1'! lllflflfllllfllll‘.

 

' ML»... my. \\

smummummr T.

 

V 1  Complete elfeadle fi- fldama, @Ldflishers, Price,
0 ' ' In one Number- No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. Ten Cents'

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben,
The Little Hunter of the Nor-West;

The Exiles of the Valley of Shadows.

 

 

BY OLL COOMES,

AUTHOR or “DAKOTA DAN,” “OLD DAN BACK-
BACK,” ma, ETC.

CHAPTER I
THE PHANTOM OF THE STORM.

“WHAT say you, Chris, Larry Martin and
Cloxltly’I—shall we go on across‘ the prairy in
slam-h of the boy? ni- shull we Vim: noses to’rds
thv lake?" asked Bowie-knife en, determined
to settle the (nestion which had been under
consialnl'nnion a I day.

“In the face of this storm I think it will be
utterly impossible to cross the open plain,” re—
sponded Chris Proctor, a handsome, dark-eyed
man of some five and twenty years of age.

 

2 Beadle’s

 

“ Arrah, now, me b’ys,” exclaimed Larry O'Ray, a young
Irishman, “ and it’s a dooty we owe the b’y to go and hunt
him up, so it is, bedad."

“ There‘s not a doubt but that Nathan’s in the power of
the red-skins," added Martin Sawyer; “ and by keepin'
right on north'ards, we might save him from death.”

“ Dat am dis chile’s verdict," chimed in a sable-skinned
son of Africa, known as Cloudy Tom.

“ There," said Bowie-knife Ben, “that decides the ques-
tion. The majority say go on, find go on it is.”

The little party of hunters, for such the five men were,
stood within the shadoWs of one of those great pine forests
of Minnesota, and within twenty steps of the southern ex-
tremity of a great trackless prairie over which a fearful
snow-storm was then raging in unrestrained fury. When
the party left the settlement to which its members belonged,
it numbered six persons. Under the leadership of the noted
scout and hunter, Bowie-knife Ben, they had set out upon a
hunting excursion, anticipating great success and much
sport. In the forest bordering the Sauk river, they pitched
their tent and began their work, in the midst of which one
of their number, Nathan Reeve, suddenly disappeared.
Hostile Indians being in the country, it was soon discovered
that he had fallen into their power. At least, this was the
general supposition since Ben had discerned his tracks
among those of a number of savages; and, as Nathan was
one of the most loyal and devoted youths upon the border,
no one could think otherwise than that he had been taken
away an unwilling captive.

The party had followed the trail of the savages to within
two miles of the prairie, when a heavy snow-storm coming
on, soon obliterated every sign of their course; but, natur-
ally supposing that the red-skins were aiming for their vil-
lage, the pursuers kept on northward, and reached the prai-
rie just as night set in. And it was here that they came to
a halt to consult before plunging out into the open plain.
It was a dangerous trip that lay before them, and as young
Proctor had objected to attempting it before morning, Bowie-
knife Ben resolved to leave it to the party, whose decision
we have already given. The life of Nathan Reeve was an
object paramount to the dangers of the kind-hearted border-
men, and with the question settled, Bowie-knife Ben led the
way out into the open plain and howling storm, followed by
his four companions.

“ Howly Mother!” exclaimed Larry O’Ray, as the wind
hurled the blinding snow into his eyes and face. “ And
how this jade av a shtorm raves and fla’nts her ragged skirts
in my face!”

“A wild night, a wild night, my boys,” replied Bowie-
knife Ben; “ but what’s a little snow and wind compared
with the life of as brave and noble a youth as Nathan
Reeve?"

“ It’s sensible yer talking now, me lanky, for if Nat should
be lost, where in all Lakeside would be as sad a heart as
that av Miss Willma’s? It’s she that loves the lad with all
her swate young soul; and a sorry toime it’d be at the
skating carnival to-morrow- night, if Nathan is not there to
cut the name of his darlint on the ice—Howly Mother] and
what is that?”

The little party, already white with the driven snow,
came to a sudden halt, for upon the wings of the storm
came a strange sound to their ears—a sound like the sub-
dued. coughing of a great engine laboring to move its pon-
derous works. It was so faint, however, that they could
not determine the course from whence it came, and the
darkness and whirling snow prevented them from seeing a
rod away. But, as they continued to listen, the sound was
repeated; and this time it was nearer, and accompanied by
the craunch, craunch of the cripsy snow, as if it was being
.rodden by giants’ feet.

“What is it, anyhow, Ben?" asked Chris Proctor, in a
subdued tone, which betrayed some sudden emotion.

Ben made no reply, but lifting his hand he pointed toward
the shadowy outlines of a giant form that appeared from out
the gloom—swept apast them as if upon the breath of the
storm, and disappeared in the direction of the woods.

“ Good Lord! what was it?” exclaimed Proctor.

‘ “ What was it?” repeated Ben, betraying some emotiOn;
“didn‘t you see?”

“ 1 saw a giant shadow, not unlike a man in form, but
what else could it have been but a mystic freak of the
storm?”

" Don’t let your fears get the- best of you, Chris. I saw
the shadowy form—we all saw it. We heard his footsteps

Dime Library. ,_

 

.\_ ,AA'
‘ r 0

in the snow, and we heard that unearthly cough; and when
he passed us, I see’d him shake his grizzled form like a
spaniel just out of the river."

“Ay, b'ys, and Itell ye phat it war a dimon, and it's
scarce we‘d betther be making av ourselves in this place. I
swaney, be war ten feet hoigh, he was, and his legs war as
long as me body, he gorry they war.”

Superstition asserted its influence upon the bordermen in
a manner not to be mistaken; and Bowie-knife Ben, brave
as a lion in the very face of material dangers, now shud-
dered with some vague horror, while his friends gathered
around him, and spoke in quick, excited tones of the phan-
tom giant that had passed them.

There for several minutes they stood, with the storm rav-
ing around them, but at length their fears subsided, and
they were about to resume their journey, when a shrill, start-
ling cry issued from out the depths of the forest, 3 little east
of where they had left it.

“ ’Tarnal furies! what‘s that mean?” growled Bowie-knife
Ben. “I guess all the ghosts and goblins of creation are
rantin’ around to-night.”

“ Och, hedadl and there goes another yel—lpl" cried
O’Ray.

“ Ah, that was an Injin’s yell,” replied Ben, with a sud-
den start, “ an’, by Judas, there’s a light off yander in the
woods!"

Through the storm and gloom, the faint glimmer of a light
could be seen back in the forest, not a great distance to the
right of where they had debouched into the plain.

“ Like as any way, boys,” said Ben, “the red variets that
got Nathan are camped yander, and so let’s slide back and
inquire into it.”

So saying, the stumpy figure of the trapper glided away
toward the woods, closely followed by his companions. The
snow was quite deep—there having been a previous heavy
fall—but the hunters being provided with snow-shoes, they
were enabled to move quite rapidly.

They soon gained the cover of the forest again, where the
wind did not blow. But slowly down through the network
of bows overhead softly fell the great crystal flakes, loading
limb and bush and muffling the crispy air.

Keeping the light before them, the party moved on, until
Ben finally ordered a halt. They were not far from the
camp-fire, yet they could not see the campers, nor could they
tell who they were. Leaving his companions to await his
return, Ben glided softly forward to reconnoiter. He moved
with the silence and ease of a cat, and yet he was of a build
in which one would scarcely look for grace of movement.
In fact, Bowie-knife Ben was one of those human monstrosi-
ties called dwarfs. He was not over four feet and a half in
hight, with a short, thick-set body, broad, massive shoulders,
and a short, stout neck, upon which was set a perfectly-
shaped head. There was, however, nothing repulsive about
this man, who was in the very prime of life. On the con.
trary, he was an agreeable companion. His features were
intellectual and symmetrical in their outline, and wore an
odd, pleasant expression that seemed to forestall an outburst
of iollity and good-naturedness, and thereby kept his com.
panions in a state of lively expectancy. His physical
strength was prodigious, and his agilin and power of endur-
ance were like those of the fox-hound.

In circumventing the red skins he seemed to have an
especial liking; and it was an art in which he had no equal
on the border. In the use of the bowie-knife—his favorite
weapon, and of which he always carried half a dozen
bristling in his girdle—he was as skillful as an East India
juggler. Every time he could plant the point of a bowie-
knife within an iron circle, whose diameter would admit of
the 'width of the blade, at the distance of twenty yards, and
never touch the edge; and many a red-skin had fallen dead
with a knife plunged into his breast by the hand of the un-
gaen foe, over two rods away. Hence the name, Bowie-knife

en.

The scout was dressed in a. style peculiar to the border,
with the exception of his cap, which was a curious invention
of his own. It resembled a small pyramid with a portion of
the top or apex cut off. It was open at the top, and from
the sides two small iron hooks projected a little way through
the fur with which the whole was covered.

Creeping forward, the scout soon came in sight of the
camp-fire, around which he could see a dozen shadowy
forms, sitting and standing. They were Indians. This he
had no difliculty in determining, and a little to one side of
the group he beheld the object of his search, Nathan Reeve.

".:.E‘!‘3~:':- .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was a captive, true enough, and stood bound to a large
tree, and in a position that could not have been otherwise
than painful.

The lndinns appeared to be consulting on some important
measure, judging from their furtive glances and violent ges-
tures; and for full thirty minutes Ben remained quiet, watch-
ing their movements. They seemed to be entirely unappro-
hensive of danger, and yet they betrayed an uneasiness that
Ben could not account for. By this time, however, the
camp-fire had burned quite low, and the want of more
“light on the subject " seemed to have diverted the atten
tion of the savages from the main question, and two of the
warriors were dispatched into the woods in quest of fuel.
This, the reader may think, was difficult to obtain with two
feet of snow on the ground, but in such cases the ludiuu and
hunter have recourse to other fuel than that usually found
upon the earth. Among the lower branches of most. all
large trees there are many dead, dry limbs still adhering to
the trunk, and these can be easily procured.

The two Indians left camp in opposite directions, one of
them coming directly toward Bowie-knife Ben. The scout,
seeing his danger, began a hasty, yet silent retreat. Under
a large tree he came to a stand, and a few moments later he
discovered that the Indian was following him. He was cer-
tain that he had not been discovered, but supposed the war-
rior was coming to the tree to look for dead boughs.

The scout did not continue his retreat, but removing his
snow-shoes and laying them aside with his rifle, be concealed
himself behind the tree to await the approach of the unsus-
pecting warrior.

Having reached the tree, the Indian broke of! a number
of dry limbs and was about to return to camp, when some-
thing, cold and icy as the fingers of death, closed upon his
throat with the deadly grasp of the constrictor. A brief and
silent struggle ensued there in the deep snow that served as
a muffler to all violent blows and falls, and which soon
became crimson with the life-blood of one of the combat-
ants.

The Indians at camp waited patiently for the return of
the two warriors, while their camp-fire waxed and waned
lower and lower until it scarcely emitted a. glow. Half an
hour went by, and still neither of the warriors returned.

“ Sleepy-Deer and Big Wolf must have gone far for
wood,” said the chief of the band, speaking in his own ver-
nacular, which we translate. “ Our fire wants fuel—the fall-
ing snow is slowly putting it out, and the storm raves. We
must have fire."

“Maybe Sleepy-Deer and Big Wolf lost," replied a com-
rade.

“ Lost!" repeated the chief, half-disdainfully; “ can in
Sioux brave get lost in the woods where he has hunted the
deer since he was a child?” .

“ The friends of that dog of a pale-face may be around,"
said a warrior, turning to Nathan.

“ Sleepy-Deer is coming!" exclaimed the chief, as the soft
craunch of approaching footsteps was heard.

Then from out the shadows of the gloom appeared a figure
wrapped to the chin in a great, dirty scarlet blanket, and
bearing in his arms a load of dry branches. A glance at
his face and half-closed eyes told that it was Sleepy-Deer,
and but for the partial gloom they might have detected blood
upon his face and blanket.

With measured pace he approached the camp, and de-
posited his load upon the heap of red coals. A volume of
sparks floated upward among the descending flakes of snow,
accompanied by a lurid flash. Then followed an almost to—
tal darkness in consequence of the fuel covering the coals.
But as the fire gained strength, the murmur of the savages‘
voices grew louder, and the snow seemed to fall thicker and
faster, while the wind shrieked fiercer above the treetops.

In five minutes the limbs were ablaze. A ruddy light
burst suddenly forth and lit up the surrounding gloom, and
brought to the savages’ eyes a sight that blanched their
cheeks with amazement and horror. Nathan Reeve, their
captive, was gone, and so was the body of Sleepy-Deer. But
from a limb of the tree before them hung a ghastly object
swaying to and fro. It was the decapitated head of the war-
rior whose body had disappeared! The eyes were half.
closed as they were in life, but seemed glaring upon the as-
tounded warriors as if to reproach them of their blind stu-
pitlity.

A cry"burst from the lips of the chief, and from lip to
lip passed the question: “ Who has slain our friend?”

“I‘m ther lurk that suit}; the song!’"came an ansWering

Bowie-Knife Ben. 3

 

 

 

voice from a clump of bushes hard by the camp; and at the
same instant something vivid shot across the space between
the bushes and the chief, and the latter fell heavily to the
earth. clutching wildly at the haft of a knife driven deep
into his breast by the never-failing hand of Bowie knife Ben.

“Bowie-knife! Bowie-knifel" burst in fierce accents from
the lips of the savages, and in a minute, cries of vengeance
thrilled through the forest.

0 H A P T E R I I .
THE Los'r TRAIL or TITAN.

Swrrr as a deer Bowie-knife Ben went dancing sway
through the darkness and storm, going in a direction that
brought him back to the tree where he had concealed his
rifle and snow-shoes. Securing the weapon and shoes, he
hastened on and soon came to Where he had left his friends.
To his great joy and relief he found that Nathan Reeve had
found them, and was already narrating to his companions
the manner in which he had been liberated by one of his
captors, much to his surprise and wonder.

The youth had never suspected the true source of his el-
cape, so quickly and silently had it been effected; notwith-
standing, his lil)erutor had whispered, and told him the di-
rection in which to look for his companions when his bonds
were cut. He never dreamed that it was the daring and
fearless Bowie-knife Ben who had rescued him by resorting
to a ghastly stratagem; for his short, thick body was con-
cealed by the indian’s blanket, which reached from the top
of his cap to the ground, while the ghastly head of Sleepy-
Deer sitting upright, and in .proper position, on the top of
his peculiarly-arranged cap, gave the required hight to the
form. The partial darkness concealed all imperfections in
the horrible disguise; although the very boldness of the trick
itself was sufficient to allay suspicion.

“ What! Holy Moses! has the boy escaped!” exclaimed,
Ben, in apparent astonishment at the young man’s presence
among his friends; “ has Nat—Nathan Reeve—escaped from‘
the red hounds of ‘Fiddler’s Green?’ ”

“I‘m here, Ben; thanks to one of my captors," replied
young Reeve.

“ Indeedl—but see here, boys: we’ve up time to talk now
—the red knaves are on the rampage, so let’s shove."

Suiting the action to the word, the scout turned and began
shoving his snow-shoes over the crispy snow in long, rapid
strides, closely followed by his five companions. They
shaped their course southward, and like dusky phantoms
they went speeding on—flilting in and out among the
shadows, gliding here and dodging there, to evade contact
with the boughs that were low bending under their crystal
load.

They had journeyed nearly a mile in this manner when I
dark object lying upon the snow before them, arrested the
attention of the redoubtable Bowie-knife Ben. A halt was
ordered, and the scout crept forward toward the object.
When it was reached, he found it was the lit'eless body of
Big Wolf, one of the warriors sent out from camp in search
of fuel. He was stone dead, yet the body was not entirely
cold. There was no wound nor blood upon him that was
visible, nor were there any signs about of his having been
struggling with a foe. The scout saw, however, that the
warrior-’5 eyes protruded from their sockets, and, that his
tongue, also, extended beyond his lips in a manner that told
he had been strangled to death. And this was verified by
further examination of the body. The indentations of huge
fingers were found upon the throat on each side of the
larynx; and no sooner had Ben made this discovery than he
sprung away from the body and began searching the ground
with his head bent low like a hound.

“ Oho! it's jist as I expected, boys," suddenly burst from
his lips, “and by the saints of old, we’ve got to look a
leetle out. Come this way, boys—there—stoop down. Do
you see that?"

He pointed to a track in ,the snow that must have been
made with a giant’s foot, for no human track of its size had
ever been seen by the party before.

“ What does it» mean, Ben?” uskea Young Reeve: and hi!
question was repeated by his companions.

“ Ay, b0ys,”,replied Ben, starting up- “it is the track of

Titan, the Terror of'the Nurth."

 

 

4 Beadle’s Dime Library.

“ A fabled giant, I daresay,” laughed young Proctor, who,
as well as Nathan Reeve, wasa man of some little educa-
tion.

“Och, bcdadl” exclaimed O’Ray, “ and who knows but
it’s the track av that shlaunnin’ big shaddcr phat we sane
upon the pe-rarry awhoile ago, eh, now?”

“ That’s comin’ right to the point, Larry,” said Ben;
“that war no shadder we sec’d—I know it now; it war the
figure of Titan hissclf."

“ And, pray, who is Titan?" asked Nathan.

“Thar you’ve fluuimixcd me, boy. I’ve never met any
one who knows who Titan are, more’n that he’s a giant that
some say 's ten feet high, though I can’t say to that, for I
never had a good sight of him, even in the night. He used
to be up on the Red river, and the last time I heard of him
he war down on the Chippewa, playin’ thunder among the
ducks. Every thing human on the Chip. war afraid of him.
Men carried their rifles in the field with ’em, for rumors
come down from the Red river country and said he’d catch
men out alone and strangle 'em. The wecmen kept a pot
of hot water to douse on him and scald him if he kem
around, and the children—well, every shadder they see'd,
night or day, war Titan comin’ to eat ’em; and all sich
bosh as that. The fact is, he never killed a white man,
stole a woman, or eat a baby as any one knowed of. But
he's ole persimmons on red-skins and renegades. Some call
him Centaur half hoss and half man—but I don’t b’lieve it.
But I do b’lieve he’s either a wild man, or Satan, or some
strange feller that is conscious of his power to terrify and
keeps it up jist fur the fun of it. But, they do say, his
trail,'can’t be follered, deep and plain as his tracks may be.
But 31 can’t chaw that, boys; and if ever I come across his
trail after this, I’ll show ye that Bowie-knife Ben's not to be
sneezed at. But, lads, time is time, and we’d better be
follerin’ our noses to’rds camp. It’s a long ways to the
Sauk river, yet." '

Without further delay the party resumed its journey
again, moving on in silence, their minds filled with vague,
weird thoughts, conjured up by the adventures of the night
and the mystic influence of the storm. For long hours they
held sharply on their way, and at length debouched into a
plain, where a glorious sight met their view. The storm
had long since cleared away, and the stars were twinkling,
bright and crisp, in the blue dome of heaven; while the
moon, in its third quarter, looked radiant to earth, upon
whose bosom lay‘the spotless robe of winter—glimmering in
the light like a sea of molten silver.

 

For a moment the party paused on the edge of the plain; '

and having made sure no enemy was in sight, they pushed
on—not a sound breaking the silence of the night, save that
eternal craunch, craunch of the dry, crispy snow under the
shuflling feet of the hunters.

Fearless of dangers, they press on.
plain will again bring them into the forest. But before half
this distance is made, they come to a halt. The keen, rest-
less eyes of Bowie-knife Ben haVe discovered some impression
in the snow. A glance tells him it is a human track—the
huge track of Titan, the Terror.

“Hi! thar’s that monster’s track again!” the scout ex-
claimed; “ and it's been made since the storm ended—not
many minutes ago. I tell you, boys, that critter’s keepin'
ahead of us—sliadowin’ us for some purpose or other, now
mind.” ,

“Howly Varginl” cried Larry, “and maybe he’s after
squazin’ our throttles like he did the red-skin‘s. Bad ‘cess
to the bloody big spalpeen if he lays hands on Larry O’Ray,
for divil the bit will mees hesitate to shoot when me blood
gits so hot that it blubbers in me veins, begorra!”

“ Somehow or other,” said Nathan Reeve, “I can have no
great fears of this reputed giant. On the contrary, I would
like to know something more about him, and am willing to

' follow his trail!”

“Foller thunder and lightnin’, Nathan!” blurted Bowie-
knife Ben; “ can we foller the divil himself?”

“ I daresay a great many persons follow his Satanic ma-
jesty without track or trail," replied Nathan, his handsome,
boyish face lighting up with a smile. “ But the feet that
made that track must be of great size—twenty inches in
length, I should judge. What say you all to following it—
inasmuch as it is going nearly our course?”

I “I’m not the man to back water, Nat," said Bowie-knife
Ben.
“ Nor I," “Nor dis chile," “ Nor mees, bedad," responded

Two miles of open

 

had not been disturbed by prowling red-skins.

the others; wnereupon they set 011, fohowrng the trail of the
unknown giant.

They moved on quite rapidly, for daylight could not have
made the trail much plainer. Each man carried his rifle
at a trail, as though he feared the unnatural being would
spring suddenly upon them from a snow-drift, or some other
covert; and as they moved on, conscious that each step
brought them nearer the reputed giant, a vague fear arose in
each breast—a fear that they could not shake off, but like
the t'gnisfatuus, led them on with a strange fascination.

Bowie-knife Ben was in the lead, and when they had
journeyed something near a mile, the scout came to a sud-
den halt, and an exclamation burst from his lips.

The trail they were following had come to an abrupt ter-
mination!

Surprise was written on every face.

There was a great hole in the snow where the trail ended,
which looked as though the giant might have lain down
there to rest. But nowhere around could the continuation
of the trail be found. From that point the giant had van-
ished, leaving no trace of the manner in which he had gone.
The snow was deep enough for a man to have burrowed
himself under it, and so a bit of a mystery was imposed
upon the party.

“ What does it meant—who can tell?” asked Nathan
Reeve, in a tone betraying surprise.

“ Ah! who indeed?” repeated Ben. with a dubious shake
of the head.

0 H A P T E R I I I .
'rnn HUNTERS 1N CAMP.
UNABLE to solve the mystery of the lost trail of the giant,

our friends moved on, and in less than an hour reached the _

camp. This was located in the edge of the Sauk river tim-
ber, at the head of, a small bayou, and consisted of but a
single large tent, constructed» of heavy oiled canvas.

To the joy of the party, they found that the game they
had left suspended in the trees outside, and also their sleighs,
Tue tent
was just as they had left it, with the exception of being half
buried in an immense snowdrift. The wind, during the
recent storm, had had full sweep up the bayou, and, wltere
suddenly checked by its fringe of dense forest, had piled up

immense drifts of snow, in the midst of which stood the

camp.

Floundering through the snow, the party opened the tent
and entered. All was darkness within, but, being supplied
with the means for a fire, a light was soon struck. This
showsd them that all was in its place in the tent. Their
blankets, skins and other trappings, including a pair of
skates to each one, were as they had been left—a discovery
that gave great relief, for they really expected to find their
camp in the power of the enemy.

They did not strike a fire, the air having risen to a milder
temperature since the storm had ended. Besides, their recent
vigorous exercise had warmed their blood to a degree that
made them comfortable without fire. Rest and food were
all that were desired now, and these they could obtain with-
in their tent.

They felt no apprehensions of danger, for, owing to the
stormy condition of the fore part of the night, most all of
the Indians had doubtless been driven to quarters which
they would likely maintain till morning. At least, this was
the supposition to which our friends trusted for their safety.

After having partaken of a sumptuous meal drawn from
their larder, of broiled venison, roasted turkey and “corn-
.pone,” pipes were loaded, positions of ease assumed, and all
gave way to the silent enjoyment of a “ general smoke.”
The tent was soon filled with the fumes of the weed, and
this, added to the partial gloom of the lodge, made it appear
like a dense fog at evening twilight. The faces of the hun-
ters became lost to each other behind the vail of smoke that
poured from each month, for when a hunter indulges in a
pipe after a long abstinence, he pufis vigorously; and the
enjoyment of the luxury seems to be in proportion to the
amount of smoke emitted from his lips—the more smoke,
the more pleasure. Their minds, so severely exercised dur-
ing the night, now became drowsy under the slumberons, in-
tox'rcating influence of the narcotic. Strange visions passed
before their passive minds, and a deep silence brooded over

 

 

 

,n a t  ,9:

 

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben. 5

 

.__, v-

all. But at length a voice almost sepulchral, came from on
the depths of the cloud within the tent, saying:

“ Howly Mother! phy don't some av yees shpeak out, or
the tent’ll be full av shpooks and goblins? Tell us if yees
don’t think this is solid enjoyment—much swater than ran-

in’ around ’mong red-skins and giants?"

“Who sed dat it wasn't, Irishman?" asked Cloudy Tom.

“Humph!” ejaculated Bowie-knife Ben, “this is not a
bad night. Many a wuser one I’ve slept under the snow."

“ Under the snow?” exclaimed Chris Proctor, in apparent
surprise; “how could a man keep from freezing and suffo-
eating for want of air?"

“ Very easy, Chris,” replied Ben, “ and ag’in’ you’ve
spent as many winters in the North as I have, you’ll know
somethin’ ’bout it, mebby. Why, it’s actually warm under
a snow-bank, and you wouldn’t smother if ye war twenty
feet under. But ye want to be well wrapped up, 50’s the
snow can’t touch the skin, for the heat of yer body’ll melt
it. Yes, sir-ee; it’s jist as easy to do it as fallin’ off the
fence, and I’ll bet more’n one Ingin’s snoozin’ away like I
b’ar, out on the pe-rarry, to-night.”

“ Well, I don’t think I’d like to try it, unless compelled
to do that or worse,” said Chris.

“ I don’t doubt that it can be done, singular as it may

seem," replied Nathan Reeve.
I ‘Thus conversation was resumed, and the pipes discarded
for the time being. The smoke soon cleared from the tent;
then Ben replenished the torch, which at once gave forth a
stronger light.

With that precaution which becomes second nature to a
borderman of experience, Bowie-knife Ben ran his keen eyes
around the tent, as if to see that all was in its proper place.
But no sooner had he made the circuit of the lodge with his
vision, than he started slightly, at the same time inquiring:

“Boys, whar’s our rifles?”

Every one started from his recumbent position and glanced
guickly at the corner wherein the rifles had all been placed,
Jut not seeing them there, they glanced around, supposing
some one had moved them. They Were not to be seen—
they were not to be found—they had disappeared, mysteri-
ously, from the tent!

What did it mean? Who had taken them out? No one
.‘tad left the tent aim they had entered it!

To Ben’s mind a thought suddenly occurred—a thought
that some one of the boys was trying to perpetrate a joke,
by concealing the weapons when the tent was filled with
moke and semi-darkness. He was about to give utterance
to his thoughts on the subject, but before the words had
formed upon his lips, his keen eyes caught the simultaneous
flash of several objects near the bottom of the canvas on the
opposite side of the tent. His companions (lid not observe
the flashes, each one of ‘which he saw was made by the pol-
ished blade of a knife inserted from the outside ofthe tent!
And scarcely were the mysterious blades seen, ere they made
a downward pass, and were then with rawn. The next in-
stant, a dusky face and a pair of burning, glittering eyes
glared into the tent through each of the openings thus made!

 

CHAPTER IV
AN aneus EYE on FIRE.

“Gen A'Mren'rvl" blurted the amazed Bowie-knife Ben;
“boys, we’re in fur it—the red devils have surrounded us
—we're entrapped!”

In an instant every man was upon his feet, surprise and
terror written upon his features.

Ben glanced out at the door, and to his horror beheld the
now-drift around the tent break up, and a dozen dark
objects appear therefrom.

Then all was clear as day to the trapper. While they
were away, the Indians, whose number was yet unknown,
had come to the tent, and, wrapping their blankets and robes
securely around them, had laid down upon the earth with
their heads toward the tent, and in fact, almost against it.
And there, with all that dogged patience and stoical silence
of the American Indian, had they lain and permitted the
storm to weave a mantle of snow over them; yet in this they
were but showing their characteristic cunning, for all their
force was sufficient to have defeated the whites in an open
conflict. To surprise and capture a foe is a double victory
to an Indian, and upon the present occasion triumph seemed
to be a question beyond doubt with the crafty red-man.

 

 

The disappearance of the rifles was a mystery to Bowie
knife Ben. How an enemy could abstract the weapons
from the lodge without aid from the inside, was a question he
could not settle in his mind. But, as sudden as had been
his surprise by the savages, so sudden did a faint conviction
rush across-his mind that there was a traitor in thepa/rty/

But, there was no time for an investigation ‘now, for a
fierce, savage yell that seemed to issue from a hundred
throats, rent the vibrant air, to he succeeded by the crauncln
ing of the snow by hurrying feet without.

Knives and pistols leaped from the girdles of the hunters,
who nerved themselves for an ordeal that promised but few
chances for escape.

The flap-door suddenly parted, and the brutal-looking
head and face of a half-breed Indian peered into the tent.
Then a savage voice demanded:

“ S’render, or yer a dead set!"

They were the last words the disguised villain ever uttered.
The long arm of Bowieknife Ben swept through the air at
the same instant; a bowie-knife shot from his hand, and its
sharp blade went crashing into the skull of the assumed
savage as though it had been the soft rind of a melon.
With a convulsive gasp the renegade sunk forward, clutch-
ing wildly at the quivering haft of the weapon.

This proved a signal for a general attack, and with
shrieks and yells “that distanced all the bounds of hell,”
the savages closed in upon the tent. The frail structure
was swept away as if by a hurricane, and then friends and
foes grappled with each other and fought hand»to-hand.

Fearful, indeed, were the sounds that startled the mid-
night, alarming the prowling wolf and the stately buck in
theirlairs; but the din of the conflict was but a feeble indica-
tion of the desperate nature of the conflict itself. It was one
of those struggles which have no parallel among brutes—a
struggle between human fees, in which all the ferocity of an
enraged lion, combined with human instinct, display their
deadly animosity in their mad thirst for each other‘s life-
blood. With deliberation, murderous blows were dealt by
red-man and white. Pistols, knives and clubs clashed
through the air. Hither and thither the foes whirled
through the deep drifts, at times almost buried in them, then

merging again amid a cloud of snow dashed up by their
flying limbs.

For several minutes the conflict thus raged, but the odds
were against our friends, three to one, and one by one the
hunters were beaten down, overpowered and made prisoners.
Bowie-knife Ben alone remained fighting with a circle of
bloodthirsty savages around him; but the moment he saw
how hopeless his efforts would be, with his companions all
prisoners, he uttered one of those fearful war-whoops that
was wont to strike terror to savage hearts, bounded through
the living circle around him, and, like a deer, shot away
into the forest, with half of the disappointed Sioux in swift
pursuit.

Two of the red-skins had been slain in the fight and
several wounded; and while our friends suffered no loss by
death, defeat and captivity, with many seVere bruises, were
a blow far worse.

The prisoners were securely bound, and then kept stand-
ing in the snow for fully an hour, their guards evidently
waiting the return of those who had gone in pursuit of Ben.

When, at‘ length, the party did return, a bowl of rage and
disappointment went up from every savage lip. They had
failed to capture the hated enemy, Bowievknife Ben.

When the confusion subsided, the chief of the band ad-
vanced to whey: the prisoners stood, and having glanced over
the faces of all in a speculative manner, finally permitted his
gaze to come to a rest upon that of Chris Proctor. Having
studied the young man's features for a few moments, he said:

“ Let my braves lead that pale-face aside, and prepare the
torture for him. His life must pay for that of Black Dog,
whom the white Bowie-knife slew."

Young Proctor was led away into the woods, while the

other four were conducted out onto the ice in the middle of
the bayou, and there placed in a rude tent which the savages

had hastily constructed.

The bayou was connected with the Sauk river, and was
about four or five rods wide. by twenty in length. It was
near its center that the Indians had pitched the tent in
which the prisoners were confined, no doubt to await their
final doom.

The ice within the tent was clear and smooth as glMS, M
it was, also, all over the whole surface of the bayou upon
which the ’moonbeams fell in dazzling splendor. What the

 

 

6 Beadle’s Dime Library.

object of the Indians was in placing the prisoners there could
not be fully understood; but Nathan Reeve supposed it was
to have them confined on an open field, where the cunning
Bowie-knife could not reach them without being seen, as he
would doubtless attempt their release.

There were numerous small holes in the walls of the struc-
ture, and through these the captives could look out upon all
sides. They saw a dozen savages wrapped in their blan-
kets, and holding their rifles across their laps, seated on
each side of the bayou with their faces toward the prison
lodge.

“ Boys, what do you suppose is to become of us?" Mart
Sawyer finally asked.

“ God dily knows,” replied Nathan Reeve. “ I presume,
however, that our fates will be decided as soon poor Chris
Proctor meets his doom.”

” Och! Sowl av me body!" wailed LarryO’Ray, “and
a sad day it was that mees iver left the sod where shleeps
me fathers. And curious enufl it am, too, how our guns
disappeared from out our tents before the red divils bounced
us."

“Dar am sumthing wrong, gemmen," said Cloudy Tom;
“ dem dar gunses couldn't walk out ob de tent ob dar own
accord, nor nudder could an Inging walk in and takg dem
out. No, sah: dis chile’s ’pinion is dat somebody jist done
went and hand dem out."

“ I have thought as much myself, Tom,” replied Nathan;
“ but of course there is not a shadow of evidence to sustain
the probability of such a thing. It is singular, though, that

Bowie-knife Ben did not discover the trap before it was
sprung. lnever knew him to overlook such a danger be-

fore. But, of course, the savages were under the light, dry
snow piled around the tent, and every trace of their pres-
ence securely concealed by the drifting storm. But if Ben
has escaped, I daresay he will repay them with some strata-
gem that they are not dreaming of.”

“ That may all ha, Natty,” replied Larry, " but it’ll niver
save our loives. “ We’ll all ba rhoasted afore ta-marry

,noight by the gory spalpeens. And, och, be me sowl! think

av it, me lads: ta—marry noight the Shkating Carnival are to
coom off, and jis’ think how many poor young colleens will
be shedding tears far their lover-b'ys, ’shtead av ghliding
over the lake wid them, laughing and chatting—oh, iver so
swate and gayly."

A silence followed Larry’s remarks, for they sunk deep
into every heart. A sigh escapedNathan Reeve’s lips, as he
thought of a pair of sweet blue eyes that would watch in
vain for his coming to take part in the grand Skating Car-
nival—a festival to which the young people of Lakeside had
long looked forward to in anticipation of a happy and joy-
ous time.

“ Well,” Nathan finally said, “ God’s will be done. If
we are to die to night, let us meet our fate like men. We
might attempt escape were our feet not bound, as well as
our hands." »

“ And be the Howly Vargin and St. Pathrick, too, and
mess wouldn’t care a darn if i had me feet free and me
shkates on, and —" .

“ A few miles from dis place, why didn’t ye say?" inter-
rupted Cloudy 'l‘oni, inclined to make the best of their try-
ing situation. Thus the conversation ran on for nearly an
hour, and, tired of standing in a stooping position on ac-
count of the low tent, the captives finally seated themselves
upon the ice, from which the snow had been blown away.
They sat facing the center of the tent, and the noise made
in thus changing their position led one of the savages to in-
vestigate the situation in the tent; but findifi all secure, he
withdrew to his station on the bank.

Conversation was again resumed by the prisoners, and
had continued for some length of time when all suddenly
became conscious of a dull, glowing light on the ice near
the center of the lodge. it was very faint, and at first ap-
peared like a (lull ray of light thrown there by reflection;
but as the captives continued to watch it, they saw it was
slowly growing brighter and brighter.

“ Howly saint, phat is it?” exclaimed Larry O’Ray, in an
excited tone.

No one answered him, for no one knew; but Nathan held
his hand forward to see if the light was not areflcction. To
his surprise, his hand concealed the feeble, glowing spot.
It was not a ray of reflected light, neither was it a moon-
beam struggling down through the opening in the top of the
tent.

What was it?

 

 

Nathan Reeve, less superstitious than his companions,
leant forward and gazed down at the glowing spot. As he
did so, a cry of amazement burst from his lips, and he started
up, faintly articulating the word:

“ Look!”

His comrades, one by one, leaned forward and gazed
down at the mysterious light, each one starting back with
wonder and amazement written upon his face. And not
without reason, for up from the depths of the bayou—
through the clear, transparent ice, they could see a dull,
glowing orb of tire slowly rising and gleaming like a sleep-
less eye of Argus.

Some strange influence sealed the lips of the hunters in
speechless silence, as with dilated eyes. they watched the fiery,
scintillating orb rise closer and closer—up and up, from the
watery depths of the stream, until within afoot of the surface,
when its ascent was arrested by the ice. Through the crystal
floor of the prisonlodge, a faint, phosphorescent glow from
that burning horror shone upon the white, terrified faces of
the prisoners.

“ In the name of the Howly Vargin, an‘ isn’t Satan his-
self coomin‘ afther his own, me b’ys?" gasped Larry, shrink-
ing back,

“ I know not what is," replied Nathan Reeve, not a lit
tle puzzled.

“ 0h, de bressed Lord!” replied Cloudy Tom, “it am de
very ole debbil, boys. Jis’ listen! I hear him chawiu

—-his way up fru de ice, dis holy minit. Git on your knees, '

boys, and let’s pray to de Lord—"

” Hal-keel" commanded Nathan.

They all listened, and true enough they could hear a
crackling of the ice beneath their feet—a horrible, grating,
craunching sound.

Again they bent their eyes upon that horrible orb of dull
flame, and a shudder passed through every frame. Down
beneath the blazing light they could see a dark, hairy-look-

ing form, and around it they could see its great limbs mov- -

ing slowly to and fro in the water, like the arms of some
huge sea-monster.

Entranced—spell-bound—the four prisoners stood motion-
less and speechless, gazing down at the hungry, blazing orb
of the mysterious monster, vaguely conscious that it was
slowly making its way up from the depths of the bayou,
titrmgh the ice into the Mam-lodge!

 

C H A P T E R V.
BOWIE-KNIFE Ben’s STRATAGEM.

LIKE statues carved of stone, and representing the emo-
tions of fear and astonishment. the four captive-hunters stood
and guzod upon that strange, burning horror, glaring up at
them like the red eye of doom. They could still hear that
chawing of the ice, as Cloudy Tom expressed it, and soon a
dark circle, two feet in diameter, appeared on the inner side
of the ice; and swift as an arrow, a limb of the unknown
monster could be seen following around and around the cir-
cle, as though it were endeavor-ing to cut out the block dc-
fiued by the dark ring, and get up into the tent. '

Nathan Reeve debated with himself as to whether he should
call his captors, and make known the situation, or wait un-
til he was sure of the real character of the monster whan
form they could but imperfectly see. He was surprised that
the Indians did not discover the light from the outside; lull.
when he remembered that the bayou was covered with a thin
layer of snow, he was fully satisfied that no eyes but “It”
own could see the glaring, flaming orb, the snow having llt‘t‘ll
brushed aside within the tent before the captives Wt'l'U
placed therein.

For several minutes the monster continued to lash its limb
around and around the circle, which all could now see \\.l‘<l
being made by a wearing or cutting away of the ice und 1‘-
neath. Now and then they caught the flush of somelhi 5
bright, (as the dark arm of the monster swept around 1‘...‘
deepening circle, and at length there was heard a slight Inc-
tallic ring or click, and at the same instant the ice was chip
ped through into the tent!

“ Now comes the tug, boys!" whispered Nathan, his brcurl.
coming quick and hard.

“ Howly Mother, save me blessed sowll” gasped Larry
O’Ray. “ Whoochl Saint Path—" - ,

He did not finish the sentence, for at this juncture it...
circular block of ice was pushed slowly upward into .hu

 

 

 

 

Bowie-K

 

tent; but before it was clear of the space from which it had
been hewn, it dropped suddenly back and disappeared from
view in the depths below—not, however, with a plunge, but
a dull thud.

The prisoners started back, expecting to see the monster
appear through the opening thus made in the center of their
prison-floor. But to their surprise, they beheld a dark, wa-
‘erless cavity beneath the thick crust of ice upon which they stood!

Simultaneous with this discovery, 21 dull-red torch, held by
a small, bony hand, appeared in the opening from below,
followed by the bearded, triumphant face and broad, mas-
sive shoulders of Bowie-knife Ben, the hunter strategist!

A cry of joy and surprise arose to the lips of the aston-
ished prisoners; but a single look and sign from the scout
enjoined the deepest silence upon them.

With his body but half above the ice, the dwarf reached
forward with his right hand, in which he held a knife, and
cut the bonds of his friends, at the same time saying, in a
whisper:

“ Hop down under the ice and crawfish arter me. The
torch’ll tell ye whar to go—scat!”

Down Went the scout beneath the ice, and in less than ten
seconds his four friends were at his side. The Whole time

required in effecting the release and escape of the prisoners,
from the moment Ben made his appearance through the ice,
occupied scarcely thirty seconds, and so silently had it been
accomplished that they might have been a long way from
there are the discovery of their escape was made, had it not
been for Bowie-knife Ben. Eager that the foe, whose cun-
ning had got them into trouble, might know that he had cut-
witted them—beaten them at their own game-the trapper pro-
truded his head into the tent again, and gave utterance to
one of his well-known war-whoops. This brought a score
of warriors to the prisonulodge, and wild and terrible were
their yells and cries of baffled triumph when they discovered
that their prisoners were gone, and the manner in which they
had efiected their escape. The lodge was torn away, and as
the clear moonlight revealed the opening in the ice, the sav-
sges‘ first impression was that the prisoners had sought self-
destruction by drowning; but when they discovered that there
was no water beneath the ice—that the bayou was dry, their
rage and fury knew no bounds.

Although this freak of the bayou is frequently met with
in the higher latitudes of the north temperate zone, it was
evident that this party of savages had never seen the like be-
fore; and at first they were inclined to look upon the mat-
ter as an intervention of the Great Spirit to save the pale-
faces, by drawing away the water from beneath the ice.

The matter, however, is easily accounted for. A few
weeks previous, the weather had “looxeued up," which re-
sulted in a winter thaw, and the snow and ice melting,
swelled the rivers and streams to overflowing. The bottom
of the bayou in question, being below low-water mark, of
course was usually dry, but upon the occasion of the last
flood, it had become filled with back-water from the river;
and while it was thus at its highest, the wind shifted to the
north, the mercury fell to forty degrees below zero, and the
bayou was frozen over fully a foot deep. The swift action
of the river's current, however, prevented it from freezing
over at the same time; and the supply from the small streams
being suddenly stopped, the river began to fall, and as it
sunk lower and lower, the bayou was gradually drained; and
by the time the river had attained its average depth, not a
drop of water remained in the bayou. The ice, however, re-
mained over the latter, just as it had formed, being of suf-
ficient thickness and strength to bear not only its own weight,
but that of a score and a half of men.

Bowie-knife Ben, fully acquainted with all the phenomena
peculiar to a northern winter, was not slow in discovering
the condition of the bayou. He had, in scouting around the
place, seen his four friends placed on the ice. in the Indian
wickeup, and at once resolved to attempt their rescue; how
he succeeded, we have seen.

A strange, mysterious feeling of awe came over the hun-
ters the moment they were under the ice; for a “'ell‘d-llke
darkness seemed to surround them, and hollow, ghostly
voices to echo and rumble through the dismal, wintry
cavern.

“ Now come, boys," said Ben, as soon as he had uttered
'his shout of triumph, “ foller me, fur it might be a leetle
sickly 'round here.”

lialf crouching, for the space was not over three feet deep,
the four hunters followsd Ben in ~"a course that took them

 

nife Ben. 7

toward the river. They had gone about three rods when
Ben came to a halt, and said:

“ There, boys, are your rifles and your skates that I man-
aged to save as Well as ycrselves. The varlets had piled our
traps and things up together and left only one blood-sucker
to guard ‘em. That war a nice thing, so I obliterated the
skunk and secured the rifles and skates as I thought they'd
be the mos’ needed. But, lads, weren’t it a splendoriferous
tune I played the bloody goblins? Ho! ho! ho!" and his
triumphant laugh echoed and re-echoed in wild acrents
through the ice-covered cavern.

“It was, a fortunate ‘tune’ for us, Ben," said Reeve,
“ but I tell you it came within an ace of being a failure."

“ How so, lad?” ‘

“ We supposed there was nothing less than ten feet of
water beneath us, and when we saw your light, we were so
surprised that we came nigh giving the alarm."

“Humph!” ejaculated the hunter, in apparent surprise,
“I took the light on purpose so’s you could see what it war
and then keep mum, for I know’d if you’d hear me cuttin’
up into the tent, you’d squirm a good ’68.] if you didn’t know
what war comin’.”

“ We could not see you plain enough to distinguish your
form and face, for all appeared dark beneath you. We
could see the light and a dark something moving around it, and
that was all. But how did you know where our tent was?”

“Oh, bless you, jist squint up’ards. You can see the
stars and moon through the ice plain as you want to, so you
see it war no trouble to tell when I war under yer tent. I
took my bearin’s afore I started under yer, and—heavens!
how the red imps rant and bowl! Boys, get your rifles in
trim for speakin’ out. The brutes may get under here arter
awhile, and if they do, we’ll scorch a few of ’em. See also
that yer skates are ready for adjustment, fur you may have
need of them afore we git clear of these diggin’s. Guess
now, I’ll put this light out.”

So saying, be extinguished his torch, and theno’our friends
found themselves in a darkness dimly pervaded by the moon-
light shining through the ice overhead. Beneath them, the
black, alluvial deposits of ages rendered all in gloom, while
above them they could see the tops of the forest trees on
either shore, and now and then could see a savage form
sweeping over the ice, appearing like a huge cloud in human
shape, drifting across the face of the heavens.

The voice of the outwitted red-skins could be heard in
wild and stormy conversation around the hole where the
captives had escaped. They appeared to be in some doubt
whether to follow the fugitives or not, as the couditioti'fiof
the bayou under the ice was not fully known to them.

Ben and his companions remained perfectly quiet, waiting
for any demonstration the foe might attempt; nor had they
long to wait. A torch was dropped down into the cavern,
if it may be so termed, and its light appeared to give the
red-skins additional information regarding the true state of
the situation, for immediately afterward a savage with a
flaming torch descended into the great ice bound vault. He
was at once followed by another, and still another compan-
lon, until at least a dozen had descended. Each one carried
a torch in one hand and a tomahawk in the other, and as he
held the former above his head and glared around him, his
demoniac features were plainly revealed to the hunters, in
the sickly, ghostly glare of the light.

At length the torches were lowered, and the savages set
out to explore the cavern.

“ Now, my boys,” whispered Bowie-knife, “ make ready
and pluck yer posy. Their lights ’1] tell ye whar to pull."

The suppressed breathing of the hunters was at once fol-
owed by the click of gunlocks and the pent-up roar of five
rifles, following each other in almost continuous succession.
The next instant all the wild and terrible intonations of Pan-
demonium jarred through the cavern. The clash of the
rifles, groans of agony, shouts of triumph, and yells of ven-
geance—all mingled together and echoed from side to side,
and end to end, as if unable to find an outlet from the dis-
mal cavern.

A few minutes later the rush of many feet were heard
overhead, beneath the tread of which the ice creaked and
strained in a manner that threatened the safety of those
beneath. But the danger soon passed, and then Ben said:

“ Now, lads, let’s shift our posish, and if ’em red pin-pg
don’t see fit to “leave “these diggin‘s, we’ll yoop them up
another broadside. ”

The party at once changed its position further on toward
the river. By this time torches were flashing forth their

"s _ .

 

l

 

 

sickly, ghostly light all over the cavern, and back of each
could be seen the grim, dusky outlines of a savage; while on
the field above the sound of blows could be heard falling
thick and fast. This told that the savages were cutting
holes in the ice at various points around the fugitives.

“ Hol hot hot” laughed Ben, in a low, silent tone; “ the
varlets might as well try to git into heaven for victims as in
here arter us. But them critters off hereaways, boys, are
clus enutI‘ for a dip, so pick yer bud and nip it.”

Again the rifles of the rangers went to their shoulders,
and drawing against the torches, vomited forth their deadly
missiles.

Again confusion and dismay filled the cavern with rever-
berated sounds, and torches flickered and flashed hither and
thither in wild haste.

“Lor' Almighty, but dis am fun aftah all," said Cloudy
Tom, as he proceeded to reload his rifle.

“ Hooh! Och, now, and isn‘t this much sw’ater than
bain’ chawed by a monsther, though?" replied Larry O’Ray.

“ Boys, look up overhead.” It was Ben who spoke.

All raised their eyes, and directly overhead on the ice,
they saw two persons standing. One was a white man and
the other an Indian—~this was easy to determine. They ap-
peared to be engaged in an excited conversation, for now and
then the white man would make a violent gesture—pointing
hither and thither over the bayou in an uneasy and impatient
manner.

“ Boys, do you recognize that white man?” asked Bowie-
knife Ben.

They all scanned the figure closely as possible for several
moments.

“ By heavens!” suddenly burst from Nathan Reeve’s lips;
“ It is an friend, 01ml? Proctor I”

“ Yes, our friend, Chris Proctor," repeated Ben, in a tone
that possessed a world of meaning.

 

CHAPTER VI.
1 our or run cavnnN.

THE discovery of Chris Proctor being free and in conver-
sation with one of the savages was, alone; sufficient to
arouse grave suspicions in the minds of the hunters; but
before they had assumed a tangible conclusion, Bowie-knife
Ben said:

“ Now, boys, is our time to skin outen this cavern. By
keepin' on in the way my nose p’ints, we’ll come out right
onto the river, and then if we all have our skates on we can
rush away from the lopin' owl-eaters like a greased bird
sailin’ through the air. "

“ But the entrance may be guarded."

“ If so, we can soon clear the way, lads, so jist h’ist on
yer skates and let’s be dodgin’ out."

It required but a few minutes to fasten on their skates
and prepare for departure. When all was ready, Ben led
the way toward the entrance, and when within a rod of the
open air be halted, and bidding his companions remain
.quiet while he reconnoitered the vicinity, he crept away.
He was gone but a few minutes when he returned and
reported:

“I can see no reds about, but thar may be some hid
around, and a single shot might play the ole boy with the
whole kit 0’ us. But stifl‘en yer siners and git reddy to
rush out like greased thunder.”

“ We’re all ready,” replied Nathan Reeve.

" Then—scat /”

There was a swift, fluttering rush of feet, and together the
hunters glided out of the cavern, leaped down onto the
river ice, and shot away down the Sauk, the sharp ring of
their skates upon the smooth ice breaking forth upon the
clear, frosty air with startling distinctness. The sound told
the savage foe that their game had escaped, after all their
subtle cunning, and With fierce, vengeful yells they started
down the river in swift pursuit. But, as well might. they
pursue so many deer. Success in capturing them would
have been as certain, for at every rod the hunters more than
doubled upon them.

Our friends were all :Xperienced in the use of skates. for
it forms one of the chief winter amusements of the young
people-of the border. With shouts of detainee they sped on

over the glassy bosom of the river, fooling no fear of the_

{nu whose yells were momentarily fading far behind. They
Yen: than about twenty miles from house, and Lin; hour was

8 . Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

 

 

not far from midnight; and as they could make the whole
distance to Lakeside—«their home—on skates, they felt no
fears of being overtaken by the savage pursuers.

“ Well, boys,” said Ben, when they had journeyed about
five miles, “ we might go a leetle slower now and take wind
for another heat.”

— The party slacked its speed to a more moderate pace,
when conversation was at once opened in a lively spirit.

“ I must say,” remarked Nathan Reeve, “ that this night
has been one through which I would not like to pass again.’

“Ay, now, me lad, and it’s jist fun fur the )oikes of
Larry O’ltay," said the now happy Hibernian, “but I rather
be at Lakeside than—-”

“ Whar dar am danger,” interrupted Cloudy Tom, with a
laugh at his own conceit.

“Blarst yeer black skin av yees, nigger, and it is yees
that. turned white as a ghost when yees heard the monsther
a-chawin’ and a-chawin’ up through the oice; so it war,
bedad.”

An outburst of laughter followed the Irishman’s retort.

“ Ben,” said Nathan Reeve, finally, “ what do you under-
stand by Chris Proctor being at liberty, and in conversation
with that savage on the bayou?”

“somethin’ wrong with that boy,” replied Ben. “I’m
inclined to suspect him of treachery, lads. I believe it war
him that handed our rifles outen our tent, and if so, he
knowed ’em reds war about. But what he can mean by
turnin’ traitor to us, bu‘sts my noggin to imagine. I alers
thought, though, that that boy had a ten-year-older head on
him than mos‘ folks thought for. Howsumever, we might
been mistaken in that bein’ Chris with the Injin on the ice;
you know we’re all liable to mistakes. If Chris gets back to
Lakeside we can keep an eye onto him, and say nothin’ ‘bout
what we suspected or see’d on the ice; and if he is tryin’ to
git us into trouble, we’ll warm the wax in his years in slap-
up style.”

“A hint from Father St. Ule’s bright-eyed gal, whom ru- '

mor says he’s goin’ to marry, might bring him to terms,”
said Martin Sawyer.

“ Ther Lord save purty Sybil St. Ule from the love of a
villain," exclaimed Bowie-knife Ben. “ No purer heart than
hern ever beat; and if Chris Proctor ever weds her, he must
exonerate hisself from what we see‘d tonight. I have prom-
ised the old missionary, as some call him, that I’d watch
over his cabin until the Injin Bible that he’s writin’ is fin-
ished, even if it took twenty years. If our Bible translated
into lnjin blatherskite jargon ’11 do any good with the reds
hashints, I’m willin’ to help the cause along; tho' l’d heap
ruther argify with them in lead and powder, fur whenever ye
make that argiment felt in an lnjin’s heart, it‘s sure to con
vert him, and— Hat-keel harkeel”

Above the slow, measured ringing of their skates, the
scout’s keen ears caught a sound resembling the bark of a
wolf. .

The party at once came to a bait and listened. The ring
of steel upon the ice could be faintly heard. The sound
came from down the river, but a sharp bend a short dis-
tance before them cut ott‘ all view overa hundred yards away.
But before the party had time for much speculation over the
matter, a dark body swept suddenly into view from around
the point. It was moving with great rapidity, and from its
midst arose that clinking of steel upon the ice. As the mov-
ing mass drew nearer it began to assume a more distinct and
tangible form; and when within a few paces of our friends,
Bowie-knife Ben suddenly cried out:

“By Judas, it’s a dog sledge!"

, Scnrccly were the words uttered when a dozen fierce-look-

ing dogs, with snarling teeth and blazing eyes, swept past
our astonished friends, harnessed to a. light sledge similar In
those used by the Esquimaux of the North. Upon the Sled 4‘“
eat the figure of a young girl, nestled cosin in among a he wt
of robes and furs; and but for the pretty white face :ml
dark eyes peeping from between the borders of a bean r
hood, no one would have known that the form was that 05' .1
women. The moon was shining full upon the river, and as
she swept by like the north wind. she started so suddenly at
sight of them that she was nearly thrown from the sledge;
and Ben was sure he heard a suppressed cry escape her “1N.
In a few moments, however, she had vanished from sig '.
and the astonished hunters stood gazing, one at the otlt..t,
With a puzzled, interrogative expression upon each face.

“Blue blazes and rampin’ tigersl what dOes that meant"
asked Bowie-knife Ben. '

“ You telli” replied Nathan Reeve.

 

 W

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben. I 9

 

“ Arrah, now, and who see‘d anything at all?" asked
()‘Ray, in doubt as to the evidence of his own eyes, so swiftly
had the sleigh passed in and out of sight.

" Was it a delusion?" asked Ben, as if he, too, was in
doubt; “ or did I act'ly see a dog-sleigh shoot past me with
a woman——a purty, white faced angel upon it?"

“ I saw the same, Ben," replied Nathan. “ It was no de-
lusion, but actual fact. I saw the girl's face, or a portion of
it, and i am—"

“Am what f“ interrupted Ben, excitedly.

“I am sure the girl‘s face was that of the missionary’s
daughter, Sybil St. Ule."

“ Dancin' David!" exclaimed the hunter, “ that‘s jist what
I thought! But it couldn’t have been Sybil, and so who
was it? What‘s it mean? You know Sybil's father will
not let her leave the cabin after night, say nothing of sleigh-
iug away up here alone ‘mong Injins, wolves and cata-
mounts. No, by hokey, it war not Sybil, but it War her
ghost, or her counterpart. Sybil is naterally a leetle cow-
ard, too, arter nightfall, and won’t go out alone 'less some
one’s along to protect her, and this critter that jist went by
war all alone exceptin‘ her dogs, an’, Je-whiz! what horrible-
lookin’ critters they were!"

“ If it were not Sybil St. Ule, who was it? and what on
earth can any woman he doing abroad on such a night as
this?”

“There, there, you’ve cornered me, Natty. It‘s singular,

very singular, boy. Thar‘s sumthin’ not right in Minnysota,
else these parts are haunted—act‘ly haunted with male
giants and female nymphs. I'll go to St. Ule’s to-night yit.
I must know that that little angel Sybbie is safely snugged
away in her bed, asleep, afore i can draw a clear breath.
I’ve promised the old Bible-maker that I’d keep ward and
watch over his shanty, and I’ll do it or bu‘st. Humphl in
course that warn’t Sybil; jist think if it were, she‘d run slap-
dab into the hands of ’em essences of concentrated cussed-
ness comin’ down the river arter us. But it wer‘n’t her—-
sich a thing’s onpossible—and even if it war her, what il
thunder and hurrycanes could she be doin’ away up here in thi
screech-owi corner, this time of night?"

“Ah, yes; that’s the question, my dear friend," replied
Nathan, with a dubiotis shake of the head. “ Dangers and
mysteries go hand in hand tonight. As well may we in-

' quire, what was Chris Proctor doing with—"

Here silence was enjoined upon the speaker by a light tip,
tip, like that of feet walking briskly upon the ice. What-
ever it was that made the noise was coming down the river,
and keeping itself concealed within the shadows of the left
shore. Satisfied, h0wever, that it was the approaching foot-
steps of enemies, our friends resumed their journey. For
some length of time they continued on without interruption;
but at length their attention was suddenly arrested by the
star-like twinkling of alight on the right shore. Slacking
their speed, Ben exclaimed:

“Ah! that light is in Father St. Ule’s cabin. Hold up
here, boys, while I go over and inquire ’bout Sybil, for I
can't think the gal that spun apast us on the sleigh war
her.”

The party came to a. halt while Ben climbed the bank, and

without removing his skates, approached the cabin door, upon
which he gave a vigorous rap.

A voice bade him come in.

He opened the door and crossed the threshold.

A pleasant and joyous sight met his gaze.

A warm. cheery fire burned in the great wide fireplace in
one end of the cabin, and within its cheerful glow, and be-
fore a rude table covered with a heap of manuscripts, sat
Father St. Ule; and by his side, acting as his amanuensis, sat
his lovely, bright-eyed, rosy-checked daughter, Sybil St. Uio.

 

C H A P T E R V I I.
THE MASKED CARNIVAL

THE little Village of Lakeside and the home and head-
quarters of the five hunters of whom we have been writing,
was a settlement composed of about twenty cabins, and was
located upon the eastern side of a small body of water known
as Fall Lake. At the time of which we write, it was one or
the advance posts of civilization in Minnesota. There was,
however, a smaller settlement south of the lake known as

Budd's Station, but with this we have nothing particmar to‘

do at present.

 

l ‘ The Indians, since the founding of Lakeside, had been all
along in a hostile attitude toward the whites; but notwith-
standing this fact, they had never ventured an attack upon
the little settlement. Fully acquainted with the nature of
the foe with which they would have to contend, they kept
their distance The settlement, however, sufiered some loss,

_both in prosperity and life. Horses and cattle had been

stolen, or shot in the herd; while small hunting parties had
been captured and slain, as was attempted with the party of
Bowie knife Ben.

Shortly after nightfall on the evening following the night
of events narrated in the preceding chapters, two persons,
arm in. arm, issued from the village of Lakeside and moved
slowly down toward the lake, conversing in low tones as
they went. One of these persons was a man, the other a
woman: the former Nathan Reeve, the latter his betrothed,
Wilma Meredith.

With Nathan the reader is already acquainted. His
handsome, manly face, however, were a more natural and
joyous expression than on the night previous, for the voice
of love now whispered in sweet, musical tones in his ears.

Wilma Meredith was a maid of about eighteen years,
with a petite figure beautifully developed in all the attributes
of perfect womanhood; dark-blue eyes, golden hair, a pretty,
round face with dimpled chin, ripe, red lips, and rosy checks
to which the crispy air of the wintry evening gave an addi-
tional glow of health and brightness.

Both were warmly clad. Wilma wore a dress of dark
worsted, a cape of sablecolored furs, a beaver hood and
mink-skin mittens.

Nathan carried two pairs of skates and two unlit torches
of resinous pine, and when they reached the lake, they
paused upon the bank and gazed out over the broad, glassy
sheet of ice where a glorious spectacle met their view.

This was the night of the masked skating carnival at Fall
Lake, an entertainment to which the settlers, both young
and old, of Lakeside, Budd’s Station and other places had
long looked forward to with joyous anticipations. By sun-
set the skaters had begun to come in, and by the time
Nathan and Wilma had reached the lake, two score of red,
flaming torches were moving over its icy bosom with th.

swiftness of meteors, borne in the hands of men and womei‘

who were masked and disguised in a dozen diflferent cos-
tumes that lent a variegated hue to the scene. Hither and
thither. across each other’s path—around and around glided
the flaming, wavering torches, the shadows of the moving
figures and the flashing of the rays of light, constantly
changing and checkering the crystal bosom of the lake with
bars of light and shadow. And added to thi dazzling, gro-
tesque scene was the metallic ring of the skates upon the ice,
deepening almost into a roar, and mingled with the merry
pests of laughter from the lips of some light-hearted girl as
she sped by some friend whom she recognized beneath his or
her disguise, or the hoarser notes of some male masquerader
as he trilled forth the words of some wild border song.

“ Oh, Nathan! isn’t it delightful?" exclaimed the brightr
eyed Wilma, in a sweet, musical voice full of girlish enthu-
siasm.

“ it is, indeed, my dear girl," replied Nathan; “ and I
hope you will enjoy the evening’s festivity.”

“ Thank you, Nathan; and I pray the pleasures of to-
night will be as pleasant to you as the dangers of last night
were perilous—but, Nathan, what disguise are you going to
wear?"

“ Why, my love, are we not to keep our identity a secret
from one another?" asked Nathan.

“ Yes," replied Wilma, shyly lifting her Witching eyes to
those of her lover; “ but then you can just tell me, Nathan,
so i will know when you are near me."

“ Well, I will wear this," said Nathan, removing his cap
and dropping a leather mask attached to the lining of his
coon-skin.

“ I will wear nothing but a brown vail,” replied Wilma.

‘ “ For fear there may be others there in similar disguise,
I will attach this to your cape so that I may know you,"
and be fastened a. sprig of wild holly to a button on her
Cape.

This done, he buckled Wilma‘s skates on her feet, and
then lit one of the torches and gave it to her. The maiden
drew her vail from under the borders of her hood, and
dropping it over her face, announced her readiness for de-
parture to join in the mazes of the moving throng upon the
ice. '

10 Beadle’s

 

Dime Library.

 

 

 

Nathan led her down to the edge of the ice, and lifting
the veil, imprinted a kiss upon her brow; then she shot
away over the ice with the ease and grace of a fawn, and
soon was in the midst of the joyous crowd.

The young borderrnan watched her until her form had
become lost in the moving, changing throng of men and
women; then he donned his own disguise, put on his skates,
and lighting his torch, sped away after his sweetheart.

He had scarcely reached the crowd before a figure crept
out from a clump of bushes near where the lovers had stood,
descended the bank, and putting on a pair of skates, glided
away upon the trail of young Reeve. This person carried
no torch, yet it could be readily seen that he wore the dis-
guise of an American Indian. His face was not masked
otherwise than with pigments of piebald colors. A single
feather adorned his scalp-lock, and a necklace of bear-claws
was around his neck. His feet and legs were rucased in
moccasins of dirty buck-skin; while a green blanket, with
many devices wrought in colors upon it, fiapped and
flauuted about his shoulders as he swept across the lake.

 

One by one the skaters swarmed out from the shadows of
the shores and swelled the throng until fully three score
were moving hither and thither, a living wave of happy joy-
ous beings——all en mask—laughing, singing and talking in
disguised, unnatural tones.

Costumes alone, or the remnants of costumes, represented
a dozen different nationalities; for Lakeside and Budd’s
Station, like all other frontier settlements, were made up of
men from all quarters of the globe. And nearly all retained
some article, or idea, at least, of their native costume, which
was brought to light on the present festive occasion. The
border hunter and settler, in their rude habiliinents of buck-
skin and linsey-woolsey, comprised the majority of the mas-
queraders. But, from amid the circling crowd, a close ob-
server could select figures clothed in costumes peculiar to va-
rious nations and classes of people. There was the Ameri-
can Indian, trigged out in paint and feathers; here the
“ down-Easter,” in his proverbial bell-crown hat and swallow-
tail coat. Yonder glided a tall, rough, booted Texan, with
the characteristic swagger, and here a figure—the most con-
spicuous of all the men—a Mexican ramhero with spencer
jacket of velveteen, calzomros, laced along the seams, boots
with heavy, tinkling spurs at the heels, and sombrero banded
, with silver. There was another figure, in the costume of an
Italian bandit, and there another, in a different garb; and so
on, until the eye grows weary of looking them out, and the
mind confused in placing them in the order of their nationality.

With the females, there was less variety in dress. Most
all the girls were the daughters of the settlers, whose usually
limited circumstances admitted of little variety in the matter
of a wardrobe. There was one female in the party, how-
OVer, that claimed especial notice, by reason of her dress, and
the wonderful ease, grace and swiftness of her movements.

She was dressed from her knees to her throat in a frock
of snow-white furs. A white hood was upon her head, a
Vail covered her face, and white fur mittens incased her
hands; and the torch that she bore gave an additional sheen
of whiteness to this typical robe of innocence and purity.

Wherever the Woman in White, as she was termed,
floated, as it were, masked faces turned and followed her,
apparently with great curiosity to know who it was.

Few of the masqueraders recognized each other, but some
of those that did, finally dropped into pairs, and talked and
questioned each other in low tones on the various figures mov-
ing around them. But of all, the Woman in White, the
Mexican ramlwro, and the Indian with the bear-claw neck-
lace, whom we have seen follow Nathan Reeve unto the
lake, appeared to attract the most attention; for no one there
appeared to know them.

There was a large group of spectators strung along the
shore, wrapped in their furs and blankets, watching the cir-
cling, gliding throng of happy revelers. It was principally
composed of men and women whose age or inexperience in
the use of skates would not admit of their taking part in the
festivities of the occasion. There were, however, a few ex-
ceptions, one of which was Bowie-knife Ben, the hunter.
He had no equal in the use of skates, yet took no part in the
carnival. He stood alone, at one side, leaning upon his rifle,
his constant companion, regarding the grand and dazzling
spectacle before him with a mingled expression of delight
and anxiety. It was evident to many, however, that he was
not easy—that some vague consciousness of danger Weighed
constantly upon his mind. This might have been attributed

i

 

to his inborn hatred of the Indians, and the presence of those
of the skaters in savage disguise harrowing up his feelings;
for, whenever one of the Indian masqueraders passed near
him, he would start with a nervous jerk, and his brow would
contract with an angry scowl. He had stood fully an hour ‘
with his eyes fixed upon the skaters, as if endeavoriug to
penetrate every disguise, when a hand was laid upon his
shoulder and a voice asked:

“ How do you like the carnival, signior?"

The speaker was an elderly man, claiming to be an Italian,
but spoke English fluently.

“ Why, Mr. de Vasco," replied Ben, turning and facing
his interlocutor, “I jist think it’s spankin‘—dem fame, as
French Jules says.”

“ It is grand, magnificent, senor,” replied de Vasco. “ It
reminds me of a night in Venice upon some festive occasion,
when the streets, or canals, I should have said, are swarm-
ing with lighted gondolas, and are rife with the songs of the
youth and beauty of the Queen of the Adriatic. But that
woman dressed in white—yonder, signior—do you know
who she is?”

“ Think I do," was the laconic reply.

“ And do you know who that Indian with the bear-claw
necklace, and that fellow in the garb of a Mexican rancher-0,
are?” questioned the Italian.

“ No, I 'don’t. Nor I don’t like the movements of that
ole B’ar-Claw. Durn the Injin part of it. I hate the red
varlets so that it makes mo bile over to see even a white man
in the disguise. Besides, thar’s half a dozen Injin rigs on
the lake now; and all new-comers are Injins, and who knows
but most of ’em are ginewine.”

“ I have noticed that the Woman in White, and the In-
dian of the bear-claws, as well as the Mexican, appear to
attract considerable attention and curiosity. And I notice,
also, that the woman and Indian manage to pass and repasg
each other quite frequently.” .

“ Indeedyl” exclaimed the scout; “ I have noticed it, too.
Guess they know each other.”

“ Very likely, signior; but can you tell me who that
lady is that just passed us, with a sprig of holly on her
breast?”

“Think it’s Miss Wilma Meredith. Lordy, but she’s a
sweet little creature, boss; and, aside from ole St. Ule’s gal,
Sybil, thar’s not a bein’ in Minnysoty that can beat her fur
downright booty and konsentrated sweetness. See how grace-
ful she floats along! Tor-meat it, no wonder Natty Reeve
loves the gal.”

“ The Bear-Claw must be that lever, for I notice the In-
dian manages to keep near her, as you can see. But, after
all, what a wonderful theme for speculation and conjectures
just such a carnival furnishes for both spectators and par-
ticipants. And, I dare say, this night will never be forgot-
ten by those present; but see here, friend, you have not told
me who that Lady in White is."

“ Wal, I think it’s Miss—"

“ Signiorl signiorl for God’s sake, behold!” suddenly in-
terrupted the Italian, grasping the hunter excitedly by the
arm, and pointing away toward the southern side of tho
lakelet.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE KING or WINTER.

Boom-KNIFE BEN bent his gaze in the direction indi-
cated by the hand of the excited de Vaseo, and from out the
distance be beheld a tall, shadowy figure approaching, the
sight of which was suflicient to fill a less brave heart with
terror. At the same instant that he caught sight of it, a
murmur of excitement passed through the crowd assembled
along the shore, and a wavering of the line of excited spec-
tators threatened a momentary panic. And yet the cause of
all this unnecessary'cornmotion was but the figure of a. man;
but in the uncertain glimmering of the torch-lights he seemed
a being of unearthly proportions. Besides, his general as-
pect was absolutely trighttul and calculated to bear heavily
upon the minds of the superstitious.

To each shoulder the giant had a flaming torch attached, .
which resembled wings of lurid fire, and the light of these
lent an additional look of terror to the figure of, the man.
His hair hung in long, scraggy locks down his back and his
ponderous beard, which literally covered his face, was filled
with long, glittering icicles that rattled and cloaked with

 

 

 

 

 

 

each movement of the head. His leggings end cent were
made of undressed hear-skin, 1the 'hair of which was ‘filled
with snowflakes that gl-ittered like diamonds. His head was
bare. At. his back he carried a huge quiver filled with
fealhvervtipped arrows, while in his hand he carried a‘lon'g
bow, tightly strung.

"lI‘hosevon the bank saw the approach of the giant before
{the skaters did, but when his presence was discovered by
tthe‘lattcr, a general murmur of excitement thrilled through
i the crowd, and many paused in their sport to watch the in

: truder.

With lightning velocity the unnatural giant, with icy,

- clanking beard, swept over the lake, his skates fairly roar-
x ing upon the smooth ice, powdered jets of which dashed up
i in front of his feet like puffs of steam; for under the pon-
: derous weight of the man, the steel soles of his skates cut
‘ deep into the ice—marking plainly his path over the surface
' of the lake.

The excitement so suddenly created by this giant’s appear.

' ance soon “subsided, and the sport of the skaters was re-

sumed, the unknown giant participating with an energy that
- seemed *superhuman. And despite the resolutions of the
v skaters, every one mechanically shrunk from the unknown,
\ whenever he came near.

“The Woman in White suddenly swept alongside of our
:1 young friend, Nathan Reeve, and leaning slightly to one
. side, said:

“ That character heads the list, of masqueraders in point
- of originality—some cunning big fellow come in the guise ’of

the King of Winter."

The remark was heard by other ears than Nathan’s; and
soon it passed from lip to lip that the strange monster in
human form was a stranger come in the role of the King of
Winter. And so the carnival went on, yet none could over-
come the involuntary inclination to evade the King of Win-
ter.

“ What in Heaven’s name does it mean, signior?” asked de
Vasco.

“ Tor-ment it, de Vasco,” replied Ben, endeavoring to con-
ceal the perturbation of mind that his voice betrayed; “ you-
've got me now. I’ve had a glimpse of that ‘tarnal critter
afore; he's Titan, the Terror of the North, though it’s as
God’s blessin’ no one but you and me know it, tor-meat it,
if .it ar'n'tl”

"‘ .Why, signior, he’s only mortal, is he not?”

“‘ They say he is not.”

"‘ Tutgtutt It's all a hoax. That fellow is only a man
-of an extraordinary size and hight—possibly all of seven, or
:seven and a half feet. He even appears taller than that
.among the rest of the masqueraders. I dare say he’s-some
one known to you."

“It may be, de Vasco; but -look at the tormented big
llummixl he’s follcrin' that Gal in White as tho' he wanted
Ito make love to her. Torment it, wouldn't it be orful if
thc’d grab her up and shell out with her? For fear sich a
:thing‘ll happen, I’ll jist keep my Mary Ann ready to drop
rhim," and the scout swung his rifle in the hollow of his left
.arm, white his thumb rested upon the hammer and his finger
upon the guard in front of the trigger.

“ Well, well; I am anxious to know something further of
tthat giant. I knew a negro in Tennessee once, fully as large
:as that giant; but he disappeared all at once, as did his mas-
tter, also; and now a large reward— Aheml did you see
"that, signior? The King of Winter put out his hand
:and actually raised the veil of the Woman in White. That
we rude—decidedly impudent—but behold, signiort he’s
now following the lndian with the bear-claw necklace; and
see! he draws an arrow from his quiver—he 'flxes it to his
bowstring. Holy saints! does he mean to do violence? Aht
by heavens! he draws the arrow to its bead-—lookl he is
going to shoot the Indian, signior—there, my Godt—inur-

‘ derl” . .
The last word was uttered in aloud. excited tone, and

was immediately followed by a cry of agony from the lips
of the Indian masquerader, who, grasping at the open air.
staggered forward and fell dead, his body pierced through
by a barbed arrow shot from the great bow 01’ the mysteri-
ons Titan, who, never slacking his speed, shot away across
the lake and scan disappeared from sight behind a pornt of
land thrust out into the lake.

Cries of horror arose upon the air that but a few minutes
before was rife with song and merriment, A portion of the
masqueraders deserted the lake, while others, attracted by
that. horrible fascination in the presence of death, gathered
around the slain man.

Bowie-Knife Ben.

 

511

Bowie-knife Ben and de Vasco were the first to reach the
'body, in which no spark of life lingered. They found the
arrow had pierced the heart, causing instant death.

On examination it was found that the dead man was a
white stranger. No one could identify him, and so his body
was searched for some clue to his name. A bit of folded
paper was found in an inner packet. De Vasco opened it,
and in the glare of a torch, read aloud:

 

 

“Luke Foss, don't fall to be at the Skating Carnival to
morlow night. You Will stand a good chance to abduct Wil-
nm Mt'l'l’tiiHI, if you work things right. We will be there.
We will know you by your bear-claw necklace. .

“ SrL. Gasman."

A cry of surprise burst from the crowd. Masks and dis-
guises were thrown aside, and expressions of indignation
passed from lip to lip. Wilma Meredith was overwhelmed
with congratulations on her miraculous escape from the
power of the notorious outlaw, Syl Garnett.

A search was made among the crowd for suspicious char-
acters; but no one was found who was not known. Syl
Garnett and his men had disappeared; and, of course, no
one knew when or where they had gone.

Thus the carnival was brought to an abrupt termination,
and all sought their homes but Bowie-knife Ben, (is Vasco,
and Larry O'Ray. They remained behind to take charge of
the outlaw's body.

Thus the laket,‘which had been so lively with festive joy
and gayety, was deserted; and a deep, dismal, chaotic silence
pervaded tlie‘surrounding. ’l‘he pale moon looked to earth
and added its ghastly beams to the somber aspect of the
wintry night.

‘i‘ Well, well." muttered de Vasco, when he found himself
deserted by all but Ben and Larry, “ this is atragical ending
of the carnival."

“ It is, tor-meat the burnin' luck," replied Bowie-knife
Ben. “But it’s no more‘n I expected when I see‘d that all-
fired big sky-scraper, Titan, put in his appearance."

“ But after all he saved Miss Meredith from being ab-
ducted, as those villains had plotted," replied de Vasco.

“ That’s all true, de Vasco; but who the tor-ments is the’
critter?" l

“Ben,” and de Vasco’s voice fell almost to a whisper,
“ I’ve been at Lakeside, OE and on, a dozen times, and you
all know me as de Vasco; and the Lord only knows the
stigma that has been attached to my name because none of

you know what I am here for. I am a detective, to speak

plain, and am in search of one Garlofl Meur; also one Ti-
berius Redo. The latter is a negro of wonderful size—in fact,

was the largest man inAmerica. He used to be a slave in
.Tennessee, but all at once his master disappeared, and it was

suspeeted that Tiberius murdered him. Before he could be
arrested, however, away he went, and for years men have
been searching for him all over the world. A reward of—
well, no difierence about the reward—but I’m inclined .to

think that your Titan, the Terror of the North, is my man,

Tiberius Redo.”

“ ’Tarnal tor-meats! you don’t say so?” exclaimed Bowle-
knife Ben. “ Wei, s’pose it’s so, who’s goin’ to try to kap-
ter that critter? Why, holy saints of Jerusa-leml you might
as well try to bag a whirlwind.” ,

“ He’s mortal, he’s mortal, Ben; and I think you can
manage some way to circumvent. and entrap him; and
now—"

Here silence was imposed upon the speaker by the tip, tip
of footsteps approaching within the shadows of the east
shore, near which they stood, and a quick glance in the di-
rection in which the sound emanated, revealed several skulk-
'ing forms creeping along in the shadows.

_ “ Let us leave the body and hump ourselves ashore," said
Ben. “We may find out snmthin’ more, fur I know ’91:
skulkin’ brutes are friends of this dead varmint—now,
scat!"

,, The trio turned and hastened ashore, and scarcely. were
they under cover of the woods ere the skulkers crept out
from the shadows of the shore and approached the body of
the dead man.

Our friends scanned the party closely. There were flvo‘
Indians and one white man. The latter Bowie-knife Ben re-
cognized as one of the late masqueraders—the one dressed
in the garb of the Mexican 7‘1‘ncIm-o.

" Och, now,,and who can that bhloody rhascal bar" ques-
tioned Larry O‘Ray. ,

Before either the hunter or .de Vasco could answer, the
man placed his fingers to his lips and gave utterance to s
low, warbling whistle. ‘

L12 " Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

 

 

Then from out the gloomy shadows of the northern shore
of the lake, came the ring of steel upon the ice, and the
next minute a pack of dogs appeared in sight. They were
all attached to two sledges, one of which was fastened be-
hind the other. Upon the forward one was seated the driver,
robed in white.

“ By Judas!" exclaimed de Vasco, “ isn’t it the Woman in
White that was among the skaters awhile ago?”

“ Lordy, man, it can’t be lier—-—by the ’tarnal lor-ments it
can‘t be! But we'll soon see, fur she’s comin’ right to’ards
them six bloody boogers."

In a few moments more the sledges drew up alongside the
Mexican and Indians. The latter lifted the body of the
dead man from the ice and placed it ‘on the hind sledge.
Then, at a wave of the hand and a word from the driver, the
dogs turned on a short circle toward the north and sped
away, the Mexican and Indians following on behind.

“ By the heavens above us, boysl” exclaimed Bowie-knife
Ben, his face assuming an expression of profound amaze-
ment and wonder, “ the driver of them dog-sledges zlsthat Woman
in White I"

 

C H A P T E R I X.
NATHAN nnnvn's moan

NATHAN REEVE accompanied Wilma Meredith home from
the lake after the tragical termination of the carnival. The
note found on the dead man’s person formed the general to-
pic of conVersation. Both were seriously impressed over
the hairbrcadth escape of Wilma from abduction, and yet
they rejoiced, in the fullness of their young hearts, that the
vile plot of Syl Garnett had been defeated.

The matter, however, seemed to affect Nathan more deeply
than it did Wilma; but from his conversation the maiden
deduced an inference that there was something still back of
the villainy of Garnett that weighed heaviest upon his mind.

“ My dear girl,” he said, when they found themselves
alone on their way home, “ let me caution you about ventur-
ing alone or unprotected beyond the confines of the village.
That vile renegade, Syl Garnett, has his plans laid for your
capture, and he has the whole Indian nation to assist him in
carrying them out. ”

“ For your sake, Nathan, I will observe your wishes and
use every precaution," replied Wilma, “though it is probable
that the renegade will not trouble us‘ again.”

“ No telling, dear Wilma; those villains are not easily de-
feated, and the death of their friend Foss may spur up their
resolution and put new energy into their wicked designs."

“But that awful giant that came and slew Foss may be
keeping watch and ward over Lakeside and its people?” per-
sisted Wilma, loth to believe that danger threatened them.

“ I would as soon trust Bowie-knife Ben as that unknown
giant, Wilma, for the latter is no more than a mortal being
of large proportions and an air of mystery about him; while
Ben is an exception among men of his profession, and were
he a stranger to us, his ways would seem equally as wonder-
ful as the giant’s. His judgment on matters pertaining to
his sphere of life is seldom at fault; and I must see him vet
tu-night and ascertain his opinion of affairs, and know
whether or not it would be advisable to look after the safety
of Father St. Ule and his daughter. The outlaws and In-
dians may make a descent upon their cabin, and then, poor
Sybill God only knows what fate would be hers. But by
the way, Wilma, was Sybil at the carnival?”

“ I think not. She told me yesterday that her health was
not likely to admit of her going out. I looked for ‘her
among the masqueraders, but if she was there, I did not re.
cognize her. But, Nathan, do you know who that Woman
in White was?"

“ I do not, nor could I find a person that did know her-
But my opinion is, Wilma, that she is one of Syl Garnett’s
accomplices. She spoke to me once as she swept past me
on the lake, but the ring of skates and confusion consequent
upon the sudden appearance of that giant drowned the tones
of her voice so that I could not recognize it.” -

“ Oh, dear!" Wilma suddenly cried, clinging closer to her
lover’s arm, “ I can not help shuddering, Nathan, when I
think of the fate I so narrowly escaped. And just to think
of it; while, in the past two weeks, I have been looking for-
ward to this night with joyous anticipations, I never dreamed
that others were plotting against me. God bless him who

 

came as the King of Winter! I shall pray for him, as .
always do for you, Nathan."

Nathan Reeve gazed down into the pretty face of the little
creature clinging so fondly to his arm. His heart was too
full of love and admiration for utterance, but his eyes spoke
the words his lips refused, in the silent yet eloquent language
of love. To hear that those sweet lips prayed for him was
a silent declaration of the great love that she bore him. And
as be reflected over the events of the past few weeks, he
thought that those prayers might have been instrumental in
guarding him from the perils of the woods, for surely the
Great Father could not turn a deaf ear to the s pplications
of a heart so pure, innocent and sincere. But as the youth‘s
mind changed from the past to the future, a change came
over his spirit, and a look of bitterness and anguish clouded
his face. In silence they walk on, and soon arrived at the
door of Wilma’s home. With a fond kiss, Nathan bid his
sweetheart goodmight and tore himself away as though some
thing desperate was tugging at his heart-strings. And so
there was. v r '

While hurrying through the village back toward the lake,
he met the Italian, de Vasco, of whom he inquired:

“ Can you tell me where I will find Bowie-knife Ben?”

“ I left him at Burky’s Exchange, but by this time he and
O’Ray are 01!, up north,” replied de Vasco.

“ Indeed?” responded Nathan, regretfully. “I am sorry
he is gone; but I must find him—I must see him this
night—I need him. What course did he take, Mr. de
Vascot"

“He was going north from Fall Lake to follow the trail
of a party of Indians and a dog-sledge upon which the body
of- Foss was carried away. They may be absent a week; at
least, each one went into Burky’s and got a couple flasks of
brandy, a supply of ammunition and dried venison to do
them several days.” ‘

“ Then I must follow them,” replied Nathan.

“ It's not safe to be out alone to-night, young man. There

are dangers around that only the experienced can avert," said
de Vasco.

“I care not for dangers. I must overtake Bowie knife
Ben, or die in the attempt. You have no idea, Mr. de Vasca,
what this night’s festivities have developed; and not one of
us has anything like a tangible idea of who were in our midst
during the carnival.” ‘

“ I presume not, signior, and in one sense of the word, the
carnival must be voted a tragical failure.”

“ Yes; it gave our enemies an advantage from which
may arise serious consequences. But I am wasting time

that’s precious to me, do Vasco. I must find Bowie-knife
J» _

Ben.”

The young borderman hurried on home, and procuring his
rifle and side-arms,,repaired to Burky‘s Exchange, where he
procured a small flask of brandy, an indispensable article to
the Border hunter when exposed to the rigors of a northern
winter.

Nathan took his way toward the lake after leaving the

store. There was a secret buried in his breast—a secret
which seemed to impel him rapidly forward with a volition

that was involuntary,»while his face assumed that downcast,
clouded expression which comes of a heart being weighed
down with mental tortures and struggling emotions.

CHAPTER X.
nan AND LARRY on run run.

Bowm-KNIFE BEN and Larry O’Ray were several miles
away from the settlement before Nathan Reeve had I started
in search of them.

Ignorant of his presence being required by any one, Ben
pushed northward from the lake in hopes of tracking to its
destination the dog-sledge upon which the body of the dead
outlaw had been spirited away by~ the Woman in White.
And wherever the sledge was found he also expected to find
the Mexican and the five Indians, for there was not a. doubt
in his mind but that the woman was Syl Garnett’s friend,
and that the Mexican was Syl Garnett himself.

The scouts had no difficulty in finding the trail where the
sledges and outlaws left the lake. Although there was a
thick crust upon the snow, thetrack of the sled-runners
couid be seen, as could, also, the impression of the Mexican’s
bOot-heels. The trail ran due north, with now and then I

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben. 13

 

deviation to avert a steep hill or dense thicket of under-
growth; and without a minute’s hesitation the hunters set
03 to follow it, moving with remarkable rapidity consider.
ng the disadvantages they were compelled to undergo.

” Arrah, howl—and if wees can continey on this way fur
a week, we’ll cotch the bloody spalpcens before anuther
hour," said Larry, both his tongue and logs growing nimble
from the frequent visits of a flask of brandy from his breast-
pocket to his lips; for, to tell the truth, Larry’s greatest fault
was his tendency toward intemperance.

“ I hav‘n’t as much hopes, this holy minit, of overtakin'
them as I had when we started," replied Bowie-knife Ben.

“ And why not, mon?"

“ Why, you can see the sky is growin' hazy, and-—”

“ Ochl—and if that isn't a good ’un, tho’! It’s yer eyes
that's ghrowin’ hazy, mon, with lookin’ for the bottom of
yer flask.”

“ You'll see that in less than two hours the moon ’11 not
only be concealed, but this trail ’11 be rubbed totally outen
existence.”

“Wirrah! and how the divil, men, will the thrail git
rhubbed out?"

“ It '11 be snowin‘ like ‘tarnal sin,” replied Ben, earnestly,
“ in less’n an hour. I told ’em the day was too warm and
soft-like to last long. I knowed it war a weather-breeder
and prognosticated snow afore the carnival was over; and
I’d shit it too, if the fun hadn’t a-bin broke up as it war,
so soon. It ar’n’t midnight yit. This is an awful oncertain
kentry, Irisher. A sunshiny hour may be follered by one of
thunder and blixes. Thar’s nothin’ sartain, nothin' sartain
in Minnysoty weather. But mind, I say, we’ll have snow
afore two hours, or I’ll knock under that I’m no prophet.
Then, don’t you see, the trail ’11 be kivered up; and we left
in the lurch.”

“ We’ll have pom, so we will, bedad," replied Larry,
with an air of satisfaction.

Ben's predictions of the weather proved true, only that it

commenced snowing sooner than he had anticipated. At
first the snow fell in large, damp flakes, most of which
lodged on the tangled branches overhead, so that the scouts
were enabled to follow the trail for some time after the
storm had set in. But, finally, the flakes became dryer,
smaller and denser, and sifting down through the ladened
boughs, obliterated the trail entirely.
v The scouts were now in a scope of scattering timber, where
the view around them was but little obstructed, and when
Ben was, at the last moment, compelled to give up all at-
tempts to follow the trail, his keen eye caught the faint
glimmer of a light far ahead. Pointing it out to his com-
panion, he said:

“Blessed diskiveryl Yander’s the source of the Nile!
Tha/r we‘ll be apt to find ’em tormented gourd-heads camped.
They’ve stopped fur the night, I 'low, thinkin’ as what the
night and storm ’11 be a safeguard to their trail and camp.
But eat me snakes if I don‘t see ’bout it! And now, lrislier,
stifien yer lip, bristle up and step like a shadder, and I’ll
ou’st if we don’t have some right lively, slap-up fun."

“ Bedad, then, and s‘phose mees take a wee bit of a pull
from me flask, for to shtiddy me nerves, and rhouse thelions
and tigers in me," said O’Ray, and suiting the action to the
word he produced a small flask which he uncorked and
placed to his lips. A long and continued gurgling not only
attested the ecstatic joy of the man, but threatened the entire
contents of the flask. There was, however, a draught left,
and this was passed to Ben, who seldom indulged in spirits
unless it was absolutely necessary.

Having thus “ narved up," as Larry expressed it, the flask
was returned to its receptacle, and then the two began mov-
ing toward the light, observing all the precaution possible.
They sheered around to the west so as not to approach the
camp from the south, knOWing that if it were the camp of
the Mexican and Indians, they would station a guard south
of the camp to prevent the approach of followers. I

As the scouts continued on, it, was observed that the light
was gradually growing dimmer, as if being slowly e!!-
tinguished by the falling snow; and as no Signs Of me 0”“1‘1
be seen moving or stationed about it, Ben came to the con-
clusion that it was deserted. As they drew nearer, .it W35
found that he was right in his conclusion. Not a Sign of
life was visible about the fire which was now redUCed to a
heap of red, glowing coals.

Ben reconnoitcrcd the vicinity with circu .
when fully assured that no enemies Were about, he cautiously
approached the fire, followed by O'Ray.

mspectlon, and

 

 

A large space had been cleared of snow under a wide.
branching tree, and in the center of this spot the fire was
smoldering. A glance at the moccasin tracks around in the
snow told the old borderman that it was an Indian bivouac,
and had not long been deserted. But why it had been left,
he could not conceive, unless the enemy that they had been
following had passed that way and induced the Indians to
go off with them. It was evident that the Indians had in-
tended to remain there all night when they had encamped,
for a large pile of dry fuel was lying near, no doubt having
been gathered in for the purpose of keeping up a tire through
the night.

Feeling satisfied that the camp was deserted for good, and
having considered everything connected with the situation,
Bowie-knife Ben came to the conclusion that the only reason-
able course for them to pursue was to take possession of the
deserted camp and remain there until morning. He felt as-
sured that they could do so with impunity, while to continue
on might lead them far off from the trail.

80 Ben replenished the fire from the supply of fuel al-
ready at hand. Larry unrolled his blanket, and wrapping it
about his shoulders seated himself against the trunk of the
tree with an air of relief.

“ Now let the jade av a shtorm flirt her skirts if she

wants to; Larry O’Ray is happy as a boiled owl, so he is, be ,

jabers!"

“ You’re gittln’ top-heavy, Larry, with too much corn-
juice," said Ben, pushing aside the snow to make a place to
spread his blanket.

“ Nary bit av it, me honey. Larry O’Ray never see‘d the
day that poteen could down ,him; but, by me faith, Benny,
mees come very noigh forgitten’ one thing that occurred at
the carnival to-noight."

“ I reckon!" exclaimed Ben; “ what war it?"

“ Shteady, bedad, and mees ’1! tell yees, Benny, fur mees
see’d it wid me own eyes and ears. Begorra, and it war the

bla’g‘ard in the Mexican duds that walked sthraight up tol

some other chap on the ice and shlapped him a dab on the
soide av the head."
“ You’re blowin‘ now, Larry,” said Ben, incredulously.
“Divil the bit av it, Benny. It's the howly truth, if
mees niver told it before.” i _
“ Wall, then, what follered the slap?” asked Ben, grow-
ing more interested.
“Ay, now, and bless yer sowl, and the fellow that got
shlapped jist buckeled roight up to the Mexican dog, and

says he, in a wickedish voice, ‘ Villain, I will resent this ing

salt at a proper toime and place.’ Then says old Mexico,
‘ Name yer toime and tools and olace.’ ‘ To-morrv noight,
I’ll meet you, villain, on this lake; our seconds can arrange
the preliminaries,‘ said the insulted, gent. ‘ All roight; I’ll
meet ye,’ reploied Mexy, and then the two went on skating
as though nothing ’d happened in the world. That's the
shtory, Benny."

“ Then you didn’t know the men?" said Ben.

“ Not a bit more’n a hog, Benny. Their masks hid their
faces; and their voice war so full of mad that I couldn't
recognoize them."

“ Tor~mcnts!" exclaimed Ben, in surprise; “ to-morry
night, then, a duel is to be fit on the ice of Fall Lake! Dog
my buttons, if I wouldn‘t like to know whether any of our
boys have a hand in it. I'd like to be thar, too, and mebbe
will be; but dod burn it! I’d like to know how many scrapes
that ’ere carnival ‘ll be the cause of! A duel! wall, I wish
I war one of the principals, with choice of weapons; I’d say
bowies at ten paces, every time."

“ Och! and if it war Larry O‘Ray, he‘d say jimmydohns
full av poteen, to be thrown at each other arter they were
emptied by the principals, so he would.”

Ben laughed in a low, silent manner at the Irishman‘s re-
mark, and then replied:

“ Come to flghtin‘ with whisky, Larry, you’d beat every
time."

“ Wouldn’t mees, though?”

“ Yes, whisky is bread to some.”

“ More’n that, Benny, for bread is only the shtafl av life,
whoile whisky is loife itself."

“I’m sorry, Larry, that a man of your sense. is sich a
worshiper of liquor, for don’t you know the missionaries
say it ‘ biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an ad-
der?’ ” V

“ I don't believe it, Benny, and .the men that says—”

At a motion of Ben, the Irishman ceased talking. The
scout started to his feet, and shading his eyes from the 31m

1 4
of the light with his open palm, gazed out into the gloom
beyond the radius of light. H ‘

Down fromthe hills before him came the low wail of a
human voice, as if in agony.

-“ Heavensl” cried Ben.

H ‘fHow'ly Mother, and phat is it?” cried O’Ray, starting
up and grasping his rifle.

As if in answer to his question, a fierce blast of wind
swept down from the highlands of the north, bringing again
to his ears that wail of agony and distress:

“ 0h, must I die thus?"

“ Never, W, while Bowie-knife Ben's head's warm!”
exclaimed our hero, and he sprung out into the storm and
went lancing away through the driving sleet and Egyptian
gloom like a frightened deer, guided by those awful wails of
distress of some perishing human creature.

 

 

CHAPTER II.
JEDUTHAN TURK.

So sudden had been Bowie-knife Ben’s departure from
camp that he had disappeared from sight in the night and
storm before Larry could see the course he took. With a
muttered exclamation, the Hibernian scout turned back and
seated himself to await the return of his companion. A
true sense of his lonely situation now became fully impressed
on his mind, and as a natural consequence, misgivings of an
ominous nature were conjured up in his brain. Larry was
not a coward, by any means, nor was he a novice in the
lore of the border. But he was wanting in that self-control
and silent precaution so characteristic of the horn frontiers-
man. Being naturally of a fun-loving and jovial disposition,
he was reckless of dangers and regardless of consequences,
often sacrificing golden opportunities for the sake of perpe-
trating a joke on a friend, or enjoying a season of amuse-
ment and fun. But now that he found himself entirely
alone, he became, for once at least, seriously imbued with
the situation and its surroundings. Perhaps the liquor he
had imbibed had something to do in bringing this change
over his spirits; or perchance the wild caprices of the
storm, the weird crackling of the fire, and the wavering of
the sickly light, mingled with that mournful cry of distress
from out in the storm, had wrought upon his mind presenti-
ments of an alarming nature. He finally fell into a kind of
a mental stupor filled with a hundred wild vagaries and
conflicting emotions, from which he was aroused, by-andby,
by the crunch of snow beneath heavy footfalls. He glanced
up and saw Bowie-knife Ben issue from the darkness,
fairly staggering under a heavy burden that he bore in his
arms——a burden which a glance told him was the form of a
human being.

“ Howly Varginl fwhat in the name av the great Ador-
able have yees got now, Benny, dear?" he cried, starting to
his feet.

“ Spread in blanket down and you’ll see," replied Ben; and
when the lrishman had complied with his request, he de-
posited his unconscious burden upon the blanket.

“ Och—Howly Motherl—,and it’s a mon—a rheal whoite
mon, as [’m a born lrishmnn!" the Irish scout exclaimed, as
he gazed down upon the rime‘covered face of a little old man,
who, from all appearances, was entirely lifeless. “ And who
the saints am it, Benny?"

“ You know as much 'bout it as I do," replied Ben.

The lifeless stranger was a man of some fifty years of we,
judging by appearances. He was small of stature, and
dressed in a borderman’s suit of buck-skin, fur cap and
woolen underclothes, His long yellow hair was matted in
frozen locks about: his head and covered with rime, while his
short, stubby whiskers, of a_ grizzly~gray color, wereefllled
with snow and. ice, plentifully mixed with frozen tobacco-
juice. Scraggy, beetling brows overhung ,the now-closed
eyes, andx these, with the sharp, hawk-bill, Roman nose, the
unnatui‘ally large mouth, gave the man's face an expression
both comical and ridiculous. In fact, the facial muscles
seemed to have been frozen or petrified while the man Was
engaged in a fit of hearty laughter, the comical expression of
which death itself could not harden. Withal, the man was
an odd specimen of humanity; and who he was, and where
he came from, neither of the scouts could form the faintest
conception.

DUI.

heaaieis Dime Library.

“ Is the critter dead, Ben?" asked Larry, trying to be seri-

 

 

 

 

“ Nary dead,” replied Ben; “ he's oflyt- frozen to death;
and by playin’ on him right peartly, 1 think we can fetch
him around."

The two scouts went to work to restore. the. man to life,
with an energy that attested their kindtanxiety for the nnfor-v
tunate stranger. He was in a dangerous condition, having
become stupefied by the cold, and since the scout had found
him, not a word had escaped his lips. But that lhoe cries.
of distress—so strong and loud—should become so suddenly,»
hushed, gave rise to a question of doubt in Ben’s mind.

“The old chap’s about winked out," said Ben, tearing:
open the bosom of the unconscious man‘s shirt; “he‘s been:
lost and got cold, and then sleepy and top heavy, and them
keeled over into the snow; and I tell ye it’s a cruckin' good!
thing we came 'hereabouts. Here, jist pour a leetle of thatt -
into his mouth, and I’ll rub his limbs till they strike flre;,"'
and he handed Larry a flask of brandy which had not been
touched since they had left Lakeside.

“It's a morthal shame to pour the good potent down a
dead mon," sighed Larry, with a look of regret, as he drew
the cork and reluctantly poured some of the stimulant down
the man‘s throat.

A gasping, convulsive movement of the body follovtred this I
administration. The liquor was swallowed by an apparently
great effort, and a muttered ejaculation, as if in reproof for
being disturbed, escaped the man’s lips.

“Begorra, and the liquor’s fwhat teches a tender shpot.
Isw‘ar it brought a half-smoile to the feller’s lips. Wirra, '
and it would rhaise a dead men, Benny, if be war an Oirish-
man; but it‘s a shame, to waste the fluoid on this—”

“ Never mind, Larry," interrupted Ben; “ pour in another -
Whistlefui of the essence. ”

Again O’Ray applied the mouth of the flask to the strang-

er’s lips, which parted as if by a conscious volition of the r

man‘s will; and not until the last drop had been drained 4‘
from the bottle did the Irishman remove the flask. ‘

“ There,” Larry exclaimed, “he’s got all av a half a point 2
av the cordial down his throat, and, begorra, I b’lieve he '1

could hold anuther. He’s a tooth fur soothin-syrup, Ben. .'

and it’ll take a bucketful to rhouse the owld skeesicks."
“ Anuther flask ’ll fetch him, 1 think," said Ben, slapphig f

the stranger vigorously upon the shoulders and sides. “Jist t
spill anuther bit down his gullet; here‘s my last flaskfiul, andi
it’s dod-burned lucky I brought as much as I did. ”

“ Divil the bit av good 'll it do us if we’s have toshlop it all!
down this lazy Turk’s mouth.”

'l‘hus complaining, he again placed a flask to,the stranger’s.
lips, when the- cadaverous facial orifice of the man flew open;
to receive the stimulant as though he was fully conscious off
what was going on, and yet totally powerless to speak, or-r
rodse himself from the lethargic somnolence intg which 1102‘
had been thrown by the powerful andslulnbrous influence. off
the rigorous cold. _

“ Och! and by the howly saints!" cried Larry, opprebbi-i-
ously; “and mees believes. the bloody thaif is acting um
'possum, so I do; for didn’t yees see, Benny, how mutant!
loike that gash on his face floies open whiniver- the bottle
goes to his lips? Divil the bit will he git ag’in; he'll rhob
us, the. iirthy vampoyre," and Larry arose and concealed the
flask in the crotch. of the huge forked tree under which they
stood.

“Thunder!”'retorted Ben; “the man's only drunk with
cold and inersha We’ll fotch him around by-and-by. Say.
stranger "‘—--and he shook the man vigm-ously_u git up he”;
muse. your lazy self; don't sleep yerself to death like a epi-
umeater. Git up, I say!"

. The stranger gave utterance to a low, savage grunt, th .I
was expressiye of displeasure at being disturbed, but he im
mediately relaxed into his drowsy torpor again.

“I’ve got to use more vigorous stimulants, I see," lien in-
marked, seeing he could not awaken the sleeper; and risi -:
to his feet, he began belaboring the man with his moccasinml
foot in a severe but not violent manner.

This appeared to be more efficient, for it immediattl,
forced several angry grunts of reproof from the sleeper’s lip -.
and as Ben continued to apply his remedy, both he and
O’Ray were completely astonished by seeing the stranger
spring suddenly to his feet as though nothing had ailed him!

With a “ broad," comical smile, that threatened to bro. ,
out in a roar of laughter, upon the rime-covered and dolez..l
face of the man, be assumed an attitude of hostility, and in
a tone of “injured innocence," demanded: '

“Cuss it, ye thunderated fools! do ye mean to kick an :

pound the life outen me? Dem it, can't it man'take/a iu- 

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben.

 
   

15

 

 

 

 

spectable sleep any more? It’s shameful, barbarous, mean!
Yer whisky wa'n’t so bad while ye kept it runnin’, but that
durned maulin’ and rubbin’ and—”

“ You tor-mentcd ole dead-beat!" interrupted Ben, half pro-
voked by the sudden turn of affairs, which convinced him
that he had been made the victim of a practical joke; “have
you been playin' the 'possnm—the fool, all this time?”

The smile, which all this time had been deepening upon
the man’s face. disappeared in an outburst of hearty laugh-
ter, full of the genuine ring and the kindliest of feelings.

“ Wal, I kind 0’ guess, strangers,” he at length replied,
“ that I’ve a tooth for whisky, as one 0’ ye remarkt awhile
ago, and I knowed you wouldn’t ’a’ been so free if ye’d
knowed I didn’t need it. Ye see, I knowed you‘d whisky
when ye fust landed, fur I see’d ye take a drink—ahem! that
fust horn war remarkably delicious—delitefull What, me
freeze?—ole Jeduthan Turk freeze on sich a night as this
‘ere? Nary freeze! Ho! ho! ho! It war a mighty, all-
fired mean trick, but I sw’ar yer liquor war a choice article,
and—” here the odd old trickster went ofijnto another fit of
laughter, that set his whole frame in a convulsion.

With a serio-comieal smile upon his face, Ben regarded
the man apparently in doubt as to whether to join him in
hearty laughter, or kick him out of camp for his cool and
deliberate imposition. But finally he came to the sober con-
clusion that it was only a joke, and having resolved to take
it in the spirit in which it was given, he advanced, and tak-
ing the stranger’s hand, said:

“ All right, Jeduthan Turk; whenever a man gits Bowie-
knife Ben as you have, he's welcome to what he makes out
of it; and so here’s to your health.”

He drew a flask from his pocket, and placing it to his lips
took a mild draught and then passed the bottle to Turk.
The latter bowed, accepted the flask with a comical grace
and ” thankee,” then placed it to his lips and drained it to
the dregs, much to the regret and astonishment of Larry
O’Ray, who, regarding the whole with open-mouthed won-
der, uttered a profane exclamation. '

“ Splendid! de-lieious!” exclaimed Turk, smacking his lips
in high gusto, and nodding in an approving manner at
Larry.

“ Och! and I’d judge so,” replied the slighted Hibernian,
“ tho’ fur the sowl av me I couldn’t swear to it, fur I didn’t
taste it.”

_ “ No, no, I reckon as what you don't drink, Irishman,”
replied Turk, his little gray eyes sparkling with mischief.
“ Wal, it :19 a had habit—makes one a little shaky. Let the
p’isen alone, Irishman, while ye can, fur when one gits ad-
dicted to it, he can’t quit, and water gits to have a bad taste.
Now I, Jeduthan Turk, am a moderate drinkin’ man, and

it__”

y “ Howly Mother!” cried O’Ray. “A moderate dhrinker!
Och! and if that isn’t good; and if 3. mon that dhrinks a

I tubful is a moderate dhrinker, whar the divil’s yer immoder-
ate dhrinkers?”

“Why, the man that’ll drink ten times as much as I will.
to be sure," Was Turk’s reply. “But, boys, I tricked you
fur yer impertinence."

“ What do you mean by that?” asked Ben.

“Why, walkin’ in here and takin’ charge of our—my
camp. That‘s what I mean."

“This your camp?” exclaimed Ben. '

“ Verily I say unto ye, it is; bet yer boots on it," Turk
replied.

“ You weren’t alone, then," said Ben, beginning to mis-
trust that there was something wrong about the man, as his
thoughts reverted to the moccasin‘tracks he had seen around
the fire when they first came to the camp. ’

” Weren’t I, thougL- ?” replied Turk, with a comical squint
of the eyes, evading a direct answer in a manner that was
calculated to strengthen the suspicions in Ben’s mind.
“ Wal, I kind 0’ calculate a man ’u'd be green as grass in
July to be out travelin’ alone tO'Dighti I 5W“ he woumi
men; and if—” _

Further words were here cut short by the fight 0f 9‘ fig?“
emerging from the gloom with the slow, measured gravxty
and catlike silence of an Indian, which “1 film» the Intruder
proved to be. He was a Sioux, and his palmed face W070
the expression of malignant cunning and base treachery.
His approach, although slow, appeared to be made Wlu‘ 1m“
punity, and an utter disdain of the presence 0
Ben and Larry. But it was noticed that he and .chuthan
Turk exchanged furtive and significant glances, “‘3t‘v‘th5tand'
lag the latter evinced some uneasiness at first 313’“ 0‘ “1°

f Bowie-knife ,

 

warrior. In the meantime, however, Ben and Larry also
exchanged glances that were fully understood, and followed
by a movement of the hands toward their girdles.

Then that dreadful silence, which is a precursor of a com-
ing storm, came like the shadow of death, and brooded over
the camp.

 

CHAPTER XII.
TITAN IN CAMP.

BOWIE-KNIFE Ben’s fingers tightened upon the heft of one
of those deadly weapons in his girdle; but, seeing that
neither the Indian nor Turk made any demonstration, he
gazed around him and out into the darkness as if expecting
to see other shadowy figures appear upon the scene. But as
no one came, and the two enemies before him showed no
disposition to begin offensive measures, he withdrew his
hand from his girdle, at the same time demanding:

“ See here, Turk, I want to know how many more sich
copper-skins you’ve got out in the woods?"

“ Not anuther one,” responded Turk, glancing at Ben, in
a manner which the scout could not fully comprehend.

“Dog my cats if I like sich heathenish society; it’s not
healthy; it gives one a itchin’ in the fingers,” replied Ben.
“I reckon as what one or t’other party’d better shin out,
and as you claim the right to this camp, Mr. Turk, We’ll
leave."

“ Don’t be in a rush ’bout leavin’, friend,” said Turk, in
stone that to Ben seemed freighted with a double meaning.
Larry, however, was not so observant of the man’s tone, and
at once put‘in:

“ Arrah, now, Misther Tark, and yees needn’t prevail on
us to shtay; divil the drop av comfort ’1] yees git av us
again, so yees won't."

“ Irishman, you shouldn’t let yer mind be absorbed in thr
cravin’s o’ the stomach. Think o’ yer soul’s salwation
and the great herearter, for the angel 0’ death hovers nigh."

The look that accompanied this moral admonition had the
desired eflect upon Larry, who turned away and at once
looked to his rifle and adjusted his sidevweapons.

The Indian had seated himself against {the trunk of the
tree by this time, and with cool deliberation had produced a
pipe and begun’smoking. His whole bearing was one of
contempt and disdain. He gazed into the fire and puifed
away at his pipe with well-affected indifference as to what
was going on, yet it was quite obvious to the keen eyes of
Ben that he was noting every movement and drinking in
every word that was said.

Once or twice our hero’s eyes became fixed upon the sav-
age, and his hand mechanically clutched one of the deadly
weapons in his girdle; but a look from Jeduthan Turk each
time stayed the deadly impulse of his mind. It was evident
to him that Turk did not desire the savage slain, and yet he
—Turk—-evinced no little uneasiness since the red-skin’s
arrival.

The crunch of snow suddenly arrested the attention of the
party, and but for the fact that the lndian glanced quickly
up in surprise, Ben would have been uneasy himself. But
what was danger to the Indian would not likely be so to
him, and he turned toward the approaching sound and await-
ed the coming of the unknown.

The quick trampling of feet, like the massive tread of a
stag, could be heard' crashing through the snow-crust not far
away; and in a few minutes two figures with stately tread
appeared from the darkness in sight. Their faces and great

' brown eyes seemed almost human in their dimly-perceptible

expressions, but the ghostly branching antlers that surmount-
ed their heads proclaimed them animals—a pair of elks. A
second glance told our friends that they were not only do-
mesticated, but harnessed to a light sleigh, or sledge, upon
which sat a huge figure wrapped in a robe of bear-skins.
What it all meant, Ben could not conceive, and with an in-
quiring look he turned to Jeduthan Turk, and was surprised
to see a light of extreme satisfaction glowing in the eye of
that worthy. As if conscious of what Ben desired to know,
he turned his head slightly and said, in a. load Whisper:

“ By jinks, it's him—Titan the Terror, I swan, it is!"

At this juncture the sledge came to a halt within the full
glare of the camp-light. The robe dropped from the driver‘s

'shoulders, revealing the huge figure of a man (treased in

buck-skin, and wearing a fur cap. His fags was black II

 

16 Beadle’s

 

 

midnight, and so the secret of Titan the Terror was revealed.
He was an African. He was a man of giant proportions,
whose size had usually been magnified one-third larger by
superstitious fears. He was a mortal being—nothing more.

Quick as the lightning‘s flash, the eye of the giant swept
over the party before him; then he coolly took up a long
bow—the same which he had carried at the carnival—and
fixing an arrow to it, drew the missile to the head. Then
followed a sharp twang and a groan of agony. The latter
issued from the lips of the Indian.

Turning, our friends beheld, to their horror, the savage
tugging, with the feebleness of a’dying man, at the arrow
that absolutely pinned him to the tree against which he was
reclining. Titan had slain him, and as all turned from‘the
dreadful scene, the giant uttered a low, triumphant laugh,
dismounted from his sledge and advanced with outstretched
and open hand of friendship toward Bowie-knife, his colossal
form fairly towering above those of the dwarf scout and
Larry' O'Ray.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
TITAN BEVEALB mmsnmr.

THE every look and movement of the Terror of the North
were sufficient evidence to Bowie knife Ben of the friendly
feeling of the giant, and the scout extended his horny palm
and clasped that of the mysterious man. .

“ How do, gemmen?" exclaimed the latter, in the unmis-
takable Africa-English accent, warmly shaking the scout’s
hand.

“ Tor-ment it, man, how do ye do? but for Gor Almighty
sake, what a b’ar’s grip you’ve got," replied Ben, wincing
under the pain of the giant's crushing grip.

Titan released his hand and burst into a low, soft, good-
natured laugh—a laugh that dispelled every shadow of mis-
trust from the breast of the two scouts.

In stature the negro was nearly, if not quite, seven feet
high; and his proportions otherwise were in harmony with
his hight. He was a model of physical manhood, fully de-
veloped in form and feature, the latter bearing striking evi-
dence of his African descent. His movements were as easy
and light as the panther’s; and his great muscular, sinewy
arms, massive, swelling chest, broad shoulders, and thick
stout neck told of the prodigious strength of the man.

Ben regarded him with a kind of admiring awe; and it
was no wonder, he thought, that people feared him and
coupled his name with the dark and' mysterious. All the
past events with which the giant was connected, passed in
rapid review before his mind. The shadowy figure that
passed them in the storm on the prairie; the strangled red-
skin; the lost trail: and the tragedy at the carnival—all
flashed across his mind in a moment. He saw, lying upon
the‘sledge, the skates and mask of icicles worn by the giant
at the lake that night, and by these he knew that the man
was just on his way home, wherever that home might be.

“ ’Bout to get into trubble, gemmen?“ the giant asked,
glancing from Ben to Larry.

“ Dog my kats if I know, stranger,” responded Ben. “ If
you’d pin us to a tree like ye did that critter, I reckon as
what one’d call that a cussed little trouble."

“ Bowie-knife Ben is afeard ob nobody, dat I knows,” re-
plied Titan. “ I‘se seed him throw de bowie-knife when he
nebber dream dis chile war ‘bont. I’se knowed Bowie knife
dis long time, but dis am de fustest time we ebber met to
’change words. I knows, kase Fee a little hefty and not as
handsum as a charm, dat I’se ’siderated a monstrosity—s
gobling—de debbil—a spirit, and de Lor’ only knows what
else. But, I’s jis' a mortal man, I sw’ar I is, boys; you can
my me—PinCh me, bite me—eat me if you wants to.”

“Hurra, now, and that’s a good wan," exclaimed Larry,
“ and forty hungry b‘ars couldn’t ate yer carcass that’s like
onto an elephant’s, so it is. "

“ I’se not very little, stranger, I admit," replied Titan.
“De good Lor’ seed fit to pile it on heavy, and I slia'n’t com-
plain. I'se acted queer and skeered lots ob folks, I knows,
but den I’se had an object in it all. I’se killed gobs ob In-
gings, but I nebber hurt an innocent man, woman or chile,
nor I nebber kill innocent beasts fur de fun ob de thing. I
kill Inging’ ’ca'se dey de enemies ob peace and civillizashing
Dar am little going on in de council lodge ob de Inging but
what dis nigger knows it; but had dat. Inging," pointing to
we “Maui body of the savage. “lived, de charm oh my snot

Dime Library.

 

 

 

cess 'd been busted, and Titan, de Terror ob do North, would
'a’ bin nuthin’ to de red-skins but a big nigger," and as he
concluded, the giant burst into a fit of hearty laughter that
shook his massive frame as if with convulsions.

“ Wal, stranger,” replied Bowie-knife Ben, when the negr
had subsided into silence, “ I’m tor-mented glad thar’s an un-
derstanding atwixt us, fur that little killin' affair at the lak
to-night has set everybody in a stew." '

“ Dat’s jis’ what I ’spec’s, but den it jis’ what I wants,
too,” replied Titan. “But, you sees, Ben, dat I finds out
dat a pack ob debbils war gwine'to de carnival to steal
somebody’s gal, and so ole massa says: Tibe, fix up as de
King ob Winter, and go down to do carnival and shoot (is
Inging wid de b’ar’s claws dead, fur he wur to steal the

81."

3 Speaking of his master’s orders, recalled to Ben’s mind the
conversation that had occurred between him and do Vasco
that night, during which the Italian had expressed a belief
that Titan was a negro—the very man he was in hunt of,
and who was under conviction for the murder of his master
in Tennessee. The ofificer’s suspicion had proven correct on
one point. Titan was a negro; and there was not a doubt
left in Ben’s mind but that he was the sought-for murderer,
Tiberius Rado. And with these facts before him, the scout
began debating with himself as to what course he should
pursue. Fortunately, Titan came to his relief and settled
the matter.

“Dar am a fellah at Lakeside,” he said, “ dat calls his
se’f de Vasco, and says he’s a Italying. Now, dat ain’t so.
When you see him ag’in, jis’ tell him dat his name am Ezra
Toole, and dat I knows what he's in dis country for. But
tell him he’ll not cotch Tibe Rado alive fur de murder ob his
ole massa. No, sah; dis chile know his business, and when-
ever de time comes, Tibe Rado '11 show hisse’f like a man.
It am not fur myself dat I’se here, but fur one I thinks a
mighty heap ob. I never murdered Massa Longfelt—no,
sah, I sw‘ar to de Lord I didn‘t. I knows whar ole massa -
am. You jis’ tell Vasco dat. And jis' tell him to look fur
do other party in dat Tennessee affair.”

“ Wal, nigger, l’ll do it with the greatest anemosity," re-
sponded Ben, “ and mebby now you can tell me what Syl
Garnett’s den is.”

“No, I don’t know ’zactly; but will know 'fore long, fur
dar am a chicken in dat coop dis nigger wants to pull dt
tail feather out ob."

“ Well, nigger," said Ben, “to be frank with you, we’i
in s'arch of Garnett’s den; and b‘lieve we’d a-found it if it
hadn’t commenced stormin’."

” Go ahead, Ben, and always count dis little morsel on
your side. You can jis’ call me de Babe in de Woods, or
de Big Nigger, or Titan, or Tibe Rado, or anything; and
whenever you knock at de door ob dis nigger’s home, you’ll
find de latch-string out; and if I’se not dar, jis' come dot to
ole massa”—~and he made a peculiar sign with his right
hand—“ and I’ll bet you‘ll be keered furs But, gemmen,
dar’s danger in dese woods, and dis chile’s advice is to leave
dese diggings while it’s snowing so dat your tracks will be
bid. Dat dead Inging got gobs ob friends in de woods, and
dey‘ll be ’round soon. Guess dis little nigger ’11 leave now,
boys; so here goes."

He turned, and stepping into his sledge, seated himself,

nd drawing his robe around him, took up the lines that
were attached to the antlers of the elks, and like a shadow
shot away into the night and storm.

“ A doggoned queer fellcr, after all," mused Ben, as the
giant disappeared from sight; “ and, Lordy, what a giant!
But then I’ll bet he can be friz to with safety, and—"

," Ohl—och, Benny, dearl” suddenly cried the Irishman,
“ and by the Howly Saints, that nuld whisky-barrhel, Je-
duthan Turk, has slid out!" .

True enough, Jeduthan Turk was gone. He must have
stolen away while Ben and Larry’s attention was center-ml
upon Titan; and what was the most surprising and provolo
ing of all, especially to Larry, was to find that the queer,
mysterious old rascal had carried off the flask of brandy
that the Irishman had concealed, as be supposed, in the
crotch of the tree.

 

C H A P T E R X I V.
CAPTAIN comm’s PARTY.

Bowmamms BEN and Larry O'Ray at once broke camp
and set of! for other quarters more congenial to thelrisafr-t v.
They had journeyed but a short distance when the report of

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben.

17.

 

tire-arms broke suddenly upon their ears, echoing in sullen
intonations through the storm.

“ 'l‘or-ment it!" exclaimed Ben, coming to a sudden halt,
“thnr’s sumthin’ up out yonder. Like as anyway, a free
flght are goin' on. S‘pose we gee off and look into it!”

“ Bedud, and I niver felt 8) much loike foight as mees do
this blessed minit‘, and iver since that ould lobbcr-jaw took
our last dhrnp av glory. Wirra! there goes anither ould
rhipping bung."

True enough, the discharge of rifles had become quite fre-
quent now, and it was evident that a conflict was going on.
Anxious to know the meaning of it, and who were the parties
engaged, Ben and Larry hurried off and soon reached the
vicinity of the battle.

They found themselves on the summit of a ridge over-
looking a deep, narrow valley which Ben knew to be but
sparsely wooded with stunted pines. The fight appeared to
be going on in this valley, but the darkness and whirling
storm were so blinding that everything was hidden from
view. They could, however, detect the occasional flash of a
rifle, whose report would come upon the wings of the storm,
leaving not a single doubt as to the location of the con-
flict.

The scouts continued their reconnoissance around the val-
ley, for some time, but could make no discovery further than
that there were Indians in the vicinity who were evidently be-
sieging' enemies in the valley.

Daylight finally came, and with the darkness the storm
disappeared. The sun rose, warm and bright above the
snow-clad hills and valleys, rolling back the curtain of dark-
ness that had shut from view, so long, the contested vale.
A scene quite surprising was revealed to the eyes of the
scouts. .

In the center of the valley stood two large, white tents
surrounded bya wall of logs six feet in hight. This little
defense was again surrounded by immense snow-drifts. No
sign of life was visible about the camp, but upon the plain
to the southward several Indians could be seen, grouped
around a fire, evidently watching the little fort.

At first Ben believed that the camp was deserted, but a
thin wreath of smoke curling up on the crispy morning air
from the apex of one of tents, showed that the huts were hab-
ited. Who Were the occupants? He was satisfied that it
was a party of white hunters from some neighboring settle-
ment, and at once resolved to run the risk of approaching
their camp. Acting upon this resolution, he crept from his
concealment and made a dash for the little fort, c.0seiy foi
lowed by Larry O‘Ray.

The Indians saw them the moment they debouched from
their concealment, and rushed forward with a yell and cm
dcavored to cut them off from the encampment. But the
besieged were upon the alert, and at once covered the scout’s
advance by opening a brisk tire upon the savages, who were
‘om-pelled to fall beyond riflerange. '

The next moment Ben and Larry were received with shouts
of triumph into the camp of the besieged. The first and
only face am0ng the latter was recognized as that of Nathan,
Reeve; all the rest, of whom there were six, were entire.
strangers to both Ben and Larry.

“ Vipers and alligators!" exclaimed Ben, as they leaped
down behind the barricade of logs and snow, “that war a
sprightly little run, strangers, I sw’ar it war—hello, Natty
Reevel—you here, my boy—how be that?"

“ I started out in search of you last night, and ‘had the
gond fortune to run across these gentlemen with whom I've
been compelled to stay ever since. This, Bowie-knife Ben,
is Captain Sydney Graham."

“You don’t say! Howdy, Capting Graham!” exclaimed
the little hunter, advancing with proffered hand; “ I reckon
as what you be in a tor-mented ti’tish place, now sr’n‘t

you?"

“ We are closely
bent on getting our scalps,’
over, I‘m inclined to think they
have overestimated our ability to cope with them. At lethal.
We have decided to remain here a week or two until the
Weather becomes more settled; then we calculate to move up
into the vicinity of Otter Tail Lake."

Captain Graham and his party were
possibly over five and twenty years of age; and although
they were habited in the rude yet comfortable costume of the
hunter. it. was clearly evident that they were not bordermen
l1" PLUM-“5500. All bore testimony of the refinement an  cul
ture of civ'lization. They were equipped with rifles. pistols

besieged by a party of Sioux that seem
' replied Captain Graham. ” How-
’ll be disappointed unless we

all young men, none

 

 

 

and knives of the latest pattern; also with hand sludges.
skates and snow-shoes, all of which proclaimed them am»
teur sportsmen otf in the wilds of the North-west for a sea-
son of sport and adventure. All were fine specimens of
physical manhood, with frank, open faces, upon which was
stumped the glow of health and the spirit of youthful ad-
venture.

“ I consider it quite fortunate our having you with us at
last," continued Graham, after the hunter had been intro-
duced to each of the party. “ We‘ve been looking for you
a fortnight or more. You see we are boys out from home
for the first time, and we need a guide, protector and guar-
dian. We had set our caps for you, as your reputation as a
hunter, scout and gentleman hears the strongest test of all
in this country. We came down this way on purpose to
hunt you up, for you see we want. to see the elephant and
the wilds of Minnesota, and have set apart the whole year for
the purpose. The Want of an experienced guide. however,
came very near getting ourselves into trouble last night, and
but for the appearance of Mr. Reeve, we may have lost our
hair."

“ Arrah, now, and it would ’a’ l’arnt yees a good lesson,"
Larry O‘Rsy chimed in.

“ Verin it would, I admit," replied Graham, with a smile,
“but I’m afraid that it would have been so severe that it
would have done as little good. We we not aware that the
Sioux came so far north at this season of the year until Mr.
Reeve informed us that we were well in upon the con-
tested grounds of the Indians, and the advance posts of
civilization.”

“ Ya-as, thar’s a tor-mented sight of good and had blood
spilt in these diggin‘s," replied Ben, “ and I reckon as what
if you stay here a year you’ll have a right skittish time of it
—-—jist sich fun as me and O'Ray here are continerally huntin'
for."

“ Then if you have no previous engagements, we want
your services—wouldn’t care if We could get you both," re-
plied Graham. “ It is our aim to have a general good time
regardless of expense and dangers, and being fully cognizant
of our inability to enjoy the border without a good guide,,
we are anxious to obtain you as that benefactor; now, what
say you?” ' l ,

“ And will you have a dhrsp av anything along for
colds in the throat and sichi" asked Larry, with a comical

n.

‘ “ We have several small casks of exeellent brandy and
bourbon cached with our supplies, up near Otter Tail Lake "

“ Hurrah, begob, and yees are the laddies for mess. Yen's
can count me one on the hunt and six whin it comes to the
dimmy-john."

“ Wal, I reckon as what—” began Ben, but he was inter-
rupted by Nathan Reeve, who said:

“ Ben, before you decide I want to speak with you.”

' The two stepped aside, wheh Nathan continued:

“ Ben, I want your services till midnight of the coming
night."

'“ Why. boy, ye ar’n’t gorin’ to marry, be you! Don't
want me to stand up with you, do you r"

“ No. Ben; I will tell you: I was grossly insulted by that
person in the garb of the Mexican ranchero at the carnival
last night; and at twelve o‘clock to-night the matter is to be
adjus'ed."

“ Tor-ments and furles, Nattyl—is this the truth. ’pon-
honor?" exclaimed Ben. “Then Larry was right; he said
he heard pie-crust words terminate in ‘rangements for a duel;
and of all other, Natty, I never dreamp you war one of
'sm.”

“ Yes, I am the injured party. The Mexican struck me a
blow, without warning or provocation, in the face; and to«
night either he or I must die, and Iwant you to see me
through the scrape. It was to hunt you up that led me
out into the storm last night.”

“ Mercy, mercy, boy," exclaimed Ben, as if struggling u
overcome some inward emotion, “ you can count on ms t
the death, but it’ll be like goin’ to your funeral. I've an
ijee that Mexico is a dead shot. But you’ve got the ch'ice
of weepons, and I wish to thunder you could flip a bowie~
knife as I can, then you’d be so sure of killing Mexico that
it wouldn’t be anyruse of your goin’ to meet him at all.
You don’t know, then, why he BtruCk YOU? Don’t know
who he is, do you?"

“I have no idea who he is. or why he struck me."

“ Sins'nlar, mm. aiuit u. Nan-yr You must he tum-way,
I reckon: but. then tuni- vvar lots of singular things occurred

 

 

W118. Beadle’s? Dhne Library.

 

At: the lake last night. That carnival war a bad thing arter
all, wasn't it?"

“ I don’t know, Ben; it brought about the disclosure of a
plot to abduct Wilma Meredith that might have been suc-
cessful under any other circumstances. Besides, it will put
the settlers at Lakeside on their guard. They have been too
negligent of their own safety; and I have said all along that
they would suffer for their carelessness. Syl Garnett has the
whole Indian tribe to back him up, and one well-directed
blow might lay every settler low in death. I am half in-
clined to think my foe is one of Garnett’s robbers. As to
Titan, the—”

“Thar,‘boy,” interrupted Ben, “ I war jist goin’ to tell
you that I know all ’bout Titan-had a shake of his half-
acre fist last night."

“ Indeed!”

“ And b’lieve it, won’t you, he’s nothin’ more’n a big nig-
ger, and a friend of our'n. He’s a queer big brat, and-—
Tor-meat!”

The latter exclamation was occasioned by the ,sibilation of
a bullet so close to the hunter’s cheek that a sharp, stinging
pain was produced. The shotlh'ad been fired by a savage,
who had crept up under cover of a clump of snow-laden
bushes, to within easy rifle range of the camp.

“Durn a man that can't shoot any better'n that, say 1.‘
Be on to die on the spot—it's a disgrace to the border. I
sw’ar it be, and I’ll give him a pass to the happy huntin’-
grounds,'by crackey if I don’t."

' He swung his. long rifle to his shoulder and took aim at
the little cloud of smoke that still hung on the air, where it
had puffed from the red skin’s rifle. ~He'pressad the trigger,
and the clear, ringing report of the piece split the air. A
tufted head was seen to pop up above the bushes the instant
the shot was fired, and although no sound was heard, it was
quite certain that the Indian had been wounded if not killed.
At least, the party had conclusive evidence that no more
shots came from behind that bush.

The little fort was so constructed, and its approach so
guarded by immense snow-piles, that it was impossible for a

savage to obtain a shot at one of its defenders without ex-
posinghimself on the hillside. . ' v ‘ t

The amateur hunters had fortified themselves for a two-
weeks’ stay in the valley, or longer in case the inclement

Weather did not subside. They were well stocked with pros

visions, and provided with everything necessary to protect
them from the rigors of the weather. Their rifles were re
peaters, which alone made them equal, in a contest with fire.
arms, to two-score men. . ,

Bowie-knife Ben foresaw a season of royal sport with this
party. He had studied each face and found therein the gem
uine elements of manly courage and that spirit and love of
adventure so characteristic of youthful blood. Such a party
Ben delighted in leading. There was an inestimable pleasure
to him in knowing that men, who were superior to him in
intellectual worldly knowledge, were forced to look to him
for advice and instruction in a matter where “book learn-
ing ” would be- of no avail. At the same time he was not
rude nor conceited in his authority and power; on the con-
trary, he exercised them in a way that made it pleasant to
an. _

“Boys,” the frisky little hunter finally said, “ after to-
night I think I can spend a few months with you in seein’
the elefantee. But, mind ye now, I’ll put ye through a
course of sprouts not soon to be forgotten.” ,

“ Good! good! that’s what we want," chorused the sports-
men, and the matter being thus permanently settled, atten-
tion was turned to the preparation of breakfast, Ben keeping
a close watch on the red-skins that were maneuvering around
the valley in the woods.

None of the party left the little fort that day, but as soo
as darkness again infolded the valley and forest in its shad
ows, Ben and Nathan took their departure toward Fall Lake,
there to meet the Mexican masquerader in deadly combat.

Larry U’Ray remained at the camp with the young sports»
Inen.

 

O H A P ’I‘ E R X V . "
“ msrons son 'rwo."
THE night was clear and still. The moon and stars looked

to earth from a sky whose crispy brightness was in keeping

with the keen, frosty air.

 

Fall Lake, glimmering like a bed of molten silver in the
moonbcams, was wrapped in the deep silence of midnight,
when forth from the shadows that bordered the west margin
of the lake two figures issued onto the ice. One was dressed
in the garb worn by the Mexican masquerader of the night
previous, even to the bearded mask upon his face. His
companion was also on mask. Both wore 'skates, and with
slow, measured strides they moved toward the center of the
lake.

Scarcely, however, had they appeared in sight ere two
other figures upon skates emerged from the east shore and
approached the center of the lake also. They were Bowie
knife Ben and Nathan Reeve, come to meet the Mexican and
his man in the previously~arrangcd affair of honor.

As the parties neared each other, they finally came to a.
halt about fifty paces apart. Ben and the Mexican’s second
advanced then until they met. Each one knew what the
other was there for, and so no idle words were exchanged in
arranging the preliminaries for the fight.

Their work was soon done; pistols were to be the weapons,
and tho distance was to be decided I by the combatants them-
selves. They were to be stationed’two hundred yards apart,
and having their skates on, they were to advance toward
each other at a given signal, each one to fire while advancing
and whenever'he felt assured that the intervening distance
would warrant a‘ deadly shot. If both missed, the affair
was to be repeated until one or the other fell or failed to
come to time. It Was a novel my of dueling, but the idea
met the favor of both principals, who at once took their'
positions upon the lake, two hundred paces apart.

Ben‘w'as to give the signal to advance by firing his rifle.
The hunter'st'ood near Nathan, upon whose face a deep seri-
ousness had settled, but no look of regret not fear did he
betray.‘ ’ ‘ _' ‘ ‘ ‘

A deep'silence reigned. Not av‘oice broke the stillness
of the midnight hour upon the lake. It seemed as though
the four had seized upon the same moment for reflection.
At length Ben said: ' ‘

“Boy, this 'is a tor-merited ticklish *piece of work. 1
sw’ar I wish it war me ’stcad of you, I sw’ar I do. You
see, I’ve been runnin’ ’long 'down the road that leads to death,
nigh onto forty years, and I hain’t got kith nor kin to mourn
for me. If youfall, Natty, ah‘s me!——that'poor little thing
’11 weep and weep herself to death. But you must keep a
stiff upper lip, lad, a cleareye and a stiddy nerve. Don‘t
be in a‘ hurry to fire; when you do, feel for old Mexico’s
heart." ‘

“If I should, fall, Ben, don’t fail to do as I requested of
you‘to-day,” said Nathan, in a voice unmoved by apprehen-
sion. ' ' '

“I'll do' it, Natty, I’ll do it, though it bu'sts my own
heart. But the longer you wait, the nnsteadier yer nerve
will git, so here goes, Natty.” ‘

The trapper elevated the muzzle of his rifle and fired into
the air. In prolonged reverberations the report swelled out
on the crisp, steely night, gathering Volume as the echoes
took up the sound and carried it back and forth amid the
hills.

With slow, measured strides the combatants start toward
each other. They move faster and faster as the distance be-
tween grows shorter and shorter. Their fingers are upon the
triggers of their weapons.' Their eyes are riveted upon each
other’s form; slowly their right hands are raised to a level
with the eye—another moment and the fate of one or both
will be sealed.

Bowie-knife Ben stands motionless, biting his lip in an
agony of suspense. V With burning impatience he watches
their approach, knowing that each stride carries one or the
other, if not. both, nearer to death. His suspense increases
as the distance between the foes grows shorter. Gradually
the two distinctive sounds of their ringing skates are blended
into one; the hunter sees two flashes, and the report of two
pistols as one quavers upon the night.

The affair was over. A load was lifted from Ben‘s heart
and a shout of joy and relief burst from his lips. Neither
of the duelists fell, nor did either utter a word or make a
movement indicative of having been wounded. * They swept
past each other, the Mexican coming on toward Ben, and
Nathan continuing on toward his adversary’s friend. Be-
fore the Mexican reached Ben, however, he checked his
speed, circled around to the right and started back. Ben
looked for Nathan to do likewise, but to his surprise the
youth turned and with a swift, reeling gait swept away to
ward the north, and disappeared from sight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ben grew uneasy. He feared, after all, that Nathan had
been wounded; however, the arrangements in the affair. of
honor would not admit of his leaving his post, and for seve-
ral minutes he stood waiting in an agony of suspense the re-
turn of his friend. But the youth- came not—the time was
up, and with a ringing laugh 'of triumph, the Mexican and
his second turned upon their heels and left the lake.

” Tor-ment the luck, are the boy killed?" muttered the
scout,'in a tone of asperity. “I know he‘s not got skeered
and racked out—no, he may have been wounded and ‘s gone
0!! to die. Tor-meat it at all, I must go this holy instanter
and see about the lad."

He glided away across the lake, following as near as pos-
sible the course taken by Nathan. He could not find the
trail of the youth, for the whole surface of the lake was cov-
ered with a cob-web of skate-marks; but he was moving on
toward the northern side of the lake, his mind filled with
many vague apprehensions, when the sight of a dark speck
upon the ice arrested his attention. He stopped, and stoop-
ing down, examined it.

“ My God! it‘s blood—fresh blood! The boy’s wounded!"

He started up, and a sigh that deepened almost into a
groan of agony escaped his lips. He ran his eyes over the
lake and along the dark, wooded shore before him. No sign
of life was visible. A deep, oppressive silence brooded over
the surrounding spot. Nathan was wounded; of this there
was not a doubt in the mind ofthe little hunter, and fearing
his life might be depending upon the prompt mlnistrations
of a friendly hand, he resumed his Search. ‘At every step
he could see those dark spots of blood, and by them, he was
enabled to follow the youth‘s trail. He went on, and had
just entered the shadows near the bank, when a pool of blood
upon the ice brought him to a stand. ‘

Here Nathan had fallen. ‘ The ice was sputtered over 'with
the crimson blood as though he had been rolling and tossing
in great agony after he fell. A careful examination of the
ice around, however, revealed the fact that the yOuth had
either been ruthlessly dragged away by some one, or else he
had crawled away himself, dragging his limbs through the
blood and smearing it in streaks across the ice. The gory
trail was quite plain. It did not go ashore, but continued
along the margin of the lake and finally entered the channel
or creek that connects Fall Lake with the Sauk river. Ben
followed it on until it reached the river, when he found it
turned up that stream. He turned and followod it a short
distance further, when it came to an abrupt termination on
the river where the water was known to be very deep. A
hole had' been cut in the thick ice and its blood-stained edges
told the fate of Nathan Reeve. He had been dragged there
by some brutal enemy, who had no doubt been a witness to
the duel, and put under the ice where the depths of the wa-
ter would prevent the recovery of the body, for a time at
least.

” The great tor-ments!” exclaimed Ben, in bitter asperity, as
he brought the butt of his ride down upon the ice with a force
that checked the crystal sheet in a dozen directions; “ that‘s
the end of poor Natty Reeve—young, handsome, and brave
Natty. And my, my! I can never break the ‘new to that
poor little girl whose heart war wrapped in him; no, I can
never—"

The rest of the sentence became lost in some deep and
painful thought. His eyes sought the ground in silent re-
flection, and when he raised them again, he caught the glim-
mer and twinkle of alight on the east shore of the river.
He knew from whence it shone—the window of Father St.
Ule‘s cabin—and there was something cheerfully inviting in
its soft, twinkling glow that he could not resist, and taking
up his rifle he started toward the cabin, resolved to spend
the night with the missionary and his pretty, dark-eyed
daughter. ' .

He soon reached the front of the cabin. All was silent
Within. He rapped upon the door—once, twice, thrice——
but no voice bade himfenter.

“ Tor-ment it a-tall, what’s it mean?" mused the scout,
rcflectively, and in no little perturbation of mind. Then he
started back, and a thrill of horror shook his frame, as a
sudden and terrible thought'flashed through his brain.

Bowie-Knife Ben. 19

 

CHAPTER XVI.
THE PICTURE ON THE WALL

11' had suddenly occurred to the mind of Bowie‘knife Ben
that St. Ule and his daughter had either been murdered by
Syl Garnett’s Indians and robbers, or had been spirited away.
If neither, he felt satisfied there was something wrong, for a
light was burning in the cabin and yet no one answered
his summons. He saw, however, that the latch-string was
out, and this being, upon the border, a silent invitation
to a friend or stranger, to enter without ceremony and
partake of the hospitalities of the house, he resolved to avail
himself of this kindly welcome. In fact, nothing could have
induced him to have left the place without knowing the
cause of the deep hush within. He softly opened the door
and cressed the threshold. ,. ,

Neither the missionary nor his daughter was in the room,
but a bright, cheery fire was burning on the hearth of the
capac'His fireplace, bearing evidence of having been quitere-

‘cently replenished. But where were, the inmates of the
V houset—St. ,Ule and his daughter. The room bore no signs

of violence having been done therein. Everything was just
as it had been arranged by the deft hand of Sybil. There
was the missionary’s table covered with papers and books.
A large arm-chair made of withes and cushioned with soft
furs sat near it. The .floor was spotlessly clean; the walls
were coveredwith tapestry and hung with sacred pictures and
landscape paintings—all the handiwork of Sybil. Between
two doors leading‘into the separate bedrooms of Sybil and
her father, hunga life:size portrait of the Madonnauafter the
style of Murillo. On the wall opposite this hung a picture
of the crucifixion.-. ‘

There were a few things that gave evidence of the room
having been instantly deserted; and yet Ben was satisfiedtbat
the inmates had not retired for the night. To be sure of
this, however, he advanced and rapped upon the bedroom
door of each, but elicited no answer.

“ Durned if this don’t beat me all holler,” mused the hun-
ter, with a puzzled expression upon, his face. “ They’re
gone, blast me if they 'ar’n‘t, and it's the first time I ever
found myself alone in another man’s crib. Tor-ment iti—
like as ennyway Sybil‘s over to Lakeside, and her old ,, dad’s

, out walkin’ fur exercise arter workin’ all night, at makin’ his

Ingin Bible. ,- Plague take the Ingin Bible;_ I’d, let it go to
thunder and shoot the blarsted Ingins, tor-ment ’em. I
beam of a fellernamed Eliot, that spent a thousand years
writin’ of an Ingin Bible, and arter he ,put on the, doxology
touch he found. it’d- take a million years ,to l‘arn the varlets
to read it, ’ca‘se they didn’t take to book-l'arnin’, like a nig-
ger to a hen-roost. Tor-meat ’em, all they'll ever know’s to
eat and kill, kill and eat. But I reckon the old gineral will
be in purty soon, so I’ll injoy this fire awhile, I will."

He wheeled the old missionary’s chair around before the
fire, and threw himself into it, laying his ride across his lap
and loosening the weapons in his girdle, for, somehow or
other, he cou‘d not entirely shake of! the vague apprehension
of unknown dangers that lingered in his mind. , ,

“ Well, this is dog-goned cheerful,” he said to himself,
he settled down into a position of case and comfort, where
the ruddy fire sent its warmth through every fiber of his

,frame. .; “A hunter’s life is a leetle onpleasant this season

of the year, ’specially when one’s got to be eternally on the
tramp—shiftin' here and there as the wind blows almost,
with snow and ice to pester the soul. outen a poor homeless
wretch. But j0srs! When summer comes, give me the green,
shady woods and pesiflud prairies—-—kick me outen a roastin'
hut into the pure air and rectified glories of summer; then,
up red~skins and dust yer heels!" ‘
Here the hunter’s nmsings ended, and he began 'to live

. over the past. In rapid succession the events of the'last

few days passed in review before his mind. One by one
his adventures were recalled, and, mentally, he fought over
many of his sanguiuary battles, working himself, up at times
to such a pitch, of excitement that he would involuntarily
start from his seat clutching at a weapon in his girdle. At
length, however, his thoughts became sluggish and broken.
The drOWsy influence of the heat of the fire began to tell
upon the blood so accustomed to thevigorous cold of the
wintry atmospheres Moreover, Ben was soscldom quiet that
through force of habit-his mind was the most, active when
his body was engaged in the most violent physical exercise,
which accounted for his quickness to act on the spur of a
moment. On the otherhand, when, hi8.body and tongue

both rested, his mind became inactive, in a measure, and

sleep was sure to follow. -

720V  Beadle’s Dime Library.

He was not, however, in a very comfortable position to
sleep now, and he would no sooner fall into a doze than he
would start up again as if confronted by a foe—gaze wildly
around the room, then sit back into his seat to drowse and
dream again. But at length he sprung to his feet and found
himself face to face with the figure of a woman, who turned
her eyes, as he arose from his seat, and met his startled, be-
wildered gaze.

A second glance at the face told hlm that he had only
been dreaming, for it was the portrait of the Madonna that
confronted him. At the same time, however, he was not so
deeply confused but that he would have sworn that he
actually had seen the eyes of the picture move—turn and
gaze upon him in their serene. womanly modesty.

“Well, well, Benjamin Buffet," said the hunter, solilo-
quizing, “I reckon as what you’re gittin' a leetle ole wo-
manish—shaky in the j’ints. Tor-mentl gittin‘ scart at a
picter, ain't you? But no wonder houses make sich skeery
cowards outen folks as make a bisness of livin’ in ’em.
But I sw’ar its eyes did move 1ist like life—there, by
heavens! they moved ag’in, and I know I ain’t asleep now,
am I?"

He had resumed his seat, and in the midst of his musing,
he casually glanced at the picture again, and was again as-
sured by the evidence of his own eyes that the eyes of the
Madonna actually moved in their sockets.

“ Now this beats me, it does, by joses,” thought the puz-
led borderman. ” When pictcrs git to lookin’ around as
ateral as life—gawkin’ a feller square in the eye with an

extravagant look, it must be thar’s witches in the scrape,
it must, by joses—-red-skins and vipers!"

The scout sprung to his feet and started back. To his
wonder and amazement, he .saw the Madonna move upon the
wall—start stately (mt from her rustic frame tom/rd him!

CHAPTER XVII.
wno mm) m snort

As the Madonna started toward Bowie-knife Ben, he sprung
to his feet with an expression of superstitious fear over-
shadowing his face. At the same instant he detected a
slight noise outside of the cabin near the door, and believing
some unknown danger was approaching from that quarter,
he turned and barred the door.

~ When he turned to the Madonna again, he was not a lit-
tle surprised to see that the picture stood in its accustomed
place looking down upon him in saintly serenity.

“ Wal, now, what the (logs and cuts does it mean, enny-
how?" the scout asked himself, in no little perplcxity of
mind. “ I surely ar'n’t drunk, am I? 1 ar'n’t crazy, be If
I ar’n't—"

At this juncture the door leading into one of the bed-
rooms was opened, and Father St. Ule made his appear-
ance, dressed in a long, black robe girded about the waist.

“ Who is in my" house?” he exolainied, as if suddenly
started in ath-ight from his sleep; “ who intrudes—why, ’tis
you, Ben. my dear old friend!"

“I reckon as what it is, Mr. Missionary,” replied Ben,
completely nonpluscd by the rapidly-transpiring events,
“ but I swear I—excuse me, ginera1——I mean I swan—I’ve
been here the last hour makin’ noise enufi to wake an
Egyptian munnny.” '

“ Indeed, Benjamin?" replied the missionary, with con-
siderable gravity of speech; “ well, I have been working hard
—-very hard—and I sleep like a log when I do take time to
loop. I am alone to-uight; Sybil went down to spend the
evening with Miss Meredith at Lakeside. I am really glad
you called, Benjamin, and beg you will spend the balance of
the night here, for I am at last compelled to believe that I
have one enemy, at least, in this world of sin, and have
reason to believe he’s lurking around to put an end to my exis-
tence.”

“Ther div— I mean the deuce, you say!" exclaimed
Ben. .
“Yes; between sunset and dusk to-night I was walking
leisurely along the river bank in silent meditation, when an
unseen foe fired a shot at me, inflicting a painful wound upon
my arm."

“ Tar-meats, you don’t say, do you now, Mister St. Ule?”

" l fain would speak no other words than those of truth,
my dear Bell," replied St. Ule, showing the hunter his band-

 

aged arm, and explaining the nature and extent of the in-
jury.

“ Holy josesl” exclaimed the scout; “ that beats all nature,
I sw‘ar it doesl"

Father St. Ule was not an old man, as many called him.
He was not possibly over two score years of age, although
his hair was gray. His face was smoothly shaven and deeply
furrowed with hard, angular lines, which all attributed to
hard study. There was nothing striking in the general ap-
pearance of the man, but his genial nature, his soft, full,
round voice, and Christian hospitality never failed to win the
love and respect of all with whom he came in contact. Even
his enemies, or thOse who would naturally be supposed to be
his enemies, had been charitable of their mercy toward him,
and never until that evening had he received violence from
them. Aware from the first, however, of the treacherous
nature of the Indians, he had engaged Bowie-knife Ben to
keep a casual watch upon their movements, which trust the
scout had continued faithfully to discharge, out of his respect
for the missionary and his lovely daughter. It is true, sev-
eral chiefs of hostile tribes were almost constant visitors at
the cabin of the white man, but they usually came at his
solicitation; and although he had their promise of peace, Ben
knew that they were not always inclined to keep their pro-
mise, and even if they were, they were not alivays present to
restrain the murderous proclivities of their warriors, and so
he kept a close watch upon them when in the vicinity of the
missionary’s cabin. '

“ Dog my cats," exclaimed Ben, when St. Ule had given
an account of his narrow escape from death, “ no Ingiu ever
fired the shot that hurt you, uncle."

“What makes you think so, Ben?" queried the mission-
ary.

“ Why, you’ve been wounded by a pistol shot, and an In-
gin never carries a pistol—hardly ever; if he does at all he’s
jist as apt to shoot hisself with it as any one else. So you

see the chances are nine to one that some villainous white ‘

lurked near and done the deed. "

“ From what else do you deduce your inference, Ben?"

“My which, uncle?”

“ What makes you think it is a pistol‘shot wound?"

“Why, a bullet ’d cut keener, and not bruised the flesh
half so had. A rifle bullet’s like a sharp knife, a pistol-
bullet like a dull one; You see we hunters look, into these
things closely, uncle, and as we learn all by experience we’re
seldom at fault. My advice is fur you to pull stakes and peg
out fur Lakeside." ‘

“I would, Ben, but see here: Omalah, my interpreter,
could not be induced to enter a white village, and without
his assistance and that of some of the most noted chiefs, I
could make few translations. And these chiefs, you know,
are hostile to the settlers, and would not dare to venture in
side of Lakeside. Even if the whites would condesceud to
grant them safe conduct to and from the village, it. is pro
bable that, in their present bloodthirsty and barbarous con
dition, they would take a scalp if a good opportunity was
offered. But I hope to be instrumental In leading them, some
day, out of their present barbarous life, into the pure atmos-
phere of Christianity."

“ Christian fiddle-sticks, uncle; you can’t make an aung
outen an Ingin no more’n you could make moon-shine outun
greased lightnin’.”

“ And why not? are they not human like you and l?"

“ Yes, in form, but not in color. Red is the complexion
of original sin, and didn’t the Lord make the red-skins?”

“ To be sure; God created all things, and the Bible says,
' And God saw everything that he made, and behold it Was
very good ' "

“ Then why should we try to make better that what Gml
declared very good? Surely he meant the lngiu along Willi
the rest. "

“ Then, upon the other hand, why should we slay them?"

“ GOd cast the devil outen heaven, and on them grouan
we’ve a right to rub the red varlets out from among m.
But it’s wrong, uncle, I sw‘ar to gracious it is, fur us earthy
critters to try to make better what God said war good. It‘ll
look as though we war gruuiblin’ and findin’ fault wit-hp .r
Creator’s works.‘ .But‘ it's our Christian dooty to fight sin,
and as Ingins are the double-rectified essence of sin and cu s-
edncss, light ’em, say 1— extarminate ’em! llere, uncle, is
my Bible," putting his rifle, “ and whenever I cite a pussn to
lo a red-skin, l gather him to the fold of converts, ‘I do, by
Jasey.”

“ You put a wrong construction on man's Christian dut"
Bcnj nnln," said the missionary, graVuIy.

 

 

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben. 21

 

I»

“ No, no, uncle, it’s jist a dif’renoe of opinion. But you
go on your way, and I’ll go on mine, and I’ll bet you my
Bible ag’in your’n, that I have the most convarts at countin’
time.”

The missionary laughed in a low, silent manner at the
scout's dogmatical perversity of opinion, and at once re-
plied:

“ Well, Benjamin, I am very tired and need rest. I pre
sume you will remain with me until morning of course, so I,
therefore, will arrange you a couch."

“ I’ll stay, uncle, but no couch for me. Give me a blan
ket and this floor, and I wouldn’t act’ly exchange it fur a
bed of roses.”

A branket was given him, when he spread it upon the
floor and rolled himself in it; then Father St. Ule bid him
good-night, and again sought his own chamber.

Ben soon fell asleep, but it was not that sweet, refreshing
slumber which tired nature begets. The face of Nathan
Reeve was before him, awake and asleep, and then that pic-
ture on the wall seemed to haunt his mind like a. phantom.
Try as he might to shake olf the strange spell, his efforts
would prove fruitless. The Madonna with her meek, saintly
smile was before him, and turn which way he would, there
was the image of the picture.

Thus a couple of hours wore away, and as the old hunter
lay with his face toward the partition wall, his eyes half
closed, he saw the Holy Mother start slowly out toward him
—-turn aside when a foot from the wall and swing around
as upon hinges.

N0 doubting the evidence of his senses now; there was
some secret connected with the picture. As the picture
swung around, he beheld a dark opening beyond, from which
the figure of a man suddenly arose, and stepped out into the
room.

Ben started with amazement, for he recognized the man.
It was Chris Proctor, whom the reader already knows.

The sudden, nervous start of the little hunter’s body did
not fail to catch the eye of the stealthy intruder, whereupon
he sprung quickly back into the opening in the wall, when
the Madonna swung noiselessly back into its heavy rustic
frame.

CHAPTER XVIII.
BLOOD ON THE SNOW.

Bowm-KNnrn BEN passed the remainder of the night un
disturbed at the cabin of St. Ule, and the following morn-
ing took an early departure for the camp of the young
sportsmen.

He said nothing of what he had seen during the night, but
his mind was not slow in drawing some very startling con-
clusions. Before departing, he told Father St. Ule of his in-
tended long absence with the amateur hunters, and broke to
him the secret of the midnight duel, exacting a promise
from the holy father to send the particulars of Nathan’s death
to his friends at Lakeside.

We will not attempt to describe the thoughts and conjwu

tures that passed through the hunter’s mind as he wended -

his way through the forest toward the camp of Captain Gra-
ham and party. The events of the past two days and nights
passed and repossed through his mind, and would no doubt
have occupied his thoughts all through his journey, had
his eye not caught the sight of a. huge track in the snow.

A second glance told him it was the track of the giant,
Titan. It had been made quite recently, but evidently be-
fore the opening of the day, for there were a few crystals of
frost in it. The trail tended northward, and although there
was nothing now to inspire fear in the heart of the border-
man at sight. of the giant’s track, the discOVery he made in
connection with it aroused his fears and uneasiness to a high
degree. It was the sight of blood—at every step, and even
oftener, there was a drop of blood upon the white snow.

What did it mean?—-—had Titan been wounded? If so,'he
had been bleeding profusely. As the course of this blood-
stained trail was but little out of Ben’s course, he set off to
follow it. Ho 8001! came to where the giant had taken to
his elk-sledge, having evidently left the team concealed in

the forest while he made an excursion southWard on foot.
Ben was sorely tempted totallow up the sledge-track, and

would have done so had he not been desirous of making
good his word to the young sportsmen; so he quit the grant a
trail and pursued his way toward the camp in the valley

 

He at length gained the eminence commanding a view of
the vale in which the amateurs were camped. To his our»
prise he found them closely besieged by the Indians, whose
numbers had greatly increased since his departure. A brisk
firing was going on on the part of the savages. During the
night they had secured a position behind a huge snow-drift
within thirty rods of the little defense, and it was at the risk
of his life that a man dared to raise his head abovo the
breastworks.

From where he was, Ben could command a view of the
interior of the fort, and without much trouble succeeded in
making his proximity known to the defénders.

The greatest difficulty was now to overcome-rthat of gain-
ing the interior of the defense. Could he have reached the
valley unseen by the foe, he might have won the shelter be-

fore the red-skins could have cut him 01!. As it was, how-

ever, he had but one course to pursue—await the coming of
darkness.

This he did, and under cover of the friendly shadows of
night he reached the fort, amid the Welcome shouts of the
amateurs and the redoubtable Larry O’Ray.

“ Durn the tor-merited pesky variets; they’ve bothered
me a mighty heap, they have,I sw’ar, boys!” Ben exclaimed,
as he leaped down into the inclosure that surrounded the be-
leagured party.

“ Yes, we were afraid you would hardly get in without
trouble," replied Sydney Graham.‘ “ We saw you on the
hill during the day, and were afraid you would abandon the
attempt to reach us."

“ Tor-mentsl Do you underestimate my caliber, captain f"

replied the scout.
‘ ” Arrah, and that‘s what mess told ’em, Benny," added
Larry O’Rny. “Mees told ’em yee’d come if yees had to
carry yer head in yer hands. But, sakes aloive, Benny, and
didn‘t yees bring a wee dhrap av something to take?”

“ Not a drop, Larry; it’s all soured down to Lakeside,
it be, by jeses,” declared Ben. “ But times ’pear to be kind
of lively here.”

“Yes, more so than we like; we have nearly exhausted
our supply of ammunition and fuel, being compelled to keep
both in use constantly. If the Indians don’t raise the siege
soon, we’ll be forced to some dire extremity. It's true, we
have an abundance of ammunition cached with our general
stock, up near Lake Otter Tail, and there is plenty of fuel
within gun-hot of—”

“ Yas, bedad, and tharls plenty of Ingins, too," interrupted
Larry. ‘

“ Wal, I’ll tell you, boys, I’ve been in a heap wusser flx
than this ’ere. Howsumever, if it’s adventer and elephantees
yer arter, why, injoy the sport as long. es ye kin."

“ We‘d rather have a little romance to spice such realities
as this siege," returned Captain Graham.

“ Wal, boys. if the varlets don’t let us out ntwixt this and
to-morry mornin’, we’ll let ourselves out. You see, thar’s
alers two sides to a question, don’t you?"

“There are most generally; yet I can't see where there is
but one positive in this case, and the 'lndians appear to have
it on their side.”

“In course not," replied Ben, his eyes sparkling with the
consciousness of his superiority in the lore of the border;
“ but if you'd lived all your days. on the border, you'd see
cl'arly as I do. You may see furder into books, but ye
can't read Ingin character, nor nature herself as well as me,
I daresay. Book‘l’arnin’ are all very good fur ’em as can’t
study from nature, but it ar’n’t worth a continental dog-gone
on the border. It may give ye a deeper insight to the phi-
losofy of a thing, but not the royal, practikel utility. For
instance, yander is a snow-drift ten foot deep, stretchin’ from
the side of this place cl‘ar to the foot of yan bluff, and I
reckon as what, captain, you can tell how that drift had
its origin, and why it’s drifted right thar and no place else."

“Certainly,” replied the captain, and he went on and
gave a detailed account of the ditterent stages of the tem-
perature, and the manner in which snow was formed, and
his opinion as to the drift in the valley.

“ Wal," replied Ben, after he had finished, “I reckon
that’s the philosofy of the thing, but now tell me the real,

. practikel benefit to be derived from that drift."

“ I can see none—for our benefit at? least," replied Gra-
ham. '
“ That's it", that’s jist the way of bookd’nrnin’; good enn

- 00311 in the cities, butlit won’t gee on the border. No, sir,
- boil, She wen’t hitch. Now; God-didu‘k-put that drltt ULtI'

fur nothin’. You see if we’d have to fits our WWW“

 

“.m-nnhhw . .. . ... . ~_.._ , . . “A. ...- .

22

here we’d never see the sun rise again this side of the judg-
ment; and to be rite out with you, we can’t stay in here tWO
days longer if we're compelled to. But we ar’n’t. God put
that snow-drift thur fur our especial benefit. By means of
it we can git outen here without a red, skin ’nowin’ it. We
.can tunnel out—tunnel right out under that snow drift, and
tunnel out we will. That's our only salvation, it is, by Joses."

 

. CHAPTER XIX.
'rwo CAN PLAY AT THAT GAME.

BY morning-dawn several rods of tunnel had been corn-
pleted under the snow-drift leading from the little defense
northward to the blufis. Bowie-knife Ben acted as chief
laborer and engineer in the work, though he was relieved at
intervals by Larry and the sportsmen. In this manner the
work went steadily and rapidly forward, it being far less dif-
ficult than the most sanguine had anticipated._

The snow next to the ground was both dry and light, and
almost as compressible as feathers, ,and required no digging
-the tunneling all being done by pressing the snow upward
to each side. An opening was made large enough for aman
to pass through upon his hands and knees. It was decided
that most of the camp equipage ,be abandoned, as it would
require too long a time to make a tunnel sufficiently large
for its removal. ; . . , .

All day the party worked with a desperate energy. The
increasing numbers of the foe, on the hills and in the valley,
convinced Bowie-knife Ben that the coming night would not
pass without an attack, and he realized that his own party
was not in a condition to contend with such an overwhelm-
ing number. As the day wore on he expressed grave fears
of their inability to accomplish the work before them by
nightfall. The distance to tunnel was greater than it had
at first appeared, and at sunset nearly a fourth of the'dis-
tance was yet to work. . . .

Finally when it came the hunter‘s turn to again enter the
tunnel, he said:

“ Boys, I’m goin‘ in thar to work like a 'tarnal ole badger,
hut in the mean time git yerselves ready to rack out on a
minit’s notice. If the tunnel ar’n’t completed at dark, we‘ll
pull out anyhow—go to. the eend of the tunnel, wharever
that be—root up into the world and run for it like Satan
beatin' tan-bark.” ' '

“ All right, Ben," replied Graham; “ we’ll follow. your in-
junction."

Ben entered the tunnel, followed by Bob Swifton with a
torch, as it was necessary to have light in the passage now
in order to facilitate work. They soon reached the end of
the tunnel, and with both hands and a rude-improvised
wooden spade, the scout began work.

My readers may possibly conclude this incident of mystory
overdrawn-—a too improbable circumstance, but those- fully
acquainted with this high latitude, and the element: with
which our friends were dealing, will readily concede the pos-
sibility of tunneling under a snow-bank, and that with com-
parative ease when the snow is in the condition that Ben
and his party found it—light and dry underneath, with a
thick, heavy crust on top.

Our friends had taken and kept their course by means of
a small pocket-compass belonging to the amateurs, the use
of which instrument Ben did not entirely ignore, and which
he condescended to consult in order to facilitate work, al-
though he averred repeatedly, that he could keep the course
without a foot’s deviation in a mile, relying solely upon his
hunter’s instinct to guide him.

For nearly half an hour Ben had worked away. His com-
panion had kept him posted as to the time, he being provided
with a watch. It wanted buta few minutes of the hour that
darkness set in, and Ben was expressing his sore regret at
lllS inability to complete the passage. and was about to re.
linquish his work, when he was suddenly startled by his
,hand coming in contact with something that seemed ;to
move. The next instant a human; hand was thrust, through
the snow before him—a hand that moved—that was aquiver
with life! ,

Ben started back with amazement written upon every fea-
ture of his bearded face. In the glow of the torch he saw
that the hand was that of a white man, though brown and
skinny. .  .

 

Beadle’s Dime Library.

' yondl

I ’bout you.

- throat.

 

But what was it doing there? Was it the hand of some
creature buried beneath the driftf—or was it the hand of
some enemy tunneling toward the little fort, to surprise .nd
'murder its defenders? ‘

These were the conjectures that flashed through the quick
brain of the hunter, and as if in answer to them, the hand
of the unknown was withdrawn—the frail partition of snow
between them crumbled down, and the torch flared into the
face of a man whose figure sat doubled up in a tunnel be-
It was an odd-looking face, wearing mingled ex
pressions of fear and comical amazement.

For several moments Ben and the stranger sat glaring at
each other in speechless wonder. It was hard telling which
was the most surprised and confounded by this sudden meet—
ing under the great snow-drift. Ben‘s hand mechanically
sought a weapon at his girdle, and so did the odd-locking
stranger’s. There was a slight swelling of each chest, 9. con-

, tractibn of the facial muscles, a kindling gleam in each eye

-——a murderous intent in each heart. But all at onceuthese
began to relax—something like a recognition was staying
the sudden impulse that had sprung up in their breasts.
Ben had seen the man (before. At least there was some-
thing strangely familiar about his steely eyes, hookcd nose
and'broad mouth that was wreathed in a comical smile,
threatening an outburst of laughter. But in the dim, un-
certain glow of the torch that wavered and flickered in
the current of air that now sucked through the two united

X tunnels, he could not see his features, distinctly.

The deep and painful silence was suddenly broken—relief
came—the stranger spoke.

“ Gee-rusalem tigers 3"

This was enough; the cloud that hung over Ben’s memory
was swept away, and he recognized the man. '

It was the not0rious Jeduthan Turk!

 

CHAPTER XX.
m AND TURK HAVE A TALK.

“ HOLY Josesl Jeduthan‘ Turk, as I’ma sinner! I sw’ai
to nature it be!”‘exclaimed Bowie-knife Ben, as he gazed
upon the odd, comical face of that worthy.

“ So I he,” replied Turk, in an apparently serious, matter-
of-fact tone; “ and I swan to nater, Ben Bowie, 1 be a no-
tion to whale thunder ,outen you, for havin’ the contaminated
owdacity to run your plaguey tunnel into mine.”

“ I didn’t know your tunnel war‘in my road," replied
Ben.

“ To be sure you didn‘t," replied Turk, with a comical
twitch of one corner of his great mouth: “but it does ’pcar
to me that it's drotted strange that you be diggin’ up this
way. What does it mean, Bowie?”

“Nothin’, only we can‘t git Ingins enqu to eat.” I

“ P’isenl” exclaimed Turk, in open-mouthed astonishment,
and with an apparent shudder. ,

“ I’ve answered your questions; now what are you doin
here f” asked Ben.

“ Me?—oh, I war jist gorin’ down to see if you fellers had
any thing to drink."

“No, you stole the last we had a few nights ago,"‘was
the prompt reply.

“ Dear sakes!" exclaimed Turk, with an air of injured in-
nocence;r“you’re pokin’ fun at me now, Ben Bowie; for,
for moral ve-racity and temperate habits, I, Jeduth Turk,
have no peer on the border.”

“It’s no use a-whinin’, Turkey; thar’s somethin’ wrong
Guess you and the red-skins ar'n’t as hostile
to’ards each other as ye mought be; and now say: ar’n‘t the
Ingins in this valley somethin’ to do with your eend of this
tunnel?"

“ Dog my cats if I know, Bowie. They may have, it‘s
true—~they may be pluggin' it up to smother me, but laws!

. smother nothin’ in here; a. dead man could breathe in here,

[swan he could. But, Bowie, you did do me a fair turn
t’other night— turned me over and poured likker down my
.Sakes! but wa’n’t I thirsty though? You did do
the fair thing by me, Ben, and as I'm not a man to put con-
fidence in—to die, for, you can take me down to camp with
you, and if you tellers want to escape, you can use my eend
of the tunnel without price and without money. You can
do jist as you please with me, you can, jist to treat me well
and often. And now, honor bright, Ben, can’t you raise me
a dramt—a half- a gallon anyhow, Bowie?” -

 

 

 

.. :v- mm.

B-owie-Kmfe Ben. 23

 

 

"I tell you, man, we ar’n‘t a drap of the p’isen," retorted
Ben. “But I reckon as what you’d better trot down to
camp with us. We'd better look a little out for you."

“ l’m yer meat,” replied Turk, with an air of total indif-
ference. “ You can bind me, gag me, scalp me, eat me—
do any thing you want to with me, Bowie, for I know I'm
to die a martyr-it runs in the blood; the Turks all die in
some good cause."

Without further parloying the three turned and began
moving toward the fort, Swifton going before with the torch,
and Ben bringing up the rear.

They soon debouched into the little defense, and it was
with no little surprise that Graham and his friends gazed
upon the stranger, who was the first to speak.

“Howdy, my larks?" was his cool, familiar salutation.

“By the Howly Varginl” exclaimed O’Ray, “and if it
isn’t that owld thal‘e av a blatherskoite What shtole our last
morsal av rum; and sure and it’s a lickin‘ he’ll git unless he
thramps up—"

“Hello there, ole Bogtrotter!" exclaimed Turk, confront-
ing Larry, who had assumed a hostile attitude; “ ye needn’t
spruce up here like a mad porkypiue ’bout as little 9. thing
as a swaller o’ likker. Surely ye didn't begrudge it to a dyin'
man, did ye?"

“ Och, but yer a murderin’ thafe av a renegade, and yees
ought to be shot, so yees had.”

“ Think so? Wal, ye can do as ye please ’bout it. It’s
nothin’ to me, Bogtrot; but if any 0’ you will loan me a
pipe, I’ll take a little smoke—yes, I don’t keer if I do."

While this bandying of words was going on between Turk
and Larry, Ben informed Captain Graham how the man came
to be there. As to the man's object, however, the scout
could form no idea, nor could they gain, by questioning and
threatening, any thing that would give the slightest clue to
his purposes ,and movements.

By this time it was dark, and a speedy departure was at
once counseled by Ben. Everything but their weapons, a
blanket to each man, and a bit of venison, was to' be deserted,
as it would be impossible to drag their sledges and equipage
through the tunnel. .

In a few mimutes all were ready for departure, and with
torch in hand Ben took the lead, followed by Jeduthan Turk,
whom the scout concluded it was 'best to keep in custody,
for a while at least. The young sportsman and O’Ray
brought up the rear.

In this manner they moved briskly along the icy tunnel,
and in less than twenty minutes all stood in the open air, at
the mouth of the tunnel where Jeduthan Turk had begun
digging toward the fort—the very spot which Be‘n had been
aiming to reach.

The little hunter being once more in his element—where
he had room to act, hastily reconnoitered the surrounding
vicinity, and found that no savages were about, and that no
one but Turk had been there. This discovery had a ten-
dency to mitigate some of the suspicion the hunters had en-
tertained of Jeduthan.

When the little band began its retreat northward, Turk
accompanied them, apparently a willing prisoner, and his
unusual loquacity, odd expressions, and mirth-provoking
yarns served to detract from the vigilance that the party kept
upon him; and, as a result, our friends suddenly discovered
that the sly old nomad had given them the slip—Jednthan
Turk had escaped!

O H A P T E R X X I .
ran VALLEY on suADows.

A WEEK has passed since the occurrence of the events nar-
rated in the preceding chapter. Bowie-knife .Ben and hi.
party had intrenched themselves some thirty miles north of
Fall Lake, where they could almost defy the combined as-
saults of the whole Sioux tribe. They. had taken possession
of, and repaired, an old stone building of goodly dimensions
that had been erected years previous by a party of hunters
and traders belonging to the Hudson Bay Fur Company.
From this stronghold the party had a ready and easy access
to their supplies cached in a cavern in the bluff south of the

lace.
p The party had had little trouble from the Indians since the
occupancy of their new quarters, yet it wasqutte ev1dent that
they were being closely watched, and lived in hourly expec-
tation of an attack. What caused them most concern wag

 

the discovery that some one besides their party knew of the
whereabouts of their cached supplies, and was having access
to them quite frequently. Nothing, however, save one of
two small casks 0f brandy had been touched.- Over half of
the contents had been extracted, and that evidently in small
quantities.

Larry O’Ruy's tendency toward intemperance led to his,
being suspected of the theft, but a close watch being kepl
upon his movements, it was found that he never went near
the cavern, and as the thief still continued his visits to the
cache, the matter became involved in some mystery.

By this time the winter was well advanced. In fact,
March had begun with its sunshiny days and chilly. squally
nights. The ground was still covered with snow, the lakes
and rivers were still frozen over, and while winter virtually
lingered in the “ lap of spring,” all had reason to hope and
expect a speedy opening of the warmer season.

The sportsmen had passed about two weeks in their new
quarters, when one morning, Bowie-knife Ben and Captain
Graham ventured forth on an excursion to Otter Tail Lake,
some ten miles to the west. It was at the earnest solicita-
tiOn of Graham that the little hunter undertook the journey.
Why the captain was so anxious to go, Ben could not con-
ceive, but he felt satisfied, by the captain's conversation, that
there was something more than the love of adventure draw-
ng the young man there.

“ Why’ve you bin so anxious ’bout goiu' up to Otter Tail,
cap’n?” asked the hunter, after they were fairly'on their
way. .
“I declare, Ben,” replied the captain, a little confused,
“I’ve been under a study whether to ‘tell you or not. I
knew I dare not tell it to the boys, for they would never know
when to cease running me about it. But the facts are these:
shortly after we came into this country, last fall, we had oc-
casion to visit Otter Tail Lake. The boys were all up to ex-
ploring the dark, narrow valley on the east side of the lake,
which you know opens on the lake, and which can only be
entered by water on the west side, unless you run the risk of
breaking your neck in descending the perpendicular clifls
that surround it. I remained at the lake to guard our canoe
while they were gone, and as I sat alone in the craft,
something induced me to paddle under the great rock
which projects several feet over the margin of the lake, and
which one can almost imagine from its peculiarity of outline,
is 'a huge gray monster crouched there guarding the en-
trance to the valley—its nose thrust outward over the water
as if to scent afar the approach of danger.

“ Imagery’s strongly developed in yer head, cap’n,” re-
plied Ben. “ That very rock’s called the Wolf, and the val-
ley are called the Valley of Shaders, ’ca’se darkness forever
lurks into it, and that’s spots whar the sun never shone sence
creation in that valley. It’s an awful, damp, dismal, fore-
bodin' place, I sw’ar it be." i ,

“ Well," continued the captain, “ it and the rock are ap-
propriately named then, and I will call the one the Valley of
Shadows and the otherthe Wolf. As I said before, I pad-
dled the canoe under the projecting nose of the grim, stony
old guard, and there within its shadows topped to contem-
plate my surroundings. I first gazed overhead at the scarped
and fluted breast of the old giant, and at the mass of creep-
ing vines that depended from the nether jaw like a mass of
heavy, tangled heard. The flutter of a fish, or something
dropping in the water, drew my attention downward. The
sun, at the time, was in the zenith, and the outer edge of the
rock's shadow fell alongside of my canoe. Just beyond thin|
line of shadow, and looking up at me from the clear, limp‘
depths of the lake, I beheld a human face!"

“Tor-mental You’re jokin’ like sin. I sw’ar you be,
cap’n." *

“ I am not, Ben. It was actually a human face—the fair
face of a woman—a young woman, too—set in a wreath of
golden hair. In all my life I had never seen a face so sweet,
fair and angelic. I saw it was possessed of life—it moved.
A feeling that I cannot describe came over me. ‘ My lone-
liness, the deep solitude of ' the place, the impression still
left on my 'mind by the first sightlof the Wolf through the
gleaming—all conspired to fill my brain with vague, intangi-
ble shapes."

“ AY. my boy,” laughed Ben, “I see into it now. You
war asleep and drcamin’, and fell in 'love with the vision of
yer dream. Hal ha! hal—aud here We go, up to Otter Tail
to chase a shader. I sw’ar it’s an exerusiatin' good ’ne,
cap’n, it be.” ,

“I was not asleep, Ben; I was never wider awake than

_ . _-_mw~.' ..* *

 

24 Beadle’s Dime Library

then; but, hear me through. I rallied from my surprise and
mental mistiness, and bent an earnest, searching gaze down
upon that sweet, lovely face, and to my surprise I found it
was but the reflection of a young girl's face, the original of
which was looking down upon me over the edge of the rock
above. My heart gave a great leap, but mastering all m,
self control, I refrained from looking upward, but feasted
my eyes upon the face mirrored in the clear water. And, I
must say, Ben, that that face has ever since been reflected
from the inmost depths of my heart. To speak more plainly,
I fell in love with that vision, and have longed to visit the
lake ever since and learn more of that strange beauty. That’s
what brings me out on this journey. I must find that girl;
what is more, I will find her if she‘s in existence."

“ Tor-merits, and this is what ye call love,” said the scout,
'musingly. “'Wal, wal, boy, you’ve got a desprite stroke of
it, you have, by Josey. In love with a shader, too, now
ar‘n‘t ye? Never see’d any ginewine girl, did ye?”

“No; beforeI dared to raise my eyes she moved back
out of sight, and the boys soon returning, and an Indian
canoe appearing on the lake, we left the place in a hurry.
Winter then set in shortly afterward, and we have never been
back to the lake since; and I assure you, Ben, you are tht
first man that I have ever hinted this to."

Ben indulged in a low, pleasant laugh of aficcted indiffer-
ence, yet it was evident enough that he gave credence to the
captain’s story, and appeared to be trying to connect it with
some event of the past.

They finally arrived at the head of the Valley of Shadows
—an oblong depression in the shore of Otter Tail Lake, con-
taining about five acres in area. The place had been appro-
priately named, for the tall bluffs rising upon three sides,
excluded almost the light of day from the recesses. Still,
in summer, a species of grass grew down upon the plateau,
and stunted pine and hemlock concealed the rugged facade
of the blufls. .

Locking westward down the valley the hunters' could see
the Wolf, crouching amid the glistening snow and outlined
against the ice—bound lake beyond, keeping his eternal watch
over the bosom of the watery expanse. It required no
greater effort of the imagination to define the outlines of a
crouching wolf in the great rock than to picture men, ani-
mals and giants in the passing clouds overhead.

The rock was about seventy feet in hight by two hundred
in length. From the nose, or that part projecting over th
lake, to the surface of the water it was some forty or fift,
feet.

“ I declare," said Graham, as he stood gazing down at the
great rock, “ it looks more than ever like a wolf surrounded
by the white snow. Surely this valley must be the conse-
crated spot of some giants of old; and yonder Wolf the rem-
nants of their statuary—marred, wrinkled and hoary with
the wear of time ,and storm.

“ I don‘t understand the philosofy of the thing, cap’n, but
I do know that it looks enough like a wolf to bear the name
it does. And, cap’n—” and the hunter’s voice fell to a low
tone, indicative of some sudden surprise—“thar’s sumthin’
about that rock I never see d afore; there be, by Joses. Now
look, my lad, and see if you can tell me what it is?"

Captain Graham looked at the rock until a mist blurred
his sight, but saw nothing unusual about the spot, and so
reported.

“ Ah, that comes of the want of eyesight that book phil-
osofy will never give. Now, if you’ll look real sharp near
me shoulders of the Wolf, mebby you can see a thin column
«it"white smoke curling up from it." -

“ Oh, that, indeed!’ Well I saw that, but supposed it we
mist rising from the lake beyond."

“Nat-y mist; it's smoke, my boy, and it’s curlin’ from the
hack of the rock. Now what does yer book-learnin’ tell yo
‘I. )ut sich as that!"

“Really, that is a case I have never read of outside of the
mud of volcanoes."

“ Volkannersl Blazes, if a volkanner can’t make a bigger
Mew than that, it hadn’t ort to be classed even among cata-
nnunts and polecats, it hadn’t, by Judas. No, cap’n, that
use smoke—ginewine smoke from a wood-fire, and it’s comin’
from inside of that rock. I’ll bet any thing that’s a cave in
the thing, and in that cave are folks a-livin’—prob’ly some
(lit: hunter and his family; and, come to think, cap’n, your
g-Il may know sumthin’ ’bout that ’ere smoke.”

Captain Graham’s eyes kindled with a sudden joy at this
announcement, illltl his breast swelled with inwardhppe and
the pantrup emotions of love’s young dream. He fixed his

 

 

 

'eyes upon the rock from which the white, vapory smoke was
'slov‘vly ascending, and in his heart he wondered if what had
so long been a pleasant and yet tantalizing dream would yet
resolve itself into reality.

 

CHAPTER XXII.
A mscovsnr.

BEN and Captain Graham retired to a point where they
could command a view of. the Wolf and yet be concealed
from the eyes .of any one who might be near or upon the
rock. If there was an inhabited cavern in the rock, and
since they had discovered the smoke, they had not a doubt
but there was, they hoped to catch a glimpse of the inhabi-
tants passing in out. But their hopes were, in vain;. after
watching for several hours, the shades of night closed in
over the Valley of Shadows and shut the Wolf from view. ‘

“ Shall we go back to camp,'Ben?” asked Graham, when
darkness had obscured their view. .

“ Never go back, say I, till we know somethin’ more 'bout
that upr-mented smoke.” , ,

They follOWed the blufis around until they reached the
lake; then, under cover of the bank, they stole along upon
the ice toward the Wolf. When nearly under it, they went
ashore and concealed themselves in a clump of bushes, and
watched and listened for some clue to the mystery of the
Valley of Shadows.

The moon had not risen yet, but the stars were shining
brightly. The summit of the Wolfiwas sharply outlined
against thesky, and no object could have appeared upon it
unseen.

For several hours the hunters kept their watch, conversing
in low tones. As the night advanced the air began to grow
quite cold, to the discomfort ,of the watchers. They were
on the point of relinquishing their vigil, when, all of a sud-
den, a round, dark object—moving upon the summit of the
Wolf—arrested their attention. It was rising-gradually, and
when a few inches above the summitvof the rock, our friends
saw it was the head of a man.. Slowly it rose higher and
higher—followed by the shoulders, body and legs, until the
full outlines of a person of small stature were plainly visi-
hie.

As the man appeared in sight, he paused and appeared to

be listening, and on being assured of the absence of danger
by the profound silence‘that reigned, he movsd toward the
western extremity of the rock ant, immediately sunk from
view. , ,
The Scouts would have crept around and watched him had
not two other figures appeared upon the summit of the rock
the moment the first. disappeared. Both were females clad
in long, black cloaks thrown hood-like over their heads.

Young Graham’s heart throbbed excitedly, and he strained
his eyes through the starlight in vain endeanors to see the
faces concealed beneath the hoods. ‘

The figures moved slowly and saunteringly along the top
of the rock, apparently engaged in conversation. One at
them was short and stoutly built, and moved with a slight,
waddling gait. The other was tall, slender and easy of mo
tion, appearing to float along by the side of her comps!
ion.

With bated breath the hunters watched them several mo
ments. Ben was the first to speak.

“ That tallest one with the movement of a floatin’ swan
must be yer gal, cap’n."

“I daresay it is she whose face I saw reflected in the
lake," replied Graham, never moving his eyes from the
figures.

“ Wal, I’ll be toromented to death if this ar'n‘t a slap-hr
mystery.”

“ If I could only get an opportunity to speak to them, 1—"

“ Why not make yerself known," interrupted Ben. “Jist
whistle to her.”

“I wouldn’t be so rude for anything, Ben. She might
hate me for it. Women are sensitive creatures, and like to
be approached carefully. I will trust to Providence to bring
us together. ”

“ 'l‘or-mentsl Love is a curious disease, I swow; but,
harkee, lad, they‘re singin’—oh, birds of Paradisel”

Low and soft as the dnlcet strains of a harp, the voice
one of the'females floated out upon‘ 'the vibrant, crispy

 

 

 

 

m...“ ,

Bowie-Knife Ben.

 

 

as she trilled forth some sweet, familiar notes that recalled
to young Graham‘s half-bewildered mind some forgotten love
of the past. He bent his car and listened to catch the words,
and his breast rose and fell in accord with the measure of the
enchanting melody.

At length the singer ceases—her voice dies away in sweet,
tremulous strains upon the night

The spiteful crack of a rifle was the horrible encore that
greeted the ears of our friends, and the robed singer was seen
to spring forward and sink at the feet of her companion—n
shriek of agony pealing from the lips which, but a moment
before, moved and quivered with the sweet strains of music
upon them.

“ Oh, God! some fiend has—"

A rustle not far away cut short Graham’s words. The
next. instant a dusky figure came bounding through the un-
dergrowth with a smoking rifle in his hand.

Quick as the lightning’s flash Bowie-knife Ben’s arm swept
the air, and the red assassin fell to earth, the fall driving a
bowie-knife still deeper into his brain.

“ 0h, Howly Mother!" came awail from the top of the
rock, and our friends saw the short, stoiit woman bending
over the form of her companion—swaying to and fro like a
reed in the wind, and wringing her hands in bitter sorrow
and distress.

Captain Graham was on the point of rushing out from his
concealment and making his presence known; but Ben, divin-
ing his thought and intention, restrained him. The next
moment the figure of another man appeared on the rock,
and lifting the form of the fallen woman in his arms, disap-
peared with his burden from view—sunk down into the rock,
followed by the short woman.

“ Oh, heavens, Ben i” cried Graham, “ thus ends my dream.
That fiend has slain her!"

“ How do you know it’s her? How do you know she’s
killed, if it is her? How do you know but the chunky wo-
man's your gal?”

“ The Voice of the singer corresponded with the beauty of
her whose face I saw mirrored in the lake,” replied Gra-
ham.

“ Durn my cats if tbar isn't somethin’ tor-mented queer
‘bout all this,” replied Ben, betraying some perplexity of
mind; “ I do know, though, that that chunky woman is an
Irishman, and Lord only knows who the other gal and the
man are. Some exiles, I’ll wager big. I know one thing,
howsumever; that Ingin will never kill anuther woman, the
cowardly dog.”

“ Ben, I must try rnd find out whether the woman was
killed or not. Let u“ look around the rock, and maybe we
will find some entrame to the cavern in which they are con-
cenled.

Ben acquiesced in this, and the two began a careful re-
connoissance around the rock. An hour and more was spent
thus, without finding the slightest clue to the mysteries con-
nected with the Wolf; so the hunters finally relinquished
their search, and started back to camp, with the avowed in-
tention of returning to Otter Tail Lake on the morrow.

While proceeding briskly along through the forest, they
Were suddenly brought to a halt by the sound of a human
voice. They stopped and listened. They recognized the
voice at once as that of Jeduthan Turk, speakingin drunken,
maudlin tones. He appeared to be addressing some one,
and at times his voice was couched in fierce, imperative
oaths, and then again in coaxing, compromising appeals.

“ What does it mean, Ben P" asked Graham.

“ Let's see, though I warrant it’s some tor-inented foolish-
in’ of that ole skinfiint, Turk." .

They crept softly toward the man and soon came in full
view of him. The moon was up, and its beams struggling
through the tree-tops fell full upon a ludicrous spectacle.

Jedut'inn Turk had spread his blanket upon the snow and
was lying upon it, with his feet elevated upon a fallen log
Dward the moon. By his side sat a large flask, from winch
he occasionally took a draught. - _

.. 01,, thundemriou, Nora,” our friends heard him say,
" pm on so’ more wood, for I'm frecsm'. _ Dl'lrn the: fife;
thin-’s no (hic) strength in’t—not a devtlish P11: (1110') Ffl'e P:
Nora, or, please Hea—(hic)——ven, you’ll “9 5 corpse 0"
this; your hands."

it was evident from this that the man, in a beastly state
of intoxtcatiun, was addressing some imaginary person, and
at tile same time was laboring under the delusion that the
nmon was a huge bed of glowing coals before which he lay
stretched with his feet elevated to warm them. As no heat

 

. 25

h

 

 

was given forth he was endeavorlng toinduce Nora, whoever
Nora was, to replenish the cheerless, dying tire.

“By Gee-rusaleml" he suddenly broke forth, as if fired
with sudden anger, “ if you (hic) don’t put on some Wood,
Nora Mackarthy (hic).'I’ll smash every bone in your body
(hie), I will, by Judas! Don‘t I (hic) tell you, wench, l‘ni
fi‘cezin'? Do you want a(hic) corpse to bother with, yo;-
boggy-tongued hussey? For the Lor' sake, Nora, do ill'u up
(bio), and I’ll willin'ly die for you, I will, by (hic) hokvyl
Come, now, that’s a good old gal (hic), now I sw’ar ’t is (hie).
Pile her on, Nora dear, and I’ll give you a big swig ’f
whisky from (hic) the hunters’ cave, I will, by (hic)——"

“ ’l‘harl” exclaimed Ben, “ that tells who’s a-stealin’ of yer
medicine, cap‘n.”

“ The old thieving scoundrel, he ought to be shot!" re-
plied Graham, indignantly.

“ No, no, cap’n; that's a secret ’bont that ole catawampus
that’s wuth findin' out. You remember the man that fust
come out on the Wolf and disappeared? Well, who knows
but that chuthan Turk is that identical man? The ole ras-
cal’s been stealin’ our medicine, but, lookey here: if be war
the friend of the Ingins, and our enemy, he wouldn’t lose
any time in tellin’ the red varlets ’bout your stores and
cleanin’ out the cache; no, sir, cap’n, he wouldn’t, and mind
I tell ye—”

“Suppose we trot him into camp and keep him there till
he sobers off? Then, perhaps, we can get some facts out
of him,” interrupted Graham, growing impatient.

“ He mout take it into his ole noggin that his affairs are
none of our bis’ness. But jist hear him rant. He thinks,
the blarsted ole gourd-head, that the moon’s a fire. Mebby
he’ll blah the very thing we Want to know, if we keep still
long snuff.”

They remained quiet and listened to the drunken man’s
ravings and imprecations that forced a smile to the lips of

the hunters.
The name Nora, young Graham, in reverting in mind to

the scene upon the Wolf, incidentally connected with the
short, stout woman, whose wail of sorrow had smote his
ears when her companion fell by the bullet of the treacher-
ous, lurking red-skin.

And, somehow or other, Ben was persuaded that Turk
was the man first seen on the rock who was just leaving on
one of his necturnal raids upon the supplies of the adven-
tnrers.

The hunters were upon the point of advancing to where
the drunken man lay, when the light craunching of the
snow-crust behind them gave warning of approaching dan-
ger. ,
” Ingins, cap’n, by the billions,” whispered Ben, as his
cat-like eye caught sight of a number of shadowy forms
stealing through the undergrowth. “ Let's make outsells
scarce."

“ But Turk—what abbnt—”

“ Come, lad—curse Turk—don’t you sect—it‘s all I
trap, boy—him and the Ingins understand each other; come,
peg it down like Satan beatin‘ tan-bark, cap’n; the devils
are arter us like sleuth-houndsl” " .

\

 

l CHAPTER XXIII
A manner. nmn.

FOB over a week following the events of the preceding
chapter, the weather had continued unusually open and
warm. The snow had bean to melt, and the smaller streams
had thrown off the shackles of winter, and began their mur-
mnring song. The hoarse “ houk " of the wild-goose, and
the harsh “ caw" of the crow, heralded the coming of
spring.

Bowie-knife Ben and his party kept close in camp during
this “ soft weather,” though to Captain Graham each day was
as a month, so eager was he to get back to the Valley of
Shadows. and make further inquiries into the mysteries oi
the grim old sphinx that guarded the valley, and ascertain, it
possible, whether or not the bullet of the red assassin had
proved fatal to her whose face was ever before him.

At length, however, a day suitable for a journey to the
lake dawned, and the captain, accompanied by Larry ()‘ltav.
went up. The weather was still warm when they left, bin
Ben, who rather opposed their going, said, on the We of their
departure:

2.6

 

“ You may regret it, cap’n. If my signs are right this
time, and they've never failed me heretofore, these fine days
are Weather-breeders, and about to~night we‘ll have a reg‘lar
ole nor’-Western that‘ll blow the breeches oflen you. Thar’ll
likely be snow, too, fur the month of March are full of squalls
that beat Janawary ones while they last.”

Despite Ben's prognostication of the weather, Graham and
Larry went up to the lake. It was noon when they reached
the head of the Valley of Shadows. They scanned the grim
old Wolf and its silent surroundings, but not a sign of life
was visible. Far beyond, they could see that the center of
the lake was open, and that across its bosom great floes of
ice Were being driven by the wind.

Around the shores the ice still maintained its position, ex-
tending over fifty rods out from the bank. This rim, how-
ever, had become cracked and rotten, and was liable to be
broken up at any moment by the combined action of the surg-
ing waters beneath, and the warm wind and sun above.

It was at once arranged that Larry should pass around the
valley on the north and Graham on the south, the two to
meet at the point where O’Ray would touch the lake.

Separating, each one set out upon his 'course, keeping
within the dense undergrowth, and a sharp lookout for any
sign that would be evidence of the Wolf not having been de-
serted entirely.

When he found himself alone, Graham at once gave way
to mental reflections that were both pleasing and painful,
judging by the expressions of his face. He was a man of
some four and tWenty years, and while he lacked that efiem-
inate beauty of an Adonis, of which the sentimental novelists
prate, he excelled in physical manhood and intellectual cul-
ture most men of his own age.

Free of heart he had plunged into the wild excitements of
the West to wear off, in the open air and by lively exercise,
the growing ennui that he had been contracting by the sed-
entary requirements of his profession. Ever since his debut
into society had he withstood the charms of the fair sex of
his native city, nowithstanding his fondness for the society
of the ladies: and when he left home, he was under no pledge
of eternal fidelity to any fair one. His comrades believed
his heart invulnerable to woman’s charms, and often chided
him on his want of true appreciation of the opposite sex.
But, little did these comrades dream of the true state of their
leader‘s heart during the past winter. They would never
have done with teasing him had he told them openly that he
was in love with a woman whom he had never seen, except
by the reflection of her face in the clear, limpid waters of
the Otter Tail Lake.

The young man moved on briskly; observing many of the
precautions that he had been taught by Bowie-knife Ben. An
hour's walking brought him to the lake, but he had made no dis-
zoveries whatever. The wind, which had been gradually chang-
‘fng from the south all day, was now blowing a stiff gale from
the east, and far out in the middle of the lake, where the ice
had broken up, he could hear the sullen swash of the waves
as they beat upon the ice that still fringed the shores.

In order to reach O’Ray, Graham would be compelled to
pass around in front of the Wolf upon the ice; and it was
with no little trepidation of mind that he descended to the
lake and began pickinghis footsteps carefully across the rot-
ten ice. He liad made half the distance, and was just in
front of the Wolf,.when a prolonged, retreating roar, like
that of a cannon, suddenly greeted his ears, and he felt the
ice beneath his feet tremble, as if under the jar of an earth-
quake.

He paused and gazed around him, when several more re-
ports, but not so loud as the first, forced a terrible reality
upm him. The ice upon which he stood had broken loose
from the shore for fully half a mile to the right and left, and
was drifting out into the open lake, in the mean time break-
ing up into small floes.

Seeing the awful danger that threatened him, Graham
rushed toward the shore, but before he'could take a dozen
s abs, there was a boom and a surge, and the ice upon which
he was adrift broke into pieces. He was left upon the in-
ward floe, which although half an acre in area, was the
smaller of the two, and drifted rapidly to sea, cutting off all
hopes of escape.

This was a very unpleasant situation for the young man,
and not a little perilous. The ice, being soft and brittle, and
in such an immense body, was not likely to withstand the
straining of the waves, and at any moment it was liable to
be broken up, when Graham must be hurled into the seeth-
ing depths below.

Beadle’s D

ime Library.

 

To call attention, and if possible, immediate assistance,
were his first thoughts. He shouted at the top of his lungs,
but elicited no response. He tired his rifle, but the wind
was against him. Being a hundred yards from the shore,
now, it was not likely human ears could hear his signals of
distress. At least, such were his conclusions; but why dlll
he not cast his eyes toward the summit of the Wolf? A tiny
flag fluttering there might have given him some hope. But
in his peril he thought only of Larry O'Ray—his only hopes
were in being seen by him. But even these hopes afforded
him little relief, for he was satisfied that there was not a canoe
upon the lake; and even if there were, it could never be
managed upon the tossing waters amid the crashing, grind-
ing floes, many of which were acres in size. In fact, the
only chance of escape that he could see lay in his being drift-
ed across the lake, and even this would be attended with
many dangers. An enemy might be there to receive him,
or the returning current prevent the near approach of the
doc to the shore. Moreover, the day was wearing rapidly
away, and the prophecy of Bowie-knife Ben was coming true.
A storm was gathering in the clouds above, and it threatened
to be one of mer fearful “ snow-squalls ’.’ peculiar to March
in this latitude—more dangerous and dreaded by the hunter
and trapper than a storm in the dead of winter.

The wind drove the doc rapidly out, further and further
into the lake. Graham was compelled to take a position on
the lee side of the ice to escape being washed overboard by
the waves that were dashed up half across the iccifloe.

To add discomfort to his perilous situation, the wind be-
came damp and chilly. He was not clad sufficiently to pre-
vent suffering, and the sudden change from warm to cold
was all the more severely felt.

The wind gradually shifted into the north-east, and then
the storm that had so long been gathering broke forth. The
air became filled with whirling, flying snow flakes, shutting
off all view of the surrounding lake, and adding new horrors
to the situation. .

The sun went down soon after the opening of the storm;
then followed a darkness black as Erebus.

Half an hour later, the floe upon which Graham was adrift
received a terrible shock, its leeward side pitching high- into
the air and there remaining motionless. The young man
was thrown violently down by the sudden shock, and it was
only with quite an effort that he was enabled to regain his
feet. When he did, it was to find that one side was down
and the other up. In a moment the truth of the situation
flashed across his mind. The floe had grounded upon a
sand-bar in the middle of the lake, still adding new danger:
and terrors to his already trying ordeal. He was compellen
to use his rifle as a brace to keep his feet at all; and in a fen
minutes more another fine was driven up against his own,
napping several yards over it, and sinking the lower side still
deeper in the water.

Another and still anotherlodged and lapped around and
upon his ice-float, and soon a mighty pack was wedged around
him, and all chances of going adrift again cut ofl, while the
wind remained in its present quarter.

Despair at last took possession of the young man's breast.
He felt that Ben’s words had been, alas! too prophetic. He
was satisfied that he could never escape the perils and rigors
of the night. Already his limbs were growing numb with
cold, and it required every effort of his failing strength to
battle against the still worse and more subtle enemy—Sleep,
the companion of Cold. He could not see his hand before
him, the air was so densely filled with the flying snow, and
the darkness so intense. The wind moaned and shrieked
in demoniac glee around him. The waves dashing among the

Jumbled ice-pack, and the breaking, lapping floes crushed,

wrenched and ground each other—all filling the very soul 01
the young man with terror.

He arose to his feet and attempted to keep warm by mov-
ing around. He thrashed his arms about his body and
stamped his feet vigorously. But his efforts were all in vain.
Dangers with the horrors of the Cimmerian gloom multiplied
around him. His blood ran more sluggishly, and gradually
he lost the powers of will; a strange, drowsy, dreamy sensa-

V tion, filled with startling, pleasurable emotions, was stealing
_ over his senses—a sensation that he could not conquer.

He rallied his failing strength into one effort and lifted his
voice to Heaven in prayer. But the mad wind clicked back

. all utterance as it rushed across the lake, driving the cutting

sleet into his face and chanting a requiem of horrible mock-
ery. The great ice-pack creaked and groanerl as it rose and
fell with the surge of the angry waters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben.

 

 

Ice, wind and waves seemed endowed with a life of evil,
and battling with each other like demons for the life of the
almost unconscious man.

An infinitude of forms were now passing before his mind;
his brain was yielding to the double influence of sleep and
cold; he reeled like a drunken man; he grasped at imaginary
forms like one delirious; he staggered and fell. No groan
escaped his lips; no struggle convulsed his form. He lay
motionless as death, while the icy fingers of the north wind
toyed with his damp locks and wove a mantle of white
around his now unconscious form’l

 

CHAPTER XXIV.
o’nav's ADVENTURES. .

‘Wn will now go back and look after Larry O’Ray, whom
‘we left to pursue his way around the north side of the Val-
iiey of Shadows. After leaving Captain Graham he moved
on quite briskly with his usual recklessness—~notwithstand-
ving his superiority as a hunter and scout. He soon reached
the lake, and as Graham had not vet made his appearance
at their point of meeting, he seated himself to await his
-coming.

The sound of voices, a minute later, greeted his ears, and
peering through a thicket of tangled undergrowth that shut
out a view of the valley, he saw two female forms approach-
iing, apparently unconscious of his presence. I

One of them was tall and graceful, with a beautiful form
and face; the other short and stoutly built, with a full, red
face which instinctively told Larry she was a woman of his
own nationality. The former could not have been over
eighteen years of age, the latter two-andtwenty. In the
eyes of Larry, the stout woman was far handsomer than the
frailI fairy-like creature that walked by her Side, and .he
feasted his eyes upon her full, healthy, pleasant feature-1 With
a smile of delight playing upon his own bearded face: He
was rendered speechless by the sight, but when the girls fl-
nally stopped and seated themselves upon a rock, his first
impulse was to rush from his concealment. and. let his pre-
sence be known, but summoning a little discretion, he mas-
tered his emotions and remained quiet—bent his ear and lis-
tened.

“ And ar’n’t yees toired, me din-lint?" he heard the short,
stout woman ask as they seated themselves.

“ A little, Nora,” replied the maiden; “ it is hard work

' ‘ «r - hill."
chliii‘dadtditt am, choild; and wees had betther go no fur-
der for fear the beastly Ingins moight be around. It war
moighty near, yees know, that an ugly red rhascal come

' or s a few noitrhts ago."
klliin‘o’ezfeNtfla; althoTigh l was only stunned by the bullet,
endinIr in life." I
h  and file livid varlet 'Il niver do the loikes ag’in,
me swate Zora, for it war him that wees found dead next
mornin' roight where the- shot war foired from.

" Nora, do you think that young stranger, called. Graham,
slew that Indian or knew aught of its being done?

“Bless yer swate sowl, Zora, ye‘d motg’ht, as well ask a
woman her age. How does i know? Wer ii t there thritcks
there, though, that looked loike a gintletnan s boot-phrints!
But for the s0wl of mees I couldn‘t say it war him, darlint.
But niees wouldn‘t take on about him, chotld, for leike as
:anyway he’s some bad young man that 'd break yer young
heart to smitliereens.”

“ Oh, Nora, I can never think so. But, what could he, a
gentleman of birth and education, ever care for the 'daughter
of an exile—a fugitive from the laws of his ’riative land!
Oh, dear! Nora, I sometimes wish i was-deadt. I

“Och, now, me darlint! don’t say stch Wicked things,
or yees ’11 break the heart av Nora Mackarthy, so yees Will
-—.olil"

A sullen noise like the distant boom of a‘cannon startled
them, forcing the exclamation from Noras lips.. It was
several minutes before they could trace the cause to its proper
source. The rim of ice along the shore of the lake had
broken loose and was drifting otit into the lake. Iliar be-
yond the Wolf they beheld the figure of a man adrift upon
a fine of ice. It was Sydney Graham, whom the eyes of
‘thc beautiful girl called Zora, recognized at the first glance.

Like a stintled fawn the maiden sprung from the rock—
s'an'down the almost precipitous declivity. “4 “Pad “F088

 

27

the valley toward the Wolf, closely followed by Nora, he!
maid.

Larry was ignorant of the cause of their sudden departure,
and he began creeping through the thicket to obtain a bet-
ter command of the valley and lake. A rustling in the
bushes arrested his attention. He stopped and glanced
quickly around him. His eyes met a pair of scintillating
orbs glowering upon him from a dusky, painted face. Both
he and the savage seemed transfixed by the sight of each
other. Like jungle-tigers they stood glaring at each other,
the hot breath coming from each half-open mouth. A di-
abolical gleam kindled rapidly in the warrior's eyes,
but it was met by the cool, deadly flash of the Hibernian's
steel‘gray orbs. The face of the one twitched and quivered
with the fierce animal passion struggling in his breast to es-
cape, while a faint smile, that was even terrible in its ex-
pression, wreathed the face of the other. But this lasted
only for a moment. Like the panther when he springs from
his covert upon the unsuspecting quarry, each shot through
the air and grappled hand-to hand.

A desperate struggle ensued, in which every physical

 

 

energy, fired by a deadly animosity, was exerted. Neither»

one had drawn a weapon, and the contest was to be decided
in favor of the one possessing the greatest skill and endur-
ance. At times they were down, rolling here and there like
two animals in each other’s deadly grasp; now upon foot,
reeling and spinning to and fro in a waltz of death. At
times they would cease to struggle, and remain as motion-
ess as death, though their bleeding, lacerated faces and
shoulders quivered with the pent-up convulsions of their
maddened brains.

They fought on for several minutes. Neither had gained
the slightest advantage, for they were well matched. But,
suddenly, Larry felt the Indian’s 'grip loosen upon him;
something warm fell upon his hands. He raised his eyes,
and to his wonder saw it was blood spurting in crimson jets
from a bullet-hole in the savage‘s forehead.

With a convulsive stiffening of the limbs, the savage lost
his balance and fell to the earth.

Larry drew a breath of relief as he gazed around him for
the friend that had fired the deadly shot. He felt sure that
Graham had done it, but he was unable to tell, so intent had
he been in his struggle with his foe, from what direction the
shot had come.

He waited several minutes, but to his surprise his friend
did not come. He shouted his name aloud, but there was
no response. It now occurred to him that the shot might
have been intended for himself, by a friend of the savage,
who, by a sudden movement of the head. had received the
fatal ballL/ In fact, as no one appeared, this seemed alto.
gether probable, and for fear of a repetition of the shot, he
took his rifle and that of the savage, and hurried away to-
ward the head of the Valley of Shadows. Arrived there, be
halted only for a moment. He was satisfied that Graham
was in trouble, or else the sudden breaking up of the ice had
prevented his passage around to the designated point of
meeting. To make certain his suspicions were correct, he
tracked the captain around to the lake, but here his trail dis-
appeared.

Larry at once began retracing his footsteps toward camp,
hoping to find that the captain, unable to pass around the
lake, had returned there.

It was dark when he came within hearing of their forti~
fled camp. The sharp report of fire-arms greeted his ears as
he neared the place, and in an instant a terrible fact rushed
across his mind: the post had been attaeked by the Indium;
and a desperate conflict was going on. The woods and val-
ley surrounding the building seemed literally swarming with
the foe, cutting off his chances of joining his besieged friends.
He resolved, however, to make an effort to that eflect, and
continued his approach.

As before stated, the building occupied by the hunters was
a stone structure that had been erected by a party of traders
and trappers. It was located at the edge of a narrow wood-
ed valley, and built back against an abrupt accllvity. It
was provided with every available means of defense, and
with sufficient accommodations for a dozen men. A little
stream of water running through the valley passed under
one corner of the building. Since the trapper-s had deserted
the building, a fringe of willows had grown up wining its
banks, extending up to the very WHHS 0f the 130%: "Nd it
was under cover of this shrubbery that. O’Ray began his dan-
gerous approach toward the house.

He crept forward on his hands and knees, and to his joy

    
 

 

 

28 ’ Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

 

soon found himself near the cabin. The most dangerous
part was yet to come. There was an opening between him
and the door which, he had not a doubt, a dozen pairs of
savage eyes were watching. Before making a rush for it,
however, he stopped and listened. ,All was still outside as
it was within. He could see lights Within the house
twinkling through the open loop-holes, and now and then he
could see dark figures passing to and fro between these
lights. Not a savage was to be seen, but, suddenly, a fierce
yell rent the air, and then from the woods to the south
rushed two score of frantic warriors.

Larry crouched down in the bushes. He saw a dozen
tongues of fire shoot suddenly from the walls of the post, and
the clash of as many reports succeed.

The savages were repulsed; they turned and sought the
cover of the woods, though no cry or groan toldehether

e had been hit or not.

Now was Larry’s time, and rising to his feet, he rushed
across the opening to the door, upon which he gave two or
three raps. .

He saw the lights within were immediately extinguished;
he heard the rush of feet upon the floor. . A moment passed,
then he heard the door being unfastened, and finally swing
open.

Quick as a flash he sprung into the dark room, and the
door was slammed shut and fastened.

“ Arrah, now, boys!" he exclaimed, “and it's a loively
toime yees are having.”

A groan and apparent struggling in the room was the only
response that greeted his ears.

A chill crept over him.

“ Howly Mother, and who‘s hurt?"

As if in answer to his question, a light flooded the room,
and the scene that met his eyes was sufficiently terrifying
to have paralyzed a braver, stouter heart than his.

, , CHAPTER XXV.
STORM-LOST.

STILL hung the darkness of night over the land, still raged
the storm across the fretful, throbbing bosom of Otter Tail
Lake. All inanimate nature seemed to have acquired a life
—a soul full of the elements of destruction, that were strug-
gling with each other for the mastery of the lake, and the
unconscious form of Sydney Graham. ,.

But, despite the struggling elements, a boat was abroad
upon the lake, rocking to and fro—rising and falling and
dancing upon the waves as though it were but an egg shell.
A dim, lurid light marked its position upon the water. It
stood well in toward the eastern extremity of the surging
caldron, but appeared to be heading westward and quarter-
ing with the storm.

What did it mean? Who on earth was so foolhardy as to
venture out in the night and storm upon the lake at such a
time? Surely the love of existence was , not strong in them
-—was only a secondary object—to what?

There were two occupants in the boat—one a man, and
the. other—a woman! The former was clad in a great fur
coat, fur gloves, and fur cap. A woolen comforter was tied
over his head and ears. Only a portion of his bearded face
was exposed to the storm. The woman was wrapped in a
waterproof cloak and hood, and her face protected from the

cutting sleet by a heavy vail securely fastened at its corners. ‘

In one of her gloved hands she held a lantern whose light
could be seen afar through the storm, and in the other,‘a
small pocket-compass whose trembling needle pointed out
their course across the stormy waters. ‘

The man handled the paddle with the skill of one whose
life had been spent upon the water. Both were covered
with snow and spray, and all the surrounding horrors that
they could not hear were revealed by the uncertain glow of
their lantern. Great does of ice dashed around them, and it
was only by the providence of Heaven that they were not
crushed to death. They could see the great waves rolling
above and beneath them, lashed to fury and frothing under
the terrible blows of the storm-whip. Before them, and be-
yond the radius of their feeble light, was a wall of impenetrable
gloom which no doubt concealed terrors from which the
stoulcst heart might shrink.

But not so with these‘ two fearless navigators of the wild,

uorlny lake. They urge on their little boat as if their lives V

 

 

depended upon that voyage. But why! Was it to escape
some dangers of the shore that they had ventured forth upon
the lake? If so, whither were they going?-——wherein (“l1
they expect to find a refuge of safety? Surely not within
their boat upon the troubled bosom of the lake.

Suddenly the woman spoke as she consulted the compass
in her hand.

“Father, our course is a few degrees too much to the
southward.”

It was a girlish voice that spoke, but it was firm and un-
moved and even musical in its tone.

The man plied the paddle and brought the canoe to the
right course.

“ The storm is quartering against us,” he replied, in a tone
of great strength, “ but if we ever escape from this lake
alive, I will begin to think God is exceedingly good to us,
Zora. Many stormy nights-have we spent upon Otter Tail
Lake, but never on such a mission as this, which, after all, I
am afraid will be for naught."

“ Why so, father?” asked Zora, and her volce betrayed a
faltering spirit.

“ I am afraid the young stranger has perished are this."

A sigh that deepened almost into a sob escaped the maid-
en's lips.

“ If the ice-raft upon which you say he went adrift1
grounded upon the sand-bars, there will be little hope of sav-
ing him. He’ll be washed into the lake, or crushed by the
larger floes.

“Zora, my child,” her father continued, after a moment’s
pause, “I could not see a human being perish; it was my
generosity of heart toward the suffering, toiling slaves of the
South that sent me an exile to the Valley of Shadows; and
yet, perhaps, I may regret, it I should save that man’s life,
that I ever did so. He has won your heart and happi-
ness.”

“ It is no fault of his, father; he never spoke to me, and
I know not whether he is aware of my existence," replied
Zora.

“ Yes," began the father, but a great wave dashed in fury
against their little boat, covering them with spray.

When the canoe had ceased its violent tossing, Zora said,
consulting her compass:

“ We’re going almost south, father."

The man at once set his course by the maiden’s direc-
tions, and they worried on and on across the billowy ex-
panse. ,

Suddenly the prow of the craft struck an obstruction in
the water. The rays of the lantern showed them what it
was—an ice-floe whose dimensions extended far beyond
their range of light. They waited for the huge mass tt
pass on by them, but it moved not.

“ It must be grounded upon the bars, father," said Zora,
straining her eyes into the distant gloom.

“ Yes, it must be; I was thinking we were not far off the
bars. This floe i fast, that’s certain, and it would be well
for search to begin. Peradventure the young man may be
alive, and able to make known his position if I should call
to him and be heard.

So saying, the man shduted at the top of his lungs a
number of times, but only the moan of the storm answered
him. ‘

“ He is not on this floe, else he is dead."

Zora moaned in spirit, and a convulsive sob came up from
her heart.

“,We may be wrong, Zora, in regard to this doc being
grounded upon the bars, and to be certain, I will land upon
it and explore its length and breadth. We had both bet-
ter land, for there is danger of being crushed here."

“ Anything, father, to hasten our mission of mercy," said
Zora.

The man and his daughter had no difficulty in getting
from the canoe onto the .ice. The canoe was then drawn

' from the water to prevent its being crushed or going adrift.

A dark lantern already lit, was then taken up by the old man,
and opening the bull's eye he set out to explore the huge ice-
raft. . Zora was let t at the canoe with instructions to keep
her lantern oscillating as a guiding signal for her father.
With the strong rays of his lantern thrown before him,
the kind-hearted old exile of the Valley of Shadows moved
across the flue with cautious footsteps. It was with great
difficulty that he could advance with the storm beating
against him and in his face. He soon reached the wos'ern
extremity of the dos, however, and found tlml u was lapping
another whose dimensions were lost in the durations beyond.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben. ‘29 '

 

 

While he stood pondering as to the course he should next
pursue, he was sure he caught a sound like feet hurrying
past him. He shot the rays of his lantern around him, but
saw nothing save the driving sleet. -

He turned and continued his search, following on around
the edge of the doc. He knew by the turns he made in his
course that the raft was not a large one; but traveled on and
on for several minutes expecting to reach his daughter. But
failing in this, he stopped, closed his lantern and looked for
her signal-light. But, nowhere was it to be seen. He swept
the surrounding gloom, but no light pierced its murky black
ness.

What did it mean! Why had Zora failed to keep the sig‘
nal in sight? These were questions the father asked himself
Then his heart almost ceased to beat as a fearful thought
rushed across his brain. I

“My God!” he exclaimed, “have I lost my childt—has
the storm swept her into the lake? Oh, heavens, this agony
—torture—my child, my Zora lost!"

The bearded, rime-covered face of the old exile assumed
an expression of the wildest despair; he opened his lantern
and rushed forward over the doc, shouting aloud in tones
that rivaled the bitterness of the storm's shriek, the name of
his lost child.

“ Zora! Zora! my darling child, where, oh, where in God’s
name are you?"

Alas, where indeed! Only the storm-winds answered him
in moans of terrible mockery.

_————nA——

CHAPTER XXVI.
zom's ram.

ZORA's sudden disappearance was clouded in ‘a fearful
mystery to her father. He searched the tics over and over,
but could find no trace of her, or the canoe. In the most
terrible agony of heart and mind he paced to and fro cursing
the fates that had sent him out upon the lake in the face of
such a fearful storm with his child. But then he reflected
over the events of the day, and called to mind the fact that
it was at Zora’s own most urgent request—yea, appeals, that
he had been induced to venture forth. This thought gave
him a spark of relief, and as his emotions grew calmer, and
he began to think, it suddenly occurred to him that those
footsteps, that he had imagined he heard pass him on the ice,
were in some manner conneéted with Zara's mysterious dis
appearance. .

In this the old exile was correct. Searcer three minutes
had elapsed after he left her, are the maiden felt avpair of
strong arms thrown around her and pinioning her own arms
helplessly at her side. She screamed for help, but her mouth
was so closely muffled by her veil and wrappings that her
voice could not have been heard ten paces away.

The lantern was rudely snatched from her hand by a sec-
ond person, who at once proceeded to launch the canoe. This
done, Zora’s captor lifted her in his arms, and with the assist-
ance of his companion, stepped into the boat.

The two unknown villains then covered the lantern with a
blanket, and while one guarded Zora, the other took up'the
paddle and pushed of! from the flea, out into the seething,
boiling waters of the tempest-tossed lake. .

Zora was now allowed the privilege of her vorce.

“Villains,” she exclaimed, in a tone full of indignation
and. asperity. “ I protest against this brutal power of
yours." .

“ 0f course—it’s natural enough that you should," replied
her captor, in an affected, matter-of-fact way; “ but you
are certainly not aware of your own danger, my fair
lady, else you would not be out here on this lake at such a

time." i d i
“ Sir, I am not alone; my father came With me an s on

the flee searching for—" .

“A young man named Graham," interrupted. the man;
“ it was very unfortunate for the boy to go adrift on that
cake of ice. I'm afraid the chap is past savxng, Miss Beauty,
for he was quite insensible when we found him on a neigh-
boring floe. We warmed his jacket a little for .him, poured
some brandy down his throat, wrapped him up in a blanket,
Ind left him, as we had no means of assisting hlm further.
He may escape, and he may not. ” .

Notwithstanding this avowed kindness to a suffering hu-
man being, Zora was satisfied from the tone and looks of the
Inn that he was a villain.

 

Both were well dressed against the rigorous cold of the
night, and took no pains to keep their faces concealed. The
captive saw that her guard was a middleaged man, though
his hair and whiskers were gray. His companion was not
over two-and-twenty and quite prepossessing in appearance.
There was nothing repulsive in the looks of either of the
men, but there was enough in their actions to satisfy Zora
that they were outlaws, but not of a class devoid of all the
principles of humanity.

The storm ceased as suddenly as it had sprung up; that
is,‘it ceased to snow about the time of Zora's capture, and in
ten minutes time the wind had shifted into the west, but
blew as strong as ever. It was still cloudy and dark and the
lake ran high, making the navigation more difficult than it
had been; for, the change in the wind started the great packs
of ice that had accumulated on the west end of the lake and
sand-bars, crowding back toward the eastern extremity. At
every stroke of the paddle, the outlaws were threatened with
death by being crushed between two floss. It required great
skill to avert disaster.

“ My dear young lady," said Zora’s guard, on recovering
from a sudden shock of a doe that almost upset their boat,
“ I am astonished at the bravery that you and your father
have shown in venturing out on this lake to-night.”

“ It seems that the same compliment is applicable to your-
selves, whether you were acting by a good or mercenary mo-
tive,” said Zora, throwing aside her vail. '

The rays of the lantern fell full upon her face, which gave
emphasis to her words—a face of remarkable beauty and
symmetry of outline. She could not have been over eigh-
teen years of age, yet was a type of lovely womanhood. Her
eyes were of a dark blue, mild as a summer sky, and pos-
sessed of an expression that gave tone to the sweet purity of
her young heart. A decision of character, a fearlessness of
spirit, a kind and gentle nature, were stamped upon every
feature of the pretty white face framed in by the borders of
her hood.

“Whatever our object may have been in venturing out
here," replied her guard, “ rest assured that no harm shall
come to you while under our protection, providing you an-
swer truly one question which I desire to ask you."

“ How will you know whether I answer truly or not?” re-

‘plied the maiden.

“ Yours is a face that will not acquiesce in ‘the falsehood
of the tongue,” was the man's reply. “ The question is this:
are you not the daughter of Hubert Ames, formerly of Ten-
nessee?"

“Sir, I shall decline to answer any and all questions that
you may ask about myself or my father," she replied, her
voice tinged with scorn.

“ Then I will ban to refuse you liberty. When you an-
swer the question, then will you be set free. I know where
you live, my dear girl, and have for the last year; the cavern
on the Wolf is no great secret to me. I saw you and‘your
father lowered from the rock into your canoe, and saw you
depart on your mission. I Was aware of what brought you
out on the lake. It was to save the life of that young sports-
man, Sydney Graham, with whom I dare say you are in love.
else you would not have ventured out on such a night. If ‘
your father is Hubert Ames, as I have reason to believe he is,
he is here from no desire of his own—in fact, he is here to es-
cape the penalty of the law, and dead or alive we will take him.
We are officers of justice sent in search of him, and we
will not shrink from our duty. But if we knew certainly
that it was be, we might effect some compromise through

on."
y “ Is that what you captured me for?” Zora asked.

“ It is.”

“ I see by this you are not what you pretend to be," she ro-
plied, disdainfully; “ if you were sent here as officers of the
law, to arrest my father, your course is plain, and were you
not rascals instead of ofllcers, you would not propose a com-
promise with a criminal. If you have not murdered my father
already. you will yet come to grief. ”

“ Your father was not injured by us, though we might have
arrested him had we not thought he would be an incumbrance
in getting ashore. If he finds our canoe, he may escape, but
I hardly think he will find Sydney Graham. It was by the
merest accident we found him. We were shadowing your
canoe by your light, and getting in ahead of you, struck the
ice-pack and landed. There we found the young man
and did what we could for him. But, heavens, how the
wind blows! ayl steady, Free, a floe's struck its—bear to the
right.”

 

An immense ice-raft had struck them, and in attempting
to escape, they ran against. another, whose slow movement
proved an impediment to their flight; and to escape being
crushed, they were compelled to pull to the right, and pass
around it. Even this movement was attended with great
dangers, for the winds and waves, beating against the side
of the craft, kept it dragging against the edge of the leeward
floe.

Zora was observed by her captor to gather her skirts
closely around her, and adjust her cloak as if to render her-
self more comfortable from the raw, damp wind and chilly
spray. Her guard never once dreamed of the desperate
resolution that was momentarily growing stronger in her
breast.

' 0n moved the canoe. Dark clonds were scudding across
the face of the struggling moon. The waves washed along
the shore, and the winds shrieked in demoniac glee. Sud-
denly the little craft was hurled against a doe with such
violence that its slight frame cracked. A shriek rent the
air—a shriek of terror and of triumph. With fearful vio-
lence the waves beat against the canoe, which, having turned
an angle of the doc, shot away with wonderful rapidity over
the seething water. .

When the little craft had been brought once more under
control, a cry burst from the lips of one of the men. He
had discovered that Zora was not in the canoe!

“ Great God, Proc, she’s gone!” the villain cried; “our
game’s lost—was swept overboard when that last squall
came. Pull, man, for the shore! pull, if you value our
lives worth the saving!"

 

CHAPTER XXVII.
“AN ILL WIND 'rrwr snows N0 econ.”

THE two outlaws were mistaken in the fate of Zora. She
had not been drowned as they believed, but, when the canoe
struck the floe, she arose to her feet and sprung toward the
ice. The wind being in her favor, it almost lifted her from
the canoe onto the raft, and hurried her forward several rods
before she could check her footsteps. When she did, the
moon, struggling forth at this juncture, enabled her to
see that her captors were gone—she was safe from their
power!

Overcome with emotions of joy, she sunk upon her knees,
and in the fullness of her young heart, she lifted her voice
to Heaven in a prayer of thanks. When she arose to her
feet, a hand was laid upon her shoulder, and a voice said:

“ God bless you, Zora!" .

She turned quickly. The light of alantern, hitherto kept
concealed, streamed in her face.

“ Oh, fatherl—dear father, you too are safe!" she'cried,
throwing herself into her father’s arms.

“ My child, how came you lost?” the old man asked.

Zora told him in as brief a manner as possible, and by
the time she had concluded, her father was deeply agi-
tated.

“They asked if I was Hubert Ames; what did you tell
them?" he answered.

“ That I would not answer their questions concerning you
or myself. ”

“ Then they do not know that I am Hubert Amest”

“ Not by my telling, though they mistrust as much. But,
father, did you‘find that—”

“ Young man? I did; he is on the opposite side of this
doe. He is alive, though weak and numb from cold. He
was unconscious when I found him, but I soon roused him
from his stupor."

A light 0f joy beat out in the dark-blue eyes of the fair
Zora, and her young heart beat wildly with its pent-up emo-
tions of maidenly gladness and felicity.

Hubert Amos led the way across the doc, his own heart
Made happy and joyous by the restoration of his child.
ifowly and carefully they picked their footsteps across the
Ive.

The father and daughter soon came to where Sydney Gra-
n im reclined, in a half-stupor, upon the ice.

Hubert Antes had found him upon the flea, wrapped in a
blanket, and when he had aroused him from his lethargy and
., testioned him, the young man knew nothing of how the
in :tnket came around him. The wind soon drove the 1108,
upon which they stood, 06 the bar; and it was then that
Antes told Graham of his loss —-of the mysterious disappear-

30 r 7 .Eeadle’s  Library.

 

 

 

ance of his daughter, and of the object that had brought.
them out onto the lake. Sydney was startled by the oldi
man’s words, and essayed to regain his feet, but numbness:
and cold almost paralyzed his whole frame, and he failed to:
rise.

Suddenly Amos, who was on the look-out for some clue:
to his missing child, descried a light behind them, and leav-e
ing Graham he closed his lantern and hurried across the floe:
to meet his daughter in the manner already described.

“Thank God, young man, she is safe,” the happy father
said, as they drew near the reclining form of Sydney; “ a.
merciful Providence has sent her back to me.”

Sydney raised his eyes, and in the glare of the lantern he-
behcld Zora's pretty white face and rosy cheeks, to which the-
kcen, cold winds lent an additional roseate hue. He started
up. The blood that had been moving in cold, sluggish cur-
rents through his veins, nowlcaped in hot waves from his
heart, and thrilled through the whole body with all the iin~
pulsive vigor of youth. He recognized the face of the girl.
It was the same one that had so long been engraved upon
his heart—the one that he had seen long months before re-
flected in the then clear, still waters of Otter Tail Lake. The
young man was greatly surprised and embarrassed, for his
plight was anything but presentable; and in confusion of mind
he staggered tohis feet and spoke to the object of his heart’s
adoration for the first time. The circumstances under which
they met furnished a, ready theme for conVersation, and after
acknowledging the father’s informal introduction, Sydney re-
marked: ' . ' L ’

“ It is under rather trying and peculiar circumstances that
we meet, Miss Ames.”

“ It is indeed,” she replied, “ so very trying that it is not
likely we will ever forget our first meeting."

“ The night has been a terrible one, even for me, on this
lake, and it is a wonder that you have not perished with the
cold."

' “ I have snflered some,” she replied, “but the greatest .

dangers are now past, and as the object of our adventure has
been successful, I feel very thankful it was undertaken.”

“I owe you and your father a debt of gratitude,” Sydney
replied; “ and if God spares me from this 'night—"

He did not finish the sentence. With a crash the tics
struck the beach, throwing the trio almost prostrate upon the
ice. A cloud came over them—one whose ragged edges,
outlined against the sky, appeared almost within reach. Be-
fore them rose a dark, impenetrable wall of unnatural gloom.

Hubert Ames, the exile, cast a glance around him, and
then a light of recognition beamed upon his face.

“ We have drifted home—we are directly'under the Wolfi"
he exclaimed.

“ Then, thank God, we wre safe," said Zora, joyfully.

” Mr. Graham,” said Hubert Ames, “ I beg you will ac-
cept the hospitality of our secluded home for the remainder
of this eventful night." ' "

“ My dear, sir," responded Sydney, “ I am already indebt-
ed to you for my life, and now I can not inflict myself upon
your hospitality, when I can see no way of ever rewarding
you. Besides, sir, there is something which tells me your
home is not open to strangers." '

“ In this you are right, young man. But the same motive
that led me to your rescue, induces me to invite you into our
rude, hidden home." ' '

“ Your motives, then, are good," replied Graham; “ but if
your home and life are secrets which you still desire to re-
main secrets, I do not see why you would take an entire
stranger into it." '

“ You have already acknowledged that you owe us a life
of' gratitude. Would you be repaying a tithe of it by saying
aught of what we desire to remain a secret?"

“ Ah, you trus} me, then,” exclaimed Sydney, his eyes
beaming with joy. “ While I would not inflict myself upon
your further kindness, the same motive that led me into
danger induces me to accept your kind invitation to remain
with you till morning. '

Zora's eyes brightened and her heart filled with joy at his
words. In her heart she asked whether or not that motive
which he spoke was the motive of a reciprocal love.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
LARRY o’nuz.

Lana! O’RAY could scarcely believe the evidence ‘of- his
own senses, when, on being admitted to the stone. defense of

 

 

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben. 31

 

 

his party, the room was suddenly flooded with the light of a
lamp brought in from an adjoining apartment. He rubbed
his eyes to assure himself that the sight was not an unnatural
illusion. But that all was as it really appeared, he had still
more forcible evidence when a powerful Sioux warrior ad-
vanced toward him and said, in tolerable English.

“ Give up gun—knife—everything.”

Resistance was useless. There were a dozen warriors in
the room armed to the teeth. At one side sat Bowie-knife
Ben and five of the amateur hunters, all securely bound and
gagged. He took in the situation at a glance. The whites
had been deceived and captured in the same way as himself,
for there were no signs of a struggle within the cabin.

“ Arrah, now yees ‘roarin’ varlets, and it’s slimart as sin
yees think yees are to catch a bloind Irishman," exclaimed
O’Ray, assuming an attitude of hostility; “ but moind now,
and it’s me same self that ’11 not bear tamperin’ with no more
than a horuit's jav’lin. Mushal I’m as phull av poising as
a rhattiesnake—I am; so stand back or whack she goes——
back! Whoop, yees bloody brat, and take that, and that,
and—"

The Irishman, snatching a wooden pin from the wall, and
improvising a shelalah of it, began playing upon the tufted
heads of the red-skins with such an energy and vim as made
times lively for the foe. But this lasted for only a minute.
Half a dozen warriors rushed in upon him, and all went
down in a heap together. But from amid the confusion of
flying limbs and bobbing, tufted heads, those of our friends
already prisoners, saw the form of O'Ray suddenly emerge,
his'club still in hand, and his face wearing the expression of
desperation. He had been transformed from the easy, good-
natured Larry Q’Ray to a very demon. His inborn antipathy
toward the red-skins, and a knowledge of what would be
likely to follow captivity, fired his soul with superhuman
powers, and for a while it seemed as though victory would
crown his unaided efforts. Already three of the foe lay
bleeding and dying, while scarcely one, in the room was with-
out an injury.‘

Maddened by the Irishman's single-handed success, the
savages closed in upon him again and again; and at lengthu
blow from behind felled the heroic fellow, unconscious, to
the floor, when he was rudely seized and dragged across the
room and doubly secured with thongs of undressed deer-
skin.

All hopes of escape faded from the breast of Bowie-knife
Ben and his companions when they saw Larry fall.

The latter was arranged in a position near Ben as soon as
he recovered from his unconsciousness, and a guard set over
him. Then the savages renewed the farce by which Ben,
Larry and most of the amateurs had been led into their pre-
sent predicament. A fierce yell of approaching warriors
without, was silenced by the clash of a dozen rifles inside,
when the former would fall back to the woods apparently in
great disorder. A dozen times or more this was repeated,
but it seemed as though there were no more victims to decoy
into the trap. Captain Graham was absent, it is true, and
had been expected with Larry, by his friends, and no doubt
by the savages; but, as the prisoners were not permitted to
confer with each other, the lrishman could not acquaint his
friends with the mysterious disappearance of Sydney. So,
they were kept in an agony of suspense, expecting every mo-
ment to hear the captain’s demand for admittance to danger
instead of safety.

The Indians without kept up their sham attack and those
within their vigorous defense; and our friends were sorely
and sadly afraid their patience was about to be' rewarded
with another victim, when the quick, loud raps of some one
without jarred the door. .

A savage hastily opened a. sliding shutter to a small Win-
dow and gazed out. He could see the dark outlines of a
figure at the door, and while he was endeavoring to make
out the character, a voice bawled out:

“ Be you a-goin’ to let me in, you fire-blasted fools?
Don‘t you knowwho I he? Are you a set 0' durned cata-
wampuses, not to know my stately tread and musical VOICE?
Open this door, or by ther Olympian goddesses l’ll tare down
the shanty, 'I will.”

The door was opened, and Jeduthan Turk came dancing
into the mom in a. state of great exuberance. But when he
discovered the house full of warriors and BOWje'knife Ben
and his companions prisoners, his glee turned to astonishment,
or rather he affected such an emotion; for, at 3 8131108» 3611
saw that there was an understanding between him. and the
Indians. { I ,

 

' the difierence, I’d ax yet”

a “ Merciful man on high!” the old renegade exclaimed
what in the name 0‘ the adorable? What a conglomerated
mess 0’ a crowd have I got into? Ingins andwhite mixed
up like water and grease. Can’t be I’ve run into danger can
it? Cuss my ole hulk, if I don’t b’lieve thar’s a. slight ,con-
flabberation here, I swan I do. " r f i

“ You needn’t put that all on, ye rampin' ole traitor, you,’
retorted Ben, who had been allowed the freedom of his
tongue. “ I reckon as what I kin see cl’ur through yer lit~
tle game. This ’ere's all been put up by you and your p’isen
Ingin friends. I sw’ar I wish I’d a-gutted you, Turk, when
I met yet tunnelin' under the snow-drift. But, never mind,
ole posey; the devil’sgot it laid up fur you when you go
home to him." I

“ You tell ‘im, won’t ye, that I’ll be along by-and-by?” re
torted Turk, “for it does 'pear to me, Ben Bowie, that you’re
bout to take yer passage, now ben‘t you?"

“ Och, swate mither of man!" exclaimed Larry, " and
gladly would mees ’doie, if mees could git one was morsel av
a. squaze at yer throat, ye bloody brat!”

“ Hoi hol hol Irisher, I didn't know as what you war
here,” retorted the renegade, fairly doubling himself in his
demonstrative laugh. “I swaney, I never see’d you here
ufore, Bogtrol'ter. But to come right to the p’int, that war
delicious likker we had t‘other night, now wa’n't it? Why,
it’d jist fetch a dead man right outen his "grave, it would,
I'll be switched." ' '

“ Shet up yer infurnal mountain-gap, ye owld outcast yees,
for divil the bit of sinse are there in yer ldyoticlravings. ‘It’d
look more sinsihle av yees if ye’d arrange these cussed sthrings
sols they‘d not hurt me limbs so.”

“ It wouldn't do, Bogtrot, unless I’d go back on the boys
new,” replied Turk, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to-
ward the Indians. “ They’ve'stood  me through thick
and thin, fire and foes, and I’m not the man to desert them
when a little ticklish work, sieh as scalpin’ and burnin’ you
fellers, are to be did. No, sir; I’m more 0' a man, than
that, Bogtrot. I’m sorry far you fellers on ‘count 0’ yer
color, but ye be awful reckless 0’ life, so now you’ll have to
grin and bear’t, I swan you will. You‘ve consolashun in
knowin', howsumdever, that you'll not have to die [but
onc’t, and won’t know anything ’bout this world 0’ trials
when yer bodies are burnt up and the ashes blowin’ all over
the kentry.” "

“ Such a cool, murderous-hearted wretch I didn’t suppos
lived,” said Town Barry, one of the amateurs.

At this juncture Red ‘Arrow, the chief of the party, inter-
terposed, and other savages coming in, dispositions were
made for the disposal of the prisoners. Turk had a promi
nent voice in the arrangements, and when all had been satis
factorin arranged, 'he and one of the warriors left the house.
In half an hour they returned, Turk carrying a small iron
hooped cask, and the savage a square package wrapped in
brown paper. '

The prisoners exchanged significant looks. They recog-
nized the cask as one belonging totheir stock of high-wines-
and the package in the paper as one of their boxes of.cigars’
that had, been  in a cavern not over, fifty rods away-
and where they supposed no one could ever find them. Th;
readiness, however, with which Turk and the savage went
and procured the brandy and cigars, was evidence of their
having known where to lay hands upon the articles.

A shudder of horror and despair passed over the prisoners
when Turk brought the liquor into the room. They well
knew its potent powers would excite the brains of the sav-

’ es, and add new fuel to their already excited, revengeful
Spirits. ‘

 

CHAPTER xxrx.
A SPIRIT CABOUSE.

" You see, my dear fellers,” said Turk, depositing the
cask upon the floor and seating himself upon it, “ you see,
don’t you now, that I've cornflsticated yer iikker? And why
not, bless met—you'll not need it in the great hereafter,
and in course it'd sour and breed snakes if it‘stayed into that
cave. '

“ It’s not the fust you’ve stolen, either," said Ben.

“Why, bless you no, Ben Bowie. I’ve been playin' on
the boys’- kags every nite fur a pesky good spell. ButI alers
give as much as I took—a. pint of water fur a pint of es-
sence; in course I did. As you didn’t know it, wiryJ Van'-

 

 

 

“Yees are a murtherin’ ould thafe, make the best av
yees," remarked O’Ray.
“ ’Twa’n’t regler stealin’, Bogtrot, kase as how I took it

onto a writ of attachment fur rent—storage; fur that are ’

cave are the identikel, self-constituted property 0’ your‘n
truly, Jeduthan Turk, it be. I entered it one night, ackord-
in‘ to Kongress, in ther year of our Lord, eighteen hundred
and fifty-five; tharfore she be mine to luv, cherish and pro-
tect till—-—”

“ The divil comes fur yees," interrupted O'Ray, with an
ever-ready tongue. ,

’ “Have it yer, own way, Bogtrotter," replied Turk, re-
signediy; “ but‘l be a-gorin" to tap this ’ere kag and inspect
the percentage 0' snap and drunk that be in it.” '
,‘Bo saying, the renegade proceeded to open the bung of the
cask'; this'being accomplished, the liquor was drawn in such
vessels‘as,were found in the cabin, and in such quantities as
would give each warrior a share. In a few minutes every
savage was crowding, struggling and yelling around the rene-
gade, calling, madly for more of the liquid that was firing
their brains and fast converting them into demons.

Bowie-knife Ben regarded the whole with a sense of the
most‘profound horror. He was satisfied that the moment
the cravings of the savages were sated with liquor, blood
would flow even more freely to gratify their insatiate thirst
for vengeance. ” ,

‘fBoys,” the little hunter whispered to his nearest com-
,panions, “ I think as what our race is ’bout run. Jist as
soon as that likker gives out, we’ll catch it, hot and heavy,
now mind. ' If any of you ’re in the habit of sayin' pray-
words, let meadmonish you to be about it, fur we’re liable
to drap ofi at any moment. And say: jist mention my name
as a subject fur mercy in yer prayers. Ya-as, boys, thar’s a
thousand deaths in ,(that tor-mented kag of likker if set to
motion by ’em red hellyons an’ that ole doubly-strained and
rectified essence of sin, Jeduth Turk. Lor’, I could die
easy if I could jist git one fair rip at that ongratefiil thief‘s
jug’lar; and the thought that I can’t, hurts me worse nor
death itself.”

” He is a most remarkable man," said young Barry, ” not-
withstanding his base treachery. One would judge he had
a human heart—probably had once, but it has become hard-
ened to crime.”

“Yes, lad; but the devil will wake him some day, and
then he will think of God and the judgment bar. Thar’s
consolation in that to me, there is, I swear to goodness.”

By this time the cask had been drained of its contents, and
Turk proceeded to open the cigar-box.which contained some
of the choicest'brands of Havanas. and which proved won-
derful curiosities to the savages. Not one of them had ever
seen the “ weed ” in this shape, and they were disposed to
regard them with caution, as one would an internal machine.
Turk, however, soon enlightened them upon the subject, and
illustrated their use by a practical example. In a few
minutes every warrior had a cigar lit, and was pufing away
like a portable engine, his cheeks, with each pufi, swelling

at almost to bursting.

The scene had now assumed something of the ludicrous,
as well as the terrible, and Bowie-knife Ben could not re-
gard it without a smile. The liquor had not yet afected the
brains of the Indians so as to deaden their savage curiosity,
which had become so greatly exercised over the cigars. In
fact, the weed in this form seemed to transport them with de-
light, and appeared even more delicious and pleasing to their
tastes than the brandy. This was attested by the almost vio~
Sent energy with which all worked, seeming to think that the
harder he labored the greater would be the enjoyment-
(lreat clouds of smoke rolled from the lips or nostrils of
each warrior, while the cigar itself played in and out be-
tween the moistened lips like a piston rod. The face had as-
sumed a lugubrious expression, while the eyes looked straight
down the nose to see how the work went on, or rolled list-
lcssly and drowsily about the room.

Turk sat upon the cask, smoking in a more easy and
natural way; at the same time regarding his dusky allies with
no expression that seemed to threaten an outburst of hearty
laughter. Red Arrow stalked about the room in all his usual
savage dignity, his besotted face wearing a dull, listless ex-
pression, and in his small black eyes a burning, vacant
stare. So deeply engrossed was he in the delights of the one
Havana, that he suddenly conceived the idea of increasing
them, and acting upon the suggestion of his cravings, be lit
anothe‘r‘ciga’r'and indulged in‘ the double pleasure of two
cigars at the same time. ' ‘ ' '

3'2 Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

 

 

 

 

The room being close, with but little ventilation, it soon
became filled with the smoke of the highly-flavored Havanas,
which was not altogether unpleasant to the olfactories of the
prisoners. It was evident, however, that the fumes of the
burning weed were hastening the effect of the frequent liba‘
tions of the savages, for some of them began to stagger about
and mutter in maudlin tones; and now and then one would
yawn drowsily and throw himself upon the floor in a drunken
sleep. Others, more demonstrative, began dancing about the
room, singing some wild, weird war-song, now and then giv-
ing vent to an unearthly yell that fairly Vchilled the blood in
their helpless auditors’ veins.

The prisoners did not entirely escape the violence of this
drunken revel, for now and then a savage would emphasize
a yell by planting his moccasined foot in the side of Bowie-
kniie Ben, or Larry O’Ray, who seemed to have engendered
their especial hatred. “

By this time the room had become filled almost to suffo-
cation with the tobacco-smoke; and a general sneezing and
coughing ensued. Several of the warriors had followed their
chief's example, and indulged to the extent of two cigars at
the same time; and under the drowsy, Blllllliltfi'llils influence
of the smoke, and the increasing delirious effect of the brandy,
their savage ferocity became toned down to an almost harm-
less condition.

Turk, however, became all the more noisy and (demon-
strativc, indulging in snatches of comic songs, odd, meaning-
less expressions, and quaint, ludicrous speeches.

“ I say, Bog-trotfer,” he finally said, addressing O’Ray,
“ wouldn’t it make you go ofi happier if ye had a wee swig
of that 'ere juice?”

“Och, begorral and niver a dhrap will mees tech again,
if it makes sech fools and gaping idiots outen iverybody as
it does you ’uns.” ‘

“ Oh, botheration, Bogtrot; you’re foolishin’ now, you be.

I know your heart’s fairly pattin’ juber fur a horn o‘ likker. '

I’d give it to you in remembrance 0’ that stormy night you
and Ben did the fair thing by me; but it won’t do fur you
to quit this world with a bad breath—oh, no; go with clean
hands and face, Irisher, and I’ll warrant Ole Nick will give
you a good seat in the bog-trotters' corner. And new, Red
Arrow, ole black-strap"——turning to the ‘chief—“ what d'
you propose (hie) doin’ now?” ' " ’ ‘

Red Arrow looked at Turk with a doleful, imbecile leer,
that was both repulsive and comical, and in a‘drunken tone,
muttered a few incoherent words, then crammed his two
cigars back into his mouth and continued his laborious put!-
ing.

“Tickle my scalp, ole smoke-stack,” replied Turk, sud-
denly seized with a violent, drunken hiccoughing, “yer (hie)
muchly un’er the infloonce (bio) of likker, you be, man (hic)
You’re a durned (hie) hog—can’t be mod‘rate (hie) like me
and Tim’thy (bio), of Bible fa-(hicyame, who took fur stum-
(hic)-mick’s sake only (hic)—-cussed hog, you be."

The look that accompanied the final period of this lecture
on intemperance, would have provoked any man into a fit of
laughter, had he not stood face to face with death, as our
friends did. ‘ ’

With an apparent contemptuous lowering of the eyes, and
curl of the lip, the renegade turned away, lit a fresh cigar,
and joined the warriors in their bacchanalian orgies. He
became more wild and boisterous, as the influence of his in-
dulgence grew upon him. He seemed to be impatient about
the disposal of the prisoners, and kept questioning the chief
in regard to the matter. But the mind of his ’Sioux high-
ness, Red Arrow, was somewhat unsettled at the time, and
he was compelled to defer decision. ‘ I "

Suddenly an idea seemed to have popped into Turk’s be-

‘muddled brain, and stopping, he confronted the chief, say-

ing:
“ I’ve got it, (hie) ole red-skin, I have. I’ll tell ye (hic),
too, I will, what to do (hic) with that ’ere set th-(hic)-’re; jis’
hol‘ yer (hic) year here—it’s a sccret—an’ ’ll whis-(hic)-per ’t

'in yer year (hie), if ye‘re too busy to hear (hic) it out

loud.”

Turk staggered up to the chief, who was standing in the
middle of the room, anxious to hear any suggestions that
might lift some of the weight off his overtaxed 'brain. Je-
duthan bent quickly forward to whisper in the chief’s ear,
but, in his own confusion of mind, he forgot to remove his
cigar from his lips, and the fiery end was driven rather for-

‘ ciny into the chief’s ear.

.A screech that might have awoke the dead pealed' from
his lips, and his huge form shot up into the air like a rubber

“N, M. ,

 

 

=. v.2». -

 

1
4

 

\

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben. 33

 

 

ball. Had the fire been applied to the soies of his feet, he
could not have made a more quick or graceful spring than
he did.

Turk burst into a roar of laughter, which terminated in a
kick from the chief that sent the renegade sprawling on the
floor, between Ben and Larry.

“Now—-—nmo (hic) durn your mystified ole brain (bio), I
won’t tell ye what I (hic) war gorin’ to—I’d see (hie) ye siz-
zlin’ fust, l swan I would.”

As he slowly gathered himself up, he pitched forward
against Ben, in an awkward, drunken stagger. The hunter
was about to let loose a shower of imprecations upon ’l‘urk,
when he suddenly felt the cold blade of a knife inserted be-
tween his wrists, and felt its keen edge sever his bonds!

 

CHAPTER XXX.
our on This TorLs.

BOWIE-KNIFE BEN was greatly surprised by this sudden
movement of Turk, for it was by a knife in his hand that
the hunter’s bonds were severed. He could not compre-
hend its meaning altogether, for, hitherto, every action of
the renegade had been hostile toward him and his fellow-
prisoners, and he never dreamed that such a thing would
occur—that 'l‘urk’s motives were all concealed behind his
apparent inebriation.

Naturally enough, the little hunter hesitated to improve
the first moments of his liberty, by attempting escape from
the room; for such an act would have precipitated af-
fairs, and drawn the bonds of captivity still tighter around
his friends.

He Wondered how Turk could possibly be a friend of
his and an ally of the savages, and whether his intentions
in bringing the brandy and cigars into the room were to
intoxicate the Indians, and thereby divert their attention
from the whites. Or, could it have been possible that he
——Ben—was to be the sole object of Turk‘s mercy, in consider-
ation of the hunter’s kindness in saving his life that stormy
night in the forest?

Ben kept his hands behind him, and feeling about with
his fingers, disc cred that Turk had dropped the knife on
the floor at his ack. This gave him new courage. for he
was satisfied now that Turk had left it for his especial
benefit.

The prisoners were all seated in a line closely together
and taking up the knife, Ben reached carefully around he
hind O’Ray and severed his bonds, at the same time givmg
him a knowing glance. A light of joy mounted to the face
of the Hibernian, and for a moment Ben was afraid his emo-
tions would betray him.

The knife being left in Larry‘s hand, he slyly cut the
bonds of his nearest companion, placed the knife in this com-
panion's hand and signified, by a nudge, for him to perform
a like duty for the next man in the line. By this means
every man was free in less than three minutes, and all
Waited only for the chance to make a dash for the door and
liberty. ’

None but Ben was aware of the source from whence this
friendly aid had come, and so the hunter kept a close watch
Upon Turk’s movements. He saw him pass out and back
several times—each time, however, he closed the door quick
as possible behind him.

The savages were still 0
dense, white smoke that 0
they passed to and fro like fiends
pearing wild, weird and unnatural. .

Suddenly Turk uttered a low whistle of apparent surprise,
M the same time glancing at our friends in a significant man-
ner. Then he sprung across the floor and threw open the
door and blew out the light.

A deep silence ensued, but was immediately succeeded by
the rush of feet, the bounding of heavy bodies upon the
floor, and a wild, drunken, savage yell.

Ben and his companion, had comprehended all in an in-
stant, and the next moment they were upon the" feet and
out of the cabin.

“ Wheel the corner,” cried a voice,
as Turk‘s, the moment they we re outside; .
o the house you'll find yer guns and ackutermlu
'ern—hurry—run—aaatl”

arousing around. the room. In the
bscured the light like an eclipse,
in a twilight revel—ap-

which all reCognized
"and at the side
ts—snntch

 

The party turned the corner of the house as directed,
each man snatching up one of the rifles without regard to
ownership, and hastening on into the woods.

The savages, or those who were not too drunk, gave chase;
but all their subtle instinct and crafty cunning had been reu-
dered dead and torpid by the influence of the liquor, and
they staggered hither and thither, grappling now and then
with the trunk of a tree, or imaginary foes—gliding on with
that vacant listlessness of somnambulists—with no earthly
object in view.

Our friends evaded the red-skins without trouble, and by
a detour around the valley, returned to the house where they
had so lately been in confinement. The place was deserted
by all the savages except three too drunk to walk. These
were dragged outside, but Ben’s humanity rebelled against
offering them violence while in such a helpless condition.

The door was at once scourely barred, and the room put
in the best shape possible for defense. There was a large
supply of ammunition and provision concealed in a kind of
magazine under the floor, so the little party had no fears of
coming to want in case of a protracted siege.

Ben now made inquiries regarding the absence of Captain
Graham, and it was with a feeling of the profoundest grief
and sorrow that they heard Larry’s story of the captain’s dis-
appearance.

“Perhaps,” said Ben, thoughtfully, “ that gal, the cap’n’s
nearly distractioned about, has kaptered liiml”

“ It moight be sieh a thing, Benny. She‘d kapter enny-
thing like a mon, for I’ll be sworn if she ar‘n't the swatest
little morsel av humanity that iver wore hair, so she is be-
gorrn.”

“ Then you have seen her?”

“Bless yer sowl, and mees did. And she warn’t alone
either—anither gal war with her, and, och, but she war‘ a
rhose-bud, too, and the ither one called her Nora Mac-
karthy.”

“ That’s a bloody Irish name," said Ben.

“Ho, ho; and it‘s moighty roight yees are, Benny; and
sweet as a brook is her voice, with jist brogue enufi to make
it musical. A swate young crather is the colleen, and it‘s
the smash she played wid me ould heart, so it is."

“ Oho, I see into it now. You’re in love, too, like tht
cap’n,” replied Ben, with a chuckle. “I reckon as wha.
purty weemon must grow like weeds down in the Valley oi
Shaders. Mebby thar's one sproutin’ for me thar.”

“ 00! and it’s on bended knee mecs will tell the feelings
av me heart to the swate, bunty little Nora Macknrthy the
first toime I sees her again, so I will: and it—”

“ I say, fellers, in thur," suddenly interrupted a voice from
without, “ if you‘ve no objecshins, I want to come in outen the
damp, night atmosphere us don’t agree with my delicate sys-
tum. If thar’s eniiy kordiul left into that ’ere cask. I be
wantin‘ it to moisten my larnyx. I sw’ur to goodness I
hain’t had a drap to-nite, but to git you fellers outen your
last cholic, I almos‘ drowned myse‘f outen my breeches
pourin’ of likker down my throat onto the trundle, to foot
'em red-skins, I swan to nater I did.”

“It’s chuthan Turk, boys,” said Ben. “ He‘s a queer
ole codger, but he saved us, so in he comes.”

Ben opened the door, and the small, elastic figure of Je-
duthan Turk shot into the room, executing a graceful hand.
spring, and bringing up in the center of the room, cxclaim
ing: '

“ Yoop—pee! and yere’s the springiest ole catawampus that
ever sot trap ’i- pulled trigger, fit b’ars ’r fooled lngins—
that’s what ails IIanner,"-and be rounded off the final period
with a shout that fairly startled his astonished auditors.

“ I’ll give it up, 'l‘urk—I‘ll cav», I will, by mighty," re.
plied Bowie-knife Ben; “ you’re a mirakle, you be. Here,
shake, and let’s drink to eternal friendship; no dif‘rence
whether we meet, by the cam -fire, in a tunnel under a snow-
drift, in the woods, in u. can in full of Ingius, or in the great
Hereafter." \

 

CHAPTER XXXI.,
AN misu MAID’S nacamox.

Trman days had gone by since the disappearance of Cap-
tain Graham, and all this time Bowie knife Ben and the ama-
teur hunters lingered 'in the vir-inin of “Her Tail Lake in
hopes of finding some trace of.him. lint every pm.” w-is'
baffled, and Ben finally came to the con'ciusion that lu- hu-Z

been captured and carried away by the Indians to their vil-

34 Beadle’s

 

 

lage, and proposed an advance upon that stronghold. The
proposition met with general favor, but on the evening
previous to the day upon which the party was to start to the
village, an event occurred that entirely changed the pro-
gramme they had laid down.

They were eneamped on the southern shore of Otter Tail
Lake, and toward the close of the day, Ben and Larry left
camp to make a final reconnoissance around the Valley of
Shadows, each one taking a different course.

The day had been exceedingly warm and pleasant, and
the evening was one of a soft, dreamy mildness. Not a
breath of air was stirring, but on eVery side that low, mys-
terious voice of nature could be heard droning forth its
mournful cadences.

The sun hung just above the horizon, its red beams shoot-
ing aslant the blue sky and quivering along the earth, when
a solitary figure crept out from the belt of gloom skirt-
ing the southern side of the Valley of Shadows, and steal-
ing along the base of the bluff, made his way toward the
Wolf.

It was Larry O‘Ray, who had detected smoke rising from
the summit of the rock, and had determined to know more of
its secrets by approaching it, and scaling its hights after
darkness set in. He had proceeded but a short distance,
however, when the sound of voices arrested his attention.
Peering through a strip of shrubbery that separated him
from the speakers, he discovered two females sauntering
leisurely ‘along the valley. He recognized them as the same
persons he had seen the day Captain Graham disappeared.
One was Zora Ames, the daughter of the exile of the Valley
of Shadows, the other, Nora Mackarthy, with whom Larry
had avert-ed he was in love.

The scout’s heart fluttered wildly as he gazed upon the
face of Nora. It was a case of love at first sight, and ever
since the day he had first obtained that sight, Nora’s face
had been uppermost in his mind. He had been patrolling the
valley for three days, feeling that there was no sacrifice he
would not willingly make to obtain another glimpse of the
idol of his heart. And now his greatest desire was realized;
and he tried to content himself by feasting his eyes
upon her, but the caprices of love are exacting—never sat-
isfied; the emotions of his starving heart overcame his dis~
cretion, and he rushed from his covert and confronted the
females.

" Howdy—good-morning, ladies!“ he exclaimed, con-
lusedly, dofl’lng his hat and extending his hand toward Nora,
at the same time bowing and smiling in a manner intended
to be polite and friendly.

Tlte females were startled by his ‘sudden, unceremonious
Intrusion, and shrunk back with alarm; but the quick eye
of Nora took in the situation at a glance, and stepping
boldly up to the hunter extended her hand as if to grasp his,
but quickly transferred it to his face, whereon she gave him
a violent slap that forced an exclamation from his lips more
forcible than elegant.

“ There now,” she exclaimed, “take that fur yer impe-
dince, and learn how yees froighten two innocent girls again,
ye mane spalpeen."

“ Och, bedad, and mees took yees for a dacent Irish girl,
mees did," affirmed Larry, tartly; “ but it’s a she-bear yees
are, by the Howly Mither."

A roar of laughter emanated from a thicket hard-by, and
the next moment Bowie-knife Ben and Jeduthau Turk issued
therefrom, their faces convulsed with laughter.

“ I swan if that wer'n’t a cool reception, Bogtrotter,” said
Turk; “ l swan I’d have a kiss for the lick or die. I swan
I W()lll( ."

“ Blessed Virgin, and mees big pardon," said Nora, apolo-
getically, when she discovered that Turk and Larry were
friends; "and it's a loafin’ rincgade mees thought yees war,
Misther Bogtrotter, although mees moight have seen yees
wore the face of an Irish gintleman."

" Arrah, now, and that sounds bettherl" exclaimed Larry,
and.his whole face broadened into a smile, that showed all
the plainer the livid imprint of Nora’s hand.

A reconciliation was soon effected between Larry and the
idol of his dreams, though all was owing to the intercession
of Turk and Ben. Then the latter took the Irishman aside
and said:

“Larry, I have found Captain Graham!"

“ 0h, glory l" shouted the excited Irishman.

“ I want you to go at once to the camp and tell the boys
that I‘ll be that with the cap‘n afore midnight.”

“ And whar am the capting, Beuuyf"

Dime Library.

 

 

“ This man Turk, who turns out to be our best friend on
the border, will take me to whar the cap‘n are.“

“Holy Mother! and it's roight jolly news it um, and
won’t the b’ys shout fur glory when they hear it? But I
wonder if the capting ’s in love yit, Benny P"

“ I reckon he be; and he’s a fool if he ar’n‘t, for
that's the gal thar that’s about discomboborated his heart.
But, Larry, it’s nearly night, and we'll have to be trampin’."

With a bow intended for all, though entirely bestowed
upon Nora, with an accompanying smile, Larry reluctantly
took his departure from the Valley of Shadows. But he
went with a light heart, for Nora had recognized his parting
bow with an approving, coquettish smile."

 

CHAPTER XXXII.
911.31.; MEREDITH'S PEBIL.

A SMALL canoe was being leisurely propelled up the Sauk
river between the settlement of Lakeside and the cabin of
the missionary, Father St. Ule. It contained two occupants
—both females—young and handsome. One was Wilma
Meredith, the settler’s daughter, the other Sybil St. Ule, the
missionary’s daughter. With the former the reader is al-
ready acquainted, and although the latter has figured in our
story, we have never described her.

Sybil St. Ule was a handsome woman, whose perfect phy-
sique and intellectual attainments indicated a person of five-
and-twenty, but evidently she was not over eighteen summers
of age. Her hair and eyes were black as a raven's wing;
her complexion of a fresh, olive tint, and her general fea-
tures, symmetrical in mold and strong in expression. There
was a regal air in all her movements, an imperious flash in
the dark eyes, and a tinge of hauteur on the delicately-
chiseled lips.
and dressed in a style that set off her beauty to the best ad-
vantage. She had been down at Lakeside visiting Wilma,
and now Wilma was going home with her to spend a few of
the bright spring days in the quiet retreat of the mission-
ary’s cabin.

Wilma’s face wore a pale, sad look. The color had faded
from her cheeks, and her voice had lost much of its musical
sweetness. Her heart was sad and refused to be comforted,
for she mourned the death of her lover, Nathan Reeve, of
whom no trace had been found since the night he fell in the
duel. This bereavement fell heavily upon Wilma's heart.
There was nothing to wait for, so far as Nathan was con
cerned; for the decision of Bowietknifo Ben had destroyed
all possible hope of his ever returning alive. The bloody
trail from where he fell, the hole in the ice and the crimr
son stain upon its edges—all told the little hunter too plainly
of Nathan’s fate.

It was a beautiful April day. The sun shone bright and
warm; the birds sung along the shores among the budding
trees; the river rippled on with a soft, low murmur; and all
nature seemed rife with music and joy, as though it was
capable of rejoicing over its release from the icy thralldom
of winter. But none of these beauties of nature brought
joy to Wilma’s heart. Sybil endeavored to win her mind
away from her troubles, but they were as deep-rooted in her
heart, as had been her love for Nathan Reeve.

Sybil was using the paddle which she handled with re-
markable ease and skill. They had arrived opposite the
mouth of the creek, or channel that connects the river with
Full Lake, when Wilma, glancing around, then down at the

clear waters, buried her face in her hands and burst into _

tears.

“ Why, Wilma. my dear girl,” said Sybil, in a consoling
voice, “ what has induced this new outburst of grief?”

“ Oh, Sybil." replied Wilma, in sadness of heart; “ I was
just thinking that we were on the very spot where poor Na-
than’s body was put under the ice."

“ Yes; this is about the place. But, dear Wilma, don't
let your sorrow kill you. Try and dismiss it from your
mind. You are too young to die of a broken heart."

Wilma’s lips curled slightly with scorn, and an unusual
luster kindled in her eyes. There was something in her cum.
panion’s tone, and the look that accompanied it that wound-
ed her feelings, and led her to think that her friend spoke
lightly of her sorrow and the love she cherished for the mem-
ory of her dead lover. ,

Before Wilma could reply, however, something came in
contact with the prow of their canoe, and being seated with

In size she was a little above the medium,

 

 

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben. 35

 

 

her back to their course, she turned her head and discovered
that a large bunch of dry, matted brush had floated against
the boat. She put out her hand to push it aside, but with-
drew it as quickly as though a serpent had been coiled up
within its meshes. She had caught sight of a pair of blaz.
ing eyes looking up at her from a painted, dusky face!

“ 0h, lieaven, Sybil!" she cried, in terror, “ there are In-
dians under that brush!"

Before Sybil could reply, the brush was pushed aside, and
two savages, by a sudden, agile spring, threw themselves into
the canoe without scarcely rocking it.

“ Hooh!" exclaimed one of the villains, with an apparent
shudder, “ water heap cold—guess ride little—purty squaws
v—one for me—one for Black Elk—ugh l”

Sybil and Wilma screamed for help, but their cries must
have been unheard. For fear, however, that they might be,
the savages seized them, and having bound their hands, tied
a bandage over their mouths and eyes, thereby rendering
them helpless, speechless and blind.

This done, one of the red-skins took up the paddle and
turned the canoe upon the water several times, then moved
away. This was done to confuse the minds of the captives,
and they could not tell whether they were being taken up or
down-stream, or whether .they had turned into the passage
leading into Fall Lake.

In this manner they were taken on and on for some length

of time. Finally the boat put ashore, and the prisoners be-l

ing landed, were conducted away through the woods in what
appeared to be a winding, tortuous course.

They finally came to a halt where Wilma was sure she
could hear the murmur of water not far distant. Her con-
ductors exchanged a few words in the Indian dialect with
some friend whom they had met; then she was led forward
into a kind of a building or cavern. She did not know
whether Sybil was by her or not, for she was still kept blind-
folded. She was conscious of being taken across a hard
floor—through a narrow door—down a flight of stairs into
what appeared to be a dismal, poorly—ventilated cave. Here
she was permitted to be seated, when her blinfold and bonds
were removed.

The lurid glare of an oil-lamp dazed her sight, and before
ner eyes had become accustomed to the light, she heard the
footsteps of her cantor retreating. She found that she was
surrounded by walls of solid earth, and alone. Sybil was
not with her. Above her was what appeared to be a
floor—probably the same across which she was conducted
when first led out of the open air. She could hear the soit,
massive tread of feet crossing it, ever and anon. Now

and then she could hear the faint murmur of loices and
the opening and closing of a door. By these sounds she

came to the conclusion that she was in a vault under some
building. But, where was that building situated? Why had
she been confined in such a dismal place? Would she ever
see the light of day again? Was she doomed to a fate far
Worse than death?

These were the questions Wilma asked herself, and the
errible thoughts that followed completely prostrated her cour-
.ge and filled her soul with horror. Her brain grew diezy,
her limbs refused to support her, and she sunk unconsrlons
to the earth. '

She never knew how long she remained unconsmous upon
her prison floor; when she recovered, she found she was still
lving where she fellrbut there was no friendly hand about
to soothe her aching brow, nor give her water to cool her
parched and feverish lips. I .

Her lamp had burned low, and was sputtering and flicker-
ing as if struggling hard to keep ablaze.

Rising to her feet with great effort, she seated herself upon
a rude bench and tried to think.

She was startled by a heavy footstep and the sound of a
familiar voice in the room overhead.

“ H0wdy, father?" she heard the voice say; “ mortal glad
be I to git back here onc’t more to find you and yer gal sound
and well. You’re lookin’ well, unkle—tor-ment it, gal, but
yon he growin‘ purtier every day. How’s both yer healths?
How’s red skins hereaways? I see’d gobs of track around?

' How’s times?—'how’s Bible-makin’?——how’s every thing? I

uw’ar to nature, I’m glad to wag yer paw, unkle, I be.".
Wilvna’s heart seemed to rise up in her throat as she listen-
:(i io‘these words of greeting. It was the voice of Bowie.
knife Ben, and his words were addressed to Father St. Ule
and his daughter Sybil. Of this, there was not a doubt left
in her confused and troubled mind.
#

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.
um sncnn'rs on Tim wow.

As soon as Larry O’Ray took his departure from the Valley
of Shadows for the camp of the amateur hunters, Bowie-knife
Ben, Zora Antes and Nora Mackarthy set out in the (iii‘Ot‘linll
of the Wolf, led by Jeduthan Turk, who seemed fttllliilur
with every step of the valley.

They soon reached the base of the Wolf, when the guide
led the way up a natural acclivity along the side of the rock,

and finally stopped under a jutting rock where further ascent -

was totally impossible. As there was no opening in the side
of the rock visible Ben began to wonder what advantage they
had gained by climbing the rock to that point, when ’I‘nrk
placed his lips to a crevice in the rock and blew a shrill
whistle. A minute later a section of the rock facade rolled
inward, revealing a spacious opening beyond in the heart of
the Wolf. '

“ Foller," said Turk, entering the secret passage.

The next minute Ben found himself in an open court, sur-
rounded on all sides by a thick wall of stone whose sides
Were pierced by numerous small caverns. This hollow in
the center of the great rock which could not be seen from the
adjacent bluffs, had the appearance of the mouth of a crater,
while its surroundings showed signs of volcanic action.

Ben was not a little surprised, for he had always believed
that the Wolf was a solid rock.

A. man past middle age met them at the door as they filed
in, and the instant the last one was in, he closed and barred
the entrance.

“This yere,” said Turk, turning to Ben, although he ad-
dressed the man who had admitted them, “is the king-cock
o’ the walk, Mr. Ames. It be Bowie-knife Ben, the great,
big little catawampus o’ the north—the sprightliest, springi-
est little brat that ever sunk tooth or dug nail into a red-
skin.”

“ I am glad to meet you, Bowieeknife Ben,” said Mr. Ames,
in recognition of Turk’s introductory remarks, as be advanced
to the little hunter with extended hand.

“ Tor-ment it, gineral," replied Ben, “I’ll be blowed up to
the moon if this don‘t take the rag of’en the pole. What's
the name?”

“ Hubert Ames," replied the old man, “ a name that 'has
been—but no difference now, Bowie-knife; there are others
waiting to see you.”

He turned and conducted the hunter into a cave at one
side of the court. A light had already been lit, and its
beams flooded the apartment wilh a mellow radiance, reveal-
ing the whole of the interior, that was furnished with all the
taste and comforts that the heart could desire. On a sofa
at one side lay the form of a youth who was asleep, and by
his side sat a man reading a small book. The latter Ben
readily recognized as Captain Sydney Graham, who laid aside
his book as the party entered the cave, and advanced to meet
Ben, saying:

“I am glad to meet you, old friend."

“ Holy Moses, cap‘nl” exclaimed Ben, grasping the youth‘s
hand. “This are joy, I swear it be. Man alivel—we’ve
mourned you as dead, these three days, and here you been in
peace and plenty, keepin‘ us all in a stew."

“ I couldn’t help it, Ben; the lndians have been watching
us narrowly ever since I came here. But, do you recognize
that face?” and he turned and pointed to the face of the
youth asleep upon the sofa.

Ben looked at the face and shook his head. It was thin
and bloodless, almost ghastly in its emuciation.

“ Take a close look, Bowie,” said Turk.

“ It ’pears to me," said Ben. scanning the features nar-
rowly, “it looks kinder nateral, hut—goodness of Heaven:
inadorahle mercy, it can’t be him, can it? It ar’n’t Nathan,
is itr—Nathan Reeve?” '

“ It is what thar's left 0' the lad,” replied Turk.

“ Tor-mental l’d like to understand this ’ere arrangements.
I would, by Joses.”

“All can be soon explained," said Amos. “ Ever since
the night of the duel Nathan has been here, hovering be
tween life and death. He’s mending now very fast since the
mild weather set in. He’s sleeping under the influence of
some medicine I gave him awhile ago, and it's best in let him
rest while he can. It was an ugly \vnund he received."

“ Glory to Him on high,” muttered Ben, his whole frame
a-quiver with pent-up joy, “ and Nathan‘s alive! Gnmi.
noble, brave Natty Reeve Lor’, how it ‘ll tickle little \\'il
mat—her checks '1! gather their roses afi’in, and sunshine ’ll

l

.36 Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

bu’st forth on her pretty face and eyes. But, it’s curious—
downright curious; I sw'ar I thought I tracked a bloody trail
to whar some fiend had chucked the boy under the ice."

“Ah, that was all a trick of my friend Titan, the Terror
of the North, to mislead Nathan’s enemies. Titan brought
him here, and I have doctored him until he is nearly well."

"'l‘or-mentsl This is a surprise—the Wolf’s chuck full
of them,I sw’ar it be. But, gineral, what are you folks
a-doin’ in this outlandish kentry, ennyhow? It ar’n’t the
place fur the likes of her,” and he pointed to Zora, who was
busily engaged assisting Nora prepare supper.

“ I have had to live here, and that's good enough for a
reason; and while supper is in course of preparation, I’ll tell
you the whole secret of my life of seclusion. You have
doubtless heard of old John Brown, who got up a negro in-
surrection about two years ago, and who was hung for the
same. Well, at that time I resided in Tennessee, although I
was a Northern man by birth and education. I was in
strong sympathy with Brown's movement of freeing the
slaves, and arranged to co-operate with him, with a large
force of negroes, as soon as his insurrection extended into
Tennessee.

“ We thought that as soon as the first blow was struck,
all the slaves of the South, and the abolitionists of the North,
would flock to our standard and aid in crushing out the
curse of our land. But alas, for human hopes! Brown
was caught and hung, and, as I had aided and abetted him,
I knew my complicity would not be kept a secret, so in or-
der to save my life, [was compelled to flee the country. A
large reward was oflered for my arrest, and saying nothing
of certain sections of the Fugitive Slave Law, I knew the
reward was too great for me ever to live in peace even in the
Northern States; so I fled hither to the wilds of Minnesota,
where I have lived in safety from my white enemies, though
continually harassed by the red ones—the Indians.

“ Nora, our housekeeper, and Titan, who stands ac-
cused of the murder of his master, came with us and
have been true and constant friends. Shortly after our
arrival in the country, we met with a kind-hearted, eccen-
tric old hunter, who brought us into this place, and has
been a noble friend ever since. That hunter is Jeduthan
Turk. I know that the intended insurrection was looked
upon as being treasonable and fanatical. but I said then that
the people of the North who condemned our movement
would some day rise up in their mightland smite the oli-
garchy of slavery, hip and thigh. Since the advent of Syd-
ney Graham here, in my secluded home, I have learned from
him that my prediction is about to come true. Ever since
the inauguration of Abraham Lincoln, as President of the
United States, the South has been openly making prepara-
tions for war—to secede from the Union and build up soon-
federacy of the slave States. Graham thinks South Caro-
lina will be the first to lead in the movement, as the most
active operations are going on in and about Charleston har-
bor. But should such a rupture occur between the free and
slave States, then there will be no slave-laws that the North
is bound to respect, and I can openly claim the protection of
the North; and what is more, I will!

“But this is not all my story. In Tennessee I had a
deadly enemy—one of those hot-blooded Southerners who
entertained no scruples of honesty, and who would take a
fellow-being’s life as quick as he would take a dram of liquor.
He was a kind of a desperado, yet he owned a large planta-
tion and several negroes. He finally got to gambling and
lost all except one male slave. To replete his lost fortune,
and at the same time satiate his spirit of hatred of myself,
he resolved to win the reward oifered for my arrest by hunt-
ing me up and arresting me. So he left Tennessee, un-
known to a single being, and it was not long until his ab-
sence was noticed, and suspicions of his having been mur-
dered entertained. His only slave, called Tiberius Rado,
was spotted as the murderer and arrested. But, being a
powerful fellow, Rado escaped from the officers and fled to
the wilds of the far North-west. Here he and I met and
became friends in a common cause. To you that man a
known as Titan, the Terror of tlw Nort ."

“Tor-mentsl—you don’t say, gineral?"

“Yes, Titan is Tibe Rado, and his old master, whose
name is Longfelt, is in this very country,” continued Ames.
“ He is better. known to you as Syl Garnett, the outlaw chief.
It appears that be tracked me into this territory, b t being
unable to find me, he gave up the chase and organized a
band of robbers, making the Indians 9. bulwark of defense.
It is still supposed in Tenuesseee that he is dead, and While

 

 

 

I am hounded by one party, Manuel de Vasco, the detective,
is on the trail of Titan, for the supposed murder of his mas-
ter. But things will soon be changed, and Longfelt, alias Syl
Garnett, will be the bounded party."

“ But what has Nathan Reeve to do with all this?" asked
Ben, as impatient as he was surprised.

“ You see,” continued Ames, “ that I have a spy in the
person of Jednthan Turk, who holds the confidence and friend-
ship of theIndians so firmly that he is permitted to go and
come at pleasure among them. By this means I am en-
abled to know all their intended movements, and have also
found out where Garnett’s den is, and know pretty well all
about the.movements of his gang—hear me through, Ben.
Amo‘ng Garnett’s men there is one vile traitor to you, known
as Chris Proctor. Well, he took a fancy to Wilma Mere-
dith, of Lakeside, where he usually makes his home; but
Nathan Reeve stood in his way, and he finally resolved to
remove him. The night of the skating carnival Proctor
went there in the disguise of a Mexican rarwlwro, and pro-
voked a quarrel with Nathan. The matter was to be ad-
justed the next night by a duel, but Proctor calculated that
he would be the Victor, for he incased almost his entire
body in old armor, that belonged to Garnett, and which was
worn under his Mexican garb. I heard of the intended
duel, but not in time to warn Nathan of his danger. I sent
Titan to see him, but he reached the lake a minute too late.
The first shots were fired, and Nathan was wounded. The
youth circled around on the ice and fell, not five paces from
Titan, who picked him up and hurried away with him.
How he arranged that trail of blood leading from where Na-
than fell, to the hole in the Sauk river ice, that so deceived
you, I will leave for Titan to tell you himself, and go on
with the main features of ‘my story. I have kept Nathan’s
existence a secret for two reasons. To let it be known
would have been to expose my secret home, and bring the

hounds of the law upon me. Then Nathan was so very ,

dangerous that he could never have been moved. Through
Turk I learned of the intended abduction of Miss Meredith,
on the night of the carnival, by one Foss, a Garnett robber,
and sent Titan there as the King of Winter to prevent the
consummation of the plot. How he accomplished his pur‘
pose, you doubtless know.”

“Bless me, ya-as; by shootin’ the varlet right through
plum-center,” responded Ben, his face the picture of surprise
and astonishment. “ And, to be rite out with you, gineral,
that man de Vasco told me that he believed Titan was his
little game, and ofiered me a slammin’ nice thing to kapter
him. But, Lordyl talk of catchin‘ a thunderbolt. But go
on, gineral; tell yer story through."

“ Well, Syl Garnett has at last found out where Ilive. He
captured my daughter the other night on the lake, but she
got away from him by leaping out of the canoe upon a cake
of floating ice. And that is whthave revealed to you these
secrets. ' If there is not a war between the North and South,
I’ll have to hunt new quarters. But at the same time I want
Garnett brought to justice.”

“ Then you know whar he can be found, do you?"

“ I do—yes.”

“ Whari—if the question’s in order."

“Do you know where Father St. Ule’s cabin is?”

“ In course I do, when I’ve been his scout nigh onto two
years, I have." =

“ Then you know where Garnett’s den is," replied Amos.
“ Father St. U16 and Syl Garnett are one and the same person 1"

CHAPTER XXXIY.
RETRlBUTION.

BOWIE-KNmn BEN was not so greatly surprised by Ames‘
story as the narrator and Jeduthan Turk had expected he
would be. In fact, he was the most surprised at his own
blindness in not having detected, long before, all that had
been told him regarding Syl Garnett. For, helmd seen
enough the last night that he staid at the missionary‘s cabin
to warrant grave suspicions. The absence of St. U16 and his
daughter when he arrived there, and the subsequent secrets
connected with the picture of the Madonna, was suflicient to
confirm Ames’ story in the little hunter’s mind. And yet, it
shocked him to the very heart, to learn that Syl Garnett had

"been hiding his real, villainous character under the sm'erdntril

robes of a missionary.
While Ames was making the above revelations to the hun

Us“... a...

 

.; "av-v mam-um“.

 

 

 

Bowie-Knife Ben. 37

ter, Captain Graham and the lovely daughter of the exile
sauntered away across the open court and seated themselves
on a large rock on the opposite side of the Opening, and en-
tered into a conversation.

During his brief sojourn at the Wolf, Sydney had declared
his love for the fair Zora —a love that had grown in his heart
since the hour he first saw her face reflected in the water
under the ledge. His love found a reciprocal response in
Zora’s heart; but the maiden would not, out of the love she
bore her exiled father, consent to give her hand in marriage
to Sydney while her father was an exile. But now that they
were about to part, both were desirous of an understanding.
Each one felt»that, without something to look forward to in
the future, life would be a blank, and so they talked on un-
til Nora was heard calling them to supper.

“Well, Zora," said Sydney, rising to his feet, still holding
the maiden’s hand, “I will soon leave the Wolf and its pleas-
ant associations to join my companions, and before we part,
I pray you will give me answer, as to whether you wili or
will not, in the future be my wife.”

“Sydney,” replied Zora, with treinulous lips, “ father says
if a war breaks out between the North and South on the
issue of slavery, he will no longer remain an exile, for the
North will not respect the demands of the South for his ar-
rest, but give him protection. When this all comes to pass,
and father is free and out of this lonely life of an exile, then
Will I be your Wife, Sydney."

“Bless you, my darling," the young man said. “ Your
promise will I seal with this."

He stooped and kissed her warm, quivering lips, his whole
soul enraptured with bliss. The two then returned to their
friends, happier than they had ever been. A new life seemed
opening to them.

After supper was over, Ben and Sydney bade the exiles an
affectionate adieu, and took their departure for the camp of
the amateur hunters, where they arrived shortly after dark.
And never rung the forests of Minnesota. with such shouts of
joy, as did that one surrounding Otter Tail Lake, when Cap-
tain Graham returned alive into the midst of his friends.

 

That night the party, headed by Bowie-knife Ben, set-out
for the den of Syl Garnett. By a forced march they arrived
in the vicinity of the cabin on the evening of the following
day. Halting the party within ear-shot of the cabin, Ben
went forward to reconnoiter the situation.

Finding no one around the place, the old hunter went fear-
lessly up to the door of the pretended missionary’s cabin and
rapped .upon it. A voice bade him come in, and pulling
the latch-string he opened the door and entered. No one
was in the room but St. Ule and his daughter, but their faces
denoted great surprise, and the guilt of their souls was plainly
Visible, now, to the eyes of the hitherto unsuspecting hunter.

Having addressed them in his usually fltllllllltl‘. tone, Ben
accepted a seat and entered into a conversation With St. Ule,
at the same time watching him and Sybil narrowly. .He also
made a casual survey of the room, which were all its usual
inviting comfort and tidiness. He saw that the Madonna
was in its accustomed place upon the wall, that the bedroom
doors were closed, and in fact, everything wearing its usual
air of sanctity. I

Suddenly the hunter was startled by a human cry that
seemed to issue from beneath the cabin. It was a cry of dis-
tress—an appeal for mercy!

St. Ule and Sybil started up, as though in ignorance of
whence the wail came. _

“ Oh, father! what was that?” Sybil exclaimed, 1n appar-
ent afl'right. . ‘

Ben turned, and opening the door, uttered a soft whistle;
then, addressing St. Ule, he said: .

“ Guv’nor, I think thar’s a tor-menth little ghost in your
cellar." .

He strode across the room and stopped, facing the picture
0f the Madonna. Raising his rifle, he drove the butt-end
through the center of the picture, shattering its wooden sup-
port behind and making an ugly hole in the body of the
Madonna, through which a dark opening was revealed.

“Benl Ben! Trapper Ben, why this rudeness? cried St.
Ule, in great surprise. _

“Hullol who’s down their?” shouted Ben, paying 110 at-
tention to St. Ule, but thrusting his head through the rent
in the picture.

“Me, Ben—Wilma Meredith. I am a prisoner—help me
—save me, Bent" came up in sobs from the vault.

“Right, little girl; 1'“ be their soon," he responded; then,
turning to St. Ule, he continued: “This are a purty little

 

game you’ve bin playin', you ole robber, thief and sinner
you; it are, I sw’ar to mortal man. ”

“ Caught!” exclaimed St. Ule, all that hypocritical sanctity
of his face relaxing into a fierce, wild look of beastly ferocity
g—such as a wolf will display when wounded and driven at

ay.

IIe uttered a sharp whistle, which sounded more like a
hiss, and one of the doors leading into an adjoining room was
opened and three armed men rushed in. One of them was
Chris Proctor.

“ Seize that cussed dwarf, menl" cried St. Ule; “seize
him, and knife him to the heart!”

The three made a dash at the scout, but the latter evaded
them by a sudden leap. At the same instant his arm swept
through the air, and a bowie-knife was driven deep into the
heart of the traitor, Chris Proctor.

Then the door flew open, and Titan, the Terror of the
North, who had joined the amateurs after Ben left them,
rushed into the room, followed by O’Ray and the six sports-
men.

Titan and St. Ule, alias Dick Longfelt, met. They recog-
nized each other at a glance. It was master and slave that
stood face to face again. The time had been when the lat-
ter, powerful as he was, feared and trembled before the
former. Now the master trembled and turned pale before
the colossal form of the slave.

The three surviving robbers were brave and desperate men,
and they resolved to die fighting, for they knew it would be
death anyhow. But half a dozen pistols already covered
their breasts, and the first movement they made was suc-
ceeded by the sharp report of the weapons, and every outlaw
fell.

The conflict thus brought to an end, Ben hastened through
the narrow door, that had been effectually concealed by the
picture of the Madonna, down into the vault, where he found
Wilma Meredith, trembling with a terrible fear that the robr
bers had defeated her friends.

The hunter conducted her from her prison, and in as brief
a manner as possible she told him how she had been cap-
tured and conducted there.

The crack of a pistol in an adjoining room, suddenly star-
tled the party. Ben rushed in and found Sybil dying from
the effects of a pistol-wound inflicted by her own hand. She
lived but a few minutes, but in this time confessed the sins
of her father and self, and in a faintly-whispered prayer, in
voked the mercy and forgiveness of God.

Thus perished the outlaws, for “Vengeance, saith the
Lord, is mine."

CHAPTER XXXV.
AT LAST—AT LAST!

LAKESIDE was shocked to its center by the news of St.
Ule’s villainy and deception; while its joy reigned supreme
over the unexpected return of Nathan Reeve, well and
alive.

Wilma Meredith, however, had not been taken by surprise.
Ben had given her to understand that “Natty wa’n’t as dead
as some people thought,” and that he would see? be home
to tell his own story.

De Vaseo, the detective, was greatly disappointed when he
learned that Tiberius Rado, the man he was after, was not
a murderer. It killed his hopes of a fortune, and he soon
took his departure for other quarters.

The mystery of Titan, the Terror, Was at last cleared up,
and people no longer lived in dread of the monster, as he
was termed by the superstitious. An acquaintance with'him
served to diminish his size in some respects, as he had now
discarded all thOse fearful masks and disguises that he usually
were to give him an air of unnatural terror, which, in ad-
dition to the seven feet which he stood in his moccasins,
gave him an extra degree of hideousness and gigantic pro-
portions.

Captain Graham and his party spent two weeks at Lake-
side, and in this time the Weekly mail brought in the startling
news of the fall of Fort Sumter in Charleston harbor, and of
the call of President Lincoln for seventy-five thousand vol-
unteers. The next mail confirmed this news, when away
sped Graham to Otter Tail Lake, and broke the news to Hu-
bert Ames, the exile of the Valley of Shadows.

“I knew it would come,” Ames said, thoughtfully, al-
though lie did not rejoice over the prospects of a bloody
war. “ The thing has been brewing for years, and now

I

 

38

Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

 

[can take up arms and fight slavery without
fear. My exile has ended, and I shall now go
forth to battle for my count .”

And he did. He went to owa where he had
friends living—joined the first Iowa Re 'ment
of Volunteers, and fell at the battle of ilson’s
Creek by the side of the gallant General Lyon.

Poor Zora was then fatherless and mother-
lws. but in her young husband Sydney Gra-
lmm, she found consolation and happiness at

Wilma and Nathan were eventually married
und settled down into a life that was as ha py
and quiet as their courtship had been 1 of
troubles and heart-sufferings.

Nora Mackarthy remained at Lakeside, for,
before Ames and Zora took their departure,
Larry O’Ray made love to her one day, and was
promply accepted, and forthwith they became
man and wife. They live happily to ether, for,
knowing the virtue of his w' e fist, rom ex
rience in the}Valle of Shadows, is inc ' -
ed to favor her w 'ms in the way t at turns
away wrath.

Titan, Jeduthan Turk and Bowie-Imife Ben
took possession of the Wolf, and within this
strong old friends are always welcome. Turk
never tires of telling and laughin over his ex-
ploits with Bowie-knife Ben and , espe-
cially the night he pretended he was freezing in
the woods, when Ben carried him to camp and
poured their brandy so freely down his throat;
and the time they met in the tunnel under the
snow-drift, and the night be rescued them all
{rem the Indians in the old stone building.

The stories that Titan could tell were no lem
exciting, while Ben always managed to cap the
climax of the whole; and it was worth a year’s
peaceful life to spend a week with these three
men, and enjo border life as they enjoyed it.

In the terri 16 Indian war, known in history
as the Minnesota Massacre, that occurred two
years later, these three men rendered inestima—

le service for the government as guides and
scouts; and some day their names may be woven
into history as well as romance.

THE END.

 

Beadle’s Di_me Library.

I A HARD CROWD. B Philip S. Warne.......... 10c.
‘3 Tim DARE-DEVIL. y Col. P. In raham .... .. ice.

  

3 I-Irr CARSON, Jn. By Buckskin m.... 0c
4 'L'HE KIDNAPPEB. B Phil! S. Warne.. 10c.
5 Tim Fran anns. y A. . Morris. Jr 10c.

c' VVILDCAT Boa. By Edward L. Wheeler . . . . .. 10c.
7 DEATH-NOTCH. ran Dasraovrrn. Oil Coomes. 10c.
8 Tan HnAnnsss HonssuAN. By Mayne Reid... lOc.

- 9 HANDY ANDY. By Samuel Lover . . . . . . . . .  10c.

10 Vmocqffm FRENCH POLICE SPY. Written by
himse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 10c.

11 Mmsmrm EAsY. By Capt. Maryatt . . . . .. 10c.

12 THE DEATH-SHOT. By CAPT. Mayne Reid  10c.
l8 l’ArHAWAv: on, NICK anms THE OLD ‘
Taurus. or run Nonmss'r. y Dr. J. H.
Robinson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  . . . . .. 100.
14 TfilAYENDANEGEA, m Scotmon. By Ned Bunt-
ne . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..

  
  
 

100.
15 Tar. Trans Susan. B Gustave Aimard... .. 10c.
[6 Tan Warn: WIZARD. y Ned Buntline ....  10c.
17 NIGHTBHADE. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. .. 10c.
18 Ten SEA BANDIT. By Ned Buntline.. . 10¢.
19 Run 0mm. By Gustave Aimard . . . . .. .. 10c.
20 Tux Rpm" Ar BAY. By Gustave Aim  100.
21 Tran Tnmnn’s DAUGHTER. By Gustave Aim- 0
a  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  . . . . . . . . . . . .. c.
22 Wm'muw- on, Nuns or'rn'n LAxn Snoan.
By Dr. J. ir. Robinson .................... .. 100
23 TnsRno WAnruon. By Ned Buntline ..... .. 100.
24 'i‘nn PRAIRIE lr‘nownn. By Gustave Aimard. 100.
25 Tm: GOLD G a. By Francis Johnson.  1 .
26 Tar. DEA RACK. By Francis Johnson.  100.
27 Tar. Spams Daracnvn. By Albert W.Aiken. 100.
2‘3 Tunas-Finer:er JACK, Tan ROAD—AGENT or
ran Rooms. By Joseph E. Badger Jr  100.
29 Trans Drcx, rm: mum Kma. By Philip 8.
warns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 100.
30 Gosrzr. Grooms. By Jose h E. B er. Jr , 10c.
81 Tim NEW YORK SHARP. yAlbert .Aiken. 100.
32 B'rrovs or YALE. By John D. Vose . . . . . . .. 10c.
33 Crown Kr'r. By Albert W. Aiken . . . . . .. 10c.
34 Room Momun Ron. By Albert W. Aiken. 10c.
35 KENTUOK, Tar.- Sron'r. By Albert W. Aiken. 10c.
30 Imus Dick. By Albert W. Aiken . . . . . . . . . .. 100.

0..

Hum, rm: Borrower. By J. H. Robinson. 10c.
.n' Vr-znvrrr HAND. By Albert W. Aiken.  . 
32! Tim RUSSIAN SPY. By Frederick Whittaker. 106.
4-) 'l‘:m Lora HAmnn ‘PAans.’ J. E. Badger, Jr. 10c.

4| Gnu) DAN. By Albert W. Aiken . . . . . . . . . . . . 10c.
L: THE CAmoarnA Dmvr. By Albert W.
Aiken. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 100.

47) DAKOTA DAN. By 01] Coomes... .  .. 10c.
4-1 0:.n DArr RAcxnwx. By 011 Coomes ...... .. we.
45 OLD Bm‘s Err. By Joe. E. Badger. Jr..... we.
16 Bum-Kim": Ban. By 01] Coomes.......... 10c.

Anewme weak.

Beadle’o Dime Library is for sale by all
Newman-181's. ten cents per copy. or sent by mail on
receipt of twelve cents each. BEADLE a ADAMS,
Publishers, 98 William Street. New York.

 

THE NEW YORK

Fireside Library.

 

l—Was She His Wife ? By Mrs. Mary
‘ Reed Crowell......... ......10 cents.
2-Pleeing Prom Love. By Harriet Ir-
ving . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . .. . . . . ...10 cents.
3—Did He Love Her? By leriley T.
Campbell . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10 cenls.
4—A Strange Woman. By Rett Win-
Wood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..10 cents.
E—Nadia. the Russian Spy. By Capt.
Fred. Whittaker. . .' . . . . . . . ..10 cents.
B—Two Girls’ Lives. By Mrs. Mary Reed
. Crowell . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10 cents.

7-8-Lady Audley’s Secret. By Miss M.
E. Bruddon. i “'0 Numbers in one. 200.

O—The War of Hearts. By Corinne
Cushman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10 cents.
IO-Leighton Grange. By Miss M. E.
Braddon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10cents.
ll—The False Widow. By Mrs. Jennie
Davis Burton . . . . . . . .. . . . 10 cents.
12-13—Lost For Love. By Miss M.

E. Bruddon. (Double number)... . 20c.

14-15—Toilers of the Sea. By Victor
Hugo. Two uumbersin one. 20 cents.

16—The Octoroon. By Miss M. E. Brad-
don . . . . . . . ..................10cents,

17—18—Uncle Silas. By J. S. Le Fanu.
Two numbers in one. . . .. . . .20 cents.

19—20-Dead-Sea. Fruit. By Miss M. E.
Braddon. 'l‘wo numbers in one. 20c.

21—22—Little Kate Kirby. By E. W.
Robinson. Two numbers in one. 200.

28—Sowing the Wind. By Mrs. Mary
Reed CrOWell. . . . . . .. . . .. . . .10 cents.

24—25—Birds of Prey. By Miss M. E.
Braddon. . . .. .. .. . . .. .. .. . . .20 cents.

Bil—That Boy of Narcott’l. By Charles

Lever....... .....10cents.
27—28—Charlotte's Inheritance. By
Miss M. E. Braddon. . . . . . . . .20 cents-

29—A Girl’s Heart. By RettWinwood 100.

80—31—391 as a. Rose is She. By Rhoda
Broughton. Double’number.. . . .20 cts.

82—The Lily of St. Brno. By Mrs.
Crow..'.......... . . . . .......10 cents.

33—Stran ely Wed. By Mrs. Jennie

Davis urton................10cents.
84—The Gipsy Bride. By M. E. 0.
Malen.... . . . . ..............10cenis.

35—Aunie Temple. By Rev. J. H. In-
-graham..... . . . . ............10 cents

36—Without Mercy. By Barney ’1‘.
Campbell. . . . . . . . . '; . . . .. . . ...10 cents.
87—Black Eyes and Blue. By Corinne
Cuslnnan....................... 100.
38—Brave Barbara. By Corinne Cush-
man.... . . . . . . . .  
39—A Dangerous Woman. By Mur-
garet Bloom... . . . . . . . . . . . ........100.

40—Ouida’s Love.
Condo. . .  . . 

41—Lost: A Wife.

By Henrietta E. De
0.

................./

By Corinne Cush-


42—Winning Ways. By Margaret
Blount. .. . . . . . .  . . . . . ..10 cents.
43—A Woman’s Heart. By Mrs. M. V.
Victor...................... 10 cents.

For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, postage paid,
on receipt or twelve cents for single numbers, dou-
ble numbers twenty-four cents, by BEADLE AND
ADAMS. BSWW STREET, Nsw You.

 

The Mo_del_w_eekly!

The Respectable Popular Paper

—AND—

Home Weekly of New York.

The New York Saturday journal
For 1878.

WITHOUT A RIVA].

as a. sterling journal of Wholesome Literature for
family fireside reading.

It is conceded that for stories of purely American
life and adventure it has no peer.

IN STORIES 0F HEART LIFE.

where love is portrayed in all its power and purity,
it leads all others.

IN ROMANCES 0F ADVENTURE

for our young men and boy readers, no other weekly
published can compare with it in first class merit.

IT SPECIALTIES :

Washington Whitehorn, Joe Jot J r., Best Time, as
humorists: Th3 Parson’s Dang ter, Eve Lawless
and Garry Gaines as cssayists of marked original-
ity; Launce Poyntz, C. Dunning Clark, MaJor Max
Martino, who, in their diflerent “series” of adven-
ture on land and see, are unapproechable in their
special field—all aiding in making the JOURNAL the

 

 

 

 

,ever welcome, genial guest to thousands of homes.

on EXCLUSIVE AUTHORS,

those writing only for the SATURDAY JoonNAn-no
other weekly can boast ot a better corps.

Capt. Mayne Reid, the modern J. Fenlmore
Cooper of romantic adventure in the Far West and
South West. who commands the admiration of a
world of readers.

Albert W. Aiken, in his city lite and wild ro-
mance of the mines of the West, has not a su-
perior.

Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell stands at the
trout as a writer of dramatic fiction 0! the nest
class.

011 Coomes, in his boys‘ tales of adventure in
the Indian country, is incomparable and unchal-
lenged in his field.

Corinne Cushma in serials of Love and
Society, and of Girls’ Lil‘s, “is a bright, particular
star.“ .

Joseph E. Bad er, J r4. thrilling dramatic
stories of prairie an mountain lite, adventure and
character, stand pro-eminent.

Charles Morris, the Charles Dickens of Amer-
ica, in stories of boys' lite in our great cities.

Ca t. Frederick Whittaker whose his-
toric romances stamp him as the rec hence of
light literature.

Col. Belle am, the man of many lands and
many adventures. who tells his story with a dash-
ing, graphic pen.

Col. Prentiss lngraham, who is equally
" at home ” on land or on the sea.

Ben Winwood, never tailingin deep, abiding
interest.

Mary Grace Halplne, the keen reader of
human nature and vivacious novelist.
These and many others make each issue of the

paper
A BRILLIANT LITERARY WORLD.

The list of sketch and short etc contributors
is especial] strong, embracing, bes do the names
above men ioned, such authors as Eben E. Rextord,
Lucille Hollis, Mattie Dyer Britts. Henri Montcalm,
T. C. Harbaugh, Hap Hazard Edward L. Wheeler.
Ca t. ‘Charles Howard, A. . Bellow, Mare 0,
Rollo. Jennie Davis Burton, Roger Starbuck. em.

IN “ DEPARTIVIENTB ”

the SATURDAY J cum“. vies with all other weehies
in novelty interest and usefulness. Answers to
Corres ondents—Topics of the Times—Work and
Play— ports and Pastimes—R1 plea-Editor’s Par-
agraphs—nll are distinguished y a treshness, ,orrgi-
hality and suggestiveness that render them'ontor
taining and valuable Features.

The Saturday Journal In published
Weekly at the following rates :

 

 
 
 
 

For four months . . . . . . .. . $1.00

Forone year  ..  8.00

Two copies for one ye . 5.00

Single copies . . . . . . . . . . . . cu.
Supplied by all newsd ealerl.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, 2mm”.
98 WILL!“ Sn, le Yonx.

. . “wastrynr .. 1n-

 

 

«Mix-t—fl, _ .
w ‘-

 

 

 

 

BEADLE’S HALF-DIME LIBRARY.

Every one of them “Live” Stories by “Live” Authors.

Each number

a Complete Novel, at the extraordinary price ore HALF-DIME.

1 Deadwood Dick, THE PRINCE or THE
ROAD. By Edward L. Wheeler.

2 Yellowstone Jack 3 or, THE TRAPPER
or TIIE ENCHANTED GROUND. By J. E. Badger, Jr.

3 Kansas King; or, THE RED RIGHT
HAND. By Buffalo Bill (Hon. Wm. F. Cody).

The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt.
Mayne Reid and Capt. Frederick Whittaker.

5 Vagabond Joe ; THE YOUNG WANDER-
ING J aw. By 011 Coomes.

6 Bill Biddon, Tra er: or, LIFE IN

THE NORTHWEST. By ‘ ward S. Ellis.

7 The Flying Yankee: or, THE OCEAN
OUTCAsT. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

Seth Jones; or, THE CAPTIVEs or THE
FRONTIER. By Edward S. 

9 The Adventures of Baron Mun-
chausen.

10 Nat Todd; o‘r. THE FATE or THE
SIOUx CArrIVE. By Edward S. Ellis.

11 The Two Detectives; or, THE

FORTUNEs or A BOWERY GIRL. A.W. Aiken.

12 Gulliver‘s Travels. A Voyage to
Lilliput, ands. Voyage to Bl‘obdinguag.

13 The Dumb Spy. By Oll Coomes,
author of “ Vagabond J 0e,“ etc.

14 Aladdin; or, THE WONDERFUL
LAMP.

15 The Sea-Cat; or, TRE WITCH or
DARIEN. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker.

16 Robinson Crusoe. His Life and
Surprising Adventures, (27 illustrations.)

17 Ralph Roy, The Boy Bucca-
neer. By 001. Prentiss Ingrahum.

1 8 Sindbad the Sailor. His seven voy-
ages. From the Arabian Nights.

19 The Phantom Sp : or. THE PILOT
or TEE PRAIRIE. By uftalo Bill.

20 The Double Daggers: or, DEAD<

WOOD DICK’s DEEIANOE. By E. LWheeler,

21 Frontier Angel. A Romance of
Kentucky Rangers‘ Life. By E. 8. Ellis.

2 The Sea Serpent: or, THE BOY
ROBINsoN CRUSOE. By 001. Juan Lewis.

2 Nick 0’ the Night: or, THE BOY
SPY or ’76. By T. C. Harbaugh.

24 Diamond Dirk: or, THE MYSTERY

or TEE YELLOWSTONE. By Col. Ingraham.

25 The Boy Ca tain: or, THE PIRATES

DAUGHTER. y Roger Starbuck.

26 Cloven Hoof, the Demon. By
Edward L. Wheeler.

27 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide.
By 01] Coome.s

28 Bufi'alo Ben: or. DEADWOOD DICK
IN DIsOUIsE. By Edward L. Wheeler.

29 The Dumb Pa e; OR, THE DOGE’s
DAUGHTER. By apt. F. Whittaker.

30 Roaring Ralph Rockwood, THE
RECKLESB RANGER. By Harry St. George.

3 Keen-Knife, THE PRINCE or THE
PRAnuEs. By OllCoomes. ,

32 Bob Woolf, the Border Ruman:
or, THE GIRL DEAD-SHOT. E. L.Wheeler.

33 The Ocean Bloodhound: or, THE

RED PIRATES on THE CARInnEns. S. W. Pierce.
34 Oregon Sol; or, NICK WIIIrrLEs’
BOY SPY. By Capt. J. F. 0. Adams.
35 Wild Ivan, THE BOY CLAUDE DUVAL;
By Edward L. Wheeler.

36 The Boy Clown; or, THE QUEEN or
TIIE ARENA. By Frank S. Finn.

3 7 The Hidden Lodge; or, THE LITTLE
v HUNTER or THE ADmONDAst. Harbaugh.

38 Ned Wylde, THE BOY SCOUT. By
Texaska

 

39 Death-Pace, the Detective. By
Edward L. Wheeler.

4 Kevin Ben. A story of aYoung
American. By John J. Marshall.

41 Lasso Jack, THE YOUNG MUSTANG-
ER. By 01] Coomes.

42 The Phantom Miner: or, DEAD-
WOOD DICII‘s BONANzA. By Ed. L.Wheeler.

43 Dick Darling, the Pony Express
Rider. By Capt. F. Whittaker.

Rattlin Rube: or, THE NIGHT-
44 mwxs claim—won. By Harry St. George.
45 Old Avalanche, the Great An-

nihilator. By Edward L.Wheeler.

46 Glass Eye, the Great Shot of the
West. By Capt. J. F. 0. Adams.

47 Nightingale Nat: on. THE FOREST
ArTAINs. By T. C. Harbaugh.

48 Black John, the Road-Agent.
By Joe. E. Badger. Jr.

49 Omaha 011; or. DEADWOOD DICE IN
DANGER. By Edward L. Wheeler.

50 Burt Bunker, TIIE TRAPPER. A
Tale of the Northwest. By C. E. Lasalle.

51 The Bo Rifles, or, THE UNDER-

GROUND ‘Aur. By Archie C. Iron.
52 The White Bufl'alo. A Tale of
Strange Adventure. Charles E. Lasalle.

53 Jim Bludsoe. J r., THE BOY PHENIX;
or,TRROUGE To TEE DEATH. E. L.Wheeler.

54 Ned Hazel, THE BOY TRAPPER; or,
TEE PHANTOM PRINCESS. By J. F. C. Adams.

5 5 Deadly-Eye, TILE UNKNOWN SCOUT;
By Buffalo Bill.

56 Nick Whiflles’ Pet, or, IN THE
VALLEY or DEATH. Capt. J. F. C. Adams.

57 Deadwood Dick’s Ea les: or,
TEE PARDs or FLOOD BAR. E. . Wheeler.

5 8 The Border King; or, THE SECRET
FOE. By 011 Coomes.

59 Old Hickory, or, PANDY ELLIS'S
SCALr. By Harryst. George.

60 The White Indian; or, THE SCOUT

or TEE YEwasmNE. ByJ. F. 0. Adams.

61 Buckhorn Bill, or, THE RED RIFLE
TEAM. By Edward L. Wheeler.

62 The Shadow Ship, or, THE RIVAI.
LIEUTENANTs. By Co . Prentiss Ingmhum.

63 The Red Brotherhood, or, TEE
TWELVE AVENGEEs. By W. J. Hamilton.

64 Dandg Jack, or, THE OUTLAW on
THE EEGON TRAIL By T. C. Harbaugh.

65 Hurricane Bill, or. MUSTANG SAM
AND ms “FARO.” By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

66 Single Hand, or, A LIFE FOR A LIFE.
By W. J. Hamilton.

67 Patent-Leather Joe: or, OLD RAT-

TLEsNAEE, TEE CEARMER. By P. S.Warne.

68 The Border Robin Hood: or, TEE
PRAIRIE ROVER. By Buffalo Bill.

69 Gold Rifle: or, THE BOY DETECTIVE
or TEE BLACK RANCH. By E. L. Wheeler.

70 Old Zip's Cabin: or, THE GREEN-

EORN IN TIIE Woons. By J. F. C. Adams.

71 Delaware Dick: THE YOUNG RAN-
GER SPY. By 011 Coomes.

72 Mad Tom Western, TnE TEXAN
RANGER. By W. J. Hamilton.
7 3 Deadwood Dick on Deck. By
Edward L. Wheeler.

74 Hawk-eye Harry, THE YOUNG

TRAPrER RANGER. By 011 Coomes.

75 The Boy Duelist; or, THE CRUISE
or TIIE SEA WoLr. By Col. P. Ingraham.

76 Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer. By
Albert W. Aiken.

 

7 7 Corduroy Charlie; or, THE LAST
ACT or DEADwoon DICK. By E. L. Wheeler.

7 8 Blue Dick; or, THE YELLOW CIIIEr’s
VENGEANOE. By Captain Mayne Reid.

7 9 Sol Gin er, THE GIANT TRArrER. By
Albert . Aiken.

80 Rosebud Rab; or, NUGGET NED, 'ruE
KNIGHT OF THE Gown. By E. L. Wheeler.

81 Lightning3 Jo, THE TERROR or THE
RAIRIE. y Captain J. F. 0. Adams.

82 Kit Harefoot, THE WoonHAWK; or,
OLD POWDER-FACE. By T. C. Harbaugh.

83 Rollo. the Boy Ranger; or, THE
HEIREss or THE GOLDEN HORN. Oll Coomes.

8 Idyl, the Girl Miner; or, RosEBUD
Ron 0N HAND. By Edward L. Wheeler.

8 5 Buck Buckram: on, llicss, THE Fin:-
MALE TRAPPER. By Capt. J. F. 0. Adams.

86 Dandy Rock, THE-MAN-FltOM-TEX—
As. y G. Waldo Browne.

8 7 The Land Pirates: 011mm LEAGUE
or DEVIL’s Ist. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

88 Photo¥aph Phil: OR. ROSEBUD

Ron‘s EAPPEARANCE. By Ed. L. Wheeler.

89 Island Jim: on, THE PET ON THE

FAMILY. By author of “Jack HO rkawoy."

90 The Dread Rider: OR.T11E TEXAN
DUELIsT. By George W. Browne.

91 The Captain of the Club. By
Bracebndge Hemyng, (Jack Hnrkaway.)

92 Canada Chet: or, OLD ANACONDA
IN SITTING BIILL’s Cm. By E. L.Wheeler.

93 The Boy Miners; or, TEE ENOHANTED
IsLAND. By Edward S. Ellis.

9 Midnight Jack, THE ROAD-AGENT.
By T. C. Harbaugh.

9 5 The Rival Rovers. By Lieutenant
Col. Hazeltine.

96 Watch -Eye, THE DETECTIVE. By
Edward L. Wheeler.

97 The Outlaw Brothers: or, TRE
CAPTIVE or TEE HARrEs. By J. J. Marshall.

98 Robin Hood, THE OUTLAWED EARL.
By Prof. Stewart Glldcrsleeve.

99 The Ti er of Taos. By George
Waldo rowne.

 Deadwood Dick in Leadville.
By Edward L. Wheeler.

1 0 1 Jack Ha rkaway in New York.
By Brecebridge Hemyng.

 Dick Dead-E e, THE BOY Sime-

GLER. By Col. rentiss Ingraham.
 The Lion of the Sea. By Col. ‘
Delle Sara.

 Deadwood Dick’s Device. By
Edward L. Wheeler. v

105 Old Rube, THE HUNTER; or, Tm:
Caow CAPTIVE. By Capt. H. Holmes.

106 “retreat” me By

 One-Eyed Sim; or, TIIE ABAN-

DONED Forms-r Hour. By J. L. Bowen.

 Daring Dav , THE YOUNG BEAR
KILLER. By arry St. George.
 Deadwood Dick as Detective.
By Edward L. Wheeler.
Ready August 23th.
1 1 The Black Steed of the Prai-
ries. By James L. Bowen.
Ready September 8d.
1 1 1 The Sea-Devil; or, THE MIDst
uAN’s LEGACY. By 001- PA 1118!“th-
Beady September 9th.
A new mun every week.
NThaaealflauanlmois Library In for; Igale .11
ews ers, we can no orsen m on
receipt of six cents 95215. EBADLE &yADAMS,

Publishers, 98 William Street. New York.

\

 

/

 

 

 

LIBRARY.

 

 

:BEADLE’S

32 Large Three-Column Pages.

1. A Hard Crowd : 0R, GENTLEMAN
BAH‘S SISTER. By Philip S. Warne.

2. The Dare-Devil: OR, THE WINGED
WITCH or THE SEA. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

3. Kit Carson, Jr., THE CRACK SHOT OF
rHE WEST. By Buckskin Sam.

4. The Kidnapper:
SHANGHAI OF THE NORTHWEST. By Philip S. Warne.

5. The Pire-Fiends: 0R, HERCULES, THE ‘

HUNUHHACK. By A. P. Morris.

6. Wildcat Bob, THE Boss BRL‘ISER:
on, THE BORDER BLOODHOUNDS. By Edward L. ‘Vhee-

lenauthorof “Deadwood Dick,“ “Double Daggers." ,
7. Death-Notch, THE DESTRCYER: ()R, I

THE SPIRIT LAKE AVENOERS. By 011 Coomes.

8. The Headless Horseman. A strange
story of Texas. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

9. Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover.

10. Vidocq, THE FRENCH POLICE SPY.
Written by himself.

1 1. Midshipman Easy.
ryat.

12. The Death-Shot: on, TRACKED To
DEATH. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

13. Pathawaly: OR, NICK \VHIEELES, THE

OLD TRAPPER OF THE ORTHWEST. By Dr. J. H. Rob-
inson.

14. Tha endanegea, THE SCOURGE;
on, THE WAR- <AGLE or TIIE MOHAWKS. By Ned Bunt-
illi‘, author of “The \‘Vliite Wizard.”

15. The Tiger-Slayer: OR, EAGLE-
I [HAD To THE RESCUE. By Gustave Aimard.

16. The White Wizard: OR, THE GREAT
PROPHET or THE SEMINOLES. By Ned Buntline.

1’7. Nightshade, THE ROBBER PRINCE
DF' HOUNsLow HEATH. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.

18. The Sea Bandit: OR, THE QUEEN
or THE ISLE. By Ned Buntline.

19. Red Cedar, THE PRAIRIE OUTLAW.
By Gustave Aimard.

20. The Bandit at Bay: OR, THE PI-
RATES on THE PRAIRIES. By Gustave Aimard.

21. The Trapper’s Daughter: OR,
I‘HE OUTLAW’S FATE. By Gustave Aimard,

22. Whitelaw: OR, NATTIE OF THE LAKE
SHORE. By Dr. J. H. Robinson,

23. The Red Warrior: OR, STELLA
DELORME'S COMANCHE LOVER. By Ned Buntline.

24. Prairie Flower. By Gustave Ai-
mard, author of “Tiger-Slayer." etc.

25. The Gold-Guide: OR, STEEL ARM,
l'BE REGULATOR. By Francis Johnson.

26. The Death-Track: OR, THE OUT-
LAWS OF THE MOUNTAIN. By Francis Johnson.

27. The Spotter-Detective: OR. THE
GIRLS OF NEW YORK. By Albert W. Aiken.

By Capt. Mar-

 

 

 

 

 

 

HANDY Av“

OR, THE GREAT'

 

 

 

 

r.

KIT CARSON, JR.—N0. 3.

28. Three-Pingered Jack, THE ROAD—
AGENT 017‘ TIIE ROCKIES; OR, THE BOY MINER OF HARD
LUCK. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

29. Tiger Dick, THE FARO KING; or,
THE CASHIER’S CRIME. By Philip S. Warne, author
of “A Hard Crowd," etc.

30. Gospel George; or, FIERY FRED,
THE OUTLAW. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

31. The New York ‘Sharp ;’ OR, THE
FLASH OE LIGHTNING. By Albert W. Aiken,

32. B’hoys of Yale; on, THE SCRAPES
OFA HARD SET OF COLLEGIANS. By John D. Vose.

33. Overland Kit. By Albert W.
Aiken.

34. Rocky Mountain Rob.
bert \V. Aiken.

35. Kentuck, the Sport.
W. Aiken.

36. Injun Dick. By Albert W. Aiken.

37. Hit-l, the Hunchback: OR, THE
SWORDMAKER or THE SANTEE. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.

38. Velvet Hand; on, THE IRON GRIP or
INJU'N DICK. By Albert W. Aiken.

39. The Russian Spy: OR, THE BROTH-
ERS OE THE STARRY CROSS. By Frederick Whittaker.

40. The Long Haired ‘ Pardsg’ OR,
THE TARTARS or THE ‘5. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

41. Gold Dan: OR, THE WHITE SAVAGE
or THE GREAT SALT LAKE. By Albert W. Aiken.

42. The California Detective: OR,
THE WITCHES on NEW YORK. By Albert W. Aiken.

43. Dakota Dan, THE RECKLESS RANGER;
or, THE BEE-HUNTERS EXCURSION. By 011 Coomes.

44. Old Dan Rackback, THE GREAT

EXTARMINATOR; or, THE TRIANGLE’S LAST TRAIL.
By 011 Coomes.

45. Old Bull’s Eye, THE LIGHTNING
SHOT OR THE PLAINS. By Joseph E. Badger, JR...

46. Bowie-Knife Ben, THE LITTLE
HUNTER OE THE NOR‘-WEST. By 011 Coomes.

47. Pacific Pete, THE PRINCE OF THE
REVOLVER. By Joe. E. Badger.

48. Idaho Tom, THE YOUNG OUTLAW
or SILVERLAND. By 011 Coomes. '

49. The Wolf Demon, or, THE QUEEN or
THE KANAWHA. By Albert W. Aiken.

50. Jack Rabbit, THE PRAIRIE SPORT;
or, THE CHILDREN 011‘ THE LLANO ESTACADO. By J 0s.
E. Badger. Jr. _

51. Red Rob, THE BOY ROAD-AGENT.
By 011 Coomes.

52. Death Trailer, THE CHIEF or
Scost: or. Life and Love in a Frontier Fort. By
Hon. Wm. F. Cody, (Buffalo Bill.)

53. Silver Sam; or, THE MYSTERY 0F
Deadwoon CITY, By Col. Dene Sara.

54. Always on Hand; or. THE SPORTIVE

SPORT or THE FOOT HILLS.
author of “A Hard Crowd." “Patent Leathe‘ J“" '

BY Al-
By Albert

By Phillip S. Warne, '

 

Each Number Complete. Price 10 cu.

55. The Scalp Hunters. A ROMANCE on
THE PLAINS. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

56. The Indian Mazeppa; or, THE
MAD MAN or THE PLAINS. By Albert W. Aiken.

57. The Silent Hunter; or, THE SCOWL
HALL MYSTERY. By Percy B. St. John.

58. Silver Knife : or, WICKLIFF‘E, THE
ROCKY MOUNTAIN RANGER. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.

59. The Man From Texas: or, THE
OUTLAW or ARKANSAS. By Albert W. Aiken.

60. Wide Awake: or, THE IDIOT on

THE BLACK HILLS. By Frank Dumont.

61. Captain Soawaif. THE PRIVATEER
By Ned Buntline.

62. Loyal Heart; or, THE TBAPPERS or
ARKANSAS. By Gustave Aimard.

63. The Winged Whale.
W. Aiken.

64. Double-Sight, the Death Shot.
By J osepn E. Badger, r.

65. The Red Rajah: or, THE SCOURGE
OF THE INDIES. By Captain Frederick Whittaker.

By Albert

66. The Specter Barque. A TALE
on THE PACIFIC. By Captain Mayne Reid.
67. The Boy Jockey: or, HONESTY
VERSUS CROOKEDNESE. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
68. The Fighting Trapper: or, KIT
CARSON To THE RESCUE. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams.
69. The Irish Captain: A TALE or-
FONTENOY. By Captain Frederick Whittaker.

70. Hydrabad, THE STRANGLER;
ALETHE, THE CHILD on THE Conn. By Dr 4 
Robinson. '

71. Captain Cool Blade, or, THE MA».
SHARK OF THE MISSISSIPPI. By Joe. E. Badger, J4.
Ready July 3d.

72. The Phantom Hand. A STORY on
NEW YORK HEARTHS AND HOMES. By Albert W.
Aiken. Ready July 17th.

'73. The Knight of the Red Cross;
or, THE MAGICIAN or GRANADA. A Tale of the Al-
hambra. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. Ready July 3lst.

74. Captain of the Rifles. A ROMANCE
or THE MEXICAN VALLEY. By Captain Mayne Reid.
Ready August 14th.

A new issue every week.

Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale by all
Newsdealers, ten cents per copy, or sent by mail on
receipt of twelve cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS,
Publishers, 98 William Street. New York.

 

MIDSHIPMAN EASY.—N0. 1L