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98 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y., MAY 7, 1879.

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Ten Cents a Copy.
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Now! a touch of the spur,

The Boy Jockey;

Honesty versus Crookedness.

BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR.

AUTHOR or “THREE-FINGERED JACK,” “GOSPEL
GEORGE,” “ THE LONG HAIRED PARDS,” ETC.

CHAPTER I.
PLUCKED FROM THE FIRE.

A DULL roar as of athci'ing waters, broken
ever and anon by a s iller note; words faint;
and indistinct, because blended together; the
music so dear to the hearts of all those who love

rail as thoug born a hur er
top-boots eying each other with sus icious,
uneas , yet exultant glances. The oarse,
heated, worried and generally uncomfortable
man who officiates as starter: upon these the
eyes of all that vast concourse are riveted.

As by one impulse ten-thousand hearts give a.
mighty bound that sends the hot blood surging
through the veins, and momentarily robs the
eyes of what they have been so eagerly watch-
ing for this hour past. A clatter of steel-shod
hoofs—they are off! A swirling eddy of wind
and dust—they are past—it is a start! Was
that the tap of the drum? Tan —tamg—tangl

, The huge bell is ringing them ack for amore

I even start. And the mass of spectators settle

‘down with a long breath that is almost a
curse.

[ For a full hour this has been going on, and at

‘ least a dozen false starts have been made. The

the turf. The grand stand crowded to suffoca— ’ stake is a rich one, the rivalry is high and the
tion with wildly excited, eagerly Watching «, betting still higher. A slight advantage at the
humanity; the quarter stretch lined. ten deep , send off may decide the race. and the jockeys
with footmen, horsemen and carriages; the ‘. are riding with their brains full as much aswitli

eager eyes of all turned in one direction.

In that direction, a dozen high-strung horsesY
with starting eyeballs andgdistended nostrils,
now stepping short and high with impatiently
tossing heads, now rearing erect despite the
strong band upon the bit, or wheeling sharply
around with a fiery longing to begin the stub-
born, heart-bursting race. The monkey-like,
hump-backed figures of the riders, decked out
in gaudy colors, in skull-caps, jackets, cords and

’ their bodies.
In sharp, impatient tones, the judges summon
l the riders before the stand and order them to
score by a certain level-headed horse, under
penalty of the heaviest fine the rules would per—
mit them to impose.
“The gray filly first, the black gelding sec-
, 0nd. and the rest tailing, for a. thousand!” cried
i a clear young voice from the inclosure, near the
judges’ stand.

 

 

a. still! hand bearing u on the bit, cfind the gallant little mustang rises at the

“I’m your man—” but the enthusiastic pro—
phet was already pressing his way through tho
densel -crowded mass, and neither heard nei'
heede the acceptance of his challenge.

A fine-looking fellow he was, too, though
roughly dressed and mounted upon a shaggy.
vicious—appearing mustang pony. Slender, yet
finely-built and admirably-muscled, of medium
hight,'in slouched felt hat blue flannel shirt,
buck-skin ants and bead moccasins. Truly
an outlan ish figure amon that mass of beauty
and fashion, he, hastene on until he could
crowd to the rails and gain a fair view of the
racers.

Stranger though he was, his e e, that of a
true horseman, had picked‘out the W0 favorites
in the black and the gray. though reversing the
places assigned them by the betting-ring. The
gaunt, long-bodied black gelding was the first
favorite, the shorter, smaller, finer-limbed gray
filly only second choice. Both were backed
heavily, by their owners, as well as by the fol—
lowers of their respective stables, and popular
interest ran extraordinarily high, smce both
animals were entered for the—let us call it—
“ Washington Cup,” to be run two weeks from
that day. The winner of this race would be
made first favorite for the Cup.

The young horseman knew nothing of all this.
He had eyes only for the little drama being
enacted before him, and a sharp cry of anger
parted his lips as he witnessed an act of deliber-
atc treachery that threatened defeat, if not

 

2

Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

 

worse, to the beautiful filly, with which he had
fallen in love.

He saw the man standin at her head cruelly
wrenchinghher jaw with t e bit; saw the rider
pressing t e rowels of his spurs deep into her
sides; saw him sli his feet from the stirrups
just as the torture animal reared up and bro 9
away; saw the jockey let loose the reins and
fall from the saddle' saw the filly dart down
the home-stretch with the speed of the wind,
amid the wild yells of men and screams of wo-

men.

The wildest confusion ensued amon horses
and men. Alread half—maddened, t e fizzy
animals reared an plun ed, strivin tobr
from those who strugged to con 1 them.
Owners, trainers and grooms were hastening
to the rescue. Men and boys were flocking
over the rails and up the track. From the
thickest of the plunging, trampling, came one
shrill, agonizing scream of agony, and when the
mass  a still figure was seen lyinithere,
its scarlet Jacket being slowly dyed wi crim-
son stains.

That one cry of indi t rage was all that
the young man in the b ue flannel shirt uttered.
It cametoolate todo any , andifit reach-
ed any other cars .the exciting scene which fol-
lowed, (tuickly obliterated its memory.

Like is neighbors, this young man seemed
growing crazy, but there was method in his
madness. Under a strong pull, the shag mus—
tang reared up, wheeled as upon a pivo ,then
lowered its head and fairly ‘butted its way
througl the thickeningcrowd. One swift glance
aroun , then the young fellow headed directly
for the half-milgaplost, plying whip-cord and
steel until the 111 ng ran at full speed, cover—
ing the level, springy turf with the long leaps
and lightning recovery of a jack-rabbit.

Absorbing though the scene 11 the home
stretch was, all ha not forgotten e y fill
Aphrodite, and scores of e es followed er swi
flight, in mingled dread an despair. Even if she
di not cripple or destroy herself, her chances

for the race would be ruined.

White-faced and haggard the owner stood in»

the stand, his daughter clinging to his arm.
He saw nothing but the gray lly—the one frail
barrier that separated him from utter and irre‘
trievable ruin. But the maiden—

“See! that man—he will stop her—he will
save her l”

As though the agitated words had touched the
,key-note, a united cheer went up from the
crowd. They also saw the bold rider, and di-
vined his purpose. I

’l‘tléililt one cheer, then silence; they could only
wa .

Swift as a swallow the little mustang flew
across the inclosure, its rider keeping one eye
u n the gray filly as if to calculate hischances
o bein in ime. The raceisclose—too close,
and he leans to the left, now heading so as to
strike the rails a hundred yards beyond the

painted post.

Now! a touch of thee ur astiffhand hear-
ing upon the bit, an the gallant little
mustang rises at the rail as though born a
hurdler

. Almost in the face of the gra filly. She
swerves and loses her stride. Cat e, the mus-
tang recovers itself, and now races along, two
lengths ah of Aphrodite. The true-born ra-
cer forgets its fear in its ambition, and with one
eager toss of its lady-like head, stretches out to
wi’lnhtheraceordiel I _ 1 Th flu h"
e oun rider smiles grim y. e y
the le. ghe is gaining upon him at every
strl 9. He touches the left hand rein gently,
then frees his feet from the stirrups. Another
moment she is alongside, runmn with the
swift, level motion of an engine. 6 Will pass

him—u

No! An enthusiastic cheer bursts from the
crowd. The see the young man leap lightaly
from horse filly—see her startmth an -
frightened, sidelon jump; then they see her
emerge from the c and of dust, and upon her
back rides the blue-shirted hero, as though born

to the pig-skin!

Thenl was that the cheer was given until the
welhin rung, and all semblance of order was
cast to the winds, as the gray flay came canter-
ing down the quarter stretch, th the shag
$313118 bringin' g up the rear at a respectful

ce.

The casewas not anordinary one. An im-
mense amount of mom was depending upon
the fill , and her defeat, would mean ruin to
v 0"? ii an one. If she lost the race upon her
merits, it wouldbebad enou h;howmuc worse
if she had not a chanceto m
z The act was bold ck-witted and most
adrmtly performed. , added to the more
selfish reasonjust given. mflciently accounts
for the enthusiasm of the crowd which greeted

the g3 hero.
“ fiascdollar, box,” he said, witha
$1? ifiWlil‘t‘é" “5 ii" W“? “W *0 “*1
e s . s or
giv’ wayRI’ll eat my hati’?!y flung, Sprung
The owner, Henry _Blythe byname, looked up
into the frank, smiling countenance and mo-
tioned the lad to dismount. Then, bidding the
groom look carefully to the animal, he moved

away from the crowd, followed by the lad, c1066
behind whom came the mustang.

“ Who and what are you!” he said, abruptly,
turning around.

“A two-legged boy, boss, just drapped in to
see the boss-critters run,” was the prom t rep
spouse, but one less agitated than Henry ythe
might have seen that the lad felt hurt by such a
peremptory address.

“Come to this address tocnight,” said Blythe,
hurriedly, thrusting a card into the bulls hand.
“I have not enough money with me now to pay
for tl’l’e service you have done me, but I am grate-

, “What I did was not for money, sir,” and
there was a sudden and complete change in the
speech and demeanor of the lad that even Blythe
could not overlook. “ I believe in fair pin .
When I saw they were all working agains t e
filly, I was mad enou h to cry and it was to
spite them that I caug t her as Idid.”

“ Who do you mean by them f”

“The groom, the rider and all. I know no-
thing about on, sir, but I will say this: If you
wish that fl y to win this race, put up an honest
rider, with a cool head and win it she will;
There’s only one horse—the black—that can give
her anything like a brush, and with an even
chance, she can make him take her dust.”

“My jooke was hurt—I don’t know of an—
other one tha I dare twat—unless you will do
it?” exclaimed Blythe, with a sudden brighten-
ing up. “ How heavy do you ride?”

‘I wei h one-thirty; but I can ride fifteen
pounds lig ter than an other of my we' ht
hat I ever met. Min , I don’t ask for he
mount, because that is not my trade, but if you
wish, and for the sake of giving the little beauty
a fair show, I’ll ride her. _ _

Blythe hesitated, as well he might, With his
every dollar at stake, but several of his friends
came up, and turned the scale in favor of the
stranger. Not even a second-rate rider could
be obtained, and the few minutes of grace al—
lowed by the judges was almost expired.

“ Put the boy up, Blythe. You must give us
a show for our moneyél’ithey urged impatient-
ly. “And on, my ” one 0 them added
addressing t 6 out : “ Win this race, and I’ll

’ve a bun dollars out of my own pocket
ward a purse for you.”

“If I ride at all, I’ll ride to win, he sure of
that. What’s the word, boss?"

“ It’s a risk-11 eat risk. You’ve never rid-
den a race before ’

“ A dozen—and where my life was the stake,
too! But, that don’t matter. You act as
thou h I was asking a great favor of you—”

“ stead of my asking one—I beg your -
don,” and there was a sudden change in Blyzxgls
demeanor. “I have so much at stake, t it
is only natural I should hesitate; but I will do
so no onger. Will you ride the filly for me—as
a t favor?”

‘ Since you can do no better—yes. I haven’t
a dollar at stakeéigentlemen, but I’d give a fin-
ger to see the li e beauty come under the wire
ahead—and if the extra weight is not too much,
she will be first.” _

This point decided, all the necessary prehm-

inaries were nicka . The new rider
strip for t e race, up mgfikin white draw-
ers: lue shirt and a me handkerchief

bound tightly around his head, then weighed,
saddled and mounted, listening with a careless
smile to the eager, minute instructions of the
anxious owner. A true born horseman, he
alreadtygunderstood his mount better than Blythe
could ll him.

Two more false starts, then the drum tapped
to a. tolerany fair send-off the favorite, if any-
thing, with a little the best of it.

Around the turn to the first quarter, and the
black horse is still in the lead, hugging the le
(-losel and running like clockwork. O ten
testetg seldom defeated, his owner has implicit
confidence in his staying powers, and has given
the jockey orders to run the race from end to
end, feeling confident that are the two miles are
covered, that extra twenty pounds will tell the
tale upon the gray filly, his only really danger-

ous competitor.
At the half-mile there is little change, though
one or two of the field are slowly losing ground,
thus early finding themselves in too g com-
pany.  dozen engths behind Midnight comes
Aphrodite, and many a heart beats anxiously
as they fancy she is losing or gaining und.

Around the upper turn, and now t e swiftly
ihnovin figures come in sight at the head of the

ome s

The hum of the human swarm ws louder
and more intense with every secon . They can
see that the black geldin still holds the le—
that through the dust-clou a white head ro-
trudmg—and now! a gleam of something b no,
growing more and more distinct. The ‘ gray

filly—she is gain' ing—ahead—no the black—see!
they are here! A clatter of hbofs—a swirl of

wind—and they are gone!

Midni ht leading, Aphrodite an open length
behind, he remainder trailing, several already
out of the race.

this order the racers pass beneath the wire.

 

 

The leading 'ockey receives a signal' to push
ahead; a. despng policy, since the watches of

the judges record only one minute and forty-
flve seconds but there is more than money at
stake upon t is race.

Henry Blythe’s heart gives a. fierce leap as
his new rider in passmg gives a swift wave of
his hand- an action that louder than
words. It says, “Do not ' —thc race is
ours I”

The amateur jockey firmly believed what his
signal conveyed. Thus far Aphrodite had run
under a steady pull, and he knew that at any

rtion of the first mile he could have 'ven her

or head and no to the front, but knew
that, in two mi es, the extra weight would prove
a heavy handicap.

Inch by inch he allowed the filly to creep up,
until, at the half-mile tpleat, she was In ping t e
leader. Even at that 'stance he coul ear the
wild, enthusiastic cheers of A hrodite’s ti-
sans, and for the moment he fe t a fierce mp-
tation to cast rudence to the winds and send
the silver hea to the front—the intoxicating
delirium that has lost so many an almost won
race—but he smothered the impulse, and tight-
ened his grasp upon the reins, holding his posi-
tion and no more, until the three-quarter post

was reached.
Graduall he slackened his Inch by
inch the y closed upon the gel ' g. Her head

was at his saddle-girth as they entered the

home stretch.

The keen or is already scoring the ribs of
Midnight. ice the lithe whip hisses through
the air—but the blue rider only smiles as he sees
his gallant mount thrusting her dainty head
forward another inch or two, until the gelding
is only a short neck to the good.

What pen can picture the scene at the grand
stand as the maddened thousands there assem-
bled see the two favorites eding toward
them head on, and no one ab e to even guess
which one is ahead! Each instant is an age of
ecstatic agony.

On past the distance—flag—to the grand stand
—running neck and neck, as though cou led to-

ether. Then, for the first time, Ap odite
eels the whip-cord, twice, three times in hiss-
ing strokes—and the race is over ami a deaf-
ening uproar, where all are yellingvshouting,
screamin , and no one listening. .11th won
andwhic lost? Every person is Wildly exul-
tant, for each one behaves his or her chaice has

won.

The jocke s return and receive permission to
dismount; hey hasten to the weighing-room;
then all is utter silence as one of the Judges leans
over the railing. ‘ _

“ Aphrodite wins the race; Midmghtsecond;
Redman third. Time, three minutes, thirty-five
seconds and a quarter 1”

The fastest time for two miles then on record!

One united cheer—a living fiood'of enthusias-
tic humani , and then the victorious gypske is
lifted from ' feet and home upon the uldven
of the crowd.

CHAPTER II.
, “mun shun. ”

“Hons? fer the b’yl It’s thrue blue he is
benathuraswillssbedress hreechairsfer
the hayro, an’ the divil fly away wid the wan
as don t do banner to the hurrool ’

The cheers called for by the enthusiastic Pat-
lander were given with a will, and, half-angry
half-pleased with his warm reception, the lad
struggled down from his elevated position and
managed to reach the agit where his shaggy lit-
tle mustang was tied. ut he was not to escape

so easily. .

Hen Bl the though so greatly excited by
his vicrtgry,}plucked, as it were, out of the fire,
lost no time in tearing himself from the er
throng of congratulating friends, his mind ull
of the stranger who had done him this great ser-

Vice.

Ashe was starin ann'ousl around,in nest
of the boydjocke, 9 ca h ' ht ofa y,
gloved han , oning to im rom a balcony
of the club-house, and recognizing his daughter,
at once hastened to her side.

“ There he is,” pointing down beside the ick-
et—fence. “I was afraid you would forget m,
and so he t him in sight. Go to him, please,
papa an thank him for me—” _

f tth 90 better than that, Cora. Wm here
or me.

There was no lack of earnestness in Hen
Blythe. Whatever he did, he did with his who 0
heart, with a rush that only too often proved
disastrous; but he was like an ill-regulated
watch—running down too soon.

Kind and open-hearted, he had a new hobby
every other day, and thus frittered away the
talents and ener which would, if directed
aright, long since ave carried him to the top—
most spoke of Fortune’s wheel. Instead he had
run thro h with three very comfortable for-
tunes, and dthe judges 'ven in their decision
against Aphrodite, instea of in her favor, Hen-
ry Blythe would have been worse than a beggar
when the sun went down that (is. .

But enough of this subject for the present.

The boyggckey caught sight of Henry Bl e
pushing t h the motley crowd toward
and for an infinite meditafed a masterlyer-etrect.
Now that the wild, “manning excl

 

 

 

 

The Boy Jockey.

3

 

 

 

the moment was past, he seriously regretted the
prominent part he had played before so many
curious e es, for more reasons than one.

He ha work on hand that was to make or
mar his whole future—work that must be done
in secret if he hoped for success. Yet he had
impulsively made himself the cynosurc of ten
thousand curious 9 es, thus making his life-task
all the more difiicu t.

Taught 3y 0. wild and eventful life, if a short
one, to re the human face almost as readily
as a printed pa e, be had formed a tolerany
correct idea 0 enry Blythe, and knew that he
Was not the friend or patron one should choose
who, like himself, neededtowork inthet ‘ ' ht,
where his trail might the more readily be id-
den. But‘a quick glance around showed him
that esca e would be almost impossible, unless
at the ri of attracting still closer attention,
and so he chose the lesser of the two evils,

nietly awaiting the approach of Henry Blythe,
t oug mentally deciding that he would cut the
interview as short as he possibly could, without
absolute discourtes .

But this he soon {mud was not so easily done.

“Never mind your dress, man,” cried Henry
mm, heartil , everruling his first objection.

t if on ve lost your hat? That hand-
kerchief ooks ten times better—and it made a.
thousand hearts leap with joy to see it first un-
der the wire to-day. I’ll never race under any
other color while I have a hoof in training.
True Blue Drover!”

From a black, heart-sickening despair, the
veteran turfite had been lifted into the seventh
heaven of delight and unable to contain him-
self longer, he uttered these last words in a
clear, ringing shout of exultation.

The cry was caught 11 by hundreds of voices,
and echoed until the we kin run again.

“You see ” and Blythe laug ed joyously at
the startled expression upon the boy-jockey’s
features; “I am not alone in m opinion.
While you wear that handkerchi , you will
never need to ask a Kentuckian tWioe for any
favor he can grant you.”

“I ask no favor—only to be let alone,” the
youth returned, laughing, but with more sin-
cerity than he received credit for. “I won the
race for you, but I had a glorious ride, and the
satisfaction of seeing the best horse win, ins ite
of the dirty trickery that was used to spoil er
chances; so I ess we’re about even. Let’s
shake hands an call it square. ”

“Not until you receive the thanks of the little
mate’s owner, at any rate,” laughed Blythe,
signaling one of his stable bo s, and givin the
she gymustangintohis han . “Come! see
herfieckom’ng us to make haste.”

As the band struck up just then, the boy
jockey failed to catch the sense of Blythe’s last
words, or he would not have yielded so easily to
.the strong arm that drew him through the crowd
with impetuous eagerness. .

Passing through the weighing-room, up the
stairs and into the judge’s stand, they were
greeted b a fairy-like Vision that almost took
owns? the reath of the boy jockey. v

s brown, hardened paw was warmly clasped
between two delicately kidded bands, which
looked ridiculously small b force of contrast:
eyes of the dee , most ustrous blue, were

aningu into his face with an interest that sent
fhe hot ood boundin thro h his young veins
with an almost  rapi ty while a soft,
childlike voice was impulswel thanking him
not for winning the race, but or having saved
her loved Aphrodite from death or disaster.

“I can never thank you enough,” were the
first words that the boy jockey really distin-
guished. “It was a brave and gallant action—
and on a stranger to us and her—that makes
our (lebt all the tor—so great that I fear we
will never be ab 0 to repay i , Mr.-—”

The little, inquiring use here told the boy
jockey he was expec to speak, if only to an-
nounce his name; and he did, though
hardly conscious of what e said, so great was
his confusion, sodisordered were hisnerves with
that warm, almost caressing touch upon his
hand, and those bewildering eyes gazing into
his own as though reading his innermost

tho hts.

“Ifi‘ue Blue, ma’am—that is—”

A short, mocking laugh filled up the hiatus
which followed this stammering speech and for
the first time the boy jockey noticed a tall
handsome, though rather foppishl dressed

oung man  just behind films Cora.
Blythe, apparently at young lad ’s escort,
who was curiously eying him throng a glass.

In an instant his wanted coolness returned to
him, for he instinctively felt that this man was
an enem . Why, he could not have told, had

the on been asked, but, believe it he did,
and m that moment he was upon his

In his confusion, and upon the ur of 0 mo.
ment, he had uttered the words hat were 33111
ri in his ears—the title given him by the
en tic son of the Emerald Isle—nor was

beat all sorry that such was the case. For

andsiifilcient reasons, he had resolved to esp
 name secret, andthst sobrith woul
regain: purpooeaswellasanotlierr
Iynameis TrueBlue, lady,’he said, with
thou-defiant glance toward the mulling gentle-

 

 

man who was still quizzin him through his
eye-glass. ,If I have been 0 service to you or
yours, our thanks have repaid me, a. thousand-
old. ter all, I only gave the little beauty a
fgmchance; she won the race on her own mer-
i .

“I don’t know that,” interposed the gentle-
man with the eye lass. “ You rode as though
you were bomto t e pig-skin, and brought more
out of little A hrodite than almost any one be-
lieved was in er. If I had known as much
about your riding then as now, it would have
been money in our pocket.”

“I don’t thi I exactl understand you, sir,”
said True Blue—as we wi 1 call him until he sees
fit to resume his own name—with a keen look.
“ Please explain. ”

“ That is easily done,” the other lau bed, but
with an undercurrent of earnestness in is ap a—
rently jesting words that did not esca he
she witted youth. “ Unfortunately, had
near y a thousand dollars bet on Midnight, all
of which your remarkably fine riding lost for
me. Now fifty dollars would have been wisely
spent in saving the rest—”

“That is, you would have offered me fifty
dollars to throw the race, had you behaved
there was an chance of my winning?” inter-
ru ted True B ue.

‘Exactl : that is, I should have been strong-
ly temp to do somethin of the kind,” he
added as Cora Blythe turns toward him with
an in 'gnant exclamation.

“I orance was your bliss in this case, then,”
was be blunt response. “ You would have
foundm answer to such an insult even more
difficult o swallow than your loss in money——
for it would have come in the shape of a hard
fist and a mouthful of loose teet .”

“A righteous answer, most aptly delivered,"
cried Henry Blythe, returning just in time to
overhear these words. “Not t at I believe you
would have done such a thing. Alfred, though

our father, my worshipful cousin, might. But,

et that flea stick by the wall. This oung man
—I’ve been so excited and busy that I, have real-
ly forgotten toinquire his-name—”

“ Mr. True Blue, father,” interposed Cora.

The veteran turfite elevated his brows in sur-

rise at this curious name, but he was too well-
Ered to be taken aback for more than an instant.

“And never was there a more gpropriate
name 1” he cried, warmlfifr  ehand of
the boy jockey. “Mr. ue, . ndson—one
of those very rare persons who are much better
than the try to make other people believe.
Alfred, 's gentleman is one of my particular
friends,‘and you can serve ' inany way, I
willremember it as a personal favor.”

Thus introduced, the twain shook hands, but
True Blue felt his instinctive dislike deepen, de-
spite the warmth with which his grasp was re-
turned. There wasa traceof scornful contem t
in Alfred Hudson’s smile that stung him to t e
quick, and he knew that, upon his own side, at
least, there would never be anything between
them but uncompromising enmity.

During this hollow ceremony Cora Blythe
standing u n tiptoe, whis r afew hurried
words into or fa er’s ear, ep rt of which
was quickly divulged by the who e-souled, im-
pulsive tu te.

“ Of course he will 0 with us—that is under-
stood; thou it may well enough to have a
more defini understanding. True, :0 dear
boy, you must consider yourself 8 to us
during themeetin here andas muc o r as
gm can spare the e from your other ends.

on will return to the hotel withus this evening
—just a little party to celebrate our victory—
and there’ll be several fine fellows there who
will be ove oyed to make your acquaintance.
So. you wil come?”

uring this speech True Blue watched Henry
Blythe closely but his suspicions were not con-
firmed. The 0 d gentleman was undeniably in
earnest. To him, at least, the dress did not
make the man.

The bo jockey felt his heart go out toward
the kin y, generous ker, but his answer
was given With an un entating firmness that
told he was not to be ersuaded.

“You are very kin ,sir but I will not impose
on good naturest for asfthat.ds’1 wc‘iuilcllm be very
poor com or our rien an ve in
own worfatgsi'io. X11 the same, I am much oby-

to you. ”
lggwing, with a native grace, to Cora Blythe,
True Blue turned to leave the stand, but he was
not suffered to do so alone.

“ You are not so pressed for time but you can
give me a. few moments’ private conversation!”
asked Blythe, as he accompanied the boy jockey
down the steps and out into the 0 on air.

“ An hour, if you like,” was 9 prompt re-
sponse. “ I never could see any fun in a trot-
tin -race. It’s too slow rt to suit me. "

613’ Blythe said no 'ng more until they
reach thegrateful shadecast talisman tree
which stood near the center of e wide incle—

beyond :- of their words being

313% b angulous ears.

T] the .
shouldetgifiheol .mrnlémllong 

e ’3
into the fair open countenance of boy.
Though wondering, True Blue bore the close

 

scrutiny unflinchingly, and quietly awaited his
new-found friend’s explanation.

“Unless my eyes have lost their cunning, I
can trust you as though you were my own son
——and I will trust you!” uttered Blythe, earli-
estly. “But for you, the chances are that I
would never have seen another sunrise in this
world. If the filly had been disabled—if she
had not won this race——”

“ But she did win it,” quickl interposed True
Blue, be ' ' gto feel unco ortable.

“ Than 5 to Igin—yes,” added Blythe. “But
the end will the same, unless that victor
can be repeated. Let me tell you just how
stand wit the world, and then I have a ques-
tion to ask—a favor, rather.”

The substance alone of what he said need be
given here as it can be more briefly stated:

Henr Blythe came of a raci family, but
where is more immediate ances rswere un-
usually “lucky,” the close of each racing-season
showing a heavier balance in their favor, the
exact opposite was the case with him. As al-
ready intimated, he had squandered three mod-
erate fortunes upon the turf, ill-fortune attend-
ing his adventures almost invariably, and an
extensive breeding-establishment made a con-
stant and heavy drain upon his purse. His best
racers went amiss, or broke down in trainin .
Even when a. horse was brought to the post in
fit condition, and he w ered heavil upon the
result, hoping to in puff, make g his heavy
losses, some accident was almost sure to occur-
the animal upon which his he were laced
would beleft at the t——woul be “cut own ”
by an opponent w 'le racing—or if all also
failed, would be deliberately “pulled” by its
jockey, in the face of the stringent rules.

But it is a long lane that has no turning
and Henry Blythe fondly dreamed he had found
the short road to glory and restored wealth,
when he became of the gray filly
Aphrodite. Her time in private trials under
his own eye, had been fairly marvelous. Though
so young, she was steady and level-headed—one
of a thousand.

With unusual prudence for him—Blythe kept
her secluded until she was three years old, and
durin the s rin meeting, she had carried
every hing be ore er, and or owner, in stakes
and pools, won a. goodl sum, though much less
than he had anticipa .

Despite his care and precautions, hints of the
wonderful speed of the ‘ dark horse ” were freely
bandied about, and he could only place his
money at long ds. ,

Satisfied that at last he really ossessed a
“world-beater,” Blythe entered Ap 'te for
the two events which principally concern this
sto ,  backed her for as much as he could

e on.
he “ill-luck” which had followed him so
lon that it had become a by-word among-t the
turfi , was forgotten in his enthusiasm. f be
won both events, he would nearly make good
his many losses; if he lost—

“ There is only one horse entered for the on
that I am at all afraid of, provided all goesw
with the mare and there is no foul play—that
is the black gelding, Midnight. He was brought -
here from the East. as I be 'eve. for the '
phurpose of beating my pet. They are w hted

e same—115 pounds. If you only rode a ttle
' hter—” .

“I’m glad I don’t,” was the blunt re ly.
“ There’s too much at stake for the job to a
pleasant one. There is time enough. You can

t a better man for the position; one who

ows more about the tricks of the trade than I
do. Besides, I have work of my own that must
not be neglected.”

“I will pay you well for your time, even if
finall yon conclude not to ride. I’ll ive you
one t ousand dollars if youwill stan by me
until after the race is run.”

“ That is ten times more than enough for the
little I could do for you,” uietl dad
True Blue. “We’ll considert e o erno made,
until we are both cooler, and have taken time
to think it all over.

“Lookl yonder comes as great a sump as
goes unhungl Don’t give him a hint of the offer
you made me. I’ll tell on m reasons after-
ward," hurried] added 6 B no, as the figure
of a short, ban -leg , squat-built man was
observed ap roa em.

This was om Craydock—r“ Tom,” as
he was better known in rac cir es—the long-
trusted trainer of Henry affine stables.

His red face was more than usually inflamed
now, and his rat-er eyes were leaming with
awickedfiresshedrewnear. e castasullen

lure of venomous hatred at the boy 

en turned to Henr Blythe, with the
possible salute, grow ' :

“I’ve just come- from the stables, which the
doctor he says Little Joe ’11 never ride a in—
he’s a. cripple for life, ’long 0’ that bloody
o’ yonrn .

 

CHAPTERIIL
“I’llso tohgrlsfatwl‘mdm, andtrust that
gnmwllliltnmoutbettertghan maidexpeoté’;
e 0 or dress
theth ‘Yglit figmmasonwhyyon

4

should come growling to me. You put u the
boy to ride—you had charge of the filly’s ead
~and between you, made a pretty mess of the
business. Only for this gentleman I’d have
been put in the hole for good and all!’

The fellow uttered an indistinct ggowl, and
cast another evil look toward True lue, who
was summing him up with a keen, comprehen-
sive scrutiny.

“A dirty vagabone, as steps atween honest
men an’ their bread! But I’ll pay him out if
the sends me over the water for’tl"

These muttered words were hardly meant to
be overheard, but True Blue had led a life that
trained his hearing as well as his other senses,
and with a low, careless laugh, he uttered:

“ I’ll be keeping the flies oil! of you, my
beauty, while you are doing it. I’m little, but
I’m a tough horse to curry, and I reckon you’ll
find the job interesting enough to keep you from
goin to sleep over it.”

“ to , Craydock!” cried Blythe, sternly, his
strong nd closin firmly upon the English-
man’s shoulder. “ tell you, once for all, that
this oung man is my particular friend, and if
you ry to injure him in any way, I’ll put you
where the dogs can’t bite you.”

“Not with my consent, Mr. Bl he,” said
True Blue, with a quiet self-con dence that
made‘the burly trainer stare. “My hands can
keep mv head, and I am able to fight my own
way—thanking you all the same.”

‘ I believe it,” said the veteran turfite, with
an honest emphasis, as he gazed into the bold,
frank countenance of the boy jockey. “Your
Spurs are well grown for so young 8. bird—but
you’re not going?”

“ Yes; I’ve seen enough fun for one day.”

“Well, if you must; but you will come to us
this eveninglif only for a few minutes?”

“ I’d rat or not- I’d be like a fish out of
water. If ou like, I’ll call to—morrow morning,
if on wil 've me your address.” '

enry B ythe wrote the name of his hotel

11 a card, and slipped it into the hand of

ue Blue, together with a small roll of bank
notes saying:

“ That is not the half of what I owe you, but
I hope you’ll take it as an earnest—” but the
boyfockey interrupted him with uiet decision:

‘ ’11 only take what I am fair y entitled to,
Mr. Blythe. A mount is ten dollars—a winning
mount is twenty-five; here is the balance, with
many thanks.”

Dropping the mono into the hand of the em—
barrassed turfman, e Blue turned and hast-
ened away from the spot followed by the gaze of
both men, but with wide y different emotions in
their hearts.

The first man whom he asked, was able to in—
form the boy jockey where the Glenwood (the
title of Henry Bly‘t e’s breedin farm) stables
were located, and thanking him, rue Blue hastr
ened thither.

His ostensible object was to secure possession
of his little mustan , which had been taken to
the stables by the oom, according to Blythe’s
orders, but the lad another purpose in view,
if it could only be carried out.

The storyso briefly outlined b Henry Blythe
had deeply interested him an the more he re-
flected upon the matter, the stronger grew the
temptation to close with the extremely liberal
offer made him if onlyto take charge of the
gra filly until the dageof the great race.

“ f I do it must on my own terms,” he
mused, while nearing the stalls assigned to the
Glenwood stable. ‘ There’s got to be a clean
sweep made of all the dirty scoundrels that
have been preying upon him, and the little
beauty must be put into my hands to manage
as I think best.” -

This sounds somewhat conceited, but the
events of that afternoon were enough to justify
an even greater amount of egotism, and he who
does not have a good opinion of himself, runs

7 - littlerisk of setting the river aflre.

True Blue found less dimcult in gaining his
main Ob ect than he had antic pated, and five
minutes ater found himself standing beside a
blanket-covered pile of straw upon which lay
the battered form of “Little oe,” son of Eng-
lish Tom, the lad who had been selected to pilot
Aphrodite to victory—or defeat.

‘Av negro lad, of about his own age was the
on] other occupant of the rude stall, and his

low motions when the bell in the jud es’
- stand rung to c out the racers, told how 1i tle
his sympathies were with the luckless lad over
whom he had been set to watch. With the peer
sion for horses and horse-racingi which seems to
be a natural inheritance of his 11 he was long—
ing‘lt: be away in the midst of the un.
9 Blue readily divined this, and promptly
improved his opportunity. . '
You kin go an’ see this heat, Snowball, ef
ou’ll come back as soon’s it’s over. I’ll watch

Little Joe that Ion ; I jest come from his fa-
tger. But mind you on’t stop longer then the
oneheat, or I’ll pin back your ears an’ swaller

you raw 1” - _
The broad] - 'nnin darke waited for no
more, but d out o the , kicking n his

heels and turning a summerset, by way 0 ex-
pressing his gratitude for being released from
an uncongenial task.

 

, . .
Beadle s Dime Library.
Ignorant at what moment English Tom mi ht
return, and not caring about giving the ug -
dispositioned trainer a handle for fastening a
quarrel upon him just at present, if it could be
avoided, True B ue bent over the heavily-
breathin lad and gently called him by name.

Little oe was not asleep as the boy jockey
had believed, and opened ' hollow, sunken
eyes, with a look of listless curiosity.

Though still in his ’teens, his face was wizened
and wrinkled as that of an old man. His limbs
and body were little more than skin'and bones
for, like many another noted jockey, he had
been obligedto diet and drug himself constantly
and severely, in order to keep his wei ht down
to a reasonable standard. After a joc ey pass-
es eight stone, his mounts in these degenerate
days of short dashes, are few and far between.

But Little Joe had past all that now; he had
scored for the last time, and if he lived, it would
be as a helpless crilp 18.

It was not the all from the saddle that did
the harm. That was too carefully planned for
such a result to follow; but as the gray filly
broke away from the treacherous trainer whose
strong hand had been secretly torturing her ten-
der mouth for half an hour, several of the‘other
high-strung racers became unmanageable for the
moment and one of them had planted both fore
feet fairly naen the back of the fallen jockey.

Severe ri were broken, but the most seri—
ous injury was to the spine. Thou h the back
was not broken, the sur eon who at nded him,
plainly declared that ittle Joe would never
walk again unless upon crutches.

For the moment it seemed almost as though
instant death would have been far preferable.

“ It was a judgment on me,” the injured
ackey said in a low, drea tone, as True Blue

nt sympathizingly over him. “ That was the
first time ever tried my hand at a ‘ cross ’——but
you’re a friend of his!”

“ Who do you mean?” asked True Blue open-
ly meeting the suspicious glance of the la .

“ English Tom—the one they call my father—
but they lie! He was never a father of mine!
N o father would have made his son a drunken,
worthless dog—and then cursed and beaten him
because he could not drag him down still deeper
into the mire—because he could not make him a
lying traitor to the man whose hand aid and

ed him. I say it is alie! He is no ather of
mine! And yet—he brought me to this—to a
livin death—and then cursed me because I
failed to ruin her, as well as myself 1”

Exhausted by this frenzied outburst, Little
Joe lay panting for breath, but with the glow—
ing‘ fire unquenched in his sunken eyes.

rue Blue held a cup of cold water to his lips,
and mt the bandage around his temples, before

spea g.

“ So far from beinga friend of English Tom’s
if I could have my way, I would lynch him and
all rascals who, li e him, do all they can to de-
fiil‘ade and ruin a sport that has no equal upon
t e face of the globe. I think I can romise
you that he will have cause to regret this day’s
work—but let that pass.

“ I suppose you know that the
the race, after all. I was luc enough to
catch her, and the put me u to ride. The
extra weight told, ut the litt e ladfiy;I was all
there when I called upon her at the ish, and
answered the call right nobly l” -

“ I knew it—and so did the —curse them!
Ah! man! but I loved the little adyas I could
have loved in mother, if I had ever had one i”
enthusiastical y panted the crippled 'ockey.

“And yet you could plot to de eat, if not
destroy her,” True Blue, who idolized a ood
horse, could not help saying, though he bi his
lip sharply the next momen . .

Little Joe winced at the taunt, but did not ap-
pear to take umbrage at the lam speech.

“ I did the best I could. ere was a chance
for her escaping with life that way—more than
there was any other.

y filly won

“Look here ” he added. abruptly, grasping

True Blue byt chand. “ Promise me one t in
——pledge me your sacred honor to go and to
Mr. Henry B the what I say, and I will expose
the whole plo . Tell him to bring
take down my words, and I will sign and swear
to their truth. Will you do this?” '
“ I will—and right gladly,” promptly replied
True Blue. -
This was even more than he had dared toth
for, though it was his sole object in visitin t e
injured lad, and the eagerness with whic he
listened, may be more readily imagined than

bed.

“ I behave and will trust you. Your face is a
good, honest one. I don’t think you would lie
to a crip le.” ‘

4‘ I w' do whatever you wish me. But if
gm have much to say, there’s no time to lose.

our—English Toni may retiu-n at any moment,
and than t ere would be a circus!”

“ I’ll make sure of one point. Tell Mr. Blythe
not to let his filly stop in English Tom’s char
one moment longer than he ‘ can help, unless 6
would have her ruined forever. ‘ If he can’t
spoil her chances amther way, he’ll pOison
her himself. She’d ve been meat for. the
crows long before this, if I hadn’t consented to
play the trick that has left me like this.”

 

a lawyer to

 

 

True Blue bent closer over the s eaker, but
Little Joe smiled faintly and shook is head as
he read aright the doubts of his visitor.

“ My brain is as clear as our own, and I am
only telling you the gospe truth. Time and
again I have been offered my own price if I
would poison the filly, or shut my e es while
some one else did the dirty work. T ey knew
it couldn’t be done without my knowledge, for
ever since her first race, I have slept in the same
box With her, have fed and watered and groom-
ed her with m own hands.”

“ Wh shou d they run so much risk? If they
believ she could not be beaten, why not put
their money on, instead of against her?”

“ Mone wasn’t all—they were plotting to
ruin Mr.
ing 'one dark night, when they did not dream
of in being near.

“ tried to steal awa , but in foot slipped
and I fell. They caugh me, an thrashe me
until I admitted overhearing their plans. They
decided to put me in safe hiding until it would
be too late for me to tell my story.

“ I knew what that meant—they would drug
or poison my pet—the only thing I loved upon
earth—and I finally agreed to throw the race in
some manner that would be less dangerous to all
concerned. But as heaven hears me! I didn’t
mean to do it. I thought I would find a chance
to tell Mr. Blythe of the plot, but they were too
cunning for me. I was never left alone fora
moment, and English Tom swore that at the
first suspicious movement 11 on my part he
would give the filly a dose 0 the poison which
he constantly carried with him.

“How could I act otherwise than I did? It
was giving her a chance for life, and the other
why there was none. If I sinned, I have been
punished—”

“ Who were the ones in the plot besides Eng-
lish Tom?” hastily interrupted True Blue, as he
caught the sounds of approaching footsteps.

But Little Joe ha exhausted his feeble
strength b the vehemence with which he had
s oken, an before he could make the important

' closure asked for, a burly figure darkened
the entrance, and a fierce wling curse an
nounced the return of Englis Tom.

CHAPTER IV.
A VILE sonnnn.

Tami BLUE saw that he was recognized b
the English bull-dog, and even without the grim:
ing curse with which Craydock greeted him, he
wipng have known that there were breakers
a ea .

Ever line of the trainer’s face every muscle
of his y, betokened evil to t e boy 'ockey,
and the brutal fire in his pig-like eyes to d True
Blue that English Tom, in his case at least, I
would never listen to an appeal for merc if he
once got the upper hand, until his beast-1i e pas-
sion was fully g titted.

Though having full confidence in his own pow-
ers, the boy joc ey was strongllly averse to be-
comin engaged in a brawl of t is kind, just at
that me, and resolved to “blufl” his wa
through the threatening difficulty, if “cheek ’
and assurance would do it.

His greatest fear was lest English Tom had
overheard a portion of the confession made by
Little Joe.

In that case he knew that the trainer, toavoid
the serious consequences which would assuredly
follow the bringing to light his nefarious trans-
actions, would not li htly suffer him to escape
with his dangerous owledge. At the ve
least he woul sufl'er expulsion forever from
of th:_race-tracks belonging to the National As-
socia ion.

The first words ken by English Tom, were
not calculated to ay this suspicion.
“ You won’t come spyin’ ’round here no more,

blast ye! I’m goin’ to mash gar blarsted—”
With his 11 e, shou] er-of-mutton fists
doubled u , Eng ish Tom athered himself u
for a rush hat would probe 1 have made good
his boastin threat, but instea of advancing, he
took astep ckward, raising one massive arm
as though to guardhis head and throat.
The b ack muzzle of a cocked and loaded re-
;olvler  stanngfhgln % in th]: face, and tips
ri t ue eyeo e oceywascoo .
8158.51!) at him over the level’éiii barrel. y
“E it’s all the same to on, my beaut , I’d a
lcetle rather not be ma ed jist it,” rawled
True Blue, keeping the shrinking ully covered
with the silver drop, despite his un shift-
ings. “I come here on usiness, which don’t
consarn you a-tall. I’ve done that business, an’
now I’m goin’ to leave. ’3‘ you git in my road
you’ll ' 17 run over, an’ as I n’ally travel
rough—s od, heel an’ ice corks, t e chainces is
oull git hurt. I’ve got the le, an’ mean to
old it, ontil a better critter es it away from
meFan’ that critter don’t run under your col-
era
The boy jockey spoke boldly enough and
slowly advancedi'foward the entrance,’ but,
though not a knee! his countenance changed,
he began'to fear'that he had more upon‘his
hands than he could manage, when he paused
upon the threshold. ‘ --
English Tom had not returned to the stables

enry Blythe—I overheard them talk- '

 

 

 

 

 

alone, though True Blue had been ignorant of the
fact until this moment.

Two men had borne him com any, gentlemen
in outward seeming at least, hon b one was
rather flashin dressed, with a re undance of
watch chain' , rings and other jewelry.

The other was ressed in gloszyflack and spot-
less linen, bearin the unmist ble stamp of
good birth and reeding. Yet True Blue in-
stinctively felt that this ministerial appearing

ersonage was by far the most dangerous of the

i0, despite the fact that the other, the dashing
“ sport,” was coolly covering him with a heavy
chambered derringer.

True Blue‘s first and most natural—consider-
ing his past life and training—impulse, was to
open hostilities at once, knowmg as he did from
experience, that the first blow, if rightly deliv-
ered, was often more than half the battle. But
fortunately for all concerned, he remembered
that he was now in a law-abiding region, where
an honest man could only strike in self—defense,
and he suffered the muzzle of his revolver to
drop a few inches, though holdin it in readiness
to cover any one of the trio, as t e circumstan-
ces might render necessary, as he said:

“Three to one—an’ that one a leetle boy as
haint fa’rly ot the taste of his mother’s milk out
0’ his mout —-is long odds, but I’ve bucked
ag’inst still longer ones an’ still come under the
wire fust. Drop the flag to 8. even start, an’
I’ll keep ye comp’ny long’s my bellows holds
out!

Both En lish Tom and the flashin dressed
sport looke toward their companion, the gentle-
man in black, as though asking whether or no
they should accept this rather “horsey ” defi—
ance, and for a few moments he hesitated, his
cold gray eyes fixed upon True Blue’s face with
a stran eexpression in their de tbs.

“ If 'ttle Joe had told me W o the men were
that forced him to throw the race, I could call
these two men b their right names."

This was the on ht that flashed through the
mind of the boy joc ey as he unflinching] . met
that cold, stern . It came upon him ike a
revelation, and 6 would have staked his life
“£2111 the truth of the unspoken words. But no-
t ' of this was suffered to show itself upon
his ace, and the gentleman in black appeared
to be satisfied as he averted his eyes.

“Put 11 your weapon, Holman,” he said, in a
cold, un easant voice. “ You are too ready
to med e with other fpeople’s quarrels. If Eng-
lish Tom and 1you, ellow ” he added turning
abruptly upon rue Blue, “ have any diderences,
settle them between yourselves, and don’t try
to drag gentlemen into the matter, simply be-
cause they chance to be passing by at the time.”

A s retort was on the tip of the boy
megs ton e, but, with rare prudence for

' , 0 SW owed it unspoken. He had too
much at stake for him to run any unnecessary

risks.

“You cain’t blame me far thinkin’ you two
was in cahoots with yonder overgrowed bull-
dog, when I see one 0’ ye draw a 151701 to back
him up ” was his only remark, as e turned to-
ward the negro boy, who just then returned,
and asked him to show him where his mustang
was stabled.

True Blue, though usually preferring to wait
upon himself, did not do so upon this occasion,
but ke t his eyes about him while the darkey
saddl and bridled his horse.

He felt sure that En lish Tom would not rest
content under the rep he had received, and
past experience had ta ht him not to despise
any foe however low an contemptible.

‘ He’ I wait ten years for a chance when in
back is turned, if i don’t come sooner,” he mu
tered, beneath his breath. _ “ If this had only
ha ned out in the mountains—” »

hiatus was peculiarly si ' t, and
formed a. strong if silent comp ' ant to the
ma y of the law. '

e Blue’s precaution was not entirely unre-
warded, since he saw the two gentlemen enter
one of the afgini stables, whither English
Tom shortly _ r f0 owed them.

Mounting his mustang, the boy ockey rode
slowly past the o :1 door of the sta Is in ques-
tion, and though e did not turn his head in that
direction, hecanght a glimpse of the trio, out of
the tail of his eye apparently conversing to-
gether with unusu earnestness.

“They’d be sure to notice me,” he mutte
as he rode on, “or I’d _try to get another wor
with Little Joe. I’d like to learn their names,
and know for certain it they are the ones who
are plotting again' st the old gentleman, But 1’11
see im again to-morrow.” _

Consoling himself with this thou ht, which
was fated never to be realized, True_B no crossed
the track and patiently waited until the racin
was over for t 6 day though the sport had an -
denly lost its strong fascination for him. -

He joined in the shouts and cheers of the en-
thusiastic multitude but it was mechanically.
Hismind was busied with other and more im~
portant matters. I

With the crowd, he turned away and left the

unds, his mind made up as to the course he
$11M arena for the next two weeks, provided
Henry lythe did not alter hismind inregardto
placing the gray filly, Aphrodite, under his care.

5

 

The Boy Jockey.

After much thought, he believed that the
work to which he had solemnly dedicated his
youn life, could be carried on at the same time
with is new duties.

“Hehass nt the best art of his life upon
the turf. o is one of t ose men who know
and are known by everybody. Maybe he can
tell me where I can find Tracy Talbot—”

The reflections of the boy jockey came to a
sudden termination at this int.

A fine landau rolled sw‘ tly past him, drawn
by a dashing span of blood-ha s. The Vehicle
contained four persons. Upon t e front seat sat
Henry B1 the, en aged in eager conversation
with anot er gent eman of about the same age
with himself. Opposite sat Cora Blythe, with a
tall, handsome young man, whose face was bent
down close to ers—a face in which far duller
eyes than those of the boy jockey might easily
read an ardent, overpowering love for the
dainty creature who looked up so shyly into his
speaking eyes.

Just one glance; but it was enough for True
Blue to see all this. And as the vision swept by
he felt a strange awing pain at his heart the
almost terrified 'm—it was so new to his ex-
perience.

He laughed sharply, and tossed back a lock of
hair that ad escaped from his outlandish head—
dress; but he could not laugh away that unac-
customed pain.

Though as yet ignorant of the fact, the boy
jockey was now experiencing his first bitter
pan of jealousy!

ith a listless weariness such as he had rare-
ly felt, True Blue ali hted at the stable where
he put up his horse, t en passed on to his hotel.
It was one of the most fashionable ones in the
city, where high prices ruled, and the last where
one would suppose a lad of True Blue’s dress
and apparent poverty would take up his abode
for any length of time. But he had not decided
without due forethought. This hotel was the
favorite resort of turfites of the better class,
and for that very reason he had chosen to stop
there, since he had good reason to believe that
through this class alone could be hope to accom-
plish the task upon which he had staked his en-
tire future life.

The ofiice was crowded with ea erly talking
men, all discussing the sensation race of the
day, but True Blue did not pause to note their
comments. Unnoticed by any save the obse-
quiously ginning porter who, until this half—
holiday, d looked loftin down upon the
rough-and ready youth who traveled without
any age to speak of. Sambo, like many
another over of sport socially his superior, had
placed his money upon the gray filly, and could

ut respect the hand that 1) led it out of the
firefor im.

True Blue did not wait to hear the honest
darkey’s well-meant congratulations, but brush-
edpast him andranlig tlyupthestairstohis
own room.

The door was locked, thou h this fact did not
appear to sur rise him, unt after his repeated
knockings an rattling of the door-knob, failed
to elicit any sound from within. Raismg his
voice he cried shar ly:

“ flan, old man what’s come over on?
Why don’t on open up, and not make me 5 d
here all nig t?”

“ Sure an’ is it raaly you, masther dear?” ut-
Zom a weak, quavering mice from within' the

“ Who else would it be, using in sweet voice,
Danny?” laughed the boy jockey, ut there was
a trace of im atience in his tones as be added:
“ n the ure, daddy, or never asup o’ the
era bur ’ll ye taste this ni ht!” . -

ither throu h fear lest his threat should be
carried out, or ecause be fully recognized the
speaker, the person called Danny, turned the
key in the lock and suffered True Blue to push
wide the door. But the instant be step into
the room, Danny slammed the door ut and
locked it. _

An old man long before his time was Daniel
Clark. His face was deep}? seamed and terribly
scarred. Hishairwasw teassnow. Hishu 9
frame was bowed and bent, as though hence.
the weight of along century, and he trembled
in every limb as though suffering from a severe
attack of the 0.

And yet, 0 y a few years before the date of
our staigidyou must have searched long and far
before ing a. finer specimen of the purelX
animal man than was bold Dan Clark.
giant in size and strength, with a heart that lit-
eral] knew no fear, a face that was rarely
hen me, despite the lack of culture or any-
thin more than purely brute intelligence: such
was ethen. Now—WWberoken down,
his iron nerves sha , a blind and almost
helpless cripple!

‘ What’s the matter wi’ ye, daddy?” uttered
True Blue soothingly. “ Sure an’ ya know that
no harm kin crass yer four benes while your
own b’y ’s to the fore! Tell me the matter that
troublesye honey, darlint.” . _ -

As a mother soothes her wailing child in its
own broken patois so True Blue took the “ burr
onhistonguef’ashestrove to reassure hisagi—
tated companion. .

“The divil is here—undher the same m3 wid

 

 

us two!” whispered Danny, creeping closer to
the boy jockey. “He went ast the dui‘o jist
the least taste afore you kim ack. I h’ard him
spake as plain as I hear me own tongue this
minute that’s over us!”

“ Not that man—not Tracy Talbot?” demand-
ed True Blue, his voice unsteady with strong
emotion.

“That same, honey! An’ I dr’amed of a
white goat, last ni ht, worse luck! No—I’ll not
let ye go—he’ll k ye this time, wid his own
hand to‘make sure —’

With an impatient force, True Blue broke
away from the tremblin hands that clasped his
knees, and unlockin 9 door, rushed swiftly
down the stairs and into the ofice.

It was no easy task, but he did manage to
school his features so that little of the fierce pas-
ifiionfs that agitated his heart could be read upon

is ace. .

Pressing through the crowd, he began care—
full examining the huge register in hopes of
fin ing the name of t e man w om be bad
solemnly vowed tohunt down, though the search
should consume a lifetime.

But this hope was not fulfilled. Page after
page was searched, without success. Either

acy Talbot was not a uest of that hotel, or
else he was registered un er another name.

When he had searched through all of the en-
tries for the current month, True Blue resolved
to try another plan, and waitin until he could
catch the eye of the busy hote clerk, be ad-
dressed him:

“ Can ou tell me where I can find a gentle-
man b t e name of Tree Talbot?"

The igh and mighty o cia] stared at the boy
jockey as though amazed by his temerity, but
managed to utter:

“Never had the honor of the gent’s acquain-
tance.” ,

But one at least amo the crowd appeared to
be not a little interested in the matter.

Drawing out of the press, he hurriedl wrote
a few words upon the hack of one of t e hotel
cards, then slipped the message, with a bank—
note, into the porter’s band, and pointing out
the boy jockey, ran swiftly up the stairs.

Not a little perplexed, True Blue took the
gard, hint a sharp exclamation parted his lips as

e rea :

“I you wish to find Tracy Talbot, come
up- airs to room 76.”

There was no signature; only those few words,

 

CHAPTER v.
CORNERED.

‘ ONLY those few words, but they were enough.
Without pausing to reason or deliberate,
True Blue sprung rapidly ti11in the lon flight of
stairs and neverpaused un ' he stood fore the
door of room No. 76, his knuckles rappingsharp-
1y against the barrier.

The summons was not immediately answered,
and True Blue could hear a subdued. murmur
as of voices in earnest conversation, though
these sounds abruptly ceased a. moment after.

Then the door was opened, and theoccnpont
stood aside with a. low bow. ,

True Blue prom tly accepted this mute invi-
tation to enter, an the door ww 'ckly closed
behind him, while the key turn in the lock
with a sharp snap . ,

Until this ins ant the boy jockiy had not on-
tertained the faintest suspicion th
delivered him was aught other than genuine; or
that it was the bait to a. snare cunningly, if
hastily, laid for him. '

But as he heard the ke turned inand'uien " ‘

withdrawn from the lock, e felt that there was
miscltilief brewing, and instantly stood uponth

or . . ,
Remembering the muflled voices he had heard
the boy jockey cast a. keen, swift glance arena
the room but to agagpnpearance he and the man
who stood coolly l gback againstthe closed
dooréI were the only occupants of the apart-
men
With his suspicions augmented rather than -
allayed by this fact, True Blue ve a swift,
side ong leap that carried him to 6 wall near
one corner of the room, thus eflectually guard-J
ing his back, and confronted the man who had
given him admittance, a cocked and leveled m-
volver in his hand. ' . ~
At that moment the be jockey recogniriedthc
man who had apparen y entrapped him“ .It
was none other than the dashing sport whomthe
ntleman in black had addressed as Holman, a
ew hours earlier.
As he made this discove , True Blue drew a
lo breath of, relief, for e behaved be com-
re ended the whole aflair and if so it was far
ass serious than he had at first imagined. .-
In a. clear, measured tone of voice he uttered:
“Youwant to open up or I’ll make a
ay old spotter pictur’ on that oor'ahind our
fiend, I’m so p’iaen tender raised I al’a etch
coldin aroom which the he is-tiu'n iuthc
lock. . An’ when I do ketch co d, I’m the dnrndy
est critter to git up on 11339” an’ bu’st things
Wide open you ever see! n’t you think you <1
better open up, boss?” . r
Ahot flush passed over the bler’s face,
leavmg it white and wicked 100 It was a.

thememge  ,

6

Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

a

 

bitter, pill toswallow for one of his tempera-
ment, and for an instant it se;med as though he
was about to refuse—to leap upon his quick-
wibtted antagonist and dare his fire, rather than
su mit.

But this feelin was of brief duration. _He
knew that the ds were too greatly against
him, desperate gamcster though he was. He
had studied human nature too long and careful-
ly not to see that the boy jocke was in deadly
earnest, despite his somewhat wgimsi' 'cal speech.
He saw “shoot ” in the lad’s eyes, and knew that
hisonly hope lay in obeyin promptly.

He the lmob an turned t, his eyes
opening dein admirably simulated astonish-
ment as the door resisted hiseflorts to open it.

“ Well, that beats me i” he ejaculated, turning
hisface toward True Blue with a faint smile.
“ I believe the door is locked. The ke must
have turned of its own accord, though never
knew of its doing the like before.”

“ Satan does git into things, sometimes,”
grinned the boijockey amuse by the fellow’s
impudence. “ you ’ll be so kind as to step
over by the table, yonder, mebbe I kin take the
hoodoo out 0’ the pesky thing.”

The gambler did as directed without a word,
and the boy 'ockey unlocked the door, slipping
the ke intoliis goket, careful to keep one eye
upon . ut the latter worthy was ap-

arently resigned to the course matters were
'ng, and dropping into a chair beside the
table, struck a match and H hted a ci .

While thus watching his versary, e Blue
made another discov Digectly opposite was
a second door, which e knew must open into
another room.

He was well enou h ac uainted with the
building to feel confi ent t t there was no
other outlet to the inner chamber, and he knew
that the owner of the second voice which he had
heard, while in the passage-way, must be still
inside that room.

This fact, together with the faint hope that
there mi ht be some truth in the gambler’s mes.
sage, (led him as to the course he should pur—
sue.

Pushing a chair up near the table, and seating
himself so that he could command both the
gambler and the inner door, he tossed the card
which had drawn him thither, across the table,

“Y‘i’v‘i.
‘ t kin you tell me about the man whose
name is writ’ on that bit 0’ pasteboardl”

“What is it you wish to know about him?”
evasiver uttered the gambler, closely eying
the bay jockey.

“ that you kin tell me,” was the prompt
reply. “ You axed me to come up here. of your
own a’cord, but I won’t take no advantage 0’
that. Ef you kin tell me what I want to know,
I’ll pay ye your own rice, so long’s you don’t
oversize my pile. 0r tter yit—set me down
face to face with Tracy Talbot. Do that, an’
I’ll pay the flgger you ax, of I hev to work my
fingers down to the last knuckle a-scrapin’ of it

theri”
*  words were spoken with an earnestness
that could not be mistaken. The boy 'ockey
meant every word he uttered, and as e saw
this; the eyes of the gambler filled with an equ-
tan fire

There was alwa a trace of diablerie in the
handsome face of ank Holman, but never did
this show more e'plainly than at this moment,
when hedgbzliev he saw fiefluits of tilt: diffi-
cultand rousgamew 'c ewasp ying,

‘ fair y within his grasp.

“ will bring you face to face with Tracy
Talbot, and it shall not cost you one cent of
money, either,” he uttered, slowly, his great,
lustrous black eyes fixed upon the face of the
box jockey.

t these words, True Blue felt as though an
icicle had been thrust down hisback, but so per-
feet was his self-control, that the keen-eyed

gambler suspected nothing.

“ I ain’t quite a fool,” slowly said the youth. “I
know that amen in these days don’t turn hiku
on a ofler o’ honest money, onless thar’s some-
thin’ else he valies higher an wants a heap wuss.
Now, you sa you’ll put me face to facewith
theman I’m ookin’ for but you won’t take no
moneyin pay. Jest a hit back I give you a
blufl that wouldn’t taste sweet in any man’s
mouth. I know you hain’t fer tten it so soon,
nur you ain’t one 0’ them ange -on-airth critters
youreadabout,as pays a man back indou h-
unts fer tin of you with brick-bats. at
much! an spit it out! What is it you want
me to do that’s wuth more to you than
money?” .

Despite his natural audaci and plentiful
so 1 of self-assuranceJ‘i-ank olmanwasnot
am taken aback by this blunt speech. He
saw that he had no common lad to deal with,
andthe coveted fruit seemed to hang a little

' her than a moment since.

‘ You are tooquick in jumping at conclusions,
my friend,” he said, quietly, admirably conceal-
ingmhissecret ' viii. “ hIwasin
so then sai that it should notcost
you a cef’r‘if,liie’neve'ic'l meagt toiéifer that I {did 11::
6 pm , an largely, or
twabxpecl: I might be ut to it“ keeping my pled e.

“I expect to fi both of my pockets, With

your aid. If I don’t, thatwill be m look-out,
not yours, and in either case, you sh see your
man within four and twenty hours after your
work is done. Is it a bargain?”

“I kin tell better after I know what that
work is."

“ Simply to ride a horse in the big race next
month—for the Washin n Cu , you know.”

“ It’s your boss, I rec on?” as ed True Blue,
3. little puzzled by the turn the affair was tak-
ing. It was so different from what he had been
expectin , after such a long preamble and
cautious eadinglup to the int.

“Well—no,” esitated olman, changing his
position and covertly watchin the be jocke
out of the tail of his eye. “ I’ ask not g be
ter, if you only rode a few pounds lighter. But
even with your reall remarkable skill as an
oflset, the extra weig t would be too at a
haliliéilifcap over the Cup course of two es and
a

£2,156; I want you to ride the gray filly Aphro-

“ But I thought she b’longed to old Blythe?”

True Blue said this with a avity that was
highly commendable, considering the fact that
he was heartil laughing in his sleeve at the
strange coinci once. Two ies, bitter rivals
upon the turf, at least, see ' g to engage his
services for the great race—and both of them
wishing him to ride the same animal!

“So she does,” prom re'oined Holman.
“ Now I’ll be honest an a ve- with you.
I own the black gelding Midnight, and mean to
run him in that race. Ibelieve he is sure to
win, and have backed him for all that I am
worth—ands. ood deal more. In fact, unless
he does win, I in bu’sted so wide open that salt
won’t save me! Still, thefillyis a rare good ’un,
and by a scratch she might come under the wire
first—unless she was ridden bisome one who
could keep cool and not lose his sad at the crit-
ical moment. You understand l”

“Waal, no—I cain’t jest sa I do,” was the
thoughtful response. ‘I reckon you’d better
putt it a leetle plainer, then thar won’t be no

ear 0’ mistakes. I’m ruther slow at ketchin’
a idea, but when I do 't a belt, I hang on to it
like a old maid to her ust offer.”

“ You’re less of a fool than you try to make
me behave,” said Holman, With a short un-
filteasant laugh; “but I’ll face my cards if, you

e

“Iknow that old Bhflhe has already made
you an oflfer to ride his yfor the Cup. I want
you to accept his proposal. And as soon as the
m" Alfimt" “tidét‘ima 1 “mt”

e —pro e e yisno un-
er the wire first.”

“In so man words, you want me to ‘pull’
the filly?” said e Blue his eyes beginninfi to
kindle. “ I know both of the critters as we as
of I’d bin raised atween ’em, an’ I know that the
filly kin give your hoss ten pounds, an’ leave him
on the wrong side 0’ the flag over that len’th 0’
ground, if so be she’s rid’ by any one as under-
stands his business.”

“I don’t mean anythin of the kind. I am
willingdyou should let the do her level best.
All I s pulate for is this: t her do her own
running; don’t help her any; let her feel your
weight. You can ride twenty pounds heavier
than the scales show, if you e yourself be a
dead, lifeless weight, and that will cook her
goose more surelythan the most skillful pulling,
besides being far less rous, since no one
can possibly tell that you are not do your
Legal best to carry her under the wire of

“ That’s the whole thing in a nut-shell. Sim-

ply go through the n motions, but let

er 0 all the work, and when the race is over,
come to me for your y. ”

“An’ of course I’ get it. You wouldn’t go
back on me a’ter I’d done my . You’re too
hon’rable for that. You wouldn’t look at me
likeIwas crman’tell mete go to thedevil
an’ shake m . Oh, no! Blamed of I don’t
b’lieve you I’m a p’izener fool than you be
—an’ that’s needless!”

It seemed as though True Blue was trying to
let the gambler down easy. The first few words
were spoken in a tone of trustful simplicity,
which soon chan to one of in ured doubt,
while the final sen nce was utters with a con-
temptuous ‘ that could not be mistaken,
as he flung asi all disguise.’

But the fall was none the less severe and
humiliating, as Holman suddenly realized that
hehad been fooledtothe top of his bent—that
hewasthesim letool instead of thermistor~
workman he fancied.

Buthe made one more eflort to retrieve the

“I will give you any pledge that you may
“’33:; I 323%“ were?" “P
req an ing up p it a wyers
hands with instructions to deliver it to you, on
the da afterthe race, provided my horse wins.
Will tdol”

“ No; it won’t do. I wouldn’t trust you as
furasacanary bird couldthrowadead
bullb thetail. Ijeet let yourunon tosee
how p mean a thing could crawl into the
aha of a man. An’ now I’ve found out, I’d

di

 

 

rut or live on over-ripe sign all my life then to

hev’ any furder dealin’s with sech a all-fired—
0001 an easy, boss 1”

Sharp and clear the last words were uttered
as Frank Holman, his face fairly convulsed with
rage and mortiflcation, started up from his seat
with a atinglgurse, as though he would spring
upon s taun ' g adversary.

A swift bound carried True Blue to the door,
where he faced about with his trusty revolver
in his hand, a laughing devil in his bright blue

eye.

It was not the fear of what Frank Holman
might do, that caused the boy jockey to act
thus. But even as the gambler arose to his feet,
the door behind him was flung open, and the
form of a tall man stood in the opening, his face
stern and menacing.

As True Blue had more than half suspected,
the concealed listener was none other than the
gentleman in black.

“Whistle in your English bulldog, now an’
let the performance begin i” cried the boy jockey,
with a mocking laugh.

“Put up your pistol, oung man,” coldly ut-
tered the new-comer. ‘ Enon h is as good as a
feast. You will et into tron le some of these
days, unless you earn more rudencein hand-
ling dangerous weapons. ou are too head-
stron to be allowed to run at large, and I’d
only doing my duty if I were to give you in
char e.”

“ ou won’t do that while my ton
Thar’d be music in the air of I shoul
offer you two made me just now.”

“And who do you suppose would believe our
word against oursW’contemptuously. “ des,
Holman was only tryin you. Instead of his
owning Midnight, we nei her of us have a dollar
interested in him. What little money we have
at stake, is laced upon the filly, A hrodite, the
propert o my cousin, Henry ythe. The
mock 0 er was made you, simp y to see if there
was any risk of our losin our mone through
your se ling, or being willing to sell t e race.

These words were spoken with a quiet candor
that seemed born of truth and conscious recti-
tude. If they were lies then the gentleman in
black was an adept in the art of making black
ap ar white.

Then he was lyin’ about Tracy‘rTalbo tool”

“ What do you know about acy albot?
What are you seeking him for?”

“ ’Cause he’s my long-lost gran’mother,’
grinned True Blue.

“If you really know anything about him,
you can easily ess where to look for him
when I so that e died nearly six years ago,”
lau hed t e tall man.

“ il‘hat’s a p’izen lie! Tracy Talbot was in this
very house not more’n two hours ago 1”

CHAPTER VI.
mun snun’s errLr. onus.

TRUE BLUE did not wait to observe the effect
of his defiant shot, but, deeming discretion the
better part of valor under the circumstances,
quick! placed the door between himself and his
two versaries.

'He was not followed, as be half
would be the case, and was once more forcibly
reminded of the fact that he was now living in
a civilized, law-abiding land, where a more
dangerous weapon than one’s tongue was rarely
wielded.

“ A man mebbe ’11 live longer,” he muttered,
with a sniff of di st, as he waited in vain for
his enemies to ow up. “But it takes the
mast half 0’ the spice out o’ livin’, a’ter

The boy jockey lay awake late that niglllit
after he went to bed, or he had much to th 1:
about and study over. And before his 0 es
closed in slumber, he had made a decision t t
fins to prove the most important of his entire

3.

His reflections were about ually divided be-
tween his personal atfairs and t ose more nearly
concerning Henry Bléthe. _ .

To his mind, that terview With Frank Hol-
man stron 1y confirmed the statement made
by Little oe that secret enemies were persis-
tentlly plotting the ruin of the veteran turflte,
and e resolved to do all he could to baffle their

plans.

“ I’ll ride the filly if he’ll give me the mount.
I can b in weight down to one-fifteen in
the time, y_ ard trainin , and if no harm
comes tothe little lad in t e meantime there
’11 beweeping and wai ng and gnashing of teeth
in the enemy s camp when the sun goes down on
that day. ”

Ha ' arrived at this conclusion True Blue
com himself to sleep and wearied with the
unusual excitement of t e (past day, he slept
long and heavily. Nor woul he have awaken-
ed when he did, had not the old crip 1e aroused
him, in great agitation, declarin t t he had
just heard the voice of Tracy albot, passing
their door.

True Blue leaped out of bed and o ned the
door, but the corridor was empty. y
had not been mistaken, then Talbo had
got out of the wai with marvelous rapidit .

Directly after reakfast, TrueBlue lo the
house and started for the hotel where Henry
Blythe had apartments. But his rapid footsteps

e is loose.
tell 0’ the

 

 

 

r).

The Boy Jockey.

 

'7

 

 

soon grew slower, and he seemed ill at ease, as
he more than once cast a dubious glance down
at his free and easy attire.

“It just suits the mountains and the plains,”
he muttered, a little regretfully, as he looked
around for a ready-made clothm store; “but
after all, it does make one look 1i 8 a traveling
circus, in the city. The old gentleman might
not like having a wild boy askin after him.’

Not a word of the young 1 y, {get it may
seriously be doubted whether the y jocke
would have given his dress a second thought f
he had not entertained a secret hope that he
would meet Cora Blythe as well as her father.

An hour later, he stood in the presence of
Hen Blythe, new rigged out from to to toe,
and t o h he felt a little still and ill a ease in
his new rose, the change had wonderfully im-
proved his ap ance.

“Well, sir, ’ said Mr. Blythe, after a cordial
salutation, and motioning the boy jockey to be
seated. “ I trust you have made up your mind
to accept my offer—"

“I have a 00d deal to tell you first, Mr.
Blythe,” hast' y interru ted True Blue. “I
have learned a at do since we parted, and
after you hear t 6 whole story, you may change
your plans.”

Beg 'ng the old gentleman to hear him
throng without interruption, the boy jockey,
briefly as possible detailed the substance of his
interview with Little Joe, laying particular
stress upon the injured lad's desire to have his
confession put in writing and duly witnessed.

“ I feel sure that he spoke no more than the
truth,” added True Blue, as Henry Blythe arose
and paced the floor in eat excitement. “If I
had entertained any oubts, they would have
been ut at rest by what happened last night.
But fore I tell you that, et me ask if you
have a cousin in this place 1"

Henry Blythe nod ed, a strange expression
coming 11 n his countenance.

“ ta , middle-aged man, who dresses and
looks like a preacher ” added True Blue.

The old gentleman gave a short, disagreeable

lau h.

“ he devil in God’s livery—that’s my highly
respectable and dearly-beloved cousin, James
Hudson~ es 1" h

“ Then can speak out plain] , without fear
of hurting your feelings,” said he boy jockey,
with a breath of relief. “ Do you know whether
he has any interest in Midnig t or any other of
the horses entered for the Washin n Cup?"

“It may be, if he thought he con (1 spite me or
do me an injury in an way. But he never
used to have any thing do with the turf, un—
less he kept it very secret. It wastoo costly an
amusement for him; so he used to say when he-
wailing my infatuation though, if the truth
was to d, he has always been quite as strong an
admirer of the green as I-only my passion was
fgr the green turf, while he preferred the cloth
0 n.

‘ That is a mblerl”

Henry Blyt e nodded, and his lips rted as
if to say more, but if such had been ' inten-
tion, he altered his mind before the words were
5 ken. .

p0True Blue was quick-witted enough to see that
the subject was a particular] disagreeable one
to his companion, and so brid ed his curiosity to
learn more of the man who had so positively
told him that Tracy Talbot was dead years

0.
as.As briefly as he could without omitting any
important particu] he detailed his recent in-
terview with Frank olman.

He was frequently interrupted b the old gen-
tle whose an excitemen culminated
when e Blue described the entrance of James
Hudson upon the scene.

“The lyin hypocrite!” he exclaimed, with a
su lementa word that sounded very like an
ca . “Dearly as he loves money—and he
would sell his soul for a shilling if he could find
any one fool enough to pay the rice—I believe
he would starve before he could ring himself to
place a dollar where it could only be wow an
event that would benefit me. I would be ing
to swaar that he has not ut a dollar on m filly
—to the contrary, I 1y believe that have
covered ten thousand do ars of his money in
one lump, I betting three to five that Aphrodite
wins the cup.” _

“You don’t know it’s his bet, then?” asked
True Blue, a little puzzled.

“No- an up-town lawyer came to me and
stated that one of his clientshad directed him to
invest the money against my filly, at those odds.
and I accommodated him. One of the condi-
tions was that the full amount must be deposit-
ed in a certain bank, twenty days before the
race. eughthiswas an unusual recaution,
between finflemen, I probably 3 d have
thought 11 e about, it, only from a. few words
that Alfred—my worthy cousm’s son—careless-
ly let fall in my hearing.

“ I believe from the bottom of in heart that
Holman was in sober earnest when 0. made you
that proposal, and that he was acting as the
agent of Jim Hudson. He knows that unless
in nomination is oi! this race, I am irre-
triavahly ruin I believe that his money
bought over my trainer, English Tom, and

 

 

that my long streak of bad luck on the turf was
brou ht about b his hand—curse him i"

“ ow you wi understand why I wished you
to hear me out before on said anything more
about that ofler,” said rue Blue, after a short
pause, for the purpose of allowing the old n-

leman to expend a ortion of his suffoca 'ng
rage. “It’s going to 0. ‘ob thatwill require
a cool and experienced ead to win safely
through the snags. The fill will have to be
watched night and day, by t ose whom money
cannot corrupt, nor fear intimidate for, if your
cousin is the man you believe, and hates you as
you say, he will not let this chance of ruining
you ass by unimproved.

“ ere is one way I thought of last ni ht, by
ggipb yo’u might save yourself, even if t e fllly

ose.

“ You mean by ‘ hedging "i"

“Yes. By means of a trusty agent, on
could easin put enough money against the glly
to make i an even hing whether she won or
lost the race. "

“ Would you do it, were you in my lace?”

True Blue hesitated for a moment fore he
re lied:

‘ If I had a daughter dependent u on me, I
would; not if I was alone. I would ght them
with their own weapons, and neither ask nor
give quarter.”

“ And that is exactly what I intend doing. I
haven’t ot money enough to ay my honest
debts, an my only chance of go tin out of the
hole lies in winnin this race. If goes well
with the filly, I wi win it. But I want on to
he'ltp1 me, and stand by me until it is a over
w1 .

“I’ll do that, and gladly; but on mustn’t
for et that I am only a boy, after .”

‘ ut a boy whom I would rather trust than
any man I know,” warmly cried the impulsive
ol gentleman. “ I don’t know wh it is—I ma
be superstitious—but somehow I eel as thong
you are fated to be the means of pulling me out
of the mire.

“But never mind that, now. Here is an
agreement which I drew up and signed this
morning, before ou came in. In it I ofler ou
one thousand do to take charge of my fl ly,
and either find a rider or ride her yourself n
this race for the cup, the money to be ours,
whether you win or ose. If you do win, ough
there is nothing of this in the contract; you
must trust my word for its fulfillment—you
may name your own reward, and I pledge you
my honor that it shall be yours, without a mur-
mur on my part.”

At these words a wild thrill shot throu h
the veins of the boy jockey. He remember a
story he had once read in which a similar pro-
mise was (given and redeemed, though the re-
ward aske was the hand of a youn maiden.
What if—but then he choked down tfie daring
grought, and blushed hotly at his own presump-

on

“ You have made the contract too one-sided,”
hgasraid, 1gift-er wief pause.l ; £1 will accept the
0 go on pa my e 'mate e uses.
If I lose the race, I will ask nothing mgige; if I
win, I will take the thousand dollars, and, per-
haps ask a favor of you besides. That amount
would not insure my faithfulness, in case I
shouldbe dis sed to play the traitor, and I’d
rather not ta 9 pay for work that I may not be
able to perform.

“I pledge you my word of honor—all I have
in this world tovalue and beproud of—to guard

our interests as the h till]? were my own.

ut there must be no h -co dence upon your
side. I will always be ready to give a good
reason for in actions, and you must trust me
in all or nothing. If you agree to this—~to lace
the fill in myhan tomanage as I beieve
best—t ereis m ban on the bar ain.”

Without the htest hesitation uriy Blythe

the extended hand and wrung t warm-
y. Always a creature of impulse, he placed
his sole h the one thing the stood between
him and disgrace dishonor and utter ruin—into
the hands of a hey whom he was a perfect
stranger to four-and-twenty hours a . And
this without any other security save lg: simple
word of the stranger.

True Blue felt this simple confidence most
deep] . To him it was a bond far more wer-
ful 1“. any that could be formed h pen
andmk. And he mental] vowed that Henry
Blythe should never have he slightest cause to
re his impulsive action.

‘ That much is settled, then,” he said, with an
air of relief. “The next thing is to look after
Little Joe. If he can swear to the parties who
bribed English Tom, we will have a hold upon
them that Will putan end to all danger from
that source, at least. I only hope that my sus-
plilcions are ,porrect—that your cousin is one of

e

“If he is, andIcan get plain proof of the
fact, I will drlve him out of the country, or
make him the scorn and contempt of all honest
men I” cried Blythe, with a vengeful lau h.

Though True Blue asked no questions, e felt
a strong curiosity to know the cause of-this
strange and bitter enmity between the co '
while the son of the one was still upon intimate
and friendly terms with the other. ‘

 

Henry Blythe did not give him timeto fpgmder
long over the enigma, for he asked him step
down to the stables and give orders for his team
to be hitched up, while he himself started off in
guest of a lawyer friend, whom he wished to take

own Little Joe’s statement in ship-shape fashion.

The boy jockey gave a rueful lance at his
new garments as he left the bots . They felt
stiffer and more uncomfortable than ever as he
recalled his easy-fitting flannel and buck-skin.
He almost regretted having made the invest-
ment—but not uite.

As he raised ' eyes, he beheld Cora B] the
before him, a doubting look in her chil like
eyes, which changed to a bright smile as she
recognized the boy jockey in his new ise.
pleasant good-morning—a touch of t e dainty
gilloved hand—and then she tripped light] up
t a hotel steps. That was all, ut True lue
ceased to regret his sacrifice, and carried that
bright glance in his heart for the rest of the

da .

Kimost as soon as the team was ready, Henry
Blythe and an elderly gentleman whom he intro-
duced as Mr. Grey, made their appearance, and
seating themselves in the carriage, were driven
ra idly out to the race grounds.

But ittle was said owing to the presence of
the driver, who had been recently hired, for
Blythe was learning the necessity of prudence,
thou h rather late in life.

Bi ding the driver await their coming, the
trio left the carria at some little distance
from the stables, an hastened at once to the
stallwhere Little Joe had lain.

Had, but was not now!

 

“De done tuck' him off in a kerrldge las’
ni lit, ,” was the answer made by the negro
1 , when questioned.

CHAPTER VII.
“a BRUSH.”

OUR friends stared at each other blankly at
this totally une ted announcement. It was
a move which is e had not antici ted, and
one tllipt threatenf 1mile checkmate t em at the
vs 6 nnlngo e game.

'Rzue Blue was particularly annoyed, and dis-
posed to take all of the blame upon hisown
shoulders.

“ I thou ht at the time that he had overheard
a portion, not the whole, of what Little Joe
tod me. I m‘ ht have known the wouldn’t
give us asecon chance like that. EfI’d only
stuck by him, and sent somebody else after
you i” he exclaimed, disgustedly.

“It may not be so bad, after all,” suggested
Mr. Grey. “The father may have taken him
to some hospital, where he could receive better
treatmen .’

“The Lord be] him if any harm has come to
the filly I” grate the boy jockey, a new fear as-
sailing him.

If indeed En lish Tom and his confederates
had overheard 'ttle Joe denouncinfiatheir ne-
farious plot, as seemed highly ro his, not
only from their conduct on the ay just past,
but from their perilous haste in removing the
lad almost before the nature and extent of his
injuries were ascertained nothing was more
likely than that they would make sure of their
game before any decisive steps could be taken
foil them.

And this is exactly what would have been
done, only foran unusual degree, of forethought
upon Hen B] he’s part.

The con den assertion of the boy jockey, ust
before the race was run on the preceding ay
that groom, rider and trainer were doing all
the could to insure the fllly’s losing the race,
h set him to  and the doubts thus
awakened, were strengt ened b the observa-
tions of several of his friends w 0 also had no-
ticed how injudiciously the animal was being
handled. '

The consequence was that before he left the
grounds, He Blythe had p an old and
aithful negro dy-servant on guard over the
filly, with strict orders to allow no person to
have access to her box, under any pretext what-

ever.

“ I told old Pharaoh to shoot, if they greased
himtooclose afterbeingwarned,”added l e,
as he finished the explanation given 9. ve.
“ While he is alive, or until I relieve him from
duty], the flllg is as safe as though I was watch-
ing er m se f.

‘ There s Craydock now—hilloal” he shouted,
as the ungainly form of his trainer made its ap-
pearance at some little distance.

The loud summons was a needless e ndi-
ture of breath, for English Tom was 0 ytco
ready for the encounter, and had been nursing
his angry passions for hours.

After so long a season of almost unbroken
success in his rascaliti'es, he could in brook de-
feat. He had laid his lens so carefully that
he had not for a momen dreamed of failure. It
was his last bold coup, the cro effort of
his'life. Success meant a comforts. le compe-
tence; and he knew that he would have suc-
ceeded only for the intervention of True Blue.

His son was crippled, the golden oppglrtunity
was lost; his lucrative situation was periled
if not forfeited; nor was that all.

Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

He had cau ht enou hof the conversation be-
tween True lue an Little Joe to know that
the disabled jockey had, or was about to, de-
nounce him and his confederates.

His first impulse was to rush u on the med-
dlcsonle youth, and forever rut it out of his
power to make them any furt er trouble. But
the pistol of the boy jockey, and the calmer
judgment of James Hudson, checked him for
the time being;

“Even if t e boy has betrayed us,” Hudson
was saying when True Blue rode ast the stall
in which they had sought refuge, ‘ there islittle
harm done, provided we act romgtly. Our
united oaths will easily outweig the are asser—
tion of this stranger provided he isunable to
produce Little Joe as his authority. You must
see to that, Craydock. He must be removed
this evening, before Blythe can get at him.
I know a place where he can be safely kept un-
til the danger blows over.”

This plan was duly carried out, and havin
laced ‘ttle Joe where his tongue could wor
hem no more hurt, English Tom hastened

back to the stables, where he met with a still
more serious check in the guise of old Pharaoh,
the giant negro, who stood guard over the Close
box in which stood the gray filly.

When the negro quietly but firmly told him
that he also was included in the strict orders
given by Mr. Blythe, English Tom almost suf-
ocated with re. 9. He knew now that the
game was up, so ar as it concerned his position
as trainer, and could he have gained access to
her, the gra filly would never have seen the
light of anot er day. But he was hidden stand
back at the muzzle of a loaded revolver, and he
obeyed, for there was a quiet resolution in the
old 0’5 face that sgpke louder than words.

English Torn had ank freely during that
night and mornin , and when word reached
him that Henry B ythe was at the stables, he
started for the spot in a dangerous mood feel-
ing that he had nothing more to lose, and pro-
mising himself at least a foretaste of revenge.

But the moment he recognized True Blue be
for ot all else. To him he attributedallthat
hacf gone wrong, and began cursing the boy
'ockey, up hill and down, with a fierce hatred

hat, for the time being, overcame his natural
slowness of speech.

Mr. Grey stood in open-eyed astonishment,
and Henry Blythe was almost equally taken
aback, though he uickly recovered himself
and attempted to c eck the foul torrent of
blasphemy that was rolling from the tongue of
the half~crazed drunkard.

But he might as well have attempted to ex-
tinguish a fire by pourin oil upon the flames.
The only effect produce by his words was to
turn the flood of abuse and curses upon himself.

More than that, infuriated still more by the
attempted interruption, En lish Tom clenched
his fist and aimed a wicke blow at the face of
the old gentleman. But the stroke was arrested
midwa . and the fellow found his arms pinion-
ed and e held helpless as a child.

“So. de wud inaussa, an’ I bu’st in he ribs,
10’ email” uttered the deep tones of old Pharaoh,
who hearing the disturbance, had rushed for-
war 'ust in time to save his master from the
im  gblow.

Keep your hold, old man, but don’t hurt
him more than you can help,” interposed the
boy jockey before Blythe could speak; then,
turnin to the latter, he added:

“Thfi is my quarrel, Mr. Blythe, and I ask
on to let me settle it after my own fashion.

The follow needs a lesson and Will not be satis-
fled unless he ets it. I think I cansatisfyhim
in about ten utes.”

“But howl Remember, you are not inthe
mountains, now,” said the old gentleman, with
a half smile.

“So much the better for him, or his foul
words would have rotted with his carcass. But
I didn’t mean to waste good powder and lead
upon such poor game. ’1] read himalesson
out ofhisown k,ifyouwillallagreeto
stand quietly by, and not interfere.”

“You don’t mean to fight him with your
fists?” cried Blythe in amazement, ad ' in a
whisper: “Don’t think of such a. foolish hing!
He is always fighting nor do I believe he has
ever been whipped. e is twice your size and
wei ht—” _

“ hich makes him a hi
the more easily hit "laugh True Blue. “ Don’t

ou borrow trouble on my account. I’ve taken
essons in the ‘ manly art,’a.nd have got away

withman abettermanthaneverstoodinthat
fellow‘ss oea.

“ You can see for yourself that he will never
be satisfied without a ‘ turn up,’ sooner or later,
and it might as well be gotten over with at

mark and so much

once.”
En ' Tom,still held werless b the ‘-
gan negro, listened tot ‘ converse. 'on th
' He was sta

curlmsli mingled fee '
a littl. ythe cool co dence withch the
boy cc. ‘9 spoke, but still behaved it to be only
on ting and it was with a. ferocious
lay that h. finally heard Mr. Blythe yield tothe
urgently expressed wishes of the lad.
Let him loose, old man,”sal'd True Blneto
Pharaoh; “but stand byte take him in tow

again if he tries to run away before he has taken
his medicine.”

English Tom uttered a low, disagreeable laugh
at this gibe. As well expect a hungry dog to
run from a well-meated bonel

A noted bruiser in the old country, before he
took to the race-course for a living, he had found
plenty of chances to indulge in his favorite
amusement since crossing the water, and often
declared that he was a. better man to-day than
ever before. Really believing this assertion, he
could not entirely suppress his exultation at the
idea of thus easily and speedin securing his re-
venge upon the most hated of all his enemies.

But then came doubt—the natural suspicion of
a low, de raded and uncultivated mind. The
hey we d not dare to meet him upon even
ground. At the first advantage gained'by him
—English Tom—he would be set upon by the
others and robbed of the fruits of his victory.

True Blue read this suspicion in the fellow’s
inflamed eyes, and with a short laugh turned to
Mr. Blythe.

“I ask you to promise for yourself and the
others, that not a finger shall be raised to inter-
fere between him and 1, until one or the other of
us shall cry enough. If interrupted now, it will
only have to be begun over again perhaps at a
less convenient time and place. on will pledge
me our honor?”

T ough reluctantly, Henry Blythe could but
give the required security, and English Tom,
though still puzzled, was at last convinced that
he was to have a fair field and no favor.

Word had spread rapidly among the stables
that there was a fine pros ct for fun on the
tapis, and already a consi erable number of
trainers, gronms, stable-boys and ragged vaga-
bonds who hang around every prominent rucin
stable for what they can pick and steal, had co -
lected around the spot.

The moment the nature of the “fun ” was
fairly understood, the force of habit prevailed,
and bets—or rather offers to bet—were freely
bandied back and forth.

True Blue smiled slightly as he noticed the
fact that not a single offer was accepted, though
long odds were offered 11 11 English Torn. For
a moment he hesitated, t on slipped a buck-skin
purse of coin and a small roll of bills into Pha-
raoh’s hands, sa ing:

“ Go satisfy ese gentlemen, as long as the
money holds out, uncle. It’s a pity they should
waste their breath for nothing, an if the want
to see the fun, they must expgct to 1383’ or it.”

The moment these offers gun to about,
Henry Blythe began to fidget and his ands to
go down into his ockets, just as the old war-

orse pricks 11 its ooping cars at the sound of
the familiar ugle. And quick following this
speech of the boy jockey, came his voice in ac-
cegtance of every wager. .

ld Pharaoh had little trouble in carryin out
the instructions given him by the boy joc eg,
for English Tom, ea or to make his revenge t e
more complete, be e the low-browed groom,
who volunteered to be his Second cover the en—.
tire amount, handing him a plethoric pocket—
book for that purpose.

True Blue nodded assent to the old negro’s in-
quirhli-gnlook, and the money was duly staked.

A g was quickly formed by the spectators
joining hands, and throwing 03 their outer ar-
ments, the antagonists confronted each 0t er
with hands up and watchful eyes, both evident-
ly meani business.

The con ast was more marked and the dis-
parity between the two seemed greater than
ever, . as 1{they stood foot dtoH foot, fipiztfioufsl
sparring orano ' .an e y eet
angry with himselfa for having let t ematter go
so ar.

Though so thick-set and burly, English Tom
did no “run to fa ,” and despite the irregular
life he had led for years, he was in very fair
condition his huge muscles being hard and firm,
and his “bellows ” 00d.

On the contrary, iI‘r'ue Blue was as thin and
bony as a greyhound in training, and the ma-
jorit of those present believed that the very
first low En lish Tom should succeed in plant-
ini would se tie the matter.

detailed account of what followed would
hardly be suitable for these columns, and those
who take pleasure in reading such descriptions
must look elsewhere.

Too much, perhaps, has already been said, but
the event had too im rtant a bearing upon
much that is yet to to ow, for it to be passed
over without mention. .

Enough that the boy jocks ’s confidence in
his powers was full confirm by the result of
the “ mill,” tho h e did not come of! soot free,
for he found Eng Tom a much tougher and
more skil' lful oppgnent than he had counted up-
on. Instead o n . minutes it took him nearer
an hour of swift, stubborn fl hting, before Eng-
lish Tom, a mass of bloody mises down to his
waist, failed to respond to the call of “ time,”
and feeny signified that he could fight no more.

Though scarce a r. an or boy present but had
loat something ripon the battle so great was the

eral detesta on of the defeated bully, that

e air was rent with cheers for the panting

 

 

victor, and had he not fought ainst the honor,
he would have been “chaired ' and borne in

trium h around the ounds. Even then it re-
quiretf Henry Blythe s authority to disperse the
excited throng.

True Blue turned to Pharaoh, who was al-
most wee ing over the bruises that discolored
the fair 5 'n of the boy jockey, and asked him
to get a bucket of cold water and sponge him

down.

Right gladly the negro complied and at the
end of his vigorous bath, True Blue emer ed
from the stall quite refreshed and feeling “ no
as a fiddle,” to use his own ex ression. Yet it
was more than one long week fore he ot rid
of the marks left by English Tom's hard nuck‘-
les or the soreness that followed them.

He found that Blythe and Mr. Grey had en-
tered the large and comfortable ‘ box ” in
which the gray filly Aphrodite was stabled, and
followed him thit er, eager to renew his ac-
quaintance with the dainty little queen.

It was (plain that she had not been tampered
with, an quite as evident that her hard race of
tl‘ife past day had not been followed by any ill
6 eet.

An ardent lover of a noble horse as ever drew
breath, True Blue could not make eno h of the
handsome and intelligent creature. e potted,
fondled and even kissed her velvet murzle, great-
ly to the amusement and secret gratification of
her owner.

“If he loves her so dearly thus soon, bv the
day of the race, he would rather lose a hand
than to see her defeated, ” reasoned Blythe, and
correctly.

Satisfied with their in ction, and leaving old
Pharaoh on guard until t ey could send a trusty
man to relieve him, the trio retreated to one of

'the deserted stables, where they believed the

could converse without fear of being overh .
Little Joe was the subject of their converse.»
tion, but before they could decide 1: n the best
course to be pursued in regard to t e matter, a

trul startling occurrence took place.
ith a shar cry True Blue fell heavily to the
ground, and t e next instant the loud report of
a pistol or n burst upon the healing of the
two astoun ed menl

CHAPTER VIII.
rim BULLY’S REWARD.

WHEN Lawyer Gre and Henry Blythe saw
their companion fall eavin backward, with a
sharp cry as of agonized pain, and heard the
heav report of the treacherous shot, their hor-
rifie surprise may possibly be imagined, but
never described.

But ere they could fairly realize what had oc-
curred, or had time to decide upon the proper
course to be pursued, the dastardly attempt at
assassination was avenged. v -

As swiftly as he had fallen, True Blue sprung
to his feet, bare-headed, drawing and cockin
his revolver with one and the same motion.

As already hinted, the larger portion of his
young life had been spent where the law was a
deadletter, where each man carried his life in
his hand not knowing at what moment he m' ht
be called upon to defend it against such ds
that the slightest hesitation would be fatal tohis
ho es of life. .

n such a school as this, one learns to think
uickly, and to back up one’s thou hts with
deeds without any perceptible interv between
the two. There is no pausing to consider wheth-
er a more feasible Ian may not present itself.
One acts first, and 1: en if in a suitable condition
for so doing, considers whether or no his handi-
work might not have been improved, and stores
away the valuable lesson thus learned, for fu-
ture use.

Ten seconds before the treacherous shot was
fired, True Blue had not the faintest suspicion
of impendin danger. But his well-trained ear
caught the 5131 clickelick of a firearm being
full cocked, an thus guided. his eye took in
the full extent of the peril at a single glance.

Through a long an tolerably wide crack in
the partition between the two-stalls, he caught
a ghmpse of a battered vengeful face staring at
him over a loaded revo ver.

And now the value of his wild training was
evidenced.

If he sprun to either side, forward or back-
ward, he wo (1 still be at the mercy of his hit-
ter enemy, who could readily follow his motions
through the horizontal crack with the revolver.
Instead, he threw himself swift] backward,
and was almost instantaneously 'dden from
view of the assassin.

As he fell, he drew his revolver, and as though
composed of India rubber rebounded to. his feet
and sprun over the partition

The wou d-be assassin, seeing and hearing his
enemy fall at the instant of his firing believed
his work was done, and instinctively sou ht
safety in ‘ ht. But the avenger was too egos
tohisheels orthat. ' . w.
an  air a  We

ion, e uecaug sig 0 e u ' ve
and scarcely waitin to steady himselflaftei-
ali hting, he sighted ‘ pistol and fired.
ith a hoarse, a onized bellow of ' and
fury, English Torn ell all of a heap in mindoor-
wa his rialgtfig shattered at the knee by the
. ifikfuny p bullet discharged by the boy
Joc ey.

 

*3

 

.H'

 

“ Come forward, gentlemen I” cried True Blue
aloud. “You are witnesses to the fact that I
shot this fellow in self-defense, after he had
fired at me. You can see he still holds the pis-
tol in his hand—”

lVith a fierce, grating curse, En lish Tom
raised the weapon and pointed it 1111 at the
breast of the boy jockey, but in his mad rage
and pain, he had forgotten to raise the hammer,
and once more he was baffled.

True Blue had no time to see this. He knew
that a shot at such close uarters would scarcely
fail of its mark, and wit the natural instinct
of selfipreservation, he raised his pistol and
fired a second shot.

Despite the imminent peril in which he believ-
ed his life to be placed, True Blue did not lose any
of his natural coolness, and he felt no desire to
take the life of the crip led wretch, even at this
second attempt to mur er him.

Guided by the swift judgment that was a
strong characteristic of his nature, his hand
obeyed his will and a bullet crashed its way
through the bony right hand of the wounded
rut-Ban.

The blood-covered weapon fell to the ound,
and with a choking, gurgling scream, nglish
Tom fainted.

“It’s murder—bloody murderl—to shoot a
man that’s down and helpless!” cried a shrill,
disagreeable voice from the open air.

“He who says that lies!” shouted Henry
Blythe, springing to the side of the boy jockey.
“I saw the whole affair, and if English Tom is
dead, he has only cheated the gallows. He
fired the first shot—”

“ At a rat—I saw him 1” interrupted the same
voice. “ Down with the murderin’ thief that
comes here to lie honest men out of their situa-
tions, and not satisfied with that, turns upon
’em and shoots them down as though they were
mad-dogs!” '

“That is you Joe Cochran?” exclaimed
Henr Bl the, as he ste ped over the motion-
less, lee ’ form of nglish Tom, and con-
fronted the gathering crowd. “I might have
known as much without asking. Just have
patience for a moment, and ou shall have all
the attention you may care or. Is there any
one among you that—— Hal Stevens,” as he re-
cognized an elderly man, a Veterinary surgeon,
just comin up. ‘ See what you can do for this
fellow, unt l we can rocure the services of a
regular sur eon. Sa dle a good horse, some
one of ou— ‘velyl”

The and tone of authority in which the old
gentleman spoke, produced its desired effect,
and for a few moments it seemed as though
the gatherin storm was about to pass ovor
without bre ing. 1

The hOI’SG'dOCtOI‘ bent over the injured wretch. 1

Two or three men hastened away to saddle a
horse, and a dozen volunteers were ea r to
earn the lden ea 16 which Henry lythe
offered to t e man w 0 would rideto the city
after the well-known surgeon, Dr. Bishop.

But the low-brewed groom who had acted as
English Tom’s second, was not idle during these
few moments. _ .

Two of the special pohcemen who were de-
tailed for duty at the Park, during the race
meeting, had hastened to the spot, attracted by
the unusual sounds of firing, and_the groom,
Joe Cochran, was eager] denouncing to them
the murderer of his frien , pomting out the boy
jockey as the criminal.

Busy as he had been, Henry Blythe had not
overlooked this by-pla’y, and the moment the
horseman was dispute ed for surgical aid, he
turned to our hero:

“Don’t you be alarmed—I’ll see you safely
through.” .

True Blue smiled composedly as the excited
turfite turned toward the policemen, who, fol-
lowed at a little distance by Joe Cochran, were
approaching. _

heir faces wore a sober expresswn, and none
who saw them could doubt that they had al-
ready fcrnied an opinion from the groom’s re-
port, decidedly against the boy jockey. And
with the feverish interest that nearl every one
has at some time felt in the mist unes of an-
other, the crowd pressed closer around the par-
ties more nearly concerned.

“This is a sad affair, Johnson,” said Blythe,
addressing one of the policemen, whom he had
long known. . “ But not so bad as it would have
been, had not the one. who deserved it worst re-
ceived the worst punishmen .” _

“But we thong t it was Enghsh Tom as got
hurt—an’ that that youn man shot him,”said
Johnson, scratching his and with a, puzzled

look.

“ And that is the truth i” cried Cochran, com-
ing closer. “If English Tomis dead or dies I
char 6 that man With deliberate and, willful
in er!”

“ You see—we’ve got to run him in,” depre—

catingly. ‘ .

“ I see nothing of the kind,” ind antly cried
Blythe. “ English Tom fired the rst shot—he
tried to murder my young friend, here, who

only shot him down in self-defense. M13. Grey,
alawyer, can tell you the samenand Will jom
with me in being security for his appearance
whenever he is required. ”

 

The Boy Jockey.

The gentleman appealed to gave his cordial
assent.

“ I repeat my charge of willful murder I” cried
Joe Coo ran, excitedly. “ You dare not refuse
to arrest him. If it was one of us poor devils,
without high and mighty friends, you would
not need telling twice. You’d run us in so
quick it’d make our heads swim I”

A sullen, almost menacin muttering from
the crowd told that this speec appealed strong-
ly to their sense of justice—or prejudice.

True Blue saw that there was trouble brewing,
and drawin his pistols, held them butt first to-
ward thepo icemen, saying:

“ I surrender myself quietly, provided you
agree to look carefully into his matter and
then act as your good judgment dictates. l‘Iow,
sir, " turning to t e groom as the officers took his
weapons, “you have charged me with willful
murder, and unless you can make your char 6
good, in the sight of these two gentlemen, 11
see that yOu are put where the dogs can’t bite
you—mind that!’

But Cochran did not flinch. If he was lying,
he had the consistency to stick closely to his
text.

“I was close behind English Tom when he
fired ofl.’ his pistol, and I can take my oath that
he shot at a rat, not at you—for he didn’t even
fire in your direction,” he said, dog edly.

True Blue laughed shortly andt e groom be—

an to fear that he had made a false move, but
it vgas too late now to retract anything he had
sai .

The boy jockey whispered in Henry Blythe’s
ear for a few moments, then stood quietly by
for the time being.

“Johnson,” said Blythe; “ ask this fellow to
show you where he and English Tom were stand-
ing, when the first shot was fired; and where the
rat was sitting. ”

With apparent readiness the groom complied.
According to his story, the rat was 11 on a ile
of loose straw and manure, into whic ab et
might have passed without leaving any telltale
marks behind it. But at that moment he caught
sight of a something that caused his face to
blanch and his knees to tremble beneath his
weight. -

Once more the boy jockey laughed, for he too
had observed the same significant evidence.

“Now for my evidence,” he cried, his voice
ringing out in marked contrast to the dogged
accents of his accuser. “Bring that pistol: no
one has touched it since it dropped from English
Tom’s hand. It will show how many shots he
fired.

“ Now examine those fresh tracks in that soft
manure. Look at the fresh powder marks upon
the edge of that board, just above the track.
Now 0 into the Either stall and pick upm hat.
I th' you will find a hole in it to matc this
track cut through my hair,” and as he conclud-
ed, True Blue ran his fln rs throu h his hair,
and holding up his han . showed hatasmall
quantity had been severed b the bullet which
had, in reality, almost graze his skull.

Johnson cast a keen glance into the face of
the groom and there read the truth. His hand
closed with a firm asp upon the shoulder of
the perjured wretc , who knew that all was
lost—that instead of ruining his enemy, he had
gotten into the toils himself. .

“Go fetch the hat, Jones,” said Johnson, to
his comrade. “ And while you’re there, take a
look for the bullet, in the boards opposite.”

The second policeman obe ed, and in a few
moments his voice announce a discove . He
had found the telltale bit of lead imbe dad in
the wood; and as he returned, he held 11 the
hat which had dropped from the boy joc ey’s
head when he fell to avoid the treacherous shot.

His had indeed been a narrow escape. Two
inches lower, and the bullet which had merely
perforated the hat, would have found its resting
place in the brain of the wearer. So narrowly

ad English Tom failed in his desperate attempt
at revenge!

 

CHAPTER IX.
WIT AGAINST Winn.

“YOU have heard his statement, and now I
have presented my evidence,” said the boy
jockey, with an inborn dignity that strongly
im ressed the honest if rather slow-witted
po iceman whom he addressed.

“ If you have any doubts remaining as to the
truth of my declaration that I shot the man
purely in self—defense, I am ready to satisfy
them, or Will go with you quietly, rather than
make any more trouble.”

“It’s plain to be seen that there was an at-
tempt at murder, and plainer still that this
fellow lied when he tried to criminate you,”
promptly rejoined Johnson his strong hand
closing more firmly upon the shoulder of the
pale-faced, trembling groom, but who had
spirit enough left to strike one more spiteful

blow.

“He shot English Tom twice—the last time
as the poor fellow lay a. helpless cripple upon
the oundl”

A? this point Henry Blythe once more in-
terfered, and gave a brief but lucid explana’
tion. of the causes that led to the boy jockey’s
second shot. Fortunately both he and lawyer

9

 

Grey had witnessed the attein t of the wounded
man to shoot True Blue, and t eir statements so
plainly proved English Tom to have been the
aggressor in both cases, while the boy jockey
was acting simply upon the defensive, that the
last, lingering doubts of the two policemen
were dissi atcd.

Henry lythe was thoroughly aroused by the
swift-following events, an be resolved that
neither of these two enemies should give his
young friend any further trouble, if there was
uni}; virtue in the strong arm of the law.

urriodly writing a few sentences upon a
page of his bettin book, he tore out the leaf
an handed it to r. Grey, bidding him take
the carriage and execute his instructions with-
out delay.

“Now, gentlemen” he said, turning to the
policemen, “I’ll ma e in charges, and I ex~
pect you to hold this fol ow, and keep an eye
upon English Tom, until in lawyer returns
yvith the warrants for which have sent him to

own.

“ I charge English Tom with an assault with
intent to kill, and this wretch with bein his aid
and accomplice—an accessory before t c act-—
and after it, too, for that matter.”

The guardians of the law smiled furtively,
and Henry Blythe began to doubt whether his
phraseology had been quite as recise and cor-
rect as be ad intended, but as is meaning was
sufficiently plain, he was content to let well
enough alone.

True Blue had listened to the impulsive speech
ogtlée old gentleman with rather doubtf gr
ti 11 e.

For his own part he was well content to let
the matter rest as it now stood, feeling satisfied
that neither English Tom, nor any of that fall-
en worthy’s friends, would ever dare to bring
the matter before the keen eye of the law.

For the sake of his life—work, he did not wish
to figure too prominently before the t1public,
and if this unlucky affair was ventilated rough
the courts and the newspapers, he would achieve
a most unwelcome noton‘ety, coupled as it would
be, in the papers at least, with the sensational
race of the past day, which he had fairly plucked
from the fire.

“ Don’t you think we had better let the mat-
ter rest as it is, unless they or their friends first
stir up the mud 3” he uttered in a low tone, hav.
ing drawn Mr. Blythe a little aside. “ En lish
Tom has been punished enou h, surely. ven
if he lives through it, he will ose a leg, if not a
hand in addition. As for the other, he is only a
cur that yelps as the big dog does. Let him go,
too. If he tries to make any further trouble—v
which is doubtful for he’ll not easy forget Eng-
lish Tom’s luck—I can easily manage him. Re-
member it is my quarrel.”

“ I know that, and if there was nothing more
in the affair than shows upon the face of it, I
would be well content to let them make the first
move. if any must be made. But there is an
undercurrent that we can’t see, though I can
easil guess its drift. .

“ 0 you think that such a hang-dog loo
fellow as that Joe Cochran would run the gre
risk he has, simply because you injured one of
his friends? If so, you are a poor student of
human nature. Depend upon it, he has his rea-
sons.

True Blue looked puzzled, as though not
wholl convinced.

“ henil sprung through the door,” resumed
Blythe, in the same guarded tone, “ I sawFrank
Holman rapidly retreating. That first aroused
my suspicions. I have known him for years.
He is a stanch patron of the ring—a thorou 1:
sport, in its lowest sense. He is no cows —
hardly knows the meaning of the word fear.
Then why did he steal away so quickly, as
though he feared Odetection from the spot
where the very excitement which he so dearly
loves, was to be found? Simply because he was
afraid we would connect his presence here with

I the subject of your interView with him last

night.
. “Then you think that Joe Cochran was act-
ing according to orders?” inquired the boy

Jockfiy.

“ e-may not have been ordered to do just
as he did, but I believe that my enemies, satis-
fied that they cannot buy you off, are plo ‘
to put you out of the way until after the da 0
the race. If they succeed, of course I shoul be
obli to secure another rider for my filly, or
scra h her—and that, as the conditions are
.‘ play or ay,’ would be the same as though she
ran unp aced. If I have to put up another
rider, he will almost certainl be bought b
their money, and I firmly be eve that this
exact] the course they have decided upon.”

The y jockey was silenced, if not convinced,
and raised no further objections while Blythe
renewed his charges to the two 0 ’ceinen.

This point settled, they passe over to where
the yeterinary surgeon was still busied over
English Tom, his attention directed mainly to
checking the profuse hemorrhage as best he
could, until the arrival of one better qualified
to deal with the critical case.

“ What do you think of his chances of pulling
through, Stevens?” softly asked Blythe, and the
old man shrugged his shoulders as he replied:

 

    

10

‘ Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

 

“ One in a tlnnlsand—ahnost.
is shattered. He will lose that leg, beyond a
doubt. Nor is the other wound much better.
One finger is out clean off. The ball glanced
from the pistol butt, passed tln-ough his palm,
crushed the wrist, and lies, as near as I can tell,
among the bones com osing the elbow. If the
load can be extracte without further injury
his arm may, possibly, be saved, though he w
never have much use of it; but the chances are
that he will have to lose both arm and leg.”

A quick shudder convulsed En lish Tom’s
mung ed frame at these words, an he opened
his swollen eyes which glowed with insane fury
and hatred the most intense upon the two forms
which stood over him.

The si ht of the one whose hand had laid him
low in t e dust. a peered to lend him a super-
human strength, or his lips ported to emit a
torrent of curses and imprecations so horrible
and blasphemous that, coming as they did from
the lips of one who lay helpless upon the very
brink of the grave, both Blythe and True Blue
turned away shuddering, sick at heart.

“ Come,” said the former, huskily, as he
wi ed the cold, clammy sweat from llS brow.
“ lp must get away from this s ot—I must have
a long breath of fresh air— shall have the
ni htmare for a month after that 1”

‘rue Blue made no reply to this, thou h he
felt the same stifled sensation, if in a. muc less
degree. Such scenes were by no means so new
to him as to the veteran turfman despite his
youth, when estimated by years alone. And,
though it was his hand that had laid English
T0111 low, he felt the affair much less acutely
than did the old gentleman.

Henr Blythe naturally enough misinterpret-
ed the’c cop and silentthought that fell upon the
boy jockey, and though he said nothing at that
moment, as soon as the road-wagon was ready
which he had ordered his men to hitch up, an
they two were rolling smoothly around the well—
kept race-course, behind a fast ste per, he
sought to reassurqthe deeply absorbed ad with
kin and consoling words.

He never forgot the expression of the boy
jockey’s face as he looked u : it was so full of
innocent wonder, that gra ually changed to
comical gratitude as the kindly intentions of the
old gentleman dawned upon him.

“ ask your pardon, sir,” he said, apologeti~
gallyV‘ but I had forgotten all about that af-

air—

“ lVell 1 will be chokmi!” exclaimed Blythe.
“ I'd give a trifle to know the true story of your
life. I’m no baby, myself, and have passed
through 11 ly scenes, but my tough old nerves
got a shoe to-day that I’ll not get over for a
month. Yet I was only a spectator, while here
you sit, as cool as a cucumber, and say on

ave already forgotten the whole affair! our
life must have been a queer one, indeed I”

“ Strange enough, if the truth was told,”
soberly responded the boy jockey, a momentary
shade settling over his countenance. “But one
thing at a time. Do you know, a word on let
drop back yonder, has given me a goodi ea—or
what up ears so to me. ’

“ An i ea about what?”

“ Do you know of a 500d rider whom ou
could engage to ride the 1y i” asked True B ue
ignoring the question. “ One of about the right
weight, and skillful enough to make your en-

agmg him for such an important race, aper-
ectl natural event?”

“ ut I thought it was full settled that on

Blythe, won er-

well'e to ride her!” exclaime

m%‘ It don’t matter about his being one on
whose honesty you would be ready to stake your
life or reputation,” imperturbably added the
boy jockey. “Nor must his reputation be too
bad' a sort of betwixt and between. Do you
think you can find one of that description?”

Blythe nodded shortly. He was beginning to

ow nettled under this cavalier treatment at

9 hands of the lad. But True Blue quietly
added:

“ Then engage him as soon as you like. Tell
him that he shall have the mount at one hundred
dollars' with one thousand extra if he wins the
race. You needn’t bind him to secrecy, either.
And it wouldn’t do any harm were you to add
that on had thou ht of securing me toride,
but 1: at I was too eavy.”

“ Will you tell me just what on mean in as
few words as possible? exclaim Hen Bl he,
shar 1y, 8. dark frown corrugating his ore cad.

“ o lay a false trail for the benefit of your.
cousin and his friends,” laughed True Blue, his
eyes glowingév ” You know how they tried to
tempt me. ell, the moment your new rider
lets out the secret of his enga ment—which
will not be long after you leave ' —they will
see their chance and jump at it, because it is far
easier and much less dangerous to bu a rider
than it is to ‘doctor’ a valuable an closely
guarded racer.

“They will soon learn how much you have
promised to pay the boy, and will tem t him
with still higher offers, until he yiel and
agrees to throw the race.

“ This will satisfy them, and they will be con-
tent to wait for the golden harvest putting all

The knee-joint

the money they can raise on what they fancy is

 

a sure thing. They won’t try to injure the filly,

because they know she cannot win against such

ood horses unless she is ridden by one who
ows how to and is willing tohelp her along.

“You will make much of your new :1 er,
talk confidentially to him, and let him exercise
the filly re arly—but under your own e1 6. ”

Henry B ythe burst into a joyous laug , and
warmly clasped the lad’s ban , as the truth
burst upon him. v

“ I understand you now and I ask your par—
don for doubting you, for the moment. I
thought ou were about to throw me over, for
good an all. But when did you hatch this
glorious plot? Why didn’t you speak of it before?"

“You remember speakin about Frank Hol-
man, and saying that you lieved they were
trying to put me out of the way? Well, that
gave me the first hint of the plan, and I’ve been
putting it into sha )9 ever since.”

“And that is w at made you so sober—while
I thought it was broodin over that nasty
scrape! Well, you can ta 9 the rag off my
bush for coolness l”

“I don’t like to be beaten; that is all.”

“ See here," facing the boy jockey square] .
“I wish, as a personal favor, that you wo d
tell me the stor of your life. It must have
been a remarks. 1e one,to make such a cool
hand out of a mere lad, in years.”

“Will you answer me one question first?”

“If I can—certainly,” was the prompt reply.

“Did you ever know a horseman named
Tracy Talbot?”

CHAPTER X.
AN EVENer CAREER.

HENRY BLYTHE drove on a few rods in si-
lence as though pondering over the question
asked him by the boy jockey, whose gaze was
riveted upon him wit an intensity that was al-
most ainful.

“T 9 name sounds familiar to me,” the old
gentleman said at length. “ But if I ever knew
him, it must have been many years ago—before
you were born. ”

“I am about twent years of age, though I
don’t look it ” uttered 9 Blue, giving no out-
ward sign 0 the bitter disappomtment he felt
at heart. “ The man I ask about was living in
this city fifteen years ago. He was rich, and a
passionate lover of racing, if indeed, he did not

ave horses in training. He was tall, dark,
gpod-lo’pking, and apparently about thirty years
0 a .

“ know a thousand men who answer that
description, but none of the name of Talbot.
Still, if he was prominently connected with the
turf, as recontly as you say, I can find out all
about him for you. But why are you so anx-
ious to find himl—if it is not a secret,” added
Blythe, curiously.

‘Because I have good reason to believe that
Tracy Talbot is my father ” returned True
Blue after abarel perce tibe pause. “This
together with who. ver e I may tell you of
my private career, must remain a secret be-
tween us two. You agree to this?"

The old gentleman nodded r8. idly. He was
as curious as common re rt dec ares woman to
be, and as in: atient of clay in having that cu-
riosit grat' ed asany s iled child.

“I’ 1 never open my lips until you give me
fro: permission,” he declared, fidgeting upon his
sea . .

Observing this, True Blue at once plunged in-
to his subject.

“ My earliest recollection of the post only goes
back to the time when Iwas about five years
old. Iwas then livin in 9. eat city, which I
110w know was New ork. was a. dirt ,rag—
god little wretch, half starved and daily ten
until Iwas little better than one bruise from
head to foot.

“There was quite a family of us, boys and
girls, and the head of this family was an old

utch Jew. He sent us out every morning up
on the streetsto be or steal, as the ogportuni y
offered, and accor g to what we rought to
him at night, so he treated us.

“ I must have been very obstinate, or else un-
usually stupid, for I can remember that m al-
lowance was more curses than caresses—an the
old reprobate did kiss and fondle and reward
with a good, hot su per, all those who had been
more than commo y luck in their_day’s work
—and more kicks and. c s than either. This
was principally because I couldn’t or wouldn’t
learn what he tried to heat into me—how to
pick pockets in a workmaner manner, and
similar accomplishments.

“ One evening—I behave he was half drunk—
he beat me until I was afraid he meant to kill
me outright. Just who it was, I never knew,
but some one thrust a heavy ob'ect into 111
band, and with my strength dou led throngl
fear and pain, I struck the old man upon 6
head with all my might.

“ He fell to the floor like a log—only

oanin
once, then lying still as tho h alrea d .
And I stood over him, a bl ostained tohet

inm hand.

“ 0 this hour I do not know whether old
Simon died from that blow, or recovered from
it to torture other unfortunate children; for
with abomible tear of the hangman, I rushed

 

out into the dark night and never paused until,
utterly worn out, 1 sunk down upon one of the
piers, and buriedm face inm hands, ingm
vainto shut out t at fri ht ul sight— be old
man lying there in his b cod, his long white
hairs stained, his face horribly distorted, his

eat goggle eyes staring blindly up into my

ace—

“ The next thing I remember was crouching
down in the darkest corner of a heavily rolhn
vessel, with the air around me close and mu
smellin . I can remember screaming franti-
cally 3% the top of my voice, then all at once

owin too weak and ill to cry aloud, though I
glieved I was dying in that horrible, suffocath
hold alone and utterly friendless.

“ That was my first touch of sea-sickness.

“My cries were heard and though half-ex-
pecting to be confronted by a ghost, the sailors
iftcd the batches and finally discovered me.
How I came there, I could not tell them, nor do
I know myself. I suppose I sought shelter there
while crazed by the cad-alive stare of old Sl-
mon’s eyes.

“The vessel was a coaster, plyin between
New York and New Orleans, stopping at the
different ports between to land or take in
frei ht.

“ he captain and men, thou h rough, were
kind-hearted fellows, and m ' 9 during that
trip, when com ared with w at I had escaped
from, was like eaven after purgatory.

“But this did not last long. The very day
after we made New Orleans, the captain was
stricken down by Yellow Jack, and dled of the
black vomit before the sun set. The sailors
scattered, for fear of being placed inquarantine
and I was left to fight my way alone In the great

c1 .

t‘nyor many weeks and months I led the life
of a homeless, masterless do ,living u n the
scraps I could pick up aroun the mar et, and
sometimes-though this was a. rare occurrence,
for the yellow fever was ragi not only in the
city, but throughout the entire South, and there
was no travel and but little business transacted
save such as was connected with the care and
burial of the dead—I icked up a rare ' nce
or shilling, which 5 ced to keep my so and
bod together.

“ twas during this terrible time that I be-
came habituated to the sight of death in its most
loathsome form, and the severe training I re-
ceived then, has stood me in good stead upon
man a subsequent occasion.

“ t was during the hight of the epidemic that
I made the acquaintance of the best and truest
friend I ever had.

“ I was wandering idly along the edge of the
bay, when I came upon a man who was diggng
a grave beside four other mounds, just 5 ve
hig -water mark. . _

‘ I could see that he was just recovering from
an attack of yellow fever, and he was still so
weak that he was forced to rest, every few mo-
ments, though the moist sandy soil was very
easy to dig into.

‘ Perha because I was tired of doing no-
thing, on weary of my own companio , or
it may be that I he to at a square in —be
that as it may, I vance and offered to assist
in digging the little grave. And that, save one,
was the most important act _of my hfe.

“I helped the man bury his dead—a fair-hair-
ed boy of about my own age—and then he told
me his sto Though only an humble fisher-
man, with our chil on and a sickly wife to
support out of his scanty earnin ,he was as
happyas the do was long until, ess than one
mont before, t 6 yellow fever came into his
home and took away his loved ones, beginning
with the wife and mother. Though ill himsel ,
he had watched over, nursed and cared for them
until, one by one he placed them intheir graves.
As each one di and was laid away to rest, it
seemed as though a. piece of his heart was buried
in the same gave, until now there was no
for him but die and forever and the long an
wear struggle. V

“ us he spoke to me, as we filled in the last
grave. No doubt he was “part1 crazed with
grief and the trials be h on er . no, and it
me. be that I reminded him of the ttle be he
had just buried. But then, as though aw g
from a dream, he bade me go away—not to
linger in that doomed Kat—that. he already
felt the fever burning his veins with re-
doubled force.

“Ibelieve my good angel was directing me
“i.” “fiimfwhmtf’fi °iilf°°§i
as t roug e ong a s o ow

“John Maclise—that was hg name—lay for
weeks in a state of utter exhaustion, and I
watched beside him night and da , scarce 1 ing
down until the fever wore itse f out, an he
gradually returned to life and strength.

“This was the beginning of a friendshi that
even death was powerless to kill, and the
teachings and pro ers of that friend, I owe
what little of good, there still remains in my
na

ture.
“Though only a poor fisherman, he was 6.
00d scholar and a entleman born. '
9 long evenings, an on the da 3 when it was
too stormy for us to go out after , he taught
me patiently, and soon awakened my desire to

 

 

 

 

 

 

know more, until the upil was quite as eager
and interested as was t 8 master.

“ If those days could only have lasted, how
diflerent might have been my story!” said True
Blue, with a long—drawn sigh that came from
the innermost depths of his heart. “But I
reckon it was written at my birth that I was to
be avagabond all my life,” he added, with a
hard, bitter laugh.

“I found him dead in his bed one mornin —
the blackest I ever expect to see dawn int '
world! And in his hand, as though he hadbeen
expecting the end, was a paper willing to me
all he might die possessed o .

“ That was five years ago and over, yet I can—
not even now tal about that day, and the few
that followed after. Enough that the informal
will was r ted, and as I told them that I
could not think of remaining where every thing
would remind me of how much I had lost, the
neighbors clubbed together and bou ht the
boats, nets and other property at a f r price
paying me the money—nearly three hundred
dollars.

“ For some weeks I wandered about the city
like the ghost of my former self, not knowing
what to do. But at length I resolved to try
my fortunes in California, of which, for several
years ast, I had heard such marvelous tales,
and Without much trouble I shipped on board a
vessel which was bound to Frisco, as a green
hand, referring to save in little store of
money £0 buy me an outfit an pa?r my way in
the diggings, until I could ‘ strike t rich,’ or at
least make living wages. .

“ I found life on the ocean wave in this vessel
vastly diderent from my experience upon the
coaster. The captain was naturally a tartar,
and his disposition was not improved b the
strong li uor which he drank so freely t t I
honestly thielieve he did not draw one sober
breath during the entire volyage: I

“ Of course the matestoo their cue from him
and if ever there was one, our shi was a hell
afloat. But the carried matters go far, and
one dark ni ht t are was a change in the inan-
agement of he vessel—the ca tom and his at-
tendant bulldo were mu ed and stowed
away in the ho d—where they may lie et, for
all I know to the contrary—most certain y none
of our number took the trouble to release them
before we went ashore.

“We landed at Frisco, safely enou h and
without any trouble; a simpler matter han it
would be now. Then it was ever man for him-
salf and the devil for his neigh r. We knew
that no one would trouble the ship until those
to whom her freight was consigned should grow
impatient, but we hastened ashore and imme-
diately scattered, each his own way.

“I sought shelter in a sailors’ boarding-house,
and when I wakened in the mo , I hadbeen
robbed of eve cent. Of course complained
of the loss—an was beaten almost to amummy,
thrown out of the house, and then you in
charge to a policeman, who promptly run me
in,’ for being drunk and disorderly. The next
morning I was fined fifty dollars, and being un-
able to y the amount, was set to work on the
streets or twice that number of days.

“When my time was out I was only .too anx-
ious to get out of such a hospitable city, and,
after a week of starving I managed to secure a
situation—that of cook a company of eight,
who were bound for the Feather river (1 gings;

my wages was the grub I ate—and so spent
several months.

“One do. I chanced to find a small ‘ ket’
of gold, an buyeigg an outfit from 3. inc di -
rwho had air y madehis pile,Isetto wor

e a man.

“For nearly two years I worked away, but
luck was against me and I barely made enough
to has my head above water. Tiring of. this
life, I urned stage driver, then horse-trainer
breaker and dealer. This aid better, but still
I was not satisfied and d ' ting to Sacramento,
I received a liberal offer from one of the Pony
E ress agen to ride on their route.

pr accepted t s ofler, and for nearly a year
I performed my duties to the satisfaction of all
concerned. But then my old luck turned up
once more. The red-skins got their backs up
and one night they went for rue—and reached
me too!

"I got away from them, at last, and deliv-
ered my mail in order—then dropped like a
log from the sad le. _ I .

‘ My back was bristlin With arrows, hke the

uills ona bed she , for more than aweek,
I lay without 6 or motion. The odds were
heavy inst mioever getting up again—so
much so but the ys ra ed 0 my boots, hat
and wear-one; luckily my clothes were too full
of holes for decent use, so they escaped the fate
of the rest.

“ Of course I recovered, since I am here, butI
lay there for several months, and When I did
get about, in occu tion was gone, since I
would not be t for t e saddle for a long time to
come.

“Having nothi better to do I hung around
the station untilliligtrain passed ’by when I was
paid on: and started to try my luck once more
at the gold mines.

“Bu thewildandfreelifelhadled usapony

 

express rider, had totally unfltted me for set-
tling down to the dull drudgery of common
digging, and in hopes of strikin a better lead, I
wandered to and fro, until at ast I found my-
self in the Celestial City—so named from its be-
ing the roughest, wickedest mining camp in the
whole country.

“ And there I made a discovery that chan ed
the whole course of my life, and gave me a efi-
nite end to live and work for.” ,

CHAPTER XI.
“ DAN run DIVIL.”

Tim b0 jockey was not permitted to tell his
stor wit out many interruptions from the ex-
cita 19 old entleman who fairly lost sight of
all present isagreeables in following the unas-
suming narrator through the lights and sha-
dows of his truly-eventful life.

It has been thought best to omit his frequent
exclamations of surprise, doubt or up roval to—
gether with the many uestions which he asked
and True Blue answere , lest the story told by
the boy jocke should be stretched out to an un-
comfortable en h, while all that is strictly
essential could recorded in so much less

space.

Through all that had been said, the twain had
been circling round the racecourse, but now
those who had charge of the track, made their
appearance with barrows, scrapers and sprink-
lers, to pre are the course for the afternoon
races, and B ythe was politely reqqu to With-
draw his rig.

True Blue began to feel the want of his dinner,
but the old gentleman was resolved to hear the
end of that strangely-varied stor ,and as the
shortest way to freedom, the be ockfiy picked
up the thread where he had roppe i , and
seated in the wagon beneath the tree, where we
beheld them once before, went steadily on to the
end—that is, the present hour.

“I’ve been ina good many rough placesin my
time, and seen some hard crowds but the three
or four hundred bodies—the souls among them
could have been counted upon your fingers, and
that without crowding—that made up the popu-
lation of Celestial City at the time I first struck
it, laid ’way over an hing I had ever met.

“ There were d men for breakfast, dinner
and supper, with an occasional free lunch when
business was unusually brisk. I remember one
fresh pilgrim who audibly wondered at the
heavy and incessant thunder and hail-storm
While the sky was clear and the sun shone out
bri htly, one day as we were at dinner. When
he earned the truth—that the thunder was the
friendly talkiniof revolvers, and the hailstorm
no more than t e patterlilpfi of stray bullets—he
lit out for a more conge climate.”

“ You know that to be a fact?” hesitated the
old gentleman, with a. puzzled look at the sober
face of his youn com 'on. “ Not that I
doubt your word, ut—’

“ Well,” lau bed the b0 iockey, “ I ma
have stretched he facts a 'tt e, but the trut
was bad enough. The gravede was the most
populous portion of the city, and very few per-
son took up their abode there who didn’t die
with their boots on. However, let that ,
since it does not particular-l concern my ry.

“ Every place of this 'nd—every mining
camp bigcor little, had its bully—a sort of priv-
ileged bu her, who ran the place to suit his own
ideas of what was roper, and who was wont to
complgin that b ness was dull unless he had
‘sal down’ his man for that day; nor was
Celestial City an exception.

“ ‘Dan the Divil ’ he called himself, and seem-
ed proud of the title. A giant in size, a profes-
sional bruiser, who had made his mark in the
‘ squared circle’ before leaving the old country,
quick as a panther and stron as a bull, quarrel-
some when sober, and don ly so when half-
drunk, which was his usual condition he had
done more to populate the graveyard than any
ten other men in the city.

“ I have seen ‘ ‘run a muck’ through Ce-
lestial City, Iyelling like an infuriated lunatic,
dischargin is revolvers in the air, or whatever
struck his ancy would make a good mark, whe-
ther alive or inanimate. It was really amusing
to see how the ople strained every nerve to
get out of the ig fellow’s way—provided you
yourself were in a lace of safet .

“ I had Dan the ivil coveredy a dozen difler-
ent times,  to drop him if I found him
getting toofa iar, yet could never bring my-
self to shoot. He seemed so utterliy uncanscious
of the danger he was running, an appeared to
take such exgtmsite delight in ‘ laying circus,’
that I couldn bear to spoil his un.

“ You may _think it strange that some one
who had been injured by him, or who had lost a
relative or a friend through his recklessness, did
not ‘la for’ and shoot him down but a re u-
tation 119 that so bloodil earned by Dan e
Divil is a better safeguar than a coat of proof
armor. No doubt there were man who would
Elezdly have killed the bully, co 6. they have

u sure that their first blow—for they would
never have tune to deal a second—would prove
instantly fatal. More than one did make the
attempt, but that very doubt unsteadied their

and the were added to Dan the Divil’s
roll of ‘001 msat.’

 

11

“ But Dan’s turn was called at last, and Coles—
tial City took a holiday. A. pi'cumturc blast
in the mine which he and his mate were work
ing, did the business for Dan the Divil.

‘When I reached the spot, I found a crowd
coolly decidingghat the shortest way to wind up
the job would to fill up the shaft—not one of
them all appeared to think about venturing
down the shaft to see what had really happened,
or if there was any trace of life remaining in the '
unfortunate wretclies.

“Those passing by at the time had heard a
wild scream of terror, cut short by a rumbliii
explosion, and the smoke that shot up tliroug
the narrow openin told them what had oc-
curred. No doubt t by thought its rare chance
to get rid of Dan the Divil, and so they took his
death for granted.

“ Ihad no particular cause for liking Dan
Clark, but I couldn’t stand that, and though
some of the fellows threatened to bury me with
them, Iknew that there were too man white
men in the crowd for that, and I broug it them
up, one by one.

“ Dan’s mate was dead-and the body was
that of a. woman! Never once had her secret
been suspected. No one save Dan knew aught
of her story, and to this day he has never men-
tioned her name."

“Then he was alive?” asked the old gentle-

man.

“ Alive—but so terribly mangled and battered
by the explosion, the flesh of his face, breast and
arms burned almost to a crisp, that his escape
was little less than a miracle- Dan the Divil
thou h be called himself, he had thrown himself
face ownward upon the blast, in the vain ho
of saving his mate, by confining the force of, t e
explosion as much as possible. Yet she died,
and he was saved, though blinded and a cripple
for life.

“ Alone I watched over him and nursod him
back to life, for so eat was the general hatred
and fear that I con (1 not et any one to help me,
for love or money. An more than one long
night have I sat beside him in the dark, a re-
vo ver in each hand, expecting with every mo
ment the bowling, drunken mob would burst
down in door, to drag what remained of Dan
the Di ' out to a shameful death.

“ Once the expected assault did come, but five
minutes of hot work ended it, and the next day
there were three new graves dug on the hillside
and adoctor was taking several bits of lead on
of my body.

“ fter that I had an easier time though I
had both Dan and myself to nurse, or no one
would come near us to lend a helping hand.

“ Just as I was on my last ounce of dust, Dan
grew sufliciently strong to understand how
things were workin , and one day told me
where I would find ’5 hidden store of ggld,
giving me an estimate of the amount, w ‘ch
almost bewildered me.

“I did not dare attempt to unearth it in the
daytime, lest I should be followed, and I knew
that there were scores of men in Celestial City
who would hardly hesitate about slitting the
throat of their nearest relative for a hundredth

part of the sum. .

“While waitin for the friendly shelter of
night, Dan show me that there had been some-
thm like method in his apparent madness. He
and his mate had struck awonderfully rich and
extensive deposit of gold in sinking t eii- shaft
and knowing what would happen if the secret
was ted, he made his name a terror to the
whole camp, as the surest way of preventing
any one from taking up and working a claim
anywhere near him. It was a bold and hazard-
ous plan, but its very audacity made it a com-
plete success. _

“ During the eight months which had elapsed
since their striking pay dirt, Dan and his mate
had taken out OYer six y thousand dollars’ worth
of 1d! I know that this sounds incredible—
not ut that other ‘finds’ had proved quite as
rich, but that this vast amount of gold should
have been collected and stored away without
any outsider suspecting the truth, yet the -ex.-
planation was very simple.

“The mine was a vast ‘ ket' where the
gold lay thickly upon the -rock, in beans and
nuggets, small and large These could be col-
lec ed by hand, and were st0wed away until a
favorable opportunity occurred of adding them
tcthe  horde, unseen: Then the dirt,
which ad been carefully picked over, was
drawn up to the surface and washed there
ing enou h dust in it to account for the miners
sticking the clam, yet not rich enough to in-
duce anybody to become close nei hbors to such
a dangerous man as Dan the Div' .

“Dan declared that the ‘pocket’ was not

near] worked out, and made me a resent of
the c and I had the Rangers reco ed in due
form. Ifthe truth had 11 known, of course

the desorted claim would have- been jumped
lon before, but in everybody’s opinion. it would
y y ‘board wages,’ and so I had no trou-
ble on t at score.
“I had recentl formed a new no uaintance,
and having tesz him pretty thoroug 1%: took
hing into partnership, and we began war 3 the

“I 'wu still obliged to devote much of my

 

12

Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

time to Dan, who was strangely changed since
the accident. Now he was as fearful and timid
as a child, and often tried my patience sorely.
But he more than repaid me in the end.

“One night when he could not sleep and I
was feeling rather blue, I began to thin over
my past life, and something seemed urging me
to tell my story to him.

“I did so, and for some time I did not notice
his strange agitation, until at length he burst
out sobbing like a punished child. I tried to
soothe him, but he would not be comforted, and
for a long time I could not understand what he
was trying to say: that my father had hired
him to kill me 1”

CHAPTER XII.
WHO was TRACY TALBOT?

“ WHEN Dan the Divil spoke those words," re-
sumed True Blue, after a brief use, during
which a sudden hoarseiiess accrue to have over-
taken his voice, and remained with him through
this portion of his story; “ I thought he had
suddenly gone crazy, and freshened the light to
look at him more closel . But my suspicions
were wrong, and I read t e truth in his scarred
and powder-marked face as he repeated the
stran e words.

“ e gray 1i ht of a new day dawned upon
us before Dan lark finished his story. There
were so many questions to ask and answer, and
he was never a very fluent talker.

“ It was a strange, almost incredible story
that he told, but I felt that it was no more than
the truth, though I cross-questioned him closely
upon every point, that there might be no linger-
ing doubt in my mind.

‘Dan made no secret of his reasons for leav—
ingl the old country. He was wanted by the
po '09 for a little accident which happene one
night while he was inspecting the plate of an old
country gentleman, but he managed to give
them the sli , and came across the water for the
good of his ealth. _

“ Unfortunately he chose the same line of life
after landing at Castle Garden, and after a
brief but very successful season, another acci-
dent happened him in the course of business,
and he was obliged to change his base of opera—
tions once more—finally ringing up in this

wn.

“That was in the fall of the year and as he
was fond of a good horse, Dan daily attended
the Fall Meeting of the Jockey Club, here. He
managed to get rid of every dollar he had, by
foolishly picking out the wrong horses as win-
ners, thougllli b so doing he became acquainted
with my ‘g y respected father, who conde-
scended to pocket no small share of Dan’s
money. '

“ Dan concluded to get even and he tried it on
that same night. He followed his man home—
to a hotel the name of which he has forgotten—
and had the good fortune, as he then believed, to
secure a room adjoining that in which Tracy
Talbot put up.

“ That was the man’s name. There wasa gay
party of bloods in the chamber that night, and
as he patiently waited with his ear against the
thin partition, Dan learned the name of the man
whom he intended to rob—and the peculiar cir-
cumstances which followed closel upon the
heels of that ni ht’s work, fixed t e name of
Tracy Talbot in elibly upon his memory.

“ It lacked but an hour or so of day~."\.wn
when the convivial (party broke up and the
light was put out an all became still in Tracy
Talbot’s room. But Dan the Divil was a rapid
workman, and knew that he would have time
enough, even though he waited until he could
hear the heavy breathing of the man in the next
room.
“ Dan never traveled without his tools, and in
half an hour from the moment of leaving his
chamber the door upon which he was at work
noiselessl yielded to his touch, and he entered
the chain r.

“ He moved the slide of his dark lantern, and
saw a man lying upon the bed, sleeping heavily,
butthat one glance told him that he had made a
great mistake. The man lying there had fiery
red hair, while Tracy Talbot’s was black as a

“ At that moment the 1gas was turned on, and
the room was filled wit a blaze of light. A
sharp click-click, and Dan the Divil wheeled, to
be confronted by a loaded revolver in the hand
of Tracy Talbot who stood leaning his back
against the closed door.

“Dan was trapped, and he knew it. If he
made a bold das at the enemy he would be
shot down before he could reach him. Even
should he succeed in this, the house wouldbe
alarmed, and his escape cut off. ,

“Still, he declared, he would have made the
venture, but for the strange words of Tree
Talbot, who in a low, rded tone as thoug
afraid of mixing the -haired sleeper, assured
him that if he was sensible, he should be the
gain]? instead of losing anything by that night’s
wor

“Dan behaved this, for without some such
motive, without he desired to make him of use,
he knew that a cool, iron-nerved man like
Tracy Talbot would not have hesitated a mo-
ment before shooting him down. And believ—

 

 

 

ing this, he promised to do whatever his trapper
bade him.

“ Taking-him at his word Tracy Talbot bid
Dan awaken the sleeper, and Dan obeyed, for
the pistol muzzle covered his every movement,
and e knew that to refuse would be death.

“To make 8. Ion story short, Trac Talbot
made Dan the Div' confess that he ha entered
the room for the ptu'pose of robbing the inmates;
made the red.haired man write down the confes—
Sion, word by word; made Dan sign his name,
and the other do likewise, as Witness.

“This done, he bade the red-haired man go
down to the office and wait for one hour, when
he was to return. If the bell belonging to that
room should sound, he was to alarm the house
and make all haste back to arrest the burglar.
The red-haired man obeyed, like a little dog,
well-trained.

“Dan the Divil was thorou hly cowed, for
the first time in his life, for in racy Talbot he
had met his master. And when he left that
room, he had consented to perform the task re-
quired of him by his master: and he did so, that
very day.

"It was a strange, horrible thing that Tracy
Talbot hired him to do, and I found it hard to
believe.

“ He———Tracy Talbot~said that he was cruelly
hampered by a young woman and her chil .
That he had deceived her by a mock-marriage,
and then, when tired of her, cast her off. That
was four or five ears before. Now she came
to him, with a c ' d which she swore was his, as
well as her own, and threatened to denounce
him upon the streets unless he acknowledged
her as his lawful wife. Of course he refused,
for he was then on the eve of marrying a rich
heiress. He said that the woman was weak and
sickly; that she was so rsistent mainly be-
cause of the child which s e idolized; that if it
was taken from her she would lose all heart,
and in her ief would forget to put her threats
into execution, at least until it would be too
late to work him harm.

“Well, Dan did the work to save himself.
Tracy Talbot himself inted out the woman—
au angel of beauty, an said—and her child.
Dan watched his chance, and stole the little boy
—took the train and left the State. ‘

“But he could not bring himself to kill the
child, as Talbot had ordered—it may be that he
thought it well to keep a proof of the fine gen-
tleman’s crime, believmg it born in lawful wed-
lock. By that means he might get back the pa-
pers he had given his em loyer.

“ He drifted to New ork, and getting weary
of his thankless charge, sold it to an old ‘ fence,’
who had bought from him the proceeds of more
than one robbery. That fence was a trainer of
young thieves as well. He was a Dutch Jew,
named Simon Johns.

“ And I was the child stolen by Dan the
Divil.”

“But how could he be sure, after so many
years—and be blinded for life—that you were
reall the child?” asked Henry Blythe, with a
long reath that was almost a sigh, so intensely
interested had he become in this strange, wild
storv of the boy jockeyi1

“To make sure of owing me again if he
ever had occasion to bring me forward, Dan
marked the letters ‘ T. T.,’ with the date of the
deed, upon my shoulder in India ink, and it was
my casual mention of this mark that led to the
discover ‘.

“We , there is not much more to tell. Dan
returned to this place to report, and receive his
gig and the confession, but he failed to find

cy Talbot; nor did they ever meet again.
Out of money, Dan tried to raise some, after the
old glan, but ill-luck clung to him. He was
fagg t, tried and sentenced to ten‘ years at hard
a r

“ He served out his time, and then drifted to
California, where I met ‘ .

“It was broad dayli ht when Dan the Divil
finished his story, an I went to work in the
mine, like one in a dream. I did not see my
way clear when ni ht came nor for nearly a
week after. Then resolved to give my whole
life, if necessary, to searching for my—for
Tracy Talbot. Not for his sake—but to learn,
through his lips, what had become of my mother
—-and to avenge her wrongs upon his head,
then h I died u n the gallows the next hour!

“ ough wit fear and tremblin Dan finally

to come with me, to aid in 9 search if
he could, and bear witness to my identity in
case my search was successful.

“I sold m share of the mine to my mate,
and that, wit in part of the gold alread du ,
gave me nearly 9 twenty thousand do are 0
start on. Dan insisted on in taking charge of
his money as well, and I id so do ting
seventy—five thousand dollars in e ress
Company’s office and taking their receipt for
it ha amoun is now in the bank here, to

our credit, and as much of it as you may need, a

Mr. Blythe is at your service.”

“Not a dollarwill I touch—I will not pull
you down with me, if I am to fall,” and as he
warmly pressed the hand of the boy jockey,
there were tears in the old gentleman s 93y .
But he winked them rapidly away, and ded

in a tone of forced jocularity: “ I shall be very

 

proud—for I can point to in jockey who is
worth seventy-five thousand do ars—”

.“And who would be strongly tempted to
give the whole of it for a goo , uare meal I”
aughed True Blue, once more t

e careless,
deVil—may-care lad. “ Maybe we can lpick up a
lunch at the stables. If so, that wi be best,

for we’ve got some work to do—the sooner we
get the filly away from this place, the better.”

“But I can’t take her out of training—”

“ You can give her all the exercise she needs
on the halfsmile track at your own place. There
is danger of her being tampered with here, at
least until you let it be generally known that I
am not to ride her.”

Blythe drove rapidly to the stables, where he
met the surgeon, who had ‘ust finished his ex—
amination of English Toms wounds, and who
said avely:

“ e may live, but it is very doubtful. I
must take of! his leg this afternoon, and his arm
gnustvfollow, as soon as he can bear the opera~

ion.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
A MAN OF BUSINESS.

IT may be that he had been softened some-
what by the recital of his own strange stor ,
for True Blue felt a sharp pang of re ret as t e
surgeon renounced his verdict—w ich, con-
sidering t e man who gave it utterance, was al-
most equivalent to a sentence of death.

After all, there were worse fellows in the
world than English Tom, and his punishment
had been greater than his crime.

But the boy jockey saw that Henry Blythe
was even more seriously troubled than himself,
and choking down the regrets that were arising
to his lips, he sought to turn the thou hts of the
old gentleman into a more agreeable c annel.

This he did by reminding his em loyer that
time was pressing, and that there sti I remained
business of importance to be transacted.

“ We can let Little Joe and his depositioxhlgo
for the present, but the sooner we at the y
away from this place, the better. here is too
muc at stake to run any unnecessary risk. ”

Henry Blythe was ready enough to admit this
fact, but as important business required him to
remain in town until the morrow, and as he
would not trust the filly upon whom rested his
honor and his life, to make the journe alone,
he could only renew his orders to old P araoh,
pigimising to send him a relief as soon as pos-
s1 e.

Lawyer Gra had already returned with the
warrants for W ich he had been sent, and officer
Jones put his bracelets upon Joe Cochran, the
low-browed groom. Ofllcer Johnson was direct-
ed to keep an eye upon English Tom until he
was safely lodged in a hospital, where he was to
visit him night and morning, and arrest him the
moment he gained sufficient strength.

“ Then on a cc to put the entire manage
ment of be ill y into my hands?” asked True
Blue, as they rel ed rapidly back to town.

Henry Blythe nodded, with a warning glance
toward the driver.

“I understand: the noise of the wheels drown
my words. However, it is best to run no un-
necessary risk. If you will be at liberty for an
hour this evening—”

“Any time after nine o’clock.” '

“Good! I will call, then, and let ou know
the course I have decided to follow. eantime,
if you could learn anything about—that man—’

‘ I will try. If he was at all known upon the
turf as late] as you sa , I will have little
trouble in fin ing out all a ut him.”

Nothin more was said during the ride that
concerns his story. . True Blue was drop at
his hotel, and aftera hasty visit to ol anny
—“ Dan the Divil ” no longer—he lost no time in
ordering his dinner.

few moments later, a man entered the
dinin -room, and seating himself at the table
direct opposite also orderqd dinner. But
there 1; ejresemblance ceased. The boy jockey
ate like one expecting to fast for a week. , e
stran er toyed with his food, his eyes far busier
than is teeth. '

By this time True Blue was becomin some—
what accustomed to being stared at and hough
he had dotted his half-savage attire, he knew
that his face was paintedbrilhantly in almost ill
the colors of the rainbow thanks to the too fre-
quent visitations of English Tom’s horny
knuckles. For afew moments he believed that
this was the reason of the stranger’s steady,
thoughtful gaze, but then he began to ow
irritable, and thought to stare the fa ow

own.

A small, but well-built man, dressed in sand-
colored clothes, even to his hat—which lay upon
the floor beside his chair—and his canvas gait-
ers; and his linen was snuff-colored, though a
shade or two li hter than his outer garments.
liis hair, eyes, roopin mustache and complet-
ion were only diflerent‘s es of the same color.
Just to look at him made one think of sneezin .
 tliis wasHtihe first thought tlilat strucl;o e

YJOCBY- mansrygazecan a
smfle, then to a grin, ending in a shofiexplo—
sive laugh. ‘

The snulfcolored man arose, still staring,
even as he picked up and dusted ofl his hat, then

“V... m... . . _

“,5,

 

 

 

INY». an... .._

 

 

 

nodded slowly and deliberately, as though satis-
fied with his inspection.

That nod appeared to be the cue for a chan e
as complete as it was startling. With a sw1ft
motion he clapped the hat upon  head,
snatched a huge pocket-book from his breast,
extracted a snuff-colored card, and passin rap-
idly around the table drop ed _thepaste oard
beside True Blue’s plate, 11 termg in a sharp,
sibilant tone: .

“ Business—I wait for you in the office.”

Only this; then he left the dining~room with
such swift strides that he seemed almost to be
running, and caused the ebon—hued waiter to
hurried] count the spoons and forks.

True lue stared after him for a moment
then looked at the card. The name printed
thereon was as user as the man himself.”
“Lucky Coon.” hat and the number of a
room 11 n the second floor of that same hotel.

Won ering What it all meant, True Blue fin-
ished his dinner, and returned to the office.

Mr. L. Coon was there awaitin him, still in
his “impetuous mood.” He gli ed swiftly to
the boy jockey, and addressed him in that
stran e, hissing voice:

“ ill you come to my room? Business—
money in it—won’t detain you long. Say yes.”

True Blue could not entirely smother a. laugh.
but the little man did not appear to be easin
offended.

“ I know—folks do think I’m queer, at first—
the fools! Don’t mean on, though. Natural

on should. Ask anybo ~everybody~they’ll

11 you I’m a man of usiness. Ask him J”
nodding toward the clerk, with a sudden vehe-
mence that tilted his snuff-colored hat forward
upon his nose, like some rust extinguisher.

True Blue did not follow his advice havin
but little love and less respect for the sti -
necked official who had so often attempted to
snub him. Besides, his curiosity was aroused to
know more of this user, perambulatingapack-
a e of snuff, and wit out any more ado, e sig—
n ed his Willingness to grant Mr. Coon the in—
terview he desired. -

Almost are the words were out of his mouth,
the snufl-colored man was half-way up the long
fli ht of stairs, and nodding sharply for the
ot or to follow.

True Blue noticed that every person in the
omce was watching them closely, but the queer
antics of Mr. Coon were quite enough to account
for this curiosity, and he did not give the mat—
ter a. second thought as he rapidly followed the
little man.

“Sit down—smoke——drink—hel yourself,”
hissed the snuff-colored man, a most before
True Blue had fairly entered the chamber.

Upon the table in the center of the room,
were cigars, pipes, tobacco and liquor, but noth-
ing else that could indicate the habits, business
or intentions of Mr. Lucky Coon. . .

He laced a chair for his_vis1tor, almost
push him into it, then seated himself and again
nodded toward the liquor. ‘

“Man of business-—that’s_what I am. But
talking’s dry work-rmust oil the hinges—” which
he did, most liberally. “ Drink—do you good—
talk better for it. ”'

“More freel , perhaps,” replied True Blue,‘
growing a litt e uneasy under the fltful, yet in-
tensely earnest gaze of those little snuff-colored
eyes. “ But you didn’t bring me here simply to
drink your liquor and smoke your cigars. ou

‘ you wished to see me on business. What
business do you mean i” a ‘

Once more the little man chan ed his manner.
He spoke as slowly now as he ad ra idly be-
fore. His eyes shone as brightly, bu it was
with a steady glow. _ .

“ You are right, sir' I said business—business
with money in it. on are a man—human-
consegiiently you do not despie money. Am I

lit

he boy jockey nodded. This manap _aredto
influence him still more strongly int smood
than in the one directly opposite. He felt much
as one might who was unex ectedly confronted
b a venomous serpent, re y coiled for its leap.
Hy; was attracted yet repelled by the peculiar
fascination of the man, and stood upon his
guard, ready for whatever might come.

“ Good!” said the all , im ulsive Mr. Coon.
“See here—five hun dol are—yours if on
care totake it. And double that amount w on
your work is done. ”

In an instant the boy, jocks was himself
again. In ofierin that ribe— or such it was,
he could not dou t—so abruptly, Mr. Lucky
Coondhad cast aside the one advantage he pos-
sesse .

“Name the work, first," said True Blue,
quietly.

“In a moment. I’m a gambler-made so by
my name— a ‘ luc coon! ’ Parents to blame,
not me. Never mind that. I’m a gambler-—
make my money by betting. Until now, I’ve
been as good as my name. ut I put my money
on the wrong horse—Midnight. Grra fillycan
beat him, all hollow. If she runs I ose fifty
thousand. Unlucky Coon, then—eh?” ’

“ Bitter hedge your bets, then, there’s time
eno . .

“ a'n’t do it—lose my reputation if she wins—
that’s worth more’n money to me. Told the

 

 

TWBQY “9393’-

boys gelding would win—they believe in my
name—and put all their mono on him.”

“ Well, how can I he] you What have you

offered me that money or?”
4 “ You are toride the filly,” said the deliberate
Mr. Coon. “Consequently you can have access
to her at all times. There is time enough for
many things to ha pen. For instance: I will
bet you five hundre dollars—and put the stakes
in {our own hands, as a proof of my good faith
—— at the filly will come to the post in the best
of condition. Then I will bet you one thousand
dollars—to be paid when won—that the filly
Aphrodite wins the Cu race. If she oesamiss,
or breaks down, or fal s sick and dies efore the
day of the race of course you win both wagers.
You understand 1”

The boy jockey did understand, and his first
impulse was to seize the decanter which stood
at his elbow, and hurl it into the face of his
tempter; but with a violent efl’ort he con-
trol ed his anger. It should be diamond cut
diamond.

“Iunderstand this much; that an honest lad
too often has to whistle for his pay, after faith-
fully doin his work. The five hundred would
be all rig t, since that would be in my hands;
but when linked Mr. Lucky Coon for one thou-
sand dollars more, what security have I that he
would remember it?”

“M word—” began im ulsive Mr. Coon.

“ I’ rather have it in b ack and White. Give
me a written promise to ay, stating what for,
and I’ll talk business—mot fore. ”

The little man eyed True Blue keenly; then,
as if satisfied he wrote the required ledge up-
on a leaf of his note-book, signed an passed it
across the table.

The boy jockey read it carefully, then folded
and ut it into his pocket with a mocking laugh.

“ told you I would talk business, as soon as I

ot your written promise, and here it is. Un—
ess you wish to lose your money, hedge your
bets for as I stand here I swear the filly shall
win that race, if man and herse can do it!

“As for this note you will have the pleasure
of readinga copy of it in all of the morning a-

ers, if money can insure its insertion. So, fir.
ucky Coon, cod-day to you—and pleasant
dreams this ni tl”

Witha taun 'ng laugh, the boy jockey left the

room.

Was it only the echo of his laugh that sound—
ed from the inside? Or did it come from the
lips of the outwitted gambler?

 

CHAPTER XIV.
macs TALBOT mums AN APPOINTMENT.

TRUE BLUE paused and listened intently, a
uzzled look upon his face. He could scarcely
lieve his ears, Kat he knew that the had not
deceived him. . Lucky Coon was an hing,
not with the hollow, forced merriment t at is
sometimes assumed to cover defeat, but with a
hearty, ringing pea}, that could only roceed
from the lungs of one who was perfect y satis-
fied with himself and the world—a victor, rather
than vanquished.

This—under the circumstances—extraordi—
na sound was amost eifectual damper to the
hig spirits of the bay jockey, and his was a
very sober, perplexe countenance when he
reached his own room.

He sat down and went over the entire inter-
view, from first to last, with the written pledge
of Lucky Coon lying unfolded before him. But
try as he mi ht, he could not see where he had
made a singe false ste . He had won every
point; he held the writ n evidence that would
cover the gambler with shame and confusion
were its contents made known. And yet—that
laugh had been one of unalloyed satisfaction—
of pure triumph.

‘ I cain’t see through the p’izen tangle,” he
muttered, relapsing into the _ree and easy dia-
lect of the plains and mountains. “The ’tarnal
cutter is too hefty fer me. But we’ll see which
side 0’ his meat-trap he’ll laugh out of when he
sees this dockyment in. blac an’ white prent.
Burn the vsrmint! I Wish I’d never set my two
eyes on him 1”

T? as he might, True Blue could not. shake
of! t e growing suspicmn that Mr. Lucky Coon
had. in some sheipe, gotten the better of him
dur‘ that brie encounter; yet how? There
was t e rub! Could he have given even a guess
at the truth, the bo jockey would have snap-
ped’his fingers care e l . ,It was the unseen
unknown, the troubl him. And troubled
him so eatly that he seemed stiflin in that
small, ' -vent11ated room, until, wit out any
definite and in View, he caught up his hat and
left the hotel, walking straight on, throu h the
crowded streets, until the open fields lay fore

him.

Still thinking, he used beneath a shady tree,
and lay there upon he green turf until the sun
set and the shades of night began to gather
around him. .

Then he arose, and stretched his limbs, with a
awn of relief.. The eni a was still unsolved
ut he had decided upon is first move, and that

was something. .

“I’ll show the paper to the old gentleman

an’ tell him the h story, then ax him wha

 

13

will I do about it. Mebbe he kin tell me Whar
the laugh comes in.” .

Though he had a goodly distance to travel be—
fore reaching the hotel of his empio er, True
Blue was in no hurry, for he knew t at there
was time enough and to spare for the few words
he had to speak.

He had not yet reached the business portion
of the city, when all his senses were suddenly
aroused.

For some time past he had heard the echoes
of a heavy foot behind him, thou h paying but
little attention to the fact. A1 at once, and
without any particular reason therefor, the
thought struck him that the owner of those feet
was dogging him, for no good purpose. He
could not have explained why he believed this,
but it was a fact; instinct rather than reason
warned him to be u n his guard.

He pressed rapi y on for a few moments,
then paused beneath the glare of a street-lamp,
and faced around, one hand in his breast, firm y
grasping the butt of a revolver.

Contrary to his expectations the footsteps did
not falter, but steadily advanced, and as the
man passed inside the circle of light, a voice
from the darkness beyond him called out sharp

 

 

y.

“Tim Dorgan—to the divil wid yer long legs!
It’s out av breath I am, thryin’ to catch 6 up!
I’ve a wurrud to ye from the ould man— racy
Talbot.”

At this name, coming so unexpectedly, a
sharp exclamation broke from the lips of the
boy jockey. He could have bitten elf his
tongue as he saw the man addressed as Tim
Dorgan turn quickly toward him, but his wit
was equal to the emergency.

Slipping a cigar from his vest pocket, he ad-
vance .

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I’m out of
matches, and am not tall enough to reach the
lamp, onder. Can either of you favor me
with 8. gm?”

“Did ye iver see a Pat-lander as c’u’den’t do
that same, yer banner? Divil a man 0’ us but
c’u’d make a fire by scratchin’ a eye-sickle on
.the hind leg av us, av no betther manes offered.
Here’s a match, yer hanner, an’ may the smoke
av yer see-gar smill in yer nasthrils like the
Garden of Aden in full bloom—”

“Bite it off, and keeplthe rest for another
time, Mike; you’re bot erin the gentleman
with your blarney. Come— ’m in a hurry.
What is it old Tracir Talbot wants of me?” im—
patiently interrupte Dorgan, graspin the arm
of his comrade, who had a parentlya ull cargo
of the “ craythur” aboar , and forcing him up
the street.

True Blue did not stop to light his cigar, but
immediately followed the men with the stealthy
tread of an Indian upon the war-trail, listenin
ffitleidpainful eagerness to the words that fo-

ow. .

“ Divil a wan 0’ me knows what he wants ”
Mike replied. “He kem to me an’ towld me
hunt ye up—to tell ye that he had wurruk for
ye, an’ fer ye to mate him this night at the owld
place, whin the clock sthruek tin. Now ye’ve
got it, honey 1”

“I won’t has him waiting,” said Dorgan
with a short, isagreeable laugh. “The old
man is too good pay for that. Are you in the
job, too?”

“ No—worse luck] whisky, e’re the divil! Av
I’d only bin sober, I w’u’dn e huntin’ ye up.”

True Blue felt ‘ust then that whisky was .a
blessing, since it ad been the means of ut-
ting him upon the track of the man be ad
vowed to hunt down.

The boy jockey found it an easy task to trail
his game, for, though little more was said about
Tracy Talbot, their tongues ran freely and
loud] . This was fortunate, since the streets
just t ere were but poorly lighted, and only for
their voices, he mus have run one of two risks:
arousing Dorgan’s sus icions by dogging1 him
too closely, or else risk osing him in e g 00m.

But ere long they turned into better hghted,
more frequented streets, and though Dorgan
cast more than one glance over his shoulder, it
was the instinctive caution of one who was
habitually at odds with the law, rather than an
act of present suspicion. _ .

Ball’resently Mike stopped his comrade before a.
con

“ It’s too airlyfiet for the owld man, Tim, an’
me throat’s as ry as n. presto either as
mass. Be a man for wance, an’ wet the
job that’ ahead av ye. Sure, didn’t I swaths
good wurrud for ye ” I

Dor an hesitated, With a quick glance around
hm], 1; en yielded and the two men entered the

n

00 .

True Blue took up a position where he could
watch the door, without betraying his purplose
but as the minutes dragged Slowlgeby, wit out
the reappearance of his game, he an to fear
that they had unconsciousl given the slip,
through some other mode 0 exit. .

No sooner did this thought strike him, than he
crossed over and entered t e saloon, drawing his
betwell down’over his 9 es. .

His heart leafed gla as he reco ed his
game, sitting a one of t e round tab es, earn..
estly conversing, and resolving to run no further

14:

j Beadle’s Dime" Library.‘

 

 

risks of losing them, he ordered some drink, and
seated himself at one of the tables furthest from
the door. From this position he could see eve —
thing that transpired within the room, over t e
paper which he appeared to be reading with the
closest interest.

Scarcer had he fairliy settled down, when the
swinging doors opene , and a flashin dressed
man entered. And once more the boy jocke ‘s

I heart thumped loudly at his ribs, and he held is
paper hig‘her as the new-comer, giving an order
or a coc tail, leaned carelessly against the bar
and leisurely surveyed the occu nts of the
room. For that man was Frank olman.

For the first time True Blue began to suspect
that another trap was being laid for him, and to
realize how strange it was that those men should
have uttered the name of Tracy Talbot just at
that precise moment. And get, it might have
been only a coincidence, an had not Holman
appeared upon the scene, not the faintest doubt
would have troubled the boy jockey.

But he was not given much time to reflect u
on the matter, for Holman turned and left t e
room, and a few moments later Dorgan and his
mate did the same.

True Blue hastily paid for the li uor he had
scarcely touched, and receiving is change,

assed through the door, almost running ag '

organ.

The surly fellow turned upon him with a
fierce curse at his awkwardness and more wel-
come sound never met True lue’s ears as he
shuffled away, for it told him that he was not
sus ected.

0 did not go far before crossing the street,
where the shade was deeper, and there he
paused- to await the further movements of his

ame.
g His patience was not sorely tried. In a few
moments Dorgan parted from Mike, who called
after him to put in a good word for him with
the old man.

Dorgan vouchsafed no reply, but assed rap-
idly up the street, followed thoug u n the
op osite side of the way, by the boy joc ey.

he latter had made no atteinpt to sha any
plan of action, for he knew that all must epend
upon the circumstances under which Talbot was
met, and when Dorgan entered a door over
which hung a red lamp, True Blue crossed the
street and followed him, without a moment’s
hesitation, up a long and narrow flight of stairs.

The boy jockey was not wholly unsgghisti—
cated, and he felt sure that those steps 1 into
a ramblin hall; nor was he mistaken.

t that ime and lace, the doors of such re-
sorts were not jea ously guarded. Every one
was free to enter, day or night—the more the
merrier.

Though early, the room was pret well filled,
and for a short space True Blue co d not make
out his man. But then he saw him—facing the
door and talking earnestly to a tall, well-clad

entleman, whose back was turned toward the
ov jockey.
. Was that—could that be Tracy Talbot?

CHAPTER XV.
IN THE DEN or THE TIGER.

THAT Tim Dorgan was talking with Tracy
Talbot was the first thought of the boy jocks ,
and his heart almost ceased its ulsations as e
stared fixedly at the broad sho ders of the man,
logging, yet fearin , to see his face.

6 was not kept on in suspense. He saw—
or fancied he saw—a g eamof recognition in the
black eyes of Tim Dorgan as they dwelt for an
instant upon his face. And t is fancy was
strengthened, as the other man turned abruptly
around, facing the entrance,_and revealing the
darkl -handsome features of Frank Holman, the
gambler

 

A passing glance was all, and not the faintest
trace of recognition appeared upon his coun-
tenance as the gambler turned away from Dor—

gan toward the tables, where fare and roulette

was beingfplayed.

If inde he was playing secretly against the
boy jocke , it would have been better for Ho].
man s litt 6 game if he had held his features a
trifle 1e under control. Cool hand though he
undoubtedl was, he could not have for otten
his double efeat so easily, and had True lue’s
appearance been wholly unexpected, he would
have shown some emotion, of either chagrin or
anger. So at least the boy jocklfijsr reasoned, and
from that time he was upon guard, ready
for whatever might turn up.

Had he been absolutely sure that there was
an understanding between Tim Dorgan and H01-
man, he would (probably have beaten a retreat
at once satisfie that the allusion to Tracy Tal-
bot had been but a lure to the more surely lead
him into the toils; but a doubt remained in his
mind, and he felt that there was too much at
stake for him to throw away even the slightest
chance of running his game to earth. He mi ht
never a ‘ have an opportunity of mee
 albot, and he resolved to wait an
watc , letting time settle all doubts.

This was by no means the first time True Blue
had found himself in a “gambling hell,” and
though he had no particular likin for slag,
there were few ames of chance wi whic e
was not tolerab y familiar. Such an education

arcel of the wild life he had led
since earl c ' dhood, and, though I do not pre-
tend to old the lad up as a model for my
younger readers to pattern after, I do claim
hat rue Blue is a fair specimen of a Western
bo who “ wed up,” rather than was “rais-
ed,” and think him entitled to no little credit for
having passed through so many trials and temp-
tations, without being utterly ruined.

As generally is the case, there were a number
of habitual loafers and broken—down gamblers
in the room who had neither the means nor
credit to join in the game, but who, unable to
resist the terrible fascination with which the
“ tiger ” enchains its victims as well as favorites,
were hanging around the tables in ho s of be-
ing “staked by a. more fortunate fe low. In
outward appearance thanks to the knuckles of
En lish Tom, True Blue would have matched
we with the most dilapidated of these unlucky
“ sports,” and might iave passed the entire
evening amen them in idleness, without excit-
ing comment, ut instead, he pressed up to the
faro—table and began to play.

His ob'ect in so acting was twofold. Suppos-
ing that im Dorgan was there to keep a genu-
ine‘alpdpointment with Tracy Talbot, that worthy
we be less likely to suspect there was any-
thing more than pure chance in this third meet-
ing smce the sun went down, if he saw the other
busied in play. Then, too, it would help pass
away the time, while he could keep an eye upon
his man, all the same.

Having a fair knowled e of the
betting moderate] , True lue kept a ut even
for the first half— our and his irits rose as he
saw that Tim Dorgan appeare tobe grong
impatient. If the appointment was not genuine,
wh did the fellow dget around so, and keep
wa hing the door so keenly? Sure] he was ex-
pecting someboddy. What more 'kely than

hat that somebo y was Tracy Talbot?

While placing a small stake upon the last
turn, True Blue felt a newcomer press in beside
him, and with a. strong scent of musk in his nos-
trils, he looked u and saw Frank Holman
standing at his rig thand extractin a. bank-
bill from a large and well-filled pocket ok.

ispart and

me, and

“A stack of red checks, if you lease,” he
rslaeitiil, toss'm the money across the ble to the
er.

“ in on it to-night Johnny! It’s your
bank or my pocket—one of the two has got to
go broke, sure l”

True Blue’s first impulse was to draw out but
as Holman was apparently unconscious of his
proximity, and as the crowd of non-players
drew more close] around the table at Holman’s
bold challen e, e concluded to wait a while
longer until 6 could retreat more readily than

at figment.
nk Holman appeared resolved to make his
words good, for he oubled each bet as he won,
until he had nearly a thousand dollars depend-
ing upon a single turn of the cards.
he cards were drawn slowly from the silver
box, and a buzz of admiring envy went up from
the broken-down sports, as the wager was de-
cided against the bank. ,
Without the alteration of a muscle the dealer
d the stake, then swiftly shuffled the cards
or a fresh deal, slipping them into the box and
pausing for a moment to allow those who chose,
to make their bets.

At ,this instant True Blue felt—or fancied he
felt—ta hand touch him 11 n the hip, and turned
his head quickly; but 6 angry exclamation
died away upon his lips as he saw the face of
Tim Dorgan close to his own, and heard the
latter say:

“Make alittle room, please. I want a finger
in this pie.”

Not caring to attract the fellow’s attention
any more than he could he] , True Blue moved
a trifle closer to Frank Ho an, watchin for

an o portunity to withdraw lgiuietly. at
woul not come before a fresh de , for he knew
how sensitive confirmed gamblers are.

Besides, despite his anxiet and suspense, he
was growing interested in be bold, dashing
lay of the Vgambler upon his right. He was
tting hea upon every turn of the cards,
but With singulhr ill-luck. Stake after stake he
lost in rapi succession, until before the deal
was half out, his winnings of the previous deal
were all gone.

Had not the boy jockefibeen wholly absorbed
in watching the pla of olman, he might have
noticed another ous fact.

Though betting far more modestly, Tim Dor-
gnwaswinning as often as Holman lost. If

e latter played one card to win, Dorgan
promptly backed it to lose. .

Others noticed this point, if the boy jockey
did not, and their interest in the game increased
with each bet.

With a short, defiant la h, Holman placed
his last stack of chips upon e queen; only to
see them drawn in by the imperturhable dealer,
a few turns later. ,

“Stop the deal, Johnn , and give me a stack
of ‘blues.’ No more ha y play, now I’ve got
my hand in. It’s make or reak, Itell you—

 

H—1 and furies 1”

While speakin Holman thrust his hand first
into one pocket en into another, finally inter-
rupting himself with the furious curse recorded

above at the same time s rin g back and
breakm forcibly through t e c oser packed
crowd o spectators.

“ There’s a thief in the room! my pocket has
been pickedl Stop! the first mant at attempts
to leave this room before the thief is discovered,
will get a bullet through his head!” and the
gamh er em hasized the threat with a fierce
oath, as he rew a short, heavy derringer from
his bosom.

At the first words, several of those present
had made an instinctive move toward the door
but one and all paused as the gambler
the way, for his white, set face and blazing
eyes plainly told that his was no empty threat.

Closely allowing his words, came a curious
v01ce, _which True Blue, if no other, instantly
recognized with a peculiar thrill, though not ex-
actl of fear.

“ at’s fair—no honest man will object—and
the thief daren’t. Each one of you watch the
rest, to see that the thief don’t drop the money I”

The voice was that of the little snuff-colored
man, Mr. Lucky Coon who must have entered
the room after True lue became absorbed in
the bold pla of the man who now claimed to
have been ro bed.

For amoment Holman appeared to be startled
—probably astonished that another should so
promptly take up his cause, unasked—but then
cried, With unfeigned pleasure:

“ Good! you’re just the man to settle this lit-
tle affair, and I adly pllace it in your hands.
{lotus you think est. he thief must still be
in the room, for I felt my pocket-book, safe
enough, not five minutes ago. I’ll keep guard
over the door.”

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Lucky Coon, suddenly
falhng into his slow, methodical manner, as be
surveyed the motley group before him. “ Gen—
tlemen, a grave charge has been made against
some one of our number as yet unknown to any
save himself. A crime has been committed—a
pocket has been picked—and until the actual
criminal is discovered we one and all stand un-
'der suspicion—I as well as you.

“ None, save the one dishonest person, can af-
ford to rest under this suspicion one instant
lon r than is absolutely ne to make the
tru known. In this case the ma ority rules,
and the guilty must suffer to save t e innocent.
. “ You all heard Mr. Holman place this affair
in in hands for investigation, and by that au—
thor ty I call upon the guilty party to step for-
ward, and thus spare us any further trouble or
annoyance

‘_‘ I didn’t expect he would,” he added, after a
brief pause. Few men care about fitting the
rope around their own necks, even though tbs?
know it must be done 33' some one. That 1 -
are to confess, leaves 0 one course open.

“ All honest man will cm in line before me.
No crowding, gentlemen; there’s time enough.”

True Blue 3 rain had been in a whirl from
the first words of Frank Holman, but he did not
fully realize the situation until the order was

you to fall into line. Then, by pure accident,

hand struck against something hard in his

tail ocket—and e remembered the touch he
had elt upon his hip, a few minutes before.

He knew then that the stolen pocket-book was

upon his personl

CHAPTER XVI.
a man IN m PAN.

SWIFTER than thou ht itself, the truth flashed

upon the mind of the y jockey.
1 Tim ?Ol‘ganl.) 1had mlgwfing mate:-
ng a avora e oppo or s t 9
words which were to lure the boy jocks go his
fate. The words were uttered, and t e bait
greedily swallowed.

Holman was_probably the author of the plot,
Dorgan only his instrument for carrying it out.
The reason for his laying so recklessly was a
secret no longer. e wished to show his pocket-
book, and then, by losingglrlnake the discovery
of the theft, real or pro dad, in a perfectly
natural manner.

True Blue was almost certain that the ket-
book was now in the tail pocket of 3 coat;
that it’had been de ted there when he felt
those fingers touch is hip; that those fingers
belonged to Tim Dorgan, who was actin‘ under
instructions from Frank Holman—and t t in a
1fiialwtmoments more he would be branded as e.

1e .

For one instanthe lanced around him with a
mad impulse urging  to make a to
effort to burst through the toils in which e had
been so cunnineg entandgled. But there was
onlé’one lace 0 exit, an Holman, with ready

is l, he d possession of that. Somethin in
he mbler’s keen black eyes told him tha he
wo d not hesitate to keep his throat of check-
ing any attempt. at flight with a bullet. And
the same sweeping glance revealed the stout
form of Tim Dor an close beside him, a nt-
lyinreadiness grap le withhisMin
case he gave the fain excuse for such treat—

ment.

Thus True Blue interpreted the sidelong glance
with which the burly rascal was him,
and knowing that escape by 'h was an im—

 

 

bility, he resolved to millilg the best of a
predicament.

 

The Boy Jockey.‘

 

15

 

 

He believed that this was a cunning trick to
prevent him from riding the fllly in the forth-
coming race; for when it became generally
known that he had been caught picking a pfcket
in a gambling hell, was it likel that enry
Blythe would dare trust him to r1 6 a. race upon
which his all depended?

Let them find the pocket-hook. Unless he of-
fered resistance, they would have no excuse for
maltreating him very seriously. He would be
arrested and charged with theft; but he believed
that he could convince Mr. Blythe of his inno-
genfe, and induce him to secure his release upon

in .

So far the boy jockey had reasoned, dur‘ilifif
the rather pom ous speech of the little sn -
colored man, an when the order came for them
all to fall into line, he obeyed with the rest
without any perceptible hesitation. He foun
himself near the center of the part , while
Tim Dorgan stood next but one on
hand

“ Many thanks for . our prom t obedience,
entlemen,” resumed r. Lucky oon, still in
is moderate mood. “When a disagreeable

piece of business must be performed, ’twere well
twere done quickly—ahem!

“ Now Mr. Holman,”-and as he wheeled swift-
ly and aced the gambler, he was the brisk,
nervous, fldgety speaker once more. “Describe
the missing tleiopertymwhat it looked like—
what was mi and so on.”

“Alarge sized bill-book of purple morocco
leather, containing two letters addressed to me,
five bank notes of one hundred dollars each, to-
gether with some few smaller bills—in all about
six hundred dollars. ”

“Any particular marks—name, eh i”

“Yes. My name and address is written in-
side of the pocket which contains—or contained
—-the larger bills,” was the prompt reply.

“ Very good. That fact wil ena 6 us to
identif the stolen property—as soon as we get
hold,o it. Now, sir, be so kind asto go through
me.

Holman stared, but Mr. Lucky Coon nodded

shaigly:
“ 1 course I mean it—why not? I’m as 0 on
to suspicion as any one of these gentlemen. ’m
going to search them, but first you must search
me. If not, the criminal might swear that I
slipped the ket—book from my person to his,
0 preten ' g to find it.”

is speech was well received by the men
drawn up in line as a general sound of approval
evidenced, and Flrank olman hesitated no lon—

ger, but “ went through "the pockets of the little '

snuff-colored man in a truly professional style—
as one facetious individual hinted, in a. stage

whispg.

Ho an joined in the general laugh which fol-
lowed this criticism, nor was his good humor in
the least do so feigned. He was playing a
risky game, or h' h stakes, and all had thus ar
succeeded beyond is most sanguine hopes. He
could afford to bear with a little good-natured

e .

“ vigil understand, gentlemen?” and Mr. Coon
once more faced the ranks. “ The missing pro-
perty has not been found upon my person, con-
sequentl I am not the criminal. but am duly
qualifie to act as searcher-in-chief ofthe other
occupants of this room. .Still, I would rather
be spared the task, and if the guilty one will
step forward and acknowledge his crime, I will
esteem it as an especial favor.”

Mr. Lucky Coon aused, and True Blue fancied
that the little snu -colored eyes rested longer
u n hisface than any other, as they deliber-
agly ran along the hue. But not a muscle of
his countenance altered. He knew that he was
snared, but he would do nothing to hasten the
catastrophe. Let them s ring the trap after
their own fashion. And t en—his teeth closed
firmly, anda dangerous light filled his eyes as
he azed at Frank Holman.

‘ e cod," snap d the little brown man,
in a pe t tone. ‘If the_ thief has no con-
sideration for our feelings, neither Will we have
for his.

“Now to work. You will all please hold
both hands above your heads, and keep them
there until on have been searched. Then there
will be no e co for the thief to pass the pocket-
book along to a pal who has been searched. Up

ds, gentlemen!”

e majority of these present began to rather
enjoy the peculiar scene than not, and two
score hands went up.into the air, amid loud
laughter and man quips and jokes. Even Hol—
man, with o muc at stake, could not suppress
a smileat the queer scene.

Not so with the little brown _man who had
fairly begun his task of searching the twenty
and odd men. The fate of a. nation might have
rested upon his shoulders, judging from the aw-
ful gravity and sense of respons1bility written
upon his countenance. In vain thcpe whom he
was searching jokingly begged him to spare
them. and the we div1de the plunder—it
was all seriou usiness to him.

One by one he searched and pronounced the
men innocent giving them leave to stand aside
and lowtehre glieiroclli‘ands, until, at length, he
reached y' e . .

Holman drewJ mayor, is devilish triumph

‘s right .

 

 

gleaming in his black eyes and showing forth
rom his ever feature, while Tim Dorgan
eagerly peered ehind the back of the one man
who stood between him and True Blue.

Mr. Lucky Coon paused to Wipe the perspira-
tion from his brow with a ding brown bandan—
mi, and his eyes met those of t cexultant ani—
bler. A uick flush passed over Holman’s ace,
and he fel back to his original position.

Mr. Coon turned sharpl around to resume
his task, when the unusual interest displayed by
Tim Dorgan attracted his attention.

“Don’t you be in a hurry my man. Your
turn will come in good time. eep your hands
up! Unless you want us to suspect that the
stolfinbili’i’oney is beginning to burn a hole in your
poc e

Dorgan’s lips parted for an angry retort, but
Holman managed to catch his e c, and gave
him a warning look. Though sul enl , the fel—
low faced about and straightened, up his
hands.

Mr. Lucky Coon began with searching the
breast and vest pockets of the boy jockey, and
as he did so, his snufl’y face wore a provoking
leer of recognition that caused the hot blood to
leap swiftly throu h the lad’s veins, and made
him long to dash is clenched list into the fel-
low’s mocking eyes.

It may be that the little brown man read
somethingh of this term tation in True Blue’s
eyes, for e hurriedl nished his examination
in ]front, and passe around behind the boy

oc e .
At 3least three hearts in that room beat fast
and furiously as Mr. Coon knelt down upon the
floor for the purpose of more conveniently ex-
amining the ad’s tail-pockets. Beat furiously
-—then almost stopped, as the searcher uttered a
short exclamation and arose, a large pocket—
book in his hand. ‘

“ Stop !” he cried, ina sharp voice of command
as Tim Dorgan made a movement as though
about to spring u on the boy jockey. “Keep
your place, sir, or ’11 arrest you on suspicion of
being the thief, without searching further.
Here sir,” addressing True Blue, and holding

out the pocket-book, which all could see was one .

of unstained leather. “Take your property,
and join the others who have been searched and
found innocent.” _

True Blue mechanically obeyed, scarcely able
to realize that he had been pronounced innocent.

Holman stared in open-mouthed astonishment,
then uttered a curse, 'so furious that those
nearest him involuntarily shrunk away from
him as they mi ht from a madman.

Dorgan stare_ at the pocket-book which True
Blue stfltheld iii his hand, as though unable to
believe his eyeSight. Could he have made a
mistake, after all?

With asharp, cracked Ian h, Mr. Luc Coon
placed one hand upon the ewildered ellow’s
shoulder. Dorgan flung it rudel OH, with a
fierce oath, then—just how it appened, he
could never tell—found himself lying - half-
stunned u on the floor, with the little nufl-col-
ored man neeling upon his chest, one hand 11 -
on his windpipe, he other holdingche purple
morocco ocket-book which Frank olman had
so caref described!

“ There is some mistake—” faltered Holman.

“A mistake that will end in State’s prison,”
sharply interru ted Mr. Lucky Coon. “ Gentle—
men you hear the charge of theft—you saw
me nd the stolen property—and you are wit-
nesses for the prosecution in this case. I know
3313' names, and Where to find you when need-

A swift motion, and Tim Dorgan was hand-
cuffed. A sharp whistle, and twopolicemen en-
tered the room, with clubs drawn. Tim Dor-

an was jerked upon his feet and thrust through

e doorway, caught in his own springs!

CHAPTER XVII.
TRUE BLUE MEETS WITH ANOTHER SURPRISE.

ALL this—-the overthrow of the burly million,
the producing of the purple morocco pocket-
book the handcufling, the promptly obeyed
whistle, plainly provin that he two policemen
had been lying in wait or some such signal, and
the_ra id masterly retreat to the outer airwith
their alf-stulpefied prisoner; all this trans-
poired so ra id y that not a hand could be lifted

. effect im Dor an’s rescue, even had his
friends resent care to run the necessary risk.

l’roba ley no other persons present were sur-
prised at he result of the search, but True Blue
and Frank Holman assuredl were. The form-
er had so surely felt that he was entrapped
without a ho of escape, that this unexpecte
demuc'n'w’nt eft him almostas thorou hl de-
moralized as could have been the case a the
handcuffs been applied to his wrists, instead of
manaclin those of Tim Dorgan.

Frank olman was no less astonished, and far
less agreeably. He could only account for it in
one way: Dorgan had stupi y “planted” the
wroxxrf pocket-book, thus spoiling a cunnineg
cont ved and—with that one exception—admi—
rably executed

His first imp as we have seen, was to in-

 

terfere in favor of his luckless tool, but the keen
searching glance which Mr. Lucky Coon turned
upon him, gave timely warning of the danger

 

such a roceeding would entail upon himself,
and biting his lip fiercely, he stopped short in
his hasty speech.

“ Remember, gentlemen,” the little snuff-
colorcd man paused upon the threshold to utter;
“ on will hold yourselves in readiness to tes—
ti y in this case, if called upon. And on, Mr.
Holman, will be obliged to appear, i. only to
identif y and reclaim your pro )erty. Until you
do so, bold myself responsib c for its safety.”

The ambler made no rcpl . His black eyes
were xed upon the face o the be jockey,
with an evil light in their depths. ‘he pistol
was still in his hand. There was murder iii his
heart. Three times had he been defeated by
that insi iflcaiit boy.

True B ue saw that evil stare, and read what
was going on in the busy brain behind those
glittering eyes.

The sense of danger instantly restored his
usual coolness, and keeping his eyes fixed upon
those of the gambler, his fingers closed upon the
butt of his revolver, his thumb upon the ham-

mer.

Frank Holman trembled upon the verge of his
own grave at that moment. He (1 lie yielded to
the mad impulse that urgwl him to avenge his
triple defeat by means of a swift bullet, he
would never have left that room a! ivc.

But the threatening tragedy did not take
place. One of the gambler’s friends, little sus-
pecting how important his careless action was,
ste pe between the two and began bantering
Ho an upon what had occurred. Others
crowded around, laughing and 'oking, and
when the ambler impatiently free himself, he
saw that tie boy jockey had vanished.

With a prudence that he rarely exhibited
True Blue had improved his opportunity an
hastily left the ha 1, almost tumbling headlong
down the stairs in his haste—not to escn pe from
the an or of Frank Holman, but to overtake
the litt e brown man.

In this, however, he was disappointed. The
policemen and their ca tive had disappeared,
and Mr. Lucky Coon hat vanished as suddenly
as though the earth had opened and swallowed
him 11 ).

Theroy jockey stood for a few moments, ir-
resolutely lookin g first up, then down the street,
unable to decide which course he had best fol-
low in hopes of overtaking the little snuff-
colored man. .

Just why he was so anxious to find the man,
True Blue could not have told, had the ques~
tion been asked. That he had little scruple—
was, in fact, but little better than Frank
Holman or James Hudson—his conduct at the
hotel that day, plainly evidenced. And yet,
the somewhat superstitious lad felt as though
he must find him, or—

He heard the 'door open, and distinguished
the voice of Frank Holman, who, in company
with several others, was leaving the ball.

A few days before, he would liavelaughed at
the idea of his avoidinp‘ any such encounter,
but now he turned and: passed swiftly down
the street.

These repeated efforts to bribe or cntrap him,
had given the boy jockey a somewhat exaggera~
ted sense of his importance, and of the res onsi-
bility which rested upon his shoulders. e be
gan to think that upon his safety depended
the welfare of Henry Blythe—that he alone
could defeat the plotters by piloting the ay
filly to victory—that if he was put outo the
waly, the ruin of his employer would be assured.

his exaggerated idea of his own importance,
however, was productive of more good than
evil, since it taught True Blue that rudence
which he had hitherto utterl ignore . While
so much was at stake, he fe t that he had no
right to run any unnecessary risks, and hence
abandoned his idea of searching after Mr.
Lucky Coon, rather than chance coming in con-
tact with Frank Holman, just then.

Knowin that Henry Blythe must be at
libert an awaiting his coming, b this time,
True lue turned his steps tower the hotel,
which he soon reached. ‘

With a blissful ignorance of polite usages, the
boy jockey hastened at once up the ste s and
along to the room Where he had met Mr. lythe
previously, and rapping sharply ‘at the cor,
to‘pened it and enterec without awaiting an invi-

tion.

Fortunately Henry Blythe was little given to
ceremony and rather liked the blunt, off-hand
manner of his employees _

He was alone, and waiting the promised call.
Upon the table were Wine, cigars and a substan»
tial lunch.

“ Sit down and he] yourself,” he said, heart-
ily; but then b the my jockey drew his chair
close to the ta le, he did not avail himself of the
invitation.

“ Time enough for that after we’re through
with business,” he said, casting a swift yet com-
prehensive lance around the handsome apart-
ment. “ on are sure we are alone? that
there’s no danger of anybody's overbearing us?”

“Perfectly sure; but we’re not going to plan
a murder, nor even a burglary,” laughed the
old entleman. ,

“ .0; but there’s more than one man who
would give a snug little sum to hear, even at

 

 

.19

 

second hand, what I am about to say. There’s
more than money at stake, Mr. Blythe, though
what it is, I can’t even guess. I only wish I
could!”

There was a seriousness in the manner of the
bov jockey that strongly impressed the excit-
able old gentleman. His jesting mood instantly
vanished.

“ Have you learned anything more since you
left me? Has anything happened—but I see
there has!” a

“ Let me tell you first what I have determined
upon doin ; then we’ll talk about a little adven-
ture I hag this evening,” quietly said the boy
jock%y.
“ on will be put to a little more expense and
trouble, by following the plan I have formed,
but I honestly believe that it is the only chance
for either the filly or yourself. If you leave her
where she is. to take er exercise at the Park,
where any and everybody can come and go as
they please, she will never come to the post
when the bell is rung for the Cu race. She
will either be dead, or so ‘doctored as to effect-
uall spoil her chances of winning, watch her
as c osel as we may.”

“I in nd to take her to my own place, to-
marrow.”

“ Good enough, so far as it goes. Now listen.
I mean to ride her in that race, if she and I are
both alive. I can, by hard work, train m self
down to the weight—one-flfteen. If not ing
serious happens to either of us, we will win that
race. But nobod —not even your daughter—
must know this. to-morrow night you must
have secured anot er 'ocke , and "you must
manage to let that knowfedge eak out, as though
againstyour will. You can easily manage it.

“ You must act toward the boy you hire just
as though he was actually to ride the fllly up
to the very moment of weighing. Instruct him
ascareful ,treat himas generously—but you
understan .’

“ But what reason can I give for a change, at
the last moment! It will cast suspicion on the

b0 _”

ZIf he don’t deserve it, you can easily make
amends. But if you choose the right sort, he
will deserve all he suspicion he receives. It
must be done, for if your rider can’t be bribed,
the filly will suffer, as sure as there is a heaven
above us!

“ Look at what has already happened. Fail-
ing to bribe me, En lish Tom was set to knock
me out of time. T at failed, and on know
what followed. I pulled through hat, and
scarcely had I got my breath again, when an-
other offered me a large sum to cripple
thelfi y; will show you written proof, pres-
ent .

“ This evening another and still more cunning
trap was set for me, baited with the name of the
man I have sworn to hunt down—Tracy Talbot.
Two strangers to me passed me in the street

and one tol the other that Tracy Talbot wished
to see him on important business, at the old
place. Of course I followed them, for they gave
me no cause to suspect them.”

The boy 'ockey went on to give a brief de-
scription 0 what took place in the gambling

hall adding:
“The to ow must have put the wrong book
in my pocketgperhaps his own; here it is. I

have not; look into it yet. And here is the
1‘.—
blank e ression came over the face of True

Blue as he fa ed to find the paper for which he
felt. In vain be searched each one of his pock-
ets. The document was no!

“The furies! he ln’iust t aiv'tlimsltolléal it whilelhe
was searching me gra e e ue, angn y;
then adding, with a forced calm: “Mr. Blythe,
do you ha pen to know anything of a person
named Luciy Coon—”

“Talk of an angel and you’ll hear its wings—
aheml” cried a cracked, isagreeable voice, and
the door opened to admit—the little snuff—color-
ed man!

True Blue sprungto his feet with an angry
cry butthe lit 19 brown man calmly waved him
back, then drew a note-book from his breast
pocket, and extracted therefrom a folded slip of
paper, which the boy 'ockev instantly recognized.

‘You were searc ng for a paper, my young
friend—the same which I now 0 d. I extract-
ed it from your pocket, just ten seconds before
I found Frank Holman’s stolen pocket-book up-
on your person I”

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
LUCULLus nrrrooon, nsoumn.

TEE little brown man stood silently latghing
at the eflect of his h and unexpec ap-
pearancefipon the o d gentleman and the boy

ockey. 9 had an eye to the dramatic, and
the resent situation fully gratified that taste.

A the first sound of his voice, True Blue had
sprung to his feet and faced the speaker. He
recognized the folded slip of paper, and as he
didso, there came back to his memo the pe-
culiar smile which that dingy, sn colored
countenance had worn while its owner was
fumb in his—True Blue’s—breast pockets.
The Bob: 'on was easy, now. It was a smile of

 

triumph at thus easil retrieving his recent de-
feat, by etting into iis own possession the only
proof of 1is attempted bribery.

And yet, why come here to boast of his trick-
ery? to exhibit the written evidence of his own
rascalityi

The boy jockey did not stop to answer these
and other questions that floated across his brain
with wondrous rapidity. He saw the proof of
his story in the little brown man’s hands, and
he was not one to let such an opportunity pass
him by, unimproved.

With a strong band he whirled his chair aside
and leaped forward us though to grapple with
the man who had indirectly accused him of be-
in athief.

r. Lucky Coon plainly believed this to be his
intention, for he sprung nimbly aside and back—
ward. thrusting note-book and paper into his
bosom then “ ut up his fists’ with a swift
grace that told e was no novice in the manly
art of self-defense.

But the b0 jockey was playing a surer card
than that. e made a second leap, as swift and
long as the first, but instead of turning aside to
accept the mute challenge of the little brown
man, he reached the door, closed it, and then
faced Mr. Lucky Coon, a cooked and leveled re-
volver in his hand.

“ Now then,” he said, in a low, but clear and
resolute tone of voice; “ I’ve got you just where
I want you. Who the devil are you, and what
do you want here?”

Instead of appearing at all disconcerted, the
little snuff-colored man drop (1 his fists and
burst into a heart laugh~1n which he was
joined by Henry B ythe, not a little to the boy
jockey’s surprise.

“ It is funny, no doubt, when on see where
the laugh comes in,” he said, a 'ttle sharply.
“Mr. Lucky Coon, you will oblige me by hand-
ing that paper to Mr. Blythe—”

‘Put up your pistol, True,”. uttered Henry
Blythe, as well as he could for laughing.
“This entleman is a particular friend of mine,
and i” e is the rascal you have been describ-
ln .— .

ue boy jockey turned as white as his sun-
burnt complexion would admit, and his eyes
shone like steel at a white heat as he said, in a.
forced tone:

“Let me ask you one thing, Mr. Blythe. Is
iéhis man in your employ?” nodding toward Mr.

oon.

“ Yes—that is—” hesitated the old gentleman.

“ Wait a moment. Did you authorize him to
visit me and offer me money to lose the race?”

“ No, sir—I never thought of such a thing,”
was the short reply, for the old gentleman was
beginning tochafe under the sharp, peremptory
tone of the lad.

True Blue drew along breath as of relief. v

“ I ask your pardon, sir, for having unjustly
suspected you of such an underhand trick,
even for a moment. I am very glad you had
nothing to do with it, for if you had set him to
tr me, thereby showing that you were doubt-
ml of my honesty after all I have said, I would
not have ridden your filly for all the money
there is up on the race.”

“ Whatever blame there is, must fall 11 n m
shoulders,” said the little brown man' ‘and
will bear it gladly, because through that little
trick I found an honest man—even if I did find
Frank Holman’s lost urse in your pocket 1”

True Blue hardly new how to resent this
reiterated charge. The whole affair was so per-
plexing that, for the life of him, he could not
penetrate the mystery. '

“Come, young man ” said the stranger.
“Take your seat and I’ll ex lain. If you’re
not fully satisfied, there is enty of time to
punch my head afterward.”

The boy jockey obe ed, but he turned his
chair so that he coul easily reach the door,
before either of his com anions. The little
man noticed the fact, an inwardly chuckled
as he nodded, approvingly. -

“In the first place,” he said, 5 akin rapidly,
but in a very different manner rom t at which
has been termed his “impulsive mood,” for want
of a better term—“ I am a detective. My
name is Lucullus E picoon. though I have sub—
stitutes for every ay in the month. The one
on the card I gave you—‘ Lucky Coon ’—is an
old time sobri at, which I honestl earned;
besides, it is o y one form of my r name.

“To-day, Mr. Bl he put me on your track,
not to watch you, ut to watch over you. Don’t
make any mistake. He could not have spoken
in higher terms of his own son. But he said
that you and he had unscrugglous enemies,
whom he did not know, but w ed very much
to find out.

“ For my own satisfaction I resolved to see
what you were made of, and so watched you at
dinner. If I made a mistake—as I now freely
acknowledge—you must blame those beaut -
marks 115,011: your face. They made me dec 9
upon fin ' g out how high your price was, and
to insure your giving me the chance, I tried to
arouse our cunosity, by acting as outlandishly
as I we could, without running the risk of be-
ing arrested as an escaped lunatic. .

‘You know what followed. I behaved you
were swallowing my gilded bait, and I felt

, Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

 

I .1; VIII... _._‘.. ma:

sorry for Mr. Blythe, for I never 8 ected the
tmt ; that gun were pullin the woo over my
eyes. You could have knoc ed me down with
a feather, when you turned upon me as you did,
threatening to publish that bit of paper—for it
would make me the laughing-stock of the whole
country.

“ I saw $011 safe in your room, then set off to
find Mr. lythe, to at an explanatory note
from him, so you won (1 listen to me in my real
character; but he was out, and when I returned
to the hotel, you were gone, no one could tell
me where.

“I was searching for you, afraid you had
gone to put your threat into execution, when
one of in men met me, and made his re rt.
Luck ha helped him, and he told me o the
plan Holman had concouted, to get you laid by

he heels in the jug, until after the big race was
over.

f‘As I couldn’t find you, I did the next best
thing: shadowed Holman himself. That was
an easy job, for he and I are old friends. Easy
until toward ni ht, when I soon saw that he
was anxious to 5 aka me off.

“I atified him, after awhile, then began
work in earnest, for my man had heard no
place named distinctly, and this was my only
cllfncg of finding out Where the trick was to be
p e .

.‘yHolman was watchin that saloon when
Tim and Mike entered it, ollowed by you. He
stepped inside, probably to let them know that
they had not mistaken their man, then came
out and turned the corner.

.“I waited, preferring to follow you. Wh
didn’t  give you a hint of the trap? Well,
ne_ver llke to spoil business, and if you avoided
this trap, _they would only set another, about
which I might not learn so much beforehand.

“.1 followed you. into the Hgambling hall,
which, b the way, belongs to olman himself
andfily’ébtions there, pressing in beside you and
bet g heavily against his own bank, gave me
the one clew I had wanted.

f‘ I fancied he meant to do the trick himself—
shp the money into your pocket—but he was
too cunning for that. Instead, he slyly handed
it to Tim Bergen, and Tim Dorgau watched his
chance and put the book into our tail pocket.

“I pressed forward, inten ing to remove it,
but was too late. Holman raised the alarm
and sprung to guard the door. I felt then that
you were early caught, and as the only chance

put in my ear.

“ Holman and most of those present knew me
and my business, and you saw how ea rly
he put the affair into m hands. He 'dnt
want to leave you a lcopho e to crawl through.

“ N ow—tell me—did you suspect anything?”

“Yes; I felt the book in my pocket, the mo-

yment the alarm was raised, and knew that I

had been trapped. For I hadn’t put anything
in that pocket. ’

“I thought as much ” nodded the detective;
“from your face. And that is why I looked at
you so close] when I invited the thief to step
forward an confess. I meant to arrest you
run Iyou in, but to tell the whole story in secret
to t e oflicials, and so get you off. But on
didn’t take the hint, an I had to try anot er

Ian.

“ You know how it worked. The second man
upon your right was Tim Dorgan; the third
man on your left was one of my men. 1n
searching him, I slipped his pocketbook u m
left coat-sleeve. In searchin you, I flippedeoI-
man’s pocketbook up my rig t sleeve, t en ro-
duced the other, as though it was the one I k
from your ket. The cry I gave made those
in the lot elieve that all had worked as they
desire , and when I put the ocketbook into
your hand, bidding you stan aside with the
others who had been searched and found inno-
cent, the were so dumbfoundered that I saw a
chance 0 improving my first Ian. I had made
Holman search me rst, so I ew I could take
the pocketbook with me unsuspected. Dorgan
believed that Holman had given him the wron
pocketbook, while Holman thought Tim m5
ma‘c'lIe the mislak‘ti d D th tri

‘ purposeysrre up or an, en 6.
him up, and made as though drew the p13}:-
sing roperty from his bosom. Then I whistled
for t 6 men I had stationed outside before on-
gring, and marched off my bird, with the dar-

es on.

“By that move I killed two birds with one
stone. I kept them from learning the truth
through mutual explanations, and puta danger-
ous tool where he will not be able to give us any
more trouble. Taken all in all, 'I think it a
tolerably neat job,” complacently added Mr.
Lucullus Ep icoon.

“What a. at Trac Talbot?” asked Henry
Blythe, speaking for he first time since the de-
tective began hissto .

At that moment t are came the sounds of a
heavy fall and the loud screams of a woman,
fromno great distance.

CHAPTER XIX.
IN CUPID’B Bowna.

Dasrrrn the fact of his being upon his “last
legs,” Henry Blythe carried as much soil as

 

A 4.4-...”7

he ever had in his palmiest days. To judge
from his style of living there was no bottom to
his purse, and so the large majority of people
believed. There were only a few who even sus-
pected the truth: that if his debts were paid,
the veteran turfman would be hopelessly insolv-
ent. Not more than half adozen persons knew
for certain how close he was sailing to the wind

or that, if one frail anchor failed him, he would
surely go to pieces upon the black rocks of dis-
honor.

Not that Henry Blythe was purposely throw-
ing dust, in the eyes of the public. He lived as
he had been taught—as his fathers had lived
before him. He knew no other way to live. He
had never denied himself, nor any one belong-
ing to him; the most extravagant fanc was
immediately realized. And even now w on he
knew that less than two short weeks would,
must, decide whether he was to live or die—live
on as he always had, or die by his own hand, a
doubl dishonored suicide—he never once
thoug t of reducing his expenses, though he was
paying an exorbitant rent for an entire floor of
the large hotel.

Not far from where Henry Blythe was seated,
impatiently waiting for the promised appear-
ance of True Blue, Cora Blylt e was entertain-
ing a entleman visitor to t e evident satisfac-
tion 0 both parties. hey were seated upon a
sofa, and could the ho jockey have stolen a
glance at them, he won d have been remmded
of the sight that met his eyes during his ride
home from the Park, when the Blythe carriage
rolled so swiftly past him.

The parties were the same, and their attitudes
but little changed. The same res ectful, yet
ardent, adoring gaze is bent upon he fair face
that slow] , as thou h reluctantly, sinks before
those spe 'ng eyes, origin ,(yet afraid to read
the sweet truth there reve e .

The Blythes and Crayons have been Wt-
ed for many years. and the father of ey
Craven was the bosom friend and boon com-

gamon of Henry Blythe, from their school-boy .
a

3 up to the time when a self-planted bullet
cu the knot the defeated gambler had not the
patience to untie.

There was a strange similarity between the
two friends, in almost every respect. Both
were kind-hearted, generous to prodigality, high
livers, and both were passionately addicted to
gambling. Their especial sion was for the
turf, and the same vein of i1 -luck attended them
both. But Theodore Craven did not sto there.
Between the race meeting: he sought the card
tables, and unfortunate era as elsew ere, he
soon ran through his fortune, and ut an end to
his own life, rather than struggle and to hand
with poverty. .

His father’s tragic end was a lesson never for-

otten by Harvey Craven, then a fairly-grown
ad well along in his ’teens. Until then, he had
been deemed a worthy chip of the old block,
who bade fair to follow faithfully in his father’s
footste but from that day his very nature
seemecfghanged. . .

He sought and obtained a clerkshi in a
wholesale grocery, owned by an old friend of
hisHmthell’fl h ‘ e h h l

e ewasvryan wen eearn-
ed thigyfor e had oflered thegl-zd a home and a
father’s love. And _When Harve declined to
throw up his situation, he was orbidden the
house.

So matters went on for several years. Harvey
faithfully rformed his duties, and soon gained
the respectugnd love of his_employer, who grad-
ually advanced him, until now, seven years
from the day on which he entered. the
store, Harvey was] maid; a partner in the con-
cern withaone-t ir s are.

Ion before this event, Henry Blythe had so
far outed as to invite the youn mocca-
sionallyto his house, and the'chil h love for
each other, which had never entirelyr died out,
was rapidly rekindled in the hearts 0 Cora and
Harvey.

They each felt almost sure that they were he-
loved in return, but Craven had never allowed
his heartto overcome his judgment. He knew
Henry Blythe too well to hope _that he would
consent to bestow his only survivmg child upon
' a grocer’s clerk. He knew that he held him dis-

aced for accepting such a station in life.

ever yet had a Blythe been “in trade,” and
this was the first Craven who had so disgraced
his roud lineage.

Bgt now that he was admitted as a. partner;J
Harvey saw a lean] of hope. He knew the
Blythe was near y at the foot 0f the hill, and
foolish] fancied that his extravagant pride
would something humbled: which proved
him but a. or student of human nature,

To do hl‘l): justice, Craven had determined to
declare his intentions first. of all to He _
Blythe himself, and had visited the hotel wit
that purpose. But the old gentleman was out,
and while awaiting his return, Harvey Was en-
tertainedb Cora.

It would awaste of time to attempt an ex-
planation1 of lli‘ow hethcame to ghggge 1(1)}! fil'll-Ihia 101;:
solve an w ’ e swee
into the ear of the daughter,  That was
aforegone conclusion, the moment be trusted
himself alonein her presence. The temptation

‘

 

The 303’ J 0,01???

1'7

 

 

had been strong enough before, when he knew
that to k would be the death-blow‘of his
hopes. t was irresistible now that he had ta-
ken the seal from his lips, and in a soft whi?er
that was love itself, he told the story Cora ad
101%? ago learned by heart.

et it was none the less sweetly confusing to
her, and her dainty head drooped lower until
the ardent lover could no longer gaze into her
dear eyes, or read the flattering emotion so viv-
idl painted upon her glowing cheeks.

ut he was not to be so easily foiled. He
slipped from his seat upon the sofa beside her,
and kneeling at her feet, imprisoned both her
fluttering hands in one of his, while he gently
raised her face with the other. .

“Tell me, darling, you are not angry?” he
whispered soft] _, as the downcast eyes still re-
fuse to meet is eager gaze. “One glance—
that is all 1 ask.”

Slowly, as though yielding to an irresistible
power, the long lashes were raised—and then
their eyes met.

The precious answer was given in that one
glance, and Harvey, Craven knew that his dear-
est ho were ful y realized. But ere he could
take a vantage of the sweet though silent con-
fession, a sharp, discordant sound broke the de-
licious spell that bound them both.

Adoor slammed heavily~a chair ap cared
to be overturned upon the floor, followed1 by an
angry oath.

arvey Craven reseatcd himself upon the
sofa, but Cora swiftly removed herself toa chair
several yards away and a moment later the
unwelcome visitor made his appearance in the
doorwagi which connected the two parlors. It
was Al red Hudson, Cora’s cousin.

He strove to appear quite at ease, but as is so
often the case, overdid the matter, and thusre-
vealed what he sought to conceal. Plainer than
words his manner told the lovers that he had

rised their secret, and Cora turned pale
wit a vague fear.

Hudson 5 discovery had been the result of
pure accident and mayebe readily explained.

For years he had en in love with Cora
Blythe, and had told her as much a dozen times
but with a true woman’s tact, she had warded
ofl! the danger.

A wild, reckless and headstrong youth, who
had never known a mother’s care or a sister’s
love, he had not been bettered by comin into
possession of 8.1a!ng Sum of money whic was
placed wholly at his own disposal. But of this,
more hereafter.

He often said, and only spoke the truth, that
Cora was the good angel w ose influence alone
kept him .from entirely going to the bad. Be-
lievin this, she had treated him more consider-
atefily ban was, perhaps, judicious.

enry Blythe looked upon him indulgentl ,
as being much what he himself had been at t e
same age. He did not wish him for a son-in-law,
because he hated the father too cordially,
but he encouraged his visits.

On that evening, Alfred Hudson resolved to
know his fate and characteristically braced
his nerves with a liberal quantity of liquor.
Thou h he was not drunk, he 'had taken more
than 9 intended, to which fact the catastrophe
which followed must be attributed.

He found the servant whose du it was to

announce callers, off guard, and wit his usual.

freedom, entered the outer parlor, where he ex-
pected to find his cousin.

The room was empty, and with a natural wish
to appear at his best upon such a momentous
occasion, he ap roached a full length mirror for
the purpose 0 arran ' his hair, and settling
his collar. The thi carpet gave forth no
sound and then—

In the mirror he saw a reflection of the sofa—
saw Harvey Craven upon his knees before the
maiden whom he had come prepared to court—
and then he saw their eyes meet in a long,
ardent gaze of love!

Young Hudson had always acted upon im-
pulse and he did so now. Hastin retreating to
the door, he 0 nod and then slammed it. In
turning aroun , he struck his knee against a
chair, and with an angry oath, kicked it half-
wa across the room.

ora saw at a glance that there was somethiigfi
wrong, and in a moment more she discover
the truth as her eyes fell upon the tell—tale
mirror. in the confusion of this discovery, she
helped on rather than averted the unpleasant
scene which followed.

Craven arose and bowed but udson, not re-
turning the solute, pushed past ' so rudely
as to cause them both to stagger. Hudson
eagerly grasped the occasion.

Better stick to your shop, unless you can
learn to handle yourself less awkwardly, young
man. You are out oiplaco in a lady’s parlor.”

Hme turned w to with anger, and in-
stinctive y clenched his fists, but remembering
i-iii1 whose presence he stood, turned away in

ones.

He could not have chosen a more 
course. Hudson felt himself in the wrong, an
that urged him on. ‘

“Craven b name, and doubly a craven by
nature! .A pity such poor upstarts are allowed
to came into respectable society—” -

 

Until now Cora had stood confounded, but
with a womanly instinct she sprung forward
between the two men who were angrily con-
fronting each other. But Hudson saw only too
plainly where her sympathies lay, and grasped

er by the arm to put her aside.

It was an unlucky move for him. The lover’s
arm shot out, and Hudson went down in a
nerveless heap, while Cora, terrified, uttered
scream after scream for help.

CHAPTER XX.
CLEARING THE FIELD or BATTLE.

THESE were the sounds that so startled Henry
Blythe and his two visitors, cutting short what-
ever answer might have been given to his ques-
tion concerning the mysterious Tracy Talbot.

The sounds came rom one of the rooms
across the corridor, and Mr. Blythe had no dif-
ficulty in recognizing the voice of his daughter.

Moved by the same impulse, the trio hastened .
toward the spot, but the oldest and least active
was first, a father’s love more than counter-
balancing the disadvantages of age.

It was a dramatic scene which awaited them
the moment they passed the outer dociha
scene which was faithfully reproduced by the
tell-tale mirror and for a brief space held them
one and all spellbound.

A foppish y-dressed young man was lying
u n the floor of the inner room, the doorwa
0 which formed a frame to the picture whi
seemed u n the polished lass. He
was 3' raising imself upon one 9 how the

 

other hand outstretched and graspin apistol.
Blood was trickling down his ace an over his

linen. A fierce, deadly hatred was written
upon his every feature. For the time being he
was transformed into a veritable devil of re-
venge.

Opposite stood another man. a woman’s arms
wound around his neck as she frantically resist
edhisgentle but firm efforts to at her aside,
out of the line of the threatened 5 0t.

Such was the tale the mirror told.

Here it was that the wild—life training of the
boy lg'ocke stood all parties concerned in
stea . hile Henry Blythe stood as though

trifled, and even the detective hesitated, True

lue darted forward, through the connecting
doorway, and pounced upon Alfred Hudson
much as a saucy king-bird assails a sulky crow.

It was fortunate for Harvey Craven that his
blow had. been so firmly planted. Almost blind-
ed for the time bein , young Hudson had been
unable to catch anyt ing like a certain aim, and
when Cora, woman-like, seeing only the danger
‘of him she loved, sprung between the two, he
dared not risk an uncertain shot, even in the
hig‘ht of his jealous fury.

' bus it came that True Blue was in time to
prevent the burning of wder, though there
was not a breath of time o spare. .

Knowing from experience how apt a cocked
firearm is to be discharged in a struggle. the.
boy jockey, in Era in the leveled weapon, took
care to cover 1: e 11 pp e with his hand. Hudson
pulled trigger at the same instant, and the ham-
mer fell, sinking the nipple deeplinto True Blue’s
palm, but he never flinched. is fln rsclosed
around the weapon and gave it a su den t
while his left hand grasped Hudson’s wrist an
turned it violently in the opposite direction, dis-
arming him with appareut ease.

“ Neat 1airfiob as ever  sang cri‘etxlr  lapt-
coon W1 an a rovmg n . on a
credit to the force?” ‘

As no one appeared to heed his words, the lit-
tle snuff-colored man did not deem it worth
while to finish his sentence, but hearing the
sounds of hasty footsteps advanc‘ alon the
corridor, he hurried back to the 001' the
outer room, just in time to bar the entrance of
several servants, who had been alarmed by the
piercing screams of the t arrifled maiden.

“There’s nothing the matter,” he said, bland-
ly. “The lad got frightened at a mouse—no-
t ing more. evening—don’t let me keep
you waiting.” v

With a low how, he closed the doorin their
faces and turned the key in the lock, then leis-
urely returned to the connecting doorwa . '

Cora had released her lover, but still stood
near him, pale and trembling. Alfred Hudson
had arisen and was now wiping the blood from
his face. True Blue had recocked the pistol, but
was laiicing from one face to another, unheed-
ing wounded hand, from which the blood
was dropging to the floor. Craven was stand-
in with owncast eyes, more itated nowthan
w on he confronted the level pistol of his an-
gry rival, for he knew that his fate depended
upon the next few minutes.

“Alfred Hudson}: said Henry Blythe, in a.
cold stem veice; “if you cannot come here
and bahave yourself, the best thing you can do
is to shy war” .

By no means the words he meant to utter, but
the poor old gentleman had been com letel un-

strung the screams of his 16° 0 “‘1
scaroel ew what he did say. '

“He ocked me down!” muttered Hutton,

with abitter, vengeful glance toward Harvey
ven. >

“No doubt you deserved all our gets—and
more, too! ngetdmhandt enconieihere

    

18

Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

 

and make a t—house of in rooms. Theie—
p0 blood

don’t tell me! The bad is in you, or on
wouldn’tbe our father’s son. Take your at
and go—or y the Lord that made me! I’ll
've you in charge for disturbing the e!
hen you sober off, you can come bee and
apologize.”

The last sentence was added after a brief

use, as though the old entleman feared he
hid been a little hasty in t us giving judgment
before hearing an of the facts of the case.

“I will go, wit out {our wasting any more
breath over it, Mr. Blyt e,” said the young man,
inatone of forced coldness. “But one word
with you, Mr. Harvey Craven. You struck me
a coward’s blow, when I was not looking for it.
What you are, we all know, but as you are suf-
fered to mingle in the society of ladies and gen-
tlemen, on the strength of your father’s name,
for the time being will treat you as though

. you really were a gentleman. A friend Will
wait upon you in my behalf, early to-morrow
morning.”

“ I suppose you are hinting at a challenge,”
quietly responded Craven. ‘ If so, you may

your friend that trouble. You, or any
either man will always find me ready to defend
myself, if attacked, but whoever bears me a
challenge to fight a. duel, will find my foot is
quite as heav as you found my hand.”

Youn Hi1 son was about to reply hotly, but
He . lythe interfered just in time.

“ 0t another word, sir ” he cried, sternly,

ing the arm of his nephew and forcin him
to fo low. “ With lyour quarrels outside, ave
nothing‘to do, but will have no more brawling
here. here’s the door. Go—and don’t come
backmgain until you can act as a gentleman
should act in the Ipé'esence of a lady.”

Thoroughly so red by what had occurred,
Alfred Hudson obeyed, leaving the room with-
out a word. Henry Bl the watched him until
the door closed behind im, then turned the key
again, and retraced his steps to the inner parlor,
an ominous frown corrugatin his brow.

Harvey Craven read his ate in that stem
look, but his courage was equal to the emergen-
cy, and he never quailed as the old gentleman

used before him, a mocking smile upon his

, strangely contrasting with the anger writ-
ten above. .

“ Allow me to thank you, sir for turning my
parlors into a boxing-school. Your father was
my dearest friend, and my respect for his name
and memory will cover much, but when it comes

ito such disgraceful conduct—”

‘ “ Papa—don’t!” sobbed Cora, flinging her

'arms around his neck. “Don’t blame him—it

I was not his fault. Cousin Alfred was so rude—
and he did hurt me—”

“ Allow me to explain, Mr. Blythe," said Cra-
ve in a firm, though rfectly r tful tone.
“ . Hudson had evi ently been ' ' g, be-
fore he came in, for his first action was to insult
me, without an just cause or provocation upon
in  I in 9 him no reply, when he repeat-
edy e insult, and would have struck me, when
Miss Blythe came between us. He caught her
b the arm as though to push or fling her aside.
8 e cried out, as I behaved with pain, and then
I knocked him down—Just as you ourself
would have done under similar provoca on.”

“But he must have had some cause—some-
thing to anger him—” Mr. Blythe, but
stopped short as he caugh sight of the sudden
wave of color that spread over the pale, tear-
stained face of his daughter.

A suspicion of the truth flashed us?) his
mind, and téuickly turnm' g, he glanced ugh
the open oorway. He saw his own figure
plainly reflected in the large mirror, and the

ic on became conviction. .
e remembered what he himself had seen in
the less, and the conduct of young Hudson was
m ed—though by no means to his satisfac-

Strange “one it 11:: g; f tfihe mover once
suspected e poss o ere an ove
h between hits-isdaughtgr and thisyfman
w o disgraced race working ore.
living. He had suffered his flags-and even en-
them in hopes of leadingeflarve to

see the error of his wags but he liev his
fight too proudto loo kindly uponagrocer’s

The lovers saw his glance at the mirror, and
only too easily read e swift ch which
came over his features. Cora. back in

e and trembling fear, but Harvey appeared
gain fresh courage.

‘ I see you have discovered the reason sir,”
[he said,_ speakin with a rap‘iéiity that defied in-

terruption. “ ou must ve expected some-
thing like this. We have been thrown that
from childhood. You have enco my
visits—”

His speechwas cut short bythe angry old

gentleman: _
“D—n it, sir! because one is civil to you on
our father’s account, must you think that one
flinging one’s daughter at your head?”

Wit 3. low cry, half of terror, half of shame,
Cora crept to her father’s side, and buried her
face in hisbosom, as Craven qiiietl added:

“Sir, until now you have trea. me as a
gentleman. I have never tried to conceal my

 

real feelin from you, and as on still suffered
my visits, had a right to thin that they were
not disagreeable to you. I came here to-night, to
ask your permission to plead my cause with
your dang ter, but you were out. While wait-
ing for your return, I—my heart ot the better
of in resolution, and I confesse my love—a
love t at will never die while my heart beats.”

During this scene, True Blue had been grow-
ing more and more uneasy, and at this juncture
he touched the little brown man upon the
shoulder.

“I reckon we’d better skin out 0’ this, old
man!” he said in a h whisper; but asthey
stole unobserved from he room, they heard
Cora sag, between sobs:

“ An I—I love him—so dearly, papal”

CHAPTER XXI.
run morn ABOUT TRACY TALBOT.

“ ’Twas done as neat as though they had been
Enticing it all their lives in a theater,” said
. Lucullus Eppicoon as the arlor door
closed behind them. “I‘ersecuted oviers and a
stern parient, who wastes a vast deal of breath
in swearing that he will never forgive them,
but who always ends by bee-lessing his chee-
ildurn and all are made forever happy by that
act of bald—faced perjury. Though t e finale is
so assured, you might have let me see the lay
gut,_ wing man, in my capacity as friend 0 the
am .

“ It was a private affair, and we had no right
to ha around as long as we did,” shortly re-
plied t 6 boy jockey.

“It don’t matter now. We’re on the wrong
side of the door and can’t go back to give
theman encore. But I know just how it will
end. The old gentleman is so soft-hearted, and
dotes so on the girl, that she will ‘ust twist him
around her finger. He will g ually simmer
down, and when the party breaks up there will
be a wedding on the programme.”

y True Blue visibly winced at this confident

prediction, and Mr. Eppicoon stared at him in
open-eyed astonishment, as a glimmer of the
truth struck him. But this idea. was so pre os-
terous that the detective instantl smothers it.
Not so quickly, however, but t at True Blue
read his glance aright, and caught at the first
strawas he instinctively sought to guard his
foolish secret.

“What did Mr. Blythe mean by that ques-
tion? Do you know any thing about Tracy
Talbot?”

“Well—yes. I think I may say I do ” was
the provokineg deliberate response. ‘ There
are not many persons now living who have
better cause—but I don’t care about discussing

rivate affairs in such a public place; and then

’m too hungry. I was so busy hunting after
you, that I didn’t stop for sup r. If ‘
come along, I know of asnugp ace not or from
here, where we can be comfortable—”

True Blue made an impatient sign for his
talkative companion to move on. All else was
forgotten in his burning desire to learn some-
thing definite concernin the man whom he had
reason to believe was s father, and who, thus
far had avoided his search like a veritable will-
otl’ie-wisp. I

The detective regarded this impatience in-
dulgentl , and as he really was.very hun ,
he ed t e way out of the hotel and down 9
street at a rapid pace.

A few minutes brou ht them to a small,
dingy-looking restauran. Entering with the
air of one well accustomed to the place, Eppi-
coon quickly gave his orders, then ed on to
a rivate apartment at the rear of t e building.

‘A shabby-looking shell,” he said seating
himself at the small, round table, and motion-
ing the boy jockey to do likewise. “But their
cuisine is superb, and their liquors simle di-
vine. I always treat myself to a supper ere,
after I have done a neat piece of work;
and I never think of the lace without wish~
ing I had a dozen stomac s, each one so big
that itwould take a. month to fillit respecta-

bl i”

y‘But what about Tracy Talbot?” re ted
True Blue, as the little snuff-colors man
paused, smacking his lips.

“ So much that I don’t care about beginning
the story until after I have had in supper.
But you can tell me what you lmow a ut him,
and what your reasons are for hunting him u .
01d Blythe hinted at it, but didn’t say muc .

You can tailgwhile I am ea ' .”
As the shortest way of go tin at what he
wanted, the b0 jocke compli , and gavea

hasty outline 0 his li e—history, dwelling more
at length u we story told him by “ Dan the
Divil.’ A approach of the servant he
would cease, then continue, ' ' his state-
gfiant long before the detective eaten his

Once or twice during the narration, Mr.
Eppicoon nodded shortly, as thou h in confir-
mation and it was plain that he fe is deep]? in-
terested, despite the counter-attraction o the
a petizing viands before him. Altrong proof
0? this was given when, without waiting to flu-
ish his sup

“I can

r, he began:

11 you pretty much all about Tracy

 

Talbot, for I secured him a permanent situation
—~in State’s Prison 1”

True .Blue uttered a sharp exclamation, but
almost immediately suppressed his emotion, and
Signed the httle snuff-colored man to continue.

‘It was some sixteen years a c that my at-
tention was first drawn toward t is Trac Tal—
bot, though I little thought at the time t at he
was togive me my first upward step in rofes-
sional li e—for I was then at the foot of t e lad-
der, and was looking out for my first case.

“.Talbot was not oug in gaining quite a re u-
tation as a sport and fast man in general. e
appeared to have plenty of money, and did
have no end of nerve and cheek. A cooler hand
at_‘bluff’ I never met—but never mind that,”
said Eppicoon, With a little sigh, as though the
memory thus called up was by no means a plea-
sant one.

‘fBeing a gambler was no drawback to one's
claim upon societ ,in those days; rather the
contrary. His hidg playin and general repu-
tation of being a. angerous ellow in every wa ,
only made him a greater favorite among t 6
women; hi h and ow. I dare say the fellow
could have ad his choice of all, for the simple
asking. But that don’t matter, either.

“ After he had been here nearly a ear, it be-
gan to be whispered about that albot had
really slipped his head into a golden noose;
that he was about to a beautiful, rich
and highly connected young lady, the only
dau hter of our congressman, at that time.

j‘ e rumor was a true one. Grand repar-
ations were made for the wedding—whic never
took place.

“Only the day before that on which the
were to be married, Talbot was out riding wit
his betrothed bride. There was some nd
domgs gomg on—a procession of some kin , and
their buggy, With a lot of others was blocked
up until t e procession could ass y.

“ Here, where he could neither advance nor
retreat, a woman with a child in her arms,
tackled the happy bridegroom elect, callin him
her lawful husband, holding u the chid to
reco ' its pa and in s ort making a
re ar theater 0 t e street.

‘ Everybody knew the couple in the buggy,
and that they were to he married soon, so you
can ima me the sensation when the strange
woman c med him as her husband.

f‘Talbot turned white as ashes. The lady
With him shrieked as though stabbed to the
heart, and then fell back like a COTQ. At that
Talbot truck his horse with the w ip, and tore
throng the procession as though the people be-
fore his wheels were but clods of dirt.

“ That evening he reappeared among hisusual
companions, as cool as a cucumber. He said
that the woman was undoubtedly crazy, and
had mistaken him for some other person. That
he had gaven her in charge of the lice, with
orders thoroughly investigate the matter.
And every one who heard him believed he was
speaking the truth; he was so cool and com-
posed, and so freely expressed his pity and sym-
pathy for the cor, unfortunate creature who

ad mistaken m for her husband, Dan Fil-

“The senator happened tobe at home, and as
it proved, his doubts were not so easily set at
rest. He had known my father quite well and
sent for me to investigate the matter. was
to trace_up the history of Tracy Talbot prior to
his coming here, and find out just what and
who he was.

“At almost the first move I made I found
my bird had flown—had left town earl on the
morning after assuring his friends of ' inno-
cence.

“This renewed my suspicions, and I altered
my plans, following him, instead. It was no
eas task, and do my best I couldn’t catch up
him thou h I stuck to his hot trail like a
true bloodhoun , and all his doublings and turn-
ings couldn’t shake me off. '

. ‘It was 'ust one week after the job was put
in my ban that I came back here, one train
later than Tracy Talbot. He was the some
cool hand: telling everybody that he had been
away in quest of papers and afidavits to prove
that he was not Dan Filkins, but Tracy Talbot.

“ Everybody appeared to behave his story,
backed up as it was by a trunk full of para,
including both marriage and birth certificates,
together With affidavits covering every year
back to his childhood.

“He even satisfied the senator, and when I
went to report, the old gentlede me liber-
ally, and told me that my se ces were no
lon or necessary.

‘ didn’t think so. I firmly behaved there
was a nigger in the woodpile, and resolved to
stick to t e matter, and work it up for my own
satisfaction. ‘ _

“As the most likel chance, I began huntin
for the woman and c ' d who had created such
a sensation and right there I struck oil.

“ I found that acy Talbot had told a lie in
saying he had given the woman in charge. She
had never been arrested, nor did any one of the
force know anything more about her than what
they had heard through the papers, or the gos-
sip upon the streets.

“ I set to work in good earnest, then, resolved

 

!

 

4,.

The Boy Jockey.

 19

 

 

to search every house in town but what_I either
found her, or some trace to tell me which way
she had gone. _ _

“ I nt three days and nights in this manner,
but to ether without success. began to
think the. I had lost my chance when word was
brought to the station that the body of a young
woman had been found in the river.

“ At first we believed it was that of Mrs.—,
another person who was missin , and as the
word spread, a lar e crowd uick gathered at
the wharf where he bod ad 11 moored.
But it wasn’t the one we t ought. I’ll tell you
about that some other time. It will interest you,
even if it don’t concern Tracy Talbot.

“ The body was dragged out upon the wharf.
It had not been in the water very long, and was
not much disfl red. At first no one appeared
to recognize t 9 features, and I was about turn-
ing away, when a man ushed through the
crowd, and after one look, oudl declared that
it was the body of the woman w 0 had claimed
Tracy Talbot as her husband!

“ And a moment after it was found that she
had been stabbed to the heart with some sharp
instrument I"

 

CHAPTER XXII.
A snor ’rwxx'r WIND AND WATER.

Tim boy jockey, who had thus far listened to
the words of the detective wholly unmoved, at
least to the outward eye, now dropped his head
uponhis arms as the rested u on the table,
hidin his face with a ow, stifl cry.

He 1y behaved that this man and woman
were his father and mother, and though he had
known little or nothing of them in life, he could
not hear of their crimes and sufferings totally
unmoved.

Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon Paused short in his
story, as though desirous 0 giving his auditor
time to recover his wonted com ure. This
was what the b0 jockey believ , and he felt

toful toward t e little snuff-colored man for
consideration.

Had he been able to catch a glim so of the
detective’s face at that moment, e Blue
would hardl have felt the same. There was a
malicious 11 upon the little brown man's fea—
tures, alanghing devil in his eyes, that betok-
oned but scant sympathy for the lad before
him.

In a few moments True Blue uplifted his
head, a faint, forced smile upon his lips, as he

d.

“He killed her—go on. Don’t mind me, I
was taken b surprise. Somehow, I never have
thought of er—ofm mother—as dead. Ial-
ways dreamed I shoul find her—some time, and
that wew uld make it all up to each other.
We] that  Go on.”

Eit or Mr. ucullus Ep‘picoon wasreall af-
fected by the imple pa hos of these . ort,
broken sentences, or else he was an adm1rable
actor, having complete control of all his fea-
tures. The moment the boy jockey lifted his
b that look of malicious amusement van-
ish and gave place to an expression of grave

3 th . ‘

y.‘IP’Fl‘ie limment it was found that the woman
had been murdered, the same suspicion struck
me that ou ave expression to just now: that
Tracy Talbot killed her, as the shortest and
surest method of at out of the sore he
had fallen into. g t r all, it was no hing
but icion, and I knew that I would onlg get
laugh at, were I to_apply for a warrant ar-
res him, on such frail ounds.

“ Still, I was resolv to get to the bottom of
the mystery if it cost me every cent I had in
the world. y pride was fairly aroused, and I
went into the matter for all I was worth.

“ Within that same hour, I was at Tracy Ta]-
bot’s heels, shadowing him. I_was resolved to
lose no chances, and while keeping one eye upon
my bird, I wrote two notes an posted them
the first time Talbot left his hotel. Those notes
were directed to two men whom I knew I
could trust in licitly to carry out whatever
orders I gavet m.solong sstheir paywas
prompt and liberal enough.

“Both of them promptl answered my calli
and 'vin them leave to their own terms,
set t em work. Their duty was to watch
6V step Tracy Talbot took mark eveig per-
soglze spoke to, get at eight of his letters pos—
sible, and above all, to keep him from leaving
town before I was renal:r for m If he at-
tem ted it the were am! upon some
fictitious chargey, and hold him while they sent
word to me.

“They were to alter their ap co each
day, so that he would not grow armed at find-
ing himself watched. I knew that they were
equal to the task, for surer ‘ shedows’ or more
artistic makers-up, never belonged to the force.
So I set about my own work eelmg sure that
Mr. Talbot would not be missing whenI wanted
to‘put in hand on him.

The rstthingI did wastohunt uptheman
who had recognized the body. hat was an
easy job. Hurdles an old citizen, and known to
almost eve . .

.iHekepg quiz}, respectable boarding-house
in the upper end 0 town, and was domg a com-

udesire to run away.

 

fortable business, growing rich hand over fist.
He a very glad to see me when I he
aboutpt e dead woman, but I soon found on the
reason. She was in debt for a week's board
when she left the place, and the old hunks
struck me for the money, first thing, when I in-
troduced myself as a distant relative of the dead
woman.

“ That was more than I had bargained for,
but I aid the money, and char it to the ac-
count had opened With Tracy albot.

“The old man told me all he knew. The wo-
man had come to his house nearly a week before
the scene upon the street, and as he hesitated
about taking her and her child in, she produced
a letter signed b a minister of the gospel,
which stated the Mrs. Daniel Filldns was a
member of his church, and a worthy woman in
eve res ect.

“ he 0 d fellow gave me this letter, and in it
I saw the first strand of the rope that was to
hangm game. He told me when she was last
at the ouse; the evening before Tracy Talbot
left town, in quest of proofs of his identity. He
said she had been greatly agitated by the receipt
of a note which a stra ad delivered, and al-
most immediatel after eft the house—hasten—
ing to meet her eath, as it proved.

“ That same evening I took the train for the
little town from which the letter of recommen-
dation had come, and soon managed to learn all
about Mrs. Daniel Filkins, for she had been
born and raised there.

“ Filkins had spent one summer in the place
for the benefit of his health, as he said, and i
being a little country town, and he a well-
dressed, tugIOOd-looking, plausible rascal, with
pockets of money and a generous taste for
spending it, of course he had it pretty much all
his own way, and was looked up to, es ially
by thlg girls, as being only a trifle lower t an the
an

‘ Well, before fall came, the angel was mar-
ried, and took his bride away upon a bridal tour.
They wrote home to the old folks quite fre-
quently; and appeared to be in the seventh
heaven of delight; but all at once there came a
change. And a. month later, the young wife

returned home—desertedgiust as she was about '

to become a mother.

“Well, I secured a few letters written by
Mr. Filkins and got a dozen different persons
to describe his personal appearance, then hast-
ened here to see how my men were performing
their dultly. _

“W0 d you behave it! I might just as well
have kept my money in my pocket. Not that
the boys didn t perform their duties faithfully
but Tracy Talbot had not shown the slightest
. 0n the contrary, he had
voluntanly appeared at the in nest, and swore
that he had never to his knowl ever met the
deceased woman before she assa ted him upon
the street claiming him as her husband.

“He told such a straight story, and showed
so many papers and afil vita to prove that all
he said was true, that both the press and people
be to believe that he was perfection personi-
fie . He was a greater favorite than ever.
Another date was set for the postponed wedding
and I began to think that the wisest thing I
could do would be to drop the case where it
stood. The dead woman could not be injured
any more and the living would hardly be
thankful for having their eyes opened, after
matters had gone so far.

“But before I had made up my mind, the
matter was Settled for me, by a note which a
policeman brought me, from a fellow, who, with
two others, h been arrested on suspicion of
being concerned in an extensive robbery]? dry-
goo from a. warehouse up the river. e note
said the writer had im rtant information to
give and gedmeto osenotime inoallin .

“ldid ca , and was richly repaid for do g

so.

“The fellow told me he could explain how the
woman had come to her death, if I would assure
him that what he said would not be used to his
findice at his trial. I promised to do my

, and as the proof was overwhe
them anyhow, he made a clean b

o it.

“The time the had chosen was early Sunday
eve , as the s tuation was retired, and they
meant make a wholesale job of it. But be-
fore they got fairly towosk, the sound of voices

drawing near ut them 11 11 their guard. And
{toneid their hi’ ng—place tidy saw all that fol-
ow .

“ A man and woman were talking earnest] ;
so earnestly that the hidden thieves could s-
finguish every word that was spoken. Two of
the three were well acquainted with Tracy Tal-
bot, being broken-down gamblers; and the other
one had seen the woman when she claimed the

man as her husband.

“To make a lon story short, they heard
Tracy Talbot admi that she was his lawful
wife- heard him offer her money to go away
and cave him in peace until he could get hold
of the fortune for which he was playing, when
he swore he would at once return to her. But
she would not listen to it.

“ And then, before they could raise a hand to
interfere, the cowardly villain had stabbed her

 

and hurled her backward into the river, then
ran swiftly awa .

This was all p e to me as you may guess, and
as I had taken care to ave a res nsible wit-
ness with me I found no trouble nqgetting a
warrant out for the arrest of Tracy albot on
the charge of willful murder. That same night
he slept in jail—if he slept at all.

“T ere’s no need of my going over the trial,
bit by bit I can show it to you in rint, when-
ever you feel like reading it. nou h that
Tracy Talbot was tried and in the en found

lty of murder. I had a dozen witnesses up

cm the country town, and they roved be-

yond a doubt that he was the same an Filkins
who married the murdered woman.

“_He was sentenced to be hung, but the exe-
cution was poned, and finally the Governor
was induc to commute the sentence of death
to iiplprisonment for life.”

“ on have said nothing about the child,”
slowly uttered True Blue, his face pale and

haggard.

‘ ’ve been expecting that question all along,”
said the detective, that strange smile returning
to his face. “ You feel sure that you are—or
were—that child?”

“ If Dan Clark told me the truth— es. ”

“ Well," and the little snuff-cc ored man
chuckled, as though hugely tickled. “Well, I
hardly see how that can be; for at least two
reasons. The first reason is: at the time of the
murder, that child was less than one ear old;
the second is: that the bagy was a gir 1 Taking
them both together, I har think that you can
justly claim to be that chil 1”

CHAPTER XXIII.
BACK INTO THE DARKNESS.

Tm: little snuff—colored man leaned back in
his chair, a self-satisfied smile laying around
his oily mouth as he watched t e efiect of his
double shot upon the ho jockegh Even his taste
for the dramatic was fu 1 gm ‘ ed. His unex-
pected disclosure had fair y stunned True Blue,
since it told him he was further than ever from
Eving the mystery which enshrouded his earlier

gs That girl-child is still living in town. I can
show her to you almost any time. And as I
can swear to her bein the child left b the
woman whom Tracy albot, or Dan ,
murdered, on will have to look further for
your n ”

81“ 1our are sure there can be no mistake?”

ow .

“A ut the child? not at all. Mrs. F. left
her as well as the board-bill behind her, when
she went to keep the appointment made by
Tracy Talbot. Since then I have kept an eye
upon the child—but that don’t matter. I’ve got
still another point. You sa your man was tall
and dark com lexioned. ow my Tracy Tal-
bot—the one hunted down—was just the con~
trary. He was short and slender slight build
as a fine lady; and he had a head of the reddest
hair I ever saw clapped upon the pate of a. two-

] d mortal—”
suppressed the cry

 

e Blue with diflcult
that rose in his threat 8. these words, for he
believed he bhggsn to see his way through the
pet lefing s ows that had beset hisseardi
so c . C

Mr. chullus Eppicoon stopped short in his
speech as he noticed the strong 'tation of his
jconli‘psnion, and stared inquiring y at the boy
oc ey.

“Let me put it in shape, first, then youtell
me what you think about it,” said True Blue,
forcing himself to speak with calm deliberation.

“ Dan Clark told me all I know of Trac Tal-
bot. He was a stranger to the man, and only
heard the name appliedto him while in a crowd
of Emmi] he card the namespoken while
he was ing at the hole in the astartit‘lon
wall, waiting to rob the man who b robbed
him. There were two men in the room when he
entered, one awake, the other aslee . The
sleepitpigl man had bri ht red hair. e other
was and dark. 6 last one hired Dan to
do the job, and called himself—or at least, sign-
ed his name as TracyTalbot. Now give me
your opinion."

“ If our man, Dan Clark, told on the truth
the ri die is easy enough read. he red-haired
man was Tracy Talbot. The other fellow took
h“ “t‘i‘°k”§ $73 with? :“i. m“ ‘1“
case or so mes. otejob. f
Dan got into trouble, he would naturally lay the
blame u 11 Tracy Tal .

“The. is One ew of the matter; but are on
quitest that Dan Clark told you thew lo

th?’
True Blue felt assured that Dan the Divil had
concealed nothing from him, and said as much.
The detectiye’s brows contracted a little, and
the old, cunmng gleam came intohis eyes again;
but iffilie was not satisfied, he kept his doubts to

“There is only one way for us to find out the
actual truth of e matter "said the boy jockey,
after a brief pause. “ be real Tracy Talbot
alone can help us. He must know who occupied
the room wit him on that ni ht—itis hardly
probable that he could haVe prgottnn such a
queer incident, even in the midst of his own

 
   

2O

 

trouble? 1 h d
name, 1 pro er a proac e .

“ It w*ould%e zasihr for you to gain access to
him than for me. Name your price' and I will
double it, gladly, if you return with the true
clew. .

“ You ask me to go to Tracy Talbot, az'id find
out from him the real name of the man. Well,"
and the detective laughed, dryly; “ I hardl
think 'ou would be Willing to pa my )rice,
and I oubt greatly whether I won d be a le to
find the gentleman so readily as you appear to
think. ”

“ You said-he was in State’s prison—”

“Exactly; I helped to put him there. But he
changed his uarters, some four years ago——-”

“ Pardone out-set at liberty? ’

“ By the hand of death—yes. ’

The blow was a doubly bitter one, from its
bein so totally unexpected, and the boy jockey,
fort 6 time being, was completely unmanned.

If the real Tracy Talbot was dead, the secret
of the past was buried in the grave with him.
The last ho was one, and the solemn vow of
the boy‘joc ey we (1 never be carried out.

Mr. ucullus Ep icoon appeared to look 11 n
the matter as not ' g but a huge jest. he
laughing devil was dancing in his snuff-colored
eyes and his whole form shook with secret
mirt . But the instant True Blue raised his
head, these mirthful symptoms gave place to a
preternatural gravity.

“ That lets me out then,” said the boy jockey,
with a sickly, forced smile. “ It’s no more than
my old luck. I was a fool to think of ever es—

caping it. ”

‘I on’t agree with you there,” said the de—
tective,,with a uiet assurance that caused the
boy jockey’s p se to beat uicker, though he
could not have told why. ‘To my eyes, the
case looks rettier than ever, and with your
permission, ’1] take hold of it in good earnest.

“In the first place, I feel pretty confident
that your man Dan has kept back t e most im-
portant portion of his confession, probabl be-
cause he was afraid of your casting him rift,
in case you learned the real extent of his crime.
You say he is wholly blind?” with a sudden al—
teration of tone and manner.

True Blue nodded too uzzled for words.

“ Good enough! It ' be no hard matter to

at at the truth, then, if no other way offers.

ut mind. If I am to take hold of this job,
you must let me take my time, and do the
wig-g, after my own fancy. Do you agreeto
b .

“ You are keeping something back—you know
more than you have told me—

“Iwill tellyou this; on musttrust me wholl ,
or not at all. If you ave patience and fait ,

ou shall know as much as do—but you must
at me choose my own time for making the rev-
elation. If this don’t suit ou, Iwash my hands
of the whole affair,” sai the detective, in a
short, sharp tone.

There was too much at stake for True Blue
to throw away the faintest chance, and, with a
megkeifiless quite foreign to his usual nature, he
re 1 :

‘ I meant no offense. If you see the slightest
hope of getting to the bottom of this miserable
tangle, I will pa your own price. But don’t
try to raise my opes that you know you can’t

satisg.”

“ I knew anything positive, I would not
keep it from you a moment; but there it is. I
fancy I have got hold of a fair clew, but after all
it may only be a fancy. As you sai, I won’t
raise false he s. Ipromise to dot e bestI
know how, an the moment I am satisfied I am
follolxlring the wrong trail, I will tell you as
muc .

“To begin with, you must treat Dan Clark
just the same as . Don’t ask him any
questions about the past. You must promise
me this ”

True Blue gave the required pledge, and then
the detective arose with the air of one thorough-
ly satisfied with himself and the world in gen-
eral. He settled his bill, and they both left the

restaurant.
“I’ll walk wit on to the hotel,” he said,
linkin arms. “ e old gentleman pays me

liber yfor keeping an eye upon ou, and I
must earn m money, you know. olman 85
Co. will hartfiy rest so isfled with what they
have done—or attempted. You must keep your
eye skinned, for I verily believe you are in more
danger here than you would be out among the
Ind us."

These words came back to True Blue with re-
doubled force, as he parted from his queer and
new-made friend, and ran lightly up the hotel
steps, where a shock-headed, ragged lad eager-

ly ted him.

‘ Please, boss Little Joe says you must come
to himgight off—not to wait a minnit, or mebbe
you’ll too late. ”

As he spoke the boy cast a quick, icious
glance aroun , as though he was afraid 0 being
overheard. But there were few rsons in the

ofice, and none of them were wit in earshot.
The demeanor of the lad was so peculiar,
that True Blue looked at him keenly, his suspi—
cions  with each passing moment.
“ is ttle Jeer’hedemanded, sharply.

He would surely tell us the man’s real

 

wBe-adle’s Dime Library.

“He’ told me to fetch you—it’s of! a long
we 5.
his hesitating reply did not tend to reassure
the boy jockey, and he recalled the detective’s
warning.
“If it’s so far, it is too late to go there to-
night. Tell me where I can find him, and I’ll
be there the first thing in the morning. Can’t

- you speak out?”

The lad was shifting uneasily from one foot
to the other, and casting a sidelong glance down
the steps leading to the street as though medi-
tating a hast retreat. True Blue saw this, and
gras ed the y by the shoulder as he spoke.

“ e told me not to tell nobody,” whined the
gutter—snipe, twistin uneasily under the boy
Jockey’s grasp; “ ’nd couldn’t tell you so you
could fin the way, mister. But I kin take you
there. ’Nd Little Joe, he said you must come
ri ht ofl', ’less ou’d be too late. ’

‘ What did 6 Want to see me about?”

“’Bout ridin’ the bi race, I reckon. I don’t
know no more,” the ad added, sulkily. “ I
was to fetch you to him, an’ he said I mustn’t
answer no questions.”

True Blue no longer had any doubt. He

believed that the la had been sent to decoy
him into another trap, for how could Little Joe
kfilOVé’ anything about his intention of riding for
t e up.
Still holding the lad firmly, he led him down
the stairs an out u on the street, then turned
him about and dealt im a kick that fairl lifted
the follow from his feet. Bidding him ta e that
to his employers, he reéntered the hotel, satis-
fied with his own prudence for once.

He hastened up to his rooms, worn and weary
with the bodily and mental fatigue he had un-
dergone during the past two days; but he was
destined to have no rest that night. He found
Dan Clark tossin uneasily upon the bed, mut-
léering incoheren y, delirious with a raging

ever.

 

CHAPTER XXIV.
SHADOWS THROUGH THE MIST!

AFTER the storm, followsa calm.

During the last six and thirty hours, life for
our young hero had been one constant whirl of
excitement and adventure. From the moment
that his keen e e had netrated the clumsy
mask worn b nglish cm and his fellow ras-
cals—from t e moment that the gray filly
Aphrodite sped under the' wire with flying
reins, to all appearances doomed to self-de-
struction—the boy jockey had known no rest
either of body or mind. Adventure had trod
upon adventure’s heels, until True Blue no
longer had occasion to sigh for the free and
eels3y life of the mountains and plains.

ut after this—after he found his blind and
crippled comrade, Dan Clark, tossing and moan-
ing in a high fever—there came a. lull. Da
after da dragged by, as quiet and uninteres
ing as ose immediately preceding them had
been crowded with excitement and novelty, nor
was True Blue at all ungrateful for the chan e.
His tensel strained nerves needed the rest, or
he felt the. the time was coming when he would
require all his powers of mind and body, in or-
der to pluck fortune out of the fire—to safely
land the high stakes for which he was racing.

The events of that week of quietness can be
briefly recorded.

In the first place, the illness of Dan Clark in-
creased, rather than moderated. There ap ar-
ed to be no specific disease, nor did the ever
take any definite form. The physicians who were
called in to attend him, a peared to be puzzled
by the case at first, but ally decided that it
was but the harbin er of a general breaking up
of the blind cripple s constitution.

This was no news to True Blue. He knew
that “ Dan the Divil ” had never recovered from
the terrible accident that left him such a pitiful
wreck. His span of life would have ended lon
ere this, only or the tender care and nursing o
the lad he had so bitterly wronged in years gone
by. And that care and attention was redoubled
now. Not throu h love for the patient, alto-
gether.- True lue was but mortal, and he
could not forget that Dan Clark had altered the
whole course of his—the youth’s—life. But he
believed that throuin the blind cripple alone
could he ever hrin ome the truth to the door
of the man who ha assumed the name and story
of Tracy Talbot for the furtherance of his own
evil ends, and in that belief he watched over and
cared for the sick man as tenderly as though he
had been flesh of his flesh. '

Not alone. Mr. Lucullus Ep icoon resolved
to earn the high wages and ' by Henry
Blythe, and nt the ea r part of his time in
company wit True Inc, for the first day or
two after their confidential interview in the
private Egg-hr of the little din restaurant.

Then ‘ tactics changed. e insisted u n
sharing the care of Dan Clark, and when 9
Blue looked at him indoubting wonder, the lit-
tle snuff-colored man coolly declared that
He Bl the had hired him to act as nurse, so
that e, rue Blue, might the better fit himself
for the great race.

The boy jockeyv felt that there was something
working beneat the surface, but he did not at—
temptto probe the mystery. He had. not yet

 

entirely recovered from the double shock re-
ceived u n that night. With the death of
Tracy T bot, he felt that the last clew to his

set life was severed. And—though I really

ate to say as much though it is undeniably
true—the scene he had witnessed in Henry
Blythe’s arlors had unmanned him for thetime
being. Olly though he knew it to be, the boy
jockey had fallen over head and ears .in love
with dainty Cora Blythe, and had built more
than one vague castle in the air which he and
she were to occu y, after he had iloted the
gray fill Aphro its to victoriin t e comin
race. is eyes were opened, t at evening, an
the castles crumbled into dust, never again to
be erected, for he saw that there was only one
man in the world for Cora Blythe—and that
was Harvey Craven. Nevertheless, the blow
was a bitter one, and for a day or two, he pined
and moped like a love-sick school-boy.

Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon furnished the needed
antidote when he urged True Blue to work off
his surplus flesh, against the race. And day by
day the boy jockey began to recover his usual
good sense under this practical course of medi-
cme.

Henry Blythe lost no time in acting upon the
sound advice given him by the boy jockey.

The ay fl 1y u on Whom so much depended.
was ta on home 0 Glendale, and there exer—
cised under the eye of her owner, by the li ht-
weight jockey whom he had selected to ride er.
The news of this engagement was quickly read
abroad, and the resultfully justified True lue’s
prediction.

There were no more plots aimed against the
boy jockey, nor did the gray filly come to harm.
Either the plotters were satisfied that she
could not win, or else they had secretly “ seen”
the new jockey.

The veteran turfite ‘played his part like an
actor born. Time an again he repeated his
warnings and instructions to his new rider, and
promised him a rich reward in case he should
pilot the filly to victory.

t. The ladf was atfiil‘lst-classdrider t5whgse reputa-
ion was air, 6 e ve a a er is engage-
ment was made known, 1the fivll went down in
the bettin , until the odds etc at two to one
on Midnig t. There was no such margin if all
had been u on the square, and Henry Blythe
knew that 's jockey had sold him. But he
never allowed his manner to change, and treated
the incipient traitor just the same as before.

English Tom was lying in the hospital, sufler-
ing the tortures of the damned before his time,
but, though he had lost both 1e and arm, the
surgeon in attendance expresse his belief that
:he patient would survive the double amputa-

ion.

Joe Cochran, the groom, was still in duranoe
vile, awaiting the recovery of hi confederate.

Nothing further had been heard‘from Little
Joe, the injured jockey, and True Blue was con-
vinced that the ‘ gutter-snipe ” who brou ht his
message, was really a decoy; but in that e was
mistaken. The message was a genuine one, and
had he acted 13m it, he might have been spared
muchpainau anxiety.

Tim Dorgan had been brought up fortrial,
but Holman refused to prosecute, and finally
succeeded in effecting the fellow’ release.

De its the care with which he was nursed,
Dan lark remained much the same, for the
greater portion of the time being out of his head
and raving wildly; so loud] that he disturbed
the lodgers occupying the a joinin rooms.

Wild and rec ess as had been is own life,
True Blue was often shocked and sickened by
the mad ravin of the invalid. Black crimes
were shadow forth, and long-hidden secrets
were revealed. But Lucullus Ep icoon ap-

ared to revel in these horrors. our after

our he would sit beside the bed, drinking in the
words that dropped from the fever- hed lips,
as though to miss a sentence woul be fatal to
his hopes of happiness.

There were many allusions to his stealing
away the baby boy, but theya peared to be
mixedup with other crimes, and rue Blue grew
tired of expectinglt‘he clew that never came. I

Day after day 9 Blue would bundle up and
mountinglhis mustang, ride out of town, then,
leaving is horse in a place of security, he
would walk and run for many miles, now upon
the road, now gomg across country, leapin
fencefitand hedges, working hard to reduce
weig .

He was just about to mount his horse, after
one of these spells of hard work one week subse-
quent to the events related in the last chapter,
when a fine carriage drew up near him and “a

oung, richly dressed woman aligh , then
tened to intercept him.

He reco ' her even before she spoke. Mr.
Eppicoon d pointed her out to him one day,
as the particular “friend” of Frank Holman,
one Dixie Leftwich by name. Young and
beautiful, one of three sisters, their story was a
sad one. Sold to crime and shuttle by their own
mother before they were old enough to rightly
'udgfeghe consequence—but enou h. Their

as n written in letters of bya. better
pen than mine.

.As soon as he saw that she meant to address
him, True Blue instantly suspected a trap, nor

\, g... .

 

did her first words tend to lessen this suspi-
cion.

She said that there was a plan on foot to'ab-
duct Miss Cora Blythe, and force her into
marryin a man whom she despised. That she
had over card the plot and hastened at once to
warn him, that he might.put Miss Blythe upon
her rd. ,

“ filthis is true wh not go at once to—to Mr.
Blythe?” demanded t ie boy jockey.

‘ Why do I not go to her, you started to say,”
the woman replied, with a hard laugh. “ For
the very reason that made you hesitate about
ending your question. You know what I am.
You know that she would not listen to me, even
if I could gain access to her presence. And for
the same reason Iicannot go to Mr. Blythe. He
would order the servants to drive me from his
door. No; I am running the risk of alienating
my dearest friend in giving this warning. Not
that I love her so well' but because he—Frank
Holman—is the man who is to marry her, if the
plot is successful.”

“ That man has three different 'mes tried to
et me into serious trouble” 8 owl uttered
rue Blue. “ How can I tell but this is another

trap?” I

“ I can easil convince you, if you Will trust
me. I can t e you where you can overhear
them talking. I will go with you. You are
armed. You can hold your pistol to my heart,
ready to fire at the first sign of treacher . Only
you must promise me one thing. . He_— ank—
is forced into this plot against his Will, by one
who holds his life in his hand. You must prom-
ise not to injure him if I take you there. After
you are gone, I will tell him that the whole
story is known, and then he must take carelof
himself. If he still persists, do not show him
an mercy. Can I speak any fairer?"

he boy jockey’s doubts began toweaken, 
when the woman added that if he deemed it
necessary he could tell a policeman to watch the
house and call for him if he did notrea pear
within an hour from the time when he on red,
he became convinced that she was acting in
good faith.

Mounting his horse, he bade her lead the way,
and followed her carriage at a respectful dis-
tance.

The carria e finally stopped before a large
brown brick ouse situated in a quiet part of
the town, and as llixie Leftwich alighted, she
made a swift sign to the boy jockey, then en-
tered the building.

He dismounted and hitched his horse with a
quick glance around him. Had a policeman
been in sight, he probably would have taken the
suggested precaution, but such was not the case,
and he entered the house.

“ Walk carefull ,” whispered the woman
leading the way ong the assage, dark an
narrow, which extended the ength of the front

rlor.
paThey mounted the stairs, and assed to the
rear of the building, where DiXie cautiously
opened a door and entered. True Blue followed
her, when she ave him a sudden push aside,
then rung bee and closed the door. The key
turns sharply, and he lmew that he was en-
trapped! '

___—

CHAPTER XXV.
THE TRUTH AT LAST.

Mn. Lucunnus EPPICOON made a very atten-
tive nurse, and few words d_ro ped from the
fever-parched lips of the blin and crippled
patient that were not carefully stowed awaym
the capacious memor of the little-detective, to
be overhauled at his leisure, and the wheat
se rated from the chaff. '

oor Dan was generally worse in the after-
noons than in the mornings and with a rare
generosity the little snuff-co cred man took it
u n himself to watch over the dfitment during
tlgglatter half of the day, sen g True Blue
out to do his training for the big race.

This division of work soon became a matter
of course, and Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon _was left
on guard at noon of the day on which True
Bluewas beguiled from the path of prudence
by the siren tongue ,of Miss Dixie Leftwich.

The little brown man appeared to be in a very
in ulsitive mood that afternoon. He carefully
logked the door, then tipth to the side of the
bed where Dan the ivil lay as silent and
motionless as though the breath had forever

left his bod .
But the little man was not alarmed. He knew

\

that his patient was far from being dead, and

his e rienced e e told him that this death-
likecill: would slicrtly be followed by another
long 11 of delirious wanderin . He chuckled
h ' y to himself, rubbing his ands together
in silent glee, as though in antmipation of a.
lorious feast. _
g g away from the bedSide, be cast 41
mm glance out of the Window, where a,
shabby-looking fellow was idly sunning himself
under the lamp—post, then knelt dOWD beside a
trunk belonging to the ho ockey. The lid re—
sisted his eflorts to raisei , ut the httle snuff.
colored man only smiled the more, and ro-
duced a bit of pliable wire-fromanmner poo et.

Bending and twisting this be inserted one end'

 

 The Boy J ockey.“

into the key—hole, and the bolt flew back as by
magic. ,

Settling himself comfortably u n the floor,
Mr. Lucullus Ep icoon examine the contents
of the trunk, one y one carefully reading the
few letters and iapers which he found therein,
but finally rep acing everything except the
tinieworn suit of clothes which True Blue wore
when he made his debut as a boy jockey.

These garments, though they proved a. rather
tight fit for his plum person, the little deteca
tive roceeded to on, chuckling heartily
thong silently the while, as though there was
seine huge jest connected with this solitary mas-
querade.

He had barely time to catch a single glimpse
of himself in the mirror, when the voice of the
fever patient uttered the name of the b0 jockey
——the name which has not yet been use in this
story, but which the good old fisherman ave
the waif he had ado ted in place of the chil en
he had lost—Archie aclise.

The little snuff—colored man glided swift] to
the bedside, but it was the voice of the y
jockey that spoke to the sick man. Not satis-
fied with assuming the clothes, Mr. Lucullus Ep-
picoon appropriated the very accent of the boy
jockey, soothing the patient with tender, affec-
tionate words, like a. doting parent comforting
an ailing, irritable child.

While thus talking, he keenl scrutinized the
face of the blind man, and care ullty counted the
rapid throbbing of his pulse. A ar—away look
came into his eyes, as thou h he was thinking
deeply, and he made no rep to the querulous
speech of the sick man, unt' the thin, scarred
hand was placed upon his arm. Then he nodded
twice in rapid succession, a hard, steely light
comin into his little brown eyes as he arose
and fisied up a flat, wicker-covered flask from a
pocket of his discarded coat.

A wonderful chan e came over the haggard
face of Dan the Divi , as he heard the musical
gurgle of the liquor inside its prison, as the mas-

ueradin detective shook the flask; a light like
t at whic comes into the face of a starving
man at the first scent of plentiful food. But he
said nothing, though he would have 'ven his
right hand for a taste of “the era ur,” for
the doctor had steme forbidden is tasting
liquor, and True Blue had strictly enforce
those orders.

Perhaps Mr. Lucullus Ep icoon was softer-
hearted. Be that as it may, e moved soft] to
the bedside and unscrewing the metal top, eld
the flask to the parched lips of the blind cripple.
One heavenly swallow-—- or such it was to the
burnin palate of the feverish drunkard—then
the be e was withdrawn.

“ Tell me the whole truth, Danny,” said the
voice of True Blue,~emer ' from the lips of
Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon. “ ell me the whole
triiftli, and you shall have the bottle all to your-
se .

“ The truth av what, Master Archie?” faltered
the blind cripple. “Sure I nivir lied to ye

‘t—

“ Easy, dadd ,” interrupted the detective,
wamingly. “ ou have been talking while the
fever was on ye, and let out a part of what you
kept back when on told me about Trac Talbot
and that black ay’s work. Danny, w killed
mg‘ mother i’”

be sick man shrunk away with a low, shud-
dering moan, and passed one scarred hand
across his si htless eyes, as though to wipe out
some direfu vision.

Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon bent forward, his little
eyes glowin like livin coals, his features
working exci dlv. But is voice was cold and
:geé-n and still that of the boy jockey, as be

e :

“ You must tell me the whole truth, Danny.
If ou confess all I will still be the same to you,
bu if on refuse, or attempt to deceive me
again, will go away and never come back to

you until you are dead and buried; then I will

come to leave a curse upon your grave—”

A sh cry interrupted him, and with ac-
cents tha were almost inarticulate from deep
agitation, the blind cripple begged him to take
back his words. v

But Mr. Lucullus Epfiicoon was not to be
driven from the position e had taken. He was
determined to learn the whole truth, and in the
end he succeeded, though the tra ic sto bad
to be drawn from the blind cripple it b it.

A portion of his confession has alrewgy been
recorded, and a repetition here is needless. The
manner in which the man who called himself
Tracy Talbot entra ped the burglar; the con-
fession he extorted i-om his unwilling lips, and
the manner in which he used the power thus
obtained, iii-flay befound in a previous chapter.
This, and up to where Dan the Divil was
shown the woman and child, was the truth, but
the rest of the story had been greatly softened
by Dan in his fear lest True Blue should leave
him to ie alone if he knew the truth.

Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon listened eagerly to the
confession extorted from the blind cripple, and
his pencil moved rapidly over the paper as he
wrote down the faltering words.

The man who had assumed Tracy Talbot’s

name, put Dan Clark upon the track-of the

woman and child, and bade him kill the latter '

s

 

21.

as the the price of his freedom. At the time,
the burglar really meant to carry out the
wishes of his employer, and counted f
lucky in escaping so easily

Fortune favored his esigns, for those upon
whose trail he was placed, were out for a stroll
when the pretended Tracy Talbot inted them
out, and dogggd bfieDan the Divi mother and
son left the wn hind them and climbed the
wooded bluff which overlooked the river.

The spot was deserted and lonely. Not an—
other person was in sight, and Dan the Divil
felt that his task would be no very difficult one.
He could seize the boy, and stifling his cries
with the drug which his employer had given
him, could easily run away from the mother
21nd gain a safe refuge before she could give the

arm.

This was his first plan, but what he believed
a much better one offered itself. The mother
seated herself beneath a tree, and o ned abooli.
The child ran here and there, pluc ' g flowers,
promising obedience to the mother’s repeated
lignition not to venture near the edge of the

11 L.

What if the child should fall over the reci—
pice, to meet its death upon the sh roc , or
in the swift, deep waters that washaéd’ the base?
Who could say that it was not accident? And
Dan the Divil resolved that such an accident
should occur. -

The opportunity soon offered itself.

The little bo wandered further away from
his mother, mi 1 at length she was lost to ht.
And the burglar stole nearer the unsuspic ous
child, with murder in his heart. Nearer still-
then, with a swift rush he strove to seize the
litltgletfiillow.

u is foot slipped upon a tuft of grass and
falhng hearing? be just missedhisaim. ’Ter-
rifled, the c ' (i ran screaming toward its
mother. With a fierce curse Dan followed and
overtook him, raising him aloft to toss him over
the precipice. But the mother had been arous-
ed by the shrieks of her child, and fearless for
herself rushed to the rescue.

Dan sprung aside to avoid her, and then, un-
able to stop in time, the unfortunate woman fell
over the precipice.

With tears in his sightless eyes, Dan solemnly
declared that he never touched the woman nor
realized her danger until all was over. And the
detective felt that he was speaking no more than
the truth.

_This tragedy so awed Dan that he could not
kill the child, but stilling its sobs with chloro~
form, he put it in a place of safety, hastened to
his employer and convinced him that the deed
was done. Then, with the written confession
in his possession, he fled with the child before
the tragedy was discovered. ‘

The manner in which be disposed of the child
has already been placed upon record.

For some moments the detective had been
watching the closed door instead of the cri pie,
and as he heard a suspicious sound repeated, he
knew that some person was upon the outside,
listening at the key-hole!

Softly he arose and ickin u a bee. cone ,
3f the  vy

that stood at the head lided to the
door, and turning the key, sudde y flung the
door wide open. ‘

CHAPTER XXVI.
TAKEN IN THE TOILE-

 

QUICKLY recoverin his balance. and ding
himself by the scum of the fallin rm
Blue sprung swiftly to the door, 0 y to d it

closed and all esca cut of! in that direction.

Grasping the kno , he strove to tear the door

0 u, but he mi ht as well have tu at the
s do of the building itself. gged

It needed no second thou ht to convince the
boy jockey that he was en rapped by his one-
mies, an even in that moment of natural
annoty, he could not help feeling ashamed of
having thrust his neck into such a clumsil set
snare. This shame was quickly followed by a
gust of rage, and he felt for his revolver, mean-
ing to blow off the lock of the door; felt but
fe c in vain, for the faithful weapon had been
stolen from him. ‘

Dixie Leftwich must have stolen it while she
led. him along the narrow, dark passage, or
while upon the stairs—at any rate he weapon
was gofne, thioiighdhefhad asfiuretd llilims'elf that it
wassaean an oruseus teinstautbe—
fore he entered the}; building.

_ The boy jockey was never cooler than when
in the presence of danger nor was the present
instance an exception. e cast a keen com-
prehensive glance around him, taking in the
nature and contents of the little room. A low
bed a chair and wash-stand, the latter supplied
with a stone wash-bowl and water pitcher, was
all the room contained in the shape of furniture.

There was one narrow window near the foot
of the bed, and with a. sudden hope, True Blue
pushed aside the dingy cloth curtain, and look-
ed out upon a stone ved omit-“yard, inclcsed
upon three sides by t e brick w of thehouse,
the other flanked by outbuildings and ahigh

fence. .
In fact the building had been erected fora
hotel, and used as such for some years, but was

by.

22

Beadle’s Dime 

 

 

 

sold when the business part of the city grew
more remote, and finally fell into the hands of
the Leftwiches.

The boy jockey saw that escape by way of the
window was out of the question, even when
aided by the scanty bedclothing, and his
thoughts took another turn.

He knew something of the manner in which
such houses are conducted. He knew that few
of them were unprovided with human bulldogs,
whose duty it was to uiet all disorderly or
over-particular guests— awing them into
silence, or reasoning wit them through the
medium of “ knuckle-dusters " or “ life-preserv-
ers,” then pitching them out of the building, or

 them over to some friendly policeman
to be run in ” for disturbin the peace.

“ That’s the game they thin to p a ” thought
True Blue, as he picked up and care ully weigh-
ed the chair in his hands, with an eye to its pos-
sible use. “ They look for me to raise the alarm
and try to force my way out and thus give
them an excuse for bouncing me.”

He had no idea that they meant to kill him, but
he did believe that the intention was to beat and
disable him for the time being, thus making it
im ible for Henry Blythe to chan 9 his mind
an put him up to ride the filly, w ile, at the
same time, Frank Holman would have sweet re-
ven e for the past.

T on h he could hardly hope to escape from
the b ding without 3. st gle, more or less
severe, the boy jockey resolve to do nothing to

reci itate matters, and to give the enemy no
Ban e for assailing him.

He' had scarcely formed this resolution when
he heard the sounds of hasty footsteplsfimingled
with human voices, drawing nearer ' place of
confinement.

He' thou ht no more of the wise resolution he
bad form ,but grasped the heavy; stone pitcher
in his right ban , and holdin t e chair in his
left, stationed himself close side the door,
drawin back the pitcher in readiness to salute
the firs? head that appeared. Then, by follow-
ing u the attack with the chair, he thought he
mi hgbe able to force his way to the street. .

erhaps it was as well for all parties that this
desperate resolve was not put to the test. In-
stead of opening the door beside which he stood
in readiness, the men—for from the different
voices and footsmTrue Blue knew that they
were two—enter e chamber adjoining.

True Blue heard the door close, and sounds as
thou h the two men were drawmfi‘fihairs up to
a talfie and seating themselves. on came a
voice that be instantly recognized; the cold,
measured accents of James Hudson.

“Listen, now, and pay close attention to my
words,” the voice was saying. “ You must un—
derstand what you are to do, before she comes
back, for we can’t talk about this matter then;
she is so infernalllysgeealous—and I begin to be-
lieve she has been ning already.” I

“It was not a ver wise move, letting awo-
man like her have a ger in the pie,” uttered a
dee unpleasant voice that the boy jockey had
no Sifliculty in recognizing as that of Tim Dor-

“ Wise or foolish, that does not concern you.
All you have to do is to obey orders. Youwnl
be paid well and share none of the risks. You
tried your hand once, and made a miserable
botch of the job. Dixie can do no worse, and
may succeed, though that infernal boy is sharp
azlavneedle, and harder to hold than an electric
e 1

Thanks to the thinness of the deal partition
which had been loosele up between the
two rooms, True Blue no trouble in distin-

' every word spoken, as he pressed his
ear to a narrow crack. And at this concluding
compliment, a grim smile stole over his fea-
tures, for it was uttered with an an petu-
lance that was highly gratifying to he lis-

“ At the same time,” resumed Hudson, “it
won’t do to let her know what we really intend
do' . She is so dead gone On Holman, that if
she ew what we are working for, she would
blow the—”

The speaker abmgitlficeased as a hasty foot-
Ite was heard, an a asty hand rattled at the
1 as the voice of Frank Holman demanded
entrance.

True Blue breathed a silent curse at the inter-
ruption, for he felt that James Hudson was
about to make an important revelation, which
he would in all probability now we overhear-

"e heard Hudson arise and unlock the door,
with a surly growl at the other’s keeping them
w

siting.

“ It’s lucky that I did wait,” printed Holman,
who a peared to be quite out o breath. _7‘ I’ve
learn more than enough to pay me. Give me
a sup of that whisky. I’ve come like a race—
horse—”

“ To do your blewing here,” sneered Hudson.
“ What have you learned? another mare's
nest?” .

“ It would serve you right to let you  out
for ourself,” retorted the gambler, sna pishly.
“A r all, itis your work, and I’m a col for
milky”)! out, when there’s nothanksto be

 

“ Will you tell us just what you mean, Mr.
Holman? As for doing my work, if on would
firefer towork for the good of. the tate, you

ave only to speak the word and I will secure
yotui’a permanent situation. Which is iii-speak
ou

“ You needn’t ick a fellow up so sharp,” mut-
tered the gamb er evidently cowed by the
hidden meaning of Hudson’s s ch. “ If I was
late it was for our 00d. know the whole
truth now. The. blin cripple is Dan Clark—”

A sha exclamation burst from the lips of
James udson, and True Blue himself but
barely refrained from followin suit.

A red liglht filled his eyes, an he glued his ear
to the crac , holdin his breath lest he should
lose a single word 0 what was to follow.

“I heard the whole story, listening at the
keyhole,” resumed Holman. “ The old man
was tellin the boy who he really was—”

Again ere came an interruption, this time
from Dixie Leftwich, who burst into the room
excitedly, crying:

“ How came you to choose this room? Fools!
the boy is in yonder, and can hear eVery word
that is spoken here i"

“What boy?” demanded Holman, sharply.

“ The boy I was to entrap—True Blue. He
has been there for nearly half an hour. That
fool Jessie told me you had not come yet-”

Holman interrupted her with a hard laugh.

“ Half an hour ago that be was inhis room,
talkin with Dan Clark. on have made a
fool o ourself, Dixie—you have caged the
wrong bird 1”

“I there is a mistake, you made it, not I,”
was the sharp response. “ I brought the boy
here—the one you ointed out to me—the one
who rode the gray y in that race—”

“Stop talkin ,’ sternly uttered Hudson. “ It
is easy to see w ‘ch is right. In the next room,
you say?"

Thus far the boy jockey had listened with an
interest the intensity of which words could but
faintly icture.

Not to ther on account of the danger which
threaten himself, though that was not to be
despised. But because he felt that he was at
last upon the trail of the truth—that he, had dis-
covered the man who assumed the name and
story of the genuine Tracy Talbot, in order to
conceal his own crime.

He knew that the discove was mutual, and
the last words of James Hu on put him upon
his guard. If indeed his suspicions were true
then he need expect no mercy at the hands 0
the man whohad once sought his life. The dark
past would be wiped out by a darker present.

There was one chance, despite the odds of
three to one. The woman would tell them that
he was disarmed, and they would not be too
cautious in their approach. He might break
through them and gain the outer air. At least
he would make a good ii ht for life.

As once before, he sto e close to the door, and
stood with the heav pitcher, half full of water,
raised to fell the 'st man who came within
reach, while the chair was held in readiness for
use against the others.

True Blue was not ke t long in suspense. He
heard the sounds of foo tops agnoaching, then
heard the bar removed and ekey turnedin
th'erllioctki. fl d h f

e oorwas ung o n,an e rung or-
ward. But the enemy p3“ not wit ' arm’s-
length,  retreated a few steps. He dared
not hesitate ut flung the pitcher with sllhis
force, then clubbed the chair—

The ceil' appeared to fall upon his head,
fixthe dar ess of death suddenly came over

CHAPTERXXVII.
wasvmo run was.

DIxm LEFTWICH had told the men that the
b0 jockey was unarmed, and produced the re-
vo ver which she had adroitly stolen from him
a moment before leading him into the little
chamber in confirmation of her words, but
James Hudson was not a man to run any un-
necessary risks True Blue had already proved
himself a tough customer in more ways than
one, and since the startlin announcement of
Frank Holman, the arch otter would have
lost his right hand mther suffer the youth
to escape.

It was this, rather than personal fear, thatled
James Hudson to take the precautions he did,and
the result fully justified his foresight.

Tim Dorgan was placed in ambush close be-
side the entrance, bearing a heav “ sand-club.”

udson himself unfastened and ung open the
door, then sprung lightly back beside Frank
th  'tch passedbetw th ' heads

e vy 1 er een eir ,
and was shatgered to atoms against the opposite
wall, but nothing befell them more serious than
a liberal sprinkling of water.

Through this shower-bath they saw True _Blue
in the act of springing u n them, with uphfted
chair, and they instinc vely prepared to meet
his onset. But Tim Dorgan was too ex rienced
a hand to botch his share of the wor , and as
True Blue possedthe threshold, the deadly sand-
hog descended with unerrlng aim and resistless

 

force. The boy jockey fell like a log to the
floor, and dro ping his weapon, Tim Dor an
sunk upon his ees beside the quivering y,
and clasped his brawny fingers around the un-
fortunate lad’s throat.

“ Say the word, boss—or only give me a sign,
and the little rat ll never give you any furt ei
trouble,” he grated, laking u at James Hud-
son with a wolflsh look in his gloodshot eyes.

Though the white, hard—set faCe did not show
it, there was a stern struggle going on in Hud—
son’s brain. The temptation was a strong one,
but as he saw the willing hands of Tim Dorgan
begin to close ti hter around the throat of the
senselessboy joc ey, rudence prevailed.

“No—that would save tell-tale marks. Tie
him hand and foot and put him on the bed in
yonder until I can dec1de what shall be done
with him.”

Though grumblineg and with little fancy for
the job, Dorgan did as directed. Then the door
was closed and firmly secured, and the boy
jocke left to die or recover as best he could.

Hu on bade Dixie lead the way to the room
which had bee‘n intended for their occu tion,
and when this was done, in terms more orcible
than polite, bade her take herself away.
Without a sign of anger at this cavalier treat-
ment, the young woman obeyed, but had not
James Hudson been a little thrown off his bal-
ance by the startling discovery he had made,
he would have distrusted this too meek ac-
quiescence.

“You can go too, Dorgan,” he added when
the young woman had disa peared. “ ere is
nothing more for on to o to-night and you
already understan what is expected of you.
Call here twice a day, for orders, and hold your—
self in readiness to act at a. moment’s notice.
Go—and keep sober until this job is well ended. '
You understand 3"

The burly rufiian nodded, then left the room.

Hudson seated himself at the table and signed
Holman to follow his example.

“Now, tell me just what you overheard at
the hotel. Word for word as near as you can
re t them.”

he gambler obeyed. His ears were keen,
and his memory an extraord one. A short-
hand reporter could hardly have given a more
accurate account.

“It must have been that cursed detective,”
muttered Hudson, frowmn' g darklfi. “ He is
noted for his were of mimicry. e was liv-
ing here at he time too. He worked u the
case against Tracy Talbot. May the ligh 
blast him! If he crosses my pa h now, he
never hunt another man to the gallows I”

“What do you think of doing?” asked Hol-
man, curiously. “Lucky Coon can put two and
two together—”

“That. is m affair—don’t trouble ourself
about me,” an as he s ke James Hu 11 re-
gained his wonted col com e. “ If you
are thinking to et a counter old upon me, you
are mistaken. on have no r fs—no wit-
nesses' it would be our wor 'nst mine,
andifI chosetotell etrue storyofthatbank
skewnesszsrrn-s b.

or s e s egam er

trembling like a leaf and casting a fearful

lance over his shoulder. “You know I am
rue to you—” ,

“ True to yourself, rather,” sneered James
Hudson, who appeared to be in a fit mood for
exercising his power. “ You know that a single
word from my lips can send you to the ows.
And that word will be spoken at the sign
of rebellion on your . You shall unheat-
tgtin 1y l’d’o whatever bid you, or die the death
0 a 0g

Holman made no reply, but a. dangerous light
came into his eyes, as one hand slowly moved
towardhis breast.

Hudson saw the motion, read it aright, and
la hed, low and mockingly. ,

‘ ou woukli‘ifls‘igngour own death-warrant in
kil ' me, olman. You would be ar-
r within an hour, for that little job of last

Ma _”

“y Don’t drive me too hard, then ” sullenly
muttered the gambler. “ There’s s when
I’d rather be h than live on with you for a
master. You taunt me once too often for
your own health—mind that."

“Perhaps I was too hard 11 11 you, Frank,”
said Hudson, with a change 0 tone and man-
ner. “But you have been grewing restive of
late, and I had to put on the curb, for our own
sake. We will let thepast drop, and 'ck tothe
present. You have thought over the proposal I
made you?”

“Yes—but I can’t see through it. What are
you—what am I to gain by it?

“ Your gain be both monefiand 91%
On the day that you marry Cora lythe, I
make over to you ten thousand dollars, and give
you the dying confession of your pal in that lit—
tle aflair. ’

“ The girl hates me—she would not look at
me.

“Then she must be led to see the error of her
ways,” said Hudson, with a short, disagreeable
la h. “ There are more ways than one of kill-

ug
aoat. Ihaveohsnfim mindsinoewe
lastuponthema . lhsteodoftrying

 

23

 

p

to make the silly girl fall in love with you we
will have the we ding first and the love-makin

at our convenience. I aven’t .decnded Jus

when it is to be done—that will in a measure
depend upon the manner in which the race for
the Cu ends.”

“ Mi ni ht must win it,” interrupted Holman,
the eager iglht of a true-born gambler filling his
e es. “ p rodite is the only one in the list
t at has any chance of beating him in a fair
race and I have made sure other jockey—J

“ lilo game is ended until it is la ed out. The
boy has agreed to sell Henry lyt e, but what
security have we that he Will not sell us, pro-
vided he can make more by doing so? It would
not be the first ‘double cross I have seen.
There would have been more risk but I almost
wish we had poisoned the filly. T e bets are all
‘ play or pay,’ and then the old dog would have
been ruined beyond all doubt.” .

Holman azed at the frowning face of his
mate in imquity, and would have given much
to have had the questions which rose to the ti
of his tongue answered, but he dared not put his
curiosity into words.

“Never mind the race,” said Hudson, shaking
his head impatiently, as though strivin to cast
off all disagreeable thoughts. “About he girl.
She is very proud and high-spirited, for al she
looks so meek and childish. And that is the
trait 1 intend to work on. .

“I have a plan almost perfected by which I
hope to induce her to leave her home Willing-
l , though, of course, under a mistaken idea.
gut that won’t serve her. The servants Will
see that there is no force used, as long as
they can see anything.

‘ Once away from the house, we will take her
direct to your rooms, and there she must pass
the night in your company. If she is not too
frightened to give us trouble, we can use chloro-
form, or gag her under her vail. She must
be seen to enter your rooms with apparent
willingness, and you must let it be known that
she spends the night there in your company.
As to your treatment of her, you can use your
own 'udgment. Only remember this. She
must so compromised that her only escape
from utter disgrace will be through marrying
you. I will see that there is no doubt; I_wil
drop in upon you early in the morning, with a
couple of reputable witnesses, and it_w111 go
hard but we can shame her into marrying you.
What think you of the plan?” .

The gambler looked as though it was a bitter
pill to swallow, but he was saved the necety
of making any reply, for at that moment a heavy
knocking was heard down—stairs. A brief use
-—-then a sharp, peculiar voice was hear de-
manding admittance.

With a fierce, grating curse Hudson sprung
to his feet.

“ It is that infernal Lucky Coon! He has
followed you—he me come to rescue the boy—
True Blue I”

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE DETECTIVE 0N DUTY. .

PROMPT and decided as were his actions, Mr.
Lucullus Eppicoon was too late to arres the
spy who he felt confident had been listening
at the key-hole of his door. The corridor was
empty when he sprimg forward to catch the
eavesdropper, but he was just instime to see a
door be end and upon the same SldB\0f the cor-
ridor, c ose. ‘

This was hardly necessary to confirm the de-
tective’s suspicions. The story told by the bhnd
cripple, Dan Clark, had made this, among other
things, uite clear to him. He knew now why
James Hudson and Frank Holman had so r-
sistently lotted against the welfare of the o
jockey. ey had recognized either Dan Clar
or True Blue, perhaps both of .them. At any
rate, the had suspected something of the truth,
and who. the sp had overheard that evening
would convince them of the danger that over-
hung their heads. I

These reflections d throu h the mind of
the little brown de ctive with hora _idit of
li htning, and he drew back'inside is per.
H38 knew that the spy could not have seen into
the room, since the ey had been in the lock, and
his cars would have been deceived by theas—
sumed voice. It was best that they should con-
tinue to think that it was the boy Jockey who
had received the sick man’ confession.

“Whoever it may be, he can’t leave the hotel
Without passing by this door,” reflected the de-
tective, and it’ll go hard with me but I’ll catch
a. glimpse of the Varmint. Not but thatI know
prett well who It is. That’s Holman’s room,
and e’s playing dog to old Hudson: Lord—
lordl how blind the best of us are at times! _To
think that such a job as this has been lyin
under my feet for near] twenty Yea“, and
never suspecting but w tit was all on the
square!” .

During this soliloquy, Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon
had left his door a httle ajar, keeping his ear
close to the aperture, listening for some sound
from the room to which the eavesdropper had
retreated. But now his tactics changed, as a
new and better plan suggested itself to his fer-
tile mind.

 

The Boy Jockey.

Hastening across the room to the one window,
which looked out upon a side street, he protrud-
ed his head throng the opening, and almost im-
mediatel beheld what he desired.

A She by-looking little man was leaning
against the lamp-post upon the opposite side of
the street, lazily whittlmg a stick.

Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon ave a little chuckle
of satisfaction and with rew his head, pro-
ducing note-book and pencil and scribbled a few
lines at a furious rate, keeping one ear open for
sounds along the passe. e.

Tearing out the le , he twisted it tightly
around a silver dollar, for want of a less ex-
pensive weight and returning to the window,
gave a short, is arg whistle, then tossed the par-
cel toward the sha by little man. That worthy
started as though to cross the street, and when
he neared the spot where the note lay, he drop-
ped the stick he was whittling. Stooping for
it, the paper was secured at the same time.

Mr. ucullus E picoon noddeda provingly.

“ Only for whi y that man nee take a ack
seat for nobody. As it is, he has tau ht me
more than one wrinkle. A quicker eye or see—
ing through a tangle—I knew it!" with a silent
chuckle, as he heard rapid footsteps ascending
the stairs.

In that note the detective had mentioned the
number of the room into which the eavesdro
perhad retreated, and bade the shabby litt e
man'find out who the occu ants were.

Whatever plan the po ice spy may have
formed, was rendered unnecessary by the ap-
pearance of Frank Holman, who left is room
and passed swiftly by the door of the room
where the detective stood. If he hoped to es—
cape recognition, he was foiled. T rough a
narrow crack, those little mull—colored eyes
penetrated his rude attempt at disguise, and

Lucky Coon ’ knew that he need look no fur-
ther for the spy. The very precaution which
the gambler too , served to convict him all the
more surely.

The instant Holman’s head sunk below the
level of the floor, as he descended the stairs, the
detective hastened to meet the shabby little
man.

“ Follow that man until ou run him home.
Then send me a note by the st messen or on
find. Stay on guard yourself. Go—and ive y l”

Without a word he police spy turned and
disappeared down the stairs.

Reéntering the room, Mr. Lucullus Ep i-
coon stood for a few moments watching e
face of the blind cripple, who la motionless
exhausted by the long stor he ad told, and
the natural agitafon born 0 such a confession.
Apiarently the scrutiny was satisfactory,
for t 9 little brown man nodded toward his
fillelcistion in the glass, a pleasant smile upon

s s.

With noiseless rapidity he strip ed 03 the
garments he had appro riated rom True
Blue’s trunk, and resumed s own snuff-colored
suit. Replacing the articles in the trunk, he
lighted a. cigar, and seating himself at the open
wnidow, prepared to enjoy himself.

But he was not to remain long undisturbed.
A sharp exclamation parted his lips as he caught
sight of a man almost running a ong the street
he ow. It was the rson whomhe had directed
to never lose sigh of the ho flocke foraino-
ment, while he was outside 0 t 6 ho 1. Up to
this time, the man had faithfull performed
this difficult duty, and so admit y that True
Blue never for a moment suspected the fact.

“I m' ht have known that everyth was
working 0 smoothly to last ” muttered t e de-
tective, as he hastened out of the room, to meet
his employee.

He was met by the man at the head of the
stairs, but the an reproaches which arose
to his li were 0 ecked by the frank, unem-
barrasse glance which met his glittering e e.

“Freeman sent me to re rt. sir,” and be
men r ectfull touched h cap; “ He could
not fin any 0 her messenger andy, and I
thought it would be a savmg of time, since I
can tell you myflstory as we go along.”

“ What has ppened—why have you left the
boytl—and where hurriedly demanded the de-
tec 've.

“ He is in the same house with the man whom
Freeman was shadowing. If I may be allowed
to say so, I believe the young gentleman has
been entrapped.”

“What were 014. doing, then? what am I
Baryng you for, at to keep him out of trou-

“Begging pardon, sir, but if on will only
hear me out, I don’t believe you gen blame me.
My instructions were to keep an eye upon the

oung gentleman, but not to interfere unless
there Were signs of foul la .”

Here he gave a brief escri tion of the inter-
view between True Blue an Dixie Leftwicli.

adding:

“I could not et near enou h to overhear
their words, but 1: 9 yo gen amen followed
her of his Own acrgrd. sawhnn enter the
house—thepne kept y the Leftwiches—of his
own free Will, and I had no excuse for interfer-
ing. You know boys will be boys sir, and if I
had made a mistake, then I could ve been a:

notortherusotoeitheryouor him. So

 

waited and watched until Freeman came up
and sent me here”,

Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon saw that the sp
could not well have acted other than be h
and admitted as much, then h he felt assured
that, despite his precautions, rue Blue had fal-
len into the hands of his enemies. who would
not be more inclined to mercy after the story
Frank Holman had overheard.

“ Go to the station and tell Fredericks that I
want half a dozen armed men for important
business. Lead them to the Leftwich house,
but keep low until I come, unless you hear a
disturbance inside the building. In that case
enter—force the doors if there is any delay in
opening—and arrest every inmate of the house
-— ou understand?"

_he police 3 y nodded, then hastened down-
;ustairs, follows a moment later by the detec-
Va.

The latter persona e had evidently decided
upon the course has for him to pursue, and
though foiled at the first place he called at, no
one being in, he was soon closeted with a justice
of the peace, who had not yet left his office. ‘

Five minutes later Mr. Lucullus E picoon
emerged from the office and hastens along
the street toward the Leftwich maison du joie,
where he found his man, Freeman, still upon
gear. 31, though the policemen had not yet ar-
rive .

“Your bird is still inside?” he asked, breath-
lessl .

“ Hes; I’m afraid there’s been mischief done,
though. Tim Dor ancame out a few minutes
ago, and the dev‘ was in his fame even more
than common.” .
Not a little to the detective’s relief, the police
3y made his appearance with a. squad of men,
stout, determined-looking fellows, and bid-
ding them see that their istols were all ready
for use, Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon entered the nar-
row passage at their hea , and knocked sharply
at the door at the further end.
1“%pen, in the name of the law 1” he cried,
a on .

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
ARRESTED as A TEIEF.

Miss DIXIE Lnrrwron obeyed James Hud-
son’s blunt order to make herself scarce, with a
meekness especially remarkable in one of her
impetuous, ery nature, and which would at
almost any other time have awakened the man’s
snslpicions. But the most cunning of mankind
wi make an occasional mistake, when the day
of their doom is drawing near, and so it was
with James Hudson.

The young woman retreated toward the stair-
way but instead of descending them she en-
tered one of the small chambers and wragped
herself he and feet in a dark cloak. nly
waitin mi 1 Tim Dorgan came out and de-
scende to the lower part of the house, Dixie
emerged from the chamber and silent] crept
toward the room occupied by the two p otters.
She used for a moment at the door, but up
rent could not satisfactorily overhear he
space of those within, for she passed on and em
tered the adjoining chamber.

The partitions were thin, and had been runup
hastily out of thin boards that had not been
thoroughly‘ seasoned. In drying, these boards
had shrun considerably, and only for being
papered igion both sides, there would have been
as little ifiicult in occupants of adjoining
rooms seeing, as hearing each other.

Thus Dixie Leftwich was enabled to overhear
every word spoken by Hudson or Holman, and a
very bitter pill to swallow she found them, too.

T e_one redeeming trait of her character was
her blind fidelity to the man she loved. She
knew that he was a heartless, worthless follow;
that be deceived her almost daily in every ini-
aginable manner' that he was a thief, whose
hands were dyed deep in human blood, and
woose life hung upon the caprice of James Hud-
son, to whom, as a. lawyer, Holman’s dying
comrade in the crime, had made full confession,
dullqy signed and witnessed.

ot only this, but he had many a time beaten
and abused her, when drunk or in a jealous

frenzy: but still the lost woman loved him, and

would have died in his behalf, had the occasion
arose. Still she could play the By upon him,
for she had gained an inkling of udson’s plot
and dearly as she loved the gambler, she woul
have drained his heart dry rather than see him
the husband of another woman.

With breathless eagerness she drank in ev
word that, was spoken until a few momeallz
before the alarm was ven below stairs. Though
she could not see me see, she knew by his voice
that Frank Holman was only joining in the plot
against Miss Cora Blythe because he could not
resist the will of the man in whose hands his
life Is. , and she believed she saw a hope of sav-
mgI m from both dangers.

oleelessly retreating‘efrom the room, she
hastened to the chem r in which True Blue
had been left, bound hand and foot though in a
state of unconscime ass.

Hudson hadtaken the key with him, but as
mistress of the house Dixie had a master- ey
which uickly opened the door, not a: Mr. Lu-
cullus Eppicoon made his demon below stairs.

24

She did not hesitate, but sprung to the bed-
side and began cutting the cords which held
the boy jockey captive. He was conscious, and
apparently but little the worse for Tim Dorgan’s
murderous assault.

Before she had quite succeeded in her task, a.
loud crash from below told her that the police
had forced the door from its fastenin .

James Hudson also heard the soun as he was
hastening to the place where he had left his
prisoner, and he knew that there was no time to

)e lost unless he would have, his perilous work
all to do over again.

He was not unacquainted with the secrets of
the old house, where man a dark and curious
event had occurred, and e believed that the
boy jockey might be removed from the building
be ore the police came up. But he was to meet
stubborn opposition exactly where he counted
upon cordial aid.

Just as he reached the open door of the cham-
ber, Dixie Leftwich lighted the gas, then
sprung forward as though to bar the entrance.

True Blue was leaning against the foot of the
bed, pale- and still weak from the effects of that
cowardly blow, but with no trace of fear in his
face or bearing. Instead, as James Hudson
reached the threshold the boy jockey pressed
his left hand upon his breast, raising the elbow
of the same arm to form a rest for the barrel
of a cocked revo ver.

“ Stop right where you are Mr. James Hud-
son,” he cried, in a clear, deadly tone. “If
you dare to cross that doorstep, by the Lord
hat made me, I will blow you through and
through!”

Dixie Leftwich rung between the two, a
small but servicealilh pistol in her little hand
and the muzzle of which was turned tower
James Husdon.

“ If there’s any shooting to be done here, I’ll
do it,” she cried, and looked as though she
meant what she said, too. “ Your game is up,
Jim Hudson. The police are in the house now,
and I’ll not let you get me into a worse scra
than you have already. You lied to me, or ’d
never have helped you this far. 'You told me
you only wanted to hold this boy a prisoner un-
til after that race was run—sto 1 Not a step
nearer, or- I’ll shoot you with as ttle hesitation
as though you were a mad do i”

What James Hudson mig t have done had
another power not interfered at this ’uncture,
can only be surmised. But Mr. Luc us Ep 1-
coon, at the head of three stout policemen—t e
remainder of the squad being on guard below
stairs—made his appearance and cast the
bright glare of a b ’s-eye lantern upon the

group.

He took in the scene at a glance, though he
put a wrong inte rotation upon the position of
the parties, whic , in his 0 inion proved the
suggestion of the police y ‘ that boys will be
boys,” to be the correc explanation of True
Blue 5 visit to the house.

At least James Hudson was no coward.
Though he believed that the detective knew all
and t at his arrest would surely follow, he did
not flinch as the little snuff-colored man turned
the light of his lantern full on his face. One
hand stole into his breast; that was all.

The detective was stron ly tempted to make
a. wholesale arrest of it, w an he saw what fish
were in the net, but a moment’s reflection de-
cided him to the contrary course, and he
 his hat respectftu to the lawyer, as

e sai :

“So to see you in such company sir, but
if you Will retire for a few moments, I think I
can answer for my men’s forgetting that they

ever saw you here.”

Hudson’s hand slow] fell to his side. He
was thoroughly uzzle . Could it be that his
fears were idle— hat the detectiVe had no sus-
picion of the truth—that his ino rtune appear-
ance upon the scene was who y unconnected
with his affairs? .

- “ Dixie, my girl ” added the detective, entering
the room, “ you should teach your servants bet-
ter manners. I’m afraid I’ve spoilt a door for
you, but you can ate the price of the dam 9
out of her wages. showed her this scam -
warrant, but she wouldn't open. _

Passing her by, Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon paused
before the boy jockey,‘ holding the li ht so that
it fell full upon his own face, and ‘ ’ g most
extraordinarily, said:

“ I’ve been working the case up against you
for a long time youn man but I think I’ve
got'you now. mem r, whatever_you may
say will be,iised against you at the trial. Take
him b0 1 -

A; heyzpoke, Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon twisted
the weaponfrom the hand of the astonished boy
jockey, and dexterously handcuffed him. Two
of the policemen advanced and half-carried half-
led the prisoner out of the chamber and own-

stairs.

“ Thou h it don’t concern you, of course, Mr.
Hudson,’ said the detective, producing a paper
from his pocke , “ rhaps as a law or you will
look over this bit 0 paper, and tell ix1e that I
am only doing my duty in forcing my way into
thehousewhen I was denied admission.”

The paper was a. warrant to arrest the boy
iocke‘y for theft, and made outin due form, and

 

 

Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

when James Hudson assured himself that it was
genuine he was more puzzled than ever.

True lue was put into a close carriage and
the detective entered, not speaking untii the
house where the capture was effected had been
left far behind.

Then, with an oily laugh of huge delight, he
tore up the warrant and ung the pieces out the
window.

“ Now let me take off these handcuffs, and I’ll
exlplain my reasons for acting as I have. Those
fe ows were getting too near the truth, and I
wanted to give them a cross scent to play with.
But never mind that for the present. ’ve got
something more interestin to tell you. In one
word—I’ve found your fat er!”

The boy jockey gave a sharp or at this truly
startling announcement, but the etective bade
him listen, and reserve his comments and
questions until all was told. '

When the hotel was reached, the little snuff-
colored man assisted True Blue toalight, for the
boy jockey seemed completely overcome by the
strange story told him.

CHAPTER XXX.
THE GREAT RACE.

A SCENE very similar to that with which this
story opened, only upon a larger scale. Where
there were hundreds then, there are thousands
now. But there is the same deep, never—ending
murmur of countless voices, the busy pushing
to and fro as the crowd sways here and there,
the wild yell of some drunken man, or enthusi-
astic turfite, as his especial favorite canters
past, taking a warming gallop before the bell
rings for the great race, shouting forth extrava-

ant odds, only to be laughed at by his cooler-
e'ided brethren.

There are eight blanketed animals upon the
track, some moderately making the circuit after
a style that irresistiny reminds one of a
straight-legged wooden-horse, rocking upon a.
pivot thrust into its belly, for rarely is seen a
more awkward appearing animal than a racer
doing an exercising gallopmunder a blanket.

Among those eight are th the black gelding
Midnight, and the gray filly Aphrodite, each in
prime fettle, and fitto run for a kin dom.

Them two are the observed of a observers,
for barring accident, the honors of the race
will rest between them.

Old Pharaoh has done his work well, and nev-
er a prouder he in the land than the negro as he
leads the dainty little lad slowly up the quar-
ter-stretch while Henry lythe, walking at her
saddle- ' , talks earnestly to the monkey-
like joc ey who sits the filly with his knees al-
most upato his chin. '

True lue, in his plains dress was standing up-
on the outskirts of the crowd gathered around
the pool stand. Pools were selling briskl and,
what was rather remarkable in such a ea
bettin race every pool was—“ John Smit
takes ‘dnight; how much am I bid for second
choice?”

Who was John Smith? Apparently no one
knew, unless it was the auctioneer, for he was

raism eve opposition bid, as though he had
an.un imi commission to buy in the black
geldin . But the boy jockey could 've a

shrew guess, and it may be stated here t this

mus were right. Messrs. Hudson and

Ho , findin that the jockey whom their

money had boug t, was still retained by Henry

Blythe, were making hay while the sun shone,

:33 putting their money upon Midnight at long
3 \

Here the bell rung for the jock-oys to weigh,
and True Blue hastened to meet Henry Blyt e.
Under his wing he had no difficulty in entering
the little dingy weighing—room, and choosing
the darkest corner, he hastily stripped ofi! his
outer arments, appearing in a racing suit of
blue sil from top to toe.

Frank Holman was there, as owner of Mid-
night, anda hissin curse of rage and dismay

assed his 1i 3 as 9 Blue stepped upon the
scales, horse urnitureu
deathly faint as Henry 1 he told the oficial
the boy jockey’s name an that of the animal
he was to ride, for he felt that all was discov-
ered—that defeat and utter ruin stared him in
the face.

Great was the curiosity when it became known
that the owner of the gray filly had changed his
jockey at the last moment, and eater still was
the excitement when the new ri er rode Aphro-
dite past the grand stand, looking like a bit of
the summer s .

The recogni ion was almost instantaneous.
Hundreds of those resent had been e e-wit-
nesses of that sense. onal race, twowee s a o,
and the airwas rent with cheers—True B us
forever! ~

“ Keep your e es open for snakes,” hurriedly
muttered Mr. ucullus Eppicoon, pausinaghbe-
side Henry Blythe, who was earnestly t 'ng
to True Blue while Pharoah slowly walked the
fillyto and . “Hudson and Holman have

ut their heads together and are now very

usy with the owners of the other horses. Ten
to on’e they’ll try to cut you down, or pocket

11 his arm. He turned

on. -
The judges, in common with the less important
rabble, were eager» to witness the great race,

and impatiently rung the bell for the horses to
prepare for the start. But never yet was there
a race started on time, and in this case there
was an unusual delay. And when it appeared
that the painful suspense was about to termi-
nate, one of the horses loosened or cast a shoe,
and of course permission was granted to have
it reset.

Few ens could properly depict the tortures
Henry lytlie suffered during that tedious dc-
lay. His life and honor depended upon the
result, but the very worst would be easier to
bear than this soul-sickening suspense.

At length he grew so faint that the little
brown detective was forced to lead him back
to the judges’ stand. And from there Henry
Blythe witnessed what followed.

At length the vexatious delay is at an end.
All of the jockeys are up, and maneuvering for
the advantage of the send-off. Midni ht had
the pole, while Aphrodite was fifth, wit three
horses between her and the black gelding. And,
after considerable trouble, they were sent off in
this order.

It has already been stated that the distance
to be run was two and one—half miles, conse~
quently the start was from the half—mile est,
in order to brin the finish under the wire w ich
crossed the true from the judges’ stand to that
provided for the press re orters.

Intense was t e exci ement as the horses
swept under the wire for the first time, yet
there was no little disappointment at the pros-
pect evr‘n thus early of a. one-sided race.

Midnight was lea in his nearest competitor
a full distance, while t a gray filly was in the

ruck.

“By the Eternal! they’ve got the filly in a
pocket!”

Who the speaker was, none knew or cared to
ask. But one and all saw that the emphatic
speech was true.

True Blue felt that the black gelding was the
only horse in the lists that was really dangerous,
an be kept close watch over him, too close,
perhaps, for ere he realized his danger, he was
in serious difficulties.

The rider of Midnight sent him forward as
though the race were but a three—quarter dash.
The second horse slipped in behind him, with
number three just up to his hips, while “four”
hung upon “three’s” quarter, all running so
closely together that it was impossible to send a
horse between them. And in this “pocket”
True Blue found himself !

His first impulse was to pull out and
around them, as he might readily have done,
had it simpl been a question of speed. But the
other three arses were playing their art, one
riding close at his heels, 1%: others ongside.
If he attempted to change ' ound, he would
almost certainly come into collision with one or
the other, and thus run the risk of being dis-
tanced for foul ridin .

It was now clear w yllfldnight led off at such
a dangerous burst of speed for so long a race.
He was to ain an advantage that could not be
overcome y the filly when she succeeded in

ettin out of the pocket. And to insure this.
t 0 0t er horses were held well in hand, and
the cket drawn closer as they left the starter
far hind.

Yet it was a dangerous scheme, and one re-
quiring delicate manipulating, lest their combi-
nation should be too easily read, and the judges
declare all bets off, in order to protect the inno-
cent.

For this reason the pocket had to be opened as
they came down the home stretch, and True
Blue promptl seized the opportunity, givin
the frettin fi 1y her head an cutting diagon -
1 across t 9 track, almost to the outer rail,
t us rendering it im ble for the confeder-
ates to again pocket im, without such palpa-
ble foul play as would certainly ruin their

game.

But the heart of the boy ljlockey felt heavy as
lead within his breast as e realized wha an
overwhelming advantage the black gelding had
obtained. Nearly a uarter of a mile! ould
he do it? Would the ittle filly be e ual to the
emergency? She must! it was for l‘ e or death!
She must do it or die as she ran!

For a few moments the boy jockey urged his
mount on at wonderful speed, and wild cheers
arose from the intensely excited crowd as they
saw him draw clear and rceptibl gain upon
the leading horse. But eir ex tation was
tempered with fear—for they knew that no
horse livin could maintain such terrible exer-
tion throu two lon miles.

No one new this tter than True Blue him,
self, and before the half-mile post was reached-
he took a steady pull upon the filly. for the first
half of his work was done. He had nothing
more to fear from the six other horses. Unless
the filly broke down under the fearfuls
pot one of those six would come within reach

er.

There was no cheering now as the race swept
by the thousands of spectators. The interest
was far too great. They were all eyes.

Midnight was still leading, almost as far as
when he first went under the wire, and the
white—faced jockey nodded understandth
.' Holman waved his hand from the rails. t

 

 

meant to press the gelding to the_ utmost.
What matter if he died or was ruined, just so he
pulled off this race? His winnings would buy a
thousand others, his equals. _

True Blue looked for no orders. His work was
cut out for him, and he knew how 117 must be
done, if doneit could be.

The filly was given her head, and True Blue
aided her in every possible manner. She gained
steadily but slowly—too slowl if only the black
gelding could live the pace to he end.

So on, past the half-mile ost, past the third
ggirter and into the straigh home stretch. Yet

'dnight still had a winning lead, and neither
jockey had as yet used Whipcord. But it came
into play now.

Gallant Aphrodite responds noblK, and lets
Out a fresh link—she draws upon the lack eld-
i'ng, who appears to be laboring—in dime ties!
Seel he tosses his head as though choking! His
tail shar ly switches his sidel ‘ ‘

rue lue Secs this, but no more. He plies
whipcord and steel with merciless vigor—he
forges up—draws alongside—and thus the rivals

- pass beneath the wire amid a united yell that is

almost maniacal—a yell that proclaims them
both victorsl

W'eak from the intense strain, both bodil
and mental, True Blue turns the filly and hol s
up his whip for rmission to dismount, igno-
rant whether he Edd won or lost.

 

CHAPTER XXXI.
FOR LIFE on DEATH.

“DEAD heat between Midnight and Aphro-
dite; time—7’

The rest of the loudly uttered decision was
utterly drowned by the wild roar that arose
from thousands of indignant throats—from the
rabble who howled an found fault upon prin-
ciple, to those whose all was at stake—each one
gotcsting against what they firmly behaved to

an unjust decision.

Those whose faith was pinned upon the black
gelding, were confident t at he was a head to
the good when the wire was passed, while. the
advocates of the gray filly were quite as pOSitlve
that their favorite had beaten her rival out by a
threat-latch. And thereupon ensued one of
those disgraceful scenes which, though less fre-
quent than a quarter of a century ago, are too
often realized upon the turf, for the good of
that king of all s orts. _

From two hal ~crazed partisans of the equine
rivals, who fell to blows the contagion spread
until it bade fair to embrace the entire male
congregation. Nor was the fray lon confined
to blows with nature’s weapons. ves and
pistols came into lay, and onlv for the prompt
fearless action 0 the police, both regular an
special, the casualties would have equaled those
of a moderate battle. As it was, there were
several dead men, and more wounded than I
care to enumerate.

At the first-outburst, True Blue bade Pharaoh
hasten with Aphrodite to the stable, lest a. bul-
let, either strzy or aimed b some augr parti-
san of the riv horse shoul kill or disa le her.

This done he soughtlout Henr Blythe, who
was too enfeebled by the terrib e suspense he
had undergone, to force his way thro h the
surging crowd that overran the quarter 5 tab.
Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon was bes1de the old cutle-
man, actin as a. sort of body-guard, an With
the help of 9 Blue, the trio managed to draw
Clear of the crowd, and gain a spot where they
could converse with some semblance odprivacy.

“I did the best I knew how,” sai the boy
jockey, in answer to the extravagant ‘comph-
merits of the little snuff-colored man. It was
a killing pull, but the little lady answered splen-
didly, ‘Vld had there been a dozen yards more to
run she would have left no room for doubt as
to the winner. ” . _

Henry Blythe shook his head wearily. The
killing strain had taken all of the hope out of
him. Since the sh tap of the drum that sent
the racers off upon 1; eirmomentous Journey, be

ad lived a common lifetime, and grown older
by many years.

“ I pledge you my honor, that I say no more
than the truth,” he cried earnestly. “ Half-
we. down the home stretch Midnight flung up
hisiead as though he was choking—and a few
jumps further on, he flirted his tail—quite
pumped out. It was only the great headway he
was under—that and the skill of his rider—that
carried him under the Wire, 11 n his feet. '
the filly cools ed? in anythinth e decent condi-
tion, you have the w ole 1: ing in your own
hands. The will either draw their horse, leavmg
I0: 3. wal -over, or he Will be beaten out o

t. 7’ I
Elfii’wyond a doubt the be jockey fully believed
all he said, but Henry B ythe was far less san-
guine. Ill-fortune had been his companion too
long, for him to believe that it had deserted mm,
now that fortune, life and honor hung in the
balance.

True Blue carried him ofl! to the stables, eager
to learn how Aphrodite had cooled off.
It was here that Frank Holman found them,

’ and though his face was well schooled, there

glitter in his eyes that made the

was an uneas .
yjockey beat swiftly for Joy—

hem of the

The ‘Boy Jockey.

25

 

for he knsw that the owner of Midnight shared
his belief, at least in part.

Henry Blythe, too, saw the other’s anxiety
and gave a flat refusal to the pro 33.1 the
they should divide the stakes, and call it a drawn
battle.

True Blue could not help flinging his cap into
the air with a shrill yell of joy at this decision,
so sure was he of ultimate success.

Frank Holman retired without another word,
but there was an evil light in his eyes that put
the koen—witted detective upon his guard, and
when the bell rung to summon the equine rivals,
a dozen trusty men kept hovering around the
gray filly, to guard her against any meditated
treachery. '

The prudence of this move was quickly made
manifest.

The horses were bein saddled. The uarter
stretch was crowded y the excited adge-
wearers who were entit ed to that rlvilege,
and two men, from hot dispute as to t e merits
of their respective favorites, drew their pistol.
To the outsiders there was nothin especially
significant in this fact; but the litt e detective
saw that the pistol of one man was aimed, not
at his seeming antagonist, but at the gray filly.

Swift as then ht is cane struck up the weap—
on, and than £6 led the owner. His men closed
upon the two, and bore them away, handcuffed
and helpless.

“ Get the filly around to the starting-point as
quickly as possible!” he said. “ I’ll scatter my
men around the course, and put a lot of our
friends on arc]. The hounds are growing des-
perate, an may risk being torn to pieces by the
mob in order to cripple the filly. You, Mr.
Blythe, go into the stand and tell the judges
that you fear foul play, if there is any unneces-

sar delaIy.”

Tl‘ue B ue rode away upon the filly, and Mr.
Blythe, weak and tottering, was led the de—
tective up into the judges’ stand, and ere left
to await the result.

There was an animated crowd around the
pool-stand, and the stentorian lungs of the auc-
tioneer were exercised to the utmost. But there
were no more gools knocked down to“John
Smith takes Mi ni ht.” Vast sums were offer—
ed upon Aphrodite, ut no one would put a dol-
lar against her, after her truly wonderful per-
-formance. Those who had backed Midnight
were eager to hedge, but all efforts were use-
less. There were none so poor as to do him
honor.

More than ever True Blue felt certain of vic-
tory when he came .to see the black gelding,
stripped for the deCidin heat. His coat was
staring his flanks tucke up and taken allin
all, he looked more hire a can idate for the hos-
pital than a successful racer.

But there was too much at stake for him to
give away any chances, and he carefull watch-
ed the horse and jockey, trying to divine the
tactics they were tofollow.

There was little time lost in gettin away.
Strength and breath were too precious go waste
in needless scoring, and at the first attempt the
drum tapped to an even start. ‘

The pace was slow, as was natural. Two and
a half miles is along distance, comin so soon
after such a. desperate finish, and bet jockeys
knew that they would have but little strength or
speed left at t e finish, unless the nursed their
mounts carefully during the firs round and a
half. They knew, too, that the race must be
decided upon the merits of the rivals Darrin
some purely accidental mishap, for the trac
was lined With keen-eyed s ctators, and any at-
tem t at foul riding woul be fatal.

eepin well into the middle of the course,
while Mi iaaht closely hugged the pole, True
Blue found at he could
little effort and saw that the gelding was run-
ning heavil , as though his muscles were stiff
from his recent efforts.

Side bylside they passed under the wire; side
by side t ey passed the quarter, the half-mile,
and around the up r turn; but as they entered
the quarter stretc , the gray filly drew ahead,
running‘at ease, and at the distance, edged in
and too the pole.

Threats that were hoarse with long-continued
cheerin , now almost split themselvos, and it
was wit great difficulty that the police kept
the course clear enough for the racers to pass
b .
Sll‘or a few moments True Blue lost his head in
the intoxwation of those mad yells, and gave
the filly her head, shooting away from the
laboriililg black almost as though he was stand-
in sti .

ut this did not last long. He knew that he
had the race already won, providing the little
mare did.th break down, and to lessen the
danger of thIS, 1133 took. her in hand, contentin
himself with maintaining his present lead, unt‘fi
the three-quarter post was reached.

Then he could not resist the temptation to
make the Victory a signal one and gave the
little lady her head, thou h carefully aiding her
with hand and body. he hot blood thrilled
exultantly through his veins as, casting a nick
glance over his shoulder, he saw his rival p yin

 

whi and ur with the furyof d ' _ Bu
the lack gelding had nothingin me. He

old his rival with .

 

had been ovordriven in the race pro er, and
could not respond to the call, though 9 strug—
gled gamel on, defeated though not disgraced
even thou he was upon the wron side of the
distance ag as Aphrodite pass under the
wire, a winner!

A wild choking scream came from the judges’
stand as True Blue sped by, followed by a heavy
fall. That cry came from the lips of Henry

Blythe a moment before he fell to the floor, like .

one stricken by the hand of death!

CHAPTER XXXII.
DEFEAT IN VICTORY.

THE boy jockey heard this choking cry and
fall even above the frantic yelling an cheerlneg
of the convulsed crowd and instantly divin
the truth‘ but still he did not lose his head. He
had won'the priceless victor , and would not en-
danger it by yielding to t 6 strong lon ' g be
felt to hasten to the aid and assistance ofgl-llenry

 

Bl he.
uickly checkin the panting filly, he turned
and rode back to e stand, holding n his whip

for permission todismount. The ju es gave
this permission, and True Blue hastened with
his saddle etc., to the scale-room, to show that
his weights were all right.

These nece details completed the boy
jockey cast aside is incumbrances and hastened
to the side of Henry Blythe. '

“ ’Tisn’t so bad as it might be,” said Mr.‘ Lu-
cullus Eppicoon cheerfully, as he caught sight
of the w 'te, anxious face of the boy. ockey.
“Just a touch of a plex , and, it may abit
of brain fever to fo ow tor; nothing to worry
after, you see.”

Harvey Craven, who was supporting the old
gentleman’s head, did not up r to view the
matter %ite so favorably, “36211001; his head
sadly as rue Blue met his e, es.

As yet no medical aid h been obtained, but
the necessity of rompt action appeared to
strike all three at he same instant. Mr. Lu-
cullus Eppicoon volunteered to find a hysi-
clan somewhere amen the crowd, w ile it
was decided that the y jockey should ride
into town at once in nest of a certain eminent
doctor, an old friend 0 the down-stricken tnrfite.

_True Blue did not even wait to change his
riding suit, but hastened through the crowd as
rapi y as his enthusiastic admirers would er-
mit, and made the best of his we to the sta 195
where he had put up his shag 'ttle mustang.

Quickly adjustin saddle an?
ping a stable jacke over his shoulders as a

bridle, and slip- ‘

tiel disguise to his brilliant suit, the boy joc ey :

mounted and rode swiftly out of the ounds.

He had barely cleared the gates, w en a car-
riage and pair of foaminghorses were drawn
up right before him, and an eager voice called
him by name, as a woman sprung from the
warm-n. .. . ,

ugygcamein eo'ocese

for he recognized Miss Dixie LZfllwich): whyofi
he had not yet forggen for having so com late-
ly deceived him. 9 touched up his in ,
to pass around her, but the woman was not
be so easily thwarted. With a swift motion
and a sure grasp, she stood at the mustang’s
head, holding the bit with both hands. There
was no mode of escape save 'by riding right
over her, and impatient though he was, True
Blue did not fancy that idea.

“ You must listen to me i” panted the woman,
her eye aglow, and ev line of her face bear-
ing evideence to the tn: def hegswords. i

onor o a young ' e on u n t—the
honor of Miss Cora 15?th p0 -

At the mention of that name True Blue forgot
all his suspicious, and was no less eager to hear
than the young woman was to s eh. » '

Her story was a brief one, an to the point.

It has already been shown how she learned of
the evil lot ormed by James Hudson, and
since the. time both he and Frank Holman
were shadowed by cunning men who were well
paid for their time and trouble. "But nothing
was learned of importance, until that very

our.
Satisfied that almost certain defeat awaited
them in case they were forced to run the race
over, both of the men left the grounds as soon as
Benign-Elythe refused their proposal to divide
the es, leavin a few trusty fellows to buy
pools on the tllly or them if possible, and to da-
stroy her hopes of winning if they could. In
both respects their agents failed, as has been
own.
Holman sent a dispatch to Tim Dor tobo
ready for work that same afternoons‘llllxis’l
y, though unable to stop the transmission'of
t e message learned its purgrt, and hastened
to report. Not knowmgw t else to do, she
gagged to find either True Blue or Henry
e.
“The train has notgone et— ouma bein
time to overtake them—but on’t urt Frznk—J
 nurse net whereas:
0 e, u pu are m ’
flanks, and thundered on 3ward the depot; ' ~ ~
But, fate appeared to be at him; Just
as  came in sight of the epot, he saw the
train move away, and thou h the little hone
did “SW he was unable to tercept the can.
Rushing into the depot, True Blue inquired

“The.

26

Beadle’s Dime Library.

 

_,_,_

when the next train went out, and his heart
sunk heavy as lead at the prom t nse.
There was no other train in the irection he
wished to go for three full hours—an age, under
the circumstances!
For a few moments True Blue stood like one
stunned. He knew not which way to turn.
But then he bethought himself of the telegraph.
Swift as the cars flew, the wires did their work
even more rapidly, and there might yet be time
to ut Cora B ythe upon her guard!
I here was no office at the depot, and on in-
quiry, he was told that the oflice was near the
other end of the town. He was a str er in the
place ha ' only ridden over from lendale

wo days be ore, and time was too precious for
him to ligand much of it in  the tele-
graph-o ce—precious, because he resolved
not to wait for the train that left three hours

later.

writing a messageu naleaf of his
note-boo the boy jocks loo ed about for a
memenger to can it to e oflice. There was
only one man in he dirty little depot besides
the clerk, and tho h True Blue would have
preferred a more in lli ent loo fellow, as
well as one less addic to drink, ' was no
time to be captions.

Thrustin the message and a ten-dollar gold-
piece into e man’s hand, he said:

“Send that m e bg tel lph, and keep
the change for our grou 1e. e all haste—
it’s a matter of 'fe or death!”

True Blue fairly thrust the bewildered fellow
outdoors, and sent him off on a dog-trot, scarce
able to realize his good fortune.

The bo jockey mounted his mustang and
rode ra i y [1111) into the town, looking for a liv—
ery sta le. T is was quickly found, and enter—
in ,he dismounted.

Ida stable boy came forward, be tossed him
a com, crying:

g‘oGo get me a flask of the best brandy you
can find—if you are back here in ten minutes, I
will give an the mate to that coin.”

The li e darkey did not wait for a second or-
der, but darted away as though fresh shot from
a catapult.

“ ve me the lightest bridle you’ve got,”
cried the boy jockey to a groom who was stand-

by in o -mouthed amazement at the au-
dacity of this stranger. “I’ll leave my saddle
and bridle here as securi . Quick! It s a ques-
tion of life or death, I to you I”

The fellow obeyed this order mechanically
and it was plainto be seen that all manner 0
wild icions were struggling through) the
dust the envelo what served him the
place of brains. ut if he saw this, True Blue

was too excited and too busy to care for them.

He stripped the mustang and washed his back
and limbs with water fresh from the puma), then

’ bed a light blanket upon hisback. T en ad-

firsttin the ht bridle he turned imBJatiently
the en rance, only waiting for e negro

led to return from his errand.

might “Ffii’” ""°:”"°:‘f 'ii“ “‘1’;
on o y on so was

measure horse-flesh against —to run a

race with the cars—a fan- young maiden’s honor

the stake!

Fifty miles as the crow flies! The little mus-
tang! against the Iron Horse! Long odds in-

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.
RACING names rum.

Enter. the wild and seemingly impracticable
ideaflrst occurred to him,True Blue had not
once remembered the important mission on
which he had ridden into town, but now it came
back to him as he stood impatiently waiting for
the return of the negro led with the brandy. It
me back to him with asharp pang of com-

onatba ' forgotten the one who had
sot-much to of late days, for even a

momen

Just thenhis sable Mercury returned pantm' E
andout of breat but with the precious flas
close clasped to Legged bosom. In that

‘bs'iefspaceoftime,he runhalfamiie,be—
sides performing his errand.

True Blue wasthinking rapidly. He did not
know the names of the streets, and though he
hsdthe adds-em of the eminent physician, he
knewthat much time would be 103 in in uiring
his we in case he undertook to perform 0 er‘
rsndhhmelf—time that mi htmake all the dif-
ference between life or dea -——honor or dishonor
to one whom he counted as of far more value
13th own life.

An accident mihglllit dela or hinder the deliver-
anceofhis dispa , and eenemymightstrike
their dastard blow before Cora Blythe had
sassy suspicion of their en . manners: if
t was romp y ve , e an-

mot hepat an end. Neither James
gridson nor Frank Holman were men tobalk at
an common obstacle. If stmtagem should
they were desperate en h touseforce.

itwnsinh ofbe' abetoprotecther
from that e be jlgcfinzaresolved to send
to the 09 f physician with

3mm? note, rather than loses-3y more

precious _ -
Heknewthat enryBlythe wasmgcodhands,

 

that the little brown detective would not be
long insecuring the services of a physician from
among the man who must form part of that
immense athermg. Even if the 'negro lad
should 1 in finding the doctor, the delay
would be no very serious matter—while Cora
Bl he was helpless, unguarded, alone!

rue Blue wrote the note and sent the negro
lad upon his errand, not forgetting to put a
glittering gold-piece in the greedy little paw ac-
cording to promise, then sprung upon the blank-
eted back of his mustang and rode out of the
stable, ente ' u n the greatest race of his
life—and for t e 'ghest stakes that ever hung
tremblin in the balance.

He r0 8 through the streets with as great
speed as he dare, est some surly oliceman, his
temper soured througfi duty ob iging him to
kee upon his beat in 6 almost deserted town
rat or than be enjoying the great race, should
arrest him for fast riding.

As he rode along, he saw a bruised and bleed—
ing mass of humamt being lifted into the cart,
to be taken to the os ital, but he never gave
the unfortunate wretc a second glance or
thou ht.

W y should hel And yet there was a glit-
tering gpld coin and a blood-stained bit of pa-
r in t e hand of the body, for that quivenn

ea of bruised flesh and roken bones was
tha remained of the shabby little man whom
True Blue sent with his telegraphic warning to
Cora B1 be!

But t e boy jockey rode on t the cart, and
never once suspected the ruth. Rode on
throgfih the town, increasing his as he
near the outskirts, then flun 0 his stable
jacket and settled himself down or a fifty-mile
race against time!

A few e lanatory words will show that this
venture of t e boy jockey was not quite so fool-
islksor hopeless as it may a at first lance.

already stated, Glen e Henry B ythe’s
breeding farm, and where Cora Bythe now
was, confined to the house by a sore threat that
prevented her from accompanyin her father to
witness the signal triumph of t e gray filly
Aphrodite, was situated some twelve miles from
the city where the trial race came off. But
there was one station upon the road nearly two
miles nearer Glendale and at this Epoint the boy
jockey felt assured Hudson and olman would
eave the train, and be driven the remainin
ten miles by Tim Dorgan. The road over whic
the must pass was hilly and broken, where
fasg time would be imposible.

The city where the t Cup race came off,
was about fifty miles om Glendale, or nearly
sixty, if all the windings of the country road
were calculated. True Blue in his rides and
walks to reduce his wei ht, had pr thor-
oughly explored the coun , and eved that
he could reach Glendale {riding but little
more than flft miles—and hat distance, bar-
ring accident, e knew he could cover in little
more than three hours.

At the best it was a very faint chance but an
accident might dela the enemy and after get-
ting their dispatch ' Dorgan would have to
prepare his horses, then, even if Cora failed to
receive his warning there would be some delay
in ' her to enter their trap—he must
succeed!

It would be a waste of time to record all the
the hts and hopes that fleshed through the
min of the boy jockey. At times he was hope
confident that success would reward his ef-
forts, but onlfi be plun into the depths of

' an eni dou t a moment later, as
he saw how swiftl e recious moments were
fleeting, and how s owly he distance was lessen-

et he did not lose his head, and rode with
excellent judgment, remembering how much
yftfi-emained for the little mustang to accom-
p is .

Gifted with an excellent eye for speed and
distance, True Blue made his miles average a
little less than three minutes each, easing his
trusty mustang over the worst bits of the road,
then sending him ahead at racing speed when
the ground improved. .

The short, cat-like leaps of the animal would
finickly have worn out any rider not, like True

lue, thoroughly accustomed to the'motion it
was so diflerent from the long, swingmg are 0-
like movements of an American horse. But the
little mustan was able to break down two such
an' , as e boy jockey knew from experi-
ence, and in a long race like this would have far
1distancedh turf the finest thoroughbred that ever trod

e .

For near! one-third of the distance, or about
eighteen es, True Blue kegfto the road, but
then it made an abrupt turn visit an adjacent

, and he took across country, leaping a
low ence and entering a wide, level meadow,

near the further end of which he knew ran a .

small, shallow creek. .

When  was roughing, he duriw mtg: and dis-
monn oolung‘ a ' wa wi a grim
smiletg‘fl’ content. Nineteen miles in flfty~one
minutes—or six minutes gained.

Just allowing the mustang to wet its throat,
True Blue stripped off the blanket and using his
silk skull-cap, dipped up the cool water and

 

briskly washed the animal’s heated back, head
and ears then sponged out its distended nostrils
with his handkerchief, wet in the stream.

Two minutes sufficed for this and to replace
the blanket, then mounting, he sent the re-
freshed mustang swiftly across the field, taking
the fence in his stride like a true-born hunter.
Thus over two more fields, and then out into a
firm, level road that stretched along between
fields and meadows as far as the eye could see,
without bend or turn.

Though now well ahead of time True Blue
made the most of his olpportunit , for he knew
that the last dozen mi es would severe even
for a perfectly fresh horse to cross at speed.

All too seen this difficult piece of work be n,
and before enterin upon it, the boy joc ey
again dismounted, ease the faithful mus-
tang and give him a little much needed rest.

Over forty miles had been covered, in a trifle
less than two hours and a quarter; but the dozen
miles that yet remained to be traversed, were
equal to a score such as he had already over-

past.

The mustang, though its fle spirit was un-
quenched, was-weary and jade , breathing fast
33$ heavily, covered with mingled foam and

A ng of pity and regret shot throu h True
Blue s heart as he examined the aithful
creature, that had served him so long and no-
bly; but there was an even more precious ob-
ject in danger, and he dared not linger longer.

He Opened the mouth of the mustang, and

holding its head back poured the contents of his
brandy-flask down its throat, then flung the
bottle aside, sprung u n the animal’s back, and
sent it up the ong an steep hill.
- The strong liquor soon worked its calculated
effect. The mustang needed to be restrained,
rather than held in check, and it crossed the
rough, diflicult ground even more rapidly than
it had the smoot , level road.

Then True Blue left the main road, cutting
across country. The mustang took the fences,
hedges, ditgiege and otheriobgtaclgs in idtsvsltlrides.
ap 'g possesse o a e e' that
nogfiig'gncould check or daunt. ry

But why dwell upon the hopeless, though he-
roic task? The handica was too great, and
when ten miles more h been covered, the no-
ble mustan gave one mighty bound, then fell
headlong, b 00d bursting from its nostrils—dead

' ——its great heart broken!

True Blue alighted upon his feet, and never
looking back, though there was a blindin mist
in his eyes, ran straight on toward the istant
house, now in view, though so hopelessly far
away. For a mile at heart-bursting 5 ed—
then, with a wild, despairing scream, e fell
headlon to the ground.

He caught a glimpse of a woman entering
a carriage, that then swiftly rolled away!

CHAPTER XXXIV.
RUNNING FOR HIGH sums.

FOR near] an hour Hen Blythe lay uncon-
scious of thing; externa while three physi-
cians whom Mr. ucullus picocn lost little
time in findingl and pressing into service, were
unremitting their efforts to restore him to
consciousness.

Mr. Charles Reade would have held up his
hands in holy horror had he been there to see,
for the patient was freely bled; but in this case,
at least, the operation was attended with per-
fect success.

Mr. Bl e recovered his senses and his
voice. e first use he made of the latter was
toask how the race had gone, and when told
that his filly, Aphrodite had won, a long sigh
of grateful ease followed the announcement.

By his wish he was carried down to the stables,
and there satisfied himself that the lithe lady
was but little the worse for her desperate stru -

l . Then he expressed a. wish tobe taken bsc
his hotel and sunk back into Herve Craven’s
arms more like a dead man than augh living.

This was only the natural reaction after the
dreadful, killing suspense of the past few weeks
but Craven was very much alarmed, and di
not breathe freeetliv until he saw the old gentle-
man fairl tuck up in his bed and the great
doctor, w om they met upon the road to the
racing grounds, gravely seated at his side, feel-
ing h s pulse.

‘I’m all right—only sleepy—and lon ing for
my dear 'rl—Cora. Sen for her, arvey,”
slowly an faintly muttered the old finfleman,
as his eyes closed in a deathlike slum r.

“ Do as he says,” observed the physician. “ I
do not think there is any serious danger—he ap-
pears to require else and quiet rest more than
medicine—but Itis wa s best to be upon the
safe side. I will watch de him for an hour
or so. Then if there is no alteration for the
worse, he w' be himself again by tomorrow. ’

. Harvey Craven did not send for Cora Blythe ,

but he went himself, gladly welcoming the
gospect of that long ride in compan with his

trothed; a prospec that was fa not to be
realized!

By rapid walking, he reached the depot just
intime tocatch the train that left just three
hours after that which carried James Hudson

 

and Frank Holnian to the same destination.

 

._ _..._. ‘

r

 

._ -i... ‘

r

The Boy J ock‘ey.“

 

Just as he entered the little depot at the vii-
lage situated ten miles from Glendale, and
about four from the city where this story first
opened, a train upon another track ulled out
running parallel to that upon which raven had
come.

He had barely time to jump 03 upon the plat-
form, when his train started on, as though eager
for a race with the rival engine.

Justas Craven gathered himself up after his
not very dignified or graceful exit from the
train, the depot agent came out of the telegraph
office attached, a yellow envelope in his and,
an excited look upon his usually stolid face.

He had been recently transferred to that sta-
tion, and in the days gone b he and Craven
had been intimately acquainted; but that
friendshi did not fully account for the glad
cry which broke from his lips as he reco zed
the othgr, nor the eagerness with which he

im.

“ I’d rather see you this moment than an an-
gel, Craven,” he cried, thrusting the yellow
envelope almost into the young man’s face.
“The strangest dispatch—read it! Man killed
while taking it to the office—read it, man i”

If Craven was astonished by this address he
was even more so when he saw that the envelope
was directed to Miss Cora Blythe. Who and
where was it from? What did Brown mean—

Beiore his thou hts could carry him further,
aloud cry came %0 his ears, mingled With the
swift clatter of iron-shod hoofs, and looking
around, he beheld True Blue dashing up capless,
his face white as ashes, his brilliant sil en suit
torn and covered with dust, while in the dis-
tance rode two men, swingin their hats and
yellin out some directions 0 which only the
word hie couldbe distinguished.

“ Miss lythe—has she—gone?” panted the
boy jockey, rollin rather than leapi from his
horse, which at with trembling egs wide
spread, its head drooping, utterly used up.

The depot agent nodded ruefully.

“ She went on the six-ten train. ‘wo men were
with her, and she ap ared to be eitherill or
very much agitated, or they had to hel . her
into the coach. I saw that much, but I . dnft
think of there being anything wrong, until this
d atch came, just now.”

ith a low, sobbin breath the boy jockey
sunk down upon the p atform.

To be so near success, and yetbefoiled—it was
V0? hard! And for once in his lifebthe first
an last time—he completely gave way beneath
the weight of misfortune.

With a sickening fear tearing at his heart,
Harvay Craven hesitated no longer, but tore
o n e dispatch and read the message_sent b

Blue, to warn Cora Blythe of her impen -
ing dancer. But there was a brief .stscri t
ap nd , whic‘i only too clearly exp ned t e
de a in transmission .

“ e man paid to send this message was killed
while on his way to the oflice. His last words
were a, request that this explanation might be
made.

That was the postscript, and as he heard it
read aloud by Harvey Craven, True Blue_knew
that the mangled, blood-stained mass which he
saw lifted into the cart ‘just before leavmg the
city was the man whom he had unwittingly
sent to his death.

But he did not pause to think of that, but
cried:

“ Telegraph to arrest J ames Hudson and Frank
Holman for abduction l” _

His further speech was checked _by the arrival
of the two men who had chased him from Glen-
dale as a thief, but who Elia-137813 hack in mute
amazementasthe recognize 16 Me. i

As stated at theilose of the'last cha ter, True
Blue fell exhausted, within one rule of .the
house, as he saw for Blythe enter the carriage
brought for her or enemies.

How long he lay): there he never knew, but as a
fresh hope struck him, he arose and resumed his
mad race overleaping the fence which sur-
rounded the stables, and not pausing—not even
thinking of explaining his strange actions,
caught up the first horse he could lay hands u
on, and overleapin the high-barred gate, das -
eddown the road eading to the station likea
madman. He never heeded the angry shouts
of the two stablemen, who hotly pursued the
sup thief, simply because he never heard
the voices, and they could not overtake him,
though the young horse he bestrode was saddle
andbridleless.

By this time Harvey Craven realized the full
extent of the ril which threatened his be-
trothed, and aegd with prompt decision. He
saw that the three horses were thoroughly
blown, and he knew that b .the 1118b road, the
city was fully double the tance that It was
alo the railroad _

“ me!” he shouted, leaping from the lat-
form and tearing ofi! his coat and vast, hen
binding his suspenders tightly around his

waist.

No further speech was needed. True Blue saw
what he meant, and the thought of speed. y action
cleared away ' despair and atigue hke

With a cat-like lea he was in front of the
over, and racingalong the level track with ..the

 

speed of a hound-hunted deer. Close at hisheels
trod Harvey Craven, but unable to ass him,
though he was running for such high 5 kes.

 

CHAPTER xXxv.
DOWN THE HOME STRETCH.

IT will not do to be too critical while dealin
with a fashionable fast youn man like Alfred
Hudson, who has been mother ess almost from
his birth, and even worse than fatherlcss, since
a thorou hly evil father can more quickl and
thorourrh y ruin a son than can a score 0 other
wicke associates.

Under different tutoring, Alfred Hudson
would have been a credit to his countr and
himself, since, with all his disadvantages, ehad
not been thoroughly spoilt. His heart was bet-
ter than his head and underneath that shell of
insolent disregard of all that was good and pure
was a kernel of true manhood that only neede
some strong emergenc to give it birth.

We have said little a ut the (young man after
that night on which he allowe wine and jeal<
ousy to get the better of him, partly because
more interestinglsubjects claimed our attention
partly because 6 kept himself closely house
u until now, the evening of the race for the

ashin 11 Cup.

Long fore the race could have been decided,
or even begun, Alfred sent his body-serth to
wait at one of the club-rooms, the groprietors
of which had constructed a telegrap line from
the grounds to their office for the p ose of
securing the earliest possible informat on re-
garding the races, the change in betting odds,
etc, for the accommodation of their atrons.
He would have gone himself, but bot of his
e eswere still ‘ in mourning” for that sturdy
b ow dealt him by Harvey Craven, and he was
ashamed to venture forth.

Of course the threatened duel never came om.
After being shown the door by Henry Blythe,
Hudson went to his chambers and went to bed,
awakenin the next day in his sober senses. He
could reca 1 all that occurred at the hotel, and
he was really ashamed of himself ; so much so
that he felt more like giving than demanding an
apology. He did send a note to Mr. Blythe,
beggin his garden and Cora’s, and then felt
more 1i 6 an onest man than he had for some

time.

But these twin black e es alone would hardly
have sufficed to keep Al red Hudson so closely
housed up on this momentous day. He, like his
father and Holman, had plung heavizy upon
the black geldi for the Cup, and if the Fates
decided a ainst in Alfred knew that he would
be not y ruined but disgraced He had felt
so confident of Winning, t at he had wagered
double the sum he could pa in case of disaster,
but as the day drew near, e began to fear the
worst, and make his pre tions for a sudden
fiifiing from the storm w ich would follow.

is valet had lenty of exercise for his Is

that afternoon. t he brought word that t e
horses had been called out, the ools sellin with
Midni ht first choice Aphr ite secon , the
others unched in the field. Then he came with
the announcement that Henry Blythe had
changed his jockey, putting ug) True Blue in-
stead. A third tri was made announce the
dead heat; a fo to state that the dead heat
waste berun ed, and that no pools could be
sold 'nst the gray filly who was an over-
whelmggfavorite.

All this in a measure re n
for the announcement t Aphrodite had dis-
tanced Midnight in running 03 the dead heat
and though he knew his doom of outlawry had
been ronounced, Alfred Hudson felt a sensa-
tion 0 relief rather than otherwise, as he hasti-
ly mufiied himself up and hastened down the
street to Frank Holman’s rooms, where he ex-
pected to meet both his father and the gambler
as soon as they returned from the city where
the race was run. And meet them he did, though
under very difiierent circumstances from what
he expected.

Weary of waitin , and un at the long
delay, he was just t 'nking of htin the gas
when he heard a hack rattle up to the oor, and
a moment later hasty footste upon the stairs.

James Hudson fiunfiopen t e door, then stood
aside toadmit Frank 0 man, who entered bear-
ing in his arms the limp, motionless form of
Core Blythe.

The telegram which Brown, the station-mas-
ter had sent, reached its destination before the
train but the depot police searched the coaches
in vain for their game.

Too cunning to throw awa a chance, James
Hudson and those with him ad left the train
when it paused at the uuction in the lowerpart
of the oi , takm a ack and driving at top

to k Ho man’s chambers, where they
arrived as already described.

Though not a little astonished to see his father
and the ambler engaged in such business at a
moment ike the present one, when ruin and dis-

ace stared them in the face, Alfred Hudson

ad no intention of interfering when he stepped
forward with a careless ting. But his eyes
were quickly opened to in truth by the fierce

red young Hudao

 

curse which hissed throu h the clenched teeth of
Hudson senior, and by t e sudden start of Hol-
man, which knocked oif the bonnet and heavy
vail which had until now concealed the face of
the form he was carrying.

The dim red light from the fading clouds in
the western sky came throu h the o n window
and fell full upon the pa e, deat ike face of
the unconscious maiden.

_ With an angry cry of wondering indignation,
Alfred Hudson recognized his cousin Corn, and
instantly tore her form from the gambler’s
arms.

. Cursingl, Holman struck twice in swift succes-
sion at t e you man, but, though his fierce

 

blows gored e did not fell young Hud-
son, wl‘itgfiastened toyplace his unconscious bur-
denu ou the couch in the corner of the room,
then urned and sprung u n the ambler clos-
ing With him des ite the ower 0 heavy blows
that almost blin ed him. He knew his inferior-
ity to Holman in the matter of using his fists,
but he knew, too, that his bodily strength was
asmuch superior. .

Even in that excitin moment when he was
locked in what might we 1 prove a death-gm pie,
Alfred saw his father catch up the form of, the
iinsensible maiden, and hasten with it out of the

cor.

Holman saw it too, and stubbome resisted
tl‘ire young man’s desperate efforts to cast him
0

The hand of fate was in it. His hour had come,
and he fought for his doom as desperate] as,
had he known the truth to come, he would have
striven to avoid it.

With apower that would not be denied, Al-
fred Hudson forced the ambler backward,
then freed his right am an dashed his clenched
fist full into the handsome, upturned face with
all the stren h he could muster.

Blinded, a most knocked senseless, Holman re-
laxed his grasp—and fell headlong out through
the low, 0 n window—down to meet his death
upon the 5 no flags below.

James Hudson, bearing the insensible form
of Cora Blythe in his arms, left the room and
reached the head of the stairs, only to be con-
fronted by two wild-loo ' , haggard forms A
fierce curse of disappoin revenge broke in a
snarl from his lips as he recognized Harvey
Craven and True lue, the boy jockey!

He saw that he was foiled and a murderous
resolve seized upon him. He raised the light
form of the maiden above his head, intend
to fling her headlong down the steep stairs, bu
love lent Craven a su rhuman stren h and ac-
tivity. With a pan her-like bound e sprung
upon the madman, and wrested the precious
load from his arms.

At almost the the same instant the sinow fin-
gers o‘fhtrhe tboy aockgyr‘zerle fastened uplon ud-
sons oa,anae eadlstrug ebegan
—tobe ended almost inst’antly. y 8

Their feet all pod and clasped in each other’s
arms, the fell eadlong down the stairs, lyin
in a sense ess, quivering heap at the bottom, and
almost crushin a little snufl-oolored figure be-
neath them in t eir fall.

This was Mr. Lucullus E picoon, who had
been warned of danger by iss Dixie Leftwich
as soon as she learned that True Blue had misl-
ed the train.

He took the same train that Harvey Craven
did, though neither suspected the proximity of
the other, and came straight through, believing
that he could intercept the abductors at the de-
pot. To him the dispatch was given and when

6 failed to find the plotters, he quicia divined
the reason, and at once set out for Helium’s
chambers. He narrowly escaped being crushed
to death by the falling gambler, and a moment
later made a similar escape as recorded above.

. He gave Alfred Hudson in charge of the po-
hceinen who had followed hard upon his h
and then bent over the two bodies at the foot
the stairs.

At first glance he behaved them both dead,
and a sharp pang pierced his tooiégh old heart, for
inthese few days the boy j ey had grown
ve dear to him. But then a lad cry
his ps, and turninghis headhe e one of the
policemen hasten to fetch a surgfion.

A broken arm proved to be e most serious
hairy True Blue had received, and an hour
is r when the member was dul bandaged and
set the be jockey was able to nd up.

Not so ames Hudson. Though still living,
his hours were numbered. Bo legs were
broken, and his ine dislocated. Death was
but a question of a. He did not up to
sufler much pain, but was delirious a.an
wildl , unconsciouslfi revealing many a black
score of amisspent to.

Mr. Luoullus Eppicoon had di tchsd one
more messenger, and when he re ed, Dan
0““ “BEE 15““ .2223“. “13"” “gm
cov . e on t e o
bacgrvyvith a sharp . “36’

cry.
“Take me aw i ’ a]
m er me!” ay Its Thracy '1‘ bet! he’ll

The little brown detective unaided True Blue

 ad paging before £011: B] the, said;
ra “~03

brother, Chang, 9) w m “°°» 70‘“

 

28

Beadle’s Dime Library.

_ MW. -. u

 

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE BOY JOCKEY REWARDED.

To those persons who read a story simply for
the sake of the story roper, caring nothing in
particular for the w y and wherefore, there
will be little of interest in this cha ter, and
they are hereby warned not to waste t eir time
in readin what their imagination can, probably,

icture ar more to their own taste. But to

hose who have patientl followed the fortunes
of True Blue thus far, a ew parting words and
ex lanations are due.

t will be remembered, that, while tellin the
story of how he hunted down the genuine racy
Talbot, Mr. Lucullus Eppicoon made more than
one va e allusion to another tragedy which
occurr at about the same time as did the mur-
der of Mrs. Daniel Filkins, but as often checked
himself before the curiosity of the boy jockey
was aroused.

His suspicions had been aroused when Henry
Blythe, in engaging him to keep a friendlfi
watch over True Blue, gave him a. hasty sketc
of the lad’s life history, as told b himself, but
he kept these suspicions to himsel , and resolved
to never give them utterance until he had
thoroughly tested the worth of the boy. If his
suspicions were true, he knew that the wound
caused b the disappearance of the child had al-
mosth ed over, and to reo n it for an un-
worth object was not to his to.

He 'd test the boy 'ockey, as we have seen
and found him fully eservin the sobm' uet

‘ven him by the enthusiastic atlander— rue
glue to the core—and then bent all his energies
to brigfgoing out the truth.

The ry that Dan Clark told him, under the
belief that‘his auditor was True Blue himself
told the detective that he was upon the right
track—that the boy jockey was none other than
the son whom Henry Blythe had mourned as
dead for so many lon‘gnKears.

The only missmg 1 was furnished by the
mad ravings of James Hudson before he died.
The whole story was made plain, together with
the causes and temptations that led up to the
crime.

From earl youth the cousins, Henry Blythe
and James Hudson, had been rivals, and a per-
verse fate seemed to take pleasure in constantly
pitting them against each other.

James Hudson was generall the victor in
these contests, but with one of peculiar na-
ture, a thousand victories are more than offset
by a sin le defeat, and as they grew older the
cousins iated each other more and more
thoroughly.

Then came the last malicious stroke of per-
verse fate; the cousins fell in love with the same
woman, and bent every energy toward winning
her—and balkin the other. In this Hudson
was defeated. ythe married the lady and by
her had two children, first Cora, then Charles.

It has not been stated that James Hudson was
a widower, but such was the fact. His wife died
in ving birth to Alfred, some three years be-
fore Henry Blythe married.

Shortly after the birth of Charles, a distant
relative of the cousins came on from E land
to visit them. He was old very rich, an , his
enemies broadly hinted, a little cracked. Cer—
tainlthe was eccentric enough.

He was complete] taken captive by baby
Charles, and next to 'm fancied Alfred. Cora,
for some reason, he almost hated.

Two years later he died, leaving his large for-
tune by will to baby Charles. It was to be held
in trust for him until he reached his majoriltty.
If he died before coming of age, the pro y
was to revert to his second avorite, red
Hudson and in that case James Hudson was to
have sole management of the bequest until his
son came of age.

It was an eccentric will, and probably cost one
life if not more.

J’amss Hudson was a gambler almost from his
cradle, and falling into serious difficulties was
meditatiu ,a black crime when Dan the Devil
came in 3 way a flttin tool for the foul work.

Dan told Mr. Lucullus p icoon the true story
of the tragedy. The wife 0 He Blythe met
her death by accident, and the s ock thus re-
ceived by the burglar induced him to spare the
life he was paid to take away. But this part of
the story has been dwelt upon at length in ear-

lie‘rvp‘eges. . _

en the mother and child were missed, long
and t search was made but it was near-
ly a month before the body of Mrs. Blythe was
recovered from the deep waters. It was her
body that the little detective expected to see
when he pressed through the crowd to view the
remains of Talbot’s victim.

Nothing was eard of the ' ' child, and
it was oral] supposed that he met an
acgifiieenfi dee. together witghtllrlis mothers.T

ropert passed over e care 0 ames
Eating, and byy its aid, he was soon out of dini-
c'ultiee and richer than ever.

But just about the time that this story opens,
he received a letter from a la er’s firm in
England, statin that a later wi had been
found, by which e money, failing Charles, was
lettto Cora, and makin no mention of Alfred.
The witnesses to this were still living, and
there could be no question as to its genuineness.

 

Thereu 11 James Hudson concocted a truly
diabolica plot, and in striving to carry it out,
met his death.

He resolved that Frank Holman should so dis-
grace Cora Bl the that she could not help but
marr him. hen, through the ower he pos-
scsse in that dying' confession of olman’s con-
federate, he meant to force them both to make
over thergéroperty to him as the price of his si-
lence. is done, he would place the d ing
confession into the hands of the proper aut ori—
ties, and do all in his power to brin the son-in-
law of his hated cousin to a shameful death upon
the gallows.

But death cut short his infamous plotting.

Henry Blythe was easily convinced that 9
Blue was his long lost son, and received him
with open arms. The boy jockey had known
the truth ever since that evening when the little
snuff-colored man arrested him as a thief in the
maison du bio of Miss Dixie Leftwich, and
this knowledge will account for his desperate
efforts to save Cora from the snare of the ene-

m .

Henry Blythe, though he remained an ardent
devotee of the turf up to the day of his death—
which occurred little more than a year ago——
never forgot the terrible lesson taught him by
those few weeks of killing suspense. He raced
horses until he died, but he never wagered an—
other dollar upon on one of them. And he
found that there was ouble the sport and leas—
ure in racing for honor, that there was w en a
fortune depended u on the result.

The little gra fi y, Aphrodite, never ran an-
other race, bu was treated like a veritable
equine queen, and passed the rest of her days
in clover.

True Blue—the name is more familiar and
dearer to me than that of Charles Blythe—had
the bod of his faithful little mustang brought to
Glen e, and buried there with all honors.

When the holiday bells rung out that Christ-
mas, they helped to celebrate a Very hap y
wedding, in which Cora Blythe was made rs.
Harvey Craven, and the two groomsmen were
the boy jockey and the little snuff-colored man.

As for True Blue, he never married, but a jol-
lier old bachelor never lived.

Dan Clark did not live long after he saw his
sin atoned for, in part, at least.

Alfred Hudson fled from his creditors, and
was never heard of afterward.

Tn END.

 

 

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214. e Forest Monster.
215. The White Hermit.

 

21!).
22L
224.
227.
2‘28.
232.
234.
5337.
239.
Z’AO.
241.
2A3.

. Dingle, the

with those of other publishers, sold at the same
The vast success of the Dime Novels called
uito existence “ Ten Cent Novels." which the
is sometimes deceived in buying as Dime
The only Dime Novels are those published by BEADLE
AND ADAMS, whose copyright trade-mark and signut
the word “ Diiiic " Novel  Ask always for BEADLE'S
Dime Novels, and you will then get what you wish.
The following comprises a complete list as far as
published. Numbers omitted are out of print.

uofio
ovels.

The Scioto Scouts.
The Blue Clip .cr.
The Mohave (.aptive.
The Forest Princess.
The Mute Chief.

The Prairie Queen.
The Forest S lectcr.
The Plymout Scout.
Old Zip.

Swiftwing.

Mink Coat.
Graybeard.

The Black Princess.
Keetsea.

The White Apache.

. The Bordchenegade
. Antelo c Abe.

The ite Brave.

. The Bordcr Huntress
. Mountain Kate.

The Specter Riders.

. The Black S y.

. Ruby Rnlan .

. The Lone Chief.
. The Young S y.
. The Balloon
. Black John.
. The Tonkawa Spy.
. The Rival Rovers.

couts.

. The Hussar Ca tsin.
.Mossfoot, the rave.
. Mustan Sam.
Cuban onspirators.

. Caribou Zip.
. Glass Eye.
. Fo horn Phil.
.Dic Darling.

‘ . The Red Brotherhood
. Rival Lieutenants.

. Hurricane Bill.

. ’I‘ipp . the Texan.
. The
. The Child Spy.

Old Grizzly.
The Das ing Dra-
oons.
-o’-the-Wisp.
ashing Dick.

. Old Crossfire.
. Ben Bramble.
. The Brigand Captain
. Old Strategy.
. Gray Hair, the Chief.

The Prairie Tigers.

. The Rival Hunters.

. The Texan Scout.

. Zebra Zack.

. The Masked Messen-

ger.

. Mor an, the Pirate.
The 0 Sply.

.Tahle, he roller.

The Boy Chief.

. Tim, the Trailer.

. Red Ax.

. Stella theS y.

. The White

. The Indian King.

. The Long Trail.

. Kirk the Guide.

. The Phantom Trail.

. The fipache Guide.
The

venger.

iner.

. KeenE e the er
. Blue 13:16. on?
. On the Trail.

. The Specter S y.
Old Bald Hea .
. Red Knife Chief.

Sib Cone, Trap r.
The Bear Hunt‘s);
Bashful Bill Elpy.
The White c of.
Cortina, Scourge.
The Squaw Spy.
Scout of ‘76.

. S anish Jack.

asked Spy.
Kirke, Renegade.
Th e n mun“: w’
0 rec er.
Montbars, Scourge.

. Metamora.

. Thompath, Trailer.

. Foul-weather Jack.

. The

. The Helpless Hand.
T Lak

Black Rider.

be e ers.

6. Alone on the s.

hantom Horseman.
inona.

877. _
878. Silent Shot, Slayer.

livin

rivaling in eifect

21

22

28

24

25

26

27

28

29. The Scout.
' 30

31

32

38

84

85

36

37

52
53
54
55
:3. The River Rifles.
58
59
60

8

 

879. The Phantom Ship.
380. The Red Rider.

381. The Gi'izzl -Hunters.
332. The Mad
 The SpecterS ipper.

n "el‘.

The Red Coyote.

385. The Hunchback.
380. The Black Wizard.
387. The Mad Horseman.
888. The l’rivatcer’s Bride
3130. The Jaguar Queen.
390. Shadow Jack. '
391. Eagle Plume.

392. The Ocean Outlaw.
393. lied Slayer.

31“. The Phantom Foe.

5. The Blue Anchor.

300. Red-Skin‘s l’lcdc'e.
‘ 4. The uadrnon Shy.
303. The
399. Red-Belt, the Tusca-

lack Rover.

1‘0 ra.

400. The Two Trails.
401. The Ice Fiend.

402. The Red Prince.
403. The First Trail.
404. Sheet-Anchor Tom.
405. Old Avoirdupols.
406. White Gladiator.

 

ndard Dime Publications.

we» »———-- -—

407. Blue Clip .
406. Red Damper
409. The Fire-Eater.
410. Blackhawk.
411. The Lost Ship.
41... Black Arrow.
413. White Sargent.
414. The Lost aptaln.
415. The Twin Trailers.
4l6. Death’s-head Ran»

gar.
417. Captain of Captain;
418. Warrior Princess.
419. The Blue Band.
420. The S uaw Chief.
421. The F g Scout.
422. Sonora Ben.

The Sea

424. Mountain Gi

425. Death Trailer.

426. The Crested Scr
pent.

427. Arkansas Kit.

428. The Corsair Prince.

429. Ethan Allen‘s Rifles.

430. Little Thunderbolt.

431. The Falcon Rover.

432. Honet Hand, Guide.

433. The Stone Chief.

 

THE ILLUMINATED DIME

. Hawkeve Harry.

2. Dead Shot.

. Blue Dick.
. Nat Wolfe.
. The White Tracker.

4
5
6
7. The Outlaw‘s Wife.

3. The Tall Trapper.
10

. Lightning Jo.

. The Island Pirate.
. The Boy Ranger.

. Bess, the Trapper.
. The French Spy.

. Long Shot.

: Ben the Tra er.
. Wild Raven, eiei‘.
. The S eater Chi

12

13

14

15. Gunmaker of Border.
16 Red Band.

17

18

19

The sir-Killer.

20.
. Wild Nat.

. Indian Jo, the Guide.
. Old Kent, the Ranger.
. The One-Eyed Trap-

r.

. Golgiliold, the Spy.

. She 1Bliits‘ck Ship.

. ‘in e ‘ e.

. Indim 

. Eagle Eye.

. The Mystic Canoe.

' ll“ She’kiEgm“
. e c .

. Old Lute?

. Rainbolt, the Ranger.

. The Boy Pioneer.
. Carson, the Guide.

88. The Heart-Eater.
39. Wetzel, the Scout.
40. The Huge Hunter.

. Wild Nat, the Trapper

42. 

43. T e Wh Outlaw.
44. The Dog Trailer.

45. The Elk Kin .

46. Adrian, the ‘lot.

47. The Man-hunter.

48. The Phantom Track!
:3. Moccasin Bill.

The Wolf Queen.

512 Tom Hawk. the Trail-

er.

. The Mad Chief.
. The Black Wolf.
. Arkansas Jack.
. Blackbeard.

. Hunter Ham.

. Cloudwood.

. The Texas Hawks.

. Merciless Mat.

. Mad Anthony’s Scouts
. The LucklessTra per

63. The Florida Scou .
64. The Island Trapper.

 

POCKET NOVELS.

Comprising the best works 0 of the most pulp:

g. writers in the field :fly American rogl‘lam

Each issue a com lete novel. with illuminated cover.
9 popular chronic.

85. Wolf-Cap.)

66. Rattlin ick.

67. Sh - ye.

08. Iron- and. '

69. The Yellow Hunter.

70. The Phantom Rider.

71. Delaware Tom.

72. Silver Rifle.

78. The Skeleton Scout.

74. Little Ride.

75. The Wood Witch.

76. Old RumtheTraup r

77. The Scarlet Sho er:

78. The Border Rlileman.

79. Outlaw Jack.

80. Tigeil- Tail, the Semi
no a

81. Death. Dealer, the

Shawnee Scourge.
82. Kenton, the Ra r.
83. The Specter area
84.

man.
The Three Tm
Kaleolah. the pm

Queen.
The Hunter Hercules.
. Phil Hunter, the Boy
Singer.
. The dian Scout
. The Girl Av r.
. The Red Harm toss.
1 Star-Face, the Slayer
. The Antelope Boy.
The Phantom Huntei
. Tom Plntle the Pilot
5. gfie filedqu ard.
. e v ra pets.
. The SqBaw 3px;.
. Dusky ick.
99. Colonel Crockett.
100. Old Bear Paw
101. Redlaw.
1093. Wild Rube.
1%. The Indian Hunters

105. Nick Doyle.

838°2§Sf°888 SS 6

112. The Crossed ives.
118. Tiger Heart, Tracker
114. The Masked Avenger
115. The Pearl Pirates.
110. Black Panther.
 ébgiel thgrAvengel.
a o e as er.
119. Two-linnded hlht.
120. Mad Trail Hunter.
121. Black Nick.
122. Kit Bird. ,
128. The S ter Riders. >
in Press

h

SONG BOOKS.

Emma'st SONG Boons Nos. 1 to 88. containing
the on] Duh? collecti yrlg songs
found 11 he market. on Of 00p ht to

be

 

MISCELLANEOUS mm: nooks.

Robinson Crusoe,
Pocket Joke Book.

Jim Crow Joke Book.
Paddy Whack Joke Book

 

 

 

 

 

 

Y: Beadle’s

 “J “fin”;
@

 

 

Half-Dime Singer’s Library. :2

An Encyclopedia of Song!

MAME..__
Containing all the best L rics, Ballads, Burlesques, Travesties
and Vernacular Songs 0 the day—Old Favorites and New—
Gems of English, Irish, Scotch, Negro, Sailor, and Student Mel-
ody and Songzwall riuted in beautiful style, with finely
colored Initial Shrug from original Designs by the Best
Artists—«Na songs repeated ./

By far the Cheapest and Most Attractive Song Series ever
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Nothing offensive. vulgar or exceptionable. but worthy of a
place in every household and in every Song Lover‘s hand.

ALREADY ISSUED.
1 Whoa. Emma, ! and 59 other Songs.
2 Captain Cufi' and 57 other Songs.
3 The Gainsboro’ Hat and 62 other Songs.
4 Johnny Morgan and 60 other Songs.

5 I’ll Strike You With a. Feather and 62 other
Songs.

6 George the Charmer and 56 other Songs.

7 The Belle of Rockaway and 52 other Songs.

8 Young Pellah, You’re Too Fresh and 60 other
Songs.

9 Shy Young Girl and 65 other Songs.

10 I’m the Governor’s Only Son and 58 other
Songs.

11 My Fan and 65 other Songs.

12 Comin’ Thro’ the Rye and 55 other Songs.

13 The Rollicking Irishman and 59 other Songs.
14 Old Dog Tray and 62 other Songs.

15 Whoa, Charlie and 59 other Songs.

16 In this Wheat By and By and 62 other Songs.
17 Nancy Lee and 58 other Songs.

18 I’m the Boy that’s Bound to Blaze and 57
other Songs.

19 The Two Orphans and 59 other Songs.

20 What are the Wild Waves Saying, Sister?
and 59 other Songs.

2 1 Indignant Polly Wog and 59 other Songs.

22 The Old Arm-Chair and 58 other Songs.

23 On Coney Island Beach and 58 other Songs.
24 Old Simon, the Hot-Corn Man and 60 others.
25 I’m in Love and 56 other Songs.

26 Parade of the Guards and 56 other Songs.
27 Yo, Heave, Ho! and 60 other Songs.

28 ’Twill Never do to Gib it up So and 60 other
Songs.

29 Blue Bonnets Over the Border and 54 other
Songs.

30 The Merry Laughing Man and 56 other Songs.
31 Sweet Porget-xne-Not and 55 other Songs.
32 Leetle Baby Mine and 53 other Songs.

33 De Banjo am de Instrument for Me and 53
other Songs.

34 Tafi'y and 50 other Songs.

35 Just to Please the Boys and 52 other Songs.

86 Skating on One in the Gutter and 52 other
n .
37 Kolored gKfiranks and 49 other Songs.
38 Nil Desperandum and 53 other Songs.
39 The Girl I 1303 Behind Me and 50 other Songs.
40 ’Tis but a Little Faded Flower and 50 other
Songs.

Sold eve here by Newsdealers, at five cents per copy, or
fight post-pat , to any address, on receipt of Six mm per num-
r.

BBADIJJ & ADAMS, Publishers.
98 William Street, New York.

 

 

 

  
   

 
s A  were

he

  

 

 

r
i

 

 

BUYS! ATTENTION” $I,UUD in Prizes! Grand Athletic Tournament! See The Young New Yorker.

BEADLE’S HALF-DIME LIBRARY.

Every one of them “le0” Stories by “ Live” Authors. Each number
a Complete Novel, at the extraordinary price are HALF-DIME.

1 Deadwood Dick. THE PRINCE or THE
ROAD. By Edward L. Wheeler.

2 Yellowstone Jack; or, THE TRAPPER
orTHE ENCEANTED GROUND. By J. E. Badger, Jr.

3 Kansas Kiurég; or, THE RED RIGHT
HAND. ByB alo Bill (Hon. Wm. F. Cody).

The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt-
Mayne Reid and Capt. Frederick Whittaker.

5 Vagabond Joe ; THE YOUNG WANDER-
ING JEw. By 011 Coomes.

6 Bill Biddon, Tra or: or, LIFE IN

THE NORTHWEST. By ward S. Ellis.

7 The Plyin§ Yankee: or, THE OCEAN
y .

OUTCAST. Col. Prentiss

8 Seth Jones: or, THE CAPTIVES or THE
FDONTIER. By Edward S. Ellis.

9 The Adventures of Baron Mun-
chausen.

10 Nat Todd; or, THE FATE OF THE
SIOUX CAPTIVE. By Edward S. Ellis.

1 1 The Two Detective : or, THE
FORTUNES or A BOWEEY GIRL. By Albert
W. Aiken, author of “ The Spotter Detective,” etc-

12 Gulliver‘s Travels. A Voyage to
Lilliput, and a Voyage to Brobdingnag.

13 The Dumb Spy. By 011 Coomes,
author of “Vagabond Joe," etc.

14 Aladdin: or, THE WONDERFUL
LAMP.

1 The Sea-Cat: or, THE WITCH or
DAEIEN. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker.
16 Robinson Crusoe. His Life and
Surprising Adventures, (27 illustrations.)
17 Ralph Roy. The Boy Bucca-
neer. By 001. Prentiss Ingraham.

1 8 Sindbad the Sailor. His seven voy-
ages. From the Arabian Nights.

19 The Phantom Spiz or. THE PILOT
or TEE PRAIRIE. By uflalo Bill.

20 The Double Daggers: or, DEAD-

.woon Dch’s DEEIANCE. By Edward L.
Wheeler, author of “ Deadwood Dick.‘

21 Frontier Angel. A Romance of
Kentucky Rangers” Life. By Edward S.
Ellis, author of "Seth Jones.” etc.

22 The Sea Serpent: or, THE BOY
ROBINSON Games. By 001. Juan Lewis.

23 Nick 0’ the Ni%ht: or, THE BOY
SPY or ’76. By T. . Harbaugh.

24 Diamond Dirk: or, THE MYSTERY

or THE YELLCWSTONE. By Col. Prentiss
Ingraham, author of “The Flying Yankee,” etc.

25 The Boy Ca tain: or, THE PIRATES
DAUGHTER. y Roger Starbuek.

26 Cloven Hoof. the Demon. By
Edward L. Wheeler

27 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide.
By 01] Coomes.
28 Bufi'alo Ben, the Prince of the
Pistol: on. DEADWOOD DICK IN
DIsGUIsE. By EdwardLWheeler.

29 The Dumb P ; on, THE DOGE’s
DAUGHTER. By apt. F. Whittaker.

aring Ral h Rock d THE
3 RgECKLIES RANGlinR— By Hanggt‘.’ Ghorge.

31 Keen-Knife. TEE PRINCE or TB‘E
PEAIEIES. By 011 Coomes.

3 Bob Woolf, the Border Roman:
or TEE Gnu. DEAD-SHOT. "By Edward L,
Wheeler, author of “Deadwood Dick. etc, etc.

33 The Ocean Bloodhound: or, THE
RED PmATEs on THE CAEIDDEES. By Samuel
W. Pierce. author or “The Boy Detective, eta. etc.

 Oregon Sol; or, NICE erms’

BOY SPY. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams.

35 Wild Ivan, THE BOY CLAgDE DUVAL;
01‘. TR! BECTEEEEOOD OE EATH. Dead.
wood Dick Romance No. 4. By Edward L Wheeler.

 

36 The Boy Clown; or, THE QUEEN or
THE ARENA. By Frank S. Finn.

3 7 The Hidden Lodge; or, THE LITTLE

HUNTER or THE ADIMNDACKS. By T. C.
Harbaugh, author of “ Nick 0' the Night," etc.

38 Ned Wylde. THE BOY SCOUT. By

Texas J wk.

3 Death-Pace, the Detective; or,
LIFE AND LOVE IN NEW You. By Ed-
ward L. Wheeler.

4 Roving Ben. A story of a Young
American who wanted to see the world.
By John J. Marshall.

41 Lasso Jack, THE YOUNG MUSTANG-
ER. By 01] Coomes.

42 The Phantom Miner: or, DEAD-
WCOD DICE’S BONANzA. By Ed. L.Wheeler.

Dick Darling. the Po E ress
43 Rider. By Capt. F. 

Battling Rube: or, THE NIGHT-
mm or m. By Harry St. George.
45 Old Avalanche. the Great An-

nihilator: or, THE Gnu. BRIGAND.
By Edward L. Wheeler.

46 Glass Eye. the Great Shot ofthe
West. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams.

47 Nghtingale Nat: on, THE FOREST
ArTAINs. By T. C. Harbaugh.

48 Black John, the ROEdHAfOIIt,
or, THE OUTLAw’s RETREAT. By 08. E.
Badger, Jr.

49 Omaha Oil, the Masked Terror,
or, DEADWCOD DICE IN DANGER. By Ed-
ward L. Wheeler.

50 Burt Bunker, THE TRAPPER. A
Tale of the North-west Hunting-Grounds.
By Charles E. Lasalle.

51 The Do Rifles, or, THE UNDER-
GnOUND AMP. By Archie C. Iron;

52 The White Bufi'alo. A Tale of
Strange Adventure in the Northwest.
By Charles E. Lasalle.

5 3 Jim Bludsoe. Jr., THE BOY PHENIx;
or, THROUGH TOTHE DEATH. By Edward
L. Wheeler.

54 Ned Hazel, THE BOY TEAPPEE; or,
Ad THE PHANTCE PEINCEss. By Capt. J. F. 0.
ms.

5 5 Deadly-Eye, THE UNKNOWN SCOUT;
ml am or, THE BEANDED BEOTEEEHOOD. By But-
0 .

56 Nick Whitles’ Pet, or, IN THE
VALLEY or DEATH. By Capt. J. F. C.
Adams.

5 Deadwood, Dick's Eagles: or,
THE PAEDs or FLOOD BAD. y Edward
L. Wheeler.

The Border King- or THE SECRET
58 FOE. By 011 Coomes.’ '

59 Old Hickory, or, PANDY ELLIs’S
SCALE. By Barry St. George.

6 The White Indian; or, TEE SCOUT
Adams or THE YELLOWSTONE. By Capt. J. F. C.

61 Buckhorn Bill, or, THE RED RIFLE
Tm. By Edward L. Wheeler.

62 The Shadow Shir, or, THE RIVAL
LIEUTENANTs. By 00 . Prentiss Ingraham.

63 The Red Brotherhood. 01‘, THE
TWELVE AVENGEHs. By W. J. Hamilton.

64 Dand Jack. or, THE OUTLAW or
THE RECON TRAIL. By T.C.Harbaugh.

65 Hurricane Bill, or, MUSTANG SAN
AND Ins “PARD.” By Joe. E. Badger. Jr

66 Single Hand, or, A LIFE FOR A an,
By W. J. Hamilton.

67 PatentLeather Joe: or. OLD RAT-
TLIBN

m. m leumn. B Philip B.
Warne author of “A and crowd n I. u
“ Always on Hand." em ’ Tn?” D10 .

 

68 The Border Robin Hood: or, THE
PRAIRIE ROVER. By Buffalo Bill.

69 Gold Rifle. THE YOUNG SHARP-
SHOOI'EE; or, THE BOY DETEGYIVE CETHE
BLACK RANCH. By Edward L. Wheeler.

70 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, THE GREEN--
Adams Hons IN THE WOODS. By Captain J. F. C.

'7 1 Delaware Dick; THE YOUNG RANG-

En SPY‘ Or BROTHER. AGAmsr Barnum.
By 011 Coomes. ' '

72 Mad Tom Western. THE TEXAN
RANGER. By W. J. Hamilton.

7 3 Deadwood Dick on Deck: or,
CALAAIITY JANE, THE HEEOINE on THE
WHOOP-UP. By Edward L. Wheeler.

7'4 Hawk-eye , THE YOUNG
TRAPPED RANGEII. By 011 Coomes.

75 The Boy Duelist; or, THE CRUISE
m or THE SEA WOLF. By COL Prentiss In~
g‘l‘flthl .

76 Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer: or,
THE GREAT FIGHTING MAN or THE WEST.
By Albert W. Aiken.

7 7 Corduroy Charlie, THE BOY BRAVO;
or THE LAST ACT or DEADWOOD DICK. By

Edward L. Wheeler.

7’ 8 Blue Dick; or, THE YELLOW CHIEE’s
VENGEANCE. By Captain Mayne Reid.

7  Sol Ginger, THE GIANT TEArrEE; or,

THE FLOWER. or THE BLACEnET. By
Albert W. Aiken.

80 Rosebud Rob; or, NUGGET NED, THE
KNIGHT or TEE GULCE. By Edward L.
Wheeler.

1“ tning Jo THE TERROR on THE
8 1  A Tale of the Present Day. By
Captain J. F. 0. Adams.
82 Kit Barefoot, THE WOOD-HAWK; or,
OLD POWDEn-FACE AND HIS DENONS. By
T. C. Harbaugh.
83 Rollo. the Bey ; or, THE
Kansas or THE GOLDEN EN. By Oil
(homes.

84 Idfil. the Girl Miner; or ROSEBUD
3 ON HAND. By Edward L. Wheeler.
85 Buck Buckrain: on, BESS, THE FE.
HALE Taurus. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams

86 Dandg Roch, TBE-MAN-FROM-TEX-
As. y G. Waldo Browne.

8 7 The Land Pirates: OR, THE LEAGUE
or DEVIL’s lsuNn. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

Photo [a h Phil: on. ROSEBUD
88 Ron'sfiquEANcE. By Ed. L. Wheeler.

8 Island Jim: OR, THE PET OF THE

FAMILY. B Bmebrl H author
of “ Jack Harkawayfl etc. dge m.

90 The Dread Rider: on. THE TEXAN
DUELIsT. By George W. Browne.

91 The Cagtvain of the Club: or. THE
YOUNG AI. Amuse. By Braoebrldgo
Hemyng. (Jack Harkaway.)

 Canada Chet, THE COUNTEamTEn
CHINE; or, OLD ANACONDA IN SITTING

BULL‘S CAMP. By Edward L. Wheeler.

98 The Boy Miners; or, THE ENCEANTED
ISLAND. By Edward S. Ellis. Ready

94 Midnight Jack. Tm: ROAD-AGENT;

011001.me GEoECE‘s GREAT Plum. By
T. C. Harbaugh. Ready May 18th.
95 The Rival RovMers: or, THE FREE-
DOOTEES or TEE IssissIrrI. By Lieut.
Col. Healthier Ready May 20th.
96 w‘wh .Eyfi, TEE DETECTIVE: gr,
A AND arts or A GREAT CITY.
Edward L. fizzler. Ready May 27th. y
9 The Outlaw Brothers: or, THE
CAM-Am or THE mans. By John J.
Marsh-ll. Ready June Rd.
A new lame every week.
The Half-Dime Library is for sale 13 all
Newsdealers, five cents per co “Elegant by m on

recei 1: of six cents each. &
Pub era DBWImam Street. New York.

 

 

BEADLE’S

 

 

 

32 Large TIIrec-Colunln Pages.

1. A Hard Crowd: 0R, GENTLEMAN
SAM’S SISTER. By Philip S. Warne.

2. The Dare-Devil: OR, THE WINGEDi
WITCH ON THE SEA. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

3. Kit Carson, J r., THE CRACK SHOT or
THE WEST. By Buckskin Sam.

4. The Kidnapper: OR, THE GREAT I
SHANGHAI ON THE NORTHWEST. By Philip S. Warne. ‘

5. The Pire-Piends: OR, HERCULES, THE
HUNCHBACK. By A. P. Morris. ‘

6. Wildcat Bob, THE BOSS BRUISER : :
OR, THE BORDER BLOODHOUNDS. By Edward L. Whee- -
ler,nuthor of “Deadwood Dick," “Double Daggers." .

’7. Death-Notch, THE DESTROYER: OR
THE SPIRIT LAKE AVENOERS. By 011 Coomes.

8. The Headless Horseman. A strange
story of Texas. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

9. Hagdy Andy. By Samuel Lover.

10. Vidocq. THE FRENCH POLICE SPY.
Written by himself.

11. Midshipman Easy. By Capt. Mar-
I'yat.

12. The Death-Shot: OR, TRACKED To
DEATH. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

13. Pathawa : 0R, NICK WHIEELES, THE
OLD TRAPPER OF THE ORTHWEST. By Dr. J. H. Rob-
Inson. v

14. Thagendanegea, THE SCOURGE ;
OR, THE WAR- AGLE or THE MOHAWKS. By Ned Bunt-
ine, author Of “The White Wizard.“

15. The Tiger-Slayer: OR, EAGLE-

HEAD To THE RESCUE. By Gustave Aimnrd.

1 6. The White Wizard : OR, THE GREAT

PROPHET OF THE SEMINOLES. By Ned Buntline.

1 ’7. Nightshade, THE ROBBER PRINCE
OF HOUNSLOW HEATH. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.

18. The Sea Bandit: OR, THE QUEEN
OF THE ISLE. By Ned Buntline.

19. Red Cedar, THE PRAIRIE OUTLAW.
By Gustave Almard.

20. The Bandit at Bay: OR, THE PI-
RATES OE THE PRAIRIns. By Gustave Aimard.

21. The Trapper’s Daughter: OR,

THE OUTLAw’s FATE. By Gustave Aimard.

22. Whitelaw: OR, NATTIE or 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-
Inard, author of “Tiger-Slayer.” etc.

!

 

 

 

 

HANDY ANDY.—No. 9.

 

LIBRARY.

 

 

 

 

/ .

JR.—NO. 3.

KIT CARSON,

25. The Gold-Guide: OR, STEEL ARM,

THE REGULATOR. By Francis Johnson.

26. The Death-Track: OR, THE OUT-

LAWS or THE MOUNTAIN. By Francis Johnson.

27. The Spotter-Detective: OR, THE
GIRIS or NEW ORK. By Albert W. Aiken. ‘

28. Three-Pingered Jack, THE ROAD-
AGENT or THE ROCKIES; OR, THE BOY MINER OK 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 Geor e: or, FIERY FRED,
THE OUTLAW. By Josep E. Badger, Jr.

31. The New York ‘Sharp ;’ OR, THE
FLASH or LIGHTNING. By Albert W. Aiken,

32. B’hoys of Yale; OR, THE SCRAPES
OEA HARD SET or COLLEGIANs. By John D. Vose.

38. Overland Kit. By Albert W.
Aiken.

34. Rocky Mountain Rob.
bert W. Aiken.

35. Kentuck, the Sport. By Albert
W. Aiken.
36. Injun Dick. By Albert W. Aiken.

37. Hit-l. the Hunchback; OR, THE
SWORDHAKER OF THE SANTEE. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.

38. Velvet Hand; 5R, THE IRON GRIP or
INJUN DICK. By Albert W. Aiken.

89. The Russian Spy: OR, THE BROTH-
ERS OF THE STARRY CROSS. By Frederick Whittaker.

40. The Long Haired ‘Pards;' OR,

THE TARTARS or THE LAINs. 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 or 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
EXTARIIINATOR; or, THE TRIANGLE’S LAST TRAIL.
By 011 Coomes.

45. Old Bull’s Eye, THE LIGHTNING
SHOT OF THE PLAINS. By Joseph E. Badger, JR.,

46. Bowie-Knife Ben. THE LITTLE
HUNTER or THE NOR-WEST. By 011 Coomes.

4’7. Pacific Pete, THE PRINCE or THE
REVOLVER. By Jos. E. Badger.

48. Idaho Tom. THE YOUNG OUTLAW
or SILVERLAND. By 011 Coomes.

49. The Wolf Demon, or, THE QUEEN on
THE KANAWHA. By Albert W. Aiken.

BY A1-

 

Each Number Complete.

SCOUTS; or, Life and Love in a Frontier Fort.

 

Price 10 cts.

50. Jack Rabbit, THE PRAIRIE SPORT;
or, THE CHILDREN or THE LLANO ESTACADO. By Jos.
E. Badger. Jr.

51. Red Rob, THE BOY ROAD-AGENT.
By 011 Coomes.

52. Death Trailer, THE CHIEF or
By
Hon. Wm. F. Cody, (Buffalo Bill.)

53. Silver Sam; 01', THE MYSTERY or
DeadwooD CITY, By Col. Delle Sara.

54. Always on Hand; or. THE SPORTIVE
SPORT 01“ THE FOOT HILLS. By Phillip S. Warnez
author of “ A Hard Crowd,” “Patent Leather Joe '

55. The Scalp Hunters. A ROMANCE OF
THE PLAINS. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

56. The Indian Maze pa-

or THE
MAD MAN ON THE PLAINS. By lbert’ W. ’Aiken.

57. The Silent Hunter; or, THE SCOWL
HALL MYSTERY. By Percy B. St. John.

58. Silver Knife; or, WICKLIFFE, THE
ROCKY MOUNTAIN RANGER. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.

59. The Man From Texas; or, THE
OUTLAW OE ARKANSAS. By Albert W. Aiken.

60. Wide Awake; or, THE IDIOT OF
THE BLACK HILLS. By Frank Dumont.

81. Captain Seawaif. THE PRIVATEER.
By Ned Buntline.

62. Loyal Heart; or, THE TRAPPERS or
ARKANSAS. By Gustave Aimard.

63. The Winged Whale.
W. Aiken.

64. Double-Sight, the Death Shot.
By Joseph E. Badger, r.

65. The Red Rajah: or, THE SCOURGE
OE THE INDIES. By Captain Frederick Whittaker.

66. The Specter Barque. A TALE
OF THE PACIFIC. By Captain Mayne Reid.

67. The Boy Jockey: or, HONESTY
VERSUS CROOKEDNESS. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
Ready

By Albert

68. The Fighting Trapper: Ul', KIT
CARSON To THE RESCUE. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams.
Ready May 21st.

69. The Irish Captain: A TALE 0E
FONTENOY. By Captain Frederick Whittaker.
Ready June 4th.

A new iasue every week.
Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale by all
NewsdealeIS, ten cents per copy, or sent by mail on

receipt Of twelve cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS,
Publishers. 98 William Street, New York.

MIDSHIPMAN EASE—No. 11.