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TERI!) A'l‘ THE POST OFFICE AT NEW YORK. N. Y T SECOND CLASS MAIL RATES.

fl Published ivory GBetLdie 9f. fldams, Wablzishers, 'ren CentsaCopy. V01 

Wedn°“d“y' 98 WILLIAM STREET. N. Y.. January 16. 1889. “'00 “1‘3"”

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The Gountefiiters’ Gave.

BY MARMADUKE DEY,

AUTHOR. or “CAPTAXN IRONNERVE. THE COUN-
TERFEITER CHIEF,” ETC.. ma, ETC.

 \
\ \_ \
s\\-\_:

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CHAPTER I.
SAM SHARP, DETECTIVE.

A er'rLE south of the central part of the
State of Vermont is a mountain known as “ The
Globe.” It is a huge affair, towering far above
its neighbors, and of a very peculiar shape, re-
sembling in appearance the body of an elephant,
its backbone being fully four miles long: It is
entirely covered by a thick and almost impenc»
treble growth of trees—chiefly spruce, but now
and then one finds a grove of hemlock or cedar,
and Occasionally a solitary oak spreads its
branches high over the surrounding treetops.
Several years ago, when the Government was
making its coast survey, :1 signal station was es-
tablished on the highest point of The Glebe, but
beyond that and one or two venturesome sport- IT WAS THE DOG POMP, AND SAM SHARP KNEW THAT GREEN not. TAIN JOE WAS
lug-men, scarcely a soul has penetrated the deep 0N HAND To HELP Hum

 

 

 

 

2

forests or scaled the rocky ledges of which it is

composed.

The geological formation is chiefly of marble
and granite, with here and there a. ledge of lime-
stone, and in one of these last-named ledges is a
commodious cave. I

From one end of The Glebe to the other, on
either side, there was, to the knowledge of the
oldest inhabitants of the State, but one spot
where it was possible to ascend the mountain
with any chance of reaching the top, and that
was at its northern terminus, where the ground
was cleared. and formed a gentle slope of a half-
mile in length, before entering the ense woods
where it was next to impossible for the most
ventui-esome and clear~headed to keep in any
sort of a defined line in endeavoring to reach the
summit. True, hers and there could be found
places where the surveying-party had cut their
way through, when they established the signal—
station, but even those tracks had become al-
most entirely obliterated.

Wyndham county had, however, one inhabi-
tant to whom the whole country was as an open
book. Its densest forests, most inaccessible
hights and deepest ravines being as well known
to him as the alleyways of a great city are to
the gamin.

Ever since early childhood—and be was, at the
time of our story, about thirty-five years of age
-—he had roamed the mountains, ravines and
woods, and with his gun and fishing—rod, and
particularly with his gun, in search of rare

imens of birds, which be mounted and sold
in the cities. His name was Joseph Alden but
he was known far and wide through the State

b the name of Green Mountain Joe, and his as-
sistance had proved very valuable to the sur-
veying-party when their duties had hrOught
them there. Even The Globe had not escaped
his researches, for he had often been over it, in

search of the plumaged prizes for which he
found a ready sale.

He was a man nearly six feet in hight, and.
rather slender, but possessing muscles like steel,
and nerves which could not be shaken. He al-
ways carried a double-barreled shot-gun, and in
the mysterious depths of his pockets were loaded
cartridges, provided with shot of every size,
from bunch-shot down to dust, for the accom-
modation of any kind of game that he might
meet, and it was not seldom that a bear or a
lynx was among the trophies that he brought
home with him at night. His keen gray eyes
never failed to espy whatever game crossed his
path, and his trusty gun never failed to bring
down whatever obJect it was aimed at.

Wherever he went, his two dogs accompanied
him. one—Start—a bird—dog of the English
Pointer breed—playing about him in the woods
in search of birds, and the 'ether—Pomp—a
huge Cuban bloodhound, always at his heels,
» and never leaving him unless ordered to do so.

One day, when Joeand his dogs had but just
rammed from a three days’ trip in the moun-
tains, to his cozy little home, a sharp-featured
gentleman called upon him.

“ What can I do for you?” Joe asked, after
welcoming the stranger_and placing a pitcher
of cider, together with pipes and tobacco, on the
table between them. . . i

“ My business is of considerable importance,”
replied the stranger, “ and I should prefer to talk
with on alone.” ‘

“ ell, then,” said J 09, “we can’t talk busi-

ness. I am sorry to disappomt you, sir, but I

never engage in any business that m Wife can’t

know about—and my dogs too, for t at matter,
eh Pomp?” he continued, With a chuckle._

The stranger smiled—somewhat sarcastically,
Joe thought, but said:

“ Well, if that is the case, I‘might as well go
ahead, only I wish to say that if ou decide not
to 8881815 me, I request that you w 11 at least keep
in strict confidence what I shall say. I refer
now to both yourself and wit .”

- “If on can‘t trust us,” said Joe, shortl ,
“you d better not say any . “1‘s
easiest.”

" I think I can.”

“ All right, then—fire away 1"
“ I am an officer.”

(6 

“ A detective.”

“ Oh i” '
“ Don’t you wonder what I am here for?"

“ Not much: it can‘t affect me as I see,” and
Joe loaded his favorite pi an went to the
stove for alive coal with w ich to light it.

“ I want your help.” .

“M help)” exclaimed Joe, laughing. “ That’s
a ’uul’

I‘Yes,” continued the detective, eyiu him
sharply. “ I am engaged on an exceeding y dif-
ficult piece of business-a business in which I
would be useless alone, in this neighborhood,
and‘you have been recommended to me as a
man who knows the country thoroughlgl. and
is'afi'aid of nothing, therefore I want your elp.”

“ Drive on, stranger l” said'Joe.

“ In order to ‘ drive on ’ properly,” continued
the detective, after a slight pause, ‘ I must tell
you a little story. For the last two or t

ears. the public has been annoyed, and. he
police oificers nonplused, by reawn of 001181681"
'able counterfeit money that has been floating

 

Green Mountain Joe.
around. The bills are of all denominations, and
are so nearly perfect that expert judges of coun-
terfeit money have been deceived. We have
been looking for the men who manufacture this
bogus currency for a long time, but have never
succeeded in obtaining an clew until recently.
Now we have reason to be ieve that they have a
regularly organized gang and are concealed
somewhere in this immediate neighborhood. I
have been detailed .by my chief to hunt them
down. and I want you to assist me. Will you
do so?” .

“ Yes, sir, I will I" re lied Joe, shortly, “and,
without bragging, I’ll t Pomp there against
any darned dog in the country that [ can find
’em, too! When do you want to begin—to-
marrow?”

“ Let us talk about the pay first."

“ Time enough for that. Pay when the work’s
done.”

“ No, we’ll settle it now. There is a reward
of ten thousand dollars for the man who will
break up that gang. If we find them we will
divide; is that satisfactory?"

“Well, yes. I think so,” re lied Joe, slowly.
“ Moll , what’ll we do with all) that, eh?” turn-
ing to is wife.

“We haven’t caught them yet,” volunteered
the stranger. '

“That‘s sol but I‘ll bet you my share of the
reward against yours that we do.”

“ No—nol” laughed the detective, “for then
in either case I would get nothing.”

“ When do you want to begin?‘ asked Joe.

“ To—morrow.”

“ You’re a stranger around here, an’ so folks
’11 think it funny, your being round with me.
Got a hunting-suit, like them the city fellows
wear.”

it Yes.”

“ Well, that’s enough. Put it on, an’ I’ll tell
the folks you’re a City chap come up here to
hunt with me, see? Can you shoot?”

“ A little.”

“ Goodl Pomp, shake hands with—I say,
what’s your name, anyhow? Blest if I hadn’t
forgot to ask you before.”

“ Sharp—Sam Sharp.”

“ All right. Shake hands with Mr. Sharp,
Pomp! Start, stand up and make your bow!”

Pomp, the huge bloodhound, rose obediently
and after walking entirely around the chair in
which Sam Sharp was seated, solemnly extend-
ed his paw, which being shaken, he returned to
his former position by the hearth, while Start
stood on his haunches, and calmly nodded his
head several times to the detective, after which
he too returned to the fireplace.

“ That bloodhound is a fine animal,” re-
marked the strnnger, looking at the dog admir-

ingl .

“ ’I‘hey’re both fine animals in their way,”
replied Joe. “Some time when we’re out in
the woods I’ll tell you some stories about them,
that’ll make you swear I’m lying. Pomp there,
knows more than most men, and more than I
do about a good many things, and he‘s as strong
as a horse, too. Molly an’ I never think of

oing to the spring for water. Pomp always
dose it. He ta es the handle of the pail in his
mouth and brings it back full just as easy as I
could—and Start—well, he can start more birds
in a day than any two other dogs in the State
could in a week. I remember once—”

“Supper is ready," interrupted Joe’s wife.

“ She always stops me when I begin talking
about the dogs,” continued Joe, laughing.
“ Pull up your chair, Mr. Sharp, and make your-
self at home, because if you don’t, you’ll proba-
blv wish you were, for we’ve got a fashion of
helping ourselves here; so when you See any-
thing you want, reach out for it."

Notwithstanding this injunction, however,
Joe kept passing hot biscuits, bread, maple-
syrup, and. what-not, until, when the detective
rose from the table, he said he did not thlnk he
had ever eaten so much at one meal before.

As soon as the supper was finished, Joe and
the detective pushed ack their chairs, and Sam
Sharp havuig been tendered an extra pipe, they
began smoking and arranging their lans.

-‘ In the first place,” said Joe, ‘ I want to
know all the particulars about this thing. I
have never ha anything to do with detective
work before, and, as far as I can remember,
you’re the first specimen of the genuine article
{hat I ever saw.h What’csi thlelgzmanterfeitefi-fely

ers name. any ow an w t 0 on now
 k.  y
e on ow name ” replied Sh ,
“831d,”ln fact, there is very little that weudb
W

“ Well, ve me the benefit of that little."
' " We th nk be is one of the gang that escaped
when the den in Virginia was broken up, a few
years ago,” replied the detective. “ That crowd
was run by a fellow known as Captain Iron-
nerve, and we have reason to believe that the
one we are after new is an old member of his

gan ." .,

“hat makes you‘tbiiik so?” .

“ Their method of work is similar."

“ Is that all?" '

“ Yes.” -. r

“ How many do you think there are in the
hull lot of ’emi"

 

 

\

fl '

“There must be at "least a good many agents,
for their work seems to extend all over the
country."

“ How did you trace ’em to Vermont?”

" In this way: Some little time ago I was
instrumental in catching a burglar who had led
us a long chase. When I caught him he was
drunk, and let drop an expression which made
me think ..Vermont was the place. I went
through him—"

“ Eh l” exclaimed Joe.

“Searched him, you know,” continued the
detective, “ and found a piece of anold envelOpe
on which was the remnant of a postmark. A
that I could make out was an “ L ”-—“ n ”—-" y,"
but I searched the map of Vermont carefully
and found Londonderry, so I came to the con-
clusidh that this was the nei hborhood. Now
you know as much about itas do.”

“That ain’t very much.”

“ No, but it‘s a clew."

“Are you the only detective that is after
them?”

“ Bless you, no! There are a dozen. Two of
them have gone_to Virginia, and, I think, one
besides myself is in this State.”

“ Do you know him?”

“ Not at all. I haven’t the slightest idea who
he is. We may run across him some day, and
may not. The chief care in my business is to
work secretly and alone. Whoever he is, I
have the advantage of him in having secured
your services.”

and so Joe and the detective talked until
quite late, and when they finished, their plans
were all laid, and they confidently hoped for
speedy success. ‘

Joe was certainthat he could find the coun-
terfeiters’ den, if it was situated in that part of
the State, and he had resolved to prosecute the
searchto the last extremity in assisting the
authorities to break up the gang_

 

CHAPTER II.
CHIPMONK—JOE’S sroar.

THE morning fOHOWiDg the conversation be—
tween Joe and San} Sharp dawned bright and
clear, as mornings in the earl fall are wont to
do in that region. and ere six o clock had struck,
our two acquaintances could be seen trudging
their way through the llttle village of London-
derry toward the mountain.

sharp was arrayed m a complete sporting
equi ment, gamobag and all, and over his
shou der he carried a double-hamled briech-
loading shot-gun, 80 that. altogether he looked
a veritable city chap_who had'visited that sec-
tion of the country In the hope of bagginga
few partridges, etc" With small chance oil/car-
rying his design into execution.

“ Hello, J eel” suddenly cried a voice behind
them, just as they had Passed the. only store of
which the village boa-“ted, and which, like all
country stores, was a combination of all kinds
omeercatétil: veritutrl‘fs’é d b' '5

oean ram 0 urne arutl, -
held a mere lad, apparently not mull-e ythggds‘i);
teen years of age. and Wide at that run-
ning swiftly toward them. ’

“ Goin’ huntin’?" he asked, as he ranioward

them.

“ Yes, Chip,” replied Joe. “ Wm“; to go
along?” -

“ ’Um—.course I do! Kin I?” i.

“ I guess so,” assented Joe, laughing] , H Run
and get your gun and come on. We’l go along
and you can catch us down the road.”

a Sfie me fly i” cried the lad, leapingawny like
a as .

“ Do we want this be with us?” asked She.
as he and Joe continu their way. rp'

“ We’ll find him useful, sir,” answered Joe, in
a satisfied tone. “He’s quick’s a flash, and
bandy‘s aciplug o' tobacco; shoots as straight’s I
kin-:zfrai 0’ nothing, and smart as a steel-
trap.

:gho is be?” M

on ve ot me now ister Sharp—”

“ Call megSam.” ,

“ All right-he came here four or five months
ago from nobody knows where, and begun to
do chores and sich fur a Iivin’. Sometimes the
little feller ‘11 go oil into the woods and moun~
tains and be gone three or four days, or a Week,
and then, all of a sudden, he‘ll turn up again,
loaded down with spruce gum an’ game.

“ What is his name-:his right name?”

“ Blast ’f I know—Conn, I think is‘ the name
he gave us when he fu’st showed up, but we
thought he was more like a chipmunk than any-
thing else in the animal kin dom and some
called him Chipmonk, but, Ch p's 0881911130 8a ,
an’ so he’s ‘ Chip,’ an’ that’s about all any y
’round here knows about him.” v r.

Just then the clatter of hasty. {WWI-B could

he heard behind them, and in ornament more,‘

Chi monk was skipping also at their side on,
ryiifg. a ht single-barrelefl Shot-gun it; m
right han , and a powder-horn and h
flung over either shoulder. 1} ,

I have said that he was undersized, but
scarcely
are alone, one woul not ave

ranch
age to be over twelve; but he loo need hi3

older even

expresses it for udglngfremfinm .

is;

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Green Mountain Joe.

 

 

than the first estimate—sixteen—in the face,
and his figure denoted unusual strength for one
so oung and small.

e was dressed as all country boys are
dressed, exoept that his clothes Were rather the
worse for wear, and here and there showed evi-
dences of having clambered through brambles;
and, instead of tough kip boots, '_s feet were
incased in leather moccasins ma e of wood-
chuck’s hide, and evxdently of his own manu-
facture, which was, no doubt the result of ne-
cessity. His hair was rather long and tangled,
falling upon his shoulders in an unkempt mass,
while on his head he wore a common Scotch
cap, pulled tightly down so that the visor close-
ly shaded two piercing, and wonde fully bright
black eyes that never rested the' gazeon one
object for more than an instant at a time.

“ Whar ye goin’, Joe?" he asked as he came

11 .

p“ Over Globe way,” answered Joe. “ I
thought we might find something to shoot over
there.”

“ Mighty little," averred Chip.

n 'Wbyan

“ I see’d nothin’—bin thar three days, too; jist
kim back last night.”

“ Get anything at all?”

“Couple of biddies (meaning partridges), an’
some gum. Say, Jce—”

H Eh?”

“ It’s perlite t'r introduce a feller, ain’t it?"

Joe laughed outright, while Sharp, also laugh—
ing a little, said:

‘ M name is Sharp, young man.”

" ' in,” said Chipmunk, innocently, but with
a wicked little twin la in his bright eyes. “Air
you goin’ huntin’ too. Mister Sharp- oung-manl’”

Joe nearly doubled up with aughter, in
which Sharp—who, for a moment, seemed a
little indignant—finally heartily iioined.

“ Yes,” he answered, “ Mr. A den has kindly
consented to teach me how to shoot partridges,
and I suspect you might be able to give me a
lesson or two in that art, also.”

“ Can’t on The Glebe,” replied the lad. “ Noth-
in’ to shoot thar—’cept robbers."

“ Except robbers!” exclaimed Sharp, with a
start of surprise.

“ ’Um—robbers—lots 0’ them thar."

“ Ah, you mean some kind of a bird?"

“ Bird?” ejaculated the lad, indignantly.
“ Say, mister, ye ain't sich a sharp young man
as y’d have us think.”

9‘ Do you mean thieves ?” asked Sharp, begin-
ning to get interested, and thinking that this
lad in his rambles might have discovered some-
thing that it would be worth a detective’s while
to know.

“Did I say anything ’bout thieves? Is rob-
bers thieves?” asked the boy. “ I said robbers,
an’ I meant robber.” ‘

“What causes you to think robbers are
there?” asked Sharp.

“ Oh, he’s been readin’ some novel, I guess,”
ventured Joe.

“Ain’t, nutheri” retorted the lad. “ When I
was 11 thar, ’bout two weeks ago, I found a
splend d crop o’ gum in a big spruce grove, an’
I did t have my gum-bag Wid me, so I 'ist
mark that' place an’ made up my mind ’d
hev that . Wal, I went there for it, an’
somebody ed been thar an’ stripped the hull
biznesg; thar wasn’t a piece left big enough to

“ What of that?” demanded Sharp; “ you are
not the only one around here who goes gum-
ming. are you?" -

"’Um—anyhow, I’m the on'y one as goes
thar' Joe never s.”

“5,5 that all he evidence of robbers you

saw
" Ain’t that enough?”
“ Bah!” said Sharp, in disgust; “I thought
Earhaps you had seen something worth tell-

The boy made no reply, and the three strode
onward, and in about an hour’s time com-
menced ascandmg, the northern end of The
Globe, intending to reach some spot near the top
by nightfall, where they could build a fire and
camp.

Joe and Chipmpnk _ kept up a continual
string of conversation, in which the detective
occasionally joined, but for the most of the
time he was silent, his mind busy with his
plans and purposes. -

His name was not really Sam Sharp,'that be-
ing only assumed. He rightly bore a name
which had struck terror to the heart of many
a criminal and he chose to keep it secret, lest
the men of whom he was now in pursuit should
discover that he was on their track, and ac—
cordingly lie very low until he was out of the
neighborhood.

Chipmonk, the boy, puzzled him, being, as he
seemed. at once a mixture of unusual shrewd-
ness and monumental stupidity and i orance.

And so they clambered on until 9. out three
o’clock in the afternoon, when they came to a
halt on a ledge at the mountain-side, at a spot
which commanded a magnificent viewto the
northward and westward, and where Joe said

.’ ' would rest for a while and have abitto eat.
' ving provided themselves with prowsions _
before they started, a fire was soon crackling that thing was,’ an’ I grumbled and

I I call ‘ Rocking Tree

 

merrily, and the lad havin run to a spring not
far away, for water, co so was 8 edin in
operation, to wash down their sandw ches.

The lunch disposed of, Sharp lighted his pigs,
and leaning his back comfortably ‘against e
trunk of a tree, said:

" Now, Joe, while we are resting, suppose you
tell me one of your dog stories. Give us one
about Pomp, there, for he comes the nearest to
my idea of a fine dog."

“ Right ye be,” remarked Chipmonk,sotto race.
“ He’s a bu’ster an’ no mistake.”

“ Well,” said Joe, blowing a mouthful of

smoke into the air over his head, and gentl~ pat:

ting the head of the huge bloodhound that was
resting upon his knee. “ I’ll tell you a story
about him that took place on this very moun-
taiu, not far from this spot, and when I’m
through you will either call me a darned liar, or
agree with me that there‘s something strange
around these parts that no teller kin explain.”

Sharp nodded, and Joe proceeded:

“ ’Twas jist about a year ago naow, and I had
been aout two days on this mountain, an‘ 'ist
afore dark I came to a lace up above here is et
amp,’ because there’s a
spring 0’ good water there, an’ a tree right
alongside of it es big ’round es my body, but all
the same, Chip, here, could purty nigh rock the
thin over of he tried. I’ll shew it to you bime-
by, ur I guess we’ll camp there to-night, of my
sto don’t scare you aout. It was jist comin’
on ask, an’ I made up my mind to start a fire
and settle there for the night. Well, I soon had
a good fire a-goin’, an’ some coffee brewin‘ in a
pot I keep there for ’mergencies. I roasted a
pa’tridge and had a good, solid meal, an’ then,
after lighting my pipe, stretched myself aout
fur a comfortable smoke.

“ Well, I must have been smokin’ about three-
quarters of an hour, an’ in the mean time it had
grown darker then the inside of a nigger’s pock-
et, when all of a sudden, Pomp, who had been
lyin’ ’s quiet ’s a kitten, lifted his head an’
growled. Now, Pomp never growls unless he’s
got some mighty good reason fur doin’ it—he’s a
very uon-speakable do , ain’t you, Pompl—an’
I thought at once, meb there’s a Bruin ’round
here-you know the State pays two dollars fur
every bear that’s killed ’round here, they’re such
cussed nuisances--an’ so I jist reached fur my
gun that was leanin’ ag’in' a tree, an‘ I'll be
blowed to smithereens of there was any gun
there.”

“ No gun there l” exclaimed Sharp. “Where
was it?”

“ You jist wait,” replied Joa, “an’ I’ll tell you
all I know, an‘ then of you’ve any questions to
ex, you’ll hev to answer them yourself. Well,
I rubbed my eyes an’ looked a ’in, but although
I was sure I hed put my gun t ere, I was jist as
sure it had walked ofl somehow an’ so I dove
down into my ket and hauled out this,” and
be exhibited a ergo-size Smith 86 Wesson self-
cockin revolver. “ You see. if my gun was
gone, bed a protector, an’ I’d jist about made
up my mind that the feller that stole that gun
would get a hole in him, when I happened to
look at Pomp. .

“ Mr. Sharp," continued Joe, impressively,
“did you ever happen to see a man when he
was badly frightened? Well, Pomp was es bad
es any ten of em put together. Every hair on
his back had riz up; his tail was stuck between
his is s, an’ he stood looking off into the woods.
Now don’t scare wu’th a Cent, but I confess
when I saw Pomp acting that way, in knees
began to feel sort 0’ weak. However looked
where he was lookin’, an’ you can pu verize me
furever ’n’ ever ef there wasn’t a white cow, as
big as any three cows you ever saw, an’ with
horns about six feet long, standin’ right in the
edge of a little natural clearin’ about a hundred
yards away. She was jist as white as snow—
the sort 0’ white you kin kinder see through
and at the same time can’t; her eyes were as
red as the danger-light on a steam engine. an’
there was little flames 0’ fire ccmin‘ through
her nostrils. My first notion was to run, but,
thet’s something I never did yet for nobody,
and so I jist raised this shooter an’ let drive fur
them e es.”

“ Di you hit iti” asked Sharp.

“ I never knew whether I did or not, but I do
know thet that thing disa red es quick as

ou could snufl? a candle. out out like sling-
ing a lighted match into a basin 0‘ water, an’ I
jist snatched a hunk 0’ wood out of the fire and
went down there to see what I could see, Pomp
keeping close to my heels all the time.”

“ What did you find i”

“ Nothin’—an’ after lookin’ around ’s long ’3
the blaze lasted, I went back to my fire, an’.
Mr. Sharp, ist as sure as 1 am a livin’ man, an’
you’re anot er, my gun stood ag’in’ that tree
jist where I put it afore I started the fire.” . ,

“Pshawl” said the detective, contemptuous-
ly. “ You fell asleep and dreamed it all.

“Did Ii Mebbe so;,however, you jist wait
till I’m through." ' i

“ 1“?ch '” h d f ’

“I on att e gunan ounditall right
an’ then I turned to Pomp. ‘Pomp,’ says I:
‘ I’m ashamed of you‘ to git scart thet way; ef
you‘re any kind of a dog, you’ll find out {what
jawed at

 

him for some time, so that be final] took it to
heart an' went off an’ laid down b imself. I
“Well, I sat thinkin' the th ng over, an’
finally fell asleep with my back against that
tree, an’ I didn’t wake up ag’in until day-

light.

“ When I did wake enip, that dog was gone, an’
I called, an’ whistl , and spent nearly the
whole day lookin’ fur him. an’ so I finally made
up my mind that he had got scared out and
gone home, but, when I got there he hadn’t. and

bed about made up my mind that somethin'
bed he pened to him, when, all of a sudden, he
show u ), comin‘ in on three 19 s, and with a
knife ho e in his shoulder, snot er one in his
back, an’ a bullet in his left forele ! But, that
wasn t all! In his month he h a piece of
woolen sich as nts is made of, an’ his chops was
covered with b ood.

“ He gist laid that piece of cloth in front of
me an’ ooked into my eyes as much as to say,
‘ I know what it was, but he couldn’t speak, an’
so he couldn’t tell me. Now, Mr. Sharp, you jist
explain that of you can.”

“ I think I can do that, Joe,” said Sharp.
“ Anyhow, I’ll undertake to explain it fully, in
a very short time.”

CHAPTER III.
“ ONTO” nIs Liran GAME.

OUR next scene is the interior of a huge cav-
ern in the mountain I have alreaoy described,
andlon which our threelfriends were taking lunch
and listening to Joe’s dog story.

The first part of the cavern which claims at-
tention is the room used by the gang as a press
and engraving room, and was perhaps fifty feet
square, while the ceiling or root was full
twent feet overhead. From this room led 0
three ails, and following the first one about
fifty or sixty feet, one would find himself con—
fronted by a heavy iron door that cbuld be
knocked down by nothing less than a battering-
ram, and behind this door was the counterfeit-
ers’ store-room, where good and spurious money
were alike kept. The next, and what was
known as the middle corridor, led away back
into the mountain, and, for the present, we will
rest content with the knowledge that it was .
ver extended, and gradually became smaller,
until a man ing through it was compelled to
resort to his ands and knees, to esca e bringing
his head in contact with the sharpsta actites that
hung from its roof. '

The right hand, or “ Captain’s Corridor,” was
a trifle longer than the first one described, and
if the reader will go back with me to the time
when this place was inhabited by the counter-
feiters, we will follow this last-mentioned hall-
weX or corridor together.

fter proceeding about a hundred feet, we
are confronted by another iron-bound door, not
unlike the one in the Left Corridor, and on the
face of which, by the light of the lantern, we
discern awhite knob, which we pull sharp] ,
and almost immediame an iron wicket in t
center of the door falls away and a voice says,
from the inside. -

“ Who’s dart"

If we are of the.initiated, the password is
given; then the door is slowly swung open, and
we find ourselves in a room about twelveor
fifteen feet square, while towering above us,
prohibiting any further progress seemingly, is a

uge negro, consideraby over six feet high,
black as night and evidently a man of great
physical strength.
he black at once asks us our business, and
we re ly by stating that we deire to see the
capta n, and requesting us to be seated on some
common wooden chairs, he leaves us alone
for a moment, disappearing through another
door at the further end of the room through
which he passes on) after pulling a similar
knob at its side, an which immediate] there-
after appears to o nof its own v tion2 it
being worked by a tch not unlike those inuse
in the common flats in the city, where the door
egg be unlocked and sprung open from the room
a ve.

In a few minutes the negro returns and an- ,

nounces that he has presented our names to the
chief, who has consented to receive us, and we
follow our conductor through the inner door,
and after traversing a short corridor, we push
aside a pair of heavy curtains and immediately
find ourselves in the private apartment of the
counterfeiter chief.

From the hard earthen floor we have now

_ come upon magnificent tiling, and strewn'over

it, in ever conceivable shape and pattern are
numerous urkey and Persian rugs of the rich-
est textures. The four walls are bug? with,
heavy salon/rs curtains, completely h ng» the
rocks which nature placed there, and over t

are tastefully arranged a number of fine engrav-
ings and paintings. In the center of the room
stands a table upon which lie several books of
recent date. together with bride-braoand a
common student lagi‘p and over the tables huge
stalactite hangs w ch havin been utilized as
a chandelier, glistens in the
wax candles

burns in‘ an open
room; a desk, strewn with papers,

ght of a doesn

place at onesideofr the
is in one

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venient positions, in one of which, with his sll
pered feet upon the fender, half-sits and ha f-
reclines a man about thirty years of a .

He does not arise as We enter, mere y lifting
his eyes, and giving us a careless nod.

To say he ie a handsome man is only to use a
common word to express something which
strikes us as being extremely uncommon. If it
were possible to use the term “ beauty,” as ap-
plied to a mun we find here, in this chief of the
gtglu'pterfeiters the explanation of such possi-

l i .

HI); hair is jetty black, and curls just enough
to give it a graceful, wavy appearance, curving
artistically over a. broad, white forehead, that
looks as though it never had been, and never ex-
pected to be burdened by care. His e es, set
rather wide apart, are also black, and ook at
you with a half-guizzical, half-searching, but
withal sympathetic and kindly glance. His
finely-chiseled mouth is half-shaded by a very
long, yet very elegant and finely-shaped mus-
tache, which is the same color as his hair, and
is brought out in bold relief b reason of an un—
usually white complexion. e is reclining in
an easy-chair, to be sure; nevertheless, we can
readily see that, when standing erect, he is a
man considerably over the medium size, possess—
ing a pair of broad shoulders, a full, rounded
chest, evidencing more than ordinary stren th;
and if we care to look behind the qui cal
glance of his eyes, we speedily come to the con—
clusion that there is a world of resolution and
daring concealed beneath that careless, and at
times fiippant exterior.

Such is Captain Quickeye, the chief of the
oounterfeiters. known also to the police as
“ Bank-Note am, the Counterfeiter King.”

We must consider ourselves as particularly
favored by being allowed this interview, for it
is one of the chief's rules never to admit more
than one of his men to his private apartment at
a time, and the one admitted must be especially
in his captain’s confidence, or even he will
obliged to communicate his wishes by messages
delivered through the agency of the negro atten-

ant.

On the afternoon of the day when our three
acquaintances began their search for the coun-
terfeiters’ retreat, Ca tain Quickeye was Seated
in the manner descri above, and in his hand
he held a closely-written sheet of paper which
he was intently inspecting. while a half-cynical,
halfvamused smile lit up is face.

“ So this is a description of the great counter-
feiters,” he soliloquized, “ the ‘ shover of the
queer,’ the man who thus far has outwitted
every one who has been set to capture him. Let
me see,” he continued, readin aloud from the
gzper before him. “ ‘ Probab y a former mem-

r of Ironnerve’s Virginia Gang, and in that
case, one of three: Mun er, a half—Italian (sup-

to be dead, but w 0 may have escaped),
short, thick-set and about fifty ears old,’——not
had, only Munger is dead. Roe uck settled his
hash. ‘ A negro, name unknown—over six feet
high, shrewd, but ignorant. mark of a bullet on
forehead,’—very good, but being my servant he
' is hardly the chief—‘ or William Maynar , a
former 'a ent of the old gang. known at that
time as nk-Note Bill. tall, slim, wiry, rather
muscular handsome ’-—thanks awfully l—‘ Dun-
dreary side-whiskers ’—if he hasn’t cut them ofl
-—‘ very black; hair and eyes black also; little
finger of left hand missing,'-—glad they don't
know I’ve got a false one in my glove that I al-,
ways wear when out in society. ‘ This we think
is more likely to be the man—810,000 reward for
his capture.’ Well, that in a pretty fair descrip-
tion, considering their opportunities for securing
it. I wonder what the would think if they
knew that I systematics ly put myself in their
clutches very often.”

He rose, and going to the table in the center
of, the room, took a cigar from a box and light-

it.

“Pahl” he said, contem tuously. as he once
more threw himself care essl into his chair.
“ This detective business is all umbug. I fancy
I could teach any one of their ferrets a point or
two worth knowing.”

He reached out his hand and tappeda little
silver bell beside him, and presently the hercu—
lean negro pushed aside the curtains and en-

“Sam,” said the chief, “is that new set of
twenties and tens finished!"

“ Yes, sah, all done.”

“(act them, and pack them in my traveling

Yes, eah.” ,
“ Put in a few fifties 'and hundreds, also.”

as Bah. 7 ,

“ I will go to New York tonight.”

“ Yes, sah.”

“ Is there any news?”

“ Dore is.”

“ What?" ‘

“ Martin jist cummed in—”

" Well!” -

“ He tole me to unlutance yo’ wiv le fac’
- dat dere war some wh to folks on do mounting,
‘ ’bout a mile below here to de norf.”

“ Well, why did you'not do so!”

” Jes’ loan it out, sah.” ~ ‘

“ Who are they?”

 

“ Mounting Joe’s one, Chipmonk‘s nudder,
an— .
” Chip, eh?” .

“ Yes, sah, an’ tudder one’s a stranger.”

“ A stranger. eh? What were they doing?”

“ Eatin’, sah."

“ Armed i”

“ Yes, sah."

‘The chief was silent for a moment.

“ Go and get Martin and bring him to me,” he
said finally.

“ A stranger, eh?" he soliloquized, when the
negro had left the room. “ There are two con-
structions to put upon his presence. He may be
a city chap who has come up here to shoot, and
has engaged Joe as a guide, and a sin, he may
be a smart detective who has trace me to these
mountains, and is coverin his real business with
a fowling—piece. I think will have to look into
this matter a little.

“ Ah, Martin,” as Sam ushered that confed-
erate into the captain’s sanctum, “ Sam tells me
that you have discovered some one on the mono.
tain. Describe this stranger to me.”

“ He’s about five feet six or seven, broad
shouldered, light hair, smooth face, and weighs
about a hundred and sixty pounds.”

“Did they hear you around them ?”

“Not much, they didn’t l”

“ What were they doing when you saw
them?"

“ Eatin their lunch."

“ Who 0 you think this stran or is?”

“ Don't know, sir; looks like a. ry goods clerk
on a vacation, more’n anything else.’

“ How was be dressed? ’

“ In a regular hunting-suit, such as they sell
on Broadway in N’ York.”

“ Fancy?”

“ Very much so.”

“ Game bag?”

‘fnlillegant one—all worked with hedgehog’s

in s.

“ What do you think of him, Martin? Is he
a city chap up here for a shoot—or is he a de»
tectiige that has found some clew to bring him
here?

“ He might be either—J don’t know.”

“ He’ll bear watching for awhile, anyway.
Chi ’5 being with him suggests that. That will
do artin; keep your eye on him.”

“ Let me see.” thought Quickeye, aloud, when
the negro and Martin had left the room. “If
this fellow was only some one who had engaged
Joe as a guide to Show him where to shoot, the
Vermonter would make him sling away that
game bag as an incumbrance; if he wanted
him to amr such, he would advise its being
worn. ! Second thouglhtr If he came to
this rt of the country mere y to shoot or pre-
tending that, this is the last place that Joe
would have taken him to for game, at this sea-
son, for the birds are all feeding on berries and
grain now. Good again! Third thought: If
he is a detective who has picked up some clew
to our whereabouts, and as gone to Joe and
frankly stated his business, offering the coun-
tryman a share of the reward—and if he is _a
detective that is just what he has done-this
would be the rat place to which Joe would
bring him, for e has seen and heard enough on
this mountain to make him think there is some-
thing here besides trees and rocks. Good again!
Fourth thought: Chipmonk is with him, and,
to my mind, that means a good deal. I think

have unraveled the tangle. Summary: First,
he’s one of Pinkerton’s men whose description I
don’t rec ire—second, he has found some clew
to bring in here; what it may be, I haven’t
an idea;-—third, he has selected Joe; as knowing

l

'the country thoroughly, made a clean breast of

the thing to him, and secured his services;-
fourth, he is on this mountain, looking for me;
and fifth and last, he won’t find me forI am on-
to his little game.” .

The King of the Counterfeiters was silent a
inioinggnt, lost in thought, and then rising, he
a :

“ I’ll run down to New York for a. few do a.
and attend to my business there, and then ’11
come back, and give this fellow about as lively
a time as he ever had. He has come up here to
fix me, but I’ll just fix him instead, and he
tap the bell sharply, bringing the negro at-
ten t to him, almost on a run.

CHAPTER IV.
rim ram nn'riic'rm.

POLICE Hmmouaarnns in the City of New
York were unusually quiet, when, about noon-
time one day two weeks before the opening of
this story, the closely-veiled re of a ady
asked the privilege of an interv cw with the in-
spector, and after waiting' some five or ten min—
utes in the outer office, she was ushered into that
an it presence.

e inspector (than which perhaps there is no
shrewder, sharper, clearer-headed, and at the
some time kindlier officer in the world), _who is
never surprised at anything, came near giving}:
little start of wonder and astonishment when is
visitor threw back her vail. disclosing a mag-
nifloently beautifulfece, full of sadness, but yet
exquisitely charming and fascinating. Little
lines of care and touches of loom lent rather an
added interest to the 30m , yet mighty fire

 

 

 

that dwelt in her great, round, black eyes and
her full. red lips would have been irresistibly at,
tractive but for the suggestion that they never
parted but to give utterance to a sob; and even
the inspector, as he gazed upon his visitor,
wished within himself that she would smile, her
entire face filling him with the thought of a
beautifully-decorated ball-room with the lights
out and the guests departed.

“ What can I do for you, madam?” the in—
spector influx-ed. rising and offering her a chair.

Her blac e es drooped, and the faintest evi—
dence of a b ush came for an instant to her
cheeks, but she took the proffered chair, and
after a moment’s silence, replied:

“ I have come to you on a strange errand, sir,
and one in which I fear you will feel some re-
luctance to acquiesce.”

“ Nevertheless,” he said courteously, “ I will
be pleased to hear what you have to say, and ”—-
recognizing a refined lady in the person before
him—“ render you any aid I can.”

“ I thank you, sir.”

Her voice was low and sweet, but even that
seemed impregnated with the germ of sorrow
that rvaded even the atmosphere she breathed.

“ ho I am, cannot matter to you, sir,” she
continued slowly, “ beyond the fact that I am a
lady, descended from a once prominent family
of New Orleans, and that by an act solely my
own. I am now estranged from them forever.:

“ I have been a resident of this city about
three years, and during that time have sup~
ported myself chiefly by the aid of my pen. I
could do so still, but—’

She hesitated, and again the slight blush
mounted to her face, an the inspector inwardly
wondered what was coming next; but he said
nothing, and in a moment she had recovered
herself and continued:

“ But for months an idea has haunted me un-
til it almost amounts to a mania. I have al-
ways been a close reader of the newspapers, sir,” r
she went on, forgetting her confusion in the in—
terest which she felt in her subject, “and for
some time I have noticed article, paragraphs,
and even editorials about a company of counter-
feiters—”

“ What!” exclaimed the inspector, actually
starting with surprise. “ I beg pardon madam,
but you surprised even me. I thin that is
about the last subject to which I expected you to
refer. But pray, go on.”

“I have been ver much interested in those
articles, sir, and have felt the impression

rowing u n me, that I can materially aid in
grin ng t en- leader to justice.”

“ u what way, madam?”

“By going in search of them. In short, by
becomin a detective, pure and simple, even
thpu h anha wom;n.””

‘ mpossi 9, ma am.

is Why?”

“ These fellows are a set of desperadoes.”

“ Even so, sir, I do not fear them.”

h “dlmpossiblel” and the inspector shook his
ea . -

“ ain, why?”

“ y dear madam, few men are courageous
and daring enough to undertake the work of a
detective—the hunting down and capturing of
creatures who carry their lives on their coat
sleeves, and who fear nothing but the leashes of
the law; and of those few who {maul-"SS the cour-
age and the nerve. a very smal ierr-envage have
the cunning and the quick intelligence requisite
for such an occupation.” ~

“But, sir, Ipossess all those requirements—
courage, nerve intelligence. I am a woman,
true. and therefore I have not the strength of a
man, andlrealioe fully that there are many

laces/where I, as a woman, cannot go; but, has
it ever occurred to you that there are also
many places where a man may not enter! where a
the keen, penetrating intelligence of a woman,
p;ope;ly applied, is sure of accomplishing some-
t ing

Her eyes glowed, her form dilated and her
voice became firm and even as she s o e.

“Itellyou, sir,” she went on, “ hat I have
spent months thinking on this subject. until I
have become so thorou hly imbued with the
idea that I can unlock t a door of this man’s
hidin place, that I have firmly resolved to un-
derta o it, whether I have your ‘cooperation ’
or not.” _ , ,

“ How will on accomplish it?”

“Without gout aid, it will be slow work, air,
for I will be obliged to work two-thirds of In
time with m n. in order to maintain in
the other th . I do not come to you see ing
employment, nor a_m I, as Iyou y possibl
think, a monomaniac on t is subject, but
have thought this matter over until I know
that I can succeed.”

" What do you wish me to do to aid you?” “_

asked the inspector beginning to feel the glow
of his companion’s enthusiasm.

“This, sir. Engage me re ularly as 3, d9
tective. Allow me sufficient ry only to feed
me and give me a place to sleep—one room
somewhere. Take me on probation for one
month, and if at the end of that time I have not
discovered something which you deem worthy
of pursuingévyou may discharge me, and I w' I
work hard th my pen and needle to repey,the ‘

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Green Mountain J 06.

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municipality every cent that has been advanced
me, and in the mean time I will deposit with you
as an earnest that Iwill carry out my agree-
ment, a diamond bracelet that was a present to
me several years ago, and which I would not
lose for thrice its intrinsic value. You may
consider this as a more business proposition, if
you wish.”

For a moment the inspector was silent. Never
before, in the many years he had held his posi—
tion, had so strange a proposition been made him,
and he felt that, inasmuch as the proposal was
extraordinary, it required unusual thought and
reflection before deciding the point.

Finally he said:

“I confess, madam—by the way, I did not
catch your name when you mentioned it.”

“I did not mention it. My name is Preston
—Vera Preston—at least that is the name I
have borne since I have been in this city,
Vera being the onl one of the two names that
is really mine. hen occasion requires, I will
have no hesitation in giving you my true name,
but until then, I would rather be known to you
as Mariam Preston.”

The inspector bowed.

“ I thank you for your frankness,” be said.
“It is better to be frank with me, and it will
add some weight to the consideration which I
was about to tell you , I would give to your
request. If you wi 1 call here again to—morrow
at this hour, I will talk with you further, and
in the mean time will have come to some con-
clusion regarding your remarkable proposition.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Madam Preston,
rising and drawing down her vail. “ I will call
to-morrow at half-past twelve.”

As she turned to leave the room there was a
hasty tap at the door, and it was immediately
opened, admitting a tall, flue-looking man, who,
when he saw that there was some one present
besides the inspector, came to an abrupt halt.

“ I beg your pardon, inspector,” he said. “ I
was told outside that you were alone.”

He turned to leave the room when the inspec-
tor stopped him, saying:

_ “,The lady is about leaving; you may come
111.

At the first sound of the stranger’s voice,
Vera Preston gave a start of surprise, and
put her hand to her bonnet, but finding that
she had already lowered her vail, recovered her
composure almost instantly. She was glad to
see that neither of the ‘men had noticed her
momentary confusion, and with a graceful how,
she walked slowly to the door and disappeared
through it.

In a moment more she was in the street, and
hurrying to a corner she found a boy to whom
she gave some silver, telling him to run for a
compound have it there as uickly a possible.

“ So l” she whispered un er her breath, when
the boy had shot ofl on his errand. " I have a
clew already! I must know where you go
Arnold Holt, and in the long, weary days of
watching and waiting that are to come, I must
always know where to put my hand on you, at
any cost. Time makes all things even, andI
will bring you to your just deserts if I have life
and strength."

A cab rattled hurriedly up to her, and sto
pad, the driver asking her if she was the la y
that had sent for a carriage.

She motioned him to come down from his

ox.

“ What is our name?” she asked.

“Mike, la y.”

“ Do you want to earn a five—dollar bill?”

“ ’Tis mysilf that does that!”

“Do you know how to keep your mouth
closed?”

“Luk at me now!” and he closed his lips
tight! together making a laughable grimace.

‘ e11, ay attention.”

“That will.”

“Do you know that place?” pointing to the
Headquarters.

‘- I do that. and more loike it.”

“I am going to get into your cab, and I
want to sit on your box, and wait here until

'you see a tall, dark man, wearing a mustache

and goatee, come out of there. I will be looking
also, and if he is the right one, I will tap on the
roof of your cab three times. Do you under-
stand!”

“ Faith, I do so."

“ When you hear those taps, you are to fol.
low that man wherever he goes, not losing sight
of him for an instant, but you must be careful
to keep for enough behind so that he will not
suspect he is being followed. Can you do
that?" '

r “ Sure! ’Twon’t be me first trial either.”

“If you find out where he is stopping I will
give you five dollars—if not, I’ll pay you for
your time.”

“Be the powers, _I’ll follie’im till ould Rip
takes a second nap, I will,” said the Irishman, as
Vera entered the cab, and he climbed to his
box, lighted a short pipe, and settled himself as
thoqgh he never expected to leave that spot
age 11.

When Vera bowed and vanished through the

 

 door of the inspector’s oflice, the new-comer
‘ , gazedintently at her.

“ By Jove!” he said. when she had gone, “ you
have had a bi her-toned visitor than usual, in,-
spector; the o d story, I suppose; some deluded
creature who thinks your men are created for
the express purpose of following suspected hus-
bands about.”

“ A little that way,” replied the inspector,
carelessly. -

“May I ask who she is? I fancied there was
something rather striking in her appearance. ”

“ I see no objection to your asking, but as I _

know as little as you do, you will have to look
elsewhere for an answer. Did you get my note
all right, Bertrand?”

i “Oh, yes, certainly; that’s why Iam here."

“ Will you undertake the job?’

“ I don’t know about that,” replied Daniel
Bertrand, for that was the name by which the
inspector knew his visitor. “ You see, I have
rather knocked off that sort of work lately, since
I received that little fortune I told you about
from my uncle in the South; besides, this strikes
me as being a particularly difficult piece of
shadowing.”

“ That is the reason I sent for you. I am con-
vinced that this fellow we are after is no other
than Bank-Note Bill, and he is as shrewd as they
make ’em.”

“ But, why do you particularly desire my ser-
vices?”

“ Because I think you are the only man that
can outwit him.”

“ Have you any clew ’e‘”

“ Not the slightest."

“And I am to commence operations on—”

“ Nothing.”

“ You ask too much, my dear inspector; I
can’t do it.”

“ Yes, you can—”

LL But 1__”

“ Now, look here, Bertrand' I did you a.
favor once; I want you to do this for me
now.”

“ Well if you put it in that way—”

“I do."

“Very well; what are your orders?”

“ Find and capture this devil of a counter-
feiter.”

“ Have you nothing to give me—some clew to
start on?”

“ Nothing, onl what you will find on that
sheet of paper. at it in your pocket, and read
it over at your leisure.”

“ Anything more now?”

“ Nothing. ’

“ Then I’ll get out. If I have at to undertake
this job, I’ve got another pretty ig one on hand
to get ready for it.”

‘ Very well; good-day.”

“ Good-day, ins tor,” and Bertrand left the
ofiice, and star down Mulberry street on a
quick walk.

But as he went, a little one-horse cab followed
slowly after him, twisting and turning as he
twisted and turned, always keeping far enough
pehgild, so that he had no thought of being fol-
ow .

Who was Vera Preston?

» Who was Daniel Bertrand?
What relation did they bear to each other?
Time will show. __ .

CHAPTER V.
“Bur our, AND sun is DEAD.”

“ So!” said Daniel Bertrand to himself, as he
walked rapidly 8.101) the street, “ I am engaged
in the difilcult '0b 0 capturing the great coun-
terfeiter, am I‘ ’ and he laughed audibly. a sort
of self-satisfied chuckle, hard to analyze b the
casual listener. “ The inspector thinks am
the only available man who can accomplish that
little feat, eh? Well, think he is about right.
I certainly could deliver 1: the notorious Bank-
.Note Bill if I chose, but I on’t choose—at least,
notlyetl” ‘

Daniel Bertrand had been known to the in-
spector some three or four years, two of which
he had been attached to the force as a sort of
special, and had demonstrated remarkable skill
in the working out of two or three unusualcases
to which he had been assigned. One, in par-
ticular, had established his record, and rendered
him, in the jud ment of his superior, a valuable
acquisition to t e detective corps, that of an in-
explicable murder which had been committed in
one of the up—town streets, and to which no
olew could be obtained. Several of the smart-
est men on the force had assayed to unravel the
mystery, but had signally failed, and. it being
about the time when Bertrand first appeared in
New York, he had been given the jo as a trial
of his skill. He disappeared entirely from the
city, and for several months nothing was seen
or heard of him, and the inspector had made up
his mind that his new recruit had abandoned
the “ shadow” business in disgust, when one
morning he entered his office and found Ber-
trand sitting there, smoking a cigar, as uncon-
cerned as though he had only been absent a day
or so.

“ I’ve at your criminal,” he said carelessly.

“You ave! Where is he?"

“ He, is a she,,my dear inspector.” ‘

 

“ But a woman never could have committed
that crime.”1 :

i

r

- to the clerk.

 

“Nevertheless, a woman did. She is now at
the Woman’s Hospital in ———- street, dying, and
if you will take the trouble to go there, she will
no doubt tell you the story. When on have
heard it, and are satisfied, you can Just make
that little check payable to yours trul . I mean
the reward, you now. and then, my ( ear sir, if
you’ll just accept my resignation, to take effect
six months from date, you’ll oblige etc., etc.,
Daniel Bertrand.”

“But,” said the inspector, “you are too valu-
able 8. man for us to spare.” ,

“ Sorry, I’m sure.”

“ Why do you wish to leave us?”

“ An old uncle of mine shuffled off the mortal
coil the other day, and, what surprises me very
much, he hadn’t forgotten my ex13teuco."

“ Did he leave you something?”

“ Yes, rather.” '

“ What?”

“ His blessing, and—enough to loaf on. Now
my great ambition above all things, is to loot,
therefore I resign.”

“ I’m sorry to lose you, Bertrand."

“ Thanks.”

“ Wont you remain as a special?”

“ What is that?"

“ Oh, if anything of importance comes up, I
would like to feel that I can call on you to help
me out. You will be your own master, to come
and go as you please, but I won’t have lost so
valuable a man, entirely.”

“ Well, if you desire it, I see no objections.
After all, I rather like the excitement of the
chase, if one does not et too much of it.”

And so it was settle . During the time that
had elapsed sincs the above conversation, he had
been assigned to a few cases and had alwa s
worked them out successfully, and finally t 9
one in oint, having baffled seine of the shrewd-
est of t 8 men, was put into his hands.

After walking a few blocks, he turned a cor-
ner, sprung on a car, and ere long was register.
ing his name at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, sending
a messenger to the Grand Central Depot for his
traveling-bag.

As he turned away from the book, after
writing his name, a lady, closely veiled, stepped
to the clerk’s desk. I

“ By Jove!” he murmured. “ The inspector’s

visitor! Iwonder who she is,” and he paused
tolisteu.
“I am expectin a friend here from the

West,” she said, wit a marked French accent,
“ May I look at the register a mo-
meat?”

“ Certainly, madam,” turning the book so
that she could soon it, and her eyes quick] lit
upon the last entry, ‘Daniel Bertrand, ew
York.”

“ Perhaps I can give you the information you
desire,” continued the polite clerk, “ and spare
you the trouble of looking over the names.”

“ 1 am looking for Mr. Arnold Holt——”

“ What!” said a sharp voice behind her. “I
begyour pardon, madam,” continued Bertrand,
trying vainly to peer through the meshes of her
vail, ‘ but you mentioned the name of a very
dear friend of mine, whom I have not seen for
years. May I venture to inquire if he is ex-
pected here!” v

“ He is, sir, and I am ver anxious to know
if he has arrived," she rep ied, with the accent
even more apparent than before.

“No such name registered,” said the clerk.
“If you will leave your card, it will be given
him as soon as he is here.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “I will do so,”
and she handed a black-bordered card to the
clerk, on which was engraved the name “Vera
Preston, 21 East —-——th street.”

Then she addressed herself to Bertrand.

“ You say you are a friend of Mr. Holt—may
I ask your name?” * ‘

“ Bertrand—better known to him as Dan.”

“ Ah! where did you know him?” ,

“We were college chums—roamed together,
you know, and all that.”

h_“ were you ever told that you resembled

im -

“ Oh, yes, often—not at all uncommon for us -
to be taken for brothers—twins, you know. Do
you notice a resemblance?” . ‘

“ A Very striking one.” ‘

They were slowly walking toward the front
door together.

“Can you tell me where Holt is now!" asked
Bertrand, heartily wishing he could see through
that vail. ~‘ i

“ No, I cannot.”

“ Have you seen him latelv?”

“Oh, yes; quite recently.”

“ Well, I hope.”

“Quite so.” i

“ 1 have ften heard him speak of his sister.
May I inquirl if I am conversing with her?”

 net‘dhis sister.”I h h h

pa on me; t oug t per ape you
might be. Ma I trespass u n liteness o
little further?” y W In

“ To what extent. Mr.—Bertrand?” ‘

“ This? I am obliged to leave town early In
the morning. and will therefore probably miss

gyhold? friend. Will you kindly remember me
im ' r '
“ With pleasure—since you are leaving tha

 

 

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city. Do you remain long away? for I think
Mr. Holt will remain in the city some time.”

“ I shall be gone about two weeks—not longer
I think.”

“I must bid you good-afternoon now, Mr.
Bertrand, and since you have been so kind as to
give me your name, and are as you say you are
a friend of Mr. Holt’s, I will leave my card
with you. It is very possible that our—friend
will be with me b the time you return," and
she handed him a
given the clerk. “ cod-afternoon, sir.”

“ Good-day, madam,” replied Bertrand hold-
ing the door open for her to ass through, and
watching her as she steppe into the cab in
waiting. ' As soon as it drove away, he made
straight for the bar-room, and called for brandy,
pouring out rather a lar e drink of it, which be
tossed oif without a wink.

“ I’m knocked out in the first round,” he mut-
tered as he strolled back into the office. “ What
a dolt 1 am not to have followed that cab but
then, a fellow can’t be supposed to think of
everything at once, and her mentioning that
name Holt donbledlme'all up. Who the deuce is
she anywa f Holt, oh? looks like me too I”
an he scow ed darkly, tben broke into a laugh.

“I’ve been called smart," he muttered, after
remaining lost in thought for a moment or
two,” but my own private opinion is. that I am
about the biggest blockhead in New York.
Either way I put it, I’m a monumental idiot.
In the first place, if she is really looking for a
fellow named Holt who looks ike me, I‘m a
fool for bothering my head about it; in the sec—
ond place, if it is myself she wants, I’m an awful
fool for letting her quietlv walk ofi? without find—
ing where she went to. Either way, my opinion
of Dan Bertrand has taken a drop. I’ll just call
myself—the other fellow a. few moments, and
think this thing out.

“ Starting on the basis that I am the Holt she
is after, who would have any object in seeking
me? But one being that I ever knew, and she is
dead. Dead, because I saw her in her shroud,
and heard the funeral services read over her re-
mains. Dead, because I dealt the blow that
. brought that beautiful life to an end and be—
cause her face has haunted me like aspecter,
ever since—dead—dead I If I could wrest that
one chapter from the volume of sin that is mine
to answer for, I would willingl stand at the
bar (if Justice and answer for t e others twice
over

“Bah!” he continued, rising from the Settee
where he had thrown himself, and going out on
the street. “ Why should this vailed woman,
with her French accent and a face I could not
see, bring up these memories to haunt me? Let
me See her card—Miss Smith or Miss Jones I
sigma,” slowly opening his card-case, where lie
11 thrust it when it was given him. -

“ Vishnu" he cried, staggering back, and
grasping the wheel of a carriage standing close
to the curbstone. —

In an instant he recovered himself, and once
more glanced at the little piece of pasteboard.

“Preston,” he said; “ era Preston. I am
losing my senses, I think. She was not the only
person in the world who bore the name of Vera.
Another coincidence, that is all. Strange,
though—very strange. Whoever you are
Madam Preston, I must know you better; I
must know who the Arnold Holt is whom you
seek. I must know, and I will 1”

CHAPTER VI.
_ TRAPPED!

CAPTAIN QUICKEYE arrived safely in New
York the following evening, soon after dark
havmg rode horseback to Chester, a distance of
about twenty miles from his cavern, in time to
catch the early morning train on the Connecti-
cut River R. R. for New York.

The horse he rode, and which he left in the
care of the hostler of the Central House, was
kept in alittle stable which he had erected on
one of the semi-table-lands on the steepest side
of the mountain, where no one would ever at-
tempt to go without knowing the path, and he
was very careful never to take the animal out,
exce t under cover of the darkness.

W en he sprung from the cars at the Grand
Central Depot, one would scarcely have recog-
nized him, from the description already given
of his personal appearance, although the change
was really so slight that one would have looked
again. and wondered a little where one had

V , Been that face befOre, and finally have given it

up. not being able to place him. .

.He was a man who did not believe in perfect
disguises, arguing that the minions of the law
were always looking out for them, prepared to
detect their existence, and see through them:
but he claimed that if a person seeking to avoid
detection changed his appearance just enough
to destroy the identity, caving enough of the
original to puzzle the beholder by its resem-
blance to the face sought for, the most cunning
detective would be disarmed at once, on the
principle that the person sought w too-cun-
ning and crafty to resort to an impe fect dis-
guise. Furthermore, he knew that those who
were then seeking him had not seen him in
several years, and would not be aptco recognize
him in any case. ‘

u licate of the caid she had .

Stepping gayly from the car, he looked a ver-
itable man of the world, more burdened by its
pleasures than its cares, as he used a moment
to II ht his cigar and have his ts shined.

hen that was done, he accepted the proffer-
ed serVices of one of the myriad of hackmen
that render the life of a new arrival in New
York a burden, and was soon bowling rapidly
toward the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where he par-
took of a hearty dinner.

“ Let me see. ’ he murmured, pausing in the
hotel doorway after his repast was finished; “ I
have a good deal to do in the week I have al-
lowed myself here, but I uess I can complete it
all. First I’ll go to the est, and see how things
are progressing there. I fancy the boys want a
little word of authority among them b this
time," and he called a cabman from the quare
opposite.

“ How much to the Forty-second street For.
ry?" he asked.

“ One dollar, sir,” replied cabby.

“ Very well, here isNyour dollar. I believe in
paying in advance. 0 hurry, you know; just
take it easy, as I have plenty of time, and Want
to finish my cigar before getting there.”

In a moment more the cab had been driven
across the street and he got in leisurely, again
admonishing the driver not to abuse his horse
by hurrying too rapidly, as he had plenty of
time.

It was night, the reader will remember, and
quite a dark one, a slight rain having begun to
fall, and the cab rolled slowly up Broadway to
Forty-second street, turning west from there to-
ward the ferry. Seventh avenue was passed,
then Eighth, and then the carriage rolled across
Ninth avenue, under the Elevated railway; but
it had gone but a few rods beyond it when one
of the doors opened slowly, but fully, a man
swung himself out upon the step, braced him—
self by seizing the guards, careful! and silently
swung the door ast him, cautious y turned the
handle, latched it, and sprung off into the street,
standing motionless until he saw that the driver
had not observed him.

“ Unnecessary perhaps,” he said to himself, as
he walked rapidly toward the Elevated station,
“ but a fellow can never tell who is standing
near, listening to ,what 'is said, and whoever
heard the hire the cab, probably thought I was
going to Weshawken.” _

The man who entered the cab at the Fifth
Avenue Hotel, and the man who left it at Ninth

-Avenue were without doubt the same, but few

would have believed it, even after having seen
them both, for while the first was a man young
in ears, wearing a. black mustache and im-
perial, the one who vacated the conveyance en
route was evidently fifty years of age, wore a
gray mustache, and a full beard which was
rapidly owing white. The first had worn a
soft felt at, set jauntin on one Side of his head
~the other wore a black alpaca high but set
squarely over shaggy gray eyebrows; in short,
Captain Quickeye had quicklv and effectually
disguised himself while u the cab, substituting
an opera hat for the soft one, which he at in
his pocket, and as he climbed the stairs t at led
to the station, he looked a. commonplace middle-
agIeId, respectable gentleman.

e took a down-town train, rode all the way
to South Ferry, crossed on the boat, and when
on the Brooklyn side, took the little red cross-
town car that runs down to the Erie Basin, and
rode about half or three—quarters of an hour.

When he left the car he walked down toward
the water front, and out on a pier that 'utted
out a couple of hundred feet, pausing w en at
about the center of the structure and stamping
three times soundly on the planking, then paus-
inian instant and stamping twice more.

full minute passed, and then he heard a
peculiar whistle immediately beneath him,
which he answered when two of the planks,
cleated together on the other side, slowly rose at
one end, and a man’s head protruded from the
openin thus caused.

“ W o’s who?” asked the head.

“ Here,” replied the captain.

“ Friend or foe?” was the next question.

“Both ;” and then the head disappeared, and
Bank-Note Bill, after looking cautiously around
to see that no one had observed the little scene,
let himself quickly through the opening. and
vanished out of sight, the planks noiselesst
dropping into place, and all was quiet.

A passing policeman, drowsy and careless,
had seen the man go down, and had stood wait-
ing for his return, scarcely knowing why, the
night being too dark to see any one on the pier
from. the shore. Not seeing him come back, he
went after him, but of course saw no one, and
after gazing over into the dark watersamo-
merit, shook his head, muttering something
about “ another fool of a suicide," and returned
to his beat, forgetting a) to report the occur-
rence when relieved from duty a few hours
afterward .

The opening through which Bank-Note Bill
disappeared, let him into a crib that formed a
part of the foundation of the pier, and which
at high tide, was filled with water. and was
even then dripping andslippery. One of the
logs that formed it worked on a pivot, and

 

   

 

l

was slowly swung open, allowing Quickeye and scene described was enacted instantly, and

his interrogator suflicient room to pass through
into the next one, and so on until they had
traversed four of these cribs, the opening from
the last one, letting them into the bass of the
pier, under the pavement of the street, where
a sort of underground hallway led up a slight
incline, running straight back into the hi h
land beyond. Presently they came to a flig t
of stairs, feebly lighted by a 'ack which the
guide carried, which they ascen ed about thirty
steps, then along another passage-way, finally
coming to a. full stop in front of a huge stone
that seemed to absolutely bar further progress.”
But Bank—note Bill struck the stone sharply
with the butt of his revolver, precisely as he had
stamped on the planking of the pier, and in an
instant the stone slowly swung from its place,
allowing the two men to step through the
aperture, and into the lighted room beyond.

It may be wondered how the stamping of one’s
foot on the planking of the pier could be heard
at such a distance, but that was effected by an
electric bell so arranged that by stamping on
the right spot, the head of a huge nail acted as
a button, ,communicating the signal to the inner
chamber.

The “ NEST,” for that was the name by which
the place was known to its frequenters, was
nothing more or less than a large room, dug
bodily out of the solid earth, and was absolutely
inaccessible when the tide was high, there
being no means of entrance or exit, except the
one already described. Now and then, in dig-
ging the place out, large rocks, and ledges of
rock had been met with, and the men had dug
around these, finally creating one of the most
strangely constructed apartments imaginable.
A narrbw shaft, not larger than a man’s leg,
ran from the roof to the open air above for the
purpose of ventilation.

The room itself was about forty feet one way,
by twenty, or twenty-five the other, and two-
thirds of its flooring was formed by an immense
flat rock, placed there by dame ,nature. This
was thickly strewn with carpeting and rugs of a.
hundred different patterns, sizes and values, the
product of many a. theft and forage, although
the inmates of this place were neither thieves
nor burglars by profession. Yet the “ Nest ”
had been the refuge of many an escaped crimi-
nal, and when once they knew the means of en-
trance, the were sure to come again. and now
and then, rought some trifle to help beautify
and make the place comfortable.

In fact, since the establishment of the work-
ing paraphernalia at Glebe Mountain, the
“ Nest ”—which had formerly been the counter—
feiter’s work-room, had come to be used for
nothing more than a rendezvous and quasi store-
room for them, or as a place of escape for those
who happened to be hotly pursued by the

lice.

When Captain Quickeye stepped infothe room
he found half a. dozen men there, loun g
around on the cushions and rugs, smoking t cir
pi s and evidently enjoying life.

be dis ui'se which he wore was unknown to
them, an one and all rose to their feet, sur-
rised to see a stranger in their midst, yet, since
lie knew the secret of getting in, Willing to give
him an opportunity 0 explaining who he was.

Three of the men were strangers to him, and
he chose to preserve his incognito for a while,
so when one of them asked im his name. he
gave.the secret sign to his three men and replied
generally:

“Never mind my name.
enough.”

“But we want yer name.”

“ Call me Bill, for short.”
“ Where yer from i”
z. “York.”

“ Wu ntedl”

H Rather.”

“ What fur?”

“. Crackin’ a skull.”

“ How long ye goin’ ter stay?”

“Till I get ready to go.”

“ Say, pardy, yer rather fresh fur an’ old ’un,
ain’t yer?"

The speaker and the man who had put all the
questions, was a tall, raw-boned six-footer, with
a cruel face, heavy jaws. low, animalvlike fore-
head and snaky eyes. He stood all the time be

I’m here, and that’s

was talking immediately in front of Quickeye, ,

and put on an insolentair that showed he meant
to run the place if he could.

“ By what authority do you question me, sir?”
asked the ca tain, rather incensed at the tone
which the ot er took. ‘

“ None 0’ yer business, old 'un: I’m axin’
questions, an’ at yer don’t want yer phiz sp’iled,
yer’d better answer.” He reached out his hand
and grasped the counterfeiter chief by the
shoulder. “ What’s yer handle? Give us yer
full name, or I’ll smash ye!” '

Quickeye’s other arm shot out like a rocket,
his fist catching the bully square between the
eyes, and he went down like a stricken bul-
lock.
another blow, this time from the butt of apistol
knocked him senseless. _

The three who knew who their visitor was had
ste ped forward to interfere when the big fellow
he placed his hand on the captain, ut the

He endeavored to regain his feet, but.

 

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fore they could say or do a thing. The other
two were off in a corner together with drawn
revolvers scarcely knowing what action to take
in the matter, but when Quickeye struck the
fallen man with his weapon, they both sprung
forward to take part in the fray.

“ Back!” cried Quickeye, leveling his pistol at
one of them. “ Back, or I’ll bore you through!”
and just as he was about to carry out his threat,
the three friends of the captain leaped forward,
and in a moment the two belligerents were dis-
armed.

“ This comes of allowing every cursed cracks-
man in the city to come here, ’ said Quickeye,
scowling darkly. “ Wash the paint off that
fellow’s face," ointing to the senseless man on
the floor, “ pul the false beard off his chin, and
then chuck some water on him, and bring him
to. You’re all a set of infernal idiots not to see
that he was disguised.”

Presently the stricken man opened his eyes.

“ Where am I?” he asked, feebly.

“ Where you have tried for years to get ” an-
swered Quickeye, “ but in a place you will find
still more difi‘icult to leave. The ten thousand
dollar racket has lured several of your crowd to
death, but you happen to be the first victim; the
others will come.”

“ Who are you? What do you mean?”

“ I am the man you sought to betray, Mr.
Ex-Cracksman, and present self-created detec-
tive and I mean that you will be food for fishes
in about an hour’s time,” and the counterfeiter
smiled wickedly.

“Curse you!’ cried the man, trying to get up,
but falling back again, helpless. “ Any how,
you will not escape, for at midnight there will

6 a posse of police on the pier, waiting for you
to come out. Ha, ha, ha! Mr. Quickeye, you
have your choice—stay here and starve, or go
out—to Sing Sing. Now do your worst!”

“ Trapped !” cried Quickeye, starting back in
dismay. “ Trapped like a rat in a cage l”

 

CHAPTER VII.
m nscsrn raom rnr: “ nasr.”

“ HA, ha, ha!” laughed the fellow derisively,
after the men had tightly pinioned him, and
taken his weapons away. “ on have got me
down, Captain Quickeye, the great counterfeiter
chief, but all the same I ve euchered you, and
when you go out of here, you‘ll walk right into
the arms .of about a dozen cops, and the State
wil wry your railroad fa re u the Hudson.”

“ ho are you?” said Quic ey . '

“ Don’t you wish on knew?” replied the man,

laughing sardonical y.

mf‘ I”thlnk I do, though I’m by no. means cer-
in.

“ Who am I, then, since you know so much?”

“ I think you are Jay Blucher, better known
as Blue Jay, the fellow who, a couple of years
ago, gave a certain detective, named Daniel
Bertrand, such along chase, and came near do-
ing away with him finally; an ex-convict, ex-
cracksman ex-murderer, ex-everything that is
crooked, who never lost an opportunity of be-
traying a pal, and giving him up to justice, if

on could make a dollar or secure your own

om by doing so; that is whoI think you

are, and if I am right, you have come just where

you are wanted, for these men here will give you
your ilust deserts,”

“ B ue Jay 1” yelled the men, “prove that he
is Blue Jay, and we’ll make him sorry he ever
lived to see this ni ht l”

“ Ha, ha, ha! ah! How can he prove it?”

“ How?” said Quickeye. “ 1’11 tell you. When
Blue Jay came so near stopping the detective’s
breath, he received a wound himself, the scar of
which should remain.”

“ Bah!” cried the man, with a show of bra-
vado, but growing pale nevertheless, “ that
proves nothing. I am covered with scars froxn

ead to foot!”

“ That scar, 1 believe, is on your body.”

“ Where?” cried the men.

“On his right breast!”

r‘i‘t It is a lie—an infernal lie!” roared the cul-
p .

“ Anyhow, we’ll see!” cried the men, springing
forward and sexzing him.

“ Stay!” ordered the captain, as the men were
about to tear the clothes from the struggling

risoner. " Let me first describe it, that there
no mistake.” _

The men paused and waited anxiously.

. “ It is the stab of a two-tined fork in the
right breast. It was a glancmg blow cutting
two distict gushes, which must have healed sepa-

- rately. Now look!”

_In an instant the men seized him, dragged
him to the center of the room, and fairly tore
the clothes from his back, despite his cursing
and swearing, and protesting that it was not
there, but when the breast was laid bare, sure
enough there were two distinct scars about an
inch ands. half in length,;running in parallel
lines on the right‘breast.

. Blue Jay’s face was a sight to behold when his
identity was thus established. Fear, hatred,

' non of all kinds strove for supremac there.

Istortmg his features, and causing t e cold
sweet to stand out in beads on his forehead. He
wnthed like a snake under the heel of a boot,

 

and his eyes glistened like the eyes of a serpent
ready to strike.

With one mighty effort be burst the bonds
that held him, for he was apowerful man, leaped
to his feet, and before any one realized that he
was free, he had wrenched a revolver from the
hand of one of the men and retreated to a cor-
ner, where he stood at bay, ragged, disheveled,
bleeding, and crazed with anger and fear.

“ Curse you!” he cried, covering Quickeye
with the weapon he held, “who are you that
knows all this? Who are you that knows Ber-
trand’s secrets?”

“ Shoot him, one of you,” was the counter—
feiter’s reply, spoken coldly, and with no evi-
dence of ear in his voice, although a pistol,
which he knew to be loaded, was pointed almost
directly at his heart. “Shoot him, but don’t
kill him; save him for the bolys.”

“ Shoot me, will you!” yel ed Blue Jay, and
he pulled the trigger, and almost simultaneously
with the report of the weapon he held, came the
explosion of another, for one of the men had
obeyed the captain’s order, and fired, the ball
striking the ex-convict in the right arm, while
strange to say, Quickeye remained standing, un-
harmed.

The men sprung forward as soon as the two
shots were fired, to throw themselves upon the
desperate man, and once more make him a pris-
oner, but Blue Jay was too quick for them, for
he stooped and grasped the istol, which had
fallen upon the floor when the all struck him in
his left hand, and before the men could reach
him, he had placed the muzzle to his Own breast
and once more fired.

“ I’ll cheat you out of torturing me, anyhow i”
he gasped, writhing in his death~agonies. “It
is bettertodie this way, than the death you
would give me, curse you, curse you all. I hope
I killed that Quickeye, curse—” a gush of blood
from his mouth prevented his finishing the sen-
tence. -

“ Sorry to disappoint on, but you didn’t shoot
straight enough,” said t e captain, stepping for
ward. “ You have done a better job for your-
self. ‘

“1 never missed before.” gurgled the dying
man.
“Yes you did—once,” said Quickeye. ‘

“Bertrand, and—you,” he gasped, writhing
in pain. “ The two—men—I—most hate—curse
you-cur—curse—ah !”

He was dead.

“Now, who are these other fellows?” asked
the captain, scowling at them, and addressing
his ownmen,but he was very readily satisfied that
they were all right, being harmless thieves,
who had escaped from station-houses, and were
in hiding until their last offense should be for-

otten.
g The all-important question of getting out of
the “nest” was next to be consi ered, for if
Blue Jay had spoken the truth, and there was
a posse of police kee ing ard on the pier, the
only toi'xit was closed, an the meanso escape
on o .

“There is on! one way for it, that I can
see,” said Bank- ote Bill, after reflecting a few
moments. “ We certainly must get out of here
somehow, and I don’t at all relish the idea of
beingvcaptured either.”

“ hat do you suggest?” asked one of the
men. “ How can we get out?”

“ Fight our way,” replied the chief.

“ But some of us are sure to be captured.”

“What of that? It is as likelyto be I as
you. Let each man take his chance and look
out on! for himself.”

‘0. ., captaln- give us or programme!”
cried another of e men, a ellow who looked
as though he rather liked the idea of a scrim-
ma 6.

“ on and I, Burke,” addressing the last
speaker, “ will lead the way, the others follow-
in close behind us. We will go through the
c quietly, and when we are all to ether,
underneath the trap two of the men wi work
it very quickly and we will spring out upon
the pier; the others will follow as closely behind
us as the can, and when once on the ier, as I
said bef re, let each man look out or him-
self and get awa if he can—but mind, no
$uealing if one 0 you happen to be taken.

on all know how to find me afterward if the
city gets too hot for you.”

“ Good!” cried Burke. “ Come ahead i”

“Fool!” said the captain. “ Don’t you know
that there is evidence enough here to trace the
whole lot of us? This dplace must be finally
abandoned to-night,” an he took a key from
his pocket, and unlocked a large chest, display-
ing a huge pile of greenbacks of all denominae
tions.

“ If any of you want any of this stuff, take
it, for I’m going to burn the rest,” he said,
striking a match and igniting a newspaper
which he took from his pocket.

Without exception they all sprung forward
gills! began cramming their pockets with the

i s.

“Better be careful ” admonished Quickeye,
“ it’s all ‘ queer,’ and if any of you are caught
with it in your pockets, it will go a ood deal
harder with you ;” but the paid no eed, and
when each man had helped imself sufiiciently,

o

 

not a dollar was left to be burned, and echo
merely took a few papers from the bottom of
the chest, and thrust them into his coat.

He then began to unwind a coil of peculiar-
looking string, and after boring a hole with an
anger, in a twelve-pound keg of powder, placed
one end of the coil through it. carrying the
other through the entrance, past the huge stone,
out into the hallway.

“ It will take that fuse exactly thirty minutes
to burn, my men,” he said, “and when once we
have left this place, there Will be no retreat for
us, for if we come back here, we will be blown
up, and buried in the same grave with Blue Jay;
are on ready?”

“ e are !" answered the men, hoarsel , real-
izing that they were leaving death behin them,
only to face a deadly ‘peril.

“ Then look to your arms, and follow! Come,
Burke, follow me.”

One by one they filed through the opening,
and when they were all outside the room t 0
rock was rolled into its place, and Quickeye
lighted the end of the fuso.

“ Now, men,” he said, “in thirty minutes the
nest will be blown up, and by that time we
must be far enough from here to escape it.
Blue Jay put us in this peril. and we must es-
cape the best way we can. Come!” and he led
the way toward the pier, Burke keeping close
behind him.

Once he paused, as they were passing into the
crib underneath the trap, and turning, he whis-
pered so that the others might not hear: ‘

“When the trap flies open, fire your pistol in
the air, leap out after me and dive into the wa-
ter. The others will follow closely enough to
take all the attention of the cops—you under-
stand?”

“ I do.”

Not a sound could be heard overhead, and for
a moment it seemed to Quickeye that he had
been hoaxed by Blue Jay; but, even as this
thought came to him, a alt-suppreSSed sneeze
from some one on the pier broke the silence, and
he knew then that it was no trick, but a dread
reality.

The planks were raised cautiously about half
an inch—just enou h to allow him to see seven
or eight blue-coats officers sitting on the hull
of a skiff that was lying bottom-up ward on the
pier. and he knew t at though there were but a
dozen policemen at the most. out on the pier,
there were others within easy call.

Silently he let the planks down once more, and
striking a sul bur match, glanced at his watch,
then quickly lew out the ht.

“ Now, men,” he said. “ e nest will blow up
in ust three minutes. We are far enough away
to safe, but stand ready, and when the ex-
plosion comes, lea out.”

They waited in reathless suspense, the min-
utes seeming an eternity. They could almost
hear their own hearts beat with the excitement
that filled the air they breathed.

Sudden] there was aloud, et muflied report
from the s ore, and the hurryhig of feet on the
pier overhead.

“ Now i” cried the counterfeiter.

The lanks were dashed aside, and followed
by Bur e, be sprung upon the pier, firing his re-
volver ra idly.

The ta form of a police officer confronted
him, but his fist shot out like lightning, and the
man went down under it like a .

With one bound he was at the 3 do of the ier,
ghile his five companions were leaping out o the

a .

e paused an instant, as he was about to
throw himself into the water, but even as he did
so, the man he had knocked down raised his
pistol and fired, and with a loud c , Captain
lfinickeye fell crashing into the 33 be

In.

 

CHAPTER VIII.
“ TRIOKED—AND BY a BOY.”

WE have left our three friends, the detective,
Shar , Green Mountain Joe and Chipmonk
near ion enough at their luncheon,» now
we w 1] go ack to them, a retrograde of about
twenty- our hours in the chronology of our

story.

“ It is time we were moving on,” said Sharp,
when Joe had finished his story.

“ Right ye be!” remarked Chipmonk com— \
placentli,i “ but where in blazes ‘ye‘r’ goin’ ’I
mor’n I u make out. Yer don’t call this hunt-
in’, and yer ain’t gunnin’ fur sart’in. Say, Joe,
whar ye oin’, anyhow ?"

“ Look 11’ fur the know,” replied Joe, glancing
shar ! at the boy.

“ ’ m! Right ye be—that’s fist what I
thought. You two fellers ’d make a brace, 0’
good calves fur it. ”

. Joe was about to reply sharply, when a warn-
ing glance from the detective opt him silent.
‘ Boy !” said Sharp authoritatively, “ have-”

“Mr. Chipmonk’s my name, of you please,”
said Chipmonk mischievously.

“ Have you been much on this mountain!"

“ ’M! Some.”

“ HOW much?”

{I 1M 7, '

“ Well—how much!”
“ March: that.”

 

.i
1:

 

‘ were.

.8

“ More than what?”

“ That.”

 Ifidjyou ever see anything strange here?”

. .

“ You have.”

“ Right ye be!”

“ Very strange?”

“ Awful strange.”

“ What was it?”

“ Strangest, queerest thing I ever saw.”

“ What was it?”

“ Saw it to—day, too.”

“ What was it?” '

“I couldn’t ’splain it, ya know, but ye’ll ’low
it’s funn fur these parts.”

“ Boy! ’ exclaimed Sharp, grasping Chipmonk
by the collar, “ will you, or won’t you tell me
What you are talking about?”

“ New, I won’t, unless you take yer hand off
my collar.”

“ Well,” loosing him, “ out With it.”

“ Out with what!”

“ The strange thing you saw here.”

“ Wal, mister, l’m only a boy but I’ve see’d
some strange things, I hev, and the strangest,
most outlandish. onuaturalest thing I ever see’d
in :this mounting was—”

“ Well, what?”

“ Sam. Sharp, detective! Ha, ha, ha, ha, hal"
and Cliipmonk sprung nimbly to one side to
avoid the blow aimed at him by Sharp.

Joe, who had attentively listened to :he dia-
logue, laughed heartily, and then suddenly he
began to wonder how Chip knew that Sharp was
a detective, and the smile left his face in—
stantly. '

“ Say, Chip, haow’d yeou know thet Mr.
Sharp was a detective?” he asked of the ho .

“ S’pose I’m a fLMl?” returned the boy. “ uess
I kin see through a winder when the glass ’s
knocked out.”

‘ “ What do you mean?” asked Sharg.

“"You’ve been in ’Derry three ays, ain’t
yeti Yes.” ’

“ Well, ef you’d come here ter hunt. do yer
s’pcse ye’d laid around three days ’ithout gittin’
a gun off? I know what ye came here fur.”

“ What?” asked the detective.

“ Wal, it‘s true 9 come ter hunt, but not
pa’tridges, and sic ; you come here to hunt
counterfeiters.”

Sharp sprung forward and seized the y.

“ Tel me how you know that?” he said be«
tween his teeth.

“ I do know it, an’ thet’s enough,”‘replied the
boy doggedly.

“ Tel mel’ cried Sharp, shaking Chip rough-
ly. “How did you know there was sucha thing
as a counterfeiter here?”

“ Didn’t!”

“ Then what did you mean by that remark?”

“ Nothin’ l”

“ Chipmonk, you will have to answer my
questions,” said Sharp in a firm tone, and keep-
ing his hold on the boy’s collar. “ I begin to
think that .you know a great deal more than
you appear to, and I want to force on to
tell all you know, if you will voluntari y ive
me the benefit of your knowledge, you wi be
none the worse off for it.” »

Chip looked up at hiiu fearlesslty.

“ Mister Sharp, her said, “ 6 you hold me
here ’til I’m gray—of you shake mo ’til my
teeth drop out, you’ll never force me to say a.

thing I don’t want'r.”

The detective let him 0.

“Come.” he said, “ te l me what you know.”

“ I’ll tell you what I’ll do.”

“ Well—what?”

“ Ef J oe’ll sta right here ’til we come back,
an’ you’ll go wit me,” said Chipmonk impres-
sively, “ I’ll take you to the counterfeiters’ cave.”

Sharp bounded forward. .

“ Can you do it?” he cried.

“ I kin.”

“ When will you?”

“  H ’

“ But, 'I want ter gotoo,” said Joe, not relish-

' ing the disposition made of him.

Won’t take ye,” declared Chipmunk laconi-

conga,
“ by!" asked J06.

“ Don’t want ye: ye‘r’ too big."

“ Joe will wait here for us,” said Sharp.

“ He must promise towait here, an’ to keep
his dorgs r here ’til we git back, or I won’t
budge,” replied the boy. “ Will ye promise
that, J 0e?”

“ [ don’t see why I can’t go,” said Joe.

“I won’t take ye: that settles it 1” ,

‘“ Will you promise to wait here, Joe?” asked
the detective. ” th ,

s pose so, ra er impatient] .

“ Now, Chipmonk,” said Sher Ss’ternly, ” you
are to lead the way, and I wil follow, and I
warn you, boy though‘you are, that if I see any
signs of foul play on your part, I will shoot you
on“the sprpt; are you y?”

’“ Then go ahead—I’ll follow. Good-by Joe-—
wait here for me twelve hours, and if I am not

.back by that time you will know something

has happened to me, and in that Case I charge
Em to write all you knowyi’o Police Headquarters

New York. » Good by.

 

 

val, ,.y.,,;i~:v,-I:.rwa4p,  4,,;,~7,,,;3,3:,.,_5h “.71.. M5 ,_

Green Mountain Joe.

“ Good-h ," said Joe. “ Goodvluck to you."

Chipmo ' leading the way, and the detective
following, they were soon out of sight in the
woods, leaving Joe alone with his dogs.

For considerably more than an hour Sam
Sharp and his youthful guide worked their way
through the tangled growth of bushes and
young spruce and baI-am until the woods began
to row quite dark.

inally they aused in a much denser thicket
than any they ad yet entered, and Chipmunk
turned to his companion.

“ We are almost there,” he said, in a whisper.
“ The cave is only a ew rods from here.”

“ Do they keep a guard posted?” asked the
detective.

“ Up here?” answered the boy.
think that hit] be worth while?”

“ Hardly—that is a fact!” '

“ All you’ve got ter do,” Chip continued, “is
to follow ‘me. When I creep you creep, au’
when I stop, you stop, too. I’ll give ye fair
warnin’, Mister Detective, of them fellows kctch
ya in thet air cave, I wouldn’t give a pinch 0’
coal gas for yer life.”

“ I’ll take my chances,” replied Sharp, brave-
ly. “ I must see the inside of that place, so that
when I come here with some one behind me as
a support, I will know where to lead them.”

“ Got- yei‘ pop?”

“ Yes. two of them.”

“ Handy?”

“ In my coat-pockets—each sides—I can get
them quick enough.”

“All right; come on!”

And once more the started through the
thicket, going very slow y and cautiously, Chip-
monk keeping a few feet in advance of his
c0mpanion. ‘

Suddenly the boy dropped u on his hands
and knees, Sharp immediately oing likewise,
and they crept along for about eighty or a hun-
dred feet, when Chipmonk came to a complete
stop, and waited for the detective to come up
with him. l

The woods were now so dark that a hand
could scarcely be seen immediately in front of
one’s eyes, although it was starlight overhead.

In front of the twain there seemed to be an
impenetrable wall of blackness—so much blacker
than the surrounding darkness that it was dis-
cernihle.

“ D’ye see that air clump o’ bushes?” whis-
pered Chip.

“ Yes,” Sharp whispered back, “ but I thought
it was a rock.”

“ Naw, them’s bushes, an’ right behind ’em’s
the entrance to the cave. Ef ye want ter back
out, now’s yer time.”

“ But I don’t.”

“ Ye’r’ in fur it than?”

“ Yes; I am determined to see the act
throng .”

“ Ye may never come out alive.” ‘

“ All the same, I’ll go i . If you don’t want
to go. I’ll go alone.”

‘ Oh, I’m goin’ in.”

“ Then lead the way.”

“ Right ye be—here goes l” and the whispered
colloquy ended, Chi monk once more moving
cautiously ahead on is hands and knees, closely
followed by the detective.

Soon they arrived at the clump of bushes,
and then the had to lay flat on their bellies
and worm the r way along like snakes, pushing
the bushes aside carefully, to avoid making any
unnecessary noise.

“’Sh-hi I” breathed Chipmonk, softly, “ here
we are,” and Sharp saw something even blacker
than the thicket they had just paSSed through,
which he took to be a hole about five feet in
diameter, and which was, indeed, the entrance
to the counterfeiters’ cave.

“ Go ahead,” he whispered; “ don't stop now.”

Slowly and carefully they worked their wav
through the opening; Chipmonk dropping back
until he was side by sidqwith the detective.

“Keep one hand on my shoulder,” he whisper-
ed, as they moved along together; “ We 'want
for know whar ter find each other now.”

“ How, far have we got to go this way?” ask-
ed Sharp, nnder his breath. .

“ ’Bout fifty feet more. There’s a little room
off one side thet’s never used We kin go in
thar an’ strike a. light, an’ pull ourselves to-
gether.” , . _

“Some of the counterfeiters might discover

“ Do you

us.
' “ No dan er 0’ that: they’re all at t’other end
pIayin’ car s an’ drinkin‘ hot stuff.” _

A ain they crept onward. Sharp keeping his
ban on the boy, who presently turned abrupt-
ly to the right, and he knew that they were in
another passageway. ' _

Suddenly the boy stood upright, and in his
natural tone said: ' .

“ Here we be, safe an’ sound.”

“ ’Sh-h-h I l I” warned Shara.

“ No danger now," laughed hipmonk. “ They
couldn’t hear ye ef ye yelled,” and he struck a
match, lighting a. large lamp that hung suspend-
ed from the center of the. cavernous room, 11-
lumin the place, after the intense darkness
they been in, with a glare equal to elec-

The detective‘s back was half-turned toward

\

 

, tricity.

 

3v /

is .  u;

 

.n. _ «he, 1”

Cliipmonk, when he heard two sharp clicks. and
he turned suddenly, to see the buy, smudng
about ten feet from him, pomting two revolvers
at his head.

“ Put up yer hooks!” commanded the b0
guide, coolly. “ I’ve got ther drop on yer with
yer own pops the: 1 borried comin’ in, an’, by
blazes! of ye so much as wink, I’ll let lamp-
light through ye—rightge be, my covey!”

“ Tricked,” muttered harp, “ Tricked—and
by a boy 1”

“ Right ye be!” replied Chip.
held the joker back.”

CHAPTER IX.
IN THE TOILS.

WHEN Quickeye, uttering a shar cry, fell
with a loud splash into the water, urke, who
was near him, and who supposed of course that
he was killed, dove like a kingfisher, thinking
that he would swim as far as he could under the
surface, thus standing a much better chance of
escape.

But ere he had struck the water, he changed
his mind and resolved to see whether the captain
was killed or not, nor did the effort prove very
great, for right by his side was the object
sought, feebly struggling for life.

Burke seized him and swam out into the
basin, taking care to keep the captain’s head
above the water.

He had progressed in this way but a short
distance when a voice from the pier ordered
him to halt.

“ Come back here, or I’ll put a hole in you i”
it shouted, but the gallant fellow made no an—
swer, striving steadily onward with his burden,
which, by the way, was fast regaining conscious-
ness.

“ Riiigl” came the report of a pistol, and the
ball struck the water not more than a foot from
Burke’s head.

“ Ping—ping—pinglll” sounded three reports
in rapid succession, and the leaden missiles pat-
tered around them like hail.

“ I’m all right now, Burke,” said Quickeye at
that instant; “let go of me, and I can swim
with you. That ball only stunned me I guess.”

“ Will you come back?’ shouted a voice from
the pier. “ I’ll shoot to kill next time.”

No answer from the two men in the water,
who kept steadily swimming on.

Suddenly the captain saw something dark in
the water ahead of them.

“A boatl” he gasped, excitedly. “If there
are only oars in it we are all right.” ‘

“ Ping—- in i" came two reports from the
pier, and ur e uttered a little exclamation of

pain.

“ Hit?" asked Quickeye.

“ Yes, a little, not hard—go on, I’m all
right.”

In another moment they were at. the boat,
which roved to be alight skiff attached toa
small s oop yacht lying near, and as luck would
have it, the oars were lying upon the seats ready
for instant use.

It was too dark for the men on the pier to see
them as the , as noiselessly as possible, clam-
bered into t eskiif, but they had scarce] cut
the painter which fastened them to the 5 cap,
when they heard the splash of oars in the water
behind them, and knew that the police had also
found a boat—probably by launching the one on
the ier—and were coming in pursuit of them.

“ e are in for it now, Burke,” said Quick-
eye, in a hard tone, “but my strength has all
come back to me, and we will give those fellows
a lively chase before they capture us. anyhow.
Where are you hit?”

“ The ball struck my shoulder, and went on
without doing any damage, beyond plowing a
furrow. I’m all right.” ,

“ Good! Stretch out in the boat’s bottom,
and when I get tired on can relieve me,” and
the counterfeiter ch ef pulled rapidly away,
taking care to dip his cars in the water without

“Ye see, I

 

splashing. '
He pu led straight out for New York Bay, ‘
calculatin that the police would spend enough

time searc ing for them in the immediate vicin-
ity, to give them an opportunity to escape.

“ If the moon will only stay under that cloud
fifteen minutes.” he thoucht, “ I’ll take my
chances against the world ;” but even as the
thought came to him, the cloud began to grow
dimmer, and presently the mom rolled from
behind it like a ball, shedding a flood of light on
the basin. ‘ '

“ Blest if they aren’t searching the sloop,”
said Quickeye.

True enough. By the moon’s light he could
now plainly see the police boat at the sloop’s
side, containing two men, while three more
glare rummaging about her decks, searching for

em. ,

But the were discovered" almost at'the same
moment, y the police, who immediately sprung
for their boat and started in hot ursuit, and
then began an exciting chase. The c oods, which

had been so thick during the rainfall in the

early pa of the evening, were broken and
scatter , but here and there a heavy, ominous
bank of them drifted sluggisth along, while

the moon, which had come out from behind one _ 

of these banks, lit up the water like day.

 

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Green Mountain J

9

 

 

The fugitives were making strai ht for the
open bay, because there was no ot er course
left open to them, and in following that one,
Quickeye well knew that there were only two
chances of their escaping the pursuers, either
by outrowing and distancing them, which was
extremely doubtful, or if the moon should get
behind another of ud, by eluding them in the
darkness. The latter was really his only hope,
for what could one pair of oars accomplish
against two?

“We must not be taken!” he muttered be-
tween his teeth, settling himle to work with a
determination and energy that sent the little
skiff skimming over the water like a bird, and
being, as it was, very much lighter in build
than the pursuin boat, it kept its distance well.

“ Burke," saic be, after a few moments’
silence, during which there was no perceptible
change in the space between the two boats,
“ will our pistol work i”

“ I on’t know; it’s rather wet.”

“ Well, try it; see if you can‘t cripple one of
those fellows there.” I

“ Burke raised himself from the bottom of the
boat, and after drawing a large 44~caliber re-
volver from his pocket, prepared himself to fire
it at the pursuers. ' '

" I guess she‘ll speak,” he said, as he leveled it
at the bow-oarsman of the other boat; “these
are pretty good cartridges, and don’t wet
through very easily.”

“ Crack 1” spoke the Weapon, as he pulled the
trigger.

“ Well?” said Quickeye, seeing no commotion
among the officers. “ I guess on mi3sed. No,
by Jove! they are changing p aces. You have
either touched that fellow, or he’s tired. Here.
take my place, quick, while they are changingi
It’ll wind me a little, and I’ll take a chance at
them once.”

The change was made very quickly, Burke
grasping the cars and starting on with a long,
powerful stroke, the chief seizing the revolver,
and pointing it at the man who had taken the
other’s place.

“ Crack!"

“Good!” cried Burke, immediately after the
report of the weapon, as the policeman aimed
at dropped his oars and sunk into the bottom of
his boat. “ I rather guess they’ll begin to think
we mean business l”

Evidently the officers meant “ business," too,
for,,althou b there was a slight delay, during
which the ugitives gained thirty or forty feet,
the fallen man’s place was quickly filled, and the
pursuers came on relentlessly.

Nor was that all. They also had evidently
made up their minds to do a little crippling on
their own account, for the report of a revolver
in the hand of one of them was close] followed
by the strikin of a ball against t e car not
more than a not from Burke’s hand, but it
glanced, and did no damage.

“ They are gaining a little now,” said Quick-
eye, coolly, again raising the revolver he held,
but he loWered it again, and placing his hands
to his mouth, shouted:

“ Go back, or we’ll kill every mother’s son of
on!”

“ Surrender, for we’ll never give up the chase
without you!” came the reply.

“You will never take us alive!” shouted the
counterfeiter.

“ Then we’l. take you dead. Pull, men, we’ll
have ’em yet!"

“ Is that final?" . v

There was a flash in the counterfeiter’s eyes,
and a ring in his voice when he asked that ques-
tion, that plainly told he had come to some de-
termination.

“ Yes i”

“ You will not go back i”

“ Yes—by and by, and we’ll take you with us,
alive or dead.”

“ Crackl” spoke Quickeye’s revolver, and
again the oarsman nearest the bow of the pur-
suing boat dropped his oars, quivered a moment

in his place, uttered a sharp cry and fell over.

the side of the boat, his arms dragging in the
water.

“ Crack!”

Again sounded the ominous report, before the
police had recovered from the surprise and con-
fusmn of the precedin shot, and the Second
oarsman s rung to his set tattered a moment,
and then ell bodily over the gunwale into the
ba . .
‘XCrackI” '

The third report rang out a second later, and
the only oficer remaining who had not been
wounded, reeled and fell upon one of the seats,
groaning with pain.

It may seem almost incredible that this could
be accomplished without a return shot being
fired, but Captain Quickeye was a marksman
Who never missed his aim with a revolver, and

he held in his hand one of those self-cocking re- '

posters, which were then somewhat of a curios-

, ity. but are now very common.

The three shots that marked such fearful
havoc among the officers were fired within two
seconds of each other and the effect, as the
reader knows, was fearful.

Fate seemed to play into the handspf that des-
perate man, for at almost the same mstant that

I

 

the third shot was fired, the moon went behind
a heavy bank of clouds, and almost immediate-
] the water was covered with a veil of intense

arkness. -

The little skiff containing the two fugitives

shot on ward through the blackness of the night,
and note. sound but the splashing of the oars
and the pattcring of the train-drops which had
be run to fall again, could be heard. '
‘ 5006 a little tug boat nearly ran them down,
but they happened to see their danger in time
and so escaped, rowing steadily on] until1at last,
after a long, hard and steady pull, the boat ap-
proached Communi w on the Jersey shore.

“ Burke,” said aptain Quickeye, who was
rowing at the time, resting on his oars, and al-
lowing the skiff to float with the tide, when they
were nearly to the place of landing, .“ I am not
unmin‘dful of the fact that you have saved both
life and liberty for me to-night;h and. while I
never forget nor forgive an injury, neither do I
filler myself to neglect an obligation of this

in . '
“ hat’s all right,” replied Burke, “ you‘d have
done the same for me."

“ Even so: that does not lessen the obligation.
Is there any favor I can do for you?"

“ Yes, there is—onc." ‘

“ Name it; if it is in my power, I will do what
you ask.”

“ It is certainly in your power.”

“ What is it?”

Burke hesitated a momentbefore replying, but
being again assured by Quickeye that he need
gave 130 hesitation in askinganything he wished,

e sai :

" Captain, you have known me but a very
short time."

" True, but that makes no difference.”

“ In fact, you never saw me but once be-
fore.”

“ True again.”

“ You know absolutely nothing concerning me,
except that in aflt of passion, a few months ago,
I shot and killed a man in a bar-room in Hons-
ton street.”

“ Well, what of it?”

Burke bent forward, and lowered his voice.

“ Do you think you_ know enough of me to
trust me——in short, to make me a member of
your organizntion’i” he asked.

“ Is that all?” replied the counterfeiter. “ I
thought from your hesitation that you were
going to demand some overwhelming favor of
me,  payment of the obligation which I owe

on

“That is all,” said Burke. “ I have for some
time possessed a great desire to become one of
your organization. Will you take me?”

For a moment Quickeye was silent in his

urn.

“ Burke what I am going to say to you now,
may sound ver strange, coming from me,” he
said, finally, “ at I suppose there is a soft side
to every man’s character, no matter how hard
he may appear to others. If, after "I have
done talking, you still desire to go with me
tlo the”cavern and to become one of us, you may
I 0 so.

“ I am listening,” replied Burke.

“ As you say,” continued Quickeye, “all that
I know of you is that you have killed a man,
and that I was fortunate enough to offer you
shelter, but I think a great deal more.”

“ What?”

“ I think—I believe that to be the only really
wrong act you would have to answer for, were
you called to judgment to-night. You need not
answer; no man is obliged to criminate himself,
and anyway, I am going to proceed on that hy-
pothesis. \ g

“ As near as I can judge. you are' about
twenty-five years old. muscular, brave, \and
above all, well educated. You have a face, and
a tongue which would carry you anywhere,»into
any society. .‘Link twice, my dear boy, before
you adopt the path I tread. f I had thought
twice. when I was your age, and that was not
very long ago either, I would not now be an
outcast, a felon, and a murderer. I possessed
then, the many qualities which you have now,
and if I had chosen to turn them to and instead
of evil, to—day I would be respect" among my

fellow-men. and what is yet more important,,

would have respected myself. But I chose the
crooked path; I went from bad to worse. stop-
ping at no‘criine, hesitating at no sin. My boy,
I like you; there is something in your face that
reminds me of other days, when I was what I
would have you be; there is a brightness in your
smile, and a ring in your hearty voice that
brings up—though why, I know not—a. face
that should have made me a better man; that
makes me long to change places with you. and
live mv life ever again from the age of twenty-
flve. I have one more word to say to you, and
I am done. Listen to me now!”

.He paused, and drew his hand across his brow,
meditatively. sadly. I

“ Burke,” he continued, “ the life of a man in
my position is worse than the bell of the middle
ages, no rest for the present, no hope for the
future. I arise in the morning and wish it was
night, and when night comes, I long for dawn;
whichever way _I turn, there stands theskeleten
Conscience, leering at me in silent horror, while

 

the specter of wron -doing beckons me on to
eternal .ruin. Boy 01/] you have yet time to
draw back. Do not enter the charnel-honse of
crime, reeking with the stench of self-degrada-
tion! Stop where you are! If you are short of
funds, I will gladly give ou the necessary
means to take you to one er c‘ount , where
you can live a new life. honorable, up ght and
just, _winning the respect of all mankind, and
doing simple justice to the God that created

on. Do this, my boy, and I will feel that at
east there is one good deed recorded opposite
my name on the great book of Fate. Fly from
crime, because a criminal asks it i”

A full moment of absolute silence.

“ Do you say this to men-you 7" asked Burke
in a husky tone. ‘

“ Yes, I—-Il”

“Who, then, are you?”

“ I am what I have proclaimed myself—
a criminal—an outcast—nothing more.”

Again there was a silence, during which
Quicke e once more picked up the oars, and
with arp strokes drove the skiff toward the
J ersy shore.

The rain was still falling softly, but notwith-
standing, the moon peeped out from behind the
clouds, seeming to smile down n on the one
good deed of the counterfeiter cbie , as he pulled
the boat swiftly along through the dark waters.

They neared the wharves, and directed their
course for one of the piers, that seemed in the
darkness to afford better facilities for landing.

“ Do not answer me to-night,” said Quickeye,
at last. “ Think it Well over, and we will speak
of it again in the morning.”

In a moment more the oat touched the pier,
and after making her fast, they sprun upon
the dock, but they had scarcely lante their
feet firmly upon the planking, w en the bril-
liant light of a bull’s-eye lantern dazzled their
eyes. and a ruff voice said to them: '

“Surren er! You are prisoners!”

And there, holding lanterns and pointing re—
volvers at their heads, stood three policemen.

There was no chance of escape—nothing to do
but surrender. -

CHAPTER X.
'rwo ENDS TO A CLEW.

UPON the morning following Vera Preston’s
visit at Police Headiuarters, the inspector was
veruy much surprised
no :

"DEAR Sim—I have alread discovered a clew
which will take me out of t e city at once, and
therefore prevent my filling the engagement with
you. As soon as possible, however, will report to
you, but I have an idea that then my work will be
done and my mission accomplished. Ifortunstely
have sufficient unds on hand to meet my expenses
for at least a m nth. and I feel confident in redlct-
ing that by that time I will be able to del ver the
notorious counterfeiterrlnto your hands. In the ln~
terval, I wish merely to request that you will not
think me mad, but deem me onlya woman. who has
her own ends to gain, as well as yours. I am sure
that by the tinge you see me again. I will have given
you cause to look with respect upon the name of V

_ “ Vans! Pausron."

The worthy inspector read the note over sev-
eral times, smiled, shook his head. frowned, and
finally gave it up, remarking sotto voce .'

“ A woman w ll
Inspector of Police."

 

 

The train that stopped at Chester, Vermont,
the. following morning deposited but two passen-
gers on the depot platform. One was a women

about forty years of age, whose bright cork- .

screw curls exhibited here and there' a gray
hair, struggling for notice. having escaped the
ravages of restoratives. Her eyes were evident-
lv weak, for she were large smoked glasses over
them, and her dress had evidently been designed
by a refugee from the immortal Mayflower, so
primitive was its style. In one handshe carried
an old weather-worn sachel, large enough to
hold the wardrobe of a city belle, and in the

other an‘ umbrella that might have kept the i '

head of Noah dry during the deluge, if he had
not had the Ark to shelter him. .

The other passenger was none other than
Daniel Bertrand. .

For a moment the lady of uncertain age look-
ed Wonderingly about her, and then espfving her
fellow traveler, she hastily ep roached i .

“ I beg your pardon. sir,” s 9 said. his sharp,
quick. jerky tone, and speaking. as Bertrand in-
wardly remarked, horribly through her nose,
“ but I am right, ain‘t f This here place is
Chester, isn’t it?”

“ Yes, madame—” began Bertrand, but an
exclamation of indignation from the female,‘fol-_

lowed by her sachel dropping almost on his toes, , ' L

bron ht him to a sudden etc
it on7t x”
don’t !"
“ Don’t what?" he asked in surprise. 3
“Don’t call me madame. I never was quite

y receiving the following

puzzle the devil, let alone an I

she said. “her mercy’s sake, .

such a feel as to tie myself to some villain of a .

man. who might be eternally courtin’ other rls
and leavin’ me home to mend his clothes. ‘ o,
817‘, I’m miss. and always will be, I b ‘ ”

o . .
“ I’m sure homing] too, mad— thatgies, miss,” f

said Berti-an , w y
“ Yes—mlss—that’s right—Miss Jenkins. You
, i , .

  

 

 

 

 

 

10

Green Mountain Joe.

 

see, sir, the folks said I was beginnin’ tolook
kind 0‘ peaked, and so they jest put in; things
together and packed meo up here to ermont
to recooperate, and I was so afraid I had got off
at the wrong station that I didn’t know what to
do. I am r ght, ain’t I? This is Chester, ain’t
it? Yes? I’m so glad, for I should have felt
dreadfully to have got to the wrong place some-
how. Do you knew, I’m all mixed u about an-
«other thing, and if you’d be so kin as to help
me out, I‘d never forget it—never! You see,
I’ve forlgot the name of the place near here
where was to go—they wrote for board and
lodgin’ for me somewhere, you know, and ave
me the directions how to get there, all w tten
down, but somehow or other I’ve up and lost it,
and now I don’t know where I am goin’.”

“How can I help you?” he managed to say,
while she was catching her breath.

“ If you’ll take the trouble to name over two
or three places around here, maybe I’ll recollect
the name when I hear it. You see—”

“ Was it Weston?" asked Bertrand, breaking
in desperately.

“No, thatfiain’t it,” shaking her head dubiously.

“ Landgrove?"

. “ No—no—that ain’t it neither.”

“ Clarkville—Peru—Holly?’

“ No—‘tain’t none of them. Where are ou
ggin‘? that might be it, you know. Wouldn t it

funny though if we should both be goin’ to
the same place, and wouldn’t it be lucky—that
I met you?”

“ Very. Unfortunately, however, I am not
going to any town, though I go some little dis-
tance over toward Londonderriy—J’

“ Landonderry ! that’s it ! a n’t that splendid!
huml how girlish of me to forget it too. Lon-
donderryl Londonderry! You See I don’t mean
to forget it again.”

“ I am glad to have been of any service to you
Mad—Miss Pumpkins—”

“ Jenkins, man l”

“ Ah, yes, J enkins—excuse me. I will have to
leave you now. as I am in a great hurry. Good-
~day, Miss Jenkins.”

‘ Good—by Mister—Mister—” but while she
was waiting for him to supply the blank, he
turned and strode rapidly away.

The woman’s eyes sparkled behind her glasses
and she murmured to herself in an inaudible
tone:

“I wonder if he told me the truth—if he goes
toward Londonderry? Where is that place any-
.ho w, and how is one to get there?"

Just as she asked herself the question, a man,
"carr ing a huge whip, approached her.

“ tags, ma am?” he asked.

“ I‘m goin’ to Londonderry,” she replied.
your eta e will take me there, es."

“ ’Twi l; which do you want—North or South
’Derry?” V

“ Eh? North or South ’Derryl are there two
Londouderrys?"

“ Yes’m—North and South.”

“ Dear, me! I am so bothered I don’t know
what to do, and now there are two Londonderrys
staring me in the face after I had so much trou-
ble findin’ out where l was goin’ before. Do you
know, sir, if it hadn’t been for t at gentleman
goin’ there,” pointing at Bertran who was about
a hundred feet away from them and walking
rapidly toward the hotel. “I think I should have

‘been lost, entirely. I will never forget his kind-
ness never, never! Can you tell me who he is,
Mr. tageman? I’ve a great curiosity toknow.”

“That?” said the driver, looking after him.
“Oh, yes, certainly, I knew him well—that is,
as we 1 as anybody ’raound here does. His
name’s Holt—’

“Holt! ardon me, Mr. Driver, but I had a
vay dear riend once b that name—but he is
dead—go on please. an while. you are telling
rage w: may as well be gettin along nigh the
s e.

‘ es, certainly, to-be-sure, ma’am.' As I was
sayin’, his name’s Holt—that is, his last name—
I dunno the fu’st one, an’ two or three years ago
he came up here and bought an old haouse an’
twenty acres of woodland lyin’ ’long the east
side of Glebe Maountain, an' be fitted the lace
rup and I guess he spends most of his time s oot-
in’, or flshin’ or sich like."

“ Have you ever been to his place?”

f‘ No, nor any one else that I know of. He
brought his own people to do his work for him,
an’ I guess Chipmou ’s the only one as b’longs
in ’Derry as ever goes to his place; come to think
of it though, Chipmonk don t b’long here any
more’n he does.” ’

“ Who’s Chipmonk, mister?”

“ Wiell. madam—” r

“ I ain’t madam—I’m miss—Miss Jenkins.”

“Excuse me—Miss Jenkins. I don’t know no
more ahaout Chipmunk than I do abaout Mister

Bolt. Neither of ’em wasn’t raised in these
parts. and we don't think we know much abaout
aperson here unless we knew his grandfather
and grandmother. Got a trunk, Miss Jenkins?
Onl that satchel, eh? Well, whereabaouts shall
I ta e you when we reach ’Derry? Do you
want to stop in the village or where?”]

" Is there a hotel, there?”

“ Yes; it don’t ’maount to much, though.”

“ Well, take me there, and I’ll hire somebody
to take me when I get ready ter go further.”

It 

 

The were soon drivin along the beautiful
road eadin through “ heater street” toward
’Den'y, and it was nearly supper-time when Miss
Jenkins was deposited upon the steps of the
apology for a hotel of which the village boasted.

She ad partaken of the evening meal and
was seated comfortably upon the narrow stoop,
when Chipmonk sauntered carelessly by, whist-
ling a lively air.

‘ Here, boy 1" cried Miss Jenkins; “ come here
a minute, will you? That’s right! I thought
you looked like an obliging boy when 1 saw you
goin’ along. What is your name?”

Chipmonk stared at her curiously for a full
mililiute before replying, and then said laconi-
ce y:

“ Chipmonkl” ‘

“ Chipmonk, eh? I thou ht so. I made sure
you was that boy, Chipmou , when I saw on
goin’ along, an’ that’s wh I called you. ow
old are you, Chipmonk? ow you don’t look to
be more’n twelve or thirteen at first pop, and yet
when I look at you again, you look about twen~
ty. How old are you boy ’

“ Goin’ on sixteen, I guess,” replied Chip,
a sin regarding his interlocutor . curiously.
“ ’ot d‘ye want with me, anyhow? I don’t git
my Iivin’ by stan’in’ around answering a lot 0’
useless questions popped by some one as ain’t
concerned in ’em any ow.”

“ How do you get your living?”

“ Odd jobs, an’ gunnin’.”

“ What’s gunnin’?”

The boy turned and started awa .

“Wait a minute!” ex laimed iss Jenkins.
“I’ve got an odd job for on to do to help you
earn your living: that’s what I called you for.
I was askin’ you a lot of questions simply be-
cause I wanted to see if you could do it. You
can, can’t you? Well, anyhow, I’ll try you.
You’ll come, won’t cu? Oh, es, I know you
will. You said you one odd obs, didn’t you?
Well this ’ere’s the oddest job you ever did.
You’ll come here to-morrow morning, won’t
you? What time ’11 you come, eh?”

‘.‘ Say, miss,” said the boy slow] , “do you
want me ter go back an’ answer all t equestlons
as ye put ’em, or jest the last one?” '

“ Just the last one.”

“,yVell, then, I’ll come any time you set fur
me.

“ Seven o’clock.”

“ Key—rectal What sort of a job is it?”

“ Easy—very eas .”

“ And you think can do it?”

“ I don’t know, but you’re the most likely one
around here. You can try, anywa , can’t you?
You said you’d be here atseven, di n’t—”

“ Good—night, miss,” cried the boy starting
abruptly away before she had time to finish,and
as he went along he muttered: ,

“Her gab’s too much fur me. She pops a
question at a teller, an’ then rabs the answer
afore you git it rolled aroun into shape, and
hauls it right outen your mouth quicker’n a
woodchuck, gits in his hole. I wonder w’ot she
wants ofnie.‘ Maybe she jest wants me to sit
an’ listen while she chins. That’s o:ld enough,
only ’tain’t very easy.”

And Miss Jenkins turned away and went to
her room, where presently the corkscrew curls
and glasses were laid aside, revealing the beauti-
ful features of V’Ei‘a Preston.”

CHAPTER XI.
ourwrrrme THE cors.

CAPTAIN QUICKEYE’B keen intelligence and
constant resence of mind told him at once that
the officer‘s on the pier at Communipaw where
he and Burke attempted to make a landing
could not be looking for them, and he felt sure
that they were accosted by the policemen entire-
ly from mistaken identity. The representatives
of the law had un uestionably been expecting
somebody, and had eld them up, thinking they
had found the right parties.

A few moments more sumced to confirm him
in that conclusion, for he plainly heard one of
the blue-coats say to another:

“ I thought you said there were four of them;
here are only two.” '

“ That’s so,” returned the officer spoken to.
“ Maybe we’ve got the wrong ones. Never
mind, it‘s a find. anyhow.”

By that time Quickeye and Burke were upon
the pier, the former having decided,th what to
say to the officers. . ,

“ Good-evening,” he said, as pleasantly as
though he had just entered a ball-room, instead
of clambered wet and dripping, upon a pier in
New York Harbor in the dead of night; “I am
very glad that we have found on here so op-
portunely, for I am in considers le trouble.”

The sergeant in charge of the police Seemed
rather taken aback for an instant, but inquired
sharpéy:

“ hat is the matter?”

“ I am the owner of. the sloop yacht Minerva,
lying OE Conger’s stores, in the Erie Basin.”
said Quickeye complacently, “and my friend
here and myself were sleeping on board to—night,
rumpus tory to starting on a cruise, in the morn-

 

E.About three-quarters of an hour ago, four
men boarded us, and before we knew it they
were in the cabin. Not thinking they would

 

find any one there, they made considerable
noise, and awoke 1:: friend here, who grappled
with one of them. 0 make along story short,
we made a destBerate fight, mly friend here being
wounded in 0 arm, and getting a slight
scratch on the head. I think we laid out a
con la of them after they began the chase.”

“ on don’t mean to say they followed you?”

“ Indeed they dull We took to the boat and
rowed away as quickly as we could, thinking
we would land on the Brookly shore and get as-
sistance, but they pursued us so hotly that we
were forced to row all the way here, only elud-
ing them when the moon went down behind a
cloud,not long ago. They can’t be far distant
now.

“There were four of them, you say ?"

“ Yes, four.

“ One of them a great big fellow with bushy
whiskers?”

“ Precisely. Larger than any two of his oom-
pauions I should think.”

“ The very fellow we are waiting for. Rent
easy sir, we’ll get ’em before dawn.”

" f you do, said Quickeye, “ I’ll give you
two hundred dollars to divide between you. My
name is Dunkirk, and I can be found at the
Pierrepont House, Brooklyn, at any time, if you
should want me for a witness, or should earn
the reward. Let me see! yes, I have some.
Here is something to spur you all u in the
mean time,” and he handed a twenty-do lar bill
the sergeant. “I see it is only a few steps to
the ferry,” he continued; “can we get a boat at
this time of night?”

“ Yes, one leaves very soon, now; you will
have to hurry to catch it.”

With a hasty word of thanks, Quickeye start-
ed away, closely followed b Burke, and they
were fortunate in just reaching the boat before
it left the slip. '

Once upon the boat they both felt safe, for
they remained out upon the wagon-deck, where
it was dark enough, so that their wet clothes,
etc., would not attract too much attention.

“Captain,” said Burke, “ you are a wonder-
ful man.” ’

“ For outwittiug others—perhaps I am; but
not good for much else.”

“ Where areryou going now?”

“ Back to my men.”

“ What is to become of me? If I am recog-
nized, I will be taken instant] for that affair
in Houston street. What am to do?”

“ Can’t you disguise yourself? Absolute bold-
ness is the best measure for you to adopt.”

“ Tell me how; you know I am a novice.”

“Shave ofl? your mustache; adopt a pair of
eye-glasses and a silk hat, and put up at one of
the hotels for a tlme, and then take a voyage to
Europe. You have got money enough, haven’t
you? If not, I’ll let you have some.”

“ Oh, yes; I have money enough, but I can’t
live with such a Weight on my head, and I would
not be any safer in Europe than here, you know.
Won’t you take me with you?”

“ What—to the cave?”

“ Yes—to the cave.”

“After what I said to you in the boat? I
thought you would give more heed to my words,
Burke.”

“You don’t understand me,” replied Burke.
“I did not mean for you to take me there as
one of your organization, but as a friend; a
com anion; to a place of safety until I can
deei 6 what to do. I would not ask this but
that I know ’you have a great deal of confi-
dence in me.”

“Yet, Burke, you ask a great deal.”

“ Is it too muc ?”

“ I am afraid it is, but I will think about
it. In the mean time, for in any case I will not
leave town before to-morrow ni ht, you must
find a way to take care of yoursel , for I cannot
keep you with me while in town; that is out of
the uestion.”

“ hen how will I see you to-morrow?”

“Tell me where you will be, and I will meet
you if I decide to take you with me; if not, I
will send you word.”

By that time the boat had reached the NeW‘

York shore, and the two men, quickly passed
through the gates, and having agreed upon a
place of meeting for the following afternoon,
parted company there.

As Quickeye walked up the street he could
not help wondering whether he had acted wise-
ly in placing so much confidence in Burke.

What he knew of him could be told in a‘ very
fewwords. A man had been killed in a bar-
room brawl in Heustnn street one night not
very long before. and Burke was the man who,
according to the published descriptions and his
own declaration, was wanted for the job.

He had been sent to the “Nest” for safety by
one of the frequenters of that former snug hi ~
ing-place, and Quickeye, who happened to be
there when he made his first appearance, had
taken a liking to him and rather cultivated him
on account of his fine abilities, thinking he
might prove a valuable acquisition to the gang
which he controlled.

But notwithstanding the fact that he really '

liked'Burke, there was ever present a something
t23:1}? made him fearthat he had trusted him
‘ ar.

, “ Tcrji

 

 

 

we:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Green Mountain Joe.

11,

 

 

Al for Burke, when he left his companion, he
strode along a little way. and then paused and
watched Quickeye as he hurried along.

“ He is truly a wonderful man,” he muttered.
“ If his talents had only been turned to other
account than that of defrauding his fellow-men,
what a perfect success he won] have been. It
is true, as he says, that I ought to pause before
linking my fate with his. Could I ever forgive
myself after what he has said to me to—night? I
do not know what to do, or what to say but one
thing is clear: I must decide before he meets
me to—morrow, for if I ever 0 With him to the
cavern as he calls it, there wil be but one course
for me to pursue and that will be the one against
which he advises me, and which there is no de-
nying will be anything but pleasant for me to
follow.

 

On the following morning Quickeye dispatched
a note to Burke at the place of rendezvous which
ran as follows:

“MY Dina Bum:—

“ New complications have arisen by which I'am
forced to leave town at once without kee ing my
appointment with you, and I am therefore orced to
leave you in doubt as to my decision 11 on the ques-
tion you asked me last night. I wil. however, be
here again in less than a week, and will then leave
word for you to meet me. Trusti that on will
be enabled to avoid any unpleasan resul s from
past experiences, I am sincerely your friend,

u ( CAP."

Then he took the morning train for Vermont,
where he wanted to be alone and think.

We saw him as he left the train and was ac—
costed by Vera Preston in disguise.

The meshes of the not being so rapidly woven
around him were growing smaller and smaller,
with less and less chance for him to escape; this
man who had ever been so keen in outwitting

others, was, in his turn, being ontwitted, just as ‘

the inevitable rule governing crime reveals the
true criminal at last, rendering him up to fustice
as inexorabl as the shadows of night in 1 over
and ingulf t e brightness of day.

Sooner or later the time arrives when caution
no longer avails and then comes the bitter finale
when the wrong-door reaps the sure harvest of
retribution and dishonor.

 

CHAPTER XII.
BRIBERY—THE FIGHT BEGINS.

WE left Sam Shirp in rather an unpleasant
predicament, having found himself badly tricked
by the boy Chipmunk, who had taken his re-
volvers from him and presented them at their
owner’s head.

‘ as yer name. Do you s’pose ye could git any-
where near this ’ere cave thout the boss know-
in’ it? not muchyl"

“ What do you mean?”

” J let this. Ef I had the thousand you’r’
guflln about, I'd bet it against an old pewter
spoon ’thout any handle that every mother‘s son
of the fellows know that you and Joe and me
are on the mountain, and I’d bet it all over
again that they know what we are after, too:
leastwise what you are. They tried to scare
Joe out of oomin’here once by flxin’ up the:-
hig cow he told ye about, but as didn’t scare
wu’th a cent, and that dorg of his killed one of
the men, so the jest thought they’d let him
alone, as he di n’t come here very often, and
didn't do no harm when he did; but, allee
samee, they know every time he is on the
mountain, and they keep their eye on him till
he goes away too.”

“ They must keep a shar lookout."

“ Not very. There’s on y two ’r three places
where you could get on the mountain anyway,
an’ they watch em, an’ when anybody comes,
it‘s reported at once.”

“Then they know I am here.
“139,13?” ,, 00d . ..

ey re pre y g at guessin l

“ How many men have they got?”

“ ’Bout a dozen, hero.”

“ Who commands them?”

“ The on ’n."

“ What is his name?”

“ Look here, mister, of ye think I’m goin’ to
stan’ here like a stonghton bottle an’ cough
eveiéy time you sneeze, your of! yer kerbase,
an’ oncher forgit it either. What d’ye take me
fur, anyhow?”

“ I take you fora oung man who is smart
enough to know on w ich side his bread is but-
tered, and who stands ready to he] me in the
job I’ve got on hand, for w ich ass tance you
will receive enough money to keep you for
years.”

“ Ohl ye do, ehl Well, ye never was more
mistaken in yer hull life, than ve air now, ’cos
I ain’t goin’ to do no sich thing.”

Sharp frowned angrily.

“ What are you going to do, then?”

“ I’m going to turn on over to the boys for
them ter play with. e’ve seen cats play with
mice, ain t of Well, this ’ere’s a lace where

Do they know

 

What to do, he did not know; that he was in 3
Chipmunk’sj ower, and that the seeming young ‘
traitor woul carry out his threat if any show ,

of opposition was made, he did not for a moment
doubt.

The only thing possible for him to do under
the circumstances, he felt, was to bribe the boy;
to use his love for gain to carry out the detec—
tive’s ends; and after the first fury at finding
himself so neatly trapped had subsided, he said:

“ Chipmonk, do you want to earn a great deal
of money?”

“ Right 9 bel” replied the boy.

“ Many undreds of dollars?”

“Many what?” -

“ Hundreds of dollars; say ten of them; that
would make a thousand, you know.”

" Right ye be! Think I don’t know how to
count? What ye drivin’ at, anyhow?” _

“ If you will do what I want you to do, I Will
give you a thousand dollars.”

“ A bull thousand?”

“ Yes—ten hundred."

“What d’ye want, eh?”

“First, I want you to givehne back those rec
volvers, then we will talk of the other things.”

“ Say, Mister Sharp, do I look like a fool?
Would you pick me up for one if ye passed me
on th’ street, ehi Ye jlst drive right on ast the
hull lot of things ye want done, and t en I’ll
tell ye what I’ll dound what I won’t, and ye can
pay accordin’. That’s square, ain’t it?”

Sam hit his lips in perplexity. He saw that
the boy was not to be duped by fair words and
promises. . _ i

“ Chi !” he said declswely, “what I want is
this: “ Icame up here to gobble the whole gan
of counterfeiters who live on this mountain, an
I’m bound to do it or leave my ‘bones here, one
or the other. Now, I don’t believe you are one

of the counterfeitei-s, although I do think you ’

knew all about them, and probably haw access
to their headquarters without question."
“ W’ot’s that? Access? eh?"
11:1”mean that you cap go and come as you
i e. ,
“Iiiight ye be, my covey! Betcher life I

“ ell, I want you to help me to get the drop
on them.”

“ To gobble the hull caboodle?”

‘ xactly.” x

“ HOW ye goin’ to do it?”

“ Why. I’ll sim ly bring enough men here to
ca ture them, the ’s all.”

, e be grinned broadly.
“ Mr. harp,” he said, ‘ ye ain’t half so sharp

ther mice p ay with the cat, see? inder odd,
ain’t it? It’s loads 0’ fun, though, when it once
gits goin’,” and the boy grinned as though do
lighted with the prospect.

Sharp’s back had been, during the dialogue
with Chipmunk, turned toward the opening- by
which they had entered the cavernous room and
he had not seen the three forms that had filed
noiselesst in and posted themselves behind
him. But Chip had, and governed himself ac-
cordingly. W ile he was talking, the muzzles
of his revolvers had been gradually lowered un-
til they were pointing at the floor, and noticing
this, and remembering that Chip had said that
no noise could reach the inner cavern, with a
sudden hound Sharp leaped forward, intending
to seize the boy and bear him to the ground.

But he reckoned without his host, for the lad
was as nimble as the creature whose name he
bore and he dodged the detective as easily as a
swallow will dodge a stone in the air.

Sharp came up at the other side of the room,
and turned quic ly to again dart after the boy,
but there, before him, stood three men, each
with a revolver aimed at his head, while Chip-
monk laughing with unconcealed mirth, ex-
claimed:

“ First ye ketch er rabbit!”

To say that the etective was dismayed when
he saw the turn that affairs had taken would be
to express it altogether too mildly. He had be-
lieve what Chipmonk had said: that they were
safe from interference where they were, and,
indeed, that had been true but for the fact that
the three had been out in obedience to a com-
mand from the 1governing power, and were re-
turning by the ush, as that entrance was call-
ed, when they discovered the light in the little
room.

They had stepped inside the door, after wait-
ing long enough on the outside to catch the situ-
ation of things, and Chipmonk had discovered
them just in time to shape his last few remarks
accordingly. ,

“ What does this mean? Who are you?” cried
Sharp, as soon as he realized just what was bare
ring his (passage from the cavern-room.”

Iou guifaw from the three men announced
that they at least appreciated the humor of the
situation. '

“ Did ye come ter call on us!” asked one, sar-
castically. ‘

“ Chip,” said another, with a grin, “ who
stufled it fur e, eh? Are ye sure it‘s dead T’

“ Locks ’8 t ongh ’t mought be from N’ York,
shore 'nufll” chimed in the third, who had him-
self, evidently, come from Virginia.

“ What’ll we do with him, lads?" was the
next remark.

“ Can’t do much, seein’ the Cacp’s gone away.
He’d blow. us all to blazes at we idn wait fur
him to come back. Ye see, Mr. Detective, we

 

know’d ashow ye war on the mountain, and
when the boss went away ter-night he told me

/,

 

to leave yer ’lone ef yer left us alone, but of ye
didn‘t, ter save e til he kim back. ,

“ I’m sort 0’ here when he‘s one, an’
Pomp ain’t around, so I'll jist make t e apolo~
gies an’ then we‘ll clap ye inter the dpngeon.
Sorry we can’t hang ye fer-night, but it 8 out 0’
ther question. Tel ye w’ot we will do. tho‘,
we’ll put ye inty ther same dungeon whar Jim
Jarman spent his last few days. Ye know he
kim up. here on ther same sort of a ’skursion e
have, and Chip, here, got outer him jest as e
did you. We had tar hang him ye know, ’cos
ef we hadn’t he’d ‘a’ hung us. I hope ye sees
the jvielstice in it—I do.

“ ell, we’ll put ye in there. The boys do
say as how it’s haunted by the teller w’ot starv-
ed ter death there afore Jim was done up, but
you’re so brave ye won’t mind a little thing like
that, will ’8, Chip?”

“ Right ye be! ’ cried Chip, who was evident-
ly greatly elated by the prospect. “ D'ye think
ye’ i hang this feller?”

“ Sure l”

“ Why don’t ye roast him!” '

“ Roastin’s too good for him. The nicest wa ’s
ter han him u by the ears. He looks good ’
tough; don’t have they’ll pull out."

“ Come, Chip!” cried another, “ fetch him
out!

“Jist wait afore ye do that!” cried a voice
from the doorway t at made every one start
with surprise and terror, for it was a voice
which was unfamiliar to every one there except
the boy and the captive detective.

Wit one cry they turned to face the new foe,
but, as they did so, there was a loud report from
the doorway, and, with one bound something
shot by the shadow-line and seized one of the
three by the throat.

It was the dog, Pom , and Sam Sharp knew
that Green Mountain oe was on hand to help
him, and then the fight began.

CHAPTER XIII.

IT was Green Mountain Joe’s voice which so
astonished the counterfeiters as they were about
to lead Sam Sharp, a captive, into the deeper
part of the cavern, and when Pomp leaped
through the doorway, bearing one of the men to
the floor with him, where he was held as tightly
as though bound by leather thongs, Joe s rung
after him, and instantly fell upon one of t 8 rev
gaging. two with a fury almost equal to that of

Is og. ,

Sharp was by no means slow to take the cue,
for no sooner had he recognized Joe’s voice than
he began the battle for liberty. '

The whole thing happened so quickly that the
counterfeiters had no time in which to draw
their weapons, but could only fight hand-to-
hand, as they had been attacked, and it left
Chipmonk unmolested, and still with the two
revolvers read for instant use in his hands.

Sharp thong it of that as he grappled with his
man, but he knew there was no be p for it.

That Chip had only to shoot the dog in order -
to turn the tide of battle be fully realized, but
no report follOvved, no sounds broke the stillness
except the deep breathing of the four men as
they struggled for the mastery, and the mut-
tered curses of the fellow who lay upon the
floor, starin up into the bloodshot eyes of the
bound, fear ng to move a muscle, lest the dog‘s
savage growl should be carried into execution,
and his already lacerated throat be torn to
pieces by the glistening white teeth.

In a struggle where muscular power is the
test, seconds seem like minutes, and minutes
lengthen out into hours, and what appears to
the participants like an endless period of time,
is really very short, for the great exertion can-
not continue indefinitely. Before the lapse of
many moments, one or the other of those strug—
gling for the mastery must give way, and then
the battle is actically ended.

For Joe, 0 had grappled with the bi Vir‘
giuian, the effort was very great, for, al ugh
the Vermonter was a big. powerful man, he had
found his match, and two or three times, as
the swayed to and fro, he feared that the coun-
ter eiter would prova too much for him.

They tugged, and strained, and swayed back
and forth, now one of them sinking upon one
knee, and then the other, so intent upon the test
of strength, that neither thought of striking a
blow, and, indeed, if they had, there wouldihavo
been no time for it. ‘

Where was Chipmonk all that time? What
was he doing? '

Sharp tried in vain to see his small figure
somewhere in the room, as he stru led and
fou ht with his opponent, but the li
h disap red entirely.

Sudden y there was a heav fall, and the Vir-
ginian lay flat upon his bac , while over him
with a knee upon the counterfeitei‘a breast, and
a hand upon his throat, bent Joe.

" Surrender l" he cried, between his teeth, “or
I will choke the life out of you i” '

With his other hand, Joe quickly relieved the
man of his weapons, and then looked up.

_ ad succeeded with his man, for they,

stp‘p, were down, the oounterfeiter on the under
e. v

A moment more and both the detectives and

Joe rose to their feet, having taken awayvthe

e fellow f

 

 

 

 

 

1,2

weapons upon the two defeated counterfeiters,
then, having performed the same servxce for the
other one who was kept down by the dog, they
looked from one to the other, the strain over,
and the battle ended.’ I

The three men were huddled together in one
corner, scowling and looking anything but
pleased, but they were disarmed and efore
them were two men fully armed and deter-
mined. besides the great dog of which they were
all afraid. _ .

What to do next was a puzzle in the minds of
both victors.

“ What’s Chip?” suddenly exclaimed Joe,
who had not noticed before that he was. not
there. . . .

“ Chip is a traitor,” replied Sam savagely.
“ But for him I would not have got in this fix at
all, and it is my opinion that he has gone to
bring the whole gang down on us here. What
shall we do?” .

“ I’d precious soon answer that if I had
some good rope,” replied Joe, “ but we can’t
take these i’zin critters along with us, an’ we
can’t leave em here ’thout some one to watch
’em, either.” .

“ Why not leave Pomp?” asked Sam.

Before Joe could make any reply to that ques-
tion, he felt a sudden twitch upon his coat be-
hind,and turned instantly, but although he was
standing close by the door, not a thing could he

see.

“ Jes’ keep yer eye on them air skunks,” he
said to Sam, and. without a word, turned and
ste ped out into the dark corridor. _

he suspicion which had vaguely come into
his mind when he felt the sudden jerk proved to
be true, for in the dim light which struggled
out through the narrow doorway, he recognized
the form of Chipmonk. ‘

“ ’Sh—sh—shl” said the boy cautiously, “and
don’t let thet detective feller git onto my
racket, but, jes’ listen an’ I’ll put ye up to
suthin’l" _

“Go ahead, Chipl” whispered Joe, who did
not suspect that the boy had any connection
with the counterfeiters. . .

” I know these fellers,” said Chip.

“ What fellers'i”

“ These ’ere queer covies.”

“ The skunks thet live in this hole?”

“ ‘Um,” nodded the boy.

“ Ye doan’t mean ter tell me that you be one
of ’em, Chip, do ye?” and Joe’s great, powerful
right hand settled like a vise upon the boy’s
arm, so that he knew he could not get away if
he tried. . .

“No, no, Joe; but they think I he, don’t ye
see? An’ I wanter keep ’em thinkin’ 30‘ see?”

“ G’won,” muttered Joe, laconical , still
keeping a tight hold upon the boy’s arm.

“ I’ve brung e this ere rope,” continued the
lad, at the 5 me time extending one of his

bands, which held a coil of that article, “ for ye

ter tie them tellers up with; see? Then, when
ye t that done, take Shar and skip out’s
uic ye know how‘ see? hen ye’ve bade.
ew minutes’ start, I’ll go an’ alarm t’others.
and they’ll come here on ther Jum ter rescue
’em; see! But ye’ll be one, an’ ’11 still be
solid wid ’em. Ketch on, as?”

“ Ye—es,” said Joe, slowly, “ I ketch on, but I
ain’ter goin’ ter hanrr sonny, not ’15 I know it.
an’ I think as how? do. Oh, yes, Chip, I
ketch’d on; see W—and he gave the‘boy’s arm a

entle squeeze, that made him wince—“and,
’ll jes’ use a piece of this ’ere rope fur you.
fu’st. I think ye’r’ all right, Chip; onderstand
me there! I think ye kin explain all this to my
satisfacshun, but, somehow, this don’t seem ter
be ther right sort 0’ place fur pow-wowin’, an’
so, since ye hriing me ther ro , I’ll Jist cart
ther hull b’ilin’ of ye into a litt e lace 1 know

, on not fur away, and ye kin tel me all ye’ve

Eon ter say when we git thar. Do you ketch on,
hi ?”

Chip grinned, evidently not a particle alarmed
by J oe’s manner. _

“ Yer head’s longer’n mine. Joe,” he said.
“ Tie my dukes good ’n tight, so’s them covies’ll
think I’m ketched wid ’em; sail"

Joe nodded, and soon had the lad’s hands
tightly bound together behind his back, leavmg
his feet free, so that he could walk, and then,
without a word, but keeping tight hold of the
rope which bound the youngster, he entered the
room where the others were, pulling the boy he-
hind him.

The situation inside had not changed. Pom

and Sam Sharp were still kee ing close .watc
over the three outlaws huddle together in one
corner, while Start—the bird dog—was sitting
on his haunches at the other side of the room,
as unconcerned as though the present scenes
were an ever do occurrence with him.
' “I’ve got t er id,” remarked Joe, as he en-
tered; “au’ w’iit’s more, I’ve got some‘rope.
Now, jest keep them tellers covered with year
pop, while I tie ’em up. one ct a time.”

‘Here, you big teller-l” he continued, ad-
dressing the one with whom he hadhad the
struggle, “ jes’ step aout here an’ put yer han’s
behind ye. Thet’s it. Naow put ’em close ter-
gether. Pomp, of this feller so mpch as moves
while I’m tyin’ on him up, chow him!" .

The big fellow stood trembling before the

-yv ~ - . ,g‘l
- u A

v Green Mountain Joe.

massive bloodhound, while Joe busied himself
fastening his hands tightly together with the
same rope which held Chipmonk, and about
four feet from the bog.

When the job was nished, he called out the
second one and served him in the same manner,
and then the third, who was the one upon whom
Pomp had sprung.

“ Ther dorg chawed ye up a little, didn’t he?”
remarked Joe, as he was fastening him. “ Well,
we’ll heal, it up store they put ther bi rope
around it. Therel” and he stepped bee and
surveyed t'e work.

They were tied in line, and all with the same
rope, so that one could not break away and run
without dragging the others with him, even if
such a thing were possible upon the thickly
wooded mountain in the midst of a dark night.

“Ther twi s may poke coat a few on yer
eyes,” said 09, apologetically, “ but I guess
ye’ll go all right with that exception."

He stooped and picked up one end of the rope,
furthest away from Chipmonk. and about five
fPeet from the man who had been bitten by

om .

“ ow, Samuel,” he contirued, “I’m a‘goin’
ter put aout this light an’ start along. You
take the t’other end 0’ ther rope next ter Chip,
an’ bring up ther rear, an’ all you fellers ’s got—
ter do is ter foller me. by keepin’ thet rope jest
taut; see? as Chip says. [’11 jest prophesy one
thing afore we start, an’ that is, of one of ye
tries ter git away, Pomp ’ll chew ye up quick-
er’n a toad kin ketch er fly!”

He got them all ,into line, and then the light
was put out, and the strange procession started
through the darkness which seemed blacker than
ever.

But, Joe never hesitated, and presently they
emerged into the open air through the bushes
where Chip had crept with Sam Sharp.

Not a word was spoken; not a sound of any
kind broke the stillness of the night, more than
that necessarily made by their feet as they here
and there rested upona twig which snapped with
a seemingly loud report.

Joe was taking them toa place where he knew
they could not be followed, even by a dog, un—
less the dog went with them or knew the way as
well as he and Pomp did; to a cave that he had
discovered long years before, and which he had
gradually made habitable, and of the existence
of which he was sure every one but himself was
ignorant.

 

CHAPTER XIV.
ro Jon‘s RETREAT—IN AWFUL rnnIL.

IT was necessarily slow work for Joe and Sam
with their captives, to make their way along
the steep mountainside through the tangled un-
dergrowth, rendered ten times more impassable
by the darkness and none of them escaped
severe scratches mm the boughs, and bruises
from the stones and stumps in their route.

But they were led by an indomitable spirit;
by one who did not know how to construe the
word falter. and so they stumbled on, Sam and
Chipmouk too proud to complain, and the others
in too great fear of the great dog, whose nose
finch would occasionally feel pressed against

1m.

The journey from their starting-point con-
sumed nearly an hour, although not more than
a quarter of a mile in actual distance had been
covered.

Their route lay along the side of the mountain,
gradually ascending until they came to a lace
where the ground for some distance was a most
level, and where they could hear the ripple of
water.

Presently they entered it, and all had to walk
knee-deep in the cold brook which bubbled from
a living spring a short distance back, and after
fillin up the little hollow of the flat alreadly
ment oned, divided itself into a hundred litt e
streamlets and went (lashing, leaping down the
mountain-side to the valley below.

They continued on in the water for fully three
hundred feet before they left it and began to de-
scend a little, finally coming to a full stop.

“ Come ’ere, Sam,” said Joe; “never mind the
prisoners, ’cos if one of ’em stirs. Pomp ’ll‘make
short work of him, you bet. This ’ere’s a cliff,
an‘ a high one too. an’ down there in the dark-
ness is a led e, wide ’nuif so if ye should fall
over now, ye’ land on it an’ stay there ’thout
fallin’ any further.” v

“ How far down?” asked Sam, shivering a
little, for by the starlight now struggling
through he could see enough to discern that
there was a great gulf beneath them.

“’Baout nine ’i' ten feet. Now what I want
ye to do ’8 this. I’ve got er ladder thet I made
up here once, hid away not far off, an’. I’m

oin’ ter git thet ladder, and I want ye ter go

own it fu’st, in order ter receive these tellers
when they came daown. Ye jist shoddy ther
ladder at ther bottom while I hold it at t 0 top.
I’ll cut ther rope atween each one of ’em, an’
they’ll hafter go daown as best they kin. If
they fall it’s their own funeral, not mine. Ther
ladder slants enough: so’s there’s no danger, un-
less they’re fools.”

 

Sosaying, he disappeared in the darkness. re-
turning presently With a long rough ladder

‘._‘&‘ ‘ '= A  ‘JJL‘év *7  l“:.- i '1’ - .‘

 

made of tough beech-limbs, and capable of
holding a ton.

This he 10wered carefully until it rested upon
the ledge below, and then told Sam to start.

The detective was brave, but he could not
avoid a slight shudder and a feeling of chilliness
as he placed his foot upon the ladder prepara-
tory to making the descent over the side of the
big cliff in the middle of the night. The whole
thing possessed a sort of terror for him which
he had never before experienced, but be was
full of pluck, and did not hesitate. He knew
that he could place implicit cenfldence in Joe,
and so he started down.

“ Strike er match when ye git down," said
Joe, “ so’s ter see whar ye air, an’ when ye’r’
ready, say so, and I’ll send down ther fu’st
installment.”

Sam disappeared over the side of the cliff.

Presently the glimmer of a faint light could
be seen for a moment, quickly disappearing,
however, and then Sam’s voice was heard:

2‘ All right—I am ready,” he said.

In an instant Joe had cut the rope between
the first and second of the counterfeiters.

“ Naow. you i” he said, “git onto that ladder.
face ‘a’out, and mosey daown it ’s quick ’8 ye
know haow;” but the fellow hung back.

“ Untie my hands,” he said, “ an’ give a feller
a chance.”

“Talk ter him, Pomp,” was Joe’s reply, “cos
I don’t like argying,” and the dog placed his
cold nose against the counterfeiter’s fettered
hands and growled ominously.

With a shiver of horror, he stepped quickly to
the ladder, where Joe helped him to get a foot—
ing, and then he began to work his way slowly
downward.

It was terrifying, descending into an unknown
abyss face outward, and with his hands tied
tightly behind him so that he could hardly clasp
the rungs behind him at all; but the terror of
the dog which had already bitten him was
greater, and so he went.

Slowly, slowly, one step at a time, and taken
with reat care, until finally he felt the detec-
tive’s ands seize and steady him, and he knew
that he was safe.

Sam led his charge back some distance upon
the ledge and told him to lie down and keep
perfectly quiet if he did not wish to fall off, and
then returned to the ladder.

“ All right!” he called up; “ semi down the
next,” and in another moment the trembling of
the beach limbs told him that the second one
was descending.

He arrived safely, and received the same
caution from Sam which the first had had, and
then the third one came.

“ Now, Chip,” said Joe, “ I’m goin’ ter untie
yer little fists an’ let ye go Ja0wn yer own way,”
and accordingly the oy soon began scrambling.
nimbly down.

Having reached the bottom, Sam gave the
signal, and Joe, taking Start in his arms, began
his descent. Pomp, being so heavy, was obliged
to remain outside, and before starting, Joe ad-
monished the dog not to leaVe, but to remain on
guard and warn them of the approach of any
dan er. ‘ ~

en about half-way down, there was a sud-
den cry of rage from below, a scufl‘ling of feet‘
and then something seemed to strike the ladder,
knocking it from its position as the wind hurlsa
dead lea .

Joe realized that he was falling. and he knew
if he Went over the edge of the little table-rock
whereon Sam was awaiting him, there would be
ho chance for his life, for the distance was very

great.

With the instinct of self-preservation which is
always in a man when in danger, be instantly
remembered that he was fully half-way down
and could therefore have but a little we s to
fall, and he dropped the dog and threw his ody
backward and around with the same motion.

The whole thing lasted not more than asec-
end, but his mind seemed to work' with the.
ra idity of lightnin in that brief instant.

0e struck upon t 9 very edge of the shelving
rock and, fortunately, in such a way that it hurt
him very little; but while trying to regain his.
feet, he lost his balance and toppled over the
precipice. , '

As he fell he clutched the rock with both

hands, and, in an instant more, was hangin
suspended over hundreds of feet of space witg
nothing between him and a horrible death but
the strength of his fingers, which were clasped
over the rock above his head. '
_ To realize the fullness of his terrible position,
it must be remembered that it was night, and so
dark that it was scarcely possible to discern
one’s hand before one’s eyes.

Above him was Sam, alone with three desper-
ate men, whose hands were bound securely, to
be sure, but whose feet and legs we‘re free, and
who had but to get rid of their captors in order
to ve shortly set themselves free. Ay,and
more: e had forgotten Chi monk, whose hands
he had loosed before the y went down the
ladder. Could it be possible that Chip had
knocked the props from under him? No, no!

“ Help Sam—help!” cried Joe, d rately.
“ I am an ‘ g over the edge of t e rock.
Catch hold 0 my wrists and pull me up."

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

Green Mountain Joe.

13

 

 

No answer came, and then he listened, and
thought he could hear scufliing going on over-
h

ea .
Yes, surely they were having a fight there,

and a desperate one too, he thought. Oh, if he

were on] there, or if Pom could get down.

There ung Joe, suspen ed in mid-air, strain-
ing his eyes and ears to see and hear something
through the blackness of the night.

As he looked, the clouds which had been gath-
ering for some time seemed to burst open, and
through them sped a swift electric flame, light-
ing up the whole mountain for one brief in-
stant.

By its light Joe saw a sight which made an
im ression upon him which he never forgot.
qust over his head, swaying to and fro in
each other’s grasp, and in momentary danger of
toppling over the shelf into the abyss, were Sam
and the Virginian, who had somehow got his
hands free, "[1118 further up over their heads,
with his huge neck and shoulders leaning far
over as he seemed to watch the strug 1e With
ea er and furious interest, was the dog omp.
everal seconds flitted by, and then Joe heard
the combatants fall together to the rock, where
the fight was still kept up, each strivmg to force
the other over the side and at the same time
save himself from following, and each clinging
desperame to the other, fully realizmg that to
slacken their hold in the slightest degree meant
certain death on the rocks below.

It was a most terrifying Situation.

Joo almost forgot his own peril in his interest
in the fight going on over his head, and two or
three times tried vainly to swing himself upon
the rock above, nearly losing his hold upon it in
consequence. _ _

Suddenly there came an interruption from a
most unexpected quarter.-

A huge body revealed itself to Joe in one of
the ligntnin flashes. It Was shooting down-
ward throug the air, and the Vermonter recog-
nized it instantly.

It was Pomp, whose dog nature could no lon-
ger stand the strain, for he felt that his master
was in danger, and he fearlessly took the leap to
his rescue.

Joe shut his eyes. _

In that instant he, thought that his beautiful
dog, that he loved so dearly, would be killed,
or would have his bones bro on b the leap, for
it was a sheer fall of ten feet, an the dog was
very heavy. , '

But, Pomp was sagacmus, and his eyes were
made to see in the dark as wellan in the light.

When'he leaped from the cliff above, it was
directly for the struggling men upon the ledge,
and, true to his intent, he lit squarely upon one
of them. knocking the breath out of the other
as he rolled over upon his feet, unhurt by the
plunge. '

It was the Virginian who received the great—
est force of Pomp’s weight, and the dog, regain-
ing his equilibrium instantaneously, s rungu on
him again with all his flerceness, as t e coun r-
feiter was trying to rise. I .

The onslaught of the dog was terrible. His

y was big and heavy, and he flung it
against the outlaw with all the fury of his
nature.

For an instant the man staggered back, but he
was too near the ed e to regain his balance.

He tried with a his power. smnging his
arms over his head in the vain effort to throw
his weight forward. But it was of no avail.

With a wild cry, which went echomg from
rock to rock up the gorge, he toppled over, and
fell down, down, down into the darkness and
terror of the yawning gulf below, nearly carry-
ing Joe alon with him as he went. . _

“Help! he pl" cried Joe again, and that time
Sam both heard and answered,

The lightning was now coming in almost con-
stant flashes, and as Sam crept nearer to the
edge, he could see Joe’s upturned face looking
into his. r

“ Coura‘ge. J in!“ he cried, “and I will find a
way to save you I"

“You and Pomp can pull me up,” cried Joe.
“ My fingers are giving out.” .

By that time Pomp’s nose was thrust over the
rock near his master’s hands.

“ Ketch hold of one wrist,” said Joe to Sam,
“an’ pull me up 's fur’s ye kin, an’ then hang
on, of it breaks my arm. That’s right,” as San:
obeyed. “ Here, Pomp, old boy—stick our
head over a leetle further! Good dog! good cg!”

With one mighty effort Joe loosed his other
hand from the rock, springing upward as much
as he could as he did so. .

He succeeded in catching Pomp by the huge
collar which encircled his neck, and the dog, as
if understanding what was expected of him,
started back, pulling with all his strength.

“ Pull. Pomp!" cried Joe; “pull ez ye never
pulled aforel Pull, Sam, an’ God bless ye!’

p-up he came; slowly at first, then faster,
both dog and man exerting themselves to their
utmost, and in a moment more Joe lay panting
and exhausted upon the ledge. .

CHAPTER XV.
mo 10 ran WALL—THE Ronni) MARBLE.
“ Er some of you coveys don’t stick a thumb

 

‘ in this ’ere pic afore long, suthin’ ’ll bu‘st, sure i”

 

 

I was the first remark which broke the stillness,

after Pomp and Sam had pulled Joe over the
rock to safety.

For the first time since the struggle began,
Sam remembered that there were two other
counterfeiters as well as young Chipmunk upon
the ledge with him, and when Chip’s voice spoke
up with its characteristic manner, he turned in-
stantly.

The lightning was still flashing brightly. and
as it came and went, Sam coul see one of the
outlaws stretched flat upon his back, evidently
senseless, while the other one was strugglin
with the boy, who had him tightly clinche
around the legs, and was holding on with all the
strength his young arms could muster.

Sam took in the situation at a glance, and, in
that instant, forgave the lad for any inconve-
nience which his actions in the fore part of the
night had caused him.

He saw that the boy, with more than ordi~
nary bravery, had stepped into the breach at
the right moment, and had saved them all.

The ladder in falling had struck one of the
captive counterfeiteis upon the head, for the
Virginian whose ferocious strength had enabled
him to burst the bonds which he] i him, had not
paused to warn his friends when be seized the
ladder, intending to hurl it and Joe far out into
the abyss; and the man thus felled, (for the
beechwood limbs were very heavy), never knew
what had struck him. He was instantly killed.

then the struggle between Sam and the Vir~
ginian took place, the third counterfeiter had
started to aid his trial”, band-bound thou h be
WMS, and Chipmunk had sprung forwar and
seized him around his legs with both arms
where he clung like a leech, and they had rolled
over and over in the outlaw’s mad efforts to free
himself.

But the boy never once slackened his hold;
he clung tighter and tighter, and when at last
he spoke, it was because he realized that then
somebody could and would come to his aid.

Joe saw, too, and realized what was going

on.

“ Let , Chip," he said. “ Pom ’s’ere naow,
and of t at feller don’t subside I’ 1 set the dog
on him.”

The counterfeiter instantly ceasod his efforts,
for he knew then that the struggle was over,
and that it had gone against his friends; and he
knew, moreover, what it meant for Pomp to be
set upon him, for he was the one whose neck
the big dog had seized when Joe first interrupt-
ed their plans in the little cavern room.

“Thar, naowl” exclaimed Joe, still rather
breathless, but sufficiently recovered to rise to
his feet; “I guess I‘m able to strike a light by
this time, an of e’ll all keep still till I kim
aout, thar won’t no danger of pitchin’ over
the ledge.”

They heard him walk awa , and the flashes
of lightning told them that be ad disap ared,
but in a few moments they could see a immer
of light away back among the rocks, and pres~
gut]; Joe came into ight with a lantern in his

an .

The light revealed the entrance to acave,
high enough for a man to walk through by
steeping somewhat.

“Naow kim on, all on ye an’ I’ll make ye
more comfortable,” exclaim Joe. when he re-
ap tired. “ I uster like tor set on that led e

n onravel knots in my head, but I think 1

ate th’ durn place now, since that feller wont
over an’ gave that yell. Where’s th’ other
crooks?”

“ One on ’em’s dead,” said Chip.

“ What! another?”

“Yeus; th' ladder ketohed him on th’ top-
knot an’ cracked it fur him.”

“ Whew!” whistled Joe. ” Say, young fel-
ler,” turning tothe only remaining one of the
three captives, “ ye’d best be sorter keerful, fur
this ’ere trip’s provin’ kinder fatal to your
branch 0' ther parry. Well him on.”

He led the way into the side of the cliff, being
obli ed to stoop considerably to do so. The path
led ownward by a sharp decline for some dis-
tance, when the suddenly came to another
ladder, down wh ch Joe led the way. It was
from fifteen to twenty feet long and had been
made by Joe, as the other had, of heavy young
trees or limbs of beachwood. e

Once at the bottom of the ladder it was a per-
fectly easy matter for them to stand upright,
for indeed the roof of the cavern was fully ten
or twelve feet over their heads. .

The corridor in which they were standing was
quite wide, and from the top, as well as extend-
ing from the sides, were fragments of the harder
rock which had never crumbled.

“ In ahaout two minutes I’ll show you the
curiosest thing ye ever seen,” remarked Joe,
when-the party had reached the foot of the lad-
der and, started onward. “ Mebb you, Mr—
gawk/in explain it, but I can’t. her! look at

e .

, They had reached a point where the em
had broadened out considerably, and im e‘di-
ately in front of them, and therefore in the cen-
ter, was a huge rock, nearly as round as an old-
fashioned bullet, and fully ten feet in diameter.
Joe held the light near the stone, so that the

could inspect it closely, and Sam saw that t

 

was composed of marble, and was as white and
smooth as if it had been polished by a marble-
worker.

“ Ef thet don’t look’s though 'twas put thar,
I’m a. woodchuck," remarked Joe as he exhibit-
ed it, “ an’ yet, it couldn’t be, ’cept by th’ Al‘
mighty. It’s ther only marble 1 ever found in
this cave, an’ it stan’s right in the center of
quite a large chamber, as ye see.”

“ It certainly is a strange freak of nature,”
replied Sam. “ I can understand how some
convulsion might have cast it in with the lime-
stone which once surrounded it, but what has
polished it in such shape is a mystery, unless
there has once been a torrent of water rushing
through here, and one would suppose we were
too high up on the mountain for that." .

Joe again started on, making a sharp turn to
the right behind-the marble, passing through a
much narrower part of the corridor, and finally
emerging into a large chamber which he said
was the end of the cave.

“ The thing goes no further,” he said. “ I've
looked an’ looked, but all the care I could ever
find, you have seen, so that knocks yer torrent
theory ter blazes, don’t it? Tell me w’ot ye
think of my den."

He had properly named it a den. The cham-
ber was very irregular in shape, though nearer
square than round. In one corner was a rudely
constructed cot made of branches, and provided
with two heavy horse-blankets, and in the center
was a fireplace made of pieces of rock. On one
side, every little bit of rojecting rock held
some sort of implements, e ther for cooking or
for use in his taxidermist pursuits.

Several stufled specimens were arranged in
different positions about the place, and two
rudely manufactured stools completed the
furniture of the apartment.

Joe soon lighted a second lantern, and.

then proceeded to make a fire remarking lashe
did so that he did not know w at became of the
smoke, only that it found a way out somehow,
for it never bothered him.

“I’ve got jest the thing fur you,” he said to
the counterfeiter. “ It‘s a thin wot’ll kee ye
from tryin’ ter git away. I h a young r
here once, au’ used it fur him, but be ot so
blasted ugly I had ter shoot him, an’ omp
nevor could let the brute alone, either.”

He produced a stout chain, one end of which
was fastened to a large staple soldered into the

rock, the other end being provided with a huge ‘

leather collar, studded with brass nails and
bound with fine wire.

“ Thar!” he said, ” Bruin couldn’t break it,
nor chew the collar neither, an’ I don’t believe
ye kin; it’s long enough fur ye to stan’ u in an’
move around enough for exercise, so es’ klm
’ere while I lock it on ye.”

But the counterfeiter held back. He evidegta
1y had a deep-rooted objection to being chain
to the wall like a wild beast.

Joe saw his hesitation. and said:

, “ Pom , jest help that feller, will ye?” but the
moment mp’s name was mentioned, the man
needed no 'further urging, but stepped quickly
forward and stood quiet while Joe locked the
huge collar around his neck.

e then removed everything from the outlaw’s
pockets placing them carefully upon a shelvin
rock where he said they would remain not
their owner claimed them: and then he cut the
re whichbound his hands so tightly together.

‘ That’s better, ain’t it?" he asked; “ ye’d
ruthledr be chained then tied, wouldn't ye? I
won .

“Say. Sam,” he continued, “ an’ you, too,
Chip. I‘m es hungry as a hear, an’ of ye wanter
e kin take one of them lanterns an’ look around
he cave while I’m fryin’ a piece of bacon fur
us.

It was precisely what Sam most wished to do.
An idea had been revolving in his head ever
since he had entered the cave With Joe, and he
wanted to prove it either faulty or true without
delay, and therefore, as soon as Joe men-
tioned it he took up one of the lanterns, and
followed by Chip disappeared in the direction
of the round mar le.

“ What’s yer name, young fellerf” Joe asked
of the prisoner as soon as the were alone, and
wtgile e was busying himse with the bacon,
e . ‘
“ Barnes,” laconically.

“Barnes, eh? W’ot sorter Barnes
Barnes, Horse Barnes, er w’ot?” .

“ Charles Barnes.”

“ Whar d’ye live when ye’re ter hum?"

“ In New York. What are you asking so
many questions tori What good will it do?
You have got me chained here like a beast,
where I suppose you will leave me to starve,
when you go away.”

“ Starve? not a bit of it, Charlie: it ain’t my
natur’, ter do that! Questions? well, ye’ve at
some sense. (though not much, ’er ye wonl n't
be in the hizness ye‘r’ in), an’ ye’ve got grit, an‘
I like thet, an’ I want ye tor answer my ques-
tions, an’ mebby bimeby ye’ll find out thet I’ve

Bay.

a

getter good reason fur nxin’ on ’em—an’ ag’in,
mobby ye won’t. It depen‘s on haow yeanswer
em.

“Well.ng ahead,” said Barnes, “ and I'll an-
swer all I can of them.”

 

 

 

 

 

fig.

 

   
    
 
 

14

Green Mountain Joe.

 

 

“ How long hev ye follered yer biz?”

“ About a ear.’

“ Up here all the timei"

“ Nearly."

“ Why don't ye be honest, eh i”

“That is a hard uestion to answer; it would
take too long, but never meant to be dishon-
est until I got into trouble through no fault of
mine, and was sent to prison for it. I was as in-
nocent of wrong as you are, and yet I s out five
years in prison, and when I came out had no
friends or character left, and so went. to the

“ Would ye be honest naow, of ye could?”

“ I do not know; perha not.”

“ Well, ye’re a fool, thet’s all!"

“ I know it, so what is the use of arguing?”

“ How many men are there in that cave up
'th’ mountain?

“ I can not answer that.”

“ Why not?”

“ Because, rough as theyeare, they still are
my friends, and will not tray them.”

‘ W’oti not ter save yerseit?"

H No.”

“ That’s part grit an’ part cusscdness.”

The man did not answer, and presently Joe
spoke again.

‘6 Have ye got er father ’n mother, Charlie?"

Barnes started as if stung by a bee, but made
no re ly.

“ e’re a young teller, not over twenty-five

or thirty, an’ mebby the ’re livin’ yet; air they?“

“I do not know; if t ey are, they think me
dead, so what matters it?”

Joe was, about to reply by asking another
question when there came a very sudden and
very unex cted interruption.

It was hipmonk, who sprung into the cham-

bercryin :
“Joe—50e—Joel l l”

“ What in blame 's the matter?” exclaimed

Joe.

“ That detective chap an’ me went ter the
round marble,” said Chip, breathlessly, “an’ we
looked all around it fur suthin’ ’r ruther, an’
bimeby be though the spied ’r hole ’way under
one side. The hole wasn’t bigger ’n a wood—
chuck’s when he first saw it, but he got down
enter his han’s an’ knees, an’ crawled in under
th’ marble ’s fur ’8 he could an’ poked the lan-
tern down. He was tryin’ter squeeze further
inunder th‘ rock an’I was leanin’ ag'in’ it, when
blast it the thing didn’t topple over an’ roll
away. I fell on to 0’ him, and rolled of! jist in
time tor see both im an’ the lantern go clean
out o’ sight through er hole’s bi around ’33:
wash-tub, an’ I yelled an’ elled,§nt he! didn’t

crawled the way back here

CHAPTER XVI.
PICKING UP Loosn nuns.

Vans Paasron had been in London-
derry over three weeks in the guise of Miss
Jenkins, when Sam Sharp first made his ap-
pearance there, but she disappeared on the
same day that he arrived.

She took the morning stage to Chester,
and from there departed on the train in the
direction from whence she had come, and
everybody would have been astonished had
they known that she came back to the little
mountain village in a buggy during the same

answer, and so I
in the dark.”

niiht.

ut she did, and in another disguise; one
which concealed her perfectly from recogni-
tion. Two or three times she was looked

'upon rather scrutinizin ly. but she bore it

well, and thus ward off all suspicion
from the minds of others Aas to her identity.

During her sojourn, she had kept Chip-
monk almost constantly with her, question-
ing and talking to him upon many topics
and seeking in armation about the surround-
ing country. Many was the long ramble
she had taken with Chip for her guide, and
people generally had put her down in the
memoranda for gossip always religiously
kept. in a country village. as rather “ queer
like,” and had congratulated Chip upon
having secured an easy job, at good pav.
hopin to find out sometliin more than
the a ready knew about Miss enkins.

_ut Chip was one of those peculiarly in-
telligent lads who keep things very much to
themselves, seldom having a confidant in
anything, and even -then. the confidential
communications being very limited and
sparse; and he and Miss Jenkins roamed the
fields and woods and mountains together.
for she proved herself to he a great walker
and an indefatigable climber.

Chip left ’Derry the morning before she
finally went away, and was not seen again

. until the day after, when he was there as

usual. ,
I ; Two or three tried to questiomhim about
his late employer, but. he gave them no more

/

 

a satisfaction than he had when she had been

in the village, and so they presently forgot
almost that she had existed.

Vera knew nothing of Sam Sharp’s real
character—indeed, did not know of him at
all, so her departure on the same day that
he come, only has to do with the chronology
of our story.

 

Captain Quicke e had returned to the
city in quest of is friend Burke. but had
found that the would-be counterfeitcr had
disappeared, leaving a note for his friend
which said in part:

" I have decided to act upon your advice—at least
to a great extent. I can never tell you the true ef-
fect your earnest words in the boat had upon me,
and I have sought with all my Power to decide upon
the pro r an manly course or me to ursue, and
I have nally come to a conclusion. W ether it is
ri ht or not, I cannot determine. I think you could
to me best about that. but I shall not. see you again
—at least not now. When I do—when we meet
a ain, if ever (and I almost hope we never will) you
wfiil tell me what you think. h
from one temptation which would have led me into
the commission of an act, the remembrance of which
would have followed me to the grave. Good-by
ca tain. M best wish for you is. that you wen (i
ta e the a vice you gave me and follow it. Seek
some other country and begin life over again, striv-
ing to atone for that one crime which was the first
in your history, and which you so vaguely hinted at
when talking with me in the boat. Do not think me

presumptuous. and bear in mind the fact that ,

should we ever meet again in this world, many things
new dark to us both will become clearer, and rest
assured that whatever happens, I am at heart your
friend—aye. your sincere friend, though we are
almost strangers. BURKE."

Quickeye had read and reread the letter
from Burke until he knew it almost by
heart.

There were ambiguities in it which he
could not explain. and about it all image
sense of latent prophecy which seemed to
foretell the happening of an unpleasant
event. ,

“ Burke is a queer fellow,” he muttered,
over and over again. “I never saw a man
who inspired me with such a peculiar]
mingled feeling of confidence and fear.
should, without hesitation have taken him
to Globe Cavern. That he is every inch
9. man of his Word, I have not the s ightest
doubt, and somehow I feel that we will some
da meet again.”

Kittie did Captain Quickeye realize how
and when that meeting would take place;
little did he foresee the real prophecy of the
letter; little was he able to lead “between
the lines,” the words which Burke’s loyalty
to others would not permit- him to write, and
yet which he longed to inscribe.

The captain was always busy, and in his
character of Daniel Bertrand, in search of
himself, he was obliged to report occasionally
to the inspector for polic 's sake.

He went to and fro mm the city to his
cavern retreat on The Globe, as frequently as

the demands upon him would permit. pre-‘

ferring to pass the greater part of his time in
the guise of Arnold Holt, who lived in a
house which he had fitted up near London-
derry, because he liked the countr . .

As Arnold Holt, he was thong t “stuck-
ug” and proud by his neighbors, who look-
c upon him as a sert of crank who had lots

of money, and spent most of it in fancy'

horses and cattle.

Indeed, that was the one real enjoyment
in the man’s life. His illgotten gains were
not thrown away upon the gaming-table. nor
spent in riotous living. but in embellishing
and beautifying the little farm he owned,

moments afterward, he could not get them
out of his mind.

When next he passed that way, he had
again engaged the boy to shine his boots,
and had talked with him.

And so their acquaintance went on, until
the man had taken the boy with him to his
Vermont farm, where he had worked for a
long time for the counterfeiter chief, finally
becoming possessed of all his secrets by
means of his natural shrewdness and watch-
fulness.

One day he had refused to work any longer
at the farm, and Quickeye had sent him to
the cavern on the mountain where he. would
sta days at a time, or roam about the woods;

 

an finally he took to staying more in the
village, disappearing, as Joe had told Sam,
for days at a time. He wasa strange boy,
preferring his rags to better clothes, and pay-

] ing very little or no heed to remarks, criti-

ave certainly flown I

 

cisms or advice, always ready with an an-
swer, no matter how sharp, until people
finally began to let him alone, looking upon
him as a sort of unnatural growth which
had sprung up spontaneously among them.

When he met Joe the morning he and Sam
started for the Glebe, it was but three days
after the last of the long interviews between
him and Miss Jenkins, and his little head
had, as soon as he spied the stranger with
Joe, grasped the real situation of affairs, and
be resolved to accompany them at all haz-
ards. ‘

How he managed it, we have already seen,
and what happened on the mountain we al-
ready know up to a certain point.

Just why he had taken Sharp’s pistols
from him and made him prisoner, and after-
ward, when Joe had appeared upon the scene,
changed about like a weather-cock, fighting
upon the other side, does not yet appear.

But his head was clear, and his power of
reasoning deep, and for so young a person,
profound. '

Chipmonk was the means whereby great
things were to be accomplished, though as
ylet, nobody suspected it—except himself.

e knew, however, just what he could do,
and he was firmly resolved that Sam Sharp
should not balk him in his endeavor, come
what might. His personal ends were greater
Ehan any others, and he would attend to‘them

rst.

 

CHAPTER XVII.
A TREACEEROUS nocx.

Fox a moment after Chipmonk appeared
in the cavern chamber and made his startling
announcement, Joe stood with uplifted fork,
upon the prongs of which hung a large piece
0 bacon which he was about turning as the
boy entered.

“ Chip,” he said, finally and deliberatcl ,
"of it warn‘t fur yer big black eyes. an’ t e
way e’r’ breatliin I’d believe ye war lyin’;
as ’t s, I think ye’r’ thunderin’ mistook.
That air marble couldn’t roll over, boy! But
we'll go an‘ hev a look, anyhow, fur I kin
see that ye’r’ scart. an’ it’s the fu’st time I
ever know‘d ye ter be. too.”

So saying he took up the remaining lan-
tern an started to leave, closely followed by
the lad. but the voice of their prisoner ar-
rested them.

“ Are you going to leave me here to starve ?”
asked Barnes.

“No—I’m comin’ back,” said Joe. paus-

 

wherehe spent many hours among his ani- »

male.

ing. “I’m sorry ter leave ye here in the

; dark, but nothin’ ‘1] hurt ye. Kim along,

Chip.” ,
A moment or two brought them to the

His nature was a strange combination of I Round Marble, and there, sure enough, Joe
eiuelty and kindness. Most men who tread ' quickly discovered that it was out of place,
the path of wrong-doing, do so from lack of and that there was a hole through the floor
conscience, from very choice; but he did it | where it formerly stood, fully as large as 3
because he had been too careless to avoid it‘ . bushel basket.

after the one mad act which had wrecked his
life, and he had drifted from bad to worse.

Without a word, and motioning Chipmonk
to keep back, Joe fell flat upon his body.

always, however, carrying about with him a face downward, and began edging cautious-
keen perception of his sins, and ever pursued ly toward the hole, feeling all around its

by the bitter sting of conscience. ,
A word here as to his relations with the
b0 Chipmonk. , V ,
hile awaiting the departure of the train

edges with his hand in order to discover if
I there was any chance of the sides caving in,
ibut it seemed 'perfectly strong, and so he

i

I ventured further and further. until his face

at the Grand Central Depot one day, a gamin ' was over the opening. and his hand holdin

had requested permission to shine his boots,
and while doing it, Quickeye had regarded
him closely. “

‘ the lantern, was stretched as far downward
as his arm would allow it to go.
i “ Sam—Sam Sharp!" he called loudly in

The boy’s bright black e as and clear-cut I the place, but nothing but the reverberation

olive features had impresse him peculiarly,
and while speeding away in the train a few

.i

of his own voice broke the answering si-
lence. '

1"?
.4.

 

A5.

 

 

 

 

Green Mountain Joe.

15

Q

 

“Chip,” he said next, “ have ye got er
string abaout ye, eh?”

The boy fumbled in his pockets for a mo-
ment.

“ No,” he said.

“Run back to the den and fetch some.
Here, take the light; ye’ll find a hull hall of
it on one of the shelves."

Chip took the lantern and went off like a
shot, presently returnin with a ball of stout
cord, which he gave to 0e.

Quickly tying the cord to the handle, Joe
lowered the li ht through the opening, allow-
ing it to slip s owly down, and swinging it a
little from side to side as he did so.

Lower and lower, until finally the bottom
was reached.

“Twenty feet, if it‘s an inch,” muttered
Joe. “ I shouldn’t a bit wonder if Sharp has
got his neck broke. Naow, haow am I ter
git daown thar, that's w’ot I wanter know.”

“ Kin ye see the detective chap?" asked
Chipmonk.

“Nary a chap," replied Joe, hauling the
lantern up; "but I am a-goin‘ down in thet
air-hole, an’ ef he’s thar, I’ll find him."

“ Don‘t go down, Joe,” said Chip, softly,
and in a pleading tone, and instantly Joe
turned, and said sharply:

“ What’s got inty fye, boy? I never knew
ye so squeamish. 0 course I‘ll go daown,
and ye kin stay on top ef ye like, an' wait
fur me.”

“ I ain’t squeamish,” said Chip indignant-
ly, “ but I think that feller’s broke his neck,
an‘ I'm afeard ye’ll break yours, thet’s all.”

“ Well, jist wait till I do. I ain’t a—goin’
down ther same way’s Sam. did; I’m a-goin’
ter fetch thet ladder back here a iece. I
don’t b’lieve ’t’ll reach, but by thun erl of it
don’t, I’ll piece it out. Kim along an’ carry
the li ht, lad.”

He ed the way with long strides to the
point where they had made the descent on
the ladder, and flinging it over his shoulder
with difficulty. he returned to the hole
through which Sharp had so mysteriously
disappeared.

As he had feared, it was considerably too
short, and bidding the boy follow him, he
went once more to the chamber where the
counterfeiter was chained, and seizing a
hatchet, be u demolishing the rude cot bed.

In much ess time than it takes to tell it,

the little piece of furniture was knocked

apart; and taking such portions as he wanted,
he once more went toward the Round Marble,
Chi following with the light.

vyith the hatchet and nails taken from the
demolished cot, he began carefully to splice
the ladder, ,lengthenin it fully six feet.

The work consume more than an hour,
bult at last it was ready to lower through the
ho e. ’ v

“Naow, Chip, ye kin go ’1' stay behind,
as ye’ve a mind to, but make up yer mind

me .” .
q “ I’m wid ye,” said the boy simpéy.

“ Good! down we go; I fu’st an you fol-
low. Jest fetch thet cord along, ’cos we’ll
lgvvalnt it,” and Joe disappeared through the

o e. -

When they were both at the bottom, the
Vermonter tied the end of the cord to the
ladder, remarkin as he did so:

“ That’s a go big ball 0’ cord, and of we
unwind it as we go, we won’t git lost, thet’s
sart’in, onless we go further than the cord is
long. I allers thought thar oughter be more
cave than I found overhead, and naow I’m
agoin’ ter see the thing aout ef it takes me a
week. Kim on, lad.”

Holding the lantern over his head, in order
to see the better, Joe led the way slowly
along a broad, high corridor, which seemed
to incline a little downward.

They had gone about a hundred feet when
the met with a dilemma, in the shape of a
for in the passageway, one part, somewhat
narrower than the other, leadin ofi to the
right, and the other going straight ahead,
formin an angle like the upper part of the
letter 

The one leading straight onward was the
broader of the two, and after hesitating for a.
moment, Joe said:

“We’ll try this one fu’st. anyhow, an’ ef
we don’t find nothin’, we'll kim back an’
try t’other. Sam Sharp's gone one way ’r
t’other, ’cos the thing ends where we started.
He’s prob’ly struck 'thout hein’ much hurt,

, an’ as his light war aout, he’s gone ter

 

feelin’ araound, and when he found th’ wall,
he’s started away. Thet’s abaout the size of
it, eh, Chip?”

“Right ye be,” said Chip, "an’ of he
touche th right hand wall, he’s took th’
other passage, an‘ ef he struck th’ left hand
one, he’s in front of us somewhere.”

“Sure’s e live!" exclaimed J08, admir-
ingly. “T et’s a smart little noddle 0’
yourn, lad."

They kept on for a considerable distance.
noting no change in the appearence of the

cavern, when suddenly the hall of cord was.

lclonsiumed, and the end slipped from Joe’s
an .

" Letter go, Gallagher,” he muttered; “ es
long cs this ’ere hallway keeps straight,
tbar’s no danger o’ gittin’ lost, an' we‘ll pick
up the twine when we him back. Hello,
w’ot‘s this?”

The last exclamation and question was
caused by a sudden termination of the bot-
tom or flooring of the cavern, and before
them yawned a deep and apparently bottom-
less hole.

“ Thunder an’ lightnin’l” cried Joe, as he
gazed, awe-struck into the abyss before them.
“ S‘pOsen Sam’s walked ofl inter that hole,
Chip; I don’t b'lieve he’s struck bottom yet,
of he did, do you t"

“ Don’ know,” replied Chip, breatlilessly.
“Mebbe he took t‘other passage.”

He walked to one side of the place, and
pointed to a narrow shelf of rock extending
onward over the hole.

It was narrow, but yet wide enough for a
man to walk upon by keeping close to the
rocky side of the cavern, and without an in-
stant’s hesitation Joe stepped upon it, and
began working cautiously forward, Chip,
perforce, following.

Ten, twenty, ay, thirty feet they edged
along, exercising extreme care, and could
Joe have looked into the boy’s face he would
have seen that he was intensel fri htened,
and yet his compressed lips to] pla nly that
he had the nerve to follow his leader to the

end.

Suddenly there was a loud crash. and the
lad grasped J oe’s arm in a convulion Jf fear,
whi e the latter leaned against the rocky
side. thoroughly startled.

Well might be be, for the ledge over which
they had just passed had fallen in behind
them, leavmg them no means of retreat, and
they both felt that the spot upon which their
feet were resting might follow in a moment
more.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.-
Losr m A cave.
Wm Joe told Sharp to take the lantern

and examine the cave they had entered, he

voiced the desire that was at the moment up-
ermost in the latter's mind. It was precise-
what the detective most wished to do.

Followed by Chipmonk, he quickly re-
paired to the Round Marble, because that
had struck him as being a very curious
thing, and he desired to examine it more
minutely than they had done when they
passed it on their way in.

Having reached it, he held the light over
his head and walked around the stone several
aim? rubbing its smooth surface with his

an .

Presentl he stooped, and began peering
under it, or it rested upon the floor of the
cavern precisely as any hard round substance
will rest upon an equally hard, though flat
surface; that is to say. the point touching
the rocky floOr was very small when com-
pared to the bulk of the stone.

The very first thing he discOVered under
the stone was the thin he had felt sure he
would sooner or later (1 scover in the cavern,
z'. 5., an aperture leading to some as yet un-
explored part of the cave. '

Falling flat upon his stomach, he crowded
the lantern in under .the rock as far as he
could, hoping that he would be enabled to
see though the opening, but that proved to
be impossible on account of the rock‘s pecu-
liar shape.

With his hand he could feel that the hole
was quite large, although he could see but
little of it. ,

Suddenly it occurred to him that as the
rock was so round, it mi ht be possible to
dislodge it from its position; to roll it oven
away from the hole; so, calling to Chip

‘himself from being

 

onk to push against it as hard as he could,

harp pressed upward with all his strength.

His con‘ecture proved to be correct, for
the rock, nicely balanced as it was, moved
easily and quickly; so easily and quick] in
fact, that both he and Chipmonk lost t eir
balance.

Sharp fell upon his face, his head and
shoulders going through the opening in the
floor, but he might even then have saved
precipitated bodily
through the hole had not Chipmonk pitched
forward upon him, his slight weight being
just sufficient to add “the last straw ” which
toppled Sharp over completely. as he was
struggling to save himself from falling.

The lantern did not once leave hishand,
and that instant when he felt that he was
being hurled to certain death he clutched it
more tightly than ever.

Down he went like a shot, striking the
floor below with a sudden jar which,
although it rendered him insensihle, did not
break any bones.

The light which he carried was extinguish.
ed by the jar, and for several minutes Sam
remained there senseless.

Presently, however, he opened his eyes,
althou h he might just as well have kept
them c osed for all that he could see. Then
he rose, staggering to his feet, and began
groping around him.

Presently he felt a wall, and having a
dazed idea that by following it, he would be
conducted back to the lighted chamber where
he had left Joe, he continued on, still clutch~
ing the extinguished lantern tightly in‘his
hand.

Like any one who has received a sharp
blow upon the head, sufficient to render him
unconscious, his senses regained their reason-
ing faculties slowly, and it- was not until he
had walked quite a distance that the incident
of his fall fully returned to him. Then~he
instantly turned arqund to retrace his steps,
knowing that Chipmonk would go for Joe,
and that the brave Green Mountain boy
would return to his rescue.

But circumstance sometimes plays strange
freaks with men, and so it was in Sam
Sharp’s case ust then, for it both saved his
life, and did im a measurably ill turn at the
same time. ' ,

When he turned around, he was not more
than ten feet from the hole already described,
which was to bar the onward progress ofJoe
and Chip in their search for him, and had he

one onward, he would have unquestionably '
ound a watery grave there, for future‘
searchers proved it to be very deep, and
nearly hal filled with water.

In going toward it, Sam had, of course,
taken the eft-hand wall, but in turning to
retrace his steps, he lost it in the dark, and
Presently coming in contact with the wall on

be other side, proceeded along that. -

It may seem strange that he did not light
the lantern still clutched in his hand, but the
fact is, he never once thought of it; his mind
wals still rather dazed from the efiects of his

fal .

Suddenly he paused.

4' Stran e,” he used, “ I did not notice
any turn n this th ng before, but there must
have been one.”

He had reached the point where the fork .
occurred, and in returning with his hand
upon the wall, had of course swung around
the sharp angle forming the division between
the two corridors. ’

He had traveled along it rather more than
a. hundred yards, when he suddenly ex.
claimed: I

“ What an idiotl Here I have had a lan-
tern in my hand the‘ whole time, and never ,
once thought of lighting it.” ‘

He searched in his pocket for matches,
and soon had what then seemed a very bri ht
light, by which he could see wonderfu ly
well, having been so long in t 6 dark.

With this welcome accessor he went on~
ward much more rapidly, unti at last, quite
tired out, he paused. »

“ I have either passed the point where I
fell into this place, or have wandered on,
into some other part of the cavern,” he
mused. “ What is best for me to dot Shall
I turn back, or go on, trusting to luck to find
some way out of here?

“One thing is certain, there seems to be
very od air here, and what little. drau ht
there 13, comes from the direction .in w

 

 

 

 

’16

..|

Green Mountain Joe.

 

 

I have been traveling, which leads me to
conclude that there is an opening into the
outer world somewhere ahead of me. If I
turn back it is altogether like! that I will
be entirely unable to find the p ace where I
fell, and even if I succeed in doing so, it
will be impossible for me to- climb up into I
the other cavern without aid. Again, the
rock may have rolled back upon Chipmonk,
killing him, and thus preventing him from
giving Joe the alarm.
“On the whole I think it is best for me to
keep on for a while, anyway. It will be
' time enough for me to turn back when I am
satisfied that I cannot get out this ay.”
Having decided the point he aga n started
on, walking even more rapidly than before.
“ Hello! What‘s that?" he exclaimed,
suddenly, gazing ahead of him in open-eyed
wonder. “ It must be Joe, looking for me;
and yet he could not possibly be in that di-
rection either." ' -
“ By J ovel" he exclaimed, a moment later,
“there are three of them!"
Then suddenly a flood of light burst upon
him. The thing which had at first arrested
’ ; his attention was a light, evidently fastened
“i to the wall, but when he had walked a few
Aste further he saw another one further on,
an then another: and the conviction rushed
upon him like a revelation that be had wan-
dered into a passage which had taken him
back under the very footsteps he had made
but a short time before with Joe; in other
words that he was in the Counterfeiters’ Cave,
and that the lights ahead of him were the
lights the counterfeiters used in passing from
one ortion of their stronghold to another.

“ t’s an ill wind that blows luck to no-
body." he muttered, instantly putting out his
lantern, lest he should be discovered. “ I
am in a bad fix, though, the best way I can
manage. It is next to impossible for me to
find the place where I got into this thing.
and I can’t go out in the way I have started
without walking right through those fellow’s
clutches. and if they once get a good fast hold
of me, I'm a goner, sure! Anyway, I am
goin to see more than I can from here. In
this ark place I ought to get along without
being noticed much, it I keep in the shadow.
I’ll just leave this lantern here where I can
find it if I come back this way. How I wish
Joe was with me.”

Putting the lantern on the floor near one of
the side walls. he went forward cautiously,
yet eagerly, flushed with the excitement of
the moment.

“ There is one of the gang that I know by
sight, anyhow,” he muttered, “but I dont
want to meet him yet. for his sharp vgyes
would see through me in an instant. 'th
the others, "if any of them should accost me,
I 'think I can give a password which will
throw them of! their guard.”

CHAPTER XIX.
our? use A PLAN. g

WE left Joe and Chipmonk in a bad pre-
dicament, standing as they were. upon the
narrow ledge over an apparently bottomless
abyss, with all means of retreat gone, and
with the constant expectation that the very
next moment their foothold might fall from
beneath them, and send them headlong into
the mysterious black hole. I
' “Air ye scar’t, Chip?" asked Joe, as soon
as he had recovered his breath; “ ’cos I am,
an’ ye'd be more’n mortal ef ye warn’t, too.
One thing ’s sart’in, we’ve got ter go on, ’cos
we can’t go back if we wanter." , , '

“ Right ye he!” replied Chip, quiveringly,
and in a roice which made Joe hold the lan-
tern up and look at him curiously.

’ “Darn’d at it hain’t a’most changed yer
voice, Chip," he said, lowering the light
again. “Don't lose yer backbone, l (1, cf
'ye air scar’t, ’cos backbone allers coun a big,
even when ther odds air ag’inst ye. Kim on,
an' we’ll try an' git across this blasted place.
Thar‘s some folk in Derry who don’t b’lieve
in a hell, but I think if I could fetch ’em

7 . ‘ here I’d convert ’em; eh, Chip?"

»‘ He started on over the narrow ,ledge,

which kept growing narrower and narrower

as they progressed, until it was all they
could do to retain their foothold, and once.
or twice Chip’s feet slipped nearly of! the

 

 

 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  

 

I

rock.

They were fully lift feet from. the point
where the rock had alien in behind them,
and as‘yet no signs of the other side of the

 

 

black hole could be discovered, and Joe be-
gan to think there was none.

Suddenly, however, Chip grasped Joe by
the arm, pointing on ahead of them to where
a light could be seen rapidly crossing the cor-
ridor they were in, disappearing almost as
quickly as it appeared.

“There’s Sharp!” exclaimed Joe, excited-
ly; n-

He had begun to shout, but before the en-
tire syllable had escaped him, Chipmonk
had sprung forward at the risk of falling
and placed his hand over Joe’s mouth, stop-
ping the word ere it was uttered.

“ What did ye do thet fur?" asked Joe
angrily. “Sam had a lantern with him. an’
he’s just gone out o’ sight, an’ mebbe we
won’t see him again.”

“ That wasn’t Sam
breathlessly.

“ It wasn’t?”

u N0."

“Then who was it?”

“ Can’t ye see?" exclaimed the boy with no

little disgust.

“ See? No! I—eh? What? Chip, by
thunder, you’re smart! I never would have
thought of it,,but jest es true’s ye live, this
here thing has led us right back to ther cave
where them counterfeiters be. . Holy smoke!
say, we must find Sam naow, anyway!"

“Wait, Joe.” said Chipmonk; “I’ve got-
ter plan, I hev, see? Jest ye listen while I
give it to ye.” ‘

“ Spit it aout, youngster. "

“Ye see, Joe," said Chip apologetically,
“ I know these 'ere fellers—”

“ What—them counterfeiters?”

Chip nodded.

“ Yes. I know ’em, an’ w'ot’s more, they
know me, fur I been in the habit o” comin’
an’ goin’ in an’ out 0’ their cave fur ever so
long ”

“ Ye ain’t one of them, be ye, Chip?"

“ Mebby I am, an‘ ag'in. mebby I ain’t,
Joe, but whether I am ‘r not, I am one 0’

Sharp,” said Chip.

you fellers, an‘ I’m agoin' ter stick to ye I

right through, ag’inst all comers, you hear
in ”

e.
" Ri ht,‘ Chip—now w'ot’s yer plan?”
“Thgis, Joe. I’ll o in ahead an‘ look

around me an’ see e thar’s a chance fur us

ter git through this way an’ go back to
where .weleft the feller chained up, ’cos,
you know we can’t never git back the wa
we came. At ther same time I’ll find out if
they’ve got their dukes outer thet detective
chap, an’ ef they hev, we’ll find some ws
ter git him out. see? You wait here till

kim back, see? I don’t know jist w‘ot I

will do till I look around, but I'll do suthin‘

an’ don‘t ye forgit it, either. ”

“Right, Chip! Thar’s only one part of
yer plan that I don’t like.”

“ W’ot’s thet?” .

“ Stayin’ here. This rock we’re a stan'in’

‘on mav be wide enough fur a little Chip-

monk like you, buttura great hulk of a fel-
ler like me, its sort 0' narrer like. We’ll jist
drive on tur enough so’s I kin stan’ on bed-
rock an" then ye kin go on and see w’ot’s
w‘ot, eh?" "

“Right ye be, Joe—right ye be!"

Again they started orward cautiously.
and presently the ledge began to widen until

before long they stepped 011 of it onto the'

solid flooring of the cavern beyond the
black hole. . ‘ ,

Then Chip, after advising Joe to put out
the light and wait, started away through the
darkness, leaving his friend in order to save
him if possible. .‘

“Surely I should have nerve enough for
anything after what I have already passed
through,” he whis ered to himself as he bur-
ried forward. “ his part of the cavern is
entirely unknown to me, though I suppose
it should be as familiar as any. ut the light
satisfied me that we were in the counterfeit-
er’s cave, beyond doubt.”

He made his wa onward as rapidly as
possible, occasional y' stumbling over a loose
rock which had fallen from the roof, or com-
ing roughly into contact with some pro-
jection from the side. n‘r’atil at length his hand
ran off from the. wall y which he had been
tracing his way, and he discovered that he
had reached the point where they had seen
the light cross and disappear.

As he paused and looked, he could see
numerous stationary lights fixed along the
walls in the new- corridor which he had

i

- r'. 3» ~.  '..‘I .‘ -
"1‘ .‘gr. ! ‘..~.vn--3;1§,;'.zu .V. ( ’.-j\_~,’.‘,r"_. .

r)! 
“’ W ' .,

found, and he thought he knew where he
was at once.

Turning without hesitation, he walked
boldly toward the lights, soon reaching a
point where he could see plainly. and dis-
covering that he was 'in the main corridor of
the cave, only at that part of it furthest in
the mountain.

” I 'mnst be near the headquarters,” he
thought. “I’ll just look about me and see
if the men we captured have been missed.”

Advancing still further, be presently
turned sharply to the right, emerging into a
large chamber which looked very grotesque
in the light of many lights swung from the
ceilings.

Several large hand-presses were arranged
about the room, while in the center was a
table upon which the paraphernalia for eating
were scattered profusely. Sitting around the
table, and helping themselves bountifully,
were a half-dozen rough-looking men en»
gaged in eating their breakfast.

“Hello, Chip!” shouted one of the men,
as the boy entered; “what brought you here
at this hour? You must have started in the
middle of the night." .

“ I didn‘t!” replied Chip. “ Itstarted yes-
terday, an'hev been in the cave all night.
You fellers don’t keep no watch, anyhow! a
hull pack 0’ cops could drop onto ye ‘thout
yer ever fin’in’ it out. I kim in at ther bush
entrance an’ stopped at ther little room thar
till now, see? Guv a feller suthin’ t’ eat,
won’tcher?"

“I rec’on we will, Chi ,” said another.
I “Mosey up an‘ use yer ukes, ’r ye‘ll git

left, sure ’nufl.” '

“Where’s Barnes?" asked the boy, looking
around. as he helped himself to a slice of
bacon and some bread.

“ Give it up!" said a third. “ He ’n Tim
, Copper ’n Caesar went aout on duty 0’ some

kind ’bout dusk, an’ none of ’em ain’t show’d
‘ up since: seen ’em?”

“New; been snoozin’. It ’u’d suit me jes’
’s well ef they didn't kim back at all.
Caesar’s a brute; Tim Coppe’s no good, an'
. Barnes ’s too stuck up fur me."

"Right ys be, Chip!” chuckled another.
“ Them’s my sentiments ter a Tee-e.’

“Anything new, lately?” asked Chip,
after a moment’s pause.

“Nothin’.” somebody replied. and the boy
went on munching his breakfast in silence.

When the meal was finished, Chipmonk
arose, and passing through several of the
lantern—lighted corridors. presently found
himself before the wicket door, where the
captain‘s negro attendant kept guard. and in
a momentimore that ebony-colored individual
showed his somber face through the open-
ing. '
“Is ther capting up?” asked Chip.

“ He am.” replied the negro.

uBusy?"

“Berr busy, Mas’r Chip."
~ “Ask im ef he wants ter see me.”

(I  d'on,"9

” How d’ye know that?”

“ He sed he didn‘t wanter see nohod
how,” grinned the black. '

“Well,” said Chip, “ tell him I’m here,
anyhow. an’ thet I’m goin’ back ter the vi!-
lage. an' mebby ye’ll find he does wanter see
me. '

The negro departed, but in a moment he

returned hastily, saying:
'~ “I guess. Mas’r Chip, he reckons you is
nobody, fo‘ he wants ter talk to you.” and
without further parley the boy was allowed
to enter the presence of the counterfeiter
chief.

Quickeye was busy writing when the lad
entered, and did not look up for several mo-
ments, during which 'the boy fiung himself
familiarly u on one of the upholstered chairs
which stoo rather in the shadow, and
waited. ‘ »

Finally the note was ended, folded, sealed
and directed, and then the counterfeiter
Chieftain raised his head.

“I was expecting you, Chip,’ he said.
‘f You were seen on the mountain (yesterday
with Joe Alden and a stranger, an I rather
looked for your report before this time.”

“Couldn't git here no quicker,” replied 2
Chip. huskil . and coughing a little. ’ ‘

“Your co d is no better, I see,” went on
the captain. “ Who was the stranger,
Chip?” '

“ His name’s Sharp.”

 

y, no-

 

.,‘

 

 

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’3

 

17

 

 

Green Mountain Joe.

 

“What is he?”

“ Don’ know; says hesafeller out huntin’
with Joe, an‘ I guess he is.” .

Quickcye smiled a little at the boy’s
humor.

“What is he hunting, Chip,” he asked,
“game, or men?"

“Men, I guess."

“ Then he is a detective?"

“ Right ye be, Cap; he is."

CHAPTER XX.

QUICKEYE AND cmr PLOT TOGETHER.

“ WHERE did you leave them?" continued
the captain, after a short pause.

“ On the mountain, not fur awa .”

“ Do you think they can find this place?"

“ Can't tell; mcbby so an' mebby not.”

“What is his game?"

“ Don’ know."

“ Does he think there are but two or three
of us, that he comes almost single—handed to
make the capture?"

“ Don’ know."

“ Did he tell Joe what he was up to?"

“ Don’ know.”

“ What do you know?”

“ I know he‘s sharper'n lightnin’, an’ don‘t
fear nothin', an’ I b‘lieve ef there is anybody
es kin find this ’ere cave ’thout knowin’
whar to look, it’s them two fellcrs, Joe an’
Sam Sharp."

“ I am sorry Joe is with him," murmured
the captain.

H Why?”

" Because I have no wish to injure him,
but I am afraid I shall be obliged to, for
this man Sharp evidently knows too much,
and must be effectually gotten rid of ."

I‘I‘Ketch him fu'st,’ advised Chip, laconi-
ca y.

“ That is easy enough; you say he is still
on the mountain. I W111 get the men togeth-
er, and you can conduct them to the lace
where you left this Sharp. Who is be, hip?
I am not familiar with the name.”

“ ’Tain’t bizzen.”

" 011! Do you know his right name?”

at NaW.n

“ Well—you will take the men to the spot
where you left him, at once.”

“ Yas—but they won’t find Joe an’ the de-
tective chap there."

“ Why not?”

“ ’Cos they said they was agoin’ ter move
on, an' I said I was goin’ home.”

“ Then you don’t know where they are
now?” '

“ No more’n you do.”

Quickeye bit his lip, and stroked his mus-
tache angrily. '

“ Chip,” he said, sternly. " I have noticed
that for some time past you have not been as
smart as usual. and that’you get a little more
disrespectful every day. Now, understand
met you will take the men and go out on the
mountain and find Joe and this Sam Sharp;
do you hear?" .

Chip nodded without replying.

“ You can go to the spot where you left
them, and from there, track them to the
spot where they are now. Then you must
manage in some way to get them separated,
and the men will do the rest. Those are my
orders, and you are expected to carry them
out to the letter.”

Chip was in a dilemma. He knew what
it meant to defy Captain Quickeye, for the
roughest men in all that rough crew which
he commanded, feared him as the slave fears
his hard master.

Suddenly, however. just as he had about

iven up seeing a way out of it, a bri ht
idea occurred to him, and he started to is
feet quickly, for he saw-a chance of carrying
out the one scheme of his life.

“ Cap,” he said, coughing .a little as he
spoke, " I’m sorry ye_’r’ gittin‘ tired 0' me
ag’in, an‘ ef ye be, I kin 1jes’ light out, an’
not bother c any more. hain’t meant ter
be dis’pect ul nor nothin’ of the kind, an’ yc
know me well enough ter knew that I’ll do
my level best allers." ‘

,“ Yes, Chip, I have always thought so."

"‘ Right ye be, Capl Now I’ve getter bet-
ter plan nor yourn." ‘

" What is it?"

“ Why, this! I’ll go out alone an'find out
whar Joe an' his friend he, an’ then I’ll make
an appointment ter meet 'em somewhere
about dusk, see? That'll tell me whar the ’re
goin‘ ter camp tor-night. Then I kin im

 

.beyond a certain

 

back here an‘ git ther men an’ take ’em there
an’ the rest ’11 be easy, see?”

" Capital, Chipl"

“ There’s only one thing in the way."

" What is that?"

“The dor --Pomp He’s a devil when
he gits started, an' yo kin jest betcher life
he‘ll git started when he smells the men
moseyin’ around. He’s better’n a cannon
for defense, he is.”

“ The men can shoot him before he does
much harm. How many will you want,
Chip? Four or five?"

“Morc’n that; Joe counts fur three 'r
four, and from w’ot I've seen of th’ other
feller I guess he’ll count fur about two.

“There are onl a dozen here now, all
told,” returned uickcye. “‘Go ahead,
Chip. and find out where your friends are,
and where they are going to camp to-night,
and then return and we will make the other
arrangements.”

“ There‘s jest one condition ’bout this
thing thet I wanter make,” said Chip, as he
arose to leave.

“ What is that?"

“Joe’s been good ter me, an’ ’less ye
promise me that ye’ll give strict orders thet
he sha’n’t be hurt, I won’t stir a peg.”

“ You won’t?”

“ No; not ef ye ouge out my eyes.”

“Well, well, C ip, I will promise on
that he shall not be hurt after you get im
here, nor at all, unless it occurs in the fight
when they are captured. Is that suflicient?"

“Right ye be, Cap! Now I’ll skip, 'cos I
know ye keep yer word allers.”

In a moment more the bright, far-seeing
lad was again in the main corridor, where he
paused and scratched his head dubiously.

“What am I to do?” he asked himself;
“ Sharp, th’ feller most wanted is—by
hockey, he’s somewhere in this very cave, as
sure’s in name is—Chipmonk. I begin

-to think 1 ve ot myself into a worse muddle

than I was in efore.”

He was standing near what was called the
end of the main corridor, although in reality
it ran much further back into the mountain.
But when Quickeye had selected the place
for his headquarters he had found nothing
oint which offered any
facilities for his bus ness, and so he had sim-
ply not used it. The various passageways,
or corridors, which Were used were suppl ed
with bracket-lamps, and Chip was near the
point where the ceased.

“ I wonder w ere that goes to.” mused the
lad. "Perhzgrs it connects with the place
where Joe an I came out, somewhere back
in the dark; but 1 hard] think that I care to
explore it alone and wit out a light.

“ What’s that?” he continued, almost
aloud. for he had plainly seen a little spark
of light away down the unused gallery. It
danced along toward him for a moment. and
was then raised and extinguished, precisely
as if it were a lantern, and somebody had
held it up to blow out the light.

" I never knew any of the men to go
down that gallery," he continued. “ I’ll just
edge along a little ways further and see who
it is, coming this way.”

Accordingly, keeping his little body close
to the wall, he began to work slowly toward
the last lamp, watching keenly for a sign of‘
the person who had blown out the light.

When he had reached a spot about mid-
way between the last two he found a little
crevice in the side wall into which he could
squeeze himself far enough so that he was
entirely concealed from view, except by a
person looking straight toward him; in ct er
words, people might have passed and re-
passed without noticing him—and there he
waited.

Fully fifteen minutes elapsed while he was
waiting thus, and he had begun to think
that he had been mistaken, when suddenly
he thought a light footfall had broken the
dead sileace around him.

Bending his head he listened acutely
for a moment, and then felt satisfied that
some one was approaching from the unused
part of the cave.

A few moments more passed, and then,
from his little ,niche. he could plainly see a
shadow creeping slowly along the opposite
side of the gallery.

The light was so dim that even tho’ he was
accustomed to it, itwas still impossible for
him to recognize the person opposite.

 

“I'll follow him to the next lamp," mut-
tered the boy. “ It may be one of those
fellows we carried off last night, and in that
case I’ll have to leave.” t:
Then he began creeping along after the '
figure, moving without making the slightest
sound, and gradually working closer and
closer.
Presently the figure neared the lamp, and
then Chipmonk could see it drop flat upon
its face and creep onward like a snake.
In another moment a point was reached
where the light fell upon the person's back,
and in that instant the boy knew who it was,
for he recognized the gaudin trimmed hunt-
ing suit worn by the detective.
“ Sharp! Sam Sharp!" he exclaimed in a
loud whisper, springing forward at the same
moment. 1:;
But her was wholly unprepared for what ‘
came next, for Sharp, hearing his name
called, sprung instantly to his feet, and see- ,
ing afigure rushing towardJiim, turned and K ;
leaped fiercely upon the boy, hearing him to , 
the floor beneath his weight. ~;

CHAPTER XXI. 
JOE IS CAUGHT NAPPING. 

“Conan your little hide! you would trap
me again, would you?" exclaimed Shar in
a hoarse whisper as he fell upon the y  .
Chipmonk, crushing him roughly to the _, r.
earth, but he was surprised to find that the "‘
lad did not struggle at all, but only gasped u -‘
out:

“ Let me speak, Mister Sharp, an’ I’ll 5
’splain.”

" Well, speak then i” answered Sharp,
loosing his hold so that the boy could get his ,
breath; “ but mind on, if you make a noise '
aboveawhisper, I'l choke the life out of.
{Ion before you can do it a second time. \

ow speak; what are you doing here, when
I left on in the cave with Joe?"

“ I im here wid Joe a-lookin’ for you.” I ,'

“ Oh, you did, eh? Well, I don‘t believe 
it. Where is Joe, than?”

" In another part of the cave."

“ Bah! How is it that you didn’t overtake
me before I reached here?"

“ Don’ know, Sharpey "—the boy was
getting back some of his impudence——“ but I
s’pect we took one gallery an’ you took
t‘other. Joe‘s around t’other side now,
waitin’ fur me ter him back, but I scold yer
light an’ thought mebby it might be one o' 
them covey: as we gobbled last night, an' 80 ;.' I
I watched, ’cos if it was, I was again’ ter -
light out. ” .

“Is this the counterfeiter's cave?” asked
Sharlp. v
“ ight ye be, Sharpeyi”

f ‘; Then ‘what are you roaming around here
or u y

“ ’Cos they knows me, and ain‘t afraid of i .
me, like you be." v 1:

Sharp smiled grimly.

“I think I have good reason to be,” he
replied, “after the trick you played on me
last night.”

“I only done that fur fun,” said Chip; “ I
was jest a-goin’ ter hand back yer ops when
them coveys kim in, an' then I dassent.
Don’t ye see ? r I’d ruther let ’em make‘
minge-meat 0’ you than 0’ me, wouldn’t f
you ” ,

Sam did not,exactly see the force of the ‘
question when applied to his side of the cue, “
but from the boy’s point of view he appreci- ,.
ated the fact that it was the purest kind of
logical reasoning. .'
' ‘ When Joe an’ Pomp sprung in onter the. .3

ame, I know’d it war U. P. wid the other
ellers. so I jest moseyed out and fetched th‘
rope an’ axed Joe ter tie me up too, so’s ’f "
any of ’em got away, they wouldn’t know 5
that I worked ag‘in' 'em—eef" " ' _ -

Sam saw. and marveled at the wisdom of v ‘
the little fellow. v T '-
“ Do you know the cave thoroughly!" he
asked. “  _

“ Like a book."

“ And all of the men?”

“ Better ’n I do you." . '

“ How many are there here?" . _

“ ’Bout a dozen, countin’ the three w'ot’s .'
gone.” . ~’ 1 v.

“ About nine, then?"

“ ’Iljl'mi nige ’r tenfi" m  ‘: .'

“ 0 on noww ere e sta,mos 2'"

“Youybetl” ’1 y . fly ‘

 

     
  
   
  

 

 

 

'is more method in you than

  
  

18'

C

Green Mountain Joe.

 

 

“ Can we get past them and so out of this
place?”

“ I guess so; we kin try."

“ Are we likely to be discovered?"

“ New. Ef ye'll do‘s I want ye to, I’ll
git ye back ter J oe’s cave ’thout the leastest
trouble.”

“ Wait a moment,” said Shalip. “ I want
to ask a few more questions. sthe captain
here now ?"

“ ’Um l"

h. “ glow do you know? Have you seen
1m 1‘

“ ’Uml seen him an‘ talked wid him?”

" When 2”

“ 'Bout half an hour ago.”

“ Do you know where his room is?"

“ Course I do.”

" Well, give it a wide berth. Now what
do you want me to do?”

” Stay here till I go fur Joe."

“ N 0 you don't, sonny. I’m not quite such
a fool as you think me.”

“ Ye’r' growin' inter one very fast, Mister
Dull.”

" If I sta here you will doubtless go and
bring the w ole gang down onto me like an
avalanche.”

" Ef e think that, Sharpy, ye kin kim
along 0 me, only of ye git ketched, don’t
lay it ter me, that s all. The minit the Cap
claps eyes outer yer phiz, ye’r’ a-goner,
sure’s yer name ain t Sharp.”

The detective did not appear to notice the
last insinuation made by the boy, but re-
mained quiet for a moment.

“ Suppose I do remain here while you go
for Joe, what then?"

“Why, l’ll fetch him here, see?”

" What good will that do? We will be
obliged to go the other way again to get
out. ’ '

" Naw we won’t, either."

“ Which way, then?"

“nRight back over the track you klm here

“But even if we find the place where I
fell throu h, how are we going to get back
into the p ce above?"

“ On the ladder."

“ Ladder?"

“Yes. Joe an’ I put a ladder down troo
the hole when we went a-huntin’ fur you,
an’ if suthin' ain‘t swallowed it, I s’pose it’s
there yet, see?”

“I see; yes. Chip, I aminclined to trust

on.

“ Ye don't say so! That”: very kind of ye,

barpey, seein’ as how ye‘ve getter, of ye
waster 't out 0' this ’ere place, '

Sam it his lip, rather confused, for he
realized that the boy had spoken the truth.

“All right, Chip,” he said presently;
“you have got me there. I don't now any
more about getting out of this place than a
crow, and if you weren’t here I would prob
ably have to fight my way out, anyway, so
go and find Joe and bring him here. I’ll
wait.’

‘ Right here?”

“Yes, right here."

“ Right ye be, Mister Sharp. Ye‘r' be-

nnin ter talk sense now. When ,I git back.

'1] put you an' Joe onto a little game I’ve
got in my head that’ii jest let ye bag th’ hull
cahoodle of these tellers here as easy as roll-
in’ of! a log.” I

" What 5 1t, Chip?" ‘

“Ain’t got no time tcr tell ye now,
Sharpey,” replied tho boy: “ ye‘ll hev ter
show yer confidence b waitin' till 1 kim
back wid Joe. Ye kin ag th' hull lot ’cept
the Cog: he’s my special pro rty, see?”

“ W at do you mean, Ch p?" cried Sam,
grasping the lad b the arm as he was about
moving off. “I gin to sus ect that there
at first sup~
posed; in fact, that you are not what you
seem to be."

“ Ye‘r’ wrong there, Sharpey. I’m jest
w’ot 1 seem ter be jest now."

“ What is that?”

“ A oung feller w'ot’s got an ax ter grind,
an’ hes a-goin’ter grind it, an‘ don’t you
for t it, either; see?”

ith a little quick jerk, the boy pulled
his arm away from the detective‘s grasp, and
started away on a run up the corridor, say-
ing. as he did so:

“ Keep yer word, Sharpey. an‘ wait where
is air, an’ ye'll say yet that Chip‘s a trump!

_ ’ t ye be—right ye be!"

 

He traversed the entire part of the main
gallery to where the one in which Joe was
waiting ran into it. without meeting any of
the counterfeiters, for it was just the time
when they were at work at their plates and
presses, and turning into the cross galley he

urried rapidly toward the point where he
had left Joe.

“J oe—Joel” he called, in a loud whisper,
but there was no response, and Chip began
to feel ver nervous.

“J 081" he repeated, and still no an-

swer.

“What has become of him?” muttered the
boy. “ I must be very near to the place
where I left him.

“Joe—Joel" '

The last call was as loud as he dared to
make it, but no response came to him, but as
he listened he fancied he could discern a
faint sound.

Stooping, he applied his ear to the ground.
and almost immediately arose to his feet,
smiling broadly.

“ Lucky I eft him so far away from the
main gallery,” he said to himself, " for he’s
snoring like everything.”

It was true. Joe ha grown tired of wait-
ing, and, worn out by the unusual exertions
he had gone through with since he and Sharp
had left the village, he had seated himself
with his back against the rocky wall of the
gallery and fallen into a deep slumber.

But when Chip crept up to him, guided by
the noise. and placed his and upon his arm
and shook him, the sleeping man started
quick] to his feet. The boy, however, re-
maine quiet, waiting to hear what Joe would
say.
“ Where in blazes be I?” he exclaimed.
"Thunder! but ain’t it dark, though? Oh.
I know! Now, where kin thet air Chip be ?"

“ Here, Joe,” said Chip, out of the dark-
ness: “1 jest woke ye.”

“Well, it’s abaout time, I think. Great
Scott, but ain’t I hungry! Where’ve ye
been. Chip?”

"Way to t’other side 0’ the cave. I took
breakfast wi’d th’ fellers in there, and then I
called on the boss.”

"No! did ye?"

“got? ”
It

a .
u  

“That air detective Chap; he’s waitln’

fur us on t’other side 0’ the cave.”

“How in creation did he git thari"

“ Froo anoder gallery."

" Well, let‘s be goin’. Kin we git around

tor him without bemg seen?”

“ I uesslo; kim on."

An so, with the boy in the lead, they

started onward stealthily,

The turn was made safely, and they were
ust passin the last point where Chip could
eel that t ere was any danger, viz: the en-

trance to the galle leading to the captain’s
room, when Quic eye emerged from his

“Rightye he, Joel I found suthin’ too.”.

a

quarters.

He was evidently in a great hurry, for he
was walking very rapidly.

Notwithstanding whic fact, however, he
came to an abrupt halt when he saw Chip.

“ How is this?" he said," why have you
not started on your errand ‘2"

 

CHAPTER XXII.
"an, snanrsv, n‘rn sun now?”

FOR the first instant when Chipmonk be-
held Captain Quickeye approaching he felt
that the game was played out; that the coun-
terfeiter chief would at once recognize Joe
as a stranger at least, and order them both
put into the dungeon. .

Just what horror such a calamity contain-
ed for the lad, cannot fully be appreciated
now, but at heart he felt that he would far
rather have perished in the black hole around
which he and Joe had passed together, than
that he should be captured and imprisoned
by the man he was dupingr and afterward be
subjected to the searching examination
which he knew would fall to his lot.

While passing through the corridor he
had taken the precaution to admonish Joe to
keep as entirely in the shadow aspossible,
and luckily that was not a difiicult matter in
the cavern, where the lights were suspended
so far apart, and at the moment when he
first discovered the captain approaching they

hap nod to be in the very darkest spot that
con (1 be found—that is just midway be-
tween too lights.

“ Don't speak, Joe; don’t speak!" he
managed to whisper hastily, and then when
Quickeye asked him the question, he said,
abruptly:

“Just again, an’ I forgot ter ax yer if I
was ter report to ye when I come in, or to
jist git the men an’ go ahead.”

“ will give the necessary orders as I go
out,” replied the chief, “ so you can just come
in, take as many men as will be necessary
and do the job. I will tell Barnes to boss
the job for you. Who is that with you ‘2”
nodding his head to Joe, who had edged
along past them and stood facing the op.
posite way.

“ Ctesar," replied Chip.

“ All right," assented the captain, “ I will
be in my den to-night, and when all is done
as I have directed, come and tell me; until
then, I don’t want to see you a sin," and
without another word he hurrie onward,
leaving Joe and the boy to draw several deep
breaths of great relief and thankfulness over
their narrow esca e.

"Not but w’ot might hev downed him,”
said Joe as they went forward, “ but ther
leastest noise of a tussle w'u’d hev brought
ther hull gang down outer us instanter."

All was plain sailing after that, and in a
very few moments more they were with the
detective.

Bidding the two men make haste, Chi
hurried as fast as possible along the dar
gallery until he consrdered it safe to relight
a lantern.

Both Joe and Sam were nearly exhausted
by their great exertions during the past few
hours, and neither of them had eaten any-
thin since the day before.

“ lowed ef I know which I’d ruther see,"
exclaimed Joe, “ daylight ’r vittils.”

“I would take the 'vittils’ without any
hesitation," replied Sharp.

They had no difficulty in reaching the
ladder down which Joe and Chip had made
their way when they first started in search of
Sam, and in a very short time they had
clambered up, pulling it out after them into
the upper cave.

“Thar!” exclaimed the Vermonter. “ I
feel as tholigh I’d got hum ag'in, an' in jest
abaopt a j' y I’ll ev suthin’ smokin’ over a
fire.’

The prisoner, Barnes, was found to be
reduced to a state of terror bordering on
madness, for he had reali come to the con-
clusion that he had been eft chained to the
wall to starve.

He had tried with all his strength to get
loose, but it was of no avail. and when the
trio returned he was in a condition of abject
despair.

“ Relieve me from this horror,”he said
to Joe; “take this collar off my neck and
release me, and I will answer any question
you may put.”

“ Don’t want any questions answered
now.” said Joe. “We’ve ot all ther infur-
mation we want, an’ as we ve got ter do a
little talkin’ right in yer presence, 1 think
it’s safer ter let ye stay whar e be. Ye
needn’t git scart, fur yer won t be aban-
doned—not muchl When we git ready ter
go daown the maountaiu we’ll take ye along,
never fear.

“Naow, Samuel," he continued, as they
were eating their breakfast, “ we hev faound
the counterfeiters' den in double quick order,
I call it, an‘ es the feller said to ther boy who
bed trapped at skunk, naow ye’ve got it,
w‘at’r‘ ye a-goin’ ter do with it, eh?"

“ There'is but one thing for me to do that
I can see," replied the detective, “ and that
is to return to the city, report what wehave
discovered and bring a force back with me
which will be suflicient to clean out this
nest entirely. We are not enough in our-
selves. that is certain; for from what Chip
says, I am satisfied that there are at least ten
men in there now, and they are all desperate
characters who will fight to the last gasp.
What is your opinion, Joe?”

“We-l-l,” drawled Joe, as he leaned back
and began filling his pi . “I can’t say ’s
I’ve got one; Ieastwise e l hev, it’s the same
’5 yourn. Chip, boy, you sir fu’st rate at
~ ideers; hev ye got one naow?"
“ Right ye be, Joel’

“‘ What is it?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

Green Mountain Joe.

 

19‘

 

“Mebby Sharpey don’t want it; it ain’t
wu'th much, p’raps."

"Let us hear it,” said Sam.
suggest an idea, anyway.”

" Fu’st ’n’ foremost,” said the lad, slowly,
“ I wanter ax some questions.”

“ Go ahead," said Joe.

“Right e be! The fu'st one is: Do ye
think ye in stan‘ another scrimmage ter-
night?"

“ That depends,” said Joe, “ ontcr ther
size ’n strength 0’ ther party.

“ One 0’ the other party ag’inst you two
fellows, an’ me a-lookin’ on an‘ bossin’ ther
job,” grinned the boy.

“ None of your chaff, boy 1" exclaimed
Sam, impatientiliy.

“ ’Tain’t eha ; it's clear grit, this is."

“ Explaln'yourself, then.”

“ When y:_'ve answered my question."

“ Well, then—yes!”

“Ri ht ye hel Now I’ll tell ye su’thin'l
When left Joe down there, an' went on th’
’splorin' experdition, I hed a long eonfab wid
the boss."

“ Well. w’ot of it?”

“ He bed seen us on the mountain together,
an‘ wanted ter know who you was,” nodding
his head at Sharp.

“ What did you say ‘2”

“I sed ye was a-huntin’ wid Joe, an’ he
wanted ter know w’ot ye war huntin’, game
‘1' men—”

“And you told him, of course that I was
hunting—” -.

‘ Men!”

“ What!" cried the detective springing to
his feet in a rage, “ you betrayed me to
him?"

“ ’Uml” nodded the boy undismayed, and
not attempting to avoid the angry man who
was standing over himvwith arm uplifted,
while even good-natured Joe had a savage
frown upon his usually serene face. “I
told him yer name wasn’t Sam Sharp, ’though
ye sad it was, an’ thet ye was a detective
chap from New York who hed kim up here
on pu’pose ter ketch him an’ ther boys!”

The perfect coolness with which Chipmonk
made the statement had more effect upon
Sam than anything else could, for he seated
himself again and said:

“ Well—well, Chip—J won’t get angry
until you have told me all there is to tell, for
your 'face looks as though you had more to
communicate.”

“ Right ye be, Sharpey—right ye be!”

“ What did he say to your information 7”

“Nothin’; he on] lafled ’3 though ’twas
a good joke, an' axe me where ye both were
at that moment, but I told him I didn’t
know.

” He said he was sorry he’d hafter gobble
Joe at the same time he did you, ’cos he
sorter likes Joe, but he couldn’ help it."

“Well! go on i"

“ Then we put our heads together, he ’n
me did, and I was ter j‘ine ye ag’in, find out
where ye air goin‘ ter camp ter-night, and
then pilot th’ hull b’ilin' down outer ye when
ye‘re asleep, see? ye know ther rest, don’t

e?”

Both Joe and Sam gazed at each other in
disma as they recognized how simple a
thing it would have been for the boy to have
betrayed them in the way he had named, if
he had chosen to do so. They very plainly
saw that they would have been entirely at
Chipmonk’s mercy if he had chosen to desert
them, or even to remain true to the counter-
feiters, for both men were satisfied that the
boy had been connected with them inti-
matel all along.

“ on are a strange boy,” muttered Sam;
“ I can’t make you out!"

“ Can’t ye?” _ i

“No, but I am gomg to try before long.
Now, tell us what you are going to do in
place of carrying out the plan arranged by
Quickeye.’

“ Nothin’.”

“.Nothing?"

“No—there is nothin‘ in th’ place of it.”

“ Boy, I want you to distinctly under-
stand that I will have no more of your
trifling; tell me plainly what you mean.”

“ I mean that I’m a-goin’ ter_carry out
ther plan perzactly es he fixed it; I mean
that about dusk I’m a-goin’ ter his cave, an'
I’m a-goin' ter tell him whar ye’re campin’
toadot. I mean thet I am a gorn’ ter see
the: every man belonging ter thet gang is

" It may

 

armed ter his eyes, and then I’m a- oin’ ter
fetch th’ hull bilin' right here ter t is cave
whar we air now, an' when I git ’em here—”

“ You oung traitor!" cried Sharp. seizing
Chipmon ’ by the shoulder and shaking him
roughly, but Joe interposed quickly.

“ Don‘t ye see, Sam, thet ther boy’s givin’
us fair warnin’?”

“What of that!" cried the detective; "it
gives them warning too, and they'll fly away
like a. partridge."

“ No they won’t,» neither!" interrupted
Chip.

“ Why not? What is to prevent them?”

” You are!”

“ We are? How?”

“ ’Cos, instead of gobblin’ you. ye’ll ob-
ble them, don‘t ye see? They'll hev ter im
over the rock one at-ter time. same’s we did,
see? An’ when they land, they‘re gobbled,
see? Eh, Sharpey, d’ye see, now?” and the
lad laughed gleefully.

CHAPTER XXIII.
SETTING THE TRAP.

LIKE a revelation Chipmonk’s whole
scheme betrayed itself in those few words,
and Sharp looked at the boy wonderingly
and admiringly as he realized the possibili-
ties which lay in the fruition of the boy's
plan.

By the aid of Joe and the boy he could
capture the whole gang, then return to the
cavern, secure the evidence necessary for
their conviction, mart-h his prisoners to the
station. and from thence to the nearest city
containing an adequate prison, with the cou-
sciousness of having accomplished a wonder-
ful thing in the eyes of the world, besides
winning the reward offered.

The boy’s idea, as further explained b
{limself in his own quaint way, was as foi:
ows:

He would return to the counterfeiters
cave about sund0wn and get the entire force
together, telling them that the men they
were after were camped in another cave fur-
ther along the mountain-side; that he had
left them, ostensibly to return to the village,
and that therefore the two victims would be
sleeping soundly in the absence of all fear of
molestation,

The counterfeiters would provide them-
selves with a means of descending to the
ledge where Joe had nearly lost his life, and
Chip would undertake to so arrange it that
not more than one at a time could go down
thedladder, or rope, which ever might be
use .

Joe and Sam were to be in waiting at the
bottom, and when the first comer reached
them they were to seize him instantly, stop-
ping his mouth so that he could not cry out
and give the alarm, and then they were to
compel him at the point of a knife to call out
soft.y to his friends above that all was right.
when they had fixed him so that he could
not get away.

Thus, one by one, the counterfeiters were
to walk into the trap laid for them, where
they were to be seized and bound likeso
many wild animals.

Joe had plenty of rope for the purpose in
his little retreat. and the only drawbacks
consisted in the possible noise made by the
men as they were seized, and the time con-
sumed in t e necessary struggle and in bind-
ing them securely enough so that they could
not get away.

It was a esperate and hazardous under-
taking, but both Joe and Sam were made of
the sort of stuff which dees not hesitate at
obstacles, and each felt confident that the
plans could be carried out without fail.

Poor Barnes had to sit there and listen to
the scheming against his companions. all the
time. Many and many were the scathing
denunciations which be poured upon Chip-
monk’s devoted head for his treachery and

 

‘falsenes's in betraying his pals, as be called

them. but the b0 paid no attention, seldom
troublin himse f to reply, evidently not
feeling in the slightest degree conscience-
stricken over what he had done and was
about to do.

“ There’s one thing ye hain’t thought of,”
he said finally to Sharp.

” What is that?”

“ Thor boss—the captain.” ,

“Yes I have. my lad Why?”

“ ’Cos he ain’t comin’ wid the others ”

“What is he going to do?"

 

“ He’s a-goin’ ter stay ri ht in his little
den an’ wait ’till I git bac wid ther men
an’ you fellers, an' then I am ter go ter him
an’ report."

“Ah! I see. Then when we get the job
done here, we will be obliged to go there
after him, eh?" ‘

“ ’Uml" nodded the boy.

Sharp was silent. There were many
reasons why he liked that arrangement
much better than if the captain had chosen
to accompany his men, but he did not care
to make them public even to his two friends,
nor did he deem it necessar .

The idea of boarding the ion in his den,
after first destroying his gang of counter-
feiters, was extremely pleasant to Sam
Sharp, for it offered a solution to one prob— ‘
lem which had puzzled him most, ever since
they had agreed upon a course of pro-
cedure.

” I will have him alone, when assistance
is not at hand, and then I can repay the debt
between us,” muttered the detective under
his breath, but not so low but what the boy
Chi monk can ht the words.

I c started a ittle, and for an instant look-
ed gravely at Sharp. and then said:

“ Ye km pay yer debt all right enough,
Sharpey, but ye’ll hev ter fight ter do it.
He's gotter nigger there that‘s as strong as
an ox.”

“ Cannot we decoy the negro out?”

“Mebby so; ’tain’t likely, though.”

“ We can try.”

“ Yes—but that ain’t the hardest job. ”

“ What is, then?”

“ Gittin’ in at all.”

“ How so?”

Chip then explained how the door was
built, and how careful the negro was never
to allow any one only so far, upon any'pre-
text what ever.

“I only see one way out of it," said Sharp
final] , “ and that depends upon you.”

0‘ n me?"

“ Yes.” '

e What kin I do?" ' r ‘

“ When our work is done here, we will
leave the men and go to the cave together.
Then you will go to the chief to make your
report. 390 you follow me?”

“ You will tell him that the trip was suc-
cessful in every particular and that the men
are captured, and he will then do one of two

thin .’ -
“$hat two?" _* v
“ He will either come right out into the-

other part of the cave to see what sort of a
creature I am, or be will dismiss you, and
wait until later for the view. 1f he comes .
out with you, Joe and I can lay in wait for
him and so capture him.” :

“ S’posen he waits?” .

“Then, in that case. as you come out
after being dismissed, you must ‘tell the

negro that his master wishes him to perform ,

some service or other which will take him ‘
from his post. . When he is once away from

the door and in one of the galleries of the ,1 I.

outer cave he will be at our mercy."

Chi monk shook his head. I

“ T er last plan wont work, Sharpey,” he
said, decided y. “Thcr nigger 's too fl .
He’ll smell ,a mice instanter. an’ go straig t
back an’ ax ther boss ef them orders is
strai ht, an’ then ther hull jig’s up.” .

“ ell." said Sam after pausing a moment
or two in deep thought. “Let me hear
what idea you have to ropose.
one was certainly a goo one; perhaps you' 
can now see a way out of this difiicult .”

But the boy shook his head dubious y. He
had no su gestions to ofier.

“I'll tel ye w‘ot’s w’ot.” broke in Joe
suddenly ; “ We‘ve 0t about four hours

'tween naow an' sun own, an‘ I, far one, 

propose thet we spend ther time in snoozin’,
an’ mebby some of us’ll dream 0’ su’thin’
wu’th w‘ile.’-’ ‘

The suggestion met with evident favor all
around, nor did their tired bodies need rock- "
ing. for they were soon snoring loudly—all
except the captive Barnes, who was creed
to remain there, chained. to the wall like a
wild beast, while his friends were being led '
into a trap which would place them all be- ‘
yond the reach of law-breaking for many
years to come. . "

But every time he moved he would feel
th‘e cold nose of Pomp pressed against some ,

i

t

 

Your last  L

20

Green Mountain J oe.

 

 

portion of his body in a mute argument : possessed, so that the two ends made by the

against endeavoring to escape, and he knew ,
that all thought of freedom for him was 5

fruitless. His only hope was that none of
the sleepers would awake in time to carry l
out their plans, and that in the twenty~fonr I‘
hours which must ensue in that case, some- ,

V l thing mi ht turn up. I

‘ He he. heard enough to know that the
two caverns connected; to know that if he
could once get free from the chain which
bound him to the wall, from the hated, de-
testable collar about his neck, he could fly
through the short passage to the Round
Marble, drop through the hole, and then
trust to luck to reach his friends.

‘4 Oh, if he could burst his bonds! If only
that terrible dog would remain away long
enough for him to try again.

’ Concealed in his stocking was a piece of
.a file which he had found on the floor near ,
him and which had been bron ht there un- ;
.1 seen by Joe, among a lot of nai s, and when
‘ discovered, cast idly upon the floor.
If he could only get a chance to use it he
might escape, and so warn his companions.
nd so, hoping almost against hope, he,
too. fell into a disturbed slumber, in which
his dreams conjured up all sorts of horrible
visions of prison cells. '

CHAPTER XXIV.
 TEE STRENGTH on DESPERATION.
9: ‘ ‘ TEE slumber which came over the captive
Barnes, though much disturbed by unplea-
sant dreams, was nevertheless sound, and he
continued to sleep on and on, long after the .
others were astir.

But at last he opened his eyes; opened i

them upon a darkness so dense, that not an i
- ob'ect was discernible.
e listened attentively, but not a sound
' , broke the stillness. and his heart bounded
with joy, for he felt convinced that he was l
alone. V

“ They are gone!" he whispered, hoarsely. ‘
. “ Have they taken that brute of a dog with
them, or is he still here, watching me? I do
not see his e es anywhere,” and he rattled ‘
his chain lou ly.

Pomp, however, was at that moment out i

.on the edge with Joe and Sam, Chipmunk
having just departed to carry out his part of
the programme.

Barnes made several little noises calculated
to rouse the dog if he were in the cavern
chamber with him, and his pulse beat fever-
ishly when he became satisfied that ‘he was
indeed alone.

‘ With a sob of nervousness he fell upon
.51: knee and began rapidly unlacing his

 

 

' $4,:  ,:

 

 

 

  
   
  
   
  
    
 
  
 
 
   
    
  
  
     
  
   
   
   
 
 

oe. -
. It took him less than a moment to tear
the shoe and stocking from his foot, but
the seconds sped like minutes and the time
i thus necessarily spent seemed endless to him
in' his great impatience.
“ But at last it was done; at last’the mo-
ment had arrived when he was free from
,the observation of man or beast, and when
'he held in his trembling fingers the means
' ‘ of freein himself from the terrible chain
which he d him to the rest black wall, so
Amafigy feet under the sur ace of the round.
ith wildly-beating heart, an nerves
strained to their utmost, the counterfeiter
began filing at one of the links which com-
_ posed the chain.
‘ The file, or rather, the piece of file, was
' old and nearly worn out, and therefore did
,' not cut the iron very fast, but the links were-
, not large, and the man worked with a trength
v and sw1ftness born of desperation an super-
‘ natural nervous energy.
_ The minutes seemed like hours to him,
and often he would pause and listen intent:
~, ly for a moment, thinking he had heard the
".sou’nd of his enemies returning, or the low
, growl of Pomp. who had perhaps’ discovered .
what was going on.
1, Near] half an hour had gone by since he
'began fi ing, and still he worked on, never
'Jonce slackening the terrible haste. l
is hands were blistered and bleeding.
. where he had cut them with the file, but he I
did not even know it. All his thoughts?
were hipson the parting of the chain which .
m.

 

«3
Go

 ‘ Suddenl he almost cried out with joy, for ,

‘ the file b passed through the link. 5
, 'Quickly inserting it in the ring, he pried '

l, outward with a strength he had never before

 

file were sprung far enough part for the con-
necting link to slip through, and in an in-
stant more he was free '

Never stopping for his shoe, which had
been left where he had torn it off when
searching for the file, he started toward that
part of the chamber where he knew the open-
ing‘into the passageway was.

be long habit of living the greater part of
his time in a cave had rendered it easier for
him to get about than for those less used to
it, and he had no difiiculty in finding the
gallery.

Along that he hurried, with one hand
tracing his course by the wall.

“ Oh, if I can only reach that hole before

1 they discover me—before the dog smells my

scenti” he cried in his heart; but his lips re-
mained tightly clinched together as he hur-
ried onward, and surging in him at that mo-
ment was the desperation which would have

.unhesitatingly struggled and fought with

even Pomp ID that wild burst for liberty.

Suddenl he paused. ‘

“What if I pass the Round Marble, and
rush out upon them where they are, at the—
no, I can't, for there is a ladder between us.

“Ahl” he cried, as his thoughts went on,
“why cannot I find the ladder and take it

away, thus cutting off their means of pursu- 3

ing me? I can! I willl”

On—on, through the darkness he went,
still keeping his hand upon the wall.

All at once he ran plump against some-
thing with a force that stunned him for an
instant.

Putting out his hand to discover the cause,
he saw that he had come in contact with a
sharp angle in the rocky sides of the cavern.

“This must be where the. ladder is," he
muttered, and began feeling around in the
black darkness for it. I

“ Yes, I am not mistaken!” he cried under

e his breath as his hand came in contact with

the hard beechwnod limbs. “Here It is!

Now we will see who wins this struggle!"
With almost gigantic strength he raised

it and lowered it slowly to the floor at his

. side, for it was as much as Joe could do to‘

move the heavy article.

“ Now to find the hole they spoke of and
get this there." he thought.

“» He remembered that when they brought
him there, the Round Marble was but a lit.
tle way from the point where they had de-
scended by the ladder, and striking out bold-
ly without guiding himself by' the wall this
time, he sought to reach the spot, knowing
that if he sti l clung to the side of the cavern
he would again pass it in the darkness.

It never occurred to him that he might

,fall through the hole; he was too greatly

excited to think of that; his sole ob'ect was
to find the right place, locate it in t e dark-
ness. and then return for the ladder.

He would then lower it through the hole.
and taking it down there after him. out off
all means of pursuit for atime sufficiently
long at least to allow him to escape.

So he stumbled forward hurriedly, s as-
modically, until suddenly his forward oot

failed to strike the cavern floor, and with a‘

loud, startled cry, he fell headlong.

But as he fell, he threw out his hands des-
perately clutching the rock on the other side
of the floor, and then he hung there, swing~
ing back and forth like the pendulum of a
clock. knowing not how far he had to fall
ifl he loosed his hold, or upon what he might
a ight.

Exerting himself to his utmost, he sought
to regain the floor above, but his strength
had already been tried be ond his powers of
endurance and be quick y saw that the at.
tempt was useless. ‘

Again and a in he tried, but with no bet-
ter success, an
ing‘weaker and weaker with the mad efl'ort.

-inallyhis fingers began to slip, and he
knew that he could hold on no longer; knew
that the moment had come when he' must
let ' go and drop to the unknown bottom be-
neath him:

With a shiver of fear be relaxed his hands,
dropping like a stone through the darkness.
landing upon the bottom of the lower gal—
lery as a clod of earth flun by a fork, and
lying there senseless and stil . 1

It was mere fright, however, which ren-
dered him senseless, than the real efiects of
the concussion, for presently he opened his

 

all the while be we grow-’

eyes and for a second, wondered where he
was. r

But not for long. for in a rush of recollec-
tion it all came back upon him, and he
started to his feet and rushed blindly awa
through the darkness until he came in co -

y back.

But he regained his feet quickly, and put-
, ting his hand upon the wall as he had done
in the cave above, started onward again,
blind and bleeding.

He had become almost mad. He only
knew that he was fleeing from a fate he
dreaded worse then death. All thought of
his companions in danger had fled from him,
and he was thinking only of himself; only
of his own chances of escape, and so he
wenton and on, blindly, madly, desperately.

Every now and then he struck against a
projecting rock, or, catching his foot in an
unevenness in the floor, stumbled and fell,
but he raised himself and sped onward again
as though pursued by the furies of Hades.

There was scarcely aspot on his body
which was not bruised or bleeding from a
wound. but he never thought of them—only
of escape—escape. ,

Would he succeed? Would he reach his
companions in time to warn them of their
danger? In time, even, to save his chief, if

’ not the others?

CHAPTER XXV.
BAITED AND READY TO stNG.

THE expedition on hand, which Chipmonk
had pro'ected, lay heavily upon his mind, and
althoug greatly fatigued, he did not sleep
soundly, waking many times during the four
hours they had allowed themselves for rest.

At last, his restlessness could bear the
suspense no longer, and he roused Joe b
heartily shaking him, and telling him that
it was time they were making preparations
for the anticipated coup.

Joe sprung up nimbly. giving the detec-
tiveasharp punch at the same time, and
soon they were all astir.

As has been stated, Joe had plenty of rope
in the cave, besides that which had been
used for the three captives already taken.
Moreover. Sharp had two pair of handcufls,
.which could be utilized.

Their first work was to cut the rope in
proper lengths, tying it slip-knot in one end

f each piece so that their would be no more
delay than was absolutely necessary in secur-
ing the hands and feet of their victims.
Then both the detective and Joe rovided
themselves with short end els wh ch were
not to be used unless abso utely necessary,
but which were nevertheless of sufficient
weight to eflectually silence a person if ap—
plied to his head with adequate force.

“ Joe," said Sam Sharp. as they were
working together, “this is a very tough job
we have got on hand, and one which may
prove disastrous to one or all of us. Before
we go into it I want to relate a little story to
you, so if anything happens to me you can
carry out the remainder of the work I have
to do. , ’ ,

“ M name, as you have suspected, is not
Sam harp,~ that being only a cognomen
which I adopted for this occasion, for my
real name is too well known among the
crooked fraternity, and particularly among
those belonging to this class, for me to be
safe for a moment, had they learned that I,
was in search of them.”

Joe nodded. saying briefly:

“Ye needn’t tell ther real one onless ye
wanter; Sam’s good enough fur me, an’ be-

ler chained ‘ter th’ wall ter hear; we ain’t
aout of the muddle yet b{ a long shot.”

“ Very true, " replied S arp, “ and it is for
that reason that I want you to know it.
The man at the wall is sleeping so soundly
that he won’t hear what I have to say, and
as for Chip—well, my opinion of him has
undergone a change, and I don't mind‘his
hearing what I [have to say, in the least.”

“ Right e be!" murmured Chip, drawing
nearer; ‘.‘ think ye're a brick, Sharpey,
whatever yer handle is. see?”

on the boy’s shoulder, and said:

“I was case no ignorant lad, like you,
Chi ,with no idea who my parents were:
in net I don't know that, now, but I have
an adopted father and mother whom I love

 

I lision with the wall and was thrown violent-l

sides mebby ye don’t want Chip an’ ther fel- "

Sam smiled pleasantly as be laid his handy

 

 
  

  
 

 

,.

Green Menntain ‘ Joe.

 

r

with all the strength of my being, for they

educated me and made a man of me, just

as I will do by you, my hey, if you will let
6 ‘7

“God bless you, sirl” murmured Chip,
while a great sob welled up in his throat,
not for what the detective had said he would
do, so much as for the kindness which
prompted the words, and the good they might
have done for any lad who might have been
so placed.

“My right name is Harry Gordon.”con‘
tinued Sam (we will continue to call him
Sam throughout the story, as the others did,)
“and when a boy like you I was called Mos-
quito.

“ Years ago I knew this man who now
calls himself Quickeye, and he knew me,
but time has wrought more changes in my
appearance than in his, so that when he saw
me not so very long ago, he had no idea that
II was in any way connected with his past
ife.

“I adopted this profession because I loved
it, and because I felt that I possessed a par-
ticular capability for it, and I have never
been sorry. -

“Here is a paper bearing the address of
those whom I call my parents, and. should
aught happen to me, let them know about
it.

“Now, Chip ”——glancing at his watch——
“it is time for you to be going, so we will
go to the mouth of the cave together, and
then you can up and away.”

Without a word Chip grasped as much of
the parapheraulia as he could carry and led
the way down'the passage, the others follow-
ing with what was left, together with the
lantern, while Joe, casting a glance of min-
gled compassion and determination at the
sleeping form of Barnes, signified to Pomp
to follow on, and brought up the rear.

The ladder which Joe had pieced out had
to be drawn from the hall leading to the
lower gallery and carried to the point where
it was necessary to climb in order to get out
of the cave, and then the dogs had to be
assisted up it, for Joe did not want to go
through with the work on hand without his
faithful animals close by, to render assist-
ance if it should prove necessary.

Then the ladder which had been thrown
down by the Virginian in his effort to de«
stroy Joe, was raised to its position, and with
a wave of the hand, young Chipmonk went
up, soon disappearing from view over the
to of the cliff.

own in the valley where the cattle
browsed. and all was peaceful and undis-
turbed, the sun had set, but on the mountain
where our friends were, it was still tipping
each leaf with gold and dodging the shadows
among the boughs.

The lad paused upon a promontory over-
looking the ”Derry Valley, from which he
could see Lowell Lake lying still and placid
in the mountain’s lap, and could his late
companions have seen What he did there,
they would have been filled with wonder.

He clasped his hands together and sunk
upon his knees among the clouds, and amidst
the solitude of the mountain-tops, remaining
with uplifted eyes and silently moving lips.
for many moments. v

Then he arose, and brushing back the tears
which welled up to his eyes, he once more
started on toward the counterfeiters’ cave.

Truly, Chipmonk had developed into a
strange lad, of late. .

As he hurried onward, realizing what he
had to do, his great, somber black eyes fairly
blazed with excitement and hope, and yet
behind all their sparkle dwelt an expresston
of tender concern which would never have
been sou ht for in a lad like him.

By-an -b the bush-entrance of the cave
was reache , and he went into the little room
near the opening where he had so astonished
Sharp but two nights before, and striking a
light. began tearing away a pile of leaves in
one corner.

A little of that, however, seemed to satisfy
him. for presently he murmured:

“ Thank Heaven, they are safe!"

Then he put the leaves .back where they
had been, and extinguishing the “hght, went
out again into the gallery, turning toward
the inner part of the cave.

It did not take him long to reach the great
chamber where the men congregated, and as
he had expected, they were at supper.

 

After refusing anything to eat. be asked
one of them if the captain had given them
any instructions as to the work they were to
do that night.

“He has,” replied the counterfeiter. “but
we're a leetle doubtful. Ye see, Chi , me
an’ Tom have been lookin’ all over the b essed
mountain fur ye tor-day, but narry a hide
nur hair could we find.’

“ Ye an‘ Tom air fules!” replied Chi dis-
dainfully, “ ’cos ef ye’d found us, ye' have
sp‘iled ther hull thing. ’Tain’t much won-
der ye didn’t find us though, ’cos we war in
a cave.”

“A cave!”

“Yes—a cave! D‘ye know w’ot er cave
is? It’s a hole in ther ground."

“Is there another cave on this ’ere maoun-
tain ?" asked another of the men.

“There he.” said Chip, “ an’ that’s whar
I‘ve getter take ye, see? ’Tain’t nigh so
big’s this ’un, but it’s big enough fur the
purpose.”

“ Whar is it, Chip?”

“ ’Bout a quarter of a mild from here.
Ye’ll hev tcr slide down a rope over ther edge
0‘ ther cliff ter git into it, an’ one at a time,
too. an’ I don’t b’lieve mor’n half of ye’s got
ther grit.”

“ Ye don’t, eh?"

“Naw, I don’t, eh?”

“ Wal, ye jist take us there an’ ye’ll see.”

“ Ohl I‘ll take ye there!” exclaimed Chip,
with a fine scorn in his voice, “ cos thet's
w’ot I promised ther Cap I’d do. an’ when
I've done that, th’ ’sponsibility 's yourn, not
mine. All I’ve got ter do arter thet ’s ter
report ter th’ Cap, see?"

“What is the matter, Chip?” asked one
who had not spoken before, “you’re ’s cross
’s two sticks to-night.”

“Am 1? Well, I’ll tell ye w‘ot’s ther
matter. I don’t like ther job 0’ settin’ nigh
onter a dozen cutvthroats like ye air, ag’in’ a
couple 0’ sle‘epin’ fellers w’ot’s been good ter
me, see?”

“ Haw—haw—hawl Ye’r’ gittin’ squeam-
ish, ain't ye, Chip?”

“ W'ot ef I am—it’s none 0’ your business.
I’m a- oin’ ter see th’ Cap, an’ when I kim
back, ‘11 take ye ter the spot, ef ye’r'
ready.”

“ The cap’n won’t see ye, Chip. ”

“ Why not?”

“ ’Cos he ain’t there.”

“ Where is he i”

“ Don’t know; gone out; said he’d be
back by the time-we was.”

“ Bet a dollar I know where he is,” said
the lad after a moment of silence.

“ Whar?”

“ Gone ter keep an eye onter you fellers,' ’

ter see thet ye do ther job 0. K., see?”

The men glanced at one another nervous-
ly, for Captain Quickeye had been known
to do that thing before, when he had given
particular orders regarding a special case.

“ Where's' Caesar?” asked Chip suddenly,
looking around for that individual.

“‘ Ain't showed up fur two days," replied
the one who had done the most talking.
“The Cap’s got it in fur him, sure’s yer born
-—him an’ the others what went With him.
The Cap sent ’em out on an errand 0’ some
sort an’ I guess they’ve skipped. Mebby
he’s a lookin’ fur them.”

“ Mebby so.”

The men began to busy themselves pre-
paring for the expedition they had on hand,
and which, truth to say, they none of them

enjoyed, particularly since the boy had told .

theirm about going down over the edge of the
cli . a ‘

They secured a stout rope in which they
tied knots at a distance of a foot apart to use
in the descent, Chip informing them that
there was a ladder in the cave which they
could use in getting out.

, At last all was in readiness, and it was
found to be high time for them to start, for
darkness had long since settled over the
earth, and they thought their two victims
were by that time steeped in slumber.

“ Nine of ye, all told,” said Chip, looking
at them ust efore they started. “Mebby,
ef ye’r’ a l on yer muscle tar-night, ye kin git
away wid two tellers w’ot’s fast asleep.”

Without more ado he led the way out of
the cave. - ’ ’ ,

The trap was baited. and nearly ready to
spring. '

 

CHAPTER XXVI.

A FATAL PLUNGE—‘NIBBLING THE BAIT. _

We: left Barnes rushing madly through
the dark gallery in the great effort to escape
thetate repared for the counterfeiters by
Joe and am Sharp.

He had been bufleted about by the sharp
and jagged rocks with which he had come
in contact until his poor body was covered
with wounds and bruises, but still be rushed
onward, totally heedless of ever thingexcept
the danger from which he was eeing.

Every nerve of his body was writhing in
the grasp of Infinite Terror as he sped on-
war , pursued by a thousand fancied hor‘
rors, each one a hundred times more horrible , ,‘g
in his imagination than the real one. i .1

,He was reaping the harvest sprung from 
the seeds of wrong-doing; the‘whirlwihd of
retribution was sweeping down upon him, ,.
hearing him away like a feather. 

Joe and Sam, with Pomp at their feet, 
sitting idly upon the rocky ledge at the- 
mouth of the cave, had no idea that their ».,
prisoner had escaped. but thought him se- , ,‘f
curely pinioned to the wall where they had "
left him, and yet, as he fled wildly along
the cavern. he fancied that he could bear the
rush of the bloodhound upon his track and
almost feel his hot breath steaming behind
him, while in a moment more the terrible _.
fangslwould be deeply buried in his quiver-
ing flesh. . ,’

On—on—on! Faster! faster. and still fas-
ter—panting like a hunted stag, and yet ,
struggling blindly for liberty. ‘

Suddenly throughout the dark gallery of "
the black cavern there rung out one long,
fearful. pctril‘yiug scream; a scream that.
seemed to make the very rocks shudder; that
pierced the darkness like a knife. '

Then follmved an instant of silence, and»
then a loud splash as if some heavy body '
had fallen into water, and after that all was, ,
still and silent as if no foreign echoes had ‘
ever awakened the solitude of the cave.

The fleeing man. in that wild dash for
liberty. had plunged headlong into the same
black hole around which Joe and the ho
Chipmonk had made their way so per -—
lously. .

His struggles were over; his days of wrong-
doing were ended; the sun had gone down
over the years he had lived, and he was gone~ ~
to answer for his sins: gone to- render upja"
last strict account of what he had done with
the life intrusted to his keeping. the use of.“
which he had so willfully perverted. ' 3‘

No one ever knew his fate, although Joe
and Sam surmised it. ' ‘ -

   
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
   
 
  
   
  
 
 
    
  
      
  
   
   
   
  
 
 
  
   
    
  
   
   

 

 

As intently as possible the nine counter-
feiters sent out to capture Joe and Sam
Sharp followed the boy who was guiding, 2
them through the woods toward the spot  y
where the detective and his companions: ”
were lying in'wait to receive them. ~ A' _

It could not have been rightly termed a'. ,_
dark night, and yet, down among tbetrees:
wheret ey, were, it was almostdmpossible.
to et along without occasionally colliding
wit alimb. or coming in unpleasant con~
tact with the branches of a fallen tree,,so'-
that it required much more time than to
traverse the distance of a quarter of a mile.‘

No one broke the silence with his voic
Chip had warned them all to be still. » ,‘

At last the cliff was reached and, you-n
Chipmonk paused upon the edge where the
moon could 'strike him. and pointing ovarr
into the darkness. said in an undertone.

" Here's th’, place. Ther cave’s ri ht?
under our feet, an‘ ther ledge where t 'en
trance is. ’s only 'bout ten ’r twelve feet be?
low. Who‘s th’ fu’st man ter 0 down ‘2”. "

But, though the boy turne his moonlit,
face from one to another of the men until he
had peered into the countenance of each;
not a man answered. , c

It required nerve to make the descent over
the edge of an unknownclifll in the darkness,
and while all were willing to o. noone
cared to lead the wa . It was as. er to wait:
until some one else ad ventured, and they
could hear from his lips that all was‘well- '-

‘.‘ Bah!” exclaimed, the boy with supreme
disdain; “there oughtervbe, ninety of yer;
’stead 0’ nine. There ain’t one 0’ ye" wo‘t‘s’.
got grit enough ter tackle an‘ ole scarecrOw..--'
One 0’ ye jest make the end, 0‘ thet rope fast,
ter a tree an’ I’ll lead ther way myself; Bu
understand, the hull crowd. 0 ye, thet wheat:

l

 

 

 

 
 
  

I git down there, i ain’t a~goin’ ter do
another thing, ’cept ter stiddy ther rope, and
show ye the we inside when ye’ve all
landed, an‘ ef ye on't come, why it’s none
0’ m biz, ’cos it’s you who’ll hev ter ’splain
ter t e boss, not me.”

While he was talking, the rope had been
made fast as he had sug ested, and he took
hold of it and let himse f partly over the
side.

“Now, look here, ou fellers,” said Chip-
monk, pausing with is head and shoulders
above the edge of the cliff, while one hand
grasped the rope, and the other was shaking
ominousl at the men, “ we don’t want no
foolinfi. hen I git down, an’ find all's
serene, I’ll give ther line er shake, see? Then
I'll stiddy it while one 0’ you kim down ;' then
I’ll lead him back onter ther ledge whom he
won’t be scdrt ter death fur fear 0’ fallin ‘off,
an' then I’ll shake ther line a ’in fur ther
next feller, see? Don’t any ody try ter
foller his leader till I shake ther line, 'cos ye
might git two on it ter onc‘t, an’ ef ther
thing sh’u’d bu’st—well, it’s about a billion
feet ter the bottom see?" .

Without another word he let his body dis-
appear from view, but he wanted to say
something that would post J 0e and Sam as
to who was coming first, forgetting that they
could see him per ectly well against the sky
as he descended, so he paused again, and
said in an undertone, yet one which herknew
they could all hear perfectly well:

“‘When ye report this thing to the boss,
don"t forgit ter till him thet Chipmonk went
fu'st, will ye?"

No reply was made, and he went on down
the knotted rope, landing safely at the bot-
tom, where Joe grasped his little hand and

' shook it heartily.

He wanted to tell him that he was a brick,
but it was not policy even to whisper, for
fear the men at the top might hear and thus
spoil their plans entirely.

, As soon as Chip was free of the rope, lie

. , grasped it and gave it a vigorous shake, and

_ then stepped backward so as to be out of the
way, for be fully realized that _his compara-
tive strength was as nothing in the game
that was about to be played. r

Full two minutes elapsed before there was
the slightest indication that any one meant
to come down the rope. The low murmur
of voices could be heard, as the men on top

‘ of the cliff endeavored to persuade each other
that any one but themselves should descend
first.

Finally, however, when Joe and Sam‘and
Chip had begun to fear that the men were
going to back out, the rope trembled, and
each knew that the first coines was on his
way to imprisonment. .

r . It was Joe instead of Chip, who was
steadying the rope; Joe, whose long arms
were as unrelenting and firm as a band of
steel: whose broad shoulders and full deep
chest told of such massive strength; which
had been sufficient to lay the Virginian on

' his back in the first encounter, and the

, Virginian was counted 9. giant among his as-
acetates.

The seconds went by, and slowly the
counterfeiter made his way down the knot-
ted rope. _

Joe had drawn Chip forward and told him
to touch the man’s arm and direct him just
a little way back so as to clear the rope, and
the boy did so.

‘The outlaw felt greatly relieved when the
boy’s hand touched him; he felt assured
thathe was not descending into some awful

pit from which there was no escaping; .

’ “ You, Chip?” he asked in a soft whisper.
“ Ye—upl" responded Chip, and he di-

rected the man back into the darkness.

Two steps was all that he was allowed to
take however, for a great, powerful hand was
clapped over his month, an arm like the coil
r of a boa encircled his neck; a knee was

thrust roughly against the small of his back,

- and he was borne to the earth as silently and
swiftly as though hit with a sand-bag.

Upon the instant that he went down the

, noose of one of the ropes was thrown over

_ his feet, drawn tightl .and made fast, while

1'

 

   

' . l a voice whispered in is car:

“ If you make a sound. I’ll cut our throat
from ear to ear,” and a little pric 'ng sensa-
 tion in the region of his wmdpipe convinced

the victim that it was best to obey implicitly.
' It did not take half a minute to bind him

Green Mountain Joe.
I, securely, for they had everything in perfect
; readiness, even to a gag which was thrust
' into his mouth, and then they laid him 11 on
I the rocks with another injunction thati he
i valued his life, he must not endeavor to make
a sound.

Then the rope was again shaken.

CHAPTER XXVII.
THE TRAP BPBINCS.

AFTER shaking the rope the second time,
an instant of waiting ensued, and then a voice
came softly from overhead.

"All right?” it asked.

“ ’Sh-hl” replied Chip; "yes."

In another moment the line began to trem-
ble again, and the second counterfeiter was
on his way down.

He came more rapid] than the first one,
having seen two prece e him, and received
the assurance that all was right, but they
were ready for him, for the same procedure
was gone through with, ending in the same
manner, and soon two of the outlaWs were
stretched side by side at the rear of the

 

led e. .

'lghus far, their plans had been entirely suc-
cessful.

Not a sound had broken the stillness of
the night that was in any way calculated to
warn the counterfeiters overhead of the exis-
tence of the trap intb which they were so
blindly precipitating themselves.

It ma seem strange that men used to dan-
gers an hardships, men who invariably car-
ried their lives upon their coat-sleeves, and
were from the ver nature of their trade sup-
posed to be fear ass as well as muscular,
could be captured and bound as they were,
almost without a struggle, and without ut-
tering a sound of warning to their comrades,
but the circumstances were such as to mili-
tate strongly against them.

In the first place, the descent over the face
of the cliff in the middle of a dark night was
in itself appalling, and the darkness above was
as nothing when compared with the black-
ness beneath the cliff where they landed upon
the ledge; and when one of the men braced
himself for the ordeal of climbing down the
rope, he had very little nerve left for coping
with an unseen enemy Whose numbers he
could in no way determine, and whose
strength as it seized him seemed prodigious.

The men, when seized by Joe‘s powerful
arms, struggled but for the briefest instant,
and then feeling themselves bound and help-
less, and with the sharp point of a knife
pricking their skin. had no idea of ending
their own existence for the mere sake of
warning their friends. The fear upon them
was too great; the sense of awe too over-
powerin , and the surprise and wonder too
ovgrwhe ming for much resistance to be pos-
sib e.

Then the third one started, and he proved
to be the hardest customer they had as yet
been towed to deal with. '

He was,ashort, chunky muscular fellow
who was made of the stuff that loves to
fight, and when he felt himself seized by Joe,
he kicked up his feet like a rocket, catching
Sharp under the chin and sending him
sprawling upon his back as though he had
been struck with a club.

He tried to call out, but Joe‘s hard right
hand was pressed tightly over his lips, and
he could make no sound.

But he had nerve and strength both, and
although the Vermonter's left arm was pull-
ing him backward with the strength of a
steam derrick—although a hard, unyielding
knee was pressed into his back, the tough
spine refused to bend, and he writhed and
twisted and squirmed, trying to call out;
endeavoring with all his power to get his
fin ers into his mouth.

evertheless, he was doomed to the same
fate as the others, for it did not take long
for Sharp to regain his feet and take a
hand once more in the scrimmage.

He succeeded after a great effort in lock-
ing the handcuffs around the man's wrists,
and then tried to get a rope upon his feet,
but they refused to allow that little attention
to he paid them.

Joe was holding him as best he could, but
was at considerable disadvantage, owing to
the fact that he had to keep the fellow's
mouth covered.

 

The man struggled so that neither of them
could use the knife asa means of argument,

 

but finally Joe began to lose his temper, and
with a motion as quick as the spring of a
cat, he took his hand from the counterfeiter’s
mouth and struck him a terrific blow behind
the ear with his clinched fist.

It was almost like being hit by a hammer
and the fellow went down like a log. but
not before he had given loud utterance to
one oath of defiance.

In an instant more his feet were bound
and his hands tied, the handcuffs being re-
moved for another emergency.

Then a gagl was guickly placed in his
mouth so that e coul not repeat his excla-
mation.

But short and brief as was the fight, the
men on top had grown impatient, and then
when the exclamation came, a low murmur-
ing‘ could be heard overhead.

“ What‘s ther matter?“ asked one of them,
lying on his face and sticking his head over
as he whispered the question.

“ Nothin',” said Chip, reassuringly, “only
his nobs was so awkward thet he stumbled
over me an’ then swore about it. Hurry up,
you fellows, ’00s at this rate, we won't be
retitlin ter do the job afore tor-marrow
ni t.”

be head disappeared, and presently the
fourth victim came over.

He proved an eas customer, and was very
quickly disposed 0 , as he offered no resis-
tance at all.

Then the fifth and sixth followed in like
manner.

“ Whewl” murmured Joe; “talk erbaout
work—this ’ere’s wu’ss ’n choppin’ wood fur
a livin’.”

His body was wet with perspiration, and
his nose was bleeding from a sharp blow re-
ceived from the back of the head of one of

the counterfeiters, while Sam’s jaw was so

sore from the effects of the kick he had re-
ceived that he could scarcely move it.

They both congratulated themselves that
the job was nearly finished, and that they
were succeeding much better than they had
hoped. ,

The six prisoners they had already taken
were lying in a row fifteen or eighteen feet
away, and they were standing in readiness
for the seventh, who was at that moment on
his way down.

All went well until he was about four feet
from the bottom, when he paused and said:

“ Whar’s ther bottom, eh?”

“ Jest a leetle furder,” replied Chip.

“ Whar’s the other fellers. Chip?”

“ Jest inside ther cave, takin' it easy!” re-
turned the ooy; “there ain’t room fur inore’n
two ’t a time here, an’ so I jest drag 'em in
there ’n leave ’em, see?"

“ Say, Chip," continued the fellow, “ don’t
yfi?t,hink thar’s enough of us down there,
e ‘ .

“Naw, I don’t.”

“ Why not?”

“ ’00s I want ther hull lot of ye."

“Well, the others say they won’t come.”

" They do, eh?”

“ Yeup; an’ I ain’t comin’ either.”

“Ye’re a liar!” broke in Joe’s voice in a
hoarse whisper, and seizing the man by the
legs, he dra ged him from the rope in the
twinklin 0 an eye.

As he ell, he cried out, but that was the
only sound he made, for his head struck the“
hard rock with a dull, hollow sound, and he
did not move or make a noise after that.

They fixed him as they had fixed the others,
and again the rope was shaken, but minute ,
after minute went by. and the eighth man
refused to materialize.

“ Them other two fellers ain’t a-comin’l”
muttered Joe; “ I guess we’ll hev ter go
after ’em, eh, Sam?”

“ Not if we can entice them down here
and capture them as we have the others,” re-
turned Sam. ,

They waited patiently until all wereeon-
vinced that the remaining two did not mean
to join their companions, and then Joe asked
Chip if he thought he could do' an thing to!
bring them down iflie went up an spoke to

, them.

But for once the boy hung back.
" No,” he said, “I don’t b’lieve I c'u'd
fetch ’ein, an’ besides, I can’t go up thet air

ro e."
goe was astounded. He had never "known
the boy to be afraid of an thing before.
“Take ofi yer shoes, hip," he said in a

 

 

 

M Green Mountain Joe.

  

23

 

 

whisper, “ an‘ it's ’s easy as rollin’ off er log.
Ye kin shin up there like or cat.”

But the lad said no, and admitted that he
was afraid to make the attempt.

He tried the experimentof calling to them,
but it was of no avail, for they refused to
answer.

Both Joe and Sam were nonplused. Their
scheme for capturing the counterfeiters was
worth nothing unless it entirely succeeded.
it they were to capture a few, allowing the
chief and a handful of his men to escape, it
would be like breaking off a weed in one's
garden, leavmg the root to send out new
shoots with additional abundance.

“I’m a-goin’ up myself,” said Joe,decided-
ly. “ I kin keep ’em both busy till ye git
thar, Sam, and then, ef we can’t handle two
cut-throats like them, we‘d better uit alto-
gether. an' do as Chip has done, unk the
hull bizness.”

Without another word on the subject, the
big Vermonter pulled off his boots and seiz-
ingithe ropc, began the ascent.

6 had accomplished something more than
half the distance when a head was thrust
over the cliff, trying in vain to peer down in-
to the darkness below.

“ Who's comin’ up?” asked its owner

"Me," was Joe‘s rather indefinite re-
sponse.

“ Who’s ‘ me?’ " repeated the voice.

“Me’s me!" replied Joe.

“What yer comin' fur?”

“ For you."

This conversation upon both sides had
been carried on in a whisper, and during it,
Joe had continued to ascend.

By the time he made the last reply, he was
close enough to the counterfeiter to reach
him. and seizing the rope in his left hand as
tightly as he could, he thrust out his right,
grasping the man above him by his hair
and pulling him toward him with a violent
effort.

 

CHAPTER 'XXVIII.
A FIERCE FIGHT.

WHEN Joe seized the hair belonging to
the head leaning over the cliff above him, it
was a desperate measure, and he knew it,
but he was a quick thinker. and while he
was climbing the rope he had concluded
that figuratively speaking it was best to take
the hull by the horns.

When the head was thrust over the rocks
above him, he knew that if it would but re-
main there until he could reach it he would
at least capture one of the men then and
there. and he thought with a grim smile that
the other could not get very far away be-
fore he could hoist Pomp up to the top
and so follow and capture the second, long
before he could return to the counterfeiters’
cave.

As might have been expected, the man
whose hair was being thus roughly pulled,
announced the progress of such. a painful
operation by numerous howls which_echoed
through the gorge with redoubled some“

“Let go, curse ou!” he cried, still think-
ing it was one 0 his amiable friends_who
was endeavoring to pull him over the cliff.

J 0e vouchsafed no reply, but continued to
pull with renewed vigor, and meanwhile the
outlaw kept up his unseemly howls. I

“Dan—Dani!” cried the fellow to hlS
companion who had remained on the top
with him: “ ketch hold of me, quick! He’s
pullin’ me overthe clifl l Let go, will you?”

But Joe refused to let go, On the con-
trary, he pulled harder than ever, while on
the other hand, the man called Dan had re-

lied to his pal‘s request, and had seized

im by the heels, pulling in the opposite di.
rection with all his strength.

The curses which rent the air from the
poor fellow thus placed between two oppos-
ing forces, were something awful, but Joe
did not propose to loose he held until he had
to

That moment, however, arrived very soon,
for he could not hold his own great weight
for long with but one hand, and that one,
his left, so watching his chance, he gave one
last violent tug, getting the fellow’s shou’l-
ders well over the edge, and then suddenly

let 0. ,
'lghe effect was precisely what he had cal.

culated upon.
The man behind, who had hold of the

prostrate fellow’s legs, was of course exert-

l

ing every muscle to get his friend back upon
the ground above, and thus when the strain
suddenly ceased, he staggered precipitate]
backward. dragging the other man with
him. and both rolled in a confused heap up-
on the soft earth.

With one great effort, the Vermonter
threw himself upward, and before the coun-
terfeiters had regained their feet he was up-
on them.

Then began a fight which was the most
severe of any in which Joe had ever partici-
pated.

The fellow whose hair had been so violent-
ly pulled was rolling over and over on the
moss, moaning with pain, but the other, a
fellow almost as big as Joe. was quickly up-
on his feet, and seeing the Vermonter’s form
outlined against the sky, he pulled his re-
volver and fired straight at it.

When the weapon was discharged. Joe
was not more than four feet from its muzzle,
and he felt a sharp sting upon his body
which told him that he had been wounded.

But before the flash had subsided he had
closed with the murderous outlaw, and in an
instant more they were rolling over and over,
tightly locked in each other’s embrace.

The victim of circumstance who had been
bewailing so loudly, immediately saw that a
fight was oing on, and rightly judged that
it was wit the one who had pulled his hair,
and leapiu to his feet with the fury of a
tiger, he fel upon the struggling duet, tooth
and nail.

In the darkness and excitement, together
with the writhing and wrigglitig of their
bodies. however, he had considerable diffi-
culty in determining which was which, so
that for the first moment his friend received
quite as many of his blows as his enemy.

But such a condition of things could not
last long. The fiercest combats are usually
the soonest ended.

Joe had succeeded in getting the powerful
fingers of his right hand around his assail-
ant‘s throat. and unmindful of the blows
being showered upon him by the other, he
gripped tighter and tighter.

Nothing belonging to the animal kingdom
could have withstood that terrible squeezing
upon the air passages. They were as effect-
ually closed as though they had been her-
metically sealed, and in much less time than
it takes to tell it, the victim of that awful
choking was an unconscious mass of hu-
manity.

As soon as the man ceased his struggles,
Joe released him, and was about to turn'up-
on the other, who had been pounding him so
unmercifully, when there came the sound of
a dull thud, and he, too, went under.
knocked senseless b a blow from a club in
the hands of Sam §harp who had climbed
the rope behind Joe, arriving just in time to
he of real service.

The strain upon the two men had been
somethingtcrriblc. They had been forced
to work ast and furiously. and now, when
their work was done the effect came back
upon them.

“ I not er was so near done up in my life,"
sighed Joe, “but Sam, ole feller, we’ve got

 

’em, Just es sure ’3 ye’re a livin’ specimen 0’
mankind. Two on ’em ’s gone under—
there’s one inside, seven daown thar with
Chip, an‘ two up here with us; accordln’ ter ;
my geography thet air makes jist er dozen. I
I think we’ve getter right ter feel proud, l
don’t you ?” -

Sam did think so, and he was proud of the
thing they had accomplished, but he did not
for a moment forget that what might prove
.to be the hardest part of it was still to be
done, namely, are capture of the counter-

feiter chief, an the securing of sumcient
evidence to con ict them all in the cave.

“Say, Sam," said Joe. suddenly, when he
had got his breath, “don't ye think thet
we’ve getter sorter white elephant ter take
keerro naow. eh?"

“ There is probably enough feed in their
cave to supply them anger than there will
he the need for it,” replied Sam. “ We must
get them back into the chamber and see that
they are all bound so securely that they can-
not get away by airy pessibilitly; then, as an
additional safeguar , we will eave Pomp to
watch over them while we carry out the re-
mainder of our programme.”

.Joe hauled the knotted rope, after calling

 

 

down to Chip and finding that all was serene

below, and making the end fast to one of the
counterfeiters last captured, lowered him
over the side. ‘

Chipmonk. having lighted the lantern, un-
did the rope, and presently the second one
was lowered in the same manner, when Joe
and Sam followed and soon were surveying
the fruits of their conquefit.

It was indeed a sorry-lookin crowd that
was laid out under the clifl.and w an the saw
the number of their enemies, and realize how
easily they had been duped and drawn into
the snare aid for them, dark scowls and ex-
pressions of bitter hatred and chagrin passed
rapidly over their countenances.

“ I guess we might ‘3 well take aout ther
gags naow,” said Joe, “ ’5 there ain‘t nobody
araourzd w’ot‘ll be disturbed by their screech-
in’ ef they wanter screech,” and suiting the
action to the word, he busied himself remov-
ing those very annoying impediments to the
speech.

“ Haow dew you feel naow 't” he drawled
to the chunky fellow who had given them so
much trouble and whom he had bit under
the ear with his bony fist. “Don’t wanter
tell, eh? Rather mope, would ye? Wal, I
don’t know ’s I blame ye an . Mebbe I’d
mope myself if I was in your 1:, an' besides,
mebbe it’s er good thing ter kinder git yer
hand in, ’cos ye’ll hev loads 0' chance fur
mopin’ ther next few years."

Dark scowls 31nd murderous glances met
them, whichever way the turned their
eyes, but it was. upon hipmonk upon
whom most of the captive counterfeiters
vented their rage.

He took it all very placidly, however, not
once deigning a. rep y to their angry words,
and at last they one and all resigned them-
selves to a moody silence.

Suddenly Joe, who had disappeared for a
moment or two, returned hurriedly, and ex-
treme consternation was visible in his voice,
when he said:

“ Sa , Sam, thet air ladder‘s gone. an’ it
couldn t go alone either.”

" Barnes has escaped l" exclaimed Sam.

“Perzactly,” muttered Joe, “an’ I‘ve got ~

ter take Pomp an’ overhaul him afore he
reaches headquarters, cf possible,” and he
turned back into the cave.

CHAPTER XXIX.
THE DESERTED CAVE—CHIPMONK’s REQUEST.
WHEN Joe hurried back into the cave after
having announced that the ladder inside was
missing. he carried with him the one which
had been used on the outside, for mounting

from the ledge to the cliff above.
It was not long enough to reach the entire
distance, but it was nearly so, and after low-
ering it down as far as he could reach. it

only had a couple of feet to drop upon the

lower floor.

He could easily have 'jumped down with»
out danger, but the safest way was the best, 3*

and so a moment more found him stepping
from the bottom rung upon the cavern’s bot-
tom.

The other ladder lay where Barnes had
left it, when lewent in the search of the

hole through which he had fallen into the 
lower gallery. and for an instant Joe thou ht ‘

that perhaps his fears were groundless a ter

and so he hurried on into the cave towar- th
chamber. ’

| all, and that the prisoner had not esea ed, '_‘

When there. he quickly saw how the coon--

terfeiter had effected his escape, and cocking

his revolver, he began searching for thei.‘

missing man.

He knew that he was either near b at »

that 'moment. or had found the mean of
egress into the lower cave, and might, even

at that moment, he detailing the whole plot '

and circumstance to the man they were most
anxious to capture, Captain Quickeye. ‘

“One thing’s sart'in,” muttered Joe: “a.
half hour more ’r less won‘t make no ditlfer-L 3‘ I

ence now, an’ we’ll 'est git them fellcrs in

‘3

here, an’ then I’ll ta e Pomp an’ see ’15 I kin I

find aout w'ot’s become of Barnesey.” .
The job of gettin the nine captives down"
the ladder and bae into the chamber, was

in every sense a laborious one, and full, of .

little incidents, both amusing and annoying,

but it was finally accomplished to the entire 
satisfaction of both the detective and Jpe, '
so

and the men were one and all fastened

securely that there could be no chance Vof‘

their escaping.

‘4

'«s ‘:~:,~z::.-. z: 

 

, meant to bring about if possible.

24

Green Mountain Joe. |

 

 

“Poor teller,” murmured Joe, when the
'0b was finished, and he started with Pomp
in search of Barnes. “If he gits away, he’s
gotter carry thet air collar an‘ ’bout er dozen
links 0’ chain around with him till he kin
fin’ somebody ter take 1t off. Ef he’s took
ter the gallery Chip an’ me did, I’ll find him
atwecn here an’ the Black Hole unless—
Thunder an’ lightnin’! Pomp, air ye sure
he went thet way, eh? I wouldn't wonder
a darned bit of he hain’t a run right smack
inter thet air beastly hole!”

They went on in silence—Joe and his
faithful hound, and presently the animal

paused upon the edge of the black abyss,

and raising his nose high, in the air, sent
up a long mournful howl, which in the
narrow confines of the cavern ' sounded
thrice weird, making even Joe shudder as
he heard it. _

‘ “Dead, eh?" he said, shivering a little;
“well, ye needn’t repeat ther informa--
tion, ’cos ’tain't pleasant ter hear. Shet up,
Pomp! Thet air note 0’ yourn ’s enough ter
paralyze a slaughter-house. Dead. eh, Bar-
nesey! Well, poor feller, I hope God’ll for-
give ye fur er sins,” and the brave Ver-
monter turne sadly away to rejoin his com—
panions in the cave above.

The prisoners were bound hand and foot
as when they were first taken. It was an
uncomfortable position, ‘but it would not
do to run any risks, for if one got free, it
would not take him long to liberate all the
others, and then their hard work in captur-

- ing them would have been for naught.

Pomp was left with them as sentinel, and
a good one he made, seeming to perfectly
understand what was required of him; and
the counterfeiters were told that if one of
them made any effort to free himself, the dog
would very soon convince him of the bad
policy of such a move.

Then, when all was in readiness, our three
friends left the cave together, pulling the
ladders up after them as they went.

The sun was just rising when they reached
the cliff above the ledge where the counter-
feiting gang had been captured, and with
Chipmonk leading the way, they started on-
ward toward the bush entrance to the other
cave.

' It was for the purpose of capturing the
chief that they were making the expedition,
and each one felt in his heart that the job
before them wasa much more difficult and

‘ complicated one than that which had just

been consummated, for. they had now to
cope with a man whose person had been sur-
rounded by every possible means of protec-

tion; whose nerve and resource were capable

of any lengths, and who knew no fear.
Sharp was known to say afterward that

he never feared the prospect of an encounter

so much as he did that one, for he knew

2 with whom he had to deal; he knew the man

in his proper person, so to speak; he had
been by his side on a former occasion when
the peril was very great, and he ‘knew to
what great lengths the counterfeiter chief’s
cool audacity and daring could go.

But nevertheless the brave young detective
did not flinch. Floating through his brain
was a vague longing for a certain peculiar
termination to their expedition which be

As for Joe; he went alon with the same
careless mien which seems alwa s to sit
upon him—which would have ta en him
into the murderous fire at Antietam with the
same apparent coolness with which he took

‘his chair at the dining-table.

But the boy, Chipmonk, seemed to be

i V strangely subdued and silent.

His usual vivacity and impertinence were
gone from him, and he only spoke when
addressed, and then only in monosyllables. '

By and by they reached the cave, and
were soon making their way along the nar-
row gallery leading from the Bush entrance
to the main gallery.

As they passed the little chamber where
the first fight had taken place, Chipmonk

wdarted in, reappearing in a moment more
with a bundle in his arms.

" W’ot ya got thar, Chip?" asked Joe, see-

' I ing‘the bundle in the b9y's hands.

   

. u

g.

Things."
," W’ot kinder things?”
._ “Duds.” .
, Yourn?" ‘ ' ‘
Yes—mine!”

And then they went on again, Occasion-
ally Sharp would address some question to
the lad, but he only received the briefest of
replies, and 'at last esisted. '

How silent and deserted seemed the great
cavern. Though really not more’ silent than
when they had been there together before,
still the knowledge that the men who had
peopled it were lying bound and helplessa
quarter of a mile away lent a sense of dreari—
mess to the general effect not befOre felt.

They had no fear of being seen nor heard.

Chipmonk assured them that the captain
would be sleeping, and that the negro never
left his quarters in the chief’s chambers ex-
cept when he was not there, or when he was
ordered to do so.

“Joe,” said Sharp, as they walked along
side by side, Chipmonk being behind them
with the light; “I am going to ask a favor
of you.” ,

“Say it, Sam,” said Joe, laconically.

“It is a big one, Joe,” continued the
young detective,” at least you will think it

“ Well, what is it?“

“ This: if our plans succeed far enough so
that we can get the negro out of the way
without warning Captain Quickeye, I want
you to consent that I may enter‘ his apart-
ments alone—will you?"

Joe was silent.

“ Come, old fellow, do me this favor,”
continued Sam, persuasively; “I have very
good reasons for asking it."

Joe remained unresponsive for a moment,
but at last he said:

“ Well, Sam, somehow ’tain’t in me ter
deny ye the thing ef ye want it, an’ ye’re
general 0’ this ’cre army, an way, but I don’t
like it no more fur thet. owever, it shell
he ’s you say.”

“Thanks, old fellow, thanks!” exclaimed
Sam warmly. “ I will be in no great danger,
for he kn0ws me.”

They went on in silence a little further,
when Sam felt a hand upon his arm.

“ Say, Sharpey,” said Chipmonk, with
something of his old brightness and yet with
a suspicious tremor in his voice, “ ye’ll let
me go in wid yer, won’t yer, eh? ’cos ye
know ye wouldn‘t hev got here ef it hadn’t
been fur me, don't ye, eh? I kin go wid
yer, can’t I, eh, Sharpey?”

“No, Chip, my boy, I had rather go alone
at first; why do you ask to go with me?”

But the boy did not reply. He dropped
back into his former place in the rear, and
did not speak again.

[CHAPTER XXX. -
THE IRON BAR—IN QUICKEYE's PRESENCE.

AT length the stran etrio arrived before
the entrance to the litt e gallery leadin to
the door of the captain’s room, and t ere
they Ipaused. .

“ ow, Chip,” said Sam, ,“ your work
commences. I on] hope that it will turn
out as we hope, an . that you will in some
way be able to entice the negro away from
his post. You have told me enough of the

rest door which is between us and Captain
finickeye for me to knowthat it is useless
for us to endeavor to dget through it in any
but the usual way, an I know enou h of
the man who caused it to be erected to now
that he would perish behind it far rather
than open it to admit us to his presence. Go,
my bo , and do the best you can.”

Wit- out reply, Chipmonk started awa ,
and was soon speaking with the blae ,
through the little wicket. ‘

“ lather cap‘u up?" asked Chip.

“He am. ,He am jes’ froo wiv' him
breakfas’. Yo’ kin come ri ht in, Mars’r
Chip, fo’ he done git orders at yo’ was not
ter wait,” and the great door was thrown
open to admit the boy.

He trembled a little as he went through
the massive portal, wondering, .no doubt, if
he would ever et out alive, but be 0nd a
little word of t anks to the negro, e said
nothing, and was soon standing before the
chief—or rather in the corner which he al-
ways sought, where there was less light
than in an other part of the chamber.

“Ah, hip,” said Quickeye, as the lad‘
entered, “you are rather late;‘. I expected
you two hours ago, and was just on the
point of scum? the black to find out what

0

 

 

 

page?" L

was matter. 11 succeeded all right, I sup-

  

‘é 'Um!” replied Chipmonk, with a violent
no . ~

The nondescript monosyllable was his
favorite way of expressing an affirmative, and
the captain was as familiar with it as the
men were.

“ Where are the prisoners?" continued
Quickeye. ’

“In ther cave.”

“ Ah! In the big chamber, I suppose.
Did you have any trouble in capturing
them?”

“ Sum. Part 0’ ther men ain‘t got no
sand.”

The counterfeiter chief lau hed.

“Well, you probably ma 8 up the defi~
clency, for you seem to have a reserve quan-
tity of that article always on hand. Was
anybody hurt?”

u tUm En

“ Who?”

“Joo pulled Sikes’s hair ‘most all out, an’
ther little chunky feller got a swipe in ther
jaw thet ’most paralyzed him.”

Again the captain laughed.

“ hope that Joe was not hurt,” he said,
remembering his promise to Chip.

“ Not er bit,” nodded the boy.

“Very well, Chip; you have done nobly,
and I Will reward you for it when the proper
time comes. That will do now. I will be
out and interview the prisoners during the
forenoon.”

“ Right ye be!” muttered the boy, as he
started away, and in an instant more he
was in the outer chamber with the negro.

“Say, Cuffy,” he said, pausing just out-
side of the great door, “ ther boss wanted me
ter tell ye thet ye c’u’d go and see ther pris-
oners of ye wanted ter."

“ Wha’ fo’, Mas’r Chip?”

“ Fur example, mebby. One of ’em ’8
most ’5 black ’srye are, an‘ he thought meb-
by ye'd know him.”

“He said dat dis chile c’u’d go out, Mars’r
Chip?"

“ ‘Uml fur half an hour.”

“ Sho! p‘r‘aps dat I’d better ax, fu’st."

“Ef ye do, ye won’t be ’lowed out, ’cos.
he’s awful busy.”

The darky looked about him for a moment
or two, undecided what to do, but the temp-
tation was very great. He had not been out
in several days, for Quickeye had never re-
mained in his cavern quarters so long at one
time before.

“ Well, air ye comin’?” asked Chi .

" Yo’s dead sho’ dat he said I c’u’ ‘2”

“ Course I be,” '

“ Den I‘s a-comin’l”

Chipmonk felt triumphant.
was working beautifully. ,

He started down the narrow passage to-
ward the main gallery with the gigantic ne-
gro following closely behind him, taking
good care to keep up a running conversation
the while, in order that his friends might
know that the black was with him.

What they would do he did not know, and
cared, less, for his whole mind was upon
what was to follow the darky’s capture: upon
the encohnter yet to come with the counter-
feit captain as an opponent.

They reached the point where the narrow
passage opened into the larger corridor, and
the negro had no sooner passed it than with

Every plan
/

a spring like a panther Joe lit upon his shoul— ‘

ders, while Sam grasped him by the legs.

But neither of the two men were prepared
for the exhibition of wonderful muscular
power which followed. ,/

The gigantic black seemed as though made
of tempered steel, for with a roar of rage he
hurled the detective nearly across the galler
with his foot and then tried to shake 0

Joe.
But although he writhed and twisted and,

clawed with his great ebony hands, Joe
clung tightly,to his hold, for he plainly haw
that the only way to capture the fellow was
to hang on until Sam could return to the

fra . .
Syhm, however, had had enough of- grap- '

pling with such a being, and when be ap-
proached again he held in his hand a heavy
piece of iron which he had picked up as they
came through the corridor. ‘

The negro and Joe were still struggling,

JOe clinging to his back and positively re-  ' ‘

fusing to be shaken ofi. _ . (l .
' Sam approached them With the bar uplift~

 

l
i
v

 

 

 

ed, and although the black tried to seize him A ‘

     

 

 

' u' .' s .» ‘5' (3»:ng

in his long arms, he dodged, and watching
his chance, finally succeeded in bringing
down the iron bar upon the giant’s head with
f0rce enough to fell an ox.

The follow quivered for an instant, and
then went down with a crash, and Sam lost
no time in using his two pairs of handcuffs to
good advantage, using one of them upon the
negro’s wrists and the other upon his ankles.

Then they pulled him over to one side and
left him.

“ If I had ter ride many sich hosses es
thet,” muttered Joe, “ I’d git my life insured
right away, you bet!”

“Now,” said Sam, “ the tug of war—
diplomatic war—begins. Did this fellow lock
the door after him, Chip?"

“ It’s or spring lock," replied the boy,
“ an’ ther key ’s in his pocket.”

Sam quickly secured that useful article,
and prepared to enter the counterfeiter chief’s
apartments.

“ Remember your promise, Joe,” he said,
as the Vermonter started to accompany him;
“ I am to enter alone.”

“All right, Sam,” replied Joe, “but I‘m
a-goin’ ’s far ’s ther door, an’ don’t ye forgit
it! Ye may Want some help, an’ ef ye do, I
wanter be sorter close to ye.”

Mating. . ..
. , .. .

 

  

Green Mountain Joe.

is not Burke, nor do you know me in my
true character."

“What matters it?” sighed the captain;
“we are all of us more or less counterfeits
and impostors; no man is always his true
self, and our names are like the frames of
pictures, but decorations to set off the bits of
detail. I know your face, and that is enough,
for an honest face is a novelty to me now.
Yours is honest. Burke.”

“1 hope so, indeed. But, captain, I am
more of an impostor and a counterfeit than
you suppose, for I am not the person who
fled after killing a man in Houston street.
That man was arrested and is now under
indictment, awaiting trial.”

The captain pushed the 'hair back from his
brow somewhat impatiently, and said rather
sharply:

" Well—why these details?"

. “ It is a part of my confession."

“ Ah, yes; go on.”

“I am a detective, and personated that
criminal in order to reach you.”

“What?” cried Quickeye, taking a. step
backward and evidently utterly incredulous
of the other‘s statement.

“ See,” continued Sharp, and he took his
two revolvers from his pockets and laid them

“Show us the way, Chip," continued the 1 upon the table, “ before I proceed with my

detective, as he wrung Joe‘s hand in silent ‘ confession, I wish to place myself utterly at

thanks, and the boy, without replying, led iyour mercy. I am now entirely unarmed.”

the way back into the narrow passage.

Captain Quickeye was so astonished that

They reached ,the door and Sam quickly 5 he made no reply whatever, and both were

unlocked it, throwing it wider open than the
negro had ever allowed it to be.

Then, pausing upon the threshold he turn-
ed and said:

“Remember, Joe, all that I have said to
you, in case anything happens to me. Re-
member our conversation in the other cave,”
and he reached out his hand, which Joe
wrung with a force that made Sam wince.

“ And on, my boy,” he continued,"‘ will
go with J’de when he carries the message, if
it should be necessary. Remember, that
to grow up into a good man, one must be
a good boy, and I believe you are such."

Then he turned, and went rapidly toward
the curtains.

Chipmonk started after him, but Joe grasp-
ed the boy by the arm, holding him back,
and said:

“ No, ye don’t, Chip! Sam wanted ter go
alone, an’ ye must let him!”

But the boy turned, and his great black
eyes looked up at, the man apéiealingly, as
he' cried with a wild sob. an in a voice
which was entirely new to the Vermonter:

“ 0h, Joe, Joel for the love of Heaven re-
lease me! Let me go in there, too! Please,
Joe, (please! It is more to me than anything
in the World 1” ’

Joe was so astounded that; without mean-
ing to, he loosened his hold enough so that
the boy, with a little quick jerk, pulled him-
self free. and darted away toward the cur-
tains, just as Sam parted them, and step ed

through into the presence of Captain Quick-
eye. » ,

CHAPTER XXXI.
. “I PITY YOUl I reserve YOU!"

As Samuel Sharp stepped into the “sanc-
tum ” of Captain Quickeye, the latter indi-
vidual was bending over his desk, busy with
pen and paper, and did not notice the de-
tective's approach until he had crossed the

apartment and paused within a few feet of ‘ .
' ; the boat which made me hesrtate to pursue

him.

Then the counterfeiter chief raised his
eyes, and for once. certainly, they con-
tained an expression of unbounded sur-
prise. _

“How in the world did‘you
. asked Quickeye amazedly, and rising with a
sudden im ulse he extended his hand as he
added: “ ut, take a chair, for no matter
how Vgou got here, I am glad to see you.”

 

, was sent to apprehend you .and
the Houston street murderer in or er to reach'

et here ?” ;

so engaged that neither noticed the little
figure of Chipmonk. as he stepped behind
the curtains which hid the bed at the further
end of the room, carrying in his hand the
bundle which he had brought from the
chamber near the Bush Entrance.

Sharp continued :

“ I have said "that I am a detective, and I
am at present known as Sam Sharp.” ,

“ Sam Sharp—and not a prisoner? How
is that? Did Chip lie to me?”

“No—but be deceived you. ‘Will you
listen while I tell you how? You see I am
unarmed.” '

“ Proceed,” said QuiCkeye hoarsely.
“ But first, tell me your true name.”

“My name is Harry Gordon, and you once
knew me as ‘Mosquito!’ ”

‘t-Harry Gordon! Mosourro! YOU ! l"
and the counterfeiter staggered back, drawing
his revolver as he did so.

But, Sharp never moved. He remained
silently and sorrowfully gazing at the man
before him.

“ I know you now,” muttered the captain.
“ I have heard of you many times as Harry
Gordom and ay, I knew you as Mosquito.
Well—and why are you here? Why have
you disarmed yourself and then made this
declaratidn, knowing that I will kill on?"
and he raised his revolver, pointing it irect-
ly at Sam’s heart.

“ One moment before you fire,” said Sam
coolly, raising his hand. " I have expected
that you would kill ‘ me, but first let me
finish my confession.” ’

"Though, you deserve no mercy, I will
wait,” replied Quickeye coldly, “ for you
cannot escape me.”

“I will not try to." returned Sam. “ I
ersonated

you. I succeeded. as you know. and we
escaped together from the ‘ Nest’ that ni ht,
when I took risks equal to your own. ut,
captain, you said words to me that night in

you further; you advised me against the

‘1 course you thought I was seeking toadopt:

you implored me in wordswhich I will
never forget to fly from crime as I would
fromapestilence. and cited your own ex-

:perience as an additional argument for my
v welfare. I could not forget it, and for days

I remained in doubt as to my propencoursen
“ But, myduty was to fulfill my promise,,

sit,” said Sharp, “ before you give me and I had promised to break up .your gang.
our hand, for 1 have something to tell you. | Then I wrote you the letter which you say

id ou receive the letter I‘left for you?"
” gertainl y, Burke, certainly."

l

you received, and decided to pursue the
search in illegitimate way. Iswear to you

“ Well, I have a confession to make, and that I hava not used a particle of information

a boon to ask." /

“Confess and ask, my dear fellow, and I
will both forgive and
power.
make a man of me again—but for onething
-—but for one great crime. " ‘
“Captain,” said Sam slowly, “my name

A

ive if it is in my ‘ entirely from information receiv
Somehow, Bur 6, your honest eyes ‘ where.”

received from you, in reaching here, but
that I have ferreted out your hi’din pliice
esc-

“ Go on—go on, ” urged Quickeye hoarsely.

g " If there i more, tell it quickly.”

“There ,is. more, captain- The ,party.

 

 
   
   
   
  
  
   
   
     
  
    
     
   
  
  
   
    
   
  
   
   
   
  
  
     
   
    
 
 
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
   
   
   
  
  
  
   
    
       
   
   
   
   
    
    
  
    
  
   
  
   
      
 
     
   
 

which Chipmonk brought out to capture me,
with Joe Alden, are every one prisoners;
your negro servant is a prisoner, and you
alone, of all your force, are at liberty."

1f the counterfeiter chief had been as-
tounded before, he was utterly nonplused
by the last statement. He stepped quickly
to the table and seized the two weapons Sam
had placed there, and then dropped once
more into his chair by the desk. ‘

“Go on," was all that he said, but Sam
could see that the captain was prepared to~
kill him if he made a move from the position
he occupied.

“You alone are at liberty,” continued
Sam,” and I have purposely placed myself
at your mercy. I am unarmed; you have
my weapons in your hands, but I hope you
Wlll not use them.”

“I certainly shall. when you have done;
one for you and the other for—myself."

“Captain,” said Sharp, “I do not know
your true name. nor do I wish to, but I be-
ieve, when you here it, that it was an honest
one. I am here to plead with you as you
pleaded with me. I am here to beg of you
in the name of the God to whom we all owe V
our 'existence, to resume that honest name;
to ask you to go forth and make it felt in the
walks of men; to plead with you in the name
of manhood—of integrity—of honor—21y, in
the name of the mother who bore you and
whose memory I believe you cherish, to for.
sake everything connected with this life and
become what I know you most desire to be,
a man who is respected, and who respects
himself.” ‘

As Sam spoke, Captain Quickeye forgot
his revolvers. They slowly drooped until
he left them lying untouched upon the desk
before him, and his face assumed an ashen
pallor, like the lividness of death.

With a sudden exclamation he arose to
his feet and began pacing back and forth
before Sam, who still remained motionless
and calm. .

“Burke—Burke!" exclaimed Quicke 6,
suddenly pausing, “you do not know w at
a temptation you hold out to me. Oh, Godi'
if I could get forgiveness for the one great -
crime of my life, before which all others
sink to nothingness, I would try to do as you
advise. But I cannot—I cannot! you do not :
know—cannot imagine what it is to live as
have lived, with a specter ever before me.
behind me, at my side—sleeping or wakingi
Not thefigure of a Nemesis, hunting me.
down from a thirst for vengeance—soil
would laugh at such! but worse, Burke. far
worse! Great, pleading, sorrowful eyes ‘;
which I closed forever look out at me from
every corner, and a soft, tender voice is eve
whispering in my ears, ‘ I pity you! I for-
give you! Anythin but that! anything,
but forgiveness, and have sought crime~g
as the drunkard seeks opiates when liquor
will no longer avail. She would not ‘curse'
me, and I have sought to curse myself. Only
for that, Burke—only for that!" , ‘

“ Tell me of it,” was all that Sharp replied
and for an instant the counterfeiter stated!

I

 

 

wonderingly at‘him. . ,.

“ Tell you?” he murmured presently?
“well, why not? A few words w 11 suflice
I was a young man well liked and respected, v5
and I married—an angel, in human ,form "
We had one child—a boy. I took to gain
bling fiercely, and of course, drinking wit
it, and one night I went home mad over m
losses. My wife upbraided me, and I strut:
her. Struck her, man; do 1you understam};
what a brute I was? Struo her, my mfa‘ ,
and shefell‘at my feet!” and great beads of.‘
perspiration stood out on his brow as h
continued huskily: ’ v

“ I tried, oh, how I tried, all night long’t
bring her to, and at last she opened her 6 es
and looked at me, and thm, as I tried to ‘
her forgiveness, great streams of hi '
spurted from her mouth, and I knew she was
dying. She managed to say,‘ ‘I pity you!"
forgive you l’ and then she, became uncon
scious again, and I held her there in my

arms‘until she ceased to breathe.

“ She was dead, and I had killed her!-
covered her face with kisses; I begged he
to come to life again; I acted asall madm
do when they see the results of their fall”
Then I took our child and fled. I
baby with an old woman who had washed
for us, to care for, and then—well, you know
\the rest except that, once, when I 'wentgf

  
  
      
    
   
  
     
  
     
   
   
   
    
   
 
   
  
   
  
    
   
   
   
  

  
       

 
    

   
 

26

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Mountain Joe.

 

 

Gree

v (WNW. ‘ my“ v‘v';vyz“‘-_V,vl~ 7...; u» «I .1. a: u  I, sing.»

 

 

the boy, I found that the woman had gone-—
no one knew where. Burke, Burke, can I
livea new life in the face of such asin?
Would a lifetime of atonement efiace the
memory of Vera’s love and forgiveness?”

“ Yes, even thatl” replied Sam. and tears
stood in his eyes as he spoke, “ She forgave
you! Vera pitied and forgave you, and if
she were here now, she would still say, ‘I
pity on. Iforgivelyoul”

“ o—no—nol ot with all my other
sins to answer for l"

The curtains near the bed parted; the
figure of a beautiful woman issued from
between them, and cried:

“Iom here! 1 do pity and forgive you!"

CHAPTER XXXII.
BACK FROM THE GRAVE.

HAD :2. bombshell exploded in their midst;
had the earth fallen in upon them and buried
them forever beneath the old mountain, it
could have roduoed no greater effect than
did that su den apparition from the bed cur-
tains, and the sound of that tender voice as
it uttered the words, “I am here! I do pity
and forgive youl”

To the bowed and shaken man through
whose soul the tempest of remorse was raging
with cyclonic fury, it was as if the heavens
had opened and sent down the darkest stain
of his life, that he might obliterate it for-
ever. He was a man who could withstand
the ravages of danger, and breast the waves
of adversity with a cold, imperturbable smile,
but at that moment, when his heart was
swelling with misery, the sudden evolution
from the dark corner unnerved him entirely,
and he turned and gazed at Vera’s figure for
a moment with staring eyes and spasmodic
breath.

Then, as if the whole realization had burst
upon him; then, when he saw that it was in-
deed Vera betore him, he swa ed forward a
little. groping as if in the dar , and without
a war or sound fell headlong to the floor,
senseless.

It must indeed be a powerful emotion
which can overcome a man like him, but be-
fore that vision so suddenly appearing, every
sensation seemed strained and broken—every
nerve paralyzed and dead.

Sam Sharp was as greatly surprised aswas
the captain, for he had no Idea from whence
the figure had sprung.

But she—Vera—when she saw the man go
down before her in that deathlike swoon, all

 

her fortitude, all her courage forsook her,

and she went upon her knees by his side,

crying:

“ I have killed him—I have killed himl"

But no. A glass of water upon the table,
which Sam hurriedly brought forward, re-
_vived him a little, and finally he opened his
eyes and looked up into the beautiful face
bending over him.

“ Vera—Vera!" he murmured, “an- I
dreaming? Is it my Vera? Have on come

’ back from the grave? Speak, spea 1"

“Yes, yes; it is 1. Open your eyesagain
and look at me. Listen! I was behind the
curtain, and heard all that you said to Mr.

' Sharp, all that he said to you.”

' Slowly the fallen man recovered his
strength, and presentl they helped him to a
chair, while his wife topped upon her knees
at his side. ‘

" Tell me,” he said, faintly, “ tell me how
it all happened—how you were there. 1 do

a not understand it."

, And then in a low voice she told him her
story. Told him how she had, after a long
illness, recovered from the internal injury
which his blow had caused, and how she had
sovainly searched for her husband and child
with never a clew to either. Then she had
heard of the counterfeiters in Virginia, and
had become imbued with the idea that he
' was connected with them, and so, when the
gang was broken up, she had searched and
searched for his face among the prisoners,
and among those who had escaped prison in

», death. Then she gave up, until one day she
1 saw in'the papers mention of .another coun-

terfeiting gang that had grewn out of the
old one, and she had gone to the inspector

:-for permission and the means to search it

out.
"I came to Londonderry,” she said, “on

, the same train with you, and talked with you
* at the station in Chester.

ber Miss Jenkins” DOn t you “me”

 

f He nodded, and a faint smile stole over his
ace.

“ In Londonderry,” she went on, “ I
found a ho known as Chipmonk—a ragged,
dirty boy. ut one who was bright and quick,
and I at first engaged him to pilot me around
the woods and mountains.

" In his face I saw a strange resemblance
to somebody I had seen before-"

“ Ay—I saw that too, ” interrupted the
captain.

“ And I talked to him until he told me his
story. All he.knew was that he was born
somewhere in the South, and that he had
called a woman by the name of Noonan,
mother.

“ Noonan I” cried Quickeye, starting up,
“ why, that is the name of the woman with
whom I left the baby!"

“ Yes, I know,” continued Vera, “ and
Chipmonk is indeed our own son. I will not
tell you now, how long I was in coming to
that conclusion, only that I proved it by two
indisputable proofs. 'A locket which he
wore about his neck and which Mrs. Noonan
had told him never to part with, as it was a
charm which would one day bring him good
fortune, and a scar upon his wrist when he
was a very small baby.

“Then I told him that I was his mother,
and I wept over him and kissed him, and
one day he told me a great deal of his history
which I had not heard before—about his
connection with you ; about your two homes
—the farm and this cave, and that he was a
frequent visitor at both places.

“ Then I knew that my business was near-
ly finished, and I persuaded him to bring
me here to this cave.

“ I used to put on his ragged garments and
come inside among the men, for our boy and
I are very nearly the same hight and look
very much alike. I studied his queer talk and
strange ways, and we used to come together
to the Bush Entrance, and first he would go
into the cave for awhile among the men, and
then he would return to me in the little
chamber near the entrance, and I would take
his clothes and go in for a while. Then,
after nightfall we would go away together
and return to the village. .

“ There. also, I personated him at inter-
vals, making acquaintances, and many are
the strange questions I have been asked there
regardin Miss Jenkins.

“ I ha to cut my hair off, but when short,
it curled just as his did. We used to sit at
the window together, and whenever a person
went by he would tell me who it was, where
he lived, and the name by which he was
commonly called. Whenever we were out
to ether, our boy would speak familiarly

"With those whom we met, and thus I learned

a great deal.

“In short, I left no stone unturned to be-
come perfect in my character, for it was to
take me where 1 could study you, and where
some day I meant to reveal myself to you,
and implore you to abandon this lifeentirely
for my sake.

“ At last I felt myself to be proficient, and
I took our boy away to Springficd, where I
placed him in kind and gentle hands, and
then I returned here to go on with my
work.” -

“ I felt confident that I would not be di-
covered, and I was right.

“Almost as soon as I had returned, Mr.
Sharp came. and I saw him with Joe. I in-
stinctively felt that he was a detective, and I
resolved to keep near him, in the hope
that I could prevent his taking you to

rison.

” I little knew what a noble man he was,
and is, for he has said to you what I would
say; and more than that—thinking that I
was a friendless, homeless boy, he offered
me a home a‘ud an, education, as he would
have offered them to our boy had he been in
my place.”

“God bless you, Mr. Sharp!”

" You know the rest. You know how you
sent me out to capture him and Joe, and I
will tell you" some other time how they cap-
tured your men instead.

‘5 Once I thought I could frighten the de-
tective, intending to tell him my story, and
force him to promise that you could go free,
but we were interrupted by three of the men,
and then Joe and his dog came and turned
the tables.

" Now, my husband, I have told my story.

 

I freely forgive you all I have to forgive.
Mr. Sharp has himself proposed that you re-
sume your true name, and begin life anew
somewhere, far distant from these scenes.
Will you do it? It will make me so happy!
so happy! and I have suffered so much.”

But Quickeye shook his head.

“ Think!” cried Vera. “ We will take
our boy with us, and we will devote ourlives
to him,” and she clasped her hands piteously
together.

“ Vera,” said the captain, huskily, “ you
offer me a paradise; but think, think what it
would cost Burke—that is, Mr. Gordon, if I
should accept. You call him noble; shall I
be less so, now that I found my manhood?
He was sent here to arrest me, and it is his
duty to do so, to hand me over to the law—to
justice. Shall I dishonor him, who has been
so honorable with me?”

“ You mistake, sir,” interrupted Sam.
“ Every man has two duties to fulfill in this
world: his duty to man and his duty to his
God, and whenever they are opposed, the
latter is by far the greater. I admit that my
duty to man would be to surrender you to
justice, but I feel that I am doing a greater
and a nobler act in starting you out anew. a
free man, to atone for your wrongs, in the
good on can do to others in the future.”

“ o, no,” murmured Quickeye, “ I will
serve my sentence out first, and then—”

“ Then,” said Sam, "you will have to give
yourself up, for I will have nothing to do
with it. The Government can have no satis—
faction in confining you in prison, and sure
1y your wife and child are better and stronger
incentives .to doing right than white walls
and prison fare and associations. Be a whole
man, and say that you will do as we ask.

'There was a long silence, like the stillness
of death, and then the captain looked up,‘and
putting lliloth his hands in Sharp’s said:

“ wi 1’

CHAPTER XXXIII.
AN UNPLEASAN'I‘ COMPLICATION.
THAT they were happy who were gathered
there in the counterfeiters’ cave, hidden away

 

in the very heart of Glebe Mountain, cannot

for a moment be doubted.

Vera, whom we first knew as Vera Pres-
ton, and who subsequently carried out her
purpose disguised as Chipmonk. the waif and
stray of Londonderry, forgot all her wrongs,
all her years of suffering and anguish in that
supreme moment of reconciliation with her
wayward husband, to whom her heart had

ever been constant, even thou h she knew 1

him to be an outcast and a ugitive from
justice.

Within the charmed circle of his embrace,
old troubles but. lent an added luster to the
present joy. It was like the beautiful spring-
time, bursting out of the womb of relentless
winter.

As for uickeye—well, to analyze his feel-
ings woul indeed be a difficult task.

The one great crime, before which all sub-
sequent ones had been to him, as nothing,
was swept forever from his conscience, and
that one great, black. threatening blot upon
his career, had been washed out forever from
his sins.

The intense joy which he felt in conse-
uence, was such as to render him almost
orgetful of his other great sins for the mo-

ment, for what were governments what were
men, and women, and laws, and long-u ' held
customs and usages’to him as contra istin-
guished from his Wife?

He had passed through the valley and the
shadow of moral death; he had stood face to
face, ay, held by the hand; that great de-
stroyer called crime; he had walked through
the by-ways of sin and shame, and dwelt in
the house of deceit, hatred and revenge.

But ever, by his shoulder—whispering in
his ear—calling him back from the wrongs
he would commit, and upbraiding him for
those committed. stood the censor conscience,
throughout his wild and lawless career.

Wherever he went, in whatever phase of
life he bathed himself, he was as two distinct
personages—one being the embodiment of
good impulses and noble deeds, and the other
urging him on to the committal of evil and
the consummation of wron -doing.

A being made of para axes—an enigma
unto himself. ‘

When Harry Gordon, in the character of

Burke, had sought him out in the fore part

 

 

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l

 

 

 

 

 

Green Mountain J oe.

~n
«

.m; (3,;- aw“, " . >
v v .n 

 

of our story, and had desired to become one
with him in his battle agaist law and order,
the captain‘s nobler nature spoke out, in spite
of his apparent character, and drew such a
picture of the life he led, as would have
caused any youthful aspirant for dishonor
to halt and ponder.

Those words, spoken in the open boat,
when they were flying together from the offi-
cers of the law, had forever won the admira-
tion of the young man who had been taught
honor and manhood by such a one as Ralph
Gordon, in the old days in Virginia.

Thus it was when, as Sam Sharp, he heard-
ed the bold captain in his den, and captured
his entire gang, he had determined to show
him that great mercy which only a noble
heart such as his would have recognized.

Thus it was that he had pleaded with
Vera, and had finally drawn from the cap-
tain that hearty:

“ 1 will I”

For several moments, none of them spoke
a word.

It seemed unnecessary.

The silence was full of thoughts for each;
full of congratulations, full of fears, doubts,
hopes for the future which those three words
had opened up for at least two of them.

At last the voice of the ex-counterfeiter
chief broke the silence.

“ Vera,” he said, and his voice was full of
nameless emotions, “ Vera, henceforth you
shall lead—I will follow. Where shall we
go to begin that new life in which we will
find so much happiness?—-that new life
which will be for me a life of atonement for
the past, so far as it is in my power to make
it so.”

She turned upon him her glorious eyes,
from which that latent sadness had now fled
forever, for they were filled with unspeak-
able 'oy and rest.

“ liorever we decide to go," she said,
“ we will be supremely happy always."

She was about to say more, but at that in-
stant a most unlocked-for interruption 00- i
curred.

The report of a firearm rung out through
the cavern, startling them all out of their
momentary forgetfulness.

“ What is that?” cried Quickeye.

“ It must be J 0e,” returned Gordon (we
will call him by that name now, since it is
his right one), “and he would not fire with-
out good cause.” ‘ ’

Motioning them all to keep back, he
sprung toward the door, and, passed out
through the ante-room, only to be met at the
great outer door; leading into the main cay-
ern, by Joe himself, who sprun through _it,
hastily closing and barring it a ter him With
all the speed he could muster.

“ What is the matter?" cried Gordon, seiz-
ing Joe by the arm, as soon as he had com-
pleted his task of fastening the door.

“Matter!” cried Joe; “ matter ’nufl, I
should say. Suthin’ ’r ruther hev gone an’
let ther hull b‘ilin’ of them scoundrels w’ot
we had so nicely coopered, outen ther cave,
an’ they’re swarmin’ outside like a easel o’
bees—thet’s w’ots ther matter, Sam harp!"

9‘ Matter enough, 1 should say!’_’ replied
Gordon, an uneasy sensation stealing over
him.

“One thing is certain, however," be con-
tinued, after a moment’s pause, “they can’t
get through that door unless they have got
a cannon. and I don't believe they have, so
we will have plenty of time to think over
what is best for us to do.”

” Plenty 0’ time!" returned Joe. “ Well,
I should smile! Plenty of time? Say, Sam,
we will hev plenty 0' time, sure’s you’re born,
an’ onless thar’s ernurther way outen here,
we'll be a-eatin’ on each other store long.”

Gordon started violently.

“ Starvation!” he cried. “We can stand
it, Joe, you and I and the captain; but
she—"

“ Eh?" interrupted Joe.

“ She—Vera—it is of her that I am—’_’

“ Say, Sam, be you gone mad, ‘r air ye
foolin’. eh?"

A flood of light burst upon Gordon.

For the moment he had forgotten that Joe
was unacquainted with the secret of Veras
disguise as the boy Chipmonk. _ .

He proceeded at once to explain With all.
haste, and as he talked, Joe’s mouth opened
wider and wider, until it seemed as though

,outside hev got us inter a bad fix, an’—”

 

his jaw would part in the sockets.

For a full minute after Gordon had finished
his own recital, which embraced everything
that had occurred, Joe was silent, but at
last he turned and strode toward the barred
doorway.

“ I’m a-goin’l" he said.

“Going where?" asked Gordon.

“Outen this ’ere—eh? oh! I forgot!
Can’t, kin I? Say, Sam—I’m a-goin' ter call
is Sam ’cos thet’s ther name I’m uster—ye‘ll

ev ter interdooce me, I s’pose.”

“Certainly.”

“An’ Chip’s a woman, eh?”

” She is."

“ W-h—e-w-ewl” he whistled, “ an’ ter think
0’ some 0’ ther cuss-words I’ve used afore
him—her! Well, fire away, Sam—it’s gotter
he did.”

“Come,” replied Gordon. and he led the
waly into the captain’s sanctum.

0e stepped inside rather awkwardly,
much as though he would rather have re-
mained outside, which was indeed the
case.

But the instant that Vera saw him she left
Quickeye’s side,and ran joyfully toward
him, nor did she pause until she had thrown
her arms around his neck and imprinted a
kiss upon either brown cheek.

“Good, honest, reliable, sturdy Joe!” she .
cried—“.what do I not owe you, my brave
companion and friend."

“Well, I’m blowed!” was all Joe could
say as he stood with his long arms hanging
loosely at his sides, for once in his ife,
speechless. “ I’m much obliged t’ ye, I'm
sure, miss, but—whar the devil’s Chip,
Sam?"

“ I am Chip, Joe! Has not Mr. Gordon
told you?"

“Mister who? oh, yes, I forgot ag’in. Ye
see ye're changin’ names in here so durned
fast thet a feller like me can't keep track of
’em all. F’rinstance, this feller 5 Sam fur l
all time ter come ’s fur ’s I'm consarned, an’
iyouTwell, you ain’t Chip no longer, no-

ow ’

“Yes, Joe, let me still continue to be
Chipmonk to you.”

Joe was silent for a moment, but presently
he raised his head, and gazed for an instant 1
steadily at Vera‘s beautiful features. i

All traces of confusion had fled from his
honest physiognomy as he drawled out slow- '
ly, these words:

“ Wal, I think ’twould be better so fur the ‘
present, but ’norder ter be Chip, ye’ve gotter 1
put on Chip’s togs ag’inl I wouldn’t ax e
ter do thet air if I didn’t think it fur tlsi’e
best. but I do.

“Ye see, Chip, them tarnal varmints w’ot l
we coopered in ther other cave, hev got aout I
somehaow ’ruther, an’ ther hull bilin’ on t
’em ’5 outside now, a-lookin’ fur gore, ’s ,
much ’s enny red bull ye ever saw, an’ ef
they should happen ter git ther drop onto us,
it ’u'd be lots better thet they sh’u’d capture r
ther boy Chipmonk than a beautiful woman :
like veouw.

“I don’t know ’s I make myself quite
plain, ma’am—that is, Chip, but ef ye'll jes’ ‘
0 an’ think ’tover a minit, mebbe ye'll see

it yerself.

“Naow, Sam,” he continued. turning to 1
Gordon, “ interdooce me ter t’other one, an’ ‘,
ef vye‘ve got enny love left fur me. don't tell ‘
me more'n one name ter call him by."

“Al-1right.” replied Gordon, “it shall be '
as on say. Come with me."

hey walked together across the room to
where Quickeye was sitting, while Vera -
turned and glided once more behind the cur-
tains.

“ J oe," said Gordon, when they had
reached Quickeye, “ this is the captain; cap-
tain, let uie make you acquainted with one
of nature's noblemen, my friend Joseph
Alden.”

“Cap, haow air ye?" said Joe, sticking
out his hard, firm hand. which’tbe captain
seized in his warm clasp.

“ Pretty well, Joe, thank you," he re-
plied, smiling, “ how are you?”

“Party much ther same, only bothered—
tarnation bothered. Ye see, them devils

 

 

“ Hullo yerself, Joe," exclaimed a voice
behind him at that instant, and wheelin
(filickly, the astonished Vermonter behel
t e be Chipmonk looking up at him with

saucy ace and flashing eyes.
“ Chip, by thunder!” he cried, seizing

 

Vera, and raising her in the air over his
head.

“ Thet is,” he continued, putting her down
suddenly, “ I know ye ain’t Chip, an‘ yet I
know ye air—an‘ sa , Cap"—wheeling sud.
denly again-“ I aiu t bothered no more!"

 

CHAPTER XXXIV.
SHALL HE DIE 0F Tmas'r?

"CAPTAIN," said Gordon, “is there any
way out of this room except by the way we
came in?"

Quickeye shook his head.

“None,” he replied.

“Then there is nothing for us to do but to
fight our way through?" '

“ Nothing—unless———”

“ Unless what?"

“Unless they would still recognize m
authority and so allow you to pass out witi
Vera."

“ Do you think they would?”

“ They might.”

“ Not much!” interrupted Joe. “ They
know well ’uufif that Chip’s ag’in’ ’em; they
know I be, an’ they know Sam is, too,
W‘ot‘s more, I stretched one of ’em on ther
cold, cold yarth when ye heerd me fire. au’
they won’t forgit it enny more than they
will t’other delicate attentions which they
hev received at our hands."

"But if Ishould go out among them—”
interposed the captain.

“They’d kill ye on sight, Cap, sure!
’Tain’t no use in talkin’—it can’t he did!”

“ Can’t we fight our way out?” asked
Gordon.

“ Thet’s more sensible, but jest ’bout’s bad
’5 t’other suggestion,” replied Joe.

“Why so?”

’Cos they’ve got thet air little hallway ’r
cave, ’r anything ye’ve a mind ter call it,

w’ot leads from ther main corridor ter this ‘

‘ ’ere place. kivered with their guns, an’ ef one

on us should stick a head out fur 'nutf ter
see where ter shoot, thar’d be a hole through
it quicker ’n scat!”

“Well, what then?” asked Quickeye, for

all of them seemed to look up to Joe now ’

as tlhe common leader through the new
eri.

“Don’ know,” was Joe’s rather unsatis-
factory reply. “ I’ll hev ter think.”

At that moment there came a loud pound— .‘

ing upon the door leadin into the corridor.
“Let them pound!" said Quickeye, “ they
can’t break it down, and what is more. it
will take them some time to starve us out.”
“ How so?” asked Gordon.
” Because the food supply is stored in a

room leading off from the ante-room, where '

they can’t get at it, and we can.”
“ But 'waterl" cried Gordon.
have water!”
“ Look there!” replied Quickeye, pointing
to one corner of the room.

“We must

They looked, and beheld a stream of water  '

flowing from a half-inch lead pipe into a

bowl, and escaping again from that, through ,

its bottom.

“That never changes, winter or summer,"
continued the captain, “ and it comes from
a spring so situated that they cannot cut us
of! from it. t

“ So far as food and water are concerned,. -

we can live here for months, for the store-
room is well stocked, and there are but four
of us to feed.”

“ Bully!” cried Joe; “we ain't got ter do

enny crawlin’ yet, hev we, an’ I’ve ‘ot lent
0’ time ter think." ' g p y
“Yes, I think you have, without doubt.”

The loud knocking continued at intervalsf

on the door, and Gordon expressed the opin-‘

ion that those outside desired a talk with

them, so he and Joe went toward it.

“Stand to one side, so that they cannot .

shoot you,” said Gordon, “ while I open the

i little wicket?
Joe complied, and Gordon, taking a long,

stick in his hand, laced himself so that he
could not be seen rom the outside, and then
ushed open the wicket. ‘

“What do you want?" he asked, as soon.

as it was open.

 

“ We wants ter know who’s in there?" d'e-i 3’
manded the rough voice of one of the coun- 7

terfeiters.
“ What for?”
‘1 Eh?"
“ What do you want to know that "for?"

 

 

 

 
   

 

Mountain Joe.

Green

 

 

“ So’s we kin calkerlate about how long

ye kin live ’thout water.” .

H  ll?

“ We know ye’ve got grub enough, but
grubAain't much good 'thout water.”

1‘ h!"

“ How many air ye?”

“A dozen or so, more or less.”

“ Haw, haw, haw! Thet’s good, thet is;
but it don‘t wash, my covey.”

“ Why not?”

“ ’Cos 't don’t!
three.”

“ What three?”

“ W’y, thar’s Chip, cuss ’iml an’ ther Yan-
kee—cuss him, tool and yerself, thcr detec-
tive. Say!”

“ What?”

“We ain’t got nothin’ ag’in you!”

“Thanks!”

, “ We ain’t, honest. You’re only attendin’
‘ ter biz, an’ thet’s square, but we wants ther
Yankee, an’ we wants Chip.”

“ What will you do with them if you get
them?" asked Gordon.

" Make mince-meat of ’em, thet’s w’ot!”

. “Oh!”

“Fur sure! an’ ’1’ you’ll jest open up an’
let us in, we’ll promise that you kin go scot
free on condition thet ye’ll never kim or send
arter us ag’inl’.’

u Ah!”

“Exactly. Say!"

“What?”

“ Thar‘s another thing we want.”

“ What is that?"

“ Ther Cap's corpus.”

. “ Eh?"

“ Ther body 0’ ther Cap, fur we know
ihet he’d never give up, an’ so ye've killed

». 1m. ’

‘ “ You think he is dead, then ?”

“ Dead’s a herrin’."

“ But suppose that he is not?”

If  ?’7
‘ “ Suppose that he is alive, and at present
Well ‘I”

“ Ye don’t mean it!”

“I do, though. Suppose further, that he’s
bound hand and foot, and totally at our
new ‘2”

 hat d’ye want us ter s’posen thet fur,
_ e S,

“ Suppose still further, that what little
Water we have got, we are going to drink for
ourselves?” '

s “W’ot ’r ye tryin’ ter git at, anyhow?”

, “And suppose that the captain is by this

timeolifginning to feel thirsty?”

K l)‘

We’ve put ye down es

 

" And that we won’t give him a drink?”
“ Them’s hard lines.”
“ Well, rather.”
'f Go on’, Mister Detective, an’ tell us w’ot
- yo're drivin’ at!”
. “ ‘r‘ Suppose that we say. if you will allow us
, all to go seot free, as you call it. we’ll let you
~ have your captain back again?”
“Yes—go on.”
“And that if you don’t let us all go cot
free, we‘ll let him,die of hunger and thirst,
' what then?"
v ' “ I don’ know. Say!"
" What?"
. ‘ “ “Jest wait a minit till I talk ter ther fel-
. 11ers, an'l’l. tell ye.”
“ All right—go ahead 1”
7 i ‘There were several minutes of silence, dur-
 . ing which Gordon allowod the wicket to
close again, at the same time motioning Joe
to keep quiet.
Presently there came a sharp rap on the
door, and the wicket was again pushed

0P9“. '
‘: “ Se 1” came the voice.

' “W at?” replied Gordon. _

' “Let us hev Chip, ’cos he’s a traitor, an’
you an‘ ther Yankee can go free ef ye’ll give
up the Cap.” .

. ’ “ No, that won’t do."
r , "Well, we can’t 9. cc, then.” .

“ All rightl?’ replied Gordon, “ In that
Fcasowe’ll take it out of the captain," and he
,again let the wickrt drop.” -
But he did not immediately leave his post
57 the door, for he expected that those with-
out would find that they had something
more to say. .
_ He was not mistaken, for presently there
came another sharp rap. n

Gordon opened the wicket.

_ ‘«‘ Say!” said the voice.
I J r

  

 

“ Drive on," replied Gordon.

“ Ef he dies, ye’ll all die, won’t ye?”

“ Perhaps.”

“ Well, ye will, so ye’d better give up
Chip.”

“ Not much!” .

“ Ye say thet ther Cap’s alive?”

(I I do.”

“ An’ well?”

" He is.”

“ Well, fetch him to ther wicket, whar we
kin talk ter him, an’ we’ll see w’ot he says
about it."

“All right—wait!”

“You bet we’ll wait!
a-doin’.”

Gordon allowed the wicket to drop into
place, and then taking Joe by the arm, went
into the inner room.

He told the captain all that had taken
place in their conversation, adding that his
plot was, if they should accept the terms, for
the captain to accede to the plan, and take
upon himself the responsibility of seeing
them safely out of the cave.

Then, in a few days—as soon as it was
practicable, lie—the captain—should join
them, and they would leave together.

“This,” he concluded, “could be carried
out without danger to any of us and you
would have no difficulty in eluding them
successfully after a few days.”

“It is rather bargaining upon their loy-
alty to me, after all." returned Quickeye
with moody brow, “and though they are one
and all. scoundrels and villains, they are true
to me. it seems.”

“For Vera’s sake!" said Gordon.

“Ay, for Vera’s sake!" returned the cap-
tain. “For her sake, what would I not do.
It seems a dastardly thing for me to do, to so
betray their confidence in me, even though
they are what they are, but you are right,
Mr. Gordon, the end justifies the means. If
they will accept your terms, I will do what
you ask.”

‘ Good!" exclaimed Gordon. “I knew
you would see the right view of it. Now, it'
you will allow us to bind you, in order that
we may carry out the programme to the
letter." r .

“ Certainly—go ahead.”

Strong cords were procured, and the were
wound round and round the body an limbs
of Captain Quickeye until he had every ap-
pearance of being firmly bound, as indeed he
was.

Then Joe and Gordon carried him into the
ante-room and laid him at full length upon
the floor where he could be plainly seen from
the other side of the wicket. ,

The preparations being completed, Gordon
rapped loudly upon the door with his stick,
and immediately heard a rap in reply.

Then he pushed up the wicket.

“Thar he is, by blazes!" cried the voice
which had carried on the previous conversa-

That’s w’ot we’re

tion. “ Look, fellers, every one of ye!
Thar’s ther Cap!”

A moment’s silence, andthen:

“ Say. Cap.”

“Well, boys, here‘I am, bound hand and
foot, as you see,” replied the captain. “It
is not aver pleasant position to be placed
in, either, can assure you."

“But how’d them cusses git ther drop on
ye, Cap?” '

“ Never mind how they got it, since you
see that I am at their mercy.”

“ Be ye thirsty?”

“ Yes, a little.”

“ Hev they tole ye ther terms they ofier?"

“The have.” t

“ We 1, w’ot (1’ you say?”

CHAPTER XXXV.
“WHEN ROGUES FALL our."

FOR a moment after the counterfeiter out-
side the wicket asked the question. the cap-
tain remained silent—so long in fact that the
man spoke again. . . .

We knows thet ye hate ter speak,” he said,
“ ’cos ye’r’ in a bad fix, but then we’re will-

 

in’ ter do a’most anything you says, so 8 eak‘

 Can’t ye pursnade ’em ter give up hip,
e H
“No: I think no .” '
” D‘ye think they’d ruther starve than give
him up?” ,

“Yes, I think they would—J know they
would—both of. them.” ‘ , ‘

  

 

“ Well, Cap, ye see, we ain’t got no head
out here, fit ter tell us how ter go, now thet
ye’re inside there, so 'est tell us w‘ot you
{)hinkbf the case, an’ I’ll talk it over with the

o s. ’
he captain appeared to muse for a mo-
ment.

At last he spoke.

“Chris,” he said, “ for I know your voice,
I hardly know what to say. You all know
out there that I never valued life very highly
—-at least that I was never afraid to risk it
when I had occasion to do so.

“Now, there are several ways of looking
at this question.

“ We will suppose, first, that you had not
made your escape from the cave where I was
told that you were prisoners."

it Yes.”

“ Then it must have followed that my
captors here would have taken me away and
that my life would have been spared, for a
time at least.”

“ Right!”

“ Your coming, however, made them pris-
oners, and they are now shut up here with
me as their hostage, while it is in your p0wer
to keep us here until we die.”

” Right again, fur sure!”

” Well, if that extremity takes place, I

will have died by your hands; in other I

words it will be you who have killed me.”

“ By blazes, thet’s so! Hadn’t thought of
thatl Go on, Cap!”

“ Now. on the other hand, the only thing
which makes you hesitate, is the hope of re-
venge. You seek to be revenged upon a
boy—a mere lad l”

“ Ay—thet’s sol”

“ So that if you refuse the terms offered
you b Mr. Sharp for my liberty, you will
be tra in off my life for that of the boy
Chipmon , who after all is nothing to any of
you whatever." . ‘

“ Truer‘n gospel!"

“If you had not escaped, Chip would
have gone free. you would all of you have
been sent to prison for long terms, and I as
well, and now, as it is, you are all free, you
can, by giving your word, which, under-
stand me, you must keep to the letter, make
me free also, and as pay for that. you have
simply to allow the detective, the Yankee,
and the lad Chipmonk the same privilege—
freedom.”

“ Right!”

“Therefore you are gainers in any case,
and all you are compelled to fore o, is a bit
of needless revenge upon a la revenge
which is not worth the talk .we are wasting
over it, nor the trouble it would take to
carry it out.”

“ Go on. Cap.”

“No, there is nothing more to ‘go on}
about, for I am through.” ‘

d “"Ain’t ye a-goin’ ter advise us w’ot ter
0? ’

“ No.”

“ Why not?” _

“ Because I think it best to leave it to he
decided among you.

“ lf Chip’s death is worth the price of my
life, why, purchase it so. You must choose
for yourselves. I never begged a favor at
your hands, and I will do so less than
over, now that you have my life.,in your
power.

“Go away from the wicket, now, and '

talk it over among you. When you have

decided, rap again, and let us hear your de-

cision." ‘ r
“Right, Cap. I’ll do it!"

The voice ceased, and Gordon allowed the ’

wicket to again drop into plaee.

He and Joe raised the captain from the
cavern floor and quickly unbound him, and
then all returned to the inner room. -

“Do you think they will do it?” asked V

Gordon of Quickeye.

, “ Frankly, I do not,” he replied. “ There
are many of them' who would, gladly, and
without .a moment’s ‘he’station, and the fel-
low I talked with is, one of them, but they
are in the minority, unless I am greatly mis-
taken, and in a crowd of that kind the ma-
jority always rules. We will hope, how-
ever, that I am mistaken. If it were not for
Vera. here-‘—-” , p , I

“Never mind me. Do exactly as you
would if I were indeed Chipmonk,” broke in
Vera, I" for so long as I am with you, I am
content.” ‘ ‘ , _ ~

,4/ ,

     

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An hour went by, and as yet no challenge
to open had come at the door. No knock for
further parley.

“ Still talking it over,” said Quickeye.
“ The minority is trying to talk over the
majority, and they will not succeed. I feel
certain of that now."

Several hours went by, and at last there
came the long-expected rap upon the door.

Gordon hastened forward, and again push-
ed open the wicket.

“ Where’s ther Cap ?” asked the samenvoice
that had talked with them before.

“ In the inner room,” replied Gordon.

“ Fetch him out.”

“No siree. He has been out here once
and that is enough. You can tell me any-
thing you have got to say to him, and I
will repeat it word for word, just as it is.”

“ That ain’t square.”

. “Well, it isas square as you’ll get, any-
how.”‘

“All right; here's w’ot I was a-goiu’ ter
say.”

“Drive on."

“ Some 0’ ther tellers air fur ’ceptin’ yer
terms, an’ some ain’t—in fact, most of ’em
ain’t."

“ Proceed.”

“I’m one of ’em as is, but somehow my
vote don't count fur enough. Them that
ain’t. says they’ll make a compromise like
this ”

“ Go on.”

“They insist on havin’ Chip—3'

“That is no compromise.”_

“ Hole on! Wait till I git through.”

“ All right: fire away!”

“ When they axed fur him afore, they
meant to kill him, but now they say if you
will deliver him into our hands jest long
enough fur each one of us ter hit him one
cut apiece across his bare back, with a raw-
hide, he kin go with ye arter that.”

For reply. Gordon simply withdrew the
stick, and allowed the wicket to fall back
into place.

But the man on the outside began immedi¢
ater to knock upon it with great violence,
so that he pushed it open again.

“ Well, what more?" he asked, sharply and
impatiently.

“ Don’t be so cussed quick. will ye?”
growled the counterfeiter, “ ’cos I got a word
more ter say."

“ Out with it, and begonel” .

“ I want ye ter tell ther Cap thet Chris is
fur him, and thet I ain’t’ the one, ’r one of
’em either, w’ot proposed ter lash that boy,
an‘, say I"

“What?” . x

“ Won’t yer shoot of I show my phiz?"

“No.”

There was a moment's hesitation, appar-
entl , and then a huge nose, and a pair of
thick bearded lips protruded through the lit-

tle wicket, while the voice came again, this ‘

time in a hoarse whisper: . . I

“ Say, Mister Detective,” it said,_“ye kin
jist say ter the Cap, thet thar’s again ter be
trouble out here afore he has time ter die in
there. an', thet ef ther trouble turns out .0.
K., he won’t die. an’ ef it don’t he Will.
Thet’s all; good-by!” .

The nose and lips disa peered; the vows
ceased, and Gordon turne away with a new
hope thrillin his pulses. _

“ What di the wbrds of the counterfeiter
portend 7." he asked himself.

“Were the few outside who were loyal
thinking of fighting for the life of their cap-
tain? Were they about engaging in a crvrl
strife over the question which they had been
vainly discussing so long?"

If so, there was yet hope.

The had blood, engendered by the no doubt
heated discussion, was apt to break out at
any moment into open warfare, and if it
should, whichever way it terminated, it
would certainly lessen the numbers of ,the
enemy, and consequently increase the chances
for the escape of the four captives. ' .

“ The captain must not know of this whis-
pered message,” thought Gordon. "There
is no need of raising false hopes, and he is

; just the man to take some measure to pre-

vent them . from getting into a fight over
their love and loyalty for him. , _
“ I own to myself that I am not mercrful.

L ' Let them fight among themselves for what:

ever cause they will, and if they become self-
exterminated, so much the better, for the

 

 

   

people will be not only rid of them, but

saved the expense of their trial and imprison- '

ment.”

“Ah! what is that?" he exclaimed the
next instant, for he had plainl heard a dull
sound like the explosion of a rearm.

Stepping quickly back to the door, he
raised the wicket a little.

He had held it thus but a moment, when
he heard another sound of the same kind,
and this time there was no mistaking it, for
it was surely the report of a pistol.

It was almost immediately followed by an-
other, und then another, and then several
in rapid succession, and then all was still
again.

“They are at it sure] ,” he muttered,
" but they can’t have ought it out so
quickly.”

He listened attentively for several mo-
ments, and was about to let the wicket drop
again, when another report rung through the
corridors.

“ Ah!” muttered Gordon, “ I know how it
is now. Each side has got behind some sort
of protection, and they are firing at every
shadow they see. We might creep out and
join in the battle. only that they would at
once unite again, if we did so, to kill the
common enemy.

“ Bang!” sounded another report, so near
by that Gordon started back and let fall the
wicket.

“ One side or the other has barricaded itself
in this narrow corridor," he thought.

“ Well, it is best to let them fight it out.
We won’t suffer for a few days, and they
will have ended it somehow before that
time.” '

He turned and went back into the inner
room, where he found his three friends anx-
ously awaiting his arrival.

“ What is the matter out there? What is
that firing that I hear?” asked Quickeye.

“They have got into a fight about some-
thin I imagine," replied Gordon.

“ bout me, I wonder?” mused the cap-
tain. '

"More likely about something of much
less importance,” returned the brave detec-
tive, and then he proceeded to give an ac-
count of the conversation he had had with
Chris, omitting, however, to mention the
whispered message. -

It wasrsufi‘lcient, he felt,'that one of them
should know of it, and it would be soon
enough to tell of it when the fight was over
and ecided.

That, in either way of termination, it
would enable them to gain their liberty, he
had no doubt, and so, ever selfrpossessed, he

settled himself to await patiently the outcome ,

of the small, but all-important civil warfare
outside.

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.
“JUST IN THE NICK on TIME!”

ONCE every few hours Harry Gordon
would go into the ante-room. cautiously
raise the wicket and listen, and by and by
he would hear the report of a pistol reverber-
ating through the corridors.

Then he Would know that the battle out-
side had not yet been fought to a finish.
and he would return to the inner room and
wait.

But at last, fully seventy-two hours from
the time when he had heard the first pistol-
shot, he stood for nearly an hour holding u
the wicket, and heard no sound, and he fe t
that the fight was ended. i

Returning quietly to the inner room, he
called Joe out by a signgand told him his
hopes, and his reasons for them.

“ Now, Joe,” he said, when he had fin-
ished, ‘f I am going to unbar this door, and
creep on my hands and knees out into the
corridor. I want you to stand here, read to
receive me if I have to come back quic er
than I go out, or in case anything happens
to me and I am killed or hurt. I want you
to shut and bar the door even though you
leave me on the outside, for we must save
\Vera—Chipmonk—at all events."

'* Right ye he!” replied Joe, heartily, " but
I’ve got jest one thing ter say.”

“What is that?"

“'Why. this: of the coast is clear, so ter .

,speak, an’ ye git ter the 'end 0’ this ’ere leetle
alley O. K., 1* want

.:«:‘.,A ‘

   

'Harr Ger-don; buts well-directed and'vi

 

ye tcr kim back an’.
tell us'of it, ‘cosil wanter go with} ye. See?”

     
  
  
  
   
  
    
  
   
   
  
   
   
   
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
   
   
   
    
   
  
  
   
  
  
    
   
  
   
 
   
   
    
   
   
   
   
  
  
    
  
     
    
    
   
   
  
  
   
   
    
     
 
       
   
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   

“ All right, Joe—I’ll do it."

Very cautiously they unbarred the great

door, and succeeded in accomplishing the
difficult task without making the slightest
norse.
" Then it swung partly open—enough so
that Gordon could pass out into the corridor,
which he did, without a moment's hesita—
tion.

The thought occurred to him that he ought
to go back and warn Quickeye of what they
were doing, so that in case both he and,
Joe should get far away from the rooms, the
entrance would not be left unguarded.

But a second thought convinced him
that it would be unnecessary, and so he went
onward.

Three times between the doorway and the

oint Where the narrow corridor opened
into the bigger one, did he come in contact
with the body of a man, lying cold and still
in death, and then he reached the outer, or
main hall. ‘

All was as still and silent as the grave, and
thou h he listened long and intently, be
con] detect no sound whatever. ‘

“ It is not possible that they are all deadfl’
he thought; “ there must be some of them
left to tell the tale.

“ But where are they?

“ In any case I will go back and speak to
Joe. as I promised ” ‘

He arose to his feet and hurried back,
whispering to Joe all that he had ascertained
during his brief sally.

A sin the thought occurred to him that it
won d be best to warn the captain. but again
he disregarded it, and he and Joe went'forth
upon their reconncitering tour. ,

Reaching the main corridor, they turned ,
their faces to ward the big mess—room, where
the counterfeiters had long been in the habit
of congregating to play cards, and indulge.
in any sports which amused them. ' '

Most of the lights were extinguished, but
here and there one burnt, its flickering blaze a»
being just sufficient to break the denseness o
the gloom. 

Several times they stumbled across the .>
bodies of those who had been shot down in
the quarrel so recently enacted in the cavern, -
and they both felt that there could not be!
many of the counterfeiters left to oppose '
them. - v ’
Still not a sign of life, and they approach-
ed nearer and nearer to the large room, I
where they felt sure that they would find the
living remnant of the band. - .

Presently the door was reached, and lyi'n
fiat upon his belly, Gordon dragged himsel
along until he could see into the room. ‘

Then he rubbed his eyes in astonishment.

Not a living thing was to be seen. r .

“ Where can they be?” he muttered. " 0f ’
course there are places enough forthem to ’
be in, in this immense cavern, but no place 7
so like] as this one.” ‘ v  '

At t at instant Joe squeezed his arm, is
warning, and he sunk back 11 on the earth,
as flat as he could possibly ren er himself. ‘

The reason for the warning was soon up.
parent, for he could plainly hear footste
apfiroaching.

e tried to crowd backward out of the
doorway, but he did not have time. . '

In another instant, one of the approachin
connterfeiters—and there were three of them
——had stepped within the doorway, and trips,
ping over his prostrate form, went sprawling“
upon the fioor. ‘ . ~

They were discovered, and there was nothQ
ing left for them to do but to fight it out as
best they could.

Both men realized that at once, and Mt};
fired their revolvers simultaneously.

Only one shot, however, took effect, but
the counterfeiter who had first stumbled over
Gordon, never rose again. , \ 

Both J on and the detective were upon their
feet the instant that their revolvers were dis.
charged, and no’ne too soon, for with oaths.
or savage fury, the two remaining counter.
feiters sprung upon them, endeavoring to
draw their knives as they did so. ' , * ,

One succeeded—the one who attacked

 

        
         
  

  

  

lent ick sent the deadly weapon whirling-
away through the air, many feet away fromi
the contestants. ’ ' "
Then it became a silent, terrible .doub
struggle. ; x 1‘»
Locked tightly together in that frantic em»

  

   
 

  

   
 
 

   

 
 

 

, counterfeiters. the

‘ its onl

    W  

2 g.

3O

—.

 

brace, they tugged and writhed and twisted,
each struggling for the mastery.

But it so happened that they were well
matched in both instances.

Joe had found his equal, or very nearly so,'
Gordon had found his.

Twice had the detective been nearly down
—twice had he almost conquered his foe, but
each had regained whatever advantage had
been lost, and the struggle went on more
desperately than ever.

It was a battle of endurance—of breath,
and must ultimately have gone against Harry
Gordon but for an accident.

During the struggle, the two battles had
been at one moment wide apart, and at an-

, other, close to ether.

Just as Gor on was thinking that he could
not stand the terrible strain much longer,
something fiew through the air and hit his
opponent on the head, instantly knocking
him senseless.

He did not know what it was at the time,
and for a moment thought that somebody
had come to his assistance.

But though a mystery to him, it had hap-
pened very naturally.

He and his opponent had been bending
over until their faces were quite near the
ground, while Joe and his foe were strug-
gling near them.

Joe had made a violent effort to lift his
adversary in the air and throw him, and
must have succeeded but that the fellow‘s
foot struck something which saved him.

His hard heel had come in contact with
his friend’s head, and thus won the battle for
right, for as soon as Gordon got his wits
about him, he struck the fellow who was
fighting Joe, on the head with the butt of
his revolver, and so the struggle in the dark
was over and won.

J ” I wonder of 'thar’s enny more?" panted
0e.

“ Who knows?” replied Gordon. “Let
us hurry back as quickly as possible, at all
events.”

They started rapidly through the corridor
toward the captain’s room, but as they
reached the doorway, they paused in horror,
for they plainly heard a voice say:

“ You‘ve got jest five seconds to live!"

“Hold!” they heard the captain’s stern
voice replying. “You shall not harm the
boy except through me.”

“Haw, haw, haw!” sounded back a de-
risive laugh; “We’re a-goin’ ter let daylight
through ye, too, Cap, ’cos we think you’ve
betrayed us. Bill, you take the boy, an’ I’ll

‘ shoot ther Cap. I likes the job, I does. I’ll
' count five, an’ when I say five, shoot!"

“One!”

Two forms hurried through the great door-
way, and crept noiselessly toward the en-
trance to the inner room.

“ Two i”

The two forms reached the entrance, and
two hands, each holding a revolver, were
thrust forward.

“Three!” I

Two reports rung out as one, and two

- ast of all that lawless
band' except the two lying sensoless outside
in the corridor, fell forward upon their faces
—-deadi

“ Just in the nick of timei” exclaimed Joe,
leapin forward over the bodies, and for the
secon time raising Vera in the air far over
his head.

“ Excuseme l” he said, as he put her down;

“ purty soon, when e git thet air dress onto
ye ag’in, I won‘t ,ast to say nothin', but
now ye'r’ nothin’ but a chipmonk, and no-

- 'body ’ith enny sense ’s ’fraid 0’ one 0’ them

critters. Change yer togs naow, ’s quick ’s
ye kin, fur we’ve got ter light eaten here!”
Gordon related as rapidly and concisely as
possible, all that had transpired and why he
adleft them without warning.
. As soon as Vera was Vera again, they
started for the entrance to the cave, leaving
the still senseless counterfeiters who had
fallen in the struggle with Gordon and Joe,
to recover consciousness and gain their liber-
ty as best they could, at their leisure.
_ It was during the night when the reached
Londonderry and sought accomm ations at
hotel, where genial John Fsrwell
gave t em every attention, for it was not
often that his house was graced by such disc
‘tingnished lookingpeople as Captain Quick-

qe and his beautiful wife.

 

 

73),}, "1,": ‘3‘“; ‘_ ,1 H UV ~ V?“ ,7 a. fatiff‘   .‘  .1, .x .V i, :I A, a ,1. ,

,, 4 . \

Green Mountain Joe.

Joe, also, sought a bed there for the night,
for his home was a long distance 03. and be-
sides, he meant an the morrow to return to
glebe Mountain to get his dogs, Pomp and

tart.

And here, for the present we will leave
them.

To recount the history of the dags which
followed, would be devoid of inci ent, and
therefore of but little interest to the whilom
reader.

Captain Quicke e was firm in his determi-
nation to begin its over again, with his
beautiful Vera at his side, a source of con-
stant happiness to him, and the means where-
by he could build up once more the ruins of
his reputation and honor, until it should rise
like a. Phoenix from the ashes, a beautiful em-
blem and perfect structure of self-asserted
manhood.

He was resolved to go abroad: to seek in
some distant land, the new home which he
meant to make so beautiful, garlanded as it
would be with love, with confidence, with
perfect trust, and best of all with happiness.

The inspector never saw Vera again, al-
though he received a very non-committal letter
from her, informing him that she had decided
to withdraw from the arena of detective life,
even before she had entered it.

Shall we see them again?

Yes, once more, in the next chapter, and
then their history will have been told.

 

CHAPTER XXXVII.
coucnusrou.

IN a quiet English village resides a happy
family, father, mother and son.

Years have gone by since the scene re-
corded in the last chapter, but they have
been years of mutual love and content to the
the three who settled down in an unosten-
tatious cottage in the modest village.

The father is an artist of considerable
ability, and the mother contributes to the
columns of the magazines.

The son, now a young man, is the idol of
their hearts, and is in every sense worthy of
their adoration.

He is just beginning a career at the bar,
which promises to be a successful one, and
although his parents have ofttimes been
obliged to deny themselves many comforts
in order that he may receive a fit education,
their greatest comfort has been in their self-
denial for his good.

They never 5 eak of the old life—Vera
and her husban , and only one link of it re-
mains; and that is the annual visit made
them by Harry Gordon, who is now married.
anddsays he has given up detective work for

so .

g He has never had cause to regret the step
he took when he told Captain Quickeye to
go free and begin life anew, for he never
visits them without being re-impressed by
the love the poorer people bear for the
foreigners. /

Many are the charities they do and are'
constantly doingpmany are their self-denials
to assist others. and whenever the husband
and father sees the spectacle of a young
man ‘ust starting on the downward path, he
puts orth his hand and heart, ay, all that he
possesses, to save him.

Does he succeed?

Sometimes—and one success of that kind
will bloom forever, a constant blessing to the
world.

Beware, young man. of the “ little things ”
in life. Do not put your foot upon the slip-
pery ice of chance, no matter how .zirong it
may be near the show, for out in the enter
it is thin, and the water beneath it is cold
and deep. It is harder to keep near the
edges than to keep oif altogether, and easier
to stay off when off, than to get off after
having been on. -

Those who, like Captain Quickeye, have
walked down the dangerous path to the very
verge of total disaster, and have then been
saved, are the exception—ay, one in ten
thousand.

But the fitful chapters of his life are told.

 

Joe Alden still lives in Londonderry, and
still pursues his old vocation; good, honest,
much-respected Joe.

He was greatly astonished when he learned
that Chip was not Chip,. and said “he

 

 

' Dialogues No. Eleven.

 

 

thought ther lad kinder got skeered easier’n
usua .”
And now all is told, and so let us draw the
curtains and say " Good-night.”
THE END.

 

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The Dime Speakers embrace twenty-five volume.
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0
Published Every Wednesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Ten Cents. No Double Numbers, '
s: 1

 

 

BY WILLIAM B. EYSTER.

145 Pistol Pards; or, The Silent.Sport from Cinnabar.

160 Soft Hand. Sha ; or, The Man With the Sand.

182 Hands Up; or, 6 Knights of the Canyon.

192 The Lightning Sport. ;

211 The Two Cool Sports; or Gertie of the Gulch.

229 Captain Cutsleeve; or. The Little Sport.

268 Magic Mike. the Man of Frills.

300 ABSport in Spectacles; or, The Bad Time at

unco.

333 Derringer Dick, the Man with the Drop.

344 Double Shot Dave of the Left Hand.

356 Tim e Handsome Sports; or, The Double Com
bination.

375 Royal Geo e, the Three in One.

396 The Piper etective.

402 Snapshot Sam; or. The Angels‘ Flat Racket.

429 Hair Trigger Tom at Red Bend. .

459 Major Sunshine, the Man of Three Lives.

478 Pinnacle Pete; or, The Fool from Way Back.

503 The Dude from Denver.

BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
8 The Headless Horseman; A Strange Story or

Texas.
12 The Death-Shot: or. Tracked to Death.
55 The Scalp Hunters. A Romance of the Plains.
66 The Specter Barque. A Tale of the Pacific.
74 The Captain of the Rifles; or, The Queen of the
Lakes.
200 The Ride Ran ers; or, Adventures in Mexico.
208 The White Chfef. A Romance of Northern Mex-

ico.
213 The War Trail: or, The Hunt of the Wild Horse.
218 The Wild Huntress; or, The Squatter‘s Ven-
geance.
228 The Maroon. A Tale of Voodoo and Obeah.
231 The Hunter‘s Feast.
267 The White Squaw.

BY CAPT. FRED. ‘VHITTAKER.

39 The Russian Spy; or. The Starry Cross Brothers.
65 The Red Rajah; or. The Scour e of the Indies.
69 The Irish Captain. A Tale of ontenoy.
96 Double Death; or. The Spy of. \Vgomlng.
98 The Rock Rider; or. The Spirit 0 the Sierra.
108 The Duke of Diamonds.
115 The Severed Head; or, The Secret of Castle
Coucy.
132 Nemo, King of the. Tramps.
159 Red Rudiger, the‘Archer.
174 The Phantom Knights. .
187 The Death’s Head Culrasswrs.
193 The Man in Red.
206 One Eye. the Cannoneer.
211 Colonel Plunger; or The Unknown Sport.
:215 Parson Jim, King ot2 the Cowboys.
226 The Mad Hussars; or. The 0’s and the Mac’s.
230 The Flving Dutchman of 1880.
242 The Fog Devil; or, The Skipper of the Flash.
247 Alligator Ike: or. The Secret of the Eve Lane.
253 A Yankee Cossack; or,The Queen of'the ihlhsts.
265 Old Double-Sword; or, Pilots and Pirates.
272 Seth Slocum. Railroad Surveyor.
277 The Saucy Jane. Privateer. . ,
£4 The Three Frigates; or. Old Ironsides Revenge.
290 The Lost Corvette: or, Blakeley’s Last Cruise.
295 Old Cross-Eve, the Maverick-Hunter.
303 Top-Notch Tom. the Cowboy Outlaw.
310 The Marshal of Satanstown; or. The Cattle-
Lifters’ League.
326 The Whitest Man in the Mines.
378 John Armstro . Mechanic.
406 Old Po Hicks. ‘howman.
412 Larry ocke. the Man of Iron.
445 Journeyman John. the Champion.

BY OLL COOMES.

7 Death-Notch. the Destroyer.

48 Dakota Dan. the Reckless Ranger.

44 Old Dan Rackhack. the Great Extarminator.
46 Bowie-Knife Ben. the Nor‘west Hunter.

48 ldaho Tom. the Young Outlaw of Silverland.
51 Red Rob. the Boy Road-%ent. '

99 The Giant Rifleman: or. ild Camp Life.
137 Long Beard. the Giant Spy.
148 One-Armed Alt, the Giant Hunter.

BY ANTHONY P. MORRIS.

5 The Fire Fiends; or. Hercules. Hunchback.
95 Azhort. the Axman; or, The Palace Secrets.
100 The French Spy' or. The Bride of Paris.
167 The Man of Steel. Tale of Love and Terror.
185 Man 8 ider; or. The Beautiful Sghinx.
238 Hank glound the Crescent Cit etectlve.
260 The Masked Estuary; or, The lack Crescent.
288 Eleczro Pete. t e.Man of Fire.
3(1): Eihemughs (g Ricgmond.

' ar 'c etec ve.
334 The Ciglfir' Detective; or. Mark Magic‘s New

Trail.
343 The Head Hunter; or, Mark Magic in the Mine.
357 Jack Simona. Detective.

BY PROF. J. II. “GRAHAM.

113 The Sea 811 r: or. The Freebooters.

rs  Welders". aside" St"-
14 tte' or. e rs. o .

316 Lafitte’s Lieutenant; or. Child oi! the Sea.

BY GEORGE C. JENKS.
Sleepless e. the Pacific Detective.

898
432 The Giant arsenal.
507 The Drummer Detective.

' 883 Silver Sam. the Detective.

 

BY J. C. COWIDBICIL.

390 The Giant Cupid: or Cibuta John‘s Jubilee.
422 Blue Grass Burt. the Gold Star Detective.
436 Kentucky Jean, the S ort from Yellow Pine.
452 Rainbow Rob, the lp from Texas.

478 Gilbert of Gotham, the Steel-arm Detective.
499 TiVilight Charlie, the Road Sport.

BY CAPTAIN MARK WILTON.

176 Lady Jaguar. the Robber Queen.

194 Don Sombrero. the California Road Gent.
202 Cactus Jack, the Giant Guide.

219 The Scor ion Brothers; or. Mad Tom‘s Mission.
228 Can on ave, the Man of the Mountain.

227 Buc 'shot Ben, the Man-Hunter of Idaho.
23:7 Long-Haired Max; or, The Black League.
245 liarranca Bill, the Revolver Champion

2515 Bullet Head, the Colorado Bravo.

263 iron-Armed Abe the Hunchback Destroyer.
286 Leopard Luke. the King of Horse-Thieves.
271 Stoneflst. of Big Nugget Bend.

276 Texa; Chick. the Southwest Detective.

285 Lightning Bolt, the Canyon Terror.

291 Horseshoe Hank, the Man of Big Luck.

305 Silver-Plated Sol, the Montana Rover.

811 Heavy Hand: or. The Marked Men.

323 Hotspur Hugh; or, The Banded Brothers.

BY SIM S. HALL—“ Buck-kin Sam.”

3 Kit Carson, Jr.. the Crack Shot.
90 Wild Will. the Mad Banchero.
178 Dark Dashwood, the Desperate.
186 The Black Bravo; or, The Tonkaway's Trium h.
191 The Terrible Tonkaway; or. Old Rocky and is

Pards.
195 Tli? igone Star Gambler; or, The Magnolias
a .

199 Diamond Dick. the Dandy from Denver.

204 Big Foot Wallace, the King of the Lariat.

212 The Brazos Tigers; or. The Minute Men.

217 The Serpent of El Paso; or, Frontier Frank.

221 Desperate Duke. the Guadeloupe “Galoot.’

225 Rocky Mountain Al: or, The \\ aif of the Range.

239 The Terrible Trio: or, The Angel of the Army.

244 Merciless Mart. the Man Tiger of Missouri.

250 The Rough Riders: or. Sharp Eye the Scourge.

256 Double Dan the Dastard; or, The Pirates.

264 The Crooked Three.

269 The Bayou Bravo; or. The Terrible Trail.

278 Mountain Mose. the Gorge Outlaw.

282 The Merciless Marauders; or. Carl’s Revenge.

287 Dandy Dave and his Horse. White Stocking.

293 Stiampede Steve; or, The Doom of the Double
ace.

801 Bowlder Bill; or. The Man from Taos.

309 Raybold. the Rattling Ran er.

322. The Crimson Coyotes: or ita the Nemesis.

328 King Kent; or, The Bandits of the Bason.

842 Blaneo Bill. the Mustang Monarch.

858 The Prince of Pan Out.

371 Gold Buttons; or. The Up Range Pards.

511 Paint Pete, the Prairie Patrol.

BY DR. .1". ll. ROBINSON.
13 Pathaway; or, Nick Whiflles. the old Nor’west

Trapper. g

17 Nights ade: or. The Robber Prince.

22 Whitelaw; or. Nattie of the Lake Shore.

87 Hiri, the Hunchback; or, The Santee Sword-

maker.
56 Silver Knife: or. The Rocky Mountain Ranger.
70 Hydrabad.the Stran ler.
73 Twni hts of the ed Cross; or, The Grenada
0 an.
168 Ben rion; or. Redpath. the Avenger.

BY MAJOR DANGEBFIELI) BURB.

92 Buflalo Bill. the Buckskin King.
117 Dashing Dandy; or. The Hots ur of the Hills.
142 Ca taiu Crimson the Man of he 1ron Face.
156 Ve vet Face the Border Bravo.
175 Wild Bill‘s Trump Card; or. The Indian Heiress.
158 The Phantom Maze pa; or, The Hyena.
448 Hark Kenton, the raltor.

BY MAJOR DANIEL BOONE DUMONT.

BSiJIColonel Double-Edge, the Cattle Baron‘s Pard.
411 The White Crook; or. Old Hark’s Fortress.
420 The Old River Sport; or. A Man of Honor.

489 Salamander Sam.

454 The Night Raider.

464 Sandvcraw the Man of Grit.

508 Topnotch Tom, the Mad Parson.

BY COLONEL BELLE SARA.

, 53 Sliver Sam; or, The Mystery of Deadwood City.
a 87 The Scarlet Captain; or. Prisoner of the Tower.
106 Shamus O’Brien, the Bould Boy of Glingal.

BY GEORGE ST. GEORGE.

296 Dun the Sea Diver.
417 Tucson om; or, The [Eire Trailers.

mr GUSTAVE AIMABD.

15 The er Slayer; or. Eagle Heart to the Rescue.
19 RedTécgdar. the Prairie Outlaw.

so The Bandit at Bay; or, The Prairie Pirates.

21 The Tra pet‘s Daughter; or. The Outlaw’s

94 Prairie lower. _

62 Loyal Heart: or. The Trapch 0! Arkansas.
149 The Border Rifles. A Tale of the Texan War.
151 The Freebooters. A Story of the Texan War.
158 The White Scalper. '

 

‘ 78 The

BY NEWTON M. CUBTISS.

120 The Texan Spy; or. The Prairie Guide. ‘
251 Giant Jake. the Patrol of the Mountain. \

BY FRANCI JOHNSON.

25 The Gold Guide' or. Steel Arm, Regulator.

26 The Death Track; or. The Mountain Outlaws.
123 Alapaha the Squaw; or. The Border Renegades.
12A Assowaum the Avenger; or, The Doom of the

Destro er.
135 The Bus Ranger: or. The Halt-Breed Rajah. : t
136 The Outlaw Hunter; or, The Bush Ranger.
138 The Border Bandit; or, The Horse Thiet‘s Trail

BY C. DUNNING CLARK.

164 The Kin '3 Foo].
183 Gilbert t 6 Guide.

BY COL. THOMAS I]. MONSTEBYo

82 Iron Wrist. the Swordmaster.
126 The Demon Duelist: or, The L e of Steel. ‘~
143 The Czar‘s Spy; or. The Nihilist segue. '
150 El Rubio Bravo. King of the Swordsman.
15f? Mourad, the Mameluke; or, The Three Sword.

masters.
169 Corporal Cannon. the Man of Forty Duels.
$56 Champion Sam; or The Monarchs ot the Show ~“
282 Fightin Tom. the error of the Touche.
8&3 Spring- eel Jack; or, The Masked Mystery.

BY ISAAC HAWKS. Ex-Detecflve.

282 Orson Oxx; or, The River Mystery.
940 A Cool Head; 'or, Orson Oxx in Peril.

BY NED BUNTLINE. ,

14 Thayendan en, the Soon a; or,'l.‘he War-Eagle.
16 The White Wizard; or, Th5 Seminole Prophet.
18 The Sea Bandit; or, The Queen of the Isle.
23 The Red Warrior; 01-, The Comanche Lover.
61 Captain Seawaif. the Privateer.
111 The Smuggler Ca tain- or. The Skipper's Crime.
122 Saul Sabherday, t e Idiot Sfiy.
270 Andros the Rover; or. The rate‘s Daughter.
361 Tombstone Dick, the Train Pilot.

BY E. A. ST. MOX.

471 The Heart of Oak Detective.
491 Zigzag and Cutt. the Invincible Detectives.

BY ED‘VABI) WILLETT.

‘ 129 Mississippi Mose; or, a Strong Man‘s Sacrifice.

209 Buck Farley, the Bonanza Prince.

222 Bill the Blizzard; or. Red Jack's Crime.
248 Montana Nat. the Lion of Last Chance Camp.
274 Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport.

289 Flush Fred‘s Full Hand.

298 Logger Lem; or. Lite in the Pine Woods.
808 Hemlock Hank. Tough and True.

815 Flush Erede Double; or, The Squatters'
822' Terrapin Dick. the Wildwood Detective.
837 Old Gabe, the Mountain Tramp.

848 Dan Dillon. King of Crosscut.

368 The Canyon King: or. a Price on his Head.
488 Flush Fred, the River Sharp.

 

BY PERCY B. ST. JOHN.

57 The Silent Hunter. - ’ l
86 The Big Hunter: or. The Queen of the Woods. ’

‘ .

MISCELLANEOUS.

6 Wildcat Bob. By Edward L.Wheeler.
9 Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover.
10 Vidoc , the French Police Spy. By
11 Midsh pmau Easy. BK Captain Ma att. .
82 B’hoys of Yale; or. '1‘ e Scrapes organisms. v
60 Wide Awake. the Robber King. B F. Dumo ’
68 The Fighting Trapper. By Caatéofll‘. C. Adams.
75 The een‘s Musketeers. By r 6 Albany.
ysterious Slpy. B Arthur . Grainger.
102 The Masked Ban By eorge L. Aiken. x
110 The Silent Ritirman. By 121. W. Herbert. . ‘ r
125 The Blacksmith Outlaw. By H. Ainsworth. '
13.3 Rod the Rover. By William Carleton. ‘ T

140 Tue ree Spaniards. Geo. Walker

144 The Hunchback of Netre me. By Victor Hugo. r

146 The Doc-o ' Detective. By George Lemuel. ,

152 Captain lronnerve. the Connterfeiter Chief.

158 The Doomed Dozen. By Dr. Frank Powell. .
166 Owiet, the Robber Prince. B S. R. Uri)“. .
179 Conrad, the Convict. By Prof. ({ildersleevc. r
190 The Three Guardsmen. B Alexander Dumas. ‘
261 BlackYgadm, the Prairie underbolt. By 001. .

o .
275 The Smuizgler Cutter. By J. D. Conro
i

L‘

312 Klnkfoot l, the Mountain . ' V
m Redw n2. Scourge By Mor- .

300 Cop Colt.the Quaker City Detective. C. Morris.

850 Weldon

flash Falcon, the Societ .
Cobb y Detective

853 it Brennan; or, Th .
paBy John Cuthbert. 8 King or Straight mm
966 Tlfiogglegnph Detective. By George Henry .,

-410 Sarah iii-own. Detective. By K. r Hill

500 The True-Heart Perils. By Dr. noel Dunbar.
A new um ow Wadnadey. ‘ , - -
Boadlo’o Dime Library is for sale by all
Newsdealers, ten cents per copy, or sent. by mail (I
receipt of twelve cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS» ‘
Publishers. a William Sin-cot, New York. '

 

 

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*DwRARY.

 

,‘ ‘Zil’ 

   
gltxf’ is M

Published Every Wedmday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Umform Price of Ten Cents. No Double Numbers.

 

 

BY 00].. PBENTISS INGBAHAM.

2 The Dare Devil; or, The Winged Sea Witch.

85 The Cretan Rover; or, Zuleikah the Beautiful.

89 The Pirate Prince; or. The Queen of the Isle.

94 Freelance. the lluccaneer.
108 Merle, the Mutineer; or. The Red Anchor Brand.
104 Montezuma. the Merciless.
109 Captain Kyd. the King of the Black Fillilg.
116 Black Plume; or. The Sorceress of He Gate.
121 The Sea Cadet; or. The Rover of the Rigoletts.
128 The Chevalier Corsair; or. The Heritage.
181 Buckskin Sam. the Texas Trailer.
184 Darkfiy Dan, the Colored Detective.
189 Fire e; or. The Bride of a Buccaneer.
147 Gold pur. the Gentleman from Texas.
155 The Corsair Queen: 01‘. The Gypsies of the Sea.
162 The Mad Mariner; or. Dishonored and Disowned
168 Wild Bill. the Pistol Dead Shot.
172 Black Pirate; or The Golden Fetters Mystery.
177 Don Diablo. the Planter-Corsair.
181 The Scarlet Schooner; or. The Sea Nemesis.
184 The Ocean Vampire- or. The Castle Heiress.
189 Wild Bill’s Gold Trai ; or. The Des rate Dozen.
1% The Skeleton Schooner; or. The S miner.
£15 The Gambler Pirate; or, Lady of the Lagoon.
210 Buccaneer Bess. the Lioness of the Sea.
216 The Corsair Planter; or. Driven to Doom.
an The Specter Yacht; or. A Brother's Crime.
224 Black Beard. the Buccaneer.
281 The Kid Glove Miner; or. The Magic Doctor.
285 Red Lightning the Man of Chance.
% ueen Helen, the Amazon of the overland.
255 he Pirate Priest; or, The Gambler 8 Dan hter.
259 Cutlass and Cross; or. the Ghouls of the . 4
291 TheSea Owl; or. The Lady Ca tain of the Gulf.
807 The Phantom Pirate; or, The ater Wolves.
318 The lndian Buccaneer; or. The Red Rovers.
325 The Gentleman Pirate; or. The Casco Hermits. ,
829 The League of Three; or. Buflalo Bill‘s Pledge.
886 The Magic Ship; or, Sandy Hook Freebooters.
841 The Sea Desperado.
846 Ocean Guerrillas; or. Phantom Midshi man.
362 Buffalo Bill’s Grip; or Oath Bound to uiiter.
364 The Sea Fugitive; or, The Queen of the Coast.
369 The Coast Corsair: or, The Siren of the Sea.
87% Sailor at Fortune; or, The Barne at Buccaneer.
877 Afloat and Ashore: or. The Cor Cons irator.
888 The Giant Buccaneer: or, The Wrecker itch.
393 The Convict Captian.
899 The New Monte (.risto.
418 The Sea Siren: or. The Fugitive Privateer.
425 The Sea Sword; or. The Ocean Rivals.
430 The Fatal Frigate- or. Rivals in Love and War.
435 The One-Armed Buccaneer.
446 Ocean 0 . the Outcast Corsair.
457 The Sea nsurgent.
469 The Lieutenant Detective.
476 Bob Brent, the Buccaneer.
482 Ocean Tram .
489 The Pirate unter
493 The Scouts of the Sea.
510 El Moro, the Corsair Commodore.

‘ 516 Chatard, the Dead-Shot Duelist.

BY BUFFALO BILL (Hon. W. F. Cody).

52 Death-Trailer. the Chief of Scouts.

83 Gold Bullet S rt; or. Knights of the Overland.
843 The Pi rim h ;or The Soldier’s Sweetheart.
ack, the e Rattler.

619 Wild Bill. the Whirlwind of the West.

694 White Beaver. the Exile o! the Platte.

897 The Wizard Brothers; or. White Beaver's Trail.
401 One-Armed Pard' or. Borderland Retribution.
414 Red Renard, the indlon Detective.

BY WILLIAM H. MANNING.
am This Gold Dragoon. or. The California Blood-

0 .
297 Colorado Rube. the Strong Arm of Hotspur.
885 Wild Dick Turpin; the Leadville Lion.

405 Old Baldy. the Brigadier 0! Buck Basin.

415 Hot Heart. the Detective S y.

497 The Rivals of Montana Mi . i

48? Dee Duke: or, The Man of Two Lives.

442 W West Wait. the Mountain Veteran.

449 Blufl Burke. 0! the Rookies.

‘55 Yank Yellowbl the Tall Hustler of the Hills.
’ 468 Gold Gauntlet. the Gulch Gladiator.

470 The Duke 01' Dakota.

479 Gladiator Gabe. the Samson of ack.

486 Kansas Kitten. the Northwest De vs.

492 Border Bullet. the Prairie Sharpshooter.
498 Central Pacific Paul. the Mail-Train Spy.
566 Uncle Honest. the Pencemakerot Hornets‘ Nest.
51!} Texas Tartar. the Man With Nine Lives.

BY CAPTAIN howsnn nouns.

' m Hercules Goldspvur the Man or the Velvet Band.

294 Broadcloth Burt. the Denver Dandy.

821 California Claude. the Lone Bandit. - ‘
885 Flash Dan. the Nabob; or Blades of Bowie Bar.
340 Cool Conrad. the Dakota Detective.

. 847 Denver Duke. the Man With “ Sand."
85‘: Th

_ Mall
418 Captain Co in New York.
421 Father‘ Famge Frisco Shadow.

on Captain ColdgriP‘sLan Trail

e Desperate Dozen.
865 Keen Kennard. theShasta Shadow.
874 Major Blister. the Sport of Two Cities.
82 TheBonanu Band: or Dread Don of Cool Clan.
892 The Lost Bonanza: or. The Boot o! SlicntHoiind.
Captain Coldgrip: or. The New York Spotter.
Cs Coidgi'lp‘s Nerve; or. Injun Nick. .

484 Lucifer Lynx. the Wonder Detective.
441 The California She. . ,

447 Volcano, the Frisco py. -

480 Captain 00 motive.
4478 Co d wood.

480 Haw year. the Man with a React.

4W Sunshine Sam, a. Chi of the Old Block.

486 Richard Redflre. the 0 Worlds‘ Detective.
505 Phil Fox heGenteel S tter. . .

.5153 Captain eivet‘s Big take. »

the
rip in '

BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR.
28 ’l‘hree-Flngered Jack the Road»Agent.
80 Gospel George; or. iery Fred. the Outlaw.
40 Lou -Halred Pards; or. The Tarters of the Plains.
45 Old ull’s-Eye, the Lightning Shot.
47 Pacific Pete. the Prince of the Revolver.
50 Jack Rabbit. the Prairie S rt.
64 Double-Si ht, the Death S ot.
67 The Boy ocke ; or, Honest -vs. Crookedness.
71 Captain Cool B ade: or. Miss in iMan Shark.
88 Big George; or. The Five Outlaw rothers.
105 Dan Brown of Denver; or. The Detective.
119 Alabama Joe; or. The Ynzoo Man~Hunters.
127 Sol Scott. the Masked Miner.
141 Equinox Tom. the Bully of Red Rock.
154 Joaquin. the Saddle King.
165 Joaquin. the Terrible
170 Sweet William, the Trapper Detective.
180 Old ‘49; or. The Amazon of Arizona. ,
197 Revolver Rob: or, The Belle of Nugget Cam .
201 Pirate of the Pincers; or. Joaquin‘s Death unt.
283 The Old Boy of Tombstone.
fil Spitfire Saul. Kin of the Bustiers.
249 Elephant Tom. 0 Durango.
257 Death Trap Diggings; or. A Hard Man from
'Way Back.
283 Sleek Sam, the Devil of the Mines.
286 Pistol Johnny; or, One Man in a Thousand.
292 Make Homer, the Boss Roustabout.
802 Faro Saul. the Handsome Hercules.
317 Frank Lightfoot. the Miner Detective.
824 Old Forked Lightning, the Solitary.
331 Chispa Charley. the Gold Nugget Sport.
839 Spread Eagle Sam. the Hercules Hide Hunter.
845 Masked Mark. the Mounted Detective.
851 Nor‘ West Nick. the Border Detective.'
855 Stormy Steve. the Mad Athlete.
360 Jumping Jerry, the Gamecock from Sundown.
867 A Royal Flush: or. Dan Brown’s Big Game.
372 Captain Crisp. the Man with a Record.
879 Howling Jonathan. the Terror from Headwaters.
387 Dark Durg. the Ishme of the Hills.
395 Deadly Aim. the Duke of Derringers.
463 The N aineless Sport.
409 Rob Roy Ranch; or. The Imps of Pan Handle.
416 Monte Jim. the Black Sheep of Bismarck.
426 The Ghost Detective; or. The Spy of the Secret
. Service.

483 Laughing Leo; or, Sam’s Dandy Pard.

438 Oklahoma Nick. ‘

443 A Cool Hand; or, Pistol Johnny’s Picnic.

450 The Rustler Detective.

458 Dutch. Dan, the Pilgrim from Spitzenberg.

466 Old Rough and Ready. the Sage ot.Sundown.
474 Daddy Dead-Eye, the Despot 01' Dew Drop.

468 The Thoroughbred Sport.

495 Rattlepate Rob; or. The Roundhead’s Reprisal.
504 Solemn Saul. the Sad Man from San Saba.

514 Gabe Gunn. the Grizzly from Ginseng.

'BY JACKSON KNOX—“01d Hawk.”

886 Hawk Heron. the Falcon Detective.

424 Hawk Heron’s Deputy.

444 The Magic Detective; or, The Hidden Hand.
45! Griplock, the Rocket Detective. .

#62 The Circus Detective.

467 Mainwaring. the Salamander.

477 Dead-arm Brandt.

'485 Rowlock. the Harbor Detective.

494 The Detectivo’s Spy. ,
501 Springsteel Steve, the Retired Detective.
509 Old Falcon, the Thunderbolt Detective.
’515 ShortrStop Maje. the‘ Diamond Field Detective.

BY LEON LEWIS.

428 The Flying Gilm; or, The Island Lure.

456 The Demon Steer. . ,

481 The Silent Detective; or. The Bogus Nephew.
464 Captain Besdy.the Red Ransomer.

BY PHILIP 8. WARNE.

1 A Hard Crowd; or. Gentleman Sam’s Sister.

4 The Kidnapper; or. The Northwest Shanghai.
29 Tiger Dick. Faro King; or. The. Cashier‘s Crime.
54 Always on Hand; or. The FootgfiillsSport.

80 A Man at Nerve; or, Caliban the Dwsrt.

114 The Gentleman from Pike.

171 Tiger Dick. the Man of the Iron Heart. ,
907 Old Hard Head; or. Whirlwind and his Mare.
251 Tiger Dick vs. Iron Despard. "

250 Tiger Dick‘s Lone End.

299 Three of a Kind; or, Tiger Dick. Iron Despard
and the Sportive Sport. .

888 Jack Sands. the Boss of the Town.

859 Yellow Jack. the Mestizo.

awaiger Dick’s Pledge; or, The Golden Serpent.
401‘ Silver Sid; or. A “ Daisy " Blulr. ,
431 California Kit. the Always on Hand.

4791 Six Foot Si; or, The Man to “Tie To."

502 Bareback Buck. the Centaur of the Plains.

 

     

 

BY ALBERT w. AIKEN.

27 The Spotter Detective: or. Girls of New York.

31 The New York Sharp; or. The Flash of Lightning.
33 OVeriand Kit; or. The ldyl of While Pine.

34 Rocky Mountain Bob. the California Outlaw.

35 Kentuck. the Sport: or, Dick Talbot or the Mines.
36 Injun Dick; or. The Death'Shot of Shasta.

38 Velvet Hand; or. in un Dick‘s Iron Grip.

41 Gold Dan: or. The bite Savage of Salt Lake.
42 The California Detective: or. The Witches of N.Y.
49 The Wolf Demon; or. The Kanawha Queen.

56 The Indian Mazeppa; or, Madman of the Plains.

59 The Man from Texas; or. The Arkansas Outlaw.
68 The Winged Whale: or. The Red Rupert of Gulf.
72 The Phantom Hand; or. The 5th Avenue Heiress.
75 Gentleman George: or. Parlor. Prison and Street.
77 The Fresh of Frisco; or. The Heiress.
79 Joe Phenix. the Police Spy.
81 The Human Tiger: or. A Heart of Fire.
84 Hunted Down: or. The League of Three.
91 The Winning Oar: or. The Innkeeper-'3 Daughter.
93 Captain Dick Talbot. King of the Road.
97 Bronze Jack. the California Thoroughbred.
101 The Man from New York.
107 Richard Talbot. of Cinnabar.
112 Joe Phenix. Private Detective.
130 Captain Volcano or. The Man of Red Revolvers.
161 The Wolves of New York: or. Joe Phenix‘s Hunt.
178 California John. the Pacific Thoroughbred.
196 La Marmoset. the Detective Queen.
203 The Double Detective: or,The Midnight Mystery.
252 The Wall Street Blood; or. The Telegraph Girl.
820 The Genteel Spotter; or The N. Y. Night Hawk.
349 Iron-Hearted Dick. the Gentleman Road-Agent.
854 Red Richard; or The Crimson Cross Brand.
363 Crowningshield. the Detective
370 The Dusky Detective: or. Pursued to the End.
376 Black Beards; or. The Rio Grande High Horse.
381’ The Gypsy Gentleman; or, Nick Fox. Detective.
884 Injun Dick, Detective: or. Tracked to New York.
891 Kate Scott. the Decoy Detective.
408 Doc Grin. the Vendetta of Death.
419 The Bat of the Battery; or. Joe Phenix. Detective.
421 The Lone Hand; or, The Red River Recreants.
440 The High Hor -e of the Pacific.
461 The Fresh on the Rio Grande.
465 The Actor Detective.
475 Chin Chin, the Chinese Detective.
490 The Lone Hand in Texas.
497 The Fresh in Texas.

LATEST AND NEW ISSUES.

517 Buflalo Bill’s First Trail. By Ned Buntline.

518  Richard, the Thoroughbred. By J. W.
s n.

519 018 Béddles. the Rocky Ranger. By J. C.
ow .
590 ThAeikLone. Hand on the Csddo. By Albert W.
en
521 Paradise Sam, the Nor’-West Pilot. By Wm. H.
Manning.

522 The Champion Three. By P. S. Warns.
5938 Reguard of Red Jack; or, The Lost Detective.
y Capt. Howard Holmes.

5534 The Sea Chaser or. The Pirate Noble. By 001.
Prentiss Ingraliam. ‘ l

525 Fresh Frank. the Derringer Daisy. By Wm. R.
Eyster.

526 Death-Grip. the Tender-loot Detective. By Geo.
C. Jenks.

527 Dand Andy, the Diamond Detective. By Joe.
‘ E. ger. Jr.

528 Huckleberry. the Foot-Hills Detective. By ‘

Lieut. A. K. Sims.

529 The Fresh in New York. By Albert W. Aiken.

580 The Savages of the Sea. By 091. P. Ingraham.

581 Saddle-Chief Kit. the Prairie Centaur. By Wm.
H. Manning. ,

5‘32 Jack Javert. the Independent Detective. By

. Capt. Howard Holmes.

583 Oregon, the Sport WithaScar. By W. R. Eyster.

584 Green Mountain Joe; or The Countertelter‘s
Cave. By Marmaduke Dey.

585 Dandy Dutch. the Decorator from Dead-Lift.
By Jos. E. Badger. Jr. ReadyJamaI-y 28.

586 Old Falcon’s Foe: or. The Matchless Detective‘s
Swell Job. By Jackson Knox.
Ready January 80. y ,

587 Blake the Mountain Lion: or. The Fresh against
the irleld. By Albert w. Aiken.
Ready February 6.

588 He Rube! the Circus Fighter. By George C.
Jyenks. February 18. V.

589 Old Doubledark. the W Detective. By Wm.
H. Manning. Ready Fe ruary to.

A new laws every Wednesday.

Beadle’s Dime Library is (or sale by all
Newsdealers, ten cents per copy. or sent by mail on
receipt or twelve cents each.

BEADLE AND ADAMS. Peninsula. _
98 William Street. New York.