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cljeadle (f- fldanzs, QDLZ?)7Z'S7167’S.
93 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y.. April 13‘ 1887.

Published Eur-y
Wednudly.

‘l‘en Cent: 3 Copy.
85.00 a Year.

, THE
- MWNWNVHERN

._   _7

:ég-viSani-z; ,— « gm” .._.-

L we “saw rm 'u-, .m- ,.. sf _

a"! ‘

The Gunmakersmdf World’s End.

BY WM. H. MANNING,

AUTHOR OF “anP DUKE,” “WILD DICK was
PIN," “ COLORADO RUBE,” Era, ETC.

CHAPTER I.
A DESPERATE I'NDERTAKING.

A DUSKY human figure 1 'ing at full length on
a rough ledge—u Sioux 1m iau in all the Ilictur—
esque, but dangerous, wildness of his natural
state—with fierce eye-s blazing With excitement.
as he glanced along the barrel of his rifle; and a
second figure. slightor fairer—that of a white girl
of more than usual loveliness-riding through
the gulch below at an «my paw.

Such wow the actors in a scene quiet enough
as yet, but fast approaching a startling crisis,
for the Indian, thirsting for human life, was
taking deadly aim at the girl, who was wholly
unconscious of his proximity.

One touch of his finger on the trigger Would
sand a bullet to the living target, and that touch
would be made in a moment. It meant death to

the girl.

 

 

E auxin. < .r‘: - - .



. once, and if you don’t believe

_____._.._ ..____-._._._.-. - . w.‘ -
«mg. ..__._.‘AWA- _. . .. ..- -

region, and at that time. few feet save these of
the wild Sioux warriors had trod the mountain
passes. Open land was to be seen nowhere ex-
ccpt in an occasional gulch. and rocks were
everywl'iere. They lay piled one upon another.
in shape. of bowlder. ledge and cliff, and the few
trees and shrubs which found foothold in the
crevices served only to make the wild place seem
more rugged.

It was a strange place for a white. woman,
where only Sioux warriors had roamed before,
yet this fair young girl was ridingr through the
gulch, to all apixsarances, alone.

It- was an opportunity the Indian or. the rock
was not slow to improve. He cared nothing for
the fact that she was a Woman, and a lovely
woman at that; his instinct and training at
once urged him on to send a bullet on its
missmn, and there seemed to be no danger of
failure.

His rifle became motionless; his blazing eyes
fixed; his muscles rigid; and in a moment now
his finger would have pressed the trigger. But
the touch was never made.

Suddenly the rocks rung with the report of
another rifle, and the dusky figure on the lcdgo
sprung half-erect, dropped his weapon, and fell
back again a . lifeless as the rock which had be-
come his death-bed.

The girl in the gulch, rudely aroused from
meditation, abruptly checked her horse and sat
looking aoout in a startled manner.

Then down the n-irrow passage came another
rider as fast as his horse could carry him, mak—
ing a. wild and exciting picture, yet not one to
alarm the girl. A smile appeared on her face,
and she looked at him with evident relief. He
had but a few yards to cover, and soon drew up
by her side.

“ Prepare yourself for a rebuke!” she cried,
lightly. “ Do you know that you frightened me
by firing?"

The new-comer smiled grimly

“ Was there nothing 01% to tighten you?”

“ No. I am not easily alarme .”

“ What do you suppose I fired at?”

“ I really cannot imagine.”

“ Were you to ascend that ledge,” he said,
pointing; ‘ you would find a dead Sioux Indian
there. .Ie is what I fired at, and I pulled trig-
ger just in time. He, too, was about to shoot,
and you were his target!”

The girl’s face paled perceptibly.

“Are you in earnest.”

H I am.”

“ And he—was—”

“Takingsure aim at you. If I had been a
second later with my own shot, you Would not
now be alive.”

“ Merciful Heaven! and I did not dream of
dun er.” '

“ 0, but you will remember that I warned
you not to venture a hundred feet away from
your companions. When you did so I saw you,
for I had mounted to an elevated point to sur-
vey the country, and I saw you dash away
from the others. Alarmed, I galloped back at
on have been
in danger, go to yonder ledge an look for your-
se .'

here was something of reper and sternness

.inthis manner, and her lips quivered as she re-

lied:
p “ I am humbled to the dust, for all this was
the result of willful disobedience of your direc-
tions. I ‘was foolish—mad. I can only say
that I am sorry, and that it shall not happen
iiigain. And new I thank you for saving my
1 el”

She had made the acknowledgment of error
with retty penitence, and as she held out her
hand e took it with a grave smile.

“I am amply repaid y thanks from you, and
as for feeling resentment, you know I can’t do
it. All I ask is that you won’t be rash again.”

“ I promise, and I will do all I say.”

At this moment three men rode around a
bend of the gulch, coming from the point the
girl had recently passed. A heterogeneous trio
t ey were. Ono,was a tall, slender man in
citizen’s clothing, who was gray with e, and,
evidently, no borderman; yet his hearing was
so erect that one would instinctively surmise
that he had once been a soldier. This was a
fact; his name was Bennington, and he had
left the army at the close of the civil war with
the rank of major.

The second man was also tall, but one lance
would reveal the veteran plainsman. e was
Long Dave Cobb, a scout and guide of some

tion.
0 last of the trio was a Pawnee Indian,
who was called Windfoot.

Major Bennington rode forward and nodded
to the girl’s protector.

“ I heard ou fire—where is your ame?”

“Up out or, on the ledge,” was t e grim re-
ply. “ ill you go and look at it?"

‘ I will, for I want to stretch my legs, 1 am
cramped with riding."

He dismounted and proceeded to carry out his

ur . . but Long Dave Cobb looked gravely at
the ate marksman.

“What‘s wrong?” he asked.

“‘Have I said anything was wrong!”

0

,3 , Wild ‘West Walt. the Mountain Veteran.

' . H .
The scene was a wild one even for that remote " No. but it‘s sartain that Black Hills Ben your courage is grand.

Would never ’a’ tired in this region without a
 bigger mark than game!”
1 His remark implied a compliment, but he who
' had received it paid no attention. He had a
, reputation as a scout and Indian-fighter second
; to but few of the 'Western borderini n, and was
i suppole to know more about the Black Hills
and adjacent country than any other white man
of good repute. From this fact arose his sobri—

‘ He, kept his place with an air of nncoucern un-
' til Major lienninrrton returned with a startled

hastily said:

“ There’s a dead Indian up there-«3'

“ I kinw," the scout carelessly said. “I shot
him, just as he was about to shoot Miss Benning-
ton.”

“Claudia!” the major cried.

“ It is true, father,” she answered. “ All this
came of my disohodicnw. I Halllil‘w] away from
the rest of you, and only for Mr. Todd‘s unorring
aim, I should dearly have, rewrite. 1 my act.”

“ I let you go up, major," expliinwl the. scout,
“ so that you could see all.

this. Therol—don't say a word. I am not
speaking in anger, but I must be obeyed. or not
one of us will go back to civilization. As I told
you at the start, (his is a mad, reckless expedi-
tion, anyhow, and death lurks at every step.”
“Ef the gal was me. an’ I was the gal," said
Long Dave, logically, “ I’d git scared an‘ back
out. It would be a powerful relief to my narvcs,

tm‘ keep up my grit aii’ go on. But thar ain’t no
law tei' prevent the gal from backin‘ out.”

“ Back out!" cried Claudia. “ Never! Do
you imagine that I have come all this distance to
act the coward now?”

“ It Would not be cowardice," the scout grave-
ly replied. “ch are far from civilization and
law. This is the land of Sitting Bull, the great-
est red warrior of to—day. Few persons except
Sioux have been here before. and most of those
who came, died hcrc. The Sioux want no whites
here. These rocks, and gulches, and the open
prairie, they hold to be theirsonly, and the will

ill us if they can for venturing here.
hostile, they are just now in a particularly sav-
age mood.” _

“Jest like hornets,” averrcd Long Dave.
“Black Hills Bcn has been south an’ can’t sa
as much as I kin, but I’ll eat my rifle ef the I". s
ain’t ugl y jest now. I suspect somebody‘s been
stirrin ’em up oncommon; anyhow, they’re on-
common ugly."

“ It may seem strange that we repeat this
warning at such a late hour,” the scout added,
“ but I Wish you would turn back. Long Dave
and Wiudfoot will guide you home, and I will
go on alone."

“ How wouldetyou find Dunstan Hughes?”
Claudia demand “ I, alone, of all our‘party,
haveflseen him, or would iecognlze him if we
met. '

“I think I could find him," Black Hills Ben
replied.

“ But you are not sure.”

“ We are sure. of nothing: least of all, are we
sure that one member of our party, made up as
it is now, will ever live to see the settlements
again, if we keep on." -

“ There is strength in union. Why should
you wish to go through all these dangers
alone?”

I. The slightest possible smile moved the scout’s
1

ps.

“Such ventures have been the daily life of
Long Dave and myself for years. We think
nothing of them—if alone.”

plied:

back. If a Sioux warrior lurked at every step,

I would go on, and if we fail, I donot want to

go back alive. ”

D“ She’ll git one wish, anyhow,” muttered Long
ave. ‘

,“ Remember," continued the girl. “ that, back
in the States. an innocent man lies in prison,
sentenced to die the ignoble death of aimurderer.
Unjustly condemned. he is doomed to the gal-
lows irrevocably unless Dunstan Hughes is
found and brought back to save him. This must
be done before ptember twelfth.”

“ Short time!” said the scout, half-uncon-
sciously.

“ That man—Edgar Wheaten—is m betroth-
ed husband. For his sake I go to t 9 land of
the Sioux. Dunstan Hughes, alone, can prove
him innocent, and only I can reco nine Hughes.
We have proof that he is among the 810 . and
we are on our way to find him. Mr.
would not turn back if ten thousand dangers
were added to those already menacin all”

The girl spoke with excitement, an new color
mounted freely to her cheeks. Her voice rung
out clearly, and. unennsciously, her fine form
was drawn to its full hight, while her eyes
sparkled brilliantly.

A transient look of admiration crossed Black
Hills Ben’s face, and he promptly answered:

“ You have heard the last opposition from me
Miss Benniegton. Your motive is a noble one;

 

quet, though his rcal name was plain Ben Todd. ‘

look on his rat-o. “Looking at Black Hills Ben he -

_ list this he. a warn- ‘
mg to you, and keep my cautions in mind after ;

but bein’ as I am me, an” a man at that, I‘ve got .

A ways .

Miss Bennington sighed, and then steadily re- ,
“ Of course I understand, but I cannot turn ‘

 

IVe will go on, and may

our hick be as good as our intentions!”

With these words he turned and rode 110: th-
ward through the gulch. with the others follow-
ing close after him. Long Dave iooka fresh
chew of tobacco and nodded to Windfoot, the
Pawnee.

“ VVe’re all marked out fur crow—meat. I
wish it had been in the course 0’ human ratur’
fur me fer have been born forty years later.”

Long-Dave complained, but this was some-
thing which he alwa '8 did, and when it cami- to
‘ fluhting, no man cou d be braver than he. Black
ills Ben had not selected him blindly; he knew
, both his lello\\'—gnidcs well.

i The, devoted party moved slowly through the
mountains. if the dead Sioux had lied .- ny
companions near, the kccncst glances of tLe
scout failed to dis-over them. '

At the end of a mile they rnlcrged from the
hills and saw a prairie lefore them which
stretched away for ten nYlltS. Here was a
chance to make more rapid rrOgI‘CFS, and they
quickcncd their pace accordingly. Half the dis-
tance had been covered when Black Hills Ben
abruotly mined in his horse.

“ W'lrit’s wrong?” asked the major, quick to
comprehend that the scout was actuated by no
common motive.

For answer Black Hills Ben pointed straight
ahead, and all saw a strange and :tnrtling sight.

CHAPTER II.
WILD WEST WALT'S DISCOVERY.

WITHIN a little recess, which was like a.
pocket in the mountain, a solitary man sat eat—
‘ ing his dinner. Around him were rocks in pro—
fusion and confusion, a (liif rising on one side
to the hight of two hundred feet. A wilder
5 place It would have been hard to find, while it

'was so barren that the. horse of the lone
camper was making her dinner entirely on food
brought there on her hack.
1 Man and horse were alike of peculiar appear.
: ance.
i The former had evidently seen nearlv three-
] score years, and they had left him a tall, lank,
E bony, but hardy, person worthy of more than a
I pas-sing glance. He bore his age rarely well,
and the flaxen hair and yellowish beard which
grew in eccentric abundance on scalp and chin
showed no traces of gray. His face was a
mass of wrinkles, but even they did not seem to
indicate age as ially.

Everything n the appearance of the man, in-
cluding his dress proclaimed the veteran bor-
derer, and he looked hke a natural part of the
wild scene.

The mare seemed a fit companion for him.
She, too, was well past her youth, and, like
him, was of large frame and spare flesh. Her
hair was of unusual length. making her 10(k
shaggy, and a less attractive animal of her
species it would be hard to find. ‘

Her master threw away a bone he had just
cleared of all eatable substance.

“May as wal stop hyar,” he said, speaking
aloud. “ Enough is as good as a feast, though
some folks is bound ter hev the last morsel.
Queer, ain’t it. Walt Wilkins? A glutton is a
ho , an’ hogs I don’t like.”

He arose, knocked the remains of his small
fire more loosely about, and turnai to his horse.

“How goes it with ya. Pansy! Does er
stomach cry out like a voice from the wil er-
ness, or be you—”

He paused suddenly. The homelymare had
elevated her head and was restlessly sniffing the
air. Instantly her master’s rifleieapedto his
shoulder and he turned toward the sole en-
trance to the pocket, but thou h Eepu‘ed for
action, no one was visible. 0 g need back
at the mare. . '

“Smell ’em, Pansy—smell ’emr’he asked, in a.
quick, jerky voice.

Naturally, the mare did not answer, but her
manner seemed just as intelligible to the her-
dlerman. He looked keenly toward the en-

trance the pocket again, and then, with a
motion the mare, glided out with his rifle

held ready for use.

He was thus brought to the side of a ravine
which extended like a ribbon through the hills
and where he had a good view both north and
south. His first glance caused Mitten t0 69'
sume a look of surprise.

“ Greatsnakesl” he exclaimed. ‘

No wonder he was surprised. A 1) was
approaching, and on its back wua g lwhose
face was white and fair. The old rover had not
supposed that an woman except the Sioux
maidens was wit in .many miles of his camp,
grid in gis s be endowed the breech of his

'eto ro tothegroun .

“ Queer, ain’t it, Walt Wilkins?” he muttered.
“Should as soon have ex ‘50 900 an 31189];
A white gal—here! Great Ell-BIKES! the‘ days 0
meracles are onto us ag’in.” ' ‘
The girl was ap reaching briskly—was almost
there. The border-man must retreat to the
pocket, or beobserved. He decided not to re-

reat, although concealment was his policy. 80.
leaning quietly upon his long rifle. he awaited
I her arrival.

She came nearer, but, evidently not expecting
to see any one, was within forty feet of him bov

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wild West Walt, the Mountain Veteran.

' 3

 

 

fore he was disc0vered. Then she abruptly halt-
ed her horse and sat returning his gaze, though
her maimer was not as easy.

“ Hullo, Princess!” sai he, quietly. “We
meet ag’in, an’ not ag’in, neither, fur We never
met afore. Has there been an ’arthquake, an’
landed you up hyar?”

His question passed unheeded, but the girl,
who had been looking at him sharply, abruptly
asked:

“ Who are you, sir?”

“ Plump as yer own urty cheeks. Who be. I?
Wal I’m Old Walt ilkins, sometimes called
Wild West Walt.”

“ You look like an honest man.”

“ I am, but ’tain’t m fault. I was born so.”

“ Sir, I am in need 0 help.”

“ Great snakes! you don’t say so. In trouble?
I hope so, fur l’m hankerin’ ter help you out.
What is it?—Sioux, grizzlies, fevers, blizzards?
Give me p’ints; I’m jest a-dyin’ ter wade in an’

he’le ye!”

he girl had ridden nearer and was studying
his face attentively. In her opinion it was an
honest, prepossessing face, and a sigh of relief
passed her lips.

“I feel that you are one of the honest scouts
of the West, and a man I can trust.”

“I’m a ranger an’ rover, by trade, an’ as fur
trustin’ me—great snakes! yes; you can do that
ev’r time, Princess."

“ have just escaped from Indians and white
outlaws, and am in desperate need of help. I
trust—I know you will be a friend to me.”

“ When I fail ter be a friend ter a woman in
distress, may my hand forgit its cunnin’ un' fail
ter bring down the antelope. Trust me? When
my time comes ter go under I ask no better and
than ter die fightin’ fur a woman, but I ain’t in
any haste ter die, nevertheless.”

“ Give me a chance to talk with you.”

“ Ride this way. Hyar is a nook in the hills
whar one man kin lick twenty ef he’s good on
the lick. Walk in, Princess, an’ you’ll find me
an’ Pansy ter home.” -

His kind, genial manner touched the girl to
the heart. She was braver than the average of
of her sex, but the erils which surrounded her
had been great, an she had been oppressed by
fears of known and unknown perils. Now a
helping hand was outstretched. and the homely,
but honest, face of the rover was like sunshine
to her. She felt that she could trust him, and
her need was des rate.

They want to t e niche, and she abruptly drew
a folgggdpa :- from her pocket.

“ t is!” she directed. “ It will briefly
tell the story which I might make long.”

“ I‘ll ask on ter read it aloud,” he answered.
“My schoo in’ was mostly outside the school-
house. Read aloud!"

She obeyed, and he listened with wonder:

“ To whom it may concern :—

“ l. Thomas Garrison, formerly of Chicago, write
this with the hope that a messenger m v be able to
take it to none Rt ttlemcnt. Should it fall into the
hands of an hone u while man I beg that he will
lose no time in placing it in the hands of some Gov-
ernment officer and i implore such officer to furnish
relief to me an m companions.

“I write this in the heart or the Sioux country,
and I am one of over a score of white persons, men
and women. held prisoner here. Be who reads
would nev ’r surmise why we are captives. Let me,
thenhexlplain that a great plot is be ng hatched by
whlc a the western Indians. and thousands of law-
less whites, will descend u n the settlements at no
distant day. Sitting Bull , of course, one of the
leading up rite in the enterprise, but the real head is
awhito man. said to be a disgraced army omcer.
His name I do not know.

‘ The scope of the plot is remarkable. Besides the
Indians, and the wh te outlaws of a dozen States
and Territories Indianal hall-breeds and others will
come on from danada. n brief. it will he an up-
rising of a nature never before known. A vast army
will be gathered, and it will fall upon the border
tomwnltfl'and cities with one watehword Only—

“ But to explain why we are captives. The white
leader isa man of unbounded audacity and ambi-
tion, and in this remore place he has started the
manufacture of firearms. Twelve men skilled in
this work have been kidnapped and brought here,
and with them are six assistants and five women.
We are confined in a strange valley in the hi ls—just
where I don‘t know-4nd we work menaced by the

rifles of the outlaws.
all: is work or die with u‘wand we m making
0 are soon to begin

rifles and revolirfirs daily. "1‘
u n cannons. may seem e a fairy-ta! :
tiift such work is going on here, but it is truce. 0'3;
white loader is determined that no inkling of the
thru‘thhshall rfacb the {mama-gm I am told
t t on n yearso pre 1: fore
DI'QIIIZBU ore to do thistowork. {mime we were
‘ ave no space 30 r into details.
Enough to say that if this scheme is not broken up.
the western towns are doomed. I have said little of
nan-if and the other prisoners. Now let me state,
b e . but earnestly, that we are in terrible peril.
Our men can die, it , but we ask be! for our
women. In the name of Heaven, send us afiii
"Tnom Gannon."

The voice of the girl died away, and the
strange communication was mad. Old Walt
Wilk us, however, remained looking at her
blankly, and it was several moments before he
could command his voice.

“ Great snakes!” be finally e ted.

‘You see how it is,” the girl nervously re-

 

 

 

lied. “ I was one of the valley risoners, but
made my escape. My name is

My father is one of the prisoners. Nothing has

been overstated in this letter, and you see the ,
Think of the men and

vital necessity of action.
women left there in captivity and peril!”

“I do think 0’ them, an’ ef my blood ain’t
b’ilin’ the symptoms is deceptive. This story
beats the record. Queer, ain’t it, Wait Wilkins?
A gun-shop up among the Injins! Wal, the age
0’ meracles is come ag’in i”

“ You have heard all, and now I appeal to
you for help,” Blanche continued.

“ An’ not in vain, by sixty! I’m a free rover,
I be, an’ I go an’ come as I please. It will now
please me ter take you under my wing an’ amble
toward civilization. Come on! Pansy, this way.
Princess, shall I help ye? N o; in the saddle
already, spry as a cat. Hyar we go. No rest

now fur us. The red-skins are abroad in these
hills like flies. It’ll take piles o’ wit terspulll
be]

through, but Pansy an’ I are good fur it.
smell em out, an’ I’ll tr)unce their hides off.
Come on i”

They rode from the pocket, and then south-
ward along the ravine. The ranger talked as
genially as ever, but his small, twinkling eyes
were never at res‘. They scrutinized every
cliff and rock, and seemed to shoot glances about
like the playing tongue of a snake.

Blanche was weaker than ever before since
she left the captives in the valley. She had
home up heroically, and she now had some one
to lean upon, and the reaction had come. She
looked at the hon old guide, and her heart
was full of gratitu e and confidence in his hon-
esty.

“ I’ve hcerd o’ strange things,” said the rover,
breaking a silence, “but none quite ekul ter
this. A n-shop up in Sioux land. Queer,
ain‘t it, V alt Wilkins?”

“ It is there, nevertheless.”

“I ain’t a gunmaker, myself—though I can
p’int ’em tolerany well when they’re made—but
it stands ter reason that a good many ditf’rent
things are noc’ssary in makin’ ‘em. How do
they git these up among the red—skins?”

“Bear in mind that the letter said the white
leader spent years of preparation before the
workmen were kidnapped and put. to work at
their trade.”

“ Princess, who is this man?”

“ That I don’t know. None of our company
knew, nor did we ever see him.”

“ He’s marked out a big job, an’ I reckon he’s
dangerous. Men who gamble big always be,
an’ he’ll cndcvsbtedly make a panic in the hair
trade when he'iets his skulpers loose.”

The rover raised his hat and caressed his own
flaxen locks tenderly.

“ The first barber-shop I see, I’ll hev my head
shaved. A chap named Demosthenes did it, an’
his eloquence was ainazin’ arterward. I don’t
want ter be eloquent, but between a skulpin’-
knife an' a razor, I’ll patronize the razor ev’ry
time. But, Princess, you ain't told how you es-
caped from the gun-shop.”

“ I used my wits—and deception,” Blanche
frankly confessed. “ Such things are pardon-
able at times, you know. I made one of the
outlaw guards believe I was pleased with his at-
tentions, obtained leave to go out of the valley
past his post, and while he thought 1 was en-
goyin the scenery, I was in rapid flight on a

orse stole from the outlaws.”

“ Traps and tomahawksl you did wal. I like
ter see dust throwed in the man’s eyes, when I
ain’t the man. Yes you did well, an’ I see you
area heroine. Good! I always did like hero-
ines, when they’re o’ the female gender.”

“Your conversation is light, but I see that
you never relax your vigilance. Is danger so
imminent?"

“ These hills are like a whale, an’ they’re liable
ter belch up Injuns at an minute, ’thout waitin’
nine days like the wha e Jonah Owned. Yes,
thar ma be fightin’ any second, with the Sioux
careerin ’round us like shootin’-stars. What’d
you do in sech a case, Walt Wilkins?”

The ran er brushed a fly from Pansy’s shoul-
der, and ded in a matter-cf-fact voice:

“ Why, it stands ter reason that of you
couldn‘t run you’d fight!”

Just then the ravine and the hills ended ab-
ruptly. Beyond the fugitives lay a wide prairie.
sparsely timbered. It was an oasis in that land
of rocks and hills, and beautiful enough to please
any a e. Rafgged, frowning cliffs and rid es
shut t in on our sides, and there it In in ca
quiet. It was inviting. but not unti he had
swept a keenglance all around did Wild West
We t venture beyond the cover of the rocks.

There was timber enough on the prairie to
shelter two hundred Indians. and be had but
little faith in the air of serenitfi'swhich prevailed.
He had gone on too many tra to ever become
rookies.

“Caution is never throwed away,” be ob-
served, to Blanche, “ though in this case ’tain’t
over-essential. Pansy can smell a red-akin at
forty rods."

“ Your horse, I believe?”

“ That’s jest it; my horse is Pansy, an‘ she’s a
su rlative smaller.

I

. V I
.i

 

{of that ain’t Black Hills Ben!
I whisper? Hi! the atmosphere clears. an of we .5
Her nostrils are charged i can j’ine forces, we’ll
V th electricity, an' when the air sends a tale- ’mongst the Sioux. Stick 9. pin tharl”

,l gram which says, ‘ Injuns!’ she its it by first
lanche Beau- i
vais—a French name, as you will understand. 3

mail. Keep yer nose wal up, Smell
’em, smell ’emi"

The mare ambled on tranquilly, however, and
they had reached the midst of the plain before
anything of interest occurred. When the charge
came, it came with startling force. Even Walt’s
keen eyes had seen nothing wrong, but his gaze
could not penetrate the heart of the scattered
mottes. From them danger was to be expected;
from them danger came.

Blanche, riding in deep thought, saw the
rover’s rifle suddenly leap to his shoulder. Her
gaze flashed to the left. How bad the scene
changed! A grove was there, but, nearer yet. a
score of horsemen were gallo ing devrn upon the
fugitives. Blanche lost co or. These riders,
speeding madly forward, were Indians, and even
ger .little—experienced eyes marked them as

ioux.

“ Cling like a burr ter yer saddle!” ordered
Wilkins, and then he gave the girl‘s horse a.
blow which sent him shooting forward at full
speed.

There was no occasion to urge Pansy: she was
ready to do her best; and the two animals gal-
loped side by side. But like the wind came the
Indians in pursuit, thirsting for the blood of the
white fugitives.

ausy.

 

CHAPTER III.
FIFTY MEN AGAINST FIVE.

BLANCHE’S first emotion was one of terror
and weakness as she saw the red pursuers. She
knew what the Sioux of that particular time
were—knew them to not only be reparing
for a relentless war u n the whites, ,ut utter-
ly without mercy. apture meant death, if
their fancy pointed that way, and such a fate
might be better than captivitsy.

After a few moments e grew calmer.
Naturally one of the bravest of her sex, she
rallied with su rising s irit. She glanced at
the face of WiiEWcst Walt. It was as placid
as ever.

“ Is there hope?” she asked.

“ Thar’s always hope, Princess. It’s an article
that never dies while a spark 0’ life is left.
Speakin’ more ter the p’int, a cod bit depends
on our hosaes. Them red sku kers can’t shoot
straight at this distance, an‘ of we kin hold our
own our chances are good.”

“ But can we?” Blanche demanded.

“ S k low; don’t let Pansy hear ye. Sech a
question would hurt her human feeliu’s desp’rit—
ly. No Injun hoes in the West kin overtake her
an’ she knows it. Now ef your boss is asgood
on a long run as he is on a short one, we needn’t
borrow no trouble. Don‘t worry, Princess.”

“ I wish I had your faith.” \ I

“ You’re sure to ketch it, though it may not
break out ontil I’ve killed off them red-skins,
one by one.”

“ Is faith, then, contagious, like a fever!"
:skled Blanche, assuming a lightness she did not
ee

“ It’s like, an’ onlike. The weak an‘ sickly are
most likely ter ketch fevers, while faith is
kentagious ter such as are stout 0’ heart.
think that means you.”

“ I believe it dees, sir. My courage increases.”

“ Knowed it would, Princess; knowed it would.
I kin tell a hero when I see one, an’ that’s

you.”
But Walt was b no means as sanguine as be
professed to be. e knew that their chances

were desperate. Alread a score of Sioux were
rushing after them, an a hundred more might
appear at any moment. Even if the present
pursuers were not reinforced, the chances were
that they could either run down the lone whites,
or harrass them among the hills until they
would be forced to surrender or starve.

He would not tell the girl this, however, and
if the worst came he was repared to give up
his life fighting for her. at another change
of scene was before them. .

Breakiu through a belt of timber Walt's
gaze sud only became fixed, and, a moment
later, an exclamation of surprise fell from
Blanche‘s li .. A third part of riders had
become visi le—four men an a woman—and
:1: least four of their number were of white

ll).

Even Blanche knew that this was a ris»
ing sight for that locality, but Wilkins seemed
astounded.

“Great snakes!” he muttered, as soon as he
could find breath, “ the age 0’ meracles is come
ag’in. More female carakters in the Sioux
deestrick! I shouldn‘t be surprised of the ’huil
kentr east 0' the Mississi p’ has moved
up t way. Queer, ain’t it, Walt Wilkins?” '

His view was suddenly disturbed. The third
party had evidently seen all that they cared to
see, an as one, they abruptly wheeled and be-
gan nrg ng the horses at full speed toward the
eastern wall of the valle .

A quick change passerfover the rover's face.

“Rifles an’ reddskinsi can it be? Yes: No!
I say yes, Walt Wilkins. Great snakes. Princes,

the scene changes. an’ I’ll be buknt at the stake
D’ye h me

make a mortal

.i ic.

 

'. ., ..-,,~  , , .. r
" -' ‘ w- (inbuw .wifi‘k‘vflmil | I, ' a u,  . « S

 

 

 

   

 

4

Wild West Walt, the Mountain Veteran.

 

 

at“,

 

He ceased speaking, and immediately uttered be kicked. I don’t part with my,haironti1 I kin V out the remainder toward Windfoot, who lay

aloud, peculiar, lon -drawn yell. It was like,
and yet unlike, the s out of other Western men,
but it seemed ver familiar to him Walt had
pronounced Black ills Ben. That rson turn-
ed, waved his hand, and then motioned to the
pair to follow in haste.

‘Walt looked grimly back at the Sioux.

“ \Ve hold our own,” he said, “ an’ I’ve see’d
the time I’d be ri ht glad ter do that. Cheer
uu, Princess! e’re goin’ ter make a junction
with Black Hills Ben, an‘ he’s as good as twenty
men. In a fight with the red-skins the odds’ll be
in our favor, ye  One 0’ them other men I
know, too. He’s Long Dave Cobb, an’ he‘s a fit
mate l’ur Ben. IVhy, them two kin trounce all
Settin’ Bull’s tribe, an’ as fur me—wal, I’ll be
useful ter pick ’em up when they drop.”

The three parties were galloping toward the
bills, the two detachments of whites being near
each other, while the Indians were not close
enough to hazard a shot. In this way the wild
race continued.

Wild W'est Walt’s face had brightened. He
kne w that if they reached the hills alive, he and
Black Hills Ben’s part would join hands, and
that meant a good dea . Desperate fighting was
ahead, but the ran er valued this lightly.

'If he could save lanche he was willing to put
his life in the greatest peril.

“ Who do you an pose that girl is with them ?”
finally asked Blane e, who forgot peril in her
curiosity.

“ Might as wal guess on the number 0’ spears
e’ grass on this valley, Princess. This mornin’
I’d ‘a’ willin’l sworn thar was no white woman
within a bun red miles 0’ hyar. Now I seetu'o,
an’ I expect more for crop up any minute. The
age 0’ meracles is come ag‘in, you see, an’ I won’t
bet a ‘iu’ anything."

“ ey were traveling north.”

“ They were, yes; but they turned out fur the
Sioux. Perliteness is one 0’ Black Hills Ben’s
virtues."

“ Can we really expect help from them? They
are riding rapidly away. Are you sure they are
not oing to desert usl’

“ Besart us! What? Black Hills Ben?"

One moment Walt looked almost angry, and
then his old placid expression returned.

“ Ef you knew Black Hills Ben as I do, e
wouldn’t ask the question. He’s a man w 0
would never desart a friend; if he did anything
wron in seek a case, it’d be ter die fur that
frien . Don’t fear, Princess. He properly keeps
whar he is; they’ll reach the hills ahead on us;
his quick wit will be needed an’ used; an’ by the
gays git thar, he’ll hev his plan all laid out.

“ Yes, and I also perceive that I have wronged
the scout. I am sorry, and I ask your pardon.”

“It’s granted before it’s asked. A man who
won’t for ive a pooty gal desarves never ter be
wron ed, y hickory!”

Wa t dismissed the subject and looked back
critically at the Sioux.

“A good. long distance fur a flyin’ shot,” he
observed, “but I could drop one 0’ them yaw]-
ers. Obsarve this rifle, Princess? ’Tain t no
common rifle, d’ye understand? It’s made my
reputation as a crack shot, but I’m the poorest
marksman this side of the Mississip’. It’s all in
my rifle. It’s charmed, the rifle is; an’ I hev no

' more ter do with aimin’ it than my knife hez.

Ef I hold it up, the rifle will do the rest. But I
reckon I won’t shoot ontil we git ter the cliffs.
Thar’s bound ter be a dispute thar ’tween red

, an’ white an’ somebodv’ll git trounced."

Black ills Ben’s part was fast cutting down
the last mile of the val ey. They rapidly drew
near the rougher count , and the scout was
selecting their exact lan ing-Elace. To escape
without a fight was impossi lo, and he must
make the most of opportunities.

Walt and Blanche saw them take to the
ledges, and the Veteran nodded approval. There
was a chance to get the horses bac out of rifle-
range, and when it came to defense, it would
answer all requirements.

The other whites were not long in reaching
the same place. Walt had directed Blanche to
at once join the larger party, and this she pro-
ceeded to do. A word from the veteran sent
Pansy up the incline after the other animals, and
thou h be girl’s horse at first rebelled, he yield-
ed a ter a brief resistance. A very convenient
recess furnished shelter for all the quadrupeds,
and, when they were once there, they needed no
further care.

Wilkins joined the other men and shook
hands with Black Hills Ben and Long Dave
Cobb. Blanche and Claudia Bennington were
already in conversation. The Indians were still
coming at full speed, and they yelled all the
louder as they saw that the whites had turned
at bay.

“Fine music, that,” said Walt sava ely,
“ though pitched an octagon too high. What’s

‘ the rospectl”

“ 9 must fight,” Ben terser ansWered.
" All but me,” added Long Dave. “ Don’t be
surprised an minute ter see me run.”

- ‘ We are ve men,” continued the scout, “ and
I know what we are good for. We can beat ofl’
those Indians !" , v

“ E1 we can‘t," aflirmed Walt, “, we ought tar

I f; Y a,‘

 

i
sell it at a better price. El I hadn’t needed my I
skulp on my head, Natur’ would have put it
some’rs else. ’
There was ample time for their simple prepar-
ations. Where rocks were everywhere, there
was no trouble about finding a breastwork.
Each of the defenders acted for himself and I
F dropped down where it suited his fancy. They i
thus became nearly invrsible to the foe, while ‘
their own targets were such as could not be i
missed by such men.
‘ Five rifles were thrust forward, and five pairs 1
l of eyes looked along the barrels. Some of those 1
I yelling warriors would never again be seen alive
, at the Sioux village. ,
I The calmness of the defenders was something 5
I remarkable, and even Claudia, who had seen for ,‘
less of peril than Blanche, was firm. This was
one of the things she had been warned that she
would meet, and she bore up bravely. No com- a
men motive had brought her to Sioux-land.
Back in the States an innocent man languished i
in {prison, condemned to death.
nless the present danger could be overcome l
and her allotted work finished her lover would "
yield n his life on the scaffold. She shivered i
at the t iought, but the hand which grasped her [
revolver did not relax. I

“ If it comes to u hand-to—hand struggle, you ‘
and I can do our part,” she said. ‘

“Certainly.” Blanche answered.
to fight with the rest.”

Suddenly the rocks rung with the almost sim- ‘
ultaneous discharge of five rifles, and as many
bullets went whistling toward the Sioux. A
moment later five riderless horses were to be
seen in the valley. Major Bennington, a fair
shot, had fired in good luck. and the borderers
could not miss at that distance.

The advance of the red enemy was not check-
ed but, suddenly, a shrill whistle reached the ,
defenders. They looked past the Sioux, anda
new gravity was then to be seen on each face.
They had seen that which might well alarm
brave men.

Another party of horsemen had appeared—
was galloping forward. They were not Indians, :
but the defenders promptly marked them as
(into as bad. Their faces were white, but in f
t eir evident friendliness to the Sioux, their ;
wild, lawless manner and other characteristics,
all marked them as those most-to-be—despised of
all border characters-white outlaws. Walt
Wilkins thought of the men said by Blanche to j
exist at the mountain valley, and drew his own ?
conclusions.

These men were dashing forward in a body— :
at least two scores in all—and if there had been '
any doubt of their intention to join forces with
the Sioux, it was dispelled by the manner of the
lattei‘. That whistle had clearl had a well-doe
fined meaning with them, an they at once
swept around in a circle to join the reinforce-
ment.

W“1The sitevation grows complicated,” observed

a t.

“It will be a hard fight now,” declared Black
Hills Ben.

“Don‘t be s’prised of I run,” added Long
Dave.

His companions knew he would die at his post,
if need be, and his words passed unheeded.

“ Fifty men against five?” said Major Benning-
ton. with great gravity. “ Wouldn’t it be policy
for us all to retreat?”

“ Not a foot!” Ben firmly replied. “ We now
have the enemy in open ground, and we must
win or lose at the brow of this ledge. Stand 2
firm, every man!” i

It looked like sure death teal]. How they i
could expect to win a ainst such odds was a
mystery, but the bor erers had never been "
ca mer. Heroism was never better personified. .

But now the allies had joined forces, and the
blood-curdling yells of the Indians were mixed 5
With the shouts of their equally merciless com- ;
panions as the whole wild crew charged down 1
upon the devoted band. eager for their blood,
and expecting to sweep them away at a breath.

 

“ I expect

 

CHAPTER IV.
run near ON THE Laban.

DOWN toward the ledge came the allies, and a ,
wilder scene would be hard to imagine. the ‘
white outlaws were as hard fighters as the In- i
dians, it would be a bad gang to defeat. Major ,
Bennin ton looked somewhat anxiously toward ,’
Black ills Ben. '

“Tell me plainly what our chances are, Mr. i
Todd,” he said, in a steady i

“A good motto in this case is, “Never say ,
diel'” the scout quietly answered. “It will be 5
wonderful if we don’t have a hard fight, but
they have not won yet. You will observe th t
these ledges are hard to climb. While t e
enemy are thus en ged we must get in our ’
work with the rave vers, and if they do win, *‘
it will be a costly victory. Mark that down!” I
A fresh burst of yells came from the allies-
they swung their weapons wildly, and rolled
on like a resistless ocean wave.

Wild WestiWalt deliberately took a fresh

voice.

 

 

A I, ’ 1‘ if” ’i‘ I: 

t ,.!

‘ four of the allies went down.

' their cowardice.
would be rash to say that victory ~woul have ('-
e been with the defenders. \ ‘ , ‘

supply of tobacco into hiamouth, and then held an] one, tom, Nobody thought to count those , . .2.

l
l
next to him. 

“ Chaw. Injun?" he grimly asked. ,

Windfoot made a gesture of disgust, but
vouchsafed no other reply.

“ Suit yerself, but I reckon ye don’t know the I r
vartues o’ the weed. It quiets the narvcs. an' 
builds up the constitution amazin’. It’s helped ‘
me through many a sickness. Nothin’ like it in
fevers, pestilences un’ epidemics.”

“ Ready, all!” directed Black Hills Ben, in 1‘.
clear veice. “Give them a volley, and then
reload with all ; ossible speed. Now, fire!” '

The five rifles cracked almost as one, and '
A filth man
halted his horse and gave evident signs of dis-
tress. But the others at once swung themselves
over the Side of their horses and became al—
most invisible, and the dark line came shoot-
ing‘ forward as before.

heir yells, if possible, grew more demoniac.

There was a rattlinor on the ridge, and each

of the defenders rapidly prepared for a second

i shot, but the enemy had advanced dangeroust

near. Only a small extent of prairie separated l ; ‘
them from the ledges, and the hottest pait of
the fight was at hand.

Claudia looked at their friends in wonder.

“Such bravery is almost past belief,” she
said, trying to make her vorce steady, and,
herself, win a reputation for coolness.

“They are Northwest bordermen,” Blanche
g‘routlly replied. “Such men fear nothin .

ait until you see them fighting hand-to-hang,
if you would know what heroism and deathlesa
valor are.” ‘

Claudia shivered. Brave as she was, cool as
she tried to be, she had not the experience and
CODIDOSUl‘e of the French girl. Her heart was
weighted down with horror. This scene seemed
like a glimpse of Infernohand the yellin allies
like warriors unloosed by the prince 0 dark—
ness. She pressed her hand to her aching eyes, 
to shut out the picture beyond.

The rifles were discharged again. This time -
the allies were too close to admit of a failure, ,
and every shot went home. Scarcely had the
bullets found lodgment before the riders swung
erect in their saddles. The fatal rifles were
empty, and it was their turn at last. Their
weapons leaped to their shoulders, and a. shower
of bullets went rattling against the rocks.

“ Rain is fallin’,” quoth Walt Wilkins with
unfailing coolness. “Thought it Would . so;
the sun set last night in a bank 0’ clouds.”

But now the allies are at the foot of the ledges.

Beyond that point their horses cannot go, and

they leap ofl’ and dash at the rocks a ilely. A n
chorus of yells floats up to the defen ers: wea-
pens rattle on the ledges; red climbers and white
are mingled; and the wave comes on irregularly,
but actuated by one impulse. . '

There is no reprieve for them. They are with-
in revolver-shot. and the fusilade begins. Cool-
lg, systematically, determined to waste no shot, ,
t e little band keeps up the work of destruction. '

The ascent is not an easy one for the allies.

The shelving rocks baffle, annoy and retard them,
and all the while they laboriously fight with
Nature, that deadly rain descends upon them
from the summit.

Walt Wilkins feels a presence beside him. He
glances up and sees Blanche Beau vais.
“ Don‘t, Princess!” he cries, in alarm. “ One

0’ the red heathen may shoot—”

“ My place is here with the rest of you,” she
replies, unfalteringly. “ See! 'I do not carry an
empty revolverl”

And her delicate hand works the gleaming
wea n with machine-like regularity.

“ reat snakes! it ain’t no time for court-

;ship,” says Walt, “but I sw‘ar I love ye,

Princess 1" ,

Then his unfailing hand drops a brawny
Sioux, and the work oes on. But now the allies
are at the top. The r dead carpet the ledge be:
low, but the survivors are eager for the next act
in the drama. The fire of battle is in their eyes
and they are blind to death, danger or numbers.
They only know why they are there, and their
yells peal out as before.

They reach the breastwork, and the defenders
spring upon them like tigers. Other yells scan
on the air now, and the rush of the borderers is
like a tidal wave. Before that assault the allies
are swept back, but only because each scout
seems like a host in himself. Where their blows,
fall, there is destruction.

It is over in a of time comparative]
brief, and such of the allies as remain are in fii l
retreat down the ledges. They go defeated and
decimated, and, for once even dismaved. A
victory has been won by the defenders, but only
through desperate efl'orts. '

It further explanation is needed. it lies in the
fact that, out in the valley, a portion of the out.
laws sit on their horses and gaze in silrnt dis-
may. At the last moment their courage had
failed; they dared not make the assault with their
comrades.

The battle had been lost and won because of , 
Had all gone up the led cs, it . .2

‘4“

A victory had been Won, however, and a 855‘ ‘ , ‘,

  

 

 

who had fallen, but the incline below the breast-
work was thickly strewn with those who had
died in a bad cause.

Walt Wilkins again indulged in tobacco, and
again held out what remained to Windfoot.

“ Chaw, Injunf”

Windfoot shot an indignant glance at the
questioner and turned awa , but at that Ino-

‘ ment the voice of Black Hi 3 Ben arose:

“ Pards, it’s time for us to get out. There is

’ no fear of another assault, but the enemy will

enter the hills, scatter and try to surround us.
To horse, every one. and let us try for u gool
start before they suspect that we are gone!”

Everything was favorable for a secret depar-
ture, and they went with celerity, the scout
leading the way, and Walt and Long Dave
bringing up the. rear.

k.“ Rather an int’restin’ dispute,” observed Wil-
ins.

“ Sorter, sorter. old man; but do ye know you
come nigh beiii’ without me. in the fracas?”

“ No; was We?”

“ I'll eat my rifle ef ’twa‘ii’t so. I wished then
that I’d b’en horn forty year later, an’ I had :1

00d mind ter run. I had by blazes!”

“ Should ’a’ rim myscli ef the dispute had
lasted much longer. I was so scared that the
butt 0’ my revolver melted in my hand, an’ my
legs was so weak I heerd the bones snappm’ in
two.”

“ I was so pale,” asserted Dave, “ that my face
got ter be. like a 1mikm’glass. I could see my
eyes in it, an’ they was as big as the crown o’
your hat.”

“ I kin believe it. When the charge come I
quaked so that my heart riz el’ur up in in
month, an’ I tut: my ramrod an’ jammed it bac
down my throat.”

“ You’ll git it jammed ag’in ef you don’t uit
axin’ Mr. Windfoct ter take a chaw. That u-
an is a pocooliar chap, an’ red-hot ag’in’ ter-

rker an’ rum. Don’t ax him tcr chaw ag’in,
or he’ll wade in an’ carve ye all u .”

“ I’ll think it over,” IValt promised.

The party was moving on as rapidly as the
nature of the course would allow. Black Hills
Ben rode silently at the front. his keen eves
ever on the alert for danger. Well aware that
any:- inoment might bring them face to face
with new foes, he neglected no precaution, and
scanned every cliff and defile with great cane.
If he had spoken plainly he would have prophe-
sied that not one of the party would be alive a
«:3 later, but they Were in the venture beyond

emption and his courage did not waver.

Blanche and Claudia rode side by side, ex-
changing confldences. The one told of the val-
ley prisoners: the other of the dos rate need
that had sent her to Sioux-land. lanche saw
that their course was toward the north—not the
dlilrectioii, certainly, in which lay the settlements
s e had been so eager to reach—but she was too
sensible to demur.

For the time they must only think of evading
their foes.

Walt rode forward to her side.

“ How’s yer courage, Princess?" he genially

“ Good, my friend; never better,” she bravely
replied.

‘ An’ you’re only a del’kit irl I could put in
my pocket. Queer, ain’t it, alt Wilkins? But
be of ood cheer: we’ll come out all right. Seeh
troub es are all in the course 0‘ natur . Man is
born tor trouble, an’ woman’s heart is so tender
she’s bound ter share them. Trouble is bound
ter come. In the States it’s malaria, hay fever,
funerals an’ Weddin’s; on the border it’s Injuns,
bullets, an skulpin'—knives.”

“8130 you anticipate further trouble?” Claudia

“ In the course 0’ natur’, it may come.”

“ Even now the I.:dians may be very near us,”
she added, remember-in her own late escape.

“ Not so. Obsarve ansy. See her lacid
composure. Ef Injuns was nigh, she’d sme l ’em.
That hoes balsefiot a most ainazin’ smeller!" the
ran er deela .

“ hope you are right. "

“ I’m always right when I depend on Pansy’s
nostrils.”

The rover remained beside the girls and talked
steadily. but it was with more than a gallant or
trivial object. His attentive eyes perceived that,
try as hard as they might to bear up, they were
in a nervous and downhearted mood, and he was
there to encourage them all he could, and. as far
as was possible, to banish grim realities from
their minds.

’ The little company wound through the gulches,
now moving at good speed where the way was
open, then barely creeping along rocky, broken
ground where the horses had to pick their own
way with care.

Long Dave brou ht up the rear, and his duty
was well done. t any moment the enemy
might appear on their trail. but while Long
Dave was there, no one could approach very
close unseen.

At last Black Hills Ben paused and waited for
the others to join him. ’

“ Here We will stop awhile; perhaps till to-
morrow.” he said.

Claudia looked about with unconcealml disap-

yprobation; the place was far from being her,

i

' fur I’m a lump 0’ vanitfy.
t

 

ideal of a pleasant camp. They had been pass- l

ing through a canyon, the walls of which rose 7

from one hundred feet to double that distance. i

The width was about equal to the first distance, f

3: an average, though even wider just behind I
em.

At one point the bed of the passage was not
over sixty feet wide, while the Walls reached out
toward each other until, approaching at a sharp
angle, they almost met above, leaving only a
narrow strip of sky visible.

It was a dark, gloomy place. but I‘Valt, view-
ing it only practically, nodded his approval.

“ A right good C-llllp,” he commented. “ Hyar
we shall be nigh about screened from hostile
view, while we kin see the hull bed 0’ the ken-
yon: while ef it comes tera disiiute, I reckon we

in trounce the inemy handsomely. ’

“ You grasp all its features at once,” Ben re-
plied. “ Here we will camp. Yonder is water,
and we have food for man and beast."

“ I am too old a soldier to question the wis-
dom of my leaders,” said the. major. uneasily,
“ but may I ask why we don‘t go on, and im-
prove every moment in flight?”

“ Because there is a. prairie country beyond,
and it would not be safe to venture there blindly.
Before we go, scouting must be done. Units
result depends the question of whether We ad-
vance or remain here over night.”

“\Vise as ever,” Bennington cheerfully ad—
mitted.

They dismounted, and while Long Dave took
charge of camp, Ben spoke earnestly with Walt
and \Vindfoot. This done. he and the Indian
departed on the reconnoissancc, one going up,
the other down the canyon.

“ What they don’t find out, We don’t want ter
know,” observed Walt. “ Observe the caution
they use. They are men who know their busi-
ness, of the Injun won’t use the weed.”

“ Do you remain in charge of camp?" asked
Blanche.

“ Not exactly. Long Dave is sutlerer, or com-
mittee, or whatever the sojer term is; but I’m
not ter go fur away. Mebbe you notice that
fissure leadiii‘ up the cliff? That’s a natural
ladder, built by the Goths an’ Runs in old times.
Black Hills Ben says it leads cl’ar up the clifl’.
I go thar fur a brief squint, but not ter Ventur’
beyond the camp. I shall be hyai', an’ not hyar,
an’ I sha’n’t be gone long.”

“ I hope you will not, friend Wilkins. I feel
safer with you near at hand."

" Do ye, Princess? Glad ter hear ye so. so,

While I’m gone, eep
bar’s reds within forty
A powerful smeller is

Good-by, but don’t be

yer eyes on Pans '. E
rods, she’ll smel ’em.
that old chum o’ mine.
narvous while I’m gone.”

The rover went to the fissure, which was just
beyond the convergent part of the walls, and
began the ascent. It was no easy task, but he
I patience and strong limbs. and gradu-
ally drew near the top. As he did so he nar-
rowly watched the crest of the opposite cliff; he
would offer a tempting target to any enemy who
mi ht be there.

0 reached the top in safety, and then delib-
erately sat down between two rocks. In this
position he made little show, while a consider-
able area of clifl’, ridge and scraggly timber was
open to his view.

" Nary sign,” he said, after studying this pic-
ture for awhile. “ It’s like a peak volcaner.
U hyar on the brim all is quiet ez a ay morn-
in but thar is fire an' brimstone down in the
gulches, all a-seethin', an’ some on it takes the
shape 0’ Sioux skulpers. It’s in the course 0’
natur’ that thar’ll be trouble, an’ somebody ’Il
git trounced like sixty l”

He arose and moved forward lightly. Beyond
him was a rough bit of country, which was so
covered with bowlders and bushes that he could
see nothing. He intended \oexplore it and then
return. ’

This work was nearly finished when his light
steps were suddenly arrested, his muscles
rigid, and he peered ahead with marked een-
ness. Something suspicious had reached his ears
or eyes.

One moment he stood like a statue: then,
stooping slightly and holdin'r his rifle ready for
use, he glided forward more Ilike a. shadow than
a man. .

The adjacent bushes held some secret, and
duty and inclination at once urged him to solve
it. Deadly danger might lurk there, but danger
had been his daily companion for years.

CHAPTER V.
rm: cannrmo SIOUX.

WILD WEST WALT moved forward with ex-
treme caution. He had heard a sound like a
human laugh, and wished to know who had ut-
tered it. As he advanced voices brcame dis-
tincth audible, and be shaped his course accord-
ing to the point from which they sounded.
Finally, reaching a desired positbn, he knelt
behind a rock and parted the curtain of leaves
before him.

Two men were visible. Near at hand the em—
bers of a the were dying out. and it was appa-
rent that they had encamped there and eaten
their dinner, and wore still without matteis of
importance to occupy their time. \ r

 

Wild ' West Walt, the Mountainyeteran.

re W »

 

One of the pair lonnged on the ground, smoko
ing and -toying with a revolver. His air was
careless, and he seemed disposed to take life easy.
His age was less than twenty-five.

His companion. a man older by ten years, sat
upright and maintained an impassive deport-
ment. He was a man dark of complexion, with
black hair and heard, keen, dark eyes, and a
face at once swarthy. strong, stern and sour.

Both were clearly of unadulterated white
blond, but Walt Wilkins ex ierienced no pleas-
ure on discovering them. e was enough of a
physiognomist to feel that they were men whose
acquaintance no honest person would desire.
Knowing as he did of the presence of white out-
laws near at hand, he had no trouble in placing
these men.

Each, he felt sure, was a knave at heart, and
he of the swarthy face would be dangerous when
he was so inclined. He would be fertile of con-
ception, merciless of execution and ready of re-
source, and his s.reiigth of mind was not to be
questioned.

This man was speaking.

“ I wan. nothing to do with the beauties oft
valley,” he curtly declared. “ Pretty faces have
no charm for me. and I can safely say they never
had. Let those who live in the States make love
if they will; it is not a fit occupation of the
\Vestern adventurer."

" But, my dear Killough,” quickly returned
hi< companion, “ on have not been under fire
as I have. You ave not seen Blanche Beau~
1115.

Walt \Vilkins started. The name at that time
was the presagc of trouble to come.

“ What of it?” Killough coldly asked.

“ To see is to love."

“ Nonsense!” \

“ I tell you she is bewitchingly irresistible. I
have had my share of worldly experience, but I
tell you plainly that my heart was never touched
before as it has been by Blanche’s bright eyes.”

“ And you aspire to be a warrior of the gres
Confederation of the West l” .

“ I do.” '

“ You would make a better parlor knight.”

“ Come, Jud, you are too severe, and you
rather nettle me. Let me make a request.
with me to the valley, and see my beauty. It

Will not be a lost journey, for the village of pris- ,

oners is Well worth seeing. There, day by day,

they are manufacturing the weapons we are to ,

use when we fall destroyineg u ion the border.”

“ Two of the cutthroats, sure! ’ thought Walt-
“ I’d like ter wade in an’ trounce ’ein. butI neck-
on their day ain’t come.
member you, an’ you an’ me may yit fall to an'
devour each other.”

“ I have no idle curiosity,” the swarthy-faoed
man replied. “ The valley is in charge of

men, and I am content to do the work the Grand I

Chief has marked out for me.”
“ Tell me of him, Jud.”

Killough’s face grew darker with an angry "

800W .
“ Burt Starbuck, you are a fool i” he exclaim-

ed. “ Don’t you know that no one can tell of: '

him i” .
“ You obey his orders—haw do you get them!"
“Not directly from him. To the best of in

.knowledge, I have never met him. Even it

had, it is his wish that he should remain unknown
and, as pne of his lieutenants, I shall respect his
wishes.’

“You needn’t’speak so sharp,” Starbuck re- .

plied. with a sulky air. “ 1 don’t care what he
is like. Also, if you admire tramping about the
country. go on."

“ I will.
miles awa .”

“ And 1,” added Starbuck. “ may be back at

the valleyhbaskina‘ in the smiles of fair Blanche.” V

“ Does s e return your love?”

“ Well—no.”

“ Favor you?”

“ Not even that.”

“ She’d be a fool ef she did !" muttered Walt.

“ And,” pursued Killough, “ she knows you b .',. All

be one of her captors?”
H  '3

“Then, my word for it. you had better oon- '

uer your foolish fancy. The girl will nevercare
dog ypu; she will cast oil your love with db
a n.
“ She had better not i" declared Sta rbuek,
a dark seowl. “ If she angers me, she '
pent it to the day of her death.”
“ Well, let us drop Your Blanche. use sub

and speak of war. By the we it is odd
Swift Eagle does not return. but can have -
dela ed him?”

alt Wilkins did not hear the reply. An-
other sound had arrested his attention, and he

threw a rapid glance to his left. Theresult’
rather startled him—he had looked none too ‘
A Sioux Indian was creeping towarth .

soon.
like a panther. and his burning eyes. and the
ugly knife in his hand, told the object of his a-
cret advance. '

Killongh'slast words suddenly became more 7‘ '
asked why “Swift Eang >6 2
did not return, and here was a bloodthimy “y. ‘

pregnant. He had
age creeping, cat-like, upon the veteran.

It was a critical situation.
ing had given him timely warning. and it.me

Mr. Killough, I’ll re-' '

Walt’s acute hear- 3":

with . 
le- '

< .
" I“.

 

 

A week hence I may be two hiindred' ' ‘

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  

and under his knee.

discovery

 

6 Wild West Walt,  Mountain

 

be easy to shoot this red warrior and bound away
before the white men could harm him but, in
the present case, this would never do. Helpless
women were close at hand, and secrecy was the
policy of their defenders. A riflwshnt—an alarm
——at that moment might prove fatal to all the
party in the canyon.

It flashed upon Walt that he must overpower
this would-be assassin without disturbance, but
the outlaws were only a few yards distant.
True there were no leaves or dead twigs to give
alarm, but it seemed out of the question to sub—
due the Sioux silently.

“ But it must be did—by hickory ! it must!”

thought the rover. “ Walt Wilkins, remember
Princess an’ put yer best foot forrud.”
, Nearer came the Indian. He had marked out
in course and intended to follow it. For some
reason he did not see fit to use a fire-arm, but
aspired to drive his knife home in the back of
the white man.

His movements were wonderful cautious, and
he had no reason to suppose he had been seen.
Walt lay like a. part of the rock. The indian
came so near that he could have touched the
Evgr’s garments. Then he raised the glittering

i e.

His experienced eyes marked a vital point;
his grasp grew more rigid; the knife descended.

Somehow, his wrist fell into Walt’s grasp-it
would have puzzled the Sioux to say how. The
hand had intervened and saved the veteran’s
life, and that gaunt form suddenly wheeled as
though on a pivot.

The next instant Walt’s remaining hand had
compressed his dusky enemy’s throat, stifling all
sounds he would have made, and he was whirled
over on his back. Many an Indian had found the
lover a deadly adVe-rsary before that day, and
in such an emergency it was not likely that he
would be backward.

All depended upon disposing of the Sioux
quickly, silently. He was determined to do it if
such a thing was possible.

The wouldibe surpriser had been surprised,
and a single moment’s indecision was fatal to
him. He recovered his wits, and his strong
limbs suddenly quivcred with the premonitory
symptoms of a stout resistance, but he was too
late. His own knife, wrestcd from his grasp,
was turned upon him and a blow was struck. A
start-a great, but fruitless, effort to cry out——
another quiver of his limbs, this time involun-
u , and the end was conic.

alt glanced toward the bushes.

The quiet murmur of voices was still audible.

Even to the veteran it seemed almost impos~
sible that he had accomplished the work so
silently, but the proof was beyond the bushes
He raisod the body with
an effort carried it a few yards, and concealed

' , it in a thicket.

This done he obliterated all signs of the strug—
gle—an easy task in she sandy soil—and then
'ded back toward the canyon. He did not
nk it prudent to spy upon Killough and
Smrbuck an further.
He descen ed the cliff and found the camp as
he had left it. They had seen no enemy, and

- be openly stated that such had been his experi-
‘ ace, but privately told LonghDave all that he

had seen. The giavity of e situation was

undeniable. They were literally in the midst

of their enemies, and only that the hills were
broken—so cut up in all directions by canyons

got crossed and recrossed each other in bewil-

dering profusion—they could not have evaded

so long.

The blow might come at any moment.

Blanche approached Walt.

“ Mountaineer, you say you saw no hostile

signs?”
‘ Sech was the drift 0" my remarks, Princess.”
, “Then allow me to ask how your knife be-
came stained with blood?” she quickly added.

- Walt started, and droered, his eyes in confu-
sion to the knife. He ha wiped it after dispos-
ing of the Sioux, but not so thoroughly as to
remove all traces. He had been so sure of
preserving his secret from the girls that he was

x‘ not reputed to offer any excuse, and he said

not ng.
“ Come, confess that you have met an enemy,”

ou insist, there was a dispute, but I

“ she added.
"didn’t mee nobody. The creetur’ crept up be-

hind me, but he’s done with cree in’. He got
troumed, an’ the Sioux nation is epopularated
one, by hicko i”

“ You won! have concealed the fact from us.
Foolish, unjust Walt Wilkins!”

“ Say it ag’inl I like for be scolded that way,
on’ I’ll trounce a. red-skin ev’ry day while we
keep comp’ny. Thar is that about yer eyes an’
face, Princess, that creates a commotion under
In ribs on the left side. You ’l'ect me as an-

er gal did once, though I don’t s’ 't you‘re
jest like her. She snared me in her a’r, which
was three yard long and yarler as yarler cauld

an’ then she developed a taste fur ornaments
the female kind don’t ginerally cotton to. Noth-
in’ would do her but she must hev a c'lection 'o'
skulps, an’ I re’lly killed an Injun ev’ry day fur
her, fur goin‘ on eleven year.”
' “ My taste doesn’t run that way.”

I ‘ “Thought not. I reckon you captur’ more'
. , . '

I l

 

moracles has come. Why,
that even them miser’ble outlaws at the valley
fell in love with ye.”
“ I hope not!” and Blanche shiver-ed prettlly.
“ You said that you ’scaped by pullin’ the wool
over one feller’s eyes,” dryly returned the ran-

ger.

“ That I must admit.”

“ Goodl He’s one. \Vhat’s his name?”

“ Cotton, I think.”

“ Go on; name the rest. Love an’ matrimony
is my best grip, and of you want advice, come
ter me. Go on, Princess; who’s the next vic-
tim?”

\Valt was talking with far more of an object
than was apparent on the surface, but he had a
reason for his roundabout course. llc affected
a playful manner to c0vcr his advance.

“The subject is anything but a jesting one,”
returned Blanche, with a slight shiver,  but I
am well aware that I had at lcast one other—
and fur morh iiiiWclcmnc—a(lmirer there. He
was a. man of some influence, and I feared him
asI would a wolf. His name was Burt Star-

uck.

\ant had gained his object, and without be
trayiug himself. Blanche knew the man he had
lately scar—knew and feared him. The rover
began to wish that Sturbuck, instead of the
Sioux, had fallen before his knife.

“ Heaven grant that I never see him again,”
she added.

“ Amen! But of you should mcet him, an’ he
Inel'lcsts you, whisper it tcr me. I ain’t much on
the shoot, but my rifle is a. remarkable weepon,
an’ cf I only hold it up I reckon it’ll blow Mr.
Sawbuck inter a few million disconnected frag-
ments. But here comes Black Hills Ben an’
W indfoot.”

The two had walked quietly into camp, and
their manner told no tales.

“ What news?” the major asked.

“ The same old story.”

“ Indians?” .-

“ Indians and outlaws. This is no time to
mince matters; I’ll admit that the hills are lit—
erally full of then). Night is at hand, but it will
not be a time of rest to us. I give you all until
eleven o’clock to sleep; afler that, the entire
night must be spent in flight.”

“ Toward the south?” asked Blanche. who had
not forgotten why she left the secret valley.

“No; toward the north. I understand why
you ask, but you must yield a point. I will lead
you where I think the danger least menacing,
and in due time we may help your friends, the
gunmakcrs. One false move now, and they will
never be helped by any of us.”

“ Do as you think best. Mr. Todd; I don’t
doubt your wisdom in the least, nor do I want
to fall into the hands of the bloodthirsty
Sioux.” -

“ Sioux thick as leaves of forest,” contentious-
ly observed Windfoot, who never spoke except
when speech was necessary".

He recalled Walt Wil ins from a period of
meditation, and that person promptly produced
his tobacco.

“ Chaw, Injuni" he innocently inquired, but
Windfoot turned away with an angry, but in-
distinct, muttering.

“ One thing more,” added Ben. “ Durin m
scout Ifoun something which, though aIriffg
in itself, may well he termed a novelty in these

rts

He had taken a pasteboard card from his
pocket and he now handed it to Claudia. He

ad attached no importance to it, as it was only
a man’s hotograph, and was not prepared for
what fol owed.

Claudia had no sooner looked at it than a
swift change passed over her face; the color left
her cheeks, her eyes dilated, and she rocoiled like
one who had received a blow.

“ This icture!” she gasped, almost wildly.

“Where id ou et it?”
“In, a guch, f a mile away. May I

ask

“ Merciful heavens! it is the picture of Dun-
stan Hughes—the picture of the man we have
come all this distance to seek. He is alive; he is
near here at this moment. Quick, Black Hills
Ben! lead the way to where you found—lead me
there! This man must be trailed down and
found. I care not if a. million dan ers menace
us; Dunstan Hughes is near, and will go to
him. Lead the way!” .

 

CHAPTER VI.
ammo AMONG BULLETS.

CLAUDIA had lost all her calmness. Her
eyes were glowin ; the color had returned to
her cheeks has t current; her bosom heaved;
and she spoke with a wildness which startled all
her com us. A mood like hers does not
always c age at once, and there was no know-
ing what would come of it now.

lack Hills Ben felt his inability to cope suc-
cessfully with this case, and .looked quickly at
Major Bennington.

he latter came forward at once.

“ My dear Claudia, be calm,” ‘he' urged.
“ What you ask is not to be thought of. I feel
sure the trailing is out of. the question here,

 

‘ y . . ~ . :i
  "my “‘5  .‘ 3." ..

Veteran.

 

 

and even if it was feasible, you would at once
run into the midst of the Sioux.”

" What of it?” she cried. “I could, at least,
flnd Dunstan Hu ,hes.”

“At a time w en you could not see him
alone, nor get him to leave his wild com anions.

On the contrary, you would become a. opeless
prisoner.”

“ He might be found alone.”

“The chances are against it.”

“I, for one, am willing to risk it. Mr. Todd,

I ask you to accompany me. The rest of our
party need not risk their lives. Will you go?”

“ Miss Bennington,” the scout replied, “ I ask
you to remember one thing. I have just found
this p1cture, but it may have been lying there
a. week.”

A swift change passed over the girl’s face.
Excited She was, but not to the (ltgrce of hav-
ing lost all reason. The last argument appealed
to her as irresistible logic, and she at once be—
came silent. She still saw. in imagination, that
unhappy prisoner in an Eastern cell waiting
for her to rescue him, but this could not be done
by rash haste.

Suddenly raising her gaze again to Ben’s face,
she ( uietly replied:

“If, you say that what I ask is unwise, I will

'ield. ’
3 "I do say it, and I will work all the harder
for you if you will be guided by my adv1cc.”

“It shall be as you say.”

The storm was awrth and Claudia did not
again express a desire to go on the trai , but,
she kept the picture of Dunstan Hughes with
jealous care. It might yet be the means of
finding the man: in any case, unless signs were
deceptive, she had proof that she was on the
track.

The party settled down to pass the next three
hours in quiet rest. Ben adviscd that all ex—
cept Long Dave and himself endeavor to get
sleep, but no one made any room: in that direc-
tion. Time wore slowly on. Once they heard
the distant re rt of a rifle, but not a living
thing came wit iin the sco ) of their vi ion.

Night had fallcn, and in the canyon it was
sumrlativcly dark. The place was somber in
the extreme, and though the borderers did not
heed it. there were troubled minds in camp.
All, however, were glad when the scout gave
the word to move on again.

The horses were saddled; they mounted and
rode away through the gulch. Ben and Wind-
foot, led the way, Long Dave was the rear

ard, and the others rode together between

hose ints.

Their present move was at once one of great
importance and one fraught with peril. The
borderers believed that they could not remain
in the hills another day without being dis-v
covered, while, if their flight was successful,
they might by this change of base shake of! the
enemy. But every foot of the way was a place
of danger. At any moment they might run
upon a large party of Sioux or outlaws, or
some lone scout might see them and then send
out the alarm.

They had about one chance in ten of escaping
notice.

Blanche looked at W'alt IVilkins and, feeling
the silence oppressive, asked if there was dan~
ger in conversation.

“ Not fur a voice like yourn,” the veteran an—
swered, “fur it’s a croxs ’tween a murmurin’
brook an‘ the tinkle o' a bell. Now I’ve knowed
men—thank fortun’ we ain’t got sech hyarl—
who couldn’t tune their voices lower down than
the roar o’ a. bufl’ler bull. Sech men orter be
berated as nuisances—squelched, d’ye see? They
ain’t o’ no use ’cept in Congresawhar noise
ranks above brains, I’ve heerd say.”

“ And brains are necessary here.”

“ Great snakes! yes—hyar, ef anywhar.

on

We’ve t a good sprinklin ’em, too. Look
at Blue Hills Ben. He’s well supplied. So is
Pansy! Jest observe her, Princess. Some folks

sneers at homes ’cause they can’t talk, but, in
my opinion, they was made dumb so they
couldn’t put man ter shame by talkin’.”

“ There is something in your idea.”

“ Thar’s truth an’ logic, anyhow,” the ranger
answered.

“ I suppose you feel safe as long as Pansy
shows no signs of smelling the enemy.”

“Yes; her smeller is ter be depended on, an‘
it‘s savod many a life afore now. Once she
woke me up in the middle 0’ the night. an’ in-
formed me in boss style that she smelledreds. I
mounted an’ rid ofl', 'vin’ her a. looserem. She
took me a hund’cd mild before mornm’, an’ we
’rived jest in time ter save a. band 0’ miners
from bein’ wiped out o’ existence. That was a
long range smell, so ter speak.”

“ No doubt Pansy is a valuable animal.”

“She sart’inly is. She. was one o’ a litter o’
thirteen colts, an’ I picked her out afore the
brood could stan’ alone; no easy 'oh, as they
was all 0’ one predi , but Pansy as out-ran.
outlived an’ on elled the hull lot.” '

A stone rattled down to the slope to the right.
Walt's rifle was partially raised, but he louver-ed
it after one keen survey of the suspicious quar—

‘3 Nothin’ but an’ ’arthquake. I reckon.”
“ Do your hopes increase, friend Walt?”

. ,

 

 

' seen, but Ben had detected no such guard.

gone fifty feet be

Wild West Walt, the Mountain Veteran. 7

 

 

“ The do, an’ they’re gettin’ mastodomical.
’Tis sai that a camel kin hardly pass through
a needle’s eye by right smart ueezin’, an’ this
seems likely; but Ben Todd is oin’ the needle
act with a rigiment 0’ us, an’ I reckon we shall ,

't through of the Injuns don’t yank the thread

r ieoes.”

e walls of the canyon grew lower until only
an acclivity remained on either side. There the
darkness was less intense. and the girls felt re-
lieved, but the borderei's hardly shared their
feeling. In the increased light they made promi-
nent objects for hostile eyes. i

The expected alarm did not come, however.
and silence was only broken by the movements
of their own party. Possibly all of the allies
slept, but the fugitives would not be safe until
that sleep became one of death. ‘

Black Hills Ben paused.

“We shall soon leave the hills,” he said to
Bennington, “and, beyond, there is more Chris-
tian country. W'e shall find fewer rocks, and
more trees and grass, but it is not a paradise.
If a. man goes at headlong speed there, he may
fall into a prairie canyon and break his neck.”

“ No breakage fur me,” said Walt. “ My
neck has been broke short off five times, an’ tied :
up arterwards. 1t’s so short now that my food
tumbles right from my mouth inter my stomach
‘est like jumpin’ from a precipice. Chaw,

njuni”

His tobacco was generously extended toward
Windfoot, but the latter disdained to answer.

“ I go to investigate,” continued the scout,
" but will return very soon.” .

He was gone ten minutes, and then, returning,
led the way again. They emerged from the
hills, and were on what looked at first sight like
an unbroken plain. Dark objects of varied size
were to be seen here and there, but they were
trees, singly and in groups.

The horses were put to a nick pace, and two ‘
miles were soon covered. dim the scout used
more caution. They were liable at any moment
to happen upon the dangerous cleft-s in the sur- 1
face before mentioned by him, and they were as ‘
dangerous as Indians and outlaws.

This caution saved them from one danger. f
Black Hills Ben suddenly paused again, .and
when the others came up, spoke in a low voice;

“My horse gives evidence that something is
ahead, and, if I do not mistake the Signs, it ,

_ means other horses. If so. there are more Sioux ‘;

or outlaws. Let me scout!” .

He threw his bridle-rein to Walt, and glided :
away on foot. There was another period of sus- it
pause, and the general feeling of uneasiness was i
not abated when the scout brought back his

report.

, ‘ Somebod ‘8 camp!” be briefly observed.
“ They can’t 9 friends, so we will make a slight
deviation and pass around them. Let there be
no talkin .”

They a vanccd a ain and passed to the west
ofthe camp. The tter was in a motto. while
the fugitives were only screened by scattered
times. If a guard was posted they might be

Watching the grove sharply. they‘ramed safely
by and pressed on toward the no .

Another half-mile had been covered, and they
were advancing along the side of a promo can-
Eon, when new signs of danger appeared.

orsemen were suddenly seen on the other bank.
The latter party had been riding southward. and ,
the two now came almost face to face. with a i
yawning gulf between them which was thirty 1
yards wide. ,

Discovery was simultaneous. and the strangzrs s
at once halted. A voice floated across the r-
ranoa.

“ ' grims, ahoyl Who goes there?”

“ Men who don t tell their names," the scout 1

uickly replied. “ If you are under the same '
you know why." .s

“I don‘t know why, but I want to!” was the
retort. “ I see you have a Woman with you,
and we are on the trail to find one of that aort—

a rupaway. Come here, and let me look at,

 

“If you know how to crew the chasm, do it
yourself.”

“ We will. Do you stand there. and I’ll divide
my band. One~half will look for a place to
cross; the others will stay here and keep you
covered with their rifles. If you stir, you will
be shot down.” -

“ We can play at that game, too.”

"‘ Better not try it, for we are ten to your one.
If you are from the valley, and have Blanche

uvais prisoner, deliver her tn me.”

“ There is no such person here.”

“I’ll believe you when I use. Don‘t dare to
stir until we get to on."

A detachment of he other party at once start-
ed south, but Black Hills Ben bad no intention
of awaiting their arrival. The unknown speaker
had shown his band plainly. and it wasclear
that flight milst be resumed. Blanche was
trembling. but Walt assured her that she need
not fear while he livod.

"We‘ll make a dash,” announced the scout.
“Very likely we shall be fired upon, but the
darkness may save us. Now. together—~90 !”

 

Away dashed th; fugitives, but they had not
ore a hoarse yell from the

‘5‘. .i 1 . i ‘
H'l "   '. - ‘« .- . 1.. i

other side of the barranca announced that they
were discovered. It is hardly necessary to say
that they did not stop; instead, their horses were
urged on with voice, and, in some cases, more
emphatic means, and they went shooting away
at headlong speed.

A chorus of angry yells arose from the enemy;
their horses were wheeled and they raced along
the other side of the chasm; and then a desultory
firing was begun, which raised an ominous
whistling near the fugitives, as the bullets cut
the air. but did not at once do more damage.

Black Hills Ben was most reluctant to expose
the females' to this danger, but when he would
have turned from his course, he found a second
canyon on their left. They were hemmed in be-
tween thc two, and could only go straight on.

The firing grew more mph and dangerous.

‘ Nearly all the Strangers were taking a hand at

it, and the bullets flew all around the little

arty. They did not fire at all. reserving their
Bullets for a possible crisis. Whether one worse
than the present would come seemed doubtful.
There was a constant flashing beyond the can-

on; a constant whistling of bullets near the

uman targets.

But the worst was yet to come.

Suddenly a third party of horsemen appeared.
They were directly in front, and seemed to have
risen by magic from the ground. Magicians or

, not, they were Sioux warriors: the. fugitives

saw this at a glance, and tried to pause. Too

' late! Both parties had been gomgata gallop,

and they came together with a shock audible
some distance away.

“’ild lVest Walt had tried to raise his rifle,
but in vain. A horse of gigantic size plunged
into him, and he was dashed helplessly from the
saddle, his weapon flying from his hand.

He struck the ground with painful force. and

I so great was the impetus given his body. rolled

over several times. He stretched out his hand

to stop his progress, but touched only empty .

air. More than this, the ground seemed to give

way beneath him, and, while rifle-reports, yells, 9

war-whoops and‘ groans mingled confusedly in
his ears. he went shooting down through space.

All his thoughts had been of his friends, who,
he knew, were engaged in a desperate fight
against great odds—no doubt, a hopeless fight—
but his attention was vividly drawn to himself
by a realization of the terrible truth.

He had fallen ink the canyon!

Like a flash he remembered what Black Hills
Ben had said of their great depth; how he had
declared that a fall down one meant sure death
and the veteran sent out both hands in a wild
attempt to grasp a. bush, or root, or stone.

Vain attem ti

He gras only empty air, and still went
shooting down the abyss. A flood of recollec-

tions swept over him. Darkest anticipation .

assailed him, but no cowardly fear was there:
such was not Walt Wilkins’s way.

Down! down! Would it never end?

“ Yes, in death !” thought the veteran. “ Good-
by, old World'” -

CHAPTER VII.
ran VALLEY PRISONERS.

1

FAR up in the Northwest country, in the land I

of the fierce Sioux. and yet removed from the
heart of their chosen district. lay a valley

which was a novelty even for that experiment I

ound of Nature. In itself it was only an oval
iepression of about eight acres, hemmed in on
all sides by cliffs, but its surroundings were peo
culiar.

It lay in a bowl of the mountains—a depres-
sion Within a depression—but the bowl con-
tained hundreds of acres. Passing out of the
bowl in a northwesterly direction, a traveler
would face the land of the Sioux. Exit and
entrance Were there easy, as they were in an
exactly opposite direction. but. except for these
awolpoints, the way was rough, broken and dif-

cu t. ‘ '

North of the little valley was a lake which

1 covered a space about double the area of the

valley. This was fed by the mountains to the
east of the bowl. in several small streams. and
discharged its superfluous waters in a larger
stream which. until it passed the high hills,
floch in a northerly course, ultimately becom-
ing a tributary of the Yellowstone.

luriously enough. this lake lay two hundred
feet above the crest of the cliffs which hemmed
in the valley. and three hundred above their
base. Nature, howwcr, had erected a wall of
rock along the south side of the lake. thereby
protecting the valley from a possible deluge.

Each of these places had received a distin-
guished name. and thev had become known re—
spectively as World’s End Basin. Lake Desola-

tion and Paradise Vallev, while the whole'was ‘

known by the. general m me of “ World‘s End.”

One afternoon. three dayslater than the scenes
before recorded, a party of men was traversing
the Basin. having entered at the southeast side,
and moving toward Paradise Valley.

A more lictoi-o::4-n'-oiis party it would be hard
tn find. There was to be i-‘Of‘ll the cli"ar-liloodcd
American: the quick, restless Frenchman: the
swarthy, furtive Mexicanz‘the half-breed: the
full-blood Indian; and one lone negro. Possibly

a half dozen other nations were represented
among the men of white skins.
» In the midst of this party were four persons
who were prisoners. They were Blanche Beau-
; vais, Claudia, Major Bennington and Long Dave
Cobb. All sat their horses With an air of weari—
ness, and the two men, being bound, were in ac—
tual suffering.
I “ We are nearly there,” said Blanche, with a.

S] h.

g‘ I should hope so,” Long Dave (’evoutly rc-
plied. “ I’ve rid a boss all oVer the 'West, from

anama ter the North Pole, an’ 1 vow 1 never
seen the like 0‘ this afore. Crarrped? Don’t
mention it. My backbone has shortened eleven
inches sence We started, an’ will never assume
its old elasticity. My ribs hev all pricked
through the cuticle, by Moses!"

“ All this will soim end,” said the major, af—
fecting a cheerfuloes< he did not feel.

“ Right you be,“ Long Dave agreed. “They
can’t go much further, unless they part comp’ny
with me an‘ prick surroundin’ air. the ribs can’t.

“ I allude to the end of our journey.”

“ My journey ain’t ( iided. l’ni bound ter live
out my schedule period 0’ life. My gran’ther
hung on ter (error i'iifirniy—which is Latin. or
Choctaw. I i'crgit which. l'ur ‘ firm land ’—ontil
he was a hundu’d an’ nine years old. My father
died at ninety-nine. an‘ I vow I won’t be content
with less than eighty nine. That gives me forty-
eight years afore my journey ends. ’

Nobody answered. and he soon resumed:

“ I know it ain’t right tei' speak ill 0‘ one’s pa—
rients, but ef mine hed been wise. I’d been born
forty year later. Miss Blanche, you may not be-
lieve it, but I’d give my last red ter be a babe.
tor—day. ’leven months old, pooty on a peach, an’
kickin’ up my heels. Ef thar’s one thin I han—
ker ter do, it’s ter kick up my heels. E I could
do it now, I‘d leave this present comp’ny, an’
never stop kickin’ ontil I was in Texas.’

“ Misfortune comes to all,” remarked the phil-
osophical major. .

“ K’rect, an’ that‘s why I’m a-growlin’. Why
couldn‘t I b’en exempt from the draft? I don’t
: want no misfortune in mine. Yes, the darned
‘ creetur comes ter all, an’ I say it’s an on eons
shame. Somebody should Lev been pa ‘ by,
an‘ I’m that chicken. 1’11 eat my rifle ef— No,
by Moses! can’t do it! That rifle is gone ter
chaos an’ destruction.”

“ Here is the valley,” Blanche announced.

The prisoners were ordered to dismount, and
than t ey were led along a well—defined trail.
Paradise Valle soon broke upon their view. It
was a great re ief, though it evidently labored
under more name than it could properly c .
It was a araidise in no sense, except that e
grass. and the occasional vines which hung from
the cliffs, were pleasing to the eye.

These cliffs, which were a hundred feet high,
were dark, perpendicular to a point of nicety,
‘l and singularly smooth. Armed men paced
l

{along their tops, observing what occurred be-
ow.

At the latter roint a. dozen canvas tents were
visible, two of which were huge affairs. From
these arose smoke, sparks of fire and some noise,

I and it was evident that the inhabitants of the
valley were not drones. -
The prisoners were led down a ladder of
5 rock, the greater part of which was of man’s

{ hewing.

“ Here we go,” observed Long Dave, cheer-
i fully. “ Game on our new home! Exnlt, an’ flll
l yer souls with honey an’ the dew o’ joyl Hear
the clatter o’ the gunmakiu’ industry—how it
tickles the palate o the ear! Ma ' r, ye may not
b‘lieve it, but next ter runnin’, banker ter be
a gunmaker. I feel that I hev a callin’ that
way. I long ter shape the lock an’ frescothe
hammer. This sight fllls my heart with irrnp-

times that I’d been born forty ears later!” -

The prisoners were conduc to the south end
of the valley, near the tents.

“ You know {gm old quarters, Miss Beau-
vaill,” said the der of their captors, with a
smi e.

‘f Ihdo, only too well,” the girl answered, with
a Sig .

“You can make yourself at home. I suppose
the other prisoners will be interested, and if
they want to stop work they can. The day is
nearly gone.” '

“ I shall go to my father,” said Blanche, half-
unconsciously.

“ As you will. Now. you two men, you must
go to work to-morrow.”

“ What hour. mister?" asked Long Dave.

“ Seven o’clock.”

“ Can’t you say six?”

“ Your long tongue will run less nimbly, by
I and by,” the outlaw re lied, with a frown.
“ Now, I’ll leave you. ope there will be a
ban y reunion !”

e strode away. foll0wed by his men. Blanche
had flitted into one of the larger tents. but her
companions remained where the were until the
noise inside suddenly ceased an
of men came out hastily. They were the cap-
i tive gunmnkers of the valley. _

i If Major Bennington had ever doubted
i Bianche’s words. he would have lost doubt then.
After seeing the hybrid outlaws, these unwill-

 

tive blim. but I’ll be kicked cf 1 don’t wishat I _ _ 

nearly a score-

M...M_.~.m

 

 

8 ' eWiIQMYVesiWalt’ @940th

 

ing toilers looked the personification of honest ', 5
while over the faces was the shadow of troub e
which cannot but follow ca tivity.

A large-framed, fine-loo ing man advanced .
to the major’s side and extended his hand. I

“ Sir,” said he, “this is a sorry meeting, and I ,
can swear I am not glad to see you; but you
are now among men who are not cut-throats,
an how.”

“ I can well believe it, and since I must have
companions in misfortune, I am glad they are
honest men.” ..

“ There are women here, too—Heaven help
them!”

“ With Heaven‘s help, we will aid them."

“ b! you don’t know these men!"

“ know them all I want to." ‘

 - Long Dave Cobb had been eying the former ,

1 - prisoners, and he now approached a young man
who next to the spokesman, seemed the most
athletic of the party, as well as manly and im- I
pressive in every way. '

“Stranger,” said Dave, “ be you one o' them
gunmaker chaps?”

“I have that honor I” was the ironical reply.

“Then let me whisper in your ear. I’m j~st

.. a-hankerin’ ter git ter work: I long tor swing
’ . ' the sledge an’ drive the hammer; I pant fer

 4 wield the crowbar an’ osserlate the derrick.
Hence, kin you git up an hour ahead 0’ time,
ter—morrer, an’ give me lessons?”

“ I will do so at once. Come to the tent!”

“ Hol’ on! hol’ on !”

“ W’ell’l”

“Wait a. bit; wait ontil my muscles relax.
At present they’re knotted up in coils like rat-
tlers. I’m all shook out o’ shape. I must hev
ontil mornin’ ter rest. Then you’ll see me swing :

 the tools 0’ trade.”

*5 . . ’ “ Stranger, do you see yonder mun pacing the ,

top of the ledge, rifle in hand i” i

|  9, '

i

to Yes.”

“ Perhaps you also observe that a line of these
men completely encircles the valley. I think
3 " you will work to—morrow. If you don’t, one of
> - ., these dogs will shoot on deadt"

' I ‘ The speaker folded is muscular arms over his ‘
 t broad chest and directed a glance upward
which seemed to shoot indignant flashes at the
outlaw guards. Long Dave’s heart went out to
this man: he recogniyed in him a dauutless
 spirit who would shrink from no eril. and

' such men were his ideals of true manliness.

 A “ Stranger, whaYs yer name?”

7;; “ Hugh Somervi lo.”

a n , “ Mine’s Long Dave Cobb. I mention it inci-
dental so cf I should take homesick an’ die on't. l
you’d know what name an’ crypegrawi fer put
on mgetombsrone. Ontil I shn e of! this moral
coil lieve me yourn, truly. I like your style,
by Moses!”

Somerville smiled faintly, but at that mo-
 '. ment he was approached by Blanche with ex-
;‘w v tended hand.

’ “Have you no Welcome-home for me?” she

“.7 ..

z 'k.

“And the one beyond him?” i
i
i

 

 I -’ ‘alked. with an archmss which seemed more .
 .l » than forced. 1
 “Heaven knows I lave no Welcomohome, i

 while your home—if the word will pass—is here.
a e" I wish you all happiiies<, mademoiselle, but it

 ' would lighten 'my own cap‘ti'vity if, instead of t

5’“ " this, ,I, knew you were safe in some border!

 " town.

 “You were always kind to me," returned}

5&4 , " .Blanche, her gaze fallin . l
  ’ “I were a brute, ant blind, to beotherwise. I

Your eyes have played havoc with the stoicism
I once thought mine. That’s a plain speech, but
I am miserable and reckless.”

“ You do not bear captivit well.”

. “No,” ansWered Somervn le, frowning; “I
was never born for it. Yet I have done Well
enough until now: but when I see youa ain
here—a, inacaptive—my blood seems to ii,
3:38 I ongtogo up and throttle those scoun-

 

”

He made a fierce gesture toward the outlaw

guard.
I “ You are in a. rebellious mood." Blanche de-
/ claret]. " Rebellions, and, I should say, a dan-
"gerous mood.”
“You don’t mean to you?"
r. - “Certainly not.”
 f “I am glad of it, for I swear that I would
' \ shed the last drop of blood in my bod for you.
Again. I an frank; desperate men requently
are. Belle Blanche, I have two things to say to
on.”
y “ Let me hear them."

“First. I shall be the next person tocscape
from here. I don’t care if a thousand guards
pace the crest of the cliff; I was never created
to stay here, live a slave, and make weapons

‘-.: ' wherewith these cut-throats, red and white, are l
'. :~; , to butcher men and women along the border. I

 

 

 

 

.y, "I. will not stay l" l
 ‘ “ Mr. Somerville, do nothing rash,” nervouqu 
7’.‘ r ’ exclaimed the girl. . i
"‘ 5 ' “Trust me to be as wise as lies in my nature; '

$3  I realize the need of caution. Some skill ought l

tobe used. too, for it will be no easy matter to :
as tbOse alert guards.”
" You will be killed if you try,” Blanche do- i

 

. forgive me, and I will not olfend again: the du—

‘ mood is reckless and rebellious just now; but I

‘chance had been gladly accepted.

‘ first greeted them. the writx-r of the letter borne

1 misfortune, but those who were now at “form

I captivity: hut in regard to three of their party

, stand up' a ainst the Sioux, and the major re-
' ferred to his fighting with

Veteran.

 

 

“ Then it will be, exit Hugh Somcrville. But
I think that I shall suetecd."

“ And if you do?”

“ I shall never rest until you are rescued.”

“ There are others here besides me.”

“ There is but one Blanche Beauvais. There!

on of our acquaintance does not justify
As I said before, my

rat
such speech on my part.
am 'our friend, mademoiselle."

“ am sure of it.”

“ Thank you."

" And what is the second thing you have to
sa to me!” '

Somervillc hesitated, and seemed ill at ease.

“ 0n the whole, I will not say it," he replied.

“ I hope you would not keep back what I
ought to know.”

“Assuredlv not, but this concerns only my
own views and interests, you see.”

His manner was awkward. and, possibly, lack-
ing in vorticity, but Claudia furnished a wel- 4

,coan interruption by apprt»u~hing just then. 3

Basil Beauvais, Blanche’s father, had offered the I
shelter of his tent to the Benningtons. and the
The girls
would still be together, and they had become 1
friends in ca itivity.

So enter the new prisoners into Paradise
Valley and the life of its inmates, and while an-
other nivht fell darkly over World‘s End Basin,
Major fiennington talked with Beauvais and
Garrison-the latter being the man who had

by Blanche, and the acknowledged head of the
captive colony-~—but found little hope or conso-
lation in the exchange of views.

In the mean while, Hugh Somerville. walking
restless] y outside, looked often at the tent which
sheltered Blanche. and thought:

“ No: I will not tell her. Some miracle may
avert the blow, and if it comes, she will know
it all too scon.”

CHAPTER VIII.
A VICTORY AT TIIE RIFLE’S MUZZLE.
THE little Jand which we followed in our.
opening chapter was broken up and assailed by
s

 

End, could tell but little of the other, and miss-
in , members.

hey did tell, each in a‘characteristic way, of
the fatal encounter by the canyon: the desperate
conflict when they fought against overwhelm-
ing numbers; and of their dates? and subsequent

there was doubt and uncertainty.
All were sure that Black Hills Ben had made
good his escape. He was the last of the party to

10wing eyes and
eloquent words; but when a l the others were
down, and he was left alone to fight two-score
enemies, the scout had broken -through the red
warriors and escaped.

It was believed that Windfoot had been slain,
and prostratcd among the dead Sioux, while
Long Dow Cobb had chanced to observo Wild
West Walt's unlucky fall down thecanyon. All
save Dave agreed that this fall must hdve been
instantaneously fatal, but Cobb insisted that
the contrary was the case.

“That chap.” he doggedly maintained, “has
been in ev’ry sort 0’ danger fur forty vears. an’
of be war ter die by voylance, he’d b’en dead a
centurya o. Depend on’t, the old felier will
show up a 1 right. I’ll bet he might fall off’m a
cliff a thousand feet high, tin-{never git even a
bruise." ‘

This san nine view was shared by no one else,
and Walt ilkins was thought of as one whose
career on prairie and mountain was forever

st

pa .
The gunmakers resumed work the following

morning, and Long Dave and the major Were \

with them. Thomas Garrison was their fore-
man. There was one of the outlaws who was a
practical workman, and he visited the valley
when he saw lit—sometimes three visits were
made in a day; sometimes he was absent for
twenty-four hours. Nobody knew when he
would see fit to come. and when he did, he
minute! examined all they had done.

This act, and the rifles of the outlaws, com-
pelled the Workmen to labor faithfully. Thev
could not he dilatory, and to slight their work
would have been fell . So they went on day
after day, slaves in t a full sense of the wor ,
hoping for a favorable turn of the tide, but not
ex noting it.

be major had not forgot his army experience,
and, though authority had never befbre been so
irritating, he was determined to make the best
of a bad matter.

Lon Dave did not feel that way. Eager as
he ha professed to be, he Went to work unwill-
ingly, took things easy, and filled the tent with—
his lameututions. These, however. were as serio-
comic as ever. and helped to keep up the spirits
of his companions in misfortune.

The prismers were new twenty-six in number,
of whom six were women.

The forenoon passed uneventfully, but, two
hours In ter, Basil Beauvals was called out of the
tent. This troubled his wuipanions'nota little.

 

‘9..’
r.

= i . i. .  v '
l [f "h “J! :\ xvi"; ,{ I :. lipid I

They saw that a party of their captors were in
:he valley, and they argued the worst from this
act.

Beauvais, on reaching the outer air, was met
by Gregerson, the outlaw who had immediate
charge of Paradise Valley, and informed that
he was wanted in one of the small tents. He
went, and found there a white man and a
Sioux Indian. He did not remember seeing
either before.

“ This is the Frenchman,” announced Greg-
erson, addressing the other white man.

“ Sit dOWn Beauvais,” directed the white
stranger. “ on may as well know me at
once. I am a lieutenant of the Grand Chief,
and my name is Judson Killough!”

It Would have been a familiar name to \Valt
Wilkins, had he been there, vividly recalling
the scene in the mountains when the creeping
Sioux ceaSed creeping forever, but to Beauvais
it conveyed no intelligence.

“ This Indian,” Killough resumed. “ is Sweep-
 Eagle, a chief high in the regard of Sitting

u .’

A troubled expression appeared on the French-
man’s face.

“ It don't take me long to make a point,"
pursued the outlaw lieutenant. “ Sweeping
Eagle’s lodge is dark; you have a fair dough
ter!”

Beauvais’s face became strangely pale.

“ Mon Dion. monm‘eur !” he cried, “ don’t strike
me to the heart. Have mere l"

“ Now don’t begin idle ta] . Your daughter
—her name, I think, is Blanche—goes to the
chief’s lodge. She must be ready in an hour. I
see no reason why you, or she, should make a
row over it, for Sweeping Eagle isa great chief ;
but you must remember that your girl ran
away. She is dangerous: I won’t have her here.
She must become the wife of the Sioux.

“Pin me!" cried Beauvais, wildly. “I am
a feeble old man, and my Blanche is all 1 have
in the world. Look, monsieur, I am your
slave; I labor here for you daily. Leave my
girl to keep me company and I will work the
flesh from my fingers. Don’t take her away! In
heaven’s name, be merciful, or my heart will
break and—3‘

“‘Rnbbish!" interrupted Killough, contemptu-
ous Y.

“ Let me speak with the Frenchman,” said
SWeeping Eagle in very good English. yet with
a curioust slow, labored manner. “ Father of
the white girl, why should you weep? 'lhe fair—
est maidens of the great Sioux nation would
gladly go to Sweeping Eagle’s lodge. He has
power which even Sitting Bull res cfs, and his
arm is a. rod of terrorin battle. Vhen he goes
on the war-path, his enemies cover their heads
and tremble like beaten dogs; but to his squaw
he. will be as tender as the panther to its young.
What prouder lot can be given Blanche?” x

“ You may mean well," tremulously answered
the Frenchman, “ but the girl will not be happy
with one of your race——”

“ When the great confederation falls upon the
border, killing all who are its enemies, how will
the girl be safest—with a white lover, ora Sioux
husband?” is ‘

Sweeping agle‘s voice had grown sharp, and
his eyes began to glitter ominously.

“ My poor Blanche can die, if need be.” Bean-
vais brokenly replied, “ but let it be in my arms
rather than of a broken heart among your
race.”

“ What right have you to g0vern her actions?”
the chief demanded. “Sweeping Eagle’s mind
is even clearer than his eyes. He knows, if
others do not, that the girl is no daughter of

yours: that no part of your blood flows in her

veins!” .

The Frenchman had grown freshly agitated,
and his tongue refused to do his bidding when he
would have spoken.

“ Dare you deny it?” the Indian Continued.

“ I dodeny it. but you say is false. Blanche
is my child—my cherished daughter. 0h! take
her not-"

‘ “ You lie with the readiness of the white man,”
was the stern interruption. “ Has the French-
man’s brain grown weak? Does he think the In-
dian lies as he would lie? Know, man with the
perjurcd tongue, that even a Sioux may have

nown what once took place at Prairie Port 1”

Beauvais seemed to grow paler, and his head

“ are on longer deny my words?” the chief
demanded:

“At least she is the. child of my heart,” re—
plied the unhappy prisoner.

“That settles itl” exclaimed Killough. who
hud been growing restless. “You practically.
admit that she is not your d: ughter. so, of
course, you have no claim to her. Such being
the case, we will dispense withfurther idle talk.
Come, chief, I’ll summon your fair bird, and
We’ll leave the valley as soon as possible.”

“ Monsieur,” cried the Frenchman, wildly. “ I
beg that you will have mercy. My poor child
will die of a broken heart among those wild In-
gians, and 1—1 had rather die than live without

er! /

Flis manner was pitiful in the extremeflut
Killough made a quick. disdainful gesture.

" Enough of this!” he said, angrilyr “ I won’t

 

.

ii
i
l
I.
5

 

i
i

i
l
l
i
l.

 

Wild West

- l

alt, the Mountain Veteran. 9

 

 

listen to womanish pleading and wailing. The
girl has got to go, and that’s the end of it. Now
saylno more.” I

3 turned to leave the tent, but Beauvais,
half‘frautic, caught his arm. Killough fiercely
flun him aside, and partially drew a revolver.
Loo ing at the prisoner with glittering eyes, he
hoarser added:

“Molest me further, and I’ll shoot you like a
dog. I swear it by all the saints!”

is manner awed Beauvais for amoment, and
Killough and the Indian went out.

“ Mon Dieu I” moaned the unhappy father,
“what can I do? Better for Blanche that she
should die than go there, but I am weak—help-
less—unable to save her! But there are the gun-
makers; they all love my child. I will appeal to
them!”

He rushed back to the largest tent and gave
the alarm, and every implement at once became
idle. The men had borne captivity, but their
powers of endurance were put to a severe test
when one of their women was to be handed over
to the fierce barbarian Sioux.

Killough had made known his errand, and
started a great excitement among the women,
When he perceived the gunmakers hastening to-
ward them in a body, led by Hugh Somerville,
and armed with hammers, bars of iron, and
whatever they could find in the way of weapons.
The outlaw lieutenant smiled coldly and looked
at his men. There they stood, forty in number,
and all armed to the teeth. There was no reason
to fear the wretched slaves who had not a fireL
arm to their name. ‘ They might bark, but they

‘ could not bite.

The outlaw felt so much at least that he al—
lowed his gaze to wander to Claudia Benning-
ten’s face. He had often looked that way since
he saw her first, five minutes before, and had
she been the woman intended for Sweeping
Eagle, the decree might have been reversed.

In brief, all the boasted impregnability of the
man had not been sufficient to prevent his being
deeply moved to admiration by Claudia’s queen-
ly beauty.

The moment when he first saw her was an
evi unfortunate one in her life.

T e gunmakers came marching up in a body,
their faces grim and resolute, though many were
far from calm. Somerville had unconsciously
gone to the front, and his stron hand grasped
a hammer tightly, but he wil ingly allowed
Thomas Garrison the lead in speeh.

“Well.” said Killough, sharply, “ma' I ask
why in blazes you have left your work

“ Sir," Garrison deeply replied, “ we are here
as petitioners—supplicants.”

“ Well?”

“ Beauvais states that you are going to take
his daughter, Blanche, away—”
“ I am going to take her away!” was the curt

reply}?

“ e beg that you will not do it. Have.
more on the girl, who cannot endure a life like
that which you would send her—”

“ That is not my affair.”

“ Surely you are not without more —”

“I am . ’ was the grim reply. “ ow, men,
have done with this nonsense. I cannot—will
not—hear you. Am I to be dictated to by my
prisoners? Not by a ood deal! The girl goes
with Sweeping Eagle the land of the Sioux!”

Blanche ew as white as a lily, while Somer-
ville handed his hammer nervous) . He re
strained himself from speakin on y with an
eflort, and then and there mar ed Judson Kil-
lough down as a man with whom he would
some day have a decisive settlement.

“You forget,” said Garrison, with uncon-
trollable indignation, “ that it is in our power to
refpse to do any work, if this outrage is persisted
in.

“ So you contemplate a ‘ strike? Believe me,
I can lay at that game, too. The girl lea es
118. an if, after that, you refuse to work, I 111
torture you until you yield l”

His ression was that of a. demon, and
Blanche s ivered ’perce t‘ibtly

“Kind friends, she ain y
me no ood. Do notftry. must go an ay;
it is be r that I go uietly. I will go, p acin
my trust in One w o is stronger than this

n.

Basil Beauvais broke out in loud cries, but
Killon h wasted no more time. At a motion
from in his men advanced a few paces, raised
the hammers of their rifles and stood with the
muzzles of the weapons well advanced.

“New Sweeping Eagle," the lieutenant di-
rected, ‘ take your squaw. We can tarry here
no Ion r.”

The Sioux advanced toward Blanche. Somer-
ville breathed so laboriously that his chest rose
and fell convulsive! ; Beauvais sohbed like a
child: and the who e company of gamers

said, “ you can do

wrapped In a nightmare of ir. It
was a scene more dramatic than any w ich had

' ever before occurred in the valley.

Blanche was pale and trembling but she tried
to bear 1m bravely. She had not f otten that
Bleak Hills Ben still lived; nor that "ild West
\Valt might ossiny have survival the fall from
the rocks; a any case, a fight would bring un-
told misfortunes upon her friends, and do her no

 

 

 

“Come, Velvet Eyes,” said the Indian in his
gentlest voice. “ Do not shrink from the Sweep-
ing Eagle for his heart can be soft as a we-
man’s. is lodge is dark, but the face of Velvet
Eyes will light it, and he will live in her smile.
Come, and you shall see how gentle a warrior
can be.”

Blanche sighed, and thep moved on a step
with him. '

Suddenly, however, Hugh Somerville rung
forward and flun the Sioux aside violent y.

“ It shall not i” he cried. “Slaves may
have no rights, but, by my life, we will not be
made to toil for you and then see our Women
handed over to red cut-throats. You shall not
take the girl except over my dead body!”

It was a brave efinnce, and he looked like a
Hercules as he stood there with the hammer up-
raised in his strong hand, but Killough only
smiled coldly.

“ So you are anxious to die, youngster?”

“ I am ready to dare all in defense of a help—
less woman.”

“ lel”

“ Call me what you will; I am not a butcher.”

“ 1 am!” coldly, suecringly replied the outlaw.
“ Butchery is my trade, and I will prove it, if
you insist. Go back to your work!”

“ Not until you promise to spare this girl.”

Killough pointed toward the tent, and spoke
one Word in a voice which would have frightr
ened many a brave man then:

“ Go I”

“ I will, when you have promised. Man. are
you mortal? Are you utterly pitiless? Is it not
enough that we are slaVcsl At least, spare these
helpless women. If you want faithful service
from us, you can gain it in no surer way than
by being merciful. Spare. this girl !”

“ Your way is not my way; I rely on the
rifles of my followers and I know their power.
I mp; 01", ruin. For the last time, will you go?”

“ o!

Kiilough made a motion. Six men advanced
and resented their rifles to Somerville’s breast.
The iammers were still up, and the intervening
distance was less than two feet.

“ If this fool lifts a. finger in resistance,” said
Killough, in a slow, inexorable voice, “ shoot
him to the heart. Chief, take the irl!”

The blood surged to Somerville’s ace in a dark
red torrent: his chest heaved; his strong limbs
quivered; and he looked at the men with the
rifles as thou h he would gladly tear them to

ieces. But ewas helplesszma'l, indeed, would

the man who would defy the powers which
were against him.

His aze turned toward Blanche. Sweeping
E le ad held out his hand, but she declined it
wit a gesture and walked by his side toward
the valley exit, far calmer than was to be ex-
pected. ~

Then Somerville‘s gaze. flashed back to Kil-
lough, an unnatural smile moved his lips, and he
said in a deep voice:

“ I will not forget this day’s work, sir!”

CHAPTER IX.
I SOMERVILLE BECOMES A TARGET.

KILLOUGII showed by,a glance that he heard
the significant specrh, but gave it no other
notice. He kept' his position grimly while
Blanche, SweepingE 1e and the five men cross-
ed the valley and t on, when the cliff was
reached, withdrew with the rest of his men.

The prisoners maintained complete silence,
but watched Blanche constantly. At the rock-
ladder the saw her again decline the chief’s
aid; then s e went up with firm ste . At the
top she turned and waved farewell to er friends;
then she disappeared from their view.

The monotony of Beauvais’s pitiful sobs was
broken by the voice of Long Dave Cobb.

“ It’s a diabolical piece of devil !” he do-
clared, angrily, “ but of it don’t reco' on them,
I’m a bow-legged liar with a forked tongue.
I’ll give any man a dollar fer keteh me by the
collar an’ sling me ter the tOp 0’ that villainous
cliff. Oh! of P5 on the trail, with a good u,
I’ll sw‘ar that the aiuted heathen never’dggee
Sioux-burg ag‘in. ’d shoot him so full 0’ lead
that you couldn’t tell whether he’s an Injun, or
a new-fan led sort 0’ cannon!”

His ind gnant- remarks served to dispel the
trance-like mood of the captives; every tongue
became unloosened: and with a confused ex;
change of views, they turned to go back to the

tents.

Suddenl Beauvais sprung to his feet.

“ Why idn’t I think of it before?” he cried.

“Think of what men?” Garrison asked.

“ That chief! He is no Indian, I’ll swear, but
a hundred times worse. Who, but he. could
know about‘ Blanche? Oh, Mon Dieu ! the
shadows of the past roll darkly over me, and
Blanche is lost—lost!”

They inquired what he nfeant. but his speech
was broken and confused, and Claudia and the
major took-him to his tent. He seemed wholly
unnerved.

Work was not resumed by the gunmakers.
They were in a rebellious mood, and inclined to
defy the armed guards on the cliff. For once,
their idleness was tolerated, perhaps Judson
Killouglli had yielded a int.

Auot er night ell he captives had never

Ag

 

before been so gloomy; all had loved Blanche.
and her fate, terrible as it was, seemed only the
first of other blows of the kind. Major Ben~
nington looked at Claudia, and his lips moved in

rayer. He had noticed that Killough often
ooked at the girl. and he had well read those
admiring, lawless glances.

He knew not how soon the next blow might
come.

Claudia did not turn her own thought so much
in this direction as on Blanche’s case, and her
own present captivity. She was not progress—
ing at all in the work which called her to Sioux-
land. Back in the East her lover waited with
the gallows menacing him, and her search for
Dimstan Hughes had come to a full stop.

She already had food enough for thought.

Hugh Somerville did not join the others
during the evening, but the did not Wonder at
it. The day had shown t em that he loved
Blanche Beauvais, and it was not strange that
he should seek solitude at this time. ,

If they had known all, they would not have
regarded the matter so lightly.

After leaving them Somerville had done two
things Worthy of mention. He first secured a
lasso. coiled it, and hung it over his shoulder.
Next he went to the large tent and secured a
hammer. This work he seemed somewhat par-
ticular about. and balanced it several times in
his hand experimentally.

“ It will do!" he finally said.

Then he went out, walked toward the eastern
cliff and stood gazing up thoughtfully. One of
the guards was just ahead of him, his form
showing darkly against the sky as he paced to
and fro. ‘

“ It shall be done,” muttered Somerville.
“ Victory or death comes to me tonight!”

He waited some time longer, and then walked
to the base of the cliff. Once there he looked
upward long and earnestly, as though to dis—
cover some particular object. Then he stepped.
back and arranged the lasso for a cast. ' ‘

The noose shot upward.

Somerville had had two ears experience in
Texas, and was unusually s illful with a lasso,
but he had not ex ted the success which at-
tended his effort.
fast at the first trial. _

“Is it an omen of good luck?” he muttered.
“Nonsense! I am growing childish. Let me
leave omens to those who are in their deface.”

He grasped the lame and began to ascend
steadily, bracing his feet somewhat against the '
cliff. His muscular arms Were now tested, but
not found wanting. He reached the place where

the lasso hung from a point of rock, and, gain- ,

ing partial foothold, rested a few moments.
Then he made another cast. This time his every

movement put him in danger of a' fall, making .

great caution necessary and he did not succeed ;
until the attempt had been eight times re-
peated.

When the noose caught be repeated his climb
upward.

There he found am le roomto rest—a grate—
ful chance, just then, or his arms felt the strain.

Above him was a slight fissure in the clifl’,,and . “

it was probable that he would need the lasso no
more. '
Fm- days he had been planning this effort.

4"!

he noose caught and held . 7:4

 

He had marked the fissure—almost the only one. .

be seen—and the

ints of rock. Only'a ‘ '

strong, brave man, an one skillful in the nasal "

alasso, would have bad faith to attemptthe,_' \

work, but he had done it. ,
As far as the ascent was concerned, the Worst ._

was over, too, but when the top was reached the ‘1

outlaw picket would be there. .
All this he had calculated before, and, after. a -

brief rest, he continued his course. Climbing, .

though still difficult, was not as had as before.

Using great care to prevent dislodging loose . I

pieces of rock, he went steadily up the fissure. 5 '

He reached the top. Taking a cautious surVey, ;
he saw the guard pacing his post. ~ '

Somerville prepared for the encounter. Gain-‘21

ing a <gawirab
waite . t was impossible to pass the mic
seen; the meeting must come: and he rgloifd on
surprise to offset the arms of the outlaw; 
Nearer came the latter, unsuspicious of danger.
.With a tiger-like leap Somerville sprung upon
him. The shock was resistless: the guard
dashed to the ground, and his anallant

heava u n him. One of his hands the
gutlaw’s great, and the other We» ’
ammer. '

The man must be silenced: vaxhe suOCeeded in ':
ving an alarm, all was lost. More than this, ‘

e work must be quickly done, for the other
guards .were liable at any moment to see that ‘
something was wrong. ‘ ' '

The hammer arose and fell, and the outlaw
gave a great start and then la pasfive in Sam-r .4
ervxlle‘s grasp. The deed was one but, at any ;
moment, the alarm might be sounded by other ‘
lips. Somerville hastily securedthe fallen man?
weapons and crept away.
creased to a run as soon as he dared. and wi
all possible speed left the valley behind. ‘ , .

Suddenly the crack of a rifle sounded but  I '

.3,

did not look back. He knew fromwhenee it;-
came: he knew its purport. The White
guardhad been found.

was
fell 

e position. he crouched down and! ' -v

) y.

, .

t" v

T“

This pace be In: 

m:

t
.y‘ .

 

 

 

'almost as light as day.

 

I not last forever.

,Wild WestMWalt. themMountain Veteran.

 

 

“ Now it‘s a run!" he exclaimed, aloud.
“ There will be a hot pursuit, and it will be one
man against some hundreds; but I am well-
armed, and the Northwest is before me. We
will see what I can do,”

He had reached a broad canyon, and he took
to its level bed and ran on nimbly. He saw
with some concern that the moon was coming
out from its curtain of cloud, and that its light
would fall in the canyon. but if he. did not run
upon any one, it would aid his flight.

A mile had been placed between him and Para-
dise Valley, and he was raining hope, when new
danger menaced him wit startling abruptness.
Passing a narrow point of the canyon, he saw a
deep recess at the right. In this alcove blazed a
fire, with several men around it. He was not
conscious that he had made any noise, but he
was at once seen—1'.0s<ibly the. rifle-shot had put
them on the alert.

“ Halt! Who goes there i” demanded a hoarse
vouce.

Somerville did not answer; he had only one
course before him, and that was flight. He
leaped away like a greyhound. Renewed cries
arose from the camp.

“ Shoot the scoundrel!” cried the former
speaker.

The cliffs rung with several combined reports,
and as many bullets whistled Ipast the fugitive,
but he remained unharmed. e strained every
nerve. and did creditable work, but, looking
over his shoulder, saw the men in pursuit.

“ I’m in for it,” he muttered, grimly.

Just then the full moon sailed out from behind
every vestige of cloud, and the canyon became
Two more shots were
tired, and a bullet perceptiny grazed his shoul-
der. The ursuers were in no trifling mood, and
he reali that his hold on things earthly was
not of the strongest.

They could not fire many times in that light
without hitting the tar et.

Somerville handled is own rifle nervously.
He was tempted to fire, but every foot of van-
tage ground was precious to him then. He re—
frained, and exerted himself to the utmost to in-
crease his lead. Down through the canyon he
sped, but without perceptible gain. Worse. than
a 1. his limbs, unused to such exercise since he
became a prisoner, began to weaken. He felt his
powers of endurance failing, while the outlaws
came on as rapidly as ever.

CHAPTER X.
ran cusp or AN UNSEEN HAND.

SOMEEVILLE saw his dan er, but his courage
did not fail him in this, his our of need. There
were but six of the outlaws, and if the Worst

‘ come he hoped to make matters lively for them.

He had a rifle and two revolvers, and these. in
the hands of a brave and experienced man, meant
a good deal, provided that the enemy did not also
[shoot accurately.

The can on made a sudden bend, and the fu-
'tive hai ed the change with joy. Once more
6 would be in darkness, and strategy mi ht take

the place of s d. But as he turned the ad he
saw that, at t is point, the walls of the passage
were low and sloping.

His decision was at once made; he rushed to

. ward the northern side and be an to ascend with

reckless haste. In the dim lig t he was b no
means sure of his footing, but he leaped rom
rock/to rock as though he was as sure-footed as
a mountain sheep.

Luck favored him, and he mating progress
but the pursuers suddenly appear .

“ What is he?” cried one.

“ Gone on. 0’ course ” replied another.

“Don’t believe it. he was about run down,
and I’ll wager my rifle he’s in hidin’. Burns an
Tucker, go on. The rest of you, beat up the

”

reeks!

Somerville had used intending to act secret-
ly, but a. stone su denly went rattling down the
ascent.

“ ar he is!”

' “ Shoot the critter i”

A revolver was discharged, and a bullet flat-
tened itself on the rock near the fugitive’s head.

Secrecy was no longer to be thought of, and be
renewed his efforts With headlong haste. Lea
ing from rock to rock as before, he neared. t 1e
top, but a re lar fu e was goin on in the
canyon. On y the darkness saved h m, and asit
was, there was a constant patter around him.
His life was strangely preserved, but this could

He was almost at the top when a rpendicu-
lar rock confronted him. He reach up, grasp-
ed thoed e, and made 8- desperate effort to raise
himself, at his hold was but a poor one. The

i, ' chances were not in his favor, and he could hear

the pursuers toiling up the acolivity behind him.

Suddenly something touched his neck; his gar-
ments were seine-d and ti htened at the. throat;
there was a tension which rought astoppage of
breath with it; and he was raised as though by
3 Titan hand and landed on the leVel‘ above.

“ Great snakes i” exclaimed a voice beside him,
“ I should say that. in the course 0’ natur’, I’ve
ketched a big fish l” .

Somerville gained a kneelingrpositiou, and
looked keenly at the speaker. tunic though

 

the grasp of the unseen hand had been, its pos-
sessor was a man very much like himself.

“Don’t glare at me so fierce,” added the un-
known, “ or you’ll meet the blade 0’ my skulpin’-
knife. I’m no noxious outlaw, an’ of you ain’t,
mebbe we kin hitch hosses an’ lick them other
chaps. They’ll git wal trounced cf Old Walt
lVilkins sets to!”

“ Are. you Walt Wilkins?” cried Somerville.

“ I be. but who be—"

“ Then fall to, and let us fight for Blanche."

“ Fur Blanche? Be you her friend?”

“ I am.”

“ Then you’re mine, too. Blaze away at them
critters! Her friend? Queer, ain’t it, Walt
Wilkins!”

The ranger cast himself down and thrust out
his long arm.

“ Git out, you venomous crectur’s. Scoot!
Run! Skip! Cl’ar the track, or you’re gone
Coons. I’m goin’ tor shoot! Be you goin’? It’s
the last call!”

But the outlaws continued to climb: clinging
to bowlder and ledge they rushed upward;
they Were almost at the top. Somervillo had
drop )ed down beside. his new friend.

“ hey will have it!” he said. “ Firel” _

Better targets were never offered; even the
shadows of the canyon did not hide the climb-
ing men; and at that distance it was almost im—
possible to miss. These men who fired were
adepts with the revolver, and with the utmost
coolneSs they dispatched shot after shot. In a
very brief time every one of the outlaws was on
the way down the rocks, and it was hard to tell
the living from the stricken, soheadlong was
the flight of the former.

“Easy whipped, by hickory!” exclaimed the
ran er. '

“ es, but we must get away from here in
hot haste. Others of the gang are near, and
we shall get no mercy at their hands if they
find us.”

“ Don’t want any,” returned Walt, uietly.
“I’m‘a stubborn man in in way, an’ won’t
accept a favor from a skulkin’ white outlaw.
I a‘prove o’ ycr idea 0’ makin’ tracks, how’sever,
an’ would advise leavin’ ’em a good bit 0’ dis-
tance apart.”

Both men were by this time hurrying away.

“ I don’t know where to go,” confessed Somer-
ville.

“ I do. Foller my lead, an’ I’ll escort ye ter a
safe nook whar we kin hide.”

“ But I am in haste to get away. I have es-
caped from the secret valley—Blanche told you
of it—and I propose to make good my escape
and bring help. Blanche has been taken away
by an Indian chief, who dares presume to take
her to his lodge. and I will rescue her or die.”

“Traps an’ tomahawksi the Princess ain’t in
that fix, is she?” demanded Wilkins, stopping
short.

it Yes.”

“ Rescue heri Wal, of we don’t, then I’ll git
trounced so bad that I can’t stay on my pegs.
Tell me erbout it—but, no; wait ontil we git ter
kiver.” -

The tall ran er seemed to develop new and
phenomenal estrian qualities, and Somer-
ville had some difficulty in keep beside him.
Finally, however Waltfpaused in a recess among
the;1 rocks, half a mile rom the scene of the late

g t.

“ Set down an’ rest of you can,” he said. “ I
can’t. I’m in miser’ble condition; I’m all har-
assed up an’ knocked tor pieces, I be; an’ all on
a’count 0’ what you’ve told about the Princess.
Carried away ter the led eo’a’tarnalSiouxi
In the course 0’ nature, 3 figment day ain’t fur
ofl” fur that copper-skin. ut tell me all about
it.

Somerville told the ate? with a hard
voice, compressed brows an glittering eyes.
The recital brought back that scene in Paradise
Valley, when Blanche was taken away by the

wer of the ontlaws’ rifles, and he seemed to

ive that inful hour over again. He finished
by declaring his intention to at once hasten
south and organizo a rescue party.

“Wrong. comrade, wrong," replied Walt. “ I
wouldn’t gives. brass medal fur yer party. Even
ef they’s all borderers 0‘ good stannin’, t e ’d be
useless; too many cooks sp’ile the broth, ye now.
We've got party ernough right hyar.”

“ Do you mean—”

“ You an’ me is ernough.”

“ Walt Wilkins, will you join hands with me
in this matter?" the young)man eagerly asked.

“Great snakes, yes! 0 e spose I could
rest while the Princess was n the clutches 0’
them critters? I’d die 0’ starvation fur loss 0’
sleep of I desarted her. Comrade, our duty is
cl’ar; we must j’ine hands, strike-a bee-line fur
Sioux-land proper, an’ rescue that charmin’

iece o’ femininety of we spill gallons 0’ our own

lood doin’ it!” v

Walt spoke with em basis, and Somerville
warmly his ban .

“ Mr. ilkins, words can’t express my grati-
tude, but I tell you this makes me hep yi I
am Scarcer a veteran borderer, thou E I’ve
had some years’ ex rience in the W . , but I
feel that with your elp wonders can be accom-
plished.” ,

“Ef by that you mean trouncin’ them red

 

 

varmints, you kin rest assured on that. It
comes nat’ral ter me ter massacre red-skins, an’
I once slow a. hull tribe in one day. I ough tn’t
ter brag, though; ’tain’t modest, an’ that was
only one Injun in the tribe. I hev an idea thar
is about twenty millions 0’ the Sioux, but b
stiddy work we can wind ’em up in a fortnigh .
Some may git away, but they’ll be mortally de-
perlated.’

“Thanks, friend—a thousand thanks. When
do we start i”

“ Immediate. Thar’ll be whoopin’s an’ hol-
lerin’s when them varmints find ye‘rc gone, an’
ev’ry rod we gain atom the fun begins, the bet-
ter. Come on l”

“I have only a vague idea of the course we
ought to take.”

“ The red—skin set off furhis lodge arter gittin’
her. didn’t be?”

it Yes H

“ Thcn leave the rest ter me,” Walt confident-
ly re died. “I know a bit erbout Sioux-land.
fur ’ve been over it as white an’ red, man an’
. uaw———fuct, by sixty, though you may not
b lieve it.”

“ I suppose you mean you were disguised as a
squaw.”

“You’ve hit it, fu’st try; an’ I made a be-
witchin’ squaw, too. None 0’ the bucks popped
the question ter me, but it was due ter my over-
poxverin’ charms an’ their natural timidity.”

By this time the two men were moving care-
fully northward. Their course was one of ex-
treme peril. They were compelled to pass the
gunmakers’ valley in order to reach the Sioux
trail, and though they did not intend to go very
near it, neither knew where the outlaws them—
selves were camped. and a collision was 'ble
at any moment. Besides this, Somernlle’s es-
cape had undoubtedly been discovered, and
searching parties might at any time be met.

In this emergency Wild West Walt’s powers
came to the surface decisiVeiy. Somerville,
who had seen some little experience on the hero
der, was filled with admiration as they wenton:
the guide’s caution and judgment were apparent
in everything he did, yet it was done without
the least demonstration.

If Walt was given to a good deal of unimpor-
tant talk when no danger existed, he was quiet,
brave and modest when peril hovered near.

At his request conversation was discontinued
for a time, and though Somerviile wondered
how the veteran had escaped death when he fell
into the canyon, he had to wait for an explana-

ion. a

They went on where the sconery, though
gloomy in its lack of vegetation, was grand and
awe-inspiring. The piled-up rocks lay bowlder
upon bowlder, or reared their loft heads in
cliffs which seemed aspiring to reac the dim,
frowning sky above. The adventurers, how-
ever, gave no thought to these wonders.

Always keeping in the darkest shadows of the
canyons, they went on with their thou hts
directed in one direction only; their sole ob ect
being to avoid the outlaws.

This they were not destined to do entirely.
They were in the most perilous part of their
'ourney when Walt sud enly paused,
gomerville’s arm and drew him back c oser to
the cliff. At the same moment several men he-
came visible a few feet ahead, but steadily ad-
vancing toward the borderers.

CHAPTER XI.
DANGEROUS COHPANIONS. ’

 

CONVERSATION was oing on amon the
strangers, and their we were plainlyfixeu-d
by the men in the recess.

“1 ity ou, Gregerson, if the fellow is not

race. u ,” said one.

“ by should out” was the irritable reply.

“Killough wil rage like a tiger when he
hears that one of the gunmakers has escaped.”

“ Killough is not the League.”

“He comes blessed near it; I know of no
other person who stands so well with the
Grand Chief.”

“Well, the guard is to blame, if any one. I
can’t patrol the cliff; it’s not my business.” ’

“ I‘ll wager something that Killough‘puts the
blame on your shoulders, just the same.

The party had not paused, and their voices
now became indistinct as they receded. They
had not suspected that the man they sou ht
was so near at hand but he had good evidegce
that they were after him. They were, however,
moving in entirely the wrong direction, and
Somerville at once saw the possibility that he
would esca attention when once out of
World’s En .

It might not occur to the outlaws that he
would go toward Sitting Bull’s district.

“One 0’ them chaps I know,” said Walt.
“See’d him among the hills one day when he

was talkin’ with that same Killou h he men- ,
tions; his name is Starbuck. But w o is ‘Gmr

erspp,’ an’ what d’ye know 0’ Killough, any-
0W

“Gregerson has charge of Paradise Valley.
Killough is one of the leaders of the conspiracy,
and a dan erous man. He has much power,
and uses i remorselessly. ,It was due tohim
that Blanche was taken away by the Indian
chief, Sweeping Eagle.”

/

 

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e
“ Mark one down fur Mister Killough. Ef hs
was the mean creetur’ that took the Princes
away, he an’ I may hev a fallin’ out some day'
A man who’d d’iiver a white gal over tor them
red heathen ou liter be trounced like sixty, an’
1 should enjoy oin’ it. Ef I meet Killough, we
may hev an int’restin’ dispute.”

“ I only ask one chance at him,” said Somer-
ville, in a deep voice.

“Somebody orter take a ‘ chance” at all the
leaders 0’ the gang, afore they let themselves
loose. But we ain’t got the time now. an’ the
fewer 0’ the gang we see, the better we’ll like the
view.”

Contra to their expectation the remainder
of their Journey through World’s End Basin
was uneventful. They saw no one by the way,
and quiet reigned all around. It seemed almost
impossible that a determined search was being
made for Somerville, but they were satisfied to
have it so.

Somerville left the precautions of the trip al-
most wholly to \Valt and was in deep thou ht
much of the time. 7
danger, the odds they must meet and the pros-
pects of rescue; of the gunmakers in the valley
and their manifold perils; of Claudia Benning-
ton, ber object in visiting Sioux-land and the
small hope that she would succeed; and then,
after all, his thoughts returned persistently to
Blanche.

She was always foremost in his mind.

The north western limit of the Basin was finally
reached, and the settlement of an important
question drew near. They had no horses, but it
was obvious that they could not go to the Sioux
village on foot.
however, that the outlaws’ horses were near the
trail; the character of the vicinity showed this
—as in that direction the best grazing was to be
found—and remarks overheard in the past by
Somerville indicated as much.

Once clear of the valley Walt’s vigilance
seemed to increase; he now not only wished to
avoid the enemy but horses must be had.

“I‘d give ha] 0’ my inheritance ter find my
boss. Pansy,” observed Walt. “ I reckon she s
pinin’ in captivity som’ers, an’ it must be tough
on the al. She ain’t no common boss, Loin un-
derstan , but one 0’ real genius an’ ylike
qualities. In the course 0’ natur’, she an’ me
will both be demoralized ontil we it tergether
ag’in, but ef I go within a mile 0’ er, she’ll be
sure ter smell me. That boss has got a powerful
smaller!”

“ So I’ve heard; but you have not et told me
how you escaped the night of the ht. You
were reported to be crushed to deat by a fall
down the can on.”

“ I was. oung man, it’s only my ghost ye
see a-trottin’ along aside e.”

“ gather a substantial- ooking ghost, I should

 

say.

“ Mebbe so, in out’ard appearance, but thar is
only a shadder left on me; tain’t substantial, b
a good bit. But as fur my adventur’, it wa’n
anything pertic’ly excitin’. I top led off the
level inter the kenyon, an’ I admit t at the trip
down wa’n’t agree‘ble; tra velin’ through the air
never is, when ye know the ’airth is bound ter
rise up an’ bump ye, sooner or later. In this
case I fell erbout nine hundred feet, an’ hit in
the to o’ a pine tree. That was the last I
know fur some hours.”

“ The collision stunned you.”

“ ’Twasn’t so much the collusion as the .ree-
top,” Walt practically replied; “ but the tree
saved my life, nevertheless. Only fur that, I’d
been buzzard-food for sure. When I come ter
in senses I was in a bad way, an’ I’d made my
Will ter onc’t, only fur two thin : I hadn’t no
pen nur per, an’ nothin’ tor wi l away but my
rifle an’ oss, an’ I ain’t sure my heir could ’a’
found the boss. ,I ain’t did so yit. Ter make a
long story short, I drinked water freely as medi-
cine—thar was aistream, an’ plenty o’ vegetarion
in the kenyon— an’ finally rekivered my health
an’ come this way, as on see.”

“ You did not see B ack Hills Ben, or Wind-
foot. the Pawnee?” .

‘5 No.”

“ They were not captured. Whether they still
live is not known tothe captives.” '

“You kin depent on’t that Ben Todd is alive;
he ain’t one o’ the kind that kills easy. Mebbe
I kin say the same 0‘ the Pawnee, but the critter
ain’t sure. He won’t cbaw terbacker, an’ aman
who don’t, is nat’rally del’kit.”

Walt suddenly paused and looked steadfastly
toward the right. Somerville imitated him, but
could neither see nor hear anything. The dark-
ness at this oint was not as intense as in the
Basin, for, ing on elevated land, there was
less shadow, but the mountain was still wild and
broken.

What is it?” the gunmaker asked.

“ Nothin’ o’ importance, but of you don’t ob-

' t, you may stay hyar while I go tor walk.

’m sorter romantic, an’ like night romemaids,
though thar ain’t a blessed maid yar. Wait
fur me hyar.”

So saying, the ranger stooped lower and glided
away, fling Somerville no chance to reply.
The la id not like the arrangement, but
éielded and remained quiet. Yet he was posi-

vo that Walt had seen or heard something un-

e thought of Blanche, er .

It was clear to their minds, ‘

Wild West Waltthe Mountain-

. usual. What was it? Somerville had no means
1 of knowing, but he drew back the hammer of his
l rifle and waited with every sense on the alert.
5 Five—ten—fifteen minutes passed, and then

the profound silence was suddenly broken. He
, heard a sound, regularly repeated, and it drew
i nearer.

“ orses!” he muttered, and looked eagerly
toward the point where they must appear.

They did appear, and he saw that they Were
’ two in number, with Wild West Walt upon the
1 back of one.

“ Hyar we be,” said the veteran quietly.
“ Reckoned I could raise a hoof ef I tried fur it.
j Jump up, comrade! You’ll find right good
1 boss-flesh under ye, though nothin’ like what
l Pansy was. The loss 0’ that hoss made me me]-
‘ ancholy, by sixty! Ef I ever find any miser’ble
I thief straddle on her, I’ll trounce his hide off, ef
I he’s as big as a boss hisself. I’m like an orphin
whose parients are dead ’thout Pansy, an’ in
the course 0’ natur’ she. feels as bad as I do.”

While he was speaking Somerville had mount-
ed and they were pursuing their former course.
A proper degree of caution was observed. Walt
had secured the horses from the outlaw corral

that the enemy were on the alert, it was well to
take due precautions.

All went well, however; no outlaws ap red
to oppose their progress; the silence of ature
seemed unbroken exce t by their own move-
ments; and they steadi y left World’s End be-
hind them and drew nearer the Sioux Village.
After awhile, too, they were able to increase
their pace to a degree more in keeping with
Somei'ville’s impatience.

The calm and easy composure of his companion
was an excellent check to this impatience.
Walt was never otherwise than calm, and he
talked as lightly in time of danger as when all
was peaceful—except when serious talk was
necessary. Then he became the resolute borderer
in a moment.

Somerville knew him well by reputation, con-
fided in him accordingly. and was satisfied to
let him take the lead in all things.

Daybreak found them still on their way, and
VValt’s claim that he knew the route well was
confirmed by the discovery of a trail which, he
ventured to say, was that of the party with
whom Blanche had gone as a prisoner.

A brief halt was made b a stream where
there was abundant grazing or the horses; the
men made their breakfast of food carried by
Walt; and then they again pressed on toward
Sioux-land. '

Neither underestimated the danger they were
daring. Once near the Indian village they would
be like a grain of sand on the seashore; and the
least slip of theirs would robabl send them to
the stake. Their strengt woul avail nothing
against the multitude of red-men; they must
depend upon Walt‘s craft to evade the Sioux,
and rescue Blanche.

After that, what?

Retreat would then be in order, but it would
be a flight with hundreds of Indians in pursuit.
Look at it as they mi ht, theirs wasa desperate

venture. If they had 11 blind enou to doubt
i the truth would have been broug home to
em before the day ended.

It was nearly noon and they were riding
through a ravine. They reached a point where a
secon lch oined the first at right angles;
and as t ey di so, out from the second way rode
twenty men. They were not Indians; they had
skins as white as the two adventurers; but in
every line of their rou h, scarred, lawless-look-
ing faces was reveal the white man whose
moral nature is worse than that of an Indian.

Both Walt and Somerville promptly marked
them down as members of the out aw League
but the ranger, at least, gave no sign of men
disturbance. The sandy bottom of the gulch
had deadened all sound of their approach, defy:
ing even his acute hearing, but his Wits Were as
rfiady as ever now that he had a chance to use
12 em.

He knew they had met just the men they
wished to avoid; that it was utterly hopeless to
fight against such odds; that the on] result of
flight would be to be riddled by bul ets before
they had gone thirt yards: and his unfailing
perspicacity show im the only available
course of action.

He nodded coolly to the foremost outlaw.

“ Mornin’, pardner!” he said, quietly.

“ Good-morning. Where do you ride?"

“ Jest at present, only arter game.”

“Are ou from the valley?”

“Not ately.”

“You say you are not on important busi-
nessl”

“ That was the drift 0’ my rec-mark.”

Walt was outwardly very frank, for the man-
ner of the questioner told that he was not sus—

icious. He believed that he had met more of

is own followsrs. Clearly, it was to the ran-
ger’s interest to encourage this belief, and not
anger the man, or arouse any doubts.

“ I am glad of that,” was the reply, “for I
want you. I am on an expedition and want
more men; and I have orders to attach to my
party the first half-dozen I meet. You and your
partner are lusty-looking fellows-dust the men

 

 

. “3‘ A
.’. ,vifwuhu

Veteran.

-11.

 

 

not far away, and though there was no evidence ,

 

 

 

I want. My name is Jake Jaflrin, and I am a
ser eant: you’ve heard of me.”

ow all this was far from being good tidings
to Walt and Somerville, but the veteran an~
swered promptly, his voice being as even and
contented as ssible.

“Sartain ’ve heerd 0’ ion, an’ we’re at yer
sarvice. Say the word. ny fun ahead? Ef
thar’s goin’ ter be a dispute. you kin rely on me
ter trounce a few 0’ the inemy.”

“ You shall know the nature of our errand
later. For the present we will camp at the
spring yonder, and devour the game we took in
lately. Tumble ofi? your horses, lads, and get
to work I”

J affrin’s order was obeyed, and no one showed
more readiness than the new recruits, but
Somerville managed to get near Walt, and
speak to him in a subdued voice.

“ I comprehend your motives and approve
your decision,” he said, “ but are we not getting
into a close corner?” v

“ Slightly, lad, slightly: but we’ll pull through;
I always pull through.”

“ It would be strange if some of these men

did not recognize me as one of the prisoners of .

Paradise Valley.”
“ That woul be bad, but thar’s no help fur it;

I we must face the music, at the band don’t play

in tune. Take yer cue from me, an’ ef the
chance occurs, be ready ter cut an’ run like
chain—hghtnin’ on a rampa e.”

By this time they had cared for their horses,
and as a bluff. hearty manner was impera-
tively necessary, they joined the outlaws and
took care not to be backward. For the time
being they were in the power of these men.
They could not fight ten times their own num-
ber successfully, and, while deeply regretting
the check to their efforts to rescue Blanche, it
was clear that they must follow the fortunes of
the band until opportunity occurred to escape.

New cause for anxiety at once arose, how—
ever. One of the men was talking earnestly
with Jaflrin, aside, and both looked at Walt and
Somerville as they spoke.

The fictitious outlaws were clearly the objgcts
of conversation, and the idea occurred to th
that Somerville had been recognized. Their
situation seemed growing more precarious.

CHAPTER XII.
BLANCHE.
IT was with feelings of undescribable des-
ndency that Blanche Beauvais left Paradise
alley in company with her wild captors. She

 

had home up while Within si ht of her friends, X

knowing that a word from er would recipi-
tate a fight which could only end in the estruo—
tion of her defenders, but, once clear of the val-
le , she tried no longer ~ to wear a brave face.
HZr head drooped, and she rode like one going
to her own execution.

She was going to worse. Death she could
have faced as those who have a clear conscience
may, but to go to the Sioux village; to become
the
friends, civilization, ope; an
forever among the red Indians—

casther

“ Better death than that—far better death!” »

was the thou ht always in her mind.
Judson illough rode with them beyond
World’s End, talking with the chief, but, one

out of the Basin, farewells were said; the out— \

laws went their way; the journey was resumed;
and Blanche went on with no company but that
of the Indians.

She was riding beside Sweeping Eagle at tho .

front, and he turned a keen pair of eyes upon
b

er.
“ Velvet Eyes, you are sad,” he said, in his re- .

markably correct English.

“ Why should I be otherwise?”

“ You forget who rides beside you. Ask the
red man, or the white man, who Swee in:
Eagle is, and he will tell you that the Sloux
nation boasts not a braver warrior.”

“ War is to me a thing of horror.” ,

“ Then war shall never come near the white
girl. She shall see only what is fair, and good,
and to her taste. The bravest of warriors are

never harsh, and the heart of Sweeping Eagle is .

tender as a woman’s.”

“Prove it, then, by allowing me to go. Do
this and I will bless you forever. Would the
Indian be happy in the cities of the white men?

Take your cue from thati and tell me if you "

think a white girl can en
peoglre, so strange to her.” .

“ elvet Eyes, you are cunnin , but you
would not be a woman were it di erent. All
women are cunning, but their devices are not
strong. The snow of winter may w deep
and solid, but the sun of spring wi melt it
away. So of the plots of your sex. You talk
well, but Lo: only make your value more plain
to the Ind .”

Blanche sighed and was silent. There was
not an atom of pity in the face turned toward
her; not a wavering of the bold, black. shaky
eyes bent upon her.
mcn%nd rode in dewnclaétgsilvence. ed 8

“ on you go to my e, pursu weep-
ing Eagle, after a pause. “ you shall be second
to no woman of the great Sioux nation. All
shall yield you respect; you shall nOVer soil

are life among your

* t" -,

  

squaw of Swee ing Eagleéo to give a ’

She saw the folly of argu-

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12

-‘ your hands with labor; rich attire and money
shall be yours: slaves, red or white, shall do
your bidding; and the kindness of your chief
shall teach your eyes to grow bri ht when the
enemies of Sweeping Eagle trem lo and row
pale at sound of his name and deeds of batt e.”

“ All this is nothing to me,” wearily replied
the 'rl.

“ on are hard to please!”

It was a curt, vicious retort, and the black
eyes glittered and grew more serpent-like.

“ I ask but one thing-liberty.”

" You ask in vain.”

“ You are proving your ‘ tenderness ’ of heart,”

,. Blanche bitterly said.

“ Take care that I do not prove its relentless—

1165:.”

“ I expect that you will.”

Some savage retort trembled on the chief’s

- ’ Ii , but he repressed it and rode on in silence.

- ‘ is expression had changed, however, and his

"- ’ face borela sullen look not calculated to increase

 , Bianche’s feeling of security.. Good time was

$3. . i made along the trail while day lasted, but short-

';'.. ’ ly after dark, they encamped in a ravine and

“ , . proceeded to make themselves at ease.

 A recess in a perpendicular wail of rock was

, given to Blanche for her occupancy, and she was

somewhat roughly ordered not to go beyond it.

Sweeping Eagle was still in his surly mood,
and did not come near her during the evening.
After a time he sent a subordinate with two
blankets, and then she was again left alone.

The Indians lay down, one after another, until
all were recumbe t with the exception of the

ards. A fire hich had been left burning

ghted up the scene and made a. striking picture
for the prisoner’s eyes. The prostrate figures
were so wild and barbarous that they seemed to
her not unlike creatures from another world, and

' 'flendish in the extreme. She shivercd as she

. looked, and then covered her face with her hands

. and did not venture to look again.

The ni ht which followed seemed interminany
Ion , an among all her meditations she could
fluff no ray of hope. Her friends in the valley
were helpless; Swee in Eagle was merciless:
and the lon miles wgic stretched between her
and the sett ements seemed to-do away with the
last chance.

Another day dawned at last; the Sioux were
early astir; and SweepingIEagle came to her
with a manner as of ol . is anger had vanish-
* cd, or he had determined to make another effort
to ma her b tact.

if it was t e latter, he received little encour-
agement’.

H Another weary journey was begun, and no

'Ihalt made until the sun reached the zenith.

Then the party encamped in adepression which,

r . surrounded as it was with rocks, trees, bushes

 a rank vegetation, was beautiful enough for

' ic fancy. Here they had dinner, but, instead

 of moving onwhen it was finished, the chief led
his prisoner a few rods awayto the crest of the

Wild

 

 

ridge.
, . ‘ Look!” he said, proudly. “ There is the land
' , of the Sioux!”
. ‘ , Blanche obeyed, and saw a wide extent of fer-
‘ . tile, beautiful (Prairie country, but with her it
fwas onlya col , casual glance. Her gaze wan-
" back to the chief.
A “ On that wide tract of land there is game in
. abundance,” added the Indian, “ and it belongs
‘ to the Sioux alone.”
- “ Let them keep it: I want no share in it.”
. ' The girl ' ke recklessly, curtly, and Sweep-
» i‘ng Eagle’s lack eyes flashed.
' “Be careful, girl!" he exclaimed, sibilantly.
’t an 1- me t endurance.”
~ . “ y s ould conSider your feelings when
v ~I. you care nothing for mine?”
 ' “ Prudence requires it.”
 , '4 “Prudence!”
 " ,“Yes. 1 amalamb when well used; adevil,
 "when my evil nature is s .7’
‘- ' “.‘Mr. Sweeping Eagle, I have made a dis—
leowry.”
He started a little; then slowly asked
_, “ What is it?”
. . “You are no more an Indian than I am. The
'5 '  truth hasbeen dawning on me all day, and now
? your Indian stateliness of speech disappears
 when on are angry. You are a white man i”
,' ‘ ‘ Ea olded his arms and looked at her steadily.
v: ‘ 1,”. The discovery did not seem to trouble him muc ,
 «but mixed with dogged rsistence there was
. f curiosity expressed on b face. 'i‘his finally
’ touad vent in words.
3 '~ “Supped this is so, what difference will it
~ make in your feeling toward me?”
‘» ~ “ Why do you ask?” I O .
“ Knowing me tobe a White man, would you
‘1... - not see new glories ahead of you! I am rich and
" 'f ' influential. and, being a leader in the rejected
- gaining eat the settlements, shall richer
' when he cam is over. When that day
A , comes you and I can cave these barbarians, go
 to Europe—possibly to Paris—andrun a career
3 ,'..waihch Will make the crowned heads grow pale
" . envy.
;' X“ I shall never have such a career. Your
money cannot buy me, sir, while as for you—
 you suppoae t at I esteem you more, knowe
ins you to be a white renegade, than when. I
I thought youi an Indian! Then you  in my

  
  
 
    
 
 
   
 
  
    
   
   
   
    
  
  

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eyes one excuse; that of being true to your
nature.”

“We are few of us what we seem,” pursued
the chief, manifestl struggling hard to retain
his com ure, “ an the same rule will apply to
you. on think that on are Basil Beauvais’s
dau hter; you are nothing of the kind.”

“ ndoubtedly, yoii ought to know,” Blanche
sarcastically retorted.

“ I do know.”

“ I will accept our word without argument.”

“ Say plainly t at you think me a liar.”

“It would be a waste of words.”

The renegade smiled darkly.

” Wholly unbelieving. I  So be it; let me
convince you. I say that you are not Beau-
vais’s daughter. If you ever see him, ask if it
is so. Ask him if he remembers Prairie Port
and that winter storm, long years ago; ask if he
remembers the man Who came to his cabin that
night, bearing a burden in his arms, shielding it
from the cold, seeking for it a home and asylum.
Girl, that burden was you, a feeble infant; the
man, or boy, for he had not reached his major-
ity, was Ii”

“ This is a good story to tell,” replied Blanche,
but her manner was not as easy as her words;
there was an air of sincerity in the man’s words
and manner which troubled her. A

“ It is true.”

“ You were careful not to mention this in the
presence of Basil Beauvais.”

“ I did not want it known.”

“Nor denied, I dare say."

“ Doubt me if you will, but I swear that I
speak the truth. There is a mestery hanging
over your past which only can explain.
lieauvais has reared you as his Own child, but
he knows that you are not. Who you are he
does not know; the extent of his knowled e is
that you were brought to his house the nig t of
the storm, when you were an infant, by me;
but the facts of your history are locked in this
mind alone.”

He touched his forehead as he spoke.

“No doubt they are creditable to you,” said
Blanche, with unconccaled sarcasm, though a
sense of desolation and friendlessness had fall-
en u n her heart like an icy hand.

“ f to 've decent burial to murdered parents,
and then .ar their child long miles through a
driying storm, be to one’s credit, then I deserve
it.
“ \Vere you present when the murder was
committed?”

Her meaning was not to he mistaken, and
furious anger flamed in the chief’s 9 es. He
roughly caught her arm, and, losing al control
of his temper, raised the other hand as though
to strike her. ‘

A blow followed. but the renegade was the
recipient, not the giver. He fell to the ground,
and then, as Blanche looked like one dazed, she
saw another man standing in his place, one foot
on the chief’s breast.

I The new-comer was Black Hills Ben!
CHAPTER XIII.
KILLQUGH MAKES A PROPOSAL.

THERE was great, though subdued, excitement
among the captives of Paradise Valley. One of
their comrades had escaped. During the night
they had not suspected the truth, though some
of their number had heard the report of the
alarming rifle, but when they gathered in the
morning, Somerville was not there.

If they had failed to understand this, a visit
from Gregerson would have made all plain. He
came to see who the escaped gunmaker had been,
but did not tarry after getting the desired infor-
mation. \

This event excited the prisoners and gave
them a ray of hope. Somerville was young,
brave and hard ; it was possible that he might
reach the sett ements and give the alarm.
Rescue now became a possibility, though not a

robability, and they tried to look toward the

uture bravely.

They did not know how Somerville had left
the valley, but the did ap reciate his reason
for making no con dants. 0 had run a risk
where the chances were overwhelmi ly against
him, and it seemed almost a mirac e that he
had esca death. Believin that such would
be his fate, he had gone wit out a word to the
other gunmakers. ’ ,

He now stood higher than ever in their esti-
mation.

But little work was done that forenoon until,
at about eleven o’clock the outlaw overseer
dropped in upon them. Then their. movaments
quickened, thou h he [awed to be in unusually

ood—humor. 8 had on drinking freely, and
t made him a different man than the surly
pe n they had been accustomed to.

he liquor loosened his tongue, and he talked
freely of Somerville’s escape, describing how it
had been effected, and adding that the gunmaker
was still at liberty.

One piece of news which he gave was not so
agreeable. He said that Judson Killou h was
on the scene, and in a terrible temper. 0 had
poured his wrath freely upon Gregerson’s head,
when he heard of the axes , and would have

 

«i. r ' ' ' i “ t
 3* - E. ’ . ‘ \ ' .J 5. .

shot him only for Burt Star ’ ck’s interference.
This saved the valley manager’s

‘ /\~ .

\r

   

, ,
I‘M \\ V y ‘ ‘. ‘
’ _;  1 , 5..

 

life, but Kil- ‘

:i'  , .
'.-5.,."- b '  1' r -' ‘4 -:’

 

lough was “ still raving," as their informant ex-
pressed it, and all the outlaws were on nettles.

The gunmakers did not care anything for the-

outlaws’ troubles, but the ibility that Kil-
lough would vent his wrat upon his prisoners:
was quite a different matter.

As the hours rolled on these fears gradually
grew less acute. and by the middle of the after—
noon the subject was no longer mentioned
among the laborers. Danger, however, is often
near when little expected.

As a rule an outlaw visitor to the valley was
seen before he had crossed half the space, but it
mime to pass on this occasion that a man came
down the rocky stairway, crossed the level and
reached the tents unseen even by the women. He
went at once to the quarters of the Benningtons
and walked into the tent without the shadow of
formality or warning.

Claudia was there, and alone. She was par-
tiall reclining upon her couch, but sprung to
her eat as she saw the intruder. He removed
his bat and bowed low, but she stood looking at
him with startled eyes, while her face had an
unusual pallor. ‘

The intruder was Killough, and she, remem—
bering his bold, lawlesslv-admiring glances on a
former occasion, was filled with a greater fear
than had ever before assailed her. She argued
the worst from this visit.

“ So you are here, Miss Bcnnington.” the lieu—
tenant said, with a blandness which did not allay
her fears.

“Yes, sir.”

“I am glad to see you looking so well—also,.
glad to see that you are alone."

“ I—I will call my father, s1r.”

She took a ste toward the door, but he laughs-
ed and stopped or with a motion.

“ Don‘t! I have no desire to see your super-
anuated parent; greater attractions have drawn
me here. I want to talk with you, my dear
young lady. Pray sit down again 1"

Claudia obeyed, but her face did not regain
its usual color so readily. Killough was in an
amiable mood, but she feared him all t e more
on that am ount. She believed that in is case
his anger was safer than his friendship. N atur-
ally stern and imperious, smiles did not rest well
on his dark face; his blandness was not at home
in its present quarters, so to speak, and his cf.
fort to be leasant was almost painful.

“How (F0 you like your new home?” be con--
tinued.

“ I cannot say that I like it, sir,” she faintly"
answered.

“ You are from the East?”

“ Yes, sir.”

“ May I ask what brought you to this wild
re '01)?”

laudia hesitated. She was for a moment
tempted to confide in him, and ask his he] to.
find Dunstan Hughes. but one glance at the {ace
before her settled that inclination; she dared
not owe anything to Judson Killough.

“I wanted to see the country,” she replied,
feeling that the explanation was very weak.

“ Bravo! I admire your spirit. There are
few women who would dare to come here,
though.” v n\

Claudia did not answer, and, after a pause, 'he
went on, his eyes all the while dwelling u on
her face with bold, undisguised admiration.

“You are one well fitted for the life, when
once the taint of Eastern associations is worn
off. With your queenly beauty, and majestic
form, you are well quahfled to be a leader
among the hardy, chivalrous, free men of the
West. By Jove, you are a veritable empress in
your ri hti” ‘

Clau ia shivered.

“ I seek no such distinction,” she replied.

‘fi Honors come to the deserving, unsought.
Miss Claudia. I am a plain, blunt man, and you
must not think nie too _ahrupt if I speak my
mind freely on this subJect. You see in me,
Judson Kil ough. a man of war today. I ac-
knowledge the authority of at one livmg 1'»
son—the Grand Chief of our League-41nd)e he
gives me unbounded liberty of action. Thou-
sands of men acknowledge my authorit to-day.
Whether my command is ‘ Come!’ or ‘ ol’ they
obey without a murmur.
over these varied thousands!

The speaker drew up his figure his e co . .1

lowed, and he was not without an imp ve

ignity, but throu h it all ran an ominous some-
thin . as dark as h s own awarthy face.

’ “ non,” he continued, “1 shall be more
powerful, and all the country west of the Mis-
sissippi will bow down to me; honors and riches
will crowd upon me in boundless profusion; the
civilized world will ring with in name; and
kings will admit me their equal. as Benning-
ton, until of late I had expected to enjoy these
honors alone, but now that I have seen you, I
ask you to share'them. Will you be my wife?
May I rely upon you to be the guiding star of
my ambition, the counselor of my actions, the
empress of my reign, and the queen of my

heart?” 7
Killough had grown 9] ant. Hisi usual
cold, calculatihg moderation d given place to

enthusiasm, and his eyes were like two baleful ‘

flaunts gleaming upon the girl. He was terrl
earnest.

, I ‘ r

x ‘ I [H 2, (1..
J» .,|, V .3» .351,» .--, .

. A,» .
l r f ,‘_  

Mfiy away is absolute

 

 

. -c< I ~.-...‘.. ..

'4‘“

 

 . Wild West 173 

 

 

11g. Not a word spoke the Pawnee, but down on on the barrel of his rifle. Nothin would have» "
‘ He is a—a valued friend,” she hesitatingly his knees he drop . and his nimble fingers pleased him more than to go bee and plunge 
answered. . operated the cor s, which he had produced eadlong into the fight. ’ "  ,t
; ‘Killough smiled grimly. , from some part of his attire, so deftly that Other shots followed; a perfect fusilade had ,‘ 1,
" 4 He shall  saved—on one condition.” the chief was in a short time rendered helpless. opened, and the rocks rung nith the irregular,» 3? I 
1,, And that!” When a gag had been added, the Work was done. fire. Blanche’a face was anxious, but  . ,
‘ “ Is that you become my wife!” Then Ben turned to Blanche. \ ’ Pawnee reminded her that the shooting m
1. “Thutcnn DPVel‘ be.” “Follow Windfoot like a shadow. I will preof that the scout still lived. The scene 'of‘;
_‘ _ ' “ You can‘t feel'very deeply for the condemned bring up the rear. Beware of touching a loose conflict seemed to keep at just bout such a dia-
17 ' man in the East, if you Will make no sacrifice stone.” tance from them. and it was c ear that thk‘
t for him.” The girl obe ed these terse directions without Hills .Ben was covering their retreat by making
, j. “ It is because I do feel deeply for him that I a wor , and hey glided away. The danger a running fight. " » 
g .” was by no means over. The Sioux were within Their way had been a hard one, but there we. ‘,‘
 “ In other words, that condemned man is your a few yards, and, at the best, discovery could every indication that they were nearing the tq)
 lover-1”. . not long be delayed. When once sweeping of the ascent when the scout came gall g;
g “ He is,” said Claudia. desperate] . Eagle was at liberty he would be full of rage, after them, reloading his revolvers as he .. j \ ~ g,
,' ‘“ Marry me, and I will see t Dunstan an a hot pursuit would follow. In one sense of He made a gesture to hasten their movement, q<$ "
Hu hes goes East and saves the man.” the word rescue meant but little, for the Indians but, otherwise, seemed as unconcerned u ,
“ ou ask too much, and on would take ad- . and their allies could send a force on the trail ever. ,_
vantage of my helpless eon tion. This is not which would almost render the mountain black “ Thank Heaven, he still lives!” said Blanche; ,‘ ’p
as brave, manly and chivalrous as you should with men. 1 “No Sioux ever kill him.” Windfoot  .'
a” _ ' . ' VYhen a few rods’ had been passed over, the turned. “Some say, mebbe, Sioux kill me, but' 
I I {spit nothing that I promise to save your scout came to Blanche’s side and took her by the I dlen ,be old and carry two hundred Sioux.
ove ' arm. 80*! DS- - , .
p “ Is it nothing‘that you make the condi on “ Are you good at running?” he asked. While he was making this modest assertimk. a ‘
‘ that I must,give im up, and marry you, to have “Yes, ’ was the prompt reply. the horses were scrambling up an accliVitrfi' ,’ ‘
him saved? “Prove it now. We will not overoexert our- where such ascent seemed almost im N i -

 

Claudia was pale, trembling and frightened,
.and to his last words she gasped a husky reply:

“ No, no!”

“ What am I to understand b that?”

“ That I cannot accept your 0 er. I—I thank
you. but it cannot be.”

“ You decline to marry me i”

“ I must. We are—are not suited to each
other.”

Killough smiled. He felt that a rejection was
“a trifle light as air ” when she was so over-
whelmingly in his pchr. He intended to pos-
sess her, whether or no. A crafty expression
appeared on his face, and he replied:

“ If you hold such views you should not be in
the “fest, my dear young lady. One of your
queenly beauty cannot live and move among
our mountain incn without bringing them all to
your feet. Go back to the States! thy were
you mad enough to come here?" i

“ I came on a mission.”

She made the confession almost mechanically,
but he had turned her thoughtstothc ruling pas-
.sion of her life. For a time she. forgot her own
situation, and his proposal, and thought only of
that man—her chescn husband—who was wait-
ing in the East under sentence of death—waiting

“A human life depends upon it. There is a
man in the East who is unjustly condemned to
die for murder. Dunstan Hughes, alone, can
save him... That is why I have come all these
W ry Wiles, and dared all these perils.”

laudia had never before seemed so beautiful
inKillough’s e es. Her face was flushed; her
eyes sparkled; er whole manner was eager; and
he saW that, queenly as she was, she was any-
thin but a woman of ice.

" ou must be very much in earnest to dare

you become my bride unconditionally in which
case that Eastern man hangs. But can save
him, for I solemnly swear that Hu hes is one of
my men, and if I order him to go ast and teso
tify, he will go withouta murmur. With all
this power in in hands; with boundless authori-
ty over you, ughes, 'and thousands of other
subjects; with the privilege of a king and con—
queror, I nevertheless how my head meekly to
you, and offer a reward for your willing ac-
ceptance of my offer of marriage. Become my
wife, and your lover shall be saved!”

There was a good deal of energy, and some~
thing of pleading, in his words, but Claudia
shrunk back with startled eyes. Once more her
mind was all on herself, and Judson Killough
seemed to her not unlike u. rattlesnake.

“ I—I can’t do this,” she faltered.

The outlaw frowned, and curt] y asked:

“ Why not!”

“ The proposal is not agreeable."

“ In plaincr Words, I am not agreeable to you,
oh?"

“ Forgive me, but that is it!“

Killough smiled, but there was nothing leas-
ant or natural about it. He slowly repliix :

“You may be frank, or only coquetting. In

 

ence. He saw this plainly, though he did not
know who his assailant was.

Blanche suddenly uttered afaint e as an
Indian glided to the spot, but grew ea in in an-
other instant. The new-comer was not a Sioux,
but Windfoot, the Pawnee.

Black Hills Ben’s face cleared.

“Just in time,” he observed. “ Tie up this
fellow, Windfoot, while I hold my revolver at
his head. and be sure that you tie the knots to
stay. Mr. Sioux, if you give one yell I shall be

'Waltpthe Mountain Veteran.

 

His manner was so quiet and matter-of-fact
that Blanche looked into his face in admiration.
From the first he had been as cool as though no
danger was at hand, yet manifestly on the
alert.

“I have no words in which to properly thank
you, Mr. 'I‘odd——-"

“ Don’t try, at present. It’s a simple matter,
and I’ve been trying to rescue you ever since
that night light.” .

“ How did you escape then?” ‘

“ Rode through them. My part was easy
enouvh. but Windfoot had a close call. He was
knoc ed senseless and left on the field for dead.
mixed with the slain Sioux, but recovered and
crawled away. Can you tell me of Walt
Wilkins f"

Blanche briefly described how the veteran had
been seen to fall into the canyon. .

“I wish I had known that, and I would not
have 1ch the place until I knew his fate. I’m
afraid the fall was fatal, though the old ranger
has the reputation of having a charmed life. He
may have cscqud—”

He paused. stopped by a yell which was home
to them on the still air.

“ The reprieve is over,” he added, “ the bound

fight his old enemies. ‘ ‘ .' ‘

“ Have we any hope?” asked Blanche, anxious -
to hear some friendly voice.

“ Heap of it,” was the terse re ly.

“ But the Sioux vastly outnuni r us.” i

“ Mehbe they not outnumber us, bime-by.”

“ A fight ought to be avoided, if possible.”

“ Windfoot ike fight, heap.”

“ I don’t ”

“ Pawnee fight ’nuff for two, den.” i

(I  17)

 

 

for her to save him. either cum I have no time to coax you; I am a chief has l‘wn discovered, and vse shall now v'-
Killough‘s eyes glistened. man of business, and seldom indulge in idle have the whole gang whmping after us.” a 
. “ What was that mission 1” he blandly asked. talk. I have deviated from my rule, to-day, BlancLe did not answer, but there was no j',’
3 “ To find a certain man.” because I reall wished you to marry me will- trembling of her arm in the scout’s grasp. Her I;
l “ What is his name .3” ingly, but now have no more empty words to border experience. was a good friend then, and, f,
“ Dunstan Hughes.” say. I’ll put my sole proposal bluntly: Will you coupled witi: her natural bravery. made her far ‘.-
i “ It is strange to me, but, of course, he may marr me without rebellious murmnring, and more composed than was to be expected.  .
: have abandoned it for another, new that he isin there )y save your lover’s life? or must I take an Black Hills Ben looked at her admiringly. , i
E the West. It is a fashion many men have. unwilling brich If it must be the latter, then “'indfoot turned a scornful face toward , r, i
gi‘ Why, he may 0V9“ be one Of 111 hand!” your lover hangs; Dunstan Hughes shall not be them. 
, It was a craft insinuation. illough was in- allowed to save him. I swear it. Now, what is “ The Sioux wolves howl bravely when in , .i ;
"‘ terested; he wis ed to learn all about this singu- your answer? It all rests with you!” cks,” he observed, “ but they are cowards at;  ,
lar matter. It puzzled him to know what could cart!” , - ',
. have taken the girl to that remote place. His CHAPTER XIV. iaving thus given an opinion, he went on I
; ' wily words bore fruit and Claudia, thinking 'rnn scour AND THE sionx. co entedly, not feeling obliged to explain that v
only of doomed Edgar Wheaten, quickly asked: Tan sudden appearance of Ben Todd amazed his assertion was more figurative than exact. _ i
“Will you help me?" Blanche. She had not had a thought of him, Perhaps he believed it, though. A few yards 9 i
' “How can I? Ican‘t bring all the band here.” and he came mysteriously. One moment beyond they came upon the horses. One had A v 
l “ I have a picture of Hughes." Sweeping Eagle stood before her, angry and been stolen from the Sioux’ own camp for 1/ "'
‘ “ Ha! now we reach a business basis. Let me menacing; the next, the scout was standing in Blanche. The girl and her rescuers quickly w ,
see the picture, if you will. and if I recognize it, his place, his foot upon the renegade’s breast. It mounted and dashed away as fast as the nature 7
’l e I Will frankly say so. As I before remarked, the was a remarkable transformation scene. of the ground'would allow, but the oils of the -.‘,
man may be one of my followers, known to me Black Hills Ben cast a glance toward the enemy were now floating after {hem in a-
by an alias.” Sioux camp—the red warriors were rendered in— chorus. ,-
: The ruling passion was still strong, and Clau— visible by intervening bushes, but, really, were Ben cast a glance back, and then briefly ad- v
3’ dia produced the picture and gave it to him. so near that an outcry would bring them to the dressed the Pawnee: V r
l She watched his face closely, and saw a look of spot in a body. “ Go on as we planned; I’ll bring up the- l
intelligence at once flash over it—a token of re- The scout presented his revolver to Sweeping rear.” \ v J
i cognition which, she felt sure, was too strong to Eagle’s head. “ gh!” returned Windfoot, and the separa- ,
' be {eiglled- _ “ Be silent!” he commanded. “ Do not try to tion was made. , ,4 i
“ Do you know him ?” she cried. sound an alarm; your life depends upon your Blanche looked anxiously after the Scout, but. “
_‘ “ I do.” silence," did not venture to oppose his plan. She believed, - .
“And—and—he is—” The chief looked u with a ferocious glare in that he knew his business better than she, and -. » 9
Excitement prevented coherent utterance, but his black 0 es. The low which had felled him let it go at that. Her sole companion was now » 
*f the outlaw calmly replied: had been a most stunning, and his head was still the taciturn Pawnee, and she looked at  "
a “ He is one of my men!” far from clear, but he recognized the ring in the closer than ever before. His face was not a bad '  '94
' “Under what name do you know him?” she scout’s voice which told of stern determination. one, and his expression unusually intelli ft! “i ”
demanded, her face flushed with excitement. He dared not send out the cry which should one of his race. He was nearly as wi acme ' '
“ Waite. trifle. Are you very anxious to find alarm his followers. This man whose foot was Sioux, however, and his glittering eyes showed ’
him?’ on his breast was not one to brook disobedi- that his choice would have been to turn and

so much for this condemned man,” the outlaw obliged to put a bullet through your head.” Blanche uttered the monosyllable with "a start. *
replied. Sweeping Eagle did not answcr. He was The crack of a rifle had sounded behind them. , ,
w “lam” too proud to ask for mercy, or to make a “Black Hills Ben, be fire,” said Windfoot‘“ 5
i “What is that man to you?” promise, but though he looked up boldly in- “ One Sioux dead.” 4 ' K. .g

 

 

The practical. slowly-spoken question gave
her ii. shock. The eagerness faded from her
face, and she remembered to whom she was talk-

“ Reflect.” urged Killough. “ Remember who
vou are, who I am. and our respective positions.
You are Weak; I am powerful. You are a cap-
tive; I am a master. I have only to WI“ it, and

 

to his conqueror’s face, he dared not sound an
alarm.
It would be his own death-signal.

selvc s, but the sooner we gain our horses which
are not far away, the more ho we shall have.
I’d like a slight start of those f ows, as theodds
are against us.”

 

The speaker looked back with dilating nostrils. *
He seemed like a war-horse scouting the  ' ‘.
smoke, and his dusky fingers worked nervously j.

Wmdfoot spru off and his animal passed the '
crest; Blanche , allowed; and Ben. Sta " 33¢

more rapid speed, came u almost at a ' '
but in it way anything b t safe. ‘  '

l

 

r.

 

 

Veteran.

 

1,;4

.Wild West Walt, the Mountain

 

‘ I As he did so, discordant yells arose from the
‘ rear.
The Sioux had again sighted them.
Todd leaped from his horse.
“ I‘ll stop here again,” he said, quietly. “ Go
on VVindfoot, and don’t forget my directions.”
lanche looked back mid, brave as she was,
her face grew pale. The Sioux Were dashing
'forward in a body, their horses going at full
speed, and as they waved their weapons and
yelled in concert, they seemed to her like veri-
table fiends unloosed from the lower world.
“ Don’t try to oppose them alone—”
“ I’ll hear the rest later,” interrupted the
scout, grimly. “ Go on, Miss Blanche, and
. a don’t worry about me.”
i He gave her horse a sharp blow, and the ani-
mal darted away at full speed. Blanche looked
' back. Black Hills Ben had gone to the highest
5‘ point of land. There he lay prone, each hand
grasping a revolver, and the muzzles directed
toward the whooping Sioux.

Even as she looked the revolvers began to
work. The red—skins were inountin the ac—
clivity, and the scout was fighting t e whole
party. Death seemed inevitable to him!

' - CHAPTER XV.
 LAKE DESOLATION.
11' did indeed, seem as though Ben Todd was
1. puttin his life in peril which he could not over-
‘-, ’ come, ut he had a well-defined plan, and ex-
 _ ted to make it uncommonly hot for the. Sioux
wore they could score a decisive point. What
i  the end would be only the future could tell. He
.‘i “ r be

for the best.
 " e was sending down bullet after bullet with
5,: deadly precision, when other shots were added to
{l his own. The came from a fpoint to his right
i” and he thoug t that some 0 the Indians had

 gained the summit, but as he turned his h ‘ad
 - .somewhat anxiously, he saw that which p a
it. new aspect on the case.
 Two men Were there; their faces were as
f”? white as his, and their tire was being delivered,
 not against him, but into the party of Sioux.
‘3' ' The scout uttered a shout. One of these men
L , v - waS'Wild West Walt; he had two unexpected
  allies to help him fight the battle out.
;, His shout was answered, but none of the trio
is“ ceased work. The leaden hail went whizzing
7"“ down; the foremost Indians fell and toppled
,‘ over against the living, and consternation seized
4, i. u the survivors. They broke and fled, as
,  ‘4 though actuated by one mind.
"T 7‘ ' Pursuit or continued firing was not thought
 of, but Walt ran toward the scout.
 ,1" “ My advice is, 't up an’ slide," the veteran
’ , exclaimed. “ In t e course 0’ nutur’ them red
imps will soon be at us ag’in, and travelin’ is

good est now.”

. “onu are right,” replied Ben, “ but have you

   horses? I retreat in haste.” '

“ v “ So do I, when I git a. chance. Yes, we hev
7 homes. Black Hills Ben, this is Hugh Somer-
  V' - ville, a chap arter yer own heart. Shake hands
 ._ when ye git time, but ’tend ter runnin‘ now.

.* nee ye hev the Princess in charge, though how it

" come about I dunno. Queer ain’t it, Walt Wil-

7 The scout had remounted, and as Somerville
led two horses out of a reams, he and Walt
sprung to the saddles, and the three went dash-
after Blanche and Windfoot.
‘Your comin’ was very timely,” said the

scout.

“ Great snakes! yes; that is, of we wanted any
. fun. The way you was wipin’ them chaps out

threatened a depoperlatiou o’ the Sioux nation,
by sixty! Reminded inc 0’ a fight I had onc’t
ag’in’ ’bout three thousand Kimanches on a

irie. They come at me on all sides, an’ fur
at: days I did nothin’ but stand thar an’ shoot
finflna When I was done I had a circle on ’em
" , p up round me over forty feet high. Couldn’t
' climb ’em, an’ it begun tor ook like starvation,
, but I tuk my knife an’ tunneled under the pile,
utter a good bit 0’ hard work.”

The scout and Somerville waited patiently
for the conclusion of this voracious story, and
then Walt and Ben Todd exchanged narratives
of their respective exlwrienccs.

The latter to d of his escape at the time of the
canyon fight: of his reunion with Windfoot.
, after the latter recowered his senses: how they
f’ =' ‘ -' followed the outlaws and their prisoners to Para-
 ‘dise Valley; and how. when they saw Blanche
 ‘ taken away by Sweeping Eagle. they had se-
r‘i',‘ ‘ cretl pursued, hung upon the Sioux trail, and
-' ’: . ‘, final __v rescued her.

Walt’s story is known to the reader with the

« exception of that part which followed his union
" « with Jake Jaifrin’s band of outlaws in company
,with Somerville. Their idea that they were

, ted b their companions was erroneous,

. and a few c ance glances magnified to positive
danger; but when they learned that a long jour-

.. . was ahead of the party, to get supplies,
 they had watched their opportunity and de-

 

 

 

y‘J,‘ . “ted.
~   r Chance had brought them to the scout’s aid
’ when such aid was was most needed.

‘ , . ' ' The trio soon overtook Blanche and Windfoot,
~, ‘9 and the reunion was a happy one. Walt was

" Jhll of extravagant speeches concerning the

' ~“I’rincess,” w e, if they said but little,

I - .7)’ , /

   
 

 

Blanche and Somerville looked and thought a
good deal.

Since he tried to save her from Sweeping
Eagle in the valley, Blanche had realized the
young gnnmaker’s attachment to her, and was
glad and proud in the knowledge that one she
regarded so highly really cared for her.

No halt was made. and Black Hills Ben and
Wild West Walt soon spoke to a practical
point.

“ In the course 0’ natur’,” said the latter,
“ you vego tsome def'nit’ plan in view, but I ob—
sarve you’re headiii’ straight fur Paradise
Valley.”

“ we shall find a refuge near there.”

“Glad on’t, by hickory! Ef thar’s any one
thin I banker arter bad, it’s a refuge; while as
fur t c Princess—great snakes! she must be all
in a quiver.”

“ I am not such a timid creature as you think,
Mr. Walt Wilkins!” the girl retorted.

“ Thar’s spcerit fur ye! Thar’s 'er border
heroine! Tliar’s yer Joan, of the Ar '! Strange
sech bravery should be bundled n ) in sech small
compass. Queer, ain’t it. Walt I ilkins?”

" To return to our subject," said the scout,
“ Windfcot and I did not hover around Paradise
Valley for nothing, and we have a refuge in
view. It is at Lake Desolation.” ..

“ Lake Desolation!” Blanche exclaimed.
“ \Vhy, that is in the midst of the outlaws—al-
mOst beside Paradise Valley.”

“ So much the better: no one would think of
looking for us there. Besides, we are bound to
rescue all the gunmakers, or die in the attem t,
and here again Lake Desolation becomes a e-
sirable home for us.”

“ You‘re right, as usual,” replied I‘Valt, “an’
we’ll go tliar—ef the red imps give us a chance.”

“ Can it be that we‘re not pursued?” Somer-
ville asked uneasily. ,

“ You kin safely rely on’t they ain’t nigh when
Windfoot wears sech a placid face. That cree-
tur‘ ain’t easy for fool. is he, Black Hills Ben f”

“Those who have tried it will tell you he is
not, if there is enou h of them left to answer.”

“ Undoubtedly. as, the Pawnee’s a good
’Iin, though he has one weakness. He won’t
chaw the weed; but then, a heathen ain’t s’posed
ter be u in medicine. It’s amazin’, Ben Todd,
how for acker builds up the narVous system an’
makes flesh. Knowed a man onc’t who was
troubled with dropsy, an’ it made him so ’tar-
nully thin that his bones would prick right
through his clothes. He had ter buy a new suit
0’ garniunt ev’ry other day, which made it ex-
pensive. He tu’k ter smokin’ mod’ritly, usin’
erbout fifty-three cigars a da . an’ the last I
heerd on him he was on exhibition in a dime
museum as a fat man, an’ his weight was a grain
over seven hundred an’ ninety pounds.”

Walt seemed as contented as though danger
was a thing he never expected to see again, but
his keen eyes were never on one object long at a
time. He saw everything worthy of notice, and
was rivaled h each of the other men.

They were in extreme ril. and they knew it.
It was surprising that weeping Eagle’s party
had not again appeared. but even if they had
given up the chase, danger was liable to menace
them \at any turn. It Would be remarkable if
the passed on without seeing either Indian or
out aws.

Blanche realized all this, but, as she looked at
the four muscular men who accompanied her,
she felt that she had a guard such as was seldom
vouchsafed an imperiled girl.

The fugitives kept on at full speed. Ben had
chosen another path than that which led to
World’s End, and one far more open. He knew
that, at a certain pomt. they would have to
abandon their horses, but this was a necessity
in any case; and by the northern route they
could ride twice as rapidly as along the usual
trail. and also go nearly as far toward the de»
sired refuge. ‘

Perhaps Providence protected them during the
ride: certain it is that they Were not opposed or
molested, and, an hour before dark, they reach-
ed the point where the horses were to be left.
This was done, and then followed a hard scram-'
ble up the steep ascent: a cautious journey
among the gulclies, where they were often within
sight of the outlaws. though themselVes unseen;
and then, just as darkness fairly fell, they reach-
ed the shore of Lake Desnlatiou. Although so
close to the gunmakers’ primn-pluce. none of the
fugitives except Ben Todd and Windi'oot had
ever been there before.

The iemninder of the party looked in wonder
and curiosity.

The lake lay like a sea of lass before them,
and though, in the darkness, ittle of it could be
seen, all Were impressed with the idea that it
was well named. It seemed dismal in the ex-
treme—almost like some weird, haunted lake of
tradition. .

“ A consumed pokerish place!” declared \Vild
Walt. “ It’s more solumcholy than a grave-
yard, ’cause ye can’t break the monotony by
rendin’ the epicnrcs on the head-stones.”

“ I trust that vou know a good hiding-place,
Mr. Todd.” said Somerville, uneasily.

“I think that I may safely say I do.”

“Take us thnr More the ghosts gobble us,”
said Walt. “ Knowed a man onc’t who was ab-

/( "i V 11":  \f'gfgv: . 4'» "r .' y I ,‘I,

Ii-

 

ducted by a ghost, an‘ carried seven million
miles off; but the ghost’s heart weakened, an’ he
give the feller a pocket compass ter find his way
back. He did git back, too—”

The veteran stopped, staggered and fell, while
at the same moment a revolver flashed only a
few feet away. Almost before Walt touched
the ground Black Hills Ben bounded like a tiger
toward the unknown marksman. There was an-
other flash-a report—a second fall. Somebody
was down, but whether it was the scout or his
enemy the other fugitives could not tell.

Somerville sprung to Ben’s aid, but, as he did
so, a bullet whistled past his car. They seemed
to be in a nest of foes!

CHAPTER XVI.
TOMBSTONE ROCK.

BEFORE the maker could turn toward the
new quarter 0 peril a revolver flashed almost
beside him, and Walt Wilkins’s voice sounded
emphatically.

“ Take that, you miser’ble sneak! I kin play
at your game, too, only my play is sometimes
ravtlier rough." .

The veteran, who had not been injured by the
bullet which felled him, had tired h v the flash of
the second unknown’s revolver. Eye sprung to,
ward that point, and found a man lying prone
on the ground. Walt had tired with unerring
aim, and the man would never press trigger
again. .

Soinerville saw VVindfoot flash to Black Hills
Ben’s aid, and as Blanche was thus left alone, he
remained by her side. He was not needed. The
scout returned dragging a prisoner.

“ Is any one hurt?” Ben asked.

“ Reckon not,” Wild West Walt replied.
“ Thar’s a heathen renegade over you, but he’s
out o' the way 0’ hurts. He tu’k a morphine
pill], or suthin’ else that was quietin’. Cheer up,

incess; thar ain’t the least iota 0’ dan er.
We men got up this taberleau jest fur un.
Ain’t no more on ’em, is thar, VVindfoot?”

“ No more now.”

“ Good. Hev a chaw, Pawnee?” _

“ You chew weed, ’self!” exclaimed Windfoot,

 

curtly.

“I will, thank ion. Hev ter take it, owin’
ter some ’fliction o the palate.”

“We best git away from here. darn quick!"
the Pawnee added, coking around apprehen—
sivelg.

“ on are right,” said the scout, “ but what is-
to be done with my prisoner?"

“ Got a knife, ain’t ye?” asked Walt.

“ So have you."

“Ya-as; sartoin. But ’tain’t my way ter
stab a helpless man, villain or not. That’s my
Weakness, an’ I hope you’ll overlook it. I’ve
tried fur years ter be a cut-throat, but I can’t.
Queer, ain’t it, Walt Wilkins?”

“It’s not my style, either,” said the neon
“ and I can see but two ways before us. Shal
we hold this fellow prisoner, or set him free?”

“ That would be in judicious," interrupted Som-
erville. “He would alarm his fellow-ruflinns
within ten minutes.”

“Let me look at the creetur’,” said Walt.
“l’m skillful at analuzerin’ human natur‘, an'
I’ll sorter see what he’s made on. We’ll treat
him by his style, mebbe, though that promably
means hangin’. Pawnee git a rope ready.”

Walt‘s manner was as little tinged with blood-
thirstiness as when he spoke of the scout’s knife.
He was neither merciless nor cruel, and many a
trouble had he been brought into by his lack of
severity in dealing with villains once in his
power.

“ Wal, creetur’,” he continued, “ what‘ve ya
got ter say why the sentence 0’ death should not
be pernouneed upon ye?”

“ Bring on your thumb-screws!” promptly re-
torted the prisoner. “Bind me to the rock!
Break me on the wheel, if you will! Show me
your hot irons!” .

“ Want suthin’ hot, do ye?” genially inquired
Walt. “ Wal, h sixty, tliar is rhvme an’
reason in that, at we ain’t got \\ ate'r nor
whisky, an’ you’ll hev fei- take the stick plain.
Mister, what might be yer name?”

“ It 7might be Julius Caesar, Hannibal or
Sci ,iio.’

“lGreat snakes! I never had no idee we was
entertamin’ sech a dignitary. I feel sorter de-
preSSH’l, by sech loftiness. Ain’t used ter sech
8—8—

“ Such an august presence,” suggested Somer‘
ville.

“ ’Zactly, or sech July presents, either, which
is more to the p‘lnt.”

“ We can’t stop here any longer.” interrupted
Black Hills Ben, decisively. “Hold to your
prisi ner, Walt, and we will go to the refuge at
once.”

“I’m with ye. Come on, Skipio,bnt don’t
try ter skip away. I’m a re ’lar desperando
when my mad is up. an’ you ad better treat
me wal. Hugh, in the course 0’ natiii" you’ll
see ter the Princess. I thought so. Think 0’
me in August presents! Queer, ain’t it, Walt
\Vilkins?”

The scout led the way to the northwest side of
the lake. Here the accumulated water which,
flowing down from the eastern mountains, emp-
tied into Lake Desolation, found its way out of

v.
i
.l,

 

3.1.- —« ween _.-.‘ r ‘

 

‘ the blame to a pine knot.

Wild West Walt, the Mountain

Veteran. 1 5

 

 

 

the glas$y sheet and flowed down the ascent in
a. series of falls, shoots and ra ids. _At the
point where the stream left the ake, it flowed
shallowly over an almost level ledge, which was
like an outlet made by human hands.

Ben Todd kept to one side, where the ledge l
ceased and there were broken rocks, bowlders, l
crevices and recesses in abundance. He paused 
to bid them follow closely, yet to have no fear, ‘
and then went on. The others went where he
led, and surprise fell upon nearly all as they
actually passed under the lake. They were fol- ‘
lowing a cleft ill solid rock, and though the ‘
darkness defied the sharpest eyes, it was evulcnt i
that the natural corridor was narrow and low,
yet unexpectedly dry.

For a few moments the sound of the water
was audible; then all became silent save the echo
of their own movements. Blanche pressed closer
to Somerville.

“This is a strange refuge,” she said, with a
slight shiver.

All the better for us.”

“We are now directly under the lake?”

“ Yes.”

“ Suppose it should cave in upon us?”

“ Have no fear. While we follow the lead of
Black Hills Ben we need ask no questions, for
his judgment is always good. I am encouraged,
Blanche. If the outlaws do not know of this
refuge, they may be bothered to find it. Wind-
foot tells me that ’twas by the merest accident
that he found the entrance.”

“ But where do we pause?”

Ben Todd heard the question and turned for a
moment.

“Do you remember that, near the middle of
the lake, an island of rock, as I may call it,
rises above the surface of the glassy water?”

“ I noticed this when I first came this way, a.
prisoner. Tombstone Rock, the outlaws call
that freak of nature,” replied the young gun-
maker.

“ I don’t know its name, but in that formation
is our hiding-place. You will be surprised when
you see it.”

“ I am surprised already.”

“ But you haven’t seen one half. It was a
lucky find when Windfoot stumbled upon the
secret entrance."

“ Reminds me o’ the Cat-tombs near Rome,”
said the cheerful voice of Wild West Walt,
from the rear. “ Great place, the Cat-tombs be,
though wh they call ’em that I don’t know, by
hickory! er bury men an’ women in a vault,
an’ then call the lace the ‘Cat-tombs,’ seems
ter me jesta grain mcongrusome.”

“ The word you refer to is Catacombs,” ex-
plained Blanche. '

“ Mebbe ou’re right, but that only complicates
matters. don’t Where no cat ever carried a.
comb. I did once, but give up sech vanities arter
I stopped goin‘ contain . A cat uses her ton no
for polish u with. while I do like a hoss— y
down an’ r01 over. ”

“Here we are,” said the scout. “Wait a
a second.”

He struck a match, and soon communicated
As the light increased
the adventurers looked about them. They were
inarock chamber sixty feet ion and half as
wide, with at least twu corridors eadiug there-
from. Overhead was a singular view. The
chamber narr0wed steadily as it ascended, pre~
senting a peculiar succession of led and balco-
nies, and often assuming the form 0 tiny columns
and pillars.

This place seemed to be dry and wholesome,
and it was such a surprise to those who had
never been there before that, for a time, no one
made a. remark.

It was Walt Wilkins who spoke first. Plung-
ing his hand into his pocket he brought out a
piece of tobacco, took a, generous bite, and then

old it toward the Pawnee.

“Chew, Injun?”

“ Me chaw you, sometime i” retorted Windfoot,
angrily, as he turned away.

‘ If this refuge is as secure as up rances in-
dicate, it is a wonderful place,” sai Somerville.
“ No one would think of looking for us here.”

“ I think we may call it secure, unless suspi-
cion is aroused,” the scout answered; “and 1
Windfoot and I have made a raid on the outlaivs’ l
stores. A smaller room at the east side of this 7
one can be used for the kitchen. No fire will be i
needed for our comfort, and our cooking can be
done at night, to prevent discovery of the
smoke.”

1‘1 A wonderful refuge, truly,” Somerville

 

 

“ A climb up the ledges is worth taking when
we see fit, and, during the day, there is a good 3
view of the lake—though, for that matter, it is !
a most drear place.” ' ‘

“ Dead—a] dead!” put in the Pawnee.

“Now,” sharply added the scout, “ what have
we here?”

He turned to the priSoner as he spoke, and Iail] E
e

eyes became fixed upon the some person.
wasa big man of upwards of fifty years“, eon-
spicuous chiefly because of his long hair and
board. Both were long. Very abundant, gray,
and so tangled and unkempt that other unshorn
men might well have turned pale with env .
Plainly, too, he was not afraid of dirt, for e

- \

 

 

used it, one would imagine, as an Indian does
paint, though With less method. Face, hands
and garments Were covered with it, coat upon
coat.

He had been a docile prisoner, though this
conduct did not seem in keeping with a certain
wild gleam to be. seen in his eyes.

“ tho are you?” Black Hills Ben added.

“Anybody you choose,” was the ready reply.

“Great snakes! on ain’t no ch’ice o’ ourn,
mister,” observed alt. “ You’re like a case 0’
snlall-[mx—we kctched ye ’cause we couldn’t
help it.”

“ \Vllat’s your name?” the scout continued.

“ Haven’t any, in particular.”

“ Do you belong to the League?"

“I might, an’ then ag’in, I might not,” the
prisoner replied, with a crafty air.

“ Do you know Killough?”

“ I don’t know nobody.”

“ Nor nothin‘,” Walt interpolated.

“ Were you sent to watch us?"

“ I am never sent. I’m a frce creetur’, I be;
an’ I go an’ come cz I See fit.”

“ You won’t ‘go and come’ as you see fit an
more for awhile,” the scout retorted. " Win -
foot, tie him up. I hardly need to say that our
lives depend upon keeping him fast.”

“ Mo tie darn tight!" the Pawnee replied, and,
aided by Walt, proceeded to do all he threaten-
ed, the prisoner submitting without a murmur.

This done, Ben directed Windfoot to take
charge for awhile, and then asked Sonlerville to
accompany him. They left the cave-room by a
second corridor and went on through a place
much like the. entrance, except that it was
lower, rougher, and, ill places, wet with drip-
ping water—a truly dismal place.

“ We are still under the bed of the lake ” ob-
served the scout, “ and going south. I wil soon
show you a. view which may surprise, you."

“ Are we going toward Paradise Valley?’
it Yes.”

“ I think that I understand.”

In a. short time the passage ascended, and
then widened and took the fornl of a steep ledge.
Black Hills Ben scrambled up, seemed searching
for something for awhile, and then called Somer-
ville to his side.

“ Here is an opening through the cliff. Look,
and see what you can discover!”

Somerville obeyed. At first he saw only the
dull, heavily—clouded sky, for the earth descend-
ed abruptly before him, but as he turned his
gaze downward, other objects attracted his at—
tention. He saw several li hts glittering in a
Soup, evidently in a roo ess cavern in the

wels of the earth. The si ht was weird at
first view, but the truth soon hed upon him.
He was looking upon no new scene.

Those deep-seated lights: the white, specter-
like shapes beside them; the oblong valley, with
its towering walls of rock; the dim] -seen fig-
ures cing along the verge of the cli s—all this
was amiliar to the youn man.

He was looking upon t e prison-place of the~
gunmakers—Paradlse Valley.

The twinkling lights seemed almost under his
hand, yet they were separated from him by
more than space. The heavy guard of outlaws
shut him out as completely as it shut the captive
gunmakers in. __ _
CHAPTER XVII.

REVOLVER snors IN THE VALLEY.
SOMERVILLE turned slowly to Ben Todd.
“The scene is well worth viewing,” he ob-

serVed.

“ I am aware of it. I have done some watch-
ing from here myself, and 1 saw Blanche Beau-
vals taken away by Sweeping Eagle. It was
because I had such timely warning that Wind-
foot and I were able to get on the trail so
quickly.”

“ Mr. Todd, it wrings my heart to think of
those captives.” .

“ Their situation is not pleasant. but it is bet-
ter than to be tied to the stake by Indians.”

“ The gunmakers are not injured in body, but
they are captives, and forced to make weapons
for those exccrable villains. The i 0min of
my life there nearly upset me. T ink o it!
Day by day I was making firearms which were
destined for the murder of honest settlers: for
the sacking of towns where there are be] less
women. A mul'rain upon those outlaws! hen
we consider what their character Is, and what
a gigantic conspiracy they have afoot, it seems
to me they are the basest, most dangerous
wretches livin .”

“ id like to now who their leader is.”

“ Even the men of the League don’t know. To
them he is only the ‘ Grand Chief,’ and an invis-
iblc person. Judson Killough, and a few others,
rank as lieutenants, and receive their orders
from him, but they claim that even they do not
meet him personally.”

“ A deep follow, I should say.”

“ Or a coward.” ,

“ I hardly think he is that.”

“ Perhaps you are right. Judson Killough,
the onlv one of the lieutenants whom, to my
knowledge, I have met, is h rdly the person to
act a secondary part under ny weak leader.”

“ Killough is said to be r a person of streng
character. ”' _ ‘

' side Wild West Walt, and the esca

 

“ Strong and merciless. ”

“Perhaps, if he molests us, he will get hurt.
“'cll. Somerville, we may as well force the in-
evitable at once. “'e have work to do, and the
odds against us are a thousand to one. or some

such fi ure. You know why] came to thisre—
gion. am the guide of M‘ss Bennington. and

she has dared all these perils to save her lith‘l‘ In
the East. She wants to find one Dunstan
Hughes.”

" A hopeless quest, I should say.”

“I told her so at the start, using every argu-
ment to keep her away, but she would come.”

“ And now she is a prisoner in Paradise Val-
ley, and, though Hughes may be in “'orld’s End
this very minute, as far from finding him as
ever."

“ So it looks, I confess.”

“ Leavlng Miss Bennington individually, what
of the gullnlakers, collectively?”

“ You want to see them rescued?”

it 3‘05.” “

“ Of course we must attempt it.
mad piece of Work, but our duty is clear. Let
us suppose we have in some way got them out of
the valley. Then follows the march through
World’s End, where we nuiy at any moment
mect white, or red. foes. .et us suppose Vie
get beyond World‘s End safe] . What then?
Our escape is discovered, and illough will un-
derstand that if we reach the settlements, or a
fort, his hopes are gone. If possible, he. will
communicate with the ‘ Grand Chief,’ and that
mysterious person will see the great work of his»
life tottering to its base. What then? All his
immediate force of outlaws, and all of Sitting
Bull’s warriors, will be started after us. The
earth will almost be black with them. But
there is more. The alarm will be flashed ahead
of us, and their allies will know the facts from
here to xas. If our way is not blocked, it
will be a miracle!"

It was not in a despondent voice that the scout
presented this gloomy picture. He was talking
with a brave man, and simply presenting the
facts of the case as they actual] existed.

His words rather staggered merville, how-
ever.

“Not an eucouragin ms t ” he observed.

“ Decidedly not.” g p pee ’

“ Have we any hope? Speak plainly !”

“There is always hope, and men often pull
through tight places. I’ve.done so, myself, be-
fore now. I don’t want you to give up hope—-
decidedly not. I knew what I was daring when
I became guide for the Benningtons; I came here
with the intention of living through it; and I
hope we shall all get back to the settlements in
good shape.” ,

Footsteps sounded in the passage, and Walt

Wilkins joined them. The darkness within was

intense, but a few words made all plain.

“ Posserbly you don’t a’prove o’ my strayin’
away,” said the veteran, “ but the Princess would
have it so. She’s afeerd you’d git inter some
complercation an’ lose yer skulps, so I agreed ter
foller ye, an’ of I was too late ter save yer lives, .
bring back yer aforesaid skulps. It’s some time
sence I’ve carried anybody’s skulp but in own,
though I used ter know a trapper who b apar-
fict mania fur mch things. He ketched reds m
traps, like you would beavers, an’ brun in two
top-knots a day, reg’lar; leastwise, at was
what he said, but it finally got out that thesame
skulps did service ev’ry day, an’ that he’d bought
’em ’riginally o’ a. drunken In 'un. That ha’r—
lifter was driv from camp, but e got so skeered
when alone. fur fear an n
that we took him back on reprobation. That‘s
the kind 0’ a skul r he was. What ye doin’
hyar? Gone tar f”

“ Look through this crevice, and tell us what
you see,” Somerville directed.

” I see a pile o’ clouds before the risin’ moon.”

“ Look lower; al ost directly down.”
“ Now I see—-

ullo! it’s the gunmakers’ tai-
ley, by sixty!

Thar’s the lights, an’ the tenta '

an’—what now? Be they goin’ ter hev comp’nyi .

Thar. is torches demendin’ fer the valley, an
hitched outer the torches. " .

Black Hills Ben cast himself quick] down he-
gunmaker
followed his example. Somerville saw the torch-

es plainly, and with his knowledge of the valley, ‘ l

was able to understand everything at once. .
Several men were descending the r ladder

—the inclined plane, usui as a meanso entrance ‘

and exit. Only four torches were carried, but
these. moving irregularly, and gradually a
preaching the base of the cliff. flared u -
ciently to reveal the grim, frowning rocEa and
the men who followed after these leaders.

And the men were. suspiciously numerous
they were marching down in a line; they trod
close to each other’s heels, and the line reached
from top to bottom of the inclined plane.

“ By Jove!” Somerville exclaimed, “some
mischief is afoot!
going to the valley at this hour?”

“ There is excitement among the gunmakers,”
addei the scout.

“ Great snakesl yes,” said Walt.
buzzed out like so many hornets, only they ain’t
the means 0’ stingin’. Comrades, I’m afeerd
thar‘s mischief afoot!” _

Somerville scarcely heard him. He saw 

i

It will be a‘

jun would find him“

“ They’ve , ‘

 

 

 

 

/

' :12

Why are all those fellows _ I I ‘m i -

   

 
 

 

 

 

16

Wild West Walt. the Mountain Veteran.

 

 

outlaws 0 down until thirty or forty had gath—
ered in t e valley. Then the party marched
toward the lower end of the gunniakers’. home,
the light of the torches falling1 on their brawny
forms and ready weapons. ’1‘ e prisoners were
all outside their tents.
could dimly see, but the absence of marked
li ht there gave him no further clew.

hat did it all mean! What new complica-
tion had arisen? The outlaws were going in
force, well armed. This was suspicious in the
extreme, and suggested that some dark deed
was about to be enacted.

IVhatever it was, the gunmakers had ex—‘,

pected it in a measure; they had promptly
seen the outlaWS, and came (.ut to receive them.

But how? Did they hear such rude weapons as 1|

they could lay their hands upon, and Were they

prepared to sell their lives bravely for some ;

good object? Somerville was in a fever of im—
patience; he rebelled against the darkness which
a

filed his vision; but was left as ignorant as ‘

ever of the real attitude of the prisoners.

“ I am going on a scout,” said Ben Todd,‘sud-
deal , yet very quietly.

“ Will accompany you,” said Somcrville.

“No: don’t think of it. I go only to learn
the facts; not to fight. You and I, in alight
against such odds, would be only a drop of water
in the ocean.”

“ But humanity and dut —”

“Humanity and duty oth require you to
stay where we know your strong arm is needed.
Do not forget Blanche Beauvais. I will say
frankly that though matters look bad down
there, I don’t think anybody’s life is in danger.
There is some disturbance—that is plain. Let
me go and learn what it is, while the rest of
you remain here. There is one person whom
we are duty—bound to protect—Blanche !”

“Sound reasoniu’, by hickory!” Walt added.
“ Lad, our place is hyar, an’ the Princess must
never say we left her ter be gobbled by the red-
skins.”

Both men had seen the necessity of calming

- Somerville, and they had cunningly touched the

one chord which would vibrate to their touch,
Blanche! The name, and its bearer, had mar-

-‘ velous power.

“ Go, then,” said the gunmaker, in a husky

voice.

Black Hills Ben hurried away, while those
who remained again devoted themselves to the
task of watching. Jl‘he outlaws had almost
reached the valley slaves, and the light of their
torches showed pale faces confronting them.
Whatever the cause, the slaves were deeply
moved.

Li ht steps sounded behind the watchers.

“ t’s the Princess,” said Walt. “Why hev
oucome hyar‘! The place is dark. damp an’
on me. You an’ Hugh 0 back ter the main

room an’ I’ll take a nap, reckon.”

,“ on can‘t deceive me, W'alt,” replied the

girl’s clear tones. “ Mr. Todd tried to do so, but
made him confess. There is trouble in the

valie . Let me view the scene, tool)

“ ou’ll ketch cold," protested the veteran:
“I know you will; an’ a cold ain’t a thing tcr be

- sneezed at—though it’s sometimes done by reck-

'  warlike

' torn up ‘by the roots.

.weapons from being seen.

less individooals—when no drug-store is nigh.
Knowed a case 0’ the kind onc’t, an‘ the victim
sneezed reg’lar fur a Week. 'He made sech a
commotion that all the Eastern papers reported
'earthqnake shocks in the West—he was a right
strong sneezer—an’ some mountain trees was
He got no peace ontil an
extra-sized sneeze blowed the top 0’ his head off,
skulp an’ all, an’ then the cold abated. Cold this
way is serious, Princess; you'd better stay in
the big room.”

The veteran had been firmly barring her way,
anxious to save her from seeing a possible
tragedy, but she as firmly insiste on passing.
She did pass, and watched with the others,
although the moon had slid behind the heavy
cloud-bank and the view was somewhat dim and
obscure.

. The outlaws had halted a few feet distant
from the gunmakers, and the case looked
more serious than ever. Somerville could see

. Garrison, Major Benningmn and Long Dave

Cobb at the front of the prisoners; a war of
words was progressing; tho gunmukers made
movements, and the outlaws’ rifles
were lowered to cover them, but whether in
menace, or for instant use, was uncertain.
Suddenly three revolver, shots were fired in

-' {succession but the watchers could not tell by
ywhom. No motion had been observed, and the

light of the torbhes prevented the flashes of the
Instdntly, however,
there was new commotion among t e actors in
the drama, and they seemed about to meet in

- deadly combat.

CHAPTER XVIII.
ran GUNMAKERS’ REBELLION.

WI left Claudia Benningtou and Killough in
the midst of an interview which was painful
to the girl in the extreme. The outlaw had
made an offer of marriage, and, being rejected,
had declared that she should become his wife

, an how. As a last chance he had said that if

would marry him quietly, Dunstan Hu has

i, should go back to the East and save E gar

This the young man‘

Wheaton from the gallows: but if this chance
was rejected, she should become his wife with-

out her consent.
It was a terrible position for Claudia. Turn
which way she might there was only miseriy
1

and desolation. Her lover waited in his ee
sentenced to death, for her to bring Hughes
back to save him from an unjust, disgraceful'1
fate. If Killough told the truth she now had
the chance to do this —by sacrificing herself.

Should she decline to make the sacrifice, Kil-
lough vowed that she should become his wife
just the same. In any case it seemed that she
was doomed, and it remained to be settled
whether she should go to her fate willingly.

If she did this Edgar Wheaten would be
saved!

The girl gazed at Killough as one looks at a
hideous serpent which has fascinated her. This
1 man was her master; his will was her law,
simply because she w as powerless to resist; no
(lircassian maiden was ever more. completely a
I slave, in the harem of the Turk who had pur-
chased her, than was (Tlaudia Bennington. The
right of might was Killough's and mercy was
unknown to him.

As he sat there, his expression varying from
a cold sneer to a menacing scowl, and then,
again, to a smile which was not more agreeable,
he. held her gaze fast. She could not look'away;
those bold, lawless eyes bound her in a spell.

Killough grew impatient at last.

“ Well, well—your answer!” he exclaimed.

i “ Sir, I beg that you will be merciful—4’

i “ Step I” he sharply interrupted. “ “'e have
1 gone all over this ground; I tell you I will not
‘, let mawkish sentimentality stand between me
i and the only woman I ever loved. You shall
i be my Wife! Will you come willing] Z!”

“ Mr. Killough,” was the faint rep y, “I can-
not—dare not l”

" Dare not?”

H X'es.”

“ What do you mean by that? Ha! why do I
ask? You fear rue—hate rue—loathe me! I af-
fect you much as a hideous rattlesnake would.
V‘erily, this is good news for a. groom-elect, but
it don‘t embarrass me. I know the ways of
women; I know my power. Girl, come with
me! ‘

If he was not embarrassed he was angry, as
his white face showed. He had arisen With a
scowl on his face. He now grasped her wrist
and compelled her to go outside the tent. He
pointed to the top of the cliff.

“ Look yon'ier! See the sentinel who marches
with his rifle ready for use; see the one beyond
him, and the third; see the line which encom-
passes the valley. Those are m men; I am
their master as much as though were a. king.
There are thousands of men who acknowled e
my rule as loyall as do those visible men. y
followers are to found in Texas, California,
the lumber-camps of \Vashington Territory, the
Hudson Bay region and every point comprised
in that wide area of which these four points are
the extremities. These followers number many
thousands, and all obey my will. No one dares
murmur when I command. This is what I am!
Dare you def me?”

He folded his arms and looked at her with a
strange expre rsion. Pride, passion, dogged reso-
lution and sullen anger ,Were to be seen there.
This time Claudia did not shiver.

“ I know our secret!” she exclaimed.

He starter a little. ‘

“ What do you mean “i” he slowly asked.

“ You are more than a lieutenant in the
League; you are the leader—the Grand Chief 3”

“If this is so,” he answered, without a
change of countenance, “you see my power.
Will you marry me?”

Claudia’s gaze wandered from his face. The
old feeling returned, and she struggled like one
with an em! dream. Mechanically s looked
up at the top of the nearest clill’, but ha dly had
she done so when she started, grew paler yet;
her eyes assumed. a wild expression; she took
one step. tottcredfand would perhaps have fallen
had not Killough caught her.

“What cunning trick is this?" he rudely de-
manded.

" uustan Hughes!” she gasped. “ I saw
him!”

The outlaw glanced upward, almost with a
startled look. \

“Where?”

“ On the cliff—beside the sentinel."

“Impossible! No one is allowed near them.”

“I tell you I saw two r on there, and one
was he—Dunstan Hughes. t me go to him i-
let me go!”

She spoke wildly and struggled to break his
bold, but he held fast to her and a new glitter
came into his eyes.

“ You see that I did not lie. Dunstan Hughes
is here; I can savo you and your Eastern lover,
if you will have it so. Fair Claudia, will you
marry me now?”

A sudden courage, arising from her excite—
ment, came to the girl. She wrenched her arm
from his grasp. V

“Never!” she cried, “never. Don’t dare to
ask me again. Go, and never let me See your
face again l”

 

 

Unconsciously she had raised her voice sharp-

 

 

ly, and Killough looked quickly toward the door
to the lar e tent. What he expected had come
to pass. ne of the gunmakers stood there; he
had seen Claudia forcibly release herself, and
heard her raised voice, if not the exact words.

A shade of uneasiness crossed Killough’s face.
He knew that all the prisoners Would rush out
and though they had no weapons of the usu
kind, they might fall upon and kill him then
and there, or force him to an ignominious flight
which Would ruin his reputation.

Clearly, the sooner he went, the better.

“Miss Bennington, I will give you a short
time to meditate on this matter, but I shall
come again. My will is unalterable: see to it
that you do not refuse me again. Death, alone,
can thwart me!”

With this ominous farewell he turned and
walked away. His mind was not at ease. He
heard the gunmakers behind him: he heard their
angry Voices; but pride forbade undue haste,
and he would not look around.

He expected pursuit, but none was made. He
ascended the stone stairway, however, with a

heart far lighter than when he left Claudia. He
looked hacked, and u sneer moved his lips.
“ They are in a spasm of nidignation,‘ he mut-

tercd.

He could afford to sneer then. for he was out
of the valley and among his followers. He did
not linger there, however, but walked to the
outlaw camp, a hundred rods away. This, like
the guninakers’ quarters, was a Village of can-
vas, all the, places of shelter being tents. Kil-
lougn entered his own tent, sat down and fell
into thought.

When he expressed a contempt for women, in
conversation with Starbuck, he had told the
truth. Until he saw Claudia it had been long
since a fair face had quickcned his pulse, but he
had ielded as completely new as any sentimen-
tal eity youth.

An hour later one of his men brought him a
note which, he said, the gumnakcrs had insisted
upon his carrying to the lieutenant. The latter
read it eagerly, but his brow grew dark and
scowling when he perused these words:

“ LIEUTENANT Kitmuoaz—Circumstances have
made us your slaves. he admit that. and we are
prepared to accept our fate and continue to labor
for yon—on one condition. You know what has oc-
curred to-day. Sir, we cannot hear everything, and.
we have decided to make a proposal l0 you. If.
you will promise to send Duns‘an Hughes East to
give his testimony. and save an innocmit man from
the gallows, and will solemnly )romim that not one
of our women shall be molesie We swear to work
for you faithfully. Unless such promise is given be-
fore another da dawns, we will never do anorher
stroke of work or you.

“Sir, we are desperate. We can endure slavery,
but when you rob us of our women on go further
than human eninranoe reaches. e will die'he-
fo 'e that shall be, for death is a less bitter alternao
ti e. Believe us, we are not disposed to deny your
power, but we a pen] to you in the name of mercy
and your own interests. You can secure faithful
laborers if you choose. but if you deny our reqtiest
we quit work to-night never to resume. Where will
you find faithful workmen to fill our plaCes?

“Respectfully yours.
“Tm: Gunuxsas.”

Down in the valley the prisoners were waiting
for their answer, and it came in an ominously
short time.

It was brief. Under their own signature Kil-
lough had written this graphic reply:

1‘
"Your proposal is declined, and you will continue i

work as usual. Torture sometimes is more rsuar
sive than death. Shall visit you at nine o‘c ock to-
night to receive your promise to keep at work)"

Thomas Garrison read this communication
aloud, and then his face flushed.

“By heavens! the scoundrel does not even
think us worthy of civil reply.”

“I’ll eat my rifle,” said Long DaVe, “ef I
((ilon’t” chaw that crcetur’ all ter pieces some

a . '

‘yThere is a terrible significance,” said Ben-
nington, “in that terse sentence: ‘ Torture is
sometimes more rsuasive than death 2’ "

“ISO the ’tarna reptile would tortur’ us, would
he!” muttered Dave, lugubrionsly. “ Friends,
it’d been a heap better far as a] ef we’d been
born forty year later i”

“ You have heard the re 1y,” added Garrison,
in a ringing voice. “ We ve had our ictition
refused. Now for a vote. W ho is in avor 0
our yielding tamer to that wretchi” .

Not a voice was raised.

“Who is in favor of a revolt, stout. decisive,
unwavering—if need be, fatal to us all f”

“ I!" answered every gunmaker. at once, and
their voices had a ring of stern, heroic, resolu~

tion.

“ Let the crcetnr’s come!” added Long Dave.
“ We ain’t got so much ez one revolver, but the
tools 0’ our trade kin be made disastrous tor the
inemy. My nat’ral choice in the case would be
ter run like sin, but next ter that I en 'oy fight-
in’. Let the niis’ble skunks come; it’ take ten
on ’em ter kill me, an’ when the job is done
thar‘ll be nine 0’ the ten defunct, by thunder!”

The same spirit pervaded all the gunmalmrs.
They had taken their stand, and there Would be
no wavering. True, the enemy was overwhelm-
ingly their superior in numbers, possession of
weapons, and everything else, but what of that!

\ I.. ‘~
r.

l

’

 

i

'3!

i?”
it

  

 -.. 4- r—.. s.;.

- v- “a.  ..—. .4. .._... v-_.»_—.:: ..=~r rm :. ‘

1'7

 

Wild West Walt, the Mountain Veteran.

 

 

They did not expect to win; they could not win
if every prisoner was fully armed, for World’s
End was full of Killough’s followers.

They had not rebelled with the thought of
winning. No; their sole purqise was to sell their
lives as dearly as possible. Vhen the fight was
over it was believed that not one of them, man
or woman, would be left alive.

These stern-faced, unfaltering men had
planned to save the weaker members of their
party at a fearful cost, and they coolly awaited
the arrival of Killough and his outlaws.

CHAPTER XIX.
TWO PAIRS or IRON HANDS.

THERE was a. bank of light against the dull,
grim clouds; a sudden glitter as of an erratic
star, soon joined by several others; a series of
tiny pillars of flame; a dim vision of rugged
men, armed to the teeth; a wavering, trembling
of the pillars of flame, and then they sunk slow-
ly irregularly down.

he gunmakers were watching the outlaws
descend to the valley. The slaves had been on
the alert, and Killough had not kept them wait-
ing. They knew what these yaried shapes of
light meant, and why the armed men were do
scending to their prison place.

In utter silence they viowed the outlaws cross
the plain. The flickering light of the torches
made their forms look grim, dark, forbidding
and ominous, but the (l'VOtctl little band did not
waver. They had taken their stand, and in-
tended to maintain it.

They would not yield an iota, and Killough
must either grunt their demands or lose their
services as gunniakers.

The hostile force came to a halt a few yards
awa _

“ Who speaks for you?” Killough asked,
curtly.

Thomas Garrison stepped to the front.

“ I do, sir.”

“ Well, what have you to say?”

“ We said all in our letter to you."

“ And you still stand by it?”

“ We do, sir.”

“ Then you are fools!”

Killough’s voice was harsh, but Garrison re~
tained his calmness surprismgly.

ir“"We have taken the only stand open to us,

 

“And you say that you will do no more
work'!”

“ Circumstances compel usto say that we will
not work unless our demands are granted. “7e
ask that Dunstan Hughes he sent East to give
his testimony, and save an innocent man from a
terrible fate; and We ask 'our promise that no
more of our women shall molested. Do this,
Sir, and we will work for you faithfully, un-
murmuringly, and with an eye to your in-
terests.”

“There isa good deal of humor in your de~
mand, but I am not a 'oking man. Neither am
I weak enough to do w at you wish. Your de-
mand is refused.”

“ Reflect, Lieutenant Killough—”

“ Enough! I will not hear you. I shall make
no promises, and you will work to—morrow, as
usual.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but we shall do
nothing of the kind. “'e have reached a point
of desperation, and our stand is taken. We can
die, but our women shall not be taken from us,
Until you promise. we will do no more work i"

“ Fool!” said Killough, harshly, “ do you
want us to put you to the torture?”

“If one of our number is tortured, it will be
when the others are dead. You  us here in a
body; we are a unit. True, we are armed only
With our gun-making implements, but we are
desperate. When the fight is over, none of us,
men or.women, will be left alive!”

Garrison spoke firmly, and his strong band
grasped a hammer tenaciously. His fellow
workmen, were similarly armed and the ner-
voué way in which the handh. these primi-
tive weapons told that hey were nervod to that
point where they longed for the crisis.

“ Poor, weak fools!” exclaimed the outlaw,
“ do you suppose‘that I have schemed for years
to get this work in operation, only to be baffled
now h ' a rebellion of my captives? Don’t think

it! on Will work on, or be subjected to tor-

three which will appall you.”

“ Inhuman monster!” Garrison exclaimed.

" Now you talk sensibly.” ‘

" Man, give me a weapon, and fight me hand-
to-hand, i you dare!” c

“ Fight With a slave? Hardly!”

“ You are a coward!” , ,

/ “ Speak on, if you wish.”

During the conversation Killough had fre—
quently glanced toward one side, as though his
, e sought some particular object. He evident-
fyusaw it at last. His eyes suddenly lglittered;
his tall form grew more erect; his hand flew to
his revolver. At th-J same moment a woman’s
scream arose on the air. Killough fired three re-
volver shots. His wild body—guard advanced
three puce=, and each and every man presented
his rifle, the hammer up, the muzzle bearing up-
'on the gunmakers.

' “ The womenl-the women!” cried one of the

prisoners.

 

There was a confused disturbance at one side. '

“Hold!” !

It was Killough’s voice in a tone of sharp
command, and for a moment even the gunmakers
were led to obey mechanically.

“ Stand where you are, all of you !” he added.
“Give me obedience for a moment, and then if '
you will have a disturbance, come on. Take no~ i
tire of whatI have done. You defied inc—made 1‘
preposterous demands—rebelled. It was time 
for me to show the iron hand: I have done so.
I have taken Claudia Bennington prisoner under I
your very eyes!”

This was only too true.
law had engaged the attention of the men, four
of his followers, acting according to his pre-ar- ;
ranged plan, had secretly made a detour, reach-
ed the women and seized Claudia. Long Dave ‘
Cobb, the only defender shrewd enough to sus- -
lect such a trick. had been stricken senseless,
and the captive girl carried to the rear of the ,
outlaws. :

‘Vllt‘ll this was done Judson Killough believed
that he had the game in his own hands.

There was no longer danger that the only jew-
el among the prisoners would be lost to him by
desperate suicnle, and for the others he cared not
an iota.

Garrison almost reeled as he comprehended
the situation; then his voice arose hoarscly: L

“ Forward, men! Rescue Claudia, or die_” l

“ Hold!”

Again Killough shouted the command, and his
voice was full of imperious energy and conii- v
deuce.

“ Hear me .’” he added.
fact that every one of you is covered by two
rifles. There is system in my arrangement. We
are two to one, in a double sense; we are fully
armed, and the hammer of each unfailing wea-
pon is up. One touch of our fingers, and every ‘
one of you will be dead. But what good will it
do you to die now? Claudia is in our power; she
is at the rear of our force; she can’t commit sui-
cide, nor can you kill her to keep her from my
hands. The game is wholly mine. Now,
will you die at our hands and leave her without
a. friend, or will you live for her sake?”

Major Bennington groaned aloud. He and his
companions saw that they had been completely
outwitted by the cunning outlaw.

There was a momentary silence, broken only I
by the deep, labored breathing of the excited i
gunmakers.

“ One word more,” Killough continued. “I
am goin to take Claudia to my village, one- 5
fourth o a mile away, but I am not disposed to i
ill-use her. If on go to work to-morrow, and
continue to wor faithfully, she shall be treated .
like a queen. I sacredly promise that. ‘

 

While the crafty out- .

“Take notice of the }

Refuse .
to submit to my will‘—-ref use to go to Work-and ;
the result of your rebellion falls upon her fair .
head. What is your choice!” '

A cool smile of conscious wer moved the
lips of the outlaw as he faced t em. Rarely had
he met with a situation which pleased him more
than this;\never had he felt more confident of
success.

DeSpair had fallen upon the valley slaves.
They knew that they were utterly helpless.
What Would it avail them to sell their lives at
the rifles’ muzzles while Claudia. was a ca )tive?
W'hy should the other women turn their ands
against their own lives? If all could not die,
better that all should live.

“ We yield: w e yield!” cried Benirington, al-
most hoart-broken. .

“ Now you talk sensibly.”

“ But we may, at least, ask ou to leave Miss
Bennington here,” urged Garr ~on.

“ And give you a chance to repeat this rebel-
lion? No, sir! I need some assurance of your,
good behavior; I have it and am not fool
enough to yield 9. int. l‘he girl goes to my
village a pledge the you will henceforth behave ,
yourse ves.”

“My poor Claudia!” murmured the major,
while tears coursed down his furrowed cheeks.

“Why do you lament. old man? Have I not ,
promised to treat her with all possible consider— l
ation?" ,

“ Yes, but—” ‘;

“ Do you doubt my word ’1'"

Remington did doubt it, but, well aware that
the result of such an admission would be upon
Claudia’s defenseless head, he hastened to deny
the fact. .

The rebellion was crushed. The most bellig-
erent and reckless of the unmakers no longer
thought of resistance, antfhith all the ciVility
that they could muster. Garrison and Benning-
ton proceeded to sa to Killou h the little that
remained unsaid. e usual s rewdness of the
outlaw did not desert him now, and he was care-
ful not to abuse his power.

He reiterated that as ion as the men worked
faithfully Claudia should well treated. and
even consented to the major’s request that he
should be-allowcd to visit her at intervals. Then
came the farewell, though only Bennington
was allowed to see her. He went among the

 

 

outlaws, and, when they wore sure that he was ,

unarmed, was allowed to bid her an aFectionate

Then the armed men marched away with her
in their midst, and the unhappy gunmakers were .

I

: speech with him.

. she was gone.
' swept a glance about; she was nowhere to be
‘ seen. ‘
Furious with anger be alarmed the villazse.‘
The several tcnts were searched, but in vain. " 

left to their new desolation. Truly, their rebel-
lion had borne bitter fruit.

Killough was triumphant, but he curbed his
exultation, and was very courteous and polite
to Claudia. He assisted her up the stone stair-
way. and conducted her toward the village, as
the uarters of his band were termed.

“ am sorry to see you so despondent,” be ob-
served.

“ What else can you expect?” she returned,

: wearily.

“ Have I not promised you good usage?"
But am I not a prisoner?” _
“ Yes, the prisoner—if you will—of a man

3who loves you devotedly: who will shed his

blood for you; who sees in you the bright star

! of his cxistcnce; and who will be ever kind to

ou.’
Uttering such pledges, and really believing

‘ them for the time, he conducted her to a tent in

the village.
“Here is your home,” he said. “This place
has been especially prepared for you, and,

: though a prisoner, you will here he a queen.

True, you will be closely guarded, especially at
night—I shall place a sentinel before the tent~
but you will be kindly treated—if you are sen-

. siblc I"

There was a significance about the last words
which did not escape her notice, but she did not
dwell upon it. Strange as it may seem, she

, was fast becoming reconciled to the new order

of things. .
It had Occurred to her that, situated as she

would be, there would be a chance for her to y

look for Dunstan Hughes—perhaps to gain
A reaction might come later,
but, for the time, she was glad that. Killough‘
had seen fit to bring her there.

The ruling passion had never been stronger;

3 her thoughts were all of her imperiled lover in

the East, and the chances of saving him.

Killough heard a. slight sound behind him. It
was like afootfall. A frown came to his face—
bad any of hi< men dared intrude there? He
turned; he saw another man dimly.

More than this he did not see. A terrible
weight, like the force of a lightnin bolt, seemed
to fall upon his head; a host of e ectric sparks
flashed before his 6 es; he reeled, grasped blind-
ly at the air, and ell to the ground as insen-
sible as the clods beneath him. .

f

I,'

4‘

He recovered after a period of oblivion, and 

sprung at once to his feet. His head was far

: clearer than was to be expected, and his active

mind at once grasped the facts of the case; he

knew that he had been struck down bysome ,'

hostile hand—and the pain in his head led him.

to believe that he was not the only man who 3 "55

had “ an iron hand,” to use his own term, in the

valley. .
Almost wildly he looked about for Claudia.

He rushed from the tenth

‘.

1

His men all declared that they had not seen the. 

girl, nor did they know u ho had struck down
{heir -leader. It was a startling mystery to Kil-
ough.

“ Pursue! pursue!” he shouted. “ Search
every rock and recess. She must be found and

; the man who took her from me shall die a death ‘
' of torture!

Away, men, away! They shall be'
found if I have to tear the mountains to piece:
to do it!” ' I

 

CHAPTER XX.
TH]: NIGHT PROWLEB.

IT was with feelings of great relief that
Blanche, \Valt and Somerville, watching from_'
their elevated covert, saw a conflict averted in ‘
Paradise Valley, but indignation arose to fever- '=
pitch when they saw Claudia taken aWay by the,
outlaws— they recognized her, even at that.
distance. f

“ Great snakes I” ejaculated the ranger, “ don’t 

I wish l’s down thar! I‘d tiounce the hides

l ofi”m a few. of I got wiped out fur it right-arena: 

I ain‘t much on the fight, but I carry ’a ,
rifle-get 1's ter lift it, it will shoot straight, anyo'
how. ,

“ Walt, Miss Bennington is being taken iron?"
the valley,” said Somerville, suddenly.
us go out and attempt her rescue at once.”

The veteran shook his head. . .

  

“Iet‘ ~


. i’

‘1)
mpg

 

"N‘s

 

.; 

“My will is good enough, but We must wait “r

Black Hills Ben’s say-so. He’s out scoutin’i,‘
he’ll see all that’s goin’ on; an’ 91' thar’s a chana“
ter rescue her, or need ter sell our lives fur her,

he’ll let us know. We must leave it ter hung,

Priiépess, I hope ye don’t think me a mean cow-
ard _ . ‘
“ I know you to be a hero, and as wise as you,
are brave,” replied Blanche, sincerely. ._

“ You are right, as usual, Walt,” added»
Somerville. i ,

“Thank ye, both. I’d feel a good bit stifled,
up in’ardly ef you thought 1’s a coward. I’ve:
seen that sort 0‘ cattle fore now. Knowed a
feller onc’t who got scared at his own ahadda',
in a moonlight night, an’ run away from it.’ 
the course 0‘ natur’ it follered, an’ they had m

is

race 0' more than ten mile, nip an tuck; but; 

t. _.w—... ..

 

i123

 

Wild West Walt. the Mountain Veteran

. , .,, 7-.. .  wa- ..__.._.__....V .,._.

 

the moon rid on in its starry trail the shadder
‘ ot short, an’ seemed ter gain. The feller was
flout played out, an’ his breathin‘ was like a dis-
connected volley o’ muskitry, so he turned an’

appled with his pursuer. It may sound over-
flawed, but that chap had a rough-an’-tumble
fight with his shadder, fu’st one bein’ on top an’
then t’other, lastin’ an hour, an’ then J im—that
was his name—got his ineiny down an’ held him.
’Twas his idee ter wait fur the rest 0’ the boys,
but jest afore sun—up the shadder slipped out o’
his grasp an’ get away.”

“ Claudia is taken from the valley,” said
Blanche.

“ Yes. Hadn‘t we better return to the main
room, Walt! Ben Todd may be in l”

i “ In the course 0’ natur’, one on us ought ter
1 stay hyar an’ keep the lookout. S’pose you do
I it ugh.”

' , ," I am anxious to go out with the scout. if he
comes for help,” replied Somerville, hesitatingly.

“ Go on, then, an’ call me of thur’s a grain 0’
excuse fur it. I feel like ilghtin’, too. My blood
 feels stagnant, an’ I reckon I’ve got tcr extar-

1' minute a tribe or two 0’ red creatur’s afore l’in
' ' wal ag’in.”

' ’ Blanche and Hugh walked back to the. main
room. The former was greatly troubled in re-
gard to Claudia, but the possibility that Hugh

. would have to go out and meet fresh dangers,
r ‘ kept her from expressing all shefelt. His ini-
‘ ' petuous nature could be easily fired, and rash-
ness was the enemy of success. Blanche was
bearing up bravely, but, though maidean mod-
, esty prevented the confession, she felt that if
' harm came to Somerville she would no longer
try to be hopeful, nor care to live.

Conversing earnestly as they went, they soon
reached the main room. W1!ldf0’)t and their
prisoner were there. and the latter had evidently
abandoned his taciturn manner. He was using
his tongue eloquently.

'1 ' . “ It ain’t reasonable that you should stick ter
these folks Injun. You’re red; they’re white.
That ain’t logic. Blood is blood, anyhow. What
’ M if you be a Pawnee? You’re I ii jun, ain’t ye?”
“ ‘ Me no darn Smart 3” Windfoot asserted.
“ Land 0’ lOVe! it‘s only the difference in
name. Sioux and Pawnee—all one."
“ Not one, by darn! Don’t you say they be!”
and Windfoot handled his knife threateningly.

“ All right—all right,” was the hasty reply.
,, J - ,)‘No offense, my rerl friend; I mean you we],
“72‘ sure. But all the Injuns, 0’ all tribes, is with our
’i‘ League. Why not you? ’Tain’t natural for red
‘ an’ white ter mix.”
. i- “ Den wh you mix wid Sioux?”
{a “ Eh! at? Oh, wal. that’s diff’rent,” pro-
 " tested the prisoner, a good deal confused by the
71 Pawnee’s question.
55- . “You bes’ talk no more; you fool, but can’t
2;, - make fool 0’ me, You stop your tongue. You
334: p v t’ink you pull wool over Injun’s 6 es, an’ he let
 I . you o‘way. Game won’t work, ydarnl You
i ' stay ere—try run 'way, Windfoot shoot you like

. he do wolf. o talk more!"

.5: H " The Pawnee’s voice was emphatic and Blanche
 ’ ' , and Somerville walked into view feeling that in

, Windfoot they had a com nion to he trusted
r in every way. Somerville gan explainil gthe

situationto im, but the lndian suddenly turned
away, caught up his rifle, ran to the interior
fining of the passage anddropped on one knee.

n

U... _....

 

 ' nmaker imitated his actions in part, and

«.31. , 'stened intently.

 , He could hear nothing.

 7 “ What is it?” he asked.

" “ Somebody ‘tep. We hes’ no talk.”
somerville ollowed this advice, but listened

_ again. Blanche waited anxiously. while the

.1  4' risoner’s es glittered with hope. Fixitsieps

3 V’ ~ame audible even to Sonicrville mid Blanche:

if! ' they came nearer: all were on the alert and pre-

"- 2,, pared for trouble; and then Claudia Bennington

 

 

,, , apXeared.
“:1 greater surprise could hardly have been
3 f", , Vouchsafed, or one more welcome, but the pres-
 -' v once of Black Hills Ben just behind her showed
4'1, how it had come about. The girls hastened to
"  each other’s arms, while Somerville impulsively
 . i «wrong the scout’s hand.
  “ Praise from me to one like you would be a
f farce,” he said, “ but you have done a good deed
‘ . —a great (1 .”
, 1" TOP 8 We could depend on him,” said the
- It. quiet vo ce of Wild West Walt, as that person
715’» ‘ Infrared from the back ounrl. “ Partner, you
'i‘ .‘ 'di the job 11 in chain- ightnin’ style. by sixty
i3. ~ ‘ I only hope t at you trounced a few hundred o
 , ' a mixed heathen, while you’s about it.
 ;u would 7a’ been a good act ter deperlate the hull
 ., blamed brigade 0’ scalawags.”
QT - “I contented myself with knocking Killough
.  A ceaseless,” answared the scout, quietly. “Kil-
3,, longh certainly didn’t hold his captive long; I
‘~ I . had my mEye on the fellow, and the moment he
3; oomluc . her tothe tpnt I knocked :him over.”
 ". “ Didn’t you kill the sarpint?”
‘ r '> “ Not to my knowledge.
 brng Miss Bennington hurriedly away from
’ ‘ the outlaw quarters, and here we are.”
' “ I should say so, by hickory. You’ve got a
{knack o’ rescuin’ fair captyves. Hugh. whar
‘mwe? I cxnect tor git left when the female
sex is passeled out, but with yer style o’ statute
suthats French fur ‘flgger’—you orter run a

 

 

  

    
   
 
 

\

I left him senseless'

,’ good race. Don’t neglect the pooty gals, lad, or
I you’ll lose the honey an’ dew 0’ life.”

i The veteran’s face beamed with satisfaction
, and, indeed, every one was in good spirits save
the captive outlaw. He looked at the others
sourly, but they gave him no attention.
once greetings were over there was a good deal
to say, and Claudia related all that had tran-
spired in Paradise Valley. The account was not
encouraging, and the least cheerful feature was
the fact that Judson Killough had taken such a
violent fancy to her. Actuated by a double nio«
tive, he would leave no means untried to bring
ruin to the little party.

It was late when the scout suggested that they
all retire, but the idea was so sensible that it was
at once carried out.

The prisoner was more securely tied; the two
girls found good quarters in one cf the balconies
of rock above: and the men of the party 1in
down in the main room. Black Hills Ben and
Walt decided that no guard was needed, but
both took )osition near the passage, where the
least distur ance would awaken them.

Somerville was very weary, and he fell asleep
quickly.

Several hours of peaceful rest followed,
unbroken by dreams or more practical troubles,
but he finally awoke and found it hard
to sleep again. His mind dwelt persistently on
their situation. and he found it gloomy enOi gh.
Had it not been for Blanche he would have

her peril worried him despite all his efforts to be
stoical.

He had sup osed that all his companions were
asleep, but TECH Todd suddenly, yet silently,
arose, rifle in hand.
gleams on his face, and showed his gaze fixed
on the passage intently.

His whole appearance impressed Somerville
as that of a man who knows that danger is
near.

The scout glided into the passage. AlniOst in-
stantly Somei'ville arose, grasped his rifle and
started after him. He had thought to make his
movements noiseless, but Ben heard him at once
and paused.

“Move. like a ghostl” cautioned the scout.
“There is some one prowling in the passage!”

“ An enemy?”

“It can’t well be anybody else. Follow me,
if you will. but beware of making a noise. We
must not let the fellow escape; he will carry the
alarm to Killough.”

Thirty yards further they Went with all pos-
sible caution, and then the scout paused and
crouched down. Somerville could then distinct-
ly hear the prowler. He was advancing, but
with caution. Black Hills Ben laid his hand
warnineg upon his companion’s arm. The
gesture seemed to call for utter silence, and
Somerville scarcely ventured to breathe as he
awaited the result of the adventure.

CHAPTER XXI.
rim SPY AT THE TENT.

SOMERVILLE’S hearin was acute enough so
that he soon discovere that only one person
was astir, and the matter seemed to row less
serious. Black Hills Ben could easily ispose of
him alone; the guumaker had often done as
much himself during his Western experience.
His chief anxiety was not to interfere with the
scout’s plans.

Nearer yet came the prowlnr, and then Ben
arese and lea pod upon him like a ticer.
his hand found the prowler’s thr. at, for no cry
was uttered: the only audible sounds were those
of the struggle. The outlaw was certainly mak-
ing‘ a stout resistance.

he gunmaker stood ready to lend his aid, but
in the darkness he Could not tell one man from
the other. Suddenly both fell to the hard
ground, and the fight seemed at an end.

 

asked.
H Yes.”
“ Light it.”
“ Wait! Me bring torch.”

turned he was sur irised to see both the Pawnee
and Wild lVest ’alt—or, at least, two dark
forms which he believed to be theirs.

“So thar’s been a dispute?” said Walt. “I
expected it; in the course 0' natur’ sech things
will come, though I dunno why. I‘ve had a
heap on ’cm. They begun afore I was threcdays
old, when the servant gal larrnped me with her

later, by stonin’ her an’ her lover as they stood
by the gate. Hit ’em both, and nigh about got
sent ter the Inform School but was let off on
account 0’ my tender age. T’vc had some thou-
sand disputes sence, by actooul count.
ain't it, Walt \Vilkinsl”

“ Here comes the Pawnee with the torch.”

“ He did it quick—good errand—boy.”

W'indfoot hcld the light above the scene. The
prowler was still there, and not likely to go
awn y of his own not. The light fcll upona
coarse, brutal face, but the dangerous element
in the man was gone; he had found death in the

projecting from the man‘s side.

 

When ‘

‘ seemed to sleep, in his old position.

stab me, but I tripped him just in time, and

‘ luck went dead against him.”

“ I have seen his face before,” said Somcrville;
“ I have seen him in the valley with Grcgerson’s
part .”

“ ‘hat settles his position, but not so with
ours. One of the gang has found the passage-—
though he may not have had the least suspicion
that We were here-and the e is no knowing how
many others are working a definite clew. Walt,
I leave you and Somerville to dispose of this
body, which you can do for the time in some
recess. “Windfoot, follow me.”

He glided away, followed by the Pawnee,
while the other two men paid attciiticii to the
dead prowler. His fate gave them no regrets,
for he was not onlv one of Killough’s men, but
his face was that of a scoundrel.

When their work was done they returned to
the main room. convinced by tlze silence that
they need not fear immediate danger, but well
aware that it would not do to sink into apathy.
()ne of the outlaws had found his nay in, and
others might do the same thing at any time.

Danger seemed dctci‘iiiined not to allow them
to "orcht its existence in" a iitonrciit.

'il'luitliitle sound had been made in the pus—
sage had not been sufficient to arouse Blanche
and Claudia, and the outlaw prisoner slept, or
\Valt and
Somervillo waited patiently, and hen finally re—

‘ turned.

faced the danger as a brave man may. but 5

“ All quiet,” he reported. “ There. is no sign
of further trouble, and I am inclined to think

: our prowler was some fellow who found the pas—

l
l

‘ sage by chance, and explored without any idea
' of what lay beyond.
The decaying torch cast its '

In brief, this cxperirnce
is only significant for the fact that it shows
what others may do. If Killoiigh makcs the
search I expect him to, he is liable to line the
entrance.”

“ And what then?”

“Then it remains for him to take us," the
scout replied, tapping the barrel of his rifle sig—

. nificaiitly.

 

Perhaps .‘

“ Have you a match?” Black Hills Ben quietly ‘

It was Windfoot’s voice, and as Somerville '

~ almost every pomt.

“He will get his flll if he tries it,” retorted
Somerville.

“ He can’t do it alone," ad led Walt, “ but he’s
got an ally we can’t trounce in the long run, I’m
afeer .”

“ Who is that?”

" Starvation 1”

“There is sense in that,” the scout admitted.
“and tomorrow night we must make a raid on
Killough’s provisions. We have enough of some
things; in other respects we are short.”

“ Mortal short,” the veteran coincided.

“We won’t lose time talking about it now,"
said Black Hills Ben. “ To your blankets, men,
and get what sleep you can; we need to be fresh
in case of an emergency, and Windfoot will
guard the entrance.”

Somerville again lay down, and, much sooner
than he expected, lost con-ciousness in sleep.
When he awoke the top of the rock was gra
with the rays of daylight which stole in throng
the crevices. The scout and Walt had repared
breakfast, as it was not safe to have a fire after
night departed, and when Blanche and Claudia.
came down from the balcony, the found no
occasion for their culinary skill. here was
enough for all, “ an’ some fer spare,” as the
ranger gravely remarked when he vainly offered
the Pawnee a taste of his tobacco.

Windfoot reported all quiet outside, He had
watched well and closely, but Killough had evi-
dently postponed the search until day.

Each of the fugitives improved the chance to
ascend to the top of the rock. now that there
was light outside. Those who had thought

Tombstone Rock a curious place, in the past,

had little suspicion of its greatest wonders. .
In shape it was an irregular cone, hollow to
the broad cap in which it ended. and fitted up

‘ inside by Nature with balcony after balcr by,

and ledge after ledge. By means of these, ascent
was comparatively easy, and the fre uent, but
narrow, crevices by the way gave amp e light.
Somerville, standing near the top and lookin
out. thought he had never seen a more disma
place. Lake Desolation lay under the (flow
sun without a (perceptible ripple. Never neforo
had he realize
could be. Dark, barren rocks walled it in at
In the distance luxuriant

. vegetation was to be Seen, but near the shores of

slipper; but I had my revenge ufore a week ‘
I There the view was very different.

Queer, j
. more men in the village than usual; the outlaws ,

I had gathered in a body.

the lake not even a blade of grass broke the
monotony of that dreary line. The lake had
bccn well named; it was a place of desolation.

Limiting to t e west he saw the outlaw village
The shun—-
ditnco of trees and bushes, and the green ca et
of grass. dotted with the white tents-ull )this
was pleasant and agreeable.

But there was more to be seen. There Were

TVhy they were there
it was not hard to surmise. One man was ad-
dressing the others—plainly, Killough was giv-
ing directions for the grand Search for his es-
caped prey.

Such was the case, and all day long the out—
laWs’ movements were watched by the hiding

passage. The scent pointed tothe hiltofaknife ‘ fugitives. Killough did his best to keep his

threat. and his men went far and wide throng:

“ He fell upon his own weapon. He tried to World’s End—even beyond the Basin. All t ' g

6'.

how still the surface of water‘

'r . ‘W‘n‘nv"

, ,
l
i

 

s.
,2

.. ..:v-rt.

‘f—‘yrf

« "with—i. . '4”.

._.. hag. _.,...~». A I. ‘

-\.
.4...»

‘ i

ii
‘1

 

 

Wild West Walt, the Mountain Veteran.

19

 

 

 

was encouraging; it showed plainly that the
real refuge of the little party was not suspected.
True, the shore of Lake Desolation was searched,
but no one came near Tombstone Rock, and no
one entered the passage.

Besides keeping an eye on the outlaws, the
fugitives also gave some attention to the gun-
makers. Work was going on there as before.
It was not at all likely that those in the valley
knew of Claudia’s escape, and they believed they
were doing their part to prevail on Killough to
keep his pledge.

The do.
again fel

. . I
There was more or less uneasmess on all‘

hands among the fugitives. Claudia often sighed
unconsciously, and they knew she was thinking

. of her lover in the East and wishing to see Dun-
stan Hughes. Next to her, Soiiierville and
W'indfoot were the most uneasy. This inactivity
fretted both; neither had a nature which made
it easy to rest under such circumstances in per-
fect content.

Somervillc. read the Pawnee’s mind and seized
a chance to speak with him privately. The re-
salt was that Windfoot Soon went to Black Hills
Ben, and asked if he could take the gunmaker
and go out on a scout. The request was at first
refused, but the Indian was persistent; he car-
ried his point.

The two men waited until some hours after
dark, and then slipped away without the knowl-
edge of Blanche or Claudia. They were soon
near the entrance. Without mention having
been made of their intentions, it was understxxxi
that they would separate there. Each had an
object in view, but one so unimportant that he
did not care to s ak of it.

Neither could a great While away, however,
for the scout intended to make an effort to se-
plure supplies from the outlaw stores, at a later

our.

They separated, and each went his way.

Somerville moved along in the most retired
place he could find, enjoying the fresh air, the
open, though clouded. heavens, and wild scenery,
as only one of his temperament can. Taking
care not to go near the outlaw village he wan-
dered about for some time, guarding against
an; collision with the enemy.

t last he found himself beside the trail, which
leavin Killough’s quarters. wound around
throng World’s End and led to the land of the
Sioux. He had hardly come to a halt before
the sound of ap roaching horses warned him to
use caution. e pressed closer to the rock and
waited.

A moment more and a score of riders appear-
ed, moving toward the outlaw village. Owing
to the darkness, he could make out but little
concerning them until they were abreast his
covert: then he saw that all were Indians, while
one, who rode at the front, was bravely tricked
out as a chief.

Somerville remembered Sweeping Eagle and
his lost captive, and Wondered if this visit did

, not have especial significance. He was soim-
ressed that, when they had gone on, he medi-
ted for awhile and then, himself, glided care-
fully toward Killough’s quarters.

Even then he was not fully decided, for the
idea in his mind was a reckless one, but he
found the way so clear that his u received
new strength. He distinguish Killough’s tent
by the flag which floated over it, and, dropping
on his hands and knees, crept to its rear.

He could hear voices inside; he made a slight
cut With his knife in the canvas, and peered
through it.

Killough and Sweeping Eagle were there.
The latter’s face was angry, but he was quiet-
ly listening while the outlaw lieutenant spoke.

“ You are not the only one who has been un-
lucky,” Killough was saying “ I’ve had an
experience just like yours, and my beauty was
stolen by the self-same men who robbed you of
Blanche.

“Xhere are these men?” the chief angrily

“ The devil knows; I don’t.”

“ Where should they be, if not on their way
south?”

-‘ I believe they are still in World’s End. My
men have retty thoroughly searched the
country sont . and, besides, none of our horses
are gone. Depend upon it, the are still near
at hand. and I am oing to find t em.”

“Sweeping Eage will send for his young
men, and every foot of the mountains shall be
searched ”

The eagle eyes of the Sioux will soon
find them.”

“Black Cloud, I have sworn that I will have
the white maiden whom you call Blanche, and
it shall be so.”

“I say the same of my enchantress—the
queenly Claudia.” _

“ Blanche is not like a queen, but she is as
sweet as the opening bud of the rose. Black
Cloud, we will join hands, and our eyes shall
be sleepless until we find these maidens.”

“I’m with you to the death,” Killough re-
plied, uickly. _

At t is moment the sentinel appeared at the
tent-door, and spoke a. few WordstoKillough
which Somerville did not overhear. The out-

\

wore on; the sun went down; night 

I law at once replied. “ Let him come in!” and

another white man entered the tent. He was
oung, and by no means a rufflan to look at; he
Kicked Wild and reckless, but not hardened, like
the rest of the band.
At first sight of his face, however, Somerville
, started; he had seen a resemblance there which
i at once aroused all his interest. He had never
I met the man before, but he bore a striking re—
semblance to a ictured face he had seen.
A suspicion ashed upon the spy which made
3 him hug the tent still closer, and instinctively
grasp his knife.
“ Chief,” said the lieutenant, turning to
Sweeping Eagle, “ will you excuse me a moment,
while I speak with this man?”

 

“ Say no.” the Sioux answered. “ Sweeping
Eagle is i:i no hurry, and while you talk he will
think.”

“ Thank you, chief.”

Killouc-h turned to his follower. The latter
looked a little uneasy, but met his superior’s

gaze firmly.
“ Birch. you have been a faithful man,” said

the lieuii mint, abruptly.
“ I think i may safely say I have, sir.”
“ You are also an intelligent man.”

“ You compliment me. lieutenant.”

“ Would you like an office With the League?”

Bireh’s eyes brightened.

“ I would, indeed,” he quickly answered.

“ You can have it on one condition, and that
is faithful obedience to my orders and devotion
to m interests.”

“ 11 this I gladly promise. sir.”

“ As Joe Birch or as Dunstan Hughes?”

The cool, deliberate question made two men
start. One was Birch; the other was Hugh
Sonierville.

The latter saw his suspicions confirmed. From
the first he had seen the resemblance, for he had
thoroughly studied the picture in Claudia’s pos-
session. At last he saw the long-sou ht man,
and he promptly made a resolution. 1 e u ould
take Hu hes back to the cave, a risoner, or
come to grief in the undertaking. t was a des-
perate chance, but one not to be missed.

Even as he made this resolution, however, a
hand was placed roughly upon his shoulder, and
a dee voice demanded:

“ ullo! critter, what be you doin’ here?”

The spy looked up quickly. One of the out-
laws was standing 0ver him, peering suspicious.
ly into his face. He was discovered.

CHAPTER XXII.
DUNSTAN HUGHES.

A SUCCESSION of thoughts went shooting
through Somerville’s mind. This man who had
challenged him was undoubtedly one of Kil-
lough’s men, and unless he could be silently dis-

of, trouble—perhaps death—was before
the gunmaker. It occurred to the latter, how-
ever. that there was so far nothing to prove that
the outlaw suspected who he was.

The fact that he had been detected listening
at the lieutenant’s tent was reason enough why
a faithful follower should challenge him, even
though the latter might suppose him one of his
own comrades.

Whether he did or not was an important
question, for on the outlaw’s state of mind de—

nded Somerville’s chances. The man must

promptly disposed of: to do this the gun-
maker must regain his feet; and he would not
be allowed to do this tamer if the outlaw sus-
pected the truth.

And it was an almost vital matter to dispose
of him silently.

All this flashed through the adventurer’s mind,
but there was only a brief pause before he an-
swered:

“ I mean no harm, pardner."

As he spoke he began to scramble to his feet,
watching keenly as he did so. If the outlaw
offered to strike. his tactics must be changed.

“ Mehhe Killough wouldn’t b’lieve you !”
growled the unknown. “Spies ain’t ble,
an’ I reckon he’d tell you so right ter the p’int.
Who be you, anyhow?”

Additional suspicion was in the outlaw’s
voice. The spy was on his feet, and the two
were face to face. Perhaps, even in the dark-
ness, the rufllau was impressed by the fact that
Somerville was not like the lawless characters
who followed the fortunes of the League.

“ This is who I am!”

As Somerville spoke his left hand darted for—
ward, and the fingers closed over the outlaw's
throat. It was a tenaciouhgrasp intended to
prevent an alarm, and the gunmaker followed
it up by Swinging his other arm around the
man. The latter bounded like a startled deer.
He had not been soon enough to foil these rapflid
movements, but he saw his danger now. 8
tried t0sound an alarm; the words were shut
off by the suffocating grasp of Somerville’s
hand. Wild with pain and rage, he grappled
with his audacious assailant.

A desperate fight began.

Under ordinary circumstances Somerville
would have had no fears as to the result. He
was young, strong and experienced, but if he
could not prevent an alarm, all these qualities
would go for nothing. .

It was a furious struggle, and Somerville ex-

 

 

pected every moment to see Killough and his
men come rushing out. To avoid this be seized
every opportunit to press his opponent away
from the tent. e began to feel more confident;
huge as was the frame of the outlaw, he was
not a dangerous enemy. If he was strong, he .
certainly was not quick, and the pressure on his ‘ :
throat was telling upon him.

The gumnaker watched his chance, caught
his enemy in a skillful " lock,” and laid him up-
on his back. Another moment and a heavy
knee was on the fellow’s breast, and Somerville
touched his neck with the blade of his knife.

“ Be silent!” he exclaimed, sternly. “Utter
one word of alarm, and you are a dead man !”

There was a gurgle in the outlaw’s throat—no
more.

“ I am not a butcher,” the gunmalier resum- 9
ed, “and you are safe enough if you use com- 1
mon sense; but if you force me to it, I’ll use this
knife.” ,-

Still no reply, but his late opponent gasped, , "
and then lay very quiet. ,

.“Fainted, by Jupiter! Well, this is uncom»
mon good luck. I’l fix him in a twinkling.”

He remembered that he had a small iece of
cord in his pocket, and with all pOssible ispatch 2,
he applied this Securely to the outlau’s wrists. " 
Next he rolled him into the shade of a small ~ \H,
thicket. It- was not a safe place to l( ave him, i
but the Victor’s means were limited, and he was. . '
very anxious to get back to Killough’s tent. - i 7

He was determined to go, though he. could ,
hardly hope that a second discovery would re- . '-
sult as well for him as the first. He was in the .~ a
heart of the village; his success thus far had i
been owing to the darkness; and an alarm _ ,
would bring all the gang u n him in a body. '  ;

Nevertheless, he returne quickly to the tent f
and again lay down at the opening before made. , I ~’ ‘

Killough was speaking. - \v

“ Of course I don’t care what name you bear-
among the men,” he said, “ but if you are pre—
pared to follow the League to the end. I don’t
see why you need be squeamish about haying
your own name known; when we have accom- -- .
plished our great work, and unlimited power is  i
ours. we shall have occasion to be proud, not ' ' ‘
ashamed. However, you need have no fear; 

l
i
i

,L‘i‘lrg J,.::r"r. y

you can remain simple Jack Birch, among the x .-
men. to the end of time. But as Dunstan 71'": i
Hughes, I have work for you.” ‘ ' ‘

Evidently he had explained something while-
Somerville was away, for Hughes answered, in.
a dimtisfied tone:

“ I don’t like the idea of going East, at all.” 

“ Why not?” vs

“Well, my record is not perfect there, and ~. ’f. ‘
enough news might come from the West to fix .
me.” .

“ You’re not a desperate man.”

“ No, nor an angel.” ‘ ' .

“ I should ho not. Could l{on really save  
that Eastern fel ow from the go. ows, with your ' A;
testimony?”  fl:

‘6 Ya. 7, I . ‘ - I 1 .

“No doubt you would be protected,  you
went as a witness.” ,

“ I mi ht not.”

“ See ere,” suddenly added Killough, “it‘s v
not necessary that you should go. When I get . .  4,.
the girl again I’ll produce you, have on prom“! ' ,1;
to go, induce her to marry me then—you: . “ ,-_;.1 .
can make a retense of going, but, really, stay
away. On \8 whole, I’d much rather Claudia   
other lover would hang.” ‘i . '

"That’s better ” Hughes agreed,  "
by the thought of such villainy. «

“ We will do just that wa . When she is re—‘ .‘ '
taken I’ll send for on, an you shall actthc ~ .
cherub, promising a she asks, and I’ll get her 

recious lover. Ha!  '
your part

to marry me to save her
not a had scheme, lay my fe. Do

ughes, and I’ll me that ,
you’liave anofllce in the League well worth have 7"
i . .

 

 

  
 
   
  
 
  
   
   
   
          
  
 

faithfully in this.

" You can depend on me, sir.”

“Your courage won’t ’weakenf” , ‘ .

HNollabiwk h t'call d 'vid ny ”

uges eempai y,an a en ,'
meant all fit he said. The promises of the -‘ f
lieutenant had overthrown any scruples he might
otherwise have had, and he was willing to do
anything thearch- letter might direct.

merville watc ed him with a heavy scowl .
on his face. His ready pledge to do all this 
seemed the more villainous because Nature had. 1
done well by him, and he might have beena 
worthy member of society. Crime had not yet . , ‘ ’
put its indelible seal upon him, as it had on
nearl all the outlaws but he was evidently
boun to follow the ms to ruin.

The gunmaker’s determination to make him a f
prisoner, if such a thing was possible. grew" "_ H
stronger. Hughes was a few pounds lighter ~ -~
than himself, and, Somerville believed, far from . -
being as strong. If he could :get at him alone, 
capture him. and take him to the refuge in“
Tombstone Rock, he would certainly be doing a
great favor for Claudia. Whetherthey could.
hold him was another question. I _ a, _ :

These meditations were interrupted by'a Stiff ’  " '
in the tent: Killou h was dismissing his top]. ;',

Somerville pas. partly around the tent and" We
waited. Then Hughes came out and 
away toward the north. His steps were slow 

. a

I4

v
1

5 20 '

and his manner thoughtful, and he did not hear

the soft footsteps behind him, nor see the dark

- shadow which glided hantom-like at his heels.

’ He wanted to be a one. New thoughts were

' in his mind. Killough had aroused his ambition;
he saw himself an officer of the League; he saw
honors and riches in the hollow of his hand. He
was exultant and excited; he wished to be alone.
He went beyond the outlaw village and, still

v, thinking deeply, sat down on u rook. Not long

 ' did he sit there, howwer: ho was aroused by a

 touch on his arm. and looked up to see some one
standing beside him.

_ “ Come this way, will you, Birch!

g 's ak wi h on.”

« ' ' p2 What isyit?”

' 'The voice was impatient, but not suspicious;
Birch believed that he saw one of his comrades,
though he could not call him by name, or, in-
deed. remember his face.

“Something of interest to you, and I want to

j » say it privately,” was the reply.

‘ Well, I’ll go.”
‘ The outlaw spoke ungraciousiy, but followed

 

 

I want to

his companion until they reached a point near
 the outlet of Lake Desolation, the guide in the
 V mean while talking carelessly. When he came
,‘i' . to a halt he looked warily about but the adja-
 ’ ‘ cent rocks seemed as deserted as the somber sur-
g,‘  face of the lake.
', ,1 “ Now speak out!” the outlaw directed.
 , “I will, and. I ask on to pay particular-atten—
 , “ tion to what I say. have a revelation to make

 which vitally concerns your interests; I shall
". I, i even present a case where your very life depends
': 1- . upon your own conduct. I beg that you will
7%  think well before doing anything rash. The
‘ revelation is—you are my prisoner I"

i  . The last words were spoken with a sudden
 change of 'manner, and a revolver was thrush
 close to Hughes’s temple.

1 “ Not a word, or you are adead man l” Somer-
* 1' ville added in a. thrilling voice. “ I mean busi—

3 6, naps, and one touch of my finger will be fatal
to on. Be silent! Yield! Obey these orders
. an on shall suffer no harm; refuse, and your
fix. blood will be on your own head.”

 r ’The outlaw stared in terror and bewilder-
1’,’ ,, went.

“a > “How? What?” he gasped, sava ely.

‘ ' “ You are my prisoner. Is that c ear?”

 *2, ' .v “ But you—who are you?”

.2 e.  “No matter. All you need understand just

f5" ;. mow is that if you sound an alarm, or resist, you
 are a dead man. Do you hear and compre-

Yes.
“ On the other hand, you are perfectly safe
- while you obey me. I think you will do the
‘. latter. Now, go where I direct, and remember
, that my revolver is at your head— Wait! give
- me the weapons in your belt.”
‘ He deftly relieved the prisoner of these articles,
I and then, setting his face toward the secret en-
'« ' trance, ordered him to move. Hughes protested,
\ but the logic of the revolver convmced him. He

, sullenly obeyed.

. , _ Somerville drove, rather than conducted. him

‘_“to the reocss, and then along the passage. Each
yard that they went made success more certain,
, and he ’began to enjoy his triumph. As the
“floured the main room he let his voice be hear ,

to guard against possible danger, and then
; ushered his prisoner in.

'Wild West Walt stood there, rifle in hand,
dud be at once exclaimed in a melancholy
‘ voice:

“Glad ter see ye back, by sixty! \Ve’re all
-‘ : ,u‘psot here. Claudia has disappeared mysterious,
 an' the very dickens is ter pay!”

  
   
  
   
  
   
 
   
    
  
    
  

,v‘, ' ,. ' CHAPTER XXIII.
THE BATTLE OF THE ROCKS.

mrranger’s revelation was a startling sur-
to Somerville. The latter had managed

v ca ture of Hughes‘with skill, dispatch and
' Imperihus authorit , doing a good work in the
 but of style, and 9 had entered the cave a
“@0n neror. Walt’s words came with the force
. .0111 l w.
 The gunmaker started back, and then flashed
/ ’ a quick glance about. He hoped to see Claudia,
, .‘but only Walt and Blanche Were visible.

. 3 “ Surely, you Were jesting.” he said, with the
1 air of one who h what he does not believe.
“Wish I was, 3; hickory!” the veteran an-
' swat-ed, “ but the fucks are. ag’in’ it. Yes, sir,
the gel has vanished like a last year’s snow-
" mirth, an’ this is a house 0’ mournin’ an’ gnash-

‘ln’ 0’ teeth.” ,
, “ It is only too true ” added Blanche.
, “ But how—where can she have gone?”
. _ “Our prisoner is also gone. It may be that
t ’69 escaped and took her with him, but it is the
 opinion of the bordercrs that she released him,
' and went along willingly.” ‘
, “ But why s ould she do that?” asked Somer-
; ’ villa in increasing bewilderment.

, “ if she went at all, it Was to find a certain
3' man,” explained Blanche.
“Great heavens!”
-* ‘ The gunmaker spoke excitedly, and then
; fiercely added:
" " -“ She has gone to find Dunstan Hughes, and
‘ here—Jun: is the man, himself! She has put

 

 

 

Wild West Walt, the M untain

her life in terrible peril, and all for nothing.
Dunstan Hughes is here!”

He gave his prisoner a push, acting as vicious-

lIy as though the outlaw was the one to blame.

t was, indeed, a bitter disappointment. Just
as he brought the fellow in, all his work was
undone by Claudia’s false move.

“ Walt W'iikins, take care of this man as
though he was a rare diamond-I am going to
find Claudia!”

Grasping his rifle more tightly he turned to—
ward the passage, but Walt’s voice again broke
tlic silcncc.

“ Hol’ on, lad, hol’ on!

Don‘t ye go. Orders

from Black Hill Ben is stricl: that it ain’t ter be 9
He’s gone urter our runaway muid, the 3

so.
scout has: 2111’ he left posityvc orders that when
you an’ Windfoot come in, you’s ter stay in.
Ain’t I right, Princess!"

“ You are right, Walt."

Somerville turned reluctantly away from the
passage.

" So be it. I would gladly go out to Sock for
her, but I recognize the fact that there arc those
here who are WlSl-l‘ in border craft than I. llut.
Blanche, I can hardly believe that Claudia
went willingly with that rullian."

“ He undoubtedly promised to find Hughes. l i
saw her talking with him; she doubtless shole
him the picture, and he, pretending to recognize 3
it, agreed to lead her to the man she wished to
find. Reynaud——the prisoner told me that was ,
his name—was very sociable when the men of 1
our party were not near. He tried to talk with ,
me, and did get me to talk somewhat of my J
past life—but he was a Frenchman.”

Blanche spoke hesitatingly, and with some i
embarrassment. She regretted having talked
with the fellow at all, but the fact that he was a
countryman had overcome her aversion to his I
re rs and dirt. It was a revelation to Somer- ,
vil e that either of the girls had talde particu- 1
larly with the man. but he could easily see how ;
Revnaud could work upon Claudia’s feelings.

“ She has gone to her doom, anyhow!” he de— !
clared. [

“ Mr. Todd may rescue her.” ‘

“ Reynaud. of course, will take her at once to
J udson Killough, and we can scarcely expect
that man to lose his grip on her again. She has
made a fatal error of judgment.”

“Don’t look on the darkest side 0’ the case,” ,
advised Walt. “I’ve see’d good come out o’
wu’ss scrapes than this. an’ the young woman .
may eat her breakfast right hyar with us ter- ’
morrer. Ef she does. she won’t be none the.
wu’ss for the adventurer, but in the course 0’
natur’ she’ll keep the rest on .us on the go ter

.rvide oatables. Thar ain’t nobody hez appe—.
ites ekul ter heroines. Know-ed a gal onc’t who
captured a Kimanche warrior in fa’r fight, un‘
she did nothin’ but eat fur the next month. The
clatter 0’ her knife an’ fork was like the playin’
o’ c mbals, an’ the racket seared all the neigh-
borin‘ cattle inter a stampede, arter which she
died 0' famishation."

At the last word the Veteran turned abruptly
to Hughes.

“ So you’re the long-lost, long—sought, be you?
You’re the [marl 0' high price for whom we’re
wallerip’ ’round hyar in a quicksand o’ trouble,
he ve?’

The outlaw did not condescend to answer, but
the unmaker replied:

“ e is unquestionably Dunstan Hughes."

“ Reckon you’re ’bout right: he looks like the
picture, anyhow. So you’re one o’ the Killough
gang, be ye, young teller? Pooty comp‘ny ou
keep, by hickoryl—nn’ you’re a decent‘loo in’
feller, too. Queer, ain’t it, Walt Wilkins?”

“I choose my own company,” the prisoner ‘
surlil. replied.

“ on show ’tarnal poor jedgment. I must
say. Wouldn’t trust ye tor pick out no chum
fur me. Yourn will bring ye tcr sorrer some
day, sure’s you are born. I may say they hev,
now

 

 

 

“ I’ve got out of a good many scrapes,” ob-
served Hughcs, defiantly, " and I reckon I shall
get out of this.” ,

“Think ye bear a charmed life, hey? Knowed
a fallen jest like ye onc’t, who s’pected ter live
forever. He‘d fit Inj ns, outlaws. pirates, can-
nibals, thugs; an’ nor 0’ wild beasts, snakes,
fishes an‘epidemnical diseases; but he flnall
got laid out by a single coil 0’ rope, He put his
head inter it out o’ bravado, but soOn found he’d
put his foot inter it. also, so n-r speak. He an’
the rope had a fight lastin’ some minutes, but
the rope hung on, an’ when they cut him down
next day the man with a charmed life was as
meek as  You’ll hev a dispute with a
rope yit, of ye don't look out, my skeptical
neighbor.”

“ You dare not harm me while Claudia Ben-
nin n lives.”

“ he talked o' harmin’ ye?”

“ I understood your meaning.”

eteran.

 

 

The Pawnee turned disdainfully away from
the proffered tobacco, but Walt saw with satis-
faction that he had succeeded in dissipati the
clouds from Blanche’s face, in a degree wit his
light talk. The veteran’s fancy for her in-
creased daily, and his zeal never waned when
there was a chance to help her in any way,
great or small.

Somerville explained the new complication
to Windfoot, while Walt carefully bound
1 Hughes. He did not intend that this prisoner
‘ should escape. After all the trouble which had
i been taken to find him, and especially after
Somcrvillc‘s good work in bringing him in, he
must not be lost.

“Though,” he added, when the Work was
done, “ I dunno how we’re any better off than
.3 we was. The gal is gone now, an‘ I ain’t sure
but we’ll hev tcr send him arter her, next.”

“ Do you know, Walt. that I have more faith

‘ in Pierre Reynaud than you have?” asked
Blanche.

“ Great snakes! cf you ain’t, yer faith would
. need a telescope bich a cannon tcl' make it
visible.”

"Reynnud and I are both French, slander-
or,”(leclarc(l the girl, simulating injured dig-
nit .

" Let him do the, braggin’, Princess; you ain’t
no cause ter. In the course 0’ natur’ sech a dirt-

; kivercd varmint must be an unwashed sinner,

by hickory!”

“I admit his condition, but, somehow—I am
not without a grain of confidence in him.”

Somerville approached.

“ \ant,” he said, in a firm voice, “say what
you will, I cannot rest easy here. I must go
out. Ben Todd ma be in great need, and even
my feeble arm will )e better than no help in a
crisis.”

“Yer arm is strong, an’ yer head cool an’
st’iddy, lad. but what cf you should get gobbled
by them mongrel chaps?”

“Believe me, I will use all possible care, but
it worries me to remain idle when one of our
party needs, or may need. aid. " Y

“Go, then, go! It may be best, an’ I’ll be
kicked ef Iain’t jest all a-tremble ter go out, my-
self, an’ trounce the incmy. But we can’t all go;
the Pawnee an’ I will stay.”

Somerville’s face brightened. He glanced to-
ward Blanche. Her eyes seemed to implore
him to remain, but she thought of Claudia, and
her lips were mute. -He smiled encouragingly,
looked to his rifle and left the cave. Windfoot
stretched himself out on the rock at the interior
ripening of the passage, and lay like astatue.

e was all eagerness to go, also, but he had re-
ceived the scout’s orders to remain. and he did
not rebel.

The gunmaker emerged from the recess, and
then paused on the bank. Lake Desolation lay
like a phantom sheet of glass, and its dead
silence was gloomierthnn ever. The young man
glanced toward the outlaw village. There, too,
silence reigned.

Where was Claudia?—-—where Black Hills Ben?

Bending low, to make his person visible as
little as possible, he glided forward. It was his
intention to approach the village by a slight
detour. Never before in his ex rience did he
feel the need of caution more t an then. The

‘ fugitives had trouble enough already, and if he

added to it, he felt that he would do an unpar.
donable act.

Half the contemplated journey was finished
wh n the darkness in front of him was suddenly
broken for a transient period by a bright flash.
The report of a revolver followed. Somerville’s
form grew erect; be grasped his rifle more firm-
ly; his gaze was fixed on the quarter of interest
with eager keenness. Again and yet again
came the flash and report; three times the re-
volver had been fired. ,

He waited for no more. Headless of what
might lie in the way. be bounded toward the
spot like a panther. His How} was up, but back
of it all was a. coolness which enabled him to
reason clearly and coherently.

Onlya few yards had he to go, but other shots
were tired before the space was cleared. The
flashes were of rent value to him; he distin-
guished Black ills Ben, and, by his side, a
slighter figure. Op . tothem Were several
brawny fellows, who could be nothing else than
outlaws. ‘

Somerville dashed impetuously into their
midst. He had reversed his rifle. and now used

it as a club. The first stroke brought down a
man, and de pressed upon the others. The Scout
called his name and sprun to his side. They
flung themSclves upon the enemy, and gave blow
after blow in rapir succeSsion.

If a victory was won, It must be done quick-

The gunmaker had received two or three
blows which be disregarded, but a more power-'
ful one brought him to his knees. A hu e out-

 

“Mirhty 'cnte. ye he. Hugh, see what a,
mind an’ postilential conscience will do ;
We ain’t butchers. crcctur‘, an’ of ,

crook
fur a teller.
we was, we'd never think o’ killln’ a mule fur
use in the cutaneous department—which is
another farm fur the kitchen. Hullo, hyar
comes Windfoot; the sire shoe are comin”in-
‘ter the fold, pus by one. haw, njuni”

 

law leaped upon him, and they fell to the ace of
the ledge together. The rufflan was at the ;
his hand went up and Somerville saw a knife n
5 his grasp; it fell, but the young man caught the
' descending wrist and averted the blow.

Then began a struggle for life which Ben Todd
was too busy elsewhere to stop. The gunmaker
must depend on himself. .

/

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\

   

Wild West Walt, the Mountain Veteran.

CHAPTER XXIV.
A STUBBOBN OUTLAW.

THE big outlaw gained a position favorable
for the use of his strength, and it almost seemed
to Somerville as though his bones were being
crushed in that powerful grasp.
to additional e orts, however, and well aware
that his onl hope lay in his superior agility, he
writhed ski lfully from the rutflan’s hold.

Chance gave him an ogportunity, and he Was
not slow to improve it. ‘ollecting all his energy
he flung the outlaw back, dashing his head forci-
bly against the ledge. Instantly the opposing
grasp relaxed; the big frame quivered, and then

y motionless; the blow had stunned the out-
law.

Somerville sprung to his feet.

-He was just in time to seeBlack Hills Ben beat
down the only remaining foe.

" Quick I” cried the scout; “ take the girl, and
get to the refuge. I. will follow!”

The gunmaker turned to Claudia who was
looking on in a half-fainting condition, and
caught her hand. He saw that she was dressed
in male attire, but gave the matter no thought
then. He spoke to her; she seemed dazed. The
shouts of other men close at hand told of outlaw
reinforcements on the way. Somervillt! swung
his arm around the girls waist and, almost
carrying her, beat a hurried retreat.

Every moment he expected to be overtaken,
or to see hostile forms spring u in his path, but
nothing of the kind occurred.
rapid flight, and they reached the outlet of Lake
Desolation. A few steps more and they were in
the usage. Todd was close behind them.

“ i on !” he said, quietly. “I think nobody
has seen us, but 1 will stay here for awhile.
Send Windfoot, if he cares to come."

Claudia, however, s ke for the first time.

“Wait!” she said, aintl‘yé “ Let me get in
breath, and—my senses. hat mad thing sha
I do next? I have nearly involved you all in
min."

“ We are now out of it all right,” Somerville
replied. cheerfully.

“ I hoped to find Dunstan Hughes. Our

risoner, Reynaud, promised to take me to him.
feel that I have sinned pardon, but I re-
leased him, and followed him from the cave.”

“For myself I do not care, but I fear that
every one of the outlaws will soon be howling
about us. Reynaud knows the secret of our
refuge: he will brin them here.”

“ do not think 9 will; he was true to me,
an how; and he promised to keep our secret.”

he darkness concealed Somerville’s smile.
To him it seemed absurd to put any reliance on
the outlaw’s promise.

“ Shall we go to the cave now .3”

“ Wait a moment. Let me go to the recess
where I found and donned this suit. It is that
of the outlaw killed in the paSsage, and I put it
on for additional safet . I shall die of shame if
I am/seen so improper y clad."

There was real confusion and embarrassment
in her voice, and though Somei'ville did not
take such an extreme view of the case, he yield-
ed to her wishes. While she was occupied he

stood beside Black Hills Ben. The fact that ‘

none of the outlaws had et appeared was de-
cidedly encouragin . A ight step sounded be-
hind them, and indfoot glided to their side.
Neither the firing nor their entrance
unheard by him, but he had remained as stoical
as ever.

While he and the scout were talking, Claudia

p .
“ 1_fear that I have done Blanche an irrepar-
able inJury,” she said. “For myself I care lit-
tle—I expected trouble when I came to this wild
, land—but I had no right to do what would bring
fresh perils upon her.

“ Don’t dwell upon the subiect,” Somerville
answered, in his former c eerful manner.
“ Present indications seem to show that we need
not fear immediate pursuit; the whole case
hin on Mr. Pierre Reynaud. He can betray

us if he twill, but Iyou say he will not. I hope
your lawn is we grounded.”

“I are faith in him. He ided me out;
took me through the outlaw vi , trying to

find Hughes: and in several ways ed me
from discovery. He might have med me,
and did not.”

“ That is certainly encou ng.”

“He did desert me when agei- m He
was conducting me away when we ran upon

'others of Killough’l band. They were an i-
cicus, and he ran away. Then came Mr. r0311,
who rescued me.” ‘

By this time they reached the main room. In
the midst of this conversation, and with so
much to make him anXIous, he had for the time
forgotten Dunstan Hughes' and she entered the
cave without a suspicion of what awaited her.

She and Blanche met like sisters long -
rated. Common danger had made a bond -
tween them, and, brief as their acquaintance
had been, they seemed like old friends. Claudia.

came as a peniteut, and she really wondered at
\her rashness in leaving the cave without a word
to her friends, but Blanche refused to regard it
as an especial wrong to her.
If she was a woman, she had a nature that
was heroic. '

It nerved him '

' 'here was a short, 1

Claudia. turned awa from her and. met an-
other am. Dunston ughes was looking at her
intent y. The light of the torch fell dimly on
his face, giving it a dull, uncertain appearance,
but his eyes were gleaming ea erly. . V
I The girl started. She pr her hand quickly
. over her heart; herlips parted: the color receded
i from her face; her eyes dilated; and she gazed
2 like one who looks upon a specter.

Hughes smiled in a sick] way. .

"Don’t you know me, iss Bennington?” he
asked.

“ You—you. here?" she gasped.

“ Yes, it’s I.”

She took tw0 quick ste forward.

“ it is impossible.
Hughes—and here. I” .

“1 ca tured and brought him in, Miss Ben-
, nington, ’ interrupted Somerville, Who saw that
I the scene was painful to her.

i “At last—at last! Dunstan Hughes, do you

i know that I have come thousands of miles to

! find you?”

“Yes, and I’m ready to go right back and

5 save Edgar Wheaten. He’s an innocent man,

. and I’ll save him.”

“ Do you promise this?”

“I do. ’Vhy

2 I’ni not going back on him; no harm shall come

l to him while I live.”
"Thank Heaven!

. escape from here and retrace our steps.”

0, no; it is Dunstan

 

21

Hughes. “ I am a risoner, I know, but I won’t
talk. I feel more ike taking life than saving
' H

it.

“Bad blood,” Walt commented. “He does
need a taste 0’ a switch, wal laid on.”

“ We waste time with thii;I man ” added Som-r
erville, who saw that Hughes’si ea of his own
importance was steadily increasing. “ Let us
leave him alone; his mood will improve, per
haps, before he is out of this fix.”

They went aside, and at that moment the
scout entered. He had left Windfoot on guard,
and there was no danger that the passage would
be poorly cared for.

“ I want to speak with you.” the scout abrupt—
ly said, addressing Walt and Somerville.

“ Is there new danger?” Claudia quickly

- asked.

not? He was my friend, and 

r

Then we have only toi

Claudia's face had grown bright and happy; 
i the color returned to her cheeks iii a swift rush: '

her eyes sparkled; and she show ed in every way

“ If there is, it is not visible.”

“1 tremble to think what my indiscretion
may bring upon us,” the girl added, turning to
Blanche.

“ Now, don’t let your mind run upon what is-
past and gone,” returned Blanche, lightly. “I
know the temptation which you had.”

“I went secretly because I knew our friends
would never agree to the arrangement, and
Reynaud promised faithfully to do his best. He-
tried to do it, too. I am sure, and, unclean vag-
abond that he is, I am not without hope that he-
will keep the secret of our refuge. .

“ I. too, am favorabl ' impressed by him,"
said Blanche, thoughtful .

“ That reminds me—after we left the cave he
asked many questions concerning you; about

how she was devoted to the cause she had es- , your history, name, your father. and so on.”

I used

“ Singular! He asked all this of me, and

l po‘fl’ll- certainly do it,” continued Hughes, . seemed very much interested. This is singular,

blandly.
known I was needed.
and the sooner I set out, the. better.
hear my plan, Miss Bennington t”

“ Your plan? Yes.”

I’ll save W heaton, sure,

 

 

, Killough’s men, but if I go alone, Ican make
, railroad time. 1 know the way, and I'know the
, ass words.
i st this hour.
, miles away before another da dawns.”
Claudia’s face clouded. T e pro )osition, the
1’ man’s eager air, and the uliar g earn in his
1 eyes, all impressed her as
i glanced iiiquiringly at Somerville.
‘ “ Mr. Hughes,” said the gEnmaker curtly,
“ what of your compact with illoughf”

The prisoner’s eager air vanished; his face
darkened.

,“ What compact?” he slowly asked.

“The one by which you agreed to make a

retezise of going East, but, really, remain
: ere.

“I—-I never made such a compact,” Hughes
stammered.

, “ It is false. I heard your treacherous scheme.
You were to play into Killough’s hands, and en-
; able him to du Mi Bennin u; but it was
:_ arranged that heaton shoul meet his fate.
T Killough said he would prefer to have him .r-
ish on the gallows, and you did not ob'ect. he
rice of your infamy was to be an 0 co in the
gue, and you were not so deeply attached to
Wheaten the l”

Somerville spoke with angry emphasis and
scorn, and the outlaw writhed before the accusa-
tion. There was nothing but treachery in his
heart, and as he saw his cunnin scheme go to
pica:i at one stroke, he was dum ounded and si-
en .

“ That’s plain English,” quoth Walt Wilkins,
“ an’ of thar’s any one thing I set a store on, it’s
words that are to the p‘int. PoHy-distillable
words an’ injy-rubber sentences will glance of!
like a blunt ax, but them that’s short an’ sweet
go right home. I reckon you hit the teller in a
vital art 0’ his anathema.”

“ ave you, indeed, heard all this, Mr. Som-
ville?” asked Cla dia. "

“ I heard it by istening at Killough’s tent.”

“ Then this man shall not leave my si t.”

“ Then I’ll never say a word for eatonl”
an ily declared Hughes.

‘ You will, and shall.”

“ Not a word will I speak if you force me to
go East. F‘ree me, and let me go as I will, and

will save him. Otherwise, tortures shall not
wring a word from ’me.”

He spoke defiantly, and his eyes, shot ugly
glances at those before him.

“ You shall; at least, be produced in court,”
Claudia firmly answered.

“ My lips will be mute.”

“ They may be mute a mighty sight quicker’n
Wu think, you cross-grained curl” retorted Wild

est Walt. “ Trouble with you is, you’ve got
too much conceit. You orter hev it trounced
out 0’ ye, by sixty l” 1'

“ You dare not do it,” Hughes growled.

“Meister,” deliberately replied the veteran,
, “ while you remain a pearl. 0’ great price in our

case I’m anxious ter save ya from fractur’s o’
; life an’ limb, rumbunction o’ the brain, osfixica-
. tion 0’ the h t, an’ similar onpleasantnesses;
; but when you’v testified in court, I think you

 

Will you l

l

“It’ll be a hard job for you to get clear of } vais was not my father.

Wheaten shall not die; I’ll start 3
Release me, and I’ll be ten i

ing suspicious. She 1

 

“ I’d been in the States long ago if I’d i and I regret now that I did not turn the tables

upon him, and try to learn why he was so curl.
ous. 1 have, of late. heard strange statements
about myself. Sweeping Eagle, the white
Sioux chief, declared positively that Basil Beau~
He told a story that I
cannot-will not—belieVe until I am obliged to

for such belief would be very painful to me; bu;
this talk with Reynand recalls his statements.
Can it be that Reynand, too, pretends to know-
something about my history ?” A

Blanche put her hand thoughtful] to her
forehead, and her expression bore out er asser-
tion that the subject was painful, but, just then”
Black Hills Ben approached.

“ Young ladies,” he said, “ I have news for“
you. We have decided upon a hazardous ate
tempt. To-morrow ni ht we rescue the gum .
makers and leave Wor d’s End, or perish in the
attempt!”

.—-——

CHAPTER XXV. . it. ‘

KILLOUGn’s TENT.

“ 11' does seem as though the Evil One has got '
charge of the whole business. and one back on.‘
us. can‘t understand it.‘ Is the
bewitched, or what’s the matter? The whole"
thing seems going to the dogs!” ,

The speaker was Judson Killou b. He and
Sweeping Eagle were seated toget er, the da
after the events of our last chapters, and  '
they had sought to drown their sorrows n4

liquor, the on ious draughts had neither helped"- "‘5 ‘~

orld’s Endé , 

l:-

m.
,r

them out of t eir dilemma nor made them more ,

amiable.
“It does beat the blue blazes.” replied the

chief, who did not take the trouble to talk any- ' I I .

 

, .

thing but off-hand English when with his part: _i ’

ner in crime.

“ All these folks are missing, but where '

they? They have not left World’s End—of that . ' 

I am certain—and it follows that they. an 
hiding close at hand. But where? I can’t well“ ‘-
ask if the earth has swallowed them up. in the f

full sense of the word, for they appear regularly
and raise a cyclone, so to k. Now mere“
was that row last night. e’ve 1: several
men in the hospital as a result, but coveted“
prev walks off as unconcerned as you lease.” '
Killough was a very angry man. e was not ‘

of a nervous temperament. and not a man to- 

show excitement extravagantly but his
face looked darker than ever: his lips had a
stony rigidity, and his eyes glittered emi- f'

nously.
sweeping Eagle, more phl atic of Infant. "
butlessstrongofwill,helped lftoaucth'arj

drink.

“ It’s confounded funny,” he admitted. \

“ Here I have any numberof old bordmr'
at my back, and your Sioux are sup to be
31-foot bloodhounds on the trail, at none of

em. can locate our game. Why? Is‘witch—
craft at work?”

“No; it’s Black Hills Ben and Walt  "it

kins.”

“Well, they seem to have done so, thus far,” 
Swee ing Eagle dryly admitted. '
.“ on take it ' lly. Are we

Blanche as you say. you can hardly be
to lose her.

i an’ me, an’ a good stout switch, kin argue this have ,her if I raise the surface of the

' case 0’ ourn better than now.”
' “ Bully me all you will,” sullcnly replied

i. , ,
“What I depend on mostisstarvatfcn. tn?

:1 l '
I». .1 ‘5‘ ' ‘..‘.

dark ‘

“ Do vour Sioux knuckle under to them!” ‘ ' i i

to heeuch‘einn 
out of those girls? If you care as mac far?

As for the queenly Clam  
!by ‘

    
 

 

22

. ___._..__._...__- ..__-. . -_

on] we can keep them where they are, hunger ; now likely to reveal what he had intended to
wil yet drive them out; or, in their efforts to ; admit—that Blanche had been wrested from his

obtain food, we shall get a clew and capture .
1

[

them.”

At this moment one of Killough’s men ap—
ieared and announced that Major Benningten
iad asked to see the lieutenant, or to have the
latter’s pledge made good regarding his per—
miSsion to see Claudia. This message had been
expected, and as Killough knew that he must
meet the point squarely, he promptly gave or-
ders to have the major brought to his tent.

Sweeping Eagle took the lieutenant aside.

, “ Suppose that you include Basil Beauvais in
that order. I want to hear what he will say
.about Blanche. If he comes, however, you may
expect me to play the stately red skin to the
extreme. I was indiscrect when speaking to
Beauvais in the valley, and I don’t want him to
sus ect who I really am.”

illough readily agreed, and the waiting out—
law was directed to bring Bennington and
Beauvais under a strong guard. Calling the
man back after he started away, the lieutenant
told him to let Gregerson have char eof the
work, and to say to him that he wm d be re-
sponsible for the gunmakers with his life.

“ I mustn’t have any more escapes,” he added,
to Sweeping Eagle.

Evidentl Gregerson was of the same opinion,
for, when cnnington and Beauvais came, they
were surrounded by_a detachmentot' outlaws
which would naturally have given the impres-
sion that the two old men were the most desper-
ate fighters in the world. The white Sioux
could not avoid a smile of amusement as he saw
the imposing escort.

The prisOIiers entered the tent. Both were
grave and anxious, and when the major swepta
glance about the place and failed to see Claudia,
his furrowed cheeks grew a shade grayer. He
still bore himself with a military air, however,
and his manner was firm.

Beauvais was of a more excitable nature, and

his nerves had been wholly unstrung by the sep-
aration from Blanche. He could hardly imagine
a worse fate than that to which she had, as he
behaved, been consigned, and every hour had
been one of misery to him since she had gone
away with Sweeping Eagle. There had been
'remarks made amen the gunmakers that his
mind and body were th 'ving way under the
blow; certainly, the aged renchman was mis-
erable, and he grieved unceasingly.

“ Well.” said Killough, breaking the brief si-
lence, " I am ready to hear what you have to

an .”
ZLieutenant Killough,” said the old soldier,

” / slowly and impressively, “ do you remember the

 and whi

‘_ remain

. j plied

 . “ Dare

' _I‘ know you '

‘ , you name.”

promise you made me?

“ Regarding Miss Bennington’!”

“ Yes. You said that I should see her often,
and that-—”

Here he was interrupted by a cry from Beau—
vais, whose eyes had wandered from Killough’s
face to that of the white Sioux. He had started
nervously and changed color, and he now broke
out almost wildly:

“ Mon Dieu! it is he——it is the kidnapper of
mfihildl Man, what have you done with my
B he!”

, He took three impetuous strides and confront-
ed Swee in Eagle belligerently, but the latter
ca m.

‘ “I’ve certainly done her no harm,” he re-

“ No harm? Was it no harm to take her away
from moi—no harm to compel a delicate girl to

among the heathen Sioux? Man, you are
giro—where is my child?”

The Frenchman’s excitement increased, and
Sweepin Eagle tried to calm him. Remember-
ing that a was outwardly an Indian, he assumed
an a prepriate manner and replied:

“ t 0 white man rest easy; Velvet Eyes is

,‘ in no danger. Let the white captain talk with
* the old man who, like you, asks for hisda h-

ter, and then we will speak of Velvet Eyes.

patient!”

you ask me to be patientl—you who

have stolen my Blanche? Man, you cannot de-

ceive me With all your paint and long speeches.
on are Francoxs Ayot!’

Sweeping agle started. and his face expressed

v deep anno ance if not dismay.

“ The w ito man is not in his right mind," he

3 managed to answer.

“ Don’t talk to me!” cried Beauvais; “ don’t

- thinkto blind me with your Indian lingo. You

are Francois A 0t, and I know it!”
“Sweeping glo knows nothing of. the man

“ Nonsense! You betrayed yourself when
you took Blanche aWay. don’t wonder that
You want to deny your identity I should, if I
was masquerading as an In an. You are
fallen low, Ayot, when you turn renegade!”

Bennington plucked at his companion’s sleeve,
rod a. word of caution.

“Let im talk on,” interru ted the white
chief, curtly. “He is not doi g himself any

. I can swear. If you are so concerned to
w, Beauvais, I am Francois Ayot. Also, I
am the possessor of Blanche. Also, I intend to

‘ ' her i”

, , renegade had grown angry, and was not

 

    

p03session.

“ Monster!” the gunmaker exclaimed.

“Anything more?”

“ Francois Ayot, what dark plot have you in
mind?”

“ If to marry the charming Blanche is a. ‘ dark
plot ’ that is it. I have no other.”

“ hat is enough, Heaven knows!”

“ Why do you make such a disturbancell The
girl is not your daughter.”

“ She is not less dear to me.”

“ Nor to me,” the renegade uickly answered.

“ And you would make her s are your wretch-
ed life ~give her the companionship of Sioux—-
ruin her life?”

Beauvais’s voice was tremulous with emotion.

“ Her life belongs to me, don‘t it? I saved it
that dark night of storm. I have not forgotten

how I struggled through the deep snow, fighting ,
a desperate battle with death, in order to reach ‘

Prairie Port. I earned a risht to her.”

“ You have no right to doom her to such a
life as yours.”

“ Well, I’ve got her, haven’t 1?"

“Heaven help her. yes!”

“ Pretty Blanche!“ murmured the white chief,
evidently bound to be revenged for the severe
terms heaped upon him.

Beauvais bowed his head in despair. He felt
utterly crushed. and unable to continue the
conversation. there now was hope for
Blanche?

Killough’s voice broke the brief silence:

“ Bennington, you have asked for Claudia.
I have that to tell which will be as good news
for you as it is bad for me. Claudia has been
taken from my hands, and I have no idea
where she is. I have reason to believe that
Black Hills Ben and, possibly, that villainous
Somerville, were the means of depriving me of
her.”

The major had made a start. and a variety of
emotions were depicted on his face—surprise,
‘oy, uncertainty and doubt showed in turn.

e now looked at Killough as though he would
read his very thoughts.

"This is a strange story you ask me to be-
lieve, sir.”

“ Infernall strange!”

“ How cou d two men take her away?”

“Not by force, you can safely believe. It
was their villainous cunning, aided by prompt
action and a surprise.”

“ Judson Killough, are you telling the truth?”
the major gravely asked.

“ I am. I swear it. Of what advantage
would it be to me to deceive you, since you
are a helpless prisoner?”

Bennington believed that he could see possi-
ble reasons but refrained from mentioning
them. for killough’s manner seemed to him
that of a man speaking the truth.

“ I am willin to say,” the lieutenant added,
that I am movmg heaven and earth to recover
her. I believe that she and her rescuers are
still at World’s End, and I am not to be de-
feated. I shall have her back, and, when I
do, you shall see her.”

The speaker did not think necessa toadd
that, with the co-operation of Dunstan ughes,
he had arranged a scheme by which he hoped to
make Claudia become his wife without opposi-
tion; a scheme as treacherous as his own dark
nature.

The ma?or did some rapid thinking and
close calcu atjon, and he was so impressed b
the outlaw’s ill-concealed irritation that he ac-
cepted his statement as true. Claudia had been
rescued, and there was still hope.

He promptly decided to do an thing to anger
his chief captor further. If lack Hills Ben
was near at hand, there was no knowing what
reaction might occur in favor of the gunmakers.
The scout was brave, experienced and fertile of
ex ionts, and he might yet surprise Killough.

ecidedly, the best way was to act moderate-
ly, and not bring any new hardship upon the
valley prisoners.

“I acce t your explanation," he said, after a
thoughtfu pause,” and will return to the valley
and encourage the gunmakers to go on ace-
fully. I trust that you will give me c 't for
this."

“I will, by Jupiter!” Killough quickly re-

lied.
p He had good reasons to be pleased, and, under
the im ulse of the moment, and with the fact in
mind that the major was not only Claudia’s fa-
ther but a milita man, he was about to offer
the bribe of an o co in the League, but his cold
caution returned and he check the impulse.

“ We are ready to return,” said Bennington,
quietly.

“Speak for yourself!” exclaimed Beauvais,
suddenly amusing from a long period of gloomy
abstraction. “ I am not ready to go while th s
scoundrel sits here sneering at me!

As he spoke the last words he made a sudden
dash toward the white Sioux his hands out-
stretched to seize him by the threat, but. calm-
ly retaining his seat, the renegade met the as-
sault with a leveled revolver.

Ontelg a sudden recoil on Beauvals’s part pro
ven him from running against it, and the

x

v“! .,
. i.

\a- ‘. .

Wild ,West Walt, the Mountain Veteran.”

 

 

 

movement brought a. sneering smile to Sweep-
ing Eagle’s face.

“ That’s right—curb your ardorl” he said,
mockingly. " I could whip you hand-to-hand,
easil , but Will not. If you try to lay hand on
me, ’1! shoot you as I would a mad-dog!”

It was an intense crisis, but Bcnnington has
tened to take Beauvais by the arm.

“Come away,” he urged. “What you con-
template is madness.”

The unhappy Frenchman’s head had again
fallen upon his breast, and with a deep sigh he

ielded to the major’s persuasive touch, and a1»
owed himself to be led from the tent.

CHAPTER XXVI.
WORKING For. THE GUNMAKERS.

THERE was great excitement at Tombstone
lock, for the next few hours would make a
great change in the fortunes of the prisoners of
World’s End. Before morning all the gun-
makers would be at liberty, or the last hope
would prabably be gone. A plan had been
formed by the dwellers in the cave, but it was
one so desperate that there seemed to be only
one chance in a hundred that it would succeed.

Night had fallen. The sky was clouded, and
the darkness more pronounced than even during
the nights which had gone before it. The
shadows seemed to rest almost palpany upon
the cliffs and gulches, and upon the dead sur-
face of Lake Desolation.

\Vithin the cave Walt \Vilkins, Somerville.
Blanche and Claudia were gathered in a group,
ready to start at a moment’s warning. Dunstan
Hughes was also there, but his sullen face told
that he was not pleased by the pr0spect; ifl he
went at all, it would be as a prisoner, and he
must go if the others did. ,

The- four men of the party were about to
make an effort to rescue the prisoners of Para—
dise Valley. As a first step Ben Todd and
lVindfoot had gone out to secure the necessary
horses. Of Course these must be taken from the
outlaws’ corral. and this seemed a most hazard-
ous enterprise in itself.

If it was successful, the second attempt would
follow.

Naturally, Blanche and Claudia were nervous
and uneasy, but Somerville and Wild West
Walt tried to cheer and encourage them.

“Don’t git down-hearted ” said the veteran,
“ fur this is a very simple a air. ‘I’ve often did
more alone. Recollect on one ’casion a war—
party 0‘ ’leven hundred Injuns descended or. the
settlements, au’ captured a young woman I was
oncommon fond on. I set out ter rescue her. A
female temp’rance lecturer had been arter me
an’ ot me for sign a )ledge, one article 0’ which
forbid my killin’ an njun fur a year. ButI
tu’k ter the trail, an’ ef you’ll b’lieve it, I drop-

on them Injuns,'one by one, tied ’em neck
an’ heels, an‘ left ’em on the rairie. I follered
’em fifty mild, an’ finally ti the last one an’
rescood the fair pris’ner. It was a pecooliar
sight as we rid back ter see them scattered like
mile—posts, only a heap thicker, an’ wobblin’ like
sixt ter git cl’ar o‘ the‘r bonds.”

“ here did you get ropes enough to do all
this?” Blanche inquired. “It must have re-
guired”a good many to tie eleven hundred In-

ians.

“Soit did—so it did. Wal, I went ter St.
Louis an’ bought ev’ry ’tamal rope they had in
the cit , an’ tu’k alongl a pack-mule ter carry
’em. ‘ t was a good so eme, but it made a rope-
famine in St. Louis an’ tbar was not only great
destitution an’ su erin’ amon the poor, but
they had fer pardon three con emned murder-
ers, ’gause they couldn’t hang ’em, havin’ no
r0 .’

‘This was ‘ condemned’ lucky for the mur-
dercrs.” observed Somerville, “ but it seems that
the lack of rope gave them more rope.”

"More libert , I take it you mean. Wal,
thar’s logic in t at, thou h I never thought on’t
More. Queer, ain’t it, alt Wilkins?”

The last words had barelgv passed his lips when
the ranger suddenly sta , moved closer to the
passage, and listened intently for a moment.
Then he nodded contentedlv.

“ It‘s Black Hills Ben an3 the Pawnee.
fur the Verdict !”

Silence fell upon the group. It was an anx-

 

Now

ious pause and no one tried to break it. Wind- 1

foot and the scout appeared, and the latter
smiled quietly as he saw the inquiring glances
bent upon him. .I

“We have scored one success. All the horses
that we need have been secured and taken to a
safe int.”

“ ave ou seen the outlaws?”

“ At a istance, yes. We did not presume on
our limited aetgliaintance to speak with them.”

“ That was t oughtful in you, but I fear they
would not be equa y polite.”

“ We are ready to leave, an Wind-
foot, you may gag the prisoner.’

Hughes warmly protested. but without avail.
It Would have been the hight of rashness to con-
duct him past his comrades without this pre-
caution, as he would surely give the alarm. The
Pawnee promptly guarded against this by sk ll-
fully applying the gag. .

“ Take a last look at Tombstone Rock,” he

scout then added, “ and we are ready toga.”

yhow.

  Wild West Walt, the Mountain Veteran. 23

 

 

 

“The fun begins,” added Wild West Walt, Windfoot belonged the honor of strikingthe first He broke off suddenly. A slight sound had A'
and then, producing his ever-read tobacco, be real blow. If he failed, their whole scheme drawn his attention to the door; there stood

looked gravely at VVindfoot an continued: would go to pieces like a bubble. Somerville, his hand raised to command silence.
You’d better hev a chaw, Injun. It‘s a wond’- Back and forth paced the nearest guard with “ Not a word!” he exclaimed. “ As you value
ful nerve-tonic, the weed is, an’ builds up the militar steps. Thus far he had suspected not-h- your lives, don’t give any alarm. I have come

f systerm amazin’.” iug. ow long would he remain ignorant? If to rescue all !”

' The Pawnee turned a deaf ear to the invita- he once caught sight of that dark form writhing Garrison strode forward and grasped the
tion, and the party passed out of the cave. It toward him, all was lost. A shout from him young man’s hand in silent agitation, while
had been a most valuable shelter to them in a would alarm all the sentinels; an alarm from ug Dave coolly observed;
time of need, but they went hoping never to see them would arouse the outlaw village. “ I reckon I‘s born ’bout on time, arter all. Ef

it again. W indfoot, probably by the scout’s The suspense was almost intolerany painful. I’sa baby now I wouldn’t liev no show, but of
order, had taken charge of Hughes. When near The giiniiiaker pressed his hand over his eyes, ever I kin set my feet on top 0’ them measly
l the outer world Black Hills Ben mused for a resolved not to look ogaiuhbut the impulse was rocks, you’ll see me run as of my feet Was Spring- .

i moment and spoke with \Valt an Somerville; too strong to be resisted. e looked, and, as be- boards, an’ my legs full-proof injy-rubber
then they went on, and the venture was fairly fore, saw the crawling Pawnee. But he heard . jum in‘-jacks, by thundcration-let-loosel"
begun. no sound save the steps of the guard. V ith this remarkable declaration Long Dave
; _ Their course had been carefully marked out, Black Hills Ben remained as motionless as a jammed his hat recklesly down over his head,
1 i. and the scout led the way as rapidly as was Con- statue, and his calmness was a source of irrita- , picked up a hammer. expectorated on his hands, ,
l 7‘ sistent with prudence. He had previously de- tion to his less experienced companion. In vain i and was evidently ready for work. ’
5 cided that theoutlaws had abandoned the search Somerville tried to imitate hi'n. Garrison had been trying to speak coherent— '
‘ > for the night, and, unless they ran upon some Still crawled the Indian forward. His cau- 1y, but not with marked SUCCESS, and Souierville
‘ stray member of the band, there was no inime- tion, his skill, his noiseless progress was some- cut him short. .
diate dangrr. thing remarkable. No part of his person was “What we want to do now is to notify every . , ‘

 ;, Blanche and Claudia did not take an equally erceptibly raised above the ground save his one of the prisoners, impress the need of caution
g 7” . cheerful view of the case. Each had had a taste lead, and this, together with his peculiar mo- upon their minds, and then collect them b the ,
-r ~ of captivity, and they had such a. horror of again tions, made him seem like a huge serpent crawl— cliff to receive my final orders. You an will ‘,

falling into the hands of their enemies that calm- in on its prey. do this, Garrison, but bear in mind that one out-
ness was out of the question. The extreme e fate of the nmakers de nded upon this crylmay ruin all. Now, go l” ’
e pushed the excited gunmaker from the ’

darkness, so pleasing to their defenders, was full dark, supple, writ ting form. \ 'hat would that
of gloomy menace to them; the rocks and cliffs fate be?” -
look-d forbidding and menacing; and every

tent, and as the latter COllt‘Ctkd a measure of , i
coolness, they went on and proceeded to arouse 

 

w l . moment they expected to hear the shout of an CHAPTER XXVII. all the party. None had yet retired, and it was ,
outlaw, or the whoop of an Indian, sound upon 111' RIK I NG T HE B L0 w. an easy task, but the confusion which they v ‘_ 1;
the night-air. THE outlaw guard reached the end of his beat, caused was something wonderful. . ‘

v This did not prevent prompt action on their turned, and came back. Beside his path were A few moments before gunmakers had not ,
i , part, and, after a season of suspense, they several bowlders of varying size. He had been had a hope of escape; now, the dazzling light of * i
,  arrived at a canyon where the horses had been accustomed to see them there, and did not think liberty was flashed before their eyes. It was . l
3 -, ,, left. If the unmakers had also been there of giving them particular attention. He did not not strange that they were for a time too excited

f f’ nothing woulr have prevented instant depart- suspect that behind one of them crouched a hu~ to act practically.
; ; ure,but the steps already taken were as nothing man form; nor dream that dark, glittering eyes Somerville found his hands full. Not only
i  to what must next be done. This little handful were fixed upon him with intense eagerness, nor was it his duty to bring order out of chaos, but

.-  of men had to rescue the gunmakers from the know that a. brown, muscular hand grasped a the people must be kept from exposing them— ' ,7-
i  valley, and not only were the outlaws and Sioux knife tightly, as its owner awaited his return. selves in the light—where the outlaw guards  ‘ ‘
~ ' near at hand in full force, but the armed senti- Somerville saw the guard pass the bowlder. might see them—and the work must be done is
4 V. nels were always patrolling the brow of the and then saw Windfoot lea _\ forward like a pan- promptly. ‘ »
" cliffs. ther. There was the soun of ablow—no more Somehow it was done at last, and in the v 
i The undertaking seemed an impossibility. —-—yet the tw0 forms sunk to the earth together. shadow of the cliif he gave all some careful, final A. 
L Some one must be left with Blanche and A moment later, and one of them arose and be directions. Then they went on to the stone 
2 Claudia and Walt had been selected for this gun pacing the beat, rifle in hand. stairway. From there Somerville must lead the - a,
. responsilfle place. He was more ex rienced It was the Pawnee. way, to set an example. Long Dave, despite his ' 5-"?!
5 than Somerville, while Windfoot con (1 not be Black Hills Ben are t quickly forward until alleged propensity for running, asked for and a 
“celled for work at- the valley. he reached their red a ly. Then there was an— received permission to bring up the rear. i
g g The three adventurers started on their errand. other change. Somerville, watching from his Then up the stairway went the line, quickly, '~ ‘3' ‘

“ We shallnever seethem again,” said Claudia, covert, saw the scout walking the post in imita- but very cautiously and secretly. ,_ I. .. .
; V , abruptly, yielding to the pressure of Circum- tion of the outlaw guard, but the Pawnee had Somerville looked eagerly around; Black Hih ' t;
_. 1 stances at last. vanished. Ben and Windfoot were still pacing their beats.- > v  5:

 

  
   
   
 
 
  
  
  
    
      
 

‘ff “ Eh? Why not?” Walt asked, innocently. But no, the gunmaker strained his eyes, Thus far all had worked well, and there was -,
x  “They will bekilled." looked closer, and saw an undulating figure cause for hope. The next thing was for tie * 1:7
3  “ That ain’t on the programme, young moving toward the next guard. Windfoot was gunmakers to leave the stairway and pass on ‘ fit
woman.” preparing for the second blow. to the neighboring rocks without attracting nt- ' ~ ._.~::
“ You will find it so.” Somerville bowed his head resolutely, detor— tontion. ‘ " 
v “ Do not take such a gloomy view of the case,” mined not to look again. He was no novice, but There was a brief use, and then a dark
or ed Blanche. the sus .nse of this work was something which shadow flitted noiseless y across the open space.
i ‘ How can I do otherwise?” . worrl him. The fate of the valley prisoners It was followed by another. and yet another,
1 g v. " When on git terbeavet’ran‘ borderman depended on their efforts, their progress was untiltheplaceseemedalivewithflittingshadows, , ” 
l i like me,” alt- answered, “ on will take ‘ Never terribly slow. success seemed almost an impossi- but all was silent] and cautiously done. 7. r ’3‘ ‘-
' #5 say. die!” fur .yer motto._ bar’s always hope bility, and he was obliged to remain inactive The scout and e Pawnee neverceased their ‘}
.3 ontil an individual is buried. I had a partner during the most trying part of the drama. systematic lFacing.   »3
once that was renounced dead by the coroner, A long pause, and then came a slight signal Somervi e breathed a sigh of relief when  5
' i but me an’ the s didn’t believe it. We each from the scout: one which, by prior agreement, the lust of his party_Lon¢ DaVkJ-oined m  .g
'a. give in a supply 0 whisky we had fur medicinal was to move him to action. among the rocks, but he gave them no time for [T-
1 a urposes, an" poured the stud down his neck. It was a welcome sound. He raised his head. loiterin . "
, l  I t brungabit 0‘ color tor his cheeks, and we was As far as outward a pearance went there had “ Fol ow me i” was the order, and the long

encouraged. . We sent fur a forty-gallon bar’l 0’ been no change in t e situation since he came, line went on.

the same fluid, on turnin’ the nozzle, let it run yet he knew that Black Hills Ben and Windfoot A ain came the danger of meeting some out-
steadil down his throat. Thar wasg period 0’ were two of the “ guards ” that were pacing to law y the way, but it was ha pily averted, and ‘
barre n’onsartainty, an’ we m h g1 , up hope: and fro, and those nearest the stone stairway in due time they reached 9 canyon when 
but jestasthe last gallon slip down his neck which led to the valley. The cban e had been Walt Wilkins and the girls were waiting. It. ‘ i ,
he give along sigh an’ sat up. We had saved silently, successfully made, and t e genuine was a meeting in man ways affecting, and g .

l
l
l
I f; l him.” rds who remained did not suspect that an - es iall so to Major nnington and
l  “ As a doctor, you don‘t seem to believe in tfliliang was wrong. y Bgdvaig The excitable Frenchman
‘~ J  - homeopathic doses,” observed Blanche. Somerville crossed the intervening space on Blanche again and again, and the tears coursed
,  “ I ham"? 3 ghost 9’ an 1606 What you mean, his hands and knees. The scout did not appear down his cheeks like rain. _ 
: ,; but our treatment did cure in this case. It was to look at him, yet he ouietly said: In the mean while, Somerville had called tin .‘ ‘
, ,. queer. though), that the fu’st thin that feller “ Lose no time, and do not forget my direc- other men to a recess in the rocks.
l  said was: ‘ ys I’m awful dry. est give me a tionsl" “ Here are weapons which we, or rather Hr. - 
, ;, thimbleful 0’ Whi. .’ Yes, it was mortal queer The gunmaker went on. Ben was on- one side Todd and Windfoot, have secured from the ante .,
-'  Put 30,990 the cutter had no idee that he had of him and Windfoot on the other. The guards laws’ reserve stock. He] yourselves. Than .
5‘ _ Jest drinked over a hull barrel 0’ the stuff.” beyond might see him but the darkness was in are hardly enough of revo vers and knives, and 1 .
5. Walt seemed wholly absorbed in considering his favor. He reach the stairway, and then some of you must go without, but each man wfll
.. . '-. this peculiar case. but, mall , it was only a pre- went uickly down. have a rifle. Arm yourselves judicious! .” ‘
, tence. .He wished to keep .andi-i’s mind from His opes began to rise, but not yet dared he “ I suppose that means to the teeth,” mid
I the penis of their situation, if p088ible, and while feel at all certain. The rty in the voile Garrison. ,,
n he talked his eyes were never at rest. which had seemed so terrigly weak and mash “ The rest on ye kin do that,” observed Long ,
' Constantly on the alert for danger, he watch- before now seemed like an army. How could Dave, “but ’tain’t my way 0’ fightin'. While . .

ed carefully over his 011313? the all leave the lace unseen? the rest on ye file up or teeth, an’ prepare ter
* In the mean While 3811 Odd. Somerville and maerville’s nergousnesshadvanished the mo- chaw up the inemy, ’ll rely on common fire— ‘
Windfoot had gone toward the valley. When ment that he had a chance for action, however, weepons. I ain‘t no cannibawl, an’ don’t want ' "
the reached the vicinity they  to recon- and all the resolution of his nature was at the ter be armed tor the teeth.” ' "’ " '
noi r. - front. Having reached the toot of the descent The weapons having been distributed, the.
The darkness was so intense that little was to be rapidly crossed the valley, keeping in the pig-r? waited for the scout and Windfoot to join '

~ axis viii-j“ " ‘-

.9.

. 3..»

 be seen except the 8.10"” 1’80}an Qutlaw . darkest shadow of the cliff. Lights still shone t .
l , but after a brief investigation it was ecided from the gunmakcrs’ tents, and he smiled faint- “I feel a good bit encouraged, Hugh,” said
‘ that none of the other men were near. 1y as be imagined their surprise at- seeing him. Walt. , -
It only remained to carry out the" Plan. Straight to Thomas Garrison’s uartcrs he “ There is some hope now, but as our allies
‘ $116 800!“ tinged ‘70 Windff’Ot- went, and in a moment more be ad must bemiSed soon after they leave their posts.
Y0“ 08“ 20, he said, qu‘BflY- , the door. Garrison and Long Dave Cob were we can hardly expect to get out of World‘s End
Th6 Pawnee had been Preparing for work. there, and the latter was talk ng earnestly, em- without having an alarm behind us.” ;
He  hid 831d" 8“ his Weapons with the ex- ,phasizing his remarks by constant gestures. “You don’t onnerstan’. What I referred to . 1‘-
ception ofa knife. He now gave a low grunt, “I’ll eat my rifle of I kin ever git ’cnstomed was the tack that I hev rekivered nag f;
: Placed his knife betwmn his teeth. drop . to ter this life. Makin’ guns ain’t my fortifiez Pansy. The Cherub was among “’0'” 
w c the ground. and began flaming away ike a they say in French. nur my thirty, either. fur us, an’ she an’ me hev been relatin’ cure!-
m“ Somehow I don’t like ter bathe in the waters 0’ per’unee an’ distresses. ’Cordin‘ tier Fanny’s. ‘:

e.

I Wthe watched him With 1* Smirs of fas- aflliction SO much oz common folkses, an‘ I’ll eat account she’s had a hard time. but She's. in as ’ '

cinntlon- E'el'y mOVGmf'nt_ of that lithe bod my rifle of I don’t wish I’d been born forty your good trim as ever, an’ will be an amaxin‘ help 4

was astop toward the crisis in their affairs 0 later, or never had— Thunder au' lightnin’ l" tar as on our journey. That boss has got a ‘
l

 

 

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_‘   , , ,. \ K g I ‘1 I . ,1 ‘ . \ g a ' ‘7’. id. .l ‘2.“ 3,; ,4 7%} . A 1 , u _, g i r,

I

24

'Wild West Walt, the Mountain Veteran.

 

 

werful smeller, an’ no Injun kin git us on the  all

ip while her nose is in the game—not ef she
nose it.”

“ That’s nothin’,” put in Long Dave.
knowed a man once who had a nose so big that
he killed Injuns with it. He went all over the
West without rifle, pistol or knife, an’ when he

met a red he jest knocked ’em over with his nose. 1

He killed erbout three thousand a year.”
, “ I knowed that man, too,” re flied Walt.
ir “ Ever hear how he used tcr scalp his victims?”
, “ N 0. Can’t say I did.”
“ He did it with his toe-nails, an’ he‘d take off
a skulp without techin’ his hands to it. He kept
it up ontil Injuns got skeerce, and then skulped
 . V ~hisself the same way fur anioosement, but it
’ . prodoosed some skin-Complaint an’ his ha’r
never growed again.”
3 Somcrville and the majority of the gun-
, * \ makers were far from bein r in as cheerful mood
51—: ' as Walt and Long Dave. on Todd and Wind-
. ’i foot did not join them as they expected, and
l  h they began to feel worried about their allies.

,  - tected and captured?

'a” \ Not a sound came from the direction of

".5 ~ Paradise Valley,
i was ominous.

-, stand near Blanche, and she noticed that, while
‘ he talked so carelessl
glances in all directions.
the alert as ever, and perhaps,
worried by the delay then any one else in the
part , though he gave no sign.
.1  \ . “ eckon I’ll look about a bit,” he said, sud—

" V denly, but carelessly, and in a moment more he

" was gone.

Blanche watched . him closely, and with
 nerVOus apprehension. Somehow, she had the
, 'im ression that he had detected si us of danger,
an her heart beat rapidl . A1 at once she
gaveasli ht start. Did s e seoadark figure
draw bac into a recess just in front of the
' Veteran, or was it her fancy? She wished in
vain that she could warn the ranger, but he
. _ ~wa‘s too far away. If there was a human being
,  in the recess it must be an enemy, and Walt
‘ ‘ was walking directly toward the point of
‘55 danger.
Did a fatal surprise await him?

CHAPTER XXVIII.

' 'rnn PILLAR or FIRE.
, 1, . WALT reached the point of rock, then—disap-
"éai , geared with suspicious .abruptness. Blanche
 ' lieved that she heard sounds of a struggle,

ufiftibfl when she would have notified her friends
f her tongue refused to do her bidding; she coulc
 figly stare blankly at the point of rock, while
' . r heart heat more rapidly than ever.
v _, Then she gave a nervous start. Surely that
v I was the sound of a blow and it had come from
W  {the recess, Who had been stricken. Was it
teEfC‘,Walt Wilkins, or the man in ambush? She
1’s: ‘ breathed a [fi'ayer for the ranger, but the very

 

 

 
   
     
 

 

   
    
 
  
 
    
  
    
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
   
 
   
  
   
  
   
   
   
 

7-5 intensit of or interest made her entirely forget
' ' to 've e warnin at this sta e of affairs.
 brief, painfu pause folowcd, and then

,' some one emerged from the recess, and advanced
 toward them at a sauntering pace. The Color
.1' returned to her face. In that tall figure she
inlearly recognized Wild West Walt. He came
’ her side, and his manner was as quiet as
. Vern
 I j “ Iii/wouldn’t be s’prisin’ of we had a shower,”
:  'he observed, scanning the darkened heaVens

V." 'i' 
‘ Walt,” replied the girl, in a subdued voice,
, “ on have had a. personal encounter—a fight!”
- ‘ I’ve had heaps on ’em; been at it ever sence
I was three months old, when I trounced my
. nurse fur windin’ me up in ’bout forty yards 0’
« flannel cloth. Princess, I tell _ e plainly, it ain’t
jin the course 0’ natur’ fur ba '98 ter be made
ininter- portable dry- oods stores, but they all
like! tor come to it. hey hev ter wear ernou h
 evidentikel baby does—tor uniform t e
.‘hull Sioux nation, by sixty! Queer, ain’t it,
I .: Walt Wilkins?”

. ' V ,“You evade the subject,” said Blanche, per-
' sever-i ly. “ You found an enemy in thatre-
» “ ’ fiend the sound of a struggle and a

and I know it was something serious.”
Hot in the least. I found a sneakin’ Sioux
[Ethan—I see’d him spyin’ on us afore I left you—-
. a. ' *an’ wehad a bit 0 an argyment. He had an

*  ’ - chill chance with me, an’ sech things will hap-
j pen on the border, Princess—it’s in the course 0’
,, ,natur’. Ef he got the wu‘st on’t, remember
 my life, an’ yourn an’ all our lives, de-
 on prompt work rom me. I did it an’
. the red creatur’ won’t trouble as no more, I—”
The rang? paused, and half raised his rifle.

7‘ "Two, men ad a ared, but eve heart grew
Righter igd Black ills Ben and indfoot were
: bkgount,‘ and get away i” was the Scout’s terse

"order.
 .It w obeyed, and in a few moments that
, rt of a canyon was deserted. The eventful ,
~’ oy was begun. ,

The scent had arrau ed his most valuable'men
(to suit himself. He ad Walt and Somerville
“with him at the front, while Long Dave Cobb
, mWindfoot brought up the rear. Of these,

Had harm come to them? Had they been de- 5

Wild West Walt, as usual, had taken his,

\‘VllS 1110115 I

l
i

I far from being a novice.
border talent among the other gunmakers, but

“ I I‘ it was no time to look for it.

As they rode awa the scout explained the
delay. Before he an Windfoot could get awa
from their “ beats” by the cliff, an outlaw o -
cer had come to change the guards, and come,
i too, so suddenly that they had no chance to get
j out of his sight.

; Both adventurers had at once hit upon the I

i same plan of action, and, trusting to the ex-

‘ trcme darkness and natural sleepy condition of ‘

the outlaws, had coolly remained to be “re-
, lievcd from duty.” As the Pawnee took care

not to go near enough to disclose the fact that i

L he was an Indian, this plan worked to a charm;
and when they were fairly “relieved,” they
seized the first chance to slip away.

They had run one morc risk, but it had been
of vast benefit to them. Exccpt for that, dis—
jcovery would have conic at once; as it was,
3 they might secure several hours’ start.

i 0 one was sanguine, liowcwr. Chance might
I at any moment bring tlxcm face to face With
,some of Killough’s or Sweeping Eagle’s men;

but their prolonged absence ' and even if this did not occur, a hot pursuit

would be begun curly in the mornirff.
And what did this mean to them?
Between them and tho si-ttl;amr‘r:t< stretched

, his keen eyes shot secret _ mile after mile of wild country where 'iine;;'CCi'ul.'l
He was as much on i get no aid.

They were few i-i number, and
one-fifth of the party was ccrrpcr-‘ed of women.

On the other hand the allies could send hun— '

dreds of men in pursuit, and. they would not
only be eager and determined to recapture the
guniiuikcrs, but, it might almost be said, every
foot of the way was familiar ground to them.

“ They’ve got winnin' p’ints about ’cin,” said

Long have to “'indl'oot, “ but of it comes ter ‘

i'uiinin’, I’ll pit my legs ag'in’tlieii'n. I’ll thank
ye Injun, tcr obsarve these legs o’ mine criti-
cally by daylight, some time. Might ' wal
shaped, they; c, an’ elastic ez rubber. hen I
fit skecred ad. they’ll stretch out amazin‘, an’

kin walk right over wigwams, houses, trees
an’ the like.”

“ If Long Dave run as wal as he lie, he never
git ketched,” replied the Pawnee, soberly.

The leaders of the party had paused. They
were on a rising point of land, and were lookin
back. Their example was imitated by all, and
none needed to ask why this was done. A few
yards further and they would be fairly beyond
the Bewl- they had stopped for a last look at
World’s ml.

The wide area la silent, dark and gloomy be-
fore them, and, so ifeless did it seem, an imag-
inative fancy might have termed it like a city
of the dead, with the canyons for raves and
vaults and the cliffs for Titanic eadstones.
Lake besolation, Paradise Valley. and the out—
law village were alike invisible. Somber silence
and obscurity reigned there, as far as one could

see.

W'ith a hope in every heart, save that of Dun-
stan Hughes, that they might never enter the
Bow] again, they went on once more. '

As a whole, their progress was slow, but each
advantageous point was improved, and they
saw the distance growing greater between them
and the valley with pleasure which they took no
trouble to conceal.

Their prisoner, the outlaw Hughes, did not
share any such emotion. He was ky and
vicious, and when Claudia tried to talk him into
a better mood, he was impudent to an extreme.
He vowed that though they might succeed in
takin him East, he would nevero nhis mouth
in behalf of Edgar Wheaten. he major ex-
pressed a desire to “thrash” the fellow, then
and there, but Claudia interfered and prevented
any such rash act.

Blanche, too, had something to say.

She did not forget the assertions of Sweeping
Eagle, and did no intend to let much time o to
waste before opening the subject; but il
Beauvais was for awhile so childishly delighted
at being again with her, and knowing that she
was safe, that she could not find courage to ask
him the all important question.

He might, or might not, be her father, but he
certainly loved her well. She remembered no
parent but him, but he had alwa 8 been all that
Was kind. Their residence ha been on the
border, and where there was such a compara-
tive scarcity of men, his kind face, gray locks
and fatherly care had been more to her than
though they had lived in a city.

She watched her chance, and finally breached
the sub 1:.

“ Fat er, the Sioux chief, Sweeping Eagle,
made some remarkable statements to me.”

Beauvais started.

“ N o doubt no doubt :” he replied, hastily.
“ He looked like a man skilled in ying.” I

“ What do you sup so he told mef’

“ Some wild thing, have no doubt.”

“He said," Blanche slowly announced, “that
I was not your daughter!”

The Frenchman had expected it, but he could
not avoid another start. ’

“Mon Dian!” he exclaimed, “ did I not tell
you e was a great liar?”

 

  

. “ id be lie_when he said that, father Beau-
vaisi” , ' , , '
I, \ I
. . ,

' I

 

‘ .I » "_ I * i I w, . ‘r .
«Liv»: Mi". “If” ‘fi’b’i’d. ".:.’-~. We“ a:

save Somerville were veterans, and he was
There might be some

“ Lie? Why, of course he did. Why do you
ask such a strange question, my child?”

I “ Because Sweeping Eagle was Very much in

’ earnest, outwardly, when making the state-

. ment. He vowed that I was not your daughter,

i and I know that e is a white man.”

“Some misera le renegade, no doubt; and he

i took that way to weaken your regard for me.”

“He bade me mention Prairie Port to you,”

I‘ continued Blanche, looking steadily at the

Frenchman.

, “What of Prairie Port!”

“We lived there once, on know. But how
could he know of it? He id know, and he said
that he once bore. me in his arms, when I was a
more infant, throngh a terrible storm, and gave
me to you: but he vowed that you were not my
i father, and said you knew nothing about my
- parentage—that he, only. did know this.”

Beau vais laughed aloud, but it was nota musi—

, cal laugh, nor did it sound natural.

“This is as bad as a fairy story,” he said.
“ The renegade licd well.”

i “Was his story false?”

1 “ It surely was.”

, “ Yet I cannot dismiss from my heart a vague

, feeling that he told the truth I”

l Blanche spoke earnestly, and tried to read the

| old man’s face through the darkness. She. re-

‘ gretted now that she had not waited until day
before speaking on the subject. Her air and

voice were so anxious that Beauvais turned and

laid his hand upon her arm.

, “Mgr child, don’t think that: don’t giveitu
thong t. It is only a trick of that unprincipled
man. Surely, you will not ive it a thought.

1 In some way he learned certain facts about us,

1 and invented the rest. That is all, I assure

3 you. You are my daughter, and it is absurd to

. say otherwise.”

i His voice had grown firm, for, having decided

; to deny all, he then rht that he might as well
make it emphatic. cvcrtheless Blanche was
far from being convinced, but, before she could

, answer, a murmur ran through the fugitives’

ranks. A discovery had been made, and as one

spoke to another, all were soon looking back-
ward.

They saw what seemed to most of them a
strange sight.

The darkness was still intense, and the sky
thickly clouded, but at one pointa red belt seem-
ed to be placed upon these clouds, reaching up—
ward until it gradually died away in the deep
blackness of the night.

No one needed to ask what this was—clearly,
it was the light of a great fire. Its undulating
motions were plainly visible, as were the sparks
which shot, star-like, away from it, and as there
were no houses in that direction, it was clear
that it must be a gigantic bonfire.

It was a striking icture, the central band of
light being so brig t, the remote darkness so
ehon-liued, and the intervenin s ace such a
varied field of red and black, 0 a l shades, but
the fugitive gunmakers saw in it more than an
ordinary blaze.

Tlie pillar of fire hung directly over “'orld’s

nf . '

“ There’s only one way to account for it,” said .
Thomas Garrison“ “Our escape has been dis-
covered, and, I believe, that is a signal light to
conVene all the outlaws and Sioux. We shall
soon have the whole pack howling at our heels 1”

CHAPTER XXIX.
RIbING runouon run RIVER.

GARRISON’S gloom prediction threw the gun.
makers into a brie anic, but the border-men
came to the rescue. ey had seen the pillar of
fire‘ some time before, but had refrained from
s king of it, not caring to needlemly alarm
t eir charges.

Black Hills Ben frankly admitted that Garri-
son had undoubtedly explained its meaning cor-

rectl , but added the pertinent inquii‘z:
' “ 1% not this what we expected? e should
be foolish, indeed, to suppose that Killough and
Sweeping Eagle would give us unobstructed
passage to t settlements.”

“ It s all in he course 0’ natur’.” added Wild
West Walt. “ We’ll hev a dispute with the red
heathen, 0’ course, but what does it amount terf
We’ll massacre of! a few tribes, an’ then the var—
mint will ’pologize an’ o hum.
a more humble critter an an Injun when he
comes ter the p’int o’ ’pologizin’. Queer, ain’t
it, Walt Wilkins?”

" May not this signal also convey meaning
to some stray outlaws on the other side of us
-—-directl in our path?” asked Garrison.

“ P ly it wi l.” ‘

“ Then we are hemmed in with danger.”

 

the scout, lowering his voice. “ Consider the
women. You should cheer, not discourage
them. Weakness in a man at this hour is some-
thing unpardonable.”

“You are right, and you shall hearno more
of it. I have been feelish, but it is past.”

“Thar ain’t a in 0’ need 0’ bein’ skeered.”
said Walt. “ 0 course we’ll hev a few billion
0’ the inemy arter us—it’s in the course 0’ natur’.

t ’em come! Who cares! I’ve been on the
war-path when the Injuns was so thick that I
had tor walk' sideways, ter squeeze through

(

 

I never see’d ‘

“Garrison, don’t indulge in such talk,” said '

;A~.‘_._

“1-1.”.

« .~.-MM._._:.‘-

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Wild West Walt, the Mountain Veteran.

25

 

 

 

‘em. 'Nother ‘casion I couldn’t even do that, an’
had ter take a-holt on ’em an’ move ’em aside.
Worked my wa like this sev’ral mild, an’
then, ittin ti on’t, actually climbed up an’
walk on top on ’em, steppin’ from shoulder ter
shoulder, from Tiger Tail Creek ter Luckaho-
lucka, a distance 0’ forty mild. All the while
the was ragin’ fur my ore, but they didn’t
fln me. Reckon it’ll be t at way this time.”

Walt’s cheerfulness seemed proof against
everything, and it was not without effect on
the more impressionable of the fugitives, but
the borderers knew that the darkest fears were
likely to be realized.

There was something strikingly ominous
about that huge pillar of fire. They knew it to
be a signal to assemble the scattered allies, or
to put those to the south on the alert, and it was
certainly a weird-looking thing, with its undu-
lating, serpent—like lines, fold upon fold; its
shooting stars: its Soaring, majestic outline:
and its silent voice, which spoke a language so
vastl different to the fugitives than that con—
ve er to the allies.

gen Todd, did not give them much time for
idle survey.
on once more.

Half an hour later they reached a broad
canyon which extended nearly east and west.
Its bed was very hard, as well as level, and for
five miles they were able to 'go at full sixicd.
There Were, those among the gunmakers who
wondered at this course, for it seemed to them
that they ought always to bear south, but Ben
and W'alt were in frequent consultation, and
they seemed to be of one mind.

They had marked out a course which, they
believed, the pursuers would not expect them to
follow, and intended to avoid the barren region
in which occurred the opening scenes of our
story.

They had a gOod-sized party to feed, and with
so little food already on hand. they would do
better elsewhere than in the barren mountains.
Flight would also be more rapid where they
were going.

The borderers now proposed to make an effort
to delay, if not to outwit the enemy. Not far
ahead was a river. and Walt’s past experience
with it had given him an idea. is was intended
that they ride down the bed of the stream. The
water was shallow, and so muddy that they
would leave absolutely no trail. If they could
disguise their landing-place equallyWell, they
might make considerable trouble for the pur-
suei‘S.

Only an hour of darkness remained when they
arrived at the river.

It was broad and shallow, the banks being, as
a rule, ledges which sloped back at all conceiv-
able angles, but in few instances-approached the
altitude of cliffs.

Here Walt took the lead, and the water jour-
ney was begun. The houses sunk to their knees
and often deeper, but never to the bodies, and
had no trouble in moving along at a good walk-
ing gait. It was, hOWever, a {oumey that the
women of the party were not 1i 'el y to forget.

Everywhere was darkiiess——blacluiess. The
water might have been ink, so far asa pear-
ance went; the frowning sky was cover with
clouds piled one upon another; and the rocks by
the river reached away in various wild, striking
sha , but always darkly, ruggedly.

T t night Would live in memory forever.

As they went, however, a faint light in the
east told of the advance of the sun, and a gen-
eral scattering of the clouds Overhead gave the
impression that a fair day would follow. The
women, at least. hoped it, nor could it come any
too quickly to please them:

Suddenly there was a tumult in the line;a
deeper splash than that of the horses‘ feet; a
woman’s cry and a man’s shout; then a degree
of confusion at that point which made every man
grasp his rifle more tightly.

Al at once arose Ma jer Br-nnington’s voice:

“ The prisoner has escaped :”

“W here is he?” cried half a dozen voices.

“ In the water—he is swimming. A hundred
dollars to the man who retakcs him i”

The major spoke excitedly. and his state of

Giving the word, he led the party

 

l
i
i

F.

l

i

into the river. Claudia, who was almost speech-
less, drew a deep, nick breath, and prepared to
watch him. She did not succeed; one moment
only was the Pawnee visible, and then he disap-
peared as completely as Hughes had done.

Those who watched looked as vainly too, for
him as they looked for the outlaw. Had some
river monster swallowed both irrevocabl ?

Windfoot had a well-defined plan in his mind
when he took to the water. He mentally argued
that, as it would not be safe to land within range
of the borderers’ vision, the runaway would un- i
doubtelly swim straight down the current; that
he Would keep under the surface until obliged to ’
rise for breath; and only make for the bank !
where distance made this safe.

The Pawnee was not only perfectly at home in
water, but he had never met another person who
could swim as rapidly as he. Consequently, he .
had "one into the river with the hope that he
would actually be able to overtake the outlaw.

Acting on this idea he went beneath the sur- ‘
face, so that he might not miss his man, and
striking out gallantly with his brown arms,
: hot along like a fish. Not until he was obliged
to secure air did he rise, and then the nick ‘
glance which he shot around. though it di not '
Levon] Hughcs, showed something which pleased ;

mi.

011 each side of the river one of his own party
was running along the ledge.

Windfoot smiled grimly, took another deep
breath, and then swam on. He rcdoublcd his
efforts, and his speed was something remark-
able. Like that some monster fish might have ‘
passed through the water.

He had expected that by his mode of progress
he would easily see the outlaw when he overtook :
him, but the sequel proved that he was wrong.

He was still shooting ahead when his hand
struck something in the water which collided
with that member in a peculiar way. He turned
his head and experienced brief surprise; he was ;
swimming side-by-side with another man, ,
though a few strokes more would have taken .
him past.

Barely had he made this discovery when the .
second swimmer dashed at him, plain] ' with '
hostile intent. With the exception of t e dis-
turbed water there was nothing to be seen, and ;
the Pawnee felt, rather than saw, that a hand IV
was raised to strike him.

Quickly he flung out his own hand. It en- ;
countered a human arm, but diverted, not stayed,
the blow. The arm came down, and Windfoot
felt a well-known sensation in his side.

He had been stabbed!

The blood of the. Indian was up in a moment; ‘
He closed with the would-be assassin like. a ‘
tiger. There was a period of suspense which
was painful in a physical sense' he had been un-
der water until his powers 0 endurance were
about exhausted; and then they rose to the sur- »

ace.

\Vindfoot breathed twice in great gasps, and
was strong again. His opponent tried to re-
lease the hand which held the knife, but in vain; '
the Indian’s gras was like that of a vise.

A shout arose rom the shore. The men there
had seen the disturbance, and they heard the 5
water boilin and hissing as though two alliga- i
tors were fig iting. They plunged in and Went
to their red all "s aid. but when they reached
the place the fig it was owr. i
The Pawncc’s great strength had won the!

l

game, and the other man was in a grip which, ,
he thought, bade fair to crush his very bones.
He uttr-red a groan. and piteously exclaimed: '
“I yield! I yield!"
But Windfoot said nothing. Holding him

. fast he swam into shallower water, and, when ;

l limbs ct.

mind was generally shared. All knew b that
time how important a prisoner Dunstan ughes ‘
was and there was no nowmg what his escape

Won d do. He must be retaken.

How he had .gone no oneknew. He had been
riding quictly in the line, With a stout gunmaker
hold or his horse‘s rein, and it was supposed
that the bonds on both his hands and feet ren-
dered him perfectly helpless. Yet he was gone
83d Claudia’s hopes were again in a state of
c ace.

the rest of the party arrived, swung his pris- i
oner into the saddle in the same grim silence.
“It is Dunstan Hughes, sure enough i” cried ,
the major. 
Hughes on] groaned. That iron grasp had 1
relaxed, but t e pain remained in his body and f

" 1’] eat my rifle,” said Long Dave, “ef the ;
chap don’t look like a wilted weed. It's said 5
that ignorance is bliss, but when it brings a _
creetur‘ afoul o’ Windfoot, it’s likely ter be 1

‘ blister l” l

 

CHAPTER XXX.
THE SIGNAL or SMOKE. '
ALL the hostility was temporaril gone from
Dunstan Hughes’s mind, and he clt thankful

‘ enough for his escape from Windfoot’s grasp to

In this crisis the bordereis remained cool and :

calm. The outlaw was in the water, swimming
for liberty, and the light was strong enough then
to show that he had gone beneath the surface.
As the river was five or six feet deep in the cen.
ter at that point, he had a good chance for 0p-
erations.

A clear Command from Black Hills Ben caus- ‘

ed the coder-headed of the gunmakers to scatter
and watch for the fugitive to rise, but it was
W indfoot who came to the front as the most ac—
tive member of the party.

Passing his rifle to another man, he plunged

\

act with becoming humility. As the Pawnee ..
had himself applied the bonds from which the '
renegade escaped, he was eager to know how it i
had been done, feeling his reputation at stake.

Hughes explained.

During one of their halts his horse had stood ‘i
close to a' ledge of slaty formation, and from this i
he had secured a flat piece of rock with a sharp ;
ed e. Rct::ining this, he had persistently chafed i
am sawed upon his bonds until those around his :
wrists gave, way. Then he had snatched a knife
from the belt of his nearest cantor, cut the cord
which went beneath his horse’s belly, and plung- ,
ed into the water.

As he was an excellent swimmer. he would 3
probably have escaped only for the Pawnee, but 3

6 had met more than his match. iVindfoot had

\

    

3 ed Walt, who had gone to

z of anxiety.

' body, ’specially ez we hev plenty o'

the pleasure of binding him once more, and the
red man was authority for the assertion that ho
was not likely to escape again.

This necessar delay was made as brief as pos-
sible, and the ugitives went on again. Then,
and not before, the stoical Pawnee gave atten-
tion to his wound. It proved to be neither dan-

erous nor deep, and though some blomi had
owed, be dismissed it without much notice.

By this time the darkness had begun to retreat
in earnest. The clouds were s< attcring still more
rapidly; the eastern horizon had grown blight,

‘ and it was clear that the dawn of another day

was close at hand. .

Black Hills Ben began to pay more attention
to their immediate surroundings, for he prop
ppsed to make a landing at the first available

ace.

“1 shall be glad to see daylight again,”re—
marked Blanche, with a sigh. “I am tired
of the darkness, and the gloomy rocks and
ridges.”

“ Likewise, fired 0’ ridin’ I reckon," answer-

his favorite place by
her side.

“I do not mind it yet; I am accustomedto
riding. I know that the other women are vc
weary, though, and poor Claudia’s heart is fl:
She has found Dunstan Hughes.
but will she ever get him to the settlements?

! The fatal twelfth of September is drawing dan-
I gerously near, and we have now to run the
I gantlet, as it were.”

“ In the course 0’ natur’ there’ll be lively
times, but I reckon we’ll git through. Moses

, piloted the children 0’ Babylon outer the woods, .
; in the days 0’ Adam, when the Israelites was

arter ’em, red-hot, an: we won‘t cave in ter no-
food- while
that crowd had ter live on manna. I don’t
know what that was, but it seems that the

a kitchen supplies was at low ebb.”
“ The children of Israel were miraculously ‘

fed.”

“ Oh! is that so? Wal, that made it easier
fur the old folks, 0’ course. but we ain’t got no
children hyar, and I’m rapturously glad we
ain’t. Ef we had one small boy erlong I
wouldn’t give a cent fur our skulps. In sech a
case I should favor anchorin’ the creetur’ hyar
in the river, ontil we got the rest 0’ the crow

i safe ter the settlements.”

“ The boy might not get along as well under
water as that Indian friend of ours did."

“ It’s amazm’, it really is amazin', h0w an In.
jun kin live under water. Knowed a case once
whar two red-skins had a fight on a river
bank, an‘ one fell in an’ disappeared. T’other
feller was bound ter hev his gore aii’, thinkin’
he was playin‘ ’possum som‘ers under Water, un-
der he went, too. By sixty that Injun stayed
thar five weeks, never com 11’ up, an’ his food
was lowered to him through sev’ral foot 0’
water. I resoom he’d been thar now, but the
river dri u an’ left him stranded. Sech a
dry spell be
it was the in‘ral opinion that the creetui’w
tooally drin ed up a l the water."

Day had fairly dawned, and the tops of the
distant mountains were tinged with the yellow
rays of the rising sun. The immediate vicinity
wasquiet, and the kcencst
derers failed to discover any
these of their own party.

The scent at last saw tbeplace for which he

had been looking—a low ledge which stretched " ’

away with a .irface over which horses could

easily go: so a landing was made, andthe effort  3'

an to break their trail.

n hour later they halted for breakfast, attu-
which they continued their course over an open
prairie until the sun had near) reached the
zenith. By that time rest for
came an imperative necessit

Ben Todd chose the camp
of a high rid

never been heerd on afore, an"

lances of the hero, .
uman being new;

e wannabe-d

ii; the wooded 31015 "
This was one of a seriesof . r

elevations which stretched away toward the  .

‘ southeast, nearly approaching the dignity of '-

inountains. East of them was a prairie. broken , “
by belts and groves of trees, and d tensions
which, in some cases, might almost called

barrancas—a place not unlike that where Clau- '

dia and her frimds had first-been captured, and
Wild West Walt fell from the cliff.

When the camping lace was reached nearly
all the party threw hemselves on the ground-
without much ceremony; even the gunmaken
were glad of a rest. ‘

The borderers, however, drew apart and con-

Walt soon, I 

left camp and began the ascent of the ridge. v ' ,
A short effort brought them to_ the top, w . , .

suited, and, as a result, the scout and

they used unusual caution. Gomg to a t ' es
the scout parted the leaves and took along sar-

vev. Then he drew hack and made a motion. , .

“ Look l" he said. briefly.

Walt obeyed. His game sought. one certain y~

int at once, and from the top of an elevation.
6 saw smoke steadily ascending.

quietly.

“ Thought we wa’n’t mistooken,” he manh-

;‘ It can't be an ordinary are!”
sixty.”

‘

one = _ ..
look he took, and then drew back and n 

“Not unless they are prodigal o’ wood,hy 4,.“

26

i /

Wild West Walt. the Mountain Veteran.

 

 

“ The ' 8.1 is going on, then.”

“ Yasfiigii3 it’ll be ter Texas afore night.”

“ We’ve got to run the gantlet.”

“ Sartain; an’ wouldn’t we hey a. pile 0’ fun ef
it wa’n’t fur the Women? I’m jest hankerin’ fer
hev a dispute with them mongrel allies."

“You will get your fill before we outstrip
them."

“ In the course 0’ natur’, thar’ll be some fun.”

Walt took an uncommonly large mouthful of
tobacco, and rolled it between his jaws in happy
anticipation.

“It won't do to waste time here,” continued
.Black Hills Ben. “ We’ll do our work at once,
and be ready to start as soon as our weaker
members are fit for it.”

“’Zactly. \Vo won‘t keep ’em waitin’, and I
reckon they won’t kecr ter wait long.”

The two men had arisen, and they now sop-
. arated and went different ways. The scout’s
. I mission was to reach an elevated point and
make a general survey of the surrounding
countr , while Walt was to investigate the fire
more c oser, and see. its builders.

He had no long journey to make to reach it,
and, calculating his course well, he went on.
Realizing hut outlaw lookouts might be t u the
Watch, he gave great attention to keeping under
cover, and us this was not always easy. he was.
obliged, at times, to creep from one point to an-
other.

All this was rare pleasure for him; he was
once more actively engaged in what had been
his life for years, and nothing else would have
suited him as Well.

Advancing thus carefully, he soon crossed the
intervening depression and began the ascent of
the other ridge. Hero his care and skill'he-
came more marked, but he steadily drew near
the fire.

The nature of the ground was such. however,
that he had to go remarkably close before he
obtained the des1red view, and not until he
crawled to the top of a mound—like knoll could
he see an thing more than the steadily-rising
smoke. nce there he lay well concealed by
bushes, parted the leaves and looked through.

Twenty yards away was the fire, but some—
thing more important was nearer. Only a few
feet from his covert were three men.

Evidently the were the builders of the fire,
and they sat t ere watching it and talking.
Walt needed no explanation of their character.
 Their rough, lawless appearanee~their coarse,
‘ brutal faces—all was in keeping with the char-

acter of Judson Killough’a followers.
He listened, however, to what they were say-

\

, mg“ The time is a-comin’ when we shall all roll
' i7 in luxury nn' flne linen,” observed one. “When
’0' .~ We fall enter the settlements thar’ll be heaps o’
14" plunder on ev’ry side an’ the man is a fool who
j “j won’t fill his own poc ets Well.”
’ g9 “Killough ma 0 der us ter turn in ter the
common fund 31 we take," suggested another

man.

" - ‘ “Tom Benson, you‘re a. fool! Would you
»., v neglect or own interests in sech a ease?”
:  Q ' “ It‘s in that Killough ter kill the man who
” ‘* ' plays fast an’ loose.”
‘ ‘ I reckon Killough ain’t the League. You

i 't the Grand Chief.”
“ o,”I don‘t. D‘ye know what I think?”

.u

o.
“Ilbgieve Jud Killough is the Grand Chief,
f ‘ -

‘ , “ Nonsense, Tom Benson 1”
 "'r “Nonsense. Eph Super, I say. Don't ou bet
ng'in’ Killon h. His word goes, nn’ I’ll t he’s
the Grand ‘hief. More than that, I’d rulhcr
hev ati er arter me than that same Killough
v’ 3' _ when h 3 mad is up.”

' “"I ain’t afeerd o’ Killoughl” contemptuoust
replied Soper. “ I’d tweak his now oz soon ez I
, . would ourn. Tom.”

“11* _ “Y dasscn’t do eitherl” retorted Tom, bel-

ligerentl .
‘ Wal,y I ain’t afeerd o’ Killough, anyhow.”

“Hark!”

This caution came from the third man, who
«.had said nothing before. He raised a caution-
» try finger, and as his two com-unions listened
‘ ' they distinctl heard the sound of horses’ feet—

or was there at one horse? Walt had heard it

before any of them, and he had already decided
, that a single rider was comin at full speed.
x" There was a brief period 0 uncertainly, dur-
- T ing which the sound came nearer, and then a
  , horseman dashed arrow-like around' a ledge

-— A, .

. .
:2

“I
v V”-

  

 

 ’ and stoodrevealedtoall.

.9?- CHAPTER xxxr.

 ’ 'rnn PAWNEE’s usso.

'f” is. Tim horseman checked his rapid course so

abruptly that the feet of his horse flung the soil
in the air, and for a moment man and steed pre-
. tented a striking tableau. The horse. once black,
  ‘ was now half-covered with foam, and scarcely a
;o‘ _ dry hair was visible. These signs and his heav-
fxf' ‘ ing sides told that he had been speeded to his ut-
 A most for many a mile.

 His rider. tall. swarthy. and imperious of
 look, sat gnzinc‘: keenly at the fire—builders for a
 ‘ gnoment, and then sprung to the ground.

 ' , Walt Wikins had givpn a little start at
   flrstappearanco. It was Killough, himself.

. , . I ‘ , _

 .'

-l‘
\

      

 

. ..'
' "'».,“s~‘.'".~'-'= ~ u

“ How goes it, men i” the outlaw abruptly de- l
mended. l
“ airly, l’eftenant, fairly,” meekly replied :
Sopcr. :
“ Have you seen any strangers!” |

“ Not one.” |

“ How many of the men are near?”

“ Nigh about all 0’ (:‘rradshaw’s division.”

“ Good! I shall want them.”

“Is the enemy arter us, sir?" asked Soper,
who, despite his avowed willingness to “ tweak "
K illough’s proboscis, was as meek in that per-
son’s august presence as a lamb.

“ The gunmakers have escaped.”

“ The blazes!”

“Have you a fresh horse for me“ This one is
about as ncur a. collapse as he can be.”

“Ours are close at hand, and they are fair f
animals.”

" I’ll take one of them, for I am in haste to
get to Gradshaw. Now, men, pay attention to r
what I say. The unmakcr prisoners, number-
ing in all nearly t iirty persons, are at liberty ‘
and making a push for the settlements. They
must be stopped, or we are ruined.”

“ I don’t reckon sech trash can
lei'tr~iuiiii,” ohscrvml Sopci‘.

“ Don’t undcrrute them. Circumstances have i
mixed Black Hills Ben and Walt Wilkins up
with them. and more cunning men it would be .
hard to find.” l

“I‘d like a back at ’em,” said Soper, with a i
swagger. I

“Take it, if you et a chance. Those two ‘
men are not desire( at World’s End. Shoot
them down without mercy if you get a chance. ‘.
'l‘hc othch must be taken alive. But I am
wondering from my subject. You, Benson, re—
main hcrc and feed this fire; don’t let the signal
die out to-day. The rest of you go to some ele-
vated point and watch. If you get sight of the
runaways, let me know at once.”

“ \Ve will, sir.”

“Bring the horscl” ,

Killough looked about and, seeing some cooked 1
meat on a rock, proceeded to eat it with an avid- ,
ity that suggested that he had not partaken of
food since the previous day. Then he sprung
upon the horse and galloped away.

Wild West Wultdrcw a deep breath. He saw
that the outlaw lieutenant was in a tiger-like
mood, and savagely determined to recapture
the gunmakcrs, and he realized then, if not be-
fore, what would be the force of the movement '
against them. The panti , foam-cowred horse l
had been ridden almost to oath, and Kiilough’s 1
will was as strong as ever.

It seemed, too, that a portion of the outlaws,
under a man named Gradshaw, were directly in
the fugitives’ path, and this, with the hundreds ;
of World’s End Leaguers. and the Sioux follow- I
ing hotly in pursuit, and the signal-fires burning ‘
on almost every peak, made their position moat ‘
des rate.

“ It‘ll be the marcy o’ the Lord, of we ever i
git through!” muttered the veteran, as he crawl- 5
ed away. I

He reached the summit of the other ridge.
without adventure. Black Hills Ben was not i
visible, and he was about to descend to cam
without him when the scout appeared. We t
noticed that his flrm face bore a. graver expres-
sion than was usual to it.

“ Wall” Walt questioned. ,

“ There is a fire burning on nearly every high
point of land as far as I can See. counted Six
pillars of smoke. I tell you, Walt, even with
the warning we have had, we have not estimatr
ed this huge conspiracy at its full value. Its
scope is something tremendous, and we’ve a.
bun} job on hand to get our party through.”

“ ireat snakes! I reckon you’re right.”

“There is a detachment of men numbering
upwards of a hundred over East there. and, of
Course, they are of Judson Killough’s band.”

“’Zactly, an’ Jud is on hand, hisself. I seed
the creetur’, an’ I tell ye my fingers itched tor
give him a shot. But it wasn’t safe. He had
three men with him, an’ in the course 0’ natur’,
any Sow would hev put our hull party in a hot—
box.

“ Certainly. Now, as to our next step. We i

i

can’t stop here.” .

“ Kin we leave h arl”

“ We must, and have marked out our route. 
I could easily trace, from my elevated position. 3
a canyon that cuts the prairie dewn there. It I
is five miles lon , or more, and ends ata peak
as wild as \Vorl ’s End. We must get there as i
soon as possible, and then keep on, or turn at
bay as we think best.”

“’Your idee is solid, an’ we’d better lose no .
time. The Women are some rested an’ as fur
me, I eased up on my j’ints which as layin'
on my face, watchin’ Killough. My ints is re-
markable that we , though I 0110‘!) knowed a
man who was so nstidious that he tnk hisself l
ter pieces ev’ry night, like oz though he was a I
watch, an’ wound up the sop‘r'itc members in
cotton-hatti n’. He had an idce he’d prolong his
life that way. an’ mehbe he Would, only he mis-
laid his back-hone one night. nn’ in huntin’ for ,
it he fell clown-stairs an’ broke his neck.”

The borderers at this moment reached camp, i
and the leader gave the word for prompt de-

parturo.

’ , J
M é ' _~'. 'x’gv't}? '

fool you,

While the others were preparing, he went to
the edge of the wood, and carefully studied the

round in advanre. It was a matter of vital
1m ortance that they gain the canyon unseen,
an the cover was not of the best. He did not
like the prospect, but then- was only one thing
to do——makc the best of it and yo I ii.

When all was ready ior the start he led the
way. Taking advantage of every trte and
bush, he hurried the party on to the burranca.
Whether the trip was a success they had no
means of knowing, but the fact that \ant had
heard Killough order two of his men to go to
elevated points and watch keenly, left no ground
for conviction that all was well.

The barranca was gained, however, and there

i was a good deal of satisfaction in being some-

what screened from view. The cleft was nar—

‘row, and the walls from sixty to eighty feet

1 h.

It was a providential thing that this cover
was there for them.

The scout was anxious to get to the mountain
as soon as possible. Clearly, it would be und-

f ncss for them to press on by day, if «ever could

be found, llllli ho hml ]‘il‘.lll|“<i in lult at the

1 peak and await the coming of night.

The bed of the canyon v as So smooth that the
horses were put to a gallop and, kccping near
the right—hand cliff, which was, of course, the
point where they wcrc lcast likely to l-esccn,
the fugitives hastened forward toward the yeak.

Not one of the party was sanguiLe, and
though they were cautious not to cxpriss their
views, the borderers knew it would lic gross cure—
lessness of tho outlziWs to let this convenient
road go unwatclicd. If they had rcnson to be-
lievc that the gunninkcrs were near. they would
certainly see tle ]X)Siiliiiil’l(‘fi of the canyon.

' The enemy might be met in force. or singly, at

any point of the curving cleft, and then only a
chance to save. them.
Everybody stopped as Ben Todd rcincd in his
horse, and then backed him a few par-es.
Clearly, the scout had made some discovery,
but when they asked what it was. le n‘nde no

a reply. For a few moments he remained in deep

thought, and then beckoned “indfoot to his
side. They conversed earnestly for awhile, and
the Pawnee took a look for himself. Then he
took his lasso and glided ahead until he was lost
to view.

The fugitives exchanged glances, 'and more
than one shchred. Some new danger mr-naced
them, but what it was they did not know.

Somerville, unhceding the scout’s warning
gesture, went to his side.

“May I ask what it is?”

“ Look, if you will. but be very careful. Look
at the right hand cliff.”

The gunmaker obeyed. Showing only the
necessary part of his head, he took the view, and
aided by the scout's directions, at once perceived
the object of concern. A man was standing by
the edge of the cliff—if the rock which, at that
pomt, was very low, could be thus dignified—
eaning upon his rifle and gazing fixedly ahead,
off across the plain.

Whether 'he was there as a watcher over the
canyon, or by chance, could not be told, but he
certainly was there, and they could not pass
the cleft unseen by him.

More than this, Somerville recognized him.
{fiefiiad often seen the man on guard at Paradise

a ey.

He did not communicate this fact to the scout,
for his gaze had fallen on another object which
hcld it so closely that he forgot all else. It was
the figure of the Pawnee. The Indian was mov—
ing along the canyon. still grasping the lame,
but he seemed more like a. dusky shadow than
anything else. He kept as close to the clifl' as
was possible—so close that, at times, he actually
seemed flattened against it-and though he used
considerable speed, his movements were wily
and snake-like in the extreme. .

The outlaw did not once look down; he did
not stir. Perhaps he was building air-castles of
the time when the League would fall u n the
settlements, and give him the plunder w ich his
dewaved heart desired.

indfoot came to a halt. Somerville saw him
lance up at the man now almOst above him.
‘hcn he deftly nrran ed the lasso to his liking.
Next, he stood erect or the first time, and then
the lasso shot snake-like from his hand; it rose
with surprising force and accuracy; the noose
settled over the outlaw’s head.
The surprised man gaVe a sudden start. and

. one of hi; hands flashed toward his neck. It did

not reach that point. Windfoot had been Quick
to improve his chance, and as he ran back a few
steps the lasso tightened and the outlaw reeled,
clutched vainly at the air, and fell from the
rock directly into the canyon.

CHAPTER XXXII.
«a. LONG DAVE‘s GRAPPLE.

Wmnroor was by the outlaw’s side almost as
soon as he touched the ground, and Somerv-ille
saw that he held a knife ready for use. Evidentr
lv it was not needed—the man was stunned or

cad—and the Pawnee uickly removed the
lasso and stowed the her y away in a reoem.
Then he retraced his steps with quick motions of
his muscular limbs. ,, ,

 

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WildWWest Walt, the Mountai

 

All this had been done with such rapidity that :

Somerville could hardly realize it. Some days ‘
ago he had wondered why Black Hills Ben, in se- 
lecting Claudla’s small escort, had chosen an In- I
dian as one member. As he saw more of Wind-
foot he ceased to wonder. I
hen the red-man came around the point of i
rocks his lasso was neatly coiled, and there was .
nothing to tell of what he had done. He looked
at Ben in assing, and gave the slightest possible
nod. and t en swung himself into the saddle.

The fugitives went on as before. When they

sscd the recess Sonicrville glanced that way,

ut a bowlder hid all that would otherwise have
been seen.

Only a mile then separated the party from the
peak, and this distance was soon passed. As the
scout had said, he deemed it best that they
should stop there until night, at least, but he.
had been at a lot; to know just where they
would find shelter in a place of refuge.

He re-
membered having seen the peak once before,
but had never set foot upon it.

A way out of his dilemma was suddenly, and
ve satisfactorily, found. .

al't had been looking earnestly at the peak,
and he abruptly broke the silence.

“ Great snakes! I’ve h‘en hyer afore—thought
I knowed that hump. See liyer, Ben Todd, of ye
want a hidin’-place up thar, I’m jest the man tcr
lead '0 tcr it.’

“ \ 'hat kind (if a liidin’rplace?”

“ A cave that’l] take in our hull part , an’ the
bosses, an’ never be no smaller far it. t ain’t so
secret as that hole under Tombstone Rock, but
it’s as big as all Lake Desolation, I ieckon.”

" Lead on, then, by all means. Such a place
will be a blessing to us.”

The scout's face had cleared perceptibly. He
had unbounded faith in Walt’s judgment. and,
environed by foes as they were, such a. refuge
was what he had expressed it—a blessing.

Walt helped him to a f resii supply of tobacco,
and then eld out the remainder to \Vindfoot,
with the old inquiry:

“ Chaw, Injun?"

The Pawnee
however, and

ve no evidence that he heard,
alt took his place at the front
and they went. The canyon was at an end;
they were at the base of the ak; and the as-
cent began. It was no easy Journey, and they
wound around in a devious course in order to
gain the decisive point, but after makin use of
nianya. gulch and ravine they reach a flat
rock which was like a roughly-hewn table.

On each side was a rough descent: on
the other a cliff one. hundred feet high. Up to
this point there had been no sign of the prom-
ised cave, but after advancing a few yards a
cavity in the lace of the cliff became visible. It
was about ten feet square, and all was darkness
beyond it, but Walt rode in unhesitatingly, and
the others followed in order.

The veteran had said that they need have no
fear of chasms under foot, but thou h their
horses’ feet rung on solid rock, few of tfie party
were inclined to move about more than was

“ Wait a leetle,” advised Walt. “ Ef thar
ain’t been no ’arthquake, nor robbers, hyar I'll
perdooce a. torch in a jiffy. A glimmer will be
welcome.”

While speaking, the ranger had been busy, and
he now gaVe an exclamation of satisfaction.

“ H ar We be, all serene. Who’s got a match?
We‘ll ev n im, an' sorter look the field over.
This is a m hty pokerish place in the dark, I
admit, but it’s nothin‘ when ye git used tor it—
the dark ain‘t.” ,

The torch was lighted, and though its rays did
not penetrate any Erin: distance, it was enough
“show that the p e was safe. All the fugi-
tives dismounted, and Walt found work for sev- .
an] of them. Other torches were at hand, and ‘
he directed that some he lighted.

The horses were led to the rear of the cave ,
and there beyond a second exit. was a level tie] ;

wi h grass. Plainly, it would furnish i
grazing for all the animals for a week, and the I
veteran made known another good point. '

Those who had accompanied him could see -
that high, rocky walls surrounded the valley,
and be explained that the tops of the rocks were
utterly inaccessible, except from the interior.
Thus, pasturage was furnished for the horses.
they could not stray away. and the outlaws and
Sioux could not approach to steal or shoot them
_unless, indeed, some henomenal climber ac-

. oomplisbed a remarkab e feat.

The cave, itself, was two hundred feet long,
and. on an average. sxxt Wide; the roof being
usually low, and strange y rent and crevieed in
every conceivable way. Besides the main en—
trance then, was a second at the east end of the
cave, but this was not only too small for the
wage of horses, but was so banked up with

 

 

Black Hills Ben called Long Dave, Walt,
Somerville and Windfoot to his side.

" I want to know your idea about provisions,”
he said.

“ In the course 0’ natur’, we’re mournfully
short,” returned Walt.

“ But these hills are full of game.”

“ Yas, but I don’t s’pose it‘ll come an’ offer
itself up as a sacrifice. ’Tain‘t human natur’,
nor animal natur’.”

“ Risky as it undoubtedly is,” Ben continued,
“ I believe that three or four of us ought to go
out and see what we can get, taking care not to
be gone a great while. Of course, the sound of
our rifles will be likely to betray us—though the
enemy may suppose some of their own number
fired—hut with them so thick around us they are
next to c. rtain to find our trail, as we came up
the peak. Anyhow, we must have something to
eat and Lung Dave, Somerville, Windfoot and

I will 2;; out. Men, let us understand that we
are not ti co far, and use all possible caution.
The 011' in  s are near—be careful, very careful,
indeed."

'1 here ' -< re no elaborate pre rations to make.

Black 11.. 14 Ben spoke with ‘arrison and the
major, and then the four men set forth. Separ-
ating at the end of the ledge, each went his way,
keenly on the watch for game and outlaws.

Somervillo had what was believed to be the
safest point of the line, and he went on with all
the skill possible. It was a compliment to be
selected as a companion for such men, and he did
not want to lose their good opinion of his abili-
ties. He used his eyes freely. but saw no living
creature worthy of being Called game, nor did
he see any of his allies, but, some hundred feet
above, the column of smoke still rose, pillar-
like from the highest point of the peak.

It was safe to assume that the enemy Were
not sleeping.

Evidently, Somerville was not in hunting
luck that day. Look as he might, he could see
nothing to shoot. It was not long, however,
before he heard two rifle shots almost as one.
and felt sure that Ben Todd and the Pawnee had
made their mark. Anxious not to be outdone,
be pressed on, but had gone less than fiftyyards
when a rifle cracked still nearer at hand, and
just above him on the peak.

He glanced quickly upward.

A nearly-smooth ledge extended from where
he stood to a point ten rods away, being formed
at an angle about equal to an unusually steep

house-r00 Just as he looked he saw Lon Dave
run forward to the top of this, and ben over
some thing.

He had shot some game, but what it was Som-
erville could not see.

Even as he looked he saw something more.
Two brawny Sioux warriors darted from cover,
and, knife in hand, ran toward Long Dave,
who, clearly, was nnsuspicious of their presence.
Somerville saw at once that the borderman’s
life was in great peril.

Another moment and he sent forth a ringing
shout of warning to Long Dave, while at the
same time his rifle leaped to his shoulder.

The red assassins were almost upon the bor-
derer, but one of them never reached him.
Somerville’s rifle cracked, and the object of his
aim dropped in his tracks. Long Dave wheeled,
and he turned just in time to see the knife of the
remaining Sioux raised over him. It fell, but
Dave seized the red man’s arm, and the blow
was made futile.

For a very brief space of time the two swung
about in a close grapple, but as Somerville
started up the ledge to his comrade‘s aid, they
fell together, and. toppling over the brow of the
rocks, came shooting down the ledge at full speed.

It was so steep that neither co d check him-
self and they rolled over and over with rapid
evolutions, neither being able to gain an advan-
tage. The gunniaker feared for Long Dave’s
safety in such a rou h tumble, but stood ready
with his knife to render an necessary aid.

They struck level groun atlast, but while the
Sioux lay perfectly Quiet after they came to a
stop. Lon Dave quickly gaiucda sitting posi-
tion and ooked seriously at his late adversar .

“ I’ll eat my rifle,” he. declared, “ of I we n‘t
born tar ill luck. This never’d happened of I’d
been born forty year later I"

Just then three or four bullets whistled past
them. They looked up the rocks and saw a
dozen Sioux running toward them. Long Dave
Sprung to his feet.

“ Run 1” he cried. “ It’s that or be kill an'
I prefer ter run. Go it, old man, or you
minus askulp, by thunder 1”

CHAPTER XXXIII.

Los'rl
WALT WILKINS waited near the mouth of the
cave in some anxiety. He lacked the faith to

_ /

earth and rocks that it did not seem likely that i believe that the attempt to secure game would

any one Would discover it from the outside.
Every one was pleased With the new refuge.
and there was a general feeling that it might be

tended. With the force Which the had it seem-
ed probablqthat they could defen the cave as
long as their ammunition lnsto'l. and with the
hills so full of outlaws, it would certainly be pre-
anions work trying to pass on for the time.

by" \

J c.

I be

well to remain longer than had at first been in- '

rosecutcd without collision with the enemy,
an not only compelled each of the gunmakers
to keep his rifle in his hands. but had Garrison
and four others by his side, so that they could
move at once to cover the retreat of the hunters,
. if necessary.
The first few scattering shots impressed him
as being favorable, but he waited with unabated
anxiety. His friends might have secured game,

\

n Veteran.

 

2'7

 

but what would be the result of their shots?
Would the report bring a. cloud of the allies
upon them?

Suddenly three or four shots sounded almost
together. Wild West Walt started and raised
his rifle.

“Men,” he said, quietly, “prepare for a
triflin' dispute. In the course 0’ natur’, we are
bound ter swap lead with them critters. Re-
member that it’s their lives or corn. an’ ez for
me, I don’t want ter die, an’ won’t ontil I stop
breathin’.”

Other shots fOIIOWed, and the veteran went
further out on the ledge. Suddenly Black Hills
Ben and Windfoot appeared, staggering under
the weight of game, and evidently making great

haste.
“To the rescue!” cried the scout. “Lon
Dave and Somervilie are in trouble. Don’t le

them be taken!”

Even as he spoke the other two men came in
sight. They were running rapidly, but their
manner was that of men who still had their wits
about them, and were roceeding systemati-
cally. Only a few yards hind them, however,
several Sioux warriors were running in hot pur»
suit. Their rifles seemed to be empty, for they
made no effort to rse them, but they were
plainly determined to attack the white men at
close quarters.

But Walt saw more. Four other Sioux were
speeding in the same direction, and. screened
from the view of Somerville and Dave by a.
formation of rocks, were bound to meet them at
a ccrtaln point, taking them by surprise and
putting their lives in jeopardy.

Walt’s rifle leaped to his shoulder and, almost
before it became stationary, it seemed, the
rocks rung with the report and one of the In—
dians dro ped. Another moment and the vet-
eran was unding to the rescue.

Garrison, greatly excited, raised .his own
rifle, but in his nervous state, utterly failed to

et a “ bead ” on the savages. Before he could

0 s0 Ben Todd reached the spot and. without a
word, snatched the shaking weapon from tho‘
gunmaker’s grasp.

He wheeled; he fired, without seeming to
take aim. Another Sioux fell, however.

Walt Williams saw the man go down, and he

went at the others like a cyclone. One sto
and raised his rifle, but he did not fire; he
veteran had draw a revolver, and he was just a
moment ahead of the red—man.
Lon Dave and Somerville rounded the point
of rocfi, and as they did so they were treated to
the spectacle of two men wri thing and struggling
on the round like tigers in a grapple. It was
over afmost as the looked. however; Walt
sprung to his feet. ashed his hand across his
eyes and pointed to the cave.

“ That‘s the way, an’ the quicker you git that

the better. Thar’s a s’prisin activity among“
red creeturs, by sixty! ’
The trio at full speed. Evidently

Walt’s late adversary was not in condition to
molest them, but as they neared the cave, the
bullet: began to whistle around them again.
Somerville glanced up the side of the peak. and
saw Indians and outlaws springing uploat all
ints. They had stirred up a nest of met,
at no one regretted it.

Discovery would surely have come, anyway—P
those sha yed Sioux would not have em
looked the road trail up the peak—and b their
bold push they had secured needed food or $9

party.

Black Hills Ben, Windfoot and Maia-Den-
nington boldly exposed themselves and returned
the fire of the allies, but their friends soon
reached the cover of the cliff unharmed,und
then all retreated to the cave. -.

Every one was in good spirits, for their own '

party had not a severe wound to show

Long Dave was somewhat bruised by'hia fall

down the ledge.

The majority of the gunmakers expected an
instant and decisivefl ht but Todd assured than
that this was not at likely. .

“ We are under cover, an they are not going
to attack a. force as as ours without more
investigation," he add .

For half an hour all was quiet outside, and
then a white fla was discovered waving on the
slope below. B ack Hills Ben decided to answer
it, and, doing so, brought forth Judson Killough,

ho expremed a desire to talk. Some prelimi—
nariodiscusswn resulted in a meeting of six men
on t ledge outside the cave.

They were Ben._Wa1t and Somerville for the
fugitives, and Killough, Sweeping Eagle and
Burt Starbuck for the allies.

Killough came to the place of meeting with a
confident, easy manner, as though he was doing
the gunmakers a. favor, rather than treating

with an enemy of any power, by exchanging ‘

words with their representatives.

“ Well, Todd," he said, abruptly, “ what do
you expect todo, if I may ask?" ~

“ We are going on to the settlements,” the scout
quietly replied.

“Are you aware that hundreds of my men, I

and Sioux warriors, are in your way?”

“ That is their misfortune, not my fault. We
don’t seek their blood. but if we are m
we shall surely make it hot for than.”

‘ l .. , .4 v , .   7"

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“‘9‘ ' .

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I

28

N . ., \y

Wild West Walt. the Mountain Veteran.

4s

 

very s ow utterance. “ 1 hope you wil not ut-
terly wipe our small army of tlve. or six thousand
out of existence! It would really be unjust to
flin our twenty odd men upon us so heavig."
“ as it to say this that you came here?” on
 oooll asked.
“ o,” answered the outlaw, with sudden
, change of manner. “ We are here to demand
5 your surrender.”
f“ “ Then you’ll go back disappointed. lVe’ll not
‘ surrender.”

 

l, “ Is it possible that you will be mad enough to

 resist?"

i “ We shall resist, certainly.”

. “ This is a piece of folly hardly to be expected

, from such a man as Black Hills Ben.”

, " If you think on can storm our fort, you are
at liberty to try it, at any time.”

' “ We can do it, of course," Killougli easily re-
plied, “ but. if we soc fit to hold off, how long

‘ i can you defy us? Fools! we can soon starve you

f .. , out!”

i “ 'l‘ry that, if you wish.

i ‘ ‘ sit,” the scout indifferentl .' answered.

‘ “ “’0 want our gunmakers back alive, and you

(4" know as well as an body that they must iold

' “ sooner or later. by will you defy fate! fie“)

can’t come for you—why not surrender at once,

In fact, suit yourself,

before our men are stirred up to a furious pitch‘

of anger?”

“ Out there,” interrupted Sweeping Eagle
with a gesture as abrupt as his words, “ severa
, i of the young men of the Sioux Nation lie dead.
’ They were skillful hunters and fearless warriors,

_ and beloved/of their brothers. The hearts of my
’ braves now'burn with passion, and if more red
7 warriors are slain, they will rend the white men

to pieces!"
; ‘ That’s all right, except your pretense of In-
: I, dian ways,” Ben cool! answered. “Come down

v off your high horse, r. Sweeping Eagle; we all
' i know you are no Sioux, but an ordinary, every
' da renegade.”
wee iug Eagle was momentarily confused,
, ,'» and Ju son Killough took up the thread of con-
; versation again.

“I appeal to your common sense, Todd—-
don’t resist when you have no hope, and thereby
anger our followers. Once their blood is up,
we may not be able to manage them.”

“ Is that all you have to say?"

“ Isn‘t it enou h?”

“‘ Of the kiln , yes: but you don’t understand
. , us, Chief Killnugh. You are. not dealing with
 children or cowards. “'0 have the courage to
regist, and will do so to the end, let that boas
. bitter as it mar. Take particular notice of
; \ ‘ what I say, for it covers the whole round. We
~ will not surrender to you, but wi fight to the
 end, as I said before. Send on your outlaws
“4‘ andred-skins; we will give them a warm recep-

' tion. We are cornered, I will admit, but we

 defy-Jon!”
’-. ' ‘ ow on talk ter the p’int, Benjamin!”
‘ added Wa t, emphatically. “ Kin you take that
hint, Mister Killough? Ef not, send on your
legions'what,hanker ter be trounced, an’ I m a
. Root Digger ef we don’t depo )erlate yer hull
pestilent ous gang. Yes, by hic 'ory!”
,. The veteran thumfped his rifle upon the ledge,
but Killough’s face ushed red with anger.
i “Your blood be on your own heads—We will
v attack inside the hour!" he declared.
r ‘ advised

‘ Let yer gentle creetur’s soar!”
, Walt.
in», The outlaw cast a furious glance at each of
" his enemies. and then turned away.
' l. ‘ / “Come, Sweeping Ea lo; we will get to work
. at once. There is abum ant slaughter ahead for
 , your red ti ersl”

“When t ey begin ter butcher, jest let ’ein

 

 . look out that the helpless lambs don’t bunt ’em
'1 ‘ y in the stummick.”

‘3 ,  \Valt sent this friendly warning after them,
‘ - . but they ave no evidence that it was heard.
7': » The two eaders strode away. with Starbuck
 I , more slowly following. and the other three
. ~  , men turned back toward the cave.
 S “ We are in for it,” Black Hills Ben observed.
 I ,' “ In the course 0’ natur’, thar is bound ter

be a dispute, but them varmints will get aw-
fully trounced of they merlest us. We’ve got
the right 0’ the argyment, an’ are bound tcr win
in the end.‘ The right alleys does. Queer, ain’t
.it, Walt Wilkins?”
They entered the cave, and Ben Todd’s observ-
1‘ -/ » lug eyes at once perceived a commotion for
“i?  which he could not account.
’E a “ What is

“ What’s this?” he demanded.
F r wron 'l” .
,1 / i‘ on Dian! my poor Blanche!” cried Beau-
' , vais. ,
' “What of her?”
“ She is lost—lost!”
24,, A l “ Miss Beauvais has strangely disappeared,”

‘ the major explained.
1,}! - ‘?‘”Disappearedl How in the world could that

“ That is what puzzles us. We can’t find
her, nor explain where, nor how, she has gone.”

“ Where is Dunstan Hughes!”

“Safe where we put him.”

“And Blanche Beauvais is not to be found?”

“ Just so. We have searched everywhere,
but she has gone as mysteriously as though the

. ’1

i

 

“ n—my—wordl” sneered Killough, with Y earth had swallowed her up. It is incompre-

hensiblel”
Black Hills Ben evidently thought so, too, for
he looked at the major in a dazed, startled way.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
rm: sncnirr or ran cnasn.
EVERYBODY seemed confused, but Todd final-

 

ilv drew out a more coherent explanation.

Blanche had been missed, and though they had
searched everywhere, they had found no sign
of her, and nothing to give them a clew as to
how she had vanished. This was all the more

mysterious as the cave was very regular in‘

shape, as far as its sides went, and at the rear
opened into the little valley where the horses
Were grazing.

Black Hills Ben acknowledged that he was
puzzled.

“ She has been taken by some evil spirit!” 1a-
niented Beauvais.
Blanche again!”

“ Long Dave and the Pawnee have gone to
the horse-corral,” explained Garrison, “ and they
may bring some news.”

“ That is it!” cried Soniei‘ville. who had licre~
tofoi‘e been silent. “ Blanche has wandered out
and ascended the rocks."

“ l’v’hy should she do that 2’” Don asked.

“ Now you ask a hat I can’t explain."

“I don’t b’lievo the Princess did it.” asserted
W'ild West Walt. “ She‘s a level-headed gal,
an’ she’d never run Secli a resk. This liyar 1'01 If

“ 1 shall never see my poor ,

above us is ti'enienjusly broken up, an’ I ain’t I

sure but thar may be some passage up thar.”

He looked at the ragged rocks 'nst over their
heads, but at that moment Long ave rushed in
from the “ corral.”

“I’ll eat my rifle of she ain’t gone!” he an-
nounced.

“ (Some where?" the scout demanded.

“ Down inter the chasm.”

“ What chasm?”

“The one beyond the rocks that wall in the
boss-lot.”

“ How do you know she’s gone there?”

“ See’d the lessees hangin’ down the rocks. Ye
see, she pieced three on ‘em tergether, an’ made
a string long ernough ter go down with. They’re
hangin’ thar now, but she’s gone. Why did she
go? I don’t know, no more than as though I’d

’eii born forty year later.” .

" Come on, lugh l” ‘

Walt spoke excitedly to Somerville, and,
gasping his rifle, hurried out into the corral.

e knew to whom to appeal in this crisis; he
knew that Somei'ville would be even more in-
terested in Blanche than himself, and that the
1young gunmaker had a strong arm and cool

end. '

“ Walt,‘what do you make of this?” Somer~
ville asked, as they strode along together.

“ Foul play, lad.”

“ Foul play?"

“Yas. That is for say. the Princess never
left h or 0’ her own free will; you kin bet all
yer in eritance, on that.”

“ Then how did she go?"

“ Now you stump me."

“ All the rest of the partly)V are here.”

“ Yes—but you wait a it, lad, ontil I have
sorter looked the held over an’ did some roomi-
natin’. A pile is for be l’arned by puttin’ on

or thinkin cap—great snakes! yes. See the
njun up tliar! Ho looks like 8. turns! snake,
by sixty!”

Windfoot did make a striking picture as he
lay flat on the to of the rocky wall, his dusky
figure almost inv1sible, but his keen eyes flash-
ing swift glances about. His position was one
where, if the allies could not get at him, they
were liable to take a shot at him at any time,
and this they would surely do if they ruined a
position where they could see him. It would be
something strange if they did not soon secure
such a sition.

As alt and Somcrville, came up, after a la-
borious scramble, the Pawnee pointed and
briefly said:

“ There.”

Following this direction, the new comers had
soon seen nearl all that ho had seen. The wall
of rock was a out forty feet wide at the top,
and at the further side ended abruptly in the
gulf of which mention has been made. As Walt
stated when they first entered the cave, this cliff
was so steep that it seemed almost impossible
for anyone to climb it. but, at pro sent, a line of
connected lassos reached from top to bottom,
being secured to a point of rock.

The gulch below was still and deserted, how-
ever.

“This ex lains how she went,” said Somer—
vil'e gloomlly.

“ dunno whether it does or not," Walt're—
plied, “unless you’re magician emough ter tell
why she went.”

“ I can’t imagine.”

“ [hold that she didn‘t go alone."

“ But she is the only missing person.”

.“Don’t keer fur that. I can’t  no ’artlily
reason why she should run away so. and, fur-
dcrmore. Idon’t b'liovo she could go dewn that
lasso alone. I don’t b’liovo she went willin’lv,
anyhow, an’ I b'lieve that thar was a man in
the scraps.” ’ ,

a while Pansy does it.

who, never changing his position. had listen
to all. “ k there!”

He pointed again. In several places shallow
collections of earth, too feeble to bee r vegetation,
filled the hollows of the ledge. He had indicat-
ed one of these, and as the veteran looked, be
at once saw what the Pawnee meant.

“Great snakes! there they be!” .

Somerville, too, had used his eyes, and in this
earth deposit he saw two sets of footprints side
by side, one having been nvade by iniall, deli-
cate feet. and the other by large, coarse boots.

“The Princess an’ her (aptor,” commented
\Valt, who then walked to the edge of the rock,
drew up the lassoes and examined iltem criti-
cally.

“These was taken from our own stock,” he

said, “an’ I see but one way ter explain it.
Some 0’ them pestilential outlaws was in the
cave \\ hen we come, an’ new they hev stolen the
5 Princess, tonk our lassos, an’ got her away.”
i “ \Valt, he no fool,” said the Pawnee. with a.
short nod. “His head long~he great \iai'rior
—he have eyes, an’ know how to use them. Big
Chief!"

“,lnjnn,” quoth the veteran, “no human is
decf tcr flattery, an’ praise from you is worth
havin’. by sixty. In the course 0’ natur’ you
diskivercd all this yersclf, an’ it does credit ter
you. Don‘t s’p‘ so you’d like a chair o’ the
weed. would ye?”

“ Windfoot no eat grass.”

“Should s‘pose not, but I ain‘t ashamed ter.
That boss is a person 0’
sense, an’ what’s good ernougu for her will do
me. Hugh, let’s go down. We’ve got at the
secret, an’ the rest will want ter know it.”

“ Walt,” said the young guninaker, earnestly,
" what is to be done about Blanche?”

“What do you suggist?” the ranger quietly
asked.

“I, for one, am going at once to her res-
cue.
\Valt put out his hand promptly.

“Lad, shake! You’re a man arter m owu
heart, un’ it lays with you an’ me ter 0 this
job. The rest will be needed hyar, but I’ll take
in afiidavy that the Princess mustn’t be left
With them wolves. You an’ I’ll rescue her."

Somerville pressed the veteran‘s hand warmly.

“Heaven bless you, old friend. With your
help, I feel sure that she can be rescued.”

alt was less confident, but he exprossed no
doubts. They descended the wall and made
their report to their companions, and Basil
Beauvais was a gain in despair. "~

“Sweeping Efigle will again have my child!”
he moaned. “ y poor Blanche! what an un-
fortunate lot is hers!” i

“ Cheer up. comrade!” said Wild West Walt,
cheerful] . “It ain’t settled that she's lost—not
by a g( ‘eall--—fur Hugh an’ nle are goin’ ter
hev her back. Sech tribulations ,will come,
jest like the ord’nsry affaiis 0’ life, an" the
Princess won’t be the worse off fur them.”

Beauvais could not take such a View of the
m tter, but he brightened a good deal when
Walt, after a conference with Ben Todd, an-
nounced that be and Somerville were going out
to Blanche’s rescue}

The adventurers had few preparations to

make, and when arrangements had been made
regarding a possible return, they started. Wind-
!‘oot had remained on the rocks, and he helped
the-n down. and then drew up the lassoes. Their
way of return was cut off, but a signal had
been agreed upon which would bring aid when
needed.
Wu glanced keen] up and down the gulch.
NOIKX icing visible, 9 turned their attention
to the ground, where everything was very favor-
able for trailing.

“ Two men,” the veteran commented. “ I felt
sure thar must ’a’ been as many as that. as they
could never got her out so secret. Now fur the
l'ollerin’. You keep yer eyes open, lad. an’ I’ll
do the trailin‘.”

Before he finished speaking he was striding
away and Soinerville followed closely. The
trail led through the gulch a hundred yards,
and then turned abruptly to the lelt, “here
there was an easy slope. Beyond this point it
would be real labor to follow, and danger would
lurk at every step. ,

Walt had turned to speak with Somervil]
when the report of a rifle sounded dull . The
veteran flashed a quick glance backwa .

“ it’s from the cave,” he said, “an’ it tellers
that—”

.Several other shots sounded in rapid succes-
810".

“It’s beguh,” he added, quietly; “the allies
hev attacked the cave. I expected this, an’ I’m
glad we’re wal away. Ef we wa’n’t, we m ht
find trouble ter get out. Great snakes! they’re
at it. in ’arnest. ain‘t they?”

There was good cause for his words. Shot
was following shot with such rapidity that all

I “ Wahl Walt, he no fool,” observed Windfoo
i
I

 

was a jumble, and a long, continuous, hollow
roar at that.
“The allies are tryin to take the cave by
storm l” Somerville exc aimed. ‘
. “ No doubt on’t.”

 

“Walt, it is hard to leave our friends in
peril."

 

\
an” _ ,

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\

Wild West Walt, the Mountain Veteran.

29

 

 

 

“ Sartain, lad sartain; but remember Ben
Todd’s orders. We was ter go far the Prince 's,
an’ pay attention ter nobody else. So come on.’

Once more the veteran moved. They had
reached hard and, in many places, ston ground
but his instinct seemed to make good a 1 lack of
direct means, and the trail was never lost. He
followed it up the ascent, while Somerville kept
the closes-t possible watch for danger. The tir-
ing near the mouth of the cave continued—4
thou h it had rown dosultory, causing Walt
tobe leve thatt e assault had been unsuccess-
ful, and that they had settled down to a siege—
and this Would, of course, draw the attention of
the enemy, but there was enough left to make
the trip of the would-be rescuers one of great

ril.
peThe trail led directly cast, and as they went
evidence was soon vouchsafed to show that they
were approaching an outlaw encampment.
There, no doubt, Blanche had been taken. ,

Walt glanced at the sun. It was fast disap-
pearing behind the western hills, and had they
not been on such elevated ground, would have
been invisible alread .

“It’s my opinion t at we’ll find the Princess
at the camp,” said Walt, after a careful sur-
vey, “an’ we’ll move on in that direcksion. I
notice the flrin’ is over."

“ Yes. What do on infer from that!”

“ Simply that J u Killough is restin’. He’ll
need ter rest afore be its inter that cave, an’
may take a monstrous on one. He don’t want
ter tempt the Pawnee’s ri e.”

Another short advance and they saw the out-
law camp before them. It was in a small, 0 n
space, where stood two cabins, which seem to
have been erected years before. They were
weatherbeaten and misshapen; whether they
were occupied could not be told. Half a dozen
men were scattered around the camp, all en-
gaged in preparing a supper which, plainly, was

ntended for a great many men.

“ No sign of Blanche,” said Somerville, grave-

y“ No. but you kin bet she’s in one 0’ them
cabins. The trail leads hyer straight as an ar-
rer, but thar she is. Wait a bit, lad, ontil it
gits darker, an’ then I’ll go forrud an’ see what’s
.nside. In the course 0’ natnr’, we shall—
Down, lad, down I”

Wait broke off suddenly, and actually forced
the gunmaker to the ground. Then he stretched
his tail form out beside him. Somerville, how-
ever, had no occasion to ask questions. He saw
two men advancing almost toward them, evi-
dently bound for the camg. and these men were
Killough and the Sioux c ief Sweeping Eagle.

CHAPTER XXXV.
rim CAPTIVE OF THE CABIN.

KILLOUGH and Sweeping Eagle came on.
Whether they would have passed the bowlder
without making any discovery cannot be known,
for at that moment their attention was drawn to
a man who advanced quickly toward them from
one of the cabins. Walt at once recognized him;
it was Burt Starbuck. ,

He walked directly toward Killough, and
spoke abruptly:

“ Lieutenant, I have somethin of importance
to say to o . Will you stop ere a moment?
Sweeping gle can go on to the first of the
cabins.”

He glanced at the white Sioux ashe s ke, and
there was but little of good will in h expres-

 

sion.

Killough consented without argument, and
Sweeping Eagle went on. Again Starbuck
glanced after him, and his expression did not

(thaw.

“ ell, Burt, what is it!” Killough asked.
“Lieutenant, do you remember a conversa-

tion that we had in the mountains that day when

we waited for the Sioux, Swift Eagle, who never

came?”

Walt Wilkins smiled grimly. He remembered
that conversation, and could have told them why
Swift Eagle “ never cam 2.” ’

“ I remember we 8 ke at some length that
day " anSWered the l eutenant.

“ ossiny you remember that Blanche Beau-
vais was mentioned.” _

Killough flashed a quick glance at his subor-
dinate.

u Yes.”

“ Do you remember that I told you I loved the

7 r

l?’

l“ I think it was mentioned.”

“Well, since then you ve her to that rene-

e, Sweeping Eagle, 8 man who has ue

wk on his nature and become a sort of miser-
able h brid. Was this right, lieutenant? Was
it an ce? Did yo do your duty by one of our
0 followers, w en you robbed him 0 ithe
wongn beloved, and passed her over to that fel-
low

Starbuck spoke with ill-sup ressed excitement
am his earnestness was no without effect on
Killough. The latter looked troubled and un-

easy,

“This is true, Burt, but Sweeping Eagle was
dead set for her, and—and there are other girls
among the gunmaker crowd."

“ Two insignificant creatures—how would you
like to give up Claudia Bennington for them Y”

 

It was fast growing dark, but a slight flush
was visible on illough’s face.

“ That is a different case,” he replied. " There
was and is, no other claimant for her hand.”

“ Your argument is weak, lieutenant, for you
know very well thatlong before Sweeping Eagle
ever thought of her, 1 made known my desire to
ossess her. Have you dealt fairly with me,
illough?”

“ We talked about this at World’s End, and I
told you that it was too late, as I had given her
to the chief,” replied Killough evidently anx-
ions to drop the subject. “ Besides, my dear
Burt. Blanche is now beyond our reach, and I
am not sure we shall ever get any of the pasta?
again. Our assault was decisively repul ,
anyhow.”

“ That has nothing to do with Blanche Beau-
vais. She is in yonder cabin.”

Starbuck pointed to the second building, and
then added in an intense voice:

“ She is there, and it remains to be seen
1whether I, or that accursed renegade will have

or!

“ The girl here 1” echoed Killough in surprise.

“Yes. Mason and Jayne were caught in the
cave when the gunmakers went in, though not
discovered, and the kidnapped Blanche and
brought her here. S e is now in my charge, and
I await to hear whether I am to keep her, or
hand her over to the renegade. Lieutenant Kil-
lough, I await your answer l”

The s ker threw the weight of his person
heavil upon his rifle, as he stood with his hands
clas over its muzzle, and looked his superior
full in the face. He had somewhat regained his
composure, but it was not of a kind to encourage
Killough. He was deeply in earnest. and his
dogged firmness did not promise well for a
peaceable settlement of the trouble. _

“ My dear Starbuck.” said Killough, with un-
usual gentleness, as well as embarrassment, “ you
place me in a serious redicament. What can I
do? How can 1 take ck what I have said to
Sweepin Eagle? I have promised Blanche to
him, an he is so high- tempered that he will
stoutly rebel if I disappoint him. Why, the
League itself may be jeopardized by such a
thing. Sweeping Eagle is, really, Sitting Bull’s
Own agent in our operations, and we may lose
every one of our red allies by offending him.”

“ Am I to understand that you still favor the
rene de?”

“ ow cm I do otherwise!” ,

“ There’s no law to compel you,” sullenly re-
turned Starbuck.

“I am sorry you feel thus Burt. Anything
else that I can do for you shall be done.”

“ You are very kind!”

Starbuck spoke ironically, and then suddenly
throwin his rifle ac ss his shoulder, strode
away. illough call. after him, but he gave
no heed. In a few seconds the darkness hid him
from view.

“ Curse the luck!” Killough muttered, and
then went on toward the cabins with annoyance
visible in every motion.

Walt Wilkins touched Somerville’s arm and
chuckled.

“This is encouragin’,” he observed, in a 10w
tone. “Thar is strife contention an’ bad feelin’
among the inemy, an’ l’ve knowed good ter come
out 0’ each upheavals.”

“ I ho it will break out.”

“ Meb ’twill. But now, what 0’ Blanche!
Starbuck sa 3 she is in the second cabin.”

“Yes an I am in favor of immediate action.
The dark ess will hide our movements, and we
may nev again have a chance as good as the

resent. Ah! both cabins have been lighted.
hat is bad!" '

f‘ Don’t feel discouraged, lad, fur luck is a near
thin . It may flop ’round ter our side 0 the
qu ion any minute. Foller me, lad, an’ we‘ll
see what kin be done.”

The veteran paused for a moment to mark out
their course, and then the movement was befim.

In order to make it in any d safe t ey
were obliged to resort to a consi erable- detour
and Walt led the way where they were concealed
by rooks and bushes as much as possible. The
fire in the open space threw a broad light about,
now that it was ,fully dark, and the bustling
cooks made a scene of activity. Killough, Star-
buck and Sweeping le were not as busy, and
care had to be exerci to avoid any encounter.
Walt was equal to the emergencykand they soon
gained a position at the rear of t cabin.

All was darkness there, owing to the fact that
the tire was in front of the little building, and
they were still comparatively safe. Investiga-
tion showed that the rear wall was of unbroken
logs, but the sound of voices inside aroused Walt’s
curiosity so much that he removed a little of the
chinkin with his knife.

Both e and Somerville then looked eagerly
through.

Blanche was there, but she was not alone.
Killough stood leanin against the doorway, his
oark face loomy an thoughtful: but nearer to
her was weeping Eagle, who was talking
earnest] .

The w ite Sioux tried to be eloquent and per.
suaswe, and his flow of language was Certainly
unbounded. lie-declared that he loved Blanche
devotedly: that if she married him she. should

 

have every luxury that money could procure,
and never know what labor, privation and sor—
row were; that when the work of the League
was done she, as his wife, would have honor
done her by the whole world; and that they
would then go to Europe if she desired and
outstrip the sovereigns and millionaires of the
Old World.

Blanche listened to this because she could not-
do otherwise.

Disdainin to even argue with him, she re-
ceived all t at he said in contemptuous silence
or answered on] in monosyllahles, and Sweep-
ing Eagle went rom one point of anger to an-
other, until he explosively broke forth:

“ So you disdain to speak to me, my would-be
grand lady? Well, you shall have your own
way just now, but, mark my words, you will
live to repent your conduct. on have declined
with scorn to benefit by my kindness; when
next I approach you, I shall show the iron
hand!”

Flinging forth these words viciously, he
turned and strode from the cabin. Killough
followed in silence, and the door closed upon
the risoner.

ild West Walt turned to Somerville.

“It never’ll do fur us ter go ’round front, fur
they’ll be sure ter see us, an’ thar ain’t no win—
der. We must make a hole through the roof,
which can be done ’thout much trouble. Give
me a lift, lad, an’ put me up on thar.”

Somerville obeyed, and Walt attacked the
roof in earnest. It was composed of stri of
bark, but these Were so interwoven that it re-

uired five minutes to remove them. It was
done at last, and as the light came up through
the opening, the veteran bent down to speak to
Blanche.

He did not speak, however, but remained gar
in blankly. ,

e cabin was vacant!

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.
STARBUCK STRIKES.

WALT turned a puzzled face toward his com—
mon.
“ What now!” Somerville anxiously asked.

“ The Princess ain’t hyar.”

“ Then where in the world is she!”

“ That’s 'est what I don’t know,” the veteran
replied. “ ain’t clear on but one p’int, an’ that
is that while I’ve been t’arin’ this hole through,
she’s either been taken out, or has slipped away
herself.”

“ The latter can hardly be the fact. If she

had made her escape, she would promptly have . '

come around the cabin to get in the dark Shaw
dows. Besides, I think I heard them fasten the'
door on her. No, she has not escaped; they
have taken her away while our attention was
occupied here, and we are no nearer the accom-
plishment of our pm se than ever.” .

Somerville spoke bitterly. but Walt slid down
from the roof with a determined expression on
hiifiéei i’te 1 it h ste h

‘ ere in reove is yarmy. ,

sixty l” he gamed. “ We’ve set out ter 62d thi
Princess, an’ we’ll do it ef we t’ar the roof right?
of! this peak in the attempt. Let me taken
squint!” ‘ .

He looked cautiously around t e side of the
cabin. The open space had more en in i than
before, but these were now all Sioux. -huno
dred yards up the ravine blazed a second fire;
there was the camp of Killough’s men, and;
more satisfactory one had been given to Sweep—
ing Eagle’s men.

“ I reckon we may safely set it down that the I
Killough‘s own '

Princess has been taken tor
quarters,” he said after explaining these facts
to Somerville. “
OVer yonderp Be oncommon car‘ful, lad, fur
these red var-mint ain’t deef—not much! I
reckon we be, or the Princess could never been
tooken out unheard by us. Queer, ain’t it...
Walt Wilkins?”

While talking Walt had been looking out their
best course, and he now indicated it with his-
flnger—it was up the rock. He was as cool as:
ever. but the frequency of his lances towardtho
Indian camp indicated that
wholly at ease.

The light of the fires shone so strong! upon
29 tlsuré'gundin “rockshthat retrelg Swazi care
in y atten wit more or . ,

The ascent was begun, and it 500me
clear that Walt had used judgment in
marking out their course. nder no condition
could it have been safe, with the Sioux and the
five below, but he. had made the best of it.

Probably the retreat would have been safely
executed only for an unlucky circumstance.
They were half-way up the ascent when, without

any warning, they came face to face with nev. ' 2.x
The, latter were descendin to the ~ _
camp, and had expected the meeting as ittle no '

eral Indians.

Walt and Somerville.

The ranger did some quick thinking. The
Sioux outnumbered them, and in the valley were
any uantity of other warriors. Walt deter--

min to try and pass as one of Killough’s men. ‘

As a plan this was very g
destined to be successful. Before he could

ood, but it was not,
one of the lndians pointed to Somerville.

e’ll git out o’ hyar, an’ work " '

\.

is mind was not ‘ I

 

 

. no, gs.-.

 

 

3O

“ The gunmaker!” he cried. “ The white dogs
are escaping! Seize them!”

Walt saw that subterfuge was out of the
question.

“Run, lad, run!” he shouted to Hugh, and
then knocked down the nearest Sioux.

Another moment and both the white men
were in retreat. Walt’s flight was a short one,
however; he unluckily lauted his foot on a flat,
insecure stone, it tippe , and he fell back help-
lessly into the midst of their enemies.

In the wild scramble over the rocks Somer-
ville did not notice this. He heard footsteps
close behind him, and, supposing that Walt was
at band, ran on at full speed, trying to keep

. rocks and bushes between him and the enemy,
for he expected a shot every moment. The
fact that none came, finally im ressed him as
being so peculiar that he turned is head.

The light footsteps were still sounding behind
him, and he saw his fellow runner. The view
was a startling one; instead of Walt Williams,
he saw a Sioux warrior bounding after him
like a panthvr. and, as the darkness was not pro-
found, he could see that the red-man held a
gleaming knife ready for use.

Somerville’s brief delay had been enough to
enable the pursucr to close the gap. and in a
twinkling he pounced upon the gunmaker. The
latter saw the knife sWeeping toward his breast,
and instinctively threw out his own hand. The
blow was averted. and, a moment later, the two
grappled.

The gunmaker realized his danger and, also,
the fact that he must depend upon himSclt. He
was strong and skillful, and he knew that he
must now resort to these gifts to save his life.
Gras ing the Sioux firmly he drove him back
rapi ly. and the red-skin could not possibly
stOp. All he could do was to keep his feet, and
he did this only for a moment. His heels struck
a rock, and over he went upon a ledge with
stunning force.

Somerville fell upon him, and the warrior
gave a convulsive start, a groan, and then lay
still. The shock had temporarily driven the
breath from his body.

The victor glanced around, saw that no other
the was near, and then drew his knife. The in-
stinct of battle prompted him to end the Sioux’s
career then and there, but the blow was not
struck. There was nothing brutal or merciless
in his dispositionl and he would not strike an
unconscious man.

Quick y arising. be secured his rifle, which

. had fallen when the red-man made his attack,

and then all his thoughts turned to Walt. What
had became of the veteran?

The gunmaker would not leave the place with—
out having this question solved, and he made a
detour and worked back to the low wall of the
valley. He met no enemy on the way, and,
after some cautious maneuvering. gained pos1-
tion in athicket near the scene of their first sur-

prise.
Parting the leaves he looked down into the

Alziost the first person he saw was Wild West
’Walt—a riaoner. A circle of red-skins sur-
rounded e veteran, and Sweeping Eagle was
evidently talking with hirm—a precarious situa-
tion, yet Walt was outwardly the coolest man
there. Captivit had not put any restraint on
his tongue, an he was using that member

freely.
Somerville was in a most disconsolate mood.

Blanche was gone, he knew not where, and  tightly, and turned is face towar

Walt was a prisoner. What ought be to do?
What could he do?

As he was revolving these questions in his
mind, a man pushed through the line of Indians
and confronted Sweeping Ea le. The new-
comer was Burt Stat-buck, an even from his
.covert, Somerville saw that the young man’s
face was flushed. and his eyes unnaturally bright
from some cause. He spoke in an abrupt, curt

way: _
“ Chief, I want a word With you.”
Ssayon!”Eagl k al 1 b thi
weei espoec my. u sman-
nor was Egything but friend] . If he did not
know Starbuck to be his riv , he did, at least,
inc an enemy in him.

“ want to speak of Blanche Beauvais.”

“ Sa on i,”

“ Li 9 you, I love the girl; I loved her before
you ever even saw her—”

“ Doubtful, but—say on l”

The renegade's manner did not grow encour—
aging, nor did Starbuck waver in what seemed
to be a fixed pufipose. ’

' “I spoke to illough before you did; I told

. him that I loved and claimed her. He unjustly

ve her to you, and you allowed her to escape.

he 3 again a ca tive, taken by mgmen. I ap-

lto”you, chie , to do justice. in the girl
mo!

“ You ask too much. Starbuck.”

“ I on ask justice."

“ Wou d you givo her ug ‘

“ If some one else was a end of me, I should
not, in any case, consider that I had any claim
upon her. ’

“ Your argument is all right, but I really
can’t surrender the girl. Killough ve her to
mend Ihave setmy heart on

 

 WWalt, the Mountain

than that, I know her long before you did——
I knew her when you were less than five
' ears old. She was an infant then, and I saved
i her life at peril of my own. I really do not

think you will me to yield such a claim;

1 claim the life thatI saved. I am sorry that

you have a fancy for her, Starbuck, but trust

all may be amica ly settled.”
’ Sweeping Eagle spoke persuasively. It had
occurred to him that enmity between him and
1 one of Killough‘s leading men would be unwise,
and he hoped to stay the storm.
' I Sltai‘buck, however, still glowered at him sul-
1 on y.

“ Will you let me see Blanche a moment?” he
asked.

The chief consented, and they advanced to-
ward the cabin.

Somerville watched in wonder. Was it really
possible that neither man know that Blanche
was gone?

The renegade raised the bar f com the outside
of the door, and swung the latter back. He
took one step forward, and then paused. His
face was blank with surprise. Starbuck was
close behind, but as he saw that the cabin was
empty, he turned upon Sweeping Eagle with
flashing eyes.

“ Traitor!” he cried, “ what trick are you try-
ing to play?“

‘None. upon my word!” the chief declared.

l “The girl had been rescued, or has escaped.”

“It is false!” Starbuck hoarser retorted.
“You have taken her away secretly. You

, scoundrel! she was my prisoner; my men cap-

 

l

l
l
I

 

tured hcr, and she had never been ielded to
you. You have played a sharp tric , but, by
the fiends, it shall not avail on. If I can’t have
her, nobody else shall. Traitor, this is your re
ward! ’

A revolver flashed in the light. The renegade
uttered an almost imploring cry, but it was not
heeded. Starbuck’s arm was stationary for a
moment, and then came a. sharp crack. Sweep-
ing Eagle clapped both hands to his breast,
reeled and fell heavily to the ground. A mo-
ment more and Starbuck was in rapid retreat.

CHAPTER XXXVII.
PIERRE REYNAUD.

ONE of the Sioux at once hurried to the fallen
man’s side. He made a brief, critical surve ,
and then stood erect with flashing eyes. i
comrades had begun to gather around 'm, and
he addressed them vehemently. ,,

“Warriors of the Sioux nation,'our chief is
dead. The pale-taco do aimed well, and the
great Sweeping 19 is one with this life.”

A murmur ran t rough the dark circle; the
whis ring of vengeance to come.

“ rothul‘s,” continued the spokesman, “our
chief has been murdered. What are we to do?”

“Put the murderer to torture!” answered a
brawny warrior.

“ Shall we not go to Killough and demand

 

‘ that the slayer be given to us for vengeance?”
e affirma-

Every Sioux seemed to answer in t
tive.

“ Then let us 0 at once. I Wolf-that-Bites,
am now your c 'ef, and I demand blood for
blood. We will go to Killou h’s cam , and he
must give u the white do w o struc without
warning. 8 is a cowar . and his cries when
he meets our torture will be music for our dead
chief’s ears, as he journeys to the land of souls.”

Taking a few lon strides he gras his rifle
the outlaw
camp. At that moment, however, he remem-
bered Walt Wilkins and turned toward the
second cabin. Then he had a second surprise.

Walt was gone!

At that very moment the veteran was stand-
ing on the rocks with Somerville. The latter had
done work worth of an old borderman. W'hen
Wolf-that—Bitcs egan to speak he saw his

* chance; he saw that the Indians were so excited

over the death of their white chief that they
were oblivious to all else; and with uick, et
careful movements he hastened to Wa t’s si e.

A few strokes of his knife liberated the ran er.
and both then retreated to the reeks. At t at
moment came the discovery.

“The white dogs have stolen our prisoner!”
cried Wolf-that-Bites. “If Killough has con-
sented to all, we be to him. Go out Lighfoot.
and you, Red Cyclone and Shooting Lightning
and ring every red warrior. If Killough Will
not do justice to the Sioux, they will gain jus
tics by force. ”

A murmur of approval went up from the war-
riors, and as Wolf-that-Bites started for the up-

rcamp, the followed quickly after. Every

ace expresse determination, and as they ac-
tually believed that Wild West Walt had been
taken awa by Killough. that man had a hurri-
cane bro n over his devoted bead.

Walt Wii ins chuckled with great satisfac-
tion.

them two gangs will only fall on each other,
tooth an’ nail, thar may be some hope yit.”

“ At any rate, Sweeping Eagle’s mischief is
done.” added Somerville.

“Yes, an’ I reckon Jud Killough will find

 

er. More

Wolf-that-Bites worthy 0’ his name. Great
snakes! this iii our chance, sure ernongh. In the

Veteran.

” This is as it should be ” he declared, “ an of 

 

 

 

l

course 0’ natur’, the Princess must be at Kil-
lough's camp. an’ we’ll l’arn wisdom from your
last act an’ pluck the fruit while it’s on the tree.
While them varmints are quarrelin’, we’ll raid
the camp an’ git the Princess. Come on, lad:
come on, an’ we’ll see what’s ter be see’d. Our
chance has come in a funny way. Queer, ain‘t
it, Walt Wilkins?”

While speaking the ranger had been striding
along the ridge without regard to secrecy, and
Somerville kept by his side. Their course was
rou her and less direct, and when they reached
the oundary of the outlaw cam , the Sioux had
alregeddy arrived, and IVolf-that- ites was in an-
i’ma h , if not hostile, conversation with Kil-

oug .

Suddenly Walt used.

“ Stay hyar, lat ,” he directed. “ One kin do
this work ez wal ez tivo—you $98 the s’arch will
be simple. Jest you stay hyar an’ wait fur me.”

“ G0 on i”

Somcrville s oke tersely. He recognized the
Wisdom of VVa t’s plan. and had become intense-
ly interested in the scene in the valley. A ver-
itable storm was brewing there. The two lar-
tics. rod and white, were confronting each ot er.
and the Sioux chief was speaking rapidly. His
words were inaudible to Somcrville, but it was
clear that he was demanding the surrender of
Starbuck to his men, and equal] clear that Kil—
lough was opposing the deman and trying to
quell the storm.

Somcrville every moment expected to see the
two bands come to blows

He was still watching the scene when foot-
steps caused him to look around quick] . He
had half-raised his rifle, but it was VVa t Wil-
l kins. returning.

“ What news?” Somerville quickly asked.
“ Lad, the Princess ain’t thar.”

“ Not there?”

H No 7,

 

“ Then where in the world is she?”
1 “ She must hev csca from the cabin?”
“ How could she? be door was barred on the
i outSide.”
lValt rubbed his forehead in perplexity.
l “It’s mighty myster’u’s, by Sixty!” he do-
clared.
’ “ Can itbe that the door was insecurely barred.
1 that she managed to open it, and then replaced
1 the bar and fled?”
“ Now thar’s an idee fur
l brightening up perceptibly. “ ain’t over-san-
i guine, but it’s wu’th lookin’ inter. We will look
i inter it. In the course 0’ natur’, ef she got away
. she’d steer right fur the cave. We’ll go that
' way, an’ make hay as much as possible while
them creetur’s wrangle. I hope they’ll git inter
l a hot dispute, an’ trounce each other like sixty.”
They started at once. and as there did not
seem to be any great need of caution, made good

time.
They had nearly reached the wall of the chasm
; down which they had come b means of the
y knotted lassoes, when Walt sud enly stretched
3 himself out on the ground with catlike uick-
I ness. Somerville had neither seen nor eard
, anything. but he imitated the movement with
, all possi le celerity.
Almost immediately he saw two persons ap-
; proaching, but they paused a few yards awa .
“Pierre, where are you taking me?” as ed
one. i
It was a feminine voice, and Somerville partly
I started up. He had recognized Blanche, and
5 was eager to dgo to her, but Walt drew him back
: to the groun .
l “ Stiddy, lad, stiddy! Wait an’ listen.”
Blanche’s companion made answor:
i “ I am taking you to the cave. mademoiselle.”
“ I want to trust you, monsieur, for you are
' one of my countrymen, but I see the light of the
: outlaw cam yonder, and it isa fact that you
i are one of t em.”
1 “Didn‘t I rescue you from the cabin?” was the
re roachful answar. ,
‘ Yes, but I am aware that there is ill feeling
' between Sweeping Eagle and Burt Starbuck.
What proof have that you are not working for
the latter?”

“ I don’t care a rush for Starbuck; I am help-
ing you because you are Blanche Beauvais, and
I am Pierre Reynaud. If your friends will let

me go With them I am done with Killough's
:ban . You had better let me be your friend,

e!” said Walt,

is Francois Ayot, has told you a story to suit
himself about our parentage. Trust me, made-
moiselle, and will tell a better, truer one.”
“Pierre Reynaud. can you tell me fight of
that dreadful affair?” Blanche excitedly ed.
“ I can tell all!”
“ Then lead on—lead on! I will trust you.”
“Good! You shall not repeat it.”
ynaud turned his face toward the cave, but
but moment Somerville sprung to his feet.
“ Blanche! Blanche!” he eagerly exclaimed.
The girl turned quick—in alarm, it seemed——
but even in the darkness, she recognized the gun-

maker.
“ Thank heaven, it is Hugh!” she I cried, joy-

' fully. i
‘1 Walt Wilkins left them to their meeting, and
i turned to the Frenchman.

 

.at

“ Reynaud, I’m glad fer see ye pannin’ out a. V ,

\ ,\..
l ,:

; mademoiselle. Sweeping Eagle, whose real name ‘

 

  
 

 

 

 

 

.. ‘ gagied,
. v, k I white man’s voice. omrade,

I  West Walt. the Mountain Veteran.

31

 

wal, by hickory!
we had ye in the cave at Tombstone Rock—I
reely didn’t. Ter put it plain I thought ye an
oncommon dirty vagabond, ef not wu’ss, an’
now ya show u as protector fur the Princess.
Queer, ain’t it, alt Wilkins?”

“ I’ve been a good deal of a hard customer,”
Reynaud replied. “ but I knew Blanche Beau-
vais of old, and am oing to be her friend.”

“ Good fur you. go you rescood her from the
cabin?”

“ Yes. I expected to lose my life in trying,
but could I have died in a better cause?
took her from the cabin, but, thinking it unsafe
to conduct her to the cave. would have taken

I didn’t think it on ye, when I

 

her to some other refuge. She lost confidence
in me, however, and I was obliged to guide her
here—”

The speaker aused. A single rifle~sbot had
sounded from t 6 direction of the allies’ camp. i
It was followed by half a dozen others, and then 
out in the air rung the Sioux War-whoop, evi- t
dently sounded by over a score of warriors. It .
was cut short, bewever, in a louder sound, as 1
many rifles sounded as one. i

“ reat snakes! they’re at it!” cried “Valt. I
“ Shoot me far a catamount ef red an’ white ,‘
ain’t goin’ fur each other like cats an’ dogs. The ‘
Old Nick is ter pay over tharl” l

His words seemed well founded, for from the 3
direction of the camp came the mingled sound '
of rifle reports, shouts and war-whoops. The;
allies were fighting among themselves!

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
rm: DREAM or POWER ranss AWAY.

“THIS is our harvest season,” added Walt.
quickly. “ Ef them chaps are in dead ’arnest—
an’ I ain’t a doubt but the be—«we hev got a
chance ter slide away while they’re at it, I‘ll
bet my rifle. The dispute will draw all the men
from the front 0’ the cave, an’ our party kin
slip out while we ain’t guarded. Hug i, you an’ *
Reyuaud guard the Princess in the gulch, while
I walk in au’ see Black Hills Ben."

The veteran hurried the trio down into the
gulch to what he thought a proper point, and 1
then disappeared up the Open way with long‘
strides.

Somerville was not wholly pleased with this
plan. They had a chance to ro-enter the cave;
they had passed it by, and were planning a‘
flight which might be one of deadly danger.

A period of waiting followed which was also
one of keenest suspense. The Sounds of strife
continued for several minutes, more or less
regularly, from the camp of the allies, and it
went to indicate that a deadl conflict was rag- '
ing there. The crack of ri es—the whoops of
the Indians—the shouts of the outlaws—all com- ;
bined made a wild medley.

Somerville and Reynaud tried to cheer and
encourage Blanche, but the task was hard from
the first, and when all sounds of strife died ,
away, and utter silence reigned around them, it
grew doubly hard.

The allies were no longer busy with their feud
—might they not appear at’ any moment!

Other minutes passed-minutes that seemed
interminabl lon —and still there was no sign
from their rien 8. Never before had Somer-
ville found his calmness so severely tested. He
even thou ht of going to the end of the gulch,
and soun in the prearranged signal to those
within but cared they had already gone.

Sudden] adark flgnreap in the shadow
of the rec coming, not rom the direction of
the cave but the opposite way, and Walt’s cheer-
ful voice broke the silence:

“Did ye think I was never comin’? Wal, it
has been a length time. but thar was a heap 0’
work ter do. e’re all out o’ the cave, an’ ,
ready ter rnn,'onlgewaitin’ fur on, so ye see
yer patience will rewarded. oller me.”

The veteran led the way, and rapidly the;
went down the gulch until theireached ;
h» slope. This they ascended, and t ere was 5
the whole party of gunmakers and their friends. i

Baauvais was inclined to make a de-
monstrative tin to Blanche, but the bor-
derman won d nota ow any one totalk then. 5
Instant flight was necessary. The battle of the
allies had ceased, and nobody knew when fresh
dan or would beset the fugitives. ,

T 9 little party started, with Walt at the '
front, but ha gone no more than twenty rods
when a dark form tiall'yl" rose from the
ground in front of hem. he ranger was
obli ,to check his horse to avoid a collision, 1
and hen a hoarse voice sounded from the oh- i
ject in advance.

“.Who are you that ride this way! My eyes
are blind with comin dissolution, nd I can see
nothing. If ye are 0 the League, sten to me!” ,

Walt uttered an exclamation and sprung
fromhis horse. He recognized that voice: the ’
:Eeaker was Judson Killough. Walt saw that

e outlaw chief, though merely sitting‘ up, was 1
swayingrgiuily, and he caught him in is strong ‘
arms. are wasa moisture of the garments
oven the stricken man’s breast which confirmed ,
a art that he had said. g

‘1’!!! with ye, leftenant,” Walt answered. 7
“ Sav on, efye have ought ter say.”

“ I know you not," Killotfgh, “ but it

am dying,

 

. Ben Todd, Long

1 your peo 1e unarmed, and with your

 

and with me goes the Grand Chief of the
League, and the League, itself. All, all is
doomedl Ah! how my life ebbs awayl
accursed Sioux struck deeply, and my sands are
running out. This blin ness—this
Weakness—all foretells the end. I die, but I
would not die unavenged.”

“ What kin I do fur you?” Walt soberly asked.

“Tell Burt Starbuck to avenge me; tell him
never to rest until Wolf-that—Bites and his war-
riors are swept away. There are more white
men than red-devils near here—tell Starbuck to
hurl the men on the red traitors and avenge me.
I got my death by u holding him, and now let
him do his duty. hi wh , why did he ever
take a fanc for that girl. t has slain me and
ruined the gue!”

He paused for a moment, gasped for breath,
and then went on with the last of his ebbing
strength:

“ Yes, the League is doomed, and what I
planned will never be. I was the Grand Chief,
and I, the only man who could hold the wild
allies together, or plan such a work—I am dying.
Ohl why must I go before my work is done? A
malediction on the Sioux! So fade my hopes—
my dream of power. So fades the greatest
scheme man ever formed; so fades my life. The
end is near 1”

“ You’re ekul ter adozen men yet.” said Walt,
who could not avoid a grain of pity for the man
in his fallen condition.

“I sin—about one!” gasped the outlaw. “I
care nothing for ife, but my great scheme—the
League-ambition—all is vanishing. Tell Star~
buck—revengel Ah! I die!"

There was a pause. Then Wild West Walt
arose, lifted the heavy form, and laid it at one
side where the passing horses would not bruise
the body. It was no more—only a lifeless body.
Judson Killough wa e dead!

Walt remonnted his horse, spoke the single
word, “ Come!” and the fugitives rode on again.
It was several minutes before the ranger had
anything more to say, for his mind Was on that
impressive death-scene.

. As they went on, and as conversation became
less dangerous, Blanche, Reynaud and Beauvais
managed to have an explanation, and the mys-
te% of the girl’s life was made plain.

hen she was a child, Beauvais was a trapper.
He left home when she was but a month old, and
was gone seven months. When he returned his
wife was dead, and Francois Ayot, a wild young
fellow of his ac uaintance, convinced him that
his child—Blane e—was also dead, but produced
another baby, which he claimed to have saved
from death on the prairies when her parents
were killed by Indians. The child had won
Basil’s heart, and he reared it as his own, though
always believing it to be a waif.

Pierre Reynaud was now able to explain all.
Ayot‘s story was a lie from beginning to end.
He had entertained a grudge against Beauvais,
and concocted the story merely to make the trap-
per unha py. Really, Blanche was 'ust what
she had a ways supposed herself to be—Beauvais’s
own daughter. Reynaud had been in Ayot’s
confidence in the old days. but it was not until
he saw Ayot transformed into Sweeping Eagle,
and persecuting Blanche, that his conscience was
awakened.

The truth was told at last, however, and a dark
cloud swept from the mind of both Blanche and
Beauvais.

All that night the party pressed on. and their
success was a su rise to no one more than Walt,
ave and Windfoot. These ex-
perienced borderers did not believe that the fight
of the allies had done away with dan er, and
they were every moment expecting a co liswn.

Day dawned at last, and they halted a few min-

 

‘ utes m a gulch to breakfast, and give the women

a brief rest.

They started ag‘gin, but had gone but a short
distance when indfoot reported suspicious
signs, and, a moment later, a band of Sioux num-
bering over a hundred men ap from a
gulch not far away. The fugitives prepared for

at work, but when the Indian leader displayed
a white fla , Black Hills Ben and Walt went for—

ward to with him. It roved to be Wolf-
that-Bites, but he was no onger in an openly
hostile mood.

“ Listen to me, white men,” he said impressive-
lv, “ I do not come as, your enem , but to foil
Red Band, whom you call Starbuc . Chief Kil-
lou his dead, and Starbuck fills his lace, and

Hand is on your trail; but the ioux and
outlaws are no lon r friends Wolf-that—Bites
hates Starbuck, an would foil his plans. Let
the Sioux be your friends, and go with you, and
they will guard you from the white outlaws.”

“ This is rather a strange proposition,” answer-
ed Todd. “What proof have we that you are
sincere?"

“ I swear it b the Master Life, be he the white
man’s God, or t 9 red man’s Manitou."

“ Oaths are sometimes broken b white men—
wlliKy3d not by Indians?" Black Hi Ben slowly
as .

“ Listen! Five of my warriors shall go amo
ns 3
their hea 9. Even 1 will be the hostage— , Wolf-
that-Bites—if you wish.‘ Any way to make

The 1

terrible é

 

Starbuck full of anger. He has more men than
VVolf-that-Bites, but if the Sioux dare not attack
him, neither dare he attack the Sioux. Speak,
Black Hills Ben; shall the red-men guard you
until you reach your towns?"

Ben glanced at Wild West Wait, and the vet-
eran nodded emphatically. That settled it, and
the bargain was promptly consummated. Ten
minutes later the gunmakers Were on their way
with their strange escort.

“I’ll eat my rifle,” said Long Dave, “ef this
ai’n’t suthin. new an’ fresh. Never expected ter
see the like on't, Walt.”

“ It is sorter interestin’eza show. Notice how
the Princess an’ Somerville keep tcrgether. They
ain’t fools—in the course 0’ natur’, they are talk-
in’ business. Claudia Bennington looks brighter
nor ever, d’ye see: an’ I observe that Mister Dun-
stan Hughes ain’t so surly ez he was. By the
time we git tor town, he’ll be meek ernough; ef
he ain’t, he an’ I’ll have a dispute, an’ l’ll trounce
him ontil he. is in a pliable mood, by sixty!”

“ That‘s business, brother Walt, an’ cf you
want help. call on me. I licked a feller once so
bad that I carved him up in slices, like bread
olf’m aloaf, an’ no slice over one-quarter 0’ an
inch thick. He told me arterwards that he
wouldn’t fight me ag’in ef I’d give him a boss an’
bridle.”

“ Should s‘pose not,” answered Walt, “ but
some fellers ain’t so easy ter lick. Knowod a
doctor once. who got ev’rvbod y down on him, an’
they tried to lick him. His back was hared, an’
a big six-footer went at him. The doctor never »
yelled, but chawed terbacker an’ whistled a love-
ditty. At the end 0’ three hours the whip r fell
in a fit, an’ another man took his turn. e. last-
ed two hours. You may not believe it, Long
Dave, but the ’hull poperlation 0’ the place—
’bout two thousanh—took a back at him. an’ all
wok sick an’ give up, while he never turned a.
hair, or showed a mark, though he got away
with an awful ile o‘ the weed. When the last
on ’em was too sick the doctor broke his bonds,
nursed ’em all back to health. an’ forgive ’em
freely; but when he left he took ev’ry cent 0'
money in town, an’ the place went bankrupt.
Chaw, Injun?” ‘

lValt abrupt] exiended his tobacco to Wind-
foot, but the 0 er was declined. Walt urged his
horse forward to where Somerville and Blanch.
rode together.

“ Lad,” he said, gravely, “ of we git ter the set-
tlements all right, do you mean ter continuer
business ez a gunmaker?”

“ That epoch in my life is gait,” Somerville an-
swered. “ I wonder what is fore World’s End!
We did not make a great quantity of weapons,and
I am inclined to think there will be no more
made there. I believe Killough was right when
he said the League was dead. Anyhow, I shall
make no more re-arms.” \ ,

“Mehbeegou hev another engagement,” and
Walt look 81 1y at Blanche.

“ Now, Wa t, cried the girl. with a smile,
“ 0 on want me to quarrel with you?”

“ (great snakes, no: I wouldn’t see yer
6 es turned on me in anger fur half 0’ the

ut I reckon thal"8 no danger; you and me
onncrstan’ each other, an’ Hugh onnerstan’s us
both. Yes, I onnerstan‘, an’ I sha’n’t he 0’

{3r hear 0’ a weddin’. Queer, ain’t it, W31 W o
.1181),

Wolf-that-Bites kept his word, and, though the
outlaws were seen at a distance, guided the fa?-
tives safely and faithfully to theVSettlement. t
was afterwards learned that, on his return, his
party and Starbuck’s fought, and the latter was
slain. Wolf-that-Bites became a well-known
warrior, and was by no means a merciless red-

 

m.

Dunstan Hughes was thorouighy subdued by the
time the journe was over, an willingly vs the ‘
testimony in be if of Edgar Whaton. he int-
ter,-proved entirely innocent, was released, he
and Claudia were promptly married. The have
lived happily to this dav.

Somerville and Blanche were a second .
to join their destinies for life, and their union 8
been so full of light, love and peace, they have
never regretted their adventures in and around ‘
World’s End, since by these events they were
brought together.

Of Beauvais, Bennington and Garrison there
is nothing to add, except that they have pros~

red.
peWild West Walt, Ben Tod Long Dave and “
life. To them - ’

Winth continued their oi
there is no otheiwlace eqml to the mountains and
prairies of the est.

As Killou h Wolfgang, his death ended 
great con racy. o 0 er person among
members 0 the e had the s ‘
the cunning and thqability to lead as 0 had done. ‘ .
Thelmagueandhediedinthemme h .

A year afterthe scenes of our sto
kins visith World‘s End. It was

was netoruin-ded’royed perhaps, by
that- ites. but red-men an white were alike

our "
, mwn- .
silt, durum irmdisevm'i
m an Wfloncen .
Virgil“

 

of mind.

gone. Even “ Pansy ” failed to scent another liv- ,= ’
ing creatureI and as Walt rode away he felt Ilka.

one moving ugh a gram» ard. .
It was the sepulcher of Ki ough’s ambition!
rm: END.

 

i

‘ 302 Bulfalo Bill‘s Grip; or Oath Bound to

‘%T

'SBSHank

.89
411

BEADLE’S*DIME*EBRARY.

Published Every Wednesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Ten Cents. No Double Numbers.

 

 

BY COL. PREN'I‘ISS INGRAHAM.
2 The Dare Devil; or, The Winged S ‘a Witch.
85 The Cretan Rover; or. Zulelkah the Beautiful.
89 The Pirate Prince; or. The Queen of the Isle.
94 Freelance. the Buccaneer.
108 Merle, the Mutinei-r; or. The Red Anchor Brand.

104 Montezuma. the Merciless.
109 Captain Kyd, the King of the Black Flag.

' 116 Black Plume; or. The Sorceress of Hell Gate.

121 The Sea Cadet; or, The Rover 01' the Rigoletts.
128 The Chevalier Corsair; or The Heritage.

131 Buckskin Sam. the Texas Trailer.

134 Darkgy Dan, the Colon-o Detective.

189 Fire Lye; or. The Bride of a Buccaneer.

147 Gold Spur, the Gcnlleman from Texas.

155 The Corsair 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 Scarlet Schooner; or. The Sea Nemesis.

184 The Ocean Vam ire; or, The Castle Heiress.
189 Wild Bill‘s Gold rail; or, The Des crate Dozen.
198 The Skeleton Schooner; or, The Sk mmer.

205 The Gambler Pirate; or, Lady of the Lagoon.
210 Buccaneer Bess. the Lioness of the Sea.

216 The Corsair Planter; or. Driven to Doom.

220 The Specter Yacht; or, A Brother‘s Crime.

224 Black Beard, the Buccaneer.

281 The Kid Glove Miner; or. The Magic Doctor.

28') Red Li htning the Man of Chance.

2.46 gueen elen, the Amazon of the Overland.

355 he Pirate Priest; or, The Gambler‘s Dau hter.
959 Cutlass and Cross' or. the Ghouls of the ea.
2%: TneSea Owl; or. The Lady Ca taln of the Gulf.
807 The Phantom Pirate; or, The l ater Wolves.

818 The Indian Buccaneer; or, The Red Rovers.

825 The Gentleman Pirate; or The Casco Hermits.
329 The League of Three; or. Buffalo Bill’s Pledge.
833 The Magic Ship; or, Sandy Hook Frceb )oters.
’ill The Sea Des redo.

846 Ocean Guer llas; or. Phantom Midshi man.
uster.
8'14 The Sea Fu tive; or, The Qucr~n oi’ the Coast.
tall) The Coast orsair; or, The Siren of the Sea.

373 Sailor of Fortune; or, The B true at Buccaneer.
377 All vat and Ashore: or, The Cor :0. r Cons lrator.
888 The Giant Buccaneer; or, The Wrecker l itch.

‘ $93 The Convict Captlan; or, The Battles of the

Buccaneers.
899 The New Monte Cristo.
418 The. Sea Siren; or, The Fugitive Privateer.
he Sea Sword; or. The Ocean Rivals.
430 The Fatal Frigate- or, Rivals in Love and War.
6.) The One-Armed uocaneer.

BY OLL COOMES.

7 Death-Notch. the Destroyer.
48 Dakota Dan. the Reckless Ran er.
44 Old Dan Rackhack the Great xtarminator.
46 Bowie-Knife Ben, t e Nor‘iwst Hunter.
48 ldaho Tom the Young Outlaw of Silverland.
51 Red Rob, the Boy Road—Agent.

99 The Giant Rifleman; or. Wild Camp Life.

I I 137 Long Beard, the Giant Spy.

148 One‘Armed Alf. the Giant Hunter.

BY CAPTAIN HOWARD HOLMES.

S78 Hercules Goldspur the Man of the Velvet Hand.
84 Broadcloth Burt, the Denver Dandy.

821 California Claude, the Lone Bandit.

886 Dan. the Nabob; or. Blades of Bowie Bar.
840 Cool Conrad, the Dakota Detective.

' 847 Denver Duke. the Man With " Sand."

858 The Desperate Doz n.

865 Kcsn'Kennard, the Shnsia Shadow.

874 Major Blister, the Sport of Two Cities.

882 The Bonanza Band; or Dread Don of Cool Clan.
892 The Lost Bonanza; or. The- Boot of Silent Houn'l.
4111 Captain Coldgrlp; or. The New York Spotter.
40! Captain Coldgrlp's Nerve' or. Injun Nick.

418 Captain Cold ri in New ,ork.

491 Father Ferre , t e Frisco Shadow.

434 Lucifer Lynx. the Wonder Detective.

441 The California Sleuth.

'BY ANTHONY P. MORRIS.

I 5 The Fire Fiends; or. Hercules. Hunchback.
w Azhort. the Arman; or. The Palace Secrets.
100 The French Spy; or. The Bride of Paris.
107 The Man of Steel. Tale of Love and Terror.
16 Man S lder; or. The Beautiful 8 hlnx.
ound the Crescent Citv etective.
no The Masked M tsry; or. The Black

$8 Electno Pete, t e Man of Fire.
ms The Roughs of Richmond.

818 Mark Magic. Detective..

884 The 'Cipher Detective; or, Mark Magic's New

'l‘ra l. '
848 The Head Hunter; or. Mark Magic in the Mine.
‘18! Jack Simons. Detective.

snt.

BY MAJOR DANIEL BOONE DUMONT.
883 Silver Sam, the Detective; or, The Butte City

Rustlers.
Colonel DoublaEdge, the Cattle Baron‘s Pard.
The White Crook; or. Old Hark‘s Fortress.
4‘) The Old River Sport; or. A Man of Honor.
Salamander Sam.

 

BY BU FFALO BILL(Hon. \V. F. Cody). J

52 Death-Trailer, the Chief of Scouts.

83 Gold Bullet Snort; or, Knights of the Overland.
21!! Flu: Pilgrim Sharp; or. The Soldier‘s Sweetheart.
304 Texas Jack. the Prairie Rattler.

319 Wild Bill, the Whirlwind ot' the “fest.

304 Whitu Beaver. the Exile of the Platte.

397 The Wizard Brothers; or, White B 'aver‘s Trail.
401 Our-Ar nod Ford: or. Borderland Retribution.
414 R 1d Renard, the Indian Detective.

BY MAJOR DANGERFIELD BUBR.

92 Buffalo Bill, the Buckskin King.
117 Dashing Dandy: or, The Hotsziur of the Hills.
142 Ca tain Crimson, the Man of' he iron Face.

156 Ve vet Face, the Border Bravo.
175 Wild Bill‘s 'l‘rump Card; or, The Indian Heiress.
188 The Phantom Mazeppa; or, The Hyena.

BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR.

28 Three-Fingered Jack, the Road-Agent.
30 Gospel George; or, Fiery Fred, the Outlaw.
40 Long-Haired Pards; or, The Tarters of the Plains.
45 Old Bull’s-Eye, the Lightning Shot.
47 Pacific Pete, the Prince of the Revolver.
50 Jack Rabbit, the Prairie S rt.
64 Double-Sight, the Death 0t.
67 The Boy Jockey; or, Honest vs Crmkedness.
71 (‘nptuin Cool Blade; or, Miss sslp i Man 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.
127 Sol Scott, the Masked Miner.
141 Equinox Tom, the Bnl'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 Boy of Tombstone.
241 Spitfire Saul, Kin of the Bustiers.
249 Elephant Tom. 0 Durnngo.
957 Death Trap Dlgglngs; or, A Hard Man from
‘Way Back.
283 Sleek Sam, the Devil of the Mines.
286 Pistol Johnny; or, One Man in a Thousand.
292 Moke Homer, the Boss Roustabout.
802 Faro Saul, the Handsome Hercules.
817 Frank Lightfoot, the Minor Detective.
824 Old Forked Lightnln". the Solitary.
331 Cliispa Charle '. the Gold Nugget Sport.
339 8 read Eagle m. the Hercules Hide Hunter.
845 asked Mark, the Mounted Detective.
351 Nor‘ West Nick, the Border Detective.
355 Stormy Steve, the Mad Athlete.
360 Jumping Jerry. the Gamecock from Sundown.
867 A Royal Flush; or, Dan Brown‘s Big Game.
372 Captain Crisp. the Man with a Record.
879 Howling Jonathan, the Terror from Headwaters.
887 Dirk Du. . the Ishmael of the Hills.
895 Deadly A m, the Duke of Derringers.
403 The Nuneless Sport; or, The Kilkenny Cats of
’Wuy-Ufih
409 Rob Ro nch' or, The Imps of Pan Handle.
416 Monte im. the lack Sheep of Bisma k.
426 Tlga Ghost Detective; or. T e Spy of t 0 Secret
en! ca.
438 Laughing Leo; or, Sam‘s Dandy Pard.
4:8 Oklahoma Nick.

BY EDWA RI) WILLETT.

129 Mlslsslppi Mose; or, a Stro Man‘s Sacrifice.
209 Buck Farley. the Bonanza nee.
223 Bill the Bliuard; or. Red Jack‘s Crime.
248 Montana Nat, the Lion of Last Chance Camp.
274 Flush Fred the Mississippi Sport.
289 Flush Fred s Full Hand.
gger Lem; or, Life in the Pine Woods.
808 Hemlock Hank. Tough and True.
815 Flush Fred's Double- or, The Squattem' League.
327 Terrapin Dick, the Wildwood Detective.
887 Old Gabe, the Mountain Tramp.
848 Dan Dillon. King of Crosscut.
868 The Canyon King; or. a Price on his Head.

BY NED BUNTLINE.

14 Tha endan ea, theScou -or,‘1'he War-Eagle.
16 TheyWhite (Wizard; or, Till-g” Seminole Prophet.
18 The Sea Bandit; or. Tue Queen of the Isle.
Si The R-d Warrior; or. The Comanche Lover.
61 Captain Seawalf, the Privateer.
111 The Smuggler Ca taln: or. The Skipper‘s Crime.
122 Saul Sabberday, t e Idiot S v.
W0 Andros the Rover: or, The rate‘s Daughter.
1161 Tombstone Dick, the Train Pilot.

BY WILLIAM H. MANNING.
279 The Gold Dragoon, or. The California Blood-

hound.
g Colorado Rube, the Strong Arm of Hotspur.
Will Dick Turpin the Leadvllle Lion.
405 on Baldy, the ad adier 01' Buck Basin.
415 Hot Heart, the De .ctive S y.

g The Rivals 0! Montana Mil

Deep Duke, the Silent Sleuth.

 

 

BY COLONEL BELLE SARA.

53 Silver Sam; or, The Mystery of De ldWOOd City.
87 The Scarlet Captain; or. Prisoner of the Tower.
106 Shamus O‘Brien, the Bould Boy of Glingal.

BY PHILIP S. WAIKNE.

1 A Hard Crowd; or. Gentleman Sam‘s Sister.

4 The K.dnap er; or. The Northwest Shanghai.
29 Tiger Dick. aro King; or, The Cashier’s Crime.
51 Always on Hand; or, The Foot-Hide Sport.

80 A Man of Nerve; or, Caliban the Dwarf.

114 Th» Gentleman from Pike.

171 Tiger Dick. the Man of the Iron Heart.

207 Old Hard Head: or. Whirlwind and his Mare.

251 Tiger Dick vs. iron D spard.

280 Tiger Dick‘s Lone Hand.

299 Three of a Kind; or, Tiger Dick. Iron Despard
and the SportiVe Sport.

338 Jack Sands the Boss of the Town.

359 Yellow Jac . 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. COWDRICK.

390 The Giant Cupid; or Cibuta John‘s Jubilee.

422 Blue Grass Burt. the Gold Star Detective.

436 Kentucky Jean, the Sport from Yellow Pl 9; or.
Blue-eyed Belle of Bended Bow. ‘

BY GEORGE C. JENKS.

398 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” New York.

81 The New York Sher ; or, The Flash of Lightning.
88 Overland Kit; or, he ldyl of Whi 9: Pine

34 Rocky Mountain Bob, the California Outlaw.

85 Kentuck the Sport: or, Dick Talbot of the Mines.
86 Injun Dick; or. The Death-Shot of Shasta.

88 Velvet Hand; or, in un Dick‘s Iron Grip.

41 Gold Dan; or, The lte Savage of Salt Lake.
42 The California Detective: or The Witches of N.Y.
49 The Wolf Demon; or, The Kanawha Queen.

56 The Indian Mazeppa; or, Madman of the Plains.
59 The Man from ‘l‘exas; or, The Arkansas Outlaw.
08 The Winged Whale: or, The Red Rupert of Gulf.
72 The Phantom Band; or The 5th Avenue H91: 885.
75 Gentleman George; or, arlor. Prison and Street.
77 The Fresh of Fnseo; or, The Heiress.

79 Joe Phenix, the Police Spy.

81 The Human Tiger; or, A Heart of Fire.

84 Hunted Down; or, The League of Three.

91 The Winnin Oar: or, The Innkeeper's Daughter.
93 Captain Dic Talbot. King of the Road.

97 Bronze Jack, the California Thoroughbred.

101 The Man from New York.

107 Richard Talbot. of (.‘innabar.

112 Joe Phenix. Private Detective. ,
180 Captain Volcano: t r. The Man of Red Revolvers.
161 The Wolves of New York; or. J0e Phcnix‘s Hunt.
173 California John. the Pacific Thoroughbred.

196 La Marmoset. the DC“ ctive flow.
203 The Double Detec'iv»: t r.The idnight Mystery.
252 The Wall Street Blood; ( r The. Telc rarh Girl.
820 The Gentoel SBottL-r; or. The N. Y N ght Hawk.
849 Iron-Hearted i« k, the Gentleman Road-Agent.
354 Red Richard; ox The Crimson Cross Brand.

863 Crowningshield. the Sleuth; or. Pitiless as Death.
370 The Dusky Detective; or. Pursue-d to the End.
876 Black Beards; or. The Rio Grande High Horse.
881 The Gyps Gentleman; or Nick Fox, Detective.
884 lnjun ch . Detective; or, arked to New York.
891 Kate Scott. the Decoy DeteClive. . ‘
4% Doc Grip, the Vendetta of Death.

419 The Bat of the Battery ' or. Joe Phcnix. Detective.
425 The Lone Hand; or, T 9 Red River Recreants. ,
440 The High Hone of the Pacific.

LATEST AND NEW ISSUES.
442 Wild West Walt. the Mountain Veteran. By
William H. Manning.

(43 A Cool Hand; or. Pistol Johnny‘s Picnic at To
Notch. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. ,

444 The Magic Detective; or. The Hidden Band. 3!
Jackson Knox. Ready April 27.

«5 Journeyman John. the Champion' or. The Win-K
hing Hand. By Capt. F. W Maker. '
Ready May 4.

446 Ocean Ogre. the Outcast Corsair; or. The
Ship of Ill-Omen. By (bl. P. lngraham.

ady May 11.

447 Volcano. the Frisco S . B Captain Howard

Holmes. Ready Mafia. y
A new issue every Wednesday.

Beadle’o‘ Dime Library is'for sale by all
Newsdealers, ten cents per copy, or sent by mm on
receipt of twelve cents each. '

sums AND spans. Pvmmns, / ,
’ ’w William Street. New Yak.