rather careles tapado—cou d e traced an oval facial outline, somewhat brownly “ complect- ed," but with a carmine tinting upon the cheeks, and above this a pair of eyes, whose sparkle appeared to challenge comparison with the brightest object either on cart or in the sky. Neither did the loosely-falling folds of the lady’s scarf, nor her somewhat Wire attitude in the saddle, hinder the observer from coming to the conclusion that her flap-e was uite as attractive as her face. he man ollowing’uplon the mule, SIX lengths of his animal in the rear, y is costume—as well as the re- spectful distance observed-was evidently only an at- tendant. “ Who can that woman be?” was the muttered inter- rogate: of Louise Poiudexter, as with quick action she raised t e lorgnette to her eyes and directed it upon the oddldy appareled figure. “ 0 can she be?” was repeate in a tone of greater deliberation, as the glass came down, and the naked eye was intruskd to com- plete the scrutiny. “ A Mexican, of course; the man on he mule her servant. Some grand senora, I uppose? I thought they had all one to the other side of tne Rio Grande. A basket ca ed by the attendant. I wonder What it contains and what errand she can have to the fort—it may be t e village. ’Tis the third time I‘ve seen er p within this week! She must be fro'm some of the plantations belowl “What an outlandish style of riding! Pardle’M/ I'm told it’s not uncommon among the daughters of Ana- huac. What if I were to take to it myself? No doubt it‘s much the easiest way; though if such a spectacle were seen in the States it would e styled unfeminlne. How our Puritan mammas would scream out against it! I think I hear them. Ha, ha, ha!" The mirth thus begotten was but of momentary dura- tion. There came a change-over the countenance of the Creole quick as drifting cloud darkens the disk of the sun. t was not a return to that melancholy so late shadowi it' though something equall serious-as mi ht be ld hy the sudden blanching of er cheeks. 6 cause could onl be looked for in the movements of the scar-fed 53116815111111 on the other Side of the river. An antelo e h sprung up, out of some low shrubbery flowing y the roadside. The creature appeared to ve made its first bound from under the counter of the horse—a splendid animal, that, in a moment after was going at full gallop in pursuit of the afliighted “ pronghorn;" while his rider, with her rebozo suddenly fl from her face, its t ed ends treaming behind her lack, was seen describ , with her right arm, a series of circular sweeps in the air' “ What is the woman going to do ?" was the muttered interrogatoryl of the spectator upon the house-top. “ Hal As I ve, ’tls a lazoll" _ The senora was not long in giving proof of skill in the use of the national implementz—by fli ‘ its noose in its tracksl , The attendant rode up to the place where it lay strug- ling; dismounted from his mule; and, stooping over 8 prostrate fienghorn ap cared to administer the (Wilde grace. en, flinging t e carcass over the crou of s addle he climbed back 11 on his mule, an spurred after his mistress—who already recovered her lazo readjusted her scarf, and was riding onward, as if nothing had occurred worth waiting for! It was at that moment—when the noose was seen clrclin in the air—that the shadow had reappeared upon t e countenance of the Creole. It was not sur- prise that caused it, but an emotion of a. different char- acter-a thought far more unpleasant. Nor did it pass speedi away. It was still there— though a white hand ho din the lorgnotte to her eye might have hindered it from mg eel—still there, as logfias the mounted figures were viable upon the 01110: re ;and even after they had. passed out of sight hind the screening of the acacias. I“ I wonder—oh, I wonder if it be she? My own e. be said—not quite so tall. The descri tion suits—so or as one may judge at this distance. as her home on the Rio Grande. Comes occasionally to the Leona, to some relatives. Who who are the ? Wh did I not ask him the name? Iwcmder—oh. wonder it be she!” CHAPTER XXV. A our UNGIVEN. For. some minutes after the lad of the 19.20 and her attendant had passed out of sig 1:, Louise Poindexter pursued the train of reflection—started by the some- episode of which she had been spectator. Her attitude, and air of continued dejection, told tha. hfir thallights had not been directed intoa more cheerful c anne Rather the reverse. Once or twice before had her mind given way to imaglm' 'n 3, connected with that ac- cOmPhshed equestrienne; ang more than once had she Ppuculated u on her pu ose in riding up the road. The incident 3 witnessed suddenly changed her con- gJeBctures into suspicions of an exceede gly unpleasant It was a relief to her, when a. horseman appeared coming out of the Chaparral, at the clot where the others had ridden in- a still greater of when he was seen to swerve into t e cross-pa b that conducted into 118111 around the antelope’s neck, and throwing t e creature tuk the hacienda, and was recognize ,‘ through the lorgnette, l n.-. _. .r ,. Vel- 1' The face of the Creole became bright again—almost gay. There was somethinglominous of good in the op- portune appearance of the onset backwoodsmau. ' . “The man I was wanting to see!" she exclaimed, in oyous accents. “ file can hear me a message; and per- aps tell who she is. He must have met her on the road. That W111. enable me to intioduce the sub 'ect without Zeb havmg any suspicion of my object. ven with him I must be Circumspect—after what has hap- pened. Ah, mel Not much should I care if I were sure of his caring for me. How provoking his indifference! And to me—Louise Pomdexterl Pardieu.’ Let it pro- ceed much further, and I shall try to escape from tho ttgils ngf—I should crush my poor heart in the at— mp ' It need scarce be said that the individual whose esteem was so coveted was not Zeb Stump. Her next speech, however, was addressed to Zeb, as he reined up in front of the hacienda. “ Dear Mr. Stump!" hailed a voice, to whid. the old hunter delighted to listen. “I’m so glad to see you. Dismount, and come up herel I know you‘re atamoua climber and won’t mind a flight of stone stairs. There’s aView from this house-top that Will reward you for your trouble." “ Thur’s suthin’ on the house-to theear," re oined the hunter, “the view 0’ which ’u’ reward Zeb tump for climbin' to the top 0’ a steamboat chimbly; and thet‘s ourself, Miss Lewaze. I’ll kim u soon as I ha‘ stabl the ole inaar, which shall be du in the shakin’ o’ a .goatjs tail. Gee-up, ole all" he continued, ad— glfissllélg himself todthe Eiare, b 1131; he lied dismounted. ouyurea,an mae ute eea wheen oPcorn-shucks for ’11}; breakflstflur 81 y “Ho, ho} Mass’ “Pump,” inte sad the sable coach- man, making his appearance in he patio. “ Dat some do dis nig a—gub um de shuckswi do yaller corn in- side ob em. Ho, ho! You gwug ’tair to do young missa; an‘ Plute he no ’gleck yar 0] mar." “Y’ur a dod-rotted good sample 0’ a n ger, Plute,\, an” the nix occashun I shows about hyur I’ fetch you a ‘ ossum wi’ the meat on it as tender as a two-year old chicken. That‘s what I’m boun‘ tei- do." After delivering himself of the promise Zeb com- menced ascending the stone stairway; notnbfv single stripe, but by two, and sometimes three at a 5 de. e was soon 11 on the house-top, where he was once more welcomed y the young mistress of the mansion, Hm excited manner, and the eagerness with which she conducted him to a remote part of the azotea, told Elie astute hfiinter that htehggd 126%!!! summth onedpgclzither orsomeo er u ose e o g epros . “Tell me MrPStrifmpl” said a e, as she clutched the sleeve of the blanket coat in her delicate fin ers, and looked inquiringly into Zeb’s gray aye. “ on must know all. How is he? Are his woun s of a dangerous nature?" “ If you refer to Mister Cal-hoon—” “ No—no—no. I know all about him. It’s not of Mr. Calhoun I’m 5 a 7‘ " fug‘ghmsiiarts l t h t ds ’ h 0 ese t in. ev o wown ‘ an t et alr’s Maurice, the news or. giant it be thet individooal y’ur inquirln’ abeout?’ “ It is—it isi You knowI can not be indiiferent to his welfare, notwithstandin the misfortune of his having quarreled with my cons . You are aware that he res . cued me-twice I may say—from imminent peril. Tell me—is he in great danger?” Such earnestness co (1 no longer be trifled with. Zeb, without further parley, made re ly: , “ Ne‘er a morsel o’ danger. T ur's a bullet~hole jest above the ankle-joint. don’t siguerfy more’n the scratch 0’ a kitidng. Thor’s another hev good throng the flesh o’ the oung fellur’s left am. It don’t signer- fy ne er—o that it drawed a. flood sup 0' the red out 0 him. Howsomedever, he‘s a right now; an‘ ex. peeks to be out 0' door in a kupple 0' days, or ther- about. He sez that an hour in the saddle an‘ a shoot acrosst the may ‘u'd do him more good than all the doctors in cm. reckon it w’u'd; lit the doctor—— it’s the so 1'. of the fort as attends on him—he won‘t let him git grass yit a bit." “Who is " re 9 “He air"stayin’at the hotel—th the skrlmmnge “ erhaps he is not well waited upon? It's a rough place, I’ve heard. He ma not have any delicacies. such as an invalid stands need of! Stay here Mr. I have something I Stump, till I come to on again. wish 0 send to him. know I can trust u to deliver it. Won’t you; I‘m sure you will. I be with you in six seconds. Without waiting to note the eifect of her speech, the oung lady trip ed lightly along the passage, and as lviglhzely descende the stone stairway. sently she ran peered, b with her a sized hamper, whic was eviden y led with cute lea, with something to send them down. “ Now, dear old Zeb you will take this to Mr. Gerald! It’s only some little things that ll'lorinda has sput up; some cordials and jellies and the hke, such as ck file at times have a craving for. They are not like to e kept in the hotel. Don’t tell him where th come from—neither him nor any one else. You won’t? know you won’t, you good, dear nt." ' “ Ye may diplend on Ze Stump for that, MissLew aze. Nobody a- oin to be a bit the wiser about who sent these h i- d ldsies' though. for the matter 0 cakes an’ kic shaws. an’ all that sort 0‘ thi , the mow stanger hain’t had much reezun to comp n. He hev been serplied wi’ enuf 0’ them to hev filled the bellies o' a. hul school 0’ shugarbabbies. " ' “ Hal Supplied air 1 By whom?" “ Wal, that hear this c 10 can‘t inform ye, MissIew- aze; not beknowin‘ it hisself. I on‘y hyurd they wur fetched to the tavern in baskets by some sort 0' a sar- vint-man as air a Mexican. I’ve seed the man myself. Fact, I’ve jest this minnit met him ridin‘ arterawuman sot stridy legs in her saddle, as most 0' these Mexikin weemen ride. I reck’n he . her sarvingt, as he war keepin’ a find ways ahint and toatin a. basket jest like one o‘ t em Maurice bed got arready. Likeyenuf it} air another lot 0’ kickshaws they wurtakin‘ to the vern. There was no need to trouble Zeb Stump with fur- ther cross-questio A whole history was sup by that single 3 . The casequ . In the regard or mice Gerald, Louise oindexierhad a rival—perhaps something more. The lady of the low was either his flame or his mistress! ,. It was not by _accident——though to Zeb Stump it may have seemed so—that the hamper, Manor. than u n the coping of the balustrade, and MW in hand of the young Creole, escaped from her clutch. waze,thur air'only one other as I know - wnw—a—_. v—c —- ‘H'V ‘ a 9 Nos. 8 éi‘xfii .‘Iieadless Horseman. 21 and fell with a crash upon the stones below. The bot. ties were broken, and their contents spilled into the stream that surged along the basement of the wall. The action of the arm that produced this effect. ap- parently springing from a spasmodic and involuntary effort, was nevertheless due to design; and Louise Poindexter, as she leant over the parapet and contem- plated the ruin she had caused, fe t as if her heart was shat red like the glass that lay glistening below! “ ow unfortunate!" said she, making a feint to con- ceal her chagrin. ,clarc! What will Florinda say? After al!,if r. Gerald be so well attended to as you say he is, he‘ll not stand in need of them. I’m glad to hear he hasn't been ne- glected—one who has done me a service. But Mr. Stump, you needn‘t say any thing of this, or that in- quired after him. You know his late antagomst is our near relative; and it might cause scandal in the settle- ment. Dear Zeb, you romise me?" "Sw'a-ar it, of ye ike. Nerry word, Miss Lewaze, Deer}r word; ye kin depend on ole Zeb." " know it. Come! The sun is growing hot up here. Let us go down, and see whether We can nd you such it. thing as a glass of your favorite Monongahela. .ome!’ With an assumed air of cheerfulness, the oung Creole glided across the azotea; and, trilling the ‘ New Orleans Waltz," once more commenced descending the .. wear era. " In eager acceptance of the invitation, the old hunter followed close upon her skirts; and although by habit, : icically indiflerent to feminine charms—and with his t nonfilaits at that moment chiefly bent upon the prom- ; mu onongahela—he could not help admiri those imry shoul are brought so conspicuously ullllfiel‘ his eyes. But for a short while was he permitted to indulge in the luxurious spectacle. On reaching the bottom of the stair his fair hostess bade him a somewhat abru t adieu. After the revelations he had so unwittingly l iade his conversation seemed no longer agreeabe; ands e, late desirous of interrogating, was now con- tented to leave him alone with the Monon ahela, as she hastened to hide her chagrin inthe so 'tude of her chamber. For the first time in her life Louise Poindexter felt the pangs of jealous . It was her first real love; for sue was in love with urice Gerald. A solicitude like that shown for him by the Mexican senora could scarce spring from simpile friendship. {tome closer tie must ave been estab shed between tillem. So ran the reflections of the now suffering Cre- 0 0. From what Maurice had said—from what she had herself heard—the lady of the lazo was just such a womanasshould win the affections of such a man. llers were accomplishments he might naturally be ex- pected to admire. Her figure had appeared erfect under the magnif - ing effect of the lens. The ace had not been so fair y \iewed, and was still undetermined. Was it in corres- Pondence with the form? Was it such as to secure the eve of a man so much master of his passions, as the mustanger appeared to be? ' The mistress of Casa del orvo could not rest until she ‘iiad satisfied herself on s score. As soon as Zeb .titump had taken his departure, she ordered the spotted mareto besaddled; and, rid out alone, she so ht the crossing of the riv and t ence proceeded to e h hway on the opp side. dvancing in the direction of the fort, as she expect- ed, she soon encountered the Mexican Sonora, on her return; no 1mm according to the exact si niflcation of the teligm, but a amortia—s young lady, no older than erse . At the place of their meeting the road ran under the shadow of the trees. There was no sun to re uire_ the coiflug of the rebon upon the crown of the smash equestrian. The scarf had fallen upon her'shoulders, laying bare a head of hair, in luxuriance rivaling the tail 0 a wild steed, in color the plumage of a crow. It formed the framing of a face that despite a certain darkness of complexion, was c armingly attractive. Good breeding permitted only a. glance at it in pass- ing, which was returned b a hke courte on the part of the stranger. But, as t e two rode on, ck to back. goin in opposite directions neither could restrain her- self rom turnin round in the saddle, and snatching a second glance a the other. Their reflections were not very dissimilar: if Louise Poindexter had already learned something of the indi- vidual thus encountered, the latter was not altogether ignorant of her existence. We shall not attempt to portray the tho hts of the senorlta con uent on thatoncounter. S as it to say that those ofseaie Creole were even more somber than when she sallied forth on that errand of inspection; and that the young mistres of Casa del Corvo rode back to the mansion, all the Way seated in her saddle in an attitude that betokened the deepest deflection. “Beautiful!” said she, after passmg _her an posed {galdupon the road. “Yes; too beautiful to his en Louise was speaking to her own conscience, or she might have been more cha of her praise. ‘ Icannot have any don t,” continued she, “of the relagionship that exists between them. He loves her !— hel ves her! It accounts for his cold indifference to me. I've been mad to risk my heart’s happiness in such an ill-starred on lament! “And now to disentau 16 it! from my thou hts! Ah! easily said! Can I? ‘ I shall see in no more. Tha , at least, is possible. Am” What has occurred. he will not come to our house. We can only meet by weldent' and that accident I must be careful to avoid. 0h, ham-ice Gerald; tame;- of wild steeds! you have subdued a spirit that may suf- fer long—perhaps never recover from the lesson !’ CHAPTER XXVI. T . winner“. . .. " obsnish romte oug sons-wo as en . donately loved is a simple impossibility. e magadi) much to subdue the am of an unreciprocated passion, and absence more. ut neither time nor absence can hinder the continued recurrence of that long! for the lost loved one or quiet the heart-aching in t at void that has never been satisfactorily closed. Louise Poindexter had imbibed a fission that could be easily stifled Though of bri enstence, it had been» of rapid else to its indull‘geilige. It was already smggueigugh t1? overcomesuc o inarysorupesas 118811. or tile inequalityof male; and, When recipro- uldhavestoodintbowaysotaras W0 \ I. “The dainties are destro ed, I de- . Now to banish him her growth, vigorously overriding all obsta- . l ' she herself had been concerned. For the former, she t was of age; and felt—as most of her countrywomen do ‘~—cupable of taking care of herself. For the latter: ‘ who ever really loved that cared a straw for class, or , caste? Love has no such meanness in its composition. At all events, there was none such in the passion of Louise Poiiidexter. it could scarce be called the first illusion of her life. It was, however, the first where disappointment was liked); to prove dangerous to the tranquillity of her spiri . ,4 She was not unaware of this. She anticipated unhap- , piness for awhile, hoping that time would enable her to subdue the expected am. At first, she fanciei she would find a friend in her own strong will' and another in the natural buoyancy of her spirit. Iiut as the days passed she found reason to distrust both; for in spite of both, she could not erase from her thoughts the image of the man who had so completely captivated her imagination. There were times when she hated him, or tried to do so, when she could have killed him, or seen him killed, without making an effort to save him! They were but moments; each succeeded by an interval of more right- eous reflection, when she felt that the fault was hers alone, as hers on] the misfortune. No matter fort 's. It mattered not if he had been her enemy—the enemy of all mankind. If Lucifer him- self—to whom in her Wild fancy she had once likened him—she would have loved him all the same! And it would have proved nothing abnormal in her disposition—nothing to separate her from the rest of womankind, all the world over. In .the mind of man, or woman either, there is no connection between the moral and the assional. The areasdiiferent from each other as fire rom water. hey may chance to run in the same channel; but they ma go diametrically op- osite. In other words, we may ove the very being we ato—ay, the one we despise! _ Louise Poindexter could neither hate, nor despise Maurice Gerald. She could only endeavor to feel indif- erence. It was a vain effort, and endedin failure. She could not restrain herself from ascending to the azotea and scrutinizing the road where she had first beheld the cause of her jealousy. Each day, and almost every hour of the da , was the ascent repeated. more. otwithstandin her resolve to avoid the accident of an encounter wit the man who had made her miserable, she was oft in the saddle and abroad scouring the country around, riding in the streets of the village with no other object but to meet him. During t e three days that followed that unpleasant discovery, once again had she seen—from the house- top, as efore—the lady of the lam en route 11 the road,.as before accompanied b ' an attendant wit the annier across his arm—that andora’s box that had red such mischief in her mind—while she herself stooddtrembling with jealousy, envious of the other’s erran . She knew more now, though not much. Only had she learned the name and social standing of her rival. The Dona Isidora Covarubio de Los Llanos, daughter of a wealthy haciendado, who lived upon the Rio Grande, and niece to another whose estate is. upon the Leona a mile beyond the boundaries of her ather’s new are ase. An eccentric young lady as some thou t, who could throw a lazo, tame a wi d steed, or an ng else exce ting her own ca rices. Such was the c aracter of the exlcan senorita, as known to the American settlers on the Leona. A knowledge of it did not remove the ealous sus- picions of the Creole. 0n the contrary, t tended to confirm them. Such practices were herpwn predilec- tions. She had been created with an instinct to admire them. She supposed that others must do the same. The young Iris man was not like to he an exception. There was an interval of severa days, during which the lady of the lazo was not seen again. “He has recovered from his woundst“ reflected the Creole. tion.” She was upon the azotea at the moment of making airs reflection, lorgnette in hand, as she had often been ore. ~ ' It was in the morning, shortly after sunrise: the hour when the Mexican had been wont to make her ap- peearance. Louise had been looking toward the quar- r whence the senorita might have been expected to come. ' On turning her eyes to the opposite direction she be- held—that which caused her something more t an sur- prise. She saw Maurice Gerald, mounted on horse- ack, and riding down the road! Though seated somewhat in the saddle, and going at a slow ace, it was ce ainly he. The glass eclared his idea ity; at the same time disclosing the fact, that his left arm was suspended in a sling. On recognizing him, she shrunk behind the (parapet— as she did so, gi ' utterance to a su presse cry. W'h that anguished utterance? as it the sight of the disabled arm, or the aiiid face; for the glass had enabled her to dist sh h. , Neither one nor the other. Neither could be a cause of surprise. Besides, it was an exclamation far differ- ently intoned to those of either ity or astonishment. It was an e ression of sorrow, t at had for its origin some heartfzgft chagrin. The invalid was convalescent. He no longer needed to be visited by his nurse. He was on the way to visit “He no longer needs such unremitting atten- Coweri behind the are t-screened bythe flower- spike of “file yucca—Lguisg’el’oindexter watched the passing horseman. The lor nette enabled her to note eve movement made by m——almost to the play of his eatures. She felt some slight gratification on observing that he turned his face at intervals and fixed his regard upon Casa del Corvo. It was increased when on reaching a, copse, that stood b the side of the road, and nearly opposite the house, e reined up behind the trees, and for along time remained in the same spot, as if recon- noiteriii the mansion. i Shez silliiost conceived a hope, thathe might be think. n 0 ts mistress. i was but a gleam of joy, departing like the sunlight under the certain shadow of an cc 1359. It was suc- ceeded by a sadness that might be appro dateiy com. pared to such shadow’ for to her the wor d at that mo. ment seemed filled with loom. . Maurice Gerald had 11 den on: He had entered the .chaparral, and become lost to view with the road upon whichhewas riding. 1 ‘N , Whitherwas lie bonnet, Whit-her but to Visit Dona. lsldora Covarubio de Los hiatus? It mattered not that he returned within less than an hour. They mi rht have met in the woods—within eye- shot of thatj ous spectator—«but for the screening of the trees. An hour was sufficient interview-for lovers, who could every day claim unrestricted indul- gence. It mattered not, that in Passing upward he again cast regards toward‘ Casa do Corvo; again halted behind the copse, and passed some time in apparent scrutiny of the mansion. It was mockery—or exultation. He might well feel trium hant; but why should he\ be cruel, with kisses upon is lips—the kisses he had received from the Dona Isidora Covarubio de Los Llanos? CHAPTER XXVII. I nova YOUl—I Lovn YOUI Lomsn Pontoon“ 11 on the azotea again- sin to be subjected to a fres chagrin! That broa stone stairway trending u to the housetop, seemed to lead only to spectacles t at gave her pain. She had men- tally vowed no more to ascend it—at least for a long time. Something stronger than her strong will com- bated—and successfully~tho keepin of that vow. It was broken ere the sun of another ay had dried the dew from the grass of the prairie. As on the day before, she stood by the parapet scan-t ning the road on the opposite side of the river; as be- fore, she saw the horseman with the slung arm ride past; as before, she crouched to screen herself from observation. He was going downward, as on the day preceding. In like manner did he cast lon lances toward the hacienda, and made halt behin e clump of trees that grew 0 posite. Her hea fluttered between hope and fear. There was an instant when she felt half inclined to show her- self. Fear prevailed; and the next instant he was 0118. Whither? ‘ The self-asked interrogatory was but the same as of ,: yesterday. It met with a similar response. Whither, if not to meet Dona Isidora Covarubio de ' Los Llanos? Could there be a doubt of it? If so, it was soon to be determined. In less than twenty minutes after a parded steed was seen upon the same road—«and the same direction—with a lady u on its back. be jealous heart of the Creole could hold out no longer. No truth could cause greater torture than she was already suffering through sus icion. She had resolved on assuring herself, thong the know- fiadgfi should prove fatal to the last faint remnantof er Opes. ' She entered the chaparral where the mustanger had ridden in scarce twent minutes before. She rode on beneath the flitting sha ows of the acacias. She rode in silence upon the soft turf—keeping close to the side of the path, so that the hoof mig t not strike against stones. The long plnnate fronds, dropping down to the level of her eyes, mingled with the plumes in her hat. She sate her saddle crouchingly, as if to‘avold being observed—all the while with earnest glance scan- nin the open s cc before her. I S e reached e crest of a hill which commanded to view beyond, There was a house in s ht surrounded by tall trees. It might have been terme a mansion. It was the residence of Dell Silvio Martinez, the uncle of Dona Isidora. So much had she learnt already. gun the plain ing to it, the There were other houses tobe seen below; but on this one. and the road 11-) eyes of the Creole became fixed interrogation. For a time she continued her scrutiny without satis- faction. N_o one appeared either at the house or near it. The private road leading to the residence of the haciendado, and the public highway, were alike with- out living forms. Some horses were stra lug over the pastures; but not one with a rider upon h 3 back. Could the lad have ridden out to meet him, or Maurice one in - Were t ey at that moment in the woods, or within the walls of the house? If the former, was Don Silvio aware of it? If the latter, was he at home—an approving party to the assi ationi With suc uestions was the Creole afflicting herself, when the nekh of a horse broke abrupt on her ear, followed b e- choking of a shod boo against the stones of e causeway. ' She looked below: or she had halted upon the crest of a stoop acclivity. The mustanger was ascending it— riding directg toward her. She might have seen him sooner, had taut view. . ' He was alone as ho had ridden plast Casa del Corvo. There was noth ng to show that be ad recently been in company-much ass in the com any of an t It was too late for Louise to s un him. mustan had replied to the salutation of an old ’acquaiir tance. ts iidcr was constrained to keep her ground, til] the mustan er came up. “ Good-day, Miss Poindextert“ said he—for upon the arguesgt is not etiquette for the lady to speak first. one “ Alone air. And wh not?“ . “ ’Tis a soil ridey among the chaparrals. But e not been occupied with the more ; inaglanceof uneasy . _ Wu . The’spotted true; I"th I’ve card you say you prefer that sort of v thi ? . “Ilia. appear to like it yourself, Mr. Gerald. To you, ' however, t is not so solitary I presume?" “In faith, I'do like it: and’ just for that very1 reason. ‘ I have the misfortune to live at a tavern, or" ‘ otel.’ as mine host is pleased to call it'_ and one gets so tired of the noises—especiain an invalid, as I have had the bad luck to be-that a ride alon this quiet road is some- thing akin to luxury. The 0“ 0f mammal—with the breeze that keeps constantly circiilatin through their ‘ ' fan-like foli e would. invigorate the fee est of frames. Don‘t you th k so, Miss Poindoxter?" ‘ “ You should know sated, after some seconds of embarrassmen who have so often tried it ’ “ on;er I have been only twice down this road unce- ,7 I have been able to sit in my saddle. But, Miss Pom. dexter, may I ask how you knew that I had been this, w at all? , ‘e‘yOhl" rejoined Louise her color going and coming as she s oke, “how could I help knowingiti lam in their“) t of spending much time on the bouseton. The, view, the b to, the music of the birds a. oiling, from the en below makes it a delightful spotm W the cooler the morning. Ourmof 001v» manduviwof thinned. Benn up there. how with \ best, sir," was the repltvl,voi§ph« { . V. :9“ Ftp The New l ‘ V914: I avoid seei you as you assed—that is, so longas you were not on or the shade the Macias!" “You saw me then?" said Maurice with an embar- rassed air, which was not caused by the Innuendo con- veyed in her last words—which he could not have com. Brehended—but b a remembrance of how he had imself behaved w riding along the reach of open ro “How could I help it?“ was the ready reply. “The distance is scarce six hundred yards. Even a lady, mounted upon a steed much smaller than $011?! was sufficiently conspicuous to be identified. hen I saw her dis lay her wonderful skill, by stran ling apoor little an logo with her lazo, I knew it cool he no other . than she w ose accomplishments you were so good as ‘ toggle me an account of.” 'dorai" “Isidoral" “Ah‘ true! She has been here for some time." “An has been very kind to Mr. Maurice Gerald?" “ Indeed it is true. She has been very kind; though I havehad no chance of thanking her. With all her friendshl for poor me, she is a reat hater of us for- eign inv ers; and would not con escend to step over the {gsggoldlof Mr. Obegdofliffis hgéel.“ su pese s e r err meeting you un- der the shade of t}; acct-1MP? “I have not met her at all; at least, not for many months; and may not for many months to come—now that she has gone back to her home on the Rio Grende." _ “Are you speaking the truth, srr? You have not seen her since— She is gone away from the house of her uncle?" , _ , “ She has," replied Maurice exhibiting surprise. “ Of course I have not seen her. I only knew she was here by her sen ‘ me so e delicacies while I was ilL In truth, I s in 118$ of them. The hotel cuisine is none of the nicest‘ nor was I the most welcome of Mr. Oberdofler’s guests. The Dona Isrdora has been too grateful for the slight service I once did her." "A service! May I ask what it was, Mr. Gerald?" “Oh, ce ‘1' wasmrlneure a chanceiadl had the rtunit 0 use t e oun 11 once 23:0 h¥5r from some rude Indizns— ildyCat and lis ales—into whose hands she had fallen while making a journey from the Rio Grande to visit her un- cle on the Leona—Don Silvio Martinez, whose house you can see from here. The brutes had got drunk; and were threatening—not exactl her life—though that wasin some danger, but—we , the poor girl was in .trouble with them, and might have had some difficulty h getting away had I not chanced to ride up." ‘ A’ slight service you call it? You are modest in your estimate, Mr. Gerald. A man who should do that much for me—” “What would you do for him?" asked the mus- tanger, placing a significant emphasis on theflnal word. “ should love him," was the prompt reply. “ Then,” said Maurice, spurring his horse close up to the side of the spotted mustang, and whispering nm the ear of its rider, with an earnestness strafiely con- trasting to his late reticence “ I would give h my life to see ouinthe hands of lld Cat and his drunken comra es—-the other half to deliver you from the dan- ger.‘ "Do you mean this, Maurice Gerald? Do not trifle with me, I am not a child. Speak the truth! Do you mean it? ' “ I do! As heaven is above me, I do!" The sweetest kiss I ever had in my life was when a. woman—s. fair creature, in the hunting field—leaned overinthe saddle andkissed measIsatinmlne. The fondest embrace ever received by Maurice Ger- aid was that given by Louise Poindexter, when, stand- ing:er in her stirrup,and laying her hand u on his sho der, she crlscbwi: an agony o, earnest pas on: “Dewithmeaa wilt,-Ilweymt—Ilovay " CHAPTER XXVl'l'I. s nusmm roaamnax. exas became the scene of an An lo-Saxon Evsasince T tion—I might go a century further k on say from the time of its colonization 13y the descendants of the Conquistadores-the sub act 0 primary import- anoehasbeen the disposition 0 its abo ' es. Whether these. the lawful lords of the soil. chanced to be in a state of pipes war—or whether, by some treaty with the settlers. ey were consenti to a temporary mes—made but slight difference, so or asthe were ed about. In either case they were a topic do discourse. In the former, it related to the are to be hourly apprehended from them; in the latter to the probable duration of such “68me as might for t e mo- tagent be binding them to V their mahawks cu- m . In Mexican times these questions formed the staple of conversation. at duayuno, almuerzo, comida, 1/ ma; in American times 11 to this present hour, the have been the themes of (Escussion at the breakfast, er. and supper-tables. In the planter's piazza, as in the hunters cam , bear, deer, cougar, and ecu-m are not named wl half the frequency, or s lrlng emphasis allotted to the word “ an," n; is tgis that scares the Texan child instead of the stereo. ma nursery ghost, keeping it awake on its mosa- ed mattress—disturbing almost as much the repose it its parent. . Dougie the surroundln of strong walls—more resem. b ace of a fortress ban a. gentleman”: dwelling. tee of Casa del Corvo were not excepted from this feeling of apprehension, universal along the fron- ts. ~ n m’p...“°"b“‘:‘°.:§ sundae we 0 in re ; u , y 00 mgette uainted with tg’e c :- actor of this oat “terror” t t interfered with the slumbers of ‘ their fellow-settlers. A That it was no mere “ bog-ls” theilhlséid begun toba- to c lieve; but if any of them remained “1013. a note received from the major commanding the fort—about. two weeks after the horse-hunting expedition—was cach to cure them of their incredulity. It came in the early mowed by a mounted rlneman. It was put into the of the inter inst as he was about sitting down to the b fist-t8 19, around which were assembled the three individuals who com his household—h da liter Louise hisson H png his nephew Cass us (film... ' a; if. ”?$AI%“W°W?m “time; no . e- an pose recanbe'nodou ofthat,sincethemejor Wconvin Un leasant_ news. Papa?” asked his oar-til; . 0: ques- r0 redspnngingto horchoekossheput mm” . iiy scarce passed them ere she regre The spoken interrogatory was continued by others, not uttered aloud. o “What can the.major have written to him? I met him esterday while riding in the c arral. He saw me n comupany with—can it be that Mon Die'u.’ if father she d hear it—" “.‘The Comanches on the war trail‘—so writes the major.’ “Oh, that's all!" said Louise, involuntarily giving voice to the phrase, as if the news had nothing so very fearful init. “ You frightened me, sir. I thought t was somethi worse." “Worse! at trifling child to talk so! There is nothing worse in Texas than Comanches on the war trail—pothi half so dangerous." Louise mig t have thou ht there was—a danger at lesstasdifflcult to be avo ded. Perhaps she was re- flecting upon a pursuit of wild steeds-or thinking of the trail of a (use. Sine made no reply. Calhoun continued the conver- sa on. “ Is the major sure of the Indians being up? What does he say, uncle?" “That there have been rumors of it for some days past, though not reliable. Now it is certain. Last n. ht Wild Cat, the Seminole chief, came to the fort WI a. party of his tribe, bri ' ghthe news that the painted pole has been erected i: t 6 camp of the Co- manchesall over Texas, and that the war-dance has been going on for more than a month. That several Parties are already out u n the maraud, and may be ooked for amon the sett ements at any moment." “ And Wild Ca himself—what of him i" sard Louise, an unpleasant reminiscence suggesting the inqu! . “ Is that renegade Indian to' be trusted who appears be as much an enemy to the whites as to the people of his own race 2" “ uite true, In daughter. You have described the chic of the Sem noles almost in the same terms as I find him spgken of in a postscript to the major‘s letter. He counse us to beware of the two-faced old rascal, who will besure to take sides with the Comanches, whenever it may suit his convenience to do so." “Well,” continued the planter, laying aside the note. and betaking himself to his coffee and waflles, _“ I trust we sha'n’t see any red-skins here—either Seminoles or Comanches. In makin their marauds let us hope they will not like the loo of the crenelled parapets of Casa del Corvo, but give the hacienda a wide berth." Before any one could respond, 9. sable face appear- ing at the window of the dining-room—whlch was the apartment in which breakfast was being eaten—caused % complete change In the character 0 the conversa- on. The countenance belonged to Pluto, the coachman. “ What do on want P ute?" inquired the owner. “Ho, ho! ’r Woodl , dis chile want nui'fln’ ‘t all. 0 look in t’ tell Missa Looey dat soon’s she done eat her rekfass de spotty am unner de saddle, all ready for chuck de bit into him mouf. Ho! hol'dat critter do dance ’bout onde pavestonesas of it wa‘ mad to ’treak it back to de smoove tuff of the prairie." “Going out for a ride. Louise?“ asked the planter, with a‘shadow upon his brow, which he made but little edort to conceal. “Yes, papa; I was thinking of it." “ You must not.” “Indeed l" “ I mean that you must not ride out am. It is not “iii?” - “ y do you think so, papa? I have often ridden out alone." “ Yes; rhaps too often." The las remark brought the slightest tin e of color to the checks of the eye Creole, though e seemed uncertain what cons root on she was to ut upon it. Notwithstandin its ambiguity, she not press for an a? tion. n the contra , she preferred shun- ,es was shown by her re . “ you think so, papa, I shall not go out ain. Thong to be cooped up here, in this dismal dwe rigs, while you gentlemen are all abroad upon business— d that the life you intend me to lead in Texas 2" “Nothing of the sort, my daughter. I have no objbec- tion to your riding out as much as you please; ut He must be with you, or your cousin Cassius. 011%,» embargo on your goingalone. I have my reasons. ‘ “ Reasons! What are they!" I The question came involuntarily to her lips. It had ted having asked it. By her uneasy air it was evident she had. apprehensions as to the answer. The reply appeared partth to relieve her. “ What other reasons do you wont ?" said the lanter evidently endeavorlng to escape from the sus don o duplicit by the statement of a convenient f ; “ what better t u the contents of this letter from the major? Remember, my child, you are not in Louisiana, where aladyrna travel anywhere without fear of insult or outrage; at in Texas, where she ma dread bo th— where ev’en her life may be in danger. ere there are ans. the fear-in- Indl “ M excursions don’t extend so far from the house that need have any fear of Indians. I never go more than five miles at the most." “Five miles!" ex ed the ex-omcer of volunteers, with a sardonic smile; “ you would be as safe at , cousin Loo. You IBM as hkelyto encounter t e red-skins within a bun yards of the door as at the mesa“ can “in”. the war- ' 00 or a a time. In In yopinion, uncle Woodley is right; you fl 10018ng fl 6 out 3°33}; torted the young Oreo] “ as so ' re e turning WM] tow”? her cousin. “And ra : sir, may I ask of w at service your comgariy wou d be me in the ‘event of my encountering t e omanches, which I don't believe there's the sli htest danger of my (1015);! A pretty figure we’d cut— e pair of us—in the ml ofawar-rtyofpalntedsa eslfialha! The danger would)?» yours, not mine; ce I should certainly ride away and leave you to your own devices. Dancer. indeed. five miles of the house! If there‘s horseman in Texas—Gav es not excepted— who can catch u withrn little una in a five-mile ,hemust dens steed; whichismorethan you do, Mr. Cash!" “ Silence. daughter!" commanded Poindexter. “ Don’t let me hear you talk in that absurd strain. Take no notice of it, nephew. Even if there were no danger fromIn there are other outlaws in these rts was "“t. is “New u t...”- 0" I you 6 a . as on . n customed to do." ’ y ' “Be it as ou will, papa " rejoined Louise, rising from the bran est-table, and with an air of res! tion preparinng leave the room. “Of course I sh obey you—at t 6 risk of losing rendy health for want of exer- cise. Go, Pluto!" shea d , addressing herself to the darkey, who still stood grinuin in the doorway, “turn Luna loose into the corral—t e pastures—anywhere. Let her stray back to her native prairies, if the creep ture be so inclined; she’s no longer needed here." With this speech the young lady swept out of the Kala, leaving the three youn gentlemen who still re~ tamed their seats by the tab e, to reflect upon the sa tire intended to be conveyed by her words. ' They were not the last to which she gave utterance In that same series. As she glided along the corridor leading to her own chamber, others low‘murmured, mechanime escaped from her lips. They were in the shape of interrogatories—a string of them self-asked, and only to be answered by conjecture. “What can papa have heard? Is it but his suspi- cions? Can any one have told him? Does he know that we have met 1‘" CHAPTER XXIX. m. corms AT noun. CALHOUN took his departure from the breakfast-table almost as abruptly as his cousin; but on leaving the sala instead of returning to his own chamber he sallied forth from the house. Still suifering from wounds but half-healed, he was nevertheless sufllciently convalescent to go abroad—- into the arden, to the stables, the corrals—anywhem around t 8 house. On the present occasion, his excursion was intended to conduct him to a more distant point. As if under the stimulus of what had turned u in the conversa- tion, or per-ha s by the contents of t 8 letter that had been read—he feebleness seemed for the time to have forsaken him: and, vigorously plying his crutch he proceeded up the river in the cl action of Fort e n a barren tract of land, that lay about halfway be- tween the hacienda and the fort—and that did not ap— pear to belong to any one—he arrived at the terminus of his limping expedition. There wasa ve of maz- qm’t, with some larger trees shading it; an in the midst of this, a rude hovel of “wattle and dab,"knownin South-western Texas as a jacale. It was the domicile of Miguel Diaz, the Mexican mus- tanger—a lair appropriate to the semi-savage who had earned for himself the distinctive appellation of E1 Capote (“ Prairie Wolf.") t was .not always that the wolf could be found in his den—for his jacale deserved no better description. It was but his occasional sleepin -place; during those intervals of imctivlty, when, by t e disposal of a drove of captured mustangs, he could afford to sta for a time within the limits of the settlement, indulging in such ss pleasures as its proximity afforded. C oun was fortunate in finding him at home,- thou b not quite so fortunate as to find him in a stat: of so riety. He was- not exactly intoxicated—haw after a prolonged spell of sleep, rtiaLly recoverl'léi from this, the habitual condition of s exstence. “H’lanor!” he exclaimed, in his rovmcial pntois, slurri the salutation as his visitor arkened the door of the acale. “Par Bios! Who'd have expected to sec you? Sientesel Be seated. Takeachair. There's one, Achair! Ha! ha! ha!" The lau h was called up at contemplation of that which be ad facetiously termed a chair. It was the skull of a mustang, intended to serve as such- and which, with another similar piece, a rude table of cleft yucca-tree, and a couch of cane reeds. u n which the owner of the acute was reclining, const tuted the sole furniture of iguel Diaz‘s dwelling}.n8 , Calhoun, fati ed with his ha] promenade, ac- cepted the invr tion of his host, and sat down upon the horse-skull. He did not permit much time to pass before entering upon the ob ect of his errand. “Senor as!" said he, “I have come for—“ “ S‘nor Americano!” exclaimed the half-drunken horse-hunter, cutting short the explanation, “wh waste words upon that? Gammon. I nowwellenoug I for what ou‘ve cpme. You want me to wipe out that devilish rlandea H W n!" “ well. I romlsed you I would do it for five hundred t t e proper time and op ortunlty. I will. guel Dias never played false to s promises. But the time's not come, nor capitan ; no yet the nity. 007410! To kill a man outright requires It , can’t be done—even on the prairies—without danger c." detection; and if detected, ha! what chance for me You forget, nor ca (an that I'm a Mexican. of your people, might slay Don Mauricio; and at clear on the score 0 its being a narrel. Mold I With us Mexicans it is diiferent. we stick our machete into a man so as to let out his life's blood, it is called murder, and you Amer-team, with your stupid juries of twslve honest men, would renounce it so; ay, and hang a poor fellow for it. UMMGN. I can‘t risk that. I hate the Irlandes as much as you: but I’m not gain to chop oi! mfivnnose to spite my own face. I mus wait for the e and the chance—carrot, tbs time and the chance." . “Both are come!“ exclaimed the tem ter, ben earnestly toward the bravo. “You (1 you co ' do it, if there was any Indian trouble going on?" “ 1 course I said so. If there was that-— “ You have not heard the news, then?" “ What news?" ‘ _ “ That the Comanches are starting on the war-trail." “Car 0/” exclaimed El 00 etc s ringi u freq his cone of reeds, and exhibiting all he acrtfiity? of his namesake when roused by the scent of prey. ‘ Sahar- atma Vimen.’ Do you speak the truth nor caption f" " Neither more nor less. The news ust reached the fort. I have it on the best authoriW— e officer is m‘IPIn , ' red th Mexi fleetineg case ‘ answe 6 can re “in that case. hon Mauricio may die. The Comanchi can kill him Hal ha! ha!" “You are sure of that!" “I should be surer if his scalpwereworth a thm sand dollars instead of five hundred." “ It is worth that sum.” first mg; n... ousan o " ‘ngu promise it?“ ' v , s o. , ‘ “Then the Comanches m seal nor I You may return to Cass del Corvfifi go W 3- with confidence that. whenever the opportunitvfi ' l x i. A .11 Lo. 8. 23 The Headless, Horseman. rive-iv, your enemy will lose his hair. You understand in 9‘ I do." / “ Get ready your thousand pesos. " “They await our acce tance." “ Curiae. I s all earn t em in a trice. Adios! adios! “Gaul sima Wmen.” exclaimed the fiofane rufflan, as his visitor limped out of si ht. “ at a magnifi- cent fluke of fortune! A pe ect chtripe. Athousand dollars for killing the man intended to kill on in own Mailing without charging anybody a single claw or the de “ The Comanches upon the war trail! thin are ,- can it be true? If so, I must look up In old disgu ses— gone to neglect through these three ong years of ac- cursed eace. Viva la yuerra dc to: Indies. Success to the pan mime of the prairies!" CHAPTER XXX. A BAGITTARY CORRESPONDENCE. Looms POINDEXTER, passionately addicted to the apolil'ts termed “manly,” could scarce have overlooked arc ei . She "load not. The bow and .its adjunct the arrow, were in her hands as toys which she could control to er Will. She had been instructed in their manage by the Hon- ma .Indians; a remnant of whom—the last descendants of a once powerful ti'ibe-linayhstill be encountered u on the "coast" of the MlSSlSSl pi, in the proximity to Point Coupe and the ba' cu Atc afalaya. For a long time her bow ad lain unbent—unpacked, indeed, ever since it had formed part of the para- phernalia brought over in the wa on~traln. Since her arrival at Casa del Corvo she had ound no occasion to use the weapon of Diana; and her beautiful bow of Osage orange wood, and quiver of plumed arrows, had lain neglected in the lumber-room. There came a time when the were taken forth, and honored with some attention. t was shortly after that scene at the breakfast-table; when she had received the paternal command to discontinue her equestrian excursions. To this she had yielded implicit obedience, even be- yond what was intended; since not only had she given u riding out alone, but declined to do so in company. he spotted mustang stood listless in its stall, or pranced frantically around the corral; wondering w ts spine was no longer crossed, or its ribs compresse , by t at stran e caparison that more than aught else reminded it 0 its ca tivitfi. It was not no ice d, owever. Though_ no more mounted by its air mistress, it was the object of her daily—almost hourly—solicitude. The best corn in the granaderlao of del Corvo was selected—the rams—furnished for its manger while for drink - {aged the cool crystal water from the current of the na. Pluto took delight in groomin it; and, under his currycomb and brushes its coat ad attained a. gloss which rivaled that upon l’luto’s own sable skin. While not en aged attending upon her pet, Miss Poindexter divl ed the residue of her time between in- door duties and archery. have selected as the substitute for that pastime of ‘whlch she was so (passionately fond, and in which she ,was now denied in ulgence. The scene of her sagittary erformances was the ar- den, with its adjacent shrub cry-an extensive inc os- ure three sides of which were fenced in by the river itse curving round it like the shoe of a race-horse, the fourth being a straight line traced by the rearward wall of the hacienda. Within this circumference a garden, with ornamental grounds, had been laid out, in times long gone by—as might have been told b many ancient exotics seen standing over it. Even e statues spoke of a past age —not only in their decay, but in the personages they were intended to represent. Equally did they betray the chisel of the Spanish sculptor. Among them you might see commemorated the figure and features of the great Conde; of the Canépeador; of Ferdinand and his energetic ueen- of the scoverer of the American world; of its wo chief mquirtadm'es—Cortez and Pi- mm‘ and of her, alike famous for her beauty and devotion, the Mexican 'nche. It was not amidst these sculptured stones that Louise Poiudexter practiced her feats of archery' thou h more than once in t she have been seen standing be ore the statue of Ms inche. and scanning the voluptuous out- line of the Indian maiden’s form: not with any severe tho ht of scorn, that this dark-skinned da Eve succumbed to such a conqueror as 00 oz. The young Creole felt in her secret heart that she had no right to throw a stone at that statue. 0 one less famed than Cortex—thou h in her estimation equally deserving of fame—she h surrendered what the great conqulstador had won from Marina—her heart of hearts. In her excursions with the bow, which were of diur- nal occurrence, she strayed not among the statues. Her game was not there to be found; but under the shadow of the tall trees that, keeping the curve of the river, formed a semicircular grove between it and the iardqn. Most of these trees were of ind enous wt —Wild Chinas, mulberries, and pecans—t iat in t e laying out of the grounds had been permitted to remain where nature, perhaps some centuries ago, had scattered their It was under the leafy cano y of these fair forest trees the young Creole deligh to sit—or stra along the edge of the eilucid river, that rolled dream y by. Here she was alone; which of late appeared to be her eference. Her father, in his sternest mood, could not ve denied her so slight a rivilege. If there was dan er upon the outside prai 3 there could be none wit the garden~inclosed, as it was, by a river broad and (ice ,and a wall that could not have been scaled without he aid of a thl -round ladder. So far from objectin to this solitary s _rolli the lanter ap- ocared somet ing more than satisfied t h s daughter ‘had taken to these tranquil habits' and the sus icions ‘ .vhich he had conceived—not altogether witlgout 21 quem bemuiing gradually dismissed from his 1111!]. After all, he might have been misinformed? The tongue of scandal takes delight in torturing; and he may have been chosen as one of its victims? or, r.— hapfl, it was bug‘s. casual thin —-the encounter, of w ich he had between daughter and Maurice r the mustangeri’ have met by accident in the ma 2;: m; m... - finest.“ snifht have been nothing in it, beyond Illa is «know adamant of her atltude? \ ,_ well that she had. , such willingness, v‘ liter of _ The latter she appeared to trad consented to relinquish her rides. It was but little in keeping with her usual custom, when crossed. Obedi- ence to that gartlcular command could not have been irksome; an argued innocence uncontaminated, virtue still intact. So reasoned the fond father, who, beyond conjecture, was not permitted to scrutinize too closelg' the charac- ter of his child. In other lands, or iii a liferent class of society, he niight'possibly have asked direct ques- tions, and required direct answers to them. This is not the method Eon the MiSSisSiplpi; where a son of ten years old—a ughter of less t an fifteen—would rebel against such scrutiny, and call it inquisition. Still less might Woodie Poindexter strain the statutes of parental autliorl y—the father of a Creole belie—for years used to that proud homage whose in- crease often stills, or altoget er destroys, the simpler affections of the heart. Though her father, and by law her controller, he knew to what a short lengIth hillsupower might extend, if exert- ed in opposition to or w . He was, therefore, satisfied with her late act of obedi- ence—rejoiced to find that instead of continuin‘ her reckless rides upon the raine, she now contente her— self within the ran re of e garden—with bow and arrow the small b rds that were so unlucky as to come nu er er aim. Father of fifty years old, why reason in this foolish fashion? Have you forgotten your own youth—the tho hts that then inspired you—the deceits you prac- tice under such inspiration—4m counterfeitsayou as- sumed—the “ stories ’ ou told to cloak what, ter all, ma have been the nob est impulse of yo nature? e father of the fair Louise appear to have be- come oblivious to recollections c this kind; for his early life was not without facts to have furnished them. They must have been forgotten, else he would have taken occasion to follow his daughter into the garden. and observe her—himself unobserved—while dis orting herself in the shrubbe that bordered the river%ank. By doing so, he woul have discovered that her dis- position was not so cruel as may have been su posed. nstead of transflxiu the innocent birds that uttered in such foolish confl ence around her, her greatest feat in archery appeared to be the impali a piece of paper on the po nt of her arrow, and son ing the shaft so c arged across the. river, to fall harmlesst into a thicket on the opposite side. He would have witnessed an exhibition still more singular. He would have seen the arrow thus 5 cut —a ter a. short interval, as if dissatisfied with the p ace into which it had been shot, and desirous of returning to the fair hand whence it had taken its departure— come back into the garden with the same, or a similar piece of aper transfixed upon its shaft. The th ng might have appeared mysterious—even su- pernatural—to an observer unac uainted with the s irit and mechanism of that abnorma henomenon. T ere was no observer of it save the two ndividuais who ulter- nateiy bout the bow, shooting with a single arrow; and by them it was understood. “ Love laughs at iocksmiths. ” The old adage is scarce suited to Texas, where lock-making is an unknown e. “Where there’s a will. there's a way,” expresses pretty much the same sentiment, appropriate to all imes and ever. place. Never was it more correctly il- lustrated than n hat exchange of bow-shots across the channel of the Leona. Louise Poindexter had the will: Maurice Gerald had suggested the way. CHAPTER XXXI. A small: omens oaosssn. Tim sagittary correspondence could not last for long. They are but lukewarm lovers who can content them- selves with a dialogue carried on at bow-shot distance. Hearts brimful of passion must beat and burn together —in close roximity—eam feeling the pulsation of the other. “ there be an Elysium on earth, it is this!" Maurice Gerald was not the man—nor Louise Poin- dexter the woman—to shun such a consummation. It came to ass: not under the tell-tale light of the sun, but in e lone hour of midnight, when but the atom could have been Witnesses of their social derelic- on. Twice had they stood tagetber in that garden grove— twlce had they1 exchanged love vows—under the steel- gray light of t e stars; and a third interview had been arra ed between them. Lit e sus ected the proud planter—perhaps prouder of his dauggter than anything else he possessed—that she was daily en aged in an act of_ rebellion—the wild- 19%?"th whic parental authority may pronounce His own daughter—his only daugfhter—of the best blood of Southern aristocracy; beaut ul accom lished, eve to secure him a splendid a ance— aiding nigh ass tion with a horse-hunter! o 6. he ve but dreamt it when slumberlng upon his 33ft cfiificbtfihe gliieatm smuggle??? startle? him from s es s cc 0 t ee rumpe Ee he’d no suspicion-not the slightest.' The thing was too improbable—too monstrous, to have given cause for one. Its very monstrosity would have dis- armed him, had the thought been an ested. He had been pleased at his dnug r‘s compliance with his late in'unctions; the h he would have pre- ferred her obe ng them to the otter and rl out in com 11 with her brother or cousin—which s estill declgfé to do. This, however, he did not insist u on. He could well concede so much to her caprice, s me her tayl at home could be no disadvantage to the cages whic had‘prompted him to the stern counsel. er re obe , regret thgg’rohibition. Walking in confidence by day and sleeping in security by mg . he fancied, it Inig t scan be recalled: It was one of those 11 hts, known only to a southern 'sky, when the full roun moon rolls clear across a can- opy of sapphire; when the mountains have no mist, and look as though you could lay your hand upon them; when the wind is hushed, and the broad leaves of the tropical trees droop motionless from their bonghs; themselves silent, as if listening to the concert of siggu- lar sounds carried on in their midst, and in which n- gle the voices of living creatures belon ng to every de- garetgent of animated nature—beast, ird, reptile and s . Such-a nicht was it as you would select for a stroll in co ‘ y the being—the oneand on being—who i’ ‘5 ram“:de 3‘33???” .st...‘ on feels wayward flinging to have white anus exith ‘ / ience had almost influenced him to cl ‘told that the individual who had open med around your neck, and bright axes before your face. with the. vein tuous gleammg t at can only be felt to perfection un er the mystic light of the moon. ’ It was long after the lnfantr drum had beaten tattoo, and .the cavalry bugle sound the signal for the garri- son of Fort Inge to go to bod—iii act it was much nearer the hour of m dnight—when a horseman rode away from the door of Oberdoifcr‘s hotel; and, taking the down-river road, was soon lost to the sight of the latest loiterer who might have been strolling through the streets of the villa re. It is already known hat this road passed the hacien' da of Cass del Corvo, at some distance from the house, and on the opposite side of the river. It is also known that at the same place it traversed a stretch of open rairie. with only a piece of copsewaymidway between wo extensive tracts of Chaparral. This clump of isolated timber, known in prairie par- lance as a “ motte " or “island " of timber, stood by the side of the road, along which the horseman had con» tinued, after taking his departure from the village. 0n reaching the copse he dismounted led his horse in among the underwood; “hitched " m, by looping his bridle rein around the topmost twi rs of an elastic bough; then detaching a long re 0 o twisted horse-v hair from the “ horn ” of his sad is, and inse his arm into its coil, he glided out to the edge 0 the “ island," on that side t at lay toward the hacienda. Before forsaking the shadow of the copse, he cast a glance toward the sky, and at the _moon sailing su- premely over it. It was a glance of inquiry, endin in a look of chagrin, with some muttered phrases t t rendered it more emphatic. “ No use waiting for that beauty to go to bed. She’s made up her mind she won’t go home till morning— ’ ha! hai’ The droll conceit, which has so oft amused the noc- turnal inebriate of great cities, appeared to produce a like effect upon the n' ht patroller of the rail'ie; and for a moment the sh ow, late darkenin h s brow, dis- afiipeared. It returned anon; as he stoo gazin across t e open space that separated liim from the ver-bot- tom—beyond which lay the hacienda of Casa del Corvo, clearly outlined upon the opposite blufl'. “ If there shmzld‘be any one stirring about the place! It’s not likely at this hour; unless it be the owner of a bad conscience who can't sleep. ,Trothi there‘s one such within those walls. If he be abroad there’s a good chance of his seeing me on the open ground' not I should care a straw if it were only myself to be com- promised. By Saint I’atrick, I see no ternativebut to risk iti It‘s no use waiting u on the moon, deuce take her! She don‘t go down for ours: and there’s not the sign of a cloud. It won‘t do to kee her waiting No; I must chance it in the clear light. ere goes!“ Saying this, with a swift but stealthy step, the dis~ mounte horseman glided across the treeless tract, and soon reached the escar merit of the cliff, that formed the second hight of lan rising above the channel of the na. ~ He did not stay ten seconds in this conspicuous situ~ ation; but b a path that zigzisfged down the bluff—and with which 9 appeared fam ar—he descended to the river's “ bottom. In an instant after he stood u n the bank; at the convexity of the river‘s bend, an directly 0 posite the s 01: where a skin' was moored, under e somber a.ch of a gigantic cotton-tree. For a short while he stood gazing across the stream, witha glance that told of scrutiny. He was scanning the shrubbery on the other side: in the endeavor to $13139 out whether any one was concealed beneath its a ow. Becoming satisfied that no one was there, he raised the loop-end of his lam—for it was this he carried over his arm—and iving it half a dozen whirls in the air, cast it across t e stream. The noose settled over the cutwater of the skid; and, crossing around the stem, enabled him to tow the tiny craft to the Side on which he stood. Stepping in, he took hold of a pair of oars that lay" along the planking at the bottom; and lacing them hetween the thole-pins, pulled the boat bac to its moor- ap out he secured it as it had been before, against t e drift of the current; and then, taking stano. under the shadow of the cotton-tree, he a peared to await either a signal, or the appearance some one. exgicted by appointment. 5 maneuvers up to this moment, had the been ob- served, mlght have rendered him amenable the sus- picion that he was a housebreaker, about to “crack the crib " of Casa del Corvo. The phrases that fell from his lips however, could thzi hiive been heard would have abso ved him of any so vile or vulgar intention. It is true he bad design. 11 n the hacienda: but thee did not contemp to e that its cash. iplate, or jewelry—if we except the most Ereciclifus jewel contained—the mistress of emulsion erse . . It is scarce necessaryto say, that the man who had hidden his horse in the “ motto," and so clever effect ginghe crossing of the stream, was Maurice, e mus- er. CHAPTER xxm, uon'r AND sinus. ‘ Hr. had not longto chafe under the trystlng-tree if such it were. At thev moment when he was step into the skid, a casemgg window that looked to the Irear of the hacienda commenced turning u 11 its hinges, and was then for a time held slightly a in" as insome one inside were intending 'to no ort toned under the light of the moon—gi‘as in the sash} _ t e window was of the tier sex; the taper fingers with their costly garniture, proclaimed her in ad : while the ma- jestic soon after exhibited cuts dc, on the to of the stairway that led to the garden—could be no 0 er than that 0 Louise qundexter. It was she. , and only \ hesitated in order to be assured that the “ coast was ear A small white hand—decorated with jewels that glisv i For a second or two the lady stood listening, She heard, or fancied she heard, the di of an ear. She might be mistaken; for the sti-iduln 'on of the cicadas , tilled the atmosphere with confused sound. No matter. The hour of mediation had arrived; and she was t, the one to stand upon punctilios as to time—especi after spell chamber, that had up d like as With noiseless days. descending the no stairway. the dad sylph-llke m the males end shmr» ed ,, u,an under the flow of the cottoawooa, a,“ l ding two hours of solitary expectation in her: ‘ 24 Vol. T. The New York Library. ",7, nan flung herself into the arms eagerly outstretched to re- ceive her. Who can describe the sweetness of such embrace— strange to say, sweeter from being stolen? Who can paint the delicious emotions e orienced at such a mo— ment—too sacred to be touche by the pen? It is only after long throes of pleasure had passed, and the lovers had be u to converse in the more sober language of life, that t becomes proper, or even possi- ble to re ort them. Thus id they speak to each other, the ladytaking , ‘. he initiative: _ : “To-marrow n! ht you Will meet me again—to-mor- mw night. deares Maurice ?” “To-morrow, and,.to-morrow, and to-morrow—if I were free to say the word.” “ And why not? Why are you not free to say it ?” Al“'.i‘o~morrow, by break of day, I am off for the amo.“ “Indeed! Is it imperative you should 0?" The interrogan was put in a tone hat betrayed gig-pleasure. Av! on of a sinister kind always came ore the mind of Louise Poindexter at mention of the lone hut on the Alamo. And why? It had afforded her hospitality. One would suppose that her visit to it could scarce fail to be one of the pleasantest recollections of her life. And yet it was not! “I have excellent reasons for going,"was the reply she received. “I” Eigcellent reasons! Do you expect to meet any one ere “ yfollower Phelim—no one else. Ihope the poor fellow is still upon the grass. Isenthimou about ten days ago—before there was any tidings of these Indian troubles." “On Phelim you expect to meet? Is it true, Ger- ald? earest! do not deceive me! Only him?” “Why do you ask the uestio Louise?" “I can not tell youw y. I s ould die of shameto speak my secret thoughts." “Do not fear to s ak them: I could keep no secret 1liron'i‘you—in truth could not. So tell me what it is, ve “ Do you wish me, Maurice?" “I do—of course I do. I feel sure that whatever it may be, I shall be able to explain it. I know that my relations with you are of a questionable character or might be so deemed if the world knew of them. 1’: is for that very reason that I am going back to the Alamo “And to stay there?" "Only for a single day or two at most. Only to gather u household gods, and bid a last adieu to e was.» e- “You ap‘pear surpflnsed‘ ?" "' No! 0 y myst ed. .1 can not comprehend you. Perha s I never shall.” “ ’T a very simple—the resolve I have taken. I know you will forgive me when I make it known to you." “Forgive you, Maurice! For what do you ask for- giveness?" “ For keeping a secret from you, that—I am not what I seem.“ “ God forbid you should be otherwise than what you seem to inc—noble, grand, beautiful, rare among men! Oh, llldauiice! you know not how I esteem-how I love you “Not more than I esteem and love you. It is that I very esteem that now counsels me to a separation.” “ A separation?" “ Yes, love; but it is hoped only for a short time.’ ' “ How long?" “While a steamer can cross the Atlantic and return.” "An age! And why this?“ “ I am called to my native coun -—Ireland, so much despised, as you already know. ’ only within the last twenty hours I received the summons. I obey it the more eagerly, that it tells me I shall be able soon to return. and prove to your proud father that the poor horse—hunter who won his daughter’s heart—have I won it, Lomse?" “ Idle questioner! Won it? You know you, have more than won it—conquered it to a subflgtion from which it can never escape. Mock me not, urice, nor " my ’stricken heart—henceforth and forevermore, your slave!" During the raptorons embrace that followed this pas- sionate speech, by which a high-born and beau lful maiden con! to having surrendered herself— heart, soul and body—to the man who had made con- quegt ofdher affections, there was silence perfect and pro oun . The grasshop er amid the eon herba e the cicada on the tree-leaf: the mock-bgd on the t5 ’ of the tall cottonwood, and the night-jar soaring sun her in the moonlit an, apparently actuated b a simultaneous in- stinct, ceased to give utterance to air seminar cries, as though one and all, by their silence, esigned to do honor to the sacred ceremony transpiiing in their presence! But that tempor cessation of sounds was due to a different cause. A ootstep grating upon the graveled walk of the garden, and yet toch t so lightly, that onlyan acute ear would ave perce ved the contact— wsa the real cause why the nocturnal voices had sud- become stilled. The lovers, absorbed in the sweet interchange of a mu aflection, heard it not. The saw not that dark shadow, the sha of man or evil, flitting among the flow ; now nding by a statue, now cowering under cover of the shrubbery until at length it became stationary behind the trunk of a tree, scarce ten es from the s t where they were kissing each other Little di they suspect, in that moment of celestial ' piness when all nature was hushed around them, i that the silence was exposing their passionate speeches, and the treacherous moon, at the same time, betraying their excited actions. . That shadowy listener, crouc guilty-like behind the tree, was a witness to both. ithin ear-shot he could hear eve word—even the sighs an soft low .murmnrinss of th love; while under the silvery light of the moon, with scarce a sprig coming between, he could detect their slightest gestures. It is scarce necessary to give the name of thedas~ tardly eavesdro That of Cassius Calhoun will CHAPTER XXXJIL , A roams mommy. law came the cousin of Louise Poindexter to be astir go that late hour of the night, or, as it was now, the earliest of the morning? Had he been forewarned of this interview of the lovers? or was it more some in- stinctive suspicion that had caused him to orsake his sleeping-chamber and make a tour of inspection within the precincts of the garden? In other words, was he an eavesdropper by accident, or a spy acting upon information prekusly communi- cated to him? The former was the fact. Chance alone or chance aided b a clear fight had given him the clue to a dis- covery hat now ed his soul with the fires of hell. Standing uglon the houseto at the hour of midni ht —-what had ken him up tigere can not be guesse — hreathin vile tobacco smoke into an atmos here be- fore pe umed with the scent of the night- looming serous, the ex-captain of cavalry did not appear dis- tressed by any particular anxiety. He had recovered from the injuries received in his enc0unter With the musta er; and althou h that bit of evil fortune did not fa' to excite withn him the blackest chagrin, whenever it came up before his mind, its bitterness been, to some extent, counteracted by hopes of revenge—toward a plan for which he had already made some progress. Equally with her father he had been gratified that Louise was contented of late to stay Within doors: for it was himself who had secretly suggested the prohibi- tion of her going abroad. Equally had he remained ignorant asto the motive of that garden archery, and in a similar manner had misconceived it. In fact, he had begun to flatter himself, that, after all her indif- ference to himself might be 0 a feint on the part of his cousin, Oran iliu on upon is. She had been less cynical for some days; and this hadproduced upon him t e pleasant im ression, that he might have been mis- taken in his je ous fears. He had as yet discovered no positive proof that she entertained a partiality for the young Irishman; and as the days assed without an renewed cause for dis- quiet, he egan to believe hat in ieahty there was none. Under the soothing influence of this restored confl- d dence, had he mounted up to the azotea; and although it was the hour of midnight the careless no me with which he a plied the light to his cigar, and after- ward tood smo it, showed that he could not have come there for any very important purpose. It ma have been to exchange the sultry atmosphere of his sleeping-room for the fresher air outside; or he may have been tempted forth by the magnificent moon— thougl; he was not much given to such romantic con- tem tion. atever it.was, he had lighted his cigar, and was apparently enJoying it, with his arms crossed upon the coping of the parapet, and his face turned toward the river. It did not disturb his tranquillity to see a horseman ride out from the chaparral on the opposite side, and proceed onward across the open plain. He knew of the road that was there. Some traveler, he supposed, who n:Preferred taking advantage of the cool hours of the ght—a night, too, that would have tempted the wearies wayfarer to continue his journey. It ht be a planter who lived below returning from the v1 age, after lounging too long in e tavern saloon. In daytime, the individual migb have been identified; by the moo ' ht, it could only be made out that there was a man on orseback. The eyes of the ex-omcer accompanied him as. he trotted along the road; but simply With mechanical movements, as one musingly contem lates some com- mon waif drifting down the current 0 a river. It was on after the horseman had arrived op osite the island 0 timber, and was seen to pull up, an then ride into it, that the spectator upon the hausetop be- came stirred to take an interest in his movements. “ What the devil can that mean?” muttered Calhoun to himself, as he hastily plucked the 0 ar stump from between his teeth. “ D—n the man, he s dismounted!" continued he, as the stranger reappeared, on foot, by the inner e of the copse. “ And com ng this way—toward the bend of the liver —straight as he can streak it “ Down the bluff—into the bottom—and with a stride that shows him well acigiflainted with the way. Surely he don’t intend making ' way across into the garden? He’d have to swim for that‘ and any thin he could et there would scare pay him for his sins. at the id Scratch can be his intention? A t. of?” Thiswas Calhoun’s first idea—reJected almost as soon as conceived. It is true that in S -American coun- tries even the beggar goes on horseback. Much more ht the thief. ‘ or all this it was scarce probable, that a man would make a midnight expedition to steal fruit, or vegetables, in such cavalier st le. What else could e be after? The old maneuver of leaving his horse under cover of the copse. and coming forward on foot, and apparent with caution, as far as could be seen in the uncertain light, was of itself evidence that the man s errand could scarce be honest, and that he was agfimaching the premises of Casa del Corvo with some 6 design. What could it be? , Since leaving the upper plain he had been visible to Calhoun upon the housetop. The nnderwood skirt‘ the stream on the 0 site side, and into which he h entered, was conce him. “ What can he be after?” After putting this interrogatory to himself, and for about the tenth time—each with increasi emphasis— the composure of the exoaptaln was 5 further dis- turbed by a sound that reached his ear, exceedingly like a plunge in the river. It was sh ht, but clearly t e concussion of some hard substance rought in contact with water. “The stroke of an oar!" muttered he, on hearing it. “ It is, by Jupiter! He’s got hold of the skiff, and is crossing over to the garden. What on earth can he be after The questioner did not intend sta _ on the housetop to determine. His thought was to s p silently down- stairs—rouse the male members of the famil , along with some of the servants; and attempt to cap are the intruder by a clever ambuscade. He had raised his arm from the copestone, and was in the act of stepping back from the parapet, when his car was saluted by another sound, that caused him again to lean forward and look into the arden below. This new noise bore no resemblance. to the stroke of an ear nor did it proceed from the direction of the river. It was the creaking of a door as it turned upon its or what is much the same, a casement win- dow- w e it came from below—almost directly under- neath the spa where the listener stood. ! On craning over to ascertain the cause, he saw what lanched his cheeks to the whiteness of the moonlight at shone upon them—what sent the blood curdling through every corner of his heart. The casement which had been opened was that which belonged to the bed-chamber of his cousin Louise. He knew it. The lady herself was standing ouiside u -on the steps that led to the level of the garden, her ace turned downward, as if she was meditating a descent. Loose] attired iii white, as though in the neglige of a robe de c timbre, with only a small kerchief coded over her crown, she resembled some fair nymph of the m ht, some daughter of the moon, whom Luna delight e to surround with a silvery efl'ulgence! Calhoun reasoned rapidly. He could not do oiher wise than connect her appearance outside the easement With the advent of the man who was making his way across the river. And who could this man be? Who but Maurice the mustanger. A clandestine meeting) And by appointment! There could be no doubt of it; and if there had, it would have been dissolved at Seeing the white-relied re glide noiselessly down the stone steps, and along the raveled walks, till it at length disappeared amon the‘ rees that shadowed the mooring place of the ski . Like one paralyzed with a powerful stroke, the ex- captain continued for some lime upon the azotea, speechless and without motion. It was only after the white draperyhad disap eared, and he heard the low murmur of v01ces rismg rom among the trees, that he was stimulated to resolve upon some course of proceed in . ire thou ht no lon er of awakin the inmates of tho house—at east not t en. Better rst to he himself the $1219 witness of his cousin‘s disgrace; and then-and en— In short, he was not in a state of mind to form any definitelfilan; and, acting solely under the blind stimulus of a to instinct, he hurried down the escalera, and made his way through the house, and out into the gur— en. He felt feeble as he ressed forward. His legs had tottered under him w ile descending the stone ste 5. They did the same as he glided along the graveled wa k. They continued to tremb e as he crouched behind the tree-trunk that hindered him from being seen, while playing spectator of a scene that afflicted him tothe utmost depths of his soul. He heard their vows; their mutual confessions of love: the determination of the mustanger to be gone by the break of the morrow’s day' as also his promise to return, and the revelation to which that promise led. With bitter chagrin he heard how this determination was combated by Louise, and the reasons why she at leillfth appeared to consent to it. e was witness to that final and rapturous embrace, that caused him to strike his foot nervousl against the pebbles, and make that noise that h scared the cicadas into silence. Why'at that moment did he not spring forwai‘d— ut a termmation tothe intolerable tele-a-tete—and wit a blow of his bowie—knife lay his rival low. at his own feet and that of his mistress Why had he not done this at the beginni —for him there needed no further evi- dence than the nterview itself to prove that his cousin had been dishonored? There was a time when he would not have been so tient. What, then, was the nctilio that restrained 'm? Was it the presence 0 that iece of erfect mechanism, that, With a sheen of stee . listene , upon the person of his rival, and which, un ‘ er the bright moonbeams, could be distinguished as “ Colt’s six- shooter?” Perhaps it may have been. At all events, despite the terrible temptation to which his soul was submitted, something not only hindered him from taking an imme« diate vengeance, but in the mid-moments of that mad- dening spectacle—the final embrace— rompted him to turn away from the spot, and w1_ an earnestness even keener than he had yet exhibited hurry back in the direction of the house; leaving the lovers, still un- conscious of havin I been observed, to bring their sweet interview to an en mg, sure to be procrastmated. CHAPTER XXXIV. A curvansovs DICTATION. generators “1112i”? m. e y no is own ee )il -room. era was no sleep for a 8 hit suffering likle liigs. He went not ere; but to the chamber of his cousin. Not there—now untenanted, with its couch unoccupied, its coverlet undisturbed—but to that of her brother, young Henr Poindexter. He went eat as crooked corridors would permit him—in haste, without waiting to avail himself of the assistance of a candle. It was not needed. The moonbeams penetrating with ht, su cient for his p . os_e. fl‘he disclosed the en es of the apartment w1 hits am e furniture -—a wash-stand,a ing-table a couple 0 chairs, and a bed with “musketo clutaiiis. ’ . Under these last was the youth reclining, in that sweet, silent slumber experienced only by the innocent. His fine -formed head rested calmly upon the pillow, over wh ch lay scattered a profusion of shining curls. As Calhoun lifted the muslin “bar,” the moonbeams fell upon his face, displaying its outline of the manliest aristocratic type. What a contrast between those two sets of features brought into such close proximity! Both hysically handsome; but morally as Hyperion to the t . “Awake, Harry! awake!” was the abrupt utation extended to the sleeper, accompanied by a violent shaking of his shoulder. “0h! ah! you, cousin Cash? What is it? Not the In dians I hope?” “Worse than that—worse! worsel- Quick! Rouse yourself and see! uick, or it will be too late! ck, and be the witness 0 your own disgrace-the dis onor of your house. ick, or the name of Poindexter will be the laughing-s ock of Texas!” . After such summ us there could be‘no inclination for also at least on epart of a Poindexter' and ate sing e bound, the youngest representative of the family cleared the musketo curtains, and stood u his feet in the middle of the floor, in an attitude 0 speechless astonishment. ' “ “Don't wait to dress," cried the excited counselor- , you may put on your pants. D—n the clothesl gaggle. no time for standiiig upon trifles. Quick' ! The simple costimde the young planter was, , M accustom- ed to wear, common}; of trowsers and Creole blouse 0" 1y throufiéi‘nthe (glen bars of the reins, filled the chamber .......‘._. it u v ‘ _...,_ ‘ caparlson presented along No. 8. Altaknpas cotton/Ida, was adjusted to his erson in less than twenty seconds of time; and in wenty more, obedient to the command of his cousin, without under— standing why he had been so unceremonionsl suin- moiied orth, he was hurrying along the gravele walks of the. garden. “ What is it, Cash?" he inquired, as soon as the latter shower'l,sigus of coming to a stop. “What docs it all mean? ‘ “ See for yourself l Stand close to me! Look throu h yonder opening in the trees that leads down to t e {)laccghcrc your skit! is kept. Do you see anything iere “Something white. It looks like a woman‘s dress. It is that. It‘s a woman!" “ It is a woman. Who do you suppose she is?" “I can’t tell. Who do you say she is?" “ There's another figure—~11 dark one—by her Side." “ It appears to be a man! It is aman!‘ “Am who do 'llll suppose he is?” “ How should know, cousin Cash? Do you?“ “ I do. That man is Maurice the mustanger." “ And the woman :7" “ ls Loz'i.-c—ymu' sister—in his arms!“ As if a shot had struck him through the heart, the brother bounded upward, and then onward, along the at . . p “ Slay!" said Calhoun. catching hold of and restrain- in him. “ You forget that you are unarmed! The fc low, I know, has weapons upon him. Take this, and this," continued he, passmg his own knife and pistol into the hands of his cousin. “1 should have used them myself, long are this; but I thought it better that you—her brother—should be the avenger of your sis- ter‘s wrongs. On, my boy! See that you don’t hurt her; but take care not to lose the chance at him. Don’t give him a word of warning. As soon as they are sepa- rated, send a bullet into his hellly' and if all six should fail, go at him with the knife. ’ll stay near, and take care of you, if you should get into danger. Now! Stool upon him, and ive the Scoundrel h—ll‘ It needed not this lasphcmous injunction to inspire Henry Poindcxter to hasty acu'on. The brother of a sister—a beautiful sister—crring, undone! , In six seconds he was by her side, confronting her supposed seclncer. ‘ ow villain !" he cried; “ unclasp your loathsome arm from the waist of m sister. Louise! stand aside, and give one a chance of 'illing him! Aside, sister! Aside, sa 1er the command been obeyed, it is probable that Maurice Gerald would at that moment have ceased to exist—unless he had found heart tokill Henry Poin- (lexter; which, experienced as he was, in the use of. his iix-shémter, and prompt in its manipulation, he might ave one. Instead of drawi the pistol from its holster, or taking any steps for efense, he appeared only desirous of disengagiilrlig himself from the l'air arms still clin - ing around '_m, and for whose owner he alone fet alum i. > For Hen to fire at the su posed betrayer, was to risk taking is sister’s life; an( , restrained by the fear of this, he paused before pulling trigger. That pause reduced a crisis favorable to the safety of all three. he Creole irl, with a guicklperce tion of the circumstances, sud enl release her over rom the protecting embrace; am almost in the same in- stant, threw her arms around those of her brother. She knew there was nothing to be apprehended from the istol of Maurice. Henry alone md to be held from Oll‘l” mischief. “ ($0, go!" she shouted to the former while struggling to restrain the infuriated youth. ,“My brother s de- ceived by appearances. Leave me to explain. Away, Maurice! awa !" “ Henry Po ndexter," said the youn rlshman, as he turned to obey the friendly commam , “I am not the sort of villai :i you have been pleased to pronounce me. Give me but time, and I shall prove that your sister has formed a truer estimate of in character than either. her father, brother or cousin. claim but Six months. If at the end of that time I do not show in self worthy of her confldence—her—love—then shall make you welcome to shoot me at sioht, as you would the cow- ardly co ote, that chanced to cross your track. Till then I hi you adieu." Henry's struggles to escape from his ister’s arms— ‘werhaps stronger than his own—grew less energetic as 1e listened to these words. They became feebler and , ieebler—at length ceasing—when a plunge in the river . announced that the midnight intruder into the inclosed grounds of Casa del Corvo was on his way back to the ‘ wild prairies he had chosen for his home. It was the first time he had recrossed the river in that nrimitive fashion. On the two rewous occasions he had passed over in the skiff'iw ch had been drawn back to its moorings 1by a t(llelécfiited ifiand, tghe trow-fro ‘ in~ of that tin azo a a orme pa 0 e comm " y with the spotted mus- umfié th ! l " ro er on are wrong n ivronging him?!" were the wor s of expostulat on that followed close ’upon his departure. Oh, Henry— dsnrest Hal, if you knew how noble he is. So far from desiring to do me an injury, ‘tis only thismoment he has been disclosin aplan to—to—prevent—scandal—I mean to make me appy. Believe me, brother, he is a gentleman; and if he were not—if only the common man you take him for—I could not help what I have done—I could not, for I love him!” “Louisa tell me the truth! Speak to me, not as to your brother, but as to your own self. From what I ve this night seen. more than from our own words, I know that you love this man. He has taken advan- tage of your—youp—unfortunate passion?" ‘ No—no—no. As I live he has not. He is too noble for that—even had 1— Henry! he is innocent! there be cause for re et, I alone am to blame. 0h! brother! why di you insult him?” “ Have I done so?" ‘ “ You have, Henry—rudely, grosslly" “ I shall go after and apologize. you speak gm] sister, I owe him that much. I shall 0 this instant, him! indeed on are .4.“ liked him from the first—you know did? I could not believe him capable of a cow act. I can't now. Sister! come back into the house with me. And nowi _[ man, and a olOgize for words that, under the circum- stances, inig it have been deemed excusable. As the two disappeared in the doorway, a third figure, hitherto crouchin among the slirubbery, was seento rise erect, and f0 low them up the stone steps. The last was their cousin Cassius (.allioun. He, too, had thoughts of going after the mustanger. CHAPTER XXXV. AN vucoun’raous nos'r. “Tun chicken-hearted fool! Fool myself to have trusted to such be e! I might have known she‘d cajole the young calf, an let the scouudrel escape. rat! Not a thanke had done right. My cousin, a young lady, betra 'od by a. common scamp—a horse-lrader—wlio wouli have said a word against it? Such a chance! Why havel missed it? Death and the devil——it may not trump up again!“ _ Such weie the reflections of the ex-captain of cavalry, while at some paces distance following his two cousins on their return to the hacienda. “I wonder,” muttered he. on re-entcring tho ' (Lilo, “whether the blubbering baby be in earnest? 0ng after to apologize to the man who has made a fool of his sister! Ila—ha! It would be a good joke were it not too serious to he laughed at. He is in earnest, else why that row in the stable? "l‘is he bringing out his horse. It is, by the Almighty !“ The door of the stable, as is customary in Mexican haciendas, opened upon the avcd patio. It was standing ajar; but, fist as Calhoun turned his eye upon it, a man coming ruin the inside ushed it wide 0 en; and then step ed over the thresho d, with a saddlex horse following u use after him. The man had a Panama but upon his head, and a cloak thrown loosely around his shoulders. This did not hinder Calhoun Ii'uin recognizing his cousin Henry, as also the dark brown horse that belonged to him. “Fool! So—you‘ve let him off?" spitefully muttered the est-captain, as the other came within whis ering (particle of risk. ncle Woodlc distance. Give me back the bowie and pistol. e 're not to s suited to such delicate fingers as ours! ah! Why id on not use them as I to] you? ou’ve made a. mess o it!" “I have,” traiiquilly responded the young planter. :Ilknow it. I‘ve insulted—and grossly, too—a noble e ow.‘ “ Insulted a noble fellow! Ha—ha—ha! You‘re mad — {heavens you’re mad!” “ should have been had I followed your counsel, cousin Cash. Fortunately I did not go so far. I have done enough to deserve being called worse than a fool; though perhaps, under the circumstances, I may ob tain orgiveness for my fault. At all events, I intend to try for it and without osing time." “Where are you going?” “ After Mauricet e mustanger—to apologize to him for my misconduct.” “ lilisconduct! Ha—ha~—ha! “No. I’m in earnest. If you come along with me, you shall see!" “ Then I say you are mad! Not only mad, but a. na- turaiII-bo’m idith lite sin Cash afte ‘ ou re no ve cou ' o r W W If I fight ex- one day imitate me, and the in 9 I’ve been lateilly using myse , cuse you. erhaps you w make amends for your rudeness." Withou adding another word, the sy’oung gentleman -—one of u e somewhat rare ty es of others chivalry —s rung to his saddle; ave t e word to hishorse; and r0 e hurriedly through t e saguan. Calhoun stood upon the stones till the footfall of the :iorse became but faintly distinguishable in the dis- ance. Then as if acting under some sudden impulse hurried along the veranda to his own room' entered reap ared in a rough overcoat; crossed back to the sta e; went- in; came out again With his own horse saddled and bridled; led the animal along the pave- ment as gently as if he was steali bim- and once outsifl‘; upon the turf sprung upon h 5 back, and rode ra awa . or a mi 6 or more he followed the same road that had been taken by Henry Poindexter. It could not have been with an idea of overtaking the latter; since long before, the cot-strokes of Henry’s horse had ceased to be heard‘ and IFroceedm at a slower pace, Calhoun did not ride as ' he care about catching up with his cousin. He had taken the up-river road. When about mid- wa between Casa del Corvo and the fort he reined up; an , after scrutinizing the chaparral around him, struck off by a bridle- ath leadipg back toward the bank of the river. As e turned into it he might have been heard muttering to himself. . “ A chance still left; a. good one, tho b not so cheap as the other. It will cost me a thousaii dollars.‘ What of that, so long as I get rid of this Irish curse, who has poisoned every hour of m existence! If true to his promise, he takes the ma to his home by an early our in the morning. What time, I‘ wonder? These men of the rairies call it late rism they be abed till daybreak! ever mind. There’s 6 timeforthe Coyote to get before him on the road! know that. It inust be the same as we followed to the Wild horse rau'les. He spoke of the but upon the Alamo. That‘s t 8 name of the creek where we had ourirpic-nlc. The hovel can not be far from there! The exican must know the place, or the trail leading to It: which last will be suffi- cient for his purpose and mine. A fig for the shanty itself! The owner ma never reach it. There may be Indians upon the road. There must be Indians, before do break in the mom! l" string of strange Surely you are jok- u. t: be it ; Calhoun couclud this reflec. tions, he had arrived at the door of another ‘ shant “ -—that of the Mexican mustanger. The jamze was 6 goal of his sjltlmrney. « Having pped out of his saddle, and knotted his bridle to a branch, he set foot upon the threshold. The door was standin wide 0 em From the inside proceeded a sound, iden ed as the snare of a dearest Loo! you had better go to bed- for me. slumberer. ' . shall be off instaan the hotel where I may still hope It was not as one who slee either tmuqumy 01- con. to overtake him. , I cannot rest till I‘have madermparai tinuously. At short inter-v it was interrupted-now don for my rudeness." by silent n b hog-like grunting;n inter- So spoke the forgo-gig bro er; and ently leading spat-sea wi rofane wo 5, no perfectly pronounced his sister by the ban , mg: ougllilts o compatgion WW titatbhigfetongqe ovglwhich‘, butasho butnottho ' angerVehastllyre 'necl w orem passeda pendounvmntlty, tothebncion 4n togo‘nfterthoymm-dm,\ ' . g. . . ,- I ,. l'1 / l. : ‘,' , _ g The HeadlessuHorseman. I could i have shot him from behind the tree—dead as a drowned ! And without riskii ' anything—even disgraccii would have 3 inc—the whole settlement wou d have said I i ! incbriate remained for a short time in a sittin _._.-_ . r 25 “Carranibol corral! carajo—chingaral iuil diablos! mingled with more—perhaps less—reverential exclama: tions of “Sangi'c do Cristo! Jesus! Santisslina Virgen! Santa Maria! Dios! Madre de Dios!” and the like, were uttered inside the jacale, as if the speaker was cng ed in an apostroiliic conversation With all the prinfifiml characters of t ie l’opish Pantheon. Calhoun paused upon the threshold and listened. “ Mal—dit—«dit—o!" muttered the sleeper, concludan the exclamation with a hiccup. " Buen—buenos novcu dad—es! Good news, por sangre Chrecs—Chrcest—c Si S‘nor ’Merican—canol Novo—dnd— es s’perhos! L4 Indyos Co—co—manchecs on the waintrailnel i'astro c gucrrn. God bless the Co—co—manches!" “ The bruto’s drunk!" said his visitor, mechanical}; speaking aloud. “Il’la S‘uori" exclaimed the owner of tho )(u‘alw, roused to a state of semi-consciousness by the sound of a human voice. Quicn llama! Who has the honor- that is, have I the happiness—J, Ml ucl Diaz—el Co— coyotc, as the ll‘jlei‘os call me. Ha, a! co o—coyoto. Bah! what‘s in a name? Yours, S'nori J! l (1617!th .’ who are you?" l’ai'tialy raising himself from his reed couch the ' att tude ——glaring, lialf—intcrrogativcly half-unconsciously, at the individual whose voice had intruded itself into his drunken dreams. The unsteady examination lasted on! for a score of seconds. Then the owner of the lac e, with an unln~ ‘ telligible speech, subsided into a recumbent position; when a savage grunt, succeeded by a prolonged snot; rovcd him to have become oblivious to the fact tbs; iis domicile contained a guest. “Another chance! lost!" said the latter, hissinng words through his teeth as he turned disappointedly tothc door “A sober fool and drunken knave—twc precious tools wlicrewith to accomplish a urpose lilrcu mine! Curse the luck! All this night it‘s agalni‘. me! It may be three long hours before this pig sleeps oil’ the swill that has stupcfled him. Three long hours, and then what would be the use of him? Would be too late—too late!” As he said this, he caught the rein of his bridle and stood by the head of his horse, as if uncertain what doui-se to pursue. “ No use my staying! It might be daybreak before the d—d liquor gets out of his skull. I may as well gc back to the hacienda and wait there; or else—0r else—" The alternative, that at this crisis presented itself, was not to be spoken aloud. Whatever it may have been it had the effect of terminating the hesitancy :hat ung over him, and stirring him to immediate ac- ion. Roughly tearing his rein from the branch, and toss- ing it over his orsc‘s head, he sprung and rode oil! from the 'acale in a direction the very opposite to that in which 9 had approached it. CHAPTER XXXVI. THREE manERs on ma sum max. No one can deny, that a ride upon , a. mnooth-tun'ed prairie is one of the most p0sitive leasures cf snLlu nary existence. No one will deny t whohasbad tic rood fortune to experience the delightful scnsaticn ith a spirited horse between your thighs, a well: stocked valise strapped to the cantle of your sadde‘ a flask of French brandy slung ban over the “ horn,‘ and a. plethoric ci ar-case protru us from under the flap of your pistol- olster, you may set forth upon a day‘s journey, without much fear of feeling weary ‘ly the we . i A friend riding by your side, like yourself alive to the beauties of nature, and sensitive to its sublimlties— . will make the ride, though long, and otherwise ur- duous, a pleasure to be remembered for many, many years. If that friend chance to be some fair creature, uron whom you have fixed your aflections, then you will experience a, delight to remain in your memory for ever. ’ o .v Ah! If all prairie travelers were to be favored with such companionship, the wilderness of Western Texas would soon become crowded with tourists; the gods! plains would cease to be “pathless;" the avenues w! . l swarm with snobs. ' "iii,- better as it is. As it‘is you may launch outsell upon the rairls. and once be and Wecin of the settlemen from which you ave s ed—unless you keep to the customary “ road," indicated only by the” boo - rints of half a bzcn horsemen who have pro- cede you— on my ride on for hours, days, weeks, months per tips a whole year, without encounters. ought that bears the slightest resemblance to yourself? orolhleyimgge in vfi'hiolha yoo: have boisnflilnade. t 0: one w 0 ve reverse e ea lain Texas can form a true estimate of its ifihnmige vast ness; impressing the mind with sensations siniilar to those we feel in the contemplation of infinity. ‘ I , In some sense ma the mariner comgehendany meaning. Just as a. 5 ip may cross the A ntlc Ocrnn —and in tracks most frequented b salth craft—with- out sighting .a single sail so upon e prs. rles of South- western Texas, the traveler may journey on for months, amid a solitude that seems eternal! Even the ocean itself doe not give suchan impression of endless Space. Moving in its midst you perceive no ch e—no sign to tell you you are proghressing. The I 1.13:}? circular surface of azure blue, whi the concave hemisphere of a. tint but a few shades lighter, are ah I ways around and above (you, seeming ever the same. ‘ ~ You think the an 50; an fancy ourself at rest in the center of a sphere and a circle. on are thus to acme fixtent findotmgawng a clear conception of in en . 03%ecprah'le it is different. The “land-marks"— there are such, in the shape of “mottes,” mom “‘“s‘vifidgtfin‘inflifl‘éi‘dfiiiftmf my]. ~ 0 w 0 a rot- u g u(€65: and this V017 OWIMW imbueps you with tfie ea of vastness. , It is rare for the 'pflvate-u'aveler to contemplate such scenes alone—rarer still upon the plains‘of South-wen 6mm “mirewmmaaum: f mascara—go eywosene , o tenofthatwflderneasélalmed bytheC " gal soil. For all a. soil traveler were .. is... .. .mg tender nghrmytficenes-ifi e gag!“ of no an ree suc made e mains» = lain that stretched south-westward from the of ,, theona river. , , ustatthe'time that Calhoun mm .hlsdiscon timed departure from..the jaoak tho a.an 5D harem, , I \ . .... ' V. . 2., . Vol. I. tanger, the foremost of these nocturnal travelers was clearing the outskirts of the village—going in a direc' tion which, if followed far enough would conduct him to the Nueces river or one of its tributary streams. It is scarcely necessary to say, that he was on horse- . In Texas there are no pedestrians, beyond the precincts of the town or planta ion. The traveler in question bestrode a strong steed, whose tread, at once vigorous and elastic, preclaimed it mpable of carrying) its rider through a long journey, wi hout danger of reaking down. Whether such a journe was intended, could not have been told b the bear ng of the traveler himself. He was equi pe , as any Texan cavalier might have been, for a n-inile ride—perhaps to his own house. The lateness of the hour forbade the sup osition, that he could be going from it. The scrape on is shoulders ~somewhat carelessly hanging—might have been only put on to rotect them against the dews of the night. But as ere was no dew on that particular night— nor any outly‘in settlement in the direction he was : to—t o orseman was more likely to have been a real *raveler—en route for some distant point upon the pra'ries. ' For all this he did not ap ear tobe in haste; or un- asy as to the hour at whic he might reach his desti- nation. On the contrary, he seemed absorbed in some thought, that linked him with the past' sufficiently engrossin render him unobservant of outward objects, an . ent in the management of his horse. e latter, with the rein lying loosely upon his neck, was left to tailgag hlils tiwntwgeyaidhhough insétead of stopfi ping, or stra , 6 ep 3 y on, as 1 over groun oft rodden gefore. _ Thus leaving the animal to. its own guidance, and prossing it neither with the whip 'nor spur, the traveler rode tranquilly over the prairie, till lost to view—not by intervention of any object, but solely through the dim. nose of the light, where the moon became misty in the for distance. Almost on the instant of his disappearance—and as if the latter had been taken for a cue—a second horse- man spurred out from the suburbs of the village, and proceeded along the same path. . From the fact of his being habited in a fashion to de' fend him against the chill air of the night, he too might have been taken fora traveler. A cloak clasped across his breast hung over his shoulders, its ample skirts draping backward to the hi s of his horse. ' nlike the horseman who had preceded him, he showed signs of haste—plying both whip and spur as he sod on. I e appeared intent on overtaking some one. It I lee the individual whose form had just faded out o ' . This was all the more probable from the style of his equitation—at short intervals bending forward in his saddle, and scanning the horizon before him, as if ex- pecting to see some form outlined above the line of the B . \ ntinuing to advance in this eculiar fashion, he also disappeared from view—exact y at the same point where his precursor ceased to be visible—to any one whose gaze might have been following him from the tort or village. An odd contingency—if such it were-that just at that very instant a third orseman rode forth from the out- skirts of the little Texan town, and, like the other two, cantln advancing in a direct line across the prairie. He, also, was costumed as if for a journey. A “blanket-coat” of scarlet color shrouded most of his \ from sight—its ample skirts spreading over his be, half conceahn a short jager rifle, strapped allant 3.10 the flap of s saddle. ; like the oreth of the three, he exhibited no signs ofadesn‘e to ‘move rapidly along the road. He was at a slow ace—even for a traveler. For all t, hismanner beto ened a state of mind far from tranquil; and in this respect he might be liken to the horseman who had more immediately preceded im. But there was an essential difference between the actions of the two men. Whereas the cloaked cavalier app-gared desirous of overtaking some one in advance, lie the red blanket-coat seemed altogether to occupy himself in reconnoitering toward his rear. At intervals he would slue himself round in the stir- ru sometimes half turn his horse—and scan the track over which he had passed, all the while listening, as though he expected to hear some one who would be coming after him. Still keeping up this sin r surveillance, he like- . wise in due time reached t 6 point of disappearance 'without having overtaken any one, or been himse overtaken. Though at nearly equal distances afart while making the passage of the prairie, not one o the three horse men were within sight of either of the others. The second, half-way between the other two, was beyond reach of the vision of either, as they were beyond At the same glance no eye could have taken in all three, or any two of them unless it had been that of the great Texan owl rched upon the summit of some eminence or the “w poor-will" soaring still higher in pursuit of the moon-giving mo h. ’ - An hour later, and at a int of the prairie ten miles further from Fort Inge, e relative dpositions of the three travelers had undergone a consi arable change. , The foremost was just entering into a sort of alley ' or gap in the cha rral forest. which extended right and left across he 111::filain, far as the eye could trace it. The alley mi ht ve been likened to a strait in the sea; its smooth urfed surface contrasting with the darker foliage of the borderin thickets, as water with dry land. It was illumina throughout a part of its is h—a half mile or so—the moon showingi at its op to extremity. Beyond this the dark tree ne ‘ it in, where it unfilled round into somber shadow. Before entering the ey the foremost of the trio of revelers and for the first time, exhibited signs of hesi- tion. He rained up and for a second or We sat in saddle regarding the ound before him. His atten- lion was altogether dlrocgd to the opening through the casein his front. He made no attempt at recomter- I infill? rear. scrutiny . from Whatever cause, was of short ml- finance. Seemingly satisfied, he_ muttered an injunction to his ' horse, on rode onward into the gap. . Though he saw not him, he was seen by the cavalier I The New York Library. in the cloak, following upon the same track, and now scarce half a mile behind. The latter, on beholding him, gave utterance to a slight exclamation. I t was joyful, nevertheless; as if he were gratified by the prospect of at length overtaking the indivuiual whom he had been for ten miles so earnestly pursuing. Spurrlng his horse to a still more rapid pace, he also entered the opening; but only in time to get a. hmpse of the other just passing under the shadow of t 6 trees at the point where the avenue angled. . , Without hesitation he rode after; soon disappearing at the same place and in a similar manner. , It was a longer interval before the third and hind- most of the horsemen approached the pass that led throng? the chaparral. _ _ He (1 a preach it, however; but instead of riding into it, as t e others had done, he turned ed at an angle toward the e e of the timber; and, after leavm is horse among t 6 trees, crossed a corner of the t cket and came out into the o ening on foot. I _ Keeping along it—to appearance still more sohc— itous about somethi that might be in his rear than anything that was in rout of him—«he at length arrived at the shadowy turni , where, like the two others, he abruptly disappeared the darkness. An hour elapsed, durin which the nocturnal voices of the cha arral—that been twice temporarily silenced by he hoof-stroke of a horse, and once by the footsteps of a man—had kept up their choral ones by a thousand stereotyped repetitions. Then there came a further interruption; more abrupt in its commencement and of longer continuance. t was caused by a sound very different from that made by the passage of either horseman or pedestrian over the prairie turf. It was the replort of a gun quick sharp, and clear— the “ span " t at denotes the discharge of a rifle. As to t e authoritative wave of the conductor’s baton, the orchestra yields instant obedience, so did the prairie minstrels simultaneousl take their cue from that abrupt detonation that inspired one and all of them with a eculiar awe. The t ger-cat miaulling in the midst of the chaparral, the coyote howling along its skirts; even the Jaguar, who need not fear any forest foe that might approach him, acknowledged his dread of that quick, sharp 'ex- plosion—to him unexplainable—by instantly discontinu- his cries. "is no other sound succeeded the shot—neither the groan of a wounded man, nor the scream of a stricken animal—the jaguar soon recovered confidence, and once more essa ed to frighten the denizens of the thicket with his oarse growling). * Friends and enemies—birds, casts, insects, and rep- tiles—disregarding his voice in the distance, resumed the thread of their choral strain, until the chaparral was restored to its normal noisy condition. when two individuals, standing close together, can only hold con- verse by speaking in the highest pitch of their voices. CHAPTER XXXVII. A uissmo MAN. THE breakfast-bell of Casa del Corvo had sounded its second and last summons—greceded by a still earlier signal from a horp, intende to call in the stragglers from remote parts of the plantation. The “ field-hands ” laboring near had collected around the “ uarter;” and in groups, squatted upon the rass, or sea upon stray logs were discussing their let-— by no means s 'e—of ‘ hog and hominy," corn-bread and “corn-co ee,” with a Jocosity that reclaimed a keen relish of these, their ordina comes bles. The planter’s familylassembled in the aala were about to begin breakfast, w on it was discovered that one of its members was missing. Henry was the absent one. At first there was but little notice taken of the circum- stance. Only the conjecture: that he would shortly make his appearance. A severa minutes passed without his coming in, the plianter quietly observed that it was rather strange of beenry to be behind time, and wondered where he could The breakfast of the South-western Amerlcan is usually a well-igniginted meal. It is eaten at a fixed hour and table te fashion-all the members of the family meeting at the table. ' This habit is exacted bya sort of necessit , arising out of the nature of some of the viandspecn or to the country; many of which as “Virginia biscuit," “buck- wheat cakes ‘ and “wafies,” are only relished coming fresh from the fire; so that the hour when breakfast being eaten in the dining-room, is that in which the cook is broiling her skin in the kitchen. As the laggard or late riser may have to put up with cold biscuit, and no waffles or buckwheat cakes, there are few such on a Southern plantation. Consider-in this cimtom it was somewhat strange that Henry oindexter had not yet put in an appear- ance. “Where can the boy be?" asked his father, for the fourth time, in that tone of mild OODJBCtlll‘e that scarce calls for a reply. None was made by either of the other two guests at, the table. Louise only gfve expression to a similar conjecture. For all that, t ere was a. strangeness in her fiance—as in the tone of her voice—that in ht have n observed by one closely scrutinizing her eatureg, It could scarce be caused by the absence of her brother from the breakfast table? The circumstance was too trifling to call u an emotion; and clearly at that mo- ment was she an act to one. What was it? 0 one put the inquiry. Her father did not notice any thing odd in her look. Much less Calhoun, who was himself marked] labo to con. ceal some disagreeable thought un er the of an assumed naivete. Ever since entering the room he had maintained a studied silence; keeping his eyes averted, instead of, according to his usual custom, constantly straying to. ward his cousin. He sat nervouslyin his chair; and once or twice might have been seen to start, as a servant entered the room Bay-0nd doubt heiai was under the influence of some on to . “Very am 9 Henry not being here to his break- fastl” reniarllilgd the lanter for about the tenth time. “ Sure he is not 3 till this hour? No—no—he never as so late. And yet if abroad, he couldn’t be at such a distance as not to have heard the horn. He may be in his room? It is just ssible. Pluto ” “ Ho—hol. d’ye call me, miss ' Plutoi My sonis toogood ’Woodleyf Pu hya.“ , A The sable coachee actin as table-waiter, was in the sale hoveri around thee airs. “Co to enry’s sleep' -room. If he‘s there, tell him we're at breakfast— through with it." “ He no dar Mass’ Woodley.” “ You have been to his room?’ “ Ho—hol Yas. Dat am I’se no been to de room It- self; but l’se been to de ’table, to look after Massa Henr boss; and gib um him fodder an‘ corn. Ho— hol at same ole boss he ain’t dar; nor hain’t abeen all ob dis morniu’. I war up by the fust skreek ob day. No hoss dar, no saddle, no bridle; and, 0b coass no Massa Hen . Ho—hol He been an” gone out ’ ore an’b’dy wor tirrin’ “bout do place." “ Are you sure?“ asked the planter, serlously stirred by the intelligence. “Sa’tin shoo Mass’ Woodley. Dar‘s no hoss doin’s in dat ’ere ’table, ceppiu’ de sorel ob Massa Calhoun. Spotty am in de ’closure, outsxde. Massa Henry hoes ain‘t nowha." “ It don’t follow that Master Henry himself is not in his room. Go instantly and see!" “Ho—hol I‘se go on the instum, mass‘r; but f’r all dat dis chile no speck find de young en’l’um dar. Hol hol wha’ebber de ole hoss am, dar Henry am too." “There’s something strange in all this," pursued the planter, as Pluto shuffled out of the solo. “Henry rom home; and at night, too. Where can he have gone? I can’t think of an one he would be visiting at such unseasonable hours He must have been out all night, or ve early, accordingl to the nigger‘s accountl At the fort, suppose, with t ose young fellows. Not at the tavern, I hope?’ 0 there," into sed Calv~ “Oh, nol He wouldn't houn, who appeared ‘as muc mlylstiflod by t e absence gt Henry as zvas Ponndextgr. ti e refrainied, howrlelverf rom sugges in an e us. on or say aug to the scene to wEich {iexh’ad been'witness nogn the pre- ceding night. . “It is to be hoped he knows nothing of it," reflected the youn Creole. “ If not, it may still remaina secret between rother and myself. I've sat up all night wait- ing for him. He must have overtaken Maurice, and they have fraternized. I hope so- even though the tav: ern ma have been the scene of their reconciliation. Henry is not much 'ven to dissipation; but after such aburst of passion, ollowed b his sudden re ntance, he ma have strayed from is usual hab ts? Who could lame him if he has? There can be but little harm in it: since he has gone astray in good company," How far the string of reflections might have extend- eda it] is not easy to say: since it did not reach it: natural en . It was interru ted by the reappearance of Pluto; whose bagel-tan air, as he re-cn red the room, pro- claimed the bearer of eventful tidi s. i “ Well i" cried his master, without wai ing for him to speak, “ is he there?" “ No, Mass' Woodley," replied the black, in a voice that betrayed a large measure of emotiqhn, ‘ he are not dar—Massa Hen am not. But—but," ehesltatin 1y continued, “dis c d grieb to say dat—dat—Mm am dar.’ " “His horse there! Not in his sleeping-room, I sup- pose “ No, massa; nor in do ‘table, neider; but out do, by de blif gate.“ “ is horse at the gate? And why, pray, do you grieve about that?” “’Ecause, Mass’ Woodley ’ecause do hoss—dat am Massa Henry hoss—‘ecause e anymal—" “ Speak out, you stammerlng niggerl What because? I suppose the horse has his head upon him? Or is it his tail that is missing?" “Ah, Mass’ Woodley, dis nigga fear dat am missin‘ wuss dan elder him head or him tail. I'se fear‘d dot de old hoss hab loss him rider!" “ tl Henry thrown from his horse? Nonsense, arlder for that. ble that he should have been pitched out of the die— impossible l" ‘ Hol hol I doan say he war thrown out ob do and die. Gorramityl I fear (is trouble wuss dan dat. Ohl dear ole massa, I tell you no mo‘. Come to do gate ob de hashashanty and see for you‘sell'.” By this time the impression made by Pluto’s speech —much more by his manner—notwithstanding its am- biguity; had been sufficiently alarming; and not only the Ry nter himself, but his daughter and nephew, hast forsaking their seats, and preceded by the sable goaiiahnaan, made their way to the outside gate of the ac en a. A sight was there awaitin them calculated to inspire all three with the most te lo apprehensions. A negro man—one of the field slaves of the planta- tion—stood holding the horse. that was saddled and bi'ldled. The animal wet with the dews of the lit, and having been evidently uncured forin any sta. e, was snorting and stamping the ground, as if but in seen from some scene of excitement, in which g had eon compelled to take He was spec led with a co or darker than that of the dew-dro s—darker than his own coat of bay-brown. The spa Bcattered over his shoulders—the streaks that ran arallel with the downward direction of his limbs, the otches showing conspicuously on the sad- dle fla s, were all of the color of coagulated blood I Blood ad caused them—spots, streaks. and blotchell Whence came that horse From the rairies. The )1 had caught him, on the outside p 'n, as with the rldle trailing among his feet, he was instinctively straying toward the hacienda. To whom did he belong? ‘ The uestion was not asked. All present knewhim to be t 6 horse of Henry Poindexter. Nor did an one ask whose blood bedaubed the sad dle-flaps. three individuals most interested could think onl of that one, who stood to them in the triple relations ip of son, brother and cousin. The dark red spots on which they were distractedly W spurted from the veins of Henry Poindex~ . ey had no other thought. m smears. HASTILY— orbs too trul —construing the sinister evidence, thg half-)fsrontic in or leaped into the bloody saddle, and grille d direct for the fort. Calhoun, pen is own horse, followed close after. The hue and cry soon spread abroad. Rapid riders soon (mi-led it up and down the river, to the remotes! pwmons of the settlement. 4 The Indians were out, and near at hand, reaping I i._. .-_..-.. ._.._ "h. A . ...~3;",-—-— i._. .-....-.. ._.._. .W . knew, or wh No. 8. , ‘ y their harvest of scalpsl That of young Poindcxtcr was ‘ This was all Mr. Oberdofler knew of the matter; and the first fruits of their sanguinary gleaming! Henry Poindexter—tho noble onerous had not an enemy in all Texasi have spilled such innocent blood? Only the Conianches could have bccn so cruel. Among the horsemen who came together on the parade ground of Fort Inge, no one doubted that the Uomanches had done the deed. It was Simply a ques- tion of how, when, and where. _ The blood—(1m is pretty clearly roclaimed the first. He who had she them must have won shot, or speared, while sitting in his saddle. They wore mostly on the oif-sidc' where they resented an appearance, as if something had been s akcd over them. This was seen both on the shoulders of the horse, and the tin, of the middle. Of course it was the body of the ri er as it sli ) icd lifeless to the earth. ' _ T lore wore some who spoke With equal certainty as to the time—old frontiersinen experienced in such iiuittcrs. According to them the blood was scarce “ten hours old;” in other words, must have been shed about ten hours before. It was now noon. The murder must have been com- mitted at two o'clock in the morning. I The third query was, perhaps the most important—— at least now that the deed was one. Where had it been done? Where was the body to be found? After that, where should the assassins be sought for? These were the questions discussed by the mixed council of settlers and soldiers, hastily assembled at Fort Inge, and presided over by the commandant of the fort—the afilicted father standing speechless by his side. The last was of special importance. There are thirty- two points in the compass of the prairies, as well as in that which guides the ocean wanderer; and, therefore in any expedition goin in search of a. war-party of Comanchcs, there woul be thirty-two chances to one against its taking the right track. _ It mattered not that the home of these nomadic sav» ages was in the West. That was a wide word; and si - nifled anywhere within a semicircle of some hundre of miles. Besides, the Indians were now upon the war-trail; and, in an isolated settlement such as that of the Leona, as likely to make their appearance from the east. More likely, indeed, since such is a common strategic trick of astute warriors. To have ridden forth at random would have been sheer foll ; with such odds against gomg the right way, as tliirty~ wo to one. A proposal to so arties, and procee tile favor frfim an ema or mse . The gnurderers might be a. thousand, the avengers were but the tenth of that number; consistin of some fifty dragoons who chanced to be in garrison, with about as many mounted civilians. The party must be kept together, or run the risk of being attacked, and perhaps cut off, in detail! v The argument was deemed conclusive. Even the be- reaved father—41nd cousin, who appeared equally the victim of a voiceless grief—consented to shape their course accordi to the counsels of the more prudent majority, backc by the authority of the major arate the command into several in several directions, met with lit- one. It was directly negatived by imself. It was decided that the searchers should proceed in a Inywhat direction? This still remained a subject of discussion. ‘ The thoughtful captain of infantry now became a conspicuous figure, by suggfilsting that some inquiry be made, as to what direction (1 been last taken by the man who was supposed to be murdered. Who last saw Hen Poindexter? Hi‘s'yfather and cousin were first appealed to. The former had last seen his son at the supper- table; and supposed him to have gone thence to his bed. The answer of Calhoun was less direct and, perhaps less satisfactory. He had conversed With his cousm a a later hour, and had bidden_ him good-night, under the impression that he was retiring to his room. Why was Calhoun conceahng, what had really oc- curred? Why did he refrain from iving a narration of that garden scene to which he had een a witness? Was it that he feared humiliation by disclosing the part he had himself played? Whatever was the reason, the 'truth was shunned; and an answer iven, the sincerity of which was sus- pected by more t an one who hstened to it. The evasivciiess might have beenmore apparent, had there been any reason for suspicwn, or ad the by- standers been allowed longer time to reflect upon it. While the inquiry was going on, light came in from a. uarter hitherto unthought of. T a landlord of the ugh and Read who had come uncalled to the coun- cil, after forcing his way through the crowd, proclaimed himself willi to communicate some facts worth their hearing—in s ort, the very facts the were endeavor- ing to find out; when Harry Poindcx 1' had been last seen, and what the direction he had taken. O‘nerloder’s testimony, delivered iii a semi-Teutonic ton no, was to the effect: That Maurice the mustan er ¢--. 0 had been sta ing at his hotel ever since is fight with Captain Ca. noun—had that night ridden out at a late hour, as he had done for several iughts before. He had returned to the hotel at a still later hour; and finding it open—on account of a party of bans mounts who had sulpped there—had done that which he had not done for a ong time before—demanded bill, and to ld Dotrer’s astonishment—as the latter naively con- fessed—settled every cent of it! Where he had procured the money, “ Gott ” only he left the hotel in such a hurry. Ober- doifer himse f only knew‘that _he had left it, and taken all his “ trapsh " along With him—just as he was in the habit of doing, whenever he went 01! upon one of his horse-catchi expedi ions. . _ On one of tilEese the village Boniface supposed mm to have gone. . What had all this to do with the question before the council? Much indeed; though it did not appear till the last moment of his examination, when the Witness revealed the more pertinent facts; tlgat lagent twang ‘ minutes after the mustan’er had tak n from “ Heniicthoindexter ” knock at the doorfnhnfdhggldired after Mr. Maurice Gerald—that on told the latter» was gone, as also‘ the time, and ‘pmbable Man he had» taken, the ‘ youn gentle- mans" rode of! at a quick pace, as if'with the taxman _ ‘ ' . I Y r,— 1 i \ . _outh who 1 be but In ians could : ill understood, was nevertheless a guide to the ex Jedi- '1‘1ie Headless Herseman. 27 all he could be expected to tell. The intelligence, though containing several points but tionary party. It furnished a sort of clue to the wee- tioii they ought to take. If the missing man had gone off with Maurice the niustan 1rer or after him, he should be looked for on the road t 1e latter himself would be ; likely to have taken. h Did any one know where the horse-hunter had his ome? No one could state_ the exact locality, though there were several who believed it was somewhere among the headwaters of the N ucccs, on a creek called the “ Alamo." _ - To the Alamo, then, did they determine upon ro- ceeding in quest of the missnig man, or his dead b0 ' y— pei‘haps, also, to find that of Maurice the niustanger; ‘ and, at the same time, avenge upon the savage assus- : sins two murders instead of'onc. CHAPTER XXXIX.‘ run POOL or BLOOD. NOTWI'I'IISTANDING its number—larger than usual for a arty of borderers' merely in search of a strayed nei *hbor—the expedition pursued its way with consid- era le caution. t Tilliere was reason. The Indians were upon the war- ra . Scouts were sent out in. advance, and professed :: trackers " employed to pick up, and interpret the Sign.’ On the prairie, extending nearly ten miles to the westward of the Leona, no trail was discovered. The turf, hard and dry, only showed the tracks of a horse when going in a gallop. N one such were seen along the rou 6. At ten miles distant from the fort the plain is travers- ed by a tract of Chaparral, running north-west and south-east. It is a. true Texan jungle laced by llianas, and almost impenetrable for man and horse. Through this gungle, directly opposite the fort, there is an o ening, t ro h which passes a path—the short- est tha leads to the mail-waters of the Nueces: It is a sort of natural avenue among the trees that stand close- ly crowded on each side, but refrain from meeting. It may be artificial; some old “ war—trail " of the Coman- ches, erst trodden by their expeditionary arties on the maraud to Tamaulipas, Coahulia or New con. The trackers knew that it conducted to the Alamo; and, therefore, guided the expedition into it. Shortly after entering amon the trees, one of the lat- ter, who had gone afoot in a‘vance was standing by the e e of the thicket, as if waiting to announce some recent y discovered fact. “What isit?” demanded the major spurrin ahead of the others, and riding up to the tracker. “ afign ?" " Ay, that there is, major, and lenty of it. Look therel In that bit of softish groun you see——-” “ The tracks of a horse." “ Of two horses, ma‘or,” said the man, correcting the officer with an air of eference. “ True. There are two." “Further on the become four; although they’re all made by the same wo horses. They have gone up this openin’ a bit, and come back a sin. ‘ finial, Spangler, my good fe ow; what do you make 0 . ’ “ Not much,” replied Spengler, who was one of the aid scouts of the cantoninent; ‘ not much of that: I aven’t been far enough up the openin‘ to make out what it means—only far enough to know that a man had been murdered. ” “ What proof have you of what you say? Is there a dead bod ?" “No. at as much as the little finger; not even a. hair of the head, 0 far as I can see.” “What then?’ “ Blood, 8. regular pool of it—enou h to have cleared out the carcass of a bull buffalo. ome and see for yourself. But," continued the scout in a muttered un- dertone, “if you wish me to follow up the sign as it ought to be done, you’ll order the others to stay back—— ‘syi‘ecially them as are now nearest you.” his 0 servation appeared to be more articularly pointed at the lanter and his nephew; a e tracker, on making it, g anccd furtively toward both. " By all means " replied the major. “ Yes Spangler, you shall have every facility for your wor . Gentle- men! may I reqiilest you to remain where you are for a few minutes? y tracker, here, has to go through a erformance that requires him to have t e ground to imself—he can 0 take me along with him. ’ Of course the ma or‘s request was a command, cour- teously conveyed to men who were not exactl r subor- dinates. It was obelyed, however, ust as if t ey had been' and one anda kept their 1) es, while the om- cer, following his scout, rode away from the ground. taabaiut fifty yards further on Spangler came to a s n . I i “You see that, major?" said be, pointing to the ound. gr“ I should be blind if I didn‘t," replied the ofl‘icer. “ A 01 of blood—as on so .big enough to have emptied he veins of a b alo. it comes from those of a man, I should an that whoever shed it is no longer in the land of the vlng." “ Dead!” pronounced the tracker. “ Dead before that blood had turned urple—as it is now.” “ Whose do you thin it is, Spengler?" “ That of the man we’re in search of—the son of the ‘ old gentleman dow there. That's why I didn't wish him to come forwa .” , “He may as well know the worst. He must find it out in time." “True what you say, major" but we had better first find out how the young fellow as come to be thrown in his tracks. That as what is puzzling me." “How? B the Indians, of course! The Comanches ha do ‘1; " . ve Del rejoined the scout, with an air of “lift a bit of it," on nce. c “ 33?} Why do you say that, Spangler?" “Because, you see, it the Ind ins had 'a’ been here there would be forty horse-true, 5 instead of four, and them made by only two horses. “ era’s truth in that. It isn‘t likely a. single Co. mane e would have had the daring, even to assassi- H te— v “No Comanche, me or, no Indyin ofany kind com- mitted this murder. ,ey are two horse-tracks along the open As you see, both are shod; they’re the smile that ave come ,k again. Commit:th don’t ride shod horses, except =w‘hen they‘ve stolen them. Both theiewere ridden by white men. 0 octet, . i l ’dexter and the other F1”; tracks has been made by a mustang, 1110th it was a big ’un. The other is the hoof of an American horse. Gom' west the mustang was foremost; on can tell that by the overlap. Coniin‘ back the State 101'se was in the lead, the other foliowiu‘ him: thou h it's hard to say , how fur behind. I may be able to to better if we kec on to the place whar both must have turned back. I can't be a great ways 011’.” “ Let us proceed thither then,“ said the major. “1' shall command the people 0 stay where they are.” Having issuedhthe command, in a voice loud cnougl to be heard by his followers, the major rode away frOi J the blood-stained spot, preceded by the tracker. For about four hundred 'ards further on the two so i of tracks were traceable; ut by the eye of tin» may i‘ only where the turf was softer under the shadow of ti i trees. so far the scout said the horses 114.0. In: t to m d returned in the order already declined by liinx~lliitt 2. , the mustang in the lead w iiic proceeding wouwmd. ‘ and in the rear while going in the o positc direction. At this point the trail cndcd~bot 1 horses, as was al- ready known, having returned on ihcir own iiauku. Before taking the hack track however they had halted, and stayed some time in the same I)fa00-‘-UHd( r the branches of a spreading cottonwcou. The turf, much trampled around the runk of the tree, was evi- dence of this. The tracker got off his horse to examine it; and, stoo ing to the earth, carefully scrutinim d the sign. f‘ hcy’ve been here thcgitlier,” said be, after sex erul minutes spent in his analysis, “and for some time: though neither’s been out of the saddle. They‘ve been on friend] terms, ‘LOO; which makes it all the more un- explainab c. They must have quarreled afterwards." ‘ If you are speaking the truth, Spiiiigler, 'ou must be a Witch. . How on earth can you know all t at?” “ By the Sign, major; by the sign. It’s simple enough. I see the shoes of both horses lapping over each other a score of times; and in such a way that shows they must have been theglther—the animals, it might be restless and moms” about. As for the time, they re taken long enough to smoke a cigar apiece—close to the teeth, too. Here are the stumps; not enough left to till a tel- low’s pipe.” , The tracker, stooping as he spoke, picked up a brace of ci ar stumps, and handed them to the major. “ y the same token,” he continued, “I conclude that the two horsemen, whoever they were, while under this tree could not have had any very hostile feclin‘s, the one to the t’oiher. Men don’t smoke in com y with the demgn of cuttin each cther‘s threats or low- ing out one another‘s "rains, the instant ei'w The trouble between them must have come on after he cigars were smoked out. _ That it did come there can be no doubt. As sure major, as ou're sittin‘ in your. saddle, one of them has wiped ou the other. I can only guess which has been wiped out, by the errand we’re 3E. licor Mr. Pomdexter will niver more see his son ve. ‘ ‘ “’ is veiymysterlous," remarked the major. “ It is, by Engol” “And the o y, too; where can it be?" “That’s what perplexes me most of all. If‘t had been Indyins I wouldn‘t ’a’ thought much 0’ iisbeing niissin’. They might have carried t e man off “’1' them to make. a target of him, if only wounded; and if dead, to eat him, maybe. But there’s been no Indyins here—not a red-skin. Take my word for it, major, one o‘ the two men who rid these horses haswiped out the other; and sartinly he have wiped him out in the litteriest sense "0‘ the word. What he’s done wi’ the body beats me; and, parlilapsé otnly hislself can'tellé’th . ‘ ‘ ‘ es s range axe inme e ma‘or rououncing the words with emphasis, “most in 'Sgelibgfil” ' “It’s possible we ma yet unrav some of them . tery ” pursued Span er. “ We must follow up he trac 's of the horses ter they staith from this—that is, from where the deed was done. We may makcsome- thing out of that. There‘s nothing more to be learnt here. We ma as well go back, major. Am I to tell it " “ Mr. Pom extcr, you mean?” “ Yes. who has been murdered ?" .“ Oh, no; not so much as that comes to. Only coul- vmced that the horse the old gentleman is now! ridin is one of the two that’s been over this ground met ' h ~—the State's horse, Ifeel sure. I have compared he tracks, and if young Poindexter was the man w owns on his back, fear there's not much il'iunce orthe poor fellow. It looks ugly that the other rid qfta'him." “S agglerl have you any suspicion who the other e , ma . “Not a spark, major. If't hadn’t been for the tale of ‘d never have thought of Maurice the mus Old Buffer Sanger. True it‘s the track 0 a shod mustang; but I: I t know it e his'n.‘ Surely it can‘t be? The oung ifiman ain’t the man to stand nonsense from no 7; but as httle air he the one to do a deed liketWat if it’s been cold-blooded killin’.” , “ hink as on about that." “And you hink so, major. been killed, and by Maurice Gerald, there’s been a fair stand-up fight atwcen them, and the planters son has one under. Thet‘s how I shed rec on it up. As to e disap arance o‘ the dead body—for them two uarts o Rielood could only have come odt o' a body et’s now dead—that trees me. We must follow the tr howsomever; and maybe it’ll fetch us to some sens ble concloosion. Am to tell the old gentlcinan. what I think 0’ “t?” ' ' i " Perhaps better not. He knows enough already. It will at least fall lighter upon him if he nds thi out by piecemeal. Say nothing of what we’ve seen. can take up the trail of the two horses after going on from the place where the blood is, I shall managetb binringlt‘he command after you without any one suspect- w at we've seen. - ’ ‘ * gnu right, major,” said the scout; “I think I am guess where the OE trail goes. Give me ten minutes upon it, and then come on to m si nal.” ‘ ‘ , go gayifi the tracker rode ac to the " place of blood ;" a after what appeared a very curse ' ’ inatiorn, turned ofl into a ral. Within tne~promised time his shrill whistl announced” that he was nearly a mile distant, and inQ‘a.‘ direction altogether diaerent from the spot that had been pro- faned by some sanguinary scene. ' ‘ , i, ' On hearing the al, the commander-of theme- dition-Who ad in the meantime returned tabla ' ——gave cider: to advance; wgpllglhe himself, with, ; i“ you rin mm ‘ganyoneothinre mar...“ .. . i... has 0 3 ea 01" - “ dobadntho”imnob"ot ’ 1 r ‘ i l L , \ I f ' ’ l, You are convinced that his son is the-man 3 If young ‘ Poindexter's * s teralopening latherch ’ i _ , ., . I . v a 28 CHAPTER XL. run MARKED scum. Barons comin up with the scout, an incident oc- curred to vary t e monotony of the march. Instead of keeping along the avenue, the manor had conducted his command in a diagonal direction'toward the chap- arral. He had done this to avmd givnig unnecessary pain to the afflicted father, who would otherwise have looked upon the life-blood of his son, or at least what the ma'or believed to be so. The gory spot was shunne , and as the discovery was not yet known to any other save the major himself, and .the tracker who had made it, the party moved on in Ignorance of the existence of such a dread sign. The path they Were now pursuing was a mere cattle- ath, scarce broad enough for two to ride abreast. fliers and there were gla es where it widened out for a few yards, again running into the thorny Chaparral. On entering one of these hides, an animal sprung out of the bushes and boun ed 011 over the award. beautiful creature it was, with its fulvous coat ocel- lated with rows of shining rosettes‘ its strong, lithe limbs supporting a smooth, cylindrica body, continued into a long, tapering tall; the very tyge of agility; a creature rare even in these remote so tudes—the Ja- r. g‘ltvery rarity rendered it the more desirable as. an object to test the skill of the marksman; and human- standing the seiious nature of the expedition, two of the party were tempted to discharge their rifles at- the ion-eating animal. They were Cassius Calhoun, and a young planter who was riding by his side. The jaguar dro ped dead in its tracks; a bullet hav- in entered its b , and traversed the spine in a longi- tu 'nal direction. I Which of the two was entitled to the credit of the successful shot? Calhoun claimed it, and so did the young planter. ' The shots had been fired sunultaneously, and only one of them had hit. “I shall show you,“ confidently asserted the ex- ofl‘lcer, dismounting beside, the dead jaguar, and un- sheathin his knife. “ You see, gentlemen, the ball is still in t e animal’s body? If it‘s mine, you’ll find in initist on it—C. C.-with a crescent. I mold my bu - lets so that I can always tell when I‘ve killed my game.“ The swaggeriug air with which he held up the leaden missile after extracting it told that he ha spoken the truth. A few of the more curious drew near and ex- mined the bullet. Sure enough it was molded as Cal- houn had declared, and the dispute ended in the dis- comflture of the young planter. The party soon after came up with the tracker, wait— ' toconduct them along a fresh trail. . mft was no longer a track made by two horses, With shod boots. The turf showed only the hoof-marks of one; and so indistinctly, that at times they were undis- oernible to all eyes save those of the tracker himself. The trace carried them through the thicket, from hide to glade—after a circuitous marcli—bringiiifi hem back into a lane-like opening, at a pomt st further to the west. 8 ugler—thou h far from being the most accom- plisliaed of his ca g—took it up as fast as the people could ride after him. In his own mind he had deter- mined the character of the animal whose footmarks he was following. He knew it to be a inus —the same that had stood under the cottonwood while ts rider was . smoking a cigar—the same whose hoofmark he had keen deeply indented in a sod saturated with human The track of the States' horse he had also followed for ashort distance—in the interval when he was left alone, He saw that it would conduct him back to the prairie through which they had passed' and thence, in all likelihood, to the settlemenm on the one. He had forsaken it to trace the footsteps of the shed in ; more likely to lead ' to an explanation of that mystery of murder—perhaps to the den of the Hitherto perplexed by the hoof-prints of two horses alternately overlapping each other, he was not less puz- zled. now, while scrutinizing the tracks of but one. They want not direct, as those of an animal urged on- _ ward 131101! a journey; but here and there zigzagging; turning upon themselves in short curves; then forward for a stretch; and than circling again, as if the mustang was not mounted, or its rider was asleep in the saddle! Could these be the hoofprlnts of a horse with a man upon his back—an. assassin 3k ' awa from the scene of assassination, his conscience fres excited by the crime? S ler did not think so. He knew not- what to m was mystified more than ever. So confessed he to the major when being questioned as to the char- acter of the trail. A spectacle that soon afterward came under his eyes _nimultaneously seen by every individual of the party .-so far from solving the mystery, had the effect of rend it yet more inexplicable. More 11 this. What had hitherto been but an am- biguous affair—a subject for guess and speculation— was suddenly transformed into a horror; of that in- tense kind giat can only spruig from thoughts of the an tur 0 one could say that this feeling of horror had arisen without reason. When a man is seen mounted on a horse's back, sentedflrmly in the saddle with limbs astride in the lamps, body erect, and d holding the rein—in short, every thing in air and attitude uired of a fldcr: when, on closer scrutiny, it is 01258" that there is something wanting to complete the idea. of a perfect auestrian; and, on still closer scrutiny, that this some axis the head, it would be strange if_ the s ctacle did not startle the beholder, terrifying him to e very core of his heart. And this very sight came before their eyes: causing them simultaneo to rein up, and with as much sud- denness as if each rash] ridden within less than Ids horse's length of the b of an abyss! The sun was low down almost on a level with the award. Facing westw , his disk was direc before them. His rays, glaring redly in their eyes, ndel‘ed view toward the them from having a v3 accurate Sifter of the west. S could they see that strange fiabove described—a. horseman without a headl, only one of theparty declared himself to have seen it, he would have been laughed at by his com- th panions as a lunatic. Even two might have been stig- matlaedin a similar manner. But what everybody saw at the mine time could not bequestionod; and only he would have been thought The New York Library. crazed who should have expressed incredulity about the presence of the abnormal phenomenon. N 0 one did. The eyes of all were turned in the same direction, their gaze intent] fixed on what was either a horseman without the he , or the best counterfeit that could have been contrived. Was it this? If not, what was it? These interro atories passed simultaneous! through the minds of a1 . As no one could answer t em, even to himself, no answer was vouchsafed. Soldiers and civilians sat silent in their saddles—each expecting an e lanation which the other was unable to supply. ' here cou d be heard only mutterings, expressive of surprise and terror. N 0 one even offered a conjec- ture. The headless horseman, whether phantom or real, when first seen was about entering the avenue—near the dcbouchure of which the searchers had arrived. Had he continued his course, he must have met them in the teeth—supposing their courage to have been equal to the encounter. As it was, he had halted at the same instant as them- selves, and stood regarding them with a mistrust that mfi have been mutual. ere was an interval of silence on both sides, during which a cigar stump might have been heard falling on the award. It was then the strange a parltion was most closely scrutinized by those who hat the courage; for the majority of the men stood shivering in their stirru s—through sheer terror—incapable even of thong tl ~ The few who dared face the mystery with any thought of accounting for it, were baffled in their in- vest' ations by the settin sun. They could only see t at there was a horseo large size and noble shape, with a man upon his back. The figure of the man was less easily determined, on account of the limbs being inserted into overalls, while his shoulders were envelop- ed iii an ample cloak-like covering. What signified his shape, so long as it wanted that rtion most essential to existence? A man without a cad—on horseback, sitting erect in the saddle, in an attitude of ease and grace—with spurs sparkling uplon his heels~the bridle—rein held in one hand—the at or where it should be, resting lightly upon his thighl Great Godl what could t mean? Was it a phantom? Surely it could not be human? They who viewed it were not the men to have faith either in hantoms or phantasmagorla. Man of them had met ature in her remotest solitudes, an wrestled with her in her roughest moods. They were not given to a belief in ghosts. But the confidence of the most incredulous was shaken by a sight so strange—so absolutely unnatural— and to such an extent that the stoutest-heartod of the party was forced mentally to repeat the words: 15 t a phantom f Surely it cannot be human 1' Its size favored the idea of the supernatural. It ap- peared double that of an ordinary man upon an ordin- ary horse. It was more like a giant on a gi antic steed; though this might have been owing to the lusory light under which it was seen—the refraction of the sun‘s rays passing horizontally through the tremulous atmo- sp era of the parched lain. There was but little time to philosophize—not enough to com lets a careful scrutiny of the unearthly a pari- tion, w icli eve one present, with hand spre over his eyes to sh e them from the dazzling glare, was endeavoring to make. N othi of color could be noted—neither the gar- ments 0 the man, nor the hairy coat of the horse. Only the shape could be traced, outlined in sable sil- houette against the golden background of the sky; and this in every change of attitude, whether frontiii the spectators or turned stern toward them, was stil the same—st‘ that inexplicable phenomenon: a horseman without a head .’ Was it a phantom? Surely it could not be human? “ ’Tis Old Nick upon horseback!" cried a fearless frontiersman who would scarce have quailed to en- counter his $atanic majesty even in that guise. “By the ‘tarnal Almighty, it’s the devil himself! The boisterous lauEli which succeeded the profane utterance of the rec 'less speaker, while it only added to the awe of his less courageous comrades. up to produce an effect on the headless horseman. eel- ing suddenly round—his horse at the same time send- ing forth a scream that caused either the eartlior the atmosphere to tremble—he commenced galloping away. He went direct toward the sun; and continued this course, until only by his motion could he bedistiu- guished from one of those spots that have puzzled the gifloso her—at length altogether disappearing as ough 6 had ridden into the dazzling dis - CHAPTER XLI. ammo cavmsnos. Tm: party of searchers, under the command of the major, was not the only one that went forth from Fort In 6 on that eventful morninpiE or was it the earliest to t e saddle. Longhbefore— in fact close following the dawn of day—a muc smaller party, consistin of on] four horsemen, was seen set in out from a subur of the village, and heading the - horses in the direction of the Nueces. These could not be going in search of the dead body of Henry Poindexter. A that hour no one sus cted that the oung man was dead, or even that ewas mining. e rideriess horse had not yet come in to tell the tale of woe. The settlement was still slumber- ln unconscious that innocent blood had been 3 ilt. ou‘gjh setting out from nearly the same po t, and Mom! in a like direction, there was not the slightest similarity between the two parties of mounted men. Those ear est astart were all of pure Iberian blood; or this commingled with Aztecan. In other words they were Mexicans. It regured neither skill nor close scrutin to discover this. glance at themselves and their orses, their style of capitation the slight muscular development of their thig s and hi s—more strikingly observable in their deep tree saddles—the gayly-colored scrapes :g'rog t tiheilr shmtiglderli:I the Wide veilsyleteegioofilzong n e 9 ms on e r on broad-brimmedegsombrerog 3B their heads, dec ared gain either Madonna or men who had adopted the Mex- e. “13‘ they were the former there was not a question. The wombthghpoinltled Vanhdgke benigd coverilng ‘5 0 not in an the shears—the black, c‘lgse-cropped chew an; the re y~ were all indisputable lcharacterl es of the Hispano— oro-Aztecan race, who now occupy the ancieutteriitory of the MW one of the four was a'nian of larger frame than any of his companions. He. rode a better horse; was more richly ap areled; carried upon his person arms and eguipmeii s of a superior finish; and was otherwise dis- tégg'ulshed, so as to leave no doubt about his being the 1 er of the cuartilla. He was a man of between thirty and forty ears of age; nearer to the latter than the funnier; t ough a smooth, rounded cheek-«furnished with a short and carefully-trinuiied whisker—gave him the appearance of being youn er than he was. But for a co (1 animal eye, and a heaviness of feature that betrayed a tendency to behave with briitnlit - if not with positive cruelty—the individual in quest on might have been described as handsome. A well-foi'iiied mouth, with twin rows of white teeth between the lips, even when these were exhibited in a smile, did not remove this on leasaut impression. It but reminded the beholder o the sardonic grin that may have been given by Satan. when, after the tempta- tion had succeeded, he gazed contemptuously back 11 on the mother of mankind. t was not his looks that had led to his having become known among his comrades by a peculiar nick-name; that of an animal well known on the plains of Texas. His deeds and dis osition had earned for him the un‘ enViable sobrlquet ‘ E] Coyote." How came he to be crossing the prairie at this early hour of the morning, apparently sober, and acting as the leader of others—when on the same morning, but a few hours before, he was seen drunk in his 'acale~so k as to be unconscious of havin a vis tor, or, at all eycnts, incapable of giving that via tor a civil recep- on The change of situation, though sudden—and to some extent strange—is not so difficult of ex lanation. It will be understood after an account has con ven of his movements, from the time of Cnlhoun’s leav him till the moment of meeting him in the saddle, in com- pany with his three conpaisanon. 0n iidin away from his hut, Calhoun had left the door as he iad found it, a'ar: and in this way did it re- main until the morning— Coyote all the time continu- ing his sonorous slumber. At daybreak lie was aroused b the raw air that came drifting over him in the shape 0 a chilly fog. This to some extent sobered him; and springing up from his skin-covered trunk, be commenced staggering over the floor—all the while utterin anathemas against the cold, and the door for letting it n. It might be expected that he would have shut the latter on the instant; but he did not. It was the only aperture, excepting some holes arising from dilapida~ tion, by which 1i rht was admitted into the interior of the scale; and light he wanted, to enable him to carry out he design that had summoned him to his feet. The gm dawn, just commencing to peep through the open oorway, scarce sufficed for his purpose; and it was only after a good while spent in groping about, infers road with a series of stumblings, and accom- panie (bare. series of profane. exclamations, that he succeed in‘ finding what he was in search of: a large two-headed gourd with a strap . around its middle used asa ailianteen for carrying water, or more frequently mezc . The odor escaping from its uncorked end told that it had recently contained this potent spirit; but, that it was now empty, was announced by another profane eJaculation that came from the lips of its owner, as he made the discovery. “ on re de Christa!" he cried in an accent of disappo ntment, giving the curd a shake to assure m- self of its emptiness. " ot a drop—not enou h to drown a chigal And my tongue stickingtomy tee My throat feels as if I had bolted a brazen of red-hot charcoal. For Diosl I can‘t stand it. What's to be done? Day ' ht? It is. I must up to the ebltta. It’s ssible that nor Dofler may have his rap open by ' time to catch the early birds. If so. he‘ll find a customer in the Coyote. Ha, baa hal“ Slinging the gourd-strap roun his neck, and thrust- ing as head through the slit of his scrape, he set forth or 6 Village. ‘ The tavern .was but a few hundred nrds on the same side of the river and apBiroachable y a th, that he gull: hay;1 tit‘aevealgtdewiltlh 3 eyes under “ pOJos.“ In enym u s r, ewass erln tthe n‘ postofthe“Rou~handRead .t‘egg spas B‘s He chanced to e in luck. gherdoffer was in the bar- room, servigfi some early customers—a parts-“)1; of sol- diers who h stolen out of quarters to sw w their morning dram. “ Mein Gott, Mishter Deesl" said the landlord, salut- ing the newly arrived nest, and without ceremony forsaking six credit cus mere for one that he knew was to be cash. “Main Gottl is it on I see so my ashtir? I knowsh vat you vant. ou vent your p‘ :21??ng fill mit ze Mexican spirits—ag—ag—vat you ' “ Aguardieml You’ve guessed it, cavallero. That's just what I want." “ A tollar—yon tollar is the rice.” “ C’arrambo/ I’ve paid it 0 en enough to know that. Here‘s the coin, and there’s the canteen. Fill, and be quick about itl‘ “Hal you lab in a hurry, mein herr. Fel—I von‘t keeps you vaiting-i I suppose you ish oi! for the wild horsh prairlsh. there 5 thing goot amo the droves, I'm afeart that the I ans will pick t u ' before you. He went oi! lasht night. He left my hon at a late hour—after midnight it wash—o. very late hour, to o shourne l .But he's a ueer cushtomer is that m tanger, stcr Maui-lab S erralt. Nobody knows his ways. I shouldn’t say hings againsht him. He hash been a good cushtomer me. Hehas paid his bill like a rich man, and he hash plenty peside. Main Gotti His pockets wash cram mit tollnrsl’ ' On hearing that the Irishman had one oi! to tho “horsh rai sh,“ as Oberdofler termed cm, the Mexi- can, by is demeanor, betrayed more than an ordinary interest in the announcement. It was groclaimed, first by a slight start of surprise, and then y an impatience of manner that continued to mark his movements, while listening to the long rig- marole that followed. ‘ It was clear that he did not desire any thing of this to be observed. Instead of question! his informant um . “Ens. W the subject thus started, or volun interest in it, he rejoined in a careless “ It don’t concern me, cavalhm. There let’s have the ante V ' . A little W being thus rudely unease inhi- nttemptata t. __.__._._._ie . . 51' v- -—--——» o No. 8. nip. The Headless ‘ Hersemen. the gourd canteen; and, without essayiiig further speech, handed it across the counter, took the dollar in excha e, chucked the coin into his till, and then moved back tgghis military customers, more amiable because drinking upon the noorg. Diaz, notwithstanding the eagerness he had lately exhibited to obtain the liquor, walked out of the bar- room, and away from the hotel, without takin the stopper from his canteen, or even appearing to lunk o 1 His excited air was no longer that of a man merely longing for a glass of ardent s irits. There was some- thinv stronger stirring within, t at for the time render- cil 11TH] oblivious of the ap etite. _ . Whatever it may have een it did not drive him di« rect to his home; for not until he had paid a ViSit to three other hovels somewhat similar to his own—all situated in the s iburbs of the pueblita, and inhabited by melan like himself—not till then, did he return to his Ja- ca c. It was on getting back that he noticed for the first time tracks of a shod horse; and saw where the animal had been tied to a tree that stood near the. hut. ” Carrambo.” he exclaimed, on perceiving this sign, - “ the Captain Americana has been here in the ni t. For Diosl I remember something—I thought I 3.43 dreamt it. I can guess his errand. He has heard of Don .Maui'icio's de arture. Perhaps he will repeat his visit, when he thin 5 I‘m in a proper state to receive him. Hal hal It don’t matter now. The thing's all understood; and I sha’ii’t need any further instructions from him till I‘ve earned his thousand dollars. pesos! What as lendid fortune! Once gained, I shall go back to the i0 Grande, and see what can be done with Isidora.“ After delivering the above soliloquy, he remained at his but only long enough to swallow a few mouthfuls of roasted (audio washi them down with as many gulps of mezcal. 'lhen ha caught and caparlsone his horse, buckled on his huge heavy spurs, strapped his short carbine to the saddle, thrust a pair of pistols into their holsters, and belied the leathern-sheathed machete on his hip, he sprung into the stirrups, and rode rapid- ly away. I The short interval that eh psed, before making his appearance on the open lain, was spent in the suburbs o the village—waiting or the three horsemen who at;- companied im, and who had been forewarned of their being wanted to act as his coadjutors, in some secret ex loit that required their assistance. hatever it was, his trio of Were: appeared to have been made acquainted with the scheme; or at all events that the scene of the ex loit was to beon the Alamo. When a short distance on ii on the plain, seeing DIM strike oi! iii adiagonal direct on, the called out to warn him that he was not goiii the righ waly. . “ i know the Alamo wal ." said one 0 them, himself a mnstanger. “I‘ve hunted horses there many a time. it‘s south-west from here. The nearest way to it is tlirou ban openin in the Chaparral nu see out yon- tier.l ’ on are he ing too much to t e west. Don Mi- gue l‘ “ lndeedl" contemptuously retorted the leader of the cuai'tiila. “You’re a (fling/0, Senor Vinceute Barajol You forget the err-an we re upon; and that we are ‘i‘lding shod horsesl Indians don‘t 0 out from Fort Inge and. than direct to the Alamo do—no matter what. I suppose you understand me i” _ “ Oh, truei ' answered Senor Vincents Barago, “I beg your pardon, Don Miguel. van'ambo/ I did not think of that." . And without further protest, the three coadiutors of El Coyote fell into his tracks, and followed him in sl- lence—scarce another word passing between him and them,.till they had struck the chafparral, at‘a int sev- eral tniiilcs above the opening of w ich BaraJo iad made men on. Once under cover of the thicket, the four men dis- mounted; and after tying their horses to the trees commenced a performance that could only be compared to a scene in the eiitlemen’s dressing-room of a subur- ban theater, prei inlnary to the representation of some savage and sanguinary drama. CHAPTER X'LII. vum'unns 0N ms wmo. HI: who has traveled across the plains of Southern Texas can not fail to have witnessed a spectacle of common occurrence—a flood of black vultures upon the win . A hungdred or more in the flock, swoo ing in circles, or wide spiral rations—now descen fig oat to touch the prai e sword, or the spray of is c aparral —anon so u ward by a power in which the wing bears no “Saga-t eir pointed pinicns sharply cutting against the clear sky—they constitute a picture of rare interest, on] truly characteristic of a. tropical clime. The trave er who sees it for the first time Will not fail to rein up his horse and sit in his saddle, viewmg it with .feehngs of curious interest. Even he wholeso- customed to the spectacle Will not pass on without indulging .n a certain train of thought, which it is cal- culated to call forth. ‘ There is a tale told b the assemblage of base birds. 0n the ground beneat them, whether seen .by the traveler or not, is stretched some stricken creature— quadruped, or it maybe man—dead, or it may be dying. 0n the moral that succeeded that somber night when the three so tary horsemen made the crossing o the plain, a “spectacle similar to that described nught have been messed above the chaparral into which they had ridden. A flock of black vultures, of both species, was dis ortiu above the to s of the trees. near the int w ere t e avenue augl At (19. teak not‘ one could have been seen. In less than an our after, hundreds were hoveri above the :.pot, on widespread wings, their shadows filing darkly .wer the greens ray of the chapel-rah A Texan trave er entering the avenue, and observi the ominous assemblage. would at once have conclude , not there was death upon his track. Going further, he would have fond confirmatory Evidence, in a pool of blood trampled by the boots of ones. ' Not exactly over this were the vultures engaged in ‘”°"m“”‘t°ii;‘““°“~ .“e remissions & a in some 5 8 £30; and %N,D%od€filbt, woullt‘l be discoverég the that called em toge er. unfly hour there was no traveler—Texan, or stranger ' test the truth of the conjecture; but, for all itwastme. . 'spcia’ tiaflwchaparfiabout‘a mterof‘a eggs: the modicum pascal-lemming“ ’i J thetground the object that was engaging the attention ‘ o e vultures. It was not carrion, nor yet a quadruped; but a hu- man being—a manl l A young man, too, of noble lineaments and graceful shape—so far as could be seen under the cloak that shrouded his recumbent form—~with a face fair to look ‘ u on, even in death. as be dead? At first sight an _one would have said so, and the black birds believe it. His attitude and countenance seemed to 1proclaim it beyond question. He was yiug upon his back, with face upturned to the sky—no care being taken to shelter it from the sun. His limbs. too, were not in a natural posture; but ex- tended stifliy along the stony surface, as if he had lost the power to control them. A colossal tree was near, a live oak, but it did not shadow him. He was outsuie the cane y of its frond- age; and the sun‘s beams, Just beginning to penetrate the chaparral, were slanting down upon his pale face— paler by reflection from a white Panama hat that but partially shaded it. His features did not seem set in death; and as little was it like sleep. It had more the look of death than sleglp. The eyes were but half closed; and the pupils 33h tcéd be seen glancing through the lashes, glassy and Was the man dead? Beyond doubt, the black birds believed-that he was. But the black birds were only judgin from ap ear- ances. Their wish was parent to the t ought. ey were mistaken. . Whether it was the ghnt of the sun, striking into his half-screened orbs, or nature becoming restored after a period of repose, the uefi/es of the prostrate man were seen to open to their f extent while a movement was perceptible throughout his. whole frame. ‘ Soon after he raised himself a little- and, resting upon his elbow, stared confusedly around him. The vultures soared upward into the air, and for the time maintained a higher flight. “Am I dead or hvi l” muttered he to himself. “ Dreaming or awake. I 'ch is it? Where am I?” The sunfl ht was blinding him. He could see noth- ing, till he ad shaded his eyes with his hand; then 0 yindistinctly. . ‘ Trees above—around mel Stones underneath! That I can tell by the aching of my bones. A chaparral for- est! How came I into it?" “ Now I have it,“ continued be, after a short spell of reflection. “My head was dashed against a tree. There it is—the very limb that lifted me out of the sad- dle. My left leg ains me. Alil I remember' it came in contact with t e trunk. By Heavens, Ibelieve it is broken!" Ashe said this he made an effort to raise himself into an erect attitude. It proved a failure. His sinister limb would lend him no assistance' it was swollen at the knee-Joint—either shattered or dislocated. “ Where is the horse? Gone off, of course. B this time in the stables of Casa del Corvo. I need no care now.' I could not mount him, if he were standing by side. mxThe other," he added, after a ause. “Good hea- vens! what a s ectacle it wasl o wonder it scared the one I was i “What am I to do? My leg may be broken. Ten chances to one—a hundred—a thousand—against any one coming this way; at least till I‘ve become food for those fllthy birds. Ugh! the hideous brutes' they stretch out their beaks, as if already sure of ’ a meal upon mei “How long have I been lying here? The sun don’t seem very Ith. It was just aybreak as I climbed into the sad e. I suppose I‘ve been unconscious about an hour. B m fai , I‘m in a serious sent at Insll likehhood a ro en limb—it feels broken—wi no sur- geon to set it; a stony couch in the heart of a Texan cha arral—the thicket around me, perhaps for miles— no c ance to escape from it of myself—no lie of hu- man creature co to help me—wolves on he earth and vultures in the 1 Great Godl why did I mount without making sure of the rein. I may have ridden my last ride l" he countenance of the young man became clouded- and the cloud grew darker, and deeper, as he continued to reflect upon the rilous position in which a simple accident had p him. Once more be essayed to rise to his feet, and suc- ceeded; only to find that he had but one leg on which he could rely! It 'was no use standing upon it; and he is down again. 0 hours were passed without any change in his situation; duri which he had caused the cha arral to rin with a lougfiiauooing. He only desisted rom this whet the conviction that there was no one at all likely ear The shouting caused thirst; or at all events hastened the advent of this ap tire—sure coral on as the concomitant of the inauries be h receiv . The sensation was soon ex erienced to such an extent that everything else—even t 9 pain of his wounds—be- came of trifling consideration. “ It will kill me if I sta here,“ reflected the suflerer. “I must make an effort to reach water. If I remember aright there’s a stream somewhere in this chapai'rali on not such a, great way off. I must get to it, if have to crawl upon my hands and knees. Kneesl and only one in a condition to so port mel There‘s no hel for it but to try. The longer stay here, the worse it be The sun grows hotter. It already burns into my brain. I may lose my senses, and then—the wolves-— the vultures—" mThe horrid apprehension caused silence and shudder g. f$81“? wig? he thontinhlfd : to go I rememb th ut ew 9 way . er e stream well enough. rig runs toward the chalk prairie, It should be south-east from here. I shall try that way. By good luck the sun guides me. If I find water all ma et be well. God give me strength to reach it!" this prayer upon his lips be commenced making his wa through the thicket—«ores in over the stony groun , and dragging after him a disabled leg like some huge saurianwhose vertebrahave been disjointed bylfilzblfiwiik h tinned his crawl ar - o e con . The effort was iii in the extreme' but the hension from w ch he suffered was more and urged him to continue it. He well know there was a chance of his falling .a viox tim to thirst—almost a certamtydf he did not new h a" "was knole he mot on. ' a pro¥ Stim 29 At short intervals he was compelled to pause and re- cruit his strength by a little rest. A man does not travel far on his hands and knees without feeling fa- tigue. Much more, when one of the four ineiiibors can- not be employed in the effort. His pro ress was slow and lrksonie. Besides, it wad being in e under the most discouraging circumstances. He might not be going in the right dii-cctioiil Nothing but the dread of duct could have induced him to keep on. . He had made about a quarter of a mile from the point of starting, when it occurred to him that a better plan of locomotion might be a(loptu(l——oiie that would, at all evonts, vary the monoton of his march. “ Perhaps," said he, “ I niig it maria e to bobble a bit, if I only had a cuntch. Hoi my kn to is still here. Thank Fortune for that! And there's a sapling of the ri vht size—a bit of blackjack. It will do." rawiiig the knife—a “ bowie "—from his belt, he cut down the dwarf oak, and soon reduced it to a rude kind of crutch, a fork in the tree serving for the head. Then risin erect and fltting the fork into his armpit, he roceede with his exploration. e knew the necessity of keepin to one course; and, as he had chosen the south-east, e continued in this direction. It was not so easy. The sun was his oni com as; but this had reached the meridian, and in t e latitude of Southern Texas at that season of the year, the mid- day sun is almost in the zenith. Moreover, he had the chaparralto contend with, re uiriiig constant detours to take advantage of its open rigs. He had a sort of guide in the sloping of the mound for he knew that ownwai-d he was more likely to find the stream. After roceediug about a mile—not in one continued march, ut by short stages with intervals of rest Le- tween—he came upon a track made bylthe wild animals that frequent the chaparral. It was s 'ght, but running in a direct line—a proof that it led to some aim; of pe~ cuiiar consideration—iii all likelihood a we ring-place —stream, 0nd, or spring. Any of t ese would serve his purpose; and, without further looking at the sun, or the slo e of the ground, be advanced along the trail—now obbling u n his crutch, and at times, when tired of this mode, ropping down ufion his hands and crawling as before. The c eerful anticipations he had indulged in on dis- covering the trail soon came to a termination. It be- came b mi. In other words, it ran out-ending in a lade surrounded by impervious masses of underwood. 9 saw, to his dismay, that it led mm the Elude, in- stead of toward it! He had been to owing it t 6 wrong wa l I Jopleasant as was the alternative there was no other way ban to return upon his trac . To stay in the glade would have been to die there. He retraced the trodden path—going on beyond the point where he had first struck it. Nothing but the torture of thirst could have endowed him with strength or spirit to proceed. And every moment econiinglmore unendurable. The trees through w ich he was making we were mostly acacias interspersed with cactus an wild agave. They aficrded scarce an shelter from the sun, that now, in mid-heaven, lared t rough their gossama foliage with the fervor 0 fire itself. The perspiration, oozing through every ipore of his skin, increased the tendency to thirst—nut the appe— tite became an agolililyl Within reach 0 8 hand were the glutinous legumes of the mez cites, filled with mellifluous moisture. The agabves an cactus plants if tapped, would have exuded an bundance of juice. is former was too sweet, the latter too acrid to tempt him. ‘ ' He was so?uainted with the character of both. Rh knew that, nstead of allaying his thirst, they would cull?i have added to its intensity. e them. He passed the succulent stalks without this was ’ passed the depending pods without inching. ' pinpoint: them. . To a cut his anguish, he now discovered that the wound limb was every moment becomin more un- manageable. It had swollen to enormous ensions. Every step caused him a s m of pain. Even if going. in the direction of the oubttui streamlet he migh never succeed reach it! Ifnot there was no h for him. He could but e down in the thicket and d 8!, Death would not be immediate. Althou h suflerliéig acute pain in his head, neither the shock it ad receiv nor the damage done to his knee were like topmve 5 iii fatal. He might dread a more painful way of log t an from wounds. Thirst would be his destroyer —of all shapes of death erliaps the most agonizing. The thought stunulate him to renewed efforts: and. despite the slow pro ress lie was able to make—, despite the pain ex e enced in making lt—he toiled on. T 6 black birds overing above k§pt pace with his siting ate and laborious crawl. ow,more than a mile from t alpoint of their first segregation. they W81 all of them s ' there—their numbers even a ient by fresh detachments that had become warn of the expected prey. Though aware that the uarry still lived and moved, they saw that it was str cken. In- stinct—perhaps rather experience—told them it must soon succumb. , ‘ Their shadows crossed and recrossed the track upon :thichéie advanced—filling him with ominous fears for e en . I ' There was no noise: for these birds are silent in their u ht—oven when excited by the prospect of a repasu ‘ fife hot sun had stifled the voices of the crickets and tree-toads. Even the hideous “ horned frog "“ reclined listless along the earth, sheltering its tuberculatod body under the stones. The 0 sounds to disturb the solitude of the chap» ml were ose made by the suflererhiuiself—the swislr ing of his arments as they brushed against the hirsute plants thag beset the path; and occasionally his cries, sent forth in the faint hopepf their beingJ heard. By this time blood was ming with t e sweat u on lhis skin. The spines of the one us, and the claw iko thorns of the agave. had been doing their work; and scarce an inch of the epidermis u and limbs that was not rent with a He was near to the. truthyhe had reached it; for after a spell of shouting hinge about pro edi f' th e co n or or 1y eliliood i ration. n his face, hands,‘ point of despondence—ln real L saga his mt masthgggmde thing-9:8 33s;- one o surf , as a - :37 flmht that it would not havmeen‘otheiwise ' a do was, he itosthev ‘ ’ so foowbioh his senses-wen It mg murmur of water. _v z I l ._.\ ‘ self prostrate along the saith, despair- "= I zoomes The New. York Library. Vol. J With an ejaculation of joy, he if nothing were amiss; and made whence proceeded the sound. ' He plied his improvised crutch With redoubled en- ergy. Even the disabled leg a pared to sustain him. It was strength and the love 0 e strugghng against decrepitude and the fear of death. I . The former proved victomons; and, in ten minutes afteryhe la stretched alon the sward on the banks of a crysta streamlet—won ering why the want of wa~ ter could have caused him such indescribable agony! CHAPTER XLIII. ! was: on? AND THE JAR. ONCE more the mustanger‘s hut! Once more his henchmen, astride of a stool in the middle of the floor! Once more his hound lying astretch upon his skin- covered hearth, with snout half-buried in the cindersl The relative positions of the man and the dog are essentially the same—as when seen “on a former occa- sion—their attitudes almost identical. Otherwise there is achange in the picture since last painted—a trans- formation at once striking and significant. The horse-hide door, standing ajar, still ban 5 upon its hinges; and the smooth coats of the Wil steeds shine lustrously along the walls. The slab table, too, is the the trestle bedstead, the two stools, and the “ sha e—down " of the servitor. . . But the other “ chattels ” wont tobe displayed a amst the skin tapest are either out of Sight or disp aced. The double- .in asbeen removed from its rack; the silver cup, untinihorn and dog-call are no longer sus nded from t eir respective pegs; the saddle, bri les, ropes and sera es are unslung; and the books, ink, pens and )apeterie iave entirely disappeared. At first sig 1; it might be Supposed that Indians have paidavisit to the jacale, and pillaged it of its pennies. But no. Had this been the case, Phelim would not be sitting o unconsciously on the stool, with his car- rogy scalp still 11 on his head. hough the we. is are stripped, nothing has been car- s‘prung to his feet, as irect toward the point ried awa . The articles are still there, only with a change ofy lace; and the presence of several corded packages, llying irregularly over the floor—among which is the leathern portmantcau—proclaims the pur- pose of the transposition. _ ' . Though a clearingr out has not been made, it is ev1dent that one is intende . _ In the midst of the general displacement, one piece of plenishing was still seen in its accustomed corner—- the demijohn. It was seen by Phelim, oftener than any other article in the room; for no matter in What direction he might turn his 6 es. they were sure to come round again to that wic er-covered vessel that stood so temptineg in the angle. “Achl me jewel, it’s there yez arel” said he, apos- trophizing the demijohn for about the twentieth tune, “ wid more than two quarts av the 'crayther inside yer beWtiful belly, and not doin‘ yo 9. bit av good, nayther. If the tenth part av it was inside av me, it would be a moighty binnefit to me intestines. Truth w’u’d it that same. W‘u’dn’t it, Tara?” ‘ On hearing his name pronounced, the dog raised his head and looked inquiringly around, to see what was wanted of him. . . Perceiving that his human companion was but talk- ing to himself, he resumed his attitude of respose. ‘Faix! I don’t want any answer to that, owld boy. It’s meself that knows it,,widout tillin’. A hape av good a glass of that same pot sen would do me; an’ I dar’n't touch .a din-a , afther what the masther slid to me about it. Aft erall that ackin’, too, till me throat is stickin’ to me tongue, as ' I had been thryin' to swal- low a_ pitch plaster. Sowll it’s a shame av Masther Maurice to make me promise agaynst touchin‘ the dbrink—espacially when it’s not gom’ to he wanted. Didn’t he say he w’u’dn’t stay more than wan night; whin he came back heeur; an‘ shure he won’t conshume two quarts in one night4—unless that owld sinner Stump comes along wid him. Bad luck to his greedy gut! he ts more av the Mononghahayla than the masther ilf. “ There's wan consolashun, an’ thank the Lard for it we’re goin’ back to the owld said an’ the owld place at Ballyballagh. Won’t I have a s 'inful when I get thare wuv the real stuff, too, instid of this Amerikyan rot ut! Hooch—hoop—hprool 'The thought av it’s enoug to lit a man mad Wid delo ht. Hooch—hoop—horoo l" Tossing his widesawa e up amon the rafters, and catching it as it came down a ain, t e ,excited Galwe— 'an severahtimes repeated h s ludicrous shibboleth. ‘hen, becomi .tranquil, he sat for awhile in silence— thoughts dwe 11%1 with leasant anticipation on the jo s that awaited im at lly)ballagh. They soon revertedto the o ects around him—more especially to the deniuohn in t 9 corner. On this once more his eyes became fixed in a gaze, in which increas- ing covetousness was manifestly VISlble. ‘ Arrah, me jewel!" said he. again a ostrophizing the vessel, “ye're extramer bewti iii to ook at—that same ye arr. Shure now, yez w'u’dn‘t till upon me if I gave yez atrifle ava kiss? Wan smack only. T are “In the name av all the angels an’ the divils to boot I wondher what‘s kapin’ the mas her! He sjid he w'u’ be heeur by eight av the clock in the marnin’, and it‘s now good six in the afthernoon, if there’s any'truth in a Tixas sun. Shure thare‘s somethin’ detainin’ him? Don’t yez think so, Tara?“ This time Tara. did vouchsafe the affirmative “sniff” —havin poked his nose too far into the ashes. “ Be t epowersl then, I ho e it’s no harum that’s be- fallen him! If there has, ow (1 dog, fwhat ’ud become av you an” me? Thare mi ht be no Ballyballagh for miny a month to come: u "as we cowld gay our pas- sage wid these thraps av the masther’s. he drinkiu‘ cup—raal silver it is~—w’n’d cover the whole expinse av the voyage. Be japers! now that it stroikes me, I niver had a dhrink out av that pui-ty little vessel. I‘m shure the liquor must taste swater that we . Does it, I won- dher?—truth, now’s ‘ust the time to guy." 89. ing this he too the cup out of the portmanteau, in w ich he had packed it; and, once more iincorking the demijohii, poured out a portion of its contents—of about the measure of a wine-glassful. Qualfin it off at a single gulp, he stood smacking his lips—as ' to assure himself of the quality of the liquor. “Sowl! I don’t know that,it does taste betther," said he, still holding the on in one hand, and the jar in the other. “ Afther all think it‘s swater out av the dimmyjan itself. T at is, as far as I cyan remimber. But it isn’t the gawblet fair play. It‘s so long since I had e jar to me mouth, I a’niost forget how it tasted that way. I cowld till better if I thryed thim the ither. I’ll do that, before I decide”. ' e demijohn was now raised to his lips; and, after several “ glucks,” was again taken away. Then succeeded a. second series of smacking, in true connoisseur fashion, with the head held refiectingly steadfast. “Trathl an” I’m wrong aganel" said he, accompany- ing the remark with another doubtful shake of the head. “ Altegither asthray. It’s swater from the silver. Or, is it only me imaginayshin that’s desavin’ me? It’s worth while to make shure, and I can only do that by tastin’ another thrifle out av the cup. That w’u’d be givin‘ fair play to both av the vessels; for I‘ve dhrunk twice from the 'ar an' onl wanst from the silver. Fair play’s a jewil e worl over; and there’s no raison why this bewtiful mug shouldn‘t be tr’ated as dacenflir is]: that big basket av a jar. Be japersl but it sh , o, The cup was again called into requisition: and once more a portion of the contents of the demijohn was transferred to it—to be poured immediately after down the insatiable throat of he unsatisfied connoisseur. Whether he eventually decided in favor of the cup, or Whether he retained his preference for the jar, is not known. After the fourth potatioii, which was also the final one, he appeared to think he had tasted sufficiently for the time, and laid both vessels aside. Instead of returning to his stool, however, a new idea came across his mind; which was to go forth from the but, and. see whether there was any sign to indicate the advent of his master. “Come, Taral” said he, striding toward the door. “Let us stip up to the bluff beyant, and take a look over the lain. If masther’s comin’ at all he should be in sight this. Come alo , ye owld do l Masther Maurice ’ think all the bett er av us for in’ a little unaz about his gettin’ back." Ta ' the ath through the wooded bottom—with the stag-houn close at is heels—the Galwegian as- cended the bluff, by one of its sloping ravines, and sto ped upon the edge of the upper plateau. om this point he comman ed a somewhat sterile plain, that stretched away eastward more than a mile, mm the spot where he was standing. The sun was on his back, low down on the horizon, but shining from a cloudless sk . There was nothing to interrupt his view. Here an there a stray cactus plant or a solitary stem of the arborescent yucca, raised its hirsute form above the level of the plain. Otherwise the surface was smooth; and a coyote could not have crossed it without being seen. Beyond, in the far distance, could be traced the darker outline of trees—where a track of chapari-al, or the wooded salvage of a stream stretched transversely across the 11mm. The Galwegian bent his gaze over the ground in the direction in which he expected his master should ap- pear; and stood silently watching for him. Ere long, his v' 1 was rewar ed. A horseman was seen coming out rom among the trees upon the other Side, and heading toward the Alamo” He was still more than a mile distant; but, at this distance, the faithful servant could identify his master. The striped sera e of brilliant hues—a true Navajo blanket, which aurice was accustomed to take with him when travelln —was not to be mistaken. It gilleamed gaudily unfier the glareiof the setting sun—— t e bands of the red, white and blue contrasting with the somber tints of the steri.e lain. Phelim only wondered that s master should have it spread over is shoulders on such a sultry evenin , ir- stead (lif folded up and strapped to the‘cantle 0 his e can be no harum in that. Trath, I don’t think the mas- sand] ther ‘ud mind it—when he thinks av the throuble I‘ve had wid this packin’, an‘ the dhry dust gettin' down me throat. Shure he didn't mane me to kape that promise for this time—which differs intirely from all the rest. by razon av our goin’ away. A dhry fiittin’, the I say, Imakes short sittin’. I’ll tell the masther that, w n he k; an’ sure it‘ll pacify him. Besmdes,_there’s another ixcuse. He's all of tin hours beyant his time; an' I’ll say I took a; thriflin’ dhrap to kapo me from thinkin‘ lo for him. Shure he won't say aword'about it. Be Sa‘n Pstbriok! I‘ll take a. smell at the dimmy- an, an’ trust to good luck for the fist. Loy down, are! I’m not om‘ out." ’ ’ The staghoun had risen, seeing the speaker step toward the door. ,But the dumb creature had misinterpreted the ur- pose—which was simply to take a survey of the PM? by which the jacale was approached, and make sure that his master was not likel to interrupt him in his intended dealing with the demijol'in. Becoming satisfied that the coast was clear, he glided back across the floor; uncorked the jar- and, raismgifit to his lips, swallowed something more a “ thri ’ dhrap av its contints.” Themtgiéttinglit back inits place, he returned toll-is seat on Arte ' ' quiescent foraconsidemble time he m.....i°.;°”av“’"gwrac waste“ as a 3 3905 c orm— era 311 the demijohn the individualsp honored by his disv f was“, , ‘ l . “Ti-ath, Tara! it looks quare, doesn’t it? It's hot enough to roast a stake u on these stones; and yit the masther don’t seem to hink so. I hope he hasn’t can lit a cowld from stayin’ in that close cribat owld Du er’s tavern. It wasn’t fit for a pig to dWill in. Our own shanty’s a splindid parlor to it: ' The speaker was for a time silent, watching the movements of the approaching horseman—by this time half a mile distant, still drawin nearer. When his voice was ut fort again, it was in a tone altogether changed. I was still that of surprise with an approach toward merriment. But it was mirth that doubted of the ludicrous; and seemed to struggle under restraint. “ Mother av Moses!" cried he. “What can the mas- ther mane? Not contint with havin’ the blankyet upon his shoulders, be japers he’s at it over his headl . “He’s pla‘yin’ us a. trick, are. He wants to have a 10159 883 3 usl / ‘ Sow] but it‘s quare, anyhow. It looksas if he had no head. ,In faix does it! Ach! what cayn it mane? Be the Howly Virgin! it’s enough to frighten wan av thfiy dédn’t know ' was the mastherl In it the mast r? Be the were it’s too short for him! The head? Saint Patric preserve us, where is It? 081311" 1:6 smotheredup in the blankyet? There’s no she 6 th re! Be japers, there’s something wrong! What pes it mane, Tare?" . The tone of the speaker had again undergone a chug: It was now close bordering upon terror—as was a o the expression of his countenance. * The look and attitude of the stag-hound were not very different. He stood a little in advance—hulf-coworing, half-inclined to spring forward—with e es glaring wildly while fixed upon the approaching io'rsenianw now scarce two hundred yards ruin the spot! As Phelim ut the question that terminated his last soliloquy, the ound gave outa lugubrious howl, that seemed intended for an answer. Then, as if urged by ome canine instinct, he bounded off toward the strange object, which puzzled his liiunan companion, and was e ually puzzling him. Rushing straight on, 6 gave utterance to a series of shrill yelps, far different from the soft sonorous buying, with which he was accustomed to welcome the coming home of the mustanger. If Phelim was surprised at what he had already seen $311215 still further astonished by what now appear As the do drew near, still el ing as he ran, the blood-bay—w ich the ex-groom m long before identi- fied as his master’s horse—turned sharply round, and commenced gaIIOpingfiz; back across the plain! hile performing he wheel, Phelim saw—or fancied he saw—that which not only astounded him, but caused the blood to run chill through his veins, and his frame to tremble to the ve tips of his toes. It was a head—tha of the man on horseback; but, in- stead of being in its pro er lace, upon his: shoulders, it was held in the rider’s an , just behind the pommel of the saddle! As the horse turned his side toward him, Phelim saw, or fancied he saw, the face—ghastly and covu‘ed with gtore—half hidden behind the shaggy hair of the lii.\l~ s er He saw no more. In another instant his back was turned toward the plain; and, in another, he was rush- ing down the ravme, as fast as his enfeebled limbs would carry him! CHAPTER XLIV. A QUARTETTE or commons. Wrrn his flame-colored curls bristlin upward—al- most raising the hat from his head—the alwegian con< tinned his retreat—pausingnot—scarce lookin back, till he had re-entered. the *acale, closed the skin-door behind him, and barricade it with several large pack- eggs that lay near.‘ ven then he did not feel secure. What protection could there be in a shut door, barred and bolted besides, against that which was not earthly? And surely what he had seen was not of the earth-- not of this world! Who on earth had ever witnessed such a s ectacle—a man mounted on horseback, am carrying '3 head in his hand? Who had ei er heard 0 gphlenomenon so unnatural? Certainly not “Phalim na. e." . ‘ His horror still continuing, he rushed to and fro across the floor of the hut; now droppiii r down u on the stool, anon rising up, and gliding to tie door; ut Without daring either 0 open it, or look out thiough the chinks. ' .At intervals he tore the hair out of his head, striking his clenched hand a ainst his temples, and roughly rubbing his eyes—as to make sure that he was not asleep, but had really seen the shape that was horrify- inghim. . ne thing alone gave him a moiety of comfort; though it was of the slightest. While retreatin down the ravine, before his head had sunk below the level of the plain, he had iven a glance backward. Hehad derived some gratification from that glance; as it showed the hea less rider afar on? on the prairie, and with his back turned toward the Alamo, going on at a. gallop. ' But for the remembrance of this the Gnlweglan might have been still more terrified—if that were possi- jble—lwhilr striding back and forth upon the floor of the ace e. For 9. Ion time he was speechless—not knowing what to say—an only giving utterance to such exclamation: as came mechanically to his lips. As the time passed, and he began to feel, not so much a return of confidence, as of the power of ratiocinaiion, his tongue became restored to him, and a continuous fire of nestions and exclamations succeeded. They were a addressed to himself. Tara, was no longer there to take part in the conversation. ' v . They were put moreover, in a low, whispered tone, as if in fear that his voice might be heard outside the jacal. “Ochone! Ochone! it cyan‘t ‘av been him! Sa’nt Pathrick protect me but fwhat was it, then? “ was iveryt in av ifs-the horse—the sthi-lped blankvet—them tte wather- ards upon his legs— an‘ the head its —all except he faytures. Thnn I saw, too, but wan’t shurc about eyedintifycashiii; for who kud till a face all covered over wid rid blood! “ Och! it c’u’dn‘t be Masther Maurice at all, at all! “It‘s all a dhrame. I must have been aslape, nn’ dhi-amin’. Or, was it the whisky that did it? “ Shure, I wasn’t dhrunk enough for that. Two goes out av the little cup, an’ two more from the dimmyjan -not over a kup e uv n gins in. all. That w‘iiidn‘t make me dhrun . I’ve t en tunes that, widout as much as thri pin‘ in my spache. Truth have I. Be- soides, if I h been the worse for the liquor, why am I not so still? 7 “ There’s not half an hour assed since I saw it; an’ I’m as sober as a judge iépon he binch av magistrates. “Sole a dhrap ’ud 0 me a power av good just now. If I don't take wan, I’ll not get a wink av slaps. I’ll be shure to kape awake all the night long thinkin' aboutit. Oclione Ochonel what cyan it be, an how? An’ where cyan the masthenbo, if it wasn't him? owly Sa’nt Puthrickl. look down an’ watch over a miserable, nner, that’s lift all alone to himself/wid nothin‘ but osts cn’ gobbliiis around him !” After this appeal to the Catholic saint, the Connemara man addressed himself with a still more zealous devo: tion to the worship of a ve different divinity,‘known among the ancients as Bacc us. His suit in this quarter was perfectly successful; for in less than an hour after he had entered on his genu- flexions at the shrine of the agan od—represented by the demijohn of Monongah a w ‘ y—he was shrived of all his suflerings—if not his sins—and lay Stl‘etcligd alon the floor 0 the jacal, not onl oblivious of a spec e that had so later terrific him to the very center of the soul, but'utter y unconscious of his soul s engtepca . , There is no sound within the but of Maurice r—not even a clock to b i continuo mat the hours are pasdn, wiring to? ty, “other nudmiiht is mending over the earth. ' / ; “Tibé W." 1' ., 2.5 7,. , his larder, too. I'm hunvry enoug ‘Par pm ° No. 8. ‘v—Vinv. - .v.-i-w.,_.____..____.__..._ There are sounds outside; but only as usual. The R?“ _ __ . The Headless rvilorseman. 31 ! who, notwithstanding his high rank, has not the su taken by surprise nndunprepared. If there be raid» , rippling of the stream close by the whispering of the _, rlor politeness to protest against this unequal distri u- once, we must shoot him down; but let me fire first." leaves, caused by the night win the chirrup of cicadas, the occasional c of some wil creature, are but the natural voices of he nocturnal forest. Midnight has arrived with a moon that assimilates it to morning. Her light illuminates the earth, hero and there penetrating through the shadowy trees, and fling. iii broad silvery lists between them. ' assing through these alternations of light and shadow—apparently avoiding the former as much as lmssible— rocs a group of mounted men. ‘ Though few in number—as there are only four of them—they are formidable to look u ion. The ver- iuillion glaring rcdly over their naked skins, the striped and spotted tattooin upon their cheeks, the scarlet feather standin sti y upright above their heads, and the leaming 0 weapons held in their hands, all be- Epefli strength of a savage and dangerous kind. Whence come they? They are in the war costume of Comanches. Their paint proclaims it. There is the skin fillet around the ieziiples, with the eagle plumes stuck behind it. The hare breasts and arms; the buckskin hreech-clouts——— over thing in the shape of signlby which these Ish- inae ites of Texas may be recognized when out upon the marahd. The must be Comanches; and, therefore, have come from he west. Whither go they? This is a question more easily answered. They are closing in upon the but. where lies the unconscious ine- briate. The jacale of Maurice Gerald isevidently the but: of their expedition. That their intentions are hostile is to be inferred from the fact of their wearing the war costume. It is also apparent from their manner of making ap roach. Still urther, by their dismounting at some istance from the hut, securin their horses in the underwood, and continuing their a vance on foot. Their stealthy tread-taking care to plant the foot lightly upon the fallen leaves—the precaution to keep inside the shadow—the frequent pauses, spent in look- ing ahead and listening—the silent estures with which these movements are directed by im who a pears to be the leader—all proclaim design to reachtie jacale llriperceived by whoever may chance to be inside it. u this they are successful—so far as ma be jud ed b appearances. They stand by the stoc ade wal , wit out any sign being given to show that they have been seen. \ The silence inside is complete, as that they are them- selves observing. There is nothing heard—not so much as the screech of a hearth-cricket. And et the but is inhabited. But a man may get drunk beyond the power of speech, snoring or even (tildgfle breathing; and in this condition is t is tenant o t e e. The our Comanches steal up to the door; and in skulk attitudes scrutinize it. It is s at; but there are chinks at the sides. To these the savages set their ears—all at the same time—and stand silent! listening. . No snoring, no breat ing, no noise of any kind! “It is impossible," says their chief to the follower lnearest him—speaking in a whisper, but in good gram- matical Castilian, “ 'ust possible he has not yet got home; though by t e e of his starting he should have reache here long fore this. He ma have rid- den out ain? Now I remember: there‘s a orse-shed at the bee . If the man be inside the house, the beast ' shall be found in the shed. Stay here, camarudoa, till I (:0 round and see." Six seconds suffice to examine the substitute for a stable. No horse in it. As more are spent in scrutinizing the th that Leadst to it. No horse has been there-at east not to These points determined, the chief returns to his fol- lowers—still standing by the doorway in front. “Malditol” he exclaims, giving freer scope to his “ he‘s not here, nor has he been this da ." e had better go inside and make sure !‘ su gests one of the common warriors. in Spanish, fairy ro- voice A t . nounced. “. There can be no harm in our seeing ow the [Nannies has housed himself out here i” “ Certainly not!” answers a third equally well versed in the language of Cervantes. “ liet s have a look at h to eat raw tassajo." .l" adds the fourth and last of the uartetto, ii the same sonqrous tongue. “ I’ve heard the he keeps a cellar. , _ The chief does not wait for his follower to finish the h thetical speech. he thought of a cellar appears to produce a power- ful eflect u n him-stimulating to immediate action. He sets h s head upon the skin door with the inten- tion of ushing it open. It re the eflort. “ Gammbo/ it‘s barred inside! Done to keep out intruders in his absence! Lions, tigers, bears. buifalos aperhaps Indians. Ha! ha! ha!” Another kick is given with greater force. The door still keeps its lace. _ “ Bari-iced with somethin —-somet heavy, too. It won’t yield to kicking. o matter. ‘11 soon see what's inside." The machete is drawn from its sheath; and a in e hole cut through the stretched skin that covers the lig it framework of wood. Into this the Indian thrusts his arm, and groping about discovers the nature of the obstruction. The packages are soon-displaced, and the door thrown pen. Tho savages entw.‘ receded by a .broad moonbeam, that lights them_ on t eir way, and enables them to ob- serve the condition of the interior. A man lying in the middle of the floor! , “ Cal-idol" , , “Is he asleep?” 4 “ ii.» insist be dead not to have heard us!" . “ ( iither.” says the chief, after steeping to examine hiz. , “only dead drunk—boracho—cmbflaguado/ He‘s the scrvitor of the Irlandes. I’ve seen this fellow b:f{)l‘0. From his manner one ma safely conclude that hismmstcri i not at home 1101' as been late . I holpe the brulo hasn‘t used up the cellar in getting - so into this comfortable condition. Ah! a Jar. And 0 smelhpg like a rose! There’s a rattle among these ‘f There‘s stuff inside. Thank the Lady Guadaloupe for this!" i . A few seconds suffice for distributing what rennin: oftiio contents of the demijohn. is one alwan or the more drink. with two to their a ,. . v V .l 3 tion. bio In a tries the jar is empty. What next? The master of the house must come home some time or other. An interview with him is desired by the men l who have made a call upon hiinvparticular desired, as may be told by the unseasonable hour of eir visit. The chief is especially aiiXious to see him. What can four Comanche Indians want with Maurice the inustunger? , _ . Their talk discloses their intentions; for among them- slelves they make no secret of their object in being t iere. They have come to murder him! The chief is the instigator; the others are only his in- , struments and assistants. ! The business is too important to permit of his trifling. ! He will gain a thousand dollars by the deed—besides a certain gratification independent of the money motive. ! His three braves will earn a hundred each—a sum sum- ! cient to tempt the cupldity of a Comanche, and purchase him for any urpose. I The traves is need not he carried any further. By this time the mask must have fallen off. Our Conianches stare mere Mexicans; their chief, Miguel Diaz, the mus- er. “ e must lay in wait for him.“ This is the counsel of E! Coyote. “ He cannot be much longer now, whatever me have : detained him. You, BaraJo, go up to the blu , and keep alook—out over the plum. The rest remain here ! wit me. He must come that way; from the Leona. We can meet him at the bottom of t e gorge under the cypress tree. "l‘is the best place for our pu se." ‘ Had we not better silence him?" hints the blood- thirsty Barajo pointing to the Galwegian—fortunately unconscious of what is transpirln around him. “ Dead men tell no tales!‘ ad_ s another of the con- spirators, repeating the proverb in its'original language. , “ It would tell a worse.tule were we to kill him," re- ‘ joins Diaz. ” Besides, it’s of no use. He's silent enough as it is, the droll devil. Let the dog have his day. I’ve only bargained for the life of his master. Come Barajo! Vayate.’ val ate! Up to the cliff. We can't tell the moment Don uricio mayvdrop in upon us. A miscarriage must not be made. 6 may never have such a. chance a am. Take your stand at the top of the gorge. From t at pomt you have a view of the whole plain. He cannot come near without your seeing him, in such a moonlight as this. As soon as ou've set eyes on him, hasten down and let us know. sure you give us tline to get under the cy ress.” BaraJo is proceeding to ield o ience to this cha ter of instructions, but w th evident reluctance. 6 has, the night before, been in ill-luck. havingI lost to El Coyote a large sum at the game of mate. e is desir— ous of havmg his revanche; for he well knows how his Wrens will spend the time in his absence. “ Quick, Senor Vicente,” commands Diaz, observing his dislike to the dut imposed upon him; “ if we fail in this business, you W] i lose more than you can gain at an albur of monte. Go man!” continues El Co ate, in an encouraging way. “ If he comes not within 9 hour some one Will relieve you. Go " Barajo obeys, and stepping out of the jacale, pro- ceeds to his post ugon the top of the cliff. The others seat t emselves inside the hut—having al- ready established a light. Men of their clas and calling generally go provided with the means of killi time, or at all events, hinder i it from hanging on air han e slab table is between them, upon which is soon displayed not their supper, but a. pack of S sh cards, which every Mexican oagabimdo carries un er his sera . 053110 and safe (queen and knave) are laid face up- ward; a manta-tab e is established; the cards are shumcd’ and the play roceeds. Absor ed in calculath the chances of the game, an hour If thepiiorseman had 1) indifferent to his calls for Winsome hound. great creflumof l them;- a cactus. His garments wei l r A’ :3. h nic'nfrut, ;t,e§31088-“Oll10 llc._8. \ The Headless Horseman. hound s )ocies—of its rarest and finest breed—was seen ap roac ‘ng the spot, uttering a deep, sonorous bay, as wi h impetuous bound it broke throuin the bushes. “ A friend / thank Heaven. / afriend. ” The buying ceased as the hound cleared the sclvnge of the chaparral, and rushed open-mouthed among the cowed coyotes—already retreating at his ap )roach. ' One was instantly seized between the uge jaws; jerked upward from the earth; shaken as if it had been on] a rat; and let go again, to writhe over the ground with a shattered spine! ‘ Another was served in a similar manner; but ere a third could be attacked, the terrified survivors dropped 'their tails to the sward, and went yelping away; one and all retreating whence they had come—into the silent solitude of the cliaparral. The rescued man saw no more. His strength was completely spent. He had just enough left to stretch forth his arms, and with a smile close them around the neck of his deliverer. Then murmuring some soft words, he fainted gradually away. His syncope was soon over, and consciousness once more assumed sway. . Supporting himself on his elbow, he looked inquir- in 1y aroun . . t 'was a strange, sanguinary spectacle that met his eyes. But for his swoon he Would have seen a still stranger one. During its continuancea horseman had ridden into the glade, and gone out again. He was the same whose hoofstroke had been heard, and who had lent a deaf ear to the cries for help. He had arrived too late and then without any idea of offering assist- la1uce. His design appeared to be the watering of his orse. The animal plunged straight into the streamlot, drank to its satisfaction, climbed out on the opposite bank, trotted across the open ground and disappeared, in the thicket beyond. The rider had taken no notice of the prostrate form; the horse only by snorting as he saw it, and sprin ing from side to side, as he trod amidst the carcadses o the co otes. he horse was a magnificent animal, not large, but Egret in ((1111 its parts. The man was the reverse—hav- no hca ! ere was a head, but not in its proiper lace. It rested against the holster, seemingly hel in t e rider’s hand. A fearful apparition. The dog barked as it passed through the glade and followed it to the underwood. He ha been with it for a long time, straying where it strayed, and gonig where it went. He now desisted from this fruitless fellowship; and, returning to the sleeper, lay down by his Side. It was then that the latter was restored to conscious- ness, and remembered what had made him for the mo- ment oblivious. _ . ‘ After caressing the do he again sunk into a prostrate ition: and drawing t ie skirt of his cloak over his ace, to shade it from the glare of the sun, he fell asleep. The staghound lay down at his feet, and also slum- wered; but only in short spells. At intervals it raised its and and uttered an angry growl, as the wings of the iltures came switching too close to his ears. The youn man muttered in his sleep: They were ,c rlld words t iat came from his unconscious lips, and betokened a strange commingling of thoughts: now as- sionate appeals of love—now dlSJOIIlted Spear-hes, hat pointed to the committal of murder. CHAPTER LI. rwrcs INTOXICATED. OUR story takes us back to the lone hut on the Alamo so suddenly forsaken by the gambling guests who had made themselves welcome in the absence of its owner. It is near noon of the following day, and he has not yet come home. The ci-det'ant stable-boy of Bally-Ballagh is once more sole occupant of the Jamie—once more stretched alon the floor in a state of inebriety; tho h not the same rom which we have seen him alrcai y aroused. He has been sober since, and the spell now upon him has been ]produced by a subsequent appeal to the Divinity of drin . ~ To explain we must go back to that hour between midni ht and morning, when the manta players made their gbru t departure. ' The si t of three red savages, eated around the slab tab 6, and industriously eiififged in a game of cards, had done more to restore e im to a state of so- briety than all the sleep he had obtained, Despite acertain grotesqueness in the spectacle, he had not seen it in a ludicrous light, as was proved by the terrific screech with which he saluted them. There was nothing laughable in What followed. a had no very clear com rehensiqn of what did follow. He only remembered t at the trio of painted warriors suddenly gave up their game, fiung their cards u on the floor stood over him for a time with naked bla es, threatenl his life; and then, along With a fourth who had joine them, turned their backs abruptly, and rushed ell-mell out of the place! All this occupied scarce twent seconds of time; and when he had recovered from his terrified surprise, he found himself once more alone in theJacale. Was he sleepin or awake? Drunk or dreaming? Was the scene re ? Or was it another chapter of in- coiixilgsious impossibilities, like that still fresh before his m . But no. The thing was no time . It could not be. He had seen the sagafes too near be mistaken as to their reality. .Heh heard them talking in atongue unknown to him. What could it be but Indian jargon? Besides, there were the pieces of pasteboard strewn over the floor! He did not think of pickin one up to satisfy himself of their reality. He was so r enou h, but not sum. ciently courageous .for that. He coufii not be sure of their not burning his fingers—those queer cards. They ingéist belong to the devil? lie the conquion of his senses, it occurred to him that the but was no longer a safe place to stay in. . The painted players might return to finish their game. They had left behind not only their cards, but every- t% else the jacala contained; and though some w- e motive,seamed to have gased 113331; rggi-up de- parture the mig' ht reap r 6‘1, 11958. The thought promp the Galwegian to immediate action; and. blowing out the amdle, so as to conceal his movements, he‘ stole softly out of the but. He did not go by the door. The moon was sflnifif a The r rages might st ,4 1 , l 1" l hoard gt‘ho darkness im’ v . l i a 3'7 ‘ He found means of exit at the back by pullin one of the horse’s hides from its place, and squeezing iinself through the Stockade wall. t Once outside, he skulkcd off under the shadow of the rees. He had not gone far when a clump of dark objects appeared before him. There was a sound, as of horses c iainping their hits, and the occasional striking of a hoof. He paused in his steps, screening his body he- hind the trunk of a cypress. A short observation convinced him that what he saw was a group of liorses.‘ Therc appeared to be four of them; no doubt belonging to the four warriors, who had turned the miistangei"s hut into a gaining-house. The animals appeared to be tied toatree, but feral! that, their owners might be beside them. Having made this reflection, lie was about to turn back am go the other way ;_ but just at that moment he heard voices in the oppoSite direction—the voices of seveiéal men speaking in tones of menace and com- man . Then came short, quick ci‘ies of aflright, followed by the haying of a bound, and succeeded by silence, at in- tervals interrupted by}; swishing noise, or the snap— ping of a branch—as 1f. several men were retreating through the underwood in scared confusion! As he continued to listen, the noises sounded nearer. The men who made them were advancing toward the ress tree. _ he tree was furnished with buttresses all around its base, with shadow intervals between. Into one of these he stepped astil ; and crouching close, was completely screened by t ie sha ow. He had scarce effected his concealment, when four men came rushing up; and, without stopping, hastened on toward the horses. ‘ _ As they passed b _ him, they were exchanging speeches which the shman could not understand- but their tone betra ed terror. The excited action 0 the men confirmed i . They were evidently retreating from some enem that had filled them with fear. There was a g do where the moonbcams fell upon the grass. It was 'ust outside the shadow of the cyv press. To reach t e horses they had to cross it; and, as the did so, the verinilion upon their naked skins flashe red under the moonlight. Phelim identified the four gentlemen who had made so free with the hospitality of the hut. He kept his lace till they had mounted, and rode off —till he coul tell b the train of their horses that they had ascended t 8 upper pain, and gone off in a gal pp—as men who were not likely to come back again. "‘Doesn’t that bate Bana her?" muttered he, step- ping out from his hiding-p ace, and throwin up his arms in astonishment. “Be japers! it diz. other av Mhosesl fwhat cjyan it mane anyhow? What are them divvils afther? n’ fwhat‘s afther them? Shore some- thin‘ has given them a scarr—tliat's plain as a pikestaff. I wondher now if it’s been that same. .Be me sowl, it‘s jist it they‘ve eiicounthered. I heerd the bound grow]- in‘ an‘ didn't he go afther it? Oh, Lard! what cyan it blila? lVlaybe it‘L! be comin’ this way in purshoot av t emi’ The dread of again beholding the unexplained appa- rition, or being beheld by it caused him to shrink once more under the shadow of the tree; where he remained for ome time longer in a state of tremblin suspense. “Afther all, it must be some trick av anther Mau- rice? Maybe to give me a sour an' comin' back he‘s jist been in time to frighten oi! these rid-skins that in- tinded to rub an’ belmke to _murther us, too. Sowll I hope it is that. How long Since I saw it first? Trathl it must be some considerable time. I remimber having four full na. gins, an' that’s all gone off. I wondher i nowif them ndyins has come sci-ass av the dimmyjan? I’ve heerd that they’re as fond of the crayther as if their skins was white. Sowll if they‘ve smelt the Jlnr there won’t bea dhrap in it b this time. I’ll jist si back to the hut an‘ see. If t iare‘s any danger now it won’t be from them. By that t‘arin’ gallop I can tell that they’ve gone for good." Once more emergi from the shadowy stall, he made his way back toward t ejaccle. He approached it with caution, stopping at intervals to assure himself that no one was near. Notwithstanding the plausible hypothesis he had shaped out for himself, he was still in dread of another encounter with the headless horseman_who twice on his way to the hut mi ht now be inside of it. But for the hope 0 finding a “ dhrap” in the demi- 'ohn, he would not have ventured back that night. As it was, the desire to obtain a drink was a trifle stron er than his fears, and yielding to it, he stepped doubtfu ly into the darkness. , He made no attempt to rekindle the light._ Every inch of the floor‘ was familiar to him; and cspglcially the corner where he exlpgcted tafind the demi o . He tried for it. exclamation uttere in a tone of disafipointment told that it was notthere. “ e clad!” muttered he, as ho grumblinglv gropod about, “it looks as if they‘d been at it. Av coorse thefiV hav‘ also why is it not in its place? I lift it there ure I lift it thare. “Ach, me jewel! an‘ it’s there ycz are at " be con- tinued, as his hand came in contact wit the wicker- work; “an’ bad luck to their imperence—im ty as an eggshilll Achl ye eedy- utte bastesl. I’d "a‘ known yez were goin to do} t, I‘d hav‘ spilled a trifle av shiimach juice into the nor, an’ made real fire-water av it for e—jist fwhat yez want. Divil burn ya for a set av re -skinned thieves, st’aling a man‘s liquor when he’s aslape! Och-an-anee! fwhat am I to do now? Go to slape agane? I don’ belave I cyan, thinkin‘ av them an’ the t’other widout a trifle av t icrayther to com. fort me. An' there isn’t a dhrap Widm twenty—mm“ twlmti Howly Mary! Mother av Moses! Sa‘nt Path- rick and all the others toboot fwhat am I talkin’ about? The pewther flask—the pewt er flask! .Be Ja ers! it‘s in the thriink—full to the var heck! Didn‘ fill it for Masther Maurice to take Wid m the last time he went to the sittlements? And didn t he for st to take itii Lard have mercy on me! If the Ind ns ve laid their dhirt claws upon that I shall be af her takiu’ l'ave of me s uses. . “Hoo—hoop—hoqrro!" he cried, after an interval of silence, during which he could be heard fumbling among the contents of the portmanteau. “ Boo—hoop —hoorro! thanks to the Lard tonal] his mercies. The flask as full as a tick—not wan av them has had a finger on it. Hoo-hoop—hoorroi" . ,v For some seconds the (hscoverer of the spirituous was: way to a joyous excitement, could be dancing over the: floor of 3h! \. , - .. ‘ i 4 .._,.--..~.c... _- w?" ,_. “7m..- V ..a,.,.....-..:‘ Then ihere was an interval of silence, succeeded by the screwing of a stopper, and after that a succession of “glucks, ‘ that proclaimed the rapid emptying of a. narrow-necked vessel. After a time this sound was sus )ended, tobe re seed by a repeated smacking of lips, nterlarded witi gro- tesque ejaculations. Again came the gluck, again the smackings, and so on alternately, till an empty flask was heard falling upon the floor. . After that there were wild shouts—scraps of songs intermingled with cheers and laiminer—incoherent ravmgs about red Indians and headless horsemen, re- peated over and over again, each time in more subdued tones, till .the maiidlin gibberish at length ended in a loud, continuous snoring. CHAPTER III. A N A w A K E N a it . PIXELIM’S second slumber was destined to endure for a more protracted term than the first. It was nearly noon when he awoke from it and then on! on receiv- ing a bucket of cold water full in the face, is int sobered liiin almost as quick as the sight of the savages. It was Zeb Stump who administered the dmrclle. After parting from the precincts of Casa del Corvo; the old hunter had taken the. road, or rather trail, which he knew to be the most direct one'leadiug to the head—waters of the Nueces. Without staying to notice tracks or other “sign,” he rode straight across the prairie and into the avenue al- ready mention d. I From what Louise Poindexter had told him—4mm a knowledge of the people who composed the party of searchers—he knew that Maurice Gerald was in danger. Hence his haste to reach the Alamo before them—- coliipled with caution to keep out of their wagé e knew that if he came up with the gulators, e uivocation would be a dangerous game; and, nolem vo ens, he should be compelled to guide them to the dwelhng of the suspected murderer. * 0n taming an angle of the avenue he had the chagrin to see the searchers directly before him, clum ed up in a c‘i-owd,”and apparently engaged in the exam ation of s, . a . At be same time he had the satisfaction to know that his caution was rewarded, by himself remaining. un— seen. “Durn them 1" he muttered, with bitter emphasis. “Imout 'a‘ know‘d they‘d ’a bin hyur. I must go back an’ roun' t’other wa . It‘ll delay me better’n ai‘ hour. Come old niaarl 5 air an obstruckshun you won’t like. It’ll gi’e ye the edition 0‘ six 'more mile to y’ur journey. Ee-ulp, ole gal! Roun’ an’ ck we go!" With a strong piil u on the rein he brou lit the mare short round, and rode ack toward the em ouchure ,oi the avenue. - , ‘ Once outside he turned along the edge of the cm. arral, again entering it by the path which on e day before had been taken by Diaz and, his trio of confederates. From this point he rocecded without ause or adventure until ‘ he ad descended to t e Alamo bottom-land arrived within a short distance, though still out of t of the mu stanger’s dwelling. . Instead of riding boldly up to it, he dismounted from his mare; and leaving her behind him, approached the jacale with his customary caution. The horsehide door was closed; but there was alar o a erture in the middle of it where a portion of e s in had been cut out. What was the meaning of that? Zeb could not answer the question, even ,by conjec-‘ It increased his caution; and he continued his ap- proacp lwith as much stealth as if he had been stalking an an e ope. He kept round b the rear—so as to avail himself of the cover afforded by crouched into the ores-shed at the bac down and listened. ‘ -, There was an o cning before his eyes. where one of the split posts had een pushed out of place, and theskin tapest torn off. He saw this with some surprise; ,but before e could shape an conjecture asto its cause, his ears were saluted wit came out thro h the aperture. There was also a snore, which he ancled he could recognize. as proceed- in from Irish nostrils. _ glance throeth the opening settled the point. The sleeper was Pb in. There was an end to the necessity of stealthy maneuve . The hunter rose to his feet, and step- ing round 0 the front, entered by the door—which no. r ‘ ound un bolted. He made no attempt to arouse the sleeper,.until after ggml‘md taken stock of the paraphernalia, upon the “Thin-'5 been acken u for some ni'piss.” be 01> " served, after a (:IB‘SOl‘ guynce. “ AhleowI r0000 the young fellui'sa or be war goin' to milk. 9 a mm from liyni- some 0 these days. T1103 311‘ 81143311181 all not only sound aslee , but dead druu . ‘tain he air drunk as Backis. I kxijn tell tha by e smell 0‘ him, I wonder if he hev left any 0’ e lioker? air dew. bions. Notadrop, do -gone him! thur‘s e an wi’ the stopping out o’ it. _ , flask, too, in the same preedicamint—both of ’em fun of emp’iuess. Durn him for a drunken cuss He kin ‘ B“s‘§,:c.““..iniiarrrissm ' n be p e. What kin he ha’ bin doin’ wl‘ them? S’poae n‘ on its side; an‘ thur‘d the , '. the trees; and at length haivigfi .' , e '1! asonorous breathing thun ’ ‘ . k on em scattered abeout i e’s been havin’ a game 0’ sonatury along wi' his .1 licker. \ “But what's out the hole in the door, an» why. the, _. t‘other broken out at the back? ‘ I reckon he can tell. I'll roost him, an’ see. PheelumlPheeluuil" - ‘ Pheelum made no reply. . “Pheelum, I sa 1 P eelum!" '- Still no new. though the last summonsvmi m. . livered in a shout loud enough to have been heard 1,“ a mile off, there was no sign made by the slumber-er to show that he even heard it, y I A rude shaking administered in Zeb had no better i 9, effect. It only produced a grun, immediately suc- ,‘ ceeded by a return to the same stertorous res adorn -, .“ If 'twar n’t for his snorin’ I mout b‘lieve lid' dead. He air dead drunk, an' no mistake; intoxe to the ve Gentle 0‘ his toe-nails. ckin‘ him ‘u‘d- ho 1:931:36.“ 1:1 - ned‘. efIdcip’t trykthu.“ w a, ’ , ea un r'seye,as e waares men a that stoodin a corner ems 33m. It was With water, which Phelim, for some pu i fetched from the creek: Unfortunately for , .. 139d , if, . Wwastedit. , . “'7 aoomloaloxpmsioninhlaqsbbtookuptha _ .g.. ___\.._._ .' ,;w;.. , \ . i , ', entertained for the young ‘ .could only be exp l f quently expressed admiration of his ingenuous and i 38 pail, audiswilled the whole of its contents right down upon the countenance of the sleeper. It had the effect intended. If not quite sobercd, tho incbriate was thoroughly awakened; and the string of unified c'aculations that came from his 11‘ )3: formed a contrasting accompaniment to the loud cac innations )f the hunter. It was some time before sufficient tranquility was re- ttored, to admit of the two men entering upon a. serious conversation. Phclim, however, despite his chronic inebriety, was still under the influence of his late fears, and was only too glad to see Zeb Stump, notwithstanding the un- ccf'feinonious manner in which he had announced him- sc . As soon as an understanding was mtablished between them, a::_l without Waiting to be uestioncd, he pro- ceeded to relate in detail, as concise y as an unsteady tongue and disordered brain would permit, the series of strange sights and incidents that had almost deprived him of his senses. It was the first that Zeb Stump had heard of the Headlan- Horseman. Although the report concernin the imperfect per- . so we was that morning broa l scattered around Fort nge and along the Leona, Zeb, having passed through t e settlement at an early hour, and stopped only at Casa del Corvo, had not chanced upouany one who could have communicated such a startling item of intelligence. , In fact, he had exchanged s ch only With Pluto and Louise Polndextcr; neither 0 whom had at that time heard anything of the strange creature encountered, on the evening before, by the party of searchers. The planter, for some reason or another, had been but little communicative, and his daughter had not held con- verse will others. , At first Zeb was disposed to ridicule the idea. of a man, without a head. He called it “a fantassy of Pheelum’s brain, owin' to his havin‘ tuk too much of ‘ l'he corn-juice." . He was nzz’led. however, by Phelim‘s persistence in declaring it to be a fact—more especially when he re- flected on the other circumstances known to him. “Arrah, now how could I be mistaken?" argued the Irishman. “ Didn’t I see Masther Maurice, as lain as [see yourself at this minuit‘! All exce t the iid, and that I had a. peep at as he turned to ga op away. Be- sides, that"; was the Mexican blanket, an’ the saddle ‘wid the rid cloth, and the wathcr guards av spotted skin; and who could mistake that purty horse? An’ haven’t I towld i ez that Tara. went away afthcr him, no' thin, I hear the dog growlin’, jist afore the In- d “ Inj tuous toss of the head. curds! White lnjuns, I reck’n.” ' “ Div ycz think the waren‘t Ind us, afther all?” “ Nc'er a matter w at I think. hur‘s no time to talk 0‘ that now. Go on, an’ tell me 0‘ all ye see’d an heel-n.” When Phelim had at length unburdened his mind, Zeb ceased to question him; and, striding out of the hut, uatted down, Indian fashion, upon the 'rass. Iis object was, as he said himself, to ave “agood think;" which, he had often declared, he could not ob— tain while “ hampered wi’ a house abeout bun.” It is scarcely necessary to sa , that the story told by the Galweoian groom only ad ed to the perplexxty he lad already experienced. Hitherto there was but the disappearance of Henri? Poindexter to be accounted for; now there was the a - ditional circumstance of the non-return of the mus- tanger to his hut—when it was known that he had started for it, and should, according to a notice given t‘ghigesfervant, have been there at an early hour on the i. are. unsl" exclaimed the hunter, with a contemp- “Injuns playin’ wi‘ Spanish ’ f ar more mystifying was the remarkable story of his being seen ridin about the rairie without a head, or with one carrie in his ban I This last might be a trick. What else could it be? Still it was a stran e time for tricks—when a man had been murdered, an half the po ulation of the settle— ment were 'out upon the track 0 the murderer—more especially improbable, that the supposed assassin :houldbcplayin the l ‘ Zeb Stump h to eal with a difficult concatenation -or rather conglomeration of circumstances—events without causes—causes without sequencHrimes com- mitted without any probable motive—mysteries that awed by an appeal to the super- «mtural. A midnight meeting between Maurice Gerald and Louise Poindexter—a quarrel with her brother, occa- uioned b its discoveryTMaurice having departed for , the prairies—Henry havmg followed to sue for forgive- ness—in all this the sequence was natural and comp ete. {HBeyond began the chapter of confusions and contra- ' I ctions. Zeb Stum ' knew the disposition of Maurice Gerald in regard to enry Poindexter. More than once he had heard the mustanger speak of the oung glam/er. In- stead of having a hostility tower him, e had fre- . kenerous character. . That he could have changed from being his friend to be me his assassin, was too improbable‘for belief. 0n y by the evidence of his eyes could Zeb btum p have , been brought to believe it. ” . After Spending a full half-hour at this think," he . had made but 'ttle progress toward unraveling the network of cognate, yet unconnected, circumstances. Despite an inte lect unusually clear, and the possessxon f ~of strong powers of analysrs, he was unable to reach any rational solution of this mysterious drama of many = acts. ‘, The only thing clear to him was, that four mounted men—he did not believe them to be Indians-hail been making free with the mustanger‘s hut; and that_1t was l most probable that these had something to do With the murder that had been conunitted. But the presence of these men at the innate, coupled with the protracted absence of its owner, conducted his conjectures to a stfll more melancholy conclusion: that more than one ~ man had fallen a sacrifice to the assassin, and that the . thicket might be searched for two bodies, instead of , one , A groan escaped from the bosom of the backwoods- man as this convrction forced itself upon his mind. He Irishman a peculiar affec- - flow—strong almost as that felt by a. father for his on- . and thethought that he 11:11 been foully The, New Stork Library. _ ‘Vol. I. He groancd again, as he reflccted upouit; until, without action, he could no longer bear the agonizing thought, and springing to his feet, he strode to and fro over the ground, proolaiming, in loud tones, his pur- pose of vengeance. So absorbed was he with his sorrowful indignation, that he saw not: the staghound as it came skulking up to the hut. It was not long until he heard Phelim caressing the hound in his grotesque Irish fashion, that he became aware of the creature’s presence; and then he re- mained indifferent to it, until a shout of surprisa, cou- pled with his own name, attracted his attention. “ what is it, Pheclum? What’s wrong? Hes a snake bit ye? “Oh, Misther Stump, luk at Taral See! thare’s somethin’ tied about his neck. It wasn‘t there when he lift. What do yes think it is?” The hunter’s eyes turned immediately upon the hound. Sure enough there was something around the animal‘s neck; a piece of bupk-skin thong, But there was something besides—a tiny packet attached to the thong, and hanging round the throat' Zeb, drawing his knife, glided toward the dog. The‘creature re- coiled in fear. A little coaxing convinced him that there was no hostile intent; and he came up again. The thong was severed, the packet laid open; it con- tained acard/ There was a name upon the card, and writing—writing in what appeared to be red ink; but it wusblood/ The rudest backwoodsmau knows how to read. Even Zeb Stump was no exception; and he soon deciphered the characters traced upon the bit of paste- board. As he finished, a cry rose from his lips, in strange contrast with the groans he had been just ut— tering. It was a shout of g adness, of joy! “Thank the Almighty for this~l” he added: “and thank my ole Kaintuck schoolmaster for puttiu’ me cl’ar through my Webster’s spellinl-book. He lives, Pheeluml he lives! Look at this. Oh, you can‘t read. He livesl he lives!” Masther Maurice? Thin the Lard be thanked-“ “Waghl thur’s no time to thank him now. Get a! blanket and some pieces 0’ horse~hide thong. Ye kin do it whiloI catch up the ole maar. Quick! Half an hour lost, an’ we may be too late 1" CHAPTER LII. .msr IN nun. “ HALF an hour and we may be too late I” They were the last words of the hunter, as he hurried away from the but. They were true. exce t as to the time. Had he said half a minute, he won (1 have been nearer the mark. Even at the moment of their utter- ance, the man, whose red writing had summoned assist- ance, was once more in dread danger-«once more sur- rounded by the coyotes. But it was not these he had need to fear. A far more formidable foe was threatening his destruction. Mau- rice Gerald—by this time recognized as the man in the cloak and Panama hat—after doing battle with the wolves, as already described, and being rescued by his faithful Tara, had sought re ose in sleep. With full confidence in the ability of 's canine companion to protect him against the black birds, or the more dan- gerous quadrupeds with which he had been in conflict, 6 soon found, and for several hours enjoyed it. He awoke of his own accord. Finding his strength much restored, he once more turned his attention to the erils that surrounded him. The dog had rescued him mm the iackals, and would still protect him from their attacks 3 iould they see fit to renew it. But to what end? he faithful creature could not transport him from the spot; and to stay there would be to die of hunger—perhaps of the wounds he had received? He rose to his feet, but found that he could not stand u - right. Feebleness was now added to his other in r- mity; and after struggling a pace or two, he was glad to return to a recum nt position. At this crisxs a happy thought occurred to him. Tara might take a messa e to t e hut. “ It could but get him to go,” said he, as he turned inquirlugly toward the dog. “Come hither, old fel- low 1” he continued, addressin himself to the dumb an- imal: “I want you to’ play pos man for me—to carry a letter. You understand? Wait till I’ve got it written. I shall then explain myself more ful .” “ By good luck I’ve ot a card ” he added, feeling for. his case. “ No penc' I That on’t matter. There’s plenty of ink around; and for a pen I can use the them of onder maguey." e crept up to the plant thus designated; broke off one of the loo spines terminating its leaves; dipped it in the blood 0 a coyote that lay near: and drawmg forth a card, traced some characters upon it. With a strip of thong, the card was then attached to the neck of the stag-hound, after being wrapped up in a piece of oilcloth torn from the lining of the Panama hat. It only remained to dispatch e canine post upon his errand. This proved a some\ hat difficult task. The dumb creature, des ite a wonderful mtelhgence, could not comprehend w y he should forsake the ads of one he had so faithfully befriended; and for a long time resisted the coaxings and eludings meant to warn him away. It was only after being scolded in a tone of assumed anger, and beaten by the blackjack crutch— stricken by the man whose life he had so lately saved, that he had consented to leave the spot. Even canine infection could not endure this; and With repeated looks 01‘ reproach, cast backward as he was chased off, he trotted reluctantly into the chafiarral. . “Poor fellow!” sohquuized aurice, as the dog dis- appeared from his view. “ ‘Tis like beating one’s self, or one’s dearest friend! Well, I shall make up for it'll] extra kindness, if I have the good fortune to see him again. “ And now that he is gone, I must provide against the coming back of those villainous coyotes. They Will be sure to come when they discover I’m alone.” A scheme had been alread considered. _ A tree stood near—the ecan alread alKided toe—hawng W0 Stout branches t at extend horizontally and to ether, at SIX or seven feet from the round. Taking 3 .010“ and spreading it out upon 1: e grass, with his knife he cut a. row of holes along the edge. Then unwmding from his waist- the sash of China crepe he tore it u the middle so as to make two strips, on several ya 3 long; the 0 083k was new extended between the branch- es, and fast tied by the strips of magi—thus forming a sort of hammock. The maker of it ew that the coy- otes are not tree-climbers- and, reclin' u n his sus- ded uch. he could observe w: eren their pen co 'th in efl'orts g assail him. He took all this trouble, No matter. “ Who 1' certain would retum. Ifhehad doub it was meet a. rest. by seeing them, oceaniflorthgotherh ; come skulkin out of the chaparral, loping a ace or two at mterv s Simsmg to reconnoiter, and on ad vaucmg toward e scene of their late conflict. Em. boldened by the absence of the enemy most dreaded by them, the pack was soon reassembled once more ex- hibitmg the truculcnt ferocity forwhich these cowardly creatures are celebrated. It was first displa ed in a very unnatural manner—b the devourin of t eir own dead—which was done in ess time than it would have taken the spectator in the tree to have counted 3. score. To him their attention was not directed. In swingin his hammock he had taken no pains to conceal it. Hi had suspended it high enough to be out of their reach; and that he deemed sufficient for his purpose. The cloak of dark cloth was very Tfionspicuous as well as the figure outlined within it. e coyotes clustered un- derneathf—their appetites whetted by the taste of blood. It was a eight to see them lick their red lips after their unnatural repeat—a fearful sight! He who saw it scarce regarded them—not even when they were Spl‘lnglng up to lay hold of his limbs, or at times at- temptng to ascend b the trunk of the tree! He sup- posed therewas no anger] There was danger, how- ever, on which he had not reckoned; and not until the coyotes had desisted from their idle attempts, and stretched themselves, panting under the tree, did he be in to perceive it. ' ' 1? all the denizens, either of prairie or Chaparral the coyote has the greatest cunning. The trapper will tell you It'lS the,“ cunningest varmint in creation." It is a fox m astuteness—a wolf in ferocity. It may be tamed, but it will turn at any time to tear the hand that caresses it. A child can scare it with a stick, but a disabled man may dread its attack. Alone it has the habit of the hare; but in Packs—and it hunts only in packs—itsipoltroonery is ess observable; sometimes under the influence of extreme hunger giving place to a savageness of disposition that assumes the semblance of courage. It is the coyote’s cunning that is most to be feared; and it was this that began to excite fresh apprehension in the mind or the mustan er. On discovering that they could not reach him—a iscovery they were not long in making—instead of scattering off from the spot, the wolves, one and all squatted down upon the grass; while others, stragglers from the original troop, were Still. comin into the glade. He saw that they intended a Siege. his should not have troubled him, eein that he was secure in his suspended couch. Nor would it, but for another source of trouble, every moment makin itself more manifest—that from which he had so late y had such a narrow esca e. . He was once mom on the eve of being tortured thirst. He blamed himself for havin been so simp e, as not to think of this before climbing up to the tree. He might have easxly carried up a supply of water. The stream was there; and for want 0 a better vessel the concave blades of the maguey would have served as a cistern. His self-reproaches came too late. The water was un- der his eyes, only to tantalize him; and by so doing in- crease his eagerness to obtain it. He- could not return to the stream without running the gantlet of the coy- otes, and that would be certain death. He had but faint hopes that the hound would return and rescue him a second time—fainter still that his me would reach the man for whom it was intended. A undred to a. man whose veins are to one against that. ' Thirst is quick in comin half~emptied of their bloo . The torture proclaimed itself apace. How long was it to continue? This time it was accompanied by the straying of the senses. The wolves, from being a hundred, seemed suddenly to increase their number tenfold. A thou- sand apg‘eared to encompass the tree, ti the whole gladel hey came nearer and nearer. eir e es ave out a lurid light. Their red tongues la d anglng cloth; they tore it with their teeth. weanld feel their fetid breath as they sprung up among the branches! ’ A lucid interval told him that it was all fancy. The wolves were still there; but only a/bundred of them—- as before, reclining upon the grass pal ab awaitln a crisis! It came before the period of uci ity had Sew arted; to the spectator unexpected as ine licable. e saw the coyotes suddenl spring to their ect, and rush off into the thicket, unt i not one remained within thpvglade: as this, too a. fancy? He doubted the correctness of his .vismn. e had begun to behave that his brain was distempered. But it was clear enough now. There were no coyotes. What could have frightened them on? ' Acry of Joy was sent forth from his 1i 3 as he con- ]ectured a cause. Tara. had returned. erha sPhellm along with him? There had been time enoug 1 for the delivery of the message. For two hours he 11 begieged by the coyotes, He turned upon his knee, and bending over the branch, scanned the circle around him. Neither hound gogglenchman was in sight. Nothing but branches and u es He listened. No sound, save an occasional howl, sent back by the coyotes that still seemed to continue their retreat} More than ever was it like an illusion. What could have caused their scampering? No matter The coast was clear. The streamlet could now be a pi'oac - ed with out danger. Its water sparkled under h eyes-— its rippling sounded sweet to his ears. Descending from the tree, he staggeredtoward its bank, and reached it. Before stoopmg to drink, he once more looked around him. Even the agony of thirst could not stifle the sur- grise, still fresh in his thoughts. To what was he in- ebted for his stra e deliverance? Despite his hope that it mi ht be the ound, he had an apprehension of danger. ne glance, and he was certain of it. The spotted yellow skin shining among the leaves—the long lithe form crawling like a snake out of the underwoo was not to be mistaken. It was the tiger of the New World, scarce less dreaded than his congener of the Old, the dangerous ’ uar. Its-presence accounted for the retreat of the coyotes. Neither could its intent be mistaken. It, too, h scented, and was hastening to the spot where blood had been sprinkled, with that determined air that told it Emilia not be satisfied till after partaking of the ban. ue . ' Its e es were upon him, who had descended from the tree— ts steps were toward him—now in slow, crouch’ lsgggait; but quicker and quicker, as if preparing for a ring. . ' ‘ ‘ 'lb_retreat to the tree would have been sheer folly. The Jaguar can climb like a cat. The mustanger kneyi But even hadhe M'Wwa ltwould have been all, themeflthe was no ongerpostigh \ No. 8. The Endless .Hcsemer- The animal had already passed that. treenpon which he had found refuge, and there was no other near that :ould be reached in time. He had no thought of climbing to a tree—no thought. of any thing, so confused were his senses—partly from iruseut surprise, partly from the bewilderment already n hisbrain. It was a simple act of unreasonuignn- plilSL‘. that led him to rush on into the stream, until he stood u to his waist in the water. Had he reasoned. lie words have known that this would do notlungto se- rum his safety. [f the jaguar climbs like a cut, it also iiwiiiis with t ic case of an utter; and is as much to be dreaded in the water as upon the land. Maurice made, no such reflection. Ho suspected that the little pool, toward the center of which he had waded, would love but poor protection. He was sure of it when}. e ju— guar, arriving upon the bank above lI‘IIII,'S(‘t itself in that cowering attitude that told of its intention to spring. In despair he steadied himself to receive the onset'of the fierce animal. _ . He had naught wlicrewith to repel it—iio knife—no pistol—no wca )0“ of any kind—not even his crutch! A strugng with is bare arms could but end in his do: struotion. Awild cry went forth from his lips as the tawny form was about launching itself for the leap. There was a simultaneous scream from the jaguar. Something ap lured suddenly to impede it; and, in- stead of alight ng on the body of its Victim, it fell short, with a dead splash upon the water! Like an echo of his own. a cry came from the Chapar- ral close following a. sound that had preceded it—tlie sha “ spang " of a rifle. A uge dog broke through the bushes, and sprung with a lunge, into the pool where the jaguar hat sunk be ow the surface. A man of colossal size ad- vanced ra )idly toward the bank; another of lesser sta- ture treading close upon his heels, and uttering joyful shouts of triumph. To the wounded man these sights and sounds were more like a vision than the perception of real phenome- na. They were tho last thoughts of that do. that re- mained in his memory. His reason, kept too ong u on the rack, had given way. He. tried to strangle the fa th- ful hound that swam fawningly aroundhiin; and strug- gled against the strong arms that, raisnig him out of the water, bore him in friendly embrace to. the bank! His mind had passed from a horrid reality to u. still more horrid dream—the droam of dehrium. CHAPTER LIV. A PRAIRIE museum. Tnnfriendl arms flu around Maui-ice Gerald were those of Zeb tump. Gu dod by the instructions writ- ten 11 n the card, the hunter had made all haste towa. the rendezvous there given. He had arrived within s lit, and fortunately within rifle range, of the spot, at t at critical moment when the jaguar was pre— aring to spring. His bullet did not prevent the iicrce rute from making the bound—the last of its life— though it had passed ri ht through the animal’s heart. This wasa thing thong it of afterward—there was no opportunity then. On rushing into the water to make sure that his shot had roved 'atal, the hunter was him- self attacked; not by t e claws of the jaguar but the hands of the man just rescued from them. F’ortunate f or Zeb that the mustanger‘s knife had been left upon lind. As it was he came near bein throttled; ando .,fter throwing aside his rifle an employing all his strength was be able to protect himself against the un- locked-for assault. _ _ A struggle ensued which ended_in Zeb flinging his colossal arms around the young Irishman and bearing him bodily to the bank. It was not all over. As soon as the latter was relieved from the embrace, he broke away and made for the ecan tree—as rapidly as if the injured limb no longer impeded him. The hunter sus ected lushlntent. Stapd- ing over six feet, ho saw the loodfiv knife-blade lying 11.10!) the cloak. It was for thatt e niustanger was makfiigl Zeb bounded after; and once more infolding the magnan in his bear-like embrace, drew him back from tree. “Speed up thur, Pheelum!" shouted he. “Git that thing out o‘ sight. The young fellur hev took leeve 0’ his seven senses. Thur s fever in the feel 0’ him. He air one dullerlous'" P elim instantly obeyed; and scrambling up the tree- trunk, took possessiion of the knife. Still the struggle was not over. The delirious man wrestled with his rescuer—not in silence, but with shouts and threatenin ' speeches—his eyes all the time rolling and glaring wit a fierce, demoniac light. For full ten minutes did he continue the mad wrestling match. At length from sheer exhaustion he sunk upon the grass; and after a few tremulous shiverings, ac- companied by sighs heaved from the very bottom of his breast he lay still, as if the last spark of life had (is. arted from his body! ’ e Gulwegiau, believmg it so, began uttering a series of lugubrlous cries—the “ keen " of Connemara; “Stop fyour yowlin', ye darned c1155! cried Zeb. “ t air enuf to scare the breath out 9’ his karkldge. He's no more dead than you an- —only fainted. By the way he hev fit me, «reck‘n there ain't much the matter wij him. No, he continued, after stoopini,r down and givmg a_ short ex- amination, "I kin sec no wound worth makin a. muss about. Thur‘s a consid‘abie swellin‘ o’ the knee; but the leg ain’t fractured else he k’u’dn’t 'a stud up on it. As for them scratches, they ain't much. What kin they be? "l‘warn’t the jegwnr that gi‘n them. They ulnmore like the claws o’ a. tom-cat. Ho, ho! I sees now. Thur‘s been a bit 0’ skrimmage afore the spotted beast kim u . The young fellur’s been attacked by coyotes! W u'd ’a' surposed that the cowardly var- ‘ mints would ‘a’ had the owdacity to attackt a human critter? But they will, when they gits the chance 0’ one krl pied as he air—dnrn ‘em.“. he hunter had all the talking to himself. Phclim now overjoyed to know that his master st‘m lived_and furthermore was in no danger of .dymfil—guddenly changed his melancholy whine to a jubilant ullab co, and commenced dancing over the ground, all the w “8 swing his fingers in the most approved Connemara, f n. 0 His frenzied action provoked the hound to a like pitch of excitement; and the two become engaged in a sort of wild Irish jig. Zeb took no mac: of these grtcfitesgll‘légfafnm91gfitions; I) once more dmg' over e , pro- cgg’ded to complete the examination already begun. mmfiis‘immih“ “'6” 32%" “°- “332$? rose to ac common a he strides t, ‘89 bad noticed the )' K‘. r -. i i around him. con not. that still adhered to the Win! the rims- tuiquth North. . I I , ‘39 tanger; and ii. strange thought at seeing it there had passed through hismind. Hats of Guayaquil grassrrccrroncmlsly called Panama i -Wi-re not. uncommon. Scores of Southerners woroi them, in Texas as elsewhere. But he knew that the] young Irishman was accusiomed to carry a Mcxicuh‘ mmbrcm—a very different kind of liead-goar. It was possible he might have seen fit to change the fashion. Still, as Zeb continued to gaze. upon it, he fancied he had seen that but before, and on some other head. It was not from any suspicion of its being dishonestly in pOssession of hu now wearing it that the hunter stoo ed down, and took it off with the design to exam- ine it). His object was suan to obtain some explana- tion of the. mystery, or seres of mysteries, hitherto baffling his brain. ‘ On looking inside the hat he read two names; the first, that of a New Orleans hatter, Whose card was asted in tho crown; and then, in writing, another well i 'nowu to him: “ HENRY romnnxrnn.“ The cloak now came. under his notice. It, too, carried marks, by which he. was able to identify it as belonging to the same owner. ' “Dog—goned kewrins, all this!" muttered the back- woodsinan, as he stood With his eyes turned u on the ground, and apparently buried in a pi-ofoun reflec- tion. “Hats, heads, an‘ everythin’. Hats on the wrong head; heads i‘ the wrong place! By the ‘tarnal, thnr‘s sonii-thiii’ goed astray! hf ’twa'n’t that I feel a putty consid'able siiiariin‘ whar the young fellur "ii men lick over the left eye, I mout be arter be evin’ in own skull-case want any longeratwceu my shoulders. “ It air no use lookm' to him," he added, glancin ' to ward Maurice, “for. an explanation; leastwise till c’s slep‘off this dellcrium that‘s on him. When that‘ll be. ole Nick only knows. “ Wal,” he continued, after another interval spent in silent reflection, “it won‘t do no good our stayin’ liyur. We must get him to the shanty. an' that kin only he did by toatin‘ him. He sayed on the curd lie c'n dn‘t make near a track. It war only the auger ke ‘ him up a bit. That leg looks wusser an” wusser. e's boun‘ to be touted." _ The hunter seemed to cogitate on how he was to ef- feel; his purpose. “ ’Tain’t no ood cxpekin him to think it out,” he continued, loo 'ing at the Galwegian, who was busy talkin to Turn. “The dumb brute hev more sense than 9. Never mind. I‘ll make him take his full share 0’ the carryin' when it kums to thet. How air it to be done? .We must git him on a streetcher. That. I reck‘n, we kin make out o‘ a kupple o‘ poles an‘ the cloak; or wi‘ the blanket Phelim fetchd from the shanty. Ye-esl a stretcher. That‘s the eyedentikul eyedee." _The Connemara. man was now summoned to lend as- Sistance. Two saplings of at least ten feet in 1ch, h were cut from the chaparral, and trimmed clear 0 twigs. Two shorter ones were also selected, and lashed crosswise over the first; and upon these were spread, first the scrape and afterward the cloak to give greater streng ii. In this way a rude stretc or was construct- ed, capable of carryin either an invalid or an inebriate. In the mode of using it, it more resembled the latter than the former; since he who was to be borne u on it, again delirioust raging had to be strapped the trestles! Unlike the or i’nary stretcher. it was not car- ried between two men, but a man and mare—the mare at the head, the man bearing behind. It was he of Connemara who com leted the ill-matched team, The old hunter had kept is romlse—that Phelim should :htaék‘ his full share 0‘ t e carryin‘, when it kum to e . ’ He was taki it, or rather getting it—Zeb having ap- pointed himsel to the easier post of conductor. The idea was not altogether original. It was a rude co y from the Mexican Wei-u, which in Southem Texas Ze may have seen—differin from the latter only in bein without a screen, and nstcad of two mules, for its a ela e a mare and a man! In ths improvised _ nquin was Maurice Gerald transpoited to the dwe ng. It was night when the grotesque-looking group ar- rived at the jacale. In strong but _der arms the wounded man was transferred from c stretcher to the skin conch, on which he had been accustomed to repose. He was unconscious of where he was, and knew not of friendly faces bending over“ hlin. His thoughts were still astray, though no_ longer exciting him to violent action. He was ex nencing an inter- val of calm. He was not silent; t ongh he made no reply to the kind uestions addressed to him, or only answered them wit an inconsequence that ml ht have rovoked mirth. But there were wild w01 5 ii n is lips that forbade it—snggestlng only so ous thong its. . His wounds received such rude dressing as his com- panions were capable of administers: to them; and nothing more could be done but wait the return of da . I'Yhelim went to sleep upon his shake-down; while the other sat up to keep watch by the bedside of the sufferer. It was not from an unfaithfulness on the part of the foster-brother the. he seemed thus to disregard his duty; but sim 1y because Zeb had requested him to lie down—tellinggnm there was no occasion for both to remain awake. The old hunter had his reasons. He did not desire that those wild words should be heard even by Phi-311m, Better he should listen to them alone. And alone he sat listening tothem—throughout the live-long night. He heard s caches that surprised him, and names that did not. 6 was not Surprised '30 hear the name of “Louise” often repeated, and coupled With fervent protestations of love. But there was another name also renounced—with speeches less pleasant to his ear. t was the name of Louise‘s brother. The s scenes were disjointed—incongruous, and almost uninte ligible. Comparing one with the other. however, and assisted by the circumstances already known to him before the morning lighthad entered the acute Zeb Stump had come to the conclusion: that enry l’omdextcr was no longer a. living man! __ CHAPTER LV. us on Bill sovnmmis. , Dos Sumo MARTINEZ was one of the few Mexican w chad chosen to nmainhTemmrthe of that country. by the man colonum i I 7.......,.. “-4”. W A man of more than mature age, of [)euceful habits and taking no part in politics, he acce )tcd the new situation without any great regret. e was more easily reconciled to it, from a kuowlcd 'c that a loss of nationality was better than counter nianced by his gain of security against Comanche incursions- which. previous to the coming of the new colonists. had threat~ sued the complete depopnlation of the uountr . The savage was not yet entirely subduet ' but his maraud ,was now intermittent, and occurred only at long intervals. Even this was an improvement on the old regime. Don Silvio was a ganadero—a grazior. on ugi‘und scale. So grand that his ganmlciia was leagues in length and lin-adili, and contained within its limits many llli insiuids of horses and horned cattle. He lived inva large rectum nlar one-sided house— more resembling a jail than a Welling—surrounded by extensive inclosures (ca/voles). It was usually a quiet lace; excrpt durin the. time of the. herradem, or catt e-brnnding; when or days it became the. scene of a festivity almost Homeric. These. occasions \rere only of annual occurrence. At all other times the old haciendado~who was a bachelor to boot—led a tranquil and solitary life; a sis- ter. older than himself, being his only companion. There were occasional exceptions to t ils rule: when his charming moi-inc rode across from the Rio Grande to pay him and his sister a visit. . Then the domicile of. Don Silvio became a little. more 11 V01 Y. Isidoi'a was welcome whenever s 19 came; welcome to come and go when she )lL‘lLtSUd; and do as she pleased, while under her unc c'su'oof. The sprightli— ness of her character was any thllf‘,‘ but displeasing to the old haciendado; who was iimsc f far from being of a somber disposition. Those traits, that might have appeared masculine in many other lands, were not so remarkable in one, where life is hold by such precari— ous tenure; where a country-house is oft transformed into a fortress, and the domestic hearth occasionally bedewed with the blood of its inmates! Is it surprising that in such a land women should be found eni owed with those qualities that have been as- cxgibed to Isidomf If so, it is not the less true that they 8 st. ‘ As a general thin the Mexican woman is a creature of the most uiniab e disposition; dance—if we may be allowed to borrow from a language that deals more frequently with feminine traits—to such an extent as to have become a national characteristic. It is to the denizens of the great cities, secure from Indian incurv sion, that this character more especially applies. 0!: the frontiers, harried for the last. hulf~centu1 by the aboriginal frecbooter, the case is somewhat ifferent. The amiability still exists; but often combined with a bravourie and hardihood masculine in seeming, but in reality heroic. Since Malinche, more than one fair heroine has figured in the history of Anahunc. Don Silvio Martinez had himself assisted at many a. wild scene. and ceremony. His onth had been passed amid perils; and the courage of sidora—at times do eiiorab mg ll.’l) absolute recklessness—so far from o ending rather gave him gratification. The old gentleman loved his darling domino as if she had been his own child; and- had she been so she would not have been more certain of succeeding in possesmon. Every one knew that, when Don Silvio Martinez should take leave of his life Isidore. Covarubio de los Llanos would be the owner o —not his broad acres. but—his leagues of land, as ulzo his thousands of horses and cattle. With this under standing it is needless to sa that the senorlta carried respect with her wherever s 6 went, or that the vassals - of the Hacienda Martinez honored her as their future mistress. Independently_of this was she regarded. Hers were just the quahties to wm the esteem of the, dashing ramheros; and there was not one upon the es- tate but would have drawn his machete at her nod, and used it to the shedding of blood. Miguel Diaz spoke the truth when he said ewas in danger. Well In ht. he believe it. Had it pleased Isidora tocallwge or her uncle’s ca news, and send them to chastise him, it would have on speedily done—even h him upon the nearest tree! No wonder he made such te to get awn. from the glcdc. - As nlre stated, the real home of Isidore. was upon the other s dc of the Rio Grande—separated by some ‘ three-score miles from the Hacienda Martinez. t this did not hinder her from paying frequent visits to her relations upon the Loom. ‘ There was no selfishness in the motive. The roa- gect of the rich luheiitance had nothing todow it. he was an expectant heiress without that: for her own father was a. n'co. But she liked the com any of. her uncle and aunt. She also enjoyed the r1 efrom river to river-oft made by her betwe’en morning and night, and not unfrequently alone! or late these visits had become of much more frequent occurrence. . Had she grown fender of the societ of her Texan relatives —fouder as they grew older? not, what was her mo- tlvef Imitating her own frankness of character, it may at once be declared. ' She came oftener to the Leona, in the hope.of meet- i with Maurice Gerald. ' ith like frankness may it be told that she loved him. Beyond doubt the young Irishman was in possession of her heart. As already known, he had won it by an act of friendship; though it may have been less in the service he had done t ion the gallantry displayed in doing it. that had put the love-spell on the arlng Ial; _ dora. ‘ i ’ Perha s too she saw in him other captivating quali- * ties lesspohsil ' defined. Whether these-had been un- deslgnedly bited, or with the intention to effect A , conquest. he alone cantell. He has himself said no' \ and respect is due to his declaration. But it is difficult . to believe, that mortal man could have gazed into the eyes of Isidore. (in los Llnuos without wishing them a _ 100k longineg upon him. Maurice may have spoken! u ~ truth; but We could better believa ‘11) had he soon Louise Poindexter before becoming acquainted Willi . Isidore. The episode of the but-ntipruire was novel-all ' weeks subsequent to_tlie adventure with the inmxi- , cated Indium. Certainly something appears to have i occurred between him and the Mexican maiden that leads her to believe she has a. hope-if not a claim— upon his affections. It has come to that crisis tint sho‘ can no longer rest. satisfied. Her impulslvc’ spit-item; not brook ambiguity. She knows that she lovast. She has determine to make frank confession of it: and to ask with like frankness whether her passionbo reciprocated. Hence hen having a an a ment that could not be kept. For that day Don S l. mm” hfififlfihytfiwfiahWahfigmm' 133 l’ . 0 a - \ hastened baék to the rims.» her uncle. . , . “N”: i . “n.1,-..” / l l ! 3 ’ “You 1 to ! Astiidle her gray steed she goes at a gallop. ' Her head is are; her coiffure disarranged; her rich black tresses streaming back beyond her shoulders. no longer covered by scarf or scrape. The last she has left behind her, and along with it her rimma hat. Her nyes are flushing with excitement: her cheeks flushed to the color of carmine. The cause is known. And also wh she is riding in such hot haste. She has her~ self decl ared it. On nearing the house she is seen to tighten her rein. The horse is pulled into a slower nice—n trot; slower still—a walk; and, soon after, he s halted in the middle of the road. llis rider has uhan den! her intention; or stops to reflect whether she slio . She sits reflect" . “ On second thoughts~perhaps—better not have him taken? It would create a terrible scandal everywhere. So far, no one knows of —. Besides, what can I sat myself—’the only Witness? Ah! were I to tell these gs. - lant Texans the story, my own testimony would be enough to have him punished with a harsh hand. let him live. Ladron as he is, I do not fear him. After what's happened he will not care to come near me. Santa Vii-gen! to think that I could have felt a fancy for this manwshort-lived as it was! , ' "I must send some one back to release him. One who can keep my secret—who? Benito, the mayor-. dome—faithful and brave. Gracias a diosl _Yonder’s my man- as usual busied in counting his cattle. Benito!” “ At your orders, s'norita." . “ Good Benito, I want you to do me a kindness. consent?” “ At your orders, 3 'norita,” repeats the mayor-demo, bowing low. f “Not orders, good Benito. I wish you to do me a aver.” “ Command me, s’norita!” “ You know the spot of open ground at the top of the hill—fibers the three roads meet 2'” “As well as the corral of your uncle’s hacienda. ” . “Good! Go there. You will find a man lying upon the ground his arms entangled in a 13.20. Release, and let him go ree. If he be hurt—by a harsh fall he has had—do what you can to restore him; but don’t tell him who sent you. You may know the man—I think you do. No matter for. that. Ask him no questions, nor answer his, if he should put any. Once you have seen him on his lc , let him make use of them after ‘his own fashion. on understand?" “ ‘ectamente, s’flmita. Your orders shall be obeyed to the otter." “Thanks, good Benito. Uncle Silvio will like you all the better for it; though ou mustn’t tell him of it. Leave that to me. If he s ouldn’t—if he shouldn’t—- well! one of these days there ma be an estate on the Rio Grande that will stand in nee of a brave, faithful steward—such a one as I know you to be.” “ Every one knows that the Dona Isidora is gracious as she is fair.” “ Thanks—thanks! One more request. The service I ask on to do for me must be known only to three indivl unis. The third is he whom you are sent to suc- cor. You know the other two?" “ S’norlta, I comprehend. It shall be as you wish it. ” The mayor-domo is mo vin off—on horseback, it need scarce be said. Men of is calling rarely set foot on earth—never upon a journey of half a league in You x ‘ lena'in, “:Stayl I had forvottenl” calls out the lady, arresting him. ‘You will lincl a hat and scrape. They are mine. Bring them to me. I shall wait for you here, or meet you somewhere along the road.” ‘5 Baring, he again rides away. Again he is summoned o s . “ 0; second thoughts, Senor Benito, I’ve made up my mind to go along With you. Vamos ." The steward of Don Silvio is not surprised at capfice whenexlnbited b the niece of his employer. Without questioning he 0 eys her command, and once more heads his horse for the hill. The follows. She has told him to ride in the ad- vance. c has her reason for departing from the aristocratic custom. Benito is astray in his conjecture. It is not to caprice , that hols indebted for the championship of the senorita. A serious motive takes her back along the road. She has forgotten something more than her wrapper and hat—that little letter that caused her so much an- no‘ylance. , ' e “good Benito " has not had all her confidence; nor can» he be intrusted with this. It inivht prove a scandal, graver than the quarrel with Don Miguel Diaz. She rides back in hopes of repossessing herself of the e lstle. ,How stupid not to have thought of it before! ‘ ow had El 00 one glot hold of it? He must havehad it from Jose! as er servant a traitor? Or had Diaz met him on the way, and forced the letter from him? To either of these nestions an affirmative answer might be surmised. n the part of Diaz. such an act; ‘ w uld have been natural enough; and as for Jose, it is e no the first time she has had reason for suspectln’ his l lldelit . So ran her thoughts as she reascende the 510 eading from the river bottom. 'The summit was gained. and the opening entered; ISidora now riding side by side with the mayor-dome. No Miguel Diaz there—mo man of any kind—and what gives her far more chagrin, not a scrap of paper! , There is her hat of vicuna wool—her scrape of Sal- " tillo and the loop end of her lazo—notning more. may fishOme again Senor Benito! The man A thrown from ' horse must have recovered his senses ~and. I suppose, his saddle, too. Blessed be the Vir in! But remember, good Benito, secrecy all the some. rm- ! male 7'!” ' " Yo entime Dona Iaidora," The mayor-(ionic moves away, and is soon lost to 7 ,1 r sight behind the crest of the inn, The lady of the 18.20 is once more alone in the lade. the springs out of her saddle; dons scrape an som- brero; an is 8.5311] the beau-ideal of a youthful hidalgo, :‘vhe remounts owly mechanically—as if her thoughts do not acacinpany the action. Languidly she lifts hai- lamb over the croup. The retty foot was for a secmd or'two ised in the air. or ankle, escaping from 1" a skirt'o her 6, displays a tournnre to have craved ; Brainteles. As it descends on the opposite side of file . horse a cloud seems to overshadow the sun. Simon ‘_ Stylitca could scarce have closed his eyes on the spec . tacie. But there is no spectator of this inter“ Itlng , § 3 ; not gen the wnrffied .lg‘se; vgieoisthe moms-é; . : ’comes ulking e g e. o L withdut circumloaution upon the subject of clawed Nol; New York Library. ' “(01.1. “ What have you done with it, sirrah?" “ Delivered it, my lady.” ‘ “To whom?" , “I left it at—at the pagoda,” he reglies, stammering , and turning pale. “ Don Mauricio ha one out." , “A. lie, 119,001)! You gave it to Don iguel Diaz. No , denial. sir! I've seen it since." , “0h, senora, pardon! pardon! I am not guilty—in— , deed I am not!” . “Stupid, you should have told your story better. .You have committed yourself. How much did Don ‘ Miguel ay you for your treason?” ‘ “ As . live, lady. it was not treason. He—he forced it i from me—b threats—blows. I—I—wus not paid.” [ “ You she be, then! I discharge you from my ser- vice; and tor wages take that, and that, and that—-" For at least ten times are the words repeated—the ridin -wliip at each repetition descendin upon the shou ders of the dishonest messenger. e essays to escape by running off. In vain. He is brought up again b the dread of being ridden over and tram led under t ie hoofs of the excited horse. Not till the lue wheals appeared upon his brown skin does the chastise- uicnt cease. “ Now, sirrah, from my sight! and let me i see you no more. Al monle/ cl mantel" With ludicrous alacrity the command is obeyed. Like a scared cat the discharged servitor rushes out of the glade; only too hop )y to hide himself and his shame under the shadows of t 1e thorny thicket. But a little while longer does , lsidora remain upon the s ot—her anger giving place l to a profound chagrin. ot only has she been baffled . from carrying out her design, but her heart’s secret is , now in the kee lug of traitors! 5 Once more s is heads her horse homcward. , 1She arrives in time to be present at a singular specta- c e. 3 The people—peons, vaqueros, and employees of ever lkind—are hurrying to and fro, from field to corral: ‘ from corral to courtyard; one and all giving tongue to [ terrified ejaculations. \ l The men are now on their feet, arming in _confused haste; the women on their knees, praying pitifully to ‘ heaven—through the intercession of a score of those ,‘ saints, profusely furnished by the Mexican hierarchy , go suit all times and occasions. “ What is the commo- ion?” ,3 This is the first question asked by Isidore. The ,mayor-domo—who chances to be the first to present ,himself—is the individual thus interrogated. A man i has been murdered somewhere out upon the prairie. l The victim is one of the new people who have lately Itaken possession of Casa del‘Corvo—the son of the ‘American haciendado himself. Indians are reported to have done the deed. Indians! In this word is the l key to the excitement among Don Silvio’s servitors. It ; explains both the raying and the hurried rushi to arms. Tho fact at a man has been murders —a [ slight circumstance in that land of unbridled emotions l—would have produced no such response—more espe- cially when the man was a stranger, an “ Americana.” But the report that Indians are abroad is altogether I a dilierent afian'. In it there is an idea of dam er. , The elfect produced on Isidora is different. t is not ; fear of the sava es. The name of the “ asesinado " re- ; calls thoughts t at have already given her pain. She . knows'that there is a sister, spoken of as being wonder- ! fully beautiful. She has herself looked upon this ‘ beauty, and can not help believing in it. .‘ A keener pang proceeds from something else she has ; heard; that this eeriess maiden has been seen in the , company of Maurice Gerald. There is no fresh jealousy : inspired by the news of-the brother’s death—only the old on iazsantness for the moment revived. The feel- 1 ing soon gives place to the ordinary indifference felt for 1 the fate of those with whom we have no acquaintance. 1 Some hours later and this indifference becomes i changed to a painful nterest; in short, an ap rehension. ; There are fresh l‘eIéOl'tB about the murder. _ t has been committed not by omanches; but by a white man—by iMa/uice. the music er! There are no Indians near. l This later edition 0 “ novedades," while tranquilizing ! Don Silvio’s servants. has the contrary effect 11 on his ! niece. She can not rest under the rumor; and hour afterward, she is seen reigning up her horse in 1 front of the village hotel. ,l For some weeks, with motive unknown. she has been devoting herself to the study of La lemma Americana, , Her vocabulary of English words, still scanty, is suffi- l cient for her resent urpose; which is tO'acquire in- formation, no about t e murder, but the man accused , of committing it. , The landlord, knowing who she is, answers her in- ; quiries with obse uious politeness. I 5 She learns that urice Gerald is no lon at his guest, , with “full particulars of the murder,” so ar'as known. l With a sad heart she rides back to the hamenda Max-- } tinez. On reachin the house, she finds lts tranquillity . again disturbed. be new cause of excitement might i have been deemed ludicrous; though it is not so regard- , ed by the superstitious pm. A rare rumor has l reached the lace. A man without a head—ram hombre ,descabezaa’o— as been seen ridin abqut_the plains, . somewhere near the Rio Nueces! espite its apparent ; absurdity, there can be no doubting the correctness of i the report. It is rife throughout the settlement, But there is still surer confirmation of it. A party of , Don Silvio’s own people—herdsmen out in search of j strayed cattle—have seen the cavallero descabezado ,' and, , desisting from their search, had ridden away from him ! as they would have done from the devfll The vaqueros—there are three of them—are all ready ! to swear to the account given. But their scared looks l furnish a more trustworthy evidence of its trut ulness. J The sun goes down upon a congelw of trig tful m7 , mors. v . . ! ,Neither these nor the rotestations of Don 3:1an and , his sister can prevent t eir capricious niece from car- [TYing out a resolution she seems suddeng to have ‘, formed—which is, to ride back to the Rio rande. It {makes no difference to her that a murder has been { committed on the road she will have to take: much less 1 that near it has been seen the ghastly apparition of a !, headless horseman! What to any other traveler should l cause dismay. seems only to attract Isidora. She even ! proposes making the jonrney alone! Don Silvio offers i an ascetic—half a score of his ’0 mama. armed to the ,l teeth. The offer is re acted. Will 3 6 take Benito? She ,1 prefer: Journeymg one. In short, she is determined upon i . Next mom she carries out this determination. By daybreak she in the I die; an in less than two hours after, ri . not upon the act road to the , Rio Grande. but Why, dig? th bank fth Alain! ibushethusdtviatgsgfmzwrgghi gushes?!“ alfani She looks not like one who has lost her way. There is a ' and expression upon her countenance but not one of in uiry. Besides her horse ste sconfideutl forwn 8.8%! under his rider’s direction, 1ejmd guided b3; the reg: Isidore is not straying. She has not lost her way. Happier for her if s e ad. CHAPTER LVI. A sum AT THE DEVIL. ALL night long the invalid lay awake; at times tran- quil,'at times giving way to a lparoxysm of unconscious passmn. All night long the unter sat by his bedside and listened to his incoherent utterances. They but confirmed two points of belief already impressed u on Zeb‘s mind: that Louise Poindextei' was beloved; t at her brother had been murdered! The last was a belief that. under any circumstances, would have been pain- ful to the backswoodman. Coupled with the facts al- ready known, it was agonizing. He thou lit of the quarrel—the hat—the cloak. He writhcd as e contem- plated the‘labyrinth of dark ambilg‘uties that presented itself to his mind. Never in his in: had his analytical powersbeen so complete] baffled. He groanedas he elt their impotence. He ept no watch upon the door. He knew that if they came it would not be in the n‘ ht. Once only he went out; but that was near morilg , when the light of the moon was beginning to ming e With that 0 the day. He had been summoned by a sound. Tara. straying among the trees, had given ut- terance to along, dismal “ rowl," and came runnin , scared-like, into the hut. xtin uishing the li t, Ze stole forth, and stood listenin". fi‘here was an i terrup- tion to the nocturnal chorus: lint that might have been caused by the howling of the hound? What had caused it .9 The hunter directed his glance first upon the open lawn; then around its ed e, and under the shadow of the trees. There was not ing to be seen there, except what should be. ' He raised his eyes to the cliff, that in the dark line trended along the horizon of the sky—broken at both ends by the tops of some tall trees that rose above its crests. There were about fifty Faces of clear space, which he knew to be the edge 0 the upper plain ter- minating at the brow of the .preci ice. The line separating the chum) mm the aroma could be traced distinctly as in the day. A brilliant moon was beyond it. A snake could have been seen crawling along t e top of the cliff. There was nothing to be seen there. But there was something to be heard. As Zeb stood listening, there came a sound from the upggr plain. that seemed to have been produced not far it from the summit of the cliff. It resembled the clicking of a horse’s shoe struck against a loose stone. So conjectured Zeb as with open ears he listened to catch its repetition. It- was not repeated; but he soon saw what told him his conjecture was correct—a horse. stgpping out from behind the tree-tops, and ad- vancing on the line of the bluff. There was a man upon his bac —-both horse and man distinctly seen in dark silhouette against the clear sapphire sky. The fig- ure of the horse was_pertect, as n the outlines of a skillfully-cast medallion. That of the man con be traced—only from the saddle to the shoulders. Below, the limbs were lost in the shadow of the animal. though the sparkle of spur and stirrup told that they were there. Above there was nothing—not even the sem- blance of a head! Zeb Stump rubbed his (Eyes and looked; and rubbed them and looked again. t did not change the charac. ter of the apparition. If he rubbed them four score turtles he dwould have seen the same—a horseman with- ou a ea . This very sight he saw, beyond the possibility of dis- beliemng—saw the horse advancing along the level line ina. slow but steady pace—without footfall—without sound of any kind—as if gliding rather than walking.— like the shifting scene of a cosmorama! Not for a mere instant had he the opportunity of ob. serving the s ectral apparition; but a rlod lo enou to ena 1e him to note eve detail— ong enoug to sat sfy him that it,_could be no usion of the eye, or ii any way a deception of his senses. Nor did it vanish abruptly from his view; but slowly and gradually; first the head of the horse: then the. neck and shonlders; then the she, e. halfaghastly, half- grotesque of the rider; then the ind-quarters of the animal; the hips; and last of all the long, tapering ai . “ Geehosophat l” It was not sur rise at the disappearance of the head. less horseman t iat extorted this exclamation from the lips of Zeb Stump. There was notbln stran e about thlS._ The spectacle had simply p behin the pro- scenium—represented by the top’of ti'eevtops rising above the bluff. “ Geehosophat :" _Tw1ce did the backwoodsman give utterance to this, his favorite expression of surprlse' both times with an emphasis that told of an unhnrnte astonishment. His 100 s betrayed it. Despite his undoubted courage a. shiver passed through his colossal frame, while a pallor upon his lips was perce tible thro htheii- brown priming of tobacco fume. or some e he stood speech ass, as if unab e to follow up his double ejacula. tion. His tongue at le h returned to him, ‘ ‘é Dog- one my catsl’l e muttered, but in a very low tone, an with eyes still fixed upon the point where the horse's tail had been last seen. 5‘ If that ’era don’t whip the hul united creashun, my name ain‘ Zeb’lon tum ! The Irish hev been right alter all. . tho’t be ad reemt o'itinhis drink. But no. He hev see‘d somethin‘; and so hevI meseif. No wouuer the cues Wur skeeart.‘ I feel Jest a splell shaky in my own narves ’beout this time. GeehOSOP at! what kin the durued thingvllie? I “_ at km 112' be i" he continued, after a period spent in Silent reflection. “ Do gonad of I kin detarmine one way or 1; other. EC ’1; he been only i‘ the daylight. an’ I kcd ’a' got agood s ht on ‘t; or of ’t bed can a leo- tle bit cloaster! Ha! moutn’t I it cloaster to it? Dog-gonad of Mom: hev a try! I ’n it won’t eet me—not c it air ole Nick; an’ of it air him, I‘ll est eater-stir meself Whethera bullet kin go custrut t ' his internal karkidge ’ithout throwin him, out o' the saddle. Hyui' go for a cloaster akwintance wi’ the var- mint, whatsomiver it be." So saying, the hunter stalked at through the trees. upon e path that led up to the bluff. He had not needed to 0 inside for his brought that weapon on with him on hearing the how If the headless rider was real flesh and blood—emisg and not of the, other world—Zeb Stump mighotd d l k him again. When that?“ tilipgjwmfe was going View of the hound. ‘ tow-ya the $5“: ,v. «is x ' I kedn’t ‘a’ boom the 000m 0’ in bullet? level to the! that permitted passage from the higher Alamo. AsZeb had started to avail himself of the lame ath, unless the other should meantime change direction, or his tranguilpace to a trot or gallop, t e backwoodsman woul be at the head of the pass as soon as he. Before starting, Zeb had made a calculation of_the distance to be done, and the time to do it in. His estimate proved correct—to a second, and an inch. As his head was brought nearly on a level with the upland plain, he saw the shoulders of the horseman rising above it. . Another ste upward, and the body was in view. Another, andt e iorse was outlined against the sky, from hoof to forelock. . He stood at a halt. He was standing as Zeb first; came in sight of him. He was frontiii toward the cliff, evidently intending to go down in o the gorge. His rider appeared to have pulled him u as a measure of precaution; or hemay have heard the unterscrainb- ling up the ravine; or, what was more likely, scented him For whatever reason, he was standing, front face, to the spectator. 0n seeing him thus, Zeb Stump also came to a stand. Had it been many another man, the same might have been said of his hair; and it is not to be denied, that the old hunter was at that moment, as he acknowledged himself, “ a spell shaky 'beout the narves." He was firm enough, however, to carry out the pur- that had rompted him to seek that singular in- grview; whic was, to discover whether he had to deal with a human being or the devil! In an instant his ride was at his shoulder, hise e Lancing along the barrel; the sights, by the help 0 a grilliant moonlight, bearing upon the heart of the Headless Horseman! . In another, a bullet would have been through it ;. but forathought that just then flashed across the brain of the backwoodsman. Maybe he was about to commit murder .9 ' _ At the thought he lowered the muzzle of his piece, and remained for a moment undecided. ‘ “It mout be a man?" muttered he “though it don‘t look like it air. Thur ain't room enuf for a head under that ere Mexikan blanket, noliow. Ef it be a human critter he hev ot a tongue I reck'n, though he ain’t much 0’ a he to hold it in: Hilloo, stronger! Ye’ro out for a putty lateish ride, ain’t ye? Hain t ye forgot to fetch y or head wi' ye?" There was no reply. The horse snorted. hearing the voice. That was all. “Lookee hyur stronger! Ole Zeb Stump, from the State of Kintucllfy, air the indivldooal who’s now speakin’ to ya. 6 ain't one o’ thet sort ter be tuned wi‘. Don’t to kum none 0’ yer damfoolery over this h r coon. warn ye to declur y'ui‘game. If ye‘re yin’ ’possum e‘d better throw up y or hand; or by {he jumpin’ Gee osonhat, ye may lose both'y’ur stake an' y‘ur curds! Speak out now, afore ye gits plugged wi‘ a piece 0’ lead! ’ . _ Less response than before. This time the horse, be- coming accustomed to the voice, only tossed up his head. “Then dog-gone e!" shouted the hunter, exaspe- rated by what he eemed an insulting silence. “Six seconds more—I'll gi’e ye six more; aii’ of ye don’t show speech by that time, I’ll let drive at y’ur uts. Ef ye’re but a dummy it won’t do ye any harm. o more will it, I reckun. of ye air the devil. But of ye‘re a man playin' ’ ossum, durn me cf 6 don‘t desarve to be shot for in‘ sech a darned 00]. Sing out!”he continued, with increasing an 'er, " sing out, I tell ye! Ye won’t? Then hyur goes! ne—two—three—four— five—six!” Where “seven” should have come in, had the count been continued, was heard the sharp crack of a rifle, followed b the sibilatlon of a spinning bullet; then the dull “thu " as the deadly missile buried itself in some solid bod . The 0 effect roduced by the shot appeared to be the frigh-{ytenin ofpthe horse. The rider still kept his seat in the sadfile! It was not even certain the horse was scared. The clear neigh that responded to the detonation of the rifle, had something in it that sounded deriswei For all that, the animal went oi! at a tearing gallop, leav Zeb Stump a prey to the profoundest surprise be h ever experienced. After discharging his rifle, he remained upon his knees for a period of several seconds. If his nerves were unsteady before the shot, they had become doubly so now. He was not on! surprised at, the result, but terrified. He was certain hat his bullet passed throu h the man’s heart—or where it should be —as sure as ’ his muzzle had been close to the ribs. It could not be a man! He did not beheveit tobe one; and this thought might have reassured him but for the behavior of the horse. It was that Wild, un- iilglthat was now chilling his blood, and causing his ' bs to shake as under an ague. He would have retreate ; but for a time he felt abso- lu unable to rise to his feet; and he remained, kneei , in a sort of stupefled terror—watching the weird nfirm till it receded out of sight far 03 over the moonlit lain. Not till then did he recover sufficient courage enallnllejhiiéil to glide back down the gorge, and on towardt e at e. _ And not till he was under its roof did he feel suf- ficiently himself to reflect with any calmness on the odd encounter that had occurred to him. _ It was some time before his mind became disabused of the idea that he had been dealing with the deVil. Reflection, however, convinced him of the improba- bility of this; though it gave him no clue as to what the thi really was. “figural , ' muttered be, his conjectural form of showing that he was still undecided, “surely, ter all, it can t be 8 thing 0’ the t‘other world—else alnt t" 'd ’I sw film's bulletstruckag s some in so ;an rec n “,9. nothin’ solid in the karkige o‘ a ghost? “Wagh!” he concluded, apparently resigning the attemptto obtain asolution o. the str physical henomenon. “ Let the durned thing slide One 0’ two fhings it mrlen’ to be: eyther a. bundle o’ rags, or cm H m ,. ' d the h t the blue light of morning stole infith II:1 was time to awaken Phelim, that fimifit take his turn by $119 bedsxde of the invalid. Connemara man, now , oro ' , and under the impression havmg been a little ‘ self of the knowledge hly restored to so- ' inhis do was readyto undertake thetask. , 0M hunter, light-e condgninghis chm-geth snow 3 ' , , - ' l , i The Headless Horseman. cessor, made a dressingl of the scratches—availing him- t at a long experience had iven him in the harmacopoeia of the forest. The mp was near; audits juice inspissated into the fresh wounds would not fail to eiIect their speedy cure. Zeb knew that in twenty-four hours after its application, they would be in process of healing; and in three days en- tirely cicatrized. With this confidence—common to every denizen of the cactus-covered land of Mexico— he felt defiant as to doctors; and if a score of them could have been prooured upon the instant, he would not have summoned one. He was convinced that Maurice Gerald was in no danger—at least not from his wounds. There was a dan er; but that was of a different kind. “ An’ now, Mr. heeluni,” said he, after makin r a finish to his sur'ical operations, “we hev dud all t et kin be dud fort e out'ard man, an‘ it air full time to looknarter the innard. Ye say thur ain‘t nothin‘ to eat? “Notsomuch as a purtayty, Misther Stump. An‘ what‘s worse, thur's nothin’ to dhrink—not a dlirap left in the whole cyabin." “Durn ye, that‘s y‘yr fault," cried Stump, turni upon the rishman, Withasavage scowl, that showgfi equal regret at the announcement. “hf‘t hadn’t ’a' been for on thur war licker enough to ‘a‘ lasted till the young fe lur got roun’ ag’in. What’s to be dud new?" “ Sowl, Misther Stump! yez be wrongin’ me, al- thegither intirely. That same yez are. I, hadn't a taste, exceptin‘ what came out by the flask. It was them Indyins that emptied the diinmyjan. Trath was it." “ Wagh! ye couldn‘t ’a’ got drunk on what wur con- tainedi the flask. I know your dm-ned guts too well 'fgr thet. You must ’a’ had a good pull at the t‘other, o. “ Be all the saints—" “Durn y’ur saints! D‘you s'pose any man 0‘ sense believes in such varmint as them? “ Wal; ’tain’t no use talkin’ any more beout it; e‘ve sucked up the corn-Jince, an’ thur’s an end o’t. hur ain’t no more to he lied ‘ithin twenty mile, and we must go ’thout.” “Be japers, that‘s bad.” “ Shet u y‘ur head, durn ye, an‘ hear what I’ve got to say. e’! hev to go ’ithout drinkin’; but thet re 0 reezun for sturvin‘ ourselves for want 0’ somethin’ o eet. The young fellui', I don’t niisdoubt, air by this time half sturved hisseit‘. Thur’s not much on his stum- muk, I reck‘n, though thur may be on his mind. As for meself, I’m Just hungry enough to eat a coyoat; an” I ain't very sure I’d turn away from turkey huzzart; which, as I reck‘n, would be a. wusser victual than coyoat. But we ain‘t obleged to eet turkey buzzart whar_thiir’s a chance 0’ gettiii’ turkey;an' thet ain’t o dewbious along the Alamo. You stay h or, an’ ta'e care 0’ the young fellur whiles I try up t e crick, an’ see if I kin um acrost a gobbler.” “I‘ll do that, Mr. Stump, an’ no mistake. trath—" t “ Keep y’ur palaver to y‘urself till I‘ve finished talkin' o e. ‘ Sowl, I won‘t say a Word." “Then don’t, but lissen! which I don‘t want ye to make an Be me Thur’s somethin’ ’bout mistake. It air this. Ef there shed an§body stray t ‘ way/durin’ my absince, let me know. is inus‘n't loe a mail; 0’ time, but let me know." ' “ Shure I will—sow], yis." “Wal, I’ll depend on e." “ Trath yez may; but ow, Misther Stump? How am i! to lihyezrknow, if you’re boyant hearin’ av me voice? ow m “ Wal, I reck’n I shan’t need to go so furhs thet. Thur ought to be gobblers cloast by—at this time o‘ the mormn’. “ An’ yit there moutent," continued Zeb, after re- flecting a while. “Ye ain‘t got sech a thingas agun in the shanty? A pistol ’u‘d do." “ N ayther wau' nor the t‘other. The masther tuk both away wid him, when he went last time to the sit- tlements. He must have lift them there." “ It air awk‘ard. Imout not hear y’ur shout." Zeb, who had by this time passed through the door- way again stopped to reflect. _ ‘ Heigli!" he exclaimed, after a pause of six seconds. “ I‘ve got it. I‘ve tread the eydee. Ye see my ole maar, tethered out thur on the grass?" “Shure I do, Mr. Stump. iAv coorseI do." “Wal, ye see thet ‘ere prickly cacktis plant growin’ cloast to the edge 0’ the openin ?" “ Faith, yis." “ Wal, that's sensible 0’ ye. Now lissen to what I say. Ye must kee a iook-out at the door; an’ e: any- body kums up whi es I’m igone, run stra ht custrut for the cacktis, cut 03 one 0‘ ts branches—t e thorniest ye kin see—an’ stick it under the maar’s tail.” “ Mother av Moses! For what div yez want me to do that ?” “ Wa! I reck’n I’d better lain," said Zeb, reflect- ingly'; ‘3 otherwise ye’ll be mak n' a mess o‘ it. ‘ ‘ 6 see, Pheeluin, of an body enterlopes din-in m absince I had better be yur. I ain’t a-goin‘ fur o . But howsomediver near I moutn‘t hear yer screech; thurfor the maar‘s ’11 do better. You clap the cacktis under her tail, cloast u to the fundament; an' of she don’t squeal loud enoug to be born by me, then you may konklude that this coon air eyther rubbed Mr hev both his lugs pinged wi‘ pickefrplns- 50. Ph ; do onlili gdzacfly as I’vel‘toit ye! ‘ o it 'a 1‘3 “ Be sure ’now? gf’ur master’s life may depend upon 19 After deliva ' this last caution, the hunter shoul. dered his long ri e and walked away from the hut. “ He‘s a cute‘owld chap, that same, said Phelim, as soon as Zeb was out of hearing. “I wonder what he manes, by the masther bein’ in dan or from wan comin’ to the cyabin. He sod that s life moig 1», de. pend upon it? Yes he sedthat. “He towlt me 0 take a luk out. I an pose he maned me to begin at wance. I must go the en. thrence thin." ' So sayi‘ he ate outside the door, and roceed. ed to maklg an ac Ii'etinspect‘lon of the Path b’y which the jacau might be aapsroached. After completing 1 , he returned to the threshold; and there took stand, in the attitude of one upon the watch. ‘ CHAPTER LVII. socnnmo m SIGNAL. ‘ may; was of short duration. minutes had e been keeping ia‘when he warnedby the sound of a nurse’s hoof that some one “ towlt you, was coming up the crock in the direction of the in . His heart commencedhamnierii against his ribs. T 6 trees, standing thickly, hindere him from having at view of the approaching horseman; and he could not tell what sort of *uest was about to present himself at the jacale. But t e hoof-stroke told him there was onfiy one ; and this it was that excited his apgrehension. a would have been less alarmed to hear t c trampling of a troop. Though well assured it could no longer be his master, he had no stomach for a second interview with the cavalier who so closely resembled him—4n every thing exce t the head. His first im ulse was to rush across the awn, and carry out the so iemo intrustcd to him 1) Zeb. But the indecision springing from his fears kept iin to his place long enough to show him they were groundless. The strange horseman had a head. “Siiui'c an‘ that same he hex,” said Phelim as the latter ro e out from among the trees, and baited on the edge of the opening' “ raal hid, an' a purty face iii front av it._ An’ it it idn’t show so lazed nayther. Helnks as if he’ jist buried his gran mother. Sowli what a qnaro young chap he is, wid them tin ' mows- tachcs loike t e down upon a two do s’gosl n’i Oh Lord! Luk at his little fut! Bejaperii, e‘a a woman I" While the lrishman was making these observations— partly in thought, partly in muttered speech—the equestrian advanced a has or two and again paused. On a nearer view of us Visitor Phelini saw that he had correctly guessed the sex; though the mustache, the manner of the mount, the hat and scrape, might. for the moment, mislead a keener intellect than his. . “ It was a woman. It was ISidora. It was the first time that Phelim had set eyes on the Mexican maiden—the first that hers had ever rested u lpn him. They were equally unknown to one an: 0 er. He had s oken the truth, when he said that her coun- tenance di not display pleasure. On the contrary, the exlpression upon it was sad—almost disconsolate. t had shown distrust as she was riding under the Instead of brightening as she round, the look only changed to one of mingled surpr so and disa gointment. Neither could have been cause y her coming within sight of tliejrwale. She knew of its existence. It was the goal of her journey. It must have been the singu- ~ lar personage standing in the doorway. He was not the man she expected to see there. In doubt she advanced to address him: “ I may have made a mistake?“ said she, s in the best Americana she could command. “ anion me, but I—I—thought—that Don Mauricio lived here.” “ Dan Marryshow, yez say? Trath, no. Thare's no- body of that name lives heeur. Dan Ma show? There was a man the called Marrish had a dw 11‘ not far out of Ballyballag . I remimber the chap will, be- kase he ch'ated me wanst in a horse thiade. But his . name wasn’t Dan. No; it was Pat. Pat Martial: was , ~ the name—devil burn him for a desaver!” “ Manricio—lilor-rees—Mor-ess." - “ 0h! Maiii'ice!‘ Maybe e‘d be after sp'akln’ av the masther—Misther Gerald? ’ ‘ “Si—Si! Senor Zyerral.“ ‘ r “ Shure, thin an' if that‘s fwhat ye’re afther, Misthet‘ ' Gerald diz dwill in this cyabin~that is, whin he come. to divart hisself by chasin‘ the wild horses. 6 o kapes it for a huntin‘-box, ye know. Arrah, on" if yez c’u’d only see the reat big cyastle he lives in whin e's at home, in owld 'eiand; an’ the bewtiful craytlier that‘s new cryin’ her swate blue eyes out, bekase he . won‘t go back thare. Sowl! if yez saw her I " ‘ De to its patoia, Phelim‘s talk was too well undo!r stood y her to whom it was addressed. Jealous isan apt translator. Somethin like a sigh escap from Isidora, as be pronounced at little word “her.” “I don‘t wish to see her,” was the quick rejoinder; “ but him you mention. Is he at home? Is be inside?‘ “Is he at home? There now,'that‘s comin’to the point—straight as a poike-staih An’ su posin‘ I was to say yis, fwhat ’u’d yez be afther wan ' ’ wid him?" ’ “ I wish to see him ’ v “ Div yez? Maybe now ye’ll wait till yez be asked. Ye‘re a purty crayther, notwithstandin that black‘ strake upon yer lip. But the mastlier isn't shun jist at this time to see any wan— essit mm the raste or a docthur. Yez cyan't see him.” . “ ut I wish very much to see him, senor.” , “Trath div yez. Ye've sayed that alriddly. But you cyan’t, I tell 9. It isn’t Phaylim Onale ’u' deny wan av the fair —espacially a purty black-eyed colleen: loike yersolf. But for all that, yez cyan‘t see the mas- ther now." “Why can I not?" , “Why c 'an’t yez not? Will—there’s more than one rayson w E yez c an‘t. In the first place, 981 have 6 s not a condishun to resave company-- the has so av it’s bei a lady." . “ But wh , senor? ?” , “ Bekase e’s not dacentiy-drlssed. He‘s got nothin.‘ on him but his shirt—exceptin' the rage that Wither Stump‘s jit tied all roun him. Be pars, there‘s enough of them to make him a whoe shoot—coat. waistcoat and throwsers—trath is there.“ ' fissfenor I don’t understand you." ez Don’t- I till e the masther‘s n bid " “In bed?y At, this hour? 1’l hope there‘s nothing-r". . “ The matther wid him yez were oin‘ to any? Alan. nah, that same is there—8. power: dale , number a wid khhn——eno l; to kape him betwane the l a wee s to come. “ 0h, senor do not tell me that he is llll"‘ “ Don‘t I toil ye. ‘ 1 ‘ be the use av consalin it? It u d do no cod; nayther cyan it do him any harm to’spake a ut it. Yen- miglit say it afore his face, an he won’t conthradiclk‘ ‘ e ' l y “ He lain, than? 011, sir, tell'me what is the nature of his illness—what has caused it i" “Shure an' I cyan‘t answer only Wan av thim intaa‘ ,. rogatories—the first yez htv pbut. His dime anodes, , from some ugly tratement he's been resqvln‘—- , Laird o knows what or who administhered it. «He‘s got a‘ ’ 113; an‘ his skin luk as if he‘dbeentledupinasaek 310% wid a score av angry cats. Sowl! there a not shadow of the trees. came into the open jam mm“, th av er pul'ti little hand wldout a scratch I; n L it. Worse $511: All“ e’s besoide hisself." ‘ ' “ Beanie h “Yin, that some. He’s ravin‘ loike wan dim toomuch over h an’ thinks there’ntho man , ten widtge kai- atther Be 1119 truth I below {be ~ ~ V :or.him now ’u‘d be a trifle av poiiieeii wan c’u’d only lay bands n that lei-me. But thaws not-the smell av it in t \ acondi—i‘ on‘t? Shure an’ I’ve 5 aka plain enough: i‘ now, me honey, fwhat w‘u’d‘ - , ’i cystic. ,lynihf'fua, :, I 4:? ,., .. ..~n..- i... "Eh? New York Library. tvbiu 1:0 ,- dimmygan an‘ flask— Arrah, now; you wouldn‘t be afther iavin’ a little flask upon yer swaIte silf? Some av that agwnrdinty, as yer peo 1e call it.I Truth, I‘ve tasted worse stufl thani . I m s we a dlirink av it ’u’d do the masther good. Spake the truth, mistress! Hiv yez any about ye?" I _ “ No, senor. I have nothing of the kind. I am sorry I have not." “ Faugh! The more‘s the pity for poor Masther Maurice. It ‘u’d 'a’ done him a dale av good. Wil, he must put up widoutit.” I “ But senor surely I can see him?” “Divil, a bi . Besides, fwliat ‘u‘d be the use? He w‘u’dn‘t know e from his great-grandmother. I till ne, he‘s “been badly thrated, an” is now besoides isse f i" " All the more reason why I should see him. I may ' be of service. I owe him a debt—of—of—" “ Ohiyez be owin' him something? Yez want to pay it? Faith, that makes it entirel different. But yez needn't see M1» for that. I‘m his and man and tin-ans- act all that sort av bizness for him. I cyan’t write my- self, but I‘ll give ye a resate on the crass wid me mark which is jist as good among the lawyers. Yis, mis- threes; yez may pa the money over to me. an’ I gomise e the mas her ‘11 niver ax e for it agane. athl it ll come hand jist now as we re on the ave av aflittin’, an’ ma. wan it. So, yez have the pewther along wid ye, ar‘s p‘ ink and paper insmde the cyabin. Say the word, an I’ll giv‘ ye the resate‘." “No—no—noi I did not mean money. A debt of—of titude.” I I Faughi only that. Sowl, it's eezy paid, on” don’t want a resate. But yez needn’t return that sort av money now; for the masther wouldn’t be sinsible av . fwhat ye wur sa in’. Whin he comes to his sinses, I’ll till him ez hiv een heeur and wiped out the score.” “Sure y, I can see him?” Shurely, now, yez cyan’t." “But I must, senor l" ‘ Divilamust about it. I‘ve been lift on guard, wid sthrict ordhers to lit no wan go inside. “They couldn‘t have been meant for me. Iain his friend—the friend of Don Mauricio.” “How is Phay] um Onale "to know that? For all yer su y face, yez moight be his didliest innemy. Be persi it's leike enough, now that I take a second luk at e." ‘ I must see him—I must—I will—I shall!" As Isidora pronounced these words, she flung herself outof the saddle, and advanced in the direction of the r. Ber air of earnest determination, combined with the eta—scarce feminine—expression upon her Icounte- fiance, convinced the Galwegian that the contingency had arrived for carrying out the instructions left by Zeb Stump, and that he had been too long neglecting cue. Turning hurried! into the hut, he came out again. armed With a toma awk, and was about to rush past, when he was brought to a sudden stand by seeing a. pistol in the hands of his lady visitor, painted straight at his head! “Abqia 'la Who!" (Down with the hatchet!) she cried. “We! lift your arm to strike me, and it will be for the last time!" “Stroike e, mistln'css? Stroike you?” blubeered ’the ci-dewa stable-boy, as soon as his terror rmitted himtospeak. “Mother av the Lard! I d1 ii’t mane the w'apon for you at all, at all! I‘ll sware it on the «ass—or a whee stack av Bibi if yez say so. In trutI misthress, I didn’t mane t e tommy auk for ul ’q‘Why have you brought it forth?” inquired the lady, hflf—suspecti that she had made a mistake, and low- ering her isto as she became convinced of it. “Why have you us armed yourself?” “As I live, only execute the ordhers I’ve resaved— onlytocutabranc off av ,the c acktus yez see over gander, an‘ phut it undher the ' av the owld mare. ure yez won‘t object to my doin' that?" I In her turn, the lady became silenIt—su used at the proposition. The odd indiVidual s 8 saw before her coul not mean mischief. His looks, attitude and es were no, rather than threatening; pro- voostive of mi ——no fear or indignation. “Silence gives consint. Thank ye,” said Phelim, as, no longer in fear of being shot down in’his tracks, he rm straight across the lawn, and carried out to the let- ter the ting injunction of Zeb Stump. The xicnn maiden, hitherto held sdent by surprise remained so, on percei ' the absolute idleness o ' h. Further conversation was out of the question. t with the screamuig of the mare-continuous from the moment the splnous crupper was inserted un- der her tail—the loud tram hnglI of her hoofs as she “cavorted” over the turf—t eI smal howii of the‘ hound—and the responswe cries of the wil forest denizens, birds, beasts, insects and reptiles—only the " voice of a Stenwr could have Leon heard! What could i be the purpose of the strange proceeding? How was it to terminate? Isidore. looked on in Silent astonishment. She could do nothing else. So long as the infernal fracas continued there was no ChCT‘JIC‘ to ehcit an ex- lanation from the queer creature who had caused it. a had returned to the door of the insole; and once more taken his stand upm .the threshold; where he stood. with the tranquil, smisfled air of an actor who has completed the performance of his art in the play, and feels free to range himself among t e spectators! CHAPTER LV‘HI. I examine mom A kiss. Foa full ten minutes was the wild chorus Ikept u , the mare all the time squeali like a stuck pig- w e dog , ed in a series 0 lugubriousI how s that . i'ever’beiated along the clifls on both Sides of the creek; To the distance of amile might the sounds have heenheard; and as Zeb Stump was not likel to be so far from the but, he would be certain to ear them. convinced of It and that the hunter would soon re- s dto them he had himself arranfigd, Phelim square upon the threshold, in hopes t t the lady visitor would stay outside—at least, until he should be relieved of the responsibility of admitting her. Not smiths”, her earnest protestations o amltyyfie was still suspicious of some treasonable intention toward his master; else why should Zeb have been so panticular about being summoned back? _ . Of himself, he abandoned the idea of offering resist- ance. That shining gistol still before his eyes had mired him of all in tion for a quarrel with the itrange equestrian; and so far as the Connemara man ‘4'- concerned, she might have gone uni-casted inside. there was another from Connemara, who ap- eared more determined to dispute her pas e to the ut—one wh'om a great battery of guns woul not have deterred from protecting its owner. This was Tara. The staghcund was not acting as if under the excite- ment of a mere senseless alarm. Mingling with the prolonged sonorIous “growl” could be heard in re- peated niteri'u tions a quick, sharp bark, that denoted anger. He hat witnessed the attitude of the intruder— its apparent hostility—and drawi his deductions, had taken stand directly in front of ughelim and the door, with the ev1dent determination that neither should be reached except over his own body, and after running the gantlet of his formidable incisors. Is dora showed no intention of undertaking the risk.. She had none. Astonishmcnt was for the time, the sole feeling that possessed her. She remained trans- fixed to the spot, without attempting to say a word. She stood cx ectingly. To such an eccentric prelude there should a. corresponding finale. Pcrplexed, but patiently, she awaited it. Of her late alarm‘there was nothing left. What she saw was too ludicrous to allow or apprehension; though it was also too incomprehen- Sible to elicit laughter. In the mien of the man, who had so oddly compel-ted himself, there was no sign of mirth. If anythingashow of seriousness. odd] con- trastin with the comical act hehnd committe ; and which p ainly proclaimed that he had not been treating her to a 'oke. The expression of helpless pe lexity that had eon fixed upon her features continue there- until Ia tall man, wearing a faded blanket moat, an carrying a six-foot rifle, was seen stride among the tree-trunks, at the rate of ten miles to t 6 hour. He was making direct for the jacale. At sight of the new-comer her countenance underwent a change. There was now perce tible u n it a shade of a pre- hension; and the litt e piste was clutched wit re— newed nerve by the delicate hand that still continued to hold it. The act was partly precautionary, partly mechanical. Nor was it unnatural, in view of the formidable-looking personage who was approaching, and the earnest excited manner with which he was hurr ' forward to the hut. A this became altered, as he advanced into the open ground, and suddenly stopped on its edge; a look of rise uite as great as that upon the countenance of e la y, supplaiitinglhis earnest glances. Some exclamatory p rases were sent through his teeth, unintelligible in the tumult still continuing, thonglIi the gesture that accompanied them seemed to proc aim them of a character anything but gentle. On giving utterance to them, he turned to one side; strode rapidly toward the screaming mare; and, lay' hold of er tail—which no living man save himslgfi would have dared to do—he released her from the ter- ments she had been so long enduring. Silence was instanth restored; since the mare, aban- doned by her fellow-c oristers, who had become accus- tomed to her wild n ' hs, had been, for some time, keeping up the solo by erself. T e lad was not yet enlightened. Her astonishment continue ' though a side g nce given to 'the droll indi- vidual in the doorway told her that he had successfully Iaccom lished some scheme with which he had been in- ruste . Phelim’s look of satisfaction was of short continu- ance. It vanished as Zeb Stump, having effected the deliverance of the tortiirequuadmped, faced round to the hut—as he did so, showmg a. cloud upon the corm- gIations of his countenance, darkly ominous of an angry s orm. Even the presence of beauty did not hinder it from bursting. I I _ “burn an’ dog-fight; ye for an Irish eedyitl Air this what ye’ve broug t me back for? An” jest as I wur takin‘ sight on a. turkey not less‘n thirty poun‘ weight, I reckon; skeeart aforeI ked touch the trigger, wi' the shreek 0’ that cussed critter o’ a maar. Burned little chance for breakfast now." “ But, Misther Stum , didn’t yez tell me to do it? Ye s’id if any wan showl come to the caybm—" (III‘I‘ BahIIl ye fool! Ye didn’t serpose I meened weemen, e? Ef ye want to take a spell by the side 0’ the cum; fellui', ye’reIwelkim—seem’ ye're his friend. 6 kin look nrter him till we git back an’ see that he don‘t tummel out o’ the bed, or claw oh them that band‘ges I’ve tied roun‘ him."I “ Trust me, good Sir, I shall take eve care of him. But tell me what has caused it? The In ians? No; they are not near. Has there been a quarrel with any one? ’ “In thet, saynontta,I ye’re beout as I air meseli’. Thur’s been a quarrel Wi' coyoates; but that ain't what g’m him the ugly knee. Ifoun' him yesterday, clo:-;l upon sun-down, in the cha arral beyont. When We kim upon him he wur up to is waist in the water 0' u crik as runs through thur, Jest ‘beout to be attakted by one 0’ them spotted critters y’ur cople call tigers. Wal, I relieved him 0‘ that bit 0’ anger; but what hIiIikppened afore air a mystery to me. The young fellur t eave 0‘ his senses, an’ ked gi‘e no account 0‘ his- self. He hain’t rekivercd them yet; an‘ thurfore, we must wait till he do." , “But you are sure, sir, he is not badly injured? His wounds—they are not dangerous ?" “ N o danger whatsonicdiver. N uthin’ beyont a bit 0’ fever, or maybe a touch of the age , when thet oes oil 0’ him. As for the wounds, they re only a w con 0’ scratches. When the wanderin’ hev gone out 0’ his senses, he'll soon kum roun’, I reck’n. In a week’s time ou‘ll see him as strong as a buck." “ O ! I shall nurse him tenderly!” “ Wal, that‘s very kind 0’ you; but—bnt—” Zeb hemtated as a queer thought came before his nund. It led to strain of reflect-ions kept to himself. The were these: “ hot air the same she as the tavern 0‘ RoughIan‘ head . Thet she air in love wi’ the young fellur is clur as assissippi mud—in love wi’ him to the eends 0’ her toe-nails. he's the t'other. But it air e ually clur that he’s thinkin’ o’ the t'other, an’ not 0’ er. Now, ef she hears him talk about t’other, as he hev been a-doin' all 0‘ the night, thur'll be a putty consid’able rum us riz inside 0 her husom. Poor thing]! I pity her. ‘ e ain’t a bad sort. But the Irish—Iris tho’ he be—Ican’t belo to both; an’ I know he freezes to the cutter from t 0 States. It air durned awkward. Better of I ked eisuade her not to 0 near him—leastwise till he ge s over ravin' about waze. . “ But, miss,” he continued, addressing himself to the Mexican, who, during his long string of reflections, had stood impatiently silent, “ don’t ye think ye’d bet~ ter ride home ag’in ; and kum back to see ' arter he sent them kickshaws to gits well? He won’t know ye, as I‘ve sayed; an’ it would be no use ’ur stayin’, Since he ain’t in any dan~ ger o’ makin’ a 'e of it. ' “No Imatter that he ma not know me. I should tend him all the same. e mameed some things which I‘can send and procure for ' ." “ Ef ye‘Ire boun’ to stay, then,” rejoined Zeb, relent- ingly, as if some new thought was causing ‘ to con- sen “I we fit interfere or say no. But don‘t you min what he’ll be palaverin’ about. Ye may hear some queer talk out 0’ him, ’beout a man bein mur- dered, and the like. That‘s nat‘ral for an one as is dulleeiI'lous. IDon’t be skeeart at it. Besi es, ye may hear him talkin’ a deel about a woman as he’s got upon his mind.” “ A woman 1" name. “Her name! Senor, what name?" “Wal, it air the name 0’ his sister, I'm sure or it bein‘ his sister." M“uCI)IIi i MIiIsther Stump. If yez be sp'akin’ av Masthei a ce— “ Shut u , ye durned fool! What is’t it to you what I’m spealgin abeout? You can‘t ’erstan' . sech things. Kum alongl" he continued, ovum, and motioning the Connemara man to follow . “ I want ye leetle way wi’ me. I killed a rattle as I wur oin’ up the crik, an left it thur. Kum, you, an’ test it ack to the shanty hyar, lost some varmint may make awawai’ it ; an’ lest, arter all, I moutn't strike turkey I reck'n. Fact, “ rathi I didn‘t think it wus wan, whin she tux-st agin presented hersilf. Yez showld ’a’ seen the way she rid up—sittin’ astraddle on her horse." I I “What matter it, how she wur Sittin’i Hadn’t ye see’d that before, 'e greenhom? It's thur usooal way ‘mong these hyar exikin sheemales. You’re more 0’ a woman than she air, I guess; and twenty times more 0’ a fool. That I’m sax-tint o’. I know her a leetle by sight, and somethin' more by report.I What hev fetched the critter hyur ain’t so difeequilt to compre- hend: tho’ it may be to 't it out 0' her, seein’nsIshekIm only talk that thur Mex n lingo; the which this chile can't nor wouldn‘t of he kud." “ Sow], Misther Stump, yez be mistaken. She spakes En lish too. Don’t ye, misthress?" ‘ ittle I lees,” returned the Mexican, who u to this time remained listening. “Inglees 12060 to.” “Oh—ah!" exclaimed Zeb, slightly abashed at what he had been as ing. “I be your pardm. saynorritta. Ye kin liablca it o' Ameri ‘1, km ye? Moooho bona— so much the better. Ye'll be able to tellI me What ye, ihiiout ’aI’I been wantin‘ out hyur. Ye ham lost yer way, ev 'e. III cheaper,” was Ithe rep] , sites; I use. n a case, e noww r a “Si. senor—sigma, of Don filaurlcio Zen-aid, this tho—house?” “ Thet air the name, as near as a Mexikin mouth kin make it. I reck’n. ‘Tain’t much 0' a house; but it air his’n. Perhaps ya want to see the master 0 it i" “ Oh, senor—-yees—that is for why I here am—per ma yo 3% aqm. " , _ “ al. I reck'n thur kin be no objecshun to y’ur seeln‘ him. Y’ur intenshuns ain’t nonays hostile to the young fellur, I kalkilate. But thar am’t much good in y’ur talkin’ to him now. He won’t know ye from a side 0’ sole-leather." “He is ill? Has met with some misfortune? Elguem has said so." . “Yis. I towlt her that,” interposed Phelim, whose carrotyI hair had earned for him the appellation “El ero “ Sartin,” answered, Zeb. “ He air wounded Ia bit; and jest now a leetle dulleerious. I reck’n it ain’t 0 much consekwence. He’ll be hisself ag’ln soon’s the mm’ flt’s gone off 0’ him.” “0h, sir. can Ibo hisnursetillthen? Hampton! Let me enter and/watch over him? I am his friend—Jun Q 0 may _ “ a1, 1 don’t see as thur’s any harm in it. Weemen makes the best 0’ nusse- I‘ve lieern say; tho‘ for meself I hain't lied muchaghnnce 0’ tryin' em sincst I kivered up the ole gin-i under the sods 2f Ippi. “ A rattle! Div yez mane a rattlesnake?" 1: £3 with“ Idem" uldn ure, er um ez wo ‘t ate a snake? Lard i I w’u’dn‘t it poison €013" “ P’isen be durnedi Didn’t I cut the p‘isen out soon’s I killed the critter, by cuttin’ off 0’ its head?” " Truth 1 aii’ for all that I w’u’dn’t ate a. morsel av it if I was starvin‘.” / ’ “ Sturve an’ be durned to ye! ,Who axes ye to eet it? I only want ye to toat it home. Kum, then, an’ do as I tell ye, or dog-gonad ef I don’t make ye est the head 0' the reptile—p’isen, fangs an’ alll” “ Be jabers, Misther tump, I didn‘t mane to disobey you at all—at all. Shure it‘s Phaylim O’Nale that s reddy to do your biddin’ anyhow. Pin wie ye for fwhativeraivgaz want; even to swallowm‘ the snake whole. S t Pathrick for ve me I" “ Saint Patrick be durne l Kum along!" Pheliin made no further remonstrance, but, striking into the track of the backwoodsman, followed him through the wood. Isidore. entered the hut ; advanced toward the invalid reclining u on his couch; with fierce fondness kissed his fevers brow ; fonder and flercer kissed his uncon- scious lips; and then Irecoiled from them, as if she had been stung by a scorpion l Worse than socigiion's stin was that which had caused her to spring ack. An et ‘twas but a word—a little word—of only two sylla- les i There was not strange in this. 0ft on one word—that soft, short 5 Iable, “ yes"—rests the hap- Ixginess of a life ; while 0 t. too oft, the harsher negative the prelude to a world of woe : , CHAPTER LIX. ANOTHER. wno CANNOT REST. A linings-1y for Louise Poindexter— rhaps the dark- est in the - endar of her life—was t t in which she e1 Diaz from the lazo. released Don Mi Sorrow for a rotber’s loss, with fears for a lover’s safety, were yesterday comm led in the cup. To-day guwasequrthered embittered by e blackest passion of —J ousy. state of the soul in which these fee nfiilslare coexistenti A tumult of imaginings. so was it the bosom of. Louise Poindexter after deciphering the epistle which contained written evidence of her lover’s, disloyal . True the writing came not from : nor was proof conclusive. But in the first burst of her frenzied rage the fyo Creole did not reason thus. In the wording o the otter there was strong weanling: mute: than he a a a that the relationship between Maurice Meficaquas of a more affectionate “Jest so. Ye’ll hear him make mention 0' her Grief—fear—jealousg—what must be the - qu- . _i ! No. 8. .l,"' W .m, _, , had represented it to be—that he had, in fact, been practicm a deception. ' . Why 3 ould that woman write to him in such free strain— vin bold, almost unfeminine license to her admirat on 0 his eyes: “ Esos qios tun lindm 1/ tan esp/'6- sivou " These were no phrases of friendship; but the ex ros- sions of a prurient assion. As such only coul the Creolo,undcrstand t 1(‘ln, since they were but a para- phrase of her own feelings. _ . . And then there was the appointment itself—soliCited, it is true, in the shape of a request. But this was more courtesy—the coquetry of an accomplished mmtr .980. Moreover, the tone of solicitation was abandoned to“:- ard the close of the epistle, which terminated ui a posi- tive command: “Come, sir! come!” Somethi more than jealousy was aroused by the reading of t is. A 5 ant of reven e seemed to dictate the gesture that to owed—and he stra sheet was crushed between the aristocratic fingers into which it had fallen. . . “Ah, me!" reflected she, in the acerbity of her soul, “I see it all now. ‘Tis not the first time he has answer- ed a similar summons; not the first they have met on the same ground ‘the hill above my uncle’s house'— slightly described, but well understood—oft visited be- fore " Soon the, spirit of vengeance gave place to a profound despair. Her heart had its emblem in the new of paper that in; at her feet upon the floor—likei , crush- ed and mine . For a time she surrendered herself to sad meditation. Wild emotions passed through her mind, suggesting wild resolves. mong others she thought of er be- loved Louisiana—of going back there to bur her secret sorrow in the cloistci‘s of the Sacra 0 Iur. ad the Cre- ole convent been near, in that hour of deep despond- ency, she would, in all probability, have forsaken the paternal home, and sought an asylum within its sacrcd walls. In very truth was it the darkest da of her existence. After lon hours of wretchedness ier spirit became calmer, w ile her thoughts returned to a more rational tone. The letter was re-read; its contents submitted to a careful consideration. There was still a hope—the hope that, after all, Maurice Gerald might not be m the settlement. It was at best but a faint ray. surely 31w should know—she who had )cnncd the appomtment, and s ken so confidently 0 his keeping it? Still, as promlsnzed, he might have gone away; and upon this supposition hinged that hope, now scintillating hke a star through the obscurit of the hour. . . It was a delicate mat er to make direct in uiries about-to one in the position of Louise Poin exter. , But no other coume appeared open to her; and as the ‘ shadows of twilight shrouded the ass-covereds uare of the vill , she was seen upon or spotted pa rcy, riding silen ly through the streets, and reignin up in front of the hotel—on the same spot occupie buta few hours before by the gray steed of Isidora! As the men of the place were all absent—some on the track of the assassin, others 11 on the trail of the Comanches, Oberdoifer was the o y witness of her in- discretion. But he knew it notas such. It was but natural that the sister of the murdered man should be anxious to obtain news; and so did he construe the motive for the interrogatories addressed to him. Little did the stolld German sus ct the satisfaction which his answers at first gave to 5 fair questioner- much less the chagrin afterward caused b that bit 0 information volunteered by himself, an which ab- ruptly terminated the dialogue between him and his visitor. On hearing she was not the first of her ex who had that day made inquiries res eating Maurice the mustanger ouise Poindcxter e back to Casa dei Corvo, with a heart writhing under fresh lacera- tion. A night was spent in the agony of unrest—sleep only obtained in short snatches, and amidst the phan- tasmagoria of dreamland. Though the morning re- stored not her trantkuiility, it brought With it a resolve, stern, daring, almos reckless. It was, at least, daring for Louise indexter to ride to the Alamo alone; an this was her determination. There was no one to stay her—none to say nafi. The searchers out all night had not at returned. 0 report had come back to Casa del orvo. She was sole mistress of the mansion, as of her own actions—sole possessor of the motive that was im elling her to this bold step. at it ma be easily guessed. Hers was not a spirit toput up th mere suspicion. Even love that tamos the strongest, had not et reduced it to that state of helpless submission. nsatisfled it could no lo er exist' and hence her resolve to seek satisfaction. he migh flnd peace—she might chance upon ruin. Even the last a poured preferable to the agony of uncer- tainty. HEW like to the reasompg of her rival! It would have been idle to dissuade her. bad there been an one to do it. It is doubtful even if parental authorl y could at that moment have prevented her from ca out her urpose, Talk to the tigress when frenzi b a si ar feehng. With a. love un- haliowod, the of the E tian queen was not more imperious than is that of it}: American Creole, when stirred by its holiest passion. It acknowledges no right of contradiction—regards no obstruction save death. It is a spirit rare upon earth. In its tranquil state, soft as the s of the Aurora, pure as the prayer of a if?“ ‘ but w on stirred b love—or rather by its too constant concomitant—it becomes proud and perilous as the light of Lucifer. Of this spirit Louise Poindexter was the truest type. Where love was the lure. to wish was to have, or perish in the attempt to obtain. Jealousy resting u on doubt was neither possible to her nature, or com at ble with her existence. She must find proofs to dos ro or confirm it—proofs stronger than those already supp ed by the contents of the strayed epistle, which, after all, were onl presumptive. Arme with this, she was in a position to seek them: and they were to be sought upon the Alamo. The first hour of sunrise saw her in the saddle, riding out from the inclosures of Casa do] Corvo, and taking a trail across the prairie alread known to her. On pass- a spot, endeared o her—sacred by some of i ‘ thge sweetest souvenirs of her life—her thoughts ex- perienced more than one revulsion. These we mo- ments when she forgot the motive that orig-1h; . polled her to the joumey—when she thong t only of the man she loved, to rescue him from ene- mies that might be around him! All! these moments— i‘oespiie the apprehension of her lover’s safety—were . when compared with those devoted to the far ,tnore ' ‘ contemplation ofhistreacheryibili‘romthe 'Willt‘ot startins: to that of her dentin n. itwas The Headless Horseman. twenty miles. It might seem a journey to one used to Euro traveliiigfthat is, in the saddle. To the prairie equestrian it is a ride of scarce two hours—quick as a scurry across country, after a stag or fox. Even with an unWillmg steed it is not tedious;-biit with that lithe-linihcd, ocollatcd creature, Luna, who went willingly toward her prairie home, it was soon over too soon, perha s, for the happiness of her rider. Wi'etched as Louise omdexter may have felt before, her misery had scarce reached the same point of de- spair. Through hcr sadness there still shone a scintil- lation of hope. It was extinguished as she set foot upon the threshold of tlicjacale: and the quick-sup- ressed scream that came from her lips, was like the ast utterance of a heart parting in twain. There was a woman within. the ILIIt/ From the ii is of this woman an exclamation had already escapeil, to which her own had appeared an echo-so closely did one follow the other—so alike were they in anguish. Like a second eCIIOLSt‘Lll more intensified, was the cry“ from Isidora', as turning, she saw in the doorwa that woman, whose name had just been renounce! ——the “ Louise" so fervently praised, so foni 1y remembered, amidst the vagaries of a (listcuipercd brain. To the young Creole the case was clear—painfully clear. She saw before her llie writer of that letter of appointment—which after all, had been kept. In the s rife, whose sounds bad indistinctly reached her, there may have been a third party—«Maurice Gerald? That would account for the condition in which she now saw him; for she was far enough inside the hut tohavc a view of the invalid u on his couch. Yes; it was the wr ter of that hold epistle, who had called Maurice Gerald “qucrido;”——who had praised his eyes~who had commanded him to come to her side; and who was now 'by his side, tending him with a soli- citude that reclaimed her his! Ahl'tlie thought was too painful o be symbolized in 5'. much. Equally clear were the conclusions of Isidora; equal! agonizing. She ah'ewly kncw that she was supplante . She had been hstciiing too long to the involuntary s eecbcs that told her so, to have any doubts as to t eir sincerity. On the door-step stood lho woman who had succeeded her. Face to face, with flashing eyes their bosoms rising and falling as if under onc iiiipu ‘c—both distraught wtilt‘h the same thought—tho two stood looking at each 0 er. Alike in love with the same man—alike jealous—they were alongside the object of their burning passion un— conscious of the presence of either! Each believed the other successful: for Louise had not heard the words, that-would have given her comfort-«those words, yet ringing in the ears, and torturing the soul of Isidora. It was. an attitude of silent humility—all the more terrible for its silence. Not a Word was exchanged between them. Neither dcigncd to ask explanation of the other' neither needed it. There are occasions when speech is superfluous, and both intuitively felt that this was one. It was a mutual encounter of fell passions; that found expression only in the flashing of eyes, and the scornful curling of lips. Oil] for an instant was the attitude kept up. In fact the w ole scene inside scarce occupied a score of sec- onds. It ended by Louise Poindexter t round 11 on the doorstep” and gliding off to regain her saddle. no but of Maurice Gerald was no place for her! Isidora too came out, almost treading upon the of the other’s dress. The same thought was in her heart—perhaps more emphatically felt. The but of Maurice Gerald was no place for her! Both seemed equally intent on de arturo—alike resolved on forsak- ing the s at that witnessed the desolation of their hearts. he ray horse stood nearest—the mustang further out. dora was the first to mount—the first to move off; but as she gassed, her rival had also got into the saddle, and was aiding the find rein. (glances were again interchanged ei er trinm h- ant, but neither expressing for iveness. That of he Creole was a strange mixture 0 ess, anger, and surprise, while the last look of Isidora, that accom- panied a spiteful “ca1-q}o/”— fearful phrase from fe- male lips—was such as the Ep esian goddess may have given to Athenaia, after the award 0 the apple. CHAPTER LX. In things hAsiFal m Inbgoéligig: ' d with on c may re , moral, no grigatgr contrast could have been found thug: the bright heavens beaming over the Alamo and the black thoughts in the bosom of Isidora, as she hastened away from thejacala. Her heart was a focus of fiery passions, revenge predominating over all. In thisOthere was a sort of demoniac pleasure, that hindered her from giving way to despair; otherwise she might have sunk under the weight of her woe. With gloomy thoughts she rides under the shadow of the trees. They are not less gloomy, as she gazes up the gorge, and sees the blue sky smilin c eerfuli above her. Its cheerfulness seems meant ut. to moo her. She uses before making the ascent. She has reined up under the for a sorrowing heart. Its somber 3 ads appears more desirable than the sunlight above. It is not this that hascansed her to pull u . There is a thought in her soul darker than the ow of the a rose. It is evinced by her clouded brow; by her blue eyebrows contracted over her black flashing eyes; above b an expression of flerceness in the contrast of her w to teeth learning under the mustached lip. All t at is good of woman except beauty, seems to have forsaken—all that is 9 except 1181111883, to have taken ession of her! She paused at the 1prompting of a demon—with an infernal purpose ha formed in her mind. Her muttered s echcsifiroclalm it. “I shoul have k ed her upon the spot! Shall I go back and dare her to deadly strife? _ “ If I killed her, what would it avail? It would not win me back his heart—lost. lost, without hope! Yes; those words were from the secret depths of his soul~ where her im 6 alone has found an abiding-place] Oh! there is no clp for me! “ 'Tis he who should die; he whohas caused my ruin. If I kill him? Ah, then; what would hfe be to me: From that hour an endless ! “ Oh! it is anguish now! I can not endure it. I can think of no solace—if not in revenge. Not only she, be also-Lboth must die! . r “ But not Iyet—mot till he knows by whoseh and it is done. 0h! e shall feel his punishment, and know whence it comes. Mother of God, stream me to take vengeance!" . ~ She lances the flapkof herbarsgandspurshhnup the slope of the ravme. On-iwhmgtboupparplain.‘ , . 1 I skirt those who have so unceremoniuus umbrageous cgpl‘eSB—flt canopy tin 43 she does not stop-even for the animal to breathe itself —but goes on at a reckless tilt. and in a direction that up mundetermined. citlierhandnor voicem exerte in the iiidaiicc of her steed—only the spur to urge him on. eft to himself, he returns in the track by which he came. It leads to the Leona. Is it the way he is wanted to go? His rider seems neither to know nor care. She sits in the saddle as though she were art of it; with head bent down, in the attitudeof one a sorbed in a profound reverie, unconscious of outward thin s—‘cven of the rude ace at which she is riding! She cos not observe tlia black cohort close by; until warned of its proximity by the snorting of her steed, that suddenly comes to a stand. She sees a (:qbqlmda out upon the open prairie! Indians? N0. While men—less by their color than the caparison of their horses, and their style of equitation. Their beards, too, show it; but not their skins, discolored by the “ stoor_" of the parched plains. “ L08 Tammy” is the muttered exclamation, as she becomes confirmed in regard to their nationality. “ A troop of their m are scouring the country for Comanches, Isuppose? he Indians are not here. :2 I’ve heard ariglit at the settlement, they should be far on the other side.“ Without any strong reason for shunning them the Mexican maiden has no desire to encounter “ Los 'i‘eja- nos." They are nothing to her, or her purpose; and, at any other time, she would not go out of their way. But in this hour of her \i'rctchcdness, she does not wish to run the gantlet of their questioiiings, nor becomethe. butt of their curiosity. . It is possible to av01d them. She isyet among the bushes. They do not appear to have observed her. By turning short round, and dwing back into the cha arral. she may yet shun being seen. She is about to 0 so, when the design is frustrated b ' the mug of her horse. A score of theirs respon to him; an be is seen, along with his rider. It might be still possible for her to escape the encounter, if so inclined. She would be certain of beiu pursued, but not so sure of being overtaken—cs ecia ly among the Winding ways oil-the Chaparral, we known to her. At first she is so inclin- ed; and completes the turning of her steed. Almost in the same instant, she reins round Sigma and faces the halanx of horsemen, already in f gal 91) toward her.. Ier muttered words proclaim a purpose in this and change of tactics. “Rangers—no! Too.well dressed for those r ed, vagabundoa. - Must be the party of ‘ searcliers,’of w ch I‘ve heard—led by the father of— Yes—yes it is they. Ay Dior! here is a chance of revenge, and with- out my sceing it; God wills it to be so!“ , Instead of turning back among the bushes, she rides out into the 0 on ground; and with an air of hold de' termination vances toward the horsemen, now near. She pulls up, and awaits their approach; a black thong it in her bosom. In another minute she is in their midst—the mounted circle close drawn around her. There are a hundred horsemen, oddly armedf grotesqluety attired—uniform only in the coating 0 cla. - -o cred dust which adheres to their habiliments an the stern seriousness observablem theb ‘ 0 all; scarce relieved by a slight show of can t . Though it is an entourage to cause trembliniies ecialg' in a woman—Isidcra does not betray it. a not in the least alarmed. She anticipates no danger from. surrounded her. Some of them she knows by ht; ough not the man of more than middle age, w 0 ap ears to be than" leader, and who confronts, to qucs' on her. But she knows him otherwise. Instinct tells her he is the fa- ther of the murdered man—of the woman, she may wish to see slain, but assuredly, shamed. Oh! what an (Eportunity! “ an you speak French, mademoiselle l" asks Wood- ley Pomdexter, addressing her in this tongue—in the belief that it may give him a better chance of being un- derstood. “ Spleak better Inglees—veialllttie, sir." “ ! English. So much shelter for us. Tell me, miss; have you seen anybody out here—that ik-havo you met any one, riding about, or camped, or halted wherei‘ _ dora appears to reflect, or hesitate, before making reply. he lanter pursues the interro ative with anal: ' likeness as the circumstances adnfi ’ W “ May I ask where on live?” “ On the Rio Grail e, senor.” “ Have you come direct from there,” “No; from the Leona." I , . - _ “From the Icons?“ . “It‘s the nifige of old Martinez," in one of agggy. “ plantation joins yours, terrain- “Si—yes—true that. Sabrina-niece of Don Silvio Martinez. 1’0 8 ." “Then you‘ve come from his place, direct? Pardon me for a pouring rude. I assure you," miss, we are not quest oning you out of any idle curiosity or impeh once. We have serious reasons; they are solemn.“ “From the hacienda Martinez direct.” answers Isi- dora, without appearing to notice the last ;‘ oI hours ago—an poem mar—my uncle’s house- cave. ‘ ‘ “ Then, no doubt you haveheard that there has been a—murder—comm t f" . l I l \ “ Si, senor. Yesterday at uncle Silvio‘s it was told.” 1., “But today—when you left—was there imy fresh, newsin the settlement? .We’ve bad word from therei ‘ . but notso late as you may bring. Have you an hing, miss?" ‘ That people were gone after the drained». Your party, senor?" ‘ “ eg-yes——lt meantusnodoubt. Youheardnothing more?" - “ 0h, es; something very strange, senors; so strange. you may think I am Jesting." ., , “ What is it?” inquire a, score of voices in quick aim-i , .- ultaneity; while the eyes of all turn with page:- interest ‘ toward the fair equestrian. . \ K “ There is a story of one been seen without a ‘ on horseback—out here too. new be near the place? from the ford—where the Grande. So the vaqueros sai "‘ :Oh; some nguerogtliave :3? it?" to m _. fit- senol‘sl hree 0 am swear wing weigh the 8 1e " ' v is a little surprised at the mod‘eratedexcite- . meat which Such a strange story comes amongthe, “Tojanos.” There is an exhibition of interest, but no t. A voice explains: “We’ve seen it too—that Volga me Dion/we must crosses for the Itwasb the Names—no, t fun. it! 1.. headless hommqt‘o - besides her 0 . ,,_ with -. 7 - :vW-v~——— distance. Did your vaqueros get close enough to know what it was?" “Santissima/ no." “Can an tell us, miss?" “ I! ot I. I only heard of it, as I‘ve said. What it ma be, quien who!" ’i‘ ore is on intcrval of silence, during which all ap- pear to reflect on what the have heard. The lanter interrupts t, by a. recurrence to his origin interrogatory. ' “ Have you met, or seen, any one, cuss—out here, I mean 1'" “ Si —-yes—I have." “ You have! What sort of a person? Begoodenough to dcscribe—" I u A lady.“ " Lady 2“ echoed several voices. “ Si senors.“ “ What sort of a lady?“ “ Una Americana." “ An American lady-out here! Alone?‘ “ Si, senors." H ?V! \ “ uth sabel’" “ on don‘t know her? What was she like?" “Like?—like?" “ Yes; how was she dressed?" “ Veatido dc Caballo.” “ On homeback, then?" “ On horseback." . “ Where did you meet the lady you speak of?" “ Not far from this; only on the other Side of the chapgrral." “ hich way was she going? Is there any house on the other side ll" “ Ajacale/ I only know of that." Poindlxter to one of the party, who understands - Spanish: “ Ajactde I" " They give that name to their shanties.“ “ To whom does it Wiring—thisij .3” “ Don Mauricio e1 mwlenem.” “ Maurice. the mustangs-r!" translates the ready in- tcrpreter. A murmur of mutual congratulation runs through ‘ the crowd. After two dalys of searching—fruitless, as Earnest—they havefistruc a trail—the trail of the mur- erer. Those who have alightcd spring back into their sad- dlea All take 11 their reins, ready to ride on. “ We don't Wis to be rude. Miss Martinez—if that be yourknaPie; but you must guide us to this place you o W - “ It takes me a little out of my way—though not far. Come on, cavalleros! I shall show you, if you are de- termined on going there." Isidora reel-oases the belt of chaparral—followed by the hundred horsemen who ride stragglineg after her. She halts on its western edge; between which and the Alamo there is a stretch of open prairie. “ Yonder!" said she, ointmv over the plain, “ ou pee that black spot on t e horizon? It is the top 0 an alhuehuata. Its roots are in the bottom lands of the mo. Go there! There is a canon leading down the 0111!. Descend. You will find, a little beyond, the W of which I‘ve told you." The searchers are too much in earnest to stay for , further directions. Almost forgetting her who has riding ‘ given them, they spur 0!! across the plain ltraightfor the cypress. One of the £1fiarty a one lin- gem-not the leader, but aman equ y interested in all that has transpired. Perhaps more so, in what has neon said in rein on to the lady seen by Isidora. He is one who knows Isidora‘s Language as well as his own na“‘;i’i"ell()llglle' " h b ' hi h l eme, saysaflnfln s orseao- side of hera‘gm speaking ina. 11% of solicitnde—lfi- most of. entreaty—‘ did you take notice of the horse ridden by this lady ?" “Oar-rumba! yes. add help noticing it?“ :The color?" gas ,the lnquirer. a (7» mm . “A mind m l Holy Heaven !" exclaims Cas- sius.C oun, in a hal shriek half groan, as he afterthe searchers, leaving sidora in the belie , that, there is one other heart burning with that fierce fire w lch only death can extinguish. CHAPTER LXI. moms on mam. Tan retreat of her rival, quick and une cted, held Louise Poindextcr, as if spell-bound. She climbed into the saddle, and was seated. with spurs ready to pierce the flanks of the fair Luna. But the stroke was suspended, and she remained in a state of indecision— bewlldered by what she saw. But the moment before she had looked into thejacale—had seen her rival there apparently at home; mistress both of the mansion and its owner. What was she to think of that sudden de- sertion’! Why that look of spiteful hatred? Why not the imperious confidence, that should spring from a knowledge of possession? In place of giving displeas- ure, Isidora’s looks and actions had caused her a secret gratification. Instead of galloping after, or going in any direction, Louise Pomdexter once more slipped dkon frgm he; swlddfii apd the—elitgrefldthenhgut. h t totepa ciee san w -ro ngeyeste yo mlElroole for the moment forgot her wrongs. ' “ Dieul Mon Die/t!" she cried, gliding up to the m3. "Maurice—wounded—dyingl Who has done There wasno reply; only the mutterings of a mod- n ma ., " Maurice! Maurice! speak to me! Do you not know me! Louise! Your Louise! You have called me so! Say it. Oh, say it again!“ You are very beautiful, you angels here in heaven! Very beautiful. Yes, yeS' you look so—to the eyes—to the eyes. But don‘t say there are none like you upon earth; for there are—there are. I know one—ah! more -but one that excels you all, you angels in heaven! 1 I mean in beauty—in goodness, that’s another thing. I'm not thinking of ' ooduess—no; no." “Maurice, dear urice! Why do you talk thus? Youarenot in heaven! you are here with me—with your Ionise." " I a?" in heaven: yes in heaven! I don’t wish it for all they say; that is, no ass i can have her with me. It maybe a asant place. Not without her. If she vouchers could be content. Hear it, ye angels, that mahoverlng around me. Very beaunxu] you are I admit; but none of you like her—her—my angel. 0 l ’s a devil, too; a beautiful devil—no, I don‘t mean thatnl‘mthmkingo oftheangoln ftho rabies." "Doyouremem flannel!” o p What a question, cavaliero! Who lope r _._,Th9 New ¥.9?k__l_fibia¥7' Perha s neverhwas question put to a delirious man, whore t e questioner showed so much interest in the answer. eyes tli' t marked eve! movement of his lips “ Name? name? Di some one say name? Have you any names here? Oh! I remember—Michell, Gabriel Azrael—monpnll men. Ange's, not like my angel—who is a woman. Her name is—" “Inuise—Inuise—Mliise. Why should I conceal it from you—you up here, who know even thing that's down there? Surely you know her— lune? ¥ou should; you could not help loving her—ah! with all your hearts, as I with all mine—all—olll” Not when these last words were once before s oken under the shade of the acacia trees—the speaker in full consciousness of intellect—in the full fervor of his soul —not then were they listened to with such delight. Oh. happy hour for her who heard them! Again were soft kisses lavished upon that revered brow—~upon those wan li s; but this time b one who had no need to re- coil r the contact. he only stood erect—triumph- ant; her hand pressing upon her heart to stay its wild ulsations. It was pleasure too complete, too ecstatic; or there was ain in the thought that it could not be felt forever—m the fear of its being too soon inter- rupted. The last was but the shadow thrown before, and in such sha it appeared, a shadow that came darkling throng the doorway. The substance that followed was a man; who, the moment after, was seen standing upon the stoop. There was nolhing terrible in the aspect of the new- comer. On the contrary, his countenance and costume were types of the comical, hightened by contrast with the W1] associations of the time and place. Still further, from juxtaposition with the odd objects car- ried in his hand; in one a tomahawk; in the others. huge snake; with its tail terminating ina string of head- llke rattles, that betrayed its species. If an t ' could have added to his air of grotesque dro ery, it was the expression of puzzled surprise that came over his countenance; as, stepping upon the threshold, he discovered the change that had taken place in the oc- l cupancy of the but. “ Mother av Moses. ‘ he exclaimed, l dropping both snake and tomahawk, and opening his l eyes as wide as the lids would allow them; “shure I . must be dhramln’? Trath must I! It cyant be yersilf, I Miss Pointdixther? Shure now it cyant!" l “ But it is, Mr. O’Neal. How very ungallant in you to have forgotten me, and so soon l" “ Forgotten ez! Thrath, miss, yez needn‘t accuse ,me of doin‘t at which is intirely impossible. The ! Oirishman that his wance looked in yer swate face will 'be undher the necessity iver afther to remimber it. fSowll thar’s wan that cyant forgit it, even in his , dhrames!" l The speaker lanced significantly toward the couch. l a: delicious th passed through the bosom of the lis- her. “But fwhat diz it all mane?" continued Phellm, re- ' turning to the unexplained puzzle of the transforma- tion. “qure‘s the t‘other—the young chap, or lady. .or wuman—whichsomivcr she arr? Didnt yez see l nothin' av a wuman, Miss Pointdixther?” : “ Yes—yes." . “ 0h! yez did. An’ fwhere is she now?" “Gone away, I believe." ‘ I “Gone away! Be japers thin, she hasn’t remained long in the wan mind. I lift her heeur in the cyabln not tin minnits ago, takin’ afl’ her bonnit—that was only a man’s hat—an’ sittlin' hersilf down for a stay. Gone, yez say? Sowi! I‘m not sorry to hear it. That'sa : youn ' lady whose room‘s betther than her company any ay in the twilmomh. She’s a dale too handy wul . her shootin‘-iron. Wud yez belave it, Miss Pointdixther, she Eisinted a into! wldin six inches av me nose?" ‘ “ I'dieu.’ or what reason?“ “Fwat rayzun? Only that I thried to hindher her , from intrudin‘ into the c nbin. She got in for all that; . for whin owld Zeb come k he made no objecshnn to it. She sayed she was a fri‘nd av the masther, an' wanted to nurse him." “ indeed! Oh! it is strange—very strange l" muttered ’ the Creole. reflectingly. ! “Truth, is it. And so is ivery thing in these times, exciptin‘ or own swate silf- that I hciple will niver be sthrange a cyabin frcquintcd by . aylim O’Nale. Shure, now, I'm glad to see yez, miss; an‘ shure so l w‘u‘d the masther, if—“ 1 " Dear Phelhnl tell me all that has hap nod.“ 1 “ Trathl thin, miss, if I‘m to till all, ye’ hiv' to take I off your bonnet and make up your moind, for a long 1 stay—seein’ as it ’u‘d take the big ind av a whole day v. to relate all the quare things that s happened since the da afore yesthlrday." ' Who has been here since then?" "Who been heeur?" “Except the—the—" “Exeeptin‘ the man-wuman ye mane!' “ Yes. Has any one also been to the mace!" “Trath has thare— lint besoioes. An‘ av all sorts and colors, too. Firs an foremost there was wan comln‘ this way. thou h he gdn‘ fit all the way to the cynbin. Butl daren‘ tell on about him, for it moight frighten ye, miss.“ “Tell me. I have no fear.” “Be dad! and I can’t make it out to 'self quite in. tire] . It was a man upon horseback Wit out a hi ." “ ithout a head?" “ Divil a bit av that same on his -” The statement caused Phelim to be suspected of having lost his. “ An‘ what’s more, miss. he was'for all the world like Masther Maurice himself. Wid his horse undher him, an' his Mexican blanket about his shoulders, an’ eve lt-hing just as the youn masther looks when he s fillouélted. Sowl! wasn’t scared. WIN-'1 1 31% my eyes 011 1 m ' 1‘ “But where did you see this, Mr. O’Neal?" i “ Up thare on the top av the bluff. I was out lookin’ . for the masther to come back from the sittlement as ! he‘d promised he w‘u'd that mornin'. an' who showld I lsee but hisself, as I sugposed it to be. An‘ thin he loomes ridin' up, widout s h an’ stops 1:. hit, an' 1 thin goes 0!! at a t'arin’ gallo wi Tara growlin' at his 3 horse‘s heels, away across tlge bi plain. till Isaw no , more av him. Then I made back or the cyahin heeur, , au’ shut‘ meself up, and \vlnt to slape: and Just in the ; middle of me (lln'amés, whin I was dhrannn’ av—but . tram, miss. ez‘h be toired standin’ on yer feet all this . time. Won was take ad yer purty little mlin'-hat, and ‘sit down on the thrunk thare?—it’s easier than the stool. Do place take’a gate; for it I’m to tell yez all-" L “Novormindmo—goon. Plegsotellmewhoelsohas Vol. 1‘ i been here besides this strange cavalier: who must have been some one laying a trick upon you, I suppose." “A thrick, m ss rath, that s Just what owld Zeb X110 has been here, then?’ “ Yis—yis—hut not till long afther the others." “The others?" “Yis, Miss Zeb. Only arroived yestherday mamin'. The others aid their visxt the nigh afore, an’ at avery unsa zonab e hour, too, wakm‘ me out av the m s ape." ‘But who?—what others?” “Why, the Indyens to be shure." “There have been ndians. then?" "Truth was there—a whole tribe av thim. Well, .v I’ve been tillin‘ 'ez, miss, est as I wus in a sonn‘ slaps, I heard talkin' n the eye in beer, right over my bid an’ the shufilin‘ av pa er, as if somebod was d‘alin’ a packvalv an’— Iother av Moses! what‘s that?“ . a )3 “Didn’t yez heear somethin‘? Wheestl Thai-e it ll agane! Trath, it’s the trampm‘ av horses! They're jist outside.“ Phelim rushed toward the door. “ Be Sa’nt Pathrick! the laceis surrounded wid mm on horseback. There‘s a t ousand av them! an‘ more comm’ behind! Be japers, them’s the cha sowld Zeb-- Now for a fresh spell av squeelin’l Oh. rd! I‘ll be too late 1" Seizing the cactus-branch—that for convenience he find brought inside the hut—he dashed through the oorway. “Mm Dieul” cried the Creole, “ ’tis the l My father. and I here! How shall I explain it? Ho Virgin. save me from shame!" instinctively she sprung toward the door closi it, as she did so. But a moment’s reflection showed how idle was the act. They who were outside would make light of such obstruction. Already she recog nized the voices of the Regulators! The openin in the skin wall came under her eye. Should she malée a re- treat through that, undignifled as it might be? It was no lo er possible. The sound of boots also in the rear! ere was a horseman behind the hut! Besides her own steed was in front-that ocellated creature not to be mistaken. By this time the must have identified it! But there was another thong t that restrained her from attempting to retreat—one more generous. H: was in danger—from which even the unconsciouan of it mi ht not shield him! W'ho but she could rotect him? “ t my glood name go!" thought she. “ other —friends—all—- but him if God so wills itl Shame, or no shame, to him will I be true!“ As these noble thoughts passed through her mind, she took her stand by the bedside of the invalid, like a second Dido, no- iolVed to risk all—even death itself—for the hero of her cart. CHAPTER LXII. warms ma was con. N EVER, since its erection was there such a trampling of boots around the but 0 the horsecatcher—not even when its corral was filled with fresh-taken mustangs, Phelim me out from the door, is saluted b a sec: - of voices the summon him to stop. One hen: louder than the rest. and in tones of command th. V proclaim the speaker to he chief of the party. “Pull up, dun] you! It‘s no use—your tryin to e. cape. Another step, and yell go tumbling your tracks. Pull up, I say!” The command takes efi'ect upon the Connemara man. who has been making direct for Zeb Stump’s mare, tethered on the other side of the opening. He stops upoghthe instaait. I d ,t t to " “ ure, gin emen, on wan escayape asse- verates he. shivering at the sight of a score 0 faces, and the same number of gun-barrels g upon hisiperson; “I had no such intlnshuns. I was on oin to— ‘l‘ylgm 03, if ye‘d got the chance. Ye‘d made a good beginning]. Here, D ck Tracey! half a dozen turns of our tr -rope round him. Lend a hand, Shelton! evillsh queer-looking curse he is! Surely, gentlemen, this can‘t be the man we‘re in search of 1" “No, no! it isn‘t. Only his man John." “Ho! hilloa, you round there at the hack! Keep your eyes skinned. We haven’t got him yet. Don’t let as as a cat creep past you. Now, sirree! who’s a] e “ Who’s insoide? The cyabln div yez mane!“ “Durn ye! answer the lguestion that’s put to gel" says Trace . giving his p sonar a touch of the rail- ro e. “ o’s inside the shan 9“ ‘Oh, Lard! Needs must w n the divvel dhrlves. Wil then. there’s the masther for wan—" , “IIo! what‘s this?” inquires Woodley Poindexter, at this moment riding up, and seemg the spotted mars. “ Why—it—it‘s Looey’s mustang !” “It is, uncle," answers Cassius Calhoun, who his: ridden up alo with him. “ I wonder w 0‘: brought the beast here?" “ Loo herself, I reckon.” “Nonsense! You‘re jest , Cash?" “No, uncle; I’m in earnest. “You mean to so my dau hterhas been hero?” “Has been—still s, I take] “ “ possible!" “ Look yonder, then i“ w The door has just been opened. Afanale to“, seen inside. “Good God, it is my daughter!“ Poindexter dro s from his saddle, and haste. us up a- the hut—close f0 owod by Calhoun. Both go inside. glauls’e; what means t is? A wounded man! Is it h — enry Before an answer can be ven hlse efalls u n cloak and hat—Hen ’s! gi ’ y W ‘ “ It is; he’s alive! %afl Heaven!” He strides toward the couch. The Joy of an instant is in an instant gone. The face upon the pillow is not that of his son. The fa ‘tu‘ eta ers back with a groan. oun seems equalllv affected. But the cry from him is an exclamation 0 horror: after which he slink. cowed-like out of the cabin. “Great God!" gasps the plantar; “what is it? Can you explain. Louise? ‘ — v “ I can not. father. I’ve been here but a few minus I found him as on see. He is dehnous." ' And—and~ enry P“ “They have told me nothing.- Mr. Gerald was alone when I entered. The man outside was absent, and I. just returned. I have not had time to uestionlhnn'." “ But—but how came here She bent over him with 'ears upon the strain, with so. ed 9v: rumba “I couldnotstayat oma-Ioouidnotondunthn l i l a ..--...,.. - . No. 8. The Headless "Horseman. uncertaiut any longer. It was terrible—clone, with no one at the ouse; and the thought that my poor brother —Mon Dieu.’ Mon Dim!" Poindexter regards his daughter with a perplexed, but still in uiring look. " I thong t I might find Henry here." “ Herc! But how did you know of this place? Who guided you? You are by ourself 1” “Oh, fatherl I knew t e way. You remember the day of the hunt—when the mustang run away with me. It was beyond this place I was carried. On returnin with Mr. Gerald, he told me he lived here. I fanCied could find the way back.” Poindexter‘s look of perplexity does not leave him, though another expression becomes blended with it. His brow contracts; the shadow deepens upon it: but whatever the dark thought, he does not declare it. “ A strange thing for you to have done, my dan liter. Imprudent—indeed dangerous. You have acted e a, ' snug girl. Come—come awayl This is no place for a l —for you. Get to your horse, and ride home again, Some one will go with you. There may be a scene here, you should not be present at. Conic. comel” The father strides forth from the but the daughter following with reluctance scarce concealed; and, with like unwfllingness, is conducted to her saddle. The searchers, now dismounted, are upon the 0 en ground in front. They are all_ there. . Calhoun as made known the condition of things msxde; and there is no need for them to keep up their vigilance. The stand in groups—some Silent, some conversing. larger crowd is around the Connemara man‘ who lies u n the grass fast tied to the trail-r0 e. His tongue is allowed libereté'; and they question him, but without giving much cr it to his answers. On the leap car- ance of the father and daughter, they face toward t em, but stand silent. For all this. they are burning with eagerness to have an exflanation of what is passing. Their looks roclaim it. ost of them know the young lady by sig t—all by fame, or name. They feel sur- prise—almost wonder—at seeing her there. The sister of the murdered man under the roof of his murdererl More than ever they are convinced that this is the state of the case. Calhoun coming forth from the hut, has spread fresh intelligence among them—facts that seem to confirm it. He has told them of the hat, the cloak— of the murderer himself, injured in the death-strugglel But wh is Louise Poindexter there~alone—unaccom- anied y white or black, by relative or slave? A guest, 0; for in this character does she appear! Her cousin does not explain it—rierhaps he can not. .Her father— can he? J udgin by is embarrassed air, it is doubtful. Whispers passe from lip to ear—from grou to grou . There are surmises—m , but none s 0 en alou_ . Even the rude frontiersmen respect the eelings—flhal as Parental—and patiently await the eclqircissement. _ ‘ Mount, Louise! Mr. Yancey will ride home wrth on." yThe you planter thus ledged was never more ready to re eem himself: e is the one who most envies the supposed hap mess of Cassius Calhoun. In his soul he thanks Poiu exter for the opportunity. “But father!" protests the young lady, “why should not wait for you? You are not gomg to stay here?“ Yancey experiences a shock of apprehension. “It is my wish, daughter, that you do as I tell you. .et that be sufficient." Yancey’s confidence returns. Not uite. He knows enough of that proud spmt to be in oubt whether it may yield obedience—even_to the parental command. It gives way; with an unwillingness ill disguised, even in the presence of that crowd of attentive spectators. The two ride 03' the you planter taking the lead, his charge slowly followl — he former scarce able to conceal his exultation, t e latter her cha rm. Yancey is more distressed than dis eased at the melancholy mood of his companion. ow could it be otherwise, with such a sorrow at her heart? Of course he ascribes it to that. He but half interprets the cause. Were he to look steadfastl into the eye of Louise Poindexter, he might there etect an expres- sion, in which sorrow for the past is less marked, than fear for the futurel They ride on through the trees— but not beyond earshot of the people they have left behind them. Suddenly a change comes over the countenance of the Cree e—her features lighting up, as if some thought of joy, or at least of hope, had entered her soul. he stops reflecting —her ecort con- strained to do the same. “Mr. ancey," says she, after a short pause, “my saddle has got oose. I can- not sit comfortably in it. Have the goodness to look to the girths." Yancey lea to the'ground, delighted with the dut thus impos upon him. He examines the 113. In his opinion they do not want t o‘htenin . He oes not say so- but, undoing the hue 1e, p upon the strap with all his strength. “ $tay," says the fair equestrian “let me alight. You Will et better at it them;o “gthogmaitl ftor ding agesstfiigcgi an: snn'gs mers ansan Y p p' lanes to tug at the mustang. The oun man cont straps, pulling with a the power 'of his arms. After a prolo d struggle, that turns him red in the face, he succelefi: in shortening them by a single hole“ “ Now, Miss Poindexter; I think it W111 do. “Perhaps it rejoins the lad , placi her hand H u n the horn of her saddle, an givmg t, a slight sfike. “ No doubt it will do now. After all tis a p ty to start back so soon. I’ve just arrived here after a fast allo ' and m r Luna has scarce had time to breaaie likrself. mu we sto here awhile, and let he: lli'axe a little restl ’Tis cruel 0 take her back with- ou . “ But your father! He seemed desirous you should—' “TbatIsliould go home at once. That’s not ' . 'Twas only to get me out of the way of these roug men—that was all. He won’t care; so lo asl’m out of sight. ’Tis a. sweet place, this: so coo , under the shade of these fine trees— list now that the sun is blazing down upOn the ra e. Let us stay awhile, and 've Luna 8. rest! 6 can amuse ourselves by watc the ambols of these beautiful silver-fish in the stream}; k then, Mr. Yanceyl What pretty cmaturest e arel’ The yo yplanter begins to feel .flattered. Why should his air com 'on wish to hnger there wit him! Why wishto watch the iodoma ed in their natic cotillion—amorous at that time o r. e yearl “he conjectures a reply conformable to his own incli- nations. I His com ' oe is easily obtained. “ Miss olndextcr," so be, “ it is for you to com- mand me. I am but too ppy to stay here, as long as you wish it" , vviction 45 “Only till Luna be rested. To say the truth, sir, I had scarce got out of the saddle, as the eople came up].1 See! the poor thing is still panting ter our long ga op." Yancey_ does not take notice whether the spotted mustang is panting or no. He is but too leased to comp] with the Wishes of its rider. They s y by the side 0 the stream. He is a little surprised to perceive that his companion gives but sli rht heed, either to the silver fish, or the spotted inns aiig. He would have liked this all the better had her attentions been trans- ferred to himself. But they are not. He can arrest neither her eye nor her ear. The former seems stray- ing u on vacancy; the latter eagerly bent to catch every soun that comes from the c caring. Despite his in- clination toward her, he cannot hel listening himself. He sus ects that a serious Scene is t ere being enacted —a tria before Ju o Lynch, with a “my of ‘Regula— tors." Exciting tal ' comes echoin r t rough the tree- trunks. There is an earnestness in ts accents that tells of some terrible determination. Both listen; the lady, like some tragic actress, by the side-scene of a theater, waitin for her cue. There are speeches in more than one vo Co; as if made by different men; then one ion or than the rest—a harangne. Louise recognizes he voice. It is that of her cousm Cassius. It is urgent—at times angry, at times argumentative; as if ersuodiug his audience to somethng they are not wifiing to do. His speech comes to an end; and immediate] after it. there are quick, sharp exclamations—cries o assent— one louder than the rest, of fearful import. While lis- tening Yancey has forgotten the fair creature by his side. e is reminded of her (Presence, b seeing her spr' away from the spot, an with a w d, but reso- lute air, glide toward the jacale CHAPTER LX111. A war or “columns. THE c that had called the young Creole so sudden- ly from t e side of her companion, was the verdict of a jury, in whose rude phrase was also included the pronouncin of the sentence: The wor “hang” was ringing1 in her ears, as she started away from the spot. hi 6 pretendin to take an interest in the play of the silver-fish, her houghts were upon that scene, of less gentle character, trans- Eiring in front of thejacale. Though the trees hindered or from having a yiew of the stage, she knew the ac- tors that were on it; and could tell by their speeches how the lay was rogressing. About the time of her dismount ng, a tab eau had been formed that merits a. minute description. The men she had left behind were no lon er in scattered roups, but drawn together into a. crow ,_in shape roug ly resembling the Circum- ference of a Circle. Inside it, some half-score fl ires were conspicuous, among them the tall form of t e R‘e‘gulator Chief with three or four of his “ marshals." oodley Poindexter was there, and by his side Cassius Calhoun. These no 56 longer appeared to act with authority; but rather as spectators, or Witnesses, in this judicial drama about being enacted. such in reality was the nature of the scene. It was a trial‘for murder; a. trial before Justice LI ch ; this ‘m digiutary being typified in the rson o the Regufilt‘or Chief, with a jury composed 0 all the people upon the ground—all except the prisoners. P there are two—Maurice Gerald and his man e . They are inside the ring, both prostrate upon the ass - both fast bound in rawhide ropes, that hinder em from moving hand or foot. Even their tongues are pot free. Phelim has been cursed and scared into silence, while to his master speech has been rendered impossible by a gases of s ick. fastened bitt-like between his teeth. It been done to Birevent interru tion by the insane ravings that would 0 erwise issue rom his lips. Even the tight-drawn thongs cannot kee him in place. Two men one at each shoulder, wit a third seated upon. his knees, hold him to the und. His eyes alone are free to move, and these, re in their sockets, glare upon his guards with wild, unnatural glances fearful to encounter. Only one of the prisoners is arraigned on the capital charge ; the other is but doubtfully regarded as an ac- complice. The servant alone has been examined asked to confess all he knows, and what he has to say for himself. It is no use putting questions to his mas- ter. Phelim has told his ale—too stra e to be credit- ed, though the strangest part of it—tlia relating to his having seen a horseman without a head—is looked u on t as the least improbable. He cannot ex lain it, an his story but stre hens the suspicious a ready amused that the spectra applarition is a part of the scheme 0 murder! “All stu , his tales about tiger-fights and Indians l" as r those to whom he has been imparting them. “Par: Ol ues contrived to mislead us—notbin else." The trial ass asted scarce ten minutes ; and ye thej have come to their conclusion. In the minds of mos £ll‘eady predisposed to it) there is a. full con- at Henry Poindexter is a dead man, and that Maurice Gerald is answerable for his death. Em circumstance alread known been reconslde , while to these have can added the new facts discov- ered at the jacale, the ugliest of which is the tin of the cloak and hat. The explanations given by the al- weglan, confused and incongruous. carry no credit. Why should they? They are the inventions of an ac- com lice. Thgre are some whowill scarce stay to hear them— some who impatiently cry out, “ Let the murderer be hanged i” As if this verdict had been anticipated. a rope lies readyu on the ground with a noose at its end. It is the u so, Calcraft could not that. « only a “0' but' for p rpo “ I listened to catch what the quarrel was about? but rodnce a. more _ rfect iece of cord. p A sycamore alignman offers a horizontal limb good enough for a gallows. The vote is taken vita coco. . E hty out of the hundred jurors expressed their opin on that Maurice Gerald ,must die. His hour ap- ears to have come. D And yet the sentence is not carried into execution. The rope is suflered to lie lgllnltless on the grass. No one seems willing to lay ho of It- Why that hanging back, as if the thong of a horse-hide was a venomous snake that none dares to touch? The majority—the mam , to use a true Western word—has mnounoed {he sengence of death. some stren benmg with rude even blasphemous, smell. Why It not carried out i Why? for want of t unanimity that stimulates to immediate There is a minority not satisfied, 3, with but equally earnest emphasis. have answered “ o.“ i' ‘ l .‘ . . ' i . —r antofthe f it. ‘ action orw roostoprodlxl‘cgse‘ m k w dd 00" ‘ moreloldblnldeoncbed—formtmto dbygolap It is this that has caused a. suspension of the violent proceedings. Among1 his minoi-lt is Jud lynch himself—Sam Manly t e chief of t 9 Re tors. He has not at passed sentence, or oval 813153611 his acceptance of he acclamatory verdict. “Fellow-citizens l" cries he. as soon as he has an opportunit of making himself heard “ I’m of the opinion, t t there’s a doubt in 1; case; and I reckon we ou ht to give the accused the benefit of it— that is, till be e able to say his own say about it. It‘s no use questioning him now, as ye all see. ‘We have him tight and fast; and there‘s not muuh chance of his gettin clear—if guilty. Therefore, I move we post- ponc t is trial, till—" “ What‘s the use of postponing it?" interrupts a voice alread ' loud for the prosecution, and which can be dil- tmguis ed as Cassius Calhoun. “ What’s the use, Sam Manly? It‘s all very well for on to talk that way; but if you had a friend foully mu cred—I won’t say cousi but a son, a brother—you might not be so soft abou it. What more do you want to show that the skunk’l guilt ? Further proofs?" “ let‘s just what we want Ca tain Calhoun." “ Cyan you give them, Mist or blus Calhoun?" in. uircs a voice from the outside circle, with a strong rish accent. " Perha s I can.“ “ Let‘s ave them, then!" “ God knows you’ve had evidence enough. A jury at his own stupid countr men—" “Bar that ap ell unl"_shouts the man, who has demanded the a ditional cvxdencc. “Just remember, Mlsther Calhoun, ye’re in Texas, and not in Mississigpi, Bear that in mind; or ye may run your tongue to trouble, sharp as it is.“ “I don‘t mean to ofiend any one," so 5 C backing out of the dilemma into which Irish antl- pathies had led him; “even an Englishman, if there‘s one here." “Thare ye’re welcome—go onl“ cries the mollifled Milesian. “ Well, then, as I was saying there‘s been evidence enough—and more than enou h, in my opinion. But if you want more. I can give it. ’ ‘Give its-give it!" cry a score of res ndlng voices; that keep up the demand, while U can seems to hesitate. I “ Gentlemen l" says he squaring himself to the crowd as if fora speech, ‘ what I've or. to so. now I could ave tolifiou long ago. But I dn’t thin it was needed. You know what‘s ha Eened between this man and m self; and I had no w to be thought w vengeful. ‘m not; and if it wasn’t that I'm sure he has done the deed—sure as the head‘s on my bod —" Calhoun speaks stammeringly, seeing that the use, involuntarily escapixfisfrom his lips, has pr need a stifimge effect upon auditory—es it has upon him- “If not sure—I—I should still say nothing of what I’ve seen, or rather heard; for it was in the night, and I saw nothi ." “What dl you hear, Mr. Calhoun?” demands tho Regulator Chief resum his judicial demeanor, for a time forgotten n the co on of votin the verdict. “Your uarrel with the glimmer. of w oh I believe everybody has heard, can ve nothing to do with your testimony here. Nobody is oing to accuse you of also swea on t account. lease p . What did on car? And where, and when, did you hear it?" “ o begin, then, with the time. It was the night my didn t mill cousin was missing; though of course, we him till the morning. uesday night." “ Tuesday in ht. Well?" “I‘d turned 11 myself; and thought Hen had done the same. But what With the heat, and e infernal musketoes, I couldn’t get any sleep. “I started up agnin‘ lit a cigar- and, after smoking it awhile in the room, I thought of taking a turn upon the top of the house. “You lmow the old hacienda has a flat roof, 1 cup pose? Well, I went up there to get cool; and continued to pull away at the weed. ‘ It must have been then about midnight, or maybe a little earlier. I can‘t tell; for I'd been tossing about on my bed, and took no note of the time. “Just as I had smoked to the end of my cifiu, and was about. to take a second out of my case. heard voices. There were two of them. “ The were up the river, as I thought on the side. ey were a good way off, in the own. “I mi btn’t have been able to dist th or tell one In the t'other, if they'd belggmtalkingag’tho ordinary way. But the weren’t. There was loud, ‘ y uni-ml- ‘ angry talk; and I could tell that two men wereq "I supposed it was some drunken rowdch home from Oberdofl'er's tavern, and I montage: tho ht no more about it. But as I listened. I W nize one of the Voices‘ and then the other. Theflnt was my cousin Henry‘s—the second t the man whpIils there—the man who has murdered him." ease whole of the evidence on have It will be time enough hen to sto fi‘ Well, gentlemen; as you in romlsed to p our opinions." ' su vised at h m cousin's voice—supposing asfgep in his bed. slim was I of its being Ididn’t think of going to his room to see if he was here. I knew it was his voice' and wasgwulte as sure that the other was that of the one-catch “I thought it uncommonly queer, in He ' being out such a late hour; as he was never ven to t sort of thing. But out he was. I couldn‘t mistaken about though I could dist the voices, 'I could’ t proceed, Mr. Calhoun! Let us hear the 9,1 wasnolittlo. out anything that was said on either side. W _ t I did . hear was He Mm b » some hard 5. u cousin 1.2%..“ first ins ted; and tbenWheard the I threatening to make him rue it. 1 Each loudly pronounced the other’s name; and that convinced me about its being them. . “ I should havilgone out to see what the trouble was: but I was in m l pairof boots i an to be all over. rewards: murmmmr “mice; 9 co ‘ an e c . Obenl‘éfer’s, slid fallen inpwlth some 0 theistic" from the fort. I concluded he might stay there a spell, ““E’ilwe‘t‘efifi r told ‘ unkno' mm ‘ ow. en, ve on w. usiu never came bee y r m I directionm . pineal:l and before I could draw on o 4.6 ’ ' The New Yiorkrluibrary. \ ' ‘voi. i ' to his room next morning. His bed that ni ht must mustangcr‘s neck, cari‘l'uliy adjusted to avoid fluke or “We are so to dlsobli 8 you, Miss; but we must 3" , ' have been somewhere upon the prairie, or in he chap- failure. The other end, leading over the limb of the request you to cave. Mr. oindexter, you'd do well - arral' and there’s the only man who knows where.” tree, was hold in hand by the brace of bearded bullies to take your daughter awn "’ ; ' With a wave of his hand the s eaker triumphantly i —whosc [in crs appeared itching to all u on it. In “ Come, Loo! Tis not tge lace for on. You must , ‘ indicated the accused—whose wi d straining eyes told their eyes id attitudes was an air 0 dead y determi- come away. You refuse! ood God my daughter how unconscious ho was of the terrible accusation, or » nation. They only waited for the word. do you mean to disobe me? Here, Cash; take hold 0 of the vengeful looks with which, from all sides, lie I Not that any one had the ri ht to renounce it. And her arm, and conduct er from the s ot. If you refuse was now regarded. . - Just for this reason was it elaye No one seemed to go willingl , we must use force, . A good girl . Calhoun‘s story was told with a Circumstantiality willing to take the responsibility of giving that signal, now. Do as Iytell you. Go! Go!" that went far to produce conviction of the prisoners which waste send his fellow creature to his lon ' ac- “ No, father, I will not—I shall not—till you have pro- ‘ -‘r:‘ uilt. The concluding speech appeared eloquent of count. Criminal as they might regard him—mun crcr miscd—till these men promise—” i'uth, and was followed byaclamorous demand for the as they believed him to be—ail shied from doing the “We can‘t romise you any thing, .Miss—however extcution to prooeed. Sheriff 3 duty. Even Calhoun instinctively held back. much we mig it like it. It ain t a question for women, "Hang! hang!" is the cry from fourscore voices. it was not for the want of will. There was no lack of nohow. There's been a crime committed—a murder The udge himself seems to waver. The minority has that on the part of the ex-oi‘ilcer, or among the R0 u- as yourself know. There must be no cheating of jun: been mim'shed—no longer ei 'lity out of abundrca, iators. They showed no sign of retreatin from t e tice. There’s no mercy foramurderer!" but ninety re t the cry. he more moderate are stop they had taken. The pause was slmpyOWing '90 “No mercy!“ echo 8. Score of angry voices. “Let overbome by t c inundation of vengeful voices. The .1110 “liomiulit 0f the proceedings. It “'38 but 1511011111 him be him d—haiiged—hanged!" crowd away; to and fro, resembling a, storm (as: in. in the storm t iat precedes the grand crash. . The chu utors are no longer restrained by the fair creasing to a tempest. It. soon comes to its hight, A It was a niomi-nt of deep soleinnity—evcry one silent presence. Perhaps it has but hastened the fatal mo- i'uman rushes toward the rope. Thou li none, as the tomb. They were in the presence of death, and inent. The soul of Cassius Calhoun is not the only one seem to have noticed it, he has parted mm the know it—dvuth in its most hideous shape and darkest in that crowd stirred by the spirit of envy. The home. .. v side of Calhoun, will; whom he has been holding a guise. .Most. of them felt that they wci‘e_abettin it. hunter is now bated for his su posed good fortune. .. 4 - whispered conversation. One of those “border ruf- All believed it to be nigh. With hushed veicc, and in- In tiie tumult of revengefulJ passion all galant is Hy; . m i of Southern descent, ever ready by the stake of (lcrcilgesturo, they stood rigid as the tree-trunks around forgotten—that very virtue for which the Texan is ;j- ; tneghihmmropist or martyr such as have been of late tiicin. Surely the crisis had come? tinguished. ; l t ed in the military murders of Jamaica, who have it had; but not that crisis by everybod expected, by The lady is led aside—dragged rather than led—by ’ isgraced the English name, to the limits of all time. themselves decreed. Instead of seeing ll aurice Gerald her cousin, and at the command of her father. She He lays hold of the 1.9.20, and quickly ari‘an fies its loop Jcrkcd into the air for diifcrent was the spectacle they struggles in the hated arms that hold her wildly weep- ; around the neck of the condemned man, 'e uncon- were called upon 0 Witness—one so ludicrousas fora in . loudly protesting against the act 0 inhumanity. )g cioiis' of trial and condemnation. No one steps for- time to iiitcrru it the soleniuity of the scene, and cause “ oustersl murderers!’ are the phrases that fall from Word to oppose the act. The rufflan, bristling with a suspension 0 the marsh proceedings. The old marc— her hps. Her struggles are resisted; the speeches un- 11 ; bowie-knife and pistols, has it all to himself; or rather that the knew to be Zeb Stump’s—appeared to have heeded. She is borne back beyond the confines of the , is he assisted by a scoundrel of the same kidney—one gone so dculy niad. She had commenced dancing over crowd—beyond the hope of givin he] to him for / of the “dew,” guards of the prisoner, the sword, ilingin her heels high into the air, and whom she is willing to lay down Eerll e! Bitter are l 1 The spectators stand aside, and look tranquilly upon screaming thli ul her might. She had ven the cue the s )eechcs Calhoun is constrained to hear—heart- ! ‘ the proceedi . Most express a. mute approval~some to the hundred horses that stood tied to t ie trees; and break ng the words now showered upon him! Better " encour¥m he executioners with earnest vocifera- all of them had commenced imitating her wild capers, for him he had not taken hold of her. It scarce con- i . flour 0 “{ip with him! Hang him!” A few seem wliilo loudly rcspoudingto her screams! Enchantment soles him—that certaint of revenge. His rival will “'I 1 stupiflod by surprise; a less number show sympathy; could scarcely have produced a quicker transformation soon be no more; but w t matters it? The fair form ‘ but not one dares to give proof of it, by taking part than occurred in the tableau formed in front of the writhing in his gras can never be consentineg em- . with the risoner. The rope is around his neck—the Jacale but. Not only was the executionsuspended, but braced. He may ki the hero of her heart, at not ” end with t e noose upon it. The other is being swung all other proceedings that regarded the condemned conquer for himself its most feeble afiectionl 5 over the sycamore. captive. her was t ie change of a comical character. ~— “ Soon must the soul of Maurice Gerald go back to On the contrary, it was accom anied by looks of alarm CHAPTER LXV. its God!" and cries of consternation! ie Regulators rushed to mi. lineman mmwnn. their anus—some toward their horses. For: the third time is the tableau reconstructed— ,1; CHAPTER LXIV. “Indians!” was the exclamation upon every lip, spectators and actors in the dread drama their "v A saunas or mrsnwons. though unheard through the din. Nought but the paces asbefore. The 1820 is once more over " “SOON the soul of Maurice Gerald must go back to coming of Conianches could have caused such a com- the limb' the same two scoundrels taking hold of its “good!” motion—threatening to result in a stampede of the loose en —this time drawing it toward them till it ;; v It was the tho ht of every actor in that tragedy troop! comes taut. For the third time arises the reflecti : 1i- r among the trees. 0 one doubted that, in another ino- For a time men ran shouting over the little lawn, or " Soon must the soul of Maurice Gerald go back to it's “3' -i:ient, the would see his body hoisted into the air, and stood Silent with scared countenances. God!" Now nearer than ever does the unfortunate swinging in the branch or the sycamore. . Most. having secured their horses, cowered behind man seem to his end. Even love has proved powerless - ‘ _ There was an interlude, not provided for in the pro- them—~using them by way of shield against the chances to save him! What power on earth can be appealed to r . ‘ gramme. VA farce was being performed simultaneous] ; of an Indian arrow. after this? None like to avail. But there appears no ‘ .‘ and, it might be said, on the same stage. For once t c There were but a few upon the ground acc tamed to chance of succor—no ime for it. There is no mercy in I .‘- l , tragedy was more attractive, and the comedy was pro- such prairie escapades ; and the fears of the liiiny were the stern looks of the Regulators—only im atience. ’3 . greasin withouts ctators. exaggerated by their inexperience to the extreme of The hangmen, too, up ear in ahurry—as if t ey were Hui Not ess earnes were the actors in it. There were tori-or. It continued till heir suede, all caught up, in dread of another in ermption. They manipulate the .5" only two—a man and a mare. Plielim was once more had ceased their Wild whighering: and only one was rope with the ability of experienced executioners. 1' re-enacting the scenes that had caused surprise to Isi- heard—the wretched creature that had given them the The physio nom of either would give co or to the al- ‘ ;, . (10m, cue. Then was discovered the true cause of the alarm; sumption, t at nay had been accustomec to the call- , E: .i Engrossed by the arguments of Calhoun—by the pur- as also that the Connemara had stolen off. Fortunate ing. In less than xty seconds they shall have finished ' i E poses of vengeance which his story was producing— for l’licliin he had shown the good sense to betake him- the 'ob. , r - the Re tors only turned their attention to the chief self to the bushes. Only by concealment had he saved “ ow then, Bill! Are ye ready?" shouts one to the aim No one thought of his coni )anion, whether his skin; for his life was now worth scarce so much as other—by the uestlon proclaiming, that they no longer be was or was not an accomplice. is presence was that of his master. A Score of miles were clutched intend to wait or the word. scarce ved, all eyes being directed with an angry with angry euei-gy—thcirinuzzles brought to bear upon “ All ri lit!" res nds Bill. “Up with the son of a. intent upon the other, the old more. But before any of them could be dis- skunk! p with im!” Still lens was it noticed, when the rufllans sprung for- charged, a man standing near threw his lazo around her There is a pull upon the re , but”not sufficient to ward, and commenced adjusting the rage. e Gal- neck, and choked herin silence. raise the body into an e position. It tightens weg'ian was then altogether ne lected. T ere appeared ' around the neck; lifts the head a little from the ground, an opportunity of esca e an Phelim was not slow to _Tran(zuillity is restored, and along with it a resum but nothing morel take advantage of it. ‘~ ling himself clear of his tion of he deadly design. The Regulators are still 11 Only one of the hangmen has given his mouth-to fastenings, he crawled off in ong the legs of the surg- i the same ‘tempcr. The ludicrous incident, while per- the ing crowd. No one seemed to see, or care about, his . plexmg. has not provoked their mirth; but the con- “ aui, hang youl" cries Bill, astonished at the in» movements. M with excitement. They were press- irary. Some feel 5 ame at the sorry they have tion of his assistant. “Why the deuce don‘t you ing upon each other—the eyes of all turned upward to ' cut, in the face of a false alarm; while ot era are chafod haul?" the gallows tree. - l at the iiitenpption of the soleinnceremonial. They m- Bill's back is turned toward an intruder, tho. seen To have seen Phelim skulking 03, it might have been i turn to it With increased Vindictiveness—as proved by lily the other, has hindered him from lending a. ‘ supposed that he was profiting by the chance offered I their oaths and angry exclamations. Once more the 6 stands as if suddenlyhtransformed into stone. for escape-saving his own life, without thinking of his vengeful circle closes around the condemned—the ter- “ Come!" continues 6 chief executioner. “ Let’s . ‘ riblc tableau is reconstructed. Once more the whims E? at it again—both together. Yea—up! Up with It is true he cOuld have done nothing, and he knew it. lay hold of the rope; and for the second time every one in i" . He had exhausted his advocacy; and any further inter- is impressed With the solemnn thought: “ Soon must “ No ya don‘t!" calls out a voice in the tones of I. sten~ feronce on his part would have been an idle eifort, or the soul of Maurice Gerard 0 back to its God!" Thank tor; while a man of colossal frame, carrying a six-foot glnnly t3 ag ravate the accusers. It was but slight . 0y heaven, there is another interruption to that stern rifle is seen rushing out from mo in ty t he should think of savinv himself—a ! ccremoninlofdcatli. Ho unlike to deathis that bright strlii es that bring him almost instants 12:: Wok inct of self- reservation—to which he seemed form flitting under the s&dows—flashing out into the of the crowd. e more ins lding as he stole 0 among the trees. So one would open Sllnil"llt. “ No 6 don't!" be re eats sto 1 over the proc- lme conjectured. " A woniaan? a beautiful woman!" _ trate bb’dy, and bringi p his longligfl'ogtobear upon the But the conjecture would not have done justice to "rig only a silent thought; for no one essays tos k. rufflans of the ro _ . Bglut yet a bit, “this coon knl/ himof Connemara. In his flight the faithful servant They stand rigid as ever but with strangelya tered kerlates. You , pull that piece o’pleeud 4 ' i' ill rlflln ’ is 'i had no d to forsake his master—much less leave looks. Even the rudest of them respect t e resence boss-hair but the eighth 0’ an inch tightenand ye'il git ' him to his ate, without making one more effort to of that fair intruder. There is submission in heir at- a blue pill in yer stummuk as wont agree wi' yo. 1 - effect his delivery from the human bloodhounds who ,' titudc, as if from a consciousness of uiit. I Drop the rope, dug-n 51 Drop it!" , i, had hold of him. He knew he could do nothing of Like a meteor she passes through t eir midst— lides The screaming of b Stump’s mare scarce created I . ;, himself. His hope lay in summoning Zeb Stump. and , on Without giving a glance on either Side—W thout more sudden diversion than then mines of Zeb him- ‘ 7 ,‘ it was to sound that Signal—which had proved so , speech, Without cry—till she stoo over the condemn- self—for it was he who had hurri upon the ground. . ' effective before—that he was now stealing off from the cd man, still i 'i gagged upon t io grass. ' He was known to nearly all present; respected by ‘ I scene. alike of trial and execution. Willi a quic c utch she lays hold of the lazo; which most; and feared by manly. On tting beyond the selvedge of the throng, he had the two _ 'men. taken by surprise, let loose. Among the last were Bi Grimm and his fellow rope. lid in among the trees; and keeping these bctheu , Grasping t with both hands, she Jerks it from theirs. holder. No longer holdin it: for at the command ' , ; . and the angry crowd, he ran on toward the 2 )0t , "Texans! cowards!“ she cries, castingascornful look dro it, yiel to a quic perception of danger,both I! where the old mare still grazed upon her tether. ' he 1 upon the crowd. “shame! shame!" haii let go; on the 1m in case along“ sword. \ ‘ i ;, other horses standing :‘hitched" to the twigs, formed ' 'l‘licy cowcr under the stinging reproach. “ What darned tom-foo ery‘s this, ya?" continues ' .; I stalemny com act tierall round the edge of the tim- She continues: the colossus, ad to the crow an] ‘ r ;~ her. This in screening his mQVeuientS ironi ob- "A trial, indeed! A fair trial! .The accused without speechless from Surprise. “Ye don’t mean ', do i,f aeration. sothat he had arrived, Without be seen counsel—condemned without being heardi And this " , " ' by any one. Just then he discovered that he bar come you call justice? Texan justice? My scorn upon you “ We do “ answers a stern voice. without the a paratus necessary to carry out s dc- —iiot men, but murderers ’ “And w y not?" asks another. tign. The wagon branch had been dropped where he “ What means this?“ shouts Poindexter rushing up “Why not! Ye’d hang a fellur-citizen ‘ithout trial, was first captured, and was still kicking about among and seizing his daughter by the arm. “ You are mad w‘u’d ye?” the feet of his co. tors. He could net get hold of 1;. —L00-—-mudl Ilow came you to be here? Did I not “Not much of a fellow-citizen—so far as that goes. without exposing if to a fresh seizgui'c, and this tell you to go home? Away—this instant awa : and Besides, he‘s had atrial—a fair trial." ' would hinder him from effecting the desired end. He do not interfere with what does not concern you " “ I‘deed? A human critter to be condom-nod wl' his , ". had no knife—no weapon of any kind—wherewith he “ Father, it does concern me!" . _ brain in a state of dullecrlum! Sent out 0’ world i ; ,v Light procure another nopal. “ How P—how ?—oh true—as a. sister! This man is the ’ithout knowln‘ that he‘s in it! Ye call that a air trial. , ‘ : ~ ' egauscd liipainful uncertainty as to what he should murderer of your brother." (10 W " ' “ do. nly foran instant. There was no time to belost. “ I will not-can not believe it. Never—never! There “ What matters it if we know he’s guilty? We’re all . ills master’s life was in imminent peril, nienaced at was no motive. 0h menl if you be men, do not act satisfied about that." ‘ iii every moment. No sacrifice would be too great to save like sailings. Give him a fair trial. and then--i=heii—" “ The deuce ye air! W hi I ain‘t goin’ to waste :, him; and with this thought the faithful Pheliin rushed “ He‘ d a fair trial,” calls one from the de. words Wi’ Boob as you, Jimagtoddm But for you, 8am , ; , toward the cactus-plant; and seizing one of its spinons who seems to speak from instigation; “ne’er a doubt Manly an‘ erself, Mister Peintdexter—ihurely ye ain‘t 1' i ,5, branches in his naked hands, wrenched it from the about his bei ' t . It‘s him that’s killed our agreed to this hyur preceedin’, which. in my opeeivun. ‘ stem. brother. and no y e . And it don’t look we iss ’ud be neyther more nor lea ’n murder?" were fearftu lacerated in the act: but Polndexter-excuse me for saying it;—-but it don’ look “You haven’t heard all, Zeb 8mm ." in the d that, when weighed against the life of gist the thing, that you should be trying to screen him tor Chief, with the d to W his dose ' W” ' A! his beloved master? With equal recklessnesshe rain in . canoe in the act. “ There are , H totheinare- and.at the make! beingkickedbackaga-m. “NO. that it don't " chlmeinseveral VOieeS- “ Fucks be darned! An’ f tool I don‘t want . g tookhoid ofher tail. and once more applied the instru- “Justice must its course!" shouts one in the to hear em. It’ll be time enuf for when the , , manta: tartan! hackneyed phrase of the law courts. kums to a reg’lar trial; to which, , nob'cLy ,iw.‘ Bytutimethonoouhadboen adjumdamadth ‘Itinust.—tmusti"eohouthom MW'uthurun‘tthogh o‘achmcfor WW4, 4.--.-. . _. “a n,__— “ i a i. l i j _ . “‘Ridiklus, ye' sayi”inter_['ios;§sxaaoid trapper who' r- W No. l The IieedlesS.,H9rsemen. sibling) git 08. Who air the individooal that ob- ac . “You take too much u n you, Zeb Stump. What is it your business, we'd li e to know? The man that’s been murdered wasn't 7 our son, your brother, nor your cousin neither! If be ad been, you’d be of a different wa of thinking, i take it." It, is Calhoun who has made this inter olation— spoken before with so much success to his so ieme. “I don‘t see that it concerns you," he continues, “ what course we take in this matter." _ “ But I dd It consarns me—fust, because this young fellur‘s a friend 0‘ mine, though he air Irish, an’ a stronger; an‘ secondly, because eb Stump ain’t a-goin' to stan‘ by an’ see foul play—even tho‘ it be on the . pura ms 0' Texas.” . “ oul lay be hanged! There’s notlung of the sort. And as or standing by, we’ll see about that. Boys! you‘re not going to be scared from your duty by such swaggeras this? Let’s make a flnis of what we‘ve be- gin. The blood of a murdered man cries out to us. hold of the rope i" ‘ Do; an” by the eturnal! the fust that do ‘11 drop it a leetle quicker than he grups it. Lay ha claw on it—one o’ ye—if ye darr. Ye ma hang this poor critter as high ‘5 ye like, but not t'l ye‘ve 'laid Zeb‘lon Stump streetched dead upon the rass, Wi’ some 0‘ ye along- side 0‘ bin. Now, then! t me see the skunk thet s goin‘ to tech thet rope !" Zebs speech is followed by a profound silence. The peo le kept their places, artly mm the danger of ac— cepl' g his challenge, an partly from the respect due to is courage and generOSity. Also, because there is still some doubt in the minds of the Regulators, both as to the ex ediency and fairness of the course Calhoun is inciting t em to take. Wtith a quick instinct the old hunter perceives the ad- van age he has gained, and presses it. “ i e the young fellur a fair trial,” urges he. “ Let‘s take him to the settlement, an‘ hev him tried thur. Ye've ot no clur proof that he’s had any band in the black izness; aii' durn me! if I’d behave it unless see’d it wi‘ in own eyes. I know how he feeled torst young Peiiit exter. Instead o’ bein‘ his enemy. thur ain’t a man on this ground bed more 0‘ a likin’ for him, Ego’ hp did hev a bit of shindy wi’ his precious cousin ur “You are perha s not aware, Mr. Stump," rejoins the Regulator Chic , in a calm voice. “of what we're just been hearing?” “ What hev ye een hearin'?" “Evidence to the contrary of what on assert. We have roof, not onl that there was blood between Geralg and young oindexter, but that a quarrel took place on the ve night—" “ Who sez tha , Sam Manly?" _ “I say it," answers Calhoun, stepping a little for- wa soastobeseenb Stum . “ you it air Mis r Cas Calhoun! You know thur war bs§d blood ateen ’em? Yon see’d the quarrel e s k 0’ “ y “ haven’t said that I saw it, Zeb Stump. And, what‘s more, 11’? not going to staléd any “grgfis-questgonli‘ng by you. ave given my evi ence ose w o ave a "igbt to hear it; and that’s enough. I think, gentlemen, iu’re satisfied as to the verdict. I don’t see why this d fool should interrufit—" “ Old fool !" echoes t e hunter, with a screech' “ old )01! H—l‘an’ herrlkens! Ye call me an ole foo ? By the stoma]! ye’ll live to take back that speech or my name ain’t Zeb’lon Stump, o‘ Kaintuc . o’er a mind, now; thur’s a time for every thin‘ an y’ur time may come, Mr. Cash Calhoun, sooner than ye suspecks it ‘ “ As for a. quarrel between Peintdexter an’ the young fellur hyur " continues Zeb, addres himself to the Regulator Chief, “ I don't believe a wor on’t; nor won‘t so lung’s thur’s no better proof than his palaverin‘. From what this chlle knOWs, it don’t stan’ to reezen. Ye say e’ve got new facks? So've I, too. Fapks I reck’n thet‘ll go a good way torst explicatin‘ 0 this mysteerus bizness, twisted u as it air." _ ‘ What facts?" demand the Regulator Chief. “ Let's hear them, Stump." “Thur‘s more than one. Fust place, what do you make out o’ the young fellur bein wownded hisself? I don‘t talk 0’ them scratches e see; I believe them‘s done by 00 oats that attacked , after they see‘d he war wown ed. But look at his knee. Somethin‘ else gun coyoats did that. What do you make 0’ it, a 9 “ ell that—some of the boys here think there’s been a strugg c between him and— ' “ Atween him and w 0?“. sharply interrogates Zeb. “Why, the man the. ’5 missing." “ Yes that’s he who we mean,” 5 ks one of the “ s’ refer-re to. “Weallknow t at Henry Poin- de rwouldn‘t ’a‘ stood to be shot down like a calf. They've had a tussle, and a fall among the rocks. That's what’s given him the swellin‘ in the knee. Be- sides that, there’s the mark of a blow u n his head —looks like it had been the butt of a isto . As for the scratches, we can‘t tell what‘s ma 6 them. Thorns ma be, or wolves if you like. That foolish fellow, of hisias a story about a t r;, but it won't do for us. “What fellur air ye ' 0‘? Yo mean Irish Phae- lum? Where air he?" “Stole away to save his carcass. We'll find him, as soon as we’ve settled this business; and I guess a little will draw the truth out of him.” “ 1 ye mean absent the tiger, ye’ll draw no, other trutliout'o’hlm than ye’ve ot a’ready. Iseed thet Varmint myself, an' wur jest n time to save the young fellrr from its claws. But thet ain’t the point. Ye ve had bolt o' the Irish, I s‘pose. Did he tell 0’ nothin eisr he see’d hyur?“ “ iie had a yarn about Indians. Who behaves it?”‘ “ Wal, he tolt me the same sto , and that looks like some truth in’t. Besides, he dec urs they wur playin‘ Lurds, an‘ hyur‘s the thin s themselves. Ifound ’m h flying scattered about the car 0’ the shanty. Spanish on 3 they are.” . Zeb draws the ack out of his pocket, and hands it over to the ator chief. . The cards, on emanatimisggrove to be of Mexican manufacture—such as are u in the universal game of manta—the queen upon horseback :‘cavallo"—the spade represented by a sword " ’—and the club ' baston ' bolized by the huge pavior-likeimple- merit, seensiz’inpicture-books in the grasp of hairy Or- n. 30 “Who heard of Comanches laying cards?” de- mands—hmlhohas scouted the evi ence about the In- , dians. . “Ridiculovis!” ) 1 for otten. Sheis recognized at the first glance. One Sam her interro ators had / 4’? had been twelve months a prisoner among the Coman- ches. “Ridiklus it may be; but it‘s true forall that. Many’s the game this coons see‘d them play, on a dressed burner-hide for their table. That same Mexi- kin montay too. I reckon the, ’ve l’arned it from thar Mexikin captives: of the Whic 1 they’ve got as good as three thousand in tliiir different tribes. Yes, sires!“ concludes the tra per. “ The Keyinanc Vees do play cards—sure as shootin’.” Zeb Stump is reiowed atthis bit of evidence, which is I more than he con (1 have given himself. It strengthens the case for the accused. The fact of there having been Indians in the neighborhood tendsto alter the aspect of afiairs in the minds of the Regulators—hitherto under the belief that the Comanches were maraudiiig only on the other side of the settlement. . “Sartin sure,” continues Zeb, pressin the oint in favor of an adJourninent of the trial, “ t iur’s eeii Iii- {inns h ur, or somethin‘ durned like— Great Geehoso- at! har’s she comin‘ from?" The cluttering of boots. borne down from the bluff, galutes the ear of everybody at the same instant of ime. No one needs to inquire what has caused Stump to give utterance to that abrupt .inten'ogatory. Along the top of the cliff, and closeto its edge, a horse is seen, oing at a glallop. There is a wpman—a lady—upon his ack, with at and hair streaming loosely behind her—— the string hindering the hat from being carried alto- gether away! So Wild is_ the gallop—so perilous from ts proximity to the precipice—you might suppose the horse to have run away With his rider. But no. You may tell that he has not by the actions of the eques- trian herself. She seems not satisfied with the pace: but with whi spur and voice keeps urging him to increase it! is plain to the spectators below; though they are puzzled and confused by her riding so close to the clifl. They stand in silent astonishment. Not that they are ignorant of who it is. It would be strange if they were. That woman equestrian—man- seate in the saddle—once seen was never more to be an all know the reckless galloper to be the guide— the prairie. CHAPTER LXV I. cmsso m' coumcnns. IT was Isidora who had thus strangely and'uuddenly shown herself. What was bringing her back? And why was she riding at such a erilous pace? To ex lain it we must return to that ark reverie from w ch she was startled by her encounter with the “ Tejanos." While galloping awa from the Alamo, she had not thought of looking bac , to ascertain whether she was followed. Absorbed in schemes of ven canoe, she had gone oil—Without even giving a glance ehind. It was ut slight comfort to her to reflect that Louise Poni- dexter had a peared determined upon parting from the jacale. Wit a woman’s intuitive quickness she sus- pected the cause' though she knew. too well, it was groundless. St' , there was some pleasure in the thought that her rival,li1gnorant of her happy fortune, was suffering like herse . There was a hope, too that the incident mi ht roduce estrangement in the heart of this proud reo e lady toward the man so conde- scendi 1y beloved; though it was faint, vague, scarce believ in by her who conceived it. Taking her own heart as a standard, she was not one to in much stress on the condescension of love' her own ' way; was proof of its leveling power. Still was there the on ht that her presence at the jacale had given ain, an might result in disaster to the happi- ness 0 her hated rival. Isidora had begun to dwell upon this with a sort of subdued pleasure; that continued unchecked, till the time of her renconter with the Texans. On turning back with these, her spirits underwent a change. The road to be taken by Louise should have been the same as that by which she had herself come. But no lady was upon it. The Creole must have changed her mind, and stayed by the jacale—was, Perhaps, at that very mo- ment performing the met er _ ISidora had so fondly traced out for herself! The belief that she was about to bring shameu n the woman who had brought ruin upon her was he thought that now consoled her. The questions put by Poindeigter and'his companions, sufficiently disclosed the situation. Still clearer was it made by the final interrogations of Calhoun; and, after assed away, she remained by the side of t e thicket— alf in doubt whether to ride on to Leona or go back and be the s ctator of a scene, that, by her own contrlvance. 00 d 508M363 fall to be enacting. She is u n the edge of the chaparral just inside the shadow o the timber. She is asti'ide her gray steed, that stands with spread notrils and dilated eye, gazing after the cavallada that has late parted from the spot— a single horseman in.the rear of the rest. Her horse might wonder wh he is thus ridden about; but he is used to sudden éangss in the Will of his capricious rider. She is looking in the same direction—toward the allmehuete ;— hose dark summit towers above the bluffs of the Alamo. She sees the searchers descend; and after them, the man who has so minutely questioned her. A; his new sinks below the level of the plain, she fancies herself will?“ fn m sh is mistaken. ‘ n e She renggig irresolute for a. time—ten—fifteen— twent minutes. Herythoughts are not to be envied. There is not much sweetness in the revenge she behaves herself instru. mental in having accomplished. If she has caused humiliation to the woman she hates, along With it she ruin upon the man whom she loves? passed, she cannot help loving may have brought Despite all that has iml “Santisaima Virng " she mutters with a fervent earn. estness. “What have I done? ’If these men—Log Regulations—the dreaded judges I ve heard of—if they should find him ilty. where may, it end? In his death! Mother of 0d! I do not desu'e that. Not by their hand—no, no! How wild their look and estures _stem_determinedl And when I pointed out t e way, how quickly they rode off. without further thought of me! 0 they have made up their minds. Don Mauricio to e! And hos stranger anion them, so have I'heard. ,Not of their country, or king-ed; o of the same race. Alone, frienqlegg en W! what am I from whom, scarce half-homage, theyhad parted upon um with man amiss. thinking, of? Is no he, who has Just left manthat cousin whom I’ve iieardspeuk? A?! in 1m! 0“! (w I ‘iicoistana the « l 4 cause of his questioning. His heart, like my own—111;» my own i“ She sits with her gaze bent over the open lain. The gray stood still frets under restraint, t o h tin cavallada has long since passed out of sl lit. s but responds to the spirit of his rider; which a knows to be vaciliating~chaili under some irresolution. ’fl’is the horse that rat discovers a da er or some- thing that scents of it. He proclaims t y a low, tremulous neigh as if to attract her attention; while his head, tossed back toward the chapari'a! shows that the enemy is to be looked for in that direct on. Who or what is it? Warned by the behavior of her steed, Isidore. faces to the thicket, and scans the nth by which she has lately passed throughit. It is t It) road, or trail, leadin to he Leona. Tia only open to the eye for a stra ht stretch of about two hundred yards. Be ond, it 9- comes screened by the bushes, through w (‘2: I 803 circuitously. , No one s seen upon lip-nothing save two Ur three lean coyotes, that skulk under e shadow of the trees! —scenting the shod tracks, in t e hope of flndin some scrap, that may have fallen from the hurrying orse~ men. It is not these that have caused the gra to show some excitement. He‘sess them; but who. of that? The prairie-wolf is a sight to him neither startling nor rare. There is something else—something he has either scented or heard. Isidora listens: for atime without hearing aught to alarm her. The howl-bark of, the jackal does not beget fear at any tune; much less'in the joy of daylight. She hears only this. Her thoughts again return to the “Tejanos "—cs )ecially to him who has last parted from her Side. eis speculating on the purpose of his earnest interrogation: when once more she is interrupted by the action of her horse. The animal shows impatience at being kept u n the spot; snutfs at the air; snorts; and, at eng h, ves ut- ' terance to a neigh, far louder than before! This time it is answered by several others from horses that up our to be going along the road—though still hidden be ind the trees. Their hoof-strokes are heard at the sate e. But not after. The strange horses have either stop short, or gone off at a gentle pace making no name! Isidora conjectures the former. She believes the horses to be ridden; and that their riders have checked them u on hearing the neiin of her own. She uiets m, and listens. A humming heard rough the trees. Though indistinct, it can be told to be the sound of men’s vo ces—holdin a conversation in a low muttered tone. Presently it and the chaparral is again silent. The horsemen who- ever they are, continue halted—perha s hesitatii to advance. Isidora is scarce astonishc at this, an not much alarmed. Some travelers, perha s, en route for the Rio Grande—or it ma be some 5 ragglers from the Texan troop—who, on caring a horse neigh, have swapped from an instinct of precaution. - It is only nat- ur —at a time, when Indians are known to be on the war-path. Equally natural, that she should be cau- tious about encounteringl the strangers—whoever they may be; and, with this t ought she rides softly to one side—placing herself and her horse under cover of 3. ~ mezth tree; where she again sits listening. , No long, before discov that the horsemen have commenced advancing tows. her—not alon the trav- but through the thicket! And not other, but as if they had separated, and were endea to accomplish a surround! She can tell th by hearing the hoof-strokes indif- ferent directions: goififi gently but evidently diverge from each other; w e the riders are reserving a grofound silence, ominous either of c ng or can- , on—perhaps of evil intent? I , They may have discovered her tion? The n 1!. ing 0 her steed has betrayed it They may be ri ’ ’ toget round her—in order to advance from difleren , . sides, and make sure of her capture? How is she to know that their intent is not hostile? - She has enemies—one well remembered—Don Miguel Diaz. Besides there are the Comanches—to be dis trusted at all times, and now—no longer an . She ha us to feel alann. It has been long in using: but the \ havior of the unseen horsemen is at t suspicious. Ordi travelers would have continued along the trail. ese are sneaking through the chapan‘al. ‘ . She looks around her, scanning her place of coch ment. She examines only to distrust. The thin feath- , ery frondage of the mez uit will not screen her .. an eye passing near. T e hoof-strokes tell her that- more than one cavalier is coming that way. She must " soon be discovered. At the thought, she strikes the spur into her horse’s silde, utilid glint tfrotm th? tthistlet. Thenpmiiill ma - aongiera eroson no e0 11 . extends toward the Alamo. Her inten on is to so two . or three hundred 'ards—beyond range of arrow or bul- ' let-then halt, on '1 she can discover the character 0 those who are advancing—whether friends, orvto he feared. If the latter, she will trust to the speed of gallant gray to carry her on to To anos.” She does not make She is hindered by the horsemen, at that moment seen - ' bursting forth from among the bushes, simultaneously with each other and almost as soon as herself i They , spring out at different points; and. in 601"”st lines, ride rapidly toward her! , . A glance shows them to be men of bronze-colored , and half-naked bodies—with red t on their faces, and scarlet feathers sticking up on of their hair.’ “ ml" m calla mutteis the Mexican, as, drivii the rowels against is ribs of her steed, she goes 0 at full gallop for the allmeh'ueta. A uick glance behind shows her sh: enoug she knows it Without that. her more—that the pursuit is close and earnest—so earnest that the Indians, contrary to their usual c113. tom, do not yell / . ‘ Their silence speaks of a determination to cfipture Klan already preconcarted! , ttle fear 0 an encounter with the ’ red rovers of the prairie. For years have they been . en paz, both with ’lexans and Mexicans' and the only ‘ r to be dreaded from them was a ttle “Idem . , when under the influence of drink—just as gain in is pursued, glance toils. 1 her' and as if by a to she has had but civilizediite,maydislikeu national-road, crowd of “navififtors,” wigsohave begn spending day at the beer- ouse. Isidore ad gassed ugh a or this kind,andremeinbers with less , V , fig; _ t of thepe than-the ‘1‘.” hinged ‘Bu her danger-is erentnow. Them 15' Thersiswaru nthemind-Herpurs , no rink)le with the tire-water of ( ‘ v ' : ! eccmes hushed, ,' the protection of it?" -' , intended halt. - tum- ‘ ' i 7 i i Vi“ foes. They are thirst for blood; and she flies to escape not only dishonor ut it may be death! 0n, over that open plain with all the speed she can take out of her horse—all that whip. and spur, and voice can accom lish. . She alone 8 Her pursuers are vmceless—silent as specters. Only once does she glance behind. There are still but four of them; but our is too many against one- aiid that one a woman. There isno hope, unless she can get within hail of the Texans. She presses on for the allmehuete. CHAPTER LXVII. Los INDIOSI As if in answer to the exclamation of the old hunter —or rather to the interrogatory with which he has fol- lowed it u omes the er of the strange equestrian who has wn herself on t e cliff. “Loo Indian! Lou Indias!" No one who has spent three days in Southern Texas could mistake the meaning of that phrase—whatever his native tongue. It is the alann-cry which, for three hundred years, has been heard alo three thousand inibs of frontier, in three different es—“ lies Indiensi Los Indios! The Indians!" , Dull would be the ear, slow the intellect. that did not at once comprehend it, along with the sense of its asso- ciated danger. To those who hear it at the jacale it needs no translation. They know that she, who has given utterance to it, is pursued by‘Indians—as certain as if the fact had been announced in their own Saxon vernacular. They had scarce time to translate it into this—even in thought—when the same voice a second time salutes their ears: “Te'anos! Cavalieros! Save mel save me! Los Indios! am chased by a troop. They are behind nie—close—CIW" Her speech, though continued, is no longer heard distinctly. It is no longer required to explain what is p upon the plain above. She has cleared the first clump of tree-tops by scarce twenty yards, when the ' savage shoots out from the same cover, and is seen, going in full gallop against the clear sky. Like a sling he spins the lazo—loop around his head. So eager is he to throw it with sure aim that he does not appear to take heed of what the fzug'itive has said— spoken as she went at full speed; for she made no stop while calling out to the. “Tejanos.” He may fancy it has been addressed to himself—a final appeal for mercy ut red in a language he does not understand; for ora Spoken in English. He is only un eceived as the sharp crack of a rifle comes ech ' out of the glen—or perhaps a little sooner, as a st sensation in his wrist causes him to let go his lazo, and look wonderineg for the why! beIlie perceives a pull of sulphurous smoke rising from ow. A single glance is suflicient to cause a change in his tactics. In that glance he beholds a hundred men, with the gleam of a hundred gun-barrels! . His three followers see them at the same time; and as if moved by the same impulse. all four. turn in their zracks, and gallop away from the clii! quite as quickly aa‘thley mVfibetggapproacAhigg it. ur a y says ' e Stump, proceeding load his 3116. “If ’t hedn‘t been for the savin’ 0’ her, i’d 'a’ let ’em come on down the gully. Ef we ked ’a captured we mout ’a' ct somethin' out o’ 'em consarnin this queer case 0 our’n. Thur ain't the smell 0’ a chance now. It‘s clur they‘ve good off; an' by the time we git up yonder, they’ll be hellurd." The sight of the savages has produced another quick change m,tlie tableau formed in front of the mustang- cr’s hut—a change equally sudden in the thou hts of those who compose it. The majority who eemed Maurice Go a murderer has become transformed into a minority; while those who believed him innocent are new the men whose opinions are respected. Cal- houn and his bullies are no longer masters of the situa- tion; and on the motion of their chief, the Regulator J is adjourned. The new programme is cast in gen le-quick time. A score of words suffice to describe it. The accused is to be carried to the settlement— there to be tried according to the law of the land. And now for the Indians—whose op )ortune appearance has caused this sudden change, bot ol' sentiment and de- Are they to be pursued? That of course. But when? Upon the instant? Prudence say no. Only four have been seen. But these are not 'kelyto be alone. They may be the rear-guard of four hundred. “Let us wait till the woman comes down,” counsels one of the timid. “They hove not followed her an further. I think I can hear her riding this way through the galldy. Of course she knows it—as it was she who direc us. " ‘ to re- .The suggestion appears seu$ble . to most upon the ground. the are not cowards. Still there are but few of them who ve encountered the Wild Indian in actu- al strife; and many only know his more debased breth- ren in the way of trade. The advice is adopted. They stand waiting the a preach of ISidora. All are now by eir homes; and some have sought shelter among the trees. There are those who have an a; ‘l'JllBllSlOfl that along with the Meincan, or close a.. r her. may still come a troop of Comanches. a few are otherwise occupied—Zeb Stump sum the number. He takes the gag from between the tee h of the resle prisoner, and unties the thongs hitherto ' holding him too fast. There is one who watches him with a strange inter- est, but takes no part in the proceeding. Her art has ise been ahead played—- rhaps too prominent y. She shunstherls’ ofappear furthercons icuous. Where is the niece of Don Silvio Martinez? 8 c has not yet , (.0!!!) upon the ground! The stroke of her horse’s hoof is no longer board! There has been time~more than Lime—for her to ‘have reached the jacale! Hex-Incu- r. peamnce crea es s rise—a rehension—a arm. There are men there whlgpadmire ‘33.. Mexican maiden ‘ ~1H5n0t strange the! should—some who have seen her before and some who never saw her until that da . Can it be that she has been overtaken and capture f " The interrogatory passes round. No one can answer it; though all are interested in the answer. The Texans mething like shame. Their gallantry edtointhatspeechsentthem romthe Tejanosl Cavalieros!" Ens she who addressedjt succumbed to the pursuerf II that beenieous form in the embraceof apaintrbe- half-mad with disappointment; for there were several— WWW}... um intent-m with pulses that h, and hem throbbing wi a keen anxiety. The New York Library. They listen in vain. There is no sound of hoof—no voice of woman—nothing, except the chem ing of bitts heard close by their side! Can it he that s '8]? taken? Now that the darker design is stifled Within their breasts the hostility against one of their own race is suddenly changed into a more congenial channel. Their vengeance, rekindled, burns flercer than ever-— since it is directed against the hereditary foe. The younger and more ai'dent—ainon whom are the admirers of the Mexican maiden—can ear the uncer- tainty no longer. They spring into their saddles, loudly declaring their determination to seek her—to save her, or rish in the attempt. o is to gainsaK them? Her pursuers—her captors perhaps—ma be t 6 very men they have been in search of—the inur erers of Henry Poindexterl No one o - poses their intent. They go ed: in search of Isidora—in ursuit of the rairie pirates. Those who remain are gut few in num 1'; though Zeb Stump is among them. The old hunter is silent as tothe expediency of pur- suing the Indians. He kee s his thoughts. to himself; his only seeming care is to ook after t e invalid pris- oner—still unconscious—still guarded by the Regulators. Zeb is not the only friend who remains true to the mustan er in his hour of distress. There are two others equally aithful. One a fair creature, who watches at a distance, careful! concealing the eager interest that consumes her. he othei, a rude, almost ludicrous individual, who, close by his side, addresses. the respited man as his “masther.” The last is Phehm. who has just descended from his lperch among the paramtes of an umbrageous oak—W ere he has for some time stayed—a silent spectator of all that has been tran- spiring. The change of situation has tempted him back to earth, and thogn‘formance of that duty for which he came across the lantic. N 0 longer lies ourscene upon the Alamo. In another hour the jacale is deserted— fie‘rhaps never more to extend its protecting roof over urice the inustanger. The chased equestrian is with- in three hundred yards of the bluff over which the tree towers. She once more lances be 'nd her. “ Dias me ampare /" ( d preserve me.) The foremost of her piirsuers has lifted the lazo from his saddle-horn; he is winding it over his head! Before she can reach the head of the pass, the noose will be around her neck, and then— And then a sudden thought flashes into her mind—a thought that promises escape from the threatened strangulation. The clifi that overlooks the Alamo is nearer than the gorge, by which the creek-bottom must be reached. She remembers that its crest is visible from the jacale. With a quick jerk Bufon the rein. slie dive es from her course' and, hints of oin on for the Imehueie, she rides directly toward t e b ufl. The change puzzles her pursuers—at the same time giving them ratiflca< tion. The well know the “lay ‘ of the la They understan the trending of the cliff; and are new con- fident of a capture. The leader takes a. fresh hold of his lazo, to make sure of the throw. He is only restrain- ed from launching it by the certaint she can not es- cape. “ Uhingarol" mutters he to mself “ if she goes much further, she’ll be over the precip ce." His reflection is false She goes further, but not over the recifiziice. With another quick pull upon the rein, she as ~ aged her course, and rides along the edge of it— so close as to attract the attention of the “ Tejanos “ be- low, and elicit from Zeb Stump that quaint exclama- tion — only heard upon extraordinary occasions — “Great G osofatl" CHAPTER LXVIII. m DISAPPOINTED cmuciviins. TEE campai n against the Comanches raved one of the shortest— ing only three or four a s. It was discovered that these Ishmaelites of the est did not mean war—at least on a grand scale. Their descent upon the settlemen was on the freak of some young fellows, about to take out the r degrees as braves, desir- ous of slgnalizing the event by "raising" a few scalps, and captan some horses and horned cattle. Forays of his kind are not unfrequent among the Texan Indians. They are made on private account— often without the knowled e of the chief or elders of the tribe—just as an ambi ous young mid, or ensign, may steal off with a score of companions from squadron or camp, to cut out an enemy‘s craft. or capture his picket guard. These maraude are usually1 made by young ndinns out on a hunt! party w 0 wish to return home with minething to s ow besides the spoils of the chase; and the majority of the tribe is oiten ig- norant of them till ion after the event. Otherwise the might be interdic b the elders; who, as a gen- e thlng. are averse to sue filibusterim] expeditions— deeming them not only imprudent, but often injurious to the interests of the community. Only when suc- cessful are they applauded. On the present occasion several young Comanches had taken out their war-diploma, by carrying k with them the scalps of a number of white women and boys. The homes and horned cattle were also collected; but these being less convenient of transport than the li ht sca! locks, had been recaptured. he re -skinned filibusters, overtaken by a detach- ment of Mounted Rifles among the hills of the San 8a were com lied to abandon their four-footed booty, an on] save their own skins by a forced retreat into the ins ness of the “Llano Estacado.” To follow them beyond the borders .0: this. sterile tract would have required a communal less hastily established than that with which the troops had sallied forth, and althou hgthe relatives of the seal ed settlers clamored loudly or retaliation, it could on y be prom- d them after due time and reparation. On discovering that the omanches had retreated beyond their neutral ground the soldiers. of Uncle Sam had no choice but to return to their ordinary duties— each detachment to its own fort—to await further oom- mands from the headquarters of the “ department." The troops belonging to Fort Inge—intrusted with the guardianship of the country as far as the Rio Nueces— were iiqu on etting back to their cantonment to discover t they d been riding in a Wron direction for an encounter with the Indians! Some of em were younglmincock among the number—who had not yet run_ t eir swords through a red-skin, though keenly demrous of doing so! No doubt there is inhumanity in the idea. But it must be remembered that these ruthless sav as have Sven to the white man peculiar invocation, by a ousand repetitions of three diabo cal 011111. 89—1196, n he “‘clifnil‘ieriirelrieing the 0 aberlgines of the country— thoreal. but dispossessed. mmofthesoikisaimple ‘ 1V3? ,1: nonsense. This sophism, of the most spurious kind, has too long held dominion over the minds of men. The whole human race an inherent right to the whole surface of the earth; and if any infinitesimal fraction of the former by chance finds itself idl roam- ing over an extended portion of the latter, the r exclu- sive claim to it is almost too absurd for argument—7 even with the narrowest-minded disciple of an abori- gine society. I . Admit it—give the hunter his half-dozen sounre miles —for he will require that much to maintain ' —lcave him in undisputed possesSion to all eternity—and mil- lions of fertile acres must remain untilled, to accommo- date the whimsical theory of national right. Na . I will go further, and risk reproach, by asserting: hat notion] the savage so called, but civilized people should be unreservediy dispossessed—whenever they show themselves incaplable of turnin toa good account fibelresources which ature has p ed within their ml 5. The exploitation of Earth’s treasures is a uestion not confined to nations. It concerns the who e family of mankind. ‘ In all this there is not one iota of agrarian doctrine— not a thought of it. He who makes these remarks is the last man to lend countenance to communism. It is true that, at the time s ken of, there were ruflians in Texas who held the ‘ e of a red-skin at no higher value than an English gamekeeper does that of a stout, or any other vermin, that trespasses on his reserves. No doubt these rufflans are there still; for en years can not have effected much change in the morality of the Texan frontier. But, alas! we must now be a little cautious about calling names. Our own story of Jamaica—by heaven! the blackest that has blotted the pages of his cry—has whitewashed these border filibth to the seeming purith of mow! . , If hinge are to be Judged by comparison, not so fiendish then, need appear the fact, that the youn offi- cers of Fort Inge were some httle chagrined at no hav- ing an opportunit to slay a score of red-skins. On learning at, du rig their absence, Indians had been geen on Tflhe otliefi‘t sidtehtl‘iethere b fla new 0 . e mig ye n cup 11 yo eshing thgi?‘ sword}; translported without sggin—without sharp- ening. too—from t 8 military school of West Point. It was a fresh disappointment to them, when a party came in on the same day—c1v1hans who had gone in pursuit of the save. es seen on the Alamo—and report- ed: that no Indians ad been there. They came provided With roofs of their statement, which otherWise would have een received with incred- ulit considering what had occurred. The proofs consisted in a collection of miscellaneous articles—an odd lot, as an auctioneer would describe it —wigs of horse-hair, cocks’ feathers stained bliie, green. or scarlet, breech-clouts of buck-skin, moccasins of the [same material and several ack es of int all of which they had found conc ed in e ca ty of a cottonwood tree! ‘ There could be no new cam ' against Indians; and the aspiring s hits of Fort ge were, for the time, forced to content hemselves with such incldentsas the situation afforded. _Notwithstanding its remoteness from any center of civilized life. these were at the time neither tame nor uniiitei-est . There were several subjects worth thinking-din talking about. There was the arrival, of recent date, of the most beautiful woman ever seen upon the Alamo; the mysterious disappearance and supposed assassination of her brother; the yet more mysterious appearance of a horseman without a head; the trite etc of a party of white men “playing Indian'" and , theieigh not of least interest, the news that the suspect murderer had been caught, and was now within the walls of their own guard-house —mad as a maniac ~ There were other tales told to the disappointed cm paigners— of sufilclent interest to hinder them from hinking: that at Fort e the had returned to dull quarters. The name of dora varubio de los Llan- os—with her masculine but magnificent beauty—had become a theme of conversation, and somethin was also said, or surmised, about her connection wl the mysteiéy that occupied all min‘ ds. he etails of the strange scenes upon the Alamo— the discovery of the mustanger upon his couch—the determination to hang him—the act delayed by the lib tervention of Louise oindexter—the respite due to the courage of Zeb Stump—were all points ,of the in t pi uant interest—suggestive of the wildest conject ach became in turn the subject of remark and com- mentary, but none was th more earnest- ness than that which related to the innocence or guilt of the man accused of murder. “ Murder," said the philosophic Ca tain Sloman. “ is a crime which in my opinion Man co the mustan r is incapable of committing. I think I know the f ow well enough to be ure about that." “You‘ll admit," rejoined Crossman of the Rifles, “that the circumstances are strong against him f Al- most conclusive, I should say." man never felt friendly toward the young Irishman. He had an idea that on one occasion the commissa ‘s niece—the belle of the fort—had looked too smili y on the unknown adventurer. “ I co or it anything but conclusive," replied Slo- man. “There‘s no doubt about young Poindexter being dead, and having been murdered. Every one believes that. Well, who else was likely to have done it) The cousin swears to having overheard a quarrel between hiFlr‘iini Gmim'" in uid - 8. rec ous can we swear to an hi than suited his) u se 'f Eiterposed Hancock, 3? thus: Dra- goons. “ , esi es, his own shindy with the man is sug- gestiveloé :Espicion, is it not i" ‘ n ere wait a quarrel,” ar ed the officer oi; infantry,‘ “what then? It don‘t fallow there wall a mur'i‘iler. t “ en en ' th fell killed? deg? mg... fig..." ° °" wing; - - “W “ me hin‘ g of the sort is even I!) able. I will admit that much.Road p b. But what did they have a ditflculty about?" asked en Hancock. “I heard that Poindexter was on fri dly terms with the horse-hunter. notwithstanding what ha pened between him and Calhoun. What could D theyA have unrfleled unfit?”- . “e ‘ ‘ terroga on on your utenan Hancock!" answered the infantry o oer, with a sh- nificant em on the pronoun. “As if men over quarreled a t anything except—' ; h“Except women. ’ interrupted the dracoon. with! I No. 8. “ But which woman, I wonder? It could not be any- t'nin relating to young Pointlexter‘s sister?“ “ ten who?“ answered Sloniaii, repeating the S an- ish p use with an ambiguous shrug of the shonl ers. “Preposterousi” exclaimed Cmssinun. “A horse- catcher daring to set his thoughts on Miss Poindextt-ri Pro osterousl ' "QVhat a frightful aristocrat you are, Crossmnnl Don’t you know that love is a natural democrat, and mocks your artificial ideas of distinction? I don't say that in this case there‘s been anythin of the kiin . Miss Pointlexter‘s not the only woman .w i0 might have caused a quarrel between the two indiViduals in ques- tion. There are other damsels in the settlement worth getting angry about—to say nothing of our own fol- lowng in the fort; and why not—" “Captain Slouian," petulantly interrupted the lie“- tenant of Rifles, “I must say that, for a man of your sense, you talk very ineonsidcrately. The ladies of the garrison ought to be grateful to you for the insinu- ation.“ “ What insinuation, sir?" "Do you suppose it hkely that there‘s one of them would condescend to speak to the person you‘ve named?“ “Which? I've named two.“ “You understand me well enough, Sloman; and I you. Our ladies will, no doubt, feel highly compliment, 9d at having their names connected with that of a low adventurer, a horse-thief, and suspected assassin t" “ Maurice the mustangi-r may be the hist—suspected, and that is all. He is neither of the two tirst; and as for our ladies being above speech with him, in that as in many other things. you may be mistaken, Mr. Cross- man. I‘ve seen more of this young Irishman than you —en0ugh to satisfy me that so far as breedim goes, he may compare notes with the best of as. ur grand The Headless Horseman. “ Madl In what wa Y" asked Hancock and the others, 1 who were but half en ightened about the circumstances of the niustanger's capture. “ A brain fever upon him—delirious!“ i “Is that why the 'uards have been doubled? Devil— ‘ ish (liueer if it is. T ie major himself must have gone ‘ mm 1" “ Maybe it's the suggestion—command rather say—of the iiiajort-ss. Hal ha! hal" “What doav it mean? Is the old major really afraid of his getting out of the guanl-housc?" " No—not that, I fancy. More likely an apprehension of somebody else getting into it." “ Ah! you mean that“‘ “ I mean that for Maurico the mustangcr there‘s more safety inside than out. Some (llli'cl‘ characters are about; and there's been talk of another Lynch trial. ‘ The Regulators either re ent of having allowed him a i mspite' or there s some iody hard at work in bringing about this state of nblic o iiiioii. It‘sluckay for him that the old hunter as stoo his friend; and it‘s but a continuation of his good luck that we've returned so ogportunely. Another day, and we might have found t e guard-house (-iiiiity—so far as its present occupants are concerned. how, thank God! the poor fellow shall have a fair trial.“ “ When is it to take place?" “Whenever he has recovered his senses, sufficiently to know that he‘s being tried.“ “ It ma be weeks before that.“ “And i may be only do .s—hours. lie don‘t appear to be very bad—that is, b0( iLy. It‘s his mind that 1-: out of order—more, perhaps from some strange trouble that has come over him, t ian any serious hurt he has received. A day may make al the differeiice- and from what I‘ve Just heard, the Regulators will his st on I should ‘ his being tried as soon as he shows a retiu-n to con- from room to room, or around this inclosed corridor-— bendln beneath a weight of Woe, that has broken down h s ride and threatens to break his heart. Even strong a rm aflection, cruelly bereaved, can scar“ accoun for the groans, oft accompanied b muttered curses, that are ieard to issue from his lips Calhoun rides abroad as of yore; making his ap v once only at the hours of eating and sleeping, and not regularly then. or a whole day, and part of a night, he has been ab sent from the place. No one knows where; no one has the right to inquire. Louise continua herself to her room, thou h not con- tinuously. 'lliero are times when she may win-en as- cending to the azotea—alone and in silent meditation. There, nearer to Heaven, she seeks solace for the son rows that have assailed her upon Earth—the loss of a beloved brother—the fear of losing one far more be loved though in adifl'erent st-nse— *i'haps a little also, the thought of a scandal alreadlyL att to her name. of these three sorrows the second is the stro est. The last butiittle troubles her; and the first, for :tghile keenly felt, is gradually growing calmer. But the second—the su ireme pain of all-is but strengthened and iiiteiisifle by tiiiiel She knows that Maurice Gerald is shut up in a prison —the stron r walls of a milltar guard-house. It is nott nsir stren tli that (fismays her. On the con- trary, she has fears or their woakiiessl She has reason for her apprehension. She has heard of the rumors that are abroad: nimom of sinister sig- niiicance. She has heard talk of a second trial, under the presidency of Judge Lynch and his rude coadiutora -not the same Judge Lynch who oillciated in the Alamo, nor all of the same jury; but a court still less scrupulous than that of the Regulators, composed of HE WAS NO LONGER WALKING UPON THE domes needn‘t be scared at the thought of his ac unint- ance; and, since you have raised the question, don't think they would shy from it—some of them at least— if it were offeaed them. It never has. So far as I have observed, the young fellow has behaved with a modesty that betokous the true gentleman. I have seen him in their presence more than once and he has con- ducted himself toward them as if ful sensible of his position. For that matter, I don‘t. t k he cares a. straw about one or other of them." “ Indeedl How fortunate for those who might other- wise have been his rivalsi" “ Perhaps it is," quietly remarked the captain of in- hatry. "‘ Who knows?“ asked Hancock, intentionally giving a turn to the ticklish conversation, “ who knows but the cause of the quarrel—if there‘s been one—might be this splendid senorita so much talked about? I haven‘t seen her myself; but by all accounts, she‘s just the sort to make two follows as jealous as a ir of tiger-cats." “It might be—who knows?" draw ed Crossinan, who found contentment in the thought that the handsome Irishman might have his amorous thoughts turned in any other direction than toward the commissary quar- tors. “The ‘ve ot him in the guard-house," remarked Hancoc sta ing a fact that had Just been made known to him; or the conversation above detailed occurred shortly after their return from the Comanche campaign. “ His droll devil of a serving-man is along with him. What‘s more the major has issued an order to double theguardi i: does it mean. Captain Slomau— on who know so much about this fellow and his am: rs? Surely, there’s no er of his an attempt to steal out of his prison " ‘ “ Not like] ,‘ re a. the infantry officer. ‘seeing that he hasn t the htost idea that he‘s inside of one. I‘ve just been to the guard-house to have a look at him. He's mad as a March hare. and wouldn’t know his own hes in a looking-glass." GROUND BUT AGAINST THE SKY, 80m sonar; AND man in AN INVERTED rosrriox—Page 56. sciousness. They say they Won't wait for him to re- v cover from his wounds 1" “ Maybe he‘ll beable to tell a story that‘ll clear him. I hope so.“ This was said by Hancock. “ I doubt it " rejoined Crossmsn, with an incredulous shake of the e . “Nam vermin /" " I am sure or it," said Bloman. “ Noun W f H be added, speaking in a tone that seemed founded lessi plpon lfoniitience than a wish was father to the oug t. CEAPI‘EB LXIX. le’l‘mY Aim Home. Terms is mourning in the mansion of Casa del 00m, and mystery among the members of Woodiey Poin- dexter s family. ’I‘bo h now 0 three in number, their intercourse is less requent an before. and marked by a degree of reserve that must spring from some deep-seated cause. The meet only at the hour of meals—then convers cal 05;. such topics as cannot well be shunned. mg There is am e explanation of the sorrow. and much of the solemn ty. The death—no longer doubled-0f an only son—an only brother—unex ted and still unexplained—should Sicotilnt for the me ncholy mien both of father and for Iltlgmight also explain the shadow seated constantly on the brow of the cousin. But there is something be 0nd this~ Each 3}, to act with an irksome restr t in the presence of the others—even during the rare occasions, on which it be. 0011199 '1 to converse 0n the family misfortunel Beside the sorrow common to all three, they appear- toihaye separate griefs that do not, and mot, com- m ng e. The once proud planter stays with bur-pains the ruil‘ianism, that at any hourcan be collected within the bounds of a border settlement—especially when proximate to a military post. The re rts that have thus one abroad are to some ssubjec of surprise. Modem pie see no reason why the prisoner should be ag i brought to trial in that irregular way. The facts, that have already come to light. do not alter the case—at least, in any way to strengthen the testimon against him. If the our horsemen seen were not Inde this has been clearly shown by the discovery of the dis- guises—it is not be less likely that thegiave had todo with the death of young Poindexter. sides, there is nothing to connec them with the mustanger, any mon than if they had been real Comanches. Why, then, this antipathy against the resle pris- oner. for the second time surging u i There is a strangleness about t 6 thing that perplexen many p 0. ere are a ew that understand, or suspect the cause. A very few; perhaps onl three individuals. Two of them are Zeb tum and Louise Poindexter; the third Captain Cassius Cal oun. The old hunter, with instinct keenly on the alert. has discovered some underhanded action—the actors being ill el Diaz and his men associated with a half-score of ow characters of a different race—the “rowdies” of the settlement. Zeb has traced the action to its insti- gator~the captain of volunteer cav . He has communicated his discovery to the 70 Creole, who is equal to the understandlwof It. I‘tnig the too clear comprehension of its truth that now in‘ spires her with a keen solicltude. Anxioust she awaits every word of news—watches the road leading from the fort to Casa del Corvo, as if the sentence of her own death, or the security of her life. hung upon the lips of some courier to come that "s: - duo not show bond! at the prison. Theron. V have somethin’ In." a me to give you something be hain‘tdrew greath yet, since I kim in. Y'ur second . questyun war when. -i.~ n ‘1 1- soldiers Ward, and spectators around it—a crowd of the idle 0 ans, who, in all countries, seem to feel some sort of somber enjoyment in the proximity of those who have eommitte great crimes. There is an additional pi uancy in the circumstances ‘ of this one. The criminal s insane; or, at alievents, ! for the time out of his senses. ‘ The guard-house doors are at all hours besieged—to “ the great discomfort of the sentries~by people eager to listen to the mutterings of the delirious man. A lady could not pass in without having scores of eyes turned inquiringly upon her. Lomsed‘oindexlter can not run the‘ gantiet of those looks Without risk to her repu- , tat on. ' . Left to herself, \rhaps she would have attempted ‘ it. Watched by a athcr whose suspicions are already awakened; by a near relation, equally interested in , erving her spotless, before the eyes of the world— i c has no 0 portunity for the act of imprudence. She can 0 y stay at home; now shut up in her soli- chamber, solaced by the remembrance of those airings to which she had listened upon the AlamO' ‘ now upon the azotea. cheered by the recollection of 1 that sweet time spent among the mesquite trees, the spot itself almost discernible, where she had surren- ered the proudest passion of her heart; but saddened by the thought that he to whom she surrendered it is now humiliated —disgraced—shut up within the walls gin flail—vperchance to be delivered from it only unto at i To her it was happy tidings, wheat:I u _ n the mom- ing of the fourth da ', Zeb Stump in e appearance at Casadel Corvo ringing the mtelh cues that the “hoes sogers hed in back to the fort.’ There was significance in the news thus ungram- matically imparted. There was no longer a danger of the perpetration of that foul act hitherto apprehended; museum taken from his guards, not for rescue, but 11. “Ye needn‘t be uneezy ’beout thet 'ere ewent," said Zeb, speaking with a confidence he had not shown for some time. "l‘hur's no longer a danger 0‘ it comin‘ to Wm Lewaze. I’ve tuk precaushins ag‘in’ it.” “ cautions! How, Zeb?" “Wal; fust place, I‘ve see‘d the major close arter his comin’ back, an‘ gi’ed him a bit 0’ my mind. B good luck he ain’t ag’in‘ the young fellur, but the t’ot er way, I reck‘n. Wal, I tolt him 0‘ the goin’s on o' the hul crew —Amerikins, Mexikins, an' all 0‘ them—not forgettin‘ the ugl Spanyard 0" the name 0' Dee-e2, thet‘s been one o t e sarciest o‘ the lot. The ree-sult's been thet the major hez doubled the sentries roun‘ the prison, an’s goin' to keep 'em doubled." “ I am so glad You think there is no longer fear from that quarter?" “ If you mean the quarter 0' Mister Migooel Dee-oz, I kin sw‘ar to it.’ More he thinks o' gittin myb‘dy else out 0' prison he's got to git hisself out.“ “ What? l’)iaz in prison! How? When? .Where?” i‘ You've asked three seprit quest Miss Lewaze, all 0' a heap. Wal, I reck‘n the conveenientest way to answer ‘em ’ll be to take ‘em backui'ds. An‘ fast as to the whar: As to thet, ' thur‘s but one prison in these parts, as ’ud be like! to hold him. Thet is the guani- ouse at the fort. e's thur.” “ Along with—" Said ' maid to Withdraw, “ why have the The New York Library“ CHAPTER. LXX. 90, Zn. AND eon srsnn YOUi Tm: old hunter never did things in ahurry. Evenhis style of drinking was not an exce tion; and although there was no time wasted, he qu ed the Monongahela ina formal leisurel manner. The Cree e, im )at eat to hear what he had to relate, did not wait for ‘m to resume speech. “Tell me dear Zeb " sho, after directiirr her _ arrested this Mexi- can—Miguel Diaz, I mean? I thi I know something of the man. I have reasons.“ “An' you ain‘t the only person may hev reezens for knowin‘ Mm, Miss Lewaze. Y‘ur brother—but never mind ‘beout that—leastways not now. What Zeb Stump do know, or strongly surspect air. thet this same-mention'hi )Iigooel Dee-e2 he's had somethin’ to do wi‘-— You know what I’m retarrin" to ?“ “(Jo on. Mr. Stump!" “Wal, the story air this. Arter we kim from the Alamo Crick, the fellurs that went in s‘arch 0‘ them Injuns, foun out the wa‘n’t In‘uns at all. Ye hev beam that y‘urself. m the t ' ‘s that were dis- kevered in the holler tree. it air cl'ar that what we see‘d on the bluff war a part 0‘ whites. I bed a sur- spishun o‘t myself—soon as see'd them curds they’d left ahint ’em in the shanty." "‘It was the same then. who visited the jacale at ht—the same Phe saw?" ‘Ne‘er a doubt o‘ it. Them same Mexikins." “W‘l'iat reason have you to think they were Mexi- “The best 0' all reezuns. I foun‘ _ out to be; traced the hull kit 0‘ ‘em to thur cache.” The young Creole made no rejoinder. Zeb's story romised a revelation that might be favorable to her “pipes. She stood resignedly waiting for him to con- ue. “ Ye see, the curds. and also some words, the which the Irish war able to sort 0’ peniounce, arter a fashun 0‘ hlsown, tolt me they must a’ been 0’ the eller-belly breed- and sartlnt ’bout that much I war a is to gi‘e a tol'abie ess as to where they hed him from. I know‘d can! 0‘ t e Mexikins 0' those to think 0’ four as answered thar description toa . Asto the Injun duds, thar wam‘t nuthin‘ in them to bamboozle me. Arter- this I ked ’a’ gone str ' ht to the hull four tellers, an‘ ‘inted ‘em out for sart n. One 0’ ’em for sure sart‘n. n him I‘d made my mark. I war confident o‘ bavin‘ did thet." . “ Your mark! How, Zeb?" “ You remember the shot I tired from the .door 0‘ the shantgv?" “ O , certainly! I did not see the Indians. I was un- der the trees at the time. Isaw you discharge your ride at something.“ “ Wal, Miss Lawaze; this hyur coon don‘t often dis- churge thet thur weapon without drawin’ blood. I knowcd I hit the skunk; but it war rather fur for the carry 0‘ the ' iece an’ I reckoned the ball war a bit spent. F’r that, I know‘d it must ‘a’ stung him. I see‘d him s uirm to the shothan’ I says to myself: El thur ain‘t a ole through his ide somewhar. this coon won't mind changing skins wi‘ him. Vial, arter they kim home wi‘ the story 0’ whites instead 0 red-skins, had a tol‘able clur idce who the sham Injuns war, an’ “ I know who ye’re goin' to name—the young fellur. Jest so. They‘re in the same buildin’, tho’ not ‘xactly , in the same room. Thur’s purtition atween ’em; tho‘ 1 for thet matter they kin converse. ef they’re so in- : Thor's three others shet up along Wi‘ the his own cussed eommarades. The three ‘11 1 talk ‘bout ’mong themselves, 1* “Thil‘il good news. Zeb. You told me yesterday that Dias was active in " ‘ “Glttln‘ hisselt into a scrape, which he hev been suc- cessful in eflectuatin‘. He‘s got hisself into the jug, or someb'y else bev did thet bizness for him.” “ But haw—when—you've not told me?" “ Geehoso ! Miss Lewaze. Gi‘ me a little time. I - It air eezy answered. ’Beout a hour sgone that ere varmint wur trapped an‘ locked up. Iwar at the shcttin‘ o‘ the door alnnt him, an' kum straight hyur arter it war done.“ “But on have not said why he is arrested." “1 ‘t bed a chance. It air a longish story,.an’ ‘11 take a leetle time in the tellin‘. Will ye listen to it now, or arter—” “After what Mr. Stump?“ “ at, Miss wane, I only meened arter—arter—I git the old maar put up. She air stannin‘ thur, as if she‘d like to chaw a yeer 0‘ corn, an” somethhi’ to wet it down. Both she ’nd me‘s been on- a longish tramp afore we gpt back to the fort; which we did sca‘ce a hour i.‘ 0 ' ,g . “Pardon me, dear Mr. Stump, for not thinking of it. Pluto, take Mr. Stum ‘5 horse to the stable and see magi is fed; Florin e! Florlnde! What will you eat. . tump?’ “WalL as for thet. Miss Lewase, thank e all the same,but I ain‘t so partikler s set. war only ‘; thinkin' of the mar. For myself, I ed go a kugilple 0‘ hours longer ‘ithout eetin’ but ef thur’s sech a t ng as a smell 0' Mono heely 'beout the lace, it 'ud do this ole karkidge o‘ e a power _0' . “Meningahela? plenty Ortiz. 1,‘S‘urely you will allow r "Better‘n Monnonga‘uce! !“ “fchft nSome sherry—champagne-brandy if you re er . p“Iet them drink brandy as like it, and kin git it . Thur maybe some 0‘ it ood enuf; an: at thur air, I’m sure it’ll be found in the tense of a Pemt« I on] knows o‘ the sort the sutler keeps up at E! hur ever war a medicine. them one. It 'ud rot the guts out o’ a alleygatur. No; dam thur French lickers; an‘ s ecially thur brandy. Gi‘ me the are corn-juice; an‘ e best 0’ all, thet as comes from tab on the Monongaheely." “Flo de! Florinde!‘ It was not necessary to tell the waiting-maid for what she was wanted. The esence of Zeb btump indicated the service for which been summoned. With- out waiti v to receiva the order she went oil‘. and the moment 1- returned, carrying a decanter half-tille with what Zeb called the “ ure corn-juice," but which was in reality the essence o rye—for from this grain is distilled the celebrated “ Mono e13." Zeb was not slow to refresh . A full third of the contents of the decanter were soon put out of sight 1: —the other twO-thirds remai ‘ for ture tations that htbeiequiredinthgclgurseotfliempo upon he was about to enter. on! a mild d my claws on 'em at any minnit. llut I "And why not, Mr. Stumfi? Surely you hav‘n't al- lowed them to get away? '1‘ e might be the very men who are guilty of my poor brot er’s—” _ “That's jest what this coon thort, an’ it war for that reezun I let ‘em slide. There war another reezun besides. I didn’t much like goin’ far from the tort, leest somethin‘ ugrlfi wont turn up hi my absmce. You understan‘? ere war another reezun still for not prospectin‘ arter them jest then. I wanted to make shur’ o‘ my me.” “And you have? “ Shur as shootin’. I guessed thur wan’t oin' to be any rain an‘ thurfor' thur war no immeed hurry as to whatI intended doin‘. So I waited t the sogers shed get back. an‘ I ked safel leave him in the guard- house. Soon as they him in. tuck the old masr and rud out to the place whar our fellurs had struck u n the flxin‘s. I eezy foun' it by thur descripshun. a], as they’d only got that greenhorn, Sgangier, to guide ‘em I war utt sure the sign licdn’ cen more’n helf rfiadidan’ t ltt d get somethhi‘ out 0‘ it, beside what i: e bro awa . “ wa‘n’ltgdisappginted. The durndest tool as ever set fut u n a purayra mout ’a‘ followed the back- track 0‘ hem make-believe Kimanchees. A store- keeper ked ’a' traced it wrest the purayra, thou h it up neyther Mister S angler nor any 0‘ the o ers di . Ifoun‘ it eez as f in off a log not'itlistandin’ thet the s‘archers ad rud all over it. I tracked every boss 0‘ the four counterflts to his own stable. ' “After that ?" ' “ Arter doiii‘ thet I hed a word wi the major: an‘ in halfan hour at the most the four beauties war safe shet up in the house—the chief o’ 'em bein’ 'ugged lust, lccst e mout get wind 0’ \vhiit wur goin’ orrard. nn‘ sneak out 0' the way. I we n t fur astrvafy ’beout Mister Migooel Dee-e2 bearln in mark. 1 e foun’ the t‘ar o’ a bullet through the tie y part 0 his dfiizttetr wing-hand thatt e plained why he wur so quick a e in‘ o is larye e.‘ “It was e then?" mechanically remarked Louise, as she stood reiiectin . “ Very stran 6‘. she continued, still muttering the words to herse . “He it was I saw in the chaparral lade! Yes, it must have been! And the woman—this exican—Isidora? Ah! There is some deep mystery in all this—some dark design! Who can unravel it? “Tell me, dear Zeb," she asked, new Closer to the old hunter and speaking with a cer degree of hesitancy. “That woman—the Mencan lad mean —wbo—who was out there. Do you know she has often visited him ?“ “ im! Which him, Miss Lewaze?" “ Mr. Gerald I mean." “She mout, an' she moutn’t—‘itbout my knowin’ e her one or the t‘other. I ain't often there myself. 9 Plflce air out o’ my usooal huntin‘-ground, an‘ I now an’ then for the sake o’ a halal: '31 rate for both deer an' gobbler. my opeenyun. I’d say that thet ’ei-e lhaven‘t -never been thur afore. Leestwise I havin heern o‘ it; an’ ef‘thed 'been so, I reckon Irish Pheeluin ’u‘d 'a‘ bed sometbin vto say abeout it. Besides I hev other reezuns for thinkin' so. I've only heern 0’ one o‘ the shemale sex bein' on a visit to thet shanty.” , Vol. I. color caning to her cheeks, as she noticed the signifi- cant glance with which Zeb had accompanied the con- cluding remark. “ N o matter," she continued, without waiting for the answer. “ So, Zeb,“ she went on, v a quick turn to the conversation, “ ou. think t t t ese men have had to do with that which is causing sorrow to all of us—them Mexicans?" “To tell you the truth. Miss Lewaze, I don‘t know ‘zactly what to think. It air the most musteerloum consarn as iver kim to pass on these here pin-ayen Sometimes I hev the idea that the Mexikins mus: ' did it; while at others. I‘m in the op thinkin’, an' thet somebody else hav h black bizness. I won’t say who.“ “ Not him, Zeb; not him!" “Not the mewstanger. No- ne‘er a bit 0‘ thet. 11 spite 0‘ all that‘s saycd ag‘in‘ him, I ain‘t the leest sur- spishun 0‘ his innersense. ’. “Oh, how is he to prove it? It is said that the testi- migfis allnagainst him? No one to speak a word iii site way a han' in i. “Wal. it ain‘t so sartint as to thet. Keepin’ my eye qun the others, an‘ his prison, I haint hed mun-ii c auce 0‘ gettin’ abeout. Thur’s a opportunity now; an‘ I mean to make use 0’ it. The pure ra‘s a b book, Miss Peintdexter-a wonderful big ook—fort em as knows how to read the print o‘t. If not much 0‘ a scholar otherwa s, Zeb‘lon Stump hev l‘arnt to do thet. Thur may some testymoney that mout help him, scattered over the musquit grass—jest as I‘ve heern a Methody lpreecher say, thur war sarinints in stones, and books a runnin‘ brukes. Ef‘t air so. thur oughter be somethin‘ o' the kind scared up on the Alamo crick.“ “ You think you might discover some traces?" “ Wal I‘m goin’ out to hev a look roun‘ me—speclally at the place whar I foun‘ the young fellur in the claws o’ the spotted painter. I oug ter gone afore now, but for the reezun I’ve told ye. Thank the Almighty! thur’s been no wet—ne’er a drogtil;n an’ whatsomiver sign’s been made for a week past, he understood as twell as if it war did yisterday—that is by them as knows how to read it. I must start straight away ! Miss Lewaze. I jest runned down to tell ye what bed i been done at the fort. Thur‘s no time to be throwed !away. The let me in this mornin‘ to see the young ' fellur; an‘ I m sart'in his head are gettin‘ clurrer. Soon i as it air all right, the Reg'lators say they‘ll insist on the trial takin' place. It may be less‘n three days; an‘ i must git bac afore it begins." “Go, Zeb. and God speed you on {our generous er rand! Come back wit proofs of is innocence, and ever afterI feel indebted to you tor—for—more than life!" — CHAPTER LXXI. m b ‘38s sonigsi. Iiionsii. L th h m semen y passiona e appea e an hastened toward the stable where ’he had stalled his unique specimen of horse-flesh; \ He found the "critter" sonorously shelling some com-coho which Pluto had placed liberally betore her. E‘mflammm‘fll'i“ “that. 3” it” “at! on ry us e as e groom was ,silent' tho hwithanairan hing but tran all. He looked ratllilegr triste than exciytgd. q i It might be easily explained. The loss of his young master—by Pluto much beloved—the sorrow of ha you mistress, equall estimated—perhaps some scorn speeches which 9 had lately been mooted to from the lips of Florinde—and still more likely a kick he had received from the boottoe of Captain Cassius— for several days assuming sole mastery over tb man- sion—amply accounted for the unquiet exp it oh- servable on his countenance. Zeb was too much occupied with his own th hts to notice the sorrowful mien of the domestic. e was even in too rest a hurry to let the old mare finish hei meal of mage. which she stood greatly in need of. Grasping her b the snout, he stuck the rusty sname betng lligmteet h; pulled her lodng ears gs crac er eadstraps; an , turning or e stall. was about to lead her out. It was a reluctant movement on the'part of the mare —to be dragged awa from such provender as she rarely chanced to get tween her jaws. She did not turn without a st 1e; and Zeb was obflfed to pull vigorous] on the br e-rein beforehe co ddetac her muzzle mthe “Ho! ho! Mass‘ ‘Tumpl" mama). “Why you go ‘way in dat b hurry? De r ole ‘ she no all got um feed. W you no let er fill hegtelly wil’ de corn? Ho! ho! It 0 her wer ob good." “Hain‘t got time, nigger. in' OH on a bit 0‘ a jar ney. Got abeout a hundred mile to make in less ‘an 3 kupfile 0' hours.“ ‘ 0! ho! Dat 'ere de fastest kind 0’ trabbenn’. You‘m okin’, Mass’ 'Tump?" " No, ain‘t." “Gorramity! Wa—dey do make won‘fui journey on (less hyur prairas. I reck‘n dat ’ere hoss mus w trabbeled two hunner mile de odder'night." “ What hoss‘!" "De ole sorrel dere—in dat furrest ’tand from de door—Massa Ca’hoou boss." “ What makes ye think he traveled two banner mile?“ “Kase, he kum home all kibbered oberw'lfde frofi'. Beside he wa‘ so done up he sca‘ce able to walk, when dis chile lead uni down to de ribba. fo’fi‘bum ' . He ‘t r like newdrop calf. Ho! ho! e wa‘ broke down— 6 wa‘!" ‘ “ 0’ what night are ye palaverln', Plate?" “Wha‘ night? Le‘s see? Why oh cons de night Massa Ben wa‘ missed from de lantashun. same ni ht de mornin’, ’bout an our atter do sun gnu in de hebbings. I no see de ole sorrel afore en, use I no out ob m skeeta-bar till imer daylight. Den I kum ‘cross to e ‘tabie 33;, an‘ den I seedat quadrumpid all kibbered ober sweat an‘ fro!!— lookin' like he‘d swimmed through do big ribba, an‘ pantin’ -s if he es‘ finish a 10‘ mile race onde Metallic course at New- rleans.” “ Who had him out that night?" “Doan know, ’ mp. dot to ride de sorrel '3? Massa Ca'boou hisself. W N 2" “Dean know Massa "rump; “w M. de w'ha’tor. Diii chile holder see do oap‘n talno uncut nor otch um in." . “If y‘ur statement . sweat. somb'dy must 'a' bed him out. ea’ been we? “Who?” quick] interro atedthe Creole, the after regretting tgat she hgd asked the question—the l instanthim. “He! in: Somb‘dvmuu: dunno-en's." » f.- l airm'beouthirbdn'hided'iov .. h......-w______.__i__. _...._._.___— _-__ (I; I“; "W" ' i,, “8' No. “ Look’e hyur, Plutel Ye ain‘t a bad sort 0‘ a darkie, i $0 in your skin air 0' sut color. I rek’n you’re tellln ‘eutgmth; an’ ye don’t know who rud out the sorrol that night. But who do you think it War? I’m only 7 'The Headless Horseman. 7' . Zeb now up reached him without fear; and, after‘ mak' the s 1p fast commenced lifting his feet one after t e other—scrutinizing each, in real; haste, but at the same time With sumeient cars. [8 appeared to axin’ because as ye know, Pelntdexter air a friend 0‘ i take note of the shape, shoeing, the number and role- mine, an’ I don’t want his pro ei-ty to be abused—no more what belongs to Capen alhoun. Some of the field niggers, I reck‘n, hev stole the anymal out o‘ the stable, an’ he? been ridin‘ it all roun’ the country. That‘s it, ain‘t t?’ _ “Well no, Mass ’Tump. Dis chile dpan believe dat am it. o flel‘ hands not ’lowed msnie hyur. Der darn’t com‘ in to de ‘table nohow. ’Twan‘t any nl"gei- upon dis plantashun as tooked out do sorrel da night." “Durn it, then, who ked ’a'tuk him out? Maybe the overseer? War it him d‘ye think?” “ ‘Twant him necder.” “ Who, then, ked it be; unless it war the owner 0' the hiss'elf? If so, tbar‘s an end 0‘ it. He bed the right to ride his critter wherever he pleased and gel- lop it to h—l of that war agreeable to him. It ain’t no blzness o’ myen.” , “Hol hol Nor myen, neede‘rhMass‘ Tump. Wish I'd thought dat wa dis mornln . . . “ Why do ye wees that? What happened this mornin’ to change y ur tune?" _ . “Ho! what ha. en’ dis mornin’? Dar happen‘ to dis nigga a great in ortln’. Hol—hol berry great misfor- tin ." ‘,‘ What war it?" “Go , Massa ’Tum . I’se got kicked—dis berry mornin . jess ‘bout an our after twelve o’clock in do day.“ ‘ Kicked?" “Dal: I did shoe—all around de ’table." ' “011! b the hossesl Which o‘ the brutes kicked ye?" “Hol—-— ol ou mistaken! Not any ob de bosses, but de massa ob em all ‘cept little Spot y da, de which he doan’t own. I was kicked b Mass’ tahoon.” “ The h—l ye wurl Fur w at reezun? Ye must hev been misbehavin‘ ’urself, nig er?“ "Dis nigga wa’n t mis- aviu ’t all; not as he knows on. I only ask de ca ’n what ut the ole sorrel in_such a dreful condlshin da ’ere nig t, an’ what made ’iin so d down. He say it not my bizness; an’ den he kick - ’ with the cowhide' an‘ den ' me, an den he lamp me ’ ' and the subject was icrmitted to drop. he threaten: an’ den he tell me, if I ebber ‘peak ‘bout dat same t’ing odder time, he glb hunder lashes ob de wagon whip. He swa; oh! how he swal ‘Dis chile neb- bei- see Mass‘ Cahoon so mad—nebba in all ’im lifel" “ But whar’s he now? I don’t see him nowhar‘, ’beout the premises; an’ I reck‘n he ain‘t rud out, seem as the I H .098? . yes? Mass’ ’Tuinp; he ess am rode out at dis time. “go oh late go berry mu away from de house, and itay long time." “A—hossback?" _ “Jess so. He go on the steel $811 Ha l—ha! he doan‘ ride the sorrel much now. 6 ain‘t mount ’im once since de night de ole hoss Wa‘ out—(lat ni ht we been ‘ a ’bout. Maybe he t’ink he hab on hard ridin‘ on, an need long ‘pell ob ress." _ “ Look‘ee hyur, Pluto,” said Zeb, after standing silent for a second or two, apparently engaged in some ab- struse calculation. “Arter all,I reek n I’d better let the ole maar hev another car or two 0’ the corn. She’s ot a long spell 0’ trave in’ stars how an’ she mout reek down on the journey. The more haste air some- times the wusser speed; an‘ thurfor, I kalkerlate I’d better ’9 the critter her time. While she’s munchin’ amou ill I ked do the same myself. 8‘ ose, then, you skoot acrosst to the kitchen, an’ see c thur ain't some chawin’ stuff thur-—a bit 0‘ cold meat an‘ a one 0’ corn bread ’11 do. Y‘ur young mistress wante me to hev somethin’ to eetl but I war skeert abeout delyin' an’ refused Now, while I’m waitin’ on the Him, I reck’n‘ I ked pick a bone—jest to pass the time. “Sartin‘ ye cud, Ignasg‘ Tn’mp. Igo fotch un in de ‘ ob an s an . hmflllnlgathe black-skmn' ed Jehu started off across the 33, lea Zeb Stump sole “ master of the stole. Tlfea‘air of in erence With which he had concluded his dialogue with Pluto disappeared, the moment the latter was outside the door. It had been altogether assumed: as was the earnest attitude that instantly replaced i Strlding across the aved causewa , that seepamted the two rows of stalls, e entered the. occupi by the “5% animal shied off and stood trembling against the wall—pfrhéipshgged hr); of resolution with a - .‘ wmchthestiif 52 brute?R chided Zeb. “I don’t mean ’ur looks I reck’n e’re as an’ still, I say, an‘ is 's hev 3 proved by l , he stag ed forwalrd, and made an attempt the fore- e . I wgglugstugggsgful. r1111: hgrssgguctiggigy «th? ~ mme , us had fifflficflt some tric was 5. out to be m ed him upon . l" ried Zeb an vent- karfihdngg yecstan’ stilll m goin‘ 5 yl‘lr the words. ‘ e critterl" he continu coaxing- e’ve been shgd.” to ‘5: yfi COmte’tgsee how . wan Againie’httem ted to lift t e hoof, but was prevent- the restive gehavior of thehhorse. H signs air a difeequilty I didn’t e k, mutter- ed he, cing round to see how it mlgh be overcome. 5s to he did? Itl’ll: ng‘ver ggo tot-113;;e tliveli1i iii gig; u a Ina—nor yet m w t ml? wi’ it. Dog-gone the h l Howamlto ethisfee up?" _ Ogi- a short while e stood considering, his counten- showing a vish im tlence. gaseouss the mitt?!"a " he Elan exclaimed. “ I feel like knockin’ him over whar e stan’s. Hal now I hev it if the nigger will onl gi'e time. I hope the wench will Kee him waiten‘. guru yei I‘ll make ye ston’ still, or e ye de‘d of ye don’t. Wi‘ this-roun’ y’ur jugew- hr 1 rook‘n ye won’t be so ttish." whiie ' he had lifted the trail-rope tromhis own 9' an' throwing its nacse Over he head of the sorrel, lie shook it down till it encircled the animal‘s hauling upon the other end, he drew it taut as a {rho 23 for s time kept starting about thesmn, 12 his g rue “é, mm edintoa wrath told ty 6. rts were soon cha hissing mnfihthst with dialculty escapiertliw open his nostrils; moi use]: terror. Thero w N mature» wastbo museof’tg: . matter wif ‘ at my ole muar so I gi’wl lilm 11 iiier or two wl’ i eend o‘ my trai -ropc. i thoughtfully away. that tive position of the nails—in short, everythiii uture might suggest an idiosyncrasy, or assist m a i‘ identification. On coming to the off hind foot—which he did last of the four—an exclamation escaped him that proclaimed some satisfactory surprise. It was caused by the s‘ ht of the broken shoe, nearly a quarter of which was in ss- ing from the hoof, the fracture having occurred at the second nail from tho caulker. “ Ef I‘d know'd o‘ 1 on," he muttered in apostrophe to the imperfect shoe, ‘1 mout ‘a' saved myself the trou- ble 0’ examinm‘ the t‘others. Thur aiii‘t much chance of mistakin' the rint you‘d be likely to leave aliint ye. To make shur’ I ll Jest ta‘ke ye ’long wi‘ me." In conformity With this resolve, he drew out his ’ huge hunting-knife—the blade of which, near the hilt, was a quarter of an inch thick—and, inserting it under the piece of iron, he wrenched it from the hoof. Taking care to have the nails along, he transferred it to the capacious Pocket of his coat. Then nimny g iding backio tho trail-rope, he undid the knot and restored the interrupted respiration of the son's . . Pluto came in the moment after, bringi a plentiful supply of refreshments—including a tum ler of the Mono shale; and to these Zeb instantly ap lied him— self, wi liout saying a word about the interlu e that had occurred during the darkey’s absence. The latter, however, did not fail to erceive that the sorrel was out of sorts; for the anima , on finding itself released stood shivering in the stall, gnzin around in a sort 0 woe-be one wonder after the roug treatment to which he had een submit ted. “ Gorramit i“ exclaimed the black, “ what am the e ole boss? Ho! hol he look like he wa’ afeerd ob you, Mnss‘ "l‘um )l" “ Oh e dead—dead ’ LK ~ LOST IN THE CHA . Sum. continuing his fleet career, the Headless Horse- man 38110 on over the prairie—Zeb stump followln with ' eyes; and not until he had passcd out o behind some stragan groves'of mezquite, did hmkwoodsman abandon ‘ kneeling.- position. the l I ., .i Headless Horseman Then only for a second or two did he stand erect— taking council with himself as to what course he should pursue. The episode—strange as unexpected—had caused some disarrnngement in his ideas, and seemed to call for a change in his plans. Should he continue along the trail he was already deciphering, or forsake it for that of the steed that bad just swe t by? By keeping to the former, ie might find out much; but by changing to the latter, he might learn more. He might capture the Headless Horseman, and ascer- tain from him the why and wherefore of his wild wan- derings. While thus absorbed in considering what course he had best take, he had forgotten the puff of smoke, and the report heard far oil’ over the prairie. . Only for a moment, however. They were things to be remembered; and he soon remembered them. Turnin his eyes to the quarter where the smoke had appeare , he saw that \Vthh'calised him to squat down again; and place himself, With more 5171 iressement than ever under cover of the mezquites. he old mare, relis ing the recumbent attitude had still kept to it; and there was no necessxty for redisposing of her. What Zeb now saw was a man on horseback—4). real horseman, with a head upon his shoulders. He was still a long way off: and it was not likely he had seen the tall form of the hunter, standing sliorcd up among the bushes—much less the mare lying be- neath them. He showed no signs of having one so. On the contrary, he was Sitting stooped in the saddle, his breast bent down to the pommel, and his eyes ac- tive] engaged in reading the ground over which he was guiding his horse. There could be no difficulgy pation. Zeb Stump guesse tracking the headless rider. “ He, hol” muttered Zeb, on making this discovery; “ I ain’t the only one who’s got a reczun for solvin' this hyur myst’ry! Who the deuce klnhebe? I shed jest 1i '9. to know that." _ - Zeb had not ion. to wait for the gratification of his wish. [is the mm was fresh, the strange horseman could take it up at a trot—in which pace he was ap- proaching. _ ' ' . He was soon Within ideniif mg distance. “Gee-hosopliati” mutterc the backwoodsman; “I mout ’a’ knowed it w'u’d be him' an’ ef I'm not mistook about it, hyur’s gomj to be a other chapter out o‘ the same book—a other link as’ll help me to kumplcte the chain 0‘ evydence I‘m in s‘arcli of. Lay clost, ye critterl Ef'ye makes ere a stir—even to the shakin‘ 0 them long in s o’ your‘n—I’ll cut y‘ur durned throat!" c last s eech was an apostro he to the “ maar “— after which Zeb waxed silent, wit his head among the spray of the acacms, and Ibis eyes peering through the Eli-axioms in acute scrutiny of him who was coming on . Thais was a man who, once seen, was not likely to be soon forgotten. Scarce thirty years old, he showed a countenance, scathed, less with care than the play of eVll passwns. But there was care upon it now—a care that seemed to speak of apprehension—keen, prolonged, yet looking forward With a hope of being relieved from it. Withal it was a handsome face: such as a gentleman need not have been ashamed of but for that sinister ex ression that told of its belo 113 to a black uard. he dress—but why need we ascribe it? e blue cloth frock of semi-military cut—the forage-cap—the belt sustaining a. bowie-knife, with a. brace of revolving pistols—all have been mentioned before as enveloping unit: equifiping the person of Captain Cassius Calhoun. was 9. It was not the batter“; of small arms that he i: Zeb Stump from showing himself. He had no drea of an encounter with the ex-oi'iicer of volunteers. Though he instinctively felt hostility, he had as yet given no rea- son to the latter for regarding him as an enemy. He remained in shadow, to have a. better view of what was passing under the sunlight. Still closely scrutinizmg the trail of the Headless Horseman, Lalhoun trotted past. . Still closely keeping among the acacias, Zeb Stump looked after, till the same grove, that had concealed the former, inte osed its verdant vail before him and the tax-captain o cavalry. The backwoodsman’s brain having become the re- cipient of new thoughts, reqtured a. fresh exercise of its i enuit . f ther’e was reason before for taking the trail of the Headless Horseman it was redoubled no l\'. With but short t e spent inconsideration, so Zeb concluded; and commenced making preparations for a. stalk after Cassius Calhoun. These consisted in taking hold of the bridle, and v- ing the old mare la kickt; that caused her to s art instantane usl to or ee . ' Zeb stoo% by' her side, intending to climb into the saddle and ri 9 out tinlio 'tlilet Open plain—as soon as Calhoun should be on o s . He had no thou hts oflieepin the latter inview. He needed no one guidance. be two fresh trails would be sufficient for him; and he felt as sure of find- i the direction in which both would lead as if he had ri den alongside the horseman without a. head, or him without a heart. With this confidence be cleared out from among the acacias, and took the path just trodden by Calhoun. Zeb Stump had made a. mistake. in ascertaining his occu- it at a glance. He was 0For and? in ltlhs me' uite grove n roun n i e mez . had made disappeal'flnge, he discoveredhe had done so, Beyond, extended a tract of chalk prairie; over which one of the horsemen app to have passed—him without the head. , . Zeb essed so, seeing the_other, at some distance before , riding o and fro. in transverse stretches, like a. pointer quartering‘ the stubble in search of a rt . paHemggg had lost the trail and was endeavoring to ‘ ’t. . reag‘dfihlliing under cover of the mezquites, the hunter remained a silent spectator bf his movements. The attempt terminated in 9. failure. The chalk sur- face defled interpretation-at least by skill such as that of Cassius Calhoun. - After re ated quarterfinal he appeared to surrender his designieaéilild, angrgy plying spur. ganoped oi! in the ' ti o 6 Leon - . dug: s33. as he was out of 8i ht, .2811 also made aaef‘ the lost trail. ut dos its his so , ‘wfié‘ifim tracking craft, he vi)” com ed to “relinquiflt‘l‘ i ‘ 53 A i’ei-rid sun was gluriii'r down upon the chalk; and on] the eye of n. salamander could have withstood the re action of its rays. Dazed almost to blindness. the backwoodsman deter mined upon turning back; and once more devoting his att‘entign to the trail from which he had been fora time se lice . l . He had learned enough to know that this last promr med 8. rich reward for its exploration. It took him but a short time to regain it. Nor did he lose any in following it u . He was too keen] nn ressed with its value; and wit this idea urg- Lnii: him. 6 strode rapidly on, the mare following as 1‘. ore. Only once did be make pause; at a oint where the {racks of two horses converged with hat he was fol- owmg. From this point the three coincided—at times parting anil’ running arallel, for a score of yards or so, but agmn coming ogether and overlafiping one another. The horses were all shod—like L at which carried the broken shoe—and the hunter only stopped to see what— he could make out of the. hoof-marks. One was a “States home;" the other a mustang— though a stallion of great size, and with a hoof almost as large as that of the American. Zeb had his conjectures about both. He did not stay to inquire which h d gone first over. the ground. That was as clear to im, as if he had been a sgectator at their gassing. The stallion had been in t e lead—how far eb could not exactly tell; but C(‘lTainl some distance beyond that of companion- ship. The totes horse had followed; and behind him, the roadster with the broken shoe—also an American. All three had one over the same ground, at Separate times, and each y himself. This Zeb Stain could tell with as much ease and ceitainty, as one ring t read the index of a dial, or thermometer. I Whatever ma have been in his thoughts, he said nothing, be on giving utterance to the simple ex~ clamution, ‘ Good !” and with satisfaction stamped upon his features, he moved on, the old mare appearing to mock him by an imitative stride! “ Hyurthey‘ve seppurated," he said, once again com- inghto a stop, and regarding the ground at his feet. ” e stellyun and States boss hev oed the ‘ther-tliet air, the ’ve tuk the same way. Bro 'en-shoc ev strayed in a di ’rent direkshun. “Wonder now what tliet‘s for," he continued, after standing awhile to consider. “ Durn me of I iver see‘d iech Eerplexin’ signl It ‘u'd puzzle ole Dan’l Boone isse . “ Which on ’em shed I foller fust? Ef I go arter the two I know whar the ‘11 lead. They‘re boun‘ to kim up in that puddle 0’ 1) 00d. Let’s track up t’other, and see whether he hev rud into the same pi-ocksimmutyl To the right abeout, ole gal, and keep c ost ahint nie— else ye may get lost in the Chaparral, an’ the coyoais 111%; make thur supper on y'ur tallow. Hel he! he i“ ith this apostrophe to his “critter,” ending in a ‘ laugh at the conceit of her “ tallow," the hunter turned off on the track of the third horse. It led him alo the edge of an extended tract or chaparral; which, ollowing allthrce, he had approach- ed at a point well known to him, as to the reader-— wl‘ifbrgd it was parted by the open space already dew sc . The new trail skirted the timber only for a short dis- tance. Two hundred ards from the emboucbure of the avenue, it ran into i ; and flft paces further on, Zeb came to a s or. where the horse ad stood tied to a tree. Zeb saw t at the animal had proceeded no further for there was another set of tracks showing where had returned to the prairlkthough not by the same path. The rider had gone beyond. The foot-marks of a man could be seen beyond—in the mud of shelf-dry arroyo—beside which the horse lliid been “ hitchcdn’ Leavin his critter to occupy the “stall” where broken-s ioe had for some time fretted himself, the old h‘iiintgr glided off upon the foot-marks of the dismount- e ri er. He soon discovered two sets of them—one going, another comuig back. He followed the former. He was not surprised at their brin ing him out into the avenue—close to a pool of bloo -by the coyotes lion since lickeddry. . I e might have traced them right up to it, but for the hundreds of horse-tracks that ad trodden the ground like a sheep-pen. But before going so far, he was stayed by the dis- covery of some fresh “sign "—too interest' to be . carelessly examined. In a place where the un erwood grew thick, he came upon a spot where a man had re- mained for some time. There was no turf, and the loose mold was baked haul and smooth, evidently by the sole of a boot or shoe. ‘ There were prints of the same sole lesdi out-to. ward the place of blood, and similar ones co :1 ain. But upon the branches of a tree between, Zeb S ump saw something that had esca the eyes not only of the searchers but of their d8. SP 10H scrap of paper, blac shed and h -burnt—cv dently the wedding of a discharged gunl , . i It was c nging to the wig of a locust-tree, impaled upon one of its spinesl The old.hunt.er took it from the thorn to which, through rain and wind it‘had adhered; spread it cane-‘ fully across the palm 0 his horny hand. and read u its smouched surface a name well known to m: which, with its concomitant title, bore the initials, “ o, behind which both C C CHAPTER LXXVII. I momma LINK. ' IT was less su rise than gratification that showed it, self on the coun mince of Zeb Stump, as he decipheis ed the writin on the paper. - “That are s the backin’ o’ a letter,“ muttered he, “Tells a goodish grist o' a story; m re’n war wrotq inside, I reck’n. Been used for the we. 0' a uni Wan; sarves ltlhefzuss rlghlii,ll for q ’ a r e-ba'lhvi a. to o scurvy peninsula e m sub”. mortathlng, which air a bit 0‘ grei‘ased l)ch . v. “ The writin‘ air in a. sheemale hand " be confined. looking new at the sheet of 82pm: l‘Di'm‘t‘ . for et. It‘s been sent_to h' allthe sameran‘ho bed i in urzeshun. It on- somethin' to hika 0'3" Souygfikhedrewoutas skin mm). “d and , tinder of mm the m0" find. “‘79? own 3” «Image mtumd-ummkythhlspficmy r ' , r 51, m‘amwm uy,uheatoodliilem_ : mm to.“ ow this ole ooon‘ll b. . w .» " t. .;< I mall w 1 "punk," alonng ,‘ 54 The New York Vol. I. able to unwind a good grist 0’ this clue 0‘ mystery, tho' thur be a bit 0’ the thread broken hyur an' thur, an’ a hit 0‘ a puzzle I can’t clearly understan'. The man who hev been murdered, whosomdiver he may be, war out thur by thet puddle 0’ blood. an' the man as did the deed, whosomdiver he be, war a-stannin’ behint this locust-tree. But for them greenhorns, 1 mout ‘a’ got more out o’ the sign. Now thur ain’t the ghost 0‘ a chance. They’ve tramped the hul place into aduma- tioned mess, cuvortln’ and caperin’ abcout. “ Wal, ’tair no use goin’ furrer thct way. The bes- sest t ‘ now air to take the back track, if it air pos- sable, an diskiver what the hose wi’ the broke shoe toted his rider urter he went back from this leetle bit 0’ still-huntin'. Thurfor’, ole Zeb‘lon Stump, back ye on the booth-acksl“ With this grotesque apostrophe to himself, he com- menced retracing the footmarks that had guided him to the edge of the opening. only in one or two places were the footprints at all distinct. But Zeb scarce cared for their guidance. Having already noted that the man who made them had returned to the place where the horse had been left, he knew the back-track would lead him there. There was one place, however, where the two trails did not go over the same ground There was a forking in the open list, through which the supposed murderer had made his way. It was caused by an obstruction. A patch of impenetrable thicket. They met again, but not till that on which the hunter was returning struggled or! into an open gladc of considerable size. Having become satisned of this, Zeb looked around into the glade~for a time forsaking the footsteps of the pedestrian. After a short examination, he observed a trail alto— gether distinct, and of a dnferent character. It was a well-marked path entering the opening on one side, and going out on the other; in short, a cattle-track. Zeb saw that several shod horses had passed along it, some days before; and it was this that caused him to come back and examine it. He could tell to a day—to an hour—when the horses had passed; and from the sign itself. But the exercise of his ingenuity was not needed on this occasion. He knew that the hoof-prints were those of the horses rid- den by Spangler and his party, after being detached from the main body of searchers who had gone home with the major. He had heard the whole story of that collateral in- vestigation—how Spengler and ' comrades had traced Henry Poindexter's horse to the place where the negro had caught it—on the outskirts of the plantation. 'lovan ordinary intellect this might have appeared satisfactory. Nothing more could be learned by any one going over the ground again. Zeb Stump did not seem to think so. As he stood looking along it, his attitude showed indecision. “If I ked make shur‘ o‘ havin‘ time," he muttered, “ I'd follor it fast. Just as like as not, I’ll find aflulce thur, too. But thar's no sart’inty 'beout the time, and I’d better purceed to settle wi’ the anymal as cast the quarter shoe." He had turned to go out of the glade, when a thought once more stayed him. . “Arter all, it kin be eezy foun’ at any time. I kin guess \vharit’UIeadassai-tmt as if I’d rud ’longSide the skunk thet made it—straight custrut into the stable 0’ Caser Corver. “ it’s a dumed pity to drop this ’un—now whiles I'm hyur upon the spot. It’ll gi e me the makin’ 0’ another ten-mile journe , and thur moutn't be time. Dog- goned of I dont try a leetle way along it. The old moat km wait till I kum back.“ , Bracing himself for a new investigation. he started oi! upon the cattle-track, trodden by the horses of S ler and his party. To e hpofdnarks of these he paid but slight atten- tion; at times, none whatever. the eye only sought those of Henry Poindexter‘s horse. Though the others were of an utter time, and often destroyed the traces he was most anxious to examine, he had no difficulty in identifying the latter. As he would have himself ' any greenhorn could do that. The young planter’s horse had gone over the ground at a gallop. l‘he trackers had ridden slowly. As far as Zeb Stump could perceive. the latter had made neither halt nor deviation. The former had. It was about three-quarters of a mile from the edge of the avenue. It was not a halt the galloping horse had made, but only a slight departure from his direct couise; as if something he had seen—wolf, jaguar or other beast of prey—had caused him. to shy, beyond he had contniued his career; rapid and reck- less as ever. Beyond the party along with Spengler had proceeded -—wlthout staying to inquire why the horse had shied from his truck. _ _ . _ Zeb Stump was more mquismve, and paused upon this spot. _ ' , It was a sterile tract, Without herbage, and covered with shingle and sand. Ahuge tree overshadowed it, with limos extending horizontally: One of these ran transverse to the path over which the horses had passed—so ow that a horseman, to shun contact with it, would have to lower his head. At this branch Zeb Stump stood gazing. He obserycd an abrasion upon the bark; that, though very slight. must havebeen caused by contact with some substance. as hard, it not sounder, than itself. _ “Thet‘s been done by the skull o’ a human critter.” reasoned hk‘fll human critter thet must ‘a’ been on the back 0‘ a boss—this side the branch, an’ oil! on t’other. No livin’ man ked a stud sech a culhzyun as that, an’ kep’ his seat i‘ the seddle." . “Hoot-aw!" he triumphantly exclaimed, after a cur- sory examination of the ground undemeath the tree. “I thort so. ’l‘hur’s the impreshun 0‘ the throwed rider. ‘~An’ thur’s whar he hez creeped awaY- NOW I‘ve gotane lication 0’ that big bump as 1182 been puzzlln‘ me. mow’d it wa’n’t did by the claws 0‘ any vai'mint, an’ it didn't look like the blow eyther 0' B. , stone or a stick. That ere‘s the stick that hez gi'n it." With an elastic Silent—his countenance radiant of tri- umph—the old hunter strode away from the tree, no longer upon the cattle path, but that taken by the man who had been so violently dismounted. . To one unaccustomed to the chaparral, he might have 1 ed going without aggide and upon a path never m by human t. A portion of it perhaps had not. But Zeb was con- which. 0 totheo eye mm in ,ummwm%i . mummde mahumtom—fihodianhoodtenmotowm plant—the scratched surface of the earth—all told that a man had passed that way. The sign signified more— that the man was disabled—had been crawling—a. crip- e. p Zeb Stump continued on, till he had traced this crip- ple to the banks of a running stream. It was not necessary for him to go further. He had made one more splice of the broken thread. Another, and his clue would be complete. CHAPTER LXXVIII. A HORSE-SWAP. Wrrn an oath, a sullen look, and a brow black as dis- appointment could make it, Calhoun turned away from the edge of the chalk prairie, where he had lost the traces of the Headless horseman. “No use following further! No knowing where he‘s one now! No hope of finding him except by a fluke! I go back to the creek, I might see him again; but unless I get within range, it’ll end as it's done before. The mustan stallion won‘t let me come near him—as if the brute nows what I’m wanti l “ He‘s even cunninger than the Wild sort—trained to it, I suppose, by the mustan er himself. One fair shot —if I could only get that, I’ settle his courses. “ There appears no chance of stealing .upon him; and falls to lriding him down, it can‘t be done With aslow mule ' e t he. “The sorrel’s not much better, though he beats this blil-ute in bottom. I'll try him to-morrow, With the new s cc. " If I could only get hold of something that’s fast enough to overtake the mustangl I‘d put down hand- somely for a horse that could do it. “ There must be one of the sort in the settlement. I‘ll see when .11 get back. If there be, a couple of hun- dred, ay, or three, won‘t hinder me from havmg him." After he had made these mutterings, Calhoun rode away from the chalk prairie, his dark countenance strangely contrasting With its snowy sheen. He went at a rapid rate—as could be seen by his steed’s sweating coat, and the clots of half-coagulated blood where the spur had been freely plied upon his flanks. Fresh drops soon appeared as he cantered somewhat heaVily on— his head set for the hacienda of Casa del Corvo. In less than an hour after, his rider was guiding him among the mezquites that skirted the plantation. . It was a path known to Calhoun. He had ridden over it before, though not upon the same horse. 0n crossing the bed of an arroyo—dry from a long con- tinuance of drought—he was startled at beholdmg in the mud the tracks of another horse. One of them showed a broken shoe, an old hoof-print, nearly eight days old. He made no examination to ascertain the time. He knew it to an hour. He bent over it, with a different thought—a feeling of surprise comminged with a touch of superstition. The track looked recent, as if made on the day before. There had been wind, rain, thunder, and lightning. Not one of these had wasted it. Even the angry ele- ments appeared to have passed over without destroy- ing it—as if to s are it for a testimony against the out- raged laws of ature—their God. Calhoun dismounted, with the design to obliterate the track of the three—quarter shoe. Better for-him to have spared himself the ains. The crease of his boot- heel crushed in the st’ mud was only an additional evidence as to who had ridden the broken-shoed horse. There was one coming close behind capable of collect- ing it. Once more in his saddle, the ex-offlcer rode on, re- flecting on his own astuteness. . His reflections had scarce reached the paint of re- verie, when the hoof-stroke of a horse not .his own came suddenly within hearing. Not within sight, for the unified making them was still screened by the chap- arr . Plainly was it approaching; and, although at slow pace, the measured tread told of its being guided, and not straying. It was a horse with a rider upon his k. In another instant both were in view- and Calhoun saw before him Isidora Covarubio de los nos; she at the same instant catching sight of him! It was a strange circumstance that these two should thus encounter one another—apparently by chance, though perhaps controlled by destiny. Stranger still the thought summoned up in the bosoms of both. In Calhoun, Isidora saw the man who loved the woman she herself hated. In Isidor Calhoun saw the woman who loved him be both hate and determined to destroy. _ This mutual knowledge they had derived partly from report, partly from observation, and partly from the suspicious circumstances under which, more than once, they had met. They were equally convinced of its truth. Each felt certain of the Sinister entanglement of tits! other; While both believed their own to be unsus- ect . The situation was not calculated to create a friendly feeling betweenthem. It is not natural that man or woman should like the admirer of a rival. Theycan only be friends at that point where jealousy prompts to the deadliest vengeance; and then it is but a Sinister sympathy. _ As yet, no such had arisen between Caseius Calhoun and Isidora Covarubio de los Llanos. ' _ If it had been possible, both might have been Willing to avoid the encounter. Isidora certainly was. She had no predilection for the exodlcer of dra- oons; and besides the knowledge that he was the over of her rival, there was another thought that now senderleld his presence, if not disagreeable, at least not esira e. _ _ She remembered the chase of the sham Indians, and its ending. She knew that among the Texans there had be‘gn much conjectu‘rfi as go her 3:33; disappear- ance, tera pealmg‘ to em orpro _i . _ . She had hell3 own motive for that, which she 'dld not intend to declare; and the man about meeting her might be inclined to ask uestions on the subject. She would have passe with a single salutation—tshe could not 've less than that. And erhaps he might have done esame but for a thoug t which at that moment came into his mind, entirely unconnected with the reflections like there engendered. It was not the lady erself who su gested the thought. Despite her splendid beau , he no admiration foi- her. breast ruthl as as it might have been, there was no space left for a second passwn—not _even a. sensual one—for her than encountered in the solitude of the enamel. with Nature whispering wild, wicked W033. a ' twasnoideaofthllthet eeusodhlmtoreinupin thendddleofthopath, removetucop‘homhhmwn. 'other than a jest. 3nd by a courtly salutation, invite a dialogue with are So challenged, she could not avoid the conversation; that commenced on the instant—Calhoun taking the initiative. _ “Excuse me, senorita," said“ be his glance directed more upon her steed than hersel ; “I know it‘s very rude thus to interrupt your ride; especially on the part of a iiftranger, as with sorrow I am compelled to call in se .’ ‘It needs no apology, senor. If I’m not mistaken, we have met before upon the prairie, out near the Nueces." “True! true!” stammered Calhoun, not caring to dwell upon the remembrance. “ It was not of that en- counter I \m'shed to speak; but what I saw afterward as you came galloping along the cliff. We all wonder what had become of you." “There was not much for wonder, cavallero. The shot which some of your people fired from below dis— embarrassed me of my pursuers. I saw that they had turned back, and simply continued my_journey." Calhoun exhibited no cha ‘in at being thus baffled- The theme upon which he ( esigned to direct his dis- course had not yet turned up; and in it he might be more successful. - What it was might have been divined from his glance ~half—mnoisseur half horse-jockey—still directed to- ward the steed o Isidora. “ I do not say, senorlta, that I was one of those who wondered at your sudden disappearance. I presume you had your own reasons for not coming on; and, see- ing you ride asyou did. I felt no fear for your safety. It was your ridmg that astonished me, as it did all my companions. Such a horse you had! He appeared to glide, rather than gallop! If I mistake not, it’s the same you are now astrtde of. Am I right, senora? Par- don me for asking such an ins“ iflcant question." “The same? Let me see? make use of so many. I think I was riding this horse upon that da . Yes, yes; I am sure of it. I remember how the rate be- trayed me.” " Betrayed you! How?" “Twice he did it. Once as you and your eople were approaching. The second time when the ndians—«ly, bios! not Indians, as I’ve since heard—were coming through the chaparral." “ But how?’_’ “By neighmg. He should not have done it. He’s had training enOugh to know better than that. No matter. Once I get him back to the Rio Grande he shall stay there. I sha’n’t ride him again. He shall return to his pastures." . “Pardon me, senorita, for s eaklng to you on such a sub ect; but I can’t help thin ng that it s a pity.” “ hat’s a pity?” f‘ That a steed so splendid as that should be so lightly discarded. I would give much to oesess him." “You are jestin , cavallero. e is nothing be and the common; per aps a little pretty; and uic in his paces. My father has five t ousand of sort—— many of them prettier, and, no doubt ‘ some faster than he: He' 9. good roadster; and that's wh I’m riding hiin now. If it weren‘t that I’m on my Way omo to the Rio Grande, and the ourney is still before me, you‘d be welcome to have im, or anybody else who cared for him, as you seem to do. Be still, mmtem mic! You see there’s somebody likes ou better than I do. " The last speech was addresse to the mustang, who, like its rider, appeared impatient for the conversation to come to a close. Calhoun, however, seemed equally desirous of pro- longing, or, atall events, bringingitto a different termi- na 1011. “ Excuse me, senorlta," said he, assuming an air. of business-like earnestness. at the same time speaking a ologetically; “ if that be all the value you set upon t e gray mustang I should be only too glad to make an exchange with you. My horse, if not handsome, is estimated by our Texan dealers as a valuable animal. The h somewhat slow in his paces. I can pronuse that he carry you safely to your home and serve you well afterward." “ What, senor l“ exclaimed the lady, in evident aston- ishment, “ exchange flyour grand American Man for a Mexican mustang! he otter is too generous to appear You know that on the Rio Grande one of your horses equals in value at least three, some- times six, of ours.” Calhoun knew this well enough; but he also knew that the mustan ridden by Isidora would be to him worth awhole sta leful of such brutes as that he was be- striding. He had been an eye-witness to its 3 sad be- sides having heard of it from others. It was t e he stood in need of—the ve thing. He would have 'ven not only his “ d an" in exchan , but the ull price of t e mus by way of “ boot.’ Fortunately for him t ere was no attemptat extor- tion. In the composition of the Memcan maiden, how- ever much she in ht be given to equestrian tastes, there was not muc of the “caper.” With five thou- sand horses in the paternal stables, or, rather straying over the patrimonial plains, there was but ht mo- tive for sh practice: and why should she den such trifling grat cation, even though the man see it was a stranger-perhaps an enemy? She did not. "If you are in earnest, senor," was her response, ” on are welcome to what on want.” “Take him, then 1“ said s e leaping out of her sad- dle, and commencing to undo the girths. a“ We cannot exchange saddles; yours would be a mile too big for me i" Calhoun was too happy to find words for a reljoinder. He hastened to assist her in removing the sadd e, after which he took off his own. In less than five minutes the horses were exchanged —the. saddles and bridles being retained by their”- spective'owners. To Imdora there was something ludicrous in the transference. She almost laughed while it was being carried on. Calhoun looked upon it in a diflerent light. There was apnrpose present before his mind—one of the ut~ most importance. , They parted without much further Bpmh—only the usual e of adieu—Isidora gomg of! on the fri- wn/ w ' e the ex-offlcer, mounted on the gray mul- lahs, continued his course in the direction of Case do! rvo. ' 3 ‘ ! ...-___..- .__-.-__-.._....__,,k_uf ._ __-_. .,.___‘_ 4'...“~.._-4. ; i i i i s l a No. 8. Dal was familiar to him; and he crossed it by a less cir- cuitous route than that taken by the cripple. ' He once more threw himself upon the trail of the broken shoe, in full belief that it would fetch out not a hundred miles from Casa del CUI'VO. . It led him along a road running. almost direct from one of the crossin s of the Rio ‘rande to Fort Inge. The road was a he f mile in width—n thing not uncom- mon to Texas, where every traveler selects his own path, alone looking to the general direction. . Along one edge of it had gone the horse With the damaged shoe. I ' Not all the way to Fort Inge. When Within four or five miles of the post, the trail struck off from the road, at an an is of just such degree as followed in a straight ' line wou d bring out by fioindexter’s )lantation. So confident was Zeb of this that he scarce r eigncd to keep his eye upon the ground; hilt rode forward as if a finger- Dost was constantly by his side. _ ' He had long before given up following the trail afoot. Despite his )rofessed contempt tor " horse,- fixings "—as he called ridin —-he had no ObJeCllon to finish his journey ill the sad le—lfashed as he now was with the fatigue of protracted trading over Jill‘all‘lt‘, and through Chaparral. N ow and then onl _dl( lie cast a glance upon the ground—less to assure imselt he was on the track of the broken shoe, than to notice whether {Somethin else might not be learnt from the sign besides its mere irectiou. _ . There was stretches of the prairie where the turf, hard and d , had taken no impression. An ordinary traveler mig t have sli ) Josed himself the first to ass over the ground. But ' e Stump was not of this c ass: Ind although he could not always distinguish the hoof- lnarks, he knew within an inch where they would again become visible—on the more moist and soft patches of the prairie. If at an place conjecture misled him, it was only for a short istance, and he soon corrected himself by a traverse. In this halfcareless, half-cautious wa , he had .ap- roached within a mile of Poiudexter s plantation. ver the tops of the mezquite trees the creuelled para- pet was in sight; when something he saw upon the mound caused a sudden change in his demeanor. A Change. too, in his attitude; for instead of remainin on lShe back of his mare, he flung himself out of the s. die; tlll'ew the bridle upon her neck, and rapidly asslng in fl"Out of her, commenced taking up the trail oot. . The mare made no stop, but continued on after him ~with an air of resignation, as though she was used to iinch eccentricities. . To an inex ericnced eye there was nothingto account 101' this sudgen dismounting. It occurred at a place Where the turf appeared untrodden by man or beast. One might it be inferred from Zeb is speech, as he “11 himself out of the saddle: ‘Pfiis track! goin‘ to humi” werethe words muttered in a slow, measured tone; after which, at a slower pace, the dismounted hunter kept on along the trail. In a little time after it conducted him into the chapar- ral; and in less to a stop—sudden, as if the thorny thicket had been transformed into a. cl'tevaux-de-jflse, Im enetrable both to him and his “ critter." more 0 en than ever. It was its. openness that had imishe’dphim with a. cause for discontinuing his ad- T; t was not this. The path was still open before him i :::n' v a‘w‘u‘ ' a?" iconcluded. and for some time after. mi he venture to come forth from f'NMnt-uui;uv_t'z.un .- H_ a)..- 4-m‘.w&n.umlmu~ 4’ nice. The path sloped down into a valley below—a dc res- “.iOD in the prairie, along the concswty of Whlc at ,. “Hes, ran a tiny stream—an arroyo. It'was now ry, ‘ only occupied by stagnant pools, at long distances apart. In the mud—covered channel was a man, With a horse “loss behind him—the latter led by the bridle. There was nothing remarkable in the behavior of the 1“use; he was simply following the lead of .115 dis- mounted rider. . , ut the man—what was he deing? 111.1113 movements mWe was something peculiar—something that would have uzzled an unitiated spectator. “lit did not puzzle Zeb Stump; or but for a second of e. ‘ Almost the instant his eye fell upon it, he read the winding of fthe maneuver, and mutterineg pronounced 0 imsel . “ Oblitturatin’ the print 0’ the broken shoe, or tryin’ 0 do that some! ‘Tain’t no use, Mister Cash Calhoun "110 matter 0‘ use. Ye've made y‘ur fut-marks too 89D to deceive me; an” b the Eturnal, I‘ll foller them, thollgh they shed conduc ' me into the fires of Hades 1’ AS the backwoodsman terminated. his blasphemous uIglostrophe, the man to whom it painted, having mi. is W his task of obscuration, once more leaped in 0 his 8"dale, and hurried on. _ on foot the tracker followed: though Without show- afly anxiety about kee ing him in Sight. fire was no need for t at. The sleuth-hound on a heSh slot could not be more sure of again yiewing his Victim than was Zeb stum of comng up With his, No “men-fiery of the chaparra ——no tWistlngs or doublings Willi! save Calhoun now. ‘ lune tracker advanced freely; not expecting to make .1'9 till he should come within sight of Casa del Corvo. Litfile blame to him that his reckoning proved wrong. who could have foretold such an interruption as that oned b the encounter between Cassms Calhoun h "dililra. ovafubig dte lgskLlanlos? 'Se perhws 0“ ats'itoi aen ysu l‘ll— . glegfng morhgl-Zeb difil not :llow his eeluigs to bo- , Y ‘s resence near t e spo . y , 0n the? contrary, it seemed to stimulate him to in- 386d caution. a HE » I‘uruing noiselesst round. he whispered some cabal- ?lc words into the ears of his “ critter;” and then ,ole silently forward under cover of the acacias. / Wiéhout remonstrancc, or remark, the mare fol- owe _ ' He soon came to a full stop—his animal doing the . ~me in imitation so close as to appear its counter art. - A thick owth of mezquite trees separated him mm 9 two in ividuals, by this time engaged in a hvely in- x'Change of speech. _ , . e could not see them, Without exposmg himself to “"3 <18. er of being detected in his eavesdropping. but ‘3 118825 what they said all the same. 9 ken his place—listening till the horse-trade was and taken departure, under CQVfir.b the 51118 ' 1: late} occupie “Wop 1'53ng 1:313:18nga both was at once," e eX< 4“ : ’ " gel: atween a be M‘ wfipfir‘nfifif ? gum 11 which has not the when they had separated, ‘ Mp: the'bam‘ini” ThemHeadless Horseman. .55 CHAPTER LXXX. A DOORWAY WELL warcnnn. IT was some time before Zeb Stump sallied forth from the covert where he had been witness to the “ horse-swop." N at till both the bargaiiiers had ridden entirely out of sight. Tlieli he went not after either; but sta ed upon the spot, as if undecided which he should ollow. . It was not exactly this that he t him to the place' but the necessity of taking what ie was in the habit of calling a. “ good thing.“ His thoughts were about the exchange of the horses; for he had heard the whole dialogue relating thereto, and the )roposal coming iroin Calhoun. It was this that puzz cd, or rather gave him reason for reflection. What could be the motive? Zeb knew to be true what the Mexican had said; that the States horse was, in market value, worth far more than the mustang. He knew, moreover, that Cassius Calhoun was the last man to he “co ed "in a horse- trade. Why, then, had he done the ”( cal?" The old hunter pulled off his felt hat, gave his hand a twist or two through his unkempt hair, transferred the caress to the grizzled beard upon his chin—all the while razing' upon t e ground, as if the answer to his mental interrogato was to spring out of the grass. “Thur air ut one ex llclllllOIl'O’t," lie-at length mut- tered; “ the gray’s the aster critter 0‘ the two—ne’er a doubt ’beout thet; an’ Mister'Cash wants him for his fastness; else why the durllation shed he ’a’ gi‘n a boss thet ’u’d sell for four o’_hls sort in any part 0’ Texas, an‘ twicet that number in Meka? I reck‘n he’s bar- gained for the heels. Why? Dum me, cf I don‘t sus- pect why. He wants—he—heigh—I hev it—sometliin’ as kin kum up wi’ the Headless! “Thet‘s the ver thing'he‘s arter—sure as my name’s Zeb’lon Stump. Ie’s tried the States hoss an' foun’ him slow. Thet much I know’d myself. Now he thinks wi‘ the mowstanii, he may hev 'a chance to overhaul the t’other, ef he in only find him ag’ln; an' for sartin he’ll o in s’ai‘ch 0’ him. “ e’s rud on now to Gasser Carver—maybe to pick 0' somethin’ to eat. He won”t sta, thur Fore many hours hev passed. somebody ’1 see him out hyur on the purayra; an’ thet somebody air boun’ to be Zeb’lon Stump. ‘ _ I “Come, ye critter!” he continued, turning to the mare, “ye thort ye wur a-gom’ hum, did ye? Y'u’r mistaken ’beout that. Ye‘ve got to squat hyur for another hour or two—if not the hul 0’ the hi ht. Never mind ole gurll The grass don’t look so ad; an’ ye shell hev a chance to fit y’ur snout to it. Thur, now— eet ’ui‘ durned gut-le ll” ile pronouncing this apostrophe, he drew the head- stall over the ears of his mare; and, chucking the bridle over the projecting tree of the saddle, permitted her to graze at will. Having secured her in the chaparral where he had fialted, he walked on—along the track taken by Cal- oun. Two hundred yards further on, and the jungle tenni- nated. Beyond stretched an open plain; and on its op- osxte side could be seen the hacienda of Casa del orvo. The re of a horseman could be distinguished against its whitewashed facade—in another moment lost within the dark outline of the entrance. Zeb knew who went in. “From this place," he muttered, “ I kin see him kum out; an' durn me of I don’t watch till he do kum out—— ef it shed be till this time o’ the mom-ow. Bo hyur goes for a spell o' atience." He first lowered imself tohisknees. Then, “squirm- ing ” round till his back came in contact with the trunk of a hone -locust, he arranged himsalf into a sitting his done, he drew from his ca acious pocket a wallet, containing a. “pone” of corn- read, a large “hunk ’ of fried ‘hog—meat." and a flask of liquor whose perfume proclaimed it “Monongahela.” Havin eaten about halt? the bread,_aud alike uan- tity of t e meat he returned the remaining mOiet es to the wallet. which he suspended overhead ton branch. Then taking a satisfactory SW1 ' from the whisky-flask, and igniting his pi e, he leane back against the locust ._w1th arms fold; ovierl leis breast, and eyes bent upon the atewa of ass. 6 orvo. . Ingthis wgy he ke t watch for a period of full two hours; never chan ng the direction of his glance; or not long enough tor any one to pass out unseen by him. Forms came out, and went inl-several of them—men and women. But even in the distance their scant light- colored garments, and dusky complexions, told them to be only the domestics of the manmon. Besides, they were all on foot' and he. for Whom Zeb was Watching, should come on horseback—if at all. . ' His vigil was only interrupted by the go; .down of the sun; and then only to cause a change in is post of observation. When twilight beganfo fling its purple shadows over the plain. he rose to his feet. and leisure- ly unfolding his tall figure, stood upnght by the stem of the tree, as if this attitude was more favorable for “ considering." “ Thur’s jest a posserbility the sku‘nk mout sneak out i‘ the night!” was his re action. Leastways, afore the light, oi the mommy; an‘ Imust make sure which wa he takes purayra. ,, ‘ ‘Tain’t no use my toatin" the .maar arter me, he continued lancing in the direction where the animal had been it. “She‘d onl bother me. Beside. thur’s oin’ to be a. clnrrish so 0‘ moonli ht, an’ she mout seen from the nig er quarter. She be better hyur —both for ass and iver.” He went ack to the mare; took off the saddle; fas- tened the trail-rope round hex-neck, tyi the other end to a tree; and then, unstripplng his 01 bladlket from the cantle, he threw it across his left arm. and walked in the direction of Casa del Corvo. , He did not proceed pan prism ;_ but HOW quicker. and now more hesitatingl —timing himself by the twilight ——so that his approach might not be observed from the lends. hallo had need of this caution; for the ground which he had to , was like a level lawn. without copse or cover 0 any kind. Here and there stood a. sohtary posture. ‘tree—dwark-oak or algarobia, but 110‘ 01°95 enough to shelter him from how seen through the windows_ :hfitévlii'iiffi‘ifi $331200 altogether—to wait for the hi f the ' . , ee cg'kilhgg‘his way ingthis stealthy manner, he arrived within less than two hundred yards of the walls-“gut, “momma! sunlight William from the .' ; fie had reached the goal of his ..oumoy.ggr a,“ lift; alum —.and the spot on which he was likely to pass the night. A low, stemless bush grow near; and, is himself down behind it, he resumed the espionage, t at could scarce be said to have been interrupted. Throughout the live-long night Zeb Stump never closed both eyes at the same time. One was always on the watch; and 'the unflagging earnestness with which he maintained it, proclaimed him to be acting under the influence of some motive beyond the common. During the earlier hours he was not witlmut sounds to cheer or at least relieve, the monotony of his lonely v1 vil. There was the hum of voices from the slave ca ins; With now and then a peel of laughter. But this was more suppressed than customar ; nor was it ac— companied by the clear strain of t e violin, or the lively tink-a—tlnk of the banjo—sounds almost charac- teristic of the “_llcgro- uarter." at night. The somber Silence t at hung over the “ big house " extended to_the hearths of its sable retainers. Before midnight the vowes became hushed, and still- ness reigned everywhere; broken at intervals by the howl of astraying houndT—uttered in res use to the lipwl-lbark of a coyote, taking care to keep ar out upon t e p ain. The watcher had 5 cut awearisome day, and could have slept—but for is thoughts. Once when these threatened to forsake him, and he was in danger of dozing, he started suddenly to his feet; took a turn or two over the sword; and, thenl mg down ain, re-lit his ipe; stuck his head into the cart of the ush; and smo 'ed away till the bowl was burnt empty. During all this time he kept his eyes u on the great gateway of the mansion; whose masswe cor—he could tell by the moonli ht shining upon iii—remained shut. Again did he c ange his post of obseryatlon; the sun s rising—as its setting had done—seeming to give him the cue. , As the first tint of dawn displayed itself on the hori- zon, he rose gently to his feet; clutched the blanket so as to bring its edges in contact across his breast; and turning his back upon Casa del Corvo, walked slowly away, taking the same track by which he had ap proached it on the preceding night. .And again with unequal steps ' at short intervals sto sing an looking back—under er. _ Nowhere did he make a prolonged cuse; until reach- ing the locust tree, under whose sh e be had made his evening meal; and there in the same identical attitude, he roceeded to break his fast. e second half of the “ pone ” and the remaining moiety of the ark soon disappeared between his teeth: his arm or over hissho - ‘ after which fo owed the liquor that had been left in r the flas . He had refilled his pipe, and was about relightin it. when an object came before his eyes that caused im hastily to return his flint and steel tothe pouch from which he had taken them. Through the blue mist of the morning the entrance of Casa del Corvo showed a darker disk. The door had been drawn open. Almost at the same instant a. horseman was seen to sally forth, mounted upon a small gray horse; and the door was at once close behind him Zeb Stump made no note of this: He only looked to‘ see what direction the early traveler would take. Less than a score of seconds sufficed to so him. The horse’s head and the face of the rider were riled toward himself. He lost no time in tryin to identify either. He did not doubt of its being t 6 same man and horse that had passed that spot on the evening before; and he was equally confident they were going to pass it again. What he did was to shamble u to his mate; in some haste get her saddled and bri ed; and then, having taken up his trail rope, lead her off into a. cover—from which he could command a view of the chaparral path, without danger of being himself seen. This done, he awaited the arrival of the traveler on gielhgray steed—whom he knew to be Captain Cassius a can. He waited still longer—until the latter had trotted past; until he had gone quite throng h the belt of the chapari'al, and in the hazy light of t 6 morning grad- ually disap cared on the rairie beyond. a£1301: ‘tlll (ti on iZeb fiémp clamber inst: his 8:1ng . pro r 580 spur ain a so his roadster, cause the lattexryto movgfiin. He went after Cassius Calhoun; but without showing the slightest concern about kee ing the latter in night! He needed not this to e im. The dew upon the grass was to him a. spo ess page—’the tracks of the mustang a. type, as legible as the lines of a printed 00 . . He could read them at a trot; ay, going at a gallop! minimum. nuns DOWN—HEELS up! ‘ / WITHOUT suspicion that he had been seen leaving the house—except by Pluto, who Milled mustan -Calhoun rode on across the prairie. Equal y unsuspicious was he in pm where Zeb Stump stood crouching in concealment. , In the dim light of the morning be supposed himself unseen by human eyes; and he recked not of any other. After parting from the timbered border, he struck ofl toward the Neuces; riding at a. brisk mot—now and then increasing to a. center. For the first six or eight miles he tool: but little note of all that was around. An occasional glance along the horizon seemed to satisfy himz and this extended 0111 to that portion of the vast circle before his face. .0 looked neither to the light nor to the left; and only once behind- after ett ng‘ same distance from the skirt of the chaparra . , Before him was the object; still unseen; upon which his thoughts were straying. What the object was he and only one other knew; that other Zeb Stump; though little did Calhoun im- agine that mortal man could have a suspicion of the nature of his sari errand- The old hunter only conjectured it; but it was conjecture of the truth 0 Which he was as certain as the ex-captain had made him his confidant. He knew the gray that the latter had gone off in search of the Headless . median; of yoga. Horseman—in heaps tel-day, with abet r chance of e ' Though bestridtugasteedfleeta’s a exan noun was .by no, means mfine of success. were many , . . . tting use he Whittle. «lanai: was that formed the theme of his ileum \, ,r a. capture, broom; Wu ing the point ' \ sight T “is. V .56 “v ’ Vol. I. The. The uncertainty troubled him; but he was solaced by a. hope founded upon some late experiences. There was a particular place where he had twice en— countered the thing he was in search of. It might be there again? This was an embayment of green sward, where the savanna. was bordered by the cliaparru], and close to the embouchure of that opening—where it was sup. posied the murder had been committed! “ Odd he should always make back there!“ reflected Calhoun as he pondered upon the circtunstance. “Danced neg odd it is! Looks as if he knew— Bah! It’s only because the grass is better, and that pond by the side of it. Well! I hope he's been thinkingr that way this morning. If so,therc'll be a chance of find- ing him. If not I must 0 on through the chaparmi; and hang me if I like it—t iough it be in the daylight. gh! "Fish! what’s there to fear~now that he’s safe in limbo! Nothing but the 117'! q/‘lwd; and it I must have, if I should ride this thing till it drops dead in its tracks. H01 Heaven! what‘s that out yonder?” T ese last sh: words were 3 oken aloud. All the rest had been a soliloquy in thoug t. Thenpeaker, on pronouncmg them, pulled up, almost dragging the mustang on its haunches; and with eyes that seemed ready to start from their sockets, sat gaz- in across the plain. ere was something more than surprise in that steadfast glance—there was horror. And no wonder; for the spectacle upon which it rest- ed was one to terrify the stoutest heart. The sun had stolen up above the horizon of the prai— rie, and was behind the rider‘s back, in the direct line of the course he had been pursuing. Before him, along the heaven’s edge, extended a belt of bluish mist—the exhalation arising out of the Chaparral—now not far distant. The trees themselves were unseen—concealed under the film floating over them, that, like a veil of purple gauze, rose to a considerable higlit above their tops—gradually merging into the deeper azure of the sk . 811 this vail, or moving behind it—as in the transpar- encies of astage scene—appeared a form strange en- ough to have left the spectator incredulous, had he not beheld it before. It was that of the Headless Horse- man. But not as seen before-either by Calhoun himself, or any of the others. It was now altogether different. In shape the same; but in size it was increased to ten- fold its original dimensions! N 0 longer a man, but a Colossus—a. giant. No longer a home, ut an animal of equine shape, with the tower- ing-«night and huge, massive bulk of a mastodon! or was this all of the new to be noted about the Headless Horseman. A still greater change was pre- sented in his appearance; one yet more incx licable. if that could possibly be. He was no longerw kin 11 Jon the ground, but against the sky; both horse an rider moving in an inverted position! The hoofs of the former were distinct! perceptible upon the upper ed e of the film; while t e shoulders—I had almost said head—~of the latter were close down to the line of the horizon. The scrape shrouding them hung in the right direction-not as regarded the laws of gravity but he attitude of the wearer. So, too, the bridle-reins, the mains, and sweeping tail of the horse. All draped upward! , When first seen. the spectral form—now more spec- ter-like than ever—was going at a slow, leisurely walk. in this pace it for some time continued~Calhoun gazing upon it with a heart brimful of horror. of a sudden it assumed a change. Its regular outlines became confused b ' a quick transformation; the horse havmg turned, am one off at a trot in the apposite direction, though stil with heels against the i i The specter had bec01ne_alanned, and was retreat- alhoun, half palsied with fear, would have kept his ground, and permitted it to depart, but for his own iorse; that, just then shying suddenly round, placed him face to face with the explanation. As he turned, the tap of a shod hoof upon the prairie turf admonished iiin that a real horseman was near—if that could be called real, which had thrown ouch a frightful shadow. 1 “It’s the mirage! " he exclaimed, with the addition of an oath to we vent to his chagrin. “ What a fool I've been to 'et it liumbng me: There‘s the cursed thin that did it; the very thin ’ I'm in search of. And so c ose, too! If I’d known, might have got hold of him before he saw me. Now for a chase: and by heavens, I‘ll (ma) him, if I have to gallop to the other end of Texas." _ Voicehspur and whip were simultaneous! exerted to prove t e speaker's earnestness; and in VB minutes after, the horsemen were going at. full stretch across the prairie—their horses both to the prairie born—one closely ursning the 'oth‘er—the pursued without a head; t )8 pursucr. With a heart that throbbed under a desperate determination. The chase was not a long onc~at least, so far as it led over the o n name; and Calhoun had begun to con atulate imself on the prospect of a capture. 18 horse ap cared the matter but this may have arisen from his eing more earnest y urged; or that the other was not sufficiently scared to care for escapi . Certainly the gray steed gained glound_—at lengt getting so close that Calhoun made ready his rifle. His intention was to shoot the horse down, and put an end to the pursuit. He would have fired on the instant, but for the fear of amiss. But having made more than one already, be restrained himself from pulling the. trigger, till he could ride close enough to secure a killing s ot. While thus hesitating, the chase veered suddenly from oil? the ;reeless plain, and dashed into the open- in of the timber. ,, is movement, unexpected by the pursuel‘. 09415611 him to lose ground- and in the endeavor to regain it, more than a half-mile distance was left behind him. r He was a preaching a s at well, too well known to liim~tlie p where bi had been spilt. . On any otherpccasiou he would have shunned it; but there was in his heart a thought that hindered him from dwelliifi upon memories of the past—steehng it ' t all re action, except a cold fear for the future. capture of the strange equestnan‘ could alone allay this fear—by removing t e danger he dreaded. .Once more he had gained ground in the chase. of; his right. He was searching for a spot to take aim a . In another second the shot would have been fired, and a bullet sent between the ribs of the retreating horse, when the latter, as if becoming aware of the danger, made a quick cui'vet to the off side; and then, aiming a kick at the snout of his pursuer, bounded off in a different direction! The suddenncss of the demonstration, with the sha , spiteful “ squeal ” that accompanied it—a pearing o s wait of an unearthly intelligence—for t e moment disconcerted Calhoun, as it did the horse he was rid- mg. . The latter came to a stop, and refused to go further, till the spur, plunged deep between his ribs, once more forced him to the gallop. And now more earnestly than ever did his rider ur e him on; for the pursued, no longfr keclgling to the pat i, was heading direct for the thic et. 6 chase mi ht there terminate, without the chased animal being eit er killed or captured. Hitherto Calhoun had been only thinking of a trial of speed. He had not anticipated such an ending as was now both possible and probable, and with a more reck- less resolve, he once more raised his rifle for the shot. By this time both were close to the bushes—the Head- less Horseman already half-screcned by the leafy branches that swept swishing along the sides. Only the hips of his horse could be aimed at, and upon these was the n leveled. The en phurous smoke s urted forth from its muzzle ' the crack was heard simn tancously; and, as if cause by the discharge, a dark object came whirlin through the cloud and fell with a dull “thud” upont e cart . With a bound and a roll—that brought it among the feet of Calhoun’s horse—it became stationary. Stationary but not still. It continued to oscillate from side to side, like a top before cessmg to s in. The gray steed snorted and reared back. is rider uttere a cry of intensified alarm. And no wonder. If read in Shaksperean lore, he might have appropriately repeated the words, “ Shake not thy gory oaks,” for, on the ground beneath, was the head of a man—still sticking in its hat—whose still? orbicular brim hindered it from staying still. The face was toward Calhoun—upturned at just such an angle as to bring it full before him. The features were blood-stained wan and shriveled; the eyes open, but cold and dim, like balls of blown glass; the teeth gleaming white between livid lips, yet seemingly set in an expression of careless contentment. All this saw Cassius Calhoun. He saw it with fear and trembling. Not for the super- natural or iuiknown, but for the real and truly com- prehended. _ h ilaort was his interview with that silent but speaking e . Ere it had ceased to oscillate on the smooth sward, he wrenched his horse around, struck the rowels deep, and gallo d away from the ground! No furt er went he in pursuit of the Headless Horse- man—still heard breaking through the bushes—but back—back to the prairie; and on, to Casa del Corvo! CHAPTER LXXXII. A QUEER. PARCEL. THE backwoodsman, after emerging from the thicket, proceeded as leisurely along the trades if he had the whole day before him, and no particular motive for making haste. ' ' y ' . And yet, one closely scrutinizing his features, might there have observed an expression of intense eagerness, that accorded with his nervous twitching in the saddle, and the sharp glances from time to time cast before him. He scarce deigned to look upon the “sign” left by Calhoun. It he could read out of the corner of his eye. As to following it, the old mare could have done that without him! It was not this knowledge that caused him to hang back, for he would have preferred kee iiig Calhoun in sight. But b doin this, the latter mig t see him ,' and so frustrate t e on he desired to attain. This end was of more importance than any acts that mi ht occur between; and, to make himself ac usinted wit the latter, Zeb Stump trusted to the cr is ofhis intellect rather than the skill of his senses. Advancin slowly and With caution-{mt with that constancy that insures good speed—he arrived at length on the spot where the mirage had made itself manifest to Calhoun. Zeb saw nothing of this. It was gone; and the sky stretched down to the prairie—the blue meeting the green in a straight, unbroken'line. _ He saw, however, what excited him almost as much as the-specter would have done: two sets of_horse- tracks going together—those that went after being the hoof-marks of Calhoun’s new horse—of which Zeb Stump had alread taken the measure. About the trac s underneath. he had no conjecture —at least as regarded their identification. These he knew, as well as if his own mare had made them. “The skunk’s bed aflnd!" were the words that es- caped him, as he sat gazin upon the double trail. “ It don't follow from thet,“ e continued, in the same careless draw! “thet he hez made acatcb. An’ yit, who knows? urn me, if he moutn’t! Thur’s lots 0 chances for his doin’ it. The moostang may 'a' let him come clost up—seein’ as he’s ndln one 0’ its own sort; an’ of it dud—3y, of it dud- “ What the dumation am I stannin' hym- fur? Thur ain’t no time to waste in shiller-shallerin’. E: be shed grup that critter, an’ get what he_ wants from it, then I mout whissel fer what I want, ’ithout the ghost 0’ a chance for gettin‘ it. , “Imust make a better rate 0 speed. Gee-up, ole gurl, an‘ see cf ye can’t overtake that ’ere gray boss as scuttled past half a’ hour one. Now foraspe 0’ y’ur swiftness, the which ye km show along w1’ any 0’ them, I reckon—thet air, when ye’re pressed." Instead of using the cruel means emgégyed by him when wanting the mare to make her t speed, he only drove the old spur ainst her ribs and started her into a trot. He had no esire to travel more rapidly than was consistent with caution' and while tro ting lhie kept his eyes sharply ranging the skyline in front 0 iin. “From the way his truck runs." was his reflection, “.Ikin tell pretty nigh whar it’s goin’ to.fetch out. Everything seems logo that way; an’ so did he, 0;- young femur—never more to come back. Ah, w ! ef tain’ ble to revive him ag‘in, may be it air to e nostrils of hissteed were almostona line with 'squar’ eyurds wi’tbeskunkasdestro ede. The t I ngtallofthstpuisued. nisiiflelsyready Sari mm‘aeyeforseyegan'atoo foratooth,’ hm hand. its tuggewa covered by thoflngers an‘ '11 shot up somebody‘s Ganglia. ui’ spoil the use Newlyork Library. V ‘o‘ thur i vorics afore I hev done wi‘ him. v to the edge of the chaparral, and observing Somebody as don‘t suspeeshun it neyther, an’ that same— Re hi Yonner he goes! An’ yonner too the Headless, by eo- hosophat! Full allup both; anI durn me if the gray ain’t wovertakin’ im! " They ain‘t comiii’ this way, so ‘tain’t no use in our squattiii’, ole gurl. Stan‘ steady, for all that. He moat see us movin‘. “No fear. He’s too full 0’ his frolic to look anywhar else than straight custruct afore him. “Ha! jest as I expected—into the openin’! Right down it, fast as heels kin carry ’em! “ Now, my maar on we go ag’in!" Another stage of trotting, with his eyes ke t stead- gastlly fixed on the Chaparral gap, brought b totho im )er. Although the chase had long since turned the angle of the avenue, and was now out of sight, he did not go filon 13:10 open ground, but among the bushes that bor- crc i . He went so as to command a view of the clear track for some short distance ahead; at the same time taking care that neither himself nor his mare might be seen by any one advancing from the opposite direction. He did not anticipate meeting any one; much less the man who soon after came in sight. He was not greatly surprised at hearin a shot; for he had been listening for it, ever since he ad set e as on the chase. He was rather in surprise at not hearin it sooner; and when the crack did come, he recognize the report of the Yager rifle, and knew Whose gun had been ischarged. He was more astonished at seeing its owner returning along the lane, in less than five minutes after the shot had been fired; returning, too, with a rapidity that told of retreat! “Comin' back again; an’ so soon!" he muttered, on erceiving Calhoun. “Dog- roned queery that air! hur’s somethin‘ amiss, mor ii a miss I reck’n. He, he, he! Goin’ too, as if h—l war arter him! Ma beit‘s the Headless issclf, and thur’s been a. chan in about in the chase; tit for tat! Duru me of it don' look like it! I’d i’e a. silver dollar to see that sort o’a. thing. He, be, e! ho, ho, hoe!” Long before this the limiter had slipped out of his saddle, and taken the precaution to screen both him- self and his animal from the chance of being seen by thecretl'eating rider, who promised soon to pass the s o . pAnd soon did he pass it goinglzt such a gait. and with such a wild, abstracted air, t t Zeb wou d scarce have been perceived had he been standing uncovered in the avenue! “ Geehosophat!” mentally ejaculated the backwoods- man, as the passion-seamed countenance came near enough to be scrutinized. “ Ifh—l ain‘t drier, it’s inside 0’ him! Durn me ef that face ain‘t the ugliest pictur’ this ’coon ever clapped yes on. I shed pity the wife as gets him. Poor Iiss eintdexter! Ihope she'll be able to steer clur 0’ liavin’ sech a cut-throat as him to be her lord an’ master. 1‘ What’s up, anyhow? Thar don’t ’pear to be any- thin’ arter him? An’ he still keeps on! Whar’s he boun’ for now? I must foller an’ see. “ To hum ag'iii !" exclaimed the hunter, after oilililg on a ouii still going on a gallop, with head turned homeward. “ Hum ag in, for sart’in! ‘ . “ Now ole gurl!" he continued, having remained silent till the gra horse was nearly out of sight, " on an’ me goes t’ot er way. We must find out what t at shot wur fired for. " In ten minutes after, Zeb had alighted from his mare, and lifted up from the ground an object, the stoutest heart might lave felt horror in taking hold of—disgust, even, in touchi ! Not so the old unter. In that object he beheld the lineaments of a face well known to him—(lee ite tho shriveling of the skin, and the blood-streaks hat so fem-fully falsified the expression—still dear to him do- splte death and a merciless mutilation. He had loved that face, when it belon ed to a boy; he now cherished it belongi not to an y! Claspi the rim of the he that fltt tightly to the temples, Zeb endeavored to take it off. 9 did not succeed, The head was swollen so as to almost burst the bullion band twisted around it! Holding it in its natural position, Zeb stood foratixne gazing tenderly on the face. “Lord, oh, Lordy!” he drawlingly exclaimed, “what apresent to take back to his father, to so. nothin‘ o" the Sister! Idon’t think I‘ll take it. It r better to buri the thing out hgur, an’ say no more abeout it. “ o; durn me ef I o! What am I thinkln’ o‘!’ Tho’ I don‘t exackly see how it may hel to sarcumstantiate the chain 0’ evv dince it may 0 somethin' torst it. Duit'neld, queery w tness it’ll be to purduce in a court 0’ us is , J Saying this, he unstrupgfid his old blanket; and using it as awrapper, care ly packed Within it head, hafihandhan‘ani' th t b d] h 1 en "mg a s range un 9 over on 0 his saddle, e remounted his mare, and 33% reflect- ineg away. CHAPTER LXXXIII. _ Lines on THE LAW. ON the third day after Maurice Gerald became an in- mate of the military prison, the fever had forsaken him. and he no longer talked incoherentl . 0n the fourth he was almost restored to his ealth and strength. The fifth was appointed for his trial! Thi haste—that elsewhere would have been consid- ered indecent—was thought notbin of in Texas; where a. man may com a capital 0 case, be tried, and lhangeld, Within ort space of four and twenty curs His enemie, w .- of their own, insiste who were few, could Among the populac . for prompt and speedy mg 1phrase, old as the of t e murdered manw : veii sauce." T e advocates of an ear fortuitous circumstance. . Court chanced just then to be days devoted to clearing the : been appointed that very week. There was, therefore, a sort case of Maurice Gerald, as of th derers. should be tried within. .: AI no one objected, than v . = numerous, for some reason dis sch; while his friends, . good reason ‘ it. was the usu clamoring 'v fortified b that excit- ' itself: “ at the blood -, from the ground for were favored by 8' 1‘- of' the Supreme I : circuit‘ and the at Fort healing l . i ' , He‘s nowhere to be No. 8. The I-IkeadlessuI-Iorseman. postponement; and it stood ii n the doeket for the day “ I don’t think any W has ha pemd between them. I] uestion—the fifteenth of t e month. 6 accused might require the services of a legal 1111- may be what that viser. There was no regular practitioner in the place; as in these frontier districts the gentlemen of the long robe usually travel in company with the Court; an the Court had not yet arrived. For all that, a lawyer had appeared: a “counselor” of distinction, who had come all the way from San Antonio to conduct the case. Asa volunteer he had presented himself}. It may have been generosity on the part of this gen- tleman, or one e to Congress, though it was said that ! 201d, presente by fair fingers, had induced him to make the jonrney. _ I When it rains, it pours. The adage is true in Texas as regards the elements; and on this occasiion it was true of the lawyers. ‘ The day before that appointed'for the trial of the mustanger, a. second presented himself at Ifort In e, , who put forward his claim to be upon the Side of t e I prioner. _ This gentleman had made a still longer journey than ‘ he of San Antonio; a voyage, in fact; Since he had ! crossed the great Atlantic starting from the metro o- lis of the Emerald Isle. I-Ic 'had. come for no otier purpose than to hold communication With the man ac- oused of having committed a murder! It is true, the errand that had brought him did not anticipate this; and the Dublin solicitor was no little astonished when, after depositing his traveling-traps under the roof of Mr, Oberdoffer’s hostclry, and making inquiry about Maurice Gerald, he was told that the young Irishman was shut up in the guard-house. Stil greater the attorney s astonishment on learning the cause of the incarceration. “thatl the son of a. Munsthcr Gerald accused of murdher! The heir of Castle Ballagh, wid its bewtiful , park and demense. Fwy, I‘ve got the apcrs in my 1 portmantyee here. Faugh-a-ballagh! ghow me the my to him." ‘ hough the “Texan” Boniface was inclined to_con- slder his recently-arrived guest entitled to a suSpicion of lunacy, he assented to his request; and furnished him with a ide to the guard-house. , If the Iris attorney was mad, there appeared to be method in his madness. Instead of being denied ad- mittance to the accused criminal, he was made wel- come togo in and out of the military prison as often as it seeme good to him. Some document he had laid before the eyes of the major-commandant, had procured him this privilege; at the same time placing him an rapport, in a friendly way, with the Texan “ counselor.” _ The advent of the Irish attorney at such o‘crisis gave riseto much speculation at the fort the Village, and throughout the settlement. The ar-room of the “Rough and Ready" was rife With conjectures—quid- hum they could scarcely be called; since in Texas the genus does not exist. A certain otesqueness about the man added to the national inst not for guess -which had been rendered excruciatin 1y keen throng some revelations, contrib- uted by “ Ofd Duflfer. _ For all that, that transatlantic limb of the law proved himself tolerabl true to the traditions of his craft. With the except on of the trifling lmprudences already detailed—drawn from him in the first moments of surprise—he never afterward committed himself, but he his lips close as an oyster at ebb tide. glare was not much time for him to use his ton e. On the day after his arrival the trial was to ke lace; and during most of the interval he was either in Elie guard-house along with1 the prisoner, or closeted wi an Antonio counse . 'l‘llligllsushor became rife that Maurice Gerald had told them a tale—a strange, weird story—but of its details the world outside remained in ltchlniignorance. There was one who knew ltr—one a le to confirm it— Zeb Stnm the hunter. There nlliy have been another: but this other was not in the confidence either of the accused or his coun- IeL Zeb himself did not appear in their company. Only once had he been seen conferring with them. After that he was gone—both from the guard-house and the set- tlement, as everybody supposed, about his ordinary business—in search of deer, ‘ bear," or “ gobbler." Eve body was in error. Zeb for the time had for- saken a usual ursults, or at all events, the game he was accustome to chase, capture or kill. It is true he was out upon a stalking expedition; but ad of birds or beasts, he was after an animal of neither sort: one that could not be classed with crea- tiu‘es either of the earth or the air—a. horseman With- Ilt a head. CHAPTER Lxxlgggw AN muonourn NE . “TRIED to-morrow—to-morrow, thank God! Not likely that anybody‘ll catch that cursed thing before — be he , never. met}? lgoall I'vepggt to fear. I defy them to tell what’s happened without that. Hang me if Iknow myself! En u hon to— . “0 geer, t e cc of this Irish pettifoggeri “ eer, too, the fa ow from San Antonio! Wonder who and what brought him? Somebodys promised “CE-ragesgfi! I don’t not the value of a red cent. They can make nothing out of it. but that Gerald did the deed. Every thing points that way; and mam”? midi: film“ l°-°°“‘2f.l mite, “ tum on e sus cious b8 p h found: Tmrzdgil; where hhethas ahnntte sa. ' ’ e ,suc aime othat if he b; huynting m Whal: if he should care, gone! as “high c“"hl’dltry again myself if there was time. There ain‘t. Before to-morrow night it’ll be all one; and afterward if there ‘sbould turn up— Curse afterward! The thin is to make sure now. Let the future look to itsel . With one manh for the murder, ’taln’t likely they’d mrbtoaccuse anot er. Even if somethin sus icious did turn up! They’d be shyl to take hold of t. I would inning themse ves “Pimfirve at all right vtvlth tfie R “1330131.: Gunman hinge are re ty we conv c . '3 doubts, 3w; mg head when I told him kn k wig; Iegeard that nigh . A little more than I did hear; . ‘» though that was enough to make a man stark, s l t “ ’ crying over lit milk. She’s met the It :nxdpth‘gg’s an end of i? she‘ll never meet him ‘ m8 man, d that's another and of it—except she meet magma!» Well; that will depend upon 11 ‘ She‘s not the sort for tha , with al her wildness; and it allow wench tells me—only grati- tude. No, no, no! t can‘t be. Gratitude don‘t get out of bed in the middle of the night—to keep appointments at the bottom of the garden! She loves him-Ashe loves him! Let ll(‘l‘ love and be cursed! She shall never have him! She shall never see him again, iiiilch she n-ovo obstinate; and then it will be but to condemn iim. A word from her and he’s a haiigcd man. “ She shall speak it, il’ she don‘t say that other word I’ve twice asked her for. The third time will be the last. One more refusal, and I show my hand. Not on] shall this Irish adventurer meet his (loom, but she slia lhe his condeiniier; and the plantation, house, nig- geisg‘cvcrytliing— Ali! uncle Woodlcy; I wanted to sec on. The soliloquy above reported took place in a chain- ber, tenanted only by Cassius Calhoun. It was Woodley‘ l’omdcxtcr who interrupted it. Sad, silent, straying t rough the corridors of Casa del Corvo, he had entered the apartment usually occupied by his nephew—more by chance than from any premeditated ui ose. p “ ant me! For what, nephew?" There was a tone of humility, almost obedience, in the speech of the broken man. he once proud Poindex- ter—before whom two hundred slaves had trembled every day, every hour of their llVUS‘llOW stood in the presence of his master! True, it was his own nephew who had the power to humiliate him—his Sister‘s‘son. But there was not much in that, considering the char- acter of the man “I want to sp"ak to you about Loo," was the rejoin- der of Calhoun. . It was the very subject \Voodlc Poindcxter would have shunned. It was something c dreaded to s )eiik about, much less make the topic of discourse; an less still with him who now challenged it. Nevertheless he did not betray surprise. He Scarce felt it. Something saidpr done on the day before had led him to anticipate this request for a conversation— as also the nature of the sub path The manner in which Calhoun introduced it did not diminish his uneasmess. It sounded more like a de- mand than a request. ” About Loo? What of her?" he inquired, with as- sumed calmness. “Well,_" said Calhoun, apparently in reluctant utter- ance, aSif shy about entering u on the subject, or pre- tending to he so, “ I——I—-wante Whathe did say was this: y y “I in earnest, Loo!" “ I am, sir. Have I spoken like “Ymgve spoken like on. who hasn’t “U ‘ what?“ gfimngsg' _ ' ,_ a Well, for one, the way I love you.” one who ' 2," On Pal-n to ~ i J I. ulna, ..-r..a._, ..- .7 I. .. . , ~_*‘:~VKZ‘£S'.W"‘-" ‘,"Y‘_"‘!l"."7", She made no rejoinder. ‘ “A love," he continued, in a tone half ex lanatory, half pleading, “ a love. Loo, that no man eels for a woman, and survives it. It can end only with my life. It could not end with ours." There was a pause ut still no reply. , “ ’Tis no use my telling you its history. It began on the same day—my, the same hour I first saw you. , “I won’t say it figw stronger as time passed. It could not. On my t visit to your father’s houso— i now six years ago—you may remember that after $igfiiting from my horse, you asked me to take a walk t got ready. _ “You were but a stripling of a girl; but oh, Loo, you were a woman in beauty~as beautiful as you are at this moment. “No doubt on little thought, as on took me by the hand, and lJme along the grave ed walk, under the shade of the China trees, that the touch of your fingers was sendi a thrill into my soul; your pretty prattlo making an impression on my heart that neither time, nor distance, nor yet dissipation, has been able to eirace.” The Creole continued to listen, though not without showing sign. Words so elo uent, so earliest, so full of sweet flattery, could scarce all to have effect u on a woman. By such 5 ech had Lucifer succeeded in the accomplishment of 's purpose. There was pity, if not up mm] in her look! till did she keep silence. Calhoun continued: “ Yes, Loo; it's true, as I tell you. I’ve tried all three. Sixnyears may fairly be called time. From Mississippi l0 exico was the distance; for I went there with no other purpose than to forget you. It proved of no avail; and returning, I entered upon a course of dissi- pation. ew Orleans knows that. “ I won’t say that In passion grew stronger by these attempts to stifle it. ’ve already told you it could not. From the hour you first caught my hand, and called me cousin—ah! ou called me handsome cousin, Loo— from that hour can remember no change, no degrees, in the fervor of my infection; except when jealousy has ‘i’nadc me hate—ah, so much that could have killed you . “ Good gracious, Ca tain Calhoun! This is wild talk of yours. It is even sifly !“ “-lTis serio nevertheless. I’ve been so jealous with on at times, t it was a task to control myself. My mper I conld not—as you have reason to know.” “Alas, cousin, I cannot help what has happened. I never gave you cause to think—" “I know what you are goin to say, and on may leave it unspoken. I’ll say it or on: ‘ to t ink that _0u‘ever loved me.‘ Those were t 0 words upon your p31 don‘t sa you did,” he continued, with deepening despair “I on’t accuse you of tem ting me. Some- t did. , who ave you suc beauty; or the (1 who led me to 100 : upon it.” “ t you say only causes me pain. I do not sup- pose youaretryin to flatter me. You talk too earn- estly for that. ut oh, cousin Cassius, to: a fancy from which you will easily recover. There are others, far fairer than I: and many/gm would feel compli- mented by such speeches. y not address yourself to them?’ “Why not?” he echoed, with bitter emphasis. ‘7 What an idle uestion." “I re eat it. t is not idle. Far more so is your af- fection or me; for I must be candid with you, Cassius. . I do not—I cannot love you!” “ You will not marry me, then?” “That, at least, is an idle question. I’ve said I do not love on. Surely that is sufficient.” “And We said Ilove you. I gave it as one reason why I wish you for my wife; but there are others. Are you desirous of hearing them Y” As Calhoun asked the question the suppliant air for- in.uook him. The spirit of the jaguar was once more in e a. ' “ on said there were other reasons. State them! Do not be backward. I am not afraid to listen." “Indeed!” he rejoined, sueeringly. “You‘re not afrai ain’t out” “No that know of. What have I to tear?” “Inwon‘t say what you have; but what your father “ Let me hear it? What concerns him equally affects me. I am his daughter; and now alas, his only child. Go on cousin Calhoun! What is this shadow hanging over him i" ’ “ N o shadow, Loo; but somethi serious and sub- stantial. A trouble he’s no longer ab e to contend with. You force me to speak things you shouldn’t know any t ’ about.’ , “ h! don't I? You‘re mistaken, cousin Cash. I know them already. I’m aware that my father’s in debt; and that you are his creditor. How could I have remained in ignorance of. it? Your arro ance about the house~yourJJresumption shown every our, and in resence of the omestics—has been evulence sufficient satisfy even them that there is somethi You are master of Case. del Corvo. I know it. not master of me.’ " Calhoun quailed before the defiant speech, The card 11 n which he had been counting was not hkely to gain 6 trick. He declined playing it. ' amiss. ou are He held a still stronger in his hand, which was exhib. ited without further delay. . ‘ “ !” he retorted, sneermgly. “ Well. if I m not master of your hea