7

‘ V01. XXXIII. “$23223fi?”

95 \VILLIAM STREET, N. Y., December 22. 1896.



3.,

.A TALL, PHANTOM—LIKE FIGURE STOOD BEFORE HIM—“1TH A FACE \VHITIC AND GHASTLY—
THE FACE OF I’ENDY ROW'ELL, THE MURDERED REVENUE DETE(V'TI\‘E,

Cb’eadle Sf‘ fldanls, Q)(’l?)<7I'-S‘7L67‘S:

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F:FICE AT Maw YORK. N. Y,. AT SECOND CLASS MAIL RATES.  

Ten Cents a. Copy.
$5.00 a Year.

THESPYnftheEIlUHETSEHVIUR

BY JOS. E. BADGER, JR.

AUTHOR OF “01.1) ‘49.” “ MONTE JIM,” “NOB!-
“'EST NICK,” ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER I.
THE GATHERING IN THE GLEN.

“ WHAT’S the prospect, Bion Barnave—good
or had ?"

“ It could hardly be worse."

Sharp the question and terse the answer. but
both were (-muprehenmve enough for me. dark,
lxro“ ed men who gatherml around. The half-
eager. half anxious look faded from each face,
giving,y pluee to frowns of sullen anger and dog—
ged resolution, all the more impressive from the
perfect silence with which the unwelcome news
was received

“ Fer us. or fer Owen Tredgold 1’”

“ For both. The l.)lo0(lh()un(ls of the law have
him foul. and they make no bones of lmnsllnm
that before the World ie a week older. they will
have us one and all in the same nasty lmx."

“Ketchiu’ comes afore hangin’.en" all that
opens on the trail won‘t live to see the kill."

 

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The Ghost Detective.

 

 

 

A low muttering came from the lips of the
men gathered about, as though they could both
understand and appreciate this sentiment. Faint
though the sound was, it did not escape the ears
of the speaker, whose greenish-gray eyes turned
quickly around the little circle.

A gathering of ragamuflins, the casual ob-
server might have been tempted to pronounce
it; and so far as garb and outward appearance
went, there was ample ground for this deci-
$101!.

More rags than whole garments, with here
and there a patch that told of homo and loving
hands. Clothes of homespun, with here and
there a suit or a garment that smacked of war
and fighting—of the days long gone by, when
brother faced brother in the fierce heat of a
ficrcer civil war.

Here a military hat, still recognizable, though
long since shorn of its braid, its tasscls, its
insignia. Yonder a coat, a jacket, a pair of
trowsers of military cut.

For the most part men of middle age, with
here and there an exception—one Whose head
showed the frosts of coming age, or one whose
flaxen locks and lmardlcss chcel;s told of man-
hood attained “ since the war.”

Each man bearing weapons that also spoke of
the past conflict; carbines of the cavalry, mus-
kets of the infantry, and revolvers that had seen
service on many a hard-fought field, with here
and there a long, slender-stocked “squirrel-
rifle ” whose tiny bullet could deal out death as
sure y, if not quite so far, as the larger-bore
tools.

All this was revealed by the red glow of the
fire which was burning inside the little circle of
bushes down in the glen.

It was night, and though the stars were visi-
ble, and the nearly-full moon was above the
horizon, down there in the valley all ‘seemed iii-
tensely dark outside the little Circle of light cast
around by the crackling flames.

At that low mutterin John Mahar glanced

uickly around the litt e gathering, his head
godding slightly, as though recognizing that un-
spoken uemand.

"Ef it was good news,dt’d be different: but
we’ve got too well used to bad to worry down
themanthat fetches it. Take your time an
tell it all your own way, Bion Barnave. We’ll
chew on it as ye go ’long, ontil we git the true
flavor.”

“ The flavor, o’ ruined homes, broken hearts,

' .  an’ dead men!” harshly muttered one of the

rt .
pa“ Iyt don’t all come from our side—that last,”
flimly laughed John Mahar, his green eyes
shing viv dly. ‘

“ Idon't call them men—bloodhounds comes
nigher the mark—but I ax the dogs‘ pardon fer
the insult, all the same.”

“There was a laugh at this speech, short,
harsh unmirthful. It told how fully the
crowd sympathized with tho gaunt speaker. It
told how surely they felt themselves in the ri ht,

.even though they were finerally regardet by
outsiders as little, if any, tter than outlaws.

Bion Barnave, tall, dark, handsome, with a
fierce sort of masculine beauty, glanced quickly
from face to face, his own hard-set, his eyes
gleamin and glittering with a light that was
almOst 0 color of the ruddy flames. His mus-
tached lips curled back from his teeth until a

His hands

as tibly shook his athletic flrrure.

t was plain enough to see t at he sympathized
with the speakers, and that ho was by no means
unwilling to show as much. even before his full,
rich tones broke forth:

. “If you look at the common bound; in that
light, what do you think of the one who cheers
them on the trail? What of the dastards who
point out the prey? Who crouch under cover to

' . .save their vile hides, while danger lasts only to

creep forth and reap the reward offers for be-
traying their fellow-men? What of those—
devils 5’”

There was no reply in words, but the low,
(nhinous growl that came instead, was answer,
enough, even for him.

John Mahar made an impatient gesture as he
‘spoke again:

' “ It ain’t what we think, but what we’ve got
toclo. Au’ that we kin settle better when Igyou
ion

. r a i tell us allyyou’ve discovered down-country,

Bat-nave,

“ I could wish it was better news!"

“ The change 0’ diet would turn all our stom-
achs, I reckon !" grimlyl muttered Mahar, with
the ghost of a smile on is rugged features.

Que of the party mOVed a step nearer to Bion
Barnave, his voice harsh and brusquo as he

ke:
apaWo sent you down to Peru the truth. It
hain’t killed you to find it on an’ I reckon we
kin b’ar it as well. Anyways, ‘m willin’ to rock
my sheer.”
3 ‘You are always ready to do your share of
Jjnlking, at least, Mark Tappan, whether—”
“‘Dra it right thar mates!” sternly cried
' John har, stepping between the two men, a
dork frown, upon his rugged face. “We ev
inomies enoughto fight, t 9 good Lord kno ,

'  gm: cuttln’ ’mongst our own selves. Drop it,

formed; if not to your satisfaction, blame the

 

 

I say! Bridle your tongue, Mark Tappan. An’ =
you, Bion BarnaVe, git down to business; that’s 
what we come here “to-night fer, an’ time is l
a-passin’ rapid.” |

“ I’m not spoiling for a row,” slowly muttered 5
the spy, with a faint smile as he glanced into the i
face of the other, " but I’ve gone through with i
too much down yonder to have the sores rubbed ‘
afresh. At best, playing the spy is a thankless
job, and whcn It comes to having insinua-
tions—”

“ ’Sinuate nothin’!” growled Tappan. “ All I
wanted was to know Jest what we’ve got to ex-
pect from them revenue lioun’s.”

“That puts a different com llOXiOIl on it, and
here’s my hand, mate,” f ran tly uttered Bar-
nave, stepping forward and crossing hands with
the gaunt mountaineer.

He stepped nearer to the center, stirring up
the brands with his foot as he gazed keenly,
quick] around the group of rough-clad men.

“Al true-blue, I reckon!” he muttered, with
what seemed like a sigh of relief.

“ You wasn’t lookin’ for an inemy ’mongst us,
Bion?” a little sharply asked John Mahar.

“ IVould it be the first time a rogue stole
among honest men .6” with a shrug of his shapely
shoulders, and a peculiar smile upon his dark,
handsome face. " Is it a stranger that ever sells
us out to the law?"

“What is it you’re tryin’ to git at, mate?”
slowly asked Mahar.

“Simply taking precautions which on will
understand better when you have heart my re-
Hort,” bowed the spy, still with that curious,

alf~mocking smile. '

“ It isn’t us that keeps you waitin’, anyway.”

“ Nor will I task your patience any ongcr.
You know what I went to (ircenville for?”

“ To l’arn how Owen 'l'rtxlgold was comin’
’long, an’ what was in the wind that consumed
us an’ our business,” was the prompt response.

“A double duty which I believe I have pcr-

facts, not me,” laughed the spy, shortly.

“It’s the facts we‘re waitin‘ fer, of you kin
ever git ’em out!”

“First, as to Owen Tredgold," spoke the spy,
his entire demeanor changing, his voice grow"
ing grave and earnest, his face losing its smile
as he added: “I’m afraid he‘s in a mighty
bad way, although it’s only vague rumors that

sits out about the evidence against him. He
as been held for trial, anyway!”

A chorus of exclamations broke from the
mountaineers, and the red light of the fire show-
ed dark and angry frowns upon their faces.

“ On what grounds? I’Vbo dared to sw’ar lies
ag’in’ him f” fiercely cried John Mahar.

“ That is kept secret as though the informer
feared his rewn rd would take another shape than
gold,” with a short, hard laugh.

" Hot lead or cold steel-~cuss him i”

“A rope that he’s trying to twist fer the
threat 0’ the boss!” growled another of the
mountaineers.

“ You found out his name, I reckon?” asked
Mahar. -

“If not, it wasn‘t for lack of tryin ,be sure
of that,” promptly replied the sp , wit a frown.
“I tried so hard that I foun myself under
suspicion. I was dogged by night and by
day, and my every movement noted. I hardly
expected to get out of town without being placed
under arrest.”
be“ Held for trial!” muttered Mahar, passing a

n
zledyair. “ But he never done it—Owen (Ill n’ti
He never‘ hurt a ha’r 0’ that revenue critter’s
head! Everybody knows he didn’t do it! Why,
he couldn’t—Owen couldn’t!”

“No one believes it who knows the man, of
course,” quietly uttered the :‘-_-;r, his red lips
curling a little at the simplicin of the gaunt
mountaineer. “But it is not a friend who
swears against him, and when an enemy seeks
the life of a man, he is not apt to stick at a lie
or two. On the streets you can easily get bets
of five to one that OWen Tredgold hangs for
murdering Pendy Howell.”

“ He won‘t hang—it’ll never cometothat!”
grated Mahar, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Again that peculiar smile.

“- o I heard whispered by a select few, in
town. They said Owen Trcdgold would not
even be brought to trial; or, if he was that
no one would appear to bear witness against

him.”
“ Thank the 00d Lord for that!” impulsively
cried Mahar. ‘May it come true, say !”

“ Those same whi. rers went further than
that," slowly added t e spy. “They said that
when Owen Tredgold left the dock, it would
be to ve place to scores of other men
from th 3 same region. That he was her in-
ing to sue his neck by selling out his fr ends
and fellow—”

“Take keer, Bion Barnavo!” grated Mahnr,
his huge fists doublin up and is 0 es flash-
:gg 'y’varningly. “Pic your words ear-fully,

is was the only voice that put the warnin
into words, but on almost evory face surroun -
ing him the spy could read that

e sentence.

hand across his wrinkled brow With a )uz- .

 

menacing,
more erect, the

.42.  4‘...

 gritty 

Yet he never flinched from th
looks. ‘He drlaw‘histull figure

smile u n his face, that peculiar light gleaming
in his ( ark eyes, his tones steady and even as he
added:

“ The are not my words, but those of our on-
eniies. simply report what I saw and heard, as
in duty bound since you chose me to investigate
this matter. I am not accusing Owen Tredgold
of turning traitor to his neighbors. I would
sooner suspect you—or niyselfl”

“ Heap sooner!” impulsively ejaculated Mahar,
brushing a hand over his beaded brow. “ Owen
ain’t no turn-coat. He wouldn’t squeal on his
fri’nds. It’s all a durncd lie!”

“ A truer, purer, whiter man never drew the
breath of life!” cried Bion Barnave, his hand-
some face lighting up brightly. “ But why
waste breath in saying this to you who know
OWen Trcdgold so well?”

“ Not a mite 0’ use, lad,” laughed Mahar,
grasping the hand of the spy, and wringing it
warmly. “ I was a fool fer thinkin’ you could
say aught ag’in’ Owen. Look over my hot
words, won’t ye, Bion?”

“ I never heard them, neighbor,” laughed
Barnave; but turning grave in an instant as he
added: “ All the same. there is trcachery at
work, and unless we can guard against it by fer-
reting out the traitor, we’ll find ourselves in
pretty near as bad a box as Tredgold himself.”

“ I but is it? Anythin’ new?" anxiouslyaskcd
Mahar.

_ “ Nothing more than that some one living
in this very section is selling all our secrets to
the revenue officers!”

Sharp, angry exclamations drowned his voice
as the mountaineers swayed babk and forth, all
talking at once, all grasping weapons savagely
as they glanced from face to face, looking for
the traitor even in their nearest friends.

John Mahar, though no less moved than the
others, shaegfly commanded silence. When this
was restor he spoke to the spy:

“ You know this, Bion Barnave? It ain’t only :

suspicion?”
“ That there is such a traitor among us, I
know, sitively.”
“ Me )be you :in put a han’le to him, Bion?”
Quietly, almost gently came the words, but
there was death in the greenish-gray eyes of the
tall mountaineer as he waited for the reply.
Bion Barnave hesitated fora brief 5%?“ his.
handsome face paling just a trifle as '5 dark
eyes roved swiftly over those stern faces.

“Ef you know it fer sure, spit it out, lad,” ‘

added Mahar, grimly. r

I “II know tggdmfin rumoasadid waia traitog,”
s ow respon t e spy s a yin is voice
an e ort. “ But when I heard i5, I swore t2;
myself that they lied in their throats. N at even
to save his life—”

“ You don’t mean Owen Tredgold ?”

“That was the name I heard coupled with the
rumor, but, as I said at the be 'mnng, I knew it
was all a lie—~at least so far as e was concerned.
That I believe it still—listen, friends!

“I will lead a party of cod men down to
Greenville, and tear Owen red ld from the
bloodliounds of the law! Who I volunteer?”

“ It ain’t who’ll go, but it’s who’ll dar’ stay
behind l” cried one sturdy mountaineer, his eyes
flashing tlireateningly over the group.

“ He wants to say i
chimed in'another. .

And then, as one man, the crowd dined in the
cheer which arose from the sturdy an s of the
first speaker. Only John Mahar hr] back, a

rim smile playing about his thin lips as he

need the dark, doubting glances of his neigh-
bors as his silence was noted. '

“Wait onto] the right time comes mates, an’
see then who’ll be the fu’st one in the gap,” he
said coolly. '

“ Why wait?” in‘irpetuously cried Barnave, his
eyes flashing. “ l by leave a friend and neigthA
her to suffer shame and degradation when

runningalittle risk we can save him from t, '-

all? Now is the time! We can do the job—we
can at him off before the trial if—”

“ ebbe we could, but what would it ccmo
to?” coldly interrupted Mahar. “The blood-
houn’s would take after him, double-hct. The

hull State wouldn’t be big enough to hold him , ,

in peace. Ef he tried to stay whar he was
raised, he’d be like a dcer afore the houn’s.”

“ Then we are to let him be hung for a crime
he never committed?”

“ Not that,” was the prompt retort. " We’re
to give him a chance to git cl’ar through the
law. Ef that chance fails him—cf he is con-
victed by lyin’ inemies an’ sentenced to death or
imprisonment—then we’ll set him free spite o-

the law an’ all its houn’s. That is sworn to, so 3 "

help me high Heaven !"

The manner of the speaker, more than in:
words, seemed to carry convnction to the minds
of his fellow mountaineers. and even Bion Bar-

nave- seemed deeply impressed with the wisdom ‘

of the other’s advice.
Ho stepped forward and once more

the hand Of MEI)”, his tones a little  n.

he muttered:

“ You are right and I was wrong, O'd friend:
but you can make allowances when on reflect
gust how I am situated. You all, neiy hbors "-

urning to the rest, his eyes aglow— ‘know a

the door hopes I have entertained for yous—F’s".

 

s pray’rs fu’st, anyway 1”

  

 

 

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which I still entertain, despite all that has passed
of late. You know that i love Owen Tredgold
as a son loves a kind father. You know, too,
that it is not my fault if he is not now a father,
in law if not by blood. And knowing this, you
can understand why I am so anxious to save
()wen 'l‘re lgoltl from imprisonment, from the
shame of having to stand a trial for life—and
, he innocent of the crime laid at his door.”

Silence followed this speech. A silence that
'w as peculiar, awkward. A silence which Bion
liar-nave had no difficulty in rightly inter-
preting, though he gave no sign.

It was perfectly true that could Bion Barnarc
‘ have had his way in this, Owen Tredgold would
' have become his father in the eyes of the law
long before the resent time. It was not his
fault that pretty .ida Tredgold was not now his
wife. Certainly he had not been a laggard in
his wooing, and until the return of Glenn Ellis-
ton to the home of his childhood, hardly one of
all those who knew Barnave and the Tredgolds
but believed such a union Would surely take
place at no distant da in the future.

\Vhy not? If Bion arnave was not rich, nei-
ther was Owen Tredgold. The war had left lit-
tle for either, save their rude mountain homes.
All slaves and other property had taken to itself
win s; but what of that? They Were young,
han some, of suitable age. Why not marry?

Because “love goes where it wills, not where
it is sent.”

It was natural enough, then, that the thoughts
of nearly every one iresent reverted to Glenn
Elliston during that )rief interval of silence, and
just as natural that John Mahar should utter the
words:

“ Did you see auythin’ of young Elliston down
thar, Bion!” ,

Still, it was a rather awkward question toput,
under the circumstances, and honest John real-
ized this the moment the words passed his lips.
But if there was a sing in the question Bion
Barnave showed nothing of it as he coldly re-

lied:

p.“ I saw him, yes. And that brings me back
to what I said at first: the revenue sharks are
getting ready for hot work up in this quarter.”

The mountaineers interchanged swift glances,
not all of angry apprehension. Even then more
than one felt a vague wonder why the mention
of Glenn Elliston’s name should so abruptly re-
call the spy in that particular point of his re-

,rt. But, of course, it could only be chanw;
E3 naturally would wish to evade such an awk-
ward question.

"‘ My duty was two-fold, as you know,” rapid-
ly added the spy, his tones hard and sharp. “ I
learned all I could about Tredgold’s case, as the
most massing], but I by no means neglected the
other lf. ever mind the details; it is enough
that 1 found out positively that the bloodhounds
intend making an extensive raid in this uarter.
They have received information whic leads
them to boast of a coming sensation. Some of
them have gone so far as to sa that before this
moon is old, fully a down i icit stills will be
broken up, and the owners placed where the dogs
can't bite ’em 1”

“They didn‘t leak the name 0’ the cur that
turned Informer?” John Mahar asked, his jaws
.set firmly, his eyes gleaming omincusli.

There was noimmediate resymnse ‘yes open-
:ed more widel as they saw Bion Baruave hesi-
tate, his face ushing hotly. only to pale until it
'Ihowed almost hastly in the iirolight.

“ The did! on know the p’izeu critter, lad?”
grated ahar.

With an evident effort the spy responded:

“I know the man. Wait!” as the mountain-
eers surged forward with cries and growls of
deadly vengeance. “ Swear that you will keep
the secret until other proof can be brou ht to
back my words. Swear that you will in e no
action on my word alone, or I’ll never utter the
name of the one who is selling you to death or
imprisonment l”

, ‘ But ef you’ve got the proof, lad?”

“ There must not be even a. ghost of a doubt
left in your minds. Swear what I ask, or the
secret dies with me!"

Before a word could be spoken in response,
there came a crackling among the bushes up the
,bank, and then a human figure rolled end over
end down into their very midst!

CHAPTER II.
A LIFE AT sun.

On that same evening, Lida Tredgold was
waiting and watching, her pretty face pale and
anxious, her eyes straining themselves by the
moonlight as they gazed own the 810 and
away over the moderately level ground yond
the range pf hills.~

“He vull come—even yet,” she murmured,
with an almost reproachful glance up at the
round moon. “It is notso talkie. And he
,aid I might expect him about—-

The sentence was not ended in words. A short
uncertain gasp broke fmm her ii as she leaned
further forward, her littlehands ghtg clasped,

.her brown eyes sparkling, her bra: coming
quick and fast.

. For any below she could just distinguish a

 

5)

amony uncertain aha which intuition,
rather than kcenness of ‘on, told her was
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that for which she waited and watched—was
that of Glenn Elliston, her betrothed lover.
For a brief s ace longer the beautiful girl re-

mained motion ess under the spreading boughs, 1
then she ste ped swiftly forward, pausing on a '

led e of roe 's, clearly outlin d in the moonlight

ass e waved a light shoulder-shawl in the air. l

Once, twice—then a. low, glad cry greeted the

answering motion that told her her eyes had not ‘

been dcccchd.
Light and sure-footed as a fawn, Lida s ,ruug
down the rocks and hastened to meet her over.

And even swit’tx-r moved Glenn Elliston, until .

they stood face to face under the moon.
“ You had not given me up then, little one?”
“ You said to—day,” was the Simple response,

as she yielded to his gentle, yet ardent embrace. ,

“ And there remains good two hours of grace,
so I am not forsworn,” laughed the young man,
glancing up at the round moon.

“ And—father?”

Timidly, almost foarfully, Lida looked into the
frank, manly face of her lover as those words
(lropped from her lips. And as she, saw how sud-
denly, how completely that smile vanished, her
heart sunk heavy as lead in her bosom.

She shivercd a little as Glenn passed one strong '

arm about her waist, drawing her closer to his
side as he slowly moved along in the direction of
the mountain home from whence she had come.
Her head droopcd and tears dimmed her eyes,

for already she knew that there was no glad '
‘ Glenn Elliston dropped a kiss Softly on the brow
“ c. has been held for trial, Lida,” gently -

tidin rs in store for her on that score.

muttered Glenn, yet striving to infuse encour-
agement into his voice and manner. “ That is
little more than was to be expected, you know.
It simply means that he has enemies who have

tried to throw suspicion upon him, and that those !

who know him less perfectly than you and I and

his friends here, ask for a little more light on i

the subject before setting him free.”
“ They will murder him!”

ed Glenn, with a laugh that sounded forced and

unnatural, despite his efforts tothe contrary. i

“ He is innocent of the foul deed which some
idiot of a detective has tried to fasten upon him.
They would not dare to find him guilt , for—”

“ Others have suffered unjustly. here is no
law for any save the rich—and father is r!”
bitter] murmured the girl, her voice bro en by
unsh tears.

“There is law—the law of friendship and true

hearts. If all else fails, Lida, be sure that law .
will not. Owen Tredgold is innocent, and I '

swear he shall never suffer the penalty due an-
other’s crime! And not I alone: at a word every
man on the range will take saddle to set the man
all love and honor at liberty. If all else fails,
that hope still remains, little one.” i

Ve strong and manl and earnest Glenn El-
liston ooked as he breat ed these defiant words
and Lida felt a degree of comfort as she gazed

and listened. She never paused to reflect that '

this was but one man, and he only a mortal.
That it was the law of a great and presperous
State which he so coolly proposed to override.

He better realized the nature of the contract
he was thus assuming, but his first object was
to banish the haunting fears which had taken
possession of the maiden, and he cared little
what means be employed just then.

Together they assed u the slope and toward
the little house w are the redgolds lived, youn
Elliston asking after the welfare of Mrs. TredE

old, whose il ness had kept Lida from oing to

reenville at the same time as her fat er, the
sooner to learn his fate, as wellas to comfort
him the best she might.

“ Mother is better," was the steadier re use,
as they caught sight of the red light 3 ining
through the open door and uncurtained win-
dow. “She is still weak, but if father was—
was here, she would goon be as well as eVer. She
is so anxious—” I

“ And is she—still as hard on me, t?” softly
uttered Glenn, hesitating just atri 9 over the
choice of a word to express his meaning. “ Does
she still talk to you about Bion Barnave?”

“Still the same,” was the barely audible re-
. use. “I wish I could so different. I wish
a e could learn to see throng my e was.”

" Then mother and daughter we (1 be rivals,
and OWen Tredgold would be tem ted to go
gunning for ours truly}. No, no, Li a,” with a

ow, ha py ugh. “ at with youre es, pet'
I want ut one woman to look at me t us—bu
with a. little more favor, say. And a little less
favor on that smooth-tongued, black-hearted
Bion Barnavel”

The last sentence came harsh and bitter] ,
though uttered almost beneath his breath. Li a
shivered just a trifle, but she made no reply.
The were almost at the house, and as a dog
bar ed sharply, the tall, thin figure of a woman
up _red in then doorwa . ,,

his was Mart a Tredgod, Lida’s mother,
and the fears of Glenn Elliston that his appear-
ance would be anything but welcome, were not
actor from the mark. Cold, grave, reserved,
Mrs. Tredgold received him, but hardly asked
him a question as be briefly related the results
of his trip to the count i seat. . ' ,

“I sawhim ofth , "added,va

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listen, “and he asked me to convey his love to
you both. To say that he was still of good
cheer, and confident of coming out all rig ht in
the end. He trusted that you would not worry
on his account, but make haste to get well and
heart ' again."

“The end!" exclaimed Mrs. Trcdgold, with
sudden bitterness. " There is but one end, and
one ending! I foresaw it from the first! A
And for
what! Killing a bloodhound? Cutting short
the life of a villain who fattened on other mens’
misery? Nota bit of it!” with a harsh, forced
laugh that was almost hysterical. “ Himg for
being a poor man! Throttled like a sheep-kill-
ing cur for owning only inches where others
own acres! Murdered in the name of the law
because he was honest, and true, and—my
linsband!”

11' r voice broke down, and she bowed her
llffltl in her hands as they rested on the little
table. Glenn Elliston started toward her, but
mused in obedience to a quick gesture from
Lida. She shook her-head, then moved noise-
lessly toward the door.

Silently he imitated her action, bending his
head to receive her guarded whisper:

“Go, if you love me! All you Could say
would only make matters “‘()l'!~C while this fit is
Go—and wait until I come!”

A swift glance showed him Mrs. Tredgold
still with her face hidden on lcr hands, and

of the maiden whom he loved, even as she loved
him in return. Then, with a longing look, he
crossed the threshold and moved away.

He paused when in a measure covered by the
shadows cast by the trees, watching the 0 )en
doorway for the coming of his love. An as
he watched, his thoughts roved swiftly back to
the beginnin of this sore trouble.

That was Tx’fore his return to the neighbor

: hood, where his boyish da '8 had been passed
“ They will set him free. more. loved and honored ,
than before, you mean, little one,” quickly utter- 1

until he was sent to a Nort ern college to com-
plete his education.

W'hen the war between the States broke out,
Glenn Elliston was not one to hold back.
Though a native of South Carolina, his ances-

tors were all of Northern stock, and his mpa-
thies were naturally with the‘ Union. e en-
tered the army as a private. He fou ht as

best he knew how, doing his duty Wit the
thousands of other men who came out no higher
in rank than they went in, yet no less we by
of praise and reward. And when the war came
to an end, he was one of those true hearts who
laid aside all feelings of bitternem, though not
many had suffered more heavily than be.

His father and two brothers had died on the
field of battle. His propert was gone, swept
away by the torch of war a of emancipation.
He was left the last of his race, with hardly a.
dollar to his name.

He found the home roperty in the hands of a.
stranger, who show rs that seemed cor-
rect enon h, and whic e was unable to dis-
prOve. is father had said nothing about sell-
mg the plantation, but that might have been '
done for all, since father and son had not met
since the second year of the war.

He had no funds to enter intoa legal fight, and
so yielded to fate, retiring to the mountains
where he found a small farm and its buildin
to which his right was undisfiuted. This prov .
to be all that was left of is one-time wealth,
but Glenn Elliston was almost content. It was
here that the greatest part of his boyhood had
been passed, the mountain air seeming to suit
his then weak lungs best. And it was ere that
be renewed his acquaintance with Owen Trad-

old. ~ '

g He could not remember Lida, at first. She v

had been but little more than a baby when  .

last saw her, himmlf a tall, manly lad. But ‘
soon the time came when he could honestly blesa
the fates that drove him to this mountain re- '
fags; when he knew that he was among the ‘
ric est of men, in being blest with the love of
Lida 'l‘redgold.

Owen Tredgold was another of those who had
lost all but honor in that dread struggle. When
it opened, he was comfortably rich, with many
stout slaves, hundreds of fertile acres a
home, and everything a man could ask for here . '
below. When it ended, he had nothing but his
good horse and his swud. save his daughter
and a prematurely brokendown wife.

Still he was not a man to repine openly. He
ma to win back a little hemecnthe moun-
tain, and, like the majority of his neighbors,
tried to eke out a. scanty living by turning his
corn crop into more salable whisky. He was

lain rough, almost illiterate Iran. He in

at his “ moonshining,” was said to be illegal, /
but he could not be brought to see just why it.
should be so deemed.

His forefathers made all the whisky they cared
to use or sell, and made it openly and above-
board. No one bade them cease. 0 one come
to collect atax ortried todestroyhis will. If
this was the cade,on‘lyo. doneu or: accrual"

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like a living profit. He could gut u a cheap
still, turn his cro into whisky, is w isky into
ready money; an without some money, no man
can live long. Through whisk alone could a
mountaineer get money. And t erefore he had
a rig‘ht above all so—called law to manufacture
whis y.

After this fashion Owen Tred old reasoned,
just as his fellow denizens of t e mountains
reason to this day; what was right in the father
could not be wrong in the son.

The authorities said different, and the spies of
the Secret Service came into the inountains,hunt~
ing for Violators of the law. These were follow-
ed by armed passes, and blood began to flow.
Secret stills Were. ferrets-d out, destroyed, and
their owners carried oii‘ to captivity. And there
was hard. desperate fighting on occasions, when
the sturdy mountaineers resisted arrest. or
sought to rescue their captive fellows.

One day the corpse of a revenue officer was
found lodged on a shallow of the roaring,
tumbling river. There was a bullet hole over
his heart. And word was spread all over the
and that Pendy Rowell had been murdered by
the moonshine-rs.

That was nearly five years before this moon—
light night, and long ago the tragedy was for-
gotten in more recent events of interest. Then,
ike a thunderbolt out of a clear sk , came
word that a  of well-armed men had ar-
rested Owen r gold and carried him off to
the count seat, on suspicion of being the mur-
derer of endy Rowen].

The excitement was intense among the
mountaineers, for not one of all their number
‘was more respected, more loved, than Owen
Tredgold. He was almost like a king to them,
though his reign was of love rather than force.
The arrest was so adroitly managed that be
-'- a 0t abroad, the mountaineer was
t in Greenvillc. Even then only
g ler, wiser advice of John Mahar
rue friends of the imprisoned man,
 ould have been attempted at the
H mm. 3 their rifles. Instead, a messenger
was sent to town to learn the exact facts, as

nearlyaspossible.
That was Bion Barnave, but be-
.fore he was fit, Glenn Ellisten was already

atrthe'  seat, doing all he could for the
_ father of maiden he loved so dearly.

That w“ little. The evidence on which the
arrest u made was not rmitted to leak
out. The preliminary exa nation was had in
rivate, and- all that the world at large could

in m that cause was found for holding
Owen Tredgold for trial as the murderer of
Pendy Bowel].

Glenn Ellisten learned but little more. He
managed to obtain a brief interview with the
prisoner, who told him a written char e of
murder had been entered against him. ho
wrote it, what his name, was as yet kept a
secret.

Thoughts somethingJ like them were flitting
through the brain of t 6 young man as he wait-
ed for the coming of his love. That was not
long dela ed. Light as a fairy she stole out of
,doors an as though guided by intuition came
direct to where he was in waiting.

“I cannot stay long, dear,” she uttered, hasti-
l , as she yielded to his warm embrace. “ Mo—
ther is poorly—you saw that. Just now she
has forgotten me, ou—everything save our
wretchedness—but it will not last for long.
Then she will miss me, and know I have come

‘ I am selfish to keep on even a minute, but
how can I help it, litte one?” murmured the
lover, bending closer to read her face. “ It has
been over a week since I saw you! And that is

an e!”

‘fff so long to you, what must it have been to
me, Glenn?” murmured Lida, her words bare]
intelligible, her voice trembling and chok .
“At'least, you had work to do—work to keep

on from thinking—thinking until it seemed as
though one’spoor brain must go wild! Only a
Week? It seemed years—ages! I feel like ah
old woman I”

Though so deeplg7 in love, Glenn Elliston was
no fool. He saw ow bitterly in earnest the girl
was, and no thought of idle compliment came
into his mind. Gently he bowed and touched
her brow with'his bearded lips. Tenderl , pro-
tecltliingly he drew her trembling figure closer
to m.

“I know—I can guess, little one. Thou h I
had work to do, I had time to give a thou t to

our nfise here. I knew you were 

cuts 0 uncertaint , and for that reason
left town sooner than would have done other-
wise. I Wanted to find out who it was char ed
our father with that horrible, unjust deed, ut
Idared wait no longer. And your father hur-
ried me back. He bade me tell you—”

'A sound from the house arrested the young
man, and he glanced uickly in that direction.
Quickly, impatiently, Jida exclaimed:

“A message—for me? You did not mention
that before!" .

“ Because it was to you, and not ourgmother.
And then—you know she was hard y in fit con-
dition to listen patiently o understandineg to

“But from father-”

“ If you think it best she should hear, you can
tell her yourself, dear,” was the ave response.
“ I was cautioned to mention it a oneto you, un-
til after we had carefully investigated the mat-
ter.

Lida was silenced if not convinced, though
there was a longing, saddened look upon her pale
face as her eyes turned toward the little cabin
where the mother and wife was alone with her
grief.

“A part of that message was that you were
to trust me implicitly, little girl,” added Ellis-
ton, softly, With a faint laugh. “ I am proud of
that, if of nothing else!”

“ Because it is so wholly superfluous?” with a
shy glance.

‘Because it shows that one of your parents
likes and believes in me, Whatever the other—
but let that ass: I forgot myself,” he added,
hastily, as Lida slightly shrunk from his encir-
cling arm.

“ Poor mother!” with a low sigh. “If you
could know all she suffers—all she has suffered
for years and years—you Would be better able
to make allowance for her, Glenn.”

“ I am not blaming or reproaching‘her, Lida,”
quickly, earnestly. “ I have your love, his re-
spect and liking; I can wait and try to gain her
better will. It is not that; I grieved because I
was debarred from lending my mite to cheer her
up in this time of sore trial.”

“ I trust the day will come when she can know
you as I know on. Until then, we must hope
for the best. his meSSage?”

“ Is one I had not time to fully comprehend,

but I have not forgotten anything he said to me ‘

for your ears. He said you would explain all
obscure ints. Our interview was far too brief
for a ful understanding.”

“ Tell me what he said, and I will do my best.

.Mother may call me at any moment, and then I

will have to go.”

“ Your father told me he had been carefully
reviewingbthe past, since his arrest, and that he
could see ut a faint glimmer of be?» for him;
the real criminal must be discover .”

“ But how? After so many years l” cried Lida,
her tones almost a wail as she listened to those

words.

“ He admitted that but at the same time he
declared that he could see no other chance of
baffling those who have evident] determined on
his ruin. He said that he cou d trust only in
me, but that you would be able to aid me, if
only in tellin the story of the past.”

“Of the—t e finding of the body?” faltered
Lida, with a little shiver as she cast a hurried,
frightened glance around them.

‘ Of that discovery, and of the days that went
before and came after,” nodded the young man

avely, evidently collecting his thoughts and
fleshening his memory before speakingr further.

“ Your father said that no one in these parts
seemed to even suspect that the man called
Pendy Rowoll was a revenue detective, until
after the discovery of his corpse in the river.
He said that he passel as a man from a lower
city, out in search of his health; that be hunted
and fished nearly every day; that he associatml
with the people as though one of themselves,
showing none of the ear-marks of a detective or

a s .”

‘PI remember something of this, and to have
heard the folks wondering over the admirable
manner in which be concealed his real business
here,” nodded Lida, thoughtfully.

“ Yulll“ father said that, for the most part,
this man stopped with Milton Sarsfleld, down at
the big house.”

“He did. I have seen them riding to ether
often,” more positively uttered Lida, as t ou h
her memory was growing clearer as s e
thou ht. . I

“ nd your father said that, as he lived and
drew the breath of life, he believed the man who
killed Pendy ROWell was none other than this
same Milton Sarsfleld l”

Lida gave a start and a littlec . She pressed

one hand to her brow, passing it ck and forth
as though trying to clear her brain. And even
in the dim light there beneath the wide-spread-
ing tree, Glenn Elliston could see that she was
sorelg puzzled.
“ e—Milten Sarsfield—the assassin? How
could that be 'ble when—but was it before—-
I am sure he had left the country before the
bod was discovered!”

“ on are sure, Lida?” quick] uttered Ellis-
ton, his face paling. “ Think—t ink how much
it may mean to your poor father if this one frail
hope deserts him foreverl”

“ It seems so—it seems certain, but—I may be
mistaken,” murmured the half—distracted girl.
“ Go on. Tell me why father thinks this Milton
Sarsfleld committed the deed. I Will think—I
will t to recollect.”

“ It is not at all a pleasant story for your ears,
little one ” softly uttered Elliston, his tones
grave an entle as he drew_the powerfully-
agitated girgstill closer to his Side. “ But your
father bade me speak frankly, o .1in to you.
, He bade me tell you that he coul_ see no other
hope for his defeating his enemies, should this
chance fail him.” ~

 

“ Go on; I am listening.” ,

 

i “Your father said that after Pendy Rowe]!
; had lived with the Sarsflelds for some time,
[ their relations seemed to grow less pleasant. He
5 said that once he came upon the two men quar-
reling violently about something, though when
they saw him they both turned it of! as though
, all Sportive. At the time he was ready enough
_ to believe this, especially since Pendy Rowcl]
' continued to stop at the big house.

“ On another occasim he chanced to overhear
é Milton Sai‘sficld sharply repi'oaching his Wife:
? Just on what score he did not make out, though!
even then he suspected what he nowfeels was
the truth. He is confident that Pendy ROWell
tried to alienate the affections of Mrs. Sarsfleld.
He says that at the time it was common talk
how very attentive the stran er was to the.
young and dashing wife of the p anter, but until
this black charge was brought against him. he
never gave the matter more than a passing
thought, knowing how apt country people are
to imagine. and talk scandal.

“ He said that at or about the time Pend
Rowell disappeared, Milton Sarsfield and his
wife left this part of the country, nevertore—
turn; that he left so abruptly that it was only
gradually the fact became known, even to those
who had been most intimate with them. At the
time he had thought it a little queer, but until
he got to soberly thinking the matter over, care-
fully weighing every point, small or great, that
could possibly bear on the mystery, he had
never once connected that vanishment with the
finding of the body of the detective.

“Now, he saw matters in a different light.
Some one murdered the detective. He could
think of no one else who had more reason to
commit the deed than Milton Sarsfield. That
reason was jealousy.”

“It might have been—though s0 young, then,
I can recall more than one speech that sorely
puzzled me then,” slowly murmured Lida.

“ He said you would recall much that might
be of service, when he bade me come to you and
say this much. He said you would tell me all
about the strange flitting of Milton Sarsfield,
and much about the old darky left in solo
charge at the big house. He. meant Uncle J ax?”

“ jax Telamon Sarsfleld; yes,” nodded Lida,
with a faint smile.

“He had only time to say that he believed
the negro coul give us mighty important in-
formation if I could contrive to scare. it out of
the old fellow, but that this would be little bet—
ter than a forlorn hope. He said the old fellow
was true as steel to his master, and from what I
Isiain seen of him, I can readily believe that.

t .—

He broke off abru tl y as a number of distant
shots came echoing aintl to their ears. wafted
on the favoring breeze. nd foIIOWing the shots
came a murmur that might have been the
sound of human voices in wild excitement or
intense anger.

“Another raid!” Elliston ejaculated. with a
start. “ I heard rumors of some expedition
while in town, but I never suspected it was
meant for this part of the country!”

“ Listen I” and Lida caught his arm. “ That
means death 1”

 

 

CHAPTER III.
A MONKEY-HUNTING TURTLE.

“ DURN a man ’at’ll leave the sullar-door open
right whar—eh?”

End ever end the figure rolled, bringing up
almost in the center of the little group that
scattered instinctively before the human ava-
lanche. Clbse to the the, one rough-shod foot
plowing through the glowing ashes as its
owner, with a sudden effort. assumed a sittin
posture, blinking around with a sorely bewilE
dered demeanor.

“ Camp-meetin’ or a barbecue, an’ the ole
man‘s tumbled chuck-up an’ slam-bang right
into the middle 0’ the saremonyl Camp-meetin"
or—barbeeue, an’ I know it !” with a how] that
might have been heard half a mile awa as he
jerked up his feet, slapping first one a la and
then the other to extinguis the glowin rks
of fire. “ Barbecue—an’ I’m the darn o e hog
the ’re barberin’, so I am now 1"

tartled by the sudden and wholly unexpect-

been spying upon them with evil intent, the
mountaineers shrunk back, clutching their
Weapons in readiness for use the instant they
could determine on the proper course to pup-
sue. 1

Not for man moments did this hesitation
last. Scarce] ad thehuman catapult lifted
himself to a Sitting ition, than Bion Barnave
covered his rag person with a revolver,
something likeanoath hissmg through his tight-
clinched teeth. \

Nothing but the prompt action of John Mahar
saved the intruder from almOst certain death.
With a strong, quick grasp he turned the leveled
tube aside, hurried] muttering:

“Not yet, lad! ait an’see jest .what-fer-~
sort 0’ c tter he is!” '

“ A bloody spy—curse him!” grated the young:
man, his black eyes glowin vividly. 

 

a crazy loonytick.”

ed appearance of this person, who doubtless had ,

“ Mebhe yes, mobbe no; ooks to me more like
\

 

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The Ghost Detective.

5 .

 

 

“ He’s seen and heard everything that-—”

“ Flag 0’ truce. gents!" the stranger suddenly
called out, holding up one dingy paw with a de-
precatory motion, evidently just then beginnin
to realize that he had tumbled into danger. “
riz my gentle bazoo fer peace every time I’m
’lowed a vote; but at it’s got to be bloody war,
,jes’ hol’ on ontel the ole man kin git his battery
onlimbered an’ ready for action. She’d orter be

. Somc‘rs nigh about hyar; I kin take oath I had

her in my list when my durned old hails went
back onto my coppermsity an’ bu’sted the
meetin’ wide open by— I say!” and a curiously
mingled disgust and ap rehension filled his dirty
face as he shrunk bac ' with a shiver from the
weapons that covered him from a dozen points.
“ 'I‘etch her lightly, gents! I ain‘t no bumb—proof
waller in the ban t, nur yit a targitflseursion on
a free. shoot fer all! I ain’t a hog of I do grunt
an’ w‘ar brustles. Flag 0’ truce, durn ye!”

The whine wa; rapidly changing into a growl
of indignation, and toe stranger seemed more in
the humor for defying the leveled Weapons than
shrinking in trembling from them, though his
hands were still elevated and empty.

“ Who be ye, an‘ what fetches ye here?” sharp-
ly demanded John Mahar as he stepped in ad-
vance of his fellows, one hand motioning them
to pause fora moment.

“Andy Tortlo an‘ I‘m out monkey—huntin‘,”
was the prompt response, as the rugged fellow
crossed his drawn-up feet and clasped his knees
with his hands, his head cocked on one side as
he glanced up at his questioner.

A dark flush cross-d the stern face of the
gaunt mountaineer, and the dangerous light
deepened in his eye-4 as he sternly spoke:

“ Monkeyin‘ Won‘t sarvo you this round,
stranger, an’ the straighter your tongue wob-
bles to order, the m' Ire likely you air to git off
with a hull hide. Once more I ax ye what’s
your namo an’ business here!”

“Name. Andrew Tortle. Business, huntin’ a
man. Why I come, feet went back onto me.
Why don’t I git? Stop an’ I'll count the rea—
sons.”

Prompt and soldier-like came the response.
And more than one of those resent fancied
they could detect the old soldier in the rigid
attitude the intruder assumed, though still sit-
ting.

As the last crisp sentence passed his lips, An—
drew Tortle began audibly counting each armed
man before him. with such a business-like man-
nor that John Mahar could not entirely rclrain
from smiling.

“ Never mind countin’,” he said, with a trace
of sarcasm in his tones. "I don’t reckon you
need waste so much time; it‘s mighty long odds
you done that over an’ ()vcr while you lay hid up
_yender spyin’ on us, fer—”

. “Now it’s you quit, critter!” shat 1y cried
Andrew Tortle. flingin all soldierly dignity to
the Winds as ho scram led to his feet, one fist
doubled and gymting before the mountainecr’s
face. “I kin stau' it to be called a hog. I
don’t her to kick when you blizzer away at my
ole karkidge "thout givin' me a show f or to ’turu
the Compliment. I kin choke down ’most any-
thin’,'from b‘iled crow to sun-baked army mule.
But I draw the line at spy,. an’ I draw it
(Le—1271!” I

“Lf not spyin’,
der, then! ’

"Lookin’ fer a man,” was the prompt re-

:sponse.
“An’ you never kn0wed wo was here ontel

what was you doin’ up yen-

, ye tuck a tumble richt down into our middle, of

course?” sneered Jo n Mahar.

“ Waal," with a faint rin, as one dingy paw
:slowl rubbed the bristhn heard that covered
his c in and almost all 0 his face. “ I ain't
sayin’ quite that much. - I did know you was
here, sense the tire gave out a ri ht smart light.
An’ in natur‘ I couldn’t jest ho p takin’ a look-
ye—over, by way 0’ makin’ sure the critter I
wanted wasn’t in the middle 0’ ye. But spyin’
»—draw the line right thar, stranger, an’ draw it
-deep as the sile‘ let ye! A soldier cain’t play
the spy, an“ I’ve sorted, 1 hev!" '

The ragamufiin drew his form proudly erect,
his hands in position, his nose in the air, only his
black eyes out of line as they turned askew to
note the effect produced on the watchful moun-
taineers.

A faint smile came into the gaunt face of John
Mahar.

" F91 or Coated!”

“A Johnny Reb from ’way back now I tell
Tye!” was the prompt response, as the stranger
v once more dropped his stiff position, his dirty
face litu witha 'olly smile, his dark eyes beam-
' ing brig tly as ey roved swiftly over his audi-
' once. “ One 0’ the sort ye read about, too! None 0’

our stiff-backed an’ rusty-hinged high-privates,

wasn't—no air! A free an’ independent rustler
ion the jump —that’s what !”

“ A bushwhacker!” ejaculated Mahar, bis thin
' lips curling.

Like all who fought legally, be scorned those
' who made war as a free rover, no matter on
- which side they fought.

Andrew. Tortlemodded his head vi rousiy,
:- showing his teeth in a broad grin, as 8 made

:re 1 :
 it fu'st clatter, boa! Bushwhacker,

 

g’riller, w melish, gray-back, butternut,
ring-streg‘kmn’ brin'le; anythin’ but blue! We
left that color fer the faces an’ feelin’s 0’ folks
that was smart enou h to git out o’ the we
when we come by! on know how that was,
reckon? Then you ain’t from old Mizzoury, nur
yit Bleedin’ Kansas l"

“ One of Quantrell’s men?”

“ Part 0’ the time, yes. ’Nother part ridin’
with George Todd. Or backin’ up Bill Ander-
son. Then, ag’in, puttin’ on the reg’lar gray an’
makin’ everythin‘ hum an’ whistle with Gen’ral
Jo Shelby. Gin‘ral Price, too—Ole Pap Price,
ye know. I was thar when be advanced by the
rear an’ fit with his heels, mule-fashion—waal, I
teas, honey!”

“ An army boiled down an’ poured into one
suit of clothes,” grimly interposed John Mahar,
as the cit—guerrilla paused to catch breath. “ I
know your sort; I‘ve run up ag‘m”cm aforethis.
Heap of tencr sense the war come to an end then
while it lasted, though.” -

“ That was your crooked luck, pardner’,
more‘n your fault, I reckon,” cheerfully ut—
tered Andrew Tortle. “They couldn't every-
body bo in the thick 0’ the fight, an’ somebody
lied to watch over the camp iixin’s, ye know.”

John Mahar flushed hotly ashe caught a faint
ripple of laughter running through his ranks,
and his heavy fist clinched tightly for a moment.
But Andrew Tortle looked so innocent, so sym-
iathizing, so entire] free from malice, that the
1m )ulse quickly die away.

is suspicions, too, were growing fainter than
they were when that ragged figure came. plung-
ing down the stee ) bank, to land in their midst.
Then he felt positive this must be a spy on their
words, a cunning tool of the Revenue Service
sharks, seeking to condemn them out of their
own mouths. Now—he cast a quick glance
around him, trying to read the belief of his fel—
lows in their faces by the firelight.

He gave a little start as he saw that Bion
Barnave was no longer with them, though he
lliad ,,heard no soun of his leaving. Could it
)0—

Even as the thought shaped itself in his mind,
John Mahar caught sight of a dim, shadowy
shape standing near a bush just without the
circle of firelight, and as a hand was lifted beck-
oningly, he recognin the moonshiner spy.

He. nodded his head quickly, and turned once
more to Andrew Tortle.

“Part of the time I served on the provost-
marshal’s guard, but I didn’t meet you then——
sense you’re here,” he said, pointedly, then add-
ing without giving Tortle a chance to interpose:
“ But that don’t matter now. The war is over,
an’ a bushwhacker that come through with a
neck no longer then natur’ made it, is good as
anybody else, long's he. ’haves himself as he
should. An’ long’s he don’t stick his nose too
mighty deep in business that don’t consarn him,
mind ye i” "

“ That’s all right, pardner,” was the prompt,
business-like response. “I ain’t blamin’ ye so
bad for lookin’ sorter cross-eyed at a feller who
come in through the back door ‘thout stoppin’ to
1'1), like I did a bit ago. Ef I stood in your
s! es I reckon I’d be jest as skittish. Fact is
I‘ve bin thar!” ’

“What do you mean by that?” sharply de-
manded Mahar, as the fellow nodded and wink-
ed screwing up his face knowingly.

‘Not a durned thing of it goes ag’in’ your
grain, parduer. Let it drop an’ say no more
’bout it.”

“ No doubt you’d like it, but that won’t work.
You ’was spyin’ on us when you took a tumble,
an —

“ Ef you was a mount’in on two legs, still I’d
say that’s a lie!” bluntly, boldly interposed the
strau rer. “ I was on] lookin’ fer a man, Mon-
key ick Moss—mob you know him, some-

willy?”

e glanced quickly around the group, seeming
to scan each face with intense earnestness as he
uttered these words.

John Mahar caught a low, arded sound.
something like a whistle, and g ancinrr toward
Bion Barnave, saw that worthy again beckon to
him. this time with increased earnestness. He
nodded, then said:

“Ask the boys. I’ll be back in a minnit.
You’ll be here when I come, I reckon? Mebbe
I’ll hev to ax you some more.”

A slight nod to one of his men pointed these
words. and then John Mahar turned aside to
where the moonshiner spy awaited his coming.

“ You wanted to see me, lad i"

“Back out of sight and hearin ,” muttered
Barnave, his tones low and gnardeé an echo of
uneasiness running through them. “ It may be
tooklage, but no need to run any unnecessary
r13 3. =

“ You mean that limber-tongued critter?" with
a backward nod toward the fire where Andrew
Tortle was standing. '

“I mean that internal revenue sp —-yes!”

rated Barnave, his strong teeth clic ing, his

rk eyes gldwing like living coals of fire.

“ You kin ew’ar to that?” slowly demanded
John Mahar. his brows contracting, his tone:
deep and stern. “ You know the critter?”

Bion Barnave hesitated for an Mutant hetero
replying: . ‘ ‘

’ me. I didn’t like the sort

 

 

“ I know I have met the fellow before. I feel
sure I saw him in town, and under a very viifler—
ent guise from this. Then he was clean and well
dressed. Then he was—”

“ Who with an’ whar?” demanded Mahar, as
the other hesitated, ssing one Land ac1 ess his
brow as though to c ear 8 puzzled brain.

“ I’m trying to think.” was the slow response.
“ I can’t lace him exactly, but I’m di ad sure he
is other t an what he pretends now! I’d almost
stake my life on his being a spy!”

“ Was that why you dodged out here?”

Bion Barnave nodded assent.

“Ef he’s the spy you think, I don‘t reckon
that’ll save you. lad,” with a short, ugly laugh.
“ Ef a spy, he bed time afore his tumble to spot
each an every face in the crowd.”

“ That may be so, but it was a chance worth
taking. Not that I dod ed altogether on my own
account, mind you,” arnave added quit kly.
“ But if I am to be of any real service to the
cause in town, or to do anything for Owen
Tredgold, I’ve got to keep shady, don’t you see?
Say this fellow is the spy I believe, and gets
back to his employers to make his repox ”

“They‘ll wait a mighty long time for, that
report, of he is a spy,” grimly muttered John \
Mahar, as he turned and strode back to the fire.

“ You caiu‘t tell nothin’ ’bout the critter, kin
you?” anxiously asked Andrew 'l‘ortle, turning
to the gaunt nzouutaim er as he came back.
“ Monkey Dick Moss; a feller nigh-about my
make an" build, but shrivelcd all up in the face
like a frost-bitten monkey?”

“ A fri’nd o’ yours!”

“ Fri‘nd be durned!” snorted Tortle, with in- ,
tense dis st in every tone and feature. “Jest
seen a- ri‘nd as the devil is to holy water!
“'ould I be huntin’ him at he was a fri’nd?
would I be longin’fer his ha’r if he was a fri’ndi
\i’ould l—loek here, boss!” with sudden grave-
ness, one dirty paw tapping the mountaineer on
the arm as he added: “ I want that critter, an’
I want him mighty bad! I‘ve follered him or his
trail fer the last two years. I’ll foller him ontel
the muck o’ doom, onless I run onto him afore
then.”

“ You must want him mighty had, then!” .

“ I do. bad—look here, b055,” and the
dirty paw ceased its ta ping and closed on
Mahar’s arm tightly. “ t me tell ye, then
you’ll see jest how it is your own self.

“ When the war was done fit out, it was die
dog or chaw the liatcliet-han’le with me don’t
ye see? I couldn‘t settle down whar I used
afore the war. I’d bin too darned frequent, so
to speak. They was them that bet! it in fer me
red-hot an’ still a-heatin’. ye understand? “'ould
’a’ jumped my claim too mighty quick they
would!

“ Waal. I didn’t come out o’ the war with
any too much richness. I wasn’t one 0’ them
darned nash’nal banks, ye want to understan’.
I’d lost a heap. but nothin’ that was wuth a pen—
sion.even cf I’d fit on the pension sideo the
game. which I hedn’t—no sir .' ’

“Weal. I bed to live. So I sorter swarmed
Over into ole Kaintuck an’ settled down to make
a honest livin’. Got a worm an’ set it to eatin’
up corn to turn out mountain-dew. Never once
thought 0’ gittin’ into trouble, mind ye, I didn’t!
“'hy fer should I think it? Ef I bought or riz
the corn, wasn‘t it mine? Couldn’t I use or
waste it ’cordin’ to my own likin’? Ef I could
turn it into pork, why couldn’tI tum it into
whisky cf the notion tuck me? We used todo
it long afore the war, an’ why should anybody
kick at our doin’ of the same thing now? .

“ Waal. They did kick. Kicked the hull
darned business endways. \
court, nn’ kicked me from court intojail—durn-
ed of they didn’t, now!” and Andrew Tortle
gamed about him with a deeplkainjured egress,
sion upon his dirt-grimed face ' '9 one con dent
of receiving a full measure of sympathy.

Instead, not a word was spoken. Not a smile f
of friendship or sympathy was given him.
Stern and silent stood the mountaineers, warily
on their guard, waiting for their leader to give
them their cue. '

The injured expression graduallly
to one of reproach as Andrew ortie v
looked for condolence. His grasp relaxed, h

hand dropped fmm the arm of John Mahar, ‘

slowly moving with its mate behind his back,
where the dirty fingers intertwined as though

Kicked me into -v 

gave place I is

.‘f'

. a

 

 
   

N.
\

their owner would thus restrain thtm from ao- ,  I

licitin the sympathy which had thus far been

deni him. And as Andrew Tortle resu .

his voice was clearer, harder, more like that

a man who d nds wholl upon himself. ,
“Waal. I hat did I o! , Sarved my time

out like a little man; but that was jest beca’e'e I . ',..,

couldn’t well holp myself. mind ye“! I wasn‘t

clean eonvarted. Let ’em talk an’ pneach’an’ 
sarmoniae all they liked. I couldn’t see why am.
man hedn‘t the right an’ liberty td’do wrist he .-

pleased with the things his own money bed
bought, jest so he didn’t step tco_ mighty
on his neighbors’ toes. An’ so, it wasn
afore I hed another still at we! k.

“ Not free an’ open like the other was, mind H

sharks bed conv

That fur the revenue _
0’ board thev furnidle

ye!

did. an’ so I hid my doin’s the best I had“
how.

\

.p

3&2;

An’ that was a best that lasted for 

l«'

   
   
    
     
 
 

>\,

.‘s’ '- l

i,

 

 

 

 

 

‘ non—combatant in the ranks.

'

a -he Ghost Detective.

 

 

A best that would still be best, on’y for that
durncd Monkey Dick Moss!

“ He sold me out, an’ the revenue sharks made
a clean swap of the hull business, ’cludin’ me!
An’ when they got me up afore the squire, the
sockcd it to the ole man powerful, now I te l
yel Didn’t pay no ’spect to his bent back or
gray lia‘rs, f cg] didn’t! Jest piled on the years,
an‘ balanced it on the other side with a fine
heft enough fer to hold the ole man level under
the oadl

“That’s what they thought, mind ye. \Vhat
I thought—weal. that wash. mighty sight dif—
ferent. Moslly of Monkey Dick Moss. Bold as
brass aii’ twiset as swuuzlin‘, he give in the evi-
dence that Wollll’l the o!» man up tight in the
cobweb: o’ the luv. Nchr stopped at a lie or
two. Mohhe he EL“) that they was p’izen in the
ole man’s (yes. Alehho he reckoned he‘d live
longer cf the old man was to rot in jail. Mcbbe
he wa; mighty lllj’ll ritght, too!

‘ Vi'aul. I didn‘t saz'vo my hull time out. I
got away. Never mind Jest how, mir who may
ev lent the ole man a liolpin’ liz‘m’. Never

mind of it “as a clean steal, or ef they was a
Sling in the Way thet lied t ) be rooted out afore
the job was jobbed. iii a man ain’t ready to
take scch chances as ('oiil’)‘: iu the way 0’
business, thi n he want: to keep out o’ busi-
ness. 1 tuck mine, an’ 1 got out. llut I lied to
lay mighty low fer a time. :in‘ More 1 c'iull
move with a free foot, Monkey Dicl; Moss tuck
warnin’ an’ pulled out lively! -,

“From that day to tha I’ve hunted hizzi high
'an’ law. ()no time I‘d be high enough 1.) : het-
grip on his shudder; tlii 11 bed turn up iiirli a
month's travel away an’ l’d lli'Y to make, 9.
fresh start. lt’s lasted a heap o’ while. :i‘readg',
but I’ll git tliur cf I keep on a-goin'l An’ when
I do git thar—Wzial, them as listens sharp enough
’11 hear the sweetest music one man ever pump-
ed out ’of another!"

In low, even, almost entle tones came the
closing sentence, but 1111( erneatli lay a deadly
resolve, an undying hatred, that almost (ll-.—
polled the last lingering suspicions of the moon-
shiner chief. Surely, thi~i could not be the idle
romance of a spy, playing for his life. Surely
this was bitter earnest.

While the echo of that voice lingered in his
ears John Mahur reasoned thus, but the illusion
did not last long. Past experience told him that
the revenue service employed men who could
\rnake black seem white, give them only the
ghost of a chance. And he recalled the firm as-
sertion of Bion Barnave, that he had seen this
same man in town, under an altogether difler-
,ent ° If so, then he was surel a Spy.

“ mighty hard story you’ve to d, stranger,”
he said, slowly, his keen gaze fixed on the
stranger. “ 80 hard that I wonder you ain’t shy
’bont urin’ it into the ears 0’ cl‘ar l trangers to
ye. V hat of we was to send word 0’ your
wharabouts to the jail you run from ?”

Andrew Tortle gave a chuckling laugh as he
replied: ' /

“ I ain’t quite as biia fool as I look, pardner.

I I didn’t hear so mig ty much up yender, but
that little was plenty ’nough to make me dead
- sure on wasn’t the sort to give a man away
like t t.” _
‘ “ Then you admit spyin’ on us!” sharply cried
Mahar, frowning. '
.“ No, I don’t, nuther ” was the quick response.

V, . “I ’mit ketchin’ a gli p’ 0’ our flrelight as I

passed, ’long back yonder, ookin’ fer a. snug
place to bunk, ef so be I couldn’t hit a. shanty
witha bite and a sup into it. 1 ’mit reasonin’
that whar they's a light they’s a fire, an’ whar’s

’ '- the fire they mustbe somebody ferto tetch it off;
‘ ’ ‘an’ whar they’s a human critter they’s mighty-

t fer to bo somethin’ to drink, even ef hey
't no kiver nur no grub.

“ Waal, I come over this way to see how ni h

if" my esshit the mark. but it hit it tco migh y

’peared like at fu’st squint. Looked like
war-time over ag’in, so many men with thnr
tools, ye see, an’ never a petticut nur any other
Made me think 0’
the ‘days when we used to lay in the bush an’

‘, poke fun at the blues.”

“ And still you wasn’t pin. in’ the spy?”
“Not spyin‘ to say spy,’ prompt y. “Jest

’» \ makin’ out your colors, so to speak. An’ when

i  '1 "hill that way?”

.1. .1 outlet see the curled worm an the corn nn—”

“ You joined us.

myself,”

“‘Every time—when I can’t hol
didn‘t

, grinned Tortle. “Fu’st I know- I
‘m’cely knowvnothin’l Durn a root that cain’t

:. ' ,: holdup the weight of a little runt like me, any-

wa !”

‘..W.hcn was you at the county seat last?”
firply demanded Muhar. bending forward to
keen scan the face of the suspected spy.

'“‘T e which?” innocently asked Tortle, his
black eyes openin wide, meeting that suspicious

I gm blandly. un nchingly.
9‘ At Greenvillc. You was that last week,”

frowned Mahar.

" Oh! that’s what ye mean; is it? I was thar,

 4‘ sure enough, but how you come to guess it gits
' . me! I never forgit a face, at it‘s han’some, an’
' "I kin talzn mv dwy I never met you tharl”
. " Yoii are ’( Wainte l in town i”
iy littlci"u you war to say so, I’d

j“ Et anybm

Do you alWays come down '

tell ’em they lied!” grinned Tortle, with a wink.
“Es it is you’re ’wa 01f. Don’t know a livin‘
soul in t e burg. ever was thar afore, nur
don’t expect to be tbur ag’in. Don‘t like the
customs fer a cent! Two hours in town, an’
get yanked up afore the squire an’ fined fer drunk
an’ (lisordcrly—an’ me with a breath sweeter
then that of a nussin’ baby, and quieter then a
sleepin’ lamb! Durn sccli a town, anyway 1”

“ You was see’d in town," slowly, sternly ut-
tered John Mahar, em )hasizing each sentence
with a light tap of one liony flngcron the shoul-
dcr of the stranger. “ You was well dressed.
You was uctin’ your own self then, while now
you’re playiii’ a part. What makes the big
change?”

Andrew 'l‘ortlc gazed at the speaker fixedly,
his eyes opening wider and w1(ler,liis lower
{aw droo am: until the rudd light fairly il-

umined t 10 red cavity back 0 his white teeth.
And as John Mahar ceased speaking, the sus-
pected spy closed his jaws with a click, driving
the pent-up breath through his dilating nostrils
with a whistling sound.

“ lVaal. New I will be denied!” he ejacu-
lated, shaking his shaggy head slowly back and
forth as he stared into that hard, stern face.
“ An’yit you don’t look like you was jokin’,
nutlierl”

“You’ll find it a mighty rough old joke,
stranger, ef you turn out to be a spy, as every-
thiii’ goes to prove,” sharply retorted Malinr,
his strong band closing tight] on the other’s
shoulder. “ You must ‘a’ lieartiienough up yen-
drr to know that we’re in a box whar we cuin‘t
a’ford to throw away a single chance. You
must ’a’ heard enough to make it fool work to
let you go with a leose tongue, at least until
we’re proved for dead sart’in that you're jest
what you claim to be, an’ not a spy huntin’
down li'uiest'r men.”

Andrew 'i‘ortle drew his stoo ing frame erect,
his eyes beginning to sparkle, is face flushing
visibly through its coating of grime. And
when he spoke his voice rung out sharply, al-
mos‘ iiieiiaeiiifrly:

" l" 'r the last time I say I ain’t no spy, an’
the man—"

“Try his beard, Mahar!” cried Bion Bar-
'iave, in a disguised voice, though not ventur-
i ng from the covert he had sought as soon as he
had time to collect his thoughts after the sudden
up iearanco of this suspicious stranger. “If it
is alsc~ Ila I”

John Mnhar acted promptl on the hint, and
withaswift grasp that An rew Tortle could
not wholl evade, he caught his fingers in the
bristling ‘ and, to find it come loose from the
face of the other!

A cry of angr amazement rose to his lips,
tut it was cheC'ed by a heavy blow from a.
tightly-clinched fist that sent him reelin back
upon his men, while the unmasked spy eapeAl
swiftly into the darkness.

“Take him—dead or alive!" grated Bion Bar-
nave, his pistol exploding as he leaped forward
in swift pursuit.

CHAPTER IV.
“AJAX, nmrvmo THE monrmno.” ‘
F011. a moment the moonshiners were cast into
utter confusion by this sudden change of affairs.
Hardly one among them had understood the full
ggrport of the words uttered by Bion Barnave
fore John Mahar stripped the hairy disguise
from the face of the man calling himself An-
drew Tortle. Not one was pre red for the
swift stroke that sent the gaun mountaineer
reeling back into their midst, and fore a band
could be lifted to prevent him. the spy, if spy he

 

into the bushes and dashing away at break-
neck speed.

Only when Bion Barnave sent a shot whistling
after the fugitive, following it with others as he
sprung forward in pursuit, shouting fiercely_for
t em to take the cunning rascal, dead or alive,
did they spring into life and action.

A volley of istol and rifle shots were sent
tearing throng the shrubbery in the direction
taken by the fugitive. and each man of the

on hastened in chase, their angr voices

len ing in a savage growl for bloo< -—for re-
Vfimge on the one who had so completely tricked
t em. -

“ Hold your fire! Run him down alive!”
cried John Mahar, in a white rage as he joined
in the blind chase, yet clear-witted enough to
know that bullets in the dark might easily prove
more dangerous than profitable to their own

art . .
p Thi'ough the bushes, over rocks and stray
bowlders, trippingand stumbling. blinded by the
abrupt transition from fireliglit to obscurity
beyond its limits, the moonshiners ranged, now
pausing fornn instant in hopes of catching some
sound to guide them, straining their eyes after a

glimpse of their enemy.
Little by little the gloom seemed to ow less
intense. They could see further an with a.

little more distinctness. though own now it was
but little better than guess-work with the most
owlish among them all. ‘
That was John Mahar himself. whose long
legs had quickly carried him up to and past even

 

Bion Barnave. 1

was, had cleared the circle of flrelight, leaping

.He paused abruptly, stoo ing low and sweeping
his eyes along the tolera ly open space before
him, oping to catch a. glimpse of the fugitive.

-()ne instant—then a fierce growl broke through
his tight-clinched lips as he plunged forward at
redoubled speed, every nerve and every muscle
set for the struggle.

There was a crashing among the bushes. a.
heavy fall, and then the voice of the gaunt
moonshiner rung out viciously:

“Now I hev got ye! Cave, or out goes yer
light fer good!”

Bion Barnave sent up a yell of fierce delight
as he shouted:

“ Close in around them, lads! Riddle the spy
if he tries to break away! Dead or alive, ro—
member!”

“ I‘ve got him, don’t you fear!” grimly [tinted
John Mahar as, half—falling, half-swinging out
of the bushes into the moonlight he brought his
captive with him. “When I once git my—
Tlic devil I”

lie staggered back like one dealt a severe
blow, releasing his savage grip, permitting his
captive to drop in a limp heap to the ground.
And from that limp. quivering heap came the-
quavcriiig words:

“Fo’ do good Lawd!
niggah, boss!"

Bion llarnave sprung forward, bared blade in
hand, grasping the prostrate form as though he
doubted the evidence of his senses.

“ “'lio the foul fiend—you, Uncle Jax !”

“ \Vhat dey is lef’ ob me, Less! “but they lS'
——ugh !” with an explosive grunt as the infuri~
ated young man hurled him aside with en oath
that testified to his intensc'disappointment and
rage.

“ Not our game, men!” Barnave cried, sprin -
ing to his feet and glaring savagely arouns.
“ Scatter and take him in! Dead or alive!”

“ No use—it‘s only a waste 0’ time an’
trouble,” coldly uttered John Mahar, suddenly-
regaining all his customary coolness. “ Thel-
critter’s gone—give us the slip from the fu’st.
jump—turned into a durn, no—’count ni geri”

“ Deed an’ double ‘deed I wasn’t doin nuflin’,
boss!” whimp red the darky, seemingly nearly
frightened out of his wits, crouching and cower—
ing in the moonlight, glancin fearfully from
one armed hand to another, 5 ivering until his.
teeth clicked audiny together.

Bion Barnave stoope and struck him across
the li with his 0 11 hand, grating savagely:

“ old your hus . or I‘ll gag you with a knife-
through your lungs!”

“ Stooping, he bent his head, holding nisbrc nth.
in acute listenin , a gesture of his other hand
telling the moons iners to do the same.

Moment after moment. Straining every nerve
to shar n the one sense of hearing, hoping thus.
to re am the lost clew. But all in vain.

On y the usual night sounds were audible.
Not a footste , not a rustle of leaf or crackling
of twig to tel of a fugitive.

“Scatter out and beat the glen, anyhow l”'
grated Barnave, who seemed particularly un--
easy over the escape of the spy. “ The cunning
devil can’t have got clean awe. ! ‘
laying low, thinking to sli ’0 when we’re off '
our uard. Find him—we ve got to find him l”

0 he tore, but John Mahar slowly shook his
head as he stood with folded arms watching the-
scattering. Not that he felt less disappointment ,
than his fellows, or realized their ml in a
slighter degree: but some instinct to (1 him the-
spy had escaped them beyond capture. .

“ ’Pends on how long he was thar. an’how-
much he hearn us an ,” he muttered. bare]
above his breath. “ f it was only the talk
’bout Owen Tredgold, it don’t matter much. '
But ef he hearn all that went afore—ef he— Vou .
as 

e negro was tryin to steal silently away‘
from his caEtor, but ags John Mahar wheeled.
With that s arp warning, Uncle Jax cringed
and cowered. mumbling huskily:

“ ’Deed I ain’t tryin’ to do nuflin’ boss! Cross:
my heart ef—”

“ It’ll need more’n one cross to save it whole,
of you cain’t read your title mighty cl’ar, Lemon
Sarse!” sternly muttered t 'e mo< nshiner.
“ What fetched ye here, an’ how come it, you
black imp?” with abrupt fierceness as a fresh
suspicion struck him: “You was in cahoots
with that dirty spyl
the same gamol”

The gaunt moonshiner stooped and caufht the

Doxf—don’ kill a po"

trembling negro by tile shoulder, lifting him to ,

his feet, holding him before him. where the full
light of the moon fell athwart his face. shaking
him savagely as the poor fellow stamuici'ed out
a trembling denial.
“ Hold your hush ‘
me see the two e es 0’ ye, dui‘k’! So—stiddy, of
ye know what’s. t for the. good 0’ ye!”
r, trembling, terrified creature seemed
Uncle Jax, though he tried his best to obey to.
meet that flera'wstare without flinching. An he
succeeded be 1' than John Mahar expected,

Almost as tall as the gaunt mountaineer, but .

of slighter build and shoulders that were bent by

age and trials. Clad in garments that were of ,

better shape and finer material than those usually

 

He must be-'

You an‘ him was playin’ ‘

an’ let me look at ye. Lat;

 

 

 

31‘ .1 AK‘A.A»V v.“ IV: .

 

worn by his class, with white shirt, collar undo. :

 

 

 

i

 
 

' ,, John Mahar- sto

‘ !

‘Thé__Gh93t..Dete¢tiVei

7

 

 

 

old-fashioned stock; with coat of ancient cut but

careful keeping; with patchless trowsers and

whole shoes; w ith frosty head bare, but with an
antique, bell-crowned beaver hat fast in his
trembling hands.

This wa; Ajax Telamon Sarsficld: “Uncle
Jax ” on ordinary occasions; “ Lemon Sarse ” on
the tongues of the new or irreverent.

This keen scrutiny (Ii not last long. It had
harlly began, when his keen ears told John Ma-
har that the sea: ch for the spy had failed. and
that his fellows were returning empty—handed.

“ The wuss for you, Lemon Saree, unless you
kln cl’ar yourself!” the mountaineer grated. rc-
leasing his grip and permitting his captive to fall
back a pace or two.

“ Dead 1 hain’t done nufl‘in’, boss.
—des—”

f‘ The white devil’s gone, but we can get the
truth out of his black imp, I reckon!” cried Bion
Barnave, hurrying up to the spot. “ It’s only a
nigger, to sure, but we’ll get as near even as
we can.”

John Mahar stepped between the angry young
man and the negro, his hot brain cooling rapidly
as he saw how savagely vindictive the spy ap-
poured.

“ It’s only Uncle Jax, lad. an’ they ain‘t much
harm into him, I don’t reckon. He says he jest
- happened by—”

“ Lookin’ fo’ What I done los’, boss—lookin’
fo’ my rabbit-foot, what I done los’ somewer
dis yer’ way come yist’day, sometime. ’Dccd an’
double ’dced twice obcr, boss, I ncb'ocr meant to
hurt,” quavcred Uncle Jax, but with a Show of
returning courage, now that one man at least
showed an indication of friendliness.

“ With a. 1i htnin’- ug fer a lantern, wasn‘t
ye, Uncle Jax ’laugh Mahar, with grim mirth.

“ What better light could he ask than ourfirc,
up yonder?”  Bion Barnave, with a short,
fierce toss of is head up the glen. “ Ask what
fetched him this far from home, solate at night.
Make him tell~—”

“ I done tole it, boss,” muttered the negro, his

2 tones growing more steady. “ I was huntin’

', what I los’—”

, “ Keerful, Uncle Jax!” warnineg muttered

I Mahar, frowning anew. “ It ain’t no scch truck

‘; as that we’re in need of. Folks don’t go huntin’

i lost things when it’s night, without takin’ some

4 sort 0’ light with ’em. Nur you ain’t the critter
to o fer to traipse the hills an’ hollers so nigh

_ codk—crow all by your lonesome self; spooks an’

-‘ bogies too mighty plenty, Uncle J ax !"

i “ Thar—right ahiud the nigger! Jump, Lem-
on Sarse!” sharply cried one of the moonshiners,
with admirable acting.

. J um the {nor darky did, with an agilit that
belied iiis white wool and bent frame. amp,
with a wailing cry that sounded more spook-like

I was dcs

than human. And only a deft trip b the foot
of BiomBarnave kept him from b ' g away
in headlong flight.

“Enough tomfcolcryl” the spy grated, angri-
ly, as the inoonshiners roared with clumsy
mirth. “ Little more and the coon would have
Even us the slip just as the other devil didl

opple him,‘some of you. I’m too mighty hot

, to trust my grip onto him!” i
The laughter ceased almost as soon as it began
for in sober truth this effort of the negro seemed
l far more like an attempt to esca their clutches
" than a spasmodic display of frig t. And several
of the band pounced upon Uncle J ax, binding
his handsbbehind him, paying no attention to his
nti roken a s for mercy.
pa ng omowning, one hand pushing
the tip of his heavy beard between his nipping
teeth. His first suspicions were steadily grow-
ing weaker, and alread his conscience was be-
ginning to prick him a 'ttle for this rough treat
ment of one who, despite his color, WAS general-
ly liked, it not respected, throughout that re-

10!).
‘ g Surely there was no harm in the old negro?
[ And yet—what had brought him so far from
' home at that late hour? Uncle Jax, the most

superstitious of all his sniwrstitlous race? Uncle
i J ax, who firmly believed that the spirit world
‘ held high revel througehout the midnight watch-
cs; who devoutly lieved in charms and
spells and incantaticns; who wore “ the rabbit-
'foot" night and day; who held “Cun'ur King
flaul,” the mighty ‘hoodoo man,” as at little
‘ lowm‘ than the angels? .
. And why had he been spying about their
’ meeting place? \Vhy had he taken to flight so

, , hurriedly, unless he felt guilty?

“Don’t be too mighty rou h, mates,” said
M-ihtir, frowning as he caught t e moaning voice
of the negro through the scuffle. “ He's only a
bigger, but he’s 01 —-old an’ harmless as-”

“ Harmless as a snake!” inter'ecwl Bion Bar—
nave, surlily. “Not too harm ess to play the

For on us. is be? Not, too harmless to lay in
with tnnt infernal bloodhound—the b ackest,
by tcl'cst enemy men ofrour sort ever had i”

“ You said you couldn’t place him, lad!” ejac-
ulntc’l Mahar. _

“ Nor could I, then thanks to his disguise, but
when you tore awa his false heard. I caught a
fair glimpse of his nee, and I knew him that in-
stant. So do you know him, or I’m ’way off my
la n." with 1 short, harsh laugh. “CurlyRooks,

, taxjdficcrct Sets/ice spy I”

 

For a sin le breath there was silence profound.
The moons iners interchanged glances, swu‘t
and wild-eyed. Then the silence was broken.

Not with oaths and curses, but with a low,
growling sound that was tenfold as impressive;
a sound that might have come from ade'n of
furnishing wild beasts, just waking toscent their
coveted )rey.

Bion arnave was right: they did know this
bloodhound of the. reVenue service, though as
yet only through the deadly reputation he had
gained by his succcs-ful exploits in neighboring
States. If he was here, and in disguise, then
there was danger of no ordinary sort to be
guarded against.

“ You ain‘t tzilkin’ scatter-fa shion, lad?” slow~
ly asked Mahar, his bronzed face growing ale,
his lips compressing rigidly. “ I hi ard it wnisp-
cred that he was at the bottom of the movement
to solve the mystery which had so long hung
over the death of Fund v Howell; and I heard on

ood authority tlrt ('urly Rooks and Pendy
{owcll used to has: in couples—were sidepart-
ncrs of the closest sort."

The pallor began to fade from the face of the
gaunt moonshiner, and there was a trace of
eagerness in his voice as he s )oke again:

“ Then it ain’t as he‘s lookin’ fer, after all!
Ef it‘s only fer the man that wiped out the de-
1 ctive, good luck go with him, say 1! 13f he’s
nigh as smart as they make him out, ()wen
Tredgold ’11 go i rec to leave a place fer the real
murderer!”

Bion Barnavc laughed again, ahnost sucering-

“ Do you think Curly Rooks would fling a
chance to make a Whisky-haul over ill s shoulder
just because he happened to be looking for
something else? Don’t think it, neighbor! If he
saw a dozen heads to hit, he’d find lists 1’ or them
all. Ten to one he’s at the bottom-of this fresh
movement in this region. A hundred to one
that we’ll hear from his heelers before this moon

r grows old 1”

John Mahar laughed shortly, his voice hard
and rim.

“ ebbe he’ll break his record this trip.
Smag‘t as he is, he won’t find a blazed trail
to—

A swift, im tient gesture cut his speech
short. Bion arnave made it, casting a side-
glance toward the old negro, now standing
erect with a guard on each side, his hands
bound flrml behind his back.

“ \Vhat i he has help from the inside?” .
18; you mean that Uncle Jax—I don’t think it,
!

“ ’Deed I nebber done nuflin’, boss!" muttered
the egro, quailing a little as the moonshiner
spy rned upon him with an angry gesture.

“Stuff his jaws if he yelps again without
asking, men!” harshly cried the young man
frowning blackly. “And you, neighbor,”
turning to the gaunt mountaineer, his tones
growing softer “take a little look backward.
Where did I’endy Rowell use most when he was
here? At the Big House, with Milton Sarsfleld.
They were thick as peas in a pod; too thick not
to he tarred with the same stick.”

“ But the nigger—”

“ Vv'as Sai‘sfleld’s body-servant, and his
shadow wherever he Went as long as his
master lived here. What the master knew,
the servant must have known as Well. As
a proof how thorou hly he was trusted, see
how Sarsfield left im in complete charge
of the property, with power to Sell and buy,
to rent or run, without any one to question
or kee a check upon him.”

“ V 6 all know that much,” muttered Mahar,
impatient] .

‘ And t ink I’m wasting time and breath
in recalling it? Ma be not, nei hbor, if it
helps to show on w y I’m rca y to swear
that the old b ck rascal is rpllaying into the
hands of the bitterest, most ngerous enemy
men of our sort can have in this world. Pendy
Rowell was a revenue detective, spying out
the ground here. He lived with Sarsfleld.
Sarsficld had no secrets from Uncle Jax. And
he knows every foot of grouan in all this
range—can point out every still and hiding-
place between—”

“But he wouldn’t do dat, boss—’deed he
wouldn’t, now i” eagerly interposed the captive,
forgetting the threat made but a little before.

“You wouldn’t?” cried Barnavc, turning
upon the negro, his voice quivering with rage
and intense suspicion. “Then what were on
doing here with that cursed bloodhound? by
were you spying on us in his company? Tell
me that, will you 'l'”

“ Boss,” slowly uttered the negro, his voice
growmg stronger, his gaze meeting that of
the angry spy without flinching. “I wasn’t
with dat man-houn’ you speak ob. I nebber
knowed he Was nigh ontwel he was clean
gone. 1 nebber knowed dey was a man-houn’
nur nuflin’ ob dc. kin’, untwel you say so.”

“ Then wh did vou run ?”

‘,‘ Wouldn anybody run when do bullet come
a-whizzin’ an’ a-zip'pin’ ’roun’ be years. whis‘lin‘
out‘kill dat nigger! kill dat nigger?” _An’ a
heap 0’ white men follerin’ o ’em up, cussin’
an’ a-snashin’ ob dar teef? Ain t dat ’nough to
make ’moet anybody. run, let ’lene a. «pore ole

 

 

 

nigcer like Uncle Jax?” demanded the negro,
wnh an injured air.

“Thar‘s somethin’ in that, anyhow." mut~
tcred John Mahar, nodding his grizzled head.
“I reckon it must ’a’ bin a lot skeery. an'
Uncle Jax ain’t braver nor a lion, I reckon.
tell the truth.”

There was a slight inclination to laugh on
the part of the moonshiners at this remark,
for the cowardice of Ajax Telzzmon had passed
into a sort of by-word in the hills, but Eirn
Barnave only frowned darkly as he spoke
a am:

“And that something is a lie, ldnck as the
rascal that gave it utterance! l'ou ma swal-
lowit, but I can’t and Won’t! I know t e ras-
cal was in company with that bloodhound. I
know that he is playing to sell us out for a price
to our bittcrest enemies. And I’m going to
have the truth, the whole truth. and nothing
but the truth out of his head, or the Big House
will lack an overseer when another sun rises!”

Uncle Jax shrunk back, shivering, but only
for a moment. His courage seemed togrow with
the emergency, and he faced Bion Barnave al-
niOst defiantly as he muttered:

“ It ain’t now like it used to was, Mr. Bar-
nave. I‘m black, but I’m a free man fer all
dat! On’y a nigger, but you don’t (last to kill
Lne when I hain’t done nuflin‘ to desarb it, no-
ew!‘

Bion Barnave stepped forward until their
faces almost touched, laughing hardly, r‘ncer-
ineg, as Uncle Jax shrunk back as far as the
guarding hands on either shoulder would per-

mit.

“ Mighty bold words. Lemon Sarse, but they
don’t come from further back than your teeth.
You know me. You know that what I dare
say I dare carr' out. And you know that
when I swear "ll have the whole truth out
of your hide, free man or not, I’ll keep that
oath!”

Then—just how it happened none present
could explain with perfect cleariiess—the two
guards u ere hurled aside. a bright blade flashed
in the moonlight and severed the bonds of the
negro, whose round head shot forward and
struck Bion Barnave full in the face with a
force that hurled him back against John Mahar,
flagged and confused, his features one mask of

"‘Riin for it, nigger!" screamed the shrill,
high-pitched voice of Andrew Tortle, as he
plunged like a. human ram through the midst of

the bewildered moonshiners, hurling them to the -

right and left, leaving a clear paSSage for Uncle

Jax, who was nothing slack in improving the

op rtunity.
ne instant—then the friendly bushes closed

behind them both, before a single band could be
lifted tocheck their passage or fire a shot to
sto them in death. .

flihn Mahar shook himself clear of the half-
stunned spy. and led the pursuit at bn ak-neck
speed, now thoroughly aroused. 'l he mer-nshiners
followed, their passions freshly heated by this
second defeat.

~ “ Kill him, of you cain’t ketch him alive, but ' ‘ "1
don't shoot the gigger!”

anted John Mahar, as
be reused forw “ e’s got to talk!”

be ground was more open. less obscured by
tneesand bushes than it had been durin the
first chase, and for several minutes occa. nal
fleeting glances were caught of Andrew Tortle,

or Curly Rooks, granting the belief of ,Bion Bar— K

nave was true.

Then, as soon as the nature of the ground“

would permit it, the white man gradually veered.
to one side. uttering a mocking yrll rs he did so,
as though he wished to draw tit-e 1 :iii- «lane on
his own track, the better to insure tll (stape of
the old negro.

If this was really his intention, it so: med to
work to admiration. for with hardl an exce
tion the moonshiners pressed on at his bee ,

taking snap-shots whenever they si htcd him v,

long ( nougb. But as be glanced bar over his
shoulder. Tortle saw that two or three men
were hotly ursuing Uncle Jax, and knowing-

that he con (i do nothing more to serve the? 
black, he bent his whole energy to saving his ‘

own neck. .

And with such good succem that before an- ‘
other mile was covered John Mahar drew up, 
panting, breathleSs. feeling that further search " .

was worse than vain.

“ He’ll give us the slip. durn him i" be painted
with vicious spite, as his mates gathered arou
him. “Nothin’ but a Silli-hllflt kin brin
to taw. but I‘ll git him yit! 1‘11 git him or he'll
git me!” :-

“ Lucky ef he don’t git the hull calicodlel"

loomin muttered one of the recombinant.
‘ No common man could play with us like that,
two times in the same night! ’ n

“ He’s Curly Rooks.” » ‘ V

Not another word was added to that  seno‘
tence: in renouncing that name, John char.
had said that need be spoken.

Slowly at first, the baffled moonshiners refine-I  f"

ed their steps until the valley was regained.

They turned toward their homes. still in argmugl I 

and they were together when a faint call,

ed, their ears.  , 
,“ Hark i” exclaimed John Mahar, bhnding his _

him.

 

 

E .
,
,1
e
1

c

»

     
   

r: "i

r“/
V
.

lJaxl” "

- murmur caused by the far-away human voices.

.t‘

' cast.

.8

The Ghost Detective.

 

l _..

car in listening. “That comes from nigh—
lla!” as the same sound was repeated. “The
boys hev ketched one o’ the two—most like the
ni ger!”

uch proved to be the fact, when John Mahar ‘
led his men up to the spot from whence that sig- E
nal arose. And one of the captors proved to be
none other than Bion Barnave, his bruised face
swollen frightfully.

"None too soon, neighbors,” he said, with
an ugly snarl in his untitled tones. “Uncle;
Jux is going to confess, or run up a tree, 1
sure i”

“ You don’t dust to do it, boss!" doggedly re-
tortcd the negro, his gaunt form drawn rigidly
erect, defiance in chry line. “I'm free an,’ a
man, ef I be a nigger; an’ the law’ll cut you
mighty deep cf you dar’ do any sech bloody
shame as date!"

“Confess that you are playing ill with ('nrly
Rooks: tell us where he hides. and hmv we (‘:i.l
et at him the shortest way; soucul from A to
zzard, or you’ll see just what we (i._!'.é do, yin
black rascal!"

“’Clar to gracious I dunno nullin‘ ‘lioul dnt
Curly hunter!" earnestly :diirmedtliz.‘ pr:.-on~r,
but his voice was cut short b3. an angry roa r
from the. crowd.

After all that had passed. this dcnial scorned
to add insult to injury, and though a few of
the cooler heads present i'eebly intcrposed, they
were rudely repulsed by those. who dragged the
captive to do nearest tree, a slip noose titted
about t is no ~k.

“ First the rods, then tho rope!" laughed the
moonshiner spy ferociously through hi: bruised
lips, as he flourished a It ng, lithe hickory sprout
in his hand. “ Well make you think the old-
time days have come back again. Lemon Sat sci
When we get through. you’ll forch that )ou
ever called yourwlf a free man!"

“I is free—free (m’ a man!” grand Ajax,

hoarscly. his eyes all aglow as he loltilv
met that burning gaze. “Flog me, (m’ 1‘]! [sit/u
you!”

More than one who heard and saw him then.
feltalittle shiver not wholly unlike awe, but
Bion Barnave was not of their number.

“Truss him up, neighbors!” he cried, with a
savage whirl of the rod past that dark de-
fiant face. " I‘ll take all the start h out of him
in ahon minute, once my rod has fair play!”

“Stop right where you are, one and all!”
came a clear, stern voice from the fringe of
bushes a little to the. rear. “I’ll cripple the
hand that dares to strike the first blow at Uncle

Sharp and lxrremptory, that voice plainly
meant business!

CHAPTER V.
A STRANGE (“HAMl’lODL

SIDE by side stood the lovrrs, listening in-
tently, almost bl‘eatlilessly, to the sounds borne
on‘the faint night breeze. Faint, yet only too
readily recognizable by both.

“It’s a tight, sure enough,” muttcred Glenn
Elliston, frowning darkly. as they both plainlv’
distinguished pistol or rifle-shots. “ It’s a rail
of some Sort, and— Come, Lida, let me help
you safe home, and then I‘m oil‘ to——"

He took a step in the direction of the house,
but the maiden checked him at the second. Her
arms clung to him tightly. her face was pale as;
death, her voice broken and trembling as she
utt red:

“No—you shall not—(lo not go. dear Glenn!”

“But if our friends are in trouble. Lida!”
> “ They are too far away f or you to reach the

t in time to- Hal” with a sudden start, and
bending of her head in listening.
, “It’s over, one way or the other,” muttered
vElliston, drawing a hug breath.
= The sounds of firing no longer came to their
years, her coulrhthey distinguish the peculiar

 

Just then. though they knew it not, the moon-
shiners were bending eVery energy in the first
mad rush for Andrew Tortle.

“Could you place it? Is it near any of the
—'the workings?” uttered Lida, lowering her
tones and changing the litter part of her ques-
tion with an unwonted degree of caution. '

‘ Glenn Ellistbn slowly shook his head. his brow
wrinkled, an uneasy, perplexed light filling his

es.
ay-L' It didn’t last long enough for me to be posi-
tive, but it/ seemed—the echoes deceived me, I
reckon.”

“ Then it deceived us both. Glenn, for the
firing came from that direction,” pointing to the.

V The frown vanished, and a smile came in its
)lace.
1" “Then we were borrowing trouble without
cause, little one, for there’s naught over onder
Worth making a fight for. And yet—- could
have taken oath it was shooting—~shcoting and
angry yellin l” .
‘, And wit (1 to the keen-cared girl. but: she
Was too~=willing to dro the matter right there
toaay‘la; then. 1 there was trouble, let
. other” eat 6’ it. Not Glenn—so soon.
’ “Try and forget it, dear,” she murmured,
 , snuggling closer to the side of her lover.
’ ‘l  anyt ing serious vl'elll hearit onlytoo

 

   

soon. And I must be going in a minute; mother
will miss me.”

The matter was dismissed, if not forgotten,
and the lovers returned to the subject which
they had been discussing when the alarm cut
theni‘sliort.

Much was spoken that would be of no par—
ticular benefit to the story whichis being placed
before the reader, but other points were touched
upon which are of importance enough to demand
a passing mention.

Since his arrest for the death of Pcudy Row-

: ell, the revenue, detective, ()wen 'l‘redgold had

plainly done considerable thinking and reason—
ing. There had been a n urder committed l.e-
youd all reasoual 1e doubt. lie stood charged
with that crime, and unless the teal criminal
could be brought forward in time, he would
almost certainly have to pay the dread lien-
ally.

This peril served to sharpen his never-dull
wits, and us he forcch himself to slowly, d'lib-
( rut: ly 530 over the past, recalling every little
lilt'l‘l.‘lii- of those davs. be i'nunl more than one
which stariict. him ztnd cln'cvt ft r« ed his snsi-i-
cions to gather about the liig Home and its
then occupants. “

l'cndy llowcll hrul been very intimate with
the S:H‘.’;ii(‘l 1:4, living: with them l'n' weeks witi -
cut. a break. lie was frequently seen riding,
drivmg or walking “nth Mrs. tinrsiicld. The
neighbors began t ) whi~per :znl smirk and nod
loam inrly when llllfi fa :t was mentit owl; they
began to {by "poor, liinl Mil'on li'li'rild l"’

llnf'd fee-hugs :c' :tted to spiiirg up l.1‘l,‘.'."('2‘.
tho two ucn, ilzz' ricl. plonft‘r and his put-st.
On one occu ion at lcust they lnnl :tiniost con'e
t.) l;lov.'s—-()wr'-n 'l‘refgold could take oath to
that eil'ect. Soon after, he had been a partial
witness to a quarrel lntn‘een Milton S ,r,-.’i.~ld
and his \"ii'o lit-r1711. lie could not spcak v."th
po~itivcness, but; it was his impression that he
caught the name of l‘cnrly llllll't‘ll, “Ulllllvtl Will!
it hot thrtn', cr a curse, before Hursiield broke
off, detecting: his apprctn li.

Ettcr about the limo l’cudy ltozvcll was last
seen aliuo .in tho iicigli‘oorhooil, .‘dillon b'nrsiicld
cbrupily lclt his place, saying farewell to none

t her for too entirely for that.

embrace.
she felt a dreamy. languid ace and content.

But only for a moment. gain there c: me the
sounds of firing and angry yelling, this time
much more distinct than before.

Too clear and distinct for there to lie any
further mistake. There was trouble in the air,
and instinctively they both felt that it nearly
concerned them and theirs.

“ You must go back to the house, Lida,” hur-
riedly uttered the yeun man, moving in that
direction. “ Go in and c (se the louse. 0 ‘en to
nobody. unless you recognize my voice. Ilmust
look into this affair.”

“ You must not or with me!” firmly cried
Lid: , clinging to him the more tightly as he
strove to put her away.

(lleun argued hurritdly, but without suc(ess.
For once in her life the maiden refused to listen
or to obey.

“Your life is not your own, now.” she said,
pale, but rcsolute, as the wild sounds died away
(mt-o more. " It beicrgjs to father, until his good
name is restored and his innocence of this foul
charge made clear to all the world. If you will
go-ut hen I hear you company, to see that you do
not risk that pledged life!”

What could he dot l\'ot use force.

 

He loved
_ And argument
availed nothing. She would not enter the
house without him. He could not tear her cling-
ing arms away. A nd so—the ala rm died a“ ay,
mul still the low-rs stood beneath the wide-
:}~r ailing We.

The]; - they caughtthc sounds of angry voices,
if :s‘ ruggling men, of harsh threats and savage
triumph. '

For the bird, time Glenn Elliston tried to

t send Lida to the house so that he might in-

;Mahar Bion liarnavc had .‘E‘f'lll‘td his

of hi ; friends or neighbors, civirg 1:0 warning |

of his lliiting. lie had iim'crrcturuwl to the
llig,r House. No letters had been rccechd i'rcm
him. All that was known of him come through
Uncle Jax. whom he had left in charge of the
place, wi‘li legal powers to carry it on us
though every stick and stone,evcry rod and
acre belonged to him alone.

“In furrcn parts, boss," Uncle Jax would
bow, lll"t.'l-lly. “ Turrible hard name in sav,

an’ dc ole man ain’t well l’arned in do dead ‘

langwidgcs sah. no he ain’t—’deedv!”

At first there was no little disturbance caused ,

by thiseecentric procedureon the part of Mil- ‘

ton Sal'sfielxl.
and he had a legal right to use it as he liked.
'1 here \i'cl‘t' no slaves now, and in the eye of the
law a negro was equal to a white man.
Ajax was really tar above the general run of
his people; l;tli.—~"

llie talk and fiO.‘SlY) ended in a thorough in-

True, it. was his own property. 1

Uncle .

vc:tiga'ion, which left Ajax Tclamon master I

of the situation, outwardly meek enough. but
still more independent and self-reliant in carry-
ing out the trust placed in his hands by the
masterof the Big House.

So far as the keenest, most suspicions eyes
could .‘H', that trust was complete and unquali-
tied. Uncle Jax had papers by virtue of which
he could, if the temptation assailed him. sell ev-

ery dollar's worth of property so suddenly aban- .

doned by Milton Sarsf‘teld, and convert the
prcx-eeds to his own use without fear of punish~
ment.

What was the explanation of this truly re-
markable trust? .

“ Milton Sarsfleld killed Pendy Rowell, driven
thereto bya mad jealousy. Uncle Jax had
Olliht‘l‘ seen or discoverel the crime, and to
silence him, his master gave him this
And to lessen his own risk, in case t 0 old

)OVVOI‘. ‘

man should let the truth escape, Milton Sars- '

field fled the country. As Heaven hears me,
I believe this to be the true explanation of the
mystery.” -

So Owen Tredgold reasoned. in substance if
not in words. So he told Glenn Elliston, and
so in turn that young man told. Lida Truigold.

“He said, too, that his one hope lay in ex-
tra'tiug the t. u‘ h from the lips of Uncle. Jax,”
added Glenn, thoughtfully. “He believed you
could help me in this part of the work. He said
Uncle J ax seemed very fond of you—and black-
skinned though he is, I can readily believe all
that!” was the very natural ending.

Lida yielded to his clo e embrace with a faint
sigh of restful peace. She had suffered so much

during the past days of glonm and fear and pain- ‘

ful doubt. Her father taken away to finSWPI‘
for his life. Her mother broken down by this
last heavy shock, too weak and nervous for the
daughter to leave her side Men to hear her
father company In his trouble.
and watch, without Word or hope. day after day.

7 g’way right off i

y

vcs igate the nmttcr. l2ut for the third time he
failed. Instead, she insisted on moving a little
nearer the spot trout whence the last alarm had
risen. insisted, and (arricd her point!

. ’l'hey hcm-d the I'epcaicd signal that. told John
)rey.
They crrpt a little ncarer. until they coul just
dcttct the red light of the fire which the spy
had his conrmnions kindle btneath the tree
where Uncle flux was held captive. And there
they cr: uched in breathless waiting until the
main body of the moonshiners can-e up—until
they distinguished the dcfiant voice of Ajax
'l‘elamon raised in answer to the savage threats
ef Bion Barnave.

“ It is Uncle Jax!” panted Lida, her face pale
as death tut her large broun eyes all nglew.
“ They‘ll lynch him! And on his lips hangs the
life of my father!”

“ I’ll save him, if you promise not to stir—”

Glenn Ellistt-n never finished the sentence for
the maiden slippcd i'iom his rcachmx’i spurg-
tlirongh the bush s, scrdirg that sharp, cluzr
challenge before her, l aching it up w ith a cocked
and leveled revolver as the eyes of the startled
lneonshiners turned towaid lur.

“ l’ll cripple the hand that dares to strike the
first blow at Uncle. Jax l” '

. . . \
“And I‘m tacking tle lady's me. you
understand!” cried Glenn Ellistcn as c reac ed

the spot, stcpping in front of his love. each hand
armed with a revolver. “Think twice before
you act once, gentlemen, and it may save us all
serious trouble!", ‘ -
The moonshiners were taken all aback. They
sta red at the maiden—fer Lida Tredgold prompt-
ly stepped out from the friendly shadow of her
gallant lover. her little hand holding without a.
tremor the revolver which. by chance or intent,
covered Bicn Barnnve with its silver drop, It,
may be. doubted wl‘cther they eithtr saw or
heard Glenn Ellistcn in those first few seconds
«fiflsurprise; they had eyes only for that beauti—
u Vision.

Uncle Jux was the first to discover, and in,

trcmlling, shaken tones he cried out to the
maiden:

“G‘way. Miss Lida! G’way, honey, fo’ dese
honng delll‘ils suck you’ precious bleed fo’
dar’in‘ to stun' up fo’ ale ole man! 0’“ ay, honey-
bird—J begs you g‘way while ye kin!”

“Not while tlrty hold you prisoner, Uncle
Jax!” was the clear, resolute response. “Not
until you go with me, free and unharmed!”

“Now lis’en, honey,” almost coaxing] , like
one who has forgotth his own peril in t at of
another and more precious one. “I begs yen
Dcn’ stop—dcn’ resk ou’ own
precious blend fo’ ole no-‘count niggah ke Unc’
Jax! Run ’way, hcnex—do. ‘

Bion Barnave turne a vii ions glance upon the
agitated negro, his teeth clickihg sharply as he
growled: . .

“Shut trap, you whining hypocrite! or P11
cut you to the bone!”

“Touch him if you dare, Bion Bar-nave!"
mena,.ing1y cried ida, impulsively taking a

' step forward, her weapon covering the moon~

TO have towait “

Shlner spy.

“ Lida—Miss Tredcold—let me mana e him,”
hurriedly muttered Elliston, again reac ing her
side, but not daring to loWer his aimed hands

3 to check her more certainly, lest advantage be

To be forecd to remain idle, doing nothing—and I

that was the worst!

moment forgett 3 all else in that strong, loving

 

taken of the action by the moonshiners. more

,r than one of whom he noted ed ‘1: uti
Lime wonder then. that she yielded. for the ‘ g. 3 ca wax

taward them.
Bion Barnave caught that plea, and showed.

.

Little Wonder that for the moment.

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his teeth viciously. In hasty s h, indistinct
and muffled b his bruised lips, c said:

" You coul n’t suit me better than to try that
on, Glenn Ellistonl Step out from behind the
girl, and I’ll—" _ .

“ Drop in your tracks With a bullet him your
brain, Bion Barnavel” inter sed Lida, her
eld the spy cov—
ered. “ Stand back, Mr. Elliston!” with a
sharpness never before heard in lll‘I‘ voice when
addressing him. “ I’ve taken this contract, and
I’ll curry it to an end on my own account.”

“ Lucky devil!” snecred Barnave, witha mock-
ing how; then, straightening up. all trace of
jeerin gone, his voice cold and hard as he add-
ed, “ ou hardly realize the nature of the con-
tract ou’ve undertaken, I‘m thinking, Miss
Tredgo d.” h

“ There’s just where you and I differ, Bion
Barnave,” was the cold retort. “I mean to save
that helpless, harmless old man from your bru-
tality, even if I have to soil my hands with your
lil'e—bltmd!”

“ It ain’t wu’fl‘ it. honey—bird," muttered Uncle
Jax, trembling as with a palsy, his skin showing
a dingy brown in place of its usual glossy black.
“ Run ’Way, dat’s a honey: run ‘way an’ lef’ dc
ole man ketch what‘s got to come.”

“Gospel truth, if a nigger does say it!” grimly
laughed the spy. “ You can‘t save, him by

. threats or pleadings, Miss Tredgold; you would-
' n’t want to save him if you knew—listen for one

¥;¢——v—<—

minute.”

“ “Then Uncle J ax can stand forth a free. man
once more, not until!”

“ Uncle J ax can wait,” was the cold response.
“ I reckon you'll be willing to suffer that, when
I swear to you that Uncle J ax is working in

)artnership with the detective who hunted your
ather down for—”

“ Don’ you lis’en, Miss Lidy! Don’ you b’liebe
what lie he sa !” indignantly cried the prisoner,
struggling to ree himself.

The action was so sudden and unexpected that
he did fairly throw off the hands that grasped
him, for an instant standing alone.

And then with a wild, unearthly scream, a
horseman plunged through the bushes into the
little opening, Swinging a long club or a reversed
rifle in his hands, sweeping the startled moon-
shiners out of his path as by magic!

“ Down, ye hissing, pomonous re tiles!” he
thundered, as his steed plunged and ashed out
with heels that overturned more than one of the
dumfounded mountaineers. “ Down, and into
your holes, spawn of the evil serpent! Down at
the bidding of your master!”

With every sentence the heavy rifle whirled
through the air and swept all before it. A stroke
leveled Bion Barnave to the earth just as his
pistol exploded, and then, bending over and
swinging Uncle J ax from the round to the
withers of his snorting, torri ed stood, the
stra e champion ave vent toauother wild, un-
earth y scream as 0 dashed out of the fire—lit
circle, through the bushes and down the slope at
breakneck speed!

And all the work of but a few fleeting sec-
onds!

Glenn Ellistcn might have been as much stu-
pefied as were the moonshiners at this strange
apparition, only for the presence of his loved
one. He saw her peril, for the wild horseman
almost knocked her down as he entered the
lighted circle, and that lent him coolness suffi-
cient to act and to act promptly. 1

He caught Lida up in his arms and sprung
aside out of the sweep of that terrible weapon,
though he left his hat behind him, brushed from
his head as he stooped to lift his precious bur-
den. He paused on the edge of the clearing for
a single backward glance; a glance that showed
him Uncle Jax as the strange champion lifted
him from the ground: a glance that showed him
the moonshiners had lost sight of them; then he
hurried away through the night, Lida,
in a whisper to has silence for the moment.

“ Let me down, lenn,” she murmured, after
a few seconds. “I can walk—I am too heavy!”

A touch of his boarded lips silenced her, and
with a faint sigh, she lay met in his arms un-
tiltheli htofthefirewas osttoview.

Then oud and angry yells rose from the little
opening where such a strange event had hap-

ned. The moonshincrs were recovering from

o surprise, now that the wild horsemen had
vanished. - j

“ To the house!” hurriedly uttered Lida, slip-

.ping to the ground, all her strength returning

' as she believed peril threatened her lover.

“ The ’ll kill you in their mad rage!”
“T ey’ve got to find me first, was the half-

“fili‘dlemnufiém made no objections to her

action. Precious as the burden was, and loth as
he might be‘to resign it under less pressing cir-
cumstances, he found it no sinecure, this carry-
ing a healthy 'rl in his arms while running at

over suc rough and tangled ground, ath-
lete thoth he certainly was.

He ha ted a few seconds later listening in-
tently, to draw a much freer breath as he mut-
tore-d:

“They‘ve. forgotten all about us, little one!
Listen—they're chasing that strange fellow on
horseback E”

 

9

 

The Ghost Detective.

“ Who was it? I only caught a glimpse of his
face as—-—”

“ Enough to recognize it?” hastily interposed
Elliston. a sudden suspicion finding birth in his
(XCltf‘d brain. “You saw his face? Was it—
could it be his master?”

“ His—I don’t think I understand what you
mean, Glenn,” hesitated Lida, almost shrinking
from his intense eagerness.

“ Uncle Jax—~Milton Sarsfleld, you know 2”

“ That—that tcrribie creature—Milton Sal‘s—
field?"

“ \Vhy not. since he risked so much to save the
old man?” with just a trace of impatience in his
tones at her slowness of comprehension. “ \Vould
a stranger have done so much? lVould any one
but Sarsfield have. dared face that gang after
such a mad fashion?
ber Sarsfield well enough to say for certain
whether or no this was he. If it was—”

“But it was not Mr. Sarslield, Glenn,” still ;

bewilderodly.

“ You are positive, Lida I” with a ring of deep
disappointment in his tones. “ It has been so
long since you saw that—J’

“ 'ot long enough to make such a wild mis-
take, though.” was the response, in more de-
cided tones. “ I remember Mr. Sarslicld as well
as though I had Seen him every day since his
moving. I could draw and palnt his portrait
from memory, if I were to try. Remember
how intimate our families were in those days.”

“That was before my time, you know,” said
Elliston, his voice still showing traces of disap-
pointment. “ But if you are .‘itivc— ’

“ I am sure it was not Mr. f arsfleld.
young and handsome, wi h the blackest of hair
and eyes. And this strange creature had long
white hair and heard that looked as though it
had never been clipped. And he was so much
larger and taller—mot even a shade of resem-
blance between them, Glenn!”

“ I am sorry. .If it had been Milton Sars-
field—you know how much depends on our find—
ing him, Lida. Our on] hope is in finding him
and roving him the reallcriminal.”

“ f he is living I will find him,” slowly, reso-
lutely she said.

'1 hey paused to listen once more, but there
was nothing to be heard of the wild horseman or
his pursuers, if, indeed, the moonshiners were
really chasing him in the faint hope of success.

“I hardly think the will come back this
way, at least to-night,’ said Elliston, as they
once more moved toward the house. “ Byeday-
dawn there will be no further dan er; fore
that the ’11 have time to see what rates they
showed t emselves, and will be more afraid of
meeting you than you of them.”

“ I hava no fear—for m self. But you, dear!”
murmured Lida, with a httle shiver of appre-
hension as she clung closer to his arm. “If
thiy should hold a dge against you !”

lliston laughin y reassured her, and by the
time they had raga the little plateau from
whence ida first espied the coming of her lover,
he had succeeded in calmin her fears.

“ Wait one moment, anti 1 see if mother—” .

Lida glided silently up to the house, and not
a little to her relief saw that Mrs. Tredgold was
lyin on the bed, peacefully sleeping. She

uic ly returned and announced this welcome

act.

“ I’m glad of that, dear, for I want a little
talk before leaving you,” was the pleased re-
s use. “On busmess, so you need not look so
8 1y) little one,” with a low, playful laugh.
“ our father said that our main hope lay in
working on the fears of old Uncle Jax. ou
know him far better than I; is it true he is '50
very superstitious?”

" I never knew a colored man more so,” was

the ggick reply

“ I hear , but I put it down as mostly fun.
The old fellow don’t impress one as such a fool.
In fact, I set him down as remarkably bright
and sensible.” '

“ And so you will find him on any other point
than this one,” was the ve res use, as a
cloud came over the fair row. “ e believes
in hosts and spooks and hobgoblins, and all
the. sort of thin ; he carries a. rabbit-foot and a
dozen different 0 arms and amulets; he is a do-
vout believer in charms, spells, witch-powders
and mnjuring. Still, I am sadly afraid that
this hope will fail us.”

“ What do you mean by that, Lida!”

“ You know how Milton Sarsfield left him in
solo charge of his property. Unlem he knew
him to be faithful and true—union he knew
he could trust him implicitly—would he have
done this? Then what ope is there of learning
anything from him that could poasibly injure
his old master?” ‘

“ It does look dubious. that’s a fact,” was the
thou htful reply, as Ellistombit at the ends of
his roo ing mustache, his brow corrugating.
“ Stil , is the only hope in sight, and mean
to work it for all it‘s worth! If Uncle J ax is so
very superstitious. he ma be so badly fright-
ened as to let out the trut unawares. If ? He
shall!” with almost vicious emphasis. v i

“I will try to ho so, but it is not very‘en-
couraging,” wlth a aint sigh and catching of
her breath. ,

“If ghosts have any terror for the old fellow,

I

i y . 'x ' i .
‘ , J 1 ' , i “ '.! . O y .. ‘ ~ .-.’  .

Think——you can remcm— ‘

He was ‘

I’ll guarantee to show him a whole church ard
full. ’ said Elliston, with a lighter, more c eer-
ful air, assumed for the purpose of encouraging
the maiden, rather than from any real hope of
success. “His charms for keeping the s )OOkK
, and hobgoblins at a respectful distance shall fail
him from this time on! Awake or sleeping. you
are a haunted man from now until the whole,
truth of how Pendy Rowell came by his death
is published to the world, Uncle J ax !"
‘ Heaven grant that success may reward your
. efforts. Glenn!” impulsively exclaimed the maid—
! en. “It sounds hard to plot a ain t such a good,
{ kind-hearted old man, but he nows that father
5 has been charged with this awful crime. and if
he is knowingly shielding the real criminal. he
deserves to be punished.”
“ Amen! And punished he shall be, unless he
is host-proof !”
ida gave a start and a low, agitated cry.
“ We forget—what has become of Uncle Jax!
He looked

, \Vill that terrible creature kill him?
like a madman!” \
“And acted the character just as naturally,
too,” nodded Elliston, with a short laugh that
was not near so cheerful or reassuring as he in-
: tended it should be. “ I’ll go bail Uncle Jax is
at this moment safe and sound at the Pig House,
‘ chuckling over the discomiiture of his enemies.”
‘ For some little time longer the lovers remain-
ed in converse, and so well did Glenn Elliston
improve his time, that when they separated, he
to return to his home, she to enter the house,
Lida felt that complete success was but a ques—
f tion of time and patience, that her father would
not long have to remain under the tan.

Neither of them suspected the fact that their
Earting was watched and their ever y word over—
eard; but such was the ea. 9. And shortl
after that parting, a dirty, ragged figure sto e
away from the little plateau, following silently,

cautiously on the track of the young man.

CHAPTER VI.
A PHANTOM or THE NIGHT.

IT was without a thought of this strange
champion that Ajax Telamon twisted free from
the grip of his guards and half-crouched to leap
upon the man who falsely accused him of acting
foully toward Lida Tredgold. And had that
champion delayled his comin
is almost certa that Bion arnave would have
had another taste of “human butter,” unless he
could have checked Uncle Jax with shot or
blow.

As it was, Uncle Jax was to the fullas catly
su risedas an one of the moonshiners y the
m3 charge. is back was turned in that di-
rection, and before he could even turn his head
for a glance, one of the mountaineers, reelin
blindly before that terrible weapon, stumbl
against him and nearly flung him prostrate.
And then that mighty grip was fastened ugon
him—ohe was lifted clear of the ground and al-
anced across the withers of the plunging horse,
one heav hand forcibly holding him in that
awkwar pesition, face downward, head and
heels dang ing on either side of the snorting

, A final sweep of the heavy weapon, then with
that wild, maniacal scream, the horseman dash-

horror-stricken negro with him.

And, though it may be doubted whether any
one of those present either heard or noticed it, a,
choking, trembling cry was blended with that:
scream-a fear-shaken appeal for rescue from
the lips of Uncle Jax!

On through the bushes, under the trees among
the scattered rocks and bowlders, down the steep
slope slipping, sliding. stumblin , a dozen times
see ly falling headlong w ere death or
maiming must sure] follow, the snortin steed

lu ed on, driven y that mad rider. , un-

er t e united impulse of voice, heel and hand.
Down the slope and out over the level. h
dark shadow and silvery moonlight.
asthough driven by a veritabie demon of the
l

n ht.
13m Uncle Jax?

Half-dead with fright, and wholly helplos
with so rstitious fear!

Once twisted his head around enough to
mtch a brief glimpse of that shaggy, hair-cover-
ed face; butonly once.

Twin eyes were glaring down upon him. Eyes
that seemed as largfaas saucers, and filled with
liquid fire. Eyes t t fair!
vainly strove to shrink
such as no mortal everaposses .

“ De debble! Kin’ eabenly Father—sabe dis
po’ ole niggah!”

ears save his own could have recognized them.
Yet either the or the sound of his voice appea r—
edto anger t e wild rider for his freehand
swung forward and sinewy fingers closed like a
vice upon the luckless negro’s neck, uotonlv
forcing his head back and downward. but bid-
ging fair to make that a funeral ride to Uncle
ax.

 

“ Would you? Would you try to‘hii-‘s in ny’,
very face, snake 0’ the night?" grated the wild-

horseman, leaning forward until the nearly

another second, it ‘

ed madly away through the bushes, bearing the «

Still on,

scorched him as he ‘
urtehier away. Eyes

Those were the words he tried to utter. butno 

 

 

 

_ flying faster than light

' ’ start at those Words.

1-0,

The Ghost Detective.

 

 

throttled negro could feel his hot breath com-
ing and going on his bare crown. "Would you
Spit your venom out at me? TWist and writlie,
coil and squirm, why don’t you? Pal)!" with
sudden contempt as his savage grip relaxed
and his hand was outfiuiig with a sudden
[less that almost toppled Uncle Jax headlong
from his uneasy perch. “ So casy conquered?
It was hardly worth while capturing such a
miserable reptile!”

“Good Mas'sa chblc!” gasped the half-dead
negro.

K wild, mocking laugh came from the white-
bearded lips as that choking, quavering voice
came to his cars.

“ The devil—ay! I am King Satan, and you
are one of my recreant iinps! You have failed
to perform my bidding here on earth, and now
I’ll take you back to my homo of everlasting
fire,to receive the punishment due your atrocious
negligence! Did not bid yc—”

he horse stumbled and fell to its knees, cast—
ing both rider and his captive over its head.
Cat-like, active to a remarkable degree, the
wild horseman struck upon his feet and before
the frightened animal could escape, an iron
gri was fastened upon its uivering nostrils,
an the flying reins were deft y secured.

The madman turned to where Uncle J ax lay
on the ground, stunned and sorely shaken,
s'tiiéring the negro sharply with one foot- as he
sai :

“Arise, ye imp o’ darkness! Why do ye
grove] there like a worm in the dust? Shall

bruise your head with my heel? Or—is it to
kiss my royal toe that you prostrate yourself?
What was it you called me but a moment ago?
The devil? Ay! I’ll be King Satan and you
shall adore me—shall salute me as your lord
and master, with power of life and death, with
-—so, good slave! seal the bond—thus l”

Laughing, jeerin , with a mirth that was
even more terrible t an the insane rage he had
at first shown, the wild horseman lifted one
shod feet above the face of the poor negro, tap-
ping his (lust covered lips repeatedly as he

9.

Uncle J ax made no effort to escape or resist.
fven had his hands been at liberty, he would
carcer have lifted them to defend himself
from this self-styled demon, for he was too bad-
ly fri htened, his superstition Was far too thor—
ough awakened.

He eard those words, and he really believed
that he had fallen into the clutches of the foul
fiend. Those eyes of fire seemed to do drying up
his e eballs, and he dared not attempt steal
anot or look at his ca tor.

Meekly he submit tothe outrage. He even
kissed the sole that tapped his bruised lips!

After all, it may have been the wisest course

' he could have followed. His submission seemed

to please his strange captor, for a low, quieter
laugh followed these mocking words.

‘ Is it so, dog of the coal-face? Yield ye,
ransom or no ransom? Never again to ift
hand or bear arms against your lawful lord and
master—never turn in urined rebellion while
water runs and grass grows?”

“Nebber mo’, kin’ marster!” faintly mutter—
ed Uncle Jax, still with’his lids tightly closed
over his eyes, still with that shivering, flesh-
creeping awe upon him body and brain.

There was no immediate answer on the rt
of the madman, if madman he was, as a] his
words and actions seemed to indicate. His head
was turned and his lowing eyes directed back-
ward, in the direct on from whence they had
come, even as he stooped and savored the negro’s

n .

Faint, yet unmistakable, floatin on the night
air, came the far-away sounds of uman voices
calling to each other. The moonshiners ha
not yet entirely given up the hunt for the
strange being who had robbed them of their
prey so audaciously. They were drawin near-
er. They might even then be able to sig t their
game, out on the level, in the full light of the
even round moon as they were.

“ The snarling devils are coming!" grated the
strange being, with a return of his former
Meatless in tone and manner. “The serpents
are swarming from their holes, seeking to sting
and poison and corrupt! They come—but they
shall not find!”

With the grip of a giant, he caught up Uncle
Jax and swung him into the saddle, then leaping
to the orou with a panther-like agility. His
arms pas one on each side of the trembling
negro, gripping the reins and steadving the
captive at one and the same time. is heels
beat against the flanks of the frightened steed.
and then they dashed ahead through the night
once more at reckless speed.

“The serpents are swarming, good imp,” the
madman laughed, his voice harsh and disagree-
ableééiis breath so hot that it seemed to fairly
scor . poor Uncle Jax as it swept past his neck.
“But they can only cree , while We are flying—
Flying on a journey
to the infernal regions fiood imp! Homng
dag home, varietl Thln‘ of that! Home—I
had a home, once!”

Despite his great terror, Uncle Jax gave a
They were so different in
tone and manner, little wonder! Soft and oven

linusical, slow and lingering, full of a sorrow
that seemed far too deep and great for bitter-
ness.

Nor was this abrupt change confined alone to
his voice. He no longer urged his panting steed

on at such a reckless pace. The reins slackened
' and hung loose. llis stern grip relaxed, and
Uncle Jax could feel a tremor running through
{he strong arms which passed on each side of
1111].

Even the good steed seemed to feel the change,
for its pace grew less frantic, and it gradually
came down to a walk.

Poor, superstitions Uncle Jax felt a faint hope
springing up in his fainting heart, and after a
few moments he ventured to gasp:

“ Marstcr—good, kin’ niarster!”

The madman gave a sudden start as he heard
that quavcring voice, and his grip suddenly
tightened around the bony body of the negro.
Yet his own voice was less harsh, less menacing
as he uttered:

“ Well, imp o’ darkness?”

“Marster, let a pore ole nig ah go dis time!
He nebber do niiflin to hurt. ie ain’t wufi' so
much trouble, ’dccd he ain’t, kin’ marster!"

“ “'orth your weight in old twice refined,
Uncle Jax,” with a short her laugh that sent a
fresh shiver dancing through the oer negro’s
f ramc. “ I need JllSt such a b y-scrvant as
you to help drive the blue devils away when the
dark past begins to rise up before me. The past!
Brush it away, ye devils!” with sudden fierce-
ncss. “ Dance and sing and pour out the strong
drink until the horrible visions fade away into
nothingness! Drive them away before my r
brain turns mad! Marl? who says it is a iar
black and false as hell itself l I am not mad! i
will not be mad! It Would please them too
much! Phase those— Ah I”

His strained voice choked and thickened until
it seemed to strangle him, One of his hands
flew up to his throat, tearing at it as he gasped
and paiitcd for breath. Ilc shivcred from head
to foot. His body swayed to and fro until it
seemed as though he must fall from the back of
his horse.

Uncle J ax caught his own breath sharply and
turned his head swiftly around until his wide-
open 0 es could stare straight into that em-
pu le( , agonized face.

ad he made the attempt 'ust then, he could
almost certainly have escaI from the power
of his captor. He could have hurled the quiver-
ing form to the ground with hardly an effort,
then ridden away to a secure haven; but he
made no such effort. .

Instead, he caught the left hand of the mad-
man in his own, while his right swung around
until it pressed that shivering body up against
his own back. And there was a strange eager-
ness in his voice as he soothineg muttered:

“\Ve’ll fool ’om, inarster—’deed we’ll fool ’em
of dey t’ink like datl Dey ain’t nobody mad but
dem (lat call us crazy. Dey ain’t—"

The strange being seemed soothed by his voice,
and the spasmodic shivering abrupt! ceased.
He can ht a long, grateful breath, an as sud-
denly t ere came another. change ,in his man-
nor.

Ho flung off the hands of the negro, and once
more took command. His voice was sharp and
clear. then b a little less Wild, 8. little less men-
acin than fore:

“ y! we’ll fool ’em, one and all, Uncle Jax!
I‘m fooling you now!”

He laughed, low and maliciously, with a mean-
in that sent a cold thrill running through the
veins of the old negro, that broug t back those
almost banished superstitious fancies.

Was it fancy? Was this strange being fool-
in him after all?

ith a sickening fear at his heart, Uncle J ax
mustered courage to turn his head and steal an
other glance into that hairy face. To meet
those b azing orbs again. To see a laughing,
mocking devil in them. To shrink and shiver
anew as his captor chuckled grimly:

“ Fooling you, too, Uncle ax! Isn’t it lori—
ouss rt? Isn’t it well worth being call the
foul 3nd to boundowed with his su rnatural
powers? To go find come as one wil 8? To see
poor mortals shake and shiver and cringe and
cower before the bare glance of one’s eye? To
feel that the whole world is one’s footstool, and

all the tiles crawling upon its surface one’s
slaves? y! ’tis glorious! glorious!”
“’Deed yes, kin’ marstcr,” faintly muttered

Uncle Jax, fearing to speak, yet not darin to
maintain silence while that strange being 1’.
over his shoulder with glaring eyes, evidently
expecting an answer.

“You lie, Uncle J ax !” sharply grated his cap-
tor. closing his arms until the pressure seemed
about to crash in the poor fellow’s ribs. “ It is
ten thousand times worse than death, this hor—
rible existence! Death!” With a short, hollow
laugh, “ that would be a boon more blessed than
over yet befall mortal being. If it would only
coma—if it would only come to give me eternal
rest!’

There was a depth of wretchedness in his tones
that words are mwerless to measure. He seemed
torriblv in earnest as he uttered that moan, but
Uncle Jax dared not turn his head, dared not
again entertain that wild, banished hope of a,

 

 

short time ago. And the next moment but
served to strengthen that belief.

The strange being laughed, low and mocking-
ly as he again touched up his j:id()(l.-.llo1'sc. Again
his shaggy chin crept over the shoulder oi his
captive, and once more he scorched him with
those glowing orbs.

“Growing wiser, are you, Uncle Jax? Cun-
ning old rascal! But I’ll fool you yet—fool you
to the to of your bent. give me time! For I’m
the devi , Uncle Jax; Satan himself, out for a.
holiday. Say I’m the devil, Uncle Jax!”

“Yes, kiii’ marster,” faltered the poor old
man, shiveringlyj

“The devil, ncle Jax, though you might
doubt it at first glance, since I left my horns and
hoofs and forked tail behind me, the better to
fool these silly creatures, Uncle Jax! Let them
once catch sight of my ornaments—for they are
ornaments, and ornaments such as any one
might be proud of, Uncle Jax! Say that you
wish you had horns an’ hoofs and a forked tail
Uncle Jax! Swear it by the book, Uncle Jax!”

“ Yes, kiii’ marster, ’ faltered the ne 0.
“Unc’ Jax he done took de oaf; wish he fad
tail an’—an’ all dem tings. Cross he heart.”

“Another lie, Uncle Jax,” with a malicious
chuckle that frightened his helpless victim far
more than if it had been a savage oath. “Do
you know what the priests say? Do you knew
what is the fate in store for all those who lie?
Doomed to hell, Uncle J ax! Doomed to come to
my realms to serve me there, even as they
served me here on earth. Uncle J ax, you’re my
slave from this moment henceforward !"

Uncle Jax groaned, but he could make no
other response. His superstitious awe was now
too intense for free 5 h. He really believed
he had fallen alive into the hands of the foul
fiend himself, and he anticipated nothing better
than an ultimate descent into the evil pit whose
frightful horrors he had so often listened to as
described by fervent preachers, both of his own
race and of the whites.

What he suffered during these minutes words
are powerlessto fltly describe, or an enlightened
mind to even faintly conceive. He was so com-
plete! saturated With suspicion, gross and all-
credu ous, that the wildly malic10us taunts and
assertions of this madman, if madman he may
be called, were received as others might receive
Gospel truth. He never pnee thought of doubt-
ing what he heard. He made no effort toes-
cape, for what would it avail him? Only to
hasten his unishment; only to increase the ter—
Eures whic he felt positive were in store for

ini.

His wretchedness was complete. He took no
note of time. He id no attention to the
coursc the were to owing. For all he could
have told, Just then, they might have been riding
thus for an age!

His captor rung the changes with a persis-
tency that knew no fatigue. Now he was
grim! jocose, only to be savagely vehement or
maud in' unto tears the next moment. Now he
was content to jog along moderately, letting the
jaded animal pick its own course and choose its
own gait, only to drive his heels viciously into
its flanks and urge it madly on in the next
breath.

.Meekly, tremblingly, Uncle Jax spoke what
was demanded of him, said the words which hll
malicious captor put into his mouth. His sub-
jection was complete; his misery even‘ more: so.

Erect and stiff he satin the saddle, his bony
finger tightly locked before him fearing to
ma 6 a move more than he could help lest
he awaken the ire of his dread captor behind.
Each shiver and tremor that involuntarily
agitated his frame gave him double pain, lost
it be taken as a handle for that demon to
grasp in anger. Stiff and erect, more like a
galvanized corpse than a livin , breathing. sen-
tient being. Uncle Jax sta straight ahead
of him, but with eyes that seldom saw what
they drew near. with a. brain that refused to
photograph aught. I

Until, without word or warning, 'ust as they
were crossin a strip of dense sh ow, just as
they emer into a band of clear moonligh
only a few rods in width, riding at a m
pace for the instant. a shade figure suddenly
uprose before them in the iright li ht, one
white hand uplifted as though to' bar 1: air pas-
sage-the 11 re of a woman, tall and queenly,
even when Viewed by the moonlight.

A cry of amazement broke in a hoarse gur-
gle from the lips of the startled n as he
saw that form, as he caught sight of t t whit.
face, showin ghastlypa a in thought of tho
moon. An over his shoulder came a scram
that was almost a wail of agony!

The snorting steed was “embed up until it!
haunches almost touched theearth its hoof.
scored so (lee 1y, checked Within its own length.

But only or an- instant. _That wild screech
was still echoin on the air when a yell of
savage fury bro 8 from the lips of the wild
rider, and e urged the frightened horse for-
ward, direct for that ghost-like figure in the
road! '

A snort and a mad plunge—a cry that run;
out sharply—then on thundered the mad horse-
man, sending back a shrill, triumphant laugh!

A cry of horror broke from the old negro, and

W

T119919“? Detective-

 

he half turned in the saddle, but before the
words that rose in his throat could find utter-
.unce, the madman caught him by the neck with
both hands, gripping him with frightful violence,

snarling. foaming at the mouth. grinding out "

 

if noticed at all, it would give the impression
that in this room the flooring had been laid with
the ends and remnants left over after finishing
the other floors.

Down through this trap Uncle Jax crept, still

soul” Words that Uncle Jax could not distin- i in silence, still in perfect darkness. Silently the

15113le

in his fear of death, his superstitious fears were. ‘

'm nnnntnrily forgotten, and he desperately
grappled With his assailant, striving to free his
throat from that horrible, strangling grip.

The struggle was brief, luckily for poor Uncle
Jax. The madman laughed savagely as he
twisted him from his seat and hurled him head-
long to the ground. And as Uncle J ax lay there,
.a quivering, senseless mass, the wild rider sped
away, his fiercely triumphant laugh floating
back on the night air.

Uncle Jax was stunned by the fall, but his
insensibility did not last so very long. A faint
groan bubbled forth from his lips, as he faintly
lifted his head, dizzin staring around him. All
his superstition had returned, and he expected
no less than to find himself down in the legend
ary )it of everlasting flames.

“ ot dar—it cain’t be dat bad place!” he
gasped. with a flutter at his heart that almost
suffocated him. “ l)ey ain’t no fiah—I don’
smell no brimstone nor—brcss (1e heabenly
Father!” with a gasp of intense relief and joy so
great that he came perilously near swooning
away as he caught sight of the clear, full moon
in the sky.

Not dead! Not in the infernal regions! And
that horrible creature gone—was he gene?

\Vith a gasp of terror U nclc Jax brushed a.
hand across is dim eyes, and summoned up
courage enough to glance swiftly around in
quest of what he pra ed in his heart of hearts
he might fail to iscover: the dread being
who had declared himself Satan out for a heli-
da !

glowhere in sight—gone! And as be fully
realized this glad truth, Uncle J ax felt his
strength return, and he scrambled to his feet,
ibis one thought being of hasty flight lest the
demon should repent and come back to recover
his prey.

It was only chance that kept him from taking
the direction in which the wild rider had dis-
:appeared, chance that prevented his heading
toward the spot where that phantom of the
night had so suddenly sprung up in the path.
His only thought was to leave that spot as speed-
ily as possible, lest the dread demon return to
recapture him.

Uncertainly at first, des ite his terror, for his
limbs were benumbed an bruised by his fall
and his wrists still felt the effect of those tight
bonds but then with increased as he re-
gained control of his muscles. d when an-
other searching glance around assured him that
he was as at unpursued, Uncle Jax grew calm-
er more ll 0 his usual self.

lg‘or the first time he thought of making out
his location, and a little cry esca his hps as
he recognized the landmarks. trange as it
seemed at first he knew that he had been car-
ried within a short half-mile of the Big House.

“ Ef I kin on’y git dar fu’stl” he muttered, in—
creasing his pace as he slightly altered his course.
“ Ef it’s all ri ht—ef I fln’ dey ain’t no bad luck
come while I in gone!” I

He shivered as the last sentence mssed his
lips, and broke into a run that showed a fair
remnant of suppleness and wind.

He cast no more lances backward, as thou h
he had for the time
tious fear. He looked o y ahead, giving a great
gasp of relief as he cnug

he Big House which Milton Saraflel had left
wholly in his charge.

\Vhat he expected or anticipated, would be

difficult to say, but it was clear that the sight of ‘

the large, square building, with its wide veran-
das, its vine-clad sides, its many out-buildings,
ve him intense relief.

Strai ht up to the front he ran. panting heav-
ily, his imbs tremblingjwith exc1tement and ex-
haustion, after all he had that night
throu b. He swayed at the bus of the front
vex-an a, fumbling around for a moment, then
rising up with a key in his hand. He unlocked
the door, entering and pausing to close it again
and renew the fastening. All was dark, but he
did not require the aid of his eyes to complete
these precautions. Lo use had made him per-
fectly familiar with the 13 House and all its de-
tail

8.

Uncle Jax paused to listen, his head bent, his
breath suspended. All was silent. He. seemed
to be the only occupant of that t budding.

Silently slipping 08 his shoes, ncle J ax crept
alon through the dark rooms. passing toward
the ack of the building. Time and again he

aused to listen as though in expectation of
hearing some adund, but ,8! often moving on
3 am, with a long breath of relief.

“In one of the rear rooms he stoo and awe 1:
his hand across the floor, drawing ck as he did
so. And had there been a light in that room, a
curious trap-door might have been noticed as it
opened beneath his touch: irregular in outlines,
with planks protruding unevenly at either end.
Let this trap be closed, and no one not in the se-
cret would or an instant suspect its existence:

I

! trap closed over his head.

ll inute after minute passed without a sound
coming back to betray his further doings. All
was still as death.

i Then the trap-door o nod, and Uncle Jax
I emerged into the room. I elowered it once more.
' Stoopng and sweeping his hands over the closed

. joints, as though to makesure naught was left to

excite suspicion, then he drew a long breath as
of intense relief. .,

Passing into another room he struck a match
and lit a candle. By its growing light his face
showed worn and haggard, filled with a sorrow
that came from the depths of his aching heart.

He dropped to his knees beside the low cot on
which his nights Were passed, bowing his head
over his tightly clasped hands. His gaunt frame
shook as with stifled sobs. And ere long groans
and sighs and broken sentences fell from his lips,
muffled, yet articulate.

“ Holy Father in heaben! gib Dy ’, weak
sarbent strength to b’ar dis burden! Eve him
faithful to de las’! Hol’ him up in de hol er ob
Dy han’ when he turns faint an’ wear ! Not fo'
he 01,011. sake—not fo’ he own sake, eah Mars-
ter!’

 

CHAPTER VII.
“ CUNJUR KING SAUL.”

THE Big House had a deserted air until a late
hour the next day, when Uncle Jax first made
his ap rance outside of the building.

Bad y worn and woefully dilapidated the old
follow looked, though it was ewdent enough
that the brush and needle had been at work
on his rudely treated garments but neither
brush or needle could remedy those bruises
on his jetty skin, nor banish those swollen ciro
cles about his sunken, bloodshot eyes.

More like one after a protracted spree. than
his usual rim, dignified self, looked Uncle Jax
that brig t, pleasant day. And there was a
hesitating, dubious, fearful air about all he did
that betrayed a. mind ill at case, if not full of
dread or loaded down with sin. '

More like a hunted fu 'tive he peered out
througha crack of the sightly opened door,
closely scanning his surroundings before fairly
venturin forth. And even then, when thus far
rcassur , Uncle Jax would start and jump and
shiver spasmodicnlly at the most ordinary
sounds: at the crowing of a cook, the flap of a
wing, the stamp of cow or horse lazily fighting
flies. Start and glare around him with wil
eyes, seemingly ready to break into flight.

Several times he did actually run away as he
can ht sight of some person ing alon the
roa , entering the house an shivering here
with bated breath until assured that the danger
had passed him by.

Twice that da

there were rappings at the
front door, but

ncle Jax never an3wered the
summons. Hidin his face in his hands he cow-
ered in the dar corner, shivering, shakin ,
trembling until the callers grew tired of kner-

 

in forgotten his super i- l
1: his first (glimpse of [

I; should be uneasy and susnicious.

ing without being answered, and went their way.

All this was very unlike the usual demeanor
of Uncle Jax. According to the verdict of the
ma ority, he was just a little 3' t “to put on
fril s.” A little prone to showing his import-
ance as manager of the Sarsfield place. To hold
his head hi h as the best, and just as though his
skin was w ite as alabaster.

And yet, bearing in mind all that had befall-
en the old man on the night last past it is not
so much to be wondered at that Uncle Jax

He had awakened the dark suspicions of those
whom he knew to be engafid. more or less ex-
tensively, in moonshine w ' ky. He had been
accused of playing the spy upon them, and of
joining their bitterest enemy in a secret cam-
pai% against them as a body.

“ at was a di , brack lie, but I couldn‘t
rove it IO den !" the old fellow muttered with a
rown and a shake of his frosty pow. “ When

dey ax Unc’ Jax wha’ fo’ he be dar, so long way
f’um home, in de mids‘ ob de dark ni ht, how
Unc’ Jax wine fo’ tell ’em do trufei eod he
dos couldn t!” bowing his head with a low, de-
jected groan.

_As Bron Barnave had reasoned, it was no or-
dinary cause that drew the superstitious ne ro
so far from home at that “ witchin honr;” ut
that cause had nothing to do with ndrew Tor-
tle, or “Curly Rooks," as the moonshiner spy
, declared the self-acknowledged bushwhacker to
_ be. Thus far, at least..Uncle Jax had spoken

the truth. Until the fugitive led his pursuerl
fairly u n the cowe negro, and thus fright-
ening him into frantic 'ght, Ajax Telamon did
, not know that such a person lived and drew the

breath of life.

Strong-and pressing interests had drawn him
into the hills so far from home at that ghostly
hour; and strong indeed they must have been
to so far conquer his superstitions dread of dark-

_ ness and its spookish inhabitants.

He had caught sight of the fire from a distance.

and hoping amid his doubts that here he would

 

)

 

i find what he, was seeking, Uncle J ax cautiously
' crept nearer and nearer, until the explosion
came with the unmasking of Curly Rooks.

\Vhat followed has been expiaincd with suffi-
cient clearness. Now that his brain “as clear-
er, his wits more collected. Uncle Jax shook his
frosty pow with an air of mingled disgust and
shame. He could see what serious mistakes he
had made in both word and action. If he had
not tried to escape by flight. at the first! If he
had boldly faced the excited moonshiners and
quietly proved his. innocence, as he might readi—
ly have done, all would have been well.

“But dey done skeered ’way what little sense
de old man ebber had wid dar ’stropolus ram-
pagin’ an’ snashin’ ob teef—dey des did I” Un—
cle Jax muttered, with a vexed shake of the
head. “ Skeer a niggah to defi’, den bloody
butcher him ’ca’se he don’ talk a blue streak o'
Gos .l trufe to— I)ar dey come l”

1th a muffled howl he crouched down and
ran for shelter, as he had done on more than one
occasion before, with no better foundation for
his affright. Only a playful whirlwind lifting
up a little column of dust and leaves, instead of
the bloodthirsty moonshiners coming in force
to carry out their fierce threats of the past
night. -

As the day wore on Uncle Jax became more
at ease. in his mind, so far as the moonshiners
were concerned. If they still believed him a
dangerous traitor to their interests, surely they
would have pounced u n him before this!

“ Mebbe dey done 3 eered to try—mebbe dey
fink de debble dat tote Un’ Jax ’way f’um dar,
hangin‘ nigh de place still!”

It, was not a plea. nt thought, even in this
connection, and the o d darky shivered anew as
be cast a swift, apprehensive glance around.

What if it was true? What if that demon
was indeed nigh at hand? What if he should
suddenly make his appearance and once more
fasten his terrible grip on arm or shoulder?

Uncle J ax instinctively thrust a trembling
hand into his bosom, feeling for the precious
charm which was no longer there—for the all-
potent rabbit-foot which he had lost after some
stran 9 fashion! “’ith it and daylight he
won] not have been so readily frightened, but
without it he felt lost. If he could only find it,
or roeure another!

his thought seemed to grow upon him
as the sun passed the meridian and slipped down
toward the west. His uneasiness seemed to
grow greater. He vibrated more frequently
from resolve to doubt. He cast longing, wistful
glances in the direction of the little but where
the wonderful “ hoodoo man " lived, muttering
and shaking his head. a sort of human pendulum
between the Big House and the front ate.

It was quite late in the afternoon he. )re su r-
stition finally won the victory and Uncle ax
came stealin out of the house and down the.
graveled wal to the front gate. But that bar-
rier once paSSed the old ne 0 had nothing more
to do with double or hesita on, hastening alon
toward the distant but of “ Cunjur King Saul,
the mighty Voudou Doctor.

The intervening distance was considerable, but
Uncle Jax was not long in covering it. He
showed no si s of age or bruises in his move—
ments now. e was going to reccive a charm
that would prove a perfect safeguard against all
such luckless mishaps as had befallen him of late,
and that limbered his stifi joints. '

“Nufiln’ like dat could ’a' happened ef dais
vabbit-foot didn’t done git lost some mighty
‘sterious way—no, sah!” muttered Uncle Jax
with a solemn shake of his head as he hurried
around an inmng clum of dense brambles.
“Gits m! it g)! 0w he come los’ in
each ami hty hurry? ebble gotafingahindnt,
now I te ye! Ole debble done weigur Unc‘Jax '
tolose de yabbit-foot, so he git d -grip on he ,
white wool reckon! Come mighty, nigh doin‘
Oh it, too—deedyf”

But as Uncle Jax drew near his present destin-
ation, his face grew long and sober enough; even
anxious and almost awe-stricken.

This Cnn 'ur King Saul was no ordinary being,

sure! one of your “common truck, to use
the vernacular. _

m whence he came, no one appeared to
know. When first noticed, he was settled as
snugly in his little cabin hid away in the heart
of the hills, where the dense treetops made it
twilight at noonday, as though he had-been there
when the coun was first made. What his
real name was no cos a mystery. “ Cnnjur King
Saul” he had announced himself, and Cunjur
Kin Saul he remained to one and all ever since.

no there are negrocs. even the lowest grade
of “ hoodoo doctors ” will flourish, living on their ,
superstitious dupes; but let one of real preten-
sions to witchc make his appearance, and his
fame will spread on the wings of the wind. Be-
lievers will come for miles and miles to consult
him to purchase his charms and buy his potions.
Each cure, each “ miracle ” will find a thousand
tongues to repeat and exaggerate it, until his re—
putation bemmee so fixed that a single sneer or
whispered doubt against his powers is regarded
as almost blasphemy.

Not even Marie Laveaux, the Voudcu Queen,
could boast more devoted disciples than C unjur
King Saul, nor was her reputation much more

 

 

.spu 4. . .5.

Jena-r

i.

 

" 'nature, it up

12

widely extended. Indeed, there were not want-
ing those who declared that the Carolina magic-
man could perform greater marvels than even
the New Orleans sibyl herself.

Little marvel, then, that Uncle J ax grew grave
and even frightened as he came nearer the but
where this mighty1 man of mystery resided, or
that he slackened is pace and nearly came to a
halt as that but first met his gaze.

Yet this was not his first visit, by many.
More dollars than one had Uncle J ax left in that
low, rickety-looking shanty beneath the shad-
owing trees, taking awa charms and amulets
and tions instead. at each visit. had only
adde to his original awe of the strange being
who dwelt here in solitude, so for :is human
companionship was concerned.

He was still hesitating, when a shrill, peculiar
voice rung out:

“Hi, you niggah! why fo’ you stop out duh?
T’ink Cunjur King Saul nuilin’ bettuh fo’ tck up
he recious time dan waitin’ fo" a fool niggah
me up he min” ef he fetch money ‘nough to pay
fo’ de yabbit—footf Huh ! wuss dan lose de

abbit—foot come ’pon you, ch’ Jax! Vl'iiss
uck dan (lat hang ober you" head, ole niggah l”

The door of the but was flung open, and'tlio
figure of Cunjur King Saul made. its appear—
ance in the narrow opening.

Of medium size, trim-built, as could be seen
despite the disguising attire which covered him
from neck to ankles; an odd combination of the

 

 

' masculine and feminine—halfdressing-rown,

half dress. This was open from the waist ( own,
parting sufficiently to allow a glimpse of trow-
sers, beaded and embroidered, decked with gay
ribbons. Still lower, long: flat feet with ape—
like toes, guiltless of sock or shoes.

Upon his head, Cunjur King Saul wore a
crown or circlet of feather-work, bound to—
gether with tarnished gilt braid. About his
neck were several strands of brightly-polished
brass beads, and his long, claw-like fingers were
decked with ornaments of the same base metal.

His face was fairly regular in feature. His
skin of a light yellow hue; if Cunjur King Saul
had been a less important personage, he would
have been called, in the vu gate, “a saddle-col-
ored nigger.”

“ Beg rdon, sah—didn’t know but you was
busy, sa 1” mumbled Uncle J ax, dotting his hat
-—not the lon -cherished beaver, but a straw
substitute—an bowing humbly before the hoo-

00 man.

“ Didn’t know nuflin’!“ sniffed King Saul, his
thin nose risin still higher in the air, with a
lofty scorn. “ f Cunjur King Saul done bin
busy, you nebbah come dis nigh de house, sah!
Sperrets done b you so quick it done mek
you’ head swim air a duck—des so!”

“Den I kin come in, sah?” hesitated the old
man, shivering afresh as he cast‘a covert glance
around as though expecting to feel the ice-cold
grip of the hinted guards.

‘ Ain’t I bin tellin’ you come in, niggah?
Want me git down on bunkers an’ beg you come
in? Want me—Cunjur King Saul?”

Moral] crushed by this atrocious insinuation,
Uncle ax meek] advanced, not daring to
pause even when it seemed as thou h he must
actually thrust the hoodoo doctor asi e in order
tocross the threshold. But Cunjur King Saul
did not force him to such extremities. Satisfied
with exerting his authority thus far, he stepped
back, frowning and grumbling, seemingly in the
worst of ill humors.

It was part of his stock in trade, and it worked
to admiration, as past experience had amfly
prov’ed. It was something ifferent from w t
his customers were accustomed to before hi ad-
vent. Other hoodoo doctors met them with
smiles and smirks and bowings, plainly antici-

ting a pecuniary profit from that interview.
film so the shrewd practitioner. Instead of
smiles he dealt out scowls. Gave abuse for
com; nts. Seemed annoyed by their coming,
andanxious for their departure; but when his
customers did go, they invariably left their
mone behind them, and never without fee]-
ing t they had gotten the best of the bar-
ge n.

Cunjur King $01.11 was a student of human

Uncle Jax meek] dropped into a chair
which past visits tod him was reserved for

era. He held his hat before him with-

custom

both hands after that peculiar fashion which so
plainly indicates embarrassment. He glanced
shyly, appealingly, at the stern, scornful face of
the conjurer who stood before him with arms
folded across his chest.

“You know what 9. might
is des now, ole man?” the
ed2 blunt] .

‘Reckon I be—ef you say so, sah,” mumbled
Uncle J ax, shifting uneasily on his seat, his eyes
droolping.

. “ does say so, niggah, an’ I tell you why of
you lis’en sharp!"
“ I lis’enin’, sub.”
“You dope ,l,os’ de charmed yabbit-foot I done
an —

. ou
gmfikéd I didn’t go to do it, sah! Cross my
heart ”

l i
“ Hol’ on’ hush, cain’t you?” was the sharp
hterjec on u ('iminr King Saul frowned black-

fool ni b you
oodoctorgdzmand-

 

The Ghost Detective.

 

you ketch me u like dat nuddah time!
talk, it’s me! $011 heah?”

Uncle J ax nodded meekly, ti
his 1i )5 lest they again betray im.

“ ou fink it ’ca’se you 10s (lat charmed
bit-foot all dis yer’ trouble come ’pon you.
iink dat all you got to do is to come heah an’ la
down yo’ money fo’ buy nuddah charm, eh?
thy you nick me ax twice. you dumb niggah’!
Can‘t you speak nuflin’ ’tall?”

htly compressing I

l

__. ._. ____ .______. . .- ..——~

ly. “ I cross you’ heart wid a spook-fingah, cf 1 Mebbe a cress wind fool me fer once. Mebbe it.
W hen I  haiu’t, got nuiiin‘ to do wid the spell dat on you,

now.
“ Dat was on, sah,” faintly ventured the old
man, with a wistful glance toward the closed

ab- , door, as though he wished himself out in the
on I

y i

open air and far away from that mystic spot.

“ De 5 ll dat’s on you dis werry’dentical
minnit. I nc’ Jax, I said.” coldly retorted King
Saul. “De sickness sleepin’ des now, ’ca’se l

. put a counter-spell ober it. but (hit las’enly

“ I pay do price, double oVer, sah, an‘ be glad 

fo‘ git de chance!” tremblineg exclaimed Uncle
Jax, dropping his but as he hurriedly sought to
get out his iurse. '

(Junjur hing Saul flung back his head with a
toss that almost deprived his lead of its crown-
ing ornament, his voice sharp and cold.

" Wait, niggah. I ain’t axed fo’ see you’
money, has I? W'nit you bettah ontwell do
right time comes fo’ talkin’ pay. Wait fo’ see
cf pay kin sabe you’ soak—debble hain‘t got
mighty little Use fo’ gol’ un’ silber, now I tell ye,
bUVT”

Uncle Jax shivered until the chair beneath
him sent out a dolefnl creaking sound. He
shrunk within his garments until they seemed
miles too wide for his bony frame. His glossy
color faded to a dingy, ash ' brown, and his
bloodshot eyes protruded painfully.

Cunjur king Saul was watching him keenly,
though covertly, and this utter subjection ap-
peared to satisfy him. for his manner changed
suddenly and completely. From insolcnt he
grew grave and even kindly, after a. certain
)lnnt. grim fashion.

“ Ef do debble hain’t got a fingah in it. den
it look mighty nigh like de debble’s \i'uk, Unc’
Jax! Anyway, ’tain’t des do loss ob dat yah—
bit—foot dat ails you. Dat bad luck. but dis
mattah heap wuss don bad luck. Unc’ Jax.
you done git cuujured mighty bad, nowl tell
you hard!”

“ ’IM-oil l is. sub 1” groaned the poor old negro
bowin'i; his head on his trembling hands an
swaving his body to and fro. “ Feels pow’ful
weak an’ ailin’, 1 does!”

“ Whar ’bonts you feel de wu‘st sickness, Unc’
Jax?” softly asked the hoodoo doctor bending
over the sufferer and touching him lightly with
his hands in limbs and body. “ Kin you nail de
sickness down to any ’ticklar spot. or is it a
sortah all-oberishncss, like?”

“All ober—pow’ful bad, sah!” moaned the
wretched dupe, actually suffering through his
too active imagination. “ Gi’ me somefln’ doc-
tah, fo‘ I go clean distracted crazy!”

“ Hol’ up you’ head—so!” muttered King
Saul, forcing Uncle Jax to obey by catching
him beneath the chin and pulling upward.
“ Now leok me yightin do twoeyes—lonk hard .’
Hol’ you brefi' nn‘ say in you’ own mind dat you
ain’t sick no longah! You ain’t sick—dc sick-
ness done gone—clean gone I”

“ Brcss goodness dat so!" gasped Uncle Jax,
with 9. Ion breath.

The hoo no doctor laughed softly as he with-
drew hishand, and there was an echo of triumph
in his voice as he muttered, seemingly to him-

se :
“ I said begone, an’ it went like a flash! Dat
Show it ain’t no debble wuk, dou h it mighty
pow’ful hoodoo fo’ all dat! Tek eap trouble
an’ mighty fine cunjurin’ to git do best ob dis
spell! Unc’ Jax?”
“ Yes sahl
“Mighty bad way, Unc’ Jax—big cun'ur
ll put on you dis time. ole man! What
wicked flng you bin doin’ to mek you open to
sech e ’tack like dis yer’? What you bin doin’,

”

r .
fifufliN—nuflln’ ’tall, sah; fo’ suah I ain’t,
sa !

“Unc’ Jax, you lyin’ right to my face!" was
the shar , menacin retort. “ Tell me you ain’t
bin doin nuflln’! ell me I’m a fool? Don’t I
know? Cain’t I see? Ain’t de smell ob blood in
mg nose? Who on bin cuttin’, Uncle J ax?”

wift and forc ble came this last query, and
as it passed his lips the doctor bent until he
stared keenly into the face of his patient.

Uncle J ax shivered and Shrunk back, his lips
parting, but no articulate sound escaping them.

“ Blood—I kin smell it, Unc’ Jax!” rumbled
the con urer, his tones comin from the depths
of his c est. “It smells ol , but it’s blood—
white blood, Uncle Jax? Whose body dat blood
come from, eh?”

Ajax Telamou gave a sudden start, shaking
himself much as a dog does on emerging from
the water. A more rational light lenped into
his l:yee and his voice was almost steady as he
spo e:

“’Deed I nebber cut nobody. sub. Ef it’s
blood you smell—dart” with somethin like ex-
ultation in his tones as he added: “ ebbe it’s
dat—mebbe it’s what I batted 0015’!) de nose ob
dat Bion Barnave las’ night! ’Deed it mus’ be
dnt. sub !”

Cunjur King Saul rose erect as he drew back
a pace, a dark frown wrinkling his brows.
There was somethin like sullen anger in his
voice as he spoke again:

“ It‘s older blooddan dat, U nc’ J ax. It ain’t
nose-bleed dat I smell. neider. It’s blood dat
dried up long time ago. But, nebber mind.

 

while you in reach ob dis eye. Go out dur—
git off out Oh my sight—an’ you curl up wid de
wu’st spell o’ sickness an’ mis’ry inside dut
ebber ni gah go die wid—I tell you plain, boy.“

Unclefiax groaned and shifted uneasily in his
chair, as though he was beginning to feel a re—
turning twinge.

“ Mebbe l kin dribe dot sickness ’way f0"
good. but I don’ say dat I dead suah Unc’ Jax,"
added the doctor in milder tones. ‘ I ain’t like»
dem low. Common hoodoo coons, dat saydey kin
do what cain’t he did nohow an’ noways: dat.
ain’t my sort, sah! I say I try!”

“ You nebbcr fail yit. suh, dey say.”

“Not many times, cf I do say so." with a
gleam in his bright eyes that bctokciicd self-
pride of no slight degree. “ Dut dar one sort,
ob conjurin’ dat I cain‘t do nuflin’ wid, :m’ of
dat sort ob spell put on you, Unc’ Jax, bettab
go home an’ putt yo" house in readiness fo’ de
comin’ ob darkness! I cuin‘t salie yo’ d u. No—
body cain’t sube yo’. You dead while yo” still
breave, Unc’ Jax.”

“ What kin’ ob spell is datz sah?” quart-red the
old man.

“ (‘0 se wu’k, boy i” suddenly replied the (loc—
tor, his 'een eyes keepng close watch over his
dupe, noting the slightest change of features-
“ L‘unjurin’ dat‘s got :i m ad body into it. An‘
de body ob a dead white man am de, wu’stoball-
Hope it ain’t nutlin’ ob (lat kin’ you got put on
you, Unc’ J ax?”

Uncle Jax shivcred and turned still more.
ashen in the face as the hoodoo doctor rapidly
uttered these sentences. It seemed almost as if
the old man would drop from his seat in a state
of collapse. but he made a desperate effort to
rally as King Saul turned away to fumble among
the articles which cumbered a small table across
the room.

“ Do what you kin, sah,” he said, his voice so
steady that it startled even himself. “ Dey ain’t;
no co -wu‘k in dis spell, I don’t reckon. I
ain‘t done nuflin’ to dwarb no sech bitter black
mis’g as dati”

“ ' ope it turn out all right, Unc’ Jax,” was
the rave res onse, as King Saul stirred up the
fire in the litt e stove in one corner of the room,
dropping powdered herbs into an iron pot,
where water was already simmering. “ Don’t
looklak anybody hab a call fo’ ut dat spell on
you. People talk mighty kincr’bout Unc’ Jax
Snrsfield. Nebber say one crooked wu’d whar
my ears done keteh ‘em—an’dem ears mighty
keen, too. ’Deed dey is, boy!”

“ What you gwine do, sah, ef I kin ax de
question?” ventured the old man, as King Saul
began making mysterious motions over the now
boiling water.

“Gwine to show you who put spell on you,
boy,” was the grave response, with a glance-
over his shoulder. “ Dat come fu’st. Fin’ out
who cunjur ou, den it easy to say which de bes”
wa to br dat spell, an’ tek de cunjur off.”

‘ Gwine fetch him right in yer’i” stammered
Uncle Jax.

Cunjur King Saul laughed softly.

“Fetch his spook, not his libbin’ body, boy-\—
don’ be a fool!’

Uncle Jax seemed far from satisfied at this
charming prospect. If anything must appear
in response to the gibberish which the hoodoo '
doctor was muttering Over the bubblin pot,
With many strange gestures and signs in t e air,
a bodily glresence would give him far lees un—
easiness t an that of a spirit!

“Git ready to watch, nig !” rumbled the
Cunjur King. drawing hat: a little from the
stove and ta ing a fol ed paper from his bosom,
his nimble fingers unfoldin t and holding the
’(lipen end above the pot. ‘ Step dis wa —quick!

00 late fo’ lin h now, be !” wit sudden
sharpness as Unc e Jax show more of an in—
clination to break through the closed door in
headlong flight than to draw nearer.

With a cat-like lea King Saul caught the
trembling negro by t e arm and drfiged him
forward, casting a white powderinto t e boiling
water as he did so.

Instantly a hissing sound followed, and a
cloud of steam r060 from the bubbling wa-
ter curling over in folds, and hiding the rear
wa l of the but from View. Until King Saul
gave one vigorous puff, that parted the filmy
vail in the center, leavmg a frame-like opening.
And in this opening there became distinctly vis-
ible the head and face of a man! ,

A face, white and. ghastly, with staring eye.
balls, with black hair that seemed dri ing wet,
with bloodless cheeks and pu le. livirlnilrs.

“ Look.Uncle Jax l” rumbl Kin Saul. hold-
ing his visitor With a giant grip an inting at
the vision “nth his right and. “ ar de one-

dat put a spell on you!

Who is be? You know
him What name he go by!”

 

 

l

The Ghost Detective.

13'

 

 

There was no answer in words. Uncle J ax
stood like one suddenly transformed into marble
staring with widely distended eyes at the pale
and ghastly vision through the steam which was
now slowly closing in as though to swallow up
that dread s tacle.

“ Speak, nc‘ Jax!” more sharply commanded
the hoodoo doctor, his rip tightening. “ Who
own dat face? It look ike de face ob a dead
man! Is dat whar I git my smell ob blood?
th0 kill him, Unc’ J ax?”

Still no answer, still no move or motion on the
part of the old man. Straight at the ghastly
face he stared, like one in a dream.

" Speak, you fool!” thundered King Saul, his
face fairl convulsed with excitement and fury.
"Who ki ldat man? What you done dat mek
him cunjur you? Quick! ef dat face fade away
’fore your answer, debble can’t break de spell on
.you denl”

“He only shields the guilty bein ,” came in
sepulchral accents from those livid ips. “ Mil-
ton Sarsfield murdered me. and flung me into
the river. My name was Pendy Rowell, in life!”

CHAPTER VIII.
1310): BARNAVE TAKES AN OATH.

LIDA TREDGOLD shrunk back from the door,
-a little frown darkening her fair face. She
glanced quickly from side to side, strongly
tempted to cross the threshold and try to slip
away unperceivcl through the shrubbcry; but
at the same moment she saw that this thought
came too late for successful working.

She would be seen, and surely intercepted.
Better a meeting here in the house, where she
would have the company of her mother, than
out in the hills, with none to check an insolence
born of baffled hopes.

It was late in the evenin , or afternoon, of the
«day followingi the night w ose adventures have
been recorde , when Lida caught sight of a tall,
:athletic figure drawing near the little house on
the plateau, and had no difficulty in recognizing
it as that of Bion Barnave. His designation was
equal] certain, for in a few moments she felt a
‘wild ( esire to flee from the spot rather than
meet him face to face.

She had said nothing to her mother concern-
ing the exciting scene in which she had taken a
part on the 8st night, not wholly because she
now realized her actions had been hasty and im-
prudent. If it was to do over again, Lida felt
that she would act in precisely the same man-
ner. But she knew how poorly her mother was
feeling, and h )w little it took to seriously agi‘
tate her, though at the moment she might ap-
pear to bear up bravely.

There were certain complications in this case,
too, that made ita delicate one to handle just
rightly. Lida loved Glenn Elliston, and had ac-
knowledged a: much. She considered herself
engaged to him, though there had been no for-
mal betrothal. Owen Tredgold had expressed
his full approval, but her mother had more than
withheld hers.

“ He shall never be son of mine!” she declared,
with almost hysterical violence. “ He was a
traitor to his State in her time of need! He
fought a ainst her rights, and hel id to rivet
her shack cs afresh! You are no chi d of mine if
_you ever join hands with him, Lida!"

Nor was this all; while refusing to treat Glenn
Elliston with anything more than a frigid. polite-
ness, Mrs. Tredgold never tired of soundmg the
praises of another suitor, drawing very dis-
agreeable comparisons between them never
losing an opportunity of pulling down liliiston
while lifting up Bion Barnave.

The mere fact of her being seen out at such a
late hour of the hi ht in company with Glenn
Elliston, would be d enough in the eyes of her
mother Lida well knew: but how much worse
when she learned that her daughter had threat-
ened Bion Barnave with a revolver before the

 

neighbors—and this simply to save a negro from '

the lush!

Of course Lida knew that the whole truth
must come out, sooner or later, but she could
not bring herself to be the cue to tell the tale.
The longer it could be delayed the better. Mrs.
‘Tredgold was weaker than usual to-day. The
‘bad news brought by Glenn Elliston had severe-
ly shaken her enfeebled nerVes, and she had
only a short time before risen from her bed.

Mrs. Tredgold saw Lida pause and shrink
back, and With her senses sharpened b sickness
that was more nerVCus than physical, as edivined
something of the truth.

“ Who is it, child! There is somebody com-
in l”

5M); Bar-nave, I believe," was the reluctant
response?

“ You mean Bion, Lida,” with sudden acidity
in her weakened voice, and a sparkle in her
large, dark e es that might almost be called
vixenish. ” t used to be Bion, before that
odious Glenn Elliston came!”

“ Shall I tell him you are too poorly to re-
ceive callers, mother?" hurriedly uttered .the
maiden, her eyes downcast, her cheeks pahng,
but giVmg no other signs that those hard words

. had reached her ears.

' fact.

“ I am feeling very well—better than usual, in
it will do me to see a caller, and one
"who is a gentleman, for all your silly prejudice

\ / U' ‘- 
. y, . u .
‘ \

against him, Lida. Wish I could say as much
for all who have come here of late days!” with
sudden bitterness.

“ You will wish to talk with him, mother, and
1—1 am not feeling ver bright this evening. If
I might run out for a reath of fresh air for a
few moments. while Mr. Barnave is with you,
I’m sure it—”

A quick, firm step drawin near, added to the
warning gesture of the inva id, prevented Lida
from completin her sentence. And in EnSWeI‘
to her pleading ook Mrs. Tredgold frownineg
shook her head, to rcak into a wan smile as
Bion Bax-nave paused at the door, lifting his hat
with a courtly bow.

A little the worse for wear. Uncle Jax had
made a “ center-shot ” when he dashed his bullet-
head into the face of his ca tor, and it would be
man ' a long day before ion Barnave could
call himself as handsome as he undoubtedly was
a moment before that blow was given and re-
ceived. ..

His nose was swollen to twice its usual size,
purple and tender, liberally barked. His cheeks
were bruised, his lips cut and pulled out 4 far be
yond their usual dimensions, despite the cooling
a plications he had used for hours that day.
Iiiifortunately for him, Bion Barnave was too
busily occupied to give his bruises prompt atten-
tion, and when he did find the time, it was too
late to be of much effect in keeping down the
swelling or moderating the rainbow tints.

Mrs. I‘redgold must have noticed  battered
condition, but she gave no sign as she smiled
upon Bion Barnavc and bade him enter, motion-
ing Lida to place a chair for their visitor.

“I have been expecting you all day, dear
friend,” she said, the faint color fading from her
thin face, and that peculiar, hunted look return-
ing to her dark eyes. “I heard you were ex-
pected home from town, and I knew you would

ring the latest news of—of Mr. Tredgold.”

“ have been detained by important business
which I could not postpone, dear madam,” said
1 Barnave, with a covert glance in the direction
l of the maiden, as though to point his meaning.
“ And then—it is very hard to bring unWelcome
tidings to those one loves and respects!”

“ 1 thank you, Bion,” leaning forward and
placing one thin hand in his. “ Mr. Elliston ap-
parent y had no such delicate scruplcs.”

“ He has been here? He has told on, then?”

“The bald facts. I could not as ' him any
questions, though he acted as though nithing
would give him greater delight than to giveme
all the details. Ill news to some messengers
seems like a feast of carrion to a crow!”

“Mother!” impulsively cried Lida, flushing
and palin , tears of mingled pain and indig-
. nation spr nging into her eyes.

I “ Wel , child?” la’nguidly murmured the wo-
man, leaning back in her chair, turning her
lustrous eyes toward the tremblin maiden.
' “What 18 it you wish?” she add , as Lida
4 made no imm late response.

Bion Barnave coughed softly behind his hand,
I but it did not rise quickly enough to hide the
' birth of a malicious smile. Though he was so
jpassionately in love with Lida Tredgold, that
‘did not prevent him from feeling a certain
: pleasure in seeing her suffer, when that suffer-
’ ing came to her through the rival who had al-

most distanced him in the race for her hand.

i Lida saw this smile, and it proved just \\ hat
 she needed most. Her usual self-control was
i restored, and she resumed her seat with quiet
com ure as she said:

“ othing, mother, on second thou hts.”

" If you Were always as wise, ch' (1!" a little
sharply retorted the invalid.

} Then she turned once more to Bion Barnave
[ asking him many eager questions about her
i husband and his experience in the county seat.
' He answered promptly and at length, but
somehow, as she watched him coldly, Lida felt
that he was holding something in reserve; that
he was telling only Part of the truth; and dc»
Spite her intense dis ike for him as a man and a
lover, she felt her interest and curiosity grow-
ing with the passage of each minute.

t is not necessary to reproduce all the nes-
‘ tions and answers. Enough has already (hem
! ShadOWed forth to answer the part which that
arrest and imprisonment has to play in this
story, at this stage.

Bion Barnave answered all questions, more or
less at length then gave the wife sundry mes-
sages which he dec ared Owcn Tredgold had
begged him to deliver. After this there was a
lit 6 pause. during which be shifted uneasily in
his chair, finally uttering in a hard, slightly
strained voice:

“ Your father sent one message to you in r-
; ticular, Miss Lida, which I promised faithdially
to deliver, when—”

“I am reany to receive it, Mr. Barnave”
coldly interposed the maiden, as he perceptiny
hesitated.

“If _I might—it is a very pleasant evening

J outside!”
| “Did father beg you to tell me that?”
, ‘fLida! I’m ashamed of you i” shall] ex-
' claimed Mrs. 'l‘redgold. frowningas she et’ected
that slightly malicious smile in her daughter’s
dark e es.
such r diculous message as that!’

 

 

 

 

.v ,.
..\.'l._.:‘.”‘r e ‘ ‘. i  l...
 5; "fwd, 3*
.. ' .\~" .3, W' '%

 

.4

 

 

,~‘.r do. #4» on! - qua-a. . “:1: -

“ Then it sounded ridiculous to you, too?” in-
nocent] asked Lida.

Bion arnave flushed hotly, his bloodshot e

kling angrily. There was no longer healta-
tion in his tones as he spoke again:

“ What I meant was to beg you to favor me
with a brief interview in private, Miss Tred-
gold. Your mother is ill, and fatigued. If you
willnkindly step outside for a few moments,

“ I am very comfortable here, thank you, sir,”
with a cold bow. “ My father would not send a.
Hiessage by you which my mother may not

ear. ‘

“ I did not mean to convey that idea,” f rown-
ed Barnave.

“ Of course not—you are really growing too
stupid for any use, child!” sharply cried the
mother, frowning and nodding her head toward
the maiden, then glancin out at the open door.
“Put on your bonnet and go with Bion. Only
a moment before he came you were wishing for
a breath of fresh air. Go, my child, and no
lnore nonsense!”

“ I will not detain you long, Miss T1 edgold,”
said Barnave, fcrcing his voice under better
control. " What I have to say will come with
a better grace if you and I are alone together.
“'ill you come?”

“ Of course she will come,” interposed Mrs.
Trcdgold. rising from her chair and herself
handing Lida a bonnet. “It will be a boon to
me. as well. I am feeling tired. A little quiet
will do me good. Go, now i”

Lida made no further resistance, but silently
led the way out of the house, turning to the
right and walking steadily along until at some
little distance from the building, and where they
were out of sight from the front dOOr. Then she
paused. turning and confronting the spy of the
moonshiners coldly, her face pale and rigid as
she said: I

" You have had your wish, Mr. Barnave.
“'e axe alone together. If you really have a
message from my father, deliver it in as few
words as you possibly can.”

“If?” echced Barnave. frowning slightly as
he attempted to take the hands of the maiden in
his own, only to be baffled by a backward step.
“ Do you think I would lie to you, Lida?”

“Would it be the first time?” was the swift
retort. “ But never mind answering that gues—
tion, Bion Barnave. Your message, please. ’

“Why are you so hard toward me, Lida3~

\Vhat has changed you so utterly? Time was
when you could smile upon me. sweetly enough!”

“ Time was when I believed you a true, honest.
manly man; but that was long ago—sa about
the time this change of which you com ain be
gan in me, Bion Barnave,” was the col , cutting
retort.

“Whoever said I was false to you, in word,
thought or deed, lied in his throat, Lida 1” £0.5—
sionately. “ Tell me his name—but why 0 I'
ask that?” with a hard, vicious laugh.

“ No one has been your accuser, save your
Own deeds and actions Mr. Barnave,” was the
swift interpOSition. “I10 one has accused you
of aught to me. I speak from my own knowl-
edge.

“ What have I done? What are my sins—
against you?”

“ You can answer those questions yourself, if
you try.

nce more, will you give me that message?”

“When you have told me in plain words why
gou haveélhrovgg me over for aiiqther, Lida.

to !’ wi su en passion, quic y ste pm‘ E
befdfre her as she turned proudly away as tlibug
about to return to the house.
me out. even though I have to hold you fast
while I speak—wk) e you explain my sins which
you are punishing so heavily! Or,” with a
short, hard laugh as he suddenly released her
arm, drawing back and leavin the
for her retreat. “If you pre er finishing the
interview in the house, with your kind mother
for a witness, so be it! Perhaps I would fans
all the better thus!” ,

“You are playinga very rash and suicidal-
hand, Bion Barnave,” the maiden said, hog
him bravely. her brown eyes filled with ming
scorn and hatred. “ If there had been even the
ghost of a chance left for you, this brutal, in-
sulting demeanor would certame have blotted
it out forever.”

“ So you think, but I know better, Lida " was‘
the response. with enforced coolness. “i hold
cards in reserve, the value of which you have lit.
tle idea. Until the came my way I did fear
my game was hope ass, as you seem to think
still, but—” , ’

" As I know,
icy politeness. .

“As you foolishly imagine, allow me. to re-
peat,” with a duplication of that how. “ But a
truce to Compliments, leftrhanded or other-win.
This is too serious a matter for such. I came

here thi- evening to talk plainl and earnestly. ,

I knew just about how you won receive me. I
knew that you would sooner Gee the foul fiend.
himself.”

“ Yet you came, knowing

surprise in voice and in brows.

\

I prefer to say no more on that point. .

“ You shall bear -

path clear-:-

if you please,” bowed Lida, with ‘

this!” with M‘ “ ‘
ed r ,

“ Of course father did not send any  for a prime richly worth winning, W.» -

 

 

 

 

.l .0‘5”

KMUV ' y ‘

'Q'vw‘“ , '
» <I._o‘_.¢~.

- ..n..,... 
\‘ ._‘. ‘

.._ “my”... -.. ., ..._ .._. -.a.-. h -N-.. .- _.. .. .. - V.-.

14

The Ghost Retentive.

 

 

 

“Don’t crowd fate too hard, Bion Barnave.  his ears ever since his arrest, but that he had

That prize may take the shape of a
tridge, and I carry no hanks,” slowly, meaning-
ly retorted Lida, one hand tapping her pocket
as she spoke.

“ My memory is not so short that I have for-
gotten last night, little tire-eater,” laughed the
spy, seemineg far more at ease
conversation had taken this peculiar turn.
“ You did not see me llinch then, though I could

pistol-car- ‘

l

i

i

now the ‘

soothe prize you hint at down the muzzle ot' ,

Your revolw-r. "

“Yet you did not use the rod you flourished 1

so valiantly.
compassion in face and tones.
done to deserve such brutal treatment?
was his sin tliut—”

“ Uncle Jax don’t count, just at this stage of
the'game, Lida, though he may come in be-
fore the deal is finished,” with a short, hard
laugh.

“ You spoke falsely when you said he was
leagucd with those who sought to drag poor
father to tho gallows! llnclc Jax! I would a
thousand times rather suspect you of such black
treachery, Bion Barnavc!”

The s )y of the moonshincrs laughed hardly,
his blacli eyes glowing like living coals as ho
SWiftl added:

“ l by not make the declaration still more
binding! Why not say that you would almost
as soon suspect that inn’naculate gentleman,
Glenn Ellistonl”

“What had he
What

l’oor Uncle Jax,” with sudden §

l
l
l

“ Possibly because I prefer to leave you a mo— r

nopoly of lying.”
“Stranger things than that have happened,

little one,” with a meaning in his tunes that. de- "

spite herself. sent a cold chill
over the maiden and blanching her check.
have hesitated to say all 1 might
love you still—love you even more wholly, more
madly than I did even when you duigned to.

creeping

t. l ‘
because I ‘

smile upon inc—before that infernal sconndrel
; other, since I never took you up. That is where

came back to this place!”

“ You are alluding to Mr. Glenn Elliston,
Bion Barnavel” coldly demanded Lida, facing
him with eyes ablaze
f “ Who else i” with a sullen scowl on hisxbruised

ace.

Before the words had passed his lips, the muz-
zle of a revolver was starin him fairly in the
eyes. Over it Lida Tredgo d glanced, her tone
low and stern as she uttered distinctly: ‘

“Eat those words, you cowardly curl Take
them back. or I’ll save the gentleman the shame
of soiling his hands with you i”

For a brief space Bion Barnave met her stern
gaze fully. Long enough to see that she meant
every Word she uttered. Long enough to see
that he had gone one step across the danger-line.
Long enough to be convinced that the maiden
meant shoot!

“Consider them eaten, then—until I can re-
peat them to his face, instead of yours, Miss

redgold,”he said slowly, a faint smile curling
his thickened lips and revealing his teeth.

“ That is equivalent to forever," with a con-
temptuous laugh, as she lowered her weapon,
but still keepin it in her hand.

“ Have it so f it pleases you best. Yet the

' time may notbe so very far away when you
a

may hear those same words, if no rder ones,
uttered by li which even you will hardly dare
confront wit a loaded pistol!”

“Once more, deliver the messa 9 you bring
from my father. Unless you pre er admitting
that you lied in claiming so much, rather than
take the trouble or run the risk of forging a.
messa e.”

’ “Itold you no lie!” coldly. “I saw your
father, just as I told your mother, and he ve
mea message for your ear. He said not ing
about my delivering it in private; that was my
own idea. I fancied on would prefer to have
no other ears listen. our mother does not ex-

" , ‘ act] adore Mr. Glenn Elliston, I believe.”

“ ave that name out of the conVersation, if
you lease. sir.”

“ hen the message must also be smothered,
since it closely concerned that young gentle-
man.”

“Now I know you are lyin !” with sudden
energy. “Glenn was with fat er only night
before last, and if there had been anvthing to
tell me concerning him, father would hardly
have chosen you as his mouthpiece! You—-
whom he scorned and defeated!”

“ I whom he haslearned to know better than
he did, Miss Tredgold,” with a low how. “I

v was with Owen Tredgold last; Glenn Elliston

had not been to visit him since his arrest.”

“ Eiilse! how dare you say so!“ pained Lida
an i y.

‘ On the authority of your father,” was the
swift retort. “ lie said Glenn Elliston had not
been to see him. That he had wonderml at this
neglect at first, but not for long. Shall I tell
you why. Miss Tredgold? Will you listen with-
out burning powder?” with a low, mocking

he
“ ot with him? Father said so!” murmured
Lida. passing one hand across her brow as
though to clear her bewildered brain.

“Your father said so, and of course I could
not doubt his Word. He told me that strange,
almost incridible rumors had been floating to

 

fought hard against giving them an credence.
That he had been very slow to yield t em his be-
lief. but that at last he could doubt them no
longer.

“ lie bade me hasten to you, and bid you be-
ware ,how you trusted too far in Glenn Liliston,
foi'-—’

" Stop!” cried Lida, flushing with anger, her
lithe figure drawn proudly erect, her empty
hand shaking before the bruised face of the
moonshiner spy. “You have said enough—too
min-h!”

“And yet I have only hinted at a portion of
the infamous truth!” bowed Barnave, willfully
mistaking her meaning. “then

that degree—”

He stopped short as Lida drew back, her de-
meanor entirely changing. Her passionate an-
ger seemed to vanish as if by magic. Her face
il'lcsuinml its wonted color, and a smile came upon

er li s.
“ \ by do y0u stop?” she asked, softly, her red
li is curling with just the sus )icion of a sneer.
am so much interested! I1 beg of you to flu-
ish—once for all!”
Shrewd and clear-witted though he was under
ordinary circumstances, Bion Barnave was
thorou hly at sea just now. Perhaps it was the
strengt i of his insane passion that helped to
blind him, but he at once jumped to a conclusion
that sent the hot blood leapiu madly to his
brain, making him airly reel With its pressure.
Only for an instant. Then, rallying, he hoarse-
l y uttered:

" Lida—have I been such a blind fool? Is it
all a mistake, my thinking you flung me over
for ('rlcnu Elliston? You do not love him?”

Still smiling, still calm and amused to ad out-
ward seeming, the maiden quietly responded:

“ You have been, as on still are, a fool. It
is a mistake about my flinging you over for an-

your folly showed itself the most plainly. As
for Glenn Elliston, I do love him—better than
life. a. thousand-fold l"
“ You say this—to me!” witha hoarse, choking
iil ). '

"I thought you asked me for information?"
with a gentle surprise in her soft tones, and a
faint mockery showing in her lustrous eyes.

With an effort Bion Burnave recovered him-
self. It showed for itself how difficult the act
was, but he succeeded better than might have
been expected. under the peculiar circum-
stances.

“ And you mean to marry him, I suppose?”

“ I do.
sees me the wife of Glenn Elliston, will be the
proudest, happiest of all my life!”

Slowly, almost dreamiiy Lida. uttered these
words, her brown eyes half-closing, a. smile play-
ing about her red lips.

‘That day Will never come in this world!”
shar ly grated Barnave.

";,,You surely are not threatening me, dear
sir

“I am simply speaking the plain, naked
truth," all passion vanishing from his voice as
he spoke. “ I am telling you what will, as well
as what will never come to pass.

“ You say you love Glenn Elliston. You will
see the day, and that right speedil , when ou
will declare you hate him worse t n the on!
fiend hates holy water. You say you Will mar-
ry him: that will never come to pass. If it
s ould, unluckily, you would curse the day as
the blackest, bitterest, most, unfortunate day
the sun ever shone upon!”

“ Is that all!” with languid interest.

“ Nor half!” with sudden Vehemenoe, his
black 9 es taming almost red with the fire that
filled t em. “ Listen. Lida Tredgold! And
mark well what I am sayin !

“Glenn Elliston is a dam] of treachery and
wickedness! He came here a traitor. with his
hands red in the life-blmd of his neighbors!
He came here to gain gold by wringing the
hearts of thosei 0 never harmed him—who
took him into th ' es and hearts as a gen-
tleman and a friendg. *-

“ What is be? A  spy on the poor, starv-
ing wretches who tryto drive the wolf from
their door by the same means as their fathers,
before these accursad revenue laws were enact-
ed and put in force! He is hired by the gold of
the revenue sharks! He is a Secret Service spy,
and be it is who sends information to the blood-
hounds of the law—information gained by lying
and fawning and spying on those who freely
give him of their best!”

The languid smile faded out from that fair
face, and Lida Tredgold cast off her affected
amusement. The color concentrated in her
cheeks, glowing like twin roses of scarlet. Her
eyes began to sparkle, her lithe figure to draw

roudly erect as these swift charges rolled over

he bruised lips of the moonshiner spy.

“Have. you said your last, Bion Barnavef”
she demanded, as he paused to catch his breath
and dampen his dry lips-—“ are you through?”

“Not yet,” with a hard. harsh laugh that
showad how thoroughly reckless his mad pas-
sion had left him. “The picture is not mte
complete, but a few more strokes will put 1: in

*3 .

‘ ou learn all :
’ I can tell you your horror will be intensified to '

I shall marry him. And the day that '

 

l

l

 

l
i

 

 

‘ he gently lifted t

order for exhibition. And thus 1 give them—-
listen well, little one!

“Glen Elliston is doing all no can to fit a
noose about the throat of your father! He it
is who made the first stir in this murder case
which, only for him, might never have been re-
vived until the crack of doom. And Glenn El-
liston with his own hand penned the charge on
which Owen Tredgolil was arrested for that
murder 1”

With a movement swift as light, Lida Trod—
gold leaned forward, then back. But acioss
those bruised lips her hand had fallen heavily.

“ Liar! calumuiator! I would shoot you like
the cur you have this day proved yourself, only
Glenn Elliston may wish to make you eat your
perjury in public! I leave you for him to deal
Wit 1— coward!” ‘

“ You strike my lips now, little one, but the
time is near when you will be only too glad to
wipe that blow away with a kiss!” vowed Bion
Barnave, smiling grimly. “ Until then. mlicu J"‘
and he turned on his heel, striding ra idly away,
never once turning his head to look ack.

 

CHAPTER IX.
A T00 POTENT INCANTATION.

WITH those last words the vail of steam drew
together, shutting out the ghastly face from:
view of those on the opposite Side. And as.
though a spell had been suddcnl lifted from
him, the rigid muscles of Uncle jax relaxed,.
and with a gasping, chokingdnoan, he fell in a
seemingly lifeless heap at the feet of Cunjur
Kin Saul.

“ e spell a-wu’kin’—opeu he lips now, I
reckon! Tell ebei‘yt’ing want a fin’ out—you!”
checklcd the hoodoo doctor, with a swift glance»
toward the space where the phantom face had
been—had been, but now was not.

The dense cloud of steam was growing thin—
ner, spreading out more widely, broken here and
there by rifts and irregular openings through
which the rou h rear wall of the but showed,
clearly. Had t ere been anything else, human
or ghostly, it must have been visible then; but
there was nothing of the sort.

Evidently Cunjur Kin Saul was prepared for
this. It was hardly to e expected that he, a
dealer in theblack art, as it were, would be as.
sensitive on these points as his general} super—
stitious race. And as he stooped ever t e pros-
trate figure of Uncle J ax, he grinned and nodded
and chuckled grimly as his glittering eyes pierced
the steam vai .

With strong, nimble movements Cunjur King
Saul straightened out the up r portion of the
fallen negro, so that his breat ing would not be
obstructed. then he sprung across the but and
darted back with a small flask filled with some-
dark. strong-scented liquid.

“Open you’ lips, Unc’ J ax!” he chuckled, as:

9 head of his patient on one
arm, trying to insinuate the top of the flask
into the o d man’s mouth. “Tek des a wee,
singl drap, Unc’ Jax! Good fo’ you, honey—»

)w’ ullgggd fo’ you. now I tell you good an’

ard! a woe dra , fo’ fotch back dem stray
wits ob you’s, honey!’

Soft and plausible enough the words and tone,
but there “as an evil, malicious glow in the
eyes of the hoodoo doctor as he gloated over his
victim. A glow that deepened and turned to
hot anger as the ri idly-locked jaws refused to.
open or the tense i to receive even the single
drop he spoke so insmuatingly of.

..A blac scowl came over his face as he saw
this, and then he resorted to a greater degree of '
force—until a spasmodic movement on the art.
of Uncle Jax almost knocked the flask wit its~
preCious contents out of his hand. In his haste
to save the tion, Cunjur King Saul dropped
the head of is patient, it striking the ground--
floor with a distinct thud.

This seemed all that was needed to restore
Uncle J ax to consciousness, for when the hoodoo-
doctor turned again, the old man was lifting his.
head, his eyes staring wildly about him in quest-
of that fearful hantom head.

“ Glory to e saints, Unc’ Jax, fo’ see you
come back to dis yere worl’ once more!” ejacu»
lated Cunjur King Saul, the scowl vanisling
from his yellow face as by magic, a smile that
was at the same time wheedling and ('( mnxard-
ing, taking its lace. “Tek desa lilly diap o’
dis ’lixir, Unc’ ax, an’ you fo’git all flat 3 on see
an’ heah des now! Open you’ mouf an’ llk it.
boy! What you skeered ob! Fink I tek trouble
to 'izen ole niggah like you? Huh !”

ut Uncle Jax firmly and doggedly pushrd the
proffered flask to one side as he n'anagcd to re-
ain his feet unaided. He stagaered, (in 1 ping
eavilv into the chair. to save himself from fall-
ing at length. He tried tmce to speak. without
succeeding. But when he did manage to artic-
ulate there was no chance for d( nbt.

“ l‘l’ebber" sh .nuflin’. Nether hear nufiln’.
Don? want no drug-stuff.”

Cunjur Kim: 3801 stood gazing- fixrdly into
the ashy-huod face of his patient. his little eyes.
glowing redly, his thin lips quivering Strangelv.
And Uncle J ax .met that gaze without flint hing.
Weak though his body m ght be, his brain was;
clear and steady now. .

1

/

The Ghost Detective.

15’

 

 

“You didn’t see nufiin’, Uncle Jax?” slowly
demanded the hoodoo doctor, throwing all his
power into his blnzmg orbs, loaning a little near-
or his patient,  though to add to his gaze the
wei ht of his own personal magnetism.

“ obber see nutfin’, sah,” was the slow, dis-
tinct response.

“ ‘Vho own (lat face, Unc’ Jax? “'ho own
dat voice? W'ho say dar bin bitiali. brack mur-
(lcr done ’fore dat head come ’part l‘um do brwa
it once hitch onto by libbin’ flesh :m’ bone?
\th’ fo’ you kccl obah lak fat 110;: what knock
in head wid ax, cf you don’ scc nor hcah nutlin’é
\V ha’ mek all dat bobbcry, Unc’ Jaxuhuh?”

Uncle Jax never wavcrcd for an instant. He
5 met that fiery gaze without flincliing, the only

alteration being in his gradually contracting
‘ pupils. Smaller and smaller they grow, until it
‘ seemed as though they would disappear en-
tire! y.

As Cunjur King Saul pausol with that sharp
inlxn‘rogative e 'aculation, Uncle J ax gave a lit—
tle start, somet ing like a smile coming into his
face as he echoed:

“ Huh! was (lat it? I see do pictur’ you hang
on do wall— on done tuck it down, sub 2”

If acting, ncle Jax showed himself an adroit
one. He stared at the rear wall, rubbing his
eyes vigorously to stare again, then gazing in
perplexity at the hoodoo doctor.

“ It come an’ it go, but my han’s nebber tetch
it, boy! I say do propah spell fo’ bring up face
Oh one who cunjur you, an’ dat head mek its
’pearance dos lak you see. Hope you ain’t done
fo’git what I tol’ you fu’st han’, Unc’ Jax! Hope
you ain't fo’ it I ’knowledge ’forehan‘ out I ain t
git no powa to ondo a cunjur spell what mixed
up wid a cor so! Look mighty dub’ous, Unc’
Jax—pow’fu dub’ous, now I tell you good an’
airnes’, honey!" with a slow and regretful shake
of his feather-crested head, his snaky eyes a]!
the time keenly scrutinizing the curiously
blanched face of is visitor.

Uncle Jax shivered in every fiber, but man—

aged to mutter:
“ Mus’ be mistake, sah! Nebber gib no ’ca-
Nebber do

sion fo’ sech cunjur-spell lak dat.
dat face no harm—’deed no I”

“ Who dat face, Unc’ Jax? How dat man git
kill? What name come fum dat dead lip when

' he ’ ak to you?"

“. obber heah no name. Don’t know nuflin‘
what you ax, sah,” slowly, doggedly muttered

; Uncle Jax, shaking his head, his hands tightly

~ clinched together, every member betraying the

l intense strain which he was undergoing.

’ Cunjur King Saul laughed harshly, almost
threateningly, as he stood with folded arms be-
fore his visitor.

“ All flight Unc’ Jax! It tek mobbo little
longah, 'ttle mo’ trouble mebbe, but it come
to same flng in tho cend. You come heah fo’ ax
me tek cunjur-spell 03. I tek do job. But set-
tle it. Can’t go back dis late in do day! Dat
fetch bad luck fo’ one long yeah an’ a day—mek
eboryflng go crooked what I lay dis yore han’
to. Got to fin’ out dos who dis yer’ face is, an’
dos wh he put spell on you’ back!”

“ Ne ber min’—”

‘ “ Got to min’, boy!” was the cold i-
tion. “ Too late fo’ git skeered out now. ’ ain’t
you dat interested ’lone, but Cunjur King Saul

; too. Bro’k ho luck all up of he turn back when

‘ he once put he han’ to do wu’k. Got to go on to

l de eend, of it kill you ten times obah, boy!”

Uncle Jax shivercd anew, stealing a covert

l glance in the direction of the closed door, as

, though calculating the chances for and against

' a headlong dash for freedom. Cunjur King
Sful laughed harshly as he intercepted this

ance.

“Dodoah fas’ locked, Unc’ Jax; s k-fln abs
hol’ it mighty ti ht, now I tell you ard ! on
longin’ fo’ kick a bucket, all ou need is mek
break [’0’ dat do’ an’ tetch it ’ ore Curajur King
Saul silgn dem spook-fin ahs_ let go ar grip!
Dat’s a l, Unc’ Jax. Fin King Saul lie, des go
on s ,rementin’ lak dat—des go on, honey l”

ith fingers quite as nimble as his tongue,
the hoodoo doctor was busied with the contents
of a box which be dragged out from under the
low cot. While uttering these warnings, he was

i winding bits of rags and strin s of gay colors
about a rudely carved wooden oll, evidently of
homo manufacture.

When this idol was decked out to his satisfac-
tion, he held it up before Uncle J ax, paying no

i attention to the shivering fit which came back
with renewed vigor.

“ Kiss do fetich, niggab!” he muttered,
gravely, with a swift motion causing the ima
to touch the blanched lips of the frightened o d

4 man. “ Dar! (lat bin’ you bofo to tell do lain,
squnr’ trufe! One ob you lie now, an’ eba. last-
in’ flames eat you n ten time a minnit fum now
ontwel do an el Ga r’el blow do las’ ho’nl”

[lo steppi brisle back, drawing the little
table with him, until the width of the room
separated him from Uncle J ax. He placed the
wooden feiich on the table before him, kneeling
on the further side. facing his awed, trembling
client. And holding the fetich between both
hands, he bowed his head until his forehead
touched the table, mumbling rapidly in an un-
known tongue—or such Itseom .

After a few moments thus occupied, Cunjur

 

King Saul lifted his head and spoke to the
wooden fetich:

“ In do name oh do great an’ all-pow’ful
Obcah, 1 command you speak! ‘Vhat name dat
dead face hab when it libbin’?”

Silence. Uncle Jax held his breath until it
seemed as though he must suffocate. Cungur
King Saul turned from grave to anxmus, his eyes
dilating wildly, the veins swelling and standing
out on his temples.

“ \Vhat name—who done kill you, den ?" the
hoodoo doctor hoarsely uttered, changing his
form of questioning.

As before, not a word not a sound. Evident-
ly there was something lacking in the spell, or
his boasted power had for once failed him when
called upon.

full minute thus, then Cunjur King Saul
rose to his feet and toss d the gayly decked out
fetich back into its box, with a strange lack of
reverence, snarling viciously at Uncle J ax,
who was unable to wholly restrain the long
sigh of intense relief that came from his op-
pressed lungs.

“ You snicker, fool nig ah I” the hoodoo doc-
tcr snarled, angrily, his s ender figure drawn up
to its full hight, his yellow fingers shaking men—
acingly before the old man’s face. “ You fink it
only fun? Huh!” he added, with a harsh, dis-
agreeable laugh as he artially rcgaincd his
composure. ' “ Laugh w lo you I in, niggah.
Mo’ lak you cry when you know what all dat
’fusal to talk means!”

“’Doed, sab it on’y tickle in front,” humbly
muttered Uncle Jax, with a dcprecatory clear-
in r of that offending organ. “ ’Dcod, I nebber
fir:1 nob langhin’. Don’t feel dat way, nohow,
sa l.

No one who saw him then could have doubted
for an instant the perfect truth of this last as—
scx‘tion. Poor Uncle J ax! Of all he had endured
of recent days, this ordeal was proving the most
trying by far.

“ Lucky fo’ you, boy,” gravely uttered the
hoodoo doctor, shaking his head after a fashion
that by no means added to the comfort of his
client; “ Bad business—pow’ful bad business,
anyhow, ’dout mekin’ it mo’ wuss by laughin’ an’
scoffin’, an’ all sech ’diculous truck. Hope you
gwine to come frough it all yight, Unc’ Jax,
but it look mighty dub‘ous—’deed it do,
now l”

“ ’Deod so I” groaned the poor dupe, furtively
wiping the drops of cold sweat from his brow.

“ I gwine do all 1 kin fo’ you, Unc’ Jax, but
I done tol’ you fu’st off dat I ain’t got no iowah
fo’ cure cunjur-wu’k wid a corpse in it. at do
wu’st ob all cunjurin’, tok it inalumpzan’ do
toughest sort ob dat kin’ comes ’long ob a corpse
dat didn‘t die ’cordin’ to law an’ natur’. /

“ [ see dat face, but it stran e; nebber seen it
in life dat I kin call to min’. know it speak
wid you, Unc’ Jax, but what it an , dat wasn’t
fo’ me to hear. Nebber heah n 11’ when in a
spell lak dat.”

“ Spell on me, too,” ea rly m tterod the old
man, his eyes filling wit that s range devoted
light once more. “ I nebber heah no talk!”

“ I ain’t axin’ on what you heah, Unc’ Jax,”
coldly retorted unjur King Saul. “ It nuffin’
to me; when do fetich hold tongue ’bout it, dat
eend my intrust in do mattah, so fur. All I
know is what my eye tell me. Dat plain ‘nough
co -wu’k, an a corpse what b’in killed an’
frowod in do watah by somebody. Ef it you,
Unc’ Jax, dar nuffln’ sabo you or bro’k do spell
dat on you now. Ef not you—cf do corpse mck
mistake an’ cunjur you to nuddah pusson, say—
den dar des one chance fo' you comin’ out all
yi ht in do eend.”

, nclo Jax said nothing, though it was plain
enough that Cunjur King Saul paused for that
express . f he was disappointed, the
hoodoo octor made no sign, but added grave-

y:

“ Dat one hope lay yight heah, Unc’ Jax: do
findin’ an’ punishin’ ob do real killer ob dat
corpse! When dat come to pass, you uncun—
jurod yight away, an’ do corpse nehhah trouble
you mo’. ~

“ 1 tell you I cain’t lif’ dat spell, but I kin pu
nudder spell so it stan’ twixt you’n do corpse. I
kin mek cunjur ’trongflnough so dat corpse ca in’t
do no wuss dan pester you like; ’trong enough so
he cain’t cross obah it to kill nuh harm you in
do body. What you say, Unc’ Jaxi You want
dat sort ob s ell stan’ up atween you! You want
dat.kin’ ob c arm?” »

Uncle J ax hesitated for a moment, then hus-
kily uttered:

“ What mek one mistake, make ’nudderl He

at cunjur ,on me, what nebber harmed him in
ifc! How he know when tine. comes to tek dat
spell off ag’in? How he know when yight man
punish fo’ killin’ him?”

“ De law settle «lat, Unc’ Jax,” with a frown
of impatience “ When a man pull hemp fo’
dat murdah, den do ghost laid fo’ good an’ all!
’Way do ghost go, lak a pufl.’ ob smoke in do
win’, an’ nebbah stop fo’ ax is it do one he put
cunjur onto. Dat ghost law. Unc‘ J ax!”

“ Den I want do charm, an’ I want it mighty
bad, sah!” excitedly cried the old negro, spring-
ing to his feet. but dropping back into his chair
as thine great hoodoo doctor frowned blackly up-
on 1m.

 

 

“No sech mighty rush, boy,” he rumbled,
stei nly. “ Charms lak you need dis time, ain’t
made in sech a monst’ous hurry. Tek'siiu;e,
boy; timo’an’ finkin’ an’ heaps o’ ’spcricnce!"

" Ax pardon, sah, but I was so bad ‘ciied dat
I didn’t stop to fink how to act prefab, rah,”
murnmred Uncle Jax, apologetically.

Cun'ur King Saul paid no attention to this
remark. He. was striding slowly back and
forth, one yellow hand caressing his pointrd
chin, his eyes turned in their sockets until
nothing but “the. whites” were to lie sci-n by
the awe-stricken negro who watched him,
scarcely daring to draw a full breath.

“ It mighty hard, but it kin be did—it kin
he did!” muttcrcd the conjurer, frownin
darkiy. “Do litte fingah ob a boy what di
in a tit! De fang ob a moccasin! A lock ob
ha’r fum— -”

His voice died away in a low, inarticulate
murmur that lasted for some littlctime. Then
Cunjur King’ Saul came out of this fit of me( i-
tation, and briskly moved here and there. divin r
into boxes, rummaging in pots and fans 81h
other utensils, but keeping what be selected
most religiously from the wondering, awe-
strickcn gaze of Uncle J ax.

“Shot dem owlcyes ob yours, niggah, you
bettah l” he muttered. with a portentous f1 own
and shake of the head. “ You try to see too
much. you resk gittin’ soyou nebbah see no 1110’.
now I tell you good!”

That was enough. Uncle Jax closed his eyes
so tightly that his face was wrinkled as a frosted
craba pie, and thus he remained unt.l Cunjur
Kin ‘aul again addressed him:

“ ook up, Unc’ Jax, an‘ pay mighty ’ticklar
’tcntion to what I say. Fu'st, you know whar
dev is cross—roads?”

Uncle Jax nodded vigorously.

“ Dat good, so tur ” with a nod of approval,
as his right hand so ected a particular package
from the number resting in ins curved left palm.
“ You tek’ dis ver’ charm—do one wropped in
red, b’ar in min’, now, fo’ of you’ mek’ mistake
it all go fo’ nuffin’, of still wuss don’ come to
pass. You tek’ dis yer’ charm, an’ go to do
cross—roads to-night, as nigh come twelve by do
watch as you kin hit it. on mark out a roun’
ring yight whar do middle 0b dem roads cross,

it on you’ knees an’ say a pra’r— any one ’11 do.
( es so it comes .nighty airnest, Unc’ Jax: it got
to be mighty airnest, to do do wu’k, now I tell
you hard !

“You say (lat pra’r, den you dig a hole in
she ob a star. You put dis er’ charm in dat ‘
hole, do big eend p’intin’ no , an’ de lilly eend
p’intin‘ souf. You kibber it, up wid you’ lef’
han’, an’ pat it down hard an’ smoove wid you’
right han . You do dis, den you shot you’ eyes
an’ count des as long as yo’ kin hol’ yo’ bred
’dout bu’stin’ wide open at de Inn 8.”

“ Is dat all?” quavered Uncle ax, as Cunjur
Kin Saul
“Eat’s a 1 you need do, do charm wu’k all'de
rest. Dat ghost nebbar kin reach you ’lon
cider ob dem roads. When he come to da
charm planted dar, he dos boun’ tofade an’ melt
’way to nuflln’.”

“ But dar’s heap odder roads dat—"

“Ain’t dar mo’ charms heah, too?” shwly
interposed the hoodoo doctor, frowning. “ nit
ontwell I git done, cain’t yo’, boy?” ,

“Beg pardon, ssh—’deed I does, rah!" mutr
tered Uncle Jax, shrinking timidly back once

more.

“ I ain’t fool, don’t reckon. Knows dos how
many roads loads to de Bi House. whar yo’ put
on so much style, Unc’ ax! You want, an’
you see dar’s a charm fo’ each an’ em ery one Oh
dem roads. Dey ain’t so big, but dey on’y hub
fo’ do quarter so much wu’k, don’ you sic? You
plant one ob dem in each read—it d« n’ u'ek’
much matah des whar, nur (’93 when you does
it, Unc’ Jax, so you does lant ’em ’foxe dc moon
changes. Night or day, it all do some fo’ dem,
but do udder charm heap mo’ ’ticklar, you un’m
stan’?”

“ I be berry keerful, rah,” eagerly muttered
the old man. , '

“ To—night, mind, and nigh do itrcke ob
tWelve as ou kin hit it,” Tel'fatfd Cunjur King
Sisal, as e passt the charms over to Uncle!

ax.

With trembling firgers the old negro stowed~
them away about his person. thin produced a.
leather pocketbook, whu h be unsh zapped. show—
ing a number of bankmotes within as he handed
it in Silence to the hoodoo dcctor.

The eyes of Cunjur King Saul glittercd ava-
riciously, though they wue quidin vailcd by
his lids. He selecth two cfth- bil‘s, crumpling
them up in his hand withadmiya! he assured ins:
difference, as he added: ‘

“Dat all. Unc’ Jax.
wufl’, cf ebbah mortal man did pit it! .
do do wu’k, cf yo’ don’ mek no l‘ad nit-tales m
plantin’ de charms. Keep do ghost (fi’. srah.
An’ den, when a man hang by de neck fo’ dat‘
murdah, you nebber see anyfing mo’ cb dat
spook! Cunjur King Saul tell you so, Unc’Jax, ,,
an’ be don’ know how to lie!” .

Uncle Jax was mumbling his thanks as best ,
he could, which was but get-1y, his gratitude
and relief “as so intense. ow intense, no one,
uneven faintly imagine, unless strongly

I .. \

 

 

You got yo’ rrrney’s' __ 
Seath ' -

 

1‘

 

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w‘. I

 

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The Ghost Detective.

 

 

 

with the same superstition that held him under
its baneful s 11.

Cunjur ing Saul cut his thanks short, lite-
rally bowing him out of the hut, closing the door

behind him with scant ceremony.

Not a little to his amazement and dismay, Un-
cle Jax found that the da was gone, and night
upon the world. He coul scarcely realize that
so much time had been consumed within the but
of the conjurer. ’

He hurried along the obscure path, with many
a frightened glance over his shoulder, lest he
should catch a. glim )se of that frightful head
and face summon u by the magic power of
the hoodoo doctor. \Vhat if it was lying in
wait, resolved to work its dread will before
those powerful charms could be planted to cir-
cumscribe its wers?

So frightfu was this idea, that Uncle Jax
soon broke into a trot that quickly became a
mad, breathless race with the phantoms his dis-
torted imagination conjured up from the shud-
ows. And only when he drew near the Big
House did his pace slacken.

As recorded on a prior occasion, just so did
Uncle Jax act on this one, showing the same
peculiar precautions on entering the Big House,
going through precisely the same maneuvers,
even to descending through the trapdoor in the
kitchen.

And when he lit the candle in the room which
be occupied at night, there was the: same tag—
gard, worn, grieved expression on his face, and

0t tears rolling down his wrinkled cheeks. He,
knelt beside his cot, bowing his head in prayer.
Not for himself. it seemed. For the time being
his Wild superstitions were forgotten.

But as time passed on, and the clear, musical
strokes of a clock run out the hour of eleven,
Uncle J ax started to is feet with sudden trem-
bling. The haunted look came back to his eyes
as he glanced tremblineg about the dimly-
lighted room, like one who expects to behold a
dread visitor.

There was naught to alarm him, however.
He was alone. There was not a. sound in the
house, now that those warning strokes had died
awa .

“ t mus’ he did!” Uncle Jax muttered, des-
perately nerving himself. “ De time come
mighty nigh ’g’inst I git darl I got to go!”

Still it was difficult work, and took some liltle
time to muster up his courage. And as he
finally emerged from the front door, Uncle J ax
glared about him with wide eyes, holding his
breath and shivering with dread in every fiber.

1 His strange experience at the but of tho hoo—
doo doctor had deepened his superstition, too
strong before. What he saw there had still
mere com )letely shattered his nerves, and Un-
cle Jax su cred positive torture with each step
hetook that night.

Still, as he said, it must be gone through with
if he hoped for relief, even partial. If he could
keep that horrible ghost from coming to the
house, by barring every road leading to it, he
could confine himself more closely until—

Uncle Jax shivercd and groaned audiny as

ybefore his eyes rose the vision of a man hanging

. from a (gallows, b the neck—a man with the,
face of wen Tret gold. A face horribly dis-
torted now, but—the face of a man who died
for the crime of another!

“ It's (13 law I” he muttered, tr ing to banish

that frightful vision as he hurrie along toward
the cross-roads. “ I cain’t do nutlin‘ to hender
de law—a ore, mis’able nigger like ma 1”

Not unti the cross-roads came in sight did the
vision leave him, but it was only exit-hanging
one torture for another. \Vhat if the ghost
should make its appearance before he could Com—
filete that long ceremony as enjoined by Cunjur

ing Saul?

Uncle Jax had to pause for a few seconds be-
fore he could recall the precise manner of re-
aceeding. A devout beliewr, he dared not ta <0 a

.itep until fully satisfied that he was right.
single mistake would ruin all—would destroy

the. emcacy of the charm, even if it did not
bring still worse con uences upon his head.

That reflection lent im the necessary clear-
iiess of brain, and Uncle Jax Set to work pre-

’ ciselyas Cunjur King Saul had directed. With
two sticks and a string, he marked out a perfect
circle recisely in the center of the crossing.
With c osed e es and bowel head, he sunk upon
hil' knees an whispered a prayer; not over

I ' ‘ long, be sure, but fervent and earnest enough to

makeample amends for its briefness.

With his knife he carved a. rude star in the
hard-beaten earth, carefully preserving these
outlines as be dug down and scraped out the

\loosened dirt. Into this he placed the charm,

‘ the largest end pointing due north, then cover—
ing it up precisely after the manner detailed
with so many precautions.

, At times Uncle J ax paused to reflect, to recall
‘his instructions, but he made not the slightest
error. The charm was duly covered over, and

‘ all traces, of its presence removed. Then, still
‘ upon his knees, with tightly-closed eyes, he drew
a1 breath and began counting mentally.

’ , As ong as human endurance could serve, then,
with a. gasp, his lips and eyes opened—to behold

" 2’ ~. in. vision that caused him to forget his exhausted
~' lungs!

 

A tall, phantom-like figure stood before him,
close wrapped in a military cloak, falling in
foldstoits knees. The clear moonli ht fell across
the face—a face white and hast y—the same
face which had met his terrified gaze through
the steam wreath in King Saul’s hut—the face of
Eendy Rowell, the murdered revenue detec-

No!

And as its white hands flung open the cloak,
one finger pointing to its breast, a dim, ghost] '
circle of light sprea'l about the dark-red blotcll
which told of a life let out by murderous means.

CHAPTER X.
ANOTHER KNOT IN THE SKEIN.

GLENN ELLISTON lived in a small valley sev-
eral miles from the 'l'redgold place, this little
remnant of a competency being, for its size, by
far the most valuable and productive bit of
property in that part of the country. The soil
and exposure were admirably fitted for raising
small fruits and vegetables, but without a con-
Venient market. this became more of a draw-
back than an advantage. As Given Tredgold
ruci'ully said, when giving his cordial consent to
the ardent love plea which Elliston entered be-
fore him:

“It’s hardly big enough fer onc,an’ll make
powerful tight squeezin’ for two; so far from a
decent market. l‘li’ you cordd manage to move
the place nighcr to a market, or fetch a market
nig‘i enough fer runnin’ in garden : ass onto ‘cm,
you‘d be snug as pigs in cloVer, you two!"

Elliston was not utterly without money when
he came back to settle down, it seemed. He
hired one stout man who kept the place in order
while his young employer was away, which com-
prised the larger portion of the time, recently.

Glenn was absent on this late afternoon. when
a small company of men. headed by John Mahar
in person, rode 11p to the blocks before the neat
little cottage.

"I cain’t See nothin’ of him nowhars,” the
gaunt moonshiner muttered, just before reach-
ing,r the spot. " Ef I didn’t feel mightydubious
’bout the story coinin’ so straight an’ bein’ true,
I d o’ena’most take it he’d smeltamouse an’ skip-
ped out j st in time!”

The men who accompanied him, interchanged
glances of doubt, some seeming to at once take
the worst view of the m-itter, while a lesser
number appeared ill at case from an entirely
different reason.

\Vithout alighting from his horse at the blocks
placed for that purpose, John Mahar lifted his
voice in a stentorian hallo! that quickly brought
a similar answer.

“ That’s Lafe Dawson,” he muttered, in an
aside to his allies. “ Ef he tries to break away,
run him down of it kills a hoss! We got to git
at the bottom facts now, sense we’vo tuck it in
han’!”

There was time for no more elaborate instruc—
tions, as the hired man left in charge, just then
made his aplmarance from one of the outbuild-
ings, grinning broadly as he recognized the
ln :rsemen.

lie gave no signs of uneasiness or of taking
to his heels. Instead, he hurriedly advanced,
welcome beaming in evory feature of his broad,
heavy countenance. It Was a lonely spot, after
all, and man is a gregarious animal; little won-
der, then, that he should welcome this unex-
pected opening for a social chat.

“ Evenin’. gents!” he cried, as he approached.
“ Won’t you ’light down an’ stop a spell? \Von’t
say swap lies, for it’s mighty little news that
comes f rom my side 0’ the fence, an’ 1 hain’t
bin—he. i”

“ Whar’s Elliston?” repeated John Mahar,
jast a little suspicious of this unusually warzr
welcome. “ Ax him to step out. Won’t you?
Get a. little business to talk over with him, sence
it comes so handy.” .

Lafe Dawson grinned more broadly than ever
as he responded:

“That s my good news, then, come a‘ready!
’Light, an’ hitch. The boss ain’t here, jest now,

ut—’

“ Whar is he?” bluntly interposed Mahar,
frowning,

“ Guessin’ don’t count, or mebbe I mnught git
ritty nigh the mark an’ never try once more,”
aughed the humorous fellow, with a knowing

wink. “Tuck nigh a hour to dress, an’ when be
rid off, both shoes was shiny enough to see to
shave in!” A

John Mahar alighted from his horse and pass-
ed over the step ing-blocks while the fellow was
talking. And t en—the ugly muzzle of a busi-
ness-like revolver was thrust fairly into Lafe
Dawson’s face.

“Take it easy, my man. of you don’t want
the hull top story leostmed too bad fer mend'm’,”
curtly muttered Mahar, his face hard-set and
most discouraging to one who would like tolook
at the affair us a playful, if clumsv jest.

Before Dawson could answer, the rest of the

artv were leaping into the yard, and surround-

ing him. He was no fool, whateVer else he
might be, and sullenly resigned himself to his
fate. ' . '

“ I don’t know what i’ve done, John Mahar,
to desarve this, but I knuckle without a kick.
Putt up your gun. for it ain’t needed this time.”

l

.
, i

“ Whar’s oun Elliston? Talk straight,
Dawson! E you re ketched in a lie, it’ll go
mighty hard with yel”

“Gone to see his gal, I reckon,” was the sullen
response. “ He rid off that way, 2111’ was dress-
ed in his finest. Ef he ain’t thar, I don’t know
no more’n the man in the moon whar to look fer
him.”

“ You’ve got your warnin’, an’ of it turns out
you’re lyin’, so much the wuss fer you, Lafe.’
coldly uttered John Mahar, putting up his pis-
tol, but keeping a firm grip on the fellow’s
shoulder with his other hand.

“ “’hat fer would I lie?”

“You won’t of you valie your hide, my fine
fellow!”

“i ain’t no call to, I don’t reckon,” muttered
Dawson, yielding to the strong impulse of that
arm and moving toward the house. “ Ef the
boss hes bin doin’ anythin’ crooked, kin I help
it? Do I look like a man as’d resk his neck to
lie Elliston out of a box?”

“Shot them teeth down on that clapper, an’
hold ’em thar tight ontcl you’re axed to chirp,
Lafe Dawson,” growled the gaunt mountaineer,
then turning his head and hastily adding: “ A
couple 0’ you stow them critters away whar they
won’t show up too big. The rest' scatter an’
take a look over the place. Mebbe Elliston is
some’rs ’round, f or all this critter talks so mighty
free. Ef he breaks kiver, lcetch him! Don’t do
him any hurt of you kin git along without it.
He ain’t proved guilty yit, mind yel” I

“ It looks mighty like that’s what’s got to come
though!" frowned blunt Mark Tappan.

my critter-’s. at the bottom of it,” with a scowl
at the sullen face of his captive. “ I’m thinkin’
it’ll turn out a putt-up job. Ef it does—weal,
Lafe,” and his sinewy fingers closed on the farm—
hand‘s shoulder with significantemphasis, “ you-
’ll run up a tree without usin’ your han’s to
hyste yer body—an’ that’s swore to.”

Lafc DaWSon looked very much as though he
would like to make a retort of some descri tion
to this grim threat, but evidently conc uded
that discretion was the better policy for him to
fellow under the present circumstances. His
florid face blanched a little, and the shaggy
brows drew down over his eyes as they glanced
furtively from side to side.

He saw the moonshiners scattering as direct—
ed, searching the out-buildings, and looking in
the stables to see if Elliston’s favorite saddle.
horse was there. _
horses into the yard where they could be stablcd,
yet be handy in case of an emergency.

“You couldn’t make it of you was to try,
Dawson,” dryly observed his captor, seeming to
read the fellow’s thoughts by some magnetism
in that contact with his shoulder. “You ain’t
built jest right to outrun a bullet. an’ you make
too broad a mark for an old soldier to miss easy.
No I don’t reckon I’d try it on!”

I e pushed his captive inside the cottage be—
fore h'm, standing by his side in grim silence
until the moonshiners came hurrying up. No
need to ask for their report. They came empty-
handed, and there had been no sound of a strug-
gle or of firing.

“ His boss is missin’,” volunteered Mark Tap~
pan. “ Rocker) he’s tuk a ride. but whether it’s
fer,sparkin’ or savin’ his neck, I’ll never tell

'0! V

“ Mebbe we kin find out from our good fri’nd
here,” quietly commented John Mahar, as he
placed a chair near the table and motioned for
Lufe Dawson to occupy it.

“ I done told you all I know ’bout it,” sullenly
muttered the fellow, furtively scanning the
faces of the men by whom he was surrounded.
“ Elliston rid away jest after dinner time, an’ I
hain’t see’d nothin’ of him scnce. He never said
wliar he was goin’, nur I wasn’t durn fool
enough fer to ax him when he ’lowed to git
through his business”

“\Ve’ll let that drap, then,” coldly uttered
Mahar, drawing a chair opposite the fellow,
bending across the table and gazing keenly into
his cyn s as he added: “How much you git paid
fer sellin’ us out, Lafe Dawson?”

“ Sell who—I ain’t bin sellin’ nobody out!”
exploded the prisoner, with a startled glance
into those stern eyes opposite him.

Those who watched him close] -—and this com-
prised about all of the party— ancied they saw

im chan 0 color and lose a rtion of his
dogged eel possession as John ahar abruptly
asked that sharp question. He seemed conscious
of this fact himself, and plainly strove to cover
it over by his assum tion of ruzzlcd surprise.

“ It’s a mighty bat habit. an’ one I’m sorr to
see is growin’ on you terribly. Late.” co dly
uttered John Mahar leaning back in his chair
and lacing a cocked revolver on the table be—
fore im, the muzzle turned so as to cover the
hired man. “You’re gittiu’ to he sech a slave
to lyin’, that one of ’em slips out store the truth
kin git even hate a chance to hem itself. A
monstrous bad habit, an’ one that’ll check your
growth in a heap hurry, of you don’t mend it,
Dawson.”

“ It’s easy to calla man a liar with him kiv-
ered an’ sech a gang 0’ backers all ’round el”
sullenlv muttered the fellow, his bull-dog w:
- squaring pugnaciously.

 

“ l’d heap ruther resk a dollar that this squir— ‘

Two men were takirg the'

 

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The Ghost Detective.

17

 

“ An’ jest as easy to prove himaliar, why
don't you say '9’” half-laughed the gaunt moun-
taineer.

“ Did you hey to fetch sech a crowd along jest

to hear you say this? It ain’t like you, Mahar,
to kicka man that’s down. I cain’t fl ht the
hull kit-aii’-boodle. You know that! hen——
ain‘t it rather low-down for you to fling the lie
in my face, when you know I cain’t take it
[1,“?!
'John Mahar flushed a trifle. for this cold
: peech cut him deeply. But he had planned out
hi; course, and it was too late to alter it at this
stage of the game.

“Then you’re ready to take oath that you
liain’t bin selliii’ our secrets to the revenue
sharks, Lafe Dawson? You’ll kiss the book an’
swear you don’t even know how they come by
the knowledge they’ve used ag’in’ us so mighty
heavy?"

Slowly, distinctly the gaunt mountaineer pro-
nounced these words, and a faint nmiinur run
through the lockers—on as they noted the gradual
drooping of the prisoner‘s eyes, bold angry and
defiant at first, but growing troubled and un-

ucasy as Mahar pinned him down closely.

Dawson tried to speak, but something working
in his throat seemed to choke him and he” back

~.the words. He cleared his throat hoarsely, and

gave a toss of his shaggy head that was intended
for reckless defiance; but for all that, his eyes
failed to meet the steady gaze of his inquisitor,
shifting uneasily, more like one guilty than
i l iiiOCLmt.

"l kin sw’ar I never sold no sech news to no-
Iiioly!” he muttered.

“ Kin you sw’ai‘ on don’t know who did do
the sellin’ then?" ark Tappan sharply mtei"
NHHL
I John Mahar frowned darkly, moodily, as he
saw how hard this query struck home. infe
Dawson shrunk before it, his eyes glancing

:swiftly around as though in quest of a loophole

through which he might esx-ape.

It was an ugly, disagreeable affair at the best,
and one into which he had entered with positiVe
reluctance.

Past events plainly proved the existence of a
traitor in their midst. Some one who was
thoroughly acquainted ,with the moonshiners’

.screts had given the revenue detectives infor—

mation on which they had acted with disastrous
results to the natives. Stills were raided and
michinery destroyed, which all felt confident
could never have been unearthed save through
treachery.

Nor was this the worst. On more than one
occasion, resistance had been made, and blood
shed freely. The moonshinch believed that
the right was on their side, whatever these
new-tangled laws might say, and doggedly
fought for those rights and their property.
Some of them even unto death. And those
deaths lay at the door of the secret spy and
treacherous informer who sold their secrets to
the revenue mcn.

With others, John Mahar had taken solemn
oath tospare no pains in discovering who this
secret spy was; and when that discovery should
be made he had sworn to never know rest until
i'ulland ample punishment was administered.
II“, fully meant it then; he meant it just as re-
solutely now; but he had never once dreamed of
the matter taking a turn like this.

Glenn Elliston was charged with being that

.secret spy, and enough evidence brought for-

ward to justify this effort to arrest him. In the

absence of OWen Tredgold, the real head of the

moonshiners, John Mahar was called u n to
take charge of the affair. He did so, but it was
with a secret hope of clearing the accused. He
could not believe him guilty of such damnable
treacheg. He felt that Elliston would have but
little di culty in proving his innocence, provid.
ed he was given time and opportunity for so do—
ing. But he well knew how hard it would be to
hold his mates in check when the game was
once sprung. In their resent state of mind,
they were far more like y to punish first, then
sift the evidence a inst their victim.

Late Dawson he not been in the county long
enough to have wrought all the mischief. If he
was guilty, he stood not alone. He was prompt
and decided enough in declaring his own inno-
cence; why did he hesitate avid stammer and
look so confused when Mark Tap ian asked if he
could declare on oath that he did not know the
guili’y one?

“ in him down to that p’int, Mahari” sharp-
ly added Tappan, With a frown. “You know
w didn’t come here to tackle jest him.”
flute Dawson flashed an angry glance in that

irection, but before Mahar could act on that
blunt suggestion, he boldly faced his captors.
315 2211.08 clear and distinct. his face pale and

2'

cgLook'here, you! I’m not much better’n a
stranger in these parts. I come here to make a
honest livin'. So fur I’ve gone my wa an’
never wronged nobody. I say I hain’t sol you
out. I hain’t give no information, to remove
man nur anybody else. Ain’t that plain enough?
W hat more kin you ax?”

“ The hull tru , not on’y part of it,” bluntly
retorted Tapp “ You know who has
played us dirt. You kiup’int out the dirty

 

whelp as did sell us; an’ now you’ve got
to do it!” '

“ Oi' suffer the same penalty that awaits the
informer!”

"' Which is a dose 0’ hemp r0 1”

“ Give him a taste of it now, an’ it’ll be mighty
apt to liniber up that clapper 0’ his!” growled
still another.

John Mahur impatiently lifted his hand and
motioned for silence. He was obeyed, but the
dark, menacing frowns warned him that unless
he wished the command to be taken from him,
he must lose no further time.

“You  Lafe; it‘s a clean breast, or a
stretched neck. If you know who the guilty
man is. better spit it out in a. hurry!”

“ I don‘t know—-”

“But you suspect,” as the man hesitated at
that word. ,

“So do you, (him it all!” DaWSon snapped,
with a vicious glance into that stern conn-
tenance. “Why don’t you act on it, then, not
drive a. critter into twistiii’ the rope fer the neck
0’ one who‘s al’ays treated him clean white!
Don’t make a dog of a man who wants to treat
everybody as they treat him!”

There was a brief silence. In his earnestness
Dawson had said enough to condemn the man
he sought to shield. Not one pres'cnt but felt
confident he was trying to shield Glenn Ellis-
ton. ‘

He himself saw this a second later, and his
florid countenance turned many shades paler.
His li is parted as though he would try to cover
the slip, lnit the murmur which came from the
scowling moonshiners told him only too plainly
that this would be worse than useless.

A sudden recklessness seemed to come over
him. He flung back his head and spoke rapidly:

“I’ve done it now. hain’t I? Wan], let it go
at that. I‘d ’a’ saved him of I could. but you
badgered me into lettin’ the cat out o’ the be"
an’ now I’ll do the clean thing. I‘ll tell allI
know, an’ then—when I git hands free ag’in, I’ll
put in good ten hours aday hard work to it
even! I’ll begin at the head an’ go down to t- e
foot, lickin‘ or gettin’ licked! You hear me,
boys!"

“ You won‘t liev to call the roll twice, Daw-
son.” laughed Tappnn.

“ You wouldn’t be lit to answer it, of I did.”

“Drop that, an‘ gct down to sober business.”
steriin inteIpOsed John Mahar. “ that do
you know about this matter? Who do you sus-
pect o‘ S( llin’ us out to them bloodhoun’s?"

“ It‘s you that’s doin’ the suspectin’, not me,”
sullen] . “You think Elliston is the guilty
one. ilebbc he is. Mebbe what I saw his
ovoiiin’, just after he come from town, ’11 make
them siis ncions sartainty. Ef they do, I cain’t
help it. l ain’t a dog, but I cain’t be expected
to hold my tongue an’ git lynched for another
feller, kin I?"

“ What was it you saw?” demanded Mahar,
ignoring the question.

“ Saw him hidin’ papers in a hole—papers that
lie ’peared to be mighty keerful of, tool Saw it
through plum’ accident. Mebbe it won’t liolp
you out the least mite, an’—"

“\Vhar’ll we find this hidiii’-place?”

“ Look behind that pictur’ on the wall,” lift-
ing a finger and indicating which one he. meant.
“'l‘lier’s a hole in the plasterin’, you’ll find, an’
the papers is in a little tin box.”

John Mahar rose and lifted the picture. To
all appearance the paper-covered wall was in-
tact but a closer examination showed that a
small square of paper, plaster and lnths could
be lifted up on cunnineg concealed hinges, re-
vealing a small hole, in which was snugly fitted
a tin box, with one end left 0 an. Inside this
was a much smaller box, which be extracted
and opened.

From this he took a paper, folded in small
compass. Openin it, he glanced rapidly over
its contents, partIy printed, the blanks being
filled up with n and ink. A
spread over his ace as he read.

“What does it ’mount to, neighbor?” sharply
demanded Mark Tappan.

“ It’s a commission, or somethin’ 0’ that sort,”
slowly responded the gaunt mountaineer. “ It
shows that Glenn Elliston is a re ’larl a‘p’int—
ed officer in the revenue service. t gives him
power to ’rest everybody that he knows or hes
cause to, think is ’gaged in makin’ moonshine

w .

“ Thyat cooks his cake, then!"
his eyes flashing.

A ow, deadly sound came from the assembled
moonshiners, and as Lafe Dawson glanced from
face to face, he must have seen that the fate of
his employer was sealed by that revelation. It

dark frown

grated Tappan,

may have been this that rendered him desperate, .

or it may have been with the hope of insuring
his own safety: be that as it may, he broke out
with a short. hard, reckless laugh that startled
the angry mountaineers. And as they turned
tgfir blazing eyes upon him, he spoke rap-
1 v:

“A teller might as well hang fer a hull flock
as fer a single sheep! You’ve made me betray as
kind a master as a body everneed ax fer, though
I ain’t snyin’ he mightn’t be heapsquarer man.
as a man. Fact is, I know could, of he hed-
n’t bin sp’iled in the makin'i” . ,

 

“ This ain’t the time fer idle chatter, Late
Dawson,” steme uttered John Mahar, replacing
the paper in the box from which he had taken it.
“Ef you know anythin’ more, spit it ont—an’
mighty sudden, too!”

“ You know when Owen 'I‘redgold was tuck?”

“What hes that got to do with this case?”

“ That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ye,” was the
cool response. “ Jest a little afore that—by
scratchin’ up my meni’ry I reckon I could pin it
down to a day ef you want to be that particular
—I happened on a paper in this very room
which the boss bed fergot fer a bit, I reckon. I
looked at it. as ’inost anybody would ’a’ done,
never tliinkin’. It was writ’ by the boss, from
the looks, though I ain’t takin’ oath to that ef-
fec’, mind ye. An’ it was a clean ’scription of
how strangers might find whisky stills, even in
the dark un’ without any other guide. Them
stills, as I guessed, was yours, Mahar, an’ yours,
Tappan, an’ yours, an’ yours an’ yours,” nodding
in rapid succession as his eyes passed from one
moonshiner to another.

“What did you do with this paper?” slowly
demanded Mahar.

“ Left it right whar I found it." was the
prompt response. “ “’by fer not;l Elliston paid
me my wages. He‘d al‘ays treated me White, an’
I wasn’t under no obligations to kick up a.
r0w.”

“ You knew he was sellin’ us out, didn’t ye?”

“ I didn’t know nothin’.” was the dogged re-
sponse. " The paper wasn’t writ fer me to read.
It might be writ’ jest as a scrt 0’ exercise, to
limbcr up his pen. An’ then I beam the boss
comin’, an’ I got out 0’ this in a hurry. Vme I
come back, the paper was gone. an’ it clean
slipped my mind from that cute] now. I reckon
beca‘se I hed somethin' else to think of—some-
thin’ else a heap more interestin’.”

“ What was that? Mind, only a clean breast’ll
save ye, Lafe!”

“ Somethin’ the boss talked to me ’bout, that
same night. He axed me how much money I’d
take to—”

Late Dawson paused abruptly, glancing quick-
ly toward the open window, through which
just then came the clatter of horse’s h0ofs on the
lower road, growing lainer and more distinct
with each moment. 0 same thought occurred
to all, and John Mahar exclaimed:

“ That's him comin’ now—Glenn Ellistonl” ;

l

CHAPTER XI.
A GHOST THAT KNEW TOO MUCH.

IN . 'hless horror Uncle J ax stared at that
dread phantom. For the time being hewas like
one turned to stone, so far as the sense of motion
was concerned. He could not move. He could
only stare at the pale, ghostly face, dim and in-
distinct at first. but steadily growing plainer
and more distinct, as the bluish flame upon its
breast rose higher with its weird, smoke-like
tongues.

The face which had stared stonin at him
through the curls of steam in the but of the
hoodoo doctor—the face of the murdered detec—
tive, with the same uncanny, livid pallor that .
marked it when first discovered after death— ’
as it was when Uncle Jax shiverineg forced '
himself to gaze upon it, with the water still
dri ping from it.

hen, as now, there was a bloody blotch mark-
ing the seat of life. A hole through the white
linen, directly above the heart, where a revol-
ver bullet had cut its deadly passage. And it
was spoken of in low, subdued whi rs by these
who witnessed the removal, that w n the bod
was first di awn from the. water, onehand f
with outstretched finger touching the bullet-
mark, as though mutcly calling attention to the
ghastly eVidence.

And now, just as he had seen it then, Uncle ‘ :1 '- I
J ax saw that white finger pointing at the blood-
marked bullet-hole. I ~

It was strange, but though he was incapable
of moving a muscle during these first few rec-
ends, and though his horror-dilated 9 were
held spell-bound upon that dingy red hits)th in
the center of the lue. flickering flames, Uncle
Jax could see every inch of that phantom

 

shape. And he saw these livid lips slowly 7‘  
first «

separate, and even before he heard the

sound. he knew that the ghost was about to ad—"  I i ’

dress him. . ,
“You summoned me, and I am here,” came
in slow, sepulchral accents, that sent a convul-
sive shudder over the frame of the negro. “ It
is time, surely! Time that the dread truth should
be told! Time that this weary spirit of mine be
given rest and oblivion!” .
That voice seemed to partially dispel the r.

paralysis which had benumbed poor Uncle Jax - ~ « «1

mm the instant of recognizing that dived vi- 3-
sion. and he shivered from top to toe, bowing his
head and 00vering his eyes with tremblingflnd
gers. a hollow moan escaping his lips.

“ All unprepared, I fella victim to one whom
I deemed my friend,” slowly uttered the

tom a movement of its arms permittt the .
cloak to fall together over his body shutting; 
out that weird light from view. “ un 

m I was hurled into the premace of my”

ker. Not a moment for repentance. Nam:

to breathe a prayer for mercy. ,
9‘ Was it not enough to kill my body without

 

is a fool as well asan im stor, Unc J ax. You
should t as muc from the manner in
I which the c rm he sold you has worked. You

, murder him, too?”

I the 'old man, faint (1y

18

The Ghost Detective.

 

 

 

destroying my soul as well? Dooming my spirit ‘
to wander through the night without rest or
ransom? Chaining it to the spot near which it I
lost its fleshly envelope! Condcmning it to
wander and never cease until the dastardly hand .
which sent the his~ing lead through my heart is '
brought to justice!

“For ages—each mortal day an eternity to
my weary spii it — have I suffered, forced to wait !
until your lips would pronounce the words t! at i
were to set my spirit free! The time has come
at last! You summoned me, and I am here;
speak, Ajax Telamon! Make known to all the
world—the spirit world, now filling the air and
fanning your bowed head with their wings—the
name of the false friend who fired the dastardly ,
shot! Confess, Ajax Telamon, and let me ,
do )art in peace!” ;

l
!

1in a. groan from the old negro as his frosty
head bowed lower, literale in the (lust. Not
for a single breath did he suspect that there was j
any imposition. All of his superstition was :
awake, and he never once doubted that this was !

the host of the murdered revenue detective, ‘

 

Pen y Rowell. ,

A brief space of silence, then that scpulchral 1
voice came to his cars again. this time sounding
sharper, harsher, as though impatient at the de—
lay in uttering the confession he seemed to take
for granted.

“ Speak, Uncle Ajax! You dare not hesitate,
after having used magic arts to compel my
presence at this uncanny hour! Speak, Uncle
Ajax, unless you would have the Words wrung
from our lips by torture such as even your
fearfui'soul could never anticipate! Who shot
me, Ajax Telamon Sarsfleld? Who hurled my
quiverin body into the water!”

“ ’ I do’ know, iiiarster!” groaned the

r negro, shivering like a leaf, groveling still
ower in the dust.

“ Dare you lie to me, dog!” steme cried the
spirit, stamping its foot with a decided echo.

“ Nebber lie—nebber know nuffin’ ’bout it,
marster!” wailed Uncle J ax, his face to the
ground, his bony fingers clasped over his bare
skull, his elbOWs drawn in to closely shield his
ears and neck.

“ Then why did you summon me to this
charmed spot? Why bury your magic talisman
here where the roads cross, at this Witching
hour? Why take so much pains to insure my
coming, if not for cthe purpose of satisfying
offended justice?"

“ Nebber done it, marster! Nebber wanted—
nebber fink de charm wu’k dat way—cross my
heart, sah!” ,

Not even the most skeptical of ghosts could
for an instant have doubted the perfect sincerit
with which these words were uttered. So ful
of misery, of fear, of repentance!

If no better result came from that dark night’s
work, it would prevent Uncle Jax from ever
calling on Cunjur King Saul for a charm!

“And our heart is still stony, still deaf to
justice, IIncle Jax?” and there was a softened,
melanchol cadence that drew a. subdued moan
from the lips of the r negro. “ Think! Did
I ever treatryou nn indly while the breath of
life was in m bod ? Did I ever curse at or
abuse on? Hive not time and in filled
your ingy paws with gold and silver Did you
ever do me a serVice that I failed to repay your
time and trouble a thousand fold?”

Still silence, save for a low murmur that
might have meant almost anything—save peace
of mind or body!

“ Yet youarestill hard. still obdurate! When
I tell you that I am doomed to wander through
this cold and bitter world without rest or ceas-
ing, until my murderer is brought to justice—
until the dastardly crime of my murder is expi-
ated in full— on can still lock your lips and re-
fuse to utter t t one word?"

Uncle Jax shivered convulsively, but man-

to .

“ De fie comin’, marster. De law done
hang aman, den you trouble no mo’! Cunjur
Kin Saul he say so.”

. “ nd Cun ur King lied when he spoke those
Words," wast esharp, impatient response. “He
0

bought itto keep me awa ; it brought me to
your side despite yourself.’
Uncle J ax groaned in bitter, if unavailing re—

et.
gr“ Cunjur Saul lied to you in that. He lied to
ou when he said that a dead man Would break
a spell, no matter whether that nian‘was
guilty or innocent. And out—Unclegam
would you burden your son with a double
crime? Would you hang Owen Tred old for a
crime which he never Committed? \ ould you

“ De law, de lavlv done do it, marster,” gasped
“ And you won] keep silence, knowing his in-
nocence as well as you do, Uncle J ax? You
would lock your teeth and rmit him to suffer
a. death of shame on the gal ows for a crime an-
other committed ?”
“ What I do, marster?" moaned the negro.
“Tell the truth, let the consequence be what

 

it may,” was the swift, stern response. “ Go be-

fore the court and make full confession. Tell the
story of that dastardly crime. Name the villain
who murdered me, and receive the reward of a
clear conscience.”

“ Nebber tell—can’t tell—unflin’ (0 tell," mut- 

tered Uncle Jax, clearly recovering a little of

. his usual courage.

The ghost stamped its foot impatiently, and
for an instant it appeared as though it was on

the point of assaulting the cowering negro. iiut .

then it spoke, low and earnestly, a vein of me!-
ancholy running through its Words:

“ There is a linnt to my powers as a spirit, old
friend.
hand struck me down in death, I am restrained

from mentioning that name while a single hope ,
remains of having the black truth exposed by :

other and mortal lips. I am powerless, in that
I can assume a visible shape only during the
dead hours of night, and at cock-crow I fade
away into nothingncss, so far as mortal eyes are
concerned. During the day, while I suffer on,
I am wholly powerless.
logo of entering court and testifying in favor of
the innocent, whilo denouncing the truly cuiltv.
Only for that, I would pity your grief and
tiouble you no more.

“ Listen, Uncle Jax, and if you have really
forgot'x-n the events of that black, wretched
time recall them new.

“ came here, lighthearted and meaning no i

wrong or harm toanybody. I was wearicd with
hard \vork and sought rest in ecu-lusirn.

“ I had a friend whom I had known for years.
We attended the same school when boys; we
kept term at the same college when young men;
we fought in the same sad war, though on op-
posing sides; when that war was ended, we met
again without a. harsh word or a hard thought,
true and s'ncere friends as of old.

“ This old friend wrote to me, and I came in
answer to his letter. I found him married, and

living happily, though in reduced circumstances: .
for he had been on the losing side, and the great- ,

or portion of his property had left him. And

only for my influence, Uncle Jax, not even tho ‘

plantation on which I found him would have
been left! The papers for its confiscation were
already made out when I interfered and had
them canceled. Was this the work of an enemy
who deserva such a sudden and cruel fate?”

Uncle Jax groaned in mental agony, still
groveling in the dust at the feet of the ghost.

Ie did not speak. He could not. For he knew
that all this was true!

“ I was gpvy and light—hearted, as why should
I not be? earying work was left behind me.
I brought not a care with me, to interfere with
or mar m biief holiday. I was with my old
friend. hough I refused to admit it when he
charged me with the kindness, I knew that I
benefited him as it is given but few men in this
life to benefit another. Therefore, if I could
have had any dOubt, otherwise. none came to
me now regarding my being perfectly welcome.

“It was ong before I suspected my danger.
Who could have suspected her—that gay, bright.
seemingly angelic woman?
foreseen what followed? Not I, for one!

“ Before I suspected aught, 1 was in the toils
of a. beautiful. passionate, conscienceless woman!
You remember her. Uncle J ax!”

The negro moaned ashe moved uneasily. Sure-
ly he remembered!

“ Before I realized my peril, I fell the victim
of woman’s wiles and man’s unreasoning jeal-
ou. l And yet—before high Heaven take
oat , Uncle Jaxi—there was no me, no further
wrong on my side than a harmless, thoughtlem
flirtation with a woman who, as the wife of my
friend. was sacred to me asasister! Iswear
this, Uncle Jax, yet because of that careless se-
curity, I was murdered! Shall I tell you the
names of that woman and her husband? Need I
do that. Uncle Jax?"

“ Nebber knowed ’em. sah! Nebber knowed
no sech pussons!” the old servant quavered, try-
in in vain to speak with stand promptitude.

n his des ration he liftc his head for the
first time, loo ing u into that white, rigid face,
trembling in every ber, et forcing himself to
conquer is superstitious read, lest he work ir-
reparable injury to one whom he lovod a then—
sand-fold better than life.

“ There was a meeting, one day, near the riv-
er." said the ghost, in deep, sepulchral tones.
“ There was a shot fired-a dastardly murder
committed—n still quivering corpse hurled into
the waters! But the waters have given up their
dead. Uncle Jax! The spirit of the murdered
man demands vengeance on his slayer! Do-
mands it of you, Uncle J ax !”

“ I can‘t gib it, marster,” muttered the negro,
his voice growing stendier. a dogged look com-
ing into his dust-covered face.

“ You know who committed the crime, Uncle
Jaxl”

“ Don’ know nuflln.’ Nebber knowed nufiin’.
Ki-s do good book, sah !"

The full moon shed its elmr light over the
cross-roads. It revealed the two strangely con-
fronting figures with fair distinetness.

One kneelin humhlv in the dust. with bands
tight], claspei before his bowed. shivering body,
but w th gaze steaxlilv, almost doggedly bent on
the white, ghastly face of the being towering

r
/

Though I well know whose ruthless‘

I am denied the privi- :

th0 could have '

‘ above him. The other erect, one hand holding:

‘ the folds of the long, dark cloak about him, his
right hand raised, half in appeal, half in stern
menace.

“ Do not add to your sins by furthcrpt-rjuring
' yourself, Uncle Jax,” the spirit of I’cndy Row—
: ell sternly uttered. " Listen to the horrible

‘ punislmientwhicli will certainly overtake you if
you remain obstinate—if you 8 ill refuse to con-~

fess the truth, and while raving an inncu nt man
from the gallows, bring a just and richly—meri—
ted iunishment upon a redhaneed assassin.

“ cfuse to confess, and y< ur cw ry day shall
be one of never-ceasing torture. You every
night shall be haunted as never moi ta! man was
haunted before. Sleepingk or waking, you shall
never know rest, never 'now one instant of
peace or content. \Vherever you go, there you
shall be attended by spirits and spooks and hob—
goblins, bent on making your life a perfect hell
upon earth! Others may not be able to see them,
to hear or comprehend the words they sing in
your terrified ears, but all the time you will
A hear and see and feel them—not a minute in each
' of the long hours will you l‘e free from them!

" This is what it nnans to be a truly lzannted
‘ man, Uncle Jax, and a haunted man will you
‘ remain unto the end of your wretched life, un~
less you make what amends you can lorthe.
criminal past.”

The spirit of Pendy Bowel! ceased spt akin ,
sternly, menacineg gazing down npen the o d.
negro. But Uncle Jax only muttered: '

“ Don’t know nuffln’. Ni bLu' knou ed nuflin’,
marster 1”

“Such will be the life. that you must lead,
; Uncle Jax, from now until the end of ()wen
! Tredgold’s trouble. If he should be cond( mned

—if you Armit this judicial murder to be con-

summat —listen, Uncle Jax! ,
I “All that you may have suffered before. will
i behap iness sublime in com arisen with what

must then befall you! The g iosts will surround
you in tenfo'd numbers, and to them Will he
added all the evil imps from the hottest pits of
Tophet! And then as a crowning punishment,
Satan himself shall come to claim you! Not
dead, but living, Uncle Jax! Alive—knowing
that you are alive, never to die, always to suffer
and endure the most frightful torments Satan
in his malice can devise! To be alive, yet among
the dead, Uncle Jax! Think of it !”

Now the r. su
until his tee click audibly, and for the first
time since he lifted them to that white, ri id,
death-like face, his eyes grew unsteady, t en
closed in horror.

“Not dat, marster—not dat!” he moaned, his
bowed form awaying to and fro, his bony hands
twisting and writhin . “Kill a po’ nigger but
don’ put sech a awfu cuss onto his head! Don’
do it kin’ marster!” '

“ Then confess, Uncle J ax !” sharply riponded
the ghost, bending forward with a r light-
glowmg in his dark eyes. “ Tell the true story
of that merciless assassination! Give the name
of the murderer before it is forever too late to
lift the bitter, black curse!”

“I’fess, kin‘ marster,”faltercd Uncle Jax;
then his white head was flung back, his eyes
V glowing, his tones wing strong and full as he
added swiftly: “ done it, marster! I shoot.
dat man! I kill Mars‘ Pend Howell!”

The being with the white ace started back, a:
strange ex ression coming into his face that
made itlooE much more life-like. A muttered

 

gether of rage or disappointment: it was mingled
with admiration for such heroic self-sacrifice as.

his.

“‘Deed I done it, marstor!” eagerly added
Uncle Jax, rising to his feet with trembling
haste, holding out his palsitxl hand as though he
asked no greater boon than tobe placed in irons.
“ ’Deed I done it, all 0’ my own se‘f, ssh. Detble
minto me, an’ des tole me to kill do man. No—

y else nebber knowed nuflin”tall’bout it.
sah! es ole Unc’ Jax by hisse’f, sah!
Kiss de , , ef—”

A stern motion of the white hand checked his
ea rspeech. Cold and hard came the words:

‘ You are lying, Uncle Jax, in hopes of sav-
ing another, whose life is not worth your little
finger, black though on be. I honor you for

our fidelity, foolish y exhibited though it is.

on are one of a thousand, and deserve a better
f master than the one you are tryingtoshield
‘ from 'ustice.”

“ l as me—was ole Unc’ Jax, I done tol’ ye!”
‘ harshly, almost savager muttered the negro,
‘ rec-oiling a little, his c inched hands drawing
i back to his sunkm chest. “Nobody else didn’t
nebber know nuflln’ ’tall ’bout it, ain’t you heah

1ne tell?"

3 “ Poor fool!” muttered the ghost, with a con-
1 temptuous pity that smacked far more of the
1 mortal than the spirit.

1 “ Dat it—poor. no ’count fool!" eagerly cried

(IF

 

the old man, catching at each chance. however
frail. v “ Ain‘t fit fo’ libbin’ longah, Une’ Jax
He dr-ne ’fess de bull ting, sah! Done tek
i eat he kill dat man. Nobody else done knowed
‘ anyflng ’bout it, ssh! Des Unc’ Jax— an’ Unc’
l Jax ready fo’be tok to de gallows, sub—ready
i an’ waitin’. All a lie who say anybody else done

knowed it, sah! Des ole man, sah!”

ain’t.

rstitious negro shivered ‘

oath came up in his throat, yet it was not alto--

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Ghost. Detective.

 

 

That white hand moved out until it gently
rested on the head of the feverishly anxious
negro, though the owner‘s veice was Cold and
hard as he spoke again:

“You are a poor old fool, U nclo Jax, if you
think you can save the real murderer by sacri—
ficing yourself. Milton Sal'sticld, your old mas-
ter, murdered me, and flung my body into the
rchr! You were a witness to that murder, and
you‘ve got to swear to the truth before the court
that tries Owen Trwlgold forthe deed committed
by .\l; E ton Sarsfield 1"

Uncle Jax shrunk bad; with a, gasping groan
of lulu-£10.] rage and grief. Then—six il‘tcr than
one could believe pessible—lie whipped forth a
heavy revolver, and thrusting it forward,
fired l" __

CHAPTER XII.
MORE TRIBULATION FOR UNCLE .mx. ,

Tin; ghost reeled back, flinging up its hands
with a. sharp cry that had a strangely human
sound to it.

Uncle J ax waited to see no more, but dropping
liis won )1] he broke away from the cross-macs
in head ong fright, running as he had never run
bxfore since his wool turned gray.

It was a sort of blind instinct that led to that
shot, rather than anything,r like reasoning; on lris
part. IIis superstition was no whit the 1m;
strong. Not for an instant did he doubt that
this weird, white-faced, bloody-l,rcastcd being
was reallv a ghost, an avcn'i'iiig,r spirit: he ll(‘\'tl‘
once connected it with trickery, or fancied that
it could be as mortal :is hiizisclt'.

Driven to (lvspcrai ion, his hand touched the
butt of a weapon, and \i'iihoiitstopping to think
or reason, he blindly thrust it forward and fired
once. Then he dizl i'ccl—l'cel that hehad severed
his last l'iik, destroyed his last chance of cvrr
conciiuting that arcngingr spirit. And in an
agony of mangled h' rum and grief, the poor devil
fled at top speed, blindly, unwitting Whither his
stepsch him.

Even in that moment of madness he fancied
that the dread tlircats of Pendy ltowell's ghost
were alr_ady beginning t) come true. He lan-
cied that the air about him was thick and suffo-
cating With horrible winged creatures. He fan-
cied that he coiil.l feel them brushing against his
face and Ixrson-l‘anciul that he could see them,
even when he closed his eyes tightly with a gasp
ing moan of horror. '

A haunted man! Haunted forever—haunted
until death should come to relieve him of his
nnser —-haunted by night and by day, sleeping
or wa ing. never to be for an instant free from
those horrible phantoms! Hauntml wherever he
went or whatever he didl Death would be a
thousand times preferable to such a doom—
death— ,

“ live, Uncle Jax! Satan shall carry you
off alive!” '

The words seemed to float to him on the air,
and a choking scream broke from his li . as he
flung up his trembling hands and dash on still
more frantically. Not even in death would he
find relief ! Even death Would shun him, unless he
told the whole story of that sad tragedy. Un-
less he uttered the words that would save the life
of Own Tredgold and restore him to libertv.
Unless he pronounced the doom of the really
guilty. Unless he should set the bloodhounds of
the law on the track of the actual assassin!

“I done it! Me—Unc’ Jam !” he pantcd,scarc(~
ly conscious that the words were passing his lips,
as he staggered on at too speed, reeling unstead-
ily, his brain whirling and throbbing like
mad. ‘ Nebbernobody else knowednuflin’ ’bout
itl Des me—des—-—”

His foot caught against some obstruction, and
he fell headlong to the ground. A gasping cry
mingled with his fall, but he made no attempt
to arise. Motionless asthough dead, Uncle Jax
lay there in the road, his body in the shade cast
by an adjacent tree, his head and shoulders out
in the moonlight.

Poor Uncle J ax! Perha it would have
been a merciful been that fall roved
fatal. Perhaps it would have been bet for
him had he never come back to consciousness.

Poor, crcdulous, superstitious creature! Weak
and crring, he was stronger than many of
those who would have held their nose high in
lofty scorn at the comparison. Strong enough
to resist temptation when it promised him

.ace and safety at the expense of his fidelity.

trong enough to offer his own life as a sacrifice
for another. Strong enough to defy a spirit.
To conquer his own superstition.

Black though his face. hegre though he
was, rude, unlearned, weak in morals and
principles. A criminal. in that be permitted
an innocent man to suffer for the deeds of an-
other. DeSpite all this, Ajax Telamon Sarsfleld
was a hero.

How long that spell of unconsciousness lasted.
Uncle Jax never fairly understood. All he
knew was that when his eyes opened. it was still
night; that he was lying on his back in the
road, with his head supported on a friendly
knee, a kindly face smiling over him, and gentle
hands moistening his faCe with a cooling liquid.

“ Was me—was des ole Unc’ Jax—kiss de
book!" he muttered glasphigly, his noor brain
resuming the thread w are it had broken off.

 

A low, relieved laugh checked his wan-irr-

ings, and a. well known voice rung pleasantly

in his bewildered cars:

“ Uncle Jax, I’m astonished at you. sir!
tonished and Scandalich! A venerable pairi-
arch like you getting drunk and lying,r do“ ii iii
the public highway to sleep it oil! Uncle Jax—
Uncle Jax i”

A s— y

The poor old fellow opened his eycs still wider, ‘

drawing his head back to take a stcadier view,
slowly, doubtingly muttering:

“ It am you, Mars’ Grlennl7
you, sah?"

Fo’ suah it done

“Bite your t‘ umb and see for yourself, U ncle 5

Jax.” lightly laughed the young man, as he
steadied the i‘ca‘ro in a sitting )osture. “ Indeed
it is me, and none other. “‘isli
readily reccgrnizo you, old friend, but it'smighiy
hard work!
guiscd in all. l'ly lil'c! Uncle Jax, you want to
touch it liglfi! ! Distilled moonshine is mighty
potent nicdl' 3.:e, and powerful apt to get this
upper hand of one who measures out his own
0021‘!”

“You po‘.:2:i’ fun at 010 man, Mars’ Glenn,”
mumbled 1;]. 1: Jax as he glancel covertly,
ii‘ai'ily around them. “You ain’t see’d ’cni,
llars’ Glenn-1 You hain’t sce’d nufliin’Llak—
iiiiflin’ awful ’sterions, Ink?”

“ bike, snakes and rats or the man with the
poker, Uncle Jax?“ laughed Elliston, but with a

‘l'llo‘tl‘l light in his eye" astrange comprcss'on

I could as :

i l;(.‘\'(‘l‘ saw you so thoroughly dis— 1

of nis lips that told of deeper, stronger fccl- l

ings held in reserve. “ Ycu want to taper oil',
and that in a. hurry, old fellow, unless you want

to throw the Whole country into mourning for .

one of its oldest, most respected citizens! Let
whisky alone, Uncle Jax, or—"’

“ ’Deed I hain’t tuck nnllin’ scncc—”

“ The last time—of course! You‘re drunk,
Uncle J ax, and mighty nigh ready {or delirious
trimmings to your case. Look out that they
don’t serve as funeral trappings, as well, Uncle
Jax!”

“ Drunk—Uncle J ax, drunk!”

“ Precisely what I said, old fricnd: drunk and
trying to sleep it off in the middle of the road.
Lucky travel is not very brisk along this way.
Uncle Jax, or there might have been a scrious
accident before I happened along. Get up, and
let ire see you safcly home.” -

“Drunk—an” nebber a singllf drap o’ lickcr
pass dcso lips fo‘ long years! ow l git drun“:,
Mars’ Glenn!” muttered the bcwildcrcd ol.l fol-
low, snifiing the air tremulously and mechani-
cally smacking his 11 s.

lienn Elliziton laughed shortly as he retorted:

“It must be the moonshine in the air, then.
for if you don’t smell like a. perambulating still,
I don’t want a cent!”

“ Dey is a sort 0’ smell—an” ’pears like I kin
tas’e somefinglike—it‘s do dohbil’s wu’k l” Uncle
J ax cried, with a sudden suspicion that started
the cold sweat out all over his person.

“ Devil‘s work and devil’s brew, sure enough l”
with a dark frown and instinctive clinching of
his hands. “ There’s a bitter black curseupon
the vile poison, and upon all who handles it!
Would that I could sweep it all out of existence
—but that wouldn‘t undo the foul work it has
already accompllsned, worse luck!”

Uncle Jax was not listening, was not pa ing
attention to this passionate outburst. his
fresh suspicion was troubling him sorely, and
trembling like a leaf he glared around them,
expecting to behold some grim and gruesome
Si?‘ :t.

The fact that nothing of the kind greeted his
vision failed to greatly reassure him. He felt
that the mocking demons were there, even
though at that instant invisible.

He feeny smacked his lips, and sniffed the
tainted air. There could be no doubt; it was
whisk y, and the solemn oath he took when that
heavy blow fell upon him, years ago, had been
broken. But how? '

“De .dcbble done it!" he moaned, shivering
from head to foot. “ De debble done it, to
cotch me in atrapl Done it to git me drunk,
an’ den to talkin’ oolishl But it all a lie—nig-
ger nebber tell de trule when be drunk like datl

Vhisky mek lie come—you know dat, Mars’
Glenn!” turning to the frowning young man,
who gave a start as though for a moment uns
conscious of his surroundings.

“A lie—of course it is a lie—black and foul
as the brain that first concocted it!” passion-
ately cried the young man, brushing a hand
hurriedly across his damp brow. “I’ve sworn
to expose it——to bring the whole truth to li htl
You can help me thcrc, Uncle Jax,” be ad ed,
with an abrupt change of voice as he caught the
trembling negro by the arm, gazing keenly,
cagerly'into his face. “ You can throw some
light on the sad afl‘air, if you will !”

“ ’Decd de ole man don’ know no more dan
nuifiin’ whar it come from niir who gih it, Mars’
Glenn! ’Doed I nebber tctch do whisky—”

Elliston laughed shortly, dropping his arm as
be interposed:

“Is that what troubles you. Uncle Jax! I

 

gave you the stuff, when I stumbled over you ;

lying here in the road like a drunken bog! At

first I thought that you had met with some ac- E

cident. and so tool: the s! or‘cst method of re-
storing your sense-x ‘Blll‘ I' failed to find any

i

marks or injuries. You have been hitting the-
bottle too hard, Uncle Jax 1"

“ An” (lar wasn‘t no :mcll ob whisky afo’ you
come, Mars’ Glenn?” with breathless eagerness,
a terrible weight lifting from his Lmrt.

“ I didn‘t stop to investigate so chilly,” with
a laugh. “ You ought to know List, Uncle
Jax.”

" Ii‘o’ more’n a y’ar I nelltcr tctcl‘. no Vi hisky,
marster,” more quietly (.hscrvcd the old man.
fiii'tivcly brushing t! e. .‘\\'( at five his l 1'! w.
“ Mighty sorry you gib it tome dis tinze, bah—-
mighty sorry!”

“ The bit I gave you’ll never maize your had
two big for y or hat in the morning. L'Lclc Sax.
But how come you so. if it “ain‘t \« liisky!”
What are you doing out here at this time 0‘"
night? Where have you been, and what imp--
pcncd to you 24”

“ Des—dos out fo’ lillv walk, marstcr," mum—
bled Uncle Jax, lis cycs diccpiiig. his fingers
iici'vously cntwining. “ Couldn’t rltt‘p, Sime-
how-’pcars like dcy too much ’tricily in de air,
sah!”

“ That, or some other sleep-disturbing power!”
mntterrd Elliston, “'lth a faint smile. " I was.
troubled in much the same manner, I guess. I
could not go home, or even think of getting to
bel, though it‘s precious little sleep I’ve had fol"
the past week or two! Sleep! who could sleep,
v. hcn there’s so much trouble in the air? Uncle
Jax!”

“ Ye—yes, marster,” faltcred the negro, nn--

casilly.
' “ Tncle Jax, do you know that Owcn Tred-A

gold is in great. peril of his life? That he is held
for trial on the charge of having murdered that
revenue detective, Pendy Rowell’!" ~

“ So I——-so dey say, marster.”

“ And all the evidence against him is the foul.
charge of a vile liar. Uncle Jaxl A lying (ow-»
ard who dares not even make that charge over
his own name, Uncle Jaxl Think of that, will.
you! An honest man to be cast into priscn for"
an at‘ociow crime, on no better evidence than
an anonymous charge! It is a burning shame
Uncle Jax!” ‘

“ Yes, marster.” falteringly.

“Just think of it, will you? An honest n an
torn from his home and family, dragged to jail.
like the vilest of criminals, and shut up there
from his friends and wellswishers—for what?‘
Simply because a cowardly pcrjurer charges.
him with committing a crime the memory of
which had long ago faded from the mind of '
every man who knew of it at the time 1”

Uncle Jax moaned faintly, mechanically sltak~ -
ing his head. Not from every mind—not from
at least one memory.

“ With his wife lying on a sick bed, from
which she might never rise in life, Uncle Jnxfi
From his loving daughter, who was forced to.
remain behind lest that sick wife and ironic!“
suffer worse! And he innocent as the child inc
its crib, Uncle Jaxl Think of it—think cf it
well, old friend, and then say what a Iran (It--
serves who could remedy all this with a single
word! Who could set the innocent free, and
put the guilty man in his place, by Sim} ly ( cm~
mg forward and detailing the tingedy, Just as;
it occurred! What does such a man descrver,
Uncle Jaxl”

“ Delf. marster—defl? by hangin’ like he done-

de killin’wif he own han’,” softly uttered its» ‘

old negro, a bright light coming into his eyes as}.
thg involuntarily glanced up“ ard.

ow gladly he would have accepted death as
full atonement! After what had happr ncd that:
night, he felt that death by hanging would he a'.
boon, rather than a fate to be avoided VI itlr.
horror.

“ All of that, Uncle Jax,” gravelynresponded

Elliston, his gray eyes glowin brig ly as they‘
closely watched the negro. “ ven worse, should.

he keepiilence still lon er—should he dale tO‘,

keep his ghastly secret ast locked in his own
bosom until that innoccnt man was tried, (011+
demoed and executed for a deed his hand never
committed! And worse than death would sure—-
1 be the doom of sucha heartless wretch, Uncle-

ax! Death would be a glad been to him. I tell
you! He would never know a moment’s peace
or quiet! He would he constantly haunted by
the spirit of his victim—haunted until his brain»
gave way and he Went trad, to sufl‘rr all the
tortures of the damned in this lifcl And in the

l other. Uncle Jax'? What would be his reulard
t is i

there? For this life is not all. Uncle Jax.
only the beginning. Onlythe first breath vi hie h
a man of a hundred ycars draw 5. Think of
that, Uncle Jax!” '

“Ain’t I done fink it all chcr titre on’ time
ag’in?” desperawa muttered the par fellow. ion
on instant forgetting the strict gain «1 v hid: he
had put over his lips. “ Ain’t I fink—J"

“And you have repented, Uncle Jaxl" eager»
l_v asked Elliston, leanirg loi maid, his grip,
tightening as he awaited the 9x1 e( t« d aniwer.

An answer came. but it was not the<ne to»
expected or hoped for. That flrsh of (agn'ncss
put Uncle Jax once more on his guard. and c iih

a hypocritical whine he mumbled some platitudea
about reflection and repentance for his many“

sins: about his “ gettin’ ’ligion ” at the first op»
[crtinnty that offered.
Ellistnn frowned blackly,

\

and his fingezsz,‘ 

u,"

 

 

 

 

 

you in violence.

20

The Ghost Detective:

 

 

 

closed with a gri that caused the negro to wince

with pain. At t is Glenn released him, with a
.short cold laugh.

“ ou’ll need all the religion you’re likely to
,get, old man, or I’m widely out in my estimate
of your character. And the sooner you lay in
a big stock of it, the better, if you are bent on
keeping up these nocturnal prowls of yours.
What appenedto you to—nightl \Vas it sud-
deii religion that flattened you out in the read
here?”

I " Reckon mebbe ’twas, sah,” muttered Uncle
Jax, with a furtive look around, dreading the
reappearance of that white-faced phantom to
contradict that assertion.

“ The devil’s religion then, I reckon!” with a
sneer. “Was that your patron saint, Uncle
Jax, who stole you away from the men up you-
der last night?”

“ He said he was de debble, sahl” shivered the
old man nervously.

“His looks don’t greatly belie him. then!
VVhat did he do with you, Uncle Jax? How
did you slip out of his clutches?”

' “ Don’ talk 0b it. Mars’ Glenn!” with a doleful
groan and anotherapprehensive glance around.
“ It too awful fo’ to talk ’bout out lieah in (1‘)
night! Mebbe he lieah what we say, an’
den—”

“ Even Satan himself can’t Well take offense
at the plain truth, and you are ’way above tell-
ing a lie, Uncle Jax: not a soul in all the county
but knOWS thatl A lie would stick in your
throat until it choked you to death, Uncle Jax;
wouldn’t it?”

Softly as Elliston spoke, a smile beaming on
'his face, Uncle Jax cowered uneasily, a low
moan escaping his lips. Just then he could bet-
ter have faced stern threats or fierce upbraid»

in .

gsAll right, Uiiclc Jax,” added Elliston, with
'a soft, genial laugh. “ Never mind telling the
story, if it troubles you; let it pass for the pres-
ent. Doubtless it will keep for a more favorable
opportunity, and without its los‘ng any of its
flavor or interest. It is enough for me to see
that you (lid escape, without suffering any mate-
rial injury.”

“ Nebber git liu’t much, inarstei'.”

“And it pleases not only me, but one other
will be very glad to learn that you are none the
worse for your Wild ride, Uncle Jax,” gently
.added Elliston. “ She thinks retty near all
.the world of you, Uncle J axl on should haw
seen how she turned upon me last night when I
begged her not to run the risk—when [ miplored
her to leave your rescue to me! \Vliy. fora
moment I almost fancied a wildcat was flying

in my face!
“ Leave you to me? ‘Why,’ she said, ‘Uncle

Jim has ever proved himself faithful and true to

me! He has served and honored me as though 1
were aqueenl He would lay down his life at
:any moment, to save me from injury, or from
one single pang of pain, bodily or mental! If I
were in peril—if an one dear to me was in like
peril—«and Uncle ax could save me or them,
think you he would hold back to see another
take his place? That would be the act of a
coward—a criminal! And Uncle Jar: is neither.
He would die for me or mine, and I can do no
lessl’

“That is what she said, Uncle Jax, though a
thousand times more earnestly than I can repeat
her words. You should have seen her face as
:she uttered them, uncle J ax—the face of an an-
gel! As for what she did, I need not remind
. on of that! You saw her—you heard her vow
{0 sheet the first man who dared lay a finger on
Kind, gentle, tender-hearted
though she is when in repose, Uncle Jax, just
then she would have kept her oath to the very
letter. One touch of the rod which Dion Bar-
nave was flourishing over our back, would
have drawn a bullet straig t from her pistol
through his brain. And all for you, Uncle J ax

'. --—all or you, remember!”

“ S e kin’-—too kiu’ fo‘ ole nigger!” moaned
Uncle J ax, shifting his weight uneasily from one

, toot tothe other, casting a furtive look around

as though to make sure the coast was clear for

hasty flight. ,
But if such were his then hts, they were frus-

trated by Glenn Elliston, w ose hand once more

. «dropped upon his shoulder, not firmly, but with

:a gentle, almost caressing touch. And his voice
was'still softer as he spoke again:

“ Thus she spoke, and thus she believed, Uncle
«lax. \Vas she mistaken in her estimate of you,

','»old friend? Would you actas she indignantly

predicted, or would you, if the test ever came,

' 3 prove yourself the coward and criminal by deny-

mg her aid ?”

‘I gib her life—gib life to sabe her f’om
trouble, marster,” impulsively cried Uncle J ax,
the hot tears starting in his bloodshot eyes, his
voice choking.

“ Then the time has come, old man!” sternly

, cried Elliston, his grip tightening on the arm of

the old negro, his eyes all aglow. “ She appeals
'to' you for that sacred duty—the duty she
«earned at your hands by her heroic action last
' ht. She asks you to speak the word that will
so her innocent father free from the toils some
devilish enemy has so cunningly wound about

'17 ; Mini She begs of you to reveal the true story

v

_; ,

of that black tragedy; to confess the name of
the one who really murdered Pendy Rowell !”

Uncle J ax made no effort to escape from that
fierce grip, though Elliston felt a strange shiver
creep over him. He cowered for an instant, but
as uickly recovered, gazing straight into those
flas ing eyes, his dusky face motionless as a
mask of iron. Then, when Elliston ceased speak-
ing, his li s parted to utter:

“ All I 'in do fo’ Miss Lidy, dat I do, free as
air an’ mighty glad fo’ de chaince, iiiarstcr. But
dis 1s mo’ dan in my pownh, sun. I nebber
know who kill Mars’ PCIKly Rowell."

“ Uncle Jax!”

“ Itde Gospel trufc, Mars’ Glenn,” was the
steady response, still unflinchineg meeting that
flashing gaze. “ Ole nigger don’ know who kill
him, but he go ’fore dc court un’ sw’ar he do, of
Miss Lidy ax it. Go dar an’ kiss do good book
while he say dat he kill ’im— Unc’ Jax kill ’im—
of Miss Lid ax it, sali!”

It did no sound like empty vaunting, uttered
in those quiet, deliberate tones, and accompanied
by that steady gaze. Even in the depth of his
disappointment Glenn Elliston felt this and
Could not entirely smother a feeling of admira-
tion for the speaker, poor negro though he was.
After all, may they not have made a mistake!
Did Uncle Jax know anything positive as to the
person who murdered Pendy Rowell?

Thoughts something similar to these flashed
through the busy brain of the young man as he
stood in brief silence gazing into those haggard,
blmidsliot, but unflinching eyes. Almost invol-
untarily the words came to his lips:

"Uncle J ax, where is Milton Sarsficld hiding
himself?”

“ Mars’ Sarsf‘ield libbin’ in for’n parts, sah,”
bowed the negro, with strong emphasis on the
word substituted for the one used by Elliston.

“Uncle Jax, it was Milton Sarsiicld who res-
cued you last night.”

Even as be cast this shaft Elliston saw that it
had failed to strike home. That look of ludi-
crous bewilderment could not have been so
quickly cmintcrfeited, and wit-h a frown of (lis—
appointment he turned partly aside, to utter a
sharp cry as he saw that same wild, shaggy-
haired creature moving slowly toward them
through the moonlight. His grip tightened on
chlo Jax’s shoulder as he pointed and whis-
1X)l‘(‘(l hoarsely:

“ There he is now!
your life, old man!”

Who and what is he?——on

CHAPTER XIII.
AN omnovs RECEPTION.

U NCLit J AX Cl'illg‘i‘d beneath that fierce grip,
rendered doubly close by excitement and the
sudden suspicion Wliicli had once more assailed
the brain of Glenn Elliston. His back was turned
toward the point where the wild horseman of
the previous night, now on foot and seemingly
unconscious of their close proximit . had made
his appearance. No sound had liera (led his com-
ing, and the old negro could only stanimer:

“ Who—whar—wha’ is it, Mars’ Glenn?”

Strange how that wild and seemingly impossi-
ble suspicion haunted Glenn Elliston! The first
minute of leisure after that strange rescue of
Uncle J ax from the hands of the moonshiners by
that wild, weird rider—the first minute s iit in
trying to solve that enigma—told Glenn bthtOll
that tnis pretended madman was the long-ab-
sent Milton Sarsfleld himself!

He told himself that it must be instinct that
led him to this conclusion, for whenever he tried
to calmly reason it out, to smooth away the
many iinprobabilities, he could not answer the
arguments sober reason brought forward, and
that suspicion faded away like the human breath
from the polished surface of a mirror.

To return again and again, with strange per-
sistence. Lida Trcdgold convinced him that it
was impossible this wild creature and Milton
Sarsfleid could beone and the same rson. That
day he had talked with several of t e mountain-
eers about the curious affair, and without be-
traying his purpose, managed to gain a tolerabl
clear description of Milton Sarsfield. Unless a
these were mistaken then this wild horseman
could not be the missmg planter.

Still the suspicion would return, and it was
very stron when the young man closely ques-
tioned Unc 9 J ax concerning his weird rescuer.
'It faded awa , as it ever ( id when confronted
with the rec s, as the old negro replied, only to
flash bac with redoubled force as Glenn caught
sight of the strange being slowly approaching
them, coming from the direction of the Big
House.

“ Yonder—behind you. old man !” grated Ellis-
ton, his free hand pointing toward the slow]
sauntering figure. " Who is it? On your son ,
Uncle J ax, is not that Milton Sarsfleld ?”

Apparentl Uncle J ax did not hear the hastily
uttered wor 5. At that gesture, lie twisted his
head around and glanced down the road. A
choking, spasmodic cry rose in his throat as an-
other trembling flt attacked him. He shrunk
back as though he would take to headlong flight,
but as Elliston tightened his grip. a hoarse, rasp-
ing scream broke from the old man’s lips.

 

~‘.‘Ha’ntedl rs a ha’nted niggarz De debble-—
do debble done come fo’ ole r ncle Jax ag’in!

 

Sabe me, Mars’ Glenn-~sabe ole nigger f’om
white hairy debble!”

With a wild, quaverin scream, Uncle Jax
surged forward and clo with the man whom
he begged to save him, and such was his impetus
that before Elliston could brace himself he was
overthrown, both men coming to the ground
with a resounding jar, tight locked in each
other’s arms.

“ Don’ leff him~skeer him off, Mars‘ Glenn!”
gurgled Uncle Jax, as he clung with frantic
desperation to the young man, whose main
efforts Were devoted to freeing himself from that
anaconda-like hug. “He de debble—dc debble
done got a grudgi- ag’in’ ole nigger! Donl—don’
lcif him tck ole—-”

“ Let up, you infernal idiot!” snarled Elliston.
writhing and twisting until his right arm was
free, when his sinewy fingers closed on the throat
of the negro, pushing his head backward with
irresistible force.

Another desperate effort, and Elliston flung
Uncle Jax clear of his breast, springing to his
feet, one hand sccking the butt of a revolver
while theother brushed the dust from his smart-
iiig eyes. He glared around in quest of that
shaggy-haired figure, but without success. And
a grating oath escaped his lips as he realized
that another chance had escaped him tln‘ough
the incredible stupidity of this old negro.

Was it stupidity? Was it not all a plan to
enable that strange being to escape him? Was
not Uncle Jux tr 'ing to repay the service done
him on the night ast past?

Even as he sprung;r hastily forward to the point
where he had last caught a glimpse of the stranc

er. these suspicions found birth in his whirling
rain.

Pistol in hand and ready for instant use,
Glenn Ellistoii glared about him, seeking to dis-
cover that shaggy—haired sti anger. Acress the
strips of moonlight and into the shadows be-
neath the trees his keen eyes glanced, but with—
out success. If the wild horseman had indeed
been a spirit, or the foul fiend as proclaimed by
Uncle J ax, he could not have vanished more
completely or suddenly.

True, there were many spots where a man
might hide, safe from all but a systrmatic
search. There were dense patches of shadow.
Clumps of bushes and brambles. Patches of
vines and creepers. All within a distance which
might be covered by an active man during the
brief period occupied by that fierce struggle in
the arms of Uncle Jax. Any one of those hid-
ing-places might shelter the one be sought, but
to uncover him would be a matter of time——
would be a work of no mean danger, should the
stranger have reasons for not wishing an inter-
View.

And then—an angry cry escaped the lips of
the young man, as he saw Uncle Jax scramble
to his feet and take to hasty flight.

" Halt, you black rascal!” he cried, fiercely,
for the moment forgetting the stranger, spring-
ing forward in angry chase of the fleeing negi o.
“ Halt. I say, or I’ll bring you to a halt with a
bullet!”

lie lifted his weapon with that intention, and
even caught bead on the skurrying figure, but
then refrained. Angry though he was with
Uncle J ax, he could not bring himself to kill or
cripple the poor fellow. And elevating the
muzzle of his pistol, he sent a bullet whistling
through the air over his head.

That served every purpose, for with a howl~
ing cry Uncle J ax seemed to stumble and then
plunged headlong to the ground, rolling over
and over, groaning and mumbling as Glenn
Elliston came up with him.

“ G’way—oh, g’way, oed mars’ ' ebble! Unc’
J ax done nuilin’-—-Unc’ ax done dead an’ boun’
fo’ glory !”

“ I’ll devil you, you rascal l” grated Elliston,
as he rolled the negro over with one deftly-
applied foot. “ Stop that infernal howling and
get up! Stop it, or I’ll ram my foot to the knee
in your mouth l”

“ Good Mars’ Debble!” gasped Uncle Jax.
opening his tightly—closed lids and glancing up
——to stop short with a subdued howl of deli h
“ You, Mars’ Glenn? Den de debble ain’t——

Elliston stooped, and fastening on the collar
of the negro, brought him to his feet witha
single jerk. Holding him with a grip of steel,
gazing angrily into his eyes, the young man
steriily uttered:

“ You’ve played the devil, Uncle J ax! And if
I was only dead certain you played it with
malice aforethought, I’d strip your black bide
away inch by inch !”

“ An’ do debble—dc debble‘s gone, Mars’
Glenn?” stammered Uncle Jax, glancing quick-
ly, shiveringly around as though unableto fully
realize that glad fact

It actin , it was perfectly done. If playing a
part, Uncle Jax proved himself letter-perfect.
So perfect that Glenn Elliston began to doubt
again. Surely this was real, not assumed.

“Gone—yes!” with something that sounded
suspiciously like an angry oath. “ Gone—while
you spread yourself allover me like a fly-blisterl
Only for that—Uncle Jax, who was that fellow?
Lie to me now, and you’d better have died in
your cradle !”

“ ’Deed I mos’ wish I had I” moaned the old. '

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man, the very personification of misery and
wretchedness. “ Ain’t wutf libbin’ dis wa 1
Ain’t no good libbin’ to be ha’nted an’ bede
bled an—”

Glenn Elliston shifted his strong grasp from
shoulder to throat, and the muzzle of his pistol
made a dent in the temple of the negro.

“ Drop that whining and come down to sober
business, Uncle Jax!" ho sharply uttered, his
face pale and resolute. “ You’re playinga game
that will land your throat In a mighty snug-
fltting noose, if you keep it up much longer.
That shaggy-haired fellow is It ilton Sarsfield;
where is be hiding? “hat is he hiding for ?
Out with it, and lively 1"

Even as he uttered the questions, his heart
sunk within his bosom, for he could not mistake
the look of bewildered astonishment that came
into the face of his captive.

“ Mars’ SnrsficId—dat debble—hidin’filat gits
me, bad I” gasped Uncle Jax, his stiffened nuis-
cles relaxing, his wide eyes staring at his captor
in stupefied Wonder.

Almost involuntarily Glenn Elliston relaxed
his grasp, and the old man staggered back a
pace or two, staring into his white face like one
who has serious doubts as to his complete sainty.

“ If not Milton Sarsficld—if not one in whom
you took a powerful interest—why did you con—
nive at his escape when chance brought him
fairly into my power? \Vhy did you trip me up
and shout out to give that mysterious scouudrel
warning?”

“ Mars’ Sarsfield—why he in for’n pahts,
boss!”

Elliston frowned darkly, but by biting his lip
sharply, he managed to check the retort that
s )rung up in his throat. Excited, irritated
tiough he was by the. strange events of that
night, he could see that naught was to be gained
of Uncle J ax by open threats, granting that he
was really concealing important information.

, “ Then you don’t know who that fellow was,
01:1 friend?” he contrived to utter in a steady,
softened voice.

“ De debblc, sahf” muttered Uncle Jax, shiv-
ering anew as he glanced nervously about them
as though expecting to behold some terrifying
manifestation of that dread title. “ Dat‘s what
he said wif his own two lips, Mars’ Glenn! Hope
to die of it ain’t dc gospel trufe now!"

“ If you hadn’t acted so clumsily, I'd have
turned him into a ghost in a hurry!” muttered
the young man. with a moodv frown.

“ Talk low, Mars’ Glenn! Ef he heard you say
like dat— Good Lord be wid us bofe!" gasped
Uncle J ax, with a. hollow groan.

“ Nothing worse than a screech—owl, you
idiot.” muttered Elliston, unable to wholly sup—
press a laugh at the ludicrous dismay e reused

‘ in voice and body at that shrill, diabolica sound.

u

“Your nerves are goingeback on you Uncle
Jaxi One would almost tempted to believe
you carry a guilty conscience about with you t”

“ Ole man gittin’ sick, Mars’ Glenn—feelin’

w’ful weak an’ uawmy ’bout de stomick,

s3!” groaned the o (1 man.

“You’d better go home and turn in, Uncle
Jax. But first—what shall I tell Miss Lida?
Haven’t you a word of comfort to send to her?
Haven’t you a single gleam of hope to lighten
her darkened pathway?” . _

Uncle Jax stifled his moans, drawm his
gaunt figure erect and firmly meeting that con,
sue icious aze as he slowly uttered:

‘ Say to iss Lidy des dis, marster. Say .to
her dat Unc’ Jax ain’t fo’git how mi hty km’
an’ noble she act to’ds him. Say to iss Lidy
dat Unc’ J ax ggt feelin’s, of he be nuflin’ but ole
nigger. Say Miss Lid dat her nebber
be hung fo’ what day say e done, 9 nc’ J ax
hab to go into court an' ’fess he killed Mars’
Pendy» Rowell he own se’f, nah i”

“ But you didn’t kill him, Uncle Jax!”

“ Ef de wu’st come, Unc’ Jax kiss de book
an’ tek out he done killed him, Mara’ G enn, more
do hull court. De best 0’ n1 rs ain’t wuff
much now, Mars’ Glenn _an’ Unc Jax done see
his best day lOnE ’fore 188 Lidy bornded. Don’
mattah much ow soon he 0, now. 13th
hang ole wore out nigger dan . fine manlak
Mars’ Tredgold. You tell Miss Li y not to fret.
All come out right in de eend, say. Dat ’nough
to tell her; den say all come right ef she wait an’

7!
MT“ deliver your message, Uncle Jax, but it
shall not come out right after that fashion,”
quietly uttered the young man. “ It’s the guilty
man who he? got to pay the penalty, not an in-
nocent one.

“ Ef nigger tek oaf he guilty, who say he lie?
Who so. b fool ’nough to twist ro fo’ he
own se" when t ain’t desarbl You bug:
at, Mara’ Glenn. ef you try to mek ’em b’he
sech foolishness!”

There was an irritableness in the old negro’s
tone and manner as he uttered these words that
strange! afl'ected Glenn Elliston. He did not
know w t to anyi or just what to do under the
circumstances. 6 could not bring himself to
think Uncle J ax the murderer, yet there was
much to favor this fresh surgicion.

Before he could make up is. mind just what
to do, Uncle J ax bowed humbly, turned on his
heel and strode rapidly own in the direction of
the Big House. Glenn m e an impulsive mo-

 

tion as though to check him, but checked him-
self instead.

That new suspicion was working in his mind,
and he wanted time to think it over, to view the
case from this new point. And, too, he had
satisfied himself that there was nothing to be
extracted from Uncle J ax by threats or persua-
sion. If the secret was to be gained from him,
other means must be employed.

The moment Uncle Jax passed out of sight
around the bend in the road, Glenn Elliston
rapidly] cut acrOSS, to intercept and keep him in
view, imself remaining unseen.

Just what he expected to learn by this, would
probably have puzzled him sorely to tell. In
good truth, his brain was so thoroughly confus d
that he could not reason with anything like
clearness.

It was barely possible that Uncle J ax was
trying to shake him off so that he might gain an
interview with that strange being: the one who
had run such great risk in saving the old fellow
from the grip of the infuriated moonshiners: the
being whom, in turn, Uncle Jax had saved from
capture by his frantic fear—real or assumed.

“ If he docs—if they do meet, and I see them
—I’il get at the bottom facts if I have to shoot
them both!” grimly muttered Elliston as he
crouched low down in the shade of a bush, watch—
ing Uncle Jax as he came around the curve in
the road. .

Uncle J ax was bowed, his movements hurried,
but with a peculiar air of weariness, of dejection,
that little favored the supposition he was hasten-
ing to keep an appointment with friend or foe.
He cast no looks around. He strode on without
glance or pause to listen, His superstitious
fears for once seemed entirely dead.

Silently, stealthin as an Indian warrior on the
warpath, Glenn Elliston dogged the negro, never
losinglsight of him for a sin le moment until the
Big ouse was reached. 6 saw Uncle Jax
open the front door and enter. He ran noise-
lessly forward, listening at the keyhole; but not
a sound came from the interior to reward him.
He silently tried the door, but though the knob
turned freely, that was all. The door was
locked and bolted.

As silently as he had approached, Glenn
Elliston retreated, his brows contracted, his eyes
glowing dully.

In high hopes he had begun his work of that
night. He felt confident that Uncle Jax could
reveal the manner in which Pendy Rowell came
by his death, and he believed that by playing on
the superstition of the old negro, he could extract
a full confession from him.

He had tried this, and failed. He had tried

leadin , tried argument, with no better results.
9, t ere was a faint hope to be extracted
from the last words of the old man. If he
would go forward and clear Owen Tredgold, by
accusing himself of the murder, the bottom facts
would almost surely come forth; but would he
make this great sacrifice, all for gratitude?

“Not if he is reall innocent of the crime,”
muttered Elliston, wit a frown and shake of
his head, as he Baused for a last glance at the
Big House. “ ut is be? Is he the actual mur-
derer, or is he sim l riélt'iying to shield the crim-
inal? Did Milton Sa eld kill Pendy Bowel]?
Did Uncle J ax commit the deed, hired by his
master or led to do so by his love for Milton
Sarsfield? If neither, why has he been so richly
rewarded? Why did Milton Sarsfield leave him
all this propefitfi—for that’s about what it
amounts to! y—unlcss to reward him for
slaying a rival, or for hiding the bloody crime of
his master?”

It was a point not so easy to decide, after the
peculiar manner of the old man that night. Bc-

ore that interview, Elliston felt hardly the
mast of a doubt as to the guilt of Milton Sara-

el .

“And who is that mysterious fellow with the
shag hair?” he muttened, frowningly, as he
pa by the side of his horse, hidden deep
within the timber. “ What part has he to play
in this mystery? Lida decla that he cannot
be Milton Samfield. Uncle ax swears he is the
devil! Was he throwing dust in my eyes! I
can’t make that come clear, for if ever there was
an astonished mortal, Uncle J ax was that same
when I declared that fellow Milton Barsfleld in
di nine.”

ere was strong disgust in face and voice as
Glenn Elliston muttered thus to himself. The
way had seemed 500m and free from obstacles
when he started out t ni ht on the hunt for
the realmurdererof Pendy well. Ithadgrown
temny tangled up now!

“ I’m no good to-night,” he finally decided,
with an impatient toss of his head, unfastening
his horse and springing into the saddle. “ I’ve
got to get some sleep. Maybe that’ll help clear
my brain of all these blamed tangles. If
not—”

His voice died away, the alternative being too
black and bitter for utterance even mentally.

There was so much depending on success.
The life of Owen Tredgoid. for one thing. Al-
though he had not closely investigated he af
fair. partly from lack of time and opportunity,
“‘0!!! What the prisoner had told im during
their last brief interview, Ellistou knew that un—
less the real criminal was brought to light, be-

/ ‘ ‘ .
y ' I _ ,1.

 

yond a reasonable doubt, the moonshiner chief"

would almost certainly be doomed to death.

The snares had been cunningly laid for his
feet. and he was sorely tangled up in them. All
the. more surely from the fact that, as et, lie
was kept in perfect ignorance as to w 0 was
bringing the black charge of murder against
him. All that was admitted was the tact of the
charge being made. and sworn to, after a legal
fashion. The rest he would discover when
broughtu for trial.

“ Bion arnave is at the bottom of it all, I‘ll
take oath!" muttered Glenn Elliston as he rode
rapidly toward his own l.t-ll'.(‘ through the
night. “Doubtless he thinks to win Lida by
this trick—he may even n aim lcr hand a con—
dition of saving her fatttr from a shameful
death. If he does— ’

The sentence was not completed in words,
but if Bicn Barnzue cculd have 8(‘(11 the fierce
look which came into the few of his hated
rival just then, he might have drawn back in
doubt and irresolution.

A goodly distance lay between the Big House
and the little cottage where Glenn Elliston made
his home, but he was well mounted, and the ani—
mal was impatient to gain his snug quarters
where its delayed supper awaited 1t. and neither
whi nor spurs were needed to quicken its pace.

ll hether he rode fast or whether he crept at a
snail‘s pace, Glenn Elliston could hardly have
explained with anything like certainty. His.
brain was in a whirl of doubts and hopes, of
wild plans and schemes which he vainly strove
to regulate and bri to order. He had lost so
much sleep during t e past week or so. that he
was in poor condition to plan or reason clearly.
He knew this, yet he could not keep from trying
to see some glimmer of hope, some plausible
way through the. puzzling labyrinth in which
be ad so unexpectedly become involved.

The sharp, glad neigh of his horse at sight-
ing its quarters, served to arouse the young
man from his pe lexing musings, and shaking
himself together, e rode direct for the barn-
yard glatc, drawing rein as he caught sight of a
dark gure coming out of the stable, asking:

“ That you, boss?"

“ Yes, Dawson,” Elliston promptly res onded..
“I hardly expected to find you up, ho h-
Hope you haven’t tuck sick—bed the co 'c~
mighty bad,” mumbled the hired man as he--
swung the to open. “He’s all right now, but!
I reckoned ’d best stay with him fer a bit. I’ll
take keer 0’ Morgan, boss, as it’s right in my
waiy. You’ll find the front door 0 11.”

here was nothing in all this that could
arouse the suspicious of the young man. Ever-
since his coming to the place, Lafe Dawson had
roved himself a wilhng hand, never shirking'
his work, ever ready toturn a hand towhat—~
ever came in his way. Therefore there was
nothing to deserve notice in this offer. though
Elliston was accustomed totaking care of his

own horse.
“ All right—if it isn’t too much to ask, Daw--
son,” he said, with a weary yawn as he dismount-n

ed and passed the halter to the traitor. “The.
front door is unlocked, you say?” -
“Yes. I’ve bin runnin’ out an’ in all the

night, urty nigh,” was the prom t response as
the fe low moved away tower the stable.
“ You kin shot up ef you like, fer I’ll stick it out;
with the sick boss. now it’s come so nigh morn—
m .
Elliston made some cheery response, then
strode up to the front door, flinging it open and
stepping across the threshold—to utter a

cry of angry wonder as a blinding light was cast-
fu l in his face, while a stern voice rung out:

“ Han‘s up an’ empty, Glenn Elliston! We’ve
got you kivered dead, an’ of you try to kick up
a bobbery, I knew who’ll come out second _
an‘ so ’11 you at you take a squint ’round ye!”

 

CHAPTER XIV.
run: onosr unmmmzns.

As alread stated. it was with a ve human-
like tha the spirit of Pendy Row 1 started
back mm the bhnding glare of the revolver,-
which exploded in the hand of Uncle J ax. And
fora irit, this Ghost Detective did some re-
marka 1e contortions immediately after that
hasty and all-unexpected sh
gering, with hands clasping its face,
curses coming gratineg from it: lips.

It was only a chance, merciful or otherwise,
that saved Uncle J ax from putting this inquisio-
five behag y on the “ host list.” His
weapon, ung up and fired wit out any thought
of taking aim, was discha so close to that
white face that the powder urned and blistertd
the skin, blackening three parts of its surface,
changing its 1: all in an instant. The bill--
let seed so cone to one side of his face that
tine be of an ear was clipped ofl’, smooth and
c can!

Quite sufficient to disconcert even a genuine
ghost, one would say, let alone a spurious one,
manufactured for the occasion.

For the first few seconds after that blindi
flash, the Ghost Detective fancied his eyes ha
been shot away. He had thoughts only for this
awful calamity. and had not Uncle Jax been so

wholly absorbed in his own terrors, sobusilyoe» .r I

w"

reeling and stag- ‘ V
0“ groaning

 

 

p»

.again, Uncle Jax! A little restin
come so much amiss, after all— or my poor

22

cupicd in hasty flight from the terrible appari-
tion which his dearly-bought charm had sum-
moned, that worthy old man might have sus—
pected the truth: that this spirit was a very
mortal atl'air. after all!

For a few moments—then a gleam of light
came to his smarting eyeballs, and the. Ghost
Detective dropped his hands, turning his face
upward, uttering a glad cry as he caught sight
of the full moon.

“Not blind—devil burn that slippery old
coon! Who‘d ’a’ thought it of him! And be
scared out of his wits! ’Most as bad scared as I
was, a bit ago!”

A curious jumble, poured forth with hardly
room for punctuation. A mixture of joy,
ranger, disgust, surprise, with a certain portion
‘of grim admiration at the manner in which
Uncle Jax had turned upon and baffled him at
the last moment.

“Just when I felt sure I had him where the
wool was shortest!” he added, with a snort of

disgust as he swiftly dashed the tears of pain

from his eyes and glared around in quest of the
old negro.

He caught a glimpse of the gaunt figure rush-
ing through the mingled moonlight and shadow
some distance away, and then the moisture once
more filled his eyes. But he had secured the
course, and while running lightly forward in

'chase, he tenderly wiped his eyes, gradually

bringing them back to something more like
their ordinary condition.

He had not run far in the wake of Uncle J ax,
before he stopped short, with a grim execrat-ion.
'The negro was no ion or in sight. He had
vanished during one of t ose brief spells of wip-
ing away the powder-born tears.

‘ Spotted me, most likely, and took to cover!”
'muttered the Ghost Detective-for lack of a
more distinctive a pellation—as he glared
:around without catc 'ng sight of the fa itive.
“ He couldn’t have run so very far—he’
to show up before long' and then I’ll tackle you
spell won’t

pee rs, if not for m self!”

hile grim] mu teringl thus, the Ghost De-
tective sunk own behin a friendly clump of
bushes, where the shade would help to obscure
his figure, while he could keep a to erably close

and thorough watch over the ground before him,

somewhere on which he felt that Uncle J ax was
lying in concealment.

“it’s one; drop out when I was stealin
up on t at bl old fraud of a nigger,
reckon," he muttered, after a hasty search in
.his pockets for a small pocket-mirror. “ Con-
found the smartingl Feels as though the whole
side of my face was missing! I’d like to take a
look at it, but—— Hello!”

He gave a start then crouched lower in his
covert, gazing as keen] and steadily through
the mingling ight and s ow as his watering
eyes would permit, at a dimly seen. phantom-
like shapp, which at first glimpse he had fancied
that of ncle Jax taking to renewed flight.

“Not him, since it’s coming this wa !” the
Ghost Detective muttered after a brief 0 rva-
'tion. -“ Not—ha! something mighty interestin
going on out yonder, sure’s you’re a foot high! ’

He saw the dark figure sudden] come to a
halt, then move swiftly forward to top 11 n its
knees in alittle patch of clear moonligh . 0 saw
it lift something in its arms then lower it again.
He saw the dar fl re handling something that
lent out a brief ash in the moonlight, and a

. suspicion of the truth flashed upon his puzzled

'13]! and that kneeling shape.

brain.

Cautiously he stole forth from his covert,
placing another clump of bushes between him-
And just as he
gained this second covert, he uttered a low grunt
vof mingled relief and vexation, for the dark
figure rose erect, glancing around, the light of
the moon falling,plainly u 11 its face and gure.

“ Young Elliston!” mu red the Ghost Detec-
tive, with a frown and an impatient clinching of
his painted hands. “ That’s Uncle Jax at his

too! Reckon the old fool run himself into
1 ii of some sort and Elliston stumbled upon
him. So—he’s took the same trail, has hei”

There was more of vexation than of relief in

muttered tones, though it was a consolation

' to discover how Uncle Jax had so suddenly eo-

.oldnegroas

 

caped his vi ilance. It seemed as though this
counterfeit i eat looked upon the superstitious
is especial game.

He was near enough to catch nmfievery
word that passed betwoen Glenn E11' 11 and
Uncle J ax after the ne ro was restored to con-
sciousnem. and despite h s irritation at first, he
listened with almost breathless ea erness. Once
-or twice he nodded his head in bri approval as
Elliston seemed to make- goint, but much more
free uent were his signs of i st.

“ ou‘re a. fool, youn fellow!” he muttered
once. “ You‘ve got the r ht idea, but on don’t
'know how to work it! f I could on y chip in
{pr {live minutes, without wholly exposing my

am !’ '

But that he. knew was impossible. and he
smothers! his impatience as best he could, lying
lowand watching, listening, with curiously com-
mingling emotions“. -

Even before Glenn Elliston he discovered the

have ‘

 

The Ghost Detective.

!
approach of that wild, weird being to whose I
hold daring Uncle Jax owed his escape from the 
grip of the infuriated moonshiners. A low, I
long whistle broke from his lips, barely loud
enough for his own cars to catch, and his pow-
der-smarting efes opened widely as he watch-
ed the shaggy- aired mystery drawing nearer
the two men. ‘

“Are they blind? Will they never— That’s
it!” bending eager] forward, his eyes glowing ‘
vividin as he saw lulliston grasp Uncle .Jax and 1
point toward the mysterious creature. “ That’s !
it! pin him down to it, young fellow! Right I.
there you‘ve got the whole clew, or I’m a blun- '
dcring— The devil and all his imps!”

It was almost a how] of intense disgust that
broke from his lips as he saw Uncle Jax leap '
upon Elliston with that frantic scream of real i
or admirably simulated terror—as he saw the 1
two men men fall to the ground tcgcther in a 
struggling mass—as he saw the white—haired i
stranger start, stare for a moment, then turn i
and run swiftly toward the nearest cover.

“ Don’t you think it for a single instant, my ‘*
fine fellow!” grated the Ghost Detective as he i
crouched low down and ran swiftly off at a
sharp angle, keeping his gaze riveted on that .
figure. “I want you, and what I want bad, I
usually get, sooner or later! Go it, graybeard!
There is a two-legged bloodhound on your track
this time !”

He saw the stranger race swiftly from cover
to cover, kee ing as much as possible in the _
shadow cast y the trees. Saw him cast fre-
quent glances backward as though anticipating
pursuit.

“ You’re looking in the wrong direction,
honey!” he muttered, with a grim hard laugh,
as he glided as swiftly in a course that kept
parallel to the one followed by his game.
“ Over this way lies your greatest peril. But
keep it up—I’m not complaining!”

80 certain was he of success that he felt more .
like a cat playmg with a helpless mouse than
one who sti lhad a strong and angerous prey to
capture. He believed that his death-hunt was
so near an end that nothing mortal could wrest
the proud victory from his grasp. Yet a seem—
ingly trifling accident was to foil him the next
moment, just as he nerved himself to end the
chase.
lVith his gaze still riveted upon that figure,
be increased his pace until running at top
. His foot struck on the end of adead
limb, whirling it around so as to catch his other '
foot as it swung forward—and with an involun-
tary cry of rage and pain, he felt himself flying
headlong throu h the air!

He fell in a eap on the hard, dry ground,
rolling over and over, the breath knocked out
of his bod and his senses all confused. Only
for his stri ing first on his hands—only for his
great muscular powers and training as a ym-
nast—that fall would almost certainly ave
killed or crippled him.

Even as it was, he on] managed to lift his
headlong enough to catc one fleeting glimpse
of his game—and as he fell back again it was
with a panting curse of rage. _

e grain heard his fall, and possibly
caught sig t of his floundering figure, for he
was renewing his flight at greater speed, heard
on shoulder as he glanced backward.

As quickly as possible the Gh0st Detective
gathered himself 11 , shaking himself together
as best he could. e was stunned in a measure
by the terrific shock. His brain seemed all
turned upside down, w‘hirling and buzzing as
though a swarm of bees had been turned into his
em ty skull. .

e was a man whom trifles could not daunt,
but had the game been of less importance, he
must have given way then and there.

“No bones broken that I see!” he muttered,
dashing the dust from hise es—dust that was
thickly min led with blood, t ough he failed to
notice that nhis excitement and confusion. “I’ll
get there yet! I’ve got him lined—if he don’t

ouble too quick!” ,

In that one dizzy glance, the Ghost Detective
had marked the new course of flight adopted by
the graybeard, and now, dizzily, unsteadily,
staggering like a drunken man, gulping down
the qualmish sensation that rose in his throat, he
premd forward, determined to conquer—re-
solved to win the great game into which he had
entered with no ordinary degree of interest.

Fortune stood his friend in a greater degree
than he had any right to anticipate. He found
that his brain seemed to grow thicker and even
less clear as be pressed on. Objects grew indis-
tinct before his eyes, and more than once he was
only kept from falling by a friendly bush or
tree. Still he would not own a beaten. Still
he pushed on with dogged stu bornness that
seemed a part of his nature. He would not own
defeat while he could lift a hand or drag one foot
after the other.

Yes. it was a lucky chance rather than any
good judgment on his own part that led him to
a part of the river bank where he glanced
around him with a sudden clearing of his con-
fused faculties.

On the bank of the river, out where the full
moon shad its clearest light, he beheld a human
figure, moving rapidly to and fro, gesticulating

 

 

 

violently, more like a lunatic than an ordinary,

2 sane person.

“ ()ld (iraybeard, by all that’s holy!" pantcd
the Ghost Detective, dropping quicka down lie--
bind a bush, his as es filling,r \\ 1th a luxid glow as
he gazed out upon his recovered prey.

For such was indeed the case. By chance, or

i an overruling Providence as it seemed to him

just then, he had stumbch across the game just
as it began to seem that he had lost it for good
and all.

“ What more appropriate spot?” he muttered,
his white teeth clicking sharply as a sweeping
glance told him his surroundings. “ “'hat bet-
ter spot than this? Surely the finger of late is
in it all 1”

The river-bank at this point was high and
almost pirpendicular, the stream being com-
pressed ietwcen contracted banks, running rap-
idly and noisily.

Lch than half a mile below, at the first shal-
lows, the corpse of the murdered detective had

i been discovered.

“It was somewhere about this spot that he
must have come by his death,” mused the Ghost
Detective, watching “ith increased interest the
movements of the graybcard. “Perhaps at

‘ this very point! Perhaps rignt where that—
Ha I”

Eagerly he leaned forward. breathlessly he
watched the strange actions of the graybeard.

Strange actions indeed, and yet there seemed
to be a horrible sort of reality, of method in his
madness.

The actions of a man who is bitterly angry
against another; who is charging that other
with some (iced of wrong or trrachery, With
many a savage gesticulation, yet all in perfect
silence so far as speech was concerned.

“ A maniac, or—a great criminal,” mental]
muttered the Ghost Detective as he watched this
strange scene.

Watched the graybeard as he menacingly
drew near the bank of the river, wildly gesticu-
lating, seemingly with paSSion increasing, with
a growing anger that threatened to break all
bonds with the passage of each moment.
Watched him until—

Up rose one arm, goin through the motions
of aiming and firing, t ough the hand was
eni, ty, though it was directed at nothing tan-
gi e! ,

The next moment the strange being staggered
back, both hands rising to his head, pressing it
convulsively. Reeling, swaying, then sinking
toone knee, a hand supporting his body, the
other again flung out, again going through the
motions of firing a istol.

And then slowly, ike one stunned or crip led,
he dragged himself forward, pausing wit an
inarticulate growl of intensest rage beside a
limb of dead wood. Droppinfisforward upon it,
clutching it with both ban , growling and
snarling, more like a ravenin wild beast than
aught human. Stru gling to is feet with the
limb in his arms. eeling to the brink of the
river-bank, casting the limb far out over the
roaring water. Bendin forward so far over
the edge that the Ghost etective started to his
feet With a low cry of alarm, fearing lest the
graybeard should topple over into the river.

Involuntary thou h that cry was, it seemed
to reach the ears 0 the strange bein , for in—
stantly be straightened up and turned a out, the
bright moonlight falling full upon his boarded
face, reflec from his lowing eyes.

The Ghost Detective new that his presence
was discovered. and expecting the madman——
for such he surely must ie—to take. to renewed
flight, he step briskly forward nerving his
muscles for a and-to-hand stmgg e.

But, not a little to his surprise, the stranger
made no effort to escape, showsd no signs of
fear or of anxiety. Instead, with arms folded
across his full chest, he gazed placidly, mild]
at the new-comer. .

The detective hesitated, a little nonplused.
His brain was not yet as clear as it might have
been, only for that ugly fall, and thou h his

icions had been strongly aroused by t e pc-
culiar movements of this stranger, he could not
at once decide on the proper course to pursue.
For past experience to (1 him that man an im-
portant game had been lost by a sing e hasty,
premature play.

“ Like me, you find the night too gloriously
beautiful for slumber, sir?” uttered be gray-
beard, his voice low and calm, even musical.
“Like me, you are an ardent student of nature
——nature unalloycdi”

The Ghost Detective was not a little taken
aback by this wholly unexpected address.
Surely these were not the words of a madman!
And still less thOse of a foul assassin, surprised
in the very act of rehearsing his dastardly
crime!

He did not know what to say or do for a smglo
moment. This reception was so different from
that which be anticipated. lnstcadof a frantic

effort to escape-ins cad of a desperate assault v

to put it out of his wer to tell to mortal man
the strange spectac c be had witnessed—a mild,
poetical greeting like this! V

“ There is a charm in the moonlicht—a sooth-
ing. satisfying yet exhilarntirg influence-don’t
you agree with me, sir?” softly added the gray-

“ur- - \.

 

 

 

 

.m. ~, n «A

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The;_f_3‘rhost Detective.

 

 

 

 

23

 

beard, moving a trifle nearer to th." bewildered
detective as the words passed his lips.

The, Ghost Detective noticed that movement,
and like a flash his clearness of brain was re-
stored to him. He scented danger of no uncom-
mon sort in that action. It seemed so stealthy,
so crafty, so insidious. It seemed to him like
the treacherous purrin of the hungry tiger as
it, crunches for its (lea y leap! .

ling .i or wrong, this thought armed him and
place 1 him on his guard against this strange
being. It drove that buzzing, confusing whirl
1mm his brain, leaving him once more the cool,
steel-nerved, man-hunter.

‘* Under more agreeable circumstances, I
might agree with you, my dear sir,” he said,
lightl , laughing shortly. “ But I must confess
that prefer the full light of the sun—particu—
larly when I’m traveling in a strange region, as
now.”

“ You are a stranger in these parts, then?"
eagerly asked the other, with a curious glitter
in his eyes as the moonlight fell athwart them.
“ You conic here with a purpose? You are
looking for something— or somebody, no
doubt?” , _

Slowly the vague suspiCions of the Ghost De-
tective were taking shape and substance. They
were strengthened and confirmed by this
question, uttered in such a. peculiar tone of
voice.

Surely fortune was favoring him! Surely
chance was kind!

“ I am a stranger in these parts, as you may
readily imagine when I tell you that l have
strayed most hopelessly from the trail I set out
to follow," he uttered, with a laugh that seemed
to be tinged just a trifle with shame and embar-
rassment.

“ You are lost. then? It was chance that
brought you to—to this particular point? You
Were not—of course you were not looking for
this s t,” with a low, strange laugh, as he cast
.a swi t, yet irresolute glance around them.

The Ghost DetectiVe took advantage of this
moment to slightly alter his position, bringing
his face more completely into the shadow.

Sli ht as was his movement and unaccompa-
nied y any noise, it attracted the attention of
the graybeard, and once more his glowing eyes
were riveted upon the other.

" You are lest?” he repeated. “ That is un-
fortunate l”

“ ()r might have been, only for this 0 portune
meeting.” quickly interjected the etective.
“ You are not lost? You are familiar with this
region. no doubt?”

" I was—once!”

“ Then you can direct me to my destination.
I wish particularly to meet a gentleman named
Milton Sarsfleld. A friend of ours?”

Even as the guestion passed his lips, the de-
tective felt a co (1 chill of disappointment flash
over him. There was no such start as he had
anticipated. No shrinking or hasty denial. In-
stead, a doubting, musing air of indecision.
And then the graybeard slowly shook his head
as he replied: .

“Surely not a friend of mine! Surely not
one of whom I have even heard, unless I failed
to catch the words on pronounced l” -

“ Milton Sarsfiel , I said,” distinctly repeated
the detective. “ He lived near here at the time
Pendy Howell was murder .”

Was that a shiver agitating the frame of the

ybeard as this last name was pronounced?
3? was it only overstrained fancy? _

The Ghost Detective could not answer this
mental doubt satisfactorily to himself, and in-
stantly resolved on a bolder move by which he
mi ht solve all doubts.

e remembered how careful] he had made
up his face to resemble that of t e murdered de-
tective. He recalled how completon that make-
up had deceived Uncle Jax. If his icions
were true in this case, he felt confident t his
scheme would work to rfection.

“ I never heard of pi er name before this mo-
ment,” alowmm uttered the graybegxd,
again with t steal y covert slippmganinch
or two nearer the detoc ve. . .

“Your voice sounds famxliar to my. ears,”
said the detective, his hands disa pouring 
neath his cloak and fumbling W1 some hing
hidden there. “I wonder w ere we have met
before this night? Perhaps your memo may
be better than mine. If lie—you recogn no my
face!”

He flung open his cloak, letting. that same
ghastly blue 1i ht ring up to illumine his face.
He forgot how lac enod it had been b bum-
ing powder. Forgot the dust and bi which
had dried in streaks over his countenance. For-
got that even Uncle J ax would not have recog-
nized his face ust then.

“ I am Pen Rowell, the man you—the man
Milton Sarsfle d‘ murdered!" he thundered in
passionate tones. .

Then—it was ever a source of bemlderment
was 11 n him with a

him—the gra
to beast!

snarl like that o a ravening

The Ghost Detective .st led with despera-
tion, but only to find himse like an infant in
that mad grasp—only to feel himself carried to
the river-bank, and then hurled far out over the

a caring waters!

 

CHAPTER XV.
A MOUNTAIN COURT IN SESSION.

IT was John Mahar’s voice that uttered those
words, and J ohii Mahar who covered Glenn
Elliston with a cocked revolver to enforce them.

By the bright light of the suddenly unmasked

lantern, the young man could see this—could .

see that a strong force was confronting him—-
that he had run headlong into a trap from
which there was hardly a 1hope of escape with
life.

Other lights were being lit by those of the
party furthest from the door, this additional
illumination plainly setting forth their over-
whelming number, muter warning the chal-
lenged to think twice before he threw his last
chance away.

All this at a singl \ glance. Then Glenn Ellis-
ton whipped f ortli a brace of revolvers, placing
his back against the wall beside the open door,
his voice ringing out clearly, defiantly:

“ Fair play, gentlemen, or I‘ll eat my bigness
through your crowd before you can down me
for good and all! You, John Mahar: what does
all this mean, anyhow?”

“ It means pure business, Elliston,” was the
cold, almost harsh response from the gaunt
mountaineer, as he unflinchingly faced the black
muzzle of one of those ready revolvers. “ It
means that of you try to kick, you‘ll come out
all the wuss off. It means that ef you shed a
single drap 0‘ blood, salt cain’t save you from
sp’iliii’!”

While the chief of the moonshiners was speak- ‘
ing thus, Glenn was glancing rapidly over the 1

faces new distinctly Visible by the added lights.

He recognized each and every one of them. All :

were of his neighbors, as nei hbors go in rural

regions. All were of men w 0 had played a

pa? in the capture of Uncle Jax on the night
0 ore.

A bright light flashed into his eyes as he noted
this fact. He fancied this attem ted arrest was
due to the part he had play in that little
drama, and his breath came much freer than it
had while he remained in doubt. '

“I don‘t want to fight unless I have to,” he
said, speaking in a more moderate tone, the
muzzlcs of his weapons falling a trifle. “ Swear
to treat me white, and I‘ll surrender without
burning a grain of powder. But first—what
charge am 1 arrested on?”

“ Fer sellin’ out your neighbors to the cussed
revenue men.”

Elliston opened his (fies widely at this wholly
unexpecttxl answer. e could scarcely believe
the evidence of his ears, yet John Mahar did not
look like one who was lying or uttering a clumsy
'est. His f ace was hard and stern, his eyes glow-
ing, his tones cold and harsh. And the men who
backed him up seemed to the full as resolute and
in earnest.

“ You can‘t really suspect me of any such
black treachery as that! You can’t think this
abominable charge has any foundation in truth i”

“ Prove yourself innocent, young man, an‘
we‘ll ax your pardon on our two knees. Ef you
cain’t—waal, as I said afore, salt won’t save ye
this time!”

“Swear that you’ll treat me white, and I’ll
surrender,” quie 1y added the young man, but
still with his revolvers covering the moon-
shiners. “Refuse to pledge your sacred word
of honor to this effect, and you can open the
ball just as soon as you— Ah I”

A tall, lithe flgure suddenly sprung in at the
open door, and with a fierce, downright blow
with clubbed revolver felled the speaker to
the floor, without uttering sound or cry of warn-

1n .

E There’s your game, ne' hbors!” cried Bion
Barnave, a savage triump in his voice and
glowing in his dark eyes as he stood over the

rostrato figure, looking very much as though
he would like nothing better than to make all
sure by repeating his dastard stroke.

“Don’t e do it, Bion BarnaVel” warningly
grated Jo n Mahar as he strode forward and
pushed the spy back from his fallen rival.
‘ You hit him one dirty lick, but you cain’t hit
him another while I’m to the fore—mind ye
that, now i”

Barnave showed his teeth viciously, but made
no resistance, contenting himself with an :

“ You let him face on all, and I chip in
with a bigger trumpt an an you could show.
There he , quiet enough. a 6 him or leave
him, just as you see fit. I‘ve done my duty,
without fear or favor.”

“ Freeze onto him i”

“ Hitch a rope onto him, an" run him up a free
for to ketch the fresh air!‘

“ Hang him fu’st, an’ talk it over when we’ve
got more time!”

such were sample cries which arose from the
exc1ted and revongeful mountaineers, and John
Mahar, who still had deep in his heart a positive
liking for this handsome young fellow, turned
from Bion Barnava to exert his authority before
it was entirely over-ridden.

“ Trial comes ’fore hangin’ with us, neigh-
bors,” he said with cold sternness, one stride
carryin him to the prostrate ii are, over which
he stood. revolvers in hand. “ promised him a

fa'r trial, an’ that he’s gwine to hev, of I hev to I

fight for it! You hear me talk?”

' “ “'e ain’t got no time nur money to waste in
trials.” doggedly muttered Marl-z 'l‘appan, with
an ugly light in his sunken eyes. “ “’e’d be wuss

; then tools to give him up in the in“ yers when

‘ we’ve got sech a dead—sai-t‘in bulge onto the crit-
tor!"

“ When I say trial, I mean trial afore a court
~o’ our own makin’,” quickly interposed John
Mahar, as that ominous growl began to swell
and spread through his fellows. “ We kin try
. the case, an’ we kin give, him as fa’r a shake as
he could git in the highest court in all the land,
I reckon. How is that, neighbors?”

“ Bet we kin!”

“An” hang him a mighty sight sooner!”

“ Rf he’s found guilt as charged, of course,”
promptly amended Mn iar, with a cordial laugh,
satisfied that he had gained his point.

I (ileiin Elliston was beginning to stir un-

=easily. A moaning sound escaped his lips as

strong hands closed upon him, and he visibly

: winced as John Mahar gently probed the scalp

: wound upon his skull, to assure himself that

' no bones had been broken by that cruel blow

1 from behind.

This fear was uickiy allayed, and in a few
minutes more, G enn illiston was sitting up ina
chair, his hands f ree, but his weapons removed,
ready to be tried for his life.

He fully realized this fact new. Knowin
those strong, stern. matter-of—fact men as w
, as he did. one comprehensive glance tmd him so

convince them of his complete innocence, his
fate was almost certainly sealed.
’ Yet he did not betray any tamount of
V uneasiness. He knew that Bion rnavc would
i hesitate at not-hing in order to remove him from
5 his path. but conscious of his own innocence, he
felt confident that he would come out with fly-
ing colors in the end.
‘ You reckon you‘re stiddy-headed enough fer

. to defend yourself, Elliston?” gravely asked
' John Mahar, who had by common consent, as it

seemed, taken the position of presiding judge.

“ We don’t want to take any onmanly advan~
l tage o’ anybody. We jest want to git attho
i bottom facts, to pardon or punish a’cordin’ly.”
| “ I’m all right. It takes more than the stroke
of a coward—of a craven who dares strike only
from behind—to unsteady my brain,” was the
prompt use.

The wor s were accompanied by a stern, men-
acing glance toward Bion Barnave, who simply
shmgged his shoulders in silence. *

Grave, pale-faced, his greenish-gray e es

lowing v1vidly, John Mahar rose to is get
like a judge pronouncing the sentence of a con-
victed criminal, his tones steady and measured.

“ Young man, you know jest how we are
fixed in these parts. You hev bin here long
enough to know that we are all of us, more or
less, doin’ what this new-tangled law says is
wrong. I ain’t goin’ to argy that p’int iestnow,
for they ain’t no time, nur any one to take the
contrary side, onless it is you.

 

ef we cain’t make whisky, we cain’t git along
’thout starvin’ the biggest hafe o’ the time. An
knowin’ this, you kin see how bitter black it
looks to us for anybody to sell us out to the rev-
enue sharks.”

“ If I am accused of being such a traitor, right
here and right now, I want to brand that person
an infamous liar l” sharply interposed Glenn
Elliston, his face paling, his eyes flashing fire.

“ That’s no more’n I expected you to say,”
coldly uttered Mahar, with just the shadow of a
frown upon his gaunt features. “ An‘ no longer
ago then the day jest passed, I’d ’a’ wore to the

your lips. But now—”

“You dare not doubt my word, even now!”
impetuously.

“ But now it’s heap diflerent,” added Mahar,
payin no attention to that sha interruption
save y a deepening frown. “ ow that’s a
charge laid ag’in’ ye that makes that mighty
doubtful, to say the least. Now they’ll sworn
charges placed ag’inst you that hev gottobo
met an’ i lained an’ cl’ared away,.ef you hope
toseeano- .rsunl”

“Those charges are lies, without foundation
in fact, if the pretend to brand measa spyand
informer. ho is my accuser? Let him stand
forth and repeat his vile lies to my face!”

As he spoke, hotly, impetuousl , Glenn Ellio-
ton gazed defiantly into the dar ,bruised face
of Bion Barnave, as though feeling confident
none other present would dare accuse him thu’s:
but the spy of the moonshiners said nothing, did
nothing, only smiled softly and dcrisively.

“The witnesses won’t m ” ‘ a]
pro r time comes, oung n, grav utter—
ed ohu Mahar. “ f you kin face ’em own an
easy as you ’pear to think, so much the bout
fer our neck 1”

E iston broke into a short, hard laugh.

“It is clear enough that you have already
gadged and condemned me in your own mind;

at that can‘t shake me. I’ve done nothing
which I’m ashamed. I’ve committed no crime.
least of all against those who have been my

 

as white and free l-orn.” ‘
“ Then youliain’t bin actin’ in secret as a spy

< much. Told him that unless he could fairly -

“ You know all this, I say. You know that.

truth 0’ them words, even afore they passed

1';
neighbors, and who have: until now, treated me I g . "

\..

t
,I


i .

\‘\

..-.- s. .-- . -

 

l

 

fer the revenue sharks? You hain’t bin takin’
thar money fer betrayin’ our secrets? You
hain’t tuck money fer tellin’ ’em whar they
could find our little stills?” deliberately asked
John Mahar, his eyes closely noting the face of
the prisoner, as though seeking to read the
whole truth therein instead of depending on
mere words.

Glenn Elliston flushed hotly, his eyes all aglow
as he replied:

“ Once more I say that I have done nothing of
the kind.”

“ You are ready to take oath you never tuck
acommission makin’ you a spy on us, for the
secret service 9”

“ I new r did."

“ Nur yit you ncvcr writ out a close ’scription
of whar our stills lay, an’ the best way to git to
them in the dark an’ ’thout a guide!"

“ Once more, no!” with angry distinctncss.

Glenn Elliston turncd a shade palcr as he
caught the low, deadly muttering sound that
ran through the room, but he unflinchineg met
the fierce. deanly frowns that wcro turned upon
him from one and all. All saio John Mahar.
He was grave and cold, his gaunt face showing
a. little harder, harsher than ordinary; - but that
was all.

\Vithout a word he turned away from the
table which stood between himself and the

isoncr. He passed out of doors, quickly rc-

urninir with Lal'o Dawson in charge.

The mt, angry flush died out of Glenn Ellis-
ton’s face as he first caught sight of the witness,
and noted the sullen, hung-dog expression upon
his usually florid countenance. And a low,
mocking laugh from the lips of Bion Barnavn
' told plainly enough that at least one prair of un-
friendly cycs had noted that paling, interpret-
in it unfavorably.

, fiohn Mahar stood with one sinewy hand
grasping Late Dawson by the shoulder, forcing
l

 

m to face the accused. His voice was cold

and warning at the same time, as he spoke:

“ You hain’t changed your mind, young man?
You still stick to it you ain’t guilty 0’ what’s
bin charged ag’inst ye! Take time an’—”

- “ It needs no time, sir!” cried Elliston, stung
by that mocking yet exultant lau h from the

lips of his rival. “ Iain no spy. am no in-

former. I have never betrayed a secret of

yours. Not because I hold you are blameless in
reaking the laws of the land for—”

An angry outburst drowned his voice, and for
a few moments it seemed as though the an
moonshiners would lea upon and tear him lim
from limb. Glenn lliston evidently antici-

ted some such rush, for he sprung to his feet,

is handsome countenance all a low, his gra
9 es flashing proud defiance. hat was al .

9 made no attempt to escape. He even folded
his arms across his swelling chest, knowing how
worse than vain would be any flglit’against such

a rush.

This bold defiance was not without its influ-
ence over the moonshiners, for they naturally
liked a bold, fearless man. But it was the
power of John Mahar as their regularly elected
chief and guide that held them back.

‘ “Slow an’ stiddy, lads!” he cried stern] ,
facing the angry Egghefing with armed ban 9
motioning them k. “The ain’t no sech
mighty rush. They’s time a- enty fer settlin’
this case in a decent an’ order y manner. Keep

I 7 back, or some 0’ you’ll git it right in the neck !’

He turned to Glenn Elliston, replacing his
. weapons as he added in a cold reproving tone of

“ An’ you, young feller, had better take a lit-
1 tie o’ the,same adVice hometo your own self. It
ain’t wise work to pull the tail of a hungry tiger

when you hain’t ot no room to dodge or ump
' Youaintso big a fool you caint see

' .’ voice:

“ What difference will it make in the end?”
cried Elliston, with a. scornful outflinging of one
hand, his lifis curling as he glanced over those
dark. scow ng, menacing faces. “ You are all

. determined to murder me, no matter how posi-
tively I may swear to my innocence. Then the

' least satisfaction I can get is to speak out my
mind without reserve.”

, “ Ef you‘re innocent, your life is jest as safe
beret? it would be in a, $31”: court o’glgzlvt,”

was 0 grave response. u 0 you re

as charged, all heaven an’ hell cain’t save

neck from gittin’ stretched the wu’st way!’

“80 your lips say,‘bnt I read a vast! differ-
ent verdict in the faces of these hon ntle-
, . our neighbors,” with a short, he. laugh

that contained mi led defines and scorn.
“ But go on with the ancel At least. you’ll not
have it to say that you made me flinch! A man
I’ve livediand a man I’ll die 1”

. “ Tell your story, Lafe Dawson. jest as nigh
like you told it store as the truth ’11 let ye,”
steruly uttered John Mahar, releasing the wit-
ness after squarin him about so that he stood
face to face with t e man be accused of being a
and an informer. “ It all lays atween you
two, an’ both cain’t come out top 0’ the heap.
May the good Lord hev marcy on the critter
that goes down More the other—fer we won’t!”

Sharply, almost sa vagcly came the concluding
words, and not one within the reach of his voice
but fully comprehended his meaning. One of

l

 

WP? GhQS’EDGtéctiVe-

 

ro .

fir an instant Lafe Dawson tried to brave
that steady. stcrn gaze, but in vain. Despite
his utmost efforts to the contrary, his eyes were
forced to sink, his florid face turning a sickly,
sallow hue.

But he told his story without a scrious break,
and just as he had given it to the moonshinch
bcfore they were startled by the clattcrcf liooi's,
which they erroneously believed heraldcdthe re-
turn of Glenn Elliston. but which proved to be
Bion Barnave instead.

There is no need of repeating the charges he

made, since a glance backward will furnish all I
Enough that he made his rt;h ‘

that is essential.
cital as strong and telling against his employer
as he well could Without too plainly amplifying

‘ his former story.

Steadin Glenn Ellis-ton watched him as he
spoke. Pale, hard-set, his face gave no furthcr
evidence of emotion. And when Lafc Dawson
stopped short in his evidence, shrinking visibly
from the deep, menacing growl wh ch broke
from the lips of the inoonshincrs, asmilc of scorn
came into his handsome face as he boldly, un-
flincliingly cast back those thrcateniiig looks.

“ What answer hcv you got to give to it so
fur?" dcinandcd John niahar. a troubled light
growing in his gray eyes as he once more suc-
cecded in quelling the threatened outbreak.

“Nothing more than I havcalrcady said,” was
the cold, composed rcs xmsc. “It is all a lic,
from the lips of a liar, instigated by another liar
who is too cowardly to utter the black falsehoods
with his owu lips! If you want a name, I can
give it readily enough.”

John Mahar frowned uneasily, pushing the
tips of his long heard in between his nipping
tccth. There was something in thepowerful eon-
trast between the demeanor of witness and ac-
cused that was rapidly unformingthm-pinion he
had formed conccrning the. case. Dawson look-
cd far more. like a knavo than his employer.
Surely Glenn Elliston would have shown some
signs of fear and discomfiture unless he had a.
perfect consciousness of innocence to back him

up?

And if innocent—if not guilty of these heavy
charges brought against him—what would be
the result? Could be hold back the moonshiners?
Could he keep them from lynching their captive,
innocent or not?

“ Go on an’ tell the rest 0’ your story," be slow-
ly uttered, with a frownin nod to Late Dawson.

“ Make him nit scowhng so at me, then,”
muttered the witness, shifting to the other foot,
furtively brushing away the OCR] sweat that
stood out upon his brow. “ It’s hard enough fer
to tell all this a ’inst a man what’s al’ays treated
me mighty kin an’ white—”

“ To be sold to a shameful death in return for
a few dollars!” the prisoner cried with sudden
heat, as he leaned across the table and held up
one warning finger. “Tell the trui h for once in
your worthless life, Lafo Dawson! Tell the
truth—tell these honorable gentlemen how many
dollars Bion Barnave gave or promised you for
swearing my life away! Speak, you cringing
curl

Bion Barnave sprung forward with a cry of
suffocating rage, only to be met by John Mahar
revolver in hand.

“Keep your clothes on, young man! You kin
hev your say when the right time comes, but
that time ain’t come now. Simmer down, an’
take a walk!” '

For a brief space it seemed as though a colli-
sion must take place between the two men, but
then, with a short, hard Iau h, Bion Barnave
turned on his heel and passed out through the
still open door.

John Mahar turned once more to Late Daw-
son, saying sternly:

“Go on with the story you told us. Ef you‘re
tellin’ nothin’ more then the truth, bar’ looks
cain’t faze ye much. An’ even ef he was fool
enough for to try wuss, he couldn‘t hurt ye
much with his naked ban 3 afore we would 6
him let 11E”

glienn lliston laughed shortly, bitterly, as be

cr :
“ It isn’t phvsical fear that unnerves the ras-
cal. It’s the knowled that he is tryin to
swear away the life 0 an innocent man ora
villainous scoundrel's money that makes him
shiver and cow!”

“ Your time to speak’ll come soon enough,
Glenn Elliston.” aver inte John Mahar,
that troubled lig t deepening in his eyes as they
watched that indignant, scornful face, sowholly
unlike that of a. guilty wretch, brought face to
face with his sins and their grave consequences.
“ Let Dawson tell his story. an’ then you kin
pick it to ieces as best the truth’ll let ye.”

“That all I as ,” calmly returned the ac-
cused, refoldin his arms and falling back into
his chair. “ 0 on, Dawson. Tell your story,
and then these gentlemen shall judge between
the right and the wrong.”

“ It ain’t no money that makes me blow on
ye.” with a sullen, covert glance that drooped as
quickly as it began. “ I never said a word but
to den_ it all, ontel they swore they’d swing me
pigmfi’n a kite cf I didn‘t spit out the hull

m -

l the twam was almost surely doomed to the ! “ It isn’t the truth I’m objecting to, Dawson:

but pray go on, and get it over with as soon as.
your instructions will permit,” was the cold re-
tort.

“They ain’t so much more to tell,” muttered
the witness, brushing a trembling hand across
his brow. “ Time an’ time ag’in the boss got to.
talkin’ to me, in a might ’sterious way as i
thought from the fu’st. he told ire all almut
the iindin’ of that dead man, an’ how they was
big money into it cf anybody could p’int ( ut the
right trail to the and.

“ Still I didn’t kctch on, but one day 'lw at a
week aforc Owen 'l‘rcdgold was ’resicd fer the
murdcr, he spoke out too plain fer even a dumb
l'ool like me to make any furdcr mistakcs."

“Go on an’ tell just what lzo said to you."
sharply uttered John Mahar, as the witness hesi»
tatcd, choking down a iisirg in iis throat.

“ He come to me an’ held out a n ad 0’ bills,
axin’ me of I didn’t want to make a strike like
that? I said I wouldn’t mind, or somethin’ o’
the, sort; I cain’t tell now jest what I did say.
Anyway, it wasn’t nothin’ to skeer him off. ici-
he come out flat-footed an’ said he’d give me two
huiiderd dollars cf l’d agrce to niakc (at!) that
I saw Owen Trcdgold kill l’cndy Rowcll an"
pitch him into the river!”

With an angry cry (ilcnn Elliston sprung to

‘ his feet, but his VOI((' \iasqnickly drownn-u by

 

, the, mad ycll that broke in in the lips of the iii—-
‘ i'uriatcd moonshincis—a yell that, thirstcd fol"

his life-blood!

CHAPTER XVI.
IN PERIL or ms LIFE.

“ BACK, neighbors!” criedd'ohn Mahar, with a
swift leap reaching the side of the accused, a
cocked revolver filling (ach hand, covering each
one of the infuriated inconshiners in turn as.
they swept steadily back and forth. “ l’ve passed
my Word to the lad, an’ ef you make me break
that, you’ve got to climb over me as well! Back,
or I’ll shoot to kill 1"

Only one man, but that was enough to check
the rush for an instant. Enough to give time
for a second a pezfl.

“ We’re j fies, not murderers, an’ as sech
we’ve got a. rig t to let the ’cused tell his side 0’
the story. You know me. You know that whcn
I say ef he cajn’t prove his title cl‘ar, I’ll be the
fu’st one to grab the rope, it’s no lie. An’ you
know me well enough to bet heavy that when I
say you cain’t hang him ’thout trial while I'm.
livin’, it’s good as Sworn to. Back—en’ km 11‘
your clothes on, neighbors?”

Only one man, but that man was John Mahar.
They did know him from top to toe. Rough,
rude, ignorant, it mi ht be, but a man of his.
word, no matter whet er that word was given
to friend or foe. A man who would die like a
liulld , makin his teeth meet in the flesh. A
man w 0 won] face an army without stoppin
to count the odds, when once he felt CODVInCé’f
right and justice was on his side.

‘Give him a tetch 0’ what he putt up fer Owen
Tred old l”

“ 6 man who dares even hint that I ever
worked wrong against Owen Tred old, by word,
deed or thought, is a liar in his t rout! ’ coldly
and clearly cried Glenn Elliston, his eyes flash-
ing defiance, his arms folded closely over his.
swelling bosom.

“ Be durncd ef I don’t be 'n to b‘lieve it. too!”‘
impulsively cried John Mu ar, with dangerous
frankness, as the increasing grow] and darken-
ing scowls gave evidence. “ Don’t jum out 0
your boots, neighbors,” he added hasti y, with
a short, grim laugh as he noticed this. “ It was.
only by ookin’ from the face 0’ the witness to
that o’ the ’cused that fetched theni words to my
lips. Right or wron , I’m goin’ by the evidence,
an’ thats what’s o to guide you, too. Don’t
scowl an’ sayEyou ve hearn enough. We hain’t
hearn what liston has to m y yitl”

“He’ll make black look white, durn his slip~

pery tongue l” .

“ Ef we cain’t tell the difference, then I don’t
reckon we’re fit fer jedgin‘ as to the uilt or in—
nocence o’ a feller.human ” sharp y retorted
John Mahar, beginning to breathe more freely

 

once more.
He knew from past 9 ence that when a
mob hesitates it is lost. ales- the flnt few inc--

ments of such a crisis be promptly improved. it.
is not very difllcult for a strong-nerved, ready—-
ton ed man to win a victo such as this.

“Edna: be darned !" e l blunt Mark Tap-
pan, his hard features ii]! of mingled disgust.
and indignation. “ Hain’t we got it writ down
in lain black an’ white, let alone what Dawson
fol us? Ain’t them papers plenty ’nough fer to-
hang a dozen, each one heap more white then.
that crooked cuss! Wan], I should remark.”

“ if you have papers that pretend to prove
me false to you, my neighbors, I pronounce
them vile forgeries at the send-OR I” impetuouslv
cried Elliston, losing much of is former cool—
ness, and thereby endangering his safety all the
more.

It was an unlucky remark just then. JIhn
Mahar frowned darkly as the words reached his
ears. Better for Glenn Elliston had he writer!
to examine those papers before so positively
branding them as iorgeries.

“ Don’t you chip in so lively, young man i” 

, no

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4'?

d

\

The Ghost Detective.

25

 

said, ' brows contractin , his greenish-gray
eyes gowing vivid] . “ ou shell hev your
time to talk, never oubt it; but jest now it‘s
Lafe Dawson to the fore. Lafe, you critter!
le’s hear the tail eend 0’ your evidence, man i”

“ They ain’t much more to tell,” sulkily mut-
tered the witness, still far from feeling at ease
beneath that steady, contemptuous gaze. “I
was knocked all of a heap when he talked to me
like that, though I still made sure he was fool—
in’. I sorter tuck it in a jokin’ way, but that
woulan do. He come out still plainer, pinnin’
me down ontel I bed to say ri ht out that I
couldn’t un’ wouldn’t take no see oath, that I
wasn’t anywhars ni h this county when the de-
tective was killed; t at I’d told more’n one this
was the f 11‘st time I ever hit the region, which
they’d be sure to ’member as much, an’ then
whar‘d I be!

“He stuck to me tight, did the boss, sayin’
he‘d fix that up all right, an’ keepin’ at it, piiin’
up his bids ontel I begun fer to look skccry. He
was so powerful in airncst that I couldn‘t help
seein' it. Onto] then I looked at it as onlya
sort 0’ curious joke, like, but that Wouldn’t an-
swer no longer. An’ so, the easiest way I could
I told him I wouldn’t touch the matter with a
ten-foot pole.”

“ He didn’t try to make you sw’ar to keep his
secret thong” slowly asked John Mahar, a puz-
zled, doubting look coming into his face.

Lafe Dawson flashed a swift glance up at his
face and muttered:

“He turned it off as a joke. Mebbe he
thought it wouldn’t fay in well with that idee,
ef he used threats or sech. Anyway, he never
even axed me to keep it mum.”

“But you done it, all the same,” growled
Mark Tappan. r

Dawson shrugged his shoulders, a shrewd
light coming into his eyes.

“ h not! It was the law that tuck hold 0’
Owen TIZCngId, au’ ef the law said he was guil-
ty, all‘ my talkin’ wouldn‘t prove nothiu’ differ—
ent. I inebbe did consid’able thinkin’, but I
held my tongue: an’ I’d ’a’ bin holdin’ of it yet
only fer yer pinchin’ me so mortal tight!”

“ No doubt it was terribly hard to get you to
speak!” sneered the accused, as Dawson half-

"turned toward him while uttering the last

words.

“\Vhy wouldn’t it be?” with a sudden out—
burst of what seemed genuine emotion. “ You‘ve
treated me clean white ever some I come to
these parts. I liain’t one thing to lay up ag‘iust
you. but—”

'Glenn Elliston flung out one hand with hot
impatience as he said: .

“ Choke him off, or make him keep strictly to
what he calls his testimony, will you? Don’t
add insult to injury, by permitting that our to
.310er all OVer me, while doingthis level best

'to twist a rope for my neck!”

mwson caught his breath with a suspicious
:snifl’.

“ I ain’t blamin‘ of him, gents! I reckon it
do look ruther tough; but what could I do? It
was talk or croak, an’ I had to talk!” '

“Go on an’ git through with it, then,” mut-
tered Mahar, whose face once more showed con-
flicting doubts.

“ They ain’t no more to say. The boss never
mentioned the matter ag’in to me, nur I to
him.”

“ Then you kin fall back. Boys,” with a
glance over his shoulder, “some 0’ you keep a
eye 0,1,1 Dawson, will ye, in case he’s needed
a in.

8John Mahar faced the prisoner, his counten-
ance clouded, grave and anxious. His first hot
rage had died out. His first fierce belief was
growing into a doubt that caused him to the full
as much pain.

There was much depending u n him, in that
affair. He had been chosen eader, tacitly if
not b word of mouth or b ballot in a more
forms. fashion. It would f lto his lot to son-
tence the prisoner should the evidence show him
guilty as charged. His lips Were the ones to

eclare him innocent, in case the evidence
proved too weak to convict him of treachery
an i worse; but then what? Could he carry his
men with him? Could he make them look
through the same eyes? Could he keep them
from uenching their mad, unreasoning thirst
‘with 1) 00d! . I

This was the point that troubled him the
worst, just now. _ ‘

“ Ellistou. I’d hate mightily to hev to When
you sech adirty whelp an’ cur as Lafe Dawson

esswore you, but I’m freetoconfess that things
looks mighty black ag’inst you—mighty black l”

“I declare, on honor, that not one word of
truth has passed his lips this night in my hear-
ing!” impetuously cried Elliston, his face pale,
but his ay eyes glowing until they shone al-
most re' ly in the lamplight. “You have his
word for. and my oath afiainst; believe the one
you think most worthy be ief l”

“ Lafe’s neck ain‘t got a rope twisted ’round
jt, an’ yours hes!” Mark Tappan bluntly inter-

, with a sour grin. \-

. A low muttering ran through the grou of
moonshineis, tellin how strongly this a t ' us-
tmtion as to the va no of evidence strut; them.
Elliston board it, and had no dflculty in right-

 

}iy interpreting its meaning. Still he did not
inch an atom. If anything, his attitude, his
demeanor, became even more defiant than
before.

“All the more reason why I should guard in
lips from a lie,” be promptly retorted. “ t
brings me low enou h to be 0 liged to answer the
barefaced falseh uttered by such a misera-
ble cur, but lile is dear to the bravest of us, and
I do not pretend to be anxious for death—least
of all, death by the rope. Still—and I say this
to Iyou as man to man, a: neighbor to neighbor
— would ten thousand times rather suffer
death by a rope. in your hands than save my life
bya lie as foul and unfounded as those just
uttered by Lafc Dawson 1”

"Talk is cheap, an’ a tongue grows mighty
limber when they’s a life hangin’ onto the eend
of it.” slowly uttered John Mahar. taking from
his breast the paper which we saw him discover
in the tin box found in the secret recess l'( vealed
by Lafc thwwm. “ Will you jest run your two
cycsover this bit olpaper, an’ tell us what it
means?"

A single glance was sufficient to inform Ellis—
ton of its nature and contents, and his face
turned white as that of a corpse as he realized
the peril which threatened him now. \Vhite,
but with a deadly rage, not from fear.

“That is a forgery, false as ho.l itself!” he ut-
tered, his voice hard and strained. “It is a
detoctive’s commission, but it never was mine,
never was in my possession for an instant. If
not a forgcr in itself, it is in answer to a for-
gery, since never applied for such a commis-
sion, was never oil‘ei'ui it, nor would I have, ac-
cepted it under any consideration whatever.”

ohii Mahar silcn’lystroiio across the room,
lifting the mirror and opening the secret door,
keenly watching the accused as he did so.

Elliston followed his ino'Vements with blazmg
eyes, and gave a sudden start as he saw the cun-
ning hiding-place laid bare.

“ You found the paper in there, and Lafe
Dawson told you where to look f” be exclaimed.
with )roudly-cnrling:lips. “That does settle it!”

“ hen you own up to what it says?” sharply
demanded Mahar.

“ Incver own up to a lie," was the cold, con-
temptuous retort. “I was simply puzzled to
see how you Would explain your Imssossion of
that forgery. for I could hardly believe you were
fallen so low, John.”

Mahar flushed, and his eyes dropped for an
instant at that cutting retort, all the more se—
vere from the touch of melancholy which ac-
com panied the words.

“Dawson swo;c he saw you hide it thar. He
swore he one time come ’crost a. paper writ by
your own lian’, tellin’ jest whar our different
stillspras located, an’ the easiest way to git at
em.

“ And how did he explain his inability to pro-
duce that important paper?” uickly interposed
Elliston, his eyes flashing. 'hat might be of
some importance. since no doubt there is more
than one gentleman now present who has seen
specimens of my handwriting. Why is not this
writing presented to the court as cvide ace .7”

“ He says you got it back ug’in.”

“ Bought it. no doubt. even as I tried to bu
his oath against Owen Tredgold— Bah!” wit
sudden impatience. “ If you can place an
credence in what he says, all I can offer is
worthless. since. I ’ have only truth and honesty
to back me up!”

There was a sudden bustle at the door. and
Bion Burnavo shouldered his way through his
fellows, hisbruiscd face lit up with a hard, mer-
cilbss glow of triumph as he flung an o )0!) paper
 the table before John Mahar, spea 'ing rap-
1 y:

“ I reckon it’.; time for me to put in a word,
gentlemen. There’s a paper of preCisely the
same purport as the one escribed by Dawson.
I found it in town, in the possession 0 Major
Burke, chief of the Revenue Secret Ssrvicei I
saw ataglanee how im ortant it might turn out
to you, and stole it. so it as best you know
howl”

John Mahar caught up the per, though a
score of hands were outstretch in an eager at—
tempt to be the first. He glanced rapidly over
the closely written lines, his brows contracting
and his face growing hard as flint as he read.
Truly this seemed proof irrefra able.

. “ Hold to that paper, John ahar!” cried El-
liston, with almost savage energy as he pulled
open a drawer in the table at which he st .
bringircilg forth a bound bonk, a stylograp ic
pen an some paper. “ I will write a few- lines
undo; your own eyes, and si my name. In
this ook you will find that Inhave daily kept
the accounts of this place, with other personal
matters. Com re. in writing, freshly made,
With that in t is boo . and see if they differ
materially. Then compare both with the hues
on the paper you hold in your hand!”

“ Is it so hard to disguise oue’s handwriting!”
sneered Barnave.

“You seem ready enough to answer your

own question, you villain!” with sharp con-'

179mm, even as ins pen glided rapidly over the
paper. “Why not. since, as I firmly believe,
you forged both of those papers in hopesofruim

v

.Glenn Elliston out o t

 

 

He both per and book to John
Mahar, who careful};l compared first the two
former, then each of them with the writing on
the document produced in evidence by ion
Barnave. He could detect a certain dim re-
semblance between the writing in the latter,
and the others, but this was no stronger than,
might possibly have happened with other speci-
mens taken up at random.

“ Ef the same hand writ them, the man that
done it tried to disguise his way o'handlin‘ the
pen.” was his decision. at length.

“ Of course!” cried Barnave, with a disa
able laugh. “Would he care about publis 'ng
his treachery to the whole world i”

" Would he be such an errant fool as to leave
such a document lying carelessly about v here a.
fellow like Dawsr 11 could get sight of it?”

“Every rogue makes a slip in time.”

“ As you have made yours. by exp0sing your
hand so prematurely, Bion Fainave!” \\ as the
swift retort. " Gentlemen, )(u (an readily
imagine why this fellow l'as humped up these
charges against me. You know that he thinks
he has bitter (ause to reg-Ht my coming back to
the home of my Iroylzw d. I name no names,
for good and sufficient reasons. but not one of
those who are within hearing but understands
well what I allude to.”

“ You lie in your—” ~,

A panther-like leap. a snift b‘ow straight
from the shoulder, “iih tl'c weight of his body
added to it, sent Bion Barnave endlong across
the room and out through the open door.

As rapidly Glenn Elliston recovered himself,
standing proudly erect, his arms folding over
his heaving chest, his gray eyes glowing like
balls of steel as be confronted the startled.
angered crowd.

“That is my answer to yonder lying cur,
gentlemen!” rung out that clear. distin t voice.
“To you, I simply declare my inn cues of
each and every charge brought against me by
those two lying scoundrels. I swear by high
heaven that I have never informed against one
of you. I pledge you my word as a man and
neighbor, that I never took a ccmmission as a
detective in the Secret SEI‘VI(0 or any other. I
swear that I never wrote that paper; that I
never knew of yonder hiding-place in the wall;
that I never brought a charge. secret or open,
against Owen Tredgold-as why should I?”

“ The time has come when in justice to myself
1 must speak out plainly. and there is not an
honest person in the county who will or “he can
blame me for so doing.

 

“ You all know that Bion Barnave and myself " I I. 5

have been courting Miss Tredgold. You ma

gold is now ' my promised wife, and her father
has given his free consent to our marriage. He
says that he knows of nothing which could give
him more happiness. '

“Granting this—and I call on him to witness
the perfect truth of my assertion—why would I
be such a fool, such a devilish rascal, as to seek
his death? Is it not preposterous on the very
face of it? ~

“ On the other hand, Bion Barnave told his
love. only to be firmly rejected. He swore to
get even—Miss 'Iredgold vsill hear me (hit in
this.

he ever caught him prowling about his place
again. Right there you have a clew to this foul
charge. trumped up at this late day against as

true and noble a gentlemanas there can befonnd‘

in the whole length and breadth of the land!

“ I charge Bion Barnave With tein the an-
onymous accuser of On en Tredgoldl iih be-
in the secret infonner wh0—”

There came a pistol shot. and with a go.
cry Elliston reeled back, falling heavily. SE
Barnave sprung in at the men donr, crying.0

“ Talk enough! Hang the informerl wn
all who dares to stand up for the secret spy!
You. John Mahar!”

His pistol snapped, but flinging it with too. . ‘

true aim, the gaunt mountaineer ‘was felled to

the floor. and then, with wild, infuriated yells. T
the moonshiners pounced upon the flooding 

form of their victim, dragging him out th
the, open door into the clear moonlight, Bion
Barnave at their head. ‘

“ I only aimed to stun the rascal, but livingor , ~

dead, up a tree he oesl” cried the exultant ,
bending over his el less victim. “ Hum !”
leaping to his feet an
glee. “ He’s well enoug for stretching a rope!
I only barked the top of his head!"

“ Le’s git it over with afore Mabar

himself ag’in, then, or they‘ll be holy fun int:  '_”

bushel measure right thar!” spluttered
Tappan. adding his ' to thosejwhich hauled
good to the nearest tree large enough for their
esperate p . .
There Warm time cut to waste, but ra
as they worked. they wore fated to be too to,
There came the clatter of hoofs on the rocky

road. and while still some distance 03, them ,.

shiners recognized the rider with loud cries and

cheers of mingled wonder and joy! : -.
Owen Tredgoldl And not a single minuteto'o . -
soon for Elliston ‘ V r

not .
know how we fared, but I‘ll tell you. Miss red- '

Owen Tredgold heard of this, and bluntly \ ,
threatened to make his heels break his neck 11' *'

ing'.
‘9“,

elling aloud in savage -

“ Hold!” and Jbraoe of revolvers  A r

1‘3 
I:  ~ ‘

 

yard and across the ‘} ‘

  

, 26

his words. “I’ll kill the first man who dares
harm my boy! VVho’s at the head of all this?

Show him to me! Push him to the front, will
on?”
c y But when they looked for Bion Barnave, he

had vanished!

‘ ' CHAPTER XVII.
BION BARNAVE’s LAST TRUMP.

BION BARNAVE was one, if not the very first
to recognize the coming horseman, and in that
same instaift he knew that his carefully laid

lans had gone wrong beyond the mendin . One
rief breath of desperate doubt—of menta 1y de-
'.' hating whether or no he should not stick it out;
E“ ‘ his brain as swiftly reckoning the chances for
and against his success; Counting the risk of
shooting Owen Trcdgold down as he came speed-
ing up, claiming it an unfortunate mistake by
which a friend died in place of one attempting
 '. to rescue their prisoner.
\ Only for an instant. He knew that this Would
most assuredly end in his own weight stretchingr
’ ' \ the rope now twisted about the neck of his hated
‘ I rival. There was still a chance remaining, it' he
could only steal away during the confusion and
excitement!
% ' All other eyes were turned in the direction of
 2 the coming horseman. Thcnioonsliincrs li'd al
.v’. ” ready recognized their idolized chief, and in
 those moments of “'ild excitement, they had
 i , thoughts and eyes for nothing else save ()wcn
',.T ' Tredgold.
A swift, stealthy leap carried Bion Barnavo
under COVer, a nd then with rapid steps he hastily

 

increased-the distance between him and the trce
i which he had hoped to ornament with the most
 ' : fri htful of fruit.

I » , e scowled blackly as he caught the loud, glad
' cheers that came from the moonshiners as they
‘ were re 'oined by their leader whom they had
' ‘ well-nig given up as doomed to sufl'er death.

 

teeth together with all the viciousness of a wolf.
“ One minute ago I was their god! N ow—if thcy

J‘(

‘5,“ ~ could, they’d be only too read to run me up by
‘ ., ' the neck in place of Glenn E1 istou—curses rest
’ ,l' upon his head!”

 'He was out of ordinary earshot and antici-
 ting pursuit, or at least a. search for him, Bion
fi’: %rnave increased his ace until he was running
 a. more than half—spec through the m ht.
‘ 3:2“ Not in mad terror. Not aimless'y. ut with

a clear, well-defined end in view.

“I’ve 0t one trump card left!” he muttered
through his clinched teeth as, with all the art of
a practiced runner, he uared his shoulders, in-
fluted his chest, and he ed direct for his distant

on]. “I’ll play that for all I’m worth. If it
Ethos the trick, all right. If not—well, time
enough to choose between my own bullet and
their ro l”

Bion rnave was no feel, if his mad love for
Lida Tredgold and his madder jealousy of Glenn
Elliston had forced him to act with dangerous
,, ,. boldness. He knew that now Owen Tredgold

 had eeoaped-for his release from prison could
only be accounted for in some such manner—and
, , . _ was at liberty, the truth must come out, and the

i ' V , mountaineers learn to know him for what he
really was.
r , ' There was 8. 00d deal of truth in the counter-

' chdr utte b Glenn Elliston when placed
on t for his li e before the mountain court.
By simply altering the names and actions of one
to the other, pretty much all were explained.

Bion Barnave had threatened Lida Tredgold
. ’in his fierce disappointment born of her firm re-
 jection. She mentioned this to her father, who
. '1 sternly warned the moonshiner spy to keep
gaway from the place, under penalty of a severe

  
   
   
  
    
   
  
  
 
   
   
    
 
 

, ‘ /

hm . ,

5 Knowi‘rgig that he already had the countenance
indwell wishes of the mother, Bion Bamave
‘ caught at the first chance of getting the father
: out 'of the way, feeling that then he would
' ' . have a far better chance of winning this proud
. .- uty who lau bed his love to seem. And
“ " ‘n a doube part as he had been doing
fine very start; serving both the moon-
'- xsbiners and the revenue officers as spy; it was
. ,. » no very difficult matter for him to procure one
'  1 howas willing to bear witness against Owen
' ed old, for a goodly consideration. And it
 was a most as easy for him, rider specious pre-
 tenses, to have the matter kept as dark as possio

‘, bio while the/preliminaries were under way.
' At the same time Bion Barnavo was plotting
" coolly, systematically, for the ruin of is suc-
 dessful rival in love. He found an easily pur-
 ;¢hased tool in Late Dawson, and carefully tu-
‘ .tored him in the evidence he was to give, as
; «well as his manner of deliveriii it in order to
‘make it the most effectual. \ ith his aid, the
"3 hiding-place was constructed during the absence

of Glenn Elliston, and the paper concealid.
, " ' It was for the express purpose of denouncing
1; '  Glenn Elliston as a Secret Service spy and fur-
,‘ ‘ nishin 'partial proof of his charge, that led

s; Bion amave to call together the mountaineers
'9 at their secret place of meeting in the little
  km where we met them in our first chapter.

~ ' e was just on the point of denouncing his suc-
i v: [coast rival when the unceremonious ap r-
 V’uneo f Andrew Tortle effectually upse his

   fbr the time being. .

“The fickle ours!” he grated, snapping his.

‘slip through your finger? If you hnd——skin-

 

 

The Ghost Detective.

Instantly the suspicion that this person was
one of the men whom he had learned were to be
sent out in nest of further information, struck
the spy, an o ened his eyes to the risk he was
running in p aying such an intricate double
game.

If this was indeed a spy in the Secret Service,
and he had heard all that had passed his lips
during the last few minutes, he must never be

ermitted to escape to detail his discoveries.

t was on a forlorn hope that his face might as
yet have escaped close scrutiny that led Bion
Barnave to springing outside the circle of fire-
light, and to his guiding what followed with-
out exposing himself to these keen eyes. And
when the hairy disguise was torn from the face
of Andrew Tortle, making it almost positive he
was a spy on the moonshiners, Bion Barnave
felt that his own safe ty demanded the capture
or death of this follow.

The failure to effect either, was the first break
in his carefully forged chain; but since then,
everything seemed to have gone wrong. And
this strange, unexpected return of Owen Tred—
gold put the cap-sheaf on!

“Yelp on, you curs!” grated the unntasktd
villain, casting a brief glance over his shoulder
as the faint, far-away sound of angry, vengeful
yells came to his ears on the favoring breeze.
“ A few minutes ago you were ready to follow
me to the gates of Hades itself! Now you are
raveniiig for my heat t’s blood! Come and take
it——hut work mighty lively, or I’ll fool ye all
yet!”

Bion Barnave was heading direct for his

own home, taking the shortest course, though
that led over a rough. broken, difficult tract of
ground, trying even for an athlete like him-
self. Still, he knew that this was his sole
chance. Had he attempted to reach his horse
and take to flight on its back, discovery would
have come far too speedin for any chance of
esca )0.
“They’d have smoked me right off!” he mut-
tered, his unusually active brain leaping from
one subject to another with feverish speed.
“ Even if luck favored me in dodging their bul-
lets, they’d have jumped critters and pressed me
too mighty close for this new rigging to work as
it’ll work now—asitmust work!” with abissing,
vicious oath.

Up the hill and down the slope the Secret Ser-
vice spy dashed, onl pausin now and then to
moisten his parchedy lips wit water caught up
from spring or brook. He was playin his last
card in that intricate ame for love an revenge
and he could not affor to lose a single moment:
one minute lost or gained might make all the
difference between complete defeat and at least
partial success.

“ If nothing more, I’ll have a sup of ven-
geance!” he panted, pausing to catch breath
when on the hill from whence he could catch his
first glimpse of his house in the valley below.
“Even at the worst, I’ll drop a. spider, in their
cup of happiness!”

11 was still and peaceful as he neared the
house. The moonshiners had been distanced in
the race, if indeed they had thought of looking
here for him. There was no slight, no sound to
warn Bion Barnave of impending danger and
defeat as he hastened u to his home.

“Mammy! Mam”T ld !”he owled save e-
ly as he shook the locked oor, t en dashing his
clinched fist against the panels until the sound
echoed throu bout the building.

“Who darg” came a startled, quavering voice.
“G’way dar, you evil ’sturber ob honcs’ folks!
G’way fore I shoot—I gota. cannon heah—I has
fo’ sart’in suah !”

“ Open up, mummy,” impatiently cried Bdr-
peajg, rapping again. “It s only rue—the mas-

r

“’Deed of I don’t b’lieve it is de chile-I des
does, now i” came that splutteriug Voice, and an
other minute saw the door swing open, an aged,
fat negress winking and blinking in the light as
she shaded her sleepy eyes from the candle in
her hand. “ Is it you, Mars’-——”

“Can’t you see it’s me, you infernal idiot?”
angrily snap d Bion Barnave as be pressed
past her. “ ow’s the woman? Nothing has
happened since I’ve been gone?”

d t’lzeed dey isn’t nuflln’ happened, ’cept
a ....

Barnave caught the light from her hand.
taming to a room on his right, opening the
deer and entering without waiting for her
sluggish explanation. A quick breath of relief

 

came through his teeth as he saw a pale, wan
face gazing afl’rightedly at him from a low
bed in one corner of the room.

" ’Cept dtit I failed asleep when I didn’t know
nufiin’ 'tall ’bout it. sah !” concluded Mummy
Matilda, waddling after her master, bobbing;
and bowing, her round eyes winking owlishly as ‘
she came into the light.

“ Shut your head, you old fool,” snapped Bar-
nave, turning upon the negrcss with a vicious
show of his teeth. “ W but do I care about your
sleeping. so long as vou Imvmi’t let this woman

ning alive wouldn’t be a circmrstnncc!”

“ ’Deed,clen, Mars’ Bion, s' c’ll ncblvu lcabe flat
bed ontwel she go ’wny f’om it feet .‘r=’in0st, sah!
Mighty bad way—onijgl'ity bizd way she in, new

i r‘ ‘ I ‘

. . pm .1 ,y.~...... ....  .-._.,._

 

g

I tell you hard, honey!” with a solemn roll of
those owlish eyes, and slow wagging of her
round head.

“ I will not—I cannot die!” faintly gasped the
owner of that wan face, rising up with spas-
modic eagerness, holding out her thin, wasted
hands with an appealing gesture. “Take me
to him—bring him here to see me, if only for a
moment! Do not keep me captive—you are do-
ing worse than murder in restraining me!”

Bion Barnave strode to the bedside. holding
the candle so that its dim rays fell fairly upon
her face—a face that, despite the ravages of ill-
ness, was really beautiful.

“ You are not so bad off as you try to make
out,” he muttered, drawing back with a breath
of relief.

“ I am dying—dying by inches!” with more hur-
ried tones, twin-spots of red beginning to glow
in her sunken cheeks. “ It does not show, but
in here,” and one hand was clasped spasmodi-
cally to her side near her heart, "I can feel
death gnawing at my heart! I am dying—yet
you deny me the on remaining comfort the
World can give mel gnu—I bf g of you to have
mercy!“ [or hands clasping, her large eyes.
glowing with pitiful eagerness, mixed with an-
guish beyond the power of simple words to por

ti'a .

Irer voice choked, and red blood tinged her
pallid lips. She sunk back (n her pillow with a
look of unutterable agony in her haunting eyes.

" Give her a dose of the cordial, mummy!”
muttered Bariiave, intent! ' watching the pain-
distorted countenance. “ race her up the best
you know how, for she‘s got to get out of this in.
a hurry!” ,

“’Deed, marstcr!” splattered the negress, in'
disma . “It done be her sart’in suah defl' to
cben fink 0b gittin’ out o’ bed!”

The woman rose to a. sitting posture as she
heard these words. She revived wonderfully,
thou h her voice was still choked, still husky and
indis inct as she spoke:

“ Then you will relent—you will permit me to
go? Heaven shower its choicest blessings u 11
your head for that! It is all I live for! Al I
ask! Just to see him—just to warn him of his
peril, and—” \ .

Her very eagerness bade fair to defeat her-
hr; 5. Again she choked and fell back on her
pi ow.

With a muttered oath Bion Barnave pushed
the old negress toward her, hiinself bringing‘a
glass with medicine from where it stood on the/
mantle over the broad fire-place. ’

“ Make her drink,” be muttered hoarseiy. hur-
riedly. “Brace her ‘up the best you can, for
she’s got to take a ride to-night, or meet with
worse than death! Work lively! Get some
clothes on her as quick as you can, while I see-
to the horse. No nonsense, now! Forget or'
dilly-daily, and I’ll strip the black hide off of‘
your back big enough to make a saddle-blanket
out of! You hear me?”

“ ’Deed I heah, marster, but it fiyin’ ight in
de face ob Probidence so it is, now!" uttered
the negress ently lifting the hea of her'
patient and he ding the glass to her blood-tinged

i s.

P

“ All the same, it’s got to be done! Do your-
level best, unless you want to so sorrow, old
lady!” snapped Barnave, placing the candle on
the table and leaving the room with a. hurried.

ste .

life paused on the threshold to cast aswift,
searchingoglance over the ground but he saw
nothing alarm him further. There was no
one in sight. No sound to alarm him. And a.
sigh of intense relief came up in his throat as he
stepped outside, moving toward the stables.

“ Nothing of those hounds et!” he muttered
with a bar laugh as he plac saddle and bridle
on a good horse. “ Either they’ve forgotten all
about me in their love-feast, or else they think
I’m dodging and hiding nearer to them than
this! A right! Let them give me a few min-
utes’ longer play, and I’ll make the rif'fle yet l”

He finished equipping the horse, leading him
forth and hitching him b the blocks at the front
fence, then rte-entering t e house, at once repair—
in to the sick-chamber.

ammy ’Tildy had performed her duty as
ordered, though she was still rolling 1) her owl-
ish eyes, still shaking her little men head, so
out of proportion With her mountain of body,
still mumbling vows and protestations that this
was a sin and a flying straight into . the face of‘
Providence. .

The invalid was dressed, with one of Mammy
’Tildy’s own gaudy bandana turbans placed
upon her bandagrd head. She glanctd eagerly,
imploringly toward the door as it o.ened, her
sunken cycs glittering with a. feveris light as
she murmured:

“ You were so long—I feared you had forgot—
fen! See—I am ready—quite read to go! It.
is to him you are taking me?” she a ded as Bar-
nave made no immediate response, fumbling in
his pocket for a flask of liquor. “ You will take
me to him? I must see him, if only for a min-
ute! To warn him—to save him frnm—” v

Bion Barnave strode to the b¢dside, tiring;
out a generous dram of whisky into he cup»
which he took from the bottom of the pocket»
flask. With rough haste he spoke: ,

T""""‘Ti’j‘» "

r

i.» .57;   ' 2‘! ‘- '

“ «14.11. mm .  277.154.8(a2.  MW

a

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

',
,1

' ‘The Ghost Detective.

2'7

 

 

“Drink this, in a. hurry! You’ll need it be—
fore this night is over with! Drink—do you
think l’d poison you? You’re Worth far too
much to me for that, my fine lady!” he laughed
brutally. _

The woman took the cup \vitli trembling
bands, drainin its contents without pausing to
taste them. "he fier poison strangled her,
making her cough an catch her breath until
Mammy ’Tildy was forced to catch and support
her in her strong arms. . . ' .

“1".~;fi_r/in’-’decd it is! Flyin’ yight in de
face! She cain’t go. Mars’ Bion—cain’t gono-
wuys.’ ’ spluttercd the regress l‘(‘<{~3('t and iii-
dign ition struggling hard for the mastery.

lI.-‘.‘ words secmcl to produco a magical
effect. for before liarnave could utter the an-

ry words that rose t ) his lips. the invalid rote

a sitting posture, gasping; breathlesst

“ I must go! To save him—40 savi-—"

“ To save your own dainty neck, better my!"
brutally interposed the Secret Service spy as he
pushed Mammy ’Tildy aside. “ Can you under-
stand whatI sa ,my line lady? Vv'hen 1 tel
you that the moo is up and even now hurrying
this way with a nOOsed rope which they sm-ar
amidst their savage howls and curses slrill
strangle the life out of you, woman or no Wo-
man? Can you understand this, I ask you r”

Shivering. trembling. wild-eyed, the poor
creature listened. but whe‘hcr she fully compre-
hended his terrible meaning, Bion Barnavo
could not fully deride. Still he persisted:

“ I’ll save your ne-k from them, if you’ll only
try to brace up! Summon your strength, and
we’ll laugh the liloo lhonnds to scorn. even yet!
Brace u)—-th:it's hearty!" with a hard. exult-
lllllil'lll; l as the_ woman rose to her feet and
stood erect. . ,

IIe. tcx‘tcl her powers no further, but picked
her up in his siiiewy arms, striding out _of tho
house and down to the fence, accompanied by
the old negress, shaking her fresty head and
mumbling smoothing about flying—flying
strai ht into the face of Providence

Sti lshe was sufficiently under control to ob-
serve what Barnave told her, and she supported
the young woman on the blocks while he settled
himself in the saddle. Then he took the frail,
trembling figure on his arms, supporting her
across his thighs as he hurriedly added:

“If an body comes to ask after me. swear
that you aven’t seen me since yesterday neon.
SWear that you have no idea of my present
whereabouts. And—mind you, old lady !——not
a word about this lady! I‘ll strip your hide
from head to heels if you let even 3. int dro as
to her having been here! Mind—and obey!’

Without waiting for a. response, Bion Barnave
gave his good horse free rein, dashing off up the
valley at a rapid gait, paying no heed to the
faint moan of in which broke involuntarily
from the lips 0 his almost Swooning burden.

His evil passions were u permost on this
night, and he showed himself or the utter brute
he

was.

On 'without halting or slackening his pace he
rode. On until he was forced to from more
slewly by the nature of the groun . On until a
grim figure leaped out from the shadow and
cau ht his horse. by the bit. sternly crying:

“ top! you’ve got what belongs to me! Give
her lip—she’s mine!" . .

With an oath of savage surprise, Bion Bar-
nave thrust a revolver almost into that shaggy-
haired face. and pulled the trigger! A snap,
but no report followed! And then, With a snarl-
ing curse, the graybeard tore him from'the sad-
dle, hurling him tothe rocky ground With fear-
ful force.

Catéhing the swooning woman, the madman
leaped into the saddle and rode away rapidly.
muttering and gesticulating wildly.

CHAPTER XVIII.
nuxrnn DOWN AT LAST.

IT was well for Bion Barnave that he lost lit-
tle time in stealing away from what he intended
should be the impromptu gallows of his success-
ful rival.

Owen Trcdgold seemed  take in the scene
and jumpto a right conclusmn atasmgle glance,
lie leaped from his horse to the side of Glenn
Elliston, looking like an enraged lion as he

lared around in quest of a particular face, pis-
Eols in hand. _

“ Whar i: he? VVhar’s that dirty whelp, Bion
Barnave i" he thundered. .

And had the false spy of the moonshiners
fallen under those flashing. vengeful e  just
then, death would surely have been is por-
tion. ‘ '

Not an effort was made to complete the lynch-
i after the moonshiners rungnizodOwen red-
god. Something seemed to 1.4211 them what a
terrible mistake they had fallen. into. and after
that first wild enthusiasm with which they

eoted their chief, there was a subdued sort of
gll ness, of shrinking away from him, vis1ble in

s
‘ a save blunt. rough Mark Tappan.

“We’re mighty glad to see you, Owen—pow-
erful glad to see ye back ag’in in the flesh; but,
all the same it's only a reprieve for young
Ellismn, min ye!" -

“ What has he done to be treated like a. dog?”

' gecrnly cried Tredgold, with his own hands

/ ‘. ; .' i .. r 1'

\. r ». . I v H , ,.
.. . \ i, . ., .v , .

r If '20» .‘14' ‘>-: i,’ 44.4.  i-

_me 0 they kin—hut they’ll hev to take me dead,

 

flinging off the hastily-formed n. ose from ab. mt
the neck of the still confused, still bewildrrcd
young man. “ Who takes the I‘l‘SpOnSllllll‘ y of ,
this a‘i‘a’r, now the head whelp hes run off? Not
you. Tappan?”

“Ei' they ain’t no prittier man comes to the ,
front, I reckon you kin call it me,” was the ‘
blunt, half-liuiiiorous I'l‘Spi use.

“ Stop—no llll-I‘O quarrelng on my account!”
hastily uttered Glenn Elliston, stepping between
the two men, a hand on each breast. “ I am
not worth it. and you are both too good mm to
get to pulling hair over a mistake. Trmlgold
can bear witness that I never trapped him. as
Bion liariiavu bore witness. or—”

“ The dirt v cur!” grated Tredgold, with flash-
ing eyes and quivering nostrils, as he once more
glared lll‘lrlif‘ l in quest of the vanished spy.
“ My head on'l! Bion Barnave was at the but— ,
tom of the e Exile a’fa’i'! My head on’t. he’s bin
lilavin’ Us on! i" ‘r fools from the send-off!”

“ IVliar i : he, anyway?” came a hoarse,
strained Vi'l ~e, and John Mahai'. his face cov-
(red with liicmd flowing from a gash across his
temples, car. -, staggering across the road. “ I
want to see .' ion Barnave—an" 1 want to see him
mighty but,“ 1’

" He was here only a minnit ago!"

“ ile eain’t hev {y no fur!”

“ He’s crawled in‘othe brcsh, but we’ll mighty
soon rout him out!”

“ il-atter an’ look fer him, close i” cried Owen 9
Tredgold, seeming,r to accept this sudden and
complete change in the demeanor of the inoon- I
shinei's as a. matter of course. “ Take him alive
iin’ sound cf ye kin. He’ll need to be in mighty
good trim to answer for all that‘s laid up ag’inst
him. now I tell ye!”

There were no further explanations asked for
or made, just then. All present—unless it might
be Mark Tap an—seeined thoroughly convinced
that they hm been du led b their spy. and that
his neck needed stretc ing ar more than that of
Glenn Elliston.

Owen Tredgold simply waited to tell John
Mahar‘to bring or send news of Barnave's cap-
ture tohim at his own house, then with Glenn
Elliston he took saddle again and rode briskly
away to meet his family.

When they did so. the night was spent and the
day was nearly dawning. And as they came in
sight of the little house on the lateau. they
syning their hats with loud, clear c- eers as they
caught a glimpse of Lida, seemingly on the lock-
out for th( m.

One breathless moment of doubt—then her
glad cry went forth, bringing Mrs.’ Trcdgold in
glad trembling to the door, just as she had
sprung from the bed. And while Glenn and
Lida hung back a little, the husband dashed on
ahead to meet and greet his wife.

The sun was well up in the heavens before
Owen Tredgold could find time or breath for ex-

laining his wonderfully fortunate appearance.
~ven then, warned by a series of frame and
signs from Glenn, he said nothing of what had
met his startled gaze when he dashed up to the
house of his intended son-in-law.

He told how, with the money left him by
Glenn Elliston—not for that purpoae, but to ren-
der his situation less irksome, to secure him

eater comforts and better accommodations
han Were furnished other prisoners—he bribed
his jailer to connive at his escape. Told how he
left that jailer i 'ng on his couch, bound and
gagged, as thoug he had been overpowered too
suddenly to permit his raising an alarm. Of
how he opened the barred doors and stole out in-
to the nitht, once more a free man. Of how he
took to the mountains, riding hard and fast on
n. horse. which a sympathizmg fellow. let him
have without asking so much as a single ques-
tion, bluntly hinting that the less he knew the
less danger there would be of his ever drop .ing
information that might be of injury to the Rigi-
tive.

“ Mcbbo it was foolish—I dare say it was.”
Owen Tredgold said with a low happv laugh

3

 

as his arm stole closer about the waist of
invalid wife, and his other hand pressed first
that cf Glenn Elliston, then clasped Lida’s lit-
tle paw as though he would never relinquish
it. “ But I couldn’t stan’ it no longer—it was
killin’ me by inches! I was all the time her-
in’ trouble on your a’count. I couldn’t help
t inkin’ an’ fenrin’ that you was gittin‘ heap
wuss then you‘d let me know in your mistaken
kindness, Marthy. I couldn’t—(m’ I didn’t!”
33th sudden vehemencc, his eyes flashing viv-
i y.
“Right or wrong. I had to git out wharI
could draw a breath 0’ fresh air! It was killin’
mob inches, in tharl Let’ein come an’ take.

never ag’in alive!”

Mrs. Tredgold seemed wonderfully cheered up-
by the return of her husband, and actually for-
get to fi own once on Glenn Elliston. Possibly
this was due to his unusual circumspection. Not
once did he try to steal any of those little lux-
uries so highly prich l y lovers. yet so insignifi-
cant in themselves when deliberately enumerated
by an outsider.

His mind was far too ill at case. He knew
that this mow: of Qwen'l‘rcdgold was an ex-
tremely rash one, and that "it would almost ca;-

6 I, ’i

 

 

  L  I' ,

itainly complicate his case seriously. The all”

tliorities would not rest quietly under this vio- ‘
lation of their laws. They would spare no»
pains to recapture their prisoner, and when his
case should come to trial, this flight would cer--
tainly prejudice it.

There was only one hope—41nd that founded

’ on si ipersti tioii!

He believod more firmly than ever that Uncle
Jax knew the true stiry of that mysteriq us
crime; but could he le coaxed or fi'ightiized
into telling \\ but he knew?

Glenn Elliston thought over his exxn'icree
with the old negro (an the past night. and nun»-

! tally decided that the lure was a ver linil (ne

indeed. Mortal man was never m( re illiil'tllgh-
ly frightened than had lccn Uncle Jax. yet
never a confirming word had been permitttd to
pass his lips. *

He was still musing thus, when Lida. who had
been for some little tin e hustling obi ut. hut-led ‘
in preparing something to out. six pi ed shi rt be»
fore the door with a little try, hi 1' face gri win
very pale as she pointed with trimbling hang,
outside.

“ Somebody—a stranger!” she gasped, as. . .4
Glenn instantly sprung to htr side. ( i e aim ‘ 
del'ily passing about her trim waist in a loverly'
support. “If he’s after father!” _

“ No one ntan kin take me luck !” plated.
Tredgold as he rose to his feet and approached.
the door, despite the efforts (Ll the part of his. .
wife and daughter to check him. -,‘-'_

.Thcre was a man standingt n the little plateau. ‘
without. facing the house, < nc hand 1‘8le with
a deprecatory motion as he can ht a glimrse of;
those within. And his voice, (‘ ear and strong,.
came with the words:

“ Flag of truce. gcntlemen! I haven’t got on
my fighting clothes this trip. and—” , . 

“ I know you—Curly Rooks!” ejaculated Ellis-r  '
ton, with a frown, as he stepped across the- ‘ 5 ~_
threshold, pistol in hand. -' '

" I’ve seen your face before, too, but that’s no-
sign we need fly at each other’s threats. is it?" _
with a. low, careless laugh that sounded aln:dst .,_’~, "
like a sneer. “ Hallo! you’ve g(t back. Owen '
Tredgold? How did you leaye everybcdy in.
town?. "

“ ’Joyin’ heap better health then you’ll hev to .  
boast of, on infamal bloodhound!” growled thex. * 
chief of t e moonshiners. “ Heap better,ef you
come here thinkin’ to take me back to periih fer' ,  .r
a breath 0’ fresh air in that dog-kennel of a ,
jail!” '

Curlv Rooks grew grave in face and V( ice as
he made reply: ‘ ' 

“ I’ve not come here to take you back, Tred-L

old, or I’d have known better t an to show in 5"

ace before you felt the grip of my hands. ,
didn’t even know you had bro en jail—or v. asa'tu
a release on bail ?”  «

“ Never you mind what it was. nut how-it? _, ‘
come about.” sullenly retorted the fugitive. 
“ I‘m here, an’ I’ve come to stay. You try t0_'. 3 
pla‘.’ any secb tricks as your mates did then... r
they tuck me afore. an’ thin ’11 beene bloodlicun’“~
the less in the Secret Sarvice!” . I.

\Vith a swift movement which was not under~
stood until it was accomplished, the detective~
unbuckled his belt of arms and ermitted them. ,, g
to dr at his feet. He held his em tyhandsjt' 
up in ull view as he step forwar , caving"
his tools behind him. is voice was full of?
strong feelinlg as he spoke again: -‘

“ Would be too enough to open? disarm
Wself if I meant you mischief, Owen 1'chde

ould I drop my tools and put myself empty?»
handed witbm your grip—and vou two to 0119- -
—ifI thought of nrrestin you i” '1 a ‘

“ They am’t no tellin’ w at cussed tricks you. 2.9 1- 
crittersain’t up tol Ef ou ain’t after me, lint.‘ .' '
fetched you here so mig ty so< n?” ._ _

Curl Rooks laughed softly, a smile passing“.
across is face as he made rep y: ‘  

“I reckon your neighbors could tell you P103" Zia-5 
been in these 1part1! for some little time. If you .5,"
hear them ta of Andrew Tortle, the man who» " .
wanted to find Monkey Dick Moss, to-—” ' ‘

“Then Bion Barnave was right when he 60—"
clared that fellow was you in disguise?” inter—y 

“ lHI§IIiston. k f e“ . n , 4 in, 4;

ed ought to now my ace 1' ywe '  “i ".
this time.” with a disagreeable ugh. “ g '  éi
seen it often enough while he was waiting for. _
instructions at Headquarters. Or am I betray-'7 3'
ing a secret?” with a comical assumpticn of (Ii-"i ,1 
barrassmcnt which was flatly centradicted by”! 2’5!
that malicious twinkle in his black eyes. f‘l‘ttc ._';"3’ "'-
haps friend Barnave wouldn’t! like it to get m, ’3‘
abroad that he is and has hem for years in 11:97:: ,:
employ of the revenue service, or that he has. ', L '
done more to break up the illicit manufacturer ,'~ ,
of whisky in this County than any other ten w; ‘
revenue spies in the service!”

“You are lying—you do rot mean us to he- ‘
lieve that?" panted Mrs. 'l‘redgeld, suddenly ap~*
peering at the side of her husband her .Jfaeo» .
pale as that of a corpse, her frail figurevtrem-nq ,
bling with emotion. I. 49..

“ I am telling you the simple truth. madam,”“_,f_. 3,
was the grave. earnest response. “Bion Euro-~th
nave is a traitor to his neighbors. He has {ml-J34...
nished us with all Iiihe ififormatip '32 
break u the sti s. e «as e one» H
move inp this arrest of your husband. 

  

  
 
  
  
    
 

 

    
  
  

   

28 ,

..-' F.“ r. s:

. The Ghost Detective.

’J|,:F-‘.~IXJ J an

(rum-.5...- M...“ .

 

 

brought the man forward who swore he was a
witness to the murder of Pendy Rowell—my
‘ partner, almost brother!”

1 “ Wh do you tell us all this?” demanded
i Glenn lliston, his eyes glowing vividly, but his
L ale face showing no signs 0 exultation over
, is fallen rival. “ If he is our enemy he must
’ be your friend and ally. Why do you betray

3 him, then?”

. ' Curly Rooks drew his figure proudly erect,
 it and there was an honest vigor in his voice and
I manner that carried complete conviction with

it when he made reply:

“ Your enemy, no doubt, but not my f rien( ——
not the friend of any honest maul Men in our
line of business often have to make use of such

' miserable tools, but rarely do they trust (il‘asso—
Q vciate with them. And Bion Barnave has played
a double game, betraying both sides whenever
it - \ he fancied it would be to his benefit. He has in-
‘ ,jured me more deeply than any other in the pro-

fession, since he has tried to make me take a
hand in hanging; an innocent man. instead of the
one on Wlioso liiiiids lies the bioodof my brother,
Pendy Rom-ll 3“

Mrs. Tredgold, with a low, painful sob. turn—
ed and offered her hand to (Ji'lCDll Elliston. Faint—
ly, huskily she iiiuriiiui'ed:

‘ Try to forgive inc—try to forget all—"

Curly Rooks turucd abruptly aside, staring
fixedly at the ileecy clouds as they floated across

var“, wqrg'w-m- k. .7” -
, . ;' .- ‘ 3.

'c.
t.

 ' the blue sky. Sentiment was a little out of his
'6'. line, and he took as little of it in as Eissiblc.

 - His keen ear heard Glenn and Ma taking
 ' Mrs. Tredgold into the house, and he turned us
'i' " I nick] at once taking up the broken thread.

a q Yv . .

 I “ I saw you down yonder,” With a nod in the
y, direction of the far-away county seat, “ and [
if. 5 both heard and saw you as you dcniedall knowlv
if: v e of that bloody deed.”

What I said then, I say now; I never done
it, never knowed how or by who it was done!”

- M
12$

if! :‘ ‘earnestly cried the moonshiner.
y) 4' " That was to be expected, of course, but I felt
 'that you Were telling thoplain truth. and though

5"? W on may not have thought it at the time, you
i ,' , fit drop a Word or two that turned my ideas in
' another direction. Still, it was hardly sufficient

to be a clcw, and I was afraid to qucstion you,

’ Jest my'notion should by an unlucky chance get

’to the ears of the wrong person.”

, “ An’ you follered that ideo u t” eagerly mut~
,tered Tredgold, catching the t erective by the,
hand. gazing almost bi'cathlessly into his face.
“ You know who done the murder? You kin
‘ ’int him out?”

“ I think I can answer yes to all of those ques—
tions,” was the prompt response. “ I’m willing
'to risk my reputation as a detective on it, at all
events."

Owcii Trcdgold turned and fairly ran back in-
to the lwuse, Curly Rooks following with more
deliberation, after taking a careful, thorough
:gaze from the edge of the plateau, as though ex-
pecting to discover somebody or something.

_ So deliberate were his actions, that when he

crossed the threshold Owen Tredgold had al-

‘téady told his glad news, and all were quite as
. "ready as they were anxious to listen to his ac-

count.
. “It wasn’t altogether guess-work with me,”

’ he said, with a grave smile that rendered his
' ,Tuggel face alniOSt handsome. “ But your
. chance words put me fairly on the track. Long
 before then, however, I had tried to solve the
m ste , but so many months had assedboforo
,I can of my friend‘s death, that t e trail was
cold when I reached here.

' “ Pendy Rowell wrote to me several times dur-
1 'ing his stay, here, and combinin what he told
, . fine in those letters, with what I new of his pc-
'gir'lj'l culiar nature, it was not difficult to fancy an
' .im at clew in the sudden disappearance of
._ Hi ton Sarsfleld and his wife. Pendy s ke of a.
r. loi‘iously beautiful woman, and how t orough-
- y be was enjoying his holiday. That was all,
‘ but it was enough for me!

i '“I came here in disguise. as a rough, tough
~ ~old rascal, looking for a deadly enemy, knowing
. ‘ that I could play the art well enough to de-
‘ ' ' mm tlceive most men, and ancying that I could ae-
” ’ seemvplish my ends better than in my real per-

 

 

  
     
 
 
  
 
   
  
    
    
   

.4.
.r

 

son.

“ An’ you done‘ it? You found out the real
‘murdereri" interposed Owen Tredgold, too im-
patient to await this slow action.

.  “Idon’t blame you,”‘ laughed Curly Rooks,
'1 With a side glance toward Mrs. Trodgold, and
' amentallv dec1din that she had recovered suffi-
_ ciently know a without further delay. “ I
i v ~’ did find out what I sought, thanks ma nlv to
a u  . on, Miss Tredgold,” with a how, but without
$11-$01 explain ng his meaning.

. A “1 believed my surest way was to frighten
‘.   the truth out of old Uncle Jax. and so I enlisted
‘ 1 the hoodoo doctor, Canjur King Saul, in my

' ~aervice. The rascal made a beta of it, though

‘r and Uncle Jax came pretty nigh giving me the

' slip. ' After all, it was just as well that matters

' I turned out thus, since it threw astill more di-
not proof into my hands.

’ ' "By more chance I came upon a fellow cut-

ting up precious queer antics on the bank of the

’river near where Pendy Rowell came by his

ide th and though he managed to fling me over

111% a drink, it was not untiliafter I had placed

_ «
’l V. at I, .

i l .
s . ~ 1

  

 

“rising to his fecl‘.

 

: him perfectly; not until I knew I had fairly run

the murderer to earth.”

Curly Rooks drew a. long breath, then hastily
resumed:

“Never mind how I got out. It was an ugly
tumble, and I’ll have more than one ugly dream
over it, Idon’t doubt. But I did get out, and
once more fortune favored me.

“You know I said there was little love lost
between Bion Barnave and me; that I knew he
was laying both parties false! I had an idea
thatIie was intimately Inchd up in that murder
case, and so, lacking anything better, I took a
stroll ’round his way.

“I found him, too. Found him running off
with a woman in his arms, after genuine ro»
mance style! Or it Would havo been, only this
woman looked more like a resurrected corpse
than a. loving clopist.

“ l‘lion was too far off for me to intercept or
ask questions, even if the idea had struck me.
lint just before he passed out offsight I saw the fol-
low who gave me a ducking leap out in front of
llarnavo and change places with him, quicker’ii
scat?”

“ \Vho was it?" slowly asked Tredgold, a
strange choking coming up in his throat.
" Norm”

“ Milton Sai'siicld himself!" was the swift in-
terposition, the eyes of the (li‘trCllVf! glowing
like living coals as he ended: “I ran him down
without attracting his attention. I saw him
cuter the Big House, and would have followed
after to arrest him, only for UiicloJax. He was
on guard, and I‘d tasted his lead once,‘ with a.
}liltiri} laugh as be tapped his burnt and blistercd

ace.

“ llolll get away!
once!" cried Elliston.

“ With you two men as my posse, I don‘t
mind trying.r it on,” soi‘tly laughed the detective,
“ ltcckon we might as well
be starting, hadn’t we 1”

“ The sooner tho better!
my neck!” cried ()wan.

CHAPTI‘IR XIX.
FAITlil-‘UL UNTU THE END.

“ COME back, marstcr! Come back, fo’ do love
oh iiin’ lieabcnl Seu’ him back, good Lor’, 'fore
it ’tarnally too late! Keep him fom ruunin’ into
de mouf ob dcm roarin’ lions wif ropes in dar
fingahs au’ eyes what see a gullmvs in cbbci'y
tree by do roadside! Hide him f’oiii dar sight,
good Lor’, an’ sen’ him back safe to his pore olo
snrbcntl liou knows he ain’t ’coiintable fo’ what
he does no loiigah! Don knows the han’ ob ’tlie-
tion rests pow‘ful heaby onto his pore head an’
onscttlcd brain: den stan’ his fri’nd aii’ seii’ him
back safe an’ soun’ to ole ch’ Jax—sen’ him
back in a mighty hurry, oh Lcr’l”

Poor Uncle Jax! lie was in an agony of ap-
prehension such as few unlucky mortals are
called upon to endure.

After he escaped from Glenn Elliston, he en-
tered tho Bi House, at once opening the, secret
trap-door 0 which previous mention has been
made, descending into a dark, narrow passage
that ended at a strongly -secured, strongly-made
door. He listened intently at this for some little
time, but could hear nothing. He cautiously
unfastened the door, swinging ito ion, to find his
worst fears correct. By the faint light of a hang-
ing lamp, he could see that the secret chamber
was unoccupied.

A hollow groan escaped his trembling lips, for
now the Worst seemed close at hand.

“ Dey’s so many lookin‘ fo’ him!” he moaned,
leaving the secret chamber with unsteady foot-

7

You must arrest him at

I want this rope off

steps. “Dcy’ll bloody-butcher him ef day see
himud Won‘t know how crazy pore marster
' l

Uncle J ax forgot all else in his great fear for
his master. Forgot his superstition. Forgot
that dread vision of the cross-roads. Forgot
everything save that great and overpowering
love which had been his sole guide, for years—
which had made of him a martyr, no less heroic
because his skin was black.

Through the rest of that night he was wander-
ing hither and you, vainly be ing to discover
his master in time to save him rom his enemies;
in time to take him back to his hiding-place be-
fort;J the broad light of day should add to his

r s.

“’ udder week it!” he muttered, with a hol-
low groau, as he ooked up at the full moon.
“ ’Nudder week ’fore pore marster git sober down
ag’inl Kin it las’—kin ole nigger stan’ it so
long? Good Lor’, gih Une’ Jax do stren’th to
hol’ out! Long as re marster needs him, good
Lor’l Den he don keer how soon de long rest
comes!”

Here and there through the waning night
Uncle Jax hurried, looking for the strange being
who had rescued him from the rope of the moon-
shiners; who had taken him on that wild. break-
neck gallop: who had come upon him and Glenn
Elliston so inopportunely a few hours before.
Looking, but without success. Hour after hour,
until the night began to fade away into the gray
dawn. Hour after hour. While each one passing
saw the poor old negro’s fear and grief grow
greater until it became almost too heavy a bur-
den,for his aged and weakened frame to bear up

under. "
, y l
l
l i
‘1 ' '
z i I r '
i"  s 4 "." y/“v'i ‘. i i .1.“
min i i <,-r , 3,3,. ~- , -.( ,

 

Then—just as the bright sun was be 'nnin to
cast its yellow rays over the hilltops— ncle §ax
caught sight of the object of his quest.

Astride a horse whose flanks were deeply
scored and bloody, whose distended nostrils and
parted lips showed white with froth, whose
trembling limbs threatened to give wa beneath
its weight at each headlong stride, Uncle Jax
saw the madman—and ncne who saw him then
could for an instant have doubted his perfect
lunacy—dashing toward the Big Housea white
motionless figure in his arms.

A frightful, sickening fcar seizcd upon Uncle
Jax as he saw this, and his heart fairly leaped
up in his throat as he gas iCd:

“ Good Lor‘, grunt dat icain’t—ain’t done dat
awful wrong!"

This unnamed fear almost blinded the poor
old negro as he hurried forward, fearing the
worst. As through a mist he raw the mad-
man dash on toward the Big House; like one
in a terrible nightmare he listened to the wild
cries and bxokcii sentences which escaped the
lips of the marine.

“ liilcl‘pow l‘iy han‘. great Lor‘l" ITncle Jax
gasped, hot tcais aiding to blind his eyes as he
staggeicd on. “ lli ii‘ ht dc lore, crazy, ounc-
countaldc n arstri' stain his lion’s rilll deeper!
(iib lfnc‘ Jar; strength to pit dar in time—
inek he laigs hol’ out (lat long. gcod I.o1“!”

As he dashed the moisture from his aching
eyes once more, ITnclc Jax saw the overstrained
horse give a spasmodic ital), tlicn halt, its limbs
outspread to support itsm-icht—l ut tcolate!
Uiie choking effort to neigh. ihi n the [,i or crea-
turepluuged forward. blocd gushing from its
nostrils, its great heart lrokai!

A cry of mingled alarm mid warning broke
from the lips of Uncle Jax as he saw and real-
ized what thecnd must, le. 'lhc madman ap-
parently caught the sound i f lzis voice. for he
quickly turned his head in that direction, and
was waving one hand in fierce exultation when
the end came.

Still he was not taken at a disadvania e.
He alightA-d fairly upon his feet, and with is
white, motionless captive safely in his arms.

He uttered a wild, far-rcachiiig cry as he
turned once again to Uncle Jiix, but his words
were inai'ticulate. And i efoic Uncle Jax could
gather breath enough with which to utter an
a meal, the madman swung his captive up over
his shoulder and resumed his flight on foot.

Burdened as he was he had no trouble in
keepin r ahead of the old negro, whose overtask-
ed im is were about to give way lieneath him.
And when Uncle J ax saw him disappear inside
the Big House, he sunk down with a rent sigh
of relief, his brain whirling, his eyes innded.

'lho madman paid no attention to locks or
bolts, leaving the door (11011 lit-hind him as he
entered the house. He. pasmd along and opened
the cunniugly arranng trapdoor, descending
the steep flight of steps with that white, uncon-
scious figure still lying across his shoulder; He
0 rued the door Leycnd, and enteer the secret
c amber, crossing it and placing his captive on
the low conch at the further end. smoothing out
her garn'icnts, crossing hcr thin white hands
above her lireast.

He stepped back, and with folded arms gazed
down upon the iicture thus presented. ,Far
from an un ileasant one, for that beautiful
ei untennnce 'ore no signs of fear or pain, just
now. “him as wax. lockin like the face of
one who is forevrr done wit 1 ihe earth and all -
earthly cares. And a form that, th( ugh some-
what reduced by severe illness or accidcnt, was
almost perfect in its graceful development.

A laugh that was almost a sneer came from
the lips of the madman as he took in this pic-
ture. One hand lifted and tore t e disguising
mass of hair from his face and s ull, tossing it
aside as of no further account.

And, in passing, it may he stated here that
Uncle Jax in his superstitious terrcr had been
deceived by this secretly constructed disguise,
formed by the madman in In one of the long-
haired sk ns lying on the earthen flror; skins
from the backs of cashmere goats.

It was this hairy disguise that prevented him
from reco izing the wild horsen'an, though at
one time t e truth: almost flashed upon his oer,
bewildered brain. lt was the absence 0 this
disguise that reassured him when he retained to
the Big House, .to find his char e sermingly
soundly asleep in the secret Chan. er, showing
no signs of having acted the part cf the wild
horseman, though Uncle Jax knew he had been
out for a ramble through the night: for it was
\in search of him that Uncle Jax wandered into
the glen where the mconshineis Were in council.

It was not until his return frcm the but of
Cunjur King Saul, on that memorable evening,
that Uncle Jax discovered the truth of that
disguise. He found his charge busied over it
when he paid his usual visit to the secret cham-
ber, though the madman tried to conceal it and
almOst mvagely hushed tie old negro up when
he ventured to remoustrate. And this was
why Uncle Jax leaped upon Glenn Elliston
when that gray bearded figure came upon them
in the night. his loyal fears making his actin »
:pem no more than the working of his superstfi

on. .

The removal of this disguise eflected a wen-

~’»‘~W<W Wm...

_%  .- » x 

» . «an... and.» 1.1”», .
MKuf‘. .

 

 

w «sue—,—

 

 

 

 

 

 

. A“ » «,4;
«an.

 

 

 

hhv‘cA

 

 

 

 

 

an

The Ghost Detective.

29

 

 

derful change in the appearance of the madman.
He seemed quite another man with his smooth
shorn face, and his long locks of coal-black
hair.

It seemed as though there was a magic in that
laugh, for the woman on the couch opened her
eyes with a gas ing cry, shivering with terror
as she met that lazing gaze.

“ Milton—my husband!" she faltered, faintly,
with an involuntary extension of her arms to-
ward him. “Milton—fly! Flee for your life!
Esca while there is yet time!”

“ ilton Sarsfield is dead—murdered by your
internal arts!” came sternl from those tum
1i 3. “It is his I{inst you hold newt“: you.
Vile creature! ' ghost—returned from hell
to punish you as your minus fitiy deserve! Are
you ready 1” a

“Flee—I must confess all—.1 cannot Jermit
them tr, .mumer good Owen—my Lottie“ would
curse me from her grave'” panter" :he half-dis-
ti .cted creature. ‘trivin 21. rise from the
co. "la—only to m Wrasse oack with a savage
ene (V by the madman

“ , or would try to elude me again?” he
grats . his eyes ’glowiiig redly, his lips tinging
with froth, his face fairly convulsed with rage. ;

A faint shriek of terror escaped the poor
woman as she cowered beneath that baleful gaze,
unable to resist his vengeful grasp.

“ Spare me, Milton! Spare me—by the mem-
ory of our happier days when—”

“ Dare you recall them, woman?” he grated,
his sinewy fingers hovering over her throat as
though itching to close upon them and remain
while the faintest flicker of life lasted. “ Dare
you ask for mercy, and at my hands! What
mercy did you show me? Did you spare me?
You and our bloodhound lover, Pendy Rowell?
Mercy? on and your evil deeds have blotted
the word from my memo !” .

“ I sinned—but have I not suffered, Milton?"

“ What has been your suffering beside my
tortures?” was the fierce interjection. “ Look at
me—a bodily and mental wreck! Think of what
I was then, and seewhat I am now! Then,
proud, happy, contented, trustful of all—foo
trustful!" with another fierce out-flashing.
“ Did I not trust him? Did I not welcome him
and make much of him? Did I not ask you to
treat him as a brother dear to my heart?”

“Why did you—why did you not warn me
against his cunning, plausible arts?" moaned the
poor woman, shivering with horror as she
shrunk awa from that terrible gaze.

“ Why? cause I loved you and you were
my wife! Was not that a sufficient safeguard
for even a woman? It should have been—it
would have been, only for the black, treacherous

" ‘dro in our heart! Ha! did I sa heart!”
wi a s p, sneering laugh as he w back
with a contemptuous out-flin ng of his hand.
“ You were never supplied wit a heart! If you
had, it would have remained truetome, your
husband, who loved you more tn'uelg, more pas-
sionately than ever wife was lov before by
mortal man! You could never have betrayed
me for that silk—tongucd hunter of men!”

“ Was I not punished, Milton?” and there was
a. touch of bitter reproach min ling with the sad
dos )ondency of her tones. “ was fascinated,
as y a serpent, but when you confronted us,
the scales fell from my eyes. And when your
hand struck me down—my God!” with a wailing
sob as her tremblin hands covered her face.
“That was bitterer t an death!”

Milton Sarsfield laughed, coldly, hardly, mer-

cilesssly.

“ ou think tomake me believe that? You
fancy you can blot out the black past and cover
over your crime by murmuring a few soft words
in my ears? Not so, you whom I once called
wife! You have come back to pay the full
penalty due your treacherous crimes!’

“I have come to save your life, Milton!” with
sudden energy cried the woman, raising u on
the couch, her blue eyes glowing vividly. “ on
must flee from this country and hide ourself
where the 9 es of the law can never reac ! You
must—for swear to confess everything, rather
than permit Owen Tredgold to eat! r for the
deed your hand committed! Flee, w i1e—"

“ Not while you curse the earth, Bertha,” was
the cold interposition. “ Not while my vengeance
remains inncglmplfete. Not until 'I, have exacted
the full ty or our crimes.‘

“ I 8130 d ' g, Mi’lton,” gasped the woman,
Sinking bac on the couch, the hectic flush fad-
ing away from her sunken cheeks, the li ht
from her eyes. “I have been ill and feeble or
years, and then—you rode me down with your
horse, husband, that night. I am dying-let me
die in ace—let me die, knowmg that you have
IDEFIV 11 me, husband?"

aintl , brokenly. with a sad yearning in her
tones. ut Milton Sarsfield only laughed in vi-
cious scorn as he listened.

“ Forgive you? Yes—when ou restore me
my good name! When you rep mv shatter-
ed brain—for I am mad at times, Bertha; I
know that I am mad—and was it not enough to
madden any mortal! I loved you so passion-
ate] so entirely, Bertha! I loved—”

“ orgive me~forgive your dying wife, Mil-

I,

“II have no wife,” was the ice-cold response

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as all emotion all tenderness died out of face And then

and voice. “ She died on that bitter black
night when I discovered her foul treachery. She
can never come to life a ain. You are only her
ghost. And yet—well !’ with a hard, reckless
laugh as his eyes filled again with that red glow
of madness. “ We‘ll see if a ghost cannot suffer
tortures such as drive sane mortals mad!”

With blood-curdling deliberation he began his
preparations for the atonement. No matter the

details. They were too frightful for full record- .

ing. L'} 'as the work of a madman, and like
a. madma he set about carrying it out. .

it was t. in that Uncle J ax reached the house,
and rushed ‘15 once to the secret chamber where
Milton Sawseld had lived so long, unsuspected
27 any or his neighbors. And it was the hand
of Uncle Jax that wrested the sacrificial knife
from the hands of his loved master.

“ Not daf—not her, marster!” the faithful old
negro cried, great tears rolling down his wrin-
kled cheeks as he clung to the hand of the mad-
man who turned upon him with agrating curse.

“ She betrayed me to worse than death!”
grated Sarsfield, madly. “ I have vowed to
punish her as her crime deserves! “'ho are you
that dares to interfere—you black scoundrel!”

“ Leabe her to do good Lor’, marster—leabe
her punishment to de one dat say ‘ ven eance is
mine I will repay!‘ Don’ take her bl on 'ou’
own and’, marster! Don’ do murder—don kill
her soul like you kill her body! Grant her time
to ’pent an’ fin' de bressed Lamb, Mars’ Milton!
See—Unc’ J ax begs dis on he pore ole knees!”

As the madman tore his hand free, Uncle Jax
drop to his knees, his trembling arms em-
brac ng the legs of his master, his wrinkled face
lllfltlll'ned, hot tears rollin down his cheeks.

is voice was choked an his words barely
articulate, but they could not have been more
earnest were he pleading for his own salvation.

“Did she spare me?” grated Sarsfield, his
clinched fist rising and quiverin above that
black face; but Uncle J ax never ched, never
tried to evade or ward off the threatened blow.

“ Set her good ’zample, marster! Show de
pore errin’ creature how a Christian .ntleman

in o’gibe an’ fo’git! Bid her go an’ an no mo’,
morster! But don‘ stain you’ son! wid herlife—
don’ blacken 0’ soul wid murder!”

“ It is retri ution, not murder," with a short,
cold laugh as he stooped and tore those ed
fingers from around his limbs. “ The flat as
gone forth, and she must suffer—have not I
suffered?” with an abrupt change of tone and
manner, his eyes glowm afresh. “ Off with
you, you black spawn of tan! Must I crush
you to pulp beneath my feet before I can learn
you wisdom! Off, I say! or I’ll kill oul”

“Kill me Mars’ Milton ” 80be hole Jax,
but without fiinchi in t e least. “Kill de ole
man—he ain’t nufiln but a brack nigggr an’ it
ain’t no great sin to kill anigger!  Unc’
J ax, but spar’ de pore inissus—spar’ her to ’pent
an’ seek f0 'bness ob de Lor’! Yo’ at to kill
Unc’ J ax ’ 0’ you hurt her, Mars’ Mi ton!” with
sudden energy as that clinched hand again rose
over his unprotected face.

“ You-ryou turn against me, too, Uncle Jax!”
- “Kill me—kill ole ni ger! But don’ say daf,
marster; don’ say Unc Jax turn ’ginst do one
dat owns him, soul and body!” exclaimed the
faithful old man, with sudden dignity, and a
proud uplifting of his white-crowned head.
z‘Don’ say dat, marster fo’ it not true, an’ it cut

w’ful sight dee r an you’ knife kin cut.

Vhat else Unc’ ax bin, he ebb‘er bin true an’
faithful to his marster. He lie, he cheat, he
steal, he do all dat; but it fo’ you, marster—all
fo‘ you!”

“ And now you cancel all by standing be-
tween me and my long-delayed vengeance!”
grated the madman—surely he must have been
mad, else he would have never dealt that dastard
blow! “ Go, you black rascal! out of my
sight, or I’ll murder you by inches l” -

His clinched fist descended with terrible force, '

sending the blood in a spray about, but Uncle
Jax still clung with desperation of undying
fidelity to his legs, gasping huskily:

“Unc’ Jax sabe yo’zfong’s he kin, marster!

Fo’give him--but it all fo’ you’ own good—all
fozrgou, marster !”
' en the insane fury fairly flamed forth, and
with a snarlin oath Milton Sarsfield clutched
the throat of h too faithful servant with both
hands, bending his head back, glaring madly
down into that distorted countenance, laughing
viciously, insanely as he snarled out:

“ Die, then, you black cur! Die—and I’ll
never more be subject to your infernal ying
and never-ceasing watchfulness! Die—an? over
your corpse I’ll exact the utmost penalty from
your mistress!” .

Too old to resist, too feeble from long watch-
ing and intense anxiety to break away from
that death-clutch. even if his fidelity would have
ginnitted him to employ force against the mas«

r be loved far above life, above Heaven itself,
Uncle J ax kissed the hands that were throttling
him like a dog! ‘

Then the door was burst open, and a lithe fig-
ure leaped across the room, clutchin Milton
Sal'sfleld by the throat, wresting him In his:
Victim twisting him to the floor, and
when the irons Were snapped about

I ' ' ’

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with folded arms, flashing eyes,
Curl Rooks steme uttered:

“ arrest you for the murder of Pendy Row——
ell, Milton Sarsfieldl”

CHAPTER XX.
THE TRUE STORY TOLD.

" HE nebber done it! Lcfi‘ him go an‘ tek cle-
nigger! Unc’ Jax do one killed ‘im—Unc’ Jax
done it all he own se’f, sah!”

Barely articulate the words and very feeble ‘
the tone. Throttled half to death. poor Uncle 9
Jax could scarcely crawl, dragging himself along
the floor to the feet of the detective. still faith-
ful, still caring solely for Illl' wretched creature
whom he had guarded and protected through all
these years!

Close after Curly Rooks came Owen Tredgold
and Glenn Elliston, with many others of the -
moonshiners, whom they had met while (11 the-
wig to the Big House.

lliston raised Uncle J ax in his strong young '
arms, whispering the first consolation that 0c»
curred to him:

“ It may not be so bad, Uncle Jax! If you!“
master is crazy—”

“ Ain’t crazy—ain’t nuffin’ but what’s good an’
true an’ noble, sah!” indignantly muttered the:
poor old fellow, feeny struggling to free him«
self, glaring murderously upon the human blood--
hound who had at last run down the slayer of
his rtner. .

“ amuse if he was crazy—they never hang‘
cra men, Uncle J ax!” I

“ n be safe, t’ank do good Lor’ !” gasped the
old negro. tears comin freely once more, his
gaunt figure shaken wit strong emotions. “ Ho
binvcrazy ebber sence dat awful night-ebber
sence he caught dem two—dem—”

His voice choked, and Elliston tried to lead
him away, but Uncle Jax resisted. He would;
not abandon the master whom‘ he had served so.
Ion and faithfully, least of all when he was in.
sue a sore plight. And when Milton Sarsfield.
.was taken up-stairs, Uncle Jax followed himh . x

lying at his feet like a. sorrowing dog. :

Owen Tredgold hardly cast a second glanea ,
into the convulsed face of the prisoner. Ono ‘,

lance was sufficient to recognize him as Milton
rsfield, and he nodded this race 'tion to-
Curcliy1 Rooks. Then he went straig t to the-’
con on which Bertha Sarsfield was lying, pull.
“egg '

in painfully for breath.
yLfiItstge gnu ter—it is you, then!” he;
muttered, his eyes d v v"
with tears. , 

ming' , his voice filling,
A smile came into her face, and she nethit.‘ e"
gaze fairly, murmuring:
“ Father Owen! Then you haven‘t forgotten.

me—quite?” , HZ:
“ It was the thought 0’ you fergettin’ -. " ‘ ‘
little one, that hurt the wn’st!” rep ied T

gold, choking back his tears as be gazed upon, ' I
that beautiful wreck, looking so terribly near . .
death. “ Why didn’t on ever send me word— ,; ’.
or couldn’t on? Bert y,” with a sudden glance!
around at e tokens of a long occupancy, ‘that;
crazy critter hain’t kept you here shot up all.
this time? Don’t say you ve bin so nigh, an’ I;
never know it!” ~ A
She shook her head, her e es drooping. The . “‘5‘
faint flush faded out of her Knee and she looked . 7  
so deathlike that Owen Tredgold held a flask of . " -
whisky to her lips, while he ur ed several of. “"5"
the men to ride post-haste in que of a doctor.

_ v

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4

7

a.

 4
A physician was brought as speedily as -- “ if
ble, but before he came, Bertha Sarsfleld, car-h .
lied to an upper room, told her sad story—tin. 
story of a, wrecked life. -  ‘
That story was too sad to find a detailed.“>3
record in these ges. It was hard for her tow, I
tell, though she found it a little easier than it " "
otherwise might have been, from the know
that she had met her injuries in a eflort
right the wrongs which arose from bar past ao-‘ “
tions. Hard for Owen Tredgold to hear,,for In! .
loved this woman, the child of her mother,wh& .,  '~
in days gone by he had wooed as only a man 7  '
his strongrnature can woo. .
Only‘ edgold, Elliston, Curly Rocks and
John ahar were present to hear her story. ‘
They would 'be ample witnesses, and much
easier to

 

, u

4‘75?

 

 

,/

 

speak before than all that crowd at: :34"
curious mountaineers. . . 
She told of how Pendy Rowell came to their ‘ "is

t.

house, on a holiday. He never revealed his ao— . i .,

tual occu tion, and dig were easil satisfied; - 

by one w had preserv to them al the prop-- 1;;

erty they then owned. ‘ 
She to d how she gradually became strangely .

 

fascinated by the gay and zepleasant visitor; . :‘i‘;
Haw, almost efore she reali that she wasling. _.i-: “
peril, the danger line was crossed. Then-shoe "I ‘
made no effort to retrace her steps. She loved 
—for the first time. as she now fe 1:.

She placed, slight blame on Pendy Rowena 
She declared that he had not deliberately tempt- . L ' '
ed her. That he even tried to reason w: , 

 

A

‘ r
“if, h
x .

L.

V!

    
  
 

after firstattemptin to laugh her out of ha” '*
m passibn. But en, when he was fully 

v ced that this Was in vain. heseemed ,
to float with the tide and accept the goods tha.
gods provided. "
And yet~ with her hand lifted toward invent ,
Saxfleld declared that there was a ’Lj

   

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The Ghost Detective.

 

 

reparable sin—that however false she might I points which have been lightly passed over until

have been in thought, she had never betrayed
her husband in deed.

Then ishe told of that black night.
Milton Sarsflcld. madly jealous as he had grown

. swaps-
.

river-bank. How he broke out in a mad tirade,

Of how ‘

l

of late, came upon them as they walked by the :

now.

His suspicions naturally were turned toward
Milton Sarsiield, by the letters received from
Pendy Howell, and is own intimate knowledge
of that man’s peculiar weakness. He also be-

: lieved that Bion Barnave was trying to involve

nocusing them of crime. of treachery, ending :

with a violent assault 1] on Pendy Howell and :

‘~/ herself.
her, when Milton Sarsfleld fired the fatal shot!

Rowell dropped in his tracks, his death being
instantaneous.

She told how she interfered as Milton Stirs-
'fleld dragged the detective to the edge of the
bank to hurl the body over, but without being
.able to save the corpse of the man whom she
loved. ‘ She told-how terribly her cries and sor-
row seemed to madden the planter, and how he
“turned upon her after hurling the corpse into
“A f I i the roaring waters below.

3;; Of how he gave her the terrible alternativu of
 ‘ leaping after the corpse of her lover, as he held
" ’i the fatal weapon to her bosom. And how, in a.
i“; , m of fear, she turned and fiqu herself over
t e escarpment.

i." .. , When consciousness returned after that fear-
.Iul leap, Bertha Sarsficld found herself under
, the care of a former lover, then a refugee in
in: ” the heart.of the hills, hiding from justice owing

.— .A.—«-_p;v an.»
-a. A -.
‘ .

'to his killing one of a raiding party who broke
 V" 11g) his illicit still. Here she remained until
11: :. e was fairly recovered, then she left that
if," ' :pal't of the country, burying herself in a great
.3‘» , «lit .
313‘ '. - 'the man who aided her sw0rc to never be—
"s’fi  ” tray her secret, and thus far he had sacredly
 .I kept his word. Through his cautious inquiries,
 . i, she learned that nothin was known of how
‘f" .r ' Pond Rowell came by his death; that the real

' . :mnr erer was not even suspected- that he, with
" 'r I herself, was believed to be traveling in foreign

 

 ,6 ‘ parts, old Uncle J ax being left behind in charge
in 1, r, i "of the Big House and outside property.

{*7 A. ’ She said littlepof her life during the long in-
lij terval between her disappearingl and return
‘ e

{g i -.'and no questions were asked r. She said
“#1.? ,that it was by accident she heard of Owen
if "l'redgold being charged with killing Pendy
My ' ifigvell, and that she at once hastened to clear

 ' , First, she wished to be sure that Milton Sars-
'y’” « field had not returned to the Big House, or if
i“ the had, to warn him to seek safety in flight
.e' lbefore she sought the roper authorities and
made full confession. t was while going to
{the Big House on this mission that she was
: :ridden own by Milton Sarsfield himself, whom
' .- 'sshe recognized despite his disguise.

‘ She was still insensiblc from that terrible
I :‘nhock, when Bion Barnave discovered her thus
1; and recognized her. He must have suspected
,zfiomething of the truth, even if he had not
1 one so before, since he bore her away in secret

4‘; and kept her prisoner, refusing to carry her

  
  
  
   
        
  
   
   
 
   
  
   
   
    
   
   
   
 
  
  
  
 
   

on as she repeatedly begged him. Douhtr
mehnt to place her in a secure spot, to hold
untilafter the trial of Owen Tredgo d.

,Uncle Jax, in after days, fully explained the
junta he had plhyed in the sad tragedy, and
g-‘jvhy it was that Milton Sarsfleld had not
‘ taught safety in flight to a foreign c0unt .

 , dole Jax had not been a Witness 0 the
‘f‘h'agedy, but when he met his master on his
. m to the house, he gained sufficient from
a wild ravings to guess at the whole sad

 

’17:;
.2 

;2 , g'truth. And from that hour began his servi-
’- ‘3 ,ftude his self-sacrifice.
 Milton Sarsfleld fell into a raging fever and
3-311! delirium was of such a nature that Uncle
Jax'dared not call in assistance. Alone he
turned his master, and in secret. He sent off
themants, tellin them what first came into
to head: that the r master and mistress had
“Mammy with their visitor to spend the sum~

  

1

Mo '
' 'z'FOr weeks he too hi; the battle with grim
Ari-death, oobgfluering at ast.‘ And while lying on
J'-  sick Milton Sarsfleld prepared the pars
 which U’ncle Jax had ever since held t e Big
. He intended to leave, the country at the
Wheat possible moment, refusing to let the old
,7 n accompan him, gaining his ends at last by
 Uncle ax as a personal favor to stay
I . mic charge of the property until his re-
 I
"13‘ v That trip across the ocean was never taken.
1  was a relapse, and from that day Milton
«Mold was never a wholly sane man again.
f" He had brief intervals of lucidity however,
71mghi‘ch Uncle Jax prepared that secret
 ‘ . under his directions, by enlargin the
«glen! cellarland cutting of! a portion w th a
hang wall. And in this underground ‘mtreat
Hilton Sarsfleld had passed all those ears.
“Whenever the moon neared its l, his mad-
‘nal would grew more complete. and at times he
. ,, ,., _. steal away from the faithful negro, wan-
l daring. for miles and miles through the hills,
3t“ the coming of day warned him of dnn ,
Uncle Jax h mself could find him and b
him back to security.
. My Books also had to give sundry ox-
' Widens, which may serve to clear up several
.3 i ’ I ' V &

   
 
  
 
  

 

 

Of how lioch interfered to protect ‘

 

an innocent man, and it required but little in-
vestigation on this point to satisfy himself that
his suspicions were well founded. thile thus
engaged, he learned somethin of Uncle Jax and
the important charge which l\ ilton Sarstield had
left him. He reasoned that no negro in that
section, would be so highly trusted without
very powerful reasons, and when he came to
the scene of the tragedy, in disguise, it was With
the firm resolve to carefully investigate Uncle
J ax.

This was what made him risk his own life in
saving Uncle Jax from the moonshincrs, when
the unfortunate negro had been captured in mis-
take for the spy. And he was following after to
again interfere in his behalf, when Milton Sars-
ilcld, in disguise, efl'ectcd a rescue. ~

At the moment, Curly Rooks never dreamed
of this being the man he had sworn to unearth,
but when he. shadowed the lovers, and heard
Lida Trcd old arguing with Ellis'on as to its
not being lilton Sarsfield, he made a note of
the suspicion for further thought. And it was
to hearing what followed concerning 1 he intense
superstition of the old negro that Uncle J ax
owed his strange experience with the “ Ghost
Detective.”

Curly Rooks had already made the acquaint-
ance of Cunjur King Saul with a view to some-
thing of the sort, and had no difficulty in gain—
ing the boodoo doctor as an ally, by paying
liberally for the service.

It was the face of Curly Rooks, carefully
made up to resemble that of his murdered
partner, which Uncle J ax saw through the val]
of steam. And this steam served to conceal the
opening of a small space through the rear wall
of the hut, as Well as the inserting of Curly
Rooks’s face from the outside.

Cunjur King Saul rather exceeded his instruc-
tions after that grim “ vision ” faded away, but
Rooks dared not attempt to warn him, as he saw
how well Uncle Jax was on his guard, despite
superstitious awe. ,

As for the rest of the “ghost business,” noth—
ing need be said.

Pendy Rowcll was never avenged just in the
manner his partner had sworn he should be, for
Milton Sarsfleld was too undeniably crazy for
the death penalty to be pronounced against him
for his crime.

Curly Rooks had a thorough examination made
by competent physicians, sparing no pains to
learn the exact truth, giving up his hopes of ven-
geance only when positively convinced of the
murderer’s insanity.

Milton Sarsfield was placed in an insane
asylum, and through the influence of Glen Ellis-
ton and others, Uncle J ax was permitted to at-
tend his master to the end. That was not much
longer delayed. Uncle J ax followed Milton
Sarsfleld to the grave, and than, within the year,
passed peacefully away from earth, his eyes be-
ing closed by Lida Elliston and her husband.

Asfor Bion Barnave, he was never seen again
in that county. Where he went, or what fate be-
fell him, no one seemed to know.

The whole truth of his double-dealing was made
clear in time by Curly Rooks, and when the fact
became generally known that Barnave had been’
at the bottom of all their trouble; had been a
spy in the secret service, selling the knowledge
he gained by fraternizing with moonshiners and
acting as their spy; and that he had forged those
papers which so nearly caused the death of Glen
Elliston: when all this became public property, it
would hardly have been a bed of roses to which
the indignant mountaineers would have Welcom-
ed him! 3

So, perhaps it was just as well that he never
came back.

Bertha Sarafleld died shortly after her story
was told, Died at the home of Owen Tredgold,
his hand in hers, his tears moistening her thin
white hands.

And it was Owen Tredgold who placed a simple
white shaft over her grave; OWen Tredgold
who bade the sculptor carve the epitaph: simply
her name and age.

Mrs. 'l‘redgold, after the treachery of Bion
Bat-nave was made known, never again mention-
ed his name. And she quietly accepted Glenn
Elliston a: a son. ' ' K i ,

 I  

 

V' I. ’1.‘,._... x. ‘ t
- a 4632 >__ r‘.  i L .. .' , _,l., v. , ,4

 

 

 
 

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Guide to Swimming.
Handbook of Winter Sports—Skating. etc.

Manuals for 'Hounewivea.

 

1. Cook Book. 4. Family Physician.
2. Recipe Book. 5. Dressmaking and
3., Housekeeper’s Guide. linery.

Liven. of Great Americans.

I.—George Washington. Vim—Israel Putnam. ,
Tl.-—John Paul Jones. X.——Tecumseh.
IIL—MadAnthonyWayne XL—Abraham Lincoln.
W.-—Ethan Allen. XII-Pontiac.

V.—-Marquis do Lafayette XIII—Ulysses 8. Grant.
Joke Books.
Pocket Joke Book. Jim Crow Joke Book

Paddy mi: Joke Book.

Song Books.
.Bum'aDm BonoBooxa. Nos. ito Menuhin
he only popular. collection of copyright conga.

The above publications are for sale by all new:-
dealers or will he cant, post-paid, on receipt, of
price, ten cents each, by BEADLE AND ADAMS
96qu mm, H, Y. ‘

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do The Long Haired “ Pards ;” or, The
’l‘artars of the Plains. B .Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

41 Gold Dan; or The W te Savage of the Great
Salt Lake. By Albert W. Aiken. _

42 TheCalli‘ornia Detective; or, The Witches
of New York. By Albert W. Aiken.

43 Dakota Dan the Reckless Ranger; or. The
Bee-Hunt'rs’ Excursion. By Oil Coomes.

(4 01d Dan Ilackback.the Great Extermina-
tor; or, The Triangle‘s Last Trail. 011 Coomcs.

45 Old Bull‘s Eye the Lightning Shot of the
Plains By Jos. 3. Badger, Jr.

46 Bowie-Knife Ben, the Little Hunter of the
Non-West. By Oil Coomes.

47 Pacific Pete, the Prince of the Revolver. By
Joseph E. Badger. Jr. I

~18 Idaho Tom, the Young Outlaw of Silverland;
or. the Hunters ofthe Wild West. By 011 Coomes.

49 The “'oll‘ Demon. By Albert W. Aiken.

50 Jack Rabbit, the Prairie Sport. By Jos.
E. Badger, Jr.
51 Red Bob, the Boy Road-Agent. By 011

Coomes.

.52 Death Trailer. the ("hief of Scouts; or. Life
and Love in a Frontier Fort By Buffalo Bill.

.53 Silver Satn' or, ' he Mystery of Deadwood
(.‘it . By Col. belie Sara.

.54 A ways (in "and. By Philip S. Warne.

55 The Scalp llunters. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

56 The Indian Hazelnut; or, The Madman
0f the Plains. By A. \ .Aiken.

57 Tile silent llunler' or, The Scowl Hall
Mystery. By Percy B. St. John.

58 Silver Knife; or, \l'icklifi'e, The Rocky
Mountain Ranger. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. -

59 The Man Front Texas; or, The Outlaws
of Arkansas. By A. W. Aiken. .

<60 \Vlde Atvake the Rob'ber King; or, The
ldiot of the Black Hills. By Frank Dumont.

1 Captain Seawall, the Privateer. By Ned

Buntline.

62 [.0 a1 "cart; or, The Trappers of Arkansas.
B ustave Aimard.

63 This \Vlnged \Vhale. By A. W. Aiken.
v64 Double-Sight, the Death Shot: or, The Out-
law of the Chaparral. By J 0.4. E. Badger. Jr.
~65 The Red Rajah ' or, The Scourge of the

Indies. By Capt. F. Whittaker.
'66 The S teeter Barque. By Ma 'ne Reid.
87 The lgoy Jockey. By Jos. E. adger. Jr.
‘88 The Fighting: Trapper' or, Kit Carson
to the Rescue. By Captain J.  C. Adams.
'69 The Irish Captain. ByCapt. F.Whittaker.
'70 llydrabad, tne Strangler; or, Alethe, the
Child of the Cord. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
‘71 Ca tain Cool-Blade; or The Man-Shark
of t e Mississippi. Bv Jos. E. Badger Jr.
‘72 The Phantom Hand ' or, The Heiress of
Fifth Avenue. By A. W. Ai en.
'73 The Knights of the Red Cross; or, The
Magician of Granada. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
74 The Captain of the Rifles; or, TheQueen
of the Lakes. By Capt. Mayne Reid.
‘75 Gentleman George. By A. W. Aiken.
‘76 The Queen’s Musketeers; or, Thisbe, the
Princess Palmist. By George Albany.
‘77 The Fresh of Frisco. By A. W. Aiken.
'78 The Mysterious S y. By A. M. Grainger.
‘79 Joe Phenix,thePol cc Soy. B A.W. Aiken.
'80 A Man of Nerve. By Philip .Warne.
81 The Hulnan Tiger; or, A Heart of Fire.
By Albert W. Aiken.
'82 Iron \Vrist. the Swordmaster. By Colonel
Thomas HQVPI‘ Monstery.
383 Gold Bullet Sport. By Buffalo Bill
:84 Hunted Down; or. The League of Three.
By Albert W. Aiken. .
S5 The Cretan “over; or. Zuleikah, the
Beautiful. Bv Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
:86 The Big Hunter; or. The ueen of the
Woods. ythe author of “The Si ent Hunter."
37 The Scarlet Captain ° or, The Prisoner of
the Tower. By Col. Delle re.
88 Big George, the Giant of the Gulch; or, The
Five Outlaw Brothers. By Jose h E. Badger. Jr.
:89 The Pirate Prince. By oi. P. In raham.
'90 Wild \Vill, the Mad Rauchero; or, he Ter-
rible Texans. By Buckskin Sam.
'91 The \Vinninz: Oar; or, The Innkeeper’s
Daughter. Ry Albert W. Aiken.
'32 Buffalo lllll, the Buckskin King; or, The
Amazon of the West. By Maj. Dangerfield Burr.
93 Ca tain Dlek Talbot. King of the Road;
or, he Black-Hoods of Shasta. By A. W. Aiken.
‘94 Freelance, the Buccaneer; or. The Wait of
the Wave. By Col. Prentiss lngraharn.
<95 Azhort, the Axman; or. The Secrets of the
Ducal Palace. B Anthony P. Morris. ’
96 Double-neat I; or. The Spy Queen of Wyo-
ming. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.
97 Bronze Jack, the California Thoroughbred.
' B Albert W. Aiken.
98 he Rock Rider; or. The Spirit of the
Sierra. By Ca t. Frederick Whittaker.
99 The Giant ltleman. By 011 Coomes.
100 The French Spy; or, The Bride of Paris.
.- By Anthony P. Morris.
301 The Man From New York; or.TheRo-
mance of a Rich Young Woman. 31y Aiken.
102 The Masked Band or. The an With-
out a Name. By George . Aiken.
.JOS Merle, the Mutineer; or, The Brand of
the Red Anchor. B Col. Prentiss Inst-sham.
104 Montezuma, t e Merciless' or. The
Eagle and the Serpent. By Col. P. ngraham.
.105 Dan DroWn ot Denver the Rocky Moun-
tain Detective. ByJoseph  Badgr. Jr.
606 Shamus 0’ Brien, the Bould y of Glis-
- si. By Col. Dells Sara.
£07 fiichsrd Talbot 0! Cinnabar; or.The
Brothers of the Red Head. By A. W. Aiken.

 

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1 08 The Duke ofDiamonds; or. The Flower
of Calcutta. By Captain Frederick Whittaker.

109 (‘11 itain Kyd, the King of the Black Flag.
By ‘01. Prentiss lngraham.

1 10 The Silent flillenlan. By R. W. Herbert.

111 Tile Slnuggier Captain; or, The Skip-
per’s Crime. By Ned Buntline.

1 12 Joe Phcnix Private Detective: or. The
League, of the S 'eleton Keys. B A. W. Aiken.

113 The Sea Slipper ' or. The mateur Free-
booters. By Prof. J.  Ingraham.

114 The Gentleman Froln Pike' or. The
Ghost of the Canyon. By Phiii S. 1 ame.

1 1 5 The Severed lit-ad ' or. he Secret of
Castle Coucy. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

116 Black I’llune, the Devil of the Sea. By
(,‘01. Prentiss lngruham.

l l 7 Dashing: Dandy the Hotspur of the Hills.
Br Major Dangerfield Burr.

118 The Burglar I‘aptain; or, The Fallen
Star. By Prof. J. H. Ingraham.

119 Alabama Joe; or, The Yazoo Man-Hun-
ters. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

120 The Texan Spy; or, The Prairie Guile.
Bv Newton M. Curtis.

1 21 The Sea "adct; or. The Rover of the Rigo-
l‘etts. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

1 22 Saul Sn liberalay the idiot Spy; or, Luliona,
the Seminole. By . ed Buntline.

123 Alapaha, the S uaw; or, The Renegades
of the Border. By rancis Johnson.

124 .\ ssotvauin, the. Avonger; or. The
Doom oi‘ the Destroyers. By Francis Johnson.

125 The Blacksmith Outlatv; or. Merry
England. By Harrison Ainsworth.

126 The Demon Duelist; or. The League of
Steel. By Col. Thomas Hoyer Monstery.

127 Sol Scott, the Mask d Miner; or,
Brown’s Double. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

128 The Chevalier Corsair. By the author

' of “ Merle the Mutineer.”

129 Mississippi illose ' or, A Strong Man’s
Sacrifice. By Edward Willett.

1 30 (‘aptain Volcano ' or, The Man ofthe Red
Revolvers. By A. W. iken.

1 3 1 Buckskin Sam, the Texas Trailer; or, The
Bandits of the Bravo. By Col. 1’. Ingraham.

132 Netno. King: ofthe Tramps. By Capt.
Frederick Whittaker.

133 Body the Row-r the Ribbonman of Ire-
land. By William Carleton.

1 34 Darkle Dan, the Colored Detective; or, The
Mississippi Mystery. By Col. P. Ingraham.

135 The Bush “anger or, The Half-Breed
Brigade. By Francis Jo nsou.

136 The Outlaw-Hunter; or, Red John, the
Bush Ranger. By Francis Johnson.

137 Long Beard, the Giant Spy. By 011

comes.

138 The Border Bandits ' or, The Horse-
Thiei‘s Trail. ‘By Francis Jo mson.

139 Fire-Eye, the Sea Hyena; or. The Bride of
a Buccaneer. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

140 The Three Spaniards. Bv Geo. Walker.

141 Equinox Tom, the Bully of Red Rock; or,
Dan Brown’s Masterstroke. By Joseph. E.

Badger. Jr.
142 (‘aptain Crimson, the Man of the Iron
- Face. By Maj. Dangerfield Burr.
143 The Czar’s Spy; or, The Nihilist League.
.' Col. T. H. Moustery.
144 The Hunchback of Notre-Dame.

113! Victor Hugo.

145 lstol Pards or, Soft Hand, the Silent
S ort from Cinna ar. By Wm. B. Eyster.

146 The Doctor Detective ; or, The Mystery
of the Golden Coffin. By George Lemue .

147 Gold Spur the Gentleman from Texas. By
Col. Prentiss ngraham.

148 one-A rmed All‘ the Giant Hunter 0! the
Great Lakes. Biy Oil Coomes.

149 The Border titles. By Gustave Aimard.

l 50 El Ru bio Bravo, King of the Swordsmen.
By 001. '1‘ omas HoyerMonstery.

151 The Fr hooters. By Gustave Aimard.

1 52 Captain lronncrve, the Counterfeiter
Chief By Marmaduke Dev.

1 53 The \Vhlte Scalger. By Gustave Almard.

1 54

155

Dan

Joaquin, the 89. die King. By Joseph E.
Badger, Jr. .
The Corsair ueen; or, The Gipsies of
the Sea. By Col. entiss In raham.
156 Velvet Face, the Border ravo; or. Muriel.
the Danite’s Bride. By Dangerfield Burr.
157 Mourad, the Manieluke; or. The Three
Swordmasters. By Col. Thomas H. Monstery.
158 The Doomed Dozen; or. Dolores. the
Danite’s Daughter. By Dr. Frank Powell.
159 Red Rudiger, the Archer' or. The My
Bertha‘s Treachery. By Cag‘tfi  Whittaker.
160 Salt "arid, Sharp; or. 9 Man With the
Sand. ay Wm. R. Eyster.
161 The oives or New York ° or, Joe
Phenix’s Great Man Hunt. By A.  Aiken.
162 The Mad Mariner" or. Dishonored and
Disowned. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
163 Ben Brion, the Trap r Ca tain: or. Red-
th. the Avenger. By r. J. . Robinson. .
164 he King’s F0013 or. The Knights of the
Clasped Hands and Re Branch. By C. D.Clsrk.
1 65 Joaquin, the Terrible. By J. E. Badger. Jr.
166 Owiet, the Robber Prince; or. The Unknown
Hi‘ghwmm. By S’ptimus R. Urban.
167 T to an ofSteel ' or, The Masked Knight
of the White Plume. BEA. P. Morris.
168 Wild Bill, the Pistol end hot;or. Dagger
Don's Double. By Col. Prentiss lnfirshsm.
1'69 Gogol-a1 Cannon, theMsn of orty Duels.
 r I. a...
wee am a 70.
By Jos. it Be J’ \ pp"

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171 Tiger Dick, the Man of the Iron Heart: 0;.
The Dumb Ba .Jit. By Philip S. Warne.

172 The Black Pirate; or. The Mystery 0'
the. G01 'eu Fetters. By Col. P. Ingraham.

173 (‘alil‘ornia John, the Pacific Thorough
bred By Albert W. Aiken.

174 The Phantom Knights. By Capt. F.
Whittaker.

1 75 \i’ild Bill’s Trump Card' or. TheIndian
Heiress. By Major Dangerfield Burr.

1 76 Lady Jaguar, the Robber Queen. By Cap-
tain Mark Wilton.

177 Don Diablo, the Planter-Corsair; or, The
Rivals of the Sea. B Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

178 Dark Daslnvom 9 the. Desperate; or, The
Child of the Sun. By Major Sam S. Hall.

1 79 l‘onrad, the Convict; or, \\ as He Guilty?
By Prol'. Stewart Gildersleeve, LL. D.

180 Old 949; or. The Amazon of Arizona. By
Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

181 The Scarlet Schooner: or. The Nemesis
of the Sea. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham

1 82 Hands UE; or. The Knights of the Canyon.
Bv W-n. R. yster.

183 Gilbert, the Guide; or. Lost in the Wile
derness. By C. Dunning Clark.

184 The ocean \‘am fire; or, The Heiress 0:
Castle Curse. B Co . Prentiss Ingraham.

l 85 The Man Spi er; or, The Beautiful Sphinx.
By Anthony P. MOl'l‘iS.

186 The Black Bravo; or. The Tonkaway’s
Trium h. B Buckskin Sam.

187 The cat I’S Head Cuirassiers; or,
Brave of all Braves. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

188 VThc Phantom ill azeppa; or, The H ens
of the Cha arrals. By Maj. Dangerfield .

189 \Vild Bi l9s Gold Trail; or. The Desper-
ado Dozen. By Col. Prentiss ingraham.

190 The Three Guardsmen. ByAl

Dumas.

191 TtherribleTonkau'a ° or.OldRocky
and His Pards. By Buckskin’Sam.

192 The Lightning Sport. By W. R. Eyster.

193 The Man in Red. B Capt. F. Whittaker.

194 Don Sornbrero,lhe alit‘ornia Road Gent.
By Capt. Mark Wilton.

195 The Lone Star Gambler; or, The Mail
cf the Magnolias. By Buckskin Sam.

196 La lllarmoset the Detective Queen“ or,
The Lost Heir of Morel. By Albert W. Aiken.

197 Revolver Rob, the Red-Handed; or, The
B lle of Nugget Camp. By .105. E. Badger. Jr.

198 The Skeleton Schooner; or. The Skim-
trier of the Sea. B Col Prentiss Ingraham.

199 Diamond Die , the Dandy from Denver.
By Buckskin Sam.

200 The Rifle Rangers. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

201 The Pirate ot'thc Placcrs; or. Joaquin’s
Death Hunt. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

202 Cactus Jack, the Giant Guide. By Cap-
tain Mark Wilton.

 'll‘fite Double Detective. By A. W.\Aiken.
or \‘ild Wolf. the Waco. B Buckskin Sam.

205 T to Gambler Pirate. y Col. Ingraham.

206 One Eye, the Cannoneer; or. Marshal Ney‘s
Last Legac . By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

207 (Did Har Head. By Philip S. Warne.

208 The “finite Chief. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

209 Buck Farley the Bonanza Prince' orThe
Romance of Death Gulch. By Edward Willett.‘

210 Buccaneer Bess, the Lioness of the Sea;
or, The Red Sea Trail. By Col. P. Ingra‘ham.

21 1 Colonel Plunge ' or. The Unknown 51011..
Bv Capt Frederick ittaker.

212 The Brazos Tigers. By Buckskin Sam.

21 3 The War Trail. By Cagt. Mayne Reid.

21 4 The Two Cool Salons. y Wm. B. Eyster,

21 5 Parson Jim, mg of the Cowboys. By
Ca tain Frederick Whittaker.

216 T to Corsair Planter; or, Driven to
Doom. By Col. Prentiss lngraham.

217 The Serpent of El Paso; or, Frontier 
Frank, the Scout of the Rio Grande. By Buck— ‘

218 akinseimim 1: Th B aqua:

'I‘ re v untrcss' or, e lg

ter‘s Vengeance. By Ca tiMayneReid.

219 The Scorpion Brot ters: or, Mad'rom‘s
Mission. By Ca tain Mark Wilton.

220 The Specter 'acht. By Col. PM

221 Desperate Duke the Guadaloupe “Gs-
loot.’ By Buckskin m.

222 Bill, the Blizzard. By Edward Willem. .

223 Canyon Dave the Man of the Mountain.
By Ca tain Mark’Wilton.

224 Blac
Curse of the Coast. By Col. P. .

225 Rock Mountain Al. BIyBuckskinSam.

226 The ad Hussars' or, b
Mac’s. By Ca t. F. Whittaker.

227 Buckshot
By Ca t. Mark Wilton. ,

228 The aroon. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

229 (70318.17! Cutsleeve ‘ or Touch~Me~Not,tlr, ‘
Lit e s 1%.

lport. By Wm. yster.

230 The l m: Dutchman of 1880; or
Who was anderdeeken. By Capt. Whittaker

231 The Kid Glove Miner' or The
Doctor of "olden Gulch. Col. l am. y

232 Orson 01!. me lion of non; or. 0 Bit!
Mistery. By Isaac Hawks.

283 T 0 Old Boy or Tombstoxnc; as,

Wagering a Life on a Card. . -.
284 a: Hunters, Feast. By apt. "an.
t

A m tum every Wsdsadcy.
N[Radio’s Dime Library is for sale all

Watchman orssnt C 
Mme ceatspmyl’iwm yam.
98 WillismSMNisos-t. ‘ , . _ .

Foot “’aliacc, the King of the Lariat; 1

Beard, ‘the Buccaneerzl or, The
ham '

9 0’3 and the ’ _
en, the Man-Hunter of Idaho. ‘4 ‘

 

 

 

 

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Skim: 1ninHflmrlnlnlAtnli

 

 

 

235 Bed Lightning, the Man of Chance. By
Col. Prentiss ingraham.
236 Champion Sam. By Col. T. H. Monstery.
i 237 Lon ‘-flaircd Max. By Capt. M. Wilton.
; 238 Han Hound, the Cre scent City Detec-
' tive. By Anthony P. Morris.
f . ’ 239 The Terrible 'l‘rio. By Buckskin Sam.
. ‘ 240 A Cool Head ; or, Orson Oxn in Port]. By
' Isaac Hawks.
241 Spitfire Saul, King of the Rustlers. By
Jos. E. Badger. Jr.
242 The Fog Devil; or, The Skipper of the
Flash. By Capt. l‘rctl. \\ hittaker.
243 The Pilgrim Shar ). iv ButYalo Bill.
244 I'lereiless lllart, tie Man-Tiger of Mis-
souri. By Buckskin Sam.
245 Barranca Bill, The Revolver Champion.
By Captain Mark \\ ilton.
" 246 Queen Helen, the Amazon of the Over-
. laml. By Col. Prentiss Ingrahani.
. 247 A ~liu‘ator Ike ' or. The Secret of the Ever-
6 gindc. By Capt. red. Whittaker.
. 248 Montana Vat. the Lion of Last Chance
 Camp. By Edward Willett.
249 lilephant Tom, of Durango; or, Your
Gold-Dust or Your Life. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
250 The Rough Biders; or, Sharp-Eye, the
" Seminole Scourge. By lsuckskin Sam.
‘ - 251 Tiger Dick vs. Iron Dcspard; or,
_ Every Man Has His Match. By 1’. S. Warne.
. 252 Tile “’11” Street Blood; or. Tick Tick,the
I Telegraph Girl. By Albert W. Aiken.
253 A Yankee Cossack ' or, The Queen of the
 ' Nihilists. By Capt. Fre< erick Whittaker.
. . . 254 Giant Jake, the Patrol of the Mountain.

 By Newton M. Curtis.

it ‘ 255 The Pirate Priest. By Col. P. Ingraham.
J“ ' 256 Double Dan, the Dastard; or, The Pirates
of the Pecos. B Buckskin Sam.
257 Death-Trap iggings' or, A Hard Man
-' from ’Way Back. B Jose h E. Badger, Jr.
.1- 258 Bullet Head, t to Co oratlo Bravo. By
.' Captain Mark Wilton.
t , y . 259 Cutlass and Cross. By 001. P. ingraham.
’9,» 260 The Masked Mystery. By A. P. Morris.
 261 Black Saul, the Prairie T underbolt; or,
 I s The Bandit-Hunters. By Col. Jo Yards.
e' 262 Fighting Tom, the Terror of the Toughs.
y" . By Col. Thomas Hoyer Monster .
. 263 Iron-Armed Abe, the unchback De-
stroyer. Captain Mark Wilton.
,‘ ' 264 The Crooked Three. By Buckskin Sam.
tr» «1 265 (Did Double-Sword' or Pilots and Pi-
 , rates. By Capt. Fred. Whitta er.
‘? 266 Leopard Luke the King of Horse-Thieves.
it" 13y Cspvtain Mark Wilton.
 267 ' he hlte Squaw. ByCapt.MayneReid.
 ‘ 268 Magic Mike the Man of Frills: or. Bad
 Ben‘s Bad Brigade. By William. R. Eyster.
 t I 269 The Bayou Bravo. By Buckskin Sam.
. 270 Andros, the Free Bover; or, The Pirate’s
1;,  Daughter. By Ned Buntline.
v‘ 271 Stoneflst. ofBi‘s Nu get Bend; or Old
.~ Ketchum‘s Tug of ar. y Capt. Mark Wilton.
5:" ' . 272 Seth Slocum Railroad SurVevor' or. The
 s Secret of Sittin hull. By Capt. F. ittaker.
:;  .273 Mountain ose, the Gorge Outlaw. By
 g; Buckskin Sam.
,1 ‘ 274 Flush Fred the Mississlippl Sport: or,
.1“ Tough Times in ennessee.. y Ed. Villett.
g, . 275 The Smuz ler Cutter. Ily'J. D. Conroy.
 l ' 276 Texas ‘Ch ck, the Southwest Detective.
 By Captain Mark Wilton.
 )‘277 The Sauc Jane, Privateer. ByCapt.
{m ' - r Frederick W ittaker.
"4; ' 278 Hercules Golds ur, theMan oftheVelvet
 Hand. B Ca tain oward Holmes.
‘ 279 The Go (1- ragon. By ‘\m. H. Manning.
' 280 Black-floss Ben ' or, Tiger Dick‘s Lone
Hand. By Philip S. ame.
281 The Sea owl. B Col. Prentiss lngraham.
282 The Merciless arauders; or, Chap-
arral Carl‘s Revenge. By Buckskin Sam.
283 Sleek Sam, the Devil of the Mines; or, The
._ Sons of the Pier Cross. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.
284 The Three rigatcs; or, Old Ironsides‘
Revenge. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.
285 Lightning Bolt the Canyon Terror: or,
The Mountain Cat‘s Grudge. By Jim-k \\ ilton.
 286 Pistol Johnny. By Joseph E. l‘adger, Jr.
287 Dandy Dave and His Horse. White Stock-
‘ ing; or. Ducats or Death. By Buckskin Sam.
288 Electro Pete, the Man of Fire: or. The
Wharf Rats of Locust Point. B A. P. Morris.
289 Flush Fred’s Full "an evor. Life and
Strife in Louisiana. By Edward illett.
290 The Lost rorvotte or, Blakeley’s Last
Cruise. By Ca t. Fred. 'hittaker.
4 291 Horseshoe ank, the Man of Big Luck,
,  l ', ‘ By Capt. Mark Wilton.
;‘  292 oke Horner, the Boss Roustahout. By
' ' ' Joseph E. Badger. Jr.
‘ 298 Stam ede Steve. By Buckskin Sam.
294 Bros cloth Burt, the Denver Dandy. By
’ Ca taln Howard Holmes.
295 0 d Cross-Eye the Maverick-Hunter. By
Capt. Frederick W’hittaker. '
296 Duncan, the Sea-Diver; or, The Coast
Vultures. By George St. George. .
297 Colorado Rube, the Strong Arm of Hot-
s ur City. By Wm. H. Manning.
298 .ogzer Lem; or. Life and Peril in the
Pine Woods. By Edward Willett.
299 Three of a Kind. Tiger Dick. Iron Des-
pard. and the Sportive Sport. By P. S. Warne.
300 A Sport in Spectacles. Bv m. R. Eyster.
301 Bowlder Bill; or, The Man from Taos.
Ill; Buckskin Sam.
802 aro Saul, the Handsome Hercules' or, The
Grip of Steel. By Joseph E. Badger. r.

    
   

 

 

303 Top-Notch Tom, the Cowboy Outlaw; or,
The Satanstown Election. By Cant. Whittaker.

304 Texas Jack, the Prairie Rattler; or, The
Queen of the Wild Bidets. By Buffalo Bill.

305 Silver-Plated Sol, the Montana Rover. By
Capt. Mark Wilton.

306 The linughs of "ichlnond; or, The
Mystery of the Golden Beetle. lly A. P. Morris.

307 The Phantoln Pirate. HyColJngraham.

308 Hemlock llank, Tough and True. By
Edward \"illett.

309 Raybold, the Battling Banger. By
Buckskin Sam.

310 'I he Marshal of Satanstown. By
Capt. Frederick Whittnh r.

31 l lleav "and, the Relentless. liy Captain
Mark iiton.

312 Kinkloot Karl, The Mountain Scourge;
or, Wiping Out the. Score. By Morris Redwing.

31 3 Mark Magic, Detective. By Anthony P
Morris.

314 Lalltte' or. The Pirate of the Gulf. By
Prof. J. . lngraham.

315 Flush Fred’s Double; or, The Squat-
ter’s League of Six. By Edward Willett.

316 Lailtte’s Lieutenant; or. Theodore. the
Child of the Sea. By Prof. J. H. lngraham.

31 7 Frank Lighti‘oot the Mllli'l‘ Detective;
or. Followinga Blind lead. By J. E. Badger.

31 8 The India In Buccaneer; or. Red Rovers
on Blue Waters. ByCol. Prentiss Ingraham.

319 “’ild Bill, the Whirlwind of the West. By
Bufialo Bill.

320 The. Genteel Spotter. By A. W. Aiken.

321 California Claude, the Lone Bandit. By
Captain Howard Holmes.

322 The Crimson Coyotes. Bv Buckskin Sam.

323 llotspur Hugh; or, The Banded Brothers
of the Giant‘s Arm. l’-y Captain Mark Wilton.

324 Did Forked-Lightning, the Solitary;
r.

or, Every Inch a Man. By Jos. E. Badger,

325 The Geiitleman Pirate; or. The Her-
mit of Casco llay. By Col. P. lngraham

326 'l he Whitest Man in the Mines; or,
The Dog-Town Crowd. By Ca t. F. Whittaker.

327 Terrapin Dick the Wi Woods Detec-
tive. B Edward Willett.

328 King cnt; or, The Bandits of the Bason.
13y Buckskin Sam.

329 ' he League of Three; or, Buffalo Bill‘s

edge. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

330 Cop Colt, the Quaker City Detective. By
Chas. Morris.

33 1 Chispa Charley,the Gold Nugget Sport; or,
The Rock Mountain Masks. By . E. Badger.

332 Spring- eel Jack. By Col. Monstery.

333 Derringer Deck, the Man with the Drop.
By Wm. . Eyster.

334 The Cipher Detective. By A. P. Morris.

335 Flash Dan, the Nahob; or. The Blades of
Bowie Bar. By Capt. H. Holmes.

336 The Magic Shi D. By Col P. Ingraham.

337  tGGabe, the ountain Tramp. By Ed.

' e f. ' j

338 Jack Sands, Sport. By Philip S. Warne.

339 S read Eagle Sam the Hercules Hide-

unter. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

340 Cool Conrad, the Dakota Detective. By
Capt. H. Holmes.

341 T to Sea Des rerado. By Col. Ingraham.

342 Blanco Bil , the Mustang Monarch. By
Buckskin Sam.

343 The Head Hunter; or, Mark Magic in
the Mines. By A. 1’. Morris.

344 Double Shot Dave oi'the Leit Iland.
By Wm. R Eyster.

345 Masked Mark. the Mounted Detective.
By Jos. E. Badger. Jr. -

346 ocean Guerrillas; or. The Planter Mid-
shipman. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

347 Denver Duke, the Man With 'Sundz’ or,
Centi 0(16‘ Sam’s Lone Hand. By Capt. How-
ard I olmes.

348 Dan Dillon, King of Crosacut: or. A Wo-
man‘s Wild Work. By Edward \\ illctt.

349 Lion-Hearted Dick the Gentleman Road-
Agent. By Albert \V. Ai’ken.

350 Flash Falcon, the Society Detective. By
Weldon J. Cobb.

351 Nor’ “’est Kick the Border Detective; 01'.
Dan Brown’s Ficht For Life. By J. E. Badgor.

352 The Desperate Dozen. lsy Cap. Howard'
Holmes. -

353 Barb Brennan, the Train Wrecker. By
John Cuthbert.

354 Red Richard. By Albert W. Aiken.

355 Stormy Steve, the Mad Athlete. By Jos.E.
Badger, Jr.

356 gnaw Bniidsome Sharps. By Wm. R.

ys r.
357 Jack Simons. Detective. By A. P. Morris.
358 The Prince of Pan-out. By Buckskin

Sam.

359 Yellow Jack the Mestizo: or, Tiger Dick
to the Rescue. ’By Phili S. Warne.

360 Jumping errv, the amecock from Sun-
down. By Jos. E. edger. Jr.

361 Tombstone Dick. By Ned BunJlne.

362 Bull‘an Bill’s Grip. By Col.P.1ngraham

363 Crowning-lucid, the Sleuth: or. Pitiless
as Death. By Albert W. Aiken.

364 The Sea Fugitive. Bv Col.P.lngrsham.

365 Keen Kennard. the Shasta Shadow: or,
The Branded Face. By Capt. Howard Holmes.

366 The Telegraph Detective; or. The Dy-
namite League. By George Henry Morse.

367 A Royal Flush' or. Dan Brown‘s Big
Game of Freeze-On . By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

368 The Canyon King. By Edward Willett.

369 The Coast Corsair. By Col. P. ingraham.

 

370 The Dusky Detective. By A. W. Aiken.

371 Gold Ituttons; or, The Up-Range Pards-
By Buckskin Sam.

372 Ca taln Crisp; or, TheMan WithaRecord.
By 05. E. Badger. Jr.

373 The Sailor or Fortune; or, The Buc-
cancers of Barnegat Buy. By Col. P. Ingraham.

374 lilajor Blister the Sport of Two Cities.
By Capt. Howard idolmes.

375 Itoyal George, the Three in One. By Wm.
R. Eyster.

376 The Black Beards; or. The Hi h Horse
on the Rio Grandc. By Aim rt W. Ai ch.

377 Afloat and Ashore. By t‘ol.‘P. Ingraham.

378 John Arnnstrong, hit'ChulllC. By Capt.
F. Whittaker.

379 HowlingJonathan' or. The Terrorfrom
Headwaters. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr. .

380 The Golden Serpent; or, Tiger Dick’s-
Pledge. By 1’. S. Warne. ‘

381 The Gyps Gentleman' or. Nick Fox,
the Demon etective. By Al crt W. Aiken,

382 The Bonanza Band' or, Dread Don, of
the Cool Clan. By Capt. oward Holmes.

383 Silver Sam, Dctccrive. By Maj. Daniel
Boone Dumont of the U. S. A.

384 lnjun Dick, Detective; or, Tracked from.
t eRockies to New York. ByAlhert W. Aiken.

385 “’ild Dick Turpin, the Lion of Leadville.
By Wm. H. Manning. _ _

386 Hawk Heron, the Falcon Detective. By"
Jackson Knox, (Old Hawk.)

387 "ark llurg; or. The Ishmael oi the Hills.
Bv J 03. E. Badger. Jr.

388 The Giant Buccaneer. By Col.lngraham-

389 Colonel Doll hie-edge, the Cattle Baron's:
Pard. By Maj. Daniel Boone Dumont. U. S. A..

390 The Giant Cupid; or. Cibuta John's.
Great Jubilee. By J. C. Cowdriek.

391 Rate. Scott the Decoy Detective; or,
Joe Pbenix‘s Still Hunt. By A. W. Aiken.

392 The Lost Bonanza; or. The BootofSilent‘.
Bound. By Capt. Howard Holmes.

393 The Convict Captain; or, The Battles of
the Buccaneers. By Col. Prentiss ln aham.

394 White Beaver the Exile of the latte; or..
A Wronged Man‘s Bed Trail. B Buffalo Bill.

395 Dead] Aim, the Duke of errmgers. By
Jos. E. edger. Jr.

396 The Piper Detective. By Wm. R.E star.

397 The Wizard Brothers ' or, bite
Braver‘s Red Trail. By Buano’rxm.

398 Sleepless-Eye the Pacific Detective: or,
IRunn ng Down a Double. By Geo. C. Jcnks.

399 The New Monte Cristo; or The War-
dering Jew of the Sea. Bv Col, P. lngraham.

400 Captain Coldgrip, the Sport Detective.
By Capt. Howard Hounes.

401 The One-Arm Pard. By Buffalo Bill.

402 Snapshot Sam, the Pistol Sharp. By Wm.
B. Eyster.

403 The NamelessS ort. B J. E. Badger,Jr.

404 Silver Biiile Si . ByP ilip S. \\ arne.

405 Old Baldy, the Brigadier of Buck Basin.
By Wm. H. Manning. .

406 Old Pop flicks, Showman. By Capt. F.
:‘Vhtwier'c id 1 i N 1':

407 ,a ta n 0 gr p s erve' or. 11 an:
Nic on Deck. By Capt. Howard Holmes.

rt W. Aiken.

409 Rob Roy Ranch; or, The Imps of the
Panrllandle. By Jose h E. Badger, Jr.

410 Sarah Brown, De cctive; or,TheMygte1-y
of the Pavilion. By K. F. Hill.

411 The “finite Crook' or, Old Hark‘s For»
tress. By Ma . Daniel oone Dumont. .

412 Larry Loe e, the Man oflron; or. A Fight.
for Fortune. By Ca t. Fred. Whittaker.

413 Captain Coldgr p in New York; or
The Dragon League. By Capt. H. Holmes.

414 Bed Renard, the Indian Detective. By
Bufl‘alo Bill.

415 Hot Heart, the Detective Spy. By Wm-
H. Manning.

416 Monte Jim, the Black Sheep cf Bismark-
By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. _

417 Tucson Tom, the Bowm Bravo. By Geo.
St. George.

41 8 Sibyl. the Sea S'ren. By Col. P. lngrnham.
419 The Bat oi'thc Battery; or. Joe Phenix,.
King of Detectives. By Albert W. Aiken.

420 The g‘lld nth/er Sport. By Maj. Daniet'
Boone mon .

421 Father Ferret, the Frisco Shadow. By
Ca t. Howard Holm' s.

422 B lie-Grass Burt. the Gold Star Detec-
tive. By J. C. Cowdnck.

423 The Leno “and. By Albert W. Aiken.

424 flawk Heron’s De in"; or, Nixey’st
Ni . By Jackson Knox. ( ld Hawk.)

425 'l‘ to Sea Sword; or, The Dragon of the:
Deep. By Col. P. Ingraham. Ready Dec. 15.

426 The Ghort Detectch; or. The Spy of the:
Secret Servigg. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
Read Dec. .

427 Thclevals of the Montana Mill-

By Wm. H. Manning. Ready Dec. 29.

428 an; glyiglg Glim. By Leon Lewis.
Rea y an. .
"air 'l‘rl or Tom of Red Brad ;-

429 or, All Woolgifnd a Yard Wide. By \Vilhanr
R. Eyster. Ready Jan. 12.

A mw issue every Widnmday.

eadle’s Dime Library is for sale by all
Ngsdealers. ten cents per copy, or sent by mail on.
receipt of twelve cents each.
BEADLE AND ADAMS. Prsusnas.
98 William Street, New 17""

408 Doc Grip, the Sporting Detective. By' -
Albe

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