POPULAR EDITION 0P CAPTAIN MAYNE REID’S WORKS.
\\ \§ I ‘Ti / // ' \
Y.“ 15\\ / ” fl , <
\i —"\ r-¢ ~—— - // \v
\ .1,“  . “ %

3“"‘iilfl  ‘\
3M3 Mum

II I My I
b; mnuulllg/ ‘1‘

 

mid'fll‘hlid‘ '

“0va GHTED IN Iaax.av éEADI—E a< ADAms.

If.wa u m: POS‘I' Omc; AT NEW YORK. N. Y.. n Sworn) Cum MAIL mm
N o. 213

T rum-had Every @eadle g?‘ fldams, QDzzbushers,
‘ 01'  W”“- 98 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y.. November 22. 1882.

his WAR TRAIL: mm Hunt of the Wild Horse.

BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID,

AUTHOR OF “Tm: HEADLESS HORSEMAN,” “ TEE DEATH—SHOT,” “THE BCALP HUNTERS.” “0., ETC.

Ten Cents I. Copy.
35.00 I Year.

0:4 //

~ ‘fi'k.
23??»
*xfi‘: \ \

~29

‘05

2'51,

//

\
mmama I? Law, I HAD TAKEN MY EYES FROM THE CHASE. ONLY you A uoxnm; wmm I LOOKED our AGAIN,
um HORSE HAD DISAPPEARED!

 

—a

'2
' The W or Trail;
on
The Hunt'of the Wild Horse.

BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID,
Amnon or “ THE nusnnnss Housman," “run
aim RANGERS," “an warm cums,"
arc, ETC.

CHAPTER I.
A MEXICAN FRONTIER VILLAGE.

A MEXICAN pucblita on the banks of the Rio
Bravo del Norte—a mere ranchen’a, o_r hamlet.
The uaint old church of ,Morisco-Italian style,

(ltl’cupoia' of motley gapan, the residence of
the cum, and the house 0 the aloalde, are the
only stone structures in the. lace. These con-
stitute three sides of the p za, a somewhat
spacious square. The remaining side is taken
up with shops or dwellings of the common [peo-
ple. They are built of large unburnt b cks

, some of them washed With lime, others
gaudily oolored like the'prosoeninm of atheater,
at most of theni. uniform in their muddy and
forbidden brown. ll have heavy jail-like
doors, :nid windows wtthout lalilis or sash. 'Tlge
rq'ao ron-bers, se ve y, poseste
b lar. notthe weather.  ‘

T estone dwellings, and these of mud like-
wise, are flat-roofed, tiled or cemented—some-
times tastefully japanned—with apara pet breast
high running round the edge. This flat roof is
:he azotea, characteristic of Mexican architec-

ure. .
When the sun is low and the evening cool, the
azotea is a pleasant lounging-place, especially
when the proprietor of the house has a taste for
flowers: then it is converted into an aerial gar-
den, and displays the rich flora forwhich the
picture-land of Mexico is justly celebrated. , .It
is just the place to enjoy a ci ar, 8.151585 of fine-
ole, or if you prefer it, cata n. ' he me e is
waited away, and the open air gives a relish to
the beverage. Besides, your eye is feasted; you
enjoy the privacy of a drawing-room, while on
command what is passing in the street. he
slight parapet gives security, while hindering a
too free view from below; you see, without be—
ing seen. The world moves on, busied with
earthly aflairs, and does not think of looking

 

 

 

u .

p.lstand upon such an azotiaa; it is that over
the house 0 the alcalde; and his being the tall-
est roof in the village, I command a view of all
the others.

The center of the laza presents a salient
point in the picture. ere the well (el pose),
with its gigantic wheel, its huge leathern belt
and buckets, its trough of cemented stone—work,
oflers an (friental aspect. Verily, it is the Per-

whee i

Gliding with silent step and dubious look—
his wide calzzmeros flap ing around his ankles,
his arms and shoulders s rouded in the mottled

'and still another fashion. the close-flttin

 

scrape, his black brOad-brimmed hat darkening ,

still more his swarihy face—goes the pablano,
the denizeii of the adobe hut. He shuns the
center of the , keeping around the walls;
but at interv his eyes are turned toward the
well with sleek of mingled flerceness and fear.

Now and then a young girl, with red olla
poised upon her crown, tri s lightly across the

laza in the direction of t e well. Perha she
a {obtain—one of the belles of the vii e-
in s ort-skirted, bright-colored tticoat, em-

‘broidered but sleeveless chemiset 9, with small

n her feet: head, shoulders and

satin slippers u
in the blue-gray wboso; arms

bosom shroud
and ankles bare.
passin to and fro. They'appear less uneasy
than tge men; they even smileat intervals, and
reply to the rude badina e uttered in an ur-
known tongue by the o d-looking strangers
around the well. The Mexican women are as
coura eous as they are amiable. As a race,
their eauty is undeniable.

But who are these strangers? The do not
belong to the place, that is endent; an equally
so that they are objects of terror to these who
do. Atpresent they are masters lure. Their
numbers, their proud, confident swagger, and
the bold, loud tone of their conversation. attest
that they are masters of the ground. Who are

the l , .
(gm-looking, I have styled them: and the;

phrase is to be taken in its full significance. A

more odd-looking set of fellows never mustered ’

in a M93103“ plank-nor elsewhere. There are
fourscore of them: and but that each carries a
soafcr rifle in his hand, a knife in his belt. and a

:’s pistol on his thigh, you could not discover
the all test pow-t 0! resemblance between any
two 0 them. , arms are the only thing
about them denoting uniformity, and some sort
of organization: for the rest, they are as unlike
one another as the various shapes and hues of
coarse broadcloth, woollen jeans, cottonades,
colored blankets and buckskin can make them.
They wear Caps of coon—skin and cat-skin, and
squirrel; hats of beaver and felt, and glaze, of

Norm—Used by permission of Geo. W. Carleton &
Co., owners of the American copyright.

 

Several of these may be seen'

x

 

The EVar Trail.

 

 

wool and palmetto; of every imaginable shape
and slouch. Even of the modern monster—the
silken “tile”—samples might be‘ seen, 'badly
crushed. There are coats of broadcloth, few in
number, and well worn: but man are the gar-
ments of “Kentucky jeans ” of b uish-gray, of
coppercolored nigger cloth, and sky-colored
cottonade. Some wear coats made of green
blankets, others of blue ones, and some of a
scarlet red. There are hunting shirts of dressed
deemkin, with plaited skirt, and cape, fringed
and jauntin adorned with beads and embroid-
ery—the favorite style of the backwoods hunter,
but others there are of true Indian cut—open
only 'at the throat, and hangin loose, or
fastened around the waist with a be t—the same
that secures the knife and pistol. There are
cloth jackets too, such as arevworn by sailors,
ando hers of sky-blue cottonade—the costume
of the Creole of Louisiana; some of red-brown
leather—the jaqueta of the-Spano—American;
em-
broidered “spencer " of the'Mexican ranc ero.
Some shoulders are covered "by scrapes, and
some by the more graceful and toga-ll e manga.
Look lower down: examine the lim of the
men of this motley band: the covering of these
is not less varied than their upper garments.

on see wrappers of coarse cloth, of flannel, and
of holes: they are blue, and scarlet, and n.
You see leggings of raw hide land of hue n;
boots of horse-leather reaching to the thighs:
” nig er boots " of still coarser fabric, With the
pants oons tucked under; brogans of unstained
calf-skin and moccasins of varied cut, betoken-
ing the fashion of more than one Indian tribe.
You may see limbs incased in calzoneros, and
others in‘ the heavy stamped leather botas of the
Mexican homman, resembling the greaves of
warriors of the olden time.

The heels of all are armed, though their arma-
ture is as varied as the costumes. There are spurs
of silver and steel some plated and some with
the plating worn ed; some strapped,'and others
screwed into- the heel of the boot; some light,
with small rowels and tiny teeth, while others
are seen (the heavy spur 0 Mexico) of several
gounds’ weight, with rowels five inches in

iameter, and teeth that might be dashed
throiifgh the ribs of ahorsei—cruel weapons of
the exican cat-allero.

But these spurs in the plaza, these botas and
calzoneros. these mangas and scrapes, are not
worn by Mexicans. Their present wearers are
men of a different race. Most of those tall stal-
wart bodiesare the product of the maize-plant of
Kentucky and Tennessee, or the buckwheat-and
“ hog-meat " of the fertile flats of Ohio, Indiana
and the Illinois. They are the squatters and
hunters of the backwoods, the farmers of the
fleet western sic of the Alleghanies, the

atmen of the ississippi, the pioneers of
Arkansas and Missouri, the trap rs.of prairie-
land, the toyageurs of the in e countr , the
young planters of the lower States, the rench
Creoles of Louisiana, the adventurous settlers of
Texas, with here and there a ay city s ark
from the larger towns of the ‘great est.“
Yes, and from other sources are individuals of
that mixed band. I recognize the Teutonic
type—the fair hair and whitish-yellow mus-
tache of the German, the florid Englishman, the
staid Boot, and his contrast the n Hiber-
nian;'both e ually brave. Ibehold t e adroit
and nimble rencbman full of laugh and chat-
ter the stench soldierly S iss. ,and the mus-
'hed enle of‘Poland, ' ark, somber, and
silent. What a study for an ethnologist is that
band of odd-looking meni Who are they?

You have thrice asked the uestion. I an-
awer it: They are a cc of ‘ angers "—the
guerrilla of the American army.

billifid who am I? I am their captain—their
c e . . .

Rude as is the coup d’m‘l of the corps, I am
proud to say that a high sentiment of honor
pervades it—higher than will be found in the

picked corps dc yards of an emperor. True,~

they appear rough and reckless—terrible, I
might say; for most of them—with their ion
beards and hair, dust-begrimed faces, slouch
hats, and odd habiliments, belted as they are
with knife, pistol, powder-hem, and pouch—
present such an aspect,

But you wouldwrong them to Ule them as
they look. Few among them are the pure
bandits ‘whose aim is plunder. Many a noble
heart beats beneath a rude exterior—many a

. one truly humane. There are hearts in that band

that throb under the influence of patriotism;
some are. uided by‘ a still nobler impulse, a de-
sire to extind the area of freedom; others. it is
true. yearn but for revenge. These last are
chiefly Texans, who mourn a friend or brother
Slain by Mexican treachery" They have .not
forgotten the cowardly assassination of Goliad;
thqy remember the red hutchei'y of the A_lamo.

be men have picketed their horses in the
church inclosure: some are tied to trees, and
others to the rejabars of the windows; like
their riders, a motley grou ,varioue' in Size.
color, and race. The strong ighjmettled steed
of Kentucky and Tennessee, the light “ pacer"
of Louisiana, the cob the barb, his descendant
the “mnstan ,” that ut a few weeks ago was
running wil upon the prairies, may all be

'l'lVPl‘. where they have it all to t

 

seen in the troop. Mules, also. of two distinct
races—the large gaunt mule of North America,
and the smaller and more sprightly variety,
native of the soil. '

My Own black steed, with his pretty fern-
cOlol‘ed muzzle. stands near the fountain in the
center of the plaza. My eye wanders with a.
sortof habitua delight over the oval outlines of
his body. How proudly he curves his swan-
hke neck, and with mock anger paws u the
dustl He knows ,that‘my eyes are upon h m.

_We have been scarcely an hour in the ranch-
eria: we are perfect strangers to it; we are the
first American troop its pedple have vet seen-
although the war has been goiu on” for some
months further down the river. fiVe have been
dispatched upon scouting duty, with orders to
scour the surrounding country as far as it is
safe. The object in sending us hither is not so
much to guard against a surprise from our

lllexican fce, who is not 11 on this side, but to

guard them, the Mexicans, rnm another enemy
-an enemy of both of us — the Comanche!
These Indian Ishmaelites, report says, are upon
the " War-trail," and have quite an army in the
field. It is said they are foraging higher up the

emselves 'and
have-just illa ed a settlement in that direc-
tmuebutc ere the men as is their wont, and
carried oflv'the women, children, and chattels.
We came hither to conquer the Mexicans. but
we must protect while conquering them; Cosas
dc Mexico .’

 

CHAPTER II.
MAKING. A csmvm. A'

I was musing upon the singular character of
this triangular war, when my reverie was dis-
turbed by the hoof-strokes of a horse. The
sounds came from a distance, outside the vi]-
huge; the strokes were those of a horse at full
gallop. ' . - ’

l stepped hastily across the azotea, and looked
over the parapet, in hopes of obtaininga view
of this rapid rider. I was not disappointed—as
I neared the wall, the road and the rider came
i'iiil under my eyes.

in the latter I beheld apicturesque object.
He a peered to be a very young man—a mere
yout i, without heard or mustache, but of sin-
gularly handsome features. The com lexion
was dark, almost brown; but even at be dis-
tance of two hundred yards, I could perceive
the flash of a noble eye. and note a damask red-
ness upon his cheeks. His shoulders were cov~
ered with a scarlet mange, that draped back—
ward over the hips of his horse; and upon his
head he wore a ight sombrero, laced. handed,
and msseled r'ith bullion of gold. The horse
was a sin all but finely proportioned mustang—
spotted like a jaguar upon a ground color of
cream—a true Andalusian.

The horseman was advancing at a gallop,
without fear of the ground before him: by
chance, his eyes were raised to the level of the
azotea,‘ on which I stood; my uniform, and the
sparkle of my accouterments, caught his glance:
and quick as thought, as if by an involuntary
movement. he reined.up his mustang, until its
ample tail lay clustered upon the dust of the
road. It was then that I noted the singular ap
pearance of both horse and rider.

Ju<t at that moment, the ranger. who held
picket on that side of the village, sprung forth
how his hiding-place, and challenged the horse—
man to halt. The challenge was unheeded.
Another jerk of the rein spun the mustang
round. as upon a pivot; and the next instant,
impelled by the spur, the animal resumed his
gallop. He did not return by the road, but
shot 03’ in a new direction, nearly at right-an-
gles to his former course. A rifle~bullet would

ave followed, and most likely have stopped
the career of either horse or rider, had not I,
just in the " nit-k ” of time, shouted to the sen-
try to hold his fire.

A reflection had occurred to me: the game
was too noble, too beautiful, to be butchered
by a bullet; it was worth a chase and a cap-
ture.

My horse was by the water-trough. I had
no road that he was not yet unsaddled. and the
in die was still on. He had been warmed by
the momlng’s scout; and I had ordered my
negro groom .to walk him round for an hour or
so before letting him at the watern
, I did not wait to descend b the escalera; I
SDI‘UUZ upon the parapet, an from that into
the plaza. The groom. perceiving my intention,
met me half-way with the horse.

My springing down from the roof and up into
the saddle occupied scarcely two minutes’ time;
and in two more, I had cleared the houses, and
was scouring across the fields after the scarlet
horseman. He was‘ evidently making to get
round the village, and continue the journey our
presence had so suddenly interru ted.

The chase led throu h a field 0 milpas. My
horse sunk deeply in t a loose earth, while the
lighter mustang bounded over it like is here.
He was distancin me, and I began to fear I
should lose him, w en all at once I saw that his
course was interce ted bya list of magueys,
running transverse y right and .left. The plants
were of luxuriant growth, eight or ten feet
high, and placed alternately, so that their huge

... -

.L‘

‘2..._ . fl-

r 3.»; and;

 

 

 

A He must be taken!

I

). Jii'.‘

The  Trail.

.4 .. .. . , w_.3.'i ' ,1
v‘ r .34,

 

 

hooked blades interlocked with each other,

formin a natural climax-dairies.

This srrier at first glance seemed impassable
for either man or horse. It brought the Mexi-
can to a halt. He was turning toskirt it, when

he rceived that I had leaned into the diag- '

one line, and could not fail to head him. With
aquick wrench upon the rein, he once more
wheeled round,set his horse ggainst the magueys,

ll plied the spur. and dash right into their
midst. In a moment, both horseand rider were
out of sight; but as I spurred up to the spot I
could hear the thick blades crackle under the
boots of the mustang.

There was no time for reflection. I must
either follow, or abandon the pursuit. The al-
ternative was not thought of. I was on my
honor, my steed upon his mettle; and without
halt we went lunging through the magueys.

Torn and beading, we came out on the op-!

posits side; and I perceived, to my satisfaction,
that I had made better time than the red rider
before me; his halt had lessened the distance
between us.

But another field of milpas had to be passed,
and he was again gaining upon me. a! We gal-
lo ed over the heavy ground.

hen nearly through the field, I perceived
something glancing before us; it was water—a
wide drain or ditch, a zeqma for irrigating the
field. Like the magueys, it ran transversely to
our course.

“.That will stop him,” thought I; “ he must
take to the right or left, and t en—” .

My thoughts were interrupted. Instead of
turning either to ri ht or left, the Mexican
headed his horse at t e zequia, and the noble
creature rushin forward, rose like a bird upon
the wing, and c cared the canal.

I had no time to expend in admiring the feet;
I hastened to imitate t, and galloping forward,
I set myself for the leap. M
neither whip nor 9 ur; he ad seen the other
lea the s is, an he knew whatwas
of me ha bound he went over. clearing
the drain gavel-a1 feet; and then, as if resolved
upon,brin the affair to amend, he laid his
head forwa , and stretched himself at race-
course speed. ’

A broad gr plain—a savanna—lay before

pursued, now rung upon hard flrm turf. The
rest of the chase would have been a simple trial
of speed, and I made sure of overhauling the
mustang before he could reach the opposite
'side, when a new obstacle presented itself. A
vast herd of cattle and horses studded the sa-
vanna. throughout its whole extent; these,
startled by our wild gallop, tossed their heads,
and ran aflri hted in ever direction, but fre-
quently as ot erwise, direct y in our way. More
than once I was forced to-rein ‘n, to save my
neck or my horse’s from being roken over a
fierce bull or a long~horned lumbering ox; and
more than once I was compelled to swerve from
my course. 1
at vexed me most, was that in this si :3
race, the mustang, from practice perhaps, h
the advan ' and while it continued, he in-
creased his istanc .
We cleared the drove at length; but to my
chagrinl perceived that we were near across
the aplain. As I glanced ahead, I saw e chap-
:arr near, with taller tl'oes rising over it; be-
yond, I saw the swell of a hill with white walls
‘ upon its summit. It was the hacienda alread
mentioned: we were riding directly toward i .
I. was 'growing anxious about the result.
‘ Should the horseman reach the thicket I would
be almost certain to lose him. I dared not let
him escape What Would m men say, if I
went back without him? I d hindered the
sentry from firing, and permitted to escape,
perhaps a spy, perhaps some important per-
sonage. His esplerate efforts to get off favored
the supposition t at he was one or the other.

Under fresh impulse, derived from these re
fiections I lanced the flanksof in horse more
deeply than ever. Moro seemed divine my
thoughts, and stretched himself to his utmost.
There were no more cattle, not an obstacle, and
his superior e soon lasssned the distance be-
tween himse and the mustangs ~Ten seconds
more would do its - . . .

The ten seconds flew, hv. I felt myself within
ihcllotteing distance; I Cll"‘w mY- pistol from its

0 s r.

“Altai ayo tire!“ (Halt! or. I fire), I cried
aloud. ‘ - f - -
There was no reply: the mustang kept on!

“ |” unwilltqto‘take “to

life of a fellow‘creature—“haltl or you are a.

de§dms?!” ! p a
o rsp y again. , '
There were notlsix yards between myself
the Mexman horseman. - Ridin ltraight be-
hind him, I could have sent I. let into his
back. Some secret instinct restrained me; it
was rsly, though not al then-,‘av feeling of
adm tion; there was an sflnable idea in
\ my mind at thomoment. If finger rested on
the trigger, and I could not w t.
“He must not swaps! He is nearing the
He must not be allowed to enter the

’ trees!
' _thicket; I‘must cripple the‘horse."

 

rave steed needed.

 

I looked for a place to aim- at—his hips were
toward me—sbould I hit him there he might
still get 01!. Where should I aim?

At this moment the animal wheeled. a's if'

guided by his own impulse—perhaps by the
ees of his rider—and 5 0t of! in a new direc-
tion. The object of this maneuvor was to
throw me out of the track. So far it was! suc-
cessful; but it gave me just the o portunity to
aim as I wanted; as it brought t e mustan ’5
side toward me; and leveling mg pistol, I sen a
bullet through his kidne s. single lunge
forward was his last, and oth horse a rider
came to the ground. -

In an instant the latter had disengaged him-
self from his struggling steed, and stood upon
his feet. Fearing that he might still endeavor
to escape to the cover of the thicket, I spurred
forward, pistol in hand, and pointed the weapon
at his head. But he made no attempt either at
further flight or resistance. On the contrary,
he stood with folded arms, fronting the leveled
tube, and, looking me full in the face, said With
an air of perfect coolness:

“No matame, amigo! . Soy muger!” (Do
not kill me, friend! I am a woman!)

0

CHAPTER III.
MY cums.

“ Do not kill me, friend! I am a woman!”
This declaration scarcely astonished no; I
was half prepared for it. During our wild
gallo , I had noticed one or two circumstances
wh‘ led me to suspect that the spy I pursued
was a female. As the mustang sprung over
the zequia, the flowin skirt of the mango. Was
puffed upward, and ung for some moments
spread out in the air. A velvet bodice beneath.

 

. a tunic-like skirt, the tom'nure of the form, all

impressed me as singular for a cavaliero how-
ever rich and young. The limbs I could not
see, as the goat-skin amas—dbagua were drawn

over them; but Icaught a. glimpse of a gold

spur, ands heel of a tiny red boot to which it

was attached. The clubbed hair, too, loosened
by a violent‘motion, had fallen backward, and
in tvso thick plsits, slightly disheveled rested
upon thscroup of the horse. A youn Indian’e

might have heenequsily as 19118, but is tress" -
,. would have been et-black and coarse-
us, and the bee s of both horses, pursuer and

ainevd

whereas those un or my eyes were so , silky:
and nut-brown. Ileither the style of riding 4
la Dmva do Berri—nor the manlike costume
of manga and hat, were averse to the idea that
the rider was a woman. Both the style and
costume are common to the rancheras of Mex-
ico. Moreover, as the'mustang made his last
double, I had caught a near view of the side face
of thorider. The features of no man—not of the
Trojan shepherd, not of Adonis or Endymion—
were so ex uisitely chiseled as they. Certainly
a woman! er declaration at once put an end to
my conjectures, but, as I have said,‘ did not
astonish me.

I was astonished however, by its tone and
manner. Instead of being uttered in accents of
alarm. it was renounced as coolly as if the
whole thing been a jesti Sadness, not sup-

lication, was the prevailing tone, which» was
gurther carried out as she knelt to the d,
eased her lips to the muzzle of the still th-
iifg mustang, and exclaimed: -
‘A Ipobre yegualmuertelmim'te!”
(Alas me! poor mare! dead! dead!)

“ a woman?” said I. feigning astonishment.
My interrogatory was unneeded; she did not
even look up.

“Ay-de mi! pobre yegua! Lola, Lolita l"‘

she repeated, as coolly as‘ if the dead mustang
was the only object of her thoughts, and I, the
armed assassin. fifty miles from the spot!

“A women?" I a in ejaculated—in my em-
barrassment scarce y knowing what to say.

“ Si, senor; nqda mas—qua 411419121". 5" (Yes,
sir; nothing more—what do on want?”

As she made this reply, 9 e rose-to her feet
and stood confrontin me without the sl htest
semblance of fear. 0 unexpected was t e an-
swer, both in tone and sentiment, that for the
life of me I could not help breaking intoaleugh.

“ You are merry,  You have made me
sad; you have killed my favorite!"

I shall not easily-forget the look that accom-
panied these words—sorrow, anger, contempt.
defiance, were expressed in one and the same

lance. leug nor was suddenly checked; I
elt humiliated in thagéiroud presence. '

“ Senorita,” I repli ,
necessity I have been under; it might have been

worse—3’ A -

“And how. preyt-r-how worsendemsuded'

she, interrupting me.

.“My pistol might have been" aimed at your- '
‘ self, but for asuspici " ' ‘ ~

on“ .
“ Oar-rumba I"- cried "she, again interru 

and me, “it could not have been worm I
that creature dearly—dearly as I do my life—es
rem miter-4:9-

va’e my father—pot“
And mhhe thus wil expressed ,

bmtddwwmedherds’ryms sronndflse’ sok’of

it? mammah'i“ °mmgmw "" '°
V '9 v

lids shsmsdtoansnsafituds

folded arms regarding the lifele'ss form with a
sad and bitter expression of countenance.

K .

 

“.3335.

“ I deeply regret the '

- treppin

VAmIfreeto‘

 

I seeroel knew what todo. I was in a di—’
lemma-wi h‘ my fair captive. I would have '

givena month of my “pay-rolle have re-

stored the spotted mustang to life; but as that 
was out of e question, I bethou ht me of some
means of making restitution to i s Owner; An
olilferiof money would not be delicate. What
t on - '

A thought occurred to me that promised to re-
lieve me ran: my embarrassment. The eager-
ness of the Mexicans to obtain our lar e Ameri-
can horses—ffisoms, as they term t om—was
well known throughout the army. Fabulous
prices were often paid for them by these fleas
who wanted them for dis lay upon the Paseo.
We bad man 4 good he f-bred bloods in the
troop; one of t ese, thought'l, might be accept-
able even to a lady who had lost her pet. '

I made the offer as delicately as I could.‘ It
was re acted with scorn! '

“ W at, senor!” c'rled she striking the ground ‘
with her foot till the roweis_rung—“ what? A
horse to mar—Mira !" she continued, rioting
to the plain; “look, there, sir! The are a,
thousand horses; they are mine! Now, know
the value of your ofler. Do I 'stand in need of
a horse!” ‘ ‘ ~ ' , '

“ But, senorita,” slammed I, a logeticaiiy,
“ these ar’e horses of native race. he one I pro-

ver - ~.
Behl’lshe exclaimed intemptin‘ 'me'hud
pointing to the mustan '; ‘ "I 'wodidgnot'diaw
exchanged that native or all the ‘ of in
your troop. Not one of them was i ' l!"
A personal slight would not have ed forth
a contradicticn: yet this defiance had; that;ef-
feet: sho'had touched the chord «avatar—I
might almost say, of my affection. ith some
pious, Ireplled: ‘ ‘ ' ~ " " ‘
‘ One, senoritsf’” , s v ' " ' .' p
I looked toward Morons 1 ‘  flat "as.
followed mine, and she'stood or’some‘ , ' Ii
gazing at him in silence. I watched the , I
sion of her eye: I saw it kindle info-admin on
as it swept over the genefully curvin outlines
of my noble steed. . e looked at the moment
superb; the short skurry had drawnithe‘ In ,
from his lips, and flakes of it clung again '
neck and counter,“ contrasting finely w‘ifirjhe

‘ shining black of his skin; his, sides heaved, 'afid

fell in regular undulations, and’the slipktflsfliéd .
from his load—red no‘strile' his ' e waa‘stil .‘on
fire, and his neck and are ed._as,, ill
conscious of his late in , and the interest s
misnowl'excitin. m, _ z! . “ 5h -.
oracngw stood, n' n‘ in:
and though she spoke not a weed, Issawt’hatshe’
reoo ized his fine points. '  ' ,f

‘3 on are right, cavaliero,” she said etlengt‘ h.
and thoughtfu ly; “ he is.” ' » ' "

Just then a series of reflections were passing ‘
through my mind,tht rendered me e mely
uncomfortable; and I felt re t that ‘ r hadso ‘
Wintedlv drawn her atten on to the “Horse. -

ould she demand him! That was the thought
that troubled me; I had not promised ‘herbz‘ny
horse in m troop, and More would not ve‘
giveafor er he of a thousand; but on‘the ,
stren th of the 0 er I had made, what if she ,
shoul fancy him? The circumstances were»
awkward for a refusal; indeed, under any cir.
oumstanees refusal would have been painful. ‘
I begs/n’to feel that I could den her nothing.
This proud beautiful woman ready divided
my interest with Moro!

My ition was a delicate one; fortunately, I
was re ieved from it by‘an incident that carried
our thoughts into a new current—the troopers ~
who had followed me at that moment rode up. ' '

She seemed uneasy at their presence; that
could not be wondered at considering their ,
wild garb and fierce looks. Iordered them back ,-
to their quarters. Th for a moment at
the fallen mustau w h its rich blood-stained .
, atitsle rider, and her picturesque 1‘
garmen :, and then, muttering a few words to
one another, obeyed the order; Iiwes once '
more alone with my captive; ‘ '

——h— z
' CHAPTER IV. , ‘
150mm nu vsaess. ,
As soon as the? men were out of hearing, she

' said interro atively, “Teiavws?”

“Some them are  all.” "
‘ “You are their chief?" '

“ I am.” - '

“Ce , I-p‘resumei" ‘ .

“ That is my rank.” 'v' ‘
J‘gnd now, Senor Centennial your up» ,,
ve. » v .

I knew-‘no‘tihowflto ’ly. ' She saw  I...
rhesitat ianda ain put s u‘estion: ' 'ili

“rammed q . ~ - 
' “I fear-3h sexual-its?h I up: yoursh:
'Ifan , mm o ances ve
m conteutoflfwith, 51).: yr had  

curl ‘h  ‘ , ‘
rofMu¥inoirtz "V:  M 7
e

u. m.

  

that, the a“
rovokin _
or rou hautmra e" replied

,, m3  ‘ List:
on .1 -. .v r ..
Iwavered gstwixt dut  Mir-pom: ". ' I
a compromise offered itssIf. ' i  '

' “Lady,” uflmroschhghermndloom '-
as seriously as I into her beautiful eyes. '
“if you give me‘your word that you are not a

N ~ 1e, cavafierd,‘ this is

A M;

 

.,

 

L

 

spy you are free to go; your word—I ask
nothing more. "

I prescribed these conditions rather in a tone
of entreaty than command. I aflected stern—
ness, but my countenance must have mocked
me.

My captive broke into unrestrained laughter,
crying out at intervals:

‘Ia spyl—a spy! Ha, ha, hal
tan,lyou are jestingl"

“ hope, senorita, you are in earnest. You
y, theme—you hear no dispatch for our

Senor Capi-

are no
cnenfiy

“ othing of the sort, mic capitana” and she
continued her light laughter.

‘giWhy then did you try to make away from
us ’

“ Ah, cavalierol are you not Tejanosl Do not
be offended when I tell you that your people
bear but an indiflerent reputation among us
Mexicans.”

“ But your attempt to escape was, to say the
least, ’rash and imprudent; you risked your life
by it.

“ 0 irrambo, yes! I perceive I did ;” and she
looked significantly at the mustan while a
bitter smile played upon her lips. “ perceive

it now; I did not then. I did not think there
was a horseman in all our troop could come up
with me. Mmed/ t re wasone. You have
pvgrtaken me; you alone could have done
t.

For some moments both were silent. We
might have remained longer thus, but it occurred
to me that I was acting rudely. The lady was
still my captive. I had not at given her per-
mission to depart; I hasten to tender it.

“Spv orno spy, senor-i I shall not detain
you; Ishallbearthe ' :youarefreeto

80‘
“ Gracia” oaoallerol And now, since you
have behaved so handsome]? I shall-set your

mind at rest about the risk.

She handed me a folded gar; at a glance I
ch ‘ j i 13:: safeguaaiild t ecomimander-in-

ie , on o g n n to respect to
the Dona locum g V .

“You rceive, mio ca tan, I was not your
captive rail? Hal ha ha!"

“Lad , you are too generous notto pardon
the one. to which you hava been sub-

jected?”

“ Freely, capitan—freely.”

“ I shudder at thought of the risk you have
run. Whv did on act with such im rudence?
Your sudden flig t at sight of our p' at caused
suspicion, and of course it was our duty to
follow and capture you. With the safeguard,
you had no cause for flight." '

“ Hal it was that very safeguard that caused
me to fly.”

“ The safeguard, senorita? Pray explain 1”

“Can I trust your prudence, capitani”

“ I promise—4

“Know then, that I was not certain you
were Americanos; for augnt I could see, you
might have been a guerrilla of my countrymen.
How would it be if this pa er, and sundr
others that I carry, were to fa into the ban s
of Canalesl You perceive, capitan, we fear
our friends more than our enemies.”

fl Ihnow fully comprehended the motive of her

ig t.

“You speak 8 anish too well, mio capitan,”
continued she. ‘ Had you cried ‘ Halt!‘ in your
native tongue, I should at once have pulled up,
and porhn 5 saved my pet. Ah, mel—pobrs
yegua ! p0 re Lola. I”

As she uttered the last exclamation, her feel-
ings once more overcame her; and sinking
down upon her knees, she passed her arms
around the neck of her mustang, now stiff and
cold. Her face was buried in the long, thick
mane, and I could rceive the tears sparkling
like dewdrops over he tossed hair.

“ Pobre Lolita I” she continued, “ I have good
cause to grieve; I had reason to love you well.
More than once you saved me from the iierce
Lipau and the brutal Comanche. What am I
to do now? I dread the Indian foray; I shall
tremble at every sign of the savage. I dare no
more venture upon the prairie; I dare notgo
abroad; I must tamely stay at home. Mia.
querida! you were my wings; they are clipped
-—I fly no more.”

All this was uttered in a tone of extreme hit-
terness; and 1—1 who so loved my own brave
steed—could appreciate her feelings. With the
hope of imparting even a little consolation, I re
peated my offer.

“Senorita,” I said, “I have
my troop—some of noble kace—'
“ You have no horse in your troop I value.”

“ You have not seen them all?” _

“ All—every one of them—today, as you
flied out of the city."

“ Indeed?"

“ Indeed, yes, noble capitan. I saw you as
you carried yourself so cavalier] at the head of
your tr of ibustcros—Hal al ha!”

“Sena ta, saw not you.”

“ Carrambo! it was not for the want of using
your eyes. There was not a to or reja. into
which you did not lance—not a' smile in the
whole street you di not seem anxious to re-
ciprocate—Hal ha! ha! I fear, Senor Capi-

’swift horses in

 

tan, you are the Don Juan de Tenorio of the
Nort .”

“ Lady, it is not my character."

“ Nonsense! you are read of it. I never saw
man who was not. Bu come! a truce to badin-
age. About the horse—you have none in your
troop I value, save one.”

I trembled as she ke.

“ It is he,” she con inued, pointing to Moro.

I felt as if I should sink into the earth. My
embarrassment revented me for some time
from replying. he noticed my hesitation, but
remained silent awaiting my answer.

“ Senorita,” I stammered out at length, ” that
steed is a great favorite—an old and tried friend.
If you desire—to possess him, he is—hs is at
your service.”

In emphasizing
her enerosity. t was to no purpose.

“ hank you,” she replied, coo 1y; “he shall
be well cared for. No doubt he will serve my
purpose. How is his mouthi”

I was choking with vexation, and could not
reply. I began to hate her.

‘ Let me try him,” continued she. “ Ah! you
have a curb bit—that will do; but it is not
equal to ours. I use a mameluke. Help me to
that law.”

She pointed to a lano of white horse—hair,
beautifully plaited, that was coiled upon the
saddle of the mustang.

I unloosed the rope—mechanically I did—and
in the same way adjusted it to the horn of my
saddle. I noticed that the noose-ring was of sil
verl [shortened theleatheratothep rlength.

“ Now, capitanl" cried she, got erin the
reins in her small gloved hand—“now shall
see how he performs.”

At the word, she bounded into the saddle, her
small foot scarcely touching the stirrup. She
had thrown off her man a, and her woman’s
form was now displayed n all its undulating
outlines. The silken skirt draped down to her
ankles, and underneath appeared the [in red
boot, the glancing spur, and the lace ru e of
her snow-white calzonct'llas. A scarlet sash
encircled her waist, with its fringed ends droop-
ivnf to the saddle; and the ti ht bodice, lashed

th lace, displayed the ful rounding of her
bosom, as it rose and fell in quiet, regular
breathing—for she seemed in no way excited or
nervous. Her full, round eye expressed only
calmness and courage.

I stood transfixed with admiration. I thought
of the Amazons' were they beautiful like her“!
With a troop of such warriors one might con-
quer a world

A fierce-looking hull, moved b curiosity or
otherwise had separated from t e herd, and
was seen approaching the spot where we were.
This was just what the fair r.der wanted. At a
touch of the ur the horse sprung forward,
and galloped directly for the hull. The latter,
cowed at the sudden onset, turned and ran: but
his swift pursuer soon came within lazo dis-
tance. The noose circled in the air, and,
launched forward, was seen to settle around
the horns of the animal. The horse was now
wheeled round, and headed in an Opposite di-
rection. The rope tightened with a sudden
pluck, and the hull was thrown with violence
to the lain, where he lay stunned and apps-
rently lifeless. Before he had time torecover
himself, the rider turned her horse, trotted up
to the prostrate animal, bent over in the saddle,
unfastened the noose, and, after coiling the
rope under her arm, came galloping back.

“ Superb l—magniflcentl’ she exclaimed,leap-
ing from the saddle and gazing at the steed.
“ Beautiful l—most beautiful! Ah, Lola, poor
Lola! I fear I shall soon forget thee!”

The last words were addressed to the mus-
tang. Then turning to me she added:

“And this horse is mine?”

“Yes, lady, if you will it,” I replied, some-
what cheerlessly, for I felt as if my best friend
were about to be taken from me.”

“ But I do not will it,” said she, with an air
of determination; and then, breaking into a
laugh, she cried out: “Ha! capitan, I know

our thoughts. Think you I cannot appreciate
he sacrifice you would make? Kee your fa-
vorite. Enough that one of us shou d sufler;”
and she pointed to the mustang. “Keep the
brave black; you well know how to ride him.
Were he mine, no mortal could influence me to
part with him.”

“ There is but one who could influence me.”

As I said this I looked anxiously for the an-
swer. It was not in words I expected it, but in
the glance. Assuredlv there was no frown. I
even fancied I could detect a smile-a blending
of trium h and satisfaction. It was short-lived,
and my cart fell again under her light laugh.

“Hal ha! hal That one is of course your
lady-love. Well, noble capitan, if you are as
true to her as to our brave steed, she will have
no cause to don t your fealty. I must leave
you. Adios!”

“ Shall I not be permitted to accompany you
to your home?”

‘ Grades! no, senor. I am at home. Mira!
my father’s house!” She pointed to the ha-
cienda. “ Here is one who will look to the re-
mains of poor Lola;" and she signaled to a va-
quero at that moment coming from the herd.

the “if,” I was appealing to

 

“Remember, capitan, you are an enemy; I,

must not accept your politeness; neither may I
offer you hospitality. Ah! you know not us—
you know not the tyrant Santa Anna. Perhaps
even at this moment his spies are—” She
glanced suspiciously around as she spoke. ” Oh

eavensl" she exclaimed, with a start, as her

eyes fell u n the form of a man advancing
down the h “Samtissima Virgcn.’ it is Ijurral”
“ 'nrrai” l
“ nly m cousin; but-—-” She hesitated

and then an deuly changing to an expression of
entreaty, she continued: “ Oh, leave me, senorl
Par amm- Dios! leave me! Adieu, adieu!”

Though I longed to have a nearer view of
“ Ijurra,” the hurried earnestness of her man-
ner overcame me; and without making other
repl than a simple “ Adios,” I vaulted into the
sad c and rode off.

On reaching the border of the woods, curios-
ity—a stronger feeling perhaps—mastered my
politeness; and under pretense of adjusting my
stirrup, Iturned in the saddle and glanced back.

Ijurra had arrived upon the ground.

I beheld a tall dark man, dressed in the usual
costume of the ricos of Mexico: dark cloth

Ilia-jacket, blue military trowsers, with scar--

et sash around his waist, and low-crowned

broad-brimmed hat upon hishcad. Hes peared
about thirty years of age whiskers , mus-
tached, and, after a fashion, handsome. It was
not his age, nor his personal a pearance, nor
yet his costume. that had my a ntion at the
moment. I watched only his actions. He stood
confronting his cousin or rather he stood over
her, for she appeared before him in an attitude
of fear! He held a paper in one hand, and I
saw he was pointing to it as he ke. There
was a fierce, vulture-like expression n n his.
face; and even in the distance I could to i, from
the tones of his voice, that he was talking an-

gril .

vghy should she fear him? Why submit to
such rude rebuke? He must have a strange

war over that spirit who could force it thus

mely to listen to reproach! u

These were my reflections. My impulse was
to drive the spurs into the sides of in horse
and gallop back upon the ground. might
have done so had the scene lasted much longer
but I saw the lad suddenly leave the spot and.
walk rapidly in t e direction of the hacienda.

I wheeled round again, and lun ng under
the shadows of the forest, soon ell ate a road
leading to the rancheria. With my thoughts
full of the incident that had just tran ired, I
rode unconsciously, leaving my horse to isown
guidance.

My reverie was interrupted by the challenge
of one of my own sentries, which admonished
me that I had arrived at the entrance of the
village. '

 

CHAPTER V.
AN ORDER TO FORAGE.

IWEN‘I‘ to m quarters and again mounted
the azotea to think over my late adventure.

I had scarcely mad» two turns of the roof,
when a horseman galloped into the plaza. He
was in dragoon uniform, and I soon perceiv-d
he was an orderly from head-quarters, irquir—
ing for the commandant of the out st. One of
the men pointed to me; and the ON erly trotting
forward, drew n in front of the alcalde’s house,
and announced t at he was the bearer of a (lis-
patch from the genernlein-chief, at the some
time. showing a folded paper. 1 directed him to
pass it up on the point of his saber, which he
did: and then salutin me, he turned his horse-
and galloped back as 9 had come.

I opened the dispatch and read:

“ HEADQUARTERS, Ann or OCCUPATION, l
‘ July —th, 1846. v i

“Sm—You will take a sufficient number of your
men, and proceed to the hacienda of Don Ramon do
Vargas, in the neighborhood of your station. Yul!
will there find five thousand head of beeves. which
you will cause to be driven to the camp of the
American army, and delivered to the commissary-
general. You will find the neces drivers upon
be ground, and a portion of your roop will form
the escort. The inclosed note will enable you to
understand the nature of your duty. —— E.

A. A. Adjutant-general.

“ Curran: Wsarmm.”

“ Surely ” thought I, as  finished reading—
“ surely t ere is 8. ‘Providence that shapes
our ends.’ Just as! was cudgelin in brain
for some scheme of introduction to Igor: mon
do Vargas, here comes one ready fashioned to
my hand.”

Without loss of time, I issued the command
for about fifty of the rangers to “boot and
saddle.”

1 was about to y more than ordinary atten-
tion to my tonerwhen it occurrad to me 1
mi ht as well first rusethe “no "referred
to n the dispatch. opened thepa r: to my
surprise the document was in Spa . This did
not panic me, and I read :—

” The five thousand hooves are ready for you, ac-
cording to the. contract, but I cannot take upon me
to deliver them. They must be taken from me With
a show of force; and even a little rudeness on the
pint of those you send, would not be out of place.

y vaqueros are at your service, but I must not
command them. You may press them.

“ Rates as Yams."

The War Trail.

5.

 

 

This note was addressed to the commissary-
eneral of the American army. Its meaning,
t ough to the uninitiated a little obscure, was to
me as clear as noouday; and, although it ve
me a bi h opinion of the administrative ta cuts
of Don fiamon de Var s, it was by no means a
welcome document. t rendered null every act
of the fine pro ramme I had sketched out. By
its directions t ere was to be no “ embraci , ’
no hobnobbing over wine, no friendly chat With
the Don, no tete-a-tete with his beautiful daugh-
ter—no; but, on the contrary, I was to ride up
with a swagger, ban the doors, threaten the
trembling porter, kic the peons, and demand
v from their master five thousand head of beef-
cattle—all in true freebooting style!

A nice figure I shall cut, thought I, in the eyes
of Isolina.

A little reflection, however, convinced me that
that intelli ent creature would be in the secret.
Yes, she w 11 understand my motives. I can act
with as much milrlness as circumstances will
permit. My Texan lieutenant will do the kick-
ing of the peons, and that without much press-
ing. If she be not cloistei-ed, I will have a
glimpse at her; so here goes.

“ To horse l"

The bugle gave the signal; fifty rangers—
with Lieutenants Holingsworth and Wheatley—
leaped into their saddles, and next moment were
glitz? by twos from the plaza, myself at their

6

A twenty minutes’ trot brought us to the
front gate of the hacienda, where we halted.
The great door, maesive and jail-like, was
closed, locked and burned; the shutters of the
windows as well. Not u Soul was to be seen out-
side, not even the apparition of a frightened
Econ. I had given my exan lieutenant his cue;

e knew enough of Spanish for the urpose.

Flinging himself out of the sa dle, he ap-
proached the ate, and commenced hammering
upon it with t e butt of his pistol.

“ Ambre la puerta 1" (Open the door!) cried
he.

No answer.

“Lu. puerta—la puerta J" he repeated in a
louder tone.

Still no answer.

"Ambre la puerta.” once more vociferated
the lieutenant, at the same time thundering on
the woodwork with his weapon.

When the noise ceased, a faint “ Quicn es f”
(Who is it?) was heard from within.

“ Yo J” bawled Wheatley: “ ambre ! ambre !”

“.S‘i, senor," answered the voice, in a some-
what trcmulous ke .

“Anda! andai' Somos hombres de blen.”
(Quick, then! We are honest men.)

A rattling of chains and shooting of bolts
now commenced, and lasted for at least a
couple of minutes, at the end .if which time the
great folding-doors opened inward, displaying
toview the swarthy leather clad portero, the
brick-paved sagucm, and a portion of the patio,
or courtyard within.

As soon as the door was fairly open. Wheat-
ley made a rush at the trembling porter, caught
him by the jerkin, boxed both his ears, and
then commanded him in a. loud voice to sumv
mon the dueno!

This conduct, somewhat unexpected on the

art of the rangers, seemed to be just to their
gusts; and I could hear behind me the whole
troop chuckling in half-suppressed laughter.
G’uerriflleros as hey were, they had never been
allowed much license in their dealin s with the
inhabitants—the non-combatants—o the coun-
try, and much less had thev witnessed such
conduct on the part of their officers. Indeed, it
was cause of complaint in the ranks of the
American army, and with many otheers too,
that even hostile Mexicans were treated with a
lenient consideration denied to themselves.
Wheatley’s behavior, therefore, touched a
chord in the hearts of our following, that vibra-
ted pleasantly enough; they began to believe
that the campaign was about to become a little
more jolly.

“ Senor,” stammered the porter, “ the du—du
—'lu.‘no has given or—orders—he wi——wi—will
not :— ee any one.

“ w lll not?” echoed Wheatley; “ go, tell him
he up}: t l" n I

“  amigo. said soothin lv: for I be an
to fear the man would be too badly frighteged
to deliver his message. “Go, say to your
master that an American officer has business
with h m, and must see him immediately.”

'L‘he man went off, after a little more pars“-
sion from the free hand of Wheatley, of course
leaving the gates open behind him.

We did not wait for his return. The patio
loosed inviting; and, directing Holingsworth to
return outside with the men. and the Texan
ieutenant to follow me, I headed my horse for
the great archway, and rode in.

CHAPTER VI.
DON RAMON. ,

0“ entering the courtyard no human face
greeted our senrching glances. In looking to
the rev r—into the great corral, or cattle-yard—
we could See numerous peons in their brown
lea'hern dresses, with naked legs and sandaled
feet; Vaqueros in all their grandeur of velvet-

 

eens, bell-buttons, and gold or silver lace; with
a number of women and young girls in colored
naguas and rebosos. busy scene was
presented in that quarter.

Without exchanging a word, Wheatley and I
sat silent in our sa dies, awaiting the return of
the portero. Already the peons, va ueros, and
wenches, had poured in through the ack gate-
way, and stood staring with astonishment at
the unexpected guests.

After a considerable pause. the tread of feet
was heard upon the corridor, and presently the
messenger appeared and announced that the
dueno was coming.

In a minute after, one of the curtains was
drawn and an old gentleman made his appear-
ance behind the railing. He was a person of
large frame, and although slightly stooping
with ago, his step was firm, and his whole as—
ppct bespoke a wonderful energy and resolution.

is eyes were large and brilliant. shadowed by
heavy brows, upon which the hair still retained
its dark color, although that of his head was
white as snow. He was simply habited—in a
jacket of nankeen cloth, and wide trowsers of
like material. He wore neither waistcoat nor
cravat. A full white shirt of finest linen cov-
ered his breast, and a sash of dull blue color
was twisted around his waist. On his head was
a costly but of the “ Guayaquil grass,” and in
his fingers a husk cigurrito smoking at the end.

Altogether, the aspect of Don Ramon—for it
was lie—despite its aesnmed sternness, was

leasing and intelligent; and I should have rel-
ished a friendly chat with him, even upon his
own account.

This, however, was out of the question. I
must abide by the spirit of my orders: the farce
must be played out; so, touchin the flanks of
my horse, rode forward to no edge of the
Beranda, and placed myself vis-a-ri’s with the

on.

" Are you Don Ramon de Vargas?”

“ Si, senor," was the reply, in ,a tone of angry
astonishment.

“ I am an officer of the American army "—1
spoke loud, and in Spanish, or course, for the
benefit of the peons and vaqueros. “ I am sent
to offer you a contract to supply the arm y with
hceves. I have here an order from the general-
in-chief—”

“ I have no beeves for sale," interrupted Don
Ramon, in a loud, indignant voice: “I shall
have nothing to do with the American army.”

“Then, sir," retorted I, “I must take your
beeves without your consent. You shall be
paid for them but take them lmust; my orders
require that I should do so. Moreover, your
vaqueros must accompany us, and drive the
cattle to the American camp.”

As I said this, I signaled to Holingsworth,
who rode in with his following; and then the
whole troop, filing through the back gateway,
began to collect the frightened vaquerts, and
sot them about the Work.

“ I protest a ainst this robbery!” shouted
Don Ramon. “ t is infamous—contrar to the
laws of civilized warfare. I shall appea to my
Government—to yours—I shall have redress.”

“ You shall have payment, Don Ramon,”
said I, apparently trying to pacify him.

“ Payment, carrmnbo l—payment from rob-
bers, fi i'bitsteros—”

“Come, come, old gentleman!” cried Wheat-
ley, who was only half behind the scenes, and
w 0 spoke rather in earnest, “ keep a good
tongue in your head, or you may lose something
of iuore value to you than your cattle. Re-
member whom you are talking to.”

“ Tejanos! ladro’nrs !” hissed Don Ramon,
with an earnest application of the latter phrase
that would certain y have brought Wheatley’s
revolver from his belt, had. I not, at the mo-
ment, whispered a word in the lieutenant’s
ear.

“ Han the old rascal!” muttered he in replv
to me; ‘ I thought he was in earnest. Loo
here, old fellow l’ he, continued, addressing him-
self to Don Ramon, “don’t you be scared about
the dollars. Uncle Sam’s a liberal trader and
a good paymaster. I wish your beef was mine,
and I had his promise to pay for it. So take
things a little easier, if you please; and don’t be
so free 01’ your ‘fllibusteros’ and ‘ladrones:’
free-born Texans ain’t used to such talk.”

Don Ramon suddenly cut short the colloquy
by angrily closing the curtains, and hiding him-
self from our si ht. _

During the W ole scene I had great difficulty
in controlling my countenance. I could per-
ceive that the Mexican labored under a similar
difficulty. There was a laughing devil In the
corner of his keen eye that required restraint-
and I thought once or twice either he or
should lose our equanimity. I certainly should
have done so. but that my heart and eyes were
most of the time in other quarters. As for the
Don. he was playing an important part; and a
suspicion of his hypocrisy, on the minds of some
of his leather-clad greasers who listened to the

dialogue, might have afterward brought him 3

to grief. Most of them were his own domestics
and retainers. but not all. There were free
rancheros among them—some who belonged to
the pueblita—some, perchance. who had figured
in pronunciamcntos—who voted at elections,

 

 

and styled themselves citizens. The Don,
therefore, had reasons for assuming a
Summer; and well did the old gentleman sus-

in 1;.

As he drew the curtain, his half-whispered
“Adios, capitanl” heard only by myself sound-
ed full of sweetness and promise: and I felt
rather contented as I straightened myself in
thgflsaddle, and issued the order for rieving his
on e.

 

CHAPTER VII.
“UN rarnncxro.”

WHEATLEY now rode after the troop, with
which Holingsworth had already entered the
corral. A band of drivers was speedily pressed
into service: and with these we proceeded to
the great plain at the foot of the hill, where
most of Don Ramon’s cattle were at asture.

Once in the rear of the buildings. had a full
view of the great meadow alrendy known to
me; and ulling up, I sat in the sat dle, and
watched t e animated scene that was there be-
ing enacted. Bulls, half-wild. rushing to and
fro in mad fury, vaqueros mounted on their
light mustangs, with streaming sash and wind-
ing lazo; rangers upon their heavier steeds, of-
fering but a clumsy aid to the more admit and
practiced herdsmen; others driving off large
groups that had been already collected and

rought into subjection; and all this amidstthe
fierce bellowing of the bulls, the shouts and
laughter of the delighted troopers, the shriller
cries of the vaqueros and ons: the whole
forming a icture that, an er other circum-
stances, I s ould have contemplated with in-
terest.

Just then it occurred to me that I had not en t-
flciently reconnoitered the front of the dwelling.
As we approached it, we had observed that the
shutters of the windows were closed: but these
opened inward, and since that time one or the
other of them might have been set a little ajar.
From my knowledge of Mexican interiors, I
knew that the front windows are those of the
principal a artments—of the solo and grand
cuarto, or rawing-room—precisely those where
the inmates of that hour should be found.

In another moment I was turning my horse
to inspect the windows when I heard the word
“ Capitan,” pronounced in a voice that sounded
soft as a silver bell, and thrilled to my heart
like a strain of music.

I looked toward the windows. It came not
thence; they were close shut as ever. Whence—

Before I had time to ask myself the question
the “ Capitan " was repeated in a somewha
louder key. and I now perceived that the voice
proceeded from above—from the azotea.

I wrenched my horse round, at the some time
turning my eyes upward. I could see no one;
but just at that moment an arm, that might
have been attached to the bust of Venus, was
protruded through n notch in the parapet. In
the small hand, wickedly sparkling with jewels,
was something white, which I could not 'dis-
tinguish until I saw it projected on the crass—at
the same moment that the phrase “ Un papel-
cito” reached my ears. ,

Without hesitation I dismounted—made my-
self master of the paprlm'to; and then leaped
once more into the saddle, looking upwnrd. I
had purposely drawn my horse some distance
from the walls, so that I might command a
better view. I was not disappointed—Isolinul

The face, that lovely face, was just distin-
guishable through the slender enibrasure, the
large brown eyes gazing u n me with that
half-earnest, half-mocking g once I had alreadz
noticed, and which produced within me bot
pleasure and pain!

I was about to speak to her, when I saw the
expression suddenly change; a hurried glance
was thrown backward, as if the approach of
some one disturbed her: a finger rested mo-
mentarily on her lips, and then her face disa
peered behind the screening wall of the parapet.

I understood the universal sign, and remain-
ed silent.

For some moments I was undecided whether
to go or stay. She had evidently withdrawn
from the front of the building, though she was
still upon the awtea. Some one had joined her;
and I could hear voices in conversation; her
own contrasting with the harsher tor-es of a
man. Perhaps er faiher—perhaps—that other
relativebless agreeable suppositionl

I was about to ride off. when it occurred to
me that I had better first master the contents
of the “papelcitO.” _ Perhaps it might throw
some li ht on the Situation, and enable me to
adopt t e more pleasant alternative of remain-
ing a while longer u n the premises.

Facing around I rew forth the strip of folded
paper, and spread ito n before me. Though
written in pencil, an evidently in a hurried
impromptu, I had no difliculty in deciphering
it. My heart throbhed exultingly as I read:—

“Cnpitan! lknow you will rdon our drv hospi
tality. Remember what I tod you yesterday: we
fear our friends more than our foes, and we have a
guest in the. house my father dreads more than you
and your terrible filibusterr. s. I am not on with
you for my pet, but you have carried off nvgrilvizo as
well. Ah, capitanl would you rob me of werythingf
—Adios! Isomna."

 ‘I ' v V’,'/

('6' ' '. 
. . I

, /

Thrusting the paper back into my bosom, I
' sat for some time pondering upon its contents.
Part was clear enough—the remaining partrfull
of mystery. I, , . - ,

CHAPTER VIII.

‘ AN OLD .ENMITY.

. WHEN a short distance separated me from the
walls,l drew up;.and turning in the saddle,
glan back to the parapet. A face was there,
where hers had been; but, oh, the contrast be-
tween her lovely features and those that now
met my gaze! yperion to the Satyr!

Our eyes met; and that first glance stamped
the relationship between us — hostility for
life! Not a. word passed and yet the looks

, of each told the other in the plainest language,

'.”'- ‘ {‘1 am your toe.” ad we sworn‘ it in wild
oaths, in all the bitter h berpole of insult,
neither of us would have to tit more profound
and keen,

No words passed between Ijurra and in self;
none were needed. Each read in the o era
rival—a rival in love, a competitor for the

r . hasttof alcvel woman, the loveliest in Mex-
‘ ' 1001 It is needless to say that, under such an
. t, each hated the other at sight.
the face of I’urra I read more. I saw be-
fore me a man of d heart and brutal nature.
1 e aértild to special: the truth, 
» eyes, 11 em an an ma expression. ey
‘ were not without intelligence, but so much the
, ‘. * worse, for that intelligence expressed ferocity
” and bad faith. His beauty was the beauty of
thejaguar. He had the air of an accomplished
' mall. accustmned to conquest in the field of love
Wises, reckless, false. 0h, mystery of our
there are those who love such men!

In I urra’s face I read more: he knew my
secret! The significant Iglance of his eye told
me so. He knew why was lingering there.

satiric smile upon his lip attested it. He
saw my efforts to o tain an interview, and con-

. tinhis own position. heldmy failure but

‘

 

l

 

y—a somethi only to amuse him. I
, tell all this by e sardonic sneer that sat
upon his features.

. | As we continued to re, neither moving his
. eyes from the other, this sneer became too op-
pnesslve to he silently home. I could no longer
stand such a satirical reading of my thoughts.
The insult was as marked as words could ave
made it: and I was about to have recourse to
words to reply when the clatter of a horse‘s
hoofs caused me to turn my eyes in an opposite
direction. A horsemen was comin up e hill,
in a direct line from the tures. saw it was
onaof the lieutenants— olingsworth.

A few more stretches of his horse broufiit the
lieutenant u n the ground, where be p ed up

y in at of ma. ,

“ Captain Wardeld!” said be speaking in an

omcial tone, “ the cattle are collected; shall we

W __n
-r . med no further with that sentence;
- ,his eye, chance directed, was ed up to the
, and upon the face of Ijurra. He
... p in his saddle, as if a serpent had stung
‘ him- his hollow eyes shot prominently out,
glaring wildly from their. sockets, while the
in les of his throat and jaws twitched in con-
' rive action.
Breaking into a wild laugh, he shrieked 'out:
“Rafa Ijurra, by the eternal God i”
‘ This awful and emphatic recognition pro-
duced its eflsct.‘ I saw that Ijurra knew the
nun who addressed him. His dark counte-
, nanoatnrned suddenly pale, and then became
. mottled with livid spots, while his eyes scintil-
‘ dated, and rolled about in the unstead glances
~ of terror. He made no reply beyond t e ejacu-
, lotion“ V ‘fDehmonioll; which maimed iglgoluntarily
escape m.. ea are una orepy;
-, surpri'se apd fright hgd him spell-bound and

‘ ;. r “Traitor! villain! murderer!” shrieked Hol-

» ingsworth, “we’ve met at last; now. for a
squaring of our awountsl”,and in the next in-
‘fnstant the meals of his rifie_was pointed to the
in the parapet—pointing to the face of

l
"Hold. Holingsworthl—hold!” cried I, press-.
V «jug my heel Ely into my horse’s flanks, and
flashing forw . .

,M h my steed sprun instantly to the
"spur, d as quickly I caug t the lientenant’s
"Jami wastoo late foal-rest the shot. I spoiled

hiamm, however; and the bullet,,instead of

 
  
   
   
  
   
  
   

I
i,/

   
  
  
 
  
    
   

. through the brain of Rafael urra,

j as it would certainly have done, glan u n

~  mortar of theparapet, sending a clou of
, e—dast into his face.-

.Up to that momenuhc Mexican had made no
It ‘0 Wvbeyond the aim of his antag-
. 7 . Terror must have glued him to the spa .
v I report of the rifle, and
- blinding mortal-broke thespian. that he was
 ate turn andfiy. When the dust cleared
cm mm was no linger above the wall.
, ",1 to my companion, and ad
him in some warmth: -
' “Wt Holin worth! I command—”
" Warfisl ,” interrupted he, in a
tone of cool determination, “you may com-
mand me in all matters. of rlntv, and [I shall
‘7 obey you. This is a private uflhir; and, by the

 

 

l

 

‘x‘

I "TheT'War' Trail. A
Y W {$.15 Afir

' ' 77 3.. . L ‘ . ,
Eternal the general (himself—,- Bah! I lose
'time; the villain will escape!" and before I
could seize either himself or his bridle-rein,

, Holin’gswortli, had shot his horse past me, and

entered the steway at a gallop.

I followe as quickly as I could, and reached
the patio almost as soon as be; but too late to
hinder him from his purpose. . .

grasped him by the arm but with deter—
mined strength he wronched himself free—at
the same instant gliding out of the saddle.

Pistol in hand, he rushed up the escalera, his
trailing scabbard clanking upon the stone steps
as he went. He was soon out of my sight, be~
hind the parapet of the azotea. ‘

Flinging myself from the saddle, I followed
as fast as my legs would carry me.

While on the stairway, I heard loud words
and oaths above, the crash of falling objects,
and then two shots following quick and fast
upon each other. I heard screaming in a
woman’s voice, and then a groan—the last utv
tered by a man. "

On reaching the azotea—which I did in a few
secondsof time—I found perfect silence there.

I ran to and fro over the whole roof; I saw
flower-pots freshly broken. It was the crash of
them I had heard while comin up. '

I rushed to another part of t e roof. I saw a
small escalera-a private stair—that led into the
interior of the house.

For a moment I hesitated to follow; but it
was not time to stand upon etiquette; and Iwas
preparing to plunge down the stairway when I

eard shouting outside the walls, and then an-
other shot from a pistol. .

I turned, and steppedhastily across the azotea
in the direction of t e sounds. I looked over the
parapet. Down the slope of the hill two men
were running at the top of their speed, one after
the other. he hindmost held in his hand a
drawn saber/It was Holingsworth still in pur-
su¥ of leéirra! . t be i . I

he a ter appeared 0 gain n upon )is
vengeful pursuer, wh'o, burdened ngth his ac.
couterments, ran heavily. The Mexican was
evidently makin for the woods that grew at the
bottom of the hi ; and in a few seconds more
he had entered the timber, and assed out of
sight. Like a hound upon the trail, olingsworth
fo lowed, and disappeared from my view at the
same s t.

Hoping I might still be able to prevent the
shedding of blood, I descended hastily from the
 mounted my horse and galloped down

e hi . '

I reached the ed of the woods where the two
had gone in and ollowed,some distance upon
thelir trail; but I lost it at length, and came to a.
ha t.

I remained .for some minutes listenin for
voices, or, what I more expected to hear, t e re<

rtof apistol. Neither sound reached me. I

card only the shouts of the vaqueros on the
other side of the hill; and this reminding me of
my duty, I turned my horse and rode hack to
the hacienda. . V

There everything was silent: not a face was
to be seen. The inmates of the house had
hidden themselves in rooms barred u and dark;
even the damsels of the kitchen had isappeared
—thinking, no doubt, that an attack would be
made upon the premises, and that spoliation and
plunder were intended.

I was puzzled how to act. Holingsworth’s
strange conduct had disarranged my ideas. I
should have demanded admission, and explained
the occurrence to Don Ramon; but I had no ex-
planation to ive; I rather needed one for my-
self ;_ and uncfer :Jiainful feeling of suspense as
to the result, I r e off from. the lace.

Half a-dozen rangers were eft upon I the

round with orders to await the return of Ho!-
ingsworth, and then gall after us; while the
remainder of the troop, wit Whestley and my-
self in advance of the vast drove, took the route
for the American camp. ’

CHAPTER IX. ,
narann nouns.

' erm and I were talking the matter over
as we rode along, and, endeavonng to account
for the strange behavior of Holin worth. We
had both concluded that the ads had arisen
from some old enmity—perhaps connected with
the Mier expedition—when accidentally I men-
tioned the exican’s name. Up to this mo-
ment the Texan lieutenant had not seen Ijurra
-—having been busy with the cattle upon the
other side of the hill—nor had the name been
pronounced in his hearing. '

“ Ijurra’l" he exclaimed, with a start, reining
up‘.‘ grid turping upon me an inquiring look.

a . ’

 

ra, do you think?” - -
“Yes. Ra ael—that is the name.”
“A tall, dark fellow. mustached and Whis-
kersdi—not ill-looking?" ’ r . ,'_
“Egg-he might answer that description, I

re 1 .

BlIf it be the same Rafael Ijnrra that used ,to
live at San Antonio, there’s more than due
Texan would like to raise his hair. The same
hit must lee—there’s no two of the name; ltain’t

. 081T

 

likolv—no.” . l
“ What do you know of him?” i
‘ ’ I

 u . .1: 

“Knowi—that he’s about the most recious
scoundrel in all Texas or Mexico eitgei', and
that’ssa ing agooddeal. Rafaellljurra’l ’Tis
he, by t under! It can be nobody else; and
Holingsworth— Hal now Ithink of it, it’s just
the man; and Harding Holingsworth, of all men
living, has 00d reasons to remember him.”

“ ow? xplain l” .

The Texan paused for a moment, as if to col-
lect his scattered memories, and then meeeded
todetail what he knew of Rafael Ijurra. lHis
account, without the expletives and em hatic
ejaculations which adorned it, was en tan-
tially as follows:- i

Rafael Ijurra was by birth a Texan of Mexi—
can race. He had formerly possessed a haci-
enda near San Antonio de Bexar, with other
considerable property, all of which he had
spent at play, or otherwise dissipated, so that
he had sunk to the status of a professional gam-
bler. Up to the date of the Mier expedition
he had passed 03 as a citizen of Texas, under
the new regime, and pretended much atriotic
attachment to the yo republic. hen the
Mier adventure was a ut being organized
Ifurra bad influence enough to have himse '
e ected one of its ofilcers. No one In
his fidelity to the cause. He was one 0 those!
who at the bait by Laredo urged the imprudent
advance upon Mier; and his presumed knowl-
edge of the country—of which he was a native
—gave weight to his counsel. It afterward,
proved that his free advice was intended for
the benefit of the enemy, with whom he was in
secret correspondence. /

0n the night before the battle Ijurra was
missing. The Texan army was captured after
abrave defense—in which they slew more than
their own number of the enemy—and, under
guard, the remnant was marched (if for the
capital of Mexico. On the second or third day
of their march, what was the astonishment of
the Texan prisoners to see feel ljurra in the
uniform of a Mexican officer, and forming part.
of their escort! But that their hands were
bound, they would havo torn him to ieces,
so enraged were they at this piece of blue (rea-
son. .
“ But what of Holingsworth l" I asked.

“Ah! Holingsworth!’ replied the lieutenant',
“ he has good cause to remember Ijurra, now

think of it. I shall give the story to you as I
heard it ;” and my companion roceeul-d with a
relation which caused the bl to curdle in my

I veins, as I listened. It fully explained, if it did

not palliate, the fierce hatred of the Tennessean
toward Rafael Ijurra.» .

In the Mier e _ ition Holingsworth had a
brother, who, like imself, was made )I‘iSOIleI'.
He was a delicate youth, and could i! endure
the hardships much less the barbarous treat-
ment to w ich the prisoners were exposed
during that memorable march. He became re»
duced to a skeleton, and worse than that, foot-
sore, so that he could no longer endure the pain
of hi feet and ankles, worn skinless, and charged
with the spines of acacias, cactus, and the
numerous thorny lants in which the dry soil of
Mexico is so pro ific. In agony he fell down
upon the road. . , «

Ijurra was in command .of the guard; from
him Holingsworth’s brother begged to
allowed the use of a mule. The youth had
known Ijurra at San Antonio, and had even
lent him mone , which was never returnrd,

“To your cat and forwardll’was ljurra’s
answer. ‘ . ,

“I cannot move a step,” said the youth, de-
spairingly.

“ Cannot! Corral ! we shall see whether you,

can. Here, Pablo,” continued be, addressing
himself to one of the soldiers of the guard;
t‘ ive this fellow the spur: he is restivel”

he rufilan‘soldierepproached with fixed bay-

onet; seriously intending to use its point on the ,

poor wayworn invalid! The latter rose with an
effort, and made a desperate attempt .to keep
on; but his resolution a sin failed him. He
could not endure the agon  finin. and Jitter
staggering a pace or two, be e up against a.
roc .

“ I cannot l”-he agpin cried—“ I cannot march
further; let me die ere." .

“Forward! or you shall die here,” shouted
Ijurra, drawings pistol from his belt, and
cooking it, evident] with the determination to
out his three . .“ Forward!” .

“ cannot "faintly replied the youth.

“ Forward, or I fire!” , -‘

“Fil‘el” cried the one man, throwing open.
the flaflps, of his hun ng-s irt,,and making one-
last 0 art to standlerect.

“,You are scarce worth a bullet.” said the ,

monster with a sneer; at the same instant he
leveled his istol at the breastof his victim,
and fired! bent-he smoke was blown aside,
the body of younngolingsworth was seen lying
at the base of the rock, doubled u , dead!
A thrill of horror ran throu h slice of ca

tives. Even their habitua y rutsl gunr s
were touched by such wanton, barbarity. The

brother of the youthwas not six yards from the »'

spot, tightly bound, and wihiem of the whole
scene! Fans his feelings at that moment! V
*“No won er,” continued the Texan—“no

wonder that Harding Holingsworth don’t stand,

/

 

 

 

 

 

The _War Trail. 7

 

 

upon ceremony as to where and when he may
attack Rafael Ijurra. I verily believe that
the presence of the commanderin-chief woul iu’t
restrain him‘ from taking vengeance. It ain‘t
to be wondered at!” '

The hoof~strvkes of half—n—(h zen horses coming
rapidly from the rear, interrupted the conver—
sation. Without surprise, I perceived that it
was Holingsworth and the rangers who had
been left at the hacienda.

“Captain Warfieldl" said the Tennessean as
he spurred alongside, “my conduct no doubt
surprises you. I shall be able to explain it to

our satisfaction when time permits. It’s a
ong story—a painful one to me; you will not
require it from me now. This much let me say
—for good reason, I hold Rafael ljurra as my
most deadly foe. I came to Mexico to kill that
mm: and. by the Eternal! if I don’t succeed, I
care not who kills me l” I

" You have not then—” .

With a feeling of relief I put the question. for
I read the answer in the look of disap Ointed
vengeance that gleamed in the eyes of t 9 Ten-
nessean. I was not permitted to finish the in-
terrogatory; he lmew what I was gomg to ask,
and interrupted me with the reply:

“ No, no; the villain has escaped; but
b -" .

The rest of the emphatic vow was inaudible,
but the wild glance that flashed from the
s aker’s eye expressed his deep purpose more
p ainly than words.

The next moment he fell back to his place in
the troop, and with his head slightly bent for-
ward, rode on in silence.

An hour afterward we reached the village.

CHAPTER X.
AN ODD EPISTLE.

ABOUT noon of the next day the sergeant of
the mud reported that a Mexican Wished to
spea with me. Mechanically I gave orders
for the man to be sent u ; but it was not until
he appeared before ms t t I thought of what I
was 0mg.

There was something in his manner that be-
tokened him a messen er. A folded note, which
he drew from under is jerkin—after having
glanced around to see whether he was noticed-—
confirmed my observation.

I tookthe note. There was no superscription,
nor did I stay to look for one. My fingers
trembled as I tore open the seal. As my eye
rested on the writing and recognized it, my
heart throbbed so as almost to choke my utter-
ance. I muttered some directions to the mes-
senger: and, to conceal my emotion from him,
I turned away and proceeded tothe furthest
corner of the azotea before reading the note.
I called back to the man to go below, and wait
for an answer: and, then relieved of his
presence, I read as follows:

 

“July, l8—.

" GALLANT Carma !——I had a favorite mare. How
fond l was of that creature you may understand,
who are afllicred by a. similar affection for the noble
Moro. In an evil hour, your aim, too true, alas!
robbed me of my favorite, but you offered to rcpa y
me by robbing yourself, for well know I that the
black is to you the clearest obj t upon earth. In-
deed were I the lady of you love, I should ill
brook such adivided affection) Well, inio capitan,
I understand the generous sacrifice you would have
made, and forbade it: but I know you are desirous
of canceling your debt. It is in your power to do
so. Listen

“There is a horse, famed in these parts as the
‘ white steed of the prairies ' (of canan do [08 llamas).
He is a wild-horse, of course; snow-white in color,
beautiful in form, swift as the swallow~ But why
need I describe to you the ‘white steed of the
prairies?‘ you areaTejano, and must have heard
of him ere this? Well, min capitan,I have long had
a desire—a. frantic one, let me add—to possess this
horse. I have offered rewards to hunters—to our
own va ueros, for he sometimes appears upon our
plams— ut to no purpose. Not one of them can
capture, though the have often seen and chased
him. Some say that e cannotbc taken, that he is so
fleet as to gallop, or rather glide out of sight in a.
glance, and that, too on‘the open )f'ail‘lel There
are those who assert that he is a p anmm, Mn 4/0-
mige£11?SuBreelydso I h:tiful a. creature cannotlllie

SI
devi'i‘wgg black. es, ve always heard that i e

" 0 e POW, mio ca itan. There are some in-
credqlous people who be ieve the white steed (if the
Prairies W be E myth. and deny his existence alto-
gether. Car-rumba! Iknow that he does exist. and.
what is more to my present purpose. be iHr was,
but two hours ago—within ten miles of where 1 am
writing this note! One of our Vaqueros saw him
neart e banks of a beautiful arroyo, which I know
to be his favorite ground. For reasons known to
me. the vaquero did not either chase or molest him;
but in breathless haste brought me the news,

“Now, capitan, gallant and grandl there is but
one who can capture this famed home, and that is
your puissant self. Ahl on have made captive
what was once as wild an free. Yesl you can do
it—you and Morol ‘

“ Bring me the. white steed of the prairies! I shall
cease to grieve for poor Lola. lacuna.“

As I finished reading this singular epistle a
thrill of pleasure ran through my veins. I
dwelt not on the pddness of its contents. thor-
oughly characteristic of the writer. Its mean-

ibg was clear enough.

. had heard of he white horse of the prai-
ries—what hunter or trap r, trader or trav-
eler, throughout all the W1 9 borders of prairie—

 

'7

 

land, has not? Many a romantic story of him
had I listened to around the blazing camp-fire—
many a tale of German—like diublcrie, in which
the Whitehorse played hero. For nearly a cen-
tury has he figured in the legends of the rairie
“ mariner ”-——a counterpart of the Flying nich—
man—the “phantom-ship" of the forecastle.
Like this, too, ubiquitous—seen to-day scour-
inp; the sandy plains of the Platte, to-morrow
boundin over the broad llunos of Texas, a
thousan miles to the southward!

That there existed a white stallion of great
speed and splendid proportions—that there were
twenty, perhaps a hundred such—among the
countless herds of wild horses that roam over
the great lains, I did not for a moment doubt.
I myself ad seen and chased more than one
that might have been termed a. “magnificent
animal,” and that no ordinar orse could over—
take; but the one known as t ie “ white steed of
the prairies ” had a peculiar marking that dis-
tinguished him from all the rest—his ears were
black l—only his ears, and these were of the deep
color of ebOny. The rest of his body, mane
and tail, was white as fresh-fallen snow.

It was to this singular and mysferious animal
that the letter pointed; it was the black-cared
steed I was called upon to capture. The con-
tents of the note were specific and plain.

One expression alone puzzled me:

“You have made captive what was once as
wild and free.” What? I asked myself. I
scarce dared to give credence to the answer
that leaped like an exulting echo from out my
heart! v

There was a postscript, of course; but this
contained only “business.” It gave minute:-
details as to when, how and where the white
horse had been seen, and stated that the bearer
of the note—the vaquero who had seen him-—
would act as my kUIde.

I adored not long upon the strange request.
Its ulflllment promised to recover me the po-
sition which, but a moment before, I had looked
upon as lost forever. I at once resolved upon
the undertaking.

“Yes, lovel Isolinal if horse and man can
do it, are anot or sun sets you shall be mistress
of the white horse of the prairies!”

 

CHAPTER XI.
run MA NADA.

IN half an hour after, with the vaquero for
my miide, I rode quietly out of the rancheria.
A dozen ran ers followed close behind; and,
having crosse the river at a ford nearly oppo—
site the village, we struck off into the chaparral
on the oppos1te side. -

The men whom I had chosen to accompany
me were most of them old hunters, fellows who
could “ trail ” and “crease” with accurate aim,
I had confidence in their skill, and, aided by
them, I bud great hopes we should find the
game we were in search of.

As we rode along, I revealed to my following
the purpose of the expedition. All of them
knew the white steed by fame; one or two
averred they had seen him in their rairie wa-
derin s. The whole party were elighted at
the i ea of such a “scout,” and exhibited as
much excitement as if I was leading them to a
skirmish with guerrilleros.

The country through which we passed was at
first a dense Chaparral, consisting of the various
thorny shrubs and plants for which this part of
Mexicp is so celebrated.

As we advanced, the aspew changed. The
surface becamefreer of jungle; a succession of
glade' and thicket in short a “mesquite
)rairie." Still advancing, the “ openings”

eca_me larger, while the timbered surface
diminished in extent, and now and then the
glades 'oined each other without interruption.

We ad ridden nearly ten miles without
drawing bridle, when our guide struck upon the
trail of a manada. Several of the old hunters,
without dismounting, pronounced the tracks to
be those of wild mares, which they easily dis-
tinguished from horse tracks. Their judgment
proved correct; for following the trail buta
short distance further, we came full in sight of
the drove, which the vaquero confidently pro-
nounced was the manada we were in search of.

Some of the mares were quiet] browsing
u on the grass, while others were risking and
p aying about, now rearing up as if in combat,
now rushing in wild gallop, their tossed manes
and full tai s flungloosely upon the wind. They
were of all colors 'nown to the horse, for in this
the race of the Spanish horse is somewhat
peculiar.

But where was the lord of this splendid
haremf—where the steed?

The vaquero believed he was not far off. I
bad faith in this man’s opinion, who, having
passed his life in the observation of wild and

elf wild horses, had a perfect knowledge of
their habits. There was hope then. The steed
might be near; perhaps lying down in the
shade of the thicket; perhaps with a por
tion of the manada or some favorite in one of
the adjacent glades. If so, our guide assured
us we should soon have him in view. He would
so? br?ing the steed upon the ground.

ow

 

Simply by startling the mares, whose noigli
of alarm would be heard from afar.

The plan seemed feasible enough: but it was
advisable that we should surround the manadn
before attempting to disturb them, else they
mightlgallop oil? in the opposite direction, before
any of us could get near.

Without delay, we proceeded to effect the
“ surround.”

The chaparral aided us by concmling our
movements; and in half an hour “e liild de~
ploycd around the irairie. ‘

rI‘he drove still rowsed and played. They
had no suspicion that a cordon of hunters was
being formed around them, else they Would
have long since galloped away.

I had myself ridden to the opp'site si is of the .

prairie, in order to be certain when tl e circle
was complete. I was now alone, having
dropped my companions at intervals along the
the margin of the timber. I had brought with
me the bugle, with a note or two which I inten-
ded to ive the alarm to the mares.

I he (placed myself in a clump of m- squito
trees, an was about raising the horn to my
lips, when ashrill scream from behind caused
me to bring down the instrument, and turn
suddenly in in seat. For a moment, I was in
doubt as to w at could have produced such a
singular utterance, when a second time it fell
on my ear, and then I recognized it. It was
the neigh of the prairie stallion!

Half a dozen springs brought him opposite,
and as he gallo ed past, I saw before me “the
white steed of t e prairies.”

There was no mistaking the marks of that
splendid creature; there was the snow-white
body, the ears of jetty black-new, the blue muz-
zle, the red projected‘nostril, the broad oval
quarters, the rounded and symmetric limbs—
all the points of an incomparable steed!

Like an arrow he shot past. He did not
arrest his nce for an instant, but galloped on
in a direct ine for the drove.

The mares had answered his first signal with
a responsive noigh; and tossing up their heads,
the whole mannda was instantly in motion. In
a. few seconds, they stood at rest again, formed
in line—as exact as could have been done by a
troop of cavalry—and fronting their leader as
he gallopod up. Indeed standing as they
were, with their heads high in air, it was easy
to fancy them mounted men in the array of
battle: and often have wild-horses been mis-
taken for such by the prairie traveler.

Concealment or strutagem could no lon r
avail; the chase was fairly up. S cod and he
luzo must now decide the i‘esu t: and, with
this conviction, I gave Moro the spur and
bounded into the 0 on plain.

The neighing o the steed had signaled my
companions who shot almost siniultanmiisly
out of the timber, and spurred toward the
drove, yelling as they came.

I had no eyes for aught but the white steed,

after him I directed myself. ‘
' On nearing the line of mares. be halted in
his wild gallop, twice reared his body upward,
as if to reconnoiter the round; and than, utter-
ing another of his shril screams, broke ofl’ in a
direct line toward the edge of the prairie. A
wide avenue leading outin that duection : eemed
to have guided his instincts.

The manada followed, at first galloping in
line; but this became broken, as the sWifter
individuals passed ahead of the others, and the
drove was soon strung out upon the prairie.

Through the opening now swept the chinc—
the pursuers keenly plying the spur—the pur-
sued straining every muscle to escai 6.

CHAPTER XII.
THE HUNT or run “'ILD itoiisn.

MY gallant horse soon gave proof of his su-
perior qualities. One alter another of my
companions was passed; and as we cleared the
avenue and entered a second prairie, I found
myself mixing with the hindmost of tho‘wild
mares. Pretty creatures some of them were;
and upon any other occasion, I should have been
tempted to flin a lazo over one of them which
1 might easily ave done. Then I only thought
of getting them out of the way, as they were
hin ering my onward gallop.

Before we had gnite crossed the second
prairie, I had for e into the front rank, and
the mares, seein had headed them, broke to
the right and is t, and scattered away.

All Were now behind me, all but the white
steed' he alone kept the course, at intervals
utterin that same shrill neigh. as if to tanta-
lizean lure me on. He was yet far in advance,
and apparently waning at his case.

The orse I bestrode needed neither nor
guidance; he saw before him the objec of the
chase, and he divined the will of his rider. I
felt him rismg under me like a sea-wave. '
hoofs struck the turf withoutimplngin upon
it, At each fresh spring he came up wi elas-
tic rebound. while his flanks heaved with the
conscious ossession of power.

Before t e second prairie was crossed, he had
gained considerably upon the white stead: but
to my chagrin, I now saw the latter dash right
into the thicket. '-

I found a path and followed. My car served

 

’

      

 3
to one for the branches crackled as the
wil horse broke through. New and then 1
caught glimpses of his white body glancing
among t e 11 leaves.

In ten in utes’ time we had ssed throu h
‘the timber islands, and now t e prairie—t e
gand, limitless prairie—stretched before us, far

vond the rose of vision.

On goes the chase over its grassy level—on till
the trees are no longer behind us, and the eye
sees naught but the green savanna, and the
'blue canop arching over it—on, across the
center of bat vast circle which has for its
boundary the whole horizon.

It is a lon , wild ride, a cruel gallop for my
matchless oro. Ten miles of the prairie have
we eased—more than that—and as yet I have
neit er used whip nor spur. The brave steed
needs no such prompting; he, too, has his
interest in the chase—the ambition not to be
outrun.

Oh we glide in silence. The steed has ceased
to utter his taunting neigh; he has lost confi-
dence in his speed; be now runs in dread.
Never before has he been so sorely pressed.
He runs in silence, and so, too, his pursuer. Not
a sound is heard but the stroke of the loping
boots—an im ressive silence, that hate one the

,earnestness o the chase.
vv . Less than two hundred yards separate us; I
'.‘ feel certain of victory. A touch of the spur
' would now bring Moro within range: .it is tune
to put an end to this desperate ride. Now,
fiber-:3: Moro, another stretch, and you shall have

I look to my lazo; it hangs coiled over the
horn of my saddle: one end is fast to a rin and
staple firmly riveted in the tree-wood. ‘the
loop clear and free? It is. The coil—is it
straight? Yes; all as it should be. '
' In arran 'ng my lazo I had taken my eyes
from the 0 use, only for a moment; when I
looked out again the horse had disappeared!

At the distance of some thirty paces a. dark
line was seen upon the prairie, running trans-
versely to the course I was following. It
appeared to be a narrow crack in the plain; but
on s urrin nearer, it proved to be a fissure of
co derabe width—cue of those formations
known throughout Spanish America as barren-

   
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
    
   
 
 
    
 
   
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
   
   
 
   

3.

Of course the disappearance of the white
steed was no longera mystery. He had made
a fearful leap—nearly twenty feet sheer! There

‘ was the torn turf on the brink of the chasm, and
the displacement of the loose stones, where he
had bounded into its bed. He had gone to the

' left—down the barranca. The abrasion of his
boots was visible u on the rocks.

I looked down t e defile; he was not to be
seen. The barranca turned off by an angie at
no great distance. He had already passed
round the angle, and was out of sight!

It was clear that he had escaped: that to
follow would be of no use; and, with this reflec-

v 'tion, I abandoned all thoughts of carrying the

chase further.
we . I was hungry' still worse, I was chokin with
thirst. Not a rap of water was near; had

seen none for twenty miles. The long. hot ride
had. made me thirsty to an unusual degree, and
my r horse was in a similar condition.

A ter some reflection, it occurred to me that
by following the barranca downward I might

, ‘ find water; at least, ,this was the most likely

direction in which to search for it. I rode for-
ward, therefore, directing my horse along the

.. edge of the chasm. .

' , ’ The fissure deepened as I advanced, until. at
the distance of a. mile from where 1 first struck
it, the gulf yawned full fifty feet into the plain,

I the Isidea still preservzng their vertical steep-
mess

The sun had now gone down; the twilight

' promised to be. a short one. I dared not trav-

. 'v ‘ ‘ ersethat plain in the darkness; I might ride over

«. .- ‘;.c the precipitous edge of the barranca. Besides,

. it was not the only one: I saw there were others

—slna.ller ones—the beds of tributary streams in

seasons of rain. These branched off diagonally

or at right angles, and were more or less deep

and stee I. .

Night was fast closing over the prairie: I
dared not ride further amid these perilous
abysms. I must soon come to a halt, without
finding water. 1 should have to spend the long

hours without relief. The prospect of such a

_ t was fearful.
was still riding slowly onward, mechanically

conducting my horse. when a bright object fe 1

under my eyes. causing me to start in ,my sad-

dle with an exclamation of joy. It was the

- gleamof water. I saw it in la westerly direc:

tion, the direction in which I was going.

‘ It proved to be a small lake or—in the phrase-

glgtggf thecountry—a pond. It was not in the

~ (fit the ravuaefvbere I had hitlierto lfiien

looking‘ or we r, u up on the big pra e.
' There wasno timber around it, no sedge; its,

. . shores were without vegetation of any kind. and

i mrface appeared tocorrespond with the level

the lain itself. .

I ha arrived within about twohundred paces
d the Spot—Fl“ kee ing myeyesflxed nponthe
glisteni water—w 11 al at once my horse
started drew back! I looked ahead to dis-

1

v rock is .passed. _

 

cover the cause. The twill ht had nearly passed,
but in the obscurity I co (1 still distingu sh the
surface of the prairie. The bar-runes again
frowned before me, runnin transvsrsely across
my path. To my chagrin rceived that the
chasm had made a sudden urn, and that the
pond was on its opposite side!

It had now grown quite dark, and I had no
choice but to pass the night where I was, though
I anticipated a night of torture.

I drop (1 to the ground, and having led my
horse a ew rods into the prairie—so as to keep
him clear of the precipice—I relieved him of his
saddle and bridle, and left him to browse to the
full length of the lazo.‘

I had but few implements to dispose of in my
tem rary camp—only my ride and hunting
kni e, with horn and pouch, and the double—
headed gourd, which served-as water-canteen,
and which, alas! had been emptied at an early
hour of the day. Fortunately, my Mexican
blanket was buckled tothe croupe. This 1 un-
strapped, and having enveloped myself in its
amp 9 folds, and placed in head in the hollow
of my saddle, I com os myself as well as I
could, in the hope of ailing asleep.

After some time, the pain-of thirst was less
intensely felt. Perhaps the cold dam air of
night had the effect of relieving it; at it is
more likely that fatigue and ion endurance had
rendered the sense less acute. hatever may
have been the cause, I suffered less, and felt
myself yielding to sleep: There was no sound
to keep me awake; perfect stillness reigned
around; even the usual howling bark of the
prairie wolf did not reach my ear. The place
seemed 'toolonclv for this almost ubiquitous
night prowler. The only sign of life that told
me I was not alone was the occasional stroke of
my steed’s hoof upon the hard turf, and the
“crop cro " that told me he was busy with the
short buffalo-grass. But these were soothing
sounds—as they admonished me that in faith-
ful companion was enjoving himself a ter his
hard gallop—am} strengthened my desire for re-

36- '
p01 slept, lent.not lightly. No; my sleep was
heavy and full of troubled dreams.

First of all, I was in the presence of a lovely
woman; she was dark-eyed, dark ~haired—‘a
brunette—a beauty. I traced the features of
Isolina. I gazed into her eyes; I was ha py in
her smiles; I fancied I was beloved. _ right
objects were around me. The whole scene was
rose-color.

This was a short episode; it was interrupted.
I heard shouts and savage yells. I looked out:
the house was surrounded by Indians! They
were already within the inclosure; and the
moment after, crowds of them entered the
house. There was much strugglin and con-
fusion. I battled with such arms as Could lay

,hold of ; several fell before me; but one—a tall

savage, the chief. as I thought—threw his arms
around my mistress, and carried her away out
of my sight. '

I remember not how I got mounted; but I
was upon horseback, and galloping over the
wide prairie in pursuit of the ravisher. I could
.0 the savage ahead upon a snow-white steed,
with Isolina in his arms. I urged'my horse
with voice and spur, but, as I thought, for long,
long hours in vain. The white steed still kept
far in advance; and I could get no nearer to
him. I thought the savage had chan ed his
form. He was no longer an Indian ch ef, but
the dead himself: I saw the horns upon his
head; his feet were cloven hoofs! I thought he
was luring me tr. the the brink of some fell pre-
cipica, and I had no longer the ‘power to stay
my horse. Hal The demon an his phantom
horse have gone over the cliff! They have car-
ried her along with them! I must follow—I
cannot remain behind. I am on the brink.
My steed springs over the chasm. I am falling
--fallin -fallingl— .

I reac the rocks at length. I am not killed;
how strange it-is I have not been crushed! But
no; I still live. And ‘yet I. enter. Thirst chokes
and tortures me; my heart and brain are
aching, and my tongue is on fire. The
sound of water is in m ears; a torrent rushes
by. near me. If I can d only reach It, I might
drink and live; but I cannot move; I am
chained to the rocks. I grasp one after an-
other, and endeavor to drag myself alon ; I
partially succeed: but oh. what efforts I ma e!

y The labor exhausts my strength. I renew my

exertions. I am aining groundz-rock after
have neared the rushing
water; I deal its cold spray sprinkling me.

am saved!

After such fashion was my dream. It was
the shadow of a reality, somewhat disor nized;
'but the most pleasant reality was the. which
awoke me. I found myself in the act of being
sprinkled, not by the spray of a torrent. but by
a blushing shower from the clouds! , .

Under other circumstanoem this might have
been less welcome, butnow I hailed it with a
about of joy. The thunder was rolling almost
continuously: li htning blazed at short inter-
vals; and I con hear the roar of a torrent
passing down the barranca.

To assuage thirst was my first thought: and

amost animals of its 'hlm'lé has one strong

 

/

w

forvthis purpose -I stretched out my concave

lms and . e1 my mouth wide open thus
rinki’ng from the vol? fountains of t e sky.

Though the dro ell thick and heavy, the

process was too 5 ow, and a better plan sug-
gested itself. I knew that my scrape was we-
ter-proof; it was one of the bet of Forms
fabric, and had cost me a hundred silver dollars.
ThisI spread to its full extent, pressing the
central parts into a hollow of the prairie. In
five minutes’ time I had for otten what thirst
was, and wondered how sue a thing should
have caused me so much torture!

Moro drank from the same “trough,” and he.
took himself to the tgrass again.

The under side 0 the blanket was still dry,
and the patch of ground which it had sheltered.
Along this I stretched myself, drew the serape
over me; and after listening awhile to the loud
lullaby of the thunder, fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER XIII. ,
A PRAIRIE REPAST.

I SLEPT sweetly and soundl . I had no
dreams, or only such as were lig t, and forgot-
ten with the return of consciousness.

It was late when I awoke.‘ A bright sun was
mounting into the blue and cloudless sky.
This orb was already many degrees above the
horizon.

To draw the picket-pin of my horse, and sad
die him, was the work of a few minutes; this
done, I began to bethink me of where I was
going. Back to the rancheria, of course!

 

IN gazin out, my eye was attz .cted by some
objects. y the edge of the pond, at less than
five hundred yards’ distance five beautiful crea-
tures were standing, which I'knew to be ante-
lopes. They were so close to the pond, that
their graceful forms were shadgwed in the
water, and their erect attitudes told that they
had just halted after a run. Their number cor-
responded with the objects I had :een but the
moment before far out upon the p 'iirie. 1was
convinced they Were the same.‘ The distance
was nothing; these creatures tra 11 with the
speed of a swallow.

The sight of the prong-horns st nulated my
hunger. M first thought was how to get near
them. Our osity had brought them to the pond:
they had cspied my horse and myse 'f afar r-fi';
and had galloped up to reconnoit r us. But
they still appeared shy and timid. a! 'l were evi-
dently not inclined to approach neai r.

The barranca lay between them a rd me. but
Isaw that if I could entice them t( its brink,
they would be within range of my ride.

Once more staking, down my hone, I tried
every plan I could think of. I laid myself along
the grass, upon my back, and kicked. my heels
in the air, but to no purpose; the game would
not move from the water’s edge. 

Remembering that my scrape was otvory
brilliant colors, I bethought me of another lanr,
which, when adroitly practiced, rarely, falls of
success. ;;

Taking the blanket. I lashed one edge to the
ramrod of my rifle, having first passed the letter
through the up er swivel of the piece. With the
thumb of my eft hand I was thus enabled to
hold the rammer steady and transverse _to the
barrel. I now dropped upon my knees—holding
the gun shoulder- igh—and the gay-colored
scrape, spread out almost to its full extent, hung
to the ground, and formed: a complete cover for
mv person. . .

Before making these arrangements, I; had
crept to the very edge of the barranca—in order
to be as m ar as possible should the antelope: ap—
proach on the opposite side.

or course every, maneuver was executed with
all the silence and caution I could observe. I
was in no reckless humor to frighten of! the
game. Hun or was my monitor. I knew that
not my brea fast alone, but ,my life, might be
depending upon the successful issue cf the ex-
periment.

It was not long before I had the. gratification
of perceiving that my decoy' was likely to [rnve
attractive. . The rang-horned antelope, like

developed propensity—the of curiosit .:
though to a known enemy it is the most t id of
creatures. yet in the presence of an object hat

.is new to it, it appears to throw aside its tin: “Y.

or rather its curiosity overcomes its sense of
fear; and, impelled by the former, it will up-

roach very near to any stran e form and regard
it with air of bewilderment. e prairie-wolf—
a creature that sur sses_even the fox in cup-
n g—well knows thins weakness of the antelope,
and often takeaadvantegeof it. The wolf is less
fleet than the antelope, and his pursuit of it in a
direct manner wont be vain: but with the so:
tute creature, stmtagem makes up for, the ab-
sence of speed.

Thesquare of bright colors soon p
effect. The five pron -horns came trotting
around the edge of the eke,»ha}ted gaaed upon
it a moment, and then dashed of! win to a
greater distance. Soon. however, they turned

and came running back—rthis time apparenfly
with greater confidence, and a sironger feelin
of curiosity. ‘ I could hear them uttering t

“P

quick“‘snorts” as they tossed

 

reducedits'

A- ,._._s.w_..v.l.. . yams—"twn .... .

 

The W.§I..,T?§i,lt

 

9

 

 

muzzles and snufled the air. Fortunately, the
wind was in my favor, blowing directly from
the game, and toward me; otherwise, they
would have “ winded” me, and discovered the
cheat-for they both know and fear the scent
of the human hunter.

At the second approach. they came within a ‘
My rifle was equal to ;

hundred yaxds of me.

this range, and I prepared toga. The leader

was nearest, and him I selects s the victim.
Taking sight I pulled ti'ivger.

As soon as the smoke (geared ofi’, I had the ;

satisfaction of seeing the buck down upon the
prairie, iu the act of giving his last kick. To
my surprise. noueof the others had been fri ht-

enad oil? by the report, but stood gazing at t eir ,

fallen leader, apparently bewildered! .
I bethought me of reloading; but I had in-

cnutiously risen to my feet, and so revealed my '

form to the eyes of the antelopes. This pro-
duced an effect which neither the crack of the

rifle nor the fall of their comrade had done; i

and the now terrified animals wheeled about

and sped away like'the wind. In less than two

minutes, they were beyond the reach of vision.
The next question t a

to at across the barrancri. The tempting mor-

sel ay upon the other side, and I therefore set ‘

about examining the chasm Ill order to find a
practicable crossing.

This I fortunately discovered. On both sides
the chi! was somewhat broken down, and might

‘belsticaled, though not without considerable dim-
cu y.

After once more lookin to the security of my
horse’s trail rope, I place my rifle where I had.
sle t, and s: t out to cross the barranca, taking
on y my k life. I could have no use for the
 and in would hinder me in scaling the

I succeened in reaching to the bottom of the
ravine, anb‘loommonced ascending on the op
site side where it was steeper; but I was ass at-
ed by the branches of the trailin cedar that
grew amclig the rocks. I noti , and with
some surprise, that the path must have been
used befo'b, either by men or animals. The
soil that 19. upon the ledges was “paddled ” as
by feet, ski the rock in some places scratched
and disco cred.

These i ldimtions only caused me a momentary
rsflectio: " I was too hungry to dwell upon any
tho hi; but that of eating.

At o .th I reached the scarp of the cliflf, and
havin c imbed out n n the prairie, soon stood
over e-carcaas of t e prong-horn. My knife
was out in a trice, and next moment I was play-
in the part of the butcher.

on will no doubt fancy that the next thing
I did was to go in search of somethln to make
a fire for the p of cooking my breakfast.
I did nothin of the sort. I ate my breakfast
without cook ng. I ate it raw; and had you
been in my situation, delicate as you are, you
would have done the same.

It is true that, after I had satisfied the first
cravings of ap tite with the tongue of the
antelope, and a. ow morsels of steak I became
more fastidious and thought a little roasting
mi it improve the venison.

or this purpose I was about to return to the
barranca, a order to gar-her some sticks of
cedar-wood, when my eyes loll upon an object
that drove all thop-fihts of cookery out of my
head, and sent a th 1 of terror to my heart.

CHAPTER XIV.
cnasun BY A “usxzzmr.”

THE object that inspired me with such alarm
was an animal—the most dreaded of all that in-
habit the prairies—tlie grizzly bear.

This hear was one of the largest: but it was
not his size that impressed me With fear, so much
as the knowledge of his fierce nature. It was
not the first time I had encountered the grizzly
bear; and I knew his habits well.

When my eyes first tested upon the brute, he
was just emergin out of the barranca at the
very s t where had climbed up in self. It
was h tracks, then, I had observed w ile scal-
instho cliff!

in reaching the level of the
vanced a pace or two, and than
himself 9m”. and “00‘! upon his hind egs; at
the same time he uttered a snorting sound,
which resembled the “blowing” of bag: when
suddenly startled in tho‘forest. For some mo-
meats he remained in this upright attitude, rub-
bing hll head with his fore paws, and laying
his age arms about after the manner 0 mon-
koys. In fact. as he stood fronting me, he looked
not unlikorzgigantic a ; and his yellowish-red
color favo a rosemb aucotothe great ourang.

When I say that I was terrified b the pre-
sence of this unwelcome intruder speak no
more than truth. Had I been on hmeback, I
should have regarded the creature no more than
the snail that crawled upon the grass. The
frilly bear is too slow to overtake a horse; but

was afoot. and know that the animal could
:11" run me, however swift I might doom my-

 

prairie, be ad-
alting reared

There was not a bush where I could hide my-
self, not a tree into which I mi ht climb. There
was no means of once , and a most none of de-
fense; the knife was t only weapon I had with

arms was, how I was i

! me; my rifle I had left upon the other side of
‘ the barranca, and to reach it was out of the
question. Even could I have got to the path
‘ that led down the cliff it would have been mad-
' nous to attempt crossing there; for although not
E a trceLclimber, the grizzly bear, by means of his
I great claws, could have scaled the cliff more ex-
' pcditiously than I. Had I made the attem t, I
I should have been caught before I could

ave
reached the bottom of the ravine.
The bear was directly in the path. It would

have been literally flinging myself “into his
\ embrace ” to have gone‘that way.
' A single glance around slmwcd me the utter
i helplessness of my situation; I saw there was no
alternative but a desperate cor flict—a conflict
l with the knife!
. Despair, that for a moment had unnerved,
now had the eflect of bracing Inc: and fronting
mv fierce foe, I stood ready to recciVe iim.
, My until ouist. dropping upon all-fours and
, uttering a oud scream, rushed toward me with
open month.
i I had resolved toawait his onset; but as be
i came nearer, and l beheld his great gaunt form,
‘ bis gleaming teeth, and his manna-colored eyes
‘ flushing like fire, changed my desi n; a new
thought came suddenly nto my min ; I turned
and fled.

But what was my speed against such a. com t«

tor; I was only running myself out of breat . I
should be less prepared for the desperate conflict
that must, after all, take place; better for me to
turn, and at once face the foe!

I had half resolved—was abont to turn, in fact
—-when an object flashed before my eyes that
dazzled them. lnadvertently I had run in the
direction of the pond; I was now upon its edge.
It was the sun gleaming from the water that
had dazzled inc—for the surface was calm as a
mirror.

A new idea—a sort of half-hopo—rushed into
my mind. It was the straw to the drowning
man. The fierce brute was close behind me;
another instant and we must have gra pled.

f‘ Not et, not yet,” thought I. n I align fight
him in t e water—in the deep water; that may
give me an advantage. Perhaps, then, the con-
test will be more equal; perhaps I may escape
by diving.” I sprung in without a moment’s

hesitation.
The water was knee—deep. I plunged onward
making for the center; he spray rose round

me; the pond deepened as I advanced; I was
soon up to the waist.

I glanced around with anxious heart; the
bear was standing upon the shore. To in sur-
prise and 0y I saw that he had hal ,and
seemed dis ncllned to follow me.

I watched his every movement. He had risen
upon his hind-quarters, and in this attitude
stood looking after me but still apparently
without any ntention of taking to the water.

After regardin me for some moments, he
fell back upon :11 -fours and commenced run-
ning round the border of the pond, as if search-
for a place to enter.

There were still not over two hundred paces
between us, for the d was only twice that in
diameter. He coul easily have reached me,
had he felt so disposed; but for some reason or
other, he seemed disinclined to a “swim,”
though for nearly half an hour he kept running
backward and forward along the shore.

Now and then he made short excursions out
into the prairie; but always returned again
and re ar ed me afresh, as though determine
not to ose sight of me for any length of time.
I was in hopes that he might strav round to
the other side of the pond, and give me the
chance of making a ms for the ravine; but no;
he continued on that side where he had first
ap ared, as though he an cted my design.

knew not how lon t e siege was to last;
but as I well unders the imp acable disposi-
' tion of the grizzly hear, I coul not hope that
the scene would be otherwise than protracted.

It lasted a long while—more than an hour I
should think. [began tode ir. Ishivored. The
pond must have been 5 ng, so chill Were its
waters. I shivered, but ept my place; I dared
not move out of it. I even feared to a tate
the water around me, lost by doing so I mig t ex-
cite my fierce onem , and tempt his onset. I
shivered. but stood s ill.

My patience was at length rewarded. The
bear, making one of his short tours into the
prairie, cspied the carcass of the antel . I
saw that he had halted over something, t ongh
I could not tell what, for my eyes were below
the level of the plain.

Presently his head was raised again, and in
his jaws were the remains of the prong horn.
To my joy I perceived that he was dragging it
toward the ban-anon. and in another minute he
had disappeared with it behind the cliff.

CHAPTER X'V.
THE TOUGH“! STRUGGLE .0!‘ “Y m.
I swam: a few strokes, and then wading gently
and without noise, I stood upon the sandy

ore. >

With shivering frame and dripping garments.
I stood, uncertain what course to pursue. I
was on the opposite side of the lake—I moan
opposite to where I had entered it. I had

 

 

chosen that side intentionally, lest the bear
should suddenly return. He might deposit the
carcass in his lair, and come bac to look after
me. It is a habit of these animals, when not
named by immediate hunger, to bury their
loud or store it in their caves. EVcn the de-
vouring of the little antelope would have been
an affair of only a few minutes’ time. and the
boar might still return, more ravenous that ho
had tasted blood.

I was filled with irresolution. Should I run off
across the plain beyond the reach of pursuit? I
should have to return again for my horse and
rifle. To take to the prairie on foot would be
like going to sea without a boat. Even had I
been sure of reaching the settlements in safety
without in horse, 1 could not think of leaving
bini bcliinc . I low-d my Moi-o too well for that:
I would have risked life itsclf rather than part
with the noble creature. No; the idea of de-
serting him was not entertained for a moment.

But how was I to j .in him? The only path
by which 1 could cross the barranca had just
been taken by the hear. The latter was no
doubt still upon it, in the bottom of the ravine.
To attempt passin over would he to hringbpiy-
self once more no or the eyes of the fierce ute
and I should certainly become his victim.

Another idea suggested itself—to go up the
barranca, and find a crossin , or else head the
chasm altogether, and come own upon the o -
posite side. That was possibly the best plan
pursue.

I was about startinlg
when to my dismay again beheld the boar;
this time, not upon the same side with myself,
but upon the opposite one, where Moro was
picketed!

He was ust climbing out of the ravine when
I first saw im—slowly dragging his huge body
over the escarpment of the cliff. In a. moment
he stood erect upon the open plain.

I was filled with a new consternation; I per-
ceived too surely that he was about toattack
the horse!

The latter had already observed the boss’s ap-
gflroach, and seemed to be full aware of his

nger. -I had staked him a the distance of
about four hundred yards from the barranca
and upon a law of about twenty in length. At
sight of the hear he had run out to the end of
his trail rope, and was snorting and plunging
with affright.

This new dilemma arrested me, and I stood
with anxious feelings to watch the result. I
had no hope of being able to yield the slightest
aid to my poor horse—at least none occurred to
me at the moment.

The bear made directly toward him, and my
heart throbbed wildly as I saw the brute ap.
proach almost within clawing distance. The

orse sprung round however, and gallo (1
upon a circle of whic the lam was the rad us.
I knew, from the hard jerks he had already

iven to the rope, that there was no chance of

is yielding and freeing him. No; it was a raw-
hide' lazo of the toughest thong. I know its
power, and I remembered how firmly I had
riven home the picker-pin. This I now re-
'gretted. What would I have given to have
con able at that moment to draw the blade of

forward to execute it,

my knife across that rope]

continued to watch the struggle with a pain-
ful feeling of suspense. The horse still kept out
of the-beai"s rrach ly galloping rcund the cir-
cumference of the cir- in, while the bear made
his attacks by crossing its chords, or running in
circles of lesser diameter. The whole scene
bore a resemblance to an act at the Hi

d1 ome, Moro beingthe steed, and the bear in g
the part of the ring-master! -

Once or twice, the rope circling round. and
quite taut, caught upon the legs of the bear,
and, after carrying him along With it for some
distance, flung him over upon his back. This
seemed to ad ‘to his rage, since, after reoowr-
ing his legs again he ran after the horse with
redoubled fury. could have been amused at
the sin nlar spectacle, but thatm mind wastoo
paint y agitated about the resu t.

The scene continued for some minutes without
much change in the relative position of the
actors. I began to hope that the bear might be
hauled after all, and finding the hem 'oo nim-
ble for him, might desist from his attacks, par-
ticularly as the horse had already administered
to him several kicks that would have discomfitcd
any other assailant. These, howaver, onl reu-
dered the brute more savage and vengefn .

Just at this time the scene assumed, a new

base, likely to bring about the domino-moat.

a row had onco~m0ro rested against the
bear; but this time, instea of tryiu to avoid
it, be seized it in his teeth and paws. v bought
at first he was goin to cut it, andth wuex-
actl whatl wished or; but no—to conster-
na on I saw that he was crawliu a ong it by
constantly renewing his hold, an thus adu--
ally and surely drawn: nearer to his v i
The horse now scream with terror! , ‘ ,.

I could bear the sight no longer. I remem-
bered that I had left my rifle near the edge of
the' ban-anon, and some distance from the
horse: I remembered, too. that after shooting
the antelope, I had carefully reloaded it.

I ran forward to the cliff, and dashed madly

p

‘ with some fearful demon.

10

The War Trail.

 

 

down its face: I climbed the opposite steep, and
clutching the gun, rushed toward the scene of

0.

I was still in time; the bear had not yet
reached his victim, though now within less than
six feet of him.

I advanced within ten paces, and fired. As
though my shot had cut the thong, it gave way

gas the moment, and the horse wit a wild neigh
sprung off into the prairie!

I had hit the bear, as I afterward ascertained,
but'not in a vital part, and my bullet had no
more effect on him than if it had been a dro of

all hot. It was the strength of despair t t
11 broken the rope, and set free the steed.
It was my turn now—for the bear, as soon as

be perceived that the horse had escaped him
turned and sprung upon me, uttering, as he did

a loud scream.

had no choice but fight. I had no time to
reload. I struck the brute once with my club-
bed rifle, and flingin the gun away, grasped
the readier knife. W th the stron , keen blade
—-the knife was a bowie—I struc out before
me: but the next moment I felt myself grappled
“Iglmt'l flesh '

s c aws tore up my ; one paw was
griped over my hips, another rested on my
shoulder, while the white teeth gleamed before
my eyes. My knife—arm was free: I had
watched this when grappling, and with all the
energ of despair I p unged the keen blade be-
tween the ribs of my antagonist. Again and
again I plunged it, seeking for the heart at
eve stab.

. 0 rolled to ether u on the ground, overand
ovuragain. T 9 red b ood covered us both. I
law it walling from the lips of the fierce mon-
ster, and I joyed to think that my knife reached
his vitals. I was wild—I was mad—I was bum—
ing with a fierce vengeance—with anger, such
as one might feel for a human foel

Over and over the ground in the fierce strug-
@e of life and death. Again I felt the terrible
claws, the tearing teeth; again sunk my blade
up to the hilt.

Gracious Heaven! how man lives hm he?
Will he never yield to the re steel? See the
bloom—rivers of blood—the prairie is red—we
roll in blood. I am sick—sick—I faint-—

CHAPTER XVI.
OLD commas.
I FANCIED myself in a future world, battling
No; those forms
see around me are of the earth. I still live!

I Iobserved that the sun was going down; a
buffalo robe, suspended upon two upright sap-
lings, arded h s slanting rays from the spot
where lay. My sera was under me, and my
head rested- in my sa dle, over which another
robe had been laid. I lay upon ni side, and
the ’tion ave me a view of al that was
will); A re was burnin near, by which
were two persons, one seated t a other standing.
My e as passed from one to the other, scanning
sash n turn.

The younger stood leaning on his rifle, look-
into the fire. He was the type of a “ moun-
t: man,” atrapper. He was full six feet in
his moccasins, and of a build that suggested
theidea of strength and Saxon ancestry. His
arms were like can oaks; and his hand
ing the mum e of ' gun, “apieared large

sh as, and muscular. His chee “as broa

 

‘ and firm, and was partially covered with a

.-

hnshy whisker, that met over the chin; while
a board of the same color—dull brown—fringed
his lips. The eye was gray, or bluish gray,
mall, well set, and rare] wandering. The
hair was li ht brown; an the complexion of
his face, wh ch had evidently once been blonde,
was now nearly as dark as that of a, half- breed.
Suntan had produced this metamorphosis.
The countenance was prepossessing: it might
have been once handsome. Its expresdon was
bold, but good-humored, and bespoke a kind-and
porous nature.

The dress of this individual was the well-
hawu costume of his class—a hunting-shirt of
droned deer-skin, smaked to the softness of a.

eve; leggings reachingto the hi , and frin ed

wn the seams: moccasins 0 true Ind an
mks, soled with buflaldbide (parfiecho) The
hunting-shirt was halted around the waist, but
gets above, so as to leave the throat and part

the breast uncovered; but over the breast
mid be seen the under-shirt, of finer material
-—-the dressed skin of the young antelope, or the
fawn of the fallow-deer. A short cape, part
of the hunting-shirt, hung gracefully over the
shoulders, ending in a deep fringe cut out of

‘ the buckskin itself. A-similar fringe embel-

lished the draping of the skirt. ' On_ the head
was a raccoon-cth face of the animal over
the front, while e barred tail, like a plume, fell
hoping over the left shoulder.

The acc‘wterments were a bulletpouch, made
from the undressed skin of a ti r-cat, orna-
mutnd with the head of the bean ful summer-

duck. huh under the right arm sus-
pendedbyasho er—stra ; and attached, in a
similar manner, was a uge crescent-shaped

harms
sou .Bissrmsconslstedofsknifeand
pistol—both stuckinthewsist—bolt-‘ndalong

which ’ was carved many a strange.

 

rifle, so strai ht that the line of the barrel
ieetlzed scarce y to deflect from that of the

u

But little attention had been paid to ornament
in either his dress, arms, or equipments; and
yet there was a gracefulness in the hang of his
tunic-like shirt, at stylishness about the fringing
and bead-embroidery, and an air of 'auntiness
in the set of the ’coon-skin cap, that s owed the
wearer was not altogether unmindful of his
personal appearance. A small pouch or case,
ornamented with stained orcupine—quills, hung
down upon his breast. T is was the pipe—holder
—no doubt a gage d’amcmr from some dark-
eyed, dark-skinned damsel, like himself a deni-
zen of the wilderness.

His companion was very diflerent in appear-
ance; unlike him, in almost every respect, un-
like anybody in this world.

The whole appearance of this individual was
odd and striking. He was seated on the 0
site side of the fire, with his face artia 1y
turned toward me, and his head sunk own be
tween a pair of long-lank thighs. He looked
more like the stump of a tree dressed in dirt-
colored buckskin than a human being; and had
his arms not been in motion, he might have
been mistaken for such an object. Both his arms
and jaws were moving; the latter engaged in
polishing a rib of meat which he had half—
roa ted over the coals.

is dr ss—if dress it could be called—was
simple as it was savage. It consisted of what
might have once been a huntingshirt, but
which now looked more like a leathern bag with
the bottom ripped open, and sleeves sewed into
the sides. 1t was of a dirty-brown color,
wrinkled at the hollow of the arms, patched
round the armpits, and greas all over; it was
fairly “caked” with dirt. here was no at-
tempt at either ornament or frin 6. There had
been a cape, but this had evident i been drawn
upon from time to time for patc es and other
uses, until scarcely a vestige of it remained.
The leggings and moccasins were on a par with
the shirt, and seemed to have been manufac-
tured out of the same hide. They, too, were
dirt-brown, patched, wrinkled, and greasy.
They did not meet each other, but left bare a
iece of the ankle, and that also was dirt-brown
ike the buckskin. There was no undershirt,
vest, or other garment to be seen, with the ex-
ception of a c ose-iitting cap, which had once
been catskin; but the hair was all worn off,
leavinga greasy leathery-looking surface, that
corresponded we 1 with the other parts of the
dress. Ca , shirt, leggings, and moccasins,
looked as if they had never been stripped off
since the day they were first tried on, and that
might have been many a years 0. The shirt
was open, displaying the .nake breast and
throat; and these, as well as the face, hands,
and ankles, had been tanned by the sun and
smoked by the fire to the hue of rusty copper,
The whole man, clothes and all, looke as i he
had been smoked on purpose.

His face bespoke a man of sixty, or there-
about; his features were sharp and somewhat
aquiline, and the small eyes were dark, quick,
and piercing. His hair was black. and cut short;
his com lexion had been naturally brunette,
though t ere was nothing of the Frenchman or
Spaniard in his ph siognomy. He was more
likely of the black- axon breed.

As I looked at this man I saw that there was
a strangeness about him independently of the
oddness of his attire. There was something
peculiar about his head—something wanting.

,What was it that was wanting? It was his
care!

There is something awful in‘a man without
his cars. It so gests some horrid drama—some
terrible scene 0 cruel vengeance: itsuggests the
idea of crime committed and punishment in-
flicted. '

I might have had such unpleasantimaginings,
but that I chanced to know why those ears were
wanting. I remembered the man who was sit—
tia before me.

I seemed a dream, or rather the re-enact-
ment of an old scene. Years before I had seen
that individual and for the first time, in a situ~
ation very siln ar. My eyes first rested upon
him, seated as he was now, over a fire, roasting
and eating. The attitude was the same; the
tout ensemble in no respect different. There
was the same greasy catskin cap the same scant
leggings, the same brown buckskin covering
over the lanky frame. Perha .neither shirt
nor leggings had been taken 0 since I last saw
them. They up no dirtier, however;that
was not possib e. Nor was it possible, having
once looked u n the wearer, everto forget him.

I remembe him at a glance—Reuben Raw-

lings, on“ Old Rube,” as be was more commonly,

called, one of the most celebrated of trappers. ‘

The nger man was “ Bill Garey,” another
celeb ty of the sameprofession, and Old Rubo’s
partner and constant companion.

My heart glsddened at the sight of these old
unintsnces. I knew I was with ends.
was about to call out to them w en my eye

wanderin beyond, rested upon the group of
horses, an what I saw stortled ms
cumbent posi

from my re-
tion
There was

Rube’s old, blind, bare-ribbed,

 

high-boned, long‘eared mare-mustan . Her Iank
grizzled body, naked tail, and mu 'sh look, I
remembered well. There, too, was the large
powerful horse of Garey, and there was my own
steed Moro picketed beside them. This was a
joyful surprise to me, as he had galloped 03
after his escape from the bear, andIhad felt
anxious about recovering him.

But it was not the sight of More that caused
me to start with astonishment; it was at seeing
another well remembered animal — another

horse. Was I mistaken? Was it an illusion?
Were 11: eyes or my fanc again mocking me?
No! t was a reality. ere was the noble

form, the graceful and symmetrical outlines,
the smooth coat of silver white, the flowing tail,
the upright jetty ears—elf were before my
eyes. It was he—the white steed of the prai—
nesl

CHAPTER XVII.

A QUEER CONVERSATION.

THE surprise, with the exertion I had made
in raising myself, overcame me, and I fell back
in a swoon.

It was but a momentary dizziness, and in a.
short while I was again conscious.

Meanwhile, the two men had approached, and
having applied something cold to my temples,
stoog near me conversing. I heard every
wor .

“ Durn the weemen i” (I re ized Rnbe‘s
voice ;) “ thm‘ allers a-gittin’ a fel or into some
scrape. Hyur’s a putty pickletobein an'all
throu h a url. Durn the weemen sea I!”

“ e-ell, ’drawlingly responded Garey, “pre-
hsps he loves the gall. The sez she’s mighty
hansum. Love’s a strong fee in’, Rube.”

Although I had my eyes partially oggn I
could not see Rube, as he was standing bind
the suspended robe; but a gurgling, clocking
sound—somewhat like that made 11 pom-in
water from a bottle—reached m ears, and tol
me what effect Garey’s remar ‘had produced
upon his companion.

“ Cuss me, Bill!” the latter at len th re-
joined—“ cuss m'el ef yur ain’t as durn a fool
as the young feller hisselfl Love’s a strong feel-
in’! He, he, he—ho, ho, boo! Wal, I guess it
must a be to make sich dodrotted fools'o’ reezun—
able men. As yit, it hain’t afooled this child, I
reck’n,"

“ You newer knewd what love war, old boss?”

“Thur yur off 0' the trail, Bill-es. I did
once’t—yiS' once’t Iwur in love, plum to the
toe-nails. but that war a gurl to git sweet on.
Ye-es, that she wur, an’ no mistake!” - ,

This speech ended in a sigh that sounded like
the blowing of a. buffalo.

“ Who wur the gall" inguired Garey, after a
pause. “White or Injun ’

” Injun l” exclaimed Rube, in a contemptuous
tone. “No, I reck’n not, be cc. I don’t say
that, ,for a wife, an Injun ain t jest as good as a
white, an’ more convaynient _she are to git shot
of when yur tired 0’ her. I’ve bed a good grist
o’ squaws in m time—hef a dmen maybe, an’
maybe more— at this I kin say, an’ no boastin
ney ther, thet I never sold a squaw yet for a plug
0’ hacca less than I gi’n for her: an’ on most 0’
’em I made a clur profit. Thurfur, Billee, I
don’t object to a Injun for a wife. But wives is
one thing an’ sweethearts is difl’rent when it
comes to thet. N ow the gurl I’m a—talkin’ {bout
wur my sweetheart.” .

“ She wur a white gal, then?” .

“Are allyblaster white? She wur white as
the bleached skull o’ a bufiier; an’ sech ha’r!
’Twur as red as the brush 0’ a kitfox. Eyes,
too. Ah. Billee, boy, them wur 9 es to squint
out 0’! They wur as bi as a bucks, an’ as soft
as smoked fawn-skin. never seed a pair 0’
eyes like hern !"

“ What wnr her name?”

“ Her name wur Char’ty, an’ as near as I kin
remember, her other name wur Holmes—Chart
ty Holmes. Ye—es,.thet war the name.

“ ’Twur upon Big-duck crick, in the Tennes-
see bottom, the place whur this child chawed his
fust hoe-cake. Let me see—it ur new more’n
thirty eer ago. 1 fast met the gurl at a can-
dy- ill in’; an’ I recollex well we wur ut to eat
taflly a ’in’ one another. We ate ti our lips
met; on then the kissiu’—thet wur kissin’, boyep!
Chfr’ty’s lips wur sweeter than the treakle 1t-
sel '

“ We met once’t ag’in at a oorn-shuckin’, an’
arterwards at a blanket-tram in’,_ an’ thur’s
whur the bis’ness wur done. seed Char’ty’s
ankles as she wur a-trampin’ out the blankets,
as white an’ smooth as peeled poplar. Arter
thet ’twur hi! up wi’ Reuben Rawlin’s. ‘ I'a
proached the gurl ’ithout more ado; an’ sez ,

Chsr’ty,’ says I, ‘I so to you:' an’ sea she.

‘Reuben, I cottons to‘ you.’ So I immeediantly .

made u to the old squire—that nr‘ Bfluire
Holnies-p-an’ I axed him for his am. 'n
the o 0 should he refused to '1: her to me! .

“Jest then thur kum a ar from Kinneti-
cut, all kivered wi’ fine’ roadclotb. Be made
love to Char’ty: an' w’ud yur b'lieve it, Bill?
:lfie l married him! Cuss the weemenl thur

“‘I met the ortly after, and gi'n him

pedlarsh
.secha larrupin as laid him up for a month; but

a‘

The War Trail.

'11

 

 

I bed to clur out for it, an’ then I tuk to the
lains.

p “I never see’d Char’t arterward, but I heerd
0’ her once’t from a fe er I him acrosst on the
masonry. She wur a splendid critter; an’ if
she or still livin’, she must hev a ood grist o’
young-’uns by this, for the feilur as, d she’d bed
akupple o’ twins very short] arter she wur
married, with ha’r an'veyes est like herself!
Wal, thur’s no kalklatin’ on weemen, anynow.
Jest see what this young fellur’s got by tryin’
tosarve’eni. Wagh!”

Up to this moment I took no in the con-
versation, nor had I indicated either of the
trappers that I was aware of their presence.
Everythin was enveloped in mystery. The

resence o? the white steed had sumcientl as-
onished me and not less that of m 01 ac-
quaintances,’RubeandGarey. Thew olesoene
was a puzzle. _

I was equally at a loss to acconnt for their
bein acquainted w ith the cause that had brought
me t ere. That they were so, was evident from
their conversation. Where could they have

rocured their information on this head? Neither
of them had been at the rancheria, nor in the
army anywhere' certainly not, else I should
have heard of t em. Indeed, either of them
would have made himself known to me, as a.
strong friendship had formerly existed between

us.
But they alone could give me an explanation,
31d, without further conjecture, I turned to
em.
“ Rube! Garey !” I said, holding out my hand.
“Hillooi yur a-comin’ to young feliur.
That's right; but thur now— y still a bit—
gonlt worrit y’urself; y’ull be stronger by’in-

“ Take a sup 0’ this,” said the other, with an
air of rude kindness, at the same time holding
out a small gourd, which I applied to my lips.
It was a rdiente of El Paso, better known
among t e mountain—men as “pass-whisky."
The immediate effect of this strong, but not bad
spiri was to strengthen my nerves, and render
me a ler to converse.

“ I see on recollects us, capt’n’,” said Garey,
apparent y leased at the recognition.

“ ,Well, 0 d comrades—well do I remember

on.

“We ain’t forgot you neyther. Rube an’ I
often talked about ye. We hev man a time won-
dered what hed becomed 0’ you. 9 heered, of
conrse, that you hed gone back to the settle-
ments, and that you hed come into gobs o’ prop-
erty un’ bed to change y’ur name to 't it—”

“ urn the name!” interrupted Ru e. “I’d
change mine any day' for a pliig o’ J eemes River
bacca; thet w’u d I, sartint.”

“No. capt’n,” continued the youn trapper,
without heading Rube’s interrupt on, “ we
hedn’t forgot you, neyther of us."

“ That we hedn ti” added Rube emphatically;
“forgot ye—forgot the young feliur as tuk ole
Rube for a grizzly! 0, he he! ho, ho, 'hooi
How Bill hyur did arf when I g-i’n him the ac-
Count 0’ that bissnes in the cave. Bill, boy, I
niver see’d you larf so in all my life. Ole Rube
tuk for a. grizzly! He, he, hel—ho, ho, hool”

And the old trapper went ofl into a fit of
laughing that occupied nearly a minute. At the
end of ithe continued:

“ Thet wura kewrious bit 0’ dod n’—wa’n’t it,
young fellur’l You saved my ole arkidge that
time an’ I ain’t a-gwine to forgit it; no, this
child ain’t.”

“I think you have repaid me; you have res-
cued me from the bear. ’

“From one b’ar preehaps we did, but from
t’other grizzly you rescooed y’urself; an’ young
feliur, you must ’a’ fit a utty consid’able bout
afore the varmint kuoc ed under. The way
you hev gi’n him the bowie ur a caution to
snakes I reck’n."

“ W at! were there two beers?” r

“ Look thur! thur’s a kupple, ain’t thur?"

The trapper pointed in t e direction of the

6. Sure enough, the carcasses of two bears
lay; the ground, both skinned and partially

“ I to t with on] one.”

“An 2% wur enuyf at a time, an’ a leetle
more._ I reck’n. ’Tain’t many as lives to wag
thur Jaws arter a stan’~up tussle wi’ a in! y.
anh! how you must have fit, to ’3' mt, out
thet b’ari”

“I killed the bear, then?”

“ Thet you sartintl did, youi'ig feliur. When
Bill an’ me him on t e noun, 9 Mar war as
dead as pickled pork. We thort y’ur case wa'n’t
any better. Thur you lay a-hu gin’ the b’ar, an’
the b’ar a—hn 'n’ you, as ef th on I nr hed
fine to sleep a sort 0’ friendly‘ way, ike the

bbies in the wood exceptin’t at you wa’n’t
kivered wi’ leaves. but thur wur y’ur claret a-
kiverin’ the paraira for yurds round. Thur wa’n’t
as much blood in you as w’u'd gi’n a leech his
breakfist.” .

“ The other bear :9”

“ Shekum arterwards out o’ the lly. Bill
he wur gone to look arter the w to hoes.
wur sittin’ aside you.th hyur, when I see’d-the
varmint’s snout a-po 11’ up. Iknow‘d it war the

’ar roomin’ to see where Ole had
strayed to. So I tuk up Targuts, and turned

 

the critter in the eye, and thet wur the eend 0’
her trampin’.

“ Now, lookee hyur, young feliur! I ain’t no
doctur neyther’s, Bill, but I knows enough about
wownds to be sartiut thet you must in still an’
stop talkin’. Yur mighty bad scratche , I tell ye
but ur not dangerous, only you’ve at no bloc
in y body, an’ you must wait til it gathers
a ’in. Take another suck out o’ the gourd.
T ur now, come, Billeel leave ’im alone. Le’s
go an’ hev a fresh tooth-full o’ b‘ar-meat.”

And so saying, the leathery figure moved off
in the direction of the fire, followed by his
younger companion.

Alt ough I was anxious to have a further ex-
planation about the other oints that puzzled
rue—about the steed, the rappers’ own pres-
ence, their knowledge of my Wild hunt, and its
antecedents—I knew it would be useless to
question Old Rube any further after what he
had said; I was com lied, therefore, to follow
his advice, and remain quiet.

CHAPTER XVIII.
vows AND memos;

I SOON fell aslee again, and this time slept
long and profoun ly.

It was after niggtfall—in fact, near midni ht,
when I awoke. he air had grown chilly, at
I found I had not been neglected; m serape
was wrapped close! around me, an with a
buflalo robe, had so ciently protected me from
the cold while I slept.

0n awaking, I felt much better and stronger.

I looked around for my companions. The
fire had gone out—no don t intentional] ex-
tinguished, lest its glare amid the dar ness
might attract the eye of some roving Indian.
The night was a clear one, though moonless;
but the heaven was Spangled with its sparkling
worlds, and the starlight enabled me to make
out the forms of the two trappers and the group
of browsing horses. Of the former, one only
was asleep: the other sat upright, keeping
guard over the camp: He was motionless as a
statue: but the small spark gleaming like -a
glowworm from the bowl of his tobacco-pi ,
gave‘ token Of’ his wakefulness. Dim as fife
light was, I could distinguish the upright form
to be that of the earless trapper. It was Garey
who was sleeping.

I could have wished it otherwise. I was
anxious to have some conversation with the
younger of my companions; I was longing for
an explanation, and I should have preferred
addressing myself to Garey. .

My anxiety would not allow me to wait, and
I turned t0ward Rube. He sat near me, and I
spoke in a low tone, so as not to awake the
slee er.

“ ow came you to find me?”

“ ByJ follerin’ y’ur trall.”
“ , you followed me then! From the settle-
manta?”

“ Nome fur. Bill an’ me wur camped in the
chaparril, an’ spied ou a-gallupin’ artcr the
white hoss, as ef al the devils out o' h- wur
arter you. I know’d yur at a glimp’; so did
Bill. Sez I; ‘ Bill, that ur’s the young fellur as
tu’k me for a grizzly up thur in the mountains,’
and the reckoleckshun 0’ the sark’mstance sot
me a-larfin’ till my ole ribs ached. ‘It or the
same,’ sez Bill; nii’ jest then we met a Mexikin
who bed been ’ur guide, gallupin’ about in
search 0’ on. e gi’n us a story ’bout some
guri thet ed sent you to catch the white boss;
some saynyora with a dodrotted long name.
‘Durn the weemeu!’ sez I to Bill. Didn’t I,
Bill?" .

To this interesting interrogatory, Garey, who
was but half asleep, gave an assentiug grunt.

“Wal,” continued Rube, “seein‘ thur wur a
pettycoatin the case, I see to Bill, sez I: ‘ Thet
young feliur ain’t a-gwine to pull up till eyther

e ups the boss, or the boss gita clur ofif.

“ 0w, 1 know’d you wur wall mounted, but
I know’d you wur arter the fastest critter on all
these parairas; so I sea to Bill. sez I: ‘Billee,
thur boun’ for a long gallup.’ Sez Bill: ‘ Thet
ur sartin’.’ r

“ Wai, Bill and me tuk the idea in our heads
that you mout git lost, for we sce’d the white
hose wur a-makin’ for the bi paraira. It ain’t
the biggest paraira in creas un. but it ur one
of the wu'st to git strayed on. Y’ur greenhorns
wur all gone back, so Bill and me catched up
our critters, an’ as soon as we k’u’d saddle ’em,
put arter you. When we kum’d out in the par-
aim, we see‘d no signs 0’ van, ’ceptin’ 1y‘ur trail.
That we follered up: but it wurnight ong afore
we got half way hyur, an’ wur obleeged to halt
till snnup. . .

“Wei—in the mornin’ the trail wur nurly
blind, on account 0’ the rain; an’ it tuk us a
good spell afore we reached the gull_ . ‘ Thur,’
sea Bil , ‘ the boss hes jumped in. an hyur’s the
trail 0’ the young feliur leadin‘ down the bank.’
Wal, we war jest turnin’ to go down, when we
see'd y'ur own boss a good ways 01 on the pa-
raira. 'ithont saddle or bridle. , We rid straight
for him, an‘ when we at closter, we see’d some
thin’ on the ’rig tunder the hoss’s nose.
Thetlsoirliein’iii' turned out tonibety’ui-segl an; the

7! summation“ 990
l’ ms. 'Ye'urhosa war a-equ ’ like
a bag 0’ wild-cats, an’ at fast Bill an’ me thort

\

 

you hed gone under. But upon a closter view,
we see’d you wur onl a-faintin’, while the b’ar
wur as dead as a buc . 0f coorse we sot about
docterin’ on, to fetch you ronn’ ag’in."

“ But t e steed? the white steed?”

“ Bill hyur grup (1 him in the lly. A
leetle further down t’s sto ped up wi’ ig rocks.
We know’d thet, for we’d en over this groun’
afore. We know’d the boss k’u‘dn’t ’a’ ct over
the rocks, an’ Bill went arter an’ foun’ h on a
ledge whur he hed clomb out o’ reach 0’ the flood;
an’ then he lazooed the critter, an’ fetched ’im
up hyur. ” N ow, young feliur, you've got the

ry.

“ An’ the hoes,” added Garey, rising from his
recumbent position, “ he’s yourn, capt'n.
you hadn’t rid him down, couldn’t ’a’ roped
him ”so easy. He’s youm, ef y'u’ll accept 0’

im.

“Thanks, thanks! not for the ft alone. but
I may thank you for made. at for you, I
might never have left t spot. Thanks! old
comrades, thanks!”

Every point was now cleared up. There was
myster no longer thonghflfrom an e ression
w ich arey had dropped, I still d a word
with him in private.

On further inquiry, I learned that the trap-
pers were on their way to take part in the cam-
paign._ Same barbarous treatment they had
experienced from Mexican soldiers at a frontier
pea}? had rendered both of them inveterate foes
to exico; and Rube declared he would never
be contented until he had “plugged a score of
the ellow-hidcd varmints.” The breaking out
of t e war ave them the opportunity they de-
sired, and t e ware now on their way, from a
distant part 0 prairie-land to take a hand in it.

The vehemence of their hostility toward the
Mexicans somewhat rised me—as I knew it
was a recent feeling wit them—and I inquired
more particularly into the nature of the ill-
treatment they had received. They answered
me by giving a detailed account of the‘ affair.
It had occurred at one of the Mexican frontier
towns, where, upon a slight pretext, the trap-
pers had been arrested and flogged, by order of
the commanding officer of the st. '

“ Yes—s l” said Rube, the wor s hissing angril y
throu hhisteéth; “ yes-s,flogged!—a mountain—
man ogged by a cussed monkey of a Mexikin!
Ne’er a mind! ne’er a mind! By the ’tarnal
God l—an’ when I an thet, I sw’ar it—this nig-
gur don’t leave Mexxko till he hes rubbed out a
soger for every lash they gi’n him—an’ that’s
twenty!”

“ Hyur’s another, old boss i” cried Garey, with
equal earnestness of manner—“ hyur’s mother
that sw’ars the some oath l”

“Yes, Billee, boy! I guess we’ll count some
in a skrimmage. Thurs two a’readyl lookee
thur, voung feliur!"

As Rube said this, he held his rifle close to my
eyes. pointing with his finger to a particular
part of the stock. I saw two sma l notches

reshly cut in the wood. I knew well enough
what these notches meant: they were a re shy
of the deaths of two Mexicans, who had alien
by the hand or bullet of the trapper. They had
not been the only victims of the. unerring and
dead! weapon. On the same piece of wood-
work could eee long rows of similar souvenirs,
a art from each other, only differing a little in
s ape. I knew something of the signification of
these horrible hiero lyfithS' I knew they were
the history of a 1i e earfully spent—a life of
red realities.

The sight was far from pleasant.
my fies away, and remained silent.

‘ ark me, young feliur!” continued Rube,
who noticed that I was not gratified by the in—
spection; “don’t mistake Bil Garey an’me for
wild beasts; we ain’t thet quite; we’ve been
mi hty r’iled, I,reck'n; but f’r all thet. we ain’t a-
gw no to take revenge on weemen an’childer, as

njuns do. No—weemen nn’ childer don’t count,
nor men neyther, unless thur so ers. We‘ve no
spite ag’in the poor slaves o’ exiko. They
never did me nor Bill harm. We’ve been on
one skurry, along wi’ the Yutaws, down to the
Del Nort settlements. Thor’s. whur I made
them two nicks; but neyther Bill or me laid a
finger on the weemen an’ childer. It uur be-
kase the Injuns did, thet we left ’em. \Ve’vo
est kum from thur. We want fa’r, fight among
ristyun whites; thet’s why we’re hyur. Now,
young felluri" _

I was glad to hear Rube talk. in this manner
and I so signified to him. Indiahizod as the o
tn was—with all his savageness, all his
rec ens indifference to ordinary emotions—I
knew there was still a touch of humanity in his
breast. Indeed on more than one occasion, I
had witnessod singular displays of fine feeling
oaths part of Rube. Circuuistaneedashe was
he is not to be judged by the laws of civil!

life. .

“Your intention, then, is to join some corps
of rfnaers, is it not?” I asked after a pause.

“ shed like it,” replied Gamy' “I shed
like to join your coin ,, y, capt’n; ut ‘Rube
hyur won’t consent to h”, ,. .

“No!” exclaimed the other with em basil;
“I’ll jine no hum ’ny. This ,ni fig to on
his ownvhook. or see, young ellur, I hev
beenallmy lifeamemoun mu,an’dbn’t

I turned

12

'The War Trail.

 

 

rin’, nohow. I mout make some
mistake, or moutn't like some 0’ the reg’la—
shuns; thurfor’ I prefers htin’ arter my own
fashun. Bill an’ me kin ta e care 0’ ourselves,
I reck‘n. Kin we, Billi—ch, boyeei"

“ I guess so, old hoss,” replied Gurey, mildly;
“ but for all that, Rube, I think it would be bet-
ter to go at it in a reg'lar way—partic’larly as
the capt’n hyur would make the sogerin’ part as
easy as p0ssil>le. W’u’dn‘t yur, cnpt‘n?"

“The discipline of my corps is not very se-
vere. We are Rangers, and our duties are dif-
fer-rut from those of regular soldiers-J7

“It ur no use,” interrupted Rube; “ I must
fight as I’ve allers flt. free to kum an’ free to
go whur I please. I won’t bind myself to
nuthin’. II moutn’t like it, an’ mout desert.”

“ But by binding yourself," suggested I, “you
draw pay and rations; whereas— ’

“ pa an’ rashnns!" exclaimed the old
trapper, stri ing the butt of his rifle upon the

rairie. “ Durn pa an‘ rashunsl Young fellur,

fl hts for reveng l”

: his was said in an energetic and conclusive

banner and I urged my advice no further.

.9 “ hyur, Capl” continued the speaker in
a more subdued tone. “ Though I ain’t a-gw no
to jine yur fellurs, yet thur ur a favor I w u’d
axe from yur: an’ that is, to let me an’ Bill
kee by you, or foller whuriver you lead. I

don t want to sponge for rashuns- we’ll git that

of thur’s a head 0’ game in Mexiko, an‘ of thnr
ain’t, wh we kin eat a Mexikin. Can’t we,

Bill—ch, yes?"

Garey knew this was one of Rube's jokes, and
laughingly assented: adding at the same time,
that he would prefer eating any other “sort 0
a, Varmint."

“Ne'cr a mind!” continued Rube' ” we ain’t
a-gwine to starve. 50, young fel ur, of you
agrees to our goin‘ on them tarms y'n ll heve a
kupple o’ rifles near you that won t miss fire—

understan’

they won’t."
‘ En hi You shall go and come as you
please. shall be glad to have you near me,

without bindin you to any term of service.”

“ Hooray !——t et’s the sort for usi Kum,
BilleeI—gi e’s another suck out o’ y’ur ourd.
Hyur’s success to the Stars and Stripes! ooray
for Texas i"

 

CHAPTER XIX.
noumus xmxcnul.

III! recovery was rapid. My wounds, thou h
deep, were not dan erous' they were only has -
wounds, and cl rapidly under the cantor-
izing influence of the lochuguala. Rude as my
doctors were, in the matter of such a malady, I
could not have fallen into better hands. Both
during their lives of accident and expomre, had
ample practice in the healing art; and I would
have trusted either, in the curing of a rattle—
snake's bite, or the tear of n griuzl bear's claw,
in reference to the most accompl shed surgeon.
Old) Rube, in particular, thoroughl understood
the simple pharmacopoeia of t e prairies ;
and his application to my wounds of the
sap of the pita plant, obtained among the
rocks of the ravine, bespoke his skill. This
plant, a bromelia, is of the same genus as the
Agave Arm-team, and by travelers often con—
founded with the latter, though quite a distinct
plant from the ma y of cultivation. It grows
in most parts of exico and South America,
extending as far north as the latitude of 30°,
and even further. There is no spot too arid or
barren to give support to it. It is a true desert
plant: and chn on the naked rock, its curved
and thorny blades may be seen radiating on
all sides from the tall flower-stalk, that shoots
upward like e si nalstafl. to the hight of twen-
ty feet As a eady observed, its uses are
manifold: the fiber of its leaves can be manu-
factured into thread, cordage, and cloth; fences
are constructed of the growing plant, and
thatch of the blades when out; its sap, distilled,
furnishes the fiery but not unwholesome meucal;
and the large egg-shaped core or stem is eaten
for food. Tribes of Indians— Lipans Co—
manches, and Apaches-use it extensively as
an article of diet. One branch of the t
Apache nation are dignified as “ esca-
leroa" (eaters of the In plant). They bake
it in ground ovens of heated stones, along with
the flesh of the wild-horse. It is firm when
cooked. with a translucent appearance like
candied fruits. I have eaten it; it is palatable
-I mightsa delicious. The mastication ofit
inaccom b a priclding sensation upon
the tongue, singn to one unaccustomed to it.
Itis agift of nature to the desert regions—-
where it grows in greatest luxurianoc, and
where it serves the some in the econo-
my of the savage natives as the infamous-
b ms, and zams'as (the Cam-e broad),
upon the arid heroes of Southern Africa.

One of the most esteemed qualities of this

bromolia is the cautorismg of its nice
-—on1 know to the natives Ween tibia-

spocicsnrofound of iikevirtuea. Itwill

cause ordinary wounds to cicatrlso in a few

m, and oven “neg gushes" will yield to it
no. .

My companions had full knowledge of its ef-

fects; and, having extracted the up its large

~ 8. more westerly

Afia Si?

 

succulent leaves, and boiled it to the consistency
of honey, they applied it to my wounds. This
operation they from time to time repeated, and
the scratches Wore healed in a period marvel—
ously short. My strength, too, was soon re-
stored. Garey with his gun catered for the
cuisine, and the ruffed grouse, the prairie par-
tridge, and roasted ribs of fresh venison, were
dainties even to an invalid.

In three days I was strong enough to mount;
and bidding adieu to our camping-ground, we
all three see forth, taking with us our beautiful
captive. The tra ers led him between them,
secured to the sad es of both by a lasso.

We did not return in the direction of our old
trail; my companions knew a shorter route—
at least one upon which we should sooner reach
water—and that is the most im rtant con-
sideration on a prairie journey. e headed in
direction; by which, keeping
in a straight line, we expected to strike the
Rio Grande some distance above the rancheria.

The sky was leadenAgray—the sun not being
visible—and with no guide in the heavens, we
knew that we might easily diverge from a di‘
rect course. To provide against this, my com-

nions had recourse to a compass of their own

nvention.

0n taking our departure from camp, a sap-
ling was stuck into the ground, and upon the
top of this was adjusted a piece of bear’s-skin,
w ich, with the long hair upon it, could be dis-
tinguished at the distance of a mile or more.
The direction having been determined upon,
another wand, similiarly garnished with a tuft
of the hour’s-skin, was set up several hundred
yards distant from the first.

Turning our backs upon these signal-pests,
we rode of! with perfect confidence, glancing
back at intervals to make sure we were keeping
the line. So lon as they remained in sight
and aligned wit each other, we could no
otherwise than travel in a straight path. It
was an ingenious contrivance, but it was not
the first time I had been witness to the ingenuity
of my tra per friends, and therefore I was not
astonished.

When the black tufts were well-nigh hidden
from view, a similar pair—the materials for
which had been broughtlalong—were erected;
and these insured our direction for another
stretch of a mile: then fresh saplings were
planted; and so on, till we had passed over six
miles of the plain.

We now came in sight of timber right ahead
of us, and apparently about five miles distant.
Toward this we directed our course, and before
night reached the rancheria, safe and sound, to
the great joy of the rangers.

CHAPTER XX.
THE WHITE carrrvsz.

I 11qu deadly weary, and scarcely undress-
ing, I duo in self upon my leathern catrc, and
at once fel as eep.

A few hours’ repose had the desired «fleet
and restored both the strength of my body and
the vigor of my mind. I awoke full of saith
and hope. A world of sweet anticipations was
before me. The sky and fortune were both
smiling.

I made my toilette with some care—my
desawna with less—and then, with lighted
cigar, ascended to my favorite lounge on the

 

azotea.

The beautiful captive was in the midst of a
crowd, proudly curving his neck as if conscious
of the admiration be excited. The rangers, the
poblanas, the hueksters of the plaza, even some
sulky leperos, stood near, gazing with wonder-
ing e cs 11 n the wild-horse.

‘ Bilen id fpresent!” thought I—“worthy the
acce tanoe o a princess 1” ‘

It ad been in intention to make the offer-
ing in rson— ence the care bestowed upon
my toi ette. After more mature reflection, I
abandoned this design. .

I was influenced a variety of cona'dera-

tions-—one among 0t ers, being a delicatc_sp-
prehension that a personal visit from me might
com romise the family at the hacienda. The
patriotic sentiment was every day owing
more intense. Even the acce tunes 0 a pie
sent was a dangerous matter; at the steed was
not to be a gift—only a return for the favorite
that had fallen by m hand—and I was not to
up in the char-near of a donor.
y sable groom, therefore, would convey the
beautiful captive. Already the white lam,
formed into a halter, was pdjusted around the
animal's lands and the negro only awaited or-
ders to lead him away.

I confess that at that moment Ifslt somewhat
anno ed at the publicity of m stair.
were men of hen
some whispers
me, thatone and all of them know wh I had
goncupmi the wild bun and I d ed their
goodohumorod satire. would have given
something at that moment to have rendered the
steed invisible—to have how able to transport
him to his destination. Venus-like under cover
of a cloud. I thought of waiting for the friend~
ly shelter of ni ht. '

Just then, owcver, an incident occurred
which gave me the very opportunity I wanted

 

—a scene so ludicrous, that the steed was no
longer the cynosure of admiring eycs.
The hero of this scene “as Elijah Quacken—

55.

Of all the men in my band, “Dutch Li 9"
was the worm: clad. Not that there was ess
money expended upon his outuurd man; but
partly from his ungainly form and loose un-
tid habits, and more, perhaps, from the wear
an tear caused by his botamzing excursions, a
suit of broadcloth did not keep sound upon him
for a. week. He was habitually in taiters.

The skirmish of the night had been rofltahle
toLigo; it was his true aim that he brought
down one of the five guerriileros. On his as—
serting this, his comrades bad laughed at it, as
an idle vaunt; but Quackenboss proved his as-
sertion to be correct by picking his bullet out
of the man’s body, and holding it up before
their eyes. The peculiar “bore” of his rifle
rendered the bullet easy of identification, and
all agreed that Lige had shot his man.

By the laws of range -war, the spoils of this
particular individna became the roperty of
(inackenboss; and the result was, t at he had
8 ahen 01! his tattered rags, and now appeared
in the plaza in full Mexican costume—compris-
ing calsoneros, and calsoncillos, sash and sern pe,
jacket and glazed hat, betas with gigantic
spurs—in short, a complete set of ranchero
habiliments!

N evtr was such a pair of legs incased in Mexi-
can velveteens — never were two such arms
thrust into the sleeves of an embroidered jrquita ;
and so odd was the tout ensemble of the ranger
thus attired that his appearance in the plaza
was hailed lay a loud urst of laughter, both
from his comrades and the natives who stood
round. Even the gloomy Indians showed their
white teeth, and jomed in the general chorus.

But this was not the end. Amon the spoils,
Lifie had made capture of aComanc e mustang;
an as his own warOhorse had been fora long
time on the decline, this aflorded him an excel-
lent opportunit for a remount. Some duty of
the ds had on ed him forth, and he now ap—
pear in the plaza leadin the mustang, to
which he had transferred 1: own saddle and
bridle. A fine handsome horse it spasm-id.
More than one of his comrades envied this
splendid prize:

The laughter had scarcely subsided, when the
order was given to mount; and with others,
Quackenboss sprung to his horse. But his
hips were hard snugto the saddle, when the
Wicked Comanc e “hum (1” his back and en-
tered upon a round of kic ing which seemed to
exhibit every pose and atti ude of equestrian
exercise. First his hind feet, then his fore ones,
then all tolgcther, could be seen glancing throu b
the air. ow a hoof whimd past the ear of t e
eflrifihted rider, now a set of teeth threatened
his t ighs, while ever moment he appeared in
den er of being has ed with violence to the
cart). The sombrero had long since aried
from his head, and the rifle from his han ; nd
what with the flapping of the wide trowsers. .he
waving of the loose scrape, the dancing of the
steel scabbard, the distracted motion of the
rider's arms, his lank streaming hair, and look
of terror—all combined to form a spectacle suf-
ficiently ludicrous; and the whole crowd was
convulsed with laughter, while the plaza rung
with such shouts as “ Bravo!" “ Well done,
Lige l” “ Hooraw for yru, old beeswax!"

But what surprised his comrades was the far i:
that Quackenbc-ss still kept his seat. It was v. ("I
known that he was the worst rider in the troop;
yet, despite all the doubling and flinging of his
mustang, that had now lasted for several min-
utes, he was still safe in the saddle. He was
winning olden opinions upon tlze strength of
his splen id horsemauship. The rangers wore.
being astonished.

All at once, however, this mystery wrs ex-
plained. and the cause of his firm scat discov-
ered. One of the bystanders, sharper thnn the
rest, had chanced to look under the belly of the.
mustang, and the next moment shouted out:

“Boy! 1001: yonder! by Geehorum, his spurs
are clinched 1"

All eyes were lowered, and a fresh peal of
laughter broke forth from the crowd as they
perceived that this was in reality the case.

Lige, upon mouniin —-under the suspicion
that the mustang was isposed for a fling—had
clutched firmly with his legs; and these. on ac~
count of their extreme length, completely on-
veloped the body of the animal, so that his heels
met underneath. He had forgotten his new
spurs, the rowels of which, six inches in diame-
ter, irritated the mustang. and were no doubt
the cause of such violent kickin . These, after
. few guns, had got “locked, and of course
haldQuackcnboss as firme as if he had been
ctr-app: to the saddle. But as the rowels were
now 'ed in the ribs of the mustang, the fierce
brute, maddoned with the . only grew more
furious at each fling, and was natural enough
he egould do his utmost torid himself of socruel
a ri or.

How long he might havo kept up the pitching
frolic before his involuntary tor-mentor coul
have freed himself, is a matter of con

It would have been an unfortunate _‘ fix” to
have been placed in alone upon the pram

l

The War Trail.

13

 

Lige, however, found a compassionate by-
stander, who, having flung his lasso around t e
neck of the mustang, brought the spectacle to a
termination.

I dispatched the black upon his interesting
errand, and with no slight anxiety awaited the
result.

From my position on the roof, I saw my mes-
Senger climb the hill, leading the mud steed,
and saw him enter the great ports of the haci-
enda. '

Prom tly‘almost directly—the groom came
out again without the horse. The present had
been accepted. So far well.

I counted the moments, till heavy footsteps
were heard upon the escalera, and a shining
black face rose over the roof.

There was no letter, no message beyond “ Mil
gram‘as.”

I felt a pang of chagrin. I had expected
thanks more formal than this more phrase of
compliment.

My man appeared better satisfied. A gold .

onza gleamed in his purple palm-a handsome
per nisite.

“ y whom given?" I inquired.

“Golly, mass’ cap’n, a gal guv it! Do hand-
somest quaderoom gal dis nigga ever see.”

Beyond a doubt, Isolina herself was the do-
nor! ,

I could have broken the rascal‘s thick skull,
but that the queenly douceur gave proof of the
satisfaction with which my offering had been
received. Even on this trivial circumstance, I
built my hopes of yet receiving a fuller meed of
thanks.

lhad given orders for my horse to be sad-
dled, intending to ride forth and seek repose
for my spirit amid the silent glades of the chap-
arra .

While waiting for my steed, an object came
under my eyes that quickened the beatings of
my pulse; my gaze had been long turned in one
direction-upon the hacienda of Don Ramon
de Vargas.

Just then, I saw emerging from its gate, and
passing rapid] down the hill, a horse with a
rider upon is ack.

The snow-white color of this horse, and the
scarlet mange of the rider—both contrasting
with the green of the surrounding landscape—-
could not escape observation even at that dis-
tinct-, and my eyes at once caught the bright
0 "out.

hesitated not to form my conclusion. It
was the white steed I saw; and the rider—I re-
member the manga as when first my eyes rested
upon that fair form—the rider was Isoliua.

She was passin down the slope that stretch-
ed from the hac enda to the river, and the
minute after, the thick foliage of the platanus
trefz shrouded the shining meteor from my
Sl l ,

noticed that she halted a moment on the
edge of the woods, and fancied that she gazed
earnestly toward the village; but the road she
had taken led almost in the opposite direction.

I chafed with impatience for my horse. My
resolve, made on the impulse of the moment,
was to follow the white steed and his scarlet-
clnd rider.

Once in the saddle I hurried out of the plaza,
passed the ranches of yucca, and reaching the
open country, pressed my horse into a allop.

My road lay up the river, through a eerily-
timhered bottom of gum and cottonw .
These were thickly beset with the curious
tillandsia, whose silvery festoons, stretching
from branch to branch, shrouded the sun,
causing among the treetops the obscurity of
twilight.

In the midst of one of these shadowy aisles, I
met or passed some one: I saw that it was a
.Mexican be ;but the somber light, and the
rapidity wit which I was riding, prevented
me from noting anything more. The lad
shouted after me, uttering some words, which
which were drowned by the hoof-strokes of m
horse. I deemed it some expression of boy
egg-w, and, without heading 1t, rode on.

ot until far out of sight and hearing did it

occur to me that I knew the voice and the lad. .

I recollected a sort of errand-boy attached to
the hacienda, and whom I had seen more than
once at the rancher-la. I now remembered the
badmnge of Wheatley, and would have re-
turned to question the youth, but I had left him
too far in the rear. Afters moment's reflec-
tion, I spurred on.

I soon arrived at-the base of the hill on which
steed the hacienda: and here leaving the main
inlaid, I followed a bridle-path that skirted the

l

A few hundred yards brought me to the spot
where I handle t observed the object of my pur-

suit.
The hoof-track of the white horse now guided
me. and upon his trail I entered the woo s.
For some distance it followed a well-h‘odden
nth—a cattle track—but all at once it diverged
rom this, and struck elf into a heavily-tim-
bered bottom, where not the semblance of path
existed.
Keepingr the trace in view. T rode after.
AS I wlvnncd, the timber grew thicker, and
the path the more difficult. A close underwood

 

of arundinaria and sabal palms shut up the way
and the view; trailing roots obstructed pro-
ess below; while higher up, the trelliswork of
lanes, bamboo briers, sarsaparilla, and gigan-
tic grape-vines, rendered it necessary to bend
down in the saddle in order to pass onward.

To my surprise I noticed all this. For what

urpose could she have chosen such a path?
EVas it indeed Isolina I had seen? A white
horse and a scarlet mange. are not uncommon
things in Mexico. It might not be— But the
hoof print -—

I dismounted and examined it: I knew it at a
glance—4t was that of the noble steed, and the
rider could be no other than Isolina do Vargas.

No longer in doubt, though still wondering, I
followed the tracks.

For a half-mile or so, the path menndered
through thick forest, here turning around some
giant trunk, there diverging to the right or left
to avoid the impervious network of canes an
lllanas.

At len th it began to slope upward; and I
porcelvef by the ascent that I was climbing a.
llll. The woods became more opon as I ud-
vanced—here and there alternating with gladcs
—-the trees were of slender growth, and the
foliage lighter and thinner. I was no longer
among the heavy trunks of platanus and liquid-
amber. The lnguminosrw were the prevailing
trees; and many beautiful forms of inga,
acacia, and mimosa, grew around. Myrtles,
too, mingled their foliage with Wild limes, their
branches twined with flowering parasites, as
the climbing cmnbrctum, with its long, flame-
like clusters, convolvuli, with large white blos-
soms, and the beautiful twin—leaved bnuhinin.

It was a wild garden of flowers—a shrubbery
of nature’s own planting. The eye, wandering
through the vistas and glades, beheld almOst
every form of inflorescence. There were the
trumpet-shaped bignonias—conWilvull in pop-
dulous bells—syngenesists disposed in spreading
umbels; and over them, closely set upon tall
spikes, rose the show blossoms of the brome-
llas—aloes and dasy yrz'um. Even from the
tops of the highest trees hung gaudy eatkins,
waited to and fro by the light breeze, mingling
their sheen and their perfume with the floral
cpiphytes and parasites that clustered around
the branches.

I could not help thinking that these flowers
are gifted with life, and en‘oy, during their
short and transient existence, oth pleasure and
pain. The bright warm sun is their happiness,
while the cold cloudy sky is the reflection of
their misery.

I had advanced near the summit. The tracks
were quite recent; the branches that had been
touched by the flanks of the horse had not yet
ceased to vibrate; the rider could not be far in
advance. I fancied I heard the hoof-stroke.

Silently I pressed on. expecting every moment
to catch he gleam of the scarlet mang‘a, or the
white sheen of the steed.

A few paces further, and both were under my
9 es, glittering through the feather frondage
o the mimosas. I had follows the true
track.

Spurring my horse into the 0 on ground, I
rode up and halted face to face w th Isolina.

as as as at * a

When we parted, we knew we loved each

other.

CHAPTER XXI.
AN ADIOS.

0m was it. half-month of happiness without
alloy. True, there were moments of pain—the
moments of daily parting—but these were brief,
and perhaps only prevented the oloymentof too
muc joy—if such a thing be possible. More-
over, these short-lived sorrows were in part
neutralized by the knowledge we should soon
meet again; we never parted Without exchang-
ing that fair promise. In the morning, it was
“ hasta la tarde ;” at night our last words were
“ momma par la momma.” Lovers have felt,
and poets have sung, the pleasures of hope; oft
the anticipation of a pleasure rivals in piquancy
its actual enjoyment. '

Alas! there is an ending.

There was so. A crisis came, and we must
part—not with the pret y promise upon our lips
-“ until the morning." “ until the evening,”but
for long weeks, months, maybe years—an un-
certain time—“ hasta se acabo la awn-a. "(until
the war is over).

Our troth was plighted within that same
glade that had echoed our first vows. It had
been plighted a hundred timr s, but never sadly
as now, amidst sobs and tears. When the bright
form, screened by the frondage, had passed out
of sight, I felt as if. the sun had become suddenly
eclipsed.

* s a: a It :0:

It was a struggle between Aurora and the
moon which of them should rule the sky, when
our bugle rung its clear reveflle, rousing the
rangers from their slumber, and startling their
steeds at the stall. The goddess of morning
soon triumphed. and under her soft blue light,
men and horses could be seen moving about,

until the bugle again sounded—this time to
“boot and snddle’~—and the rangers began to
form in the plaza, and prepare for the route.

A sin 19 wagon with its white tilt and long
team 0 mules, already “hitched up,” stood
near the center of the square. It constituted
the whole baggn strain of the corps, and
served as an ambu ance for our invallds. Both
baggage and sick had been safely stowed, and
the vehicle was read for the road. The buglor
already in his sadd e, awaited orders to sound
the “ forward."

The bugle rung clear and loud, and its cheer-
ful notes, as I sprung into the saddle, combined
with the inspiration borrowed from my buoyant
steed, produced a soothing eilfect upon my
spirits.

It was but a short—lived light—o passing
gleam—and soon again fell the shadow, dark as
ever. Strive as I might, I could not cast the
load that weighed upon in bosom; reason as I
would, I could not accoun for its heaviness.

It was natural that a parting like ours should
pfoduce pain, and misgivings as to the future.

y life was to be staked in the lottery of war;
I might fall on the field of fight; I might perish
b comp-pestilencH foe that in the campaign
kills more soldiers than sword or shot—the man
perils of flood and field Wen-ebefore me, and t
was natural I should regard the future with a
de ree of doubtfulness. ‘ I

at it was not the contemplation of all these
dangers that filled Inc with such a terrible fore-
boding. Strange to say I had a forecast that I
should survive them. t Was almost a convic-
tion, yet it failed to comfort me, for it compre-
hended not the safety of Isollna. No—hnt the
contrary. Along with it came the presenti-
ment that we should never meet again.

Once or twice, as this dread feeling beca'me
most acute, I mined up my horse, half resolved
to gallop back; but again the wild idea passed
from me, and 1 confirmed irrcsolutely on. ' .

Something of rudcnce, too, new restrained
me from returning; it uould no longer have
been safe to go back to the rnncheria. As we
issued from the plaza, we could hear distant

’eering, and cries of. “Mm-rm: los Tojcmosl"

t was with difficulty I could restrain the
rangers from turning to take vengeance. One,
the worse for mezcal, had loitered behind—-
under the influence of the drink fancyin'g him-
self secure. Him the pelgdos had “bonneted,”
and otherwise maltreated. They would have
murdered him outri ht, but that some of them
more prudent than t eir fellows, had. counseled
the mob to let him pro—alleging that the Tejanos
were yet “too near, and might come back." '

Again I had strife with my men; the would
have returned and fired the plume ha I per-
mitted them. Fortunately, he who had been
ill-treated was a good- lor- nothing fellow—
scarcely worth the sympathy of his comrades—-
and I was well satisfied at his having received a
lesson. It might be useful, and was much need-
ed for “stragglln ” was one of the ranger-
cr mes most diiflcul to cure. .

Along the road we saw signs of a guerrilla.
Shots were fired at us from a hill: but a 1party
sent to the place encountered no one. orse-
tracks were observed, and once a brace of
mounted men were seen filleping own over a
distant slo . I: might the band 0 ljurra,
and doubt see it was so: but we fancied at the
time that Canales himself was near; and as an
encounter with his large and well-organized
force would be a very iflereut nfl'air from a
skirmish with the other, we felt the necessity of
advancing with caution.

The prospect of a “fight” with this noted
.partlsan created quite an excitement in the

ranks. To have captured Canales—the “ Chap-
arral Fox,” as the Texans termed him—or to
have made conquest of his band, would have
been esteemed a feat of grand cons uence—P
only inferior in importance to a pitche battle,
or the taking of “Gameleg” (Sauta‘Anna)
himself.

I confess that to me the idea of measurin
strength with the famed guerrillero wasat the.
moment rife with charms; and the excitement
derived from the hope of meeting him for a
wile abstracted my mind from its painful

n s. .

Bntgwe reached the town without sering might
of the Chaparral Fox. It was not likely that ho
was on our road- or if so. he took care not to
show himself. danales fought not for glory
alone, and the rangers. were not the foes he
cared to encounter. Rich baggage-trains were
the game he was used to hunt: and our solitary
“com ny-wagon,” filled with fry l‘ng-pans,
cam - ettles, sick soldiers and tattered blankets
—ha f alive with those charming little insocts of
the genera pulem and ppdioulus—had no attrac-
tions for the gallant guerrillero.

On reaching the town we were surprised to
find that the division had not yet moved. It
was to have marched on that morning; but a
countermand had arrived from headquarters,
delaying the movement for some days—perhaps
a week.

This was rare news to me; and as soon as I
heard it. my mind became occupied with pro-
'ects and anticipations of u please nt nature. I

ad hoped that we should be sent back to the

 

'14:

The War Trail.

If

 

rancheria, but alas! no—our orders were to re-
main with the division.

As every available building was occupied by
troops the rangers, as usual, were treated as
“ outsiders," and compelled to take to the
grass.

Half a. mile from the town a spot was shown
us for our camp. It was on the banks of a.
pretty rivulet; and there, having icketed our
steeds, stretched our canvas to t 8 sun, and
washed the dust from our faces, we made our-
selves at home.

I did not remain long by the camp. As soon
as the tents were fairly pitched, I lef them, and
walked back into the town—partly to get more
definite information as to the future movements
of the army, and partly with the design of in-
dulging a little in the social feeling. I had some
old comrades among the different regiments of
the division; and, after such a long spell of rus-
tication, I was not indisposed to refresh my
spirit by the renewal of former fellowships.

At head-quarlers I learned definitely that we
zhcnlgosiot ndiarftl; fgr :iweelfi atIthe legs. d So
arg 'an a r en ngtis, roc e to
the fmdw—the rendezvous of the jovial
spirits of the army. Here I encountered the
friends of whom was in search- and for a
short while I found respite from the thoughts
that had been harrowing me.

CHAPTER XXII.
run norm mono.
Tin leasant excitement caused by my visit
to m o d comrades was soon over, and havin
both ng to do but lounge about my tent,

became in the victim of the same painful
bodin could not shake them ofl.
AI lay stretched upon my leathern catrc, I

fun way to such reflections. I soon succeeded
n reasoning in self into a full belief in fore-
knowledge; an my apprehensions were pro-
portionately strengthened. But I had con—
ceived a design; and the prospect of putting it
into execution somewhat relieved me from the
heaviness I had hitherto felt.

My new project was to take a score of my
best men, to ride back the road we had come,
place the party in ambush near the hacienda,
while I alone should enter the house and further
mg; the counsels I had committed to writin
If should find that these had been alre y
followed, so much the better—I should be
assured, and return content; but I felt almost
certain that Don Ramon had rejected them.
At all events, 1 was determined to know the
truth—determined, moreover, to gratify my
ion :5 for one more interview with my
belov .

I had warned the men and fixed the hour—as
soon as it was dark enough to conceal our
de rture from the camp.

had two reasons for not starting earlier—
first, because I did not wish this private scout-
ing to be known at head-quarters. It is true,
that in such matters we rangers had the advan-
tage of regular troo . Though belonging to
the division, our du y was usually detached
from it, and we were rarely “missed” when
absent. There was thus a sort of lcasant
independence in my command which for one
fully a reciated. For all that, I did not desire
the who 9 world to know of an expedition like
the one projected.

My second motive for going in the night was
simple prudence. I dared not take the whole
of my command along with me without per-
mission from head-quarters. The absence of
the corps without leave would certainly be.
noticed—oven were it but for a few hours—and
with the smaller party I intended to take, cau-
tion would be r uisitc. Should we move
along the road be ore it was deserted, some
swift messenger might carry the tidings an
uncut, and 59 us into trouble.

I designs to start at the earliest hour of
darkness—so that ‘I might not alarm the
hacienda by a midnight Visit. An hour and a
haltfe' of constant riding would bring me to its
83 ,

At the last moment of twilight we leaped
into our saddles, and rode silently into the
Chaparral that skirted the camp. After filing
for some distance through a narrow tpath, we
debouched upon the up—river road— a same
that conducted to the rancheria.

The trappers, Rube and Garey, actin as
scouts, went forward in the advance. boy
were on foot—their horses remaining behind
with the party.

It was a mode of march I had ado ted after
much experience in bushfighting. e scouts
of a marching force should always go on foot,
whether the main body be dragoons or infantry.
In this manner they cap take advantage of the
ground; and by keeping under cover of the
timber, are enabled to reconnoiter the angles of
the road in a much safer way than when on
horseback. The great danger to a scout—and
consequently to the party for which he is acting
—lics in his being first seen, and the risk is

ater when he is mounted. The horse cannot
drawn under cover without an effort, and
the sound of the hoof may be heard; whereas,
in nine cases out of ten, (1 man on foot—that is,

 

 

such a man as either Rube Rowlin s or Bill
Garey—will discover the enemy be ore he is
himself seen, or any ambuscade can be
attempted. Of course the scout should never
advance beyond the possibility of retreating
upon the party he is guiding.

With full confidence in the men who had been
sent forward, we rode on—timing our ce, so
as not to overtake them. New and t on we
caught a glimpse of them, at the further end of
along stretch, skirting the bushes, or stooping
behind the cover, to reconnoiter the road in ad-
vance. To our chagrin, it was clear moonlight,
and we could distinguish their forms at a. great
distance. We should have preferred a darker
n g .

’The road we were traveling upon wasentirel
without habitations; most of it ran throng
light Chaparral forest, with neither clearing nor
homestead. One solitary rancho stood at about
equal distances between the town and the
rancheria, and was known among the rangers
by the familiar sobri net of the “half-way
house.” It was a or oval of yucca, with a
small patch aroun that had once grown yams,
chile— p r, and a stock of maize for whoever
had t lle it' but the occupants of the little
rancho had long since disappeared—the prowl-
ing soldier-robber from the camp had aid it
many a visit, and its household gods lay token
upon the hearth.

We had approached within less than half a
mile of the ruined house, when astrango medley
of sounds reached our ears. Human voices they
were; and home upon the light breeze we could
distinguish them to be the voices of women.
Occasionally harsher toneswere heard minglin
in the murmur, but most of them had the so
ric‘h intonation that distinguishes the female
vo co.

We drew bridle and listened.

The sounds continued in the same confused
chorus, but there was neither song nor joy in
the accents. On the contrary, the night wind
carried upon its wings the voxces of “ lamenta-
tion and wailing.”

“ There are women in trouble," remarked one
of my followers, in a suggestive tone.

The remark caused all of us simultaneously to
plgthe spur and ride forward.

efore we had galloped a dozen lengths, a
man appeared coming from the o posits direc-
tion, and advancing rapidly up t a middle of
the road. We saw it was t e scout Garey;
and, once more reining up, we awaited his ap-
proach.

I was at the head of the little troop, and as
the tra per drew near, I could see his face full
under t 9 light of the moon. Its expression was
ominous of evil tidings.

He spoke not until he had laid his hand upon
the pommel of my saddle, and then only in a
subdued and saddened tone. His words were:

“Thar’s ugly news, capt‘n.”

Oh that terrible foreboding!

“ ews?——ill news?” I stammered out; “what,
for Heaven’s sakei—speak Garey l”

“The ’ve been playin’ the devfl at the ranch-
erle. - hem rufli’ns hez behaved wuss than In-
juns would ’a’ done. But ride forrard, capt’n,
an’ see for y’ursolf. The weemen are clost by
h or at the shanty. Rube’s a—tryin’ topacify
t em, cor critters.”

Oh, but terrible foreboding! 0

1 made no response to Garoy’s last speech,
but rode forward as fast as my horse could
carry me. ~

A brace of minutes brought me up to the
rancho, and there I beheld a. spectacle that
caused the blood to curdle in my veins.

CHAPTER XXIII.
A CRUEL PROSCRIPTION.

THE 0 n space in front of the hovel was oc-
cupied y a roup of women—most of them
young girls. here were six or seven: I did not
count them. There were two or three men,
Mexicans, mixed up in the group). Rube was
in their midst, endeavoring in his rokcn Span-
ish to give them consolation and assurance of
safety. Poor victims! they needed both.

The women were half-naked—some of them
simply on chemise. Their long. black hair fell
loosely Over their shoulders, looking tossed, wet
and draggly. There was blood upon it: there
was blood upon their checks in seams half dried,
but still dropping. The same horrid red mot-
tled their use a and bosoms, and there was blood
upon the hands that had wiped them. A red-
brown blotch ap eared upon the foreheads of
all. In the moon ight it looked as if the skin
had been burnt.

I rode closer to one and examined it. It was
a brand—the fire-stamp of red-hot iron. The
skin around was scarlet; but in the midst of this
halo of inflammation I could distinguish, from
their darker hue, the outlines of the two let-
t‘etr? IS ,wore upon my button—-the well-known

Sbe who was nearest me raised her hands, and
tossing back from her cheeks the thick clustered
hair. cried out:

“ Miralo, senor! mim I”

0h, heaven! my flesh crept as I looked it on
the source of that crimson hemorrhage. er
ears had been cut off—they were wanting!

 

' Santa Anna!

 

I needed no further uplifting of their hair to
satisfy me that the others had been served in
like manner; the red stream still trickling adown
their necks was evidence enough.

The men too had been similarly abused. Two
of them had suffered still further mutilation.
They held up their right arms before my face—
not their hands. There were no hands! 1 saw
the hanging sleeve and the blood-steeped band-
age on the stump. Their hands had been
chopped. off at the wrists. Horrid sight!

Both men and women gathered around me,
sleeping in knees and uttering prayers and en-
treaties. o doubt most of them were known
to me by sight, but their features were now un-
recognizable. They had been the friends and
sweethearts of the corps and my followers
were already addressing them by name. The
lovers of one or two were present, sadly em-
bracing them.

One a peered more richly costumed than the
rest, an n on her my eyes had fallen as I first
rode up. almost dreaded to a pro’ach her, as
she stood a little apart; but no— t could‘not be—
sha was not tall enough; besides, the rufiians
would not dare—

“ Your name, senor-its i"

“ Conchita, senor—la hiya. dcl abalde."

The tears burst from her eyes. mingling with
blood as they ran down her cheeks. Oh that I
too could have we ti Poor Wheatleyl he was
not with us. He ad yet to receive the blow.
It would soon fall.

My heart was on fire; so were those of my
followers. They swore and foamed at the
mouth. Some drew pistols and knives. calling
out to me to lead them on. Never saw I men in
such a frenzy of rage; the most cold-blooded
among them seemed to have suddenly gone mad.

I could scarce$ restrain them til we should
hear the tale. a guessed it already. but we
needed some details to guide us in the execution
of vengeance. it was told by many months, inc
terru pting or confirming one another.

One of the men was more coherent—Pedro,
who used to sell mecca] to the troop. To him
we listened. The substance of his story was as
follows:

Shortl after we had left the rancheria it was
entered y the uerrilleros with cries of “Viva
iva Mexico!” and “Death to
the Yankees!" They commenced by breakin
open the ticndas. and drinking mewal an
whatever the could find. They were joined by
the mob of he place—by lrperos and others.
Pedro noticed the herredero (blacksmith) and
the matador (cattle-killer) taking a conspicuous
part. There were many women in the mob-—
the mistresses of the guerrilleros, and others of.
the town.

After drinking a while, they grew more ex-
cited. Then was heard the cry, “Matron loo
Auankieados !” and the crowd scattering in
different directions, entered the houses, shout-
ing, ” Sa los afuera.’ matenlos!" (Drag
them out! kill themg

The poor girls, an all who had been friendly
to the A ericanos, were dragged into the
plans. smi st the oaths and execrations of the
guerrilla, and hissings and booting; from the
mob. They were spit upon, called by filthy
names, pelted with mud and melon-finds, and
then some of the crowd suggested that they
should be marked, so that their friends the
Tejanos should know them again. The en —

estion was adopted; the women more flen -
ish than the men, exciting the latter to the
(1de Voices were heard calling to the black-
smit :—

“ Trai'ga elflerro I traiga el fierro 1” (Bring
the branding-iron!) .

Others cried out, “Swan [as orejaa! (Cut
ofl their ears.)

The brutal blacksmith and butcher, both half-
drunk, obeyed the call—willingly, Pedro al-
leged. The former used the bran ing-iron—al—
read prgmred—wbile the latter performed his
bl y o co with the knife of his trade!

Most of the guerrilleros wore masks. The
leaders were all masked, and watched the pro-

'ceedings from the roof of the alcalde’s house.

One Pedro knew in spite of his disguise; he knew
him by his great size and red hair: it Was the
salteador, El Zorro. Others be guessed at; but
he had no doubt it was the band of Don Rafael
Ijurra—nor had we.

Had they left the rancheria before Pedro and
the others came away?

Pedro thought not; he and the other victims,
as soon as they at out of the hands of the mob,
had fled to the c sperm], and were making for
the American camp when met by our scouts.
They were straggling along the read one after
the other; Rube had detained them by the
rancho, till we should come up. '

Pedro feared that they were not all who had
suffered—that there were other victims; the
alcalde, he feared, had been worse than muti-
lated—he had been murdered.

This last information the r fellow imported
in a whisper—at the same time casting a sorrow—
iug look toward Conchita. I had not the can!»
age to inquire further.

The question arose whether we should send.
back for more men, and wait till they arrived,
or advance at once to the rancheria.

'The War Trail.

15

 

 

The former was negativod with unanimous
voice. We were strong enough, and vengeance
was impatient.

I was joyed by this decision; I could not have
waited.

The women were directed to continue on to
the ranger-cam ; Pedro, mounted behind, one
of the men. sbou d go with us. We needed him
for urposes of identification.

e were about to move forward, when a
figure appeared along the road in the direction
we were going to take. On coming Within sight
of us, the figure was seen to skulk and hide in
the bushes.

Rube and Garey ran ra idly forward; and in
a few minutes returned ringing with them a
Mexican youth—another of the Victims!

He had left the scene of his sufferings some-
what later than the rest.

Was the guerrilla still in the place!

110' the were gone from the village.

“ Whit or?” was the anxious interrogatory.

They had taken the firiver road, toward the
hacienda do Var as. ey had passed the boy
as he lay coucea d among some magueys; he
had heard their cries as they rushed past.

“ What cries?”

They shouted: “ Musran al padre 3/ Mia I"
(Death to father and daughter.)

“ Oh, merciful God!”

, CHAPTER XXIV.
rm: nivonao or run (30%

I STAYED to hear no more, but drove the spur
against the ribs of my horse. till he sprung in
full gallop along the road. or as were my
men to follow, ’twas as much as they could do
to keep up.

We no ion thought of scouts or cautious
marching. he trappers had mounted, and
were a loping with the rest. We thought
only-o time. '

We rode for the hacienda de Vargas straight
3 the river. Although it was be 0nd the run-

eria, we could reach it wit out ssing
through the latter—which lay some ' tancs
back mm the stream. We could return to the

village afterward, but first for the hacienda.
There I wished to arrive in the shortest time

possible.
The miles flew behind us, like the dust of the

Oh, should we uot'be in time! I feared to
calculate the length of the interval since the
boy had heard that rabble rout. Was it more
than an hour? Five miles to the ranoho. and he
on foot. Had he traveled rapidly? Yes, here
and there; but he had made asto ; some men
had passed bin, and he had h dden in the
bushes till they were out of sight. He had been
more than an hour on the we -nearly two,
and one would be enough for t e execution of

the darkest deed. Oh, we should not arrive in ‘

time!

There was no dela now; We were going at
top-speed, and in 5 once, scarcely exc angin
a word. Alone might be heard theclattering o
hoofs, the'chiukin of bits, or the ringing of
steel soabbadis. either the slimy gutter nor
the deep rut of oarreta wheels stayed our ad-
vance; our homes leaped over, or went swelter-
in through them.

:1 flve minutes we came to the rinconada,
where the'road forked—the left branch leading
to the village. We saw no on , and kept on by
the right—the direct road the hacienda.
Another mile, and we should reach the house;
a quarter of that distance, and we should come
in sight of it; the trees alone hindered our view
of its walls. On—on!

What means that light? Is the sun rising in
the west? Is the chaparral on fire? Whenca
comes the yellow gleam. half intercepted by
the trunks of the trees? Is it not the moon?

“ Ho! the hacienda is in flames l”

“No—it cannot be? A house of stone, with
scarcely enough ,timber to make a blaze! It
miicnoi: betthat?” w,

no that. e emer from the forest;
thehaoienda is before our eggs. Its white walls
gleam under a yellow ligh the light of fire.
at not of a con ration. The house stands in-
tact._ A hu ' bon re burns in front of the por-
tal; it west is that caused the glare through
thgvforasst. d
6 "1" u a" 883° 11 it with su rise.
We behold is age pile—t ematerial sulppplied
from the household stock of dry fagots_a, vast
blaze drownin the pale moonshine. We can
see the hacien a, and all around it, as distinctly
as by the light of day!

For what purpose this holocaust of crackling
acacias7

Around theflrewe behold many forms liv-
ing and moving. There are men, women, dogs,
and saddled horses. Hu 5 joints are roasting
over the red coals, and others, roasted, are
being greedin eaten. Are they savages who
surround that blazing ilel .

No—we can see their faces with full distinct-
ness, the white skins and black boards of the
men, the cotton garments of the women: we
can see sombreros and scrapes; cloth cloaks and
calzonoros of velveteen. sashes and sabers;_ we
can distinguish their voices as they shout, sing,
and carouse; we note their lascivious move-

 

ments in the national dance—the fandango.
No Indians they—’tis a bivouac of the guerril—
leros~the ruflians for whom we are in search!

Oh, that I had listened to the voice of pru—
dence, and adopted the strategy of a surround!
But my blood was boiling, and I feared to lose
even a moment of time, est we might be too
late. But one or two of my followers coun-
seled delay. and, as the event proved they
were the wisest. The rest, like myself, were
im atient for action.

he word was given; and like hounds, fresh
loosed from the leash, we rushed forward with
charging cheer.

It was the madness of fools. Well knew our
enemy the hoarse Texan “ hurrah i" It had
been shouted to terrify them, when there was
no need. They would never have stood ground.

The shout warned them, causing them to scat-
ter li a a herd of deer. The steep hill proved
too heavy for our horses; and before we could
reach its summit, the main body of the guer-
rilla had mounted and scampered off into the
darkness. Six of them fell to our shots; and as
many more, with their she-associates. remained
prisoners in our hands; but as usual that subtle
coward had contrived to escape.

Pursuit was idle- they had taken to the dark
woods be and the bill.

I thong t not of pursuit; my mind was bent
on a far diflerent purpose. V

I rode into the patio. The court was lit up
b the glare of the fire. It presented a icture
of ruin. Rich furniture was scattered a utin
the veranda and over the voment, broken or
tumbled down. I called er name—the name
of Don Ramon. Loudly and earnestly did I
raise my voice, but echo gave the only reply.

I dismounted, and rushed into the Veranda,
still vociferating, and still without receiving a
response.

I hurried from room to room—from mun-ta
to solo—from sala to saguan—u to the azotea
—everywhero—even to the capi in the rear.
The moonbeams gleamed u n the altar, but no
human form was there. T 6 whole house was
deserted: the domestics—even the women of
the cocina—had disappeared. M horse and I
seemed the only living things wit in these walls
—for m followers had remained outside with
their prisoners. »

A sudden hope gleamed across my heart.
Peiha the had taken my counsel, and gone
ofl.’ be ore t a mob appeared? Heaven grant
it might be so! _

Irushed out to question the captives. They
should know, both men and women; they could
certainly tell me. '

A glance showed me I was too late to receive
information from the men. A large pecan tree
stood at one corner of the building. The fire-
light glared upon it: from its branches hung
six human forms with drooping heads, and feet
{jar 'from the earth. They had just caused to

ve.

One told me that the herredero was some
them, and also- the cruel matador. Pedro be
identified both. The others were peladosof the
town, who had borne part in the affair of the
day. Their judges had made quick work, and
equally quick had been the ceremony of execu-
tion. Lazos had been reeved over the limbs of
the pecan, and with these all six had been jerked
up without shrift or prayer.

It was not revenge for which I panted. I
turned to the women; many of these had made
011', but there were still a dozen or more in the
hands of the men. They looked ha gard with
drink; some sullen. and some terri ed. They
had reason to be afraid.

In answer to my questions, they shook their
heads, but gave me no information. Some re-
mained doggedly silent; others denied all
knowledge of Don Ramon or his daughter.
Threats had no eflect. The either knew not,
or feared to tell what had fallen them. Oh
heaven! could it be the latter?

I was turning away angered and despairing,
when my eyes ell u n a figure that seemed to
skulk under the she ow of the walls. A shout
of joy escaped me as I recognized the boy Cy-
prio, just emerging from his place of conceal-
ment.

“ Cyprio?” I cried.

“SE senor.” answered he, advancing rapidly
to where I stood.

“ Tell me, Cyprio, where are they gone—
where—wherel” 7 ,

“ Cami, senor! these bad men have car-
ried the dueno away; I do not know whither.”

“The senora? the senora?"

“Oh! cavallem I es and cosa espantosa !” (It
is a terrible thing.)

“ Quick, tell me all! Quickly. Cypriol”

“Senor, there came men With black masks,
who broke into the' house and carried 011’ the
master; then thev dragged out Dona Isolina
into the patio! Some went to the caballeriza,
and led out the white horse—the steed that was
brought from the llmwa.  his back they
bound Isolina. Valga. me dios! such a sight!”

“ Go on i”

“Then, senor, they led the horse across the
rivar, and out to the plain beyond. All went
along, to see the s rt, as they said—at] de mi!
such sport! I (ll not go, for they beat and

 

threatened to kill me; but I saw all from the
hill-top, where I had hidden myself in the
bushes. 0 Santissima Maria I”

U Go  I" n .

“Then, senor, they stuck cohrtes in the lll'f‘r:
of the horse, and set them on fire. and pulled
off the bridle, and the steed went 01!, with rim-—
rockéts after him, and Dona Isolinn. tied down
upon his back—pnbre scnorita ! I could see the
horse till he was far, far away from the ll mo,
and then I could see him no more. Dion da. mi.
alma! la m‘na aria perdidal (Alasl the young

lady is lost !)”
Rube! Garey! Manda-—

“Some water!
water! water!—”

I made an attempt to reach the fountain in
the patio; but, after staggering dizzin a pace or
two. my strength failed me, and I fellme
to the earth. __

CHAPTER XXV.
TAKING '1'an TRAIL.

I HAD merely swooned. The shock of the
horrid nsWI was too much for my powers of cm
durance.

I was insensible only for a short while; the
cold water revived me.

When consciousness returned I was by the
fountain, my back leaning against its parapet
edge; Rube, Garey and others were around me.
From In drip ing garments I perceived that
they h douc ed me, and one was pouring a

spirit down my throat.

ere were men on horseback, who had
ridden into the patio_—the iron hoof: causing
the court to ring. They were rangers, but not
those who had left camp in my company. Some
had arrivad since, and others were stil gallop-
ing up. The girls had reached the ranger camp.
and told their tale. The men had not waited
for orders, or even for one another, but rushing
to their horses, took the road in‘ two: and threes.
Every moment a horseman or several together,
came riding forward in hot haste, carrying
their rifles, as if read for action, and uttering
loud cries of indignat on.

Wheatlev had arrived among the foremost

Poor fellow! his habitual buoyancy had a-
parted: the gay smile was gone from his li .
His eyes wore on fire, and his teeth set in
stem expression of heart-consuming vengeance.

Amid the hoarse shouting of the men, heard
screaming in the shriiler voices of women. It
came from without.

I rose hastily and ran toward the spot; I saw
several of the wretched captives stripped to the
waist, and men in the act of flog ing them with
mule nirts and pieces of rawh s ro .

1 he feared it was worse; I had cared that
their captors wore inflicting upon them a retali~
ation in kind. But no—angry as were my fol-
lowers, the had not proceeded to such a fiend-
ish extremity.

It require all the authority of a command to
put an end to the distressing spectacle. The
desisted at length, and the screeching and -
frighted wretc es were permitted to take them-
selves away—all disappearing rapidly beyond
the light of the fire.

At this crisis a about was raised: “To the
ranchena, to the rsncherla!" and instantly a
party, with Wheatley and Holincsworth at

ts head, rode of! for the village. Pedro' went
along with them. .

I waited not for their return: I had formed a
plan of action for myself that would admit of
no delay in its exrcution. ‘ -

At first, stunned by the blow,and the distrac-
tion of my swooning senses. I had not been able
to think: as soon as the confusion passed, and I
could reflect more clearly, the course I ought to

ursue was at oncea arent. Vengeance I had

elt as the first impu se,~and a strong desire to

follow up the fiend Ijurra—night and dav to
follow him—thou h the pursuit should lead me
into the heart of t p hostile ound.

This was but a momen ary impulse; ver»
geance must be stifled for the time. A path
was to be taken that widely diverged frrm that
of this retreating guerrilla—the trail of the a bite
stee .

Mo'unting Cyprio. and choosing from my bum!
half adozm or the best trackers, was the worl;
of amoment, In another we were in the sad.
dle. and, descending the hill, we plunged rapid -
ly through the stream, crossed the skirting tim-
ber. and soon rode out upon the open prairie,

Under Cyprio’s guidance. we found the spot
desecmted by that cruel display. The ground
was trampled bV many hoofs; fragments of
paper—powder blackened—broken rocket-sticks
and lialf-bnrntfusfs, strewed the award—the
pyrotechnic rehqmae of the fiendish spectacle,

We halted not there. By the aid of our guide
and the mooullght, we rode clear of the confu-
sion; and takm up the trail of the horse. struck
01! upon it, an were soon far out upon the
prairie. ‘

For more than a mile we advanced at a 
Time was evervthing. Trusting to the nte 7-
gence of the Mexican boy. we scarcelv Scruti-
nized the track, but made directly for the point
where the horse had been last seen; '

rio’s information did not deceive us. A
motto of timber had served him as a mark; the
steed had passed close to its edge. Beyond it,

16‘.

I

V II‘llhe . war Trail. .

 

Egg-Lad seen him no more, and the boy was sent

Beyond it, we had found the tracks, easily
recogniza' ble by Rube, Gnarls?v and myse .
There was a peculiarity by w ch we were pre
vented from mistaking them; three of the prints
were clearly cut inithe turf—almost rfect
circles—the curve of the fourth—of the o fore-
foot—was interru ted b a slight indentation,
wherea piece ha been ken from the hoof.
It had been done in that terrible leap upon the
rock bed of the barranca.

Ta ng the trail again, we kept ou—now ad-
vancing at a slower pace, and with a greater
degree of caution. Late rains had moistened the
prairie-turf, and we could perceive the tracks
"without dismounting. At intervals, there were
stretches of drier surface, where the hoof had
scarcely left its in) ression. In suchplaces, one
loamd from the die, and led the way on foot.
Bu or Garey usually performed this office;
andsorapidly did the move along the trail,
that our horses were om in a walk. With
bodies half bent, and eyes, gliding along the

d,'they pressed forward like hounds mm
by the scent, but, unlike these, the trackers
‘ no noise. Not a word was spoken by any
one.’ I had no list for gieechsmy agony was

' too intense for utterance. V , '

. _ Despite my heart’s bitterness, I could not hogs
thinking of the ck legent The fam
ohmic picture came vividly re my mind.
Wide was the distance between the Ukraine and

' theRio vo. Had the monsters who re-en‘
Med t sceneon the banks of the Mexican
river—had these ever heard of Mazepfii Pos-

.. , sibl their leader had; but it was's 'l more
. prong that the fiendish thought was priginal.

The fashion at least was. yprio had seen
anddescribed it. . , V
; She.qu longitudinally upon the back of
of themed. her head resting .upon the point of

g , , his shoulder. Box-Jaw was downward, her

  - cheek. touching the wit-hers. , Her arms em—

r ‘ , ' , braced the neck, and her wrists were made fast

 ' r the animal’s throat. Her body was held
in this position by means of; belt around her
waist attached to a surcingle on the horse—both
flcbtgybflcklad. In addition to this, her ankles,
Egan r by a thong. were fastenedto

0
hi

Wood as I listened to the details.

The, ligature was perfect—cruelly couELete.
There was ohope that such fastenings uld
airs way Those thongs of raw hide would not
come one. Horse and rider could never part
frnu that u milling embrace—never till hunger.
thin ., death—no, not. even death could part
them! Oh. horror! ,

nt without  could I contemplate the
h _ , fate o my betrothed—of 'her whose
love had become my life. ,

I left the tracking to my comrades and my
horse to follow after. I rode with loose rein
and head drooping forward; I scarcely gave

to design. My heart was well-nigh

-s-s——

, CHAPTER XXVI. -
, r We BY CLNDLELIGBT.
WI had not gone far when some one closed
' ‘_ up bride me, and muttered a werd of cheer; I
lead the friendly voice of thebig trapper.
“mow be afeerd capt’n," said he, in a tone
die-couragement; ‘don‘t be afeerdl Rube an’
 me'll find em afore thar‘s any harm done. I
y ‘ don’t b’lievethe white hoes'il gallip (or, know-
(at; in’ that’s someb'dy on his back. It war them
.‘ 3 -"" gnu-cracks that act him 08. When the burn
 , ’outlie’llcometoadead halt, an’ th
V i” inquired mechanically.
_ , up, an.’ your black‘ll be ableto
‘ . ,ovghaul h min ajump or two."
' began to feel h V It was but a momentary
m, and Mad as in thenext instant.
" If the moon ’ud only hold out,” continued
Gaye , with an emphasis denoting doubt.
' ' the moon " said a voice interrupting
; “’ohe’s s-gwine to guv out. Wagh " _
,wss Rube who had uttered the unpleasant
' ication, in a peevish, but posit ve tone.
eyes were turned toward. v The moon,
round and white, Vvas sailing throu h a cloud-
llas'jky, and almost in the zenith. w, then,
was she to "give out?” She was near the full
', not set before morning. What did

 

 

 

  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
    
   
 
  

of The estiou was puttohim.
"Lookee’aadsr said he in re y. “D’ees
as. thet or black line, down ow. on the

 ‘ There appeared a dark streak along the hori-
, .mmtheeastward. Yesfivesawit. ,
“Wei.” continued Rube, “ thur’s no'timber
their—ne‘er a stick—nor h h groun’ neyther:
nrl’or thet ur’s acloud- ’ve Iee’d the likes
' Wait a bit. .Wa i In jest ten min-
the darned thing’ll verup the moon, an’
be thet putty blpa sky look as black as the
0’ an Afrikiu mggir—at will.”
 ,I’m afeerd he’s right, cept’n.” said Garey,
lam. nding tone. “1 war dwbtful, o’ it
myself: e.hky looked tooncar. ,Ididn’tlike
vita bit: tha’a always a change when things are
shatter, ’11 common.” .
 I needed not to inquire the consequences,

\ , 

  

cups. with her feet projecting beyond the, i

 

should Rube’s prediction prove correct; that
was evident to all of us. The moon once ob-
scured by clouds, our regress would be arrest-
ed: even a. horse cou d not be tracked in the
darkness.

We were not long in suspense. Again the
foresi ht of the old tralpper provod unerring.
Gumui rolled up the s y one after another,
until their black masses shrouded the moon. At
first they came only in detached clouds, and
there was light at intervals‘ but these Were
only the advanced columns 0 a heavier bod ,
that soon after appeared; and without 9. hrs ,
spread itself pail-like over the flrmament.

The moon‘s rlisk became entirely hidden from
our view; her scattered beams died out; and
the prairie lay dark as if shadowed by an

ecl'ipse

9 could follow the trail no further. The
round itself was not visible, much less the
oof- rints we had been tracing; and halting
simu taneously, we drew our horses together,
and sat in our saddlesto deliberate upon what
was best to be done.

The consultation was a short one. They who
formed that little party were all men of prairie
or backwoods experience," and well versed in
the ways of the wilderness. It tookth'em but
little time to decide what course should be fol-
lowed; and they were unanimous in their
Opinion. Should the sky continue clouded, we
must give up the pursuit till mornin , or ado t
21hr; (tinly alternative—follow the tra' by to

“Ecoutez, mon capitainel” cried Le Blane,
an old voyageur—-“ecputezl- vy mono ride
back, et von lanterns hung from ze ville Mexi-
caiue?” '

True, why
miles from the tancheria.
was a good one. .

“Je connais,” he continued—“ know I, pe
gar! ze ver spot ou-‘—vere~—sont cachees—hid les
chandelles magniflques—von, deux, t’ree big
candle—vex, vax—’ ,

not} We were yet but a few
The 'Canadian’s idea

“ Wax-candles?” r

“ Oui—oui, messieurs! tres grand comma un
baton; as ver chose. pour allumer la prairie.”

“ You know where they are? A You could find
them, Le Blane?” ,

“ Oui, messieurs—je connais: les chandelles
sont’cachees dans l’eglise—zey are in so church

“ Hal in the church?" ‘ _ .

“Oui, messieurs; c’est un grand sacrilege,
mon Dieu! ver bad; mais n’implorte cela. Eef
mou capitaine permis—vill a ow pour aller
Monsieur Quack’bosh, he go cbez moi; nous
chercherons; ve bring ze chandelles—pe gar vs
bring him!” A ‘ ‘ -

From the mixed gibberish of the voya ur. I
could ther his meaning well enoug He
knew o a depository of wax-candles and the
church of the rancheria was the place in which
they were kept.

I was not in a frame of mind to care' much
for the sacrilege, and my com anions were still
less scru ulous. The act was etermlned upon,
and Le lane and Quackenboss, without more
delay, took the back track for the vi 9.

The rest of us dismounted; and, cketing
our horses to the grass, lay down to await the
returnof the messengers.

These did not linger. Two hours had been
allowed them to perform their errand; but long
before the expiration of that period, we heard
the double tramp of their horses as they came
galloping across the lain.

In a few minutes t e rode up, and 6 could
see in the hands of Le lenc threewh tish ob-
jects, that in length and thickness resembled

duller magn . _ _
The were t roperty of the church—de-
si no doubt, a have illumined the altar
upon the occasion of some grand did defiesm.

“ Voila! men on itainel" cried the Canadian,
as he rode forw -—.-“ voila les chandelles! Ahl
mon Dieul c’est von big sacrilege, et suis bon
Chretien—buen Catolioo, as do call in zedam
Mexicaine; bled—es hon Dieu meforg‘lv
vs pardon vill pour—for as grand necessitie;

stout walking-canes. We recognized les chan- '

sure certaine he will me pardon—Lise et moi—.

ze brave Monsieur Quack’bosbL”

The messengers had brought news from the
village. Borne rough proceedings had taken

lace since our departure. Men had been p -
ished; fresh victims had been foundgunder t a
guidance of Pedro and others of the abused.
The trees in the church inclosure that night
bore horrid frmt. ‘ ,

The alcalde was not dead: and Don Ramon,
it was an posed, still survived, but had been
carried 0 a prisoner by the guerrilla! The
rangers were yet at the rancherla; many had
been desirous of returning with Le Blanc and
Quaokenboss but I had sent orders to the hem

tenants to take all back to camp as soon astheir ,

aflair was over. The fewer of the troop that
should be absent, the less likelith of our be-
ing missed, andthose I-had with me I deemed
enough for my pin-pose. Whether successful or
not, we shoul soon return to'camp. It would
then be, time to devise some scheme for captur-
ing tehde leader and prime lactorin this terrible
rag y. *

 

Hardly waiting to hear the story, we lighted
the great candles, and moved once more along
the trail.

Fortunately, the breeze was but slight, and
only served to make the huge waxen torches
flare more freely. By their brilliant blaze we
were enabled to take up the tracks, quite as
rapidly as by the moonlight. At this paint, the
horse ad been still going at full gallop; and his
course, as it ran in a‘ direct line, was the more
easily followed.

Dark as the night was, we soon perceived we
were heading for 3. int well known to all of
us—a prairie moun - and, under a faint belief
that the steed might have there come to a stop,
we pressed forward with a sort of hopeful an-
ticipation.

After an hour’s tracking, the white cliffs
loomed within the circle of our view—the shin-
ing selenite glancing back the light of our tapers,
like a wall set with di ‘monds.

As the trappers conjectured, they found the
tracks 1n the muddy mar ‘11 of the spring~
branch. The steed had dran at the ; but
immediately after bad resumed his wggo flight,
ROW westward from the mound.

by bad he gone off at a gallo l Had he

been alarmed by alight? Or ha be taken

{)resll:a aflright at the strange rider upon his
so ’ '

I questioned Garey. I saw that he knew why.
He needed ressing for the ansWer.

He gave it at length, but with evident reluc-
tance. These were his words of ex lanation:

f‘ Thar are wolf-tracks on the l” '

CHAPTER XXVlI.
WOLVES ON THE TRACK.
‘ THE wolves, then, were after him!

The trackers had made out their footprints in
the mud of the arroyo. Both kinds had been
there—the large brown wolf of Texas, and the
small barking coyote of the plains. A full pack
there had been, as the trappers could telllgy
the numerous tracks, and that they were f -
lowing the horse, the tracks also testified to these
men of strange intelligence. How knew they
this? By What sign! '

GTo my inquiries, I obtained answer from

arey. . - -
Above the spring—branch extended a shelving
bank; up this the steed had bounded, after
drinking at the pool. Up this, too, the wolves
had sprung after; they had left the indentation
of their claws in the soft loam. .

How knew Garey that they were inpursult o
the horse?  *

The “scratches ” told him they were going at
their fastest, and the would not have sprung
so far had they not
There were footmarks of 'no other. animal except
theirs and the hoof-prints of the steed; and that
they were after him was evidenttothe trapper,
because the tracks of the wolves coveredthose
of the horse. '

Garey had no more doubt of the correctness
of is reasoning than a geometrician of the
trut of a theorem in Eucl d .

That they might succeed in running down the
steed, cumbered as he was, ‘was probable.
enough. Sooner or later, they would overtake
him. I It mi ht be after along, long gallop over
hill and e, through swamp and chagarral;
but still, it was pro able those tough, 'relesa
pursuers would Overtake him. They would

aunch themselves upon his flanks; they would

seize upon his wearied limbs—upon hers, the

helpless victim on his back—both horse and

rider would be drag ed to the earth—7m torn
n

— vo i . -
eroaned'einder the horrid apprehension.

“Look tharl” said Gare ,, pointing to the

und, and holdin his tore soastdilluminate
he surface; “the 0st has made a slip char.
See! hyar’s the track 0’ the big wolf—he has
apron up jest hyar; I can tell by the sciach
0 his ind claws.” ' ' , .

I examined the “ si " Even to my eyes it
wasreadable,end us as Gareyhadinterpl‘oled
it. There were or. er tracks of wolves on the
dam soil, but one had certainly launched him-
self orward, in a lot: leap, as‘ th is in an of-
fort to fasten himsel u the firm of some
animal. The hoof-mar plainly showed that
the steed had slipped as heggrung over the wet
grass; and this bad temp the spring.of the
watchful pursuer. ' ' '

w. hurled at. Our excited feelingsbh'ademd 

us from paneling longer than a motpent. Both
rangers and trap shared my eagerness. as
wel as my a pre alone. Fast as thetorches
could be ad, we hurried on.

Short] after parting from the mesa, there
oocurr a change in our foyer; the clouds
were fast driving from the face of the flrma‘
ment. In‘ five minutes more the moon would
shine forth. Already her, racted rays light-

ened the rairie.
We di not stgfi'for her fuli beam; time was
too precious. l trusting to the torches, we

hurried on.

The beautiful queen of the night kept her '

promise. In five minutes, her cheering orb shot
out beyond the margin of the dark pail that
had hitherto shrouded it; and her white disk,
as if purified by the storm, shone with 1m-

1

 

n pursuing some prey. .

r
t
x
l

  

4'._._...-.— u... n

The War Trail.

17

 

 

wonted brightness. The ground became con-
spicuous almost as in da ; the torches were ex-
tinguished, and we to IOWed the trail more
rapidly by the light of the moon.

Here, still in full gallop, had passed the wild-
horse, and for miles beyond—still had be gone
at utmost speed. Still close upon his heels had
followed the ravenous and untiring wolves.
Here and there were the prints of their clawed

- feet—the signs of their unflagging pursuit.

The roar of water sounded in our ears; it
came from the direction toward which the trail
Eves conducting us; a. stream was not far dis-

ant.

We soon diminished the distance. A glassy
sheet glisteued under the moonlight, and to-
ward this the trail trended in a straight line.

It was a river—a cataract was near, down
which the water came tumbling, broken b the
rocks into hummocks of white foam. nder
the moonlight, it appeared like an avalanche of
sn0w. The trappors recognized an affluent of
the Rio Bravo, running from the north-from
the high step e of the Llano Estacado. .

We hurrie forward to its bank, and opposite
the frothing rapids. The trail conducted as to
this point—to the very edge of the foaming
water. It led no further. There were the
hoof—marks forward to the brink, but not back.
The horse had lunged into the torrent.

Many a bun red yards had Moro swum with
his rider on‘his back—many a current had he
pilot: with his proud breast far more rapid than
. in .

I headed him to the bank, gave him the spur,
and w.—nt plunging into the flood.

_Piunge—plunge-—plungel I heard behind me
till the last of my followers had launched them-
selves ou the wave, and were swimming silent-
ly over.

One after another we reached the opposite
side, and ascended the bank.

Huri-iedly I counted our number as the men
rode out; one had 'not yet arrived. Who was
missing?

“Rube,” answered some one.

I glanced back. but without feeling any un-

ness. I had no fear for the trapper; Garey
eged he was “safe to turn up.” Something
had detained him. Could his old mare swim?

“Like a. mink,” replied Gare ; “ but Rube
won‘t ride her across; he's afeer to sink her too
dee in the water. See! yonder he comesl”

ear the middle of the stream, two faces
were observed ripplin the wave, one directly
in the wake of the 0 or. The foremost was
the grizzled front of the old mustang, the other
the unmistakable hysiognomy of er master.
The moonlight s ining upon both rendered
them conspicuous above the dark brown water;
and the spectacle drew a laugh from those who
had reached the bank.

Rube’s mode of crossing was unique, like
every action of this singular man. Perha he
adopted it from sheer eccentricity, or may e in
(fardelr that his mustang might swim more

ree y.

He had ridden gently into the water, and kept
his saddle till the mare was beyond her depth—
then sliding backward over her hips, he took the
the tail in is teeth, and part1 towed like a fish
upon the hook, and partly 3 king to assist in
the passage. he swam after. As soon as the
mare again touched bottom, he drew himself up
ggslthe croupe, and in this way regained his

e. ,

Mare and man, as they climbed out on the
bank—the thin skeleton bodies of both reduced
to their slenderest dimensions by the soaking
water—presented a spectacle so ludicrous as to
elicit a fresh chorus of laughter from his com-
rades.

I stayed not till its echoes had died away: but
pressing my steed along the bank, soon arrived
statliie rapids, where I expected to recover the
tr .

To my joy, hoof-marks were there, directly
zippmite the point where the steed had taken to

estream. Rube was right. He had waded
safely across.

Thank heaven! at least from that peril has
she been saved!

CHAPTER XXVIII.
A _IBURNING PRAIRIE. ,

0N resuming the trail, I was cheered by three
considerations. The peril of the flood was
ast-she was not drowned. .The wolves were
hrown ofl—the dangerous_rnpid had deterred
them; on the other side their footprints were no
longer found. Thirdly, the steed wdslackened
his pace. After Climbing the bank, he had set

OH in a rapid gait, but not at a gallolp.

" He’s been pacin’ hyar!" remar ed Garey,
as soon as his eyes rested upon the tracks.

I knew that gait peculiar to the prairie horse,
fast but smooth as the amhle of a palfrey. His
rider would scarcely perceive the gentle move-
ment; her torture would be less.

Perhaps, too, no longer frightened by the
fierce pursuers, the horse would come ton stop.
His wearied limbs would admonish him, and
then— ,

Surely he could not have gone much further?

We, too, were wearied, one and all; but these
pleasing conjectures beguiled us from thinking

 

 

of our toil, and we advanced more hopefully
along the trail.

Alas! it was my fate to be the victim of alter-
nate hopes and fears. My new-sprung joy was
short~lived, and fast fleeted away.

We had one buta few hundred paces from
the river w on we encountered an obstacle that
proved not only a serious barrier to our progress,

ut almost brought our tracking to a termina-
tion.

This obstacle was a forest of oaks, not giant
oaks, as these famed trees are usually desig-
nated, but the very reverse—a forest of dwarf
oaks (Quercus nana). Far as the eye could
reach extended this singular wood in which no
tree rose above thirt inches in hightl Yet was
it no thicket—no un ergrowth of shrubs—hut a
true forest of oaks, each tree having a separate
stem, its bouglis, its lobed leaves, and its bunches
of brown acorns.

“ Shin oak,” cried the trappers, as we entered
the verge of this miniature forest.

“Waghl” exclaimed Rube, in a tone of im-
patience, “hyur’s bother. ’Ee may all get out
0’ y’ur saddles an’ rest for critturs; we‘ll hev
to crawl hyur.”

And so it resulted. Forllong, weary hours we
followed the trail going not faster than We
could have crawled upon our hands and knees.
The tracks of the steed were plain enough, and
in daylight could have been easily followed; but
the little oaks grew close and regular as if plant-
ed by the hand of man; and through their thick
folia e the moonlight scarcely penetrated. Their
bong almost touched each other, so that the
whole surface lay in dark shadow, rendering it
almost impossible to make out the hoofprints.
Here and there a broken branch or a bunch of
tossed leaves—their under sides shining glau-
cous in the moonlight—enabled us to advance at
a quicker rate; but as the horse had passed gen-
tly over the ground, these “signs’ were few
and far between.

For long, fretful hours we toiled through the
“shin oak “forest, our heads far overtopping
the tallest treesl We might have fancied that
we were threading our wa through some ex-
tended nursery. The tra' led direct] across
its central part; and ere we had reach its fur-
thest ver 9 the moon’s rays were mingling with
the urp a light of morning.

9 had worked our way about five miles
through the jungle when I began to feel 'a
strange sensation in the e es—a sensation of
pain—what is usually terme a “smarting.” I
at first attributed it to the want of sleep.

My companions complained that they were
affected in a similar manner.

It was not until we had gone some distance
further that we found the true explanation—on
erceiving that there was smoke in the air!
moke it was that was causing the bitterness in
our eyes.

As we advanced, the glance of the men
became more uneasy. Beyond a doubt, the
smoke was thickening around us the sky was
fast becoming darker, and the pain in our eyes
more acute. ,

“Ah, Monsieur Boob!” cried the Canadian,
“vat make zoos diable d’une fumes—smoke?
Are ze woods on fire—you t’ink-eh’i"

“ Wudsl" exclaimed Rube, with a contemptu—
ous lance at the speaker. “ Waghl Thur‘s no
wu s hyur. Thur s a paraira aflre. Don’t yer
smell the stink o’ the grass ?”

“Pe gar. ouii vraiment—c’est 1a prairie?
You sure, Monsieur Roch?”

"_Sure‘!” vociferated the trap r in a tone of
indignation. “ Sure! ye ~durn parley—voo-eat-
a-frog‘spit-a-brickbat-soup-suckin’ Frenchman.
d’yur think I don’t know the smell 0’ a burnin’
paraira? Wagh!”

“ Ah, Monsieur Roch, me
mean ask—is ze Chaparral
arbresi"

“The chaparril ain’t aflre," answered Rube,
somewhat mollifled by the apology; “so don’t
be skeeart, Frenchy, yur safe enuf.”

This assurance seemed to gratify not only the
timid Canadian, but others, who, up to this mo-
ment, were apprehensive that it was the thicket
that was on fire.

For myself I had no such fears. I erceived
that the crap irral could not burn. ere and
there patches of dry mesquitetrees would .have
caught like tinder. but in most places a succu-
lent endogenous vegetation formed three parts
of the jungle and rendered it “fire proof.”
This was especially the case around the glade
where the trappers had taken their stand. and
which was completely inclosedby a wall of the
great organ cactus, with aloes, opuntias, and
other juicy-[caved plants. In the opening we
were as safe from the fire as though it were a
hundred miles off; we suffered only from the
smoke, that now quite filled the atmos here,
causing a darkness that rivaled night itse f.

We were compelled to halt; even the smoke
rendered further progress impossible; but we
could hear the fire at no great distance—the
culms of the coarse reed-grass cracking like
volleys of muskerry.

Now and then a scared deer broke through
the bushes. passing us at full speed. A band of
antelopes dashed into the glade and halted close
beside us—the frightened creatures not know-

s

rdonnez. Vat I
rule—on fire—cos

 

ing where to run. At their heels came a pack
of prairie-wolves, but not in ursuit of them;
these also stopped near. A b ack bear and a
cougar arrive next; and fierce beasts of re
and gentle ruminants stood side by side, t
terrified out of their natural habits. Birds
shrieked amon the branches, eagles screamed
in the air, and lack vuliures could be seen hov-
ering through the smoke, with no thought of
stooping upon a quarry l

The hunter man alone preserved his instircts.
My followers were hungry. Rifles were lev-
eled—and the bear and one of the antelopes fell
victims to the deadly iiiui.

Both were soon stripped of their skins and
butchered. A fire was kindled in the glade,
and upon swordvblades and saplin spits the
choice morsels of venison and “ air—meat”
were roasted and eaten, with many a jest about
the “smoky kitchen.” _

I was in self hungered. I shared the repast.
but not t e merrinient. At that moment no
wit could have won from me a while; the most
luxurious table could not have iurnishcd me
with cheer.

A worse appetite than hunger assailed my
companions, and I felt it with the rest—it vies
thirst. For hours all had been suflering from
it. The long. hard ride had brought it on, and
now the smoke and the dry], hot almosplii-re in-

reased the appetite till it ad grown agonizing.
almost unendurable. No water had been passed
since the stream we had crossed before day;
there was none in the Chi: arral; the trackers
saw none so far as the be gone. We were in
a waterless desert: an the very thou ht itself
renders the pang of thirst keener and elder to
endure.

Some chewed their leaden bullets or pebbles
of chalcedony which they had picks up; others
obtained relief by drinking the blood of the
slaughtered animals—the bear and the antelope
—but we found a better source of sssuagement
in the succulent stems of the cactus and agave.

The relief was but fem cr-zry. The juice
cooled our lips and tongues, ut thern is on (solid
principl in some of these plants that soon acted,
and our thirst became more intense than ever.

Some talked of returning on the trail in search
of water—of going back to the stream, more
than twenty miles distant. .

Under such circumstances, even military com-
mand loses its authority. Nature is stronger
than martial law.

I cared not if they did return: I cared not
who left me, so long as the trap ers remained
true. I had no fear that they won d forsake me;
and mv disapprobation of it checked the cheer-
less p' 030511]. and once more all declared their
willingness to go on.

Fortunately, at that crisis the smoke began to
clear away and the atmosphere to lighten up.
The fire had burnt on to the ed e of the chapiar-
ral. where it was now opposed y the sap-bear-
ing trees. The grass had been all consumed——
the connagration was at an end.

Mounting our horses, we rode out from the
glade; and following the trail a few hundrrd
yards further, we emer ed from the thicki-t,
apt} stood upon the e go of the desolatid
p a n. -

The trackers had already ridden far out. and
were advancing. After awhile I observed Illi m
movmg more slowly, their eyes upon ihe
groun , as if the ad lost the trail. But I
saw that, after searching a few seconds. they
had taken it up, and were once more moving
along, guided by the trucks.

CHAPTER XXlX.
THE TALK or run mourns.

I SPURRED after, and soon overtook them.
Regardless of the dust, I rode close in the rear
of the trackers, and listened to what they was
saving.

ese “men of the mountains "—as they
prided to call themselves—were peculiar in
everything. While engaged in a duty, such as
the present, they would scarce disclose their
thoughts, even to me; much less were_tbey com-
municative with the rest of my followmg, whom
they were accustomed to regard as een-
horns ”— heir favorite appellation for al men
who have not made the four of the grand
prairies. -

Notwithstanding that Stanfield and Black
were backwoodsmen and hunters by profession,
Quackenboss a splendid shot, Le Blane a I" gu-
ar ooyageur, and the others more or lem skilled
in woodcraft, all were greenhorns in the opinion
of the trappers. To be otherwise, a man n ust
have starved u n a “sage-prairie"—“run"
buffalo by the ellowstone or Platte—fought
“Injun,” and shot Indian—have well-nigh lost
scalp or ears—spent a. winter in Pierre 8 Hole
11 on Green River—or ramped amid the snows
o the Rocky Mountains! Some one of all
these feats must needs have been performed,
ere the “ greenhorn ” can matriculate and take
rank as a “ mountain man.”

I of all mv party was the only one who, in
the eyesof Babe and Garey, was not a green-
horn: and even I—gentleman-amuteur that I
was—was hardly 11 either in their confidence
or their "craft. ’ It is indeed true—with all
my classic accomplishments—with my

 

18

words, my fine horse, and fine clothes—so long
as we were within the limits of prairie—land, I
acknowledged these men as my superiors. They
were my guides, my instructors, my masters.

Since overtaking them on the trail, I had not
asked them to 've any opinion. I dreaded a
direct answer— or I had noticad something like
a des iring look in the eyes of both.

As followed them over the black lain, how-
ever, I thought that their faces bri htened a
little, and appeared once more lit up y a faint
ray of hope. For that reason, I rode close upon
their heels, and eagerly caught up ever weid
that was passing between them. Ru was
speaking when I first drew near.

“ Wagh! I don’t b’lieva it, Bill; “ ’tnin’t possy-
ble no how-soever. The paraira wur sot aflra
—must ’a’ been—thur’s no other ways for it. It
c’u’dn’t ’a’ tuk to bleezin' 0' itself—eh?”

“ Ssrt’inly not; I agree wi’ you, Rube."

"Wal—thur wur a fellar as I met oncest at
Bent’s Fort on the Arkinsaw-—a odd sort 0’ a
critter be war, an’ no mistake: he us‘t to go
pokin’ about, gatherin’ weeds an’ all sorts 0'

an garbitch, an’ spreadin' ’em out atween
s acts 0’ paper—whet he called button-eyesin’—
jast like that or Dutch doctur as wur rubbed
out when we went into the Navagh country,
t’other side 0’ the Gran i.”

" l remembers him.”

“Wal, this hyur fellur I tell ’ea about, he
ns’t to talk mighty big 0’ this, that, an’ t'other'
an’ be palavered a heap 'bout a thing that, at I
don’t disremepiber, wur ca led spuntainyus

mi.

“ i’ve heeid o’ 't: that are the name.”

“Wal, the button—eyeser, he sayed that a

moat take ailre o’ it-elf, ’t out anybody

whataomdiver having act it. Now, that urs
what his chil i don‘t b’lievc, nohow. In coarse,
I knows that li tnin’ sometimes may sot a

rain a-bleesin , but lightnin’s ’a’ nat’ral fire
0’ itself; an’ it’s only reezunible to expect that
the diagram.de catch’ from it lik: punk;
butl like to know how fire K’u’d kindle
‘ithout somethin’ to kindle it—thet’s what I
shed like to know.”

" I don’t believe it can.” rejoined Garey.

“Na’er a bit 0’ it. I never see’d a burnin’
parai a yit, thet thur wa’n’t eyther w camp-fire
or a Injun at the bottom 0’ it—thet ur, ’ceptin’
whnr li htnin’ h -d did the bizness.”

“ An you think, Rube, thar’s been Injun at
the bottom 0’ this?”

“Putty nigh sure; an’ I’ll gi’a you my ree-
znns. Fest, do ’ee see thur’s been nolightnin’
this mornin' to ’a’ made the fire. Seconds, it’s
too far west hyur for any settlement 0’ whites
--in coorse I speak 0’ Texans—thur might be
Hexikins; them I don’t call white. nohow-no—
somediver. An' then, ag'in, it kin sca’ce be
Hexikins neyt er. It ur too fur no’th for any
0‘ the yellur-belliw o be a-straying jest now,
seein’ as it’s the Mexikin moon wi’ the Kiman-
chaos, an’ both them an‘ the Lee as ur on the
war-trail. Wal, then, it’s clur t ur’s no Mexi-
kin ’bout hyur to hev sot th dpar-aim afire, an’
thur’s been no lightnin’ to o it; thurfor’, it
must ’a’ been did eyther by a Injun, or that ur
dodrotted spuntainyus kumbuxsbun.”

“ One or t’other.”

“ Wal, being as this child don’t b’lieve in the
kumbuxshun ohow, thurfore it’s my opeen—
yun that red Injnns did the bizness—they did
Mint."

“ No doubt of it,” asserted Garey.

“ An’ of they did,” continued the old trapper,
“ thur about yit somewhur not fur off, an’ we’ve

at to keep a sharp look—out for our ha’r—
fhet’s what We hev.”

“ Safe we have,” assented Garey.

“ I tell ’ee, Bill,” continued Rube in a new
strain, “ the Inguns is mighty r’iled jest now.
I never know ’em so‘savagerons an’flghty.
Th) war hez gi’n ’em a fresh start an’ thur
dander’s up sg‘ln’ US. by reezun that the gin‘ral
didn’t take thur ofler to hel us ag’in‘ the yel-
lur-bellies. Ef we meet wi eyther Kimanch’
or Lee n on these hyur lains, thu’ll scalp us,
or we’llmscalp ’em—thet’ll a it. We hi”

“ But what for could they ’a' sot t e parairy

on fire?" inquired Garey.
“That ’ere ” replied Rube -—“ thet-’ere wur
what uszl me at fust. i thort it mout ’a’
been one by accydent—preehnps b the scat—
tering o’ a camp-flra—for Injuns careless
and! bout that. Now, howsowever. I’ve got;
a difl’l‘ent idea. Thet story thet Dutch an’
Frenchy hev fetched from the rancher-is, gi’es
me a insight inter the hull bizness.”

I knew the " story ” to which Rube had refer-
ence. Li a and Le Blanc, when at the village,
had hear some rumor of an Indian foray that
had jusn been made against one of the Mexican
towns, not far from the rancheria. It had oc~
curred on the same day that we marched out.
The Indians—supposed to he Li ans or C0-
manches—had sacked the place and carried off
both plunder and captives, A party of them
m passed near the rancheria after we ourselves

left it. This party had “called” at the
hacienda de Vargas and com leted the pilla e
left unfinished by the guerril a. This was t a
substance of what the messengers had heard.

“You mean about the InJunsi” said Garey,
half interrogativel y.

 

The War Trail.

“In coorse,.” rejoined Rube. “ Belike enuf,
’em Injuns ur the same niggurs we gi’n sich a
ribroastin’ to by the moun’. Waghl they
hain’t gone back to thur mountains, as *twur
b’lieved; they dassent 'a’ gone back in sich dis-
grace, ’ithout takin’ eyther ha’r or bosses. The
squaws ’ud ’a’ hooted ’em out 0’ thur wig-
warns.”

“ Sure enough.”

“Sure, sartint. Wal, Billee, ’ee see now what
I mean; thet party’s been a-skulketin’ ’bout
hyur ever since, till they got a fust-rate chance
at the Mexikin town, an’ thur they’ve struck a
blow.”

“ It’s might like as you say, Rube; but why
have the sot gre to the parairyi”

“Wag ! Bill, kin ye not see why? it ur plain
as Pike’s Peak on a summery day.”

“I don’t see,” responded Garey, in a thought-

ful tone.
“Well, this child do; an’ this ur the reezun;
as I tell ’ee, the In uns hain’t forgot the lam‘
ba stin’ they had y the moun’; an’ preehaps
beiyn’ now a weak part , an‘ thinkin’ that we as
wolloped ’em wur stil i’ the rancherle, they
wur afeerd that on hearing 0’ thur pilladgin,
we mout be arter 'em.”

“ An‘ they've burnt the parairy to kiver thur
trail?”

:Igreenactly so.:’ _ h R be. v

gosh oure rig u .——i s uncom-
mon ke. ling whar mil-Eon think this trail’s
52in? Surely the hose h ’t been caught in the

e

I bent forward in the saddle, and listened
with acute eagerness. To my great relief, the
answer of the old in per was in the negative.

“ He hain’t," said ; “ne'era bit 0‘ it. His
trail, do ’08 see, runs in a beeJine, or clost oh a
bee-line; now of the fire had ’a’ begun afore he
wur acroest this paraira, he w‘u’d lon since ’a’
doubled ’bout, an’ tuk the back tra ; but’ee
see he hain’t did so; thurfor, I conclude he’s
safe through it an’ the grass must ’a’ been sot
aflre ahint 1m." '

I breathed freely after listening to these
words. A load seemed lifted from my breast-—
for up "to this moment I had been vainly an-
deavoring to combat the fearful apprehension
that had shaped itself in my imagination. From
the moment that we had entered the burning
prairie, my e as constantly, and almost me-
chanically, ha sought the ground in front of
our course, had wandered over it, with uneasy
glance in dread of beholding forms—lifeless—
burued and charred—

The words of the trapper gave relief—almost
an assurance that the steed and his rider were
still safe—and under the inspiration of renewed
hows, I rode forward with lighter heart.

a had advanced about half-a-mile further
when the horse-tracks, hitherto cattered, and
tending in different directions, became mer ed
together, as though the Indians had been rid ng,
not in sin 1e file—as is their ordinary method—
but in an rregular body of several abreast.

The trackers, after proceeding along this new
trail for a hundred yards or so, deliberately
draw up; and dismounting. bent down upon
their hands and knees, as if once more toex-
amine the sign. The rest of us halted a‘ little
behind, and watched their proceedings Without
oflering to interrupt them. .

Both were observad to be busy blowing same
the ashes, not now from any particular track,
but from the full breadth of the trail.

In a few minutes, they succeeded in removing
the black dust from a stretch of several arde—
so that the numerous hoof-prints coul be dis-
tinctly traced. side by side, or overlapping and
half obliterating one another.

Rube now returned to where. they had com-
menced; and then once more leisurely advanc-
ing upon his knees, with eyes close to the
surface, a peared to scrutinize the print of
every hoo separately.

Before he had reached the spot where Garey
was still engaged in clearing ofl the dust, he
rose to his feet with an air that told he was sat-
isfied, and turning to his companion, cried

out:

“Don’t bother furrer, Bill: it ur jest as I
thort; they’ve roped ’im !”

“ Sartint they’ve tuk ’im,” asserted Rube in
answer to an interrogatory; “ sartint sure; by,
ur’s his track clur as day i ht. He’s been led
hyur at the eend o’ a laryette; he’s been nigh the
middle 0’ the crowd—some in front—some hev
been arter ’im-thet’s how they’ve gone past
hyi‘ir. Wagh!” continued the speaker, once
more turning his eyes upon the trail, “ thnr’s
been a good grist on ’em—twunty or more; an’
at this child don’t miskalkerlate, that ain’t the
hul o’ the niggurs; it ain’tl ’Tur only some 0’
’em has galliped out to rope the boss. I’d lay
my rifle ag’in’ a Mexican blunderbox, thur’s a
bigger party than this nigh at hand somewhur
hyur. By Geehosophat, thur’s boun’ to be, sar-
tint as sun-upi”

The suspicion that had half formed itself in
my mind was no longer h pothetical; the sign
upon the trail had settled that; it was now a

ositive intelligence—a conviction. The steed

ad been taken; he and his rider were captive
in the hands of the Indians.

This knowledge brought with it a crowd of

 

new thou hts, in which emotions of the most
op site c aracter mingled to ether.

he first was a sensation 0 joy. The steed
had been captured, and by human beings. In-
dians at least were men, and possessed human
hearts. Though in the rider they might recog-
nize the lineaments of their pale-faced foes—not
so strongly neither—yet a woman, and in such
a dilemma, what reason could they have for
hoIsItility to her?

one; perha s the very op site passion
might be excites by the spectaclepgf her helpless
situation. They would see before them the vic-
tim of some cruel revenge—the not, too, of their
own enemies; this would be more likely to in~
spire them with sympathy and pity; they would
relieve her from her perilous position; would
minister to her wants and wounds; would ten-
derly nurse and cherish' her; yes, of all this I
felt confident. They were human; how could
thgy do otherwise?

uch was the first rush of my reflections on
becoming assured that the steed had been on
tured b Indians—that Isolina was in their
hands. on] thought of her safety—thet she
was rescued rom pain and peril, perhaps from
death; and the thought was a gleam of Joy.

Alas! only a gleam: and the reflections that
followed were painfully bitter.

There was another reason for our rapid ad-
vance: all 0 us were under the extreme agony
of thirst—4i rally gaspin for water- and thus

hymcal suflerinfiliinpelle us to ride forward as
est in:] our jaded arses could carry us over the
groun .

Timber was at length before our eyes—green
foliag e—lookin all the fresher and brighter from
contrast with t a black plain which it bounded.
It was a grove of oottonwoods, skirtin a prai-
rie-atraam; and beyond this the fire ha notex«
tended. .

Wild, joyous cries escaped from men and
horses, as their eyes rested upon the limpid
stream.

The men lloped over the bank. leaped out

of their sa dles, and without a thought of
drowninféglunged breast-deep into the water.
Some ii the crystal liquid in their palms:
while others, more impatient. bent down, and
ducking their faces in the flood, drank a la
mode du choral. ‘
I noticed that the taggers behaved less reek-
less] than the rest: fore going down to
driu , the eyes of both Kare directed with in-
stinctive caution, along t e banks, and into the
timber.

Close to where we had halted 1 observed a
crossing, where numerous trncln of animals
formed in the soil a deep, well-beaten path.
Ruba's eyes were upon it. and I saw that they
were glistening with unusual excitement.

" Told ’ee sol” cried be, after a short survey:
“JET’iiner’s thur trail—war-trail, by the Etur-
na

CHAPTER XXX.
TEE WRITING ON m usem.

Tim skill of the trackers was no longer called
in need; the war-trail was as easily followed as
a toll-road; a blind man could have guided him-
sle along such a wall-trodden hi hwa .

Our rate of speed was now rule by the capaci—
ty of our horses. Alas! their power was nearly
at an and. They had been two days andanight
under the saddle, with but a few hours to 1‘6-
fresh themselves by food or rest: they could
not hold out much lon er. v

One by one they gen to lag, until the
greater number of t em ollowed with tottering
steps hundreds of yards in the rear.

It was in vain to contend against nature. The
men were still willing, thou b they too were
wearied to death: but their orses were uite
done up—evan whip and spur could force t am
no further. Only my own matchloss steed
could have continued the journey Alone I
might have advanced, but that would have
been madness. What could I have accomplished
alone?

Night was fast coming down; it was already
twilight. I saw by the clouded sk we should
have no moon. We might follow t e trail with
our waxen torches—not et burnt out—but that
would no longer be sa e. For myself, I was
reckless enough to have risked life in any way.
but the lives of my comrades were not mine. I
could not give them—I should not wastefully
fling them away.

Reluctantl I glided from my saddle, gave
mytiteedto he grass, and sat down upon the
ear .

My followers coming up, said not a word, but
picketing their horses, seated themselves aroun
me. One by one they stretched themselves
along the award, and in ten minutes all were
asleep. I

I alone could not sleep: the fever of unrest
was upon me; the demon of thought would not
let me close my eyes. Though my orbs ached
With the long- rotracted vigil, I thought that
“ not all the rowsy syrups of the world ”
could have given me repose at that moment. I
felt as. one who suffers under delirium, pro-
duced by the intoxicatin cu , the fearful
mammpotu. I could neit er s cc nor rest.

I could not even remain seated. rose to my

\rvw

u—w I—vs—v

‘fll-lv ("true-vi

WW

HIHJCY‘WEPW will-Hu-

‘1

The War Trail.

19

 

feet and wandered around, without heed of
where I was going; I strode over the recum-
bent forms of my sleeping com anions; I went
among the horses; I paced bac ward and for-
ward along the banks of the stream.

There was a stream—a small arroyo or rivn-
let. It was this that had caused me to halt in
that Earticular spot; for wild as were my
thong ts, I had enough of reason left to know
that we could not encamp without water. The
sight of the arroyo had decided my wavering
resolution, and upon its banks, almost mechani-
cally, I had drawn bridle and dismounted.

I once more descended to the bend of the
stream, and, raisin the water in the palms of
my hands, repea y up lied it to mdy lips and
temples. The cool liqll d refreshe me and
8‘39di to soothe bot my nerves and my
spin .

After a time, both felt calmer, and I sat
down upon the bank, and watched for a while
the clear rivulet ri pli past over its bed of

ellow sand and g isfen ng pebbles of quartz.

be water was perfectly dis banana: and
tho h the sun was no lenger s inin , I could
see‘tfny silver fish, of the genus by sport
ing themselves in the lowest depths of the 1.
How I envied them their innocent gamIBmols,
their life of crystal purity and freedom! Here,
in this remote prairie stream, dwelt not the sill-
gator, nor the ravenous garflsh; here came no

olphin or shark to chase them no tyrant of
the waters to put them in fear. To be envied,
indeed. such an insonvciant hap y existence.

I watched them fora long w , till [thought
that my e as were wing hea , and, after
all, I m gh sleep. 0 murmur o the arroyo
hel to increase this inclination to repose
an perha , I might have slept; but at that
moment, e ncing to look around. my eyes
rested upon an object that again drove sleep far
away, and I was soon as wakeful as ever.

Close to where I seated myself grew a large
plant of the Mexican sloe,(agave Americana).

t was the wild in ey, of course but of a
species with broad esh leaves of. dark- reen
color. somewhat resemb ng the maguey 0 cu!-
tivation. I noticed that one of the rest blades
of the plant was bruised down, an the spine,
which had terminated it, torn off.

All this would not have drawn my attention;
I was already aware that the Indians had made
a halt where we were encamped, and their sign
was plenteous around—in the tracks of their
animals, and the broken branches of trees. One
of their horses or mules might have munched
at the maguey in passin ; and viewing the
bruised blade-from a dis nce, I should have
hazarded just such a conjecture. But my e es
were close to the lant, and, to my astonish-
ment, I observed t at there was writing upon
the leaf!

I turned over upon my knees, and seizing. the
huge blade, bout it down before me, so as to
obtain a better view of its surface. I read:

“ Captured by Comanches~a war-party with
many captives—women and children—«y de mi!
pobns ninaa/ northwest from this place. Saved
from death; alas! I fear—”

_The writing ended abruptly. There was no
signature, but .it needed not that. I had no
doubts about who was the writer; in fact, rude
as was the chirography—from the material
med—I easily identified the hand. It was
Isolina do Vargas who had written. ~

I saw that she had tom 0!! the terminal 3 ins,
and using it as a at lus, had graveu hose
characters npon the ep dermis of the lant.

Sweet, subtle spirit! under any gui-so I could
have recognized its outpourings.

“ Saved from death!"—thank Heaven for
thatl—“alas! I fear.” Oh, what feared she!
Was it worse than death? that terrible fate—
too terrible to think of 3

She had broken‘ofl, without finishing the sen—
tence. Wh had she done so? The sheet was
broad—wood have held many more words—
why had she not written more? Did she dread
to tell the cause of her fear? or had she been
interrupted by the approach of some of her
tyrant captors? Oh, merciful Heaven! save me
from thou ht! ' ,

I re-rea the words over and over; there WES
nothing more. I examined the other leaves of
the plant—on both sides, concave and con vex.
I examined them—not a word more could I
find. What I had read was all she had written.

 

CHAPTER XXXI.
a nun arisrna.

TEE trail led northwest, as written upon the
maguey. No doubt lsolina had heard her cap-
tors foreepesk their plans. I knew that she her-
self understood something of the Comanchelan-
guage. The accomplishment may a pear strange
—and not strange, either, when it a known that
her mother could have spoken it well: with her
it was a native ton us.

But even withou this knowledge she might
still have learned the designs of the savailes—
for these southern Comanches are accomplished
llflllUists; many of them can speak the beautiful
language of Andalusia! There was a time when
atportion of the tribe submitted to the teaching
0 the mission padres; besides, a. few among

 

them might boast—which they do not—of Ibe-
rian blood.

No doubt, then, that the captive in their midst
had overheard them discussing their projects.

We had ridden about two hours when we
came upon the round where the Indians had
made their nig t-camp. We approached it
warily and with stealth, for we were now trav-
eling with great caution. We had need. Should
a single savage, strangling behind, set eyes upon
us, we might as well be seen by the whole band.
If discoverer] upon the war-trail, our lives would
not be worth much. Some of us might escape;
but even if all of us survived, our plan would be
completely frustrated.

I say plan, for I had formed one. During the
long vigil of the night my thoughts had not been
idle, and a course of action I had traced out,
though it was not yet fully developed in my
min . Circumstances might yet alter it, or aid
me in its execution.

We approached their night encampment, then,
warily and with stealth. The smoke of its smol-
dering fires pointed out the place, and warned
us from afar.

We found it quite deserted—the gaunt wolf
and coyote alone occupying the ground, dis-
puting with each other passession of the hide
and bones of a horse—the debris of the Indian
breakfast.

Had we not known already, the trapper-s could
have told by the sign of the camp to what tribe
the Indians belonged. There were still stand-
ing the lee of a tent—onl one—doubtless the
lodge o the head chief. he poles were tem—
porary ones—saplings cut from the adjacent
thicket. They were placed lnacircle and meet-
ing at the top were tied together with a piece
of thong—so that, when covered, the lodge would
have exhibited the form of a ri'ect cone. This
we knew was the fashion of t e Comanche tent.

" Ef 't bed ’a’ been Kickapoo,” said Rube, who
took the op ortunity of displaying his knowl-
edge, “th’u ’a’ bent thnr poles in’ard, so’s to
make a sort 0' roun’ top, d’ee see; an’ ef’t bed ’3.
been Wacoes or Witcheetoes, th’ud ’a’ left a hole
at the top to let out thur smoke. Delawurs sn’
Shawnee w’u’d ’a’ bed tents, jest like whites; but
thet ur ain’t thur way 0’ makin' aflre. In Show-
nee flre, the logs ’u’d ’a’ been laid wi’ one eend
turned in an’ t e t’other turned out, jest like the
star on a Texas flag. or the spokes o’ a wagon
wheel. Likeways. Cherokees an’ Choctaw w’u’d
’a’ hod reg’lar tents, but thur fire w'u’d ’a’ been
alser diff’rint. They’d ’a’ sot the logs purallel,
side by side, an‘ lit ’em only at one eend, an’
then pushed ’em u as fast as they hurn’d.
Thet’s thur way. ’ 0 see these hyur lo is set
diff’rint. Thur lit in the middle, and t et's Ki-
manch’ for sartin, it ur.”

Rube’s “ clairvoyance ” extendedifurther. The
savages had been astart as early as ourselves.
They had decamped about daylight, and were
so?! exactly two hours ahead of us on the

ra .

Wh were they traveling so rapidly? Not
from ear of pursuit bv any enemy. he sol-
diers of Mex co—had these been regarded by
them—were too busy with the Saxon foe, and
vice versa. The could hard] be expecting us
upon an expedi ion to rob t em of their cap-
tives. Perhaps they were driving forward to be
in time for the great herds of buffalo that, along
with the cold northers, mi ht now be looked for
in the higher latitudes of he Comanche range.
This was the explanation given by the trappers
—most probably the true one.

Under the influence of singular emotions, I
rode over the tground. There were other signs
besides those 0 the savage—signs of the plun er
with which they were laden—signs of civilizi-
tion. There were fragments of broken cups and
musical instruments, torn leaves of books, rem-
nants of dresses, silks and velvets, a small satin
slipper (the peculiar chauswre of the Mexican
manola) side by side with a worn~out, mud-
stalned moccasin—fit emblems of savage and
civilized life. _

There was no time for speculating on so curi-
ous a confusion. I was looking for signs of her
-for traces of my betrothed.

I cast around me infiliring glances. Where
was it probable she ad passed [the night?
Where?

Involuntarin my eyes rested upon the naked
poles—the tent of the chief. How could it be
otherwise? Who among all the captives like
her? grandly beautiful to satisfy the_eye even
of a savage chieftain—zrandly, magnificently
beautiful, how could she escape his notice?
There, in his lodge, shrouded under the brown
skins of buflsloes—under hideous devices—in
the arms of a painted, keel-bedaubed savage—
his arms brawn and y—embraced—oh‘ !-—

“Young fellur! I ain’t much 0’ a skollur, but
I’d stake a pack 0’ beaver plew ag’in’ a plug 0’
Jeemes River thet this hynr manurscrip’ wur
entended for y’urself, an’ nob‘dy else. Thur’s.
writin’ u n it, that's clur. an’ mighty kew’rous
ink I rec "ii thet ur. Oncest ov a time I k’u’d ’n’
read write. or print eythur, as one as fallin’oi!
alog: for that war a Yankee felur on Duck
Crik thet kep’ a putty consid’able school than
an’ the ole ’oman—thet ur Mrs. Rawlings bed
this child put thro’ a reg’lar coorse o‘Testymint.
I remembers reedin’ ’bout thet ur cussed niggur

 

 

as toted the possible sack—Judeas, ef I recollex
right, wur the durned ruskul’s name. Ef I kud
’a laid claws on him, I’d ’u’ raised his lia‘r in
the shakin‘ o’ a goat’s tail. Waghl thet l
w’u’d.”

Rube’s indignation against the betrayer hav-
ing reached its climax, brought his speech to a
termination.

I had not waited for its finale. The object
which he held between his fingers had more in-
terest for me than either the history of his own
early days or the story of the betrayal.

It was a paper—s note actually folded, and
addressed “ Varfleld 1” He had found it upon
the grass, close to where the tent had stood,
where it was held in the crotch of a split read,
the other end of which was sticking in the
ground.

No wonder the trapper had remarked upon
the ink' there was no mistaking the character
of that livid red: the writing was in blood!

Hastily unfolding the paper, I read:

" Henri! I am still safe, but in dread of a and fate
—the fate of the poor white ca tivs among these
hideous men. Last night I foal it, but the Virgin
shielded me. It has not come. Oh! I shall not sub-
miF—I shall die by my own hand. A strange chance
has hitherto saved me from this horrid out . No!
it was not chance. but Heaven that inlerpose . It is.
thus: Two of my captors claim me—one, the son of.”
the chief—the other, the wretch to whom you grant-1

life and freedom. Would to God it had been
otherwise! Of the two, he of white blood is the viler
savage—bad, brutal-«a ve demon. Both took part.
in the capture of the a , therefore both claim me
as their ‘ pro rty.‘ The claim is not at adjusted)
hence have I n s . But, alas! I ear my hour
is n! h. A council tobe held that will decide to-
wh! of those monsters I am to be given. If to
either it is a horrid fate; if to neither, a doom still
more horrible. Perchance, you know their cuslom :
I should be common pro y—the victim of all.
fiaghdlo mi alma .’ Never—never! Death—welcome

ea

“ Fear not, Henri, lord of my heart! fear not that
I shall dishonor your love. lie—sacred in my breast.
its purity shall be preserved. even at the sacrifice of‘
my life. I shall bathe it with my blood. Ah me! my
heart is bleeding now! They come to drag me away.
Farewell! farewell!"

Such were the contents of the page—the fly-
leaf of a torn misssl. Upon the other side a} as
a vignette—a picture of Dolores, the weeping
saint of Mexico! Had it been chosen, the em-
blem could scarcely have been more appro-
priate.

I thrust the red writing into my bosom: and,
without waiting to exchange a word with my
companions, pressed forward upon the trail.

CHAPTER XXXII.
MORE WRITING IN amp.

TEE men followed as before. We needed no
trackers to point out the way; the path was.
plaiu as a drOVer‘s road—a thousand hoofs had
made their mark upon the ground. '

We rode at a regular pace, not rapidly. I
was in no hurry to come up with the savages: I.
desired to get sight of them just after nightfall,
not before, lest they might also get sight of us-

The lan I proposed to m sel fortthe rescue
of my trothed, could not accomplished in
the daytime; darkness alone could avail me in-
clawing it out, and for nightfall must I wait.

0 could easily have overtaken the Indians
before night. T ey were but two short incurs
in the advance of us, and would be certain—as
is their custom on the war-trail—to snake n
noon-halt of several hours' duration. Even In-
dian horses require to be rested.

We calculated the rate at which they were
traveling—how man miles to the hour. The
prairie-men could tel to a furlong, both the
gait and the distance.

The tracks of the r captives were still seen.
alon the trail. T is showed that the party
con! not have been going faster than a walk.

The prairie-men alle ed there were many
home without riders— ed or driven; many
mules, too—the product of the fora . Why
were the poor captives not permit to ride
them?"

Was it sheer cruelty or brutal indiflerence on
the part of their captors! Did the inhuman
monsters gloat over the sufferings of these on—
fortunates, and deny them even _he alleviation
of hysical pain? The affirmative answer to
all hose uestions was probably the true one,
since her y better—no better, indeed—is the
behavior of these ssVages toward the women of
their own blood and kind—their own squaws.

Talk not to me of the noble savage—of the
simplicity and gentleness of that condition-
falsely termed a “state of nature.” It is not
nature. God meant not man to be a wild Ish--
maelite on theftwe of the earth. Man was
made for ciVllization—for society; and only
under its influencedoes he assume the form and
grace of true nobility. Leave him to himself"
-—to the play of his instincts—to the indul—

ence of his evfl impulses—andman hecomesa

rote, abeast of prey. Even worse—for wolf
and tiger gently consort with their kind, and
still more gently with their family; they feel
the tenderness of the family tie. Where is the
savage upon all the earth who does not usurp!
dominion, and practice the meanest tyranny
over his weaker ’mate? Where can you fin

him? Not on the blood-stained karoos 0t

 

20

The War Trail.

 

 

 

Africa, not upon the forestrplains of the Ama-
zon not by the icy shores of the Arctic Sea,
cer ainly not upon the prairies of North
America.

No man can be noble who would in wrath lay
his finger upon weaker woman; talk not, then,
of the noble savagel—fancy of poets, myth of
romancersl

The tracks of riderless horses, the footsteps of
, walking women—tender girls and children——
upon that long tiresome trail, had for me a cruel
significance—those slender tiny tracks of pretty
feet—pobres 71571018!

There was one that fixed my attention more
than the rest; every now and then my eyes
were upon it: I fancied I could identify it.
It was exactly the size, I thought. The perfect
symmetry and configuration, the oval curve of
t e heel, the high instep, the row of small grad-
uated globes made by the impression of the toes,
the smooth surface left by the imprint of the
delicate epidermis—all these points seemed to
characterize the footprint of a ladg.

Surely it could not be hers? h, surely she
would not be toiling alon that weary track?
Cruel as were the hearts 0 her captors, brutal
as were their natures, surely they would not
inflict this unnewssar pain? Beauty like hers
should command kin er treatment, should in-
s ire compassion even in the breast of a savage.

lasl I deemed it doubtful.

We rode slowly on, as already said, not de-
sirous of yet overtaking the foe: we were allow-
ing them time to depart from their noon halt-
ing- lace. We might have stopped there a
whi e longer, but I could not submit to the re-
posa of a halt. Motion, however slow, appeared

rogress, and in some measure hindered me

rom dwelling upon thoughts that only pro-
duced unnecessary pain.

Notwithstanding the incumbrance of their
spoils, the Indians must have been traveling
faster than we. They had no fear of foes to
retard them; naught to require either spies or
caution. They were n0w in their own country
-—in the very heart of the Comanche range—-
and in dread: of no enemy. They were moving
freely and without fear. We, on the contrary,
had to keep our scouts in the advance; every
bend of the road had to be reconnoitered by
them, every bush examined, every rise of the
ground approached with extreme care and
watchfulness. These maneuvers occupied time,
and we moved slowly enough.

It was after mid-day when we arrived at the
noon-camp of the savages. The smoke, as be‘
fore, warned us, and approaching under cover.
we rceived that the were gone. They had
kin led fires and cooked flesh. The bones, clean
picked were easily identified. and the mid-day
meal showed that there had been no change in
the diet of these hippopbagists; dinner and de-
euner had been alike—drawn from the same
arder.

Again I searched the ground; but, as before,
the eyes of the trapper proved better than.
mine.

“Hynr’s a other billy-dux, young fellur,”
.nid he, handin me the paper.

Another leaf mm the missall

I seized it eagerly—eagerly I devoured its
contents! This time they were more brief:

“ Once more I open my veins. The council meets
to-night. In a few hours it will be decided whose
groperty I am—whoae slave—whose—Santlssima

aria! I cannot write the word. I shall attem t to
been . They leave my hands free, but mylmbs
.are ghtly bound. I ha 0 tried to undo my fasten-
in , ut cannot. Oh, i I but had a kmfel I know
w ere one is he t; I may contrlve to seize it, but it
mustbein the 't moment—it will not do to fail.
Henri, I am firm and resolute; I do not id to de-
spair. One way or the other, I shall r'ee myself
from the hideous embrace of— They come—the vil-
Ilain watches me—I must—“ '

The writing ended abruptly. Her jailers had
suddenly approached.

The paper had evidently been concealed from
them in haste: it had been crumpled u and
flung upon the grass—for so was it when ound.

We remained for a while u n the r t, to
rest and refresh our horses; he poor rates
needed both. There was water at the place,
and that might not be met with again.

The sun was far down when we resumed our
march—our last march upon the war-trail.

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.
AN “rrmm 0N ran BACK-TRACK."

WE had advanced about a mile further, when
our scouts—who, as usual, had gone forward to
reconnoiter—having ascended a swell of the

airie, were observed crouching behind some
E‘dshes that grew upon its crest.

We all drew bridle to await the result 0”
their reconnoissanoe. The peculiar attitude in
which they had placed themselves and the ap-
parent earnestness w1th which t e glanced
over the bushes, led us to believe the some ob-
ject was before their eyes of more than common
interest.

So it proved. We had scarcely halted, when

down the hill—at the same time making signals
to us to conceal ourselves in the timber.

Fortunately, there was timber near; and in a
‘ few seconds we had all ridden into it, taking the
horses of the trappers along with us.

The declivity o the hill enabled the scouts to
run with swiftness; and they were among the
trees almost as soon as we.

“Whatis it?” inquired several in the same
breath.

"‘ Injun on the back-track,” replied the pant-
ing tra pore.

‘In iansl—how many of them?" naturally
asked one of the rangers.

“ Who sayed Injuns? We sayed a Injun,”
sharply retorted Rube. “ Durn y’ur palaverl
thur s no time for jaw-waggiu’. Git y’ur rope
ready, Bill. ’Ee durned greenhomsl kee down
y’ur guns; shootin’ won’t do hyur—y’u’d ev the
hul gan back in the fiappin’ o’ a beaver’s tail.
You, Bi 1, rope the red-skin, an’ let the youn
fellur he] he knows how; an’ ef both she
miss ’im, ain’t a-gwine. ’Ee hear me, fellurs?
Don’t ne’er a one 0’ ye fire; ef a gun ur wanted,
Targuts ’ll be sufficient, I guess. For y’ur lives
don’t ’08 fire them ur blunderboxcs o’ yourn till
’ee see me miss—thev’d be heer’d ten mile off.
Ready wi’ y’ur rope. Billee? You, young fellur?
All ri ht; mind ’ur eyes both an’ snare the
dume niggur Ii 9 a swamp-rabbit. Yanner
he comes, right inter the trap,’by the jumpin’
Geehosophati”

The pithy chapter of instructions above de-
tailed was delivered in far less time than It
takes to read it. The speaker never paused till
he had uttered the final emphatic expression,
which was one of his favorite phrases of ‘em-
banishment.

At the same instant I saw, just appearin
above the crest of the rid e, the head an
shoulders of a. savage. In a ew seconds more
the body rose in sight; and then the thighs and
legs, With a large piebald mustang between
them. I need scarcely add that the horse was
going at a gallop; it is a rare sight when a

orso Indian rides any other gait.

There was on] one. The scoute were sure of
this. Be 0nd t e swell stretched an open prai-
rie, and i the Indian had had companions or
Ificlfllowers, they would have been seen. He was

one.

What had brought him back on the trail?
Was be upon the scout? -

No; he was riding without thou ht, and with—
out precaution. A scout woul have acted
otherwiso.

He might have been a messenger; but
whither bound? Surely the Indians had left no
party in our rear?

Quickly these inquiries
quick conjectures were 0 ered in answer.
voy azer gave the most probable solution.

“ Pe gar! he go back for we sheel.”

“ Shield! what shield 1”

“Ah, you no see ’im. I see ’im wiz mee e;
he vas cache dans les herbes—von large shee ——
bouclier tree gros—fabrique from ze peau of de
buffie—ze parfieche—et garnie avec les seal
frais et sanglants—sca ps Mexicaines.
Dieul”

The explanation was understood. Le Blane
had observed a shield amon the bushes where
we had halted—like enoug left behind by
some of the braves. It was garnished wit
seal , fresh Mexican scalps—like enough. The
Indian had forgotten both his armor and his
trophies; he was on his way to recover them—
like enough.

There was no time either for further talk or
conjecture; the red horseman had reached the
bottom of the hill; in ten seconds more, he
would he leaned or s at!

ssed among us, and
The

On

Gare and I placed ourselves on opposite
sides 0 the nth, both with our lazoe‘s coiled
and ready. he trapper was an adopt in the

use of this singular weapon, and I too under-
stood something of its mana ment. The trees
were in our way; and won d have prevented
the proper winding of it; but it was our inten-
tion to spur clear of the timber—~the moment
the Indian came within range—and “ rope ”
him on the run.

Rube crouched behind Garey, rifle in hand,
and the ran ers were also read , in case both
the lazoes an Rube’s rifle shoul miss.

It would not do to let the Indian either go on
or go back; in either case he would report us.
Should he pass the spot where we were, he
would observe our tracks in a minute’s time——
even amidst the thousands of others-and would
be certain to return b another route. Should
he escape from us, an gallop away, still worse.
He must not be permitted either to go on or go
back; he must be captured or killed!

For my part, I desired that the former should
be his desttiggl. I had no feeling of revenge to
gratify by 'ng the life of this red—man; and

ad his capture' not been absolutely necessary
to our own safety, I should willingly have let
him come and go as be listed.

Some of my comrades were actuated by very
diflerent motives. Killing a Comanche Indian
was, by their creed, no greater crime than kill-
ing a wolf, a panther, or a grizzly bear: and 1t

 

they were seen to retire suddenly from the
woven and rising erect, run at full speed back

was not from any motives of mercy that the
trapper had cautioned the others to hold their

fire; prudence alone dictated the advice—ho
had given his reason—the reports of our guns
mi ht be heard.

hrouih the leaves I looked upon the horse-
man as e advanced. A fine-looking fellow he
was—no doubt one of the distinguished warriors
of his tribe. What his face was I could not see,
for the war-paint disfigured it with a hideous
mask; but his body was large, his chest broad
and full, his limbs symmetrical, and well turned
tt: the very toes. He sat his horse like a cen-

ur.

I had no opportunity for prolonged observa—
tion. Without hesitating, the Indian galloped
up.

I sprung my horse clear of the timber. I
wound the lam around my head, and hurled it
toward him; I saw‘the noose settling over his
shoulders, and falling down to his hips.

I spurred in the opposite direction; I felt the
quick jerk, and the tuut rope told me I had se—
cured the victim.

lturned in my saddle,,and glanced back; I
saw the rope of Garey around the neck of the
Indian’s mustang, tightened
fast. Horse and horseman—both were ours.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
MY PLAN.

THE savage did not yield himself up without
resistance. Resistance with an Indian is in-
stinctive, as with a wild animal. He flung him-
self from his horse, and drawing his knife, with
a single cut severed the thong that bound him.

In another instant he would have been off
among the bushes: but before he could move
from the spot, half-a-dozen strong arms were
around him; and in spite of his struggles, and
the dangerous thrusts of his long Spanish knife,
he was ‘ choked ” down and held fast.

My followers were for making short work
with him. More than one had bared their
blades to finish him upon the spot, and would
have done so, had I not interfered. I was
averse to spilling his blood; and by my inter-
cession, his ife was spared. -

To prevent him from giving us further trou-
ble, however, we tied him to‘ a tree in such a
manner that he could not possibly free himself.

The mode of securing him'was suggested by
Stanfield, the backwoodsman: it was ample and
safe. A tree was chosen whose trunk was large
enough to fill the embrace of the Indian, so that
the ends of his fingers 'ust met when his arms
were drawn to their» all stretch around it.
Upon his wrists thongs of raw hide were firmly
looped, and then knotted together. His ankles
were also bound b similar cords—the ends of
which were stake ,eo as to hinder him from
worming around the tree, and percbance wear-
ing off his thongs, or chafing them, so that they
might break.

The ligature was perfect: the most export
jail-breaker could not have freed himself from
such a fastening.

It was our intention to leave him thus. and
perha set him free upon our return, if we
sfioul return by that way—a doubtful hypo-
t esis.

I thought not at the time of the cruelty we
were committing. We had spared the Indian’s
life—a mercy at the moment—and I was too
much concerned about the future of othersto
waste reflection on his.

We had taken the precaution to leave him at
some distance from the place of his capture:
others of his party might come after, and dis-
cover him, soon enough to interfere with our
plans. His prison had been chosen far of! in
the depth of the woods; even his shouts could
not have been heard by any one passing slang
the trail.

He was not to be left entirelv alone; a horse
was to be his com nion—not is own—for one
of the rangers ha fancied an exchange. Stan-
field—not well mounted—had proposed a
“ swap” as he jocosely termed it, to which the
savage had no alternative but consent; and the
Kentuckian. having “bitched” his worn-out
nag to a tree, led off the skewbald muatan in
triumph, declaring that he was now “s an wi’
the Indyens.” Stanfield would have iked it
better had the “swo " been made with the
renegade who had rob him.

We were about to leave the place and move
on, when a bright idea suddenly came into my
head:

The plan I had proposed to myself wassimple
enough; it would require more of courage. than
strata em; but to the former I was sufficxentl
nerv by the desperate circumstances in Whic
We had become involved. I proposed to enter
the Indian camp in the night—of course, by
stealth and under cover of the darkness—to
findthe captive, if possible—set her limbs free
~und then trust to chance for the escape of
both of us. , _

If once inside the encampment, and Within
reach of her, a sudden coup might accomplish
all this; success was not beyond possibility
nor probability either; and the circumstances
admitted no plan that promised so fairly.

To have attempted fight with my few follow-
ers against such a host—to have attacked the

 

Indian camp, even under the advantage of an
alarm—would have been sheer madness. It

and holding him r

fidvice—he
OUI‘ guns

the horse.
fellow he
warriors
d not see,
a hideous
est broad
all turned
lie 8. cen.

observa-
ga “Oped

nber. I
lurled it;
over his

felt the
had 59.

380k; 1
0f the
'2 him
nrs.

ithout
is in-
.' him-
_With
um.
‘11 of!
now
were
and
nits,

vork
heir
>uld
was
ten
ou-
J a
a] f.
by
nd
ge
at
as
it.
Iy
es

)f

' 5

y
t
I

The War Trail.

21

 

must have resulted not only in our immediate
defeat, but would have destro ed our last chance
of rescuiu the captive. he savages, once
alarmed an warned, could never be approached
again. Isolina would be lost forever.

My followers agreed with me upon the im-
prudence of an attack. Folly they termed it—
and not from an motives of fear: they were
willing to risk a] ; and had I so ordered, would
have charged with me, rifle in hand, into the
very midst of the enemy’s lines. I knew they
would, every man of them. Even the voya—
geur—the least brave of the arty—would not
have flinched; for, in the mi t of brave men,
cowards cease to be.

But such a course would indeed have been
folly—madness. We thought not of adoptin
it- all a proved of the plan I had formed, an
which f had already laid before them as we
tarried b the noon halting-place. .

Severn had volunteered to be my companions
-~to venture along with me into the camp of
the savage; to share with me the extreme of
the danger; but for several reasons I was de-
termined to go alone. Should even one of them
be along with me, I saw it would double the
risk of detection. In this matter stratagem,
not strength, was needed, and speed in the last
moments would be worth both.

Of course, I did not think to et the captive
clear without being observed and pursued—such
an expectation would have been preposterous;
she would be too well watched by the savages
—not only by her 'ailers, but by the jealous
eyes of those rival c almants of her body.

No; on the contrary, I anticipated ursuit—
close and eager. It might be stri a; but I
trusted to m own wiftness of foot, and to
hers—for wel knew I her hold heart and free
limb- it waslno helpless burden I should have

to bring away.
I trusted to my bein able to bafle their pur-
suit—to keep them has while she ran forward.

For that purp no I should take with me my
knife and revolvers. I trusted to these, and
mum to chance, or perhaps I should rather say
to God. My cause was good—my heart firm
and hopeful.

Other precautions I intended to take: horses
ready as near as they might be brought; men
also ready in t v ir saddles, rifle in hand—ready
for light, or flight.

Such was the enterprise upon which I was re-
solved. Success or d nth was staked upon the
issue”; If not success ul, I c. red not to sur-
vivo 1 .

 

CHAP’I‘ERXXXV.
“rarsrxso nuns.”

WrruAL. I was not reckless. If not sau nine,
I was fur from despondent; and as I con nued
to dwell up u it, the pros t seemed to bright-
en and success to ap ar ess pr Jblematical.

One of the chief ifiiculties I should have to
encounter would be getting into the camp. Once
inside the lines—that is, among the camp-fires
and tents, if there should be any—I should be
comparatively safe. This I knew from experi—
ence; for it would not be my first VISI'. to an en-
calnpmoat of prairie Indians. Even in their
midst. mingling with the sivages themselves,
and under the light oi their glaring fires, I
Should be less exposed to the danger of detec-
tion than while attempting to cross heir lines.
first, I should have to pass the outlying pick-
ets: then within these the horse-guards; and
Within these again the horses themselves.

You may smile when I assert that the last
Was to me a source of apprehension as great as
either of the others. An Indian horse IS a sen-
tinel not to be despised. He is as much the en-
emy of the white man as his master; and or: ly
from fear, and partly from actual antipat v. he
will not permi the former to approach im.
The human watcher may be negligent—may
“991) upon his post—the horse never. The scent
g! a. white man ‘or the id ht of a skulking

Ofln. Will cause him to snori:z and neigh, so that
5 Whole camp Will either be st in edod or put
“ “nuggegg'ggmfg; minutes. y a well-

n d -
biasing-t 21$: gimme, uf‘fggatgdlby the warn
is no a prairie hog-3'3 _
culiar attachment for the Indian, gflnfi’} (p13,
did, since tyrant mere cruel to the equine race
does not ex st. No drive more severe no rider
“in”: so we 1”“- . '
up to at unenswichth.
animal exhi its for his com ion and 1113:}?
with the instinct which .8 him when “mi
masterismonaced b danger. no will do the
cams service for a w its as for a rod-man; and
often does the weary tram take his lone rest
with full confidence that vigil will be faith-

full by his horse,
him." been dogin the Indian camp my
Won: would vs been still more acute
dang? {maid have been more than
doubled. ithln the lines these ounnin brutes
would have known no as an enemy: dis
ne'of in would not have availed me;
y the scent, an Indian dog can at once tell the
white from the red- ; and they apps: to
hold a real antipathy against the race of the
Celt or Saxon. Even in the time of truce a

 

white man entering an Indian camp can scarce-
ly be protected from the wclflsh pack.

I knew there were no dogs-we saw tracks of
none. The Indians had been upon the war~
trail; and when they proceed on these grand
expeditions, their dogs, like their women, are
left “at home." I had reason to be thankful
that such was their custom.

Of course it was my intention to go disguised;
it would have been madness to have gone other-
wise. In the darkest night. my uniform would
have betra ed me; but necessarily, in my
search for t e captive, I should be led within
the light of the fires.

It was my design, therefore, to counterfeit
the Indian costume, and how to do this had
been for some time the subject of m reflec-
tions. I had been con ratulatin myse f on the
possession of the buffs o-robe. hat would go
far toward the dis ise: but other articles were
wanting to comp etc in costume. The leg-
gings and moccasins—4: c plumed head-dress
and neck ornaments—the long elfln locks—the
bronze complexion of arms and breast.— the
piebald face of chalk, charcoal, and vermilion—
whare were all these to be obtained? There was
no costume-rte in the desert.

In the moment of excitement that succeeded
the capture of the savage, I had been thinking
of other things. It was only when we were
about to part from him that the idea 'umped
into in mind—that bright idea—that could
farm's me-the Very man.

I turned back to reconnoiter his person.

Dismountin , I scanned him from head to
foot. With slight m eyes rested upon his
buckskin—leggin 5, his d-embroidered moc-
casins, his pen ent collar of javali-tusks, his
ea le-plumss stained red, and the am 19 robe
of aguar-skins that draped his back—a1 pleased
me much.

But that we were bent on an errand of peril,
the last-mentioned article would not have been
left ‘there. My followers had eyed it with
avidity, and more than one of them had been
desirous of removin it; but the prospect of
proximate peril had amped the ardor for spoil;
and the splendid robe ha. been rmitted to re-
main, where so gracefully it
shoulders of the savage.

It soon replaced the buffalo-robe upon mine;
my boots were cast aside, and my legs incased
in the scalpfringed leggings; my hips were
swathed in the leathern “ reech-clout;" and
my feet thrust into the foot—gear of the Co-
manche, which, by good fortune, fitted to a
hair.

There was yet much required to make me an
Indian. Comanches upon the war- trail go
naked from the waist upward—the tunic-shirt
is only worn by them, when hunting, or on
ordinary occasions. How was I to counterfeit
the cop r skin—the hronzed arms and shoul-
dersl—t e mottled breast—the face of red, and
white, and black? Paint only could aid me;
and where was paint to be procured? The black
we could imitate withefunpowder, but—

“Waghl” e'aculat Rube, who was seen
holding in his ands a wolf~skin, prettin trim-
med and garnished with quills and beads—the
medicine-bag of the Indian. “Waghl I thort
we’d find the matceruls in the niggur’s possible-
sack—h ur they be!"

Rube ad dived his hand to the bottom of the
embroidered bag; and, while speaking, drew
it triumphantly forth. Several little leathcrn

a'ckets appeared between his tin ers, which,

rom their stained outsides, evident y contained
pigments of various colors; while a small shin-
mg object in their midst roved, on closer in-
spection, to be a looking-g assl

Neither the trappers nor myself were aston-
ished at finding these odd “notions” in such a

lace' on the contrary it was natural we should
have looked for them there. Seldom in peace,
but never in time of war, dees the Indian ride
abroad without his rouge and his mirror!

The colors were of the right sort, and cone
sponded exactly with those that glittered upon
the skin of the captive warrior.

Under the keen edge of a bowie, my mus-
taches came of! in a twinkling; a little ease
was procured; the paints were mixed; an plac-
ing mysolf side by side with the Indian, I stood
for his rtrait. Rube was the painter—a piece
of softhuckslrin his brush—tho broad palm of
Gare is ette.

Th: opepigtion did not last a great while.
In twenty minutes it was all over; and the In—
disn brave and! appeared the exact counter.
parts of each other. Street by streak, and
spot by s t, had the old trapper imitated those
hideous ieroglyphics—eveu to the red hand
upon the breast, and the cross n n the brow.
In horrid aspect, the cop! qnl equaled the
ori inal. .

no thing was still lacking—an important
element in the metamorphosis of disguise; I
wanted the Ion slinky black meg that
adorned the has of the Comanche.

The want was scan supplied. mm the
bowie blade was called upon tomvensscissors;
and with Garey to rform the ~immortal feat,
the More 0 the udian was shore of“: flow-
ing glories. .

The savage winced as the lzcen blade glistened

ung, upon the

 

around his brow; he had no other thought than
that he was about to be scalped alivel

“’Tain’t the way I’d raise his ha’r, the dod—
rotted skunk!” muttered Rube, as he stood
watching the operation. “ Fotch the hide
along wi it, Bill! It ’11 save bother—'ce’ll hev
to make a winr ef ’ee don’t; skin ’im, durn ’iml"

Of course Garey did not give heed to this
cruel counsel, which he knew was not meant ior
earnest.

A rude “ scratch ” was soon constructed, and
being placed upon m¥hcad, was attached in my
own Waving locks. ortunaualy, these were of
dark color. and the hue corresponded.

I fancied I saw the Indian smile when be per-
ceived the use we were making of his spicudid
tresses. It was a grim smile, however; and
from the first moment to the last, neither word
nor ejaculation escaped from his lips.

Even I was forced to smile; I could not re-

strain mysclf. The odd travesty in which we
were engaged—the strange commingling of the
comic and serious in the act—and above all. the
ludicrous look of the captive Indian, after they
had close cro%ed him—was enough to make a.
stone smile. y comrades could not contain
themselves, but laughed outright.
The plume-bonnet was now placed on my
head. t was fortunate the brave had one--for
this magnificent head-dress is rarely worn on a
war-ex ition; fortunate, [for it aided mate—
rially 1n comdpletin the counterfeit. With it
upon my hea , the also hair could hardly have
been detected under the light of day.

There was no more to be done. The painter,
hair-dresser and costumier, had performed their
several emcee—I was ready for the mas-
querade.

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.
run LAST norms 0N run TRAIL.
Mons: cautiously than ever we now crept
alo the trail—advancin g only after the ground
hadugeen thoroughly “ quartered ” by the scouts.
'Iime was of the least consequence. The fresh
sign of the Indians told us they “ere buta short
way ahead of us: we believed we could have
ridden within sight of them at any moment.

We did not wish to set eyes on them before
sunset. It could be no advantage to us to over-
take them on the march. but the contrary.
Some lagging Indian might be found in the roar
of the band: we might come in contact vith
him and thus defeat all our designs.

We hungI back. therefore—allowing sufficient
time for t e savages to pitch their camp, and
for their stragglers to at into it.

On the other hand did not desire to arrive -
late. The council was to be held that night—so
she had learned—and after the council would
come the crisis. 1 must be in time for both.

At what hour would the council take place?

It might be just after they had halted. The
son of a chief, and a. chief himself—for the white
renegade was a leader of red-men—a question
between two such men would not remain long
undecided. And a question of so much im-
portance—involving such consequence—prop-
erty in body and soul—possession of the most
beautiful woman in the world!

Oh! I wondered! Could these hideous, ocher-
stuined, grease‘bedaubed brutes appreciate that
peerless beauty? Impossible, 1 thou ht. The
delicate lines of her loveliness wo d be lost
upon their gross eyes and coarse. sensual hearts.
That pearl beyond rice—paste would have
satisfied them as we l—they could not distin—
guish the diamond from common glass.

And yet the Comanche is not without love-
craft. Coarse as mi ht be the passion, no doubt
they loved her—bot 1 loved her—red savage and
white savage.

For. this very reason the “ trial " would not
be delayed: the question would be speedil de-
cided—in order that the quarrel of the c iefs
might be brought to an end. For this very rea-
son the crisis might be hastened the council
take Iplace at an earl hour: for this very rea-
son, too must needs early u n the spot.

It was my aim to arrive wit min a ht of the
Indian encampment just before nig t—in the
twilight. if possible—that we might be able to
make reconnaissance of the ground before dark-
ness should cover it from our new. We were
desirous of acguainting ourselves with the lay
of the surroun mg country as well—so that. in
the event of our escape. we should know which
was the best direction to take. ,

'Wc timed our advance by the sign upon the
trail. The keen scouts could tell, almost to a
minute, when the latest tracks were made: and
by this we were guided. Both glided silently
a 0113, their eyes constantly and earnestly turned
upon the ground.

Mine were more anxiously bent upon the
sky; from that quarter I most feared an
obstacle to the execution of my purpose. What
a change had come over my desiresl—how
dtiferent were they from those of the two pre-
ceding nightsl The very s-me aspect of the
heavens that had hitherto ch urined and baffled
me, would now have hi on welcome. In my
heart, I had lately exth the clouds: in that
same heal-m was now paying for cloud, and
storm, and darkness!

Now could I have blessed the clouds, but there

22

The War Trail.

 

 

were none to bless—mt a speck appeared over
the whole face of the firmanient—the eye beheld
only the illimitable ether.

In another hour that boundless blue would be
studded with millions of bright stars; and,
silvered b the light of a resplendent moon, the
ni ht wou d be as day.

was dismayed at the prospect. I prayed for
cloud, and storm, and darkness. Human heart!
when blinded by its own petty passions, un-
reasoning and unreasonable; my petition was
opposed to the unalterable laws of nature—it
could not be heard.

I can scarcelydescribe how the aspect of that
bright sky troubled and pained me. The night-
bir which joys only in deepest darkness, could
not have like it less. Should there be moon-
light the enterprise would be made more perilous
—doubly more. Should there be moonlight—
why need I form an hypothesis? Moonlight there
would be to a certainty. It was the middle of
the lunar month, and the moon would be up
almost as the sun went down—full, round, and
almost as bright as he—with no cloud to cover
her face, to shroud the earth from her white
11 ht. Certainly there would be moonli htl

all thought of was that disguise—we i spent
our labor in making it so perfect. Under the
moonlight, to it only could I trust; by it only
mi ht expect to preserve my incognito.
ut the eye of the Indian savage is sharp, and
his perception keen—almost as instinct itself.
I could not rely much upon my borrowed
plumes, should speech be required from me.
net on account of the cunning imitation, the
perfectnese of the pattern, some friends of the
original might have business with me—mi ht
approach and address me. I knew but a ew
words of Comanche—how should I escape from
the coll uy?

Such t oughts were troubling me as we rode
onward.

Night was near; the sun‘s lower limb rested
on the far horizon of the west; the hour was an
anxious one to me.

The scouts had been for some time in the
advance, without returning to report; and we
had halted in u. copse to wait for them. A high
hill was before us, wooded only at the summit;
over this hill the warérail led. We had ,
observed the scouts go into the timber. We
kept our eyes upon the spot, waiting for their
return.

Presently one of them appeared just outside
the ed e of the wood—Garey, we saw it was.
He ma e signs to us to come on.

We rode up the hill, and entered among the
trees. After going 2). little further, wediverged
from the trail. he scout guided us through
the trunks over the high summit. On the other
side, the wood extended only a little below; but
we did not ride beyond it; we halted before
- coming to its edge, and dismounting, tied our
horses to the trees.

We crept forward on our hands and knees till
we had reached the utmost verge of the timber;
throu h the leaves we peers , lookin down
into t 6 plain beyond. lVe saw smo es and
fires, and a skin-lodge in their midst; we saw
dark forms around—men moving over the
ground. and horses with their heads to the
grass; we were looking upon the camp of the
Comanches.

 

CHAPTER XXXVII.
run COMANCHE CAMP.

Wm had reached our ground just at the
moment I desired. It was twuight—dark
enough to render ourselves inconspicuous under
the additional shadow of the trees—yet sum-
ciently clear to allow a full reconnaissance of
the enemy’s position. Our point of view was 3

00d one—under a single coup-dwell command-
fiig the encampment, and a vast extent of
country around it. The hill we had climbed—a
sort of isolated butte—was the only eminence of
any considerable elevation for miles around;
and the site of the camp was upon the plain that
stretched away from its base—apparently
be 0nd limitl

he plain was what, is termed a :‘pecan”
prairie—that is, a prairie half-cover with
ores, copses, and lists of woodland—in which
he redominating tree is the pecan-a. species
of h ckory (carya, olirwformts), bearing an oval,
edible nut of commercial value. Between the
groves and mottes of timber single trees stood
2) art, their heads fully developed by the ‘free
ay given to their branches. hose park-look~
ihg trees, with the cop ice-like groves of the pe-
can, lent an air of high civilization to the land-
lca ; and a winding stream, whose water,
and: the still “angering rays 'gllstened with the
sheen of silver, dad to the deception. Withal,
it was a Wilderness-HI beautiful wilderness.
Human hands had never planted those ves—
hnmn my bad naught to do with the forma-
tion or rnment of that lovely landscape.
U the bank of the stream, and about half
I from the base of the hill stood the Indian
comp. A glance at the position showed how
wallit had been chosen—not so much for de‘

fence at to protect it against a ‘ .

Amming the lodge—there was but one—as
. the center oftho camp, it was placed upon the
edge of a small grove, and fronting the stream.

From the tent to the water’s edge the plain
sloped gently downward like the glacis of a
fortification. The smooth award that covered
the space between the trees and the water was
the (ground of the camp. On this could be seen
the usky warriors, some afoot, standing in list-
less attitudes, or moving about: others reclining
upon the grass, and still ()Llll'l‘S bending over the
fires, as if engaged in the preparation of their
evening meal.

A line of e ars, regularly placed, marked the
allotment 0 each. The slender shafts, nearly
five yards in length, rose tall above the turf—
like masts of distant ships—displaying their pro-
fusion of nnons and bannerets of painted
plumeean human hair. At the base of each
could be seen the audy shield, the bow and
quiver, the embroi ered pouch and medicine-
bag of the owner; and grouped around many of
them appeared objects of a far diflerent charac-
ter—objects that we could not contemplate with-
out acute emotion. They were women; enough
of light still ruled the sky to show us their faces;
they were white women—the captives.

Strange were my sensations as I regarded
those forms and faces; but they were far off—
even a lover's eye was unequal to the distance.

Flankin the camp on right and left were the
horses. _ey occupied a broad belt of ground—
fcr the were staked out to feed—and each was
allowe the length of his lasso. Their line con—
ver ed to the rear, and met behind the grove—
eo t at the cam was embraced by an arc of
browsin unima s, the river formin its cord.
tAciéoss t e stream the encampment id not ex-

on

I have said that the spot was‘well selected to

rd against a surprise. Its peculiar adapta—
ilitxconsisted in the fact that the little grove
that acked the camp was the only timber with-
in a. radius of a thousand ards. All around,
and even on the opposite si e of the stream, the

lain was treelcss and free from cover of any

ind. There were no inequalities of ound,
neither “ brake, bush, nor scaur," to she ter the
ap roach of an enemy.

ad this position been chosen, or was it acci-
dental? In such a place and at such a time, it
was not likel they had any fear of a surprise;
but with the ndian, caution is so habitually eXr
ercised that it becomes almost an instinct; and
doubtless under such a habit, and Without any
forethought whatever, the savages had fixed
upon the spot where they were encamped. The
grove gave them wood; the stream, water; the
plain, pabulum for their horses. With one of
these last for their own food, they had all the
re uisites of an Indian camp.

t the first glance I saw t e strength of their
position—not so much with the eye of a. soldier,
as with that of a hunter and bush—fighter did I
perceive it. In a. military sense, it oflered no

int of defense; butit could not be approached

y strategem, and that is all the horse—Indian
ever fears. Alarm him not too suddenly—give
him five minutes’ warning, and he cannot be all-
tacked. If superior in strength, you may chase
him; but you must be better mounted than he to
bring him to close combat. Retreat, not de-
fense, is generally the leading idea. of Comanche
strategy, unless when opposed toe. Mexican foe.
Then he will stand fight with the courage of a
master.

As I continued to gaze at the Indian encamp—
ment, my heart sunk within me. Except under
cover 0 a dark night—a very dark night—it
could not be entered. The keenest spy could
not have approached it; it appeared unap-
proachable.

The same thought must at that moment have
occupied the minds of my companions; I saw
the gloom of disc. pointment on the brows of
all as they knelt eside me silent and sullen.
None of them said a word; they had not spoken
since we came upon the groun

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
NO COVER. ‘

IN silence I continued to scrutinize the camp,
but could discover no mode of approaching it
secretly or in safety.

The ad 'acent plain, for nearly a thousand
yards’ ra ms, was a srnOoth grass- covered prai—
rie. Even the grass was short; it would scarce-
ly have sheltered the smallest game—much less
aflord cover for the body of a man—much less
for that of a horse.

I should willing] have crawled on hands and
knees, over the ha f-mile that so rated us from
the encampment; but that won d have been of
no service; I might just as well have walked
erect. Erect or prestrate, I should be seen all
the some by the occupants of the camp, or the
guards of the horses. Even if I succeeded in
eflectin an entrance within the lines what
then? ven should I succeed in finding Isolina,
wéipt then! what hope was there of our getting
0

There was no probability of our bein able to
pass the lines unseen—not the hast. e should
certainly be pursued, and what chance for us to
escape? It was not robablo we could run for
a thousand yards With the hue and cry after
us! No; we should be overtaken, recaptured,

 

 

or tomahawked upon the spot!

Thodeoign I hadformed was to bringmy

 

horse as close as possible to the camp ; to leave
him under cover, and within such a distance as
would make it possible to reach him by a run,
then mounting with my betrothed in my a

to gallop on to my comrades. The men, 1%
intended, should be placed in ambush, as near
to the camp as the nature of the ground would
permit.

But my preconceived plan was entirel frus-
trated by the peculiar Situation of the ndinn
encampment. I had anticipated that there
would be either trees, hrushwood, or broken
ground in its neighborhood. under shelter of
which we might approach it. To my chagrin, I
now saw that there was none of the three.
There was no timber nearer than the grove in
which we were lying—the copso excepted—and
to have reached this would have been to enter
the camp itself.

We appeared to have advanced to the utmost
limit possible that afforded cover. A few feet
further would have canied us outside the mar-
gin of the wood, and than we should have been
as conspicuous to the denizens of the camp. as
they now were to us. Forward we dared not
stir—not a step furl her.

I was puzzled and perplexed. Once more I
turned my eyes upon the sky, but I drew not
thence a ray of hope; the eavens were too
bri ht; the sun had one down in the went; but
in be cast was ris ng, full, round, and red,
almost his counterpart. How I should have
welcomed an eclipse! I thought of Omni Jtant

ower: I thought of the command of the srael-
ltish captain. I should have 1 yed to see the
shadow of the opaque earth pass over that shin-
ing orb, and rob it of its borrowed light, if only
for a single hour!

Eclipse or cloud there was none—no prospect
of one or other—no hope either from t e earth
or the sky. ‘ '

Verily, then, must I abandon my design, and
adopt some other for the rescue of my be-
trothed? What otheril

I could think of none; there was no other that
might be termed a plan. We might gallo for-
ward, and openly attack the camp? ‘heer
desperation alone could impel us to such a
course, and the result would be ruin toall—to
her among the rest. We could not hope to res-
cue her—nine toa hundred—for we saw and
could now count our dusky foemen. They
would see us afar ofll; would be prepared to re-
ceive us—prcpared to hurl their masses upon us
-—to destroy us altogether. Sheer dmperation!

What 0t er plan ?—w hat-—

Something of one occurred to me at that mo-
ment; a slight shadow of it had crossed my
mind before. It seemed practicable, though
fearfully perilous; but what of peril? It was
not the time, nor was I in the mood, to regard
danger. Anything short of the prospect 0f cer-
tain death had no terror for me then; and even
this I should have preferred to failure.

We had along with us the horse of the cap-
tive Comanche. Stanfield had brought the ani-
mal, having left his own in exch inge. I thought
of mounting the Indian horse, and riding him
into the cam . In this consisted the whole of
the scheme t at now presented itself.

Surely the idea was a good one—a slight
alteration of my original Ian. I had already
undertaken to play the ro of an Indian war-
rior, while wit in the camp; it_would only re-

uire me to begin the personation outside the
lines. and make my entree along with my d
There would be more dramatic ap ropriateness,
with a ro rtionate increase of an or.

But di not jest thus; I had no t ought of
merriment at the time. The travesty I had un-
dertaken was no burl no.

The worst feature of t is new scheme was the
increased risk of being bron ht in contact with
the friends of the warrior 0 the red hand—of
being accosted by them, and of courts expected
to make reply. How could I avoid meeting
them—one or more of them? If interrogated,
how shun making answer? I known few words
of the Comanche tongue, but not enough to hold
a conversation in it. Either my false accent or
my voice would betray moi True, I might an-
swer in Spanish. Many of the Comanches
speak this language; but my using it would ap-
pear a suspicious circumstance.

_There was another source of apprehension: I
could not confide in the Indian horse. He had
endeavored to fling Stanfield all along the way
—kicking violent] , and biting at hi Saxon
rider while seate .upon his back. Should he
behave in a similar manner with me while en-
tering the camp, it Would Certainlly attract the
attention of the Indian guards. t would lend
to scrutiny and suspicion.

Still another fear: even should I succeed in
the main points—in entering the camp, finding
the captive, and wreetmg her from her joilers
—how after? I could never depend upon this
capricious mustang to carry us clear of the ur-
suit—there would be others‘ as swift; P0!“ 9136
swifter than he. and we should only be earned
back to die. Ohi that I could have taken my
own steed near to the line of yonderguard—ohl

'that I could have hidden him there!

It might not be; I saw that it could not be;
and I was forced to abandon the thought: of it.
,Ibndwell—nighmndeupmymind to risk all

The War  ‘ I

:23

 

 

m

‘ , the chances of my assumed character, by

 

 

    
 

mountin the Indian horse. To my comrades I
im tedg the idea, and asked their counsel.
regarded it as fraught With danger; one
or two advised me against it. They were those
who did not understand my motives—who could
not comprehend the sentiment of love—who
knew not the strength and courage which that
noble passion may 1m art. Little understood
they how its emotions nspire to deeds of during
——bow love absorbs all Selfishne ven life be-
coming ' a. secondary considers ion, when
weighed against the happiness or safety of its
object. These rude men had never loved as I.
I gave no ear to their too prudent counsels.
Others acknowledged the danger, but saw not

how I could act differently. One or two had in ‘

their life’s course experienced a touch of tender
feeling akin to mine. These could appreciate;
and counseled me in consonance with in half-
fiormed resolution. I liked their counsel st.

One had not et spoken—one upon whose ad-

' I placed a igber value than ugon the com-
m wisdom of all the others. I ad not yet
taken the opinion 0: the earless trapper.

CHAPTER XXXIX. .
swan CONSULTING His ORACLE.

.82 was standing apart from the rest—lean-
ing, I should rather say. for his bod was not
erect, hut diagonal. n this attitu e it was
pgpfed by his ride, the butt of which was
s ied against the stamp of a tree, while the
muzzle appeared to rest upon the bridge of
Rube’s own nose. , '

As the man and the iece were about of a
length, the two just p oed in juxtaposition
presented the exact figure of. an inver .d V,
and the small close-capped skull of the trapper
formed a. sufliciently tapering apex to the
angle. Both his hands were claspedirouud the
barrel, near its mania, his fingers interlockin ,
while the thumbs lay flat—one upon each si e

 

-oihisnos-.

At first glance, it was dimcuit to tell whether
he was gazing into the barrel 0! the piece, or
 nd it upon the Indian camp.

he attitude was not new to ‘him nor to me;
it was not the first time I had observed him in
a posture precisely similar. I knew it was his

. Iavorite poserwhen any question ofuuusual

‘ down within the dark tu

required all the energy of his “in-
He was now, as often‘ of yore con-
resumed to dwell far

of “Targuts.” ,

“tor a time, all .the others ceased to spiak,
andstood watching him. They knew that no
step would be taken before Rube’s advice had
been received; and they waited with more or
less patience for h m to speak. I

Full ten minutes passedtand still, the old
trapper neither stirred nor spoke. Nor lip nor

dificulty
stincts.’ _
suiting his “ dwimty,"

' muscle of him was seen to move; the eyes alone

could be, detected in motion, and these em 11
orbs, scintillatin
the only signs of its which he s owed,

in their doe socketsé were

band-

7 ing rigid and still, he a peered, not a statue,

Y but ascerecrow prop up by a stick' and the
long, brown, we’atber-washed rifle did‘not belie

the resemblance. r
Full ten minutes , and still he spoke

not; his .“oracle”bad not yet yielded its re-
fpg have said that at them t glance it was dim-

. cult to tell whether the o}d mun wasganin into

the barrel of his un or beyond it.\ ter
watching him close -y, I observed that he was
-doin both. Nowhis eyes were a little raised,

» as f e looked upon the plain—anon they were

terruft or question the queer

ipor.  ,,
' ‘Wegxatlen
'Bnbeyi'iths ‘

'othis

lowered. and apparently peering into the tube.
He was drawing t e data of his problem from
facts—he ,was trusting to his divinity for the
solution.
For a lon time he kept up this singular pro-
cess of con oration—alternating his glances in
ldistrioution‘betweeu-the hollow linder
a d the c role of vision that compre ended
within its circumference the Comanche swamp--

. '. t, . . , - . .
Inf-ho otbeubegan to grow impatiept' all were

interested in the rasu t, and not w out rea-

 ;Standing u n the limits, of a life-den r
:simtflrange tfiy should loci anxiety catsuit .
88118. I -

Thus far, however, none b‘ad (£9er to in.
O t o of the lo? mfiwe
no or w par

had a taste of his quality when i‘r'vgttedor‘inteiX
zfared withyand no one d , togdraw upon
.hinislt thesharp “talki’of theveulesstrap-
a preached. but notsnntil
p t, toss of hith nd

a Wypudibie “whoop ",from _
showed Signs that the consultation had mi
and that the “jam” who dwelt at the bottom
rifle-barrel had.va an answer-,1
-~I had watched him.th the rest. Iii]:

is «minimum
\Gereyaad 1 drowns-3,.bntnottoqustiou,

I.

l
I

M83311!!! s,, “in

ed with”

" 10...”. s ‘f flamiii . locked
flambotween, whim uni his I my 11'”- A law,
 was; . -

’the old mapper some feasible

him; we understood him too well for that. We
knew that he must be left free to develcip his
purpose in his own time; and we left him roe—
simw placing ourselves by his side.

“ a , Billeel" he said, after drawing along
breath, “an’ y’urself. ouug fellurl what do ’ee
both think 0’ this hyur izness: looks ugly ,don’t
it——eh, boyeesi” .

“ ’Tarnal ugly.” was Garey‘s laconic answer.

“ Thort so mass]! at tu'st.’

“ Thar ain’t no plan 0’ ettin’ in yander,” said
the can tra r, in a esponding tone.

“ be case bur ain’t! what reenhorn put
that idea inter y’ur brain-pan, Bi 1?”

“ Wal that are a plan; but ’taln’t much 0’ a
one' we ve been talkin’ it over hyar.”

“ ’s hear it," rejoined Rube, with an exalt-
ln chuckie—" le’s hev it, be eel an’ quick,
Bil for time’s dodrotted prec one ’bout now.

“ It' jest this, Rube, tighter 1cm nor more;
the ca t’n pro es to e thelnjun’s hose,
and ri e straig t into that camp.” .

“ Straight custrut in, do ’ee!’ ’

“ 0v coorse; it 'u’d be no use goin’ about the
bilijshj they kin see him a—comin‘ from any
is: e. '

“I’ll be' darned of the kind—that I’ll be
darned. Weigh! they c‘u’ ’t ’a’ see me~thet
they c'u’dn’t, e! ivery niggur o’ ’eni bed the
e eso‘ an A oose es bed eyes all over him-—
t et‘ they c’u’ ’t, Billee.”

“ How?” I inquired. ” Do you mean to say
that it is possible for any one to ap each you.
der camp without being observed? that what
you mean, Rube?”

“Thet ur preezactly whet I mean, gonna
feliur. No—not adzactly thet eyther. no 0

nu’ I didn‘t say: whet sayed ‘wur that this
g ur trapper, Rube Rawlins o’ the Rocky
ountains, k’u’d slide inter yander ’campmint
‘est. like greased lightnin’ through a goose—
rry—bush ’ith‘out e’er an Injun seein’ ’im; an’
thet, too, oi the red-skinned Va’mints bed more
eyes in tbur heads than they hev/ lice; which,
ac‘cordin’ to this child’s'reck nin’, ’u’d guv ivory
squnw’s son ,0’ the gap; as many peepers es thur

a

green, Bill 'Gareyl” . , _
“ How can it be accomplished, Rube? Pray,
ex lainl You know how impatient—” ,
‘Don’t git unpayshint. yo'un'g fellurl thet
ur’syno use whetsomdives. Y’u‘ll n
shinse, an’ a good grist o’ thet ur, store 9 km
warm y’urshins at yanderflres; but ’86 in do
it, an' in the nick 0’ time too, of y’u’ll go pree-
zactly accordin’ to whet old Rube tells ‘ e, an’
keep y’ur eye well skinned and y’ur test from
,chatterin’: I knows y’u’li do all thet. v1 knows
y’ur weasel to the back 0’ v’ur neck, an’ kin
whip y’ur weight in wildcat any day i’ the
{bean PNowl D’ y’ur agree to tailor my three]:—
nns . _ 7 , 
V d‘,‘ I priomisejaithfully to act according to your
,a Vice. —4 . , . , . ,
, “That ur sensible sayed—durnation’d seasi-
hle. We), then, l’ilgi’ ye my device.”
As Rube said this, he moved forward to the
e of the timber, making a sign for Garey
myself to follow. . ‘

',On reaching its outer edge—but stiilwitbin
coyer—ho dropped down upon his knees, be—
,hindfiqme evergreen bushes. ,

I imitated his example, and kneltu n his
I ht, while Garey crouched down on t a left.

ur eyes were directed upon the Indian
camp, of which, and the plain around it. we
had a good View—as good as could be obtained
under the light of a brilliant moon, alas! too
brilliantl , .
. After we had surveyed the scene for some
moments in silence, the old_trapper conde-
scended to begin the conversation. 1

CHAPTER XL.
“N Burlin: saunas continuum]
, ow, Gm, y on you, young ur 'est
cla .y’ur eyes.on thet ‘ere’eampmint, anllsee
of. ur ain’t aroad ieadiniinter the. very heart
‘0’ it1 st ht as the tail 0’ a skeeart fox. ’Ee
see ti eh, . '

ti“ got under ,kiveri’f.’ repliod' Garey; interrog.
a v . . .. .
“Ui’iner kiveruive'ry step 0’ the way—Allie
best o’kiver.” . . , I _
Garey andIoncemore scrutinised the whole
drcwtempce oi.’ the encampment, and the
nd adgggent. We could perceive no cover
y whiCh cainpcouldbeapproached. Surely
“€613” “ii‘iz' ' ‘ z W caseload
~ con  , ere s
anti:

ed
on

 

thank! ‘ ro’eived e, treat 1
coming lineman 
toltbis ' »

 
 

 .

“all.

 

 

ur, spots in a peecock s tail an’ awheen over‘ to '
breed, I knlkerlate. No Plan to t ' inter tbur
camp ’ithout bein’ see’d Wagh yur ’ gettln’

raised in .‘e' asand aw tthe whole ' l
r f y mops. Show the salinity
W north. and

change might be expected. When the trapper
talked of entering the camp under cover, he
could ndt have, meant under cover of darkness.
What then? r '

“Don’t see ony kiver, old hoes,” rejoined
Gare , atterapause: “ neyther bush nor weed."

“ ushi” echoed Rube-—" weed! who’s talkin’
’bout weeds an‘busbes! Thur‘s other we so’
hidin’ y’ur karkidge ’sides stickin’ it in a sh
or unner a weed; Yur a~gettin’ durnatioa’d
pumpkin-headed, Bill Garey. I ’gin to think
yur in the same pui‘dicament as the ou‘s'tfi
ellnr hisseif. Y’ii ve been a humbuggiyn'
one 0‘ them or Mexlkin moochachen." .

“ No, Rube, no."

“Burn me. of I don’t
I heern ye tell one o’ ’em— .

“ What?”

“Waghi ya know well enufl. Didn't tee tell
one o’ ’em gurls at the rancher-la. that ye loved

them wur yur reezact words, Billee.”

“Iwas onl okin’, hose."

“ Putty fie in’ thet iii-"ll be when l gits back
to Kent’s drt, and 11 or Coco now. He,
he, lie—h ho, boo! ee 0s0phat! urwill be
arumpus um us!”

"' Nonsense, ube- tbnr’s nothin’ ov it.”

“ Thur must ’a’ he: y‘ur braid n'aout 0’
order, Bill: ye hain’t bed a clur lift; for
back. Bushes! an’ w tool Waghl
seyed thur war bushes! Whur’s y’ur eyes! d’
yur see a bank?” ’ 1
‘ “Abanki” echoed Garey and Isimultanr

and? ,

“ ees” drawled Rube—“albauk. Iguana
thur’s a'
ilur ain‘t as blind as the 'ttlins o’ a ’postum.

ow do’ee see it?" V . ‘ ,

Neither of us made reply to the final intern»
gatory. For the first time, we began to coin-
.prehend Rube’s meaning; and our eyesas well
as thoughts were suddenly directed upon}?
object indicated by his words—the bank of -
stream—for to the he referred. ‘

I have statedytbat the little river ran close to
the Indian lines, and on one side formed‘the
boundary, of the camp. ' We could tell that
the current was toward us; for the stresui
‘ou reaching the hillupon which we were, turn 4‘
sharply off, and awe tvround its base. The In

itsri ht when Viewed up-sirea .as we ere re
firdisng it. An one proceed?!) , up :21: left
nkmust there ore necessarily Vol II the“
lines, and through
staked nearest to the water, , . , ,
It need, not be sdgposedthat under our keen
scrutiny the stream ad hitherto escaped obser-
vation; I myself had long_ago then lit of it—as
a. means of covering my approac and time
after time had my eyes dwelt upon it. but‘with-
out result; in its channel ,I could, perceive no
'sheltcr’from observation. Its banks were low,
and without either rush or,bush upon them.

very brie and soaroei twelve inches, WW its
level was t e si‘irtace o the cm'rent water. Ibis
was especially. the case along the front ’of the
giftinpment, and for some distance above and
ow. _, v ‘ ~ . . . \
Any one ende‘avorin to enter the cam ,b
staging up the channdl, must have gonegorg-
e
have n obterved upon its surface; even it a
man could have approached in this way, there
was no hope that a arse could be taken with
him; and without the horse, what prospect of

re noted, the idea.

conceived. and he‘now prooee 'ed #0th

. L itshpracticability. .

New. thew—beside a banksdefcefl .' V,

rather discouragin y. . ,
the‘ 1:2; unifii‘aéugjlgl fits—iii: $1351} 62?:
nice; burns! in’t as b disfigugpfium

.lviry minnita- , , rat» kn.

‘ Gettin ,' ou , . . 

‘Y 8 w ? putty constituent.
same thing the t’otberriiraese tin’ over.”

“ The water. you mean?” ‘

.t .
hi «the rhettbw'u _ I \ _
I FMdfiétthWswmm. pg,”

    
    

 

  

 

heir; sow-swim-  ~ ‘
1‘ m  flint“:
“Jest'thesa'ma‘w : "us-sell‘.‘ “ '

bedoithatriverur 

Miami! ~

 

 

’b’lieve you hev, boy. ‘

her as hard as a mule kud kicki—sartinly ye did ;

“5i: ,

bank right ai'ore ‘ur noses, ef,both o’

dian camp was on ,he leit bank—though upon ~

ling the 1:9”,th  ,_ 

The green tux-g or the prairie stretched .up tonne '

under the wallet. for a swimmer could ‘

ultimate escape? ,
. It had scorned to me im is. More than
once had I taken into co ration. and aspften,

at so Rube. It was‘tbe vex} scheme he had- ‘

“"l‘ain’t'uiuch a' a inns,” repliedfiimp

“Th atcr enemas-guise," ‘ “  
inflhflséetvzdnme; m’inln  my ,
harmiip'hlnxqstmnto? ‘  V

 

 

24'

The War Trail.

 

 

don’t, you kin tie his nose to the bank. Don’t
be skeeart, but ’ee kin take 'im as near as ’ee
please; but don't git too far to wind’ard, else
them mustangs ‘ll smell ‘im, and then it ur all
up both wi’ y urself un’ y'ur hoss. About two
hundred yurds ull be y’ur likeliest distance. Ef
ye it the gurl clur, ye kin easy run thet. I
rock n: ut straight for the boss; nn’ whun yur
mounte . gallip like h~—-l Put straight up byer
for the timmer, whur we’ll be cached; an’ then,
durn ’eml ef the red-skins don’t catch goss out
0‘ our rifles. Wagh! that’s the way to do the
thing—it ur.”

Certainly, this- plan appeared practicable

enough. The sinking of the water was a new
element; it had escaped my observation, though
Rube had noted it. It was this that had de-
layed him so long in giving his opinion; he had
been watching it while leaning upon his rifle,
though none of the rest of us had thought of such
a thing. He remembered the heavy rain of the
night before: he saw that it had causedafreshet
in thelittle river; that its subsidence had begun;
and. as in most prairie-streams, was progressin
with rapidity. His keen eye had detected a fa
of several inches durin the half-hour we had
been upon the ground. could myself observe,
now the thing was pointed out to me, that the
banks were hi her than before.

Certainly, t e idea. of up reaching by the
stream had assumed a more sensible aspect. If
the channel should prove deep enough, I might

oi: the horse sufficiently near: the rest would
have to be left to strata em and chance.

“Y’ur ridin" in the njuu boss," said Rube,
“ ’u'd niver do: it mout, on the wu’st pinch: an’
ef ’ee don’t '1: in the t’other way, ‘ee kin still try
it; but ya k u’d niver git ncrosst through the
cavayard ’ithout stampeedin’ ’em : ’em mustangs
’u’d be sure to make sich a snortin’, an’ stompin’,
nn’ whigherin’, as ’u‘d bring the hul ‘cam mint
about ye; an’ some 0‘ the sha?v eyed n rs
’u’d be sartin to find Out y‘ur lde wur w ite.
T‘o’ther way es I’ve desized ur fur the safest—it
ur

I was not long in. makinlgup my mind. Rube’s
counsel decided me, and ' rescind to act ac-
cordlngly.

CHAPTER XLI.
TAKING 10 run WATER.

I mm but little time in preparations; these
had been made already. It remained on] to
tighten my saddle-girths, look to the cups 0 my
revolvers, and (place both pistols and knife in
the belt behin my back where the weapons
would be concealed by he pendent robe of
ja sr-skins. In a few minutes I was read .

still loltered a while, to wait for the f ling
of the water; not long—my anxiety did not per—
mit me to tarry long. The hour of the council
might be ni h—I might be too late for the crisis.
Not long di I loiter.

It was not necessa . Even by the moonlight
we could distinguish be dark line of the bank
separating the grassy turf from the surface of
the water. The rip ling current was shining
like silver lace, an , by contrast, the brown
earthy strip that rose vertically abovo it could
be observed more distinctly. It was sensibly
broader.

I could wait no longer. I leaped into the sad—
dle. My comrades crowded around me to say a.
partin word: and with a wish or a prayer upon
their 1 ps, one after another pressed my hand.
Some doubted of their ever seeing me again—I
could tell this from the tone of their leave—tak-
ing—others were more confident. All vowed to
revenge me if I fell.

Rube and Garey went with me down the hill.

At the goint where the stream impin ed upon
the hill, t ere were bushes; these con- tied up
the declivitv, and joined the timber upon the

summit. Under their cover we descended,
reschin the bank inst at the salient angle of
the hen . A thin s 'n of similar bushes ran

around the base of the ' l, and we now per-
ceived that h following the path on which we
had come, I; e ambuscade might have been
brought ulittle nearer to the camp. But the
cover was not so good as the grove upon the
summit, and in case of a retreat it wpuld be
necessary to gallop up the naked face of the
slope, and thus expose our numbers. It was
decided, therefore, after a short consultation,
to leave the men where they were.

From the bend, where we stood, to the In-
dian camp, the river trended almost in n s . ht
line, and its long reach lay before our eyes like
a band of shining metal. Along its banks, the
bush extended no further. A single step toward
the camp would have exposed us to the view of
its occo nts.

At this point, therefore, it was necessary for
me to take to the .water; and dismounting, I
made ready for the immersion. ‘

The trappers had spoken their last word of
instruction and counsel; they had both gras
my hand, giving it a. significant squeeze t at
promised more than words; but to these, too,

van u no

I they had tteran .
‘ Don't afeerd, capt’nl” said the younger.
“ Rube and I won‘t be for ad. If we hear your
pistols, we'll make a rush to’rst you, and meet
you half-way anyhow; and if onything should
appen amiss "—here Garey spoke with em-

 

phasis—“you may depend on’t we’ll take a
lood revenge.” »

“hoes!” echoed Rube, “we’ll do jest that.
Thur'll be many a nick in Targuts afore next
Krissmuss ef you ur rubbed out, young fellur;
thet 1 sw’ar to ye. But don’t be skeeartl Keep
y’ur eye sharp-skinned, an’ y’ur claws steady,
nn' thur’s no fear but y’u’l git clur. Oncest
v’ur clur o’ the camp, ’ee may reck’n on us.

ut straight for the timmer, and gallip as ef
Ole Scratch wur a-gruppin‘ at the tail 0’ y’ur
critter.” '

I waited to hear no more, but leading Moro
down the bank, at a. place where it sloped, I
stepped ently into t e current. My well—
trained s ed followed without hesitation, and
in another instant we were both breast-deep in
the flood.

The water was just the depth I desired.
There was a half-yard of bank that rose verti-
cally above the surface; and this was sufficient
to shelter either my own head. as I stood erect
or the froutlet of my horse. Should the channe
continue of uniform depth as far as the camp,
the approach would be easy indeed; and, for
certain hydro raphic reasons, I was under the
belief it woulrI.

The plumes of the Indian bonnet rose abova
the level of the meadow~turf ; and as the feathers
——-dyed of guy colors—would have formed a
conspicuous object, Itook oil! the gaudy head-
dress, and carried it in my hand.

I also raised the robe of jaguar-skin over my
shoulders, in order to keep 1; dry; and for the
same reason, temporarily carried my pistols
above the water-line.

The making of these slight alterations occu-
pied only n minute or so; and, as soon as they
wart: completed, I moved forward through the
We r.

The very depth of the stream proved a. cir-
cumstance in my favor. In wading, both horse
and man make less noise in deep than in shallow
water; and this was an important considera-
tion. The ni ht was still—too still for my
wishes—and t e lunging sound would have
been heard afar o ; but fortunately there were
rapids below—just where the stream forced its
way through the spur of the hill—and tho hiss~
ing sough of these, louder in the still night, was
borne u'pgn the air to the distance of many
miles. eir noise, to my own cars, almost
drowned the plashing maid by Moro and my-
self. I had noted this point d’auantage before
embarking upon the enterprise.

At the distance of two hundred ards from
the bushes, I paused to look back. y purpose
was to fix in my memory the direction of the
hill, and more especially the point where my
comrades had been left in ambush; in the event
of s close pursuit, it would not do to mistake
their exact situation.

I easily made out the place, and observed that
for several reasons, a. better could not have been
chosen. The trees that timbered the crest of
the hill were of a culiar kind—none more so
upon the earth. T ey were a cies of arbores-
cent yucca, then unknown to tanists. Many
of them were forty feet in hight, and their
thick angular branches and terminal fascicles
of rigid leaves outlined against the s formed
a singular, almost an unearthly spec cle. It
was unlike any other vegetation upon earth,
more resembling a. grove of cast-iron than a
wood of exogenous trees.

Why I regarded the spot as favorable for an
ambush, was chiefly this—a party approaching
it from the plain, and climbm the hill, might
fancy a host of enemies in their front; for the
trees themselves, with their heads of radiating
blades, bore a striking resemblanco to an array
of plumed gigantic warriors. Many of the

uccas were only six feet in hight, with tufted
heads and branchless trunks as gross as the body
of a man, and they might readily have been
mistaken for human beings.

I perceived at a glance the advantage of the
position. Should the Indians ursue me, and I
could succeed in reaching t e timber before
them, a. volley from my comrades would check
the pursuers, however numerous. The nine
rifles would be enough, with a few shots from
the revolvers. The sava would fancy nine
hundred under the mystifiisng shadows of that
spectral-like grove.

With confidence, strengthened by these con-
siderations, I once more turned my face up-
stream; and, breasting the current,wnded on.

CHAPTER XLII.
UP-B‘I‘REAI.

MY progress was far from bein rapid. The
water was occasionally d or slio'wer, but
generally rising above my‘ ips—deep enough to
render my advance :1 task of time and diflculty.
The' current was of course a inst me: and,
th h not very swift, seriou imgeded me.
I cou d have advanced more rap dly, st for the
necessity of keeping my head and that of ‘my

horse below the escarpment of the bank. At

times it was a close fit, with scarcely an inch to
spare; and in several places I was compelled-to
move with my neck bent, and my horse’s nose
hold close down to the surface of the water.

At intervals I paused to rest myself—for the
exertion of wading against the current wenried

 

me, and took away my breath. This was par-
ticularly the case when I re uired to go in a
crouching attitude; but I c ose my resting—
places where the channel was deepest, and where

could stand erect. ‘ ‘ '

I was all the while anxious to look up and
take a survey of the camp; I wished to ascer-
tain its distance and position; but I dared not
raise my head above the level of the bank; the
sward that crowned it was smooth as a mown
meadow, and the edge-line of the turf even and
unbroken. Had I shown my head above it, it
might have been seen in that clear while light.
I dared not show either hand or head.

‘I had advanced I knew not how far, but I
fancied I must be near the lines. All the way I
had kept close under the left bank—which, as
Rube had predicted, now rose a full half yard
above the water line. 'This was a favorable cir-
cumstance; and another equally so was the fact
the] the moon on that—the eastern side—was
yet low in the sky, and consequently the bank
flung a broad black shadow that extended nearly
half-way across the stream. In this shadow I
walked and its friendly darkness sheltered both
In self and my horse.

fancied I must be near the lines, and longed
to recounoiter them, but, for reasons already
given, dared not.

I was equally afraid to make any further ad~
Vance—for that mi ht be still more rilous‘ i
had already noted t c direction of t 9 wind; it:
blow from the river, and toward “the camp; and
should I bring in horse op‘posite the line of the
mustangs, I wo d then be irectly to windward
of them, and in danger from their keen nostrils.
They would be almost certain to take up the
scent of my steed, and utter their warning
snorts. The breeze was light, but so much the
worse. There was sufficient to carry the smell
and not enough to drown the plungin noise
necessarily made by my horse moving t ongh
the water, with the occasional hollow pounding
of his boots upon the rocks at the bottom.

If I raised in head over the bank there was
the danger of ing seen; if I advanced, the
prospect was one of equal peril of being scented.

For some moments I stood hesitatin , uncer-
tain as to whether I should leave my orse, or
lead him a little further. I heard noises from
the camp, but they were not distinct enough to
guide me.

I looked back down the river in the hope of
bein able to calculate the distance I had come,
and 3! that means decide where I was, but my
observation furnished no data by which I could
determine my position. With my eves almost
on a. level with the surface of the wa r I could
not judge satisfactorily of distance.

I turned my face up—stream again and scru-
tinized the parapet line of the bank.

Just then I saw an object over its edge that
answered well to guide me. It was the croup
and hip bones of a horse, one of the mustangs
staked near the bank. I saw neither the head
nor shoulders of the animal; its hind—quarters
were toward the stream; its head was to the
grass—it was browsing.

The sight gratified me. The mustang was full
two hundred yards above the point I had
reached. I knew that its position marked the
outer line of the encampment. I was in the
very place where I wanted to be, about two
hundred yards from the lines. Just at that
distance I desired to leave my horse.

I had taken the precaution to bring with me
my picket-pin—one of the essentials of the
prairie traveller. It was the work of a moment
to delve it into the bank. I needed not to drive
it with violence: my well-trained steed never
broke fastening, however slight, With him the
stake was only r..quired as acign that he was
not free to wander.

In a moment, then, he was staked, and with a
“whisper” I parted from him and kept on up—
stream.

I had not waded a down yards further when
I perceived a break in the line of the bank. It
was a little gully that led slantinglv from the
level of the prairie down to the of the
stream. Its counterpart I perceived on the 0p-

ite side. The two indicated a ford or cross—
ing used by buflaloes, wild—horses and other
denizens of the prairie.

At first I viewed it with apprehension. I
feared it mi ht uncover my body to the eyes of
the enemy; ut on coming opposite my fears
were alloyed; the, slo was abrupt, and the
high ground screen an as before. There
would be no danger in passing the place.

As I was about moving on an idea arrested
mo, and I paused to re rd thegully with a look
pfi interest. perceived an advantage

n

I had been troubled about the 'tion in
which I had left my horse. Should; succeed in
getting back, of course it would be under the
pressure of hot pursuit, and my steed was not
convenient! placed: his back was below the
level of the nlr. He might easilv be mounted,
but how should I get him out of the channel of
the stream? Only by a desperate leap ht he
reach the plain above: but he might fail I: the
effort—time might be lost, when time and speed
would be most wanted.

I had been troubled with this thought; it need

————— .

 

 

 

 

 

  

The warm: '

.e

 . «A I, .

\

 

‘trouble me no longer. The “ crossin ” afforded

easy access either to Or from the of the
river—the ve thing I wanted. -

I was not s ow to profit by the discovery. I
turned back, and having re eased the rein, ltd
my horse gently up to the break.

Choosing a spot under the highest part of the
bank, I fastened him as before, and again left

him. \

I now moved with more ease and confidence,
but with increased caution. I was getting too
nearto risk making the sli htest noise in the
water; a single plush might stray me.

It was my intention to keep within the chan-
nel untill had gassed the point; where the horses
were staked. y so doing I should avoid cross-
ing the line of the horse-guards, and, what was
quite as important, that of the horses them-
selves—«for I was equally apprehensive of being
discov red by the latter. Once inside their
circle they would take no notice of me—for
doubtless there would be other Indians within
sight; and I trusted to my well-counterfeited
semblance of savagery to deceive the eyes of
those'equine sentinels. .

I did not wish to go-far beyond their line;
that would bring me in front of the camp itself
—too near its fires and its idle groups.

I had noticed before starting that there was a v

broad belt between the place occupied by the
men and that where their horses were staked.
'This “neutral” ground was little used by the
camp loungeus, and somewhere on the edge of
it I was desirous of making my entree.

I succeeded to my utmost wishes. Closely
hugging the bank, I passed thebrowsing mus-
tangs—under their Very noses I glided past, for
I could hear them munching the herbage right
over me—but so silently dirl I steal along, that
neither snort nor hoof—stroke heralded my ad-
Vance.

In a few minutes I was sufficiently beyond
them for my purpose.

I raised my head; slowly and gently I raised
it, till my eyes were above the level of the
prairie slope. ‘

No one was near.’ I could see the swarth
savages grouped around their fires' but they
were a. hundred yards off. or more. They were
capering and talking and laughing; but no car
was bent, and no eye Seemed turned toward
me. No one was near.

I grasped the bank with my hands, and drew
myself up. Slowly and silently I ascended.
like some demon from the dark trap door of 5.
Sta 9. ,

n my knees I reached the level of the turf;
and, then ently rising to my feet, I stood erect
within the imits of the Indian camp—to all a -
pearance as complete a savage as any upon I: e
groundl

 

CHAPTER XLIII.
COUP-D’osIL or THE CAMP. ‘

F011. some minutes I stood motionless as a
statue; I stirred neither hand nor foot, lest the
movement should catch the eye either of the
horse-guards or those moving around the fires.

I had already donned my lumed head dress
before climbing out of the c iannel: and after

,getting on the bank, my first thought was to

replace my pistols in the belt behind my back.
The movement was stealthily made, and with
like stealthy action I suffered the mantle of
“iguar skins to drop from my shoulders, and
Iiang to its full length. I had saved the robe
from getting wet, and its ample skirt now served
me in concealing my soaked breech-cloth as
well as the upper half of my leggings. These
and the moccasins were, of course, saturated.
with water, but I had not much uneasiness
about that. In a prairie camp, and upon the
banks of a deep stream, on Indian with wet leg-
gings could not be a. spectacle to exc1te sus-
picion; there would be many reasons why my
counterpart might choose to immerse his cop-
per-colored extremities in the river. Moreover,
the buckskin—dressed Indian fashion—~was
speedily casting the water; it would soon drip
y

, or even if wet, would scarcely be observed .

under such a light. ‘

The spot where I had “landed” chanced to
be one of the least conspicuousin the whole area
0' the camP- 1 W33 just between two 1i Me—
the red lens of, the camp-fires and the me ower
beams o the moon; and the atmospheric con.
fusion occasmned by the meeting of the distinct
kinds of light favored me, by producing a
species of optical delusion. It was but slight,
and I could easily be seen from the center of the
cam . but not with sufiment distinctness for
my isguise to be netrated by any one; there-
fore, it was hardI; probable that any. of the
savages would approach or trouble their heads
about me. I might pass for one of themselves.
indulging in a solitary saunter, yielding himself
to a moment of abstraction or melancholy. I
was well enough acquainted with Indian Us to
know that there was nothing outre or unlikely
in this behavior; such conduct was perfectly
en. regZe. ' ‘

I did not remain long on that spot—only long
enough to catch the salient features of the
scene.

 

. I saw there were many fires, and around each ,
was grouped a number of human forms-Tsome

squatted, some standing. The night was cold
enough to make them draw near to the burning
logs; and for this reason but few were wander-
ing‘about—a fortunate circumstance for me.

here was one fire lar r than the rest; from
its dimensions, it might termed a “ bonfire,”
such as is made by the flattering and flunkeyish
peasantry of old-world lands, when they wel-
come home the uire and the count. t was
placed directly in rent of the solitary tent, and
not a dozen paces from its entrance. Its blaz-
ing pile gave forth a flood of red light that
reached even to the ,s t where I stood, and
flickered in my face. ,eveu fancied I could
feel its glow upon my cheeks.

Around this fire were many forms of men-—
all of them standing up. I could see the faces
of those who were upon its further side, but only
the figures of those on the nearer.

The former I could see with almOst as much
distinc‘tness as if I had been close beside them;
I could trace the lineaments of their features——
the painted devices on their breasts and faces—
the style of their babiliments.

The sight of these last somewhat astonished
me. I had expected tosee red-skinned warriors
in leggings, moccasins, and breechcloth, with
heads naked or plumed, and shoulders draped
under brown robes of buffalo-skin. Some such
there were, but not all of them were so cos
tamed; on the contrary, I beheld savages
shrouded in scrapes and cloaks of broadcloth,
with calzoneros on their legs, and upon their
heads huge hats of black glaze—regular Mexican
sombrerosl
in full Mexican costume! .

Others, again, were dressed somewhat in a
military fashion, with helmets or stiff shakes,
ill-fitting uniform coats of red or blue_cloth,
oddly contrasting with the brown buckskin that
covered their legs andfeet.

With some astonishment I observed these
“ fanc dresses;" but my surprise passed away
when reflected upon who were the men before
me, and whence they had lately come, where
they had been, and on what errand. _ It was no
travesty, but a scene of actual life. The savages
were clad in the spoils they had captured from
civilization. ,

I need not have been at such ains with my
toilet; under any guise I coul scarcely have
looked odd in the midst of such a motley crew:
own my own uniform might have passed mus-
ter—all except the color of my skin.

Fortunately, a few of the band still preserved
their native costume—a few ap red in full

aint and plumes—else I should ave been too
ndian for such a company. . _ _

It cost not a minute to note these peculiarities,
nor did I stay to observe them minutely; my
eyes were in search of Isolina.

I cast inquiring glances on all sides; I scrutin-
ized the groups around the different fires; I saw
others—women, whom I knew to be captives—
but I saw not her.

I scanned their forms and the faces of those
who were turned toward me. A glance would
have been enough; I could easily have recog-
nized her face under the flrclight—under any
light. It was not before me. .

“ In the tent—in the tent: she must be
there?" r

I determined to move away from the spot
where lhad hitherto been standing. My e e,
quickened by,the necessity of action, had fa] en
upon the copse that stretched along the entire
background of the camp. At a lance I detect-
ed the advantage offered by its 3 adowy cover.

The tent, as alread stated, was laced close
to the edge of the timber: and in rout of the
tent was the great fire. Plainly, this was the
gravitating pomt—the center of motive and mo-
tion. If aught of interest was to be enacted,
there would lie the scene. In the lodge or near
it would she be found—certainly she would be
there; and there I resolved to seek her.

CHAPTER XLIV.
A FRIENDLY ENCOUNTER.

JUST ‘tben the shrill voice of '9. crier pealed
through the camp, and I observed a eneral
movement. I could not make out what e man
said, but the peculiar intonation told that he
was uttering some signal or summons. _Some-
thing of importance was about to. transpire.

The Indians now commenced circling around
the blazing ile, meeting and sing each other.
as if three ng the mazes 0 some silent and
solemn dance. Others were seen hasteningnp
from distant rts of the camp, as if to observe
the actions 0 those around the fire, or Join with
them in the movement. \ .

I did not wait to watch them: their attention
thus occupied gave me an opportunity of reach.
ing the copse unobserved; and, Without further
ado, I started toward it. . .

I walked sloivly, and with an assumed an- of
careless indiflerence. I counterfeited the
Coma che walk—not that hold, free port—the
magn' cent and inimitable stride, so charac-
teristic 01' Chi we and Shawna, of Enron
and I uois— ut the shaming gipgery step of
an Eng isb jockey; for such in reality isthe
gait of the'Comanche Indian when afoot.

I must have pla ed my part well. A new e,
crossing from t e horse-guards toward t e

 

 

In short, I beheld numbers of them

 

mtfimMnmme,md.meyv

name.
33; $93111?“ einpii
coco e w a matter ed
in Spanish, imitating as well as I could the
Indian veice and accent. It was a venture, but
I'lwats taken at a strait, and could well remain
SI en . -

The man appeared some little surprised at
being addressed in the language of Mexico;
geverthelesfi, be understood it, and made rejoin-

er. \

“ You hear the summons Wakonoi Why'do

on not come forward? The council meets:

issoo-royo is already there.”

I understood what was said—more from the
Indian’s gestures than his speech—though the
words “summons,” “counci ," and the name
“Hissoo—ro o," helped me to comprehend his
meaning. chanced to know the Comanche
epithets for the two first, and also that Eleano-
royo (the Spanish wolf) was the Indian appella-
tion of a Mexican rene ade.

Though I underst
not prepared with a repl . I dared not risk the
answer in Spanish; for knew not the extent
2% Wakdno’s proficiency in the Andalusian

ngue. ~ .

I felt myself in a dilemma; and the importa-
nate savage—no doubt some friend of Wakouo
himself—a peered determined to stick to me.
How was  get rid of him?

A happy idea came to my relief. Assuming
an air. of extreme dignity, and as though I did
not wish to be disturbed in m meditations, I

what was said, I was ,

’y

raised my hand and waved the ndlan a Firth: , L 
end, I .“g

salute; at, the same time taming my
walked slowly away. . a v

The Indian accepted ,the conga, and moved
off, but evidently With an air of reluctance: As
I glanced back over my shoulder, I could see
him parting from the spot with a hesitating
step; no doubt somewhat astonished at the
strange behavior of his friend Wakono.

I did not look back again until 1 had placed
myself under the shadow of the timber. Then
I turned to recounoiter: my friend had con-
tinued on; I saw him just entering among the
crowd that circled around the great flre.

Screened from observation by the ‘shadow, I

could now use and reflect. The trifling inci-
dent that ad caused me some up irehension,
had also be] me to some useful linen/ledge:
First, I h learned my own usnie;’secc,nd.

that a council was about to take place; and
third] , that thelrenegnde, Bissoo—royo, had
somet ing to do with ,the council.

.This was knowled of importance; com:
bined with my previous information, ev -
thing was now made clear. This council cou d
be no other than the jury-'trial between the
renegade and the yet nameless chief; the same
that wasto decide to which belonged the right
of property in my betrothed. It’was about to
meet; it had not assembled as yet. Then had I
arrived in time. Neither white savage nor red
savage had yet come in'o: possession: neither
had dared to lay hand on the coveted and
priceless gem. .

Isolina was still safe—thus singularly pre-
served from brutal contact. These dogs in the
manger—their mutual jealousy had proved her
protection! .

I was consoled by the thought—strange source
of consolation!

I was in. time, but where was she? From mv
new position I had a still better view of the
camp, its fires, and its denizens. She was no-
where to be seenl . ‘

“In tle lodge, then—she. must eertainlyhe
there—or—” «

A new suspicion occurred to me: “She may
be kept apart from the other captivesi—inthe
copes—she may be concealed in the cops. until
the sentence he renounced?" =

This last con ecture brought along with it
hepes and resolves. I determined to search the
copse. If I should find her there, my singles
would be one indeed: at all events, easier an
I had anti petal. Though guarded by‘ the
savages, I should rescue her from their grasp.
The lives of six‘ men—perhaps twice that
number—were under in belt. ‘ The Odds of
unarmed numbers would nothing against the
deadly bullets from my revolvers. and I r-
ceive too that most of the savages had Eid

aside their.weapons, confident in the security of ,

thbiricimpight and h I h ’
u m are one, 01‘ per a with
but a sin le jailer. The meeting of thegomml
favored t e supposition. The men would all he
there—some to take part-others interested in
the result, or merely from curiosity to watch
the proceeding: . V a ‘ ‘ ‘
I stayedno nger to reflect: but riding lath
gig grove, commenced my search
ve.

there was not much underwood, and themes

grew thinly; I could easily pasI amongthem

without the necessity of croncbin and without

maid!!! noise. The silent trend 0 the moored;

iii? “mini tretched h d‘hid the
age a s over ea in

fromm view. ’ 8 Sky

The ief timber {of the copse was the pecan - -

. I

favor, as also the dark shadowy ,

,V

or th- cte" ' 4' L
The ground was favorableto “limit-i, .

I _

 

 V, gag—[6,; .‘ i .  I.  ).

hickory—almost an evergreen—and the trees V

.y A.
‘ .
1-,,

 

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
  
   
  
   
   
  
      
 
   

' v where the trunks stood far a

or dispute.

1' " s

were still in full leaf; only here and there,
, did the moon-
beams strike through the thick fronds e. The
surface of the ground was shrouded rem her
» light; and the narrow aisles through which I
WWfleudflrk as if no moon he'd been
ining. -
- I threaded the pathways of the grove one
after another, gliding through as rapid] as the
'path would permit; entered every 8. ale and
allude I sought everywhere, even to the fur-
est 'mits of the wood. I saw naught of her
for whom I searched.

“ In the tent then—she must be there. ”

I turned my face toward the logge; and,
’moving with stealthy step, sobn arriv among
the trees that stood in the rear.

'1 halted near the edge; and, se sting the
leaves with my hands, pee cautiously
through. I had no need to search further—
Iaolina was before my eyes.

CHAPTER XLV.
THE COUNCIL.
‘ YE, there was my betrothed—within sight,
Within hearing almost within reach. of my
hands; and I dared not touch, I dared not
speak, I scarcely dared look upon her!

My fingers trembled among the leaves—my
heart rose and fell—J. could feel within my
breast its strokes, rapid and irregular—I could
hear its sonorous vibration.

Itwas not at the first lance that I saw Is-
oliua. On looking throng the leaves, the coup

 

-« d’m‘l was a scene that quite astonished me, and

for a while Occupied my attention. Since I

gazed upon the great fire, the grouping
around it had undergone an entire 0 ange; a
newtableau was pr sated, that for the moment
held me under a s of surprise.

The fire no longer blazed, or only slightly,
and when stirred; the logs had burn into
coals, and now yielded a fainter li ht, but one
more red and garish. 1t wass yneverthe-
less, and the vastness of the pile rendered it

' strong enough to illumine the camp-ground to
havitmostlimits. 4

The fire was still encircled by savagzs but no

lon or standing, nor grouped ir rly, as I

before observed them; on t e contrary
they were seated, or rather squatted at equal
distances from each other, and forming a ring
that girdled the huge mound of embers.

There were about twent of these men—I
,did not count them—but observed that all
were in their native costume—leggings, and
breech-cloth to the waist—nothing above, ‘save
the armlets and shell-ornaments of nose, ears,
and neck. All were rofusely painted with
chalk. ocher, and vermi on. Beyond doubt, I
was looking u the “council.” ,

The other Indians—they in “fancy dresses”
-,-were still upon the eground; but they were
Standing behind, retir a pace or two from the

' circle, and in groups of two, three, or four,
, talkiugin low mutterin Others were moving
,about at astill eater ' ance from the fire.

My observation of al these features of the
. scene did not occupy ten seconds of time— ust
a lgiiighas my,eyes were getting accustom to

e , ,

At the end of that interval, in glance rested
upon Isolina, and there.became xcd.

My fingers trembled among the leaves; my
heart rose and fell; I could feel within my

, breast its strokes, rapid and irregular; I could
hear its son'oroua- vibration. .

In the chain of Indians that encircled the
firs, there was a break—an interval of 'ten or a
demon feet. It was directly in front of the
lodge, and above the fire; for the ground gently

alciped from the tent toward the stream.
1 t

n this spot the ca ive was seated. Her sit-

uation was exactly

council. The tent intervening between her and
:yflgtosition, had prevented me'from seeing her

‘Bho was half-seated, half-reclining upon a
robe of wolf-skins. I saw that her arms Were
free; I saw that her 'limbs were‘ bound. Her
back was to the tent, her face turned toward

 'thscouncil. Icouldnotseeit.

To romaine my betrothed, I did not need to
‘ look upon her face: her matchless form, out-
lined a t the red embers, was easily identi-
fied. . full round curve of the neck—the
oval lines of the head—the majestic sweep, of
the shoulders—the arms oath and , symmetri-
cal—all these were familiar to my eyes, for oft
had. they dwelt on them in admiration. I could
not bomistaken; the form before me was that
graven upon my heart-it was Isolina’s.
There was another salient point in this singu-
lar tableau, that could not escape observation.
, Scion the fire, and directly to to where
{so '11 was placed. I saw snot er well-known
‘ '1 t—the white steed! v
' was not staked there, but haltered and

v rheldin hand by One of the Indians. He must

hve been late} brought upon the ground, for
from neither in former points of observa-
fionhadlnoticed im. He, like his mistress,
was “ on trial "—his ownership was'also matter

\

, tween the lodge and the -
> fire, and little retired behind the circle of the

V tance of a single leap.

 

 

 

There was in si ht one more object'that inter-

ested me—pot wit friendly interest did I re-
gard it—but with disgust and indignation.

- Not seated in the council ring, nor standin
amon ' the idle groups, but apart from all,
behel Hissoo-royo the renegade. Savage as
were the red warriors, flendlike as they ap
peared with their paintvsmeared visages, not
one looked so savage or flend- like as he. , '

The features of this man were naturally bad;
but the paint—for he had adopted this with
every ot er vile custom of barbarian life——
rendered their expression ositively ferocious.
The device upon his fore end was a death's-
head and cross bones—done in white chalk—and
upon his breast appeared the welt-imitated
semblance of a bleeding scalp—the appropriate
symbols of acruel disposition. ‘ '

There was sbmethinglunnatural in a white
skin thus disfigured, for the native complexion
was not hidden; here and there it could be per-
ceived forming the ground of the motley
elaboration—its pallid hue in stran as contrast
with the deeper colors that daubed t! It was
not the canvas for such a picture.

Yet there the picture was—in red and yellow,
black, white, and blue; there stood the deep-
dyed villain.

I saw not his rival; I looked for him, but saw

him not. Perham he was one of those who’

stood around—per
He was the son of t head-chief—perhaps he
was inside the lodge? The last was the most
probable conjecture. '

The rest calumet was brought forward and
lit by t 0 fire; it was d round the circle,
from mouth to mouth—each sav go satisfying
himself with a single draw from ts tube.

I knew that this was the inauguration of the
council. The trial was about to proceed. ‘

CHAPTER XLVI.
, MEASURING m omens.

THE situation in which I was placed by
chance, could not have been better had I de-
liberatel chosen it. I had under my eyes the
council and council, the groups around—in
short, the whole area of the camp.

What was of most importance, I could see
without being seen. Along the ed e of the
copse there extended a narrow belt 0 shadow,
similar to that which had favored me while in
the channel, and produced by a like cause—for
the stream and the selva e of the ve were
parallel to, each other. e moon fell
obliquely u n the grove; and under the thick
foliage 0ft 9 pecans, I was well screened from
her light behind—while the lod e covered me
from the glare of the fire in fron .

I could not have been better placed for my

so. I saw the advantage of the position,
and resolved therefore to abide in it.

'The observations and reflections thus given in
detail occupied me but a few minutes of time.
Thought is quick, and at that crisis mine was
more then usually on the alert. Almost instan-
taneously did I perceive the points that most
interested me, or had reference to my plans;
almost instantaneously I had mastered the
situation, and I next 6
way to take advantage of it.

I saw there was but one way to proceed; my
original scheme must be carried/out. Under
so many eyes, there was not the slightest chance
that thecaptive could be stolen away; she must
be taken openly, and by a bold stroke. Of this
was I convinced. '

The question arose, when should I make the
attempt? At that moment?

She was not ten paces from where I stood!
Could I rush-forward, and'with‘ my knife set
free her limbs? Might we then get off before
the savages could fiing themselves upon us?
1H0peless—imp055iblel She was too near them;
s e was too near the renegade who claimed her
as his property.

He was standing almost over her, within dis-
In his belt I saw the
long triangular blade of a Spanish knife. He
could have cut me down are I could have severed
a cord of her fasteni .' The attempt would
fail: success was hope ass—impossible. I must
wait for a better 0 portunity; and I waited.

Iremembered ube’s last word of counsel.
not to set too hastily—and his reasons, that if I
must make a “des rit strike” for it,” to leave
the grand coup to be last moment. The cir-
cumstances could be no more unfavorable than
than now. ' ’ v

Under the influence of this idea, I checked my
imlpatience, and waited. -

watched Hissoo-i-oy‘o: I watched the, squat-
tfli? forms druggng tfllfe; I wiatched the strag-
ng grou in em. n turn, my eyes
gendered [film one to the other. At intervals,
too, they rested upon Isolina. ,

Up to this moment I had not seen her counte-
pance: I saw ogy the reverse of that betautgutli

mage so as. graven upon my ear. _n
even then—snder that. suspense of peril—-
strange thoughts were passing within me. I
felt a singular longing to look upon her face; I
remembered-the herredero. '

It pleasedfortune to, smileupon me. ' ,So
many little incidents were occurring in my
favor, that I began to believe the‘ fates pro-

 

 

nt my mind upon the

Es he had not yet come up. J
c

author ty, which be his

 

pitious, and my hopes of success were growing
stronger space. , I -

Just then the captive turned her head,and
her taco was toward me. There was no mark
on that fair brow; that soft cheek was without
a scar;,the delicate skin was intact, smooth,
and diaphanous as ever. The herredero had
been merciful. »- . . '

Perhaps something had occurred to interrupt
or hinder him from his horrid work? '

I prayed that the matador had met with a
similar interruption! I could not tellw—lhose
profuse clusters covered all—neck, bosom and
shoulders—all were hidden under the dark di-
shevelment. I could not, tell, but I did not dare
to hope. Cypi'io had seen the blood!

It was but a momentary glance, and her face
was again turned away. .

At intervals she repeated it, and I saw that
she looked in other directions. I could note the
uneasiness of her manner; I could tell why
those glances were given; I knew her design.
Oh, for one word in her hearing—one whis er!

It might not be; she was too clasely watc ed.
Jealous eyes were upon her; savage hearts were
gloatin over her beauty. No Word could have
reach her that would not have been heard by
others—by all around thefire—for the silence
was profound. The “council” had not yet es.
sa ed to s eak. n

he stil ness was at ‘length broken by the!
voice of a crier, who in a shrill tone‘proclaimed
that the “ council was in session.”

The name of “ Hissoo royo " peeled upon the
air. The crier waslcalling him into court—an-
other parallcl with the customs of civilization!

. Three times the name was pronounced, at
each repetition in louder voice than before.

The man might have spared his breath; he
who was summoned was upon the spot, and
eady to answer. ' .

Before the echo died away the renegade uh
tered a response, and etc ping to an open space:
within the rin , halted, rew himself upto his
full hight, fol ed his arms, and in this attitude
stood waiting. ’

At that crisis the thought occurred to me
whether I should rush forward and at once de-
cide the fate of myself and my betrothed. The
seated warriors appeared to be all unarmed, and
the renegade—w ose hand I most regarded—-
was now further 03. having gone round to the
opposite side of the fire. The situation was fa-
vorable, and for a moment I stood straining
upon the spring. ~

But my eye fell upon the spectators in the!
background. Many of them were directly in
the way I should have to take. :1 saw that
man of them carritd weapons, either» in their
ban 5 or upon their persons, and ,Hissooaoyo
himself was still too near. -

I could never fight my way a ainst such odds.
I could not break such a line—i would be mad-
ness to attempt it. Rube’s counsel was again
ringin in my ears, and once more I abandoned
theras deSJgn. .

 

CHAPTER. XLVII.
THE WHITE-HAIRED CHIEF.

Trian was an interval of silence—a dramatic
pause—«hat lasted for more thana minute.

It was ended by one of the council rising to
his feet, and bya gesture inviting Hissoo-royo‘
to s ak. ‘ .

T e renegade began:

“Red warriors of the Hietan! brothers! what
I have to ‘say before the council will not require
many words. Iclaim yonder Mex’cau girl as
my captive, .and therefore as my own. 'Who
denies my right? I claim thelwhite horse as
mine—my rize fair] taken.”

The spea er pause ,asif to wait for further
commands from the council. ' ‘

“Hissoo—royo has sgoken his claim to. the
Mexican maiden and t e white steed. He has

’not said upon what right he rests it. _Let him

declare his right in the presence of the council 1”
This was said by the same Indian who had made
the esture, and who appeared to direct the pro-
cee in He was not acting by any su rior
_ have posse , but
merely by reason of his sing the oldest of the
party. Among the Indians, age gives pre—
cedence. - ,~ .
“Brothers I” continued Hissoo royo, in obs.
dience to the command—“my claim is just-of
that on are to be the udges; I know your true
has you will not 5 ut them against justice.
I need not read to you your own law, that he
who makes a captive has the right to keep it—
to do with it as 9 will. This is the law 0 ’ your
tribe—of m tribe as well, for yours is mine.”
Grunts o approbation caused a momentary
interruption in the speech. V
“Hietansl ’ resumed the speaker, “my skin
is white, but my heart is the color of your own.
You-did me the honor to adopt me into your
nation; you honored me by makings me first a
warrior, and afterw a war chief. Have I
ever given yo cause to regret what yni have
done? Have ever betrayed your trust?" ' -
' A volley of exclamations indicated a response
in the negative. ' . ‘ I »_ .. .
‘y‘ I have confidence, then, in your love of Jus-.

 

 

 

 

 .3.

_...._....._....-——-—-—, .<II__...._.. —

 

' “ emu”.

 

 

   
 
 

x.»-

ob:- ..

 

 

    
     
  
     
  
  

 

I

-tice and truth; I have no fear that the color of

my skin will blind youreyes, for you all know
the color of my heart.” . _ .

Fresh signs of approbation followsd this admit
stroke of eloquence. , .

“ Then, brothers! listen to my cause; I claim
the maiden and the horse. I need not tell where
they were found, and how; your own e es were
witnesses of their capture. There has een talk
of a doubt as to who made it, for many horse-
men were in the ‘ursuit. I deny that there is
any doubt. My azo was first over the head of
the horse—was first tightened around his throat
—fii'st brought him to a stand. To take the
horse wasto take the rider. It was my deed;
both are m captives. I claim both as my

roperty. ho is he that disputes my claim?

t him stand forth I”

Having delivered this challenge with a defiant
emphasis, the speaker fell back into.his former
attitude; and, once more folding his arms, re-
mained silent and immobile. _

Another pause followed, which was again ter-
minated by. a sign from the old warriorwho had
first spoken. This gesture was directed to the
crier, who the moment after, raising his shrill

' voice called out:

“ Wakono!" _

The name caused me to start as if struck by
an arrow. It was my Own appellation; I was
Wakono! V

It was pronounced thrice, each time louder
than the preceding:

“Wakonoi Wa onoi Wakono!”

_A light. flashed u n me. Wakono was the
rival claimant! 9 whose breech-cloth was
around my hips, whose robe hung from my
shoulders, whose plumed bonnet adorned my
head, whose pigments disfigured m face—he of
the red hand upon his breast and t e crossupon
his brow, was no other than ’W’akono!

I cannot describe the singular sensation I felt
at this discovery. I was in a" perilous position
indeed. M fingers trembled among the leaves,
I released t ’ branchlets, and let, them close u
galore my face; I dared not trust myself to loo

orth. .

For some moments I stood still and silent, but
not without trembling. I could not steady my
nerves under such a dread agitation. _

I listened, but looked not. There was an in-
terval of breathless'silence—no one Seemed to
stir or speak-they were waiting the effect of
the summons.

Once more the voice ofthe crier was heard
pponcuncing in triple repetition: “ Wakono!

akono! Wakono!”

A in followsd an interval of silence: but I
coul hear low mutterings of surprise, and dis-
appointment as soon as it was perceived that the
Indian did not answer to his name.

I alone knew the reason of his absence; I
knew that Wakono could not—the true Wakono '
that his counterfeit would not come. Though

had undertaken to personate the savage chief— ‘

tain, for this act in the drama I was not pre-
pared. The stage must wait!

Even at that moment I was Sensible of the
lndi'crousness of the situation; so extreme was
it, that even at that moment of direst peril, I
felt a half inclination for laughter!

But the feeling was easily checked; and once
more parting“ the branches, I ventured to look
forth. ,

I saw’there was some confusion. Wakono
had been reported “ missing." The members of
the council still preserved both their seats and
stoical composure; but the youngsr‘warriors
behind were uttering harsh ejaculations, and
moving about from place to place With that
restless air that betokens at once surprise and
disa pointment. _

A? this crisis, an Indian was seen emerging
from the tent. He was a man of somewhat
Venerable aspect, though venerable more “from
a e than any positive sxpressidn of virtue.

is cheeks were furrowed by time, and his hair
white as bleached flax—a rare sight among In-

‘ dians.

1

There was something about this individual
that bespoke him a gorse of authority Wa-
kono was the son of t e chief—the chief, then,
should be an old man. This must be he?

I had no doubt of it, and my conjecture
proved to be correct.

The white-haired Indian ste ped forward to
the edge of the ring, and wi a wave of his
hand commanded silence. , ‘

The command was instantly obeyed, The
murmnriiggs ceased, and all plaéed hemselves
in fixed a tudes to listen. ,

..___——

CHAPTER XLVIIL
museums in COUNCIL.

“Emma!” began the chief, for_ such in
reality was the old Indian, “my chilren, and
brothers in council! I appeal to youto stay
'udgment in this matter. I am your chiefwsut

claim noconsideration on that account; . a-

kono is my son, but for him I ask no favor; 1'

demand only justice and right—such as would
be given to the humblest in our tribe; I ask no
more form}; son Wakcno. -

. one.

 

   I H

“ Wakonoxis a brave warrior; who amon
you does not know it? His shield is garnishe
with many trophies taken from the hated pale—
face; his is ginga are fringed with scalps of the
Utahand heyenne; at his heels dragV the long
locks of the Pawnee and Arapaho. Vho wi!
deny that Wakono—my son.Wakono:—is a
brave warrior?"

A murmur of assent was the response to this
paternal appeal.

“ The S anish wolf, too, is a warrior—a brave

warrior; deny it not. He is stout of heart
and strong of arm; he has taken many scalps
from the enemies of the Hietan; I honor him
for ?,his achievements; who among as does
not .

v A general chorus of “ ughs ” and other ejacu-
lations from both council and s ectators re-
sponded to this interrogatory. he response,
both in tone and manner, was strongly in the

'amrmative; and I could tell by this that the

renegade—not Wakono—-was the favorite.

The. old chief also perceived that such was
prevailing sentiment; and despite his reten-
sions to fair play he was evidently ne tled at
the reply. The father of Wakono was undoubt-
edly no rutus.

After a momentary pause, he resumed speech,
but in a tone entire y altered. ,He was now
painting the reverse side of his Hissoo-royo’s
portrait, and as he threw in the darker touc es,
it was with evident pique and hostility.

“ I honor the Spanish wolf,” he continued; “ I
honor him for his strong arm and his stout
heart; I have said so; but hear me, Hietans—
hear me, children and brothers! there ‘are
two of every kind—there is a night and a day
—a winter and a summer—a green prairie and
a desert plain, and like these is the tongue of
Hissoo-royo. It speaks two ways that differ as
the light from t e darkness—it is double—it
forks like the tongue of the rattleserpent—it is
not to be believed.”

The chief ceased
wolf ” was permitte to me 0 reply.

Hedid not ttem tto defend himself from
the charge oft e “ ouble tongue;” perhaps he
knew that the accusation was just enough, and
he had no reason to tremble for his popularity
on that score. He must have been a t liar;
indeed,to have excelled or even equal the most
ordinary story-teller in the Comanche nation;
for the mendacity of these Indians would have
been a match for Sparta herself. ~

The renegade did not even (deni the asper-
sion: he seemed to be confident in is case; he
simplty replied: ‘ .

“ the ton e of Hissoo—royo is double, let
not the councl rely upon his words! let wit-
nesses be called! there are mung; who are ready
to tfistify to the truth of who Hisso-royo has
spo en.

“ First hear Wakono! Let Wakono be heard!
Where is Wakono?”

ihese demands were made by various mem:
bers of the council, who spoke simultaneously.

Once more the crier’s voice was heard calling
“ Wnkono!”

“ Brothers!” again spoke the chief: “it i for
this I would stay your judgment. My son is
not in the camp; 'he went back 11 n the trail,
and has not returned. I know no his urpose.
My heart is in doubt—but not in fear. 7Vakono
isa strong warrior, and can take care of him-
self. He will not be long absent' he must soon
return. For thisI ask you to delay the judg-
ment.” '

A murmur of_ disapprobation followed this
avowai. The allies o the renegade evidently
illiJusltered stronger than the friends of the young
e 1e . /

Hissoo-royo once more addressed the council.

“Whaé: trifling would this be, warriors of
the Hie anil Two suns have gone down,
and this guestion i; not decided! I ask only
justice. y our laws, the Judgment cannot
stand over. The captives must belong to some
I claim them as _mine, and I offer wit-
nesses to prove my right. Wakono has no
claim, else .why is he not here to avow it? He
has no proofs beyond his own word; he is
ashamed to‘stand before you Without proof
—that is why he is now absent from the
cam i” _.

“ akono is not absent,”.cijied a voice from
among the bystanders; “ he is in the camp!"

This announcement produced a sensation,
and 1 could perceive that the .old chief partook
equal] with the others of the surprise created.

“ iv 0 says Wakoao isinthe camp?” inquired
he in a loud voice. . i n

An Indian stepped forth from the crowd of
spectators. I recognized the man, whom I had
met crossing from the horse guard.

“ Wakono is in the camp, ” repeated he, as he
paused outside the circle. “I saw the young
chief' I spoke with him.” I

“ When!” ‘

“ Only now.” ,

“Where?” , . ,

The man pointed to. the scene of our acci-
dental renconter. , , v

“He_.Wnfi going yonder. ’said he: “he went
among the trees—I saw him not after.” _

. This intelligence evidently increased the as-‘
tonishment. It couldno'; be comprehended why

 

akin , and the“Spanish‘

 

Wakono should be upon the ground, and vet‘not -
, 6..

come forward 'to assert his claim. Had h
abandoned it altogether? 

The father of the claimant appeared as much
puzzled as any one: he made no-attempt to ex-
plain the absenco of his son: he could not; he!
stood silent, and evidently in a state of mystifi»
cation.

Several new suggested that a search be made
for the absent warrior.- It was proposed to
send messengers throughout the camp—to search
the grove. ‘ ',

My blood ran c id as I listened to the pro-
pose]; my knees trembled beneath me. i knew
that if the grove was to be searched, i should:
have no chance of remaining longer concealed.
The dress of Wakono was conspicuous; I saw
that there was none other like it: noother wore-
a robe of jaguar-skins, and this Would betra
me. Even the paint would not avail: l sho d
be led into the flreli ht; the counterfeit'weuld
be detected. I sheiifld bebutchered upon the
spot—perhaps tortured for the treatment we
had given the true Wakono, which would soon
become known.

My apprehension had reached the climax of
acuteness, when they were sudden) relieved by
some words from the Spanish-well

“ Why search for Wakonoi” cried he;1“Wa-
kono knows his cwn name; it has been called
and loud eno gh. Wakono has ears—surely he
can hear for imself, if he hail: the camp. Call
him again, if you will!” ,

Thflmposition appeared reasonable. It was:
adop and the crier once more summoned the
young chief by name.

The voice, as all perceived, could have been
heard to the furthest bounds of the camp, and
far beyond. .

An interval was allowed, during which there-
reigned perfect silence, every one bending his
ears to listen.

. There came no answer—no Wakono appeared.
to the summons. , i ,

“Now!” triumphantly exclaimed the renew

do, “is it notes I have said? Warriorsiv I'

emand your judgment.”

There was no immediate reply. -A long pause
followed, during which no one spoke, either ilb
the circle or amon the s tutors. .

At length the 01 est 0 the council rose, relit"
the cslumet,‘and, after taking a whifl from the
tube, handed it to the Indian seated on his left..
This one, in like manner, passed it to the next.
and he to the next, until the pipe had made the
Circuit of the fire. and was returned to the old.
warrior who had first smoked from it. * ’

The latter now laid aside the pipe, and in 7a

formal manner, but in a voice inaudible to the v

spectators, proposed the question. ‘
The vote was taken in rotation, and was also):
delivared sotto coca The judgment only was.
pronounced aloud. ' '
The- decision was singular, and somewhat un-
expected. The jury had been moved by a.
strong leaning toward equity, and an amicable~
adjnustment that might prove acceptable to an;
pa ies. , 5 a ‘
The horse was ad udged to Wakono—rbeu
malig’en was declared t a property of the Spanish:
wo . ‘

 

CHAPTER XLIX. .
ran ESCAPE.

TEE decision a ared to give satisfaction to,

all. A grim smi 8 upon his face testified that
the renegade himself was pleased. How could»
he be otherwise? He had certainly the best of

the suit—for what was a beautiful horse tonV »

beautiful woman, and such a woman!

As soon as the sentence was pronounced,'.the.  "

Indians who had been seated rose to their feet.
The council was dismissed. - I i "

After the council was over, no one interfered“
—no one seemingly took an interest either in

the renegadeor his pale-fan 'squaw; they werew ’V

left to themselves. I i -
And to me. From that moment my eyes and
thoughts .rested only on them; I saw no one
else; I thought, of nothing else; I watched but.
the “wolf” and his victim. « ' ' .
The old chief had retired into the tent. - Iso-

line. was left alone. , r
Only a moment alone. Had it been other-

wise. I should-have sprung forward. ' My fin ersn , x
‘had moved mechanically toward my knifcyfiiuu.

there was not time. In the next instant Hitsoo-x
r0 0 stood beside! her. '

e addressed her in Spanish; he did not (1..  

sire the others to understand what was said.

Speaking in this language, there Would be less '

fear of them doing so.

There was one. who listened to every word.  V 

listened —not.a syllable em
“§Nowll’; I l do

ow, one soina Vargas! . on 
heard? I know you understand  la,
whidb.the. council has spoken-«wow- native,
tongue. Ha, ha, hai" ’ '

pod me.

‘flhave heard,” was the reply, in a tone of U
reflalgd‘gii’cl I ’  with .1. mg» L ’
“I am satisfied.”

began he, in an exulting' 

\

c .

 

 

 'v‘u:‘~’-"‘ "  ’. i.  i

«WV, , - 

The was Trait. ’ f

 

' This was uttered in the same tone of resigna-
tion. The answer somewhat me.

“ "Pin a lie !" rejoined the brutal monster;
“ you are playing false with me, sweet senorlta.
But ester-day younwoke words of scorn—you

w scorn me sti
“I have no power to seem you; I am your
‘ / ca ve."

‘Oarrambo! you speak truth. You have
no power either to scorn or refuse me. Ha, ha,

I grasped the haft of my knife, and like a
tiger stood cowering on the ring. My intent
was, first to cut down the ru 11, and then set
free the limbs of the captive with the blood—
ataiued blade.

“Como!” exclaimed the renegade, speaking
to his victim and making sign for her to fol-
low him'—-“ éOme, sweet sehorita!”

I listened for the reply of Isolina; I watched
her as well; I noted her every movement. '

“How can I follow you?" she inquired, in a
calm voice, and in a tone of surprise.

“True,” said the man, turning back, and
drawing the knife from his belt. “Carrel! I
had not thought of that; but we shall soon—”

He did not finish the sentence: he stopped in
the middle of it, and in an attitude that be-
tokened hesitation.

In this attitude he remained a while, gazing
into the eyes of his victim; then, as if suddenlz
 , changing his mind, he struck the knife bac

 ' into its sheath, and at the same time cried

out: .

“ By the Virgin! I shall not trust you. You
are too free of limb, sweet margarita! you
might try to give me the slip. This is a. better

_-

w plan. Come! raise yourself up—a little higher
—eo. Now we go—now for the .grove.
Vamocl” '

While delivering the last words, the rufllan
bent himself over the half-prostrate captive;
and, placing his arm underneath, wound it
around her waist. ‘

The renegade. having raised the unresisting
captive in his arms, proceeded to carry her from
the s t. He scarcely carried her; her feet,
naked. and bound, trailed along the grass, both
to ether. ,

till keeping within the timber, I glided
along its edge' with quick but noiseless stepI
went, making or the sme point.
, I arrived first; and, stooping under the shadow
of the trees, waited, with knife in hand, firm
~v grasped and ready.

‘His burden had delayed him; he had stopped
midway to rest; and was now scarcely ten
paces from the edge of the grove with the girl
still in his arms, and apparently caning against

 

m.

\ Only for a moment, and he had again taken
up his burden and was moving toward me. He
was making directly for the spot‘where I stood.
The crisis was near ,

It was even nearer than I thought. The man
had scarcely made three steps from the int of
rest, when I saw him stumble and fa ! to the
earth, carrying the captive along with'him!

The fall appeared accidental. I' might have
deemed it so, but for the wild shout with which
it was accompanied. Somethiu g more than a
mere stumble elicited that fearful cry.

There was a short struggle upon the ground—
the bodies became separated. One was seen to
spring suddenly back; I saw it was Isolina!
There was something in her hand—both moon-
light and fireligbt gleamed upon a crimsoned
h ade! '

She who grasped it bent for an instant down-
ward—its keen edge severed the thongs from

[her limbs, and the moment after, she was run-
ning in full flight across the level award of the
«cam ad!

I W t out reflection, I sprung out of the covert
and rushed after. -

'Ihe alarm was given—the camp was in com-
motion—fifty savages were starting upon the
no , .

' As we ran, my eyes fell upon a horse—a white
horse. It was the s : a man was leading him
by a law. He was taking him from the fires
toward the ground occupied by the mustangs;
he was goin to picket him on the grass.

a Horse an man were directly in front of us as

. , we ran—in front of the fugitive. She was mak-

' mgtowsrd them; I divined her intention.

I, n a few seconds she was up to the horse, and

‘4 , had seized therepe.

The Indian struggled, and tried to take it

away. from her; the red blade gleamed in his

' eyes, and he gave back. v

He still clung to the rope; but in an instant

it was cut from his hands, and, uickas thought,

the heroic woman leaped upon he back of the

steed, and was seen galloping away! .
The Indian was one of the horse-guards, and

was therefore armed; he, carried bow and

  
    
  
     
    

quiver. Before the bone had ‘ beyond

' reach, he had henthisbow, an sen V an arrow
from th string.

* I heard the “wh ” of the shaft, and fan-

vcied Iheard it strike; ut the steedkept on! '
Ihadplucheduponeofthelonfis ,asI
ran across the camp. Before the :13??? could
' . , Jadjust another arrow to the string, I had thrust
 in the back. '

-

1'0 0. ‘

 

“ I drew out the spear, and, keeping the white
horse in view, ran on. '

I was soon in the midst of the mustangs;
many of them had already stem , and
were gallopin to and fro over the ground. The
guards were ismayed but as yet knew not the
cause of the alarm. The steed with his rider
passed safely through their line.

I followed on foot, and as fast as I could run.
fifty savages were after me; I could hear their

on
I could hear them “ Wakono,” but I was
soon farin advance 0 all. The horse-guards,
as I passad them, Were shouting “ Wakono!”
, As soon as I had cleared the horse drove, I
again perceived the steed; but he was now some
distance ofl'. To my joy he was going in the
right direction-«traight for the yuccas 11
fine hilL My men would see and intercept
iml
I ran along the stream with all speed. I
reached the broken bank, and, without stopping,
rushed into the gully for my horse.
What was my astonishment to find that he

V was gone! my noble steed gone, and in his place

the spotted mustan of the Indian!

I looked up and own the channel—I looked
along its banks—~Moro was not in sight!

I had no time to reflect—not a moment.

I drew the animal from the water, and leap-
ing upon his back, rode out of the channel.

As I regained the level of the plain, Isaw
mounted men, acrowd of them coming from
the camp. They were the savages in lgem-sult-
one was far a and of the rest, and fore I
could turn my horse to flee, he was close I: to
me. In the moonlight I easily recognised in
—Jit was Hissoo—royo the renegade.

“ Slave!” shouted e, speaking in the Coman-
che tongue, and with furious emphasis, “it is
you who have planned this. Squaw! coward!
you shall die! The white captive is mine-
mine, Wakono! and you—”

He did not finish the sentence.

In another instant the renegade and his horse
were parted; the former lay leveled u n the
grass, transfixed with the long spear, w ile the
latter was gallo ing riderless over thedplainl

At this crisis perceived the crow coming
up, and close to the spot. There were twenty
or more. and I saw that I should soon be sur-
mliuged' 'd rt 1 \t 1! r

appy 1 ea came oppo une o myre e .
All along I had observed that I ywas mistaken
for Wakono. The Indians in the camp had
cried “ Wakono;” the horse—guards shouted
“ Wakono” as I passed; the pursuers were call-
ing “Wakono” as they rode up; the renegade
had fallen with the name upon his lips; the
spotted horse, the robe of Lasagna-skins, the
plumed head-dress, the red nd, the white
cross, all proclaimed me Wakono!

I urged my horse a length or two forward,
and remed up in front of the pursuers. I raised
my arm and shook it in menace before their
faces: at the same time I cried out in a loud
vouce:

“I am Wakono! Death to him who fol-

. lows!”

I spoke in Comanche. I was not so sure of
the correctness of my words—either of the pro-
nunciation or the s ntax—but I had the gratifi-
cation to perceive' hat I was understood. Per-
haps mygestures helped the savages to compre-
hend me—the meaning of these was not to be
mistaken.

From whatever cause, the pursuers maderno
further advance; but one and all, drawing in
their horses, halted upon the spot.

I stayed not for further parley' but, wheeling
quickly round, galloped away from them, as
fast as the mustang could carry me.

 

CHAPTER L.
m us'r cuss.

ON facing toward the hill, I perceived the steed
still not so distan'. His white body, gleaming
under the clear moonlight, could have been
easily distinguished at a far greater distance.
I had expected to see him much further away;
but, after all, the tilt of lances, and the menace
delivered to the pursuing horsemen, had scarce-
ly occupied a score of seconds, and he could not
in the time have gone out of sight.

He was still running between myself and the
foot of the hill—apparently keeping along the
bank of the stream.

I put the Indian horse to his full speed.
The point of my knife served for whip and
spur. I was no longer incumbered with the
spear; it had been le t in the body of Hissoo—

kept my a es fixed upon the steed, but he
was fast closing in to the timber that skirted
the base of the bill; be was nearing the bend
where I had taken to the water, and wauld
coop be hidden frommy view behind the bushes.
All at once I saw him swerve, and'strike away
to the left, across the open plain. To my sur-
prise I saw.this, for I had conjecturedthat his
rider was aiming to reach the cover offered by
the thicket. '
Without waiting to think of an explanation,

   

 

’ l

I headed the mustang into the diagonal line, and

galloped forward.
I was in ho: ’3 of getting nearer by the ad-
van e thus 'ven me; but I was il satisfied

with t e creep pace of the Indian horse, so
unlike the long, ree stretch of my matchless
Merle)»: risers was he? Why was 1 not best-
1m
be white steed soon shot clear of the hill,
and was now running upon the plain that
stretched beyond it.

I saw that I was not gaining upon him; on
the contrary, he was every moment widening
the distance between us. Where was More?
Wh had he been taken away?

A that. instant I perceived a dark horse-
man making along the foot of the ridge, as if
to intercept me; he was 'dashing furiously
through t e thicket that skirted the base of
the declivit . I- could hear the bushes rattling
against the anks of his horse; he was evidently
makin all the taste in his owe-r, at the same
time aiming to keep concea ed from lLe view
of 'those upon the plain.

Irecognized :11 horse, and upon his back the
thin lank form 0 the earless trapper! ' ,

We met the moment after, at the point where
the thicket ended.

Without a word passing‘between us, both
simultaneously flung ourselves to the ground,
exchanged horses, and remounted. Thank
Heaven! MQO was at last between my knees!

“ Now, young fellur!” cried the trap war, as I
parted from him, “gallip like h», an itch up
with her! We’ll soon be arter on y’ur trail—
all right thur. Away 1" .

I needed no prompting from Rule; his speech
was not finished, befbre I had spruh my horse
forward, and was going like the wing. ,

It was only then that I could comprehend
why the horses had been changed; a ruse it was
—an after-thought of the cunning trappers!

Had I mounted in own conspicuous steed
by the camp, the Indians would in all proba—
bility have suspected something, and con-
tinued their pursuit- it was the spotted mus-
tang that had enahl

m f 13' ed me to carry out the
Conn 1' e1 .

I had now beneath me a horse I could deperd I

upon! and with renewed vigor I ‘bent myself
to the chase. For the third time, the white
and black stallions were to make trial of their
speed—for the third time was it tobe astruggle
between these noble creatures.

Would the struggle‘be hard and long? Would
Moro again be de eatedi Such were my reflec-
tions as I sWept onward in the pursuit. ‘

I rode'iu silence. I scare-1y drew breath, so
keen were my ap rehensions about the result.

A long start‘ha the prairie-horse. My dels y
had thrown me far behind him—nearly a mile
But for the friendly light I should have lost
sight of him altogether; but the plain “as
open, the moon shining brightly, and the snow-
white form, like a meteor. beckoned me onward.

I had not galloped far before I perceived that r
I was rapidly gaining upon the steed. Surely
he was not running at is fleetest? Surely he
was going more slowly than was his wont?

0h! could his rider but 'know who was com-
in afterl—could she but hear me!

Iwould have called, but the distance was still
too great. She could not have heard even my
shouts; how then distinguish my voice?

I galloped on in silence. I was gaining—con-
stantly, rapidly gaining. Surely I was drawing
nearer? or were my eyes playing false under the
light of the moon? ,

I fancied that the steed was running heavily
-—slowly and heavily—as 'if he was laboring in
the race. Handed—no, it wasno fancy—l was
sure of it! Beyond a‘doubt’, he was not going
at his swiftest speed! ,

n What could it mean? Was be broken by fa-
' ue’i
till nearer and nearer I came, until scarcely.
three hundred yards appeared between us. My
shout mi ht now be heard; my voice— .

I calle aloud: I called the name of my be-
trothed, coupling it with my own; but no an-
swer came back—no sign of recognition to cheer

me. .
l The ground that lay between us favored a
race-course speed, and I was about putting my
horse to his fu‘l stretch, when, to my astonish—
ment, I saw the white steed stagger forward
and fall headlong to the earth! ' i

It did not check my career; and in a few sec-
onds more I was upon the spot and halting over
horse and rider, still prostrate. ' ' .

I flung myself from the saddle just as Isolina
disengaged herself and rose to her feet. With
her right hand clasping the red knife she stood
confronting me.

“ Savage! approach me notP’she cried in the
Comanche tongue, and with a gesture that toll
her determine. on. ‘

“Tsolina! I am not— It is'—” I

.“ Henri !" . v v

No words interrupted that wild embrace; no
sound could be heard save that’ made by our
hearts, as they throbbed closely together.

Silent] I stood upon the plain with my be
trothed n my arms. Moro was by our aid
proudly curvmg his neck and chafing the  ’

e

 

"fo
'31,}

1

 

A A , .1 :.,..4_.._l-

9,.

“T?”

a . Isl-.4

“-_.~: A, .

      
 

 

 

 

:14 an“: ll

, «Mom.»

Has undue! cm {5‘9 £333 59-735 2

“mm

a”... .su

 

 

 

 

Wfli‘iflb


K
i ,

, in ~—-' A»... .WDW-_.

, , .7 VA...”

Aw

 

.1  -; .. ..

 

k
.li

between his foamiu li . At our feet In the
rairieohorse with t e grub in his Vitals an the
eathered shaft protruding from his side. His
eyes were fixed and glassy; blood still ran from
his read nostrils; but his beau‘jful limbs were
mot-ignlees in death! .

Horsemen were seen approaching the spot.
We did not attempt to flee rom them; I recog—
nized my followers.

They came gallopin up, and, drawing bridle,
sat silent in their sadd es.

We looked back over the lain. There was
no sign of pursuit; but for a 1 that we did not
tarry there. We knew not how soon the In-
dians m ht be after us ;. the friends of Hissoo-
r0 0 mig is yet come upon the trail of Wake 01

e scarce gaVe a parting look to that no le
form stretched lifeless at our feet, but plying
the spur rode rapidly away.

It was near do break when weball'ed to rest
and then only ter the prairie had been fired
behind us. _ '

We found shelter in a prett grove of acacias,
and a y turf on whic to repose. My
wearied followers soon fell asleep.

I slept not- I watched over e slumhers Of
my betrothed. Her beautiful head rested upon
my knees; her stofmi§mask ‘clligek we: pillowed
u on therobe’o t .aguans us, an mye es
wire upon it. The thick tresses had fallen
aside, and I saw— .

The matador too, had  merciful! or had}

gold bribed him from his cruel intent? No
matter which—he had failed in his fiendish duty.

There in full entirety were those delicate or-
gans—perfect com late. I saw but the trifling
scar where the go d circlet had been rudely
plucked—the source of that red hemorrhage
t! .t had been noticed by Cypriol

'f was too happy to sleep.

It was our last night upon the prairies. Be-
fore the setting of another sun we had crossed
the Rio Grande and arrived in the camp‘of our
army. Under the broad protecting w of
the American eagle my betrothed could repose
in safety until that blissful hour when—

 

Of the Comanches we never heard more.
The story of one only was afterward told—a
fearful tale. Ill-fated Wakouol A horrid end
was his. ’

An oft-told tale by the prairie camp-fire is
that of the skeleton of an Indian warrior found
clasping the trunkof a. tree! Wakono had
horriva perished.

We had no design of giving him such a fate.
Without thought had we acted; and though he
may have deserved death, we had not destgued
for him such terrible retribution.

Perhaps I was the only one who had unyie-
morsefu feeling;but the remembrance of that
scalp-bedecked shield—the scenes in that C prian
grove—those weeping captives, wedd to a
worful lot—the remembrance of these cruel re-
alities evermore rose before In mind, stifling
the remo I should otherwise ave felt for the
doom of t e ill-starred savage. His death,
though terrible in kind, was merited by his
deeds: and was perhaps as just as punishments
usually are. ’

 

Poetical justice demands the death of I ,’
and by the hand of Holingsworth. Trut en-
ables me to satisfy the demand.

on my return to the camp, I learned that the
act was already consummated—the brother’s
blood had been avenged!

It was a. tragic tale, and would take many
chapters in the telling. I may not give them
here. Let a few particulars sumce.

Fr0m that dread night Holingsworthhad
found a willing hand to aid him in his purpose
of retribution—one who yearned for vengeance
keenly as himself. Wheatley was the man.

The two, with a. chosen party, had thrown
themselves on the trail of the errilla; and
with_Podro as their guide, had to lowed it far
Within the hostile lines. Like sleuth-hounds
had they followed it night and day, until they
suicceededm tracking e guerrilleros to their

r.

It was a desperate conflict—hand to hand
and knife to knife—but the rangers at length
triumphed; most of the errjlleros were slain,
and the  ngarl 3mm. .,

urra e y In sworth own hand.
a the death of the reg roman E1 Zorro, by’
the bowie-knife of the Texan lieutenant, was

' “sanguine unishment for the cruelt in-
file upon (Ignchita. The revenge of yboth

was complete, though both still bore the sorrow
within their hearts.
The expedition of the two lieutenants was

‘grlolduotive of other fruits. In the heed-quar-

of the guerrilla the found man mars
Yankees and. A anki _ mong his", that
me dipiom Don Manon Vargas.

Of course the old gentleman was released
from cspfivity- and had arrived at the Ameri-
can cup, just in time to welcome his fair
“mm and future sends-law from their

grand mute-hymeneal “ tour upon the prairies.”

THE E”.

 

Waverley Library.

1 Tu MAaxno Barns. B
2 Wu Ir Inn? By Wm.
8 THE Gun Will. l? Bartley T.
4 A BnAvE Hun-r. y Arabella Southworth.
5 Basel: RAYNoa. By Wm. Mason Turner, 11. D.
6 Tan Sm MAmquE. Sara .
7 A DAoau'rln or M. By rs. Crowd-l.
8 Hun-r so HEART. By Arabella Southworth.
9 ALONE IN THE WORLD. B author of "Clifton."
10 A Pull on GRAY Eras. y Rosa Kennedy.
11 ENrANcLEn. vliyhl’enrletta ’I'hackera .
12 His LAWWL mm. B Mrs. Stephens.
13 MADOAP.’ By Corinne shman.
14 War I MAiqun Jim. By Sara Claxton.
15‘A Fun FAUE. By Bartley T. Cam bell.
16 Tnus'r Hub Nor. By Margaret Le costar.
17 A LOYAL LOVER. B Arabella Southworth.
18 His 1.00:. By Mrs. ry Reed Crowle
19 Tun BROKEN BnnorHAL. By Mary G. Halpine.
50 ORPEAN NILL. By le Penna.
21 Now .AND FOB-EVER. H. Thackeray.
22 Tim Barns or AN Acres. gy the author of

 

Mrs.,Mary R. Crowell.
ason Turner.

8
a
E
S
p
i
ii
9

‘ Agile Penna. ’
mos. B {far-y A.Denison.
MARIANA, m Pan“ A. iSouthworth.
em ng.
manual or CONVENIENCE. By SaraClaxton.
m. Amuse-r Han. By Clara A

In Aacnau's Bun. B Arabs Southworth.
. Rose Kennfi
B Ara

NNA. B

E
E
a
i
a
E
.t.
s

E???»
5:53
35;;
359

3

By Arabella Southwhrtb.
Ensues. By M. A. Denison.
moss Sn: van Hm. sBfiAliee Fleming.

IN Srrrl or mu: . Sherwood.

Hrs Hun-'3 Kiss-use. yArabella. Southworth.
TIE Com Hmssa Mrs. Mary A. Denison.
Two Youno Gran. emlug.

Tm: -WINGED Museum By Mary Reed Crowell

om Hora. B W. at. Turner. M. D.
fin; . 1? George S. Kaime.

I: DID Nor Lora Bra. yArabella Southwortb..

- . By Wm.M. Turner 1. D.

RAVE Minn. By Alice Flam .

E???"
a
E
s

A B
THE anN MAsx. 13 Mary Crowell.
A Wmow’s WILEs. yRachel Bernhardt.

IL‘s Baum. By Jennie Davis Burton.
1. Sara Cla .

v Margaret Biount.
By Anna E. Porter.

age
E

111qu Barns.
an Canons SIs’rEas.

l-l

“328838383381Egg-986533835538883$8§§$358883
a a?
g n
E
E
9
I:

By Rachel Bernhardt.

67 FORBIDDEN BAN5. By Arabella Southworth.

68 WEAvsns AND Wan. By Mrs. M. E. Braddon.

69 CAMILLE. By Alexander Dumas. 1
THE Two Carma. Bfi D'Ennerv.

71 MY YOUNG Win. 3% KYoun Wife's Husband.

72 Tim Two Winows. . nnie mas.

73 Ross MIcuEL. By ' aude Hilton.

74 CECIL CAB AINE’s Gaoa By Guide.

75 THE Bnaox Any or DUNA. By J. S. Le Faun.

76 Cannon: TEMPLE. By Mrs. Rowson.

77 CHRISTIAN OAKLEr‘s MISTAKE. ny Miss Mulock.

78 Mr YOUNG HusnANn. By Mysel .

79 A gurus: AKONosfr WouEN. By the author of
“ era Thorn." V -

80 Run Loan AND MASTER.

81 Lucr TEMPLE.

82 A Lost} Tuss- Aoo. By Meta Orred.

83 PLAYING For; Hum STAKES. By Annie Thomas

8-1 TnE LAUREL Buss. By Miss Mulock.

85 LED ASTRAY. By Octave Feuillet.

86 J ANE'r‘s REPENTANCE. By George Eliot.

87 Bonuses or A Poem YOUNG MAN. By, 0. Feuillet.

88 A TERRIBLE DEED. By Emma G. Jones.

89 A GILnEn SIN. .

90 Tue Auruos's DAUGHTER. By Mary Howitt.

91 THE JILr. By Charles Reade. ’

92 EILEEN ALANNA. By Dennis OjSulhvan.

93 Lowe‘s VIcronr. By B. L. F con.

94 THE QUIET HEART. By Mrs. 11 hant.

95 LamoseAnNow. rs. Mars .

96 HAUNTED Hume. B Rachel ardt.

97 lines MELTON. By atharlne n5

93 Aucs LEABMONT. By Miss Muloc .

99 MARJORIE Bnum's Lover. 13 Mary Patrick.

100 Tasman Fran AND WAraa. yFred. Talbot.

101 HANNAIL By Miss Mulock.

102 P20 Won-mam. By Charles Reade.

10:1 A Dasrnm'ra Dunn. By Erskine Boyd.

1M SuAnows 0N ma SNow. By B. L. Fa eon.

105 Tm: Gnu-r Roomm Dimes». y W. M.

kera .
y By E. Lynn Linton.
II.

By Florence Marryat.

106 Freon gmBreFW'AVrrgg.“

107 Fees m. y . . use

108 Tax SAD Form or mn Rn. Altos BAIrioN.
By George Eliot.

109 BREAD-AND-Cflmfi AND Kleens. By B. L. Farjeon

110 Tim WANsaanIa Hum. BvC.Beade. ,

111 Tun Bum-Inn's Barr. bchi‘ E. F. Canon.

112 A Em. By Miss Mu .

118 PAUL AND VmoINIA. From the French of Ber-
nardin de St. .

114 "hr Tumn‘s BAr. By Walter Beeant

A!!!
J-eenig
iiinrué‘B'EM A‘ 3"" -
' Dy inseam".
Oliver-Goldman

113 In Item. Thomas.

Tun-m or WAneaw Miss Jane Porter.
121 TE: Km 0! lie-LAN). B. L. Far-1m.
121 Lam ran Wm I! Ji- mm!-

198ANIsIANnPaAm. BylLFaI-Jeon.

\
11“ Conan: Pumas.
1% Lana; or TEE Sims or Guam». ByEdwani
NW, (Lord Lyman.)
195Wm m Sara Cons Hon. Byde
Besaut and James Rice.
127 ON: or was Funny. flames Payn.
125 THE Bmmxaxr. By Gore.
199 Barnum; or. The Farmer’s Sweetheart. By
Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.
180 Bonuses; or. The Two Orphan Girls in New
York. By Albert W. ,Alken. .
181 SISTER AGAINe'r Siam: or The Rivalry of
Hearts. a Mrs. W brown. ~
182 Sprig rtgn Ln; or. eat Lost. By Mrs. M.
. c r.
133 Loan Rowe‘s SIN; or Betrothed at the Cradle.
By Mrs. (leorgianaxchlrens. - I .
184 DID HE LOVE Hm! By Bartley '1‘. Campbell.
135 Simon: fluxes; or. Almost in HiavPower. By
Lillian ve 0y.
1% 'i‘wmglnl Bis {Viral 02y Ma ~Reed WI.
an imAeEoN-rsn m. yMiss era.
188 Boon VALng; tor, The Broken Troth. y
Margare oun '
189 Mm Gum By G. P. R. James.
140 Wis-nom- Manor: By Bartley T. Campbell.
141 Boson BonNn. By Lillian Lovejoy.
142 Maple ml lava. Mrs. Harriet Irving.
148 Annumn. By Rett Winwood.
144 A STRANGE mm“. By Lillian Lovcm '
145 Two Gms' Lrvss: ByMrs.Mary Reed A ell.
146 A DurmnVEIrruRI. By ArabellaSouthworth ,
147 Tax Wm or HEAR-rs. B‘y Corinne Cuahmon. '
148 Wines WAC ma Wow. _

- f

154 RE Lem Mr. her.
155 WxNNINo WAYS. By argaret Blount. .
156 Wur Sn Cour Hus. Arabella Southwerth.
157 A Gm‘s Ruhr. By Rett Winwood.

158 A Brrrn. MIsrAnz. B Agnes Mary Shelton.
159 LAM Barr‘s Vow. a; the late Mrs. E 1". Eliot.

. Anew ismsmrywsek.

For sale by all Newsdealers, ce flve cents each,
orsentpostagepaidmnreoetp ofaixcents,

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers.
98 William street. N. Y.

Half-Dime Singer’s Library:

1WaoA. Emu! and” other-Songs.

2 CArrAm Cos-r and 57 otherSongs.

8 Tan Gmssono‘ HAI- and62 other Songs.

4 JOHNNY [OMAN and 60 other ‘

You Wrrn A Farm and 02 others.

and 56 other Songs.

7mmormwnand5¢other80u I
8 Youso FELLAu. You'Iu: TooFansu and 000 here.
9 Bar YouNo GIRL and 65 other Son 3. '

10 I‘m m Gomaon‘s ONLY SON and other Songs.
11 Mr FAN and 65 other-Songs. .

12 Comm’ Tune" 'rIIE RYE an 55 other Songs.

13 Tea Romcsxso ImsmIAN and 59 other Songs.

14 OLD Doc TRAY and 62 other Songs. I

15 WBOA. 03mm and 59 other Songs.

16 IN ms Wursfr BY AND Br and 62 other Songs.
17 NANCY LE: and 58 other '

18 PM THE BOY mr's Bousn 'ro zn and Mothers.
19 THE Two OsrnANs and 59 other Songs.

20 WHAT Ann m Wu.» WAvEs SAYING, Sierra)

and 59 other Songs.

21 leGNAN'r Pour Woo and 59 other Songs.

92 THE ULn Ann-Cum and 58 other Songs.

2‘1 ON CONE? lsLANn BEACH and 58 other Songs.

94 Our Siuos. rm: Ber-CORN MAN and 60 others.

25 I‘ll IN Lava and 5&1 other Sons-s. '

25 PARADE or rm: Gm ans and 56 other Songs.

1'? Yo, HEAVE, Ho! and 60 other Songs.

Bl "l‘wxu. NEvEn no 'ro Gm rr Ur- So and 60 others.

‘29 BMW: BoNNwrs OVER rm: Donors and 54 others
an 'l‘ur: MERRY LAI'GIIINn MAN and 56 other Songs.

31 SWEET Fons wr-Mr-No'r and 55 other Songs.

82 Lawns: BAnY MINE and 53 other Songs.

#13 DE BAN-10 AM DE INs'mrMEN'r sou ME and 5‘3 othera,

34 Tsm and 50 other Songs.

85 var 10 PLEASE 'nn'. Bays and.52 other Songs.

36 SKATING ON ONE IN THE Gnu-Ea and 52 others.

87 KoLONEn KRANRS and 59 other Songs. '

88 N11. llnernANnUu and 58 other Songs. I‘

39 TEE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME and 50 other Sonata.

40 "he am A Luna FADE!!! From a'nd 50 others. '

41 Pam WmununNA and 60 other Songs. _

42 DANCING IN 'rnE BARN and 68 other Songs.

43 H. M. S. PINAI-osa. comma, and 17 other Songs.

Sold everywhere by ltgvsdealers, at five cents
percopyorsen - '.to'¥ addresonrev
eeipt of Elke cents pe’i'ogu’x’gber. W x

BEADLE AND ADAMS. Parnassus,
! 98 Wmui Snun. Nzw You.

. Mar
fiy Lillian Lovejoy.
By

 

 

THE

iiiiririynsislgg liilsrsaarsr

ILALLA Bo'oni. Bymmsx“N-wm.  19c
2Don Jens. ByIadan..._...........‘...1106'
sPAmmsEIm. ByJohanltoa ...... .... .. 10o
4TnLAnrormLAXl Sh'WalterSoott...10c
(sme 13me Meredith... ......... 
6Uth;o 'l'fllWA'rm-s  ,
moire-serum m" ""' m
Forsalebyail

double numbers twenty-four sense.

 

ADAMS. VICTOR & (XX. “Was,
I r %\Wmian street KY,

Ialsnem... 10a : V,

Marne-gm \
on receipt of twelve cents for magic lulu: \’

 

 

 

it")

" .H’Y .. ,
affix! '15! N ’h.‘ :

T18 UTII .e'TJenNG-ER .THAN FICTION! 9

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOW READY AND IN PRESS.

7' 1 Advdenturea of Bufi‘alo Bill. Prom Boyhood to Man
life of William F. Cody. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

8 The Ocean Hunters; or, The Chase of the Leviathan. A

Romance of Perilous Adventure. By Captain Mayne Reid.
‘ An extra large number. m ' .

3 Adventure: of Wild Bill. the Piatol Prince. Remarkable
career of J. B. Hikok, (known to the world as “ Wild Bill"), giving
the true story of his adventures and acts. By Prentiss Ingrahaxn.
The Prairie Ranch; or, The Young Cattle Berders. By Joe.
E. Badger, J r. _ g . . v
Texas disk. the mustang King. Thrilling Adventuresuin.
the Liie of J. B. Ornoh'undro, “ Texas Jack.” By Col. P. Ingraham.
Cruise of the Flyaway; or, Yankee Boys in Ceylon. By'C.
Dunning Clark. ' ‘ I '

30 Joe: The History of a Young “Border Ruflien.” Brief
Scenes trom the Life of Joseph E. Badger, Jr. By A. H. Post. '
The Plyaway Afloat; or, Yankee Boys ’Round the World.
By C. Dunning Clark. ’
Bruin Adana, Old Adar-3’ Boy Pard. Scenes
of Wild Adventure in the Life of the Boy Ranger of the Rocky

Q‘Odfifllfi

. Mountains. By Col. PITentiss Ingraham.
10 The Snow Trail; or, The Boy Hunters of Fur-Land. -A Narra-
tive of Sport and Life around Lake Winnipeg. By T. C. Harbaugh
1 1 Old Grizzly Adams, the Bear Tuner; or, The Monarch of
the Mountain. By Dr. Frank Powell. - ~
18 Wood. and Waters: or, The Exploits of the Littleton G
' Club. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. , '
18 A 30 Stone: Incidents in the Career on See and Land as
Boy and an, of_ Col. Prentiss Ingraham. By Pro!.Wm. R. Eyster.
14 Adrift on the Prairie. and Amateur Hunters on the
Buflalo Range. By 011 Coomes.
15 Kit Cal-Ion. King of Guides; 61', Mountain Paths and
Prairie Trails. By Albert W. Aiken. ‘
Red River Rovers : or, Life and Adventures in the Northwest.
By C. Dunning Clark. I
17 Plaza and Plain; or, Wild Adventures of “Buckskin Sam,”
(Major Sam S. Hell.) By CoL Prentiss Ingraham.
Rifle and Revolver: or, The Littlston Gun Club on the
Buffalo Range. By Capt. Frederick'Whittaker.
19 Wide-Awake Geo the Boy Pioneer; or, Life in aLog
Cabin. Incidents and Adventures in the Backwoods. By Ed. Willett.
80 The Dashing Dragoon; or, The Story of General George 'A.
‘ Custer, from West Point to the Big Horn. By Capt. F. Whittaker.
21 Deadwood Dick an a 30y; or, Why Wild Ned Harris, the New
. England Farm-lad, became the Western Prince of the Road. By
Edward L. Wheeler.

The Boy Exiles of Siberia;
By T. C. Harbaugh.

‘83 Paul De Lacy. the French Beast Charmer; or, New
York Boys in tlieJungles. By C‘. Dunning Clark. ,

84 The Sword Prince :' The Romantic Life of quonel Monstery,_
(American Champion-at—arms.) ,By Captain Fred. Whittaker. r

85 Round the Ca- Pire': or, Snow-Bound at “Freeze-out Camp. ”
A Tale. of Roving oeand'his Hunter Pards. By Joe. E. Badger, Jr.

"88 Snow-Shoe Tom: or, New York Boys in the Wilderness. A
Narrative of SpOrt and Peril in Maine. By T. C. Harban'gh. ‘

87 Yellow Hair. the Boy Chiefof the Pawneeu. , The» Ad-
venturous career of Eddie Burgess of Nebraska. By Col. Ingrah'am.

713

18

22 or, The Watch~Dog oi Russia.

Deeds of Daring, and Romantic Incidents in the early -

q

 

88 The Chase of the Great White Stag and Camp and
. Canoe. By C. Dunning-Clark. ‘
29 'The Fortune-Hunter: or, Roving Joe as Miner, Cow-Boy,
Trapper and Hunter; By A. H. Post. '
Walt Per son’s Cruise. A Tale of the Antarctic Sea; By
, C. Dunning lark. - , i l
31‘ The Boy Crusader; or, How a Page and a Fool Saved a King.
By Captain Frederick Whittaker. _
32 White Beaver, the Indian Medicine Chief: or, The Ro-
" mantic and Adventurous Life of Dr. D. Frank Powell, known on the
Border as “ Fancy Frank,” “-Iron Face, " etc. By Col. P. Ingraham.
Captain Ralph, theYoung Explorer; or, The Centipede
Among theFloes. By C. Dunning Clark. ' ' p
84 The Young Bear Hunters. A Story of the flaps and Mishaps
of a Party of Boys in the Wildsof Michigan. By Morris Redwing.
35 The Lost Boy Whalers; or, In the Shadow of the North Pole.
By T. C. Harbaugh. . - g V. ,
36' Smart Sim. the Lad with a Level Head 3' or, Two Boys
who were “Bounced.” By Edward Willett.
Old Tar Knuckle and His Boy Chums; or, The Monster:-
ot the Esquimaux Border. By Roger Starbuck. -
38 The Settles-’3 Song‘or, Adventures in Wilderness’and Clear-
ing. By Edward S. Ellis. ,
39 Night-Hawk George, and His Daring Deeds and Adventures
in the Wilds of the South and West. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
40 The Ice Elephant: or, The Castaways of the Lone Coast. By
Captain. Frederick Whittaker. .
41 The Pampas, Hunters: or, New York Boys in Buenos Ayres.
By T. C. Harbaugh.
42 The Young Land-Lubher; or, Prince Porter’s First Cruise.
. By C. Dunning Clark.
48 Bronco Billy. the Saddle Prince. By Colonel Prentiss

Ingraham.
By Barry

44 The ‘Snow Hunter-g or, Winter in the Woods.
De Forrest.

45 Jack. Harry and Toni, The Three Champion Brothers; or,
Adventures of Three Brave Boys with the Tattooed Pirate. By
Captain Frederick Whittaker. ,.

48 The Condor Killers; or, Wild Adventures at the Equator-
By T. C. Harbaugh.

47 The Boy Coral Fishers;
Roger Starbuck.

48 Dick, the Stowaway; or, A Yankee Boy’s Strange Cruise.
By Charles Morris. ' ,

49 Tip Tree-ell, the Floater; or, Fortunes and Mlsfortnnes on'
the Mississippi. By Edward Willett.

50 The Adventurous Life of Nebraska Charlie, (Chas. E.
Burgess.) ~By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. I - .

30

38

37

or, The Sea Cavern Scourge. By

.51 The ma Gray-Tuaherg‘or, Life on enllndigo floatation. _.

By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 1 ‘
53 Hone-t Barry; or, The Country‘qu Adrift in the City. By
Charles Morris.
, A New lune Every ‘chk. ‘ I
Burma’s Bor’s mer is for sale by all 'Newsdealcrs, five cents
percopy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each: . _
 ransom: AND anus, rum ' r
' as William Street, Nay York. I

la

 

i

 

: i
i

I!

 

 

 

.38
int

 



 

1”

 

 

 

 

1 A Hard'Crowd. By P. S. Warne.
a The Dare-Devil. By Col; Ingraham.
3 Carson. Jr. By Buckskin Sam.
4 e Kidnapper. By P. S. Warns.
5 he Fire-Fiends. By A-.;P..Morris.
e Wildcat Bob. By E; L.‘Wheeler. ,‘
7 Deathotch. By Oil Coomes. . ,
S The Headless Horseman. Astrange
story of Texas. .Berapt. mayne Reid. ‘ .
9 dy. By Samuel Lover.

8

n ,
10 Vidocq, Tun FRINGE Poucs, 

M'ritteu by himself. '
1 1 ,Midshipman Easy. Capt Marryljlt-
12;;The Death-Shot. By Wyn? Rad'-
13 Pathfiway. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
14 Thayendane ea. By Ned 13111151!“-
16 The Tiger-S yer. By G. Aimerd.
16 The White Wizard. Ned Buntiine.
17 Nightshade. day Dr. J. H. Réobinson.
1 '  ‘ n' . ' By Ned aniline.-
1g  0632;. By Gustave Aimard.
20 The Bandit at Bay. By Aimerd.
21 The Trapper-’5 Daughter; 02,
Tu Omw‘s Fun. By Gustave Almerd.
22 Whitelaw. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
23 The Red Warrior. By Ned Buntlin
24 Prairie Flower. By G. Aimsrd;
25 The Gold-Guide. By F. Johnson.
26 The Death-Track. By F. Johnson.
27 The.Spotter-Detective. By Aiken.
28Three-  ‘d ack'l‘meoso—
AGENT or ran ROCKIES. By Joseph E. Badger. Jr.
29 r Dick, Tm: FARQ KING; or,
Tan CAsiuss’s Csnm. By Philip S.=Wome. ' u ~
30 Gospel Geor e. By J. E. Badger.
31 The. New Yor Sharp. By'Aikem‘
32 B’hoys of Yale. By J. D. Vose.
38 Overland Kit. By A. W. Aiken.
34 Rocky Mountain Rob. By Aiken.
35 Kentuck, the Sport. By Aiken.
86 Inhijun Dick. By Albert W. Aiken.
37 r1. the Hunchback; 03, TH]:
SWORDHAKER or ran SANTEB. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
Velvet Hand. By A. W. Aiken.
The Russian Spy. By Whittaker.
Tntg‘fhe Long Hairng‘sz-dsg' on,
“as or ran ~s. os. . Badger. Jr.
41 Gold Dan. By Anger. w. Aiken.
42 California. Detective. By Aiken. ,
43 Dakoth By 011 Gnomes. '
44 Old Dan Rachback. Oil Coomes.
45 Old Bull’s Eye. Jos. E. Badger. Jr.
48 Bowie-Knife Ben. By OiiCoomes.
47 Pacific Pete. By Joe. E. Badger, Jr.
48 Idaho Tom. By 011 Coomes.
49 The WolfDemon. By A. W. Aiken.
50 Jack Rabbit.
51 Red Rob. By Oil Coomes.
52 Death Trailer. By Buffalo Bill.
58 Silver Sam. By Col. Delis Sara.
M Alwaysonfiand. By P. S. Warns.
86 The Scalp Hunters. Mayne Reid.
56 The Indian Mazeppa. By Aiken.
~57 The Silent Hunter. P. B. St. John.
58 Silver Knife. Bv Dr. J. H. Robinson.
89 The Man From Texas. By Aiken.
60 Wide Awake. By Frank Dumont.
61 Captain Seawaif. By Ned Buntiine.
62 Loyal Heart. By Gustave Aimard.

63 The W e. By Aiken.
64 Double- ht. By J. E. Badger, Jr.
65 The Red, ah. By F. Whittaker.
66 The er arque. Mayne Reid.

' 67 The Boy Jo . By J. E. Badger.

68 The htincrai‘rapper: or, KIT

races. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams

The Irish Cagtah. By Whittaker.
70 Hydrabad. y Dr. J. H. Robinson.

' .71 Captain Cool-Blade. J. E. Badger.
'72 The Phantom Hand. By Aiken.;'.
78 The Knight of the Red Cross;
or. Tn MAGICIAN 0F GRANADA. Dr. J. H. Robinson.

M Captain ofthe Rifles. Maymfisid.
75 Gentleman  By Aiken.
7.8 The Queen’s usketeer: or, ,
Tmns,’ m Pamenss PALIIIBT. By George Aibony.
77 The Fresh of Frisco. By Aiken.
78 The Mysterious . By Grainger
79 JoePhenimPot-JI‘ .. ByAiken.
80 A Man of Nerve. By P- 5- Waffle.
81  Hm-  3.! Aim».-.
'82 Iron‘ Wrist, the Swordmaster.‘
«3.? 001. Thomas H. Monster-y.

88 GoldBullet Sport. By Bnflalo Bill.

     

By J. E. Badger, Jr. r

84 Hunted Down; By A. W. Aiken.

85 The Cretan Rover- By Ingrahnm.
' 88 Wow B thnuthergt 03:1th
'or ran s. y ecu or “ on r."
‘ so no Scarlet capes...» Dehgpghrs.
- 88 Hi; George. By Joe. in. Badger, Jr.
, , 89 The Pirate Prince. By Ingrshe'm.
~' $0 Wild Will. By Buckskin Sam.
  The ,Winning Oar. By Aiken.

'93 Captain Dick Talbot. By Aiken.
94 Freelance, By Col. P. Ingraham. ‘
‘98 Ashort. THE Axmm. By A. P. Morris.
96 Double-Death. By F.'.Whittsker.
9'7 Bronze Jack. By A. W. Aiken.
98 The Rock Rider. By Whittaker.
99 The Giant Rifleman. Oil Coomes
100 TheI‘reneh Spy. By A. P. Morris.
T8110! The Mag: héom Nwew york; or,
. was or; p ’. owe out: .
1 '2 The Mafian o...
103 Merle, the Mutineer. Ingraham.
104 Montezuma. the Merciless: or.
The EAGLE AND in: 8mm. By Col. P. lngrshsm.
105 Dan Brown of Denver, Tm:
8.0ch Momma DEFECTIVE. By Joe. Enger. Jr.
' 106 Shamus O'Brien. - Col. Della Sets.
107 Richard Talbot of Cinnabar-’3
or, THE Bnomnns or'rnn RED Hum. B A.W. Aiken.
108 The Duke ofDiamon s3 0", Tu
now-moss CADUU'I'I'A. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.
109 Captain K (1. By Col. Ingrabam.
1 10 The Silent ifleman. By Herbert-
. til The Sm ler Captain;
Sxmns‘s Cains. By edBuntline.
112.Joe Phenix, vahm‘pmcrm;
or,' Tm: Lnsovn or m Sms'ms Ens. By Aiken.
1 13 The Sea, Slipper. J. H Ingraham.
TE111:1 The Gegtleniagfialllnl s e: or,
E HOST 0" m ANTON. y ' , Wayne.
115 The Severed Head. p Whittaker.
116 Black Plume. By Col. Ingmham.
1 17 Dashing Dandy. By Major Burr.
118 The Bur lar Captain; or, 'l‘ns

. Fem STAB. ‘ByPro . J. H. lngrahnm

119 Alabama Joe. By J. E. Badger.
120 The Texans y. By N. M. Curtis.
121 The Sea Ca et. By Ingrshem.
.  Saul Sahberdayc Ned Buntiine.
124 Ksiowaum. the. Ave r: ‘Or,
Tan D00): or m Dmsoms. By Franc Johnson.
125 The Blacksmith Outlaw; or,
Muss? Exams. By Harrison Ainsworth. .
126 The Demon Duelist. By Monstery.
127 Sol tt. mm lineman MINER: or,
DAN Baowx’s Downs. By Joseph E. Badger.
128 The Chevalier Corsair: or, The
Human or mum. . B the author of “Merle.”
129 Mississipgi ose. BV Ed.Winiett.
130 Captain olcano. y Aiken.
131 Buckskin Sam. By Col. Ingrahem.
?‘ 132 Issue, King ofthe Tramps: or,
'rnn Rom Gnu‘s Vnsnmcn. By Whittaker.
_ 183 Body. the Rover. By W. Carleton.
- 134 Darkle Dan. By Col. Ingraham.
135 The Bush Ra on. By Johnson.
136 The Outlaw- unter. Johnson.
137 Long Beard. By Oil Coomes.
138 The Border Bandits. Johnson.

139 Fire-B’fe. By C l. P.1ngrahsm.

140 The Spaniards. By
Geo Walker.
11391 Equinox Tom. By J. E. Badger.

142 Captain Crimson. By Major Burr.

143 The Csar’s Sp . By Monstery.

144 TheHunchbac ofNotre-Dame.
By Victor Hugo. ’

145 Pistol ’Pards. ' By W.'R. Eyster.

146 The Doctor Detective; or, Tan
MYSTERY or m Gomss Corr-m. B Geo. Lemuel.
. 7 GoldiSpur. By Col. .‘lngrahaml.
' 148 One-Armed Alf. ’ By 011 Coornes.

149 The Border Rifles. 'By Aimard.

150 El Ruble Bravo. KING or ran
Swonnsm. By Col. Thomas Boyer Monster-y.

15 I p Preebooters. . By Aimard.
"1152 Captain Ironnerve, ran Cous-

, mums. Cums. By Marmaduke Dey.

 15.3 The White scalp”. By Aimsrd.

" 164£Jzaqnin..rnn 8.51)le KING. By

Jade h .' er‘Jr."‘ '

 l 5 The Corsair Queen. Ingr'aham

H 1586 Velvet Pace. By Major Burr. B
y

 

Col. 'l‘hma‘slsI 110 or Monste

157 Konrad. m MAIDEN“
158 e oomedrfiosen. Dr. Powell.

 

Bulalo Bill. By Dangerfield Burr."

Aiken. ,
. Aiken'

or, This ? 1’

Alapl'ha. the Squaw. F. Johnson. .

 

Y.

159 Red R ‘. By F. Whittaker
' 1,60 Soft Fang! 
J 161 TheGWolves a!  AQ‘s-vk",fbr,
oranux's '1' W M.  . . 
162‘ The'fidiflflner.‘ ylngrahsm.
163‘Ben Brian, Irma» ,ll‘hrrna cu»
11nd. ByDr.,J.fi.Bobmson.  1,. x
, 1M “Them: 29191.,  n. elm.
- 165.Joaquin. the .. Badger.
162.01%“. the? Robber Prince ; or,
Tsfflgnmmonwims. BySeptimusR. , .
6 The~ Man of Steel. A. P./ a.
168 Wild Bill. By-Coi. P. Inf;an ‘

 

 

 

    
   

' 100 0 Cannon. ruins or
For." Duns. By Colonel Thomas  Mastery
1.70 Sweet William. Til-APP!!!
DETECTIVE. By Jose E. Badger. Jr.
171 Tiger ck, mm MAN or ran
Ines Hum. 13 r 3. Wine. . .
1’72: “rm. By Ingrnhssa.
1'18 C ' __ f  ByANF‘. Aiifln.

175 Wild Bill’s
nggsngerfleldJBum
By tain Mark WW

7. {DI} ,Diahlo. By Col. P. Ingrahsm.

1'28. D‘A’Dashw V By Major Hall.

179 Conrad. the onviet; or, Wss
HI Gm"? By Prof. Stewart Glider-sleeve, 1.11.1).
.180 Old '49. By J08. E. Badger, Jr.
181 Scarlet Schooner; ‘By In In.
182 Bonds 17 1 By Wm.“R. yster.
183 Gilbert. , I. r
184 Ocean Vampire. By P. ingrahsm.
185 Man Spider. By A.  Morris.
186 The Black Bravo. "Buckskin Sam.
187 The-Death’s Bead ., ruirassiers:
or. Buys or 1i); Bum. ByOe t‘. ' .Whittsiner.

188 The Phantom aseppa. By

Me. or Wind-Rm. . v
89 ild Bill's Gold Trail: or, Tn
Dumas Dozm By Col. Prentiss Ingrahom.
190 The Three men. By

Alexandre -
 191 merflble Tonhaway; or,
On; 633031! hm: H15  Buckskin Sam.
e Ids ning Tan
BAD Mrs or Euros-ms BAR. By . yster.
193 The Man in  By F.Whittaker.
1 4 Don Sombrero. By'Ce t, Wilton.
1 5 The Lone Star G or; or,
Tn: Dinner was momma. By Buckskin Sun.
198 La Marmoset. m Din-norm
Qms. B Albert. W. Aiken. .
197 ii.

volver Rob. By J. E: Badger.

001198 The Skeleton  
' 15b fin'onfiblck’. By Buckskin s...
200 The Rifle Rangers. By Capt.

Magus Reid. ‘ .
01 The Pirate of the Places-s: or,
Josqnm‘s Duns-Hm. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

202 'Caetiu Jack. was Gum Gums.
By Captain Mark Wilton.
By A1-

208 The Double Detective.
bert W. Aiken.

204 Big Foot Wallace, ran Kmo or
m LAEXAT. By Buckskin Sam. r .

205 The Gambler Pirate. By Colonel
Prentiss Ingrshnm.

206 One Eye, the Cannoneer: or.
Mlsssn’s. Nsv‘s LAST LEGACY. By Cept.'Whittsker.

207 Old Hard Head; or, WHIBLWIND '

AND Hrs him-Wm MARE. By Philip B. Warns.
208 The White. Chief. 33' Captain
Mayne Reid. '

209 Buck Farley, ran 301“st Person;
or. Tun Roman or Dunn Gums. By Edward
Wiliett. '

210 Buccaneer Bess. By 001. Prentiss -
1 I .. . .

211 The Unknown Sport. By Cgpt,
Frederick Whittaker. ‘

212 The . Brazos Tigers r or. man
11mm MIN or Four Emmy. By Buckskin Sam.

213 The War Trail. Capt. Mayne Redd. .
214 The Two Cool 8 arts; or, Gnnm'

or m Gown. By William R. yster. %  In“;
215 Catamount Jim. ByCaptsin F.
Whittaker. '
- A new ism mry wulc.
Ilendlo’s Dime Library is {creole b in
Newt's. ten cents per copy or sent by Ink

noel of Welve cents each. BEADIJL' 4: AD
Mignon. 98 William Street. New York. .

rump Card. By‘
, m Ronnns QUEEN. .

9, Guide... C..D;Cia.r_k... '

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE GREAT AMERICAN STORY PAPER!

 

 

‘ The BesI'Weekly. nnnnnnn.‘ nnnnnnnnnn nnnusnnnn nnnnnnnnn Published "in Amenicag
" _Its Unrivaled Corps of Contributors!

Aimed: all of whom write ewdueively for its publishers—embraces ’the following authors of world wide repute—

Oelonel Pronun- lmehun, ' Charle- Morru, ’ I Major Dangerfield Burr,
Albumw. Aiken, _ on Coulee; _ ‘1‘. c. Bar-bang!»
Capt. Fred. inn-miner, ‘ c. Dunning clan-k, a Philip S. Wane,
Capt. Mayne Beld, ’ Bullhlo Bu], ’ wunm R. Enter,
Joleph E. Badger, In, \ White Denver, Anthony P. Merrie,

Edwerd 1.. Wheeler, I V Bubkekln Sun, nuance Poynu.

Each and an of When Give to BEADLBS WEEKLY Their Very Best Ennunnunns I

IN ALL m VAR!!!) NEEDS OF
BORDER AND WILD wns'r 'nomxcn— I
ADVENTURE, EXPLORATION AND sperm—1
cm LIFE, CHARACTER, comm-s .AND WAYS—
DE'rEc'rIVE m ‘snADowi REvELA'rIoNs—'

A

grams or THE GREAT DEEP, eta" etc.

So that eecli and every number is everflowing with reading of the meet interesting and exciting nature; while in its Special Depertments!
. covei-ing all the needs, and adding to the general interest and usefulness of the popular journal, BEADLE’S WEEKLI? is the pupa-i0!
all other: for your Weekly reading and entertainment. '

A

~ ' Beadle’s Weekly is Published at the Following Batesfi
Por Pour mi ..........  ............. “1.31.60  .. ..
PorOner .....................  .......  3.00 Single   ..

BEADLE an; ADAMS, Igublishemin

 byelll'ievndeelen I
n ‘90 wmuur em,  noun.