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'TERED A'l’ THE POST OFFICE A NEW Yon

 

FRY AT SECO D

CLASS MAIL RATES. __h 7

 

 

 

Published Every d?e(ui/p. (f- yflrr‘n 727,3, (7)11577'x7zers.

Ten Cents a Copy.
Wednesday.

$5.00 a. Year.

 

 

 

The Swamp-Islend Renegades.

A Tale of the Everglades and Jungles.

 

BY MAJOR D. BOONE DUMQNT,

humor; 01" “SILVER SAM, THE DETECTIVE,”
“ THE OLD mvnn SPORT,” ETC.

 

CHAPTER I.
THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER.

“ YOU must take both of us, or neither.”

“ Then I will take neither.”

“ Father, how can you be so cruel?"

“ I am not cruel. You are the cruel one,
You leave me no choice. You know that it is
impossible that I should have anything to do
with that man. I tell you once more, Emma,
that you must discard him or I will discard you.
You must cheese between us. If you decide that
you will go with him. you forsake me and are
no longer my daughter.”

“He is my husband.”

“ You had no right to marry him; but that _ _
fault might be romelied.” 

“I have no wish to remedy what you (-all a
fault. I will go with my husband.”

 

 

 

THE SAURIAN MONSTERS HAD TASTED THE BLOOD OF THE T\V0 NEGROES WHO HAD
BEEN SHOT. AND WERE NOT TO BE BALKED 0F ANOTHER VICTIM.

  

  
 

 

 

I' village with the young lady, an

‘ didn't know. ’

, to be forgiven, even in the face of her flagrant

‘. cold as ice.

. of character or phase of circumstances to ex-

, at the shrine where she had placed him.

itinqu disobedience was the fact of her elope—

' mud n a restoration of her rights and privi-

. lam Startle in his presence for a moment.

'2

 

Salamander, “Sam.

 

 

" “Go, then and I promise you most solemn-
ly that I Will never see you again if I can
help it.”

It was the old story—a girl who had married
against her father’s will, and an obstinate
father, if not an obdurate one, who would not
for 've her.

here was every reason why he should not
forgive her, and she had no right to expect his
for iveness.

I ever a man had cause to utterly dislike
and abominate another, there was ample justi-
fication for the antipathy of Emma Plympton‘s
father toward the man whom his daughter had
chosen.

Ben 'aniin Plympton had come to Pennsylvania
when 6 was a young man. and had there grown
wealthy and ream-ted. ’

By industry and frugality, combined with
enterprise, shrewdness and correct principles,
he had built up an extensive and largely profit-
able business, and was held in high considera-
tion, not only because of his wealth, but because
of his personal character.

The man whom his daughter had married
‘was a penniless adventurer, and there was good
reason to believe that he was as destitute of
principle as he was of cash or the industry that
might procure cash.

tiring the great Civil W'ar which had been
not long since brought to an end, Benjamin
Plympton was an enthusiastic Union man,
nsmg all his influence and giving largely of
his means in support of the cause that he
believed to be ab0ve all things just and right-
eons.

It mi ht be said that he was inclined to be
fanatica in his devotion to the Union, declaring
upon all occasions that every Southern soldier,
no matter what he might have believed or how
he might have been influenced, was a. traitor
who degerved death 11 n the gahOWs.

Yet Absalom Start e, the man who had stolen
his daughter from him, had been a Southern
soldier, a pirate at that, with no redeeming trait

case or palliate his disloyalty to the section of
his birth and education.

The close of the war had found that Absalom
Startle in a Northern military prison and after
his release he had remained in the North wan-
dering from place to place, and picking u ) a
precarious living in a more or less questiona 1e
manner by means of his wits.

He had made the acquaintance of Emma
Plymptom at a town where she was attending
a boarding-school, had succeeded in fascinating
the oung and romantic girl. and had followed
her me in vacation time.

It is not to be supposed that he was ignorant
of the wealth and position of her father, who
was known personally or by reputation to
everybody in that region.

. Benjamin Plympton saw him (going about the

made a busi-
ness of gguiring about him, soon finding out all
he wan to know.

He cautioned Emma a ainst the man, giving
her his character in a nu hell, and ordered her,
under pain of her father’s severest displeasure,
to have nothing more to do with Startle.

Her ready assent to his wishes disarmed his
suspicions, and yet the only effect was to ren-
der her meetings with Startle not less frequent,
but more secret.

The irl was infatuated. She was filled with
the be ef that she onlfi could understand and
a. preciate her lover, t ough she expected the
131016 world in time to fall down and worship

[Like many another, she "meant well, but

The first intimation her father had of her con-

ment, which was made so plain to him that he
could not doubt it.

' Then, after a letter from her which he did not
answer, and after a reasonable lapse_ of time
for honeymoon and for sober conSIderation
of t e matter, she brou ht her husband to him,
askin forgiveness for oth, and of course de-

1 as at iome, for herself and her husband.
twas not without reason that she expected

disobedience of her father‘s commands. ' ‘
He was a widower, and she was his only child,
and his life was bound. up with hers.
‘ It was not possible that he could forsake her,
and to whom but to her should {Edgive the
property which he had accumula for her

sake? _
Yet she found him as hard as rock and as

His antipathy to the man she had chosen was
so intense that he could scarcely tolerate Absa-

He had thou lit the matter over during her
absence—indeed. he had hardly thought of any-
thing else—and had but one proposition to make
to her, from which no consideration could per-
suade him to SWei-ve.

If she desired to return to her father, she
must give up her husband and never see him
again; otherwise she would be an outcast from

home. ’

 

 

 

When she declared her intention of sticking to
her husband, and was told to take herself off
she felt that she had a right to consider herself
an aggrieved young woman. .

Absalom Startle attempted to come out in a
heroic role, for that occasion only.

“ I came here at my wife’s request,” said he,
“ and we have both done our duty. If other
folks don’t do theirs, it can’t be helped. I can
take care'of my wife, and don‘t ask help from
an body.”

f anythin more had been needed to turn the
sweetness of enjamin Plympton’s nature to gall
this speech would have done it.

He told his daughter that she had heard his
last word, and that she must come to his terms
or leave him and her home forever.

She went away in tears, and also in anger, but
soon dried her eyes and clung more closely to
her husband, vowing that she would never desert
him, and expressing a sublime confidence in his
Willingness and ability to shape a splendid future
for them both.

Again it was the old story. The scamp who
had married her in the hope of gaining sition
and property soon showed himself in iis true
light, and made her regret the day she had first
seen him.

He dragged her from place to place in his va-
grant existence—or she followed him because
there was nothing else for her to cling to—and
her life was thereafter a continued round of
poverty and wretchedness and misery.

He was constantly reproaching her with being
a burden to him, and endeavoring to force her
to appeal to her father for aid.

She did so, again and again, particularly when
her be was born; but her letters were unan-
sweret .

The hope that Benjamin Plympton would re-
lent kept her up for some time; but she sunk at
last under the weight of hardships and abuse,
and when her boy was five years old she lay on
her death-bed.

They had then drifted dpwn to Florida, where
Absalom Startle, having become connected with
a gang of the tough subjects of that region, was
Kicking up a livelihood bv methods in which

onesty was not, considered.

iAgain it was the old story, but with a little
variation. '

The dying woman wrote a last letter to her
father, informing him of her condition, and be -
gin him to come to Florida after her death,
which/would surely occur before he could get her
letter, to take her boy from Absalom Startle,
who would be glad to get rid of him, and place
him where he would be decently cared for and
proper] brought 

As it ppened, enjamin Plympton was far
from his home when that letter was written,
traveling with the view of combining the pur-
suit of business with the ursuit of health.

The letter was forwar ed to him, and it fol-
lowed him from place to place, just missing him
at each flight, until it finally rested from its
ggiiiderings and settled down in the Dead Letter

ce.

When it became an assured fact that Emma
Startle had been absolutely discarded by her
father hopes began to spring in the breast of
the old man’s next of kin, after his daughter.

That was his nephew, Morley Plymptcn by
name, a person whom Benjamin Plympton had
for a long time intensely disliked, and apparent-
ly with good reason.

But there was no other kinsman to whom the
old man’s money could go, his daughter being
cut out, and Morley had at least gone tothe war
on the Union side as a sutler, and that wasa
point in his favor, though a small one.

Benjamin Pl mpton made overtures to his
nephew, which orley was glad to accept, took
him into his business, and made him promises of
prefernfnt and future prosperity, conditional on
good he avior. ‘

The good behavior began well, but failed to
hold out.

Morley Plympton was vicious by nature, and
had not enough of a true villain’s sense to curb
his propensities until his future was secure.

Deeining himself stinted in the matter of mon-
ey by the old man, be secured a considerable sum
by forging his uncle’s name, and the forgery
was discovered.

He gained immunity from punishment through
Benjamin Plympton’s forbearance, but no for-
giveness nor anythin like it.

On the contrary, h s uncle ordered him off,
telling him plainly that he would never have
anything more to do with him, and would
never Willineg see his face again.

After that occurrence Beninmiu Plympton,
who had been failing in healt since his daugh-
ter’s mad act began to decay ignite rapidly,
and was finally persuaded to a milder
climate, with the view of lengthen ng the un-
satisfactory remnant of his life.

He went to Cuba, and there, after dragging
out a few more painful years, he died and was
buried. .

Before his death repentance came to him—or
at least. regret—together with the necessity of
making some disposal of his property.

Remembering well the fact that a son had
been born to his daughter, be consulted with an

\,

 

old and trusty friend, Tom Cresswell by name,
who was then in Cuba on business, as to what
he might, could or should do for his possibly
living daughter and her child or children.

As a result of this consultation he made awill,
which he intrusted to Cresswell, together with
the valuables in his possession there, giving in-
structions which his old friend faithfully pro-
mised to carry out to the best of his ability.

Tom_Cresswell, after attending to the burial
of Benjamin Plympton and to such other mat~
ters on the island as needed his attention, set
sail for Baltimore on a brigantine which he had
chartered and with a cargo which he owned.

The brigantine was wrecked on the Florida
Coast, and all on board were lost. '

CHAPTER II.
STARTLE, THE WRECKER.

DANGER POINT was and continues to be near
one of the worst bits of sea bottom on the
Florida Coast.

At the eastward and southward, and in a less
degree at the northward, too, were hidden reefs
which never showed their to 5 except during an
unusually low tide, and w ose oxistcnce was
seldom made known by the breaking up of the
ocean swell until a vessel had approached them
too near for her safety.

'The I’oint was a narrow strip of sand run-
ning directly out into the ocean, and its sea-
ward terminus was, strangely enough, a mass of
rock that almost deserved to be called an emi-
nence.

This pile of rock was probably the end of a
reef which had accumulated sand and debris
until it had formed a connection with the main
land; but the sand strip was still quite narrow
and so low that at high tides it was mostly
covered by water.

Nobody would have expected to find a habita—
tion there, and yet there was one.

A small hut crouched under the rocks at the
southwesterly side—if the rocky mass could be
said to have a side—and was so low and so
placed, doubtless with the view of getting shel-
ter from the worst of the winds, that it would
scarcely be recognized as a habitation except
upon a rear view.

Close inspection would have shown it to be
poorly constructed and of most incongruous ma-
teria .

It had been built of bits of wreckage that had
come ashore from time to time, and other bits
of wreckage had been heaped against and piled
on top of the original structure, until it looked
to be nothing but a mass of such stuff flung to—
gether by the waves and winds.

Yet there was fine material in it, though in

uestionable shape—fragments of costly wood
t iat had been diverted from their original pur-
poses and become battered and weather-stained,
and'a curious person would have found matter
for study and speculation within it and all about

 

i .

The entrance was by a once handsome door,
which had formerly ornamented a ship’s cabin,
and within was a room which was painfully
small but not as comfortless as one on the out-
side might suppose it to be.

There was a fireplace at one end, connected
with a rude and low stone chimney outside, and
there were two decmt bunks, with a table, some
battered chairs, and a chest and some lockers,
together with a lot of cooking utensils that
might have been gathered from the four quar-
ters of the globe.

One gloomy and muggy afternoon in Febru‘
gry there were two persons in that queer little

at. '

One of them was a man of about forty iz-
zled and weatherbeaten. and with a hard ook
on his face that added at least ten years to his
up urent age.

he other was a boy of sixteen, tall for his
years and slimlv built as yet, but with remark-
abl ri ht black eyes.
oug his face was bronzed, and his hands
were rough, and his clothing was of the coarsest
and rudest make, his expressive features were
full of intelligence, and iii; words and actions
showed guickness and alertness that had been
trained in the bard school of necessity.

The man was seated in one of the battered
chairs, smoking stron tobacco in a short pipe,
and the boy was kneciing at the hearth. busy in
preparing the coinin meal.

.As the tide was t en low,a horseman came
riding from the main land acrossthe sand strip
toward the pile of rock at the end.

His horse’s hoofs sunk noiselesle in fill? sand,
and could not be suppmed 1'0 give any lndlcation
Of his approach; but the senses 0f the man in
the but had been sharpened by _ uliar uses.

“Thar’s somebody or somet in’ comin’ this
way Sam,” he remarked.

“ lifeline it‘s the wind.” answered the boy.

“ Thar ain’t no wind. 6110! Yes, it’s some-

”

Ayhail from the outside gave DOint to this re-
mark, and the man 0 n the door and found
there the:l ne‘er Kb; jg: a?“ (from the main
land an w '0 8 ~ ' CD lSmoun
“toiled his horse. ted and

The stranger was a man of medium hight. ap.

parently somewhat younger than the man of

 

 

 

.__..

the but, and passany well-dressed, but with an
unpleasant expression of countenance and a
general appearance that was suggestive of evil
thou hts and ways.

“'lghought I’d better holler to you," said he,
“ as it might be a bit safer.”

“All right,” anSWered the other. “Come in,
if you’ve made your crittur fast thar.”

The stranger walked into the but, and glowered
at the lad on the floor. v.

“ Look here, Startle,” he said, “ I Want to
have some particular talk with you, and we
don’t need the boy about.”

“ Go out doors, Sam,” ordered Absalom
Startle, “ and pick up chips till I call you.”

Sam Startle obeyed without a word, giving
the stranger a sidelong glance that was not sug-
gestive of a. friend] feeling for him.

The visitor seate
tered chairs at the table, and from an inner
pocket of his coat produced a flat flask.

“ Try this, Startle," said he.

Absalom Startle poured out a very liberal
drink, and absorbed it quietly and with evident
satisfaction.

“ I an pose you have come on business,” Ab-
salom observed, as be filled and lighted his pipe.
i‘Thefooner we‘get at it and over it the better,

1‘—

“Morley. Have [you forgotten my name al-
read ?”

“ et’s get at it. then, Mr. Morley, and I reckon
you had better talk kinder low, as that boy has
got sharp ears, and it ain‘t necessary that he
should know everythin’."

“ I don’t want him to know this, anyhow. It’s
the business that I was speaking to you about
ti}: other day. when we met over at Cator’s
p ce.

“ That’s what I reckoned it was. Anythin’
new ?” ‘

“ Just this that’s new. The job that I wanted
yoqflto’ do must be done now, if it can be done
at .’

“ That’s the p’int, Mr. Morley. What reason
is thar to s’pose it can be done at all? One vessel
out of a hundred, and it’s only a chance if she
gets alon at night or comes anywhar near my
place of bigness.”

“ That c nce is what I want you to work on,
thou h. I know when the vesse left Matanzas,
and ridge, after studying the thing pretty
close, a lowing for the wind and the set of the
stream, that she ought to be off this coast to-
night. Well, it is my opinion that we are going
to ave a rough night.”

" Mebbe you think so because you’re wishin'
for it,” suggested Startle.

“I think so because I am fairly well read in

weather signs, and I think that a storm is gath-
ering.”
“ ’raps you’re right. I hain’t noticed the
looks 0’ the weather at all carefully since morn-
in’. Well, if a storm is comin’, the brig‘d be apt
to claw off-shore and get out o’ the way of my
place of business."

“ I don’t think she will See it soon enough for
that. It is te-night that I expect the storm, and
when it clouds up the night will be very dark.
Now, Startle, I believe I understand your busi-
ness. You are a wrecker.”

“That’s the name for it, I reckon.”

“And of course you have a wrecker’s ways
and means. You know where and how to put
up false lights so as to lure a vessel onto the
reefs about here.”

“ Well, I ain’t given to that sort of thing; but
1 do know how to do it, and I can do it if the
job will pay.”

“You remember the offer I made you, and
that you as good as accepted it.”

The wrecker helped himself to another sizable
dram of Mr. Morley’s liquor, and lighted his
pipe again by way of putting on his considering

m D

R A thousand dollars is a big pile of money,”
said he'; “ but this would be wurkin‘ on a chance,
you see—only a sort 0’ speculation, as I may
say. If I should happen to bring the wrong
vessel onto the reefs. thar Wouldn’t be any money
in the job for Ab. Startle.”

“ You would have a good chance to pick up
what came ashore.”

“ Do you s’pose I’d do such a thing just for
that? I‘m tnl’abl“10WdOWn Mr. Morley; but I
hain't got that far along. You don’t seem to
quite know me yet.”

“ I didn’t mean to 89:? anYthing oflensive,
Mr. Startle. Help yourself to the whisky if it
suits you. What sort of a kink has got into the
business now?” _

The visitor helped himself to some of his own
liquor, )erhaps with the View of bracing him-
so f up the development of the kink.

“ I don’t like to work on nothin’but a specu-
lation,” answered Startle. “ As it’s a chance
that I’ve got to take, I shall want to be paid for
takin’ the chance.”

“Well I don’t know but there’s reason in
that. hat do you offer, then?”

“Pav me half the money down, Mr. NOTIFY.

and I’ll engage todu the very best I can for i
you. If I fall to get anyf WSW. or get the‘

wron one, that ends it. I happen to work

the tr ck just to suit you, I’m to have the rest of I

the money.“

nun-u..— m...” ..._.._......... --._. ...

himself in one of the bat-“

 

Salamander Sam.

As Morle twisted and squirmed in his chair,
and knit his brows, it was evident that the
fiegotiation had taken a turn that did not please

im.

“ That is rather rough on me,” he remarked.
“If I should come to your terms, I would
have to trust to you entirely to get a return for
my money. I don’t think I know you well
cnou h for that.”

“ ou know me as well as I know you, I
reckon, and mebbe a little better. You can
trust to me to do what I promise to do just as
I can trust to you to pay me a thousand dollars
after the work is done, or five hundred, for that
matter. Them’s my terms, Mr. Morley and I
don’t take the job unless you come up to lem.”

“ l suppose I will have to come to them, then.
The fact is, Startle, that I had expected to
give you something in advance, though
not as much as you emand. You shall have
the five hundred, then, on condition that you
agree to do your best, and that if you don’t
happen to strike any vessel you will give me
back the money.”

“Well, yes—I reckon that‘s fair for both
sides.”

“ Here’s your money, then.”

Mr. Morley must have anticipated the demand
that would be made upon him, as he produced
a roll of bills that contained exactly the sum re-
quired.

He counted it out on the table, and Startle
counted it after him and stuffed the roll in his

ocket.

“ That clinches the bargain,” said the wrecker,
“and there’s nothin’ more tobe said or done
this day. Come around to—morrer, Mr. Morley,
and then you’ll know what’s been hit or missed.
You may de )end on Ab. Startle to do his best,
and that’s al he can do.”

The visitor went out, and Startle accompanied
him to the door, and saw him mount his horse
and ride away.

Then the wrecker stood in the doorWa . look-
ing after the horseman, with one ban in his
pocket feeling the roll of money.

“ Reckon I struck that cuss about ri ht,” he
muttered. “But he must have a tol’a le sure
thing on the brig comin’ 011’ this coast tonight,
or he wouldn’t ha’ been so willin’ to pony up his
ducats. Wonder if he‘s got as sure a thing on
the weather as he thinks he has?”

The wrecker stepped out on the sand, and
looked up at the sky and around at the horizon.

Deeper and deeper the mass of leaden clouds
had settled down since he took his last squint
at the Weather, and there was still no wind to
speak of, though the morning’s drizzle had
ceased; but there was a lurid light in the sky at
the eastward that gave threatening promise of a

sage.

“ Durned if I don’t believe the feller’s hit it,”
he remarked. “ VVe‘re likely to have a twister
before mornin’, if I read the sign ri ht.”

He glanced at Sam, who was no pickin up
chips, as the occupation to which he had been
dismissed was purelv imaginary.

The lad was looking after t e stranger as he
rode away, and a wave of his father’s hand
brou ht him speedily to the hut.

“ ho’s that cha , dad?” he in uired.

“A man from t e shore who iad some busi-
ness with me. His name is Morley, he says.”

“ I’ll remember that. I don’t li e his looks.”

“ Well, thar’s one thing about him that I like,
and that’s the main thing, too. But that ain’t
none 0’ your business, boy. Shouldn’t wonder
if we’re goin’ to have a rough night, Sam.”

“ Feels that way to me.”

“ So on are gettin’ weather-wise, are you?”

“ Pickin’ it up a bit, I reckon. Somethin’ll
be comin’ ashore, mebbe.”

“ I’ll look after that. Let’s get our supper,
and then you may go to bed and take it easy."

CHAPTER III.
“ ran JOB is DONE !”

SAM STARTLE was in no sort of a hurry to go
to bed and take things easy.

He was sharp enough to know that there w s
something in t e wind, and with that somethi g
he naturally connected the visit of the evil-eyed
stranger.

After supper he lounged about, watching his
father as he sat and smoked, and occasionally
puttin in a question about the man who called
liimsel Morley, to which he got very unsatisfac-
tor"; answers or none at all. .

hen Absalom Startle had finished smoking,
he gruflly ordered the ho to bed. and 8am
crawled into his bunk wit his clothes on, and
lag there with both his bright eyes wide own.
he wrecker put on a heavy pea-jacket and a
sou'wester. and sallied out into the air.

The night was then very dark, so dark that
the but could not be descried at the distance of a
few paces; but Absalom Startle was so well ac-
quainted with every inch of the ground that he
wa ked about as securely as in daylight.

hat he had come out for was to take a look
at the weather.

It was true that he could not see much of it,
except as pigs are said to see the wind; but his
other senses were sufficiently acute to make him
a very fair barometer.

The day had been quite chilly for the climate;

 

' for,

 

 

 

i but the night was oppressiver hot, with a move-

less, smothering warmth that was almost sure
to be followed by a tornado.

There was still a lurid tinge in the sky at the
eastward, and the peculiar singing of the surf on
the reefs was always regarded as the prelude to
a storm.

“That cuss of a Morley must be a weather
witch,” he muttered. “ It’s comin’ out just as
he said it would, and if the brig he wants hap-
pens to be off tnis coast to-night, she’s a goner

or sure. Wonder what he wants her smashed
anyh0w. Insurance money, I reckon.
Such a job is well worth a thousand dollars, and
I’ve got five hundred of it. He’ll have to come
down with the rest right away, or I’ll blow on
him and spoil his game.”

Having satisfied himself concerning the state
and prospects of the weather, the wrecker went
back into the hut, where he got a lantern and a
stiff drink of Morley’s whisky.

He lighted the lantern, which burned with a
clear and broad light, and went out again, after
casting a watchful glance at Sam, whose quiet
and curled-up form gave no indication of the
wakefulness that had hold of him.

Outside the night was, if possxble, darker than
before, and what the wild waves were saying
E'as a story that Absalom Startle knew by

cart.

He climbed up to the summit of the pile of
rocks, and hoisted his lantern to the top of a
stout pole that was securely planted there.

Then he sat down and waited and watched,
his ears intent on singing of the surf, and his
eyes fixed on the lurid sky at the eastward.

In the course of an hour or so the storm
that he had expected began to burst—not with a
sudden explosion, but with a constantly increas-
ing intenSity of onslaught.

H t growled like a bear before it sprung like a
o

n.

The heavy mass of cloud overhead was break—
ing up, and throu h the rifts theli htning played
and occasionally ighted up the b ack sky.

Startle had then drawn from his pocket 3.
night glass, with which he scanned the seaward
horizon continual] . '

During the continuance of one of the electric
displays he saw, or believed that he saw, the
topmasts of a vessel at a considerable distance
be end the reefs.

t was only a glance, but enough to set him
at work in earnest.

“ If that Morle ain’t a wizard,” he mutter—
ed as be hauled own the lantern, “his luck’s
a durned sight better’n he has any sort 0’ right
to. The vessel off thar must be the bri he
wants. It’s bound to be. Astonshin’ how
things do work out for some folks.”

He seated himself on the summit of the pile
of rocks, with the lantern before him, facing
seaward, and covered it in front with his big
sou’wester, removing that article of head gear
at regular intervals for a few seconds, thus al-
ternating darkness with flashes of light.

The wxckedness of this little game will be un-
derstood when it is stated that some ten or
twelve miles north of Dan er Point there was a
revolving light, and just ow t t light wasan
inlet which aflord good anchorage and a pretty '
safe harbor. 3

To imitate that light, and thus to lure a

storm-driven vessel upon the deadly reefs, was

manifeflly the scheme of the murderous wrecker. . 

ln this endeavor the lives of passengers 01"
crew were not considered, nor the value of the
property that must be utterly destroyed.

T e scheme was to bring the wrecker in one
thousand dollars, which was to him a vast
amount of money just then, and that was the
on] paiint on which be permitted his thoughts
to we .

Meanwhile the storm was increasing rapidly
in strength and intensity, the cloud rack was
flying more wildly, the wind was blowing glut
guns, the surf had changed its songtoa owl,
the lightning was more Vivid and less intermlt- .
tent, the thunder peals were heavier and more
continuous, and the blasts were beginnin to
pick 03 the white caps of the waves and '
them shoreward, the spume flying up to m:
the i‘solitary watcher was seated a his do ' '
wor .

It was really monotonous, that machine-like . »
imitation of the action of a revolving l' ht; but‘
Absalom Startle kept at it steadily wit outthe '
least intermission in his abominable taskoffv "
coverin and uncovering his lantern except for ,

asecon or two which he used in rea justingthei _, "

lenses of his glass. 1
Thereafter, while he worked the light with
one hand, he kept the glass to his eyes With the
other, watching for the reappearance of the m
591 that he was strivmg todecoy into theclutehes
Ofgteadhe "fifth l ht, and rly he ‘1
' y e worked the ig cage I
gazed seaward, especially when the lightning
laze lit up the distance, and showed him theor-
panse of raging ocean.

At last he caught sight of the vessel for .
which he was searching. and clearly made it ‘ ‘
out to bea brigantine, nearly strip of its can-
vas, and heading directly for the reefs. , ,

He kept on Working the light. more steadily,

more venomously. more murderoust than ever.  “I

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

v
I

  

.‘wrecluge

'10m

4

 

Salaman

 

 

 

Still the doomed vessel came sweeping on to-
ward the reefs, each moment more clearly seen
by the lightning flashes as she rose on the crests
of the waves.

More closely and intently the wrecker watched
her as she came on, until—

Until she disappeared suddenly and utterly,
and was never again visible to his eyes or any
other eyes.

She was so far away that no crash nor the
faintest sound of a cry could be heard at Danger
Point, and Absalom Startle did not suffer his
imagination to conjecture the real nature and
extent of the catastrophe.

All that was nothing to him.

‘ Yet he knew well enough what had happened,
and how and why it had happened.

It was a question of a thousand dollars to him,
and that was all.

“ The job’s done!” he said, grimly, as he shut
up his glass, and replaced it in his pocket.

He took up his lantern, climbed down the pile
of rocks, and returned to the hut, carefully ex.
tin uishing the light before he entered.

hon he got inside, his first action, after clos-
ing the door, was to help himself to a big cup-
ful of Morley’s whisky, and then he dropped
into achair and passed his hand over his brow
as if something hurt him.

Perhaps conscience was not dead within him,
and was presenting to his mind’s e e the terrible
pictureof the shattered brig and er drowning

crew.
, . But the whisk ', that was already beginnin to

buzz within his rain, would soon put an en to
that nonsense.

Sam Startle would have been wllling to swear
that he had not slept a Wink since his father
went out; but a boy is a boy, tied to the neces-
sities of eating and sleeping and he had surely
dazed off, though so lightly that he did not know
the difference between sleeping and waking.

He was wide enough awake when his father
came in, and soon made his condition manifest
to the cars of his parent.

" Is it a bad night, dad?”

“Mi hty bad. Big storm drivin’ on shore.”

, “ Wgat you been oin’?”
“ Outside lookin’ at the weather and things. ”
' “See anythin’ of! thar?”
“ Off thar ” was of course understood to mean

‘ the ocean beyond the reefs.

“ Thought I saw some sort of a vessel, but ain’t
sure—the night’s so black.”

“ Golly, dad, if she should try to skin the reef
this night, it would jump right up and snap her
like a gator.”

“ M ebbe it has snapped her already.”

“ Shouldn’t wonder and then thar’d be some-
thin’ comin’ ashore. Mayn’t I go out and look
around? I don’t feel a bit like sleepin’.”

The boy had no idea as yet of the fearfulness

‘ of a wreck on those reefs, and the only idea he

cherished in connection with such an occurrence
was that of “ somethin’ comin’ ashore.”

“ You may go if you want to." answared Ab-
salom Startle; “ but be careful. Sam, and don't
fool with the surf. I’ll be comin’ out directly.”

Sam only stopped to tie a sou’wcster on his

 , - head, and hurried out to enjoy the weather, as

storms were always a delight to him.
His father lighted a. pipe, and smoked a few
minutes, but sobn laid it own in disgust.
Clearly there was something preying on his
mind that would not allow him to enjoy his to—

cco.

He helped himself to another biglI cupful of
whisky, exhausting the bottle which orley had
left, and the liquor was so otent that he stag-
gered as he went out of the ut. '

Spray was flying all over the sand strip, and
the storm did not show the least sign of abate—
meat.

' At the shore he found Sam, who was gallop-
ing about and pointing joyfully at bits of
that were being washed up by the surf.
“The reef nabbed that craft you saw, dad,"

7 he yelled at the top of his voice, so as to make

himself heard above the roaring of the wind
. and waves.
“ It nabbed somethin’, anyhow,” assented his

“father. a
“ Lots 0' stuff comin’ ashore. We’ll get plenty
0’ wood to burn, if nothin’ else.”
“No cargo, though, I’m afeard. The reef
.kills the best of our chances. Don’t meddle
' "with the stud now, Sammy. It’ll all be here
leafs enough when the storm dies down.”
They wandered together along the edge of the

 

" and strip, just out of reach of the surf, the

father continually restraining the impatience of
the son, who often saw something he wanted to
secure, and then they/wandered back over the

,« same route.

Hardl had they reached the but that crouch-
«l at t 0 foot of the pile of rock, when Absa-
' artle put his hand to his head and stag-
gered or a moment.

“What’s the matter, dad?” demanded Sam
whose sharp eyes at once noticed this unusual

on.
“Nothin’,” was the hoarse reply. “Come in

. here out o’ the wind.” .
The father drew the son behind a jutting rock
' where they were partly screened from the noise

' 'x of the bowling elements.

his two hands on the lad’s shoulders, while Sam
stared at him as if wondering what had come
over his dad.

There was no guessing the reason of his
strange behavior, unless he was drunk, and he
i did not act as he usually did when he was drunk,
as Sam had ood reason to know.

Absalom tartle soon made known what was
the matter Wlth him, and it was something so
unexpected that the boy shivered under the grip
on his shoulders.

“ Sam, you’ll remember that man Morley who
rode over here.”

“ Reckon I will.”

“ There’s somethin’ that forces me to tell you
this, Sam. He hiiul me to wreck the brig that’s
gone to ieces in this storm-to draw her onto
the ree with a false light. If anythin’ hap-
pens, I want on to remember that.’

“ VVh , da , what’s likely to happen?”

“ Nothin’, as far as I know; hut—remember
that!”

“ You bet I will."

Sam was so dazed by this communication, the
full import of which he did not at once under-
stand, that he failed to notice his father as he
ran down to the beach, and did not turn to
catch sight of him until he was about to plunge
into the surf.

The boy yelled at him and ran toward him,
and the man halted.

He had seen something in the water that he
wanted to get hold of.

There was a iece of timber tossing about in
the surf, roba ly a fragment of a topmast or a
yard, wit a lot of top-hamper attached to it
and entangled in the mass was something that
looked like a chest or box.

“I want to get that, Sam,” said he. “Wait
you here a bit while I go and bring it out.”

Absalom Startle watched his chance and
plunged into the surf, while his son gazed after
iim somewhat anxiously.

There was nothing really dangerous in the
attempt, as he was wail acquainted with the
flux and reflux of the surf there, and had often
breasted it safely when there were more chances
against him; but Sam was filled with a forebod-
ing of evil, doubtless produced by his father’s
strange words.

The wrecker grabbed the box, freed it from
its entanglement, and had started to return to
the beach when his fate overtook him.

The piece of timber which the surf was dash-
ing about suddenly ruse up on end, as if it
had been a living thing animated by a murder-
ous purpose, darted toward the shore, and fell
on the head of the doomed man, striking him
senseless.

Sam Startle, with a sharp cry, rushed into
the water, seized his father, and. by a frantic
exertion of all his strength, dragged him out
upon the sand.

 

CHAPTER IV.
san’s rmsr Visrroa. .
IT was a great effort that the boy was obliged

Steadying himself against the rock, he laidl

 

to put forth, and when he had final] succeeded
in dragging his father fully out of t e reach of
the waves that thundered on the shore he was ;
so utterly exhausted that he could do nothing ‘,
but sink on the sand and wait until he could re— ‘
cover his breath. I

In the mean time Absalom Startle did‘not i
move or give any sign of life. t

The situation was a terrible one for Sam, and
his father’s forebodings and strange words came '
back to him forcibly.

“If anything happens,” he had been told to
remember something.

Something had happened, and the thing that
he was to remember was ineffaceably impressed
Upon his recollection.

He did not doubt that his father was dead, as
he had seen the broken spar when it darted
forward to do its deadly work, and was sure
that the crushing blow it struck could scarcely
leave a spark of ifs in the stoutest man.

As soon as he could stir he crawled to the in—
sebiisible body and examined it as well as he was
a e.

It seemed w him that his father was still
breathin faint] v', and therefore could not be
yet (lea. ' but Sam spoke to him again and
again without getting any answer or perceiving
the rileast indication that his voice had been

ea .

He hastened to the but for some whisk
which he knew to be his father’s favorite remedy
far most of the ills that flesh is heirto ran
hack and put it to the lips of the dead or dying

nun...

Absalom Startle failed to open his eyes, and i
made not the faintest efl’ort to swallow a drop
of the liquor.

That settled the question. He refused his
whisky, and/of course he was dead.

As there

 

one and well supported.
The. boy dropped a ew tears to mingle with

 

cou d understand them and to the best of his
ability.  

2

"no longer any sign of breath or ,
pulmtion in the body. this conclusion wasa safe 3 had gone down, and the sun was shining bright-

1,l , and the ocean was smiling and singin

pre red to face his fésponsibilities as far as he 1

He reco ized the solemn fact that he was
left alone in the world, and at the same ti 9
two other facts pressed themselves upon his a —
tention.

His father’s body was in his care, and the but
and its belongings, such as they were, had be-
come his property.

His first move was to drag the corpse still fur—
ther up on the sand, to straighten out the limbs
and give it as decent an appearance as possible.

Then he went to the but, and from under a
shelter at the side lugged out an old sail, with
which be carefully covered the remains, plac-
ing on each corner as heavy a stone as he could

t.

After that his attention was turned to the
box, which was lying at the edge of the
surf, just beyond the reach of the returning
waves.

To this the unconscious man had clung te-
naciously, as if with a deathygrip, after he had
been struck by the spar, and it had not dropped
from his grasp until his son dragged him away
from the water.

Sam Startlc picked up the box, the lift bein '
about as much as he could manage, and carri .
it to a spot on the sand near the but, where he
was partly sheltered from the wind, and there
he examined it as well as he could in the dark-
ness.

It was not a seaman’s chest—that was evident
at a glance—nor was it any kind of a chest, but
ggite a different object, and unlike anything

in Startle remembered to have seen.

It was a square box, and a flat one—that is to
say, it had more length and breadth than thick
ness-and the material was mahogany, polished,
rounded at the edges and protected at the cor—
ncrs by ornamental brass work.
my was locked, and the keyhole had an ivory

mg.

The entire outfit had been somewhat battered
by the rough usage of waves and rocks; but
there was not a break or I rack in the wood.

As this was evidently a valuable box, probe.
1in with contents of value, Sam Startle Viewed
it as a new responsibility that had been laid
upon his young shoulders.

All the wrcc age and floats ge that came ashore
on the sandspit belonged to his father durul
his lifetime, and after the death of the father 1
all came to the son by heritage, including that
box, which was the latest prize won from the

ocean.

Sam Startlc, therefore, supposed that the box
belonged to him, and he was strongly -
by the belief that he must cling to and defend
what was his own. .,

So he bcthought himself concerning the box.
and how he should dispOSe of it so that he would
be able to keep it and claim it when he wanted it.

Somebody would be coming over to Danger
Point before ion .

The death of iis father would be almost 8111'.
to bring strangers there, and be had more than
a suspicion that the man whom he. had been told
to remember would shortly show himself there
again.

Sam dugahole in the sand, well out of the
reach of the water, and near the pile of rock(i
buried the box there, and smoothed the san
neatly, so as to conceal the place of depOSit.

It still lacked some hours of morning, and he
did not know what to do with himself.

He did not object to remaining there near the
co , as it had no terrors for him: but the

i fee ing of utter loneliness that had taken pos-

session of him was very oppressive. _

He was almost sorry that he had buried the
box, as that had been some company for him
while it was above ground.

After wandering alo the beach for some
time, watchin the gra ual abatement of the
storm, and no 'ng the bits of wrecks e that
came ashore; he entered the hut, craw ed into
his bunk. and tried to sleep: but the effort was
thoroughly unsuccessful.

Aga n he sallied out, restless and forlorn, and
the time passed slowly and miserably until
morning broke.

Then be cooked and ate some breakfast, which
was a great relief to him as an occupation, as
well as a reviver and a stay to his strength.

Af r breakfast he rummaged the inside of
theh t, looking into cverythin . though he was
already well ac uainted with lthe contents of
the wretched ha itation.

He found a little money, which be promptly
stuffed into a pocket of his trowsers, and found
his father’s revolver, which be concealed man
outside pocket of his peajacket, after noting
that it was fully loaded an in ood order.

A pistol was a good thing to ave, and its pos-
session made Sam so proud that it seemed to add
at least an inch to his stature. .

He went out on the beach, and the situation
there was a little pleasantcr and much less line—
Some than it had teen during the night. ,

The storm had entirely ceased. and the wind

as if rejoicing in its deadly work of the nighfi

the flying spray. an then dried his eyes and * before.

There was plenty of driftwood on the beach
and various floatage of more. or less value had
come ashore; but Sam did not attempt to'eecure

A —-

 

“$1,174-. .

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Salamander Sam.

 
   

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—_

anything, as he had been in the habit of doing
while his father was alive.

He did not expect to continue his residence on
Danger Point, and was already in his imagina-
tion far from that solitary sandspit.

There lay his father’s body, closely covered by
the old sail, and it was clearly beyond the power
of ordering him about or hindering his move-
ments any more.

The world was before him, and he was his own
master.

Of course. it would be necessary to make some
proper disposal of the dead man, and that point
puzzled poor Sam considerably.

He had an indefinite idea that funerals and
other ceremonies \vere absolute requirements in
such cases, though his experience supplied him
with scarcely any suggestions for the purpose,
even his mother’s death being not astrongly-
marked event in his memory.

It seemed to him that it would be necessary to
go over to the mainland and find somebody who
would give him advice and assistance in what
ought to be done.

Yet he did not want to go away and leave the
body, being fearful that somebody or something
might interfere with it in his absence.

Besnlcs, he was expecting the arrival of the
man whom he had been told to remember, and
on the whole his opinion was that he had better
wait awhile.

He did not have to wait very long before
something happened to vary the monotony and
change the situation.

The sun was not yet three hours high when
the man named Morley came riding from the
mainland over the sandspit, and dismounted at
the but as he had done the day before.

To Sam Startle his appearance was even more
villainous and forbidding than it had been when
he came on his evil errand, though there was a
look of almost joyful expectation in his face that
gave it a lurid brightness.

As Sam saw the man then, a feeling of repul—
sion arose in his breast, and it did not lack much
of amounting to absolute hatred.

Morley looked about, as if searching for the
man whom he had hired to do the scoundrelly
deed of the night before.

He did not see him anywhere about, but mw
his son standing with his hands in his pocket:
and staring at the stranger.

Perha‘ps it occurred to the stranger that it
might be well to interview the son before eu-
countering the father, as Sam mi ht give him
some points which Absalom Starts might be
inclined to withhold from him.

“ Was there a heavy storm here last night,
son 1” he inquired.

“ ol‘ablo hefty," answered Sam, who was
disposed to be sparing of words, while he did not
exactly understand the position he occupied with
raga to the stranger.

“ So I should judge by the signs on the beach.
It looks to me as if some vessel might have been
wrecked on this coast. Did anything of the kind
ha n last night?”

“ me sort of a craft got nabbed by the reef,
I reckon.”

“ Do you know what kind of a craftait was—-
ship—schooner—brig—or what?”

‘ Well, dad he kinder allowed it might ha’
been a brig. That’s what he told me.”

“ What was her name? Did he tell you

”

“ \Vell, dad he wasn‘t out there, you know,
and I reckon he didn’t know no more about it
than you or I did, and so he didn’t tell me
that."

“ Did anything come ashore besides the stufi'
I see scattered about the beach—any bodies, or
an thin of value?”

X We]? thar’s the stuff to show for itself. Dad
and I hain’t bothered with it." _

If an thin of value had come ashore,.it must ,
bathe ox w ich Sam Startle had buried; but 1
he had already determined that the man Morley
was the last person to whom he would disclOSe
the existence of that article.

“ Is your father in the cabin there?” demanded
the visitor.

“ Not jest now.”

H Has he gone over to the shore?”

“ Not to «under shore, anyhow.”

“He don’t seem to an Where about here.
Where is he? I want to see im.”

“You want to see dad right now?" queried

‘r‘néf course I do. Didn‘t I tell you so?”

“ Come along then, and take, a look at him."

Morley followed the lad. f‘VIdPDtly wondering
what he meant by his peculiar style of speaking,
to the place where Absalom Startle 5 body lay
covered by the old sad.

The boy bent down and pushed one of the
stones oil from the coverin .

“If you want to see ad.” said'Sam as he
lifted a corner of the sail, “ here he is!”

CHAPTER V.
ms SECOND VISIroR.

THE little Scene was dramatic. not only be-
cause of the action and aspect of the boy, but by
reason of its effect upon Morley.

Perhaps he had expected something of the
kind—indeed, he must naturally have looked for

 

. mine.

 

it—seeing nothing of the man he was seeking,
and the appearance of the sail bein suggestive
as he approached it; but the sight t at was dis-
closed to him was nevertheless something of a
shock.

“ Is be dead i” was the ejaculation that rose to
his Ii )5.

“ ell. it kinder looks that way,” coldly an—
swered Sam. “ It’s been lookin’ that way since
midnight, and I reckon it’ll keep on lookin’ that
way, if not more so. I tell ye, mister, if thar
was anythin’ dad did last night that he ought to Y
be sorry fur, and I hope thar wasn’t, he’s gone
and paid fur it.”

The boy’s words seemed to recall the man to a
realization of his own position, and to a re-
nlilenibrance of the cause that had brought him
t ere.

“ It is better than I could haVe hoped for,” he
muttered, “ if the rest has gone right.”

“ What’s that, mister?” sharply demanded
Sam Startie.

“ Nothing, sonny. I was thinking of some-
thing far from here just then. How did this
hap )en?”

“ ‘ye mean about dad?” inquired Sam as be
replaced the sail and the stone.

“ Yes. How did he die? He must have been
killed in some way? What killed him?”

“ Well, dad he st ppcd out into the surf, jest
as he’d done ever so man times afore, to git
bolt 0' somethin’ thar, an a piece of a spar
jumped up and hit him on the head, and it set-
tled him quick as a wink.”

“ What was he trying to get hold of?”

“ That same piece of a spar, with a lot of
riggin’ hitched to it. I reckon it’s knockin’
about somewhar.”

“ Poor fellow! It‘s a great pity, and I am
sorry for you, bub. I was anxious to see him
this morning, too. He has something of mine
that I want. Perhaps it is in one of his pockets.
1 will look and see."

Morle started to lift the sheet and put his in-
tention nexecution; but the small but resolute
form of Sam Startle barred the way, and his
shrill voice was used effectively:

“ No you don’t, mister! Jest go along and
’tcnd to your own businei-u. Nobody’u goin’ to
touch dad till the funeral man comes along. ”

“ Don’t give me any more of your nonsense,
bog. Get out of the way.”

am did not get out of the way, but interposed
something else in the way.

As Morley started to step forward, he was
met by a revolver, cooked and leveled at him.
and the b0 ’5 look was as firm and threatening
as his we 3 were.

“Stand back, mister! If you try to touch
dad, I’ll let daylight through you, sure as the
reef nabbed the brig):

Morley did stand ck. Though the situation
seemed to him almost ridiculous, there was force
enough in it to compel him to change his style
and tone:

“ No harm done or meant, I hope,” said he,
with a grimace that must have been meant for
a smile. “ If on take it that way, sonny, 1 will
let it drop. our father was an old friend of
I have done something for him, and
mi ht have done more if he had lived, as I wish
he d. What I was speaking of was only a
git of paper, and I don’t care about it, any-

ow.

“ All right, mister," answered Sam, though he
did not lower the revolver. “ Is thar anythin’
else on want to see or to know about here?”

“ ell, sonny, I ama bit curious to know what
brig, if it was a brig, got wrecked off here last
night. Did nothing come ashore that could give
hgrtgame? No boat or bucket, or anything like

a

“ Hain’t seen nothin’ o’ the sort, mister.”

“ I believe I will take a look along the beach.
If you care to help me, I will pay you for your

hel .’

h‘Iorley walked along the beach, f0110wed at a
little distance by Sam Startle, who had replaced
the revolw-r in his pocket, but kept his hand
there, ready for any emergency.

His visitor seemed to pay no further attention
to the. boy, but trumped slowly over the sand,
carefully examining every object of wreckage
that came within his reach or his view.

At last a piece of plank near the edge of the
surf attracted his attention, and he stepped down
and picked it up. ‘

It was a piece of black painted wood, shewing
the rough usage of the waves and rocks, and at
one end broken and splintered, but with this
much of lettering left in it in gilt, NETTE.

Evidently the lettering was part of the name
that had been painted on the quarter of the ills
fated brig.

To Morley it was clearly a great prize. ,

Indeed, judging by the avidity with which he,
seiwl upon it, and the eagerness with which he
gazed at it, there could scarcely have been a
greater prize.

“Jeanette,” he muttered. “That was the
brigantinc’s name. Well, luck has set in my
way. for sure."

“ What you found thar, mister?” inquired Sam
Startle.

 

 

“ Only a bit of plank. Here it is. Did it come
ashore last night?”

“ Reckon it did, as I hain’t seen nothin’ like it
afore now.”

“ May 1 have it?”

“Reckon you’ve got as good a right to it as
anybody else, if not a better.”

“ i will take it, then, and that’s all I want of
you. Here’s a dollar for you, sonny.”

A dollar was a dollar, no matter from whom it
might come, and Sam pocketed the coin as a
matter of course.

At the same. time it occurred to him that he
might make Morley Useful in another matter of
business, and he did not hesitate to mention the
subject.

“ Say, mister, what had I better do about
buryiii’ dad?"

“ Why, just bury him dry 50,” brutally an-
swered Morley. “ Dig a hole in the sand at his
side, and let him drop into it.”

This suggestion made Sam so angry that he
felt of the reVolver in his jockct: but he erm-
promised by “ tackling ” the stranger again when
he had mounted his horse and “as about to start
for the main land.

“ Say. mister, do you owe me anythin’ more,
or anybody else here ?”

“Owe you anything? What do you mean?”

“ Didn‘t know but you might ha’ had some
dealin’s with dad that warn’t settled up.”

The visitor, with a savage oath, consigned
Sam to an unmentionable region, and rode
away.

The lad looked after him, thrusting his hands
into his pockets. and planting his feet firmly on
the sand.

“ Dad told me to remember that cuss,” said he,
“ and I will remember him as long as my name
is Sam Startle, confound the mean, sneakin’ soul
of him! He said that dad had somethin’ of his’n,
and he wanted to look in his pockets to find it.
Of course he lied, but I’d like to know what he
wanted to git into those pockets fur. Reckon
I’ll haveto ook into ‘em myself, funeral or no
funeral.” U

The lad had vaguely connected the idea of a
funeral with that of a coroner, and that with
the supposed legal necessity of not touching the
body until it s ould be seen by some person in
authority' but there seemed to be an emergency
that call for immediate action.

As for any aversion or fear in connection with
handling the bod or searching it, nothing of
that kind worried im, and he set about his task
in a cool and businesslike manner. .

His search of the corpse was rewarded by the
discovery of the roll of hills which Absalom had
received from Morley, and his eyes opened wide
as be counted it carefully.

“ Five hundred dollars!” he exclaimed. “ It’s
no wonder the crittur wanted to go through
those pockets, and l’m darned glad he didn’t git
away with this stuff. Dad told me that he'd
been hired to wreck that brig, and this must be
what he got fur it. So it belonged to dad, and
now it belongs to me. Well, it’s a heap ‘ 0'
money.” '

Sam removed from the corpse everything1 of
value that the pockets contained cover it
carefully with the old sail, and meditated as to
what he should do next.

\Vith five hundred dollars in his pocket he had
no fear: for his future: but the disposal of his
father’s body was a necessity of the present and
a puzzle. '

He went into the hut. knocked about there for
a while without finding any occupation or sug-
gestion, and was finally driven to the conclusion
that the only thing for him to do was to leave
the body there and go over to the main land to
seek assistance or advice.

As he ste; ped outside to carry this intent into’
action, he was surprised iy the sight of another
horseman who was coming across the sandspit
from over yonder. .

" If that durned euro is comin’ back," that.
tered Sam, “ thar’ll somebody bedead afore he
gits the money."

Naturally be supposed that Morley was re-
turning. as he knew of nol ody else who would

be likely to visit the sandspit: butahriefluspec- ,i 7
tion of the horseman convinced him that he m ,

mistaken. -

This man was riding slowly and looking about
him, as if the scene was new to him and he
wished to examine it thoroughly.

As soon as he caught Sight of Sam he rode ford
ward more rapidly. and it was won evident that
he was a very different person in appearance
from the objectionable Morley.

He was a young man, perhaps ten years older
than Sam, and was decidedly good-looking. with
light-brown hair. bright blue eyes, a complexion
that was fresh and clear in spite of the tap it
had acquired. ‘

He was dressed in a corduroy cket, with
trowsers of the some stuffed into bifi bOOtS, and
his face was shaded by a broad felt hat.

He reined up his horse where Sam was stand-
ing and spoke to the. lad without dismountin .

“ Good—morning, my friend. Do you five
here?”

“ i did,” answered Sam; “but I ain’tagoin’to
live here no longer.”

“ I was riding about the. coast to get a little
salt air to take the taste of the swamps out 3!

my mouth, and this strip of sand looked soquea’ ‘

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‘1'.

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, I have heard it somewhere.

. fixc'itb you.

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i

await and my pipe, he was , . looking down

that I wanted to examine it; but I did not ex-
pect to find anybody living here. What do you
mean, sonny, when you say you are not going to
live here any longer?”

“ Well, mister, thar was a big storm last
night, and a brig was wrecked on the reef off
here, and dad he got killed when he was wrest-
]ingozith a spar that came ashore, and thar ain’t
no y but me now and what’s the use!”

The young man ismounted at once, hitched
his horse, and asked Sam, with evidently honest
fie ression of sympathy, to tell him all about it.
‘ xSam Startle cheerfully complied with this re-

uest, and told the sad story of the night, care-
ully avoiding any mention of Morley, the buried
box and the roll of money.

He was strongly attracted to this visitor by
his appearance and his manner: but severe ex-
perience had taught him that he must not tell
eve". thing he knew—at least, not all at once.

“ f as your father a wrecker here?” queried
the visitor.

“Well, sorter in that line 0’ business, I
reckon. Say, mister, you look as if you orter
know things. I wish you’d tell me what I’d
better do about dad.”

“ Do about him? IVhat do you mean?”

“Well, he’s dead, you know, and was killed
in the way I told you about, and thought
mebbe that I orter go over yonder and tell
somebody and have Somethin’ done.”

The stranger reflected upon the matter, con-
sidering the manner of the death of Absalom
Startle and the circumstances of the lonely
lad, and was brought to the conclusion that
there was nothing in the affair that called for

, l interference.

‘I don’t think that you need give yourself
any uneasiness about that sort of thin ,” said
he. "‘There is only one thing you neet to do,
and that is to give your father a decent burial.
Of course you must bury him here, and if you
should want to make a chan e afterward, it
will be an easy thing to do. will help you if
you will have my help.”

This was just what Sam wanted, and he
gladly accepted the offer.

The body, of Absalom Startle was carefully
wrapped in the Oil sail, and was lowered into a
' hole ug in the sand where it lay. the hole he-

then filled up, and some heavy stones
placed at the head of the mound as a monu-

ment.

Before the enshrouding was begun, the stran-
ger asked Sam if it would not be well to ex-
amine the pockets of his father’s clothes.

“ I’ve ’tended to that,” observed Sam.

“Well, you’re a cool young customer. This
sort of thing don’t seem to worry you much.”

' “ I’ve got to stand it. It had to be, I reckon.
' Dad was tol’able tough, you see, and he raised
me tough." -

It was noon when this unpleasant task was
finished, and Sam invited his new friend into
the hut, where he prepared a dinner for both,

-.Y

'  which both ate hearti .

After dinner‘the visitor sat and smoked a
cigar while he questioned Sam concerning his
prospects and plans.

The lad had no definite plans, except that he

I was going to leave Danger Point. and that he
mean to strike out for himself.

on had better go with me.” sug-

gutted the ot er. “ I can ofler on a job that

.will give you board and lodg ng for awhile,

What lav are you on, mister?” inquired
-,Sain, using the stye of talk which he had
learned from his father.

‘ “1am I. civil engineers-a surveyor, as some
call it-l-and am surve ing a lot of land over
yonder on what is nown as the Plympton
V. rty. I have a partner named August
m, and we have Bone Priddle to help us,
an: I am sure we could nd a use for a smart

id like you.”
“What’s your name?”
“ Rush Powell. What is yours?"
“ Sam. Startle.”

Seems to me that

Well, Sam, what
do. on say to my offer?”
‘ All right, mister. If you‘ll take me, I’ll go

' “ Startle is a queer name.

m

CHAPTER VI.
ranrnnas m VILLAINY.

the edge of a grove of live oaks.
An outside chimney at each end and a very

/ _, wide veranda in front, together with the broad

(3n hall, added to its peculiar old-fashioned
. uthern a pearance: but, in spite of its
.y.pparent, age, t e well-kept condition of the
9', house gave t an air of comfort. .
. ‘ V comfortable, ‘too, looked a man who was
alone on the veranda in a wide, hide-
T~hottomed arm-chair, smoking a cob pipe with a
cane stem. _
Was a man whose age might be anywhere
between fifty and sixty and is red face and

find
and

1 Andy hair, with the ‘ canny ’ expression of his
', j countenance, were enough to cause him to he-
 . counted as a Scotchman

at

i

in ;, Though apparently devotin himself to his

t

A row, one-storied, old-fashioned house at-

 

    

Salamander Sam.

the road, watching without seeming to watch a
horseman who was approaching the house from
that direction.

When the rider had dismounted and walked
toward the veranda, he proved to be the Mr.
Morley of Danger Point memory, and-he carried
in one hand the iece of splintered plank which
had been pick up on the beach there by Sam
Startle‘s objectionable visitor.

Gideon Scrooby, the comfortable man in the
armchair, had been fully aware of the identity
of this individual as soon as he caught sight of
him, and had noted him narrowly as he came on,
carefully scrutinizing every point of his bearing
and demeanor.

Of course be perceived the bit of lank, and
he could not have failed to notice t e look of
triumph that lighted up the man’s dark counte-
nance somewhat luridl .

Whatever his thoughts or feelings may have
been, he seemed to take no special interest
in the arrival, and did not rise from his chair to
greet him.

“Is it really you, Mr. Plympton?” he said
speaking with an evident Scotch accent. “I
hadn‘t looked for you so soon.”

As the dark man had called himself Morle
at Danger Point, and as Gideon Scrooby a -
dressed him as Mr. Plympton, it is reasonable to
infer that he was Morley Plymptom, the grace-
less nephew of Benjamin lympton, and the
cousin of Absalom Startlo’s dead wife.

“Here I am, though,” he answered, a little
less gruflly than he was in the habit of speaking.
“ I got through with my business a little sooner
lthan I”expe(:tc(l to, and much easier than I had
in d.

e helped himself to a S( at on the veranda
and laid across his knew the picce of plank,’ a
which Gideon Scrooby lo kwl inquisitively.

“ Hey, mon, but that’s good news,” replied the
Scotchman. “ At least, I hope it’s good ne\vs,
for your sake. What's the bit of kind.ing—wood
that you are toting about as if it was of some
value?”

“ This? Gideon Scrooby, this is proof.”

“ Proof, is it? And proof of what, then?”

"Proof that the job is done. Proof that what
I wanted to happen has come to pass.”

“And is that so?
commodatin fiend than I had given him credit
for being. y idea of Auld Hornie was that he
would lead a man on hntil he went his length in
deviltry, and would then cheat him out of the
fruits of it. Let me take a look at that bit of
lumber.” -

Morley Plympton handed him the piece of
plank, and the Scotchman inspected it closely.

“ It does look like proof. though it might not
be admitted as such in a court of Justice.
Pretty fair circumstantial evidence, thou h.
The brizantine’s name was Jeannette, and t '8
fits it to a fraction, or with a fracture, as 1
may say. Are on mire, Mr. Pi mpton, that a
vessel was wrec ed last night 0 the place you
spoke of i”

“ I am sure of that, and am sure that this
bit of plank came ashore from her, and that
part of her name is on it.” ,

“ Well, .«ir, I must say that Satan moves in
a wondrous way. Please tell me all about it,
Mr. Plympton.”

" That is what. I came here for. But you
must first give me something to wet my whistle,
as I have had a long and ry ride.”

“Maria!” yelled Scrooby, in a shrill voice,
and a tall and fine-looking mulatto woman sail-
ed through the hall as roudl as if she might
have been the Queen 0 the annibal Islands.

At a word from Gideon Scroob she brought
out a small table with a bottle an some glasses,
and placed the outfit on the veranda, retiring at
a sign from the white man who was evidently
her master.

“I don’t mind if I take a wee drop with you.
Mr. Plympton," said the Scotchman, “ as a sort
of foret ste of the good luck that’s coming.”

After he had helped himself liberally to the
liquor, Morley Plympton proceeded to give an
account of be “business ” of which he had been
s .aking, concluding with his interview with

am Startle that morning.

Sr-rooby said nothing until he mentioned the
death of Absalom Startlc, and then broke out
with an interruption.

“ Well, Satan is a friendly fiend when he gets
his head that way. And so the man is dead.
That is a good thing in more ways than one. It
is a good thing to get rid of the evidence, or that
much of the evidence. It is a good thing, too,
in the way of money. You see that I was right.
Mr. Plympton, when I told you that he Would
want part of the money down. and advised you
to take that five hundred dollars.”

“ Yes. on were right there.”

“ And hen you did a little thinking for your-
self. I suppose. When you knew that he was
dead. you reasoned that the monev could be of
39 use to a corpse, and took it away from

1m.

“ You are right as to‘ the reasoning. Mr.
Scrooby,” answered Plympton. with a faint
smile. “mud that was just what. I was going to
do, when up started his son, with a revolver in
his hand, and warned me off.”

"Satan seems to have lost his grip just then.

\

     

Well Satan is a more ac-'

 

 

D

H-m-m—a boy. Strange that the devil didn’t
prompt you to kill the cub and get him out of
the way.”

“ I had the rompting, but was in a ticklisb
position, and t ought I had better not go any
further just then.”

“ I am afraid that you let a good chance slip.
Well, you saved the other five hundred that I
lent you, anyhow, and you may as well hand it
back to me, suppose ”

“Why should
must consider yourself safe.
to be ood now, I am sure.”

“ e will think about that.
story.”

There was little more to tell and Morley
Plympton soon finished the account of his inter-
view with Sam Startle, ‘

“ I have succeeded,” said he, “ not only accord-
ing to my calculations, but beyond my best ex~
pectations. The job is done, and the man is
dead and that gets rid of the evidence.”

I? I may need the money. You
My credit ought

Go on with your

“ es, as far as that goes. But I furnished,

{she money to pay him, and my memory is not
0st.

“ You know nothing about m transactions
with him, Scrooby, except what have told you,
and that would weigh little in a court of jus-
tice.

“Mighty little, [grant you, either there or
elsewhere, and we are partners in this business
to a certain extent, and I am not likely to go
against my own interest. Well, Mr. Plympton,
suppose we reckon the thing up as its stands,
and satisfy ourselves as to where we stand.”

“ Go on and reckon it up, then.”

“ Well, sir. as the agent of your uncle’s pro
erty here for several years—and a prett big

roperty it is, too—I have found it a pro table

usiness, and naturally I want to keep hold of
it. With you as the heir, I may expect to hold
to it, as well as to get possession of this piece of
ground, which you promised to secure to me if
thin rs should 0 to suit on.”

“ on ma t on hot of those points as on a
sure thing, i crooby.”

“ I hope so, and in that hope I am he] ing on
and mean to continue to help you. ell, r.
Plympton, I take it for grant/ed that you were
speaking with real knowledge when you said
t at you knew the nature of the last will your
uncle made just before he died in Cuba.”

“ No doubt of that, Scrooby. There can’t be
any doubt of it. I had the sharpest kind of a
spy there, and he not onl told me that, but gave
me all the subsexyiient p0 nts, and the fate of the
J Mariette is su cient proof to me of his good
fait .

“ As you say. that is proof, and we may take
it for granted that the will has ceased to exist.”

“ The man who started to bring that will to
this country—the man who was the custodian of
my uncle’s secrets and his last wishes—has gone
to the bottom of the sea with the Jeannette, and
the will has one there with him.”

“,And wit him went. if I have understood
the affair rightly, more or less of your uncle’s
rtable property that had been mtrusted to
But that is a small matter, com ared
with the pro rty that is not portable an that
could never , lost at sea. So, my friend, since
the man and the will have ceased to exist, you
count yourself the heir to Benjamin Plympton’s
estates?”

“ Of course I do,” answered Morley, with an
air of triumph. “ It is all mine, and only a few
legal forma ities are needed to make my title
absolute.”

“ There may be one other formality—perhaps
a little more than a formality."

“ What is that?”

“ How about the boy?”

“ The boy? What boy i”

“ Benjamin Plympton’s daughter’s child—the
son of your cousin—the lad you met at,Danger
Point—Samuel Startle by name.”

“ Heavens and earth! I hadn‘t thought of the
brat in that way.”

“ What have you been doing with your wits,
then i” sneered Gideon Scrooby.

“Tho fact is that I was so overjode at get-
ting rid of his or nfoundcd fatherm nicely. that
the pol ulinr position of the cub neter occurred
to me until you mentioned him.”

,“ His position is peculiar. as you say. There
being no will. or no longer any will. the prop-
erty necessarily goes to the next of kin, and
that? is, just what Absalom Startle’s son happens
to e.’

If".

“ He knows nothing about it, and is not likely "-

to find out anything about it."

:..: m w—‘._« W..-“ a» _ _. .._

A‘.

“‘ Don’t be too sure of that, Morley Plymp- '

ton. if he continues to knock about in this-
world. he will be likely to meet somebody who
will tell him of it.”

“ He is an ignorant little brat, and has been
brought up in poverty. leading a vagrant ex-
istence. He would never be able to prove his
birth or anything of that sort.” 1

“ You can‘t afford to take any such risks, m
friend. If he continues to knock al out in th
world, he may met some smart lawyer who
will be glad to supply all those needs.”

“ That makes twice that you have used that
phrase, Gideon Scrooby, and I want to know
what you mean by it.”

.‘
‘ r0 ‘5...

 

.. ’4‘.“

 

suggested Sam.
‘ Not here, at leasvte and we must ho
ha

Salamander Sam.

9

 

to inspect the precious flasks and to. ve them-
selves pe assurance of the quah of their
contents.

It was seldom that these remote denizens
of the woods and swamps got a chance to taste
liquor of any kind, and this supply wasso potent
and exhilarating that they could not get enough
of it—to say nothing of too much—and they
began their drinking as if they considered it a
sacred duty to get away with the largest
possible amount of it in the shortest posSible
time.

In this endeavor they were laudabl assisted
by their parents who were so afrai that the
whisky would all be disposed of before they
could get their share, that they guzzled it with-
out considering their capacity.

It was to be feared that the liquor would
bring out their vicious tendencies and hasten
the cruel fate of their captives; but the actual
effect was to make them stupid and sleepy—in-
dications which were joyfully obmrved by those
most immediately concerned.

One b one they drop off, the old woman
falling that, then the 0 man, and then the two
“ bo s” taking their turns in tumbling over on
the ry grass of their pole beds.

This did not appear to promise much to the
prisoners; but there is always hope while there
is life, and, if they could manage to get loose
and reach their rifles, they might yet be able to
turn the tables on their foes.

To do this it was necessar for Powell to get
his thongs within reach 0 Boney’s teeth, and
this was what they tried todo; but they soon
perceived that the least movement they made
was sufficient to arouse one of the boozy beasts,
and they abandoned the effort in despair.

There was something else that aroused them.

Rush Powell after a while fancied that he
heard a light step outside, and the sound, slight
as it was, amused both the young Hyleys.

“ W’ot’s that?” growled one. .

“Jest a ’gator,” grunted the other, and the
next minute they were both snoring.

But Rush Powell, who was near the thin
wall of the shanty, was almost sure that he
had heard a step.

CHAPTER IX.
mi: rnornsson’s LUCK.

Anousr Essen—the Professor, as Boney
Priddle st led him—had bad luck With his yer-
stalking t night. .

He was inclined to attribute it to the fact that
he had allowed Sam Startle to accompany him,
and to regard the ladas his Jonah: but Sam
had obeyed instructions so implicitly and faith«
full-1, sticking closely to his heels, moving so
silently and carefully, and never speaking above
a whisper, that it was really impossible to put
an of the blame upon him.

esides, they had got so far from cam when
the bad luck was ful y deVeloped, thatflt e boy,
if sent away, might not have been able to find
his we back.

To kill a deer, it is first necessary to find your
deer, and the professor and his follower wan-
dered far and wide before they found a deer.

When they did find him, he was out of range
and they wandered further yet in the hope of

etting a fair shot, as it was dead against
august Engel's principles to wound a deer and
let it get away to suffer. .

The war quadruped persisted in kee mg out
of the reac of a fair shot, and finally e aban-
doned the pursuit in ,despair and started to re-
turn to the camp.

This was not a difficult matter, in spite of
the night and the forest, as the German was a
thorough woodsman, and, as he had not gone
far from the water, he had only to find it
and follow it in order to be sure of is course.

In time titty got back to the camp, onl to
find it deser , with no sign remaining 0 the
friends they Weft here.

17
It needed but a slight inspection to enable
Au t Engel to guess pretty accurately at what

happened.

“ That dirty old beast who came to us at noon
has made his threat good,” said he. “He has
had plenty of help, of course, and they have
stolenon our frien a while they were asleep and
carried them awag)?’

“They have re bed the camp, too,” added

m.

“ Of course they have; but we are left, and
the game is u, but not yet ended. Our bad
luck was luck, Sammy, as it turns out.
If "I had fired a shot, it might have been heard
here, and would have put those scoundrels on
our trail. Then we might not be here now. Of
course our friends would give them no hint to
help them.” _

‘ They didn’t kill Mr. Powell and Boney,”

that

t we have to ois to
fin them. ht where you are, Sam, and
8a nothing Wli le look for the trail. ’

There was light enough to enable Engel to
make his search effective, and he soon found
what he took to bathe trail thatded from the

are still alive.
Sta

the

 

camp. .
Beckoning to Sam to follow him, and the lad

silently obeying, he traced it down to the edge
of the water. '

There it ended, and the question was whether
Powell and Boney had been thrown into the ,
lagoon to feed the alligators, or had been car-
ried away by some soit of water conveyance.

As the trail certainly stopped right there, and
there was no branch from it in any direction,
Engel was stron ly drawn to the latter conclu-
sion, especially w en he noticed a disturbance of
the bank which indicated that a craft of some
kind had landed there.

He was pondering this subject when he heard
the muttering of men’s voices, and it needed but ,
a second to convince him that the voices were
not those of his friends.

Right there at the lagoon was the fallen trunk
of an enormous cypress tree, which offered a ‘
good hiding-place.

Motioning to Sam to follow his example, the
professor crouched down at the side of the fallen .
tree, and waited and listened.

Nothing more was heard of the voices until
the men who owned them a parently reached
the spot where the camp had en.

Then they spoke again, and Engel, who was ,
not more than three rods away, could easily hear
the most of what was said.

“ Wal, they didn’t come back yer’,” said one, 5
“ and them we 0t told us the truth about ’em, 1
I reckon. Shal we hunt any furder?”

“ W’ot’s the use? They ain’t nowhar about
yer‘, an’ l’m grittin’ tired an’ sleepy. We toted
some liquor o . too, an‘. mam an’ pap ’ll be fur
di'inkin’ it all ef we don’t git thar an’ stop ’em.
Let’s poke along fur home.’ ,

“Is thar anythin’ else about yer’ that we want ‘
to tote off?” I

“ Thar ain’t nothin’ o’ no ’count. VVe’ll look
it over in the mornin’ when we come to hunt
them two ag’in. Let’s jest foller our am to :
that whisk .” g

“ All rig t; come along.”

This conversation enabled August Engel to ‘
realize how narrowly he and Sam had escaped
destruction. ‘

If they had reached the camp a little later or I
somewhat sooner, they would ave run against "
the two Hyleys who were searching for them, 
and would then, not suspecting any evil, have .
been taken at a disadvantage.

As he listened, there were two plans that pre
sented themselves to the professor.

He might emerge from his concealment and
open fire upon the rowlers, or might keep quiet
and follow them w en they went away.

The first plan mi ht rid him of two adversa-
ries, and the secon might guide him to his
friends.

He did not for an instant doubt his ability to
“ get away ” with the two Hyleys,'though, if he
had been aware of their wildcat natures, he
might have doubted it, even when he had the
advantage of superior weapons and the first
chance. . '

It was above all thin important that he
should know what had bsecome of his friends,
and therefore he adopted the plan of keeping
quiet and using his foes as his guides.

He watched them as they walked away, and,
as soon as he deemed it safe to do so, he rose and
silently followed them, after whispering to Sam
to come after him, but at a good distance be-
hind, so asjust to keep him in sight.

The prow ers themselves could not have moved
more quietly than August En el did; but they
were not making an effort to silent, as they
had satisfied themse ves that their prey was no-
where near them, and there was nothin to ut
into (tiheir heads a fancy that they might be lb - ‘

owe .

So they went on in the ni ht and in the forest,
the Hyliys going carelessly in the advance
August nge creepinggilently after them, and
'ust near enough to kee them in si ht, and

m Startle bringin up t e rear at t an

ual distance be ing his leader.

be head of the procession halted at ‘the edge
of the lagoon after a walk of half an hour or so,
and had no sooner halted than it disappeared.

Engel saw the two Crackers enter the ark
that loomed up there inthe darknes and knew
that he had reached the lair of the human
wolves.

What should he do then?

Any h or ill-advised step might seal the
fate of his 'ends if they were yet alive, and it
would be better to move cautiously and slowly,
to understand just what he had to do and how
it was to be done, so that he eduld be sure of
striking an effective blow.

He was creeping forward to reconiioiter the
position of the enemy, when a transformation
scene occurred—not a sudden transformation,
but one that was sufilcient to upset his plans as
far as he had yet been able to form them.

The ark moved slowly and steadilynway from
the land, leavin a gradually increasing gap of
dark and trenc erous water between the ro-
fessor and the object he was anxious to reach.

He saw a men and a woman standing on what
might be called the guards of the craft, poling it
out into the lagoon, and this told him that he
would have four fees to contend with, provided
that he should be able to hit upon a means of

 

getting at them.

As he was crouched under the bushes, watch-
ing the receding ark, Sam Startle stole forward
and 'oined him.

“ ur friends must be prisoners on that raft,
or whatever it is,” whispered Engel.

“ And we can‘t git at ’em,” groaned

“ I think I can.” .

“On! by swimmin’, and the water’s just
alive With ’gators.”

“ I know all about that, and I know something
else, too. Stay right here, my boy, and kee
yourself hid, and watch that concern until
comeback.”

“ Whar you goin’?”

“Back to the camp; but I will soon return,
and, I trust you to do just what I told you to
do.

The professor made quick speed in the errand
he had set himself to do, and when he got back
he found Sam where he had been. placed, and
perceived that the ark was stationary in the
middle of the lagoon.

He brought a bundle, tightly rolled and
buckled, and not too big to be carried under his
arm.

“ The rascals missed this bit of my baggaie,”
said he. “ i noticed that they had over 00 ed

. it, and that is why I ran back and got it.”

“ What is it?” inquired Sam.

“Wait a few minutes, and you shall see. If
thOse brutcs could have guessed what it is, I
would not have it now." '

The professor unrolled his bundle, and shook
out a mass of rubber-covered cloth, very fine
but very strong.

Into this shapeless mass he sent his breath
through a valve attached to it, and it speedily
 to assume a shape that astonished Shin

tart e.

He blew into another valve, and kept blowing, 

until what had been a small roll of rubber cloth
took on the form and proportions of a canoe

l lifeboat.

It was a short craft, not over six feet long,
but its width was nearly half its length, and it
wasa veritable lifeboat, incapable of sinking
as long as the air was kept in, and of course 0
great buoyancg.

A few catc es and rods were adjusted, and
the canoe was complete and ready for service,
even to a small but stout cord that served as a
painter. ’

Only a paddle was needed, and Sam soon sup-

plied that, cutting a branch with a bushy end .

mm which be trimmed the leaves. .

“ Are you thinking of going with me, my
boy?” inquired En el.

‘ Why, yes
me. I’m a gay hand to ddle, and mebbe
you’ll have to work your r' e for all it‘s worth.”

“ I believe I can trust you, and the boat will
carry us both if we are careful. Take OR our
shoes, Sammy, as there might be nails in tgem,
and we must not tear the rubber.” ‘

ou can’t get along without fl

Both took oi! t eir shoes and boots, and the . ‘

boat was launch and loaded, the

Sam sitting at the stem to iaddie.
After cautionin
softly, Engel to]
canoe started. -
It bore the weight easily, with its gunwale well

above the water’s edge, and Sam sent it through -

the water so noiseless] that it failed to arouse
the attention of the allogators, if any were awake
and in the neighborh .

Indeed, the lad had not boasted when he tie-1.,

clared himself “a ga hand to paddle,”and it
was impossible for

refesor '
stationing himself\ on his knees at wha may be ‘
called the bow, with his rifle in his hands, and '

the pa dler to do his work .’
him how to steer, and the: *

ugust Engel to find the /

least fault with his style of managing the 

canoe.

Fully two hours had passed since they came in: »

sight of the ark at the edge of the lagoon. and

nosign of life was then to beseen or heard aboarg . -”'

of that strange craft.

The enterprise promised well thus‘ far; but the I

real test would come when the logs were reach-
ed, and Engel gripped his rifle as e nerved hint
self fat the desperate encounter that might be

expected. .
t he should not find his friends there that
conclusion would be that the had been killed,‘

and then there would be no 'ng left but 

geance.

Sam paddled the canoe just as he had hen
told to, straight to the side of the raft, a limb‘
distance from the door at the end, and it

i

,‘h ,g.

’7

touched the logs Without the slightest sound a" ‘ _

jar.
Eu 1 rose slowly and carefully,
hirsnse f up, and stepped of! 11
am
bowan tomake thecanoe fast hthetiny
painter. . '
The professor had not taken three with
his stockinged feet toward the point he wished ‘
to reach, when he heard the muttering of voices, ~.
within. and he stopped to listen. ‘
The muttering subsided and
place, and he went on. but more cautiousl , and-
if possible more silently, until he reached ‘

we 3 open door. '
he stood there, he saw by the dim ligMOf

n thera

the gourd lamp his (our fees lying on the two "
beds, steeped in the fumes of liquor and 

straifghta‘ied "
uietly hastened to ta e hi's'filace' at as. “ ‘

snoring took it!» ' 'i

. ’4 NV 

5.

 

  

 

 

 

‘ the c nraeter of his companions.

 

A ‘ _.V —-‘V~
1:61:10 is more like a wild bcast than a human
-in

H

,1
gll’ot do you reckon he means to do, col-
onel?” inquired Boney.

“ What can he do? Nothirg, of course. He
is only trying to scare us.
time we have struck that sort of thing."

“But this chap talks es if he means business,
and I’m afeard he does.”

“If it should come to a fight, Boney, we
could get away with a regiment of such
swamp suckers as he.
other thought. _

CHAPTER Vlll.
PRISONEI) IN A): ARK.

EVENING found the, surveying party only a
few miles from the place where they had halted
at noon.

They had worked across the st reteli of grassy .

plain, and had made their camp for the night in

the forest beyond, near a lagocii similar to that ‘

at the other camp, but soineu but larger.
When they had eaten their :upper, the men

seated themselves to smoke their pipes, while, 3

Sam Slartle cleaned up, that being part of
the duties of which he had relieved lloiicy
Pridclle, greatly to the satisfaction of the fat
man.

Sam had been accustomed to that kind of
work, and he did it with a cheerful good will,
as he had taken a great fancy to his new
friends, and the life he led with them pleased
him.

August Engel, when he had finished his
smoke, picked up his rifle, and proposed to do
a little deer-stalking on his own account, re.-
marking that he thought he knew where he
could find a deer.

As it was known that he preferred to be alone
on such nocturnal excursions, nobody offered to
accompany him except Sam, who had then com--
pleted his task, and who was excited by the
mention of a. deer-hunt.

“ Mayn‘t I go with you, Mr. Engel?” he asked,
almost pitcously.

“ I believe you may, my boy, as you are 9.
Quiet chap am I can trust you. But you must
I: close to me, Sam, that 1 may not make the
mfike of shooting you for a deer."

Sam )romised to be careful. and followed
Engel 0 into the woods along the edge of the

con.

ush Powell and Benny, after chatting a. little
while, madea smudge to kee ofl.’ the insects,
wrapped themselves in their b ankets, and were
soon sound asleep on the ground.

August might be absent the greater part of
the night, as deer-stalking was a passion with
him, and they had 11-) idea of keeping awake for
him, as it would be bad enough to be awoke by
him when he got back.

Still less did they worry about Abe Hylcy and
his crew. as Powell had dismissed the Cracker
from his mind, and even Boney had forgotten

This is not the first .

I shall not give him an- ‘

Salamander Sam.

 

l i
l The woman and one of the young men took :
down the lagoon slowly but steadily, and nothina‘

i the captured rifles, the surveying instruments.

and as much of the (ramp outfit as they could
, conveniently cari y, and stm ted of}? through the
‘ woods.

Ale Hyley and his other son made the pris-
l onei's rise, and marched them away pretty
l rapidly after the others.

i .iouthwa rd they went, and across a bend

‘ formed l.y the lagoon, which they struck about

1 half a mile further down.

Against the bank—«if that could be called a
1 bank where the water was nearly level with the

;’ laud—lay the queerest craft that Bush Powell
' lind eVer seen. and it may be doubted if Boney

I I’l'iddlu had met its equal.

 It was a raft of heavy logs, on which “as
‘ built a low shanty of light material, a space or

i gauging; of some three feet of logs being left on

‘ each side of the structure. ,
l It was a \‘el'\' rude affair, with an appearance
of dirt and antiquity that was far from pleas-
i ant, and was so low, pcrliaps because of the
i Water—soaking of the logs, that it \\ as but little
above the edge of the lagoon.

The shanty had no windows, and but one;
door at the end, which then pointed north-
ward.

The two prisoners were marched aboard the
raft and into the shanty, while the woman and .
her son followed with the “plunder.” '

\Vhen they had got inside of the structure,
they )ei'ceived that it was quite as queer as the
outside, and yet more filthy and disgusting.

C It was dimly lighted by two wicks swimming
in a gourd of grease, and by this feeble illumin—
atioii they could see that there was but a single
apartment, in which were two beds, such as
the were, rudely constructed of poles covered l
witidry rass.

' In the urtlier end was a small fireplace of
baked earth, from which a short chimney of 9
sticks and clay made a connection with the
outer air.

There was no other furniture, unless a few
“chunks” of wood to serve as seats and a num-
ber of skins scattered about could be so called.

Near the fireplace hung pieces of dried meat,
and the odor from them and from the skins was
alike unpleasant.

In fact, the smell of the entire establishment
was disgusting, and the shanty, though evident-
ly the work of bands, was morelike a lair of wild ,
beasts than an abode of human beings.

Seated on two of the “chunks,” the ‘
prisoners noted. as their position compelled
them to, everything about the establishment
that was within range of their vision.

They es )eeially noted the fact that the two
young Hy eys, as soon as they had usisz in
iringui the prisoners and plunder aboard, went
back as ore, and did not return.

it was easy to guess that they had gone in
search of August Engel and Sam Startle.

Powell and Boncy naturally ho )ed that their

 

him for a. while.

An hour or so passe ,and they were in the
land of dreams, when our figures stole toward I
them through the forest, ghost-like in their I
movements and as noiseless as night birds.

Of what use were magazine rifles to sleeping ,
men, and what strength and skill could avail ,
a ainst that silent approach of the wild beasts
o the woods?

The beasts were Abe Hyley, his twd stalwart 3
sons. and his wife, who was as goal a man as ‘1
either of the others, if not a little more so.

After silently stealing up on the sleepers, and I
carefully spying about for their comrades, the I
prowlers made their pounce.

Rush Powell and Boney Priddle were aroused
at the same instant and in the same manner.

They awoke to find themselws in the grasp
and under the knees of their half—savage foes,
and their stoutest struggles could not prevent
them item being secured and bound with
thongs. _

Thus placed beyond the possibility of escape,
they were raised to ,a Sitting posture and'per-
mitted to see their captors and survey the situa-
tion.

There was light enough to enable them to per-
ceive that the leader of their assailants was Abe
Hyle , and that was enough to inform them of '

“So you have worke< your scheme,” calmly
observed Powell as seen as he could recover his
breath. “ What are you going to do with us,
now that you have got us?”

‘ “ You'll know that soon enough," observed
the Cracker. “Whar’s t’others?”

“ Go“6 away,” Promptl)’ answered Powell,
“ and they are far from hereby this time.”

It occurred to him that he and Boney were in
a serious scrape, and he was determined to keep
Engel and Sam out of it if he Could_

No doubt the Hylcys were convinced that the
other two were nowhere near the camp, as their

friends might not find the prow ing Crackers,
not only for their own sakes, but because the
prisoners must rely upon them for deliverance,
if any deliverance should prove to be. possdiie.
If they should come to the right conclusion
concerning the condition of l‘lYflllS, and should
use a fair amount of caution and skill, they
might be able to work no little havoc among the

i Hyleys, provided that they should be able to get

at the ark.

This proviso was the real stumbling block. and
the last hope of the irisoners was soon Upset by
the i'ocecdings of the Hylcys.

A )e Hyley and his wife went outside, cast the
raft loose from the shore, and poled it out into
the sluggish water of the dark lagoon.

This was slow Work, but the Crackers were in
no hurry, and every now and then they stopped
to rap the nose of a. too familiar alligator that
shoved his snout up on the log.

“That knocks as cold,” whis )crcd Powell to ‘
his companion. “ If our frieni s are safe, and
if they should find us, they would never be able
to get at us while this confounded contraption is
off on the water.”

“ If they should try it, the ’gators would make
short wor of them," answered Boney. “ But I
hope that they will keep out of the way and
save their own skins.”

As the chance of a rescue faded away, they
made such efforts as they might to release them- '
selves from their unpleasant and perilous pre-
dicament.

Thay attempted. and not for the first time, to '
untic or loosen the thongs with which their
hands were bound. but found it impossible to
make any impression upon them. ,

If they could get loose, they believed that they ‘
would be able to give a {mod account of them—
selves in a conflict with the two Crackers who
remained on the raft. I

Rush Powéill turned to Honey and offered his
thongs to the teeth of his friend, who was

 

cutlike spying had not been for nothing.
‘- 'rhpv‘ l he comin’ back More long," remarked

L A the leader. “and then I‘ll git ’em.”

Powell was afraid inst then that they might

' be coming hack it litt 0 too soon and too incan-

tiously, and for their sake he was glad to see the
Cracker crew making hasty preparations for

departure.

beginning to gnaw them when Abe Hyley sud- ,
dcnly looked in and stople the performance. 1
To revent a recurrence of the endeavor. he
‘ more his two prisoners into opposite corners of
the anavtnwnt. placing Powell where he could

i watch him while he poled.
} It was evident that the ark was to be taken to
a considtrablo distance from the spot where the

prisoners} had boarded it, as it continued to move

was to be heard but the usual sounds of the
night, the splashing of the poles in the water,
and the occasional curses or niutterings of the
man and woman outside.

After an hour and more of this style of travel-

: ing the concern came to a halt at the i dge of the

lagm‘iii. it fact which was made evident to the
prisoners by the. jar as it struck against the bank.

A gain their spirits rose. as it was possible that
their friends might find aid l‘clp the in, and there
was at least a chance of rescue as long as they
Were linkcd to the. land. 3

Abe llyley and his wife put up their poles,
inzltzle the raft fast to the bank, and came in-
si( e.

lush Powell immediately started a conversa—

tion with the old brute in as friendly 9. tine as
he could il>Slllll€.

“ Mr. Ilyley. have you landed here to wait for
your two boys?”

“ \Val. mebbc—ki‘iider so, I reckon. What’s
that your busmessé”

“ liid they go ashore to look for our friends?”

“ Yes, :in’ they’ll git ’cm, too.”

“ .l doubt it. They will have a long hunt, as
our friends are far from here."

“ They’ll git 'em, anyhow. “'e’ve got to git
the hull batch, dead or alive. an’ we mean tei‘.”

“ Will you kindly inform me, Mr. Hyley,
what you intend to do with us, now that you’ve
got us?”

The male Cracker significantly drew his hand
across his throat.

“ Ain't that so, Rhody?” he added, turning to
his wife.

“ Stick ’em like pigsi” granted the woman.

This was decidedly an unpleasant rest ect,

l as the prisoners could not doubt that t e brutes

meant what they said.

It was bad enough to die; but to be slaughter-
ed by these dirty beasts was even worse than
falling into the jaws of alligators.

Therefore the prisoners, not knowing when
their time might come, carefully noted the
movements of the two Crackers.

Their attention was turned to the captured
rifles, which they handled together, evidently

' desiring to find out how the ma azines worked;

but the machinery was too muc for them, and
the cartridges they did not understand at all.
The threw out several hints with the object

, of in ucing the prisoners to explain the opera-

tions of ihe Weapons; but the prisoners were
not in that line of business.

“You had better be careful how you tool
with those new-fangled fixin’s," was all they
got out of Rush Pow'ell.

“ You’d better be keerful how you fool with
your lip, young man,” Eruflly answered the ho
Cracker. “ You moug t git off a leetle easier
by bein' civil, mehhe.” .

“We have got to go, anyhow,” suggested
Powell.

“Yes, an’ the fat cuss them that sassed me
has got to go fu’st.”

The ark had not lain long at the second land—
ing when the tWo young Hyleys came aboard,
and they came alone, greatly to the satisfaction
of Powell and Boney, who had not ceased to
fear for the fate of their friends.

“ Didn’t you git ’eni, then?” growled the 01d

bi‘utes. “ hey-’uns ain’tnowhar about yer’.”
“So these cusses spoke the truth. Well,
they’ve got to come back, an’ we’ll git ’em m
the mornin’.”
The arrival of the younger Hyleys wastho
signal for another move, and their precious
parents cast off the raft again and naVIgatcd it
out into the lagoon, wheie they anchored it
pretty securely with their

At this point the lagoon was so wn‘e that
it assumed the appearance of a lake. and the
prisoners could see enough through the Open
door to enable them touiudge. that they were
finally located at a considerable distance from
the shcre.

Again their spirits sunk, and the mercury
of their hopes ran down several degrees Lelow
zero.

Whatever August Engel might want to (lo—-
and his friends knew hill] to be loth willing and
skillful—it was out of the questicn that he should
be able to much them, as the lager n swarmed
with alligators that Were easily aroused, if not
always awake. and ready for business.

This point icing settled. the prisoners had 2

only to watch the proceedings of their captors
and make such calculation as theycould con—
cernina.r the time and manner of their own exit
from this world.

At the captured camp had been seyera] flasks
of whisky, being a supply lately received by the
surveying party “ for mechanical purposes,”
which had scarcely been touched.

This portion of the plunder had not been
Overlmkerl by the Crackers, who had carried it
away and brought it aboard the ark, where
it had been examined and sampled rather freely
by the elder Hyleys during the absence of the

s 3

N

it,” answered one of the young ‘

oh 5, thciigli there ~
I was no current that was like y to stir it.

On the arrival of the latter they hagtenad _

 

. s3»:- «~3—

"Ti-m.  .

 

 

. .t’v¥-""--E

, “Que-*va -

-.r,’

 
 

Salamander Sam.

9

 

to inspect the precious flasks and to give them-
selves perso assurance of the quality of their
contents.

It was seldom that these remote denizens
of the woods and swamps got a chance to taste
liquor of any kind, and this supply wasso potent
and exhilarating that they could not get enough
of it—to say nothing of too much—and they
began their drinking as if they considered it a
sacred duty to get away with the largest
possible amount of it in the shortest posSible
time.

In this endeavor they were laudabl assisted
by their parents, who were so afrai that the
whisky would all be disposed of before they
could get their share, that they guzzled it with-
out considering their capacity.

* It was to be feared that the liquor would
bring out their vicious tendencies and hasten
the cruel fate of their captives; but the actual
effect was to make them stupid and sleepy—in-
dications which were joyfully observed by those
most immediately concerned,

One b one they dropped ofi’, the old woman
falling fi’i‘st, then the 0 man, and then the two
“ b0 8 ” taking their turns in tumbling over on
the ry grass of their pole beds.

This did not appear to promise much to the
prisoners; but there is always hope while there
is life, and, if they could manage to get loose
and reach their rifies, they might yet be able to
turn the tables on their foes.

To do this it was necessar for Powell to get
his thongs within reach 0 Boney’s teeth, and
this was what they tried to do; but they soon
perceived that the least movement they made
was sufficient to arouse one of the boozy beasts,
and they abandoned the effort in despair.

There was something else that aroused them.

Rush Powell after a while fancied that he
heard a light step outside, and the sound, slight
as it was, amused both the young Hyleys.

“ W’ot’s that?” growled one. .

“Jest a ’gator,” grunted the other, and the
next minute they were both snoring.

But Rush Powell, who was near the thin
wall of the shanty, was almost sure that he
had heard a step.

CHAPTER IX.
rm: rmrssson’s LUCK.

Acous'r ENGaL—the Professor, as Boney
Priddle st led him—had bad luck with his yer-
stalking t night. .

He was inclined to attribute it to the fact that
he had allowed Sam Startle to accompany him,
and 'to regard the ladas his Jonah: but Sam
had obeyed instructions so implicitly and faith I
full r, sticking closely to his heels, moving so
silently and carefully, and never speaking above
a whisper, that it was really impossible to put
an of the blame upon him.

asides, they had ot so far from cam when
the bad luck was ful y developed, that t 6 hey,
if sent away, might not have been able to find
his wa back.

To k 11 a deer, it is first necessary to find your
deer, and the professor and his follower wan-
dered far and wide before they found a deer.

When they did find him, he was out of range
and they wandered further yet in the hope of

etting a fair shot, as it was dead against

u ust Engel’s principles to wound a deer and
let it get away to suffer.

The war quadruped persisted in keeping out
of the reac of a fair shot, and finally e aban-
doned the pursuit in despair and started to re.
turn to the camp. .

This was not a difficult matter, in spite of
the night and the forest, as the German was a
thorough woodsman, and, as he had not gone
far from the water, he had only. to find it
and follow it in order to be sure of 18 course.

In time 13% got back to the camp, on] to
find it deser , with no sign remaining 0 the
friends they Weft there.

It needed but ‘a' slight inspection to enable
Au st Engel to guess pretty accurately at what
hafiiappened.

“ That dirty old beast who came to us at noon
has made his threat good,” said he. “He has
had plenty of he] , of course, and they have
stolen on our frien % while they were asleep and
carried them awe .

“They have robbed the camp, too,” added

Sam.

“ Of course they have; but we are left, and
the game is be u, but not yet ended, Our bad
luck was g 1001‘, Sammy, as it turns out.
If’I had fired a shot, it might have been heard
here, and would have_ put those scoundrels on
our trail. Then we might not be here now. or
course our friends would give them no hint to
help them.”

‘ They didn’t kill Mr. Powell and Boney,”
suggested Sam.

“Not here, at least and we must he that
the are still alive. What we have to o is to
flu them. Stay ri ht where you are, Sam, and
as nothing while 18le for the trail.”

There was light enough to enable Engel to
make his search effective, and he soon found
what he took to bathe trail that-led from the

camp. .
Beckoning to Sam to follow him, and the lad

 

silently obeying, be traced it down to the edge
of the water.
There it ended, and the question was whether

POWell and Boney had been thrown into the,

lagoon to feed the alligators, or had been car-
ried away by some sort of water conveyance.
As the trail certainly stopped right there, and

there was no branch from it in any direction, ‘

Engel was stron 1y drawn to the latter conclu-
sion, especially w en he noticed a disturbance of
the bank which indicated that a craft of some
kind had landed there.

He was pondering this subject when he. heard
the muttering of men’s voices, and it needed but
a second to convince him that the voices were
not those of his friends.

Right there at the lagoon was the fallen trunk

of an enormous cypress tree, which offered a ‘

good hiding-place.
Motioning to Sam to follow his example, the

professor crouched down at the side of the fallen .

tree, and waited and listened.

Nothing more was heard of thc voices until
the men who owned them a parently reached
the spot where the camp had een.

Then they spoke again, and Engel, who was ,

not more than three rods away, could easily hear
the most of what was said.

“ Wal, they didn’t come back yer’,” said one,
“ and them We 0t told us the truth about ’em,
I reckon. Shal we hunt any furder?”

As he was crouched under the bushes, watch-

ing the receding ark, Sam Startle stole forward
and 'oined him.

“ ur friends must be prisoners on that raft,

or whatever it is,” whispered Engel.

“ And we can‘t git at ’em,” groaned

“ I think I can.”

“Only by swimmin’, and the water‘s just
alive With ’gators.”

“ I know all about that, and I know something
else, too. Stay right here, my boy, and kee

l yourself hid, and watch that concern until

come back.”

“ Whar you goin’?”

“ Back to the camp; but I will soon return,
and I trust you to do just what I told youto
do 7?

The professor made quick speed in the errand
he had set himself to do, and when he got back
he found Sam where he had been placed, and
pcrceiwd that the ark was stationary in the
middle of the lagoon.

He brought a bundle, tightly rolled and
buckled, and not too big to be carried under his
arm.

“ The rascals missed this bit of my baggaie,”
said he. “I noticed that they had overoo ed
1t, and that is why I ran back and got it.”

“What is it?” inquired Sam.

“Wait a few minutes, and you shall see. If

i those brutes could have guessed what it is, I

“ W’ot’s the use? They ain’t nowhar about ' Would not have it now.”

yer‘, an’ l’m

drinkin’ it all ef we don’t git thar an’ stop ’em.
Lot’s poke along fur home.’

“ Is thar anythin’ else about yer’ that we want
to tote off?”

“Thar ain’t nothin’ o’ no ’count. I’Ve’ll look
it over in the mornin’ when we come to hunt
them two ag’in.
that whisk .”

“ All rig t; come along.”

This conversation enabled August Engel to
realize how narrowly he and Sam had escaped
destruction. '

If they had reached the cam a little later or
somewhat sooner, they would ave. run against

the two Hyleys who were searching for them, ‘

and would then, not suspecting any evil, have
been taken at a disadvantage.

As he listened, there were two plans that pre-
sented themselves to the professor.

He might emerge from his conceahnent and
open fire upon the rowlers, or might keep quiet
and follow them w en they went away.

. The first plan mi ht rid him of two adversa-
ries, and the secon might guide him to his
friends.

He did not for an instant doubt his ability to
“ get away ” with the two Hyleys,’ though, if he
had been aware of their wildcat natures, he
might have doubted it, even when he had the
advantage of superior weapons and the first
chance. .

It was above all thin 5 important that he
should know what had ome of his friends,
and therefore he adopted the plan of keeping
quiet and using his foes as his guides.

He watched them as they walked away, and.
as soon as he deemed it safe to do so, he rose and
silently followed them, after whispering to Sam
to come after him, but at a good distance be-
hind, so as just to keep him in sight.

The prow ers themselves could not have moved
more quietly than August Enggl did; but they
were not making an effort to silent, as they
had satisfied themse ves that their prey was no-
where near them, and there was nothing to ut
into (tiheir heads a fancy that they migh be 0]-
owe .

So they went on in the m' ht and in the forest,
the Hyle 9 going careless y in the advance
August ngel creepingpilently after them, and

ust near enough to keepJ them in si ht, and

m startle brin 'n up t e rear at a ut an
eq'ili‘al distance be in his leader.

he head of the procession halted at ‘the edge
of the lagoon after a walk of half an hour or so,
and had no sooner halted than it disappeared.

Engel saw the two Crackers enter the ark
that loomed up there inthe darknes and knew
that he had reached the lair of the human
wolves.

What should he do then?

Any hast .or ill-advised step might seal the
fate of his ends if they were yet alive, and it
would be better to move cautiously and slowly,
to understand just what he had to do and how
it was to be done, so that he could be sure of
striking an efi’ective blow.

H_e_ was creeping forward to reconnoitcr the
peeition of the enemy, when a transformation
scene occurred—not a sudden transformation.
but one that was sufficient to upset his plans as
far as he had yet been able to form them.

The ark moved slowly and steadily away from
the land, leavmg a gradually increasing gap of
dark and treacherous water between the ro-
fessor and the object he was anxious to reach).

He. saw a man and a woman standing on what
might be called the guards of the craft, paling it
out into the lagoon, and this told him thathe
would have four foes to contend with, provided
that he should be able to hit upon a means of

getting at them.
/

ittin’ tired an’ sleepy. We toted |
some liquor o , too, an’. mam an’ pap ’ll be fur l out a mass of
i but very strong.

 

 

The professor nnrolled his bundle, and shook
rubber-covered cloth, very fine

Into this shapeless mass he sent his breath
through a valve attached to it, and it speedin

I began to assume a shape that astonished Sam

Startle. ,
He blew into another valve, and kept blowing,

Let‘s jest follcr our noses to ; until what had been a small roll of rubber cloth
3 took on the form and proportions of a canoe

{ lifeboat.

It was a short craft, not over six feet long,
but its width wasnnearly half its length, and it
wasa veritable lifeboat, incapable of sinkin

! as long as the air was kept in, and of course 0
» great buoyanc

A few catches and rods were adjusted, and
the canoe was complete and ready for service,
even to a small but stout cord that served as a

‘ painter.

Only a paddle was needed, and Sam soon sup-
plied that, cutting a branch with a bushy end
from which be trimmed the leaves.

“ Are you thinking of going with me, my
boy?” inquired En el.

“Why, yes. on can’t get along without
me. I’m a gay hand to ddle, and mebbe
you’ll have to work your ri e for all it's Worth.”

“ I behave I can trust you, and the boat will
carry us both if we are careful. Take of our
shoes, Sammy, as there might be nails in t em,
and we must not tear the rubber.” ‘

Both took 03 t eir shoes and boots, and the
boat was launch‘ and loaded, the professor
stationing himself\ on his knees at what may be
called the bow, with his rifle in his hands, and
Sam sitting at the stern to paddie.

After cautionin the paddler to do his work .
softly, Engel to] him how to steer, and the
canoe started. -

It bore the weight easily, with its gunwale well
above the water’s edge, and Sam sent it through
the water so noiselessl that it failed to arouse =
the attention of the all ators, if any were awake 
and in the neighborhood. " '

Indeed, the lad had not boasted when he de- .
clared himself“a ga hand to paddle,”and it’
was impossible for ugust Engel to find the
least fault with his style of managing the
canoe.

Fully two hours had passed since they came in

sight of the ark at the edge of the lagoon. and R i

no sign of life was then to be seen or heard aboard
of that strange craft. ,

The enterprise promised well thus‘ far; but the
real test would come when the lo were reaclr
ed, and Engel gripped his rifle as e nerVed him-
self fot the desperate encounter that might be

expected.

f he should not find his friends there the
conclusion would be that the had been killed,
and then there would be not ing left but ven-

geance.
Sam paddled the canoe just as he had been

told to, straight to the side of the raft, a little . '

distance from the door at the end, and it
Eouched the logs without the slightest; sound a!" 
ar.

Engel rose slowly and careful] , strai htened' '
himself up, and stepped of! u n {he  '

Sam quietly hastened to ta e his lace at the
bow an to make the canoe fast WI h the tiny
painter. ,

The professor had not taken three steps with
his stockinged feet toward the point he wished
to reach, when he heard the muttering of voices;
within. and he stopped to listen. ~‘ ’

The muttering subsided and snoring took its
place, and he went on. but more cautiously, and
if possible more silently, until he reached the 
wa 3 open door.

he stood there, he saw by the dim lightot
the gourd lamp his four foes lying on the two ‘
beds, steeped in the fumes of liquor and stupefled" -

‘1.

id.) '

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into a slumber from which they might easily be
awakened.

He also saw his two friends, bound and seated
in opposite corners of the din y apartment, and
they saw him and recognized im at once as the
Igle in fell on his glasses.

fie held up a warning finger, brought his mag-
azine rifle to a level, and opened fire.

There was no thought of mercy to man or wom-
’. an—no intention of giving anybody a chance
.I’.  for his life—only the nowledge that a den of
j z ‘ wild beasts was there, and that the quickest way
9, ' was the best.
4 g ' -_ Utter extermination of the H yleys was his
only chance for saving the liVes of Sam and
himself, as well as the lives of his friends.
~ :The first click of the rifle’s lock aroused one of
l“ the young Hyleys, and he received the first bullet
',..9 tube started 11 .

. The first shot was also a signal for Sam.

He had been kneeling in the bow of the canoe,

clutching his father’s revolver, with one hand on

 

"3K ,' the raft, waiting for the work to begin, and

  full determined to take part in the expected

:37] V‘ coll ion.

 ’ Knowing well the music of the professor’s

 rifle, he sprung aboard at the first report, and a

'-‘ ,5, _few uick'steps took him around the corner of
' the s nty and in at the door.

1t Was well that he arrived when he did, as
, Engel had on his hands a somewhat heavier
* , contract than he could execute, his rifle being
 ., . too unwieldy a weapon for such close quarters.
‘  He had settled the cases of the two ‘ boys ” in
one-two time as they rose before him' but Abe
Hyley and the woman had 'um up and
:ltlarted for him before be con (1 turn to meet
em.
 Sam Startle supplied the element that was
v 'lacking, and his revolver Spoke so quickly and
i». ‘gflefitively that there was no chance to talk
so .
' r ‘ This ended the battle, which was more like a
'1 1 massacre than a fight, and when the smoke had
cleared away the professor satisfied himself that
the Hyley family would never again attempt to
-; amuse themselves by the slaughter of surveying
, 0' parties.
-‘ Sam busied himself with releasing the two
,,  ners, who Were thankful enough for the
-’ ‘ ,, liverance that had come to them.
‘- i‘ You made short work of it, August,” ob-
served Powell.
“ It was necessary, my boy. When you have
r to deal with tigers, dyou must become a tiger. I
“  they inten ed to kill you.”
‘ - ‘ That is what they said, and I have no doubt
\ .they meant it.”
 ‘ So it was our lives or theirs, and we came
4 out ahead, fortunately for us. If we had found
, on dead, I would have done just the same, as
- had no more hesitation about killing those
,u; (ventures thyi if they had been a nest of moc-
; casin snakes But I am afraid I would have got
:j more than I bargained for, if it had not been
for &ms” 1
r .7“ I noticed his work, and saw that he was the
right fellow in the right lace. What shall We
"2: vg’i’th the remnants? eed them to the alliga-
m _

 

“ I would not so insult the saurians. We

will shove this ra’ft to the shore, put a ile of

"dry bi'ushwood in here, and give the who e out-
fit to the flames.”

That was what was done, and when the sur-
 ‘Eyfng rtiy returned to their camp they walk-
' *by t e l ght of a big bonfire that was float-

log t upon the lagoon.

 CHAPTER x.
V 'l ‘ PLUCK'Y EVA TREMPER.

‘ (Anon'r a dozen miles from Gideon Scrooby’s
habitation was a house that was yet more
, at and old-fashioned than his, but not in

': -.,wu ood condition.
1“ ’w It’ had been a mansion in its time, and was
.,  entitled to be called a mansion but had be-
 "oomo so worn and dilapidated and thoroughly
font at elbows, that its former grandeur was

r merely a reproach to it.

 was leasantly situated on the crest of a

the rolling ground, and was surrounded

,  ertile fields, an its grounds had been more
t  aboautiful in the days of its pros )erity.

i:  .. They were still beautiful, but wit a wild,

'  "tropical and utterly;a unkempt luxuriance that

" ised to rélega them to their original un-

\_ ' condition, unless some person who was

‘ 'willing and able to care for them should take

.  compassion on them.

,t‘s , ,Tho musion was iow,but lar and room ,
if“  an abundance of doors an windows
in admit the,air, and with a broad veranda all
 around it, furnished with venetian blinds that
.'. '  beraised or loweredtosuit the convenience
er of'the inmates.

 

 

 

5,,  That is to say, they were intended to. be so
if  A ‘jised: but that portion of the establishment, like
‘ all the other Visible portions, was sadly rusty,
broken, and generally out of gear.
To a stranger approaching the mansion from
3‘ '~ gnfmnt the cause of this decay might have
 perceived in an old entleman who was
"31R , wl coming around the side of the house.
' Ooénel Tremper, old and gray before his

 

 

time, thOugh still possessing a decidedly military
air, shambled over the ground as if he was
afraid to trust his legs, and his general appear-
ance was as rusty and dilapidated as the worst
portions of his mansion or estate.

He had not always been thus; but the war
had upset him physically and mentally, impair-
inglhis manhood and destroying his usefulness.

e had fought gallantlv for the Lost Cause,
and his only son had been killed in following his
cxam 1e, and his wife had died when he was far
from ier.

At theclose of the contest he had come home
to find himself stri )ped of all his possessions but
his bare acres. Slavery was at an end, and
without his “ nig ers ” he saw no way of work-
ing or managing iis plantation.

So he gave it all up as a bad job, let every-
thing 0 at loose ends, and gave himself up to a
vice w ich, though not contrach in the army
had there been given its swing until it gained
complete control of him.

It was generally said by his acquaintances of
those days that Martin Tremper was never
known to draw a sober breath.

He still pretended to manage the plantation;
but the management was of a slipshod kind that
cost more than it produced, and of late years he
had been livin on the roceeds of a mortgage
given to a Wea thy Nor ern man who had pur-
chased large tracts of land in Florida.

His daughter Eva, who was just then on
the veranda, differed 'from him as a perfect
picture of youth and health and beauty must
differ from a dissipated and dilapidated old
man.

A child when he went away to the war,
she had become a Woman of twenty, glorious
in a queenly beauty about which men might well
rave, though there were few in that remote
re rion to rave about it.

he was seated on the veranda in an ancient
arm-chair, her head resting on one white hand
with which her black hair contrasted vividly,
and her dark eyes were turned toward the road,
down which she was gazing like Mariana in the
Moated Grange, as if coking for some one who
“ cometh no . ’

Colonel Tremper shambled toward the part
of the veranda where she was seated, announc-
ing his apéimach by some hoarse neises in his
throat, an there was a silly simper in his face
as he . ke to her.

“ We 1, Eva dear, Iyou are looking out, I see.
Watchin for him, eyf”

A sud en blush mantled her face, as if she
mi ht really have been watching for some-

y, but it passed away at once, and she an-
swered coldly:

“I don't now what you mean, sir. For
whom should I be waiting?"

“Why, for Morley Plym ton, of course. I
am expecting him to-day. idn’t I tell you?”

“ I am thankful to you for not having told
me that, as the day would then have been much
less leasant to me than it has been.”

“ ho that you don’t mean to say that
you won d dislike to see him."

“ You know it without my saying so. There
is no person whom I would more dislike to see.
He has been here too often, and I wish I might
never see him again."

“Now, Eva, please don’t sa, that. He just
dotes on you and that is what rings him here
so often. He is a rich man now, too. His
uncle is dead, and Morley is the heir to all the
Plym ton propert , here and elsewhere.”

“ l he owned t e whole earth.” bitterly an-
swered Eva, “I would hope to find some core
ner under the earth where he could never
come.” ‘ >

“ by, Eva, I hope you don't want me to
think you hate him, when he dotes on you so."

“ Mr. Plympton is an unpleasant subject to
me2 father, and I wish {you would drop it.”

‘ But I can’t drop him, my child. I am so
mixed u with him, and he has got such a hold
on me, t lat there’s no such thing as letting go.
His uncle had a mortga e on his plantation,
and I am told that it is ( he and that there i.
ever so much interest unpaid. Somehow I can’t
hot") the run of such t 'ngs.”

"i think you could, father, if you tried. I
bi'llt’VU that I could do something with the
place, if you would let me mana 9 it.”

“ As if a girl could do any hing. Nobody
could bring it out from under that mortgage.
Morley Plympton owns the mortga e now. and
he can so] us out if he wants to. l‘ at would
become of you, my child. when I am he?”

Eva shrugged her shoulders, as ii s e fancied
that she was not likely to be much worse off
than she then was. =

“ If the ilautation should be sold away from
us Eva, w at would you do?”

‘That does not worry me a bit, father. I
have no fear for my future. I would make my
we in the world."

‘ Dear me, dear me! Life seems so easy to
young people who have everything rovidcd for
them and no care on their m nds.

ow different
it is with the old! What do you so so would
become of your poor old father. val You

ought to have a little consideration for him.
You have a chance, Eva—a chance that any
other gift would jump arr-to save us from a

.\‘

 

that trouble. and to marry a rich man, a very
rich man. He dotes on you, and I don’tsee why
he should not make you a good husband, or why
you should not be fond of im.”

“ I would rather have a pet alligator. There
he comes, father, and I Will leave you to enjoy
his society.”

Colonel Tremper begged his daughter to re—
main, und she finally consented to do so.

Morley Plympton rode up to the house, in here
he received a warm welcome from the one and a
cool reception from the other.

After a few words with the visitor Colonel
Tremper madea lame excuse, and left the others
together, Eva offering no objection to this ar-
rangement, as she was a proud and high-spirited
girl, quite able to hold her own, and perhaps
the present was as good a time as any to “ have
it out” with her obnoxious suitor.

She did “have it out" with him, much to his
sorrow, and more to his indignation.

As she sus cted, Morley lympton had come
there to ma e her a formal offer of marriage
and he bungled the job badly, receiving no ai
from the lad , who persisted in misunderstand-
ing his motive, and ossessing himself none of

the e(gentlemanly instincts that might have en-
abl him to do the job neatly and smooth over
obstacles.

When he at last succeeded in declaring his

utter rejection—not contemptuous, but ladylike
cool and positive, leaving no chance for doubt
that the aker was sure of her own mind and
was not a raid to show it.

Perhaps Plym )tOIl would have preferred that
his rejection, if 8 must be rejected, should be
accompanied by indignation or some show of
emotion; but her cool and matterof-fact man-
ner simply assured him that she took no interest
in him whatever.

Holding in his temper as well as he could he
asked her reasons for rejecting him; but Eva
Tremper did not care to give them. i

She might have said that he was old enough
to be her ather; that there was nothing about
him to touch the heart of a woman; that he was
ugly to look at, and that his disposition was such
ms to make him both feared and despised; but
8%!8 referred not to go into those and other par-
t cu rs.

“Only that I do not wish to marry you, and
do not intend to,” she quietly answered. “That
is all, and under no circumstances would I say

anfiing else.”

orley Plym ton held a great advantage ovsr
her, or believe( that he he (i it, not only in his
pos1tion as a man of property, but in his power
over the Tremper estate.

He had supposed that Colonel Tremper would
have explained this important matter to the
young lady, and thus the way would he made
clear for him; but the “old fool," he fancied
had not done his duty in that respect, and h
left the explanation to him.

He had no delicate feelings or scruples of
honor about making it and putting it in such a
she that it Could not fail to be understood.

Thircfore he proceeded to do so, bluntly and
brutally, and concluded his statement of the
case by offerin himself as the-only refu e the
Trempers coul find between them an utter
pecuniary ruin. /

Even this did not stir the girl to indignation,
or move her from the cool and indifferent atti-
tude she had assumed at the beginning of the in-
“Elf” k 1'] dtoth

e s e am an e purpose.

“Nogowepknovl; just where we stand, Mr.
Plympton, and I may say for you that you are
not a bit meaner than I had supposed you to be.
Those matters of which you speak I had under-
stood pretty well before you mentiOned them—
at least, as well as my fathercould explain them
to me—and I can assure you that what you have
said does not incline me to make the least change
in the answer I have given you. So you maygo
and do your worst.”

“I don’t mean to make any threats, Miss
Trcm r.”

“I K’lieve I know what ycu mean. Ihave
read in novels of girls whose fathers have been
in difficulties—there was always a mortgage,
or a note, or something of the sort, that brought
on the difficulties—and those girls, to et their
foolish and selfish fathers out of troub 9. were
willing to sacrifice themselves and spoil their
entire lives by marrying men whom they hated
or des ised. For my rart,1 must say that I
pity t e stuff of which those young women
were made, and that there is no such material
in my composition. I am not willing to make
such a sacrifice of in self evon for my father.
If we must give up t is plantations-and really.
Mr. Plympton, it seems to be scarcely worth
saving—I feel sure that I can take (are of
myself, and that I can take care of my father,

1» ,

Morley Plympton boiled up and boiled over.

He had it in him to say something mean, and
said the meanest thing he could think of.

“ Of course you ave a lover, then, Miss
Tremper.” he remarked, with n rm-cr’.

Even this did not stir her to wrath, and she
answered him as calmly as wet:

“There is no of course about it, sir. You

 

purpose plainly, his proposal meta complete and.

... ha. ..LM-_.__..._._._.~., .. as....-._.

 

, ._-_ ..-m«-...._..__~.. . a”... _.-.I .

 

‘ But I first want to know what

--—..-~—.- «~’-~-_—v—~~-——.-—<——-.<»-—-. «A --~»-~-—~-...—» q-vn—T q— -~ 7 ‘

Salamander Sam.

“'11

 

._.. -___._..—_

 

may suppose so if you want to. I don’t care
what ou sup .’

“ I now who it is, too. It is that beggarly
surveyor, m servant, Rush Powell.”

Then Eva remper did flare u , and her style
of flarin up was an admission t t her antag-
onist hat spoken the truth; but perhaps she did
not care for that.

“Your servant?” she replied, fiercely, flash-
ing her dark eyes upon the mean face of her
foe. “ You know better than that, sir. What-
ever he ma be to me, Rush Powell is no man’s
servant. egives you the work of his hand
and his brain, and you give him your money.
That is a fair exchange, and I would be willing
to warrant that he has not the best of the bar-
gain. Your servant, indeed! You might be
proud to call ourself his servant.”

“That sett es it, Miss Tremper. I perceive
that I do know who the favored person is. I
shall dischar e him from my service, and he
will miss my ollars. You may tell your father
that in that other matter the law will have to
take its course. Good day.”

Morley Plympton mounted his horse hastily,
and rode away without another word.

Eva Tremper was glad to  him go: but the
encounter had taxed her strength, and she was
nearly ready to sink when her father shambled
to her again, with a look of woe on his flabby

face.

“ What made Mr. Plym ton hurry away i”
he hoarser demanded. “ I ope, Eva, that you
have not offended him.”

“ He asked me to marry him, and I refused to
do so.”

“ Mercy on us! We are mined!”

“ I think we are saved from a great calamity.”

CHAPTER XI.
RUSH POWELL STRIKES A LEAD.

MORLEY PLYMPTON rode away with his heart
full of hatred and mean resolves, and both his
hatred and his resolves Were intensified when
he had got out of the Tremper grounds and
was riding down the road out of sight of the
house. .

There he met Rush Powell and Sam Startle,
both mounted on the same horse and riding
slowly toward the Tremper residence.

The sight of his discovered rival and his
obnoxious young relative was ust then almost
enou hto paralyze him; but e was hard to
para yes, and nothing but the deepening frown
on his face betrayed his feelings.

He did not stop to discharge Rush Powell
from his service, or even to speak to him, but
rode by with still lips and a scowling face.

Sam Startle knew at once the man who had
called himself Mr. Morley, and gave him a
glance of recognition; but he was merely in-
cluded in the general scowl.

“ That is the man who hired dad to wreck the

, the brig,” said Sam, as soon as the Were out of

hearin of the discourteous r- .

“ I sguppose so,” answeregaggwell. “I have
had no doubt of that Since you described him to
me. He seemed to want to have nothing to do
with either of us. I wonder what he has been
u to at Colonel Tremper’s place, and that is
w t I want to find out.”

The young engineer hastened the pace of the
sluggish horse, and rode into the grounds of the

Tremper mansion, coming in sight of the house

before Eva had retired from the piazza.

' She saw him, and there came into her face
such a look of joy as drove away all traces of
her recent gloom and pain.

Rush Powell, with August Engeh and Boney
Priddle had before that time been guests, and
welcome guests at the Tremper mansion, and
since their first visit Powell had taken occasion
to call there frequently, with the result which
Morley Pl mptou had guessed at.

Colonel Tremper, quite broken down by the
and information he had received from his daugh—
ter, had retired to his own apartment to solace
himself with his bottle—if it had been good
news he would have celebrated it in the same.
way, and Eva was quite at liberty to receive
an welcome her friends.

“ Ritta!” she called loudly, and an old negro
woman came forth and instantly recognized the
engineer, and gave him uite as cordial a greet-
ing ashe received from t young’lad y.

' ’Fo’ God, Man-Ur Rush, ’se 9 her so glad to
see on. Dar ain’t none 0’ de boys about, an”
I’ll take car’ 0’ dis yer’ boss ef you‘ll let me.
Hurry up no Jv, honey. Miss Eva is waitin’ fur

”

W- .

Bush Powell needed no hurrying up for that
part of the business. _ '

He saw that Eva was waiting for him, and
haste ed to be welcomed b her and to make her
acqu nted with Sam Sta le.

‘ T is the b0 you spoke to me about,” said
she. “ I am gl to see him, and I hope that
yOu are pleased with him.” -

“ More than pleased with him,” answered
Rush. “He is good stuff, and has been proved.
We have had stirring times since I saw you
last Eva dear, and Sam has come out nobly."

“ ell me all about it."

“ You shall have the whole story in due time.
happened
here and to you. I met Morley Plympton as I

 

was coming up the road, and he just scowled
and me by without a word.”

“ ndeed! From what he said to me, I an
posed that he would have something to say

on as soon as he saw you."

“What did he say to you, Eva? What did he
come here for, and what made him carry away
such a black look?”

Eva Tremper briefly stated the object and re-
sult of Mor ey Plympton’s visit; but that was
not enough for Powell, who questioned her until
he drew out all the details of that unpleasant
interview.

He smiled when he had got hold of the entire
account.

“ And so Morley Plympton counts me as his
servant, and is goin te dischar e me from his
service,” said he. “ hat is a liéle queer, if not
funny. My partner and I were employed by
Gideon Scrooby, the agent of the Plympton

)roperty. W'e had nothing to do with Morley'
i’lympton, and it is nothing to us whether he
now owns the lands or does not. He can’t dis-
charge any of us, Eva, as we have already dis-
charged ourselws.”

“ How is that?” '

“ \Ve were to run a line between the Piymp-
ton land and the Tremper property, and he
wanted us, or Scrooby did, to run it unfairly, so
as to cut of! a big slice of your land. We re-
fused to take part in any such game as that, and
when old Scroob insisted on it, we threw up
our hands and tol him that he would have to
find other surveyors. As for us, we can easily
find other work when we want it.”

The day was near its close when Rush Powell
and Sam Startle reached the Tremper mansion,
and when this int in the mutual communica-
tions was reac ed, supper was ready, unfithey

' were invited in.

Colonel Tremper had solaced himself under his
afflictions to such an extent that he was not dis-
d to come to the table, and the young peo-

ple had it to themselves.

After supper; they returned to the veranda
where the young engineer enjoyed his usua
smoke and related to Eva Tremper the recent
adventure of the surveying party with the H -
leys, touching as lightly as he could the bloody
detai.s of the close of that drama, and praising
the luck and devotion of Sam Startie.

“ t was a terrible experience,” said Eva,
“ and it seems to me that no money should tem t
you to risk your lives in that region. I thin ,
too, that you have done well to refuse to have
anything more to do with Morley Plympton,
and I Wish that none of us might have anything
more to do with him."

Powell blew a vigorous cloud of smoke, and
pimceeded to express himself freely conce ing

orley Plym ton as being a rascal with hom
nobody but t e sherifl’ ought to have anything
to do.

“ But I suppose there is no doubt,” continued
the young man, “ that he has a strong hold up-
on your property here. and that’s where the
trouble comes in. Without intending any dis-
respect to Colonel Tremper, I must as that he
has needlessly involved the roperty ere, and
therefore be, if anybody, oug t to be the suffer-
er. I must sa , too, that if you could consent to
make a comn ete sacrifice of yourself for his
sake,”he would not be a bit better off than lie is
now.

“ He would get 4). master,” said Eva “and
one who Would encourage him to drink himself
to death, unless I am greatly mistaken, and
believe him to be capable of any meanness.
Nothing could happen that would be so had,
both for your father and yourself, as a surren—
der to that rascal. _But it would not surprise
me a bit, Eva dear, if a way should be found to
head him off.”

“ Indeed! Why, Rush, what- can you be
thinking of?”

" Look at that boy. Eva. Not much style
about him just now, I admit; but he’sa diamond
in the rough, Sam is, and he may be worth a
Emu deal to u5, before we are through with

im.”

“ I hope you are not joking with me, Rush;
but I cannot begin to 985 what you mean.”

“ Through that boy have something of a hold
on Morley Plymptou, through an unlawful
transaction of his with Sam’s father. It is true
that there is no le a1 proof of the crime, as
Sam’s father is now ead; but the publication of
the story as it stands would be likely to worry

he rascal considerably.”

“ I doubt it,” was Eva’s opinion. “ An a (real
to his conscience or his sense of shame woui) be
like inlg water on a duck‘s back.”

“ well, suppOSe it may be doubted if an -
thing short of the sight of the State Prison wou d
scare him; but we may get a stronger and bet-
ter hold on him. Sam, do you remember that
when I met you on Danger Point I said that I
thought I had card your name somewhere?”

“ Somethin’ t t way, I b’lieve, sir.”

“I was sure 1: I had heard the name, and

in connection Will! the Plympton family, too;
but I had only a vague idea of the matter at the
time. Since then I have thought it over, and
have written some letters for the purpow of
finding out whether my guess was correct. The
result is that I am almost sure that Sam Startle

 

here is a nearer relative of the late Benjamin
Piymg‘tion‘s than Morley Plym ton is."

“T t would be very g news,” declared
Eva, “if it should prove to be true.”

“ Of course the trouble is wit the proof. M
father was a lawyer in North ‘arolina, and
was brought up to believe that evidence is every
thing. Benjamin Plympton’s only daughter
married a ainst her father’s will a man named
Absalom tartle and that was the name of
Sam’s father. asn’t it, Sam?”

That was the name, and the lad was sureof it.

“ What was your mother’s name, ’

“ Same as dad’s, I reckon.”

“ Her first name. I mean.”

“Well, I can’t be so sure 0’ that. Dad used
to call her Old Fool and lots of other names;
but sometimes, when he felt kinder good-
natured. I think he called her Emma Dear.

“ I think we’ve got it about right,” observed
Powell. “ Emma was the name of Benjamin
Plympton’s only child and I have no longer any
doubt that Sam Startie is her son. As I under-
stand the matter, thou h I have not yet looked
into it at all carefully, orley Plvmpton takes his
uncle’s roperty not under a will, but as next of
kin in t e absence of a will. But he is only a
nephew, while Sam Startle is a grandson, and
Sam comes first in the law.”

“That is plain enough, I am sure.” said Eva.

“ Plain enough, if we can prove it; but there
may be a great deal of difficulty in proving the
marriage and that Sam is the eon of Absalom
and Emma Startle. I will tell you what we will
do, Sam.” 1

“ What is that, Mr. POWell?”

“ We will go to Danger Point and look through
I doubt if anybody has ‘ '

the old shanty there.
meddled with it.”

“ Don‘t see why anybody should wanter.” ‘

“ Unless it should be Morley Plympton. Any-
how, we will go there and rummage about. Per-
haps your fat er left some papers or letters or
Bictures that may throw lig t on the matter.

f course no papers were ever known to provea

rson's identity, except in lays. Did you ever

ear of an ing of the kin outside of plays?”

“ Well, dunno,” answered Sam, supmig
that the question was addressed to him. “

I was a little feller I went to school for a while,
and we used to play tag and marbles and hide-
and-seek; but—— ’

“ Oh, I was speaking of plays that are acted
on the stage, and of course you don’t know any-
thing about them. But papers and such things
are sometimes good circumstantial evidence, and
they may at least tell us where the real proofs
can be found. So we will go to Danger Point
tgmprrow, Sam, and wil rummage the old
5 an .’

Befgre Powell started the next mornin hewas
seen by Colonel Tremper, who was just en iua
vefly sour and gleem mood.

e had suspected t e young engineer’s inten-
tions toward his daughter, and, as ian' con-
firmed his suspicions, he wanted to say t he
stron ly objected to those intentions. and there-
fore esired Mr. Powell to discontinue his visit.

“ Very well, sir,” answered Rush. 5‘ When I
do come here agin, I believe that you will be
glad to see me.

 

CHAPTER XII.
sax STARTLE’S rmza. l
Roan POWELL and Sam made their way to

Dan r Point, both mounted on the horse that j '

had rought them to Colonel Tremper-’8.
Necessarily their progress was slow, and it was

night when they reached their destination—so

late, indeed, that they thought it would bebetter

 

to rest and postpone the rummaging “3m mm’ '1

in . -

The place looked as natural as ever, with no
change about it that they could perceive, but it
was terribly lonesome to Sam in the absence of
his father.

There was the grave of Absalom Startle, which
mound of 

those two had made, with the little

stones which they had placed to mark it, and it .. 1"

did not seem to have been disturbed, and 

ve—not that be A
had got too old for such wea ness, but because .

ably had not been.
Sam shed no tears at the

he was willing to admit that he did not mount f.

the fate of his father, who had never been a  '

or comfort to his young life.

Indeed, he was quite sure that he was in every "1
gang better off since his father’s death than he ,

been during his life.

It was not until they began their search in the. ,
but that they discovered evidences of mutant- 

side interference.

Sam went at once to the lockers which his v

father had used, and in which he expected to find

some old letters and other papers, but nothing“ . 

the kind was to be seen there.

The lad was quite certain that there hadbeen _ '

papers in at least one of the lockers, and
conclusion was that somebody had been them
before them and had taken them away.

To make sure of this
tered seaman‘s chest which had been his father's

special treasure-box, and which be had always

ke t locked.
had made no attempt to open this cheat

before he left Danger Point, respecting his ,

int, he {went to a bat~ ‘

 

  

112 (A

 

Salamander Sam.

 

 

father’s wishes even after his death; but he was
not deterred by any, such scruples now, .

, "He speedily perceived that somebody had been
iv less scrupulous than himself, as the look bad
~_ been forced, kn. the chest opened sily.

' Even then, as far as the lad was a is to judge,
‘ there was no 'inside evidence of disturbance or

interference, except that there was not a scrap
‘ ’~ of per left in the chest.

: in Startle was sure that his father had kept
 a bundle of letters in there, as he had seen him
occasionally take them out and read them, and
he had always supposed them to be his mother’s
r , letters.

i" , Above all things he was positive that a photo-
"' graph of his mother had been in the chest, as it
, ad sometimes been shown to him when he had

.F‘ ‘ r ' begged to he allowed to see it, and had then been
33 ' carefully returned to its place.

' But there was no photograph there then, nor
any bundle of letters. nor any papers of any

 

2 _kind from which the slightest information could
. \ leaned.
4": ‘ That settles it,” said Powell. “ Somebody
N, has been here since we went away, and has gone
- ,4 ’ through the establishment from end to end. He
 was no ordinary thief either, and did not come

i ' here for plunder, but or just what he got, and
that was the very papers that we have been
looking for.”

1‘“ r “ I reckon you’re right about that,” assented

y. the lad.

“ ' ' “ I have no doubt of it. and I have no doubt

_ that the person who did that job of rumma in
 , was Morley Plympton. Perhaps he came to 00
L ‘ for you, Sam, and it may have been a lucky

4? ~- thing for you that he did not find you here.
, ‘ An how, he has gone through the chest and the
 r \ loc ers thorough ', and has found and carried

‘ away everything 6 wanted. That roves that
he isyour mother’s cousin, as no 0 or person
could have an interest in getting hold of papers
that might be p you to (prove who you are.”

“ I e’ena’most wish I’ shot him when I had a.

chanca,” said Sam.

“It is a wonder that he did not shoot you or
make way with you somehow. Well, an), I
am now fully convinced that on are Benjamin
Plympton's grandson and his heir, and that

i Morley Plympton knows it; but the chance of
i ’ proving the fact seems to be further off than
 ', ever, and I am afraid that we will have a great

' deal of dimculty in gettin at the truth.” v

i, A “ Will we have to give i up, then?”

» ' ., “ We Will have to take hold of the hard end.
I will go to Coahoula and see Jud e VVilshirc,
who is a. good friend of mine, an will get his

‘. = advice. But there is nothing more for us to do
« hfire, and we had better be getting back to the

 s ore.” v ,

. They had step out of the but for this pur-

" ,‘ . pose, and Powe had begun to get the horse
ready, when Sam was seized by an idea.

Though it struck him suddenly, it did not take

hold upon him immediately. Indeed, he debated

it mentally a few moments before he was will-

. ingxb give it utterance. ‘

‘ course it had nothing to do with the busi-

, nessthat had brought them to Danger Point,

, ‘ and it was a secret of his own; but Rush Powdl
' had proved himself a good friend, true in action

5 and intention, and why should not that friend

,. share all his secrets?

‘ A DOuhtless it was such a train of reasoning that
' caused him to speak as he did speak.

. - “ Say, Mr. P0well, tliar’s somethin‘ else here.”

5* ‘- “Something of your father‘s?” inquired the
’ f; on 'neer.

’ ' Well, no. I reckon it’s as much niine as
an'yhod ’3. Dad, saw it, thou h, and he was
,fetchin it'ashore when he got is knock-down

. blow from the spar I told on about.~ He didn’t
. loo nothin’ more of it, t ough, and I hived it,

e ' Ind it's here at.”

r- . ' “What is is, Sam?”

“,Some so t of a box.” , n

, I .1‘Berha we may as well take a look at

it, augh We havs really no time to spare if we

 {mom to whanywhere near our friends before

  r d to th '1 r k
v ' 'n near epieo roc,
.  , L, ,  had the box which his father
. ' '  ‘ from the waves and he had buried
’ in ' ian'd. .
owell examined it with interest.
’ “ It looks,” said he, as if it ht be avalu-

i  a box or 0 that might ho valuables.
 "thhink‘, 'sam, his

 

 

t We‘ would be justified in

Salim get inside of it and see what it con-
, r ' “ at’s why I spoke to ca about it.”
 The box guts 100 8d, an. with a style of lock
' . . that could at be easily picked; but this did not
i ; ,bqth’er theinvestigators when they had decided
upon 0 ' ning it.
, ' , Bani“ rought out from the but some of his
is “magi ‘ms', and his friend set at Work to pry
a - I of! the lid 0 the box.
 Hesu , ed in getting it open without doing
i any particular damage to t 6 article, and it
C ved to he a writing desk, one of the old-
, . binned kind, with a green cover on the
1-; j i ting-slope.
“  r The inside arrangements were also locked,
. but these locks were easilyand uickly forced.
 “ ‘In til min apartment, hes des some letter

as, .

 

 

paper with env and other  utensils,
was found asm bundle of letters. . ' , '

Attached1 to the bundle waisagddricngegshopm-
posed of eavy paper, 0 , eg , on,
and indorsed in thehand of a law co ist. N

This document at once attracted t e attention
of Rush Powell, who fairly grabbed it, his eyes
almost starting from his head with eagerness
and amazement. ,

“Heavens and earth, Sam!” he exclaimed.
“ Here’s a find! \Vhy, this is 'ust wonderfull"

“ What’s the paper?” in uir Sam.

“ Your grandfather’s wi 1. Here it is as plain
as the eyes in your head— ‘ The Will of Benja-
min Plympton.’ Hold your horses, now, till
I take a squint at it. I only hope that he
gasp} left his property to that sneaking scoun-

re .

Sam almost held his breath asthe en 'neer
hurriedly unfolded the paper and glanc over
its contents.

As he read, he could hardly contain himself,
21nd lat last his astonishment and delight burst

ort .

“ Why, Sam, this is great! It is loriousl It
is immense! That property’ is a] yours, and
you are as rich as swamp mud. You are not
only the heir at law, but the heir by the will.
Yo or; grandfather has given you everything he
liad.’ .

Sam Startle thrust his hands into his pockets,
spread out his legs, and opened his eyes to their
fullest extent; but he cou d not do justice to the
sublcct. ‘ '

“ J ewhillikensl” he exclaimed. “ Why that’s
jest old pie! I don’t take it in yet; but I reckon
it’s a big thing.”

“ It’ the biggest kind of a thing, my boy, and
one 0
{that it knocks Morley Plympton higher than a

ite.’

“ I hope thar ain’t no mistake about that.”

“ I don’t see how there can, be any mistake
about it, Sam. The whole business is plain to
me now. That rascal must have known that
this will was. aboard the vessel that was wrecked
of! here, and he laid his plans to make an end of
the craft and all on board just for the sake
of destroying that paper. It is stran e that the
brig, or whateVer it was, should ve been
of! the coast here just when that'storm came
along; but it seems that the devil helps his
0WD '

“ Sometimes the Lord takes a hand in the
game, though,” suggested Sam. ,

“ That is what he period in this case. Morley
Plympton supposed hat the will had been de-
stroyed, that you would never get an knowledge
of your rights, and that he would ave a sur
thing on coming in for the property as the nex
of kin. But that box came ashore, though your
father lost his life in trying to save it, and now
we’ve got it and the box.”

“ What’ll we do with ’emi” inquired Sam.

“ We will mount this horse and ride to where
we can get a team, and then we will so to Coa-
houla and put the will in charge of udge Wil—
shire and tell him the whole story.”

CHAPTER XIII.
SPOILING A SCHEMER.

Ross POWELL replaced the will where he had
found it, secured the precious box with cords,
and mounted the horse with Sam Startle behind
him.

Of course their pro ass was slow when they
were ridin double wi h the added weight of the
box, and t e could not hope to reach before
night any p ace where they could get a team,
unless they should possibly find one at Cator’s
tavern, a rude hostelry in the woods which drew
a scanty custom from hunters and ‘gator men
and rough characters generally.

As it was dark w on they reached Cator’s
they decided that they had better stop there and
get some supppr and pass the night.

The place ad a bad enough reputation; but
there was nothing in their aggearance to invite
robbery, unless t a box sho pl‘OVe an attrac-
tionto predator characters, and they believed,
“8 the were b0 armed, that they were pretty
.well a le to take care of themselves.

,Fortunate they found nobody at the house
but Andy . tor and his wife—the ‘, ormer a
rough Wmmela, Who was always soa ed With
his own whisky, and the latter a frowsy, wild-
6 ed woman who locked as if she ,had a hard
time in the world and never, expected anything
e 66. v. I, . . r

The sheenoe of other guests was pleasing to
Rush Powell and his young corn nion, as it
was likely that they would have a feaiid quiet
night of it. :

After attending to their horse they were pro-
vided with such a supper as the; plaice, could fur-
nish, and they made a ' heagty mm , though the
venison was fried. and the, corn gers were
nearly as hard as brickbatsr , -,

Powell kept the mahogany box near him,
never getting out of sight of it, and Sam,Startle
also watched it closely. * ’1

Though they tried to make their caijefulness
in this matter as unobtrusive as pose; the
box naturallggttracted the adopt-far: of ‘ r
andbis wife, th of whom eyed it rib 

“ W’ot you got in that

 

.-I

e prettiest points about it is the fact ~

 

bot?” demanded Gator

when he was no longer-able to.  his curl-'-

oflpAn electric batter ” answered Powell.
“ ’Lectric batt’ry? ’ot’s that?” 1
Powell explained as simply as he could the
nature of electricity, and described an electric
shock by comparing it with astroke of light~

nin .

“%uthin’ like bottled lightnin’ you’ve got shut
up in thar, then?”

“ That is it exactly.”

“ Costly sort 0’ stuff, hey?” ,

“Oh, no, not what you might call oostl ; but
I have to be very careful of it, because it Clan--
gerous.”

“ Hope the darned stufl’ won’t go fur to blow
us all up to—night."

“ No danger of that, while I watch it, and no-
body but me touches it.”

“And how is Samm gittin’ on these days?”
inquired the landlord, w 0 was well acquainted
with Absalom Startle’s boy, having seen him at
Danger Point and when he was sent to the-
tavern by his father for whisky.

“ He is in the surveying business with me,”
answered Powell, “ and is getting on nicely.”

“ Sh’d say that on don’t starve him, 'edgin’
by his looks. Well, reckon he‘s better 0 sence
his daddy ship ' his moorin’s, thou h I must
say that they 3 wuss folks in this world than
Ab. Startle was.”

When the guests were ready to retire, and
they were ready soon after supper, they were
not ushered by an oilicious waiter and by way
of an elevator to number 999 on the tenth floor
of the hotel, but were pointed to their dormi-
tory on the second floor, which was reached by
a crazy and creaking flight of steps.

The Hotel Gator, in fact, was com of
one story and an attic, the two guest chambers
being in the attic, and the lower floor was occu-
pied _by the bar-room, the kitchen, and the
sleeping apartment of the proprietorkand 

wife. . ,  . ‘
Rush Powell and Sam Startle had no‘ lamp or
candle to go to bed by, such a luxury being
quite beyond the comprehension of Andy Cator.
“ An durned fool,” he has wont to say,
“w’ot ain’t got sense enough to git into ,bed
without, a light, hain’t got no call to go to sleep,
nohow. ' .
.As the bed did not need much, geiatting into,
being' of a very primitive construe on, and re-
quiring no sort of skill to make itup, the land-
lord was more than half right in his opinion.
The two travelers did not care. for a .llgbt, as
they only wanted to get out of Sight With their
treasure and keep quiet until morning. _ '
There was a moon, that luminarybcing then
in its second uarter; but the moonlight was fit,
ful and unce in, breaking infrequent] and for
brief intervals throu h heavy masses 0 clouds,
Sam Startle squat d at the little window of
the garret—like apartment, which was in the
gable end of the building, not far from the front
oor

He had been there but a little while when his
quick cars caught the sound of a low whistle
near b , and shortly afterward he uttered a sup-
presse exclamation that attracted the attention
of his companion.

Powell n as about to leave the box and go to
see what was the matter; but a warning gesture
from Sam admonished him to remain where he
was and keep uiet. ‘

Directly the ad stole silently back to when
his frien was seated, and whis red to him. '

“1 saw on thar the man w o paid dad for
wreckin’ the rig.”

“Morle Plympton?”

“Just t at same sneakin’ cuss.”

“ Are you sure it was be?”

“As sart‘in as I am that you’re you. Andy

Cator gave a whistle, and that man came out of
the timber; and I saw him plain enough in the
moonlight. After a bit he crossed the road and
came into the house here.”

“ What does that mean, do you suppose?”

“ Some devilment, it’s safe to bet. I’m goin’
to find out.”

“ How will you do it?”

“ 8513a]: down below and listen to what they’re,

The lad slipped off his shoes, left \the room and
disappeared in the darkness. ,

Rush Powell took off his boots and imitated
Sam’s example, but followw him no further than r
the head of the stairs, where he stood with a
cocked revolver, ready to go to the boy’s rescue
in case he should be discovered.

But Sam was too sharp to be caught at his

sp ing. I

He stole down the creaking stairway as 311133:
ly as a cat might have done, and stationed
self in thepassa e down there at _thc’ba - oom
door, where a , ight from within shone out
through a crack.

Sounds came out to him also, and this is what
he heard as he listened: .

“They are both here. then?” was said by the
voice which he remembered so well as that of
“ Mr. Morley.”

“ Thoy’s here all right,” answered Cater. “Ab.
Startle's boy and the ingineer. They’s gone up-
sta’rs to bed.”

“ Have they gone to sleep yeti"

I Q

(I

 

z"

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

Salamander Sam.

13

 

 

as soon as the job is done.”

you promise. I reckon you’ll keep your word,
'too ”

sip-stairs, and that everything is riv t for us to

“ ct they hain’t. Leastways, I heer’d ’em 1

I durn 'em! that I reckon
they’ll be sleepin ‘
sound.” ,

“That will suit me, if I can be sure that.
they are.,aslee . You {know what I mean,
Andy Cator. want to wipe out that Startle

b0 .,' .
XH-m-m, yaas; I'reckon I understand that.
Whar do I come in l” ,
“ You shall have five hundred dollars in cash ‘

i

“That’s a sight of money. Hope you don’t
want me to settle the kid, though.”

“ No, I will do the rough work. \Vhat I pay
on for is giving me the chance I want and :
eeping quiet about it afterward.”

“ How about the in ineer?” I

“Confound him! wish he was in Tophet. ;
He is in my way at every step I take, and I hate
him.”

“ Ef he cuts up rusty,” suggested Cater,
“he’ll hev to be hornswoggled."

“ That’s so, and I think I can get away with 1
both of them if I Must; but perhaps I had better
have your help.”

“That’ll come higher.

7!

More work, more

“I will pay you well, Andy Cator. I will
double the sum I offered you, if the job is thor~
ou hly done.”

‘ I’ve heern tell that you’re a rich man now,
Mr. Plympton, and you ortcr be good fur w‘ot l

“ Of course I will kee my word.”

“Ef you didn’t, I’d now how to make you
sufler. It’s settled, then. W’ot do you want me i
to do fu’st?”

“I want you to be sure that the are asleep :

make the break. I suppose you will have to go
up there and listen.”

“ I know a better trick than that. Wait a bit,
and arter a. while I’ll send up the old woman.
She’s as quiet as a cat.”

Sam Startle had heard enough to satisfy him .
for one ni ht. '

He crop up the creaky stairs. slip into the
sleeping-room, and told Rush Powe in a few
words of the] plot to murder one or both of
them.

The engineer was not at all excited by this in-
telligence; in fact he had been expectin some-
thing of the kin , and he had alr y con-
m’dered the situation and decided what should be

done.

“ We mi ht fl ht them off,” said be. “Since
we know t eir p ans, We would have a big ad-
vantage over them, and it is likely that we could
_ t the best of them. But there is more or

ess ,i‘isk in that, and the easiest way is the
t

“ What is the easiest way?” inquired Sam.

“ Just to slide out and disappoint them. Pick
up our shoes and my boots, and follow me. I
wi carry the box.”

The engineer led the way into the narrow
passage at the head of the stairs.

Though the ssage was quite dark there was
an open win ow at the rear end, closed b a
shutter in bad weather and under the windbw
was the shed that served as a kitchen.

Powell let Sam down by the arms upon the
roof of the shed, handing him the footgear and
the box, and then let himself down.

 

!

In the same way be lowered the boy to the ; himsel

round and followed him, the entire proceeding i
being conducted so quietly that one would not ,'
even haw fancied a cat upon the roof.

When they Were safe on the ground
on their shoes and boots and hastened ttl
shed where their horse was tethered. _ I

In a few minutes the horse was bridled and I
saddled, and Powell led him carefully until they
were well out of sight and hearing of the .
house.

Then they mounted and rode away as rapidly ‘
.as they could urge the animal to carry them,

It was only for a little while that they kept to ,
the road, turning off into the Woods, where they '
found a dry SP0t and lay down to sleep in the a
Open air. '

“This is a durned Sight better than any bed ‘
that And Cator’s got, anb'hOW.” cheerfully re-
marked am, and his comrade was of the opinion
that it was also much safer.

In the morning they struck into the road and
kept on until theylrcached a plantation where
thay got their breakfast. _

hey also secured a wagon and driver to take
them to Coahoula, and in due course of time
reached that little town, where they lost no time
in waiting on Judge Wilshire and engaging his
Services.

Rush Powsll told the story of Sam Startle as
far as he knew it. and that was sufficient for the
' resent inquiry, bringing the narrative. down to

e murderous plot from which they had so nar-
rowly escaped at Cator’s tavern.

He then 0 ned the box and produced the i
will. which udge Wilshire read through carz- ;
:full .

“yYou could not ask for anything better than '
this,” aid the lawyer. “ It settles the question

they put l
the 

 

stirrin’ around hp that a' bit‘ago. But they I
eat so. much supper, . ‘
tol’ahle sudden and mighty  Start e, my

' That is plain enough, and it proves that the

‘, box.”

:One of the witnesses of the will must be3

' thorou hly before he lighted a cigar and settled

l him adrift in the swamps.”

of identity without putting us to any trouble '

to prove that, your young friend is the heir.
The roperty is left descriptively to ‘ Samuel
andchild, son of Absalom and .
Emma Start e, who _is now, or was lately, ‘

living at Danger Point en the coast of Florida.’

old man must have kept the run of the young-
ster. Now let us see what else there is in this
box which has so fortunately come into your .

‘ possession.”

The bundle of letters that has been spoken of 
preved on examination to have been written at
various intervals of time by Benjamin Plympton
to Thomas Crcsswell. ,

“That is the man,” observed the lawyer,
“ who was one of the witnesses of the will and
is named as executor. Iwill read the letters ,
when I have time, and they will doubtless ‘
throw more light on the business. I presume
that the will was in the care of Mr. Ores»,
Well, and that he was lost on the wrecked
brig. Now we will see what else there is in the :

There were four compartments or drawers ,
that were 0 )ened, and three of them were found ,
to be stuffe full of valuable jewels wrapped ID. a
cotton, whose beauty and brilliance made the I
behpldcrs stare when they were displayed. i

“I don’t pretend to know muc about the
worth of these articles,” said the lawyer; “ but
Mr. Plympton mu$t have been a very wealthy
man i he could afford to wear such sparklers. ‘
The case is as clear as daylight, Mr. Powell. =

dead, and the other is probably in Cuba and
will have to be got hold of. That will cost
something."

“ There is the jewelry to go on for expenses,"
sag ested the engineer.

‘ 0 cannot touch that until the question of
ownership is settled. We must make a list
of them,‘ seal them up, and put them in safe

kee ing.
‘ I’ve ot five hundred dollars ” observed
Sam. “ t’s the money that Mr. orley gave

dad for wreckin’ the brig, and I reckon that
ain’t nothin’ to hinder me from chippin’ that
in

“Of course that is yours, and you can
do as you - lease with it,” assented Powell.
“Woul n’t orley Plympton be tearing mad,
though, if he could know that he had fur-
liiishgd you with funds to fight him and upset

1m

 

CHAPTER XIV.
PLo'r'riNG AGAINST A Lin. /
AGAIN. Gideon Scrooby was seated in his
broad, hide-bottomed arm—chair on the veranda
of his old but well-kept house, lacidly smoking
his inevxtable pipe, and again orley Plym ton
rode up, hitched his horse, and approach his
a cut and adviser.
is face aver pleasant to look upon, was
darker and so rer than ever, and his air and
manner were unusually morose and surly.
“Where have you come from this cool day,
and what's been stirring up the bile in you now,
Mr. Plym ton?” calmly inquired the Scotchman,
but with he suspicion of a sneer on his sardonic
featur s.
“G1 0 me something to drink, Gid. I’m too
dry to talk.”
iquid refreshments were quickly brought
out, and Plympton “ wet his whistle ” pretty

“ I am tired out,” he said, “and just new I
feel mean enough to cut my throat, or some
other man’s throat.”

“ Don’t begin with mine, please. I doubt if I
could enioy my smoke with my throat slit. If
you thin that on can afford to cut your
throat or that t are is no better use to which
you +11 put yourself, please ste off on

he gr as to do the bloody work. but is the
matter with you, anyhow? Where have you
come from ?”

“ From Colonel Tremper’s, last. I went there
to give the old seed a fair and square notice that
unless his daughter becomes my wife retty
soon, I will foreclose that mortgage an turn

“ I suppose you nearly scared the life out of
the old warrior, too. It will be a Wonder if you
don’t drive him to drink before long.” .

“ Drive him to drink," muttered the obtuse
Morlrey Plympton. “ Don’t be drink enough
now

“ Not enough to suit him, I am afraid. Per-
haps he could hold a little more if he should try,
and if he was alwa s sure of having it handy.
Well, Morley. you ave a right to foreclose the
mortgage if vou Want to. It is not due yet. but
there is a pile of unpaid interest. How did the
old warrior take your talk this time?“

“ He told me what I already knew. that he
had tried to persuade the girl into it, but she
was obstinate, and didn’t seem to care what he- 1
came of the plantation or any of them. I told ,
him that he would have to do a good deal 1
stronger persuading if he wanted to keep a roof

 

1 over his head; but it seemed to me. Gid, that he i

took on a more indepcndent tone than I ever be-
fore knew him to use.”

The 800th took his pipe from his mouth,
and leaned forward. his coarse features sudden-
ly lighted up by an expression of intense in-
terest.

“ How was that?” he demanded. “ What was
the st le of his independence?”

“ ell, he talked about being unwilling to
force the inclinations of his only child, and raid
that he should never forgive himself if he should
make her unhappv.” .

“That was cool, considering.”

“ I told him that it was rather frosty, under
the circumstances, and that it wasn‘t a uestion
of inclination, but a question of one . ‘ Do
you owe me that money,’ said I. ‘ or don’t you?

“ ‘I suppose I owe it to you,’ said he, ‘or to
somebody else.” ”

“ He said that, did be? He must have heard
the news then. and that accounts for his inde-
pcndcnee.”

“ Wth news. what are you talking about?"

‘ angrily demanded Plvnipton.

“ Well, Morley, I think you must have heard

2 it: but perhaps you donTt take notice of trifles

like that? It can’t be called news, either, as it
is only a rumor.”
“What sort of a rumor? Do you want to

I worry the life out of me?”

“Only a rumor that Absalom Startle’s son,
the ho whose life you spared, has been taken up
by JIM ge VVilshire, of Coahoula, who is going to
bring suit to put him in possession of the Plymp—
ton roperty as the heir.”

“ had not heai d it, but had expected to hear
something of the kind before long. It is all the
doing of that cursed surveyor, young Powell.
He is in my way at every step I take. But I am
not a bit afraid of that thing, Gid, whether it is
mere rumor or a solid fact. They can never
prove that the boy is Benjamin Plympton’s
grandson, or has any rights in the roper .”

“ I hope they can’t; but it would muc bet.-

ter for on if they had never got a chance to )

tr . -, bat an opening you missed, Morley
P ympfpn! How you threw away you oppor-
tunity!

“ I don’t wan’t you to preach to me.”

“ ucer preaching, this is. I am only giving
you cts. You thought it was a fine scheme
when on hired Absalom Startle to work out his
own estruction and his son’s, and it did w%

I

finely. especially when Satan cameto your b
and the man was killed by the very wreck,
had helped to cause. You thought Zgur Way
was clear then, and that there would nobody
to bother you; but you failed to take care of the
{host important pomt cf all. You let the boy
ive. ‘

“ This not the first time you have thrown that
up to me, Scrooby. I know that I made a mis-
take then.” ‘

“ When a man commits an error,heshould
try to repair it before it is too late.”

‘ I have been trying, but fate seems to have
been against me so far. Directly after you
first mentioned that matter to me I went to
Danger Point to look for the young snake; but
he had slid away.” ; .,

“ Gone to join your surveyors” . j”

,“I. learned that afterward. As I failed to
find the boy, I went through his father'f
shanty and hunted up a brought awn eve '
scrap .of paper that ha anythm to 0 will
him or his people, including a p otog‘ra 1i ,
his mother. I made a clean Sweep o the .
part of the business anyhow.” ‘

“ You did well, - orley. The next best thing,
in law, to getting rid of the laintifl' is the de-
struction of his evidence. gut the plaintiff
still lives.” ‘ V

“ When I learned that he was with those sur—
veyors, I tOok measures to have him wiped out,
mild employed Abe Hyle y and his crew to do the

o 1, ’

"‘How did you happen to come across them?”
inquired the Scotchman as a queer lookcame

into his face.
“There was no happen about it. I hunted
them up. I had know them before.” '
“Seems to me that I heard something of
your being mixed up with those creatures in

the days when you were gypsying about. But,

it was a risky scheme, and it don t seem to have
worked. How was that?” 1'

“ That is what beats me and breaks me all up. '

The Hyley gang came to the strangest end, and
I can't account for it or begin to understand it,
unless they all got drunk together and “set fire to
themselves.” ‘

u f’
"‘ All cren atrd. As I saw that the surve /
were alive and kicking, and as I heard not ing
from the Hyleys, I went out there to hunt them
again. I found their ark. or the remains of it,

the shanty burned off, and the logs strand

near the water’s edge.
wreck and discovered some charred bones and a
mess of nasty stuff that I supposed to be what

was left of their bodies. But there were no nore V

Hy],.ys_n .
“ I wish they had struck that surveyin
before thev started the conflagration. 
still lives.”
Morley Plympton sighed deeply and helped
himself liberally to the liquor.
.

\
s

“ Po you mean to say that they were burned ~

1 went aboard of ti: _, .

 
    

 

 

 

s,
,_

.l

v

ii

 mt box was Benjamin Plympton’s will, which

   
 

I

e  , fio wind of the scheme some ow, though I can‘t

- And the boy‘ still lives.”
' sent Mor ey Plympton again to the bottle for

3 e313, which of course inc ude my owri at res-

' his
describes and identifies Absalom Startle’s son as

It] I!
,2”. filing on board of’her went to the bottom with
‘ wreck ”

' . had lost his life in trying to rescue it from the ‘
fl

. .l'

 than and there, the whole business would have

‘ .hemurm

{They had gone upstairs to bed. and we waited

‘fliot, and for a few minutes he shook as it with

\‘:‘ e eternal tornadoes!”

 

i4

Salamander Sam.

 

 

“ Not lon ago, Gid,” said he, “I had another
chance at t e nuisance—at him and the young
surveyor- but it missed. I knew that they had

one to ' anger Point, and I was watching for

em on their return.”

“ Like an angel,” suggested the Scotchman.

"None of your snecrs, Scroob , I was doing
the best I could, for you as wel as for myself.
I saw them go in 0 Andy Cator’s lace, and I
had already struck a deal with im for set-
tling their cases if they should put up there. So
he let me know when they were out of the way,
and I went over and fixed the matter up with
him quietly.”

“There does seem to besome advantage in
mixing With that sort of people; but it is risky.”
- “‘It has tobe done in such a case as this.

until we sup d that they Were asleep, ,and
then Andy sent his wife u to make sure. She
came back with the news t at there was nobody
there—that they had skipped.”

“ Without taking the trouble to call on the
landlord and pay their bill—the rascals!”

“ They had slipped out silently and secretly,
and their horse was gone, and of course they
had decampcd, and there was no use in trying io
hunt them at night. I sup so they must have

ine how that can have happened.”
“That makes the matter worse, Morley. It
is bad enough that the scheme failed; but if the
enemy.discovered it, that is very bad indeed.
The re tition of this saddcning statement
consolation.

“Fate has been a ainst me so far,” said he;
“but my luck will ta 6 a. turn. It usually runs
in streaks, and there are plenty of schemes and
chances left. In the mean time I will defy Judge
Wilshire or anybody else to prove that the young
snake is what they claim him to be.”

The Scotchman screwed up his face until its
hard and pinched look suddenly added ten years
to his a parent age, and he again leaned for-
ward an spoke impressively. _

“Don’t you be too cock-sure of that, lMorley
Ilympton. There may be more in this business
than on would eVer guess at.”

‘° hat do on mean by that?"

“ I have neg been idle, my friend and partner.
I have been looking sharply after your inter-

ent. Assoon as I heard of those rumors set
at work to learn something definite, and have
ying myself as well as using a spy.”

“ t have you learned?”

“ I. have penetrated into the enemy’s camp
and t hold of the heart of the secret. It is
some in surprising—in fact, it is astounding.”

“Tell ,l't, then, and don't make so much talk

t it.
“ Judge Wilshire claims that he will have no
multy in proving his case, because he has in
possession Benjamin Plympton’s will. which

the heir.”
Morley Plympton jumped up as if he had been

 

III a e chill. ,
“ 9 will?" he excl‘med when the spasm had ,

uhlided. “ That is impossible. I am sure that ;

the will was on the Jeannette in charge of Cap- I

kill Tom Gresswell.”

' “ There is no doubt of that, I resume.”
“And the brig Was lost, am he and every-

“Not quite everything, my friend and part

nor. That is where the astonislier comes in.
box came ashore at Danger Point, and that l
was saved by Sam Startle, after his father l

"V

, ‘Try again. I don’t think on can invent
any language strong enough to t the case. In

i [now secure in the possession of Judge Wil-
”

Morley Plympton was again obliged to resort
to the bottle to steady his nerws.

“ That sort of thing is beyond all calculation,”
ed feebl .
V “ Yes. i is astonishin how Satan sometimes

‘ tract in question, so that the

 

back on his best f ends.”
“ When the engineer and the boy rode up to ,
Cator’s I noticed that they had a box on the l

' horse, and Andy said that he asked about the I

l , able to put him in possesston of the property un-

‘ I in the World left for you to do."
' 9‘  hat is thati”

 

box, and Powell told him that it was an electric ‘
battery.” .

“One that is calculated to give you a very
heavy shock, I should say.” .

“ if I had known what it was I would have
hesitated at nothing. If i could have got them

been settled forever.”
“But it was not' settled, and the
lives.”

9’ [b you believe, Scrooby, that they will be

bdy still

der that will?”
' “ If he lives, yes, and there is only one thing

 

I

“You know what it is. The very thing you
ought to have done when you were alone with
him on the sand at Danger Point. Even if he

should be put in possession of the property, and ‘

you should be turned adrift in the swamps
as you threatened to turn Colonel Tremper
adrift, you would be his heir in case of his
death.
would be the heir; now it would be Morley ‘
Plym ton.” I

“ T len there is nothing but his death that I l
have to depend on."

“Positively nothing.” .

“That business must be attended to, then ‘
and there is no time to be lost about it, and I I
must manage it so as to make it a sure and l
safe thing I am fully waked up to the im- !
portance of the matter now, and there shall be i
no half-way measures."

“ What do you propose to do?” inquired the
Scotchman.

“ I mean to see some of the swampers and put ,
them on the trail of the young snake. There ,
are others besides the Hyleys, and I know some i
who can be depended on." |

“ You had better becareful, Morley, how on 7
venture among those untamed creatures. t is 2
dan erous, I tell on.”

“ i 0t to me. know them and their ways, 1
and the know me well. I have been with them i
a good on]. oil’, and on." i

‘ When there was nothing for them to gain i
by hornswoggling you, as they call it. They i
may have since learned that you are a rich man
and their lawful game. That was all very well
while you hadn’t a dollar; but it is too risky ,
now that you are a man of money.” |

“ If 1 don’t run some such risks, Gid. I may 
soon find myself without a dollar again.”

“The pitcher that oes often to the well is 5
broken at last. You lad better let me take a
hand ill the game, and try a little plan of my
own."

“ What sort of a plan?” ,

“Judge Wilshire, who is the agent for some .
Northern men who have bought an extensive
tract of swamp and other land, has given that
surveying party a job to go over the tract and
report upon it, and of course young Startle will
go with them. I shall learn when they are to
start and the route they are to take, and will
then know where and how to strike them.”

“ Go ahead, Gid. I only hope that your luck
will be better than mine has been.”

“ Your luck has been Wonderfully good; but
you let our best chance slip." ‘

“ Don t give me any more of that, please."

CHAPTER XV.
INTO THE WILDERNESS.

Tm: statements made by Gideon Scrooby to ,
Morley Pl mpton were quite accurate.

The era ty Scotchman, alwu vs wide awake to
his own interests, had been spying and employ-
ing a spy, and had picked up various important
points, t e knowledge of which would be useful

. to himself and to the employer, whom be con-

sidered as a rtncr.

Judge Wi shire, as Scrooby said, had arranged
for Rush Powell and his party an expedition
wp'ich promised to be both extensive and inter-
es mg.

It was not so much for the (purpose of surve -
ing—though the work coul be done roper y
only 1) experienced surveyors—as for he pur-
pose o in pection and examination of the lar e
urchaser mig t
know exactly where and how it lay. might am i
dcrstand, its capacities and needs. and so might ;
judge what they had better do with it. |

The agent, w 0 was well acquainted with the '
skill and thoroughness of Bush Powell and his ,

rtner, was glad to get hold of them when they 1

ad severed their Connection with Gideon l
Scrooby and his emplo er, and had t onco_
pounced upon them an enaged themotor this |
service.

There wasa great attraction in this expedi- ‘
tion to the entire l‘arty, not on] because. they ‘
were to explore a. wild and an own region ‘
but because they were to enjoy the novelty an
comparative luxury of steam transportion

It was true that their steamer was to be
neither a large nor pretentious {affair, being:
merely a small steam launch that had been I
fitted up for them; but they were to mane e and
control it, and would be quite free an inde
pendent.

No more toilsonie and tedious tramps through
forests and swamps with one horse to carry;
their provisions and instruments, but a boat.
with a teakettle boiler. a bab engine and a }
saucy little/screw, which won (1 convey them
and their belongings u the little rivers and

 

over the quiet lagoons w th but little expendi- ,

ture of muscle be end that required for cutting 
the wood for the res.

Naturally Sam Startle fell deeply in love with |
this style of an ex lition, and was crazy to ;
accompany his frien s. ’

Rush Powell had some misgiyingi at al
lowing him to do so, feeling tnat his 9 istence
Was so important in his present pou’tion that ho:
ought to run no risks, but but bettel stay when -
have. aafox at least until ht. aflairs were set ‘

l

 

If his father had lived, Absalom Startle ;

3 Mr. Morley

3 hi artil

, Sam treated all such arguments and obliga-
j tions with utter disdain.

He was not yet a. wealthy pro rietor. and
some time must elapse before his rig ts could be
legally secured.

In the mean while he must do something to
j employ his time and earn a living, and he could
not bear to be separated from the surveyors,
and one place was as safe as another, and he
was sure that he could nowhere be safer than
with the friends whom he had tried and proved.

The 11 shot of the business was, as nothin
else won d satisf the lad, that he was allow
to make one of t is party, and nobody doubted
that he would be a very useful member.

Rush Powell decided that before the expedi-
tion took a final leave of ciVilized uarters, he
and Sam Startle Would visit Colonél Tremper's
place, as he wanted to say farewell to Eva, and
also had a little matter of business to attend to

i there.

The launch in the mean time to be navigated
by August Engel and Bone Priddlc, and they
would cross the country an meet it at a point
a reed upon.

hen the engineer and his comrade reached
the old Trem r mansion they were joyfully
welcomed by va. but were more than coldly
received by her father.

“ I thought I had told you, Mr. Powell,” said
the old gentleman, “that I did not dtsire your
presence at this house.”

“ I remember that very well, Colonel Trem-
per,” answered Rush. “I also remember that
on the same occasion I told you that when I
should come here again you would be glad to see
me.” ambere now, and you are glad to see
me.

. “nYou have no right to make that statement,
snr.

“But you willbe glad when on know the
errand that brought me here. t is purely a
business affair, and entirely for your benefit.
Please to glance over this paper.”

The paper which the young en ineer pro-
duced was a le a1 notification to Co one} Trem-
per. directing im not to pay the principal of a
certain mortga e, or any of the interest thereon,
toMr. Morley lympton, wrongfully claiming
to be the owner of the same.

“ I can’t say that I understand this,” said the
old gentleman. “ I am quite willing to be or-
dered or conipelled not to ly any money to

lympton, or, or that matter, to

any other man; but I would like to know

I what is at the bottom of this.”

“Simply the fact that Morley Plympton has
nothing to do with the mortga e mentioned
in that pacer, as he is not the egal heir of
Benjamin Plymuton.”

“ had heard some hint or rumor to that
effect, but did' not know how far it was to be
relied on. Who. then, is the hlir?”

" This young gentleman,” answered Rush as
he pointed out Sam Start’ie. “He is the
grandson of Benjamin Plympton, who left a
will in his faVor. His rights are not yet es-
tablished. but are sure to be, as soon as the
formalities of the law will allow."

“1 am very glad to hear it—very glad in-
deed. .Yes, Mr. Powell, ycu are welcome: most
welcome. By the way, ifl comply
with t is notification, and I certainly shall do

so, will I be sustained in my refusal to pay any '

mone to Morley Plym ton?”

“ on have ndge ilshire‘s word for that,
and he will see that you are safe. If anybody
should try to make trouble, just Stud word to
him. and e will stand by on.”

“Thank on, Mr. Powel . You have lifted a
great weig t from my mind. You are really
quite Welcome here today.”

Though Rush Powell had declared that his
Tisit was rely one of lusiness. his business

‘ was therea ter mainly with Eva Trem er.

Her father had shut himself u in h is private
room to privately celebrate the 0 ml news he
had received, and the lovers be the field to
themselves, as Sam Sta rtle had sense. «ncugh to

1 know that he ought to “flock by him elf" for

a while.

They also celebrated the event. but in their
own way. which was a much better way than
that of Colonel Tremper. as well as more in twin-
tory themselves, and itis probable that their
jov was greater and more solid than his.

Their pleasure, h0wever. was marred by the-

in of parting as Pewell was com llcd to tear

imself away so that he might re in his com-
rades at the time agreed on, and Eva tcok leave
loi Sam Startle almost as affectionately as of her
over.

After a rather tiresome journey the reached
the little Keewannee River, where t ey found
their steamer waitin for them at the appointed

lace, and the (expedition into the interior was

can under g auspices. ,

The fact has been noted that the Wave—so the
craft was named which had been fitted up for
the party—was not much of a steamer.

She was an open boat of light draught, and
the only shelter from the weather “as an
awning which could be put up and removed at
pleasure.

As they were going farfrom any probable
human habitation—far, at least, beyond the

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Salamander Sam.

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bounds of civilization—they were obliged to
carry a goodly quantity of rovisions, though
they expected to subsist large y upon game and
fish

When they were all on board, with their
stores and arms and ammunition and clothing
and instruments, the launch was brought nearly
down to the water’s edge, and there was but
little room for the men to uch about.

They had the satisfaction, however, of know-

ing that cVery day would decrease the weight
and bulk of ths stores, and il‘ Boney Pridrlle
should get no i' ittcr they might be comfortable
Vet.
. In any event it was not their intention to
sleep, or as a regular thing to eat, aboard the
launch, as the Wave was merely to be used for
the purpose of speedy and convenient loco-
motion, and when they wanted to make a camp
they would only need to run to the shore and tie
n

For casual excursions singly the \Vave towed
a small flat-bottomed dinghy, hardly big enough
to hold two nien,with a pair of short sculls hung
on swivels.

The craft had been loaded and manned and
ofllcered quite in shipshape style.

,Rush Powell was the captain and steersman,
with Sam Startle as his “ cub” to be instructed
in the latter duty. . _

August Engcl was the engineer, With Boney
Priddle as his assistant and fireman and b the
time Powell and Sam joined the wave, oney
was so well up in his duties that he could be
trusted to run the launch alone.

As for roustabouts, all were ready to turn to
whomever their servies were required in that
ca iacity.

ha voya e u the Keewannee was a pleasant
one and big ly interesting to all the party, as it
took them into a re ion aboimding in semi-
tropical vegetation, w ere men had seldom in-
truded since the departure of the warlike
Seminoles, and where new and strange forms of
birds and beasts and plants were continually
encountered.

Whenever they went ashore to c00k and eat,
or to make their nightly camp, they cut up
a few armfuls of short wood to keep the fire
burning under" the teakettle of a boner, as
the could only carry a small stock at a time.

Ilia Wave was by no means a fast boat—
indeed, she was so slow that they often alluded

her as a tub; but they had the satisfaction
of believing that she was as sure as she was
slow.

There was no crankiness about her, and the
machinery always worked well, and she was dry
and in every way so e. I

The big est al igators scurried out of her way
as she pu ed along slowly but surely, churning
the water and sometimes stirring up the
mud with her saucy little screw, and creating
anunbeard of commotion in those solitudes.

the Wave was so slow, and as huntin was
one of the necessities as well as one o the
diversions of the party, their p ess was not
at all ra id, and -several days eapsed before
they c ed their destination—that is to say,
the pomt at which they were to begin their cx-
ploration and inspection.

This point was near the head-waters of the
Keewanneo, and there they left the sluggish
little river and entered a. series of yet more
sluggish lagoons, some larger and some smaller,
seeming to form an interminable chain. .

Here their xplorations began, and they tied
up the launch r awhile, two of them usually
remaining in charge, while the others made
daily excursions in various directions. to note
the lay of the land, the quality of the sod and
timber, and many other matters of interest on
which he had been instructed to report. _ _ '

Though the were far out if the reach of ciVilI-
nation, and t ere was no trace of any sort of
habitation in that apparently uiitrodden Wilder-
ness. there was something in the air, or some-
where about, which to the practiced eyes and
0‘1" Offlome 0‘. the party conveyed an impres-
sion of the presence of human beings.

There was nothing definite in this, and they
failed to find any Sign or trace that could solidly
settle the point; but the impremion remained.

August Engel and Boney Priddle were u ,1-
most sure,” as they repeat-32y memo, that
there was somebody about, a they were con-
tinually looking, as if expecting tostumble upon
some person unawares.

This was only Pm‘IOSitYo however. as none of
them had the least fear of anybOdy 01' anything
“I? might meet in those solitudes.

it the most they could not expect to encoun-
ter more than their own number, and their re-

ting rifles and mv01vers would of cpurse giva
Egg!!! 8 great advantageover any foe they would
be likely to find in those forests. . n .

“ There is one good thing Ohm“ 115, boys said
Bush Powell, who was disposed to. make I ght of
What he styled the smelling abilities of his as-
sociates. . . . ,,

“ There are plenty of 200‘! "1W5 “hm” ’tv
replied the professor, “ and nothing bad as‘far
88 we have gone. But what is 5' 011' K00“ lull-nil,

my boy?”
‘ f the way of Morley
“a” “is: assume. W... h.

 

from him. There is nothing I féarx but that

scoundrel and his schemes.”

“ Why do on fear him?”

“ Because know that he has made at least
one attempt on the life of Sam. When he learns
that the lad is likely to upset him with the help
of the law, he will do and dare anything to put
him out of the way.”

“ There is something in that, and I hope we
are safe from him.”

After they had left their first regular camp,

and while the Wave was slowly steaming to- ,
ward the next halting—place, the suspicious con- ‘

coming the resence of human beings increased,
and more t an one' of the party was ready to
affirm that he had caught a glimpse of sonic-
thing in the shape of a man hovering near the
course of the launch.

At last August Engel declared that be had
surely seen a man who appeared to be watching
or following them, and his ositive. statement of
a fact was always accepte by his comrades as
the solid truth.

“ It is not a matter that‘iieed worry  iny- ,
‘ tisnotata i ey '

how,” observed Powell.

that anybody we may meet will be hostile to us, v

and in any event we are able to take care of

ourselyes. We proved that on the Hyley
ano'.

“ lint we should be more careful than we were
when the llyley gang captured us,” suggested
the professor.

They saw nothing more to excite their sus-
picions, and when evening set in they tied u
the launch and went ashore to make a camp ang

it was scarcely more than wide enough to per-
mit the passage of a launch.

Here it Would make an unexpected and un-
, necessary bend, showing a disposition to double
ton itself, and there what appeared to be the

main arm would run off into the woods, only to
jprove itself no thoroughfare by terminating
i abruptly.
i Frequently had the part on the \Vave fol~
l lowed those false leads, an had been compelled
? to retrace their steps and make an eflort in an-
other direction.

Sam had learned pretty thoroughly the pecu-
. liarities of those inland waters: but was not
himself about them just then.
a certain ioint to reach and a definite
is simple task in as attended

 

j botlierin
He ha

object to gain, and

with no difficulty.

Keeping in his mind the bearing of the point
toward which the ducks had appeared to tend,
he Went to that point as directly as the sinuosi-
ties of the l-igoon would allow him to go.

He reached it easily enough, but was disap-
pointed in the purpose that had brought him
there, as the ducks had not yet settled down,
and his arrival frightmied them an ay.

He went further on. to take the chance of
meeting them when they made another attempt
to alight, but was again disappointed.

Similar wariness on the part of the birds and
beasts of that region had been one of the signs
which led his friends to suspect the presence of
human beings about there.

Satisfied that he Would get no further chance
at them, he turned to keep the promise he had
made of a speedy return. '

 

pre re their supper.

ffhui'dly had they landed when a man stepped ,
out from the thick foliage of the undergrowth '
and stood before them.

A more uncivilized and uncouth human being .
they had never seen, not even when they first ‘
met Abe I'lgley.

His boa ed face seemed to be innocent of all 5
acquaintance with water, a his tangled black i
hair seemed never to have ’nown a comb, and i
his clothes were a queer mixture of re and E
skins, and he had ‘an old hunting-rifle simi ar to ;
that which Abe llyley had carried. i

He was unquestionably a brute, but a !
pearcd to be an utterly ignorant and stupi , i
gnd in that a good-natured and well-meaning ,'

rute.
“ W’ot be you’ns doin’ ’bout yer?” he asked, 
in response to the salutations of the party. 

“Just huntin and looking at the country," :
answered Powe l.

“ W’ot’s that thing you come in?”

“ That is a steamboat."

“I heern tell 0’ them things, but never see
one afo re. I got wind 0’ vou’ns down tli » water,
and see that thing a-smokin’, and ’lowi d niebbe

on mought be burnin’ up, and so i kem to ax,
on b I was kinder skeered o’ the crittur.”

“ o are all safe, thank you, and the boat is
quite harmless. Do you live near by l”

“ Kinder so. Do you’ns want a man to show
yer ’bout yer?”

“ “’hy. yes, we would be glad to
one who knows the country well.
name?”

“Jim Summits.” ‘

“ Summers,” suggested Engcl.

“ Summas I said. I’ll come down in the
mornin’ ’arly and talk ‘bout it. Good-night.”

“ Good-night, Mr. Summers.”

He disappeared in the forest suddenly and
silently.

“ Just like one of the Hyley gang,” observed
the irofesscr. ’

“ int he is only one man.” answered Powell,
“ and he seems to want to be friendly.”

Sam Startle had seen some ducks about to
alight not far up the lagoon, and he wanth to
go and try to get some of them. ,

lie was allowed to do so, and! he took the
dinghy and a light repeating carbine which
Powell had purchased for him at Coahonla,
promising to return when supper was ready.

A few swift strokes in the still water took him
out of sight beyond a bend.

The oti‘ers busied themselves in preparing the
camp and building a fire for cooking purposes
their camping-ground being within sigh d
easy reach of the launch which was, in fact,
less than two rods from them. ‘

While thgy were thus employed they were
startled by e sound of a strange voice pro-
cceding from the boat. .

Looking in that direction, they saw four men
standing at the side of the launch, with four
rifles leveled at the surve ing partty.

How those men could ave got here without
being seen or heard was beyon comprehension.

CHAPTER XVI.
A TERRIBLE NIGHT.

SAM STARTLE. as has been said, pulled away
swiftly in the dinghy, and was soon cut of sight
of the camp where he. had hit his comrade-x

The shades of night Were falling, and on the
quiet lagoon. shadowcd by the moss-bung
branches of giant trees, it was already dark.

That peculiar piece. of water, part of a chain
or series of lakes. was Very irregular in shape.
attimes spreading out until it fairly deserved

t a guide, :
hat is your

 

As he rounded the last bend and came in si ht
of the cam , be Icoked about to glance at is
course, an
for the moment almost'stupcfied him.

The fire which his comrades had built was
burning brightly, and by its light he saw that

they were there: but what was the matter with ‘ ’

them? .

Two of them were standing up; but there was
something about their movnncnts or lack of
movements which induced the belief that they
Were not the masters of their actions. I

This belief was at < nce confirmed by the fact

that they were not alone, as other men were ‘

there who seemed to have control of them.
Sam’s mind was quick to act. and he imme-
diately jumped to the conclusion that the cams
had been ca tured during his absence, as it ha
been by the yleys. \-
Of t is fact he was fully informed by a voice,
unmistakably the voice of Bush P0well, which

dun er.
“go back, Sam! Go back i”
The next instant one of the men at the cusp

1 struck out, and a heavy blow was followed by v

the fall of the engineer.
“ Come on!" shouted another. ” I t‘s all right!"

around, and the voice was the voice of a strun-
ger, and be was not deceived by it. ,
Directly a shot was tired, and then another

' and another but the bullets that struck the

water near him only emphasized Rush Powell’s
warning and put more vi or into his arm. ‘ ' ,

Very speedily his swi t itrokes carried him
around the bend and took him out of htof
the camp again, and then be paused for mo-
ment to consider what he should do. ‘ 

Of course he must continue his flight. but
Erhitthfr, and for what purpose leyon thatof

ig t ‘

The instinct of self-preservation naturally
prompted him to escape; but there was hnother
and perhaps a strongler feeling that animated
him 'ust then, and t at was the hope that!»
mi h be able to aid his comrades.

1&0 doubt they had been captured. uatflrst
occurred to him, just as they had been by the
Hyleys, by a sudden su rise; but this time
there had been no sort 0_ a warning, nor was
there anything to indicate the object of the
raiders.

the sore because he was away with A

En 91 w en the camp was cartured, and '

ha succeeded after a struggle in rescuing

friends. . - '
Now he had not the skill and strength of the

professcr to guide and take the k ad and do the

most of the d

hoFe to accnmp isb a one? - ‘

n the dinghy he might be able to keep mtg
the way of the enemy and move about wi
ease am
attempt to reach his friends, to elude the
lance of those silent and secret-fees, who
like shadows through the forest. and whoop
mice was only betrayed by the blow: they

how to use it: but it ad already been twice
proved that the best weapons could not avail

Just one thing was clear to him then—what-
ever he might or might not be able to do, the
first and pressing necessity was to secure his
own safety. ‘

 

the name or a lake, and again narrowing until

 

 

saw a light that surprised him and .

came to him loud and clear, warning him of 

But Sam had already whirled the dinghy E

On the former occasion he had been left onto! z

rate work; and what could he»

, at?
celerity: but how could be hope, in“ A I, .

c . ‘:
He had his repeatin carbine, and he knew

against the noiseless methods of the wily swamp
ers ' 

lThis he proposed to do by keepingon up 

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Salamander Sam.

 

 

lagoon and rowing close to the side 0 posits to
that on which the camp was located? until he
could consider himself safe from pursuit.

Even if he should be seen by the enemy, they
would not attempt to fire upon him in the dark-
ness, and he would have time to rest and reflect
and form plans for future action.

_ . As he sculled along, making as little noise as
'7 ’ possible, he became aware of the fact that there
was a strong smell of smoke in the air, which
every moment became stronger and more pun-
» . gent. and before long was accompanied by a
l". roaring noise that also increased rapidly.

1'. Looking about for the cause of the smell and
" the noise, he perceived a lurid light at the west-
ward, and was soon convinced that a fire had
caught in the forest, which was spreading and
running swiftly, as such fires always do.

2 - ' Sam ad never had any experience of forest
 . fires, but he had heard them spoken of in the
i)“ surveying party, and understood pretty Well

‘ ‘ their perils and the means of avoiding them.

1 He perceived, much to his delight, that the
4 " fire seemed to be considerably below him, and
fudged that it was working its way down the
oon.
herefore he believed that he would be able,
by holding his resent course, to keep Well out
o the way of anger, and he was sure that the
fire could not cross the water and reach his
friends and fees on the other side.

He might expect to be driven somewhat fur-
ther from the captured camp than he had ex-
pected to go; but that would perhaps not be an
unmixed evil.

Having passed the points where he had looked

.for the ducks, he found himself out of his lati-

' tude, and then two very untoward events trans-

pired.

a r The rushing and raging fire, as forest fires are

I wont to do, suddenly started out in a new direc—
.1 tion, having probab y founda reach of dry grass

' and stubble and brushwood that gave it a good
EV chance to spread, and (perhaps being influenced

‘ by a change in the win .

 - It happened, also, that Sam, prevented by the
darkness and the bother of the smoke from pick-
; in and choosin his way as well as he might

'0 rwise have one, had run his dinghy into one

of the branches of the lagoon at a point where it

as not easily distinguishable from the main

 

M}

‘  Though narrow at the entrance, it widened
g ‘ w - , after he had gone into it a little distance, and at
' ‘ -‘ its termination formed a small and nearly circu-
’ lar and.
en Sam got to this point he quickly r-
-' ceived that he had reached the end of his tet er,
«fie asthere was no thoroughfare for him in that
, direction.
' ‘ No sooner had he discovered his error than he
’ also discovered something else, and this dis-
, cove was a very unpleasant one, as be per-
 , ceiver that the fire was suddenly and unexpect-
edly rushing right at him.
rly that was a ood place to get out of,
and he hastily turned t e dinghy with the inten-
tion of pulling back to the la oon.
‘ As he did so, a heav eras forced upon him
5 * another discovery, am he saw a tall tree fall
. across the mouth of the branch, completely out-
_ tiqgoi! ' escape by water. i
  n at mpt to escape by land was out of the
g , guestion, as the fire was already bursting and

\

umping acres the branch where the tree had
alien: sothcre was nothin for it but to stay
where he was, and he consi ered himself lucky

‘ in having that much of water space, smal

, though it was. between him and the flames.

#1 He had no time to reflect upon the situation,
as the fire was upon him. and what he could do
to save himself must be done immediately.

Ina few- minutes the little pond Would be

' nearly surrounded by it, and he would be no

‘ f better off at one side than at the other; be there-

. fore placed the dinghy in the middle of the
' basin, believing that it would stay there, as

_ " there was no current to move it from its

, .~ position. . .
Fortuname there was a blanket in the little

'- , boat, Which had been left there by the forget-

?  ' fulness of one of his comrades, and he at once

i I. > a,  struck upon a way of using it.

‘ it " As the smoke grew deuer and the heat great-
er, he dipped the blanket in the water. wetting
it thorou hly, and threw it over him, comp’etcly

‘ " covering is whole form, especially his head and

. . hands, and leaving Very lltt}e space for breath—

 ; , ‘ln’ urposes. I

’r ' 1’ Then he crouched down in the boat, waiting

 - for the storm of fire to pass over. '

_ He speedily perceived by the crackling and

rearing of the flames that the had invaded the

. , ' aka, and he wasobliged to c ose up the breath-

i'" ‘ space he had left to prevent himself from

‘ ‘ being smothered. . .

. Then he had a strange and startlingexperi-

é; " once, hieh at first he could not comprehend,

_. but w ich was finally forced upon .hiin with
 fearful distinctness. .

Under the blanket he heard a splashin _ about

him in the water—first one. then anot er and

.. another, and then an almost continuous splagh-

i - in . as if a number of somethings Were jumping

5 a) the basin in all directions

' He knew of no savage wild beasts in that re—

.."\2, \

 

 

 

Eon—nothing more dangerous than the reptiles;
ut those were numerous enough, and it was
possible that even they might do him great dam-
age by upsetting the dinghy.

Every now and then the little boat was jarred
as if something struck against it, and occasion-
ally one end or the other was strangely lifted up,

iving the occupant very peculiar and uncom-

ortable sensations.

He felt that the water had entirely evaporated
from the blanket, allowing the smoke and the
heat to penetrate 'to him, and it was to be
feared that the dry and hairy surface might
catch fire; hence it lind become an absolute
necessity that he must give it another good wet-
ting.

For this purpose he threw it off suddenly, in-
tending to dip it in the basin and cover himself
again instantly; but the. sight that was disclosed
to him by his first glance nearly paralyzed him
and rendered him incapable of action.

He was surrounded by a wall of flame, in the
midst of a furnace of fire; but that was not the
worst of it.

The basin was alive and literally crowded with
reptiles of every description, from the largest
alligators to the smallest serpents that infested
the Woods and swamEs.

So thickly were t e alligators jammed and
packed into that small space that they could
scarcely stir, and it was (oubtleSs to this fact
that the dinghy owed its immunity from upset-
tin . ,

T ieir resencc had raised the water to a
level wit the bank, and the intervals between
alligators, so to speak, were filled with snakes
and above all with the dangerous and dreaded
moccasins.

Sam would hardly have believed there were so
many moccasin snakes in existence.

He had only a glance at this menagerie; but
the glance was more than enough, as it filled him
with horror if not with terror.

To save himself from being stifled by the
heat and smoke, it was necessary to wet the
blanket immediately, and he did so hastily but
resolutely, choosing the clearest spot he could
see, and fearing to excite a commotion among
the alligators or to pick up one of the snakes.

Fortunately they were so occupied with their
own reservation, or so fri htened by the fire,
that hey took no notice of t e lad or his act.

He succeeded in wetting the blanket, though
not so thoroughly as he would have wished to,
and covered himself with it again, a feeling of
nausea taking hold of him as he did so.

That he conquered, and drew the blanket
over his head closely, and dropped d0wn in the
bottom of the boat, almost in a swooning con-
dition. ‘

Half-stupefled he lay there, scarcely able to
breathe, and having no idea of how the time
passed or of what was going on abbot him, ex-
cept when an unusually heavy bumping of the
boat, or an unsually extensive litting of one end
or the other, recalled him to a sense of the erils
of his position, and produced in him again the
peculiar and unpleasant feelings which he had
ex ,rienced when that sort of thing began.

t last he involuntarily made an opening in
the folds of the blanket through which he could
breathe more freely, and then he fell asleep.

He was awakened by a sensation of oppressive
heat, and threw of! the blanket to look about
him; but the sensation had been produced by the
heat of his own body during his sleep, and he

erceived that he no longer needed protection
mm the flames and smoke.

The forest fire had nearly burned itself out at
that part of its course, though its remnants were
still smoldering and smoking on the b.anks and
beyond.

The number of alli rators in the basin had sch-
sibly diminished, iinrl by the light of the points
of fire that were lef t he could see the snakes nos-
ing at the bank and warily wriggling up it, as if
anxious to return to the haunts from which they
had been driVen.

With a great effort Sam took one of the cars
from its lace, drove it down into the mud, and
tied thm ingh to it; then he laid down in the
bottom of the boat to sine in earnest, and then
his slumber was sound an refreshing.

It was the sun that awoke him in t emorning,
and when he sat up and looked about he perceiv-
ed that tho basin was clear and undisturbed,
with no vestige visible of the menagerie of the
previous night.

Thankful for his escape. he prepared for de-
parture.

Pulling down to the mouth of the branch, he
discovered that the narrow passage was still
blocked up; but it was an easv matter for him
to mount the trunk of the fallen tree, pull the
dinghy up on it, and launch it on the other Slde.

Then with a sigh of relief he floated out on the
lagoon. “7 ell had he earned the sobriquer, of
Salamander Sam, as he was thereafter called,
through all that region where his terrible adven-
ture became known. __

CHAPTER XVII.
DISGRACED AND mrmsomcn.
A mom: surprised. ashmished, and utterly
confo nded trio of men than Bush Powsll and
his collirades when they were captured within

 

reach of their launch it would be difficult ever
to discover.

It may also be safely asserted that a more
deeply humiliated set of human beings could
scarcely exist.

Their sense of shame and disgrace in connec-
tion with this easy capture was such that there
was no room for fear, and Powell and Boney
Priddle would have rushed madly upon their
fees in an insane desire to exterminate them, if
it had not been for the cool and warning voice
of August Engel, who cautioned them to stay
where they were and keep cool.

Their ri es, and even their revolvers, had been
left on the launch, and they were quite defense-
less against the four hunting-rifles that threat-
ened them.

The launch had been within such easy reach
of their camping—place, and the possibilit of
any force springing up between them an the
water had been so utterly out of the question,
that they gave no thought to the point of secur-
ing their arms.

‘0 there was nothing for them to do but to
yield quietly and submit to the demands that
might be made upon them, mentally reserving
the ri ht to strike if they should get a chance
to don an effective blow. -

Though the difliculty with the Hyleys was still
fresh in their memories, they had forgotten or
overlooked the secret and silent methods of the
swampers, who moved as noiselessly as snakes
and struck as viciously.

While they were preparing the camp and build-
ing the fire they were continually passing to and
from the Wave, and hardly a moment elapsed
when it was not under the eyes of at least one of
them; yet their enemies had crept, unseen and
unheard, into the sition of vantage, appearin
before them as an denly as if they had risen on
of the ground.

Foremost amen them was Jim Summers,
whose recent brie visit to the camp had ev -
dently been that of a spy, preparatory to the in
tended stroke. ‘

He it was who gave the orders that completed
the capture of the Wave’s party.

One of his comrades stepped up to the surve -
ors while the rest continu to cover them wi
the tinting rifles.

This man was well supplied with then s of
deerskin, with which be secured the cap ives
sineg by tying their hands behind their backs,
beginning with Rush Powell, who had been the ,
spoléesman and appeared to be the leader of the

r y.

At the same time be searched them for eon-
coalcd weapons, even taking from them their
pocket-knives.

Then the leader came forward and Powell at-
tempted to take him to task for his treacherous
behavior. r

“ What do you meant” demanded the engineer.
“What harm have we done to you or any of
your people? You came to us a while a o is a
friend, and we welcomed you and trea you as
a friend. You even wanted to act as our
guide.”

“Wal, ain’t I wine ter guide yer?” replied
the swamper. “ ‘hat’s w’ot- I'm ycr' fur; Jest
wait and see whar I guidevyer to—that‘s all."

Jim Summers looked about, as if searching for
some person who was not visible.

vaell knew well enough what he was looking
for, but waited for him to speak, and presently
he did so. /

“ Whar’s the boy?”

“There is no boy,” answered Rush, and the
statement Was true enough at that time.

“Thar was a boy though. ’Tain’t no use ly-
in’ to me, mister. idn’t '1 come yer’ aid and
hain’t I got eyes? Whar’s the boy gone tor!”

“ If you know so much, you ought to know
that,” answered Rush.

He perceived that the swampers had been so
occu ied by the business of crawling up quietly
to e ect the capture of the camp, that they had
not noticed the departure of Sam.

“Thar was a leetlo canoe in tow of the big
’un,”resiimed the leader. “That’s gone, too. The
boy’s gone, and the canoe‘s gone, and they went
togxther. He‘s gone off on the water.”

_ Eidently Mr. “ Jim Summers ” had a logical
min .

“ Whar’s the boy gone ter?” he demanded.
“ \Vhen‘ll he git back?”

.None of the captives were di. to furnish
him With any information on t ese points. and
they could only ho a that some way might be
found by which grin could escape from this

gun .
“as this one of Morley Plympton’s schemes
to get rid of the heir who stood in his way?
Though they had considered themselves far
beyond his range and out of his reach, Powell

was inclined to believe that he might be respons- ‘

ible for the attack.

They had not at first thought of him in com
nection with the Hylcy difficulty, but subsequent
indications had led them to suspect that he mizht
have had a hand in that.

On this occasion,,as on that one, Sam happened
to be out of the way when the blow was struck;
but it must be admitted that his chances for el-
ca were less than they had then been. i

‘ No matter war he s gone ter.

He’s bound

  

l I

was.
\

17

thing in that way, and the fear is that he will ' in that direction were speedily choked of! by
only succeed in getting himself caught.” the leader.

“ Be not too sure of that, my friend,” broke in “ No yer don’t mister. I don’t want yo
the rofessor. “Sam Startle is no fool. Indeed. I dod—durn yer! oxyre too rotten smart.
he acks every one of the elements that go i want one 0‘ t’others.”
to make up the ordinary feel. You must re- i “Which one?” inquired Engel. probably hop-
member that I was out with him at the time of ing that the chance mi ht fall to him.

 
 

/ Salamander Sam.

 

 

ter be’comin’ back, and then we’ll git him‘) We’ll
wait.‘
They had not long to wait, and their confident
ex ectation Was not disa pointed. ‘
Shortly the sound of Sam Startle’s sculls was
heard, and then the din by shot into view as it
rounded the bend above.

 V ’

2.4.4..

.3 -

l,

 

Fortunately for him the swampers had not
concealed themselves, and the blazing campfire
set their figures in strong relief against the dark-
ness of the forest.

They could not have gone out of sight without
taking their captives with them, and that cir-
cumstance must equally have awakened the lad’s
suspicions.

Rush Powell was determined to do what he.
could to save his young friend, and at the right
moment he knocked the hopes of the swampers
in the head with his warning cry.

Searcer had the words escaped his lips when
Jim Summers, who Was angry enough to eat
him, scruck him with all the force of his right
arm, and the man‘s fist was like iron.

The engineer fell as if he had been shot, and
Sam Startle got away in the darkness, in spite
of the shots that were fired at him and the vain
attempt to deceive him.

“ That was your fault, doddurn youl” rum-
bled Jim Summers, administering a ma icious
kick to Rush Powell as he was slowly arising.

He jerked the dazed engineer to his feet, and
steadied him there with another kick.

“Ef it hadn’t been fur you, the be Would
ha’ come on, and you’ll have to pay ur that.
He can’t git fur away, and we’ll ’light on him
afo’ long. You said you wanted me to guide

or, and you’ll see how I’m gwine ter do it.
ring ’em along, tellers.”

Jim Summers took the advance, and the
three prisoners were led away through the for-
est to an open space about a quarter of a mile
from the water, partly glade and partly clear-
ing, the existence of which the Wave party had
not suspected.

In this open space was an old log building,
which seemed to have been intended for a ham
or stable, and at some time in the past used for
such a purpose.

It was near twenty feet hi h, but was not
largehand its breadth was 0 y a third of its
lea

If: one end was a low doorway, closedogg a
door made of heavy slabs and hung on w on
hinges, which 0 ned outwardly.

' As the party alted in front of this buildin ,
some of them an to sniff at the air, wbic
had lately been oaded witha pungent odor,
and to aze in the direction from which the
breeze b ew.

Soon the caught sight through the trees of a
light at t e westward, and they knew well
onOu h what was the matter.

“ e woods is afire over yonder,” observed
the leade , “and it’s apt to make a clean
swee . T is side 0’ the water is safe I reckon;
but t at boy '11 he in a pickle unless he's a sala-
mander. Ef the fire don’t wipe him out, it’ll be
easv fur us to pick him up.” » .

When the captives had been couducted into
the log building, they were seated on the earth-
on floor, and, ass. measure of further precau—
tion, their feet were tied with thongs.

Jim Summers gave them a parting admoni-

tion.

r “ All thet you’ns hev ot to do is to stay put
right whar you are. l e won’t none of us he
fur away, and of you try to git out, it’ll be wuss
fur er.”

He followed his comrades outside, and the
door was closed and fastened there.

The three men of the Wave party, when they
were leftto themselves, had not much to say
about their ignominions surprise and capture.

To that subject they could not begin to do
justice; but they could discuss the question of
the possible escape or capture of Sam Sturtle,
the Only member of the party who was left at
large.

“It is my opinion,” said Rush Powell, “ th"t
Harley Plynipton is at the bottom of this busi—
nose. I am a mest sure that he was responsible
for our affair with the Hyleys, and there is no
doubt that he has bl‘cn hand and 'glove with

em than one of the gangs that run wild in
t woods and swamps.’

“Supp0se you are right," observed Engel,
“ what then?”

“. If this is Morley Plvmpton’s work, We may

me that Sam is what those men are after,
and that our capture is only incidental to the

o of getting rid of him. Though Plymp-
s, a grudge against me, I doubt if he

W cm ry it to the extent of getting me kill-
t Sam stands between him and a for-

“I a good thing that he was awa when
we were. gobbled up,” remarked Boney iddle.

‘fifiut can he keep out of the way? That is
the ‘question. Even if he should escape those
swam rs, who are like wild beasts on the trail
- of their prev, what would become of him? How

could be live or find his way to any settlement?
It is more than likely, too, Sam being what he
i is. that he will not try to get far away, but will
hang about here in the hope of findinfisns and
_ helping us. , Of course he can't aceomp b any-

.., a.

 Hf

 

the Hyley affair, and that I had a good chance

to judge of his style and the resources of his :

nature. Man is a complex being—”
“ Cut it short professor,” dcmurred Boney.
“ The short of

Startle as to me, and I am convinced that if .
I had not had his ready and intelligent help,
I Would have been of little use to you. 1 have
no doubt, Rush, that you areg‘ight in saxingi
that he, instead of selfisth seeking to save him- ‘,
self, will remain near here and try to do some».
thin for us.”

“ he fire may ketch him,” suggested Boney. ’

“ No fear of that. With a boat and plenty of }
water, he will have sense enough to keep out of l
the fire. If there were two of him, we might i
count with certainty on being saved from the i
conSequenceS of our carelessness.”

“ But there is only one of him,” mournfully ;
remarked Powell. .

“Only one, and therefore I say that for his a
sake as well as our own we ought to waste no i
more time here in useless regrets or idle talk, 1
but go to work and try to help him. To do:
that, the first thing necessary is to get out;
of this den.”

“The leader of the ang told us,” objected
Boney, “ that if we tried that game it would be
wuss for us.”

“ It cannot be much worse. They might
as well kill us as deprive us of our boat and our
arms. Without these we would be as bad
of! in ,this wilderness as a fly in the middleof a

nd.

“ That’s what’s the matter. Those folks have
got all our guns now. What can we do without
our tools?”

“ You are beginning at the wrong end of the
business, Boney. Let us start at the right end, I
and when we have got hold of that we will see
what is next to be done. Guns or no guns,
we shall be eternally disgraced if we allow those
ignorant and brutish swamp suckers to get the
better of us, and for my art I mnnot rest
patiently for a moment un er what they have
already done. The first thing ~isto get out
of this den, and we on ht to succeed in that
without much dimculty, f they leave us a little
time to work.”

“That is what we are likely to have,” ob-
served Powell. “ They have either gone to hunt
Sam, or are bothering themselves to find out the
works and ways of the Wave, and neither
of tho 0 jobs is likely to be finished in a hurry.
Come, Boney, we must try to get near each
other, and then you may have some deerskin
for your supger.’

B “Come an give me a chaw, then,” requested
oney.

Rush Powell succeeded in working his way to
the fat man and backing up to him, when
he offered the thongs with which his hands Were
bound to the sharp teeth of his comrade.

Boney started into the task with an appetite;
but, as the.thongs had been knotted and re-
knotted, and it n as no easy matter to make an
impression on the tough decrskin, the work was
not to be done as'speedily as the captives hoped
it would be. '

They had, however, the consolation of know-
ing that if one of them could get his hands
free, he would soon be able to release the
others.

Boney was still chewing vigorously at the,
deerskin when the voices of the swairpcrs were
heard outside.

The work was sto ped at once, and Powell
tunigled back to h 3 place as quickly as be
con .

 

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
BONEY PRIDDLE IN A FIX.
THE door was opened from the outside, and
the four swampors came filing in.
Rush Powell was glad to see that they were
all there and that Sam Startle was not with

them.

He judged that they had not yet captured the
lad, but wanted to satisfy himself on that int,
and spoke up as soon as he recogn' Jim
Summers in the darkness.

“Did you find the boy you spoke of?” he in-

quircd.
grufily. “ We

it is, then, that you owed your .
rescue on that occasion quite as much to Sam ;

at“... ._.__ . ,_._

 

“ Naw," anewered Summers
ain‘t botherin’ ’bout no boy. The weeds is all
burnin’ up over ‘thar. and ef the fire don’t git

him, we’ll be sart’in to ketch him when we git i

ready. Jest now we wanter know how to work
that keenoo o’ yourn.” , '
“ Keeaoo?” repeated Rush. “ What keenoo?”

“ That boat-a steamboat, as you’ns called it. i
he that mat- ‘

The thing that goes by smoke.”
“If you are anxious to investi

ter, Mr. Summers,” obse ved Rus , “ I am will-

ing to go and show you h w the thing works.”

“ N ot you, nuther. ’heu the thing was com—
in’ up the water I see a fat man a—workin’ it.
We’ll take that fat feller and make him show us
how it works. He‘s got to do it, too, or the
’gators ’11 git him mighty quick.”

The “fat man” who was mentioned, and who
could not pretend to doubt that he “as the one

‘ they wanted, was not enthusiastically apprecia-

tive of the honor conferred upon him.

He was doubtless quite as willing as the others
Were to sacrifice himself for his friends, but was
of the opinion that either the colonel or the pro-
fessor could manage the n atter better than he
could, and find a safer way out of the srrape.

They were decidedly of the same 0 inion, and
each would have been glad to give im a word
of advice or caution before he left them; but no
chance was offered them.

Boney was led away like a sheep to the
slaughter, and the swampers7 filed out again and
fastened the door on the outside.

The " fat teller ” was no coward, ha ‘
proved himself on many occasions, before an
since he joined the surveyors, a man of courage
and nerve; but, though passany Witty, he was
not quickowitted.

He was well aware of the fact that his slug-
gish brain was not the best thing in the world
for an emergency, and that he needed somebody
to go ahead and pick out the way, in order to
bring his full powers into play.

The quick wit of Powell, or the ready re-
source of Engel, would have speedily hit upon a
means of outwitting the swampers and turning,
the tables on them, audit was real] a pity that
one of his comrades had not been 0 osen for the
regaonsibility of this occasion.

hough Boney Priddle was not a bit afraid of
the ordeal, he did not relish the idea of furnish-
ing to the river reptiles such a famous feast of
fat things. and, as he had missed his su r, be
actually fell to envying the alligators t meal
thev would make of him. ‘

rom the last remark it is reasonable to infer
that he did not mean to show the swam .rs how
to run the Wave, and that was exactly be state
of the case. .

Whatever thoughts might come into his head,
allege was no room there for such an'idea as

a .

He had not formed any plan, and confessed
himself incapable of forming a plan todefeat
their ends or get himself out of the scrape; but.
it was a settled thing in his mind that he would
not run the engine for them or assist them in"
an way.

' determination came to him as naturally ,
as breathing, and was simply a matter of
course/ ,

When he left the log house with his guards,
the air was heavy with smoke, and he had only
to cast his eyes toward the west to see that a
big forest fire was raging there and sweeping
everything before it.

It was a fearful sight; but the swampers
seemed to feel no uneasiness about it, as they
were doubtless sure that the fire would not Ores
the water and reach them.

They said nothing to Boney, and he said noth-
ing to them, as he. was so entirely occupied with ,
cndgeling his brain for an idea, that he had no
time to waste in words. ,

They led him directly to the Wave, which
was still tied up at the bank where she had been ,
landed. with her fires out. ‘

When he had been allowed to step aboard,
Jim Summers abruptly ordered him to “make
the thing go.” _

The tone of the swamper was so positive and
peremptory. that the alternative of feeding the.
alli ators was clearly presented to the prisoner.

e had not as yet succeeded in getting hold at
what he might call an idea; but it occurred to
him that he would surely not be able to do any-
thing for himself with his hands tied, and must
be free before he could take advantage of any
chance that might offer.

“ You must untie me, then,” he remarked, as '
be seated himself on a box. 1

“ Nary time,” declared the leader. “ we ain‘t
takin’ no chance.” '

“ How can I make it work, then?” 

“Jest set right thar, and tell us w’ot to do. 
You’d better tell it straight as a line, too,or a
over you go to the ’gators.” 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, this , f
seemed very funny to Boney Priddle, and it was ;, ‘
as much as he could do to keep his face straight
while he framed his answer. i ‘

“ Here goes, men. Cock up your ears and
listen for all you’re worth. The first thing to

do is to build a fire in the forum: then start-  

the feed pump. examine the stopcocks, attach

the parabolic curve to the safety valve, and ad.

just the scre v at a tangent with the shaft." T
He had can ht a number of words from the 7

He doubtless thought that if he should be free- surveyors, an. used them as they happened to

handed and on the launch he might find a
chance to “ make a break ”; but his aspirations

come into his head. .
The swampers stared at him and looked“:

 

,/

.Q"

.a

 

’ " theiire.”

':ditionta

1;. T“
..,- 

7' ‘  than he

 

 

is

 

‘ Salamander  ,

 

each other, their countenances ex ressive of the
utterl impossibility of understan ing that rig-

lnaro e.
Like a child with a new plaything they for-
gotall the other objects that might ve been
ncluded in their capture of the camp, and could
think of nothing else until they found out “ how
the thing worked.”

“ W’ot-a he talkin’ ’bout?“ demanded the
leader.

His comrades shook their heads,
mating that the talk was too much or them.

“I’m talkin‘ about how to make the thin

o.” remarked Boney. “That‘s what on sai<

‘d have to tell, and I’ve told it as straight as a
string. If you don’t understand it, that’s no
fault of mine. You can’t begin to make the
thing stir unless I show you, and I can’t show
you while my hands are tied."

Conviction of the truth of this statement was
forced through the thick skulls of the swampers,

’ and they proceeded to remove the bonds from
their prisoner’s hands.

Why should they not? He was but one man,
while they were four, and he was unarmed,
while they were well supplied with weapons.

Boney rubbed his hands, chafed his wrists,
while he looked about in the hope of catching
andther idea.

“ Why don’tcher make it go?” demanded Sum-
mers.

“ Thar’s no wood," was the prompt reply.
“I’ll go and cut some.”

But he was not to be trusted ashore, especially
with an ax in his hands, and two of the
swampei's went to get the wood.

“ That won’t do at all,” said Boney, when the
first lot was brought to him.

“W’ot’s the matter with it?” inquired Sum-

mers.
“It’s green. Must have dry wood to start

“ Why didn’t you tell us that afo’? You’d
better go straight, old fatty, or you‘ll it hurt.”

The two men went for dry wood, an soon re-
turned with a load of it.

“ It’s too big and too long,” objected Boney.

Jim Summers turned upon the prisoner sav-

el .
‘3‘} That’s gone twice,” he growled. “ It won’t
finagain. Why didn’t you tell us afo’ w’ot
.- der wood you wanted 1"

“You’ve got me skeered.” meekly answered
the ner. “ Sometimes I don’t seem to know
’just what I’m doin’.”

. ‘ “ You‘d better know. It won’t be safe fur

‘you igtgive ii! any 1110’ that sawt 0’ stuff.”
' W was brought to which Boney could have
made no further ob ection if he had dared to,
:ad the necessity o the case compelled him to

. rt a fire in the little furnace.

He had not the faintest intention of really try-
ing to “make the thing go,” but must make a
show of doing so dallying union
that an idea would resent itscl , or something

’.  to “ is him out."
,. ' n e fire was lighted there was nothing
todo but wait for it to burn; but he fancied th Lt
' . hehad caught an idea.
’ It was evident from the appearance and con-
dition of the swampers that they had not dis-
covered the' li uor that was included in the
mo! title ave. ed b th 1d
Indeed t was stow away w ere ey won
t be likelyto find it except on a thorough
ination of the contents of the craft.
Why should he not bring it not, induce them

todrink, and take advantage of their posmble ;

intoxication!

The H leys had drank themselves into a con-
made them Comparativer an easy
,i'cy, and t 0 same thing might happen to these
too.

', the launch, and the swampers, not knowing how
~. , to use than: had let them alone.
1 ' If the s ould become stupid enough to let
him old of one of those rifles, he might do
,_ “il'qlg t smart " execution among them.
’ o sooner had this idea occurred to Boney
ve it a trial.
7 “ Thar some whisky here, fellers,” he remark-
dd. “Hsin’t you found it yet?”
. “Where is it?” eagerly nquired Jim Sum-
., 1' more. .
_‘ : Boney brought out a quart flask, and beg ed
‘ the vilege of tasting it to assure them tha it

, ‘  not “sure enou h p’ison.”

The swam al owed this, but hastened to

, pounce on t 9 bottle and sample its contents,
which they found so much to their taste 'that
they continued the sampling until the flask was

» , nearly emlptly.
‘ Boney 'ddle viewed these proceedings with
t fiplealnre, believing that his captors were unac-
customed to liquor, and might get drunk before
knew w t they were about. -
t was not the idea of Jim Summers, who
shortly called a halt on the consumption of
I whisky.
, “ guit now, boysl” was his order. “I
reckon r’s plan more whar that kem from,
and we don’t need drink it all up to oncet.”

Then he turned to Boney and renewed his

command to “ make the thin .”

, go
,3. The fat man had beenconsigering the situation
_ l .

in the hope,

hero Were three repeating-rifles in sight in ’

 

to the best of his ability, but was compelled to
admit that if the whisky scheme failed to work
he would be at his row’s end.

What should he do next?

He might burst tin boiler and seriousl dam«

' age the swampers, the boat and himse f; but

would that pay?
Without the launch his friends would be in a

; bad fix, even if they were free, and he could not

find it in his heart to destroy the Wave, except

lainly inti- I at the very last extremity.

His only chance was to dally and hope for

, good effects from the whisky.

He unloaded the safety-valve, and arranged

F the exhaust so that the steam would escape as

fast as it was made, and even took the precau-
ti-in to remove certain portions of the machinery
without which the engine could not Work with
plenty of steam.

These dilatorly; proceedings naturall annoyed
and irritated t e swampers, and the eader was
evidently sus icious, with good cause, that they
were intend , to be dilatory.

Again he turned 11 n the prisoner and
wanted to know why 6): did not “make the
thing go.”

“ I’m doin’ the best I Can,” answered Boney, a
little sharply.

“ You’ve got to do better, and do it mighty
sudden, too. Look over thar"——pointing to the
dark water. “ The ’gators is waitin’ fur you
thar. Do you want to go to ’em i”

The humor of the situation again took pos-
session of Boney Priddle.

“Well, I dunno,” he mildl answered. “I
never tried it, and can’t say ow I might like
it. It would be a big thing for the gators,
though.”

This flippant reply produced an astonisher
from Sim Summers in the shape of a blow that
knocked the fat man sprawling in the bottom of
the boat.

Several vicious and vigorous kicks were ad-
ministered to him as he lay there, and the poor
fellow had a very had three minutes.

When he managed to rise, he was greeted
with another and more peremptory order to
“make the thin work.”

“I can’t do i, ov’nor, and that’s a fact,”
Boney meekly a mitted. “ Somethin’s the
matter with the duined thing. it’s all out o’

“ Fix it, then."

“ I dunno how. The solid truth is, gov’nor,
that you’ve got holt o’ the wrong man.
run this machine. One 0’ the bosses ran it,
and I only cut the wuod and built the fire
and that sort 0’ thing.”

“ Why didn’t you tell us that afo’i” de-
manded the leader.

“ You wouldn’t let me. One 0’ the bosses
offered to come. but you wouldn’t let him and
took me. You’ll have to get another man.”

“Xhich one? Him as spoke up ’bout the

“ Not him—t‘other one," answered Boney,
who well remembered the )rofessor’s perform-
ance as a rescuer and he to see it repeated.

It was clear that the swampers would have
to take Boney’s advice or feed him to the alli-
gators. and perhaps, both plans might be

adapted.

hile they finished the flask of whisky they
discussed the uestion. and that wds the con-
clusion at whic they arrived. ‘

After taking the precaution to tie Boney hand
and footso that he could not stir the started
at! inal'd the log bonse as the day gun to

rea .

 

CHAPTER XIX.

SALAHANDER CHIPS IN.

Russ POWELL and August Engel had not
been idle while their friend and factotum was
suiferin for their sakes.

“Tha is a great pity,” said the rofessor
when the door was closed between t em and
Boney. “If the had taken either of us, the
man who was ta en mi ht have found a chance
to do somethin ; but am afraid that poor
Boney will only vs a hard time and accom-
plish nothin .

“If he su ers in "proportion to his size." ob-
served Rush, “ he" ll surely have a hard time.”

“ What Will hap n then 1” continued the pro-
fessor. “If they orce him to teach them to
run the boat, or to run it for them, the chances
are that the concern will be blown to bits. If
not, they will get it away from here, and in
either event we will lose our rifles and all the
rest of our property.” ‘

“ If that should prove to be the case, there
would be a good chance for our safetv and for
Sam’s. But you are mistaken in Boney, Au-
gust. You ought to know him better. He may
not be as ready of resource as some people; but
he is as true as steel and as stubborn as a live-
oak knurl. I should be willing to bet my life
that they will kill him before they get him to
run the Wave for them, or to show them 'how
to run her.”

‘ ‘ It is quite likely that you are right. If that
is the case. we had better hurry u and try to
get out of this, as that is our onEv chance to

sip him.” 1

 

“ Back up here. then, August, and let me
gnaw your thongs.”

“ No, my boy. I fancy that I have the bet—
ter teeth, and the- Work on yours has begun.
Give me a chance at them."

Powell backed up to the professor, who started
into the task of'chewing deerskin with energy
and determination.

The job was a tough and long one; but 1he
thongs were finally gnawed through sufficiently
to al ow the prisoner to remove his hands from
behind his back and use them freely. '

Then he speedil untied his legs and cast loo
Engel, after whic the latter relieved his friend
of the knots that remained (n his wrists.

What should they do next?

They tried the door, but it was se-iirely fast-
ened on the outside, and there was nothing in
the building with which they could batter it ‘
down.

“We will do the next best thing,” said Au- ’
gust. “ If we can’t get out by the door, we can ,
keep them from coming in that way, and that
may be worth something to us.”

His (Buick and inventive mind had already dis— .'
covci'cL the means by which this ol-ject (ould bog

' accomplished, and be secured the door to the.

logs on the inside by using the thon ‘ with ‘,
which be and his friends had been boun . i

This task Completed, and it also had taken i
considerable time they turned their attrntionto i
the roof as the on y means of exit left them. .

“ I wonder what they are doing to poor honey 3
now,” murmured the professor. ' 'i

“ I don’t like to guess,” answered Powell: 
“ but, if I could get there, and should catch '
them in the act of worrying him, I believeIf
would jump at them, just 1‘ so.” 1'

“ I am decidedly of the opinion, Rush, that it ‘1
is our turn to sneak up and get the better of :5
those pig-headed brutcs.’ ;.

" Let us get out, then, and we may worry:
them some." 5

Getting out did not prove to be such an easy)
matter as they had sup sed it Would be before‘
this; had got rid of their bonds. }

om what they had been able to see of the,
roof thev had supposed it to be a thin and rotte
affair, through which they could easily forces;
way: but closer inspections and trials show 2
them that they Were mistaken on that point. 3

They climbed the log walls, and were disa . ,
pointed in what they found there. -.

It is true that the roof was composed only 0 ' .-
cypress shin les or “ boards,” split out by han ‘
in backwoor 5 style; but they were long an - ,a
heavy, and there was nothin in the buildin _"
with which the prisoners coul batter them off. ‘

After awhile Engel suCceedod in finding t
weak place, tors of! some shingles, and t
his head through the opening. ,' .

“ It is broad daylight, Rus i,” said he. 9

“ We must hurry and get out, then.”

But they did not hurry and get out, as a sud-‘
den change. came over the scene that was p “
seated to the view of August Engel. !

“ Get down, Rush!” he sharply ordered. “
must give it up. The swampers are co ."P’

The both scrambled down, looking b av?
enou over this bad piece of news. i‘»
W at were their captors comin back for, ad“
what was to be the next move in be game? '

They did not bring Boney Priddle back w ‘~
them. and it was reasonable to suppose that «,1»
fat man, having refused to do their bidding, I};-
been murdered for his obstinacy. .'

In that event it was p obab e that they w
coming back to get one of the others and com r
him to perform the task. 

Either Powell or Engel would have been gfl

I

enough to go in plane of Boney when he
taken; but afterward they were not so auxi . 4

Da light had arrivod, and the were I
and heir chances might be much tter if
could keep out of the clutches of the sw

As they had fastened the door on the in ‘
they would try to keep out eir enemi
least until they could make to s with t m- L 5‘

Their su icions were soon conflrmedb
arrival of t eir captors, who kicked at the 3- .
of the log building after they discovered t . .r
would not open. ‘ ’

{ll‘his expedient failing, they yelled to th
81 0.

At the suggestion of August Engel the
ers made no answer; but they could eas y
all that was said outside.

“The ’ve got out an’ gone away,” 0
one of t e swampers. *

“Nary time i’ shouted Jim Summers.
know jest w’ot sawt 0’ trick they’ve n Y).
Open ,ihe do’ thar, dog-on you, or we‘ll l i;
open.

This threat produced no response, a1 a
swampers started to ilnd a log to serve r
teriug-ram.

As ' they walked away from the build“;
one of them looked back and saw something.

“They’s outan’ gone,”said he. “Thar’s a
hole in the roof.”

“ Would they ha’ tied the door an’ gone out at
the roof?” fiercely demanded Jim Summers.
“ We‘ll bu’st the door in, anyhow.”

Sam Startle floated out—on the lagoon in the
early morning. 

   

'
' i

    
   
 
   
   
 

  

 

i
i
i



We.-. a  ..

. . e 4.... :(IWAH

T at.“

. we“..-.-...._;.~.~;_;....;.;.;.a.....m  v . < H ,.

‘ slowly, but as swiftly

‘ ‘he din h skimmin over the smooth wa
' "siting aa’i‘y glances 8toward the shore, ready

...- M... a-.. . .. ... -....L-V .

Salamander Sam.

 

19

 

 

 

When he pulled his dinghy over the fallen
tree and launched it on the open water, he
did not begin to know what he was going _to
do; but he at once set his sharp and active
mind at work u )Il the problem, and his ideas
became clear an definite.

As for leaving his friends in the lurch and
seeking to make good his own escape
far from considering that point that it did not
once occur to him.

On the westward side of the lagoon the forest
was all burnt over to the water’s edge, offering
scanty shelter and still heated ground: but he

cared nothing for that side, as his comrades ,

must be in the other direction.

It was his first duty and greatest desire to
discover what had become of them, and then
he would study what he could do to help them:

From where he then was he might make a cir-

cuit through the forest and come around at the ‘

rear of the syit where they had been captured;
but there was a chance of getting lost, and he
did not want to leave his boat until he could see
his way more clearly.

He decided that he Would sneak along the east- ‘

ern shore, keeping as close to the bank and as
look around the bend be ow and reconnoiter the
situation. .

To carry out this plan quietly and effectively,
he removed both of the oars of the dinghy from
their swivels, and used one of them as a paddle,
so that the noise of rowing should not announce

, he was so ;

l
i
much under cover as possible. until he could  shoul succeed in etfcctin r a sui'prise'ilbut they
i
I

started back to the log house to get the pro-
fessor.

“ How long ago?”

“ Less‘n half an hour.”

“ Come on, Bone ! Pick up one of those rifles
and see that it’s we I loaded and all right, and
come quick.”

“Better take two,” muttered Boney, to whom
all his strength and vigor had returned. “ What-
’11 we do, Sam ?”

“ Feller those sneaks and pe per ’em, like the
professor and I peppered the yleys.”

“ Good as wheat. Come on!”

Boney was the one who knew the way, and he
took the lead, carrying the two rifles, but hold-
ing one of them so that he could make it effect-
ive instantly.

As for the young salamander, he had become
ac uainted with his carbine, and stuck to that.

but they had to look out for was the chance
of meetingr the swampers on their return with
the man they had gone to get.

For tlzat chance they looked out sharply,
knowing that if they should meet their foes be-
fore they could reach their clearing, their ad-

vanta e would be much diminished, eyen if they ,
' building, it occurred to Rush Powell that the in-

heard nobody and saw no idy until t eir rapid
steps brought them to the edge of the clearing.

 

CHAPTER XX.
A TRANSFORMATION SCENE.
IT was an unexpected state of affairs that pre-

his ap roach to the enemy. v seated itself to Sam and Boney as they reacned

i

So 6 slipped down the lagoon silently and I
as he cared to go, and ;
shoved the nose of the dinghy out to the head of 1
the bend.

There lay the camp, or the place where the _
camp had been started, and it was pointed out 1
to him plainly by the launch which still lay;
there at the bank. ‘

There was nobody about—a belief which soon
became a certainty and made the lad’s heart ‘

jum . :

W‘hat had become of the swampers, and what i

had they done? . 3
they murdered their captives, or merely
carried them away? .

It was a very singular circumstance thatl
smoke was coming out of the little chimney of I
the Wave. and sutam was issuing freely but
quietly from her ex ust pipe. '

This surely indicated the recent work, if not
the immediate presence, of somebody aboard
the launch; but there was nobody in. :lfht, and
the best use of the lad‘s keen eyes fail to dis-
~:over anybody. .

There was ust one thing for Sam to .do. He
~rnnst get to t e wave as speedily as poss‘ible and
iolve as much of the mystery as he could get
iold of in that quarter. _ .

He looked at his carbine, laid it carefully
within reach, and paddled across the little bay
ielow the bend, direct to the Wave.

 His strokes were swift but noiseless as he sat

ir instant flight or fight at the appearance of

 

n enemy. .
He saw nothi and heard nothing, but safel
4 lpped up to the unch at her stern, and m e

«e dinghy fast there. _ .
If the swampers had carried off his friends,
.he might have left the rifles, and there was
‘ ing what he could not do With them and

” t.

m was making the dinghy fast he heard a
g 11mm inside of the launch, which made him
1 «up up as if he had been shot.

mind one of his companions been left there for
', ,ad who was not yet dead? ' .

3: F0, it was Boney Priddle, lying like a bag of

in the bottom cf the boat, his limbs tight-
tied and his body and mind in pain, but un-
g'oobtedly alive, and apparently sound and
‘ m .
\, mgnme glance which conveyed this informa-
fim toSam Showed aim the three rifles of his
f -..nds lying where they had been left, and his ‘
W was formed on the instant.
.r t he and Beneath possession of these rifles,
‘. .ild not wipe out t e swampers, they could at
1: It take hold of the Job With a reasonable de-
g" of confidence. .
. e {amped ovelj 1090 tbs: launch and cut
1,... 21y 0059 with his sharp Juli-knife in short

‘” r

a i -
asover ed as he sat u but at the
‘ Jae Z was bjszfldBPed. and ’ at once

gamma himself the command and direction

1 ir.
31$ fiaflnga ourself together. Boneyl. Jump up
" yourself! Put all our Wits to work
i ‘ quick about it! W r’s t’others, and
 goin’ on i” _ _
died and spurred by Sam’s qu1ck question-
and impatience of delay, the fat man suc-

ceeded 1“. l“ailing the story in so few words that
he was astonished at himself.

the clearing.

The swampers had doubtless made slow speed
after they left the launch, being more or less
stupefied by the liquor they. had drank, and so
the rapid steps of their pursuers had brought
them on the scene in time to take part in the
proceedings.

“ Stop, am!” whispered Boney, as he halted

‘ at the edge of the c caring, and drew the lad

down under cover of the bushes. ,

The fat man had not only recovered his strength
and vigor, but had all his wits about him, and
his powers were not to be despised when they
were fully brought into action.

He was not only anxious to help his friends,
but eager to get eVen with the scalawags who
had insulted and abused him. threatening to feed
him to the alligators, and inflicting upon him no
small amount of bodily pain.

Just then he thou ht he saw his way clear to
accomplish both obJects. and to that end he was
Willing to exert every fiber of his being .

The log building was about three hundred
feet from where he and his companion were
concealed, Just a nice and easy range for the
magazme rifles. and with nothing at all in the
wa of good shots and plenty of them.

. ear the front of the building the swampers
were gathered, but just then a little we from it,
and their proceedings and the closed oor pro-
duCed the unexpected state of affairs that has
been noted.

Boney perceived that the fastenings had been
removed from the door on the outside: but why
was it not open, and why had not the swampers
gone in? .

Clearly because they could not, and this belief
was confirmed by the fact that they were
evidently seeking a log to be used as a battering-

ram.

“ Whar‘s our folks?" whispered Salamander.

“ Inside thar,” answered Boney. “ They’ve
got the cusses shut out.”

“ Looks to me as if they’ve gone out, them-
selves. I see a hole in the roof.”

“ That’s so, Sam. Looks like a new hole, too,
and I reckon they made it. But the he in thar.
They must ha’ get loose the way started in
with the colonel afore i left.”

Why not?”

“ Then they mayahave got out.
k mmy, they’d ha’ struck out

“ If they had,
fur the Wave, sure as shootin’. Mebbe they
didn’t have time. What would they fasten the
door and go out fur? These skunks know that
they’re inside, or they Wouldn’tbe foolin’ around
lookin’ fur a way to git in. They want to bu’str
the door down, ou see.”

I “lThgn I rec on, Boney, they are goin’ to git
oo .

“If they knew what’s behind ’em, they’d bet
thar dumed old lous hido’s that that’s what’s

oin’ to happen. Gi tin‘ fooled ain’t no .name
fur it, Sam.’

The fat man spoke very confidently, and he
seemed to be quite secure in his calculations.

He was by all odds the best shot in the sur-
veying party, and the range was all he could
ask for, while he was animated b an eager
:giticipation of revenge that counted for some-

ng. .

Jim Summers and his followers had found
the small trunk 'of a. fallen tree, which they
were picking up by the remainder of its jagged
Limbs, and were about to bear it toward the 03

once.
“Now’s our time.” whispered Boney, as he

 

The colonel and the professor were “over i placed one of his rifles at his side and clutched

under ” shut up in an oldl buildin . He had
11 with them there, but hail been to. en out by
the swampers and brought back to the Wave,
,where they had tried to make him run the en-

“ Ea had not run it for them, and they had

i the other eagerly.

1 He and Sam were crouched behind a cypress

; log, over which they sighted as they rested the
muzzles of their weapons upon it, and a better
chance to aim they could not wish.

  

3 ignorant of the proximity of their friends, ad

 

“ Wait till they’re straightened up on that
log,” whispered Boney. “Then we’ll git ’em in
line. and rake the very lives out of ’em.”

“ Do we need to?” mildly inquired Sam, who
shuddered at the thought of such wholesale and
cold-blooded slaughter.

“ Need to? Well, boy, if you keer to live you
need to. It’s their life or cum, and the colonel’s
life and the professor‘s, too. Need to? Do we ,
need to kill snakes and ’gators?”

“ All right, Boney. l’ll shoot as I shot at the
Hyleys.”

“ Wait till I give the word, Sam, ard then
sling it into ’em fur all you’re worth.” ‘

Inside of the log house Powell and En el,

hit upon a scheme in which there was some
promise, though they admitted that it was a
desixrate resort.

Perhaps it. was the very desperation of this
plan that commended it to them and gave it the
promise which it seemed to have.

While they were lamenting the lack of wea~
pens or anything that could be used as weapons,
and Were wonderin what they should do when
their foes succeed, in forcing a way into the

staiit of the entrance would be the best time for
them to attempt to escape.

Not by breaking away through the cnem , as
Engel at first su posed, but simply by clini ing
the log wall to t e hole in the roof which the
professor had discovered, and at the prorer m0“ ‘
inth jumping down outside and trusting to their
e

Watching their persecutors through the cracks
of the logs, and noticing when they had found
the battering-ram and were about to use it, the
prisoners scrambled up to the wall, and Powell
looked out at the hole to see what was going ’

on.

The intention was to take advantage of thei
moment of entrance, and of the surprise of the»
swampers when they should discover that the
building was really empty, and the only point.
to be feared was the noise of jum ing down.

From his elevated position owell ca hi;
sight of Hm ething that instantly inspired
with fresh hope, if it did not chan e his plans.

“ August,” he eagerly whisper , “ I think I
see somebody behind a log at the edge of the
clearing.”

‘ ‘ Impossible l"

“ I may be mistaken, but I am almostsure
that I see the sun shining on rifle-barrels across ‘
the log there.”

“ It must be Sam and Boney, then."

“ Keep quiet and climb up cl rtome.
skufik: are coming on With t eir battering- A
stic . '

Jim Summers and his crew, uite ignorant of
what was going on in front of em, and abow
all, unsuspieious of the deadly preparations in ‘ .'
their rear, had picked up the tree-trunk,and.. -,
were walking with it toward the log house. ' ' ‘*

Their attention was entirely concenth _
u n their burden and the business ahead of w.
tfgm; the attention of Boney and Sam was»
closely concentrated upon the four men, and ‘
Rush Powell was endeavoring to watch both , “
points of interest, while August Angel wan.
scrambling up to a position of better advan— .

ta e. P
Then it was that Boney Priddle whispered tho‘ '3
word to Sam, and the transformation scene was '
sudden and complete. I
No longer was there any doubt of the presence
of somebody at the edge of the clearing, and the -
continuous cracking of the magazine-rifle and
the re ting carbine at once told Rush Powell;
who t e somebody was. .
He utterai a yell of triumph as he thrust his" 1‘ 3
head out of the hole, and Huge] immediately
joined him there with shouts of encouragement“
wiggir "iii;de t' they"
frien no encouragemen , as
had put their whole souls into the work, and
were doing itso thoroughly, that the fight was '
entirely a one-sided affa r. 
When the terrible repeating-weapons m‘ 
fair chance to get their work in, there was no '
hope for the swampers and their muzzle-loading~ 
hunting-rifles. g ' ‘
It must have seemed to the Summers cmw as:
if a regiment had been turned loose upon them.
and the supreme and the rapid firing so aster» ,
ished and wildered them that they were 3 '
incapable of any other action than precipth

digit. , » ,
el was drop instant] as two at its 
bearersofell under “it fire, arid a. third 
knocked eyer before he could fairly get the on 
of his legs. I
One only escaped—the man nearest to the log'
house—who ran around the co. ner of the build.
ing, pursued by shot after shot, and disappeared.
in tll‘ie woods without once attempting toioob.
ac . . .x
The. coast was clear enough then, and Pow‘el!’ *w if 
and Engel found their contemplated escape ‘a., ‘ .
tmonk? easier matter than they ad expected it“
Without bothering themselves about opening ,
the door, they emerged from the hole in the “i
roof, and scrambled down the logs to the _.
ground, where they speedily joined their friend: ‘i’

  
  
  
    
    
  
 
  

l

 

 
 

29

 

\ l .
v

Salamander Sam.

 

 

aind rescuers-and exchanged joyful congratula-
t
99in; are out of that scrape much better and

easier than we could ever have hoped toget'

out}! said Powell. “ How did you two happen
to meet and come to our help in such splendid
style?”

“ It was Salamander’s doin’,” answered Boney.
“ He‘s the boss of the job. If it hadn’t been fur
him, thur’s no tellin’ whar we’d be now.”

“ I knew the boy would do to bet on,” chimed
in Engel. “ But we will adjourn all discussion,
my friends, until we look into the condition of
our recent enemies."

One of those enemies was beyond the reach of
.any further consideration in this world; another
had nearly finished the trip to the other shore,
and the third was evidently nearing the last
stages of ballet consumption.

thatever might have been done by Sam’s car-
bine, there could be no doubt that Boncy Brid-
dle had put in his work most effectively.

The third wounded man, as it happened, was
"Jim Summers, the leader of the swanlpers, and
Bush POWeII, who was full of the idea that the
capture of the party had been one of Morley
Plympton’s schemes, fastened upon Jim Sunl-
mers with the intention of persuading the truth

' - out of him while he bad breath to tell it.

Summers was in no condition to talk; but the
engineer succeeded in getting a few words from

is h .

.-“ TIhIaro is a chance for your life,” said Rush,
“ and we will take care of you and do the best
we can for you, if you will tell us who put you
up to this job. We think we know who it was,
but want to be sure. Who was it?”

“Gid ScrOoby,” answered the swamper, and
the remainder of his breath was used in cursing
the man who had got him into that fatal scra .

“ That settles it, boys,” said Powell. “ 0
know that old Scrooby is Morley Plympton’s

“.agent, and of course they are partners in this
business. I only wish we could fasten it on one
of them.”

As there had not been the least chance for the

.lifeof the wounded man, POWell was not com-
pelled to make good his promise to care for him,
.and the uestion arose as to what should be done
with the xlies of the slain.

“ We don’t need to bury the skunks, or to
bother with ’em in any way," observod Boney

: Priddle. “ One of ’em got away, and he’ll carry
, the news to tear friends, and we can leave them
* .to’tend to the nasty job.
“ If they have fr ends about here," said Bush,
1’ “and I suppose they must have, that opens up
7 another question.”
.“ What question‘s that, colonel?"
“ Will not their friends try to hunt us down.
 and get even with us for this scra e? Would it
 not be better for us to find their en and clean
1, it out, so that our further stay in this country
ma be free from that danger?”
 ‘ Perhaps: we might ’light on a nest of
’ woman,” suggested Salamander.
“ Sam is right,” remarked the professor.
.“We have no wish to do any unnecessary kill-
or to undertake any needless labors. We
' h better steer clear of the rest of the scoun-
' drels, if there a more of them; tr to keep a
watch, an take better care 0 yourselves
fter than heretofore.” V
;. , This was accepted as good advice, and the
*party returned to the launch, where they pre-
pared and ate the food they all needed, and com—
pared notes concerning their various experi-
aces during the “ scrape.”
Then they mt the Wave in order, and steamed
. law». from t o locality of ‘their unpleasant and
. 1 Wrath: adventure.

CHAPTER XXI.

PLYMPTON CABRIES THE NEW’S.

MORLEY PLYMPTON, taming out of his apart-
‘mant at Gideon Serooby‘s house at a late hour
in the morning, after a severe and prolonged
' wrestle with John Barleycorn the previous night,

found some good news awaiting him.

He did not deserve any good news, judging

him his sodden face. his red eyes. and his
» era appearance, suggestive of a heavy dc-
figch, to say nothing 0 his moroso air am sur-
dy manner; but it was there for him, all the

same.
 “ The rain falleth alike upon the just and the
" “an tilt,” and frequently in this wicked world the

v to eat gets the lion’s share.
present possessor and expectant disburser
d! the pleasant intelli ence was good old Gideon
' ficmoby, the canny otchman who sat back
" do thech an i spun spider-webs which were in-
unded and well calculated to catch fat flies.

 He was thus occupied, no doubt, as he sat on
ibis veranda that morning, smoking his pipe and
gains at the live-oak rove. ‘

‘ Upon this reverie t in appearance of Morley
' pton, although he had been, expected
:10! some time, thrust an unpleasmg if not

guant feature that caused Scrooby to
" ucker his lips and draw his face down in a

POW. ‘

; “ You are very late, Plympton,” said he.
_“ I began to think that the whisky had struck
in, and that you would never stir out any

 

\

 

 

 

 

more. I had some news, too, that I wanted to
tell on.” .

“ ad news, I suppose, as usual,” grumbled
the other. “ I never get any other sort now-
adays. Well, Gid, give me something to wash
it down with, and then fire it into me. 1’

Though Scrooby ordered some whisky at
once, he was evidently displeased at this style of
address.

“ You drink as freely as if you owned a dis-
tillery,” ho growled, “ when it is very doubtful
at this moment whether you really own enough
to buy a peck of corn.”

“ That‘s the way it looks just now, old man,
as I have reason enough to know, and that
is what has sent me down into the low grounds
of sorrow. Since Judge Vv'ilshire has been
serving his infernal notices, and everybody has
got wind of the trouble, I can’t collect a cent
of money, and my credit has gone clear over the
dam.”

“ What else can you expect when you go on in
this fashion, throwing yourself away and
neglecting your busineSs?"

“ Give me the bottle, Grid, and don’t be so
pinch-fingered. Ah! that went to the right
place, and I will have to send another after it to
{cop it from being lonesome. Why do you twit
me with neglecting my business Gid? I was
ready to attend to the only business that
amounts to anything at present; but you took it
out of my hands.”

d génd it was a good thing for you that I
i .’

“ So you say; but that remains to be proved,
Go on with your bad news.”

“ It happens to be good news.”

“ Have the skies fallen and brought us a load
of larksl Go on with your good news, then.
1 can even stand that with this fortifler at my
elbow.”

“ I have just said Morle , that it was a good
thin for you that I took t at business into my
han s, and the proof of the pudding is in the
eating. I have heard from my scheme, and it
has worked to the satisfaction of all con-
corned—that is, to the satisfaction of you and
me.

“It is too good to be true,” anewered Plymp-
ton as he proceeded to solace himself again.”

" It is true enough to be good, anyhow. This
morning I had a call from a down-country
man.”

“ What sort of a customer was that?”

“ A swamper—a ’gator man—from the head-
waters of the Keewannee, who had strayed into
the settlements and had an errand to me. He
had met Jim Summers, the man I hired to
attend to that business, and a message had been
sent by him to me."

“Shoot it out, then. Give me a bite of the
puddinfid

“ He run across Jim Summers as he was
starting out, and Summers asked him to tell Gid
Seroeby that he’d got ’em. The man said that
be brought the message as be got it, not know-
ing what it meant. and I told him that it referred
to a lot of ’gator skins that Jim had promised to
get for me.’ a’

“I suppose that is satisfactory; but it seems
to me to be somewhat indefinite,” objected
Plympton.

“ It was definite enough to cause me to give the
man a five—dollar bill, which made his eye" open
as if he had come into a fortune. Summers was
smarter than I had expected him to be. How
could he put the thing anv plainer without
giving the scheme away? l'hen he said illat
he‘d get ’em, that was meant to let me know
that ho lad taken in and hornswoggled- hat
surveying party, of course including the )0
who may be considered as the objective point of
tho campal‘rn.”

“ That high—headed cuss of a POWOll, too,
I hope. I would be willing to miss him. W'ell,
Gid, that is great and glorious nmvs,‘ and I' sup-
pose it is to be "depenle on, if your man Sum-
mers hasn’t sent on a lie.”

“ Why should el He has everything to gain
by tellin the truth and doing just what I
engaged lim to do. I believe you may set
it down as a sure thing, Morley, that the boy is
out of your way, and that the rcst of the outfit
will never see a settlement again.”

This was such good news to Morley Plympton
that he felt himself justified in celebrating it in
the way that bcst pleased binl. and when his
nerve was sufficiently strong and his blood was
sufficiently fired, no mounted his horse for the
long ride to Colonel Tremper’s placo, can log
on the journey a goodly quantity of the cele ra-
ting fluid.

is news was toogOod to keep, and he was
determined to 10so no time in triumphing over
Eva ’l‘remper and letting the colonel know
where he shied.

eyes were clear, and he had regained his soldier-
ly bearing, and he was a faithful image, though
a shadow, of the Colonel Tremper who had faced
death on the bloodiest of battlefields

“What’s the matter, old man?” rou hly de-
manded Morley Plympton. “ You loo as if
you’d been pulled through a knethole. Have
you had a spell of sickness? Has the old enemy
got on down at last?”

“ othing is the matter with me, young man ,”
coldly answered Colonel Tremper. “ I am quite

‘ well, no thanks to you and have not been sick.”

“ Solnething’s the matter with you, I’ll swear.

, I never saw you look so white around the gills

; before.

ll.

“The only thing that annoys me just now, sir,
your presence, and 1 wish to know why you

i have come here.”

i

“ Look here, old man, it won’t do to take on
that high and mighty tone with me. The time

lfor that sortof thing has gone by. 'I‘hat’sa

 

 

Yyl

 

l

 

He missed his chance to break “Eva‘s heart 3
immediately With this intelligence, as she was :

not in the house when he arrived, and he was
received by Colonel Tremper

A great surprise awaited him in the condition
of the old gentleman, who was actually and
induhitably sober.

His face was unusually pole, and his general
appearance was “shaky,” as if he might have
lately recovered from a schre illness;

Q (.3’ .r’ . , a4 .". .,H"

pretty sort of way to talk to your creditor, the
man who can sell you out and turn you adrift
ill the swamps. Business has brought [1 9 here,
and I want to know when you are going to pay
me the money you owe me on that lllorignge.”

“ I have been informed on good legal authority,
Mr. I’lynlpton, that I do not owe you anything,
and that I must not pay you any money. ’

“That was right into your and, I suppose,
and you thought you would get clear of paying
anything to anybody. That game worked very
well fora while; but it is played out now, as you
and all the others concerned will find out to your
cost. The little difficulty has been settled, and
settled in my favor.”

The old gentleman trembled a little, as his
nerves were shaken by the confident tone of his
rude visitor; but he stood his ground nobly.

“ How has it been settled?” he inquired.

“By the removal of one of the parties. The
hand of Providence, as I suppose the persons
would call it, has been getting its work in, and
the young fraud who has been put forward by a
lot of blackmailers to try to take m property
from me has sailed away to 6 golden
shore. Now that their figurehead is gone the
scheme of the blackmailers will collapse like a
bursted bladder.”

This was terrible news for Colonel Tremper,
and he sunk into a chair, his pale face changing
to an ashy has as he realized the full conse-
guences of the information that had been given

1m.

“ Do you mean to tell me that young Startl-
is dead?” he feebly inquired.

“ Very dead, my ancient warrior. As dead as
a door nail or Julius Caesar or an of the tradi-
tional dead things we hear of. f I supposed
him to be a relative of mine. I would put on
mou’rning; but I knew him tobe a fraud, you
see

“ When and where and how did it happen?”

“ I am sorry to say that I can’t go into details
just yet, and if I could they might worry your
sympathetic soul. You know that he and the
seam 9 who took charge of him started on an
expedition tothe wilderness at the headquarters
of the Keewannee. Well, they got there. and
news has lately come in that gives the upfhot of
the expedition—that is to say, it shot up.

“ But how? What happened to them?”

“Just what has happened to other fools who

have ventured in there without sense enough tax

take care of themselves. Some of the wild
swampers, who saw that they had a Soft thin

in getting hold of the valuable property that bag
been intrusted to those scalawags, jumped on

them and wiped them out.”
v “ Were they all killed?”

“ Of course they were. Do you su pose a
swulnpers would let one of them ,slip o f That’s
not their style. I haven’t got the full particu-
lars, and may never get them; but the acmth
1“ clear enough to make it certain that a rarty

' of snrvovors vvus wiped out, and there was no

other party ill tlnre.”

Colonel Trcnlper seemcd to be on the point of
brcaklng down.

This cruel piece of news. overthrowing tho
hr es and 1) ans he had latcly formed, and
bringing such a tcrrible blow to his daughter
was almost too much for him to endure in his
onfeebled condition. .

Morley Plym ton saw how he was affected,
and applied the lash remorselessly.

“So you see, old man, that game is layed
out. The young fraud Won’t turn up to other
me any more, and the scalnwag that our
daughter was sweet on is sleeping his last
and now there is nothing more between you 9%

mo in the way of our business. You will g
the money to me, if it is ever paid to'any y
and you will have to come to In terms, whic‘

you know well enough. or I shal clean outtt
concern, and I don‘t mean to have any foe’f ‘
new about it, either. What do you say to the “
now? W'ill you give in?"

“Never!” firmly answered Colonel Trember,
as be reused himself up. .

“ Come new. old man. dml’t 1u: too hasty and
hot-headed. l’v0 got th“ “‘hlp hand here, and I
mean to use it. Better take a drink and think
the matter over.”

The old gentleman rose to his feet. and though

but his he was obliged to steady himself by his chair, his

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

\

i.

I 

Salamander sam.

* " 21,

 

form 'was as erect and his air as manly and
coura ous as ever in his best days.

Mor ey Plympton fairly quailed before the in-
dignant gaze of th infirm old soldier.

“ Neverl” he shri ly replied. “ Li uor and I
are sti‘an ers now, and such we sh ever be,
whether die to-morrow or live for many years.
Not a drop of the accursed stuff shall ever pass
my lips again. I leave that to you, and am glad
to see that the foul fiend has got a good grip on
you. It is fitting poison for such a snake as you
are, and may it soon do its work! I have no
need to think the matter over. I have already
decided it, and the decision is irrevocable.
Come what may, I would rather give m
daughter to the a ligators than to such a wretc
as you. Now you scoundrel, do your worst!
Whether you have been lying to me or speak-
ing the truth by chance, you can hurt me no
more.”

 

Plympton was bewildered by this outburst at ;

its beginning, but soon recOvered himself, and
astonishment gave way to rage. ‘

He started up, his face red with fury, just as
Eva Trem r glided quietly into the room.

She ha an open letter in her hand, and
there had evidently been tears in her eyes, but
the sunshine of her smiles had chased the clouds
awa .

A? the si ht of Morley Plympton she hastily
folded the etter, and stepped orward fiignly
and roudly.

“ hat does this mean, father?” she demanded.
“ What does this man want here, and what has
he been saying to you?” .

“ This man,” answered Plympton, With a
sneer, “ was merely demanding his due, and he
has brought some news that may concern you,
though 1 doubt if you will be very glad to
hear it.”

Eva gave her father a glance of in uiry.

“He has brought bad news, my ear,” said
the old‘ gentleman—“the very worst news.
had hoped that I would not see you until after
he had one away, so that I might break it to
you en y: but I perceive that there is no stop-

ing im from telling it, and you must try to

ar it, dear child.”

“ Is it about Rush Powell?" she inquired, as
calmly (wit the matter did not concern her in
the least.

“Yes, dear'—about him and chug Startle.
This man tells me that they are ead.

' The fatal word seemed to produce no impres-

sion upon Eva, who merely opened her eyes a -

little wider and grasped the letter in her hand a
little more tightly,

" This is news, indeed,” she observed, “and I
must say that it surprises me. Is it true, Mr.
Plympton i”

“ Of course it is. I got it from a man who
had lately come from that region. and he told me

that the party had all been killed by swampers.
It came as straight as a line.”

“No doubt of that. And you were the first
to get the news, if not the only one. So it was
you, then, who emplo ed those swampers to at
tack the garty and ki them. I had supposed it
was Mr. rooby.”

This calm and measured sgeech astonished
both Morle Plympton and olonel Tremper,
but not in t 6 same manner.

What could the young lady mean?

“ What’s that?” sputtered Plvm ton, as he
turned very red in the face. “ hat do you
mean by sayin that I or Scrooby employed the
swampers to ki 1 them?”

“ You are mistaken, Mr. Plympton. I had
supposed Mr. Scrooby to be the scoundrel, but
said that it must have been you. However that
matters little, as you are both in the same boat.

Are on sure that Mr. Powell is dead?"

“ but are you driving at? Idon’t under-
stand you. Of course he is dead.”

“There must be a mistake somewhere. He
says that he is not dead, and I never knew him
to tell an untruth.” ‘ 0

“ Says he is not dead? What do you mew?”

“ He sure] might to know whether he is alive
or dead, an it is reasonable for me to suppose
that he would not have written to me if he had
been dead.” v '

“Written to youi”

"‘ I have a letter from him here which was
written after the affair with the swam pg of
which you have spoken. If Mr. Powell is to be
believed, you are mistaken in saying that his
part was killed by those scoundrels, as he tells
lie that they came of! safely, after kllling three

of the swampers.” ~.
" Let me see that letter,” fiercely ordered

Plympton.
‘ O , no, Mr. Plympton. You must take my
word for that. It is enough that I believe what
I have said. and on must roeive that I do be
have it. Mr. owell te is me that Gideon
Scroony was responsible for the attack; but- you
are we come to that honor if you wish it."

“ There’s something wrong about this," growl—
ed Plympton. “ Somebody has been m0st infer-
nally fooled. I’ll pull you down off your high
horse yet, Miss Tremper—see if I don’t 2”

He snatched his hat. hurried out of the house,
mounted his horse. and rode away at a rallop,
venting his ill-humor upon the unfortunate ani-
mal he rode.

l nel Tremper, and drew from it the most favora-

 

 

, country to Colonel Trem

As soon as he was clear of the room Eva
Tremper fell into her father’s arms and burst
into tears; but the tears she shed wore tears of

joy.

 

CHAPTER XXII.
m BLACK BAND’B woax.

EVA TREMPER had occasion before lon to
shed more tears of joy, and to accompany t em
with many smiles.

The surveying party finished their mission up
the Keewannee successfully and without any
further disaster or noteworthy incident, and re-
turned to the settlements.

August Engel and Boney Priddle navi ated
the Wave on Coahoula, ‘to deliver her to udge
Wilshire, and prepare a report of the expedition,
while Rush Powell and Sa amander crossed the
r‘s to enjoy a. brief
vacation which they ha well earned, and for
which at least one of them eagerly longed.

Salamander Sam was almost as warm] we?
comed at the Tremper mansion as Rush owe l
was, not only because he was believml to be the
heir of the Plympton roperty, but because
Powell’s letter had told 0 his courage and devo—
tion in effecting the rescue of his friends, and
because he had many traits which endeared him
to those whose friendship was worth having.

Rush was greatly surprised as well as grati-
fied at the change which was manifest in Colo-

ble auguries for the future of Eva and her
father. \

' The old gentleman had entirely recovered his
health. though he had not regained his former
strength, and was in all re. ts a different and
a vastly better man than 2E? Colonel Tremper
whom Powell had left there when he went up
the Keewannee.

He had gained new energgr and ambition, and
the results of his recent on eavors were already
visible in the improved condition of the house,
the grounds, and the plantation general] .

He was obliged to confess that he di not see
his way clear to at rid of the load of debt that
had beed fasten upon him while he was astray
from his better nature; but he meant to do his
best with the means in his hands, and, if Sam
Startle should be adjud the heir of the
Plympton estates, he mig t ho tohave time
which would enable him gradua y to pay of! his
indebtedness.

In any event he would have no further com—
promise or parley with Merle Plympton.

This being his temper and disposition, he had
become a great comfort to his daughter, in
whose society and that of her lover he took
great leasure.

Mor ey Plympton had not again made his a
pearance at Colonel Tremper’s place, and t e

ple there had heard nothing from him except
incidentally, their information being that his
time was mostly passed at Gideon Scrooby’s and
devoted to the consumption of liquor.

Whether it had been Plympton or Scrooby
who set the swampers on the surveying party,
there could be no doubt that it was one of them,
and. as Eva Tremper had said, they were both
in the same boat; but it was also certain that
the mere word of a dead man could not be used
as eVldence against either of them, and Rush
Powell could ordy express the hope that he
mi ht find a chance to get even with them.

11 the mean time, he said, the one thing need?
ful was to keep Sam Startle carefully out of
their clutches. '

Salamander Sam, however, was the, style of
young Tlow that was difficult to keep within
metes d bounds—not from any natural way-
wardnass of character, or from an indisposition
to listen to advice or follow it, but because he
was fond of adventure, and more especially be-
cause bis recent adventures had given him such
a’conteihpt for danger that he almost behaved
himself to bear a charmed life.

.Though his life at Colonel Tremper’s pleased
him beyond measure, he had become ion-
ately fond of hunting, and, since he ha got his
repeatin carbine, he was unwilling to mim any
chanceo indulging in his favorite pastime. ‘

In VleW of these facts Rush Powell decided
that he must soon hrin ‘his vocation to a close,
take Sam. to. Coahou a, represent the case to
Judge Wilshire, get a personal guardian up.
minted for the Ind. and send him where he
would be sure to be out of the way of Morley
Plympton until his rights could be settled,

But Rush Powell’s vocation was very pleasant
to him under the circumstances, and time new
faster than he thoiiizht, and Sam Startle enjoyed
himself pretty much as pleased himself.

Care was taken. however, that Sam should not
be alone on his hunting excursions, and. when
his friend Powell was not able to go with him,

 

he was always accompanied by Ben, a young
negro man on the place, who was “no slouch ” 1
of a hunter. and was accounted a bright and l
active fellow. '
One evening just nftcr sunset Rush Powell .
and Eva Tremper Were seated most comfortably
near together on the veranda, and the young i

gone off with Ben and had not ct returned;
though he should have been home y that hour.

It was not an unusual thing for him to be
absent until dark, and there was no special cause-
for apprehension; but POWell was particularly
uneasy on this occasion, and his uneasiness was
communicated to the others. " '

“1 can’t stand this an longer,” said Rush,
“ and [don’t mean to. I s all hate to brin this
more than pleasant visit to a close; but will
surely start for Coahoula to-morrow, and will
take Sam with me, and will make arrangemenit‘
for keeping him well out of the way of Morley
Plym ton hereafter.”

“ on are right, Mr. Powell,” said Colonel
Tremper. “I must sa that I have observed
the lad’s proceedings With much uneasiness, and
I am fully of the opinion that he ought to be‘
removed to a place of safety. His life and
liberty are of too much portance to himself
and others to be subj ted to any needless.
risks.”

“ I hope there is no occasion for any alarm
just now,” observed Eva. “ Indeed, I am sure
there is not, as 1 see them coming home. No— '
it is only Ben; Salamander is not with him."

“ Merciful heavens l” exclaimed Rush. “ Has
anything haf) ned to the boy?"

here con dpebe no doubt that something had
ha pened to him. 1

en was hurrying toward the house, as if he
had something of importance to communicate, .
and his dark face so plainly told a tale of disas-
ter, that the three persons on the veranda.
huriiied (IOWP go meet him. ed h

“ couldn t elp it," moan t e youngn
man, as he panted for breath and expresse?-I:
sobs the emotion wrung from him by the story
he had to tell.

“ I couldn’t help it, Mars’r Curnel an’ Miss
Eva. I done did all I could, but I couldn’t help
it. ' v ‘

“ What is it, you black rascal?” fiercely de—
manded Colonel remper. “ Hold up your “head
this instant, and tell me plainly and quickly
just what has happened.” '
5 Thus ordered, and under the eye of his mus-~
ter, Ben speedily recovered his Wits, and related
a tale that nearly paralysed his hearers with
horror and a sense of utter he] lessness.

The misfortune had come to im and “ young
Mars’r Sam " several hours ago, and at a con»
aiderable distance from home. ' ‘

' They had (not stopped to eat their'luncheo
at noon, Sam being then intent upon following
the trail of a deer which he had found; but the
trail came to nothing, and it must have been
nearly two hours after noon when they halted
to eat a bite.

It was a wild spot where they halted—a little
glade far from any road or path, surrounded

y thickets of vines and bushes.

As they were seated at their luncheon 'four
negro men stole out of the thicket and rushed
upon them, seizin and overpowering them be-
fore they knew w at was the matter.

Two of them bound Salamander and hiedr h'inr, 'v
awa in one direction. carrying the arms of the-
two unters, while the others led Ben in thqo I
posite direction, back over the trail he had mad;
in coming to the lade. I

He Was led in t at direction at a pretty rapid
rate for several miles, until he reached a forest,
road, where he was turned loose. '- .-

Up  that. int his captors had maintamed' a »
an obstinate 81 meg, refusin to make the least
reply to his many questions and expost‘ula-
gens; but one of them spoke when Ben Was'set.

rec. ,

“We don’t want to hurt you. ni er,” said
he. “ and don’t want nuflin’ to do w you, no-
how. Go right along, now, and run awa
home, and you’d better not so much as loo
back arter you start.” '

As there was clearly nothing else that he could:
do, Ben obeyed this order, and made his best
posmble speed hack to Colonel Tremper’s.

“Who can they have been! What did they
lopk like?” anxioust in uired Powell.

“ h, Iknows da we ehough,”promptl ano.
swered Ben. “I nebter see any ob ’ein gefo‘,
but I knows dar style. Dey's swamp
Mars’r Rush,'de wuss kind 0’ swamp niggers.
Dar‘s‘ no tellin’ whar dey come from orwliar 
dog 0 to, and no doin’ numn’ wid ’em, nobowfi‘ , 

0 one] Tremper e lained to Rush—though» ‘- 
the young man probab y knew as much about
the matter as he did—that the ‘fswam alg-
gcrs” mentioned by Ben were wild or'oufinwed "
tribes ‘or collections of “ American 'citiuiis of"
African descent,” who were not at all‘ inter-
ested in the great fact of emancipation. and
knevgmothing of the privileges or duties of cit-iv
lens ip. h .

Slaves had escaped, many years ago to inac-
cessible localities in the swamps and ladies,
where the and their descendants since
liVed and ourished after a wild and barbarous
fashion. ~

Others had joined them from time, to was:

\ f:

and none were ever, known to return to
haunts and ways of civilization. ‘ r,
They were free and indenendcnt, getting their

Iadv’s futher,having finished his daily round of  food easily and caring little for clothes, and

duties, had just joined them. ‘

had gone so far tackward to barbarism that

They were speaking of Salamander, who had little more than the language remained to than)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

22

_WHW-W ..._ . . . .._,__ -._ ..s. H

SeiaeasderSeme

 

 

 

of what they had learned from their former
masters.

It must be admitted, however, that they were
litth if any worse, except for the heathenish
rites they practiced, than the white swampers,
of whom Mr. Powell could form his own
opinion.

This state of affairs resented a problem that
seemed to be unsolvab e, and Rush Powell was
gompelled to confess that this was by all odds
dhe worst mischance that had befallen Salaman-

er.

When the attacks were made by the Hyleys
and the other white swamlpers, Sam had hap-
pened to be absent from t e cam on each oc-
casion, and circumstances had so s 9. them—
selves that he was not only unharme , but was
ab e to assist materially in effecting the rescue
of is comrades.

This time the blow had been aimed at him
alone, and he had been struck in such a manner
that it seemed to be impossible for his friends
to afford him any aid as his captors, even if
their hiding-place could be discovered, were
doubtless too strong to submit to anything but
a large and well appointed force.

There was reason to fear, also, that if this
was the work of Morley Plympton, his disap-
gintment at previous failures would cause him

brin this attempt to a sure and sudden end

'“Tain’t no 00d, I tell er. Jess leah it to 01’
Aunt Cely, an she’ll ’ten to it.”

“ What can you do, mammy?” inquired Eva.

“ Eberythin dat kin be done—jess dat and no
mo’. Why, b ess yer soul, Chile, I knows all
‘bout dem swamp niggers, an’ dey knows me.
Dey’s got to stan’ aroun’ when Cely gits her
wool up, jess min’ w’ot I tells yer. I’se a Obi
woman, I is, one Oh de way-uppers, and dis is
my business, too, as my Ben was in de scrape,
thou h it warn’t no fault o’ his’n.”

E “ gut what will you do?” again demanded
va.

“ Go right out dar inter de swamp an’ tell
dem niggers dat ef dey hurt a ha’r oh Mars’r
Sam’s head. dey’ll wish dey’d ncbber been
horrified, an’ dey knows dey’s got to min’ me,
too.

“ Can you find them, mummy?”

“ Find ’em? Mo? Jess as easy as you kin flnd
yer bed, honey, when you wants to sleep. It
don’t make no diff’ence wedder it’s day or night,
and dar ain’t no boss kin git dar quicker‘n ol’
Coly, needer." '

“ I am afraid that they have already killed the
poor boy ” suggested Powell.

.Annt Celia confidently declared that he need
feel no apprehensions on that score.

“ Dey nebber kills nuflin’ bei'o‘ do next da ,”
she aflirmed. “ De Obi men won’t let ’em. ’1]

 

 

by the eath of his young relative.
Rush Powell was in despair.

' , He could think of but one thinfhto do, and 1

ni rs.”
' ff‘lt should grove to be true that the

that, would require so much time at it would 1
appear to be practically useless, and yet he i
must leave no effort untried. ,
He declared that he would set out immediatc- i
afar Coahoula and get his friends Engel and I
ddle, with such other help as could be {iicked '

up there, and bring them on to Colonel rem-

, per’sas speedily as possible.

'Then he would have Ben guide them to the
spot where Salamander had been captured and l
at that point they would pick up the trail and ;
follow it to the hiding-place of the “swampl

had ,
made an end 0 Sam, he would wreak sue ven- 
geance upon them as should exterminate or;
scatter the clan.

This plan was approved by Colonel Tremper .
and Eva, as there was nothin else that they l

' couId suggest, and the colone was about tel

‘.to

‘. knowl
’ in oerta n mysterious and occult matters that

 

 

 

1.».

‘ swamp
.r Celia coul

,wlth alacrity and made a personal affair of the

 

 

icha

I , than Aunt Celia what woes might result from

.ed and feared by the entire colored

, an
the desired them to do.

~ not of you waste fetch on all Abe Lin um’s

order a horse for his young friend, when there

 was an interruption that offered them another i
, hope.

 

CHAPTER XXIII.
' rat OBI WOMAN.
“Jnss ou hol’ on, Mars’r Rush, an’ gib yer 1
ol' Aunt ely a chaince at dis yer’ t’ing.’ '
It was Aunt Celia herself w 0 spoke, and she !
ad been listening in the open doorway to all
at was said. 1

She was a gra and somewhat skinny ne ress, A it

pretty well on n years, who was an o] ser- “
t of the Tremper famil , having come down

in from the days 0 slavery, and having
never shown any desire to desert them or to i
e her situation. 
In eed, as far as Aunt Celia was concerned ,
the \emancipation proclamation might as well ,
hdve not been issued, as it had not changed her 1
condition in the least, except that she know i

. that she was legally her own mistress and could I
' not be sold. 1

She was the mother of Ben, in whose charge 1

. . Salamander Sam was at the time of his mis— j

fortune, and had been the nurse and “ mammy ”
of Eva Tremper. whose fortunes would be
seriously aflected by the loss of the lad.

It may be added that no person knew better

the death of Sam Startle, as the Tremper fami-
. bad no secrets from her.
This was not by any means the extent of her
’ e, as she was reported to he very wise

were liar to her recs.

On this account Aunt Celia was both res'ect-
pulation
(if that region, Who flocked to her or advice,
obeyed implicitly her orders, and believed her to

supernatural powers in the composition
of charms and potions and powders, which were
never to fail in helping or banning as

Aaysoon as Aunt Celia spoke, the faces of
Colonel Tremper and his daughter lighted up,
and they wondered why they had not at once
thought of a plying to her. ,

Itwasce in that nowhere else could they
hope to obtain so much information concerning

‘ niggers” and such useful advice as
d g ve them if she should be willing,
and why should she not be willing? .

was not only willing.- but came forward

matter.
“ Don’t you go off yonder, Mars’r Rush,” said
.theold woman. “ ’Twouldn’t do a mite o’ ood—

git dar in time to stop de cdttin’ up. ’

“ Will you bring Sam back with you?” in-
quired Eva. ’

" We], now, hone , dat’s anodder t’ing. I’ll
see dat dey don’t ki] him; but mo’n Idat can’t
say jess yet. His life’s de fu’st p’int, and I
hain’t got no time to spar’. needer.”

Rush POWell begged to be allowed to accom-

pany her: but the oid woman refused his request
very itively and almost with disdain.
“ on wou dn’t do a mite 0’ good, Mars’r
Rush, but would on’y be in in way, and de big-
ger and flghtin’er you was, e mo’ harm you (1
do. Lemme ’]one. now, and you w’ite folk stay
right yer‘ until I git ready.”

Aunt Celia’s getting ready had nothing to do
with a change 0 clothes or any of the usual pre-
parations; but she was entire] occupied with
molding in moist clay a sma‘. and very rude
representation of the human form—so rude, in-
deed, that the artist was ohliged to explain what
it was meant for before it could be reco ized.

This image she brought tbthe Veran a, and
gave it into the charge of Eva, with s ciflc in-
structions as to what should be done With it.

“ You‘ll have to be] me wid dis, hone , ’case
I must leave it yer’ to ’tended to w‘ile I m gone
to de swamps.” r

“ What is it, mammy?"

“ Dat dar figger, Miss Eva, is ole pr, de head

‘ man ob dem swamp niggers. I reckon he’ll hab

to sufl’ah some befo’ I git him toned down 50’s to
min’ me, and dat’s w‘ot you must ’end to, ’case
it would break de cha’m to bah anybody else do
lTell me what to do mammy, and you may
be sure thatI will attend to it."

“Stay up till midnight, honey, and jess at de
midnight minnit you wanter some a pin inter
his a’m right yer’, up to de head, and leab it dar.
Den 'est at noon to-morrer ou wanter souse
anod er Join inter his lef’ leg, r gbt yer’, de same
way, an don’t furgit de time. Now I’m gwine
ter de swamps. ”

Serious as the trouble was. Rush Powell could
hardly refrain, after the old woman had left
them, from laughing at her uncouth image and
her ueer instructions.

“ 0 you believe in her witchcraft, Eva?” he
asked. “Are you real] going to sit up to-night
and stick a pin into the lump of mud?’

“ I do not believe in witchcraft of any kind,”
answered Eva, “ and yet I ave known so many
strange things to come to‘ pass through Aunt
Celia’s preceedings, that I might almost be
tempted to believe in her witchcraft. But I am
sure that she has much power 'amon Whose wild

ple, and that she means to use it%o'help poor
alamander Sdm and the rest of us. For that
reason I shall follow her directions implicitly.
andgt the same time my prayers will go with
er.

“ No doubt you are right, as you always are.
You will sit u until midni ht, and I shall have
the leasure o sitting up w th you and assisting
in t e m sterious rite.”

Eva p aced the mud image where she was sure
that it would be entirely safe, and the party on
the veranda went in to a late sup r, though
their trouble had robbed them of their afipetites.

Aunt Celia, though she declared t at she
wa ted no company, was not to be permitted to
go a one.

Just as she was about topass out of the grounds
she was met by an elderly negro man, whose

resence there at that time was quite distasteful

her.

This individual was Julius Backbone, who had
been for some time employed on the Trempcr
plantation, and who was almost as notorious in

s way as Celia was in hers, being generally
known as Pa’son‘ Backbone. and famous as an

i
‘

 

arm .”
“But something must be done," protested
Pgell, “ and that is the only thing I can think

._0

1

exhorter and leader at the colored camp-meet-
huts and revwals.

l ' He not only respected Aunt Celia Quite as
' much as the rest of the colored popula ion re-

\
I

9*... .

 

spected her, but was more than suspected of en-
tertaining matrimonial aspirations of which she
was the object.

“ H l’ on, Sistah Celia,” said Parson Julius, as .

she was briskly stepping ofl.
yer.

“ Whar‘s you gwine ter, J ulius?” she sharply
demanded.

“ To do swamps, to see dem swam niggers.’

“ How’d yer know I was gwine ter e swamps?”

“Ben to] me.”

“ Ben’s got too much lip. I orgy wish he’d got
as much sense as he’s got lip. l ’ot yer wanter
see dem swamp niggers fur?”

“ ’Ca’se you’s gwme, honey, and ’ca’se—dey’s
got souls to besaved.”

Celia was walking on at a good pace, though
not so rapid] as she had started.

“I dunno’ ut dat,” she replied. “Ef dem
niggers ebber had any souls, I reckon de dcbbil’s
got .~ech a big mo’gage onto ’em dat ’tain’t no
use fur anybody to try to git unner him. Mought
as well say dat ‘gators has got souls.”

“ You don’t orter talk like dat, Sistah Celia.
’Tain’t Chrisshun.”

“ Don’t keer wedder it’s Chrisshun or not. I
ain’t bodderin’ ’bout no Chrisshuns now. I’so
gwine dar on business, I is, and I don’t want no
sawt o’ comp’ny, nohow.”

h“’l”,se gwine wid you, Sistah Celia, sart’in
s u.

“ Bettah not, Bruddah Julius. Min’ w’ot I
tells yer—bettah not. I’m gwine out dis night
on business dat hain’t got nuflin' to do wid Chris-
shuns, and you couldn’t begin ter keep up wid
me, nohow.”

“ l’se gwine ter try, sistah.”

“ Bettah not, I say. Ef you should git out dar
oncet among dem swamp niggers, I reckon you
wouldn’t keer much mo’ bout dar souls w’en dey
was b’ilin’ you fur Voodoo soup.”

Parson Julius Backbone rolled up the yellows
of his eyes, but was otherwise no more affected
by the prospect of bein boiled than one of the
ancient martyrs mi ht ve been. I

Aunt Celia mov away swiftly, and he fol-
lowed her to the best of his ability; but it was
 evidentthat hisability was not equal to his
w1 .

The speed with which that gaunt and withered
old woman got over the ground was little short
of miraculous, and Parson J ulins, toiling on
after her, found himself covered 'with perspira-
tion and ntin for breath, while she sailed on
like a fu -rig§ vessel w' h a fair wind.

When she ad got so distance ahead of
him, and he had nearly lost sight of her in the
darkness, but while her eyes were good enough
to perceive that he was still zealously striving
to keep up with her, she apparent] relented
and walked a little more slowly unt be over-
took her.

“ I do declar’ Sistah Celia,” panted Parson
Julius, as he mopped the pers iration from his
face, “ ou jess beats all do we ld fur goin’. Ise
nigh bu sted m wind tryin’ to keeg up,”

‘ I tol’ you a’r an’ squar’, Bru da Julius,"
answered Celia, “dat I didn’t want you fur to
go ’long wid me, and dat you’d bettah not do
it. I’se gwine on business. and ’tain’t de Lawd‘s
business, needer, and de Lewd and I don’t hitch
bosses dis night, nohow. So gun’s jess bettah
guru r’i’ght 'roun’ and try ter n’ yer way back

ome.

“ Couldn’t do it, Sistah Celia, do in bestest.
It’s as dark as de sins obE yp’, and I on’ know
do way. Ise gwineter f0 er you, honey, w’ile
dar’s a button on Ga he‘s coat.”

“ Foller, den, Bruddah Backbone.
an’ moccasins is waitin’ fur you.”

By this time, Celia and her follower were far
from Colonel 'i‘remper’s mansion, far in the
forest, with no road or path or trail to show the
way, and on the point of entering a region
aboundin in swamps and sloughs and hum-
mocks, w ere the deadly moccasin snake was
ready to resent intrusion upon his solitudes.
and ere a false step might land the unwary
tra er in the open jaws ‘f a waiting alligator.

For all this Aunt Ce a cared nothing, or
seemed to care nothing.

She stepped forwar firmly, seeming to glide.
rather than to walk, when she came to the worst
places, and gassing onward so easil
rapidl that arson Julius perceiv at once
that t e utmost of his exertions would not en-
able him to keep 11 with her.

It seemed that t e souls of the “ swamp ni -
ers " would utterly fail of salvation throng
is efforts, as all his powers of body and mind

were concentrated upon the wish to save his own
life.

He was doing his best to pass over a narrow
space with a swamp on each side. where a fallen
cypress tree, to which swamp debris and rowth
bad naturally come, formed an uncertain ridge,
when his foot slipped, and down he went. .

The yell that e gave as he dro m ht
have waked all the snakes and alligators wit in
the range of half a mile.

It was surely heard by Aunt Celia, who came
to his rescue ata swifter pace than she had even
yet shown, and fished him out of the mud with
an imprecation which be if he hax] been in a

“I’se gwine wid

De ’gators

condition to comprehend that sort of thing, ,

would have recognized as utterly unchristian.

and so ‘

as. was» "

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

" ia-

 

 

 

i u a'
I

‘ Salamander Sam.

23

 

 

._.._____.____._--___. -.- .‘ _ w.-.»

Plastered with mud, dripping
paralyzed by fear, he fell. on his knees and en-
treated her not to leave him.

“ Go ’long wid yer!" she angrily replied. “ I
hain‘t got no time to fool wid no sech.

“ W har’ll Igo to, Sistah Cely?” .

“ Go home, you ole fool.”

“ I cain't go home—couldn’t nebber fin’ de !

way.” i
. cute, and

" Stay whar you be, den.”

" Dar’s ’gators an’ snakes au’ spooks an’ebery- 1
tin" all ’bout yer.” ‘

“ ettah climb a tree, den.” _ ’

She pointed to a swamp oak With a leaning 1
trunk, which stretched a friendly branch over :
the narrow footway, and he scrambled up into i
the crotch, assisted by a Vigorous boost from ‘
Celia.

The next instant she s away so swiftly:
that she seemed to vanish ike a ghost, leavmg i.
Parson Backbone to his fears and his prayers l
as he wished for the morning that seemed to
him as if it would never come, though it was
really near at hand.

CHAPTER XXIV.
“PLENTY voonoo sour." .

AUNT CELIA’S son Ben had told the stor of
the capture about as it happened, a little a1 ow-
ance being made for his natural procliVity to :
exaggeration. ' 1

He and Sam Startle had been seated at their i
luncheon, their thoughts far from any idea of
danger, when they were suddenly pounced upon ,
without the least warning and Without the slight- ,
est chance to resist. . _ .

Their captors answered to Ben 8 description, ,
being four stalwart negroes; but there was one ‘

int about them that did not appear in Ben’s

escription, though Salamander Sam noticed it ;
at once.

Those four negroes could scarcely be said to |
be clothed, the rags and shreds of cloth and skin
that hung about them bearing scarcely any re- [
semblance to civilized garments.

Another point Was their wild and savage look 3
and manner, combined with the barbarous Jar-
gon they used in talking to each other. 1

In these ints they did not compare uu-
favorably With the white swampers, except that
the latter, coming occasionally in contact With
civilization, Were a little less ragged, and per-
ha s a little more human.

he likeness was cl enough, however, to E
enable Sam to form a pre y ('lcar idea of their 1
quality, and to guess at the kind of treatment 3.
he might expect at their hands. _

His forcbodings were speedily changed to cou- i
victions by the manner of his separation from
his hunting companion.

Ben was foreibly led away by two of the
ne roes, in spite of his struggles and entreaties,
an the others tied Sam’s hands behind his back,
and marched him away in the opposite direc- .
tion, after depriving him of his arms and ammu— 
nition.

Decidedly this was the worst misfortune that
had yet befallen him, and his prospects were
dark indeed.

If the negroes meant to do him bodily harm,
or even deadly harm, there was nothing to pre-
vent them from working their will upon him,
nor could he imagine any chance by whicl\he
might free himself from their clutch .

Separated from Ben, far from any friends, in a
wild and trackless region, and destitute of wea-

ns.as well as bound and guarded, he could
figrdly be in a more helpless condition.

There was a little consolation in the fact that
they did not make an end of him then and
there.

If they Were going to kilhhim, why should
they take the trouble to bind him and carry him
awe

?
at it possible that murder was not their
object?

At all events, wnile there was life there was

hope, and Salamander sturdily resolvvd that he
would make the best of it and suffer no chance
to sli by which he might save his life or regain
his li rtfi.
He spo e to his captors boldly and without
any tears and entrcaties, demanding to be told
why they had committed that outrage upon him,
but they did not pay the slightest attention to
his talk, and only spoke when it was necessary
to ur e him forward, which they did, roughly
enoug . .

When he threatened them with the ven ance
of his tummy, they merely grinned and :1 owed
their white teeth, as if they felt sure that they
were entirely safe from any outside interference.

Perceiving that there was nothing to be gained
by threatening or cajohng his guards, Sam
turned his attention to the route the were
taking. as the only int left to wh ch his
thoughts might be pro tzibly directed.

He was determined to “take it in " as thor-
oughly as possible, iising his eves to the best

.1 advanta e, and noting carefully evory land-

mark an: change of ground or direction, so that
if he should happen to escapc, he might at least
ho to be able to find his way out.
 at he was forced to confess that the route
uld probably prove to be too much for his

wet, and half- '

7

Thou h it was nearly a straight line for a con-
siderab e distance from the pomt of his capture,
there was a provoking sameness about it, no
point or position of the forest specially impress-
ing itself 11 n him, and the trees being sotall
and thick t int he was unable to get a good idea
of the direction of the sun.

stand a part, talking very volubly, and
frequently at Sam, who was eVidently
ject of the harangue.

This speech was mainly directed to a fat and
ugly old negro who seemed to be the head of the
gang, and at its close he made a speech in re y,
this sentence of which Sam easily unders ,as

inting
6 sub-

When they got into the region of the swamps, i it was frequently repeated:

the journe became far more devious and intri-
e was compelled to abandon in de-
spair the effort to carry the route in his head.
The negroes knew the way well enough—
there could be no question of that, as they never
paused an instant to deliberate or consider their
course, step in forward as prom tly and con-
fidently as i t iey were on fami iar ground—
but they turned and twisted so continually and

I

 

with such apparent recklessness, that all the ,

lad‘s ideas of latitude and longitude were utter-
ly obliterated.

It was absoluter necessary that they should
do so, as the swampy ways offered an uncertain
footing at the best, and the only feasible route
would often winu in and out in the most be-
wildering manner.

Salamandcr’s mind was impressed by the
silence and strangeness of his dark and wild con-
ductors, quite as much as by the somber cypress
forest, the branches thickly hung with long
streamers of moss, the unsightly clumps of
“ knecs” 'utting up everywhere, and the many
reptiles ot the swamp that were too bold or too
lazly to regard the presence of human beings.

he negmes seemed to consider the re tiles
pretty much as they were regarded by t em,
slinging the sluggish and deadly moccasins
with their bare feet from the path into the wa-
ter, and administering an occasional punch on
the nose to an alligator that refused to get out
of the way or was otherwise dispOsed to be too
familiar.

All this was fearful as well as depressing to
Sam; but he gritted his teeth and kept a stiff
upper lip while he wondered at the coolness and
confidence of his conductors, until they reached
a place where further progress seemed to be
im issible. .
arkness had then set in, and they found
themselves at the edge of what looked like a
lake, and gerbaps it deserved to be called a
lake, thong it was a very shallow one, being
merely an extension of the swamp, with oc-
casional hummocks sticking up above the dark
water.

In the middle of this lake, and at a distance
of some hundred yards from the swampy shore,
was an evident island, where the tall trees, not
close together, spoke lainly of dry ound.

It seemed to be a p easant enoug place; but
how was it to be got at?

This question was clearly no puzzle to the
ne ., who knew Just where they were and
just what they were going to do.

Seizing upon Salamander'Sam without an
ceremony and tying his feet as tight as his

. hands ha becn tied, one of them swung the

lad upon his back and started into the water,
while the other followed With the captured
guns

Sam did not know, as he was in a ition
that allowed him only to stare up at t e sky,
how the trip to the island was made, but
judged that his be'irci' managed to keep out of
the water, as he failed toihear any splashing,
and an occasional jump spoke of passing from
hummock to hummock, or from one sunken
log to another.

thn they had reached the firm ‘ground,
the negro did not set down his burden, mt car-
ried it on to the center of the island, where he
dropped it suddenly and heavily, the fall shak-
ing Sam up severely and nearly knocking the
breath out of his body.

When he recovered himself sufficiently to sit
up and look about him, the scene astonished
and bewildered him.

He was in the center of a small clearing sur-
rounded by tall trees, close to the ed es of
which were several low and rude hu or
hovels, giving the place an appearance some-
what similar to that of a Hottentot kraal.

Near him wasxa fire, over which hung a large
kettle, somowluit like a sugar kettle, from a
pole that rested on two crotchcd stakes driven
in the ground, and around the fire and his
form were dancing a motley collection of twenty
or more negro men and women, while some
naked children skirmished about the edges of
the irregular circle.

The men and women did not lack much of
being as naked as the children, and their dance
was accompanied by wild cries, indecent ges-
tures, and at times a swaying and bending of
their bodies as if they were about to fall to the
ground together.

It was a scene that fitted the heart of Africa,
rather than the interior of a State that was be
lieved to be civilized.

This dance lasted a long time, as it seemed to
intoxicate the participants, and the more they
had of it the more the wanted, though to Sam
Startle it was simply isgusting and tiresome.

Exhaustion brought it to an end at last, and
most otthe dancers squatted on the ground.
while one of Sam’s captors made aspeech in a

sort of lingo of which thele could only under»

, “Wm

i

 

 

!

i
I
l

n 1’ V
“3- ~' 3.:
. ’3'-

“ Plenty Voodoo soup now.”

Whenever these words were uttered they wens
received with savage cries and yells of exulta—
tion. .

After a while the lad was glad to perceive
that they did not intend to starve him, as one of
the men cast off the lashings of his feet and
hands, and one of the women brought him a.
large quantity of food in a wooden bowl.

It was some kind of a stew; but Salamander
Stim could not even guess of what meat and
vegetables it was composed, as the materials
were so disguised by the herbs with which they
were cooked.

The stew was very savory, however, and he
ate of it heartily, as there was nothing the mat-
}.er with his appetite after his long tramp and

ast

The woman was evidently pleaSed to see him V
eat, and insisted on stuffing him until the lad ‘

was seized bya new fear.

~-,-- m-r r-r'v

,i,\

Was it their intention to fatten him for the , -

purpose of eating him?
Though of slim build, he was large for his age,

and he had lived so well at Colonel Tremper‘s _.  

that he was in excellent physical condition.

“ Plenty Voodoo soup now,” were the fatal
words that kept ringing in his ears, and the en-
tire proceedings were so suggestive of acannibal
feast that be mentally .resrlved that, if he should
be destined to pass into the stomachs of those

nasty beasts, he would at least not please them ‘

by Igetting any fatter.
is suspicions were confirmed by the old head
man, whom he had heard addressed as Eph. .
This ugly old sinner came to him when he had
finished eating, squatted at his side, and felt
about the tender parts of his body, occasionally

prodding him with his thumbs, as a butcherz

mi ht treat a shee that he roposed‘ to bu .

it the same tinge he inIted at the platter of
stew, and addressed to t e woman some words
that Sam did not understand.

This was too much for the lad, who ached for
a cililanpie to knock the greasy old reprobaie on
the ea .

Evidently it was believed that a little exercise\

3 would aid the fattening process, as '
a hands were left loose, and he was informed that
‘ he might walk about, but was

his legs and

stand that he must remain near t 9 fire.

Soon the two negroes who had gone off with
Ben returned to the island, where they were
duly welcomed, and their story was soon told.

Then old Eph spoke a few Words-‘to his dusky
companions, occasionally looking and pointing
up at the sky.

At the close of his remarks, to which the all
listened seriously and in silence, they knelt own
together. and bent their heads until they touched
the ground.

The old negro took a long and twisted stick,
in appearance not unlike a snake, and approach-
ed the flie. - ~

As he raised the stick toward the kettle, a‘
profound silence prevailing, he dro it sud-
denly, uttering a yell that must ave been
wrung from him by most excruciating pain.

All started up, crowded around
danced about holding his right arm with his
left hand and uttering hideous cries, and with
various gibberish wanted to know what was the
matte

r.
“ Voodoo! VOodoo!” he cried aloud.

CHAPTER XXV.
rm: BLACK nvrcnans.

 

'ven to under— ‘

imashe'

Tunas could be no doubt that the old negro "

was in great sin, and Salamander Sam natur-
ally wanderer how he had hurt himself; but his
brief explanation appeared to be entirely satis—

factory to the others. who set up a howling that;

even drowned his yells.

Sam guessed that he might have had a sudden '

twinge of rheumatism, but it did not passawa ,.  g .'

and his arm seemed to be so helpless that}  ‘

Women got about him and tied it up with a 

slipé. .
hatcver mysterious rite or ceremony waste

have been performed there at the midnighthou': 4 V i

was put out of the uestion by ,0!
strange hurt and by he consequent tumble
uniting his cgpanionsa led
ey soon n to ' rse stra awe
and entered thfi: huts. lspe ’  ‘ y:
Salamander was taken to the smallest of the
hovels, and was thrust inside, while the 
man who had brought him there sq
at the low door as if to keep guard over him.
The dark little room was very nut and
ill-smelling; but, as there was a hunch some-

thing that might pass for a bed, Sam threw him- ‘,

self on it, and was soon ,slee ing as soundly as’
if there were not the least nger of his being
servHod :5) as Voodoo soup.

ven no thought to the onestionof.

escape, as e had put that out of his mind as
an utter impossibility. .

  

  
  

 

' that the pig to be killed was of the two-legged

' posal of

“  ,mdrnin .

 

"at

Salamagghder Sam.

 

 

. If he should by any chance be able to rid him-
self of the fellow who was on guard, there were
v lenty more back of him, and in any event
he could not hope to get clear of the island and
find his way through the swamp in the dark-

ness.

In the morning he was not only allowed to
sleep late, but was not permitted to crawl out
of the hovel until the sun was well up in the

sk .

Those wild and half savage negroes were late
risers. exercising at their odoriferous wills the
constitutional prerogative of their race to turn
night into day, and proud of their privilege
to slee as long as they pleased in the morning.

Of that prerogative and 'that privilege they
had been largely deprived in a state of slavery;
ina state of freedom they were going to use
them for all they were worth.

The usual fire was burning when Salaman-
der waslat last suffered to emerge and get
abreath of fresh air, and the big kettle was
swung above it.

He was immediately pounced upon by the
women, who proceeded to give him his break-
fast, showing such a strong desire to stufl’ him
as awakened his suspicions of the night previous.

His resolve of abstinence, howaver, vanished
at the sight and smell of the victuals, which
were even more ap tizing than the stew that
had been fed to him fore. '

Those negro women, barbarous as they were,
had not for otten how to cook, and had evident-
ly got hol of some new “kinks” that were
worth learning.

Surely it could make no difference to him,
when they came to eat him, whether he was fat
or lean, and he might as well et his satis~
faction out of that good break ast, without
bothering about what might come after it.

So he ate a big breakfast, and felt so comfort-
able that he scarcely cared what happened.

As the morning wore on, it became evident
that the negroes were preparing for some
strange and mysterious ceremony.

The big kettle was lifted from its place, carried
to the lake, and brought back nearly full of
water, and it was even possible that it might
have been washed.

Across two tall crotched stakes near by a
heavy pole was stretched forming an arrange-
ment such as is used in the settlements for hog-
killingypurposes, and two of the negroes were

sharpening knives without any pretense of

secrec .

Evidently there was butchering to be done;'
but there was no victim in sight and ready for
the slaughter—that is to say, no four-footed
victim.

' Salamander Sam’s inevitable inference was

I

varie and the human species, and he di not
have go far to look for such a victim,
as the inquiry immediately settled on himself.
His condition, from that point of view, was
considerably worse than that of a criminal
awaiting execution, as he had before him not

- only the manner of his death, but all the ex-

ceedingl unpleasant arrangements for the dis-
is remains after death.

Already, in his horrified imagination, he saw
himself duly slaughtered, hung up l he a‘ sheep,
diVIded into joints and cuts, boilin in that ket-
tle, and passing into the stomachs of those dirty
and disreputable negroes. s

His death was not to be an execution, but a
hatchery—a prospect so appalling that he sat

V there in a stupor, and thoughts whirled and

eddied about in his brain until he no longer had

a clear ideas of anything.

Old Eph, the head man of the negro village,
was the master of ceremonies, and everything

I;  (was ordered and managed by him, though he

seemed to be in poor con ition for his task that

He signified about slowly and with difficulty

" his right arm tied up, apparently helpless, an
his

ed countenance occasionally contorted

and looking uglier than eVer. ,,
e carried his crooked stick With his left
hand, gesturin feeny with‘ it as he ave his
orders, and un er his directions, when t eprepa-

ntiOns appeared to be completed, all the men

 and women and children squatted in an irregu-
~ hr circle around the fire.

' Then he solemnly aggroached Salamander,
felt him over and prodd him as he had done
the ht before, and grunted out his satisfac-
flon a the condition 0 the subject.

' At his order two negro men seized the lad,

, who was then quite incapable of offering any
resistance, and rtly led and partly dragged
him down into t e circle. ,

' This, then, was the crisis of the affair, and the

was?“ was about to begin.
Bu only old Eph dro pe< his stick, shiveriiég
as if with an ague, and t e color of his wrinkl
‘ face changed to an ashy blue. .

“’Dat’s a col’ wind,” he chattered--“ a ’mighty
‘col’ wind.”

None of the others seemed to feel any cold

' ‘wind, and they stared at him wonderingly, and

began to crowd about him.
his matter drew their attention so closely

’ J ' that they failed to perceive the a proach of an-
other person, who came upon em from the
, i '

\

| I

 

c

 

direction of the water as swiftly and as silently
as a shadow.

Yet it was no shadow, but unmistakably a
woman, and a black woman at that, tall and
gaunt, and with a really commanding presence
when she approached the group, as if she owned
the land and ruled the tribe.

“Obil Obi!” muttered old Eph, as he shiv-
ered again and sunk upon his knees, and all the
others, looking u and recognizing her, pros-
trated themselves fore her.

Salamander Sam opened his eyes, looked up
and his heart gave a jump as he recolgni
Celia, the old negress whom e had often seen at
Colonel Tremper’s.

Had she come there to help him? If so, what
could she do to turn those savage negroes from
their purpOsei

Judging by the respect and reverence with
which she was received, it would seem that she
must have some influence among them.

Old Eph was the first to recover his upright
position and address her.

“ W’ot sort 0’ wind blOWed you in yer’, Miss
Celyl”

“ An Obi wind,” she answered, severe] .

“I ’lowed it mus’ be dat, beca’se {felt it
blowin’.”

“Dat ain’t all ou’s felt, ole man, I reckon.
Yes, ’twas an Obl wind dat blowed me in, an’
I’s come on Obi business. too.”

“ W’ot sort of Obi business?”

“ I’s come to stop some ob de foolishness ob
you durn sapheaded niggers. ’F you t’ink I
don’ know w’ot ames you’s up to, you don’
unnerstund’ 01’ Ce y yit. W’ot you gwine ter
do wid dat young buckm der?”

The old man pointed significantly at the ket-
tle and the rest of the apparatus.

“ Yes, I knowed it: but you’s gwine ter drop
all dat now. Juss turn (lat young buckra loose
an’ sen’ him home.” '

“ Cain’t do dat, Miss Cely.”

“ Don’t tell me you cain’t.”

“But I‘s got ter, Miss Cely. Dat boy’s done
been aid fur, an’ we’s ot ter kill him.’

“ es, an’ I know w ot w’ite man id yer.
His name is Morley Plympton. 'and bi hates
him. ’Stead o’ takin’ dat Ercayune bit o’ money,
why didn’t you go fur all e had, when he’s got
loads of it?”
leid'bld’inan scratched his head with his left
hand, and lpoked around mournt'ully, as if be-
wailin a-lUst opportunity.

. “Di n’t know dat, Miss Cely. But we’s
swored on do big ‘kittle to wipe out dat boy.”

"‘ You ‘cain’t do it, Eph. Dat boy’s footoo.”

“Who says he’s footoo?”

“I as. it. lVanter know who I am? \Vho
makes e'witch ball an’de cha’m likeme’l Who
makes de Obi wind blow like I kin? ’ 1s dar any
Voodoo queen dis side 0’ Orleans who kin hol’ a
cannel to me?”

“Dar ain’t nobody,” admitted Eph. “We
know yer, Miss Cely. You’s big an’ pow’ful.
You’s Obi’s right han’. We knows dat. But
you cain’t make us bu’st de oaf we swored on
do big kittle.”

“Den somefln’ else ’11 hub to go bu’st. How’s
dat a’m o’ yourn, 01’ man? Don’t it feel kinder
as ef you’d be glad to hub it drop off?”

Old Eph winced at her words, and his face
was contorted with pain.

“ Dat’s how it feels hey? Obi hit it las’ night.
Jess at de midnight hour Obi hit dat a’m.”

“Dat’s so,” he grunted, and the faces of all
the negroes expressed abject terror.

“On’y a leetle love tap dat was, ol’ man.
Obi kin hit a heap harder’ii dat, an’ you knows
it. Jess at noon Obi’s gwine fer hit once mo’, ’f
you ’don’t give in, an it’s mighty nigh noon
new.

“ Cain’t do it Miss Cely,” groaned the old
mag. “ Eberyt ing’s ready, an’ we cain’t gib it

“ You’ll take w’ot’s comin’, den. See whar de
sun is? Obi’s done los’ patience wid you—min’
w’ot 1 tells yer, now.”

The sun‘- was standin right over the kettle.
Old Eph blinked up at i , and at Celia’s skinny
hand upraised and pointing toward the lumi-
nary, and a look of irresolution mingled with
that of pain in his face; but he shut his lips
tightly and said nothin .

All the negroes sha ed their eyes with their
hands, and gazed at the sun; but all started and
shrieked together as the old man uttered an un-
earthly yel and drOpped on the ground.

Yell after yell came from his wide open
mouth, and his face was twisted with a look of
mortal agony. ’

Those who ran to his help perceived that his
left leg was drawn up as his right arm had been,
and that he was evidently in great pain.

“ Didn’t I tol’ yer so?” screamed Celia.
“ Stan’ out ag’inst me, will yer? nn’ see w’ot
comes ob it! Did Obi hit hard den, 01’ man?
He kin hit a hen lmrder’n dat.”

“Take it o . Miss Cclyl” shrieked Eph.
“ Take it off, an’ I’d do ,w’ot yer says.”

The negress walked to wherehe lay, slowly,
and with an air of conscious triumph, and t e
othersashrunk back before her as if in fear.

From some secret recess of her attire she
produced a bottle filled with a reddish ii uid,
poured some of its contents into the palm 0 her

. - I r’ .

. 1

. turns out as it seems it ought to.

‘
right hand, and softly but vigorously rubbed
the old man’s leg.

It was not necessary to cut or remove any

arment to get at the limb, as that portion of

ph 3 person was in a state of nature, except
for the dirt. _

The embrocation speedily gave him ease, and
he was able to sit up, thong not to stand.

“W’ot (yer want me ter do, Miss Cely?” he
feebl an humbly in uired.

“ urn dat young
home.”

“ Take dat Obi off, an’ I’ll do it, shu’.”

“ Ob cou’se you will. You knows better’n to
lie to me. Obi hain’t furgot how to hit. It’ll
go off, 01’ man.”

“ W’en’ll it go?”

“ By de middle ob de arternoon.”

“Soon’s it goes off I’ll turn de boy loose.
W’ot‘ll I say to dat w’ite man if he comes yer’?”

“Tell him he’s dead. ’Spects you hain’t fur-
got how to lie.” ‘

With these words Celia walked away ma 'esti-
cally, and disappeared as swiftly and silent y as
she had come.

The old man was carried to one of the huts and
madecomfortable there, and Sam Startle was
provided with food and guarded.

Eph was as good as his word. He had ot
enough, and was not disposed to fool with bi
any more.

About the middle of the afternoon he came
out of thehut, walking erect and apparently
free from pain.

He spoke to one of the negroes, who carried
Sam Startle across the water to the main land,
if an part of the swamp region could be so
call ,and set him free here, pointing out to
him the general direction he must take to reach
the place where he had been captured.

His repe ting carbine and revolver were not
given back‘to him, and he had been». impressed
with the belief that it would be uselede ask for

them.

The retu ,of any property that had come into
the possess n of the negroes was not included in
the promise of old Eph to Celia.

Salamander believed, however, that he would
be able to et home safely, and that there was
no dange f his starving efore he got there.

CHAPTER XXVI.
, snRrENT’s 'roo'rn.

GIDEON SCBOOBY was completely crestfallel
when he was informed of the failure of the
swampers up the Keewannee to do the murder-
ous work which he had em 10 'ed them to do.

fie had been confident o t e success of that
. , eme. and when the news came from them
that they? had “got” the surveyors’ party, he
was sure that the deed was already done.

The return of Morley Plyinpton from Colonel
Tremper’s, hotwith rage, half drunk, and wholly
out of temper, knocked his exultatinn in the
head, and drove him to the low grounds of
sorrow.

He sent a spy to Colonel Tremper’s place, who
easily‘got the particulars of the manner in which
the tables had been turned on the swampers. as
the news contained in Rush Powell’s letter had
circulated among the negroes, and there could
not be the slightest doubt of the escape of the
su yor's. '

mrtly afterward came the information that
the three men, accompanied by Salamander
Sam of the charmed life, had safely returned
with their steamer, and that completed the dis-
comflture of the Scotchman.

He was ver meek and submissive then. eld-
ing in everyt ing to Morley Plympion. w o as
sumcd the entire management of affairs swear.
ing loudly that the next blow would be  him,
and that there should be no failure in the .

Scrooby furnished him with all the money he
demanded to carry out his plans, and was greatly
rejoiced when his friend and partner at last tri-
umphantly informed him that Sam Startle had
been captured by a party of wild negroes and
would soon be at out of the way, if he had not
already been k1 led.

As reported by Plympton, this seemed to be a
sure thing; but so had the attempt of the Kee-
wannee swampers seemed to be a sure thing;
yet it had proved to be a most ignominious
failure.

When the Scotcbman ventured to so this
doubt to his rtncrhtbe latter scoutecf e idea
of a mistake in his calculations.

“You don’t know those niggers like I do,
Girl,” said he. “ I have been among them
enough to be sure of what they will do and
how they will do it The young snake is
alone, beyond an hope of help, and their den,
even if his frien s could find it, is absolutely
safe from attack. I tell you. G16, that he has
no more chance of escape than a sucking pig in
"the 'aws of an alligator.”

uckra loose an’ sen’ him

v.

 

Plympton; but we will need to be sure. that i
How will you
know that the work is done?” 1 i
“ ‘Jh, I am going out into the swamps. to visit
the den of those wild niggers, and m: 6 sure
that their agreement with me has been -' ' .rrled
out to the letter.”

 

“ bat is all Very well as an ar; iment‘,

“That sort of thing is more or less ager.\ l“

 

 

 

 

 

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Lrv"
.1, .
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._..._.....-. .

...,_... —....

Salamander Sam.

,.- ... .M-M.~,r._..._1,-. g.. ' .... -.. ......, “a..-

25

 

 

ous, as I have hinted to you before. It was
all well enough when you hadn’t a. dollar, and
when you Were one of them, as 1 may say; but
now that you are supposed to have become a
man of property, they may think you fair
game.”

“Those wild niggers don’t know anything
about my )roperty, Gid.”

“ You ( oii’t know what they may know.
Anyhow, I hope you will be careful, and remem-
ber that there is an old proverb about the
pitcher that goes often to the well.”

“ if I {till a pitcher, Gid, it is my duty to pitch
in, and I shall proccel to do so.”

As Scrooby well know, Morley Plyiiipton was
not merely boasting when he talked of his ac-
quaintance with tho wild Degrees and other
generally inaccessible outlaws in the swamps
and elscwlie rc.

lie know them, and they know him, as he
had been among them, if not of them, in the
days of his iiiipecuiiiosity, when a dishonest
dollar was worth quite as much to him as an
honest one, and much more likely to be got.

He was well acquainted, too, with their
haunts and hiding-places, and could find his
way through the intricate forests and danger—
ous swamps by ways which he had not for-
gotten, although his memory of them was not
as fresh and clear as it had been.

It was toward the end of the afternoon, but
yet not Il(‘7,il‘ sunset, when he found himself in a
troublesome and perplexing region of swamp,
and judged that ho was not far from the haunt
of the wild negroes whose head man was old

h

lit was then necessary for him to roceed cau-
tiously, and to examine the groun ahead and
on each side, in order to make sure that he was
following the right course, and to keep himself
from stepping unawares into the jaws of an
alligator, or stirring up a venomous moccasin.

As he was looking anxious] about, in his
quest of the safest and most irect route, he
was surprised and startled at discovering an-
other person in that solitary and forbidding lo-
calit .

Th2 other y‘erson was not formidable. to
look at; but to Morley Plympton he was high-
ly interesting, being no ot er than Sam Startle. i

As his relative had an posed him to be. then
out of the world or in a air way to leave it, his
3p arance then and there was both startling
an confusing.

Had he escaped from the wild and cruel nc—

oes who captured him?

That seemed to be impossible; and, as it was
not for a moment to be supiosed that they
would voluntarily turn him 0050, how else
could his living presence be accounted for?

At all events, there he was, free and safe, and
Morley Plymptou might well Consider himself
lucky in discovering him before his escape was
made complete. _

He seemed to be unarmed—it was certain that
file had nothing like a rifle—and if an ablebodied

an could not over wer a lad like that, it
wouldbe ueer ind .

Morley (Illyniptnn carried a revolver under his
coat, and his easiest plan would obviously havo
been to shoot down his young relative where he
“(gimpgy too7 it would have been the surest

d safest ilan.
anThere wds not the slightest chance of detec-
t n, and plenty of deep holes in the swamp
0 red a speedy and effectual means of Conceal-
ing the detestable crime.

But as there was no danger that Sam could
escape his clutches, he wanted to know how he
had got away from the Wild negrocs, and there-
fore be determined to stop and question him
before making an end of him. . I

As for Sam, he did not catch sight of his
vicious and deadly foe, being intently occupied
with trying to solve the puzzle of a way out of
the swamp

He stoo just then on a. broad and apparently
solid piece of ground; but the end of it was Just
before him, and beyond it there was nothing
but the dark and dangerous water, with an oe—
cnsmnal humiiiock that might afford a risky

“1'1.
'03:; he looked up to see What his chances might
ho in another directhD. he espied Morley
Pl mpton, whom he instantly reco nized as the

K“. Mufley” who had .hired his father to
wreck tho brig, and as his own inveterate and
r. in cnem i.

“Igggfi-ngi pale in; that sight, but there was no
sign of .rqnbliug about hlm-

He had elcnned from what seemed to be cer-
tain death at the handsof many men, and why
should he fear one man? _ . .

Morley Plympton spoke to him in as friendly
and edfiouragiug a tone as he could. assume,
though 't was impossible to conceal his weious

nxiet
a “ Ed) l on there, my boy! I’ll come and show
you ho: :to get out.” .

Havi' g noted his course and measured his
steps,  ion 1 lightly from one. hummeckto
anothqc'llom landed on the solid piece of ground
when“ ;m was standing.

Th a' lmight havo turned and fled back over
 ,by which he had reached that spot;

«in_ I.

but that would take him toward the neoroes’ :
haunt again, and he saw no good reason why he i
should run away. I

If Plyinpton should disclose a hostile intent, ‘
what was to hinder him from ducking down be- I
tween the legs of his enemy and upsetting him I‘
into the water?

Sam felt himself fully able to work such a l
scheme, but just then he preferred to wait and .
see what the man meant.

“That he saw was the introduction of a new .
element into the situation, which caused a sud«
den and startling change of scene.

\Vhen Morley Plympton made his last spring
from a liuminock to the piece of dry ground, he ,
alightcd on a Iiioccasiii snake that was lying v
nio'ionless there near the we tei‘.

Ills weight did not drop upon it heavily
enough to kill or disable it, but sulliciently to '
arouse and cnrago the venomous reptile which
rnisrd itself instantly and struck its fangs into
his leg.

Plympton knew at once what had happened, v
without the frightened glance that disc]0scd the
serpent to him, and a cry of horror burst from
his lips. ‘

_¢._..

CHAPTER XXVII.

A DASTARDLY DEED. .
SALAMANDER SAM was scorer 1y less shocked i
by this tragic mishap than Mor ey l’lympton ;
was.
A splendid opportunity was offered him then 1
and there to get rid of his mean and murderous .
enemy once for all, and that without any act of 1

his own and without any actual responsibility
for the catastrophe. i
Providence had viSibly intervened in his be- }
half, and all he had to do was t) let Providence 1
l
I

carry out its contract. . .

If such a. thought passed through his mind,
it must have been instantly dismi , as it ,
surely did not have the slightest influence on ,
his action. _ [

He saw before him a man who was in immedi- 1
ate peril of a. horrible death, but whose life
mi ht be saved by instant and heroic methods.

hat was the only thought which stuck to him,
and on that thought he acted at once. .

Grasping the stick which he had been using to
assist his steps in the swamgghe brought it down
on the head of the serpent fore it couldalide
away, killing it instantly.

He had heard it as a common saying that in '
cases of snakebite no remedies wilégirove of any
avail until the snake has been kill . '

Morley Plyinpton had dropped on the ground, i
and his quite uncomoly face was made uglier (
than ever by its expression of abject terror. 1

“ I am killed 2" he moaned piteously. “I am .
snakebit and killed!" . .

“ Not yet," prompt] replied Salamander, as
he dropped down bcsi e him. “ Give me your .
knife.

“ Be quick about it, or your chance is gone!”
sharply ordered the lad as Plympton fumbled
nervously in his pocket. “ There—that’s right.
Get any whiskyl’

n Yes. 7‘

“ Go for it, then.”

Sam quickly cut open the man's trowsers le ,
and discovered the wound on his ankle, thoug
it was but a faint puncture.

“ I’m goin’ to cut you a bit,” said he. “ Don’t
jump if it hurts a little, and don’t spill the whis-
ky, whatever you do.”

He lost no time in talk. but with the sharpest
blade of the pocket—knife made in Plyinpton’s
leg 11in inCision that brought the blood pretty ‘

rec y.

Then he jerked a buckskin thong from his
pocket, and tied it above the man’s knco as tight
as he could draw it. ‘

Then he bent down, ap lied his lips to the
Wound he had made, um sucked vigorously, .
stepping now and then to eject what he had
drawn out, and to hastily rinse his mouth with
water from the swam .

He kept this up until he could draw nothing
more from the wound, and then paused to note
the effect of the double operation that had been
going on.

Ho did not like the appearance of the leg, .
which had become cold, with seine discoloration :
and swelling; yet there was not as much of that I
as might have been expected.

Morlo Plviiipton had been clinging tightly to 3
his whis y flask, and had succeeded'in absorbing '
a considerable portion of its contents; but he
i was rapidly growmg weak and unable to hold it

to his lips.

Sum took it from his'hands, and fed the whisky ‘
: to him as long as be retained consciousness i
! enough to enable him to SWuIIOW it, or let it run
. down his throat—in fact, until he fell over and
i lay in a stupor. .
The lad corked the bottle carefully to preserve '
i the remainder of the liquor, and put it away in
, the pocket of his ovr-rcoat.

As there was nothing else that he could then
do, he waited and watched the bitten man, won-

. daring whether the stupor that had overtaken
him was caused by the swift and insidious work-
ing of the poison or by the, effects of the liquor.

He had heard much talk of snakcbites in a re-
gion where venomous reptiles were plenty, and

\

 

considered himself fairly well posted concerning
their treatment.

His father and others had spoken of whiskyan
an infallible remedy when taken soon enough
and in sufficient quantities, and August Engel
had carefully explained to him the iiatuie and
action of snake poison and the. best means of
counteracting it.

Therefore he was sure that heliad done all that

i he could do under the circumstances.

He knew a plant whose leaves, when chewed
and applied to the wound, \\ ere supposed to be:
good remedy; but there, was no sin h plant grow-
ing,r about him or anywhere in sight, and he could
not risk a hunt for it,

From what the professor had told him, be. pre-
sumed that then: was a struggle going on-in the
man’s system between the t“ o pmsons, and he
was strongly inclined to believe that whisky
would get the best of it.

This presumption was strengthened after a
while hi the fact that Plympton was evident]
asiteo, his stcrtorous breathing proving that his
lungs at it ast Were in good Vi 0| king order.

Salamander also perceived that though the dis—
coloration below the knee had increased, there
were no signs of it above the place where he had
tied the ligature, and he considered this another
favorable symptom.

After waiting until he had fully satisfied him-
self concerning these two points. he untied tho
thong, and its removal evidently gave the pa—
tient case, though Plynipton was too completely
:tupefied to be aware of what was done to

im.

“ The darned cuss ain’t goin’ to make a die of
it,” muttered Sam, “ though I don’t know but he
ought, and I reckon I’d have done best to let him
rip; but that don’t seem to be my stripe, and -
mebbe I can’t help myself. W hat’s goin’ to
come has got to come.”

So the young fatalist decided that he would
remain With his be] less enemy and guard him
from the dangers o the swamp until he should
be sufficiently recovered to take care of himself,
011' at least until he should awake from his heavy
s eep.

At the same time it must be admitted that ho
was not entirely pleased with his work, ache
occasional] mbled and growled to himself
about his 00 ishness in doing so much to save
the life of such a. relentless foe.

“ I ain't afeard of him, though ” muttered
Salamander, “ and mebbe I can make him help
me find the way out of the swamp.”

There was somethin in this, as night was
rapidly coming on, dar ness already descending
upon the Swamp, and he knew that it would be
useless and dangerous for him to attcmpt t0
make his may out unassisted before morning.

If be con] have got throu h the worst of it
before dark, he might have een able to go on.
with a. fair chance of getting to Colonel Trem-

l per’s, or striking some other house, but that

prospect had been shut out by the aCcident which
caused his stoppage.

His only hope of finding his way out in tho
nighttime lay in the abilitv and disposition of
Morfey Plympton to act as his guide. i

So it might be as well for him to await the
recovery of the bitten man, and in the mean

time, lost Plympton might be inclined in the

near future to “ cut up rusty,” it would be only
right and fair to disarm him.

Salamander Sam searched his stupefled pa-
tient, findingr a revolver, which he transferred
to his own perSoD, and suited as paticntly as he
could. i

The stars came out and the moon rcse, and

‘ the weird desolation of the swamp was made

more doleful by a continuous conctrt of hideous
noises, and the man in whose systrm the two
poiSons were supposed to be struggling lay m0—
tioiiless, though not IIOlM'k-SS. adding his portion
of unpleasantnesz: to the situation.

As he did not die, and seemed to be in no dan-
ger of dying. Sam was convinced that he was

‘ then in a whisky stupor, and still waited for it

to break.
It must have been near midnight when Mor—
ley Plympton began to stir,- to groan, to grunt,

‘ and finally to open his eyes and gradually raise

bluisclf to a sitting posture.

“What’s up?” he growled 'hoarsely, as he
rubbed his eyes.

“ You’re up,” answered Salamander, “and
durned lucky you are to be able to get up, too.”

“ What’s the matter, I say i” ,

“ Don't you know that you’ve been snakebitf
It’s a. wonder that you’re alive now to hear me
tell it.” v

After finishing its work in fighting the snake

ison. the heavy load of whisky had unsettled

lympton’s interior arrangements, and he was
clamoring to be let loose.

He vomited freely, which was doubtless a
good thing for him. as be felt dwidtdly better
when that operation was over, though very

weak and faint.
“ Take a hair 0’ the dog,” susir sted Sala-
mander, us he handed him the whi y flask. but

insisted that he should teach the seductive bev-
erage lightly.
“Give me your hand, youn mam”, requested;

the patient. and be was be] up, felt his legs. , ;

and shook himself.

 

 

 

I daring about t

"V ' slau, hter you.

. ently

    

26

Salamander Sam.

 

 

“I seem to be all right,” he observed—“all
alive, anyhow. I feel as if I’d been pulled
throu h a knothole, and about as shaky as a
sick c icken in a high wind. My left leg is very
queer, too; but I reckon I’m able to navigate.
I suppose, youn chap, that you would like to
get away from ere ’

“ I have been waiting for you to get well
enou h to start,” answered Salamander.

“ aiting for me, hey? I suppose you want
me to be your guide, then.”

“I have been waiting because I was taking
care of you. Don’t you really know that you
were snakebit?”

“ Oh, yes, I remember that; but I judge that
the snake was harmless.”

“Here’s your knife,” observer] Sam, “that I
took to cut a hole and suck the p’ison out of that
snakebite.”

“ You did that, hey? What did you want to
cut me for, when I had plenty of whisky to kill
the oison? That’s what pulled me through.”

“ Vell, I must say that you’re the most un~

ateful cuss I ever came across. Here l’ve

en doin’ for you what I had no business to do,
and watchin’ you and waitin’ on on, and that’s
the thanks I get for it. Go a ong, old hard
head! I don’t want you for a guide. Run right
nlon , and I’ll look out for myself.”

“ on’t get hufiiy young chap. My head is
not clear yet, and don’t know just what I am
saying. am thankful to you, and of course I
will show you the way out. Give me another
bite of that bottle.”

When no had taken his “ bite,”he restored the

. bottle to its place in his own pocket, and directed

Salamander to follow him.

He led the way, slowly and somewhat nn-
steadily, following back for a. little distance the
route which Sam had taken to reach the spot
of solid ound, his young relative watching
him close y all the while to make sure that he
was not aiming for the haunt of the wild negrocs.

lamander was convinced, indeed, that the
island had been Morley Plympton’s destination
when he met him.

The statements made by old Eph to Celia con-
cerning the white man who had paid the negroes
had not escaped the sharp ears of the lad, who
had no don t that the man whose life he had
probably saved had intended his own death, and

hat it was no fault of his that his intentions
had failed.

It was‘to be supposed that he had been on his
way to make sure of the wicked work when Sam
met him, and therefore it would be well to
watch him and guard against him.

‘ It seemed, however, that Plympton saw no oc-
casion for going further in that direction, as he
turned as soon as the nature of the ground would

allow him to, and struck the route by which he

had come into the swamp.

Then all was plain sailing, as there was light
enough, and Plympton proved to be a good
pilot though Sam was occasionally obliged to
 his steps. and now and then be halted to
mczimplaming of the weakness and numbness

18 eg.

As a general thing, however, Salamander Sam
kept himself pretty well in the rear, and watch-
ed his leader narrowly for any sign of a hostile
intent.

The exercise and occasional sips of whisky in-
vigorated and bri rbtened the man who had
been snakebit. unti his tongue ot limbered up,
as well as his legs, and he song t to satisfy his

. curiosity concerning Sam’s escape from the

n 063.
What were you doing out here in the swamp
when I met you ?” he inquired.
“ Been huntin’.”
Salamander was not prepared for this line of

in .

a A? alone and so far from anywhere? That‘s
queer. Did you get lost?”

:2  that’s it. ’ 1”

ere s our
' ‘iLost thugtoofiun

“- That is very strange. I can scarcely think
of anything stranger than that.”

“ Except a snakebite, mebbe.”

“Not even except a snakcbite. It is a risky
business for a young fellow like on to he wan-
swamps alone. here are wild
negroes about his region, and they are just
vicious and cruel enough to snap you up and
I wonder that you did not run
p some of them.”

‘ “ I Cid,” observed Sam, who thought he might

aswell let that much light in on the subject. ,

“ They got m gun.”

“Indeed! {low did you happen to get away
from them alive?”

“ Well I reckon they didn’t have any use for
a chmo my size and style.”

“ t is most remurkabl queer. So they let
you go of their Own uccor . Was that really

be way of it?”

“That was 1jest the way of it, mister. I
thou ht it won d sound sorter queer to you,” he
ad with a significant emphasis.

Plgfimpton did not care to question his follower
on t 1: point any further; but the lads appor-
easy csca doubtless awakened again in
his breast the v ciousness that had prompted his

V. journey into the swamp.

 

After traveling in silence for awhile, he felt in
his istol-pocket and missed his revolver.

“I had a pistol” said he. “I wonder what
has become of it?”

b “”Mebbe you dropped it where you got snake-
it.

“ Maybe I didn’t. Do you know where it is?”

“ Yes—I’ve got it.”

t‘ Give it to me.”

“ Oh, no. I mean to keep that.”

“ You have taken my property, and mean to
keep it? Why so?”

“ . ‘ems to me that 'ou owe me a little some-
thin’ for takin’ care 0 you after the snakebite.”

" And you mean to take your pay without my
permission? That is queer.”

“ A good many things is queer, mister. You
said that your head was queer awhile ago, and
mebbe it ain’t right yet. An how, I mean to
keep that pistol for a. while. on go right along
and lead the way out of this swamp, and I’ll
give it back to you when I get ready.”

Morley Plympton‘s head was clear enough to
enable him to understand that the odds of pistol
and position were against him just then, and he
could not help recalling the time whcn Sam
Startle had stood at his father’s body and faced
him with a revolver.

That remembrance naturall irritated him,
and the cool manner in which Salamander had
confiscated his pistol—nothing less than an act
of robbery, from the Plympton point of view—
was quite enou rh to obliterate any obligation in
connection wit the snakebite.

Besides. the great object which had been so
often attem Wed at considerable cost was not
yet accomplished, and why should he not take
advantage of the present opportunity?

He put on as genial a tone and manner as it
was possible for him to assume, and talked to
Sam in such a friendly and confidential style
that the lad’s suspicions were partially lulled,
and his watchfulnew. already somewhat blunted
by loss of sleep, was by no means what it might
have been.

Now and then be halted, as if doubtful of the
course he should take, until Sam caught up with
him, but would soon determine the direction
and go on.

There seemed to be nothing suspicious in this,
and yet the guide was maturing aplan which
might almost have induced Salamander, if he
could have guessed it, to shoot him in the back.

They had reached a broad and still, and appar-
ently deep lagoon, and there was an occasional
faint lighting up of the sky. which was grad-
ually beginning to assume the grayish hue that
betokens the approach of dawn. when Plympton
halted again, and appeared to be really puzzled
about the course.

“ I thought I could find the way without much
trouble,” he said, as Sam came 11 to him. “ and
I believe we have come right so ar; but things
don’t look at night as they do in the da time,
and I must confess that Idon’t know w other
we ought to kc’ep straight ahead or turn of! to
the right.”

“ How about the stars?” suggested Salaman-
der. “ Thcy ought to give the course to a man
who knows ’em. ‘

“That is Ijiust the point I was oing to look
into; but I s all need your help. suppose your
eyes are much better than mine, as I am rather
near-sighted. Do you know the Great Dipper
when you see it?”

“ You may jest bet I do,” answered Sam. who
had learner something of sk lore during his
residence on the seashore, an was quite proud
of his knowledge.

“ I wish, then, that you would tell me whether
that is the Great Dipper which we see yonder
through the break in the trees.”

Salamander looked in the direction indicated,
givin his entire attention to the small space of
sky t at was disclosed by the break in the
trees.

He did not see the Dipper, but thought it
mi ht be there, and looked yet more closely.

he next moment he saw nothing.

Morle Plym ton drawing back his right fist,
struck nn a rri le blow on the side of the
head, knocking him over into the water, where
he sunk like a stone. \ '

His dastardly assailant, with a stick in his
band, looked eagerly down at the disturbed sur-
face of the lagoon, watching for him to rise;
but the ripples subsided, and the water was again
dark and smooth, as if no tragedy had disturbed
its ilacid depths. -

“ e is food for the ’gators now.” muttered
Plympton, with a deep sigh of relicf.

Then, as if frightened by the thought of his
cowardly and murderous deed, he turned and
ran own as fast as his legs could carry him.

He but no longer any doubt of the course he
should take.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE nvo ncx’rnn.

IF Morley Plympton had waited a little lon-
ger and looked a little more clcscly. he might
have seen a pair of eyes watching him as he
run away, and those eyes. though not as bright
as the usually were, would have been those of
Sam tartie. ,

Salamander Sam had been stunned by. the

 

 

blow that knocked him into the water, and had
sunk instantly; but the sudden immersion re-
stored him to his senses sufficiently to give him
a fair idea of what was the matter and what he
on ht to do.

e could swim like a water rat, having train--
ed himself in the surfs and storms of the briny,
as well as in smooth and fresh water, and the
emergency gave him a s )lcndid opportunity to
prove his abilities in that ine.

Not doubting that Moron Plympton had at’
tempted to make an end of him, and expecting
that his enemy would want to be sure that the
work had been thoroughly done, he at once de-
termined that he would not afford him that
satisfaction if he could help it. '

So the young Salamander swam under water
for a short distance, heading down the lagoon.
and struck the shore a couple of yards below
where Plympton was waiting for him to appear.

Hardly had he caught hold of a hanging limb
and drawn himself up to a level with the bank,
when he heard the flying footsteps of his
adversary, and saw him running away into the
forest.

Thc fooling of safety which this lznowlodge
brought him, together with his wcnk physical
cond.tion. combined to produce a reaction, and
Salamander was no longer as safe as he had
suprosed himself to be.

The blow that stunned him had been forcibly
delivered, leaving an injury that was not at first
apparent, and the swim under the water, which
his resolute will alttne had enabled him to ac.-
complish, had so used up the little strength
he had left, that when he struck the bank he was
uttcrl exhausted

He elt himsclf giving way, numbness taking
possession of his limbs, and a feeling of lassitude
creeping over his body, which was as sweet as it
was dangerous.

The feeling was somewhat similar to that
of the traveler about to freeze, who only wants
to gch up, lie down, and drop into rest; but
Salamander had sense enough to know that
he must not ield to it if he wanted to live.

He excr himself to get up on the bank,
where it would be safe to lie down and doze or
swoon as nature might require: but he per—
ceived that he had not strength enough to lift
himself out of the water.

All he could do was to cling to the branch and‘
keep himself from drowning, and it was to-
be supposed that he would not long be able
to retain his despairing grasp. -

Even if he could hold on there until he should
gain strength and rec0ver his senses, there was.
a big chance that he might be discovered and
appropriatcd by some nosing alligator.

As he felt the numbness creeping up his body,
and knew thatit might sow be expected to
paralyze his arms and attack his head, he put
(fill blislremaining strength into a despairing cry

or ep.

Of course he had not the faintest idea that
any help would come to him, nor did any hope
or thought accompany the cr ; but it was
forced from him without any wi or purpose of
his own.

It was heard by a man wandering in the
woods who had also heard the retreating foot—
steps of Morley Plympton. and who had up.
proached the scene of the tragedy to discover
who was there and what was the matter.

Silently and cautiously he had come toward
the lagoon, like one accustomed to creeping and
expectant of finding enemies rather than friends,
but at the sound of Salamander Sam’s despaii ing
crv his style and act ion changed instantly.

sting the sound without givin , it a second
thought. he hastened to the edge 0 the lagcon.
parted the boughs and bUShes. and caught st' ht
of Sam’s arm as his nervelcss grasp was slipp ng
from the bougb.

The next moment the arm was seized by one
hand, and then tl‘e collar by another. and the
lad was lifted out of the watpr and laid on
a green and dry spot undrr the trees.

Just as he was taken frcm the lagoon a big
alligator shoved his ueg snout up near him,
showing h0w narrow his escape had been.

The stran cr immediately set at work to re.
store tolife he person to whose aid he had come
so opportuncly, and went at it as if he knew
what he was about.

He nearly stripped the lad. removing the
garments from his limp form neatly and ex-
peditionsly, a1 (1 hastily examined him.

It was apparent that drew ning was not what
was the ma tier, and the coldness and livid color
of the extremities suggested at once the best
remedy that was available.

The stranger produced a whisky flask, one of
the flat and familiar kind, and forced a few
drops of the fluid into Salamander-’3 mouth,
hoh ing his head so that it might run down his
throat.

Then be poured some of the same stuff into
his hand, and vigorously rubbed with it the
lad‘a feet and ankles and hands and wrists.

Having kept this up for some time, and
perceiving by the gradual return of warmth
that the circulation was being restored. he
again raised his patient’s head and shoulders
and poured into his mouth some more of the
whisky- ' '

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gent] gra

_ tion, thankful for his rescue and the help that

- and became better acquainted with his new

/

Salamander Sam.

27

 

 

Sam coughed, sneezed, and sputtered out a
portion of the li uid, and the forCed effort
aroused him from 's deathlike swoon.

Day was then breaking, and when he opened
his eyes it was light enough for him to perceive
and understand his surroundings.

He saw bending over him a middledraged
man, tall, gaunt and bronzed, with straight
black hair, and, except for his clothing, much
the appearance of an iidian.

His clothing, liow'ever, was a neat and toler-
ably clean suit of corduroy, the trowsers thrust
into high boots. the blouse-like coat abundantly

rovided with pockets, and his face shaded by 0.
Bi V straw hat.

IIis bearded countenance spoke so plainly of
intelligence and kindness. that Salamander Sam,
as his senses gradually revived, was drawn to
him immediately.

“ Tryto take a sup of this whisky now," urged
the stranger. “ It will give you strength until
Emacs}: get something that will suit your case

t r.

Sam manfully endeavored to do as he was
bid, and succeeded in swallowing a little of the
li uor.

t had the intended effect, and he sat up
breathed freely, rubbed his eyes, and looked
about.

“ Who are on?” he asked, with a feeble at
term t at a smi e.

“ l y name is Reuben Hensel, if that tells
you anything. Some of the people about here
call me Scary Rube, because have so much to
do with snakes and that sort of thing. and
others call me the Bug-Hunter. What is your
name?”

“Sam Startle—Salamander Sam as some peo-
ple know me.”

“ Never heard of ye, but ye startled me a
little while ago. I want to know who you are
and how you got into that fix: but you mus’n’t
do any talking yet a while. Let me help you up
and see if you can stand. Yes, that‘s all right.
Now let’s see if you have the use of your legs.
Better than I would have thought. Do you
think you can walk a half-mile or so, taking it
easy and with me to heip’!”

“ Give me the chance,” answered Sam. as he
took a few feeble steps and brought up against
a tree. “If there‘s anything to eat at the end
of it. I reckon I can make the rifl‘le.”

“That is a good sign, and I think on will do
fairl . Wait till I pick up my plan er.”

Sa amnnder perceived that the “plunder” to
be icked up consisted of a breech-loading gun,
with one barrel for bullets and one for shot, and
a fine not like a scoopnet that was suggestive of
bug-huntin .

Reuben ensel also carried in a belt a revol-
ver and a hunting-knife, and was well supplied
with cartridges. .

“You won‘t have far to go,” he said, as he

Sam’s arm. ‘ I live near here.”

“ ou—liVe—out here?”

“Yes, indeed! but there is nothing wonderful .
about that. I have to stay about here to carry
on the bug-hunting business and the rest of it.
I came out early this morning to look for a.
rare bird that is only tobe found near the water
and at da break. eep quiet now, my youn_
friend, an let me do the talking for both unti
I can get you home and give you something to
eat.”

Salamander did his best to obey this injunc-

 

wasso kindly given him, and after about half
an hour’s walk, including a brief rest now and 1
then, they came to a cabin in a live-oak gladc.

It deserved to be called something better '

than a cabin, as it was in realit a one-story
house, small and built of logs. an of far. better
quality than might have been expected in that
localit .

The ~logs were all hewn, and were so carefully
ointed and closely fitted togcther as to give the
uilding an ap earance of solidity and comfort. ‘

One would ave supposed that it could not ,

sib y hflv" been erected without the Joint ;
bar of at least two men and a regular “ house
raising,” yet, as Reuben Henscl afterward in-
formed his young fi'i 'nd, no hands had assisted
his own in its c<m~truction.
He had rolled his logs to the site, hewing and
ointing and fitting' them on the ground, and
ad thus laced them in po ition by means of a
derrick which he had contrived and put up, his
only tools being an ax, an anger. a large gimler,
a saw, a drawing-knife. and the “ frow ” with
which he rived his shingles and Clapboards from
0 lo 3.

yBergfhstifgl vines were trained up the walls, and
all about it were blooming shrubs and parterres
of bedded lants that had been discoveredin the
forests an swamps.

Salamander had already begun to respect

highly this solitary Bug'flunter, and that eel<
ing was increased when he entered the house

 

friend.

. you.

grandmother to you until you get straightened
out”and strengthened up, and you must mind
me.

It was easy for Sam to obey just then, as he
was entirely given up to staring and wondering
at the marvelous things in the Bug-Hunter’s
abode.

\Vhat he saw there would be enough to
frighten a person who should be suddenly intro—
duced to the collection without knowing its
meaning or urpose.

It was, in eed, 0th the living—room and work-
shop of a naturalist and taxidermist who was
enthusiastic and indefatigable in the pursuit of
his profession, and the collection was a museum
of curiosil ics with many very valuable featurcs.

Stufi’cd beasts and birds, lifelike in appear-
ance and in natural positions, occupied every
avaiablc " coign of vantage,” while stuifed
reptiles szvnng from the rafters. jars and bottles
of S‘nflkos s ood on shelves, and cases of humming

birds, l)liii»'l'lll€S and bugs ornamented the walls.
Salauian-Ilnr Saiii had never seen or expected to
see an} ilnuy; like it, and he was ready to declare

that a visit to that cabinet of curiosities was
enough to p‘iy him for all the pains and perils he
had recently undergone.

He longed to ask questions. but decided that
he had better obi-y orders and keep quiet, so he
just lay there and starcd.

CHAPTER XXIX.
REUBEN iiENSEL‘S STORY.

REUBEN HENSEL quickly prepared a hot
drink which lie administered to Sam, and the
effect upon the lad was so refreshing and in-
vigorating that he sat up in his bed and are

 

with a ravenous appetite the food that was 5

given him.

 

l

“ I think you will do now.” said House], as he v

lighted a ipe and seated himself near his
tient. “ at you need rest, and will have to
ee quiet for a while before you attem )t to
flu your way to your home or friends. sce
that you are looking at my curiosities, and I
suppose they must seem ver queer to you.”
‘ What are they?” qucri Salamander.

“ They are my stock in trade. partly for profit
and partly for pleasure. They call me the Bug-
Hunter, on know, and that means that I am
a nature ist. I catch and stuff beasts and birds
and that sort of thin , and send them to the
North for sale. As understand my business
thoroughly, I have no trouble in getting rid of
my work at paying nprices. Part of those you
see are ready for o era: but most of them I
have prepared for my own amusement, and I
keep t em for my own pleasure. Yet they are
really the most valuable of my collections, and
I prize them beyond mone .”

‘ I am afraid that I am eepin’ you from your
work,” suggested Salamander. _

“ Not a bit of it. Sammy, my boy. My work
is my play, and my play is m
ploy my time to please mysel . as I am my own
master. It seems tome that you must have sus-
taincd some injury which I don‘t exactly under-
stand, and I want you to tell me ‘ust what has
happened toyou, so that 1 may now whatto
do for you, being something of a medical man,
you see.”

“ I was knocked on the head,” answered Sala-
mander, “and fell into the water. A man who
was with me did that job, and then he ran
away.”

“The wicked flee when no man pursueth. I
thought I heard somebody running, and that
was what drew me to the spot where 1 found
Who was the man?”

“ His name is Morley Plympton.”

“ Morley Plymptoni”

“ Yes. you know him i”

“I know too much of him, and have good
cause to wish that I had never seen him or
heard of him. I know enough of bin. to be sure
that the dirty scoundrel is mean and coward]
enough for that or any other dastardl (lde
I want you to tell me ow he came to db that,
and rhow you happened to be mixed up with
him. ’

“ It is a long story," observed Sam.

“ But I want to hear it all, if you are willing
to tell it, as I am now more interested in you
than evor.”

Salamander Sam proceeded to tell his entire
story, or as much of it as he knew; and Reuben
Hensel listened to the narrative with intense in-
terest, occasionally stopping the lad to caution
him against gcttin excited. or to give him a
taste of that refreshing draught when he showed
signs of weakness.

Mensel took a live] interest in Sam’s account
of his connection wit the surve ors.”

“I have met them both.” salt he, “and they
are the right sort. Rush Powell is a fine young
fellow, but Engcl is my favorite, as he has an
amount of scientific information which he does
not give away to everybody, and I Would be
glad to know more of him.”

Salamander brought his story down to the

 

He was immediately undressed, and was
placed on a soft and confortahle bed. where he
could rest at his ease, while Hensel hastened to

repare something for him to eat.

p “ All you have to do now is to keep quiet.” ‘
-“I am going to be a l

said the Bug-Hunter.

time of Pl mpton’s cowardly attempt upon his
life, and h srescue by the Bug-Hunter, for which
he was very thankful. declaring that he would
surely have perished if it had not been for that
timely aid.

“ I suppose you are right about that,” said

work, and I em- ‘

 

Hensel, “as a bi alligator was about to go for

on when I lifted you out, and you were so had-
y used up that you could not have held on there
any longer. The fact is, my young friend, that
you were so miraculously preserved, and not for
the first time, that it seems right to consider you
as bearing a charmed life, thou h it would not
be well to trust'too much to t e charm, and I
would particularly advise you to keep clear of
Morley Plympton, as it is no fault of his that
you are living now.”

“ What do you know about him, Mr. Hensel?”
inquired Sam. “ Has he ever tried any of his.
games on on?”

“One 0 the worst and meanest. It was no
bodily harm that he inflicted or attempted: but
he did me damage that can never be repaired,
and I shall hate him for it as long as I live. He-
was the last man, too, from whom I would have
expected such an injury, as I had done him a
great favor.”

“ That’s his style, though,” mggcstcd the toy.

“ To return evil for good? I bclicve you are
right, and it was certainly his style in Iliy caSe.

hen I first met him I knew him as a poor
devil, avagabond with a lad rcputation, who
mixed with the worst of the swamp outlaws,

‘ and was supposed to be not above robbing a

house or knocking downatraveler for a few
dollars.

“ It seems that he had a quarrel with some of
his swamp companions, and I found him lying
in the woods, badly beaten, With a leg broken,
and unable to get where he could procure food
or attention. The swampers had left him there
to die, and there he woud have died if I had
not picked him up and carried him to in house-

“ I had not built this house then, ut was I
Living in a shabby little cabin a mile or so from

crc.

“ I set the man’s leg, and fed and nursed him
for more than two weeks. until he was able to

go away.

“ He told me that he had knOWn better days,
and I sympathized with him, not on that ac-
count. but because he professed repentance for
the life he had been leading about here, and de
clarcd his intention of turning over a new leaf
and trying to make a man of himself again.

“ 1 s inpathizcd with him to the extent of’
giving iin a few dollars when he went away,
all the money I could spare, and a lettertoa
friend of mine who might giVe him a start.

“ After that I neither saw nor heard anything
of Morley Plympton for several weeks. and then
he came down upon me in a style that I am not
likelv ever to forget.

“ It was late at night, and I was awoke from
a sound sleep by knocking at the door, and
when I asked who was there I was answered by
the familiar tones of Morley Plympton.

“ I got up and opened the door. and be rushed
in, followed by four of the wildest and roughest
swampers I had evcr seen. They seized me at
once. bound me, and tied me to a chair, while
the)' prixrceded to on out the pnrpone of their
visit. which proved to robbery.

“ It seemed that Plympton had told them i
that I kept money in the cabin, and had led them
there to get hold of it. They failed to find any
inone . but did find the small stock of whisky _
that kept on hand, and a keg of alcohol that
I used for preserving specimens. . . ~

“They finished the whisk , and fell back on:
the alcohol, which set their lood afirc, and than I , -
they began to smash things, showin a special
spite against my stufled animals and irds. ~

“ I reminded Plym ton of what I had done , ‘
for him, and begged im to persuade his - ' 

niona to spare my precious pets: but he on y "

aughed at me, and declared that I deserved; _«,'
more than that for hiding my mane . 7

“ Some of them- were strongly in avor of bulk.
ing me out and hangin me until I should con-
fess and show them e hiding-place of my

money: but I gave them the few dollars I had ~. ‘. "

in my clothes. and assured them so solemnly "
that here was no more in the house that they
at last decided that it was not wort while to ,
worry me any further. -

“I suppose the ignorant swampers did not
know that they were hurting me worse by de- , f
stroying in precious collections than they could‘ “
have done y hanging me; but Morley PW!)
well knew how I valued my specimens, the
mean wretch laughed and encouraged them
while they were tearing the very heart out of

me. .
“ They finished the keg1 of alcohol, and by the~ n
time they were throng with that tfi had'
made an end of nearly everything I ca for.
“Some of them were wild en h then to
want to set fire to the shanty an
there to perish in the flames; but they compro- . 
mised on taking me outside where I could see, i
the confiagration and enjoy it, and when they )-

had started the fire they went away, yelling I L

and whooping.

“I pulled myself loose when they were gone,.,
and managed to extinguish the flames, but
saved nothing worth speaking of. .

“ The labor of years was lost to me then,’and , 
that was not the worst of it, as some specimens) _,

were destroyed which I may never be able to ,. 1;;

find again. I was lookin for one of the rarer 
birds this morning when ' met you.”

 

‘J‘nfl .j i , V x
_ ., 1.3" x 2 u.».

4: . v.”
..» 2. ‘
yin-3'

». r’ .1

o I j-xq- iir‘

 

leave me I 

   
 
 

‘ - on to (Jolene

' not foolishness.

28'

..v... . ..
/

Salamander Sam.

 

Salamander Sam was grieved by this story
of disaster, and sympatized most sincerely
with his new friend.

“ That’s a durned sight worse than anythin’
that has happened to me,” said he. “ I’ve al-
ways come out clear so far; but there don’t
seem to be any way for you ever to get even.”

“ So it looks to me. Some of my specimens
were not only Worth considerable in mere
money, but I am sure that I valued the collec-
tion more than any of that crew valued their
lives. No, I shall never gut even; but I have
often felt as if I would be willing to kill a few
of them in part payment.”

“Have they ever trouoled you since then?”
in uired Salamanca.

' Not once, and I do not believe that I would
have been troubled by them then if that \vrcich
ofaPlympton had not led them on. I built
this house, “hr 1 is reasonably safe against
everything but ti o, and have become acquainted
with all the swampers, I suppose, white and
black, honest and dishonest, and have never
had the least came to complain of them. In-
deed, I am sure that some of them are very
fond of me, and they all know that if one
of them finds a rare beast or bird or reptile he
can find a ready market by bringing it to me.”

, “ How about Morley Piympton, Mr. Ilcnsel'i"

“ I have never met him from that day to this,
and I doubt if I have ever been as near to him
as l was this morning. If I had known that it
was he who was running through the woods then
I might have been so hot on his trail that I would
not have heard your cry. I shall not seek him;
but, if I should come across him, he would not be
likel to get away from me.”

“Ivan pose he thinks he [as settled me,” ob-
served am, “ and that he is sure of being a l ich
man now.”

“I have heard lately that he had come into

on of a big pro rty, and it reminded me
of what is said in the ible about the prosperity
of the wicked; but I am now convinced that he
must Come to the end of his tether before long.
If the law don’t bring him up with around turn,
something else _will. But it is now more than

ever necessary my young friend, that you
should be kept clear of him, and I am oing to
seeyou in safety among your friends fore I

let go of you.”

Reuben Hensel examined Salamander careful-
ly, and could not discover that ho had sustained
any serious injury; but he was of the opinion
that the lad was not yet fit to travel, and ac-
cordingly kept him quiet until the next morn-

in .

Then be fitted some cartridges to the pistol in
8ast possession, loaded it after removing the
spoiled charges, took his breech-loader, and they
set out together.

CHAPTER XXX.
sounnzmo our THE TRUTH.

THERE was feverish excitement in Colonel
‘I‘remper’s house after the departure of Aunt
Celia on her Obi mission to the wild negroes.

After the solemn ceremony of sticking a pin
'into the arm of the clay image at the midnight
hour, Eva Tremper and Rush Powell followed
the rest of the family to bed: but there was not

, much sleep for either of them, as their worry

:blout the fate of Sam Starth made them wake
u .
Early in the morning Powell sent a messenger
'th Coahoula, to inform Engel and Priddle of
what had ha med, and to rcqucst them to come
romper’s, as an emergency might
arise that would 11% uire their presence and help.
He did not realll y believe in the efficacy of
“Aunt Celia's intervention, though Eva Tron.-
per’s faith in the old iii-gross was so strong.

3 As the hour of noon approached, Eva took
him to the place where she had safely put away
Colin’s ela, image, that he might witness the
1010me am In stcrlous operation of sticking a
(pin in its left cg.

“ Are you really going through with that fool-
ishness again?” he mildly inquired. '

“Of course I am,” answered Eva, “and it is
I am going to do exactly what
Celia told me to do, and I believe that good will

' a '«come of it."

“ Well, there can be no harm in it, anyhow.”

Something of a surprise awaited them when
the reached the image and observed its con-
dit , the mud of which it was made having
hardened during the night.

“ You will have to give it up, my dear,” re-
marked Rush. “ It will be impossible to stick a
pin into that stuff.”
'- “You are mistaken. Use 'our eyes better.

k at what is meant for the aft leg. That is
what I am to stick a pin into to-day, and I am

I aura it is soft enough for that iurposo.”

And so it was Though all t 0 rest of the rude
image was dried out and ready to crumble, that
leg was as moist and soft as w en it was brought

' to the house.

“That proves that Celia knew what she was
talking about, and that the operation is worth
performln .” said Eva. “Give me the right
time, and will obey her instructions.”

“ You will want solar time, I suppose, and my
watch does not give that; but I will see that you
. have it right.” ‘

1 He made a brief calculation, told her to stand
, ready, and just at the minute that indicated
noon by the sun, she thrust the pin into the clay
as she had been directed to do.

They remained there a little while, talking
over the matter, until the image suddenly col-
lapsed before their eyes, and nothing but a pile
of dry earth was left.

“ That is strange,” observed Rush. “ I wonder
what it means?”

“ I don’t know, but I hope it means good luck.”

The day passed dolefully, though somewhat
hopefully, uncertainty producing its usual fruit
of fret and worry, and it was not until late at
night that Celia returned.

She was warmly greeted and eagerly ques-
tioned; but there was a light of triumph in her
look which told Eva at least that her mission
had succeeded. -

But she had not brought Salamander Sam
back, and everybody wanted to know what had
become of him.

“ He’s all right," replied the negress. “ You
trust yer Aunt Cely fur (lat. W’en I got dar,
ol’ Epli lied his right a’ni tied up, and it was
worryin’ him pow’i‘ul bad. ’l‘ell yer, chile, yer
Aunt (,‘ely don’t fool wid Obi fur ruflin‘. Ho
warn’t ready den to give up an’ let de boy go;
but I reckon you worked dat pin right at noon-
time, Mi s Eva.”

“ Indeed i did, Aunt Celia.”

“ Obi struck him den, and he dropped all of a
sudden, and you ort to heern him howll De
cha‘m was too much fur him, and he jess tum-
bled all of a heap.”

“You remember, Rush, how the clay image
suddenly crumbled and felli” suggested Eva.

“Dats jess how 01’ Eph tumbled down an’
gi’n up, an’ den he promised to tu’n young
Mars’r Sam loose an’ sen’ him home.”

“ Wh did you not bringbhim away Celia?”

“ Co dn’t do it, chile. at ’u’d ha; broke de
cha’m. Ol’ Eph promised to let him go ’f I’d
take do Obi ofl.’ an’ dat couldn’t be done all to
encet. ’Bout 9 middle ob de nrternoon de Obi
’u’d he done gone off, an’ den Mars’r Sam ’u’d be
all right.”

“ But how could he get home?”

“Easy ’nufl, I reckon. He could git cl’ar ob
de swamp befo’ nightfall, an‘ den he could fln’
his way home, an‘ be orter be gittin' along yer’
some time befo’ mawnin’.”

Morning came, and Salamander Sam had not

at in an appearance; but the Coahoula con-

f‘m ent arrived by daylight.

u at Engel and Boney Priddle had not
wai upon t e order of their going when they
got the news, but had started at once, and they
brought to Colonel Tremper’s two men who could
be depended on in a pinch.

The morning was passed in discussing the sit-
uation and anxiously waiting for Sam.

As nothing was seen of him up to the hour of
noon, the hope of his arrival was abandoned,
and it was agreed that it was necessary to go
in search of him without any further loss of
time.

“ He got away f’um dar all right,” said Aunt
Celia when she was appealed to; “ but someiln’s
happened to him sence. an’ I’m afcard dat
Mawley Plympton’s got his clutches onto de po’
boxy uglin.”

inner was quickly dispatched, and a well-
appointed expedition set out, composed of Pow-
ell, Engcl, Boney, the two men from Connoula,
and tWo negrws of the Tremper plantation, one
of whom was Colin’s son Ben.

Colonel Trcmpcr was anxious to make one of
the party, but he was considered too old for ac-
tive service, and was told that he would be of
more use at hpme.

They were all mounted, well armed, and Well
supplied with provisions for the exigencies of an
extensive search in the forests and swamps.

Nothing was said of their )urposcs, except in
a general way. before they leit,Colonel Trem-
per’s; but thoflrst point of the campaign was
definitely outlined in the minds of Powell and
Engel, who were the leaders of the expedition.

Instead of starting an almost aimless bunt
through the woods in a search for Salamander
Sam, which Would be ten much like looking for
aneedlc in a. haystack, they meant to seek at
once the source of the trouble and strike direct
at the root of the evil.

That is to-sny, they intended to find Morley
Plympton. hold him accountable ferthe calam-
ity. and compel him to remedy the wrong or
atone for it.

If Salamander should prove to be dead, the
man who was responsible for his death would
have to follow him to the other world.

This was positively settled between these two,
and it only remained to find Morley Plympton.

As he was supposed to make Gideon Scrooby’s
house his home, and to pass most of his time
there, that was the first objective point of the
ex ition. ‘~

t was reached a little after dark, and Gideon
Scrooby, after a late supper, was found smok-
, ins: his pipe on the veranda.

l Naturally he was surprised at the arrival of
such a large and apparently warlike force, and
doubtless was also somewhat alarmed.thouch

v he concealed his surprise and alarm pretty fair—

ly, and calmly awaitixl‘their approach. '

 

 

Powell rode up tothe Veranda with Engel, and
the former opened fire immediately.

“ We are lookin for Morley Plympton,” said
the engineer. “ here is he?”

Scrooby called up all the resources of his sly
and wary nature to meet this blunt and straight-
forward attack.

“ Looking for Mr. Plympton? Really, I can-
not say where he is. He is here off and on. as I
may say, but he is seldom here for any length of
time.”

“ is he not in 'our house at present?”

“ lie isnot. {am sure of that. I act as his
agent, and perhaps I may serve your urpose,
unless it is some special and particular usiness
that you have with him.”

“ You shall have it, plain and straight, Mr.
Scrooby. A young man, or b) , of whom you
have heard often enough—Sam glartlc by name,
or Salamander Sam by nickname—has been
seized and carried away by a. band of wild ne-
groes, and we know Morley I’lympton employed
them to do that dccrl ”

“You surprise me, Mr. Powell. I cannot be-
lieve that my friend and employer would doany-
thing of that kind. There must be some mistake
about it.”

“ There is no mistake about it, Gideon Scrooby.
I am sure that he has done that very thing, and
I have no doubt that you know quite as much
about it as I do, and robably a good deal more.
We want the man who is responsible for run-
ning ofl’ Sam Startle, and we mean to have him.
He must return that boy, or suffer the conse-
quences. If he is not here, where is he?”

“ You have no right to take that tone with me,
Mr. Powell. I do not know where Mr. Plympo
ton is. I am not his keeper.”

“ That i-i what Cain said about Abel. This
case is different from that, as we do not suppose
that you have made away with Morley Plymp—
ten; but we insist upon knowing from one part-
ner where the other partner is, and you must
tell us.”

“I must, must 1? Well, sir, I do not recog-
nize your right to question me in this way, and
if I knew, I would not tell you.”

At a sign from Powell, Boney Priddle and
August Engel dismounted.

“ That is enough,” said the leader. “ It brings
the thing down to a fine point, and we know
just how we have got to get our work in. Grub
him, boysl”

August and Benny seized the Scotchman, and
dragged him unceremoniously from the veranda
to t e ground, in pite of his struggles and pro-
testations.

“ Cut some switches,” ordered Powell, and the
two men from Coahoula hastened to obey the
order.

Scrooby was dragged to one of the smallest of
the live oaks near , his coat was hurriedly
taken off, and his arms were put around the
tree and tied by the wrists, fastening him there
securely.

The. two men from Coahoula came forward,
and the purpose of his captors was made shock-
ingly plain to him.

Scrooby. anticipatinrr what was in store for
him, yelled and called. for help, and two of his
negro servants and one woman showed them—
selves, but, perceiving that they could be of no
use there, prudentially retired.

“ Now, Scrooby,” said Rush Powell, “ you
have got to tell us what we want to know, or
take awhipping, and I give you fair warning
that when we begin, every stroke will take the
hide."

" You wretches!" screamed the Scotchman.
“You villainous brutosl How dare you take
hold of me! Don‘t you know that the law will
punish you severely for this?”

“ How dare you speak of the law?" rotor-ted
Rush. “Was it under the law that you'hired
Jim Summers and his gang 01' s“ ampers to at-
tack and murder my party? Is it according to
l‘iW that you have advised and lack! (1 up Mor-
lev Plympton in all his rascally undertakings!
T hose who appeal to the law should be governed
by ihe law, You know that you deserve hang-
ing, and you should be thankful that we let you
live. Wcai'e the law to you just now, and we
are waiting for you to tell us what we want to
know.”

“ I have nothing to trll,” grumly answered the
Scotchman between his clinched teeth.

It was Boney Priddle who wielded the switch
and he brought it down on Scrooby’s broad
back with such a cut as forced a yell that
made the negroes turn blue and run further
awav.

“ Quit that!" groaned the Scotchman. “ Don’t
do it again. I’ll tell what you want. I’ll tell
all I know.”

“ Tell it now, Scrooby.” ordered Rush.

“ Turn me loose, then.”

“ Tell it as you stand, and tell the straight
truth. too. or you will be sure to suffer. Where
is Morley Plympton?"

“ I know where he started to go to; but I
don‘t know Where he is now.”

“ thero did he go to?”

“ Out into the swamps to the haunt of those
wild niggcrs. He ought to have been back long
before this, and I am afraid that something has

 

,
r‘
i
, .

 

 

 

 

 

v

 

 

 

 

Salamander Sam.

29

 

happened to him. I cautioned him against mix-
ing up any more with those gangs.”

“So you know all about it, just as I supposed
you did. Go on. then, and tell us what he went
out there for. Be quick about it, as we have no
time to spare.”

“ He heard that the boy you spoke of had been
taken by those uiggers, and he went out there to
see about it.”

“ Just so. He went out there to see if they
had carried out his orders and made a sure
thing of Sam Startle’s death. Was that the
way of it?”

“ He didn't say that,” objected the Scotch-
man.

“ But you understood him to mean that. All
right, Mr. Scrooby. I believe you have told the
truth as far as you have gone, and we don’t care
to 0 into the whole story just now.”

‘ Are you through with me then, Mr. Powell?
May I go!”

“ Yes, Mr. Scrooby, you may go with us!”

“ What do you mean by that?’

“ I mean that we don‘t propose to miss any
points from this on, or to leave an enemy in our
rear. We are oing to find Morley Plympton,
and we shall ta e you along as an ally that may
be useful in more ways than one.”

“ You have gone too far already, young man.
The law will make you y for this. ’

“I have already cautioned on, Mr. Scrooby,
against alluding to the law. Vhen the time of
payment comes, We will have a general settling
up all around, and then you may look out for
hot—shot and plenty of it. ’

“ You can’t lawfully hurt me, anyhow,” pro-
tested the Scotchman.

“ That depends on whether Sam Sfartle proves
to be safe. If he does not, we will know what
to do with you. Just now we are going to brin
the two partners together. Tell us which 0

our horses you prefer to ride, and you shall
{ave it.”

The home which Gideon Scrooby indicated
was saddled and prepared for a journey, and
his coat was restored to him, and he mounted
and rode away with his captors.

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE PITCHER AND THE WELL.

“WHOM a 0d wishes to destroy," as the old
saying reads, ‘ he first makes mad,” and it may
be said of Morley Plympton that after he had
knocked Salamander Sam into the water, his
course and actions were those of a crazy man.

Probably it was a mixture of feeling and facts
that combined to send him “ off his nut,” as it
is not unreasonable to suppose that a sudden
stroke of remorse may have had something to
do with it, strangely mingling with his joy at
having finally got rid of the obstacle that blocked
his way to a fortune.

It IS iikel , too, that the mixture of snake
poison and alcohol poison which had lately been
stru ling in his system had so far unbalanced
his rain, that not much was needed to upset
it

.Certain it is that when it seemed clear to him
that Salamander Sam would never again show
his head above that dark water, he ran
away as if he had been frightened out of his
wits.

He ran straight enough for a while; but

' his course soon took a turn, and before he had

got half a mile from the spot where he
struck the blow, he had doubled on his track
completely, and was running t0ward the
direction from which he had come with Sam
Startle.

He kept on running swiftly however, as if
flying from some danger or horror, fear or
excitement 'ving speed and strength to his
limbs, as if e felt that he was bouudtorun
until he fell.

At last he did fall.

Utterly exhausted, and unable to stir another
step, he dropped on the ground and lay there un-
conscious, in a stupor much quieter and more
profound than that which had followed the
snakebite experience.

He lay there a long time, and when he awoke
he had only partially recovered his senses, and
was so weak that he found himself unable to
use.

There was a remedy that he knew of—at least,
a' temporary remedy—for such weakness as
that, and he had sense enou 'h to feel for his
whisky flask and put it to his _ips.

Before he arose he had drained the last drop
and thrown awa the flask; but it had put new
life into his limbs. though the tier fluid that
coursed through his veins only a ded to the
weight that pressed on his brain and destroyed
his reason and jud ent.

He had entirely ost the recollection of every—
thing that had occurred since he was bitten by
the snake in the swamp, and his presence at that
time and place was puzzling to him.

Therefore he steadied himself against a tree
and tried to settle it in his dazed head where he
was and how be had come there. /

Finally he arrived at the conclusion that
he was on his way to the haunt of old Eph’s
gang to make sure that Sam Startle had been
put out of his way. . I

Something had happened to him—he did not

 

know what—and he had got out of his course,
but he would find it again, and would go on and
attend to that vital matter of business. .

Just then he was out of his reckoning—no
doubt of that—but he had a vague idea of the
direction he ou ht to take, and he would keep
straight on unti he should come to some region
or landmark that he could recognize.

He did not run any more, being entirely too '
weak for that, but staggered on feeny and
slowly preSsing his head with his hands in
the e ort to esp the direction he wanted
to take, and now and then stopping to rest!
and gather strength to continue his journey. ‘

Thus the day was far spent when he found ,
himself in the swamp where the snake hadl
struck him. I

The route was then difficult and dangerous;
for a man of firm nerves and steady limbs; but i
Plympton believed that he knew the way, and l
he pushed forward boldly, though more feebly g
than ever. 3

It was then a long time since he had eaten §
anythin , as he had brought no food fromi
Gideon crooby’s house, expectingto et plenty ‘,
among the negroes. and the effects of t ewhisky E
that had stimulated him for a time had passed

off.

So he staggered on slowly, with uncertain;
steps, often in danger of stumbling and fallin ‘
into pools or stretches of stagnant water, an :
alwa s too much dazed to heed or note the !
repti as that beset his pathway. but steadily ‘
pressing forward, and picking his course as if

y instinct among the intricacies of the swamp. ,

Under the circumstances it was wonderful g
that he got on at all; but he was ea er to reach l
the negroes’ island and make sure 0 the fate of
Salamander Sam, and was kept up and going ,
by sheer force of will. 3

If he could have known that his supposed ,
victim was then vast] better 03 than he was, ,
safe and resting com ortably on Reuben Hen- 1
sel's bed, the knowledge would have knocked
him over at once.

He staggered on until he reached the shore of l
the lake in which the island was situated, and I
then his strength deserted him as it had done 6
after his crazy run in the forest, and he dropped
senseless.

\Vhether fortunately or unfortunately, he
had been seen by some of the negroes on the
island, who had watched his progress closely,
wondering what was the matter with him.

The hints dro by Aunt Celia concerning ,
the wealth of orley Plympton and the gain
that might be derived from him had not been
unheeded by old Eph, who had talked the
matter over with his followers, and had
given them such instructions as the case re-

aired.

q He had fully expected the white man to visit
the island after the capture of Sam Startle—in-
deed, Plymptou had assured him that he would
come and see that the work he paid for had
been properly done—and had determined that
he should not be allowed to leave until he had
been well squeezedfor money.

The gang on the island, having been rather in-
timately acquainted with him in days past,
knew him to be in the habit of taking too much
to drink when he could get it, and as he was
seen staggering and weaving his way through
the swamp, the natural conclusion was that he
was drunk.

When he fell at the shore of the lake, this
suspicion became a certainty, and two stalwart
negroes hurried across the water to make an
eas capture.

Jo was picked up and slung over the back
of one of them, who carried him to the island
and laid him in a shady spot under the trees and
near the huts.

Old Eph, who had long been famed as a
Voodoo doctor, took medical charge of the case,
and proceeded to adni inister to the tient such
remedies as he believed would suit is supposed
complaint.

He ve instructions to the women, and a
“wily fling and stewmg was begun, that gave
promise of ap tizmg food.

Soon the o d man had a hot and nourishing
draught ready, which he fed to his patient very
gradually at first, and more freely as he began
to recover his senses.

In a little while he had Plyrnpton sitting up
and staring about, and than t 8 real work of
recuperation was begun.

One and all, from Old EKJh down to the picka-
ninnies, waited on the w 'te man eagerly and
anxiously, and he could not have been more
tenderly cared for if he had been their nearest
relation or dearest friend.

This was not because they cared for him, but
simply because his living body was believed to
possess a mercantile value for them.

In order to dispose of him to the best advan-
tage. it was necessary to put him in good order.

The prospect was that he would soon be in
fine condition, as he was seized by a ravenous
appetite when he had finished old Enh’s soothing
and stimulating draught, and he etc as heurtil
as he was allowed to of the tasty and nourishing
food that was offered him.

When he had been stuficd sufficiently. hei

[ of the utter annihilation of the bodil

 

called for whisky, but was given to understand

i

that there was none on the island, and that he
must submit to a period of enforced abstinence.

Then he tried his feet, discovered that he could
get about without much difficulty. and sauntered
here and there for awhile. endeavoring to get
things straightened out in his mind, and to
:fittle upon the purpose that had brought him

ere.

Again his conclusion was the same as that at

' which he had arrived on his recovery from his

former swoon, and he accosted old E h, who
had been following him around pretty 0 osely.
It was with a d idedly business-like tone and

i an air of authori ly that he addressed the old.

ne ro.
‘ You ot that white boy, did you!”

“Yes, assa Plymp’on; we cotch ‘um.”

“ What did you do with him!”

Eph pointed significantly at his stomach.

“ Vhat do you mean by that?”

“ We eat ’um.”

“You ate him? The deuce you did. I hope-
you cooked him first, then.”

“ Made plenty Voodoo soup. All gone but do
bones, an’ we flung dem inter de watah.”

Though this statement should have been emi-
nently satisfactory to Plympton as an assurance
existence
of his enemy, he could not help a fee ing of dis-
gust and re ulsion, which was plainly visible in
his 11 ly look.

“ on don’t seem to like tobe tol’ ’bout dat,
Mars’r Plymp’on,” observed old Eph.

“ You make me sick with your nast story.”

“ Sakes alive! You said you wan de youn ‘
buckra put clean outer de way, an’ we done di
dat. I’d ha’ kep’ some ob de Voodoo sou fun
you: but it ain’t no good on’y fur Obi's f0 8.”

“ Don’t give me any more of that talk. How
am 1 to know that you really did put the young
scamp clean out of the way?’

“ Didn’t I tole yer so?"

i

I

“ I heard what you told me; but I want some- ~

thing in the way of proof. You must have
saved his clothes.”

“ We had to bu’n de clo’es, Mass‘r Plymp’on,
in de fiah w’ot b'iled de kettle, 30’s to make do
cha’m shu h. But we’s got his gun an’ his
pistil.” S

Salaman er Sam’s carbine and revolver were-
brought forward and shown to Morley Plympv
ton.

As he had never seen them, he of course could
not r ize them, though he was obliged to
admit that the carbine was such a weapon as a
lad of Sam’s age and style might be supposed to
own and carry.

There seemed to be no doubt that Sam had.
been captured by the negroes, and it was- rea-

sonable to presume that they had made away ,

with him, as they had agreed to do.

“I suppose I must believe you.” said Plymp-
ton, “though you ought to ve some way of
proving the thing to me so that I can be certain
of it. I don't like to pay out in money for
nothing, and you have had a big pi e of it. As
you are sati ed, you ought to satisfy me."

“ We ain’t satisfied " suggested old Eph.

“ Not satisfied? W hat the deuce do you mean
by that? You have got the money, and on
have ot that gun and pistol. and you have ad
your oodoo soup, and what more can you
want!”

‘* We wants mo‘ money.”

“ More money? You ma want the earth, but 1

are not likely to get it, an you Won’t get an?
other dollar from me. So you may just keep
on wanting.” '

“ We’s gwine ter git it, Mass’r Plymp’on.”

‘t‘It ,would like to know how you are going to.
ge l . ,

“ You‘s got to git it fur us. You's got lots 0‘
money now, we knows dat, and you don‘ go
’wa f’urn yer’ one step till we its mo’ mane .”

T is was plain enough, an it put Mor
Plympton to such serious thinking as his Shl'l
dared brain would permit. -

The dan r against which Gideon Scrooby
had warn him had come to pass

The pitcher had
often, and the time o breakage was at lnnd.

It was clear that the negroes meant to a t,
though they had never heard of them
tactics of Italian brigands, and hold him for a

ransom.

It was _far from being so clear that hecoald
do anything to prevent them from executing
their intention; indeed, the possibility of rescue
appeared to be as remote as the chance of

one to the bell once too

escape. '. .
He felt for his pistol, as it might be of. use to

him in a time of extremity; but it was gone. and
wrist  of it? th

0 v. as s then supposed, e negroa
had taken it when they picked him up and car-
ried him over to the island. unless he had lost it
during his wanderings in the woods.

Anyhow, it was not in his possession, andhe-
had absolutely no defenis: against the felonious-
purposes of old Eph and his gang.

Therefore it would be best to try to conciliatov
them, with a view to getting out of the scraps
in the easiest way possible.

“ You must be joking, old man,” said be.
“You don’t reallv mean to go back oaan old
friend in that way.” ' _

s

\

I _

‘.

   

 

3O

Salamander Sam.

 

 

 

, “ Dar ain’t no joke ’bout it, Mars’r Plymp’on.
, We’wme ter bab mo’ money."

“ ell, I am ready to do t e fair thing, and
if you really think that you have not been paid
enough for that job, I will try to satisfy you.
How much more money do you want?”

“ T’ousand dollahs.”

If old Eph had said ten thousand dollars, or
even a hundred thousand, it would not have
conveyed to his mind the idea of a lar er
amount than the sum he named. His know] go
of figures was quite limited, and “ t’ousand
dollahs” represented vast and really fabulous
wealth.

Plympton had sense enough left in his dazed
head to appreciate this notion and to humor it.

“ That is a tremendous pile of money,” said
he. “ I have not as much as a thousand dollars
in the world.” .

“ You’ve 0t to git it, den.”

“ I don’t now how I am to do that: but, if
you want it so badly, I will go home and try to
raise it.”

“ Sca’cely. You don‘ go ’way f’um yer’,
Mars’r Plymp’on, till we git dat money.”

“ One of you can go with me and get it.”

“Not much. W'e don’ do business dat way.
You’s wine ter sen’ one ob us to git it, an’ w’en
he fotc es it yer’, den we’s gwine ter tu’n you
loose.”

“ I could never et a thousand dollars by
sending for it. and wouldn’t it I could.”

“ Den we’s hab plenty Voodoo soup.”

Plympton tried in vain to argue the question,
and finally asked for time to consider it, which
was given him.

In the mean while his captors seemed to be
willing to fatten him, as he was favored with a
very good supper though his enjoyment of it

-was not increased by remarks concerning his
condition for killing and eating.

' After sup r be considered the matter as cool-

I as he could, and was forced to the conclusion

1: he would have to comply with the demands
of his ca tors.

They ad evidently announced their ultima-
tum, and it was money or death—such a death,
too as he did not fancy for himself, though he
had not objected to its infliction upon his young
relative.

It would never do to be cut off just when he
had removed the one obstacle, and his road to
fortune was clear.

He had spoken the truth when he said that he
posses no such sum as a thousand dollars;

at he believed that Scrooby had money, and of
course his partner would be willing to advance
the sum needed to get him out of pawn, when
‘ the security was undoubted.
He had a notebook in his pocket, on a leaf of
which he wrote with a pencil this missive:

“M! Dean Gun—Your prediction he come true.
The pitcher has gone to the Well once too often.
That youn scamp has been wiped out at last, and
no doubt a out it: but the niggers here have got me
and I must ive them a thousand dollars or die. I
guess you wi have to get it and send it. as I can‘t
see any other way out of the scrape, and you know
that I am safe to pay now.

“ Yours in trouble,
“Monuv.

Of course he could write what he chose, as
none of the negroes could read; but this was all
he thought it worth while to send.

He folded the leaf, addressed it to Gideon
Scrooby, and gave itto the head man of the

gan .

“That will bring you the money,” said he, “ if
it is ible for me to get it.”

“ e’ll sen’ it off early in de mawnin‘,” ob-
servad old Eph. ,

.Plym ton explained where and how Scrooby
was to found, and then sought a place where

Y  , he could lie down and rest.

Slumber came to him alrnost instantly and he
slept asound and dreamless sleep an if late in
the morning.

{ ‘ CHAPTER XXXII.
‘ A WELCOME sunraisn.

Wan! Rush Powell and his party left Gideon
Scrooby’s house in the night time, they noticed
that their prisoner had selected a fine and fast
horse for his riding; but that fact suspicious
as it was, did not worry them in the least.

The Scotchman was not noted for dashing
bravery, and the knew thatla rifle or a revolver
could t a and en stop to the career of himself
or his rec, in case of an attempted escape.

Sufficient precautions Were ta en, hOWever, to
obviate the necessity of any violent action by
keeping him from the_temptation as tryto b

off.
Ben and his black comrade took the lead as
des then came the two Coahoula men.
, ush Powell rode next with the prisoner, and
aggust Engel and Boney Priddle .brought up
rear.

The progress of the party was slow, as even
8911, who was better acquainted with those
woods and swamps than any of the others, found
it a v difficult matter to keep the right course
inthe arkness.

He easin reached and reco ized the place
where he and Salamander had n captured by
the , swamp negmes; but after that he was

\‘ ¢ ,

 

 

 

 

obliged to move more cautiously, stopping to
take frequent observations of both sky and land,
as he confessed that he had only a eneral idea
of the direction of the point at whic they were
aiming.

What was to be done when they should reach
that point was the great uncertainty of the ex-
pedition.

The two leaders did not disclose their plan to
the others, and it was probable that they had
not decided on any definite course of action, but
expected to be controlled by circumstances.

owell had but a very faint hope, if any, of
finding Salamander Sam alive; but he meant to
get hold of Morley Plympton if he was above
ground.

Then, if it should turn out that Sam had been
murdered, the man who was responsible for his
death should surely not live to enjoy the fruits
of his villainy.

Gideon Scrooby was silent and glum, speaking
not a Word to any of his guards, and none of
the party saying anything to him; but he did
not secm to be thinking of making an effort to
escape.

So they worked their way forward through
the forest, cautiously and slowly, until daylight
came and gave them a better chance.

Then they made a tem orary camp in a glade,
prepared and ate a iasty breakfast, and,
straightened out their limbs after their tedious
ride.

Just as they were about to mount and take up
the route again, they were treated to a most
welcome and joyful surprise.

Reuben Reuse] and Salamander having got
thus far on their way to Colonel Tremper’s, per«
C(‘iVed the smoke of the campers’ fire, and crept
forward together to see what it meant.

Very cautiously they approached the camp, as
severe experienCes had taught at least one of
them that foes were to be found in the forest,
and Hansel was determined not to let his young
friend out of his sight; but all that was at an
end when they were gladdened by the view of
familiar faces.

“They are your friends, Samm ,” jo fully
whispered Hansel. “ I see Rush owe and
August Engel."

Sam had caught sight of them almost as soon
as his companion, and they ran to the camp, the
lad shouting at the top of his voice.

This made a great and sudden change in the
situation, and all were happy but the Scotch-
man, who frowned and stared at Salamander as
if be supposed him to‘have risen from the dead—
a Very salamander, indeed!

Explanations wore in order, and Sam gladly
told his story, with a little help from Reuben
Hensel.

It was told in detail and at considerable
length, as nobody was in a hurry just then, and
was listened to with the intensest interest.

“ I knowed dey’d tu’n him loose arter
mammy’d ut de ()hi onto ’em,” declared Ben,
when the related his safe exit from the
island.

The episode of the snakebite was a thrilling
one, though the now recognized hero told it so
briefly and simply, and his conduct on that oc-
casion was both praised and condemned.

“ You deservete suffer, you young scalawag,"
averred Powell, “for risking your life to save
the mean and dead] enemy who had sought to
kill you again an again, and it would have
served you just right if he had turned on you
after that and murdered you.”

When it was shown that Morley Plympton
had tried to do that very thing, and had food
reason to believe that he had accomplishet his
object, there were no bounds to the indignation
of all but Scrooby, who was then more grum
and stolid than ever.

He saw Sam Startle—Salamander Sam——

there, whom he had supposed to be surely dead, /

alive and jolly; but, what had become of Mor-
le Plyinpton?

6 same question was agitating the minds of
some of the others just then.

“ That lets you out, Scrooby,” observed Rush
Powell. “ The young gentleman is alive, in
spite of all the villainy that had been working
against him, and now we can’t hang you for
beinfiaccessorg to his murder.”

“ ay I go ome, then?" meekly inquired the
Scotchman.

“ Well. no—not just yet. I am not sure that
we are through with you. We know who did
t3 to kill our friend, and we may want you to
h p us find your partner.”

» ‘ I don’t know anythin more about him than
I have told you,” declar Scrooby.

A council of war, in which all the members
of the e tion took part, was held to decide
whether hey should turn back or 0 further.

Powell was of the opinion that orley Plym
ton ought to be hunted down and brought
iustice, and Reuben Hensel a oed with him.
Engel thou ht it was not wort while to bother
any more a out the missin man, and Salaman-
der, gllsad at finding himsel safe and among his
frien , was quite willing to let him drop.

This question was settled for them in a man-
ner quite as unrequited as was the appearance
of Salamander 5am.

“ Hush!” ordered Hansel, whose sight and

 

hearing were ve acute. “ I saw somebody
coming this way; at he has caught sight of us
and dodged out of the way. ”

“ It was a nigger,” thought Ben, who was also
on the alert.

“S read out and close in on him!” was Rush
Powe l’s uick command. “Whoever it is, we
must not at him get by us.” -

He did not get by them, though he tried hard
to do so, and though he was skilled in sneaking
and creeping.

Under Powell‘s directions the party spread out,
closing in on him rapidly, and his only chance
was to give up the attempt to pass them, and to
turn back.

He tried this; but Reuben Hensel and Ben
were both too quick for him, and he was caught
and brought into camp.

He proved to be a negro. and there could be
no doubt that he was one of the wild men of the
swamp; but he protested against his capture.

“ W‘ot a’ you doin’ to me, you w’ite folks? I
liain’t been doin’ nquiii’ to you. PS jess gwine
on ’bout my business, an’ not doin’ nuffin’ to no-
body."

“ What is your bUSiness, and where were you
goin to?” demanded Powell.

“ wine ter fin’ Mars’r Gidyun Screwbug.”

“Mr. Gideon Scrooby is here. What do you
want with him i”

“ I’s got a papah fur him.”

“ Give it to me.”

Resistance was useless. and the negro handed
Morledy Plympten’s letter to Powell, who pro-
ceed , to open it.

‘ ‘ Stop that i” cried the Scotchman. “ If that
paper is for me, you have no right to read it.”

“Quite as good a right as you can show for
some of (your performances,” ‘coolly answered
Rush, an he read the paper aloud for the benefit
of Scrooby with the rest.

“ I believe I will keep this, Scrooby. It is
good evidence as far as it cos. Now you know
where your partner is. ball you go on and
find him and take. him out of awn; or don’t
you ,happen to have a thousan dollars about

on!

“ I would not spend a dollar on him,” grumbled
the Scotchman, ‘and I don’t care acuss what
becomes of him.”

“ Not now, I suppose, since he was mistaken
about the fate of my young friend here, and is
no longer safe to pay. But we want to get hold
of him, so that the law may have a fair chance
to deal with him, and it is our duty as Christians
to look after him, anyhow. What uzzles me is,
why should he have gone back to that gang af-
ter be supposed that he had made an end of
Sam?”

This problem remained unsolved, and the
party'considered the question of a further ad-
vance.

It was believed that the island haunt of the
negroes was nearly impregnable; et there was
great confidence in the strategh: abilities of
August Engel, and Bush Powe] was firmly of
the opinion that where there is a will there is a
way.

So it was decided that they should on and
“ foller the thing up,” as Boney Pridd e express—
ed it, perhaps to get hold of Morley Plympton,
and at all events to learn his fate.

Powell wanted to send Salamander back to
Colonel Tremper’s; but as Sam resolutely re-
fused to be sent, it was agreed that one of the
negroes should return and inform the people
there of the lad’s safety and the progress of the

exgedition.

ideon Scrooby was more than willing to be
sent back, or to go of his own accord; but was
informed that he would still be held as a prisoner,
not to be released until the return of the expedi‘
tion. /

Reuben Hensel offered his services as a guide,
which were glad] accepted, as he was thorough-
ly acquainted wi b all the woods and swamps of
t at region, and he led the part b the easiest
and most direct route toward t e
black swampers.

The captured negro was also brought along‘as
aprisoner, and care was taken that he should
not escape and inform his comrades of the force
that was moving against them.

When they came to the swamp which it was
necessary to cross to reach the lake, they were
obliged to dismount, as the route which they
must follow was impassable for horses, and their

aunt of the

animals Were left in charge of the remaining,

negro from Colonel Trem r’s lace.

Gideon Scrooby strong y ob ted to entering
the swam , but was forced into line with the
rest, and t ey went on in single file, with Reu-
ben Hensel in the lead.

At the shore of the lake it was evident that
there would have been no harm in allowin the
islanders to be informed of their approac , as
they had been easily discovered, and a number
of negroes were collected over there to inspect
them and wonder at them.

There was no sign of fear among them, asthey,
like all the swampers, were convinced of their
superiorityto the rest of creation, although being
negrm‘s. they retained the awe of “ w’ite folks
that was derivod from generations of slavery.

Of course they were obliged to regard the ex- ‘

pedition as hostile, seeing

/

 

 

New”. . a... 0",.

a“. “was

 

 

 

a. ,

 

Salamander “seen-

31

 

 

 

among them, together with the man who was
sent away with Morlev Plympton’s letter; but
there was plenty of angerous water between
them and the opposing force, and they naturally
considered themselves safe. _ _

Considerably to the surprise of Powell and his
friends, Morley Plympton Was visible in the
front rank of the negroes, apparently free and
unhceded. .

Old Eph opened the ball by yelling to the
white men and inquiring what they wanted.

“We want the white man you have over
there,” answered Powell.

“ You cain’t git him, ’less you ’a’ got a t’ou-
sand dollahs to pay fur him.”

“ Send him over here, or we will come and
take him, and then we will wipe out the whole
gang of on.”

“ We’l kill de fus’ w’ite man w’ot tries to
come ober yer”, an’ de las’ man, too."

Powell and Engel consulted with chsel and
Salamander concerning the force on the island
and the means of getting at them, and learned
that thouirh the negroes were numerous, they
were poor y armed, and. that the lake could be
crossed only by a series of stepping—stones, or
sunken logs, which were partly under water,
‘ and which would not allow the passage of two

rsons abreast.

While they Were consideringlghese points and
maturing a plan of attack, a c nge in the situ-
ation occurred, which completely upset their
calculations.

 

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.
Tm: JAWS or FATE.

MORLEY PLYMPTON’S sleep. as has been said,
was sound and dreamless.

When he at last awoke, the sun was at least
two hours high. and he felt greatly refreshed
and invigorated.

More than that, his head was clear, and his
memory had come back to him.

He clearly remembered the incident of the
snakebite, his subsequent journe with Sam
startle, and his final wiping out o the “ young
Scamp” by knocking big: into the water and
making sure that he did ot reappear.

After that there were blanks in his memory,
and he did not fully know how he had got there
to the island, though his memory was clear
enough concerning what had happened since his
arrival.

He erceived that old Eph had told him a vile
and isgnstihg lie in assuring him that Sam
Startlc had been killed and eaten, and the fraud
that had been )ut upon him excited his indigna-
tion to the highest pitch.

It was fortunate that he had met the “young
Scamp” when he was making his escape, as he
had thus been able to clear away the obstacle,
and he could not doubt that his friend Scrooby
would gladly purchase the freedom of th; un-
doubted owner of the Plym )ton roperty.

As soon as he awoke he can his breakfast
ready for him, and he ate heartily, hafing gain-
ed clearer and brighter views of his position and

respects since the memory of yesterday’s events
had returned to him.

When he had satisfied his appetite, he sougslzt
old Eph, and prooeeded to tax him with fa -
hood in declaring that Sam Startle was dead.

“ You let that young fellow 0," said he.
“ You took him over there an turned him
loose in the swamp, to find his way home. I
know that to be true, because I met him after
he left here, and he told me all about it.”

“ ’S cts you’s been dreannn’, boss.” observed
the 0 d negro, though he was evnlently taken
aback by this accusation.

“If I have, I am Wide awake now1 and I
know what I am talking about, and know
that you lied when you told me that he was
dead.

“Why didn’t you say dat w’en I tole yer so?
But head ob yourn’s gone wronr. i reckon. Any-
how, dat hain‘t got nufiin‘ to ‘do wid dis oddcr
business. Ef dot t‘ousand dollahs don’ come
along, dar won’t bone mo’ use in talkin'.”

After he had delivered this ultimatum there
was not another word on the subject to be got
out of old Eph» and Plym ton was left to his
own devices, execpt that e knew that he was
olosel watched, and that any attempt to escape
woulrr be prtlilll’fly “booked'

Yet he then felt himself to be clear of brain
and reasonably strong of body, ready and fit
to take advantage, of any chance that might
eggs. the morning pas“le and.n°°n was ap-
proaching, when Plympton Perceived an unusual
stir and excitement among the “9.3m”, Who
frog: {gluing bore and there and talking earmm,

y if h l. ,
he “$3915”?ng with them and listening
to their talk. it (id not take him ion to dig-
cover that their excitement Wu? 08“ by the
t somebod was coming through the
ward ,

I ’mmed to iiieuln Essible that the messenger
Sent to Gideon Scroo iv could have l'OtumHl so
soon. and who! elm wm‘mi 1“. coming there?

, , As there w . ' der him from so
, as nothing to hm .
doing: ‘71!) ton ‘ fibers to the side

a the up followed the L led tflwamh
._ 9‘  _ . Whereheimi been lam .

  

 "  ctr, , ,
 [mu-vi». “ . z ’ u

[7

 

 

if" if i'

 

the approach of the party that was causing so
much excitement. _

His heart jumped with joy as he caught Sight
of Scrooby and one of the island negroes among
the party; but it tumbled down and was
squeezed into a small compass when he sawSam
Startle there, alive and very lively.

He also saw Powell and Engel and Priddle,
men Whom he knew to be hostile to him, and it
was not to be supposed that they were there for
his good.

As the "young scamp "—the Salamander with
the charmed life, had miraculously escaped from
death again, of course Gideon Scrooby Would
not be inclined to invest ransom money in his
partner, and so that part of the business had
come to a halt, if not to a full step.

What then were they there for?

The brief parley between Rush POWell and
old Eph did not serve as an answer to this

uestion, though it made still plainer the fact
t iat they were not there for the purpose of pay-
ingia thousand dollars to anybody
ush Powell’s declaration that his party
would cross to the island and wipe out the whole
gang was regarded by Plympton as idle bra-
vado, springing from utter ignorance of the sit-
nation.

The captive was sufficiently acquainted with
the land and water there, as well as with the
)eculiai'ities of the wild ne ro population, to
'now that they were practica ly safe from hos-
tile approach.

Though their only weapons, besides Sala—
mander’s carbine, which they probably did not
know how to use, were a few pistols and hunt—
ing rifles, they would be able from a safe shelter
to pick off one by one any adversaries who
should attempt the dangerous crossing to the
island. -

Even if the white men should get the better of
them, it was to be expected that spite would
cause them to kill their prisoner.

It was plain to Morley Plympton that as mat-
ters then stood he had but one chance for his
life, if not for his liberty, and he felt clear
enough of brain and strong enough of body to
work it for all it was worth.

He knew the stepping places, and believed
that he could strike them in a hurried flight
across 'the water, though some of them were in-
visible.

His ho was that the surprise of a sudden
rush would! paralyze his captors until he could
get enough of a start to be COVered by the rifles
of the white men.

If they were not his friends, they at least
wanted im, and Would protect him from the
ne oes.

here was the chance, too, that when his cap-
tors saw that he was getting away from them,
the would let him 0, rather than kill him.

While these thong ts were passing-through his
mind, he had algal to the front rank of the no-

and near the crossing.

Suddenly he broke away, and dashed into the
water.

It was this that startled the white people and
upset their calculations; but,they were ual to
the occasion, and lost not a moment’s time in
doing all they could do to secure the safety of the
fa 'tive.

ush POWell and August Engcl leveled their
rifles instantl to cover his  and their ex-
ample was to lowed by Boney iddle and the
two Coahoula men. |

The reports of the magazine guns broke the si-
lence of the swamp when one of the young ne~
groes started swi tly alter the fugitive on y to
be speedily struck down.

Another who followed him shared a like fate,
and the blacks were quick to perceive that they
must change their tactics if they would save
themselves rom general slaughter; so they drew
back into the shelter of the trees, and began to
use their hunting rifles, firing at their escaping
captive, while they were themselves undera rain
of bullets from the white men on the lake-shore.

Plym ltOD had got a little more than half-way
across t is water, when he auscd and staggered
as if he had been struck, t en made two more
long and dangerous steps, and halt/ed and wa-
vered again. '

At the first Sign of trouble Reuben Hansel
sprung out uponthe crosslng, and had nearly
reached the fugitive when Plympton stopped and
staggered the second time; but the rescuer was
too late to save the other from losing his balance
and falling into the water.

The next instant Reuben reached down and
seized the sinkin man’s collar, in spite of the
bloodmn-dling yel from Plympton, and a tug
that, nearly pulled the would-be rescuer into the
water.

Then the cause of the yell was apparent to those
on shore in the ugly mm?“ and, “WE’ng laws
of several alligators, and immediately the water
was alive with them.

The saurinn monsters had mm the blood of
the tWo 110ng who had been shot, and were not
to be balked of another victim.

To save his own life Hansel was forced to drop
the agready Slaughtered body and hurry back to

8 ore.

This catastrophe left the expedition no further
190$, and the white men drew  out of the

/ . a . a.

»

 

 

possible reach of fire from the island, and pro-
to return.

It was then discovered that Gideon Scrooby
was missing, and the result proved that he had
taken advantage of the excitement attending
Morley Plympton’s fall and fate to hurry bac
through the swamp to where the horses had been
left, secure his own. and ride away as fast as the
animal could ca him. .

Nobody cared what became of him just then,
and the entire rty made the best of their way ‘
back to Colone Tremper’s. '

It was late at night, or earl in the morning,
when they reached the house; va and her father
were anxiously awaiting them, and they weré
most joyfully welcomed.

The next day it was discovered that Gideon
Scrooby, probably fearing legal complications,
had hastily packed up his papers and valuables
and left the country.

There being no further contest or ob 'ection by
Morley Plympton or any other person, am Star-
tle—Salamander Sam, was soon legally declared
to be the heir of Benjamin Plympton, andeud
Wilshire was installed as his guardian until a
should come of age.

Rush Powell married Eva Tremper, and be-
came by Judge Wilshire’s appointment, the gen-
eral manager of the Plym ton property, as well
as of the Trempcr estate, oney Priddle finding
his use as overseer and factotum.

August Engel, who had always wished to settle
down as a hunter and naturalist, took 11 his
abode with Reuben Hensel, who had admi him
greatly and was go fond of l im.

As for Salama er Sam, thou h Colonel
Trem Ir’s house was his home when e was not
at so 001, much of his time was (passed in the
forests and swamps with Hensel an Engel, never
bein more happy than when enjoying the wild
fr om of the woods and glades. May be live
long to enjoy what was won through so much
personal peril and tribulation!

Tim END.

 

 

Beadle’s [line library. -

BY WILLIAM B. EYSTEB.

145 Pistol Pards; or, The Silent S rt from Cinnabar.

160 Soft Hand, Sharp; or, The an with the Sand.

182 Hands Up; or, The Knights of the Canyon.

192 The Lightning Sport.

214 The Two Cool Sports; or, Gertie of the Gulch.

229 Captain Cutsleeve; or, The Little Sport.

268 Ma. Mike. the Man of Frills

300 A Sport in Spectacles; or, The Bad Time at
Bunco.

333 Derringer Dick. the Man with the Drop.

344 Double Shot Dave of the Left Hand.

356 Thr e Handsome Sports: or, The Double Com-

bination. _
375 Royal Geo , the Three in One.
396 The Piper tectiva

402 Sndpshot Sam' or. The Angels‘ Flat Racket.
429 Hair Trigger Tom of Red Bend.

BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
8 The Headless Horseman; A Strange Storyof

Texas.
12 The Death-Shot; or. Tracked to Death.
55 The Scalp Hunters. A Romance of the Plains.
66 The Specter Barque. A Tale of the Pacific.
74 ThIeaEaptain of the Rifles; or, The Queen of the
es.
200 The Rifle Rangers; or‘, Adventures in Mexico. '
ms The White Chief. A Romance of Northern Mex-

ico
213 The War Trail: or, The Hunt of the Wild Horse.
218 The Wild Huntress; or, The Squatter's Ven-
geance.
228 The Maroon. A Tale of Voodoo and Obeah.
234 The Hunter‘s Feast.
267 The “'hite Squaw.

BY CAPTAIN MARK WILTON.

176 Lady Jaguar. the Robber Queen.

194 Don Sombrero. the California Road Gent.

202 Cactus J ack. the Giant Guide.

219 The Scor ‘on Brothers; or, Mad Tom's Minion.
223 Canyon ave, the Man of the Mountain.

227 Buckshot Ben, the Man-Hunter of Idaho.

237 Long-Haired Max; or, The Black League.

245 llarranca Bill, the Revolver Champion.

258 Bullet Read, the Colora"o Bravo.

263 lron-Armmi Abe. the Hunchback Destroyer.
266 Leopard Luke the King of Horse-Thieves. \
‘271 Stone-fist, of Big Nugget Bend.
276 Texa= Chick. the Southwest Do!
285 Lightning Bolt. the Canyon Te .
291 HorseshOe Hank. the Man of Biz Luck.
305 Silver-Plated So], the Montana Rover.

311 Heavy Hand: or, The Marked Men. ,
823 Hotspur Hugh; or, The Banded Brother”

tive.

nv PROF. J. 1i. manannn.

118 The Sea Slipper: or, The Freebootcm.

118 The Burglar Captain: or. The Fallen Star.
314 Lafittc' or The Pirate of the Gulf.

am Lance’- Lieutenant; or, Child of the Sea.

A new mu every Walnuday.

Beadie’s Dime Library is for sale by‘al
Newsdealers. ten cents per copy, or sent by mail on
receipt of twelve cents each. BEADLE & ADA”.
Publishers, 98 William street, New York.

‘ .

         
    

282
7802 The Dost Bonanza; or,
‘4“) Captain Coiiigl'lp' or. The New York Spotter.

 

BEADLE’SrDIMEruBRARY.

 

.1

BY COL. PREN'I‘ISS INGRAHAM.

2 The Dare Devil; or, The Winged Sun Witch.

85 The Cretan Rovor; or, Zuieikah the Beautiful.

89 The Pirate Prince; or. The Queen of the Isle.

94 Freelance. t he . i iuccaneer.
103 Merle, iho Mutinecr; or, The Red Anchor Brand.
104 Montezuma. the Merciless.
109 Cap'ain Kyd. toe King of the Black Flag.
116 Black Plume; or. The Sorceress of Hell Gate.
121 The Sea Cadet; or, The Rover of the Rigoletts.
1% The Chevalier Corsair; or. The Heritage.
131 Buckskin Sam. the Texas Trailer.
134 Darke Dan, the Colored Detective.
139 Fire a; or. The Bride of a Buccaneer.
147 Gold pur. the Gentleman from Texas.
155 The Cersair Queen; or, The Gypsies of the Sea.
162 The Mad Mariner; or. Dishonored and Disowned
168 Wild Bill, the Pistol Dead Shot.
172 Black Pirate; or, The Golden Fetters Mystery.
177 Don Diablo, the Planter~Corsair.
181 The Scari :t Schooner; or. The Sea Nemesis.
184 The Oc ea 1 Vam ire' or, The Castle Heiress.
189 Wild Bill’s Gold rail; or. The Desperate Dozen.
1% The Skeleton Schooner; or, The Skimmer.
:05 The Gambl -r Pirate; or, Lady of the Lagoon.
210 Buccaneer Bess. the Lioness of the Sea.
216 The Corsair Planter; or, Driven to D 10111.
no The Spect -r Yacht; or, A Brother's Crime.
224 Black Beard, the Buccaneer.
all The Kid Glove Miner; or, The Magic Doctor.
%5 Red Li, htning the Man of Chance.
246 ueen also, the Amaz f l of the Overland.
255 he Pirate Priest; or, T c Gam bler's Daughter.
259 Cutlass and CrOSS' or, the Ghouls of the Sea.
281 The Sea Owl; or, he Lady Ca tain of the Gulf.
807 The Phantom Pirate; or, The atcr Wolves.
318 The lndiin Buccaneer; or, The Red Rovers.
325 The Gentlem in Pirate; or The Casco Hermite.
829 The League of Three; or, Buffalo Bill's Pledge.
886 The Magic Ship; or, Sandy Hook Freebootcrs.
841 The S in Des erado.
846 Ocean Guer 110.3; or, Phantom Midshi man.
862 Buffalo Bill‘s Grip; or Oath Bound to ‘uster.
864 The Sea Fugitive; or, The Queen of the Coast.

‘369 The Coast Corsair; or, The Siren of the Sea.

378 Sailor of Fortune; or, The B irnegat Buccaneer.

877 Afloat and Ashore: or, The Cor aair Cons irator.

888 The Giant Buccaneer; or, The Wrecker i itch.

898 The Convict Captian; or, The Battles of the
Buccaneers.

899 The New Monte Cristo.

418 The Sea Siren; or, The Fugitive Privateer

425 The Sea Sword; or. The Ocean Rivals.

.41!) The Fatal Frigate; or, Rivals in Love and War.

435 The One-Armed Buccaneer.

BY OLL COOMES.

7 Death‘Notch. the Destroyer.

48 Dakota Dan the Reckless Ranger.

44 Old Dan Rackhack the Great Extarminator.

46 B min-Knife Ben, t e Nor’wiast Hunter.

48 idaho Tom the Young Outlaw of Silverland.

51 Red Rob, t 0 Boy Road-Agent.

99 The Giant Rifleman; or. Wild Camp Life.
187 Long Beard, the Giant Spy.
148 One-Armed Alf. the Giant Hunter.

BY CAPTAIN IIO‘VARD IIOLMES.

2‘78 Hercules Goldspur. the Man of the Velvet Hand.
294 Broadcloth Burt, the Denver Dandy. ,
821 California Claude, the Lone Bandit.
8315 Flash Dan. the Nabob; or. Blades of Bowie Bar.
840 Cool C mrad, the Dakota Detective.
047 Denver Duke, the Man With "Sand."
852 The Desperate DJZPD.
865 Keen Kennard. the Shasta Shadow.
874 Major Blister, the Sport of Two Cities.
The Bonanza Band; or Dread Don of Cool Clan.
he Boot of Silent Hound.

40? Captain Coldgrip s Nerve' or, Injun Nick.
418 Captain Coldng in New ork.

421 Father Ferret, t Frisco Shadow.

484 Lucifer Lynx, the Wonder Detective.

BY ANTHONY P. MORRIS.

ii The Fire Fiends; or. Hercules. Hunchback.

96 Azhort. the Axman; or, The Palace Secrets.
1w The French Spy' or. The Bride of Paris.
167 The Man of Steel. Tale of Love and Terror.
186 Man Sgider; or. The Beautiful 8 hinx.
ms Hank ound the Crescent Citv etective.
no The Masked ii stery; or, The Black Crescent.
ass Electra Pete, t e Man of Fire.
()6 The Roughs of Richmond.

, .818 Mark M c, Detective

884 Thlg‘ (51p er Detective; or, Mark Magic‘s New

848 The Head Hunter: or, Mark Magic in the Mine.
W Jack Simona, Detective.

' BY MAJOR DANIELBOONE DUMONT.

83 Shier Sam, the Detective; or, The Butte City
11 ers.

8w Colonel Double-Edge, the Cattle Baron's Pard.

{11 The White Crook; or, Old Hark’s Fortress. ,

“l The Old River Sport; or, A Man of Honor.

i

 

Published Every Wednesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Ten Cents. No Double Numbers.

 

 

BY BUFFALO BILL (Ilon. \V. F. Cody).

52 Death-Trailer, the Chief of Scouts.

83 Gold Bullet S ort; or, Knights of the Overland.
243 The Pilgrim har ); or, The Soldier‘s Sweetheart.
304 Texas Jack. the rairie Rattler.

819 Wild Bill, the Whirlwind of the West.

394 White Beaver, the Exile of the Platte.

897 The Wizard Brothers; or, White B laver‘s Trail.
401 One-Armed Birth or, Borderland Retribution.
414 Red Renard, the lndian Detective.

BY MAJOR DANGERFIELD BUBR.

92 Buffalo Bill, the Buckskin King.
117 Dashing Dandy; or, The Hotspur of the Hills.
142 Ca tain Crimson, the Man of the iron Face.

156 Vc vet Face the. Border Bravo.
175 Wild Bill's ’ rump Card; or, The Indian Heiress.
188 The Phantom Mazeppa; or, The Hyena.

BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR.

2% Three-Fingercd J ack, the Road-Agent.
30 Gospel George; or, Fiery Fred. the Outlaw.
40 Long-Haired Pards; or, The Tarters of the Plains.
45 Old Buil’s~Eye, the Lightning Shot.
47 Pacific Pete, the Prince of the Revolver.
50 Jack Rabbit, the Prairie S ort.
64 Double-Sight, the Death S lot.
67 The Boy J ockey; or, Honesty vs. Crookedness.
71 Captain Cool Blade; or, MiSsissip iMan Shark.
88 Big George; or. The Five Outlaw rothers.
105 Dan Brown of Denver; or. The Detective.
119 Alabama Joe; or. The Yazoo Man-Hunters.
12? Sol Scott the Maskel Miner.
141 Equinox Tom, the llnl'y of Red Rock.
154 Joaquin, the Saddle King.
165 Joaquin, the Terrible.
170 Sweet William, the Trapper Detective.
180 Old ‘49; or. The Amazon of Arizona.
197 Revolver Rob' or, The Belle of Nugget Cam .
201 Pirate of the lacers; or, Joaquin‘s Death unt.
233' The Old iloy of Tombstone.
241 Spitfire Saul, King of the Bustiers.
219 E ephant Tom. of Diirango.
257 Death Trap Diggings; or, A Hard Man from
’Way Back.
2% Sir-ck Sam, the Devil of the Mines.
286 Pistol Johnny; or, One Man in a Thousand.
292 Moke Homer, the Boss Ronstabout.
302 Faro Saul, the Handsome Hercules.
317 Frank Lightfoot, the Miner Detective.
324 Old Forked Lightnin . the Solitarv.
331 Chispa Charla. , the G013! Nu get Sport.
3:39 S )read E title ‘am, the iIr-rcu es Hide Hunter.
815 blaskcd Mark, the Mounted Di'tective.
351 Nor‘ West. Nick, the Border Detective.
355 Stormy Steve. the Mad Athlete.
360 J umpin J erry, the Gamecock from Sundown.
367 A Roya Flush; or, Dan Brown‘s l-Zig Game.
372 Captain Crisp. the Man with a Reconl.
379 Howling Jonathan, the ’i‘vrror from Headwaters.
387 D irk Durg, the Ishmael of the Hills.
395 D 'ale Aim, the Duke of Dcrringers.
403 The Nunelcss Sport; or, The Kilkenny Cats of

Way-UP

409 R ub Roy touch; or, The Imps of Pan Handle.

416 Monte Jim the Back Shoe of Bismarck.

426 Th; Ghost Detective; or, T 6 Spy of the Secret
")r\' “e.

433 Laughing Leo; or, Sam's Dandy Pard.

BY ED‘VARD WILLE'I‘T.

129 Mississippi Mose; or, a Strong Man‘s Sacrifice.
200 Back Farley. the Bonanza Prince.

222 Bill the Blizzard; or. Red Jack‘s Crime.

248 Monte a Nat, the Lion of Last Chance Camp.
274 Flush redz the Mississippi Sport.

289 Flush Fred 1! Full Hand.

298 L ’gger Lem; or, Life in the Pine Woods.

3% Hemlock Hank. Tough and True.

315 Flush Fred‘s Double’ or, The Squatters' League.
327 Terrapin Dick, the Wild wood Detective.

337 Old Gabe, the Mountain Tramp.

848 Dan Dillon. King of Crosscut.

368 The Canyon King; or, a Price on his Head.

BY NED BUNTLINE.

i4 Thayendanegea, the Scourge- or.The War-Eagle.
16 The White izard; or, The Seminole Prophet.
18 The Sea Bandit; or, Tne Queen of the Isle.
2% The Red Warrior; or. The Comanche Lover.
61 Captain Seawaif. the Privateer.
111 The Smuggler Ca tain' or. The Skipper’s Crime.
122 Saul Sabherday, c e Idiot s v.
270 Andros the Rover; or, The firate‘s Daughter.
1161 Tombstone Dick, the Train Pilot.

BY WILLIAM H. MANNING.

279 The Golid Dragoon, or, The California Blood-
ioun .

297 Colorado Rube, the Strong Arm of Hotspur.

885 Wil 1 Dick Turpin, the Leadvllle Lion.

405 Old Baldy, the Brigadier of Buck Basin.

415 Hot Heart, the Dcti-i-tive S y.

427 The Rivals of Montana Mil

437 Deep Duk -, the Silent Sleuth.

.

 

BY COLONEL DELLE SARA.

5'3 Silver Sam; or, The Mystery of Deadwood City.
87 Tne Scarlet Captain; or, Prisoner of the Tower.
106 Shamus O’Brien, the Bould Boy of Glingal.

BY PHILIP S. WARNE.

1 A Hard Crowd; or. Gentleman Sam’s Sister.

4 The Kidnap .r; or The Northwest Shanghai.
29 Tiger Dick. aro King; or, The Cashier's Crime.
51 Always on Hand; or, The Foot~Hi.ls Sport.

80 A Man of Nerve; or, Caliban the Dwarf.

114 Th~ Gentleman from Pike.

171 Tiger Dick. the Man of the Iron Heart

20? Old Hard Head; or. Whirlwind and his Mare.

251 Tiger DlCK vs. Iron D spard.

290 Tiger Dick‘s Lone Hand.

299 Turee of a Kind; or, Tiger Dick. Iron Deeper!
and the SportiVe Sport.

338 Jack Sands the Boss of the Town.

359 Yellow Jack. the Mestizo.

380 Tiger Dick’s Pledge; or, The Golden Serpent.

404 Silver Sid; or, A ‘ Daisy " Blufl’.

431 California Kit, the Always on Hand.

BY J. C. CO‘VDRICK.

390 The Giant Cupid; or Cibuta John‘s Jubilee.

422 Blue Grass Burt. the Gold Star Detective.

436 Kentucky Jean, the S ort from Yellow Pl 0; or.
Blue-eyed Belle of ended Bow.

BY GEORGE C. JENKS.

898 Sleepless Eye, the Pacific Detective. /
432 The Giant Horseman; or, Tracking the Red
Cross Gang.

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN.

27 The Spotter Detective; or Girls of N ew York.

31 The New York snail-p; or, The Flash of Lightning.
33 Overland Kit; or, he idyl of Whiie Pine

34 RockyMountain Bob, the California Outlaw.

35 Kentuck the Sport: or. Dick Talbot 0! the Mines.
36 Injun Dick; or. The Deatthot of Shasta.

38 Velvet Hand; or, In]??? Dick’s Iron Grip.

41 Gold Dan; or, The ite Savage of Salt Lake.
42 The California Detective; or The Witches of N .Y.
49 The Wolf Demon; or, The Kaiiawha Queen.’

56 The Indian Mazeppa; or, Madman of the Plains.
59 The Man from 'i‘exas; or, The Arkansas Outlaw.
6‘3 The Winged Whale; or, The Red Rupert of Gulf.
72 The Phantom Hand; or The 5th Avenue Heiiess.
75 Gentleman GeOr e; or, l’arlor. Prison and Street.
77 The Fresh of Frisco; or, The Heiress.

79 Joe Phenix, the Police Sp .

81 Tne Human Tiger; or, A fir-alt of Fire.

84 Hunted Down; or, The League of Three.

91 The Winning Oar; or, The Innkeeper’s Daughter.t
93 Captain Dick Talbot. King of the Road.

97 Bronzeflack, the California Thoroughbred.
101 The Man from New York.
107 Richard Talbot. of Cinnabar.

.112 Joe Phenix. Private Detective.

130 Captain Volcano; ( r. The Man of Red Revolve”.
161 The Wolves of New York; or, JOe Phenix‘s Hunt.
178 C ilifornia John. the Pacific Thoroughbred.

196 La Marmoset, the Detective Queen.

203 The Double DetectiVe; or,The Midnight Mystery,
252 The Wall Street Blood; or The Telegraph Girl.
820 The Gentt-el S )otter; or, The N. Y Night Hawk.
349 iron-Hearted ir k, the Gentleman Road-Agent.
854 Red Richard; 01 The Crimson Cross Brand.

363 Crowningshield, the Sleuth; or. Pitilessas Death.

. 370 The Dusky Detective; or. Pursued to the End.

870 Black Beards; or. The Rio Grande Hiuh Horse.
381 The vasy Gentleman; or Nick Fox, Detective.
381 Injun Dick, Detective; or, Tracked to New York.
391 Kate Scott. the Decoy Detective.

408 Doc G rip. the Vendetta of Death.

419 The Bat of the Battery; or. Joe Phenix. Detective.
425 The Lone Hand; or, The Red River Recreants. 1

LATEST AND New ISSUES.

430 Oklahoma Nick; or, Boomer Balt's Little Sun:
rise Party. Bv Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
March 16.
439 Salamander Sam; or, The Swamp-Island Reno-
ndes. By Maj. Daniel Boone Dumont.
eady March 23.
440 The High Her e of the Pacific. ByAibertW.
Aiken. Ready March 80.
441 The California Sleuth, or The Trail rf the Gold
Grandee. By Captain Howard Holmes.
Ready April 6.
412 Wild West Wait. the Mountain Veteran. By
William H. Manning.
Ready April 18.
443 A Cool Hand; or, Pistol Johnny‘s Plane at Top
Notch. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
Ready April 2).
A mu) ism every Wednesday.

Bendic’s Dimi- Library is for sale by an
Newsdealers, ten cents per copy, or sent by mail on
receipt of twelve cents each.

BEADLE AND ADAMS. Pvmsn'nns,

98 William Street, New York.