f l:— -- fl \\\\\\ \ H! // / 1W ,LA 't“ v \‘ (/1 3 "C; A Mummim ‘ .s ,. #7 _ “m”. {mithllfllflfln ‘, glfilliilum” 't " '1! W ' ‘ i! ‘. {Iii ill: V El 3' Mimklithhn Hr; MM lill‘lhi! {Mull A 1.|.Ml1n,th .1 m éEADLé & ADA’MS. I V 1 I Published Every 9136071129» C?‘ ~/IZ(Z(177’LS- @ILZfliSherS; Ten Cantu Copy. 0 . . Two Week, No. 98 WILLIAH STREET. NEW YORK. 82.50 a. You. The Kidnapper,£f§hanghai of the Northwest. I o 5 By Philip S. Warne, Author of “Tiger Dick,” “A. Hard Crowd,” etc. /-" 7 ’ I, ., \."~ "A a" \V/ / m 5 ‘\ , / I, " "‘x§"\\'§i\§\v 4:“ c‘ \' I -II,‘ ‘l”" 1 “$533? ‘ t‘ m ‘ n . ' v / \ W s _ i ‘ d , _/ 1 ‘ § ‘ \ k l \H‘ i u" r {lull/7' //,I \ ‘0 |/’/ ’ , tWtyo .“~‘>§‘;\f/’/ I ' ‘ / M \ t s“ ‘ ’ly, .u‘lv /‘ r , ’ ' \ ,'\\ 7//)’/"5’/§*”“Iw“\\\ww ‘ ' , , ' t. ’ u.» “\ ‘wmw‘... ’ /// [ti/AW}- ! 1‘ V ' ,"V “ ‘gvhf‘lr ‘2‘ ‘ U \I ., ‘~ n [Mil ' ’ ' ‘ r ’I'I‘I" ' V H . , g ' ' » ' t \ \wm‘. “3;: //’//»:’//2r’\‘.a'w\ ‘ t t -‘ / ' I . _ 5“?‘~:~::§3~‘I\“~ (/$ ("1". i ‘ “mt ' \ \ ~ 164,9“ “MW ‘ X‘ \ Mil“. “ | 1 l z—l I! 08“ m‘u 3x ‘2 “ “\‘i‘ ' mm ~\ 'III’, ,fl" ,va j, "C | I '\4'I,‘ \ / \ \ ‘3 \ | | I 4% \ S§¥§ ‘ “\— h ‘ “\ “\x‘ ‘ . \ m9 BLANCH! AWAY. 2 The New York Library. Vol. I. The Kidnapper; v The Great Shanghai of the orthwest BY PHILIP S. VVARNE. CHAPTER I. A CLOUDED ms. ON the Minnesota ,borderl Rock!-_-—abOVe, {around below—with here and there a gleaming pomt of crystal, like a star set in a dun out. Here a tapering pendant, with its corre nding cone beneath; yonder a column whose endcr shaf t was fashioned by no human hand; further on an arch, him the vault of some rude fane of old. In the center of the apartment appear the re- ' of a recent fire, and, scattered around, a scanty stock of cooking utensils, such as are used by men who bestow little thought on the elegance of a repast, provided it gives strength to their bodies. The walls ’are adorned with ap- urtenances of the chase, hanging from jagged Brojections or resting on ledges, and skins were stretched ’upon the rocky floor to serve as couches. The sole occupant. of this weird. abode is a yoimg man of perhaps. five-and-twenty. In dress he is not unlike others of his class, his stout jerkin and leg 'ns, his belt with its array of istols, knife an hatchet, and the never~ feigng rifle that leans agains the wall within reach, clearly indicating his calling. In featigfii however, he is seen to be intellectual far hey the common hunter. He is pacing the apartment with bowed head, a frown of ‘ in knitting his brow, and his firm lips shaken y emotion. “ It is folly to think of these things,” he mur- murs; “and yet the panorama of my clouded life crowds upon me so to-day. - “How my soul yearns over its irre ble loss in that no recollection of a mothers smile hfiers about it, luring it tohiwher and better t gs. Alas! I never felt that sacred touch upon my brow. Those lips—like to no other lips ——never pressed a mother’s kiss upon mine. 0 kindly eye brightened in sympathy with m joy; no rea'Iy ear bent to catch my childish sorrow; no loving bosom waited'to receive my aching head. ‘ “The cold tolerance of her who played this toward me taught me, by contrast with the are I saw lavished upon in more fortunate companions, how much I ha lost in being de- prived of this holiest, best gift of God to man. “ But most crushing,r of all was the knowledge that those to whom I should have looked for ex- amples of virtue and upri htness were utterly unworthy of the sacred o: so they held. How could I‘honor a man, every sentiment of. whose coarse nature did violence tamy sense of right —-how obey one who held in contempt all law human and divine? An unbeliever in God an man~a scoffer of virtue and right—an outlaw —m atherl , g r “ at he was not satisfied with this. He must endeavor to instill into my mind these cious notions by which those like him seek excuse, if not justify, their evil deeds. He must try to dgtw me into the terrible zortexhto live an milli- c pr ing upon socie y, an ts kicks wit hatred and injuries. Am ly was he seconded by the woman, worthy partner of such a man. . - “ But I tore myself away from the home I learned to loathe, resolved to shake off the trammsls of shame and t and wretchedness, and mark out for myse a higher and better 0. " My heart, reaching out blindly for truth, while surroundel by only the worst phases of our imperfect nature, gave to its ideal of human excellence and Virtue an exalted place—toohigh, perhaps; for, while every instinct of my nature me to seek companionship, how few could I d to equal my standard! ' “It was thus then, that I met thee, sweet Blanche! Ah! how well the namo befitted thy white soil! In thee were every virtue, eve grace. In thee I beheld mother, sister—nay, 1 hat my heart had hungered for inthose years of loneliness and misery. ' ‘ “ But no, it‘could not be They told me that fond parents had linked th fate with that of another: that hand in ban you had travarsed the sunny paths of childhood and youth bloom- ing into perfectness for one another. (5h! how I envied him his lot—to share with thee the. happy years of this world, the eternity of the no: . “ At first I was 5 ed, paralyzed I felt no gain. I only knew t t my heart Wit crushed. lit that passed, to be succeeded by a storm 01 aged tha sweptmy soul. “‘ y heart cried out against this cruel de- mand, and‘would not give up its one cherished ,- its only hope. Bu I thou ht of the right- u! heir of this heritage. Shoulgtho hand of the ‘ interlOpcr des )011 him of his ,arl of rice? Where were hose 3gb Frinc ples of onor whichlwdrequiredof my allow-men? I. who a~ r hundred times had told myself that all, all should be cheerfully given up at the behest of duty. I was rebelling, when called 11 n‘to make ,a single sacrifice. Ah! but it was t e sum of all in one!” ‘ Suddenly he stopped in his hurried walk and clasped his hands in air above his upturned face, while great beads of sweat stood on his brow and hot tears blinded his eyes. “Oh! Blanche! Blanche!” he cried, “little do on know the an h of this crushed and bl ding heart! An get I would suffer it all, all—nay, a hundredfol intensified, for that One glirfiplse of heaven before this utter, rayless m white face dropped into his hands, and for a time his frame quivered beneath the lash Olsuflering. Then dashing aside his tears, he sai : “I am a child to (give way thus. 3 "I thought that I was strong, an here I find myself givggg free scope to my emotions. But a. strange in has come over me to—day and betrayed me into this weakness: It seems as if some momentous event was impending. I can’t understand it. I’ll rid myself of it.’ ‘ Going to a place in the cave where a little stream trickled from the rocks. and fell in 9. ba- sin, he plunged his head into the water several times, removing in a measure the evidences of hifiecent 1(la‘zaccitement. 1 d) was re intempted b the scarce y no '— ble sound of a footfall in oyhe of the passages. Looking um his eye met the form of a man who was 0 ed remarkable on account of his shortness of s e, and the odd a penance presented by a pair of - boweglmlzfis. bui! he was stout, with do chest,- shoulders and long, sinewy arms. is face, deeplfi bronzed by exposure, where it was not covere( by a shag beard, bleached to a sandy yellow about t e mouth; wore an expression of frankness and honesty. A man of india—rubber an steel, he was a valuable friend, but a formi able foe. Upon discovering him, Walter Weston greeted him With some rise. , “ Eh, Bantam! k again?” “ Ay, boy. ,I’ve found work for you that’ll gemto your mind, I’m thinkm' ’. But where’s ng _ “Gone to restock our larder. We’re getting short you know.” ' “ um! I rather counted on Shang. If it wouldn’t take time to look him up that we hain’t got to spare—” “ Nonsense, Bantam!” interrupted Walter, all eagerness for an adventure. ‘ You’re a small arm in yourself; and I’ll do for the reserve, went I? Come! lead on—lead on!” _ “ Not so loud, ye you rattle-pate!” cau- tioned Bantam, reprovin y, yetgood humor- edly; for be regarded W r with much of that chivalric love which man usual] accords to woman but which not inf _uen y springs up in .the breasts of rude men ike him for other men of higher culture and re t. “ Oh! I’m as mum as a last-year’s bird’s nest.” was the laughing rejoinder, an unusual flow of spirits comingasareactionfromthe emotion of a f minutes before. ' when they had emerged from the cave an stood lookin at a footprint which Bhutan: thered in Walter’s eyes, gin ii tremblxd. as his erprsssnt pointed out, a and for a moment thoughts reverted to her w was 6 to his mind. . ‘ ' “Itis the f rintof adelicatelynurtm‘ed woman, Bantam,’ he said. “‘The impredmia too deephto have been made by a hiliiy,“yet it shows 6 foot to have been ex “will”ng ' aintused to trampin’in ; one as ’ . the bdsh. £11 eanimost e trail looks as if she war tuckered out, poor thing. The tracks has dew in ‘em, which shows that they was made last night. Them Injin trackswas made this mo - in .. I reckon she escaped from them. an’ they’re follerin’ arter her ag’in. If.they ketch her, an’ 0 course she can’t git ur, they may put her out o’ the way 0’ cuttin cit-:fi’in.” ' i “Let us hasten to her ,” said Walter, ner__- vously. “We may be in time to savo her from the Sioux.” “ Hark!" cried Bantam, asthe report of a rifle broke on the air. “ What can it mean?” Walter. “ Then it goes again! For heaven’s nabs, cum on!” Jest keep yer shirt on, 'inyv can _roua friend!” cautioned Bantam. ‘ a can t run'a foot-race to whar the gel is, en’ that’s sartain.” While he was speaking a chorus of yells burst on the air, followed by a. rifle-shot and a woman’s shriek of mortal tom 1'. . “My God, thefv’ve shot her!” cried W312? and with a wild oreboding in his hearthe ed along the trail at headlong With comet like an 0a b ‘ aids after him, a clutched him by the'collar‘of r I One would think you was a hul ri nt 0’ - lam an’ bullet- roof at that, by WI “ tme . aptam! (It ma be e! ..The Sioux have, on raidin the b0 erlatel 1 Oh God! if it should be lanche!) Lot 50. i say. , 1 must go to her defense whoever it is. ’ [v , thescoutbound- - jTe kin. ‘ amalation!” he cried, “will” You? wit-1‘ {rm 1 “ Tot in that harum-scarum fashion, I reckon. We’ve got to make tracks. Don’t you hear! they’re comin’ this way. That shot was much nearer than the other ones.” 7 _ Walter yielded, seeing 'the good sense of the other’s words. Leavingthe trail at right angles, they had proceeded scarcely a dozen rods when the _scout crouched down, dragging his com- panion after him. ’ CHAPTER'II. AN AM BU SE. A coumr road in Western Minnesota. lBlanche kgurlliganli, gig; heroinghafinded on orse ur y , a i rderman. The 15; rides a noble anim , sleek of side and hthe o limb, which, because of its speed and beauty, she has christened Selim. In stature she is not above the medium hight- {let there is somethinglin her erect carria e and e steady light of or gray e e whic , ina moment of danger, would make er looked up to by most women. Just now her eyes are dimmed b a slight shadow, like the reflection of a clou in a calm, pellucid pool, while her com on sazis: “ e must 9 us home at a round ace Miss Blanc e; for I’ll warrant Master II is impa- tiently waiting for us at home, even now. brave lad an ' Burly Ben. He has been attached to the young man from his very birth, and is never tired of sounding his praises, little dreaming that they miligy 506811;? prove less entertaining to another. 11 on t 8' occasibn'hefia'talkmg to Hal’s betrothed, and she is of come to listen eafirlyto anything said in er lover’s favor; so e con- tinues: . “ Ay, a brave lad and a true. Not takin’ so much to the woods, mayhap, as I should like; but for all that as gallant a lad as ye’d meet ’twixt da light and dark. W hen he was a wee bit of a ' , I promised his father, the major, as I’d stan’ by him while wood growed and water run; an’ I’ve done‘ it, I have, an’ always “111% “ You have ever shown a at ove ‘fc Major Bearsley, Ben,” remarked B ache; and _a close observer might have turmised that it was With a view of changing the subject of the other’s dis- course. ‘-‘ Hain’t'I, though!” lied Ben, enthusiasti- cally. “Ah, Miss Blane e! it was, a sore day tains. Hal was a. wee bit of a chi . . As‘f at eflntdischargahe feltabul- letpwm, mesmuswm '. . a true is Master Hal,” pursues _ when the major went on that trip over the moor ‘ ' . a 7“ 'g. .4 “U1, .~ g Blanche. His‘ :- Ml he. ’ Burly Ben had only time to see several mount- I the cart and left to wclter in her blood at the ed Indians appear from the undergrowth and 1 feet of her child. Coverin divide, some oing in pursuit of Blanche, while : hands, toshut out the horri 1e vision she bowed others urged ir horses hotly on his track. CHAPTER III. BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE. NIGHT, in the enemy’s camp. In a little glade a conflict, characterized b the brief, yet savage energy of the whirlwin The reports of firearms—the interchange of heavy blows, that fall with sickeninar thud-the clash of steel on steel—the gnde o lmife and tomahawk, slashingthe quivering flesh to the bone—the ell of defiance—the death-rattle—the muffled f on the turf! Then the glazed eye—— the stiffening limbs—the lotting of crimson ooze, that (1 es the green sward! Wit a yell of terror, a single sav e leaped away into the darkness, and two men eld pos- session of the field. f“ Blanche ! my darling l” burst from the lip‘ 0 one. With a bound, he was at the side of a pros- trate, motionless form. One slash of his bloody knife severed the ligature which bound her to the wrist of the dead savage at her side. Shud- dering, he snatched her hand away from con- tact with that of her vanquished captor. Then, with all the father in a gaze of agonized inquiryr he passed ahand under her hea' , and raised it until the fitnt light from the scattered embers fell upon her face. One moment he looked at the bloodless cheek and closed eyes, and then his nerveless hand refused its support; the head fell back limp and lifeless to the ground, and an m- articulate cry issued from his lips. The remaining survivor of the fight knelt be- side the motionless form .of Harry Bearsle . With deft fingers, he examined a_wound on t 0 side of the head. He budget finished bandag- ing it, when the veice of . Burbank, soundmg strange and constrained, called him : “Ben, for God’s sake, come here!” Burl Ben immediately arose, in response to the cal ', and passed to Mr. Burbank’s side. “ Is she dead?” he asked in sudden awe, as he gazed on the motionless figure, and then on the espairing face of his com nion. “I don t know. Look or yourself,” replied the father in a choking vouce. Burl Ben knelt and reverently lifted the head ol/theTglirLsoas toturnthestill face tothe flrelight. en a‘ sudden exclamation escaped hisli , andhelookedcloeer. “ hy, ’squire, ’tain’ther!” _ Without removing his face from in hands, Mr Burbank replied: “ No; it iSnotshe.” Burly Ben azed upon the face of thestran er, for stranger s e was, and scratched his h in a puzzled way. . U “Squire,” he said, presently, “I don’t Ll: understand the signs, but it ’pears to me t t we’ve barkin’ up the wrong tree, an’ eotched a beaver—that’s sartin. " “ We have got 08 the trail in some way,” as- sented Mr. Burbank; “ but look after this poor child, Ben; I have not the heart. This isa bit- ter disappointment.” ‘ “ Never mind, ’squire. Don’t lose heart. They’ve dropped us to-day but we’ll come ag’in. It’s an unlucky dog that on’t get a bone one da in the week.” . . ifting the unconscious girl carefully in his stron arms. Burly Ben bore her nearer the fire; and n laying her on the turf, damp and pery in laces with the blood of the combatan now sti in death, he began to apply the simple restorativesat his command. S 0 had injury, and was merely in a swoon. Presently She revived, gated about her wildly, and then shut her eyes, shuddering and cowering. ' “ Don’t steamed, mam,” said Bur y Ben m reassuri tones; “ you’re among friends. “’0 ve res 'ed ye from the Injins, an won’t see no harm come to e.” ' The ' l cliched. her eyes and gazed . earn . he startling3 up, she clutched his arm nhrunkuto his , glancing nervously around in the darkness. “0h, drl”she exclaimed, “you have beaten them—the cruel Indians! They took me from my home. .You will hel o to get back 1 Oh, mother! motheri—the 'Iled her! I havetno home now.” ' ' - She dropped her face into her hands, and gave we. to a pusswn o tears. ‘ M poor child,” said Mr. Bur “ wo shoul be thankful to heaven that. wo have been the means of releasing you from the terrible captivit which awaited you, though we came in sear of another. What is your name, and where is vom' homo?” , . “ I am Mary Edwards, sir,” replied the l, in a sweet voice, yct tromulous With grie . “'I lived at the Aberdeen settlement. Oh, sir, these cruel savages burned our house; and poor, could not walk fast at him' - ,1 a, .and rearinrr on . ,_, , a a pground. and darted off 1 wringing her hands and rocking to and fro her ' opposite to that taken by eyes wild with the awful horror of that rut ess : . '3'. ' _ I A A k r _ rt r91 rd E enough and the —and they— Oh mother! bu was me lame, I mother!” y ’ l 1 l l r her hat. To gain this trophy the scout ran the , , the Great Shanghai of the Northwest. 3 ! “I be your pardon, Ben,” said Mr. Burbank. W‘Iseet at I wasnnjust. Youdidallthatman ‘ could do under the circumstances. I have much to thank you for—” “Let up, ’squire,” said the now mollified Ben. “None 0 that if you please. I’d go anywhere, l or do anything for Miss Blanche." “ But, how could she have got off her horse, . Ben, going at full speed? She was pursued by the savages.” “ She might have pulled up an’ jumped off an’ then sent the boss on. But, as Se] m could run them leetle In 'in ponies clean out 0’ their hides I don’t see w fur she should do it.” “Vi'hat are we to do now?” asked the father : in a de‘ cted tone. “If we 0 back, where can we fin her? A week! W at may not have ' hag; ened to her in that time!” vercome with the reflection, he covered his face with his hands, while his frame shook with emotion. Mary EdWards clas .ed his arm with her hands, and laying her chee against it whis- pered, with a woman 5 quick. s§mpathy: “ Do not despair, dear sir. ou may yet find her. God watches ‘over us all!” She broke forth into heart-rending wails, butcher , where a mother had been stricken to . her eyes with her her head to her lap in utter abandonment of grief. Burbank gazed upon the heart-: roken girl with the yearning pity of a father, ‘ whose own daughter had been torn from his arms, and was now exposed to he knew not , what dangers. Tender! he raised her up, ' drawing her head upon shoulder, and sup- pong her with his arm. She clung to him with t ie unquestioning trust of a child—she was scarce]. more—while sohs and shudders shook her slig t fr line. When he had somewhat allayed the passion of her grief, Mr. Burbank told her the story of his dau hter’s loss and of the mistake which had led hem to follow her, supposing her to be . Blanche, which story we can convey to the reader ina very few words. i The last words were spoken in a tone of so- After escaping the Indians himself, Burly Ben ‘ lemnity that made them an invocation. Mr. re in search of Blanche. He found where v Burbank looked up and placed his hand on her Selim had fallen to the earth, but there wereno ead h . signs of his mistress being thrown in the road. 1 “God bless on, my child!” he said. “We Reading3 the Signs, Ben learned that the horse , must indeed r y upon Him. Will youpray to then lo the road and went some distance into Him for our lost one?” - the woods, where he had been captured by the . savages. But a puzzlin thing was tha the savages had ridden abou in concentric circles, ircredulit , then a blending of emotions which as if searching for the trail of the rider. ‘ neither 0 the men could analyze, th h the Without Settling this point, Ben followed the . e es of both were on her face, revealed the trail until he came to an enema ment, where he c ear li ht of the moon. With a suppressedy cry, saw a woman lying in the s ow whom he : she hal -started to her feet, and then sunk back tooktobe Blanche. Selim, scenting the hunter, ‘ again, trembling like a leaf, but never moving neighed in recognition, disturbin the Indians. ‘, her eyes from the direction in which they Were The sav 9 who came to see wha might bathe , at first bent. matter With the horses were a plume, which . Mr. Burbank and Burly Ben turnEdto see Hal Ben recognized as the one Blanche had worn in sitting erect, and _on his lo and blood-stained . face an e ression whic was a reflection of risk of capture, but escaped after a brisk chase. I that which ad startled them in Mary Edwards. Thus misled, the father, lover and scout had l They did not ask themselves, but we may ask: followed the wrong trail for a week. ,‘ Was there any connection between these two? Having told these incidents, Mr. Burbank I if so, what? And, missin Blanohe, had they Instead of replying, the girl bent forward with a look first of fright, then of wonder and uestioned the lgirl on the events of her ca 'v- ' rescued a woman who was estincd to be instru- i y, to learn ' she had seen anything w 'ch mental saving her from a peril even greater in" ht aid them in their future course. than Indian captivity? . lurly Ben gyms in gmtive listleneit' to hfiil- 4 rep ies, scratc 'ng is in perp exi y, un , he suddenly burst forth: CHAPTER 1‘ ' “ uire, them Injins never hands on “SNARE”- Miss lunche. When they foun he hose they | Sun was limpin . Inriding downs savage went train ' ’_all around the ‘bush. ’Cause 1 he had modes ' ep and sprained his knee. why i W y, because Miss Blanche wa’n’t Miles lay between Blangahe Burbank and safety; there!” I . t andshe asked herself how long her steed, gal- “ But where was she?” lent as she knew him to he, would maintain his 1 “ That’s j'st What the Injins wanted to know. pace. An’ I’ll bet ye that leetle question stumped ’em. ; On! on! until she could no lon r hear the' They ' it up. - I told yer that the has come ‘ clang of the pursuing hoof' yet the w that it dowgv firiwhop.” Witilstfolflots'f , with the aThtement of imagine “ e . w i o i e rpose. 6 Indians' e— . “But there wa’n’t nosigns o’ the rider’s get- Wtected the unimpall’s mishap, and had tm’ throwed.” down to a long race. now the pace of “Yes.” horse became gem more labored. Sweat “’Cause why, again? Why, because there ! trickled from 's and foam flew fromthe wa‘n’t no rider on.’ I him his broad chest.~ In tracing up his line of argument, Burly Ben I 1y Blanche gazed down the road in was in a glow, ' ' . is excitement I advance, though she knew thatdeliverance was was contagious; and Mr. _ urbank awaited the 1 far d'ntant; but there she was confronted development of his idea With growing anxiety. y a new terror. ‘Around a bend a cloud of “Explain ourself, Ben,” he said. 1 dust annaumed the approach of other herse- “Squire urbank,” said Burly Be impres- l men. In dismay she drew rein, glancing right sivel , “your darter left that hoss’ bac ore ; and left for an avenue of escape; but w ile she be if lin the road before he went into the bush ‘ - the riders swept into view. ith her before the Injins etched him an’ couldn’t fin in her month she zed at them to deter- ” mine their character, an discovered—two white “Then you think that she was not taken, af- men! tex- all?” . A cry of relief rippled from her lips as she “ I think they didn’t ketch her that time.” urged her horse toward them. “ Burl Ben, it seems to me pretty late in the ‘ Oh, sire, turn back! turn back!” she cried, dayto t ink of all this. after you ave led us waiving her band. ‘ v over a hundred miles into the wilderness, and wasted a week’s time.” Mr. Burbank’s li took a stern set, and his nogtrils dilated wi indignation, not unmixed w1 - in. - “ old on, ’ ' ,” replied Ben. “ You’re a straight u an’ own man, an’ not given to bein’ unfair. ..Im on] a man, you know, an’ liable to a man’s mis .” _ “ But on say that there were no signs of her havin n thrown'when the horse fell, and that t 0 Indians evidently looked for her after they took the horse. Why did you not see the significance of these things before?” ‘ Itold ye before we set out that them things stumped me. ’Cause why? Why. because I thought the had the leetle gal Jcs like a pound in yer t. Remember, I seen the bass; I seenthe -—an’ galsis ell alike when ye don’t see their aces; more’n all that, I got the plume “ No, I what she wore in her hat. I allow, there ain't ' many men as ’ud calkalatcon one gal hemm- ited off, an’ another put in her lace. Th' ' ’ that the Injins had wholt 0’ 9 gal, an’ was makin’ off with her, I allow there wa’n’t much use 0’ verin’ about how she get of! ha‘ been was either ——whe er she tumbled oflf, or was handed down terward. I fear that he will not be able focu- by s. gay young cove in high-heeled boots.” ry me to a place of misty.” . There was 'ust a httlo heat in Ben’s manner, “ Madame, I beg that you will look upon my asqu byhischome of expression. sonandmeasyour protectors. If Wqfltm Both drew rein and waited for her to come up. As she approached the elder of the men ut- tered a smothered ejaculation of “ By Heaven! it is 8116!” A moment later he wheeled hie-hone on rode at her side. . . ' Blanche stated the situation ra idly. Thoma: looked overlain eho erat the ap- proaching cloud _of dust. then glanced at his co meanmeg. “E! ha!” he mused, “the devil is playing into in hand. Well, he ought to; for I serve him w Were you alone, madame?” he asked aloud. . biggie, I was with Ben Burleigh. Do you know “Ah! Burly Ben? By my soul! we’re old chums. Many’s e hunt we’ve had together. one curled “Your horse is lame. But he does not seen tofglel zwounded—there is no blood. Has he had a v . . “No. ‘Ido not know how hem hurt. ’It ' the attack or inanith af« _..'\ *_ .w .. .r-a,’ .7 4 k . «,4 . l The New York Libraryx, ‘zi to worst we’ll show these savages what resolute men can do in a pinch. Ila!” The exclamation was caused by Selim’s stum- bling. Blanche uttered a quick cry, as she felt her horse sinking under her, and disengaged her foot from the stirrup. The arm of the stranger shot out 11:11 encircled her waist; and with a powerful cfiort he lifmd her to his horse’s with~ ers. “ It is better so,T madame,” said the stranger dcferentially. " n1 y horse can easily carry double. Youm was a noble animal, but he is now useless.” Blanche thanked him with a look, and then gazed regretfully back at Selim. “ Sidney, we must dodge them at the cut-off,” said the elder, addressing his son with a look which the other evidently com rehcnded. With a. nod he spurred on ahead an suddenly dashed a bridle-path, closely followed by the o ‘ er. “ This will bring us to a place of temporary safety,” said the stranrrer to Blanche. “ My own animals are so we 5 nt that I dare not risk a long race double—weig ted.” They now rode at a less ra id pace which was partiall necessitated by e roug ass of the way. T 9 sun was far down the west when the men drew rein in the midst of a rocky val- ley. Having secured their horses in a dense clump of undergrowth, the elder man led Blanche to the mouth of a cave, which they en- tered. He soon ignited a torch which dispelled the dense gloom. “ The Indians will not follow us here, Miss— Miss—I have not inquired your name. Mine is Swanton—VVilliam Swanton, at your service; and this is my son Sidney.” “ I am the daughter of Carlton Burbank, sir,” said Blanche. “Ah! I have heard him ken of asaman of sterling qualities. Well, iss Burbank, you will be ri'ectl y secure here, for the present at least. will leave Sidney with you for com- ny, while I go out and scout a bit. I have 0. amin of my own to look after, if this danger be widespread.” And he left the cave. It was heirs before Swanton returned, and when he did appear it was with a look of con- cern. Blanche was sur rised to see him accom- Eanied by a woman wit a sharp nose and faded lue eyes that regarded her curiously. “ nilss Burbank, my wife,” said Swanton. Bl mche received her gracefully. The woman stirel at her, glanced at her husband, flushed slightly, anl finally drop ' an awkward cour- tesy, Without a word. lanche did not see the warning fro .vn which Swanton ve his wife. He im.ne liatel began to s . i “The danger much more extended than I thought. Tne country is fairl swarm ' wit Inlians, who are burning an slau hqtermg i every direction. Our people are ying their homes for safety’; but they are met on every side. It would he less for you to attempt to reach your home, i Burbank; and even if you succeeded, you would in all probabilit find agar people gone. You are heartily we come such roteetion as we can give. I have se- cured a orse for you.” “ But sir, I must endeavor to reach my home. What will my nts think has become of me? I must get to em!” “Miss Burbank, I heartily pathim with on; but you cannot ask me endanger the 'berty if not the life of my wife by attem ting to you in so hopeess an unde ' . You will readily see that it will be better for your parents to fear for your safety for a few days at most, than to mourn your irrecoverable loss; for, once captured, your rescue would be hopeless indeed.” ‘ I see the force of your reasoning, sir,” re- plied Blanche, “ and that 'I must avail myself of your hospitality until the danger is past. My father Will know how to thank you for pro- tecting his daughter.” Ten minutes ter the party was a n in the saddle, picking their way carefully t h the darkness On an eminence Swanton stopped and swept his arm our the view. This gesture and silence were more impressive than words. The sky was red with confiagration in directions but one, and that one he was p . All ni'rht they traveled, and y in hid durin t 0 day. Twice was this repeated, an then wanton channcd his plan, traveling dur- ing the daytime. 2111 this time they had met not a living soul. The country through which they wore passingtwns one vast wilderness. _ At the end of the first day’s aunt, the third Since the ambush, the clouds wh ch had so long varied the armament broke away, and the sun through just as he hung upon the horizon. His ' level rays told Blanche a story which sent the blood back on her heart in a sickening tide. T’Xii wcm aging wgsieiwgnardjn,g' calmn 818.!) he a rem o, o ess, c addressed Swanzm: “ Mr. Swanton, where are we oingl” “Oh, to a lace that will be e enough,” he lied, care ith a thrill e noticed that his suavity had gnu lace to freedom in his demeanor w . a “How long before we will reach a place of security?” was her next question. He glanced at her sharply, and then tapping his boot with his whi , replied: “ We’ll get there ast enough. As on see, we have to travel slowly' but you wi arrive with the rest of us. e’ll have pleasanter weather, I’m thinking.” With that he went to attend to his horses, and left Blanche standing in sore pe lexiiai. Far into the night she lay awake in tron led ought A thousand little t ings about her companions arose before her mind, to awaken anxiet . The nex: morning she again addressed hersel to her gm 0. “Mr. Swanton,” she said, quietly, looking straight into his face, “where are you taking me to?” He stopped buckling the surcingle, and with one arm restin across the saddle, gazed at her with a curious f-smile on his lips. He saw a pale et firm-set face, and a clear steady :‘ye. ‘ l’ ucky l” he muttered; and then and asked what seemed a very irrelevant question: “ Your father is a rich man, is he not?” With a nick heart-throb she re lied: “ My fa or is rich; but what 0 that?” “I am a poor man!” said Swanton; and an ominous frown darkened his brows, and he com ressed his li into hard, cruel lines. “ a Iaskw t I am to makeof allthis?” lanche. “ Did ou never hear of one man trading on the afi’ee ions of another?” “ What do you mean?” asked Blanche. Every trace of color faded from her lips, but she eyed him unfiinchingly. Swanton laughed lightly “ You’re clear grit, he said. “It won’t hurt on to be a few weeks from your mamma. To frank with you I intend to better my world- ly condition by holding ou for ransom. I have taken my cue from c green-wood lords of Italy.” “ I am to consider myself a prisoner?” “ Until the anxiety of our fond t in- duces the offering“? a arge row for our recovery. Some ' ts of my own my stimu- late him.” We shall not attempt to describe the emotions of Blanche Burbank at thus finding herself in the hands of a confessed kidnapper. From him she looked to the hard, unfeehng face of his wife, who had stopped in her occu tion of thering u the cooking utensils th which eirb asthadbeenpre ed,tolistento the words of h r husband. are was no sym- pathy there, 0 y vishness and aeerbity. Swanton turn and drew the to its proper tension, and then placed his and on his nee to assist Blanche to mount. Only an in- stant she hesitated; then she placed her foot in his §lm and pnmg lightly into the saddle. “ y Heaven! shesaqueenl” muttered Swan- ton, in undis ' iration. “ I wish I was oung mysel . That young do don’t deserve or after all I’ve plotted and p ed for him; and, blast him! he shan’t have her. I’ll teach him to laugh in m_ face! If he had been half as tractab e as Si ey—the youn hound l—all would have been well. Bu , he rue it, curse himl—he’ll me it!” As he gave the reins into her hand, he ad- dressed B anche alou . “ You will see the folly of atteman to es- cape—you’re sensible enough for that. Alone in the woods you have starvation and the In- dians to face; with me there is the inconve- nience of a few weeks’ separation from our parents and the expense of a few thousan for our restoration. ‘A word to the wise ’—you I(ivizthe rover .” _ sh had can on was unnecessary; e grasped the situation before he spoke- CHAPTER V. HUSBAND AND wn'l. Hmv Bummer had recovered conscious- ness and now sat upright; his hastl face dab- bled with blood which trickl slow y from be- neaththebandageBenhsdmade, and his e as fixed upon Mary Edwards with a stare of wilderment apgu'enfly not unmixed with fear. “ Merciful eaven l Balm? look like a e host!” said Mr. Burbank. dOWn again, y? or you’ll faint awa .” 'th s. long-drawn th and a shiver Hal removed his 9 es from the l,ssif breaking awagfrom a fiscination, an turned them upon Mr. urbank. Asif this actionbrokethe which bound her, Mary Edwards started to feet, and with a tremulous cry rung to his side. As she reached him, he ugreda wordinamufiledtonesnd sunk backupon . It was: is Bewm P9 \ man, beginning to chafe his hand betw own tromulous 0 while she at him with eyes whose onate solicitude would not be concealed. e withdrew his hand, ve her one swift frown of warning, and closed I 1 5.0-.“ “an—m. just itsMr. Burbank came to his .- grrew bagvgiglh a stifledqsofi; v rung c an. o", o _ . . lashes. J ~ - All this by-play had passed unobserved; by mthurbank, as he dld not see the faces of the ac rs. “ dear boy,” he said bendin over Hal and taydng his hand, “ do on knowg'i—we have fallen into an error. We ave not rescued the deg girl after all, but another equally unfortuo na . ‘ “I know,” said Hal, without opening his eyes. .Burly Ben now appeared with the water in he on ; and the young girl began to bathe Hal’s ace. After a draught from Burly Ben’s canteen, Hal sat upright again, declaring him- self “ almost as 00d as new.” “ Well,” said urly Ben, “ if that be arly heathen who made of! with the horses 5 ould chance to fall in with some more 0’ his stxige I reckon they’d make this place warmer’n ’u be mus to us. I vote that we move on, if r Hal kin walk. If he can’t, we’ll have to help him.” f‘ You need not be. detained on my account,” said Hal, rismg to his feet. The 1i nor had rec vived the ph men! men, and the ehavior of Mary Edwardi had removed a sickening weight of apprehension from his mind. He now turned and addressed her with the formal courtesy due to a at . “ I t you, madam, for your attentions to me. At the same time I congratulate you on your fortunate escape, if it does not seem pre- mature. surrounded as we still are by dangers; while I am ratified to have been even partially instrumen in your rescue.” ' The girl listened to him with downcast e es. her face first crimson and then pale as a Fily. With an effort she replied in the same tone; “ Sir, all thanks are due from me to you, who have so nearly sacrificed your life in my behalf. M gratitude is too deep for words.” e little party moved through the forest un- der the direction of Burly Benfl who took eve reeaution to conceal their tr ' , the feet of l ' been first bundled in blankets taken from c dead Indians. It was nearly midnight when the scout commanded a halt, saying: “ There ain’t no copper-face goin’ to pick up that trail before mormn’ anyway.” It was arranged that my should watch two hours and then awaken the scout. - Weary men do not long lie awake, and see the heavy breathin of Mr. Burbank and En: ‘ Ben announced tha they were in deep, drean. less slumber. arry Bearsley sat with his face in shadow. “ Curse her I” he muttered, “ wh has her father and my good friend, the devi ”-—with a bitter sneer— ‘sent her across my path! She will discover everythin —and then !’ He usedandgrate histecthinruge. ‘ “ eepl” he lau had, his mind recurrin. to his discpssion with ; "I’ll have little eep 7 until A n he broke oil. Then, with clenched ’ ban and set teeth he hissed: “ Friends! but ten thousand Mary Edwards shall not stand between me and my 053; A , I'll win new, if only to spite that citingner who had his pass to plerdition putting me in the shoes I wear, before e found that he could not use me as he liked Bah! helied tome! And yet—and yet— Ohl curse them all!” “Charley!” Han-yBearsleystartedasifthefoldofaser- ‘ pent had come in contact with his flesh,” a cold hand was placed on the back of his and the name was ken scarcel above a w r. amrbedbse 1:1)“an 2rd ’ “ms ht not 0 rv w s spproac “Thedevill”hesaid y. “Whendidyou tumghost? Goand lie wn. If it were dis- g’ered that we are acquainted, it would ruin Bassingoverhlswordasheukedinasteady voice: “ Why do they call you “Because the is my name.” "eh h” i e gir shivered. “ You have deceived me,” she said. “ I have deceived my dear relatives worse,” hereplied. “Mary, this is no time to discuss this matter Either of those men might be around by our voices, and then our cake would be dough. Remember, we’re in the same boat. Karyn]: me, you put your own head under we r, “with a “ Charle I’d an here, suffer an with on! s’aidtfiggir,witha $3.5 nesst tshook her voice and t e tears to her e es. “ But let us withdraw Where they cannot ear us. Remember, I haven’t seen you or heard from you for two months and over. I’ve counted ev day.” “Excuse meagr want of sym with our willin ass to goan here or my. ing,asy phrase it. on know that ‘love in a cottage,’ and all that sort of , won’t do for me. rather hang than rot a little hole, with nothing but the four w eyes, I look st, iflhsd theAngelGabrlelforoompsny.. V ‘Y— ,‘No. 4. The Kidnapper; or As for withdrawing out of hearing, there’d be a figetty mess if Burly Ben was to wake up and 1 us skylarking together on the first evening of our acquaintance.’ He led hed, not at all an amused tort of laugh, an added: “ Come, lie down, and perhaps I’ll get an ep- portunity to speak to you to-morrow. Mean- while, mum’s the word, or you knock the bottom out of evey thing. ” “ I can’t sleep until I’ve said what I have to say. Let us stay here; and if any one awakens, 1’! say that I was nervous and came to talk to you for compariy.” . c “ You were waIys ve persistent, Miss Ed~ wards. I suppose shall ave to hsten. Please be as brief as is consistent With the thorough was “.33....” as... -... .m d . . I e " a wi a espair in ; her fags. He did not deign to look at her. Swallowing the lump that seemed to swell in her throat, she said: . “ You say that your name is Harry. What is your other name—your surname!" “ Beasley—Harry Bearsley, at your service,” sneered he. The girl seemed stung by his tone. With a wave of emotion that sent the blood into her cheeks, she said with sudden heat: P: If you are Harry Bearsley, who—what am “The devil, woman! you‘re not sounding an attack! For Gal’s sake, lower your voice! One more such shout and ou may be a pauper, With a cursed poor stick 0 a— ” “ Harry Bearsle ,” she interrupted, in a more guarded tone, “ te medwhat am I!” “ Hang it all! you‘re my beloved spouse, I sup e. You're giving a devilish unremann‘c re it to it by this curtain lecture.” , “ y Bearsley you married me underan j assumeg‘name. V ill that stand the test of law?” “ Would it be at all convenient for you to lower your voice a trifle!” I have no desire to announce myself to my friends here as a candi- . date for the rhouse, if you have. I have a lively apprec tion of the com iment conveyed in your words-I am in the ha it of going about 3 the country marrying unsusfilcting girls, with my groom for the person. ’t that the way they do it?” , ‘ Was our marria' ge le 1” repeated the girl. “IsupposeImustexp". ouareassus- fiicious new as you were trusting when you onored me with your preference. Know, then, that my real name appeared in the license, , though was known to you to the last only by my assumed name.” “I did not see the license.” . I “ As I said, you were simplicityon a pedestal, ' but the name was there, nevertheless.” “ But why under an assumed name!” ‘ “If I shoul run the risk of having the ears of: my revered guardian tickled by such titbits of i 'p, as that I was paying marked attention a: this oung lady or that young lady, don_’t you think t e money would soon burn a hole in my pocket, and all run out before it got fairly in?’ ‘ “But you might have undeceived me when I on made me your wife.” f y “ It is with no disrespect, believe me, that I ‘1 remind you that ladies are proverbth credited with long tonnes. If on w_ nothing, you could tell nothing; dont you see! ‘ Have you, any further questions to ask, Mrs. Bearsleyi’ She caught her breath at the name, ands faint flush came into her cheek. She had been seated i besidehim; sheroseto herknees andextended‘ her arms toward him. , “Herr ,” she said, in a whisper, “one sign i abet youlpve me still! Oh, my husband, do not on me ’ ‘ ‘ '.“ suppose that our conversation is the natural forerunner of violent demonstrations of . affection You ask me if I am_ guilt! of a l felorliy, a'i’id I reply with protestations o undy- eve ‘ For ve me, mly husband! You can never know e agony have endured for the last 3 threshours. Itwasall the more intense be-, cause I loved you so; because I could not like-lg ’ loving you, even when I thought that you , the country without much purpose, when I might “And wait until such time as I can acknow- ledge you before the world. Be sure that I will do it at the soonest possible moment. I await j i the time as anxiously as do on.” I “Oh, bless you, my bus d! This is the happiest moment of my life!” I “ ow o and sleep. We must not appear to know eac other.” _ One moment she strained him in her arms; one moment she pressed her lips, all glowing now to his; and then stole silently away, to 3 tell her happiness to her God. And he i—with lips curling in fierce scorn, he , muttered: “ Bah! what a fool I was when IL?de everything for an empty-headed do ! ut l’ve silenced her for a time. Curse her! if she be- comes troublesome, I‘ll silence her for—~for—” He had nearly said forever; but his tongue ! faltered on the word; and shudderin he drew his hat closer over his eyes, andcon' uedhis vigils in moody silence. CHAPTER VI. a DARK COMPACT. NIGHT in the Minnesota wilderness. In the background a tent and picketed horses. In the g foreground two men conversing on the bank of I a stream. ' | “ Look here Sid, there's no use of your glow- , ulking. If you’ve got anything to I say, say it.” ‘Well, I hain’t got no fault to find; but I al- low it looks to me as if you was toting me about he doing something for m sel “ It’s odd that you di ’t have on this indus- trious fit before we set out. Your general use- lessnes was not unendurably oppressive then.” “There has to be a beginning sometime; and I’ve about made up m mind that I’ve got to i the end of my rope in t ' direction, anyway,” persisted Sidnefy do godly. .The cause 0 his efec ion at this articular time was a quarrel with his father hat after- noon. “Do you mean to saythat ou purpose to I throw up your hand and go back, now!” “ I don’ see anything to hinder.” There was no defiant glance, no drawing up of the body, but in the tone of voice there was a bull-dog pertinacity of purpose that warned i the elder man that “Greek had met Greek "— he was fightin his own spirit in his son. “ You woul leave me in the midst of an In- dian country with two women on my hands, in the safety of one of whom you would natural- 1 'be supposed to feel some slight interest since is our mother.” “I 'dn’t tell her to come,” was the senten- tious and filial reply. “ This affair may interest you in another way ” suggested the father. ‘ allow I”m about tired following a blind lead. You’ve been throwing out hints; but you alwa was too deep for me.” . “ but would you do if you went back!” “ There’s a place in the army waiting for me, or the asking.” “Bah! I guess your/thinking of the Edwards ; arm-y more than an thing else. I thought you ‘ had at over that fo y.” “ ere are worse girls than she. ” “ Sidney, there are better.” ‘ ‘ She has a snug little property, for one recom- mendation.” :: T eredare‘those that ltiiave more.” to ey on go aroun begging some one takescare of it for ’6?!hlth0|lgh. to dm - t “ up ingoneo emwas pa our feet will?!" y “ I’d like to have one of them it.” :: guild the Edwards stand in t e way?” 0. “ One thmg' more. Su Bless our wife was not 'cularly in love w? 3'03?” “ fancy that could be along without, if ...-_~.... .a-.-....k....s~ «Wis... — ,thegGreatv Shanghai of‘thewlfl'uorthwest. 5 : retreated my kets were ke t well 'ned.” “ idnay, there’s fust such a plum waitingto droprihnto your mouth!” “ e devil there is! Where?” Swanton bent forward until he rested his “ Not always. I‘ll find a priest fast (.“cugb. who’ll not be over inquisitiye as to the lady’s consent.” The moonlight fell upon an anxious face that peered for a moment from the bushes and then in into the shadow. “ but sue a marriage Vi ould have no binding , force.” “ Yes it would, if the lady acknowledged it afterward.” “ Which she wouldn’t be fool enough to do. If . it’s all the same to you, you can play a lone hand in this lei tie gene. Iain’t particularly ‘anxious to hiieoutte lieak 51(118 or pick oak- um for nothii. g a on) and 101 nd.” “ if you are idiot ( nouin to go on a fool’s er- rand Without knowing wiltre you are coming out, please give me crioit for a little 11.016 sense. Do ‘ou sur pcse ti at I laun’t looked at this 5 mat r (n ah sides? I've Lad iv. enty years and i more to think about it. Carlton Burbank and I dignitneet for the first time yesterday, not last w ! An ugly scowl darkened the brown face of the man as he spokeba scowl of deadly hate. His son looked at him qua tioni'ngly. “ I always knowed that this v. as a deep game,” he said. “But suppose I marry her a g amst her will—for of course it would have to be so—whnt then? She’s not going to take me to her old man and present me as her loving bust and whom she picked up in the woods, and ask him meet us u in Lusini ss.” . "She vu nchr see her fathcr, so as to pre- sent you as anything. ’ “ , are we to lay low and wait- for the gov- ernor‘s shoes? But the old duller might live twenty years.” “ Y ou’ll not have to wait over a twelve- month.” The fierce scowl of hate came tack to Willi: in Swanten‘s face. His son started and turned slightly pale. , “ Do 'ou ask me to take a hand in such agame as that? ’ he asked. .. \‘on do nothing but enjoy r'omertiofclicity in : n (.izt-oi-the—v. ay place, urt 1 your {urine is hwy for you. I will attend to all the “fit. Ito you consents” “ If I refuse?” “We tart ccmpany right here, and I'll look up some ody who iin t web a Matted 1001.” There was white rage in the face if the cider man as he rose to his feet, with clenched hands and blazing eyes. “Well, I don't see no cause to throw up my hand yet.” said his son, also rising. “ Do you agree?” U Ya." "Swear that you will not go back on your en 1 {felmlii'th t required f I “ “a is a is ' 0 me swear.” “ That’s enough i” ’ As Sv. anton turned to walk toward the tent, 1, be ground his teeth and clcnchcd his hands, , while a look of Lendish malignity dish“ 3 urcd his face. “ Ah !” he muttered, “the man that tramples Torn ’lracy in the mire must lock out let him- self!_ One in the mountains, and one at his own fireside—curse them! I’ll be even with them ye ’ In the undergrowth, as he passed, a shrinking' ' , cowering figure, with bl "ices lips and wildly- {italpitatmg heart, crew (lxcr and Closer into 6 shadow. The two ncn \z‘ia red their blan— kets about them, and ttzctclzal) themselves be- fore the door of the tent. ’Ihen deep silence filled the wood. CHAPTER VII. nnancas’s‘ rnan. Wrrn tnemulous, tottering limbs, Blanche Burbank was fleeing through the night—uny- whene, anywhere awa from the heartless Vil~ lains who were so ru ssly letting the bright- mgof her life. Hunger an ex e lay be— fore her; but the trees and over ' ~ rocks must be her dielter, and she must keep life in her weary body with the berrics and succu. lent herbs which she could gather, until she came to the abodcs of those who would open wronged me as only a mancan wrongs. woman!” hand on his son’s knee, and looking close into his , their hearts to the suffering and mac hcr back “ Such love as you rofess is not usually quite ; so suspicious, unless am much mistaken,” per- asigl us ,though by hismannerhe appeared ' ‘ o l The girl caught at this ray of hope. and bend- ‘- inf,r forward passed her arms about hisneck; face said: . “ hiss Burbank !” I They manstaredand thenburstintoa, laugh. 33g he not done so, they might have i heard thesnapp of atw1,asadarkfigure; which was me toward em stopped and T to her home. Lon milcs stretcth betv een, and save foes lay dish in the way; but tie dangers fore her were in no way ccmncnsu- saith the revolting horror she was leaving Fortunately she had changed her riding-hab- '[‘ouching' her 001d lips to his cheek, she mur- , drew back into the shadow of a tree. When i, it for a hnseygwiiolsey . “n belonging to e ong mired: “Husband! my husband! let as m, we ’ :annot become reconciled by recrimination. I know that I have annoyed your but henceforth I will trust you utterly, unquestioningl i only love me—show me that you lovs me! by, m darli . kin me i” . he putuhis arm about her; he drew her um : his breast; he stroked her hair with what . i the seeming of a fond touch; he kmed her by and said: > “Mary suchseenesas hisarewellcalculated to alienate the strangest eve. You must trust d“. ” .e‘fihm m- use W e 0 ‘ Sid' e: recovered from his hilarity, he said: E i . “ O thunder! Old man, I guess you’re passing ‘, into your dotage, unless you’ve had more than usual to drink. ' “ Fools laugh at their own folly ” said Swan- ‘ tin, the elder, not much relishing ing laughed a “But, what in Cain would she want of me? Burbank! Pugh!” - ‘ What diflcrence. does it make whether she l wants you or not, if you want her! Remem- ber, there’s a pile of money waiting for you when you’re her husband.” | Bgttherostwepartlsstethatleetleson-I A Mrs. 1Sli‘vanlton, or . dad h of the other would ve opelesly unpe cr movements. Suddenly . it occurred to her that pursuit would be directed along the line of march, as her enemies would suppose that she had mtural~ 1y sought to ' hcr home by retracing, their steps. She has 0 tin listened to sicrics of for est adventure from Burly Bcn. She now called to her aid some of the knowledge thus ruined. Reaching a point r'hcre the ray creascd a spot of rockv ground, she remembered that thcre was a similar one a l'ttle way bevond, ard ’:r pt 01 until she res/5’- e! it. Fore rho review or shoes, as also the linsev-V‘oolsey sl'frt ~ich she had benewed aura-Swan“ and the \ i—n a: 2:7. .o- 2‘1: : -.—.- .; resign ‘ 1“ av.- .~&2‘ -.~.v : < ‘X‘J~Y ~’~ ." w 2.- a..;-;_<:_ : v; i 6 velvet jacket which had formed part of her others, they found her thus, wrapped in deep, riding—habit. _Going to the edge of the rocky ground, she spread out the skirt and steupped upon it, being I i careful that her foot sho press the groun evenly. Beyond this she laid the jacket, and stepped upon that. Turning, she took 11 skirt and examined the, ground, to see i her weight had made any mark. Wlth a glad cry she saw the success of her plan. ful an jacket, she retraced ‘ spot of rocky Md. I ‘Following t e rocky point at right angles I with the trail until she came to its rder, she j repeated the process by which she had ained ‘ it, until she reached a istance~of severe rods. She now donned dress and shoes, and set out ; o'nacourse diagonal to the trail shehadbeenl, following, ke' g or direction by the moon 3 and stars, wliic w revealed here and there i though thefoliave. But scarcely an hour had I passed, when p ouds so low that they nearl I swept the'tree—tops obscured the sky. Thou there was still hoht enough for her to see 0 ursue her wgqthe cloud- 1] seemed equally uminous at 1 points, an she could form no judgment as to the position of her guide the moon. Still she struggled on. , How long she continued thus she knew not; . 1)me hours of weary toil, the sky wasagain c . Suddenly she stopped with a tremulous cry; Inthe center of a patch of moonlight la a footprint as if to challenge her scrutiny. ith l inflating" heart she placed her foot in it. It * fitted exactlyf ~ While the moon was hidden from si ht and she lied nothing to 6 her she had f on into that fatal sn re 0 the lost traveler—she had gone in a circ ei . She could form no «idea as to the extent of that circle; she could not even judge whether shelled made only one circuit or more. She onl knew that she was crossing her own trail ! at’ me point; and that meant a waste of all the time which had intervened since she was last on the spot. Perhamfter all her struggle, not more than two or t miles lay between her and her worse than deadly foes. At the thgight, weary as she was, she almost started in a run "‘ othorl mother!” she whispered aloud, in the awful‘agony of that moment, “ I may never see you a awe-never, never!” . Tease utter weariness and ' discouragement stood in her eyes, and her 11 . uivered like the lip of a grieved child: Bu er brave heart never falteredn She had no thought of giving 251th struggle. on she toiled—on on, on, un- ead swam and knees tattered heneath her weight. _ As she passed a thicket she was electrified be; adeep, game! sound'which issued from i ‘ midst. he did not to ask'herself what it was, but dartedaway e a‘startl fawn. The sound was repeated; there was a s aying of the bushes;the parted, ving exit 'to a dark ob- ject; then ere was t e reguhr fall of feet in pursuit. -, ‘ z'fhe way was rocky, but she Was all uncenscious of the , , in her bruised feet. Suddenlyshe slip and fell. Her 1 ursuer was nearer-neareri She tri to rise- but'her foo was wedged firmly in the rook. that hor- rible, shuiiling tread approached—nearer, near- ernintil a dark form a peered to view: and she knew-thatit‘was tin of some sort. Her tion pictured all the horror of the mo- men when he should be upon her. She felt his hot breath on her ‘cheek. She’ felt his teeth I lacerating her flesh. . With the, of immi- , nontand cruel death upon her, she tore her foot fmin~th§ shoe, and springing up, she darted a a W stones bru'ned he; tender feet; but ~ she ed it not. Only an [instant did the ani- malstop tom the shoe, and then came on at a ' honed . He gained upon r—was at :- very heels! With away she leaped aside, blindly, with o the physical instinct of spif- preservation whch struggles till the last in- stant, and throng a tangled egg-{in Then she was conscious of a slipping, ng, descent—a loosenin of stones and sand— a clutching in the shock—oblivion! ~ CHAPTER VIII. , memo A wounds imam: “Morena! mother! would to God they had sent me with you i” ' Mary Edwards lay with her face buried in theturf, and herhottearsfalling fast 11 n it.- She had left her husband to go and is down with her eyes closed and her hands clasped over her bosom, the sorrow of the orphan struggling Withthegmat joy that rung fromthereaes- tablishment of confidence een her and‘him. \Toorlstless to continue alone, she had sou ht Burly Ben, after he had relieved Hal, and 0 old fellow hail told her all about _ he and her relations with Hal. And now the deceived wife lay prone on the ground, By this care- I' I; a meltin mood: this morning you writhing in anginsh. .. Wbentho breaking of the dawn ewokethe l t I "an... .. - . . .¢.. . . 1 yet troubled slumber. It was decided 'to keep on westward, in the , how_ of overtaking the party with Blanche; 1 th a heavy heart the father foll0wed the 3 guide, as this seemed the only hope. The sun [ know but we’ll get on nicely, which Burly Ben pronounced a fresh one. “Them lopin’ scallawags propose that. you, ’squire, an’ Hal an’ the that we fall in Wi ha ” so’s not to lose any 0 noes; “ Ben, I must accom ny you,” said Mr. Bur- ties could have had very little to in- ‘ contract, at so tender an age? that, having bank. “I can’t bear t e idea of remainin active, when my child may be in the ban 8 of this very party, for all we know. Hal can stay and rotect Miss Edwards. With his wound, he needg all the rest he can get.” This was agreed, to: and leaving Hal and ~ TheflNevaork Library.» the ‘ .was an hour high, when they came upon a trail g have been by here .3 him again? since the dew fell ” said he; “ an’ as they hain’t § never forgive her. roce‘ss, alternately stc ping upon the skirt f no call to go ga avantin’ round in the night ‘ into her eyes, and one by one burning theirfiery or way to the first 1 time, 0’ course it’s been since daybreak. Now I course down her cheeks, she waited. - ga i wuat in the bush, while I go on a little scout. e’ve got to git a srgint at every party 0’ reds he no i” ’ (6 es. 7’ | .. ___...._n_ " ‘ " "‘ "‘ Vol. I. ‘ borc?—nccusation. vindication. I have no ob- ; fiction to the first pl‘OCCSS, since there seems to no escape, but spare me the secOnd. But no; , pardon my forgetfulness; henceforth my touch 18 to be loathsome to you. Ah, well, I don’t after all.” She gazed at him now with an awful sinkin : sensation—a chilling dread. (1 she wronge Could he explain it all? He would lVith scalding tears welling “ Burly Ben told yot’i that Miss Burbank and myself were betrothed since our childhood, did “ Did it occur to you that the grind a] par- 0 wit such a come to years of discretion, one or both of the parties might feel a disinclination to ratify the : engagement entered into so fondly by their be- lov parents?” ‘ ' “But hewsaid that you weI‘e to be married by Mary in a dense clump of undergrowth, the two ' Christmas set , out, “ Humph! What easier than for a garrulous Left alone with Hal Mary sat with a look of I old to be mistaken in such matters? Miss an stony immobility on her countenance, which it had worn ever since she ha been awakened. Hal had observed it with no ittle misgiving, at , straw for her affections. Bur cares nothing for me. I admire her beauty and accomplishments without caring a My respected sire a loss to determine its cause. He now drew to i made the inheritance of his accumulations con- her side, and laying his hand on her shoulder, : gingent upon my remaining said: “ , what has come over 'oui Why do you look ' ' y The girl reCoiled from his touch with a low and turnin , looked him full in the face. i a bachelor until iss Burbank’s twentieth birthday, in case she was not betrothed to another before that time, and dpresenting myself as a candidate for her han . The lad ’8 birthday falls in the next month. Do no take it as uncomplimentary c rx’Do not touc me!” she said, with a shudder. ' that I endured-to forego even your charming so- “There was a time when the Weight of your ciety, in consideration of the few thousands hand was the dearest sensation of which I was susceptible. _ Henceforward contact with you can only be loathsome to me !” A slumbrous fire learned in his e e; but he con- quered his sud en passion, an said, with a sneer: . “ I confess that I am at a loss to account for our; fickleness of mind. Last night ou were 0 ” ave got m. on ourhi -tra airs a ‘P‘Harrygamlg’yfz cried t e girl with sudden vehemence, “ I would not have be ieved that a fiend, not to say a man, could be ty of such duplicity as as you have practi I” - Com limentary, as usual, but even more than (131' "inarily enigmatical. Pray, explain curse . y “Your effrontery cannot avail you; How could you hope it would? One word from me to Mr. Burbank, and you are mined.” “ And you have not spoken that terrible word?” “ You know that I have said nothingto him.” “You romiseto be almost as reservod with me. At east you are so oracular that 'there is no making anything of what you say. When that awf mine is sprung, I shan’t know which wa to jam . ‘yHarry‘lgar-sley, while on slept'last night I was in conversation wi the man you call Burl Ben.” , - this item 3*"...1.’ i. .» n 6 me eve “ Indeed?” 8 And he yawned in her face. “Excuse me,” he said, puttinghis hand before his mouth; “ but on know my rest was broken.” She gazed at min wonder. She had but to open‘her lips and brand him as a villain of the deepest dye: yet he sat there without the move- ment of a muscle. “ Harr Bearsley,” she cried, with clenched hands an flashiln eyes, “do you an for an instant that I ll sit quietly a' see this iniquity on? Do ou WEE-pee that I Will al- low you amen-y ML Brit 1:, when 'I do not know but what you are my husband? Heaven hel me! I do not know that you are!” ithout a chan of feature, he said: "I have no do to marry Miss Burbank. The wife whom I haveis a legion 1n herself. G l but I have my hands full already.” " tdq on mean?” “Just w I say. , shglwhthat wives in a gommodity, a ll 1e of w c a we . "‘ emu-1&1. tot?! me that you were on- to Miss Burbank-that on were tomarry Christmas ” ’ “Btu-lyBenhas‘beente youamu‘sery tale” ' She stopped and looked at him steadily. 'He sat rubbin a blood-stein from the stock of his rifle, quiet , without a trace of nervousness. His perfec coolness staggered her. What if there was some mistake, after all? And et, Ben had spoken with positiveness. He b no motive for deceiving her. The more she thought, the more bewildering became the blem. “Will you explain yourself?” s e asked, inaa falteri voice. “ He ookod up at her with a sudden flash in his eyes. It was of triumph; but before she de- tected it it had 'ven lace to a sneer. “Must it be he od story-over again?” he .. .—... ._. .,_ ._,_,_ ., a.- .. "bunk ...... .m. “ML... ._.._.. - T»- l i which were to keep us in bread and butter dur- ing the coming ears of our felicity.” ‘ This is not t 0 story that you told me when e flush mounted to his brow, and a i you insisted on our marriage being kept secret,” said the 'rl, sus iciously. “ Fort or exp anation?” he asked, archin his' brows contemptuously. “ You have yourse f to thank that it is not. As deep as wasmy infatu- ation when you honored me with your refer- ence, it did not blind me “to a slight foxble in ourcharacter, commonly known as jealousy. had every reason to fear that, ifyou suspected the presence of another lady in the field, cu won d be shy about entering into competi on with her; for my aii'ections; and I think my ex- rience of the last twelve hours goes far tocon- rm the correctness of my Ijudgment. Rather than lose our precious eel , fear that I strained the_m0ra code on more occasions than one, damn that interesting 1period of my life. When Miss urbank reaches t e stipulated, age, if we succeed in resan her from the Indians I offer her my ban in marriage, in conformity with the conditions of the will. As I more .than half sus t, ”—and the speaker inwardlzeground his teet with rage—“she has already stowed her affections elsewhere, and of course will do- cline the honor, etc. I shall then do on the tardly justice of acknowledging you be ore the wor d; or rather ma you over again, this time qpenl . I hwve no doubt that our honey- moon will a glorious one. If you are satis- fled now, you know the adage—‘ Silence is golden.’ ” _ , *He leaned a inst the tree which grew out of the midst of heir retreat, and closed his eyes, as if in weariness. . , _“ Charley!” breathed the girl, addressing hiln With the name by which she had known him_ in the happy days of their courtshi and during that brie trance of stolen deli ts, When She had called him “husband,” all felt that not one in all their little world knew of the golden tie that bound them; and with the name came all the old tenderness—” Charley!” i He did not his eyes , “I know w t'youpwould say,” he Ephed- “But just think, will have all our lives to say it in. Corro rate my sto , pease by such information as you can get om Mr. ur- My experience s to ‘ “Ain’titgettingtobeagreatdeal 01a. ! bank without betra ‘ng our secret. A little i an 'ng will do it. on are quite a detective. 1 now let me rest.” ’ “ Forgive me!” she walled. “ I have no hing to to ve. You are mercl lobking after youro‘wn nterests. That’s bus» noes. Go with the investi tion. ‘Only you’ve pumped me dry. Aren’ you satisfied with that?” I . - She did not Ecol: to him agall'l'. She only set and gazed at m, feeling as one who had will- perfume of her life. Oh, if she could but touch ‘ the bandage which bound his temples! But with her own hand she had raised up the bar— rier between them, and now she must abide her work. ' So she was found by Mr. Burbank on his re- turn. She was in'a fever of suppressed excite- ment; but the unutterable woe in her face won him for a moment even from the all-mgrossing‘ thought which filled his mind and heart; an before hes he to Hal, hemurmm-ed tohimself: “ Poor c ' how she has sufleredi” Then hesaid in a whisper: “ Harry. God be praised, we have found her." “Not herself, Master Hal,” said Ben, seeingthe fully shattered the vase which contained the , E J 9/ yr n-r . shoe, the . Walter "thrill of satisfaction. No. 4. The Kidnappgr; or, the Great Shanghai of the Northwest. ' '7' youn man start; “only the mark of .her.foot ! —Go bless her pretty picter! I’d know it among a thousand. ” 1 In the fight by which they must rescue , Blanche the men could not be trammeled _by ; the care of woman. So, hidin her in a coppice, \ they left the tortured wife With her face in her ! hands and her heart pouring out a fervent ‘ rayer for the protection, not of herself, but of l r her husband. While looking down at the _deli(>ate foo ,' which Ben recognized by the impreesmn of so I of his own handiwork in mending Blane : were startled by the sounds heard by eaten and Bantam in our first chapter ' —-two rifle-shots, an interval of silence, a chorus ' of wild yells, a third shot, and a woman’ shriek 5 rising clear and shrill. ; Mr. Burbank laid a tremulous handon the ; arm of the scout. ' I “ Ben, my childl-they have killed her!” he i whispered with bloodless 11g. , A strange look came in_ Harry’s face. It .1 was of anger and disappomtment, ratherthan . 81161- __ __. CHAPTER IX. AN uxmx TERROR. A DEAFENING, reverberating roar, that seem- ; ed to rock the earth to its very center—a blmd- 3' ing flash, as if the heavens had rentintwain , and envelo the world in a flood of lurid ; flame—a sickening horror of sulocation—a ; crash like the felling of mightaigorests—a pan- l demonium of sounds, like wls and ‘ snarls of wild beasts, blended with warning , cries of human bein ~then the clear ringing { report of a rifle, fol OWed b the death-cry o . i an anim 1 and a hen fall the bushes-and Blanche urbank awo e to perfect conscious- ness, to find the sun shining with dazahng ‘ ‘ '"ht; s directl into her e es. She was ly- ‘ ing took possession of her asher heated imagina' - bn“ 1° 5 {the foot or); steepdeclivit , , tion ’ in"r all in a ban a ‘ he; clothes an?! hands and face covered wi h it sand and dust. She lay between the’recky es-_ , carpment and a screen of bushes and‘interlaced i vines, so that she would have been hidden from 1 any one g sunlight allino' upon her face came through a ! break in the fo 'a~e. ii For hours she had lain in a swoon, less from the shock of her fall than from the thorough ex- 7 haustion resulting from her long tramp through 1 the forest. When she now struggled to her feet, she could scarcely stand. Every muscle in her bod seemed :d of torture.! mom tivi_,follcw you re use os'ltYon and e . tide damp night-air, d made them and sore. But a soundof voices reached her from just above her head. Had her capgns traced her so soon? With a deathlike fain sea of apprehen-v sion, she zed about for some place of conceal- ment. A ark orifice inthe rock, withinayardof where‘she stood, met her eye; and sinking 'lll'fion her hands and knees, she crept into it. en she waited breathlemly. Faintly there came to her a chorus of yells, then the report of a rifle and a woman’s ierc- ing scream. It Was unmistakable—the shrill, pen ing shriek of agony or terror. She shuddered. Whathad ha nod? Had her ene- 1 miss been attacked in turn sava foes? Had Mrs. Swanton been shot? he little cause to love the shrewish wife of William Swan. ton; but her heart thrilled at the peril of even a foe, and that foe a woman. But, where was her husband and son? Blanche listened for some sound to indicate their presence; but all was still. Yet they could § not have been killed outright: for she elt sure ,’ that only one rifle had beendischarged. i puzzled, yet with her apprehensiom but litt e ! augmented by the vicinity of savages (fer , what foes could be more’ ruthless than those ' 'from whom she had just escaped?) she waited. She could form no estimate of time, in her 1 present state of excitement and suspense. It ‘ seemed an age. Then she felt, rather than heard, that something was a preach her place of concealment. Brea em] she simm- ed her attention. A twig sna , and there , was aslight rustling of leaves. ‘ In panic she crept further into the cave. A little ‘wa in. the bottom of the passage became BandY- lfldenly she was startled by a dull, ‘ heavy thud directly in front of her. At first, I she could scarcelyosu recs 8. scream; but a mo— mont‘s reflection id or that she had displaced , "cine ob'ect, and it had fallen to the sandy ‘nor. S 6 reached forth her hand and touched ~the stock of a rifle! . ‘ “Thank Heaven!” ‘s‘hfi mnirsmured, withf a ere protection, or a time, 'at lcaisltl,n if Egly it igloadedé:l the to With trem ' ers s e Open . see if it was pgmecfi It.was. But mgrthe I discovc came the question, who had left it t1 ore? as the cave tenantedl If so, by W cm? She strained her eyestopenetrate 100m; but all was as dark as Erebus. I ,Eerrors might be hidden by that awful night! I A sickening sense of loneliness and desolation ‘ seemed all about her. 6" of death upon her, she leveled her weapon and quite near; but the blinding ,blended with the deafening detonation that -tion of hopeless W, a white woman was seat- l had made dee ‘ a command from the chief,.th'e party ‘ etting Sidney take the other, they each made a But a noise at the mouth of the cave thrilled l her heart into wild activity. There was a slight rustling of the vines and bushes, thefiaa , murmuring sound, mingled With a low sib - 3 tion. Presently there was a shufl'ling noise, as ‘ of something dra ing itself into the passage. Had her enemies found her out? Was it Swanton, or the savages? Might it not be some wild beast of the forest? It could not be the “ bear that had pursued her; he had been shot. Trembling in every limb,‘the sorel -beset girl , retreated further into the cave. 1 unknown terrors must he braved, to escape the certain peril that followed her. She missed the sides of the pamge, and knew that she had re an enlar ed subterraneous chamber. ere she rose her feet and made her way over the smooth sandy floor, feeling before her with her foot, lest she should run afainst somothing and make a noise which woul betray her resence. She reached an abrupt wall, and then aimed at be . When the shuffling scimd ceased, she knew that the object had reached the sand. Then there was an awful pause—a ilence that seemed to assume tangibihty and e velop her like a dense fog. Presently it began to vibrate. The walls of the cavern caught up the heavy breath- ing of 'the object, whatever it was, and flung it back with uivering iteration. The girl could not guess m what direction it came. It She shrunk against the wall and waited. Oh, it was-horrible, this waiting for the touch of that hideous monster—fie knew not what! Perhaps it could see her itself unseen. Perhaps it was creep toward her She shuddered. Suddenly a ing eye, it seemed to her ex- cited fancy as big as a dinner-plate, blazed 'out hrouglrthe gloom. An agony of terror thrilled through every nerve; a horrible creeping sensa- tion We upOn her flesh, and a nauseous loath- "ctured some foul monster like the devil— flsh c which she had read. With the faintness fired. The flaming eye vanished. A sharp cry shook the cave. There was a dull thud, as of a body falling in the sand. Then the silence of the grave! . V The smoke gradually diflused itself through the chamber. A thin, white curl crept out through the passage, and found its way to the li ht of day. In there, where no ray of the g sunshine ever came to dispel the Gimme- rian gloom, lay a limp form, the still, white face pressed into the sand, and the now nerve- lessflngersrelaxedfromthebarrelofarifle. CHAPTER X. a mason SIGNAL. A PARTY of Indians were grouped on the of a bit of ston ground where a woman’s , which the h been following where the yield- ing forest 0am bore plain im ress,disa . red: In their midst, her face cl ed With e dejec- ed on a horse. few da of her captivity inroads to her matronly beauty than a the forty years of calm content that had gone before. At a counnand of their chief the savages di- vided into three rties, two skirting the stony d on op to sides, while the third, con- ing the prisoner, remained where they were. One of the former soon came to an escarp- ment, and folloMng its verge were interrupted b a deep growl. The next moment a b k made his appearance from the bus - es, and seeing the number of his disturbers, was about to beat a rudent retreat when he was overtaken by a ullet. Enraged at the pain, the animal turned and ch his emailants, but a second shot stretched in the agonies‘ of death. Meanwhile, a sound in the direction from which they had co e reached the quick ears of the party which h halted on the border of the stony ground. A savage was dispatched to look into its source. Presently he returned; and, at W read on either side of the In ten seconds the spot seemed a mid-forest solitude. Blanche would have been disappointed, had she seen how easily her stratagem was over- come. Swanton was for a moment at fault. Then he passed beyond second t of stony and. and taking one rection imsslf and wide circuit, carefully examining the ground as they went. The first attem was a failure, butastillwider rangeon secondtrialre— warded them with success. . Scarcely two miles firther on they came to a point where the trail they were following was . missed b another, which the renegade had no dimculty n discOvering to be Blanche’s. 'And n here was the secret of their overtaldng herso ! soon. The circuit winch had cost her ours of toil they didnot have to go over. of wooden-alt "It must have got cloudy so as to hide the moon,” he said; “for she could not have made this first two miles so straight, without usirg a guide. And see, She discovcrtd her own mis- take. Oh, she’s a sharp one! Here‘s v heic ale a stopped. Here’s where she “hiked along ile first trail to examine it. And here’s whn‘c she ‘ setofl‘ on a run. She ought to he t1 c wife of a scout. Demy! I wish I was young myself!” Mrs. Swanton, who had ovcihcaid this re- mark several times of late, gate a snort of jeal- ous ra . . “ B” l Swanton,” she said, in a rat-Ting voice. “maybe you think ytu’ie' the cnly (ne vilat wishes they was 3 01mg ag'in. I reckon if 11 ey was, there s some as wouldn’t tl rcw theiisclvcs awe on no such loafin’, trcn 1 ii.’-” ‘ “ but up, cle run an!” inning ted lzcr bus- band, lapsing in his unicr at La, into ilze iii- couth dialect of the Cider. “'.l}l(I"S lrjirs on this hyer trail. tn’ if ‘e dcn‘t wart ‘cr la’r lifted, jcst kecp that mil -tail -o’ youi‘n tiw em yer teeth.” ‘ 'lhis a] peel to the fcars cf the sl-rew ard the pointing out of a moccasined footprint Lad a marked ell ect. £ “ I wish to the Lcrd, Bill Ewantcn,” the whined, “ that I’d new 1' l( (n fml (rci gh io fol- ler such an t-nconicicrallc tran‘p cl’ar out here in this howlin’ Vi ildei ncrs, v 1281—" “ Shut up, w ill ycr! Or do )0 want to fetch the hull lot Cor. n (11 us to crc't?” “ I move that We lack out 0’ this here jcb,” said Sidney, not a little a1] i'ilcnsive at the» evidences of'lndiars in the Vicinity. “Lock a-bue,” said Even“ n, with white- rage ovcrsprmding his fans, “ did you swear to stick to this thirg,or didn’t you?” “ I ieckcn icllcrin’ his here trail is roliin’ ghhlcads into a home 's nest," replied honey, “ 'll’i’at's nothingto do with it! Did you swear to foller the thing through?” “I reckon 1' didn’t swear to foller no trail inter no Sioux nmbush, not if I knows in} scif!” The form of the rcrcgade was tn mblin with passion, but he held it under rcstraint w ile he an : “Do you think I‘m a fool? What ’ud I lead you him-ambush fur, sayl-otcll me that!” “I reckon this is one 0’ your Llind dodges,” said Sidney, after looking at his father a mo- ment in silence. Swanton’s es flashed and he not his teeth with a sna . e could ill hock his sun’s s3 mp- torns of re llion 'nst his “Look a-hcre, Sidney,” he said, “you l‘now me. I reckon in over twentv year you‘re l'arnt that I don’t take no foolirhin’ frunno livin’ man, when I’m in ’arncst. I'm in ’aircst now, an’ I as I’m goin’ tcr'foller ’s trail if it lcads straigh through brimstone! n’ if you unw- fish‘on me now, I’ll let daylight through our cowardly carcass, without no more palaver an if on was a dog!” e threw his rifle forward ashe spoke and looked fully capable of carrying out his throat. Had he expressed his thou hts aloud, Sidney would have known wh . '1' mg ran: “A life—a whole lfe of stud—a life of waiting, waiting, waiting for revenge! and to be thwarted by a boy’s whim! Curse him! I’d shoot him, if he was a ' n thncs my son!” Aloud l~e ccntinued: ' A “'llwme‘s mcrcy in this here thing fur you. There’s 1: air Ilen moneyoi; it for me! Ireckon Iain’t it‘d en 13;]: to all, by riskin’ my seal in 11.9. lrrgain.” - But I kin “ reclaon vcu‘ie deeper than me. stand this as lon m n u kin." ’ Sidney yield! u ith not the best grace in the world; but his father was satisfied. Without a word he turned to follow the trail, onl sto ping to secure the horses to trees, the of “fiebeing made on foot. had advanced but a little way, when a ri ct resounded through the forest. Almost immediately a second followed him. Swanton evinced a isposition to whim ; but a black scowl from her husband awed er into silence. The name quich his steps, and Sidney followed resignation. Twen rods eron, and there was a sud- den a the bushes, the air rung with flend' discord, and a score of dusky forms, hideous in paint and feathers leaped into view. Mrs. Swanton’s by means feeble scream was drowned -' .their deafening uproar. The usually stolid dney was stung into ac- 'ty. He leaped before his mother and bro ht his rifle to the shoulder. "‘fiiol!” cried his father as he knocked up the weapon, so that it exploded harmlessly in the \ A tomahawk lanced in the film, then swept straight for the end of the on who was rash enough to offer such hopecssmsistance. The mother uttpred a'wild shriek and throw herself upon him, knoolnn him out of the course of the 1 flying midis and melf falling over him rs he knees, came to his her prompt action perhaps savi his life. . H a score of knives and tomahawlzs were the point of taking their Fight from only too fl ._.. __4_. .. ..... weary , on ‘nd '1 came over her aadshoasarly fainted Swanton‘s know “a fig ' will hands, as many rifles presented their with”qu ‘ ' ‘ whalsdtnain Lhfiag ud- m. when Swast- s I v . w--.—__.w.. mafffiif' "‘ _ _< yen; ~.-. .4“ The New York “Library. " Is' raisedhis hand and uttered a peculiar cry. The tle distance. They stood in a space scarcely “SILENCE! I be your pardon !—my name effect was electric. Every motion was arrested, 1 two feet wide, between the rocky wall and the i is Swanton—Major wanton.” as if by magic. . I network of vines. _ The first word had shot forth like a’thunder- ~ - [ Burly Ben lanced around with his habitual ‘ bolt, making Mrs. Swanton utter a little nervous CHAPTER XI. 3 caution. Su denlylhis observant eye was ar- 1, scream, but not startling the lady ca tive out 1 rested. Stooping, e raisedabit of bruised vme : of her self- ssion, though she sale sli htl . ‘ 3301' m m DARK * from the ground. 5 Immediate y afterward he flow back in t e , A 833101181001: was on the face of Burly Ben ' as the woman’s scream died away. “ Somehow I don’t believe the ’ve shot her,” he said. “ t would they fete her clear out here for an’ then shoot her? N o; she’s yelled fur somethin’ else. Women folks is always skeery, ye know.” - A look of faint hope came into the father’s face. Eager im tience took the place of disap- pointment in ’s countenance. “Come on i” he cried. “ We can’t do any- thing standing here!” Burly Ben took the lead, and swiftly, yet cau- tiously, went toward the sound. They had advanced scarcel a score of rods, when a rifle cracked near at and, and—“zip! ping "—a bullet sped by Burl Ben’s ear and ilgnced on a bow der which e w passing. involuntary cry escaped the lips of the scout, then his rifle Went to is shoulder, and its voice blended.with a war-w . The call of triumph died away into the oath-yell, as a m form tossed its arms into the air, and fell y among the bushes. Answeri shouts came from no great dis- tance, andt escout turned to fly, to owed by ' his companions. “ Now that they know of our presence we cumot hope to surprise them,” said Mr. ur- haula’regretfully. “ e’ve got to ‘come ag’in!’ ’2 was the senteno tious mptlgeo! the scout. Soon came to a little brook which rip- ged musi y over a pebbly bottom. Ben ran a flat rock which was washed by the limpid waters. “ Here!” he cried “hold these thin ” He passed his to Hal; then hal wdero horn and shot- ch. Next he stri pagan his rln'n in a ' g, and Into the wa- rabout ankle-doe with one oot, setting it in a little bed of which lay between the rock on which he stood and the pebbly bottOm of the stream. A chorus of yells showed that the savages had found the body of their fallen com on. “ For heaVen’s sake, let us 11 on,” said Hal. “ ynhave struck our trail, and will be down on us a moment. Shall we wade inthe stream?” He was about to ste into the water, when 'BurlyBen ca ht ho! of himwith a cryof warning, and him bac f‘ care!” he cried; “ you will spoil every- %t is the matter?” asked Hal, “11W use “ tter enough! Hyer I’m gittin upascien- tiflcblind,7 an’ on comenearknockin’ it all in mheag, Ben,spreadinghisjerkinonthe roc . He lifted his foot out of the water, placed it in the center of the erkin, and wrap ing the fight about it, ted it with a ong of r. His foot had left a plainly visible im- pressionof the yiel ' sand. Kneeling down on the rock, he smoot ed over the impression with his hand. “ Now come on,” he said, leadin the way di- rectly from the strea over a ' of rock soil where their feet legit, no trail. p y SoontheIndiansreached the blind were de- ceived by it, and scattered; and and re- echoed from all parts of the road along e stream. . “ Jimminy! but there’s a lot on em!” ex- claimed Burly Ben. “ We can’t do nothin’ with ’em in the daytime' but we’ll have to hunt our ‘ holes an'- lay Whenthey set out ag’in on the tramp, we foller ’em, an’ take ’em after dark.” “ In heaven’s name! what is that?” exclaimed Mr. Burbank, as a shrill scream rent the air. “Hear! Its mufled now! kin Once more the lowed each other in rapid succession, again, and “That woman’s more skeered than hurt,” said Ben, after listening a moment. “ I don‘t believe Miss Blanche ’ud you like that. But, hens‘s the In inscomin’bac Ireokon the wanttoflnd on what it means themselves. e’ve got to git out 0’ this. Feller me!” - , Carefully the scouts picked their way, usin everysgrecau untoleaveaslittle as - ble. looting the stony ground in preference to the yielding loam, 0%le presently came to an “ re’s the lace we’re lookin’ fur, I recko ” he said, wit evident satisfaction. g the foliage, he disclosed the mouth ofa cave in the rook. Cautioust he ste through, followed b Mr. Burbank and ai. Whenthevineshad allen back to their place, formed an almost perfect screen, which mwmwmy.mmu s lit 0h m ‘ child! It must be she! They are killing her!” J “ I calker ahrleksbecame shrill and fol- ' lenwas i “Theres been somebody or something here,” ’ = he said “ an’ not long ago, neither.” } “As on as they are gone, now, it serves our turn,” sai Hal. ‘ Shall we enter the cave and stay till night?” They might be in there a-waitin’ fur ye,” suggested Burly Ben. t this point, voices above the escarpment caught Ben’s ear. I “ 1:stnyhoiav, we gan’tdstay llliere,” he said, ap- . re ensive y. “ utsi e we" t bagged sure- ; Inside we’ll have to resk it.” ge ’ ‘ Without more ado, Ben dropped on his knees i and be to enter the passage ‘ lowed y Mr. Burbank; and Hal came last. Cautioust they crept into the winding pas- . i sage, until the were wrappai in Stygian dark- . ness. they had reached the main chamber of the cave, he used and detached 8. dark lantern from his bel The had used it to follow the trail at 1 night. on just inside the mouth of the pas- | sage he had lighted it. Now, holding it at arm’s | l to one side, to escape the fire of the one. . my if one lay in wait he drew the slide and | flashed a cone of light 11 h the darkness. | Instantly there succeed as blindin flash, 3 that seemed to fill the cavern with a 5 eat of 1 flame—e. reverberating roar that shook the sol- ! id rock—and, with a cry, Mr. Burbank fell Burly Ben a dead wei ht, thrust' him orward on his face into t e send, an the lantern from his hand. “Di out 0’ this! di out 0’ this, for the love 0’ God The ’squire’s ' ed! 0h, cuss ’em! but they'll gay for this!” cried Burly Ben spitting the can out of 'his mouth; and with I-Ial s help, hi msHssannra h e a ge, w e 1g 0 ay. “Shot in the head, by mi ht !” he said, with almost a sob, as he drew o e bullet-riddled ca e hair was all sodden with blood, which dripped, drop by drop, to the floor of the pas- E‘He’ll never see his darter u even if we t her. an; oh Lord! what’ Mistress Bur- sa ?’ And with almost the tenderne of a woman, the rude scout parted the hair with his finger to look at the ghastly wound. CHAPTER XII. 'rnn RENEGADE. 3 Ir was a weird tacle—the renegade stand- ; in with upraised nd over his prostrate wife : son; around, like statues of bronze, a score 1 of savages in various attitudes of attack. They , stood breathless, as if waitiig a re tition of i the sound. It came. Then owly. eir arms ‘, descended to their sides; and, while the rest re- l tained their Efsitions one whose dress and bear in in marked chief ste forward dro - . i thg butt of his rifle towtheedground rested) 1 5 arms across the muzzle, and greeted the rene- 3, gade with a grunt. . _ 1 With stupid amazement depicted m his face, Sidney arose and helped his mother to her feet. While he stood gazing from his father to. the India]. chief, she clung to him in abject terror. .1 asked, in a tremulous whisper. I “ Shut up, till we see ” was the filial response. 1 The woman complied; but after hstenmg for 4 some time to the conversation between the In- , not a word of which ; low till they give up the s’arch. was intelligible to her her one anxiety came to ; dian chief and her husband, 'the surface again, an she re ! “ Be they oin’ to skulp us ’ , “No, I rec they ham’t—not jestyet, any- ; way.” ‘ Ah- the afeared 0’ or father?” to as how ’s one on ’em. He al- I deep.” 5 _ v “One on’em! Lud! he ain’ta nted In in!” ' “Ireckonthe ole man’ud be most an what ’ud serve his turn. Jest look a’ that there. I reckon he knows everybody, from the Lord to the devil." . This last remark was elicited by a sudden start of Whoa on the part of William as e lady captive was led forth from the underwood. Recovering himself, he raised his hat with mock civility and said: “Ah! canIcredit mysensesi The gods are re tious. ’T'is earssmcelhavebesked in the l h of your sm' es. madam—the playfel- low of my childhood, the inspiration of my youth. my earl manhoéd’s devotion 1” At the soun of his voice, while et he was hidden from view, the lady had star-ad. When she was led forth, she stared at him as if doubt- ing her own vision. . But as he addressed her, a t wave of wounded ty swept over her ace; anddrawi herself ughtilysrect, she ' began, with eyes: “a . He was fol- y the abrupt disappearance of ’ the sides of the passage, Burley Ben knew that they goin’ ter skulp us, Sidney?” she ‘ ofl'yhgadence of mock suavity. lady’s li curled in contempt. “ I care not 'ng for your name,” she said. “ ’our treason to your race and {our country | apparent in your amit with t ese ruthless 1 ers. It is in accor with your abandon— , ment, years ago, of every principle of right and 1 honor. I make no apgcal to your humanity; I ! do not ask you to pro t me against these sav- I, ages; but your insults to a defenseless woman i are wholly gratuitous. At least spare me this. A savage could do no less.” “Insults, madam! How strangely you mis- construe the devotion of one the ardor of whose passion all our years of coldness have failed to abate. Be 'eve me, I would but——” “ Hist!” sibilated Buffalo Horn, the chief, raising his hand warningly. Instantl every brave was on the alert. Then a bird-cal , twice repeated sounded through the wood. The chief replied by a similar cry; and a moment later an Indian rode forward on “Emit t’ m a f surp e ycapiveu re acryo rise and pleasure and the horse bestridden by the newl -arrived bounded to her side with a whin- - ny o glad recognition, and thrust his nose into < her hand. ' I “Selim! Selim!” cried the lad , coddlipg the ‘ horse’s head in her arms. “ O , where is my i child, my darling?” The Indian wrenched the horse awa , and the lady turned to the renegade appealing y. M Mr. I‘m—9, “ Swanton, madam !” “Major Swanton, I cplead with you for my child’ssake wheniwoul not for my own. She has been made a captive, and this Indian who is in possession of her horse must know her where- abouts. Find her and protect her, and I will bless you always! Oh! save her! save her!” She urged her horse toward Swanton, and ex- tended her hands beseechinglgfi A from of ap rent pain it the brows and compressed the ips of the renegade, and he said in a velce somewhat broken with emotion: “ Helen, do you lead with me i’” “ Yes! yes! Only save my child!” cried the lady, though she winced at the sound of her name on his lips. , . “ For the sake of old times, I will, if I can,” re lied Swanton, taking her outstretched hand. e lady shivered at the contact, and started as if her first imp were to snatch her hand away; but mastering her repugnance with an effort she said: -“ Will you, indeed?” “Helen,” said Swanton, earnestly, “I never could beartosee youintears. You wrongme if you think I could cal-g over an ill-feehng to your innocent child. om this our Ibury all the past. I have been bad. Ia m still not of the best. But do not on think that I have had time to outlive the fol y of my youth? God knowsi’I have suffered enough in twenty years ’ He seemed to be racked by a. sudden spasm .of pain. Sewing her hand he addressed 1181' rapld' y in French. . “Helen,” he said, “ in all these years I have 1 never ceased to love you.” , , “ Sir !” she interrupted in English, shrinking awa from him, white wi a royal indignation. “ ush!” he persisted, still in the foreign tongue, “ on must listen to me now. I W111 never as you so again. But you must know that while I have outhved my hatred—for I did hate you, bitter] —-I have never for amo- ment gained the masérY,“ my l“? for 3’01” I “spare your insults,s1r,” again interrupted. ! 21h: lady, striving to release her hand from his ‘PNo! I protest that it is no insult!” to ur . “ It is the torture of alifetime that will no he denied expression. There! I am done. Do you think now that would injure you? I have the power to re on to your home, and I promise you it shah be done.” He dropped her hand and averted his facehas if in pm Was be sincere? The lad looked at him a moment undecided. But t e mother’s pain drove this speculation from her mind. “ Blanche—my child’” she said. “ Is this sav- alnn' of her? hat does hesa ?” 33%” Mgss Blanche esca his y ylast night, and we are now on er trail, ’ replied Swanton, lying with inimitable grace. “ And you will protect her as econ as she is uhken?” “ To the extent of my At this instant a war.” ot—the one so nearly fatal to Burly Ben—run out. at no t dis- tance. Burl Ben’s qfiic return she and the Indian‘s dea -yell fo owod: and with a rally- ing cry, Buffalo Horn bounded in the direction of the aflray, followed by all his band “Stay here until cur return!" commanded ~ Swanton of his ten; and he, too, disappeared, No. 4. The Kidnapper; or, the Great Shanghai of the Northwest. Mrs. Burbank was yet looking after him, not I Heavenly Father, thank thee l—and yet I ’ to their present place of refuge. For this pur- a little agitated b the precipitation of events, when a rssping, igh—pitched voice fell upon her ear. “ I say, you brazen-faced h !” snarled Mrs. Jerusha Swanton, in afury o jealous hatred, “who air yeou, Way? Do on heart—if freon try to entice illiam away In me—my awfully wedded husband l—I’ll pull ever]: spear 0’ hair out o’ yeour head, and leave to ens of my nails in yoour brazen face, yeou piece of impidence, yeou!” Mrs. Burbank, not a little startled, reined her horse away from the advancing Virago. But the filial Sidney checked the threatened attack in a more summary manner. Catching his mother by the hair, he jerked her back and said: “ Shut up, ole woman, or I’ll lam yeou to a pummy! Yeou must be a blamed ole foolto think that this lad Wants anything 0’ dad. I reckon she wouldn wipe her old shoes on him, or yeou either.” “ Sidney Swanten !” cried his mother, “ ycou’ro tho sassiest, the ongratefulest. the ill-manneredist—” “ Shut u dyer yawp, I say, or I’ll—” But he not conclude; for he was knocked senseless by a stone. The next instant, without seeing an one, Mrs. Swanton heard a crashing of the ushes at her back; an arm glided about her waist; and a broad, horny palm was pressed over her mouth, not, however, in time to prevent the scream which she sent ringing through the for- est. Her unseen assailant soon envelo her head in her shawl, whirled her round an round, and thrust her with more vi r than ceremony into a bramble-bush. There t e terrified woman crouched, screaming with all her might, un- heeding the beat of a horse’s boots in rapid re— treat, or the approach of a body of savages. CHAPTER XIII. a DASTARDLY DEED. Bunnv BEN started up from his examination of Mr. Burbank’s head, with almost a shout of de' ht. “ nlya scalp wound, blessed be God!” he cried, yet dedly. “Here, Hal, pass your canteen. e’ll have him ’round ’in in jest no time at all. Chafe his hands, w ' e I dress his head. There’s a. pair of you, my boy, and ’t’ll be my turn next.” In a few minutes Carlton Burbank was him- self again, the glancing bullet having done less damage than a sharp thwnck with a shillelah. “ emustfindamoresecureplwethan this,” he suggested. “If the Indiansshould dis— cover, our retreat. we would be between two “We can’t go out 0’ here now, not no manner 0’ means,” dec Burly a reconnoissance at the month of the cave. “ The woods is chock full 0’ reds, within stun-throw 0’ our front-door, an’ we’d .be bbled up in a Lilly! An’, ’squire,” he add scratching his “ thar’s somethin’ quare about that shot. ’Twa’n’t an Injin that fired it ur he’d ’a’ yelled, sartin. If it was a white, why then, of course, he’s friaidly, an’ mistook us for inimies.” kn“ In that‘l why cannotaive {Hake ourselvgs, own, an pe ps game v ua e accemo “ That’s jest my idea,” said Ben. “AnywrZy, here furs try !” F0 owedby Mr. Burbank deal the scout crept back into the passage to theIast Is. Here, protected by the jutting rock, he (surged, “ Halloyin there!” The hollow echoes of his voice died away among the subterranean galleries; but no fur- ther answer was 'ven back. “ Hallo, ag’in!’ he repeated. “You needn’t be scared of us. We're whites and friends.” Still no answer. -. “ It’s mighti cur’ous!” he mused. “If they was whites, t ey would be steered toshow their faces, an’ if thedy; was Injins, they’d yell 80’s to let the outs! rs know they’d bagged somethin’. But, hold on! an idee. To t in here, they mutt likely to go through his passage; an if so be they did, they couldn’t hel vingatrailonthe sand that makes the bot of this end of it. They can’t shoot round scorner;so here oes fur a light. The lantern’s in yonder; but ’ve got an tinder-box, an’, Hal, ou’ll find a pine th j at the open- in’. Fete it, whilele ' ht.” In thirt seconds a diminutive torch, giving the light 0 half I. dosen candles, was . By its light Burly discovered what throw himdentirely of! his guard, 30 an; In cried ou : “Look! look! By the Great Horned Spoon! if here hain’t the print of her foot! Oh! lory to God! but we’ve found her at last! Hag ha, ha! ha! Now,’ uire, do on see that! and thatland that? ! ha! be An’ it’s the only fresh trail-weave an’ except our own—in the pas- sage; so the girl—God bless her leetle heart and e .isalone! Great Cesar! but-honestly ed her own father!” I’ve “Whatisit, Bent ‘ Is it her ti-ailr’cried the parent. almost beside himself with jay and un- . .“Is she sets! lmychildnesr! ‘ l’arnin’. ” scarcely dare hope! ~ Let us go in, Ben! She matzlbe sufferin untold terrors, thinking us her ru ess, blood-t irsty foes!” “ Come on!” cried Ben, enthusiastically. “ The plucky leetle rat gi’n the Injins the slip, an’ then went to peBperin’ her ole dad! Ha! ha! ha! He! he! he! on’t salt me, Miss Blanche! Bless her leetle picter! but she does creditto my As for Hal, 9. great wave of crimson swept to the roots of his hair and then receded, leaving him Ighastl pale. “ ere’s er trail. We can foller that,” said Ben. “ Hallo! By mighty! Here she is her- self, all in a heap!’ With a great cry, the father sprung forward and clasped the unconscious form in his arms. “Blanche! Blanche! Oh! my child! Awake! arouse! speak to me! Look, Ben, is she dead, or only fainted? Oh, God! if we lose her, after all!” “ It’s on] a faint, ’squire. She dropped all in a heap ter firing that there gun—scart clean out of her wits.” “ Thank God! she is alive and safe! Blanche! mfidarling! my own precious one!” is tears, his kisses or his impassioned words, or all combined, brought her back to conscious- nem. She sighed, opened her eyes, gave one mighty start of terror, as if to spring out of his arms, and then recognized him. “Father! 0h, pa !" she cried, clasped him about the neck, and ainted dead away again. Burly Ben’s skill soon bro t her back to con- sciousness. Then father an daughter enacted a scene of childish delight. They wept, they laughed, the clung to each other in long, breathless em races; and all the while Blanche overwhelmed her father with a flood of ques- tions, scarcely waitiu for an answer to one in her impatience to pu another, or express her deli ht at their reunion. “ ut here are other friends who claim a share of our attention,” said her father, presently. ot until then did Blanche glance over his shoulder, to see by whom he was accomganied. Naturally her eye fell first upon the tore -bear- er, Ben. With a glad smile she extended one hand, while the other arm yet lingered about her father’s neck. “ Oh, Ben!” she exclaimed, “are {on safe? I was so afraid they had captured or illed you i” “ Yes, Min Blanche, I’m as sound as a nut. But here’s another who has claim to your hand before me,” said the scout, denyin himself the ‘ Eleasure of claspin her extend hand, while 6 stepped back an revealed Hal. “The body fou ht bravel for Eon, as his ban- daged, hea will s ow,” sai Mr. urbank. “ Did you get that wound in my defense, Har- ry?” asked the girl. For the time or great joy extended to every one who wore a f ' face. Her smile, in its 'oyousness and cordiality, was such a one as she had never before accorded him. Hal 0 her hand and touching it with his li , he said: “ I shall always remember it prou y, since it was get when I thought I was fl hting for you. That thought made me disrega ul of all dan- to m !” The touch pose Burly Ben and Hal set out at once. A cautious reconnoissance showed that the Indians had withdrawu from the neighborhood of the cave, called awa by an occurrence which will presently be escribed. Like spec- ters Ben and Hal glided forth, and soon stood beneath the forest trees, the si hin of the wind through whose to (flee y wned the sound of whispere dialogue. “Wouldn’t it be well for us to learn some- thing about the movements of the enemy before we go for Miss Edwards?” asked Hal. “ A capital idea, boy,” responded Ben. “ But it won’t take two of uste do either job. You go fur the gui, an’ I’ll scout around a bit an’ pick up wha can. We can rendezvous here, an’ go to the cave ther.” “ All right,” said a1, and moved 03 without further words. “Ha! ha! ha!” he laughed, when he was alone. “ That was done neatly. He saved me the trouble of proposing this very arrangement. That will help to ward of! msgicmn, if any were ppssible. And now to cut t e Gordian knot! gh !” and he shuddered with a horror that blanched cheek and lip, while his eyes moving furtiv'ely from side to side, blazed and his knees trembled with quailing terror. “ Great God! it is a horrible deed! But I’ll do it! There isno other way out of the accursed trap!” His features were working spasmodicall , his white teeth showing like cruel angs benea h his mustache, and his brows knit until they met above his nose. “ All for one moment of insane leasure!” he muttered. “ Perdition seize her! IPve hated her ever since I t her, and If too for a cursed idiot! Who. did I want 0 this milk and water fool? She romises to spoil eve ' now. Butshe neverlivetodoit! Seisinmy path, and must be put out of it!” At a distance from the clump of bushes in which Mary lay secreted he paused and uttered a peculiar bird-call, which had been their at many a happy With a heart-t ' Mary race it, an parting the foliage red fort from her concealment. Hal saw or and beckoned to her. Joyoust she emerged and advanced toward him. - “ 0h, Charley!” she murmured in a low tone, as she neared him. “ The Indians have been on this very I was so fearful, and waited—” “ For th I” the clenched hand of the murderer struck the breast of his victim with a thud. The blade had entered to the hilt. “HA8!” roach in her e _es!-—a sudden relaxation o the use muscles, the dropping of a shadow— and the girl fell backward, with her stu'll white face and blood-welling bosom crying to seven for vengeance! x CHAPTER XIV. covnnma a snoonv nun. Tumurdererdmppedtheree wee n of his lips thrilled her; and her self-control was not in time to check the invo- luntary effort to withdraw her hand from his. Nor could any exertion of the will suppress the = slight shudder, nor keep the startled ook from i her eyes. But her tongue was under better ‘ command; and she said: “ I will not attempt to thank you; but I will 5 nurse ,you back to health, when we are safe ; I Burly ' Ben’s turn came next; and now her . manner had all the fervor of warm friendship: i “ y brave Ben!” she exclanned “I am so 4 glad you were not taken or harmed! The cut . of your whip would have saved me, had not and shrunk coweflngfgws by her look, which ug t the full realization o hisdeed. Amomcnt thus, and herecovered himself, with a shudderin , blood-curdling laugh. “ Bah! I am a corward y fool!” he ejaculated “Ithad tebe done; and one life is no more sacred than another. The world applauds the killing of a savage orof any other foe. She was a hitters]- enemy, and could have injured me more than half a dozen Indians. Now I am free; and I do not repent the deed. Idol. I- A shivering awful use with her- ror and, oh sue: a world 0 wonide ' re- ' 9 . Aknife flashedaninstantinthesun. Then I , frozen to my horror \ would re-enact it a hundred times before she ' should come between me and Blanche Burbank! There’s another who may oppose me there. It will be his turn next! I msorry, now thatIdid Sehm sprained his knee. Did the Indians fit I not follow him, and put him out of the way of e I seemedlikelosingafriendwhen “The Injins did gobble ugatche .hoss' but he hain’tfurofl, an’ r11 git him k u I have to o to the mountains fur him! But how in thun- er did you leave the hoss’ back without a tum- l his in the remit—that’s what sticks in my cm !7’ .. Bxi-iefly Blanche narrated all that had oc- curred since she hnd last seen Ben. At the ac- count of Swanton’s baseness Burly Ben’s wrath ceeded even that of the father—at least in its manifestation ~ “ And; father, pursued Blanche, “ he said that he had know: u you more than twenty years; andhescowledasif this wasmorean actofre- venge for. some past injury, than just to get your money.” “ Twenty flectively. r’ repeated Mr. Burbank re- ; '91 didn’t know that I had an enémy ! All the doing mischief.” l Recovering his knife, he thrust it into the ground repeatedly, to remove the blood from it lade. T en he turned to leave her; but, taking a last look, a sudden thou 15 occurred to him. “Gods! I was near a a1 blunder!” be ex- claimed. “An Indian would not leave her smefllp I” . e shuddered s in at the thought that came into his mind. 8 “But urlnust befdontik” mannered, com- muning binsel . ‘ lead to sus- picion else. I can’t risk that.” And yet he shrunk back, his teeth chattering with horror. I -. “I have camdit sthousand unequal ! now—ugh!” of a oomcimce, made ous by in the world—pertame none so bitter or of so a life of selfishness and debaucth new to missus Hal‘ggh straight line, palsrand more resolute. Then followed the father’s story of the somw hell of horrors!” he ejacula and desolation at home and of the rescue of M , Edwards. Blanche was quick toexpuu the that her sister in entering. be brought ....“~ “ h .,, ' . f , cnme like this, E compressed themselves into a ! deed he was contemplating; yet his craven soul brows darkened, and his face ; urgeéin him on. himfrom horrible cost. mein this ted. “I musttskea Hemustsecureselfatan rse'thefatethathas stimulanttonervem hand—the hand that has helduuptethe tshundredtimes!” He drew the stopper 0! his canteen, u ashenfsceturnedtoasickly‘ He shudderedsothsthiskneessmots her » ‘ s:—S.v'.‘.~ .7:*2.;:.-. .A - ' . -. .3. i #— ..a-- v-.. new»... -7“- ......._.... a 1‘, i . a, 'v~§-~~ a... The New York Library. Vol. II with great gulps, trenched upon the scanty store of spirits which had been brought against the probable casualties of their hazardous ex- ppdition. The tent liquor fired his blood, un- '1 it lea d to ' brain in a maddening wave. Then, a ong—drawn breath, a fierce setting of the teeth, and he clutched his left hand in her hair. Again the murderous knife flashed in the sun. A swift pass—a horrified averting of the face—a desperate wrench—and he held a reek- ing scalpl Ie dared not look at his mutilated victim, but spied awafi as if pursued by a legion of haunting g oulsl ut soon this paroxyan passed, and he regained self-possession. He had lied with the bloody knife in one hand, and the ghastly trophy clutched in the other. He stopped suddenly, crouching among the bushes, and glancing shout as if fearful of some spectator of his in- amy. “This will never dol” he muttered, gazing ‘ with a shudder at the evidences of his crime. “ Imust dispose of this!”—holdlng the scalp at arm’s length. “Great God! it will haunt me to m (1 ing day!” 6 id it in aclum of bushes, covered it with earth, and strewed t e earth with leaves. The knife he cleaned as before, and thrust it into his belt. No slight trace of blood about his person would betray him, since gory tokens of the last night’s struggle Were yet undried. After that he took another draught at the canteen, and then proceeded slowly toward the place of rendezvous, trying to still the shudder- ing horror that shook him, and co his man- nerto that degree of feeling which might be called up by the cruel death of a helpless stranger who had crossed his path for a moment. Ben had not et returned. Hal rested a few moments, and hen ve utterance to a shrill, yet plaintive bird It was a cryof distress; and Ben would recognize it as such, were be within earshot. After a pause, Hal repeated the call, and again and again at intervals, until at last it was responded to at a distance. _Presently there was a stealth p close at hand; and urly Ben stood in resence of the watcher. “ What’s awry, Hal, my boy?” he asked; and seeing that the young man was alone—“has anything happened to the gal? You look like a ghost in a play I” “ She’s past all help of ours, poor thingl—and she so young and pre tyl A million lives could not repay the devdish deeds these fiends com- mit! Come and see her. It will give you strength to fight for Miss Blanche; for it might havelieen her, you know.” “ So they found her out?-—the red devils i” "No. She seems to have left her hiding- place—I can’t guess why.” “ And the ’ve killed her?” ‘“ Yes; an scalped her, r thin l” “ What possessed them, wonder If it had been a man, now—but a woman—one would ’a’ thought they’d kept her as a prisoner.” “ ’1 hey may have been exasperated at her late rescue; or she ma have shown such weakness that they prefer ' not to bother with her.” “That’s like!” muttered Ben. “The blood- thirst!)r devils never put themselves to much troub e about .a prisoner that’s the least way cumbersome. A scalp suite ’em about as well as a white squaw, when they can git ’em as han- dy as they’re doin’ these days!” Havin made the desired impression on Ben’s mind, fl ting it to accept the appearance of things without too careful scrutiny, Hal re- mained silent the rest of the way. “There she lies,” he said, presently, stopping where he could not see her, and averting his face so that Ben could not see its sudden pallor. Burly Ben took a step forward and stood be- side the lifeless form gazing down upon it with com reased 1i and knit brows. “ _ uch d as this don’t fie unpum'shed ” he said, “ but I’m afeared they’ keep on until the last red’s rubbed out an’ on his way to the Hap- py Huntinggrounds. She’s young an’ pretty; ut there we n’t a very chipper 100 on her face. That waitin’, hungr l in her great eyes dldzi’t all come in a y, jest because her folks was killed an’ she took pris’ner. This may have put her out of a good deal 0’ misery, after all. allow it’s a Christian duty to cover her up from tho wolvgs an’ immiadfil’tEBNISbas goodh 1% spo seen. u we an ury or “Not ngwl—ngg now!” cried Hal, in t trepidation; for he shuddered at the thong t of touching her. Then, noticing that Ben looked over his shoulder in some rise he controlled himself and explained: “ e. danger is too great./ We mig t be interru ted at any mo- ment. We can return, you ow, when the savages are gone. Let us-” The ' yell caused him to start' pad at the sight of a dusky face and tufted head he crouched suddenl , in own e are u 118 With an alertness that mil hecoiiio: instin/ct- i, lve, the scout ducked his head at the first word of alarm comprehendinfi the whole situation at once. Theywhiz of a bu et close above his head showed how opportune had been the movement. Then Hal’s mile 8 kc, and a dusky form ag pared above the ashes, the armstossod in l l the air and the war-whoop dying aWay in a yell i walled from her wound attracted her attention. of mortal agony. But the cr was picked up by ready lungs until the w s rung again. 1‘ ierce eyes gleam beneath tufted crests, and lithe bodies crashed their way through the undergrowth in hot quest of vengeance. One moment the scout—ercct, defiant—faced the foe, his long rifle tossed into deadly position. A pull? of smoke—a sharp report—a savage stum- b to the ground with a bullet-hole in his fore ead bringing death too swift for even a cry—and Burly Ben sped away, only a pace be- hind his companion. “ Rendezvous at the same “An’ now each man for himse . so to. I’m off!” he men divided the pursuit by separating, each relyinglupon his own skill and endurance. On and on t ey sped, exchanging shots now and then with the enemy, then loading as they ran until the sounds of the chase grew fainter an ' he distance, and fainter, finally dying awa in the spot that witnessed Diary Edwards’ tragic death lay again in silence. Then two men emerged from the bushes‘ and while one leaned upon his rifle, the other knelt to examine the An hour later Ha dragged himself, nearly ex- hausted from the hard struggle for life, to the mce of rendezvous, and cast himself on the f at the roots of the oak with a weary sigh. “Well, boy, air you nigh beat out?” asked a voice which sounded close to his ear. and made him start up and clutch his pistol; for he had lost his rifle in the race for life. “Ha! ha! ha! ha!” laughed the same voice guardedly; and Burly Ben appeared from the other side of the tree showing signs of his re— cent struggle, yet ready for another bout. “Oh, is it you, Ben?” said Hal, sinking back to his 'tion of rest. “ A squaw could bag me now, think. As it was, I only got away with the skin of my teeth.” egging supine he toned his arms above his h and closed his eyes, a luxurious sense of rest and security. ~ lace!” he cried. We’re safest “ Young muscles and young wind don't stand the wear an’ tear that old ones does, ’3 ially if they’re shut up in the house too muc But it won’t do to lay there. Here’s a dro to set on on your feet again; an’ then we’ make zi‘acks With the toes p’intin’ fur the cave.” Ben oflered his own canteen, seeing that Hal’s was no. . “ caught ina bush, and I had to slip out of the strap and keep on for dear life, ex- plained Hal. “It was a mig ty close shave, boy, I reckon. Here’s my own reminder.” _ And the scout lam] exhibited his cap, where a bullet had hrough it, leaving a hole in front and back. “Don’t feel at all oneasy,” he pursued. “You’re weak now because 0’ lost so much blood last ni ht. But on aint half so near dead as you 100 We’ll ve you as chip- per as a spring chicken in a da or two.” Thus rudely encouraged, got upon his exer- feet. and together they ht the cave, cising the greatest care a leave no trail. They nearly reached their destination. when they were startled by the proximity of some one. Quickl theBy soufilét cover; but a voice said: “ o, urly 11! No dodging inthe bush between friends. ” The ker stepped forth, closely followed b anot or man; and those who had stopped be de M Edwards after her abandonment by hei;1 false usband, now stood before Burly Ben an HaL CHAPTER XV. A wnl'n’s LOYALTY. Aim now will in patient reader recall the o ning chapter 0. our story, where Walter eston was introduced in a cave passing in re- view the incidents of his saddened life drawn thence b the hunter Bantam to follow the trail left by lanche and her Indian pursuers, after her esca from William Swanton? We w not w the reader by recounting their adventures, w ich have no influence on the main current of events until their move- ments led them to Mary Edwards, after the treacherous assault of her husband while 1131 was showing her mutilated body to Burly Ben. Crouchin low,WalterandBantamescapedthe notice of t e savages. When the space was clear they approached the betrayed wife. To their horror and astonishment the n deed woman showed si of life, and alter kneeling at her side quic y poured a few drops of liquor between her lips. The woman moaned and maved uneasily, as if in Then heroesopenedandlookedva- cantly at Walter. lowly a look of wonder and reproach came into her face, and her fin- gers closed tightly over Walter’s. “Chm-Vi:in Husbandl”she womanly. Then th a relieved expreuion she began a8‘8"“ “ Oh it was terrible! I thou ht—” W kinofitshe pressed or hand to her bosOm. m are of the blood which had ‘ ,. _. r _ 4.-...-» g With a start she looked at her hand; then from ' her blood-stained palm to her ensanguined gar— ? merits; and lastly with a blank stare of horror 1 into Walter’s face, eXclaiming: “It was not a dream then! Ohi howscould oul—and I loved you so! Was I in your way? You come to hate me so bitterly? Charley! Char e 1 Oh! oh! oh!” She ell backi1 moanin piteously. ’ “ Hush! hus i” said alter, bewildered by the woman’s words, and at a loss what to do for her; only feeling that she ought not to give: such violent expression to her grief. ’ g her eyes again, she continued: “ t was a cruel stab; but the wound to my soul was greater than that to m body. I could have borne it from anIy other and; but from yours—the hand that have held to my heart in love l-— What had I done to deserve—” Suddenly the color waved up into her face; and starting up until she was supaprted by her elbow, and clutching \Valter by e sleeve, she demanded, almost fiercely: “Do you love her— cu, my husband? Was it for that, then? Oh (Law Convulsed by a spam of physical as well as gin-final ' , she would have fallen back heav- ' , but t Walter eased her gently to the ground. “Poor critter!” said Bantam, “\she’s clean gone out of her head—that’s sartain. She thinks ou’re her husband, an’ that you’ve rubbed or out for some other woman.” “My dear lady,” said Walter, gent] , “have goon been foully dealt with by one w 0 should ’ your protector? If so, you have found friends who will avenge cu, no matter who or what the perpetrator of t is deed may be.” At the sound of his voice the wcman locked at him with a startled gaze, into which, how- ever the look of reason had come. “ Oh; sir!” she exclaimed, “ you are a stranger to‘mvlrp stran ‘ r 'd W 1t 1 ‘ e were gers, 38.1 a or, grave y. “ We-are now friends who are ready to avenge you, if n .” “Aven meg For what? What did I say to £311? ave I been talking? I was not my- se Thewomnnspokedis intedl inafrihti ened sort of way. 10 y, 8 “You were bewildered by the shock. You took me for your husband,” replied Walter. “ My husband? Y I was bewildered. But only my husband ?—di I call you by name?” ‘ You called me Charle .” “Charla ? Was that 1? No other name?” “ Only barley,” said Walter, uuled. “Yes, I was not myself. You knew the did you not? For of course I never saw you be ore; and had I been myself, I would not have thought $01) were my husband. But did I talk much! but did I say to you? There is no do dence to be placed upon it, of course. I ' not know what was mying,~and I do not know now.” V Should he shock her agninhy tellin ' her! She seemed unconscious of her wounds. hile he hesitated she urged him piteously: “Youwill not refuse to tellme? Iwasnot m . I do not know what I said.” he would not be denied, and he told her: ' “I gathered from your words that you had been most foully dealt with by your sworn pro- tector—that your husband’s hand had done this fiendish work.” “My husband? No! no! he loved-me. He would not harm me. It was untrue. You saw that I was not accountable, did .not? No, my husband left me here,'and an indium— That is to say, he left me at home, and-J She paused in confusion, flushed sinfully; and then went on rapidly, not 100 in Walter’s es: “ I waseaken from my home hytheseterrlble savages. Lastnlghtlwurescued agentle- man who had lost_ his daughter. are were ‘ two others with lnm. Theyleft 'me in hiding‘ while they went to look for her; but the'In— diansfoundmo n;nndy\outee—Aml going to die? The is thewayitha‘pgened. I wasnotmyselfwhenltoldtzgn 'erentl. You said yourself, ion know, t l was bewil- deredb thesh’oc. And myheadwuso numb. did not know what I was as ing. But itwsgnnlndianthatdiditwitham der- ous Hei- eagerness to im res him with her last-re- lated story was pi'flab e, and might b its very excel, have betrayed her, had not , .- ceptiombeendulledbyachillfore :v huh and. him headless of her manner . ng over all but that which most nearly W his heart, he asked- ‘l I" name “ Yes. It was—Murdock. ’No; itboézin- with aB—Burton Ithink, somethin liketl'iat. I pnm’t The: is such agnumb feeling m . “ is doughter—didhe of herme Walter’s voice was hugfk HO W” I"1° *0 the lips and trembled violently. ~-.-...» -fik“ . . ...A—. V...“ “It ' fwithaB”hek to hinuelf.~ u the m-fim‘wfim .._.,-...........L—. M... luv!“ this gentleman—did he an you his , “unfimm ‘ “w_.‘_--,. -.. . .....-.._‘.. _- .-._ _. .- -,. W0. 4. Could it bethat she—she was e to the perils of savage captivity? He held his breath while the woman answered: “ He called her Blanche.” “Blanche Burbank?” demanded Walter, in a voice sunk to a wh' r. It thrilled him to 9 heart, when the woman’s faces;i lighted up with recollection, and she re- pli . - “ Yes! Burbank—that was the name.” The man who loved Blanche Burbank with all his soul—who, believin her relations to another made it dishonora 1e, had striven to crush that love, almost to the crushing of his heart—remained rfectly still, paralyzed by this more terrible glow. In this condition he saw the woman wince with pain, saw her put her hand to her seal less head, saw her start with a great gasp, and hen stare biankly, as if frozen by some terrible dis- covery. Presently, she began to pant with a terror which distended her eyes and shook her chilled ri'ridityointo trembling. Shocked in recovery 0 himself, Walter Weston drew forward his water canteen think- ing her about to faint. It was of tin, the side worn next his rson being polished to a reflect- iiligflbrillian' ' cy y constant friction agamst’ his c 0 es. Before he could divine and frustrate her pur- pose, the woman caught it from his hand and old it up as a mirror. One glance, and with a shriek of horror she dropped the canteen, and strug ed with blind energ to her knees: her woun opened afresh: and esunkproneu ntheground. Walter had 8 to his feet. “ My God!” he exclaimed, with a shudder, and bent over the prostrate woman-with an aimlem purpose of raising her from the und. But a chorus of savage yells replied to her c . 1?: U and away! The devils are right on top of us! cried Bantam, clutching Walter by the arm and forcibl raising him erect. “ What! and eave this poor creature in such a plight?” exclaimed Walter, all his chivalry in arms. “ Never! I'll die beside her first!” And, throwing his rifle forward, he cocked the was n, in readiness to receive the foe. “ Foo !” cried Bantam, in the rage of despera- tion. u will it do you any m to get butchered over a woman thats y dead, when there’s a living one that needs every arm in her defense f” And the sturd backwoodsman enforced his words by clutch 3 Walter by the collar of his jerkin and him 810 , whether or no. list the ' of lanche’s c aims settled the matter. er over would not have let all the women in the world, living or dead, stand be- fore her. “Ireckon I didn’t mean no t,” said Bantam, as they tore through the bus es; “ but I don’t eat in words neither; fur it ’ud ’a’ been a blamed fool’trick to stand up an’ git knocked over b a score 0’ Soos fur a dead woman." But alter needed no mollification for his wounded dignity. His mind was so full of his captive love that he had not heeded the rest of Bantam’s speech, and now scarcely heard his qualifiednapology; _ After escaping their pursuers, they returned to the vicini to look for Mr. Burbank and his party, that t ey might co te with them in their efforts to rescue B e from her amigo ca tors. hen the gigunwred a2: BurlyVBen, as recoun e precedinum duet rec ised them with a . t thrill ing ese, her intimttte riends, so far from the borders of civilization, made Blanche’s perilous situation the more terribly realistic; and, a]- most choking with emotion, Walter forth and grasped the hand of Burl Ben. - stinctively he shunned the man to w om he was forced to yield up the prize his heart so craved. CHAPTER XVI. SHANE. _ WILLIAX Swmox was recalled by his Wife’s screams, not somuch on'her account as from anxiety about Mrs. Burbank. Arriving on the spot, he found his terrified spouse still crouching in the bramble-bush, where she had been unceremoniously thrown. An opening in the folds of the shawl which on- veloped-her head served the double purpose of admitting air to her lungs and affording exit to the moans to which exhaustion had now reduced 1 in expression of her f t. But the approach her ushand. whom s e had no way of dis— _,igui:;hing from an Indian, since she dared not ,uncover her head, was the occasion of a renewed outburst. “Oh, Lud! Don’t skulp me! Ihain’t never done nothin’ to none 0’ on! Help, Sidney! Sidney, whore be you? O dear me sus! what a nateral-born fool I was to come trampin’ ‘wiiy out here in the wilderness after that uncon. scionable scamp Bil' Swanton! 0-o-ooh!”_ With no thy for her terror, Swanton 'erked. his is from the bush With no gentle “and: and she with a vision of imminent to aeispperchwing as white or savage sol: sinking ” before her mental eye, treated him. The Kidnapper; or, the Great Shanghai of the Northwest. 11 dom enjoys! But his profane e were drowned by her screams, no ess cat—like than her claws; and before he could rid himself of her nails or make himself known he was obliged to thrust her from him sothat e struck the ground with a concussion that retty ef- fectually knocked the breath out of er body. While she lay gaspin for breath, he availed himself of the compare. ive quiet to ale her with abroadside of oaths so familiar to er ears that his identity could not fail to be revealed. In a moment J erusha was herself again! Freeing her head from the embarrassment of her shawl, she got upon her feet, terror rc— Elaced b outraged fury, and, as she could catch er brea h, demanded: “Bill Swanton—is that you? Oh! you—vil- lainous scallawag! I vum! I’d—like to scratch yeour eyes out i” “ No doubt you infernal vixen!” replied her affectionate husband, musing his h ' and with a profane invocation he added: “ I’ve a mind to cut a gad and trounce you for the fa- vors I’ve received as it is!” “ Yam—take a stick—to me! Bill Swanton, yeou never seen the day that you dast—to raise a finger ag’in’ me i” “ but up, on confounded old witch, and tell me what has u goin’ on here.” “ Witch yourse f, Bill—Swanton! And I won’t—shut up, as long—as I’ve got the breath—” “ Where is the lady that I left here?” “ What do I know or—care about the tram in’ baggage that yeou—made love to ri t before in face an —eyes'l Bill Swanton, in our law y wedded—wife; an’ to hev yeou—— h! yeou shameful—” She was adding tears to the rest. That drove her husband to d ration. “None 0’ yer w 'mperin’, confound you! or I’ll shake the breath out 0’ our body!” he cried, clutchi her shoulder; and without waiting to see whet er she would give further provocation, he carried his threat into execution, shakin her, seemingly into a somewhat more pliable state of min ; for when he demanded: “ Will you answer me now, you shrew?” She W, submissively enough: “Yes, " —yes!” “Very well, then,” he said, releasing her shoulder from his grip, “what has happened here, the minute my back was turn “ We was pounced upon by a pack 0’ yeour fine friends, the Injuns; an’ no thanks to yeou r that we hain’t all skulped!” replied his wife, with a slight return to acerbitfl. “ And what has become of t e lady?” “The ’ve made off with her, I an pose; and I hope ’11 burn her at the stake, e busy!” Jerushas jealousy flamed up agn; and she added, with somethng of her won spirit: “ Bill Swanton instead 0’ bein’ so anxious about somebody e se’s wife, it ’u’d bemore seem- ly, to my way 0’ thinkin’, if yeou’d show more concern about yeour son, as may be killed, for all con know or care. ” ith the new thought she looked about for Sidney, and discovered him lying unconscious on the ground. “0h, Lud! Lud! Lnd! If they hain’t killed him, sure enough!” she cried, castin herself upon the body with that noisy grief wi which ! death inspires women of her caliber, even for those upon whom they have bestowed little love duringvvife. But illiam Swanton gave as little heed to her grief as to her rebuke for his lack of natural affection. A rapidly reiterated cry of distress soon brought a number of redskins to his asist— ance; and that they set of! on the trail of Mr. Burbanks horse. leaving the mother and son to shift for themselves. . b thile they are in hot Mull? let us take a me An involuntary cryescaped Mrs. Burbank’s lips as she saw Sidney Swanton fall to the ground stunned by a stone hurled from some unseen hand. The next instant the bushes were torn , giving to her view a man unusual] uncou in appearance even for one in his wal of life. He was ion and angular—of that de- scription conveyed y the e ithet raw-boned. His ’erkin was too short in t e sleeves and his leg as had evident! not been made order. For the rest he had gh cheek-bones a remark- ably minent nose, and was decidedly “lan- tern- awed,” his chin bristling with a few stra _ perha a hundred in all—not -. ermg much in co or from his shock of yellow “Don’t be afeard 0’ me, ma’am,” he said. “I’m a friend that'll jerk yeou out 0’ this nest o’ rattlesnakes in short meter! “I am the t Shanghai of the North-west—the cock 0’ he Walk t- at makes the dirtieSoos tremble an’ howl when he crows, an’ w n he fiaps his wings in htin’ order thar’s work for some- I‘m a at to tap mywings now, madam, fur you outen this is the great Shanghai’s intent ons. So here I” With a bound he eaped astride her horse be- hind lier, and u the animal forward with heel and vo es. “i; r,m at hteri” rotestedth . , thdg'l ymcugeduthldracdmfiw, a. ‘ one meets among them that sarvc him. lations ‘ “I’ll save her next, if it pleases the good Lord,” said the hunter. “ But IVilliam Swanton promised to protect her; and he seems to have power with the In- ! dians,” said the lady, her words rendered ' jerkfi b the motions of her horse. is e 1 'ed tew ye. I heard ’im. Yeou may depend on it, honest men don’t consort v ith 1n- jins. Oh the iniquity o’ the human hear 1:, \x hile men l’arn that the Prince 0’ Darkness himself ain’t painted no blacker nor the human dicvils ow, ma’am, I onderstand this Sioux lingo, an’ yeou don't; an’ I ard that snake-intlIe-grass tell Buffalo Horn t the gal whose trail the InjLns was'follcrin’ had escaped from him.” “ My daughter escaped from Major Swantcn !” exclaimed the lady “ How is that rossiblc? She was captured y Indians a week a o.” “ That may all be, ma’am. But not y those Injins. She was the renegade’s captive, though he may have used Injins to git ’er. It wouldn‘t be the first time by a good many that the thing’s been done on the border.” “ But with what object? “'hy should he wish to take my daughter from her home and friends?” ‘ “ Revenge,” ventured the hunter. At this the lady was silent, while her mind went back into the past and fixed upon an ev nt which, viewed in this light, drove the color f cm her cheek. Her emotion was not lost on her com union. “Yeou may know, ma‘am, “hctlxr 0 ever had any cause to hate yeou or yeourn. He’s a black-hearteéi vaif‘lcilt, agavouldn't be liktcly to forgit a gru , i e to wait years 0 pa it off; that’s ti: great Shanghai’s gm 58.” y A great awe had comeIinto the lady’s voice when she spoke again. “Sir,” she said, “ I cannot tell you my past; but it is true that this man once swore to be re- venged upon me for a fancied wrong. He was a fierce-tempered man, and far from good; but I never an posed him capable of Sl‘Ch inf uity as your wo imply. What ocd can it .0 him, 9.3331311 these years, to st ' ‘e me through my c “Them kind don’t look fur the good; but, de- ad on it, that’s what he’s rp to; I’ll agree to ave in comb cut if ’tain’t.” “ what will become of my child 's‘” asked Mrs. Burbank, an ashcn puller cvcrspreading her face. “ Sir ou are the on! de fem‘e'r I have at hand, though icr father an tv-o friends are somewhere in this 'at wilderness rec-kin to rescue her. May I epend upon an? “hate 'er becpluies of me save my child iom this awful r‘ !’ pe“My life is hem, ma’cm, as it is ycurn and eve woman‘s in distress!” said i .e Sim] le- min edscout, with thrt grand chivalry which is of no class or ccnciition,lut lelongs to the stout of heart everywhere, 1 e "t king or . as- ant. “Eee! I’ve got scmetl 'n’ o’ htrn t t’ll ladden yer mother’s eyes, if it don’t ease yer fieart altogether.” I r From his jerkin he drew forth a woman’s 22336, the sole alntigstgclfn gem the trier, {at i rvin e e 'ca ‘mm of e foot m feigned to. S) m The lady received the shoe from his hand, and, while her eyes were dirrmed \\ ith trais through which she could scared distinguish it, lressed the sacred relic to her oscm, and oven to her lips, in the fullness of her mothtr’s love. “ Oh, my child! my child! my stolcn darling!” she murmured, and len choked with (motion. “ I found it in the grip of a jogged rook,” said the scout, nct rumored by her love and grief. “ And y on will lave her—save her from them I” cried the nether. “ 1’1! try, mn'rm. Pvt give me l‘ack theshoe. She’ll rccd it, if 1 fird l:(r kefcrc them children 0’ Earl git i! (ir (lrtilxs cn l:er; an’ that I’ll do if I git my tomb CLt Ln’ my wings clirped, you ‘bet! With lingering tenderness the mother yielded unchcr troamm: and, when tlrc rcout had re- p ed it in his jerkin, he said, looking anxiously over his shoulder: “ Ma’am, I’m beginnin’ to thinkihnt I’ can’t ‘ save yeou on this rack-o’-bones. The rcd devils is ressin’ us mighty hard. e yells of the savages showed that they had indeed gained on the irsued. ’lle dense io- lia of the undergrow hintcrce} ted their view; bu they had no difficulty in following the broad trail unavoidabéy left by the fugitives. “ Do not yiel me up to them ,arain,” pleaded Mrs. Burbank. “.I fear that villainous renegade even more than his save 0 allies.” The Scout l'stmed to t e sounds of the chase with a painful frown. “ There’s but one way,” he said. after a purse. “You must hide in the bush, while I lead ’0!!! out o’ the way, and then come back frr to. ye see yonder clump? Flip from the saddle, rn’ w yerself in it till I return. Lay perfecin ' quiet an’ yeou’ll be safe.” , ile. rig he reined in the horse. rl-ich was laboring painfully under its (‘orhle brru‘en. Unhesitatingly the lady sli red to the rrcrnd and soughtthe'covert re ha appoint: d. {u t can. mounted savage burst from the undergrov. th on -...- u’ “a-__._._._. . .-,.....l... a .......4 _‘ .g..v. a. ‘ =2: zrwze 2.5x: -_ ~»--W-»-.- .... n»... -_.._., a . v. . a; agzmnazyxmz. . ‘. uni; _. mailer; E 0.143 Library: He uttered a yell of triumph as he sighted the 1 his eyes, brought close to hers, glazed with a manded, addressing no one in articular, and ,’ without waiting for a reply addgd: fugitives but it was his last; for the scouts rifle be ched forth a momentary flash, and the pur- suer fell headlong from his horse But an answerian yell showed that others ; ere was no time to repair : were at his heels. the mischief, if danger there were in leaving a dead fee so near the hiding-place of the woman he sought to rescue. She was but a few steps removed, yet so far that he could not recall her and have her mounted again before they would be upon him.‘ He was forced to run the risk of leavmg her. , Yet for a moment he paused, struck his el- bows against his sides four times repeated, and uttered the ringing note of the chanticleer— “ 00! 00-00! oo-oo-o-o!” Hearing it faint in the distance, Bantam said: “That’s Shang’s totem! It’s not new to the ears 0’ these red devils; an" they’ve l’arned to know that one o’ ’em’s rubbed out every time they hear it.” All throu h the wood it thrilled sava hearts; and he Sioux brave felt an impulse feel for the charm his Medicine Man had given him, as the devotee crosses himself to avert the power of witchcraft. His note of defiance uttered, the scout disap- peared in the undergrowth. CHAPTER XVII. SIDNEY a'aousnn. Ir will be remembered that the Indians who skirted the rocky ground in search of Blanche’s trail were thrown oi! the scent by the appear ance of the bear which had pursued her on the previous night and Iain down at the point where she fell over the embankment. They were re- called by Jerusha’s screams when Shan so un- ceremoniousl thrust her into the bramb e~bush. Takin up he trail of the fugitives we have ' seen tha one of them, better mounted than the rest, came I: n Shang at the moment when Mrs. Burban was goin into hidin . Shang’s bullet left the Indian wi h enough 1 e to betray Mrs. Burbank’s place of hiding; and Swanton coming u soon afterward, sale was handed over to him once, more. Docking at him she shuddered. He bowed to her With a look in which triumph, hatred and mock suavity glanced through the thin mask of dissimulation and blended curiously with a look of question- m . g‘ Helen,” he said, “‘I cannot think that on ‘ willingly fled frdm me as from an enemy. y , influence with the Indians is far ampler protec- tion to you than the single arm of a hunter, however well dis ed.” The lad shu dered again and covered her .face with r hands, but made no reply. ‘f Hum‘ph !” muttered the rene e behind his heard. A new phase. What changed my lady’s humor?” ' Aloud he said, while his eyes contracted spe- culatively: “Your daughter, too, who may be taken at any moment—I am surprised that you should abandon her.” At this Mrs. Burbank started to her feet. “You villain!” she cried, with theair of an on em ress. , W muttered Swanton, watc her. He removed his hat with a courtly w, and asnee'ring devil sat u on his lips as he said: “ Your most humb e servitorl May I ask to what I am indebted for so distinguished a mark of outrrfavor as is implied in your very gracious ep 8 ’ u Tom_n -. “Saarinen, madaml—Major Swanton, at your ce “’All names are alike to so vile awretchss m!” cried the lady, wrought beyond self-con- L “ You, then. are my daughter’s abductor, and you lied to me in promising her protec- on. I “I!-- ourdaughter’s abductor!” re ed the renegad’; with a sneering aflectationpuof dis- “ y dear madam, you cannot entertain sue a thought! Who has so basel slandered met-J3 who am so wholly devoted you and o y urs! . “You told your vile ally, this Indian chief, that she had esca from you.” “Ah! did I, in eed?” said Swanton, off-hand. “ Well, and do you think it unchristian to lie to these vans?” Mrs. urbank at him in despair. She was saved the trouble of replying by a shrill voice which demanded: 5‘ Bill Swanton, have you brought that crea- ture back again t6 torment me?” . I They had returned to the scene of Mrs. Bur- bank’s attempted rescue. The absurdly— ous Jerushn’ was ready to receive them, ha g re- ' stored Sidney to tgonsciousness. Her next words were ad Mrs. Burbank. “Yeou ought to be ashamed new look an honest woman in the face, yeou trampin’ bag- ' l—to have a married man a-makin of love w yeou, an’ yeou not a-showin’ of him his P vim was lainl in a hair-pulling mm; but Egrhusbagd perented any such de- monstration. Clutching her bythsarm. while fury that cowed her, he said: “See here, my love! Will you curb that gen- ; tlfe tongue of yours; or shall I try the efficacy 0 a “ reckon yeou kin sa twistin’ my arm off!” was t e sulky reply. yer say without 1 score of town awks l i “ Die! die, you accursed end!” A momentary hush of dismay, and then a burst of sava yells rent the wclkin, while a leamed in the sunlight. But the father leaped tween his son and this “Imay twist your pretty neck one of these i avalanche of death. Flinging aloft his opcn days!” replied wanton, in silken tones, though he were making a love speech. Then he turned to Mrs. Burbank, and, with a as palm, he uttered that mystic signal which once fore had stilled the tempest of savage fury. At that supreme moment he was conscious of sardonic smile and a sup ressed intensity which ‘, the birth of a new respect for his son. shkoed the fierce storm hat raged in his breast, 5a, . “You see m domestic felicity. Even our partialityi‘ coul not wish me more rfect ap- piness. 0 you I am indebted for is!” Pen cannot describe the intense hate infused into his concluding words. Mrs.{Burbank shud- dered, thinking that her child might be in this man’s power. “Well, Sidney,” added the renegade, in al- tered tones, “ ou seem to have come in for your share. hat was it this time?” “A cracked crown in your precious service,” replied the lyouth, a little sullenl . ‘Oh we there was not muc in the crown to sp' I fancy; so there’s no harm done,” sneered his father. “But, come! I have work for you.” Leaving a sufficient guard to frustrate any new attempt on Shangs part, father and son went in search of Blanche. Then followed the discovery of Hal and Burl Ben at the side of the foully betrayed wife, an , returning from the fruitless pursuit, the inter- ruprtégn of Walter’s interview with Mary Ed- wa . Later a soli Indian, the one who had ridden Selim into t e presence of Mrs. Burbank, entered the glade in which lay the helpless still unconscious. At si ht of her he ut- te a cry. Clutching her y the arm, he turned her over, so as to see her face. Then a fires guttural, which may have had something of pain and certainly h much of fury in it, escaped his lips. Seatin himself beside the unconscious woman, he dippe his finger in her blood, and with it drew hnes across his forehead and down his cheeks. - Transversely to these he drew other lines with blood-eodden loam. Then he covered his head with his blanket, and rockin his body to and fro, began a weird chant, w ich now rose to a shrill cry which rung far through the forest and anon sunk to a low wailing sound. The effect of this strange proceedin was soon apparent. Abandoning the quest 0 the fu '- tives, the Indians began to assemble in the la e. savage mourner arose, and as eac ap- roached, examined his 'rdle. He was evi- entl seeking the seal 0 the unhappy wife. “ 0 has plucked t e lily from t e heart of Wg Rifle?” he chanted. “Who has his day into ni ht? Let his blood atone for the deed of his ras hand 1” Mrs. Burbank was spared this scene. Her guards were’ relieved, and in turn passed the ordeal of examination. When all had come in except Sidney, the search was still fruitless. As unlike! as it was that a white man should have seal one of his own race, the Indians yet wai . When they heard him approaching, the sus- pense was at its c' . Natural instincts, not all dead, prom ted William Swanton to in- terfere in behalf 0 his son; but reason told ' that it was the extreme of improbable that Sid- ney could have been concerned in the ghastly tra y, and he remained ufescent. - idne started back wit disma, and threw forwar his rifle, when he saw the b ood-smeared chief approachin him with drawn knife. “Dont be pu amt RI this mummery,” called Swanton pere. “ e’s looking for the scalp of this woman, who was his prisoner, it seems, andwhom, in all probability, he meant v h rt!” ' ea He is now bewildered by the inconsistency of ' to make his squaw. Of course, you have had nothing to do with her.” Before Sidne could ly, the savage had satisfied himsel , and turnm from him, went and sat down again by the y, covering his head as before with his blanke , while he re- suggdiolp'fi chant in agemaggadfnccs. h w ' e p o appre e on Sidney adzanced g) see what it all meant. N6 soonerhad his eyes rested on Mary Edwards’ face, than his manner underwent a sudden c . With a violent start, he relaxed his hold upon his rifle, letting 1t fall to the ground. In bewilderment he gazed around upon the grim ‘ of the assembled savages, and again at the white face of the unconscious. '(i‘léih lMaryl”hecried, castm' g himse' it be- si e c . Her limp Eand fell from his nerveless grasp, and still kneeling, he looked up and about him, a stony calm and ghastly or on his face. It was the hush before the pest. Before any one could interfere, a sudden fury blamed in his bloodshot eyes, a cry like that of some e ed beastesca hisli and he had clutched gho astonish Spfigkm ' b the throat, thrust- ing hi‘xln on has: and him to the ‘ “Isthisthe dog who has slain herr’he do- I ~--’ . .«L. “ By heaven! the boy has mettle in him, after all!” he thought. CHAPTER XVIII. rm: AVENGER or BLOOD. SWAN'I‘ON’S power was sufficient. not only to protect his son from the threatened attack, but to secure the acknowledgment of the superiority of Sidney’s claims to Mary over those of the S eaking Rifle, when the former asked to be left a ne with his stricken love. After the I ndians had withdrawn, Swanton warned his son against the hatred of the chief, whose scowl showed with what ill-grace he accepted his defeat. But, absorbed in his grief, Sidney paid no heed. Alone with his hapless love, great tcars welled into Sidney’s eyes and fell upon her face as he pressed his lips to hers, shuddering while he gave the caress. “ Ma ! Mary!” he called piteously; and sinkin rlieside her, he held her in his arms. His ead sunk upon her breast, so still—so awfully still by contrast with his, shaken by choking sobs. Sudden] he starts and gazes wildly in her face. Di he feel her bosom heave with a tremulous si b? He begins pant with excitement. He gath- ers her close in his embrace, and rising to his knees holds her with her poor head—oh piteous! oh, damnable erectacle—on his shoulder. He rains kisses upon her pale lips—crying dljmbly to Heaven for vengeance l—and calls er again, and again, and again. . “Mary! Mary! Mary! Speak to me, if only once to tell me who is your fiendish murderer! Awake, my darling, and help me to avenge you. Has the passion of a strong syirit owcr to call back one whose feet are aim ady zvcd by the silently gliding waters of the Dark River? For see! a tremor runs through her frame; a quivering sigh parts her lips; and her e es open again upon the sad life so nearly left i: 'nd. She recognizes him, and ' closer in his arms. “Sidney,” she whispers, in a voice lighter than the faintest zephyr, “is it you?” “Ay, love, it is me! Thank God that you know me!” answers her lover, passionately.“ The girl shudders from head to foot, and her eyes distend with horrified recollection. . “Do you love me still?” she asks, her vorce gaining strength _ He feels her clinging to him, and With swell- ing heart responds: ‘With in whole soul!” The girl udders again. “ I am unworthy your love,” she says bitter- 1 . y“Hush!” he replies. “You are a hundred times worthier than me. “No,” she persists; “when I should have been true to you I gave my heart to another.” “ What?” he cries, sharply. . He would hold her from him that 'he can gaze into her face, but she clings to him in aflnght. “Sidney! Sidney! you said you loved me,” she pleads piteously. “ ~01 do,” he says, puzzled by her manner. “ And you—you love me, don’t, you?” A look of fierce hate comes into her eyes, as she straightens herself and says, vehemently: “Yes! I love you from t e bottom of my her words and manner. . “ Why do you look as if you were cursin’ me, when you tell me that you love me 3” he asks. “ My words were for you—my looks and tone for another,” she replies, with suppressed fierce- ness. “I don’t understand,” says the youth, more and more bewildered. Shiverin , the woman shrinks close to his breast. After a pause she says: “ Sidnev, you said you loved me.” “ I do—I have always loved you.” “ And you will continue to love me?” to Yes" “ No matter what I tell you new?” “ No matter what you tell me.” “ Swear it i” “ I do—so help me God! And I’ll avenge you too' or die tryin’!” _ . . .zegiirl shudders again, chug-ing to him con- “ I said «I was unworthy of your love.” she says, speaking rapidly. “ You know that I loved {in when we were) alone together. I "ht Edam anything different: but when you left me, another came._ He was a gentleman 1n \ ve gone to my dying dayand nevcr' 0;}: breeding. He had a tongue of silk and the 3 heart of a devil. He turned my head with his ' flattery, persuading me that I was a born lady and we were made for each other. And I, like the silly fool I was, believed him, and—will you ever forgive me ?—married him!’ Thus far the youth listens to her rapid words in a sort of daze; but when she comes to that fatal word, he thrusts h-zr from him at arm’s length, wlth a cry as if stung. “ Mar: icl him!” Almost fainting, the girl extends her arms to him and cries: “Sidney! Sidney! you swore that ‘ou would continue to lovo me, no matter what told you! And have I not paid for my folly? You know that I love you now, a hundred times more than ever before' and a3- for the wretch who de- ceived me, I hate himl—I loathe him !—I would shrink from his touch as from the coil of a. ser— pent. I told you tiiat I married hini;, but I do not know whether I am his wife or not. He did not marry me in hi3 right name, and it may have been a sham all through. But, whether the marriage was legal or not, his villainy since gs destroyed every elaizn on me; and now I ow that I never loved him. And when I come back to you, Sidney, do you turn away from me?” $119 .Kislnsppsi; IVith great sobs he Clasps her to his heart, muttering: ~ “ Never, Ma , never!” 13 it strange 13.12% the man who yesterday was willing to ve her up for an un oving and an unloved bride who would bring him money, to- day esteems her beyond all earthly thingsl. But yesterday they were apart: to-day her hvmgr presence appeals to him. He idealizes her, an all his be or nature nds to the image his fancy has created. Sue is the mysterious in- fluence which woman exercises over man. How often it is wielded for good—how often for evil! “ I bless you, my darling!” says this woman to this man. “I shall not live to enjoy your love; but when I am dead you can avenge my wrongs. . . “ d I will avenge you !” cried Sidney. “T31! me who the man is that I may tear out his false heart!” Drawing,r from her bosom a blood-stained miniature of her false husband, the woman shuilers an! turns her face away as she hands it to her lover. “ This is his picture,” she says. know that I have it. after he went away. “ It is stained with our heart’s blood!” says her lover, fiercely. “ will drown it in his be- fore I am done with him! What is his name?” “ Hi: right name is Ha Boarsley. He pre- tended to marry me under he name of Charles n. . “ And then deserted you?-—the villain!” A sharp spasm of pain distorts his face. He cannot help thinking that had she not proved fickle to her first lover the villainy of the other woull have been impotent to harm her. “ Yes,” she re lies. “ It seems he was engaged to an heiress be ore he knew me.” “ And her name?” “ Blanche Burbank.” “What! The girl my father has been figurin’ for! Why, she is maybe within a mile of us now, somewhere in these woods. She escaped gram” us last night, and we are now on or ra' . - The woman shuddered cairi. “ Yes,” she 83 s; “anl i was‘bccause I stood tween her an him that he murdered me.” “ IIe murdered you?” “Yes. He, too, is somewhere neat-us. In com- pany with her father he is seeking to rescue her, and then to make her his Wife. Sidney, you swore that you loved me and would avenge me. New I leave you to hunt the accursed murderer to his death, as he has slam me!” While 3 5; she has torn herself from his arms, and now stands erect With hand raised to heaven in tragic denunciation. The truth bursts upon her lover, and he blurts it out without thinking of the effect upon her. “ Ile murdered you an’ then scalped you so that the Injins would have to shoulder the deed.” An awful horror distends the woman’s _ es and heyI with a. Illllortill shul()l(()lor.l1 Wt 3 gas in setomes erarmsa ve er ea ami’mflscrbimkward, the blood gushing from the wound in her bosom. He gs forward to catch her, but too late. The d thud with which she strikes the ground shocks him hke a blow. Without exmnmation he knows that she is dead. Then, an awful calm settling down about him, he kneels bomdo her, and the bloodme miniature held between his white {we and heaven swears: ' “ ,When I forget my mission may God forget me! It does not strike him as blob-phenom. He has no moral perception whatever. He only sees the murderer and hisv1ctim. That si t has transformed him from a youth with ,- moreofevilthanofgoodinhim intoanimpla- “ He does not He lost it, and I found it ' cable avenger of blood. _ Bats voice—his fathom—raised in “harp 9r, the Great Shanghai..9f.?1}?_NOW”W§SL—__' ,. r 13. tone of command, calls him from his ecstasy of : hatred. “ Sidney, I want you immediately 1” CHAPTER XIX. MASKED nssnrs. We have said that Walter shrunk instinctive- 1 from the rival to whom Fate had awarded the prize he so ardenzly coveted—instinctively, because he himself h never analyzed the re- pulsion he felt for Hal, ascribing it to an un- worthy jealous '. But whether that or a vague perception of al’s real character, the feeling was too powerful to be mastered; and passin his rival with a formal bow—he could not as him of the woman over whose fate his heart was so tortured—he grasped Burly Ben’s hand and said: “ My dear Ben, as glad as I am to see you, I am pained that it should be under such Circum- stances.” IIere he stopped. He could not bring himself to utter Blanche’s name, lost his manner should betra his heart‘s secret. “ on may well say that, Master Walter,” returned Burly Ben, with feeling. “VVe’re in trouble where your arm won’t 1go amiss, nor be given dgin 1y, I know. at, how in the world you pan to run across us? an’ how did you come to ' ow 0’ Miss Blanche’s cap- tivit ?” “ e were told by the woman whom you rescued from the Indians yesterday, only to “ The woman whom we rescued yesterday!” It was Hal’s voice, raised to a dancerous pitch by excitement. He had returned I alter’s bow with one equall formal, with an infusion, how- ever, of hatre and contempt. But when he had heard Walter's reference to Mary Edwards he started forward with a pallor like death an the eyes of a murderer brou ht to bay. As if pnlconsciously, his hand soug t the butt of a pis- 0 “Hist!” sibilated Burly Ben, in wamin , alarmed by IIal’s un ed tones. “Whats the matter with you, man? Do ye want to bring the hull kit an’ passle of ’em down on us tooncc?” “falter turned with a stare of surprise, and then answered with distant deliberation: “We went to her after you left her for dead—” “ I left her for dead?” a in interrupted Hal, almost as un edly as fore. “You were driven of! by the Indians,” re- plied IValter, not comprehending the true im- port of Hal’s question. “You went to her afterward and she was not dead?” (pleursued Hal, livid and trembling. Still won ring, Walter replied: “ I succeeded in restoring her to an interval of consciousness.” “ And what did she say to you?” “She told us of her rescue by the arty in Eggs: of Miss Burbank, only to be murdered at “Murdered! B whom?” “Why, b the ndians, of course.” “Oh, cc ' y! Of course she could not tell one from the other.” :11 made a sickly attempt at a smile ashe thus avoided the precipice over which he had so nearly plunged. “But was that all she said!” he pursued, still on the rack. “ In the first moments of her recovery she spoke of her husband—not very coherently,” replied Walter, still blind to anything like sus- icion of the truth. How could he connect lanche Burbank’s acce ted lover—afiianced anncgwbabyhood—with ary Edwards’ hus— “Her husband?” repeated Hal. “What of ' l What did she call him?” “ Charles—or Charley.” “Was that all? No other name?” “ No. She gave but his first name. New I think of it, she seemed Wish to conceal her surname, " said Walter, his words showing how wholly unsuspie’ious he was. “Great God The relief was so 1: that the guilty husband reeled and clutch a sang for support wip- ing the cold sweat from his forehead. en conscious of the blank stare of the rest, an feeling that his extreme emotion called for some explanation, he added: ‘ It was a horrible spectacle! I shall carry it to my dying da !” The moment al ceased to claim his attention Walter began to ply Ben with questions. He was almost ' wi h emotion when he learned that Blanche was secure in a cave under the protection of her father. I What pen can describe his thoughts and feel- ings when, leaving Bantam to look for Shang, be ap reached the cave With the pther two! As or Hal, his mind as 111 at rest. He long- ed to know what Mary bad said of her husband in what Walter had called the incoherent Words of the first moments of her recoveg, yet dared' not make further inquiry, lest longitude should awaken suspicion. He paaed in review Walter’- and Bantam!» looks and manner, until ' he shivered with dread that they were holding something in reserve. “ If they have discovered anything, they shall never live to betray me!” he muttered, as he followed Walter and Burly Ben toward the cave. He shuddercd as be reflected on the depth to which he was becoming involved. \ “ A murder to hide a sham marriage, and two murders to cover the first! Where is it all to end?” The reached the cave and entered, a si al from urley Ben warning their friends of tflir approach. Shaken by a great surge of emotion, now that he felt himself so near the woman he idolized, IValter allowed the others to precede him. while he sought to command at least outward com- The inner cave was dimly illuminated bya torch, no gleam of v. hose light could reach the outer world through the tortuous enterin pas- sage. Mr. Burbank met his friends at e in- ner mouth of this corridor. “Ah, Hal and Ben!” he said, giving eacha hand, ‘ you don’t knew how anxious] we have awaited your return nor how hearti y we wel- come you safely bac ! Eut Miss Ed“ ards? you surely have brought her with you!” And he peered into the shadows behind them. Hal seemed overecnze with emotion-his friends did not interpret it as guilty fear! “Oh dear!” said 1am he, with pale lips and clasped hands, “ I hope nothing has happened to her.” It was Burly Ben who replied. “ She’s past our he! , Miss Blanche,” he said vely. “ We kin on y feel sorry for her, beinl s e was so young an’ innei'cent.” “ Not dead!” exclaimed Mr. Burbank. “Oh, no! no! You mean that she has been reca tured?” said Blanche, ho inga instho e. “ he‘s gone uhar In '1 ns ' :05; her, ut not brin her back,” sai Ben. Then found voice. “The particulars would onlyhe painful to on,” he said. “ Suffice it that we can be of no urthcr service to her. Meanwhile,” he forced himself to add, feeling that it was incumbent upon him, though his whole soul rebelled, “we have run across an old acquaintance, who has kindly volunteered his aid.” This said, he turned so that his face wasin shadow, and set himself to watch the meeting between the woman whom he was engaged to ma and the man who might hold the turible secre of his former marriage and the fiendish deed of blood by which he had removed the ob- struction to the second. ' Meanwhile Walter has schooled his heartto the trying ordeal which was before him. - i “ She is another’s! She is another’s!” he kept repeating to himself. “I have no right to be- tra my dishonorable {assion for her. If I co (1 despoil the rightful csscssor, I would be unworthy of her. 011, 0d! why am I tor- ' tured so. But he heard Hal’s introduction; heard Mr. Burbank ray, inquiringly: “ An old acsaiaintaneei” ‘ And then pped forth from the shadows of the pgssage. “ 'hy, my dear Mr. Weston!” exclaimed Mr. Burbank, seizing upon both his hands, and shaking them with an enthusiastic cordiality which made Walter choke with teful emo- tion. “ Was ever greater cod ortunel But have you sprung up from t e earth or dropped from the heavens, that we come across you in the heart of this vast wilderness?” ‘ “I have been making my hrme with some friends—hunters— and learncd of your vicinity,” ' Egan Walter, when Mr. Burbank interrupted I “ But here is my daughter, who—thank God! — just been restore to us from worse than Indian ca tivity. Blanche, my dear, here is, your frien Mr. Weston, whose coura e will be p0 unwelcome acquisition for your uture de- ense. ’ Her friend! The word thrilled Walter. He had noticed Hal‘s use of the word acquaintance. A mist swam before his vision, as he looked u to see which term her reception would wan-an But, Hal’s jealous eye had seen what esca all the others. Upon the appearance of Wal r, be had seen her start forward with a quick catchin of the breath, a fling of the hands, and sue a glad radiant e as could only be called up by a thrill of ecstasy, while a crimson spot glowed in either cheek. A moment it“ \ wasasifthegateof dischadbeeno enedto her view; the next it was as if the cipher had been shut again in her face. Pale to the 1i and with her hand messed over her heart stood fighting hard or com When Wal- ter looked up, she was to smile an ordi- welcome. “lneednotamemmBui-bankthat I place my life between her and her foes.” he said - his throbbing heart behind a. mask of extreme formality. Hisstudied manner acted like a tonic; and, with a mmral'ieas she could not otherwise have commanded, extended bonehead : “YonmtoogooQIawm I who vvgrvm» “.3: ._‘...< » L'. .f;.:.-..._.:._ ._ _ 9"» ~ ..._ V... . --.,--.. _.... fl... -_ ‘ ‘4 - m: -.‘.'.‘;.—;...—-—v:.'.—‘.7. — v—av-d—m‘. ~.-..~.~. - —.-v _ - I I I i .2 ;...'.-:.‘.-:.:.~;,. - :m :=.~t:. .- ...'..- -... .. -._— “yr—A- l."~> I Sidney, with a dogg 14 ..-, 7.-.-..” .i_..___.___-_ at a loss to thank all my friends for the readi- ness with which they incur danger in defense of so pitiable a burden as myself.” Her a parent freedom from embarrassment, when his very soul was being rent with turbu- lent emotions, cut him tothe heart. He had ex— ‘ pectcd nothing different of her; he had no right to expect anything different (so he told himself) and et— Thg sha spasm of pain caused his fingers to close over er hand with a grasp that thrilled her. ing to hide the emotion he could not keep out of his face, he was seized by a mad impulse born of desperation, to press his lips to it. It was done before he had time to combat the impulse, and he felt a quick start, as if she would have jerked her hand away, and then the hand la_‘,r passive in his. Shocked at his own self—abandomnent, he sought to give it another coloring by taking ‘ refu're in mock compliment. Dropping her hani , he said: “ We, as your true knights, should not deem your handkerchief or your glove an unworthy ob'eet over which to fight to the death.” a saw her smile archly, but did not detect, as Hal did, the nervousness which lay back of it, as she said: “ I see you are not lacking in gallantry of 3c . Then she resorted to her woman’s defense, by diverting attention fron the dangerous ground on which they were trea ling. “ It is a thousand pities that your valor was not available for the protection of the poor lady, mylsister in peril ” sae said, gravelwyr. 31 had seen er start when alter’s lips touched her haul—seen the color flame into her cheeks and reee le again, though she raised her hand between her face and the light, under the retense of adjusting her hat—seen a momentary ook in her eyes that would have made \Valter 3 heart leap again—a look which ma le Hal grinl his teeth am confirmed him in his pu 050 t) murder the man who had inspired it; at his ‘ea‘lous rage was hushed into quiescence b her ast words. Here was another 0 portumtfi to judge of ‘Walter 5 knowledge. Ha set his w ole soul on the watch, ready to weigh every word and look. But Mr. Burbank’s voice cut off Walter’s \ we...» Apparently o posite the very mouth of the ._ cave a chorus o yells broke the stillness. “ B the bin‘ horned spoon! we’re discovered!” cried url Hen, starting to reconnoitcr. And in tie danger of the moment Mary Ed- wards was forgotten. CHAPTER XX. , A BOOTLESS NEGOTIATION. ALTHOUGH on the first appearance of the Speaking Rifle, on Selim, Swanton had been so ' ready With his lie to Mrs. Burbank, the fact was he had paid no attention to what the Indian was sayino‘, and it was not until after the dis- 3 covery of chlary Edwards that he learned of her . rescue b three white men. His curiosity awakene , Swanton questioned the savage, and from his descri ion recognized Mr. Burbank and hisparty. enee his excited call to Sid- ne . , gut Sidney had already learned of them from Ma , and readily fell in with his father’s Inn to t e prompt and vigorous measures for t eir capture. ut Sidney had a plan of his own. Very mysteriously, and refusing to gratify his father s curiosit as to his gu e, be asked for half a dOZen dians to o ' bidding without ques- tion. “ It doesn’t make an difference why,” began determination to have his secret no matter what the curiosit of the man who had made him act blindly all is life, “ but I want these Indians to help me take alive Eetrnan I point out to ’em. You kin tell ’em a . William Swanton re rded his son with a shade of contempt in his contracted eyes. He appreciated the spirit which actuated Sidney, and thought how shallow the boy was in his at- tempt when his father. Scarcely disguising , a sneer, he said, interrogatively: “ Harry Bearsley?” Sidney 3 face flushed purple with passion and eyes gleamed ominously, as he burst forth: “ es, Harry Bearsley!—ma fiends torture him forever, as I will when get him in my clutches!” “Ah!” said Swanton pen; and he turned away with a sneering mi 6. Thrown off his guard, Sidney had betrayed at least a part 0 his secret. This was the course of his father’s reflections: “His lady-love tells him of the vicinity of three strangers; and he immediately conceives a deadly hatred of one of the strangers, and devotes him to torment here and hereafter. My Hal has been ugtosome mischief— tha £313. It’n‘a little ed . th , that those two he pitted scum 9M, now: As he bent over that fair hand, only think— 3 I having met. Well, well! man is false and wo- : man frail the world over. Pahl” And he ground his teeth at some bitter recol- lection. It did not occur to him that Hal mightbe concerned in Mary’s death; but he thought that there had been some love passage between them 3 which the girl had betrayed to Sidney in some way—hence his sudden choler. , "An’ now,” said the renegade, when he had - communicated Sidney’s wishes to the Indians, “ if Carlton Burbank gets that girl away from me now, l’ll head a raiding-party that Won’t stop this side 0’ the Mississip i. But, curse him! he shan’t thwart me! e shall never leave these woods alive!” In a brief harangue the renegade put the In- dians in possession of his plans, and everythin I was soon arranged for a search which should i leave no spot uncxamined. Mrs. Burbank and J erusha Swanton were left under a guard; and then the various parties disposed through the forest, movin so stealth- il‘y that the Wilderness seemed a vas , untenant- e solitude. An hour of stillness, and then the woods rung with a triumphant call. Answering shouts came from various directions, to Le lleCd u . lowed up by distance. Then from far and near —father and daughter locked in each other’s embraces; one lover ready to do and die for her dear sake whom he had enshrined in his heart of hearts; the other thinking more of himself, perhaps; lastly the chem ion and friend who knew no thought of SCIflSl danger, standing guard over the passage through which no savage foe could come save over his dead y! An Indian, more fortunate than his com an- ions, had cspied \Valter, Hal and Burly on while on their way to the cave, after they had racked them quietly, waitin for chance to throw in his we the means 0 communicatin with his frienis without startling those 0 ‘ whom he was in pursuit. A smile of triumph burst over his dus visage as he saw them part the wires whic concealed the mouth of the cave. All fruitless was their careful readjustment which Burly Ben would trust to no other hand than his own. The secret of their retreat was in the possession of the onl feel When hey had disappeared within the cave the savage ore t away. Gaining a safe dis- tance he uttere< a bird-call. Again and again did he produce the note, until at last it was an- swered. A moment later he was rapidly de- tailing his discovery to a party of friends. No noisy demonstration betokened their fierce exultation. Like specters they glided through the thickets, savage joy gleaming in every e e and ulsing in every heart, but guarded closer by t eir mute 11 3. So they gainc the mouth of the cave again. Then, With weapons held in readiness, they voiced their triumph in yells that rose peal on l. peffach incomin party was informed of the ‘ tra in which t eir (Runny was confined; and eac gave forth their 5 out of cxultation. The savage who had made the discovery was called be ore William Swanton Buffalo Hem and som of the sub-chiefs. I’roudly he ad- vanced d began his story in a vanntmg, bom- bastic style, until cut short by- the more busi- ness—like rene nde. v Swanton pied the savage rapidly with a series of pointed questions which, leaving no room for egotism or Indian metaphor, soon brought him to the end of his information. This the renegade s ' in a single sen- tenco: “Three men, corresponding in dcscri tion to 3 Carlton Burbank, Harry Bearsle an Burly 1 Ben, are confined in this cave of w ich we com— mand the exit!" William Swnnton had fallen into one not un- natural mistake. The savage had described Walter Weston as a oung man with a beard; but, informed throng Mary of Mr. Burbank’s presence in the party, and reflecting that, in the rime of life, he ve little indication of age, wanton assum that the Indian had made a mistake in this particular. “ Well,” he said, “ I’ve got ’em at last 1” His cxultation found expression in a 'm smile, as he walked back and forth meditating on his triumph. ‘ “ What shall I do with them?” he mused, rub- bil'll‘fi his hands with relish. e savages stood in silence, watchin the changing expression of his face. They ter- reted the malignant hatred in his scowl, trough his words were unintelligible as he mut- m 0 “ Revengfl Revenge l—aftor a lifetime of waiting! a! Carlton Burbank, I have tor- tiu'es reserved for you keencr than any which could be devised by these red devils who are my allies! “As for Burly Ben, :11 hatred does not ex- tend to himgbuthoshglmulvotenu ' . —_r.: - __._, ,-, . I. Vol. I. arted from Bantam. Being alone, he had" The New York Library. l l l i I r at points more remote, imtil they were swa - | the tide of savage warriors set toward a center E ——the mouth of the cave which held our friends ? “P i as far as I am concernei , But that would take too long; and th( against me in the future. I’ll give him up to these imps of as their share. Would Just as lieve give him a quick and painless death, ; but these angels must have their sport; so he’ll have to roast: “ And what about Harry Bearsley 1” He reflected silently a moment. Then his brow darkened again, and he muttered: r “ He’s a fool!” As if sore perplexed he walked with vion bent upon the ground. His face underwent more changes than while he was passing upon Mr. Burbank or Ben. Finally he came to a stand- still With clenched fists, the hard lines of his face ex ressing iron determination. “By eaven!” he exclaimed, “he shall bend to my will or—diel” The battle, whatever it was, was over. He had determined the fate of all three. His face clgdared and became merely reflective as he pur- su : “And now to get them out of this trap alive. Let me see. 'e mi ht pretcnd not to have dis- covered them and he in ambush until they vcn- lure forth._ ut nO' the Indians have tern away the vines which is a sufficient interprt ta- tion of their yells. We mith starve thtm out. _ might prefer starvaticn to slow roasting— e only Irospect resented to them, since they know rothmgo my presence. Ha! ha ha! if Carlton lrurbank knew me as I air, I fancy he’d as lieve give himself up to ELfl‘alo Hem and his crew as to me. “ There’s no use in tr ir g to force our way in- to the cave. They co d butcher us one by one at the other end of the passage. A man with a club could defend such a pass as that.” After a perplexed silence, he Lrightened sud- den . “ ly have it at last,” he muttered, with an oath. “ After all these years they’ll not know my voice. I will rrctend to Le a \i hite man in row- cr with the Indians and willing to use my mflu— cnce in their Lehalf.” Rapidly be communicated his plans to Bufl'a- lo Horn, who 51' ' ed his approval Ly numer- ous ts and t e wbrc‘s: f “ n‘ood! My brother is as cunning as the ox. Sidney, too looked 'm satisfaction. “ it takes t :e troub e (f capturin’ him 011' my hands,” he said. “ An’ I don t have to run the risk 0’ killin’ him or 'ttin’ killed m self in’ to take him alive. hl but I’ll ay the d alive! I’ll stick splinters in Us flesh! I’ll him on a bed of coals! He shall rear with ago- n , and curse God and man in his wretchedneml aryl Mary! you 811811170 avenged !” His blood-shot eyes would have dropped tears, but his fury dried them at their source. So writhing in anguish over the wrongs of ' heart’s mistress and burning with meditated re- Veil-Fe upon her betraycr, he waited. eanwhile, \Villiam Swanton placed himself at one side of the mouth of the cave, where he _ COEICEI not be seen from within the passage, and ca e : “What he! within the cave I” fielwaited, but no response came. Again he ca ec : “Friends, you are addre‘ssed by a man of whom you need have no fear. By saving the life of their chief I have gained influence with the Sioux by whom you are besieged. If you come forth I antee protection, or I will in- duce the Indians to withdraw and leave you to pursue your way w hen you choose.” Now, from the hollow corridor came the re- sponse: “Spare your dissimulation. We know you and your villainy. If you want us, come and take us.” “What in the flend’s name!” ejaculated the rene e. “ He ‘ knows me and my villain 1‘ But am a stranger to him. That is to say, cannot identify me with Tom Tracy, dead twen- ty ears ago.” loud he began: “Gentlemen, I assure ou—” “William Swanton, we accept no assurances. We know you to be a rene e and a villain.” “ Hal my name?” mut red Swanton, and aloud, hotly: “ Since you know me so well, I demand your surrender!" “And if we refuse?” “I will give you over to the mercy of my savage allies!” “ Then, sir, hear our decision. Your threat to hand us over to the savages is like the threat of the wild-cat to expose its would-be prey to the fury of the wolf. No, sir; we prefer the ig-. norant savage to the intelligent devil. We be- lieve, that your premises are lies; and we defy you “ You refuse, then, to surrender?” “ Most emphatically, yes!” “ The consequences be on your own heads!” :‘ Do_your worst l” n “ ngve you one more chmee. aste no more time or dissimulation. We splirn you and your 1 'ng pntenml” you all , “ One and all, we defy you!” “ curse you! we’ll.“ wheheldl the, M”.‘ , I h“ ..._ - -_.. _-~_' ~ l .-. m“ 1..-- h... ...;.,...‘. -.-__._...-.__n W. . 5....“ . .. NO. 4! The Kidnapper; or, the Great Shanghai of the Northwest. CHAPTER XXI. JERUSHA HAS CAUSE r03 JEALOUSY. 1 WHITE with rage, the renegade addressed Buf- I falo Horn. i “ Chief, we must cut our way in to the dogs! , don’t—see what I—ever—donc, to be treated- like this—by—you—oo—oo! I swan to man!— you’d try a—saint!” sobbed Mrs. Swanton. Stung to the uick, Mrs. Burbank wrenched herself free from er hateful persecutor. “In heaven‘s name, sir!” she cried, “if you 15 Aloud he said: “ Carlton Burbank, do you hear me?” “ I care to hear nothing from your foul lips,” ; came the reply from the mouth of the cavern, ! the voice made so hollow and unnatural by the ' echoes of the place that perhaps only a wife’s Have you braves who are not afraid of death?” , have a spark of manhood about you, do not instinct could have recognized it. “ Spareyour “Hugh! Better way than that,” said the chief. “ Smoke em out!” “ By Heaven! that’s just the thing!” In iis delight Swanton grasped the dusky hand of the savage, and shook it heartily. ! “But, chief, when they try to escape, the ‘ must be ca tured alive—do you hear?—alivel have an 01 score to settle.” “No come out alive,” said the Indian, again king his broken English. “How come , ough lire ?” 1 “ Then let ’em die like dogs in a kennel I” cried g the renegade, fiercely. “ ut he shall not 03- , cape me so—after all these years! I‘d wring his ! heart with the knowledge that while he (lies, his wife and daughter, more terrible et, live! Ha! hit! my revenge is sweet! He sh feel his helplessness, knowing that he leaves them to unutterable misery! “ 110! I have a glorious plan! I will bring his ‘ wife to plead with him! And his daughter— curse these stupid pagans! why have they not ; found her yet? , Rapidly he urged the Indian chief to have fagots gathered to pile before the entrance of the cave and incite his braves to a more care- ful search for Blanche, while he himself went for Mrs. Burbank. “ Helen,” he saidtoher, “I haven. joy in store for you.” The lady looked distmstfuny at him. “You will )ardon my franknem, if I say I have little faith in an such prospect coming from you,” replied she, ittcrl y. “ Nevertheless it is true. See how on wrong me. Your husband‘s at hand, and would re- unite you. ” The lady started with sudden pallor. She saw the sueerinr devil behind the thin mask. find her husban , following on the trail of his lost child, fallen in the ewer of the renegade? And did this sinister and mean to glut his hatred by gloating on the wretchedness of his victims reunited as prisoners, dependent upon his tender mercies? At the thought her fortitude fersook her; and bowin her face in her hands, the proud lady ctrug; ed with the great sobs that swelled in her bosom, murmur-lug: “And our chill—our spotless child—will be the next to fall into his hands. Oh! God protect her! Shall this fiend triumph to the end?” “ She weeps—and before me!” muttered Swan- t'in, viewin'r with malignant satisfaction the tears force their way through the lady’s fingers. “Come,” b said aloud, “you are to_ be the instrument of your husband‘s salvation against his own stubborn suspicions.” . Mrs. Burbank looked up in What subtle villainy had this man devxsedi—for she suspected everything that had its origin in his treacherous brain. “Your husband, Harry Bearsley and Burly Ben, who came in quest of your dau hter, after her capture by the Indians!” snee the rene- gade—“ you see that I am informed in the mat— er—are now confined in a cave. If they will surrender I have them protection—this in opposition to t e wishes of my Indian allies, who are bent upon smoking them out of the cave. I need no tell you that that is a moose which means death by suffocation. Will you come and add your arguments to induce them to come out of their own accord and accept my protection?” “Never!” cried the loyal wife, drawing her- self erect. ‘ “Did you calculate upon my wo- man’s weakness to betray my loved ones into the hands of so base a wretch, as you? Tom Tracy—” “ Major Swanton, madam!” sneered the rene- a. Not heading him, she went on without pause: “I know you thoroughly. Fononce in your life you have made a mistake, which shows that you are wide of the truth in your estimate of me!” “ Not so m dear madam,” said Swautcn, coolly. “I an? in no de disappointed by youreloquentrefusal top ginto m hands—a. refusal which, I must say, can credlt 1’0 your head and heart. But it lea-fiat ofmy pleasure to make you in my revenge, whether you will‘or no. Allow me! AndWitha bow hedrowherhand througth arm. Resistance was useless. Mrs. Burbank sub- mitted with a shudder of loathing at contact with so vile a thing. But there was another who'demanded consid- eration, urging her wifer rights in no 39an to nes. “Bill Swanton, do you think I’m agoin’ to stay here while yeou’re of! trampin’, the Lord knows where, With that brazen pieceof impi. deuce, that ought ter slap yer face, instead 0’ hangin’ on yer arm—the buzzyl—in the ve face and eyes 0’ r lawftu wedded Wife! 0h! I’dliketoscra her eyes out, I van! An’ I ‘ tigrcss in her rage. ;. .....u...u... ~w . ___.-.._ ....‘.... .......,.. .. .5... . . -.......A. .. f. _ 1 again expose me to the vile suspicions of this— this—creature!” A horrible smile curled the lip of the rene- gade, as he looked from his lachrymose wife to ‘ the outraged lady who repulsed him with such regal indignation. ‘ What's the use of longer wearing the mask?” ¥ he asked himself. “Curse the vixen! does she think I’ll let her go on forever tormenting me like this? Her jealousy isn’t so unreasonable, so far as I am concerned, but she has a confound- edly ill-bred way of manifesting it.” loud he said: “ \Vhy, my dear Helen, any one can see that there’s nothing very engagin'r in that patch of - womanhood, while you’re a ( evilish fine speci- 1 men of the sex. Aside from its ap lication to you, her jealousy has a most ample oundation; ‘ for, to speak plainly, I love you now more than in unformed youth, when I only half—appre- v ! cm W —’ “Bill Swanton!” screamed the Virago, ad- vancing toward her faithless husband, as if to ‘: avenge her wrongs by another application of her nails to his face—“Bill Swanton, do yeou (last to tell another woman, right in my teeth, that eou’re in love with her?” “ 63, my dear!” answered Swanton, smil- ing sweetly in the face of his infuriated spouse. The woman looked at him fixedly, drawing a. long, deep breath, and crouching like a very Suddenly she uttered a going shriek and leaped toward Mrs. Bur- ln k, with blazing eyes and fingers crooked like we. Startled so that she could hardly suppress a scream of affright, the lady extended her hands to keep off the vixen’s assault. It would have been no barrier, however, to J erusha Swanton’s fury, had not the renegade interfered. One sweep of his vigorous arm, and his wife lay in a heap on the ground, kicking, scratching, iting and shrieking in violent hysterics. The savages looked on 'like ebon hynxes, onl the littering eyes showing the eful fires wit iin. Vith them a wife would have had her vixenish propensities—at least so far as their manifestation toward her lord and master were concerned—exercised by a vigorous applica- tion of birch, long before the pitch as was displayed by t e contumacious erusha. As the case stood, each savage felt provoked to use his tomahawk. Mrs. Burbank was shocked and disgusted be- yond e ressiou. In hercase there was another drop of itterness which a woman could appre- ciate and which found 6 ression in the words: “ d to think that the usband of this crea- ture once aspired to my hand 1” There seemed de ation in the fact that the same taste which ad selected her bad after- ward descended to so vile a thing. She might be shocked by this man’s villainy—there was no personal sting in that; but in being thus laced on a level or in competition with J erusha wan- ton, her pride and her self-esteem were hurt to the quick. , As for Swanton, his face was black with bit- ter rage. In that moment his wife’s fate was decided. “ Curse her!” he muttered, in his soul, “ I have stood this thing long enou h!” Then there was a setting of the lips which boded no more for the object of his wrath, but outwardly e wore a mask of smil— mg 1mlmcxsm. _ ‘ dam ” he said, bowmg' to Mrs. Burbank, “ought not I to be ahappy man? one so seal- ously beloved as I?” The lad shuddered. He seemed a sneering devil in hastly humor._ A be k her shrinking hand. “ ow me!” he said, and drew it once more through his arm. _ ‘ CHAPTER XXII. ran ras'r or Lovn. WHAT terrible thing had he in store for her? The lady allowed herself to be led away, her heart sin with cold forebodin . When she saw the b wood piled high be ore the face of the ent, she pressed her hand over her heart gr seeme‘g abgii‘iit I}? glint; but Sggnton stung back vi 8 y passing' ' am about her waist to sup rt her. . “Wretch!” she cri , recoiling from his arm as from the fold of a serpent. Swanton smiled mly. His act had been premeditated. He ad sought to betray her into an exclamation which should reach theears of the tenants of the cave, and be recognized by the husband’s quick car. But instinctively she had closed her lips over the c which rosein her throat, and muffled the soun so that it re- tained no distinctive quality. “ You are a shrewd one l” mused Swanton. “1 agent difficulty in bending youtomy pur- pose. W“ \ reached such a '3 .; Eoposals. We reject them by anticipation. t us have acts, not words.” Mrs. Burbank had sunk to her knees, with clasped hands and face like marble. And oh! . the mute agony of those tearlcss eyes! a \Villiam Swanton bowed to her, smiling and arching his e 'ebrows, as again he spoke: .’ “ Carlton urbank, are you not surprised that I call you by name? Do you know “ he I am?” 3' He aused, but there was no reply. With a i look 0 hate which drew up his bearded lip until his teeth showed like fangs, he resumed: “ 1 am he who was known as Tom Tra -—one 1 who had little cause to love you or arold i Bearsley in those old days. Need I say more?” There was a pause until every one else de- ", waned of an answer; but, with a smile, ; illiam Swanton waited patiently t the hol- l low cavern gave forth the denunciation: “Tom Tracfv, I always knew you for a knave; but I never be ore sup you possessed of cour- . ace enough to proce to the length of murder. ay I yet live to avenge ufion your guilty head i the blood of my frien , W cm I now beheve to l have fallen by your treachery!” '. “ Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the rcnegade. “It is i not at all likely that you will ever live to exact a so righteous an expiation, friend of my youth. ! On the other hand, am come, an instrument in | the hands of Satan, rcrha ;s you would say (a 3 convenient cant name for t ie author of events : when they turn out not to our taste!) tocall you f to accelmt for that act of your life which has ; won my undying (not grateful) remembrance. ! And to show that my divinity-Satan, en un- ! derstand—is in the ascendant, I have on y to re- ‘ mark that our gentle wife, m one-time sweet- heart (destined to the conso tion of my age . as she was the ag vation of my youth!) an ; our sweet daughter—since it was I, and not the j ndians, who captured her tender person—are now here in my power, waiting to take their final leave of you, with your blessing!” “You lie, on accursed varlet!” came in re- . verberating t iunder tones from the cave. “Sweet mistress, speak,” sneered the rene- gade, turning to Mrs. Burbank. “Tell your gentle lord that you languish in exile from his } fond embrace.” The lady stared at her tormentor in mute hor- ‘ ror, with repellent hands and shrinking form. i “ Ah! that’s your game, is it?” said the rene- gade; and turning he addressed a few rapid words to the Indians in their tongue. “Will K1011 eak?" he demanded, turning again to rs. ‘urbank, and grasping her ann. Her white lips never moved. With a sudden cry of rage he thrust her from him, raisin his land in the air. At the Signal the savages rushed u n the helpless lady with drawn knives an tomao hawks, utterinia single concerted, blood-curd~ ling yell whic rent the silence and then died, like a sudden flash of light. This device was a second attempt tobctx'ay the lady into a scream which should corroborate the statement that she was there. Its failure was even more signal than in the first instance. Mrs. Burbank covered her face with her hands, in expectation of instant annihilation, but ut- tered no sound. The mute prayer of her heart was: . ~ “Oh God! supplement my woman’s weak- ness, that I may not betra my husband into the hands of his deadly foe t ugh his love for me! EVIth an oath Swanton signaled hisalliesto re ire. ' The Indians looked puzzled and a little impa- tient. They did not appreciate the white man’s method of breaking a woman’s will. Did he not understand the persuasive logic of a fire- brand applied to quivering flesh? The renegade made one more attem t. “ See!” he cried seizing a bumng rand and holdin it over t e pile of brushwood which filled t e mouth of the cave. “ If I light this ile, the fools within the cave die of end a- 'on, like rats in their hole! Your act shall 0- cide their fate! You shall their savior or their executioner! Will on give them a chance for life? Will you 1” The woman exten ed her hands and parted her lips, as if to avert the awful danger; the wi e was mute! 1 mu m th twasaspectacewe y gic— ewomen kneeling in dumb sup lication; the destroyer} with his black form an threatening brand; the circle of savages, With their fierce eyes and half-drawn weapons !-—an awful tableau, which lasted but a moment, though it seemed an age. Then with a furious imprecation the renegade hurled his burning torch among the fagots. “ Die a dog‘s death!” he cried, with a sound- ifigooath: “ and with your last reflect that, t ugh your wife and dang ter who live— ay! thank the fiend! who Heel—my vengeance follows you even after death !” Theme rent byawild yell franth l .7 . .. -_..- a... --.. .. .__._ -._..... .. ..4 ;..'.:.l':.:‘ "vw—rv-r-g-1v—vt'A —~ r.“ "or '- . 'v-hr" Lo.“ .- ~ w" , afifihinlc of giving you up to a serpent as to ‘, But, here the pa 16 m‘ "533.0,; .m- 7-7m...” - amass...“ --~,...-ir.a-;:-.~,.~.<~ trvhrt~uru-"' ' r .a. .. - gauge-":th wwwwvmw‘“ The New York; Library. ‘Vol. I. ._.. _ .. -_ .__..A_ , as Mrs. Burbank sunk u )on her face in a dead swoon; and then only t e cracklinor of the fag- i ots, as the flames licked them unti they burst, . givimr forth little 5 Jirts of steam and smoke. i And while the draught sucked the deadly , breath of the fire into the cavern, the destroyer stood with folded arms gazing at it; and his dark frown made more than one savage feel for , his amulet and mutter—“Big Medicine!”-—his , Indians; there was the sound of a falling body, I Y ! superstition making him dread lest this man ‘ possessed the charm of the evil eye. CHAPTER XXIII. snoxsn our. AND now let us return to the tenants of the . ' der and indignation at the man who went not ' ! sages?” asked cave. . ‘ the yell which announced that their place of concealment was discovered reached their ears, father and daughter clasped each other in a clinving embrace, the one seeking, the other exten 'nr, without thought, that beautiful pro- tection which springs from love as naturally as warmth comes with the sunshine. Burly Bill crept through the passage to recon- noitcr; Hal ilaccd himself at the inner mouth of the cerri< or in an attitude of defense; but Walter (so truly do our instinctive movements show the heart !) unconsciously drew near the woman of his love, as if he would be the last barrier betxveen her and her foes. “Papa,” whispered the terrified girl, “they have discovered us! Oh! will they tear me from you again?” “Hash! my child,” said the father, holdinv her trembling form more closel' in his arms an touching his 1i 3 to her forehead. “ We are safe from them ere.” “ We could defend this passage against an army,” said Walter, addressing Blanche in a low tone. He knew that they might have a more impalpable foe than the Indians; but he desired to relieve her until the danger was ac- tually upon them. “ h, thank you for that assurance!” she ro- lied, an'l—imFelled by what feeling f—extendcd er hand anl aid it on his arm. The touch thrilled him. 119 ion to bean and touch that fair haul with his lips. He did not move until she took it away, fearing to pre— cipitate the severance. Then they remained silent until Burly Ben re- turned. “ lVell?” said Mr. Burbank. “ We're in a trap, an’ no mistake,” replied Ben,. dejectelly. ‘ But taey cannot come in upon us?” 1‘ N0. ’3 The monosyllable was like the telling of a l'nell. Without understanding its significance, Blanche clung more closely to her father, feel- in'r his kisses on her hair. ' Burl Ben stood with bowed head, his hands claspo over ta.) muzzle of the rifle which he knew to be new useless. Hal was ghastly pale in the torchlight. Was he haunted by Visions of that wife with whom he might soon be confronted, under that eye fro-n which no act can be hidden? Walter stool with averted face. He could not bear to look upon the woman whom even his great love was new powerless to protect. . And so the silence of death fell upon them, to be broken by the. rude challenge: ' “ What, be! within the cave l” Blanche started violently. “ Oh, apal” she whispered, “ that is Mr. Swanten 3 voice i” “The villain must be in league with the In- dians,” said Mr. Burbank. Then came Swanton’s oifcr of protection. “ Do not believe him, papal” urged Blanche in terror. " lie is utterly faithless. I would rather die than fall again into his power!” “Hive no fear, my daughter. I would as Mr. Burbank held his daughter on his breast with a dull forebo ling in his heart that this was the last of tacir association on earth. His mind reverted to his wife, with whom he had been force! to part own in tin first hours of her be- reavement, when her daughter’s fate 'was in such terrible suspense. Tenderly; he told over those last moments t) Blanche, w. o wept softly, anl told him of her own suffering at the thought of how they must grieve for her; then m'Jl‘.pdl‘8.'l her joy at being once more 1.1 his arm}; and lastly trial to look hopefully f ward to a hazing remien with her mothe . t as of her strug 310 against the do res-3i fear which bear over them like a p ton: ed the father tot 0 heart; and tears Which would not be repressed fell upon her hair with his kisses. Near the mouth of the corridor sat Burly Ben, with bowud head; iving no outward indication that he heeded w t was going on about him; yet he was listening to Blanche 5 voice, thourrh she spoke so low that he could not distin h 311.: wail-cs, and its pathetic cadences cut him to ‘ so I a I . ' “I’d go out an’ let ’em roast inc—darn my buttons, if I wouldn‘t l—i f it ’ud save the sweet l . the back of his hand across his eyes. “But it 1 feet. “And what a fool I’ve been to set here wouldn’t do no good. After the ’d chawed up one—the varmintsl—they’d be I the hungrier for the rest.” Harr Bearsley paced the chamber in uncon- trollab e agitation. At every turn his restless eyes wandered over the other occupants of the cave, but without heeding them. i There was a i more terrible s :ectaele which he sought to, evade, but whic confronted him, look where he might. Everywhere he saw a white face which stared at him in mute, horrified wonder. “Is vengeance so swift? idle all this time! ’Squire Burbank, we’ve got to git out 0’ this. Thar must be some other out- ‘ let to this here cave—any way, we’ve pot to find one. “'0 can’t go out the way we come in; for, not countin’ the fire. if a thousand mrn tried to git out 0’ there,, an‘ the lnjins wanted to stop cm, thar wouldn’t one on ’cm git thrce feet from the openin’. No more kin we stay in here. unless we’re salamanders an kin breathe fire :21” smoke. There’s a lot of other passages leadin’ . from this cave; an’ I’m a blamed fool for not Must I die before ; She is cold!” he asked himself, with a shudder. ; “Great God! is this a foretaste of the tortures ' of the damned!” Through all his misery \Valtcr looked in won— near his afflanced bride at such a moment. Had such been his positionwand a thrill of ; ecstasy and a pang of stinging pain darted l thro h his heart at the then ht—he would have n on his knees beside consolations and sharing her love with her father. He, like Ben, Would gladly have laid down his life for her; but he was denied evcn that poor privilege. He must wait in utter helplessness for the death which would overtake thslm all—a bitter task for his young and ardent so . “If I could only show her how willingly I would die for her!’ he cried, internally. When Swanton, in i oranee of Blanche’s Presence in the cave, ha declared that she and ier mother wore in his power, then the ra of the honest scout burst all bounds, an he shouted: “You lie, you aceursed scoundrel !” But when Swanton was heard addressing Mrs. Burbank with sneering coolness, Blanche turned pale and whispered: “Papa, can it be possible that mamma is there? “No, my child” replied her father. “The fact that he includes on shows that he is lying. And before leaving er I saw your mother in safe hands on her way to St. Paul.” “ But let me call to her, pa . If she is there she will surely answer me. nd that will settle the matter.” , “No. Do not betray your presence with us. It ma be better to keep im in ignorance of it, if W ter’s friends succeed in rescuing us. ” lVith a sudden lighting up of hope, Blanche turned toward Walter, and extended her hand with an inefi'able smile. “Oh! I had forgotten them!” she exclaimed. “They will do something for us, will they not, Wad—Mr. Weston?” With the sudden lifting of depressing fear all restraint had been thrown off, and her whole heart had spoken in tones and looks, till she was recalled to herself with a shock, upon being so nearly betrayed into the use of his Christian name, in unconscious imitation of her father. Then a wave of crimson dyed neck and brow, and her eyes fell before the sudden ardor of his gaze, as he caught her hand before it too had ime to drop at her side. As it was, the hand rested limp and trembling in a grip which would have hurt her, had not she been too agi- tated to notice it. But he had no know] we whetherhis touch was gentle or otherwise. 1 is blood was aflame; his head swam with a question which got as far as—“Does she—can she—” and was then swal- lowed up in a great sea of beatitude in which all coherency Was lost. He had a dizzy sense that the words-“ My darling!” were trembling‘ on his lips. here is no telling what he migh have done. had he not can ht sight of Hal, who . had stop ed in one of his urns, and now stood op site im regard' 0' him with a broad stare. he effect was like t of a. plunge into ice- water. lValter dropped Blanche’s hand, al- most staggerin'r under he shock. But, the next instant he was ' lf again. “ Let us he that they will aid as in some way,” he sai , in a voice which was a triile husxy. “ They both are brave and subtle men, and will do everything that men can do. ” . Great crises always ra idl'. The emo- tions which made up his litt o y-play came and went like a flash. Following his daughter’s address, Mr. Bui‘bank looked up at lValter, over his daughter‘s head, 11le too late eaten the 'o man’s wrap look, He did not see lane 0’s blush, because her face was turned away from him toward Walter. Neither did he notice hcr trembling, until the yell of the In- dians in Swanton’s second attem to betray the devoted wife into a scream suggested a cause which was far from the true one. Then he gathered her more closely in his arms .to res assure her, and wholly mismterpreted her hid- her face in his breast. ut the culminating act of the drama was at hand. The baffled renegade buried the brand into thgdpile of fagots, and into the cave staiked acowi . and shrouded foe to whose entrance his Victims could oppose no barrier, and against whom their wea were useless. BursltyiBen fel the deadly breath of the fire' fiend t. 1;? his check. It roused him into sud- L.:fi ac i". v. innocent l” muttered the honest fellow, brunet; ‘- It has dome at last!“ he cried, starting to his m---- er, joining his ; havin’ sense enough to try before this if some on ’cm don’t lead to daylight. There wouldn’t be a draught here, if there wasn’t some other openin'. It’ll be unlucky for us, if it's where we can’t git out of it.” “ lValter, do on know nothing of these pat;- Ir. Burbank. “ The cavn must be knownto your friends, since Blanche found a. loaded rifle here.” “ Yes, I have been in the cave before: but neither Shang nor Bantam has over said any— 1thing about the passages leading from this 3 chamber. ” , had from the third “ Then let us explore them for ourselves; and that without delay. We have lost golden Ino— ments in not thinking of it before.” “ I shall never forgive myself,” be an Walter, flushing deeply at the thought tha , while he- moaninnr the lack of an opportunity to lay his life at the feet of the woman he loved, he had overlooked the most ordinary expedient for her safe'iiyl. 4 “ t! tut!” interrupted Mr. Burbank. “You are no more to blame than the rest of us. “ Ben, we look to your experience to lead us in this matter.” “ \Vcll, then, lively! W'e haven’t no time to lose. Li ht these torches. An’ you, sir, stay here wit Miss Blanche, while the rest of us himt for a way out. Keep yer heads below the smoke, if ye have to lay flat on the round.” Almost in a moment Walter, al, and Ben had plunged into the first pa on the left, with lighted torches in their ban . CHAPTER XXIV. A LIVING Tenn. WALTER, Hal and Burly Ben had proceeded scarcely fifty paces, when the tortuous con ,, into a crevice too narrow to be fo lowed further. “ That ends that!” said Ben, and ran back to the main chamber so rapidly that his’ oom- panions with difficulty kep pace with him, be. ing careful not to extinguish their torches, since re-lighting them would necessitate a greater loss of time than more moderate speed. Without a word to Mr. Burbank, Ben dove into the next passage on the left of the on they had just penetra . . This ended in an a t wall like the inside of a glovefln r. “'1 , ‘ “\Ve would save time by eac taking a pas- ve for examination,” suggested Hal. ~ ‘ No,” said Ben; “ where Miss Blahcho’a life is at stake I trust no eyes but my own. Another thing—I’ll find work for you soon.” The next passage proved Ben’s . Wisdom. Threading it, they came to a pomt where it ramified into several branches. “Stand you here in the we’ve come through,” he said to l alter. “ If we that, d’ye understand, we mi ht not find our way back to the ’squire and ' Blanche in a do ’3 age.” ithout another word he lunged into the allowed by Hal. first branch on the right, From this they soon emerged. “Tighter‘n a drum!” said Burly Den, in an- swer to Walter‘s look, and dove into the next 0 mg. ‘ _ i . p’f‘his time Walter had to “731$ 10 1'. The reason was that, coming to a fork in branch, Ben stationed Hal as he had'Walter,_and iro- ceeded alone. 'Reaching a third forking o the passage, he was forced to make his cap do ser- vice in lieu of another Sentinel. ‘ “ How would the lad have mam , had he struck this crab’s-lcg alone?” mu red Ben, without pause in his rapid examination. It took a clear head and some experience to examine every nook and corner without less of time; for the gee were labyrintlnne in their intricacy; bu this was not the first time Ben threaded suck a maze; and when he emorg into the resenee of the anxious father and daurhter, )0 would .haye taken his oath that he exhausted all its windings. “,No ing him a moment. -‘No ’aqnire.” ' - I And Ben disappeared a fourth time. -. Now, he moved more rapidly than before. His eyes darted hither and thither with burning anxiety. He had seen that the main chamber was fast filling with smoke: andlghobekfow h ot howmanymorerodso. y yore nn ere he found an exit or was forced to abandon t‘ h h .les. Jame as 0]” h for a gopher!” he “Not a hole big on . muttered, as he was me b d;sappointment after disc, )ointment. “My die here, ‘ .a ratin a hole 1” \ e opening yeti” asked 131erme delay- «. I don’t lather , a.........av~-»r w--..~... . . - -4... mum‘s; -s __.n._. ‘J'\ He never thought of himself. He even forgot “Master Hal,” in his anxiety for the woman whom he had come to place before all others in the world. “ I’ve trotted her on my knee, when she was a wee tot that wouldn’t fill my cap! An’ to have her come to this! No, no; the good Lord can’t let her die like this, away from the sunlight, that ain’t brighter than her hair! She couldn’t And \Valter? But my pen falters. His an- guish was locked up by knit brows and tightly compressed lips. Buta change had come over Hal. As wild beasts will bury their natural animosities and affiliate in moments of common danger, so he forgot his hostility to Walter, and sought to re— lieve the terrors of imminent death by commun— ion with his fellow in peril. / v;/ .’r [100131001 '5 9894—1100.: an no ma m am am an zxooas mos “no mm , \ if!" a .,- L}, 'l l. D n” h Q A a? ' .mcf‘ufi ‘ 12\i\\\\.v.l.\3\‘.\\u\&l))\k restwith never a buttercup or violet on her ave, an’ where she couldn’t hear the birds sing the sprin time. No, don’t let her die here! Take 0 d urly Ben that kin git clong any- where; but let her sleep out under the trees, where she used to love to set an’ listen to my story-tellin’.” Impatiently he dashed the tears from his eyes. He could not indulge them now; they were an to his work. 17 thWeStf,, _ vampire. He scarcely dared look at the father and daughter, still locked in each other’s arms. The compressed lips of the one, and the panting terror of the other, cut him to the heart. And so the heavy moments, that seemed like ages in contrast with the swift-coming death, dragged along. The passages seemed intermina- ble, and their windings seemed the work of some malignant fiend who delighted in holding hope, 'M {M ,—‘.= "v3 \ t V.“ " “Baffled! baffled!” he cried, as each passage disappointed hopes which were no longer hopes. “ My God! to be buried alive in this horrible tomb!—to die in perfect health and strength, onlv for want of air!” \Valter made no reply; but he was terrible in his grim despair. as on each return to the main cave he saw that the pall of smoke was sinking lower and lower. its nether surface oscillating flowly, like 2133 breathing 3!. W hon-isle like ia fatal mirage, just beyond the grasp of his vict ms. s And now that silent pall of death, slowly but surely settling down upon them, began to steal along the corridors so that the searchers were forced to stoop to '00p their heads out of its dead]. folds. In the main chamber even Blane e. shorter of stature than the rest, could not stand erect without contact with the m 1’ ‘ they be! jist come. ~ droopino'. _the cold wallsconfront them on every The._NeW_¥0.rk_ Library- Crouching on the floor beside her father, she d upon it, watching its subtle approach inch by inch, with a sort of fascination. And so they Waited. Presently, Burly Ben paused before the mouth ‘ of the last corridor. Great beads of sweat stood upon his forehead, and he looked haggard and In truth, he stood appalled before the terrible issue of this last hope. A fearful suspense held the others breathless while they watched him. They were all croucha ing low; yet the amorphous monster had fol— lowed them down! down! and in its oscillations, so close above their heads it seemed to reach out its shapele an ls, envelope 1 in the folds of its shade wy rile, as if impatgent to clutch them. It was terrible to see them shrink from its ap— ' proach, as if it were a living thing! . After a. moment’s deliberation, Burly Ben turned, and in a voice which startled them all by its unnaturalncss, Said: “ ’Squire, you and Miss Blanche might as wall come with us new. wheres, like the rest, there won’t be no good of our comin’ back to this place.” The brevity of his words, the solemnity of his voice, left them nothing to reply. Silently, al- most creepino’ over the floor to escape the touch of their amides foe, they followed him. “ Put out your torches,” he sail. “ we don‘t want but one nozv, an’ perhaps we can’t spare the air they breathe.” ' That brought the realization of death one step ' nearer. Har the life—sustaining fluid, so boun- teous that they had never given it a serious If this passage loads no- 1 swimming in crystal tears. She strove to speak, but her tongue failed her. Nothing was lost, however; every fiber of her being spoke with a tongue most eloquent! ' - To Walter it was as if he were enveloped in a halo of peace. He, too, was dumb. With his great love flowing out to her like a perennial spring, he sunk upon one knee and bent over her cold hand, to warm it with his kisses and lave it with his tears. N 0 one was witnem to this save the God who had attuned their hearts to vibrate in harmon ; for Burl y Ben was busy struggling with t e tears so unaccustomed to his eyes; and Mr. Bur- ! bank had turned to address Hal, who was grov- ; elin on the floor of the cave in abject despair. “- arry! my schoolmate’s son! my son that I was tohave been!” said the father, tenderly. i That last phrase caused Blanche to start; and, . dropping her hand Walter rose to his feet with ‘, a gasp, as if an icy hand had gri sped his heart. “.Don’t! don't! for God’s sake!” cried Ila], shuddering and hidinrr his face more perfectly. “ lt’s wretched enoug l. to have to die like a dog! Let’s make an end 0 it l” i Shocked, yet compassionate, Mr. Burbank ! started back. I “.llarry, good-by!” murmured his afilanced, 5 mn y. - l But the churl groaned without rep] ng. , i “ Oh, pa al”whispercd the dough r, gliding ‘ into herd'a hcr’s extended arms. ‘ “,My child! my child!” wept Mr. Burbank, i now breaking down. ! And clinging to him the girl’s heart went forth i thought before, now become so precious that l in anew cry: they must economize it? Almost unconsciouslyj Walter found himself trying to do with a little air, that the woman of his love might have more! But shall we follow them, step by step, IVlvhillo an , seeming to mock at their wretchelness, until hope dies out into ic despair, and the amazed soul cries dumb! to eaven: “ My Father, ait thou fprgotten me?” Sufihe it, they stmd at last in a slightly on- larged space winch formed a litie chamber at the extreme end of the last corridor. A dark crevice in the roof of th‘ambcr showed where their spirits might pierce to the free air and Burr shine of the world above; but here as elsewhere egress was denied to their cortporeal parts. Silently Burl y Ben wave! is torch above his head. They looked, but asked no uestion. Silentl vhe painted to the corridor t rough which Following them like a ser- pent, a tongue of smoki crept along the reef of the corridor, and wound its cruel spiral as it he- ' gun to ascen-l to the roof of the apartment. Shuddering, they watched it until, stopped by the vault of the rock, it began to accumulate, and, rasuznin the form of their old foo, ap- proached again in those hideous oscillations! “ We’ll live the longer if we‘ put out this torch,” said Ben, with the calm of despair. ’ “ Extinguish it imm ) litter l” exclaimed Hal, starting out of a drooping lethm' y into nervous trepidation. “Let us hold on the last me— . ment!,Hilp must come in some form! 0r Swan- ton m relentl” Mr. urbank smiled sadly and bitterly; “ Friends,” he said, solemnly, “let us he our final leave of each other. Our last of earth is sad; but what matters lt—are we not still in the hands of our Father? Good-by! and‘may God deal with us all in his infinite mercy!” He extended a hand to Burl Ben and Walter, vahp, moved by kindred imp bent and kiss- 6 t. “I hope you wpn’t lay it up ag’in’ me, ’squire, if I’ve fell short in an thin" ” said honest Ben. Kl’ve” done the best could, accordin’ to my 'g‘it. “ Ben,” said Mr. Burbank, much moved, “you have been more than faithful to me and mine. My thanks-Blanche. thank him for us both!” .f I have not words to thank you, Ben, forall the dangers you have incurred for my sake,” said the girl, takm his‘ rough hand between her vel- vet palms. “ Vill you let me kiss you?” The rude son of the forest sobbed aloud, as she slipped her arm about his neck and drew his face down until she could touch her lips to the little spot of unbearded cheek just below his eye. “God bless VO'l for the angel that you are!” he cried. “ If I had a thousand lives, the Injins might roast ’em all out o‘ me,.if it ’u’d only git you out 0’ this box!” And new the girl turned slowly toward Wale ter. He’r whole manner changed. The freedom ‘of her intercourse with the hunter was ex- chanoe'l to. shy restraint which shrugged her shoulders slig 'tlyl, droope. her head to one side, and bent her form into willowy 9. Eve curve was a revslation which won d have thri - ed an anchorite! Her m rose and fell in quick undulations, Her lips were gamed bfi a 81gb in which all her soul exhaled him. er fluttering heart made the roses play in her fair cheeks, as sunbeams, sifted through moving fe- liage, hit on the ground. The sweet languor which stole over her showed in the flexure of arm and wrist as she extended her hand tohim. Her h ; armaments-rem “ Mammal mammal mammal mammal” “ Hush! hash, my darling!” sobbed the father, i rocking his grief-stricken child on his breast. “ God will comfort her until we meet again! . Death is not the greatest misfortune which could have come to us. Our enemy has not triumphed utterly, since he has not succeeded in parting us. “And now may the God who gave us life with its many ble:sings take it back to himself, in- fllinirlirr our hearts to bow to his inscrutable wis- om “ Amen!” came in solemn response from Wal- ter, supplemented by a (groan from Hal. toMr. urbank signals Ben to extinguish the re . A oment the scout held it above his head, taking one last look, then dropped it to the floor, and at his foot on it. ~ “ h, God!” cried Hgl, as he half started up, and then fell back, tryin toshut out the cter that looked at him from he darkness wit such g horrified wonder. . Then the silence was broken only by the breathing of the party and Blanchc’s ow sobs, which the vaulted rocks took up and , passed hither and thither fitfully. But in that almost palpable gloom Walter \Veston’s soul was flooded with an inward light. Silently‘he knelt, and, covered by the darkness took a; fold of the drew of the woman he ado and held it to his lips. 80 ll ht was his touch that even she knew nothing 0 it. And so they waited God’s summons hence! CHAPTER XXV. same To run unseen. AND all this while where were Shang and Bantam? Let us answer briefly. Failing in his search for Shang the bowlegged scout discovered the danger of his newly-formed , friends, and would have gone to their relief but i that he fell into a perfect hornet’s-nest of sava- ges, and was obliged‘ to fl . When he had final- y effected his escape, e distance. which lay between him and the cave, and the time already consumed told him that his friends would now be dead b suffocation long before he could hope to reach t em. But another was at work. Shang, returning for Mrs. Burbank, «learned of her recapture, and, while looking for an o [iortunity to make a second attempt, came in t of the smoke as- cending from the mouth. of he cave. “ Blest if the children 0’ Baal hain’t smokin’ somebody out o’the cave!" 'ho uttered. “ Thar ,hain’t nobodyr but Bantam that own the‘secret passe , an’ if he ain’t with ’em—” Wit out finishing the sentence he turned back on his course, mtracin his steps with a look of painful anxiety. Gli ng by the where the ndians kept somewhat disdai over' the lackadal'sioal Jerusha, her on round the ‘hill, and soon came to a bowlder, which, from its great bulk, seemed immovable to any one-man )OWOI‘. - . - I Is he a itan, then, that he applies his shoulder I with such confidence to the monster? It is a strain for even his schooled muscles; but once started, the bowlder rolls so easily ever the flat rock on which it rests that we are led 90 Suspect E that it has been nicely poised for this very puro ; pose, the more so as in moving it aside it discov- ers an unsusnected openin in the hillside. _ Into this the scout rushe as. soon asthere was room to squeeze his body, through, before the bowlder . ceased rolling. He had penetrated ; scarcely two rods of the descending way. When I a 't a mimosa Hen, recollection Vol. I. l he was soon at work over a rude tinder-box, which consisted of merely a hollow in the rock with the necessary articles for striking a light— : flint, steel, and gun-cotton. It seemed an age before he had a torch burn-' ing; but mechanically‘he paused a moment to put-the cover on his tinder~bex (a flat rock fit- ting the hollo“) before he rushed headl down the passage. It ended at a bowlder, whic . seemed to etlectually choke the ways on] af- , fording passage for smoke serpcnts w 'ch :Qurled upward from several crevices. ‘ ‘ “They’ll be suffocated, poor devfls! whoever , they are,” muttered the scout, and than 'he 5 shouted chcerily: the lowers o’ darkness yet l” _ is while he was rut hing toward the end of g the nesags; and no sooner was the bowlddr rcac ed than his shoulder was against it, with everynluscle in play. . 'lhe :_ was even too vigorous, ha : thrown mto it the energy of desperation; for ‘ the bewldcr rolled {01 u ard, over-riding an 0b- ! structlon “thl! was meant to check it, and ' bumped down into the cave below with a grind- in sound which made the bleed run cold. instant the scout recoiled, as 3 pr! of acrid smoke smote him in the face, rushing on past him up the Iassage he had opened forit and making his torch Lurn dim. Then hcbnred boldl down the slight descent into'th‘o have, an? ell upon his lands and kntes. ’ here was still a thin stratum of fetid air-be- tween the smoke {all and the flcor of the cav- ern. With his head in this he called: . be“ 110,, comrades! This way to life! Where 0i ‘ ‘ c was not afraid of bcin heard on the out- side of the cave. The yells o the Indians, who were having a war-dance before the fire which re at the mouth of the cave, were plainly audible; and he knew that if his voice wcre heard it would only make them yell the loudtr, mistaking it for the cries (f their dyin victims. But what made him anxious was, t .at there was no I use within the cave, though he shouted again and again. Were they all dead, or had the Indians teen deceived into smoking on empty cave? ' He was just about to largh at thislsoluticn, when he (.iscoyercd (n the ficcr cf the cavern, Within a few feet of him, hacks which he knew were not his own or Iantcm’s: and one of than at least _could rct Lave tun rr’ade by Walter. ' Drawmfi several ( ccp heaths. and‘ retaining the last, t e scout r( so tohis fat, and .h d' the torch near the . mind, ran hi - - ‘ ‘ or about the chair. or until sails i empty. 'lhe fcnrer tena ts in ii , , down one of the corridors, in the i to esca, the all-servadin fce. Bu ihe ta on? An , evtni he fern 31’ ’ le ope to drag to life a sin [leer j lcr, an unconscious n‘amt ‘uug in which he knew there was rct, air but that was noxicus with par v. any event, he must brcaihe bins - i lroceeded further; and for this pa . dropped again on his hands and his —' o a rare discovery l—lhe rint of a dgficate Looping (cmran with delicate foot tins .cd! . 500. e print of an equally “B the God of Mcsesan’ef Aaron! 1 ' ‘vo it’s in mortal man to do itP‘hofleg‘fi her ' 'rnd springing to his ftet icrch close to the ‘trail, to the last corridor. . , Ilavm taken insufficient breath, he obliged 0 stop half-way down the corridor, v» here he again called: . ‘ "‘Here I come lady-[MIN Baal, MW an’ Apollyon can hcnder me!” ~ . is time there cameraman”, undo rhi- mg one too! A ‘ . ‘Shang! Hundhlm’n caved!”- cnarrsn xxvn. . our or m saws or burn. . Around andtheocontstaggw m‘ the little chamlimwhere he found them «one: infi'beneath the smoke poll. al looked rd and «an andtgelld a e or had not will weapon with which, in his half 0 wish; 11:70 “fin Salem’s lifeit f r .ru orwa wrestgd to mm gown-lengths cried, “com?” ‘9. us ‘ ‘ There was no the for "‘ Give me the lady-bird tent upon the idea which “Goon,8han l WeclnMOW”fldW 'r inthese quick, rm tomawhich'icurry $3 selous command with them. _ “'All right!” replied sung, yieldinginstanfly. “ Come on l” ‘ H21 had already started in advance of the soon . A flush of indignation mounted to Walter’s cheek at this assertion. , “Th kart". He’s not worth; of wasthemofhisnoul: inithe‘oundjnlti- fiesta: forvhilnut ' again, and it warm 1... had trench) him to turn in the passage to was enveloped in m hi! hand. 1 www.mio'nm‘u “Courage! courage! comrades! iWe’ll i hefollewedit_ .t ‘ 1* r» .._. d.“ .M...-.L-~ .0 2r»... ‘ Wu.“ H. lio- 4- stronger than on; and she must be carried— her ve life _, emands it!" he said, turning to Mr. Bur nk. Like Shang, the father yielded at once, and without effort. As for the daughter—well, should an expect Opposition from her! Ra )i ly, Walter explained to her how to take ‘ breat ; and, timing his own breathing to hers, the instant he saw that she had completed the process he snatched her up’in his arms and ran down the assage, preceded by Shang with his torch, am followed by Mr. Burbank, Burly Ben fetching up the rear. ‘ The tax on Walter was much greater than on the others, since he carried a burden; and when he reached the main chamber and sunk upon his knees, even the tainted air, with which the mo i tion of their bodies had mixed altogether too much smoke for health or comfort, was grateful enough to him. i “’ ake good breath here; for ye don’t git no - more till ye see da light!” said Shang. “ There l hain’t a thimblef of air in the leadin’ out 0’ this trap; an’ it’s longer than the last one.” In a voice so low that it reached no other ears thaln hers for whom it was intended, Walter ! sai : ' “ Please do not put your arms about my neck ' this time—” I The girl started and shrunk from him with a ? look of keen pain, the rich flush streaming over face and neck. “Nay! do not misunderstand me,” he added, , hastily. “You did perfectly right, making it ‘ much easier for me to carry you. But, there are'new conditions, which make it expedient for us to proceed differently next time. Get in as fulla supply of oxygen as you can before we start; and, on your life, ( 0 not attempt to breathe until we have reached the ure outside air; nor be surprised at an thing may do to waist you; but give yourse up unreservedly-to mo. ' The stinging sense of shame that she had done something unmaidenly in putting her arms about his neck, and the sickening humiliation of having him ask her not to repeat it, ‘elded be- fore his tender earnestness; and t e painful blush, faded and the tense muscles relaxed, leaving her face softly luminous with a smile of perfect trust, and her ure one of restfulness. l‘hen, too, the possib e double meaning-DOW» quick she was to discern it !——of his last words—— ‘f give yourself up unreservedly to me i”—-sent a little thrill of ecstasy to her heart, which infused into her manner that coy grace which so charmed him. At this moment, when he was feeling as if he could; single-handed, overthrow all theirenemies under the inspiration of that look, Shang, who was near him, said: “ Walter, niy boy, you’d better let me carry her the next pull. 1 m better able than you; and you’ve stood one siege already.” Had he been less in love with her, or had she been already his wife—«is there any odious par- allelism beret—he might have yielded to the evi- gfint reason gfhghaiig'slwoi‘ds;e(liut, as it was, eegotmm' o ' great ovc cri out: -“ hat! let any arms but mine encircle her fair formi—let any breast but mine feel th throbb of her heart? Never!” ‘ V Then, , the swift glance which darted from her ‘93’98 was more than questionin ; it was an unconscious protest, which thrilled ghim Without his knOWi just why. But neither words nor manner be rayed any emotion as he said Simply: , “I am strong enough. Let us lose no more time.” Did Blanche feel a little ashamed that those words had power to quiet her momentary un- rest into perfect content? ' But his demand for renewed activity was timely; for the vent Shang had opened was fast sucking all the pure air out of the cavern; and they were forced to hold their faces close to the fiber to get what little there was left. “ Are you ready?” warned the scout. “ Calmly!” cautioned Walter to his lady-love. “’Do not allow yourself to become agitated. Si ?utkI}?W that I will not stop until you are in so. 8 y. - Yes, she “knew” it, or believed it implicitly, which was to the same effect; and she lent him the inspirationof an inelfablc look as he gath-. cred her 11 in his arms. “Now or it!” cried Shang; and all rose to thfir feet. m t was a ind rush—that desperate rtinaci- tv With which the soul clingsto. its tangeinent of chi _when in the yerytgrasp of the Destroyer! ha in the sublimity o love—that attribum of our imperfect humanity which lies nearest heaven l—self is sometimes made secondary even in so supreme a moment as this! They proceeded in the same order as before Hal being still in advance. Shang watched Walter and his burden with no little anxiety. Burly Ben assisted Mr. Burbank by the arm. Walter had lifted Blanche so that her shoul- der rested against his breast, thus turning her, face across in front of him, instead of backward over his shoulder—a rather awkward position in Whichto carry , pended upon it, and staggered on u tohispurposwu' eu- inorc than half the passage, when he felt her diawing up her hands—an indication that her breath was well—nigh spent. Instantly he : pressed his hand ovor her mouth, which in her , present position was within his reach, and 3 stoqpped her nostrils with his thumb and finger. . it pressed her ead firmly down upon his shoul- der. She seized the hand with both her own, and sought to pull it away, at first with the strength of decided protest, soon to merge; into e re- ‘ the frantic energy of determination. Then, in the mad fight against suffocation, her whole body began to writhe, and she sought to tear herse if from his arms. But he clung to her as if his own life dcL that way of death. Soon her struggles subsi ed, and he knew that she had fainted. But his own violent exertions had congested his lungs until it seemed as if his breast were a furnace at white heat. His head seemed about laxed not a muscle. ; to burst with fullness, the blood throbbing into 1 his brain like the regular stroke of sledge-ham- mers. His eyes protruded from their sockets and his ears rung with strange noises. A strange numbness seized him, giving him the sen- sation that his spirit had separated from his body and that his will had no longer any direc- tion over its movements. “ Is this death?” he asked himself; and then: “Will the corridor never end i” . At this point Hal gasped, coughed, staggered and fell to the ground, partially obstructing the passage. . “Lookout! Don’t sto ! It’s life and death now i” cried Shang, un fishly giving some of his precious breath for the salvation of the rest. And with a double urpose—to show his com- panions the obstruction, and for his ownaguid- -ance on his intended return—he dropI his torch near the rostrate man. Reeling blin ly along, Walter stumbled over Hal’s feet, and would have fallen, but that a nervous arm was thrown'about him, and Shang half dragged, half carried him orward. On ahead a faint illuminaton showed that they were nearing the mouth of that death-pas- sage at last. But Walter did not see it. He was blind. His head spun round. He lost all consciousness of motion and of his surroundings until suddenly he seemed plunged into a “sea of flame, which slowly his paralyzed senscs grew to recognize as God’s lad sunshine; and he found himself lyin on t e ground, with the uncon- scious Blane e still c asped in his arms, and gas in for breath, which he drank in as in tru h t e elixir of life. He did not know that Mr. Burbank and Bur- ly Ben had staggered from the pa to sink exhausted almost at its very mouth; e did not know that Shang, after seein him safe, had drawn a dozen deep inhalat ons, and then lunged again into the yanwiu mouth of death, emerge shortly with Hal on is back: he only knew that heaven’s sweet breath envelo d him and the woman he loved better than imself. But the prayer of than 'ving froze in his heart as he looked at her. his life been pre- served, robbed—oh Godl—of all its light and beauty and sweetness? CHAPTER XXVII. A MAN’S HONOR m 1113 LOVE. WHAT startled Walter in Blanche’s spacer- ance was her face, pairings from the effec of suffocation, and the st darker marks left by the close pressure of his hand over her mouth. Was she dead, and—what matter if in the at- tempt to save her lifet—by his hand! He was spared the agony of seeing her face distorted by terror. The muscles had relaxed, and she lay as if asleep, save for that shocking discoloration. . . With a palsied trepidation _upon him, setting every nerve and muscle a mver, he turned in nest of some means of res ration. Down the ace of a rock near at hand drip crystal dro of water, like tears, to_be co lected in a litt e basin below. From this he. scooped the water with his hands; and dashed it in her face. Then he struck her tender palms with his and gushing her sleeves backto the elbow, chafed or white arms. As signs of_ returning anima- tion began to reward his ministrations, the fast- could scarcely see he quiver-in respiration and the slow recession of that terri le urple before an unwanted pallor. But she liv _—she lived! and, for etful of everything 6158, his tears and kisses to upon her face. Was it this that made her open her eyes so suddenly and so wide as to startle him? She I did not seem to recognise him at first; but when she did, she clung to his hand and shuddered, and be u to so nervously, hke a child who has ) awakened from a troubled dream to find itself safe in its mother’s arms. “ Do not give we now, after you have been so brave.” said W tar, lifting her tenderl , so that she could rest nst him. “‘ eav- on! we are all safe!’ homggsuited the event.‘ proved. had traversed a little , s .._._.....~,.~~. .__._—v-—....,.....,..a.... ‘fPa , l” washer exclamation, as mommy Wagon”, . . alt! You arenat able togeme yet. .‘H n......-,,.... l __Th_e_Kidnapperg;__or, the Great—Shanghai. of the Northwest. he girl sou htto shrink from the hand; but i coming tears of joy so blinded his eyes that he . He is yonder, among the rocks; but is reviving, and will join us soon.” W'hether from over-solicitude, or in keeping with her needs, be still supported hcr with his arm, fanning her gently with his hat; and, sat- isfied with this arran rement, or too weak to make the necessary (2 ort to change it, she yielded, letting her head sink against his shoul- der, while her hands hung listlessly in her lap. Gazing into her face, with its now pale cheeks and closed‘eyes, it seemed to the lover as if he could sit thus forever. But his bliss was broken in u )011 in t1.e person of Shang. “ less the Lord! the goat that danced before Pharaoh, or Abimelech, or some on ’em,” cried the scout, a little uncertain of his biblical refer- ence, “wa’n’t no happier ’n I be! So 'e’re all right, little lady bird? Bless yer brig t eyes! you’ll be as chip r as a young robin in no time! An’ here‘s 'er 5 0e, that’s 'cst fit for a queen! Scalp me i it‘s much biggern my thumb!” He drew the shoe from the breast of his jerk- in, and presented it with a bow which in honest homage need not have shamed .the queen to which he had likened‘hcr. Blanche had had some minutes of repose in which to repair her sorely taxed energies; so that on the appearance of the scout she and Walter tacitly agreed that his arm was quite dispensable. She now received her shoe, rather the worse for the rock grip in which she had been forced to leave i , with a grateful smile that made the onest sc'out feel “all-overish,” as he afterward declared. With an exclamation of s mpathctic in Walter discovered her unshod oot peepin rom beneath her skirts, the stockin torn andilcod- stained where the rocks had eratcd the ten- der flesh. “ And you bore this so patiently that none of us knew of it!” he said. “Let me prepare a cooling poultice for it at once.” “ An’, lady-bird, ew won’t Irefuse the softest bandage in my lot? ventured the scout, draw- ingka small roll of cloth from a receptacle in his Jer in. “ Shang is a regular old maid,” laughed Wal- ter. “ He alwa s carries the appointments of a small hospital a out his person.’ “ A proper bandage means a life, sometimes,” said the scout. “ But, I must go to yer father, an’ tell him not to worry about yew; for ye’re in hands an’jn good spirits. ’ , othing in his look or manner gave outward indication that he saw anything unusual in her relations with Walter: but there was a covert twinkle in his eye as he turned away; and he muttered: “God blem’em both! they’re a pre air! I’ll not wo any on ’em by lettin’ on 9. her mother’s in t 6 hands 0’ the chem , until we git this one safe. It’ll be time enoug then.” Walter returned from his quest of healing leaves to find that Blanche had removed her stocking during his brief absence. He was charmed with the waxen beauty of her foot, with its blue veins and pink nails, and its 8 m- metry like chiseled marble. Tenderly he be ed it, With so reverent a touch that she looked at him as only a woman can look at a man who does such ho to her womanhood. . Bruisin the leaves between two flat stones, he sp them one by one over the wounds and bound them firmly, securing them with ins with which she supplied him. Then he wit drew to a little distance, to enable her to complete her toilet without embarrassment. ‘ 1“ Your poultice is delightfully coolin ,” she said, a moment later; “and our wor is so nicely done that I found 'ttle inconvenience in . putting on my shoe. in thanks, and take me to papa?” . He assisted her to rise, and would still have extended to her the sup ort of an encircling arm; but, looking up into is face‘, she‘said: “If on will let me take your arm, I think I can we nicel .” Something in her look took away most of the sting of this sli ht rebuff ; yet he could not whol- 1y. repress a loo of chagrin, as he bowed to her Will. So, lim ing slightly, she went to her father to twine er arms about his neck with a gush 0 love that made Walter shiver, thinkin that what his Soul craved with such famishe appe- ti would be forever denied him. bile alone with her he had almost forgotten Hal’s existence; but, once more in the presence of her amanced husband. his dream of bliss was shattered, and he was overcome by a sense of having w this man: for the 'ewel was ' no matter how unworthil he be] it. is introduced another an even more bitter reflection ' To him betrothal had much the sainfigtylfiifmarriage. What then could be said 0 you accept my mg hsscd‘ her while she was uncon- scious and could not refuse him! Had be taken a, dastardly advantage of her helplessness? Had he betrayed her confidence and frandship? Where was his fine sense of honor, where was that reverence due to all women-not to men- tion the one woman of all the world most sa- cred-Amati» could so f t himself i wmmtmkum tothedust;andho tuned away to hide his emotion. *‘ But was there no way to nab cm! \ ' took a notion to ramble aroun 20 .. The New. Yorkiébre Yes. Henceforth he must treat her, not as a I of us has got anything to fight with, if we have sister—such a relation had too much of famili- ! to fight?” arity in it—hut as a goddess, not to be a Fortunately, W’alter's rifle had been slung to proached With unwashed hands. He won d ‘ his back with a strap, which enabled him to re- watch over her, protectin dangers; but first of all from himself. As some reparation to Hal, he approached and asked if he could do anything to make him i more comfortable. Hal, who under Burly Ben’s care Was in a fair we to be soon in possession of his wonted strengt , looked up and replied, with the forms of courtesy, but with an under- current of sarcasm: “No, I thank you. You have already been onl too kind in your Services to in future wi e, which I of course regard and wi I, if op- portunity offers, requite as a personal obliga- um. “I beg that you will not consider the matter in that light,’ replied Walter, stung by the covert insolence of the other’s words. “ If what little I have done is honored by a lace in the remembrance of the lady herself, shall feel more than repaid.” With a bow he turned away, his anger striv- ing in vain to drown a voice which asked: ’ ‘ What right have you to complain? Is it not a meet reward for your treachery?” , Harry Bearsley looked after the retreating figure with gleaming eyes. “Don’t think but it will be honored by a place in my remembrance !” he hissed, beneath is breath. “ When ybur blood has id for it, I may forget it, along with yourse ; but not before I” o.‘ CHAPTER xxvm. RIDING. MEANWHILE Shang had begun to manifest increasing si 15 of auxiet . ~ “ Frienrls,’ he said, “ don’t wanttoh nobody; but this hain’t the safest place in the world; an’ it’s my opinion we’d better be gittin’ out of it as soon’s ye’re able to move. The Phi- listines are a mighty uneasy set' an’ if they here, they I might light onto us all of a sudden.” ‘ I reckon some on us hain’t got much stom- ach for tram in’ through the brush,” said Burly Ben. “ Now ow long might it be, Mrs. Blanche, since ou’ve had anything to eat?” “ 0t since last night,” replied the 'rl, who until now had not realized that muc of her weakness was due to hun'rer. Since her escape from illiam Swanton there had been scarcely a moment, except during her long swoon, which was not filled with its ab- sorbing interest, so that the ordinary demands of the body had not made themselves heard, though the day was now far advanced. But at the rst suggestion hunger assailed her with ravenous impetuositfy so that she looked from one to the other 0 her friends for something with which to gratify its cravin . “ I will go to our cave and etch something immediate y,” said Walter, and was about to move off Without further delay. “Hold on,” interposed Shang. “ is hain’t no dinin’-room. I lose my ess, if t e whole kit don’t want somethin’ in t e shape 0’ fodder. I say we’d better all go where it is, an’ where the Arabs o’ the desert won’t ’light down on us about the time we git the feast spread, an’ glut their heathen appetites with Christian rovin- der—along with our scalps, perhaps. ut first ye all want to be freshened up a bit; for there’s no knowin’ how much flglitin’ an’ scamperin’ we may have to do before we git to cover. Has anybody got any corn-juice? That’ll al- ways give nerve in a pinch, thou 'h somethin’ solider an’ not so fi’ry is better or ordinary occasions.” “Hal, you have a canteen,” said Mr. Bur- Hal shuddered. The recollection rushed upon him that he had em tied his canteen tonerve himself for the mur er of Mary Edwards, and then thrown the canteen away in anticipation bf some such occasion as this when it would be difficult to account for the disappearance of the liquor. He now made the explanation he had prepared. “The strap of my canteen caught in a bush, this morning, while Ben and I were being pur- sued; and I was forced to slip out of it to save myself from capture.” " II flask is at your service,” said Walter, handing it, not to Blanche, but to her father. This was a part of his atonement. He tried to steel his heart against the 100k which flashed from the girl’s eyes as she received the flask from her father’s hand. He was famishing for the slightest crumb of a proval from her; yet he 190;:than that he b. no right to her gratis talc. If she knew all, would she not des ise him and skin his gifts? This thought gave im a dreary look into the future. That stolen rap- ture of touching her lips must now forever stand oetwecn them. Her friendship, her merest smile, must in too future be received by him under false pretenses. “ An’ this brings us to another eonslderati ” wShanw, words flowing,notfrom Wal I, flushi- on like It Wt. ' new W m... .. ...-.‘ M ! -... mu— .r-q. her from outward tain it while carrying Blanche. For Burly Ben 9 must protect her . to have parted with his weapon before he had d with his life, was not a supposable case. t was more a matter for congratulation that Mr. Burbank had kept his during that mad race with death; but he had clung to it mechanically, as peo le sometimes carry even useless things through the greatest dangers. Hal alone had lost his chief weapon; his lay in the corridor where he had fallen senseless. Shang made one more entrance into the smoke- fllled passage, as far as the first angle, whence he brou ht forth his own trusty rifle and another which fie presented to Hal, saying that it had pelon to an Indian “who had no further use or it! ’ It had occurred to Walter that, in view of the feelin between them, Hal might refuse to be benefiged by the use of his canteen, if obliged to accept it in his presence; and not wishin to place him between the alternatives of humilia- tion and suflering, he had, with rare tact, draun a little apart from the others, when he was sud- denly startled b seein a bush in motion at no t distance. ith is rifle in readiness, he ounded toward it. Then, from the coppice, arose a dusky form, with atomahawk poised in air. . Walter knew that the sound of his rifle would betray the preSence of his friends; but the In- dian’s yell would do it in any event: so he fir and then dodged the coming missile. The ye of the sava was cut in the middle, as his body disa )peare( in the foliage. ith ra id bounds, Walter regained his friends, to ad Hal with the flask to his mouth. Even in such a moment Hal found ex res- sion for his hatred. He handed Walter the with a mock bow of acknowledgment. His smile, too, was full of meaning, as he turned and took Blanche by the arm. Walter received the flask mechanically, stand- ing stock—still and staring blanka for a sin le instant. The whole proceeding was like a in the face. His mind and heart had been f l of but one thought—“ my darling!”-—when this Me histo hiles had stepped between them and said)—“ INEI” He felt an icy shiver run over him, and his eyes fell to the ground, so that he failed to see B anche look past Hal to him. But the glance was not lost on Hal, who ground his teeth with internal rage, thinking: “ You jade! I’ll put you in trainin when the law has laced on in my power! ou’ll not then ma e love fore my face, I promise you!” Hal was no coward now, when the danger was one which he was accustomed to meet. In the broad sunlight, Mar ’s ghost had not the wer to haunt him; so t ere was no excuse for is now shirking his duty of protection to his aflianced wife. With the oils of an a iroaching party of savages rin g in her ears, lanche was hurried forward be ween Hal and her father. Our friends had been discovered by one of the Indidns, several rties of whom had been kept at work scouringr he woods in search of Blanche. In response to his yell, Indians began to gather from almost every direction, threatenin to surround the little party. But Shang’s ad ress enabled them to break through the cordon be— fore its g: closed about them, in accomplish- ing whic the Ian -limbed scout unceremonious- ly snatched Blane e from her father and Hal, and ran with her in his arms at the top of his speed, until he was nearl out of breath. Now, the hundred an twenty pounds, more or less, of blushin femininity, which lovers (in books~nowhere e so) so often lift “ like a child,” is what may be termed, in vul r parlance, “ no fool of a lift ;” but the scout’s erculean strength and endurance, to ther with his unusual le h of limb, enabled him to carry the girl over he ground, for a short distance, much more rapidly han she could have traversed the same space on foot, ham red as she must have been b her clothing, in t e dense undergrowth. Wit her keen sense of humor, a comical little thought— “ Oh, dear! how much nicer it would be, if one were occasionally allowed the use of one’s feet?” -inade Blanche smile, even in that moment of danfer' yet she knew that Shang’s course was rea y the wisest though she divmed but half of his ,urpose. li‘or, besides the effort to gain the on ide of the closing circle of Indiana. the scout wished that her feet should leave no trail. He had picked her up from stony and; he placed her upon her feet again on a at rock in he midst of another spot of stony ground; so that, since leaving the cave, her foot had made no distinguishable impression. “ It’s no use 0’ talking,” he said, ra idly. “We can’t run awa from the Injins wit this little woman on our hull kit ’ud be on to of us, an’ we couldn’t save her. We’ve got to ide her; an’ this here’s the place within a mile.” Instinctiver Blanche looked to Walter for his ap roval. Was ever a woman who did not hice t taggidgment of thelmt'm she really loved ore 0 one e se in. sun-km“ use. tights-ed mu —-~ min. In ten minutes the , v01. Io idea of separation from his child; and Hal was about to enter a decided rotest. Burl Ben saw the wisdom of Shangs words; but fore he could interfere Walter s ke in his uiet, yet decided way, which mol all wills a) his 0 wn. “ Do as Shang says. To his experience I would intrust my life—and more!” Blanche’s eyes flashed at this involuntary ex- E'Session with which his love for her surprised ' caution. Her car was quick to catch every cadence of his voice, that the words “ and more ” told her as plainly as words could tell— “ I love you more than my life I” Shang saw the father’s opposition vanish. For Hal and his pretensions, so far as they con- cerned Blanche, whom he had mentally dedi- catséd to Walter, he cared not a last-year’s bird’s nes . At the further end of the flat rock on which Blanche stood grew a sturdy oak whose trunk was completely hiddenby a veil of vines, very dense in foliage, which trailed over the rock, forming a seit of tentrshaped bower. Passing his hands between the rock and the vines Shang lifted them-with the nicest care, and sai : “ Creep in here, little one! carefully, new, so’s not to bruise the vines!” “ Papa!” cried the girl, extendin her arms. “ God bless and keep you, my c dl” A strainin embrace and a kiss as if she would “ pluc it u b the roots;” then with a sweeping glance w ic rested last on Walter’s e es: y" Good-by, all!” And she cre t beneath the curtain of verdnre which Shang et fall behind her. ' “ Lay down in the hollow between the rock and the tree,” directed the scout, “ an’ don’t ye stir hand or foot even if some one peeps in here, until they actually take hold of ye l” Then Blanche heard retreatingafootsteps, a g; a moment afterward, with yel that curd? her blood, the rush of savages, whose dark bodies she could see through interstices inthe vines; then the shots and yells, receding in the distance, which marked a running fight. Among all these shots, would any one reach : mag-k through which it would pierce her “Oh God! protect papa and—Walter!” she prayed, throwm such a world of yearning love ghtpothe name t it must havereachedthe ne. CHAPTER XXIX. macarav. Tm: Indians in pursuit of our friends were soon checked in their bold rushby the unerring shots of the two trained scouts, those less used to forest warfare, yet brave men withal, also do- ing their share. The Sioux continued with eater caution, glidin from tree to tree, try- ing to outflank the li e party and detain them until their own numbers Were increased by the fast-coming reinforcements from the mouth of the cave. In much the same manner ourfriends were forced to retreat, keeping together as much as possible, until Shun said: I‘We can’t stan this. Together we’ll soon be surrounded like Daniel in the lion’s den. It’s got to be every man for himself. Do ye see that sad oak on the hill onderl That: ourren- defotils. Ari; now sca ter!” ' c ‘ng on is suggestion the began to spread out, sc arating gradually frog: each other. A deadly iglit be u to glow in Bearde ’3 eyes, as e 100 ed from side to side, keep watch over his companions. “ This is my opportunity!” he muttered; “and may the fiend deal With me as I im- peresilfillful ring h k twithi ht ' maneuve 0 ep 11 of Walter, while the diver nt courses offline others took them out of . “Nowto secure mysel , if that feel hardin- covered anythin fromm precious wife—that was! and to cut a ort his terloplng attentions to my wife who is to be !” While, with his attention occupied by his fees in front, Walter was ghdin between two trees, Hal’s rifle went to his sh der; his teeth were set, showing fiercely beneath his mustache; his eye glanced deadly hatred along the barrel; and thwaieee explod . ith a stinging sensation in his breast, Walter started, gasped, and fell heavily to the ground. ' “ 80 die the fool’s death!” muttered Hal, exal- tantly. “If my bullet is not effective, tle In- dians ll roast you to a delicate brown—and hope they may have the who crosses in path— !” His ejacula ion was occasioned by the a alxifmlpe of Bantam on the spot where Wal a en. “Walter, my boy, you’re not shot?” ex- claimed the scout, with deep feeling, bending ovrr his irostrate friend. "Yes, antam,” replied Walter, faintly. “I fear that my left lung is pierced.” “Curses on the bemgarly crewl I’ll have mum at am" mam “But Theman p.r N0: 4| The Kidnapper ;' or, the Great Shanghai of the Northwest. 21 must git you out 0’ this. Como! let me take you on my back.” “ Save yourself, Bantam You cannot escape incumbered by such a burden.” I “ A’n’ leave you to the Soos? Bum me, if do!’ While g be raised Walter to his feet; turned an mounted him on his back: and made of! through the woods as rapidly and as nome- lessly as he could. But he had proceeded scarcely a dozen rods, when one han suddenly relaxed its hold on Walter, and the scout stumbled and fell. While going down he caught sight of a puff of smoke at no great distance on his left and beside it the face of a white man flrin at him exc1tedly, but he did not hear Hal’s e taut comment on the result of his second shot: “ Two by heaven! and the dog dropped likea stone. had nothing against him; but he might have been dan ous to me.” He shudderestuss he sneaked off through the woods, and tried to apfiase the com unctions which still remained to m by the re ection: “It mi ht have been my life against his.” And with a horrible laugh he added: “Well, v'lzhhatfli‘sa:ohm:d mugder, more or less, anyway? 6 no so great rovoca- tion as the last.” p The scout rose to a sitting posture, after his fall, and ut his hand to his left shoulder, the arm of w ich hung helpless. “I can’t use my rifle no more, he said- “ but I’ve got two good shots left in my pistols So let the devils come on; I’ll sell out two to one, an’VIBOWI” still b fiigh ”suggest- ‘ ut you ma ' esca ' t ed Walter. y pe y ’ “ my,” said the scout, “I mean to stick to you the last dog’s hung; an’ then theykin rub us out together. “No, Bantam,” said Walter, in the quiet, di- rect tones he used when in deep earnest, “you would destroy yourself withou doing me any good by so foolish a resistance. The" only way you can help me is to escape yourself, and then with Shang and the rest attempt my rescue, after you have placed Miss Burbank in safety. Therendesvous is Pigeon Oak; and Miss Bur- bank is secreted in the vine tent.” “Boy,” said Bantam, pathetically, yielding e w n in“ ittaof higisellf'i “ I hate tci desert . n ese ing me. t is '1 for as- sistance. at once, before it is $33 Ilifts.” “ At any rate, I kin help ye to cover.” Walter accepted this assistance; and when he was secrete as effectually as circumstances would permit, Bantam turned to go, to find himself confronted by the savages, one of whom he kills on the spot, and then fied before the other two. CHAPTER XXX. ' HUMILIATION. Alt hour later the random firing in the woods Mamie “an “i.” in P“- h ‘ it? “man; 1 e angina . ose w had boon scatatgged far and wide in that hot pur- suit be to reassemble, moving more slowly While ey recovered their breath, or because incumbened with the burden of their wounded comrades. Then a helple- prisoner was home to the In- ren ous, where Buffalo Horn had made his first halt, and dropped roughly upon the ground. Wmilm Sim'fiifi‘i' “*1. dm" “‘3 “” oner. t t o ace 9 an en kn , 1% closer. “ In fiend’s name, who areyout” he asked, ehan ng color. W ter looked into the face of the renegade, alldstartedin his turn. Then with a or mauled his eyes, as if the sight were beara- “ u a peak!” cried Bwanto seizing him bythe um. “ Who are you?” n, “ Do you not know me, then?” asked Walter, bitterl . “ God knows I have ressontoremem- her you i” e renegade stated a moment, and then 8 look of satisfaction came into his face, together with his ever-read sneer, as he said: ‘Godbepraisecil forthedeadisalive m and the lost is found.” Turning to Mrs. Burbank, who was advanc- ing‘ toward them he added: my ziofrwithmeovertheretumd A sigh of the lad started 61‘ bo‘w exc l : y yum” to m . God on here—in this man’ wer!” ‘Wit a shudder he sunk back again. p0 ‘ Mr. Weston! hat a meeting!” murmured the lady; and kneeliiag on the other side of him, she c his ban and dropped her tears upon it. “ My husband l—my daughter—l" Bu the poor lad broke down. her Word! ehgklgg git“ odefib‘Mrs. B hank ” said ur Walter. “ m safla” ' :: gut my husband was in this terrible cave!” e eeca " u ‘ ‘ “ And :3. Candi-791’ darling Blanche!” I “ But where?” urged the lady. Swanton bent e erly to catch the reply. \Valter ca ht he e ression of his face; and looking at ‘ with hing eyes, made his reply to him. ‘ All the hellish ingenuity of your bloody al- lies cannot torture that secret out of me!” “We Will try to get along without your as- sistance,” said Swanton, dry y. “ Lud ’a’ massay! if that ain’t Jim!” It was Jerusha Swanton’s voice that broke in u n the interview; and J erusha. herself s with hands raised, mouth open, and eyes round with surprise. , Walter turned his eyes from her in disgust. But the virago advanced to his feet, where she could view him at her ease, and with her arms akimbo, began her wonted tirade: “So here yo be, you ungrateful wretch! to run away the minute yer father’s back was ed, an’ leave me to s ift fur myself—me as had toiled an’ slaved fur ye from morn till dark, and no thanks from on, from the day you was a squallin’ brat! ighty fine airs yeou put on, as if common folks wa’n’t good enough ur ye! Now, I s’ so this here brazen piece is one o’ yer scriunp ious friends.” “ Spare your insults, woman!” cried “Ialter, with a look which for a moment cowed the vixen. “This lady is my friend, and must be treated with ti” “ r. eston, what in the world is the mean- ing of this?” exclaimed Mrs. Burbank, dismayed by Jerusha’s address to her friend. William Swanton had looked on with folded arms, uietl enjoying Walter’s humiliation. Seeing t s e had no opposition to fear from him, but that he, with his snecring smile, rather kept her in ecuntenance, J erushaagain gave the rem to her tongue. “ It means ma’am,” she sneered, with a mock courtes , “that you’ve 0t one too many irons in the re. Yeou’d bet make up yer mind whether ye want the father or the son, before _e go to makin’ love to both of ’em at the same 1me. _Don’t be bashful, ma’am, if ye’d like to take his head in ycr 1a , as well as hold his hand; we’re onl his to ks, an’ the Injins here won’t know no ' erence.” As if stung, Mrs. Burbank involuntarily dropped Walter’s hand, and shrunk away, as she said: “This vulgar woman cannot be your mother!” “Vulgar yerself!” screamed Jerusha, stamp- ing her cot, and looking as if her fingers were tingling for a vigorous hair-pull. “ An’ do you dast to insult me to my face—an’ me an honest woman beside such a— ’ . “ Hold on!” into Swanton, with a men- acing flash at his .w is. An instant J erusha used; but seeing the quiet smile return to his 'ps, resumed in a some- what milder strain: “ I hain’t his mother, eh? Well, now, §rhaps eou‘re itchin’ to stegcmto my shoes. eoud ve ’em both for a t. Or yeou might give him to yer darter, while yeou take the old man “ Dedst!” said Walter, stung from his de- jected apathy by the flippant reference to his association with Blanche. “Man,” he added, turning to Swanton, “ are ou a man, that you can see a helpless lady ins ted like this?” “ Thank you for the reminder,” said Swanton. “ I will take the lady away, and leave you two to enjoy old-time reminiscences undisturbed. Helen, ' you take my arm ?” ‘ Walter turned pale and stared in blank sur- prise at Swanton s insulting familiarity with the mother of his idol. He heard the renegade call her Helen, and saw her shudder, yet submit meekly to be led away, as if her irit was crushed. With a he sunk back, is hysi- cal weakness no trig the bondfithwhich he was secured a go or unnece . In his anguish, at the th ht that her mother should shrink from him shoc ed at learnin his base origin, and that her recollection of him would be marred by the shadow of his father’s infam , Walter forgot that he had not corrected Mrs urbank’s: misapprehension that J erusha was his mother. Now, he lay perfectly headless of Jerusha’s sharp tongue, though, infuriated by Swanton’s disappearance in company with Mrs. Bur she vte‘nted all her spite on one who could not re- - CHAPTER XXII. Lucx. Wmmu Swsmx knew nothing of Walter’s position toward Mrs. Burbauk’s family. It was evident, however that Mrs. Burbank estee med him hi hlyimgh‘i'ltI of pugu 3:1 ty, that? 11:11., renogée se' 6 0 p0 separa 3;» from alterbefore germistage asto his N13,. tionshi to J erusha was corrected. “H on,” he aid, “since you, as well a; I. must feel some interest in the avenue through which your husband. and mytgrier’id, enacted er. his escape, we will visit it to “Major Swanton,” said he lady, with as quiet imny as his own, walk without Enabling you for your armi” w fingers through his hair, “ The renegade flushed slightly, in spite of him- self, as he released her hand with a mock bow. “ You put it so delicately,” he said, “ who could deny you?” Mrs. Burbank walked freer at a little distance from her self-elected escort. She rcall looked forward with interest to what wanton promised to show her. The escape of the ris- oners from the cave had been concealed rem her, until VVaLtcr’s words lifted the burden of sorrow from her heart; so the means of escape were still unknown to her. \Vhen the reached the exit, from which thin curls of smo '0 were still issuing, Mrs. Burbank gazed down its black throat with a shudder. She knew nothing of the horrors of that death race, (the passage now giving little indication of it), nor that her daughter had shared its perils; but she was thinkin that in beyond was the gloomybxrison, by w ich she had been so nearly widow . With the thought came the picture of Swanton hurling tho.burmn' g1 brand amo the .fa cts. and then Viewing is fiendish 1:5 with fcfidcd arms; and she shrlmk further from him and involuntarily rubbed her hand on her shawl, recollecting that it had but recently been in contact with his arm. “The next time,” said Swanton, ' y, “I shall see that my smoke-house has no eak in it!" ing his reflective gaze from the corridor to Mrs. Burbank’s face, he added, speculativel : “Iwonder, Helen, had I been successful my benevolent intentions, could you have been persuaded to imitate excellent Mrs. Hamlet and many the man who had given your husband eteriiéil bliss in exchange for the trials of this wor ?” _Horrifled, the lady seemed about to fly from in “ Am I such a Gorgon, then,” he said drawing himself erect, and removintiahis hat to run his tsuch a prospect gives you so stony a look ?” “ What a devil you are !” exclaimed the lady, with a shudder of loathing. The rene ade laughed lightly. “ We ' recur to this subJect in the future, when the present Mrs. Swanton has gone where she will not be distressed by our ' tion. Meanwhile, shall we return to camp?” “ Go on. I will follow on.” “Nay! you cannott ' me so ungallant. If you Will not walk at my side, I should much prefer that you precede me. You know,” he added, with a laugh, “if your valiant rescuer of this morning were to reappear, {ou might take it into our head to elope wit him again— wasn’t};9 t the construction Mrs. Swanton put upon it ’ Deigning no reply, the lady set out on her re— turn, and, choosing the ground easiest for walk- ing, took a little ifferent course from that by w lCh the had come. She had proceeded scarce half the istance, when she was startled bya quick cry, followed by the pending of the bush— es. ing drapery, and h a voice cryin : - ‘Oh, mammal mammal mamma!’ The mother had scarcely time to collect her thoughts, before she was supporting a uiverin burden on her bosom, and realized, wit a t ' of awful dread, that her da ter had of her own accord lea into the we s den. Strain- ing her child her breast, she whirled upon their fee with fierce defiance in her ‘ eye and quivering nostarél The ren e h stogped, stared, thrusthis hands intoeili:l pockets, b Own a long whistle of surprise, and expressed a throng of emotions in the words: ‘ “ By all that’s lucky!” ‘ As the agonized mother, like some animal driven to bay in the defense of her offs ring turned toward him he removed his ha an bowing low with a Meghistophilean smile, mid: “ allow me con-grat—u-late on!” A look of despairin helplessness—a of tears that drowns e fire of her eyes—the mother’s head sinks until her cheek rests upon he}; do; terse hair—her lips move— 1 CHAPTER XXXII. as members) nova. Lift the reader imagine_ the anxiety with which Blanche Burbank waited and grayed in her place of concealment, after the isa - anee of her friends. /Herself unseen, she several times caught of. the Indians as the cams and wen in the Vicmityof her retrea. Once her heart leaped into her mouth, as she heard a savage the leaves which screened has. fShe coul Mmmml pan-ting respirathtionfi an no g eammg e she hid he); with her hands. Bathe failedwg to detect her, and paaed on. Then the moments until she caught sightofa w ch naeherutter asudden cry, and en stare thevine leavesasifshecouldscaroely therown vision. How she tore her we the - plattedvinesshe never knew. ifata “will youpermit ms to shewasonher kneeswith her arms about her mother’swaist, hereyesbllnded byafiood 0! Next she saw a ti ing figure, with flutter; 22 ~ The New York Library. I “Major Swanton,” she said, haughtily, “will l 19.31}..- “ Yrs, mammn,”whispercd the girl, kissing . ~.,.._-. / ,3 z tears, her voice choked with a throng of emo- tions. VVhilo the mother’s fierce defiance broke un- der the burden of despair, the child was speech- less. if she heard, she did not heed the rene- gade’s incisive sarcasm. She had eyes, ears and thoughts but for the mother from whom she had been torn, and whom she now once more clasped 'n her arms. \Vhen she found voice, her heart urst forth: —and surrounded by such awful dangers! My darling mammal” “ Hush! hush, my child! hands.” We are in God’s “Under my supervision, as the divine vice-gem rent!” sneered the renegade, with another 0— found bow. “My dear, we are overjoy at your restoration. You threw us into quite a panic of anxiety. You should, not ramble so far from camp as to lose our way.” The ride of the girl ained into her eyes, ash, llooiiing over her shoulder at him, she re- er : “Thank you for our solicitude. The time may not be far dis at when you will need it all for yo Irself.” ' “ 0h, I’ll risk that,” laughed Swanton. “ lVith a slight advantage in point of numbers and unexampled good luck—a better frien than Providence. my dear, if we ma {udge by the hard lines of the virtuous—wit Lick anl numbers in my favor, don‘t you think the game is pretty well in my hands?” . ‘ Meanwhile, Helen,” he added, “if you care to walk toward the camp—" 1 He concluded the sentence with a bow and a wave of the hand. “ Mainma how dare he address you so famil- iarly?” exc aimed Blanche, her indignation -stru ling with a vague dread. “ e are in his power, darling,” murmured the mother submissively. ' ou know him? And “But who is be? Do what grudge does he be against papal llis She hatred dates back twenty years.” The dread was deepening in‘ her eyes. spoke in an indistinct murmuring tone which could.not be intelligible to Swauton as they preceded him. “We knew him years ago as Tom Tracy,” began Mrs. Burbank. “ Yes; but why does he hate papa? What is it all about?” A pained expression came into the lady’s face. Sha did not reply directly. While she was de- liberating they entered the lade w ere J erusha Swanton haul talked hersel weary ver her in- attentiveauditor, and finally left him in disgust. Blanche’s quick e e detected the prisoner, as he lay with his bacc toward her. Every arti- cle of his dress was long since familiar to her loving eye. She recognized him at a glance. The mother felt her start violentiy within her encircling arms, with a short, sharp cry. The next instant—ever hing else forgo ten in con- templation of his anger-the girl tore herself free and flew to him. “ 0h, Walter! you are not hurt?” she cried the pain in her eart, that agonized fear that she was to lose him, breaking tionalities. Itwas like a flash—her sudden appearance kneeling beside him; her tremulous touch on his shoulder: her eyes reading his face with a soli- citude which could have but one meaning; her voice vibrant with loving fear and gliding into liquid cadences over his name. An instant his face glowed with a look that seemed almod; luminous, as his eyes devouned her; then a spasm of pain and a look of terror came like the suddeninterposition of a mask, and he tried to start erect. “ Great Heaven! are on again in his power?” “What is itl” asked he ' 'l, shrinkin closer to him and looking back at wanton wit a new fear in her eyes. There seemed to be some (196136? meaning in the emphasis of her lover’s wor s. .The renegade’s manner was not reassuring. He stood with folded arms, caressin his mus— tache, and regarding the pair wit a cruel smile. But she felt the loved form sink under her hand, and, turning again, saw that he lay as white as death. . “ Oh, you are hurt i” she exclaimed. “ Where is our wound?” , Vith a gushing cry she detected the blood on the breas of his e{ex-kin, and, the perforation made by the bull . Her lips were white d set with an awful dread, and her fingers ew over the fastening? of his jerkin. “It is nothing he gasped, as she bai'ethls breast. . With a frightened sob she pressed her hand- 1‘87 051i.“ mr ligand ” sh cried. Mrs. ‘ mil . , 1 e! ,e as, Burbaxik knelt on thepotllqr do p: the prostrate man; and in thel and. of that suppr tion the heart of the, .o _ w anwas an open book to the perception o' the o . , If Mrs Burbank felt. any shock at this dis- covery, her humanity was so far in the ascend- anev outrectually to hide it, She manifested only anxiety'akin to her dmwhfar’t down all conven- you place at my commaan the applian0(.-'5 neces- sary for this man’s care? I know little about sue matters; but I believe that m goodwill will serve him better than your gru ging skill.” “No doubt, madam,” sneered the renegade, and turning addressed a sinvlo word infihe Dcl- ‘ aware tongue to one of the noians. The savage disappeared, but soon came back i with water in a broad leaf folded like a filtering “Oh, mammal mammal mammal you here! ‘ apcr. As he held it for her .to dip her hand— erchicf into it, Blanche thanked him in Eng- lish. Her sweet look must have been intelligi- ble to him though her words were not. While she bathed the wound with a loving ; touch, J erusha Swanton’s harsh voice broke the silence. ' “ Wal, I swan to man!” she exclaimed, with a chuckle, “if Jim hain’t clean cut eout his dad- dy! Iicl he! he!” - Blanche glanced up at her as the discordant voice broke upon her ear; but she was too busy with her mlSSlO of love to pay further heed. “See, mamm !” she cried. “ The bullet has lacerated his side. It did not strike fairly so as to nctrate his breast. It must have glanced on the rib. Oh! if it is only not dangerousl You don’t think it is, mamma'.” Already she was aglow with hope. “ I think the bone is not broken,” said Mrs. Burbank. “ It is only a flesh wound and a se- vere shock, beinrr so close over the heart.” “Oh! you shdll find us famous nurses—Mr. Weston!’ cried the girl, in her relief at the knowledge that his ife was not in jeopard from his wound, f0 etting, for the momen , the ve dangers w ich hung over them all. She blushed as she faltered over his name, recol- lecting that in her unguarded moment her gongue had found the one which lay nearest her eart. . His 0 es told her that her touch was more potent or healing than the rarest lotions; and mdeed the magic contact so thrilled him that it banished the look of pain from his face; but the words that trembled on his lips were doomed to harsh interru tion.- J erusha ha aimed a malicious little thrust at her husband in saying that “Jim had cut out his daddy ;” but the renegade had read Blanche’s secret for himself. Frowning darkly, hejhad muttered beneath his breath: , “So! But of course she could not love that wolf’s cub. Curse him! he’s too much like his father not to ins ire an intuitive repugnance in so sensitive a na ure as hers.” Turning to his wife he said rapidly: “If you want to do me a favor and enjoy yoursolf at the same time, give them a little of our peculiar style of eloquence. But mind hat you kee a bridle on your tongue; for if you insult eit ier of the ladies grossly, I’ll have it out of your hide!” The wifel duty of obedience lyinJg in the di- rect line 0 her own inclinations, erusha ad- vanced, ‘nothin loath and, while the lovers were all atrem 1e with timid outreacbi as to- ward each other, and the mind of Mrs. Bur k was sorely perplexed over the discovery she had made, said: “ I reckon it’s my place to ’tend Jim. I’ve coddled him when he was sick an’ trounced him when he was sassy, from the time he was knee- high to a grasshopper; an’ I hain’t goin’ to be shamed to my face now, by havin’ strangers take the care 0’ him out o’ my hands. See here, miss, you ain’t puttin’ that bandage ri ht.” She dispossessed the loving hands wi so per- emptory a motion that the suflerer winced with pain, while the girl, shrunk back in dismay. Only an instant, [and then she extended her i hand again. rotest,” she be n. But Jerusha w red upon herw th the de- mand: , r “ Is this Jim, or ain’t it! Air you his mother, or ain’t ye?” A look of ,gra 'ficationI flashed into the face of thq renegade. nstantly he ste forward. ‘ Ladies,” he said, “there is but one escape from Mrs._ Swanton’s pleasantries. Allow me to lead on awa .” Blane e wouldvhave demurred; but he took her arm with a look that was a command, and she was forced to submit. . “These'beautles will rd you. while you enjoy each other’s 89018 y.” be said, When he had taken them a rt;_!and with a few rapid words he indica their duty to the savages, and left them. ' “Why did she call him Jim, mammal” asked Ellanche wonderingly, the moment they were one. “ Because it is. his name, I presume,” replied the’motber somewhat coldly. “ Whv. no! It is Walter-Weston.” The Christian name was uttered with a bildght- enlng countenance, the surname being dad after a momentary reuse, in which the search- ing lock of the mother ,br t a tmmnlous flush to Blanche‘s cheek. Reac rig to clasp her parent about the neck, the girl murmured with prettv, deprecation: “ Mammal" ‘- in; dmr'ltcr!” said theiladv gravely, fold~ , ing the trembling form 01096 to "her heart. . Goo—MAJO- 1 her on the cheek. “ I never have any secrets from you. And, oh, mammal mammal" She quiverod with an ecstasy of love, hiding,r Sher face with maiden shame- yct longing to j show her heart and win that sweet sympathy which had never failed her. ' CHAPTER XXXIII. nxrr JERUSHA. Mas: BURBANK was so long silent that her dau rliter began to feel vaguily apprehensive. “ lanchc,” she said at last, “has he spoken to you?” ‘ Not in words. But. oh, you cannot know his reverent delicacy. And, mamma, I love him so !--with my whole heart and soul!" Again the lad was silent, until Blanche rais- ed her head, an seeing the 100k of pain, asked, all in a panic: “ Momma, what is the matter? Is he not won. thy? You cannot— Mammal” “ Hush! hush! my child !” The lad sought to avert her face from the searching ook of her child. “What are you thinkin about, mammal What pains you?” persisted he girl. “His parents—such parents!” exclaimed the lady desperately, with a shudder of disgust. A look of darted across the girl’s face. “ You w01 d not be so Unjust as to blame him for what he cannot help!” she said. “Helms nothing in common with them. He is as grand as they are i noble. That is his misfortune. And’, mamma, love him all the more tenderly, knowin what he must suffer.” “ An 'our relations with Harry Bearsley?” Instan y the girl‘ bristlcd with resistance. “Mamma, that is a mistake which must be set right at once. I know papa will not ask me to sacrifice my happiness to fulfill an airan re- ment entered into by him and Mr. Bear-sley 'e- fore I was born. I never could be hap ‘y with Harry; and if he has seemed to acquiesc in the lan, as I have, from the force of habit, I know efdoes not' love me as a man should love his w: e. “ And, mamma, weren’t on alwa 8 ‘re sessed by—Walter himself?3y y L pog- She returns to with such coy tenderness, and looks for her answer sohungrily, yet so confidently, that the mother can hesitate onl a moment; and then smiling indulgently in He Winsome face, says, honestly: ~ “ Yes 1” Her reward is a little storm of grateful ca- , rcsses and endearing epithets; and for the mo- ment she allows her daughter’s happiness to lift the cloud from her heart. ' But in the very midst of her happiness the dau -hter suddenly breaks into frightened sobs, exp ained by her whispered words. “ But, mamma, he is a prisoner! What will become of him?” ' ' ' The mother soothes her, and. to divert her thought from this most painful theme; enga her in a narration of the events of her life since her severance from her home. The narrative Irogresses until the advent of Walter, when he is m do the central figure, and his tendcrncss and llantry are dwelt upon vs ith lowin fer- vor; Mrs. Burbank notices that al isa most' wholly left out (f the story, and asks: ' “ W hat was Harry doing all this time?" The girl flushes, and wit something of indig- nation, rcplies: - “ I believe he was for the most part intent upon looking out for himself 1 But see! who is this prisoner?” It was Bantam, looking very anxiously about to see if Walter had been captured. He was led in- by Sidne and his body- 0rd of savages, now reduce to four in num er. Wounded, as he was, the sturdy hunter had sold his liberty at the price of two lives. ‘A settled frown darkc nod Eildne ‘8 face, and his 6 es had hungry look, IIe sat'c‘own on a Low] or, With coping sham. den and hangin g head. t ey’ve got us both, for rtain,” *‘ Well boy, said Bantam, as he approached his frien - “ rm mighty sorry the got their books onto on. I set almost as muc ‘ stone by you as by ang— an’ that’s a good deal.” ~ g “ Thank you, Bantam,” said Walter. “ Put I do not care so much for in self. The lady u licse trail you came upon has allen into their hands. Bantam it’s a slim chance; but if on ever vet free 'an can rescue ‘ her, you wil do that or which I would thank you more than if I had a thousand llves,_a.nd you saved them all. Under- stand that she is not a stran r to me.” . “Poor voun woman l” the scout lodking ' over at the 1 es. “ Boy, I'll remember this; though, as you as , it‘sa‘mighty slim chance." By Swanton’s direction, food was now placed before the prisoners, out of theevening meal prepared by the savages, which, in spite of her grief, Blanche found very grateful, after her listing of twenty-four hours. When the we" done, the sun hung upon the western h the. ' i In ]pursuance of the renegade’s orders Walter and antam were placed in the midst of a part ,of savagesgnd marched off through the fore When B nche found that she was to be sep- arated from her IOVer, without so much II o I I.i_._m.._._....4_... _..__.....i___s..u...um...._«. _..v... 4.. -. _ l . z‘ . .............4M...u~— .u...d-............,..,. . . at» a. no... O No. 4. word in leave-taking, she threw herself u n her mother’s bosom and wept piteously,_w ile , Mrs. Burbank afforded her such consolation as < amother’s heart can: prompt. But they were interrupted by Swanton, who appeared With horses, and informed them that t ey would_be put to the inconvenience of moving a few miles in charge of a second party of Indians before cam ing for the night. on the were ’one, sation with uifalo om, from which they were startled by Mrs. Swanton’s voice raised in angry expostulation close at hand, followed by a piercing shriek and the thud of a body falling to he ground. Sidney, we have said, had come into camp despondent. He remained buried in his bitter thoughts until startled from them by his mother‘s voice crying: “ You painted heathen! dew ye think ew’ll be let rob. the dead? Gim’me that shawl ere!” Instantly he was upon his feet with a icture drawn in ines of fire on his rain. 11 the burr of the search for Blanche, and in his eagerness‘for reven , Mary Edwards had not been buried, but lai out on the green turf, be- neath the murmuring trees, her piteous plight hidden beneath the bright scarlet shawl she had worn. Sidney asked himself—was his dead ‘ being desecratcd? ‘ Before he had scarcely time for thought. he was thrilled by his mother’s scream followed by a dull, 'ndin sound, which made his blood run cold, and a fa . With great bounds, he burst through the in- tervening thicket, to come upon a si ht which, for an instant, froze him to a statue 0 ice. Be it known that Jerusha Swanton had cast , covetous eyes on the scarlet shawl, calculating how it might be purified and made to adorn her own rson. She was troubled by ){0 sentiment whic would marthe pleasure of such an ac- guisition. When, then, we say that she sud- enly came upon a “ person of the Speaking Rifle, in the act of sur- reptitiously appropriating the shawlfperhaps as' a memento—her na indignation is ex- plained. Emboldened by her husband’s power over the savages, she had come to look upon them with less fear; and her cupidity now waded her into forgetfulness of all caution. ! ith as little ceremony as if he had been “ Bill g Bwanton ” or Sidney, she snatched the shawl from his and. addressingto him words whose opprobrium—if not their exact meaning—was unmistakably intelligible. u The Speaking Rifle was notused to being thus bearded by a s uaw; and one sweep of histoma- hawk silenced er querulous voice forever. It . Eastws‘hidlrelhe was stoo ing to Egaln the ghale’l area reunescene,cy follower] byyhispfzt‘her andxthe other sav Ata lance he took tion. He ha whel loves its dam. His rifle lea to his sbo der, and wi out blood with b 00d. The Speaking Rifle f like a lo , withbut a groan. But a score of throats yell fierce resentment; gimme youth’s life was threatened on every For the third time, the rene de’s magic call suspended immediate action; at this time the weapons were not returned, nor was the atti- . tude of hostilit relaxed. All 6 es were turned 11 n Buffalo on. In his han lay the power 0, life and death. - Ewanan him gnaw rapid words, w c e ay 11 a o existin tween the we chiem such e813; that th'g sur- vivor waved his hand in command to his fellows to desist. “ The Rattlesnake wasa squaw, but the new of a tchief,” he said. ‘ The S ' ' e 'd ' life for hers. Let the feud die th hem- nor let us alienate our powerful friend.” Sullenly the Indians obe ed. But one there- was whose fierce e e upon Sidne With a look which would ave warned him, had he seen it. that the savage only bided his tune. Swanton was very pale as he bent over his- wife. There had been little love between them; but the suddenness and violence of her death had shocked him. But when he had buried her which he did at once, he had so far recovered that flected- here . she was‘called’at a time verycgrlie- in the whole si it won, venient forms. It hastaken a disagrees 03 my hands; for I certame should not have let her stand between Helen and me.” mgr: deep tw‘iillght saw the work offinter- com an wasting no time' in ormal gief, Swanton rallied the Indians and led them the spot where Blanche had been secreted. As the moon cast her silver beams into the lades, they discovered no indimtion that the crest was longer tenanted. Silvan solitude reigned supreme. ' How was Nature‘s sanctuary soon to be ted? OMB XXXIV. m- train rs m own. Once more the friends—Mr. Burbank, Hal minimums“ bemused W up as CultoanrEanksatin dejectedsttitndegfial he entered into conver- , painted heathen,” in the ' loved his mother, much as a wolf’s | The Kidnapper:913161129¥eat Shanghaiof the Northwest ! lay at full length upon his back, looking pale and exhausted; the hunter, whose thews seemed roof against any tax, was tr ring to cheer up his companions; the moon she its serene light over all. “ There is no use in our waiting any longer ” said Mr. Burbank, starting up. ."0ur frien s are unable to come to us, or they would have been here by this time. 3 long hours of our absence, even if she has es- suri'ound'ed l” away, ’ uirc,” said Ben. blowed a spell to venture back where we‘ve got to go to git Miss Blanche. woods yet by a few, or I lose my guess.” “ You are sufficiently recruited, are you not, Harr ?” asked Mr. Burbank. H raised himself, not without eflort, and seesaw with fatimc, to the rendezvous. 1 spite ha we in Si ence. rcconnoiter the 3 0t himself, before letting the others‘ap . roach lanchc’s place of concealment; ! but Mr. ; the delay. _ * “There is not a sound,” he said. i Let us waste no more time. My darling may L now be lying in a swoon of terror.” '- ’ Burly Ben yielded, by no means content. 1 They reached the vine-tent, and Mr. Burbank called softly: ' calls.” / Dead silence. “ My God! Has she been recaptured?” “She may be swooned, as you suggested,” volunteered Hal Without a word, Mr. Burbank dro pod upon , his hands and knees and crept bencat the vines. f . A moment of painful suspense, and then the lis- teners heard a roan. ‘ “She’s gone!’ said Ben, and an awful hush followed. The vine leaves parted again, and the agonized father stood be ore them 3 ready s m athy Ben Eras d is hand and re- ceived is sad u n is s oulder. “While there ere’s hope, ye know. We’re down to-day; but that ain’t sayin’ we won’t be up to-morrow.” “They have retaken her and gone!” said the bereavfid parent, and his iron frame shook with an is . a ' en the silence which followed was broken by a voice which said: “ You don’t seem to have found what you ere looking for, my dear Burbank.” The three started and saw William Swanton standing with folded arms in the middle of the moon-lit glade. His face wore a smile of cruel triumph. Before his auditors had recovered from the shock of this sudden revelation, he do : “ I need not tell you, gentlemen, that you are risoners.” ‘ ever!” cried the, outraged father. Well he knew, as did his companions, that ca tivity meant death, made horrible, doubtless, y for. ture. His pistol exploded almost in Swanton’s face. Then there was a sudden orising from every bush and coppice; and they knew that the had been clever y ambushed. ., en cannot depict the scene that followed. The three men, surrounded by a multitude of fees, mi ht have been shot dawn at a single dis- charge; ut Swanton had ordered them to be taken alive. Their simple death would not ap- m pease his ity. . Sidney was fiendish it his fury, as he .leaped upon Hal. ' “ Now, murderer!" Ilge cried, “I come to even Ma Edwa ' ThEBsounybf that name gave Hal the strength of a madman. In an instant the two were clasped in a mute embrace, stagger-mg hither and thither and spinning round and round in such rapid evolution! that no Interference was possrble. In the end Hal’s strength or address prevailed. He forced his antagonist inst. a sapling, curvin its slender trunk and ndin the van- uish man over it, so as to bung breast fairly upward. Clutc the throat of his in- tended victim, he knife for the fatal blow. . , Bidne looked demoniac in his hatred and de- . Be sawhis revenge bafied, nd the mur- erer of his love new about to add ' death to hers. . But the murderous knife was stayed. A voice which thrilled Hal to the heart cried: \ And who can tell what I tortures the poor child has suffered during the : caped the terrible dangers by which she was I “ The time we’ve waited hain’t been thrown ' “ I reckon you an’ ‘ Hal’s nig enough dead men now, after havin’ . We hain’t out o’ the ‘ It was not more than half an hour since the i. last of them had dragged himself, almost dead , The short re- ‘ revived them a little; but they had _ not energ enough to talk, and so pursued their ‘ urly Ben’s-habitual caution prompted him to ‘ urbank’s anxiety would not hear to 1 “Most like- ‘ lV the Indians have gone into camp on the other j side of the hill, before the mouth of the cave. l “ Blanche, my child, we have come for you.” . No answer. i l “ Blanche! Blanche! It is yOur father who hlcss. With E “ Cheer up,s he said, feelingly.‘ 23 ! “Stop,.for God’s sake! It is your brother that you are about to kill!” A moment of hesitation, in which Hal looked up and caught a glimpse of Swanton’s face, . looking ghastly in the monlight; then, with a fierce oath, the would-be iratricide gri :ped his knife more firmly, and leaning forawr to give greater impetus to the blow, plunged it down- w ard. But the hand was torn aside, and the next in- stant he lay on his back, with Sidney’s foot on. his throat. “Now, you devil!” cried the victor, throwing his weight upon the neck of his victim until the latter’s eyes protruded with strangulation, “now it is my turn! Now I will show you how much torture can be crowded into one death! I shall s-(curge you with rcttlcs; thcn flay on I alive; then put salt upon your raw flesh: t en = stick splinters into you; then roast *ou bya ; slow fire! 1 shall rack you letween hent sap- ; lings! I shall—curse you! a thousand new tor- ‘ turcs shall he invented, until Mary is avenged!” All this time Mr. Burbank and Burly Ben were fi 'hting with the (‘05: eration of men who l-new that norc than life depended upon their (fl'crts. 'Ihe drad and wounded lay all about them; but the livingw all. ever renewed. hedged them about in e and more closcly. It i'. Bur- -‘ bank was alrea y down, and Ben was fighting over him, faithful to the last, ‘et almost over- powered by do numbers that t rew thcmselves 111 on him ii‘cm every side, w hcn the woods rung with a shrill wl.0(p w hich was not Sioux. And now the assailants were desreratel fighting on the dcfcnsivc in their turn. Forge ful of their single surviving fce, they only sought to (seal 6 turn the new enemy. f Daehingnthe blccd frcm his eyes. Burly Ben ‘ saw that dian was struggling against Indian! r CHAPTER XXXV. l BOYHOOD FRIENDS. ] FOR an instant the scene was unintelligible to I Ben, and then recollecting the shrill war-whoa } which had heralded the new assault, he divin ; it all—the Sioux had been attacked by a party 3 of Cheyennes. -- But what boded this to him or his friends? Were they to escape one set of savages only to fall into the hands of another? , . As if to answer his qimstions, awhite man 9 forced his way to the hunter’s side, crying: ! “Ben, for God’s sake, where is Carlton Bur- ' I bank?" ‘ '1 “Here if he is not dead,” replied Ben, and . stooped down to lift the fallen man from where t he lad been standing astride of him in the hope- 1 less attem .t to beat off his foes. ' ‘ I The com tents had now left the glade, and , the sounds of conflict were fast receding through the woods. ' I The newly-arrived bent over Mr. Burbank I and examined him anxiously b the aid of the 1 rgoonlight. Meanwhile Burly gen was staring : b anklv at his timely friend. i “ Who in thunder be you?” he asked, speak-- 2 ing huskily. : he man addressed looked up, and said: “ Need you ask? Don’t you know me?” “MAJOR Bssnswvl” g Honest Ben gasped out the words, his face as ! white as that of any corpse. ‘ ! “Help me to revive him. He is not dead,” ‘ said the major, 'etly. g I Ben set about 0 necessary measures like one a dream. I in l ! When Mr. Burbank showed signs of recover- ' ing, the major said, hastily: ‘ It wlll not be well for him to see me at the ‘ first moment; I will join you again, when he . has fumllf recovered.” ' N o' essly he stepped back into the shadows. l “That‘s the way!’ muttered Burly Be a ’ shade whiter, if possible than before. “ e won‘t see no more 0’ you, i’ll bet my last bullet!” “Ben! Ben! we are not captured?” were Mr. Burbank’s first words. “No,’ uire. We was rescued at thev last hitchs.‘a ery “Rescued? How?” “ By a spook!” “ A what?” “By the host 0’ Major Bearsley, that is dead an’ ac twenty years, eanymost.” .“ gnsense, Ben! A ghast couldn’t fight In- s. “I tell e the major come here witha .k 0’ kg t was meant for Cheyennes a his bac , an’ stampeded the Sioux like smoke. ~You see the Sioux ain’t here; an” if you kin find hide or hair 0’ the manor 01' his spooks, I’ll eat my be .” . Further discussion was cut short b a ri ling cry; and Blanche Burbank sunk aflrost aint- ing into her father's arms, her a pearance from the shadows bein as sudden pas if she had attimi‘i e d'i ThankGod, ’ I “ y 0' she isre— mlidgousll” 1 ' th else ‘ n—o pa.~— ereislomeone iDo notbe startle? e areal! safenow.” “Someoneelse “ CARLTON!” Thewifvéouldytwaitlomr. Towering s ' or tenderly, holding Blanche at arm’s-lea h 24 .o "Beaches Dime Library. I with excess of joy, she too sunk upon her husband’s . breast, and clung to him sobbing. “ Helen! My with! You here!" With a great terror in his heart he clasped both his ; darliu s in one embrace. “ God protect them i—they are all I have!” ' inipo ! “ We are safe,papa !——we are safe l" urged Blanche. “And liereis our rescuer!“ “ Carlton !" “Harry!” Notihe young Harry this time; but the father who had gone away to the mountain country with Tom Tracy and never returned. The boyhood friends were restored to each other, after all these - ye was of senarationi i B'irly Ben could scarcely be made to believe that it was the major in real ii ‘51! and blood; but when he was satisfied, he shed tears over the hand of his old { patron. I “ I promised you I’d stick by little liul while wood urowed an‘ water run. un‘ i‘ve—" Th 3 huu‘er stopped and looked. frightened. “ What ha: become of Hill?" asked Mr. Burbank, 3. suddenly made aware of his absence. “I’ve stuck by him until this very hour, an’ tried f to make a man of him," said honcst Ben, much dis- tressed. “If he's knocked under now, [’11 never gir- givo myself—never i“ And the hunter began to search for the body of his. oung ik'otege. r e will take advantage of the period of painful sus ense that onsch for a brief retrospect. e party of lndii us having Waiter Weston and Bantam in char; - puis‘u‘cd their course westward no longer than an h uzr, and then went in!o camp. They had scarcely bestowed themselves about the fire, in their blankets, when their guard fell. His gurgling ell brough! them to their feet‘ but already a dusky orni hail child to the side of the prisoners and cut their bonds with r-ipid slashes. “ Now fur life an‘ death!" cried Shang, as he thrust a knife into the hands of his friends. Then his ringing crow sounded the charge; and after a. brief struggle they held the field. An hour later they wixre whore thoy heard the first sounds of the titrht in the rim. ic. Hurrying on, they came upon Sidney and Us Indians who held Hal bound. At. tin: first onslaught of the Cheyennes, Sidnny had sought to secure his own prize, leaving his father to mice care of himself. Shung and his friends boldly sprung to Hal‘s res- cue. S'dney seeing himself about tp be bullied, drew his knife and sprung upon his foe. u, “Dial—curse you!" he shouted. “I had planned a more fitting death for you." But a dirk for-n li icvl between him and his in- ! tended victim and c urched his uplifted arm. ; “ I am the Barking Wolt‘, brother of the Speaking Rifle whose blood you spilled! Die you i—like a ,3! The knife of the savage was plunged dee into the .breast of bit he, but Walter’s riilo claims! the for- gait; and the avenger fell upon the body of his vic- m Hal was uninjured: and in a moment he was on his feet with the others, back to the glade, to find Burly Ben looking for his body. I CHAPTER XXXVI. m RENEGADE'S arvnuon. “ Hooxuv!" cried the delighted Ben, clutchin Hal and dragging him forward. “Here he is, ma or, in his best clo’s! An‘ Hal, here‘s yer father—or his spook—I don‘t know which 2" Hal was bewildered; but he managed to grasp the major’s hand and stamnier something. In his delight Mr. Burbank embraced Hal, forget- ting to notice that Major Bcnrslcy’s recepLion of his son was less demonstrative. Blanche had caught sight of Walter, and clutching her mother‘s nrm, she. murmured: “Oh ma'nma! he has been saved!“ Her tense gaze drew Walter’s eyes; and with a i sudden flusgid he sci-mind toward her. Impulsivt-ly 1 i s I she extend both hands, with glistening eyes and iiiverhig 11 s. At the veiy instant he bent over t one loved lands, to press his lips to them, Blanche he ird her father say: “And, Harry. I've remembered our pied. e. I've brouv'ht up lyour boy and my girl for each 0; er; and our! ve wi be bound closer in their union. Blanche, my do.an . come hero." ‘ut to t n: soul, the girl snatched her hands from- the ilps‘ lmngerin': to touch them and flung herarms about her mother‘s neck. “ Same me, mammal—save me!" she cried. “ Hush, darling! I wi'l," was the mother‘s assun ance, as she disenga ed the arms that clung to her, and gave the girl to ier father. . Walter had shrunk back with a quick flush, fol- lowed by a (lend! y pailor. In his ecstasy he had not heard iiir. Burbank’s words. He only knew that when he was on the point of kissin the hands of the woman who enslaved his heart. 5 (5 had snatch- ed them away. Mrs. Burbank turned and saw the white agony. 331d: compassion stii-re in her sympathetic breast. aching out her hand, he laced it on his arm. It was her mm bar‘s hand, and e kissed it. “Sotliisis your darling—may I so our darling! flow like her mother she has grown!‘ said the ma- ou. my dear? Bless you, my oh! ill", 1‘ n I kiss h love you ah'eady as if you were indeed 0 del. “ my daughter.“ “Here, Hal," pursued Mr. Burbank, wishing to make every one else ashappy Mhimself. “Join hands with your lady~lovc, and renew your betrothal before your fntbcr, who has been restored to us as if from the grave. We lanned this before you were born. boy. Thank Othweare both alive to see its consummation." Hal stepped forward. nothing lotb, shooting a glance of rlumph at‘Walter. Shamthwn watching is scene th folded arms. A, grim smile lizhtut Li‘: face,“ 9 noticed the‘ turn. rifi'niv-r were taking. 5tcpph!‘ to Walter's use in: whitpei‘cn; . i - So hate “ Hold on. boy—you hain‘t hushed et! Baal, i i Beelzebub an’ Apollyon don’t get that g —-nor none over her. these children i" 0‘ his crew!" ' Walter stared at his friend, not comprehending i 1 him, yet with a vague sense that there was some ‘ less rtant meaning beneath the scout‘s words. ; Shang shook his head and repeated: “Jest you wait!" ‘ , Hal stepped forward with alacrlty, but Malor ; Bearsley to t the girl clutch him more closely, w th ; a shiver. 9 “ What is the matter, my child?" he whispered close in her car. i “ I don‘t love him!“ she leaded piteously. ) Major Buarsiey kissed ier hair, as if to reassure ie.-. brow suddenly lifted. 1 “ Wait a. moment, Burbank," he said. , "Wait!" repeated Mr. Burbank. “For what? . Bless you, Harry! they have not been kept in ' I ignorance of our plan, and are already prepared." : Wiih some dismay he saw Major Beai‘sley place Blanche in her mother‘s artus. “There is n. word of explanation necessary here, Carlton," said the ma 'or. “Ex ilanntion! W lat explanatio pray?” Mr. urbank grew suddenly tinshet , and then pale ‘ atancw thought, suggested by the manner of his 1 friend. “Do you mean to tell me, sir," he said, with a hauteur wholly foreign to him, “that you repudiate the arrangeinent‘l—thnt you—that you mum my dau “if?” id n j 1 1 hi “ .r on,“ so. is ms or ave y, ayin . 3 hand upon his friend‘s shouli or?“ whatever cgmes of this she shall always be my daughter as well as yours." ‘ “I beg youiigiardon, if I have wronged you; but I confess inySv- still mystified." i“hHere is Tom Tracy. I think he can set things to rg ts.“ Swanton was here brought forward by some of the Cheyennes. Bonds were unnecessary. He had got his death wound. They laid him down in the moonlight. “Tom Tracy," said the major, gravely, “at the gate of death your hatred must die. Do you verify, ‘ and will you complete, what you told me so manv Evirtr,§ii‘ia?iigo, when you left me, as you supposed, y H “ Harry Bearsley," was the defiant reply, “your words sh0w that you don‘t know me. ‘ At the note of death,‘ as you say, my hatred of you and of him“—pointing to Mr. Bi.u-hank-r“docs not die! I leave a 1pretty mess of uncertainty! You dare not marry t em; and yet, while you refuse, you wiil never know but that on are denying your own flesh 'and blood. Every avor you show him may be wronging your own: cverv favor you deny him may be'wronging your own! la! ha! ha! Iverify noth- ing—I complete nothing! Are we quits?" » CHAPTER xitxvn. THE MAL RATTF'IED. " HOLD on. gentlemen,” said Shang, now coming forward. “ Don’t git in a flurry. Jest wait an‘ 306 if the Great Shanghai hain’t got a card that’li block this chick‘s h-ctie game. Don‘t say a word further till I it back." An he was gone like a shot. Everybody looked surprised Walter no less than the rest. Bsintam spoke for s partner: “ Do what Sham: says—that’s my advice." “ But what can a stranger know about our affairs ?" asked Meier Bearsley. “ I think we had better wait, though I know noth- ing of his purposes,” said Walter, in his quiet tones of command. “ ilifijolr Bearsley cast a piercing look at him, and y P 1‘ Ci . . While Shane was awe , Blanche whlswred: “ Mnnimn, what is this about? by does he on and gape and or Bearsley?‘ Mrs. urbnnk ushed slight y as she said: “ When we were young, this mam—whose real name is Tom Tracy—took a fancy to me, and when I married your father, conceived a deadly hatred to him and, it seoms', to me also. His hatred of Major Bearsley springs from the fact that they both had expectations of inheritance from the andfather of Tracy and the gran -uncle of the m or, who, at first favoring his son. afterward sinherited him, in favor of his grand-ntifiléew." To while the time, Ma or arsly told how he had been left for d in by t e treacherous Tracy, on! recovering to himself in a sort of honorah captivity, as an adopted member of a tribe of Chey- ennes. After having been detained all these years, he was at last released by a youngchief whose life be had saved, and given an escort the border. It was then \Mrs. Burbank’s turn to tell how she had been captured by Buffalo Horn, after her hus- band had placed her en route for St. Paul. to meet her daughter and husband. Shang reap cared, hearing a burden in his arms which .roved to be a woman, so weak es to be unable to we k. "This," said he, as he laid her on the green swnrd. “ is the why I didn‘t git back to the rendezvous in time. I run across a little party 0‘ rods that held her a risoner; an’when I had rescued her, I soon home that she was a prize wo'th l'avin'. “ Margery Bail i" exclaimed Mr. Burbank. “ ‘l‘he devil! . t croaker again i" and Hal clench- ed his hands and set his teeth with hatred and ap- prehenslon. The renegade, with difficulty raised upon hlserow and lured upon her. , “ ’oman! not aword, or I'll tear your accumed tongue from your throat!" he hissed. . Margery Baily almost fainted with fear. Mr. Bur- bank too her quiverin hands. “ My good woman,” c said " do not be afraid. man is werleas. What oeshe not wish you to reveal? ‘peak freely. I am your friend, and will protect you. “Margery Bailv! Ma Baily!" repeated Ma or Boalsilzv. as if his recol ection were going back or 7 sum .‘ ‘Jnlf Parrottm mime. " llul'u ivovs‘r-ulvbhel‘,”081.21%“le illr. Burbank. r-w_o~- ‘iously. “ ' a great wro “Do you know me?”asked the major, bendin “ I am the father. And now, what abou “Alack! slack!" walled the woman, as if in help- bewilderment. ‘ " Control yourself, madam." said the major, anx- rhag‘gou have it in your power to right ng. you exchange the children 7‘ “God forgive me, yes!" ‘f Then he who has grown up as my son is not such in fact?" “ New The mother died and having everything in my own hands, I had no difficulty in substituting on c child for the other.” “ What became of my child W the major asked A pained look which all along had clouded his ; brokenly. “ Tom Tracy took it nwa '." “ And do you know nothing of its after life?" “ He brought it up as his own.” . “It. cannot be that Sidney Swanton," began Blanche. U — “No “said Margery, “the boy fled from his sup- posed ather, and concealed his identity under an as- sumed name. " . “ And that name!" “ He has been at your house, sir, in the person of Walter Weston.“ . Blanche uttered a mipprcssed cry and sunk almost faintin into her mother's amis. “ ter Weston!” repeated Mr. Burbank. “11”said Wnltcr, coming forward mechanically, and Igazing from one to the other. “ this the man?" asked Mr. Burbank, clutching Weixtrer by the shoulder. ‘ es.‘ ' Major Bearslcy gazed into the face of the young man a moment, then opened his arms. “I recognize Martha‘s boy," he said; “and I see that he is worthy of her. God bless you my son, as he has me in this rcstoralion !" “ Welllit seems that. my identit is alittle mixed," said Hal, wl ite with suppressed ury. “ If this be the rightful Harry Beursley, Junior, who in the fientligs' name am ? Speak you old witch! Who am Margery Ball 10. ked upon him with helpless woe in her face, an said: “ No less than my own son!" “Well, then, my gentle mother, I curse you for your kindly oflices in attem ting to put me into an- other man 3 shoes! And w o, pray, was the dainty gentleman who shared with such a thing as you the responsibility of my birth?" “ Your fat er lies yonder. He thought to gain for on the inheritance which, as he behaved, ought to ave been his and to gratify his revenge on Mr. and Mrs. Burbank by marrying his son to their dau hter." t; sh! you are scum, both of you, and I repudi- a on. ' ‘ H scathing words fell u n the wretcbcd woman like a blight. With strung; eyes raised to heaven, she murmured: “God forgive me! It is my due!“ “I have one word to add "said Shang, who had been watching the effect of his “card " with quiet satisfaction. “ I happened to overhear a conversa- tion between the renegade‘s other son, called Sidney, and a young woman known as Ma Edwards, wiren she lay at the point of death. old on, my. t'inr Sir!‘ Don’t git riled! It seems that our friend here married the girl on the slv under an assumed name, and the deserted her. hen she turned up, so as to hem the Wa of his proposed mania e with this lady he ot ri of her in a most effec ve manner, makingt e lnjins shoulder the blame. As Waiter an‘ Bantam here had talked with her an’ might have found out his villainy, be tried to silence them and the both bear the wounds now. 11:13 part 0 the ormance I witnetsed myself." _ “ reat heaven! can this be tiuet" exclaimed Mr. Burbank, appealing to Hal, while Bany Ben stood with mouth ape. - “ Let us w ve that question for a mcment," raid Hal. with the coolness of despair. 'lhe inst-k hing torn comjvlrtely away left him reckless. “And ! ow I suppose that this gentleman all! enter upon the rights from which I have inadve cntly to long ex- cluded him. 1 need not ask whether he will supplant me as a suitor for the hand of Mira Burbank. (99 that his high sense of honor has not mood in! e “a of his already having insinuated binnelf into he - ft (-tions of another man‘s bcticthtd wife. r Walter flushed lint!) ; Mr. Burbank(vns about to pxotcst- but Hal kc t on without pause; “Ike let him ta her, with my compliments-— and is!” ' 'An instant a pistol-barrel glmmrd in the moon- light. Then a flash and a sharp report. _ lunche, made vigilant by her low, com reheuded what vs as ccmin leforc any one else. Wit a acrt am the recipitated emit uponlilalter‘s breast throw- irg sir arms about his neck, and both fell to the Olin . ‘ grAmid fierce ejaculations, there was a sudden rush at Hal; hit with a derieive lau h be put the pistol 1 his own head, at d a second b t placed him beyoux the reach of vengeance. “My God! be has killed them both!" cried Mr. Burbank, while Major Bcaisley vanccd to"! uni them in speechless agony.- Mrs. urbank had not fainted. be locked as if frozen into a statue of woe. But their an lab was suddenly and unexpectedly relieved. W ter raised to his feet, still clns Blanche in his arms. was “ We are unharmed," be said. w. no murmur . n e u an w s : “I do not ask R" w u "r but give me one little 3! . It came, in the form 0%: delicious little bug. Then the lover looked up again, and With Indian! face continued aloud: " Her umpectal you thensweet question voids; “Fathers, both—and you, dear mother—we are. ready to ratif the en meat entered into before we were born.y Bear ‘52:;- all, we pledge ourselves to its fulfillment thus!" " Blanche understood him I“ be: use we. witbhappytearatohis.‘ lipsmet. ‘ mun. s~. ,. ....--.. _ “$- ..- .~.« . - mm...‘